Day Seven of NaPoWriMo. The prompt:
Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem of gifts and joy. What would you give yourself, if you could have anything? What would you give someone else?
What better gift than nature?
Spring’s blanket of blooms
spreading of it’s own accord
Gaia arises
Shed no tears; wear them.
Shed not your humanity.
Wear love on your sleeve.
monochrome music
nuance plays upon nuance
melodies in gray
Cee’s Black and White Photo Challenge: Music
threading through the clouds
jets rip the sky asunder
contrails hide the tears
winter solstice wish:
may lessons learned in years past
guide the year to come
It is weeks in the making. First the design is conceived, drawn and copied for a pattern to attach to the worktable. Glass is selected by color, texture, opacity… or sometimes simply availability and affordability. The glass is cut, ground and sized until each piece fits perfectly into the pattern. Individual pieces are wrapped with leading, lead joints soldered together, then putty is worked under the lead for stability and waterproofing. Cleaning is done in place with a bristle brush and whiting powder. Then, the wait.
The putty takes three days to set. Twice daily the artisan cleans off any putty that seeps from beneath the lead. She notices where she applied too much solder. Or too little. She guiltily surveys a piece she had cut too small but used anyway, knowing she could fudge with lead or putty to hide the gap. She second-guesses her glass choices. Will the colors compliment or contrast as she intended? Will the nuances of the design come across as planned?
When the putty is set, it’s time. The artisan lifts the stained glass panel, wipes it clean and rests it gently on a windowsill. She backs away and for the first time gazes upon the completed work. The critical eye judges workmanship, mercilessly and exacting. The artistic eye must wait ‘til the critic quiets. And lastly, the cautious heart will weigh in on the worthiness of the piece. The verdict? We’ll have to wait and see.
patience takes patience
minutes take sixty seconds
waiting takes its time
“Hammer Shattering Glass Shattering Hammer” stained glass panel by Maggie C.
pause in quietude
answer held in gentle mind
the question will come
The clock shows six a.m. Maybe. My eyes don’t quite focus first thing in the morning. My dog Chules has awakened me with his gentle “woof” from halfway down the hall. I don’t know how he expects me to hear such soft greetings, but I do hear them, almost every time. I rise and make my way down the hall to the front door where Chules now waits. “What kind of day do you suppose it is today?” I ask. Chules answers as usual with a generous tail wag and an expectant smile. He doesn’t prejudge days. He’s very Zen about that kind of thing.
I prop the door open with my Himalayan salt crystal. The lamp inside broke some time ago, but it’s quite heavy and makes a perfect door stop, so there it sits. Chules steps out to the porch and plops down on the cool cement. The lyrics from a Dan Fogelberg song enter my head.
Yes it’s going to be a day // There is really no way to say no // To the morning.
Chules’ eyes meet mine. Does he hear the song, too? In my imagination, I hear us both saying, “Yes.” A most hearty yes to the morning.
morning stirs awake
day unfolds to greet the sun
petals of summer
Scissors in one hand, hen in the other, a couple of quick snips and the wing tips swirl to the ground. Keeps ‘em from ‘flying the coop’, the farmer says. He releases the hen. She takes a moment to regain her balance, then runs to the opposite side of the pen where she flaps and clucks her objections. Isn’t it rather cruel to clip their wings, I wonder? Nah, the farmer says. It doesn’t hurt them, and ‘sides, if they don’t like it, they can leave. The farmer chuckles at the irony of his own joke and reaches for another hen.
boundless sky beckons
anticipation takes flight
gravity prevails
dVerse Haibun Monday — Complexity of Freedom
I
it’s a trap, you say
like I’m trying to bait you
I don’t hunt for sport
II
shut your trap, she says
I comply, as I’m the prey
ensnared in her game
III
trapped within a web
intersecting lies constrict
tighter with each move
NaPoWriMo challenge, day two
What Rhymes with Stanza? 