Tag: poem

Life · poetry

Truth Quest

Sally10 Comments

Into her hand the strange man pressed a shell
Etched “Truth lies at the bottom of a well”

A Quest! She smiled and started her pursuit
Visiting farms, homes, parks along her route
Her Magic shell led her to Magic Cup
At Magic Well from which she pulled truth up
She held it in her hands — lovely and bright
It shimmered-glowed ethereal radiant light
But then the truth turned ugly and it hurt
The truth began to drag her through dirt

Was it a shell from heaven or from hell?
Either way it’s back down in the well

designed with AI

For this week’s W3 Punam (PoW) asks us to tell a little story in verse! Write a poem in three stanzas, with no more than 12 lines in total. Your stanzas can be different lengths.

  • Stanza one: Introduce a character who finds something unusual or strange.
  • Stanza two: Show what happens when your character uses what they’ve found.
  • Stanza three: Bring the story to an unexpected realization.

Let your imagination lead you, and see where your character’s discovery takes them!

The other day I read an old children’s story that included the quote — “Truth lies at the bottom of the well.” I had never heard it before and looked it up. It came from the Greek philosopher Democritus who wrote that we know nothing for certain because truth is hidden in a deep abyss or well.

I realize that I took my story in a different direction — but I was trying to think why truth should be hidden.

The truth is we don’t always want to know the truth.

Grief · Life · poetry

Life Can Be Hard

Sally22 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.

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

Life · poetry

Hygge in a Mug (an advertisement)

Sally11 Comments

Hygge (pronounced Hoo-gah) is a Danish word with no direct English equivalent. It is a cozy contented feeling that involves being in the moment, and feeling safe and comfortable.

Who knew a drink could comfort like a hug
The warmth of which permeates my soul
Freshly brewed coffee in a mug

This hygge feeling gives my heart a tug!
Pre-dawn moment makes my whole day whole
Who knew a drink could comfort like a hug?

I know, I know — caffeine is a drug
(I say that with a serious eye-roll)
Freshly brewed coffee in a mug

In my big house, I sigh and give a shrug
Aloneness — part of this season’s role
Who knew a drink could comfort like a hug

I curve my hand around, feel warmth so snug
Sipping joe, I write words to extol
Freshly brewed coffee in a mug

If I could advertise one thing, I’d plug
Java! Cuppa! Have some! I’d cajole
Who knew a drink could comfort like a hug?
Freshly brewed coffee in a mug

W3 Prompt this week: This week, let’s write a villanelle about enjoying your favorite beverage, whether alcoholic or not. What’s in your cup?

Here’s a link to my favorite villanelle of all time: https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/2011/10/06/a-villanelle-for-national-poetry-day/

family · Life · poetry

Genealogy

Sally9 Comments

It started with a phone call
“Who are you again?”
The letter arrived yesterday
I was full of curiosity

“Who are you again?”
His answer meant nothing
I was full of curiosity
Slowly the pieces fell into place

His answer meant nothing
I scribbled down some names
Slowly the pieces fell into place
Somehow we were related

I scribbled down some names
She mailed the letter with photos
Somehow we were related
She took me up the family tree

She mailed the letter with photos
She wrote stories of people I knew
She took me up the family tree
Naming people, naming places

She wrote stories of people I knew
The letter arrived yesterday
Naming people, naming places
It started with a phone call

This is my submission for this week’s W3 prompt. PoW Reena challenged us to “to explore the music of repetition by writing a pantoum on any theme or subject.

A pantoum unfolds in four-line stanzas, with each stanza carrying two lines into the next:

  • The second line becomes the first line of the next stanza.
  • The fourth line becomes the third line of the next stanza.
  • Add new lines in the second and fourth positions, letting the repeated lines gather fresh meaning in their new surroundings.

Continue for as many stanzas as you like. To bring the poem full circle, the final stanza traditionally uses the opening stanza’s third line as its second line, and the poem’s opening line as its closing line.

This is a true story. I got a strange phone call at work one day with someone asking me for my home address. We chatted for a while. I had no idea who he was — but I did eventually give him my address. I knew this could end badly and even joked with him that at least he wasn’t asking for my social security number or credit card information.

Just the other day the letter came from a distant relative. She had actually found me through this blog! She was out of the country, but wanted to send me something regarding a relative we had in common — so she recruited a friend to call and get my address.

aging · elderly · family · Life · poetry

The Bath

Sally9 Comments

I ran the water
Helped her get into the tub
That was when I knew

She who had bathed me
Could no longer bathe herself
Our roles had reversed

This week’s W3 prompt: Choose one specific object or place from your childhood—a bedroom doorway, a schoolyard swing, a favorite toy, a familiar street—and write about the moment when it began to feel different: when you sensed that childhood was receding and something else had begun.

Does it count if I was in my 50’s when this happened?

Mary Cassatt, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Life · poetry

Dealing with people in general

Sally2 Comments

Kind dealing
Comes not through whim or feeling
But a choice to act with tact —
Fact

This poem is in response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Whim. It’s an Irish form called Deibide Baise Fri Toin which is written in quatrains with the following syllable count per line: 3-7-7-1 . The rhyme scheme is aabb, with the first two lines rhyming on a two syllable word and the last lines rhyming on a one syllable word.

poetry

Modular

Sally3 Comments

Modular home – not for me
Standardized rooms feel empty
Hobbit house fills me with glee
Better yet – home in a tree

This 3-story treehouse is somewhere near Revelstoke, British Columbia.

This is my second attempt at a Tanaga which is  a traditional Filipino poetic form, similar in its brevity and depth to the Japanese haiku. It often uses rich metaphor, or talinghaga, to offer wisdom, advice, or vivid imagery. There is absolutely no wisdom or advice in my Tanaga — just a cool treehouse.

The rules for a tanaga are:

  • Write exactly four lines.
  • Use seven syllables in each line.
  • Follow an AAAA rhyme scheme. Modern variations such as ABAB or AABB are also welcome.
  • Traditionally, tanagas are untitled, allowing the poem to speak for itself.

This is also my response to the RDP prompt: Modular

Life · poetry

Low Tide at the Bay of Fundy

Sally7 Comments

Shadows fall upon us all
Currents carve, water erodes
Creating cliffs strong and tall
Wisdom worn bears heavy loads

For this week’s W3 , we are challenged to write a tanaga inspired by the theme “Life and Wisdom.” Explore the lessons we learn from living, the choices we make, and the experiences that shape us. Even a simple image from nature can become a metaphor for a deeper truth or moral lesson.

The tanaga is a traditional Filipino poetic form, similar in its brevity and depth to the Japanese haiku. It often uses rich metaphor, or talinghaga, to offer wisdom, advice, or vivid imagery.

Your tanaga should follow these guidelines:

  • Write exactly four lines.
  • Use seven syllables in each line.
  • Follow an AAAA rhyme scheme. Modern variations such as ABAB or AABB are also welcome. (I used a modern variation)
  • Traditionally, tanagas are untitled, allowing the poem to speak for itself — but my inspiration and the photo are from when I visited the Bay of Fundy about this time last year