Poetry in the Bible: Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

ECCLESIASTES 3

A Time for Everything

 1 There is a time for everything,
       and a season for every activity under heaven:

 2 a time to be born and a time to die,
       a time to plant and a time to uproot,

 3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
       a time to tear down and a time to build,

 4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
       a time to mourn and a time to dance,

 5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
       a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

 6 a time to search and a time to give up,
       a time to keep and a time to throw away,

 7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
       a time to be silent and a time to speak,

 8 a time to love and a time to hate,
       a time for war and a time for peace.

Daily Response: What is your favorite line from this passage?

Favorite Poem: “The Death of a Ball Turret Gunner”

An exceptional poem leaves an imprint on the reader. My college professor read this poem to the class, and after many years, I still remember it—vividly.

When I started teaching, I had language arts/history blocks. I used poetry to supplement the American history text, loving how we could learn about the past through a poet’s perspective.

 

“The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner”

by Randall Jarrell

From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

 

Jarrell wrote, “A ball turret was a plexiglass sphere set into the belly of a B-17 or B-24 bomber and inhabited by two .50 caliber machine-guns and one man, a short, small man. When this gunner tracked with his machine-guns a fighter attacking his bomber from below, he revolved the turret; hunched upside-down in his little sphere, he looked like the foetus in the womb. The fighters which attacked him were armed with canon firing explosive shells. The hose was a steam hose.”

 

Daily Response: Is there a poem from school that you still remember vividly? If so, please share it in your comments.

Poet: A.F. Stewart

A.F. Stewart is from Nova Scotia, Canada. She works part time as a writer, hoping for full time, and pays the bills with various other jobs. She is a very prolific and talented writer. Find out more about her and her books on the following sites.

Website:

http://afallon.bravehost.com/

Two blogs:
http://afstewartpromotion.blogspot.com/
http://afstewartblog.blogspot.com/

Gather profile:

http://scribe77.gather.com/

Cosmos

 

Tendrils of matter

winding around light.

A galactic splash

of bursting colour.

Spiralling outward,

onward in the heavens.

 

Vivid paint

on the universe.

 

 

 Daily Response: Please write a note to A.F. in the comment section.

Poet: Marianne

Today I’m featuring Marianne, my friend from across the Pacific. She is a wonderful lady, and you can enjoy more of her poetry here.

 

Forever mine

forever yours ~

breath upon breath

silent whispers

heart-shaped drops

of crimson flow

fill the cavern of my mind

as I lean into your presence

inhaling the miracle of our love

rivers rushing to the sea

mountains reaching to the sky

stopping time as we embrace

kisses held inside I love you

hands caressing fevered thoughts

brushing hair against long sighs

movements of love

moments of us

divinely appointed

Daily Response: Please leave a comment for Marianne.

Poet: Kimberly Blackadar

My bio 🙂

 

“The Element of Surprise”

by Kimberly Blackadar

 

spring sits silently

under suffocating snow

waiting to…to jump

 

Photo taken by Diane Huizenga

 

Today’s Response: My little haiku reflects a Minnesotan’s anticipation for the arrival of spring. Are signs of spring evident around you, or like me, are you still waiting…?

Poet: David Wainland

David Wainland lives in South Florida, but was born and raised in the Bronx. He is a part-time published writer and fully retired. His was a professional artist and welded metal for over thirty years. David is working on a novel and posts his writings on his Gather profile.

 

A LEGACY OF BLANK PAGES 

 

© 2011 BY David Wainland

 

Originaly titled My Legacy   

 © 2009

 

I leave the pages blank

for you to fill my son

In trust to you my words

Now my work is done

~

When I was ten

and not before

My father knocked

upon my door

~

In his hand

he held for me

A dog-eared book

of poetry

~

The spine was weak

the jacket rent

Most pages had

their corners bent

~

Read these my son

and you will learn

Free men read books

that others burn

~

When I was twelve

and not before

My father knocked

upon my door

~

Then turned a leaf

that caught my sight

Kipling wrote of

men that fight

~

Poe told tales

filled with gloom

Barrett’s love

entranced the room

~

Longfellow’s rhymes

captured dreams

While Alfred Noyse

sought moonlight beams

~

The Highwayman

and Gunga Din

The Raven knows

where I have been

~

My father always

did me proud

He often read

these poems aloud

~

If not for him

I know not when

My words would fall

from out my pen

~

He set my stride

upon the trail

Twas not for him

these rhymes would fail

~

When I was fifty

and not before

He rapped again

upon my door

~

The books are yours

my life is through

This my son

I leave for you

~

Eternal lies

my father now

This poem fulfils

a silent vow

~

When they were ten

and not before

My children heard me

at their door

 

Daily Response: For this week, the response will stay the same. In the comment section, please leave a message for the poet.

Poet: E.J. (my son)

E.J., my homeschooled seond grader, penned his first poems this week. Like his mom, he is taking a hiatus from fiction and trying his hand at verse. E.J. loves sports and reading and is starting to appreciate poetry more.

“My Lord, Jesus”

by E.J.

 

As I walk on the path

of the birds

and other things

I think of

my Lord Jesus

and the peace

He brings

 

Daily Response: For this week, the response will stay the same. In the comment section, please leave a message for the poet.

Poetry from the Bible: “Psalm 23”

 “Psalm 23”

A Psalm of David.

 1 The LORD is my shepherd;
         I shall not want.
 2 He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
         He leads me beside the still waters.
 3 He restores my soul;
         He leads me in the paths of righteousness
         For His name’s sake.
         
 4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
         I will fear no evil;
         For You are with me;
         Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
         
 5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
         You anoint my head with oil;
         My cup runs over.
 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
         All the days of my life;
         And I will dwell[a] in the house of the LORD
         Forever.

Daily Response: This is my favorite psalm from the Bible, and my son and I have discussed this passage and its meaning. What is your favorite line from this passage? Or what is your favorite verse or passage from the Bible?

Favorite Poem: “We Real Cool”

“We Real Cool”

by Gwendolyn Brooks

THE POOL PLAYERS. 
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Daily Response: This is a great poem to teach, since it is short and easy to understand. Plus, the poem offers examples of alliteration, symbolism, enjambment, and rhythm. Poetry can be complex and turn off students completely–or it can convey a simple message like in this poem. Did you like poetry in school–or did you find it too complex?

Poet: Sara Pounds

Sara Pounds lives in Florida. I met her when she was in the sixth grade; I was her language arts teacher. I am so proud of her writing and wanted to share a poem that she posted on Facebook recently.

I feel an uncertainty about this path-

I also don’t know how long it will last-

Pages of books that are kept under the sheets-

It speaks volumes and speaks to me-

The pictures in frames tell of other days-

Oh I long for the ways it turned out-

I swear I don’t know how it got this way-

But as I look up the sky depleted me-

The soul is dark and gray but aren’t they the same-

Eyes of night and the mourning was bright-

It wakes me up to say-

come on in and enjoy it again-

Hearts are broken but I’m just here to mend-

It speaks volumes and it speaks to me-

Tells of a story of you and me-

Oh love we know not what we do-

should we say we’re sorry or are we just misunderstood-

Stay or leave oh the choices are so weak-

It grows within me-

The trust that once destroyed me-

It speaks volumes and speaks to me-

I feel an uncertainty about the past-

I also don’t know how long it will last-

The memories that seems to consume me-

It speaks volumes and it seems to speak to me-

Daily Response:

Sara’s repetitive verse, “It speaks volumes and it speaks to me,” reminds me of why we write poetry in the first place. If you were going to sit down and write a poem, what would be the topic? What emotion or idea “speaks” to you?