Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
Writing comes from listening,
so I’ve taken quiet steps outside
away from the loud
to hear better.
Eyes open this time
to see AND hear–this–
the delicate drops of fuchsia,
ballerinas fluttering like so many
upside-down firecrackers,
fragile, full of beauty
dropping feathery tendrils
to the silent air.
Autumn morning, my eyes are trainedthrough windows to the shadowshow on tree trunks, crayon box of colors falling through space from newly-revealed branches.Creator comes to mind, how Hecarries us, colors us, covers uswith His power, tree-like arms ourstrength, raising us Heavenward. Aware that sap is invisible, a pulsing, stickyriver, carrying nourishment in its wake while…
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…
A mountain so wide the horizon could not contain it The path rough and boulder-strewn, here a plain, then stumbling again through the dark undergrowth towards the top. We left for this journey in the light— someone keeps stealing it away. Sun rays appear in glimmers through the trees, a flutter here and there Revealing life,…
Tell someone you’ve written a book and they’ll ask, “What’s it about?” Well, here’s my non-elevator pitch, from the Preface of Hearts on Pilgrimage-Poems & Prayers, January 2021. The Path When I said my initial yes to Jesus over 40 years ago, I found poet Luci Shaw’s first book, Listen to the Green and was…
Overcome by the quaking power of God’s sweet presence Around the shoulders of friend-draped worshippers Across the room to the children raising, praising, lifting small hands Surrounded by incarnations of God in these multi-colored people Next to sweet-voiced sisters and deep-throated men, I’m looking~~eyes up and over and through the windows, past the summer-waving trees…
I was thinking, Father, yesterday in worship, with my hands upraised in prayer and thanks, how like a container I’ve been this week. Empty, needing to be filled, a hollowed out space hollering for help. I’ve been stuck, stagnant, stewing by myself drowning in unmoving water. And you showed me, Lord, how like a…