Bloom
One line
“Bloom for all you’re worth”
Am I a flower?
My shirt reads
“when in doubt Bloom”.
A common saying
“bloom where you are planted”
Do I have roots
digging deep into the soil?
However rich or however poor?
Flowers produce seeds
scatter in the wind
feed the birds
No one knows
where one will land
or what will germinate?
What fruit to be
produced.
Do I have any?
After the Cross
Eclipse my sun, moon
darken the day, weep with me
when will light resume?
Where is my Lord laid?
When will ever joy, hope bloom?
Lenten roses bleed.
When will I touch love’s
resurrection power here, now
Find solace, blessing?
A Maundy Thursday poem
https://open.substack.com/pub/darlenemooreberg/p/a-disciples-lament?r=1uco6b&utm_medium=ios
Filed under 1
December28th, 2025
A glum mood pervades this grey
and foggy morning.
The air damp, unseasonably warm.
Perhaps, a storm is coming:
a clash of arctic firgid air
with warm Gulf moisture.
An area of low pressure, depression
washing out all color, all joy.
How can I sing praise this day?
And how can I not when I lift
hands to pray?
Anticipate the Gift
Something about being maybe
six years old on Christmas morning
sitting cross-legged
at the base of the Christmas tree
in Grandmother’s living room
staring at a pile of presents
stacked together with a name
on them— yours.
No one else awake:
anticipation, a touch of greedy
longing
not daring to pick up and
rattle the wrapped boxes.
Maybe not quite enough to gaze
but no going back to bed—
too early to wake up the others.
All you can do is sit and wait.
Decades later—
how to recapture that joyful
anticipation of Christmas morning.
Waiting to meet the gift of God:
our Saviour
swaddled in his manger
or coming in the clouds.
c. 2025 Darlene Moore Berg
Filed under Christmas
A morning for watching
The weather fall
Through the window glass
Snow inching deeper
Minute to minute.
Let the need to venture: pass.
There are books to read
To feed the soul
And cocoa to drink
Before the fire’s glow
Tea Time with Friends?
I’d rather be in a tea room
for the quiet murmured conversation
with a shared pot of perfectly
steeped tea
versus drinking whatever variety
of tea is available in paper cups
in a coffee shop
trying to talk over the loud noise
of the coffee barista’s machine.
A tea room with a view:
a garden outside the window
or if warm out on the patio.
Watch a hummingbird dart
amidst the red zinnias.
A place for contemplation
or discussion with cherished
friends or making new ones.
Where are the tea rooms now—
only in my remembered imaginations?
I take my tea outside onto the deck
outside my dining room at home.
A butterfly feasts on the lantana’s bloom.
Time for a tea party anyone?
Filed under 1
A Canine Encounter
A hound haunts my thoughts.
A white dog ghosted behind my vehicle.
Later a sentinel stood by the mailbox
Laid her body in repose
upon a bench beside the back door.
No collar visible around her neck.
Wonder if a cup of water,
a bowl of kibble
would feed the stranger—
perhaps a messenger
sent from God asking,
Do you love your neighbor?
Do you love mercy?
Is their justice
for the least of my creatures?
My cats would have a fit
if I invited her in.
Walk out the door with empty hands.
Did I overlook a potential friend.
Did I miss the whisper
of God’s command?
Will she come again and
if lost, be found?
Place a bowl of water beside the walk.
A glimpse of white stalks
through the overgrowth.
c.2025 Darlene Moore Berg
postscript: one of the neighbors befriended and adopted her.
Filed under Life
New poem on Substack
Filed under 1
Sometimes a Poet 