To Creator of the worm of the earth, the soil and sky
for all races and tongues, for all things that fly
for all genders and generations, for mother earth
for every living thing to have in Him a New Birth.
I wanted to write something truly beautiful to wish you a happy Easter, and to honor the rising of my Savior, but nothing, nothing I could ever write could touch the magnificence of Easter morning. I feel humble.
Small. Inadequate. Undeserving.
Oh Jesus, my knees are quite clean this while I think on you in Gethsemane praying hard on what you knew you must do I know how oft I’ve forgotten to pray to you
I can’t bear to think of the violence of the cross the thorns in your flesh, the blood that was lost In the Philippines today, nails in bloody penance Whipping their backs with bamboo, disturbing images
How can people rip the flesh of other human beings and hail the God that created the whales in the sea? Great grays that swoon and scoop plankton and sing? Creator of eagles that laugh, carry wind on their wing?
How can a God love humans who behead, bring war? Humans stoop to such evil, then lower still more? Yet, Christ kneeled in Gethsemane, for all humanity Knees in the dirt, heart to the sky, and pleaded for me?
To Creator of the worm of the earth, the soil and sky for all races and tongues, for all things that fly for all genders and generations, for mother earth for every living thing to have in Him a New Birth.
God doesn’t ask that we bloody our backs or pierce our limbs only that we remember to pray and accept and honor Him. The cross still stands on a hill, blood-free. Jesus was there, but he rose for me.
This Easter, I hope you know it too. From Christina here at Fiddleheads & Floss, Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate this Christian holiday. If you are not a Christian, please disregard respectfully and have a wonderful day. I appreciate all of you!
As is true of many poetry prompts, my poem will often take me into uncharted waters…in this poem I wrote from the perspective of a young boy, and used HUMOR in my poem. WHOA. That is pretty different for me! Tell me what you think…
Old Man Shoes
I am told the new dawn came while I slept fitfully wrapped in the taco of a dream. Or a dream Of a taco though I’m not sure which. I am told it was quite spectacular but I slept way too shortly and woke up rather hungry and somehow wanting cheese. Was misty and spooky He said to me, while I chased colored hoops with a spoon Is that so, I said halfheartedly You bet! He said and hiked up his socks, slipping on his old man shoes. I in my pj’s and you in your suit I sure don’t want to be you If that means the new dawn comes and I don’t get my usual snooze. Hey Dad, I said wiping milk off my chin, Yeah son? You said with a scruff on my head… Can we have tacos soon?
Challenge: Write 10 poems this month to celebrate National Poetry Month.
were the cold air to my warm.
Every time I tried to rise
dropped me down
one terrifying electrical pulse
I charged and fell to the ground.
air outside is electric.
I am drawn, mystified,
bursts of wind on my face
pulling me out, beyond
the trap of my front door.
Hands on the metal fence
eyes wide, heart bursting.
Exhilaration! That scent on the
air…my God! I can feel it!
storm approaching, quickly,
violently, with flashes of white
and thunderous cracks
vibrating my spine,
lifting my tiny hairs
tingling, jolting, jarring,
upturned, showing their whites,
vulnerable, submitting to ozone
and flash of terrifying release,
fingers of God pointing, choosing
ground to fire, fire to tree
tree to Thee.
can smell the power,
feel it stirring within me.
Choose me! Choose me!
Lift me on fiery wing
to Thee, to Thee!
From the safety of the door
behind me, Get back in the house!
You barking at me.
Always barking at me
or growling your menacing growl.
Back in the house? You are the only one safe in there.
Through the kitchen where you
pressed my face to the floor?
Past the stairs where I slept
and wept upon the carpeted corners
reeking of dust and neglect?
Past the bathroom door where
the mirrors know my bruises
and the tear-swelled lids of my eyes
as well as it knows it’s purpose, hanging there.
it’s safer in there than out here?
know my purpose too, you know.
I intend to rise.
I intend to rise.
stand, gripping tight to chain-link
the ground yielding vibration with the
rolling roars, shock waves splintering
connecting, fury unbound
they revolt and celebrate the sky.
(Duplicity is a real bitch.)
Again…again!…stir me, shake me
beat me wise,
friction then repose
lift, face to the sky
electricity in the air
lifting me higher, higher
Intent to impress
folding under to shame,
I begin my walking,
My purse in tow, the shiny vehicle slows.
No. Not the boss.
I am thankful with verbiage
Humiliated, I am
Riding with a suit
that costs more than my car
Join me in this challenge–write 10 poems this month to celebrate National Poetry Month
National Poetry Month Goal for myself–Write 10 Poems, Here is Poem #
Cotton dress with floral print. I have chosen it carefully but I run out of gas! With Intent to impress folding under to shame, I begin my walking, My purse in tow, the shiny vehicle slows. No. Not the boss. I am thankful with verbiage Humiliated, I am Riding with a suit that costs more than my car discarded on the side of the road, to the office where gossip greets. He walks in, greeted with enthusiastic handshakes and pompous attempts to garner his attention. I keep behind in my cotton dress with floral print, Invisible. I slink to my desk under Scrutinous stares, whispers. How did you come to work with the boss? I ran out of gas I say, Stretching out my arm to see the odd feeling, I probe a hole. A hole in my cotton dress with the floral print. In the absence of a safety pin I staple the fabric And set about my work. Invisible still.
Will you join me in this challenge? Post your poem or link to your poem in a comment below, so we can support each other and together celebrate our craft.
National Poetry Month was inaugurated by the Academy of American Poets in 1996. Over the years, it has become the largest literary celebration in the world with schools, publishers, libraries, booksellers, and poets celebrating poetry’s vital place in our culture.
Late in February I made two decisions. First, I wanted to start writing again. (The first thing I did was bought a laptop so I could work. It had been awhile since I’d even looked at my blog, and by awhile, I mean years. I started it back in 2008, hit hard at it for a couple of months, swinging blindly in the dark with no direction, no idea what I was doing, and worked my way up to 14 whole followers, most the result of a cross stitch freebie I offered.
I couldn’t even remember how to log in.
So, I figured out the log in stuff, revamped the blog over the course of 48 exhausting hours (still very much clueless about how to edit and post, navigate, or promote) and relaunched with renewed purpose and a clearer vision for what I wanted the blog to be. i still have less than 150 followers but that number is rising a little each day.
The second decision was to finish my book. I researched and purchased Scrivener and worked hard at the tutorial to learn how the features worked, and I set out to inputting the few measly pages I’d written and plunged forward to writing.
A funny thing happens when you honor your dream: doors open. I am writing poetry again. People are reading it. Literary journals are publishing it. Even my local newspaper has picked me up as a columnist and …get this…they encourage me to submit my poetry for publication! So far two of my poems, Bluebirds in Late Winter and Tomorrows have been published in the paper. I started a Medium account: https://medium.com/@fnfwriter and guess which of my posts are getting the highest attention?
Oh, my heart! And here I was posting articles, thinking, I’ve got to have something on Medium to get people to my page, so they see the poetry.
But they COME for the poetry.
Poetry, like all art, has a message for us. It says: care, grow, develop, adapt, overcome, nurture, protect, foster, cherish. It says: your reality is spiritual. It says: achieve your full humanness. It invites us to laugh, reflect, cry, strive, persevere. It says: rejoice! Above all, it says to us: be! We cannot turn our backs on art. Art heals. – from a talk by Roger White, Bring Chocolate, in The Language of There
So, here in National Poetry Month, I am going to pay more attention to my craft, without apology. With a renewed confidence that what I am doing, and you, my fellow poet, should do the same. There ARE still people out there that can appreciate the value of poetry, how it moves us. Shows us our own humanity. Allows us to go away to some interesting place where we measure what we know against what we are seeing in the words of a poem, and then let the heart decide how to read it. Poetry makes us think, analyze, process…and in a good way. by choice we go on the journey, either to write it or to read and experience it.
I invite you this month to:
Support poets and honor their craft with your attention, your reactions, your thanks. As a poet, we truly do love a reader-response!
Read a poem from your favorite famous poet. Don’t have a favorite? FIND a favorite poet and learn their story and style.
Write a poem! Or write one every day of the month if you are up to the challenge!
If you’d like to leave your link below to your poetry blog or if you’d like to share a poem in a comment, you are welcome to do so. Thank you for reading and HAPPY NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!!