Posts

Showing posts from March, 2012

If Words Were Pictures

Image
If words were pictures, I’d see them there, A string of suspended steps sunk into the sky. Mine, a stairway— I said goodbye and went on… Climbing upward, upward. Yours—a thousand steps, but ground-level, flat; stretching forward in a solitary line.

You said, “I almost died,” then put one foot in front of the other and continued to live, one painful step at a time. Those steps transported you away, slowly moving forward like a train. The rolling rumble carrying you along as you survive, just barely. Your words trail off in the distance with the sorry, sad sound of worn out wheels, and I’m left standing by the tracks tasting smoke, listening to the faint, fading whistle while you die. ----------------------------- A friend told me the other day it was finally official, the divorce papers had come.
"It's really no surprise, she said, "it was like watching something slowly die."
I thought about the last conversation I had with another friend, who ended his email with the words, "I'…

slow burn

Jason S. over at Connecting to Impact had a powerful post the other day, provoking this thought......


What is it that deals us our greatest blows?
That is our undoing?
Is it our enemy, the devil?
Or blatant evil, so closely cloaked
----‘live’ spelled backwards?
Were he so out in the open and obvious
He’d be easily stopped or avoided.
Yet hidden behind the dailiness,
the benign and harmless,
It isn’t the devil,
but merely distraction and dissipation.

Distracted by the simply innocuous, (“surely this couldn’t hurt”),
Dissipated by my attention to frivolity,
(“certainly I have energy for this as well…”)
We succumb to defeat.

dissipation—“to lessen one’s effect or impact, to deflate” distraction—“to look away from, to lose one’s direction and goal, a mindless diversion.”
There is no actual destruction;

Either way—deflated or diverted, eventually we fall,
becoming
over time,
useless
and at last,
invisible.

Cocooning

A shell of protection, this choice I’ve made To hide away indefinitely until This fragile, silken wall peels Off, revealing new life. The barrier is temporary and thin— Easily broken when the time is right.
But now I must collect myself Be still awhile Be safe. Take pains with my words, listen more, Defy the urgency of unnecessary things.
Spinning this private insulation about me Preserves my heart and soul In these jostling, jarring times.
But new life will come as I emerge From this case of gray to see the world again. Chrysalis……..gold. Gold that remains when death and destruction are burned away. New life will come on quiet, fragile wings.
                                I will fly, I will land,
I will see the world in a new way. I will remember.

Jody Lee Collins c. 2012
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem is a response to a prompt over at dVerse Poets Open Link Night where we were encouraged to: "describe the psychological state you were in when you wrote your poem, the social events underlying it, o…

Gabriel's Oboe

Image
Angels
If Gabriel had an oboe, as Morricone thought he might he'd summon me low and soft as he did wooing with ways and words piercing my heart, as he did.
Angel--messenger-- sending arrows winged with declarations announcing in my hearing a salve-bringing message healing the piercing, releasing the flood held back by brick-walled lies and stone-cold pain, untold ache I never knew 'til he announced the truth.
Angel--light bringer-- he'd hold my face towards the sun, as he did speaking freedom over me, affirming my release pronouncing power, peace, making me, this time, the Messenger.

Glorious Moon

Image
Sideways glancing, face atilt she watches, a wondering at our wandering, solemnly sees our not-seeing.
How can they miss all this--- the faithful lumen bursting barren emptiness, Sun's reflection, co-anchoring the sky? They say there's a man in the moon who's in love with the girl in the world... but I think it's the reverse. Nurturing nightlight, with feminine traits worrying at our forgetfulness to Just Look Up. She solemnly sits and waits, as mothers are wont to do, waits for us to wonder anew, bear witness to her faithfulness and find our way home by that glorious light. Photo Google Images, Nat'l Geographic
Linking with the folks at   dVerse Pub for Open Link Night--Join us!