war for me

my brokenness has borne

the fruit

of a thousand sorrows

piece by piece by piece

piercing by piercing by piercing

arrows of unlove

unbecoming

to become

what can only be

remedied

by the man of sorrows

acquainted with grief

my grief

borne

in love’s long-suffering war

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

“Love is a long-suffering war.” –Janet Martin, poet extraordinaire

Isaiah 53

Note:  over at dVerse the prompt is to write a secret admirer poem and since my poem is a bit similar to the guidelines of the prompt offered I wanted to make mention of it--though I didn’t write it in response.

photo source

Sky's Advent (a Fibonacci poem)

Stars

fill

and spill

the black orchid

night streaked silken with shimmering,

all flickering in remembrance of one so small.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Poetics and the Poetry Pantry

Simply Jesus

your blood blooms still 

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

When there’s not enough hyssop

to cleanse me of all these flaws—

I think I must live with them,

make slow improvements

with the

tick tick tick

of time’s cruel elements.

I know too well this unruly thing

inside me is me,

but there, too,

is the me that hungers for her first love

somewhere buried beneath

bruising, hardening, scarring

it throbs,

however disjointedly.

I am not a girl of

ritual, rules or religion.

I only know that at fifteen

I just wanted

to hold Your hand.

And now,

beyond church

and the things they add to it all,

and bitter politics

and the things they take away from it all,

and morality,

and all these rules I break—

I stand here today

wondering

when did I ever get the idea

You were not enough?

In dark,

in cloud,

in lightless days,

Your blood blooms still.

And I remember

I never needed

anything else anyway.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

1 Corinthians 2:2-5.  And I, brethren, when I came to you, did not come with excellence of speech or of wisdom declaring to you the testimony^[a] of God. ² For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. ³ I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. ⁴ And my speech and my preaching were not with persuasive words of human^[b] wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, ⁵ that your faith should not be in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.

The Color of Blood

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

the red pony

the hunt

for red october

the red pyramid

redwall

red rabbit

where the red fern grows

the red badge

of courage

the signature of jesus

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Form for All:  The Hidden Poetry in Books.  I went a totally different way with this than I thought I would.  It’s more of a list type of poem, but it’s where my muse lead.

Books are from our family library:  The Red Pony by John Steinbeck, The Hunt for Red October and Red Rabbit by Tom Clancy, The Red Pyramid by Rick Riordan, Redwall by Brian Jacques, Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls, The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane and The Signature of Jesus by Brennan Manning.

(In memory of Tom Clancy, Apr.12, 1947 - Oct. 1, 2013.  R.I.P.)

Notes from the Bloodwater

What you don’t know is

the wolves came when I was much too young

and sunk their teeth into the deep of me and left a hole.

The surgeries to repair the damage

have not yet gone far enough,

and so I carry this wreckage around inside

where I’ve hidden them

and stretched Kevlar over the scars.

Sometimes I strip it off

and break things in half

to produce a rough edge

and cut the stitching open again

to watch the blood flow

down the shower drain.

Sometimes I make suggestive

remarks to a near stranger

and show a little too much cleavage

while gazing intently at their mouth.

Male or female, it doesn’t matter,

it’s a heart I’m looking for,

since mine is near drained.

I have this counselor

who loves me, I think.

Or else she is just really good

at letting her eyes well up with tears

when I tell my stories.

She says to not stop wanting connection,

to not stop looking to God

for love,

to safe people, for love too.

But God, I fear, allows things

I am still struggling to understand.

And safe people, well,

most days I think it is safer

to love the oil slick street after rain.

Jesus, she once said to me,

understands being bloodless

and mangled and left with holes.

And he wasn’t even repulsed by a girl like me.

I haven’t told anyone yet

but I’m beginning to think maybe I could like a guy like that.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Easter Poem

of all the blueprints

and maps,

locations marked with a jagged cross,

i like the one where we intersected best

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

I celebrate Easter and if you do too, I hope you have a happy one!