Category: Gratitude

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Slice of Life and Open Write June Day 4 with Anna Roseboro

My writing groups converge today – Slice of Life Challenge writers and Open Write writers take joy on days when we get to see all of our fellow writers on the same day when the stars align. I’m so grateful for these groups of writers who are positive people, inspiring others to write. I also joined The Stafford Challenge in January, and we are around Day 160 of writing a poem every day for one entire year – so we’re close to the middle mark. Where would I be without my writing family? I don’t want to know.

Anna Roseboro of Michigan is our host for Day 4 of the June Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us today to write reflection/projection poems, using synonyms for those words by looking forward and looking back. You can read her full prompt here. Today I have a working retreat before going off contract for three weeks over the summer, so I’ll be doing a lot of this today. I wrote a nonet, a nine-line poem with line-numbered syllables on each line in descending order.

Slice of Life writers are bloggers who share our posts and something about the moments of our lives. We write every day during March and all through the year on Tuesdays. You can find the home page at www.twowritingteachers.org to learn more. Today’s Slicing prompt is thinking about what inspires us to write on the early days of summer. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m almost there…….

Photo by Athena Sandrini on Pexels.com

Almost There

glancing backward to focus forward

setting the sails on this boat

checking wind direction

untying the ropes

feeling the breeze

smiling now

almost

there

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Mosaic

Ollie is upside-down

in the olive chair

chasing rabbits in

his sleep in the quiet

morning whirr of

the fan, coffee

steam rising from

my cup, Boo Radley

curled around my neck

like a fur-fringed coat

on the back of my chair,

Fitz hiding out under

the bed again

while I consider all

the fine porcelain

plates, these

place settings of past

destined to become

somebody’s mosaic

art piece of the

future

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Night Bloom

two summers ago

I bought a

night-blooming

Cereus for

ten dollars

thinking of

Dennis the Menace

getting in the way

of that plant that

blooms every 100

years and wondering

whether I’d be up

late enough to ever

see it bloom or

whether some

distraction would

forever keep me

from seeing it

but this very week

as a friend lost her

husband, this flower

bloomed in the dead

of night

like a smile from

Heaven

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A Saga in Six Days of Life When You Live on a Farm: Featuring Boo Radley and the Unexpected, Day 6

All that matters to Boo in this world is his family (who speak his love language ~ food and attention)

Day 6

our Boo Radley

did a most

surprising thing ~

our Boo

forced a threatening

brown bull to retreat

to turn tail

and

take to the woods

or was that his intention?

was he a charger of bulls

or was he a shepherd

of cows?

was he herding them

back in their farm direction

because he knew they

were lost, drifters one

farm south of theirs,

needing a nudge?

this is, after all

the Funny Farm,

where you have

to be a little

sideways to end

up here in the

land of the

unexpected

where wrinkles in

perceptions become

realities like this:

Boo Radley is a

shepherding schnoodle

of lost herds, the

meanest bulls not

excluded, because

he knows how it feels

to be lost, looking

for home, aggressively

persuading them not

to give up a good thing

all this brings back

the day we were

on the beach

late afternoon

on a cloudy day

sipping wine

on a blanket

when two women

much further into

their bottle

walked by us too close

to our beach campout

according to Boo

Boo corrected

them

~not politely~

and in their swagger,

in their smirks,

their chuckles,

one taunted back:

oh, what a little badass!

fast forward

the years

to today and I

want to go back

to that moment

and say

yes ma’am,

he certainly is!

he fulfilled the

prophesy at the bottom

of your

wine bottle

you saw the future

of our little rescue

Schnoodle named

Boo Radley~

a champion badass

herder of bulls

you weren’t bullshitting

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Purple Foxglove Forgiveness Haiku

Photo by Jeffry Surianto on Pexels.com

am I naive to

believe that purple foxgloves

bloom in forgiveness?

that what was destroyed

smiles Heaven’s understanding

and blesses again?

or am I just a

poet choosing to believe

signs hold messages?

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Has Tomorrow Come?

when I’m birdwatching

and you’re nodding

off in the chair

next to me on

our campsite,

me: thrilled in

a composed way

behind my binoculars

and you with

holes in your socks

broken-breath quiet snores

I wonder ~


are we those old

people we’ve

always known

we’d become

one day?

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It’s Global Big Day

Today is Global Big Day, and I’ve already been out birdwatching for over an hour. Come join me! No matter where I go birding, my heart feels happy. Normally, I’m home on the farm, but today I’m camping in one of Georgia’s amazing state parks. The sounds of morning birds on a campsite near a lake are second to none in the great choir of feathered friends. Join me in a bird count today!

Photo by Alexa Popovich on Pexels.com

Morning Song

once again

I’m in the woods

the usual cast

of characters

appears

robins, wrens, cardinals

then the

red-eyed vireo

chimes into the

morning chatter

followed by the

evil clown sound

of the white-breasted

nuthatch

then from behind

the veil of leaves

comes the

melody I love most-

the sireny-soloist

of the tiered trees

a wood thrush

bringing the song

these woods

her deep sea

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Day 30 of #VerseLove with Dr. Sarah Donovan of Oklahoma on a Slice of Life

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

Today we wrap up #VerseLove 2024 at http://www.ethicalela.com with a prompt from Dr. Sarah Donovan, inviting us to choose a favorite prompt from the month and write another poem on that same prompt. I chose Stacey Joy’s In Our Mama’s Kitchens and Fran Haley’s The First Time. A very special thanks to Sarah Donovan and to Two Writing Teachers for giving us a space to write and grow and encourage each other. I look back as a preacher’s kid growing up in a household where one truly never knew which way the ball was coming, and today’s poem takes me back to the first time I knew I needed to hold on tight.

Pastorium Perils

late summer 1971 
in rural Reynolds, Georgia 
the land of peach trees
in their time of ripeness

Mama was pregnant with
my baby brother and
we were in the den
Mama Daddy and me
when

 ~~whoosh~~

in through the kitchen door
a naked girl with 
long wet hair
streaked through
our house holding a towel
screaming all the way 
down the hall
to my parents’ bedroom

locking the door
on her heels her stepdad
pounding and screaming
threatening her life
I recognized them from church

I was five
the girl was a teenager 
(with flapping boobs 
……and hair….down there?)
her stepdad was drunk

my mother clutched me 
carried me like a football
into my room
locked the door

then ran through 
the connecting bathroom

I followed, fearful 
to stay alone
crawled under their bed

Mama found the girl 
huddled in the bottom
of their closet
shaking
crying uncontrollably
wailing for help
Mama comforted her
clothed her
sat on the bed 
holding her

called the cops

we listened 
in fear for Dad
as we waited

those slurred screams 
of fury
are seared 
into my memory forever

she comes with me
or I’ll go get
my ruiner
and ruin you

then more voices,
the crash of a lamp
furniture slamming

handcuffs, arrest, 
police report
one prominent
family in ruins

exposed

it was the first time
I knew
growing up a preacher’s
kid would bring
a whole cast of 
characters always calling
mostly clothed

it was the first time
I saw a naked teenager
running for her life

Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers

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Day 29 of #VerseLove with Fran Haley of North Carolina

Fran Haley of North Carolina is our host for Day 29 of #VerseLove, inspiring us to write Heart Map poems. You can read her full prompt here.

Fran explains that author Georgia Heard created Heart Maps to help younger students find their own meaningful stories. She encourages us to brainstorm “first times” in our own lives – or last times.

The Last Time

The last time I came home

before you died you

stood feebly

in the door

cold rushing in

against your

flannel pajamas

swallowing you

life leaving your body

escaping you

your voice

deep and low

sunk to the bottom

of your being

a soul cry of despair

saying my name

Kim

proving you knew me

there at the bitter end

unlike the times before

your trembling arms

reaching for me

I reeled at

the change in you

in only a few days

and held you up

while we cried

both knowing

this would be

our last

standing hug

our last

cry together

our final

goodbye

before you

slipped away

I watched you die