Inspiration for this poem was Gwendolyn Brooks "The Bean Eaters."
Stray fox sleeps closely, near this widow’s pies.
Keeping their bond implies sunrise.
Crisp apples with its wisp to meadows peak,
Bees’ clockwise
This pair of unique pals.
That live each day with ease,
Know that it didn’t leave out sounds
Or banging or breeze.
But Harmonizing…
Harmonizing, blues among hearts restrung,
They pick up fragments to piece, fix, bind trinkets lost, lone
Then the two sit down relish with drinks an pie delightful,
Now viewing that sunset.
The bow of
God’s wrath
is restrung in
the dark
To target
injustice
and hate
as its mark
Each arrow
His judgment
of life
in the main
And striking
dead center
He frees us
— again
(1st Book Of Prayers: May, 2025)
A strand of pearls not tied with knots;
we’re held together — just a thread.
At times like sticky spider silk
and other times a shred of string
that aches and breaks and throws our pearls across the floor.
The clatter scatter marble-mess
of all the dirt and hurts we pretty-wrapped.
Without the knots between the pearls, we
come undone. On hands and knees
we hunt and gather what’s to be restrung —
each dressed-up sphere once a naked tear
accumulated once again,
this time to tie ourselves and beads in line
to knot together “could-have should-have” shrugs
and form a diff’rent rope of pearls …or a noose
and in this space of rest — the screws between the pearls,
we plot a dream more fluff than faith before the cobweb breaks.
No doubt, we’re dilettantes in love bites art of making-up.
Knots may keep us stranded
but nots will keep us apart.
Tasting like music
each word marches on
Out of the vacuum
flavored in song
The future parades
on both sides of the bridge
The band denied entry
so close to the edge
The toll taker muted
arms point to the sky
Pedestrians hover
and wait to get by
Guide wires of silence
restrung play adieu
When the drum major signals
—it’s safe to come through
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
Everything
points to something
the many to the one
Everyone
liege to someone
with fealty’s bow restrung
Everywhere
started somewhere
whose map undrawn curates
Every song
birthed in silence
—where voices incubate
(The New Room: September, 2023)
The wind chime that he restrung
and hung up on the center beam,
chimes lightly in the forced-air of the furnace,
while the tick-tock of the cuckoo clock
repeats itself every second dusk to dawn,
like the shadow of a heartbeat.
Never a wonder to whom we belong’d.
In days of yore, side by side did we run,
Our hearts ever strumming the constant song,
Always together through the snow and sun.
To gilded destinies, away we flew.
A shining horizon, a subtle trap.
Wings beat onward into the Icy Blue.
The distance pulled the strings taut ‘til they snapped.
Facing the fire, figures huddled from cold,
Tales of the Fall brighten the gloomy night.
Stories mark clearly the lost tribe of old
Our flights' decaying arcs did reunite
The harp restrung plucks its tentative tune
Crackling fire starts to melt frozen moon.
when spring has sprung you will be there,
summers coming sure,
the perfume smell is in the air,
nothing's nicer more,
nature restrung...
thank you Sara Kendrik...
Don
My Love, although we were so very young
And happy as two children in their play,
Our voices blended in the songs we sung.
Our eyes had sought each other out among
The many varied flavors of the day,
My Love, although we were so very young.
The spring-times of our lives were barely sprung,
When God sent angels to take you away,
Our voices stilling in the songs we sung.
We had but reached life’s ladder’s lowest rung,
When we were told you could no longer stay,
My Love, although we were so very young.
Strands of our lives can never be restrung,
They fall about my feet in disarray.
Our voices stilling in the songs we sung.
Far from our grasp our dearest dreams were flung.
The sunlight hidden by dark clouds of gray.
My Love, although we were so very young
Our voices blended in the songs we sung.
By Joyce Johnson 01/12/12
Written for Francine's contest: "4 Forms, 4 Themes' contest
My theme "Lost Love, villanelle form
Forever
A child's forever
Limited by experience
Restrung like pearls...
Hoping my- forever
Ends with my quiet breath
And dies in the wind....
Cruel beyond measure
To find that infinite place
Still longing for you...
I cannot love you forever...
In increments of times unsung,
pure truth belittling, or restrung,
I string my passive rights, succumb
before my eyes - thus wanting's strum -
Is justice - and the world's dull hum
is sleeping, like a broken drum.
There in my heart - still beats upcome,
thee mine - thee mine, thee - loving's one -
My only constant - strung, not strung
but lifted by God's willing rung.
In increments of times unsung,
pure truth, belittling or restrung.
I string my passive rights, succumb
before my eyes - thus wanting's strum -
Is justice - and the world's dull hum
is sleeping, like a broken drum.
There in my heart - still beats up come,
thee mine, thee mine - thee, loving's one!
My only constant, sung, not strung,
thee lifted by God's most willing rung.
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