Anticipation

Anticipation, photo by Rebecca L. Daily from Flickr

Anticipation

Holding

Hands

Open

Need

Desire

Empty

Craving

Hungry

Anticipating

© February 19, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Noticed

Coffee Shop, photo by edenpictures from Flickr

Noticed

We locked eyes

Momentarily

As you scanned

The room

Full of people

Awaiting a moment

Lingering and expecting

Anticipating

The door jingled

And he walked through

Your expression said it all

As you passed by

Noticed

For the first time

© February 12, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Hope

Hope, photo by mrsdkrebs from Flickr

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” –Hebrews 11:1

Hope

Hope

She hangs on

Until tomorrow

Hope is assured

Of time borrowed

Hope

Is exacted in faith

That tomorrow

Will relinquish

Its sorrow

© February 11, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

“And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.”  –Hebrews 11:6 

Words of Gray

Cracked Earth Seamless Texture, 
photo by Patrick Hoesly from Flickr

Words of Gray

The words you uttered

Caused my heart to bleed

And you to leave

Echoes swarm the mind

Of words not spoken

Only what was assumed

As you walked away

And dispersed into gray

© February 8, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Sidestep

EVADE, photo by Big Ed Mustapha, from Flickr

Sidestep

If I’m shifty

Eyed

Would you

Let it slide

If I’d elude

Would it be

Misconstrued

If you’d reflect

And I’m

Circumspect

Don’t reject

If you’d persuade

And I’d evade

Would you’ve stayed

If things were eschew

Would you

Know what to do

If we circumvent

We’ll never know

What it meant

© January 21, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Buttons

Buttons, photo by sharonstoned1, Meike Schönhütte, Flickr

For a soundtrack to this poem, listen to Buttons by SIA here

Buttons

You push my buttons

And I push your buttons

These buttons

Look like labyrinths

In the way they swirl

And look—In pattern

These buttons

Have rings like Saturn

These buttons

Conceal and hook

These buttons reveal

All that we mistook

Did we miss a button

. . .or was it overlooked?

© February 2, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Poems Like Bread

Give Us This Day, photo by Mr. Kris, from Kris on Flickr

"It is written, man shall not live by bread alone, but by every Word that proceeds from the mouth of God" –Jesus, Matt. 4:4

Poems Like Bread

Poetry is like bread.

The Word sustains

We get life from what is said

Poetry is like bread.

Expressions we feast on

The Word we ponder in our head

Poetry is like bread.

The Word brings life

And resurrects the dead

Poetry is like Bread.

© February 5, 2013, RobbiePruitt

"It is written, man shall not live by bread alone, but by every Word that proceeds from the mouth of God" –Jesus, Matthew 4:4

“They are not just idle words for you--they are your life. By them you will live long in the land you are crossing the Jordan to possess." –Deuteronomy 32:47

Blue

Weird Blue Dot, photo by awshots, Richard from Flickr

Blue

Melancholy

Uttering regret

Despondency

In response to you

Enveloped by blue

© March 5, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

All is Yours

Give Up, photo by bk2204, brian carlson, from Flickr

All is Yours

Since all is yours

Who are we—we are nothing

Nothing to look at—nothing to see

Since all is yours

We give generously

Pour out abundantly

Since all is yours

We give nothing

From our own hand

Since all is yours

We are beholden to you and

Are at your command

© March 16, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

"But who am I, and who are my people, that we should be able to give as generously as this? Everything comes from you, and we have given you only what comes from your hand.”
–1 Chronicles 29:14

Our Coffees Have Become Famous

Photo by Mark Winterbourne | Photography from Flickr.com 

Our Coffees Have Become Famous

It’s not our friendship

Nor has coffee gone awry

It’s your paparazzi

They have gotten me shy

© March 4, 2013, RobbiePruitt

City of Exile by Glynn Young

Photography by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. 
Used with permission.

I am excited to guest post the poem City of Exile by my friend in poetry Glynn Young for National Poetry Month. Glynn is an excellent poet and writer and is the author of A Light Shining, Dancing Priest, and the blog Faith, Fiction, Friends. Glynn writes extensively about faith and culture, life and work and writes for The High Calling and Tweetspeak Poetry. It has been a great pleasure and joy reading Glynn’s work over the years and I am sure you will enjoy it too. Here is the poem City of Exile by Glynn Young.


City of Exile

A city of granite walls
and marbled streets, cold,
a city of exile, not inclined
to mercy or pity. I walk
the streets of the city
of exile, sent, preferring to be
in the belly of the whale.

Faces of strangers confront
the stranger’s face, my face,
and I listen, sent to listen
and to pray for this city
of exile, this place of aliens
for aliens. My footsteps echo
on hollow stones.

I walk the streets of this city
of exile, to seek my home
I this city thirsting for light,
the light I thirst for, seek
desire in this city exile where
few speak and none smile.
My singing attracts stares.


By Glynn Young
Faith, Fiction, Friends

Treasure in the Field

Field photo by Lel4nd, Leland Francisco, from Flickr

Treasure in the Field

A jewel laid long ago

In a secret place

Where few would go

Called out from concealment

Beckoning everyone to know

The treasure in this field

Would soon be revealed

Her value more precious

Than gold or life,

If anyone would pay the price,

Sell all that was owned

And buy that secret place.

Trespasses would be forgiven

And Glory would adorn each face.

© March 14, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Vintage

Cover Photo of 'Crying At The Low Bar,' 
courtesy of ‘The Sparklers,’ from their album 
‘Crying At The Low Bar,’ © July 2012

Vintage

You’re my retro lover

Floral patterned

Undercover 

Style—

I’m worth it

Stay a while

Under slanted roof

Look at me

I’m your proof

Retro—

Throw back

You want to go?

Flash—

For show

Nothing you want to know?

Vinyl record

And duffle bag

Be my feedback stag 

Let’s make life

A drag

© January 7, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Remise

Photo from Flickr by Storm Crypt

Remise

Looking where

We last saw it

Searching

For tenderness

Discovering

What we had dismissed

Searching

For compromise

Remise

© March 7, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Pine Barren

In The Pines, photo courtesy of Michael Bixler, 
© March 17, 2013

Pine Barren

Blood cries

From the ground

Desolate

My heart

Pines

Barren

Tall stalks

Tower

Long walks

Buried beneath

Overtures

Bleak

© January 7, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

My friend Michael Bixler is an excellent photographer, artist, writer, videographer and “adventurer” who took the photo above of the Pine Barrens, In The Pines. Like much of his work, this photo captivated me and inspired the poem Pine Barren. Bixler has provoked me to poetry with Motel back in October of 2012, Ghost Lake also in October of 2012, Late Autumn Epiphany last November, and Homage back in December of 2012, I am a huge fan of his work and am grateful he allows me to use his art as my muse. To see more of Michael Bixler’s work, click here, here, or here.

The Door

 

Photo of the purple door from Flickr by Patrick Feller

The Door

HE

RE

IA

M!

Standing

Knocking

                         Calling

         Anticipating

Will you dine with me?

Enter into eternity

Transcend beyond

This closed door–

What little you see

© February 4, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

“Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.”  –Revelation 3:20

Flower

Flower photo from Flickr by audreyjm529

Flower

Soft petals

Funnel

Along smooth

Rounded ridges

To center

Enter

Before the coming

Of winter

© February 5, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Too Old to Hula

Photo from Tweetspeak Poetry

Too Old to Hula

No poems of pink

Hula Hoops

Smiling faces

Turn to frown droops

Life drags

And the body sags

Joy stolen—an age grab

Color turns drab

From fun to “fab”

Too old to Hula

Inner child needs a Doula

© January 17, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

She

Three Beers, photo by Kuba Bożanowski, 
Creative Commons, via Flickr

She

She spoke as the wind blew

Her words more blurry

With every pint of brew

The night would soon see to

What becomes of us

After three brew

The palms rustled

At the breeze off the sea

And there walked the one of us

For there was no she

© October 1, 2012, Robbie Pruitt

This poem, She, was originally submitted to the October Beer and Wine poetry prompt on Tweetspeak Poetry here. While it as not chosen, it got a mention here as “stiff competition.” I was very honored just to have written alongside of my friend Glynn Young and all the other wonderful poets on Tweetspeak. Glynn’s poem Art Form, With Beer was the best overall. You can see Glynn’s poetry and his winning poem on his website Faith, Fiction, Friends here.

Pilgrims Transforming

Transformation, photo by Hoot Owl from Flickr

“Beloved, I urge you as aliens and strangers to abstain from fleshly lusts which wage war against the soul.” –1 Peter 2:11, ESV

Pilgrims Transforming

There is no compromise

Looking to Jesus with these eyes

No sport with the enemy

No competition to be seen

We are non-conformers

We are transformers

Pilgrims and strangers

In a strange land—Aliens

To anything but God’s command

Feeding on The Bread Life

Which came down from heaven

We live without strife

Every Word of God—our food

And we avoid the Viper’s Brood

We baptize into new life—

New covenant people—Born again

Unfettered from slavery to our sin

We are pilgrims transforming

Settling for nothing less than restoration

With compromise—there is no norming

It is the very gates of Hell we are storming

Until His Kingdom comes, until His will is done

And all come to know Jesus, God’s own Son

© April 4, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

What Love Does

Rose Man, photo by Peachy Weasel from Flickr

What Love Does

Her timid laugh

Only perpetuated

My insecurities.

Like a shy little puppy dog

I stood there, rose in hand,

Seeking forgiveness,

Because that’s what love does.

© April 4, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Write a Song About It

I stole this photo above from Ray over at Overland, 

I hope he doesn’t mind. . . 

In April of 2012 my wife and I took the Sr. Class of QCS on their Sr. Trip to an Island off the south coast of Haiti, Isle a’Vaches. It was a blast, other than possibly having contracted Malaria. On the trip there was a Kompa band that came and played for us one night. They were all drunk, but they got the job done. One of the elder men lead us in “dance” and he was out of control. I have dance in quotes there, because I had never seen anything like what I saw and haven’t seen anything like that sense. I wanted to write a song about it, but I’m not talented like that.

My friend Ray Bennett is talented musically see. He could have written a song about it, but I had to write this poem instead of a song. Everybody loves Raymond. I met Ray at Café Amouri in Vienna, VA at an Open Mic Night. Ray carries his own sign to Open Mic Night. I didn’t have a sign, so Ray let me borrow his sign. It was great. He’s such a nice guy. This poem goes out to Ray for National Poetry Month, and to that dancing Haitian guy. This poem is also a natural follow up to Poetry Songs about that Haitian dancing guy here.

Here’s to you and the guys over at Overland Ray!

Write a Song About It

Going to write a song about it

When the wine pours freely

And the tears come near me

Going to put words to the blues

Sing about all the bad news

Going to write a song about it

Stand on the rooftops and shout about it

If there is any cloud or shadow, I’ll tout it

Underscore the hope and be about it

© July 18, 2012, Robbie Pruitt  

Rehearsal by Rod Meadth

Nazarene Street, drawing courtesy of Rod Meadth

The following poem, Rehearsal, as well as the drawing above, Nazarene Street, is courtesy of Rod Meadth. Rod is the secondary principal at Quisqueya Christian School in Port-au-Prince, Haiti where I teach. Rod is a gifted administrator and teacher and is a talented musician and a diverse artist. He is also a great boss. Most importantly, Rod loves Jesus and his family and is committed to glorifying God in all that he does. It is with great pleasure that I post his poem here for National Poetry Month.

Rehearsal

Above are glories shining,

               Down below are shadowlands,

The skies are your designing,

               Concrete cracking, human hands.

The morning sings out praises,

               While our faces face the mud,

Pink and grey and gold still blazes,

               Thoughts of flesh and lives of blood.

The days are drawing nearer,

               When you open up the skies,

Holding mud and concrete dearer,

               Will we even lift our eyes?

Poem and prayer by Rod Meadth

Prayer: Lord, we consider beautiful sunrises to be a rehearsal for Your Great Return. What a beautiful sky awaits! What colors, all putting on their very best final performance for the King of Kings! We fear that only man, in all his distraction, will fail in his choreography, having missed out on daily practice. May it not be so. Amen.

Silver Lines

Photo of tunnel and tracks at Harper’s Ferry 
courtesy of Russ Billo

Silver Lines

Riding the silver lines

The rails screech

Surrender—Against

One-tracked minds

What was hoped for

Just out of our reach

The days are not kind

Jostling boxcars over trestle

You made up your mind

Water under the bridge

So we no longer wrestle

The rails beneath us twist

Venture and run parallel

Time will carry us

Through stations

And only time will tell

© February 18, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Motel

Apple Tree Motel, photo courtesy of Michael Bixler

Motel

Hum of night

Red glow Catskills

Flicker of light

Neon Mountain stills

Motel—taillights

The road hums

To the Apple Tree

The chill of night

Numbs—red fades to red

Distance on our side

Slide Mountain—slide

© October 29, 2012, Robbie Pruitt

My friend Michael Bixler is an excellent photographer, artist, writer, videographer and “adventurer” who took the photo above. Like much of his work, it captivated me and inspired the poem Motel. Bixler has provoked me to poetry with Ghost Lake back in October of 2012, with his photo Late Autumn Epiphany last November, and with Homage back in December of 2012, I am a huge fan of his work and am grateful he allows me to use his art as my muse. To see more of Michael Bixler’s work, click here, here, or here.

The Apple Tree Motel: http://appletreemotelcatskills.com/Home/Contact

The Apple Tree Motel sign during the day: https://plus.google.com/101311750252424984639/about?hl=en

Summer’s Air

Spier Willow Trees, by Ula Gillion from Flickr here

Summer’s Air

Her skin was radiant

As the noon sun

Illuminated softly

Through the shade

Of the willow tree

The smell of fried chicken

Arose from the picnic basket

We reclined on the plaid blanket

Questioning silently if this was love

If the summer’s air would hold redemption

The smell of watermelon wafted in the breeze

As the willow cradled and sheltered us in its leaves

Before it occurred to me there was no melon

Her glossy rosy-red lips touched mine in fruitful passion

Watermelon never tasted so good in summer’s air

© April 3, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Sandburg’s Faith

Photo of Carl Sandburg with Guitar from www.nps.org

“For we live by faith, not by sight.” –2 Corinthians 5:7, Paul

Sandburg’s Faith

“And in the Churches

We walk by faith

And not by sight,”

Said Sandburg.

Understanding

The ‘bunkshooter,’

The blind looter

Of Freedom’s call

To walk while seeing,

Or not to walk at all.

“This Jesus was good to look at,”

Sandburg said. He saw Him too.

His faith had substance and hoped—

In what is seen, and in what is real;

Faith that comes through;

Faith that rewards at the reveal.

© April 3, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” –Hebrews 11:1

“But without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.” –Hebrews 11:6

“The People, Yes,” by Carl Sandburg, Poem Animation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPzdgdhzTTY

To a Contemporary Bunkshooter, by Carl Sandburg: http://carl-sandburg.com/to_a_contemporary_bunkshooter.htm

Talking to Myself

Cup and String Phone, photo from danblank.com

Talking to Myself

Paper cups

Strung together

With cord 

Pulled tightly

At arms length

I’m muttering

Into oblivion

Unintelligible words

“I’m bored!”

© April 1, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

This poem was created as part of the Every Day Poems poetry prompts from Every Day Poems on Facebook here. Below is the prompt:

“Slaying dragons prompt: write a poem in the comments about your childhood imagination play.

Go even further with words, and find the best in poetry and poetic things at http://tweetspeakpoetry.com/”

'If' by Rudyard Kipling

Photo of Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936) 

from the Poetry Foundation here

Movember's Muse - 'If' by Rudyard Kipling, 

video from YouTube here

If—BY RUDYARD KIPLING from The Poetry Foundation

If—BY RUDYARD KIPLING

(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Source: A Choice of Kipling's Verse (1943)

Musing on the Origins Poetry

"Poet and Pholosopher" (1958) - Nikos Engonopoulos, Photo by Tilemahos_E's, From Creative Commons, © February 21, 2009

Musing on the Origins Poetry

“Ordering a man to write a poem is like commanding a pregnant woman to give birth to a red-haired child.”  ― Carl Sandburg

April is National Poetry Month and I am excited to participate all month long by posting a different poem each day on Facebook and Twitter, and by posting a new poem weekly on my poetry blog, Poetry by Robbie Pruitt, at www.robbiepruitt.com.

National Poetry Month has me thinking about how I write poetry and how I see poetry.  Where does a poem come from?  How are poems inspired?  As I have been thinking about this, it is interesting what answers begin to emerge. In this post, I will explore the variety of motivations and inspirations that yield the poetry that I write. 

One of my favorite poets is Carl Sandburg. I was inspired to write poetry very early on through reading Carl Sandburg’s poems. I also identify with much of what Sandburg said about writing poetry and can identify with a lot of what he said about poetry and his inspiration to write poems. I will begin each musing on the origins of a poem with a quote or idea from Carl Sandburg or another poet or artist and will then share my own thoughts, reflections, delights, adventures, struggles, or meditations about poetry.

An Idea of a Poem

“Nothing happens unless first a dream.”   ― Carl Sandburg, The Complete Poems

Before I set out to write a poem, there is usually an inspired emotion or thought. Sometimes I look at landscapes in nature, a photo, a person, a scripture, a song, an idea, or a thought and a poem begins to come to mind. Other times it is a conversation or a mood or emotion that sparks inspiration for a poem. 

A Structure of a Poem

 “I'm an idealist. I don't know where I'm going but I'm on the way.”  ― Carl Sandburg

This idea that “I don't know where I'm going but I'm on the way” begins to sum up the feelings and the thoughts that I have as I begin to write a poem. As I begin to write the poem, I am not too sure where I am going with it. Rarely do I have the whole poem in mind when I begin to write. 

The Title of a Poem

“Now I am here - now read me - give me a name.” ― Carl Sandburg

Sometimes I begin writing a poem with a line or a title and just begin. Sometimes I write the end first and then the beginning and then the title. Other times, I write the poem from beginning to end and then add the title at last. It is as if I am following the poem’s lead.

The Content of a Poem

“Sometime they’ll give a war and nobody will come.”  ― Carl Sandburg

Poems often do not have the effect that I wish they had on me, or on others. They are written, they “give war,” but no one comes to meet their challenge, sometimes not even me. 

The Poems That I Do Not Understand

“I've written some poetry I don't understand myself” ― Carl Sandburg

Like Sandburg, I have often had this experience. I have written poetry that I do not understand.  It came from somewhere, but where, I do not know. Sometimes I understand the poem completely and other times I have no idea what I have written, what it means, or why I wrote it.

The Poetry of the Everyday

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.” –Robert Frost

Life happens and so do the poems that follow. Like Robert Frost asserted, a poem can have its origins in everyday emotions feelings, injustices, and loneliness, as well as the poetic muse of love. This is often the case with poems I write. Life happens and then poetry. To say it another way, life is poetic and I write it down.

The Poetry of Discovery

“Writing a poem is discovering.” –Robert Frost

Certainly there is discovery in poetry. The composer of the poem is lead into discovery as well as the reader. I discover a lot about myself and about my subjects when I write poetry.

Here are some other poetic musings that I’m contemplating this month:

Poetry on Accident

“A lot happens by accident in poetry.” –Howard Nemerov

Poetry is Essence

“Write what should not be forgotten.” –Isabel Allende

The Poetry of Naming

A poets work is to name the unnamable.” –Salman Rushdie

Poetry: The Dancing Echo

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” –Carl Sandburg

The Adventure of Poetry

“Writing is an adventure.” –Winston Churchill

The Poetry in Listening

“The poet doesn’t invent. He listens.”  –Jean Cocteau 


Watch a video on 'What is Poetry?' here on YouTube.