Poems
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New Years Trio
New Years Trio: 3 Haiku i Bubbling black-eyed peas Skillet cradles jade cabbage A year’s meals begin. ii Cardinals perching Red lanterns hung from branches Warm flames in iced air. iii New pages on nail Unmarked calendar on wall Waits for life to write. ~ copyright 2024 by S.K. Orr
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A Short Testament
Often, prayer is beyond me, and this is due to many things. Poetry can so often herald the inner storm that might burst into prayer, but sometimes does not. This poem by Anne Porter is one of those lightning-rod works. I hope you feel its power and its pathos. ~ S.K. Orr A Short Testament by Anne Porter Whatever harm I may have done In all my life in all your wide creation creation If I cannot repair it I beg you to repair it, And then there are all the wounded The poor the deaf the lonely and the old Whom I have roughly dismissed As if I…
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Melancholy’s Voice: A Familiar Timbre
Today, a poem each from two of my favorites, Elizabeth Jennings and Edward Dixon Garner. Since my first encounter with each of these poets, their words have arisen from the page like incense, like the breath of two wistful friends speaking in my ear. On days like today, I seek them out, and they are faithful to me. ~ S.K. Orr Answers I kept my answers small and kept them near; Big questions bruised my mind but still I let Small answers be a bulwark to my fear. The huge abstractions I kept from the light; Small things I handled and caressed and loved. I let the stars assume the…
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The Day Off
The Day Off I took the day off and the road took me Between the hedgerows and the fields The clouds were swollen and they looked to be Forming up and set to peal. The cattle nodded as they chewed their hay The sun was hidden, yet it shone; I knew the coming rain would soon obscure The moon, that hook of bone. The squirrels scattered through the leaves They threw their dice and won And all the old prayers then were ceased As on the road walked one Who breathed my syllables and shook my head And came about towards my home And stopped before the dormant vines of…
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Behind A Pane of Glass
In 1992, the English poet Elizabeth Jennings was awarded the Commander of the British Empire (CBE) by Queen Elizabeth II for “highly distinguished and innovative contribution on a national level.” By this time, Jennings, a fragile and eccentric woman and a brilliant poet, was beginning to show stress marks. She was increasingly reclusive and erratic, and perhaps many of her friends thought she was fantasizing when she told them that she would receive the CBE from Her Majesty, the Queen. On the day of the ceremony at Buckingham Palace, Jennings’ sister Aileen helped her dress for the event. She wore a flowered skirt, knitted sweater, red wool beret, black oversize…
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Third Sunday in Advent
At the start of this post, I need to make a sad announcement. Our friend Laura Wood, host of the excellent blog The Thinking Housewife, has shared tragic news. Her 18-month old grandson, Trevor Joseph Wood, died yesterday morning of a sudden illness. Please remember Laura, and Trevor’s parents, and the entire family when you say your prayers. I cannot imagine the grief and loss they are enduring right now. I keep thinking of the little fellow’s Christmas presents that he will never open, of the family meals he will never attend, the books he will never read, the life milestones he will never reach. At times like this, we…
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Something That Will Not Rest
I have been a foolish, greedy, and ignorant man; Yet I have had my time beneath the sun and stars; I have known the returning strength and sweetness of the seasons, Blossom on the branch and the ripening of fruit, The deep rest of the grass, the salt of the sea, The frozen ecstasy of mountains. The earth is nobler than the world we have built upon it; The earth is long-suffering, solid, fruitful; The world is still shifting, dark, half-evil. But what have I done that I should have a better world, Even though there is in me something that will not rest Until it sees Paradise…? Johnson in…
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Into The Void Before Sundown
The first time I met Len, he had just arrived at our elementary school, a transplant from California, which made him interesting and exotic to someone from Pig’s Knuckle Junction like myself. He was taller than me, Nordic blonde, and bore a resemblance to Glen Campbell. Len had a great line of patter and that flat, explosively-bitten-off accent that Californians flaunt. We became fast buddies and palled around together from the get-go. We both loved tetherball, which was the rage in the elementary schoolyards during that age. We would race to the poles when the recess bell rang and play furiously until time to return to class. Len had been…
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The Fourth Sunday in Lent
Salmon patties for supper, and it’s not even a Friday. Ah, deliciousity…. *** It was too frigid and windy to do much outside today, though I did prepare the beds for Mrs. Orr’s new roses. Not just any roses, but certified Tyler, Texas roses. And climbing roses, at that. Tonight it will frost, and then we’re supposed to have at least ten days of no-freeze, so I’ll try to get them planted tomorrow, and then I can cover the tender leaves. They’ll run up the side of the old goat shed if everything goes well. I never could have thought I’d have to get out the San Angelo bar…
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Notes From The Devil’s Trumpet
Last weekend, we went to a small town an hour north of us, one of those little places that we’ve been aware of but never explored. The main draw was a used book store, where we thought we might find some treasures. Before going to the store, we detoured to a park located at the top of a nearby mountain. The mountain has several campsites, picnic areas, and hiking trails. There is a series of reservoirs where one can boat. The day being quite hot, we decided not to hike, but took careful bearings related to all that we saw, and we determined to return at some point and do…