Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Joy


Creek waking, photo by SteveD91, from Flickr, Creative Commons

This National Poetry Month I will be posting a sequence of poems, written last year and this year, for others in a series called Giving Poetry. In this series, people request a poem using a title, specific words, concepts, or ideas. After writing the poem, I send it to them, posting it on Facebook and on my blog. This is Giving Poetry.

Joy, river, living, treasure, time, sweet, wisdom.

Joy: for Paige

The River flowed Life,
a living treasure,
gushing through time,
whispering sweet wisdom,
flooding joy—sublime.


© February 5, 2015, Robbie Pruitt

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Hope


Hope, photo by Gedalya, AKA David Gott, from Flickr, Creative Commons

This National Poetry Month I will be posting a sequence of poems, written last year and this year, for others in a series called Giving Poetry. In this series, people request a poem using a title, specific words, concepts, or ideas. After writing the poem, I send it to them, posting it on Facebook and on my blog. This is Giving Poetry.

A wing, a prayer, and hope.

Hope: for Linda

Hope sprouts wings,
she flies and she sings,
a prayer for tomorrow
the removal of all sorrow.

“Hope springs eternal,”
so the saying goes.
It’s because hope knows.


© February 5, 2015, Robbie Pruitt

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Burial at Sea

“Why Are Waves Cool?”, photo by kevin dooley, from Flickr

Burial at Sea

The last time we set sail
The waves crashed as walls
As deep breaths prevail
The rising of the chest
Rising and falls
Crashes at the crest
At the power of it all
Memories, flooded eyes
Blurry visions we cannot see
The coming burial at sea


© August 29, 2014, Robbie Pruitt


Monday, December 1, 2014

Been Fishing for Me

 Photo by William Doran. Creative Commons license via Flickr.

Been Fishing for Me

The old man and the sea
Fished into eternity

I’ve been fishing for me
Casting constantly
Waiting endlessly
For a great catch from this sea

Hemingway never made it
To the end of the catch you see
He was caught by death and despair
When his line tugged under
He pulled and fought
Until his fingers bled
He was pulled asunder
Distraught until he was dead

The old man caught the sea
And I wonder, “What will become of me?”


© August 8, 2014, Robbie Pruitt

This post was written for the Tweetspeak Poetry prompt using “fishing” as a metaphor for life. You can click here to read more or to submit your own.

The Old Man and The Sea animated movie: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5ih1IRIRxI

Monday, April 21, 2014

Unfold

 The Grave Was Empty, photo by Steve Snodgrass, from Flickr

“Unfold my life to a new beginning.” –Ted Loder

Unfold

Unfold my life
From the tomb
Fill my empty room


© March 30, 2013, Robbie Pruitt



Sunday, April 20, 2014

Life, A Poem By My Father

 (Bill Pruitt) William Pruitt Jr.'s high school Sr. Picture

“Who knows nothing base, fears nothing known.” — Owen Meredith

My father died April 20, 1998. He suffered most of his life with health issues surrounding a heart condition, which fought him at every turn. My dad was one of the most loving and personable men I have ever known. He left a legacy of perseverance in suffering and selfless love for his family and friends. He was, as his grave marker reads, “A loving father of three grateful children.”

My dad loved life and he loved his family, and while I did not know him well, I treasure what I do know about him and what he has taught me. After his death, the following poem, “Life,” was found in his personal belongings. I was made aware of this poem well after my love of poetry had developed and well after I had started writing poetry myself. I cannot help but believe I have received this love of poetry, and the ability to craft poetry, from my father.

Another treasure that I found in my dad’s Sr. yearbook was a quote by Owen Meredith beside his picture. This quote simply states, “Who knows nothing base, fears nothing known.” My dad’s courage, zeal for life and rejection of fear in the face of his own illness and hardships inspire me in the face of my own fears, insecurities and uncertainties. I treasure these gifts that my father has given me, even after his death. Discovering these treasures has been a continuation of knowing my father and growing in my relationship with him until I see him again in paradise.

Life

He was hit!
He suffered
He wept inside
He died.
He never gave up.
Although he cried
He is man.


“Courage is afforded at a high cost but the reward is great.”


© William Pruitt

 William Pruitt Jr.'s (Bill's) college graduation photo

"Sir William Pruitt Jr.", photo by Uncle Charles H Burroughs Jr.

Dad on the front porch at 1216 Shirley Street in Columbia, SC

Me and Dad at my High School Graduation in 1995

William Pruitt Jr.'s Obituary from April 1998

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Pour

Pouring Liquid Gold, photo by The Puzzler

Pour

Soaked in
Love
Filled within
Then poured
Out again


© January 4, 2012, Robbie Pruitt


“But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.” –Titus 3:4-7


This poem, Pour, was submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets on Tuesday, August 20, 2013. To see more poems submitted to Open Link Night, please visit the site here. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time on Tuesday. Check “Mr. Linky” for this week’s poems.

Friday, March 29, 2013

Born From Death’s Scorn

Seed, photo by the yes man, from Flickr

“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” –John 12:24

"What shape waits in the seed of you?" –David Whyte

Born From Death’s Scorn

What longs to be born from the seed?
What shape waits in the seed of you?
What will emerge from the soil?
What will break through?
“Unless a seed falls to the ground and dies . . .”
We will never see resurrection with these eyes.


© March 28, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Softly Signaling Life

“I Am Alive!” photo by Robbie Pruitt, © March 18, 2013

Softly Signaling Life

The little one bumps
In Morse code
Throughout the night
My hand rests gently
Listening intently to her
Trying to decipher babblings
From within the womb
Softly—through her mother’s skin
Until we both fade to sleep again


© March 18, 2013, Robbie Pruitt


This poem, Softly Signaling Life, was submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets on Tuesday, March 19, 2013. To see more poems submitted, please visit the site. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time on Tuesday. Check “Mr. Linky” for this week’s poems here.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Hierophany

Courtesy of Joseph Bataille, © 2013
A Haitian Perspective Blog: http://jgbataille.wordpress.com

“The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.” –John 1:5

Hierophany

Facing into a new night
Darkness
Did not comprehend
The Light
Facing into a new Light

Facing into a new Light
Light
Did not comprehend
The Darkness
Facing into a new night


© March 1, 2013, Robbie Pruitt


This poem was submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets on Tuesday, March 12, 2013. To see more poems submitted, please visit the site. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time on Tuesday. Check “Mr. Linky” for this week’s poems.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Death Becomes Her: Death A Corps de ballet

Ballerina in a Death's Head, by Salvador Dali (1939), 
Photo from WikiPaintings

For a glossary of ballet terms, your “secret decoder ring” for this poem, see Wikipedia here.

Death Becomes Her:
Death A Corps de ballet


Death becomes her
Dance—and death
Becomes a blur

Death danced the ballerina
Pirouette
Before death beset

Allegro—Death
Shows its cards
Through bone shards

Avant
The dance
Confronts

Battlement
Dance death back
From where it was sent

Changement
Dance into another
Life—Into arms of Lover

Deboulé
Death left speechless
With nothing more to say

Entrée—Resurrect
Fouetté
Before death suspects

Hortensia
Shatter death’s teeth
Life just within reach

Jeté—The peril
Death of all classes
And Jeté life to the masses

Life ouverte—Reveal
No more death to steal
Life! And death—surreal

Nine lives—Pas de chat
Death confused
Life is where we’re at

From death’s dark
Shadows—Passé
Live for another day

Port de bras
Piqué the Devils eyes
Beginning his demise

The last Quatrième
Death unraveled
At the seam

Renversé—the curse
Dance—and death
Turns in Reverse

Soubresaut—lift from death
To life—Sauté—Frappé
The end of death’s day

Temps levé
Tombé—Death falls
Waltz—The dance calls

Tours en l'air—Salvation occur!
Dance—and death
Becomes a blur

Coda
From death to life
Bestowed


© November 20, 2012, Robbie Pruitt


This poem, Death A Corps de ballet: Death Becomes Her, was submitted for the November Surrealism Poetry Prompt on TweetSpeak Poetry, offered this Monday by Seth Haines here.

For this surrealism poetry prompt, “Building on the tradition of Dali’s “The Faces of War,” can you re-imagine the coming world,” I decided to look at “Ballerina in a Death's Head,” by Salvador Dali (1939), and the war between death and life.

In imagining the world to come, it is clear that death has to be overcome before redemption and restoration. The war against death here is a dance where beauty begins to emerge from the “shadow of death” itself. While death seeks to become us, or overcome us, it can be transcended in resurrection in the beautiful dance with the author of life, The Author of Resurrection.

This poem was also submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems submitted, please visit the site. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.