Snow Scrawl

Racing fast
leaving crimson marks
upon white expanse
tracing cursive lines
perfectly written
by the teacher
scribbles becoming legible.

“I’ve got the hang of this”
I tell myself
flowing effortlessly
as I maneuver to and fro
upon a wide tableau
quicker we go
heart and machine
accelerating.

I watch him
make a sweeping arc
poetry in motion
I follow suit
trying to execute
the loop with grace.

But I colored outside the lines
uncertain what happened
illegible marks
tell the tale.

I study the lines
my ego bruised
to a deep crimson
knowing that
I got ahead of myself.

“Mistakes are great teachers”
I say
as I hold my ribs
take a breath
and begin again.

We feel no disgust

with a newly planted seed

when it does not immediately bloom,

for growth takes time.

Why do we fail to offer

the same courtesy

to our souls?

Unhurried Descent

Unhurried descent
flakes as large as lazy bumblebees
float toward the frozen ground.

Unrushed journey
toward their final destination.
Downward, but not without
detours on the breeze.

With their journey’s end certain,
they relax in hope
in this moment.

Rhythmicity

Five Minute Friday
Prompt: Repeat

Our solar system pulses with rhythm. Every 365 days, we make a turn around the dance floor, spinning all the way. Ever in a hurry, Mercury makes the trip in 88 days, while Pluto takes 248 years. (Perhaps Pluto’s pace explains why cosmologists decided it no longer deserved the title of “planet”).

Today, I looked out of my office window and beheld a tree dressed with fire. She clothed herself this way last year too, celebrating the fall gala. Yet even amidst the rhythmicity, this year is entirely unique. The leaves’ arrangement approximates, yet does not copy, last year’s gown.

What a wonderful world where rhythm’s repetition still manages to make things brand new.

This post is part of the 5-minute Friday linkup.

The Pause

Write 31 days, day 17
Writing Prompt: Pause

“What happened to my day?” I wondered aloud as I walked through the nurse’s station at quarter past four. How could it possibly be this late? The day was not particularly overburdened patient-wise, but I’ve been at my desk for over nine hours, minus the brief visit with my wife over lunch. Patients were seen and reports were written, but without a break to catch my breath.

Normally, I take time to pause. Before the workday starts, I sit in the corner chair, eyes closed, and ponder Christ’s presence. Later in the morning, or perhaps mid-afternoon, I take a walk. A slow walk. I saunter. Amble. I listen to the leaves and watch the birds. I feel the breeze upon my neck or the sun upon my face. I breathe. Life is better when I am not hurrying through it.

For consideration: take five minutes to pause today. Or thirty. 

Each Breath, Inspiration

Write 31 days, Day 9
Today’s prompt: Inspire

To inspire is
to breath life.
So often we wait
for something…anything
to energize us
to get creative juices flowing.

But are we paying
to the present
moment?

-To criss-crossed rakes, slumbering
beneath the blanket
quilted leaf by leaf.

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-To a 9 year old
contemplating the rain or perhaps
multiplication’s complexity.

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-To ducks
upon ponds and puddles
contemplating the rain or perhaps
multiplication’s complexity.

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-To a benevolent Dane
enthroned upon
a burgundy dais
overseeing the play
of his loyal subjects.

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Each whisper…each blink
a breath
an inspiration.

For reflection: 
What inspires you in this moment?

Morning Greeting

Today is National Poetry Day, which is as good a time as any to share one of my older poems, written in 2015.

Black birds in black trees
     wings and branches
     stretched heavenward in morning praise
     silhouetted against the pastel Southeastern sky
A world awakening
     coming alive

Venus looks down from her heavenly seat
     the last nocturne light to retreat

Leaves fall
     crows caw
          squirrels having a ball
greeting the morning with glee
chattering aloud, “Come see! Come see!”