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Deus volt; Deus mittit me.

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Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Tag des Erstes

National Poetry Writing Month kicks off with my first poem:

I am this
Yes, that’s me look and you’ll see
My hair is not green, short, or currently curled.
My eyes work fairly well if I'm wearing my red glasses.

My arms (as in coat of) are: Or, a seme of annulets vert, sable, a swan rising, wings addorsed, a bordure dovetailed, vert.
My hands are still talented, though they look like a dry lake bed--pocked with tanned spots and lines and scars.
My heart longs for love, understanding, and valuation. It belongs to my sweet husband and wonderful children.

I’m lucky to have traveled a little before I stagnated, to have seen comets and eclipses and gypsies and jewels, to have danced a queen, to have played a pirate and sung a survivor. I am lucky to have graduated twice and well. I am lucky to have grown up in the fields and forests, to have held snakes, spiders, llamas and many more. I'm lucky to have climbed in Switzerland, snorkeled in Alaska, waded in Mexico, worshiped in Austria, played in Greece, celebrated in Germany, picked up hitchhikers in Yugoslavia, complained through Czechoslovakia, beached in Denmark, eaten in East Germany, trained through Luxembourg, and canoed in Canada.
I never dreamed I'd be an author, or anything but a ballerina, though here I am with ink on my fingers and wisps of lives in my head.
My friends are as varied as wildflowers. Some smell good, others, don't. But they're all beautiful in some way.
I live in the Earth's oven, waiting to jump out when someone opens the door.
I hope I get to finish. "What?" you ask. "Everything," I say.

I dream of making it to the end well, with my sanity intact, with my clothing washed white of sins and mistakes, with talents to show for it all, and with the love of family and friends trailing in banners floating behind me in the winds of the universe. I dream of kneeling at His feet and offering it all up to Him. I dream of His welcoming arms.
It’s all clear as can be
That’s positively, absolutely me

© 2015 by H. Linn Murphy

If you'd like to learn about more Fill-in-the-blank poetry, go here.

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