Sunday, March 28, 2010

I Hope the Bus Stops Here

Today I climbed on the Poetry Bus for this week’s international tour. While the Totalfeckineejit rests those busy brain cells, Rachel Fox of Scotland stepped into the driver’s seat. Her challenge: Write a poem about a favorite word, then report back to her. My all-time favorite word is “hope.”

Grapevine bud break, Easter morning

Hope in Nothing

I lift my hands,
good strong hands
and they are empty.
They make me think
of old grape vines
butchered for winter
resting in the field
and each is a black
cupped hand
raising dark fingers
While the sun
and the rain march
over the land,
the old vines wait
through endless days
looking up at God.

He does nothing.

Row upon row
of bare black hands
supplicate, wait,
bereft of all
that makes a grape.
God is silent.
There could be
no god
for all they know.
They are prepared
for the long haul,
to be dead wood

My good strong hands
are barren, while
God does nothing.
I am tired
of lifting them
to silence.
There could be
no god
for all I know.
Spring marches
past, bringing


One day the sun
climbs out
of the hills
and a bud
breaks free.
black fingers
keep reaching
to God.
Row by row
the empty hands
Nothing ends.
The filling begins.



the walking man said...

If I had to choose a single word and name it as a favorite would be a task i would shy away from...I simply would not want to anger or slight all of the other words u know. Brave soul you Chris, brave soul you are.

Mrsupole said...

Hope is what we have each day when we wake up. I think if we did not have hope then we would not be able to survive.

That is one reason we all possibly love spring so much. When we see all the beauty that we are suddenly surrounded by, we have hope that all is well. Hope is love.

Beautiful poem.

God bless.

evalinn said...

I love the way you write. And now you´ve inspired me, I´ll have to have a go at this challenge!

the watercats said...

hope.. it's a beautiful thing.. and so is this poem :-)

Susan said...

Hope is a cruel mistress but I can't live life without it. Great piece. This one is resonating with me this morning.

Rachel Fox said...

You're all linked up!
I have a poem called 'A dream is a song of hope' (on book)...not a million miles away.

TechnoBabe said...

The secondary word for this poem is patience. I really like the connection between nature and what we want in life. Very nice.

Niamh B said...

Lovely poem ER - the hands were a great image to use for this one!!

Kim A. said...

I have been driving through the backroads of NC this week (something I love to do often), looking at all the fields tilled, the bradford pears in bloom, and a few people brave enough to mow the sad little weeds that are the only thing growing. I saw a small vinyard and it was just like your wrote. I have hope today. You captured it so well.


Tracy said...

Such a lovely poem. My bus is stopping here. Have a blessed Sunday.

Steve E said...

Chris, you really WROTE that? You must have therefore also THOUGHT it!
Marvelous! I LOVE reading word-creations which bear a dirct relationship with God--do many of our blogs (sometimes mine also) are simply secular in nature, innuendo, eroticism, etc.

How refreshing you are! How did I not realize what depth is in your mind, your heart?

I've got to catch up with See me, Feel me, Touch me...


Mama Zen said...

This is lovely!

Syd said...

Every thing and creature reaches for that light at some point. It is a wondrous thing.

Totalfeckineejit said...

Beautiful poem building to brimful hope.
Such strong imagery, the fruit of the vine.The beginning so good....

'I lift my hands,
good strong hands
and they are empty.
They make me think
of old grape vines
butchered for winter
resting in the field
and each is a black
cupped hand
raising dark fingers

loved it!

Anonymous said...

This was wonderful Chris! Thanks again.

Lisa said...

I could see what you had written and it made me think....

:) Lisa

RNSANE said...

Chris, that is one of the most beautiful poems I've ever read. Having driven through areas of vineyards at all seasons of the year ( and so recently through those around your home ), it was especially poignant for me. I see all those vines, in their winter state and it looks as nothing will ever bear fruit. Then, suddently, as if by magic, or God's divine benevolence, the leaf appears, then the grape and it all begins again - so, too, with us.

What a wonderful way you have with words!

I wish I had the ability to write poetry the way you do!

Anonymous said...

Really nice. Thanks for this and have a good weekend!

Mojo said...

Just when you think there's nothing left, there is.

Thanks Chris. I needed this today.

Ann said...

A beautiful poem. Hands and hope. I loved it.

Emerging Writer said...

strong word to choose, but tricky. I love the repetition. I think it works well.

e said...

Beautiful. I hope you saw my comment to you about the opera on my blog?

Titus said...

Stong poem EO, and the choice of the central image was inspired. I like the darkness of the journey, and the lack of hope (just when all hope is gone).
And then that marvellous ending;

Row by row
the empty hands
Nothing ends.
The filling begins.

As intense as any blood-red burgundy.

Judy Sheldon-Walker said...

I love the word hope too. It is very strong. Beautifully done,

Magpie said...

This has so many wonderful images in it. Beautifully written, Chris. Hope makes the wait possible.

Dominic Rivron said...

Good one. You remind me that Spring is a great time to celebrate Easter, rebirth, etc. You can feel it in your bones when you walk out first thing in the morning.

Karen said...

When I arrive after JoAnne (Titus), I always want to say, "Yeah, what she said!"

Having seen the vinyards, too, I can easily picture this. The image of gnarled vines reaching heavenward is a wonderful one for you, Chris. The buds that emerge bear much fruit.

Love it, my friend!

Argent said...

I really like the hand/vine image runningthrought this. Superb.

Domestic Oub said...

The imagery is excellent, vivid. Great poem EO.

Pure Fiction said...

Coming late to the poetry bus, but this is beautiful. Very resonant and true. Nice.