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Poem: Long Ago

Long Ago
 
 
Something too private for everywhere ears
A whisper, a sound, the echo of a babe,
My father called it Pablum when I was grown
Something like oats and baby formula—
 
Memories, a hankering for food I could not
otherwise name, food I don’t really know,
yet I know, I’m sure it would sustain me,
Memories are what I hunger for.
 
Mother’s touch, and her soft-cooing breath,
Her skin had a pure milk scent
unlike perfume or soap
Mother’s aroma is one that embraces.
 
My baker’s rack stands in curlicued iron
holding baskets and earthenware pots,
all meant for my hand-baked bread.
My baker’s rack holds my mother’s aroma.
 
I stand there sometimes wondering if she
is standing there too, beside me
in this baker’s breath of bread and milk,
I am my mother after all.
 
 

© Linda Manning, 2016

 



Linked at dVerse


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    Playing around with songwriting at dVerse today. I hear this finger-snapping, toe-tapping poem in Swing. I hope you can hear it as I do!

 
Forecast: Clearing
 
 
Where are my glasses?
Where is my head?
Why oh why did I get out of bed?
    of bed
      of bed!

    Wooooooooooo!

 
Knocking, knocking at my door
Time to get going,
Feet to the floor.
    the floor
      the floor!

    Wooooooooooo!

 
Boil some water
Fry up some eggs
Style that hair or buy a wig.
    a wig
      a wig!

    Wooooooooooo!

 
Darkness has gone
It’s time to play,
Open the door, enjoy today.
    today
      today!

    Wooooooooooo!

 
 

© Linda Manning, 2016

 


Gosh, that was fun . . . heh heh heh
 
Linked at dVerse


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Poem: Sunflowers

Sunflowers
 
 
Gilt faces giggle, plaited
into women’s hair,
fragrant dollops from
the honey of heaven, and
Eve’s susurrous train
named all of her children.
 
Footprints scattered on
kitchen linoleum
rushed into trails toward
screen braided doors, where
sunflowers tower & knock,
dropping their seeds.
 
Palms clumsy, couvate,
cherish that promise—
something new to unfold
in the breath of human gasp
in the light of human eyes.
 
Sprouts curl with fascination,
in love with the sun.
Stem to flower—
faces glowing, streaming
palest of yellows
kindled to fire,
 
pregnant again—
 
Heavy with seed
her gaze falls to her knees
returns to warm earth,
that cradle of courage,
Guardian of innocents.

 

© Linda Manning, 2014

 




Linked at dVerse

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Poem: Burnt Offerings

    an Improvisational poem

 
 
Burnt Offerings
 
I like to think of David
the young shepherd boy
lying beside still waters,
drawing a dreamy future
from the inspiration of clouds.
 
Of Job in blessed abundance,
his thousands of sheep
and thousands of camels
beasts of burden, sons and daughters;
respect throughout the land.
 
Of Solomon, gloriously arrayed,
his wisdom and diplomacy,
shepherd to an empire built
by the military prowess
of his father, David.
 
Ponder, I, these gifts of truth
protected by descendent scribes,
sons, and stewards of the Poetries—
Too, David’s indiscretion,
Job’s pointless sufferings,
and Solomon’s ambition.
 
Wisdom of godly poets
courses down our family tree,
old rain poured through the holes
of perforated souls.
Life still paints the colors embraced
within that just light—
For us, the children,
illuminations from antiquity.

 

© Linda Manning, 2014

 




Linked at dVerse

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This Present Darkness (Darkness, #1)This Present Darkness by Frank Peretti
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

“For we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.” – Ephesians 6:12

In case you missed it as I did back then, this book was published in 1986 by Crossway Books. Yet it is just as relevant today – if not more so! (Read more . . . )

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Book Review: Forbidden

Forbidden (The Books of Mortals, #1)Forbidden by Ted Dekker
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Rom lives in a dystopian future world that is a sort of mix of modernity together with images of medieval times. This place features horses and rarely-used swords, alchemy, DNA manipulation and (Read more . . . )


 

 

Poem: Bicycle

    an Improvisational poem

 
 
Bicycle
 
Leaning against a pegboard wall in the garage, your ancient skeleton must dream of carefree memories. As does mine. That time of perfect coupling for us, long ago. You carried me skitter-skitter down highways and bi-ways. Through feathered cornfields, along the skirting beaches of oceans and rivers. Beneath helicopter canopies in Spring. In Autumn, golden arms reached high over our path, weaving into arboreal embrace, no longer separated by man.
 
Sometimes, your rattle-rattle would echo against wet pavement. You, being short-shifted by my careless hand, yet I could not hear you complaining. I could not feel your grievance in my fingertips. Only the looks of passersby with ears that pick out what mine cannot, and eyes that make report. Still, your wheels—soft rubber absorbing insults of the road—always true beneath me.
 
Revolving through time
re-loving Creator’s gifts,
faces in the wind—

 

© Linda Manning, 2014

 




Linked at dVerse

 

 
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