A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words that includes a specific word. Today’s quadrille uses the word “storm.” The poem does not have to rhyme, but mine does because sometimes I like to challenge myself a little bit.
Rage on, fearsome storm, my Captain steers!
Howl, shout loudly, assail my ears,
For calling on my Captain frees from fears.
With Him as guide, what matter other voices?
On seas of life, He knows the ideal choices,
And so my stormy soul rejoices.
Evidently, June 2 is national donut day. Linked to DVerse’s open link night.
Unassuming balls of dough
Are thrown into hot oil,
Then glazed or iced (pink frosting,
please!), dressed up in sprinkles
Or whatever strikes one’s fancy.
But before they are beautified,
A hole is cut from the middle,
And even that is fried,
But at least no piece is wasted.
Are thrown into life’s trails,
Covered with fire and ice,
And holes are cut from their insides.
Yet even these pieces can be beautified,
It can one day create a sweetness —
I believe no experience is wasted.
Today on DVerse we are writing poems about gifts. The greatest gift I ever received was a person (well, more like several people) who helped me to realize how deeply I was and am loved.
The gift of love you’ve given me,
Still present when I cannot feel
Your strong arms holding me closely,
Immeasurable, yet very real.
Eyes of my heart can daily see
Something that a kiss need not seal:
Love is more than passing romance,
But joining another in life’s dance.
This week’s Haibun Monday challenge on DVerse is about Kintsugi, the Japanese art of taking the broken pieces of something and putting it back together by adding gold lacquer, creating a work of art more beautiful than before. This haibun is based on a true and fairly recent happening in my life. I almost didn’t write it but am glad that I did.
While trying to wake myself up with some coffee, filling the reservoir with water, I knock off a glass candle holder from it’s perch on the mahogany end table. I can see it falling, hear it clatter as it reaches the tile floor, all the pieces unevenly breaking and scattering, as from a fearsome predator. I stand still and silent for a moment. I yell for help but there is no one here. Timidly I tip-toe over the top of all these pieces and grab the vacuum, which sucks up all the tiny pieces, all the shards of what once was beautiful and useful, but was something I never paid much attention to, ungrateful, until the unused candle holder flung itself to the floor.
I wonder, even then, if there was a use for all the pieces, if they needed to be cast into oblivion, or if, like Humpty Dumpty and the king’s men, nothing could put them together again.
No longer springtime,
But summer of my life: I
Treasure all pieces.
In honor of today’s feast of the Ascension….
All peoples shall come to you, O God,
Save all who call upon your name,
Choirs of angels your majesty applaud,
Enjoying peace and love eternally.
Now we small humans may enjoy the same,
Setting us and every captive free
In Christ, both victim and high priest,
Our savior and love, who takes away all shame:
Nearness to you makes greatness from the least.
On DVerse today, we are experimenting with a form called ottava rima.
This form has 8 lines per stanza, with the rhyme scheme abababcc. Ottava rima poems can have any number of stanzas; the one that I wrote today has only one stanza, but that’s okay!
As many of my other poems describe, I have struggled with anorexia for several years, and that struggle and what I have been learning inspired today’s poem. It focuses on appearance, body image, and the culture of dieting, though I know very well that eating disorders are about much more than simply wanting to look a certain way, and they are much more complicated than a diet that went too far. Still, I think that the culture today, which focuses so much on external looks and a skewed idea of fitness, contributes to the formation of eating disorders and to the difficulty of letting them go.
Why put our bodies through the hell we do,
Always trying to change the way we look?
My soul’s own house was forced to go through
Untold pain, which nearly took
Away my life, and years to even begin to
Undo the damage: My own self I forsook.
To free you from the same unhappy fate,
Flee, my friend, from comparison and hate.
Today’s poetry adventure is to write a quadrille using the word “sound.”
I reread your letters, drinking your words
Like clean and deep well water.
I see your looping purple ink
Which describes your life, and reaches out to me.
I miss you the way winter misses spring.
I miss the sound of your bird-song voice.