Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
The feeder hangs swaying,
no avian fellows alighting.
(males are the brightest; why?)
I wait and watch–they’ve flown I wonder where–for food?
Will their shimmering yellow return,
a harbinger of the lightening days ahead?
Indeed, one by one, I know they’ll come
hungry again (still) as they’ve done
year after year finding food,
flying beauty, feeding me with
their golden arrival.
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…
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…
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 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,…
They shimmer and sway in the breeze branchy partners against a Danube blue sky. Glassy diamonds on the green– arrow fragments, light glimmering in an anthem song. The play a tune for my eyes, loudly announcing the beauty of dusk, a message in light music reflecting in emerald on the velvet evening. The leaves bend…
Building a marriage is timber over time, the on purpose-ness of candles on the table on a run-of-the-mill Saturday night illuminating the daily gift that says, “I made something for you.” It’s a pile of firewood carried through the cold, banked against the night’s chill. Opera music, loud on the stereo while dinner cools and…