The Final Twilight ~ Micro Poetry
Kerry has challenged us to write a poem limit 25 lines...our frame of reference is 'The Final Twilight', quoted from Jorge Luis Borges ~ The Wolf.
THE BABY JESUS
There lived a maiden fair,
A maiden fair was she;
So full of grace in God's sight,
In God's sight stood she.
This grace filled maiden,
So named Mary she;
Was hailed by an angel
So named Gabriel, he.
A woman chosen,
A woman blessed;
Such was dubbed our Mary,
Hailed by the angel she.
The Son of God the Father,
That son was given she;
To bear in her maiden's womb,
That he a baby might be.
This news startled our Mary,
For no man knew she;
Yet, this grace filled maiden,
Replied so shall it be.
Then God spoke to Joseph,
A dream was given he;
Of the fair maiden Mary,
A father to that baby be.
I knew not that virgin woman,
The amazed Joseph he;
Pleaded to the heavens above,
For this so puzzled he.
He took then the maiden,
As betrothed then was he;
And on a little donkey,
Journeyed he with she.
To Judea from Galilee,
That little donkey he;
Took the two betrothed,
For such his task would be.
When to Ephrata-Bethlehem
Where all inns were filled;
There in a stable's hay,
There was made to lay;
The maiden's miraculous baby;
Jesus, Immanuel he.
Gillena Cox 2012
You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #87, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites
THEY WALK IN THE NIGHT
I
They strolled arm in arm, happily, unhurried,
Snow and winter.
They were made for each other, folks would
Always say.
Behind them, cabin trailed, of wood sturdy
For she was all that.
A being of forest and trees, made to withstand
Inevitable change.
II
She seemed sad though, in a season of wonderland,
What could it be that she lacked?
Surely not hearth, fire, nor ice, nor stocking
Awaiting Santa.
Poetry and Flash Fiction with Magaly:
Snow Birthed Tales
Using Jenny Leslie’s photo as inspiration, to craft a new poem or story, while keeping in mind the following guidelines:
If you choose Poetry- please write 13 lines or fewer
- use one (or all) of these words: snow, cabin, ice
WINGING IT
I
Many days, it's about the shape of leaves
For the flowers drop, rain-beaten,
And the moon, given to constrictions,
Might be somewhat swollen, still,
Yet not fully.
II
Then, there are those days,
Light as cotton candy, in cotton candy hues;
Soft pale pinks, blues and warm frothy whites,
Like milk;
Nourishment from the Gods.
III
The giant bird of steel and drones,
Lands on the runway,
You board, since your ticket is valid;
Your passport bears the stamp of traveller,
And reeks of reality.
