Saturday, January 21, 2017

Snowflakes (Dedicated to my sisters and brothers who march today)

Image by liz west via Flickr

“Snowflakes! You’re nothing more than snowflakes!”

Was that intended as an insult?
After all, each snowflake is fragile, translucent,
Melting on contact with concrete, fire, or water.

But look closely:
Each snowflake is a unique product of God’s handiwork,
A calling of design and purpose
Visible to those who recognize unadulterated beauty.

To the ignorant or hurried eye,
Snowflakes unite to create a nuisance
That interrupts one’s view or plans,
Creating more work when a day off was anticipated.

But dig deeper into the hidden places,
Where roots are nourished and readied for the harvest.
Where soil remains alive as minute miracle workers
Tunnel and turn over compacted aggregates
Of yesterday’s plantings.

Months from now,
Thanks to those annoying bands of snowflakes,
Branches will once again be heavy laden
With fruits of all colors, shapes and sizes:
Sweet, bitter, sour --
But always juicy and nourishing.

Wear the name proudly
And keep gathering, storming, coating, drifting, and preparing
For history’s next vernal equinox.

It always comes.

© Judith C Evans 2017

Sunday, March 13, 2016


We are safe here.
No hurry-up worries may intrude
Because this day and all its allotted hours
Belong to You and Your call.
"Shoulds" and "what ifs"
Make way for strolls
Through the chilly, damp garden,
Where the first tender shoots
Reach for the mid-March sun.

Later, I browse through our bookshelves.
I pick up a poetry book
That I had vowed to read "someday."
I stare at the pages
And the pages stare back
Until the stirrings of unwritten poems
Overtake me,
Because it's safe to be a poet today.

© Judith C Evans 2016

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

The Last Daisy of Summer

Dear Happiness,
I think I saw you today.
Yes, I'm sure it was you.
You fluttered near the cage
I had prepared for you.
I briefly touched you,
And then the wind carried you
Just beyond my fingertips.

My old friend Happiness,
When I was young,
We walked side-by-side, you and I.
We explored the seashore,
Noticed sparkling pebbles in the tide pools,
Painted my nails for the first time,
And celebrated the last daisy of summer.

Do you remember?

I should know better than to chase you.
I just wish you would chase me.

© Judith C Evans 2014

Shared with Poets United Midweek Motif. This week's prompt is "happiness."

Wednesday, August 6, 2014


I watch you learn the same paper crafts that I learned
Nearly seventy years ago.
I might have been your great grandmother,
Had history taken a different turn.
Fold the paper just right
And pray for me as you set the paper cranes
To flight.

Forever six years old,
I am in every sunbeam, cloud and snowflake
That falls over Hiroshima
As the ashes of my bones,
Caught up in the poison windstorm decades ago,
Look for a peaceful place to rest.

© Judith C Evans 2014 

Written for Poets United Midweek Motif prompt: "Hiroshima, or Ring a Bell"

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Wise Choices

Barely as tall as the shopping cart,
I could tell that we were getting closer to the produce aisle
As fresh peach and apple fragrances greeted my nose.
I reached upward toward the sparkling display of grapes.
I noticed that my mother’s navy blue sneakers kept on walking.
“We’re boycotting grapes,” she said as she pushed the shopping cart
Past the green and purplish-black jewels
Without missing a beat.

(I thought of one day during the previous school year
When we had an assembly because a great man had died.
We saw a film about bus boycotts and lunch counters,
And signs that said who could drink at which water fountain.)

I turned and looked at the forlorn grape display,
Realizing that they did not look as sumptuous as they did two minutes ago. 
And that was the day I learned to shop.

© Judith C Evans 2014

Shared at Poets United Midweek Motif . . . this week's prompt is BOYCOTT

Friday, January 31, 2014


Ah, to be a knight!
I'd slay the devouring serpents:
Those screaming, voracious dragons that
Crush our joy.

I'd guard our castle,
Deflecting smouldering darts
That would not dare inject
Their venom into your
Sweet poetic mind.

Until then, we will find refuge, you and I,
Between the lines of sonnets,
As the perfume of homemade blackberry jam
Drifts through our kitchen
And envelops the acrid smoke
Of old nightmares.

© 2014 Judith C Evans

Thursday, January 23, 2014


A collection of mismatched shards:
That is how I saw myself
Until You handed me the missing pieces.

Examined in the light,
Each piece offers
Unexpected colors that change context
And deepen perspective.

Nearly whole,
Revived by Your breath,
I speak with my voice
For the first time.

© Judith C Evans 2014