Sometimes I Want to Wander…

Sorry for posting twice in one day, but I just remembered that I hadn’t done my poetry assignment: Practicing some assonance:

Sometimes my mind wants to wander,
to a cozy B & B.
Have a chat with Lew-Ellyn,
hear more of her stories,
and find out what God’s like
in Maine.

Sometimes my mind wants to wander down south,
to Moncks Corner, SC.
Discuss deep things of God
with my new friend a.g.
If they had coffee shops there
where he might dare, to recite rather boldly.

Sometimes my mind wants to wander,
to Sarah’s church in Ohio.
I’d sit and listen,
so much to learn and discern.
Then back to her house,
we’d knead prayers into bread.


Ballad of a Heroic Heart

mia!, Creative Commons

mia!, Creative Commons

“You’ll crush her spirit,” dad said.
It fell on dead, deaf ears.
“Beware: Life can be mean,”
was gradually etched with gradual fear
But Jesus loved her
and she loved Him,
And the beat went on.

“I love you,” boyfriend said,
“Now please let’s go to bed.”
She adamantly refused.
“Love’s” first deep cut,
left her young heart confused:
“People say they love you, then try to exploit you.”
And the beat went on.

“Let’s go to the park,” teacher said.
“You can tell me what’s in your head.”
She needed a listening ear,
with all that was going on.
“People can be sneaky, creepy predators”
Was chiseled deep.
And the beat went on.

“Let’s get married,” he said,
but then golden boy reneged
His mom’s final word:
“She isn’t good enough,”
Was a full-blown heart attack.
And the beat went on.

“I want you to be my wife,” he said,
kneeling beside the pastor’s couch
after their baptisms.
But six years and one child later,
he changed his mind.
“Promises mean nothing.”
And the beat went on.

“Ordinary no, really don’t think so,” he sang.
“Me and You.”
“You’ll have to trust me, though.”
She’s doing her very best.
With all the gunk on her poor heart,
and all the gunk on his.
And the beat goes on.

Today’s assignment:  heroine, ballad, epistrophe

It needs some reworking to meet the requirements accurately, but I have to prepare for a talk today, so this will have to do…  Feel free to fix it up for me.


Just Beautiful

The t-shirt?  I went to Washington DC to serve on a panel.  My husband and daughter went with me. They braved the 100 degree+ heat each day for lots of sight seeing, leaving me at the plush hotel to work, 15 hours a day, reading, evaluating and ranking large grant applications. They bought me this shirt at  the spy museum.

The t-shirt? I went to Washington DC to serve on a panel. My husband and daughter went with me. They braved the 100 degree+ heat each day for lots of sight seeing, leaving me at the plush hotel to work, 15 hours a day, reading, evaluating and ranking large grant applications.
They bought me this shirt at the spy museum.

I was at the gym yesterday.  And lest you think me fit, let me just say that it was the first time since the last time I mentioned being at the gym.   Anyway, there I was, making a withdrawal from the winter reserves and thinking about my optional poetry assignment: share a poem that you love by someone who isn’t you.

As I treaded the mill I recalled poetic lines that have stayed with me through many years:

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass,
of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;


Have courage for the great sorrows of life
and patience for the small ones;
And when you have laboriously
accomplished your daily task,
Go to sleep in peace.
God is awake.

Since I have always been more a woman of contemplation than of action:

“A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought.  There is visible labor and there is invisible labor.”

Haven’t you noticed that geeks are more often skinny than not?  Apparently all that working out of the brain burns some significant cals.

I flipped further through my mental versodex:

Grow old along with me!
the best is yet to be,
the last of life,
for which the first was made.

That one always reminds me of the ring keeper my hub gave me long ago.  It sits on my kitchen windowsill, holds my wedding rings when I’m cooking with my hands, just my hands.

IMG_1516 - Version 2

When my daughter was in kindergarten she had to memorize and recite Psalm 23.  And since a kindergartener’s homework assignment is a mom’s homework assignment, I recited the whole thing in my head as I walked.  Here’s my favorite part:

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

I’ve needed that one more than a few times in recent years.

My mind walked on to a new favorite:

And Life, that sets all things in rhyme,
may make you poet, too, in time-
But there were days, O tender elf,
When you were Poetry itself!

The other day a fellow blogger wrote:

We melt
we ooze
we thaw like icebergs fully globally warmed
puddles of individuality
become one with a Living sea

It reminded me of Zephaniah 3:9-20 NIV, one of my all time favorite passages.

A woman once pointed out that all the colors of humanity are represented in the jewels that decorate heaven – jasper, onyx, chrysolite, topaz, jacinth…  it kind of reminded me of that, too. I love the thought of all us lovers of God melding into One, the burden of ego melting away.

And after all that pondering, I realized that there was some pretty good poetry wafting through my head right there on my playlist.  Here’s a small sample:

I am no better and neither are you
We are the same whatever we do
You love me you hate me you know me and then
You can’t figure out the bag I’m in

Great warm up song.

Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame, someone’s bound to get burned
But just because it burns, doesn’t mean you’re gonna die
You gotta get up and try, try, try


Thought that I was growing
Growing older, wiser
Understanding why this world
Held nothing for my spirit
Thought that I was destined
Destined to be nothing
Destined to be nothing
In this world and then I met you
I met you

Every stinking line of that one is GREAT!  And it gets my heart rate up…

And for the cool down:

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true: I was made for you

On a long and lonesome highway
East of Omaha
You can listen to the engine
Moanin’ out his one note song

So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We’ll get there…
But I’m strong,
strong enough to carry him,
He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother…

I have the lyrics a little out of order on that last one but it’s my mind trip we’re on here.  Yep, lots of poetry in my head yesterday, and it was just beautiful.

In order of appearance:
William Wordsworth
Victor Hugo
Victor Hugo again
Robert Browning
Christopher Morley
Anthony Gomez
Sly Stone
Michael Busbee and Ben West
Reid, Charles Stobo/reid, Craig Morris
Brandi Carlile
Bob Seger
Marcus Congleton

What are your favorites?


Families in a Fog

The Gift from Kensington on Vimeo.

Today’s elegy might seem somewhat gritty,
compared to yesterday’s concrete ditty.

Children reared on Sex and the City,
parents asleep, such a pity.

The video above, made to warn and convict,
vehemently dissed by iphone addicts.

Let’s please awake from our media giddy,
‘cuz I miss the days of prim and pretty.

You might critique this verse with a rhyme word not pretty,
Or even call me a prudish old bitty.

Today it was fog, elegy and metaphor. I think I included all three elements if you count the title.  (And if you watched the clip, add another metaphor.)

Happy Friday.


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.


Extreme Makeover: Limerick Edition

Chris, Creative Commons

Chris, Creative Commons

There once was a junkie named Julie,
whose hair was rather unruly.
She stumbled into a salon,
was descended upon
a journey from ratty to ruly, truly.

Today’s assignment: journey, alliteration, limerick

Wait, I might like this one better:

There once was a junkie named Julie
whose life had become quite unruly,
she crawled into a church,
saw Jesus aperch,
and embarked on her journey anewly, truly.


2B or Not 2B, Which is the Apartment?

Good Monday Morning.  I signed up for Writing 201:Poetry.  Not because I have aspirations of being a poet, but because I like the rhythm of words. Thought I might learn something.  So bear with me as I post my assignments.  And forgive me.

Today my assignment is to write about water in the form of a haiku using a simile.  Here goes:

Your holy presence
is like a gentle spring rain
on my barren soul.

Barren?  Weary?  sun-parched?  dry, cracked?  Decided on barren ‘cuz nothing grows without Him.  But it feels like that’s been said before in some way, shape or form.  I’m trying to think of an interesting, unusual liquid that I can try to liken to something.  Any ideas?

Or maybe you poet friends who are not in the course want to show me how its done…

This one, I fear, will sum up me and this course:

My logical mind
an impenetrable dam
blocks the poet’s flow.