Strings Attached

 

I look at a Facebook photo of a baby sleeping on the indentation of a guitar as his young father strums it quietly. I remember playing the guitar against my protruding belly when I was pregnant for each of my sons. More than sound, this was a bonding between two worlds, still unknown to each other. Love flowed through layers of skin and muscle with every note, every lyric carefully crafted from the wonder, anticipation and unity. This was and is my poetic hum.  I ponder the picture again, slightly worried about this tiny bundle nestled rather precariously in the crook of a wooden instrument. Could she slip off? Possibly…but only into loving arms.

 

love moves beyond walls

love is a constant murmur

love never silent

 

Written for Poetics ~ your poetic hum,

a thoughtful prompt by Gina at dVerse Poets Pub.

Join us!

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

https://www.faithpot.com/guitar-baby-naptime/

 

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Captured

 

And now she waits on corners, sold

Purity pilfered and pried apart

Silenced by the sting of biting cold

Slapping hands and tainted hearts

 

Purity pilfered and pried apart

Stone clouds creep over indigo skies

Slapping hands and tainted hearts

Repeat – she thinks she’d rather die

 

Stone clouds creep over indigo skies

Bentley slows, and window rolls

Repeat – she thinks she’d rather die

Desperate dreams of an undercover mole

 

Bentley slows, tinted window rolls

Hollow eyes attached to scum

Desperate dreams of an undercover mole

To save her soul, to take her home

 

 

Written for Poetry Forms at dVerse. This is an imperfect pantoum, which has the following pattern of repeated lines….ABCD, BEDF, EGFH, GIHJ.

The statistics for human trafficking are astounding…an issue not limited to particular countries or to females. It breaks my heart that humanity still struggles to evolve.

https://humantraffickinghotline.org/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Human Equation ~ A Sonnet

 

 

 

 

“Where there is righteousness in the heart, there is beauty in the character. When there is beauty in the character, there is harmony in the home. When there is harmony in the home, there is order in the nation. When there is order in the nation, there is peace in the world.”  ~A. P. J. Abdul Kalam ~

 

 

Has God given up on us? Does he weep?

I listen for him in the moon shadows

Dew droplets at dawn, in earth’s gentle sleep

 

Where is the light we were born to embrace?

I sift through the compost of dreams rotted

In darkest alleys, I search for His face

 

Why do we build our own prisons of fear?

Humanity’s keys we hold in our hands

Intentions perish with the silt of tears

 

Do we have the right to ignore our own hearts?

Were they not the gifts of the righteous souls?

Far be it for us to tear them apart

 

Stir gently the pot of evolution

Ignite the flame of a resolution

 

 

Written for a special Poetry Form prompt at dVerse. Bjorn starts us off with some helpful information on sonnets and some exciting news! Doors open at 3 p.m.EST.

  I decided to use the structure of a Terza Rima with 4 tercets and a couplet , but I wandered from the rhyme scheme. Mine is  ABA CDC EFE GHG II.  Oh my, perhaps I shall stick to free verse?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nookwezigan (Smudge)

 

For many years, I worked on a First Nations reserve. It was part of my job to become familiar with some of the Ojibway language and culture and to promote it within a daycare setting. Native American customs and spirituality have always intrigued me and still do. The legends and rituals shared with me by my co workers opened my mind to other ways of thinking. I admire the simplicity of thought and their many symbolisms of nature.

While attending a Native Early Childhood conference, I chose a workshop involving an outdoor excursion. We slowly climbed a steep, grassy hill, leaving gifts of tobacco along the way for ” the little people”. At the top we rested on large rocks and meditated on a breathtaking view of the valley below.  When we returned to the community center we sat in a circle to be “smudged”. Nervously I anticipated my turn as a seashell with burning sage was passed around the group. I watched as each of my native colleagues stood one at a time, directing the pungent smoke towards their body with beckoning hands. Drawing it close and gently pushing it away. Cleansing themselves of negative energy. I was welcomed into the ceremony, treated no differently than the rest. As I embraced the smoke I believed what they believed. This was healing.

 

bashkodejiibik

i am not Anishinaabe but

mino giizhigad

 

Translation:

sage

i am not native but

it’s a nice day

 

Written for Paul’s poetic prompt, “Medicine” over at dVerse Poets Pub.

 

 

 

RAMblings on Faith

 

I’ve lost faith. Not in myself or any one person…but in society as a whole. We’ve truly outdone ourselves, haven’t we? Our power is devouring us. Self-destruction disguised as bits and bytes of betterment. Perhaps once we’ve surrendered the rest of our intelligence to a robotic regime, we’ll cycle back to playing with sticks and rocks. Building our own fires out of boredom ….just to see if we can. History repeats itself. We’ll sharpen our knives again instead of our minds. But will we ever sharpen our awareness? We have only scratched the surface of our abilities to evolve into humanity. On the contrary, we’ve regressed. We’ve even lost faith in friendships, walking on eggshells around social behaviours we’ve already mastered. Texting conversations that freeze, then flow again, with license to ignore as if the norm.

I have faith in potential. Before I allowed video games to sweep my children into a “Call of Duty”, we collected shells on the beach until the sun nestled on the horizon. Clouds were clouds. Facial recognition meant nothing more than counting freckles. Collecting precious smiles that burst into laughter over almost nothing. We traced the shape of the moon as the grass tickled our skin. I remember. They remember.

I have faith in possibilities. I see starving children no longer starving. I see the end of violence. I see lonely people surrounded by love. I see it all because it’s all there waiting for us to create. Much more rewarding, I would think , than superimposing fictional characters into a digital environment. You don’t need goggles. Just a good heart. I do have unwavering faith in God, but I fear he has lost faith in us.

 

lone seagull sets sail

sun waits patiently for more

waters uncharted

 

 

It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub and the topic is “faith”.  You are all welcome to join in. I am pleased to be your host. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST and this poetic prompt is open all week.

Image credit: pixabay.com

Til(l) Now

we toil in toxic soil

planting intentions,

nurturing our contemplated

marinated seedlings of hope

and it feels righteous

downright righteous

is this not the path to peace?

when hope dies in the eyes of

the oppressed and forgotten

how many prayers are enough

for the darkness to fade,

for light to be cascaded

over hate so barbaric?

oh but we sing and we say

we are the world

We are compassionate

you…and me

aren’t we?

we must step off of our

overturned garden crates

weed out our own fears

and act

 

Amaya Cranston Engleking has joined our team over at dVerse.  Her poetic prompt for us today is to “write an epigraph poem (not an official form) in which a quote about global peace, social justice, or human rights is embedded”.  I chose the following quote…..

It is not enough to be compassionate – you must act.”- His Holiness The Dalai Lama

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shipwrecked

 

 

 

We bobble like iron bubbles

Anchored to docks of despair

Waving flags, still bragging

About love of country

Humble hearts whisper

In feathers, doves

But hope does not float

Intentions are stuck in

Stagnant sea scum

Blood flows and God knows

We are tired

 

 

Written for this week’s Quadrille prompt over at dVerse Poets Pub

Image credit: pixabay.com