Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Poetic Bloomings (Triquatrain) and Poetic Asides (Appointment)

Writing Day


My computer’s  calling, I feel like bawling

I’d like to go on a trip

To stick to my vocation, I need some motivation

This  day, I’d like to skip


The stories need writing, should be exciting

But I just want to play

My readers are waiting, anticipating

Or maybe stay in bed all day


 I’ll stick these words together, though they could sound better

My hubby’s soon coming home

What did you write today, he will probably say

Well, at least, I wrote a poem

Aug 28, 2012

Jesus didn’t come to condemn,

but to save.

It is not mine to judge,

but to love.

The Holy Spirit convicts,

I don’t.

So Lord, help me love

and not try to take over

 the Holy Spirit’s job.

Aug 27, 2012

With all that is in me

I worship You,

You are worthy of my being,

my very breath.

I pray that all I think, say, write and do

will honor Your name.


Sunday, August 26, 2012

Poetic Bloomings AKA

Connie Marie

My name’s NOT Connie Marie!
I would stamp my foot and holler
when my Great Uncle Bob called me that
when I was four and of course
I heard that name for a long time after,
because people liked to see me have a fit.
Great Uncle Bob bought me a stuffed hippo
which wore a red and white striped apron,
and I liked it better than I did him.  

Mom called me Connie Lee,
in such a way that it made me glad
Connie Lee was my real name.
She’d also call me Brown Eyes
since she delighted in the fact
that at least one of her five girls
had brown eyes like her. 

Dad called us all KathyJudyLindaConnieKaren
since he could never get it right on the first try
or Sam, Smokey or Sassafras
since they were easier than KathyJudyLindaConnieKaren. 

My second-oldest sister called me Connie Louise
when I spent the summer with her,
(not sure why, but I didn’t throw a tantrum).
And I’ll always love all my sisters more
than what they can give me. 

My sisters now call me Con. We all
have shortened names for each other
since we regard each other as friends.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Writing the Life Poetic Exercise

I Am Orange 

Aiming to zip through life in a speedy car,
feeling romantic and care free,
believing each moment is meant to be tasted
like blue ribbon pies,
but I remember thunderstorms
as well as sunny days and friendly air.
It’s the things that squeeze
and drain you of your life blood
that gives you something
to offer the world.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Burning Bridges



They say to burn all your bridges,

but those sins and failures can swim.

So what is the alternative

than to bring your burdens to Him?


He can wash you whiter than snow,

cast yours sins in the deepest sea,

remove them far as east from west,

erase them from His memory.


Then He posts the no fishing sign,

to walk in His freedom and grace.

Forget about burning bridges,

but simply pray and seek His face.

Thursday, August 23, 2012


Amen, So Be It, Yay! 

Lord, draw me nearer I pray.
Yes, I want You to stay
close by me and have Your way.
In my life, I feel I just play.
It thrills me when You say,
You love me anyway.
Keep the evil at bay
and help me not to stray.
May Your Holy Spirit sway
my thoughts throughout the day.
You’re the potter I’m the clay.
Be my Sun when skies are gray.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

PA Prompt Discovery

A Walk Down a Dirt Road 

I set my timer twenty minutes
and walk, then walk back.

I walked to the end of second street.
I thought it was a dead end,
but discovered it continued as a dirt road.
I had eight minutes left, so I kept walking,
the uneven road reminding me
of hiking country paths as a child.

But here in the west--sage brush
bright blue sky with Mesa Verde to the south
(Table Green—the name was fitting
but for a lot of brown ridges
looking like a long row of teepees) and
to the north two blocks a busy highway.

It didn’t take long down that isolated road
before I realized I was walking in the home
of the homeless. Remains of campfires,
empty beer bottles, a discarded shoe box.

All I had with me was a timer. I continued to walk
and saw some of the residents returning home.
I told myself they were harmless.
When the timer went off
I turned around and headed back home.
Knowing they were behind me,
I prayed for protection and noted escape routes,
sad that this could have been a lovely walk
if it wasn’t for my fear.

August 21, 2012

Poem Crochet
Calm moment
Express your thoughts
Like crocheted afghans
Colors in harmony
Patterns dancing together
Textures alluring to the touch
Counting the syllables like stitches
Connecting ideas like hook and yarn

Monday, August 20, 2012

Writing the Life Poetic Exercise

Seeing Metaphorically 

Think back when you were a kid
as the world unfolded before you.
You had to rely on what you already knew
to process it; thus,
a mountain looked like a cake with icing.
Broccoli looked like trees.
Sand on the beach looked like brown sugar.
Dip into your pallet of words
and paint pictures using your senses.
How do things sound, smell, feel, taste, look?
        Thus, the ocean sounded like cars on the highway.
Bare toes look like sisters, standing side by side,
the youngest to the oldest and visa versa.
The new car smells like baby dolls.
The cool air across my cheek feels like an angel’s kiss.
A watermelon tastes like the happy days of childhood.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Poetic Bloomings Prompt Person of influence

Jack Smith 

You were an old man—
in our eyes

(in your thirties).
you said if you turned sideways
and stuck your tongue out, 

we’d think you were a zipper.
You said funny things
like calling cars you didn’t know
the make of “vehickies.”
You weren’t healthy
and had to take one step at a time.
The doctors said you wouldn’t last very long.
You said you had too much to do for the Lord.
Last I knew, you were still going strong
in your seventies.
You started a Bible study for teens.
You gave us our first Bibles
and we read them into the night,
laughing when the pigs fell in the water.
One evening you asked my best friend and me
if we knew Jesus as our Savior.
We said no.
“Do you want to?” you asked.
We said yes.
Thank you.

Saturday, August 18, 2012


The flower petal curved inward
As if to beckon me closer
Into its world of color and beauty

Friday, August 17, 2012

Childhood Games

We went outside to play

Yes, every single day

In bare feet through grass we’d run

We also liked to skate

We liked to stay out late

So many ways to have fun

On country roads we’d bike

And in the woods we’d hike

These were the days in the sun

Thursday, August 16, 2012

L'Arora on Poetic Bloomings

Seasons of Country Memories

Sometimes when I’m in a warm retreat
And the snow is heavy and sky bleak
I think of Pennsylvania skies,
Sled rides and snow fights with friends and dogs
Building forts in level spots
When nights were cold and days were brief.
My memories warm me there
Of long icicles and frost motif.

Sometimes when fragrant air is warm and sweet
And temperatures grow mild and meek
I hear chirping birds and buzzing flies.
I dream of splashing around in yards like bogs
Riding bikes through buttercup dots
When violets appear and trees leaf.
My memories are light and fair
When fun and laughter were chief.

Sometimes my shoes weigh heavy on my feet.
I long to go barefoot in the creek
Chasing butterflies and dragonflies
Minnows, crawdads and peep frogs
Picking tiger lilies and popping touch-me-nots.
My memories, it is my belief,
Of running hills and breathing country air
Brings great relaxation and relief.

Sometimes when the fields are ripe with wheat
And the golden aspen seem to speak,
This may come as a surprise,
Though I love the smell of pine logs
And delight in Jonathan apples by the lots,
At times I feel I’ve been robbed by a thief
Of childhood autumns of color and flare.
My memories bring a tinge of grief.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Poetic Asides Prompt: Change of Plans

A Moment

It was a fine sermon,
third in a series entitled
“To Be Continued Moments.”
“That was my last,”
he said to a shocked congregation.

To be continued…

8 14 12

Change of Plans

In the middle of Dallas,
she said,  “There’s the exit.”
 “Are you sure?” I asked. “Ah,
you’re right,” I said as I passed.
She looked at me shocked
and began to tizz.
“Get a grip,” I said firmly.
“Look for plan B.”
She laughed
and  grabbed a map.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Prompt: Caught Red Handed

Disappearing Decorations

Carefully crafted gingerbread men
hung on our Christmas tree,
but disappeared one by one.
All in the household maintained innocence.
Upon leaving the house, I remembered
something I had forgotten to bring
and opened the door just in time
to see our St. Bernard mix
gingerly grabbing a gingerbread man
from a branch. Mystery solved.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Childhood Home

A Country Home

A little red house on the hill,

but sometimes pink, white or yellow

in a neighborhood huddled in a wooded valley

shared mostly with relatives,

except for friends to the north.

In late evenings, when we weren’t allowed

out of our yards, we’d play on the line.

We had three acres; half in garden,

a small wooded area,  large yard with

lots of nut trees, pines and an oak named Charlie.

One sister said if she died and went to hell,

they’d hand her a lawn mower.

The funny thing is, in Dad’s heaven,

they’d hand him a lawn mower, too.

With all seven round the kitchen table,

no one could move except for Dad and me.

So I was the “gofer” when someone needed

something from the frig, cupboard or cellar.

In the corner was a wringer washer.

With all the jeans out on the line, mom said

people would think she had five boys, not girls.

The living room was crammed full

of furniture plus an upright piano. Watching TV,

I’d sit on the floor, under the keyboard.

The walls were decorated with Whitey

(a head of an albino doe),

Blacky and Reddy (mounted squirrels) and

a full gun cabinet. I thought everyone had one.

The hallway (which seemed long at the time)

ran out of the living room,

three bedrooms on the left, a coat closet

and a bathroom on the front part of the right.

There was a closet at the end of the hallway

which housed towels, the Lincoln Library and

the set of red books including #5: Best Loved Poems.

Each bedroom was mine at one time.

Mostly my oldest sister and I shared the back room.

In the winter, frost decorated the windows.

We cuddled to keep warm.

When she got her first job, she bought

an electric blanket and a record player

on which she played loud rock music.

My middle sisters were in the middle room.

The first room was my parents’

and for the first few years my younger sister

slept in a crib then a single bed in the corner.

And in the plaster, Mum had shaped a teddy bear.

There was a big closet in the early years

and to get away I’d go in there and daydream.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Poem for the day

Unlike Jonah and Pinocchio

My kids are in Wales.
Seems kind of strange.
“My kids are in London,”
didn’t sound so odd
for some reason.
What’s in Wales,
besides my kids?
People who talk with a Welsh accent?
Grassy fields?
Old buildings?
I don’t know.
Guess I’ll find out
when they come home.

Friday, August 10, 2012



As the sun peaks out from behind the clouds

you peak out tentatively. May you break out in full radiance,

bringing warmth, energy and life to the people you know.

not because you are great, but because God is.

You peak out tentatively. May you break out in full radiance,

not hiding your gifts and talents like thick drapes blocking the sun

but shining in all the dark corners, lighting up a home.

Bringing warmth, energy and life to the people you know,

beaming rays causing growth, harvest, joy!

You do make a difference, yes indeed.

Not because you are great, but because God is.

He is love and loves passionately. You are His vessel.

So shine brightly through troubles, painting rainbows.

August 9, 2012 Sevenling

Sevenling (I Remember)

I remember whiling away the time playing jacks,

trying my hardest but never able to do much with a yoyo

but going into the thousands with a paddle ball.

I sit for hours typing away on my computer,

I enjoy driving through the mountains in my Toyota.

I use the microwave oven most often to cook.

All ages play at something, just the toys change.

August 8, 2012 Poetic Asides Prompt wordle: wrap, bottle, bear, bargain, change


Without change life is…

Like never getting a wrapped present.

Like finding a bottle in the sea with no note.

Like never finding a bargain at a yard sale.

Like a bear hibernating, but no food in spring.

Change is what makes it worth waking up.

Tuesday Aug 7, 2012 Writing to God

Be Gracious to Me, O God 

I lift my heart to You.
You are my hope and joy,
my all in all,
my everything.
Walk with me
during my daily routine.
Sit with me
as I work on my computer.
Stay with me.
Do not leave.
Be my friend when I’m lonely.
Sing with me.
Dance with me.
Let us hang out together all day.
Lord, be gracious to me.
Watch over my children.
Be gracious to me.
Let me feel Your smile deep in my soul,
and let it be seen by all I greet today.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Today's Devotional Thought

The Reminder of the Mesas 

I thank God 
for the deep greens
and browns of the mesas
peeking over the housetops
in the bright blue sky.

I ask the mesas,
“Are you afraid
 to be out there
standing tall and alone, susceptible
to lightning strikes and fires?”

The mesas reply, “No I’m not afraid.
God is with me and has designed me
to remind His people
that as I watch over them
He does also.

“Besides, fire cleanses me,
destroying diseases,
just as God uses the trials in your life
to build up your resistance against
 those things that would harm you.”

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Poetic Bloomings Prompt Look what I Did

Creative Writing Teacher 

When I see her bright red hair
in a crowd or in a store
I go over and greet her
and I’m always surprised at her age,
because I often think of her as that
shy ten-year-old her mother drug
into my creative writing class;
and over the next five years
I watched her get excited
about writing poems and stories,
until I said, “Wow, Sarah,  
you’re writing better poetry than I write.”
And I know even if my own writing
never amounts to anything great,
someday I’ll see her name in print
and I might strain my muscles
from patting myself on the back.

Saturday, August 4, 2012


Feeling so unloved

Longing to feel prized, cherished

Look to God for love

August 3, 2012

Such controversy!

Shouts of anger on both sides

Disagree not hate

August 2, 2012

Torn in guilt and fear

Not knowing what to believe

Jesus, clarify!

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Poetic Asides Prompt: Operation

Appendectomies: Buy One Get One Free

The day I had my appendix removed, the nurses
accused the surgeon of running a special.
Such an odd thing—to have many people
in a small town need the same surgery
on the same day. What’s behind the mystery?
Is it that the surgeon’s children prayed
for more money to go to private schools?
Or maybe there’s an appendix germ,
like the flu, that no one knows about.
Or maybe each surgery has its own demon
and the appendix demon had to fulfill a quota
or be doomed to wander in a herd of pigs.
Or maybe there’s a reason why
they invented the word “coincidence.”
But some coincidences are just plain weird.