• Poetry

    Drinking Song

    Thank you, Jesus, you came to The average everyday of us, Chose dwelling in limited space, Smiling your vast smile at our Smallness as we reach for our evening beers Down at the local, Baring our souls as we join heart and soul With our friends. You sit back and rest with us in our glass of wine At the end of a same song day, monotonous like A hamster wheel going nowhere, (you had days like that, too. The keeping on with your wood and your work The always, every dayness of the rabble Rousing around you, their limited sight distance Keeping them from seeing Who You Really Are.)…

  • Poetry

    Lessons in Love from the Snow

    Water, is taught by thirst Land-by the oceans passed. Transport–by throe– Peace–by its battles told– Love, by Memorial Mold– Birds, by the Snow. Emily Dickinson, 1896 ~~~~~~~~~~ no snow here, friends, not yet. but plenty of birds and poetry.

  • Poetry

    Thoughts on an Amaryllis

    Dry, peeling globe, whiskered, spidery tendrils bottomside. Topside, a thumbnail pokes through plays at growing green threatening strong stalks towards the sky. Blooms are said to hide within– secrets in scarlet, crimson, peach pearly white, the palest pink– a plantiferous palette of possibilities. But I do not see their beauty now Cannot feel any joy at what is there unseen. I’m feeling bulb-like these days, layers of daily, dull, drudge covering a floral wonder. Lacking zip or zeal, taking on water, daily light,  turning when needed. Always turning. Always needed. Feeling not feeling but going by faith that the Spirit, latent though He seems, is there. Waiting, powerful,  pushing in,…

  • Poetry

    Glory be to God The Retreat Version

    Glory be to God for susurrous* memory, the quiet whispers of bonny beach walks sailing over azure skies born of a windy world. Efflorescence hurls worlds of wondrous words, a witness born of  plentiful peace, sprung from  a place of singing. Worshipful worlds of Spirit peace, sprung from a place of singing. Praise Him. ~~~~~~ In October of 2016 my gifted friend Kimberlee and I co-facilitated a writer’s retreat for women of faith in the Washington Cascades. One of our gathering times was playing with words–LOTS of words–and paying attention to alliteration and sound in the style of Gerard Manley Hopkins. Kimberlee brought thousands of words to choose from as we…

  • My Poems,  Poetry

    Writing Down the Bones {a #poem}

    Something has been said about “writing down the bones” which sounds like a good practice if you’re learning anatomy. But the first time I heard the phrase, I thought it was “writing down the poems,” So I am. Writing down the poems moving my bones, the ligaments lightly holding the pen– black on paper, blue, too, re-living the washing of water by their words, like taking a bath in beauty that leaves me breathless. If I bathe with this cleansing flood, soak in the senses, sounds of someone else’s heart in my soul, I’m sure the echo will ring out true on the other side– wash and rinse cycle of…

  • Poetry

    I Meant to Thank You**

    I thought I had tomorrow-more than one, like petalsfrom an infinite flowerheld in my hand.I thought I had tomorrowfoolishly thinking the chanceswould arise in infinite numberrolling in like wavesagain and again on the shore.But the words-writ at my feet,stayed there, washing awaylike silken sand,crumbling in liquid lines–the words I never said.I meant to say “Thank you.” ** This poem is from a line prompt in The Mischief Cafe, a traveling sort of poetry party book published by Tweetspeak Poetry.  If you’re shy about writing poetry, The Mischief Cafe is a good place to start.