Today, we are held.

And this,

is the wisdom

of nature,

this love letter

You write

daily

of sparrows

feeding

young

and

woodland orchids

quietly blooming

where eyes seldom see

and death

comes

to

all,

eventually.

Even then,

in musty

decay

there is beauty

left behind

to nourish

others.

But,

today.

Today,

there is

enough.

We have enough

and

tomorrow

will come

holding her own worries

in a basket,

but

today,

we are held.

— Today, we are held.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

There was so much more I wanted to include in this poem. How the continous thread in God’s Word speaks of ‘just for today we have enough’, and how this life can cause us to chase tomorrow’s blessing and worries, but that is for another poem.

Another day.

Solace.

Endings,

do not frighten me

anymore.

Every night

the sun

whispers

farewell

to the moon,

only to

rise again

with fresh

courage.

— Solace.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

I find You in the hedgerows.

There is

an ancient

love song

playing

on the breeze,

suspended

in the waters

of the oceans,

calling

from the hedgerows

on tiny wings.

Seek

Me

and

you

will

find

Me.

The way that

You

quietly

whisper

Your desire

to be found

in

cathedrals

of

green

and

salt water

and

soil.

That

I

might

stand

in wonder

and

awe

at the way

the

sparrow

is cared for.

— I find You in the hedgerows.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

What the trees teach me in September.

A blackbird sings.

Notes

tumble

clear

over

sweet sprigs of hay.

Leaves

exchange

the known

for

the unknown,

as trees

humbly

let go of life.

Trusting.

And

I am here,

a life

made of seasons.

A solitary

witness to

the earth’s

worship.

And it is

good.

— What the trees teach me in September.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

I buried my fears under a tree and hope grew.

I walked

into the

woods

today

carrying

yesterday’s

disappointments

and

tomorrow’s

fears.

Wandering

the

ancient

soil

I

sought

a

resting

place

for

these.

Until

at

last,

emptied

of the

past,

and

relieved

of

the future,

I

simply

stood.

Small.

Under

a cathedral

of

trees.

—I buried my fears under a tree and hope grew.

Wanderer.

I am here,

but not

from

here.

Roots,

plucked

up.

Heart,

held

close.

To

protect.

Me.

I

yearn

to

belong.

To

the people.

To

the land.

To

the waters.

But,

where

do

I

plant

my

words

when

the

earth

does

not

recognise

me.

Anymore.

— Wanderer.

{A poem on being an immigrant, returned to the land of my forefathers. A poignant journey of loss and gain.}

Unhurried.

This

fluid

gold

light from

sun

calling it

a day.

Spilling

over

lists

still left

undone.

A respite

from

a life

driven.

I pick slow

moments

weighing

each

one,

carefully

inhaling

the

heady

fragrance

of

slow.

— Unhurried.