Tuesday, April 30, 2013


Anticipation, photo by Rebecca L. Daily from Flickr



© February 19, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Monday, April 29, 2013


Coffee Shop, photo by edenpictures from Flickr


We locked eyes
As you scanned
The room
Full of people
Awaiting a moment
Lingering and expecting
The door jingled
And he walked through
Your expression said it all
As you passed by
For the first time

© February 12, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Sunday, April 28, 2013


Hope, photo by mrsdkrebs from Flickr

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” –Hebrews 11:1


She hangs on
Until tomorrow
Hope is assured
Of time borrowed
Is exacted in faith
That tomorrow
Will relinquish
Its sorrow

© February 11, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

“And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.”  –Hebrews 11:6 

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Words of Gray

Cracked Earth Seamless Texture, 
photo by Patrick Hoesly from Flickr

Words of Gray

The words you uttered
Caused my heart to bleed
And you to leave
Echoes swarm the mind
Of words not spoken
Only what was assumed
As you walked away
And dispersed into gray

© February 8, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Friday, April 26, 2013


EVADE, photo by Big Ed Mustapha, from Flickr


If I’m shifty
Would you
Let it slide
If I’d elude
Would it be
If you’d reflect
And I’m
Don’t reject
If you’d persuade
And I’d evade
Would you’ve stayed
If things were eschew
Would you
Know what to do
If we circumvent
We’ll never know
What it meant

© January 21, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Thursday, April 25, 2013


Buttons, photo by sharonstoned1Meike Schönhütte, Flickr

For a soundtrack to this poem, listen to Buttons by SIA here


You push my buttons
And I push your buttons
These buttons
Look like labyrinths
In the way they swirl
And look—In pattern
These buttons
Have rings like Saturn
These buttons
Conceal and hook
These buttons reveal
All that we mistook
Did we miss a button
. . .or was it overlooked?

© February 2, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Poems Like Bread

Give Us This Day, photo by Mr. Kris, from Kris on Flickr

"It is written, man shall not live by bread alone, but by every Word that proceeds from the mouth of God" –Jesus, Matt. 4:4

Poems Like Bread

Poetry is like bread.
The Word sustains
We get life from what is said
Poetry is like bread.
Expressions we feast on
The Word we ponder in our head
Poetry is like bread.
The Word brings life
And resurrects the dead

Poetry is like Bread.

© February 5, 2013, RobbiePruitt

"It is written, man shall not live by bread alone, but by every Word that proceeds from the mouth of God" –Jesus, Matthew 4:4

“They are not just idle words for you--they are your life. By them you will live long in the land you are crossing the Jordan to possess." –Deuteronomy 32:47

Tuesday, April 23, 2013


Weird Blue Dot, photo by awshots, Richard from Flickr


Uttering regret
In response to you
Enveloped by blue

© March 5, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Monday, April 22, 2013

All is Yours

Give Up, photo by bk2204, brian carlson, from Flickr

All is Yours

Since all is yours
Who are we—we are nothing
Nothing to look at—nothing to see

Since all is yours
We give generously
Pour out abundantly

Since all is yours
We give nothing
From our own hand

Since all is yours
We are beholden to you and
Are at your command

© March 16, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

"But who am I, and who are my people, that we should be able to give as generously as this? Everything comes from you, and we have given you only what comes from your hand.”
–1 Chronicles 29:14

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Our Coffees Have Become Famous

Photo by Mark Winterbourne | Photography from Flickr.com 

Our Coffees Have Become Famous

It’s not our friendship
Nor has coffee gone awry
It’s your paparazzi
They have gotten me shy

© March 4, 2013, RobbiePruitt

Saturday, April 20, 2013

City of Exile by Glynn Young

Photography by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures
Used with permission.

I am excited to guest post the poem City of Exile by my friend in poetry Glynn Young for National Poetry Month. Glynn is an excellent poet and writer and is the author of A Light Shining, Dancing Priest, and the blog Faith, Fiction, Friends. Glynn writes extensively about faith and culture, life and work and writes for The High Calling and Tweetspeak Poetry. It has been a great pleasure and joy reading Glynn’s work over the years and I am sure you will enjoy it too. Here is the poem City of Exile by Glynn Young.

City of Exile

A city of granite walls
and marbled streets, cold,
a city of exile, not inclined
to mercy or pity. I walk
the streets of the city
of exile, sent, preferring to be
in the belly of the whale.

Faces of strangers confront
the stranger’s face, my face,
and I listen, sent to listen
and to pray for this city
of exile, this place of aliens
for aliens. My footsteps echo
on hollow stones.

I walk the streets of this city
of exile, to seek my home
I this city thirsting for light,
the light I thirst for, seek
desire in this city exile where
few speak and none smile.
My singing attracts stares.

By Glynn Young
Faith, Fiction, Friends

Friday, April 19, 2013

Treasure in the Field

Field photo by Lel4nd, Leland Francisco, from Flickr

Treasure in the Field

A jewel laid long ago
In a secret place
Where few would go
Called out from concealment
Beckoning everyone to know
The treasure in this field
Would soon be revealed
Her value more precious
Than gold or life,
If anyone would pay the price,
Sell all that was owned
And buy that secret place.
Trespasses would be forgiven
And Glory would adorn each face.

© March 14, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Thursday, April 18, 2013


Cover Photo of 'Crying At The Low Bar,' 
courtesy of ‘The Sparklers,’ from their album 
‘Crying At The Low Bar,’ © July 2012


You’re my retro lover
Floral patterned
I’m worth it
Stay a while
Under slanted roof
Look at me
I’m your proof
Throw back
You want to go?
For show
Nothing you want to know?
Vinyl record
And duffle bag
Be my feedback stag 
Let’s make life
A drag

© January 7, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Wednesday, April 17, 2013


Photo from Flickr by Storm Crypt


Looking where
We last saw it
For tenderness
What we had dismissed
For compromise

© March 7, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Pine Barren

In The Pines, photo courtesy of Michael Bixler
© March 17, 2013

Pine Barren

Blood cries
From the ground
My heart
Tall stalks
Long walks
Buried beneath

© January 7, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

My friend Michael Bixler is an excellent photographer, artist, writer, videographer and “adventurer” who took the photo above of the Pine Barrens, In The Pines. Like much of his work, this photo captivated me and inspired the poem Pine Barren. Bixler has provoked me to poetry with Motel back in October of 2012, Ghost Lake also in October of 2012, Late Autumn Epiphany last November, and Homage back in December of 2012, I am a huge fan of his work and am grateful he allows me to use his art as my muse. To see more of Michael Bixler’s work, click here, here, or here.

Monday, April 15, 2013

The Door

Photo of the purple door from Flickr by Patrick Feller

The Door



Will you dine with me?
Enter into eternity
Transcend beyond
This closed door–
What little you see

© February 4, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

“Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.”  –Revelation 3:20

Sunday, April 14, 2013


Flower photo from Flickr by audreyjm529


Soft petals
Along smooth
Rounded ridges
To center
Before the coming
Of winter

© February 5, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Too Old to Hula

Photo from Tweetspeak Poetry

Too Old to Hula

No poems of pink
Hula Hoops
Smiling faces
Turn to frown droops
Life drags
And the body sags
Joy stolen—an age grab
Color turns drab
From fun to “fab”
Too old to Hula
Inner child needs a Doula

© January 17, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Friday, April 12, 2013


Three Beers, photo by Kuba Bożanowski
Creative Commons, via Flickr


She spoke as the wind blew
Her words more blurry
With every pint of brew
The night would soon see to
What becomes of us
After three brew
The palms rustled
At the breeze off the sea
And there walked the one of us
For there was no she

© October 1, 2012, Robbie Pruitt

This poem, She, was originally submitted to the October Beer and Wine poetry prompt on Tweetspeak Poetry here. While it as not chosen, it got a mention here as “stiff competition.” I was very honored just to have written alongside of my friend Glynn Young and all the other wonderful poets on Tweetspeak. Glynn’s poem Art Form, With Beer was the best overall. You can see Glynn’s poetry and his winning poem on his website Faith, Fiction, Friends here.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Pilgrims Transforming

Transformation, photo by Hoot Owl from Flickr

“Beloved, I urge you as aliens and strangers to abstain from fleshly lusts which wage war against the soul.” –1 Peter 2:11, ESV

Pilgrims Transforming

There is no compromise
Looking to Jesus with these eyes
No sport with the enemy
No competition to be seen
We are non-conformers
We are transformers
Pilgrims and strangers
In a strange land—Aliens
To anything but God’s command
Feeding on The Bread Life
Which came down from heaven
We live without strife
Every Word of God—our food
And we avoid the Viper’s Brood
We baptize into new life—
New covenant people—Born again
Unfettered from slavery to our sin
We are pilgrims transforming
Settling for nothing less than restoration
With compromise—there is no norming
It is the very gates of Hell we are storming
Until His Kingdom comes, until His will is done
And all come to know Jesus, God’s own Son

© April 4, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

What Love Does

Rose Man, photo by Peachy Weasel from Flickr

What Love Does

Her timid laugh
Only perpetuated
My insecurities.
Like a shy little puppy dog
I stood there, rose in hand,
Seeking forgiveness,
Because that’s what love does.

© April 4, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Write a Song About It

I stole this photo above from Ray over at Overland
I hope he doesn’t mind. . . 

In April of 2012 my wife and I took the Sr. Class of QCS on their Sr. Trip to an Island off the south coast of Haiti, Isle a’Vaches. It was a blast, other than possibly having contracted Malaria. On the trip there was a Kompa band that came and played for us one night. They were all drunk, but they got the job done. One of the elder men lead us in “dance” and he was out of control. I have dance in quotes there, because I had never seen anything like what I saw and haven’t seen anything like that sense. I wanted to write a song about it, but I’m not talented like that.

My friend Ray Bennett is talented musically see. He could have written a song about it, but I had to write this poem instead of a song. Everybody loves Raymond. I met Ray at Café Amouri in Vienna, VA at an Open Mic Night. Ray carries his own sign to Open Mic Night. I didn’t have a sign, so Ray let me borrow his sign. It was great. He’s such a nice guy. This poem goes out to Ray for National Poetry Month, and to that dancing Haitian guy. This poem is also a natural follow up to Poetry Songs about that Haitian dancing guy here.

Here’s to you and the guys over at Overland Ray!

Write a Song About It

Going to write a song about it
When the wine pours freely
And the tears come near me
Going to put words to the blues
Sing about all the bad news
Going to write a song about it
Stand on the rooftops and shout about it
If there is any cloud or shadow, I’ll tout it
Underscore the hope and be about it

© July 18, 2012, Robbie Pruitt  

Monday, April 8, 2013

Rehearsal by Rod Meadth

Nazarene Street, drawing courtesy of Rod Meadth

The following poem, Rehearsal, as well as the drawing above, Nazarene Street, is courtesy of Rod Meadth. Rod is the secondary principal at Quisqueya Christian School in Port-au-Prince, Haiti where I teach. Rod is a gifted administrator and teacher and is a talented musician and a diverse artist. He is also a great boss. Most importantly, Rod loves Jesus and his family and is committed to glorifying God in all that he does. It is with great pleasure that I post his poem here for National Poetry Month.


Above are glories shining,
               Down below are shadowlands,
The skies are your designing,
               Concrete cracking, human hands.
The morning sings out praises,
               While our faces face the mud,
Pink and grey and gold still blazes,
               Thoughts of flesh and lives of blood.
The days are drawing nearer,
               When you open up the skies,
Holding mud and concrete dearer,
               Will we even lift our eyes?

Poem and prayer by Rod Meadth

Prayer: Lord, we consider beautiful sunrises to be a rehearsal for Your Great Return. What a beautiful sky awaits! What colors, all putting on their very best final performance for the King of Kings! We fear that only man, in all his distraction, will fail in his choreography, having missed out on daily practice. May it not be so. Amen.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Silver Lines

Photo of tunnel and tracks at Harper’s Ferry 
courtesy of Russ Billo

Silver Lines

Riding the silver lines
The rails screech
One-tracked minds
What was hoped for
Just out of our reach
The days are not kind
Jostling boxcars over trestle
You made up your mind
Water under the bridge
So we no longer wrestle
The rails beneath us twist
Venture and run parallel
Time will carry us
Through stations
And only time will tell

© February 18, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Saturday, April 6, 2013


Apple Tree Motel, photo courtesy of Michael Bixler


Hum of night
Red glow Catskills
Flicker of light
Neon Mountain stills
The road hums
To the Apple Tree
The chill of night
Numbs—red fades to red
Distance on our side
Slide Mountain—slide

© October 29, 2012, Robbie Pruitt

My friend Michael Bixler is an excellent photographer, artist, writer, videographer and “adventurer” who took the photo above. Like much of his work, it captivated me and inspired the poem Motel. Bixler has provoked me to poetry with Ghost Lake back in October of 2012, with his photo Late Autumn Epiphany last November, and with Homage back in December of 2012, I am a huge fan of his work and am grateful he allows me to use his art as my muse. To see more of Michael Bixler’s work, click here, here, or here.

The Apple Tree Motel sign during the day: https://plus.google.com/101311750252424984639/about?hl=en

Friday, April 5, 2013

Summer’s Air

Spier Willow Trees, by Ula Gillion from Flickr here

Summer’s Air

Her skin was radiant
As the noon sun
Illuminated softly
Through the shade
Of the willow tree
The smell of fried chicken
Arose from the picnic basket
We reclined on the plaid blanket
Questioning silently if this was love
If the summer’s air would hold redemption
The smell of watermelon wafted in the breeze
As the willow cradled and sheltered us in its leaves
Before it occurred to me there was no melon
Her glossy rosy-red lips touched mine in fruitful passion
Watermelon never tasted so good in summer’s air

© April 3, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Sandburg’s Faith

Photo of Carl Sandburg with Guitar from www.nps.org

“For we live by faith, not by sight.” –2 Corinthians 5:7, Paul

Sandburg’s Faith

“And in the Churches
We walk by faith
And not by sight,”
Said Sandburg.
The ‘bunkshooter,’
The blind looter
Of Freedom’s call
To walk while seeing,
Or not to walk at all.
“This Jesus was good to look at,”
Sandburg said. He saw Him too.
His faith had substance and hoped—
In what is seen, and in what is real;
Faith that comes through;
Faith that rewards at the reveal.

© April 3, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” –Hebrews 11:1

“But without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.” –Hebrews 11:6

“The People, Yes,” by Carl Sandburg, Poem Animation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPzdgdhzTTY

To a Contemporary Bunkshooter, by Carl Sandburg: http://carl-sandburg.com/to_a_contemporary_bunkshooter.htm

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Talking to Myself

Cup and String Phone, photo from danblank.com

Talking to Myself

Paper cups
Strung together
With cord 
Pulled tightly
At arms length
I’m muttering
Into oblivion
Unintelligible words
“I’m bored!”

© April 1, 2013, Robbie Pruitt

This poem was created as part of the Every Day Poems poetry prompts from Every Day Poems on Facebook here. Below is the prompt:

“Slaying dragons prompt: write a poem in the comments about your childhood imagination play.

Go even further with words, and find the best in poetry and poetic things at http://tweetspeakpoetry.com/

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

'If' by Rudyard Kipling

Photo of Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936) 
from the Poetry Foundation here

Movember's Muse - 'If' by Rudyard Kipling, 

(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

If you can keep your head when all about you   
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;   
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;   
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Source: A Choice of Kipling's Verse (1943)

Monday, April 1, 2013

Musing on the Origins Poetry

"Poet and Pholosopher" (1958) - Nikos Engonopoulos, Photo by Tilemahos_E's, From Creative Commons, © February 21, 2009

Musing on the Origins Poetry

“Ordering a man to write a poem is like commanding a pregnant woman to give birth to a red-haired child.”  ― Carl Sandburg

April is National Poetry Month and I am excited to participate all month long by posting a different poem each day on Facebook and Twitter, and by posting a new poem weekly on my poetry blog, Poetry by Robbie Pruitt, at www.robbiepruitt.com.

National Poetry Month has me thinking about how I write poetry and how I see poetry.  Where does a poem come from?  How are poems inspired?  As I have been thinking about this, it is interesting what answers begin to emerge. In this post, I will explore the variety of motivations and inspirations that yield the poetry that I write. 

One of my favorite poets is Carl Sandburg. I was inspired to write poetry very early on through reading Carl Sandburg’s poems. I also identify with much of what Sandburg said about writing poetry and can identify with a lot of what he said about poetry and his inspiration to write poems. I will begin each musing on the origins of a poem with a quote or idea from Carl Sandburg or another poet or artist and will then share my own thoughts, reflections, delights, adventures, struggles, or meditations about poetry.

An Idea of a Poem

“Nothing happens unless first a dream.”   ― Carl Sandburg, The Complete Poems

Before I set out to write a poem, there is usually an inspired emotion or thought. Sometimes I look at landscapes in nature, a photo, a person, a scripture, a song, an idea, or a thought and a poem begins to come to mind. Other times it is a conversation or a mood or emotion that sparks inspiration for a poem. 

A Structure of a Poem

 “I'm an idealist. I don't know where I'm going but I'm on the way.”  ― Carl Sandburg

This idea that “I don't know where I'm going but I'm on the way” begins to sum up the feelings and the thoughts that I have as I begin to write a poem. As I begin to write the poem, I am not too sure where I am going with it. Rarely do I have the whole poem in mind when I begin to write. 

The Title of a Poem

“Now I am here - now read me - give me a name.” ― Carl Sandburg

Sometimes I begin writing a poem with a line or a title and just begin. Sometimes I write the end first and then the beginning and then the title. Other times, I write the poem from beginning to end and then add the title at last. It is as if I am following the poem’s lead.

The Content of a Poem

“Sometime they’ll give a war and nobody will come.”  ― Carl Sandburg

Poems often do not have the effect that I wish they had on me, or on others. They are written, they “give war,” but no one comes to meet their challenge, sometimes not even me. 

The Poems That I Do Not Understand

“I've written some poetry I don't understand myself” ― Carl Sandburg

Like Sandburg, I have often had this experience. I have written poetry that I do not understand.  It came from somewhere, but where, I do not know. Sometimes I understand the poem completely and other times I have no idea what I have written, what it means, or why I wrote it.

The Poetry of the Everyday

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.” –Robert Frost

Life happens and so do the poems that follow. Like Robert Frost asserted, a poem can have its origins in everyday emotions feelings, injustices, and loneliness, as well as the poetic muse of love. This is often the case with poems I write. Life happens and then poetry. To say it another way, life is poetic and I write it down.

The Poetry of Discovery

“Writing a poem is discovering.” –Robert Frost

Certainly there is discovery in poetry. The composer of the poem is lead into discovery as well as the reader. I discover a lot about myself and about my subjects when I write poetry.

Here are some other poetic musings that I’m contemplating this month:

Poetry on Accident

“A lot happens by accident in poetry.” –Howard Nemerov

Poetry is Essence

“Write what should not be forgotten.” –Isabel Allende

The Poetry of Naming

A poets work is to name the unnamable.” –Salman Rushdie

Poetry: The Dancing Echo

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” –Carl Sandburg

The Adventure of Poetry

“Writing is an adventure.” –Winston Churchill

The Poetry in Listening

“The poet doesn’t invent. He listens.”  –Jean Cocteau 

Watch a video on 'What is Poetry?' here on YouTube.