Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
spent some time with the family recently. A lot of family….ever felt like this?
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My train of thought
often veers off track
taking side journeys
to sights unknown.
I’ve jumped the rails,
freight cars airborne,
leaving passengers in
my wake, schedules in hand,
confused, wondering–
did they miss the
whistle at the station—
’cause surely, girl, you are
miles ahead and gone….
A child (surprise!) yours Daughter (ignored) called out one Sister (competing) the apple of your eye Bride (terrified) loved Mother (novice) protected Teacher (trusting) …
Several years ago in a biography of preacher and evangelist Jonathan Edwards, I read about slave poet Phillis Wheatley (1753-1784). Wheatley wrote an elegy for George Whitefield, one of Jonathan Edwards’ dear friends, therefore her mention in Edwards’ biography. Whitefield and Edwards were pillars of the Great Awakening that swept the world from England to…
I thought I had tomorrow-more than one, like petalsfrom an infinite flowerheld in my hand.I thought I had tomorrowfoolishly thinking the chanceswould arise in infinite numberrolling in like wavesagain and again on the shore.But the words-writ at my feet,stayed there, washing awaylike silken sand,crumbling in liquid lines–the words I never said.I meant to say “Thank…
Beginning Years and miles evaporate like the morning’s ocean fog where the strong, bright gleam of friendship holds true. Holds true like trees that have weathered decades of sun as we weathered our own wearying waves of life, lapping at the edge of our friendship, threatening to erode the years of tears and laughter, the breaking…
Friends and family leave words on screens and phone lines, dropping voices and laughter like golden pendants rippling across the surface of my morning. Bookends of baking–pies first and the turkey last– include potatoes, The Green Bean Casserole and sweet potatoes in between. Chimes outside echo on the warm wind of a rare November day,…
House finches flit, flit, flit and hummingbird whirrrrrs, hovering over birdseed an arm’s length away. Red finch jets elsewhere, bearing left at the bushes and the chickadee perches, eyeing the feast. Crows alight silently on the trees straight ahead, swooping at nothing as they loudly announce the morning. The waterfall sound of freeway cars and…