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Sabbatical Poetry - "Hush!"

In case you didn't know, rhyming poems are out of fashion!!! They are thought to be unnatural or forced.

I love free verse poetry, it is so cool and goes in such wonderful and wild directions... "Free," like the word used to describe the style.

But meter still matters!!! Poets like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow held themselves to the standard of rhyming, it's quite a challenge, I have found.

William Shakespeare held fast and true to iambic pentameter in his plays.

Free verse poetry has a rhythm too, but I have been reading, "A Poetry Handbook," by Mary Oliver. She says when learning to write poetry copying great poets of the past and their style is important. She says too many poets write poetry without reading poetry, which is what you are told as a visual artist student too... copy the masters!

I like Mary a lot so I am taking her advice!

I also have been reading the book of Job. The conversations between God and Job have always fascinated me.

So this poem is in the style of God teaching, leading, and proclaiming, and me answering, questioning, and proclaiming. It is also in the lyrical style of the Romantic poets.


by Leigh Sackett

I awake to the breeze,

heating coffee on a stove.

I say my thank yous and please,

as I absorb the rhythm of the cove.

You remind me, "Do not rush,

the days are long.

Slow your steps, hush,

listen, I prepared a song."

I say, Yes, I hear the sound.

No dishes rinsing and repeat,

No clothes spinning round,

no mower in the summer heat.

The world has become little,

a tiny island of no measure.

The days unfold like riddles,

seeking the Creator's treasure.

Mighty adventures where work ceased,

Captain and First Mate on the deep.

Rocking chairs and a simple feast,

a good read, drifting into sleep.

Days expand like the sea between two shores,

what once seemed small is wide.

Can't this be known amongst the chores?

Can I take my island and keep it inside?

Questions and answers you bring,

"I am not bound to your lord...

not the clock or the next new thing.

Why is life something to hoard?

Frantic time is your fall,

abide in me, let the day be heard.

Open your eyes to all,

your story is in my words.

You know the sharp blade of loss,

you know the dead end.

You know the joy of waves that toss,

you know the love of a faithful friend.

Mow the lawn and do good work.

In your tasks and in your play,

know my peace, embrace that perk.

Feel the rhythm of the day.

This island song belongs to you,

even when away you cruise.

It is a question of who?

Who are you? And Whose?"

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