Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
“In the beginning” begs the existence of a dot, the endpoint of a line referencing time and movement, like an ant on the Golden Gate Bridge. If there is time (now) and movement (how?) why do we shun this guess the size of a galaxy, turn from the possibility of a God placing us just…
There is a song in petals, the rainsound of notes on thirsty earth feeding spring’s new flowers. There is a melody in the making of a garden where silent, shriveled seeds wait to burst, pushing through wet soil with their magic strength inside. There is a harmony in the golden leafwhisper and silent shout of…
I want to fly these dumbbells up, down, up, down quick! The momentum of each lift rising at my side pushing past perhaps what’s safe or wise in the name of what? Speed or yes, the checklist-exercise- done! When I slow instead, face the window and raise these weighted arms slow, slow, slow-up; slow, slow,…
“Samara,” she said and the words took flight in my hearing, invisible windborne flora soaring across my thoughts. She spoke of wings, a divine creation spinning towards earth to plant itself like a stubborn weed-fierce and stuck. Imagination took root, sending me flying home towards Webster’s– ‘some-are-uh’ – and there a black and white drawing…
I wish I could collectthe light, landing its shadowson this page as it creepsever brighter through the gray. Pour it out to wash my heart,salve the wound of thispresent heaviness, the sighsthat never end. Hold it lightly aloft, prayingno sharp wind orquiet, steady breezesnuff it out, for weneed it so Father, carry us,ferry us through…
Jesus, because He said I could (ask) about a Five Year Plan– like a plannable annuity with a guaranteed return on my investment. as if… as if a sure answer for my tomorrows would bring me peace today. He whispers instead what’s doable– the Five Hour Plan-a chunk of time allotted to say, oh, baking…
Facing the stove, I busy my hands with this thrice-cooked fowl, weaving waterherbs and onions to conjure a warming repast for our souls.Skin holds meat, meat holdsbone (or is it the other way around?) andas chunks slip and slide into the bubblingpot before me, I wonder, wordless,at the speed with which we revereand revile our…
What can you hear in a winter sky? Trees sleeping, sap coursing slowly stopped by these northern climes and their accompanying chill. The sound of sunlight, settled like a theater’s best ending, shadowplay kept…
Son, ferried within water, the womb of his mother. She, comforted on the back of a donkey, led at the hand by a hopeful man, father, to the House of Bread.Seer, sounding words that seared the hearts of those who…
I flatten myself carpetside, legs parallel as the lines of a crosswalk,arms a perpendicular “T”to my torso, aching as theystretch (or do they stretchand therefore ache?) Open-bodiedstance releases all weight of this weary week.White-flagging my way to the floora wide space spans my once-tightpalms, now held by an invisiblesilken thread index to index.Sprung free from…