A weary journey, a wakeful night,
They left their camp before daylight
An old man carrying the weight of years
Wrinkled cheeks wet with tears
At hearing the young boy at his side
Prattle on with childish pride
That he alone had been chosen
To help his father on this mission.
The scirocco blew in our second day in Trieste. We sheltered from the blood rain in an old church. How long? Joan asked. ‘The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind.’ Not my favorite. Hurrah for May 17th, 1966! ‘Judas!’ a voice yelled from the crowd that day when Bob switched from folk songs to electric guitar. But that year, he wrote my favorite, today anyway. I watched her cradle her sleeping baby. He wrote it when his eldest son was born. It was released on June 22, 1979. A single. “Forever Young.” We looked out. The rain had stopped.
Lisa at dVerse Poetics: One True Sentence writes: “Your challenge today, should you choose to accept it, is to pick ONE of Hemingway’s quotes to be inspired by and write a poem. Do NOT use the quote in your poem, but please do include the quote on your post page somewhere, with Hemingway’s name as the source of inspiration. For bonus points, please say a few words about the experience of writing to an idea from the mind of Papa Hemingway.” Channeling Hemingway was a fun challenge for dVerse: his abbreviated diction, especially in dialogue, the unsaid reflected in the landscape as much as in the pools of silence surrounding a character. Click on Mr. Linky and join in!
‘It’s gone the way the mist is burned off the hollows in broken ground when the sun comes out,’ the Colonel said. ‘And you’re the sun.’ – Ernest Hemingway, Across the River and into the Trees (1950)
the teapot boiled the cat began to whistle the man bolted out the world began to tremble
the cat began to whistle the pot was just a thought it was never really there
the man bolted out he was missing his body he left his coat and hat
the world began to tremble we turned the music up nothing was hard to hear
I thought I’d try my hand at some absurdist poetry of the type popularized in the middle of the twentieth century as Grace at dVerse challenges us with a new poetry form: “Today’s poetry form is Trimeric (Trimeric \tri-(meh)-rik), which was invented by Charles A. Stone.
1. Trimeric has 4 stanzas 2. The first stanza has 4 lines 3. The other three stanzas have 3 lines each 4. The first line of each stanza is a refrain of the corresponding line in the first stanza (so 2nd stanza starts with the second line, third stanza starts with the third line, etc.). 5. The sequence of lines, then, is abcd, b – -, c – -, d – -. Note: No other rules on line length, meter, or rhyme. Click on Mr. Linky & join in!
I’ve heard it said that a woman should never be afraid of her own life. Yet I am. Every day the crowd multiplies. I grow old. The room grows smaller. Am I to be buried alive? Not with grave dirt, but with ghosts. The more confined I, the more rampant they. What diabolical art is this, that the dead suck life out of those they abhor? My nights are theirs to engorge upon in hopeless pain, my days spit out remnants of their celebration. For as vines strangle and overgrown briars encroach, my ghosts encircle me. And I am afraid.
Come along and join in with Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers and Eugi’s Weekly Prompt. Eugi asks us to use any variation on the word prompt (“celebration”).
Common-Place or “Locus Communis” — a place to remember
Richard Baxter was a 17th-century English theologian and Reformed pastor whose fruitfulness in ministry continues to inspire the church today. Most quoted is this advice to those in ministry which, given recent high-profile scandals, can use another dusting off:
Also a poet, Baxter summarized the manner of his preaching this way:
I preach’d, as never sure to preach again, And as a dying man to dying men! O how should preachers men’s repenting crave, Who see how near the church is to the grave?
Psalm 104: 10-13 You make springs gush forth in the valleys; they flow between the hills; they give drink to every beast of the field; the wild donkeys quench their thirst. Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell; they sing among the branches. From your lofty abode you water the mountains; the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.