Category: Poetry

It Is Well With My Soul

Frank Hubeny's avatarPrairie Writers Guild - NW Indiana

Every Sunday we see them
walking down the aisle
bent and hobbled.
An elderly man leads
a wizened old woman.
“Here I am, Lord, if you need me,”

Tottering along behind,
the gray-haired son, head down,
slouched, uneven gait, slightly rumpled.
“It is well with my soul.”

They enter the pew, bow their heads in prayer.
The son rocks to-and-fro in a steady rhythm
throughout Mass.
“As the Father has loved me so I have loved you.”

Mass over, the family files out of the pew,
out of church, silent, they speak to no one
as the choir sings,
“’I love you, you are Mine’, says the Lord.”

Poetry above by Pat Kopanda, photography below by Frank Hubeny.

Linked to dVerse Open Link Night.

Cornfield During Winter Cornfield During Winter

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Between Identities

 
I

Sitting, singing on the street,
Voice turned-off from drugs,
His fingers playing on and on.
They still recall an ancient song
That brought him love and hugs.


II

She pours her years into the child
Who digs soft, shallow sand.
He takes those years and buries them
To seed their future land.


III

The trolley takes me round and round
For free. I listen to the sound
Of Spanish first, some English, too.
The Sun knows what it has to do.
The sky will keep the water blue.
I board and leave the ground.

Linked to dVerse Poetics where Gina is hosting with the theme of balancing identities with poetic hum. I hope between those three identities there rises a poetic hum.

Sort of Round and Sort of Not

Spike

 
I practice breathing given air.
It doesn’t matter that I like
To spike what’s real with worries where
What’s unreal gets the loudest mike.
Sometimes practicing goes slow
Wondering if I’ll ever know
How to breathe. I’d rather not.
Mindlessly I breathe a lot.

Linked to dVerse Quadrille where De Jackson is hosting with theme work “spike”.

pines
pines

A time to weep; a time to laugh

When our cat died, we wept. We looked at each other differently, with more patience and not taking the other for granted, for about a week feeling her presence in her absence.

Eventually laughter returned. Whatever we learned, and will have to learn again with the next dying we face, laughter was no disrespect for her passing. The return of laughter was her gift of gratitude to us.

Linked to dVerse Poetics where Lillian is hosting. I look at this as a prose poem or aphorism.

Many Birds

Hints of Spring

When I can’t get off my butt, there’s nothing like a kick to do the trick.

I’m beginning to value pain. To reinforce that value I think of it as the whispering of angels calling me to pay attention. Of course, I could just as well think of it as a kick in the butt, but this is supposed to be a poem, and there is more to reality than meets the eye.

This is also supposed to be about spring, but all I hear about is winter. So. More snow? Or is it time for winter to get off its butt and go?

PAST WINTRY PAIN
COMES SPRING-BOLD RAIN
 WE START AGAIN

Linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge and to dVerse Haibun Monday.  Merril is hosting with the theme of March Madness.

Snowy Somewhere
Not Winter
Not Winter, More Like May

Hero’s Journey

 
Tame the Dragon tossed by Moon and Sun.
Flames of falsehood torch dried truth to ash.
Defend us from ourselves until you've won.
Stop the raging waves before we crash.

Flames of falsehood torch dried truth to ash.
Keep your soul prepared like a sharp sword.
Stop the raging waves before we crash.
Beware what glitters in the Dragon’s hoard.

Keep your soul prepared like a sharp sword.
Others braver than you fought but lost.
Beware what glitters in the Dragon’s hoard.
Gather only pain as worth the cost.

Others braver than you fought but lost.
Defend us from ourselves until you've won. 
Gather only pain as worth the cost.
Tame the Dragon tossed by Moon and Sun.

Linked to dVerse Poetic Forms. Gina is hosting this month with the pantoum. The idea for this poem comes from M. Scott Peck’s Further Along the Road Less Traveled where he discusses “The Myth of the Hero”. Here is a quote from page 111-2:

The integration of our masculinity and our femininity is achieved very painfully. It is the struggle that the child goes through in the myth in the course of his or her growing up. But if we can go through this struggle of integration and learn how to approach the same problem with both our right brain and our left brain simultaneously, with both our masculinity and our femininity, then we too can be heroes. We too will be able to solve problems that the world has not yet been able to solve – a world that is desperately in need of heroes and solutions.

Winter Trees

Blame and Forgiveness

 
Although it’s faster to forget
And bury passing pain,
There’s much in blame that I regret.
The storm outside’s not over yet.
May clouds transform with rain.

I am hosting today at dVerse with the theme of blame and forgiveness, either or both, any form or no form, confessional or not. Come join us!

This is also linked to Debbie Roth’s Forgiving Fridays.

Eye Contact

Changing Clouds

 
I meet a crowded, free-board bus
Fantasizing all of us
As travelers taken by the hand
Unaware of where we’ll land.

Does no death bring me to my knees
Except my own? Delusion sees,
Sipping clouds that wander by,
Wonder neither how nor why.

Linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge with theme “Moving clouds, a heavenly perspective”. Also linked to dVerse Quadrille where Mish is hosting with the keyword “sip”.

Wavy Clouds