Poetry

#NaPoWriMo 26: The Words of the Poets

Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Wed, 04/27/2016 - 19:18

The words of the poets pour down
like the spring rain
holding the promise of summer warmth
but still cold,
cutting to the bone.

They pool up in puddles beside the road
or wait in looming black clouds.

Summer will come soon enough
when there is time for poetry
pouring over us
like the waterfall in the forest
or the waves
pounding the beaches.

Until then
we wear our slickers
and step over puddles
as wait for more time
and warmer days.

(Categories:

Poetry

)

#NaPoWriMo: 25: Lawn SIgns

Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Mon, 04/25/2016 - 19:58

Lawn signs don’t vote
not old adage goes,
but they certainly show up
in droves
near election day
crowding out
their familiar cousins,
the realtors’ signs.

Some pop up
at busy intersections
with good visibility
where nobody lives.

Those are frequently seen
but don’t carry the same weight
as the signs on a neighbor’s lawn
which doesn’t tell you a lot
about your neighbor’s views
that you didn’t already know,
but still they mean something,
when someone is willing
to put their beliefs
on the shirt sleeves
and beside their driveways.

Most of the signs
disappear
soon after
election day
but some linger
reminding voters
of candidates who lost
but are not forgotten.

(Categories:

Poetry

)

#NaPoWriMo 24: Eucharistic Prayer

Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sun, 04/24/2016 - 17:57

The Eucharistic Prayer
pounded the shore
like an ever changing
changeless
wave.

“Holy and gracious Father: In your infinite love”
and the wave paused
as it rolled back
preparing for the next
coming crash.

In the silence
the seabirds could be heard
running ahead of the waves
giggling in the
play and pray area
or wandering down an aisle.

“He stretched out his arms upon the cross”.
another wave crashed
familiar,
powerful,
reassuring.

Still the children fidgeted
parishioners turned pages
and that too
was familiar,
powerful,
and reassuring.

“On the night he was handed over to suffering and death”,
someone forgot to mute their phone
and we were all reminded
of the world he died for.

“Take, eat: This is my Body “
The homeless man
who smelled a bit funky
started to drool.
Saturday had been a rough day
without much bread.

“and when he had given thanks”
It had been a long time
since she had sat amongst friends.
After her husband died
and she moved to be closer to her kids
who would visit her when they could.
She had stopped going to church,
until by chance
she crossed the threshold
one Easter Sunday
and was welcomed.
“We’ve been waiting for you”
Someone seemed to say.

“Therefore we proclaim the mystery of faith”;
the faith of the children playing,
the faith of the hungry homeless man,
the faith of the lonely grandmother,
“in unity, constancy, and peace”
and the waves of grace
continued to pound
the broken shore.

(Categories:

Poetry

)

#NaPoWriMo 23: The Door

Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sun, 04/24/2016 - 07:13

There was a door in my dream.
That was it, a simple ordinary door.
It was a solid door
unlike those
you find in so many houses
today
that you could put a fist through
and regret for years.

The door was white
with a nondescript handle
on the left.
It was slightly ajar,
perhaps an inch or two
nothing more.

It was dark on the other side
still hiding something
unknown.

Nothing felt dangerous
about what was on
the other side.
I just needed
to build up my courage
to reach down
turn the handle
and cross the threshold.

I was sure I would enter
brightness and joy
but still
I was afraid.

Then
I awoke
longing
to return
and see
what is on
the other side.

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