Psalm 63

Fragmented words
like crumbed toast
fall,
pulled like lead,
to the floor.

Even cautious steps crackle.

Weary of restless slumber
between sandpaper sheets,
my soul pleads water
but finds dust.

Still
I cling
to hope.

Even when
ears have forgotten how to hear,
eyes have retreated into monochromatic landscapes,
parched mouth has grunted like a great, guttural toad
and feet have stumbled,
I will raise my hands toward your face;
my heart will cry out to you.

Hold me.
Just hold me.

And I will wake
to hear trees clapping with delight,
mountains singing in wild resounding timpanious voice,
oceans bubbling with raucous laughter
and sunshine tingling with melodious jingling chimes.

And I will rise
to see rivers dancing through wastelands,
vibrant colours expanding with breath,
words fledging till they soar,
weaving vigorous vines of flavourful, juice-filled fruit.

I will be stirred
to find a voice of praise
and feet which gambol a dance of unabridged joy.

For you are life
and
I will cling
to this hope.

apple

thinking i am safe
(hell having passed through)
i breathe
on my knees
in relief
only to discover
i am in the eye of the storm.

if i am indeed the apple
keep me in your heart
for i cannot withstand
another assault.

let me hide,
nestled in quills,
covered in down,
as the gale roars round.

let me be wrapped
in metered timbral tone
and filled with joyous praise.

filled with joyous praise.

pan(go)lin

armour-clad (intro)vert
(trans)versing the african bush
by moonlight
in search of arth(ro)pods

you wear your plates well.
little walking arti(choke),
each step a small balancing act,

silently you go wearing your coat of many scales
under the starry mantle of heaven.

seeking mountainous (mole)hills
you probe with a tongue longer than yourself,
then retract it in ticklish delight,
many minuscule morsels making a mighty meal.

with the blushing sky
you head for (holey) home (ground)

 

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This little poem is dedicated to one of my favourite animals.
The third Saturday in February is World Pangolin Day.
By raising awareness about this intriguing mammal
(who is more closely related to bears than armadillos)
maybe we can help preserve them,
for they are endangered in Asia and threatened in Africa.
Their plates are made of the same material as rhino horns.

Who Will Serve?

NOT I.

and so the day
and the week
and the month
went.

NOT I.

But the end of term was
ME! and
ME! and
ME!

Who can judge
to determine when mercy’s meted out
and when eviction’s apportioned?

Sometimes I think
there are too many ants feeding grasshoppers.

And then I see the fiddle I hold
behind my back
and am thankful
for
grace.

dazzling dawn

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Once again I was inspired by Whimsygizmo’s Blog and the invitation to come play with words at Play Online – Magnetic Poetry.

It is actually quite a soothing exercise.
Try it!  🙂

 

tug of war

everything ages,
slowly gives in
to dust, decay and gravity.

gravity,
ever pulling us down,
calling for a return to clay,
weighs our soles.

souls,
long to rise
above the clatter and clutter,
clashes and clouds.

clouds,
heavily ladened,
weep themselves wispily dry.

dry as stale breadcrumbs,
battle-worn from entropic war,
gravity brings me to my knees in the rain
and i live again
under grace.

Magnetic Poetry

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This is a magnetic (fridge) poem.  I took the words I was given and created a poem.
Want to try?  Give it a shot!!  Here is the site:  http://magneticpoetry.com/pages/play-online

Have fun . . . and have a happy  “Put a Poem in Your Pocket” Day!  (30 April)

Hunting Woozles

We circle that tree

that mountain

that wilderness

again and again and again.

 

Always moving

trudging on

thinking we’re getting somewhere —

but finding ourselves back at GO

(if we’re lucky a few pounds heavier).

 

Never quite sure,

(Are we running

to or from

something?)

but round and round we go.

 

Then, when we are down

we look up

and catch a sympathetic grin.

 

What bliss those days

when warm fingers close about ours

and take us home

for Luncheon Time.

In Praise of a Ficus

O mighty tree,

O wondrous Ficus natalensis,
you lift your strong, solid arms to the sky.
You push your podgy, gnarly roots into the earth.
You fling your thin, aerial hair to the wind.
O bountiful fig arbour,
you create manna on terra firma,
bringing hope to perishing fauna.
You provide cool relief in the hot African summers.
You give shelter in the driving rain.
You are home to thousands —
arthropods and reptiles,
amphibians and mammals.
O mighty tree,
O mighty Ficus natalensis,
let me wrap my limbs about your bole,
press my face into your coat
and feel your surging, silent power.

 

 

In Zulu culture there exists “izibongo” or “praise songs / poems.”
These praise poems are wondrously full of amazing images.
Usually delivered by an imbongi (praise singer) these praise poems commemorate leaders and heroes.
Lesser known are the “common” praise songs, those which honour a family or person in a community.

I took this idea of a “praise poem” and wrote one for one of my favourite trees.
This idea, of writing a praise poem for a “thing,” made the children in my class laugh.
Then I challenged them to write a praise poem for a part of nature that they like.
The results were delightful.  I will ask them for permission to publish their words here.

In the meanwhile, if you’d like to know more about traditional Zulu Izibongo,
go here.