On Poetry

Blitz poem: Track the love

/ Fran Haley / 27 Comments

So far I’ve managed to write a poem a day for National Poetry Month, a feat I’ve never attempted before. All my life I’ve loved rhythm, rhyme, and free verse, but the great fun has been experimenting with form. This is my second completed blitz … how apropos is that name for the times …

Stay at home
Stay on track
Track the days
Track your steps
Steps in faith
Steps to a better you
You should know
You aren’t alone
Alone in all the world
Alone at last
Last night
Last time
Time stands still
Time on our hands
Hands sanitized
Hands not held
Held a puppy
Held in the heart
Heart grows fonder
Heart of the matter
Matter of fact
Matter constitutes the universe
Universe pays attention
Universe giving gifts
Gifts to guide you along the way
Gifts of words
Words are power
Words are magic
Magic portals
Magic moments
Moments too few
Moments too short
Short on time
Short of breath
Breath of fresh air
Breath on the mirror
Mirror image
Mirror glass
Glass half empty
Glass half full
Full of sound and fury
Full of hope
Hope against hope
Hope springs eternal
Eternal God
Eternal love
Love like there’s no tomorrow
Love your neighbor
Neighbor
Tomorrow

In case you’re curious: Here’s my first blitz, Signs of Sun.

Morningsong

/ Fran Haley / 6 Comments

Waking
to grayness
rain slapping windows
winter wind crying
because it does not heed
spring
and life.
Wrapped in my blanket
I listen
to that unrelenting wind
daring
not caring
moaning
mourning
around the edges
of existence.

—then—

Through the
gusting gloom
wailing doom
a faint sound.
A solitary
little bird
singing
joy joy joy-joy-joy
honoring
the light
ever
how dim.

Bird singing in the rain. Andy Morffew. CC BY

On the finches not returning

/ Fran Haley / 6 Comments

Today I lift a line from Emily Dickinson.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
My finches, every spring—
On my wreath their nest awaits
New life they always bring—

This year —more than ever—
I watch for their return—
Yet the nest is empty
Of that for which I yearn—

I wonder what is keeping them
And if my charm is gone—
Do the finches know somehow
Life must keep moving on—

Come home, little finches—
Come home— if you will—
Hope is the thing with feathers
Where I’m abiding—still.

Note: “Charm” is the group name for finches.

Blitz poem: Signs of sun

/ Fran Haley / 5 Comments

This is my second attempt at writing a blitz poem. The first didn’t go so well. I think I am getting the hang of it. Will keep practicing to see what comes … of course my thoughts are colored by COVID-19.

Signs of Sun

Read a book
Read the signs
Signs of spring
Signs of the times
Times of trouble
Times of plenty
Plenty to eat
Plenty enough
Enough to go around
Enough for now
Now is the best time
Now who among you
You who are [not] gathered here
You are loved
Loved best of all
Loved more than words can say
Say it again
Say it like you mean it
It matters
It is your word
Word of the Lord
Word of encouragement
Encouragement is needed
Encouragement makes the world go round
Round and round we go
Round off
Off the wall
Off the chain
Chain letters
Chain unbroken
Unbroken horse
Unbroken spirit
Spirit of the moment
Spirit set free
Free from all harm
Free as a bird
Bird of paradise
Bird chatter beyond my window
Window of time
Window closing
Closing the day
Closing the book
Book of Life
Book it out of here
Here is where we are
Here comes the sun
Sun directly overhead
Sun in my eyes
Eyes
Overhead

Baby’s breath poem

/ Fran Haley / 8 Comments
Sleeping child

Today’s poem is a response to Michelle H. Barnes’ “These Are the Hands” challenge on Today’s Little Ditty: “Consider writing about the place that empathy has in your own life—a time you offered compassion to another or a time it was freely given to you.”

Freely given … this is the first thing that comes to mind. Adapted from a post I wrote three years ago.

He wakes—that sound.

That rasp.—Is it?

It is.

He traces it to the crib.

The baby. Just three months old.

Not breathing right.

Hand to her little face—no fever.

She stirs under his touch, still sleeping.

Breath ragged, rattling.

He is young.

It is his first child.

He goes back to bed.

But

he carries his baby with him.

Lies awake all night

with her beside him

making sure

she still breathes.

-She does.

Long after he does not.

*******

Thank you

for all the nights

you watched over me

when asthma attacked,

Daddy.

Photo: Angel1. peasap. CC BY

Prayer for the nations

/ Fran Haley / 8 Comments

Today, a golden shovel poem: taking a line from another poem or work and crafting a new poem with the last word of each line comprising the original.

Mine is taken from a verse of Scripture in honor of its promises, spring, and the healers across the world on the front lines of the COVID-19 crisis.

Prayer for the Nations

In newness the

tender leaves

of promise, of

restoration, of the

dogwood tree

uniformly were

donning white robes for

their works of mercy, the

bringers of healing,

bringers of comfort, of

life, as ministers of the

prayer for the nations.

*******

Revelation 22:2: “The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.”

In addition to its Christian symbolism, the dogwood represents strength and durability; it is able to endure adverse conditions.

Photo: Sunlight and dogwoods. Duane Tate. CC BY

April fool

/ Fran Haley / 14 Comments

Just some fleeting impressions while sweeping my porch … the beauty of the day in such stark contrast to what’s happening in the world …

While sweeping the porch this April day

there’s children at distant play

laughing, falling

voices calling

lawnmowers mowing

cool breeze blowing

flowers quivering

trees shivering

sun shining

life divining.

Joyous birdsong

like nothing’s wrong

as if only rebirth

sweeps the Earth

not humanity hurled

netherworld.

A spring reception

of such deception.

Beautiful day, you’re almost cruel

playing such an April fool.

If you were here with me you could see these pansies quivering despite the brightness of the morning. The name of this colorful, dark-eyed flower comes from French penser, “to think.” Pansies symbolize contemplation and remembrance.