Esther Spurrill Jones's Blog, page 3

OctPoWriMo 12 - Life Was Wild

Innocent, free, and playful back then—

Sometimes I miss who I was

When I was a child and life was wild:

No bills, no job, no goals, and no cause.

In the forest outside of my home

I explored and made up tales,

And life was wild when I was a child

On five acres of bush with no trails.

I read every book I could access,

Feeding imagination,

When I was a child and life was wild,

And everything was inspiration.

 

OctPoWriMo 11 - I Have Nothing

How do I write about inspiration?

I am not inspired,

Not today.

I’m tired and drained and out of sorts—

I have nothing.

 

OctPoWriMo 10 - My Rainbow

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

I was born with a rainbow inside me but I didn’t know.

It lay dormant for years then it quietly began to glow.

I began to meet others with rainbows and they were so proud;

They faced up to hate and they stood for themselves—they were unbowed.

I yearned to be one of them, radiating colours so bright.

The rainbow inside me began to intensify her light;

Gradually, then suddenly, she appeared, to my delight,

And I stepped out the door and I finally could let it go,

And I learned and I sang for the first time my soul song aloud,

And I opened the wings of my rainbow and then I took flight.

 

OctPoWriMo 9 - It's All One

Like water and wet, my head and heart

Cannot be separated.

I think, therefore I feel, therefore I think

Therefore I feel.

It’s all one.

Get out of my head and into my heart?

I’m in both,

I’m always in both.

OctPoWriMo 8 - Open the Doors

Open up the doors and beat the drums,

Fling wide the gates and tear down every wall,

And let the music play for all to hear.

No one is refused for all means all.

The church was meant to be an open door

That all may come and find that boundless love,

But we have lost the plot along the way,

Forgotten love is love is love is love.

Oh God, please help us turn back toward You,

Repent of pride and selfishness and fear,

Repent of hating those we think are gross:

The poor, the foreigner, the sick, the queer.

Remind us that You stand along with them;

Upon the door You knock with steady hand,

So patient, though we’ve locked ourselves inside;

You wait for us, You ask, You don’t demand.

We’ve hoarded all the talents that You gave

And stashed our lights beneath a bushel box,

We push away the world You came to save,

We praise and pat ourselves upon the back.

Open wide the doors and breach the gates;

Go out into the world and love them all;

Return to You Who called us by Your Name;

Remember it was for the world You came.

 

OctPoWriMo 7 - The Archer

Image by Paul Barlow from Pixabay

I feel like I am bent so I might break;

I’m pulled so far in both directions, stretched;

The tension in my body and my soul

Creates a deep abiding inner ache.

With every pleasure and with each heartbreak,

I learn and grow and find more of myself,

And when I’m strained ‘til I can take no more,

I feel like I am bent so I might break.

The Archer draws the bow—Their hands don’t shake—

And aims me at my goal and I draw breath;

I see the target waiting there for me

And, flying true, the trophy I will take.

Now, all my sweat and strain will terminate,

And all that I’ve endured will be worthwhile,

For everything has brought me to this fate.

OctPoWriMo 6 - I Am a Writer

I dreamed of growing up to be

Something in creativity,

To write fiction and poetry,

To live carefree, to live carefree.

They said I wasn’t practical,

My dream was truly fanciful,

And it was even laughable,

And magical, just magical.

But I find magic all around:

In maples red and golden crowned,

In birds and streams, deep underground,

Nature astounds, Nature astounds.

It doesn’t matter what I do;

I am a writer, through and through.

My nine-to-five is not my truth. I always knew, I always knew.

OctPoWriMo 5 - This Is Me

I reach inside and find something I can use.

Sometimes it tries to hide and I must seduce

It out of the shadows and into the light:

Exposed and naked, and yet so strong and bright.

This is me; I am a rainbow and I dance

To the beat of my drum. So I take a chance

And I use the pieces of my heart as tools

As paint and brushes, as clay, and I make jewels.

My soul is the pen and the colour, the stain.

I sit at my desk and I open a vein,

I release my wings from out of their cage,

And I pour out my heart all over the page.

Through poetry and truth I learn how to fly;

I learn how to stretch my wings toward the sky.

They are beautiful and delicate and strong;

They lift me up and carry me on a song.

I was taught that flying was obscene and lewd

That flaunting my own freedom was quite rude,

But how can those still in prison ever know

They also can break away? So I will show

Them how. I leap into the sky and I soar.

Come follow me; you deserve to ask for more;

Cast off your chains and bonds, and cast off your fear;

Step out into the sunshine, so pure and clear.

I built myself of stories and poetry;

Words are puzzle pieces to compose the key.

I forged the melody, ignited the beat

Until each part came into place to complete

The portrait of who I am and who I’ll be.

Though sometimes it seems two pieces don’t agree,

It’s all a muddle, but it falls into sync

And I contain multitudes within a blink.

I am a lover and I am a fighter;

I am an artist and I am a writer;

I am a fool and I am educated; I am a work of art that I created.

OctPoWriMo 4 - The Garden

 

In the beginning was a garden fair,

So green and warm and everything was new,

With flowers, fruits, and grasses seeded there.

The sprouts came up and stretched toward the sky.

The leaves and shoots and buds will multiply.

The flowers opened up with charm and flair,

Red and orange and yellow, purple, blue,

The colours and aromas fill the air,

Attracting dragonflies and butterflies

To dance upon the breeze delighting eyes.

The heat grew hotter in the sunlight’s glare

And lovers met at dusk to rendezvous

Among the trees and flowers growing there.

The chickadees and orioles and jays

Offered songs of love and joyful praise.

Beneath the milky twilight, evening prayers

Received the silver moon above the yew

While fireflies were dancing on the air.

But now the leaves are changing, colours gay;

The fields are ready for the harvest day.

Before the frost is bitter in the air,

We harvest all the crops and fruits we grew,

And then we find ourselves an awesome scare.

There’s nothing else I know that can compare

To falling leaves and pumpkins, apples too,

And when the air is crisp and sharp, beware. Now join me in the garden if you dare.

OctPoWriMo 3 - Colours

 Image by garageband from Pixabay

Colours on the page

Blended, swirled, and daubed

Dancing ‘round each other

Touching, melding, blending

Creating something newMaking love