Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
Across the dining room chairs over the lamp and past the plants through the window, I spy silhouettes that awaken and dance like the pebbled stones in a child’s kaleidoscope, shape-shifting black against the not quite white night sky. Here the leaves move, there they bend and turn branches like sky-borne seaweed in an ocean…
Six o’clock sounds say ‘hurry home’ in the rush and whoosh of tires sliding through the rain soaked street. The tick, click, tick of the clock confirms the dinner hour while a bird through the window with his “cheerup, cheerup, cheer!” reminds any and all listeners that evening is approaching. The electronic hmmzzzzzzzz…. of the…
Golden oil in a bottle liquid light refracting sun in shimmers a mirrored shape reflects on the surface and I wonder at the drop, drop, drops of light as they drip, drip, drip down. All this tasting joyfulness because something was crushed and pressed, leaving light.
the lights have left the leaves, golden brilliance turned out like a glowing candle quieted by the wind. the leaves float and rustle, voices, too, carried by the breeze to this place atop a hill– a slanted receptacle for sound forcing it upwards to my ears. I’m hidden–He’s not. I hear Him. He’s here.
Vashon Hardware, Vashon Island, WA Rudyard Kipling begins his classic “If” poem, urging me to keep my head when all about me are losing theirs, and I’m certain my head–and its grey matter contents– will soon explode for the sums and ciphers impinging on the brain space I. do. not. have. This is a necessary…
I fell flat–face first Down on the ground Hard. Stopped short, mid-stride Chatting as I rolled Around the corner. (Why I’ll show these young people a thing or two.) All I wanted to do was Join in the fun— Ah, Family Skate Night. Fellowship with the saints, Be salt and light, Share the joy. I…