Tuesday, May 31, 2011

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!

Monday, May 30, 2011

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.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

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.



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

hat trick

slam dunk
hole in one
triple crown

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!

Friday, May 27, 2011

The Event”
cannot stop the heart
from seeing
dead ends

so marks
become the pieces
of the heart
the painted puzzle

the forest
the trees
which clearly
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

Thursday, May 26, 2011

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.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Thrown into an ocean
whose depths cannot be measured
and shores cannot be seen
where sorrow is laid open
to the horizon

Drowning…  afraid of drowning…yes, drowning
my beating heart
racing ahead of fear toward panic
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...

My head knew
my heart  believed
but now it cannot feel…or see
so I lay quietly at your feet under your covering
like Ruth…
without understanding
as I whisper Your name

Take my hand
and save me
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. 

Monday, May 23, 2011


the waiting
is bothering me
a certain obsession
with what is known
and dwelling upon
what is not known
like a sponge
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

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
I am...


Patricia Spreng

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

Saturday, May 21, 2011


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

Friday, May 20, 2011

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

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
fear____________________ and trust
peace ___________________and panic

Crossed it many times
back and forth

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

Trust must be chosen
a muscle

I must choose
in Your strength
to move away from fear
and move in with Trust
regardless of the neighborhood
of circumstances around me

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

Sunday, May 15, 2011


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
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



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,
and try again
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