National Poetry Month--Day Ocho--Octopoem

Here's a poem I wrote that has nothing to do with today's poetry form (Octopoem to follow):

I'm not one of those easy sheep--

Those snowy-coated

Blue-ribbonned

Innocent believing

Lambs who always

Makes the best decisions.

I'm not the lamb

Who gets twinkled into Heaven

Because her Goodness Medal

Clinks against her Outstanding Service medal

And suddenly she's dinner

For an unprincipled wolf.

Nope.

I mean well.

 Really I do.

But

There are things

I'm told to do

Every day

That I put off

Until I've never done them. 

I THINK about doing them.

But just thinking gets you nowhere.

Nope. 

I'm that haggard old ewe

With burrs in her ragged coat 

Out there in a briar patch

On the side of a cliff

Just daring you 

To try and rescue her

Before she butts you off the ledge.

I'm that sheep so feral

She's weighed down

With loads of wool

From going her own way 

For so long. 

I'm nobody's favorite lamb.

Just ask them.

But even for me

There is a Shepherd

Who cares enough to 

Climb down the side of that cliff

And disentangle me

From the stickers and burrs.

With one bleat 

He would leave the rest of you

Good little sheep,

The ones who do all their ministering

On the first day of the month

Who bake bread for their neighbors

And join the PTA

And spend their lives at soccer practice, 

Bake cookies for the orphans of Zimbabwe,

And have finished all the standard works 

For the second time this year, 

He comes

Striding through the briars

Oblivious to the scratches and cuts

To rescue the slacker sheep.

That means something to me.

It means He LOVES me.

It means my road would be much easier

If I did all I could,

And I would be happier.

But if I couldn't,

If I was too weak or 

Put "it" off for too long

Or for some other reason 

Had stumbled off into the weeds,

HE would be there for me.

For me,

That pitifully dense little ewe. 

HE calls

With a quiet, gentle voice

Calls me by name,

With a bit of a smile

And an affectionate laugh

And bids me

Follow.

Come out from there. 

Be the sheep you were 

Made to be.

Listen to my voice.

I will lead you Home.

So I go.

 ©2020 by H. Linn Murphy

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And now for the poem of the day. If you want to know how to write one of these babies, go here. Here's my octopoem:

Orange blossoms adrift on the wind

Suffusing springtime air with a tang of joy

Antique lace of spent desert blooms swathes my feet 

Wind sets branches dancing, filling air with yet more fluttering flowers

Tree humming with pollen-jacketed winged worshipers

Filling the fleshy tables of the heart with promise

Enrapturing the Psyche with lush well-being

The heady business of honeyed spring

 ©2020 by H. Linn Murphy