Poetry Competition

For the past couple of years, I have entered the Lee Regional Fair poetry competition.

 

As part of the guidelines for the competition, it says that the poem, any form, any topic,  could be used for promotional purposes.

 

That made me think that the poem should be something about the fair—something to do with family, fun and celebration—something to do with Fall. 

 

As such, I have written poems specifically for the fair. 

 

The first year, they gave me an honorable mention even though they didn’t even have a first, second, or third place winner.

 

I don’t think they wanted to give me any money.

 

Last year, I think that I might have gotten third place?

 

The first and second place poems had nothing to do with the fair or anything that could be used as promotional material

 

I don’t recall what they were about, but I remember thinking, I’m going to turn in a non-fair poem next year.

 

I have a gazillion poems. Most of them from the past few years have been haiku, so I revert back to my younger years, when my poetry was longer and I somehow had more to say. 

 

In Fall 2004, I wrote:

 

Love’s Peace

 

Green transitions to orange and red

A gentle breeze caressing skin

As eyes close to rest in the moment.

 

It’s unspoken understanding that transcends the whats, 

Whats filling the silence only as nervous energy drawn by

Connection too deep for words.

Beauty lives where senses are heightened and

Awareness of creation is so real that it dances a waltz for the very first time.

Whats fade into the background as

Sweet fragrance takes center stage and

Presence becomes undeniable.

 

Capture the moment in picture—

Oils or pastels or watercolors feverishly transforming canvas

From barren white to radiant color.

Capture the moment in song—

Harps or drums or keys bursting forth from soft rustle

Creating vibrations so simple and powerful and they invoke passionate tears.

 

Green transitions to orange and red

A gentle breeze caressing skin

As eyes close to rest in the moment.

 

Humility envelopes any thought of pride:

There is Love much bigger than life and

Love’s Peace decorates the world today.

 

—-

 

I would like for love’s peace to decorate the world today. 

 

And I would like to win the Lee Regional Fair poetry competition. 

 

 

Amen 

Splat! Bam! Boom!

 

Yesterday, I wrote a poem. 

I recorded a moment in time when I was perfectly at peace. 

I posted the poem. 

And then, 

Almost immediately, 

My litany of negative thoughts bombarded me. 

All my fears. 

All my anxieties about death and dying. 

All my worries. 

Splat. Bam. Boom! Right in my face. 

 

“Do you trust yourself to handle what happens when it happens?” I heard Joe the Counselor ask. 

“Yes,” I responded. 

“Your time will come,” I thought, “when everything will feel like it’s spinning out of control.”

“But that time is not now. 

That time is not this moment. 

You cannot worry away what will be. 

Breathe. 

Feel the ocean breeze. 

You are right here, 

Right now, 

And I am with you. 

And I will be with you then, too.”

 

Somewhere along the way,

God showed up. 

And we came back to center again. 

 

Sometimes I feel like Peter.

One moment I live with total presence and faith. 

The next moment I let worry and what-if’s run away with me. 

 

But. 

God is with me through it all, 

Loving me come what may. 

And I am with God through it all, 

Loving God come what may. 

And love is steady through it all, 

Being love come what may. 

And I am thankful to understand this little, huge fact,

As I, little as I am in this huge world, 

Am on this eternal journey of faith. 

 

Amen. 

Peace

 

In 1867, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote the lyrics to the carol, “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day,” after his son was injured in the Civil War and his wife died when her dress caught fire. Walking down the street on a cold winter’s day, Longfellow heard Christmas bells begin to play…and he penned this poem:

 

“I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

 

I thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along the unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

 

And in despair I bowed my head:

"There is no peace on earth," I said,

"For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men."

 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men."

 

Till, ringing singing, on its way,

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,

Of peace on earth, good will to men!”

 

I don’t know about you, but I get it when Longfellow writes,

“And in despair I bowed my head:

‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said,

‘For hate is strong and mocks the song,

Of peace on earth, good will to men."

 

And I get it when he writes,

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

‘God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men."

 

I get the journey from joy to despair and back again.

I understand walking through heartache and grief,

Questioning everything I’ve known to be true,

But deciding, in the end, to rest upon peace.

 

Friends: Peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of Love.

And even when life is difficult—

Political upheaval, wars raging, people dying, children suffering—

Love, God’s love, is there.

 

Amen.

Hope

 

I was standing on duty Wednesday morning

When one of my 2^nd graders showed me a treasure.

“Look,” she said, displaying a quarter with a playdoh frame.

“It says, ‘Hope.’”

And sure enough,

The quarter said hope.

 

Evidently,

The US Mint has been producing

A series of American Women Quarters

Since 2022.

In a society that increasingly carries plastic instead of cash and change,

Who knew?!

 

The idea was to feature notable women in US History.

According to Wikipedia,

“The women have made

contributions to the United States

in a wide spectrum of accomplishments and fields,

including but not limited to suffrage,

civil rights,

abolition,

government,

humanities,

science,

space,

and arts.

Most of the featured women have been from ethnic minority groups.

 

The Hope quarter recognizes Reverend Dr. Pauli Murray,

A poet, writer, activist, lawyer, Episcopal priest, and a staunch advocate for civil rights, fighting against racial and sex discrimination.

The word hope was chosen from a line in her poem “Dark Testament” that says

Hope is a song in a weary throat.
(I will put part of the larger poem at the end of this note.)

 

I ordered a Hope quarter to use as a sermon illustration yesterday morning.

I had the opportunity to preach at my dad’s church.

I spoke about hope.

 

I left the quarter at home.

But I still spoke about hope.

God’s hope.

And now I have a quarter by which to remember.

 

---

 

Dark Testament: Verse 8 by Pauli Murray

Hope is a crushed stalk
Between clenched fingers
Hope is a bird’s wing
Broken by a stone.
Hope is a word in a tuneless ditty —
A word whispered with the wind,
A dream of forty acres and a mule,
A cabin of one’s own and a moment to rest,
A name and place for one’s children
And children’s children at last . . .
Hope is a song in a weary throat.
Give me a song of hope
And a world where I can sing it.
Give me a song of faith
And a people to believe in it.
Give me a song of kindliness
And a country where I can live it.
Give me a song of hope and love
And a brown girl’s heart to hear it.

Free

Oh God—

I want to live free

Because I AM free indeed.

You have made me so, Jesus,

And you ARE MAKING me so—

Every day, every moment—

A release of the fears that bind.

You say do not worry about tomorrow—

You say live today for today.

You, who is the WORD,

Have spoken truth as are YOU ARE the truth.

Help me to live in that truth—

Always in your truth,

Not as fiercely independent and self-reliant,

But in community and relationship and service to others,

In you,

In Love.

Amen.

Blackout Poetry Anniversary

 

Yesterday was my three-year blackout poetry anniversary.

Since June 2, 2021,

Heidi the Librarian and I have each written over 1000 blackout poems,

Completing 20 books while working on our 21st,

Covering modern fiction, science fiction, adolescent fiction, autobiography, lovelorn classics, horror classics, political documents, and books compiled specifically for blackout poetry—including one made just for us!

 

Three years ago, Heidi was searching for inspirational quotes

When she came across the image of a blackout poem.

She immediately knew that she wanted to try it.

And that’s what started it all.

She had some copies of Anne of Green Gables that were in disrepair,

So we started with those.

She walked into my room that Wednesday,

And asked if I wanted to write a blackout poem with her.

She said, “We’ll each write a poem and then compare them.”

I remember thinking, “We’re probably going to come up with the same poem.

There aren’t that many options on the page.”

But, oh, how many options there are!

In all our years and writings,

We have only written one identical poem!

 

The words on the page become the word bank.

The experiences that we bring provide the lens through which we read the words.

We each slow down,

Sometimes for 30 minutes to an hour,

Read the text,

Focus on something beyond our immediate concerns,

Open ourselves to what I believe is the Spirit,

Listen for what message lies on the page,

And then transform what’s obvious into something new.

 

I don’t know how long we will continue with this discipline,

But I don’t plan to stop any time soon.

As dramatic as it sounds,

I feel like blackout poetry is making me a better person

By causing me to see things from different perspectives,

And reminding me that there is always more to a story,

Two people may read the exact same text and

Hear completely different messages.

Isn’t that how it is with scripture?

And shouldn’t we all be open to the Spirit’s leading?

 

I will close this anniversary celebration 

By sharing my June 2 poems.

 

May each of us find a discipline that is meaningful for our lives,

And then may we each engage it with purpose and intention,

Seeing where it leads.

 

Amen.

 

----

 

From Anne of Green Gables, June 2, 2021

 

His tongue,

abstracted,

unswervingly and unseeingly,

nervous,

uncomfortable,

odd,

unaccountable.

That was Matthew’s way.

Silence persistency.

I’ve had so much experience at that.

What’s to be done?

Matthew is a most ridiculous man.

I think he’s lovely.

Sympathetic.

I felt that he was a kindred spirit as soon as I ever saw him.

 

----

 

From Blackout Poetry Journal: June 2, 2022

 

Give

it

all

to

the Light.

 

----

 

From Blackout Poetry Journal (A Creative Writing Journal): June 2, 2023

 

The moment is near

But I am a coward,

And shame pursues me.

 

----

 

From Passover Haggadah: June 2, 2024

 

I am

A leader

From the middle.

The Journey of Writing

 When I was in the 8^th grade,

My Sunday School Teacher gave me a journal for graduation.

On the inside cover,

It said, “Congradulations.”

I used that journal to record middle and high school songs and poems,

And I’ve added many other journals to the collection since.

I used to write a lot of songs and poems.

I still have many of the rough drafts—

Scribbled on yellow legal paper, or napkins, or envelopes, or anything I could find to write upon.

These days, I write less by hand and more on the computer.

I also write less poetry and more prose.

I’ve never been a diary keeper or a fiction writer,

But I enjoy reflecting upon “life, work, and spirituality.”

I think my love for writing began during my junior year of high school,

When my English teacher, Mrs. Royal, encouraged me to write.

My senior English teacher, Mrs. Smith, continued the encouragement,

But then I got to college where my freshman English professor, Dr. Colby, dealt me a major blow:

My only B in my undergraduate studies.

I could not write a thesis statement to save me!

I spent many hours in Dr. Colby’s office,

Talking, crying, working, trying to become a better writer.

For a year after that class, I remember being hesitant to write.

I was afraid my writing wasn’t good enough.

I was afraid that I was going to fail.

Thankfully, life brought me out of that depression and I wrote more freely again.

When Live Journal was a thing, I posted dramatic posts of my life and work at the time.

When I was in Divinity School, one of my favorite classes was the Ministry of Writing, taught by Dr. Cartledge.

When Facebook became a thing, and I finally joined,

I wrote to give glimpses into the life of a full-time vocational minister (although I wasn’t called a minister at the time).

That was almost fourteen years ago.

I have written two notes per week almost every year since,

And I have watched my writing style change over time.

At Johnsonville, I held a weekly writing competition to get students writing.

I didn’t care about the quality of their writing as much as I cared they were writing!

At GW, I have taken it upon myself to become the point person for the Young Authors Writing Competition.

I have a vague memory of writing for the competition when I was with Mrs. Royal,

So when I became connected with it again,

I knew that I wanted to encourage my students write.

This year, GW had 16 State Writing Competition Winners!

Thanks to a handful of classroom teachers,

We had writers from every grade level, and almost every grade level was represented on the state level.

This is huge!

And I am so proud.

And I am so thankful that that middle school girl who dramatically wrote in her “Congradulations” journal didn’t stop writing…

And I hope that she never will.

 

Amen.