POETRY ZONE (July 30 - August 5, 2014)

The Granada Camp for Wayward Poets has officially ended.

Here is my final camp poem. The assignments was a "three-legged race," three stanzas long, where the final words of one stanza are the first words of the next. My words took inspiration from Tolkien and The Old Rugged Cross.

On a hill faraway
He was nailed to our cross
Please forgive, his prayer
In His death, our sin lost
One King will rule us all

Rule us all? I think not

I refuse to bow down
Your wide nets cast for naught
Till in sin’s sea I drown
Long He sings to find us

Find us? While He waits

Ripened fields I will reap
Prayers for souls carry weight
Sowing seeds I will weep
Unseen wings bring us all
To His home eternal

Now we are writing on our usual schedule, and this is my poem describing my muse:

COCOON

Once upon a time my muse was black

Her brand’s harsh heat marked me hers
Coal-dark eyes lasered my memories
Rearranging slices of pain as art
Red spilled down her ebony arms
Her lifeblood filling my pen
Raven tresses wrapped around me
The cocoon a safe place to write and feel

I emerge from my cocoon to find my muse has changed

My golden years have turned to silver                              
Black cotton threads are now shiny silk
Her dress, a metallic sheen, robes her crooked back
Beauty and strength shine from her shrunken form
Poetry drips from silver-tipped fingernails
Painting images formerly frozen as prose
Penny dreadful words now polished utensils

Finally, here is the poem I wrote about turning sixty.

One life, divided by six tens

Each decade shorter than the last
First day, first year, so much to ken
By ten years old, so much amassed
The teens I changed from chick to hen
Plans set in stone, my future vast
At twenty-two, I hit first wall
My music studies caused to halt

But thirty found me satisfied

A husband, children, and a church
By forty, perfect life proved lie
Divorce and illness made me search
My story world escape supplied
Secure while day by day I lurched
Half century my life span climbed
At last my books had found their time

The last ten years have brought more tests

My daughter died, and then my Mom
But new life flourished in its quest
To place grandchildren in my palms
My prayer, the years ahead my best
My final words, a praise-filled psalm
Will I reach seventy or more?
Or spend that day on heaven’s shore?