In LINE MESSAGING poetry, the final line of each stanza may be compiled to create an entirely new poem with its own independent message (a poem within a poem).  It appears there are no rules for number of stanzas, or rhyme scheme.   This form was created by Angel Favazza.

See Shadow Poetry for more on LINE MESSAGING



He considers profoundly
The beauty before him,
Knowing she belongs to another. 
He uses his authority to order her
                 to the front lines.
He feels no remorse
For death in war is honorable. 
What does it profit a man
     If the perks of royalty elude him?
He is convinced his king-heart is selfless;
That his royal power is used
For the wellbeing of his people,
     And not as a means
            To gain the world
                  And all therein. 
He seeks only what is best for this
      worthy creature.
Surely he could give her what Uriah could not. 
Surely for this precious gem,
Uriah would be willing to give
     his life
                And forfeit his soul.
 © Copyright Marie Elena – 2013
 Independent Message:
     What does it profit a man
     To gain the world,
     And forfeit his soul?
                        (Mark 8:36)
 I have to admit that this was one of the hardest forms I’ve ever attempted.  Walt, yours is nothing short of amazing. ~ Marie Elena



Silence is a comforting companion,
a reminder that peace soothes
and love is the cure for
a heart left to languish.

 Even when it seems to be hopeless,
you find a way to embrace
life as the gift it is,
you are not far from
living to the fullest
in the throes of a lifetime love,

 Fondness of heart strengthens
in the absence of it, But above it all
you know that life is in the living,
and love is found in the giving.
For it is the truest of hearts that
never feels abandoned for lack of it

 © Copyright Walter J Wojtanik 2013

The independent (poem) message:


 A heart left to languish
in the throes of a lifetime love,
never feels abandoned for lack of it

 © Copyright Walter J Wojtanik 2013


  1. These are both so good! Marie, my pastor just read that very scripture two weeks ago. I really like your take on the prompt and your narrative style!

    Walt, I agree with Marie: your poem is nothing short of amazing! How you do it every week, giving us examples, is beyond me. I love this poem!

  2. Safe Haven

    Bitter winds froze the tears on her cheeks.
    In misery she cursed the sky,
    Calling down thunder, lightning storm;
    She stood on the brink of a precipice,

    Teetering perilously close
    To the black depths stretched below her;
    Nothing in this world could comfort her,
    She stood there,
    Wrapped in despair.

    Why try to be brave, to bear the pain?
    For pain was all that was left for her;
    Why try to believe it was all God’s plan, her
    Sorrow unfathomable?

    She edged closer, closer still,
    But her Father saw, and heard her cries,
    Saw the bitter tears that fell, caught her up in His arms;
    That black abyss had all but claimed her,
    Until He wrapped His arms around her:

    Security and comfort giving
    To her broken, tear stained soul;
    And in His strong arms she rested easily:
    Safe haven, peace enveloped.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

    Independent Message;

    She stood on the brink of a precipice,
    Wrapped in despair,
    Sorrow unfathomable;
    Until He wrapped His arms around her:
    Safe haven, peace enveloped.

  3. What Have We Done?

    We hear the critics who put God down.
    His Son’s name being taken in vain.
    Though we feel offended, we do not speak.
    Our silence causes God much pain.
    But in our minds we rationalize
    Make excuses to justify.
    And God asks us why.
    Yet we deny

    Every day, God’s name is belittled.
    We listen quietly as others laugh.
    Yet, we stand not in His defense.
    It’s a shame, He died on our behalf.
    We speak not, because we fear
    That our so-called friends might hear
    About our God, so near
    Our God, so dear.

    Still we doubt God’s awesome power
    We take Him for granted every day
    He’s proven Himself time after time
    Yet, we question, even when we pray.
    We forget the things He’s done.
    We neglect Jesus, His Son.
    He is the Chosen One
    What have we done?

    Independent Message

    Yet we deny
    Our God, so dear
    What have we done?

    Copyright © Earl Parsons 2013

  4. It’s tricky, but I like it. Thank you both for giving us such lovely examples as always, Walt and Marie. Here’s my attempt for the day.


    Morning’s sunrise promise
    Leads to whispered stories
    To all who’ll listen at fires
    Within each day’s shadows.

    History’s stories loom, always
    As shadow puppets on walls
    Tantalizing children to
    Watch those who have designs.

    Night’s stealth slips through
    Slumber’s many visions of
    Day’s play, forever planning
    On tomorrow’s future dreams.

    Independent message::

    Within each day’s shadows,
    Watch those who have designs
    On tomorrow’s future dreams.

      • Scary? I suppose it could be seen that way. But then, isn’t that what parents do at the close of the day; watch their children putting together dreams for them? It’s good to know that it has more interpretations. Thanks, Henrietta, for showing me another side of it.

      • Oh, my. Do you really think so, Marie? I’ve never thought to write one as good as Walt’s. I like this form and it’s a challenge to get things lined up just right. I will say that. Thank you so much for your kind words.

      • Aw, Janet. Thank you. I needed to tell a story with this one. I’m glad I succeeded. I’m so glad you liked it.

    • I think I read this the way Henrietta did, but as a warning not really scary. Very thought provoking. Nice – as usual.

      • Thanks, Debi. It could well be thought of as a warning, I agree. I don’t know that I intended for such to happen, but it is what you read it to be, as in all poetry.

    • Claudsy,
      I loved this…I sort of felt the warning others mentioned, but really more of a yearning…a yearning to know, to be aware, to calculate the play in our day for what might be waiting in shadows. An anxious cautious yearning, not at all a fear. That’s how I read it, and saw myself around that flickering fire of wonder.

      • Bless you, Seven. I’m so happy you enjoyed it. That’s quite a tribute. I hope time allows it to stand up to the scrutiny.

  5. Crucified for Me

    For my sins He was flogged,
    For my transgressions cruelly mocked,
    Blameless Lamb of God.

    On a tree He was hung,
    Bled and suffered and was
    Crucified for me.

    He lay in a tomb for three days,
    My blessed Savior;
    Rose again on the third day.

    Because of His love I am loved,
    Because of His anguish, I am righteous,
    Because of Him, I am clean.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

    Independent message:

    Blameless Lamb of God,
    Crucified for me;
    Rose again on the third day;
    Because of Him, I am clean.

  6. Wow, Meg… and, Walt… Gorgeous!!! I will have to let this particular form set in my mind for a while… (also, fostering two sweet, little puppies, so it may take a while) 🙂 !!

  7. Puppy Energy

    don’t wake the little spider

    resting outside your playpen
    near the Soft-Rock radio music
    calming him
    as he sits there wishing

    he could bark back at you.

    Independent Message:

    Don’t wake the little spider
    as he sits there wishing
    he could bark back at you.

      • Aww, thanks, Clauds, I actually laughed at the image of a barking spider myself… 😀 !!

        • For some reason, that phrase “Barking Spider” rings a bell for me. Was there a story or something that used that phrase? It’s going to drive me crazy until I remember it. I want you to know that so that when you see me manic and frantic later on, you’ll know why. 🙂 LOL

          • Claudsy I had to google it to see if there was such a thing… Also known as the “Queensland whistling tarantula” or “barking spider”) S. crassipes is a species of tarantula native to the east coast of Queensland, Australia.

            • I knew it! My Aussie friend, Kay Bushnell, posted a picture of this little beauty not long ago on my FB timeline. Thanks, Debi. I would have worried over that one until about midnight when I’d move over to Google and look it up. You’ve saved me, girl. I’m in your debt. But I’m broke so make payback easy on me. Okay?

          • Ha, ha, ha… I’m so glad you two put your heads together… fascinating tidbit… 😀 !!

            • It could be interesting to see what could be done with it. Perhaps a rhyming book for little ones about a barking spider that meets it match and has to outsmart the opponent. Sneaky rather than violent. Smart rather than mean.

          • Yes!! I Love your idea!! You’ve given me something wonderful to mull around. Thank you, my friend!!

            • You’re welcome, my friend. Just remind me once in a while what I came up with. Too many projects, too much distraction, all lead to too little memory ability. 🙂

    • Henrietta,
      how did you create a character with such CHARACTER as a barking spider with such few simple lines?
      THIS is a personality that really belongs in a children’s book.
      “Hairy the Barking Spider and His Extra-Webestrial Exploits.”

      • Ha, ha, ha… I simply sat down near the little fellow (and I guess his sweet, little energy got all over me…) You know, 7, I absolutely Love imagining children’s stories and buying their books for my Granbabies… <3!! Love your title!! Thank you!

  8. Marie and Walt, your wonderful poems inspire the rest of us to bravely attempt this form. Thank-you!


    Dusk flowers gently over field and hill
    Blush pink washes the patch-work quilt of spring
    A surge akin to prayer ignites within
    The Keeper of each hour tunes the rill

    Each season sheds its purpose on the earth
    The seed will grow; the chaff be blown away
    Love’s Hand sifts through our humbly offered fray
    And fills our wanton efforts with His worth

    We cannot know the reason of His will
    But like each season, joy and sorrow pass
    We strain to see beyond this darkened glass
    Where mortal imperfections keenly spill

    Spring is the season of hope and re-birth
    With hand upon the plow we till the sod
    Trusting its harvest to a loving God
    His faithful eye is over all the earth

    (independent message)

    The Keeper of each hour tunes the rill
    And fills our wanton efforts with His worth
    Where mortal imperfections keenly spill
    His faithful eye is over all the earth

    © Janet Martin

  9. Springtime of Soul

    Depression threatened
    to rob springtime from my soul
    and exchange it for dust,
    only dust.

    It wasn’t sunshine,
    refreshing rains, birds singing
    that transformed me.
    God breathed in life.

    Emptiness, dryness, tears.
    Colors, Fragrance, Music

    Only dust
    God breathed in life

  10. Healing

    I’ve heard it said
    That open windows
    Even in the middle of winter
    With plenty of fresh air is
    The cure for anything

    And when you have
    A sore throat or infected toe-
    Gargle or soak-whichever-
    The best remedy
    Is salt water

    For working out problems
    Hard work is a tonic
    And if your heart is broken-cry
    For there is healing in
    Tears, sweat

    And when life overwhelms
    With its ceaseless noise
    And solitude you crave,
    Go to a wooded place
    Or the sea.

    “The cure for anything is salt water – tears, sweat, or the sea.” -Isak Dinesen, Seven Gothic Tales

  11. Pingback: A Take on the Wednesday Challenges | Two Voices, One Song


    How far from gentle
    I dragged last legs
    into drunken night!
    From a dim-lit saloon,
    a heart-gripping segue
    to a rageless dark…
    I’ve had eighteen straight.

    On my way words burst
    to be born and strung
    magically until these hands
    quivering fell back.
    This clouded mind
    resigned to silence
    lost count. So many
    whiskies. I think that is

    something to question
    the muse, ask her why
    she thirsted, not for
    verse, but for a rhythmic
    glut of eighteen double scotches:
    The record.

    In the end,
    my last words
    should have been
    a burning poem
    that stood with sword
    and dueled against
    the dying of the light.
    I who caught the moon
    and tried to sing it
    too late beyond the grief of
    Last words.


    Independent poem message:

    “I’ve had eighteen straight
    whiskies. I think that is
    the record.”
    [last words[

  13. After reading the wonderful ones above, I hesitated to post my effort. This is a form I’ll try often again. Here’s my first try.

    Francis’ Plea

    Answer me,
    you vast dark night!
    I hear the rumbles and
    feel the threat of
    With black fright on my sky.
    a heavy quiet
    goes awry.
    oh say…

    And flash!
    You answer.
    Not the words I hope for
    not the ease
    of peace, my prayer.
    With each splash of brazen
    fire, and bright
    shout of light
    my hopes dim.
    My vision fades.
    Can you see?

    Will death
    like deafness
    quiet my angst?
    In bombs of anger,
    in the rage of war
    will you reply?
    What do you say?
    Your answer, dark vast night,
    may be a fight.
    But I will greet it
    by the dawn’s early light.


    Independent poem…

    Oh say,
    can you see,
    by the dawn’s early light…
    — Francis Scott Key

  14. Through the Busyness

    There is a moment
    exquisite tenderness

    washing over me,
    every now and again

    in daily life.

    Independent message:

    Exquisite tenderness,
    every now and again
    in daily life.

  15. To Paint a Poem

    I wish to paint a poem
    With watercolors and words,
    Trap the beauty of
    A poem in the beauty of
    My paint; for
    Painting is silent poetry;

    I wish to write a picture,
    With words and watercolors,
    Express myself,
    Immerse myself in both;
    For painting is poetry,
    And poetry is painting;

    And I wish to take the two:
    The poem, the painting,
    And set them on high,
    Where all can see;
    To let these twain
    Speak with my voice,
    Placing one inside the other,
    Endowing and enlightening them both
    With the gift of speech.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

    Independent message:

    “Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting with the gift of speech.” – Robert Frost

  16. (Boy, was this one a toughie!)

    Sevenling (three irrevocable things)

    Three irrevocable things in one’s life
    are words, time
    and chance.

    What’s not irrevocable in one’s life
    are works, rhyme
    and change.

    Other than a character or two, is there a difference?

    Independent Message

    And chance?
    And change?
    Other than a character or two, is there a difference?


  17. Sleeping Through



    peace of night

    enveloped my


    Independent Message:



    • Aww… what a sweet thing to say, Janet… Thank you! And… you are a very, Very special part of all of us too!!! ❤ 🙂 !!

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