Flores de Mayo-history and origin we need to understand
Nhti presentation 10262010
1. Poetry Where You Live
Raymond A. Foss
Poetry Where You Live
160 Main Street
Suncook, NH 03275-1206
http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com
2. Writing Poetry
• I read a poem I wrote at the April 17, 2000
school board meeting and I liked the response.
• Poetry Where You Live is a state of mind,
believing that, like God’s grace, poetry is where
you live, not something you have to seek out in
some distant place.
• People say that a picture speaks a thousand
words. With poetry, I can paint a picture,
capture a moment, a smell, a scene in a handful
of words.
3.
4. Beach Sand
Maybe it is the memories
the change of pace that brings us there
the sense of vacation
maybe the smell of the place
the sights of the gulls, the dunes, the grasses
but oh it is the feel of it,
the crunch and slide of it
the feeling of beach sand
so different from dirt, soil, loam
no, not earthy, moist, rich,
but oh so granular and gritty
even when wet,
moveable paper spreading under toes
sliding beneath the soles
smoothing my skin
clearing my mind
unburdening me of the rest
drawing me to the tactile, the feel
of beach sand
6. When We Sorrow
When we sorrow
when we rail
the yoke of our walk
our struggles heavy
sometimes seeming unjust
yet God is still with us
walking beside our every step
Faithfully offering his peace, his grace
to persevere, to bring us through
to the other side
if we follow the way of Christ
7.
8. Tears of Grace
The scene in heaven
in God’s holy courts
water flowing
showering down on us
Tears of Grace
in our Savior’s suffering
the pain of our Father
in putting the Son to death
Letting the evil
the hands of men upon him
nailing him to the cross
the lamb upon the tree
Tears of Grace
pouring out richly
loving us enough
to sacrifice for all mankind
though we are yet full of sin.
10. Poetry
I have found my voice.
Moments captured in word and rhyme.
Free form verse
And stream of consciousness.
Spell check off,
Why spoil the mood.
Where did the words come from.
Where were they hidden.
Why now.
I am free.
To share thoughts untold.
To open up.
To live.
11.
12. Dancing with God
A wonderful concept
dancing with God
but are we ready for him to lead
to guide us through life’s passages
turning our freewill over
to Him
becoming a follower
disciple of the Master
feeling his hand on our hip
our back
submitting to his will
the yoke is easy
but it is a yoke
nonetheless
hard choice
for a society, a people
wrapped up in Me
14. Beach Sand – v2
Maybe it is the memories
the change of pace that brings us there
our sense of vacation
maybe the smell of the place
visions of the gulls, the dunes, grasses;
moving in the air, the invisible breezes,
but oh it is the feel of it,
the crunch and slide of it
the feeling of beach sand
so very different from dirt, soil, loam
no, not earthy, moist, rich, wet mulch;
but oh so granular and gritty, slippery
even when wet,
moveable paper spreading under toes
sliding beneath the soles
smoothing my skin
clearing my mind, peace
unburdening me of the rest
drawing me to the tactile,
the feel of beach sand
15.
16. In the Depths of Our Sorrow
In the depths of our sorrow
in our torment of anguish and pain
God there with us
every step of the way
Only through the fires
refined by the trials of life
steeled for God’s purpose
that we may share his love
Strengthened by the Spirit
going as we are led
guided by our shepherd
wrapped in arms of love
June 10, 2010
17.
18. The Other Disciple
Each of us journeying
following the path
each of us gathering
carrying our cross
We are the other disciple
unnamed, on the road
walking with Jesus
all the way home
He is beside us
on our path, in this walk
sharing our struggles and triumphs
all of our days
Christ is with us
His Spirit indwelling
calling us to go, to share
in service to our King
19.
20. The Way of the Cross
In a state of love, of grace
joining the Spirit, our brother
following the call of our creator
shepherded, guided on our walk
in union with the trinity
going the way of the cross
Seeking to be his servants
the children of our loving God
the facets of his love for us
revealed in so many ways
like cascades of living water
washing down over us
Wanting to share, to the whole world
to reach out, to the ends of the earth
that all would drink from these springs
refreshed, redeemed by our savior
led by the Spirit’s teachings
caring for our neighbors
bringing us home to God
21. Living More Purposefully
Not to claim a victory
not our own validation
living more purposefully
to stay centered on God
Not drifting with the wind
not following the flow of the crowd
walking with my savior
on the road laid before me
Using my gifts, my talents
hearing my master’s call
persevering in adversity
courage, committing my all
25. Feeling the peace of that moment
Sensing their spirits
in this hallowed space
the hallowed ground I walked on
feeling their warm embrace
The stillness of the dusk
the bright sun before its dying
sharing this moment with them
the saints who guard this space
32. A Christian in the throne room of God
Oh to be a Christian, in the throne room of God
to be like Isaiah, to be in awe, in wonder
to see the heavenly beings, to see the risen Christ
sitting at the right hand of the Father
to hear the heavenly choir, to be so graced
To walk, assuming that was how we move there
to approach the throne of our brother
to bow, to humble myself,
in supplication and, oh yes, in thanksgiving
Oh if only I could find the words, in that very moment
to tell my brother, what his sacrifice, what his obedience
what his gift of love means to me
If I but have this chance, to be a Christian
to have been yoked with my brother all the days of my life
to be in the presence of God, to be before my Lord and King;
but especially to be able to thank him, to wash his feet,
as he has washed mine, as he has poured out
grace upon grace, joy after joy
To be a Christian in the throne room of God,
and to know what that means
37. A Beat in Concord
I was sitting there in the traffic, waiting for the light
the heat and humidity building in the van,
one window open to the moist air after the flooding
I saw a character, a caricature, a man out of time
on the sidewalk, under the underpass, half in shadow
He was a beat,
not a Ginsberg, no he wouldn’t Howl,
a modern day Kerouac, or someone who aspired to be
It was his walk, his gait, his hair, his clothes
a slouched walk, bath sandals that had been worn outside too long
hunched shoulders, time spent in dim lit libraries,
before glowing computer screens, shaded lamps
an oversized blazer from the thrift store
over a frock prom shirt, frilled and with cranberry edging
I could sense the latte on his breath
smell of clove cigarettes in the wool of the coat
too warm for the day around him
a mop of coarse black hair
that hadn’t seen a brush or comb in days
sunken eyes, and a certainty
he’d written lines far darker than these
words that would confuse and provoke
the unfairness of the mundane, the bleakness of his bourgeois existence
unaware of his place, his role in the intelligentsia
A yawn at the coffee house, or maybe a demigod
hard to say across the street, as I was
driving by his path for those few moments
before my light went green and I went on down the road
away from the college-aged, but no longer in college beat
on the street in Concord
41. The Dance of the Clay
the potter moving,
his hands, body
drawing the clay
pulling the clay
from the inert earth
life in the dance
the twirling, spinning upward
creation happening
our lives created,
evolving, growing
living, alive
in the dance of the clay
Editor's Notes
Poetry can be found anywhere. It doesn’t have to be something you do all the time.
Sausage
Forget the frank,
Give me the Fenway sausage.
Lansdowne or Yawkey,
Just give me the street, the crowds, the carts.
Sausage you shrug, you the reader
Of this trifle, this whimsy
What do I mean, me the storyteller
Read on.
Peppers and onions
Tease the tongue
Bun and hot mustard
Set the stage
The scorched and blackened piece of meat
Reminds me of every one
Eaten before
So much memory
Of family and fun
Of ballgames, tailgates, and the carnie
A cacophony of moments
Drip with grease
Do you smell it too on the smoky hot grill?
My lips curl with a smirk
Writing these lines
As I laugh to myself
Of the pleasures of excess
The lusty gluttony
Of another one.