The question for this week is “What do I see in this picture?” Well, I have to say that I see a rejected lover here, and my response is to try to put his feelings into words in a short free verse poem. If you’d like to participate in the WDYS challenge, visit Sadje’s blog here.
I gave you the pretty poems about snow yesterday. Now, I’m going to tell you how I really feel:
GO WHERE???
I am so tired of ice and snow. I’d like a way to make them go. I’d like to send them straight to hell, But that would cool things off down there. And when hell freezes over, well, What happens then it’s hard to tell, For lots of folks have said they’d do All kinds of things if that came true. So, darn, I guess I have to wait And let things melt at a slow pace. But if they last much longer here, I still may send them straight down there.
Well, it’s snowing here in Southern Illinois, USA. We got a thorough cover of ice last night, and now the snowflakes are coming down fast and furious — sort of hurling themselves at the ground, almost as if they are trying to beat each other to the goal. I don’t like snow on the roads and walkways, but I enjoy watching it come down — and I enjoy the fresh, pristine look of everything that is covered in brand new snow. I just wish it could land on only specific areas and leave the others untouched. I’ve written a poem or two about my ambivalent feelings, and I felt like writing another one today. So I decided I’d do a post that is a combination of a few snow poems and snow pictures. The poems are mine, but I’m featuring photos from my good friend Terry Valley, who is a professional photographer in Wisconsin. I hope you enjoy them.
SNOWY CINQUAIN
Snowflakes On a mission, Hurling steadfastly down. Racing each other to their goal: Whiteout.
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THIS IS DREAMING WEATHER
This is dreaming weather. Nothing much to do Except to watch the blizzard blow And have a snack or two.
Yes, this is dreaming weather: A time to contemplate And set imagination free To wander and create.
Ah, this is dreaming weather: While by the storm confined, Let my heart and soul take wings And leave this world behind.
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SNOWCHILD
When I was a child, I thought as a child, And snow was a thing so delightful. From school we were free; we got wet to the knees, And our mom’s day was thrown all off schedule.
But now that I’m grown, I must do on my own All the chores Mom and Dad used to dread: Stock up food by the loads, drive on slippery roads, Shovel snow, and repair that old sled.
Now I look with dismay at the skies leaden gray As I trudge to the store for supplies. De-icer and salt sell out fast with no halt. I need new boots to tread on the ice.
The wind from the north is bitter and harsh, But my temperature, still it is rising; I am in a foul mood, for I see nothing good That can come from a snowstorm arriving.
But then the flakes start, and I feel in my heart – Watching white, fluffy, wonderful, wild Filling all of my world with such beauty unfurled – That in truth I am still just a child!
I was thinking today about the prophet Ezekiel and his experience in the valley of dry bones, when the Lord told him He would give those bones new life. So I thought I’d share a poem the Lord inspired on the subject. The Scripture reference is Ezekiel, chapter 37.
THE SAME GOD TODAY
Bones in the valley, Worthless and dry, Bleached by the sun and The wind blowing by.
God to the prophet Did speak and did ask, “Can these bones still live? Is it too big a task?”
“Lord,” said the prophet, “Only You know.” “I’ll show you, Ezekiel; My Spirit will blow.
“And cause them to live And give flesh and skin; They’ll rise like an army, Give Me glory again.”
When our problems seem hopeless, Too dead to restore, We can look to Ezekiel And his word from the Lord.
For the God who breathed life Into bones dry and dead Is the same God for us If we’ll trust what He’s said.
If ‘figgy pudding’ isn’t made of figs, And jingle bells don’t jingle, only clang, And Christmas candles have to burn by batt’ries, And mistletoe is poison that we hang,
If Santa’s just a fat guy we’ve invented, Based on the life of some medieval saint, It seems to me the Christmas some folks cherish Is mostly made of stuff that really ain’t.
So what’s the deal; what are we celebrating? Is there a reason all the world should hear? A true event or one we can depend on? A person worthy of such joy and cheer?
Ah, yes, the man called Jesus: He’s the one Who came in lowly birth the world to save. He gave Himself for all in grievous death, But then ascended right up from the grave.
He offers every man a brand new birth, And with His blood redemption for us seals. He’s pure and kind and true and rich in love. Celebrating Him makes Christmas real.
Find this poem and more in my newest book: KEEPING CHRISTMAS. Available at special Christmas price of $3.75. order from Amazon now.
Leading up to our Thanksgiving Day celebration in the U.S., I’m doing a few posts that revisit some of my poems that focus on that holiday. I hope you enjoy them, whether you’re reading them again or for the first time.
Community-wide Thanksgiving Dinner
Ah, Thanksgiving, how I love you! Golden crowning jewel of Fall, Beacon of warmth and cam’raderie, Sending glad invitation to all:
“Gather to worship; gather to visit; Gather to focus on all that’s worthwhile; Feast from tables resplendent with harvest; Feast on the love in a touch and a smile.”
All the year’s labors weigh heavy upon us. All the world’s problems seem bigger by far. But out from that wearisome struggle you call us, And laying it down, we run to where you are.
And whether in cottages, mansions, or churches, Community buildings, or tables in parks, We gather with gratitude full – overflowing; To the Giver of blessings lift voices and hearts.
Then we return to life’s pattern awaiting. Filled up with joy, we set off on our way, Warmer and richer and kinder in spirit For pausing to celebrate Thanksgiving Day.
Here it is: The perfect little Thanksgiving gift for those you want to bless during this time of gratitude for God’s abundant blessings in our lives. This small soft-cover book is a seasonal collection of scriptures, pictures, and Thanksgiving poems and essays by my father Ted Pavloff and me. The cover features the photography of my sister Brenda Calvert, so it’s really a family collaboration.
Only 25 pages long, measuring 5 1/5 x 8 1/2, it is just the right size to pick up and enjoy for a few moments of seasonal pleasure in the weeks anticipating Thanksgiving Day or in the hours after dinner, when you’re letting your turkey and dressing settle.
It is candy I’m craving today. Just can’t get enough; there’s no way. I have bought by the bag, And my conscience it nags, That I’m eating too much every day.
I have friends who are nutritionists, And to eat healthily they insist, I feel guilty as sin, When I spend time with them, So their company I’ve had to miss.
Every time I must go to the store I check my sweet stash to make sure That I have quite enough Of the stress-easing stuff, And if not, I make sure to buy more.
Yes, I know that I eat to de-stress; It’s a weakness in me, I confess. But these sugary treats Keep me smiling and sweet. Health food never has that much success.
Today the old chief passed, Enwreathed by potent memories Of battles fierce, of freedoms lost, Of smoking pipe with enemies Who swore to keep the peace treaties But quickly spurned such promises When greed for lands gained upper hand. Today the old chief passed And hastened to his ancestors, To mountains, valleys, fertile plains, Sparkling rivers, fields of grain, Miles and miles of vast domain Where Cherokee live free again, Never again to be betrayed. The old chief passed today.
The Happy Wordcrafter 