75 Years of Lilac Legacy ~ 2013 Lilac Poem Spokane Lilac Festival

Legend of Ancient times,tales of beautiful lore

God of forests and fields chasing beauty…wanting more.

Running, desperate-escaping-flee,

Beauty transforms into ornate Lilac tree.

Innocence of purity and truth

White Lilac blooms… we celebrate our youth.

Brave military you diligently protect

Purple confident plumes depict our honor, our respect.

Legacy generously gifted from the past

Lovingly planted Lilac roots grow… holding firm, holding fast.

Emerging from a cold-wintery-sleep each May

Sweet purple-hues “The beauty of this Lilac City!” all will say.

Alive at 75! Our Diamond Anniversary we sing!

Like that gem, our traditions are steadfast:

Durable, simple, elegant with grace

Timeless simplicity… Lilac petals of lace.

Community spirit we proudly display

A festival to honor and celebrate:

Our youth, our military, our beautiful land.

Seventy-five years strong…Lilac Legacy

We celebrate you, Spokane!

Comments

I Am With You

...This poem was inspired by the Bible Study I'm in, covering the Book of Deuteronomy... I am in a desert. I have lost my way. Oh Lord, speak to me... I need to hear you today! Remind me you are here. ...You've brought me this way. You have more for me! I need to hear you say... "You too have a Promised Land! Just look at my hand... see? Lean into my arms, gaze at my plans... Let Me set you free! Though your lost in a desert... Though you've lost your way... I am with you here, my child... I am with you today!" ~Carole A. Smith 10/3/12

This Can’t Be You…

I have been attending my Christian Writing/Editing Group bi-weekly for roughly two years now. For the same amount of time I have been slowly but surely chipping away on my first book, a Memoir. Some of the chapters are extremely telling and memories that I don’t really want to remember let alone share with others. But they are my stories and they need to be told… so the reader can know me, relate to me and hopefully heal with me. I read one of those uncomfortable chapters last week aloud in my group. Chapter 3 - which should give you a pretty good idea about how long I have been holding this one back. I have been waiting until I feel safe. I have been waiting to see if my writing is “good enough”. I have been waiting for someone to tell me to stop writing because it’s not good, so I don’t have to read the hard ones. But this hasn’t happened. So I keep writing, I keep attending and I keep reading. Today as I sit down to go over my edits and colleagues re

Life goes on...

Sunday may have been my personal proverbial five minutes of fame . It was wonderful. It was exhilarating. It was nerve-wracking. It was addicting. And now it is over. I feel incomplete. Like something is missing. Empty. I am Empty. This troubles me, so I muse. I analyze. I dig around, within myself, to find a root. To extract it. Completely. Like a weed, so that it will not spread. So that it will not choke-out the good that I have planted. Nurtured, painstakingly, until I saw the first blooms. My garden is fragile. Temperamental. I must always keep a steady eye and ready hand upon the first shoots of a weed. So I dig. I think back upon this experience. It began a little over three months ago. February 9 th , to be exact. The moment I read the non-conspicuous call for local writers to audition for a reading of their personal story on motherhood. I wasn’t expecting the invitation, which made it even more delightful; spontaneous.

Carole Smith

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