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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. ~~~~~…
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Hand Made {a #poem}
I bend to be formed, not torn or broken but tempered by heat, a fire so hot the white is all You see of me. I said change and grow and I’m bent so low this shape of me is melting brass forged by tools so strong I fear the breaking. But I’m bound to bend, be shaped, sheared sound, let this shine of me play gleaming glory, become the beautiful breath of sudden notes quickened by Spirit, living tune played through me, a golden song borne on the honeyed breeze of dawn.
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#whyisitcalledahashtag {a #poem}
#whyisitcalled a hashtag? and not a number sign as in “#3”? (or n-o period 3?) For that matter, why is it a “pound sign”? (as in “Please enter your password, followed by the pound sign?” (my son did not weigh 7#’s 3 oz. it was lbs., thank you.) You’re calling it a hashtag for tweeters who twitter (or tweet? yes, tweet…….. but that’s a bird) Maybe it’s a hashtag as in corned beefed hash– in front of the tag? as in, “tag, you’re it?” as in….oh, I give up. just tell me why is it called a hashtag?
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True Wood {a #poem}
Pears thunk and plop on barren, yellow grass alone, uncarried. The tree bore fruit but there is no one to eat thereof. (is it still a tree?) Upraised branches, so much verdant waterspray towards the sky, still and soft against the blue– but no one to see. (is it still a tree?) Oaken limbs, worn with carrying children to and fro, pumping, playing jumping, but no one now hears the joy in the swing. (is it still a tree?) Carpenter fashions these woodly beams, rough-hewn splinter-worthy carried for miles to the top of a hill- everyone sees: It was a tree.
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Worship-an Inventory
Solomon Episcopal Retreat Center Louisiana December 2009. Used with permission. “The best kind of poem is an inventory.” G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, 1908 Starvation Expectation Reception without reservation Fascination Captivation Revelation Saturation Restoration Habitation
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Cross Words
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. ~~~~~~~~~ J.L. Collins 2012
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If Words Were Pictures {a poem}
If words were pictures, I’d see them there, A string of suspended steps sunk into the sky. Mine, a stairway— I said goodbye and went on… Climbing upward, upward. Yours—a thousand steps, but ground-level, flat; stretching forward in a solitary line. You said, “I almost died,” then put one foot in front of the other and continued to live, one painful step at a time. Those steps transported you away, slowly moving forward like a train. The rolling rumble carrying you along as you survive, just barely. Your words trail off in the distance with the sorry, sad sound of worn out wheels, and I’m left standing by the tracks…
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Cocooning-{a #poem}
A shell of protection, this choice I’ve made To hide away indefinitely until This fragile, silken wall peels Away revealing new life. The barrier is temporary and thin— Easily broken when the time is right. But now I must collect myself Be still awhile Take pains with my words, listen more, Defy the urgency of unnecessary things. Spinning this private insulation Preserves me heart and soul In these jostling, jarring times. Whispered prayers for new life to come as I emerge from this case of gauzy gray. Chrysalis–gold. All that remains when death and destruction…