i got sucked in.

i'm sitting here in my pjs, teeth unbrushed, breakfast uneaten. ??!!? perfect for a mock-blog.

i got sucked in, how ‘bout you?

facebook, blogspot and youtube,

ebay, etsy, google, yahoo,

twitter and kijiji and a little gmail, too.  

brain fried, hands tied, cold, dark room.

dunno if i might’ve had things to do...

i got sucked in, how ‘bout you?

i am the missionary

sitting with a friend,

“when will the heartache end?”

tear-stained, worn and trembled;

strengthened while assembled.

broken in the darkness,

“please, somebody help us”

friend from ‘cross the street

wash the other’s feet.

kitchen pantry bare,

“i pray someone will share”.

neighbour, pockets spilled;

giving, cupboards filled.

no need for flights and ferries,

no need to travel ‘round -

i am the missionary; 

i am the mission ground.

wait - no need to hurry;

pray the harvest yield.

you are the missionary;

you are the mission field.

burdens to be carried,

Saviour to be found.

we are the missionary;

we are the mission ground.

join us on thursdays for a little bit o' somethin' somethin'...

Mother Goose

the smell of an old book - 
might’ve been my mom’s...

spots of dirt and candy 
over my son John.

Hey diddle, diddle 
in the middle of the page,

Little Boy Blue 
looking twice his age.

Colours fading, maybe, 
from the girls of Georgie Porgie,

and the Muffet 
on the tuffet’s gone away.

pages thin and tearing 
‘cross the mitts 
the kitts were wearing...

Mary’s garden 
surely knew a better day.

open up and pour 
o’er the joys of childhood ‘lore, 

tap the door at three and four 
until it opens.

it’s been good 
to know you, book,

to step inside 
and take a look...

reminding of the 
good and fun of hopin’.

spots of dirt and candy.

colours fading, maybe.

pages thin and torn.

joys of childhood ‘lore.

the smell of an old book - 
might’ve been my mom’s.