Showing posts with label Self-worth-esteem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Self-worth-esteem. Show all posts

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Moonflower & Moth

In a wildflower garden
there lived a cocooned creature
who hatched, grew tall,
and produced feet, 6 in all.

And wings,
oh such wings.
But who can fly
when you've only been taught to crawl?

The butterflies were beautiful,
floating from marigolds to phlox,
but she was no butterfly—
she’d heard them talk.

So she waited,
said creature,
for the last quarter moon,
and then whispered to it, “what must I do?”

The moon answered
with glitter and white
when on the moonflower
it shone its light—

she knew then she was made
just right;
some things are meant
to temper the night.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse Poetics we are writing poems for kids.  I went with message and the natural world.  Moonflowers pop open at night and are pollinated by moths. 

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Maybe She's Shy

crimson grapes, image:  public domain

there’s a musical
on the back of her tongue
never sung
but it tastes
like vintage pauillac bordeaux
if you let her
do the talking

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

*The wines of Pauillac are rich, full bodied and tannic, while gracefully combining elegance with power coupled with complexity.  They have the ability to age and evolve for decades. It has been said the best Pauillac wines taste like “An iron fist in a velvet glove.”  The Wine Cellar Insider.

For Grace's Sunday Mini-Challenge:  Poets in the Kitchen at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
and for the Poetry Pantry #141 at Poets United.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Troll Bridge

facing the winter
of a hearse driven life
you soldier on
with skeletons in the closet
clacking along

the last frost covered leaf
curled and brown, laced with silver,
blows away in the wind

the wind,
there to bite you
sting you,
 remind you

of regrets and demons without, within—cackling
in the still-deadness
where your still-living questions
ask if you have left
them behind

they pick lustily
at your flesh, with tempting,
at your mind, with amoebic doubts—
troll-like, in a present-day quagmire
on one side of the bridge; whereupon crossing
you hear a voice
which says to Call This

The Bridge Where You Rename Yourself

                                                    And Forgiven, And Worth

                       Overcomer                                                                        Being

Names like                                                                                                                  Loved

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Inspiration: Isaiah 62, Revelation 2, and a dream that woke me up

For the prompt at Poetry Jam and for  Poets United Poetry Pantry

*Note: this piece doesn't read right on most hand-held devices.  For accuracy read on a larger screen.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012


The Orchid

I walked alone
On a dark stretch of imperfection
The road was pointless
Stumbling marked my hesitation
I found courage, tried to run
But darkness cloaked the air
And twisted vines mocked my despair
Dropping to my knees                                 
I wished for strength to fight the night
And clear the wood, to reach the light

The prayer I spoke
Was little more than just a breath
But there it was,
An answer on my quest

It stood alone, the orchid,
Fragile beauty wrapped in might
And seemed to glow from inner light

I gasped and smiled
As through the darkened mist it shone
Its unique purpose before unknown

The bloom was there, placed perfectly,
And because of this bloom
I remembered me

Its beauty, both intricate and fair,
Reminded me of what I usually fail to see
That we are magnificently created things

I continued on that day
To purpose which had seemed so far away
But the path was not as gray
The orchid lit my way

 Copyright 2006 Jennifer Wagner

Bullying is a newsworthy subject these days.  We’ve all seen it; some of us have even participated in it.  My son recently began to be the recipient of some ugly bullying behavior at school.  Undeniably, it is one of the most heart-breaking things to watch your kid go through.  To have that once-tiny, bundle-of-cute you would die for come home sobbing after you have sent him out into the world of his peers is well, hell.  Or something like it.  Differences aren’t often tolerated, and the messages that life can serve (you’re too fat, not smart, not athletic, not good at anything, or just plain not good enough) warp us until we believe them.  But they are not correct.  We are valuable.  We have purpose.  I had written this poem a few years ago when I was wrestling with my own thoughts on this issue, and it came to mind as I have been traversing some rough waters with my son.  Have you ever taken a good long look at an orchid?  It’s a masterpiece of artistry isn’t it?  But it doesn’t look like a daisy and it doesn’t smell like a rose and it doesn’t grow like a sunflower.  It is different.  It is its own unique work of art.  And so is he.  And so are you.

<a href="" title="White and red orchid">White and red orchid</a> on <a href="" title="Public Domain Images">Public Domain Images</a>