Golden Shovel?! What's THAT? (Napowrimo Day Five)

Napowrimo tells us Terrence Hayes invented a form of poetry called the golden shovel, in which the new poem's line endings are words from another poem.  I picked, from some short poems quoted, to base mine on nouns, verbs, adverbs, in
                                             First Fig

                                             My candle burns at both ends;
                                             It will not last the night;
                                             But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
                                             It gives a lovely light!

                                            -Edna St. Vincent Millay    

Wish me luck!

ends
               night
friends
               light
candle
foes
                                      burns
both
                                      will / not last
oh
lovely
                                     gives
my
_______________but___________

I take that back...

Lovely is this night, with its candle
burning bright.
Then I hurt my friend, away he goes.
Oh, we will last but one single life
one more night
at a time. Why waste it parting foes?
I'll go to my friend, let me make amends
ere ends the night, for
friendship outshines the brightest light.
                                  -- Shirley Smith Franklin

Lune-cy

Day Four, Napowrimo's challenge is us to write a lune, which Jack Collom, poet and ecologist, defines as a Haiku-like poem consisting of three lines, which, in turn, consist of three, five, and three words (not necessarily syllables).

Today persistent headache
usurps all of my attention,
blands all thought.
                             --S.F.

                                             (Yes, the spelling of 'blands' is intentional. Or maybe it should say    'blanks out.'  I like that just as well.  Writing is never 'done.'  There's always another way to say something...Which of these two word choices do you prefer?)
                                             

A Blessing as Charm

Day Three suggests writing a charm akin to a nursery rhyme and/or recipe.  I chose to share this blessing which I wrote at the request of a friend, to the tune of a familiar folk song/hymn:  Can you identify it?

A Blessing for Clara Adamson

on the Occasion of Her Baptism,

Christ Church, Bermuda

By Shirley Franklin 

Wake my child,

For life awaits you

with all its joys.

Peace be yours,

comfort in sadness,

or when life annoys.

Life’s a gift to give on giving;

Share your sunshine with the living.

Understand, that with  forgiving.

Hope springs anew.                  

In your heart

may Christ be welcome,

always at home.

Grow in love,

With friends and family

surrounding you.

Live to share another’s sorrow,

courage take, for each tomorrow

comes anew.  No trouble borrow.

Peace be with you.

Napowrimo day two suggests a poem based on a non-graeco-roman myth. Fascinated by my ancestral Kalevala, I am drawn to the story of  the Salmon Maiden who refuses and flees the 'honor' of an arranged marriage to the ancient bard of her people.  My writing that emerges is a  searching effort to understand her wisdom and action as she plunges into the ocean, becoming the mythic salmon, "a friend to all."  I cheer her escape, yet her suicide is so harsh.

My poem ends on the unfinished note of questioning...and soon disappears into the shuffle of tax and financial papers flooding my dining room table at this time of year, the disappearance as unnerving as the story itself..

Alas, the maiden and this particular poem shall remain inscrutable. Perhaps it will emerge again, amplified and explained, as many of my poetic beginnings do. (There being an even greater array of possibilities cast upon the desk, sorting drawers, window counters, and files of the study..) I shall try again tomorrow.

The first day of NaPoWriMo 2014.  I couldn't be more disappointed in the prompt.  Directed to a site featuring something called "Bibliomancy," I was further directed to consult an 'oracle' for a supposedly divinely (actually set up to select at random from a database selected by the site's author) inspired quotation on which to base a poem.  Call me prejudiced, but I think that whole area of divination is either bogus or dangerous, or both.  True, I could derive ideas and inspiration from any source, but I don't see why to resort to this game for selection of what is purported to be an effect of synchronicity anyway.

As it is, I find plenty of prompts and inspiration in the everything I read, everything I hear.   There's been an emphasis on listening, this Lent and one particular Bible verse has been 'following me around' for the last several days :  "He (i.e. God) heard my complaint."  So here we go...

Evening Prayer

"I complained unto my God...He heard my complaint."
Psalm 18:6, 7

Oh God!
'I'm sick and tired of your complaints,' he says,
'I don't want to hear any more of it.
Keep it to yourself.'
I am rebuffed for a moment, silent
for I hadn't intended to complain,
really. Or had I?
I was actually glad he had agreed
to hang around while I did the dishes
until I was done.
How nice to be able to say goodnight
when both our tasks were done for the night,
with time on my hands
now sweet with lotion and free to hold him,
to lean against his confident shoulder,
breathing in his breath
hearing the soft low rumble of his voice
from within as he whispers good night
and sleep well,
instead of complaining about something
(he often does) as I stand by the sink.
I say, ''I've been in the kitchen for hours
and begin to add, 'I appreciate---,'
but alas, he's "tired..."
Our communication goes down the drain
like dirty dishwater, uneaten food,
unfinished business.
Oh God, why is it so hard to be heard?
Who is listening?  Is he? Or am I?
I  trust that You do.
Amen.                  
                      -- Shirley Smith Franklin

                                                             
Several falls and a broken shoulder later (Let's not dwell on that today:  Suffice it to say I am consulting with Drs. on several levels), it's time for national poetry writing month again. You can look it up and/or have a shot at it yourself, at :napowrimo.net.   A challenge a day to write something in response to a prompt, and, links to a whole slew of blogs and sites by and for poets.  Committing to writing a new poem every day for a month is good activity to refresh mind, spirit, and writing skill: I am chomping at the bit.

P.S. Confession, or, Poet Heal Thyself

p..s  Sometimes I realize with a start that a poem I've written,and even forgotten about,
resurfaces with the ring of prophecy -- to myself.  Take a look at the poem, "Oh, I get noir sll right"
in my April 11 blog.  Now compare that poem's idea with my blogpost of June 18.  See what I mean?!

Unfortunately, a week after my last blog post, I tripped and 'cast' myself upon the front step, causing grievous pain, jarring damage to both knees, and breaking two ribs and two fingers.  It's only this week that I can say I'm as good, perhaps a bit better than in June. A major jolt to my attitude and mood.  Thankful for rest, pain relievers, prayers, personal and medical attention, friends and family, returning to routines, and a week long retreat have all conspired to restore a right spirit.  God is good, life is what it is, and I confess that I am usually the one who causes myself to stumble.

Age advances.  We know we will be slowing down.  Nothing like an unexpected catapult to propel us toward accepting and adapting to the progression.  May I ever be reminded, as in the words from one of Bach's cantata "My Heart Ever Faithful":    "Away with complaining, faith ever maintaining."

Indeed.  Talk about casting nets on the other side.