# March Challenge: "A Touch of Grace"



## Chesters Daughter (Mar 1, 2018)

*AS PREVIOUSLY ANNOUNCED, IF YOU ENTER THE CHALLENGE, YOU MUST CAST AT LEAST ONE VOTE IN THE POLL. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN YOUR ENTRY BEING DISQUALIFIED.

*The prompt for this month's challenge, as chosen by Firemajic and ned is: *A Touch of Grace

*You are free to interpret the prompt in any way you wish, though of course, site rules apply. If you are unsure of the challenge rules please read the 'stickies' at the top of the board. *Please note that all entries* *are eligible to receive critique in the voting thread.* 

*The inclusion of explanatory text or links of any kind within an entrant's challenge entry is prohibited and will be immediately removed upon discovery. As always, only one entry per member is permitted.

*As previously announced, anonymous entries have been abolished, therefore, entrants must post their own entries in this thread, or if you desire to protect first rights, please post your entry in the *secure*[URL="https://www.writingforums.com/threads/176165-March-Challenge-quot-A-Touch-of-Grace-quot?p=2141777#post2141777"]* thread*[/URL], and then post a link to it here in the public thread. *Failure to do so runs the risk of your entry being disqualifie**d*, so if you require assistance with the task, please PM *me*, and I will gladly help you.

If your entry contains strong language or mature content, *please include a disclaimer in your title.

*Kindly make sure your entry is properly formatted and error free before you submit. You have a *ten minute grace period* to edit your piece, but anything edited after that will likely see your entry excluded from the challenge. 
*
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This challenge will close on the 15th of March at 7pm EST.**
*


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## sas (Mar 2, 2018)

*The red wheelbarrow . . .*

is not really red, in the tall grass.

He left it kicked over, in the short grass 
when no one was left to care about carrots
or what he grew, or that he forgot
to memorize faces before winds
found only corn-silk to tousle beside him

like someone
not forgotten—like someone not there.

It took a long time for blue to rust red.
It took but a moment for blue to rust him
into someone he wasn’t with infidel hands
slammed 
never folding in grace at the emptied table.
God was a weed, his centerpiece. 



.


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## andrewclunn (Mar 4, 2018)

*Sugar Spice Dip*

A dash of Angelica ground powder fine
_____Discard the pulp, but save the rind	
Take Ginger snapped in two along the back
_____then press and roll until it's flat
Two pinches of rosy cheeked Rosemary
_____Then beat the batter till it bleeds
Mix in Jasmine flakes or Clementine hide
_____pre-salted, dried, or mummified
A splash of either Brandy or Sherry
_____Add Peach skin and spine of Cherry
And a touch of Grace to give it soul
_____One batch should serve a dozen trolls


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## midnightpoet (Mar 4, 2018)

*Desolation

On the other side of tomorrow

creep creatures unknown 
that prey on yesterday’s
carbon based compost 

man becomes woman 
woman becomes man

connected

they twirl like dervishes 

pass by Saturn and pluto
that isn’t a planet

through 17 dimensions
quarks and black holes 

until on the other side
of the cosmos 

they spew through every orifice
space seed, undaunted

while angels sing sordid soliloquies
hoping for a touch of grace

to serve the shackled beast

while

the universe stops to change a tire.

*


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## TuesdayEve (Mar 4, 2018)

*Somewhere in Life*

Unwind, recoil, unwind
the paranoia designed to keep her detached
from a dream she’s seen on TV

Her logic is twelve, her body mature
her constant companion described as doubt
strobing headaches molest her senses
and crowds of choices flee through clouded hallways

Gray covers white
black covers gray
right and wrong morals tied up in mud

High waters rise, the keel unbalanced
circling vortex she loosens her grip
tired, she’s swirling chasing mad hatters
down rabbit holes the replay begins

Back to the corner, her dark corner
”Go Away” reads the sign on the door
unsure, unsafe, no shield protects her
she sits alone, face
to face with Grace


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## Firemajic (Mar 4, 2018)

*Sacred Trip*

*Everything I hold sacred
shatters when I trip
though I try to hold it tight
I always lose my grip

When I think I might stumble
I try not to trip
step by careful step I move
trying not to slip

My life is a tightrope
I'm terrified I'll trip
sobriety hangs in the balance 
but I'm afraid I'll slip

Please God, give me strength
help me keep my grip
stay close beside me
do not let me slip

Sobriety is a journey
a very scary trip
I will have to keep my faith
if I don't want to slip

Dear God, please forgive me
I stumbled and I tripped
I tried to hold on to your hand
but I lost my grip...

*


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## Pelwrath (Mar 4, 2018)

*Temperamental Humor*

_*Temperamental Humor*_


_U__nderstand, this poem has me smitten,_
_use your melancholic brain_
_it might be a bit overwritten_
_and a touch sanguine._

_Your family brings out the prayer beads,_
_your temperament the seek to mend_
_Black then yellow, __the bile's__ mislead_
_On r__esults of phlegm and blood, __now __all depend__s_

_Choleric Romans, phlegmatic Greeks_
_Medical science in days of our youth_
_would bleed us from our cheeks_
_such now seems so uncouth_
_and provokes modern medical critiques._
_yet all they were seeking, was life’s truth._


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## Chesters Daughter (Mar 5, 2018)

*Celestial Search and Rescue*

We, decreed a dying breed,
(lies told live by hell spawned news feed)
venture alone and unarmed
in a hunt for humanity;
an endangered species
worthy of kid gloves
and gratis hugs.

Some, coaxed with kindness,
do their brethren proud
belying the myth
extinction has erased them
from the face of the earth.

Granted, sightings are rare,
but they are still there,
providing your binoculars
are top of the line
and you're willing to invest
a wee bit of time.

Decency still subsists
however hidden 
in the hardened hearts of heathens.
Subtle nudges are our friends
and will keep them from their end
if wisely deployed and employed.

We must excavate the good
in soured guts
or without a but
it will be we
posed and displayed
in glass cases
being jeered at
by those with firmly fisted spears.

Continued ravages by savages
will bring the earth full circle
with only the fires
of global devastation
to illuminate the coming
of the Dark Age.

Polish the spyglasses,
safely secure those nudges,
and get ready for wear and tear
on keen eyes and cramped feet

ready…set…seek…

fear not filthy hands
immersed in malignant meat
there's good in there
somewhere
for beneath rough facades
God has equipped each member
of the human race
with at least one
saving grace

His image instilled in all

even those masked
by evil's caul
aren't doomed to fall
should we extend our hands
to misled man
and duly dig deep
to wake His reflected beauty 
forever thriving
in inner mirrors
which remember their Maker

each awaiting to be unveiled
by the few undaunted
movers and shakers.

Those in the know
wish us Godspeed
on the down-low
for the success of our numbers
will greatly encumber
the thunder of apocalyptic hooves
as horsemen pause to espy
souls unplucked on high

only to find prey unplentiful.

The promise of salvation
set forth in Revelation
will never be revoked,
and these wings we wear
are there 
to ensure our Father’s favored children 
don’t go up in smoke.


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## Gumby (Mar 5, 2018)

*Driver's Ed 101 (Language)*

She was well into her fifties
when daddy ran her down 
on the road to enlightenment.
Eighteen wheels of ignorance
doesn’t leave pretty roadkill.

There had been signs along the way,
but they were hidden
by the forest of family trees.

Sounds of daddy 
raging at the television,
as those who had a dream
  marched into history—
blended with the aroma 
of mama's fried chicken in the kitchen.

Every Sunday, the straight and narrow
road to heaven, singing
_Jesus loves the little children,
all the children of the world._
In the little white church, 
  inside and out.

“Of course you're welcome at the family reunion, 
it's been sixty years for the folks now,
but, about your grandson, sis...”

_No niggers in the family photos, even if they are blood._

Daddy always taught us,
  when you're driving,
you don't swerve 
  for a rabbit in the road.


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## Darkkin (Mar 5, 2018)

*Dance at Grace Tide*

Dance at Grace Tide


The Ebb Tide, a place of bleak wonder, life at the brink, Death’s heart waited.
Gowned in down, overlaid by a spider’s lace, Flo her face kissed by shadows.
Drawn to her bright soul, her birthright of light, came Ebb, feared and fated.

A moment stolen twice each day, when their mortal guises were emancipated—
Free of the spell that held their circle unbroken, unyielding as the tidal flows.
The Ebb Tide, a place of bleak wonder, life at the brink, Death’s heart waited.

In that blink, they were just a gentleman, his lady, their dance uncomplicated.
On a three count—Whirl, swirl.  Glide.  Fingers brush.  And the hearts know.
Drawn to her bright soul, her birthright of light, came Ebb, feared and fated.

A gentleman born, Ebb inherited the duties of the pariah, a power oft berated.
Still she loved him, dared to touch her fingers to his—Flo let her heart show.
The Ebb Tide, a place of bleak wonder, life at the brink, Death’s heart waited.

A touch, the merest brush—Her breath upon his skin, a spell so complicated.
Bound to cycles unbroken, feathers cede to skin and silk, ashes upon snow.
Drawn to her bright soul, her birthright of light, came Ebb, feared and fated.

Life at ebb tide, a battlefield o’er which Ebb waltzed, his broken heart elated—
The glory of his Flo in bloom, joy of that sacred hour at a place few dare go.
The Ebb Tide, a place of bleak wonder, life at the brink, Death’s heart waited.
Drawn to her bright soul, her birthright of light, came Ebb, feared and fated.


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## CrimsonAngel223 (Mar 10, 2018)

Like Jarls, Shoguns, Kings, Lords, 
and Queens
They each share a touch of grace
reclining in their navy-blue or gray 
Arthurian strongholds.

They assume they’re unstoppable
casting sweaty men to war like
salmon to sea
Yet they’re still mortals
but with a touch of grace.


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## Cugoano (Mar 11, 2018)

*Stops Every Where *

at a Detroit stop
intense eyes talked
from nowhere known

I looked round a young man
just he and I alone
a stranger from the war
his look said Viet Nam

camouflaged pants
tucked in leather boots
he spoke as if he knew me,
familiar in his tone
but tone so strange to me

as his tone converged
with agitated stance 
he talked about his comrades
all laid out in a row

five heads he said,
my virgin mind perplexed
five heads he said once more

five heads, each with its own tree
foliage all around,
distant popping sounds
trails across the sky

along a jungle path
making clearings bright
my comrade’s heads laid neatly
for others to see

all in a row
places mapped by steps
my comrade’s heads laid neatly
for others to see

rotted jungle floor
no marching anymore
my comrade’s heads laid neatly
for others to see

his voice quivered sweetly
moistness in hard eyes
my comrade’s heads laid neatly
for others to see

I thought his hands would grab me
to make a point once more
a deed was done with suffering
his body felt the cuts

the bus arrived for rescue
he did not cross the door
I left him standing talking

my comrade’s heads laid neatly
for others to see.


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## ned (Mar 15, 2018)

*Telford Street*

.
A stone’s throw from the riot zone
Is a row of back-to-backs
In a dead-end street just below 
A rumble of railway tracks.


The squat sits squarely where it stands
Complete with toking punks 
Getting high behind broken windows
Covered up with boards.

And falling-down drunks 
That come and go
Blinded as a legless man
Crawling to Lourdes.


While a knock on the door at number four
Softly in the night
Means once more, she’s turning on
The lipstick-tinted light. 


In a splash of rusted yellow 
Lay the permanent skip
Where children play through-and-through
And catch-me-if-you-chase.

Under the damp arch, slogans bellow
I live here and here’s the proof!
And by the lamp ‘Jesus loves you’
The only touch of grace.


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## Chesters Daughter (Mar 15, 2018)

This challenge is now closed.


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