Not Forfeited

For Fandango’s Flashback Friday, I am continuing to explore my poems from May 2019. I finally decided to share this one, from May 13th of that year. Not too dark. Enjoy. 🙂


The only way to not survive the fight
Is to give up; the spirit can’t be killed
But only ceded, so keep hope in sight:
It is not God who has destruction willed,
But satan lies in wait. Though he is skilled
Remember not to forfeit; watch and pray,
And God will give you victory today.

 

If I Am Persephone…

I was inspired to write this by extending the metaphor a bit from yesterday’s poem. My poor mom.


Persephone gone so much of the year —
Her dear daughter — gone, there is no more Spring,
The leaves also fall as descend her tears,
Then winter wind imitates her wailing.
That missing presence causes constant stings.
She mourns her daughter lost down in the dark,
Small pomegranate seeds have left their mark.

I wanted to spin some words into something positive, but even though some pleasant things happened today, this is the best poem that got written.

Unseen Hope

There is something unseen upon the beach,
Those are not just your footprints on the shore;
Deep in your core, when the Lord you beseech
Comes to your aid — His presence has stayed more
Than you have known; He says “Come to Me, poor
Sinners” the path is shown, and grace has flowed:
Well done, welcome to heaven’s rich abode.

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The Saturday Writing Routine

Today’s stream-of-consciousness prompt is “fortune.” The first thing I think of is “fortune cookies.” I think that’s kind a misnomer these days because they seem more like “compliment cookies” to me. However, they are still entertaining. I often keep the fortunes, and one I got recently claimed, “Versatility is one of your outstanding traits.” The reason why I kept it is because it was so, incredibly WRONG. I am definitely a creature of habit and can get very cranky if someone messes up my routine. As a kid, it used to be really bad. Like many people, I also just find familiar things to be comforting — for example, eating at the same Chinese food place all the time. 🙂

Usually, I post a poem, even for the SoCS prompt, but am I inventive enough to wax poetic about fortune cookies? Hmm…

Here’s another fortune I found: “Your doubts will turn to happiness soon.” I probably kept that one to see if it would come true. 🙂

Your doubts will turn to happiness,
A fortune worth much more than gold:
The living God will one day bless
These efforts to onto faith hold.
The adversary has become more bold.
“Never give up” — that has been your routine.
Fruits of your labor shall soon be seen.

Yay, a poem! It’s almost a Chaucerian stanza. No editing, because SoCS.

On Epiphany

Today is the traditional Feast of the Epiphany, when the Wise Men arrived to see and worship the baby Jesus. I wrote this Chaucerian stanza on Sunday, when the Epiphany was observed at Mass. The Magi certainly had a sense of anticipation as the journeyed such a long distance to find Jesus, and they were privileged to witness the unfathomable mystery of God becoming a human baby. 


person holding a star shaped neon light
Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Astronomers who’d journeyed from afar
Rejoiced to lay their treasures at His feet,
Trusting there was a Light beyond their star:
True King and God, whom death could not defeat.
In Mary’s arms the Savior they did greet,
Their Lord, their great reward at journey’s end.
Now to all people Christ’s life still extends.

Linked with DVerse OLN.

Inside the Eye

It has been hard for me to come up with poems during the last 2 days, especially halfway-good ones, but I wanted to post a poem today, having skipped it yesterday. Even when all of my poems are bad, they are fun to write because, especially if I am writing in a specific form, it is like playing with words. 🙂 Here’s one poem that I managed to finish last night. It happens to use the word for FOWC from a couple of days ago (stupendous!).


I’ve hardly written anything today:
Ideas swirl, but none solidify.
It’s difficult to figure what to say.
Ideas aren’t stupendous; don’t know why.
Yet realizing this, I start to try.
Some lines take shape in this stanzaic form,
Like a calm eye inside a frantic storm.

person holding white ceramci be happy painted mug
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