A Wink, A Blink and A Nod: Guest Post at A Field Of WIldflowers, #SmallWonder Link Up

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Today I am guest posting at Kelly Chripczuk’s blog, A Field Of Wildflowers. Join me, won’t you?  I am honored to be joining this beautiful community this morning for their #SmallWonder link up. My words begin like this…

I am measuring beauty and grace in increments of fragmented seconds. Small flakes of wonder, and flecks of time the size of a radish seed are grabbing and holding my attention, turning my chin with fingers, with skin. The hand of God calls me to look. The Trinity corals me into a hemmed in place for my soul to rest. ( to  read the rest of A Wink, A Blink and A Nod click here.

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Do you know the writing home of Kelly Chripczuk? Visit A Field Of Wildflowers to read more of Kelly’s own words. And find her at @inthefieldswGod on Twitter.

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Just One More

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Just One More

Is there room for one more

In a world of crowded words and broken hearts

Why tell another story of the fiery nighttime light

Am I right

Or am I wrong to write another

Poem about the moon
Many will not remain to hear

Captivated
by his winsome wooing,
he carried me from the warmth that was my night

In the quiet of our home
in the quiet of my heart, I heard him speak in muted tones

Many married, many longer, many sit
hip to hip
shouldered
by the night

And we
belie our age with our posture
Heads of every shade of grey
more akin to two
retiring into

Their final moonlit night

Of life

We

Seek nothing loftier
Than the
Fullness of our moon

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And so if I fail
To write this poem, to which the world may not respond

One more word gift, packaged by a poet’s bow
that the world
may not want, nor read nor need

About the moon and me

And you

Then it is I who die a little as I live

Let fizzle out
the gift

That was your whispered words

Let them fall into a world, cold and dark

Burn out like every other love that lost its fire

Flame extinguished  by
cruel ignorance
of the simple needs of love

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Just one more
maybe just for me

A poem about the moon and you

And how you spoke
gently

Into our love
on one bliss-filled winter’s night

The poets cannot stay away

From subjects on the moon and love

But neither can the moon

Good company, I am in

When I am held so sweetly
by both the moon

and you

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I may never know

If I was right or I was wrong

But I will know
that I was

Simply, loved by you
In the winter
Of our love

Once more

Joy — The Beauty Of Surprise

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Your visit breathes joy into this series. Such a pleasure to have you here. To read this series in its entirety click on the page tab on the home page entitled #Write31days2014-Postcards From Me – Elizabeth W. Marshall

Thank you for choosing to spend a moment here.

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 Joy – The Beauty of Surprise

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Joy, multiplier of Surprise
I cup my hands and close my eyes
For when my soul has written every
Line and verse
And ended stories,
Blinded, my own way
You step out
From behind
A dark and shadowed
Hiding place
Hidden under beds of dormant bulbs
Blanket mulch, a cover for
Your loveliness
Quilted warmth, a shield
Made of
Fallen parchment maple
Royal veiny oak

Leaves,

From gradient golden guilted shades
Paprika, hydrant red, yellow of
A yielding sign
Pantone’s infinite color wheel

The ending is no longer mine
Joy is colored
By Surprise

Wave on wave of Joy
Crashes like a tidal wave

Carves out the old
The former things
With steady surgeon’s hand

You parse and peel
Remove the dead

Redemption’s steady hand
The tool with which you operate

Mercy, signs the Artist’s work

The Beauty of Surprise
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The Poetry Of Exploration

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I nearly weep at the remembering
How beauty hung in every ray of radiant
Brilliance breaking through the trees
Laden heavy on old oak branch
Upon branch
Centuries old with story and weight
Draped like pashmina, draped and dripping
Gray moss makes her a bearded lady
And her neighbor an elegant old sage
Makes me linger longer with every wandering
Step

Can beauty make you weary and worn
Carrying heavy the memory of fragments
Gathered and stored in a soul
Longing
A soul
Hungry
For what the day held.

Circling round and round
Like a mad dog in search of his tail
Rabid in need of earth’s poetic soul
Yet
Slowly
I round each corner
Expectant
Knowing
That I had  seen
But a fragment of what He gives

I am Columbus, Vasco Da Gama, Magellan
I am poet explorer
Capturer of lines of lovely
Gatherer, noticer, bounty-hunter
In search of something
Nameless, faceless
Wonder

Memorizing the berry red, the shadows’ dance
The limb and leaf
Ripples race like dominoes across the creek
Netting and crab-pot, rigging and roadways
Grit and glory, socks sagging
Pinned to the clothesline
Wet with story

And in the end I wonder
As I wander

This was never meant
For
Me alone
No

To hoard and have
To savor and store
Somewhere in the wonderment
And uncovering
I am more of Whitman
And Frost
Wordsworth
Though weak and frail
Feeble
The comparisons, faulty
At best

But yet
I am called
To spill through ink on a page
In the fragile lines of a poem
The poetry
I found

Along my way
Clear my voice
Whisper to a few
In this awkward way
.
Bend in and hear
Me say
I have sipped the cup of beauty
Now I raise the cup, full

Place your lips
Cracked and parched
Upon the waiting rim.
And taste the poetry of God.

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Joining my friend Laura today. Monday’s are simply marvelous there.  And joining Angie for a fun first-time link at her place.