EARTH BLANKET-A poem

A new poetry attempt. I composed this in my head on a long road trip to my aunt's the other day. It was a gorgeous fall day with bright sunshine, I was driving, and hubby and I were just silently enjoying the scenery. I wrote down a rough draft when we stopped at a Cracker Barrel restaurant for lunch. Thought I'd share it with you and hope you enjoy it. :)

EARTH BLANKET
Sharon Prater-Pope (10-25-12)  

Stirred, then shaken by the wind,
Leaves glide on invisible wings,
And fall like multicolored glitter
In the bright sunshine.  

Scarlet, bronze, golden flecks mingle,
As trees undressing for winter
Leave a multi-colored blanket
Covering the hibernating earth.

BOOK TREASURES-Poetry

BOOK TREASURES

by Sharon Prater-Pope

Accumulated books, ancient classics, exist.

Cultures take pains to make inaccessible,

Cheat men of remarkable abilities.

 

Writers, novelists, poets,

Full of imperfections,

Elaborate on honest lifelong learning

Among the constellations,

No sleep, attending to morning,

Sharing wisdom and feelings.

 

Once finished,

We have the luxury

Of reading, digesting, ciphering,

Of learning from their circles of age,

On a scale that leaves us satisfied and feeling rich.

 

This poem was formed from random words that jumped out at me from two pages in the book, "Walden" by Thoreau. I listed 47 words and used all but six of them. I added a few of my own words here and there also. I love the challenge of writing this way. :)

CHERRY LIGHT-a poem

CHERRY LIGHT

Sharon Prater-Pope (Aug 17, 2012)

Dark dreams infiltrated

                         the indigo sky,

Filled with a blood moon

                         and a swirling milky way.

Van Gogh couldn’t have painted it better,

                          to capture the essence

Of a blue-black starry night,

                          filled with a deep fear.

The Bohemian lifestyle she loved

                           in the cellar under the house,

Full of smelly mold, mice, and canned food,

                           a hidden pit full of purple shadows and coolness.

Dappled with lightness and sunshine,

                            jeans holey with mildew spots,

Blinded, she found sight within

                            while angels danced in cherry light.

MOXIE-a poem

MOXIE

Sharon Prater-Pope (Aug 17, 2012)

She felt invisible

Sitting in harmony with nature;

At peace while fairies danced

Under a cloudless sky.

The breeze carried birdsongs,

And the scent of white peonies

Floated across the pool of azure blue water.

A cherry moon hung suspended

Over the rustling leaves.

Glittery white balloons tied to tree limbs

Reflected the pink of her gown,

As angels in sock feet

Made her magic adventures complete.

All she needed was serenity

And enough moxie to believe and achieve.

I was sitting in the car watching my brother-in-law and my husband work on a piece of farm machinery at my brother-in-law's house the other day, and I got bored, so I took my sketchbook out of my purse, listed several words that just popped into my mind, and strung them together into a poem, adding words as needed. This poem is that poem. I like it, plus it was great fun! Hope you enjoyed it too! :)

KEEP GOING and FLY FREE (poetry)

My husband and I spent three days in the hospital step-down unit with his dad last week, and one day I sat in the waiting room for a couple of hours, listening to my mp3 player and trying to nap. The room was full though; worried people waiting to hear news from loved ones in ICU or surgery, all talking and moving around. As I listened to the shuffled songs on my varied song list certain words popped out at me, and I thought, 'Why not make a list of them and make a poem out of them?'

I love doing this with words that pop out at me off book pages, where I can cut the words apart and arrange them into a poem, but this day I had no scissors and, besides, I didn't want to cut up my Moleskine sketchbook.

Instead, I listed the words as they popped out at me from the various artists' songs, and when I had a page full of words in the pocket sized sketchbook I stopped and studied the words, seeing which ones could go together to form phrases and started stringing them together on the opposite page, crossing out the words on the lists as I used them. The following two poems are what I created in the two hours I sat amidst other patients' families, all of us sharing the connection of concern over a loved one.


KEEP GOING
By Sharon Prater-Pope

I know pain, confusion, purple anger,

                     and dreams, truth, reality.

I sometimes bleed and feel crazy lost.

The red violin feeds my soul

                      as I say to trust myself,

To walk away from my way

                       and ask God to help me.

Take time for running in strawberry fields.

                        Keep going,

Nothing is forever…

________________________________________

FLY FREE

By Sharon Prater-Pope

Blackbird runs with broken wings,

Speeding into the dark sleepless night.

Emptiness arrives,

And catching her begging,

Unlatches her heart,

Changes color to love,

Listens, sings, accepts memories.

She cheats death and leaves shame.

Time teaches; it’s alright.

Come! Fly free!

I really enjoyed writing this way, and I like the poems that came out. Much more fun than the game on my Kindle that I had been occupying myself with when I needed something to do. Waiting around a hospital can be very stressful and tiring. Besides I enjoyed creating something myself in stead of playing a game that someone else had created. I found it a great way to be creative when I'm away from my studio, and all it took was words borrowed from a few songs, a pencil, and a piece of paper to make me creative and happy for those couple of hours.

I hope you enjoyed your visit and my efforts! :)

TRUTH AND CONTROL-a poem

TRUTH AND CONTROL
By Sharon Prater-Pope (7-16-12)

Stop the controlling, the manipulating;
The rules and suffocation!

Relax! Listen! Be Present!

Learn compassion, peace, lovliness, awareness.
Feel truth with contentment and ease.
Relationships are fueled by simple beliefs,
Kindness, and loving happiness.

Reteach your heart.
Sense the poet within;
Truth made good.

RESTORATION ( poem)

This is another found poem, which will probably find its way onto a journal page. I LOVE doing these!  Hope you enjoy my efforts. :)

RESTORATION
Sharon Prater-Pope 7/13/12

I found meaning
walking the enormous garden
with an open heart
paths of memory
exquisite monuments
round arches
golden orange light
enclosing darkness
I craved peace
knelt for a time
prayer for restoration
believed


Here is what the original words written on pieces of paper and rearranged to form a poem looks liked glued to a journal page, which is still a WIP. I cropped the poem out of the page.

STAY CURIOUS & EMBRACE LIFE (2 Poems)

Two poems using a different set of words than the last five poems. I'm sure I'm giving all the literature perfectionists a fit with my poem writing, and I'm sure I'm making lots of writing mistakes, but I'm writing them in the way that I feel them and having fun with them. I have learned through several workshops that everything doesn't have to be perfect to express it from the heart. And I'm so grateful I learned that. It opened up a whole new world to me. Not perfect, but way more enjoyable! :)

EMBRACE LIFE

Sharon Prater-Pope 6-20-12

Someone screamed,

I feel invisible!

I seek expression!

Imagine being pulled,

Turning to stone,

Accepting resistance,

Feeling emptiness.

The universe is a teacher.

Embrace life choices.

Smile Work Play Live...

STAY CURIOUS  (Poem 2 using same few words)

Sharon Prater-Pope 6-20-12

She apologized,

Sorry to fall over the empty chair.

She missed the stories and donuts;

The reason isn’t important.

You gave the beats,

To be danced like she felt.

Staying curious

Makes life special.

MIRRORING (Poetry)

MIRRORING  (5^th , and last, poem using same few words)

Sharon Prater-Pope 6-19-12

multiply living and learning

listen to life’s sounds

crawl, walk, run, fly

dance, paint, play music, sing

coherent writing

mirrors a bottled up personality

LEARNING TO WALK (Poetry)

LEARNING TO WALK     (3^rd poem using same few words)

Sharon Prater-Pope 6-19-12

Music soothed the drama

Coherent thinking existed

I’d answered myself

Mirrored my distant personality

I learned to walk four times;

Now I’m able to fly…

SOUL SOOTHING (Poetry)

SOUL SOOTHING  (Poem 4 from same few words)

Sharon Prater-Pope 6-19-12

 I mirrored illusion and drama,

                                               thinking I belonged

                                                                             in solitude.

Music answered.

                        I played piano for hours

                                                             soothing my ravaged soul.
Sound existed.
                                             
                                             I was no longer alone.

FLYING COMPLETE (Poetry)

COMPLETE FLYING (Poem 2 using same few words)

 Sharon Prater-Pope 6-19-12

I asked,
Thinking I could belong,
But bottled up illusion existed,
And a self-ravaged personality.
I thought I’d known need,
Acted like a coherent being,
Liked music, played piano.
Undisguised drama answered…
Learn to walk in solitude.
Writing alone,
I fly complete.

MUSIC'S ANSWER (Poetry)

A poem I wrote using random words written on pieces of paper, then re-arranged to form the skeleton of the poem, to which I then made adjustments from the heart. Fun! And I like the poem!

I actually wrote five different poems using the same few words. This is the first one. :)

MUSIC’S ANSWER

Sharon Prater-Pope 6-19-12

I played piano alone,

                                thinking undisguised drama existed.

I thought acting distant

                                         to shake the illusion

                                                                  would soothe myself.

Music answered.

I’d need solitude…

Two Haiku

Happy Memorial Day weekend! I hope you're having a great time with family and friends. :)

Here are two more attempts at Haiku using the prompt from Jill Badonsky on her Facebook page. It's basically two different versions of the same poem, but I like them both, so thought I'd share them both. :)

midnight
shooting star
flashes across the dark indigo sky
speed of
life

______________________________

star
blazing trail
across the black velvet sky
pan flash
life

Haiku

A haiku attempt from a prompt by Jill Badonsky on her Facebook page: 1 word, 2 words, short sentence, 2 words, 1 word...

warmth
dancing light
caressing my body and soul
mellow yellow
sunshine


Who knew that I would love trying to write poetry as much as I do? :)

Tears-a poem

GRIEF TEARS 

Sharon Prater-Pope (4-24-12)

Grief tears flow from my deepest core,
Like a waterfall with no shutoff valve.
For months they erupt from my eyes,
Glide down my cheeks, and drip off my chin,
Crashing onto my chest,
Soaking my blouse.
Memories and loss
Mix with salty water.

No turning off…

Suddenly they stop.
No turning them back on.
The pain of loss still sits in my core,
Etched forever
Like stone carvings under a waterfall,
In the crevices of my heart and mind.
Food and fat layers replace the tears,
Providing a wall of comfort and distance
From the risk of more hurt.

The walls only cause more pain…

Borrowed Things-a poem

BORROWED THINGS

Sharon Prater-Pope (4-29-12)

We own nothing in this life.
Not the next breath.
Not the next heartbeat.
Not our eyes.
Not our thoughts.
Not our time.
Not each other.
Not our children.
Not our families.
Not our friends.
Not our pets.
Not our land.
Not our homes.
Not our cars.
Not our bank accounts.
Not the beds we sleep in.
Not the food we eat.
Not our bodies.
Not our health.
Not our lives.
Not our creativity or talent.
Not our material things.
Not our sentimental things.
Not our memories.
Not the earth…

All on loan to us
For a lifespan,
To use and take care of while we’re here.
To be taken at any moment,
In a heartbeat.

The last breath drawn
Leaves it all behind
For others to use or abuse.
None of it ever really owned,
Only borrowed for a moment.

We go out of life
As we came in.
Naked and alone.
Bringing nothing.

Taking nothing…

Tears Freefalling-poem

TEARS FREEFALLING

Sharon Prater-Pope (4-24-12)

Freefalling tears,

Liquid prayers

Cleansing the soul,

Making way for new growth.

SOLITUDE

SOLITUDE

By Sharon Prater-Pope

In solitude

I am smart

I am inventive

I am brave

I am confident

I am free spirited

I am not clumsy

I am not anxious

I believe in my creativity

I am a beautiful soul

I am okay with my body

I am spiritual

I am sensual

I am a dancer

I am joyful

I am strong

I am fragile

I am a dreamer

I am one with nature

I am a child of God

I can do anything

I can be anything

I am myself.

I am fearless!

But then I’m never

Really alone... am I?

MARRIED STRANGERS

MARRIED STRANGERS

By Sharon Prater-Pope

Day by week by year

One by one by one

Negative words, actions,

Emotional pounds,

Pile up

Until all that’s left

Are two strangers

Sharing a house.

Only when one is taken

Does the other realize

What has been lost…

Walls, a Poetic Attempt

WALLS
by Sharon P. Pope

Day by week by year
One by one by one
Words actions pounds
Build walls that hold in
Emotions, anger, pain, resentment,
Disappointments, pride, and fear,
While holding out
Love, life, joy, happiness, inner peace,
And the people we love the most.
        

Happy Easter!

Wishing you all a happy Easter with bunnies, eggs, family, and friends, but let's not forget the real reason for the Easter celebration, the resurrection of Christ and what He did for us on the cross. :)

Enjoy the day!

Tree Ring Life Rings Journal Pages with Poem

More journal pages inspired by Misty's workshop. The life rings are comparable to tree growth rings, which, in my case, are 62 around. Then I needed a poem or story to go with. I don't claim to be a poet, but I gave it a try, and I used a gelatin print background page from another class to write it on with a Pitt pen. I glued the page into the journal with gel medium, transferred the bird from a magazine image onto the page. I need more practice. The transfer didn't turn out as well as I wanted, so I added some pastels and colored pencils to fill in the places that didn't transfer. I also added a couple of small stamps and colored them with colored pencils.

I am pondering adding something to the right upper corner, but I can't think of anything I want to put there. Besides, for now, I like it like it is. :)

The poem is in typed version at the bottom of the post.

The bird is holding a tiny pink heart carefully in his beak. The heart represents my birth and first ring of life. I was born in my Granny's house on a Tennessee riverbank a long time ago, and I've lived near the river my whole life, except for a couple of short periods when I was little.

My life has ebbed and flowed from these river banks for 62 years, just like the water lapping at the shores, every day the same, yet every day different.

Life Rings

By Sharon Prater Pope (Feb. 2012)

Sixty-two ripples

Spreading out from my Clifton riverbank birth rock,

Cast into life with abandon,

Each ripple encompassing

All of the people shuffling in and out through the years,

All that I learn and absorb,

The effect that I have on others,

The effect that they have on me.

Circling ever wider with each passing year,

Receding into the distance

Until I fade into oblivion

And all that remains is a faded memory

And the effect that I had on others

The short time I was here.

I tried my hand at creating poetry using found words for the writing class in Misty's workshop. I don't claim to be a poet, by any means, but this was so much fun! There will be more! :)

Reaching Out

The words to Reaching Out:

buried beneath the
loneliness in the night
I reached out
but don't hear anything
fear is momentary
imagine strength
remember childhood
connection with everything
reach out
our harried lives
somewhat intense
amnesia of the heart
I believe
clutter of voices
talking about God
always be there
reach out and listen
all my happiness has not vanished

I had a few words left over from the above poem, so I used them to create the short poem below. I was raised not to be wasteful. ;)

Black and White

The one below was created using found words in a different way. You may have to click on the pictures to be able to read the poems.

Self Discovery

The words to Self Discovery:

Overwhelmed,

I just want to be enough.

Pondering contribution,

Offering to the world

Content and openhearted self-discovery.

These poems will more than likely find their way in to one of my journals. Hope you enjoyed them!

An Exercise on Being Mindful

This is an exercise from Misty Mawn's pre-workshop in being mindful of whatever you're doing, really paying attention to and being present with one thing at a time. Living in the present moment and absorbing the essence of whatever you're doing at the time or whoever you're with.

I spent a few minutes with a burning candle, lit for my dad, absorbing the experience into my soul, and wrote about it. I feel more alive because of it. Here's what I wrote.

BEING MINDFUL
By: Sharon P. Pope

             Sitting here at my work table, actually my dining room table, with my creative supplies and my cup of coffee gathered around me, I decide to light one of the three new votive candles sitting on the shelves for Daddy, who was taken from us seven years ago right before Thanksgiving.

             I take the little candle and set it directly on the table, feeling the cool waxy smoothness as my fingers curl around it, then release it to stand on its own. I love the rosy coral color and the faint smell, although I’ve forgotten the name of the scent.

             I pick up an old matchbook lying nearby, flip the cover open with my thumbnail, tear out a red-headed match, and tuck the cover back into place, noticing the scratchiness as I do so. After multiple attempts to light the match on the strip provided, I give up and toss the now smudged red-headed match into the trash can. It lands with a barely discernible click atop a crumpled up sheet of paper.

            The matchbook cover is flicked open again, with a clicking of my thumbnail. A second red-headed match is torn out, and the cover replaced. This time I succeed with only a couple of strikes, and the match bursts into an angry flame, then quickly settles back down to calmness, the smoke curling toward my nose in a tendril of bluish smoke, bringing the slight smell of sulphur with it.

            The flame wavers as the match rides between my fingers to touch noses with the whiteness of the candle wick. For a second they blaze up as one, before I remove the match and gently blow out the fire, watching another wisp of smoke dissipate as the flame is snuffed out.

             I toss the bent, now black-headed, burned out match into the trash can to join the one whose flame never got to burn. Another flick and the cover is back in place. As I lay the matchbook down, I notice the dark blue background with the diamond shaped logo on both sides, done in shades of yellows and blues. The word, diamond, in white lower case lettering is ensconced across the logo. I suppose the match tips are supposed to be as hard as diamonds?

            My attention returns to the candle, whose flame has now settled down into a mesmerizing point of light, slowly undulating this way and that. The tiny flame is so beautiful, yet so dangerous. Its capabilities are frightening.

             The sounds of cars passing on the highway, my husband’s gentle snoring, as he sleeps on the couch, the ticking of the grandfather clock that daddy made for us, the rattle of the fan, the fridge’s humming, and the ringing in my ears, which is akin to a heard of crickets, all fade into the background as I focus on the candle.

             Melted wax is now dribbling down the wick, melting out a well in the candle top, which was once slightly rounded. The wick is turning black as the fire feeds from it, causing the wax to melt and fill the well, which is getting deeper by the second. The hot wax releases a lovely tropical scent into the air. It delights my sense of smell.

             My breathing is calm.

             Yellow-oranges and purply-blues meet and form soft shades of gray where the flame and wick join. It continues to hypnotize. The rosy coral candle is no longer one color. It is now several shades around the top where the heat has gently transformed it. The sides are now translucent, allowing a soft warm glow to emanate from within.

              It is gorgeous, and somehow comforting, as I feel the sadness of no longer having my dad around wash over me. My life has not, nor will it ever be, the same without him. I always knew that it would be hard to give him up when the time came, but I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain of loss and vulnerability that comes with losing a parent. Slowly, I’ve learned to live without him physically being here, but I always feel his presence in my heart, and I am grateful for that.

            I turn the page in the journal where I am hand writing these words. It slips from my fingers, twice, landing on the candle, angering the flame, causing it to squat and reach out to grab the edge of the paper. My journal narrowly misses becoming a blaze itself.

            Next time I will set the candle down in a proper container.

            My page is secured and safe and my thoughts return to Daddy. Now I’m remembering all the happy times with him, the wonderful toys he made me when I was little, how he understood me, maybe more than anyone else, and that I always knew that he loved me and was proud of me, even if he couldn’t say it. I am grateful that he cared enough to teach me morals, values, and respect for myself and others. I am grateful that God gave me the parents I have, and grateful to still have Mama.

             I watch as the well of melted wax overflows and spills over the side, creating a deep groove as it glides down and forms a puddle on the table. As the wax hits the chilliness of the table top, it hardens, connecting the candle to the table.

            There is now a second well forming inside the first well inside the candle walls. The wick has burned down into the candle until it isn’t getting much oxygen. It is now very small and docile, but still struggling to survive, and still dangerous.

             I lean over and with one puff blow out the tiny flame still grasping for life. The candle no longer has the warm glow with the dancing light. It is now dark and still. Its spirit, in the form of a blue-gray trail of smoke, dissipates and scatters, as it rises toward the ceiling, or heaven.

             I feel the chill on my bare arms on this cool morning, as I think about how our lives are similar to the candle flames. Our flame burns brightly, as we struggle through life with all its twists and turns, learning and growing, leaping, dancing, stumbling. It dims some as we get older, then it is snuffed out, many times without warning, leaving those who loved us bewildered, trying to make sense of it all.

             Some people would say that the candle is no longer beautiful, or even pretty. It’s true that it has been transformed by the fire, and is no longer shaped perfectly with a snow white wick protruding from the smooth slightly domed top.

            The tiny wick is now charred black and almost covered with re-set wax down in the double wells. It not only no longer stands on top looking down, but it cannot see over the edge, now ragged, translucent, and faded. There is a deep groove down one side and a solid puddle of wax around the bottom. It has dents and dings.
 
             Now it is flawed, full of character, and has an even deeper beauty.

              It has lived. It has held onto fire and has been re-shaped and molded. It has brought me a sense of peace, tranquility, and beauty for the few brief moments it burned.

              It has survived. Changed. But still beautiful in its imperfection.