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Sunday morning…I’m sitting on my front porch to watch and listen to the rain. I’m also remembering my late husband. He planted these azaleas. And so, I wrote the following poem this morning.
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Exhausted
the last yard work he did
was in this landscape
exhausted
he sat on the ground
in the sun
and pulled weeds
his worn, white, cloth hat
atop his head
I had planned to go to the North Georgia mountains today to visit friends I’ve not seem in a long time. But we are having much-needed rain, along with not needed flooding, so I will stay in town and see a friend for lunch and an afternoon movie. Since Soup Sunday was on my mind, I decided to use the Sunday Whirl words to write a poem about the White’s Soup Sunday monthly gathering.
Soup Sunday
Messages sent out
no dressing up
no spit and polish
it’s a red bandana
and lucky charm kind of day.
Count on it
music will be pulsing
from the front porch
where a thousand songs
deserving thunderous applause
have been sung or played.
You’ll be greeted by
warm hugs from friends
made-from-scratch soup
and delicious homemade bread.
Place your side dish or dessert
on the table or buffet .
Where is this gathering, you ask?
I say, Soup Sunday
up on Buzzard Mountain.
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Written with the twelve words offered by The Sunday Whirl. If you are a poet/writer, join Brenda’s fun each week. I also recommend her blog undercaws.
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I hope you’ve given yourself time to enjoy the subtle shifts of light, the blooms, and sounds of our spring days.
I particularly adore the amber light and stillness that visit my home before evening.
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Resigned
No longer skeptical
and with a slight sigh,
she resigned to unwind tonight.
Tomorrow she would be
the ninth to cross the threshold.
Tomorrow she must remain
in control and bold.
She had often thought
of the day the sword of might
would saturate the ground
with her blood.
Written for the two year anniversary of The Sunday Whirl which I only recently found. Through my participation, a couple of my poet friends now also write these Whirls, but they don’t blog and so don’t share on The Sunday Whirl blog. Last Friday night we each read (at the Phoenix and Dragon Bookstore) the poem we had written for a particular Whirl. I’d not previously read or heard their poems (they had seen mine on my blog), so I was delighted, along with the others at the open mic, to hear the three takes on Brenda Warren’s (creator of The Sunday Whirl) choice of words. Fun! Fun!
Escape
Disguised and forgotten
his mind stirred back to yesterday
and the wound hurt.
He knew to hurry across
the sand to the tree
where he could hide
and rest in his own country.
She said she would
leave a jar on the steps
as an all-clear.
Written for The Sunday Whirl. The words are disguised, forgotten, country, hurry, tree, wound, mind, sand, stirred, jar, across, yesterday.
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Wordle 100 at Sunday Whirl and the words are master, street, change, share, train, die, calls, stretch, march, words, places, create, and faint.
With these words I wrote the following:
Longing for Change
A train’s calls grow faint
and die in the woods.
March winds howl
down the street.
Words stretch across the page.
I long for change…new places
in which to create, share, and master
myself.
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Music of the Spheres was written for the poetry prompt at WordSmith Studio. We were asked to write a sound poem.
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Music of the Spheres
eeeeeeeeeeee
hisssssssssss
sometimes loud
sometimes not
occasional ringgggggg
or buzzzzzzzz
my constant tinnitus
or
music of the spheres
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I have tinnitus and it is a coping tool to think of it as music of the spheres or the sounds of a summer night in Georgia.
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This week’s words from Sunday Whirl are paint, use, sprees, outsider, away, fearsome, part, reserves, body, intimate, written, window.
Using the above words, I wrote the following:
Creativity
use sprees of creativity
to paint a window
into a written body of work
while
fearsome reserves of creativity
intimate their part in washing away
outsider doubts
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This week’s words at Sunday Whirl are first, instant, snare, ride, slap, blue, unbalance, deserves, wings, blessed, dust, and gasps.
Here is my thought on these words:
Wings of Protection
gasps
don’t slap or snare
no one deserves
blue and unbalanced
blessed
the instant I first
allowed for dust
by a ride on Angel wings
Photo Credit Alvimann from Morguefile.com
Covenant was written for the poetry prompt at wordsmithstudio.org. The prompt asked for our perspective on the photo above.
Covenant
titanium tough
cracked trinity with eye
floating in degrees of darkness
seeping black
yet, a core of light
covenant of yin and yang
