Sorrow, A Poem of Mystery that will leave you wanting more…

Sorrow

Skipping stone bouncing across your surface
A tearing pain no one can see
You scream out toward the distance
Stretching out from between your knees

Why can’t anyone hear the baby crying?
Standing red-faced, hands over rail
Knuckles gone white from gripping
One long, steep unending wail

She wasn’t there the night before
Out tramping through the woods alone
She can’t hear the baby anymore
Out searching for stepping stones.

One last argument bent her backwards
One last tearing apart of her nails
One last long sorrow will be hers
When the baby falls over the rail.

I hope you have enjoyed this, my newest poem “Sorrow,” which I wrote while the bath water was running…because sometimes, you just have to POEM. 🙂 Weird too, because I rarely rhyme in my poetry. Well, the poem tells me, I don’t tell it how to be. One thing I love about writing is that I never know where it is leading me. I am along for the journey and I love that.

If you enjoyed this….you may also like:
https://fiddleheadsnfloss.com/2019/02/15/gone-a-poem/
https://fiddleheadsnfloss.com/2019/02/22/desperately-seeking-oblivion/
https://fiddleheadsnfloss.com/2019/02/13/dust/


Broken, A Poem for The Broken-Hearted

Oh, we have all been there. That place where brokenness, a roadblock, lies firmly between us and the we that we know we will eventually be, if it weren’t for the mess that we are. We stare into the mirror, not recognizing the tear-streaked skin, the dark circles under our eyes, the fact that breathing seems, well to be impossibly continuing…

I am talking about heartbreak. We have all experienced it. And, as we know. It DOES GET BETTER. We find a way to breathe again. To eat again. To make it through a night of sleep, rather peacefully, though it takes time. I’ve experienced my fair share of brokenness and sometimes, I write. It’s usually not my best work, but I earned it. So, with that, I share…

Broken

The seasons of several are
crashing down around me,
a hard steady rain I did not expect.

The mirror is splintered
tiny silver fragments scattering,
my thoughts scatter with them.

I looked into your face and knew…
you have the power
to destroy me.

I don’t need you to do it for me.

The seasons of several
crashing down around me,
a hard steady pain I did not expect.

If you are going through something truly terrible right now…know that after the night, always comes a bright, burning sunrise, and with it, promises anew.

How To Help You Write Beautiful Poems – Learn 2 Poems Styles

 

White Ceramic Teacup With Saucer Near Two Books Above Gray Floral Textile

Let’s talk syzygy. (Ok so I learned a new word today and couldn’t resist adding it in…)


noun, plural syz·y·gies.

1. Astronomy . an alignment of three celestial objects, as the sun, the earth, and either the moon or a planet: Syzygy in the sun-earth-moon system occurs at the time of full moon and new moon.
2. Classical Prosody . a group or combination of two feet, sometimes restricted to a combination of two feet of different kinds.
3. any two related things, either alike or opposite.

We will consider the third definition of syzygy. I have for you a couple of poem equations that may lead you to your next big poem. Are you up to the challenge?
Two examples will help to explain.
The first example, I call parallel poetry writing. You will take an example of :
1. an inanimate object or a train of thought
and add
2. an action
to equal your poem.
The item in #1 will be the actual topic of your poem but you will borrow imagery and descriptive words from the action you have chosen. 
For the parallel version of this poetry challenge, the two things you have chosen will be similar in some way so that the comparison isn’t too forced, uncomfortable, confusing, or stark. Here is my example of a poem that I wrote using this method:
thoughts of a child + swinging on a swing = Yesterdays
Now for the second example, I call juxtaposed poetry writing. You will, again, take an example of:
1. an inanimate object or a train of thought
and add
2. an action
to equal your poem.
The item in #1 will be the actual topic of your poem but you will borrow imagery and descriptive words from the action you have chosen. 
Only this time, the two things will have very little, if anything, in common. Here is my example of a poem I wrote using this method:
thoughts on being a poet + the cleaning of a fish (butchering) = The Poet Cleaning ~ (a poem about being a poet/writer)
Now, anyone want to give it a try? Choose either of the above methods and write your poem. Post it on your blog with a pingback to this blog post, or email it to me @ fiddleheadsnfloss@gmail.com with your publishing name, a link to your Twitter or your blog for me to do a pingback for you and I will blog some of my favorites.
Now go…go and be a poet 🙂

A difficult Funeral, Beautifully Expressed by Imagery-Rich Poetry

We’ve all had to attend a funeral. It is a difficult thing to do, especially when the person we love has died suddenly or at a young age or both. When I found out that my Aunt Donnise was ill and in the hospital, I went to see her. My Uncle was understandably distraught. She died a day or two later and I am told she was reaching out her hand into the air and speaking of Jesus.

During the time tWoman in Black Long-sleeved Cardiganhat this was happening in my life, a song was very popular and getting a lot of airtime on mainstream radio. This song, Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance, gave me great comfort in an odd way. The poem I wrote of attending my Aunt’s funeral was greatly influenced by this song, and also by another song by my FAVORITE band of ALL TIME, Rain King by the Counting Crows. You will see in the poem a line in quotes from the My Chemical Romance song and a reference to black-winged birds from the Counting Crows song. I hope you will check out these two brilliantly written songs, and I hope you will read the following poem that I wrote about my Aunt Donnise’s funeral.

In Memoriumraven-988218_960_720

 

Giant pillars stood there
rooted in their weaknesses,
wearing their faces of sin.
Tears like ashes
spread across their cheeks.
Smiles, no one wanted
to smile.

Pillars wrapped in cloaks
of brick and color and voice.
Their stained-glass faces
depict gifts I still
don’t deserve.

(“Paint it black and take it back.”)

I walked in,
crows on my shoulders
feathers in my skin
dust pouring out of my eyes
and watched them speak of you.

I wish I had been there
to see you reaching out
wooden fingers
An empty casket arm
trying to bridge the space
Between your brokenness
and His glory.

I am glad He took your hand.

Your dust swept away…
may black-winged birds be light
and quick with your soul!

He’s been waiting for you.

 

 

 

If you enjoyed this original poem by Christina Ward, please leave a like and/or comment and check out these that you may enjoy:

Desperately Seeking Oblivion

Holiness ~ a poem about Grace

Gone ~ A poem

 

If you have written any poetry in memory of someone you love, you are welcome to add a link to a comment!! God bless, and hug your loved ones. Our time with them is short.

~Christina

A poem Inspired by the Green Lacewing – Your garden Helper!!

Green Lacewings are a delicate insect with intricate lacy veining on their wings. You may have never noticed them before. If you see them, be happy! They are a very beneficial insect to have around your garden because of the garden pests (insects and larvae) that they predate. So munch away at those pests dear Lacewings…today we celebrate you through this whimsical poem…

See the source image
Green Lacewing

Green Lacewing

See the source image
Alpine Asters

 

The delicate smile
Of a green lacewing
Landing there, on
An aster reaching
Toward Heaven.

A union made
By chance of the breeze,
Nature’s own, entwined,
Tickled with the soft,
Cool dews of April.

If I could become so small
As to land upon flowers!
To flit about in that freedom!

If I could climb into
your copper eyes,
Would I remember
How it tickled me so?

If you could please,
I’d like to visit the garden.
I need to feel the whisper
Of your wings
As we dance among
The bees.

 

 

 

 

Thank you for reading. If you enjoy the poetry here at Fiddleheads & Floss,  please be sure to like and follow. Have a wonderful day!

~Christina Ward
poet / blogger / nature enthusiast

Hoppy-Toads in the Summer ~ a poem

 

Black and Brown Frog Sitting on White Concrete Floor

I don’t know about you but when I was a child the summers were magnificent. Long hot days spent out in the yard, playing in our sand box and on the swing set my daddy built. He also built our sandbox which had a second floor with a tire ladder to climb up. There was also a circular arrangement of logs he stood up on end and held together with a chain that made a spiral staircase. He painted the tops of them different colors. We’d play “Cops n Robbers,” chasing each other through the tall grass, June bugs slapping against our shirts. We drove our Hotwheels in the sandbox, wetting the sand with the garden hose so we could build things out of the wet sand. We chased butterflies, followed ants, captured caterpillars and begged mom for a Styrofoam cup or a jar to put them in. We rode our Big Wheels, our bikes, and our scooters.  The sun set late. If we were playing down the street, we’d come home when the street lights came on. This later time of the day was the perfect time to find what we called hoppy-toads. If you’ve never gone hoppy-toad huntin’ in the waning of a summer day, then I implore you to take up your bucket and give it a try. Enjoy this ode to the hoppy-toads that lived in our yard and brought me great joy as a child.

Hoppy-Toads in the Summer

 

Hoppy-toads grow fat
tucked behind cool gray
stones and fragments of brick.
A yellow bucket nestles
there, waiting. 

Determined,
I take up my bucket
The white plastic handle
Digging into my arm.
I set out.


I lift each rock carefully
Disturbing the grass
Unveiling worm and cricket.
I search for them
In the cool, dark places.


The edge of the driveway
No stone unturned
But to no avail.
I set my eyes on the
Row of bricks beside our house.


Finally, a fat one leaps
But I am fast.
I scoop him up and
Plop! He squats into
The corner of my bucket.

Hoppy-toads like friends,
I think, and search for him
A mate. A companion.
The third brick hides her.
Plop! Into the bucket she goes.

Desperately Seeking Oblivion

pexels-photo-1292838

Desperately Seeking Oblivion

 

He wants to taste it,
quick on the tip of his tongue
sliding with ease down
down into his gut…

Someone should tell him to stop
swallowing it whole.

A strange enigma,
[oblivion]
tasting like nothing,
encompassing, delivering, numbness…
a capsuled oasis in vast desert
to which all will dig and crawl
our tongues in our hands.

Sometimes the depth to which he thinks
is too deep for him to take…

So he swallows down, an
emptiness that won’t settle.
Again and again it rises
hissing in the back of his throat,
an esophageal argument
without victor.

He swallows it down again.

 

 

Thank you for reading my poetry. Be sure to follow, and check out my other poetry posts. 

Christina