Noisemakers

Outside my window is yet another cloudy, wet day. This week my sisters and brother-in-law have been here to visit and spend time with the kids. The whole week has been cloudy and wet. Which means my kids have been marooned inside. They have been running around, singing songs, telling 'stories' watching their favorite cartoons, listening to music, playing games, reading books and drawing pictures. Needless to say we have had a very noisy house. Having three extra sets of helping hands to play, change diapers, entertain, pamper, and soothe was more than helpful for me and my kids. Still their energy shouldn't be contained to 1900sq feet.

Silence has always been rare and seems almost foreign in our home, but this week, we have hit a new record - 'most lively.' Yet, even at this very moment - while I am writing this sentence and my children are circling me, squealing at one another, I can't help but ache for those whose homes are still, whose house is perfectly organized and silence is far from 'golden.'

While sometimes overwhelming, I cherish my tiny bundles of chaos and mischief. On those days when I can't even hear my own thoughts, I remember that some day there will be peace and quiet, someday they will say their goodbyes and leave me with time all to myself - my thoughts can wait - I will hear them all too clearly in 20 years or so...

...for now, I love the noise.

My God is an Ocean

 

An Original ‘Metaphor’ Poem by Elizabeth Lancaster

My God is like an ocean.

Build your house near him

And be prepared for the flood

That sweeps over you

With force and power.

It destroys those with no firm foundation,

Clears lands and challenges life.

Currents that can sweep away or lift up.

Be refreshed by the coolness of its waters.

Wait for the treasures its high tide leaves behind.

 

Lie beside on its sandy beaches and listen to the noise it makes.

Sometimes loud and crashing like symbols on the shore,

Sometimes soft with waves,

Sometimes silent;

The voice of the deep, wide, ocean.

None can deny its saltiness.

It stings those with broken flesh.

It is breath for those who live within its watery walls.

And those who have seen it will never forget,

My God is an ocean.

My Mother's Heart

An Original Formal ‘Pantoum’ Poem by Elizabeth Lancaster

Inside each of us is a beating heart.

It keeps us alive when we wish to survive.

My heart beats because hers beat first,

Pounding with love for a child within.

It keeps us alive when we wish to survive.

As mine is made of silver, hers is gold,

Pounding with love for a child within.

A child who will always be there, sealed in her heart.

As mine is made of silver, hers is gold;

Luster that never dulls, but only brightens with each new memory of

A child who will always be there, sealed in her heart.

It’s pitter-patter quickens with sounds of laughter and singing.

Luster that never dulls, but only brightens with each new memory of

Tiny shoes, toothless grins, peanut butter and jelly and a full pew on Sunday mornings.

It’s pitter-patter quickens with sounds of laughter and singing.

To know my mother’s heart is to know love and sweet Amazing Grace.

Tiny shoes, toothless grins, peanut butter and jelly and a full pew on Sunday mornings;

Experiences she shares with each new generation.

To know my mother’s heart is to know love and sweet Amazing Grace.

My heart, the hearts of my children – beat, because hers beat first.

 

Eye of the Beholder

I took a brief pause in posting my poems so I thought I would pick up where I left off.

 

This poem is different in that the content was taken from random words that popped out at me from different magazine articles. My assignment was to randomly cut out words without thinking about how they would fit into my poem before it was written. This is why it is called a 'cut-up' poem.

 

Eye of the Beholder

A ‘Cut-Up’ Poem by Elizabeth Lancaster

“Tick-Tock”

 

Beauty in a bottle leaks

Creeping through open cracks

Falling

Like a strange, slow snow

 

Sprinkled in the shadows

By a giant hurricane…a gift

“Tick-Tock”

Eyes peer - lingering in those shadows

In the safety of the shadows

In the beauty of the shadows

“Behold the Beauty,

Brilliant Eyes!”

What are eyes made of, that they should see this gift?

The gift of beauty

The beauty in the pockets of the shadows.

“Tick-Tock”

Depressed eyes look, but do not see

Like chopsticks grasping at Chamomile tea

They beg their lids “open, please” – they refuse

“Behold the Beauty,

Bulging Eyes!”

Tick-tock goes the clock

The clock is their enemy

Like a rock they do not move

The beauty will fade

They will not see

The beauty inspired by the shadows

 

Their only hope – the timer

The timer, broken.

 

If She Only Knew

...If only my daughter knew how much I love her, She would appreciate what I gave her. She would love whatever I create as much as I love her little creations. She would be proud that I am her parent. She would look up to me and show me respect. She would know how much I want to spend time with her and how much joy I get from her being 100% herself. She wouldn't be embarrassed to sing, dance, pretend or be goofy when she knew I was watching. She would listen to me when I said 'stop' and run when I said 'go.' Were I to punish her, she would feel remorse, because she would know how badly it hurt me. She would know how beautiful she is to me. She would understand how sad it makes me when other kids don't want to be her friend or don't treat her as the worthy little girl she is. She would always be good, tell me everything, do anything to make me smile and know I would do anything to make her smile. She would always say 'please' and 'thank you.' She wouldn't be frightened when I am near her and run to me first if we were far apart. If my daughter knew how much I love her she would climb into my arms and let me hug her tight and smother her with kisses and she would know in that moment that there is nothing else she could give me that could make me love her more.

Romans 8:37-39; I John 3:1 - At times I remember God is a parent too and I can be quite an unruly child. How many times has he wondered...if only she knew how much I loved her.

I should go put myself in time-out...

To Know Them Well

A ‘Formal (Villanelle)’ Poem by Elizabeth Lancaster

And slowly they grow

Giving heart, soul, your very best

A child you will come to know

Moral compass inside them stow

Hastily, hurriedly, impatiently invest

And slowly they grow

Kneading a life, like a soft, rising dough

Point them east – they’ll go west

A child you will come to know

Hear opportunity, in their ear, whispers “hello”

While you wait to rest,

And slowly they grow

Against all odds, the spinning world and circling crows

Look away! They fall from the nest

A child you will come to know

And onward they go

And limits they test

And slowly they grow

A child you will come to know