And now for today’s (optional) prompt. Victoria Chang’s poem, “The Lovers,” is short and somewhat shocking, bringing us quickly from a near-hallucinatory descriptive statement to a strange sort of question, before ending on the very direct statement of a “truth.” Six lines, three sentences, and to top it off, a title that I think works for the poem but is only obliquely related to its text. Today, try writing a poem that follows the same beats: three sentences, six lines: statement, question, conclusion.
Last but not least, here’s today’s (optional) prompt. Start by reading Robert Fillman’s poem, “There should always be two.” Now, write your own poem in which all the verses contain the same number of lines (whether couplets, triplets, quatrains, etc.) and in which you give the reader instructions of some kind.
I couldn’t find the Robert Fillman poem, so I learned what a triplet was and then proceeded to write what turned out to be a Haiku triplet – so I wrote a short light-hearted series of them.
Today’s challenge asks you to write your own poem in which you use at least three metaphors for a single thing, include an exclamation, ruminate on the definition of a word, and come back in the closing line to the image or idea with which you opened the poem.
FMF prompt word is TIMING, so I tried to combine the two tonight.
It’s all in the timing
It’s all in the timing!
Life, speeches, jokes, poems
Poor timing and it can all fall flat
and the joke is dead
the deadline missed, the
audience bored to death;
but time waits for no man-
it flies straight as an arrow
deceiving the young and foolish
with myths of oceans of time
and the world as their oyster
seeking depths of knowledge to be mined.
But timing is of the essence!
We can’t beat the clock but we can
budget the time we have and make every last drop count.
Wisdom says: There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens.”1.
And now for our prompt (optional, as always). K. Siva Reddy’s poem, “A Love Song Between Two Generations,” weaves together repetitions, questions, and unexpected similes with plain language. The overall effect is both intimate and emotional, producing a long-form meditation on what love is, what it means, and how it acts. Today, we’d like you to write your own poem that muses on love, but isn’t a traditional love poem in the sense of expressing love between romantic partners.
I’ve just been blessed with a wonderful holiday, staying with a dear friend that I’ve known for about 26 years.
She lived with me for several years, and yet I have never been to visit her home town, or the village where she enjoyed much of her childhood.
Until last week.
My husband and I went to stay with her and her parents in Logroño, LaRioja.
And we also enjoyed a weekend in her late grandparents’ village of Camprovín.
I can’t tell you all about it here, except that they were excellent hosts – kind, loving, fun and interesting – and we played the tourists, visiting many amazing places and relaxing with siestas and good food.
What really blessed me about the place, was the fact that the town is actually on the pilgrimage route of La Camino. The Camino de Santiago is a pilgrimage that people have followed at least since the 10th Century, moving between holy sites all the way to the shrine of St James, one of the apostles of Jesus.
The disciples followed Jesus.
We follow Him still.
Jesus walked His own pilgrimage to the cross.
Disciples too have to take up their cross to follow Him.
For centuries, pilgrims have followed the pilgrimage trail to Holy Sites.
In one beautiful church on the Camino (San Pablo), I was doubly blessed to find a striking representation of Jesus carrying His cross – in the depiction the eyes looked right into the viewer and I spent some time in meditation, before reading the beautiful prayer written on a plaque beside the model – it referred to Jesus, the Way, the Truth and the Life – in Spanish, as ‘Jesús es el Camino la Verdad y la Vida’.
Jesus is the Camino, the path, the way – and we must follow only Him into truth and life, carrying the cross He gives us – but His yoke is easy and the burden light.
The following is a translation of the prayer next to the Statue on the Camino, translated into English:
PRAYER TO JESUS OF NAZARENE
Oh, Jesus of Nazareth, the way, the truth, and the life: We believe that you are the source of love, forgiveness, and compassion, since by suffering and dying on the cross you have shown that you love us intensely.
We humbly implore your mercy to grant us the grace to become like you in thought and action.
May we unite our sufferings with yours for the sanctification and salvation of our brothers and sisters.
With you, we come to understand that we are not alone, but that we are all part of the family of God’s children.
Grant, we implore you, that we may work to create a new world where love, peace, and brotherhood reign.
We ask this of you, who live and reign with the Father in the unity of the Holy Spirit and are God forever and ever. Amen
This post is written as part of the Five Minute Friday Community. To read other responses to this week’s prompt: PATH, see the link below.
I was hoping to combine this week’s prompt word with one of the NaPoWriMo prompts, but it hasn’t happened for me this week. And looking at today’s prompt, I won’t manage it tonight either.
But twice over the Easter weekend, This word – WITHOUT – brought revelation to me.
The first thought was that without the cross on Good Friday, there would be no Resurrection Sunday morning!
And then the Scripture about God reconciling all things to Himself through the cross.1
Also over Easter I joined several conversations about who prefers Christmas or Easter and I heard myself saying the obvious, that without Christmas, there would be no Easter.
But ‘without the cross on Good Friday’ that got me reflecting about how so often it seems that the joy wouldn’t happen without the pain?
You can probably think of many examples yourself, but these came to mind
without the * … therewouldbeno *
pain… gain
Labour… a baby
night…morning
rain… sunshine
planting… harvest
pain… healing
mourning… dancing
grief… peace
sadness… joy
death… life
I’m out of time now, but jot down some more, if they come to mind.
I’m reminded that when we are thankful to God and trust Him IN ALL circumstances, we will always see the hope of the resurrection, after carrying our own crosses.
Most Fridays, I join an online Christian writing community, Five Minute Friday. We are given a one-word prompt and write – unscripted, unedited, pure free-write – for 5 minutes. The prompt this week is Without.
I do read through my script afterwards to correct my mistakes; to check scripture references and to find an appropriate image to illustrate the topic.
To read other FMF posts on this subject click BELOW.
Once upon a time, there was a shy little girl, who wasn’t in a fairy-tale, but felt that if only she had a fairy God-mother, she might become Cinderella.
She didn’t really like being at home much, there were too many chores to do – shopping, washing, cleaning, cooking and things like that, only without all the modern kitchen gadgets to do it all.
Her trusty tools were brush and pan, bucket, mangle and washing line – but she did have an oven. She was good with her tools and good at making tasty meals.
She complained about her chores though (it’s not fair!) and for fun she would escape from the house to enjoy writing, drawing and making things.
And she was a lucky girl, because she really loved school!
When the season of school – O and A Levels – was over, she felt a bit lost.
It was an exciting season of freedom though – of leaving home, leaving the UK and leaving childhood behind.
But she didn’t know what she wanted to do when she grew up!
So she lived abroad for 2 years.
It was a season of languages, travel, exploring her faith and looking after children.
Then she moved to London, back into a season of study – studying to be a teacher. Now she knew what she wanted to be and she eventually became a primary school teacher.
She loved that for a few years – back in school and able to bring joy and learning into young lives…
The season of teaching was also a season of motherhood. She loved that too, and though it was all hard work, it was her passion.
This 19 year season in London came to an end, as she moved into a season of marriage and a new home in Nottingham.
There she had an exhausting, but transforming season as a full-time carer of her mother (with early-onset Alzheimer’s).
She had a brief, disappointing season teaching again.
Another season saw her developing and making a business of her passion for photography – a life-long hobby.
After having to abandon a non-lucrative business, her next season was a painful season of ‘time-out’, of healing, writing and restoration, which resulted in a published book and a season of starting again.
(Of course she never stopped being a mother, and kept all her other passions simmering in her heart and life.)
She had a season of volunteering part-time and of working part-time, whilst beginning a courageous season of writing therapy and exploration which resulted in four unpublished books…
Then there was a restorative season of prayer-ministry training, grand-children and moving home.
For the last year she has been in a season of painting, decorating and building again. She is still writing, still taking photographs, still playing with children, still part-time working and volunteering…
Cinderella in a season of painting and decorating
So many exciting, natural and blessed seasons!
I’m so glad that it isn’t winter forever, and I’m also glad that it isn’t Spring, or Summer or Autumn forever too.
But she still doesn’t know what she wants to do when she grows up!
What will the next season bring, I wonder? More writing? Painting? Art-work? More in ministry?
I hope I can respond to whatever the Lord asks me to do next.
Isn’t life wonderfully full?
Our times are in His hands.
I’m so glad of that.
‘’Tis the season to be jolly, tra-la-la-la-la, la-la,la-la’
Every Friday, I join an online Christian writing community, Five Minute Friday. We are given a one-word prompt and write – unscripted, unedited, pure free-write – for 5 minutes. The prompt this week is SEASON
I do read through my script afterwards to correct my mistakes; to check scripture references and to find an appropriate image to illustrate the topic.
To read other FMF posts on this subject click HERE.
Is ‘attempt’ a positive, negative or neutral word to you?
The word ‘attempt’ is a good example to me of how positive or negative associations can become attached to words according to experience.
To me it was a negative word – like an ‘attempt’ was not good enough – it felt inferior to doing something properly, almost like I had signed myself up to fail.
image of electrical circuit showing failed attempt
Attempt in my mind meant ‘failed attempt’.
I used to find myself saying, ‘I’m going to try to make… or try to finish… or try to clean/write/draw…’ and felt already defeated before I started.
A well-meaning friend used to remind me – ‘You’re not going to try, you’re going to do it’. And I would mutter a half-hearted renunciation of the words, but not really believe it.
The most positive maxim was ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again’.
But I wasn’t really sure what success even looked like.
But now I see the word very differently.
I see life differently.
I see success differently.
I am now happy to attempt something – to me an attempt is a sign of life, hope and courage to try something new.
It is a sign of me embracing life, trusting Him who gives me life.
Now I will excitedly attempt to paint, or plaster a wall, or write a story, or cook a meal, knowing that I will try my best and that my attempt will be good enough.
Now I can try something new, have a go, and make mistakes and learn.
That is success.
Every attempt is an act of courage, perseverance, patience and hope.
Hope that the next attempt will also teach me something and be good enough.
Now it is fun to attempt something new – sometimes a bit scary, sometimes I get nervous, but if I inform myself and prepare as well as I can, the chances are that my best attempt will be worth something and it is an adventure.
Life is a series of attempts – attempts at work, at creativity, at relationship, at service, at worship, at play and at understanding the meaning of it all.
You my see my attempts as mediocre and inferior, but to me, my attempts at life bring me great joy and purpose.
Every Friday, I join an online Christian writing community, Five Minute Friday. We are given a one-word prompt and write – unscripted, unedited, pure free-write – for 5 minutes. The prompt this week is ‘TWENTY’
18:01
I am of the age when most of my life has been dated 19- something, 1970s, 1980s, 1990s.
Twenty-something feels very recent!
I remember the sense of occasion vividly on the approach of the new millennium and of it becoming 2000.
Some called it the noughties. I felt quite old!
The noughties passed in a lot of personal changes, challenges, blessings and – well, LIFE, I guess.
I don’t know how it was called when we hit 2010 and that decade – was it the teenies maybe?
For me, twenty- twelve was a bit of a breakdown, leading to twenty-fifteen as the start of a proper recovery.
2015 I determined would be the best year of my life! It was!
Maybe it was/is all part of a process towards recovery, because I am so blind, deaf and stubborn in my heart! I thank God for his loving patience!
Then we got to 2020 – that excited me, because the nerdy part of me loves number patterns.
I expect I was particularly tickled to get to 20/02/2020, and even to 02/02/2020.
I remember folk posting prophetically about 20-20 vision and an air of expectation, but with the benefit of hindsight the twenty-twenties seem to have been swallowed up in a covid-19 aftermath of fear, chaos, mistrust and hardships.
But there was growth and many blessings amidst this time. There was great courage, trust, generosity and sacrifice too.
There is always hope.
God was not surprised by any of this, as we were.
It being 2022 already makes me realise that we are here for such a short time.
Even a general life-span is counted in 20s – three score years and ten, I remember often hearing. Whether I live that long or longer, God only knows, for He has numbered my days and my times are in His hands.
I will trust Him every day, with every hour and every breath.
With my ‘one-day-at-a-time’, may I honour my Father God and honour and cherish all of life that He has created, especially yours (whoever you are) and mine.
dawnfanshawe 
