I should have seen it coming
this sense of feeling blue
Delving into trials of the past
to write a memoir that’s true
I’m doubtful that this venture
is worth the time and pain
Will I survive this process
where no secrets will remain
Or will there be some truths
odd feelings buried deep
that I’ll find I cannot share
but to myself I’ll keep
It’s easy to write stories
of cerulean skies above
What I want to convey at last
is God’s gracious love
The writing is not easy
for it has been said
Where no tears in the writer
the prose is surely dead
The Poetics prompt at dVerse Poets Pub today is to write about something blue. I didn’t really have time today, but this poem kept nagging at me, so here it is. I hope to get back to dVerse later to do some reading. Do pop over and see what other poems of the great blue you will find.
In this wasteland
of trials and tribulation
pain and suffering
illness and loss
my soul longs for solace
for Your refreshing waters
but there is only drought
My soul is parched
cracking at its brittle seams
thirsting for Your well of grace
And yet I realize
the well is there for the drawing
it is I who have failed
to lower my bucket
and drink deeply
Yesterday at dVerse Poets Pub, Walter called for poems about either drought or deluge. I chose drought.
He sent six roses
As if roses made it okay
As if roses washed away
As if roses proved mom’s belief
he was one of the good ones
As if roses, his cute smile,
and his silky blonde hair
justified his actions
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets Pub today and I cheated again. I checked out Bjorn’s blog and found the required word is “rose.”
Life is a series of choices
Some seem insignificant
but have life-changing impact
Others we agonize over
but are insignificant
in the grand scheme of things
appear to be the only option
We can’t see the consequences to come
or alternatives before us
I’ve spent many long hours
pondering the” what ifs” of choices
that turned out bad.
If only I hadn’t…
then maybe everything would be better.
there is but one choice that truly matters
It is a choice we all face
Do I trust God or do I go it alone?
All is not rainbows and roses
if one chooses to trust
Hardship and regret don’t instantly
Life is still a series of choices
including the choice
to trust God with my mistakes
Including the choice
to share my story
my series of choices
with the world
in the hopes of encouraging another
She drove away from the pizza place
joyful in the knowledge that she had been set free.
No dark cloud appeared.
She realized she was humming along,
tapping her foot to the beat.
As she waited for her pizza to go,
Bad Company played on the radio.
One day, she stopped to get a pizza
on her way home from work.
She felt a weight lifted and joy return.
When she awoke, she knelt and prayed
for the strength to forgive.
One night she dreamed of forgiveness
and knew it was a message from God.
She pondered taking her own life
because she thought she was forever broken.
She spent years in darkness and anger.
She was never the same; whenever she heard Bad Company
a dark cloud would descend upon her.
Afterwards, he drove her home
and left her broken upon her doorstep.
Bad Company played on the radio.
He assaulted her in the front seat of his Lincoln.
He asked if she wanted to go to a party
and she said yes because he seemed nice.
The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a story in reverse. I couldn’t help but turn each line of this semi-autobiographical story into a verse.
If all you knew of me was my poetry then what would you see?
If we had never met would my words alone let you understand my regret?
And would that be all you’d see, would I seem to you sad and small behind my word wall?
Do I reveal my joy in the verse that I employ or do you find my words simply annoy?
If you knew me in the flesh and personally would you be surprised by my poetry?
My word wall and pen keep you out or let you in depending on the mood I’m in.
Yet always there’s my God, intertwined, some think it odd, without Him I’m a fraud.
But there’s so much more to me that I’ll never let you see despite your solemn plea.
Decided to write a second poem for today, perhaps because I’m a little sad that NaPoWriMo2016 is coming to an end soon. This is my take on long-line poetry.
My road began bright and cheery
Birds sang sweet, lovely flowers bloomed
It would always be I assumed
Then it became dark and dreary
With each step I grew more weary
When I tried to walk all alone
Plagued by despair of being known
Oh grace, you called me back to you
Once again the skies are deep blue
Seeds of hope and forgiveness sown
Today’s poem is a décima for dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar today. (I cheated and went to Bjorn’s blog to see what the prompt was going to be before it is live at dVerse in my time zone). I’ll be linking at dVerse at noon PST. Head over there this afternoon to see what other décimas the pub folks have to offer.
This is also my Day 21 post for NaPoWriMo.
My story is not unique
but it’s uniquely mine
My experience is universal
yet my own
People say, “me, too!”
But how can they know
They weren’t there
My pain is not theirs
What others have been through
mirrors my ordeals
with a twist
For the Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets Pub today Grace wants us to use the word “twist” in a quadrille of exactly 44 words, no more, no less. I wrote all but the last stanza of this last night with the hopes I could work in the given word and make it a quadrille. Head on over the dVerse and check out some of the other twisted quadrilles the pub patrons have to offer today.
Filed under Faith, Life, Poetry
Yesterday, Toni at Kanzen Sakura commented thanking me for writing two haibuns. I replied that I’d only written one. Apparently that’s because the second one was still in the works. So I’m posting this second haibun now for Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub.
Working on my memoir, giving in to the compulsion to communicate my story to whoever might need to read it, I decided I would have more success in actually getting the words on the page if I hand wrote. There is something about typing that makes me feel like it has to be perfect the first time, but handwriting builds in an automatic rewrite when I later type it up. So I rummage through my cloth basket of blank journals for just the right one. [This takes some time because there are probably 20 or more journals in that basket, evidence of another compulsion]. I find a 150-page spiral bound notebook with only 10 pages used up and decide that’s perfect. I peruse what’s been written and come across these words, written 18 ½ years ago:
It takes courage to write. Courage is not the same as fearlessness. Rather, courage is writing in spite of fear.
Just been reading “The Courage to Write” by Ralph Keyes. It got me thinking about writing a book about the effect being raped at the age of 14, while still a virgin, had on my life—the teen years, college, marriage, sex, life, thoughts, depression [although genetics had something to do with this as well].
I must be crazy. I can’t write such a book. Or rather I can, in that I’m sure I have enough material and could actually write it, but would I ever be willing to let anyone read it?
Crazy indeed. Yet here I am, almost two decades later, still compelled to write that book. Only now the story is complete. There is more than just the pain and suffering of trauma to tell; there is also the story of healing and redemption. Now there is courage.
Hidden on journal pages
Die and are reborn
My façade hides
pain in my body,
in my heart, in my soul
I smile broadly,
laugh out loud,
resort to sarcastic wit
. . . but sometimes I cry
The Meeting the Bar prompt at dVerse Poets Pub yesterday was to write a Sevenling. Since I wanted to write a Tritina yesterday I decided to save this Sevenling for today’s daily NaPoWriMo post.