Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
Writing comes from listening,
so I’ve taken quiet steps outside
away from the loud
to hear better.
Eyes open this time
to see AND hear–this–
the delicate drops of fuchsia,
ballerinas fluttering like so many
upside-down firecrackers,
fragile, full of beauty
dropping feathery tendrils
to the silent air.
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…
Across the pencils pointed skyward like so many word-wielding swords past the gray and steel of overflowing desks filled with orphaned papers stashed, crumpled askew over the carpet-bland, sturdy, useable home to small and hopeful feet to the doorway–closed. Through it comes life and noise and limbs, any moment now– eager hearts, chattering faces, souls…
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…
Fireworks have nothing on me, no man-made show can match this explosive display. Shocking green here, shouting magenta there, showy white front and center. No gunpowder could blow breezes like this to bristle trees, to “whoosh” the wind across the skies, no factory fierce enough to produce this bright beauty. Spring’s verb says the growing…
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 just saw three chickadees stun themselves, Mama Bird watching from the patio post, hopeful their wings and their wisdom would coincide with the air. They collided instead with the window I see through now, fateful glass a barrier to their flight and freedom impeding the discovery of their birdy selves as creatures made for…