This morning, Christians all over the world celebrate our most holy of holidays: Easter Sunday. This is the day Jesus was found to have conquered death, after rising from the tomb where He’d been placed. The week leading up to this extraordinary and miraculous event is referred to as “Holy Week.” Much of what happened in the 7 days prior to Christ’s victory over death was unthinkably horrifying. Jesus knew when His final days were upon Him, and the manner in which He would die. Living with that realization alone would be unbearable, wouldn’t it?
Today, let’s write about the end of a hard week. Some may choose to write about Easter. Some may choose to write of a hard-fought victory of their own. Perhaps victory is not on the horizon, as difficulties continue. Come to your own conclusion of what a hard week entails, and write from that inspiration.
Happy Easter to all! ❤
MARIE’S POEM
HOLY WEEK
The week leading up
to the most sacred of our
Christian holidays
looks back on events
saturated with the love
of our Lord Jesus,
impregnated with
prophesies being fulfilled
in His light and life:
Some, miraculous.
Some, endearing. Some, baffling.
Others, horrific.
A dizzying week.
A hill of execution.
A crucifixion.
But …
I believe that the
road to Golgotha began
in a feeding trough
where a virgin girl
gave birth to a baby boy
who already knew
the way.
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
P.S. He is risen, indeed!
WALT’S POEM
END OF THE LONG ROAD
The weeks have gone by quickly. The months have done the same. The years seemed to flash quicker still. I’m not sure how much I’ll love retirement, I only know that I will! (c) Walter J wojtanik, 2022
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
THE ROAD IS FINISHED
The road is finished.
The week exhausted.
The peak of strength
has waned with sunsets.
Blood, sweat, tears,
sighs, but without regrets.
The bones of the weary
taste the ache of hard knocks.
The vigor of muscles utterly
spent—lent to the jobs at hand.
Yet the road is finished with
the grace of fresh open windows.
A gentle gallop of wind saunters,
teases, tickles tightened skin.
This is the way for the week to end.
With open windows and open heart.
© Benjamin Thomas
Bingo.
“the grace of fresh open windows” sigh …
Lovely, Benjamin!
Thanks!
O’SHAUGHNESSY
My buddy’s a peach who is loaded with pride
and is two meters high and three meters wide;
he loves to sing songs without hitting a note
and loves to tell everyone just how to vote;
he claims that one day he’s bound to go drumming
but, often as not, he tends to go slumming
and somehow, he says, he’ll garner some cash
as soon as he finishes scratching his rash.
He frustrates us all, most all of the time;
perhaps, most of all, when he’s thinking in rhyme.
He’s confusing as hell, and hence I’ve construed it:
there’s lotsa “I gotta” and not much “I dood it,”
notably in this last week, in particular,
when he told everybody he’d build a funicular.
I suspect, when he dies, he still won’t be finished,
for the memories left will be nary diminished.
BILL!!! Oh my goodness, this is such fun! Flawless cadence, superdooper creative, entertaining use of rhyme, and tickles my funny bone. Thank you for this, this morning! 😀
Thanks, Marie, and thanks for the notion:
WHAT’S SO FUNNY ABOUT THE FUNNY BONE?
I banged my elbow on the sill
and, of a sudden, I felt quite ill;
there’s nothing about that bone that’s funny,
`cause banging it makes my eyes all runny.
HAHAHAHAHA! YUP!
A breath of fresh air here, William!
THE END
The end is only the beginning.
It gives way to new vistas, new terrain,
new growth, ongoing rain.
The end is only the beginning.
It’s the onset of a different song,
with brand new stanzas to sing along.
The end is just the beginning.
The best is laid to rest in the grave—
the remainder of fine linen is left in the cave.
© Benjamin Thomas
Benjamin, this is understated wonder. Wow! (And amen!)
Make that two.
And 3!
Marie, the depth of your feeling comes through in your poem.
Thank you.
Walt, given all the joy that’s come through in your work over the years, retirement ought to be a dilly. Good for you.
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Not so hard
It is hard to believe
in the good when
the news point elsewhere,
to a world of war, violence,
and not enough care.
But really, I woke up
mostly feeling okay,
no bombs dropping from above,
it could be a fine day,
might as well choose love.
The only monster that I really fear
is sometimes the one I see in the mirror,
when I’m trying to control life,
eliminate all fear, worry, strife,
arrange the future, oh so serious,
have control (ha!) isn’t that curious.
It would be laughable,
when I can’t wait,
feel the need to anticipate.
The only result I can control
is really nothing, nothing at all,
as hard as I try to see what will be,
the gods just look down and laugh at me.
I can only cherish my life,
expect goodness every day,
Make the most of it all,
whatever comes my way.
There’s no place nor time
as far as I can see,
peace power cannot transform,
and peace begins with me.
Hmmmm…. lots of wisdom here, and one line in particular resonates for me:
WHY NOT?
I could spend all my time full of envy and pouting
or while away the hours with some fuming and shouting,
but that causes headaches; what’s the sense of such spouting?
I might just as well choose love.
The world’s seen enough of resentment and hating;
had a big bellyful of begrudging and baiting;
when you add it all up, it’s a whole lot of grating.
We might just as well choose love.
Thanks for the inspiration. If I had the skill, I might try to make a song of the poem that sprang from it.
Amen….and I also find that song writing is a different skill set than poeming, even though many songs I hear are great poems as well. So, when I think I have a song in my words, I gift them to a songwriter acquaintance, for them to do as they will…edit them, improve them, use them as they are, or forget them
Inspiring, indeed … and well proven, here.
I definitely hear a song In These words, William.
Poem filled with wisdom, Daniel. Love your ending!
This goes with PAD prompt “mad”. Happy Easter everyone!
Mad About You
At the end of a hard week
You comfort me
and see me through
I’m mad, mad, mad,
mad about You.
Short and sweet
Yes, indeed!
Unfinished Conversations
The lawn outside
my window
tinted green and brown
still waits to warmer weather.
The wind blows cold
like notices received
from Unemployment
in the middle of the week.
They tell me
I must look for work
and complete
four applications
each week.
although I’m
just on lay-off,
and I will return at a later date.
The next day, the car must be fixed
and an unopened bill
sits on the table,
Frustrations are cast
much as the times
when I was young,
the work is still never done.
Even at my age I must ask
who I am
when planning the day.
And I remember
my father pulling
dandelions as weeds
when deep inside
I knew they were flowers,
and my aunt said
they were good for wine.
Memories stir
long after they’re gone.
And Saturday passes
like unfinished conversations
with an old love of mine
as she sits at the counter
of the restaurant
where she works.
Bittersweet.
And today I hope
to find within me
the poem once lost
in haste.
Such joy is found
when I step out to my car
where a rabbit waits.
My favorite part, though hard to choose, is this:
“And I remember
my father pulling
dandelions as weeds
when deep inside
I knew they were flowers,”
This speaks to me.
Thanks, Marie.
So uplifting, this.
“ Memories stir
long after they’re gone.
And Saturday passes
like unfinished conversations”
Great lines, Mike.
Walt and Marie, I love your poems…
Thank you!
Loved your offerings Walt and Marie. Walt, retirement is full of wonder…(I wonder what I want to do, and what I might do, today?)
Thanks much!
… and HA! So true!
I posted a poem on Wednesday that I changed a bit, and it goes with the poem that I wrote today… The women I listed below are some of the 41 women I did my study on Lent this year.
The followers
Mary wife of Clopas,
Joanna, Salome,
Mary Magdalene,
John the son of Zebedee,
And his mother Mary
Had been there following
Him carry the cross…
Saw Him trip and fall.
They loved him,
Salome watched her son John
And knew his heart was breaking.
Mary, wife of Clopas
Watched her nephew struggle
And held his mother’s hand
As they followed up that hill
To where he would die.
Mary Magdalene
Would not leave the side
Of Him who relieved her
Of the prison the demons
Had trapped her, and
She loved Him for he freed her,
And she followed him,
And as they stripped him of his clothes,
And laid him on the rough lumber
Of that cross.
She wept.
Joanna
Remembered the death
Of His cousin,
John the Baptist, and
She knew the grief
That death had hurt Him,
For his cousin was good man.
As she stood there hearing the hammer hit the nails
And not one cry did he make.
She prayed it would be over soon.
The sky grew dark,
And the curtain in the temple
Was ripped
Exposing the Holy of Holies.
And the sun was not to be seen.
The earth began to tremble,
And then the earth shook
Enough to shatter it
From the core up towards that cross
And still those followers stood and waited.
John the son of Zebedee
Looked upon his friend,
The Messiah, and wondered
What would happen to them…
He just knew he could not leave Jesus
In these his last hours.
He heard him call out
Abba, why have you forsaken me?
He remembered the Psalms
And how it described
What was happening before him,
And he wondered how
Did King David know this?
And he thought…
Ah yes, God would have guided his hand.
Jesus told him to care for his mother,
And then said to forgive us.
John felt his tears,
And just as he thought
He could take no more…
He heard Jesus say,
“It is finished.”
And he died.
His last breath
Came quicker than
The two thieves for their bones
Were broken, and his wasn’t.
They rushed his body
Into a grave
Given by a man named Joseph.
They felt it was over…
It was finished…
But it wasn’t…
He arose,
And lived again.
That joy was immeasurable.
That peace that God was with them.
That love was boundless
And will never be finished.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 12, 2022 revised April 17, 2022
Thank you for this interesting read, Mary. And yes, that boundless love will never be finished! ❤
thanks
my study of the women of the Bible was very interesting…I was going to start with Eve and go forward, but I read this book “Reading While Black” by Esau McCulley and decided to start with Elizabeth… they follow no real pattern> It was a wonderful journey..
The hardest week…
The week began
With glorious celebrations,
And singing, “Hosanna”
They had celebrated “Passover”
In a room together,
He had washed their feet, and
They were humbled.
One who had wandered
Would go to betray him
But for now, he told them
The wine was his blood
Spilt for them,
And the bread was his body
Broken for them.
No truer words ever spoken.
They just didn’t know it.
As he prayed later;
They fell asleep.
His heart broke,
As he faced His hardest hours.
He was betrayed, and another
Would deny him,
But in the end their hearts would break…
It was their hardest week.
They had given up their jobs;
They had left friends and family;
Some wondered
How they would pick up their lives.
Some feared
How they would be the brunt of jokes.
Only one regretted their decision,
And he took his own life.
But as morning broke,
And the women came to tell them
He had defeated death.
He had come to free them,
And no matter what those
People would say…
Never had been the start of a week
That had more joy.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 17, 2022
Mary, both your poems take us there, deep into the motions and emotions of those moments.
thank you….reading the lives of the people made it very real to me.
You don’t often hear of this week being hard on the disciples. Thank you for pointing it out with your sincere, poetic voice.
thank you…
Hard Choices
Hard decisions
make a week end hard;
a life ends hard perhaps
after a loving
‘yes, I will’
is answered to a Father’s love.
Decisions make
a difference in the end.
I wrote once,
in a passioned poem of love,
“a promise never made is hard to keep.”
Indecisions, too,
make things end harder,
I believe.
At least the endings that we choose
are ours.
(C) Damon Dean, 2022
Goodness, so much wisdom, here. “A promise never made is hard to keep” … WOW …
Yea
Wise words, Damon.
My nephew Daniel is 46 years old. I have known since Christmas eve day that the cancer he has is so rare that there is no successful treatment for it. He is like a son to me…. He has begun Radiation treatment…
One week, many weeks
It began with hope
That one so small
Could have a normal life…
But ended before that first day was out
Falling to my knees in despair.
I raged at God, and He listened.
When I got still, He whispered,
“There were those who didn’t listen,
And now we must pick up the pieces.”
It was when I knew
God sends those to aid us,
But sometimes they ignore
The urging…
It was in those thirteen months
That followed that week,
I faced three deaths,
But before I face them…
I realized a truth
We all ignore.
Each time we say hello
To someone at our first meeting…
There is a goodbye written
For some it just a few moments,
But for others it is a lifetime
Before it is said.
Two that died
In those thirteen months
Were my brothers.
I remembered the words
Said to my soul, and
Understood that their goodbyes
Came much too soon.
I needed that to remind me…
Life is a gift…
Each day is a gift.
I talked to man this morning,
I told this to when he was young.
He said he remembered those words
That in every hello is an unwritten goodbye.
I tried not to cry for he was telling me
That whatever comes
He trusts God will heal him
Either his body now or with death.
While we talked under the cathedral of trees…
In one of my holy places…
Where I saw that the storms that ripped
The forest was only visible
In the healed trees,
I tried not to say
What my heart wanted to say
Was that I should be the one
Saying goodbye
But I know my purpose is not done.
As I look across my lifeline,
I see the joy in the Hellos
And the sorrows in the Goodbyes…
Many weeks were hard
And broke me…
But at my core
I know
They also made me,
And do not regret
Any of the hellos
(Well, there are a few),
And after the grief
Subsides…
I have not regretted the goodbyes.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 17, 2022
A rending of the heart, this.
It has been crushing….
Deep sighs here
thank you…
So sad, Mary. You are one strong person.
it is but Daniel is a lot like me and he is finding solace in nature….
Nature speaks to those who listen.
A Retiree’s Week
Monday was busy
Tuesday was too
Wednesday gave me time
To work the Honey-dos
Thursday was slower
Friday was extreme
Saturday we teamed up
And cleaned the list clean
Sunday we rested
‘Til the grandkids arrived
I love this retirement
And thank God I’m alive
Yes, yes, and hugs to you and yours!
Such a whispered use of thyme; almost don’t know it’s there.
I just realized my typo; it’s supposed to be “rhyme,” not “thyme.” Nertz.
The Week
The week
Just seven days
One day after the next
Not one anything like the last
All uniquely unknowing
Truth.
Aye
Yes§,
Sunday
A day of rest
Our one day to recharge
And take time to praise the Giver
For the blessings He bestows
❤
The week on call
(Lament of the Child Protective Service Worker)
Given the bag
With the camera,
Paperwork like safety plans,
And add a change of clothes
In case it is a Meth House.
No one wants to be stripped down
By hazmat and whatever you wore
Had to be trashed.
Seven days until
It gets given
To the next one on the list.
First case is simple,
Mother left child with babysitter,
And babysitter left the child.
A safety plan is signed,
And on Monday will be out to check
Looking at the calendar.
Dang, full moon in two days,
And anything can happen.
And it did,
One teen thrown out of her house,
Calls and asks for help.
She is taken into emergency foster care.
Next call a child is burned,
And parents arrested,
Contact all the people who need to know.
Child being airlifted
To the closest burn unit.
They take verbal approval
From someone in charge.
Father overdosed, and
Toddler wandered into the night.
More arrests, and child placed,
And will the morning come
SOON?
Sleep is hard to come
Because you are waiting for the phone
To scream you awake.
It becomes your life
Staying up late
Never ends.
The next day
You have phone calls to make,
And paperwork to be done
Plus gathering all that need
To be in staffings
For children removed.
Friday morning
You hand over the bag,
Glad it will be a few weeks
Before it is yours again.
The ones that stay are dedicated
And want children to be safe.
There is something to be said
For the constant drama
And how this one former worker
Only wants life to bring her peace
And stillness… and love….
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 18, 2022
Simultaneously chilling and warming
it is an impossible job… one of my friends retires from her job in July… I am glad it is soon behind her…
It truly is. Hard to write something like this with the warm feel somehow coming across, I’m sure.
Mary, just … thank you. Just thank you, for you.
Holy
Three times
we drove
to a distant town
four counties away
backroads and highways
to a small person
needing us
so his Momma could work
in the office
distance
necessitating early departures
navigating rain high wind
billowing cloud
finally sun
lunches potty training
napping reading playing
cuddling how better to spend
Holy Week
than in caring
carrying
others’ wood
burdens
hearts
bodies
Somehow
as the week ended
and fatigue crept in
it all seemed
holy.
I think this is an exquisite piece.
Lovely poem, Pat.
God bless you. Holy, yes indeed.
FUNERAL
The bell in the dell sounds a knell
for a fellow whose life rent with strife
was yet rife with the slow, measured flow
of the glow from a soul calm and whole.
My friend to the end, he could mend
a heart, send a word, feed a bird,
be a nerd. I am sad, yet am glad
that I had the sweet grace of his face.
Love the way you wrote this, William!
Thanks. I was attempting a vers beaucoup, if you’re interested.
I’m not sure I’ve heard or that. I’ll have to look it up. It’s hard to make strict forms work this well. Excellent!
Always. I will have to look this up.
Draped in Sadness
Sadness lingers,
drapes over me
like a black cape.
No escape from
reminders–little
items around my
house that belonged
to my precious dog,
Marion. My other
dog continues to
to look in, and smell
every corner of yard
and house. Now he is
in the hospital with
serious health issues.
I feel my life shattering
around me like broken
glass.
I know this feeling. I hope your dog recovers.
Thanks, William.
So sorry for what you’re going through…. I’m asking St. Francis of the Animals to get involved.
Thank you, Pat.
Oh, Sara … this strikes the heart. I’m so sorry!
Thanks, Marie.
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Here’s mine. Thank you poetic bloomings
stars zoom across sky
shooting for cosmic movie
~ other side of town
black night to my square
sign flashing on things to do
~ hold on to your breath
Saturday morning
dream-filled eyes not open yet
~ dewdrops for breakfast
This is just lovely lovely! Who is the poet that penned this?
Hello…my name is Sangeetha:)
Thank you for your kind words and your challenge