This is for DVerse’s prompt about rain, and it is particularly inspired by Sarah’s words in the prompt post itself, since Sarah asked us, “Give me your rain.”
Give me your rain.
Whether it be dew
Or a downpour,
Whether it be drizzle
Or a deluge,
That I may drink
You — Truth comes first.
Oh, I thirst.
We are writing quadrilles using the word “slip.”
How effortless it sometimes is
To slip into a false persona,
Just because it is expected —
How difficult it sometimes turns
When the truth inside you burns,
To engulf walls you’ve erected —
And the mask you’ve selected.
Too tired to keep trying,
You slip.
I am sharing this with the Writers’ Pantry, as we say goodbye to May and say “Onward, June.” I’m happy about today being the special day of Pentecost, yet this is what I wrote in response to reading a passage from Romans 8 this morning.
He who searches hearts:
Understand this muddled voice
Troubled with what-if
Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. Now He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God
Romans 8:26-27 (NKJV)
I combined two prompts for this poem, Linda’s paint-chip poetry for the week and also Ronovan’s Décima challenge using “dream.” I hope this is good because I wrote 4 or 5 décimas in the past few days but didn’t feel confident sharing any of them.
Saxophone solo, smooth as dreams,
Piano keys accompany —
Both ebony and ivory —
Talent rare as saffron, it seems.
Courage in a lion heart gleams:
New life imbued into spirit,
Rocking the boat but fine with it,
The boat was sinking anyway.
A living spring will gush today:
Music shall play, songs not tacet.
I wanted to post something today so that I wouldn’t break my almost 2-month streak, but I feel like everything that I have tried to write is bad. So here’s this.
Silent muse mimes
Many times; my
Brain climbs — backwards.
I am sharing this with DVerse open link night. I’ve been trying to respond to several prompts, but it hasn’t been happening, so here’s this one!
Is
Every day
A repetition
Of the one before, all the
Same.
Stuff.
With all the same wonderful
Manifold small joys
Day after
Day?
This was inspired by Linda Kruschke’s paint-chip poetry #21. I was also partially inspired by Memorial Day, which was on Monday.
The blue irises of her eyes
Find the looking-glass, and pine
For her Beloved, praying, that
Under a field of poppies he’s not staying:
The nursery which she’s preparing
For their child waiting to be born,
Is a safe place, needs to reassure —
So her soldier’s return is worth waiting for.
