tell me your story again the one your brothers ignored the one that made you curious in spite of others' scorn place your feet on this ground under nature's open ears the past deficient not in wealth but in spirit, pooling tears into cupped hands, upended now and replaced with graced years fill your basket with these blooms picking from vines overgrown reject the lies you were told replace with compassion now shown
Today’s poem is for Wea’ve Written Weekly at the Skeptic’s Kaddish. Murisopsis provided this week’s prompt poem, “The Breakup” and the week’s prompt, which is as follows…
Write a poem:
- Of exactly 14 lines;
- In any form or style;
- On the topic of poverty (moral, financial, romantic, etc.).
Reading through others’ poems for this prompt, there were many powerful ones about financial poverty, though some poets took a creative spin on other forms of poverty. I think when a person is hopeless, that can certainly be a type of poverty, a poverty of hope or of spirit, maybe. That’s the sort of poverty I attempted to examine here, with a turning towards renewed hope. I think these bleak winter images can illustrate this idea well, too.
Fortunately, I’m a perpetually hopeful sort of person. Not to be confused with a perpetually optimistic person: rationally, pessimism makes more sense to me, but I also have romantic tendencies. I am a conundrum. Anyway, if you ever feel hopeless, I believe turning to the place you feel most comfortable or the person you can trust the most can create a safe place to rekindle your spirit. There is always someone to hear your story. The barren trees in these images will be fruitful again.