Tag Archives: Poetry

I’m Not Ready — Dual Dodoitsu

My first dodoitsu, a Japanese poetry form new to me that I learned earlier this week from Kanzen Sakura. I’m sharing it today for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night #154.

I’m Not Ready

I am not ready
for autumn at all, pumpkin
spice everywhere, and rainfall
I guess at least there is soup

And here’s my second, because as I wrote the first sort of humorous one, a more serious poem came to mind as I thought of the memorial service I’ll be attending this afternoon for the wife of my old boss. I’m sure he was not ready for her to go.

I’m Not Ready

I am not ready
for her to be gone from me
but I know she was at peace
ready to fly away home

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I Am a Reluctant Watchman

The Poetics prompt at dVerse Poets Pub today is offered by guest bartender Lynn. She is asking us to write about what the watchman sees. I decided to take my first line from the Isaiah verse she quoted, with a slight modification. This prompt was actually perfect for me this week as I’ve been writing more (in prose/essay form) about my personal experience with abortion. I’ve felt a little like the watchman, though a reluctant one.

I Am a Reluctant Watchman

Go set a watchman; let her announce what she’s seen
Declares the Lord our God
It’s not about me, knows the watchman, but where I’ve been

I don’t want to play watchman in our world today
I tell the Lord my God
It’s not about you, He replies, you must go this way

And so I speak the atrocities I’ve both seen and done
Trusting the Lord my God
Then I share the compassion of Jesus the Son

Murder I see and murder I’ve perpetrated
Grieving the Lord our God
For our own convenience children are daily terminated

Lies I was told and deception reigns supreme
Angering the Lord our God
I wish I could say this is only a horrible dream

But He’s set me a watchman to announce what I’ve seen
Glorifying the Lord my God
With the truth I learned when I was just seventeen

Choices made out of fear can never be undone
Whispers the Lord my God
But they can be forgiven by the grace Christ has won

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My Thoughts on the Seasons

Over at dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar, Bjorn is calling for poetry that uses modifiers—adjectives and adverbs. I’ve been seeing a lot of posts on Facebook lately by people who love fall and can’t wait for it to come. Personally, I could skip fall and winter altogether. I’ve even joked before that I need to live in Australia for six months of the year, the six when it is spring and summer there, then I’d never have to see another fall or winter. So here is my well-modified poem on the subject.

My Thoughts on the Seasons

Some tout the incredible beauty of fall
Striking oranges and vibrant reds
But I don’t want to hear it at all
I’d rather it stay summer instead

I know fall is pretty when the leaves turn
And pears and apples are ripe on the tree
I know we could use rain as arid lands burn
But frigid winter follows fall, don’t you see

And I truly hate bitter winter cold
Even here in the mild Pacific Northwest
In my fight against winter I will be quite bold
Ardently proclaiming spring to be best

Why this strong hatred of winter you ask
What’s wrong with changing seasons and snow
It’s not just that in the warm sun I need bask
But dark memories the cold brings that cause woe

If I never saw fall colors again in my life
That would be simply and sweetly divine
Then I could live with peace and not strife
Living where the bright sun always shines

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Bette, My Sweet Pea

Today is National Dog Day and so I decided to write a poem about a dog I once had. I could have written a poem about my current dog, but I’ve already written several about him, such has this one and this one. But I don’t think I’ve ever written about Bette, the cocker spaniel I had for 18 years.

Bette, My Sweet Pea

Bette was the cutest little sweet pea
a friendly and curious puppy
but life started out a little rough for her
when she lost an eye due to curiosity

Being a one-eye dog didn’t slow her down
though it did cause her to run into the bottom step
if she was running at a good clip
to get into the house ahead of Bogart

She wasn’t much for fetch, would never bring the ball back
but she did love a good game of tug-o-war
and hiding the tennis ball from Bo
and swimming in the lake or wading in a stream

She lived eighteen long years
that were far too short as far as I’m concerned
and I miss her reddish blond mug and floppy ears,
I miss her cute wagging stub of a tail each and every day

I remember the day I knew without a doubt
she couldn’t go one more step, one more day
She’d been missing Bo for quite some time
and that stupid new kitten Tom made her life a struggle

The pain in her face, in her whine
was more than I could take that day
so I did what had to be done
impossible though it was to imagine life without her

The vet was so understanding and gentle
and the change in her countenance from agony
to complete peace and rest
made the impossible almost tolerable

Afterwards I asked God why
Why didn’t He just take her in her sleep
so I wouldn’t have to make the decision to let her go
“Because then she would have been alone,” He said to my aching heart

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Don’t Fret

One day I had a little fret
A worry wanna-be
Its goal in life to become fear
And to discourage me

Until I took it to my God
And laid it at His feet
In my prayer I asked for peace
Release from fret’s deceit

I thanked God for His answer then
Knowing He is faithful
I saw fret flee away from me
And my day was peaceful

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Camping

Listen closely and you will hear
Conversations about anything
Family and friends who are dear
In the circle of chairs camping

Never a dearth of food to eat
“We brought skillet; what did you bring?”
Chips and hot dogs, salad and sweets
To the circle of chairs camping

Smoke is wafting, upwind I sit
Blazing hot in the fire ring
Crackling logs perfectly split
In the circle of chairs camping

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It Was Never the Same

At dVerse Poets Pub today Gabriella is asking for poems about the first day of school. I was going to write about one of my son’s first days of school, though we are now really out of the “first day of school” mode as he’d attending art school year around. But since I’m feeling a little melancholy today with some challenging posts to write swirling in my head, I decided to write about a pivotal first day of school for me. I tried to write in the Trimeric form that I learned about at Mary’s blog.

It Was Never the Same

New state, new town, new school, in the 8th grade
I’d been perfectly contented in the old school
Welcomed by the girls in the back of the room
Life was never the same after that first day

I’d been perfectly contented in the old school
It’s where my best friends, my church friends went
And we had our whole wonderful, joyful lives ahead of us

Welcomed by the girls in the back of the room
They became best friends, but not church friends
More like party friends, what-trouble-can-we-find friends

Life was never the same after that first day
It might have looked like a wonderful life on the outside
But it was a long time before I found wonder and joy again

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Echoes of Grace

The prompt at dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar yesterday was to write Echo Verse. Most of the examples of the traditional form included the word “echo” before the echoing second line of each stanza, but an option without the word “echo” was offered and I like it better. So here’s my offering for the day.

Echoes of Grace

I desire to pen words that are right

Write

But that won’t lead to my disgrace

Grace

I don’t want to write of You what is untrue

True

I long to feel Your loving embrace

Race

Running, praying, ’til I get to You

You

Learning how to offer Your sweet grace

Grace

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Poetry Is . . .

I have to give credit for the first line of each stanza of this short poem to a friend I was talking to at a conference I’m attending this week. We were talking about poetry and other funny things—like the fact that mushrooms aren’t vegetables and neither are tomatoes—and his two statements got me thinking about what poetry is. I told him I was going to write a whole poem, post it on my blog, then link to his website (which has nothing to do with poetry, vegetables, or turkey). So here’s his site: Net for Lawyers. (He’s the one with the beard in the picture on the home page.)

Poetry Is . . .

Poetry is a vegetable
Essential for a balanced literary diet
But something many people avoid like the plague
It should make up at least a third of the reading plate
Yet we’d rather just take a bite or two, if that

Poetry is turkey
A healthy and delicious source of literary protein
But we relegate it to Thanksgiving and Christmas
Indulge instead on Internet news sites or trashy fiction
When we should be eating it more often instead

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Broken

Youth and innocence lost
Broken on the inside
Ever to pay the cost
For another’s misdeed

Grace and forgiveness found
Restored and unbroken
Praise – a beautiful sound
A sacrifice given

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