• My Poems,  On Writing

    Bird Seed–Twitter Poems

    Tweetspeak Poetry, the fullsome webspace curated by the gifted LL Barkat, was borne out of Twitter poems, concise lines of poetry confined to 140 characters. Note: these were written in 2014; Twitter now allows a whole 280 characters! Many of these lines are responses to photo prompts (‘Starry Night’ and so on), others just me trying to wrap words around my life. I was surprised at the freedom afforded by having the constraints of only 140 characters. Form forces function, maybe? ~~~~~~ Apr 29 Jump rope skipping wide door open fragrance wafting blue sky calling children laughing Spring kinda day.   Apr 21 (After Easter) The day is empty tomb…

  • My Poems

    Book Report {a #poem}

    All the books that I am reading All the books that I have read Make me feel my brain is bleeding Surely ‘twill explode my head. Now here, now there, now everywhere On floors, on desks and tables. In baskets, piles, in drawers and files I’ve stacked as I am able. I love to write, I write a lot It helps me think more clearly. But clearly writers read a lot I love these books most dearly.~~~~~~~~~~This is a repost from the archives by way of enticing you to come over HERE to my other site today, ‘another facet’, which is nothing but poetry. (What? you didn’t know I had another…

  • My Poems

    The Kindness of Strangers {a #poem}

    “That’s what we storytellers do Mrs. Travers. We restore order through imagination. We instill hope again and again and again.”                                                                                        Tom Hanks as Walt Disney in ‘Saving Mr. Banks’ View towards Manhattan from the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. photo J.L. Collins way back then when no one knew the world would crack the next day, we stood there, tourist trappings wrapped around us everywhere. ‘howdy’ I said, that quiet night…

  • My Poems

    Drinking {a #poem}

    I am parched and dry dreaming of rain like a thirsty crop no, not rain: I imagine a downpour, would prefer a drenching a soaking like rum in a bread pudding. Oh, to be drunk on new wine to relish a draught of liquid life, Living Water. Sadly, there is no time to drink so I settle for drops few and far between but packed with life reminding me there is more where that came from, the everlasting River.

  • My Poems

    January, Latitude 47

    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.

  • Life in General,  My Poems

    Well {a #poem}

    “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 needs to be felt and measured–lived through to measure me— I do not want to come up short again, but learn from this deep, deep hole, and coming back up, take this pain, put it to good use, to see past the bucket and the baling and the bawling, on to the wishes coming true…

  • My Poems

    "What the Quake Experts Now Know about the Coming Cataclysm"

    Ah, there’s the rub, eh? The hubris of the know-it-all mind that deludes itself into thinking “if one knows, why one can manage” and if we were all experts life as we know it wouldn’t quite creep up on us with such malicious surprise. Raindrops are nicely contained in a new copper rain gutter but comes a deluge and unforeseen storm, those gutters fly right off the house. Malicious surprises await us and there is nothing we can do about it. No planning can prepare us No people can protect us. We must, like Job, throw our hands heavenward and say, ‘tho He slay me, yet will I trust him.”…

  • My Poems

    Cacophony {a #poem}

    The chickadees are arguing using their mad voices to fight over the millet and sunflowers– Here’s a sweet ‘chirp’, there’s     an insistent, “cuh, cuh, cuh” and another voice–“chick-a-dee, dee, dee.” It’s a Bird Boardroom Brawl, voices of different timbres and tempo arguing about what’s on the menu. They sound as if they’re starving,  staking out their claim to dinner like it’s their last meal. Then zoom! they’re off to another branch, a new hiding place as evening winds down, and I wonder did their mother send them all to bed without supper  because they wouldn’t stop fighting? Ahhhh, they may never  get that millet meal until morning after all. ~~~~~…