poems, prayers, praise
poems, prayers, praise
National Poetry Month (NaPoMo) reminds us to buy poetry books and journals, study poetry forms and techniques, and, perhaps, let our poems address memories or issues we need to work through and/or commemorate.
Both occurred for me, for example, when a childhood memory stayed with me vividly for decades, but I wasn’t sure why until I revisited the event in this poem:
Down Kinney Town
by Mary Harwell Sayler
Feet bare, the girls came up today,
and Mama gave them ouch-grown shoes
that once belonged to me or Kay,
but, oh, I longed to give them too.
Two girls they were: soiled blonde, unkempt –
not like Mama’s girls who shone
in new-sewn clothes and often dreamt
of finer galaxies than home.
With clean hands bare, could I, a child,
share much with girls from a small shack, wild?
But one said, “Come,” so I went down –
down the tangled path to Kinney Town.
Theirs was adventure I could play.
A cold potato rationed me –
eyeless, grown in soil, unbent. They
gave that last leftover. Free.
Then home I went with backward look.
As I worked on that poem, I realized what bothered me was the amazing generosity of those two girls, who had almost nothing to give but needed to give something. In my naivety, I most likely ate their dinner, but the poem, which I included in my book Living in the Nature Poem published by Hiraeth Press in 2012, also reminded me why I still love cold baked potatoes.
It was finished.
There was nothing left to do
but take down Jesus’ body
and hide it quickly
from mind, from view.
The terror of the tomb
closed the matter,
once for all,
for its descent
into down-falling darkness
where never light had been.
Even from the Upper Room
no one had known our own
souls would be exhumed.
But Christ arose.
And with Him angels rolled
away the tombstone,
shroud, and doubt –
who wanted out.
I’m looking forward to reading the poems entered in this year’s writing contest, which is open to fiction and nonfiction too. Hope you enter and win! But I won’t know until the finalists have been chosen as this is a blind competition with no i.d. on the entries I receive http://www.writers-editors.com/…/Con…/contest_guidelines.htm
Source: Writers-Editors Network
The Sabbath is made for me, Lord
I am blessed,
to praise and honor You
as I pray these poems do.
by Mary Harwell Sayler, © 2016