The Rubbish Heap



At one time I so dreaded

Growing old, fearing regrets

Dumped in a dark rubbish mound

At my memory’s back door.


Would I regret choices made,

Opportunities lost,

Journeys not yet taken,

And friendships forsaken?


But now, after the pain

Of fifty years,

Some joys, some tears,

It seems there is some gain.


What’s outside I won’t deny,

But the dark heap seems to have

Become a small green hillock

Of soft grass where children play,

My wife delights in the sun,

And friends long known or new made

Bury things of no more use.


I guess it is a little

Untidy, but it doesn’t

Seem to smell much any more

And it does give me something

To look at from my back door.

© Johan Rich 2009

Image – Di Wilson


Sacred Stardust

In the outermost darkness of my most desolate heart
I despaired “Have You forgotten that we are but dust?!”

In exquisite suffering

He revealed He can never forget His promise…
In grace restoring my life,
colours come back
And sometimes I hear a whispering, a longing…
perhaps Him calling us to remember
We are not just any old dust
But His sacred stardust
Animated by His Own Breath
Set out to play
In the glorious splendour
Of the infinite light
Of His great love

image ~ Nicolette Stewart | words ~ Wendy Koll