Day 166, The Tabernacle

Reading my 3 a day and loving it :) Getting so much from it so sometimes it will cause a poem to be written...

The Tabernacle

It's bloody work this life for life

a crimson stain of sacrifice

a smokey ash rising slow

flesh roasting in a hazy glow

hand on head man reconciles

with a God too just to be defiled

eyes gaze down on eye

priest slaughter that which has to die

it's cacophony, sweltering heat and death

a sacred vow, a final breath

a God of mercy must find a way

to cleanse His loved ones for judgement day.

Day 165, rain storm

Rainstorm

This is no gentle shower
But a wind whipped lashing
A blue grey cloak of vague justice
Pelting the earth, a far away predator
Warning of his stealth.

Day 164, a one word poem

Today is about one word, one word that say what I am thinking. Not an emoticon, not a video but one word. What would that be today? What would yours be?

discombobulated

Day 163, so long ovaries

This is in tribute to all women (especially one of my favorite women) who've said good bye to the little tyrants. Adios, via con dios!

Adios Ovaries.

They are ogres, the little ovaries
smile. cry. smile. cry.
bloat. yell. bloat. yell.
They are smug little puppet masters
pulling the estrogen strings at whim
and we are their little vetriliquist act
we speak their truth despite our own
knowledge that life is quite opposite
It's like God put out a job search for
aeronautical engineers and decided carnys
would be more fun, "You wanna go up again or down?
Couldn't hear you darling... down it is!" he snarkles
as he releases the lever for yet another mood swing
or a little hot flash fun.
"Ha. Ha. Ha." we grumble.
"HA. HA. HA. I'll show you funny!" we laugh
maniacally and somewhere, after this point,
the surgeon is called, an appointment made
and an unemployed carney grabs his hobo sack
and hits the road, ride left unattended, but
halted none the less.



http://www.carnyamericanaonthemidway.com/carny_book_images/content/bin/images/large/Carny_americana_on_the_midway_Page_37.jpg



Day 162, a truthful moment

There is sunshine and smiles
There is dancing and butterbean
Flesh with puffy red lips smiling at me
There are bitter leaves doing graceful
Somersaults across asphalt
And a subtle lemonade flavored sweetness
To this moment of waiting
There is peace and this is the truest part
Of my day, I'm surrendered to it. Completely
Sunken in like a Hollywood boulevard star
A day marking the solidity of what is
Without worry of what was or what will be

Day 161, priest

If your reading the 3 chapters a day you will have read this part today. I was reading the description of Aaron's robe and it just struck me how often we would rather go through thte ritual, wear the fancy robe, anything but stand free in front of the grace of Christ, anything but admit we believe we are free from the need of sacrifice.

The Priest

It's the wearing of the robe
the royal purple hue
the glitter of the gems
the hefty weight of value

We wear this priestly garb
minister to our Lord
and sadly watch over the alter
ready for the sacrifice
bracing for the blood
the heavy weight of stone
of tribes and nations
on shoulders overburdened

that's what our worship
can wrongfully become
and He hears the bells hemming
the bottom of the robe, the tinkling
sound of our audacity
a priest where a priest should not be

Day 160, grey days don't make great days

Grey Day


Grey days don't make great days
but they can be good days
heather grey and powder coated
skies doused with a ghost white fog
floating all around the trees, 
trees whose green can not be seen
through the soupy sludge
that is this very grey day,
this very great day, but that will
be my secret, the thing the fog
will not disclose, the potential
for goodness, for joy under the
weight of this miserable cloud,
winters oppressive inclinations
no barrier to the warmth stored
underneath skin familiar with the sun.

Day 159, Pain is painful

So a friend inspired this one. We've met maybe a handful of times and she bothers to get on here and encourage me and I appreciate that, I need that! So this is for you friend, feel better soon!  I should add that part of this poem is inspired by another friend's idea, I just put it to verse.

Pain

Where does it hurt the most
where do you agonize
is it back or heart
body or mind
what pill will cure this pain
and will it return again?

Is it botheration or ruin
is it torture or discomfort
Where does it hurt the most?
and why try to quantify the buzzing
by of interuption and defeat

is it head or foot
is it eyes that look too far away
words that stab or a dull
incessant throbbing?
where does it hurt the most
what pill will cure this pain?

where is the Lord when I need Him
when will He see me again
do I stop and cry out,
scream at the injustice of an agony
overlooked, where is the Lord when
I need Him? Where is He when I hurt?

He's the gentle voice of friend and nurse
the easing found in a pill of course
the joy you find when the pain's
overwhelmed by children's laughter
the hand of a friend gently placed
on crying shoulders

He's the still small voice crying out
turn to me, have no doubt
I am God enough for even this
sweet soul, your pain is my most tender
gift, given in all authority, it will not waste
when returned to me.

Day 158, dreaming of the beach

It was my last suggestion for the week! Deb likes the beach :)

Dreaming Of the Sand

It's the tang of the sea salt spray
The soft vibration of crashing waves
The salve of breeze and sunshine's rays
That leave me dreaming of that place
The sea a gallant master of ceremony
welcoming its Creator from a sandy stage.

Day 157, It's potty training time

Thanks Tara! I thought you loved me better than this :) Imagine that, it's one of my longest poems LOL!

A Tinkle in Time

It's just a tinkle in time
a little moment of victory
a glorious hope, a glimmering
future where white china bowls
sparkle and flush amidst toddler joy.

It's just a tinkle in time though
they do it once and we dream
of life diaper free until wet pants
bring us down to reality and sticker
charts are posted in a vain attempt
to motivate but it's all just a wee too
soon, you won't whiz through this.

So we sit remembering the one,
the first bright moment,
that tinkle in time
where the world was right
and we buy our pull ups, those
diaper pants that delude us
and we coax and coo at our little
ones who seemed to go with the
flow yesterday but not today.

Just a tinkle in time, just a
moment to remind us that we
have no control when it comes
to the white throne, it's all up
to the prince and princeses to
make up their minds, to find that
magic once again. When every day
is filled with joyfully empty diapers,
all is dry and well, a tinkle in time
indeed, that potty is our wishing well!

Day 156, Duck hunting?! poem?!

I've hemmed and hawed and as I write this the poem has not been written. I had ducks for pets as a child... I don't like guns... but I grew up with grand ducks and geese adorning our walls, pridefully shot and stuffed. So what way do I approach this. As a proud southern girl whose Papaw taught her to shoot a gun when she was 8 or the other girl, the one that cried rivers when Sue my first duck died... Thanks to Brad Ewing for the challenge! :P

PS I slapped this in here but enjoy, I think I still wavered in the poem but such is life!

The Duck Hunt

Be he Mallard
or a brown speckled she,
he waits ever so quietly.
There's the cold of the black
gun metal rested in his palm,
it's slick, greasy barrell a solid
reminder of his task.

He sits in a boat swishing too
and fro in the muddy southern waters
tufts of polyester camo waving like
little prayer flags all around him
a bubble of secret, hidden intent.

He loves this place, this quiet
this sudden cold from an Eastern wind
invading the moist heat that autumn leaves.
He reveres this place. It's holy ground.
The quietly lapping waters, the echo
of acorns bumping against the weathered metal
of the boat. The smell of coffee, earth and oil.
Heaven maybe, if a duck flys by.

And one does. He sees through the opening
in the distance, through ice cold binoculars,
his mind hears the gentle calls before his
ears can register the waft of wind under feathers
the murmuring calls of a string of ducks.
His hand tenses on his gun. He grabs for the
little cylinder meant to fool them. He blows and
calls them nearer. Here I am he says, hiding.
All of the quiet now an amplifier for an arrival.

They fly just ahead and above. He aims his weapon,
sets his sight and says a small prayer. He wants
the duck to fall almost as much as he wanted them
to arrive, almost that much. And one does.

The flock scatters, squawking. He takes another
shot and misses, they are gone. The air is warmer.
He is out of hiding as he goes to retrieve his bounty.
He adores this place, this quiet dominion.
He places the duck in the boat and paddles back to the blind
removing his heavy camoflauged coat, easier now.

Day 155, a "Taboo" poem

So I played the game Taboo with this Poem, didn't use the words that I was talking about to see if I could say it without "saying it" and partly to mess with Sherri for always sending the hardest topics! :P

It's nothing but
a damp balloon
a fleshy
sack of air
A space of give
and take
A fragile vase
for the atmosphere
An inner indian giver.

Day 154, Step Mothers

Susan Stewart suggested this one. Thanks Susan!

Step Mother

It's good when their good
it's bad when they aren't.
Not all are evil
but some play the part.
Cinderella slept in the ashes
Leaking tears on dusty lashes
but the step mother did not see
or refused to care, simply
wanting what was not hers
out of her whiskered hair.
For not all mothers are motherly
not all steps go up
but those that have to endure her
must forgive their wicked luck.

Day 153, the taste of temptation

The Taste of Temptation
We hold golden goblets,
drink from the king's table
the finest wine. An ever
empty cup sits waiting
to be filled.

It's the twenty four karats
glimmering, dancing in the
candlelight, bright amber
and dark undulating, blurring
the lines.

The blood red wine
looks so alive,
so semptuous in it's
golden bath that our
lips crave only
the bittersweet taste
of its temptation

The golden dance
of spilling brim
and drought play master
to our pallete. Want, want.
Wanting more and more
until we are drunk on our
own desire to see an empty
cup be filled. Our enemies
willing servants to our desires.

Day 152, Blessed Brokeness

Thanks for the idea Rodney :) Odd that a blog I follow would have the link at the bottom of this post today. Kelle Hampton does such an amazing job being honest and proactive for her little girl with DS.

Blessed Brokeness

Brokeness is not a
sudden stabbing pain
but a smashing, a wave

crashing into your understanding.

It's the sharpest shards
that wound us easiest, that
beg the most attention after
but it's the sea glass smoothness
from the smallest pieces that we

look at a little later with awe.
Like jewels they tumble into our hands
colorful and worthy.

These glass sentiments
are no longer breakable
no longer vulnerable
but a soft and gentle
remembrance of a moment
when everything seemed shattered
when the outline of our lives
crumbled enough for us to see
the vibrant color, the persistent
smoothing that claims the best of us
the unseen beauty trapped in a vase
of our thoughtless thinking.

The blessings from our brokeness
leaving the gentlest sound of crashing
glass and the memory of mercy.

Day 151, honest truth

Ever thought about the phrase "honest truth". Not really all that appealing. Can you imagine if you gave the honest truth to your kids... the dishonest truth sounds like this, "Mommy and Daddy need time alone, that's why we where in the bedroom with the door shut"... or you could give the kid the "honest truth" and traumatize him for life


The "dishonest truth", Thank you for applying but with all of the other applicants it was a tough decision, verses the "honest truth", You where over qualified and the boss thought the 25 year old was hot.

Honestly, Truthfully

It's an honest mistake
the truth. Truthfully,
I didn't mean to be so
honest. I honestly
didn't think you
would hear that.
Yes, it's true what
I said but it honest to goodness
isn't what I meant.
If I'm really honest
I don't like to hear
the truth, but I'd rather
hear you lie and tell the truth
than hear the honest truth,
truly, truly, this is the truest truth.
An honest truth is a ruthless rouse.

Day 150, how to rangle a wrinkle

Wrangling Wrinkles
Wrangling wrinkles is ellusive enough
they go their own way, willful and tough
breeding like bunnies
so stopping them's funny.

The one sure way to wrangle a wrinkle
is to smile so people will think you'll
caught them all, fenced them in
the wrinkles all trapped in your grin.

Day 149, It's a hum drum day

Hope you all are having ho-hum days :)
A Hum Drum Day
It's a hum drum day
and not the best sort
but the bleary, dreary
tick and tock of time

It's a grey sky day
and not the best sort
a day when the Blues
seem too cheerful

It's a telethon day
and not the best sort
a marathon of mundane
the to do list your guide

But it's not a bad day
so it's not the worst sort
just a hum drum, ho hum
I guess I'll do the dishes

That kind of day.
Not the best nor the worst
but just the sort of day
a tired sort sort of dreams of.

Day 148, spring can wait

It's the tangy warmth
Of winters ivory sun
That causes us to
Crave the sweet green grass
Of spring well before
The solace of winters
Steadfast arms are ready to
Release us, so we will the fragile
Frozen sheets to break under our strength
Never understanding the Chills
Ability to preserve us from the heat.

Day 147, Winter is not a winner

Winter Is No Winner
Winter is no
contest for the sun.
It's benevolent rays
always melt
the thickest ice
layer by layer
it is weakened
and warmed
to liquid
glistening as
it drips
and drips
and drips
to puddles
of wet earth.
The heat of it's
light more
penetrating than the
bitter chill in the air.
Winter is no contest
for the sun.

Day 146, my own photo for once

This picture was my poem today...I have a friend blogger always posting her coastal blues and turquoise stuff and well, this is our Lousiana brown and orange stuff, only today after an ice storm it looked all glittery and magical. (sigh)

Give me three words that describe what your outside looks like right now.

Day 145, Stillness

Stillness
Perpetrates
a thinking
It's a catalyst
For longing
A launching pad
For contentment
A sounding board
Your inner most self
Can be heard from
And it is a loathed
Thing, this stillness
We avoid it like
Disease, our daily
Lives inoculated
So that stillness will
Not spread. We eat the
Fruit of chaos hurriedly
Instead.

Day 144, winter white

Power is out, fire is crackling, nothing is humming.

Winter white
Solitude
Ressurects the
Shy, soft spoken
Voice of
tenderness

Day 142, Life Rocks!

Life Rocks!
Life rocks
and then it sways
tossed too and fro
by the waves
waffling between a
sea sick wench
and a lusty pirateer

The waves have a rythm
stormy gales, coastal breeze
salt whipped skin burnt by
the sun becomes leather
you learn what must walk
the plank so the ship does not sink
and you begin to hum
a viking song of love and loss
aft and bow all sorted out
Life sways
and then it rocks.

Valentine Giveaway Winner!

It's lucky commenter #3, Gwynne Toellner! Gwynne I need you to facebook me some info on the person you want the card to go to. You think of the kind of card you want (funny, romantic...) then send me some helpful information about that person and your relationship with them! Congratulations!

Day 141, Walmart in verse

I apologize to my Walmart loving friends. I just can't like it no matter what. Target, where fore art thou Target? 


Walmart

Oh, Walmart is a special hell on earth
Oh, Walmart is a special hell on earth

It's the parking lot that starts it but
the check out line completes it.

Oh Walmart is a special hell on earth.

When you finally get the kids out of the car
you go to get a buggy. There are no more.

It doesn't take too long once your inside
before you and a Snooky look alike collide

She bout snaps your head off
then grabs the last head of brown lettuce

You came in feeling nice

you leave with a heart as cold as ice

Oh Walmart is a special hell on earth.

Day 140, vast and endless

It's vast skies and endless oceans
That stoke our inspiration
But it's the sticky work of tar and
pitch that wield success from perspiration.

Valentine Giveaway!

I don't know why I'm doing this but other bloggers do and the challenge sounded fun! One winner will receive a personalized poem written for whomever they choose. It will be delivered the week before Valentine's on archival paper in card format and posted on the blog Valentine's Day. I don't know about you but a commissioned poem sounds pretty romantic!

All you have to do to win is post a comment on this blog entry by Friday midnight with your first and last name and city you live in. Once Friday midnight comes I will randomly select a winner. I will announce the winner Saturday. My lucky winner will have to send me whatever info they can about the person the poem is for to help me get inspired (do you want mushy or funny, totally your call). Can't wait to start! Share this on Facebook with other friends that might not know me so that we can get plenty of entries and don't worry, more give aways to come as I am nearing my halfway point in several weeks! I will be celebrating that for sure!

Day 139, The Hokey Poky Tango

The Hokey Pokey Tango

It's a dance this motherhood.
At once the most sublime
calling, an intense dance of
letting go and holding on,
a passionate tango of the heart.

And then there's the hokey pokey
dance. A discombobulated
foray of arms and limbs stumbling
to find balance in the midst of the mess.
Drty laundry and diapers a cacauphony
that disrupts the elegant stream of
movement performed flawlessly
in their laughter, their faces
swallowed in sunshine.

So we dance the hokey pokey tango
we tango the hokey pokey
because that's what it's all about!

Day 138, I wrote it all

I wrote what needed saying
The thing my heart was stuttering
About. The pen is my Aaron, my voice
When I can't say it well enough. The black ink
My quiet counselor, my secrets safely tucked in
Between the words that love to do the telling.

Day 137, Inhale/Exhale

Inhale
the vapors
of peace,
the smokey
tendrils of
contentment,
inhale deeply
the aroma
of joy.

Exhale
the lingering
doubts, the
stale breath
of fear,
exhale and
savor the
space left
to breathe.

Day 136, A Walk in the Park

A Walk in the Park

It's the needle from the prickly pine
that forms a soft nest below our feet
the crunch from tufts of leaf and debris
echo in the chill of the softest wind
Somehow mother nature is embracing
wrapping her arms around us, muffling
the sharp sounds of reality, our laughter
and chatter ringing across the air like crystal.

Mommy did you see that pinecone,
it's the perfect pinecone, can I keep it?
A little boy picks up a twig. Dadda, look!
the scatter of small pebbles scrapes the gravel path.
a small, charred piece of wood lands softly
in the amber pine straw ahead, instantly at home.

A walk in the park I thought as I inhaled
a little deeper and smelled burning wood
and evergreen. As I kicked up tiny white mushrooms
I thought, this is a walk in the park.
A path I do not amble down often enough.

Day 135, My New Year's resolution

I really don't DO resolutions but then again, I sort of do... blessings to whoever is reading this, there is one wild little life to live, may it be lived well this year!

Eleven Resolutions for Twenty-Eleven

First, I won't make so many assumptions

I won't assume I'm ready for anything

I'll know I can't be.

I won't pretend to be more than I am.

I will not be afraid to fail.

I won't be afraid to be awesome.

I'll know I'm not really awesome.

I'll fight to be heard

but hopefully, I won't be heard fighting.

I'll love people better by giving better love.

I will let my mess be my message.