Faith of a Child

My New Poetic Challenge I host - please join in!  Artistic Interpretations

Faith of a Child

Sanctuary is the smell of lilies, incense
lifting me bodily into ornate ivory,
intricate Stations of the Cross -
a guilty pleasure as a child,
(and sometimes, I admit, to this day)
diversion from homily, from prayer -

Myself in each scene: sitting beside Mary, my hand
touching Jesus' linens, John's compassion evident
in his tears, thankful for carved alabaster (no blood-red).

Perhaps I'm wrong.  Perhaps it was an intimacy,
a vision, a message to ponder,
a conversation between God and me -
a seed nourishing the narrow path,
providing safe harbor when life strikes,
threatens to rock the boat, rip my sails -

Pray my vision's a bit cunning; no need to see Jesus
walk on water.  Trust in the power of the parables
and lilies placed in a vase, reminding me

of childlike wonder residing in my breast.

by Margaret Bednar, April 8, 2020

I invite you to listen to me read my poem:  



This is linked with my NEW CHALLENGE I HOST:  "Artistic Interpretations #3 Moonlight Sailing"  All are welcome.

Also linked with "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #14 - Let's use Pathetic Fallacy, shall we?"  I used it really just in the first stanza... I think.  Hope this qualifies to link to the challenge.

Also linked with Sky Lover Poetry's word list  #skyloverwordlist (Instagram) for the month of April.  I used about 12 words. 

The Beckoning

123rf

A July moon softly glows through my window-screen, barricaded, unlike the night's breeze that cools my skin from the day's humidity and shapes the draperies into ghost-like apparitions.  Beyond the sill, Willow beckons me with her long, pliant branches and dangling, whispering leaves tinkling like gentle wind chimes.  I tiptoe down hallway, past my parent's room.   Find me beneath Milky Way, Dippers, and North Star, face upturned.  Feel a bit dizzy with the immensity of it all.  I run, steal myself beneath Willow's feathery strands, the tickling about my shoulders and neck a sensation comforting me as I listen to the cicadas and toads (both of which I am afraid) hopefully chirping far off in bush and field and not here beneath umbrella'd security.  Silhouetted, an owl hoots from my old tree fort, its large stout limb juts out into the field and I imagine the owl feels as adventurous as I do midday imagining I'm a cowboy or Indian; whichever takes my fancy.  I wonder, does the owl ever dream of being something other than he is?  I tiptoe towards split rail fence for a better view, climb up and lean over just as a flash of shadow and whir of wings sends my heart a-flutter; sends me scampering back inside.  Screen door slams, my backside hits pillow and mattress as Mother calls my name and Father gets out of bed as the July moon softly glows through my window-screen.

Moonlit shadows glide
Caution is thrown to the wind
Young rabbits tempt fate

by Margaret Bednar, March 30, 2020

This is linked with "dVerse Poets, Haibun Monday - Snapshots of our Lives"

Take an old autobiographical poem and rework it into a haibun.  HERE is the one I used.