Heather Pound

when someone 
makes a comment
shares an opinion
provides a suggestion
offers their perception

do not let your many pores 
absorb it through your skin
into bloodstream red to cycle
right inside your beating heart

no matter who they are

without pausing to evaluate
the truth, the application
or validity
of their words

—always reflect upon
the opinions of others  
rather than leaping
to internalisation

heather pound 2025

why do i ever worry restless, anxiously fret
because your mercy, your grace
your intricately woven plan—
it never loses a stitch

never is deformed or leaves a gaping hole.
because you, the expert weaver
know exactly what you’re doing,
you know what you have planned.

as the Master Creative you graciously lead
my paltry attempts to step into your 
footsteps great

and while sometimes i feel as if i’m 
hacking through the thickest brush
dodging thorns, creating a path

your footprints are already there 
sparkling and clean and clear
amidst the mud and muck

you have the path,
you have the way
and all that i must do—is look for you,
spot the evidence of your presence great

and to know 
you never meant me to wrestle with this 
alone

o Master Creator,
help me to lift my eyes
from a heart that’s proud
and remember that nothing
has ever been made 
without you. 

heather pound 2025

Painted by God, viewed from my kitchen window.

I’m quietly wrestling with a new book project. This is written from my heart, but I hope that it encourages YOURS whatever is percolating in your heart today. Tapping into whatever is creative in you, placed there in the image of Him—that’s often where we find the most connection, feel the most meaning.

you fight and resist,
ignoring the deepest parts
that want to hold on, remain 
in control, predict the outcome 

but I tell you this—
although it may not feel like it 'til then 
there is no better space to find yourself in
than beyond what you can do  

arriving at the moment where you 
can finally say “if You don’t come through
—then I’ve got nothing”

this is the place of miracles
unlocking your heart to 
the Father who smiles and says
“ah, this is where i wanted you 

all along. now i will part the waters
push back the sea, rid you of the 
enemies that pursue threatening.

because i am here 
and i am good
i’ve got this situation 
in impossibly capable hands
and you will have my peace”

heather pound 2025

Photo by Hannah Bates

if they had told me 
what it was really like,
those days and days
of endless routine

the wiping of noses, the frequent tears
feeding, bouncing, bathing, toileting
not enough sleep
endless dishes and washing of clothes
repeat	upon repeat

if they had explained
that i would spend 
hours just sitting, child on lap
feeding, comforting, entertaining 
tired

that my body would never be the same
and really my mind as well, since you
are never too far from my thoughts
hardwired

i might have thought twice perhaps
—but it wouldn’t have mattered 
as i met you one by precious one.

i did the math and i spent 
three full years of my life 
uncomfortable with child 
to gain the four of you

nevertheless, i would 
do it all again, no hesitation
to marvel at, to cherish, adore
to watch grow
the treasures that you are.

heather pound 2025

My very first Mother’s Day.

heather pound 2025

you are my second chance.
you sometimes catch me staring adoring, amazed
you probably think i’m a little bit strange

but for a heart that was bruised, undernourished
cast aside,
you are an anchor, a safe haven
a place of trust, of peace
a well that runs deep

i catch your eyes in private moments,
not quite so open as mine,
but deep, utter, abandoned joy—reciprocated.
all the more precious because you chose to let me in. 
always present, but not so carelessly strewn about 
like mine

second chances are rare,
sparkling precious like the sea in the afternoon sun
never, ever unguarded
not from fear, but worth
we know the value of what we have

heather pound 2025

did you wake today
with pile of burdens 
pressing down heavy 
even before your feet 
reached the cold floor?

(you are not alone in this
for i have felt it too.)

do you know the psalmist 
once metaphorically said 
that the Source of Love
collects each tear in a bottle
records them in his book?

as i read this recent 
i observed that
it never said only the tears
that were worthy,
somehow selflessly shed.

these are not the perfect tears
in the bottle, holy
crystal clear

no, these are all your tears
every single one
because the Giver of Life
understands your pain

he sees, he cares
about the depths of your ache
and longs to wipe every tear 
away

and one day he’s promised
he will

the frost will melt
the dawn will come 
hold on for this marvellous day 


heather pound 2025

the rubber covers dropped off the wheels 
of my khaki-coloured bag multiple years ago,
and people turn to look when they hear me 
approach as i tow it clanking along

but while my bag is noisy and even a little 
bit tattered, a small tear here, a stain or two there, 
it conjures up recollections of far of places 
i’ve been, experiences lived, stories to tell—

i pulled it past ladies in colourful saris down 
grubby calcutta lanes as its wheels turned 
faithful--containing every single thing i brought 
to make a new home.

it has trundled past women, as black burkas
flowed in the desert city of dubai on the trip
where we rode the elevator up, up, up
the tallest building in the world.

it travelled to viti levu in the exotic fijian isles.
the place i lived for many years before the bag 
became mine, and it picked up sparkling
grains of sand and listened to tropical song.

and maybe it remembers the bahaman honeymoon
after this former widow wed, and observed daily
as we arranged sun-filled adventures there. 

so, while in this airport i see other bags glide smoothly 
along, hard-sided wonders that need no holding up 
at all, i know my bag’s every cranny and nook and 
just how much weight it will hold. 

so, go ahead and acquire your spiffy new luggage, 
but i will keep mine as long as vintage wheels turn and 
zippers attach, for this bag holds memories as well.

---ode to a very good suitcase

heather pound 2025

I’m not usually very sentimental about material things–but sometimes things take us right back to the memories that they’re connected to. Don’t they?

my indian rope plant that my mother-in-law
gave mere months before she left,
gifted us this autumn 
with its third round of balls of pink
since the start of spring

i have no idea why it did this
since some years this particular hoya 
never delivers these water-filled 
blossoms at all

so multiple times a day, i lift the vine 
and pause, soaking the beauty in close,
a daylight garden galaxy 
of ruby-hearted mauve

and i marvel and muse at how spectacular
nature consistently, honestly is--and smile
that right here beside my kitchen sink, 
my husband’s big-hearted mum 
encourages me still

(and i would hugely suspect that she
is completely delighted too)

         --when they linger in our memory

heather pound 2025