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Posts Tagged ‘#Peace’

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Tracey Kiff-Judson at Tangles & Tails.

Here we are again with a monthly Inkling challenge. This month Molly challenged us with a prompt from Pádraig Ó Tuama who said “A poem is a word-event going in many directions at once. Sometimes the “you” of a poem is a specific person, at other times it’s the poet, or a general audience, and at times there’s no you at all so the poem addresses itself to the world.”

Molly asked us to write a narrative poem that includes observations about the world and explores the craft of address, the you of a poem. On a recent morning walk, I spoke two observations into my notes app. I felt invaded upon when a truck high up on oversized wheels revved its engine at me as it passed. The other observation was not connected at all. I saw oak tree arms leaning on electric wires. We’ve had a number of sudden storms this summer, and each one is frightening. That’s all to say that poetry is a place where I can vent; I can let steam rise and fall. I address this poem to the you of a random monster truck.

Grandmother Oak Sunrise
June 6, 2024

You disturb my peace.

You! with your hot wheels
rumbling down the road,
motor revving, disrupt
this peace of mind I’m in
writing a poem
in my head
about birds singing.

Birds sing as you pass,
your rolled-up windows
beat-boxing,
shaking a rhythm

of my walking, heart pumping
brow sweating. I’m in this groove
you move your hard edge
against. 

My poem wants
to be kind, but I cannot wash
away your harsh sound
that erases the wind
heaving a heavy sigh

like the old oak arms
leaning on electric wires
holding heavy vibration–
a lightning bolt I cry

to be saved from. 

Margaret Simon, draft

Take a look at how my Inkling friends approached this challenge:

Linda @A Word Edgewise
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Mary Lee @Another Year of Reading
Heidi @my juicy little universe

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This month’s Spiritual Journey is being gathered by Karen Eastlund.

In these first few weeks of summer, I find myself lingering. Taking my time on my morning walk to stop and take a picture, visit with a neighbor, enjoy the bird songs. I linger over morning coffee. I know this is how it should be, but there’s this little mouse in my brain that thinks I should accomplish things. I sing to myself “It is Well”.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul

It is well
With my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul

Audrey Assad

Peace is my one little word for 2024, so I pay attention. Peace comes to me in songs, in the sounds of the birds, in the slowing down of summer.

When I stopped to take pictures in my neighbor’s garden, she said, “Now write a haiku.” She laughed, but that is what I did. Haiku is a perfect form for peaceful nature noticing.

Canopy of oak arms
reaching, tossing tumbling light–
peace attends my soul.
photo and haiku by Margaret Simon
Freckled lily blossom
Lonely lighthouse beacon
Pool of goldfish beams
photo and haiku by Margaret Simon

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Poetry Friday is hosted today by Susan Thomsen at Chicken Spaghetti.

This week the weather has turned to rain, rain, rain. The fog is hovering. Humidity high. Winter blues making me down. But then there is poetry.

Poetry saves me. I am empowered and energized by having written something. Every day, no matter the weather, I can write a poem.

Elfchen has been my go-to form. I’m writing a few everyday. It’s such a nice compact form that can contain all of my emotions and balance my mood. Here’s one from my notebook.

January 25, 2024
Truth
comes in
times of silence
contemplating the thrumming rain
Presence.

Margaret Simon, 1/25/24 draft

I’ve signed up for The Stafford Challenge which is basically a commitment to write daily as William Stafford did. Here’s a poem about wanting to sleep in. It makes me smile.

You Do Not Have to be Good*
(*Mary Oliver “Wild Geese”)

You do not have to wake at 4 AM
to feed the cats
mewing at the back door.
Cats are survivors.

Turn over, go back to sleep–
the most delicious sleep comes
in the wee hours of the morning
in the whisper of the heater
under the warm blanket
his breathing, slow and steady.

Stretch your cramping foot.
Discuss with yourself how the day will go
if you just sleep a little more.

Dream, perhaps,
in this liminal space
of sacred meditation.
Lie with yourself;
Tell her to calm down.
The cats can wait. 

Margaret Simon, draft

How is your January going? Doesn’t it feel like such a long month? I hope you are writing yourself through it. And staying warm.

Peace Postcard by Linda Mitchell

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