break me open

Fragile, Natural, Wild (with Magaly)

Greetings, dear Toads, and welcome to another Weekend Mini-Challenge. Today, the Prompt Muse (yes, she exists) comes bearing flowers, bugs, herbs… and three phrases (because in my challenges *and in stories* the best things come in threes).

The prompt is simple: write a 3-stanza poem using one of the following images plus the phrase that precedes it. Feel free to share the photo with your poem (credit the photographer). If you choose not to share your chosen image, please add a note letting the rest of us know which photo inspired your poem.

My chosen image/words are below.

fragile things

red2bpoppy

by Robert Draves (@draves.robert)

 

we are fragile things in all ways

this vulnerability sits at our very core

calling for us

to remain open and

wound-like

and to allow the barbs of life to fall

and pierce the heart-held flesh of us

 

worry may tap dance a pattern of (re)morse

upon our fretted brows

as we struggle to be present

and accept that we do not know

cannot know

anything of any substance

splinters in the wood pile we are

 

we are fragile things in all ways

and that is our gift if we will  accept it

that allowing of the broken

that surrender to the rain of arrows

bones and blood

breath and skin

that golden repair

 

notes: taken in part from wikipedia

Kintsugi (金継ぎ, きんつぎ, “golden joinery”), also known as  Kintsukuroi (金繕い, きんつく “golden repair”)

As a philosophy, kintsugi can be seen to have similarities to the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, an embracing of the flawed or imperfect.[9] Japanese aesthetics values marks of wear by the use of an object. This can be seen as a rationale for keeping an object around even after it has broken and as a justification of kintsugi itself, highlighting the cracks and repairs as simply an event in the life of an object rather than allowing its service to end at the time of its damage or breakage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

17 responses to “break me open

  1. “…to allow the barbs of life to fall and pierce the heart-held flesh of us”……what glorious lines!” I like the splinters in the woodpile line too. Great write, Paul. Loved it.

  2. I love the line ‘
    splinters in the wood pile we are’
    and the final stanza is stunning, Paul – it could stand on its own:
    ‘we are fragile things in all ways
    and that is our gift if we will accept it
    that allowing of the broken
    that surrender to the rain of arrows
    bones and blood
    breath and skin
    that golden repair’

  3. This is a philosophy I can relate to, why I have been holding on, unwittingly to the objects which have served me well in the past. I hope it will allow me to see merit in the deep scars recent surgery has left behind. On the days I doubt their worth, I’ll remember this poem. We are all fragile things.

  4. Remembering (and accepting) that we are (powerful) fragile things is what keeps me going from day to day. Like your poem suggests, I believe in drinking in bad… rolling with the worse… finding my-Self in the pieces… in telling me that just because it hurts, just because chunks continue to fall off… it doesn’t mean that what’s left is not freaking glorious. I am broken. I am breakable. But my pieces are still whole, precious, full of all the fire that is Me… and roaring wildly towards tomorrow.

    “bones and blood
    breath and skin
    that golden repair”
    of (seemingly) broken things. 🙂

  5. This is an amazing poem. Our brokenness, when mended (not with gold) but glue, our light will be able to shine through the cracks. Broken and/or cut glass can be put together to make a beautiful image or fall f light.

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