Prepositions-A Poem of Praise

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
to a lidless blue sky
where my soul 
longs for home
and I sing
while I can
'til He comes
for me.
linking with Kelly and #Small Wonder Community. 
More lovely words over there.

Juneteenth 2015

Feeling the rain come
cave-cool air, white
and empty but for 
the breeze.
Still water rushing
the trees, sleepy
birds sitting at rest
call out the change
while tone on tone chimes 
echo from far below.
The drops fall - 
spare, invisible, too few.
My dry, gray lawn
is thirsty and longs
for a drenching, healing
the brittle, breakable land.
Hollow grasses like so many
hollow words, ache to be
filled, water that would wash
away this dusty, aching
Dear God, may it pour.
c. Jody Lee Collins 2015
Juneteenth is the oldest nationally celebrated commemoration of the ending of slavery in the United States. From its Galveston, Texas origin in 1865, the observance of June 19th as the African American Emancipation Day has spread across the United States and beyond.  I couldn't help thinking as this poem came to me last night how the hatred of black people in this country is still very much alive.  My heart breaks for Charleston.

Introduction to Poetry

I avoided it as long as I could,
skirted the issue like
a wallflower at my first dance.
Curious from afar about
such beauty and grace,
wondering at the words.
I felt unequal to the task
conversing with verse--
or worse--writing it...
What if I was wrong?
I hesitated as long as I could,
delayed the appointed 
time of our meeting
like an obligatory trip
to the dentist.
When at last we were introduced
(by a mutual friend)
my fears dissolved like
sugar in a steaming cup of tea--
the sweetness of the welcome
(toothache be damned)
was a pleasant surprise.
I extended my hand, 
enticed by the freedom 
of words on the page just so--
black on ivory, a gleaming smile
beckoning me to the dance.
I raised my pen and twirled.
The poem was inspired by a prompt from The Mischief Cafe,by TSPoetry Press,  a volume of poetry interspersed with blank pages for your own lines, prompts provided.
Mischief Cafe is a portable 'happening' around the treasure of poetry, sort of like a Peoplehood of the Traveling Feather Boas. 
Well, there were feather boas at our soiree.  What might you serve?

First Grade English Lesson

Across the pencils pointed skyward
like so many word-wielding swords
past the gray and steel of 
overflowing desks filled with 
orphaned papers stashed, crumpled askew
over the carpet-bland, sturdy, useable
home to small and hopeful feet
to the doorway--closed.
Through it comes
life and noise and limbs,
any moment now--
eager hearts, chattering faces,
souls on their sleeves--
seven year old movers and shakers.
God, help me see through to their hearts.