A place for poems and pics
my peace is not your peace
for my struggle is not yours
what vexes me you dismiss
with ease and your anxieties
bring me no anguish
your prayers are not my prayers
our snares are not the same
but our needs are not so different
a safe home
food and clean water
a feeling of usefulness
respect
surely then, peace will find us
—
over at dVerse Bjorn has us thinking about peace
I’ll link at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com too
(photo by Mary Kling)
I choose one paper angel from the giving tree. On the back is a sticker with the name of a child who needed presents for Christmas – Logan, 4 years old. I glanced at the list of items Logan needed or wanted, sweatshirt, sweatpants, shoes, bathtub toys, and a boat.
I set out to shop thinking it would be easy to find everything on that short wish list. I was right, except for one thing, the boat. I went from store to store hoping to find a boat for a four year-old boy. No luck! But I will continue the search. A child deserves to have his Christmas wish granted.
wish granted
sailing a toy boat
child’s delight
—–
Haibun Monday at dVerse
your words smelled like roses but
they left a taste of vinegar in my mouth
truth does not come easily to you
your words looked soft and fluffy but
i felt pricks on my skin from the thorns
compassion does not come easily to you
you colored your words with peaceful
green but underneath was the red of rage
love does not come easily to you
my words stretched out to cover you
in a quilt of tender blue so you
would feel the color of peace
—
the prompt today over at the pub is “synesthesia”
Thanks to Victoria Soto for this one
I used to think luxury
was long bubble baths
with candles and music
but after children I know
that luxury is a two hour
nap time
I used to think luxury
was champagne and caviar
but after children I know
that luxury is no spilled milk
at dinner
I used to think luxury
was an elegant silk suit
but after children I know
that luxury is khaki pants
without stains
I used to think luxury
was a stroll in the moonlight
but after children I know
that luxury is shoes without mud
after a walk
I used to think luxury
was the peacefulness of silence
but after children I know
that luxury is the joyfulness of
children giggling
the mourning moon
reminds me to let go
to start anew
pack up the useless
have a garage sale
maybe someone else
can take my irrational
fear of failure and fold
it into origami cranes
——
Tonight there is a full moon, the last full moon before the winter solstice.It is sometimes called the Mourning Moon- a reminder to let go of unnecessary possessions, emotions, attachments
——-
memories fall from her
family tree scattered
by a cruel wind
she tries to catch them
with outstretched
arms, to rake them into
a pile so she can jump in
to scoop them into a basket
and save them to fertilize
her failing brain
they tease her, swirling
around like smoke then
flying away beyond her grasp
she picks up the ones that
fall at her feet but they are
dry and crumbly dissolving
into dust in her frail fingers
feeling jam(b)- led
in my jam –
mies waiting for
the sun to rise
& shine on (harvest
moon)
hum(ming) tunies in
my bed(head) till the tick-
tock sings a-
long song and my toot-
toot, tootsies hit the floor
——
ok, for some reason I felt compelled to try another enjambment
i’ll try a little em-
jam(b)-ment with my toast
and tea(se)
may-
be (my)honey stir-
red cuppa to start
my morning rit(u)al-
ways make me
s m i l e
——
Whew! De Jackson challenged us to try emjam(b)min’ with her over at the Pub. I was de-termined to give it a try
I sit at the edge of this field in the shadow of a church steeple. The voices of the faithful flow from open windows and I can imagine each head bowed in humble supplication. Their knees bent adoringly as dim candle light flickers from brass sconces.
I raise my face to the sun and with a choir of sparrows worship in the light of creation.
under the bright sun
all of creation sings praise
voices joined in glee
———
Today is Haibun Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub
there is no end to this blank road
no rest-stopping on the map
it’s a trap
slows me down, find a noun
to fill up the gap
sing, jog, dance, prance, love in ink
push words to the brink
——
Today at d’Verse Poets Pub we’re listening to some cool jazz.
Thanks to Bjorn for this Open Link Night
I decided to try another Melancholia
