A Travel Nonet
turquoise and mother of pearl bracelet Albuquerque, New Mexico magical time travel stones Old Town red door: WarPath! revisiting our Route 66 memories on my wrist
WarPath! Sentiment
Hummingbird Heartstrings
it's that same feeling I get when my children and grandchildren are about to leave for home four hours south they're packing bags loading their car stripping beds washing towels double-checking for toothbrushes under beds for little things easily left behind like tiny dinosaurs wayward doll shoes lone socks I dread the tail lights heading down our driveway those I love rolling away this morning's stirring is not unlike this feeling~ already missing family before they leave ~ as I watch my hummingbirds remnants of a charm heading south on their long journey for winter no wee suitcases no teeny toothbrushes no sippy snacks for the road but departing nonetheless traveling lightly I want to hug them tell them to be safe tell them I'll fix their favorite nectar next spring even weed the lantana
The Root of the Problem
the same someone who
fails to respond to texts, calls
and doesn’t make time
is the same someone
who says communication
is our problem. Yep.
August Open Write with Ashlyn O’Rourke
Today at www.ethicalela.com for the final day of our August Open Write, our host Ashlyn O’Rourke of Oklahoma inspires us to write Self-Perception Concrete Poems to tell the story of a difference in who we know ourselves to be and how someone else perceives us. You can read Ashlyn’s full prompt here.
Strong I tell the hard truth. He asked for my opinion then said I was wrong. Can an opinion be all wrong when it’s based on long-observed patterns? He thinks I’m too strong ~ but I don’t argue he’s wrong. My mother raised me.
August Open Write with Scott McCloskey
Today our host for August’s Open Write, Scott McCloskey of Michigan, encouraged us to write poems from the perspective of someone or something in any painting or its artist. You can read his full prompt here. I chose the Woodstock Festival. Since the photos are copyrighted, I can’t share the actual photo I chose, but it’s available at this link: https://artsandculture.google.com/story/AwUBOlaLnlGyLA
Once you get there, scroll down. It’s about the 14th picture in the collection. There is a woman playing a flute and a man playing a drum. There is a yellowish lab-type dog in the background, mixed in with all the people milling about. My poem is from the perspective of the drum player, clearly lost in the music and, if thinking anything, thinking to his own beat.
Ain't Nobody Ain't nobody gonna steal my joy, Ain't nobody gonna steal my song, Ain't nobody gonna steal my beat, Ain't nobody gonna steal my drum, Ain't nobody gonna steal my groove, Ain't nobody gonna steal my love, Ain't nobody gonna steal my peace, Ain't nobody gonna steal my shirt, Ain't nobody gonna steal my dog, Ain't nobody gonna steal nothin' of mine 'Cause I'm a sharin' man, Yeah, I'm a sharin', man.
August Open Write with Wendy Everand
Wendy Everand is our host today for the August Open Write, and she inspires us to write odes to our favorite poets. You can read her full prompt here.
This brought to mind the first poet I ever knew. We lived next door to a retired school teacher in Reynolds, Georgia, and one day I got loose and barged into her house (no one locked their doors in that town back then)…..and the rest is history. After she died, two of her granddaughters compiled a collection of her poems, and I got a copy as a gift. I still believe that she pulled my poetry strings out and brushed them…..maybe even crocheted them.
Ode to Mabel G. Byrd (December 10, 1900-1/20/1987)
Mama Byrd’s poems
mainly quatrains
ABCB rhyme scheme
Crafting 4-line verse veins
Born in 1900, Taylor County
Little Sweet Georgia Peach
Died 1987, Taylor County
Lived her life to write and teach
I barged right in, in ‘69
(She was 69, I was 3)
I still remember visiting
Listening to poems at her knee
She went blind
But still knew color schemes
She’d crochet blankets as gifts for folks
In gilded yarns, bright blues, and creams
She still wrote, even blind
Poems were her favorite forms
And when I read her words today,
Time turns back, my heart warms
In 1987, I went for one last visit
Dad and I, next to her bedside
Told me she’d meet me at Heaven’s Gate
About a month before she died.
The very first poet I ever knew
Still speaks to me today
In rose gardens and peach blossoms
…..and in Granny Square crochet.
August Open Write: Nestlings with Gayle Sands
Gayle Sands is our host today for the second day of the August Open Write at www.ethicalela.com. She brings us a challenge to write a nestling poem in the essence of Irene Latham. You can read her full prompt here. I’m reading Ada Limon’s collection of books, and I chose Forgiveness from The Hurting Kind as my base poem. If I were adding to a list of the things I would hold close forever, it’s Limon's poem. Here is mine, taken from hers: Silent Water dumb hearts hurting each other shadowy places scars bound to the blades bound to outrun
Welcome to the World, Noli Mae!
Today, our host at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 1 of the August Open Write inspires us to write poems about hands. Denise Krebs of California is hosting today’s writing. You can read her full prompt here.
Welcoming Magnolia Mae yesterday, these hands gripped handlebars, holding on for the ride with friends yesterday, these hands swaddled babies, bandaged knees as children grew up yesterday, these hands stitched a quilt for a grandchild I will meet today for today, these hands will build Legos and fairy gardens first, and then….. today, these hands will swaddle a new granddaughter in rosettes and sage so that tomorrow, these hands will be remembered this heart full of love
Gratitude: Andrew Johnson’s Birthday
Today is Andrew’s birthday (far left, gray shirt)- and we’re so happy he was born! Celebrating big today!
Aviator extraordinaire
Never a dull moment!
Drone nerd
Ready for adventures!
Eager to lend a hand
Where have the years gone?!
Somebody’s Tsunami Laundry
somebody's little ripple is a drama tsunami because somebody wrote their own life rules and dictionary about how things are (here's a hint: we know it's empty) somebody's "close-knit family" endures Christmas for a sock swap and all go home disturbed somebody is rich, too, richer than you, than I, than all of us, with money in the bank to do big things (here's another hint: we know they're undefined) and somebody has tickets to cruise again soon and would have gone last week except somebody's pet squirrel died and somebody had to bury it and grieve a little so we might want to tolerate somebody and act all impressed because somebody knows how to live when clearly you don't, I don't, we don't. (But we know the truth. See, we've done somebody's laundry a time or two so we don't pity that squirrel.)
Common Threads 