The Prayer

If prayer was a contest based
on choice of words,
the poet would always win;
but the best prayer
is in heart-words,
Simple, sometimes unspoken,
Heart-words,
Assuming the shape of emotion.
Fears, wants, secret dreams,
desires left unsaid,
Finding a home
With the gentlest of heart-holders,
The eternal listener,
Who answers with hope,
Enters the despair,
Sweeping the soul-home clean,
Bringing sweetness to the air,
Answer to the formless prayer.

© Rhonda J. Foster, 2004

Rhonda J. Foster has been writing since she was a child, although life has created numerous diversions along the way. After practicing law for over ten years, she began to write "seriously" and has had articles published. She believes in a lifetime childhood, and finds it difficult to be serious too much of the time.

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Why Not Write It? by G. Lumbroso

When I woke up this morning
the sun didn’t greet me,
and I was feeling too tired
to emerge with much glee.

It was “one of those days”
I could already feel it,
If only pushing “reset”
had been an optional secret.

Then I remembered
that I was a writer
and with paper and pen
I could make things righter.

The morning, I could restart
on a brighter note
The sun could shine
And I could quote

From my heart’s contents
bringing things to the front
that were harbored within
and would surface for want

Of being heard, and uttered
to move and become
my thoughts unfettered,
inspiration for some.

Yes, that was it, that’s
what I could do;
rewrite the script,
and paint a new view.

I love the way words
clothe the imagination’s mullings,
how they conjure up shapes
and give ideas wings.

Why they give us power
to rework our worlds;
no need to just stand there
as if caught in a wind's swirl.

No, writing can make
getting up joyful,
can add sunshine, rain, wind
snow, by the handful...

Write, that is it,
with my pen and words,
I can create anything,
I am now undeterred.

These lines I then dedicate
to all you who read them,
Unleash your muse now
give your ideas freedom!

As I stand here and bow,
before you my public,
let’s give a hand to words,
for they truly hold great magic!

(c) 2005
Gena Hall Lumbroso, lives and works in France, out of an old
renovated French country home where she and her French husband
have set up a translating/writing business. While words are her
tools of the trade, they are also her friends, her brush and
paint. She jumps at every opportunity to use them, to experience
and share their power with others.

http://www.queenpower.com/

Sing Me to Sleep

from the chemo journals of Queen Ova

Last night when I went to bed, Pain was my bedfellow. I took a pill to ease his hold on me and waited for Morpheus’ arrival. I flicked on the television and switched between mindless programs waiting for his call. For two hours I waited. Pain left me, but I was wide awake. More than simply awake. I was as wired as B. B. King’s guitar in full concert.

I took an anti-anxiety pill and flicked off the television and waited again for Morpheus to beckon me. I closed my eyes and prayed and waited. I didn’t count sheep. I listened instead to night close around me. The fan whirred softly at my bedside. Outside, below and beyond my window, tree frogs croaked out a chorus crying for rain. Had it rained, they would have raised their voices in praise of the fresh, sweet liquid.

Cicadas rubbed their legs together and made their joyful noises to their mates. Funny how things so small—frogs smaller than your fist, cicadas no larger than your thumb—can make so much racket. They blast through the night like a foghorn on steroids. They sing because they’re alive another day. They sing because it’s their life. A life of song. A song that tells me that, right here, right now, "God’s in his heaven. All’s right with the world.”

Wednesday, May 26, 2004
© Diane Stewart all rights reserved

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