Today, I've written a riddle-type poem (Haiku two lines short of a Haiku sonnet), open-ended, to invite readers to title this poem AND to add two seven-syllable lines to the end to make it a true Haiku sonnet if you wish. I'll add my title after the photo at the bottom so you can see what my initial title was. It's subject to change :).
never have I met
anyone who on first taste
liked its bitterness
sipping piping hot
aromatic wakefulness
swallowing its truth
ah, but sip by sip
its addiction is for real~
can’t live without it!
A lavender latte from my local coffee shop, where I’ll be reading poetry tonight – YAAAY!A book of poetry
The title I initially landed on was Coffee and Poetry – original, I know! Perhaps you can figure out a better title for this poem! Leave ideas in the comments, please.
Fran Haley of North Carolina is our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 18 of #VerseLove, inspiring us to write a triolet. You can read her full prompt here and see the form for this 8-line short form with rhyme scheme. Fran is a fellow teacher, a bird enthusiast, poet extraordinaire, and she named one of my plants on my front porch: Leafy Jean (which led me to a name for the other plant – Leafy’s brother, Leon Russell – – children both buried in a cemetery Fran visited as a child). Today I am keeping yesterday’s blog writing topic with the Rose of Jericho and changing it to a poem – a triolet!
Choose to Live!
Rose of Jericho ~ brittle, brown, dry
unfurl your fingers! choose to live!
mixed tears of grief and joy I cry
Rose of Jericho ~ brittle, brown, dry
my gaze drifts heavenward, eyes to the sky
reassurance of faith and hope you give
Resurrection plant ~ tears green you, oh my!
unfurl your fingers! choose to live!
Rose of Jericho ~ brittle, brown, dry – an Easter gift from my daughterRose of Jericho ~ choosing to live, in my mother’s milk glass on the kitchen counterLeafy Jean at 7:25 a.m. on this day, thriving on the front porch here in Georgia Leon Russell, her brother, at 7:25 a.m. on this day, thriving on the front porch
Why Do You Write Poems When The World Is Asleep, (Even the Sun Has Not Risen), And There is Death All Around?
because over on the kitchen counter, a Jericho Flower has come back to life in my late mother’s pristine white milk glass, taking water into its dry, brittle brown fingers, slowly unfurling for the world and me to see that even in death, there is faith and hope and love - and life. Leave it to my daughter to send me a Resurrection Plant for Easter - it’s the most perfect Easter gift EVER, Mom, wait ‘til you see! - and when the plastic envelope with four baby tumbleweeds arrived in my mailbox, I wondered - WTH?? (yes, even wondered it with Easter and all), so I Googled and discovered it was a Resurrection plant ~
Thank you, dear, I can’t wait to plant it! A perfect Easter gift indeed! ~ to which she promptly replied: Mom. You don’t plant it. You put it in a bowl of water and sit back and before your very eyes it will come to life. No dirt….. ~
and so I packed these dead quadruplets in the camper thinking with the purple martin house assembly and this tumbleweed show, our picnic table by the lake would hold more fun than Disney World. I just had no idea how spectacular, how moving, how positively enchanting it would be to watch. I poured water on one in a clear plastic tub. Sat back in my camp chair, feet on the picnic table bench, Cherry Coke Zero in one hand, dry salted peanut shells in the other, waiting. This thing came to life, from a mail order twig to a beautiful green floof of a plant that now graces my kitchen. And I felt the nudge from Mom to put it in her milk glass bowl, the one I used to use for bananas that was sitting empty with no life and now holds the promise of her presence even in death, along with my daughter’s amazing tumbleweed thinking, in my kitchen, holding three generations of women who know a little bit about what it means to regenerate, to unfurl brown, brittle fingers into green again.
Because stories need to be told. That’s why I write poems when the world is asleep, the sun is not yet up, and there is death all around.
Saturday afternoon, 2:00 p.m.Saturday afternoon, 2:30 p.m. Saturday afternoon, 3:00 p.m.Husband napping through all the excitement Saturday afternoon, 5:00 p.m.Sunday morning, 7:00 a.m.This morning, 7:00 a.m.
Susan Ahlbrand is our host today for Day 16 of #VerseLove. She inspires us to write poems about friendships that didn’t work out for whatever reason, whether there was a move or a disagreement or a divorce or another form of distancing. You can read her full prompt here. I wrote about a time I left a church because the views became too radical to accept.
Blind Ewe
so you’re holier.
new pastor said NO WOMEN
his blind sheep believed
not one stood with me
not one challenged his iron fist
not one saw the wolf
wife who rarely spoke
children white as untanned lambs
always in the house
I took a firm stand
when I saw the truth. I left
that mutton pasture
one by one others
did too, down to a dozen
“disciples” who stayed
brainwashed radicals
worshipping legalism
no grace, mercy, love
so you’re holier?
is that what you call yourself?
guess again, girlfriend.
Ewe blind
Allison Berryhill of Iowa is our host today for Day 15 of #VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us to write poems about what we missed, or what could have been. You can read her full prompt here.
What You Missed
what you missed
you’d have never seen anyway
the way he looks like his mother
the way he casts his line
the way he asks with concern
the way he answers with passion
the way he doesn’t miss a beat
the way he marches to his own
the way he loves animals like Mimi did
the way he rescues turtles
the way he named his baby duck Steve
the way he knows departure
the way he feels betrayal
the way he talks all scholarly
the way he tells books start to finish
the way he hugs his cousins
the way he thinks in waves of blue
the way he ponders nothing new under the sun
the way he sees the world
the way he doesn’t see the world
five years from now
he’ll carry fewer memories of you
because you were absent
off praying for all the others
at a ballpark
again forgetting your own
that depth finder could see fish
but will never show the depth of
what you missed
Disco Fever
I opened my eyes
to a disco joint
missing the music
clearly needing The Bee Gees
or Yvonne Elliman
or the greatest ever: Abba
hundreds of tiny sunbeams
scattering light rays
in all directions
the kinds of rays
I could reach out and touch,
measure with a ruler
their armlengths’ reach
changing refractions
wondering how I would get home
in this overpowering light
too much, really
so much it hurt
I squinted, tilted my face up
propped my head on the backrest
closed my eyes
and sat silently
thinking, pondering
“Do you have sunglasses?”
a voice asked
I do
“You’re gonna need ‘em,” she assured me. “I have some if you can’t find yours.”
I reached in, fumbled blindly
through my backpack
fingers searching feverishly
wallet
keys
chapstick
Aleve
Kleenex
Sunglasses!
I put on these disco glasses,
ready to face the music
when I stepped out
into the bright sunlight
from the darkness
of the eye doctor’s office,
eyes dilated from the exam,
I had only two things on my mind:
John Travolta and a ride home
Dave Wooley is our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 13 of #VerseLove. He inspires us to find poems on the pages of books or sheets of music or newspapers – anywhere there are words. Blackout poems are positively addictive. I could sit all day finding blackout poems and wish I could. I ripped a few pages out of a Steven King destined for a Little Free Library and found this from the pages of Blaze: a single soup-spoon ain’t what I call a thing for grim peculiar amusement
Try a Blackout poem and share yours in the comments! Warning: you can’t stop after one.
Anna Roseboro is our host at http://www.ethicalela.com today for Day 12 of #VerseLove, inspiring us to find our birth poets. I loved her nod to a line from Gorman in her own poem today – we must be the light. And I’m rather convinced that’s the only way to change the world. I found Angela Williams, who wrote the poem Almost Savages – born in northern Michigan – and born on the same day and same year as I. I chose to write a Golden Shovel with this striking line: small fish will scatter away from my steps.
Anna Shines the Light
Here’s to you, Anna Small Roseboro! Words glimmer like tiny fish in your sunlight as each of us will put pen to paper, fingers to keys, scatter in all directions far and away searching, learning, writing from the heart of our birth poets- my same-day-and-year poet and I shared first steps
I enjoy the structure of short syllabic forms of poetry, so I was thrilled with today’s VerseLove prompt using prime numbers from Erica Johnson at http://www.ethicalela.com on this 11th day of the writing challenge. I found a unique book in my mailbox yesterday from my writing sisterfriend Fran Haley from North Carolina, and it inspired today’s poem. We are both watching eggs ready to hatch any day now. I used a partial borrowed line from a poem in the book entitled Memory Garden (in bold) for today’s writing that includes prime numbers of syllables in ascending line order (2,3,5,7,9,11,13….) and I added an ending line of 3.
Feathered Friends
today’s poetry: Language of the Birds cherished gift in my mailbox from a sisterly friend sharing peace and warmth grass withers, flowers fade, but books live on forever like friendship
Today’s host for Day 10 of #VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com is Brittany Saulnier, who inspires us to write whimsical science poems. I chose to focus on outdoor science – nature and all its discovery and wonder about the world! I have just gotten my flower presses out of the old barn over the weekend and can’t wait to gather flowers and greenery to press on a long walk one afternoon this week. So much of science is soothing, just pure medicine for the soul. Brittany’s gift of a prompt that invites peace is particularly appreciated on this Monday back to work after spring break. Today, my poem is a first-word-Golden Shovel Tanka (5-7-5-7-7) string. I took my striking line as a quote from a birding journal by Vanessa Sorensen: “Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Bloom!
adopt a mindset~
the practice of noticing
pace your amazement
of observing more fully
nature: less is so much more
her covert moments
secret discoveries ~ what
is our big hurry?
its blessings beckoning us
patience blooms on every stem
Common Threads 