Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
The feeder hangs swaying,
no avian fellows alighting.
(males are the brightest; why?)
I wait and watch–they’ve flown I wonder where–for food?
Will their shimmering yellow return,
a harbinger of the lightening days ahead?
Indeed, one by one, I know they’ll come
hungry again (still) as they’ve done
year after year finding food,
flying beauty, feeding me with
their golden arrival.
When God insisted on Winter I think Jesus chimed in and invented ice skating rinks (or at least the ice–well, of course, the ice!) All that whirling and twirling jumping and spinning going on. Pratfalls and crashes and grown ups and children whizzing by and falling– re-upping their bodies umpty-million times. Fun and risk and…
Fireworks have nothing on me, no man-made show can match this explosive display. Shocking green here, shouting magenta there, showy white front and center. No gunpowder could blow breezes like this to bristle trees, to “whoosh” the wind across the skies, no factory fierce enough to produce this bright beauty. Spring’s verb says the growing…
Many corners of the interwebs are echoing Jesus-followers to be more intentional about pauses in our busy days and find a Sabbath rest. In this season of my life it is more and more difficult to engage in such a practice. However, I woke up the other morning and heard, “find Me in the In-Between”,…
“In the beginning” begs the existence of a dot, the endpoint of a line referencing time and movement, like an ant on the Golden Gate Bridge. If there is time (now) and movement (how?) why do we shun this guess the size of a galaxy, turn from the possibility of a God placing us just…
“Samara,” she said and the words took flight in my hearing, invisible windborne flora soaring across my thoughts. She spoke of wings, a divine creation spinning towards earth to plant itself like a stubborn weed-fierce and stuck. Imagination took root, sending me flying home towards Webster’s– ‘some-are-uh’ – and there a black and white drawing…
Six o’clock sounds say ‘hurry home’ in the rush and whoosh of tires sliding through the rain soaked street. The tick, click, tick of the clock confirms the dinner hour while a bird through the window with his “cheerup, cheerup, cheer!” reminds any and all listeners that evening is approaching. The electronic hmmzzzzzzzz…. of the…