SHRUB GIRL OF THE BIG NOSE


 SHRUB GIRL SNIFFS THEM OUT

Floppedy, flop, boppedy bop tripped along four

friends bound commonly to hear, to walk strong, to see

For now they learned the young girl rode in a pour

of  mystery duty abiding in midst of  friends to be.

Sudden was the brushing of needley short limbs of green

Against sides of donkey and stump just cresting a hill

Sudden was the sniffing and snuffling and wuffling so lean

Against shepherding crook and stalking root stopped in a thrill.

“What can mean this small green bush,this shrub in our way?”

hummed Shepherd of EyeCrook pointing the sight to Stumpy.

“What can mean this Shrub Girl tumbling off in stray?”

wheedled FloppyEared and Ridden Donkey to Woman Clumpy.

“Tho I Be Woman, I cannot put root to Shrub Girl reasoning,”

stamped out Stump Woman leading the way so trumping.

“So snuffle up to a floppy ear, bush girl, and give seasoning

“ramped out from ditch why you come nosing in our clumping.”

“Oh, most high flopping ears, most bent young girl, most seeing crook,

“Oh, most tight rooted  stump, know you not the scent of holiness;

“All bands of seekers must follow to reach the young girl’s place in the book,

“Oh, ho, know you not the scent of far spices marking the business?”

“Oh, I hear a new tune,” replied Flop Eared Boy.

“Oh, I tap into The Way,” replied Woman Stump.

“Oh, I hear my hoofs carry her”, replied Eary DonCoy.

“Oh, crook sees stall below, girl above,”replied ShepTrump.

“What you cannot hear. cannot stampfeel, cannot crooksee,

replied sniffing small green Shrub Girl in thrall.

“What you must let me smell is odor of angel looksee

“What you must have me sniffpoint is lamb small.”

“Wait!  How holy scent, angle odor mean this lamb?”

Wait!  How holy thing,angel thing,lamb thing in our quest?

“Oh,High Floppy,Low Stumpy, Strong Donk, LongEyeRamb,

“Know you not this Lamb wholly anointed at birth,angelsang at rest?”

“Oh, why we listen, why we stamp on road, why we crook-see?

“Why we sniff out holy anointing,sniff out choiring of a lamb?”

“Oh, hark, ye listeners,ye seekers,ye stampers!”

“Ye must find the place shielding birth of  your offered Lamb!

“What mean ye, our offered lamb?”all friends cried out.

“What mean ye, holy scent of newborn lamb?” all called now.

“Why heard you not the tales of old,why saw not the Star?

Why tapped you not into truth on which men bow?”

“Oh, we once heard, we once saw, we once stepped in theTrue Way.”

“But what we now will find in stall below our last mile?”

“Oh, we like to hear, like to see, like to tap the road, hooray.”

But we know not need to follow holy scent,find new Lamb.”

“BECAUSE EARS HAVE NOT HEARD NOR EYES NOT SEEN”

whispered Small Shrub Girl in memory of old time

as she brushed on sniffing the last curve;

weaving the way of friends into byways of  New Life.

NOTE:  We will finally reach Bethlehem’s stall and find waiting many unexpected critters, friends, gifts, sights, sounds, feelings, and smells:  none yet tasting of the sweet waters of life such travelers all seek in such places of waiting.

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SEVENTH WEEK WEDNESDAY: MISMATCHED SERENITY


After yesterday’s virtual lambast and trumpet call regarding some issues I am currently passionate about either supporting or resolving, I was very blessed to remember my quietly fulfilling spousal relationship:

 

MISMATCHED

We seemed mismatched

                           as we chose opposite sides

                                                       of the tree to lean upon,

One looking over the hill,

                          the other looking

                                                         into the recent valley.

 

We seemed mismatched

                             as one bent over to humble labor

                                                                                    with sticks

                         while the other sat designing with

                                                                                 daydreams.

 

We seemed mismatched

                            as one must finish the overlapping

                                              edges of  the day

                                                            with matching bindings

                            while the other closes eyes to that

                                                       old sweet song from

                                                                  joined limbs in youth.

 

We seemed mismatched

                          as one stopped leaning and looking

                                                                and bending and binding

                        to touch the other in borrowed designs

                                                             singing dreams of the now.

 

Our touching colors us well-matched as two bookends

                                              required to hold our life-chapters.

 

Tomorrow, I plan to post about how we in this writers’ community jostle around day by day to match just well enough to help pull each other down the road to our goals!

                                                  

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