horizons dreaming

My friends at tweetspeak poetry put forth a prompt, a challenge, and I bit

"Form It is a prompt that focuses on exploring our topic through form poetry. 

This time, we’re going to “form” horizons"

I chose the acrostic form, feeling it ran contrary to the horizon

 I was thinking of a cold climate phenomenon called sun dogs 

vertical rainbow lines formed in frozen skies

halfway across the world

outside the realm of normal

rising vertical

inspiring awe, breath caught

zipper up and down the sky

opportunity to change your point of view

never fear the sea change

singing something new is on the way

then I thought I'd dare another

double acrostic

horizons dreaming

hardened against the wind

open nature’s door

rising vertical line

inspired but without camera

zealous to form

opinions of the Creator, I

need to welcome in

secrets beyond sharing

check out more at tweetspeak poetry

sea waves

The friendly and challenging people at tweetspeak poetry 

decided that National Poetry Month would be a great time for dare.  

In response, since I find it almost impossible to refuse a challenge, 

I am reading a poem a day by Jack Mapanje, a poet from Malawi.  

Not only will this expose me to new work, 

but will help keep my mind focused on Malawi 

as Rick and I continue to plan, pray and prepare.

today's poem is:

After Celebrating our Asylum Stories at 

West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds

by Jack Mapanje

So, define her separately,

She is not just another 

Castaway washed up your

Rough seas like driftwood,

It’s the nameless battles

Your sages burdened on her

People that broke her back;

Define him differently,

He is not another squirrel

Ousted from your poplars,

It’s the endless cyclones,

Earthquakes, volcanoes,

Floods, mud and dust that

Drafted him here; define

Them warmly, how could

Your economic émigré queue

At your job centres day after

Day? If you must define us

Gently, how do you hope

To see the tales we bear

When you refuse to hear

The whispers we share?

I read this soft, silently

then loud to the empty room

I copied it out on paper, crisp

white, blue lined

and then I allowed my own words to come

separately, differently

warmly, gently

if you hope to

know me

strip away labels

open your eyes

ears, heart

I am not like any other

trials like sea waves

have worn me

rough here, smooth

there, still drifting

if you ask

I may share

whispers left of me

when the storm calms

also walking in community with Emily and the broken redeemed

 

lace and glory

this season of

the shortest days

the velvet dark deeper 

than memory 

recalls

a hole that pulls you in

fingers harsh, cold

muffled but not

silent

don't linger long

for there are gifts barely 

hidden

how He scatters snow 

like lace, the thick

and thin

creating space

for glory revealed

without apology

prompted by tweetspeak poetry

and hanging out at the pub
 

broken promise

the label screamed

bold colours shining

all you need

and more

popping the top

ready for fizz

sparkle, what was

promised

I lifted the can

thirsty lips parted

head tilted just 

enough to receive

the quenching

all you need and more

the promise, broken 

as dry sand poured

taking breath 

leaving only

less

responding to the tweetspeak Poetry bottled and canned prompt surprise

and back at the bar tonight, hanging with the poets


  

saxy songs

I never knew the way

to Baker Street or

San Jose or any of those 

too hip to show your hand

hang outs

captured by the wail

down paths wide 

and slow

or up narrow, fast 

calling me home and

pulling me back

to dark streets

alleys, drawn

with magnet force

to the wild side

sax cries hot sweat, 

passion drips

into veins throbbing to

live here now

hanging out with the poets today

also adding to the poetic strains of rock and roll at tweetspeak poetry

 

Traffic in July

It is Rock and Roll month at Tweetspeak Poetry.

The prompt last week was Blue Suede Shoes

"Pick a shoe and put it in a poem, with a little music on the side. 

Black heels. Brown loafers. Red sneakers. 

Okay, or those blue suede shoes. Rock us."

This is what poured forth:

Traffic in July

steam of summer

sizzled on concrete

sun kissed skin

sweat slicked hair

music throbbing

through open windows

bare feet tapping

rock jazz fusion

low spark of high

heeled boys

never too hot

to be cool

Go ahead and have a listen, the strains transport me back to the early 1970's, in a good way!

light cracks indigo

branches strain thin

as light cracks indigo

chasing away the night

with life's promise

joining the mood indigo with the Tweetspeak poets

and linking up at the pub

 

Working at home

for now

my work is here

within the walls

of a country bungalow

there is meter

rhythm and rhyme

in the folding of a towel

the stirring of thick purées

music born 

in the drip, drip, drip

of fresh coffee

dance of cinnamon

finding release

in the rising of sweet bread

there are those 

who work 

to make their house a home

while here

I am busy

crafting from house a poem

Joining with many at Tweetspeak Poetry celebrating poetry at work day

 

Java and Jesus

wet warm

steam rises

pour it strong

milk's thin swirl

melting to caramel

lips meet hot

tongue greets bitter

each morning

here at the window

first light

cracks the sky

sipping silent

my heart opens

as we meet

The January theme at Tweetspeak Poetry's Every Day Poems is Coffee & Tea

 

What erasing leaves behind...

At just the perfect time, when I needed to lighten up, my dear Snady a.k.a. Sandra Heska King posted about a site called Erasures after Kimberlee Conway Ireton pointed the way at Tweetspeak Poetry. 

Instaed of me trying to tell you about it, please click on the links above where others have already done a great job of explaining this novel form of poetry play.

I spent a bit of time this morning erasing and saving.  I was surprisingly pleased with this result:

Fair is
sometimes amusing
one talks intellectual

Poor correspondent
she is throwing different
toward Mecca

Focus of light
nonsense talked in thy name
in her way, strange

Travelling all over alone
she looks at everything
with clear eyes wide open
the edge, abysses

Pushing through
knowing suspicions
holding her course, fearless

In the right point of view
is something rather
striking

I will surely return to Erasures to play again.  Why don't you meet me there?
 

Too serious to be serious

Writing is an art
and a craft
a gift
and a responsibility
When I surrender
I am a pen in His hands

We have work to do
says my Lord
There are words to be shared
my God insists

Yes, it is work
that He calls me to
but often I believe what He wants
is for me to take all the words
toss them up in the air
and mark where they land
keeping my hands off
allowing Him to play

This is too serious to be serious
Holy Spirit whispers

Joining Lyla today as we continue to discuss L. L. Barkat's
Rumors of Water at Tweetspeak Poetry



 

Unique spice

Years of sorrow, yes

moments of pure joy

laughter light and shivering

silver chimes adrift

water rushing over jagged rock

all these has He given me

in a voice at once His and mine

Words are a gift
I've snapped up
with hunger
and with greed

Do I write like I speak

or speak like I write?

When you read my words

on pages, or screens

do you also hear your own voice
rattle in your head?

I am all that I have heard

all that I have read

tossed and seasoned

by the hand of the Master

creating a blend of spice
both hot and sweet

and even when I would wish

to taste like someone else

my flavor remains

unique on your tongue.

So much of what you hear

is my "self"
surrendered.

Joining Lyla of A Different Story as she leads us in discussions of L. L. Barkat's Rumors of Water.  This week we're talking about finding our voice.  Join us at TweetSpeak Poetry

 

Copper Kettles for Rumors of Water

Lyla Lindquist of A Different Story is leading us in a study of L. L. Barkat's Rumors of Water

I tossed some words about in the air and this is how they landed --

Copper kettles
cold as ice
water waits without a hint
of movement

None of the boiling
needed
for my cinnamon tea
sweet with
red hot chili bite

Tongue touches lips
salivating
water cold as ice
in copper kettles
full and silent

Words wait
no hint of movement
to be poured fresh
steaming

I must use
what I have
but first
turn on the flame

Begin to begin


Stop by Tweetspeak Poetry to join the conversation!


 

Books for Christmas

I was blessed to be born into a family that loves to read.  Books were valued, cherished and are still given more often than any other gifts.

If you feel the same, here are a few outstanding new books that would be perfect to wrap up for your favourite people.  Don't forget to keep a copy of each for yourself too!

Glynn Young, a constant encourager of other writers has written his first novel Dancing Priest that I have not yet had the opportunity to read, yet I can recommend it, knowing the power of his words.  It is available here at amazon.com in both paperback and digital versions.  Visit Glynn at his blog Faith, Fiction and Friends or his novel page.

There is never a wrong time to give copies of Billy Coffey's novels.  His new book Paper Angels was released in November and should not be missed.  You can read more about this delightful novel at Billy's site.  While you're there, wander about and read his blog, I'm certain you'll be captivated.

And then there is the new book on writing by author and poet L. L. Barkat.  Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity & Writing speaks into the heart and spirit of anyone who feels God's call to pick up a pen or lay hands on the keyboard.  You can find L. L. at her blog Seedlings in Stone or at The High Calling where's she is an editor or at Tweetspeak Poetry and T. S. Poetry Press

These should help you finish up your shopping, or perhaps cause you start all over again!

 

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