Tag Archives: Poem

Monsoon of Mercy

At dVerse Poets Pub today, Abhra tells a tale of the monsoon season in India. The “prompt” for the day is fairly vague, so I drew from Abhra’s story about how the hot, dry summer is followed by the monsoon. And I tapped into the discussion in the comments to Anthony’s post Pub Talk: Poetry and Making a Difference. I’ve written this as a Kyrielle because I’m finding a like this form a lot. It has just enough repetition to suit me.

Monsoon of Mercy

Sin and shame deeply scorch my soul
Freedom from consequence my goal
But my choice left me dry, not whole
Healed by Your monsoon of mercy

She was the victim of my choice
Never will I hear her small voice
Yet in His arms she can rejoice
Healed by His monsoon of mercy

Now there is no condemnation
Only grace for Your creation
Regret remains a grave fixation
Healed by Your monsoon of mercy

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Slips Away

I’ve been thinking a lot about my sister Peggy lately, perhaps because her death is the subject of the first chapter of the book I’m working on. Yesterday the refrain for this Kyrielle came to me and then I finished the poem this morning.

Slips Away

Quiet descends on deep darkness
My soul housed in this jar of clay
Groans bitterly in God’s winepress
Her soul slips silently away

Regrets of wasted time oppress
Why did I wait another day
I am here now nevertheless
Her soul slips silently away

Over memories I obsess
Jesus come save her soul I pray
His peace descends on me to bless
Her soul slips silently away

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Let’s Have Lamb

Let’s Have Lamb

I was thinking
Why don’t we have lamb
instead of bread for communion?

Since Jesus was the Lamb
of God who was slain
shouldn’t lamb represent His body?

I’m not complaining, mind you
I don’t even like lamb
And everyone loves bread

But it just seems odd
and somewhat illogical

Then again, the whole thing
often strikes me as a bit illogical
That God would love us enough
to die for us

Perhaps at that Last Supper
God, because He is omniscient,
could foresee
what a hassle it would be
to serve lamb with our wine
in church each week

And so we get bread
regular or gluten-free

For the Poetics prompt at dVerse Poets Pub yesterday (continuing today), Kanzen asks us to write a poem about food.

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Afternoon Observations

Today I’m going to try my hand at a haibun. I read one that Bjorn wrote the other day, and he pointed me to the dVerse Poets Pub post about this poetry form that I missed last year. I’ve been wanting to try one ever since. My Poetry Dictionary says that this form can have more than one haiku as long as there is one at the end. Mine includes three haiku.

Afternoon Observations

The sun shone brightly on my back deck. Just me, my Kindle, a notebook, a green ink pen, and a bottle of water—thought I’d read a little 1st John, maybe write some poetry. A slight breeze wafts the scent of lavender from the garden. It’s peaceful. Then the backdoor opens and I’m joined by my son—and his cat. He’s been relegated to being an indoor cat because he once got himself stuck 40 feet in a fir tree, and didn’t learn his lesson. If I had my druthers, the cat would stay inside, but my son feels sorry for him and wants to let him roam the yard a bit, even if he must be supervised. And close supervision is essential.

Up, up, up he climbs
Stupid cat can’t help himself
Rescued just in time

My son isn’t quick enough to stop him. So he has to climb the tree—in Birkenstocks—after the cat, who won’t let go of the branch he’s clinging to. Finally, the cat is in hand and handed down to me. Back into the house they go. My peacefulness returns—the breeze blows gently, the sun beats down on my shoulders—but it doesn’t last.

Caw, caw, caw the crows
Expressing their discontent
Keep song birds away

I don’t know why they have to be so noisy. They woke me earlier this morning and now they’re disturbing my relaxing time on the deck. They make me feel a bit discontent myself. But at last they move on to another neighborhood to disturb the occupants of a different deck. Peacefulness returns again. I close my eyes and soak in the sound of songbirds tweeting and twittering. I love the warmth of the sun. I open my eyes and survey the many flowers we’ve planted—bright purple petunias, fragrant lavender, blue lobelia, salvia just beginning to bud, brilliant yellow snap dragons, perfectly pink carnations and zinnias.

Daisies, alyssum
White flowers of the garden
Bees drawn to color

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Have No Fear

So I’ve written two Kyrielles, Let Me Carry You with the rhyme scheme abaB cbcB dbdB, and An Odd Kyrielle with the rhyme scheme aaaR bbbR cccR. There is a third rhyme scheme option with the Kyrielle, and that is aabB ccbB ddbB. I just had to write one. I started with refrain and went from there.

The refrain is something I’ve been saying lately, as I’ve talked with people about the book I’m working on about living fearlessly. I’ve finally learned that as long as no one can take Jesus away from me, there is nothing truly to fear.

Have No Fear

Thieves and frauds may steal my money
Many days will not be sunny
Sometimes I’ll lose what I hold dear
They can’t take Jesus, I’ll not fear

Often times we will lose at love
Find hard times we can’t get rid of
Walk through fog that won’t ever clear
They can’t take Jesus, have no fear

This life abounds with death and pain
Into dark days will pour cold rain
Sometimes people will laugh and sneer
They can’t take Jesus, I’ll not fear

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Black and White Make Gray

The prompt at dVerse Poets Pub today is to write a poem about the colors black and white. Here’s what I came up with.

Black and White Make Gray

When we were young
everything was black and white
We saw the world as dark or light
Decisions were wrong or right

Now we are older
everything has blurred to gray
We are afraid to join the fray
Choosing to wait ’til another day

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An Odd Kyrielle

After writing my first Kyrielle yesterday, I apparently had Kyrielle rhyme schemes on the brain when I went to bed. Once the lights were out, the first stanza of one with the rhyme scheme in which the refrain does not rhyme started forming in my mind. When I had repeated to myself four or five times I realized it wasn’t going to let me sleep, so I flipped on the light and write it down in the notepad I keep on my nightstand. It’s kind of silly, but silly is good sometimes.

The handwritten version

The handwritten version

I wrote the next two stanzas mostly in the shower this morning. Then when I read it to my son, he wanted to know if the refrain had to end with purple. I said, “I picked purple because it is a word that doesn’t rhyme with anything.” He replied, “You could have used silver. Or orange.” So I decided to mix it up and alter the refrain to include all three of these non-rhyming colors.

An Odd Kyrielle

I think that I shall never see
A Kyrielle as odd as thee
With rhyming lines one, two, and three
And a fourth that ends in purple

I fear that I shall never write
A sonnet with the meter right
But can pen lines poetic, light
And a fourth that ends in silver

I love that I shall ever rhyme
I see with Thee and climb with chime
Ending three lines with words like time
And a fourth that ends in orange

 I’ve shared this for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub. I added the picture of the handwritten version because Bjorn is talking about pictures and poems together. This is the best I’ve got on that score.

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Let Me Carry You

The other day I was reading some entries in The Poetry Dictionary by John Drury. I know, that sounds pretty nerdy, but I love learning new poetry forms and trying them out. I found a new form called the Kyrielle. It is a “French four-line stanza form in which each line contains eight syllables and the fourth line is a refrain.” There are three different rhyme scheme options for this form. Eventually I want to try all three, but just have one to offer for today.

This particular Kyrielle is written for my fellow blogger Bryan Lowe at Broken Believers blog, which I sometimes contribute to. I’ve been posting there this week to help him out because he’s struggling with a severe bout of depression. I’ll be posting this at his blog later this week, too. If you think of it, please say a prayer for him. His ministry to the broken is important and he could use the extra prayers and encouragement to keep it going.

Let Me Carry You

You lie alone broken and weak
Unsure if you will make it through
Seeing a future dark and bleak
To Jesus let me carry you

Your daily troubles set in stone
Seem heavy with unchanging hue
And though you think you’re all alone
To Jesus I will carry you

You struggle to remember love
Ev’ry feeling painfully blue
I will bring God’s grace from above
To Jesus let me carry you

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Hummingbird

The prompt at dVerse Poets Pub today is offered by guest Patti Wolf. She’s asked us to step outside and capture a moment in nature, to write “microworld” poetry. Since I’ve been at work all day and it’s pouring rain, I stepped into my memory bank of sitting peacefully on my flower-filled back deck last week while on vacation. And as a bonus, I decided to try my first haiku.

Hummingbird

Darting bloom to bloom
Purple petunia nectar
Sip, sip, zip, he’s gone

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I Was a Seed

Brian Ens is running the show at dVerse Poets Pub today and is asking us to write a poem in any form. The catch? We have to explain why we chose the form that we did.

I decided to write a Rondeau. I selected this form because it is a bit irregular in that each stanza has a different number of lines, it includes an element of repetition (which I like to do anyway in my poetry), and the iambic tetrameter requirement fit the first line I wanted to write. This poem was inspired by a Facebook post of a Mexican proverb that says, “They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds.” This proverb reminded me of John 12:24.

I Was a Seed

You tried to bury me in shame
Obliterate my holy name
You didn’t know I was a seed
You buried me and I was freed
In my dark grave the Savior came

So now in Him new life I claim
Bold and strong I grow, not the same
You thought I was only a weed
You tried to bury me

As if emerging from the flame
Wholly knowing I’m not to blame
Glad because of your dirty deed
Content that I’m a sprouted seed
Thankful your actions did not maim
When you tried to bury me

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