Showing posts from 2017


Lavender linaria spikes upward, miniature clouds stalk-perched      as they reach for the sky. Hummingbirds crowd-feed      in the waning afternoon sun. Carnations, red as a fresh-cut      thumb, wave divine perfume from      ruffled taffeta on gray-green stems. Sweet peas' pungent surprise,      a salmon/marshmallow palette, celestial      bouquet a fragrance of that       far away gate in the Heavenlies. Juncos chip-clacking in rhythm,       sure-footed clutching on feeders afloat,      trapezing in the breeze. Leaves, light-transfigured day      lanterns lingering against      a cornflower sky. Voices ferried on the wind,      gleeful hollers loud as a      clap of thunder, neighborhood       jazz accompaniment      to this quieting afternoon. ///
Let the record show, no pockets
     or wallets were emptied in
     exchange for these riches, no
     bank account tapped, no debt
     incurred to pay for this view.
The ledger will detail only this:
   "Full stop, eyes open,

Silence Ascends, Sunday

There's a lot one can say
     about the power of being 
     quiet (yes, I see the irony).
When listening forefronts the mind
     other senses muscle their 
     way into place (the ears above
     all) take in the not-words
     simply song, hum and tone
     in counterpoint.
No addition necessary; I am
     mute, yet the Word bursts
     alive, verse and chorus rise
     without me. The truth
     needs no help to stand.
Even when I'm not singing
     even if I'm not yes-ing it.
Sometimes you don't get an amen.


"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 so?

I may travel by antenna, feel my way blind on small  steel and close pavement, stopping for crumbs. But just because I cannot see it does not mean there is no sky.

Spring's Verb Says

Fireworks have nothing on me,
no man-made show can match
this explosive display.
Shocking green here,
shouting magenta there,
showy white front and center.

No gunpowder could blow
breezes like this 
to bristle trees,
to “whoosh” the wind
across the skies,
no factory fierce enough
to produce this bright beauty.

Spring’s verb says 
the growing will never stop,
but will flow from a fire 
deep in the dark,
shoved to the surface,
erupting when you’re not looking.

Spring’s verb comes from nowhere
but Godwhere.

Spring’s verb says ‘get ready.’
~~~~~~~~~~ This poem was prompted by the first line in a poetry book,‘Mischief Cafe’,

Holy Landing

"Samara," she said and the words
took flight in my hearing,
invisible windborne flora
soaring across my thoughts.
She spoke of wings, a divine
creation spinning towards
earth to plant itself like a
stubborn weed-fierce and stuck.
Imagination took root,
sending me flying home
towards Webster's--
'some-are-uh' - and there
a black and white drawing of
a seed with wings
"an indehiscent, usually 
one-seeded fruit, of the ash 
or maple."

Like that spinning tree-gift
may I fly holy words,
carrying the seed of my
Saviour to land, stuck
and stubborn, finally
splitting into silent roots
then skyward, bearing
fruit with wings.
sometimes a poem inspires a poem.
Thank you, Laurie Klein

Week One-A Prayer

I wish I could collect
     the light, landing its shadows
     on this page as it creeps
     ever brighter through the gray.

Pour it out to wash my heart,
     salve the wound of this
     present heaviness, the sighs
     that never end.

Hold it lightly aloft, praying
     no sharp wind or
     quiet, steady breeze
     snuff it out, for we
     need it so

Father, carry us,
     ferry us through storms,
     silent and proud as we
     shine hope in the right
     up ward.

Send us, spread us
     like the daily sure rising
     of your sun, that moves ever
     on into the distant dark.

I've Been Asking

Jesus,  because He said I could (ask) about a Five Year Plan-- lke a plannable annuity with a guaranteed return on my investment. as if... as if a sure answer for my tomorrows would bring me peace today. He whispers instead what's doable-- the Five Hour Plan-a chunk  of time allotted to say, oh, baking a pie-- manageable, like a tried and true recipe gather ingredients check oven double check recipe mix, roll, bake voila! a pie, sure as shootin'. Yes, I asked Jesus about what's ahead...on down  the road... over the hill and of course (you guessed it) He handed me a peach.

The Practice of Prayer While Making Soup

{on not watching the Golden Globes}
Facing the stove, I busy my hands with this thrice-cooked fowl, weaving water
herbs and onions to conjure up a warming  repast for our souls.
Skin holds meat, meat holds
bone (or is it the other way around?) and
as the chunks slip and slide into the bubbling
pot before me, I wonder, wordless,
at the speed with which we revere
and revile our fellow human beings. In the other room a happy tumult erupts.
A television voice announces it's a beautiful
day in LaLaLand. The steady sun shines
on folks arriving via car and carpet as
crowds cheer.
Some of them will be handed the world.
Perhaps they deserve it.
The cynical may scoff at these bright gifts
offered to those who chase and make
'silly dreams.'
Why all the to do over such a shallow
show, this vanity diminished by the weight
of the headlines, today's news, my own life? Perhaps it is precisely dreams we need.
Oh, indeed, we need our dreams.
c. Jody Lee Collins 2016 ~~~~~~~~~ photo credit--from L. Richardson…