Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
Susan Cowger confesses she was the ‘black sheep’ in the family, not quite fitting into the mold of family vocations–nurses, pharmacists, sensible people. Instead, her first language was art, a calling that led to a BA in Fine Art (1977) from Montana State University and subsequent MFA in Poetry with a secondary emphasis in Art…
I’ve no chisel but this penchipping at paper like stone,carving words, not to build but bendgraphite like steel, curve the bones (Dear God, not break) but lay in place and thenform a space to hold a new edifice,sculpt and rest and tap some morewhile You hand me bricks to begin, restore.***The word contemplate is from…
Birds, their tones both winged and brightHarmonize from branches out of sightKnow their parts, score memorizedFlash and zoom before my eyes. Soprano, alto, second, bassThroaty praises from branchy placeEcho, float, reverberateA pause, then celebrate Mornings’ rise first slow and quietAgainst dull backdrops now a riotTheir songs a span of treble and bassBackground my day, this…
The overwhelm is real–create anyway.
When my mother was taken by cancer at the age of 55 and I was 33, there was no estate to divide, no money to deposit, no silver to share. After she was gone, I wasn’t saddened by the loss of anything tangible like an inheritance, but because there were questions I would never have answers…
Last week I wrote about #loveinthetimeofthecorona–illuminating what or how we can embody love in the world in these very challenging times, especially as believers in Jesus. (And? Did you know, #loveinthetimeofthecorona is actually a hashtag on Instagram and Twitter. If you are on either of those social media platforms, type in the hashtag and be…