One of the memorable scenes in the movie, Cabaret, occurs during the singing of a lovely song, Tomorrow Belongs to Me. The song begins when a young man sings it as an idyllic waltz, but as he sings, his tone hardens, the waltz changes to an aggressive, martial march, and, in a mirrored reflection, a beer-garden gathering changes to a sea of people dressed in Nazi uniforms. The effect is chilling. Write a poem about an unexpected event, or a situation that changes dramatically. This could be something as stark as a snowstorm in August, or as subtle as a clouding of the eyes or a twitch in the face of a friend. The topic need not be grim; comic pratfalls are acceptable too.
MARIE ELENA’S ATTEMPT
“What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” ~ Ecclesiastes 1:9
Light
follows
darkness
follows
light
in time and perception
and so it goes
and so it will
Until the god I am
makes way
for the God I Am.
© copyright 2013, Marie Elena Good
WILLIAM’S EXAMPLE
SEA CHANGE
When love dies,
the bluebirds vanish
from the fields
and bushes,
leaving behind the blackness
of swirling starlings.
© copyright 2013, William Preston
WALT’S BIT
LIFE IN A BLENDER
The blades turn at a frightening speed,
indeed they churn and leave a life shredded.
You’re headed for the end of the road
but you will explode if you hold it in.
But you begin to break free
and you can see relief in the distance.
The path of least resistance
stretches a mile between smiles.
Love heals if you can steal such moments.
© copyright 2013, Walter J. Wojtanik
Marie, this has got to be one of my favorite poems I’ve ever read of yours…possibly one of my favorite poems I’ve ever read, period! It makes me feel so soothed and at rest. Thank you for this! ❤
William, this is stunning from beginning to end, from the bluebird to the starling…beautiful!
Such humbling words. Thank you so much, Erin Kay. So much.
You’re welcome. It’s true, though. 🙂
Marie Elena and William – such strong poems in so few words…I am literally in awe.
Yes… and Walt, as always…
Thanks so much!
Hopping on the praise-train here for our gracious hosts!!
Thank you all so much for your offerings, poetic and otherwise.
Warm :)’s to all in the garden this week.
I can’t believe tomorrow we’re already mid-week…I’ll try and catch up still.
You and me both, sweet friend! Finally out here to do some reading, and hoping my phone stays quiet long enough to allow me to do exactly that. 😉
That’s what we get for being so popular, huh?!! 😉 It surely is tricky to make time sometimes this season especially! ♥ to you!
LOL! Back atcha, sweetie!!
Me too!
Hope’s Colors
Bleak, the earth was barren and bleak,
White, all was white, blinding white streak…
And my heart was covered in frost
And ice and almost dead…almost…
Something is growing in the snow:
What is this thing? I have to know
What thing can grow in the stark white,
In the blinding, wintery light…
And I saw it, purple and frail,
So tiny, yet so strong and hale,
And I knew it then to be hope,
Embodied in a crocus, hope
Calmly, persistently growing
In the stark white: purple and green.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Fabulous. And that is exactly what I feel a crocus represents. Hope … and resilience. Beautiful, Erin Kay!
Amen. To see their fragile beauty through ice and snow warms my heart and lifts my spirits.
Yes, mine too! Thanks, Debi!
Thank you, Marie! To see them blooming in frozen ground is such a wondrous thing. 🙂
I love the crocus for its hopeful promise of spring. What a lovely poem.
Thank you very much, RJ! Winter has barely started here and I’m already longing for spring… 😉
Well, let’s not get hasty…
hehe
For me, the sounds, barren at the beginning, stark at the end, encapsulate this poem and enhance the miracle of that little flower. Wonderful work.
Yes, I’m with William…it’s the contrasts that make this poem. The bleakness at the beginning against the green-ness of hope at the end. Very nice Erin.
Thank you too, Sharon! ❤
Thank you so much, William! I was trying to make the different words stand out…you are perceptive as always. 🙂
Erin Kay, you created for me an image of hope that I can call on whenever necessary. Thank you.
I’m not quite sure why, but somehow Meena Rose’s icon keeps coming up with my comments. I just want all of you to rest assured that this is not poetic piracy at work here.
Thank you for the beautiful comment, Ellen! 🙂
And I don’t see Meena’s icon, just yours.
This is a beauty, Erin!
Thanks, Sara!
Gorgeous… a color of Healing… !!
I always think of purple that way…thank you, my friend! ❤
🙂 !!
Wonderful imagery of hope Erin! I love hope. It never puts us to shame. I like the growing sense of hope here.
Your repetition is purposed perfectly for this, Erin…what a graceful read of such a beautiful topic, the crocus of hope. 🙂
Beautiful writing, Erin.
Dénouement
“Be like the bird that, pausing in her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet she sings, knowing that she hath wings.” ~Victor Hugo
Two words: “Be brave.” But I could not
predict what I’d finally do.
And in my mind, I wished; I thought…
…Did I have strength to carry through?
I took a deep breath, and then I
stopped, not knowing where I might land.
I knew it was chance, and not my
dreams alone: Dreams? Where did I stand?
And then, I made a decision.
No matter what, I would go on.
To stay, I could not envision,
because this was my dénouement.
I took another breath: I leapt,
and in that act, no longer slept.
###
Wow. You just took my breath away, my friend.
– ♥ –
And mine… Stunning poem, RJ!
♥
It interests me that you used a sonnet here. I associate that form with solemnity and majesty, though that needn’t necessarily be so. This poem has both of those qualities, however. It is superb and most thoughtful. Thanks for writing it.
Thanks. I know that a sonnet was a strange choice, but I had just started the poem and suddenly, it seemed to want to be a sonnet. (Apparently, the poem liked the idea of a volta with regard to the last couplet.)
“and in that act, no longer slept” – such courage you have described so simply yet powerfully here RJ, and with such a title! This is stellar.
Thank you so much!
Wow!
I…Love… this… !!
Marie – your poem is so reflective of who you are. Simply stated by most eloquent.
William – first of all, I love your poem. I’m also not surprised that birds were used as metaphor, you being you. 😀
Now for the second part: I have to say, Cabaret is a brilliant Kander and Ebb musical (and Liza will always be Sally Bowles for me!) But that one scene in the Biergarten which you described above, was indeed totally chilling, largely because it was real. Those seismic shifts did really happen. For both of these reasons, I wrote ‘Dénouement’ – because of the bird metaphor, and because there comes a time when one cannot sit idly while the world (for good or bad) rushes by.
This was definitely a philosophical prompt. At least, for me it was.
Ooops – Marie, that first line should have said, ‘Simply stated and most eloquent.
Two thumbs way up, classy lady.
She is that, but you know, it takes one to know one.
Aww … thank you, kind sir!
“Until the god I am makes way for the God I Am.”
Marie, I think that is the most beautiful Truth stated in the most beautiful way. Wonderful!
William, I love birds and I always love your bird poems. The way your world lost its color when love died is one I think we can all relate to.
RJ, Your poem speaks to my heart. It is full to the brim with wisdom.
Debi, you’ve really blown me away with your sweet comments and sharing on fb. Thank you so very much!
The Faceless Woman
I spent too much time writing
to finish the portrait of my daughter,
so it came with a promise.
“I like it faceless,” she said.
The faceless woman?
Then not my daughter.
Shall I finish it, or not?
So much said here… I love the straightforwardness of this one, Connie. 🙂
Amen to that. Stunning, really.
What a weighty enigmatic poem Connie…one of my favourites of yours, I think.
This is such a deep poem filled with enigma. It forced my hat to be that of a mother, no how hard we try to project an image upon our children, the reality is it is their image and she likes it faceless so she can paint her own face in. ❤
Oh! Absolutely… it is sometimes very difficult to simply let them “be” who They wish to be…
You’ve encaptured the conflict of relationships. I like that you left it open-ended.
Hear, hear!
Rite of Passage
Soon I’ll be the top tier
The one you’ll look to
For guidance, advice
I’ll enjoy the guise of wisdom
For a short moment
Then I’ll become the guided one
When decisions are made for me
When I become the child again
Then, you will become aware
of this thing called Rite of Passage.
Lovely, yet sad. I think this is very well written, Debi. ❤
My in-laws, who are just turning 90, have been the family’s “go to” for so many years. They are not in good health and it struck me forcefully that for my children my husband and I will be taking over that position one day. It wasn’t a comfortable thought. 😦
I know what you mean. My mother has always been the family matriarch, the Rock of Gibraltar. My folks just turned 88 this summer, and moved to an assisted living facility. It certainly gives one pause. In fact I just thought of another poem. Thank you.
Glad to be of help : )
… yes… as their strength fades… sadness…
Powerful piece I can relate to. Hang in there, Debi.
I love the pair of sounds: “guise of wisdom”; “guided one.” They summarize the alpha-omega feel of the whole piece, for me anyway. Loved this.
Nicely put and oh-so-true.
APPEARANCES
The eye of a tiger
The growl of a slobbering beast––
Impending doom?
A lost marble gone rogue
The sound of a dreaming child ––
A toothless croon
#
I think this is a remarkable little piece. The ending sounds have a drifting-off quality, emphasizing, for me at least, the “not what they seem” idea.
Beautifully slanted rhyme here Sal and a gorgeous,intriguing poem.
You took this prompt to a new height. Well done!
I agree with that. Wow!!
Wow…
This is just a fascinating little piece to me, Sal. Images that my own mind would not conjure on its own. Nicely done.
Marie and William, both of your poems are so beautiful as to leave me wordless (almost), truly.
Wow. Thank you so very much.
The Onion
Once there was an onion,
in the corner
of the bin
pushed aside by itself,
in the dark
until it was picked up.
First, Cook removed
the few outer layers.
They sure were dry
and shriveled
—looked more
like the leaves
swirling in eddies up
against
the back porch—
but at least
they had protected
the ones underneath.
Next came a few good ones,
moist, pungent, tender,
the way an onion
was supposed to be.
Afterward one
that was spoiled—
soft, brown, rotten-smelling.
“Not even good for
soup, that one,” said Cook.
Then back to a few more
healthy ones, followed by
another putrid one,
a few more good ones
—and so on.
The spoiled ones always
pushed out of the
way on
the cutting board.
And this was Cook’s
experience with onions:
If you take an onion that
had been around
a while, and just
cut it open—
mixing up
the bad with the good
spoiled the good.
All had to be thrown away.
Ah, but take that same onion,
and open it carefully—
layer by layer.
And behold, at the center,
a green shoot starting
to grow.
And Cook says, “I think
I’ll plant that one.”
“Who was the onion?” you ask.
“Me,” I answer.
“And who
picked it up?” you ask.
“Me,”
again I answer.
Funny thing about onions,
how even the
good ones
when you
open them
make you cry.
Ellen Evans 12.8.13
a “not what it seems” for PB
Utterly marvelous!
Nicely penned. Perfect for this prompt in particular.
Ellen, this is pure genius.
yes, I Love this!!
Wow…Ellen, this is poetry at its finest… Well done, superbly written!
Ohmigosh … amazing … brilliant … beautiful…
On Aging
The difficulty lies not
in reckoning
with our parents’
mortality,
but with our own.
Not with passing
the baton,
but rather with
the receiving
thereof.
Ellen Evans 12.8.13
a “not what it seems” for PB
Yup You got that right. And said it well, too.
Oh, how true…
Absolutely!
yes…
Exactly! I feel this one in my bones (growing old at a faster pace than the rest of me.)
I love the simple truth of this poem. Sending hugs your way… ❤
Amen and bravo!
The Blessing of Hearts
We Southerners love ironies,
glances and gentle subtleties.
When there are truths we must impart,
we simply say, “Well, bless her heart.”
God bless him (he’s as dumb as dirt).
Lord save us (where’d he get that shirt?).
Bless her (she’s such a hateful bitch).
Bless her sweet heart (her butt must itch).
Their children, bless them (little saints
who curse like sailors, no restraints);
that bossy girl, her twitchy date,
Lord Bless them (please don’t let them mate).
The deacon who MUST lead all prayer—
God bless him (how much can we bear?)
The flirty husband, suffering wife—
bless both their hearts (but hide the knife).
We try to keep our face composed,
our voices blessing whom we chose
but if a glance meets yours and holds,
an eyebrow lifts, a wink unfolds,
if lips twitch slightly, there’s an art
to blessing everybody’s heart.
It’s meant as kindly, sad but true.
Just know, we bless our own hearts too.
This is a delight, and those little ironies are probably universal; they’re certainly not confined to the South.
LOL. I am in absolute love with this one. Here I am chuckling to myself as I busy blessing so many people this weekend 🙂
… oh, you’ve captured it… !!
Most certainly! And with fun and flair!
DELIGHTFUL!! I couldn’t help laughing as I read this…though there is a touch of sadness here as well.
Winter’s Poetry
By David De Jong
Snow blankets the ground,
In silence of sound,
Erasing autumn’s
Last chance for the sun.
Through frosted windows,
Our enchantment grows,
From scribes of the air,
Their visions declared
Behold its beauty,
With tranquility,
But beware its breath,
Of harsh frozen death.
Crafted, driven force,
Nature, taking course.
Watching, passers by,
We, are mystified.
Under your blanket,
In concert, we sit.
You, crocheting lines,
While I, scribble mine
Afghan symmetry
Winter’s poetry
Utterly beautiful, and I love “scribes of the air.”
This is beautiful. I can just imagine the fireplace, the family room – the crocheter at work and the poet penning away… a couple of books and afghans waiting on stand by.
Oh yess…!!
Beautiful, David.
“The breaking of the diet”
I’m reading Ginsberg and thinking of windows
and sunlight and stairways that lead into the heavens
and how blind I’ve been to black clouds and stained ribbons
So focused I am on the now The here Just surviving
the sunset and jargon of shoulds— Now the laundry
Now the dusting of skin and tears Now the sleet and
the snowy failures crowding the calendar
Smacking of downward spirals and Somehow
there is a bowl in my hands A silver spoon
A mound of mint chocolate—Cool creamy indulgent
to pay for my sins of neglecting the discipline
to succeed. At anything. At everything.
I am freezing Frozen-lipped of all the glamorous
lists I’ve made. Priorities. Blessings. Name them
one by one. And that long-lost New Year’s Resolution
to love better To learn to say it more ways than one
before the crocus pokes his head above the
Autumn leaf mulch and bluebird eggs rain down from
apple trees.
Ah, Sweet Sweet minty friend you’ve enamored
me again. I mute the shoulds, then don winter slippers
and count you as a blessing.
I usually don’t read before I post so I didn’t even know that Erin had referenced the crocus, also. And this the first good snow we’ve had in my little world. So, Erin, is it snowing by you, too?
and I have no idea why my poem ended up there.
Me, neither, nut it is well worth the reading and re-reading. The mint chocolate feels like a foundation or resting space. Wonderful.
No nuts or buts about it….
It is freezing rather than snowing. We had about a centimeter of snow last night, but that’s it. 😉
Beautiful poem, by the way. I love the feel of it!
!!! 😀 mmm…
I love this one, David. That ending is perfect!
Very sweet, David… I love those last two lines!
Another that I’d love to HEAR you recite. Beautiful, David.
Pingback: A Strand Of Sevenlings | Two Voices, One Song
A Strand of Sevenlings
.1.
She loved three things:
Life, wide open spaces,
And fresh air.
She hated three things:
Conflict, loud noises,
And crowds.
… She joined the revolution.
.2.
He craved three things:
World wide acclaim, money,
And a mansion.
He looked down upon
Progressives, liberals
And anarchists.
… He followed her into the revolution.
.3.
She stared at her reflection;
Sooty face, lackluster hair,
And eyes engulfed in flames.
The city still burned – one moon
Since the rally, one week since
The retaliation, one day since
… Her former self died.
.4.
At night, he was tormented by
The monikers of his former life;
The Play Boy, The Rain Maker, The Man.
By day, the revolutionaries rallied about
Him and hailed him as
The Strategist, The Commander, Miracle Man.
… His eyes were only for her.
.5.
She grew weary of the fight:
She averted eyes, she dragged feet,
And her salutes, no longer complete.
The internal dam burst:
Her tears flowed, her body shook,
And she screamed her angst.
… His lips upon hers, he absorbed it all.
PS This was also in response to an image prompt which can be found here: http://2voices1song.com/2013/12/08/a-strand-of-sevenlings/
Wow. These little pieces merge into a roar at the end. Very impressive.
Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it.
Meena, your fifth sevenling is so strong, and that last phrase-an unexpected gift.
yes… I Love thinking about that last line…
It was like a movie playing out. Glad you liked it 🙂
Yes! Exactly what Jlynn said! 🙂
Oh, Meena … powerful piece, creatively and effectively written.
Thanks, Marie. I am feeling pleased that I found a form that worked and the rest of it flowed.
Walt and Marie,
Once again it is good to see your poems up top. Both strike me as similar in that they build up tension to a release, though the nature of the latter is different. I enjoy reading both. Thanks.
Thanks so much, Bill. Your comments always mean a great deal to me.
At Eighty
She was mom’s best childhood friend
She painted, sang on radio.
A black-haired beauty, you could depend
on, to mesmerize local romeos.
She never could see the gifts she had,
her confidence was sorely lacking.
She married a cheapskate who made her sad,
but she never sent him packing.
Children and grandchildren came along.
Somewhere, she lost her penchant for art,
and no longer painted, nor sang any song.
Years flew by as she played out her part.
She nursed her husband until his passing.
Her health failed, assisted living became
her new home; she felt her life lapsing.
Then she met her soulmate, a moth to her flame.
…it’s never too late… 🙂
Aww… 🙂
In tears here.
Likewise. Very touching piece.
No, no. It was a far better ending to her life, then she would have had.
…yesss….
Denial
They’d seen how she could change her eyes
from sucker punch to alibis,
from summer blue to cold as ice,
her promises to words that slice.
They’d spent their time under her thumb,
abuse making their hearts go numb.
They dared not trust where rumors go;
news of her leaving traveled slow.
And so she wiped her righteous tears,
believing they held her endeared.
Just as she swore they suffered grief,
she saw them weeping with relief.
Wow…this is heartbreakingly expressive. So powerful. 😦
Oh my ….
Oh my …
Yes, ditto…stark contrast here
For me, this is another “sneaky fast” piece, but with a stiletto at the end. So effective.
Unexpected Sickness
It was the twitch in her smile
That put a hitch in my giddy-up
And a cramp in my style.
Wasn’t looking for love in all the wrong places. Thought I had cleansed my hands of romance. Nevertheless still got lovesick… And couldn’t find the doctor (sigh).
I didn’t really expect to get assassinated
With cupid’s arrows (he’s got scary good aim). That pesky little love sniper.
Never thought I’d tie the knot
With a glass half-empty (I say its half-full). But in all honesty, without her, life is actually half-empty. So together we make a pretty good coup.
I was quite shocked, cravingly lovesick for her choice raven lovelocks. Taunted daily, by vivid dreams of being doused in her slick mocha skin. She would add foreign spices I never knew existed. I began to pant for a wisp of her small subtle voice. A herald of burgundy romances. Sweet intonations that would echo an amorous sonance. Our voices would enter, into eternal dances. We never left each others arms. Forever wrapped in love’s grip. We tipped and toed, dosey-doed, waltzed but no break dancing.
Mysteriously, I began to understand the fury of the flame they call love. You know, the “L” word. Not by faint imagination nor by seeking, but by being set on fire. And boy, were we ever engulfed in it’s merciless fervor. The stars were even screaming as we were beaming upward. And they’d agreed it was love. Celestial skies tried to resist the flames far, far above. They eventually denied their unbelief, subscribed to our story.
The tantalizing music in her voice desired my love. Plucking its heart strings (they were kind of…ahem, out of tune. One them might of snapped actually). Her hit single became my number one hit. The radio waves filled mightily with our song. The only song. A unique channel with one frequency. And it still went platinum. A joyous sound we could never thrust away.
Her timidity became the lion of my heart. And I never thought I’d marry a mouse ( a very cute one without a tail) In a trillion and two years.
I began to understand by tasting, what love really was. It was her. And me. Together. A twitch in her smile, two in mine.
A hitch in each other’s giddy up.
Lovesick as a dog.
And still can’t find the doctor….
He might of retired by now.
!! 😀 “…without her (him), life is actually half-empty…” I think that that is how we know… Love this!!
Thanks Hen
Oh gosh this is too cute! I love this, Ben, it speaks volumes. 🙂
Sure does! (That pesky lil sniper!) 😀
Thx, enjoyed your hope poem. Keep hope growing.
🙂
I think this is great. Utterly delightful.
Changes of Life
My dad walked out when I was three
He left my mother, my brothers and me
That changed my life
Four years later my grandparents proved
They’d care for me, so there I moved
That changed my life
The church in Grandpa’s town was nice
In that country church I met Jesus Christ
That changed my life
School was easy and fun, no doubt
‘Till I flunked French, and college was out
That changed my life
No college, no job, what could I do?
I really looked good in Air Force blue
That changed my life
But something was missing in my lonely life
Then she showed up and became my wife
That changed my life
A wife, then children, and a family was made
House, cars, food and clothing, and bills to be paid
That changed my life
My Air Force time was over after twenty
Retirement meant work, paying off bills-a-plenty
That changed my life
The children grew up and moved out one by one
Still got too many bills, but still having fun
That changed my life
Still working, still paying, still loving my bride
Still thanking my Lord that I still haven’t died
That would change my life
© 2013 Earl Parsons
Lovely, Earl…
This is wonderful, Earl! 🙂
Love the progression and lesson of this. Excellent!
Yes, that’s what I was going to comment on, the progression, and the repeated line accentuates everything.
No One Knew
For seven centuries
Seven hundred years
Seventy decades
More than a quarter million days
The world had waited
With expectation
Anticipation
And hope
For His arrival
No one knew just how much
His arrival would mean
To the world
No one knew
But His Father
© 2013 Earl Parsons
Oh yes…very good poem, Earl.
Amen.
… and amen.
A stunner, William. Loved it.
Change of Plans
~
Just as readily as the gift of shade had been born,
provided in the form of wild vegetation
as comfort against gale
and relief from sol’s sweltering gaze
the marrow had been bled dry
in the dark of night
so that supple vine and branch would crumple-
wilt-wither in the first rays of sun;
this greenery spun for a purpose
unraveled rapidly-
life swiftly fled
under the cover of evenings inky veil.
Fierce mandibles gnawed
and greedily supped on this given plant,
a worm was prepared
especially for this certain deconstruction
so that the solar slant on day’s rising
and relentless bursts of conjured east-coming wind
would become unbearable
revealing true character;
rays should scorch,
skin shall blister with heat
and eyes will sting with pelting sand-
he will question his worth.
Although he didn’t birth this shrub,
he didn’t tend to limb or feed this tree
yet here he’s stumped
and doubting his existence;
so quickly he’s swayed
when the unfair fray of the world strikes
and bad luck takes its turn-
a worm depriving roots of their source
and here he’s so undone
so ready to just give up.
~
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
I was inspired to write about Jon 4…I also have some added thoughts on my site but I won’t clutter up the garden with those. 😉
I’ll be back to read…it’s 11:00 P.M. already!
… last two lines, especially!!!
Thank you so much, Hen!! 🙂
!! 🙂
I really do love this piece, Hannah! I left you a comment on your blog. 🙂
Erin, thank you so much for your supportive words here and there…you’re such a gem! ♥
GOODNESS, my friend! I don’t know how you manage it time after time, line after line, poem after poem, thought after thought … never even a hiccup in the natural beauty and life of it all. AMAZING.
YOU make me smile, Marie!! I’m just so glad to have such great friends to share with and I’m so thrilled that you enjoyed this, thank you!! ♥
❤ !
Interesting twist Hannah! Very descriptive and bustling with movement.
For me, the long sentences lend an urgency that feels all the more more abrupt when I reach words like “stumped” and “give up.” The whole effect, for me anyway, is transience.
WHAT A WEEK
Oh my goodness what a week
The great Mandela has laid
down his shield and his weary
heart no longer beats
On the race up to Christmas
there is a stillness
cloaking the world
as if all beings hold
their common breath
in a universal prayer for peace
Now, just today, that lovely
unpredictable pope who
really has done so many
controversial things
has come out on the side
of going hatless…
That’s right…he who wears
the high hat on the holy head
is considering not wearing it
Wow.
Oh Sharon… you are so Loved!! Your work is Wonderful!!! :D!!
Nodding my head in wholehearted agreement! Love this, Sharon, and you! xx
Wow, indeed.
I love this,
” all beings hold
their common breath
in a universal prayer for peace”
Beautiful writing, Sharon, so meaningful.
Yes, and this:
“On the race up to Christmas
there is a stillness
cloaking the world”
this says so much.
Beautiful, meaningful poetry.
This is wonderful, and I love “high hat on the holy head.”
Pingback: Progression | Vivinfrance's Blog
Hey there, Bloomers! It’s been a busy week, and I’ve been hitting the sack early. Can’t wait to read … hopefully tonight. Cyber hugs to you all!
Marie Elena
Thank you and ((hugs)) to you, Marie!! We’ll be here…no rush, no worries. ♥
I heart you big, my friend! ❤
I ♥ you big, too!! :)!!
PROGRESSION- by http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com
Young love. white wedding wonder,
blissful consummation,
happy days of homemaking
child-raising and lively conversation.
Humdrum years can dull the passion
one or other seeks adventure.
Greener grass elsewhere it seems –
happy home in danger.
Betrayal leads to angry shouting:
you did, I didn’t, disputation
lawyers cause more aggravation,
separation, family broken, divorce.
😦 !!
You’ve captured this so well, Viv…if people are not mindful in their relationships…sad but true…
Perfect title here, Viv. This piece is so short, yet complete and effective. Well done!
Amen, indeed.
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On We Walk Earthly Bound
We walk winter frost under steel sky, rain held
in clouds with our sheer desire. We seek to know
that we are alive, to breathe northern cold that scalds
our toes, that bites at our hatted heads and fingers
wrapped in woollen gloves, but on we march, earthly bound
through fallen November leaves, and bracken mournful
of December. And we step chilled to bone toward
bleakest winter. We follow shadowed sky, deeply steeled
to grey, and we know that above those clouds all reigns
blue and clear. The winds swift to carry sun and birds
along on spread wings and piccolo song. We live,
my friend, in two different worlds, but we march on.
Lovely!!
Yes!!
Oh, Misk … this is just absolutely stunning. Your imagery is palpable here.
I think this piece pierces the prompt and nails it to the door.
Thank you.
Found this gem this morning. It did not give an author. Does anyone know who wrote this?
It just seemed to fit the prompt, and the season, so well (to me).
Title: Unknown
Author: Unknown
From: Streams in the Desert; December 10, p. 459
Once I heard a song of sweetness,
As it filled the morning air,
Sounding in its blest completeness,
Like a tender pleading prayer;
And I sought to find the singer,
Where the wondrous song was borne;
And I found a bird, quite wounded,
Pinned down by a cruel thorn.
I have seen a soul in sadness,
While its wings with pain were furled,
Giving hope, and cheer and gladness
That should bless a weeping world
And I knew that life of sweetness,
Was of pain and sorrow borne,
And a stricken soul was singing,
With its heart against a thorn.
You are told of One who loved you,
Of a savior crucified,
You are told of nails that held Him,
And a spear that pierced His side;
You are told of cruel scourging,
Of a savior bearing scorn,
And He died for your salvation,
With His brow against a thorn.
You “are not above the Master.”
Will you breathe a sweet refrain?
And His grace will be sufficient,
When your heart is pierced with pain
Will you live to bless His loved ones,
Though your life be bruised and torn,
Like the bird that sang so sweetly,
With its heart against a thorn?
WOW. I don’t know this one, David, but I agree completely with you. This is truly amazing. I tried to google a portion, but came up empty handed. I’d love to know.
Thanks so much for sharing.
This appears to be from a book by Charles Cowman, but I don’t think that answers the question.
Yeah the book is a compilation of daily devotionals put together from others’ sermons, devotionals, journal writings, etc., and most days have some form/piece of poetry in them as well. It was put together by Mrs. Charles Cowman, wife of the missionary, after her ailing husband passed away. Some of the poets/authors are credited in the back of the book, unfortunately this one is not listed, so may of been unknown at the time of original publishing which was 1925. Love the book.
This is Gorgeous…!!
Come across it every year and it just … moves me.
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Bill, your imagery is packed with emotion. Well done, as always.
Walt, you know I don’t think you can pen a bad poem. You are just totally incapable. This one is a WOW.
The Other side of things
I didn’t expect
To have tears
Wide as the ocean
Suffering a course
Set forth
To the other side
Didn’t expect
To see the unseen
With defying keen
Eyes of the
Hidden heart
Didn’t expect
To mount up
With eagle’s
Wings
Soaring
On another’s
Strength
Above the earthly
Things
To be a lily
In the valley
Of the shadow of
Death
Exposed to
The elements
Of life’s savage breath
Didn’t expect
To have roots
Sunk reaching
Deep drilling
Unto the depths
Of Earth’s core
Strengthening
My stand
Within the evil
Day
Sword drawn
Standing
On the other side
Hoping for something
More
Than what this life
Has to offer
Wonderful!
Appreciated William
Definite ditto.
Expectations
Expect snowstorms in August
And you’ll never be surprised
!
🙂
HA!
Hee, hee…
out the window
snow covered roads
glass shatters
as the cat climbs the tree
This brings to my mind a bird escaping the cat and flying into a window. The word, “shatters,” breaks the tone of the poem very effectively, in my view.
I have to admit I don’t understand the image here. I’ve read this several times, and see it differently each time. 😉
THANKS, EASTER BUNNY
(a shadorma)
The perfect
hiding place, it was!
Easter egg
tucked deeply
between Grandma’s fake flowers…
found on Christmas morn.
2014-02-01
P. Wanken
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