Tag Archives: Grace

A Passing Grace

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“Graceful” is today’s prompt word.

A Passing Grace

Where is the grace in our swift world?
Does it lie hidden, obscurely curled
In younger limb or nimbler spine,
in movement smooth and gesture fine?
As I pondered over this,
I started to feel hunger’s hiss,
so fed the dogs their morning meat,
then turned my mind to what I’d eat.

I piled my bowl with bran and berries
and when it came to choice of dairies?
Ice cream if I must be truthful.
(My eating habits, at least, are youthful.)
I headed for the dining room
and then—a crash and solid boom
as I went down with flail and swish,
having stepped in Frida’s dish.

I landed flat—leg, arm and head.
As for the bowl? The bowl is dead.
As it exploded in dust and shard,
berries, cream and bran hit hard
and efficiently dispersed themselves
o’er floor and cabinets and shelves
as I lay moaning on the floor
with swelling ankle and what’s more—

a skinned up arm and throbbing knee—
bemoaning what was wrong with me.
Where is the grace in our swift world?
Does it lie hidden, obscurely curled
In younger limb—or nimbler spine?
It’s clear it is not lodged in mine!
For whatever other talents I’ve got,
when it comes to “graceful,” I am not.

Here are the graceful creatures I had intended to write about:

 

 

Beholding Beauty (Day 27 of NaPoWriMo)

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The prompt was to think of a proverb or axiom, to Google it and write a poem inspired by
what you read about that phrase. I chose, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Beholding Beauty

You are more beautiful than you think you are,
but we don’t tell you because
it is such a pleasure to see you unaware of it,
doing everyday things in such graceful ways.

You are the Burmese cat, stepping high
over the small sculptures
on the wall where he is fed,
his tail curving into a delicate hook.

You are vibrating leaves on the hibiscus tree
adding the contrast of green
to the one exquisite yellow bloom
with its fuchsia sunset middle.

You are a child whose violet eyes
open wider to each wonder––innocent,
never knowing yourself to be more beautiful
than what you observe.

You are music, harmonious, played
on the spur-of-the-moment with no rehearsal,
fingerpaints on the wall in an incredibly wild pattern
that could not have been planned.

You are the gourmet meal
made of leftovers from the fridge,
the wonderful costume gathered
from hangers at the thrift store.

You have a beauty
you were not born to––
one that is an amalgam
of every choice you make in life.

Beauty is in the eye
of the beholder, many say,
but it is impossible to imagine
a beholder who couldn’t see it in you.