Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
A child (surprise!)
yours
Daughter (ignored)
called out one
Sister (competing)
the apple of your eye
Bride (terrified)
loved
Mother (novice)
protected
Teacher (trusting)
a priest
Writer (trembling)
a gift
Nana (overjoyed)
your friend
“Just Me” (yes)
redeemed.
~~~~~~~
Hanan Samuel Collins, Age 8 Multnomah Falls, OR I wrote this poem on the January day in 2003 when my first grandson, Hanan Samuel, was born. Your birth today unequivocally proved that science still can do nothing at explaining the miraculous. The day you came into the world the…
“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…
Classroom photo, mine. 2012 “Recess teacher!!” That would be me and anyone else over 3 feet tall who has a whistle. “Hey guys, just so you know, my name’s Mrs. Collins”, flashing my cartoon-y fish logo with my fancy-ish name. “What’re your names?” “I’m Atticus, this is Zeppelin.” “Well, those are some pretty big names,” I…
Lovely Lydia dipped cloth in indigo dye, dressing royalty in the Kingly color of the day. I am wrapped today in color of another hue~ scarlet red~ covering me in impossibly laundered linens purchased by the Savior King who died descending into darkness, bursting forth in a blaze of Color That is Not– Purest White.
If I was inside not here–away– I’d miss the rickety sounding chip, chip, chip of the cautious squirrel feasting on my deck. I’d be still and safe and sure of my surroundings but could never feel this lacy, lingering, gentle breeze lilting along the leaves of the trees. My eyes would rest on the all…
Ripping paper tears, tape(d) to the back of yesterday, rends asunder the frame of today’s reality. Too bad the glue that held the lives in place, frame-wise, could not extend to the flesh and blood heart-wise. ~~~~ going through family photos and sorrowing over the lives of people torn apart by life. There but…