can a writer be a farmer?

 

this farm is home base

where i work (if i write,

do i shirk?) don’t ask the

farmer loaded questions;

i’m the farmHer who finds

sweet poetry in life on our

iowa farm, where tall corn

grows, and calves are born

(my poems are calved too)

placental in messy straw.

low mooing of cattle and

hum of machinery drones

on…in rich bass, solid tones

of this daily symphony as

poetry sings higher notes of

melody in quiet moments,

green fields, open space

discovering my place

…oh, gotta go do chores!

 

 


Linking to dVerse Poets where Gina hosts poetics tonight…

a fresh intuition

 

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(magnetic poetry online)

the treasure

Skeptical about the Bible? Try reading one of the New Testament gospels, the book of John. We all have questions! See post by former agnostic, The Sylvr Pen.


 

diversified volumes form unique collection
library referenced by love’s common theme

more than mere letters forming words
more than simply words on a page

voluminous, luminous top-selling tome of
truth verified on authority of one true author

a long-ago breathed, still breathing book
a living letter made alive by the lord of life

logos, the Word made flesh, God himself
fleshed out in gracious words of his son

sword of spirit that pierces mind and soul
cuts through deceit, defends against evil one

map to precious treasure of kingdom is not
to be pirated or buried but diligently studied

spill the treasure out to be spent by beggars
memorize the map to find the only way home

 

 

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free image – pixabay

life…as world turns

Join dVerse Poets where Lillian quotes Eccles. 3: 1-8, a time for everything.


 

“all is vanity,” says the preacher
life’s breath ~ “chasing after wind”

somewhere in the weary world
newborn baby first sucks in air
toddler tosses pebbles into pond
young girl twirls a wedding dance
farmer plants seed in hope of harvest
lovers laugh to embrace ~ weep, to not
developer digs dirt in hope of homes
man grieves loss of beloved wife
old woman stacks stones on beach
dying man expires with final sigh
somewhere in the weary world

“all is vanity,” says the preacher
life’s breath ~ “chasing after wind”

 

 

 

will all find tolerance?

 

i am a believer

i am an American

i am white-skinned

i am a college graduate

i am married, to one man

i work at home on the farm

i feed beef cattle to feed people

i am a home owner and land owner

i am conservative in my political views

 

are these statements provocative?
unacceptable, politically incorrect?
should i apologize to the world?
do we really believe in tolerance?
does diversity respect equally?

 

 

i want to listen and learn

i may disagree but that

does not mean i hate

yes, i am privileged

to love & be loved

to also bleed red

i thank God for

his blessings

every day;

you?

 

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. (Psalm 16:6)

daughter she never knew

 

desperate now

no real choice

no viable option

he’d already left her

she birthed other babies

what else could she do

but have child removed?

…the one she’d never celebrate

 


Abortion is a tragedy to grieve, not an occasion to celebrate. Author Leslie Leyland Fields writes an open, compassionate letter to “celebrants” of abortion here.

lament for erica anne

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hear our anguished cries, O God!
why do the loveliest ones die young?

she had her daddy’s perceptive eyes
that saw beyond this world’s pretense;

she had her mother’s tender heart
that loved beyond this world’s ache.

Erica belonged to a better, purer world.

depression’s demons
pushed her till she fell,
desperate to escape.

her mortal body broken but
her timeless spirit caught in
arms of compassion
and carried home,

like lost lamb on gentle
Shepherd’s shoulders…

Lord, carry us in our grief!

 

 


For my friend and family who lost their sweet daughter/sister. Read Erica’s obituary here.

winter’s daZZle

Link to dVerse Poets where Gina invites us to consider “the magic of ordinary things”

 

snow diamonds gliTTer in sunshine

icicle daGGers dangle from rOOf edge

pungent scent distiLLs from pine boughs

haPPy laughter sleDDing down big hiLL

soft faux fur hOOd brushes rosy chEEks

snowflakes sprinkle on kniTTed miTTen

cold hands caRReSS warm bowl of hot chili

 

 

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annunciation

 

At heaven’s high command,
a white-hot beam of purest light
penetrates time and space
to touch our tiny blue planet.

In a peasant cottage,
silence is muted by
an alien presence; the
whispering whir of mighty wing.

Flesh crawls with palpable terror
as the dazzling creature, a holy flame,
fixes its piercing gaze on one
wide-eyed, trembling maiden.

“Do not be afraid.”

Surprising, melodious words
uttered by molten-gold messenger
to an ordinary girl who pales
in wonder, what can this mean?

Glory’s courier speaks favor—
words of prophets coming true
Spirit of I AM will overshadow you,
virgin chosen to mother Messiah.

Her eyes lower, palms sweat,
as dry lips answer from her
wildly-beating, totally yielded heart,
she burns but does not disintegrate.

“I am the Lord’s servant.”

 

(Originally posted in 2012 as “advent: trial by fire”; later, expanded and focused. I was privileged to read this at our church Christmas Eve service, 2016)

unboxing day

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why shove live people into boxes?

for ease of handling:

tape flaps shut
apply (libel) labels
stack, shelve, and ship

boxes help us to:

stratify society
control communication
justify judgementalism

but humans are fluid (57-60% water)

leaking out of boxes, eluding labels with:

nuances of personality
unique life history
flow of opinions and
distilled philosophy

(even cats, who adore boxes, should not be forced inside
but rather choose which box to curl up in and when to exit)

considering final insult we sustain as body is finally laid in a box,

let us celebrate un-boxing holiday
let people out of cramped boxes
we’ve assembled and stuffed them in

in fact, let’s get rid of the boxes altogether!

 

 


Linking to dVerse metaphor/figure of speech prompt.

“Temuchin!”

Linking to dVerse poetics and Lillian’s prompt to write “once upon a …”


 

once upon a yurt…

out on the barren steppe

below snowy mountain peak

where mongolian ponies gallop

beside smoky cow-dung fire ring

stirring pot of seasoned beef stew

aromas of ginger and garlic wafting

tickle nose of almond-eyed baby boy

who sneezes mightily into shadows of

future as conqueror-to-be, Genghis Khan

 

 

images

 

wild, wet ‘n wooly

A small story poem of 115 words linked to dVerse where Bjorn and friends are writing narrative poetry. Also inspired by Sarah’s earlier “mindfulness” prompt!

 

brave-heart caterpillar

three centimeters long

weighs all of a gram

spiky brown-black fur

humping along unaware

crosses grandson’s path

who grasps stray fuzzball

tickly in palm of hand

gently carried on hike

until trail ends at pier

 

where insect pupa is

plopped into pond

as fish bait—but wait,

does it know to swim?

fur floats, frantically

w-w-w-wiggles body

up/down like ripples

across water’s surface

until grandma, empathic,

fishes live catkin out

 

woolie happy at rescue

dries in sunshine and

casts an intimidating

spiked shadow across

pier’s knotted plank

grandson decides to

return him to tall grass

so newly cool cat can

retell adventures to his

sheltered larval friends

 

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photo by lynn

 

 

 

 

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