The secret of juggling
is not to keep things
suspended
but to keep them in a constant
state
of
falling
Prompted poetry: juggle
A parable poem: Magical thinking
Inspired by a comment from one of my poetry classmates.
Magical Thinking
once there was a girl who thought poetry
a fairy’s gift: gems should fall from her lips
each time she opened them
when a toad sprang out instead
she believed herself cursed
shut her mouth and put away her pen
one day a peddler woman came to her
door, sharp eyes missing
nothing: my dear, you have a poet’s mouth
a small toad leaped to the ground in answer
tears filled the girl’s eyes
you do have the gift! the peddler crowed
puzzled, the girl opened her mouth
whenever no one was around, studied the toads
as they hopped off – she found their colors
brighter, their shapes more varied
than she had imagined
she began to write about them
her heirs found her papers many years later
our mother was a poet! they marveled
and it was so
Lenten devotion for 2 March 2013
[The following meditation was based on the hymn, “My Song is Love Unknown” (Hymn 343 in Evangelical Lutheran Worship). It was published in 2013 Lenten Devotions by the East Kentucky Conference of the Indiana-Kentucky Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.]
“My song is love unknown.” Love doesn’t have to be acknowledged to be real, to be powerful, to do its work. God loved the world into existence and has been loving the world into redemption ever since, whether we know it or not.
“My song is love unknown.” Love doesn’t have to be understood to be real, to be powerful, to do its work. God’s world-making, world-redeeming love operates in us, around us, and through us, even when we are most unloving and unlovable.
“My song is love unknown.” This love is the deep magic to which C.S. Lewis refers in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the inexplicable and relentless Love that continually remakes us and the entire world in its own image.
It is often unknown because it works in ways that we do not always recognize or understand, but it is not unknowable. We experience it in the filigree of miracles that sustains life. We encounter it in the daily grace of living with other beings. It is manifest in the Christ, the One who died and was raised, the One we see in the faces of enemies and strangers as well as family and friends.
O Love unknown, help us remember that you are always at work, even in the least likely places. Stir up in us a desire to know you, to seek you in the unfamiliar and the perplexing. In the name of Jesus, who gave himself in love to redeem the world. Amen.
Prompted poetry: refract
It’s time to produce some more proof that I’ve been writing like mad, just not writing blog posts.
Refracted
light bends when it passes
through liquid
the degree of distortion
varies according to the fluid
density
you are so twisted
the only way to get a straight
shot of you is through
a glass half-empty
Posted in Poetry
Tagged fluid density, glass, light, prompted poetry, prompts, refraction
Inexcusable poetry: Heir Apparent
One of the good things about a poetry writing class is that you write a lot of poetry. One of the bad things is that a lot of poetry is not necessarily a good thing.
Heir Apparent
Cleopatra passed all she knows
about de nial to me
her daughter
though I cannot lie to save
my life my powers of self-deception
verge on the supernatural
Prompt poetry: Anachronism
This was in response to the prompt “open”:
Anachronism
today I drove in rush hour traffic
open spiral notebook
propped against the wheel
ballpoint in my steering grip
no radio, no cell phone
just the scratch of pen on paper
at every red light
Pancakes for the road
When the kids were little, we belonged to a church that had a wonderful Shrove Tuesday tradition. Everyone gathered in the fellowship hall that evening, bringing with them electric frying pans, home-made applesauce, and any food they were giving up for Lent. We ate the snack-type foods while preparing supper together, and everything else was either eaten during the meal or taken home by someone who wasn’t giving it up.
Catsup not pictured (for the more delicate of stomach)
It began with the peeling crew, who started in on several dozen pounds of potatoes. Kids carried peeled potatoes into the kitchen to be shredded, mixed with eggs and flour, and pressed into pans of hot oil. As soon as the first batch was draining on paper towels, the applesauce and sour cream (and catsup for the kids) went out on the tables and the feasting began. The peelers ate first and rotated into the kitchen so the shredders, mixers, and fry cooks could eat.
It was a small congregation and nearly everyone turned out for this festive occasion. The kitchen and fellowship hall formed a kind of great room, so conversation flowed back and forth between those who were cooking and those who were eating. As people finished eating, they filtered back into the kitchen to clean up. It was like a big family dinner where everyone shares the work as well as the meal.
We all went home with hearts and bellies full, fortified in both body and soul for the long Lenten journey we would begin, together again, the following evening.
May your Shrove Tuesday be replete with good food and warm fellowship, regardless of your religious inclinations.
(This post is offered in thanksgiving for the congregation of Good Shepherd Lutheran in Hamden CT, saints both past and present with whom we gladly lift our forks today.)
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged applesauce, Good Shepherd Lutheran, Lent, pancakes, potato pancakes, potatoes, Shrove Tuesday, sour cream
Poetry under pressure
During the last ten minutes of class this week, the teacher had us each write a companion poem to one of the poems workshopped that day. Only one of the ideas in my poem is original — a gold star goes to anyone who can identify the literary sources of the other two!
Scientific Explanations
It has been suggested
that paper clips are larval
forms of wire coat hangers:
closets are always over
flowing with the latter
while the former seem
perpetually in short supply.
Some suspect that clothes dryers
also serve as portals to other dimensions;
fortunately the aperture is so narrow
only the occasional sock slips through.
Evidence suggests a predator
prey relationship between plastic
containers and their lids: their numbers never remain
equal over time, despite meticulous
efforts to balance them.
Off-the-cuff poetry: truth
More from the poetry class. Here’s what I came up with in response to the prompt “truth”:
sometimes truth appears
a fickle thing
eager to serve any
who wield it
two-edged, it bites
every way: coming, going
standing still
truth severs all bonds
frees because it is free
answers to no one, knows
no law but itself
Actual haiku
(Though not necessarily good haiku.)
What is it about
a sleeping cat that makes me
feel so comforted?
(Inspired by my marmalardy lap warmer.)
The Daily Compost 