Poppy

Slender necked, softly furred appearing ultimately delicate.

Dancing with natural seduction in unusual fields.

Heavy pods sway, narcotic blood infused.

 

Illegal to farm them you know, you can treasure them wild.

They grow best upon blood rich fields of war.

Paper thin petals waving on pollenators.

 

She is a thing of beauty, watching her impossibly lovely.

Strengths you can’t even imagine inside her,

Hid beneath a flower smiled facade.

 

There is strength there, born of blood and in war.

She dances to cries under gunfire and hears.

She knows the strongest come after.

 

Battles wear the rage of men, their war cries.

After is where she is strong, growing.

War soaked soil bears new life.

 

Blooms last barely a season, frail and bright.

Seeds wait for generations to grow tall.

Waving fields of poppies and sons.

 

Poppies grow abundant in rich soil, bloody soil.

Women strong after battle, rebuilding.

Neither as fragile as they seem.

 

For With  Real Toads (Alphonse Mucha) and for dVerse (attempt at allegory)

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Outside my inside

Outside my inside there is a whole new world.

Outside my inside you’d never know it was me.

Inside my outside there is a whole new world.

Inside my outside you’d never know it was me.

 

Outside is the person who nods and agrees.

Inside is me, the person, wondering what?!

Outside are the words and social signals.

Inside I’m wishing for a translator or two.

 

Outside is the wishes and dreams of you all.

Inside are my secret dreams and prayers.

Outside is loud and insistent, strident too.

Inside they whisper, like fabric on skin.

 

Outside I make the right moves and noises.

Inside I fear that I’ll never quite get ‘it’.

Outside everything seems so, you know.

Inside everything is not what it seems.

 

Outside you see what you need to see.

Inside I nurture what I need me to be.

Outside you see me dancing silent,

Inside I am moving to an orchestra!

 

Outside my inside is a world I don’t know.

I live there, yes, and yet I wonder if

My inside left that outside place

would you miss me?

 

With Real Toads challenge…my version!

Get out of the boat

Inspired by Matthew 14:22-33.  Please feel free to read before, or after! 

 

Reach Your hand to me, oh Lord.

Touch me so that I won’t sink in.

Raise my face to Your eyes.

Touch my spirit so I can rise!

 

Walk me across the water, oh Lord!

Blind me to all but Your hand.

Watch my steps, let me falter not.

Blind me to all but each step ahead!

 

Lord, before all of that, please God.

Let me hear Your voice calling me.

Lord, draw me to You, wherever.

Lord, tell me, “Get out of the boat!”

 

Jesus, You never fail us. We fail us.

God, Your promises never break.

People, we fail, we break, we sink too.

We can’t walk on the water unless we

get out of the boat!

Mrs Atlas

Atlas held up the world, the legend goes.

But the woman kept it turning ’round.

Adam named the animals and plants.

Eve midwifed and weeded the garden.
Jewish legend says the man is the house head.

Woman is the heart that keeps him alive.
Men went to war, fought for peace and freedom.

Women kept the home and hearth waiting.
Her hand rocks the cradle and rules the world.

His hand holds hers and together they can reign.
Feminine is more than the sum of a woman’s parts.

Feminine is the quiet voice of intuition and heart.
Celebrate her in corsetted glory, or in fierce battle array.

Celebrate her cradling babe or walking alone in life.

Celebrate her in all the ways that are woman.

Dancing under the moon and stars, basking in the sun.
Woman is more than all you can dream of or see.

Woman is all of us, forever, woven together a tapestry.
Part II

 

I saw a lovely dress, just the other day.

I wish I could wear it somewhere special.

Then I laughed! Laughed so hard I cried.

Cows, horses, dogs and little boys don’t care

if Mama is dressed up pretty and fair.

 

They only care that you are there, to love and play.
I am a woman, with some dignity and a bit of grace.

I can work hard beside my man, and still be a Mama.

Realizing that feminine doesn’t mean ornamental

but rather it means being fully alive each day.

Smiling I put on my work clothes and we go

to get dirty, have fun, work hard and live loud.
I want my son and husband to see the feminine.

No doubt they need to see the woman that is me.

They need to see more than ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ to know

that we can do, or not do, as we are abled nor gendered!

I can do, or choose not to, because I do.

They can choose to do, or not, because they do.
Being a woman, a lady, is more than clothes or jewels.

It is taming wild beasts or laundry day or dream dragons.

It is dancing with babes, holding hands and listening hard.

We are always more than we at first seem.

As I get older and see through the experienced eyes

I can see how far we have come from the old lies.
Women can be anything they wish to be, except be men.

We can be anything we choose, we should choose wisely.

I could be a ballerina, but I’d be the worst ever seen!

Give me my horse, though, and you’ll see us dance!

Not many dresses in my wardrobe, never any hose!

But make no mistake, here a lady lives and there she goes.

 
For With Real Toads challenge, won’t you stop by and enjoy some other poetry? (http://withrealtoads.blogspot.ca/2012/04/kenias-wednesday-challenge.html)

effervescence

effervescence

Ever watch the bubbles rise?

Feeling their random rising joy?

Floating in a sphere ready to burst!

Ending in a satisfying pop, hiss or gurgle!

Reminding you of that time you laughed so hard.

Virtually a whole mouthful of soda came out your nose!

Everyone joined in, tears rolled down faces turning red.

Soda bubbles are giggles, volcanoes burst in anger and we

Cannot contain ourselves as we too join in the laughter of life.

Even you, stony faced and serious, have to bubble up a bit inside.

No one can resist the belly deep, bubbling laughter of a sweet child.

Confess, we all know it is true, everyone wants to ride the shaken soda!

Enter into a new world on a rocket made of Mountain Dew and Dr. Pepper!

With Real Toads, Effervescence, a fun poem for a fun prompt in the middle of the night.  Copyright 2012 Shanyn Silinski

Real Toads Renga

For Real Toads: a group poem

Some claim April rain                            (Grace of Words like Foam on the Waves)
brings the blossoms of May, but
trees here are hasty

like youth, ardor unrestrained               ( Margaret – Art Happens 365)
eager for springs first sweet kiss


Sakura blossoms                                    (Kerry O’Connor of Skylover)
In the arms of old man tree
Drops of moonlit milk

showgirls will perform a dance             Ella’s Edge
inspired by Moon light’s embrace


her graceful waves in                            Laurie Kolp Poetry
a risque spring ballet, legs
kick the darkened sky


stars wink at rainbow feathers              Susie Clevenger of Confessions of A L. G.
that tease with each fluttering


My full heart flutters,                           Mary of Writing in the Bachs
I become dancer and dance
under April’s moon


and a blossoming cherry
in the sweet, full warmth of May          Kay, an Unfittie
And we, resting far                                    Sunflower Shan (Shanyn)
north where snow still flies and melts
await midnight sun.
Grace has challenged members and contributors at the writers group Imaginary Garden with Real Toads to write a group poem with alternating stanzas, 5/7/5 and 7/7.
I have been reading the others, and have been certain I had nothing to contribute, but finally decided to try.  (I totally stole this right from Kay 🙂 Forgive me girl!)

Sunday Psalm

Bloody linens drape on cold stone.

Angels break into holy grins.

He is risen! He is risen!

Women go to the tomb mouring.

They leave dancing in joy.

He is risen! He is risen!

Unbelieving Disciples tremble.

They long to touch Him.

He is risen! He is risen!

The hope of the world arose.

Death defeated forever.

He is risen! He is risen!

Creation dances every spring.

Remembering this holy day.

He is risen! He is risen!

II

Did you touch His side? 

Did you probe His hands?

Were you blessed by seeing

or by believing in your heart?

Did you touch the stone?

Still warm from Heaven’s hand.

Were you blessed by seeing

or by walking in the empty tomb?

Did you long for the sound?

Angels laughing from heaven!

You are blessed! You are blessed!

He loves us. He loves us.

Easter Sunday, attempt at the With Real Toads prompt.  Have a blessed day!