Tag Archives: poetry

NaPoWriMo: Estranged and Cut Off

Songs of Nation’s Pride

I truly believed at my mother’s knee

That when I sang, “My Country Tis of Thee”

The words I sang were truer than true

That if I bled for honor, it would be red, white, and blue.

But I’ve awakened to find a land divided

Bathed in disparity, desecration of what was once united.

I was taught at my Navy Veteran Daddy’s knee

That the Star Spangled Banner was to be honored deeply

That if I sang with truth in my heart

I’d stand united with my countrymen, never to part.

I believed in the land of the free, home of the brave

But I’ve awakened to find a land of the fee, home of the slaves.

I understood from my Grandparent’s legends

That America the Beautiful open armed beckoned

The words describing purple mountains and amber waves

Breathing life into the fruited plains of graves

But I’ve awakened to find a dying fracked rocky tops

Blackened drought plains laying desolate of crops

Where my family is from in Michigan The Rapids, la Grande

Makes me, all joking aside, a Yankee Doodle Dandy

Where the emblem of, the land I loved

Was supposed to be where there’s never a boast or brag

But I’ve awakened and I’ve found this only applies to non-fags

If you’re slightly brown skinned or poor, they turn you away

Ain’t nobody got time for that, they’ll remove you from society’s gray.

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NaPoWriMo: I Made This Poem

The ending lines to this poem are not on this art. Diane Crump of Wyoming, MI is the only one who has the true and intended ending of this ditty.

The ending lines to this poem are not on this art. Diane Crump of Wyoming, MI is the only one who has the true and intended ending of this ditty.

The Dandelion Dress

I want a dress made out of dandelions

And a crown made out of stars

I want shoes the color of the Milky Way

To wear to a dance on Mars

I want hair the color of rainbows

And a song as warm as the sun

Come, take my hand, my friend

Come follow me to the fun!

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NaPoWriMo: Thirteen Weeks

Give, Receive, Love

With open heart and willing hands I give to you my gifts

I lay them on the blooming altar to do with as you wish

For when I walk in faith and trust I take such grand adventures

But they never seem to work quite right unless I allow surrender

With open mind and willing heart I will receive your blessings

I wrap them up with loving arms the joys of not repressing

For when I walk in grace and trust, I gain such grand adventures

They always flow as smooth as water, these my greatest treasures

With sacred heart and open mind I’m willing to offer love

As I give so shall I receive from all Watchtowers, below and above.

For when I shine in spirit love, I find a peaceful center

With conscious thought and mindfulness the Otherwhere I enter.

NaPoWriMo 040415: Sipsy

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NaPoWriMo

Fried Green Tomatoes At the Whistle Stop Cafe, Fannie Flagg

I knew the love that woman had was something deep woods

It was something that was taken for granted, but everyone understood.

You do not cross that line between what is wrong and what is good

Not without the skillet in hand bouncing off that head of blood.

I knew the love that woman had was something a thief would rue

It was something everyone claimed to not know, but we already knew.

When she looked into my eyes before that blow bid Frank his adieu

I grinned and nodded approval at her, because a mother’s love is true.

NaPoWriMo: indulgences

Drip your bloodline to mingle with mine

Heat my body, our hands in each other’s hair entwined

Let us drink the wine that spills from our cups

Onto the tables of flesh, let us sup

Tickle my fancy with the brush of your lips

Fancy my giggle along that curve in your hip

Turn your face sideways look over your shoulder

Give me that look that’s for only me; the one that smolders

Remind me again and again how religious we are

As we cry out to the God’s, sing out to the stars.

The Witnesses

To honor Good Friday, I was asked to write a poem. I do not proclaim a faith, just a belief in love and the goodness of the human beings that walk this plane. The three part poem below is written from three perspectives witnessing the crucifixion. When it is read, it is from three different voices they come. I hope it speaks to your spirit if you’re so inclined.

The Witnesses

Verse One: The Observer

I’m not a Christian, but Lord, if I was,

I’d not stand by and watch them offer up applause

For that man they called a criminal for preaching about love

For the one some call Messiah, while others cry Peaceful dove.

I stand here in the crowd as they cheer this brother’s pain

My heart is filled with sorrow, as his beaten body strains

The laughter that I hear from the festive vicious hearts

Breaks something inside of me, tears my faith apart

I want to scream above the crowd, “HEAR!”

In a voice shrill and loud, “ME!”

With my head no longer bowed, “LORD!”

Releasing my own funeral shroud, “I AM NEAR!”

But I am weak, just human. I am nothing compared to them.

But maybe, my kindred spirits, that’s what moves me to condemn

For I love my God with all my heart, and in God’s house I walk

I serve in supplication, I don’t just talk the talk.

I am not a Christian, but Lord, if I ever loved,

I’d heed the wisdom of the dying man, and thank my God above.

Verse Two: The Participant

How dare that man pass his judgement down on me!

Who does he think he is, telling ME how to believe?!

I’ve learned and taught the toe-RAH

I’ve worshipped at the sacred altar

I’ve cantered every prayer

I can recite them without flaw or falter.

Then this mortal man comes along and claims to be

Far more holy than even me?

The Son of God? Oh, reeeeaaaaaaallly!?

I’ve fixed that preachy “Love Thy Neighbor” fellow

I paid my thirty silver to hear him scream in falsetto.

Sometimes the laws I enforce prevent me from doing what’s right

I pass the coins to Roman hands, let them bloody their own hands tonight

This should make my people think twice before leaving our faith

To follow a crazy instigator, that rejects my loving God’s face.

Verse Three: The Intimate

I am hidden in the darkness, afraid to show my face

“Oh Lord, why’d they tell us that Yeshua fell from grace?

You showed me my friend Judas with thirty silver in his fist

Forsake my dear beloved with cold betrayal’s kiss

You let my holy brother be taken

from the garden where we prayed.

You allowed him to be arrested

when you could have let him stay.”

I am hidden in the darkness, afraid they’ll point at me and say

That I was clearly one of his. That they’ll kill me the same way.

“Oh Lord, why have they called for my redeemer to be killed?

When ne’er a drop of anguish from his gentle lips have spilled?

I do not feel you near, Oh God, I’ve lost your loving light

When they took my sweet friend, Yeshua, away in darkest night.

If I weren’t hidden in the darkness, barely safe from Roman harm

I’d scream out my torment, beating my chest to sound alarm.

“Hosanna! Hosanna! I sing to your precious name

Hosanna! Hosanna! My finger points my brother’s shame.

My faith is ever yours, even when I don’t understand.

I mean, you took us through the desert, 40 years we wandered sand

And yet, my Father, I hide here, within this darkened room

I wonder, holy patriarch if his death will also be my doom.”

I am hidden in the darkness, despair my wretched dominion

Oh God! My Loving God! Remove my deserter’s vision.”

NaPoWriMo: Creativity and Pain

I spent the night in the hospital last night while they ran all kinds of tests and suspected I was having a heart attack. I kept mulling the topic of the day, wondering what I should or could write about. My pain level when I arrived was at a high end 8, low 9. In other words, I couldn’t breathe to keep it in control, so my blood pressure went over the top. It occurred to me as I sat in the waiting room sure doom would arrive, I could just write about what I was dealing with at that moment. Pen in hand, I wrote the following poem.

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

Blood Brothers

The pain can only ease

if I am writing poetry

ink to paper thin

dripping words from within

using black and blue bruises

of Bic Crystal pens (my favorites)

The words tick-tock my memories

so I can live again

bloom within

shed my skin

lose to win–

–dows to the sleepless soul

with shades drawn against

the surprise war of the worlds

(Maybe we should toss confetti).

I fill the pages slowly with dragging foot

while my guts glow

radioactive

so attractive

I catch the eyes of ritzy doctors

worshiped nurses

wheelchair parking

and abandoned purses.

I use these words

to forgiv(e)ncourage me

for everything I couldn’t/wouldn’t be

Every day I was too blind to see

That pain can only ease

only ease

if I am writing poetry

NaPoWriMo: The Birth of Your Art

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

Lady Cathy Gritter took me into her church

near her garden door that led only outward.

It had nine panes of stained glass

that guarded the treasures within the hall.

On the pristine white shelves

is where she stored centuries of art,

a sacramental archive of holiness.

I’d enter her church through the side door

withering looks from her husband William

glared resentment at my childish intrusion

I scooted sinfully through to gaze with adoration

at the hallowed scriptures

blessed gospels of

van Gogh, Picasso, de Vinci, Kahlo

offering sermons of:

Sunflowers, Girl Before a Mirror, Mona Lisa, and Weeping Coconuts.

I was allowed to peer into the eyes of holy angels

upon my confessional return of each holy grail.

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

These Are My People: Theresa Wiseman

A beautiful spirit cloaked in kindness.

A beautiful spirit cloaked in kindness.

There is a legend from the ancient fires

That when a body dies, the soul does not expire

But it continues through the ages, grace upon graces

Changing its location, wearing different faces

When two souls their paths abide

Return to gather in eras of needed tribes

The powers that be return them there

So they may uplift, gather in prayer

That they may break bread and commune together

Hold the umbrellas through storms and sunny weather

And sometimes it’s seen as a gracious boon

That one knows the other never too soon

They see the smile, the movement in grace

They feel the love returning from their own face

The one from where the legend of ancient fires sprung

And they know that the cycle has once again begun.

A Walk Through Her

Soul Reflections

Soul Reflections

I walked through her soul picking stray bits and pieces,

Stringing the pearls, stitching them together

With dreams made of pink stitched green ribbon

I made it into a bouquet as a tribute to her beauty

Caught at the peak of fertile perfection

Lightly scented with the essence of her glory

Her gift to the living, loving world.