Tag Archives: grace

Grace


I like dictionaries. Confession time: I used to read our home dictionary for fun as a kid. Just picked a random spot and pored over it for hours at a time. I’m sure you’re surprised by my love of words. ūüėõ

I have been thinking a lot about a particular word this week, thanks to Mumford and Sons’ song Roll Away Your Stone. So many meanings attached to it. Many emotions as well. I chose a couple to put here; the complete definition I found is quite long, and can be found here. Words are fascinating!

grace –n.

1. elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion or action;
3. favour or goodwill;
5. mercy; clemency; pardon;
9. moral strength;
12. The Graces, from Classical Mythology: known as the Charites to the Greeks, and as the Gratiae to the Romans.

Now, a poem for my lovely readers.

Grace

Floating elegance on tender wings
Takes my breath away, and yet
Bestows upon my sails a mighty wind,
Sends me reeling into open water.

I beg forgiveness for my scrutiny-
My eyes are unwilling to depart
From you: your easy manner, your
Favourable countenance, and long-limbed

Grace. You are Terpsichore,
Euterpe, and Erato
 combined;
What a muse I find in you!
Such delight in all I see.

You inspire the best in me, help me
To melt my thoughts and pour them
Into molds of honour, loyalty, truth:
With you, I am more than I thought I could be.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

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Fall From Grace


I dug this out of my hard drive and dusted it off, just for you guys. Heads up, it’s another strange one.

Fall From Grace

the tension
the spark ignites tinder
glances from burning windows
falling away from the sun
feathers moulting away from shoulders
flutter falter plunge
to the sea
sea of desire
flounder flap drown
siren song
draws the swimmer down
shimmering scales
flitting fins
webbed fingers
arms encircle
fascination with the unknown
tightening embrace
cruel parody of an embrace
jagged yellow fangs
sink into
a dream?
soft creeping darkness
edges of vision
warmth replacing cold
red; black; grey; white.

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2012.

Where did I even come up with this? Oh, my rat-maze brain.

“I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.” ¬†
Prufrock, T.S. Eliot

 

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Monday’s Child


Monday’s Child

The first day of the week was not my cup
Of tea, before. Monday meant school, bullies,
And the end of sleeping in on weekends.
Now I take the day for me, rarely work.

This child of Monday is average of face,
Though quick with a pen, and quick to anger.
Monday’s child isn’t always on the ball:
Forgets the big stuff, and sweats all the small.

Mondays are not the chore they were, before;
A day can be a day without worry.
Perhaps Monday’s child can borrow grace from
Tuesday while she goes through the working week.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

In case you were wondering, the whole Monday’s child thing came from this poem. It’s super old, but it’s interesting that people think that they’ll fit into these quaint little boxes.

Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go.
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath day
Is fair and wise and good in every way.

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Cynical Self-Portrait


This is for the Three Word Wednesday prompt this week. Grace, jitter, and thin.

Here we go!

Cynical Self-Portrait

grace of a hippopotamus in a tutu
fashion sense of an angry punk teen
elegance of a drunken sailor on shore leave
deaf as a sixty year-old rock musician
confidence of a jittery caffeine addict
bubbly as a puddle of paint thinner
and yet,

artistry bravery clarity decency
eloquence fairness & gravitas.

©¬†Bridget Noonan, 2011.

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