Poetic Revisions Of A Familiar Verse

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Poetic Revisions Of A Familiar Verse

Forgive me
It is perfect as it is
But in this fallen, sinful world
And at the heart of this fallen, sinful girl
And at this broken, busted moment in a
Broken busted world
As
We cry out for a collective
Mercy
And lament
While we suddenly identify more and more
With poor old Job
And snark was never my thing
Really but
Sometimes lamenting
Can take you down that path

There is a season for sadness
Weeping and wailing
Wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth

Burying one’s head in the sand
Has its season too

There is a season for turning from the news
It is all so terribly sad
And one for mowing through
Kleenex by the fistful
And burying one’s head in the pile of pillows
While hiding in four hundred thread count sheets
Poster child for First World Problems
At first glance

Oh but and and and however there is also
A time for new birth and  hope
A time for hummingbirds to dance
And songbirds to sing 
And old gardeners to get out
And scratch in the dirt
Lingering in the sunshine while there is still
A sun to shine

There is a time to sit and breathe and count
The mushrooms sprouting wildly on the hill

A time to notice dark green moss
Reaching out to hold your hand
Their tiny fingers seem to reach and wave
And call you to slow down

There is a time to hold on to what is past
And a time for sweet release 
In love
To let it go, loosely

There is a time to say Im sorry and a time
To say
I meant to say
I am really really sorry
Forgive me for my pride

There is a time to say you silly goose
A time to laugh and play
To sit with piles of children’s book
With a child  at heart
Two women who have long turned grey
Slowly savoring each page

There is a time to scatter grace and a time
To count your gifts

There is a time to grieve and say
Life seems so very fragile
Especially today
Oh most especially today

There is a time to call a friend
And talk for hours upon hours on end

To bite your tongue, to hold that thought
To let it go, to take a bite of every piece of
Spirit fruit, especially long-suffering

There is a time to read old words
Savor them once again
To pull out pictures of the family
And tell the old familiar stories
Re-visit your childhood, yet again

To trust and hope, to extend grace
That’s been said before
A time to dance and to rejoice
To whirl and twirl, make sure your music’s
Turned up very very loud

There is always time for poetry
For poets to play with words
To make up random lines
And there’s always time for prose

There’s time for resignation and a time to
Begin anew
A time for patience and a time for even more patience
And a time for ….
Well you see where I am going with the patience thing
I’m preaching to myself
Not at you

There is a time for humor
For belly laughter and tears
To live as a child again
To look past life’s pain
And old worries, anxieties and fear

Rejoice with me in what is good and holy
Celebrate the beauty risen from the ash

And in the end
Settle in each season
Not wishing it to pass.

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Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee

 

Joining Laura for Playdates

Remaining In The Shallow Water

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Remaining In The Shallow Water

We push off
With both feet
Hot like two fiery embers
Smokin’ hot
From the splintered dock
Equipped wtih
Everything we’d need
Vienna Sausages
Lance Crackers
And Diet Coke
Iced down in the Coleman
Beside the beer
Along with plenty of desire
And hope
That this would be the day
We’d fight
He’d flail
Then lose
And we’d prevail
Conquerors of salty brackish seas
My love
And me
Dreamers
Dreaming of elusive trophies in our nets

And
At the end of day
Fatigued and wearied travelers
We
Arrive home now
All canned potables gone
Under a canopy of every shade of
Pinks and oranges
We’ve nothing
But a panoramic view
Of summer’s 
Sluggish setting sun

But hope 
And 
Yet
Now
We realize
That the one that got away

Would have sunk us
Capsized our little ship
And we
With wild desires and dreams
Seem glutenous
As we Monday morning
Quaterback
A bit

Now that we arrive
Back home
Tie up and wobble weary
Down the sun-bleached dock
We discover
From surveying our
Wet and empty nets

We are happier 
Having bagged
No treasures
Nothing bleeds
From the bent end of
Rod or reel and rusty hook

No noticeable triumph
With scales or gills
No victory
From our time 
Away at sea

Simply, home now
Empty handed

The treasure was
The journey

In our small
Blue-green wooden
Boat
Out on the great big salty
Sea
My man and me
Settling for nothing
Conquerors, we won the battle

We bagged 
Simplicity

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Joining my friends at Tweetspeak Poetry for their poetry prompt: The One That Got Away

The Other Half Of The Glass, The One That Is Half Full

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I watched the frenzied Monarchs
Flying, flitting hurriedly
From behind my steering wheel

And later on my porch
And in between
The
Somewhere-in-between

As if they were
Wait, how strange
Following after me

Pursuers of one
In dire need
Of learning
And settling

One very old
Debate

And it seemed
That either
They were flying
Fleeing
From the pain
And darkness
Going at full throttled speed

Or racing
Headlong
Toward the joy
Starving to ingest
Grace

Afraid it might
Evaporate

And leave them craving
Joy’s intoxicating
Taste

As if in a state of panic
An alcoholic in need of
Drink
Bouncing between every
Shade of
Lavender
And blues
From there
Hop-scotching toward
Sweet marigold 
And sunburst
Summer colors, blended and
Reconstituted
Attracting them
Like their cousins moths
Flying toward a flame

Heading full-speed
Toward another hillside
Filled with
Blinding
Brilliant
Color

To him the glass
Is more than full
It is abundant, overflowing
And he
The Monarch
Is rejoicing in the banquet
His epic summer feast

And I thank him for the lesson learned
As though he could really
Hear
My whispers of humble gratitude

And as he flies away
He leaves me alone to dream
By both brilliant day and inky night

To the sound of a sad
Lonesome
Whistle, from a passing train
Whose tune sounds
Like one written by Willie Nelson
Or Johnny Cash
Or another deep thinker singer
Who tries to say
No, Oh No
It wasn’t full, your glass
No not at all
After all

I go with joy
I go with gladness
I go with gratitude

And go in peace
Gripping my half full glass

For the one who tipped the vote
And settled this
For once and all
Finally
Was a pair of hummingbids
Dancing a pas de deux

Whose nectar dripped from
Fullness
With sweet gladness
As though

Mirroring
My joy

Overflowing, sweetly
Overflowing

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Joining Laura Boggess

A Prayer For My Friends Who Went There

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A Prayer For My Friends Who Went There

May every fiber of your body, soul and spirit listen with all that you have and all that you are.

May you seek the smallest of those who are hurt, with the eyes of your heart. With clarity and tenderness of spirit.

Stand gentle strong, stand gentle brave, in Christ alone. In Christ alone.

Reach close and far, wide and deep, narrow and to every point circling the place where you stand, in love.

Know that you are loved by the Saints not there. Hear our prayers, know our prayers, ingest the words of those who stayed behind. In love. With love.

Drink from The Well, often, drawing moment by moment on strength that comes from Christ. Oh Holy Spirit bless, oh Holy Spirit strengthen. Oh Holy Spirit, heal.

Don’t drown in worry or fear about your husbands, and children and wives who remained at home. Lord, protect. Lord, cover, Lord bless the families of this group.

Speak with wisdom, discernment and love. But listen more. And listen hard. God have mercy. God give grace. God give extra measures of wise words and discerning hearts.

And when it is time and leave, and pain remains. Cover , Lord God, the people who have come to serve You, let them leave in the knowledge that You will continue to do a good work here.

And when it is time to say goodbye to new friends. And relationships have been birthed  among the hurting, carry this group home safely and give them the knowledge that You will bless the work of their hands, their hearts, their lips.

Lord we ask travel mercies. Lord we ask your presence. Lord we ask what we can say and do.

As we continue to pray in humility and with hope…..Amen.

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This prayer was penned in love for my friends who traveled to Ferguson. To help, to listen, to listen some more, to hear, to love, and to seek. Praying for you my precious friends. And for everyone there who is hurting, angry, or confused. My smallness feels particularly small right now. But I am offering what I have. e