Angela Parlin

So Much Beauty in All This Chaos

31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Scars}

By:

scarsWelcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 26.

Scars

by William Stafford

They tell how it was, and how time

came along, and how it happened

again and again. They tell

the slant life takes when it turns

and slashes your face as a friend.

Any wound is real. In church

a woman lets the sun find

her cheek, and we see the lesson:

there are years in that book;

there are sorrows

a choir can’t reach when they sing.

Rows of children lift their faces of promise,

places where the scars will be.

///////////

The first time I held a baby of my own, I thought about scars.

First, I fell in love, and I cried, and asked for juice, and stared into his gorgeous little eyes. My husband called his hands bear paws, and I watched him hover over that little boy like a Papa Bear.

But then they came to prick his chubby little feet, and my baby wailed in anger and I cried in fear. And when everyone left the room, I wrote him a letter from my hospital bed.

I’m so afraid the world will hurt you.

I’m not sure that’s what most new Mamas are thinking, but I’ve never been the norm.

I know where it came from. When I carried him inside of me, he was safe and warm, and nobody could hurt him, or so I believed. But everything changes on the other side.

That, and I remember what it is to grow up in this world. I wonder if it’s even harder nearly 3 decades later.

I endured my own slashing, grew my own scars, and the wounds are real. For most of us, the sorrows accumulate as do the years.

There are some things no song can ever resolve, and some pains are inconsolable. Everybody has their own scars.

As a Mom, I worked hard to become like a human shield. I’d go great lengths to protect my little people. But the limits of my humanity were quickly evident.

Their lives have been my greatest teachers. From the beginning, they’ve taught me to trust the God of the Universe with all that’s most precious. I’m a slow learner, but I press on.

I never found a way to keep them from scars.

poetry writing promptsWriting Prompt:

Write about a slant your life once took, when it turned.

Click here to read more 31 Days of Poetry posts.

Facebook Follow
Twitter Follow
Pinterest

31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Who Says}

By:

treasures in heavenWelcome 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)

poetry writing prompts

Writing Prompt:

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

Click here to read more 31 Days of Poetry posts.

Facebook Follow
Twitter Follow
Pinterest

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

By:

dive dreams poemWelcome 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.

poetry writing prompts

Writing Prompt:

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

 Click here to read more 31 Days of Poetry posts.

Facebook Follow
Twitter Follow
Pinterest

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

By:

take my lifeWelcome 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.

///////////

poetry writing prompts

Writing Prompt:

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

Facebook Follow
Twitter Follow
Pinterest

31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {One Art}

By:

losingWelcome 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.

poetry writing promptsWriting Prompt:

Write about your most recent trivial Loss.

Click here to read more 31 Days of Poetry posts.

Facebook Follow
Twitter Follow
Pinterest

Compassion International

Join the Compassion Blogger Network