I AM – a poem

I AM

© 2018 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

 

Jesus healing

I am the healer of pain-wracked souls
And the fixer of broken parts.
I am the soother of weary minds,
The one comfort for troubled hearts.
My arms are open to welcome all
Of those who are yearning to be
Sheltered from the storms of life,
Enfolded and strengthened by me.

I am the mender of shattered lives,
The breaker of earthly fetters.
I am the finder of long-lost souls,
Forgiver of life-long debtors.
I long to gather my dear ones home
And rejoice with all who will come
For I have prepared a banquet feast
With enough places for everyone.

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Sunflower Pillow for Christmas

Sunflower croppedFirst step: I took a photo of one of our sunflowers in the garden this summer.

my sunflower pattern

Second step:  Using Photo shop, I manipulated my photo into first a negative black and white picture and then I uploaded into Spoonflower.com and changed the colours.  I then ordered my pattern to be printed onto Spoonflower’s Linen Cotton Canvas Ultra material in a half-drop repeat pattern.  I ordered a “fat quarter” which is 27″ by 18″.  It was just enough to make one pillow which I sewed and stuffed.  This is the result:

Sunflower cushion

Sunflower Sofa cushion from a photo by Dan McKibbon.

I made two of these pillows in slightly different colours for Christmas gifts for two households.  I plan to make them the matching pillows for gifts in the New Year.

The Festive Punch

punchbowl

The Festive Punch
© 2017 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

 

It is my solemn duty,
Perhaps you have a hunch –
To guard the buffet table
Lest Grandpa spikes the punch.

Now, I have my eyes upon him
Though he thinks he’ll call my bluff,
But when he saunters near me
I’ll confiscate the stuff.

Last year it was a shambles;
Our Christmas wasn’t fun,
The punch was 50/50
Apple cider – moonshine rum.

Uncle Ed began addressing
The stuffed muskie in the hall
And Aunt Hilda started swatting
Invisible spiders on the wall.

Cousin Sam was jitterbugging
With the hat-tree in a twirl,
And Papa kept insisting
Father Patrick was a girl.

My mom was apoplectic
And my sister was in tears.
When our pup set up such howling
I had to plug my ears.

So this Christmas’ll be different,
Of that you can be sure,
‘Cause Mom’s paying me a fiver
To keep the punch secure.

The Designer

falling_snow_trees

The Designer
© 2017 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

The fall fashion show is done;
The trees have all disrobed,
Shed their scarlet raiment,
Their glitt’ring jewels of gold.
Divested of their glamour,
They stand in barest array,
Awaiting the Designer
To finish his display.
Although their fall finery
Was so colourful it glowed,
It can’t be compared to
Their beauty when it’s snowed.

The First Snow

snow on front step tree

The First Snow
© 2017 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

The pines are tasseled in white,
The cedars are laced with down,
The birds have quilted the lawn
With dainty stitches around.
Sometime while we were asleep
The clouds shook out their pillows
Covering Autumn’s drab remains
In sparkling, frosted billows.

My Last Pansy

Last pansy

My Last Pansy
© 2017 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

Jack Frost stopped by last night
Wielding his wintry wand,
Touching all the flowers
Of which I had grown fond.
The bright dahlias fainted,
The dainty asters swooned,
Sunflowers bent their heads
While the east wind crooned.
Yet one purple pansy
Remained steadfast, alert,
Tucked in the rock garden
In its warm bed of dirt.
Did Jack Frost miss it?
Was he just being kind –
Leaving a memento
Of sweet summer behind?