Tag Archives: dVerse Poets Pub

It’s 2:00 a.m.

Anthony Desmond has challenged us over at dVerse Poets Pub to write a poem incorporating 2:00 a.m. Here’s what I came up with.

It’s 2:00 a.m.

It’s 2:00 a.m.
I should be sleeping
Tomorrow’s a big day
But I’m wide awake

It’s 2:10
I should be snoozing
But in the dark I lay
Thinking it all through

It’s 2:20
I should be snoring
The moonlight shines gray
All I can do is worry

It’s 2:30
I should be dreaming
Instead here I am praying
Now I wake, it’s morning

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Courageous

The prompt at dVerse Poets Pub today is to write using antithesis. Bjorn asks us to use contrasting terms to encompass the real truth of the matter as we live in a world both black and white at the same time. As the topic of fear and courage have been much on my mind lately, I immediately thought of the antithesis of feeling fear while having faith. This is how we can be courageous.

Courageous

The giants tower above me
menacing and cruel
I tremble in faith
Stand resolutely with fear

The waves crash down upon me
mighty and powerful
I  shudder in faith
Rise unflinchingly with fear

The enemy surrounds me
threatening and heartless
I cringe in faith
Prevail triumphantly with fear

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Where This Road Leads

I know full well where this road leads
The end is my desire and goal
But I know not how long it be
Or what lurks beyond the next knoll
My Companion knows, but won’t tell
I must trust that He’s in control
He’ll never leave me as I trudge
Toward rest for my weary soul

 

The prompt at dVerse Poets Pub today is to write an octet with the road as a theme. For more road-themed octets, head over to dVerse and click on Mr. Linky.

This is also my Day 21 post for NaPoWriMo2015.

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I Believe

At dVerse Poets Pub today Anna calls us to think about our diaphanous diction, the words we love and are drawn to, and the type of poetry we normally write. The word “beloved” immediately came to mind. It’s one I use a lot and will continue to use because it describes my very being in a way no other word can.

In thinking about the type of poetry I write, I have been accused of too often focusing on the things of God. But I find that is where my heart is, where I dwell as beloved.

I Believe

I believe
I am beloved
I believe
with all my heart

I believe
You are God
Creator of the universe
and this earthly planet I trod

I believe
You are compassion
Died for me so I could live

I believe
Your Word is truth
My source of life and love

I believe
I am beloved
Because You declare it
in Your Word

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Giving up Fear

Over at dVerse Poets Pub today, Abhra has challenged us to write letter poems. I had someone specific in mind when I wrote this, but there are so many people I know who live with unnecessary fear and anxiety that it could easily be an open letter to them all. The final stanza is a reference to Philippians 4:6-7.

Giving up Fear

I learned of your anxiety
This news I’m sad to hear
I long ago was in your shoes
Crippled by my fear

You daren’t go out on the town
Lest the fear cause you to take cover
Even to celebrate with friends
Is a challenge, you discover

Yet “Do not fear” the Lord has said
He longs to keep you near
Trust in Him to care for you
Give to Him every fear

With petition and thanksgiving
Each care and worry release
As I have experienced so can you
He’ll grant you abundant peace

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I Remember Eucalyptus

I remember the scent of eucalyptus wafting on the wind.

I remember the scent of summer rain on the hot, dry dirt road.

I remember dust devils swirling down that same dirt road before the rain came.

I remember the hot, arid Santa Ana winds in the California sun, pushing wildfires in their path.

I remember carrots and green beans and radishes and cucumbers (and dill) and ripe red tomatoes in the garden.

I remember riding my bike to the Elliots’ house and barely making it up their steep paved driveway off the dirt road below.

But mostly, I remember the scent of eucalyptus.

 

This poem was inspired by the April 5 prompt from The Daily Poet by Kelli Russell Agodon & Martha Silano.

4/28/15 Update: Decided to share this today at dVerse Poets Pub where Mary asks us to write about where we are from. I’d already written a poem today for the NaPoWriMo prompt, and when I read Mary’s post I thought of this poem.

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Betrayed, “Twas a Kiss

It’s Maundy Thursday, I decided today to join NaPoWriMo, and the lesson at dVerse today is to write a villanelle. At the convergence of these three things I wrote this poem:

Betrayed, “Twas a Kiss

Betrayed, ‘twas a kiss, the beginning of the end
Then all the others scattered in the night
Not knowing in three days You would ascend

He was among those You counted as a friend
There was a time his zeal burned so bright
Betrayed, ‘twas a kiss, the beginning of the end

Your followers to kneel in prayer You did commend
But they lacked Your wisdom and keen foresight
Not knowing in three days You would ascend

The ill-begotten silver Judas would never spend
Instead his life would become a terrible blight
Betrayed, ‘twas a kiss, the beginning of the end

Although his first impulse was to defend
Peter would hide his face from the light
Not knowing in three days You would ascend

Your promises they all failed to comprehend
Though all but one were redeemed in Your sight
Betrayed, ‘twas a kiss, the beginning of the end
Not knowing in three days You would ascend

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Childhood Dreams

The prompt at dVerse Poets Pub yesterday was to write a poem about our calling, or the calling of someone else. One of the suggestions was to write about what you wanted to be when you were a child. So I went to Facebook and asked my Facebook friends to tell me what they wanted to be when they were a kid and whether their actual job was close to that dream. I didn’t get a ton of responses (only three—maybe I picked a bad time of day or I made the mistake of saying the commenters would end up in a poem), but I got enough to write this poem.

Childhood Dreams

Diminutive Donna dreamed of writing
Stories weaved that were exciting
Getting published to boot would be great
And published author became her fate

Little Leanne dreamed of being a novelist
Or perhaps a world-renowned columnist
Now inspiring young minds with famous prose
Means her life is like a beautiful rose

Petite Patty dreamed of being an actress
Or hamming it up in front of school classes
Now preaching and teaching the Word of God
Is a calling we all can certainly laud

Then there is me who wanted to be
A dance choreographer fit and carefree
But since words and reasoning are my expertise
A career in law and publishing I did seize

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A Beautiful Sacrifice

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Mary challenges to write about beauty. With Good Friday and Easter on the horizon, I decided to write about the most beautiful sacrifice in all of history.

A Beautiful Sacrifice

It is an ugly scene

A naked man with bloody hands and feet
hangs upon an instrument of torture
sharp thorns jammed into his forehead
blood dripping down his face
sweat covering his body

He weeps
not for himself, but for the mockers
spitting at him
taunting and jeering
casting lots for his clothing
knowing not what they do

He cries out in agony yet
intercedes for those who hate him
prays they be forgiven, that we be forgiven
He atones, redeems, sets free
loves in a way we cannot fully comprehend

It is a beautiful scene
It is a beautiful sacrifice of love

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Words Lurk

Another dVerse challenge I couldn’t resist. Victoria has called us to action, to use verbs to improve our poetry. She suggested taking an older poem and rewriting it to replace any tired “to be” verbs with action verbs. I took an extremely old one of mine, from before I posted a single blog post, and spruced it up a bit.

Words Lurk

Words hole up in my pen
only ink

Words lurk in dark recesses
of my mind

I wrestle with sleep
as words swirl and dance
playing word games

The sun arises, beams into my room
I struggle to recall and record the dance
The words hide, again
in the dark recesses
like the hole-in-the-wall gang

They desire freedom
to live in the light
yet fear entraps them

What will others think
if they reveal their dance?
In lines and curves of black
shining on the glaring white?
Lingering but in darkness
remains safer

And here is the original for comparison:

Words That Hide

Words are hiding in the ink
deep within my pen

Words are hiding in the dark
deep within my mind

I know they are there
because I see them when I try to sleep
They run around in circles
Playing their word games
And keeping me awake

But when the sun comes up
and I try to write them down
They hide again within my pen
and deep within my mind
In the dark within my mind

I know they want to come out and play
But they are afraid
At night in bed they feel safe
Playing in my mind

What will others think of them
If they play upon a page?
In lines and curves of black
Shining on the glaring white
It seems much safer just to hide
Within my pen
Within my mind
In the dark within my mind

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