My mind’s aloft,
Swept by the winds of doubt.
Could lose my way unless I face
Could lose my way unless I face
(I’ve taken a little liberty with the cinquain form in the poem above, but I think it does a perfect job for the purpose of the message.)
Empty lecture halls,
School online for near future:
Degrees in Covid.
The wood-burning cook stove that Granny once used
Is cold now, and covered with dust.
But, oh, what sweet mem’ries my heart still enjoys:
She cooked all our favorites for us.
Her biscuits were tender and flaky and high;
Her dumplin’s cooked tender in broth,
Her pork chops fried up in her skillet of iron,
And milk gravy stirred up to a froth.
Her taters and onions fried tender and sweet,
Her chicken all crispy and brown,
Her ham with pineapple baked for Christmas treat,
And her pies with meringue by the pound.
I miss her a lot, and not just for her meals.
It’s her wisdom and love I miss most.
Her twinkling blue eyes and her bright sunny smile,
And her hugs. Without them I am lost.
But it helps this old heart to stand here by her stove
And remember those meals she prepared,
‘Cause each tasty treat was much more just food.
It was through them her heart she did share.
Well, what can I say? I just wasn’t in the mood for anything serious this evening. In fact, I think “silly” would define my mood best. So, I threw caution to the wind and just wrote out this little ditty to lighten up the day. I couldn’t seem to get away from that old cliché “Love is just around the corner,” so I decided I might as well put it to use for my NaPoWriMo offering.
LOVE DRIVES A BLUE CHEVY
Love, they say, is just around the corner,
But I’ve found that is simply not the case.
I’ve walked around about a million corners,
But none has led me to love face-to-face.
I’ve run into some mighty friendly people,
And into quite a few who were rejects.
Then there were some mentally unstable,
But such variety one must expect.
But as for love, I’ve simply never found it,
Turning corners, going ’round and ’round.
However, when I crossed the street last eve’ning,
I heard some horns and then a screeching sound.
I stopped and cringed and closed my eyes completely,
Expecting to be hit both hard and fast,
But when I realized I was still standing,
I looked up and was instantly amazed.
Love sat behind the wheel of a blue Chevy.
He’d stopped it just one inch from me away.
But not to worry; I’m not pressing charges,
Because tomorrow is our wedding day.
I really enjoy taking part in the National Poetry Writing Month 30-day challenge. The idea is to write a new poem every day for 30 consecutive days. I’ll have to admit that I usually don’t manage to write 30 brand new poems during that time, but I do manage to write a lot. It’s great fun. Some years I’ve used the national prompts that are listed on the site I’ve linked to below. But other years, I’ve gone my own direction entirely. One year, I did only cinquain and wrote a new one each day.
This year I’m probably not going to work with the prompts because, frankly, I’m not sure I can stay with the program for the whole month this time. Other things are challenging my time and attention. But I’m at least going to jump in and get started. If you are a poet — or even if you’d just like to try your hand at poetry for the first time — you might want to check out the host site for the NaPoWriMo challenge at this link:
Let’s get started and have some fun. My poem for day 1 is below, and in since I’m almost to the end of the day already, I’m taking the easy way out and resorting to cinquain — but at least I’m offering 3 stanzas. 🙂
CAUGHT BY SURPRISE
It caught me by surprise.
But I can trust my old standby:
And sometimes sweet.
But when my syllables
Don’t add up right, I get a bit
I’m doing fine.
I’m finding words that fit.
So my verse for day one I can
I longed for a garden for spring,
But I don’t like to dig in the dirt.
I don’t want to plant seeds and wait;
If they don’t turn to flowers, I am hurt.
So I pondered on what I should do.
I was stuck for a while — ah, but then,
I decided I’d create my garden
From my paints and my trusty ink pen.
Now I sit and enjoy with delight
All the flowers I have planted with care.
They have patterns and shapes quite unique,
And my garden will never be bare.
The heat and the cold can’t offend,
And I never need to fertilize.
Horticulture has reached a new plane;
As a gard’ner I’ve turned out most wise.
Politics ruffle my soul.
The worst of most people they show.
But when I get stressed and uptight,
I know what will make it quite right:
Please give me Coffee!
I need to lean back and breathe slow.
For Presidents will come and go.
Some are corrupt and hell-bent.
I’ll pray they’re removed, but ’til then,
Please give me Coffee!
I look back on hist’ry; alas:
We should have learned more from the past.
But I haven’t given up hope.
So with four years of crap I can cope
If I have LOTS OF COFFEE!!!!!!!!
Being in this lockdown mode has taken quite a toll
On, not just my activities, but on my soul.
I’ve found that although at the start, I chafed and whined,
Now, after many months, I’ve become self-inclined.
Where I was once outgoing and with people pleased,
I now am focused on myself, and I’ve perceived
That my self-world is very small and incomplete;
I can’t connect in person; no more meet and greet,
And even online friends, I’ve gradually set aside,
And drifted from the fellowship they did provide.
I wonder if these extreme efforts to stay “safe”
Are costing more than we should be willing to pay.
For while it’s true a little time alone is good,
Still too much time alone, it must be understood,
Can shrivel and dry up even gregarious souls;
We must have real-life fellowship to keep us whole.
I know there are some who will hate me.
And others speak evil of me,
For taking a stand for what’s moral
And for keeping this nation free.
They’ve already gagged social media
That work constitutionally —
Those that allow us to speak truth,
And keep our speech legally free.
But, frankly, I won’t let it stop me.
Their opinions are not worth a sigh.
They don’t have the sense to perceive truth;
Their ignorance quotient’s too high.
But thousands have sacrificed dearly,
To win and preserve liberty.
Their blood cries out now to my own soul
That I must fight to keep us free.
And then there are millions of babies
Whose cries echo down through the years —
Butchered and murdered expertly
As lib’rals emphatically cheer.
So I won’t be quiet and passive.
I’ll speak forth the truth loud and clear.
And I know the forces of evil
Will be quite incensed when they hear.
They’ll sputter and spew out their harsh threats,
And might even put me in chains.
But even in prison, I’ll be right,
And they’ll find that they’ve nothing gained.
Because there’s an end to life on earth,
And before their Maker they’ll quell.
No matter how they twist their stories,
They’ll still end up going to hell.
Well, Sundays now just never seem like Sundays
‘Cause church online just isn’t quite the same.
And Mondays don’t seem right ’cause I’m still home
Instead of working; what a lousy shame.
When Tuesday rolls around, I think it’s Thursday
And start to wonder where the week has gone.
By Saturday, I feel it must be Sunday;
Go online to watch church, but it’s not on.
When Sunday finally comes, I’m more than distressed
Because another week has passed me by,
And I recall that plans I’d made for Wednesday
Have come and gone; I missed them. (Heavy sigh)
And now the holidays are fast approaching,
But they won’t be the same for anyone
‘Cause all the rules for shopping, eating, visiting
Require that we abstain from all that’s fun.
I must admit I don’t do well in lockdown.
Is this the paradigm for staying well?
If so, we need to reevaluate it;
‘Cause life worth living’s going straight to hell.
It’s almost June.
And that means summer’s here.
Can’t stand the bugs and heat, so let’s
I’ve had a thought:
If I delete three months,
It could throw off the universe.
I will admit
I should not mess with time.
So I guess I’ll just grit my teeth
If I had known in days gone by
The things I know today.
I’d have thought and felt and acted
Sometimes, in quite different ways.
If yesterday’s tomorrows
Hadn’t come ahead of time,
If they’d waited ’till I’d learned some more
And had made it to my prime,
I would have done a better job
Of living properly.
If wisdom from today had been
More than a mystery.
And now, I’d like to put a hold
On life’s full speed ahead,
Just ’til tomorrow brings me
Wisdom from what’s up ahead.
Why, I could guarantee success —
I could live the perfect way —
Could I just get my tomorrows
To become my yesterdays!
Normal things take longer.
Technology does not work right.
To think the cause
Is lock-down atrophy.
I find I yearn for simpler times
I tell myself.
And sometimes I obey.
But sometimes I, instead, just take
Just a brief commentary:
When I created this site, my intention was to offer only poetry and pictures that would bring happiness and comfort to people who visited here. Accordingly, I haven’t used the site to deal strongly with anything controversial. However, the seriousness of what we’ve been experiencing for the past several months — and the clear message being sent that murdering children is an essential activity while all the time incarcerating adult families and business owners in their own homes has changed things a little.
My own conscience will not allow me to continue to post here and act as though dangerous and hideous things are not happening under the guise of “keeping people safe.” So this post is a deviation from the norm. However, I encourage any visitors who are upset by the seriousness of this post to simply click on one of the other 207 posts on this site which are focused on things more positive.
Some call it isolation.
Some call it sheltering.
A “safe-at-home” condition
That’s lasted all of spring.
Small businesses are locked down
Churches have empty pews.
But laws allow the sale of drugs
And “grass,” and, of course, booze.
What Liberals term “essential”
Is given liberty.
Abortion clinics have free reign:
Murder in first degree.
The public’s in a panic
Because of media lies.
State gov’ners claim lives matter
While they make sure babies die.
In this crooked and perverse generation, we must stand tall for the Lord.
“Stand up, stand up for Jesus.
The strife will not be long.
This day the noise of battle;
The next the victor’s song.
To those who vanquish evil
A crown of life shall be;
They with the King of Glory
Shall reign eternally.”
Lyrics by C. Barry Robertson / George Duffield / George J. Webb
Beguiles me so.
It’s hue, its scent, its song.
Its movements that caress my soul.
The truth of Jesus Christ’s complete redemption can be told in any form. In this post I’ve set God’s truth into Cinquain — one of my favorite poetic forms.
To lots of folks
It is a scary word.
But there’s a name that can kill it:
By any name.
Must bow to Jesus’ name.
His sacrifice redeemed us from
Get in His Word:
He says it’s medicine
For every ailment we can face.
(Scripture References: Acts 3:16, Philippians 2:9-10, Galatians 3:13-14, Proverbs 4:20-22, and Psalm 107:17-20)