IWalk this Floor

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I walk this floor and cannot see.
So please don’t walk in front of me!

I ask and ask, but to and fro,
My path is still the way they go.

Perhaps I need to wear a sign:
Those feet are yours, and these are mine.

And if they cross, we both go down.
I walk this floor, so walk around!

Oh be ye person, dog or foul,
Please find another place to prowl.

This house is big enough, you see.
I walk this floor. So let me be!

Remember as you end your day,
The vacuum has a place to stay.

And put things back where they belong
Before the nighttime comes along.

If one dark night the power goes,
You’ll need a torch or lantern’s glow.

And you will have to ask me where.
I just might find them, if I care.

I live here too, not having sight.
But I’m not giving up my rights.

You see the people, pets and more.
But don’t forget: I walk this floor!

—
This poem is true. It’s funny, unless you’re the one tripping over, colliding with, banging into, knocking over, or otherwise having unpleasant encounters with people, pets, and assorted obstacles–not in an unfamiliar place, but at home. It’s not what I usually write, as I don’t like to dwell on these things. But sooner or later, everything must come to light! Please remember, whomever you meet in your daily life, show some (un)common human respect for them!

Shared at
dVerse OpenLinkNight #196

Prayers with Airs

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In e-ve-ry way
this penultimate day
of National Poetry writing,
I feel a great need
to wonder and grieve
for all the big words they are citing!

Now penultimate means
that my pen is a fiend.
Not really but how can you know it?
It’s dumb and absurd
using uncommon words
for the fancified voice of a poet.

And so I wanna say
this penultimate day,
remember what Jesus admonished…
TO be heard in your prayers,
don’t put on any airs.
Say the words in your heart and be honest!

—
Day 29 and holding… Penultimate means next-to-last. I’ve never used that word in my life! Today it’s just to prove a point.

What Jesus said was:

“And when you pray, you shall not be like the hypocrites. For they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the corners of the streets, that they may be seen by men. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward. And when you pray, do not use vain repetitions as the heathen do. For they think that they will be heard for their many words. (Matthew 6:5,7, NKJV)

A Single Tear

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Oh dear! A tear!
It’s clear, I fear.

Upon my face
a big disgrace,
where in its place
a smile should race.

It hurt me so
to learn and know
the status quo:
Don’t let it show!

But on the spot
I plum forgot!
Untied the knot
to dump the lot.

The tear fell down
without a sound.
And lost, I found
I didn’t drown!

But kept the pace
and learned to face
the inner space,
my feeling place,
without disgrace.
The truth I trace:
This human race
would better place,
if as a base
we built in grace
for tears’ embrace!

—
Today at napowrimo.net, we’re asked for a poem in Skeltonic verse. I know, right? I never heard that before either. But I like it.

Between God and Me

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Between the poems, words I wish to say,
Between the words are strings I want to play,
Between the strings are games I cannot win,
Between the games I find the peace within.

Between the peace and heartache, there is time,
Between the time are breaths, each one sublime,
Between each breath, a point so small but still,
Between the stillpoints, glimpses of His will.

Between His will and mine, illusion’s maze,
Between ullusions, may I stop to pray,
Between the prayers, I listen for His plan,
Between His plan, I rest within His hand.

Between His hand and mine, no earthly thing,
Between the earth and heav’n, one song to sing,
Between the song and strings He bids me play
Are poems with the words He helps me say.

—
NaPoWriMo day 28.

Go forth and say what’s yours to say;
May Spirit guide you on your way!

Franken Friends

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Oh my goodness! He’s playing my song!
Now I feel like I really belong!
So the poet named Frank
Is the one I must thank
For inviting the Limerick along!

And you might think my feelings absurd,
But I relish each letter and word.
‘Cause my happiest heart
Knows that humor is art;
May the burble of laughter be heard!

You know, three is the number of luck.
That’s why leaves on a shamrock come up.
SO I give you one more
Just to even the score.
What? You haven’t been laughing? You’re stuck… 😦

—
Extra! Extra! With apologies to Frank and my fellow poets at
dVerse.
I can never resist a
Limerick!
It’s been a trying week, so thanks for making my day! 😀

Community

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People care
Everywhere
I don’t even know they’re there!

Many races
Many faces
Opening their hearts to share!

I am heard
Through my words
Making friends beyond compare!

Friends who see
Inside of me
Nearing, cheering me to dare!

Love and peace
Community
Unknown answer to my prayer!

People care
Everywhere
I give thanks for all they share!

—
For NaPoWriMo day 27, my response to Paul’s first prompt at
dVerse.
Welcome, Paul!

Once you move the “but” everything else will follow.

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purpleraysblog's avatarPurplerays

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“I was thinking about it, but…
I was going to but…
I wish I could but…
These are the excuses we give for sitting on our butts.
There are no “buts” so big they cannot be moved. Once you move the “but” everything else will follow.”

~ Iyanla Vanzant

Text & image credit: Iyanla Vanzant https://web.facebook.com/DrIyanlaVanzant/

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Grateful

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I put your number in my phone just yesterday,
Not knowing I would be so grateful having it today.

I took a different way than every other time,
A crisis made a blessing by a covering divine.

God gives and takes away, a gift in either case.
His Spirit comes in many forms and in the darkest place.

I sit in wonder at the work of loving hands
And thank the God who keeps me safe and living for His plans!

—
This 25th day of NaPoWriMo I’m grateful to be writing, walking, thinking, living! I was reminded today that God works in mysterious ways. Mysterious for sure, but God is at work nonetheless. For this we give thanks!

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What I’m Doing

No Q

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An untrue Quadrille (Q/Q44) for
dVerse.
44 words here, one of which must be “still” or a variation.

There’s ne’er a Q for you today.
The poems have gone home.
They cannot stand to grace this place;
they ramble and they roam.
They sat upon the suitcase
with rhyme and rhythm filled,
my every wand’ring word replaced
with thoughts that never still!