When light and colour meet

Photo by Alysa Bajenaru on Unsplash

The light forms an unending dance –

Creating colour beneath my window frame,

I would join in, if I could,

But I’m carrying on too many conversations:

Some with you,

Others get stuck inside my head.

Tilting back to stare into the glow,

I try to cut my thoughts from so many to so few,

But it’s like sifting for gold,

And only coming up with sand;

The kaleidoscope is widening,

It’s as beautiful as the notes you play –

Trustingly singing your songs to me,

But I fear you’re searching for roses, friend,

And finding only thorns instead.

Your words are clearer than they were,

It’s mine that are confused,

Cuz I keep pretending to spot storm clouds,

When I’m really seeing rainbows here;

It’s illogical, maybe, to feel this way,

But I’ve never been good at dancing anyway,

And I’m afraid of what will happen,

When light and colour meet.

~ Ilana Reimer


Road-side dancers


Music gets tangled up in silver-green leaves,

And our lives come to a stunning halt beside a country road;

The clouds are a patchwork quilt of hues –

Vineyards glowing gold on swaying hills,

And the pavement’s warm beneath our feet

As we run along the dotted line;

Arm in arm, we dance till twilight comes,

We won’t worry about tomorrow –

We’ll just keep twirling in the evening light;

Who cares what they’ll say?

We aren’t performing for the crowd –

Tonight we’re road-side dancers, sunset revellers,

Tonight we’re…us.

~ Ilana Reimer

Neon cavalcade

Photo by Efe Kurnaz on Unsplash

The neon cavalcade closes in,

Their lights are all around you,

And you cannot turn away

Because your eyes are shackled to the silver screen;

The spell runs deep into the ground,

And the system is unbeatable, they say.

They’ve built a giant hoax,

But you’re the one caught in a maze.

Watch out, their DJ is a hypnotist,

Beware his steady drum beat.

The photographer too, is in cahoots,

She’ll hang your picture on the wall,

You’ll stare at it for hours, somehow.

The enchantress sings her sweetest song,

‘Soon love. Soon you won’t feel a thing.’

Your clothes are turning iridescent,

And there’s nowhere left to run –

It’s too late. You’re becoming one of them.

~ Ilana Reimer

Waiting to run


Pause a moment on the ledge –

Shiny shoes glittering in half-light

As you test the cliff’s edge;

Sand and pebble break free,

Slipping away from hard ground

To test their fate amid foamy waves.

You were made for this,

You were made for conquering.

Your sparkly runners scuff the ground,

Ready to take off, to leave the dirt behind.

The child in you cannot wait

For adult fears to fade

But somewhere out there beyond the mist,

Someone else is waiting too –

Breath held tight, knuckles white,

Wondering if she’ll do it:

Will she run this time?

~ Ilana Reimer

The mess we make

broken pitcher

We are chipped, out-dated crockery –

Ill-prepared for useful service;

Wine leaks from our jagged cracks,

Making messes on the floor.

We try to mop it up with rags already soaked

From a hundred other spills.

Then a hand covers ours,

And spotless linen absorbs the filth,

Taking it in until nothing is left;

You pick us up – your broken treasures,

You remove our guilt;

You dust off our grimy souls,

And set us gently in places of honour –

Upon the shelves where your servants sit,

Waiting to pour a drink for their master.

The dishes may change over time –

Once earthen jugs are now glass, plastic;

But with each decade, each century,

Each tragic, tumbling breakage

Leaving dark stains on the floorboards,

You kneel and wipe up;

The soft-thumping of rag after rag

Becoming the voice of another story,

Booming throughout history:

My children, you are worth it.

~ Ilana Reimer

The coming light

sunrise 2
Sweet Ice Cream Photography

It’s dark, and the creeping cold

Of April snow flurries

Settle like ice around the heart;

We’re caught in a barren, Lenten place –

Lonely and shivering; wondering, waiting;

The road is strange and sometimes hard to see,

Have we made a wrong turn somewhere?

The howling wind makes it hard to hear,

But your soft whispers part the storm:

Just wait, little one. This is the way.

Come on, hold tight to my hand;

Remember, were it not for darkness,

There would be no need for light.

Hang on, hang on. Trust me.

I know it’s hard to believe right now,

But it will be bright in a little while.

~ Ilana Reimer


paint brushes
Rhonda K. photo

The light seeps in through bits of stain glass windows,

Catching sight of a thousand mismatched colours;

The vibrancy of forgotten tints and shades

Is half-hidden beneath a layer of darkness,

But it glimmers a little here and there:

The purple, blue and yellow hands,

The glittering of emerald and golden eyes;

We are a collection of created beings,

Too overwhelmingly different to be painted in one stroke;

And yet looking at ourselves is frustrating at times:

We squint at the smudged, ugly features –

Like reflections in an imperfect mirror,

We are only dull, fragmented echoes of the divine.

And it’s easy to forget

That your work as Creator is not yet completed.

The brushes are still wet with paint; the easel is still set up.

We want to be ready now. Beautiful now.

We always want it now.

The Painter waits with a sad, patient smile

As we, the unfinished paintings, fidget restlessly.

Some are eager to hurry up the process,

Others are afraid to let the paint soak in – afraid to be fully known.

Stay still, stay still little one. The colours are not yet right.

With each stoke you complete us,

Your brushes transform our shadows into myriad of colours:

Patience, dear one.

For I leave no work unfinished.

~ Ilana Reimer



Siyan Ren photo

Clink. Slap. Clink. Slap.

The bricks and mortar are falling into place –

Foundations growing stronger, but it’s a trap,

A two-edged sword signing edicts we can’t erase;

And the more walls we build

The longer it takes to tear them down.

The flesh, pain and humanity of nations spilled,

And I’m trying not to lose it with each terrible letdown;

How to face this honestly, but not give up?

How to keep fighting and trust we’ll one day win?

First mourn the loss of innocence, the screw-ups,

Then rise up, find a hand and hold it, breathe deep within

Pour out love, even though it drains you;

Be relentless in your living, and give. Don’t stop.

Even a fraction of hope is worth it when the world’s askew,

So breathe in, breathe out. Don’t let the ball drop.

Stand together amidst the chaos of this black art,

And fight until the thudding bricks fall silent, and the walls all fall apart.

Clink. Slap. Clink…


~ Ilana Reimer


Rita Morais photo

Flipping pages so fast they’ve become

A mind-numbing blur;

Glossy cardboard cut-outs come alive,

Buoyed up by arrogance –

The self-love, self-trust of centuries,

Bars we set and never quite touch,

We just knock them down an inch or two each year;

But don’t you try to lend a hand,

Humanity is fine,

Just fine, on our own.

The tangled threads grow darker,

Anonymous comments spelling hatred,

And it’s exhausting.

But everything will be okay, right?

If distrust is silent, it’s invisible;

If tears aren’t seen, did they even fall?

The sheer atrocity of these lies

Could make us die inside;

When oh when did everything we stand on

Become the false creed we live by?

And if you shatter that, there may be

No earth left at all,

Just the burning skeletons of cardboard cut-outs.

You tell us that

Our tears fall on an expansive palm,

And our distrust echoes in a universal ear;

For as surely as we were born into this chaos,

We cannot escape it on our own.

So we claw and kick against the trap we built,

Looking for control buttons and shortcuts.

Let’s hope the newsflash doesn’t come too late:

There never were any shortcuts –

That part was fabrication too.

~ Ilana Reimer

Fisted heart

Aily Torres photo

I was younger then, in my blue dress,

Wandering the stage alone;

Every thought was a revelation I longed to share with you,

We slipped on ice, skittering across the parking lot,

And then I closed a fist around my tired heart,

Because there was no other way to keep it all together.

I was late, always too late to see,

And as the years passed, I’ve become later still;

But sitting on the bus I’m no longer alone,

Somehow that heart I clasped within a fist,

Fights on, beating harder now, it won’t give in;

Perhaps there’s cynicism in this, I don’t know,

But strangers I see no longer hurt me,

Even though that stage is gone, those days have passed,

And my thoughts are no longer revelations –

They’re old and over-trodden paths,

Because I was late, always too late to see,

And as years passed, I’ve become later still;

Back then I stood in the face of bright lights

And spoke with triumph, knowing you believed in me.

Now everything is slightly twisted,

Yet strangely in the twisting,

I’ve come to understand more clearly;

No longer too late, now I see,

The years have passed, and my fisted heart smiles;

I’m not too late. For once, just once, the timing might be right.

~ Ilana Reimer

What more can I ask for?

Olya Voloshka photo

Silver light trickles in the window,

And I can feel my heart beating,

Like the thunderous pulse of heaven

Feel the warmth of breath inhaled –

Deep within cavernous lungs;

And that’s all I need.

What more can I ask for,

Besides this new day and your smile?

I can breathe, and revel in my thoughts,

Getting lost in the miracle of memories

Amazed that I have a voice that’s heard,

And a soul that feels and cares;

I know you’re always there,

Whatever happens it’ll be all right.

I want to hold on forever,

But even more than that,

I want to let go,

For as precious as this life may be,

I know there’s still more –

Waiting beyond the bend,

Higher, always higher than my dreams.

What more can I ask for?

~ Ilana Reimer

Safe God?

Amar Yashlaha photo

“Safe?” said Mr Beaver. “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Have you ever stared into a black hole – a chaos you can’t face?

You try to pretend it away. Easier to just not see it, right?

But that’s not easy when it’s a memory you can’t erase,

Even though you try to avoid the bright light,

These contradictions turn your mind into a fuse,

And you wait helplessly until it blows.

Yes, there are two books, Old and New – but this isn’t a ruse,

It’s not an attempt to sucker nations into forgetting their woes,

There was a God who went to war and left kingdoms in ashes,

There was a God – way back then –

Who left wounds like slashes

And purged evil before you could say amen;

Do you think he somehow disappeared, this God?

Do you think he ‘modernized’ into someone benign?

Someone we can box in, manage, add to our squad?

It doesn’t work like that – we can’t just draw a line

And think he’ll stay behind it.

He stays the same through ages

We sing, but we kind of gloss over that bit.

God is vast, dangerous and unable to fit inside our cages;

The very same who said an eye for an eye

Also told us to turn the other cheek;

We cannot delude ourselves, nor should we try

Our arguments will all sound weak,

Jesus isn’t ‘nice.’ He loves with a ferocity

That those religious leaders couldn’t cope with;

They railed at him and called him an atrocity,

They branded him a liar, tried to turn him into a myth;

Jesus hung out with the scum of society,

He broke the rules of the righteous,

Yet he lifted up the abused and beaten-down variety,

And called whores and thieves priceless.

In every century he clashed against the social norms,

Our God today is one and the same,

He is not some pretty toy who happily conforms;

Yet he is still the God who knows us each by name;

He is not safe a God.

But he is good. 

~ Ilana Reimer



Jilbert Ebrahimi photo

Click. Scroll. Click. Scroll.

With every desperate, dangerous word,

You see the universe shrink into a bottomless hole

Twitter feeds and Facebook comments, the slurred

Remains of humanity tossed into cyberspace,

And with every breath it’s like the earth is going to break,

You’re trapped in an endless footrace,

Weary. So weary of this ragged heartache;

Each day racism and hatred turn “brothers” into “others,”

And the human race lurches further off its intended course,

And you say it’s not your issue, but another’s.

Yet you see differences as threats and look for the source,

Eager to point fingers, quick to pass a verdict,

Sticking labels on faces instead of looking inside;

Forgetting there is a problem far more urgent,

Then maintaining an image built on pride;

Because racism is not always “their” problem –

Sometimes it’s yours, too.

So stop caring so much about the emblem,

Instead gather up needle and string to make new,

To sew up the gaping rends and wounds that rip us apart.

Beneath the labels we are all the same –

Just human beings with empty, longing hearts,

Needing God to rid us of our shame

And gradually erase the lines that spell out them,

Because in the end, all that’s left is…


~ Ilana Reimer

When hatred wins


Jamelle Bouie photo

So, hatred won this time, it seems.
Fear that lurked in the shadows now a resounding voice. 
There are so many parts of this world
That aren’t as pretty as we’d like to think; 
And now we’ve seen another great facade begin to crack. 
It’s not so easy to believe in dreams of human decency,
After seeing our own ideals trampled in the dust. 
So, hatred won this time, it seems.
But remember, hatred has won before,
It’s also been defeated before. 
Somehow or other, history has a way of eroding things; 
Mistakes are made, and some sink deep, that part is unavoidable. 
But these bitter legacies can wear thin after years of use – 
Eventually we see through them and then we vanquish them. 
So, hatred won this time, it seems.
Why? We could drown ourselves in the question,
Too afraid to grab on to the rope,
And pull ourselves to a place of hope,
A place that dares to trust in greater things to come. 
So yeah, hatred won this time, it seems.
But hatred cannot always win. 
All those fears waiting in the dark
Are destined to fail when the final battle comes.
Hang on. Just wait. In the end, it is hatred who will lose it all. 

~ Ilana Reimer

Disappearing past

Ilana Reimer photo

There are few feet left to tread this way –

Just a handful of wanderers who wear down the path;

The tangled weeds are thick with fallen leaves,

And the long grass is dewy between crumbling headstones;

This place is ever filled with mysterious light –

It is an old, old graveyard; so old it basks in years of memories,

Memories near forgotten, by all save this precious place,

Hemmed in by mighty walls of maple and oak; crimson leaves that shield from prying eyes.

There is no sombreness of death here, only the unmistakable phantom of a past

That disappears year by year, buried deep beneath moss and eroding stone.

~ Ilana Reimer

Ilana Reimer photo

Thanksgiving prayer

Ilana Reimer photo

It’s way easier to pretend away the tragedy,

To bury our minds in biased excuses;

Because when we scan the headlines, 

We get lost in a whirlpool of despair,

Unable to resist the torrent of pain

Caused by wreckage, war and hatred.

Jesus, today we pray for your eyes 

To see the world as you see it.

Lord God, in this weekend of thanksgiving,

Help us to be thankful in the midst of this.

Lift up our downtrodden spirits,

Grant us courage to face the world as it is now,

And faith to believe your countless promises,

Faith to believe that you heal the broken,

Faith to believe that despite it all,

You will make everything right in the end.

~ Ilana Reimer

Rust and paint

Annie Spratt photo

There’s a white-painted wall somewhere,

Turned blue in shadow-light;

And slipping through the crooked blinds,

The pale morning glimmer

Is all the art we can afford in that desolate space;

It reminds me of the gray, dried-out Queen Anne’s lace

All curled up small, fragile flowers becoming strong –

Tough beauty that even time cannot erase.

I watch as red leaves cling desperately to wire fences,

Perfect colour in a cruel mess of black and white.

And if you look closely, you’ll see

That even rust mixed with paint

Becomes a thing of inexplicable delight.

There’s something to be said for ugliness –

It changes you;

Without it, you can never be healed.

The crumbling soul-barriers hurt, I know

But how else can we understand freedom,

If we do not see from what it is

We have been set free?

~ Ilana Reimer

The other part of me

Ilana Reimer photo

There’s a part of me that’s not really me, I think

A part that lies sleeping till it bursts forth,

Drawn by some unspoken, irresistible call

A voice that can be heard mostly

When red sand swirls amid salt spray,

When a gull soars above a distant lighthouse,

Perched at the edge of a cove,

And the blue-gray ocean takes its everlasting toll

On the eroding rocky cliffs.

The whispering summons tugs at my hair,

And I’m powerless to withstand;

Barefoot, I’m running down a red dirt road,

Heading for the dunes;

I’ve lost control by now –

Dusting off those long-kept memories,

Rekindling the cherished hopes,

Because there’s another part of me,

A part that holds a dozen beautiful reveries

And lives on a little island far away –

Yes, there’s a part that doesn’t belong to me at all:

It belongs to Anne instead.

~ Ilana Reimer


sunset 2
Ilana Reimer photo

The setting sun steeps the world in gold –

Light slanting through the trees,

Making dirt roads glow orange,

Encasing crinkled leaves in dull bronze;

Dusky fields blend into the distance,

Veiled in mist, dotted with ghostly hay bales.

The pale sky is streaked with purple clouds,

Fiery pink immortalizes their silhouettes –

Emblazoning them in the ever-deepening twilight.

~ Ilana Reimer


The moon

Crescent moon
Nousnou Iwasaki photo

Day sinks slower; dimming, diminishing,

And night, with triumphant silence,

Claims the hour.

The moon peers through the trees,

Creating a dizzy maze upon the field

Itself but a crescent,

A lantern to keep watch while we humans sleep –

A shimmering sliver-shape pointing to earth,

Like the fingernail of God.

~ Ilana Reimer

Before rain

Breno Machado photo

A hawk circles and swoops before a red sky,

It’s black feathers cutting quick, frantic circles;

It can sense the world’s baited breath –

It knows a thunderstorm’s coming,

Can hear the wind picking up

Even before we feel it.

The golden clouds are ripped to shreds,

The leaves turn a strange, bright green,

Trembling in anticipation

For the deafening cadence of falling rain.

~ Ilana Reimer


Joshua Earle photo

I close my eyes,
And get lost in a dream,
That dream which is not reality –
But I pray it’s the future.
There is a fire burning,
And yet it does not consume
How is it that something so powerful,
Something so hot,
Can yet be so gentle?
I draw closer, and can feel the terror,
And yet I am unafraid,
For even in the midst of flames,
I am alive.
The fire licks at my skin,
I can feel it pouring through my veins
My tongue is aflame
And my eyes are like mirrors
There is fire reflected in their depths,
Yet I can feel no pain;
My hands have turned to gold,
But my fingerprints are unaltered,
My DNA is not reduced to ashes,
The refining is so perfect, so complete
It overwhelms me.
I am encased in holy fire,
And yet I am not destroyed
I am still myself, but a better self,
No. The best self.

~ Ilana Reimer


A temple within


Timothy Neesam via Flickr

The streets are cold,
As everywhere I meet the vacant stares
On sidewalks, bus stops, every intersection;
I brush past strangers, catching only a glimpse,
But that’s all it takes: I am quick to surmise
My own impressions plastered on
Like paint spilled irreverently on canvas,
I project my biases onto faces
Until I forget I’m looking at a mask
That this shell I’ve painted isn’t a person at all,
It encases the real soul –
A seemingly inseparable trick of the light
That makes it easy to forget
That it was I, yes I who painted them so;
Look down, yes look within,
Do not forget dear heart,
That you yourself are but a husk –
Your frail outward self is a flimsy illusion,
Ready to be carried away by an unexpected gust
So peel back the paint and see,
You are more than the lies you tell yourself,
Far more than pretty eyelashes and perfect teeth;
Knock on the door of your own soul, my dear
Seek the temple within and learn to reach it.
Only once you see that sacred refuge
Can you spot this same holy touch
That lives within every human on this earth.

~ Ilana Reimer


Daniel Bowman photo

Noise haunts every vacant hour,
Be it the sound of traffic,
The radio, or the never-ending talking
Inside of my head
This constant clamor is crushing me –
When we stand in the city square,
Amid the whirling lights and rushing sound,
We crave a reprieve
And yet uncanny stillness makes us squirm
Longer than a few seconds
And the absence of noise is enough to deafen us
This is the thing we fear –
For it strips us of the ability to look away,
To numb the pain or ignore the past
There is nowhere to hide, no way to drown out the truth
When faced with the one thing we humans dread:

~ Ilana Reimer

Repaired with gold


Howard Freeman via Flickr

Your love is like living gold
That cannot be contained in a single mould,
It pours out and over the sides,
Spilling into every culture;
Your love is kintsugi
Filling in the cracks and holes of society,
Making the dark spaces glitter,
Repairing the gaping holes with solid gold
And so making the planet whole again.

~ Ilana Reimer

To taste a rainbow


my_elbow via Flickr

These days when muddy rain pools on sidewalks,

People shove past you, blank-faced,

On the way to somewhere else;

These days when an oppressive sky

Glares down between the office towers,

And traffic jams rip your nerves to shreds,

It’s then I wish that clouds were really chariots

That I could ride upon,

To get way high up above the storm

And see a glimpse of that world beyond;

When the rain lashes against your face,

And you know that people do not care

With their own lives all-consuming –

It’s then I long to taste the rainbow,

To touch that iridescent arch of hope

And know that Heaven is for real.

~ Ilana Reimer

Snow in April

Ales Krivec photo

The air is thick, shaded dull gray-brown,

No more invisible, the atmosphere fills the landscape,

Like a great, all-encompassing lens;

The colours everywhere are muted –

Muffled by the restless snowflakes swirling

The pale sun glints wearily upon a bewildered earth

Too distant and withdrawn to resist the white;

And the fields that just hours ago were muddy bare –

Dotted in hopeful puddles,

Now host the swirling eddies of baffling snow

Drifts of determined ice

Clinging to gravel roads and ditches,

These lingering vestiges of winter

That even April cannot banish.

~ Ilana Reimer

Missing the light

Jeremy Thomas photo

I am buried in years of excuses;

Blinkers on, choosing not to see,

As You’ve waited for me –

Seeking ever to catch my eye.

I stumble through the crooked streets,

Looking for light where darkness only dwells,

And when you cast fireflies in my path,

I miss them, too busy looking for something else;

Continue reading “Missing the light”

A new temple

Ilana Reimer artwork

A temple was built

For You in Jerusalem

A house for the Lord,

Made of silver and gold

Shining arches and doorways,

Glowing in precious metal and gems.

No place on earth can be worthy of You,

But surely this temple must come close?

There you dwelt, until another century,

You gave an unbelievable sacrifice – 

One that tore the holy curtain

Fully from top to bottom;

Yes, that golden temple wasn’t enough.

Instead You chose…me.

~ Ilana Reimer


Mirrors that lie


Camil Tulcan via Flickr

My hands tremble and clutch at the icy frame,

My breath clouds the glass,

I’d carved it out of dust years before,

Plated it with silver – an easy disguise;

Now I peer cautiously into the mirror

And stare at the girl on the other side,

Her eyes are wide, staring back.

Something stirs inside my mind,

Continue reading “Mirrors that lie”

I am no living man


They did me wrong,

Those movie makers,

They turned the pages of my life,

Simplified my burning soul,

And undermined my silent power.

Yeah, they dressed me as a warrior maid,

But barely let me wield a sword,

I was not as they depicted:

Bowing tremblingly at sight of Aragorn,

A sighing, love-sick child.

Tolkien had it right, after all

The strong, proud woman he portrayed,

Yes that is who I am.

I was caught inside a cage,

Yet do not forget how I fought for freedom,

I loved, but I was no fool.

My heart did not make me blind

Nor did I, in loving become weak.

They left in me some courage, I’ll admit,

But when I met the Nazgûl lord,

I laughed boldly in his face,

And I think he feared me, ere he died

He thought himself immortal,

But I saw him falter,

Wondering if I had a point.

And there, still wondering, he fell.

For I am no living man:

I am Eowyn.

~ Ilana Reimer


Church walls tremble

As voices sing

Beating drums and beating hearts;

We can’t evade your love,

Because You are God

And You are good.

You stoop somehow –

Touch every upturned face

We are alive now,

Hands open to accept your grace,

Music erupts,

Shattering windows,

Breaking doors,

And bursting out on snowy streets,

It fills the city, unstoppable

And amidst those echoing pews,

The words repeat and repeat,

Reverberating greatness –

Yes, the greatness of our God.

~ Ilana Reimer




In the stillness,

The frost settling

On an early morning;

Awake, my soul

Why do you sleep?

Like a mother

Separated from her child,

My fingers tremble

My heart grows cold,

And I seek to end

This deepening slumber;

My soul, where did you go?

These blackened winter days

Are when I need you;

But I stand numb –

My feeling gone,

As I beg my soul

To come back home.

~ Ilana Reimer

Raft in the ocean

Ilana Reimer photo
A beautiful piece by my beautiful friend: 

Straight out of nowhere

Spreading through the shadows

A whisper of sweet air

Dull senses, awakened

The invisible, unseen brightness

A hope and a gift

Clinging to this raft in the ocean

Sun gently warm

Thawing the cracks of what’s frozen

Until eyes slowly open

Because life has not left me yet.

Thanks to Danielle Allard for letting me share her work on my blog. :)

Invisible power


Each day we take up arms,

Holster our invisible weapons,

Waiting to take aim

A brief provocation, and it’s a blind reaction,

We fire – never mind the consequences 

Yeah, words have power

That’s a cliché we’ve heard before,

But little do we realize

How our own words sink deep within our souls;

Yet we have a strength even in our weakness,

For though our words are withering,

And from our mouths come curses –

Barbed arrows meant to kill,

When we ask, still God hears.

Yes when we speak, He listens.

So do not forget that as angry words

Bounce off canyon walls,

Magnifying their reach beyond what you intended,

So also will those faltering words be answered –

When whispered in the ear of God.

Never doubt your words have power,

Because no matter what you say,

There will always be an answer.

~ Ilana Reimer


new year

Hendrik Terbeck via Flickr

A new year’s coming,

The numbers are all shifting,

The memories are changing,

We toss the old ones in boxes,

Label them as yesterday,

But let’s not forget

How they changed us –

Shaped us;

The lessons they taught us.

As we move into tomorrow,

Let’s not forget

The great, silent power of yesterday.

~ Ilana Reimer


Ilana Reimer photo
Ilana Reimer photo

I used to pretend, locked up in my bedroom,

But now you go and change the words

Backspacing every happy phrase;

It’s all askew, it all feels wrong,

This isn’t how I imagined it.

Yet reality is no pretty thing

It’s far messier, I know;

So I’ll brush back the useless wishing –

Step into the imperfection,

The plaids and stripes and polka dots,

The clashing types that never get along…

Forget about perfection,

And accept that crooked smile –

At last, at last. Please stop pretending.

~ Ilana Reimer

Desert road


Fred Moore via Flickr

There’s a road across this desert somewhere,

There’s a path across the sea,

A bridge over my abyss,

Again and again, you make a way for me –

You crack the forests in two,

You part the sky that I may walk through

If not right now, then up ahead,

That little bend hides quiet wonder –

Your promise is enough

Oh that promise of intangible hope;

So fragile, yet just possible enough

To keep me from shattering;

Your solution baffles every problem

For even when there was no way,

You built a stairway up to heaven.

~ Ilana Reimer


Take my picture, please

Ilana Reimer photo

Take my picture, please, she said

Her words drawing me out from my daydream,

I used to be a dancer, she said,

I used to make a living by my looks;

I was beautiful then, she said,

Not knowing she’s beautiful still.

She forgot to take her meds today,

She’s jittery, doesn’t know where to look,

My kids have been bugging me, she said

They want to have a picture,

Some way to capture this:

Her green eyes and half smile,

They want to freeze this moment,

Memorize every curve and line –

And so she’s doing this for them,

Take my picture, please, she said

Give them something to hold on to.

~ Ilana Reimer

When I think of you

DSCN0566 2
Ilana Reimer photo

When the streets shine like fire,

And my feet kick up silver spray,

When the engines roar,

Leaving a trail of red light behind,

When the leaves swirl in a torrent all around me,

And the sky turns yellow,

When the frozen mist rolls in,

And day slips into murky night –

That’s when I think of you.

~ Ilana Reimer

Looking up


Cristian Bernal via Flickr

We saw each other from inches away,

Just the eyes and mouth, the curve of her chin;

She saw the world from her vantage point –

There on the ground;

But now she’s standing – looking up.

Her view was red and mine was white;

She’s far away now,

Eyes opened wide

Seeing things she never saw

All those years, by my side.

Caving open – truth spilling out,

And I’m on the floor, selfishly yearning

These days are stretching us,

Testing us,

But we’ll meet again one day,

And we’ll be stronger, because of this.

~ Ilana Reimer

Thanks be

2015-10-11 17.04.36
Ilana Reimer photo

Thanks be for sun-dappled porches,

And the sharp smell of autumn in my hair;

Thanks be for scattered leaves,

Blanketing my car;

Thanks be for darkening nights,

Creeping ever closer; 

Thanks be for woolen mittens,

And plaid scarves to get lost in;

Thanks be for ungraceful laughter,

Let loose – pure and abandoned;

And thanks be for the slow tide of worries let go,

Drifting away in a long exhale.

~ Ilana Reimer

Face down

DSC_0191 B&W
Ilana Reimer photo

A network of chalky clouds fill the circular sky,

I race towards the horizon,

But my feet don’t move at all;

The light glows upon my cheeks,

I feel an unholy surge within –

The arrogance sinks deep,

Ice cold, hardening my soul;

The silence slaps me in the face

A sudden jolt, bringing back reality,

Face down – inches away from my depravity,

I see it now: my own humanity

You gave me everything I am,

And without you, 

I’d still be lying there,

Dying on the ground.

~ Ilana Reimer

Save me yet again

Sophia Reimer photo

‘You are nothing,’

The voices whisper,

Creeping through the darkest corners of my mind –

I cannot shake free.

‘What makes you think you’re safe?’

‘What makes you think you’re saved?’

Doubts linger and guilt sinks deeper,

It’s then I search back in time,

It’s then I find my story;

You tossed my misery aside, once,

You made me beautiful, then,

And what You have cleansed,

Who can defile?

My story says I have been saved;

My story now, can save me yet again.

~ Ilana Reimer

Forever on my heart

Ilana Reimer photo

You can leave me hanging,

You can bring me low,

You can stare at all my flaws,

Or you can let me go;

But just remember,

Yeah don’t forget,

That you’ve left your mark

Bitten deep upon my heart;

So be careful what you do,

Cuz no matter what you say,

Your words are engraved now,

Forever on my heart.

~ Ilana Reimer

Dusty roses

faded rose

Soumyadeep Paul via Flickr

Take your broken heart and sew it up now,

This is brand a new sound track –

Filling the midnight;

All you had to do was say so,

Before the roses evaporated into dust,

Leaving only smoky woods and flaming leaves;

Telephone poles race by –

As you take the puzzle pieces,

Fit them all together

Continue reading “Dusty roses”

Metal crown

metal crown
Ilana Reimer photo

Black, spiralled metal

Bent into a curling wreath,

Unwanted garbage, forming a new-made thing;

It is a crown of wire thorns,

A reminder of a sacrifice,

Far greater than these few cuts,

And far more lasting than this tangled wreath –

This work of seconds;

Yours was a work of decades, centuries,

Continue reading “Metal crown”