Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
“Stretch” must be a biblical word, regardless of one’s age (an extension, a straining) like a two-year-old reaching on tiptoes towards her Father, not unlike the discomfort of unfolding old bones and well-used knees, joints so stiff they’ve forgotten how to bend. I want to stress and press past the comfortable,groan with the growing, the knowing that dailyI must…
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…
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.
Furious gusts of wayward windstrip branches bare of late season leaves,punctuating the sky with explosions of colorand silent, sweeping stars.
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,…