Patchwork Prose and Verse
Jessie
her servant’s heart embraced their broken hope
her gentle spirit wielded toughest love
such prayerful presence resurrecting souls
her intercessions strong on their behalf
(and even in their healing, they could laugh)
in restoration, re-learned how to cope
with Jessie‘s guiding wisdom from above
against the backdrop of clear cut pine trees
their homes have all fallen, logs now piled high
it gutted my soul as I mourned for their loss
from one lone hardwood tree left standing tall
the song of a wood thrush brings hope to all
proclaims resilience, brings me to my knees
its gratitude praise song raised to the sky
One of last month’s prompts from Georgia Heard’s Tiny Writing Calendar was Letter to a Place. I am using the tiny Shadorma form (3-5-3-3-7-5) today to revisit this tiny writing topic.
her pen moves
across the paper ~
a letter
written to
the place of her family
roots ~ Goodbye, it says
I find inspiration in the lids of the yogurt I eat. I buy this brand not just because it’s delicious, but for the messages and the pure glass containers that will root new plant life for me to share with friends. Here is a poem inspired by Say Oui to Time Off!
Say Yes
we said yes because
what we know about us
is that we like a big window
and gray and white
and newness and matching
towels and linens
not odd assortments
and light,
plenty of light
and good music speakers
front, back, and outside
for good 70s tunes
and fifteen trips to France but
not going there
instead, staying close to home
but still away, oui?
and time off
to enjoy it
My sister in law and I have been making various salves, lotions, balms, and body butters. It all started in April. She found a recipe for Bergamot Body Butter, and it’s been fun ever since. We each ordered some of the ingredients and a slew of containers, fired up the stove, and got to stirring and mixing, making our own magnesium and shea butter foot creams.
Today’s poem is a simple tricube – three stanzas of three lines with three syllables!
Sister Time Tricube
bergamot
shea butter
olive oil
lavender
mixing bowls
minerals
beeswax flakes
kitchen fun
sister time
Today’s host at http://www.ethicalela.com for our final day of the May Open Write is Sarah J. Donovan, who inspires us to write Demi-Sonnets about something we almost missed. You can read her full prompt here. Sarah says, of Demi-Sonnets:
Call Interference
front porch phone call late at night
unfurling starburst: opening show
caught my eye in the moon’s spotlight
petal by petal, revealing its brilliance
conversation ~ a bloom interference
most never see this nocturnal sight:
Queen of the Night crowning waterlily-bright!
When I saw Margaret Simon’s blog post on May 1 with Georgia Heard’s calendar inviting tiny writing, my soul breathed a sigh of relief. Tiny writing. Yes, I need a month of tiny writing after the double marathon months of the Slice of Life Challenge in March and VerseLove in April. Tiny writing sounds dreamy right now, like a shade tree with a hammock and a warm, gentle breeze.
I glanced at the topics, and one caught my eye. May 16’s prompt is the meaning of your name. It’s been with me all my life – since I was a curious child who wanted to find answers to things like that.
Kimberly. From the Royal Fortress Meadow.
From the Royal Fortress Meadow
Kimberly
means from the royal
fortress meadow ~
and I’m no princess here,
but I drink my
velvety green
rolling hills
cloaked in wildflowers
crowned with a sunshine-drizzled
scepter of rain clouds
casting a gold-tipped
swing-choir grass breeze
strumming harp strings
across my countryside kingdom
I’m engaging in tiny writes this month, introduced by Georgia Heard on her monthly writing topics. Margaret Simon shared it on her blog earlier this month. Margaret also introduced me to the Shadorma form, which is a poem consisting of six lines with lines of the following numbers of syllables, in this order: 3,5,3,3,7,5. I’m using a tiny form for the tiny write topics and finding that it is a breath of fresh air after the marathon months of March with the Slice of Life Challenge at http://www.twowritingteachers.org and April with #VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com.
Today’s topic on Georgia Heard’s calendar is A List of Last Times.
A List of Last Times
you hugged me
your body quivered
we both knew
this was it ~
the reason I’d made the trip
was to say goodbye
Today is a great day for a tricube! A tricube has 3 stanzas with 3 lines each, with 3 syllables on each line. Last weekend, while camping at FDR State Park in Pine Mountain, Georgia, we hiked the Mountain Creek Nature Trail with the dogs and saw spring in full bloom. It’s great to be outdoors, and to capture what you can in short forms!
primrose sweet
daffodils
bluebells grow
wind dances
on a breeze
pine trees blow
green grass sprouts
buds unfold
earth's green coat
When my friend and fellow writer Margaret Simon of New Iberia, Louisiana invited me to the Fay B. Kaigler Children’s Festival in Hattiesburg, Mississippi in April to present a poetry writing workshop with her, I eagerly accepted the invitation and began planning the trip. Since it was during my spring break, it made taking the time away much less challenging. Even though I wasn’t able to stay for the entire festival, I enjoyed some time with Margaret – especially our time together in our VRBO as we wrote together and shared the experience as tea drinkers. (You’ll see how Emily Dickinson joined us in a photo at the bottom of this post).
During the month of April, we were both writing daily for #VerseLove2025, so we used the day’s prompt by Joanne Emery, also a writer with Slice of Life, to create poems inspired by looking closely at things around us – particularly things in nature. You can read Joanne’s poem below, used here with her permission.
No Longer
Every year, for twenty years
we came here,
to this house –
two-story brick
sitting stately on a hill
surrounded by elms and maples,
slate blue doors and shutters.
We came to love this house
because we loved
the two people inside
and loved them more
as they aged –
Silver-haired and stooping
but always moving,
always answering the door
with open arms,
and open hearts
in every season:
Magnolias bloomed
fragrant in summer.
In fall, elms showered yellow
leaves onto the rooftop.
A dusting of snow frosted
the windows in winter.
The pear trees’ white blossoms
were the first sign of spring.
The seasons rolled one onto another
so imperceptibly we didn’t even notice.
Gradually, the stairs became harder to climb.
the television was harder to hear,
vials of medicine lined the kitchen counter,
important phone numbers were listed on the frig.
Now, when we came,
the house sat a little lower.
We watched a little more closely.
stayed a little longer.
listened a little better,
opened our arms and hearts
just a little wider
to keep the memories
and the two inside close.
But the seasons rolled on
and the two are now gone
and the house we loved
Still sits on the hill
but we can no longer return..
-Joanne Emery
Margaret’s poem:
(Margaret took a striking line from Joy Harjo’s poem to write a Golden Shovel poem about her friend’s butterfly garden).
Mary’s Invitation
In her garden, there’s
salvia, swamp milkweed, that
purple one
I forgot the name of: you
watch a swallowtail circle
tall parsley flowers, back
around to
orange pincushion pistils on a coneflower
for a taste of home.
-Margaret Simon
My poem:
Hello from Heaven
two days ago
passing through
Greenville, Alabama
I noticed a mural~
Alabama’s Camellia City
fuchsia petals
and yellow anthers
adorning the corners
and thought of
my mother, who loved them
yesterday
in Hattiesburg, Mississippi
I drove past a camellia
bush of these exact colors
and thought again of
my mother, who loved them
this gentle wave from Heaven
to remind me of her
sent me on a quest
to discover more about
the Japan rose
which symbolizes
advancing women’s rights
and is used to make tea
and food seasoning
and to protect the blades
of sharp cutting instruments ~
interesting, but where is the
message from Heaven?
my brother will be at
The Masters, where the
10th Hole is The Camellia Hole
so I will tell him to look for a
sign from our mother there
and perhaps, just perhaps
he’ll see a
Freedom Bell or
Cornish Show, Inspiration,
Royalty, or a Spring Festival
maybe my own message is
here, now, ~ in To Kill a
Mockingbird, Jem destroys
Mrs. Dubose’s garden when
she insults his family but is
later given a bud from the
dying woman who struggled
to overcome her
morphine addiction
and perhaps, just perhaps
this camellia wave is
every assurance that
forgiveness of others
is the work my heart
needs to do
and perhaps, just perhaps
I’ll plant a camellia this spring
to welcome more
hellos from Heaven from
my mother, who loved them
I glance up at the coffee table
in the VRBO where I’m staying
and notice a decorative box
I hadn’t noticed before now
gold-outlined camellias
as if my mother has been
sitting with me as I write this poem
and perhaps, just perhaps
she has
