• Book Reviews,  Female Faith Poets

    Female Faith Poet-Susan Cowger

    Susan Cowger confesses she was the ‘black sheep’ in the family, not quite fitting into the mold of family vocations–nurses, pharmacists, sensible people. Instead, her first language was art, a calling that led to a BA in Fine Art (1977) from Montana State University and subsequent MFA in Poetry with a secondary emphasis in Art from Eastern Washington University in 1997. Susan is a sculptor, visual artist (oils and watercolor) and a writer. What made her take the leap from two dimensional and three-dimensional work to words? “Art is often abstract. I wanted to help people enter into the art, so I started writing little poems. It seemed to help,”…

  • My Poems

    Accompaniment {a #poem}

    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com Birds, their tones both winged and bright Harmonize from branches out of sight Know their parts, score memorized Flash and zoom before my eyes. Soprano, alto, second, bass Throaty praises from branchy place Echo, float, reverberate A pause, then celebrate Mornings’ rise first slow and quiet Against dull backdrops now a riot Their songs a span of treble and bass Background my day, this hallowed space. ***** The daybreak song of birds seems brighter and more clear than ever before. Have you noticed? I tried to to capture their music ((impossible)) by playing around with meter and rhyme. I hope the joy comes through the…

  • My Poems

    January Bird {a #poem}

    Where have you been? Out of town like those who flee our chilled clime and metallic skies? Elsewhere, warming up your voice to herald today’s sunrise with your song? I welcome your morning melody making its way to my ears, stirring memories of other songs on sullen, silver days when your music was my only companion, a balm for the emptiness at the edge of my days.  

  • My Poems

    65 is Just a Number {a #poem}

    There is no statute of limitations on vision. My old eyes register a darting messenger of God’s blatant, creative joy. Watch the winged creation hover in a web of air. Spy a sleuthing intruder snap-tapping its way across the wood, tunneling away and down the outside stairs. No expiration (yet) for hearing, cataloguing birdvoice and the chipclacking of breakfast at the feeder, the squeaking insistence at the fountain. Teach me to number my days, Lord, to register the ways your wind ruffles the tablecloth in the morning’s gentle breeze, how cool, shortened shadows signal this sea change of a season rippling towards quieter times. May I live this calendar daily,…

  • Poetry

    Mining the Bright Birds

    “ I strain towards the future, eyes focused on the far away past empty, quiet gray, like looking for a hummingbird in the snow. I squint at fine twig lines as they slice across white over green in front of the dormant sienna. I spy her there, a gemstone stately in her royal stance among the branches. It is no effort, truly, to find my way through buried days, if I but gentle my busy self, settle and sit, sip and settle, determine to welcome the daytime darkness while mining the bright birds.

  • My Poems

    Cacophony {a #poem}

    The chickadees are arguing using their mad voices to fight over the millet and sunflowers– Here’s a sweet ‘chirp’, there’s     an insistent, “cuh, cuh, cuh” and another voice–“chick-a-dee, dee, dee.” It’s a Bird Boardroom Brawl, voices of different timbres and tempo arguing about what’s on the menu. They sound as if they’re starving,  staking out their claim to dinner like it’s their last meal. Then zoom! they’re off to another branch, a new hiding place as evening winds down, and I wonder did their mother send them all to bed without supper  because they wouldn’t stop fighting? Ahhhh, they may never  get that millet meal until morning after all. ~~~~~…