When it comes to writing, my first love is poetry. Growing up in Southern Alberta near an irrigation canal, some prairie, meadowlarks, the Rocky Mountains in the distance, all under a Chinook arch, fills some of the requirements for being a poet.

We live with our faces against the dust of life and yet can feel the breath of God on them. This breath of God carries me on the journey.
   ~ Linda Siebenga

e-mail me to order this new book!

~ Luci Shaw
Writer in Residence, Regent College.

the smell of rain

the smell of rain is the smell of earth
the dark rich
yields pungent secrets
bits of life in your nostrils
stolen aromas of spruce sap and black willow bark

soaking life-giving event
listen to it river dance on the roof
kick heels against the window pane
to the clapping rhythm of the trees

let the raindrops run down your face
drip from your eyebrows

let them wash away the cobwebs of inertia plant seeds of angels in your  brain

when the yellow finch flits
near raindrops
dangling on purple columbines
let the chorus of bird songs fill your ears as the smell of the earth sends forth praise from your lips rising to heaven like the smell of new rain

© Linda Siebenga

Also read “Into These Dry Bones” by Linda Siebenga

Waiting for the Play to Begin. 1997.
New Leaf Works
Edmonton, AB Canada
ISBN 0-9682443-0-0

Life doesn’t come with a finished program. We step onto the stage without rehearsing, trusting our moments to One who hears our incoherent prayers in the darkness. The real play begins when we let Him orchestrate the paths and days of our lives.

~ Linda Siebenga.

Many of these poems are as clear and piercing as a blackbird's call on a summer morning. Again and again, Linda Siebenga cuts through the seen to the unseen reality where all of her vision is anchored.... (she) writes in a variety of moods... summons the rich world of an Alberta farm woman.... But it is in no sense naive poetry.... you will find poems to read and reread, to prompt your own response of refreshed vision of this good earth and, perhaps, of worship.

~ Maxine Hancock, PhD
Author & Television Journalist

    that tending tender care

land is the substance of our little life
of it we're made on it we lean
to make our living and press our rough faces
to that earth to feel the gentle heartbeat
of a hundred generations throbbing
to understand why we are part and parcel
of the very earth that holds us to its bosom

with words he put us on the land     the clay we  are
and dust we will become and  blessed the earth
with blossoms that creep over its fair face
to grace our brows and prime our nostrils
for the time to be what we could be
to know the meaning of fruitful     having dominion
dominus Lord that we could image him in guarding
guiding pruning     that tending tender care
that binds us to this place where we may till
until our spirits sprint beyond the grains of time
shrug off the dust and bathe in that transparent sea

 ~ © Linda Siebenga, “Waiting for the Play to Begin”

A Mighty Rushing Wind

What if today the sound
of a mighty rushing wind
would fill this building
and flaming tongues appeared
above each head
our tongues becoming loosed
and eloquent
to bring the good news?

Perhaps we fear this mighty
rushing wind.
Fear that it might blow
through us.
demand our lives
our souls
our all.

Wanting just a little of the Spirit
to keep us through the day
but not a great mighty amount
rushing through us
with a surge of emotion
upsetting our conservative poise.

Wanting a little of the Spirit
to warm our lives
but not a flame hot enough
to sear
to cauterize
our sinful soul wounds.
Not so hot that we will be
compelled to share our fire.

Dare we sing “Come Holy Spirit”
with more than voices
knowing that he might come
filling us with exuberant praise
that needs to be shared?
“Come Holy Spirit
Comforter
Counsellor
Lover of my Soul.”

~ © Linda Siebenga, “Windcatcher”