Morning’s Jubilation: Poems by Mark Weinrich

























stream in autumn, image by Jaesung An, on Pixabay



WILD LIGHT


We can calculate

the night breaking,

but never

the wild

and reckless moments

of morning’s

jubilation.

In the cages

of our time

we must open up

and leap into

the freedom

of God’s dazzling

gift.


(Previously published in Global Poemic, December, 2020)


*

THE HUMMINGBIRD’S SONG

When I walk in the woods

I have a keen ear

for the zipping notes

of hummingbird wings.

I find comfort knowing

these flying gems

are on their way

to sweeten and beautify

a scene, like fireflies by day.

And whether I see their iridescent

violet, rose, and green

their nearness is a delight,

for I know their singing wings

bear news of a luminous

encounter that will captivate

and charm someone’s day.

I love the delicious fragrance

of expectancy, knowing

hope is carried

on hummingbird’s wings,

and rejoicing bears

the sweetness of wonder,

celebration like a

drought-time rain.


*

THE PILOT’S WAY


Suspended like a spider by its web

we hang by fabric, string, in wicker frame

with dragon’s throat above us belching flame.

We sense no fear of fall or deathly dread.

Though caught up in the clouds, we look ahead

to where our pilot points if wind be tame.

We trust our pilot’s skill, our pilot’s claim

“The evening sky last night was fiery red.”

Day proved the ancient sailor’s saying true.

We soared by flaming breath and pilot’s hand

above fields like gardens through skies of blue

where freedom followed our captain’s command.

We learned, like Moses, God’s way leads us through

and lessons taught on high apply to land.

(Previously published in Bible Advocate, 1998)

*

IN THE BROOK

A parable leaps from the passage

of a brook. In vivacious energy

of a hundred boys and girls

chasing fireflies for the first time.

In effervescence bubbling up with

delighted oohs and ahs

as sequined bubbles rise and pop.

In waves spilling over like tassel-haired

kids tumbling down a gentle slope.

In the ever-rush and glide of life—

children sliding joyously down a

snowy hill. In the cadence of breath as

they murmur into sleep.

It is the sweetness of humility

always carried down, yet ever

looking up.

(Previously published in Time of Singing, Summer 2020)

 

Mark Weinrich is a cancer survivor, a retired pastor, gardener, hiker, and musician. He has had over 420 poems, articles, and short stories published in numerous publications. He has sold eight children’s books and has two fantasy novels on Kindle.

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