Ninilchik (Winter)

A timid bit of white light

Crawls across the gray horizon

Shivers, then climbs, then finds

The fight too hard, and slides instead

Beside the icy earth 

As drowsy humans fight

The urge to hibernate

And rise to stoke the fires

That coax aglow the embers of their souls:

Light, and warmth, and hope

Fed branch by branch
And home by home.

(this poem is a companion to this one I wrote a while ago, describing my Alaskan town in spring).  

From the Splendor of God's Heaven

Higher Ground Baptist Bible Camp played an incalculable role in my spiritual growth as a teenager and college student. My two years as a camper and my eight years on staff shaped my theology and my attitudes in huge ways. Higher Ground's teen leadership camp, known as "The Stretcher Program," emphasizes servant leadership based on Christ's example as communicated by Paul in Philippians chapter two: "Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus..." After participating as a Stretcher one year, I wanted to express in writing the core concepts I had learned. This poem was the result.

From the splendor of God's heaven,
From the rainbow circled throne:
From unceasing praise of angels,
Admiration purely shown.

From sweet meaningful communion
With a Father deeply loved,
From perfection, unmarred beauty,
Jesus came to ransom us.


To deep poverty continual,
To a shameful, lowly birth
To a dirty stable manger,
Endless painful toils of earth:

To the mocking scorn of sinners,
Pilate's unjust judgment hall:
To that cross on Calv'ry's hillside,
Most accursed death of all.


Let this mind be in me, Father,
Which was also in my Lord:
Not vain pride in my position,
Selfish thought for man's reward.

But a mind of humble giving,
Caring not for earthly fame:
Living selflessly, your servant
For the glory of your Name.


And his Name is high exalted
Far above all other names
All will bow, each tongue confess him:
Christ the Lord forever reigns.

Ninilchik (Spring)

With the recent arrival of spring in my far-north corner of the globe, my infant son and his heavy-duty stroller have been taking to the many narrow, sprawling gravel roads around our house, enjoying the brisk warmish air and the pensive sunshine. As I walk, I can't help but notice the houses we pass. Many are abandoned, and all are in some form of disrepair. Broken down trucks, boats, and all-terrain vehicles clutter the yards. This is a dying town: once a dream destination, the demise of the fishing industry and decline of tourism have left it struggling for survival. People who moved here in pursuit of the elusive "Alaskan dream" have discovered disappointment instead. Goals have tarnished; dreams have dimmed. It's depressing. So I wrote a poem about it. 

I tread the dust of rusty trails

Slow roads

Weave through woods and willows

Spruce and sprigs

And swamps

The cold sun circles, never sets

While wind, wild, tireless

Bites, fights the warmth of rushing blood            

Chills, and stills

Even strongest hearts

There, and here, houses stand

Or sprawl?

Lazy, half-done,

Slouching back into the ground

Unsound, haphazard, drunk

Broken down cars surround,

Crowd each house

And old RVs,

Skeletons of parked dreams,

Clutter lonely yards.

(c) 2015 Janice Kaye