Bead Dazzled 

 Beads of many colors
waiting to be strung

slipping onto my unknotted

string of days

 Where every piece

appears again 

as though it never had

been strung before 

 A carousel of squeaky clean

passing by each turn

waving flags of color

laughing laundry lyrics

Pick me!

Wear me! 

Stain me again, you fool!

Wash me!

Dry me!

Fold me!

Dare to put me away!

Ha Ha!

Dirt eludes me 

spin cycle consumes me

and downy freshness

falsifies reality

Until I tumble

into tomorrow

slightly shrunken

needing to be stretched

In order to fit

the privilege of beading

as I start the thankful cycle

once more

Patricia Spreng

Having a little fun with my reality by submitting this to all the fun over at One Shot Wednesday.  Oh the wonderful words of poets.  Come see for yourself!

This Son of Mine

On the Occasion of your High School Graduation 2011

Truth be told, I only fed him the four main food groups: pizza, hotdogs, orange pop, and peanut butter (tomatoes, cheese, bread, various forms of meat by products, fake vitamin c, and mashed peanuts).  Well, ok, he has eaten a few carrots before and maybe a couple of apples.

Truth be told, this son of mine was picky from the start.  He didn’t want to come out, and when he finally did, he made an entrance like none other.  The details of which will never be told… to him.  So the essence and mystique of feminine beauty shall remain intact.

Truth be told, his life was like a ball of fire, (a talking ball of fire)whirling through space and time.  Always talking, debating, arguing, defending his ideas and heightened sense of justice.  Able to memorize and recite most anything he watched or heard.  Constantly learning, reading, asking why.  He knows more than I do, academically.  My son.  Any idea of slowing down did not come until teenage years when enormous growth demanded sleep.  He made us laugh, he made me cry.  When our wills collided, it was like a scene from Star Wars with lasers and sound effects, his temper matching mine. (‘Evan, I am your mother.’)  Sometimes we would shake our heads and wonder, not at what… but why?

Truth be told, his tender spirit inside the warrior man is what I love the most.  He made me worry the most, until I realized that he was teaching me the most.  I don't worry about him anymore. I love his writing, his poetry, his music, his love of God, his compassionate soul, and his ability to discern and cope in spite of life’s imperfections.  Other parents (and, by that I mean mothers) trust him.  So do I.  I love his strength, inside and out. 

Truth be told, Evan, I love you.  I respect who you are.  I thank God for you and the gift you have always been to me.  I rejoice and overflow with pride because of you.  My son, Evan Jacob.

Is this a dream

there is no air

moving freely  
way down here

What is this puddle at my feet

when sun is shining bright

where blueness fills the sky I see

but raining fills the night

Oh to feel the freshest breeze

fill my lungs and sweep my hair

stifling in my flesh bound jail

hormones bouncing everywhere

I must climb out, my skin may burst

someone find my fan

these windows will not budge for me

get Harold and His Purple Crayon

Patricia Spreng

This week, One Stop Poetry showcases the work and insights of Scott Wyden, a portrait and travel photographer from New Jersey specializing in landscape and commercial/fashion work. Stop by One Stop Poetry to enjoy other wonderful works. 

This shot reminded me of the beloved children’s book Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson. All of Johnson's text and artwork is © by the Estate of Ruth Krauss.

Harold is a little boy who goes for a walk with his purple crayon drawing whatever he needs for his adventure, or to escape peril.  He draws a picnic for a snack, pies for dessert, a large city of windows, a policeman to help him find his way home, and a hot air balloon and finally he draws his bed and his bedroom window around the moon, so he can go to sleep.

  



1955



Ode to a Gym Teacher

Defeat comes so bitterly

When all I’ve given fails

To bring me recognition

and compensation pales

in comparison to others

whose salaries are more

how can I be noticed

and  earn what I’ve worked for

when all that is within me

is crying out for more

give it to me now

or I’m walking out the door

touchdown

homerun

hat trick

turkey

slam dunk

hole in one

triple crown

lurking

just around the corner

my fame out of reach

if only I could win one

so I’ll never have to teach

Submitted reluctantly, (and certainly not to offend the gym teachers) to One Stop Poetry hosted by Peter Marshall who prompted us with "Sport."   I’m sure he was hoping for something more …  well, passionately athletic.  Reminds me of the old '60s show in the U.S. called “You Asked For It.”  

Dear Mr. Marshall,    

Obviously, my passions reside outside of the sports arena.  But thank you for providing this one.

Sincerely, Patricia 

p.s. I hope your team wins!

“The Event”

cannot stop the heart

from seeing

dead ends

become

obstacles

so marks

become the pieces

of the heart

beating

the painted puzzle

pulsing

the forest

through

the trees

which clearly

he 

can see

Patricia Spreng

submitted in response to the Poetically Friday post by Brian Miller at One Stop Poetry Friday post featuring  the artistry of Chuck Close

Web of Lies

Little garden spider

neatly woven web

foolish one you wait for

to lay upon your bed

Itsy bitsy spider

so small and barely seen

what juicy little morsels

are you hoping to deceive

  

Harmless looking spider

snare of wicked web

the lies that you have spun there

slowly drain me dead

Creepy crawling spider

evil crouching still

disguised as garden helper
it's you I wish to kill

Patricia Spreng

Genesis 4:7
... sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.

Submitted to Faith Barista's Jam With Me Thursdays, hosted by Bonnie Gray

Thrown into an ocean

whose depths cannot be measured

and shores cannot be seen

where sorrow is laid open

to the horizon

bare

exposed

Drowning…  afraid of drowning…yes, drowning

my beating heart

racing ahead of fear toward panic

breathing…labored

thinking…unclear

pummeled by the waves of sorrow

the fog of exhaustion

Where, oh God

are You now?

On the cross of suffering,

on your throne reigning?

My heart on fire...

Where?

My head knew

my heart  believed

but now it cannot feel…or see

so I lay quietly at your feet under your covering
resigned

like Ruth…

without understanding

as I whisper Your name

Jesus

Take my hand

and save me

again

               

Patricia Spreng

The Lord reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.  He brought me out into a spacious place;

he rescued me because he delighted in me.

Psalm 18: 16a, 19

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday (on an actual Wednesday ;)hosted by One Shot Poetry, where there are wonderfully talented people who have their way with words. 

Begging...

LORD

the waiting

is bothering me

a certain obsession

with what is known

and dwelling upon

what is not known

like a sponge

absorbing

all of me

A certain

emptiness, longing

and starvation

for what will be known

soon enough

Is it time yet Lord?

How much longer?

I could fill the void

with worry

as it seems

to be dripping

from my pores

I could fill the void

with over confidence

and trust

that You will answer

favorably

Or how about

if I just

take You

at Your word

and wait

Oh God.

For  how you answer

is best and

Yours to decide

not mine

although

I am...

begging 

Patricia Spreng

submitted to Warrior Poet Circle , hosted by Jason Stasyszen.  visit this site for more prayer poems.

Gold

Setting

Thanks to S. Etole at Just a Moment for always pointing me in the right direction for photo phun!

I've submitted this photograph in response to a word prompt "Gold" from 3 From Here and There

Children's Aquarium in Tampa, Florida

A Fine Line__________________

Looking back to one year ago this month.  It hardly seems possible that the year passed so quickly and yet, it took forever.  When you mark time by some tragedy or difficult circumstance, you notice that life appears to go in slow motion for you; while the rest of the world goes by swiftly without you.  It's like the difference between listening to someone talk under water as opposed to coming up for air and listening to the shrill clarity of the splashing, wild cacophony of children squealing in delight (side note: you need to swim with children regularly to know they love to play this game like the old telephone operator game, only under water.)

Sometimes, I enjoy looking back at old journal entries to see where I've been and what I was thinking at the time.  It's a great opportunity to see how God was in control all along.  It's a great way to remind yourself of answered prayer and blessings.  And, it's a great way to renew your worship and give God an offering of fresh praise.  This month marks the one year anniversary of my husband's successful brain surgery to remove a benign tumor.  The news of his tumor was tempered by the fact that his sister was simultaneously battling an agressive brain cancer.  She passed away last October.  It's been a long year filled with prayer, uncertainty, fear, faith, surgery, rehab, prayer, frightening post op complications, prayer, facial paralysis, deafness in one ear, and finally, recovery.  Recovery is like coming up for air and hearing the clarity of normalcy again.  As I look back, I give thanks to God.  Here's where I was and what I wrote last year before Rich's surgery.

A Fine Line_________________

A fine line it is

between

fear____________________ and trust

peace ___________________and panic

Crossed it many times

back and forth

privately

Fear and trust

my next door neighbors

whichever way I am facing

the other one is right behind me

it is a very short continuum

a fine line______________________

Left to my own devices

in my foolishness

I visit fear

and dwell there

though it has never been a friend

For we know

that perfect fear

casts out love

Your Love

and I most certainly know

that Your Love

has always been my Friend

In my weakened state of trust

fear is more familiar to me

more logical

than trust

which is not natural

and uncomfortable

risky

vulnerable

Trust must be chosen

grown

developed

a muscle

stretched

strengthened

tested

proven

I must choose

in Your strength

to move away from fear

and move in with Trust

permanently

regardless of the neighborhood

of circumstances around me

Lord

in Your grace

strengthen my trust

distance me from fear

turn me again

to face You

where I find peace

You are my

Open Door

to freedom

from

___________________________Fear

Sting

photo by Fee Easton

remember me

who in riches of youth

bought what money could not buy

with pain

hear me

as I can no more

for losing all

at canon’s blast

love me

as you pass me by

in fear of seeing

what  I cannot

where O death is thy sting?

thy victory?

it lays with those it left behind

alive in searing loss

and mockery

of strength

where O death is thy sting?

its presence

here

on earth

*I’ve stayed up way too late to submit this poem to One Shot Sunday, a poetry challenge hosted by One Stop Poetry.  Head over to this site to see more poetry based on one of five photo prompts by photographer Fee Easton.  Come and enjoy!

Along the Way

Along the way

we will cross

the same river

more than once

learning the same lesson

over

and

over  

again

and

again 

in different ways 

at different times

  

depending on ourselves 

and our own strength

whether we go our own way

or choose to follow His

we try

the hard way,

easy way, narrow way,

wandering away,

losing our way

we  succeed,

stumble, fail,

rest

and try again

before  

we ever finally

reach a
 temporary destination

only to find

we are not in control

of the lessons

only whether

we are willing

to learn

Hiking at Glen Eyrie

Colorado Springs, CO

I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me.  No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead,  I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us. Phillipians  3:12-15