by Cathy Baker | Faith |
I picked up a copy of Working the Dirt at the library and was immediately drawn to this poem by Marcia Camp. After all, summertime and Farmer’s Markets go hand-in-hand, right?
Farmer’s Market
It isn’t okra cut small and tender the way
we know it should be, or
tomatoes whose imperfections declare them
simon-pure, or
peas bursting from their purple hulls
(their remembered anthem sung on summer-
morning streets,
“Peas…”with soft refrain, “already shelled”)—
we come for none of these, though we ask the
price at each tailgate.
We’re here to see hardy faces (our parents and
grandparents with different features)
smile a warranty on produce knowing hands and
bent backs coaxed to life.
We tender crisp dollar bills, drop quarters
into calloused palms and
purchase affirmation.
For we need to hear the vernacular of hill,
prairie and delta in
words carefully weeded from our city talk;
have our nostrils sting from manure on boots,
smell musk of frying bacon lingering in work shirts.
Only here can we feel Dallis grass switch our ankles,
blackberry briers claw our legs,
hear the night call of the whippoorwill,
see its red eye pierce the dark, and
know that we did not dream childhood.
– Marcia Camp, “Working the Dirt, An Anthology of Southern Poets”
My favorite line? “For we need to hear the vernacular of hill, prairie and delta in words carefully weeded from our city talk.” Rich.
Do you have a fave?
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
Goldenrod
On roadsides,
in fall fields,
in rumpy bunches,
saffron and orange and pale gold,
in little towers,
soft as mash,
sneeze-bringers and seed-bearers,
full of bees sand yellow beads and perfect flowerlets
and orange butterflies.
I don’t suppose
much notice comes of it, except for honey,
and how it heartens the heart with its
blank blaze.
I don’t suppose anything loves it, except, perhaps,
the rocky voids
filled by its dumb dazzle.
For myself,
I was just passing by, when the wind flared
and the blossoms rustled,
and the glittering pandemonium
leaned on me.
I was just minding my own business
when I found myself on their straw hillsides,
citron and butter-colored,
and was happy, and why not?
Are not the difficult labors of our lives
full of dark hours?
And what has consciousness come to anyway, so far,
that is better than these light-filled bodies?
All day
on their airy backbones
they toss in the wind,
they bend as though it was natural and godly to bend,
they rise in a stiff sweetness,
in the pure peace of giving
one’s gold away.
What’s your favorite line?
DAY 3: BEAUTY
Look for wonder through a camera lens throughout the day. Carry a camera or your camera-equipped cell phone to snap photos of God’s beauty, grace, love, peace, and joy all around you. Share these beautiful moments of wonder with others.
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
Summer officially begins June 21 but I’m kicking it off next Monday, June 17, as Rhyme and Reason celebrates a new “season” of its own.
I love to blog! (I hope that goes without saying.)
You—your time—remain at the forefront of my mind when composing each post, which is why I aim for a takeaway but choose to keep most posts brief. Beginning June 17, Rhyme and Reason will launch NEW ideas while holding to the same pattern.
Ideas like giving each day (M-W-F) a summer-related theme to build upon:
Mondays: H₂0, Quenching Your Spiritual Thirst – Stop by and quench your spiritual thirst with a spot of inspiration in the form of a devotion, a photograph, scripture, etc. What better way to begin our week?
Wednesdays: A Poetic Pause – An opportunity to peek in, catch your breath, and be revived. Poetry awaits.
Fridays: Fireflies and Moon Pies™…Celebrating Summer Delights – Guest posts, recommended summer reads, yummy recipes, fun links, giveaways, and who knows what else?
Of course, if the Spirit leads otherwise on a particular day, we’ll follow.
Thank you for your time, your support, your encouragement, and especially your friendship.
Beautiful words stir my heart.
I will recite a lovely poem about the king,
for my tongue is like the pen of a skillful poet.
Psalm 45:1 NLT
To God be the glory…today and always.
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
Only hours before the awards ceremony at Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writer’s Conference, I crossed paths with Julie at the Cloud Cafe. Although I’d received a positive critique from Dr. Donn Taylor the day prior, I had low expectations of placing in this year’s poetry contest and I was disappointed — not in the assumed outcome, but by the fact that I was…well, disappointed. Why did the award mean so much? Did it mean too much? Would a loss deter me from the path of poetry?
God, through Julie, helped me to see how I was on the cusp of believing the lie that a piece of paper could validate my writing—to myself and to others. God alone stirs this heart to communicate and takes the work to places of His making. I simply need to be obedient (is there anything simple about obedience?)
Tears flowed. Hope arose. God’s Validation Gratefully Received. Win or Lose.
Later than evening, as Eva Marie Everson announced the winners for the poetry category, peace sheltered my heart from any possible disappointment. And then I heard these unexpected words: In first place, the winner is…“The One” by Cathy Baker.
Can I be honest? Hearing your name called, while thunderous applause erupts from those you most respect, is an unforgettable experience. And yet, while making my way to the stage I recalled a quote written in my journal many years ago:
“It matters not if the world has heard or approves or understands…the only applause we’re meant to seek is that of nail-scarred hands.” ― B.J. Hoff
To God be the glory.
Not What My Hands Have Done
Not what my hands have done can save my guilty soul;
not what my toiling flesh has borne can make my spirit whole.
Not what I feel or do can give me peace with God;
not all my prayers and sighs and tears can bear my awful load.
These guilty hands are raised, filthy rags are all I bring
And I have come to hide beneath your wings
These holy hands are raised, Washed in the fountain of your grace
And now I wear your righteousness
Thy work alone oh Christ can ease this weight of sin
Thy blood alone, oh Lamb of God, can give me peace within
Thy Love to me, oh God, not mine oh Lord to Thee
Can rid me of this dark unrest and set my Spirit free
Thy grace alone oh God to me can pardon speak
Thy power alone oh Lamb of God can this sore bondage break
No other work save thine, no other blood will do
No strength but that which is divine can bear me safely through
I praise the God of grace; I trust his truth and might
He calls me his, I call him mine, My God, my Joy, my Light
My Lord has saved my life and freely pardon gives;
I love because he first loved me, I live because he lives.
– Aaron Keyes
