Oyster Knife

The oyster knife fit perfectly in her hand, its old wooden handle smooth and darkened with a century of use; how it pried open the barnacled shell (shell after shell) until there was a pile resting at her feet and the soft flesh of the oysters filled a bowl, their delicate lace edges curling outward away from the green sack of their being. She slipped one into her mouth— oysters on the half shell always her favorite. Always a top shell and a bottom shell. Never a pearl. Someday, she said to herself— someday she will find a pearl, but until then she promised herself, she would keep on eating oysters.

When the blade goes dull, I will think of Zora Neale Hurston who wrote

“No, I do not weep at the world — I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.”

Sharpen your knife.

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dVerse prompt to write prosey using the words of Zora Neale Hurston from 1928 in World Tomorrow —How It Feels to be Colored Me.

Also using Ursula K. Le Guin’s Steering the Craft Exercise 3, using long and short sentences.

Real old oyster knife pictured found at a thrift shop San Juan Island.

Oyster Knife

Purple Splendor

Rhododendron

blooming

purple in its splendor

risk taken

after a flower

the fade

no longer the showcase

of the garden

fertilize

mulch the ground

prepare it for

another bloom

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dVerse prompt on risk and remodel— garden is beautiful and then it isn’t

Purple Splendor

Coming In

My daughter loved the book of poetry Where the Sidewalk Ends. She took it to bed. Nestled in those pages was the line “If you are a dreamer, come in.” by Shel Silverstein.

I remember the dreams I had for me and I remember the dreams I had for you. Not just ordinary ones like getting a good grade in school or going to a fine university, living in a two story house or taking a trip to Greenland. Not the dream to be a poet or magician or architect. My dreams concerned paradigms, broader in scope than world peacekeeping or disarmament. I dreamt contentment for us all, lack of greed and pride, love of the human race, coming in together.

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dVerse prosey prompt on Shel Silverstein quote from his poem Invitation.

Coming In

Return

Will men understand the mysterious language of those tears?                                                              Pope Pius XII October 17, 1954

  
I went there

Basilica Santuario Madonna Delle Lacrime 

Siracusa, Sicily

Weeping Madonna

housed in the architecture of a tear

I took a photo there

ignorant of its meaning

until now

when asked to fill a space with poetry

and now

I want to know the meaning of those tears

Does she weep for His suffering

or for the plight of a humanity

trying to return to God?

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NaPoWriMo Day 4 prompt.  I took my own photo of the Basilica Santuario Madonna Delle Lacrime in October 2019, not knowing that it was home of the weeping Madonna.  

Return

Hope in the Desert

I was slipping on a mossy hillside

green against my skin

ready to slide

I am lying in a forest of ferns

green against my skin

beautiful bed

I saw a rainbow in the East

green against my skin

hope in the desert

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NaPoWriMo Day #1 prompt— a self-portrait poem in metaphor— how nature and God provide

Hope in the Desert

Jesus & the People

Jesus no longer walked among the people

Hé & His disciples went to Ephraim

a city near the wilderness

it was 6 days before the Passover

& people were wondering

would Jesus come to Jerusalem

His following was building

He had raised Lazarus

from the dead

& the priests & Pharisees

wanted to kill Lazarus as well as Jesus

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I’m in the middle of a 40 day series on Jesus going from Caesarea Philippi to His ascension.

Jesus & the People

Meanwhile in Jerusalem

Two miles away in Jerusalem

the priests & Pharisees

heard about Lazarus

& wanted council

for surely this man

does many signs

& the people

were believing he is the one

& Rome will take away our authority

& our nation

Caiphais the high priest said—

it is better that one man die

than a whole nation & so it was

prophecy that Jesus would die

& they plotted to kill him

Meanwhile in Jerusalem