Category Archives: poetry

Kinship in a Grin and a Nod

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A runner jogged up the boardwalk
from the other direction and got caught
behind three laughing young women
and a dog stretched to the end of his leash
across the width of the boardwalk, oblivious 
to the runner behind them, and oblivious
to me in front of them. The runner stopped
and waited and caught my eye and smiled
and I smiled back as I halted for the trio
and their dog to move past me. Then when
we were both finally able to move again,
the runner and I acknowledged our kinship
with a grin and a nod, and continued on
our respective journeys along the boardwalk
in the sunshine on a sunny autumn day.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

More than Hope

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What I’m feeling is more than hope –
I’m feeling a presence of Truth so
formidable there’s not a question,
or room for doubt. Truth majestic,
omnipresent, omnipotent, joy-filled – 
unassailable, unstoppable, unflappable.
Truth that gives no acknowledgement
or recognition to lies, and fears no false-
hood; Love so pure that hate quakes
and disappears as It arrives – like
the sun rising over the hill and effortlessly
displacing the darkness with its light;
Unrelenting Good that won’t be obstructed
and won’t be denied and always wins.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

A glorious day is dawning,
And o’er the waking earth
The heralds of the morning
Are springing into birth.
In dark and hidden places
There shines the blessèd light;
The beam of truth displaces
The darkness of the night.

The advocates of error
Foresee the glorious morn,
And hear in shrinking terror,
The watchword of reform:
It rings from hill and valley,
It breaks oppression’s chain.
A thousand freemen rally,
And swell the mighty strain.

The watchword has been spoken,
The light has broken forth,
Far shines the blessèd token
Upon the startled earth,
To hearts and homes benighted,
The blessèd Truth is given,
And peace and love, united,
Point upward unto Heav’n.
– N.T. Munroe

 

Bow Sunrise

Sunrise on the way to work. October 2, 2017. Photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell.

Things that Drift and Flutter and Twirl

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I love things that gently drift
and flutter and twirl around me –
tawny maple leaves in autumn
and glittery snowflakes in winter,
cherry blossoms that pile up
in pink drifts in the spring
and butterflies flitting
among alpine flowers in summer.

But it is hard to get a picture of drifting,
fluttering, twirling stuff. So words are all
I’ve got. The end.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

To the Cottonwood Tree

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To the cottonwood tree near my work:
I listened to your brothers and sisters
as their leaves sang in the breeze by a river .
I met your cousins in the Grand Canyon –
they gave me shade on a blistering day.
I know your kin well. They are my friends.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

Only Half of What Makes America Great

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We’re all twisted-up logic-wise
like a bunch of guys
who can’t stop telling lies
My veteran friends went to fight
for our citizens’ first amendment rights
but now we’re told to honor their service
we can’t use the rights they fought
to preserve us
If we honor the person who’s kneeling
somehow that dishonors the feelings
of the veterans who fought so they COULD be kneeling
But why can’t we honor both?
Why do we have to make an oath
to only honor half of what makes America great?
Is forcing people to stand going to get rid of hate?
– Karen Molenaar Terrell, proud daughter of a WWII veteran

Places, everyone!

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What magic will we find between the book ends
of today? What adventures await between sunrise
and sunset? We’ve been gifted another day
to love, to learn, to live, to care. Let’s make it
happen, people! Places, everyone! And… action!
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

 

Sunrise over the Outer Banks
Sunrise over Bow, WA
Sunset over Bow, WA

 

 

The Other Night

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The Other Night

It was a strange and beautiful thing
I’ll try to describe it
I’m lying in bed at 3:00 in the morning
and my nose starts running
not like with little feet
but the kind of nose-running that involves
snot and toilet paper
So I get out of bed, blow my nose,
and settle back under the covers
again, try to fall back to sleep, but my
nose is still running, and my throat
is starting to feel scratchy, and I’m like
No! No, no, no, no, no! There is no
reason for me to be sick. No cause
for this, no purpose to it, no time for it.
And I do my mental prayer-thing as
I’m falling back into slumber. Praying in
my sleep now. Knowing myself as the
image and likeness of Love – whole and
perfect – the expression of Good. I say that
“There is no spot where Love is not”
thing. And I feel a breath come through
the curtains, through the window – breathing
on my face – like the breath from my babies
when they were newly-born and lying
in bed next to me. Or the breath of my kitty
with her nose on my skin – only this
breath doesn’t smell like cat food.
This breath is clean and cool and blows
over my skin with the touch of Love.
Comforting me. And I feel Love
tucking me in. “Rest in the arms of Love”
a healer once told me, and I remember
those words now, as I settle back into sleep.
And when it’s time to get up there is no trace
of the scratchy sneezes. Only Love remains.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

Recognizing Our Kinship

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Walking through the waking waiting area
at Pittsburgh’s airport – a kaleidoscope
of faces zooming in, zooming out – a mix
of colors – cedar, cinnamon, and taupe,
peach, pink, carob, caramel, and coffee –
his face stands out – he looks like Ram Dass
in The Little Princess – and he’s looking at me
We smile towards each other as we pass –
recognizing our kinship in the mass
of humming, hustling, hurrying humanity
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

“Are we almost there, yet”

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I remember one time, as I was coming down
from a hike, when I got near the trailhead
I saw a couple hikers just starting out who
looked like they had a sense of humor.
“You’re almost there!” I told them. I had
judged correctly: They laughed.

Today as I was coming down from a hike –
just two quick switchbacks from the top –
a sweaty hiker asked if she was close
and I could tell her, “Yes! You’re almost
there! You’re going to make it!” It was
awesome to see the smile come to her face.

Today the hike back down was no bed
of roses, either. It seemed to go on forever.
The further I got down the trail the more
I felt my gait turning into the gait of an old
mariner – lurching from left hip to right hip
as with the rolling waves on the ocean.

I wanted to ask the people coming up if I
was “almost there, yet” – was I almost back
down? But I didn’t.

I found another way. The tired, sweaty
folks panting for breath showed me I still
had a ways to go. As I got nearer
the trailhead the faces weren’t as red,
the breathing not as labored. And when
I saw happy, smiling  hikers still fine-
tuning adjustments on their packs I knew
I was almost back to the beginning.

The hike isn’t just the getting there –
it’s the getting back.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

Doe in the River

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Doe in the River

Morning peace
The doe stands in the river
drinking from the mountain waters
her form reflected in a still pool
within the stream.
Dang! Where is my camera?!
– Karen Molenaar Terrell