The Poetry Marathon

Hour Two – A Dog’s Magic

Image Courtesy of “DimitrisVetsikas” at Pixabay

 

Dog’s have a special kind of magic.

What lies captive in the eyes of a dog

Is worth wondering about,

Since the thoughts of a dog

Are pure and true.

The stare of a dog capivates,

And holds one captive at the same time.

Once a dog has assessed a human

It never changes its perspective.

The words “First impressions last”

Is truest with a dog. Their instinct never fails

For that reason, I will always be a dog person

Antoinette LeRoux © 2019

Soundless

Soundless, the roses

sing their fragrant music that

only I can hear.

 

 

J. Pratt-Walter

6/22/2019

The Dust Speaks

Our Holy God above, is named the Great I Am–

So who am I, but bit of dust, to compare to Calvary’s Lamb?

Truly, I am only dust, given life by Him;

But what a blessed life I have, as He falls fresh within.

 

I am a sorry, sin-filled soul, washed clean by Calvary’s blood–

The thought of how He suffered, as it flowed just like a flood,

Is one that makes me stand in awe, almost in disbelief,

But Love that He showed forth that day, brought dusty souls relief.

 

I am sent to tell the world of His great love for us.

To tell of His Forgiveness of sin that rots and rusts

The very bone and marrow that make our frame within,

Then washes us with grace, given undeserved by Him.

 

I am a slave to Heaven’s jewel–My Master loves me so!

I pray there’s nothing He would ever ask, with answer, “No!”

For just as dust is scattered when cleaning chores are done,

He can scatter me wherever sinful souls need won.

 

I am a student of His Word; it fills my mind each day.

To feel Him walk beside me, jolts my step to one of sway.

To read the Word, and learn of love the Father gives to all,

I am blessed each day, humbly leading this dust ball.

2 – wings

her wings sing as she hovers by my shoulder.
music dancing on my skin.
our hearts visit the winds memories.
wings beating, air rushing though my hair, tangled.
I float
I am a dream caught in the wrong body.

#2 magic

It was nothing short of magical,
the circle of silent dancers swaying as one
while one at a time they stepped into the center,
improvising love and gratitude around
to acknowledge each gift and challenge.

This community evolved across years
with creativity and grace instilled
by our leader, embracing each
Parkinson’sed partner through
their decline. My husband, too.

Shy at first, he quickly grew to love
this group as I love the dance,
both predictable and new.
The community grew close and loving –
danced on stage, at the waterfront
in our kitchen, for one another.

When I entered the studio
three days following his death
they were circling their season’s farewell.
Beckoned to their midst, I joined
as honor, love, gratitude and grace
flowed both ways, suspending time
and loss.

It was nothing short of magical.

sarahw

Rainbow of Feelings – Hour 1

I am red
When I am angered

I am orange
When I sunbathed

I am yellow
When I am ill

I am green
When I am jealous

I am blue
When I am sad

Or am I drunk?
Well … um …  anyways-

I am purple
When I am bruised

I am pink
When I am loved

Withdraw

Thoughtful Wonder

The stars hang in the night sky with no strings, and the moon, well, the moon is so big it demands it’s own space among those shiny beings.

The sun is a huge ball of fire! Yet it too hangs in the balance, and a string or a rope would be incinerated instantaneously.

People, cars, trees, lakes and rivers may not be in the sky, but what holds them dearly to earth that they may live to see another day?

The universe is a mystical, magical place, and the questions only leave room for more wondrous questions.

Prompt 2: Magic

Children gather at my feet

as I open a book to read.

A book about how trees whisper to me

when it rains.

Their eyes are bright,

their minds open.

My voice rises and falls

like the ocean.

I read the part about how

the trees mourn their family

as they’re cut down.

They send wisdom through the wind

and if people are present,

the thoughts will be planted in their minds.

I turn pages and add more that isn’t written.

Mermaids can be found

at the sea,

if you hold a seashell out as an offering

while standing in the waves.

 

The children cry for more at the end

but my voice is gone.

Later, I sit under the weeping willow tree in my yard

and braid my hair.

Rain is coming.

And I am listening.

Hold me in your magic,

I am safe there.

 

Ghosted

He floats around with an occasional wail

Waiting

There’s nothing left for us to do

 

I once tried to reach out for him

Terrified

My fingers slipped through like mist

 

The long game makes us weary