carpe diem

this is written for the prompt carpe diem, first day of the April poem-a-day challenge on a new poetry site i found recently.  fingers crossed that i can make it through the month of assignments!  i haven't done very well at keeping up in the last couple of challenges, but, well, this poem addresses the issue in a way!

Carpe Diem

I Thessalonians 5:21 Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.

I love the idea of working outdoors

more than the actual sweat and strain.

Still, a spring day beautiful as this
can lure even a reluctant gardener
to jab fingers into moist earth,
to imagine for a few hours I could
root out the weeds; could make this
tiny remnant of Eden bloom.

Grubbing through shoots

I try to remember, or divine,
which are interlopers,
which desired species.
Easiest is to clear them all,
start from scratch – every year
an amateur's new beginning.
What I grow best is hope.

Becky Haigler

April 2012

continuing in hope

I was in an AlAnon meeting last week where the speaker shared on the second step of the famous twelve, about believing that God could help in a situation where we are powerless. I appreciate the way the twelve step literature often reminds us that God is with us, not distant or unavailable. My “Higher Power” is the God of the Bible — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — and one of the names for Jesus is “Emmanuel,” meaning “God with us.”

In response to the speaker, another member mentioned an acronym that may be quite common in step groups but was new to me. She said HOPE is “Hurdling Over Painful Experience.” That didn’t resonate with me. I’d love to “hurdle over” some of my recent experiences but it seems I’m having to walk through them in slow motion — two steps forward and one step back, or the reverse! So I needed another phrase.

I decided that HOPE is “Holding On to Precious Emmanuel.” Even through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I don’t have to be afraid, for He is with me. That’s my source of hope, and Jesus is the One who keeps me sane!

Here’s an old poem on the subject.

Esperance

(from the French: hope)

mourning dove’s nest

a blot in the wind-whipped branches

of a leafless mulberry in March

steadfast through three days of cold rain

back to the east wind ruffling her feathers

she holds on for her life

and the life of her little ones

holding on without assurance

of the storm’s end

holding on

holding on without knowing

whether she can keep them

warm enough to break out

fed enough to fly

holding on because the alternative

is shattered eggshells

Becky Haigler

(This poem first appeared in Capper’s, March 2001.)

snow?!

I bought my first snow shovel yesterday. Getting ready for my first full winter in St. Louis, I realized we’ll need a snow shovel. Weatherpersons predicted “snow showers” yesterday and again today but so far nothing.

So, am I HOPING for snow? Not really. My granddaughters in West Texas have been hoping for enough snow to get a snow day so they can stay home from school to make Christmas cookies. Where they are, where I lived for over 25 years of my adult life, snow is not unusual but it rarely stays on the ground more than a day. Icy roads are more frequent, and more treacherous. I remember only a handful of times my husband had to shovel off a walk or driveway (with a garden spade) — and only one season, when he was stationed in Greenland, that I had to do any shoveling myself.

But serious snow is very likely here in our new home. For the first time in many, many years I live in a house with steps at both front and back entrances — MANY steps up to the front door and six steps off the back porch, down to the walkway leading to the detached garage. We love this old house that has been beautifully rehabbed, but we’re getting older and not looking forward to a hard winter in this late autumn of life. I’ve read that even the postman is not required to get up the steps to a mailbox here if the porch has not been cleared of snow and ice. Whatever happened to “nothing shall stay this carrier…?”

So, I bought a snow shovel, like one carries an umbrella, HOPING not to need it!

best ever

Best part of the Thanksgiving meal is pie!  This year, my sister-in-law's sister made the pecan.  I made the pumpkin and Mother made key lime.  Pumpkin is the only pie I make that I like better than my mother's.  (I use sweetened condensed milk instead of evaporated, and heavy spices.) All my mother's cooking is amazing, but her pies are incredible.  She has recently changed the recipe she uses for crust but I prefer the old one she got from her seventh-grade homemaking textbook. The prompt for November 20 was "best ever."  No problem writing about Mother's cooking for that!

Secret Ingredients

Mother's pies

are unduplicateable...
not the recipes –
we have those.
In every perfect bite
we taste the love
she has given us
and helped us give
to each other.

bh
nov 2011

Whatever

nov 21 whenever  was the prompt, but i looked at it once and then ruminated on 'whatever,' so that's what i wrote instead.  not sure it's worth keeping, but if i do, it needs a title.

"Whatever you do,

don't give away the ending,"

we say of books, movies,

the punchline of a joke.

The prize, the crown,

the finish line -- all come

at the end of effort.

Whatever you do

don't let go of hope,

the soul's anchor.

bh

nov 2011

too late

November 18 prompt was 'too late.'  this little poem may not seem too hopeful at first glance. i think it may qualify if we take it as encouragment to be honest in our relationships.

too late

don't tell me
not to worry
i have already seen
your eyes

bh
nov 2011

deadly

the prompt for November 14 was 'deadly/dangerous.'  i didn't have any good ideas until Carrie suggested writing about brown recluse spiders!  unfortuntely, i have direct experience with the same.  i was bitten on my inner thigh by one in 1999, while living in Lubbock.  we saw a few in Shreveport but they didn't seem to be a huge problem, although the piney woods region is prime recluse territory. after moving into this house in March, i began to find a few and first thought they had tagged along in packing boxes from Louisiana.  the exterminator, and later friends, assured me St. Louis is also a favorite habitat.  so, my 'deadly' poem follows. 

Deadly

hiding in dark corners

not large but venomous

having distinctive markings

yet difficult to identify

biding silently until bestirred

then attacking, often unseen

leaving a festering wound

how very like the brown recluse

is resentment

bh

nov 2011

you may wonder how this fits on a blog about 'hope.'  to my way of thinking, recognizing and dealing with our faults is a hopeful thing.  if i'm to move forward in life, in hope, i can't be stuck in unforgiveness.  shine a light on it!