Category Archives: Writing

Day 13 – Poetry for Lent

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Negative Space

The idea of negative space has intrigued me ever since I had an instructor talk about it in an art class. So much of art can be applied to life, don’t you think?

I think I’ll play around with light and dark font/background for this piece. It might add to the impact. And of course, the poem itself is rough, but I think there are some good seeds here…. 

You must add the darks,
my art teacher said
to balance the lights.

    My darks creep in and
    muddy my light 

Negative space
my art teacher called it
The space that
surrounds an object
defines it boundaries
and finds its edges

    Depression confines me,
    cuts edges with razor blade steel

An object doesn't become real
my art teacher said
doesn't stand out
until you add shading.

     What I am not
     helps make what I am real

The mix of positive and negative space
my art teacher said
brings balance 
to a composition.
 
     Learning to think 
     in shades of gray
     brings balance
     to my life.

Day 12 – Poetry for Lent

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As I head to work in the morning, I drive over the bayou bridge where I can see the sun rising in the East, and the moon still showing in the West. This particular poem catches my oh-so-often feeling of being caught in the middle of things and not knowing which way to go.

Somewhere Between
 
Red sun on my left
 full moon on the right
 here i am again
 stuck ‘tween day and night
 
Dare i move south
 or should i go north
 i tremble with fear
 afraid to sail forth
 
Opportunities abound
 in what lies ahead
 so why does it seem
 there’s nothing but dread?
 
Go forth take a risk
sail on take a chance
 you might be surprised
 to enjoy the dance
 
But still i wait here
 locked in the middle
 hoping the sun
 might move just a little.

Day 11 – Poetry for Lent

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Crawling

I am feeling my way
 blind in more than eyes
 longing to soar
 but afraid of falling
or maybe not getting off the ground at all
 so I crawl, inching forward
 eyes closed
and maybe my heart too.
 

 When I quiet all the noise
 I hear your voice
 calling my name
 and my heart remembers you
 and leaps forward
 to meet you again
 still, my flesh holds me back
 my mind pleads for caution
 

 Help me Lord
 cast aside my restraints
that I might fly
in Your awesome wonder.

Day 10 – Poetry for Lent

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Harvest

Devastated to hear about the shootings in New Zealand this morning. This poem was one I had written after the shootings in Las Vegas. I was playing with form because I wanted to paint a visual to go with it as well. Trees always remind me of life and connectedness. I pulled it out and played with it a bit here. Still haven’t gotten very far on the painting….


 
Did you
 feel powerful
 for those minutes,
 framed in that window
 far above the ground
 —far below heaven?
 Did the music sound distant,
 the joy and excitement
 way beneath you?
 When you sowed your terror,
 did you even look down
 to see the crop you planted?
 Chaos
 Panic
 Fear
 Injury
 Death

 Scattered bullets, mistaken fireworks, 
spurred a stampede in that country music crowd. 
 But everyday heroes rounded up the wounded, body-sheltered injured, 
prayed over the dead, and carried the bleeding over fences, 
across runways, behind cars, and under balconies. 
 First responders, nurses, doctors, friends, and strangers 
 jumped those gaps between life and death.

 Did you see that, Terrorist?
 Did you see the hope and help that flowered 
despite the chaos you’d sown?
 Or did you stare into that dark barrel 
before reaping your own deathly harvest?

Do we see
 that what we plant
 we must prepare to harvest?

Day 8 – Poetry for Lent

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Do No Harm

In this poem I played with the idea of several different “voices” as well as what I hope people understand is irony.

Do No Harm
 
First do no harm.
                                  Stomp down 
                                  those who disagree,
                                  who disbelieve.
                                  If they cannot see
                                  your right from their wrong,
                                  cast them out,
                                  like chaff from 
                                  your pure wheat.
                                  Their evil questions raise                               demons of doubt,
                                  doubts and specters of fear.
                                  What is behind the curtain?
Do onto others
what you'd have done
unto you.
                                  Hold strong 
                                  to your god-given truth.
                                  If you say it 
                                  loud enough,
                                  if you close your eyes, 
                                  and recite your prayers
                                  at a shout,
                                  you’ll drown out their cries,
                                  you won't see their wounds.
Truly I tell you, 
whatever you did for 
--or to--
one of the least of these 
brothers and sisters of mine, 
                       Could it be,
                       your secret fear,
                       a man pulling wires?
                       Or maybe no one at all,
                       a captainless ship,
                       a clock wound up and ticking?
you did for 
--or to--
me.                              
                       Or is the real nightmare 
                       coming face-to-face
                       with the wizard Himself,
                       the Great and Powerful,
                       the Mighty and Merciful?
                       And finding He is
                       so much more than you 
                       can ever believe,
                       could ever conceive?
Then do no harm.

Day 7 – Poetry for Lent

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Winter Exorcism

Those early signs of Spring are so welcomed and cherished despite the crazy business of this time of year. Often I agonize over poems, but this one just slipped out. Gotta love it when that happens.

The owl out back is
 asking questions again,
 and I lie here hoping
 to hear the answers
 --or maybe just to 
 understand the questions.
 Life goes by so fast
 I’m moving clocks
 forward, backward, and 
 forward again,
 losing and gaining hours
 I didn’t know I had
 --or that I have already spent
 ten times over,
 like my Christmas money
 or my summer vacation.
 The rain brought the 
 mist rising off the snow
 today like it was exorcising 
 the spirit of winter,
 what with the crocuses
 delicately craning
 their necks above the soil
to watch while I cheer.

 Spring is coming.

Day 6 – Poetry for Lent

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Brother in Arms

I sat down to write this In celebration of my brother’s birthday–but it didn’t go exactly where I expected it to go. Such is the way of writing….

Brother in arms he was
two years younger
but alike as two 
blonde-haired, blue-eyed
peas in a pod.
Together we 
terrorized the neighborhood with pea-shooters
and ding-dong-ditch-it,
wandered the woods
impersonating book characters
--Henry Ware and Silent Tom--
building forts during the summer
and burrowing through snowbanks
in the Michigan winters.
On other days we christened ourselves Scott and Greg,
smoked cigarette butts found on the street 
(once was all it took to kill that habit),
ate snot berries plucked off yew bushes
(thankfully not the seed later found to be poisonous),
and attempted to create the world's largest ball of gum
--not all the additions chewed by us.

Brother in arms he was
but not me
"You're a girl"
a neighborhood kid pointed out
one hot shirtless summer day
when we were putting baby snapping turtles
through the races in the front yard.
Such a small change 
--shirts and skins--
but then came middle school 
with new friends, boyfriends and girlfriends
and though still blonde and blue-eyed,
we were no longer peas in a pod.

Brother in arms he was
but we fought different wars
in high school and college
dragons, secrets and skirmishes
closeness becoming competition
battles over the cat
ending at the point of a knitting needle
until time, distance
and busy schedules
saw the brotherhood disbanded
save for occasional reunions
where news of accomplishments
--battles fought and won--
bring respect and admiration

and a wistful longing
to go back to my childhood days
where I parted ways with
my brother in arms
and travel a different path
together.

Day 5 – Poetry for Lent

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Night Rain

I love listening to the sound of rain when I’m in bed. It raises a sense of nostalgia, a feeling of melancholy–but not in a bad way.

The night saturates
 the land
 Dark fat drops
 plink and plonk
 before settling into 
 a steady drumming
 beating a rhythm
 the lyrics full of 
 longing, burgeoning
 with desire and
 melancholy
 the notes rise
 like trout to a
 fly floated down a
 dark slick of water
 just there and then
 swallowed.

Day 4 – Poetry for Lent

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This poem isn’t finished–time got away from me today–but I had fun playing with the senses. 

If only I had known

 The weight of silence
hangs from my shoulders
 like the wet wool coat
 I wore that
 dark November day

 You stood next to me
 Tight lipped
 Droplets of rain
 Jeweling your hair

 The ground gaped open
sodden dark earth 
 bleeding into pale grass
while pouring rain 
 drummed a mournful tune
on hollow wood 

 If only I had known

 The taste of regret
 sours my mouth
 like the black coffee 
 I drank from
 a flimsy paper cup
 In the hospital 

 You slept buried 
 Under mounds 
 of sterile blankets
 hair winging across pillow

 The curtains hung open
 White moonlight
 Shining into dark room
 while monitors
 beeped the sad echo 
 of a broken heart.

 If only I had known

 The smell of missed opportunities