Flying Lesson

Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶

Lovely Lydia dipped cloth in indigo dye, dressing royalty in the Kingly color of the day. I am wrapped today in color of another hue~ scarlet red~ covering me in impossibly laundered linens purchased by the Savior King who died descending into darkness, bursting forth in a blaze of Color That is Not– Purest White.
I was thinking, Father, yesterday in worship, with my hands upraised in prayer and thanks, how like a container I’ve been this week. Empty, needing to be filled, a hollowed out space hollering for help. I’ve been stuck, stagnant, stewing by myself drowning in unmoving water. And you showed me, Lord, how like a…
It only takes a few blueberries to purple the smoothie in my glass. Begging to add to the blender to lose that indigo hue– strawberries (darker) milk (lighter) still leaves it purple-ish, staining my teeth on the way down and the sink when I’m all…
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.
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…
The first poems I ever saved are from Mrs. Appy’s Ninth grade English class in a folder labeled simply ‘Poetry.’ 50 years later I can’t for the life of me locate it but I can see its contents–the ditto ink is faded but still quite legible. There are selections by Richard Brautigan and e.e.cummings, of course,…