Time / Eternity

For FOWC: Transitory. Shared with the Writers’ Pantry at PSU. Today, we Catholics celebrate Trinity Sunday, so I have been thinking a lot about the transitory nature of time and of this life, as compared with the permanence of eternity. One of the 6 or so poems that I wrote is a Diamante.

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What If?

This is for FOWC: Wand and the Weekly Scribblings, which this week is about hunting and/or being hunted. I decided to go for exciting / hopeful / happy, rather than terrifying. 🙂 


What if tomorrow’s sunrise is the most divine?
What if a coming sunset is the prettiest?

What if what you search for, you have found?
What if that drab stick on the dry ground

Is a magic wand, bringing peace, more than a dream?
What if you keep seeking what magic means?

Unasked, Unanswered

I never put trigger warnings in my posts, but I will for this one. TW: mental illness, suicide
This was inspired by the official NaPoWriMo prompt, which is “to write a poem that poses a series of questions” (I hope this fits) and also the Weekly Scribblings prompt about liminal space. In case you’re wondering, I actually feel better after writing this. I thought maybe I shouldn’t post, but I couldn’t resist responding to 2 prompts at once. 🙂


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Time of New Birth

The décima challenge this week is “Birth” in one of the D rhyme spots. It’s a timely prompt, as it’s April. Last time I went to the park, I noticed a profusion of new flowers and multiple ducklings! Linked also to today’s Writers’ Pantry.


Sun rises earlier each day:
It has been hesitant to wake
Yet lately decided to make
The most of it, a better way.

And later the sun also stays,
Shining its rays upon the ground,
Illuminating all around.
Now this April springtime-green Earth
Is filled with blossoms and new birth:
Even more beauty will abound.

Peut être une image de oie, nature et étendue d’eau
Ducklings with their Mama Duck

Ronovan Writes Decima Challenge Image

A Day in April

What happens when a survivor
Wants to stop surviving?
This piece of identity
Crumbling

What happens when the birds
Make her so happy,
But their songs fly
Like their wings?

What happens is, even when
April is new-born and sunny,
There is an understanding
Of what Eliot meant

When he said April is the cruelest month.

 

This is so not the poem I intended to write, but life has a way of throwing stuff at us, right? Hooray for being able to respond to NaPoWriMo day 23 and the Weekly Scribblings at PSU.