Oceans

I am
One drop of water in an ocean
A single decibel of sound in the universe
A joule in this force of current

I am not
Consumed in the waves
Unheard in vociferous confusion
Short circuited in the circulating stream

Christ is
My lifeboat in the waters
My frequency in the cacophony
My source of energy in the dead zones

Oceans of vast provision
Oceans of hope
Oceans of grace

Often seen in
Streams in the valley
Springs in dry ground
Trickling in and through the crevices of jagged rock

Christ is an ocean of love in every place

 

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Summer Solstice

As I lean toward the sun
Do I see what is and isn’t done?

Do I notice what I could not see
Deluded by the shadow of me?

The longest day…a bit of grace
To prove light can overcome the darkest space

Perhaps a lesson to be learned
Where do I lean…what do I yearn?

 

dVerse host Frank wants us to consider the summer solstice, which is today by writing couplets, one or more, in a poem.  I have only done this a couple times before. Hope its okay Frank!

Medicine

 

Sometimes I take the little pill
The doctor gives to cure my ills
Hoping side effects will sleep
Till my case is in retreat

When I see a cerulean sky
Whispering clouds drifting by
Changing shapes and breaking ties
I sense…if they can…so can I

From my tear ducts oceans rise
From depths of me and find my eyes
Once I viewed them as a threat
Now a welcome…no regret

And let me not forget the one
Healing reaching all my bones
Laughter bellows out a cure
Like no other can secure

Not cruel or criticizing
Not in cynical devising
But merry heart and light of breath
For all that’s good despite the rest

Healing balms take many shapes
For mortal man’s imperfect state
But only one perfects his soul
Only Christ can make him whole

 

Today Paul Scribbles wants us to write some poetical medicine for dVersepoetspub.com

 

One Destination

Started in a baby carriage
Went to a tricycle
There always ways one
High on a unicycle
Bicycles were norm
Speed became reason
Cars kept you dry
In every season
On and off trails
Back roads, back yards
Wheels take all
To the graveyard

Linking up with dVersepoetspub.com.  Quadrille Monday. 44 word poem excluding the title) Prompt word is cycle, any form. Since my last entry was on a serious note and included this word, just a bit of levity today.

Seasons, Cycles and Furniture

An acorn has no choice but to be an oak tree. It cannot change the shape of it’s leaves, nor does it choose where it grows. It shades summer, colors autumn, bares itself steadfast and strong in winter, and sighs out a refreshing welcome to Spring. It continues every season. And if its purpose is the chair I sit upon, it holds me. Death does not stop it’s life.

Weep not for your cause
Opportune moments will die
Trees listen in wind

Open link night at dVerse. Well, this is morning. Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

To My Children

The Apostle Paul wrote of contentment
From inside a jail cell
John saw a vision of the Lord
On an Island of outcasts
What we view as an end
May be a beginning
We may go great lengths to hide ourselves
Yet God’s love goes great lengths to show Himself

 

You know much of my story
I can tell you how I survive
But I can’t write yours
I have not your eyes

 
All my words to guide you
Are meant as stepping stones
I know something of minefields
The loud cries and silent moans

 

It seems so senseless
But maybe not
One day my senses sharpened from the blast
And I heard what I had forgot

 

Though my words get rearranged
You know me enough to know
The message is the same
And hearing is the last to go

 

Out of my own womb you came
Loving you is loving myself
Losing you is losing myself

 

I can’t let my echo become a whisper
Absorbing itself into the earth losing all meaning

 

Linked with dVersepoetspub.com. Today the prompt is to write my own advice to someone who’s life may improve by it.  I chose my children.

 

 

 

 

Freedom’s Wings

There is nothing that looks like freedom more than a bird in flight. But even they are not free. It is just their mode of transportation. They are subject to prey. They can become sick. They can fly into windows chasing after their own image. They can die from the cold. Maybe true freedom is exercising the right to not be free. To be submissive, not subservient. Freedom is in willingness. Does my being free allow another to their right to be free? Even birds squabble.
My mere appetite
Governs where my feet follow
Tastes change with seasons

 

dVersepoetspub.com. Today is haibun Monday. 1-3 tight paragraphs of prose ending with w haiku. Today’s host is asking that we write including the word freedom.