Summer Scrawl

Saturday pauses….

Strivings put aside

City jitters gone

Newspapers read

Cup of joe warm

Back garden sublime

‘Old glory’ blooms

Revived yet again

Like summer’s last rose

Book’s pages curl

Feet up on the porch

Stuck there til noon

Unspoken words shared

Rain in the forecast

Seasons keep changing

Let’s do this again

Couldn’t agree more

So it’s a date then?

Yep. Same time next year

Thanks for the memories

What’s cookin’ for dinner?

© 2012 S. Michaels
Five Star Notebook

Anavah’s Garden

To her neighbors, she was a marvel
But Anavah characterized herself
As another brick in the wall
Dry humored, witty as it suited
Fitting in where life had placed her
Letting life revolve in seasons
Waiting for a series of springtimes
Her time. Seedlings. New soil
The fresh nitrogen scent of earth
A silly satisfaction. Stamping out stuff
Getting rid of what didn’t belong
Weeds. Droughts. Storms. Doubts.
Digging in, determined, giving room
Reshaping by degrees. Semi-formal
She built trellises. Added flowers
Cosmos and lilies along rough borders
Cabbages rounding out neat rows
And in advance. A table set for harvest

© 2012 S. Michaels
Five Star Notebook

Author’s note: The word ‘anavah’ is Hebrew for ‘humility’

Café Gizane

Earth-drenching. Winter rains
Unending, unpredictable. Shivering, she
Muttered something to him about weather
Or life? He wasn’t sure.  She seemed oblivious
Abandoned. Waiting in vain for someone
A no show. He knew this familiar scene
They stood outside the Café Gizane
Innocuous name. A place ready to give birth
Gizane. Incarnate. Something here
A flash downpour.  Divine pause.
He tugged her shrieking. Indoor clatter.
Plates. Cups. Umbrellas scattered. Connections.
She shifted. He was eager to make her laugh
Here comes the sun,  he thought as she did
And many times later at the Café Gizane
She laughed. They each respected horse sense
Good judgement. Right place. Right time.
Closer by degrees. Miracles. Torn awnings
Unexpected. Often arriving on rainy days

© 2012 S. Michaels
Five Star Notebook


Bare toes tightly curled. Thin wiry bird. Lifting wings, she flew.
Slid on linoleum floors. Amazing how she could still float.

Across. Down. Circling. Around. Rippling as water on stone.
Slowly rising. Pacing. Tracing long forgotten footlights in her head.
Cold planets of empty stages. Aching for a lost strain of violins.
Waiting, listening for the applause. The rush. The roar.
Torrents of falling roses. And then the curtain lowered.
That was long ago. A gracious bowing out.

Now, a steady drumbeat stirs, makes her spin and spin.
If only she dared. To live and breathe again…to dance.

© 2011 S. Michaels
Five Star Notebook

Las Cruces

Winter skies faded dusty gold
Reaping a rich sunset, scarlet-red
In somber silence, a stranger stood
In the shadow of three rugged crosses

At the church of Las Cruces

The stranger stared.  At the first cross.
Planted in hard ground. The second nailed.
Firmly to a wooden door. And gazing upward
His bleary eyes saw a cross raised high.

Upon a belltower.

In the shadowed gloom of night
The stranger shivered while windows glowed
Warmth beckoning him in, instead he halted
And feeling unworthy as any soul on earth

He fell to his knees.

And relived in his mind life’s blows.
I am not worthy to rest here, he cried.
As a voice echoed to him in the night
And where the first cross stood a story unfolded
Most profoundly rendered to him aloud

A story of true faith.

Faith that lived not within four walls
Or in great religious halls of wealth or grandeur
But within any quiet believing heart.

The heart of a child.

As he listened, the second cross shone
Shimmering bright, purer than silver
And telling the story of a blessed Saviour
Whose love surpassed all earthly measure
And as the night chill deepened icy cold
The stranger slept softly on snowy ground.

Startled, as the third cross awoke him.

With songs of saints and angels in the air
And stories of the One who died upon a cross
Who rose forever from death to save lost mankind
And from the stranger’s mouth came words
He’d heard somewhere along life’s winding way
Jesus, will you remember me
when You come into your Kingdom?

And then came an incredible reply

Words sweeter than any earthly flowers
Reached his ears, and warmed him through
I tell you, you will be with your Lord
this hour…in Paradise.

By dawn’s first light

A padre rambled up the trail
Leading to the church at Las Cruces
And there discovered a lifeless homeless man
Clutching in his palm a few worthless coins
And something else most rare. A white rose.

No one knew where he’d come from

But where a sad tale ended a legend was born
And from that day onward a thorn grew
Just outside the church’s narrow back door
And bloomed but once a year, in December.
Reminding all who saw it – of truth
And how often in life’s darkest days and hours

God’s greatest miracles are birthed.

Copyright 2011, S. Michaels
Five Star Notebook