An Ode to Purple Days

 Poem #03 for 2024 is due today addressing the prompt "Purple." Here is my entry - a sonnet about those dreary, dark, and cloudy Purple Days. 

On purple days the dawn breaks indigo.

No burning orange glows in the Eastern sky.

No vibrant red or gold engage the eye;

Just mystery clothed in violet manteau.

 

On purple days, the air is heather-hued,

Providing mood for heart and mind to roam,

‘Til calm and wisdom find in us a home,

And souls can rest in royal solitude.

 

The frantic pace brought on by bright displays

Recedes on pure transforming purple days.

Three Haiku (on Grief)

 Poetry Deadline #2 for 2024 is today. The assignment was to write three Haiku on one theme. 

I wrote on "grief."

Grief is no clear pane.

It’s a toy kaleidoscope –

With endless faces.

***

Grief storms my defense.

Now released, rivers of tears

Bring peace as they flow.

***

Allow tears their course.

Rolling down the face, they cleanse,

Washing grief away.

Three Limericks "The End"

 The first poem of 2024 was due today. I had written three limericks on the prompt "the end." I had a hard time deciding which to submit. I finally submitted the first two below.  

BIRTH OF A SHORT STORY

A lonely young writer from Creekbend

Wrote himself up a best friend.

Oh the fun that they had

‘Til one day he got mad

Killed his pal with a scribbled “The End.”

 

A lonely young novelist from Creekbend

Wrote himself up a best friend.

But when the writer felt scorned,

A short story was born

As he angrily scribbled “The End.”

 

A lonely young novelist from Creekbend

Wrote himself up a best friend.

But on the tenth page

He exploded in rage,

Killed his pal with a violent “The End.”

Remembered Thrills - A Poem

Today is the deadline for the last poem of 2023 in Deadlines for Writers. The prompt is "Thrill."  I found this a hard topic and ended up writing my poem late yesterday, determined to just have an entry, however lame, to submit. In late life, few people are still the thrill-seekers they might have been in their younger days. 

Remembered Thrills

It comes to me sometimes in my dreams -

Memory of carefree youth.

When life was all challenge and thrill and risk,

And death was intangible truth.

 

No dare was too great for omnipotent me -

No mountain too tall to climb;

No ocean or cavern too deep to explore

And be home before dinnertime.

 

“Fear? What’s fear? You’re kidding me, right?

It’s not too dark out there!”

I always believed if it came to that,

I could easily outrun a bear!

 

I no longer need a thrill a day.

I’m happy to dream thrills instead,

I don’t have to prove I’m alive anymore.

I take all my risks here in bed.

The Cost of Living

The last short story in the Deadlines for Writers Short Story group is due today. The prompt is "price" with a wordcount of exactly 300 words. Here is my entry. 

The Cost of Living

If there was anything Marti had learned in her twelve years of the chaos that was her homelife, it was that everything has a price. If she wanted supper, the cost was obeying Daddy’s drunken directives quickly and without giving him “any mouth.” If she wanted to go to sleep at night, she had to give away a little of her reasoning power and believe that the yelling she could hear, AGAIN, through the wall of her bedroom, was just the television.  Protecting her little brother had cost Marti a few false confessions and the enduring of punishments he had earned. She sometimes had to spend a little of her integrity and pretend to be at the library working on a project when she needed time with her friends.

Now, holding her hastily-packed bag in one hand and Billy’s hand in the other, Marti stood knee deep in the creek beyond the woods. The stinging skin on her behind and the ache in her jaw was beginning to numb now that they had almost outrun the echo of the back door banging like a gunshot behind them.

Marti and her little brother turned to look at the orange glow they’d left behind. Above the trees, smoke billowed up almost blocking the big glowing zero moon in the night sky.

“Are we going to Grandma’s?” Billy looked at Marti, wide-eyed with fear, but trusting.

“Mama will pick us up there when she gets off work,” Marti affirmed.

Having paid the price for their freedom, the children stood in silence. Devoid of any external comfort or human sound, the silence was deafening. Still Marti could hear the echo of her father’s last words on Earth, as belt in hand, he growled, “Stop crying like a baby, Girl! Just buck up and take it!”

Live a Little

 This month's poem was due today; the prompt was "little." This is the poem I submitted. 

Live a Little

The sturdy fence I built to guard my heart,

Went rogue and wrapped itself around my brain.

My thoughts imprisoned, snagged on barbs of fear,

Refused to free my soul to live again.

 

My stronger self took charge and fled the walls –

She stepped away from fearfulness and doubt.

She opened up the gates and took the risk

Of finding what real living’s all about. 

Good and Faithful Servant

 In June of 2002, a friend and church member of ours at Douglasville United Methodist Church, E.G. (Kel) Kelley, wrote this: 

Good and Faithful Servant

To honor: Jim Turrentine, good and faithful servant. From Kel Kelley on the day after your surgery. We all love and miss you. Get well soon. I am certain that many of those in our congregation and in past congregations would, if given this recent gift that Abba Father has given me, write exactly the same words showing the same sentiments and heartfelt feelings. 

In the book of Ecclesiastes

There is a time for everything

A time to laugh, a time to cry,

A time to dance and sing.

There comes a time to honor,

From us who have been blessed,

You who have been a blessing

Always giving us your best. 

We know you'll say it wasn't you;

But God who lives within.

But we know that God uses willing vessels,

Godly women, righteous men.

For you this day we give Him praise

For the work He's done through you;

For the sharing of the gospel

And the times you've prayed us through.

You have listened to our troubles.

You have helped to calm our fears.

You have led us to our Savior

As you've loved us through the years

In joyous laughter and happy tears

We thank you for the time

You've spent with us as pastor

In Jesus's work divine.

Because you knew our Jesus,

Because you know our Lord,

You shared with us as needed

A gift worth more than gold.

One day we'll meet in glory

And we'll walk hand in hand.

We always knew that you'd be there.

Because you took a stand.

You visited in hospital and home

And prayed on bended knee.

Jesus said, "As you've done it to the least of these

You've also done to me."

Some day we'll rejoice as you're honored in heaven

In the presence of the Son.

Because you loved, because you cared,

"Well done," He'll say, "Well done!"

Lyn's Story about her 13th Birthday

 This was printed in the May 16, 1997 issue of the Mountain Echo {Fort Daniel Elementary School (Gwinnett County)} newsletter. Lyn was teaching 5th grade there the year she wrote this for the Birthday Spotlight.

It was my 13th birthday and I was opening gifts with my family when I unwrapped one of the most special gifts I've ever received. It was a square, flat present that I assumed was a record for the stereo that I had gotten for Christmas. However, inside the Gary Puckett and the Union Gap album jacket there was no such record, but an invitation.  To celebrate my becoming a teenager, my dad was inviting me on my first "date." It was an evening I'll never forget - just my dad and me. I got dressed up in a long light blue dress I had worn in my aunt's wedding and stood excitedly as Mom pinned a beautiful red carnation corsage on me.  We had reservations at a fancy restaurant, and that in itself was new and exciting to me. I'll never forget the feeling of walking proudly through the sea of tables to our seat on my dad's arm. I remember everything I had to eat that night, but the most wonderful part was the conversation. Through the entire evening I had my dad's undivided attention.  He listened to every word I said, laughed at all my jokes, and responded to me with enthusiasm equal to mine. He made me feel not only like an adult, but like a queen. To this day, that evening is one of the best gifts I've ever received.