PROMPT #209 – LET THERE BE PEACE AND LOVE AND JOY

I’ve been looking for this place for quite a while and it was right here where I left it. And that’s not all I found. Waiting at the gate with all the patience of Job, is Marie Elena Good! What better way to rekindle the poetic fires than to unlock this gate for perpetuity and pick up where we left off. We are excited to rejoin with each other and all of you, as we had from the beginning of our poetic journey, in tune and ready to resume our quest in the best garden for verse!

In our absence, we have lost some friends who have gone to their Peace. Salvatore Buttaci, Andrea Heiberg and Vivienne Blake were regular contributors to this site and I’m sure their spirit will rise again to celebrate our new endeavor. May they Rest in Peace.

So let us begin again, and as long as we’re on the subject of peace, we will offer this prompt for your poetic consideration. Peace and joy can be found in the written word; found by those who read them, and found by those who write what dwells within.

Write a poem about the peace that poetry brings to your glad hearts! Write of the joy it brings to you. Or write a piece about how much you love to pen your poems. Return home in peace and love and joy. And Good Lord willing, we’ll stick around this time. We promise as best we can!

A HEARTY WELCOME BACK TO POETIC BLOOMINGS from Marie and Walt!

***

MARIE ELENA’S RETURN:

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

The garden gate parts,
releasing sweet aroma
of former florae.

She softly steps in,
breathing the beauty that binds
virtuous voices.

The presence of peace
silences the restlessness
grinding at the gate.

Now bejeweled with joy,
renewing friends and florae,
she picks up her pen.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

 

WALT’S REBOUND:

THERE IS PEACE IN LOVE AND JOY

We look for truth in every eye
and know it when it shows.
We search for peace in every heart,
for a true heart really knows.

For in the heart, we love what’s dear
to fills us all with joy.
And in love and joy we find that peace,
every man and woman, girl and boy.

We do not choose the ones we’ll love,
for love will touch each soul.
We do not choose what gives us joy,
it’s out of our control.

But somehow we find that spark of peace,
and with it comes understanding,
that without love and without joy,
our peace will not be withstanding.

Search yourself to find your truth,
your eyes will not deceive you,
then look into your heart and see,
true peace will never leave you.

 

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

 

148 thoughts on “PROMPT #209 – LET THERE BE PEACE AND LOVE AND JOY

  1. I’ve become an enthusiastic poet since last you aired, and I look forward to learning from you. Today I’m experimenting with copla de arte mayor and amphibracic tetrameter

    Poeming brings back days when language was fun
    I listened to tales of Revere and his ride
    It wasn’t peaceful, but I learned the song
    God’s word, filled with poems, I read night by night
    Jesus loves me so, I could not deny it
    And joy to the world, my heart sings at Christmas
    Such love brings forth peace and joy rhyming within us
    What poems will result, what joy and delight

    Darlene Franklin

  2. Where Do I Find Inspiration

    … in the fragile and frayed,
    in the light and cool,
    in the whirl and gleaming
    infinities of you.
    In forest pines and rain
    fresh as a child’s eyes,
    in the tooth and the bone of
    a North Sea breeze.
    In young oak tree leaves,
    in a summer sunset, in love
    and in pain, and in waves
    that foam around my feet.
    In clear skies of icy blue,
    and in my weariness always
    made easier by you.

    I am a molecule. An atom.
    Dust and whitened ash.
    I return to infinities,
    back into your poem.

  3. Not exactly, Marie Elena. I am looking for someplace new. Poetry is my happy place–or a place to express my feelings. Either way, it’s a good release! And thanks for calling them “beautiful words”

  4. And Then Some

    I’m only here for God,
    affirming my presence in the flow
    of Grace, so blessed, so awed.
    Spirit is all there is, I know.
    As I send love into the world, to all,
    my gifts are pure, unflawed.
    I let my generosity stand tall,
    knowing I am one with God.
    I let thoughts of anger and death slip away,
    my life filled with joy, each grateful day.

  5. IT’S SO GOOD TO BE BACK!

    Eye of the Storm

    I am surrounded.
    Busyness is a wolf in modern clothing,
    a Category 5 of frenetic frivolity
    that parades as truth.

    But here in the quiet place,
    where my pen touches down
    on the ground of white paper
    are the words, “Peace, be still.”

    I am surrounded, but by more.
    The magnetic pull of life
    loses some of its power here.
    The winds wait for me,
    But there is now more gravity
    in my bones, ballasted by words
    and the anchor for my soul.

    • It’s so good to have you back, Catherine. And Marie and I are happy due to the response to our return. I think we’ve all missed this place in our own ways, but alway somewhat for the same reasons.

      I love the poem. In the midst of our private chaos, we know there is a sanctuary in the emotions we feel and express. The second stanza speaks volumes. “in the quiet place where my pen touches down” we seem to know and crave the peace that resides there. There is beauty in all of our hearts full of words, just as yours are expressed so well here.

  6. Finding the Love

    Her pen squirts out blue words
    Across a blank page of whiteness
    Swoops and whirls that spell out
    The peace of her garden at twilight
    The joy of butterflies on pink Zinnias
    The hallelujah of morning birds
    More and more words until
    The page is covered with squiggles,
    Lines, and flourishes like
    An abstract painting – waiting
    For a reader to find the love
    Hidden within

  7. Peaceful Possession

    The blank page on the computer screen was hypnotizing
    He nodded a time or two but fought off the sandman’s tempting
    So many ideas, but not one that came to the forefront of his mind
    The complications of life were taking their toll on his psyche
    There was no joy in his heart, nor peace in his thoughts

    His stare snapped to alertness as the printer came to life
    Out of the blue it printed a page filled from top to bottom
    He snatched the paper while the ink was still wet, so to say
    And began to read words that stabbed him in the heart
    Whoever had written this knew him both inside and out

    As he read, every turmoil that swirled ‘round him jumped out
    Each vividly described to a point beyond his own realization
    Chaotic item after chaotic item driven out into the light
    Nothing left to the imagination; everything defined perfectly
    Everything, that is, except for an obvious and instant solution

    He intently read his way from the top to the bottom of the page
    Absorbing every last detail; details that matched him to a tee
    He was aghast as he read the last line in this mysterious poem
    All the while wondering if his printer had been possessed
    Then again, out of the blue, another page rolled out on its own

    With a cautious hesitation, he reached for the newly born page
    This time there were but two lines of ink perfectly centered
    They read, “Worry not, my friend, for God is the answer.
    His peace that passes all understanding will see you through.”
    In that moment, all his burdens took leave of his mind

    And he awoke from his trance to see the pages were blank
    And the computer had timed out to sleep mode, as had he
    But something was different; he was at peace for the first time
    His mind was clear as a bell, and he felt a jolt of joy in his heart
    He knelt down to pray that those feelings would never end

    © Earl Parsons 2018

    • Earl, you’re the man! A very relatable poem. The blank screen mesmerizes and hypnotizes, and you’ve written the emotion so well. It’s good to have you back in the fold. We appreciate your wisdom, patriot spirit and faith. Here’s to a solid and continuing relationship!

    • That peace that passes all understanding does just exactly that … passes all understanding. Nicely penned! Glad to have you with us! Sorry I had to pull you out of the spam bin to get here. 😀

      So I must ask, Earl: True story?

      • Well, my printer isn’t possessed, but I can relate somewhat. When all the pressures of life and the world were upon me, I felt the hand of God lifting me back into His reality. More than once, I might add. And I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.

        I’ll be writing from experience as much as possible as the prompts spark the memory glands. It’s been a couple of miracle years during the PB hiatus, and I thank God for still being around. Let’s poem.

        • I remember the brief exchange we had before the bottom fell out on the both of us, Earl. I’m very happy that we are also both still here to continue our journey. Take these prompts wherever they lead and your experiences will be an interesting perspective from which to work. Continue to write, my friend. Marie and I anticipate a long association with you among our numbers. Stay well.

    • Earl, you can’t imagine how relatable, as Walt described, this is. Especially to me. I’ve been in a deepening trance for months as my Mom’s health declined, and my writing desire practically withered… What did get written slept dormant in a scatter of entries in a neglected journal, full otherwise of notes on medication changes, condition notations, medical contacts, updates to family.

      The time composed a forceful page full of anxiety, touch and go moments , intense focus on Mom’s comfort management, and it demanded to be read every day. .. . I didn’t realize the whirlwind of stress I was in.

      Near her departure we had a rough 45 days. When she let go and went home to her reward, that 2nd glorious page emerged from my printer, too, with that simple promised comfort. I knew I could breathe and write again.

      So glad to be back in the garden.

      • My seven acre sky is back! Damon, I’m so glad you are here. I know exactly what you mean, when you speak of your mother’s failing health, and “I knew I could breathe and write again.” When we are utterly consumed with trying to help our loved ones whose bodies are failing them, it is hard to think of anything else … let alone have thought or time for creativity. I’m so sorry for your loss, yet happy for your mother. I can relate. We lost Mom February 9. Dad followed her home on March 15. They were in poor health for far too many years. I’m happy that they are with their loving God, and with each other. They were together 70 years, here.

        Anyway, welcome back to the garden. Looking forward to some lovely poems of yours.

        God bless you, Damon.

      • Damon, first of all, sorry for your loss. I thought we were losing our mother a couple of months ago, but my sisters intervened and forces her to go to the hospital where they discovered she needed a pacemaker. After much fussing and fretting, and a bad lead that had to be reconnected, she’s back on the mend and feisty as ever. Thank God.

        In addition, I have a feeling that this poem relates to more than would admit it. For me it came from a 27 day fight for my life in late 2016 that I’m still working to recover from. That’s why I thank God that Walt and Marie are back together, because Poetic Bloomings has been my favorite poet group. Here we are all family, and the challenges are the best.

        So glad to be back, and so glad so many family members are back, too.

  8. Cheers, Dears. You know I can’t let a prompt stand as written, don’t you?

    peaches and joy and chagall

    I love to see the groom and bride weaving
    through the chimney pots, soaring
    like married kites. They make me happy
    the way peaches do, dripping with sunlight.

    Sometimes I make peach sandwiches on white.
    Sometimes I slice peaches like hemi-cheerios.
    Peach juice runs down my chin hairs. Joy
    sticks to my fingers and my wedding ring.

  9. Poetry

    P ainting with words and passion
    O pening hearts, in a fashion
    E ssence of love, joy, and peace
    T easing, tantalizing release
    R eading and writing poetry
    Y ields a soulful of esprit

  10. My poem forgot the love part. Oh, well. It is short and maybe sweet:

    Poetic Joy and Peace

    Joy jumps up
    when juicy words
    spurt forth.

    Joy jams up
    when parched phrases
    crawl out.

    Peace comes
    with a period.
    Period.

    Sheryl Kay Oder

  11. Marie, your piece reminds me of your trepidatious nature when you suggested we may like to reopen the site. You seemed to walk softly until I gave the response you hoped would come. You were All quiet confidence after that!

  12. Peace

    Do I detect peace?
    the garden bears its fruit
    for the tiller of the soil
    and the hand that sowed the seed

    Do I detect peace?
    while walking in my neighbourhood
    praying for people I do not know
    on a cooler evening before dusk

    Do I detect peace?
    sitting in the pew, waiting and wondering
    people gathered to listen
    what message will we hear today?

    Do I detect peace?
    Yes, there and more, in the quiet moments
    before sleep, upon awakening
    when God makes his presence known

    Carolyn Wilker

  13. Wonderful to “see” you all again. I have been really struggling to write – anything – so I hope working in the garden helps. Gardening is therapy, isn’t it? This may come across as a bit dark (for me). Rest assured all is well just had a spell of sleepless nights and crazy dreams….. I think I need a vacation 🙂

    Piece of Peace

    Looking for that piece in my mind
    That seems to have lost peace of mind
    Praying it’s found in perfect time
    Much sooner than the morning chime

    The clocks on the wall scream their step
    While bones count tocs of tics unslept
    Trains chase traffic and cars go free
    While a mind be stuck where it be

    The rhyme has left the words have gone
    As if the ravens grasped the tongue
    Holding and stretching till it be numb
    Wrapping its ends around each thumb

    Shouting futile no noise be made
    In this peculiar midnight raid
    The breath has left I gasp for aid
    Just for some rest what can I trade

    Words seem broken lost before ink
    Silence louder than what I think
    Twitch of an eye bracing a blink
    Nightmares or sleepless at the brink

    I know the peace of pastures green
    I’ve counted sheep that none have seen
    I know the Master Shepherd’s voice
    And wait in faith upon His choice

    The streams will flow the hills rejoice
    Upon the songs of the silent voice
    Time will come when peace be complete
    Gazing in awe our Saviors feet

  14. To Summer’s Guests

    Be your own guest. where life’s best, summer-living
    Is giving grand reasons to get out of bed
    Come; take an hour to get reacquainted
    With friendly-faced flowers, gold, purple, pink, red

    Take a lake-break where its lay laps the skyline
    For soon gales will lash silver stars to white froth
    Be your own guest; rest a bit between pages
    Study the fine fretwork of green-whispered cloth

    Love, joy and peace is a garden in August
    Bursting with bloom after warring with weeds
    Fruit laden baskets, still-life masterpieces
    Butterflies bobbing over thickets and reeds

    Work with awareness of what waits, my darling
    Spend time, not money where summer spills free
    Linger where cricket-song serenades gardens
    Do three-hour picnics beneath an old tree

    Love while life grants you the dance of a season
    Joy is far more than a three-letter word
    It sings in flowers where peace paints a picture
    That fills summer’s framework with tincture soon blurred

  15. Aha! Found where to put the comments!! Love, Love, Love your poems. Love being part of this awesome group. Here is my humble donation to this prompt.

    Birthing

    The letters take shape out of the ether
    onto the blank sheet,
    forming lines of wordy images.
    Something emerges – fresh, dewy –
    slowly, the veil lifts, until
    the entire creation breaks forth,
    as the writer – midwife to poetry –
    gazes in admiration.

    © 2013 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas

  16. Very nice piece, Linda. I’m pleased that you’ve come to join us in the Garden. A very supportive and enlightened group were assembling here. I was worried there was a problem with the site when you couldn’t see the link to the comments. But we got you in and that’s what matters. Marie and I look forward to your work. Walt.

  17. Poetic Mercy

    This is poetic mercy
    we enjoy;
    the freedom to engage a word of choice,
    the right to split a sentence
    where we choose,
    the license to turn verbs to nouns at will,
    and with it all, to rhyme,
    or rhyme refuse.
    We call it ‘poem’ and name,
    or name it not.

    And with these mercies given
    we employ:
    love that we’ve discovered, relished, lost;
    joy, knowing readers know our hearts;
    peace from having spoken our own minds;
    we weave the three together, words of art.
    We call them poems, and name,
    or name them not.

    This is a surpass I do not deserve,
    a mercy I will not decline:
    the words that I am given,
    I can give
    to you,
    but they will still
    be mine.

    (c) 2018 Damon Dean, SevenAcreSky

    • And if we paraphrase here Damon, by your words we will know you. Our voices are distinctive, and the words we craft will define our heart arts. We choose to write poetry because we can. These mercies, these liberties, this poetic license is wielded at our discretion to touch those who make the choice to read these poems. These are the first steps of our new excursion into expression and you have put that first step out there to lead. I enjoy this poem.

  18. Apologies, I did say I would join in too. But writing and typing are physically painful at present, and likely to be so a long time to come – which in turn has me feel not very peaceful. So not now, sorry.

    • No apologies needed, Rosemary. I understand the reasons and know what a frustration it must be for the heart to be willing, but not to be able to work past the pain of something debilitating. If you find a day where the pain is less, feel free to come by and let us know how you are doing (and if it sure be in poetic form, all the better). It even if you only come by to read our works, we’d be honored to know you are reading them. Be well, my friend. I’ll be keeping you in my thoughts!

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  20. Written in Appreciate Form.

    The Search for Peace

    I searched
    Both far and near
    But peace eluded me
    Until one day I saw His face
    And now Peace lives within me

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