Jody Lee Collins

Random Acts of Writing

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Instagram Inspiration

Instagram post 2157527474010194849_1955420147 Rainy days are for reading. Rainy nights, too. As much as I have tried to cull my pile of books, though, well….there's all those trips to Goodwill and the ease of the internet to bring me a new title my way. It's a hopeless cause. . . . I've been leaning more towards fiction in this season of my life, laying off the non-fiction and information overload in favor of dialogue and character and setting and a good story. Thanks to @sarahwanders and her volume "Bookgirl" I discovered The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley (1954), an indescribable banquet of joy. The book is not for children only in the sense that the language is a little lofty, but it suits me just fine. . . . .Have you ever read a book so rich that you smiled at the turn of each page, simply because you enjoyed the language and imagery? That's the way I feel about The Water Babies. I hope you'll find a lovely book to read soon in the middle of your rainy (or sunshiny) days to lift your heart and soul. And tell me, how do YOU manage all your books? . . . #reading #beautymatters #readupstream #bookgirl #classics #fiction #story
Instagram post 2155529454403673629_1955420147 The Love of God, Frederick Martin Lehman (1868-1953) Could we with ink the ocean fill, And were the skies of parchment made; Were every tree on earth a quill, And every man a scribe by trade; To write the love of God above Would drain the ocean dry; Nor could the scroll contain the whole, Though stretched from sky to sky.
Instagram post 2154585218946619345_1955420147 I was out on errands Sunday afternoon, marveling at the sudden change in tree colors all around me. I'd been playing with my Artsy watercolors (42 set--so fun!) and thought of all the variations of greens and yellows in the palette I purchased. I mean, how many ways can you say 'yellow'? I came up with 'goldenrod', 'butter', 'lemon' before I ended up back at home. God's creation is amazing--the nuances in nature astounding. How many ways can you say orange? Or red? I'd love to hear your thoughts. . . . @thatsmesusanmulder @shapingtheriver @jswwhitcomb #watercolors #nature #Godscreation #poetry #autumn
Instagram post 2152100922351153730_1955420147 In Which God and I Have a Conversation (a #poem) Get your own bread, stop grabbing Off your sister’s plate And eyeing your brothers’. I gave them just what they need— I’ll do the same for you. "What is it?” “Manna." “What is it?” “Yes.” “But what IS  it?” You’ll just have to taste and see. So what’s good today? Well, We have items that are seasonal,  depending on what’s ripe and ready. Wouldn’t want to give you anything too green- It causes indigestion. Like it??? Tastes like honey, yes? Well, no, you can’t stuff some In your pockets for tomorrow. It’ll either turn into crumbs From the pressure Or get moldy—it’s dark inside there. Also, you'll forget I gave you anything in the first place. Don’t cram it all down at once— Take small bites— Then come back for more. Do you have enough for today? Great—we’ll see you tomorrow— Your Father’s setting up a banqueting table…. *** I was reading the Pentatech thru earlier this year and really felt for poor ol’ Moses leading the complaining children of Israel.  When they asked God for food He said he would "rain down bread from heaven” for them, and in this way he would ‘test them to see whether they will follow my instructions.’ . . . Test them? What instructions? Why? To trust HIM daily for their food. God is also teaching me to look to Him for something new and fresh and my own every day. (p.s. ‘manna’—accent on the 2nd syllable--in Hebrew, literally means ‘what is it?’) #poetry #Exodus #Scripture #tasteandsee
Instagram post 2150528637399867219_1955420147 Mystery-J.L. Collins Babies come in lumpy boxes, all folded porcelain pudge, surprises buried in gurgle, shriek and smile. Experts have feigned understanding, documenting stages, development, what-to-expects along the way, Sherlock-like. But they have no clue. . . . Newborns babble in infant-speak all the while, their coos belying what’s going on inside those beribboned, noisy containers. Neurons fire in a multitude of synapses, ligaments, sinew and bone grow invisible and cell-deep in the dark. Face it. We know nothing now. We’ll spend the rest of our lives unwrapping this gift. . . . Thank you @tspoetry for the 'mystery' prompt. For my granddaughter Mary Rebecca Elizabeth. #newborns #babies #poetry #daughters @leahmjohnson79 @clairehsegura
Instagram post 2149585539077318395_1955420147 Now the gray begins The drip of days and Dull light. The quiet Of golden flame and Flicker, coffee in the Dark kitchen, casting my eyes through the glass to the glory of summer's end and the silent season of Fall. #lightshow #autumn #lightinthedark #quietseason #POETRY
Instagram post 2146646153536826612_1955420147 "Among the numerous luxuries of the table...coffee may be considered as one of the most valuable. It excites cheerfulness without intoxication; and the pleasing flow of spirits which it occasions...is never followed by sadness, languor or debility”.-Benjamin Franklin I've recently started the practice of Morning Pages (anyone else?) and it's been helpful to use paper and pencil as a repository for all the random thoughts in my head. Julia Cameron says it's a way to unlock creativity, which I'm discovering is kinda, sorta helpful. (I wrote a poem this week, for one thing, so that makes me happy.) . . . True confession--I am a coffee snob (I live in Seattleland, I suppose it comes with the territory.) And here's the thing about weak, lukewarm coffee, which of course I dumped onto my morning pages (not literally, but via my words). It got me thinking about how much we settle--like, "Oh, I really don't care about this cup of coffee being bland and not what I like, I'll drink it anyway. I shouldn't be so picky about what I want. It's okay." . . . It is not okay. I like strong hot coffee with the right amount of cream. Sort of the color of a dark toffee. Coffee you can actually taste and enjoy, not something that passes for a caffeinated hot beverage, that's the color of faded cardboard. Know what I mean? I'm getting better at talking about what I actually like and feeling okay with it, not just settling. God made us each with a unique coffee (or tea) loving sensibility. He made m e with unique sensibilities that make me who I am. And He's happy when I'm drinking a hot cup of strong coffee with just the right amount of cream. . . . . #youbeyou #morningpages #amwriting #writingcommunity #coffeequotes #coffee #cuppajoe
Instagram post 2145928383627102010_1955420147 'The 23d Psalme' Geo Herbert (1633) #randomactsofpoetryday The God of love my shepherd is, And he that doth me feed: While he is mine, and I am his, What can I want or need? He leads me to the tender grasse, Where I both feed and rest; Then to the streams that gently passe: In both I have the best. Or if I stray, he doth convert And bring my minde in frame: And all this not for my desert, But for his holy name. Yea, in death's shadie black abode Well may I walk, not fear: For thou art with me; and thy rod To guide, thy staff to bear. Nay, thou dost make me sit and dine, Ev’n in my enemies sight: My head with oyl, my cup with wine Runnes over day and night. Surely thy sweet and wondrous love Shall measure all my dayes; And as it never shall remove, So neither shall my praise. . . I've been wanting to memorize the 23rd Psalm lately, and although it's only six verses, I was happy to find this version that rhymed. When I came upon Herbert's rendering in my copy of The Temple, I copied it post haste. (And yes, it sounds Shakespeare-like, all those extra ‘e’s and such, but you get the idea.) Today is Random Acts of Poetry Day, sponsored by Tweetspeak Poetry. I do hope you'll take a few moments to read (or share!) a poem that you love. Happy reading!  #poetry #GeorgeHerbert #raopoetryday @tspoetry #PtDefianceRoseGarden photo is mine jlc
Instagram post 2145210491671673880_1955420147 Weather Change --J.L.Collins The chickadees chatter and chirrup "a cheep, cheep chick-a-dee-dee!" bullying for position  on the fence post. There's an argument about breakfast and who goes first and "hey, no cuts!" Doesn't matter there's an  over-spilling feeder full of seeds-- all the birds are hungry. It's a change-of-weather morning where the dew  rests in places normally occupied by sunshine, his arc lower in the sky  by several degrees, chair cushions stashed in view of a threat of rain (really?) And a new  chill in the air-- a reminder of last-year-this-time like an old dream of seasons before, coming on the morning of a new awakening. . . . #poetsover60 #creation #poetsofinstagram #weather #birds #RoshHashanah
Instagram post 2144515901994025406_1955420147 Green -Richard Wilbur, 1921-2017 Tree-leaves which, till the growing season's done, Change into wood the powers of the sun, Take from that radiance only reds and blues. Green is a color they cannot use, And so their rustling myriads are seen To wear all summer an extraneous green, A green with no apparent role, unless To be the symbol of a great largesse Which has no end, though autumns may revoke That shade from yellowed ash and rusted oak. #poetryforever #autumn #godscreation
Instagram post 2142978618710917049_1955420147 Announcement-a poem J.L.Collins Four thirty a.m. The "chree-chree-chree" sounds in the far off greeny bog. "Whis-tle" "whis-tle" "whis-tle" returns the call, floating notes through the open window. A chorus of chirps and cheeps overlap like leaves in a pile at the singing tree, all the feathered throats announcing-- messaging, instantly-- a new day never-been-done day, it's-another-start-day. So I rise, weary, but no more wondering at their noisy insistence- I'd shout and sing, too-- this day, this dawn is new. . . . #poetryforever #birds #godscreations #fourthofjulyrose photo is mine jlc
Instagram post 2141627316470825737_1955420147 “…he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem, that is, a composition and pattern of the best and honorablest things—not presuming to sing high praises of heroic men or famous cities, unless he have in himself the experience and the practice of all that which is praiseworthy.” John Milton, from Milton-The Laurel Poetry Series, edited by Richard Wilbur, 1968 . . . #johnmilton #POETRY #classics #flowersofInstagram #faithwriting #ptdefiancepark #dahliagarden photo is mine. Jlc
Instagram post 2139477730360953526_1955420147 Steps to Picking Raspberries on the First Day of Fall {a #poem} First, avoid the bumblebees zooming in for latent sugar Dripping in the rain, their heavy soaking reflected in Drops from the satiated rubies you hope to pop in your Mouth. Second, beware the mildew, mold and bursting Moisture of berries too long on the vine, having missed the Summer sun as you did, wondering at the absent heat lo, these Many months. Three, cast a watchful gaze at ubiquitous spiders Who’ve homed themselves midst the leaves, hiding (or so They think) from the birds and maybe you. Their webs give Them away, as do the smattering of mottled, rounded globes In the bottom of your small bucket. Given away, alive in Your hand so that lastly, you’ll swallow them, tiny yet tasty Fresh and fruitful this first day of fall. #firstdayoffall #poetry #bees #gardens #poetsover60 #poetsofinstagram
Instagram post 2138099445534055155_1955420147 Inventory, a poem J.L.Collins Lavender linaria spikes upward, miniature clouds stalk-perched  as they reach for the sky. Hummingbirds crowd-feed  in the waning afternoon sun. Carnations, red as a fresh-cut  thumb, wave divine perfume from  ruffled taffeta on gray-green stems. Sweet peas’ pungent surprise,  a salmon/marshmallow palette, celestial  bouquet a fragrance of that  far away gate in the Heavenlies. Juncos chip-clacking in rhythm,  sure-footed clutching on feeders afloat,  trapezing in the breeze. Leaves, light-transfigured day  lanterns lingering against  a cornflower sky. Voices ferried on the wind,  gleeful hollers loud as a  clap of thunder, neighborhood  jazz accompaniment  to this quieting afternoon. /// Let the record show, no pockets or wallets were emptied in exchange for these riches, no bank account tapped, no debt incurred to pay for this view. The ledger will detail only this: “Full stop, eyes open,  breathing slowed.” No currency recorded, just a bookkeeper’s note in a lazy hand, “Two slowing feet, arrested gaze  earful of sound.” /// The books are balanced and so is my soul. #beautymatters #poetry #flowersofInstagram #gardens #soulwork
Instagram post 2135951627424055661_1955420147 Doing Dishes in the Dark -J.L. Collins I wash by Braille, a tactile exchange for the gift of this misted view Illumined by the morning's solar accompaniment. After countless days of practice, I can scrub plates with my eyes closed. If I flip on the lights my task is sealed; drudgery ahead. I'm formally present and engaged in keeping house. But what keeps me? A window to the world beyond my sink and suds, a looking glass invitation to gaze and rest my heart-eyes on the horizon God-breathed, framed, illustrated, hung just high enough, beckoning attention to this gauzy morning where, soon enough, I will be present and formally engaged. Water runs. I rinse and stack by heart, a silent sigh registering the sight before me, sating my senses as I come to mine, Grateful for hands that read silver, recognize glass as I translate the day to come. . . . #poetry #keepinghouse #everymomentholy #creationspeaks #listening ( photo of Lake Washington, Seward Park Wa)
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Homepage Headshot by Kris Camealy, all other photos are mine, unless otherwise noted. c. J.L. Collins

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