POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

LOST AND FOUND – Prompt #14

Throughout our lives things that exist in our realm of influence by which we have been effected, fall into either end of that spectrum. Write a poem on something you’ve lost. If you’ve found something, write that poem. It could be something you thought you’d never see again, only to be surprised by its rediscovery. Either way, go to the lost and found to reclaim your poetic wile.

 

Marie Elena’s effort:

 

Nothing Lost

 

As I embrace One who was slain,

and forfeit self, what will I gain?

 

Eternal life in Christ is mine

not of my self, but His design.

 

His agony, my boundless gain

corrupted self cannot attain.

 

In death to self I gain no loss,

my life secured on Calvary’s cross.

~~~

 

Inspired by Luke 9:24-25.“For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self?”

 

And by missionary Jim Elliot, who wisely stated, “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose.”

 


Walt’s Re-Discovery:


RECLAMATION PROJECT

 

1.)Phase One – Losing Myself

 

Rev up the Delorean, I’m going back. We all have that defining moment, pointed and prescient that had set our course. The forces of nature were strong and one wrong turn could have sent me reeling. I have a feeling it did.

My temerity was the social end of me, for as far as I can see, High School defined that moment in time, where I had let the ball drop.Not regret per se, but sadness now for those would have, should have, and could have moments so fleeting. Those errors of omission were well hidden in my condition from which I’ve been extricated. Celebrated now for my abilities to see things, and write things and expose things about me that without, would not be me. Debilitating was this fear to connect, rejection not something I handled well, or handled at all. So my fall from grace saved me from the disgrace of “embarrassing” myself by letting loose and living my life.

The perpetual lost boy languished in Neverland.

 

2.) Phase Two – Righting the Ship

Looky, looky, there goes Hooky!

The ribald Captain has been dispatched with a swift kick in his steering mechanism. A discovery, a long time in the making has taken a stand as well as command of my journey; a life’s worth of yearning for solid footing and a direction much easier to navigate than blindly following burned out novas in the cosmos of my mind. For in the stars, paths that crossed each other unnoticed have found a circuitous path to intersect once again.

Older now, more aware of selves and of this moment and what lead each to move to embrace it. In the kindling of a reborn kinship, acquaintances long removed and left unseen, find a connection that closes unsure circles, and opens the world to new adventures. Both stand, with eyes open like the wide-eyes kids we were when we began. A familiarity which neither knew, comes through to ground us as the friends we never realized we were.

The gathering of spirits once left to roam those hallowed halls has stepped back to touch base and begin anew, assuring us of the fact that yes, you can go home again.

 

***

I’m looking for something and it has me willing to lose a copy of the CD version of WOOD in the process. This prize will go to the first poet to post what it is for which I am looking. Good Luck!



 

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29 thoughts on “LOST AND FOUND – Prompt #14

  1. Walt, Part 1, oh yeah. This is one I'm trying to revise. It still isn't gelling.lost and foundSaw a photo:Tom Baker’s Dr Whoand I remembered then, not your murder,but our beginning.  Uniform in orange beanies, we, the freshman class, left our first of many mandatory football rallies, in a bobbing block.  You threaded toward the center,uncertain hands gesturing at nothing, chattering and incandescent. A butterfly, a blazing parrot, brilliant in a ten foot scarfthat you had knit–my first encounter with chartreuse.I have a weakness for the lost and found. Scarves still on diner coat racks in July tempt me, like big loose roses overhanging a sidewalk. Yet, for years at work I kept a set of keysto anaesthesia drugs enough to send a city block to sleep,and only used my key to stealtwo misplaced pocket knives,and one worn gold Cross penthe janitor swept up in the surgeons' locker room.

  2. Barbara, I luuuuv your style. =) The second half of your poem blows me away, lady.All: We all recognize and appreciate Walt's talent. However, hearing his words in his own voice richly enhances the experience. Can't wait to see who finds a copy of Wood in their mailbox.

  3. Walt has an uncanny ability to tug at heart strings through his thought provoking and warmverse.The concept of 'home' is always a dilemma for a gypsy.'Home' for some is a person; for others a place.'Home' for me?…I'm not certain:)

  4. THAT TRAINhinging on last light,not so strong at all,lost againto the choo-chooof runaway opportunities, to the rolling iron railsstraining harsh nights,I trash pleasant thoughts,those joys of finding myself,succumb instead to that train,that irrevocable loss againof missed dreams,a pounding heart that bearsthe weight of all things torn,this indelible longing beneathhigh stars hangingunsympathetically in the night air #

  5. When to Find YourselfThe group spoke about timeand who thought a conversation about time,about how time heals most wounds even if it uses scarsas scotch tapeand how time tears down all structuresexcept maybe Fenway Park, who would have thought that would turn into this?Toni got uncomfortable some time around the Palahniuk survival rate timeline, Louis broke down and criedand said that when she read the news article about Hideki Irabu killing himselfshe couldn't keep her own thoughts from drifting towards crippling depression, the times she has wastedand the time she has left because he was 42, younger than she is. At one point all you could hear was the AC kick it up a notch,but no one wanted to be the one to look at the clock.I spoke about punishment,about how thousands of years ago they must have gotten togetherand decided that time was the only thing everyone has,and so it is the only thing they could take away from everyone.But what they were actually doing is teaching gratitude, the ability to appreciate the things usually ignored, the smell of rain, the sound Winter makes when it turns to Spring,what pure joy looks like on a child's face,what the world feels like under your bare feet.

  6. Lost and FoundThe child was lost at an early age,friendless and alone,inhabited by demons,he played in his own world,he found solace in fantasy.The youth was lost to the demons,they ate away the insides,they gnawed at his soul,still friendless and alone,the fantasies were his sanctuary.The Man was found in middle age,the demons were slain,the friends were numerous,and the fantasies were lost, slipping into memory,as life was found.Iain

  7. Piece of MindA piece of mind is lost.A peace of mind is found.Think of precious moments cherished,while true happiness abounds.A peace of mind is found.A piece of mind is lost.Do not think of moments wasted,as they were with greater cost.When a heart is opened upand can see the other shoreover gently flowing waterspeace will last forever more.There’s a newfound hope insidelifting spirits up on high,making music for the soulsas they drift into the sky.By Michael Grove

  8. I stand outside the fortressa weed I sprout in fearvoices jangle, I try to hidemy head, it rattles ear to ear.Have I lost my mind to think the splinters would dissolvehow you pierced my heart againa skewed image I can’t absolve?And I was on my kneesand I was crying out to youseeking redemption, forgivenesswithin this tainted view.A cloak I felt enwrap mepick me up, carry me ina vision I won’t long forgetthe day you freed me from all sin.

  9. Everyone's done gone and been brilliant. I can only tackle this major loss this way. For my mother:Memorial DayIt began close to the heart,Sliced and diced to bring false hopeOf renewed balance to life.Labeled "fear" for those outside,Called "future" by the one inside.Twelve years to memorize a life,To capture smiles, laughter, sorrow.Endless days of life's enduranceGatherred 'round stark white bed linensEnds in spasms at Heaven's gate.Family glue left with her,Member's orbits lonelier now.

  10. Mine is in a format that allows for bold, etc. on my blog (it's combined with the Sunday Whirl wordle) at: http://sharplittlepencil.wordpress.com/2011/07/31/lost-in-the-weeds/But here's the unformatted version. The two prompts combined to help me give voice to something that's been on my heart for weeks. Thank you both, and peace, Amy——————————Lost in the WeedsShe is lost in the weeds.She’s good wheat, but what sprouts near herpossess voices that pierce and keen.No matter how strong her fortress,an unfamiliar, frightening forcerattles the bars of her gate.She needs an image to cling to,wholly holy, distinctly divine. A steadfast vision beyond thisjangling jungle of fear becomes clear.She shakes off the weeds, uproots them,and splinters the yolk of despair.© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

  11. To all: There is an undeniable depth to these poems in two veins: Love and Soul. That spirit quest to find truth, authenticity, hope.Iain, Laurie Kolp, and Michael Grove, I hate to play favorites, but yours touched me deeply. Also, Sal's "runaway choo-choo" sounds frightening familiar to me!!Amy

  12. I couldn't agree more, Amy.Rallentanda: Bless your heart.

  13. Lost and Foundshe had lost nothing she had found nothing eithershe would keep searchingshe will find home soonomens say it is the timethe wait will be short

  14. I wrote a lost-and-found haiku here, accompanied by a photo.

  15. Horsey Sam Came HomeI got him when I was three.I rode him hard and fast till little sis came on the scene.Sturdy and robust, Horsey Samcould carry two a time.Then he was passed on to a nephewthen another. He returnedto trot off with my daughterthen my son, then back eastto a couple of nieces. My sister visited her grandchildrenliving not far from me.She brought Horsey Sam. Alas, he’s ready for pasture so they won’t be able to ride him.No stand or springs. Reins broken. Colors mostly worn off. But he’s strong and solid. For his fiftieth birthday I’ll clear off my dresser top for himto rest perhaps another fifty years.

  16. Thanks, Amy. I've really enjoyed reading all the pieces here.

  17. So many marvelous offerings, as Amy said. Depth and chenges in perspective for many types of loss.This new one from me is defintely a world away from the previous one.UndecidedWhere has it gone,This thing called inspiration?Has it become as mist in the night,Fit only for disguising paths of wordsWorth writing down for another's reading pleasure?Shall I wail as one left abandoned?Shall I abandon as it has done?Or, shall I kneel, plea for its return?For now, I wait.

  18. Thanks AmyAll great poems this week – love 'em!Iain

  19. LOST then FOUNDI lost myself when I met you.You changed my heartand my mind.With much to learn, you taught me, too.Changing my perceptionsfor the better.Certain that I did not discriminate,your mere existence showed meI had.I learned to look beyond the faceand recognize the miraclein everyone.I lost myself when I met you,and found something new;me.~Kellyhttp://livingfourreal.blogspot.com/

  20. FOUND…AND LOSTI didn’t know I was lostuntil the day I realizedI had been foundI didn’t see you comingone day I looked upand you were thereI didn’t know I could feelsuch fullness of joy‘til after I met youI didn’t know true loveuntil the dayyou uttered those wordsI didn’t see it comingone day I looked upand you weren’t thereI didn’t know pain ‘til now;I amlost.2011-08-01P. Wanken

  21. If I Only Had…There’s something quite importantI really need to do.It's not exactly clear to meyet it’s not outta the blue.This morning I remembereduntil soon I then forgot.What was so importantthat had me lost in thought?Later it nearly came to methough not quite, a sort of hunch.Was it the menu I was planningfor guests today at lunch?And now as my day closes,bathwater goes down the drain.Perhaps tomorrow I’ll remember,if I only had a brain.2011-08-01P. Wanken

  22. Catalyst Loosed liesHeart’s eyes Once blindNow see. Truth breaksCore quakes.Lost you. Found me.

  23. Thank You Amy! This is a great prompt and I am enjoying everything posted here. Peace to you all.Innocence is LostSlapped hard in the face.Bloodied up your knees.Washed your hands in mud.Coughed and hacked and wheezed.Lit sticks of incense.Ran fast in the park.Blew it on a whim.Stayed out after dark.Candlelight vigils.Lessons learned too late.Celebrated all.Stranger twists of fate.World that you once knew,comes with higher cost.Silent wake up call.Innocence is lost.By Michael Grove

  24. Deeper FaithEvery time we turn aboutthe sun shines on our face.A shadow’s cast behind our backson all the scattered Grace.Loaves and fishes for us allthru seed and nonbarbed hook.The greatest stories ever toldare found in the good book.Amazing truths of life containedwithin the dead sea scrollsbring forth the blessed glows withineach of the faithful souls. They say it as they mean it.It goes then comes around.A newfound glory rises,as deeper faith is found.By Michael Grove

  25. Cousins: Brothers in BloodDyson Douglas and Iain Douglas,brothers of different mothers; sistersbearing together. Whether you can tellor not, we’ve got a lot of commonality.But the reality lies in our disticnt differences.He is tall, I, verbose. His vacant stare, distant.Mine closer to the vest, a chest full of white hairmatching the window treatments. He, a store-boughtcouiffe (more handsome without). I bear the family nose,he, our predisposition for the distilled beverage.Ambition brings me closer to my dreams,but it seems Iain dreams throughout. Not a loutby any stretch of imaginings. Generous and caring,I’m wearing the shirt off of his back. But, I have a knackof romanticizing our connection. It’s for his protection.Iain is ravaged; dementia his executioner. He remainson this plane lost in someone else’s brain. His smiletakes the circuitous route to expression, brief as it is.I am pained in the witness I must become, but feelall the love for my brother, my comrade, my friend.In the end, isn’t that what cousins are?

  26. JUST LUNCHLunchJust lunchWith the man I onceEntrusted with my heartMy First loveMy First everythingA diamond on my fingerA reminder that I'm promisedTo another but I must knowHis smile lingersStardust can still Dance in his eyesWe say helloI just need to knowIf first love lasts foreverWe talkHe talksI listenMemories of when IEntrusted my heartMy innocence to hisWanderlust. This manWho emptied my heart When he casually left meHeartbroken for another.And then left her for another.And again. And again, he tellsme until I see at lastthat my first loveWas not his first anythingLunch was finishedEmpty glasses. Empty dishesAnd my heart emptied of himLove lostMy future foundJust lunch.

  27. Left and RightIt started with left and right.When it's left, it's never rightand when it's right it's never right.So there she sits cross-legged at the side of a sparkling creek, stumped like an ageing logwith an ornamental toad on top, wiping tears off her right cheek, or maybe it's her left,not that it matters a toot now.And she's misplaced her favourite hankiethat's useless anyway because snotblows right through the lace into her hand,and she wonders how she could be so lostwhen she's holding a map in front of her face. She just doesn't know which way to hold it; this way up or that way up. That way up means going left, she thinks, but confirms it by holding an imaginary pen in her right hand to see if a pen feels right in those fingers. Problem is a pen's never felt right in that hand because she should be left-handedbut Mrs. White in 1st grade used to smack her left hand with a ruler until it was bruised and cut whenever she reached her left hand for a pen. But scissors still fit into herleft hand – so there Mrs. White.She sniffs and wipes a silver streak of snot across her sleeve,and stares at the map again. She can't understand how she'swalked so far and for so long.She's tired, she's cold andshe's just zigzagged for 36-hoursback and forth along the Continental Divide,trying to follow the flow of this cheery looking ice-cold creek to where she left her car. She doesn't know that her carwill be found before she is.

  28. De Jackson on said:

    lost (a found poem)

    option
    fn
    control
    command

    shift
    return

    esc

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