Playing with Words

I loved writing poetry in 11th and 12th grade and in my early college years. But when I moved into my 20s I felt that my poetry was overly dramatic. . . I was embarrassed by me and my work, so I put it away and stopped writing. Reading poetry grew to become a staple in my life and a means of grace for my heart and my mind. I fell in love with “children’s poetry,” Luci Shaw, Billy Collins, Langston Hughes, Dana Gioia and haiku. In the past decade I fell in love with more poets, among them Malcolm Guite, Kaye Ryan, Christin Perrin, Denise Levertov, Maya Cannon, and Scott Cairns. Recently I bought TS Eliot’s Four Quartets. Many of my friends love this, and I thought now was the time I could dive in. And now, 30 years after I put away writing poetry, I asked to God help me try again, and to help me be patient in the learning curve, to write something I didn’t hate as well as something others might enjoy or connect to. . .To write in a way that would help me play with words, as my friend Amy encourages me to do. And He did answer this prayer with “yes” and even, “I’ll do with with you.” God has been helping me each step of the way - with ideas, words, patience, vulnerability, and delight. Some days I just mull over several poem ideas and then sit and write and rewrite for hours. And when I think this “honeymoon” period is over and the well is dry (to use two cliches at once), new ideas, focus, and words return. It’s been a fun ride… and I don’t hate my poetry, and I have really enjoyed putting words together. Here are a few favorites. .

Delicious

 “Shafts of delicious sunlight struck down into the forest floor…” 

~ CS Lewis

 Like when the glow of the morning 

runs through our 

faded, cotton curtains.

Or when the car windows are rolled down, 

and we are swallowed up by the sun 

on the open back roads of Lancaster.

 Like when my little girl and I 

are lying in the grass, 

our faces to the shining blue sky,

and our eyes squinting through upheld fingers, 

and the bright rays warm our skin. 

“Let us stretch ourselves out towards him, 

that when he comes he may fill us full."  

~ St. Augustine

The tree across the street,

the one I see framed in our front window,

was slowly losing its leaves,

 until yesterday’s wind came.

Now only a scattering of red and orange remain, 

exposing a maze of branches

reaching out,

stretching up.

 And then there is my heart,

how gradually I reveal it

to me       to you

to God.

 How my longings reach out

and then stretch 

 and stretch up,

waiting to be filled.

 And in the spring,

the tree I see in our window shines 

in the afternoon sun,

rich with its pink flowers

and its green leaves. 

The trees along my way

 The trees in winter,

naked and exposed,

 look as if they are a tangle of hands reaching up—

the limbs and branches taking hold of the sun for warmth

and grabbing at the blue sky for cover.

 And as the sun goes down, 

when the sky holds indigo before it falls to black,

they are a silent silhouette of waiting.