Trial By Fire

Trial by Fire

This is a different version

of the phoenix we once knew.

You, with your angel wings

shining gold in flames of my temple,

time and time again, returning--

both of us learning.

You hold my feet to the fire,

then help to heal the burning.

You’re willing to brave the heat,

the black, the flame

calling my name

knowing there will be beauty for ashes

but all the same

there will be ashes too,

and soot

and smoke.

And while you walk the hot coals,

Barefoot,

you invoke the powers of Heaven.

And find me as a little child,

lost, and wild, and still ablaze.

And call me by a new, and sacred name.

All I see through the haze

Is that you came.

-          s.b. Westenskow March 9, 2017

Drawing Nigh

It is truth
when He says He draws nigh
unto us
when we draw nigh unto Him.

Immediately welcoming
we, His prodigals,
no matter how far
or deep away we have been.

He lets us in
to feast on His Spirit
over and over again.

What a son will do for love of a mother...

It was an insensitive demand
to be sure
that you relinquish that last vestige
of manhood, that in his presence,
you possess
in order, your dying mother, to address.

It was a gift as precious
as breath
in the presence of
almost death.

Yet with a sharpened blade
(that knoweth not the
tenderness
of sacrifice there made)
cleared stubble from the jaw

and left those of us
who watched
in awe.

For Jacob

With apologies to Robert Hayden)

Weekends too, my son arises early
and from the frosted darkness sends back cracks
of axes splitting aspen into kindling,
he pack wood in and drops in scattered stacks.

And I am comforted by warmth in duo,
by fires from heated hearth and happy heart,
and I, not sure I've said sufficient thank you,
or told him he does far more than his part.

From boy to man, he's been his mother's keeper,
my snuggling, squishy faced potential God,
my bleached and earringed, semi-rebel manchild,

I see who you've become and I am awed.

Beauty For Ashes

Beauty For Ashes


She comes bearing gifts.

(I know she must!)

I have to believe

(since I know in whom I trust)

that within the mussed,

the pierced, bare-shouldered

paucity of her youth

lies some sweeet and, oh, so

merciful truth...



Like Tara

raising up a Scarlett

in the ashes of her burning,

I am (with, I'll admit, some difficulty)

learning



that every step into the smoky shadow

bequeaths something shining

and Divine...



something uniquely,

blessedly,

written in the stars,

mine.

Temptation

"Come closer," he called

from the fire's edge

as I clung to my postern

in the sheltering hedge.

"Come," he beckoned.

"Closer," he teased,

smoke disguising his subtle deceipt.

I was standing far away

so even on tiptoe

I couldn't see.

It was the safest place to be.

Then slowly, closer and closer

I crept

until I could almost feel the heat

of the flames, but not quite.

Feeling sure,

I bent to get a better view,

and with his Judas nudge, I knew

I'd come too far.

Since then I've learned:

the farther away from the fire

I stand,

the less likely I'll get burned.

Mother to Son

Mother to Son

As I hold you now,

your tender newness warm against my breast,

I cherish this small stable where we rest,

and the solitude of the night.

As your tiny fingers, so perfect,

curl around my own,

I scarce can bear the joy.

My tears fall gently down

to wash your sleeping brow.

I kiss them quietly away

and think, with just a wisp of sadness,

that tomorrow

the world will know your name.

Angels will herald you with golden trump,

while Heavenly Choirs resound

from mountain top

to lonely shepherd's ground.

Tomorrow--

you will be our King--

a Savior to a world thirsting

for what is yours to offer.

Tomorrow--

wise and learned men

will bow on bended knee

before you little one

and honor you with wealth untold.

All people, from the humblest

to the highest born, will speak your name

in awesome whipser.

But that is tomorrow, my sweet son.

Tonight,

with your velvet cheek

soft against my own,

with your tiny body

nestled in my arms,

I can know you're mine,

my son.

Third Estate

Some coming day,

my only love,

you and I will populate planets.

In one sweet night,

we'll, in rhythmed kiss, unite

to create Abrahams...

Esthers...

Claires...

and other angels unawares'...*

We'll make of love

in breathless weaves,

Adams who will follow Eves

out of gardens, clothed in leaves

we've made.

Our love makes them unafraid.

With passion such as trembles skin

and lights Celestial fires within,

we'll forge an Emma who will go

by Joseph's side while wild winds blow,

and jaws of hell gape open wide.

Our two bodies, warm beside

each others touching, will have sighed

and kept creating sons of men,

who, with our daughters, rise again.

With every breath,

with each embrace

our loving, tremblng fingers trace

the path from ear to heart to face.

For now,

Eternity is you,

and we've our Father's work to do

and all of time and space to love

and life to give to millions of

children born to worlds above.

Some coming day

my only love.

Kissing Elizabeth's Cheek

Twenty-six pounds of

wiggling, giggling two-year-old

snuggling into my ample lap.

"Did you have a good nap, honey?"

Her round brown eyes glittering

through thick black lashes blink "yes."

She rubs them with a chubby fist

as I squish her Lilliputian body

close

so my noze can nuzzle

through twirling swirls

of light-brown curls

to find her marshmallowy

nap-warmed cheeck

and kiss her blissfully

over and over again

until she squeals--

"I wuv you da most, mommy."

I kiss her again.

Return of the Prodigal

You left

before you left, you know--

and couldn't know how far you'd gone

or how far you'd need to go--

packed up the Spirit and Truth

of your youth,

hid them behind your 80-proof,

spent all your time

with Jack* and Jim** and Mary Jane***

always trying, always failing

to forget from whence you came.

This time the leaving

has brought you back home.

How far you'd gone...

How far you've come!

*Jack Daniels

** Jim Beam

***Marijuana

Get Thee Behind Me, Satan

-Matthew 16:23

I'll put up with the cars

that break down every time I drive.

I'll endure the lack of thanks and pay

I get from nine to five.

I'll listen to the whiners,

bellyachers and complainers,

I'll ignore the high and mighty,

the judgemental parade-rainers.

But I will not take my eyes off

of the serpent on the pole.

I will not let your efforts leave me

one speck less than whole.

I'll fight you.

I'll ignore you.

I'll repeat it till I bore you,

but, Sir, let me assure you that

you will not take this soul!

I'll take the sickness, stress and loss.

Baby, bring it on!

For I am made of better stuff

than you have ever known.

I'll take whatever threats you wield,

whatever spears you throw,

but Lucifer, I cannot yeild.

I can't

because I know!

Woman in Prayer

Kneeling,

needing , comfort, healing

humbly and with tears

appealing

"Father, here am I".

Staying

simple-faithed, obeying,

head bowed and with strength

soul-praying

"Father, hear my cry".

Hearing

healing words an dnearing

heaven; He with light

appearing

"Daughter, here am I."

3-23-03

Stillness

I think I think of Thee

as I traverse mortality.

I pray in the cracks and crevices

of Have. Do. Be.

I catch a glimpse or two of light

in my frenzied overscheduled flight

if all the starts align just right

and I hold my spiritual antennae

at the precise and perfect height.

I think I hear Thee speak

between the cackling chaos of my overburdened week

above the toll and bang and squeak

beside the faucet’s steady leak

behind the random ramblings of this

mumbling mother/geek.

I sing I serve

I teach I pray

I work I clean I write

I pray

I kneel I rise

I fall and say:

Father!

and He breathes the breath of life in me

He whispers, “Still.

Be Still.

Still.

Be.

Aah, Stillness.

Now I see.

They Twain

He breaks my heart

a dozen times a day

in a thousand careful

careless, brutal, bruising

blinding ways.

But the way he picks the pieces up,

cradled gently in work-rough fingers?

And kisses them back together?

The shimmery forgiveness of it

lingers.

Burdened

He rises early

just to watch the sun rise--

just to feel the light of morning

warm across his tired eyes.


He drags his heavy heart

like a loaded pack

from peak to summit

leaving nothing

learning nothing

taking nothing from it.

He sighs.

He doesn’t understand.

He misses

Son Rise.

Jacob Breathing

Once you took your watery breath
from my lungs.

Now you take my breath away
with your dazzling lunge
and lope and skip and sway.
Every single day.

You breathe,
and a thousand wisdoms weave
a silvery truth.

Once I held my breath
through your youth
waiting to exhale with your rise
from distressed denim confusion
to wool-blended, two-button wise.

Now, with sighs,
And loss of last illusions

we worry through the
rasp and gasp and wheeze

on our knees,

while Father breathes into your nostrils
the breath of life
like a cool and healing breeze.

Courage

She opens a book
lifts a trembling hand
and breathes...
(because she believes)

a prayer within
her sigh
a note
a chord

We praise our Lord
following the movements
of her hand
in lullaby, in anthem
and in hymn

Led by her
who is led
by Him.

The Storm

(On coming Back)

After the laughter of afternoon sun–
After the bluest, clearest sky–
Breathless–

In the interim

a quivering, shimmering sigh
snatched from the lung by a thieving gust,
gruff and rumble,
roil and blust,
sucking at air,
spitting out soil,
trampling,
flinging,
taking spoil,
chasing itself narcissistically on,
howling a raucous, virulent song

Then,
opens Heaven,
her powerful wings
dropping elixir of crystalline rain
to the beat of tympanic thunderings.

Taking a deep breath now and then,
whispering the furies to calm again,
slowing the breathing, quieting the din,

As the Sun’s rays stream down,
peace within.

July 25, 2002

Bereft

As this mother’s heart breaks,
Heaven aches with the weight
of hurts and words
that permeate

the heavy air, the heavy heart --
both heaving at the leaving
of the offspring grown apart.

Falls the tears and
falls the rain --
both of us weeping with the pain,

wondering if we'll feel peace again,
we grieve.

Because we believe,
Heaven wails in
empathetic storm.

We're grateful for prayers,
both uttered and answered,
that find us here now

safe and warm.

Fall 2002

Casualties

I am not the one
who lit the torches,
struck the first punch,

drafted forces...

I did not desert
to enemy ranks:
or shout out orders
to camouflaged flanks...

As your blitzkrieg drowned out voices
of innocents, children;
obliterating choices...

I locked the doors,
reinforced casements ,
gathered the victims
from shell-shocked basements...

When the deed was done,
I mucked out chambers,
bandaged scarred hearts,
banished the strangers

I still bear the scars...
Still hear the voices...
Still mourn the losses...
Still mourn the choices...

I gather the pieces
with no bandage or glue
to help me restore
what was torn apart
by you...