Posted in Blogging

Apologizes!

If you are trying to access the site this morning, it may be glitchy.  Has been for the last couple of days. Constantly looking upon how to improve! 🙂

I did write this morning– a plus.

Have a great day!

Lynne 🙂

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Posted in Poetry

When I’m Grown-Up…

I want to sit on an old, wood porch swing with you
wrapped up in a coccon of your love listening to your
heart swelling in your chest as you breathe–
feeling the warm, summer breeze on our smiling faces
watching the sun slowly make her way up the horizon
the sky awake with color, the darkest blue clouds
against a wave of pastels- pink, purple, orange, yellow
the clouds fade to light puffy, cotton candy the
bright yellow sun makes her home in the sky
we make eyes at one another like two high school
sweethearts over our coffee as we talk about the
children and listen to the birds perched in the tall, Oak
trees as they sing their sweet songs. I want to grow old with you
in this old country house. You and me. This old, rusty swing.

~~ When I’m Grown-Up LC  ©2018

Posted in Poetry

Summer Mornings

The warm, summer sun peeks through the kitchen blinds
the delicious smell of coffee brewing hypnotizing my tired body
to wait impatiently for my vice I open the blinds and welcome
the sun like a long lost friend as I feel her salutation on my skin
I feel like a child ready to abandon my chores to play outside
I need to connect with nature to calm my restless soul to shake the
feelings of yesterday.  Keep dreaming! Always live for today.
I grab my favorite, cracked mug full of motivation, and walk outside at last.
~~ Summer Mornings. © 2018 LC

“A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music… and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: “Sing for us soon again;” that is as much as to say, “May new sufferings torment your soul.” ~Søren Kierkegaard

Something about this quote I like. In this quote, I compare the poet to a caged song bird, who sings a sad, tortured melody, and everyone loves it because it is a melody they haven’t heard before. It is so beautiful it is eerie. They want the bird to keep singing no matter how sad and tormented he is knowing he may never be free. He sings for a crowd that may never understand him or his heart’s desires. Even if the bird was free, what would he do with his freedom? Hence, new sufferings.

 

Kierkegaard–

Posted in Blogging, Writing

Just Yuck.

So…

My poem yesterday stunk. I wasn’t satisfied with it. I need to get back to writing and making it a habit. I thought the prompt would be helpful, but it was frustrating!

It was frustrating because I’m out of sync. I am out of sync because I’m not writing.

My life has been a little overwhelming over the last year. Maybe a little more than a little.

It is part of my routine to help organize and facilitate home-school for the kids. They are doing awesome! It’s been a fun adventure.  However, we have also struggled with misfortune– some of our family members battled illness while others with more serious health problems. My father-in-law with Bladder Cancer and my sister with Intracranial Hypertension. (Sn: My father-in-law is now cancer-free, but my sister may have to have surgery.)

Mix in some familial and relational problems. It’s a rocky road. My life is never normal on this note. Nor will I ever expect it to be.

Then, the seasonal depression sunk in over winter. The cold and darkness doesn’t agree with me. Winter has a choke-hold on Spring, and he’s winning..

The wind is wicked. Messing with the power like a naughty kid flipping the light switch! Snow lazily falling from the sky.

Winter.

Not making time to write.

I am over it.

Time to find my motivation, again.

Posted in Poetry

The House She Lives In.

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The House She Lives In.

His love waned like the moon.
Actions don’t align with your words.
Words spoken can become your house.
Your house is key to happiness.

His love made her feel ugly.
Ugly becomes all she sees until..
Until the soul becomes depressed, weary.
Depressed from withholding love, suppressing love.

No touch. No kiss. Nothing. Loneliness.
Nothing but verbal sparring. False faces.
False words. I’m wrong. You’re wrong.
You don’t come to bed, anymore.

© 2017 LC

I experimented a little with this one. Tried to keep it to six words a sentence and recycled some of the words to the next sentence though not with the first and last sentence.

 

Posted in Poetry

Is He Calling You?

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Is He Calling You?
© LC  2017

The Lake of Fire is
overwhelmed with tormented
souls. Reclaim yours-
Salvation is near.
Ask and receive what is promised.
God loves his creation–
You he adores.
He has plans for you.
What were you meant to do
for his glory?
What is your calling?
Always– he is with you.
Wherever the wind blows you.
He wants to be your Protector.
To see you home safely with him.
Heaven. Our eternal home.
Reunited at once.
With those we lost.
Happy forevermore.