Awake in the Darkness


Awake in the Darkness
Listening 
Waiting 
To hear you speak
To know you’re real
To understand 
To believe 
That you are more than a religion 
More than a fantasy
More than what makes sense to me
I don’t hear you
I don’t feel you
I don’t know you’re real
I have only my hope left
As I lay awake
In the Darkness 




















Poets Note: 

Written early morning (2:33 am) . August 24,2019.  Wishing I had more poetry to define where I am on this journey.  But right now... most things seem vague.  I feel like I am losing my foundation.  I gave up labels, I don’t define myself, or maybe I am not knowing how to define myself.  What do I have to offer, if I can’t even define what I believe or where I am.  I only can see what I can’t let go of... but what do I have next to hold on to.  I have let go of so much, but now... not wanting to believe anyone, but listen to everyone.  What a strange place I’m in.  


When Mother’s Day Hurts

It’s the day after Mother’s Day
And I find myself in thought
Of others, of me, and of the hurt
Of what yesterday has brought

Mother’s Day hurts for her
For her it’s a day of pain
The one who called her Mom is dead
And she’s reminded all over again

Mother’s Day hurts for him
For him it’s a day of pain
The one whom he called Mom is dead
And he’s reminded all over again

Mother’s Day sometimes hurts for me
For me it’s a day of some pain
For I never had someone know me as Mom
And each year, I’m reminded again

What do I do when this day comes
And I’m met with fallen tears
For some it’s not “Happy Mother’s Day” 
And it hasn’t been in years

For me, I’m not a mother
I never had a girl or boy
But I still have my mother with me
And I still have reason for joy

So each year as this day arrives
I spend it with my Mom
And, if I can, I share her with others
Until the day is done

Today, I want to pass along a hug
If yesterday hurt for you
If Mother’s Day only gives you pain
Then this is something that you might do

When this day rolls around next year
Find a mother somewhere to love
Share some time and words with her
And thank her with a hug

Or maybe there is a child 
That needs a hug from a mom
Maybe that is in you to give
To pass along your love

When Mother’s Day hurts for you
Please don’t let it end in your sorrow
Find someone to share some joy
And give them a brighter tomorrow





Poet's Note: 

It is May 13, 2019 and it is the day after Mother's Day.  A lot of emotion is wrapped up in this one, and it came out as I tried reading the poem to my Mom.  

Yesterday, Mom and I spent the day at our former high school in rural Saskatchewan for the annual graduation celebration (which traditionally lands every year on Mother's Day).  We didn't know anyone graduating, but we were "in the neighbourhood", so we spend the morning and afternoon there. We watched the grads walk on stage and be acknowledged for all their hard work.  And then they walked off the stage and were given a red rose to give to their Mom.  I remembered my graduation on Mother's Day, 1987 and the moment I walked down those steps with a red rose and went to give it to my Mom.  So I chose that picture today, because that was one of my most joyous Mother's days and I have photographic evidence of it!!! 

Yesterday, after our visit to our high school, we drove to my cousin's place and I was able to share my mom with two of my cousins who were missing their mom on Mother's Day. 

I understand how days like Mother's Day can hurt and when I thinking of those who will be shedding tears, that goes right to my heart.  And that is where this poem comes from.  


My Mother's Poem

“God’s greatest work of art”
That’s what she wrote back then
That's what she saw when she looked at their girl
That he named Precious Gem

What does a mother think
When she looks at her newborn babe
What reason did she have to endure
All the pain she did that day

Not just the pain of childbirth
She knew life would have its hurt
But still she chose again to conceive
And again she chose to give birth

She must have known when she penned the words
“Will she always be so swell?”
That children will always disappoint
And in time that truth would tell

But she still gave life to me and prayed 
And to this day I don’t know why
But could I help to answer one of her prayers
At least I’d like to try

It may take a lot of effort 
I can’t do this one on my own
So God how do I love and serve You”
For that was the prayer in my mother’s poem

© Ruby Neumann



Poet's Note:  I wrote this April 22, 2019, but decided since Mother's Day is so close, I would post it then.  The first poem about me was written by my Mom.  Both my sister and I had birth announcements that were poems written by our Mom and accompanied by our Dad's artwork.   I don't know if my parents realized, when they created the birth announcements for their daughters, that they would be the first portraits of  two very creative souls.  

I was reading the poem recently and found it inspired me again.  So even through I am delaying publishing this post until Mom's day, I want to thank my Mom and my Dad  for their combined inspiration. The picture I have shared in this post is my Dad's artwork. 

The Poet's Bio

I am a poet today, but I am and we are people
 not needing any other labels
 for labels will only divide

Poetry is the soul's language
 speaking truth that won't be uttered at the family dinner table
 or around the water cooler at work

We are the creation of an Alive and Adoring God
 but we are also a product influenced and moulded by our time and culture
It is my dream and my hope and a promise that I would be freed
 from the second and be embraced by the first

© Ruby Neumann


Poet's Note:  Today is April 28, 2019.  I am scheduled to share some of my poetry at the Edmonton Poetry Festival.  I wrote this today to "define" myself...an impossible task at best, but I made the effort.  Any photo shared to "define" me, needs to have water in it and moving water with the light's reflection on the ripples of the surface. And see not scum floating on top, but seeds spread on the surface of the water with the hope that one day some will find a home downstream and then give life to a beautiful array of wildflowers.  This is a picture of me.  

Saturday's Sunrise

Can you take a moment to imagine
What it was like that Saturday
The morning after all hell broke loose
And all their hopes had passed away

The day before they all saw him
Die on a Roman cross
The man who was God had breathed his last
And all their faith was lost

I imagine a beautiful sunrise
The birds singing a beautiful song
Do you really think creation stopped
Just because their world went wrong

I imagine the silence in the streets
Of Jerusalem that day
Just made it a lot easier
To hear God’s music play

His friends and followers may have given up
Lost hope and welcomed despair
They didn’t remember what their Master had said
They forgot the hope He shared

Sunday and it’s empty grave
Was tomorrow, a day away
How could they gather strength enough
To make it through Saturday

Holed up in their attics
For fear of begin found
They didn’t see the sunrise
Or the hope it brought around

Only when tomorrow would come
And their Friend in their midst would stand
Only on that Sunday
Would those disciples understand

Today his followers honor two days 
His dying and his rising
And chose to bypass Saturday
Its value not realizing

Saturday is the place we live
After death but waiting for life
Losing hope but needing it
Trying not to drown in our strife

But in our loss and in our despair
Can we look to the morning horizon
And see there Saturday’s sunrise
And the promise of new dawn

© Ruby Neumann


Poet's Note: It's Easter Saturday and this is the sunrise I saw while I was in the hot tub this morning.  I started to imagine a sunrise that Saturday morning.  I don't want to believe that God would have waited until Sunday to pour out his beauty.  I would like to believe that there was a beautiful sunrise that morning as there was every morning, giving us something to hope for.  



In the Shadow of the Songs

What can I do when my heart has a verse
And I want it to be heard
But no melody, no tune comes forth
All that’s breathed is the spoken word

I’m a poet in the twenty-first century
Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong
Who takes time these days to read a poem
When it’s so much easier to key up a song

I wasn’t born in the time when great poets had voice
I was born when rock stars reigned
When keyboards, guitars and amps drowned out
The verse that the heart proclaimed

So I sit in the shadow of the songs
And give voice to the breaths in my mind
Wondering if someone will notice
Or will this poet be left behind

Some say a poem is an unfinished song
But what song is complete with no poem
Yet the world builds mansions for music and sound
And words have a hut for a home

So what if all my lyrics had music
What if all my poems could sing
Would they be worth some worldly attention
Would then every ear be listening

If I’m a poet meant to be planted here
Then let the words pour out from my brain
Can I honour the poets of centuries past
And help bring poetry to life again














Poet's Note:  Written April 16, 2019.  The week before the Edmonton Poetry Festival.  I have never been to the Edmonton Poetry Festival, but if I get a chance to drop in on an event or two, maybe I will find that poetry is not a lost art.  But I still find myself sitting in the shadows wondering where the words will take me.   

The Story Teller

The evening of the day had come
The crowds were all but gone
There was no one left but Jesus
To enjoy creation’s song

The water on the lake had stilled
The birds were resting there
A smell, a sweet aroma
Had come to fill the air

He thought of how the day had been
And the stories he had shared
A heart cry to his Father came
“Abba, when do they start to care

When will their hearts be opened
To the truth You long to show
Will they see beyond the mysteries
One day, will they know

I long for them to understand
To ask me to explain
But most are stubborn, uninterested
Most just walk away

There’s more their blinded hearts can’t see
Yet they struggle not to learn
I’m here to introduce the truth
It’s me, the Living Word

Abba, not all are like that
I’m thankful for the few
That press in to know me
That want to know You too

It’s the crowds that hear the stories
But it’s the few that stayed behind
They will share with me, my wisdom
And will understand it all in time

© Ruby Neumann



Poet's Note: Written June 25, 2008 during Adult Camp at Hastings Lake Bible Camp.  Dan Berg was sharing in the service that night and asked me if I would recite the poem I wrote for my Dad “Crossing Jordan”.  I didn’t want to recite the poem.  It was only six months since Dad had passed away and I didn't feel like walking through the sadness again that night.  I asked him that if I could write another poem before the service if I could recite that one instead.  He agreed and I went to the lakeside with paper and pen and this poem is what came out.  I remember a woman there that was amazed that I could come up with something so fast.  Little did she know just how much I sweated to get some inspiration.  I asked my Chief Source of Inspiration for help and Holy Spirit came through for me.

The picture is taken in the very spot at the camp where I composed this poem  

Attitude

My day was shot when I woke up this morning
The boss called me in without a warning
My car wouldn’t start and I missed the bus
And all I could do was holler and cuss
As I walked into work, I found out today
The computers were down so I wouldn’t get paid
There’s a new guy at work that I have to train
But he can’t do a thing, and so I complain
I grab a buddy and we go for lunch
But all I do is pout while I munch
By two o’clock I’ve lost every friend
And everyone’s hoping the day will end
By five o’clock everyone’s gone
And I’m left wondering just what went wrong
Then I see a poster with an interesting fact

“It’s not what you’re given, it’s how you react.
The world around you can come crashing down
But you can face it with a smile instead of a frown
You can’t change the world when you’re in a bad mood
All you can change is your attitude”

© Ruby Neumann


Poet's Note: Today I am sharing a piece I wrote over twenty years ago. I was perusing my archives today and found it and felt the message worth some megabytes on the internet.  I think I wrote this during my dairy farming days It's fictional story but the message is true.  I highlighted the last part in red, because I can imagine Jesus saying this to me when I get cranky. 

Ten Years

In the bright morning hour
As you lay there in your dreams
I wonder as I ponder
What ten years means

We started this journey
A little late in life
Both in our forties
When I became your wife

As I look back in time
Ten years for me is huge 
I haven’t had ten years anywhere
Like I’ve had ten years with you

I moved around so much in life
Home never lasted this long
You have given me a place
For ten years here to belong 

The journey has be rough at times
But what marriage rides with ease
It gives me strength to see the growth 
In our ring pics and wedding trees

Maybe ten years for some
Is just another date gone bye
But it really means something to me
A milestone I can’t deny

So I will remember today
And this poem will mark the place
And with my whole heart, I thank you and God
For ten years of Love and Grace

© Ruby Neumann


Poet's Note: 

Written March 28, 2019..  Our tenth wedding anniversary. 



Sunday's Shelf

It’s Sunday morning 
And we sit on the shelf
Not wanting to sit 
Anywhere else

Belonging not 
But we long to be
Close to our loved ones 
And wanting to see

What they have to show
What they’ve come to share
We are here only because 
Our loved ones are there

Out of our element 
But in love with them
So here we sit 
And we wait again

The awkwardness rises
With incoming tears 
We want out, but we stay
With our hidden fears

To find a home here
We'd need more help
But until then
We will sit on the shelf

© Ruby Neumann











Poet's Note:

Written March 24, 2019

"The Shelf" is a term I first heard from Mark Lowry.  I don't think I can offer more of an explanation this time. The poem says it all. (see attached link)