Wordle: hanging, guitar, juice, ignored, sorrow, regret, nerve, realize, deserving, security, battles, rage, precious, fortune

Seeds 

Beneath a shade tree, hanging out alone,

I strum my guitar, picking out a tune.

I sip my juice and think of seeds I’ve sown.

Those I’ve so long ignored will grow up soon.  

I feel a pang of sorrow for each seed,

and regret as I watch them sprout and bloom.

I hadn’t had the nerve to pay them heed

and I realize the impending doom  

will fall on those deserving better care.

They long for safety and security.

Instead, the battles rage when I’m not there.

So with each new day, do they think of me?

Do they know they are precious to a ghost,

whose fortune was to drown far off the coast?

7 13 12

Muse on Strike 

My muse has gone on strike today

See it with its picket sign

At least it hasn’t moved away

I’m sure some day it will be fine 

My muse hasn’t shared its demands

What can a muse really want?

Not fame, riches or lands

Or a house down by the ocean front

Perhaps it lacks some air to breathe

Or maybe just a kick in the butt

Don’t know what it really needs

Or how to get out of this rut 

So if I get up out of this chair

And make myself some good hot tea

And think of poemy, dreamy things

Maybe my muse will come back to me

7 12 12

Lazy Poet 

Sitting lazily in my chair

As if I hadn’t a single care

What it’ll take to get me up

Wish I had some tea in my cup
Or an idea for a real poem
Something that will truly show’em
But instead I write these random thoughts
And think about the should and oughts
Until I outright bore myself
Time to get my muse down from the shelf

PA Prompt: This is what blank looks like

This Is What Joy Looks Like 

Legs and arms usually faltering, shuffling,

now splashing around in the water.

Body once stiff and contorted,

now floating, zipping, bobbing happily.

A face typically preoccupied with other worlds

now smiles, blows bubbles

and connects with others in an

honest-to-God, shiny eye-to-eye gaze.

This is what joy looks like.

Grand Canyon

Angel wings

In moon-like-scape

Lures lunar fantasies  

Deep and wide

Writing to God Traveling

Nacre

My house: kitchen, living room, bedrooms, bathrooms, hallway

My neighborhood: Ash, 1^st, 7^th, Madison

My town: church, park, library, WalMart

My world is small but I know You are big enough

to care for the smallest of things.

Sometimes I feel my life is the short end of the stick,

that I should be out more

going, doing, being, stretching, growing.

But for now I’m like that grain of sand in the oyster,

perhaps just an irritant to the world,

but if I persevere, maybe something beautiful, like a pearl.

Poetic Bloomings uncertainty

Certainty

Grass wilts, leaves fade, creation is unsound

Cars rust, men die, buildings fall to the ground

Ah, but look to His blessings from above

Mountains of mercy and oceans of love 

We can never know what the day will bring

Or even if dawn will ever take wing

Ah, but with the Lord, we can be sure of

Mountains of mercy and oceans of love

Our days are numbered, many or a few

It’s out of our control, what others do

He sent His Son and Spirit like a dove

Mountains of mercy and oceans of love