Directionally Challenged

In the middle of her path, she saw a red, octagonal, sign, with the word STOP, and tiny, white, blinking lights around its perimeter, so she stopped.
No road ahead, left, or right, she sat, in silence, thinking.

“I guess turning back is always an option”, and she felt each word, dumped in front of her, delivered by a heavy sigh. Feet and wheels aren’t the only modes of transportation.

Knowing she never liked the word retreat but had, at times, fallen prey to its demands, she decided to turn her one option into an opportunity, for isn’t it just as easy to make a right choice as it is to make a wrong choice?

Just then, an eagle circled overhead.

Six-sentence story

“but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31, ESV)

“Then he said to me, “This is the word of the LORD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the LORD of hosts.” (Zechariah 4:6, ESV)

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written,
“For your sake we are being killed all the day long;
we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.”
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.” (Romans 8:35-37., ESV)

No Comparison

I choose not to compare
Myself to this “god of the day”
Who folds and cowers
When comes the night
Escapes to illicit affairs
Shining one? au contraire!
Venture deep
Where mortals sleep
A goose is more faithful
To its young
No wonder Hera’s rage
If you will, I choose to praise
Yeshua, the ancient of days

Napowrimo “ Now for our last prompt of the year – optional, as always! Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem in which the speaker is identified with, or compared to, a character from myth or legend, as in Claire Scott’s poem “Scheherazade at the Doctor’s Office.”

AND THAT IS THAT!

Soil

As Sharon poured the rich soil into the small white pot, suddenly she was 20, listening to Jack talk about his weed-less garden to the whole office. Every summer, he bragged about his pristine garden, and I wondered how many of his co-workers ever actually saw it, and how could any garden be without weeds but no one ever argued with Jack but appeased him as he reveled in his stories.

Sharon knows as soon as her seeds sprout, so will weeds follow, and soon, if she doesn’t check on them every single day, it won’t be long before weeds will try to consume the flower. As She continued potting her plant, she thought how Jack and a few others taught her much but at times were weeds and thorns in her side, and with that, she smiled, because that was the soil God planted her in during the time she accepted Christ.

She wondered if Jack ever realized he was a weed but she didn’t spend but a moment fussing about it because spring is here and she has to decide whether or not she will even plant a garden and contend with weeds.

As her three orchids wait in silence for a rebirth of blooms, she waits, waters and fertilizes the soil and leaves, hoping for the day color returns to her window. “

Six-sentence story

“Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way. But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also. So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares? He said unto them, An enemy hath done this. The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up? But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.” (Matthew 13:24-30, KJV)

Incandescent

Wrath wraps me in sweet rhapsody
When I think of heaven’s arch enemy
Glowing in flames eternally
Once, archangel, now his wings cut to the quick

One copious moment, a sea of blue
Will be a vehement final view
Should these eyes spy a one of you
Whose light was blinded by his shroud of tricks

Life is free, come with me
Share this brilliance that I see
Within my burning flames, dwells He
One day, this flesh from soul, grace will unstick

Where no dusk falls or twilight breaks
No more deciding what’s fact and fake
No more the odds and higher stakes
Just virgin love in flames of light, void of all panic

Napowrimo “now for our optional prompt. If you’ve been paying attention to pop-music news over the past couple of weeks, you may know that Taylor Swift has released a new double album titled “The Tortured Poets Department.” In recognition of this occasion, Merriam-Webster put together a list of ten words from Taylor Swift songs. We hope you don’t find this too torturous yourself, but we’d like to challenge you to select one these words, and write a poem that uses the word as its title.

Morning

I say good-bye to starlit dreams,
— companions in the dead of night
I make my bed from bottom up
— till not a wrinkle in one’s sight
Should my night friends befit the day
— I know my judge will win my fight

Napowrimo, “our optional prompt for the day asks you to try your hand at writing a sijo. This is a traditional Korean verse form. A sijo has three lines of 14-16 syllables. The first line introduces the poem’s theme, the second discusses it, and the third line, which is divided into two sentences or clauses, ends the poem – usually with some kind of twist or surprise.
You could also write a sijo in six lines – at least when it comes to translating classical sijo into English, translators seem to have developed this habit, as you can see from these translations of poems by Jong Mong-Ju and U Tak.

A Garden Party for One

There are far too many poets
Far too many stories to be told
Far too many words
Too many memories one can hold

Far too many voices
But how much silence can one bear
When God did far too much
For all people everywhere

Oh how can I keep silent
Or tell these fingers not to drain
Every vein when this heart’s emotion
Yearns to praise His Holy name

If I, a gnat within one’s hair
Most intolerable be a burden
I shan’t repent for my affair
But let my love attend His garden

“The LORD God planted a garden toward the east, in Eden; and there He placed the man whom He had formed.” (Genesis 2:8, NASB)

“O you who sit in the gardens,
My companions are listening for your voice—
Let me hear it!” (Song of Solomon 8:13, NASB)

“Now in the place where He was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been laid.” (John 19:41, NASB)

Stretched and Strengthened

No cold lately, and its been a while since the box of tissues was empty

Sounds of Silence plays but only she hears the words, and now knows the intent behind the music

Crowded words set against a backdrop of paint or bound on shelves are still just words until the reader comes alive

She hasn’t worn that pink cap yet. She’s had it two years. It was a rescue, for who? Now it hangs around and who complains in a state of rest?

Her paint paper shouts, “Mixed Media”. Her easel sits empty. She doesn’t like being yelled at. This drips further than watercolor.

Neighbors can see through the dark if there’s light in the distance. She hasn’t raised her shades in weeks but there hasn’t been much sun, either.

Her friend taught her to love bagpipes, then moved away. She used to move away from the drone. They’ll always share the same name.

Blues make her happy. Someone has it worse. Blues make her cry. She has it better. The sea isn’t blue and the moon has no light of its own.

Unfolded clothes have to wait. Someone pushed her out the door. Every room has a box of tissues.

Napowrimo “now for our prompt – optional, as always! Today we’d like to challenge you to write an “American sonnet.” What’s that? Well, it’s like a regular sonnet but . . . fewer rules? Like a traditional Spencerian or Shakespearean sonnet, an American sonnet is shortish (generally 14 lines, but not necessarily!), discursive, and tends to end with a bang, but there’s no need to have a rhyme scheme or even a specific meter.”

I don’t know if I followed the rules. I’m too strong to care.

A Poem of Paradoxical Proportion

An asp apprehended Absidy in one apprehensive moment
She didn’t recognize her alaye
Absidy abounded when absolution made a way
An asp is but an ass
He silks and slithers ‘round its prey
Now eternal life for Absidy
An abyss awaits Alaye
While pain insists let peace persist
The perfect price is paid

The name “Absidy,” derived from the meaning “Gift of God,” and means “peaceful and quiet” in Mandarin
An alaye is a powerful or impactful person in every negative way.

Napowrimo “now for our (optional) prompt. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that involves alliteration, consonance, and assonance. Alliteration is the repetition of a particular consonant sound at the beginning of multiple words. Consonance is the repetition of consonant sounds elsewhere in multiple words, and assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds. Traci Brimhall’s poem “A Group of Moths” provides a great example of these poetic devices at work, with each line playing with different sounds that seem to move the poem along on a sonorous wave.

Prelude to Peace

“I want peace upon the earth”, she hopelessly cried,
“Peace begins with you”, she heard from the Spirit inside
“I thought Peace was Your Word”
“Yes, you’re right, I brought a sword

Every time my sword cuts your heart asunder
Your eyes slowly open and cease to wonder
Why peace on earth begins with you
Apart from me no flesh will ever do

Stop closing your eyes when you can’t stand the view
Stand firm in my love and peace will ensue
It might not be the picture you draw in your head
But you aren’t the artist, now are you?” He said

So now, tongue tethered to the roof of her mouth
Her heart felt a pull like a horse that turned south
When he should have run with and not against the track
“Yes, peace starts with me, in sackcloth and ash”

“Do not think that I came to bring peace on the earth; I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.” (Matthew 10:34, NASB)

“remember that you were at that time separate from Christ, excluded from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who formerly were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace, who made both groups into one and broke down the barrier of the dividing wall,” (Ephesians 2:12-14, NASB)

“For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” (Hebrews 4:12, NASB)

Did Motherhood Make Me a Trans/parent?

Perfect happiness is a perfect world *
I stopped looking here

That you may never know true love
Is my greatest fear *

Buried in these trivial prompts
Is my current state of mind “

Ventriloquism would be a blast *
I would trade your words for mine

I was happiest in my mothers womb *
Too bad I can’t remember

The lowest depth of misery *
Is not knowing “are you my defender or contender?

“Those who laugh, cry more” I say, maybe far too often *
For cryin’ out loud, i laugh out loud, and won’t be soon forgotten

And maybe that’s my greatest extravagance *
The only luxury I can afford

Okay, I know, it must be tamed
Cuz I feel an invisible tug of a leash, around my neck, for sure

• Asterisks are the clues to the question prompts I chose

Napowrimo “Last but not least, here’s our optional prompt for the day. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on the “Proust Questionnaire,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and adapted by modern interviewers. You could choose to answer the whole questionnaire, and then write a poem based on your answers, answer just a few, or just write a poem that’s based on the questions. You could even write a poem in the form of an entirely new Proust Questionnaire. We have a fairly standard, 35-question version of the questionnaire laid out for you below.
Happy writing!