Unfinished song from a long time ago -- I can't remember when

The woman in the white Ford van
Is aching for a song ...
She turns on a country station,
But the ones they play are wrong.
She flips to a gospel station --
A commercial is on the air.
She parks the van,
Walks to the back,
And kneels herself in prayer.

She wants pain set to music,

Deliverance set to rhyme,

The questions, without answers, rolling 'round time after time.

-- Poem by Rani Kaye, all rights reserved

Picture Perfect -- Prepared

Photo taken Memorial Weekend, 2007 -- Placed some flowers for the unmarked graves of several relatives who died before I was born, and took a rubbing of the headstone of my great-great grandfather. An elderly neighbor who spoke Dutch as a child, thinks the translation is "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord."

Day Lily from July 22nd, 2007

  Photo by Mike.

Pea Soup

1 pkg. split peas, rinsed & sorted
3 cans chicken broth
4 cups water
sliced carrots
chopped onion
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1 bay leaf
1 & 1/2 Tablespoons celery leaves
diced, uncooked turkey bacon

Combine all ingredients in a large kettle, and place over high heat. When it starts to boil, reduce the heat. Cover and simmer until done, stirring occasionally to keep it from sticking. I think it takes about an hour and a half. You will know when it is done, because it will look like pea soup. Remove the bay leaf before serving.

Concerning 1985 (We lost our home that year):

 

Another language perhaps,
But one that isn't mine,
Could with joy express the grief
Of the lands I leave behind;
Could with peace express the pain
Of the days and prayers and tears
That within this shell of clay
Laugh and boldly face the years;
Of Tomorrow when it comes
Oh, it has no power on me!
I am beaten, I am worn,
I am ended, I am free.
I'm created,
I create,
I live on eternally;
I am dying, I will die,
It's a bitter birth indeed!
As in labour for a child
As in gasping in a dream
Like a drowning man needs water do I need this year I've seen!
Twirl around and face tomorrow
Take away what wasn't mine
Am I healed and understanding?
If you ask, I'll say I'm fine
Oh, this language cannot tell you
(There's a word, I'm sure, Some Where)
... Might be "man" It might be "woman"
But for God's sake! It's a prayer.
Pack my boxes. I am moving.
Will not cry. I cannot stay.
Won't wear pain upon my shoulder,
I will leave it packed away.
When you see that I am hopeful
It won't be a lie you see --
For both sides of death and living are compatible in me.
And the love that I can give you
Won't begrudge your error or pain;
For a sword has pierced my own heart,
Yet I live, to breed again.

 

-- Poem by Rani Kaye, all rights reserved

Poem I wrote in 1979 (When I was 26 years old)

I recently heard that what we post online is automatically copywrited. Please, don't anybody steal my words. But I think I'm going to start posting some of my own poetry. Because maybe things I've struggled with and figured out, will be helpful to someone else along the way. Peace, Rani

1979

I need a savior
Who is stronger
Than the troubles of this life

I need an anchor
That pulls tighter
Than the tumult and the strife

I need a master
Who is bolder
Than the ones who hold me slave

And when someone comes up to me
And says "gimme"
He says

"I already gave"

 

-- Poem by Rani Kaye, all rights reserved

Five or Six People

Written by Rani Kaye on June 17, 1989:

Five or six people in each age of men
Express something true with the brush or the pen
And others repeat it again and again.

And falsehood, if clothed in a nice-enough rhyme
Is also inscribed in the marble of time.

-- Poem by Rani Kaye, all rights reserved

A Year Without a Poem

Written by Rani Kaye on February 22, 1988:

More than a year without a poem
... and they used to come every day!
Oh, they still do, but I don't write them down
I just sing them, then they drift away.

(Somebody's Journal records all the rhymes
... and notes all the harmonies playing behind.
And He loves an old song
... and He loves a new song
... and He loves diversity, comedy, and hue!)

And I love to sing them
... and I love to bring them
On altars of frailty,
Transformed by His holiness,
Made fit for His view.

And He hears my every prayer!
Those spoken ... those breathed unaware.
Before and behind my life:
Yhwh ever there!

Reigning, although unseen
The comedy of God has been
A servant on horseback
And a king on his feet!

A maid who's her mistress' heir
(Whom Mary and Sarah bare)
And Oh! How the earth will move!
When the Servant is King!

-- Poem by Rani Kaye, all rights reserved