Showing posts with label writer's group. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writer's group. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Humpty Dumpty Sat on the Wall...

  

Our writer's group homework assignment; to take a nursery rhyme and add a modern-day twist...

Humpty Dumpty sat on 'The Wall'
To watch the Great America fall
All the democrats and republicans
Not able to put America together again

Humpty Dumpty, an egg, people say
Cried, ‘pity the people and pity the day
When, with war of words and shaking of fists
We wonder if loving kindness still exists’

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall
Waiting out a countdown to 'Babylon’s fall'
But he dozed off, as eggs will, I guess
And he fell, oh, but it was a shell of a mess

Humpty Dumpty grew famous in death
His name on everyone’s lips with each breath
Crowds gathered to babble about Dumpty’s disgraces
Unaware of the glaring yellow egg on their faces

© Janet Martin

This was written in fun.
 (reposting by request, after deleting the original post:)
For a more serious look at politics read here; Discernment in The Trump Era

Friday, April 7, 2017

To the Bedrock of Ballads....Three Sonnets



 Last month, because it was my turn to lead our Writer's Group meeting, it was up to me to choose the homework topic. The assignment: Write about something near and dear to you.
The 'Something near and dear to me' I chose to write about; keeping Rhythm and Rhyme alive in poetry and working at perfecting its art! 





Forbid, that we without remorse stand by
To watch the Bedrock of Ballad decay
Where echoes of Past’s half-mad mortals lie
Preserved in poetry unto this day
…for roar of words that warred within their breasts
They did not choose, but were chosen for this;
To pen, with metered yen, the soul’s requests
While siblings slept in unencumbered bliss
…the poet wrestled with vessels of thought
To tame the tempest as it seared and surged
And sparred with impotence of what was not
Until the will of quill and query merged
To spill, unfettered to the quest of rhyme
And poetry that stands the test of time

***

Forbid the Master-grid of poetry
Should crumble in a noisy corridor
Where groan is not honed into symmetry
But heaped on trays nobody hungers for
As, sacrificed on altars of free verse
The sanctity of poetry is lost
For freedom without law can be a curse
And words reduced to ash, its sorry cost
Because there is no protocol or code
To set off’rings of letter-art apart
They fall, like flower-petals to a road
Where foot-traffic tramples on works of heart
But where the ancient authors gave their all
The poetry of cadency stands tall

***

Forbid we don the popular veneer
Of free speech, forgetful of consequence
Darling, the end of all of us is near
Then, all that will remain is recompense
For ink, in the heaven of passion spilled
Where filament of penmanship, my love
Endures long after heart and hand are stilled
The wherewithal of madrigal to prove
When dust-to-dust reclaims its ordained Must
When love and lust that steers us is annulled
Pray, what will flutter in the wake of trust
After the soul from Frame of Name is culled
I wonder if, in some far yet-to-be
A piece of us will live in poetry

© Janet Martin



Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Humpty Dumpty Sat On The Wall

For our writer's group last month's homework assignment was to take a nursery rhyme and add a modern-day twist...




Humpty Dumpty sat on 'The Wall'
To watch the Great America fall
All the democrats and republicans
Not able to put America together again

Humpty Dumpty, an egg, people say
Cried, ‘pity the people and pity the day
When, with war of words and shaking of fists
We wonder if loving kindness still exists’

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall
Waiting out a countdown to 'Babylon’s fall'
But he dozed off, as eggs will, I guess
And he fell, oh, but it was a shell of a mess

Humpty Dumpty grew famous in death
His name on everyone’s lips with each breath
Crowds gathered to babble about Dumpty’s disgraces
Unaware of the glaring yellow egg on their faces

© Janet Martin

This was written in fun.
For a more serious look at politics read here; Discernment in The Trump Era

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Dear Job...





Dear Job,

Lately I have been struggling
The Spirit and the flesh
Seem quite at odds within this rack
Of sorry humanness
So, I would like to ask you
For advice on how to be
The person God intended
Job, can you help me?
I’ve worn sack-cloth and ashes
And it didn’t change a thing
I’ve wept and wailed and questioned God
On ‘why this suffering?’
And everyone that stands around
to offer up their views
makes me quite cross because they’ve never
stumbled in my shoes
or sat where everybody points
And thus provoked God’s wrath
I stagger in a costume
Drained of joy and energy
A mind and body battleground,
Oh Job, can you help me?

From: Physically and mentally depleted

Dear physically and mentally depleted;

The body is a temple, not an idol, sometimes we
Get so caught up in ‘my-my’ hurt
That we neglect to see
How ‘God in us’, Immanuel
Desires that we trust
Instead of seeking answers
In these agonies of dust
Sack-cloth and ashes cannot change
That place where change must start
Yet, often we ourselves estrange
The Hand the moves the heart

Shall we accept only the good?
And while bulging jowls drip
Curse God because He tests the faith
We boast from fattened lips
Say, where were you when God laid out
Or measured its dimensions
Or breathed very Time to birth?
To challenge God with ‘why’
Then answer,
Where were you when He
Splayed seas beneath the sky
Earth’s oceans to contain
Dare you correct the One who spawned
Or spreads the sky like hard, cast bronze 
Beneath the womb of Light?
Then, can this cloth explain
The mind of He whose excellence
And then, when He says trust in Me
Why is it not enough?
Why do you think you need to see
The mystery of His Love?
For who of us has understood
Will you only accept the good?
Tell me, fool-headed clod
Why is it not enough to know
Since Time began, why is it man
Has argued and appealed
where changeless through the ages still
God’s reply vexes dust
Believe in Me and trust”

Speaking from experience,
Your humble servant, Job

This month each person in our writer's group was assigned to seek advice from a Bible-character.
Mine was Job.
Have you read the Book of Job lately?
What a, what a book!! 

This poem was shamefully easy to write as I drew
from my lack-of-trust training...
because every fear I have
is a matter of trust
...the more I trust
the less I fear.







Friday, February 7, 2014

Sunrise or Sunset?



We are studying transition words in our writer’s group. Our assignment is to write a short opinion essay (no more than 400 words) on a topic from a list of suggestions or from a question we choose. I selected from the list this question; which is more beautiful, sunrise or sunset?

 Sunrise?

or, sunset?

 
 
Sunsets have drawn me to my knees
then silenced inept, stuttering syllables,
attempting to spill salutation in praise.
Also, sunsets have stolen my breath;
splendor-cuffing my soul to the air where nothing tangible is
yet HE IS transcends all.
Furthermore, sunsets have reminded me,
in spite of man’s stumbles and fumbles,
still God renders His glory
in glimpses
to sojourners of sin-cursed sod.

However,
something about a sun-rise stirs in me
an even greater sense of awe.
Sunsets signify ending
while sunrises proclaim beginning.
Our track-record of centuries
is proof of proneness to folly,
but God who is rich in mercy
rends the dark with Light,
choosing shades beyond our comprehension.
Indeed, He delights
to remind us who He is
on a canvas only the blind can ignore.
In fact, He has promised
His compassions are new every morning
so as I gaze at a sunrise, unlike a sunset,
I marvel that He has seen fit
to bless errant mankind
with another day of grace.
Clearly, we are undeserving,
yet He colors the skies for the just and the unjust,
(just) as he makes rain to fall on the good and evil,
for this is not judgment day
but the day of grace.
On the other hand, a day is coming
when we will have witnessed our final sunrise.
Indeed, it is imminent
for every life is as grass and does not stand long
but withers and dies.
Therefore we ought to give earnest heed
to the things which we have heard.
Also, if we have not done so
we must
make our calling and election sure
because the same hand that gilds the morning sky
is a consuming fire.
Nevertheless, He has provided
through Christ’s shed blood on Calvary,
Hope and redemption
for one and all
and though there is none righteous,
no, not one,
also no one is exempt from His forgiveness and grace.
Moreover, each morning as the sun rises
He affirms that He is not ready to close the door
to His ark of safety forevermore
so,  thus I am awed even more deeply at a sunrise;
not because of its colors
but because God extends His grace
for another day.

© Janet Martin

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

A Word on a Page...




A word on a page spawns an infinite stage
Beckoning to the believer of ink
Curved curious creatures, a semblance of letters
Dares to reveal what we dream; what we think
Each author hears a different diction
Fiction or memoir; fantasy, fact
Groaning within us until we deliver
Heartache and hope in a word’s glorious pact
Its invitation evokes inspiration
Juxtaposed union of sorrow and joy
Keening our senses with fire and frustration
Love, loss and longing their legions deploy
Muting the minute hand; muzzling mere moments
Nothing can null the intent of their will
Oceans of thought swirl in ink-drop deliverance
Passion and poetry savagely spill
Quickening pulses or quieting worry
Raging like rivers or melting like mist
Skimming a surface of plain parchment paper
Torment and tiralee; loneliness kissed
Unearthing thought with the twist of a letter
Vexing, perplexing, then wildly set free
Word; are there any more beautiful; better?
X-ray of heart revealed in your melee
You seem inconspicuous; wee word on a page
Zenith of thought fills your infinite stage

© Janet Martin

Our home-work assignment in our Writer’s Group is to write an ‘alphabetical order piece’ starting with the phrase ‘a word on a page’. Our next meeting isn’t until January so I decided to play with the prompt this morning.

Friday, December 7, 2012

Poet's Soliloquy (my Writer's Group Homework Assignment)





Use these words in a story, poem or song.

Soliloquy, Hypoteneuse, Frostbite, Zugzwang,
Solecism, Jeopardy, Astronomer, Jigamirandee,
Ottoman, Gordon Lightfoot, Spot remover, Tattle tale,
Acalculia, Pseudonym, Squeegee, Chimera


I'm in a Writer's Group that meets on the first Friday of every month. (if you live near Drayton and you are a writer or wanna-be, hop on by. We have so much fun:) I missed the last meeting so you can imagine my surprise at the words in our homework assignment…(they were chosen out of a game they played)
I did mine last night, lying on the floor in front of a crackling fire just before I fell asleep. It is written accordingly…

Poet’s Soliloquy:

A pseudonym would simply cause my other self to blush,
I’ll bear this poet’s shame using my own name
Because…
Since my severe frostbite last December
Acalculia has made it hard for me to remember
So many basic facts; recovery’s hypotenuse, I guess
But it has put in jeopardy my career as poetess
So please, forgive my frequent solecism
I’m not in the mood for professional criticism
Besides, each time I pick up a pen; impossible zugzwang
I can’t seem to come up with a ‘thang’
That aint been writ; I want to quit. And what’s more
I just spilled coffee on my white skirt and the floor
I’m using spot-remover but a tattletale stain
Compels me to squeegee it again and again
While Gordon Lightfoot sings, In the Early morning Rain
Let’s face it, I’m scrubbing in vain.
Muse is a chimera, my writing is crap
I pull up the ottoman; it’s time for a nap
My son’s invention is a real dandy
It’s a help-u-to-sleep jigamirandee
So I pour myself one, with a double shot of brandy
O-o-o-! The astronomers will be happy tonight
Cause I see stars falling and I’m not even outside! 

Janet :)