Tag Archives: Poetry

My Baanies *

To the fine bunch of ladies that I do life with…. I live in a house with six other girls, all of who are volunteers at Wisdom Tree Home, where I used to work. This is a glimpse of what life looks like in our creaky old house. 

 

Oh, we live in a house of seven girls

And bonny lassies are we

Seven girls and a dog (who cries when we leave)

All footloose and fancy-free

 

Where we’re from…

Lori and Crystal speak Dutch with each other

But Lori speaks it more to the dog

Nancy speaks Platt Dietsch when she talks with her mom

And leaves the rest in a fog

Kim hails from Canada, and so does Melissa

And Brit is a Buckeye at heart

She tries to speak Dutch but Thai comes out

Her brain can’t keep them apart.

Judi comes from where it’s cold all the time

And we like the way she says “sawlt”

We mimic the Canadians and the Thais and each other

And don’t always speak as we ought.

 

On Saturdays…

Brit goes to the market

And Judi goes to the mall

Where she walks and she looks

And buys nothing at all

Melissa goes to a coffee shop

Kim goes out with a friend

Crystal goes to the pool, and Lori,

Lori does homework till her hair stands on end.

 

Oh, we live in a house of seven girls

And bonny lassies are we

Seven girls and a dog (who cries when we leave)

All footloose and fancy-free

 

In the bathroom…

When Lori’s in the shower, she studies Chinese

And Brit plays songs in Thai

But Kim and Nancy play ukulele on the floor

By the tub where the echo rings high.

Judi sings songs like “Country Roads”

And also sings the song about the rose

But the dog outside outsings us all

When he misses his friends and howls out his woes

 

What we’re like…

Judi likes to kill things like mosquitos and snakes

But spiders make Brit turn white with fear

She’ll stand on her bed and shiver and shake

Till someone comes to smash it. Oh dear, oh dear!

Lori’s in a rush and can’t find her keys

Where Kim left her laptop is quite unknown

Brit wants to take a picture to send to her dad

But now she can’t do it cause she can’t find her phone

 

At a coffee shop…

Brit likes to journal and Nancy watercolors

And Kim always makes a new friend

Crystal studies Thai and Melissa writes an update,

And Lori does homework till her hair stands on end.

Kim swigs coffee, all black, by the pot

But Judi likes hers with cream

Brit walks the line between coffee and tea

But Melissa drinks just water, or so it would seem.

 

Oh, we live in a house of seven girls

And bonny lassies are we

Seven girls and a dog (who cries when we leave)

All footloose and fancy-free

 

At night…

Brit and Melissa go to bed early

Where Brit dreams amazing things

Crystal hums in her sleep, and all the rest

Wait to go to bed till the dtukae** sings

Lori sleeps up top at the end of the stairs

Where the others fear she’ll fall out of bed

Kim sits on her balcony where she sings all night

And Crystal smacks roaches in her room till they’re dead

 

In the future….

Melissa will get married and have 8 Chinese boys

That keep her on her toes and all look alike

19780487_1911757699103704_5034202987174124173_o

Brit will adopt kids, and kids, and kids

Half of which will be two-year old tykes

IMG_2668

And Kim will lead worship in a Chinese town

With her husband who’s 6 foot 4

28619519_2016148288664644_6609535045763801119_o

While Judi sips coffee at her own little shop

On the edge of the Grecian shore

IMG_5713

Nancy will marry and move to the States

Where she’ll make fajitas like a very fine wife

10200

 

Crystal will move to Africa’s horn

Where she’ll look after orphans all of her life

20108278_1945376402406650_8075197240217796450_n

While Lori  rides her horse from village to village

As she teaches in the mountains of PaiS_4927041878515

But for now we live in this shaky old house

Together and happy, in old Chiang Mai.

 

Oh, we live in a house of seven girls

And bonny lassies are we

Seven girls and a dog (who cries when we leave)

All footloose and fancy-free

 

* “Baanies” is a play on words that comes from the Thai word “baan,” which means “home.” Instead of saying “homies” when referring to our housemates, we call ourselves the “baanies,” which is another play on words in the English language, since it sounds like “bonnie.”

** a dtukae is a large lizard like creature that likes goes “Dtu! Gaa! Dtu! Gaa!” at night.

Advertisements

God Hunt

I am on a God hunt.

I grab my friend’s camera, and set out on my bike, impatient, thirsty, and expectant. The western sky hangs heavy with soot red smoke and the dust stings my eyes as I drive first down the winding path behind our house, where suddenly the road pops out into a gap where a rice field lies, green and spring-like in the dying evening.

IMG_5495.jpg 2.jpg

Then I drive on, through choking Friday evening traffic, and wait at stoplights that are stonily unsympathetic to hunters who know the sun is steadily dying in the west. I watch the people around me and wonder if any of them are on a God hunt. Finally, I find it, a pocket of green field with a smoky view of the mountain and the silhouette of a church cross painted on the sky.

IMG_5537.jpg 2

IMG_5546

I breath in deeply the greenness and savor the glimpses of the setting sun. We leave with whetted appetites and wander on and on, down twisting alleys and darkening streets, seeking for more. I find it where cows graze on withered grass in the dusky evening, and two dogs bark menacingly at the strange foreigner pointing a black thing towards their charges.

IMG_5554.jpg 2.jpg

 

They escort me out the alley at a furious pace, satisfied that they have succeeded in disposing of me.

IMG_5568.jpg 2

I find a place, where the country and city meet, where the light from the street lights gleams over the rice fields and calls me home.

Where the blacktop ends.JPG

Soon it is too dark to snap anymore photos, which is good since I am thoroughly lost and need to focus on finding my way. Finally, I pop out on a large road close to a major university, about 15 kilometers from home. I make my way home, turning in the last road where the cool air nestles in a pocket of trees, and reach our gate, where our dog greets me.

IMG_5639 My eyes are dry and burnt by smog, my back is tired from driving, but I have found beauty, and where beauty is, God’s hand has been.

Beauty is God’s poetry.

The Image of You

 

The following poem was previously

published for the first time in Vibrant Girl Volume 3 Issue 1

 

I have wandered among windswept hills

Almost to where the sky touched me

I have danced in prairies, gold and green

Where wheat waves run like amber sea

I have roamed the lonesome mountain ridges

I have watched a hundred morns unfold

And flung my soul in breathless praise

At sight of sunset’s tawny gold

 

But not only beauty draws my heart

To sing about your glory–

Dark eyes aglow in unfeigned joy,

The trembling words of soul-saved story,

Healing tears in a Godspun moment

Quiet knowing, laughter light

A dream of joy, a hunger shared,

Breaking of walls, giving of sight

 

Oh, yes, I have praised you in the windswept hills

Under a sky of brilliant blue

Yet my heart sings too in a soul -filled life

In a smile, a tear, an image of You 

Rainbow Desires

As I was looking across some poetry I had filed away, I came across this poem, written about 3 years ago (3 years already?!). I was reminded again at how much things I have written in the past often mean more to me later than when I wrote them. I needed this tonight.

 

Like rainbow colored playdough in childish hands

Are all our deep desires

Sent from the Father of lights, Father of all

Kindler of all dream fires

 

Left on our own, we shape our dreams

And in our desires delight

Not knowing that what we have done is done

Through unskilled blinded sight

 

We mold and shape with fumbling hands desires

What we think our destiny

Till our Father in love reaches down and whispers

“Child, child, give it to me.”

 

But no, I wail, I cannot; it must be mine, mine!

These desires belong to me

My Father’s hands are inexperienced; he cannot know

How I want it all to be!

 

What if my Father drops my dreams?

What I he waits too long?

What if the colors lose their hue?

And life its rainbow song?

 

Through a rain of tears I look down in my hands

At the feeble dreams I’ve made

And wonder who could better- Creator or created?

Bring glory from rainbow shades?

 

“Delight thyself in the Lord and He will give thee the desires of thine heart.”

I Spy

My world is on my desk, defined partially

By items that pull spaghetti thoughts to encompass

Not quite the whole of my life, but a three-fourth bowl of it:

Two nails leftover from attaching northern Thai instrument to the wooden wall

Of my new room that is perched atop the wobbly outdoor stairs

That are so slippery in the mornings when I creep down in my stocking feet;

Acer Service receipt from my Alpha Switch 12 that died in its sleep

But arose again Lazurus-like under warranty covered repair.

Playdough that helps spaghetti brain concentrate in composition class,

And 3 empty envelopes that were intended for repaying friends for bills

Incurred in the moving into said new room.

Note and a card from two kindred spirits living in the same house,

And hot chocolate from a friend who left the tropics of Thailand for the snows of Minnesota.

Scrap of paper with a half-finished poem about hunger,

Which reminds me of the half-finished coffee with milk on my desk that the ants have found,

Which makes me wonder if ants on a coffee high can sleep at night.

A glass bottle from short lovable friend with contagious laugh who teaches K2 students,

Passport that enables me to go home in a few days (which makes me wonder

If they remembered to trim the hooves of the donkey with the long ears that waits at home),

And “to-do” list of things to do before I go.

Tablet full of college notes from friend that says on the front, “Say ‘yes’ to new adventures,”

The electric bill that needs to be paid by the 30th and I wonder if the new Seven Eleven people

Are as friendly as the ones at our old house.

White phone with the Thai number 9 on the back to represent the late King of Thailand,

Sticky note with new password for gmail, Kindle with leather cover, and 4 pens,

Easy to read version of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” which I used to teach English to little Thai boy with the laughing eyes,

Who liked to use Donald Trump as his subject when making up sentences for practice.

Journal to my future husband who hasn’t shown up yet to read it,

A plaque from a friend who moved to Malaysia that reminds my soul to be still, instead of constantly tracing spaghetti;

A hammer for problems that need hammers, duct tape for something I cannot remember,

Cheap sunglasses from the SanPathong market man on the day we went to see the buffalo and cows,

And Breaking Free, a book I should return to the church library after having it for 3 years;

A Thai Bible that I still stumble through as I read, in the rare times I read it,

A book called “How to Study in College” that hasn’t been read because I am too busy studying,

Article by Toshi Yamamoto at his presentation at Payap, which helped restore my hope for modern Christians,

And a cup from Pong Horse Park that previously held green tea, (and I wonder if they got my message about tomorrow).

A receipt of money withdrawal, a candle that has been lit only once or twice,

And finally a tiny glass ball with dandelion fluff to remind us to follow our dreams. I lift it high.

Watch it spin in the air.

And wonder.

 

 

Picture credit: Pixabay

 

The Language of Silence

There is no voice that touches my heart

As much as no voice at all

The silence of sky on mountain peak

The whisper of snowflakes, winter wind’s call

 

So many times have I stood on a street

Lost in the teeming mobs of man

When the depths of my soul are muffled and mute

Smothered for the silence of a far off land

 

Where silence is the language everyone speaks

Where it rises like mists from mountain sod

Where it cloaks me with peace; while I sit and cry

Because silence for me is the voice of God.

 

-October 29, 2017

photo credit: pixabay

Song of the Outdoors

And I must go down to the river again,

Where the Ninnescah weaves its way

Like a silver band through the lonely land

And I’ll hear what it has to say;

Then we’ll stand on the bridge (my horse and I)

Gaze into the waters below

And listen to the song that is ever so long

That grips me and never lets go.

 

And I must go down to the bottoms again

And find myself once more

In the rolling plains with its sweeping strains

That sing to my inmost core;

Then we’ll ride to the hill (my horse and I)

And listen to the gypsy wind

That plays its cry to notes in the sky

And clings to something within.

 

And I must go down to the creek again

With its secret glens and glades

Where the sunlight hints with dappled glints

Of light beyond the leafy shades;

Then we’ll ride through the prairies (my horse and I)

Through the whispering grass that sings

To the muffled beat of my horse’s feet

The song that within my heart rings.

 

-written by Lori Hershberger, October 2010

 

First published in Echoes of Eternity in 2013, this is one of my favorite poems.  To order a copy of this book, click on the title.

Dusk: Doi Sutthep

Below is a poem set to the same style as Sara Teasdale’s  Sunset: St. Louis  

 

Hushed in the still gray fog of July rains

When humanity teems below in wild chatter

How many times have I seen my eastern mountain

Dream by her city.

 

High and still, shrouded in fathomless mist

That feints and flickers in a fickle ballet

Beneath muted sky she stands silent and strong

In lengthening shadows.

 

And when the light from the western sun breaks through

In soldered bars of gold and bronzed creation

Striking the clouds, my mountain still stands shining

In green and gold glory.

 

But I love my mountain most in rainy haze

When the gray rains come furtive and silent at dusk

And the lights blink on, gleaming through mist as my mountain strong

Dreams by her city.

-July 2017

 

Child That Never Really Was Mine 2

It’s now close to two years that I saw him last. Be was my first student at Wisdom Tree Home, and the one that left the most lasting imprint on my heart. I stumbled across a picture of him yesterday and floods of memories came back. Here is a poem I posted two years ago of him. I felt it would be appropriate to post it again.

*************

I miss you, I miss you, child of my heart

(Child that never really was mine)

Eyes so deep you’d think you’d drown

Drown in those tears of salty brine.

But child, child, I miss those hands

Brown and small that clung to my own

Clung to my hands and held to my heart

But now I hold alone.

************

The last time I saw you, child of mine

You looked so fragile and skinny and small

And I don’t know if I’ll ever again

Walk this way and hear you call

But child, child, I’ll never, forget

The way you hugged me that one last time

Child, I love you, no words can say

(Child that never really was mine).

-June 2015

10714025_1527824660830345_16333486320778606_o

 

Respite

When the silence falls around me

At the ending of a day

Come read to me a simple thing

In a simple way

 

Please do not speak to me

Of promises to keep

Or of the many, many miles

To go before I sleep

 

Tell me not, my friend,

Of battles yet to fight

Of hands to lift, hearts to seek

And torches yet to light

 

Tomorrow I will rise again

In morning’s blood-red glow

Take my weapons in my hand

And go to  meet the foe

 

But oh, I am tired tonight

And the silence to me sings

Let me only rest and listen

To the words it brings.

 

For I am just a little speck

Beneath a raging sky

A sky that covers a billion souls

And comes to crush me where I lie

 

I know, I know of swords to bear

Lands to claim and forts to keep

But, I beg, let me stay a while

In these woods so lovely,

So lovely,

So lovely, dark and deep

-written on Doi Pui, February 2017