Looking up

Skies darken fast
once November comes
glory streaks rose
gold and hot
but doesn’t linger
the plunge into winter
complete

Look up into black
watch the sky
shatter
drift down
a billion silver
sparkling bits

Snow covers
fault lines
cracks
the daily dirt
what was broken
makes all things new

He sends the snow like white wool; he scatters frost upon the ground like ashes
Psalm 147:16 NLT

Taking a moment away from fiction writing for National Novel Writing Month to dive back into a random act of poetry with the prompt look up.

 

No boasting here

I stroke a brush
against canvas
layers of colour
dripping heart
for all to see

I drop words
into lines
on papers and screens
stripping soul
for all to read

I sense pressure
from my own fingers
drumming my back
“well done”
as if I could lay claim
to creative ability

I cannot boast, now
as I look
upon the sunrise
His glory
And I, even I,
The work of His hands

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands  Psalm 19:1 NIV

Another fortune from Psalm 19 - submitted to T. S. Poetry

Ready to run...

L. L. Barkat writes here about a poetry seminar held last weekend at the writer's retreat at Laity Lodge.  Please click over to read her post and that will explain the following prompt for Random Acts of Poetry.

Make a bowl of fortunes to use as triggers. You can copy phrases from another poet’s work or perhaps from songs, to make your fortunes.

I decided I would use the verses from Psalm 19 and a random number generator.  The computer selected verse 5:

It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, like a champion rejoicing to run his course. Psalm 19:5 NIV

Here is what it triggered:

Impatient at the gate
many times
having trod this course
victory predicted
assured, yet delayed

The bride
broken, bruised
scrubbing stains
endlessly
impatient at the gate

Not time, not time
rejoicing waits

Linking to T. S. Poetry Press Facebook page

Wordle-ing poetry



Click on image to enlarge

T. S. Poetry Press is playing with wordles, a fun and creative tool at wordle.net and they have extended a challenge to create a wordle using poetry.
I have selected the words from all of the poems I have linked to One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry.

Come on over and join the fun at the Facebook page for T. S. Poetry Press

A ton of bricks



Loading handmade bricks



Building a family house at Bbira, Watoto Childcare Ministries, Kampala, Uganda

Breathing in heat,
hours sweating
reflected bright.
Catch, pass, repeat
fingers cramp, stiffen
or go numb
arms ache
as if they have
carried the world.
Laughter and grunts
blend, harmonious song.
Sudden struck 
"We are really here"
following the will and
call of God.
All of us
receive the blow
two thousand pounds
of sun baked clay
as red dust
coats each heart.


submitted for the next Random Acts of Poetry at High Calling Blogs
where we are reviving dead metaphors.

Mom's china

Floral on ivory
crafted in Bohemia
edged in gold
plates, salad dishes
cups and saucers
serving platters
bowls large for soup
small for fruit
stashed unused for years
on shelves
in my mother's kitchen
cherished because
they belonged
to her mother
before her
these find a way
to my table
to honour both
where hearts gather
to find their joy
in the love and provision
of the Lord
here, where I feel
almost as fragile
as the fine china
moving my past
into my future.

for Random Acts of Poetry - Mother's Day

Memories of redemption

David Wheeler posted the following Random Acts of Poetry challenge:

This week, I dare you to write a poem about Noel Ghosts. There's an old tradition of telling ghost stories on Christmas Eve. Charles Dickens is perhaps most famous for his: A Christmas Carol. Be they spirits of Christmases past, present, yet to come, or altogether fantasy, I love a good ghost story.

My thoughts wandered back a short eleven years ago to my first Christmas with Christ in my life. As I stood in a church or Christmas Eve singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing (peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled) I knew that I had been both redeemed and forever changed.

Who was and Is and Is to come
Who waited patiently
through tinsel, glitter
and lights
escalators jammed
with those sweating warm
in winter wools
ascending to
the higher floors
to secure the choicest gifts
and finding more
of nothing.

Who Was and Is and Is to come
Who wrapped a gift
for me, not hidden
yet left unseen
year after year after
meaningless year.

Who Was and Is and Is to come
Who never stopped
knocking
until I was seeking
and finally asking
to find my centre
not in the tinsel, glitter
and lights
but in His love
unwrapped
revealed and received.

Another time, another tree
where sweetly drops
the blood
of reconciliation.
Who Was and Is and Is to come
born to live
and die
for me.

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, says the Lord God, He Who is and Who was and Who is to come, the Almighty (the Ruler of all) Revelation 1:8 Amplified

I am also submitting this as my Wednesday One Shot at One Stop Poetry

His call remains the same

L. L. Barkat asked us to write a catalog poem for Random Acts of Poetry. I rarely work for rhymes, but when the Lord provides them I can't refuse.

The Lord is calling His people with a call as true and genuine as He Is, Was and ever will Be.

For Jesus doesn't change—yesterday, today, tomorrow, he's always totally himself. Hebrews 13:8 The Message

He calls to me, He calls to you
beloved come away.
He calls to you, He calls to me
to drop our nets, follow.
He calls to me, He calls to you
let Me untangle every snare.
He calls to you, He calls to me
let this be the day.
He calls to me, He calls to you
in truth there is release.
He calls to you, He calls to me
to walk His narrow way.
He calls to you, He calls to me
find comfort, joy and peace.

His call to all
with ears to hear
clear, simple yet profound
repentant hearts will find Him
if they would but turn around.

Stop by The High Calling Blogs to read what other writers are sharing as Random Acts of Poetry

Random Acts of Poetry - Where do you come from?

Glynn Young is hosting the next Random Acts of Poetry at The High Calling Blogs. This is what Glynn posted as a prompt:

"Select a poem you first read in high school or college that had an impact on you, that you remember or that you enjoyed, and write a poem about it."

I don't recall which teacher had us reading Robert Frost. I do know that we had to memorize and recite Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening, and I think I could recall it still, word for word, but I was somehow more drawn to his poem The Road Not Taken:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Here is my attempt to honour Mr. Frost and also tell a tale of my own:

I chose the road less traveled
not a mark left
by father, mother, brother
nor any blood relation
any footprints I could follow
faded down a path I could not choose

Days, months, years passed
and in motion yet I stood
the past a maze of pain
the future unimagined
holding no expectations
as insurance against disappointment

Not at an accidental crossroad
did I stand, but of divine design
all the haze of gray
polarized to black and white
a choice would be made
indifference cast aside

I chose the narrowest of roads
and knew there was no turning back
from darkness chosen
into fresh life born, redeemed
I listened to my Maker’s call
and that indeed made all the difference.

Spoonful of summer

Stopping briefly

to soak in sun

summer trust runs high

The touch

weightless, still

a moment gone

silently as it came

The kiss of the Spirit

received, cherished

captured

This poem was written in reponse to L. L. Barkat's Random Acts of Poetry prompt A Tablespoon of Summer at The High Calling Blogs.