At Whitehead Bay

Hail King!
Of sea-flung wind,
And far-gemmed marshes bending
Low, those cliffs
That jut rough shoulders ‘gainst the sky,
And stand unbent,
Amidst the tug and shove
Of sea; the heave! of blue, and
Ho! of God’s past motion,
Spirit’s hover o’er the ocean
In the hush and dusk
Before our time began.

Hail King!
Of light unbridled
And the seagulls plunging wild
And hard as daylight, riled, flings a storm
To earth. The surf foams up,
A breathless, frenzied rush
Of dark to catch the light,
And deep to touch the soft, white
Skin of shore, the gentle sand
The roughened ocean waves


Ode to a Shelf of Homeopathic Remedies

Grocery store corners and neat row
Lines and price-point signs
For cabbage, cakes, and bursting
Grapes in hurried hands of people
In a speed of modern harvest for
Their nightly feast, the slap-bang
Grab of sustenance before they
Sleep, I pitter past, list half done,
Check one item more,
I bend down, snatch my prize
Stand up and

One jar of red like cardinal’s wings
One sapphire stack of cornflower
Sheaves, and one jar labeled
Horehound leaves.
Caldendula, mint, cranberries;
Holy basil, lemon thyme,
All glassed and jarred in grinning
Lines, three sudden shelves of rainbow
Jars, I’m Eve, flashed back into a
Garden world where leaves were healers,
Roots were keepers of the dim,
Sweet secret forces formed
To spark our blood


Two Hands Fisted

Hope is
Two hands fisted,
Held before you side by side.
One caging in a wasp,
The other clasping
Touch one too bold,
Provoke a sting,
Clutch the other,
You will crush,
Its wings.

Hope is holding,
Wishing with an ache,
The patient balance
Of two possible, opposing ways.
It’s to endure,
The weave of pain,
With grace,
The tension of a maybe grief,
Against a fragile, fluttering,



God’s world, to me,
Is sometimes better than His word.
A heretic you say?
Then show me how a row of text,
Can echo grace like broad blue sky,
Will twelve-point type,
Trace mercy’s path as deftly as the stars?
Writer as I am, I must confess,
Words crumble with the burden,
Of my need,
To touch and taste and gasp,
God’s grace.
Cold terms of goodness sometimes leave me chilled,
An outcast,
From the thought they should reveal.
But wind,
Can breathe His mercy,
Sharp, like storm air fresh upon my face.
While all the black that stretches twixt the stars
Hints at the depth,
I keen to taste.
Words are bright… and brittle,
Sculpted ice that shimmers yet is frail,
Beneath the ray of light
Which is,
The speechless thought,
The nameless height and width and depth.,
Of Him…




Winter Fragility

Fine lace woven by the rising day and coming night. Pearl in morning, blue at even, dappled by the racing storms. Gold at noon and cream at dusk, diamond at the clearest dawns.

Fragile garment of the cold, swiftly spun of elfin thread. Pure for but an instant, strong for just a starlit night. Then rent by sun and foot and coming day.

Jewels dropped from a treasure chest of sky, glittering on branch and field and long-tipped pine. Glory for an instant, diamonds swiftly stolen by the sun.

Fierce for a snap, mad for an hour and then… gone. Rebel clouds netted by guardian winds; sifted by sunlight to a fine strewn dust that scatters through the blue of clearing day.


Soul Song

So take up your burden you bright young soul,
Cast the weight of your love to this grand tug of war,
Join the ranks of the wise
Who are giving their lives
To the yearning and loving and striving,
It’s their love that is calling the rising,
Up of the day,
So take up this fight, be a lover of life,
And with all that you are,
Seize your day.



Afraid to die?
Am I afraid to live?
Flesh is but my clothing for a day.
This changeful shape of earth will pass away,
Refashioned, to be free.
For in this fastness I am caught,
Forced to walk the circles of my days,
Though heart and spirit cry their anxious thought,
Hungering for their chains to slip away.
Think you my life is bonded to my flesh?
God’s praise; it’s not,

My spirit holds my life,
Spirit sings with love,
Spirit glories nightly in the stars,
Spirit that has moved these earthy hands,
Spirit joy that fills this beating heart.
This flesh is but a broken cup of earth.
Afraid to die?
Are babies feared of birth?



Who scorns to dwell in shout of storm,
Or rage of fire or clamor of the wind,
Be thou a silence to my soul,
A darkling calm upon this wintered land.

Be to me that quiet,
Of fallow earth beneath a solemn star,
Of tree arms lifted bare into the sky,
Be the hush of silent earth,
Calm before the coming of the night.

My days,
Crash ever headlong into night;
Swift hours of flooded life,
That gallop through my heart ,
And roar away the quiet of your voice.

So whisper, please,
Still the land within me for yourself,
And in the waiting quiet you have wrought,
Be a stirring breath of wind,
That fills this barren silence with your thought.


  1. Sarah,

    I am in awe of the pictures that you paint on the pages of the mind. These are exquisite. My favourites are ‘Afraid’ and especially ‘Isaiah Spring’. Thank you for allowing a peek into your soul.

    ~ Jody

  2. Dear Sarah, I discovered your website today via Ann Voskamp/your Mother’s blog. Your poem, Hope, is stunning! I wept. You have amazingly captured the essence of hoping–the double-edged sword of daring to hope. Wow! You are gifted. In December I obtained a masters in counseling and see clients part-time at a Christian counseling center in Orlando. Your poem will be a gift, offering insight to the clients with whom I share it. Thank you for sharing your heart. Oh, Better is also delightful. Persuasion is my favorite movie; i clutched my husband’s arm in joy when I discovered that you, too, appreciate its beauty. Blessings, Beth

  3. I love your poem better. I really get it. Beautiful.

  4. Hello! I stumbled upon your blog from Tonia. So much goodness here! I love your poems. And I shared your post about C.S. Lewis. So good. Lovely blog, lovely soul.

  5. Love love, love your poetry. So inspiring to me.
    I am learning to write poems and one day hope to express myself as well as you do Sarah.
    God’s creation is my absolute favourite thing to write about. How deliciously blessed we are!

  6. Sarah,

    I have just listened to the podcast of you speaking at Hutchmoot about Spiritual subtext in story. And everything that you said made my heart soar. I feel like the words you were speaking affirmed what I have been thinking for the last few years. I love what you said about christian author’s books being like houses, and being haunted by the Holy Spirit. I love all of the authors you mentioned, especially MacDonald. He is so brilliant. And I love your poetry. I would totally buy a book of your poems if you ever make one! I just wanted to find you to tell you thank you for sharing your wisdom and heart on this topic. It frees me to use my creativity and gifts God has given me without feeling alone in my thoughts.

    Also, I wanted to leave you with another series that may be a little less known, “The Mistmantle Chronicles”. It is a series I read years ago but I love the allegory!

    Thank you again!

  7. Hi Sarah,

    Thanks for sharing some of your poetry here. I really love your style; you know just what to say and how to say it, and you do it well. Gorgeous imagery and always an excellent theme, I think I’ve found a modern poet I actually connect with.

    I’m a bit of a poet myself, and a Christian, trying to make my way in the writing world. It’s a big encouragement to find someone like you.

    Cheers (and greetings from NZ),

  8. What poets have most inspired you? You remind me of Andrew Peterson and Emily Dickinson, among others. Thank you for the gift of beauty!

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