When All is Said and Done

I was in a waking dream once. I was at the interment service, at the graveside, where the dearly departed had the most ornate coffin I’d ever seen. When it came time to lower it, the most unlikely man came out of the fog of tears. Elmer, wearing a sparkly, red satin, baseball jacket with his name bedazzled in white across the back, began to crank that baby into the ground. That was rough.


todolist2Lately, I’ve been thinking about the concept of doneness. Everyone has their own idea as to when they’re finished with something. Some people are all about the details. A task is not finished until every conceivable angle is considered and dealt with. Some people only care about the outcome and do what they have to as efficiently as possible to reach the destination quickly. Some people enjoy the process so much that the end game may be put off repeatedly or indefinitely.
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It’s a New Day

We’re always trying to mark the passage of time. We’ve defined a second, a minute, an hour, a day, a month, and a year to keep track of the rising and setting of the sun, to quantify our inhale and exhale, the beating of our hearts. We celebrate when a fresh human being clocks in and when an old-timer moves on from the here and now. Ourclock-1274699_1280 birthday parties are records of our continuing existence and our age, among other things, defines us. In a culture which prizes the beauty and strength of youth, many of us try to keep the number of our days a secret through hair dye, wrinkle creams, trendy clothing, fitness, plastic surgery, and furious denial. If you don’t want others to know your age, I suggest you hide your photo albums when your friends come over or you’ll be providing them with before and after photos. From time cards at work to the renewal of our driver’s licenses, we’re reminded that time is passing.
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Knock Knock

Oh, hello.

How nice of you to drop by.

I wasn’t expecting you.

I hear the sound of a baby’s cry

And the bleating of stable animals.

Something smells.

But, no matter.

Come on in.

I’m sorry, I’ve nothing prepared.

Life is busy. You know how it is.

Can we get personal?

You don’t mind, do you?

Cuz, I’m a bit surprised.

Was this your plan

With all your power

To enter in this mess

Helpless and completely at our mercy?

Yes, it was?

How interesting!

Was this your plan

To form a band of rag tag nobodies

Confer on them a mission and an other-wordly kingdom

Placing all possibility of success squarely on their wobbly shoulders?

Let me guess, the answer, yet again, is yes?

How curious!

Was this your plan to end up nailed, spiked through hands and feet, to weathered stakes of wood

In front of all of those you healed who thought you were the one to free them?

You have my rapt attention.

To breathe your last and pass from heaven into hell

And, then, to rise again, ascend to sit at God’s right hand,

To make your home with us where you will reign forevermore?

What’s this?

A resounding affirmation

Oh, yes, there’s no mistake, no lapse in judgement, but celestial wisdom.

Oh, I didn’t know, I didn’t see, I didn’t understand.

The tears they blind my eyes.

You came to live with us, with me!

I bow my head.

I get down humbly on one knee

And offer up my heart, my life.

It’s all I have to give.

You lift me up and hold me for a time.

Then we let go, but still I feel aglow.

I’ll show you to your room.


Feature image graciously provided by Άννα Καράκοντη (@anna_karakonti) on Instagram.

Merry Christmas to you and yours! Thank you for reading my blog! You give me the gift of your time and attention every time you do and I’m so grateful. Enjoy your holiday!

Posts come out every Monday morning, a poem every third Monday. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram @pollyeloquent. 🙂


Good Tidings

I’ve a hole in my heart since the day I was born

I knew it was there and while I’ve grown the hole grows, too

It’s now a rift, no, more a chasm

I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to fill

And I fear someday as I tiptoe on the edge

To deposit yet another futile offering

That I will stumble on the slippery shale

And fall within myself and disappear


But at this time of year

I’m reminded there’s hope

I’m reminded that my hole is nothing more

Than the feeling that I’m desperately alone

And the anguish that I suffer now

Was remedied one Christmas morn

When the Father of the universe, the lover of our souls

Sent the Son to be with us

God is with us


It’s why the angel choir sang

And what the shepherds felt compelled to tell

And why the wise men left their palaces

To wander miles across the desert sands

Their eyes transfixed upon a glorious star

Somehow they knew the coming of this tiny babe, this most unlikely king

Would satisfy and make them well

And they would never be alone

God is with us


Remember now, rejoice and celebrate

The radiance that pierced the darkness on the earth

Remember now while it comes easily

And take it with you into a mysterious new year

It’s why we lift our voices in the carol song

And swathe the evergreen in beams of light

It’s why we give our gifts to meet the needs of one and all

It’s why we live

To breathe and bear this sacred tale

God is with us

God is with us

God is with us


Author’s note: There will be another Christmas poem posted on Christmas Day. 🙂

Posts come out every Monday morning, a poem every third Monday. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram username: pollyeloquent. Thanks for reading. 🙂





Giving that Hurts so Good

When many people think of Christmas, the first thought that comes to mind is presents, packages wrapped up crisp and neat in festive paper, be-ribboned, and tucked awaygift1 under the bows of the Christmas tree to mingle with the low hanging ornaments. Gone are the days when sugar plums danced in childrens’ heads and shrieks of glee could be heard over a stocking filled with an orange and a couple of candy canes. Now, it’s iPhones and PlayStation consoles cluttering up kids’ noggins and taxing parents’ already stretched bank accounts.
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All I Want for Christmas is You

airjordanWant is rampant in our culture, particularly during the holiday season. I’m not talking about the want of poverty where people are subsisting on found food, begging for discards, and suffering and dying of starvation. I’m speaking of the disease of desire, the “must have more” mentality, the mission of acquisition.
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Out of the Mouths of Teens


My son and his junior high band class played Christmas carols at City Hall one year. Before angeltinsel2they began, the band teacher turned around to explain that the students had only been together for a paltry few weeks. This was the first time, to my knowledge, that my son had played the saxophone. The teacher added that with the limited number of students and, consequently, instruments, the melody may be carried by instruments we were not accustomed to hearing carry the melody.
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Footprints in the Snow

For my husband

Walking together in the chill of a winter’s eve

Bodies craving warmth are bundled into obscurity

Breath hangs like icicles

You trudge on ahead

Diamonds sparkle at the crunch of your heavy boots

I follow sure-footed the glittering path you’ve made for me

I thank you for those footprints in the snow

For the many things you do for me

To make my life a little bit easier


Posts come out every Monday morning, a poem every third Monday. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram username: pollyeloquent. Thanks for reading. 🙂

In Praise of all Things Unusual

I’d rather be weird than boring.

When I was first married, living in Edmonton, I used to ride my bike to work from the spring to the fall. Every day, I would pedal by a house where the occupants decorated their garage in a unique way. From the eaves to the floor on the one side, they had nailed garish flea market finds; brightly colored bric-a-brac, things with moving parts, bells, and chimes. My friend said it was ugly, but I was drawn to it. It was so odd and chaotic, it blared like a trumpet in a sleepy, tree-lined neighborhood. What possessed these people to start such a collection and then display it in such a public way?

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The Following is a Public Service Announcement for those Individuals who lead Incredibly Hectic Lives

I know who you are. You’re the ones who drive up behind me drinking your
overpriced, grande slew resembling coffee, with a shot of this and a shot of that, and oh, distracteddriving2yes, a  1/2 shot of that, too, please, chock full of sugar and cream, topped with sprinkles and a tiny umbrella, while clipping your toenails, and texting your BFF about the grave hangover that is at present causing you temporary blindness.
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