Music

Isn’t She Lovely

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Lyrics:

Isn’t she lovely
Isn’t she wonderful
Isn’t she precious
Less than one minute old

I never thought through love we’d be
Making one as lovely as she
But isn’t she lovely, made from love

Isn’t she pretty
Truly the angel’s best
Boy, I’m so happy
We have been heaven blessed

I can’t believe what God has done
Through us he’s given life to one
But isn’t she lovely, made from love

Isn’t she lovely
Life and love are the same
Life is Aisha
The meaning of her name
Londie, it could have not been done
Without you who conceived the one
That’s so very lovely, made from love, hey

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Stevie Wonder
Isn’t She Lovely lyrics © Black Bull Music, Songtrust Ave, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Stevie Wonder wrote this song after holding his daughter Aisha for the first time. I opted to post the longer track which is from the album Songs in the Key of Life. (There are shorter versions available on YouTube.) It opens with a baby crying. That’s Aisha in the delivery room. It closes with audio of Stevie Wonder giving her a bath.

The lyrics speak for themselves. He is smitten with this child. It’s a feeling any new parent can identify with.

This is my submission for Song Lyric Sunday. This week, we are asked to find a song about a girl. October 11 is the International Day of the Girl Child. “It’s purpose is to recognize girls’ rights and highlight the unique challenges, discrimination, and inequalities they face globally, such as lack of education access, forced child marriage, and gender-based violence.”

Grief · Life · poetry

Life Can Be Hard

Sally16 Comments

Hiding in my room, back pressed against the door
Don’t come in, I whispered, while outside he swore
Barely could I breathe — in fact I held my breath
This ghutan was a feeling that felt worse than death

Now I live alone, the chaos pushed outside
With qaraar peace inside me, I am fortified
I can face tomorrow and tomorrow and again
Home now is a sanctuary, quietness within

And yet the ache of failure lingers in my heart
Did I do enough? Where did it fall apart?
Nobody will know all the secrets that I hold
But kasak gently holds my breath, as I breathe uncontrolled

This week’s W3 prompt from PoW Destiny:

Some words hold a whole experience within them. This week, use one or more of these Urdu words to tell a story through poetry:

  • Kasak (کسک)
    Pronunciation: “kuh-suk” · IPA: /kə.sək/
    A lingering ache—something that stays with you long after a moment has passed.
  • Qaraar (قرار)
    Pronunciation: “kuh-RAAR” · IPA: /qə.ɾɑːɾ/
    A quiet sense of peace—something that steadies you and helps you feel settled.
  • Ghuttan (گھٹن)
    Pronunciation: “ghoot-un” · IPA: /ɡʱʊ.ʈən/
    An unspoken feeling of suffocation—as though something inside you has no room to breathe.

Poetry form: Your choice, in 12 lines or fewer.

Faith · Life · poetry

Unexpected

Sally6 Comments

In the press of the crowd
He said out loud,
“Who touched me?”
After the shock
Those with whom he walked
Smiled and said to him bravely,

“You must understand,
Many folks, many hands —
How can we know who touched You?”
Poor woman quaking
Timidly shaking
Confessed ’cause she knew that He knew

While He was speaking
Others came seeking
Bearing the saddest of news
“Change of plans,” one said
“You can’t wake the dead.”
He pressed on, ignoring their blues.

“Why are you weeping?
The child is but sleeping,”
He said when he came to the place
And taking her hand
He told her to stand —
And she did! What joy! Such grace!

Miracles start when we go
Disbelieve what we “know”
For no one can truly know God
Reach out and touch
Ask Him too much
Human knowledge makes quite a facade

This is my day-late response to the MLMM Monday Wordle which challenges us to use these words in our post: must, wake, shake, make, shock, smile, brave, walk, plan, hands, pants, sad.

I wrote another fractured Bible story and got all the words in except “pants.” Can you see a place where pants could fit?

This story can be found in Mark 5. I love it because it reminds me to press beyond what we think we know.

The woman with the flow of blood would have been considered unclean under Levitical law — and yet, there she was, in a crowd, just wanting to touch the hem of Jesus’ robe.

He felt that touch. He healed her.

The little girl was dying when they sent for Jesus, but He didn’t make it in time. She died. The servants were dispatched to save him the trip.

But He came anyway — and raised her from the dead.

The whole story can be summed up with this — don’t put God in a box. Don’t think you know God so well that you know what He will do. As CS Lewis said of Aslan, He’s not a tame lion.

aging · Life · Music

Leaves That Are Green (turn to brown)

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This week for Song Lyric Sunday, our host Jim Adams challenges us to choose a song from an artist who was born in October. I was thrilled to discover that Paul Simon was born October 13, 1941.

If Paul Simon wrote the song when he was twenty-one years old, that would be in 1962. which is about right. He recorded it solo for his Paul Simon Song Book in 1965. The following year he recorded it with Art Garfunkel and it went on their album, Sounds of Silence. It was the B-side for Homeward Bound when that was released as a single.

I love this song.

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song
I’m twenty-two now, but I won’t be for long
Time hurries on
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl
I held her close, but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

I threw a pebble in a brook
And watched the ripples run away
And they never made a sound
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Hello, hello, hello, hello
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye
That’s all there is
And the leaves that are green turn to brown

Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Paul Simon
Leaves That Are Green lyrics © Sony/atv Songs Llc

Growing up, growing old, changing seasons — Paul Simon captured it so well as a young man. The fact that he is still performing at the age of 84 is quite a testament.

Life · Music

Autumn Breeze

Sally2 Comments

[Verse 1]
See the leaf piles scattered in the side yard
As I pull into the driveway Friday night
Happy gray squirrel gatherin’ up the acorns
While above me geese are in their flight

[Chorus]
Autumn breeze makes me feel fine
Rustlin’ through dry oak leaves in my mind
Autumn breeze makes me feel fine
Rustlin’ through dry oak leaves in my mind

[Verse 2]
Red and yellow, orange, rust-brown
Color palette whirling ‘cross my drive
So I walk on up to the doorstep
Breathe in brisk air, happy I’m alive

[Chorus]
Autumn breeze makes me feel fine
Rustlin’ through dry oak leaves in my mind
Autumn breeze makes me feel fine
Rustlin’ through dry oak leaves in my mind

[Bridge]
Sweet days of autumn, October full moon
Seasons are changing — I love this tune
And I move on, life moves on with me too
And I have friends who help carry me through

[Verse 3]
Dinner cookin’, chicken in the oven
Talk about the day that we’ve both had
Sharing hopes, and sharing memories
Life is changing, but it isn’t all bad

[Chorus]
Autumn breeze makes me feel fine
Rustlin’ through dry oak leaves in my mind
Autumn breeze makes me feel fine
Rustlin’ through dry oak leaves in my mind

First, serious apologies to Seals and Croft. I stole your song and made it mine.

Second, apologies to Linda G. Hill. You asked for Stream of Consciousness writing — meaning no editing — but I confess to some. It’s just that when I saw the prompt this morning — Breeze — I had this song running through my head. Seals and Croft wrote Summer Breeze in 1972, but here, 54 years later, I have an Autumn Breeze running through my life and mind. So I looked up the lyrics to Summer Breeze and changed them.

Uncategorized

Horses

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King Prancer
My first horse
Such delight!
Set my course

Pony next
(ignore that calf)
So much fun
What a laugh!

Palomin-
o — pure gold
Loved that horse
Gentle, old

Spirit plus
Za-rex had
Life took o’er
Eight-grade grad

Wish I knew
What had changed
Life became
Rearranged

Growing up
Playing flute
Suddenly
Boys seemed “cute”

Sad to say
I forget
When the horse
Was offset

But by what?
I can’t think
Getting old
Sometimes stinks

The Ragtag Daily Prompt today was “Hobby Horse“. I immediately thought of King Prancer, the very first horse I owned. While not a hobby horse — I think of him as a spring horse — he was a toy, a very much loved toy. Look at the delight on my face in that photo!

Next, when my parents bought a piece of property, someone offered them two Shetland ponies. I was thrilled with Rosie and Skipperdee, even though one of them led to my second broken arm.

Next was a Palomino named Goldie. How we got her was a story all by itself which I sort-of-ish tell at the end of Udder Questions. I didn’t have a saddle, so I rode her bareback. She was old and docile —

So I begged my father for a more spirited horse and ended up with Za-Rex, a three-quarter Arabian.

Funny thing – I remember saying good-bye to Goldie but not to Za-Rex. I think life just took over. I became a teenager.

The Hobby Horse prompt led to a little trot down Memory Lane, for which I am grateful.

poetry · Writing

Yoga

Sally18 Comments

Breathe in
Slowly exhale
Breathe in hope for this day
Exhale yesterday’s lost moments
Breathing

Child’s pose
Kneel – stretch – relax
Childlike falling asleep
Gentle drift into surrender
Child’s play

Tree pose
Balanced, focused
Tree branches reaching up
Standing tall on one foot, grounded
Tree roots

Yoga
Outer/inner
Yoga – yuj – means unite
Inner/outer join together
Yoga

This week’s W3 prompt from PoW Khadija is to write a cinquain, a five-line poem, using repetition to give one word or phrase new meaning as the poem unfolds. She further challenges us to “begin at least three lines with the same word or short phrase. This is called anaphora.”

Five lines: Use this syllable pattern: 2–4–6–8–2. That means two syllables in the first line, four in the second, six in the third, eight in the fourth, and two in the last.

A repeated beginning: Start at least three of those lines with the same word or short phrase.

Any subject: a feeling, a place, a memory, or an ordinary moment.

I do NOT claim to be a yoga expert.

Several years ago I took my first yoga class. Once I got over the awkwardness of my inability to hold poses the way some of the others in the class did — and being reminded repeatedly that yoga is NOT a competition — I found great value in simple poses.

Last week, when I was traveling, I found myself at times focusing on my breathing (see Aggressive Driving) and at other times doing Child’s Pose on the floor to stretch out my achy back. When I got back to work on Monday, I needed a little time for Tree Pose, which requires focus, and somehow makes me more inwardly balanced as I outwardly balance.

Life · prayer · Uncategorized

Aggressive Driving

Sally2 Comments

From “A Liturgy for Experiencing Road Rage” (Every Moment Holy, Volume 1, by Douglas McKelvey)

If my heart were more content in you, O Lord
I would be less inclined to rage at others

Of course, I’m not the one struggling with road rage. In fact, I’m not even sure that the driver of the car in which I’m riding is struggling with road rage. He’s simply an aggressive driver.

I can’t even look when he accelerates up onto someone’s tail before initiating the pass. The speedometer needle goes far higher than I am comfortable seeing or experiencing.

But I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut in those situations. I say something later, but in the moment isn’t the time.

I looked up the prayer for road rage in Every Moment Holy. Doug has written a prayer for everything. Every moment IS holy.

Of course, I changed the words — because clearly I’m not the one with the problem. I prayed, “If his heart were more content in You, he would be less inclined” to drive so aggressively.

God, could you just fix him?

The next lines in the prayer say,

Let me gauge by the knot in my gut,
the poverty of my own understanding
of the grace that I have received

It’s kind of hard to pray that about someone else when I’m the one with a knot in my gut. I’m the one with a poverty of understanding.

So I go back to the beginning.

If my heart were more content in you, O Lord
I would be less inclined to rage at others look to change others
Let me gauge by the knot in my gut,
the poverty of my own understanding
of the grace that I have received

The knot in my gut these days is about so many things that are out of my control, the least of which is aggressive driving.

I open up my knotted hands. Again. To relinquish what I can’t change.

And I have the conversation. Again. “When you drive like that, it makes my very uncomfortable.”

poetry

Blue Heron

Sally8 Comments

This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge from PoW Heather. She challenged us to have a conversation with nature! “Choose something from the natural world: an animal, insect, plant, rock, or whatever catches your attention. Address it directly and look at it with fresh eyes.”

I’ve been in coastal Maine all week, enjoying nature, especially the birds. I decided to write a poem about the Blue Heron and use an Irish poetry forms, the Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire — which is three syllable lines put into quatrains with an abab cdcd rhyme scheme.

I wrote it — and then felt like it didn’t do the heron justice. Today I wrote a Shakespearean sonnet. So — here are two, not one, poems for the beautiful blue heron. The first is the sonnet; the second is the Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire.

You pick your way along the craggy rock
You pause, you watch, you listen all the time
Is that a fish? Above, is that a hawk?
You freeze, become a statue – so sublime

But once a year you gather in a throng
You court with sticks, choose partner, build a nest
Together warm the eggs, hatch, raise the young
Then leave because alone is where you’re best

You curve your neck into an “S” and fly
Drag spindly legs behind you as you go
Broad wingspan, steady rhythm thrums the sky
Time to return to living life solo

To be alone does not make you forlorn
It means this is the life to which you’re born

You stand tall
Motionless
Feathers grey
Opalesce

“Why are you,”
I inquire,
“Always lone,
Grand flier?”

You stand still
Carved of stone
Blink your eye
Cover blown

Single bird
Blue heron
Rule the strand
Beach baron

Being one
Not a curse
Be unfed
Would be worse

All alone
You can fish
Minnows, eels
You vanquish

Solitaire
Tall and proud
Hermit life
Head not bowed

fiction · Writing

Probably

Sally5 Comments

Probably Preston Jones quietly closed the door behind him. It was a new day, the start of a new week, in a new place.

The noise and hurry of a new city was a gamble. A faster pace, yes, and no familiar faces.

Except, of course, his girl friend.

“Probably,” she had said firmly, “no one will know.”

Ah, but they would. He knew that — and it made him tremble. He allowed the memories to crowd in again, then made a conscious choice to let go of the hurt.

He pressed the elevator button to take him to the sixth floor. The ambient music did nothing to calm his nerves.

When he got off the elevator, the receptionist greeted him. “Preston Jones?”

He nodded.

“Just a few formalities,” she said. “We need to verify your insurance.”

He saw the machine on her desk which he knew she would feed the card into. He hoped that she wouldn’t look at it carefully.

But she did.

She studied the card and looked back at him. She looked confused. “Mr. Jones, I need some further verfication that this is your card,” she said.

The elevator door opened again behind him. Another person entered the reception area. Probably grabbed the card out of her hand and ran to the open elevator, quickly pressing the button to go to the lobby again.

“You okay, man?” asked another person in the elevator, detecting the stress in the newest passenger.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” said Probably, starting down at his insurance card that read “Probably Preston Jones.” It matched his driver’s license.

Would he have to spend the rest of his life explaining that his mother named him Probably?

This is my response to MLMM’s Wordle challenge this week in which we are challenged to use these words in a post: machine, tremble, quietly, detect, firm, hurt, noise, hurry, pace, pressed, let, music.