Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
heart potato from my garden, 2020 Potent works of art we are molded by God, thrown on the wheel, mud at his mercy. Shaped and used as He wills, fired in this earthly kiln– refined, His glory glazes. Empty vessels, He fills us, to water others with love, slaking their thirst. Sometimes we leak through…
The wind is washing waves over me, moving birds and branches with a jet engine pushhhhhhh… tumbling, not sand, but sky high sentinels shouting in whispers, not of water but waves on sullen shores of sky far, far from the summer season a world of blue water away.
This viburnum blooms every year in my yard in January. That’s the main reason I bought it–to have some color (and fragrance) in the dead of winter. I live in the Pacific Northwest and we have our seasons. I’ll say. But there’s something else about January–the declaration of the joy of a new start. A…
I stroll in for a ‘few’ groceries at The Hundred Dollar Store, stopping first for what passes for sustenance (never shop when you’re hungry). The bright-eyed toddler tossed in the air before me while parents wait for pizza, kissed by dad, hugged by mom, she slyly smiles, curling into strong shoulders. I push away,…
Ecclesiastes 3:11 (KJV) 11 He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world** in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.” **from the Hebrew, ‘olam’–“concealed, i.e. the vanishing point, (generally) time out of mind, (practically) eternity continuance, eternal, everlasting, …
“That’s a deep subject,” I’d oft repeat, to chide the speaker for such a lame, one-word comment. Well, indeed. I’m in it at the bottom, Swimming in my own tears drowning in grief that I must haul up bucket by bucket. But the hauling is needful– the bucket-at-a time tending a necessary process. The grief…