Today is a big day here at POETIC BLOOMINGS! We celebrate the 100th Sunday prompt of this site. Congratulations to all the poets who have joined us each week to offer a taste of their tremendous talent. We have been blessed  to build such a community; a family of words.You are all responsible for our success. Marie and I thank you for your dedication and love.

Over the course of time, we have stretched the muses and minds of our extremely talented family of poets, with our prompts and forms, interviews and projects. So for this venture, Marie and I ask you to write a “Celebration” poem.   Celebrate your life, an anniversary, a birthday, an event… but do it in the form of a 10 X 10 poem (Ten lines times Ten words per line = 100 words – a century). Thus, we want you to write a Celebration in a Century (Celebration of the Century).



Come sit beside me in the shade of living canopy.
Close your eyes.  Soak in the rhythm, romance, and whimsy.
Wrap yourself in the serene embrace of graceful, fluid form.
Let the breeze of the lush and lyrical lift, and
Carry you above the stress of sweeping strife and discord,
For none can be heard in this garden of validation.
You will find no boundaries, no borders, and no barricades.
Come scatter your seeds, then watch them grow and thrive,
Mingling with the bold, the melodious, the witty, the sober.
Your voice is not only welcome, it is passionately celebrated.

© Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013



Another Sunday arrives, and poets assemble to celebrate with words.
A hundred calls to write rhyme; an anniversary of verse,
from far and wide they step inside this verbal garden,
rending hearts and minds to find all the right words.
True to form and true to themselves, giving up pieces
to all who require passion’s fervent fire. Emptying the vault,
poetic promises well kept are offered to placate timeworn souls,
giving control to emotions, every notion of fantasy takes flight;
the right time and place to face your inner feelings.
Dealing with like-minded people; a family comes together to celebrate.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013


The last 30 days, we have welcomed 7, 378 visitors from these 37 different countries (a fact that thrills and humbles!):

Argentina, Australia, Austria, Bangladesh, Bulgaria, Canada, Cypress, Denmark, France, Germany, Honduras, India, Ireland, Israel, Latvia, Macao, Mauritius, Mexico, Nepal, Netherlands, Norway, Philippines, Poland, Republic of Korea, Romania, Singapore, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Trinidad and Tobago, Turkey, Taiwan, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, and the United States of America

Thirty Seven Countries in Thirty Days


  1. Walt and Marie, this is astounding news! I had no idea you two had gathered such a vast circle of poets around you. I am truly blessed to have found this poetic garden; thank you both for all the wisdom and guidance you have imparted to us!!

    • HAPPY ONE HUNDRED SUNDAY PROMPTS!!! And yes, I was shouting so you could hear me from way up here beneath all the late-Spring snowfall in the north…what a wonderful accomplishment! I am so privileged and proud to be a part of this garden and know so many other flowers who flourish under the guidance of two of the kindest, most hard-working gardeners on the planet. Thanks to all of you!


    Boys and girls have made it a priority for all.
    Men and women agree it is the scaffold for progress.
    Parents and greandparents are startled by the plan’s obvious audacity.
    Children and grandchildren don’t believe that it can ever work.
    Cultures throughout the world have given this loads of thought.
    World leaders have long resisted its pure simplicity of design.
    No one has been able to accept the actual possibility.
    Writers have written about it for centuries without much success.
    But there is no truth more widely accepted by man:
    Without peace, there can truly be no happiness on earth.

  3. How Fleeting Is This Life

    I measure the span of my life with the trees,
    Ancient forest giants, standing here from long days gone by,
    And realize how fleeting is this life I am living.
    My fifteen years are small indeed compared to the
    Hundred-year-old oak, the everlasting pine, and ancient willow.
    I measure the span of my life with the trees,
    I realize how young I really am, I’ve still got
    A long way, and I wonder if this will all
    Be the same in fifteen years; how much will change,
    How much will grow, or die; how fleeting is this life.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  4. Devastation Celebration

    A strange build-up to the year two thousand
    all talk was of a millennium bug
    which was going to send electronics wild.
    Parties were planned and invitations sent
    for a celebration to be enjoyed.
    Than nature took a hand to spoil our fun.
    The night after Christmas a hurricane
    made matchwood of the northern half of France,
    Power failure followed for days and days.
    We fêted the Millenium in the dark.

  5. Pingback: Devastation Celebration | Vivinfrance's Blog

  6. Congratulations to Walt & Marie and to everyone who comes to the garden 🙂

    To add to the fun, I decided to do mine in 5 rhyming couplets.


    (A celebration of the great change in my life in 2009)

    Years ago, I never thought I would see the day
    To have come so far and finally feel this way
    So many long dark years of deep pain and fear
    Drowning in self loathing, self pity, whisky, gin and beer
    Always looking back in regret and never on till tomorrow
    Sitting on the outside looking in, forever filled with sorrow
    Then came a day when a switch inside was thrown
    No longer afraid of being; me finally I had grown
    I have found my happiness; my heart filled with joy
    Confident as a man, for so long the frightened boy.


  7. And in honor of the Christian celebration of Palm Sunday, a “Found” 10 x 10 poem:


    But God said, “You shall not eat of the fruit
    of the tree standing in the middle of the garden,
    neither shall you touch it, or else you will die.”

    Know this: We have a great high priest who has
    Passed through the heavens – Jesus, the very Son of God.
    We do not have a high priest unable to sympathize
    With our weaknesses, but tempted in every way we are,
    Yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near
    To the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy
    And find grace to help in our time of need.

    (From Genesis 3:3 and Hebrews 4:14-16)

    Marie Elena

  8. One Hundred! Yay!

    Not asleep: not awake (not entirely). Anyway, I am celebrating.
    Like a fisherman or busman on holiday, I am celebrating.
    I had a fantasy, and it stays in my mind:
    I play the lottery; I get rich; I am celebrating.
    Blue jays and mockingbirds have no red-letter days,
    but that’s okay. It’s the unspectacular that I am celebrating.
    You remember the ads with Parkay pretending it’s butter?
    No poets manqué in this patch where I am celebrating.
    We may not have met, but we’re all buds here,
    says the gray cat from Tennessee. Hurray! I am celebrating


    All these lifted arms linked together, these numberless feet treading
    so close! Who would have believed the day would come
    When all mankind throughout the cosmos would opt for peace,
    give up war forever? It’s time to celebrate, to lift
    our angelic voices praise those peacemakers who changed our fate.
    You spirits of soldiers who had died on bloody battlefields
    down the march of time, arise from your troubled sleep!
    Sing your songs; let ring joyous rhymes to the world!
    At last the day of true freedom’s come to pass.
    At last we can clasp our hands, dispense with tears.



    “I’m good enough. I’m smart enough. And doggone it, people like me.”
    –Daily Affirmation by Stuart Smalley

    Here are some words of advice I’d like to impart,
    while your journey through life’s not far from its start.
    Take each day as it comes, plan less, enjoy more.
    Don’t be too timid when chance knocks on your door.
    There is no shame in sometimes failing at a task.
    If you’ve done your best, that’s all I can ask.
    Work hard, get good grades, don’t show off in class.
    Be smart in your choices, don’t be a smart ass.
    Some people won’t like you no matter what you do.
    Ignore the naysayers, make each day a celebration of you.

  11. Celebrate Each Day

    I sit in bed and rub the remnants of dreams
    from gritty eyes, yawn and stretch and face the dawning
    day. Discerning there are just so many and no more.
    A measured number known to God, meted one by one.

    I’ve spent my life like a man with pockets full
    of gold with no fear or thought of running out.
    The days ahead stretched long and smooth, so I thought,
    in foolish youth. Time laughed at my poor innocence.

    Now with six decades beneath my feet and two besides,
    I celebrate each day, by God’s good grace, a gift.

  12. What a wonderful achievement, Walt and Marie, especially shared with poets from so many parts of the world. That makes me glad and shy, simultaneously ;). Congratulations on 100!

  13. Celebrate

    By David De Jong

    From depths of our heart; we celebrate, play our part
    To honor, remember, rejoice; have fun, all with one voice
    One unforgettable day with love, one immeasurable day without pain
    Triumphant achievement, success; shared with joy in full contented bliss
    Simple, carefree or extremely elegant; calm, quiet or stately pageant
    A lifetime’s single moment; elated tears wash tears of lament
    Spaghetti confetti, meat on a fire; feasts only gods inspire
    Music, dancing, love and romancing; celebrating life’s gifts all enhancing
    Realms of the earthly seasons, simplistic extravagance for children’s reasons
    Celebrate today, tomorrow and again, life – be not in vain

  14. Celebrate Breath

    We huddle together for warmth, our collars turned up against
    an icy breeze, the beginnings of promised rain pattering down
    on pavement. We mutter, ‘Burr!’ and shiver, questioning where spring
    has gone, why sunlight hides in heavy clouds. She struggles
    toward us, smiling, opening her mouth to catch sprinkles, laughs,
    and shouts, “Bracing!” then tells us how beautiful this morning
    is, this new day of hope. Each drop is blessing,
    she says, each step a breath, each breath a loving
    friend, reminding us to give thanks for every possibility, every
    challenge, every chance to grow, learn, for all is God’s.

  15. This one attempts to rhyme, so if the lines fold, you can still tell where it should have been. Great celebrating today, friends.

    Rainy Day Meditation

    Something about staying warm inside while a wintry mix falls
    adds to the peacefulness of the day. Drowsy desire calls
    us to make choices between napping (as a cat mauls
    our laps with its treading, then purrs into furry balls),
    or maybe writing or reading a chosen book that stalls
    time and launches us into fictional lives, destiny that brawls
    across our imaginations. Now, dinner’s smell beckons us, promise crawls
    across our palates, savory and sweet, assurance wandering the halls
    of our hungers. The piano or dulcimer or guitar drawls
    come, play, as cold rain falls. Inside warmth is all.

  16. I’m stealing your couplet idea, Iain.


    A one and a two and a three and go,
    he tried to keep time for us and to show
    us that we did not need him if we learned
    to count for ourselves, to read the music, to discern
    and honor key signatures. We waited for his down beats
    little caring for the lesson as long as our bleets
    of song departed and arrived more or less together, marched
    stumbling measure for measure, like lost soldiers in deserts, parched
    for the pulse and swell of water, of harmony aflow.
    Now older, we long to keep time. We didn’t know.

  17. Marie, Walt, thank you for your poems of celebration! I was guessing there’d be something special for the 100th prompt.

    Here’s my addition to the party:

    Party! Yes! We’ll have a party! Bring your pointy hat,
    Cake and ice cream, chips and Cheetohs. bright-red punch that
    Has surprises floating in it—little poets, maybe, dressed in
    Life preservers. Oh, and let’s have bubble wrap, and spin
    The bottle; rabbits, too, especially the ones with elegant ears,
    And fur that tickles the bottoms of their feet. Cheers
    For the poets, jugglers of words! There’s a great bowl
    Of words here, too, in batches of one hundred. Dole
    Them out; toss them up into the air, confetti, now.
    Catch! We’ll turn them into songs; we’ll clap and bow!

  18. Thanks all. Sorry for the formatting going askew. The poem’s the thing. They will show better on the celebratory page that will be assembled from your works. But Marie and I are very pleased and humbled by your contributions and participation. This was just a great idea when it was proposed. It was the seed of all of you that has made this place pop with such bountiful blooms. This concept is what makes us a special group. It has never been about any one of us.It is about us all.

  19. Pingback: Wild Child | Sharp Little Pencil - Amy Barlow Liberatore

  20. (A prose poem)

    A Celebration of Springtime Wonders

    With the coming of Spring, there’s a mockingbird singing. Or,
    does a mockingbird sing? Is it his song if it
    belongs to someone else? Or is that then karaoke? Lip-syncing?
    With the coming of Spring, there are bunnies hopping. Are
    they all the Easter Bunny? Do they carry little baskets
    Filled with colorful eggs, chocolate, jelly beans, and marshmellow peeps?
    With the coming of Spring, are my Granddaughters wearing pastels?
    And did they throw off their pretty, little shoes to
    run barefoot in clover, peeking under stones for songs of
    the mockingbird singing someone else’s song, and Easter Bunny’s baskets?

  21. “One Hundred Syllables”

    “Marie Elena” is a garden name
    but Walter’s name is plain; he’s not a dame!
    No matter, both these flow`ring people grow;
    they’re intercontinental, don’t you know.
    Their garden emulates that happy state
    where even buzzing bees do not berate.
    Oh, celebrate this poem of a site
    whose garden’s filled with words of such delight.
    I celebrate the gath`ring of such blooms
    that grow a peace among our many rooms.

  22. Celebrating Poetic Bloomings in its Glory

    What is God’s glory? Who He is. His manifest presence.
    His divine express image. His magnificent splendor. His holy essence.
    His nature is revealed in creation with its own glory.
    Each work of His hand is part of His story.
    Glory—when majestic snowcapped mountains stand boldly against blue sky.
    Glory—the miraculous function of a foot, hand or eye.
    Glory—when a fruit tree is full of ripe fruit.
    Glory—when nature is doing what it’s meant to do.
    Glory—when poets are overflowing with dreams, passion, and creativity,
    and grace the world with beauty and understanding in poetry.

  23. Blessed Life

    Born naked and cold in a house on Main Street
    Destined for greatness? Or at least a few great moments
    Grew to be a man in the frigid cold Northeast
    No future there, so the military provided me an escape
    And escape I did. To roam the world for years
    Serving the nation, and enjoying the ride of my life
    Found my true love, and made the ride even better
    Kids filled the home with laughter, love, and great memories
    Grew to be fine adults and gave us beautiful grandchildren
    A life so blessed that I cannot thank God enough

    Copyright (C) 2013 Earl Parsons

  24. Congratulations Walt and Marie!

    Starting With Two Seeds

    Two lovely people on opposite sides of a great lake
    joined minds, hearts, and love of poetry forging a bond
    to provide their readers with intriguing prompts and beautiful blooms.
    They dug a garden; everyone came and planted their seeds.
    Flowers of all varieties vied for space, spread their petals,
    and grew to hued heights like rainbows arcing after a storm.
    The garden began with only two seeds. They were mighty–
    encouraging, praising, sprinkling us with laughter, watering us with tears.
    We, the flowers, celebrate one hundred plantings, and countless buds
    all hoping for many more bountiful seasons in this Eden.

  25. The Stray

    He showed up at our door, so small and cute
    Poop stuck to the fur of his tail and legs
    Where had he come from? No one had a clue
    But the two fur balls inside would not welcome him
    So we gave him some food and closed the door
    That was a mistake. For the next day he returned
    And being a soft hearted soul, I fed him again
    After three days, the wife said to let him in
    We bathed him, fed him and he loved us back
    Now it’s as if he’s always been in our family

    Copyright (C) 2013 Earl Parsons


    In a garden that I know, poets go
    To plant their poems in soil so rich
    They can’t help but flourish under the care
    Of the gardeners tending this special place
    Two extraordinary poets who
    Nurture each piece with tenderness and love
    In this garden of poems blessed from above
    Now it has been over one hundred prompts
    Enjoyed by poets from ’round the world
    An international garden of verse!

  27. And now, for those who could not make it to my blog, you’re missing a super hot picture of Wild Amy back in the day… but the energy of those days, the celebration, is for you all.


    From Day One, I was
    a wild child.
    Well-schooled but wayward.
    Never pleaded for parental pardon.

    Worldly wise wisp
    wrapped in ribbons,
    wants to be unspooled,
    twirled, awhirl with

    winsome, wastrel wiles.
    Wishes for what she wants;
    wants more than she gets;
    gets what’s coming to her,

    all the while knowing
    there’s way more in store.
    Her wickedly wanton waylays
    wend their way into herstory.

    © 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

  28. And now my attempt at this week’s celebration prompt.

    “One Week of Celebration”

    Palms, cloaks, a dusty road, hosanna, a donkey, a king.
    We gift Lenten peace be with you, dear humble friends.
    An afternoon shower in twinned baby blue. A mother’s womb.
    We gift booties, oak cradles, quilted kisses, old birth stories.
    Another candle, another cake, (still amazed I wake), I wish,
    they gift, this quiver of mine, of ours. I cry.
    A cross, a crown of thorns, a nail, a mother’s
    tears of lily white, a crimson stain, a shaken earth,
    He gifts, we sing, hosanna to a heavenly King. One
    week of blessing song. Four giftings. Four givings. Forgiven. Forever.

  29. On becoming a doctor

    You never did make a backup plan like
    your chemistry professor suggested.
    He meant well. But he hadn’t given birth
    three times, hadn’t stopped fights out in the street,
    fought drowning in a desert, hadn’t sown
    the night for sixteen months with tears of hope.
    It was time to birth again, and you knew
    there was no terror in anatomy –
    just new skin, new eyes, a new name for love,
    a cat curled on the hearth, at home at last.

  30. In Love with Words

    Loving words rolling off the tip of my tongue, tripping
    through bouquets of similes and metaphors, while alliteration arrives to
    take us to new planes of poetic paradoxes, sipping serenity
    and musing over the georgical meadows of a missing spring.
    Agog for the arrival of the next day, next chapter
    on the carousel of life, striving to be better, kinder
    than I ever thought I could be, seeking strength and
    words resonating through my soul, chasing mortification out the door.
    Celebrating being here, with you, partying with lyrical words, intent
    on absorbing the harmony, melodies of the here and now.

  31. Crossing the Line

    Another night of concerts with the same group of friends
    Standing, clapping and singing ‘till the concert neared its end
    Before the invitation started, I would make my way outside
    The souvenirs were calling me; I’d be first at tableside
    But the audience prevented me from my every concert flight
    Guess I’d be present for the invitation this very night
    “I Wish We’d All Been Ready” softly filled the air
    Perspiration started beading through my skin and in my hair
    “The King is Coming” filled the auditorium and my soul
    That night I crossed the line and gave God control

  32. What we Will Always Remember

    One hundred years ago this month, our area was flooded.
    No one had ever seen the rivers rise and spread
    Over the fertile farmlands and the streets of the towns.
    The new century had brought amazing machines that replaced animals
    But there was no machine that could stop the water.
    People still drowned while trapped in their houses and barns.
    Brave men dove into the water to save the helpless.
    Some of those men also drowned trying to save others
    Today the names of these men and their brave deeds
    Are still remembered for no machine can replace courageous humans.

  33. I had to let this one sit and ferment in the hind brain for a while to find the perfect subject for this prompt. This is what came in from the back burner of my mind. I hope you all enjoy it. I hadn’t thought of it in years and now wonder why.

    Independence Day

    Upon evening’s twilight, my journey toward adulthood began in earnest;
    Invited to accompany an older friend on a family outing
    To celebrate the country’s birthday, complete with a firework’s display,
    I departed, anxious in this new role as companion to
    One lonely for friendship, for acceptance by peers without need
    To explain whys and wherefores; this too, would be my
    Independence Day. To attend a carnival without parental hand holding,
    To experience a real rodeo and sit with experts to
    Teach about sights, sounds, causes, realities that made up pageantry,
    Finalized by fired waving flags, waterfalls, golden sparkled sky balls.

    • You painted such a lovely picture in my mind: Independence Day! It always brings tears to my eyes when I see the fireworks and hear the Star-Spangled Banner sung. You already know how I feel about your poetry, Claudsy, but I’ll say it again: you are one of my favorites!!

      • Bless your heart, Erin. You’ve so kind. So many first took place on that day. My first real rodeo, my first freedom at a carnival, going with people I hadn’t known before that day–an older friend’s senior parents–seeing fireworks like I’d never seen before, and knowing that tis outing was as much a special treat for my friend as for me, for this was the first time she’d had a friend to take along on this kind of outing. I look back on it now and can cry for her as much as I did then, for hers was an odd upbringing and a lonely life. I’ve always been glad that I had that evening and the many other outings with her and her parents, even though I never saw her again after she graduated high school three years before I did.

        I learned a lot from that Independence Day experience. I’ve been grateful for it since. I’m glad that you enjoyed this poem, Erin. Thank you again.

    • Claudsy,
      loved this…the sweetest form of independence is giving your yourself as a friend to someone who needs one…thanks for this beautiful reminder.

      • I’m happy that you liked this one. Thank your so much. And I think it’s true that only when you give yourself away in friendship do you find your personal worth.

          • Thank you, Seven. I’ll take all the blessings I can get any time. I try to count them each night before bed, I never stay awake long enough to finish the list. It’s far too long.

            And blessings to you as well, my friend. And to all who congregate here. We are all blessed to have this place and each other, and the sharing we do with both words and sentiments.

  34. How absolutely wonderful! Thank you so much, Walt and Marie! ♥

    Here’s my [10×10] poem of celebration, dedicated to the two of you…


    So, make a joyful noise? Is that what you said?
    I can do that, based on all that I’ve read
    from the talented people who make their written words known.
    I read their poems to myself and I’m never alone.
    So, make a joyous noise? What else would you expect?
    Through the magic of our collective experiences, we somehow connect
    and learn and grow and become better by this association.
    We may be worlds apart, but love needs no translation.
    So, make a joyous noise? Yes! And thus I’m defined:
    our metrics and rhythms, like the stars, are dazzlingly aligned.


  35. The Magic of Frost

    Poetry used to be all nonsense and silliness to me,
    Little things that people wrote when they had nothing better
    To do. Oh I’d read Shakespeare and Eliot and Stevens,
    It still made no sense to me. But one day,
    Thirsting to know the why and wherefore, the reason behind,
    I read that one poem, and everything changed, the genius
    Behind that poem awoke an inner spark of yearning in me,
    A hunger for more; Since then I’ve come to love
    Poetry passionately: Tennyson and Wordsworth astound me; it’s all due
    To the magic of Frost and his “Stopping by Woods…”

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

    I’m not even saying that that one poem is the best, or my favorite, poem. But it definitely turned me round and upside down. 🙂

  36. Pingback: I Crave the Taste-the Surge of Purity | Metaphors and Smiles

    • Big day indeed!!! It really amazes me…the variety of poetical peeps that arrive in the garden each week! It is exciting and I’m so blessed to be here…roots roiling in fertile poetic soil. Inspired by you all, fellow poets.

      Some really wonderful writing here this week…smiles to everyone!! 🙂

      I Crave the Taste-the Surge of Purity

      I wish to affix, a while, summer to my soul.
      I want to anchor to amethyst crystal the carefree clouds.
      I long to bond to my step the boisterous bounce-
      the very energy behind absolute amazement and a child’s eyes.
      I wonder if I could embody a butterfly’s wing momentarily;
      experience the silken dust and trust in its falling flight.
      I would love nothing more than to immerse myself fully,
      sink into the lengthening layers of the sun’s brilliant color.
      I desire the fill of emerald-green, the vibrancy of life,
      for chlorophyll to spill into my veins-lifeblood of mother-nature.

      Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013

      Ahem…I hyphenated…that makes it one word right? 😉

  37. Hi! And congratulations!! That is very exciting–so, I started in a totally different direction here, but ended up with… well, you’ll see 🙂

    Where Poets Bloom

    When a poem strikes, you never know whether it will
    Whither or grow, needs proper love, care, feeding and light
    The glow from other poets you know, or just discover
    Uncover, in the sharing of this poetic sprout peeking out
    Opens its leafy heart to the part-y of vowels, sounds
    Joy abounds with each read, creeps further from the seed
    Grows in confidence, strength of stem, no longer a whim
    It’s reached its height, sturdied its stalk can talk of
    Green and color, scent and other buds not so blessed
    With roots and room, loam and love–here poets bloom

    Love to you and everyone here, where poets bloom ❤

  38. Muse

    I catalog our firsts– date, dance, kiss, phone call, talking
    into the early hours of the morning, both well aware
    the price we’d pay when the alarm sounded too soon.
    My faint pencil wisps on pocket calendars saved for years
    keep a tally of those occasions momentous only to us.
    I don’t expect cards or flowers. I don’t even sulk
    when you don’t remember too. Instead , I announce Guess what
    today is? not giving you a chance to confess forgetfulness.
    I’ll be your Mnemosyne, the muses always steering you clear
    of Lethe’s oblivion, writing an ode to the beautiful ordinary.

  39. What a milestone to celebrate! Better late than never:) I can’t wait to return to read some more if my internet co-operates!!

    My Life-wish Celebration

    I want to live so that when my Hour comes
    I will not lie on a deathbed of sad regret
    But peacefully then I will relinquish my final, farewell breath
    Content to know that in life’s brief, mystic moment flow
    I fully danced and freely dreamed and laughed and wept
    Daring to fly with faith buoying me above fear’s crypt
    So that when the last everlasting sleep steals over me
    And sets me free from demons of doubt and want
    I will surrender, reaching to Him with weary, ready arms
    Satisfied to let go, surrendering softly to heaven’s eternal embrace

    © Janet Martin

    Celebrating US

    We are a band driven by a common, luring thirst
    Battling through highs and lows of feeling blessed and cursed
    As we suffer blissfully the divine endowment of word vexation
    Knowing at any moment we may be perplexed by temptation
    In the curves of consonants joined perfectly with certain vowels
    Dangling and taunting they whisper, falling from thought’s dripping jowls
    As we stir soup or wander among children, women, men
    Suddenly, the searing surge to grasp the frond of pen
    Consumes our bearing and we cannot substitute or coldly mediate
    With anything but written word; we are poets; we celebrate

    © Janet Martin

  40. Pingback: Cause (and Effect) For Celebration | echoes from the silence


      So often life seems to get the better of me.
      I go through the motions of eating, working, and sleeping
      (that is, when I am able to sleep at night).
      As the morning dawns, I am given the chance to
      decide how my day will unfold: whether good or bad.
      It is, after all, a choice. A decision I make.
      Day after day I begin with the choice of “good,”
      yet the daily obstacles of life trip me up and
      I don’t finish the day where I started. However…I
      celebrate the mercy of being given a new chance daily.

      P. Wanken

  41. Pinks and green, pea pods
    Baby soft
    Twirls and curls, black hair

    (One of the highlights of my life that I continue to celebrate daily, the birth of my 1st grandchild, Emma)

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