Write a tribute poem to someone who had meant a great deal to your development, either personal or poetic. Perhaps a favored poet.
Alternatively, write a tribute about someone famous.
Write a tribute poem to someone who had meant a great deal to your development, either personal or poetic. Perhaps a favored poet.
Alternatively, write a tribute about someone famous.
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CHEEK TO CHEEK
When Rogers would dance with Astaire
she was quite the delight of the pair;
although Fred, so superb,
danced from ceiling to curb,
I kept following her derriere.
HA!!!! (Have I begun every comment this month with a HA!?) I can’t even tell you how much I look forward to your limericks this month! I’ll be sad for them to come to a close. But, who says they must? *hint hint*
THE POETASTER CONFESSES
When a limerick enters the mind
it absorbs like no other rhyme kind,
for the joy of its rhythm
is something like chrism
anointing each word that I find.
Now I’ve got the giggles! 😀
Smirk work again! Best mirth on earth, William!
Very clever, William!
Dear friends, Sorry I have been absent for this wonderful challenge. Walking with my brother through the Valley of Death took all my energy and then some. Now that he has passed through the veil, I can take some time to regroup. May be adding poems when I get a second or two free. Miss you all. Looking forward to feeding my soul on your amazing words. Blessings, Linda
We’ve missed your voice and followed you on your journey with your brother, Linda. We mourn your loss with you and are here to help you regain your footing. Take the time you need to get back to the garden. The challenge will remain accessible if you wish to complete it. Know the love and strength that is around you.
My humble amen. And love. It has been a lovely thing, seeing the love of family out on FB, Linda. God bless you all, and help you through this loss.
Sorry for your loss, Linda. Look forward to seeing your wonderful poetry soon.
PRAYERS FOR THE FALLEN, by Walter J Wojtanik
Prayers for the fallen soldiers,
(They), the men and women who had dared.
(They) who had dreamed and bled.
(They) were left for dead.
(They) Faced the fire of hell
in every battle and storm.
(They) Carved their fingernails into stone
and opened the doors of freedom,
many bodies returning in brown boxes.
(They) Sadly, rarely made the papers.
God give rest and bless the fallen heroes.
Oh my yes. YES. ❤
MOM
I. You told me of the love in my eyes for you
when you first held me in your arms
the day I was born.
Is it any wonder.
I knew you, and had already experienced
the gentle warmth that was you.
II. All my friends thought me the luckiest girl
to be able to call you mom,
even though you didn’t tolerate misbehavior
or disrespect. They saw the love right through
the discipline. I tried to emulate you,
but it seems that isn’t the same as
it being a part of who you are.
III. I saw how the mention of you
brought warm smiles.
Your gentle demeanor,
laughter, and love
were contagious.
IV. I understand being an introvert,
and I ponder with amazement
how you dealt with that part of you.
You could have written a “how to,”
I believe. I understand more and more
the sacrifices you made.
The way you encouraged others,
and always had a kind word to offer.
The way you treated everyone
with the same level of respect.
Fiercely loyal to those you were closest to,
in ways that had to have been draining.
But we didn’t see that you were drained.
You would simply go “rest [your] back
for a few minutes,” or “rest [your] eyes.”
V. You were my moral compass,
and still are. I feel your nudges.
I hear your gentle voice. I pray
I inherited more of you
than I see in myself.
From womb to death,
and now beyond,
I thank God for the blessing
of you.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
So well said.
You have been most surely blessed with two incredible parents, your Keith in shining armor, great kids and granddaughters who continue to give you the love you deserve. I finally understand that now!
Yes, I have been incredibly blessed, family-wise. And I’m so, so happy for you!
Outstanding tribute, Marie. She must have been quite a special woman.
Partner in Rhyme
It is no small thing
to call yourself a poet.
Thanks to you, I do.
❤
This may seem a very small tribute, but it looms huge in my heart. You know that, I’m sure.
I’d guess that Walt doesn’t regard this as “small.”
This speaks to me in volumes. We shine the light on each other, and the poet in each is revealed. Thank you!
❤
I’m thinking about calling this collection Grandma’s Braided Rug. So this is the poem I had to write:
Memories imprinted on my heart
emerged over this past month,
beginning with a braided rug
and soaking my soul as glmpses of
wool woven with whispered memories.
Clothes too worn to be repaired were
scissored into strips to repurpose as a rag.
Leftover sewing scraps, and when necessary,
a sack bought at the store bought for a sawbuck.
If I looked closely I saw my favorite flannel granny gown,
and my mother’s old wool coat.
A long, broad needle injected magical memories into the braids,
holding them together,
making sense of such disparate scraps.
A bit like Grandma’s life, perhaps:
a line of piano keys
a cuddle of kittens
a bakery of cookies and chocolate mayonnaise cakes
a pair being baptized, learning together.
Piece them together and you have a
collage of family, love and belonging,
Grandma’s glue and me.
I had to read this twice. What love there is, here. It captures a time period so beautifully, and a loving grandmother so richly. The details included make me smile.
I have to ask, what is a sawbuck?
Uh oh, it’s $10. I meant it to be a dollar. I’m so glad you enjoyed it. This memoir project has brought up a lot of memories of Grandma.
Love the title, and this poem in particular. Great work this month, Darlene!
Great work, especially that last line.
Walt, thanks for saying so.month of growth for me, and it’s lovely t o have that confirmed. Do you offer guidance n what comes next in the coming weeks?
I’ll post something soon for the continuance of this process. For now, polish up what needs polishing and we’ll go forward.
Just love the warmth of this one, Darlene.
I Rise….
I rise in tribute
To the many in my life
Both past, present and future
That made me who I am
I rise in tribute
Giving thanks for all who gave
Of their wisdom, love and time
All the bricks that built this man
I rise in tribute
With a hope that I might be
To my children an example
Of what a real man ought to be
I rise in tribute
To the One and Only God
My Protector and Salvation
Who for life has guided me
Wonderful!
The exact tribute I expected Earl. You express that heart so well.
This is one I wrote to honor a very very dear and close friend of mine who struggle severely with addiction. It seems appropriate to share it here, even though it wasn’t written specifically for this prompt.
ADDICT
I suppose when cravings for poison
introduced in past moments of pain
threaten to pull you to ocean’s floor
and you remember the relief of
oxygen to your lungs,
you might find it irresistible, this temptation to
breathe –
even if it is one breath.
Even if it threatens
to fill your lungs with death.
But she –
she would rather not breathe
than return to the venom her body craves.
She would rather hold her breath,
while waiting for her Redeemer
to meet her in the depths.
To lift her face.
To breathe life to her very soul.
She calls herself an addict.
I call her a child of the God who Saves.
I call her brave.
I call her inspiring.
I call her friend.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
I understand exactly what calling you friend really means. Everyone should be so blessed. A wonderful tribute even though not prompt driven.
Agreed
A brave person to call friend. I know so many like her.
Encouragement
You can do it, he said,
when I was 41 and working
in the circus rings
of Wall Street. Cheaters
to the left of me, racists
to the right. My friend
had read some of my writing,
and urged me to take a class.
Terrified, I signed up for
an evening writing class
at NYU. Elizabeth was an inspiring
teacher. She helped me learn,
and suggested books to read
on writing. Meeting other writers,
listening to each other read–
in quavering voices–marked
a huge change in my life. Now,
cannot imagine not writing.
I am only sad that I could not
share this with my friend. His
life ended on September 11th.
I love that you’ve found your voice, and continuing in that direction is a powerful tribute to your friend. I somewhat know what that day means to you. That gives this poem even more strength, Sara. I hope you never let your voice go silent!
Thanks so much, Walt.
My humble agreement with Walt, who expressed so well what I feel. God bless you, Sara. ❤
Whew!
Yes, this was a little tough to finish.
No doubt.
Betty Slade
My first twenty years writing,
I avoided poetry like poison ivy.
Most poems I read, I had no idea
what the poet was writing about.
I wanted my writing to be understood,
not some mysterious code. But sometimes
unsolicited poems popped out.
I shoved them in an envelope marked,
Poems: finished and unfinished.
One day at an artists and writers retreat,
the director, Betty Slade, asked me to read.
Working on a novel at the time,
I read a couple of my poems,
since they were short. The attendees’
enthusiastic response surprised me.
Betty told me I should put my poems in a book.
So I took out the big old envelope
and finished and revised them.
From that experience, I learned
how to write poetry without waiting
for them to materialize from strong emotion.
Betty lit the match causing a poetic explosion.