This is for FOWC: Eulogy and Angie Trafford’s Writing Wednesday, “memories.”
Eventually for all of us, this
Ubiquitous ceasing of earthly
Life arrives — what is left behind?
One’s family, friends, one’s love,
Good memories and a gracious state:
Yesterday’s gone; what words live today?
It’s late, but I haven’t posted today. I have written a lot about today’s feast day in the Roman Catholic Church, the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. For more information, click here. This is just one of the poems inspired by that today.
Save us through Your cross, O Lord,
Toss aside our sins,
With the Spirit in our hearts
Renewal begins.
All expected facts reversed,
A curse made glorious:
Died but then risen again,
Jesus, victorious!
Splinters from this painful tree
Lead to healing, making free.
A cherita inspired by FOWC: Inevitable and shared with today’s Writers’ Pantry. Happy Sunday to all.
Take the looming inevitability of death and taxes —
Give back to the community to live longer,
More happily and in memory; better to live forever
With the Holy Trinity in ineffable Heaven —
Caesar can keep his money. It tarnishes eventually.
Give to Caesar what is his, to God what is God’s.
This décima is for Ronovan’s challenge: prize, and is also partly inspired by Fandango’s dog days of August day #7: “something you found.” It’s hard to tell a whole story in just 10 short lines, but I wrote this about perseverance through disappointment and continuing to believe in oneself.
Gymnast’s next tournament approached,
Quickly she was on a mission:
Outperform all competition,
So she trained hard, expertly coached.
That day, her nerves on skills encroached:
Sadly she tumbled to the ground;
But got back up — might not astound,
But greater than the golden prize
Was the light shining in her eyes,
For no fall shook confidence found.
This is for FOWC: Tentative and this week’s Saturday Mix. It is a poetry form called a Triquint. Follow the link to find out more. It was actually difficult to do well. This is my third attempt at a Triquint, and I’m still not sure about it.
Through difficult days, sad times forgive.
When one’s voice must be plaintive
Have courage to live:
Tentative
Press.
Unsure of life, no one feels festive.
What one knows falls through a sieve.
Have courage to live
Tentative
Guess.
Remember how much God wants to give,
Though now the soul is restive
Have courage to live,
Tentative —
Yes.
I need to preach this to myself, especially today.
I am sharing my day 12 poem with the Writers’ Pantry. This was inspired by the fact that today is Easter, as well as John 20:11-16.
When it was still dark,
I went to the tomb.
For even the darkness
Is lighter with you:
You know the darkness too.
I stood there weeping,
With you taken away.
With weeping was praying,
Which you heard — and I turned,
Since you know my name.
Day 10. I wasn’t going to post this but have not been able to write anything better for Frank’s prompt at DVerse about seven-line poems.
The virus isolation breaks my heart,
Especially with no Eucharist received
Nor even seen in person — though apart
And with so many others, greatly grieved,
Faith lives in hope — she’s blessed who has believed.
I live-stream watching Mass and Tenebrae, *
Lamenting that they’ve taken Him away.
*Tenebrae is a liturgical service during Holy Week. If you want to know more, click here.
This tanka (or maybe it is a kyoka) responds to three prompts: mostly Heeding Haiku but also Angie Trafford’s writing Wednesday and JusJoJan day 30. Thank you to all the prompters!
Pummeled broken heart
Knocked down to the ground, knocked out
Gets back in the ring
An indomitable soul
Takes heart, fights again for love
The above photo is of some recent coloring that I did.
For the final prompt in the Imaginary Garden, we are revisiting some of the best prompts throughout the years. I chose to write (again) to Sanaa’s prompt about water.
All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.
– Toni Morrison
If all water has a perfect memory,
And my body is 75% water,
Is my memory 75% perfect,
And 25% unsure?
My memory, gaslit,
Is imperfect yet legitimate:
My body remembers
What the mind can’t fathom
In depths of horror.
Is it water under the bridge?
Is it running through 75%
Of the same rivulets,
Memory trying to be made pure?
The King of all the people’s has come near,
Rex Gentium — this is the name we laud,
The name belonging only to our God,
Who tells us that we never need to fear
When His great scepter our life wholly guides.
To Him belong all power and control,
Authority and means to make us whole
And love, even when consolation hides.
The One come near can live inside of all
Who will to take upon themselves His yoke:
His yoke is easy and His burden light.
He comes to everyone who deigns to call,
To stoke the flame of love, and in grace soak:
Regard the precious infant born this night.
Merry Christmas to all who celebrate!
