Showing posts from November, 2014

Thanks Giving

Friends and family leave words on screens
            and phone lines,
dropping voices and laughter like
            golden pendants rippling
across the surface of my morning.
Bookends of baking--pies first and the turkey last--
           include potatoes, The Green Bean Casserole
           and sweet potatoes in between.
Chimes outside echo on the warm wind
           of a rare November day,
           breezes rustling the nearly empty branches
           like the rushing of waves on a far away summer shore.
Thanksgiving isn't a 30 second infomercial to fulfill
           the Adult Daily Requirements of finding joy
but rather a dayfull of listening and looking then
           raising heartsong Heavenwards
           towards the lifelong-loving Creator God
who gives us daily more reasons to be thankful.
Linking for the first time in a long time with the community of thankful people at Dverse Poets.
Join us?

Poetry 101--Mischief Cafe

The second week of November I had the pleasure of hosting a complete stranger in my home, the diminuitive L.L. Barkat, a woman with a contagious laugh, a love of poetry and instigator of the Mischief Cafe--sort of a traveling road show with tea, toast and poetry. Laura is the curator of Tweetspeak Poetry, a website dedicated to bringing the beauty and wonder of poetry out of the ivory towers and down to the rest of us. The idea for a traveling cafe came from a Facebook conversation which morphed (156 comments later) into a book, complete with found poems, blank pages--for the writer--and poetry prompts as well. The blank pages are my favorite. You can read more about Mischief Cafe's origins here.) ~~~~~~~~~~~~ With an event like a Mischief Café happening right in your own home (well, my kitchen,too) one would expect laughter.  Even if the guests included (almost) complete strangers whom you’d actually never met in real life.
So, with a feather boa and my Mischief Café volume handy, …

Timber over Time

Building a marriage is
timber over time,
the on purpose-ness
of candles on the table
on a run-of-the-mill
Saturday night
illuminating the daily
gift that says,
"I made something for you."

It's a pile of firewood
carried through the cold,
banked against the night's chill.
Opera music, loud on the stereo
while dinner cools
and the shower runs.
It's thoughtful intentions
stringing together all the todays,
prepared for all the tomorrows
when we can no longer
light the candles
carry the wood
or hear the music
but the love is still there
strong and tall as those
trees blowing outside
in the night.

Waiting Room

I wanted to write like Annie Dillard
not here
in the middle of this 
city/suburbs life.
Leave the concrete and
multiplying cars
with their inhuman noises,
seek a vista, a vale
of color and light,
to inspire and bring forth
words like a flowing brook
across quiet pebbles.
But I'm here in the hum,
surprised to be A Writer
in spite of my days of
down-to-earth distractions.

Every time I want to run away
to Another Perfect Place
the words follow me
like a homing pigeon
dropping his message 
like crumbs at my feet
where my life has
been all along.
"He who wants to save his life will lose it, but he who loses his life....will find it."   Jesus in Matthew, Mark and Luke

An Ode to my Cold

My cough appears each hour
with the annoying regularity 
of a political ad.
Its persistence is wearing me down.
The election is over, 
the advertisements are gone.
No more enduring the monotony
of a grating sound
I do not want to hear.
(did I tell you I have a cough?)

I did my part--voted the best I could--
made my wishes known.
But I'm wondering,
is there a ballot for
Ailments, Cold-Related?
A choice to Maintain or Repeal.
I vote for Repeal.

Can I borrow your pen?