31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Who Says}

October 25, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 25.

Who Says Words with My Mouth

by Jalal Al-Din Rumi

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.

Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?

I have no idea.

My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,

and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.

When I get back around to that place,

I’ll be completely sober. Meanwhile,

I’m like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.

The day is coming when I fly off,

but who is it now in my ear, who hears my voice?

Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?

I cannot stop asking,

If I could taste one sip of an answer,

I could break out of this prison for drunks.

I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.

Whoever brought me here will have to take me back.

This poetry, I never know what I’m going to say.

I don’t plan it.

When I’m outside the saying of it,

I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

///////////

We came from dust, and to dust we will each return.

Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being. Genesis 2:7

By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return. Genesis 3:19

For much of my life, this place has occupied too much space in my heart. Sometimes it felt like everything, as it’s all I see. I’ve been trained to dream big here, to make years worth of plans here, and then to store up more for my offspring.

Yet the whisper of my soul reminds me this isn’t it. We’re not yet home.

“My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that, and I intend to end up there.”

It’s not a real popular thought though. Nobody really wants to consider that one day they’ll be dying to this place.

But since I’m a bird from another continent, and one day, I will fly away, then I need to keep in mind what it is that I’m supposed to be doing here. I want to know from the One who poured the breath of life into me, and here is what He says:

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” Matthew 4:17

“Come, follow Me, and I will send you out to fish for people.” 4:19

“Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.” 5:44

“Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.” 6:20

And that’s the rub, as we all know. If we’re storing up treasures on earth, this is where our hearts focus. The here and now takes up too much space in our hearts. And by treasure, we’re talking about so much more than our money.

So I thank God for clarity, after this reminder, that my soul is from elsewhere.

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Matthew 6:21)

Writing Prompt:

Write about some truth which suddenly became crystal clear to you.

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31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Dive for Dreams}

October 24, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 24.

Today I’m sharing a poem from the very top of my favorites list, Dive for Dreams by E. E. Cummings. I assumed everyone would LOVE these words, but then I read this poem to my husband over the weekend. Hmmm. Let’s just say, we don’t always see things the same way. #understatement 🙂

Regardless of your affection (or lack thereof) for Mr. Cummings’ work, the following poem says more than most of us ever get around to saying in a day. Enjoy…

Dive for Dreams

by E.E. Cummings

dive for dreams

or a slogan may topple you

(trees are their roots

and wind is wind)

trust your heart

if the seas catch fire

(and live by love

though the stars walk backward)

honour the past

but welcome the future

(and dance your death

away at this wedding)

never mind a world

with its villians or heroes

(for god likes girls

and tomorrow and the earth)

///////////

Here I am still diving for dreams, while the whole world chases clichés.

But I am what I am, and you can’t separate a tree from its roots.

With the heart of a poet, I’m living in a how-to world. The pieces don’t fit, and I doubt they ever will.

People don’t want to see what they don’t want to see. People don’t want to be reminded of things they need before they’re ready to admit they need them. We forget to take multivitamins until our health declines. It wasn’t until an issue surfaced that I started eating these Omega-3 rich eggs every day.

I wonder what it will take for me to trust my own heart instead of looking for confirmation elsewhere.

Will the stars walk backward?

The seas catch fire?

The sun turn dark?

Maybe the mountains will fall into the heart of the sea, and then I’ll get it. Then we’ll all wake up to what matters.

We’re walking around each with a terminal diagnosis, and we have no way to stop this ticking clock.

But what about our neighbors? They shoulder the same burden, and we have something to offer each other. Instead we’re caught up in our hurdles, chasing dreams and running after what everyone else is doing. Instead we’re stuck on so many choices, tangled in the interwebs, disappointed with unmet expectations.

In the words of the poet, “never mind a world with its villains or heroes,” because there’s always chaos, and there’s always beauty.

And Lord-willing tomorrow will be a fresh new day. Full of hope, and possibility.

In the meantime, we can always live by love.

Writing Prompt:

Write about a way you honor the past but welcome the future.

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31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Take My Life}

October 23, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 23.

Today I’m sharing a poem I first sang as a hymn. It’s a hymn my Mother sang as a solo, in our old country church sanctuary when I was small. For whatever reason, this one grew into a lasting memory.

Take these words in today. Consider them honestly. Is this really the prayer of your heart? Ever? Only? All? If it’s not, I hope by the end it will be.

Enjoy your Sunday…

Take My Life

by Frances Ridley Havergal

Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee;

Take my moments and my days, let them flow in ceaseless praise;

Let them flow in ceaseless praise.

Take myself and I will be ever, only, all for thee.

Take my hands and let them move at the impulse of thy love;

At the impulse of thy love.

Take my feet and let them be swift and beautiful for thee.

Take myself and I will be ever, only, all for thee;

Ever, only, all for thee.

Take my voice and let me sing ever, only, for my King.

Take my lips and let them be filled with messages from thee;

Filled with messages from thee.

Take myself and I will be ever, only, all for thee.

Take my silver and my gold, not a mite would I withhold;

Not a mite would I withhold.

Take my will and make it thine, it shall be no longer mine.

Take my heart it is thine own, it shall be thy royal throne;

It shall be thy royal throne.

Take my love, my Lord, I pour at thy feet my treasure store;

Take myself and I will be ever, only, all for thee.

Ever, only, all for thee.

///////////

Writing Prompt:

If He were to take your lips, and fill them with His messages, what would they say?

31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {One Art}

October 22, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 22.

Another beautiful October Saturday… Around here, the temperature is dropping and it feels a little more like fall. I’ve mentioned before that I don’t like losing Summer. But according to today’s poem, we should practice losing something every day.

So today, I’ll zip up some fun fall boots over my jeans, which I can justify wearing now that we’re south of 80 degrees. I think I’ll find the art of losing’s not too hard to master. Cheers!

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.

And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

–Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

///////////

Last weekend, I lost my newish sunglasses at my son’s football game.

I dropped them into my handbag, or so I thought, when I walked into the restroom. Turns out, I must have dropped them onto the floor beside my bag. But when I went back through every corner of the room, they were gone.

I miss them, and today I had to buy a new pair to replace them. It cost me, but I did receive a super cute pink and orange box to keep them in. It’s the little things… 🙂

All in all, it wasn’t a disaster.

Yesterday, I lost my cell phone. Correction: I misplaced my cell phone. Once again, I thought I dropped it into my handbag before I ran out the door to take the kids to school. Then I had to stay across town a few hours for a yearly doctor appointment and a couple other errands.

For the first hour, I reached for my phone 10 times. Okay, 20. I realized how big a part of my days it has become.

I realized it was really great to be without it for a bit. Once I stopped losing the memory of forgetting it.

When I returned home, it was right there on my kitchen desk, black case blending in with the granite. Right where I usually leave my bag.

So I checked my email real quick. Looked at the Weather Channel app. Opened Facebook and seriously strained to hold myself back from a quick scroll through my News Feed. (I’m convinced that one action alone causes the loss of too many of my hours.)

I opened my Runkeeper app and ran out the door to hit the trail, thanking God for a morning spent without my phone.

Sometimes when we lose things, we gain something better.

That doesn’t mean we don’t want them back.

Writing Prompt:

Write about your most recent trivial Loss.

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31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Westminster Bridge}

October 21, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 21.

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802

by William Wordsworth

Earth has not anything to show more fair:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty:

This City now doth, like a garment, wear

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky;

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;

Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

///////////

I’ve missed a lot of mornings, especially under the influence of jet lag.

But those times we’ve ventured out, into an unfamiliar city before the crowds arrived, those are hard to forget.

The city wears more than one face. I’ve seen her most often, dressed and ready for the day.

I’ve seen her bustling and busy, crowded, with all her makeup in place. I’ve seen her hosting street performers and with fresh art lining the length of her sidewalks. I’ve seen her with lines longer than we wished to wait. I’ve heard strategies for best arrival times and needed a spreadsheet to keep them all straight.

I’ve also seen the city just after dawn, still rubbing her eyes and waiting for coffee to kick in. Silent and bare, but not for long.

Wordsworth describes the beauty of a silent morning in London, which leaves me longing to return and to wake earlier next time. Not only in London.

Every city has her own stories to tell, and I want to be there to listen.

Last spring we visited London and ventured out early to jog and climb steps. We weren’t prepared for the way the beautiful city shivered, and next she cried cold, wet tears. So we jumped through puddles, but I didn’t last long in the chilly rain.

I hope we’ll return one day.

I hope we’ll find a bare naked morning when London’s heart lies still and the whole city sparkles while the sun begins to saturate the sky.

Writing Prompt:

Write about the most beautiful place Earth has shown you.

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Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 25.

Who Says Words with My Mouth

Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?

My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,

and I intend to end up there.

I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.

We came from dust, and to dust we will each return.

“Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.” 6:20

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Matthew 6:21)

Writing Prompt:

Share this:

Like this:

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 24.

Dive for Dreams

(and live by love

though the stars walk backward)

never mind a world

with its villians or heroes

Here I am still diving for dreams, while the whole world chases clichés.

Writing Prompt:

Share this:

Like this:

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 23.

Take My Life

Take myself and I will be ever, only, all for thee.

Take my lips and let them be filled with messages from thee;

Take my heart it is thine own, it shall be thy royal throne;

Writing Prompt:

Share this:

Like this:

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 22.

One Art

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

I lost two cities, lovely ones.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

Last weekend, I lost my newish sunglasses at my son’s football game.

I realized it was really great to be without it for a bit. Once I stopped losing the memory of forgetting it.

Sometimes when we lose things, we gain something better.

Writing Prompt:

Share this:

Like this:

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 21.

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,

Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

I’ve missed a lot of mornings, especially under the influence of jet lag.

Every city has her own stories to tell, and I want to be there to listen.

Writing Prompt:

Share this:

Like this:

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