Regina M. Elliott

Of humanity's many members,
of smoky mountains standing in the clouds,
of the heavens You sprinkled with an infinity
of stars,
and valleys of the goodness of crops and
the moonlit magnolia trees,
oceans, lakes, rivers, and streams came
to life from You.
Of the joy of birds at the feeder,
I love You first.

My Jesus, my Christ,
the bats whoosh out of their caves at
twilight in their hunting of insects,
my grandchildren play on summer's
lawns with buttercups dotting the
expanse,
whilst autumn stirs in his slumber,
as the days age more for me,
I love You first.

You're my morning star,
my evening comfort,
I adore You most sweetly,
You came for me when others didn't,
to rescue me from the hurt and the
mourning for the earth and her people,
her animals,
as hatred, as war, as pollution mars
her glorious face,
I love You first.

You, Dearest Redeemer, Deliverer,
sent some of Your angels to watch
over us-
in frosted nights,
and in spring's awaited rebirth,
Truest One, my heart in reverence
to You,
I love You, always first.

Kings and queens of the timberland,
their pups learning their royal birthright,
running, running in freedom's natural gift,
as the winter ochre moon rises above the
ridge,
the pack howling in unison,
a music so enthralling.
Crystal blue eyes shudder the dawn,
please don't kill my wolves.

Oh, God no!
I cannot bear the thunderous rifles,
as they fell my spirit animals.
My heart asunder,
my soul bleeds with them in the
crimson snows.
Please don't kill my wolves,
Native American songs echo
through the pine forests as
their lamentation cries out-
please, please don't kill our wolves!

Of her gifts of nature,
once pristine flowing streams,
her green and blue majestic presence
in the infinite universe.
Jesus Christ left her in our care,
we must act now, not later-
for her survival.

Her earthly soul mourns as her
animals suffer, humans too,
her royal oceans with precious
marine life's waters sullied,
her rainforests plundered.
We must, as humanity,
rectify our trespasses against her.

Her polar regions sweating,
breaking off icebergs,
many of her kingdom species
endangered.
Stop the greed and the smokestacks
choking her air,
halt the pillaging of her resources-
for her survival.

When I met the tall and amiable Vietnam War veteran,
my shyness showed,
yet, my throat dried and tightened when he softly
spoke the words, "The war never goes away."
All these humanity destroying wars never cease,
soldier's names, faces, their eyes so well-worn.
Their love letters sent home never faded in their
immortality,
the soldiers who made it home alive weren't
given a hero's welcome.

Their nightmares flashing as they wake up
sweating in their sheets in the dark,
yelling for respite from still hearing and being
in the firefight,
still seeing the VC,
and witnessing the life breaths leaving mortally
wounded brothers.
Descending into the night's loneliness,
the blue-gray of the t.v. on low volume,
the sobbing of a loyal wife.
Some marriages, families split apart with
crushing sadness,
many veterans homeless on U.S. streets,
such a heartbreaking shame shadowing over
the face of America the beauty.

Surviving veteran's hair becomes snow-white,
war wounds achingly arthritic,
memories of their war buddies still sweetly
preserved in their mind's images.
Vietnam War veteran's reunions as their
bones stiffen,
but still salute their brothers and sisters in arms,
their hats with the name of the war,
the pride of their service.

Many barely out of high school with brothers
of the same town,
the same state,
so much youth called up,
joining brothers from other regions of the U.S.
Blessed by God in their fraternity,
their bravery.
The deep red poppies represent their
precious blood.
I remember the 1960's-70's searing scars in
my mind,
weeping for the loss, the hurt in our hearts
over the Vietnam War.

MIA's, POW's,
disappeared as aging families still pray,
still wait.
In the local Veterans Cemetery,
I met a woman in her eighties,
she was a little confused,
couldn't recall where her Vietnam Veteran
son's grave was located.
She told me her daughter-in-law couldn't
bear to visit his grave.
We found his grave,
his name glistening in the dew of that gentle
May morning,
as wrens and sparrows sang on blossomed
boughs.
A chance encounter became such a gift to
honor her son,
and his mother.
To let her know he was not forgotten,
but cherished.
Welcome Home.

North Carolina ballerina,
sweet lady of the Piedmont,
she, so sterling,
died from the selfishness
of a drunk driver.
Gliding into a pirouette,
as she entered God's garden
of youth.

The anguish tatters the sails
of my psyche,
as the rain gently descends
from a sorrowing ash sky.
I drink the bitter taste of loss
from the goblet of the ages,
no, please no, she was a
precious one.

The dew glistens on the
white-hued roses of
maiden innocence,
as if tears on an
infant's cheeks.
Elena, our ballerina
of grace,
Death passes into life,
your beauty of a June
magnolia blossom,
charming the angels who
attend you.

Elena, Elena,
your lovely dancer's legacy,
still dwells in our midst,
Your name whispered in
summer's evefall starry music.