Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
Four thirty a.m. The “chree-chree-chree” sounds in the far off greeny bog. “Whis-tle” “whis-tle” “whis-tle” returns the call, floating notes through the open window. A chorus of chirps and cheeps overlap like leaves in a pile at the singing tree, all the feathered throats announcing– messaging, instantly– a new day never-been-done day, it’s-another-start-day. So I…
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…
Our Father (my Father) which art in Heaven (and everywhere on display) Hallowed be thy name (kept holy and set apart is your name) Thy kingdom come …
I stray like string in the wind untethered from that tight spot at the bottom holding me in place. Anchored there tension provides strength for the tune to be played– a fiddler bows across the tautness and chords are plied, played as His fingers hold me in place. Snapped, tho’, the string aflutter, undone there…
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…
W CROSS R D S Lamb. Perfect. Hung. Alone. Naked. For me. Abandoned. Blamed. Spit on. Mocked. Forsaken. For me. Loving. Spotless. Alone. For love. Blood poured out. For me. Broken. Crying. Praying. Dying. A garden beginning, A garden His ending. On a hill he hung for me.
The early morning light is unrolling across the sky. Birds make their announcements in the treetops and I stand on my deck, cup of coffee in hand to take it in. My Lover is here. My Jesus, speaking to me through the birdsong and new sky day. The night before was full of restless thoughts…
Most mornings when I get ready for my day I have a pair of earrings in mind that I want to wear. I am no organizer of said jewelry–I do not have racks or dividers or containers arranged by color or strand. No little holders for the hoops here and the studs there…. All of…
Pictures, pictures everywhere. Anywhere. Any time. If you have a phone, we have a photo. Moments captured and documented, milestones shared, joys multiplied. And while a picture often IS worth a thousand words, and they often tell a story, they don’t tell the whole story. The problem with the ubiquitousness (that’s a word, right?) of…
On the wind His words gently breezing through the pinwheel turning, iridescent blue blowing across the surface moving gently, forcing me to hear, “I’m here” while I ponder slowing– less turning, more still- like the quiet trees hushing, the soft branches suspended, punctuation placed securely on the pages of the sky, declaring a full stop….