Sometimes we see only ugliness
Not seeing the beauty within
Other times we see the beauty revealed
Forgetting the price of ugliness for our sin
dVersepoetspub.com prompt is to embrace something ugly and see the beauty in it. Christ took the ugliness of sin upon himself and paid the price for it so we could be beautiful in Him. Look for the image of God in everyone and you will find beauty.
There WAS a TIME the LINES in POEMS did RHYME
i LEARNED nurSERY rhymes IN iAMbic RHYTHM
But AS my LIFE beCAME more UNdeFINED
MiMICKing ENDings SEEMED to JUST cause SCHISMS
Then it WAS I LET my WORDS free TO make SENSE of ME
Today at dVerse Frank would like us to use iAMbic rhythm in a poem of our choice. I hope I did this correctly.
Isn’t it a beautiful name? I always thought so, even as a child. I never even thought of wanting any other. (My FB name Tqhousecat was a temporary alias that I couldn’t rectify so it stuck). It wasn’t until I was grown that I learned its meaning. Rebellious, bitter, a wished-for child. How could that be? Isn’t this the name of Jesus’s mother? I wasn’t catholic, but my relatives were. They worshipped her. I only knew Jesus.
And then there was Mary Magdalene, that adulterous woman. She bore the same name. She fit the description more, I thought. However, when I sought the Lord, I was tipping the scale toward Mary Magdalene. Jesus put me on holy ground. Later I learned more about Jesus’s mother. She carried a bitter burden watching her Son live and die. A bitter sword to pierce her heart, scripture records.
Names aren’t lived up to. They are you and you are them. Maybe they are to be realized. Jesus doesn’t live up to his name. He IS His name. What my name is, is bitter and yes, I have A bitter life at times, a bitter attitude, a rebellious will. But Jesus in me has put me on Holy ground. As His creation I bear His image. As a sinner, I bear my earthly identification, as redeemed I bear His life in me. I always seek that even, Holy ground.
And then there is Mary, Queen of Scots! One who lost her head! What a heritage of extremes I have!
You can erase your name
Tattoos engraved on your soul
Can ne’er be hidden
dVersepoetspub.com prompt is your name. Write a poem of any form about the meaning of your name. Been thinking on these lines for a few weeks. I have a few perspectives, this is one.
Gross, eeeewwww, yucky!
You express your distaste to me
With my taste buds enraptured
With each tantalizing capture
Flurry of emotion
Fuels your commotion
You don’t have to eat it
Just let me enjoy it
Save the strong chatter
For matters that matter
A bit of levity at dVerse today. It is quadrille Monday. A 44 word poem, no more, no less excluding the title. The prompt word is yuck.
A man named Job lived in Uz
None are told where that was
But God knew just where
He would grow and prepare
His story for God’s glory, eternity’s buzz
If you’re in a place that looks bleak
And others are waiting to speak
Be mute for the long run
For friends who find their tongue
May not be the true counsel you seek
For Job the misery and pain
Nine months of remorse and disdain
Ended not by his pleading
But more by conceding
To God the glory due His name
So praise the God of all creation
None other deserves our oblation
God gave up His Son
His pain comparing to none
To save us all from damnation
Look at Autumn leaves on a single tree
Some golden as the sun
Sparkling in the rain
Some turning crimson red
Brilliant, shouting to be seen
Some living green as always
Not fretting their turn—
In the midst a few gave up
Oh! The shades they could have been
Beauty shed through cold and early shadows
Instead fell to the ground, trampled
Torn, underfoot, unnoticed
Nature’s suicide of sorts—
Long before due
They lost hope
They ceased shining
For fear of dying
With the grace provided —
Why not yield to changing colors
That proclaim a life well lived and still —
Rather than a bitter end of
dVersepoetspub.com prompt for Thursday is no prompt. Open link. Open of choice. Each day brings new observations and insights. I am noticing the trees as they slowly turn. I am noticing the ones that just seem to abruptly die with no fanfare at all. And I compare it to life that has lost its ability and will to color anymore.
Have a nice weekend. Color your world!
For years I wanted to make the chicken cacciatore my dad made as a child. I never had the recipe. I could taste it when I closed my eyes. I could see it in my mind’s eye. I have had what others made but it never was the same. I finally thought about where he may have gotten it. I looked it up and made it. It was good. It was so close to what I remember. So close, but something was missing. Maybe it was my dad’s aftershave wafting through the air, mingling with the steam and smells of the onions and tomatoes. Maybe it was the cigarette and coffee that so defined him. Perhaps even it was the smells of all the food and bread and pastries that were made daily. The walls held every one. Maybe it was just the smell of childhood I remember. Something a recipe cannot replicate.
Years pass so quickly
All that’s left is memory
We inhale the sweet
Our dVerse prompt is to focus on a smell that sends you to a comfortable time and place. I grew up with a mother who was a baker and a father who enjoyed cooking on a weekend. My childhood was an insecure time for me, but in food I found comfort. I had my favorites from both parents.