Art of the Heart

Zoriah, Creative Commons

Zoriah, Creative Commons

Well-written poetry seems an art of the heart,
Requiring exploration of catacombs and tombs; dark, hidden rooms,
Only possible by the grace and prod of God. And trust.
Now I understand the uniform,
Gear, worn to give courage to fear.
Enveloping mined gold in curtains and folds,
Disguise of the wary wise.

Today’s assignment:  trust, internal rhyme, acrostic.

Busy day today, little time for revisions unless I ponder as I go.  Would really love your suggestions, though.

P.S.  This is why I don’t write poetry… it’s scary down there.  Plus, I kinda’ stink at it. But I do like to read yours.


13 thoughts on “Art of the Heart

    • Thank you. I like the idea of rendered better, too, but using requiring lets me remove “by the”, which I think messes up the rhythm. Maybe I’ll come up with a third option… Thank you for taking the time to give your preference. It helps.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. “I climbed a ladder into a well,
    I poured myself a glass of fire
    took a backwards step,
    yet surged onward
    beyond sight
    crept into the light of day,
    slid swift under a veil of night.
    I poured a glass of sand
    stoked embers of imagination
    a glass
    of solid glass
    now heavy in my hand….”
    That was fun, reminded of a poem entitled “a glass”
    that I wrote over twenty years ago,
    the image used triggered my reaction.

    if you’d like the rest of it just let me know:)


  2. i wrote this while at a wedding reception staring at all the crystal glasses, filled with different colors in various measures of fullness/emptiness on the table and having fallen into a deep meditation thinking about the living contradiction I was, the utter fraud to my wife and family and friends, In contrast to the pristine sparkling, how much I did not deserve to be seated where I was, to be a part of this there and then. I was assailed by truth and this poem was the result of it. The best I could do at the time with what I was experiencing and attempting to explain what was speaking to me so clearly but i just couldn’t accept or i guess acknowledge it at the time. I was kinda’ irretrievably lost inside i firmly believed.


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