Acts of Kindness

We pass the light,
Candle to candle,
On Christmas Eve.

Much the same as God’s love,
The light is not diminished
But grows bright and bold
When we share it.

We leave offerings of
Encouraging words,
A hand to hold,
A warm meal,
Much needed laughter.

The candle glow
Travels row by row
On Christmas Eve.

Acts of kindness
Multiply,
Fill the room,
And give us sight
To see ourselves anew.

Judith C Evans  (c) 2019

Shared with Poets United Midweek Motif  — love
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2019/02/poets-united-midweek-motif-love.html

Words and Muses (for John)

They read over his shoulder
And shyly watch his fingers
Tap the keyboard.

They tentatively step closer:
First one, then a few more.
“When will he notice us?”

He sighs over the keyboard
As a weight he was never meant to bear
Bruises every word
That appears on the screen.

They watch without speaking
And wish he’d turn around.
One reaches and softly brushes a tear
From his cheek.
Another wants to speak
But thinks better of it.

They stay with him as he sleeps
— These verses and phrases that wait for their friend.

One finally catches his eye in a dream.

At 2am he awakens, surprised at his optimism.
“Must be the sound of the crickets,”
He muses.

With coffee in hand,
He sits up straight at the keyboard.

The others wring their hands
As one steps forward and
Taps his shoulder —
These new words and characters
Who live only for him,
So that he can breathe life
Into their unheard stories.

Judith C Evans (c) 2018

Waiting for the Words

Grand metaphors elude my pen
As mocking, phantom lines flow.
Waiting for the phrase that will
Stun the jaded ear,
I drift from page to page,
Sure I've a arrived too late.

Judith C Evans © 2017

Give Up and Write

When the puppy is fussing
And the shelves need dusting,
The shrubs need trimming
And those jeans ain't slimming,
Give up and write.

Is the line too long?
Do you hate that song?
So the meeting is boring,
And you can't keep from snoring?
Give up and write.

Pen, pencil, keyboard or screen
Will do their job
If you say what you mean.
No more resisting,
No turning or twisting.
Give up and write.
Just give up,
Right?

Judith C Evans © 2017

Sabbath

We are safe here.
No hurry-up worries may intrude
Because this day and all its allotted hours
Belong to You and Your call.
"Shoulds" and "what ifs"
Make way for strolls
Through the chilly, damp garden,
Where the first tender shoots
Reach for the mid-March sun.

Later, I browse through our bookshelves.
I pick up a poetry book
That I had vowed to read "someday."
I stare at the pages
And the pages stare back
Until the stirrings of unwritten poems
Overtake me,
Because it's safe to be a poet today.

© Judith C Evans 2016

The Last Daisy of Summer

Dear Happiness,
I think I saw you today.
Yes, I'm sure it was you.
You fluttered near the cage
I had prepared for you.
I briefly touched you,
And then the wind carried you
Just beyond my fingertips.

My old friend Happiness,
When I was young,
We walked side-by-side, you and I.
We explored the seashore,
Noticed sparkling pebbles in the tide pools,
Painted my nails for the first time,
And celebrated the last daisy of summer.

Do you remember?

I should know better than to chase you.
I just wish you would chase me.

© Judith C Evans 2014

Shared with Poets United Midweek Motif. This week's prompt is "happiness."

Ashes

Children,

I watch you learn the same paper crafts that I learned

Nearly seventy years ago.

I might have been your great grandmother,

Had history taken a different turn.

Fold the paper just right

And pray for me as you set the paper cranes

To flight.

Forever six years old,

I am in every sunbeam, cloud and snowflake

That falls over Hiroshima

As the ashes of my bones,

Caught up in the poison windstorm decades ago,

Look for a peaceful place to rest.

© Judith C Evans 2014 

Written for Poets United Midweek Motif prompt: "Hiroshima, or Ring a Bell"

Wise Choices

Barely as tall as the shopping cart,

I could tell that we were getting closer to the produce aisle

As fresh peach and apple fragrances greeted my nose.

I reached upward toward the sparkling display of grapes.

I noticed that my mother’s navy blue sneakers kept on walking.

“We’re boycotting grapes,” she said as she pushed the shopping cart

Past the green and purplish-black jewels

Without missing a beat.

(I thought of one day during the previous school year

When we had an assembly because a great man had died.

We saw a film about bus boycotts and lunch counters,

And signs that said who could drink at which water fountain.)

I turned and looked at the forlorn grape display,

Realizing that they did not look as sumptuous as they did two minutes ago. 

And that was the day I learned to shop.

© Judith C Evans 2014

Shared at Poets United Midweek Motif . . . this week's prompt is BOYCOTT

What I Have Learned

Thanks to the
Rhythmic terrors,
Internal slant rhymes
And piercing metaphors
That bleed through your fingers
And onto the keyboard,
I have learned how to breathe.

You remind me to look up,
Astonished at the infinite blue,
And the sudden cumulus shapes
That silently watch me pray.

© Judith C Evans 2012

Eccentric?

She reads poetry.
So well-rounded!
How nourishing for the soul it is,
To ponder those fine phrases...
And how clever she must be,
To understand such deep meaning.
It must be so stimulating to be her friend.

She memorizes poems.
How admirable!
She and some lucky fellow
Will have plenty to talk about at the dinner table.
And if they ever have children
(Do you think they ever will?)
They will learn to read at an early age.

She writes poetry.
Wait a minute!
How did she turn out to be so...well...
Eccentric?
I just feel sorry for her poor husband.
How can she be a good wife,
With her head in the clouds 
And her nose in a book,
Writing all those poems?
She watches documentaries about artists in Paris
And leaves peeled potatoes on the kitchen counter.
Then she writes a poem about the time she forgot to finish cooking dinner.
I suppose we should be thankful that she never had children.

© Judith C Evans 2012

Shared with The Think Tank Thursday #100 at Poets United. Inspired by this quotation by Tim Burton: "One person's crazyiness is another person's reality."

Joy

Late autumn sunset
cast shadows on a brick wall:
unexpected joy

© Judith C Evans 2012

  Written for Haiku Heights prompt #146 -- Joy.

Soul Whisper

Breathe, said the teacher. Breathe and be.

My soul whispered, “Follow me!”

As I sat and breathed, my soul and I walked

As you’d expect, I mostly talked.

“I can’t understand, just can’t cope.”

My soul was quiet – was there hope?

Breathe, said the teacher. Breathe and see.

The child just ahead looked like – me!

The little girl waved me on;

I wondered how long I’d been gone.

We ran up a gentle hill

And saw a brook by the trees so still.

“I remember this stream, where I once sat!”

And after I marveled at that,

I saw my father who’d long since passed:

An angry man found peace at last.

“Never worry,” said my Dad

“It did nothing but made me sad.”

I pondered this, then saw my cat,

And heard his purr – how about that?

I’d forgotten favorite colors, too:

Burgundy and aqua blue,

The perfume I wore to English class,

And my first martini glass!

“It’s all with you, you just forgot,”

My soul chuckled. My face felt hot,

Embarrassed to shed a silly tear.

My soul whispered,

“I’m still here.”

© Judith C Evans 2011

Written for Thursday Think Tank's prompt #76 -- soul's whisper
and posted at Thursday Poets Rally #57

Many thanks to Thursday Poets Rally at The Poetry Palace for this award...I am humbled and honored! I nominate NeiNei for the award.

Winter winds blow ice
but poetic souls gather --
encouraging words.


  

Surprised by Sunlight

Sunlight, on a whim,
Frames cracks in the limestone wall --
The yard work can wait.

Written for Haiku Heights prompt #96 -- light

Rebirth

words long presumed dead --
ashes released from an urn --
the first verse ignites

© Judith C Evans 2011

written for Haiku Heights prompt #95 -- urn

The Book of Life

The Book of Life awaits my name;
No time to listen to that still, small voice.
I double check rules,
Craft fireproof plans,
Push you out of the way,
And race toward my calling,
Afraid that you will get there first.
That's my calling.

The still, small voice has plenty of time,
And tries to tell me:
"Love one another."

© Judith C Evans 2011

Written for Carry On Tuesday prompt # 129: "Love one another."

Blessed Bear

Bear,
How blessed you are.
You sleep away the winter;
When the spring runoff cracks the ice,
You smash through chilly, rushing waters
To retrieve the choicest salmon.
When the sun warms your back,
You meticulously forage for blueberries
And delicately lick honey from your lethal paw.
Bear,
How blessed we are
To follow your shadow,
To hope for a glimpse of
Your solitude,
Your mystery,
Your freedom.

© Judith C Evans 2008

Submitted to Thursday Think Tank at Poets United prompt #52 -- animals