Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
I wanna wear rainbow-striped leggings like Carly or a bright pink tutu with Zoe’s sparkly shirt. I’d like pigtails or a vivid purple flower clipped in my hair. I’d like to run with abandon hollering after a ball and do a leaping high five when I catch it. I want to jump rope–double-dutch, in fact–…
Under Construction Concrete ripped and piled Bulldozed building pieces askew Saltines stacked on a pile of dirt. There is mess everywhere. Plastic flaps outside, tucked in and under, Protecting not much anymore. Piles of rebar readied for foundations Sand, rock for ballast, fill. There is mess everywhere. The glare of lights, warning signs, Ominous fences….
The safest road to Hell is the gradual one–the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts. -C.S. Lewis, Screwtape Letters What is it that deals us our greatest blows, that is our undoing? Is it our enemy, the devil? Or blatant evil, so closely cloaked– ‘live’ spelled backwards? Were Satan so…
Hanan Samuel Collins, Age 8 Multnomah Falls, OR I wrote this poem on the January day in 2003 when my first grandson, Hanan Samuel, was born. Your birth today unequivocally proved that science still can do nothing at explaining the miraculous. The day you came into the world the…