This week we bring back a very popular prompt here at CREATIVE BLOOMINGS. You are asked to use the inspiration from a favorite line from one of our poets’ poems. That becomes your title of first line of your new poem. Any form, style, length… just be sure to credit the poet/poem so they can say,


And as always, both the poet and the inspirational poet will receive the BLOOM if that new poem is selected.



We come as poets
proffering words of hope and expression
the lessons we learn have burned themselves
into each other’s hearts and minds.
All for the cause of community,
a unity of blessed souls joined
in worded wonder. No animus
or vitriole, not wresting control
of another. Rhyming and sharing
as sisters and brothers of verse.
There is no better “army” than this.
And surely, there’s no worse!

(C) Copyright 2014 – Walter J Wojtanik


The title is a line from Connie L. Peter’s poem “2014”


Two thousand fourteen
We come, sight unseen
For we know not what’s in store
The last year was kind
Please, have the same mind
As we all step through this door

Let great dreams come true
And trouble be few
Be gentle with the weather
May we walk in peace
May our joys increase
And hearts be knit together

You only need reference the poem and author. I posted Connie’s poem because I had the ability to do so. Walt.

215 thoughts on “PROMPT # 139 – HEY, THAT’S STILL MY LINE!

  1. I’ll be There to Hold You

    This day I find myself peering
    Into your shallows, searching,
    Trying to look deeper inside,
    But you keep closing your eyes
    And I can’t see past the shallows,
    The false front you choose to show;

    I want to see into your mind,
    Want to know what I would find
    In the deep ocean of your soul,
    What secrets does that sea hold?
    If only you’d let me inside,
    I can see doubt in those eyes;

    You need to learn to trust again,
    Let another share your pain,
    It is not always bad to cry,
    Tears can bring relief at times-
    It’s hard to give your heart, I know,
    But I won’t break it, you know;

    Now I find myself holding you,
    As you break, and hold me too.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014

    “This day I find myself peering into your shallows searching” – line taken from Sharon Imgraham’s “Worshipping the Mighty North Saskatchewan”.

  2. Honest Injun, I hadn’t read your poem when I wrote mine, but they kind of complement each other.

    My choice, “to the end of words “, is from the Call by Elizabeth Crawford – a poem that has inspired me ever since I first read it nearly four years ago. My words are coming with difficulty just now – like drawing teeth! So my poem is brief, but every word is heartfelt.

    We’ll communicate
    until the end of words
    love, humour and hope,
    instruction, stories and aid,
    And when words fail us,
    we can always smile
    and laugh and hug.
    Our humanity
    demands it.

  3. Snippets

    “…perhaps I will discover snippets missed.” ~Sara McNulty, from ‘Adrift in Another Life

    Through ink and paper, I can tWIst
    or e l o n g a t e a thought. But I,
    ‘though clever, cannot find the spot

    where snippets hide; they’re often missed.
    Perhaps I need a new supply
    from better poets. Food for thought.

    For what are words? A noun/verb list?
    You just add water, then apply
    a healthy dose of hubris, bought

    for pennies. That’s the cost? The gist
    of what I’m saying: don’t get by.
    Discovery cannot be taught.

    Perhaps I will discover this:
    some snippet that was not amiss.


    I saw this line in Sara’s poem, and it just resonated. To me, it conveys a hope that I still might ‘get’ those things I tend to miss while trying to be clever. Discovery may not be something that another person can teach you, per se, but that doesn’t mean another person’s words cannot inspire you to learn something – or see the world in a different way. Thank you, Sara.


    Now on the wall of London’s
    National Gallery in Trafalgar Square
    two master still lifes,
    two of your Sunflowers
    reveal a streak of
    an inner need to make things
    a shade or brightness better.

    What’s up with that, Vincent?
    On an August morning
    in the Yellow House in Arles
    because strong summer winds
    kept you indoors
    you painted the first Sunflowers
    earmarked for your best friend Gauguin.

    And speaking of ears.
    whisper in one of mine
    why you sliced off half your left ear.
    Was it too much absinthe,
    the spat with Gauguin,
    a frightening fit of epilepsy.
    And why, Vincent, you delivered
    that packaged earful to the doorstep

    of Gauguin’s favorite brothel
    in care of Gauguin’s favorite prostitute
    Rachel who once posed for you,
    who unwrapped it,
    half expecting chocolates?
    Perhaps a satin camisole? Not a blood-wet ear
    in a madman’s crumpled note.
    Is it her face or Gauguin’s
    hidden in the dark center of Sunflowers?

    The title “Sunflowers” is from Debi Swim’s poem of the same title (Poetic Bloomings; September 25, 2013)

  5. I guess I did not follow directions. I took Debi Swim’s title and wrote my poem when I should have taken a line from her poem. I’ll try again first chance I get.


    When snow
    covers the dunes,
    it brings winter music,
    and the song is a silent tune
    few know.

    copyright 2014, William Preston; italicized line from RJ Clarken’s post of 8 January 2014


    Shoot for the moon, the stars, the great beyond!
    Which one, Dad? What if I prefer Terra Firma,
    The Good Earth where the only Buck is Pearl,
    That little gem snatched from the jaws of
    Life’s simple oyster?

    You ought to be proud of whatever I choose,
    However I decide to shape the play dough
    Of my life. Does it matter that I love words,
    Content to read and write poems and stories,
    To wield the pen?

    Life is short, that much I know for certain.
    The best minds of my generation
    Can howl all they want, life opens and closes,
    Bookends that encase us, the best and worst of times
    That befall us.

    We shall be at the very least
    Held accountable for which road we choose.
    I would rather face the next life’s judge,
    And speak of joy that came from living life
    Doing what I love.

    What do I care of moon, or stars!
    I am the grain of sand in ambition’s eye.
    Let others conquer the world
    While I, the blank page hungering for
    Love songs and poetry.


    My title comes from a line in Debi Swim’s poem “Sunflowers” (September 25, 2013).

    By Debi Swim

    Sunflowers growing in the fields,
    row on row of miniature suns,
    every face looking to the east
    heliotropic ruffled gaze
    of adoration to that sphere.
    The sunflowers selflessly yield
    their loyalty and reverence,
    perhaps our look should also praise
    as well the son we serve, who wields
    the healing warmth of light and grace
    upon this furrowed plot he tilled.
    We should be at the very least
    sunflowers growing in the fields


  8. From William Preston’s “Watching a Ballerina Rehearse” (prompt 122): His beautiful lines: “that marry her movements to melody’s wings” and “the tendrils that touch her to Earth.” I apologize for changes rendered to keep blank verse.

    Beauty Glides

    The pond is time’s magnetic pull on me,
    same for the frogs, the dragonflies, the birds.
    All nature’s people come to drink, be soothed
    by water wonder, standing belly deep
    on hottest days, admiring reflections
    against a summer sky, tufted with clouds,
    a gentle wind just ruffling the light.

    In every season, beauty’s captured there,
    the water like a canvas for the woods
    patching the water brilliant with earth tones,
    a transient liquid quilt, it seems today.
    Tomorrow winter’s icy lacing lets
    the snow pile up on water, making floes,
    the ice unlocking with a crack that says

    It’s spring. The ducks come first, egrets and geese,
    sometimes lost gulls, king-fishers, coots or loons,
    most, migrants on their way to somewhere else.
    I take their visits as a compliment
    and hope to see them stop another year.
    But this once, there she was, a perfect swan
    among a flock of geese, water-fowl’s queen,
    making the ibis dowdy with her poise,
    creating jesters of the flitting ducks.

    She sliced the air, her wings widespread as kites
    and showed how heaven plucks at beauty’s rites.
    She hovered over water like a mist
    and settled soundless, tucking in her head.
    The geese were horns announcing someone grand,
    and even cows and horses stopped to stare.
    We saw but did we really understand
    the truth that random wonders drop from air?

    Such seamless loveliness I thought I knew
    in songbirds, serpents, pets, a symphony,
    in nature’s harmony of sound and light,
    but she changed everything in my heart’s pond
    where just her curve of neck could play my soul,
    a single flute, her whiteness feathered hope
    that married her movements to melody’s wings,
    where shadows of her gliding mirrored sky
    were slender tendrils that touched her to Earth
    among flawed gaping ones, like you and I.

    I have seen beauty walk, the poets say,
    a graceful line, a lady loved, a fawn.
    We humans reach toward it, worlds away
    stretching as if God’s hand might grasp our own.
    But sometimes miracles drop from the sky
    and float on ponds, blessings to lift our eyes.

    • This is utterly lovely. When I began reading it, the thought, “Thornton Burgess for grown-ups” occurred to me, but this poem goes way beyond that. It sings like a choir performing a lullaby, and is full of breath-taking lines of beauty such as “random wonders drop from air.” I’m flattered that you used some of my lines as inspiration, but in my view, this work takes those thoughts to sublime regions, represented by the swan that, in my mind, reminds me of the ballet dancer who inspired my original work several years ago. Thanks much for this; it’s truly a keeper.

      • Ah, Jane, this is absolutely fantastic. Blank verse it may be, but luscious it will always read. Thank you for sharing this. This is a fine example of great poetry.

    • And Suddenly the Room Fell Silent

      It was just after New Year’s
      when my dad was diagnosed
      with cancer.

      One week later, and they were
      running the tests—
      all the usual suspects.

      The following week, my mom called,
      excited. A miracle had happened.
      A hard mass in his belly and disappeared.

      Just the next day
      she called to tell me that,
      “It was all over him inside.”

      Exactly three weeks after New Years’ Day,
      he was gone. I never had the
      chance to tell him goodbye.

      With the speed of a freight train,
      the force of a tsunami,
      he was swept away.

      A migraine forced me
      to bed at 5:40.
      Daddy passed at 5:45.

      I believe that we both
      went to sleep at the same time.
      And suddenly the room fell silent.

      Ellen Evans 1.26.14
      (with attribution for title and last line
      to Walt Wojtanik)

      • Ellen, I completely missed your poem somehow. I’m glad I came back. My heart hurts for what you’ve been through … what you so eloquently express here. “I believe that we both went to sleep at the same time” says so much. Bless your heart…

      • Ellen, these words of your loss tell about more than a single event and do it beautifully. Walt, too, has this ability to make a personal experience live in the minds of others as something personal. May your sorrow be lessened by the sharing of your heart.

      • Thank you all for your hearts and warm feelings. You have truely become a family to me, and sharing with you brings me comfort.

      • Ellen, words can’t describe how much my heart is aching for you, for what you went through. You’ve expressed your emotion so powerfully in this poem. I am so sorry. ((Hugs))

    • Oh my. Jane, this is stunning. So much beauty lies here, I can’t even cite “favorite” lines. I can’t imagine seeing this image, and being able to so gracefully and beautifully relay it. Thank you. This is just gorgeous.

      • Hey, Marie. I imagine your husband could have captured this with one fantastic photograph. I grew up with a pond behind our house that did a lot for my imagination and for my making discoveries about how nature ‘works’.

  9. When I went looking for the perfect line to use for this prompt, I found it in the most circuitous manner. On Paula Wanken’s website “Echoes from the Silence,” I looked at her About page and read the poem that begins her bio. I immediately found what I needed for the second stanza’s meaning and the rest followed from there. I hope you enjoy it.

    Thoughts Have Gone Unspoken –

    Aside a brook flowing with promise
    About our future’s goals,
    Worrying today’s path,
    We see our day’s aftermath.

    We agonize on tomorrow’s road,
    What troubles time will bring,
    Each day’s blessings unsung,
    To fight battles not begun.

    Ideas once gathered around life’s fire,
    Idle, neutered, darkened,
    Await their freedom’s light,
    A shout of personal might.

    Thank you, Paula, for the loan of your line.

    2011-01-07 P. Wanken

    for years
    thoughts have gone unspoken –
    my voice, unheard;
    i have longed to put words together –
    to speak, unhindered;
    when words escape me
    i am left in silence.
    by writing,
    my thoughts find words
    and when words escape me
    they are found in
    echoes from the silence.

    Vivienne Blake – We Wordle Number 3

    Beneath the lapis water
    Shimmery sparks of sunlight
    glint across the lake
    a mirror, one dimensional
    surface seen
    but, beneath the lapis water
    in hidden layers
    of secret, shadowy, inscrutable
    depths what might be concealed?
    If I dive in would I find
    warm easy currents,
    wonders of beauty,
    winsome innocence?
    Then, I realize,
    my thoughts have strayed
    from this watery place
    to deep blue eyes
    that conceal
    beneath lapis water-
    colored loveliness
    things I need to know.

  11. Make My Heart Your Home

    Flood love to my heart, may it be Your home,
    love like electricity giving light.
    May faith like a welcome mat bid all come,
    and joy be the kitchen, relaxed and bright.

    May hope be the door You ask others in,
    and peace be Your bed You lie upon here.
    May goodness like curtains keep out the sin,
    compassion, the paint on the walls for cheer.

    May prayer be the walls that stand tall and strong,
    and worship be music You sing along.

    Holy Water by David DeJong—Flood love to my heart may it be your home.

  12. I Love It When Morning Yawns

    Spear the sun, ripe fruit
    sweet as lavender faintly laced
    breathe deep in true blue


    The title of this poem is from “When They Smile”, by SevenAcreSky

  13. One good thing about being under the weather … time to read and appreciate the loveliness here in the garden. I began by stating that Erin Kay set the bar high. She did. And the rest of you rose to meet it. You all just amaze me.

  14. Since this prompt is all about ‘borrowing’ other poets’ brilliant lines, I thought – Hey! What better way to ‘borrow’ lines than in a Cento. With that in mind…

    Blooming Cento

    On a page where monsters lurked,
    a lurking sense of animus:
    misunderstood superlatives…
    imagination is a friend of ours.

    (Rosie’s Books of Monster Love, Marie Elena Good/Darkness in the Western Sky, Walt Wojtanik/ Grammar Lesson #17, Jane Shlensky/Having a Little Fun, Connie Peters)

  15. I decided to change up the instructions a bit, and write a cento of lines from each of the poems offered when I was out here reading this evening. Credit to each of these amazing poets is given after my cento. Thanks to all of you for these lines!


    I, the blank page hungering for love songs and poetry,
    I believe we both went to sleep at the same time.
    Such seamless loveliness I thought I knew, yet
    I can’t see past the shallows.

    Each day’s blessings unsung…
    A mirror, one dimensional.
    Love like electricity giving light,
    Hidden in the dark center of sunflowers.

    Breathe deep in true blue.
    It brings winter music,
    Proffering words of hope and expression.

    Our humanity demands it.


    Proffering words of hope and expression (Walt)
    I can’t see past the shallows (Erin Kay)
    Our humanity demands it. (Viv)
    Discovery cannot be taught (RJ)
    Hidden in the dark center of sunflowers (Sal)
    It brings winter music (William)
    I, the blank page hungering for love songs and poetry (Sal)
    Such seamless loveliness I thought I knew (Jane)
    I believe we both went to sleep at the same time (Ellen)
    Each day’s blessings unsung (Clauds)
    A mirror, one dimensional (Debi)
    Love like electricity giving light (Connie)
    Breathe deep in true blue (Misk)

  16. Pingback: It Brings Winter Music | Metaphors and Smiles

  17. It Brings Winter Music
    On an everyday day
    weighted pine arches,
    branches are bridges
    ridges for winged ones.
    Sun spilled
    brilliant of snow
    flow of traffic is constant,
    slanted landing
    meandering not
    sought after seed
    retrieved and positioned;
    fruition for this downy friend,
    amends and a meal.
    Real and bright-eyed
    spry pilot, black-capped
    traps the song of spring,
    sings from the heart
    artful essence
    presence of sweet-weather
    tethered to feather-fills one of hope;
    groping in cold
    sold am I, on this tangible tune.
    Soon he assures me,
    see the bud nodules thicken
    quickening, hear the stirring of seed
    beneath the ice-
    white of snow
    hold of deep roots…
    proof he sings,
    sting of winter will cease
    ease of spring will begin.
    Winged and faithful,
    watchful of your ways…
    I’ll stay and endure,
    assured be, I’ll be a bringer-
    singer of this winter woven music.
    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
    “…it brings winter music.” William Preston

    I couldn’t help but visit William’s words for this…outstanding poet and encourager of poets…thank you.

    His line immediately made me think of his love for birds and a conversation we had in November about chickadees…

    I used a chained-rhyme form.

      • I love this, Hannah, much as I love the birdies. You make winter music with this poem and Bill’s wonderful line.

    • Ah, Hannah … simply stunning. I wish yours had been posted before I wrote my cento. So many amazing lines from which to choose here! ❤

    • I recall that conversation about chickadees, and it reminded me of one I’ve never seen, but I’d imagine you have, assuming (as I recall) that you live in Maine. I borrowed a line from Jane’s magnificent poem, above, for my first line. I almost didn’t want to do so; her work is so beautiful that I hesitated to use one of her lines in a light-hearted poem. But Jane loves birds too, so I figured it might be O.K. Here goeth:


      In nature’s harmony of sound and light,
      I wish that I had seen this chirping sight:
      a little bird, scarce bigger than a bee,
      the brown-capped, frisky, boreal chickadee.
      It is a northern bird, and you would think
      that in this northern state I’d catch a blink
      some winter day, up in an evergreen,
      but no, it’s still a bird I’ve never seen.
      I most not live sufficiently far north;
      no matter how many times I venture forth,
      I only get frostbite and inner pain.
      Apparently, I’ve got to move to Maine!

      copyright 2014, William Preston

      I’d imagine the boreal chickadee contributes to the “winter music” in your neck of the woods, Hannah. Thanks again for using one of my lines.

      • Oh, what a delight…a fun rhyming jaunt this bird-watching wishing poem, William! I just looked up the boreal chickadee what a cute little bird…more of a brown cap than black and looks to be a little fluffier as well. I’ll have to keep my eye out for them! The ones I see are the black capped ones…I just love watching our feathered friends…my new puppy has proven to have some cat-like qualities and sits on the back of the couch and watches them too…so entertaining they are!

        Thank you for your compliments on my poem and your poem response and conversation also!

      • This is adorable, Bill! And you would love the little chickadees. They are cute, friendly little critters. We haven’t spent time trying to get them to feed out of our hands, but we’ve heard of it being done. One woman in Birds and Blooms said she was sitting on her porch, stuffing peanut butter into pine cones to feed the birds. Despite never having worked with them, a little chickadee landed right on the knife she was holding. I would positively melt into a puddle if one did that for me. 🙂

      • Oh, Bill, you know I’ll trade you a line for a good feathered poem any day. I looked up this little bird, which I’ve never seen either. I think any bird named chickadee can only bee frisky and cheerful. Nice job.

    • As usual, Hannah, you capture the essence of a place, a time, a circumstance of its own making, leaving the reader breathless with the last line, from their tumble through the images like a child rolling in fresh clover at summer’s start.

  18. Through the Night

    Through the night
    a hail of screams
    were heard. Windows
    remained closed. Doors
    remained locked. Gang
    shootings were rampant
    in this forgotten neighbor-
    hood. Someone called 911.
    Another victim of another
    gun. This young girl,
    ten years old, standing
    at the kitchen sink, getting
    herself a drink of water,
    died, when a bullet burst
    through the glass,
    shattering a wide circle
    of people’s lives. A hail
    of wailing voices were heard
    through the next night
    at yet another vigil.

    (Taken from Susan Schoeffield’s, Cook the Bird.)

  19. I took my first stanza from the second stanza of a cascade poem by Barbara Y back on Jan 8, then wrote a new cascade. Barbara, you’re great – thanks for the inspiration!

    On watching the Grammys

    If this were the end,
    if I were obliged to fit my actions
    to my words and judge my fellow man,
    where would I stand?

    Ben, I love you like a brother, but you’ve never liked
    anything normal. As a point of principle mostly.
    Plus you’re arrogant. What I learned tonight is
    if this were the end,

    of the world, I would totally want to have
    Beyonce and Katy grinding in my living room
    not some B-list Nashville act. Yes, I said it.
    If I were obliged to fit my actions

    to what I really love, I’d smash your CDs
    and scream “I hate the harmonica!” I’d strip naked
    and dance to Get Lucky. I can’t do violence
    to my words and judge my fellow man

    when I’m just as shallow as the next guy.
    I want Pink on a trapeze and Ringo looking lost.
    Life is hard – without such joyous perennial rocks
    where could I stand?

    • All of your allusions are lost on this old geezer; my musical knowledge ended with Kay Kyser. Nonetheless, i enjoyed reading this. Thanks.

      • I love this Andrew! From the self-deprecating wit to the “I hate the harmonica!” – it’s brilliant…and I’m with you…if only they’d had Prince, I’d be replete…I guess you can only cram so much craziness onto one night…

    • First of all yes, Barbara rocks. 🙂 Second, I didn’t watch the Grammy’s (haven’t ever, actually), and don’t know these folks of whom you write for the most part. Give me Ringo or give me death though. 😉 As usual, your piece is creative and brutally honest. Keep it up, Andrew!

    • I have to agree with you on most of these (although I didn’t actually watch the Grammy’s). Beyoncé and Pink are two all time favorites for me as well. Nice job! 🙂

    • You crack me up. This was a fun read and an even better response to the longest Grammy show ever. Thanks for condensing it 😉

    • Not wishing internal harm to myself from watching such unnecessary drivel as the Grammy presentations–how’s that for honesty?–I don’t bother keeping up with who’s who in music anymore. I can well understand some of your sentiments, though, Andrew and agree with more than disagree.

      Of course, having no TV helps me make these decisions, too. I so enjoyed the rhythm and pacing of this piece, thought. It had it’s own song quality to it and was fun. Thanks, Andrew.

  20. Thanks to Andrew Kreider for his “Polyglot” (Oct 2012) for the title and the first line…


    Of all the pieces of my life kept
    hidden in the cloth-bound book
    It is the faded map that forms
    the cover and resembles no
    country of which I am aware
    Plus some sort of point-form
    plans on the inside, faded also
    and quite unfinished…
    That tend to make me
    question my decision to search
    for my birth family…

    The fact that the map is in
    such a poor state as to be
    almost unrecognizable
    Or, the pitiful list—started
    but with no attempt to
    finish or to facilitate
    in the least…
    I am never quite sure which
    aspect saddens me more

    I try to remember back to
    when I first started to write
    to the powers that be—
    Hoping to gather any strands
    of my erstwhile birth-family-
    tree together
    While juggling those of my
    adoptive family, at the
    same time
    All the while wondering
    if I didn’t deserve
    to be sent to hell for not
    embracing my good fortune,
    and leaving well enough alone.

    It was at about this point,
    when my birth mother,
    having been recently re-
    connected with me, and being
    also very kind
    Sent me the cloth-bound
    book, crammed full
    of pieces of my life,
    Things about which I had
    never expected to learn
    Many of which I am still
    not sure I am happy to know.

    (a blending of two prompts…this one and this week’s Sunday Whirl using 12 specific words – thanks again to Andrew for the loan of his line which kicked the whole thing off…)

    • This is such a thought-provoking piece; I had to reread it a few times to take it all in. Your work always leaves me with a sense of awe, always stops me in my tracks (in the best possible way 😉 ). Thank you for sharing this. ❤

    • Thanks, Sharon – it’s an honor to have you pick up anything I have written and make it something new and better! I love your willingness to step aside and look at yourself from different angles. You do it so well here. It makes me smile, too, to realize how sometimes the things we think we should do, then decide not to, then hesitate over…. come and find us on their own. And not always entirely with grace or good news. Then we have the harder work of reconciling it all! Love your work. Thanks for sharing this piece.

    • Oh, Sharon, this is marvelous. It reads like a fantasy novel would begin. I kept thinking how wonderful this would be as a short story or a novel, with this book as the key, and the heroine as the narrator, ever-searching for remnants of a past that lingers in the dim mists of time, pulling her further and further into places where danger lurked.

      This is a definite keeper in my writer’s book. Thank you for sharing this wonderful piece.

  21. I Need

    I need you so much more than I can poem,
    I need your heart, your love, I need it all,
    I need a place where I can feel at home,
    I need your arms around me when I fall;

    My heart’s about to break from wanting you,
    Is that so wrong? Am I allowed to need
    Someone that much, or shall I bid ado
    To all the daydreams where you’ve loved with me?

    I can’t let go, you’ll have to face the facts
    Someday: I need to just be held by you,
    And if you feel the same, you love me back,
    Just say so please, before I break in two;

    Cause I need you, and you’re where I belong –
    When I’m with you you make me feel so strong.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014

    “I need you so much more than I can poem” – from Marie Elena’s “Indigent”, which, by the way, is one of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever read.

  22. Oops I posted this in the wrong place–with the sound prompt.

    Here it is again.


    Silence in the ocean in the world of fishes,
    I think I’ll go there.
    Daring to dream fantastic schemes and wishes.
    I wonder why and where
    God came up with such a plan to show off His beauty
    Where no one else can see,
    Creating such marvels beyond the call of duty
    Hiding within the deep.
    Pondering His extravagant creativity,
    I think He features
    Secret wondrous and amazing things
    In all His creatures.

    “Silence in the ocean in the world of fishes, I think I’ll go there.” Noises Off by Vivinfrance

    • Beautiful, Connie. And I agree. Regardless of how ridiculous some may seem to us, when examined for their unique beauty, they are all wondrous works.


    Its pitch just so, its notes played tight,
    the saxophone of broken blues
    embraces sounds that slice the night.
    then fades away like day-old news.

    A howling sound, a plaintive wail
    when love and enmity combine
    to raise the strong, destroy the frail
    with piercing truth in every line.

    That saxophone of broken blues
    invokes the passion of the muse.

    © Susan Schoeffield

    Inspiration: a line from “Why I Like Silence” by Jane Shlensky

    • This is a song in itself, Susan. And it’s marvelous. The sax does have that effect on the listener, doesn’t it. I really enjoyed this and the images it evoked.

  24. Pingback: The Saxophone Of Broken Blues | Words With Sooze

    (a piku)

    Moon rises;
    shadow, my light.

    P. Wanken

    *title taken from a line of Walt Wojtanik’s lento this week, “Shadows in the Night”.

  26. Pingback: Kissed By Evening’s Shadow | echoes from the silence

  27. This comes from first line and trying the Lento form. I feel so . . . inadequate. But I’m having fun.
    First line from She walks in Beauty, by Lord Byron


    By Darlene Franklin

    She walks in beauty, like the night
    Broken dreams restored whole
    Or crushed beyond repair, a
    Token of her tattered life

    Phoenix-like,beauty rises
    From pain’s conflagration.
    Night’s wrongs burn under day’s sun
    Numb no more, her soul flies free

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