Tag: Gratitude

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Watercolor Haiku: Water Lily

Leaves, Any kind of leaf gives me trouble, especially with edges and vein lines. This was one of the very first watercolor paintings I completed on spring break in my step-by-step paint-on-page watercolor book, the equivalent of a bicycle with training wheels. I look at this and the logo above and of course the nature lover in me remembers sitting at a picnic table on a campsite by the creek that runs to the pond full of water lilies and frogs at FDR State Park in Georgia. It seems like a lifetime ago, and here we are at the end of May. And then my eyes trail to the veins in this leaf that looks more like a molded croissant or a fortune cookie than a lily pad. Tsk-tsk.

But I can appreciate it. After looking at hundreds of watercolor paintings over the past few weeks and learning a little more of the blending techniques, I can see some growth even just in how I hold the brush now compared to two months ago. I’ve been watching my writing friend Susie Morice as she tries a new paper and is moving all to one kind of watercolor paint. My friend Glenda took a class and can paint flowers like a pro now. My friend Margaret Simon is in a class and could illustrate her next book. And my daughters are both painting again, too ~ one sent me a peach from her morning painting yesterday, and it warmed my heart…..my firstborn, born a Georgia Peach in Savannah, now living out west and painting a peach. She went to art school years ago and has given me tips and pointers as we share creations. She told me that watercolor was less forgiving than any other kind of painting, and I can feel it. She also told me that when I painted a fern on a notecard and messed up two of the leaves, I could paint a caterpillar over it. I learn so much from my children.

I wonder what she would say about a moldy croissant trying to look like a lily pad……

Watercolor Waterlily

Neverland tales of

Princess Water Lily drift

into adulthood

….or was she Tiger Lily?

I’m too old to remember

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Watercolor Fox for Silas

When my daughter saw that I was watercolor painting, she asked me to paint something for my youngest grandson, her son Silas, whose name means “man of the forest,” bringing to mind all my favorite woodland critters. Before he was born in December 2024, I made him a quilt featuring forest animals (as I have for all of the other grandchildren for their nurseries); it was his baby shower theme, his nursery theme, and will hopefully stay with him in a love of nature and animals throughout his life.

When I saw the book of woodland critters to paint, I snapped it up and started working through the pages. There were several similarly-themed books to consider, but the fox had to be cute. Every other critter can be ho-hum, but if you’ve got a cute fox, you’ve got the right watercolor book. And I think I found it. I love this little fox, looking like he is sitting in the breeze just chilling and enjoying life. This is what I wish for all of my grandchildren ~ that they will know how to appreciate each moment, love the outdoors, and be respectful of the environment for all creatures great and small.

For My Grandson

a fox for Silas

little man of the forest

clever and charming

(…..and sometime this weekend, I’ll be shopping for a new quilt theme for the newest grandson, our eighth grandchild, who is due July 4).

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Hydrangea Watercolor Haiku

Whenever I see a hydrangea, I think of two people. The first is my late father, who in his waning days after a lifetime of calling it a hydrangea, called it a hydranjula. Someone had brought one to the hospital, and he urged me to “take that hydranjula” home with me. Either he was used to the constant room changes or he knew his days were quickly coming to an end. I took the flower.

The second is Missy, my childhood friend who gave me a sprig of a hydrangea she’d been rooting. I transplanted it to our farmland home in middle Georgia from the island where we grew up riding bikes all over the place before it became a tourist destination. It must have wanted to be a country hydrangea, living in a quieter, less subtropical place. It’s thriving, despite my neglect of it. These are the kinds of plants I need. The kind I can plant, water, and forget – – and let nature do the rest until time for pruning.

When I saw the blank watercolor page with its step-by-step paint-on-page directions, I had no idea how to create color within color until I learned a little about wet on wet versus wet on dry painting. When a page is wet, the colors bleed together in a way that painting colors on dry pages doesn’t. I can’t think of a better flower choice to learn about wet on wet than a hydrangea, with its blending pop of colors that change based on the pH of the soil. And for once, I had a leaf actually turn out the way it’s supposed to look. I couldn’t have done that when I started, so I am learning a little as I go. I prefer slow, unhurried learning – – and ironically, it’s a lot like watercolor painting where you build layer on layer. I was never a fast learner, but once I finally get it, I’ve got a grasp.

Happy Sunday! Tomorrow, I’ll share our first experience boondocking in a Harvest Hosts site. If you’ve never heard of Harvest Hosts, it’s an innovative way to travel like a complete and total hippie – – which is my ultimate goal for the next chapter of my life. I want to be a hydranjula-painting traveling haiku-writing hippie, and I’ll show you the boondocking part of what that looks like tomorrow.

Hydrangea

the last flower my

father ever gave me was

a hydran-jula

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Watercolor Welcome: Lemon

Confession time. I was trying my best to wait to read the book I chose to read for Sally Donnelly’s Summer Reading Club, 44 Poems on Being With Each Other by Padraig O’Tuama, but I have not been successful at all. A new book of poetry, for me, is a lot like that bag of M&Ms I try to hide from myself but that won’t quit calling my name until I give in and devour the whole thing. Forbidden M&Ms are like words of poetry – – I can’t quit until the last word in the bag is gone.

And so I have read, savored, pondered, written, and I haven’t gained all the pounds of the chocolate, but I’ve consumed all the delicious indulgence of the page. There’s no sense in feeling the guilt of reading the whole thing early ~ I read it and my clothes still fit, so I’ll celebrate the power of poetry to bring joy and inspire new writing.

I’ve been watercolor painting on weekends, and I decided to take Wendy Cope’s classic poem The Orange on page 224 in the book and allow it to inspire a poem and painting of a lemon, using Cope’s same iambic beat and stanza form. Already, I’m wondering what each poem in this book can inspire in art forms: photography, collage, jewelry design, mosaic, and a million other creative possibilities. I am re-reading already. A huge thanks to Sally Donnelly for inviting us to be part of a kindred gathering of readers.

The Lemon

while camping, I painted a lemon

its colors all citrus-y yellow

curious campers came calling

waving and smiling warm hellos

and that lemon, it brought conversations

of campfires and families and fun

once strangers, now neighbors chit-chatting

on sunshine-y site 301

the “ap-peel” was really surprising

my painting was not all that zesty

but colorful palettes paint friendships

I love my new lemon-y besties

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VerseLove Day 26: Poetic Cartography

Clayton Moon of Thomaston, Georgia is our host today for the 26th day of VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com, inspiring us to write poems as cartographers capturing the essence of place through the five senses. You can read his full prompt here.

Hands holding steaming coffee cup on porch railing with sunrise over rolling hills and mist
Enjoying a hot cup of coffee on a rustic porch overlooking a misty sunrise landscape.

Sipping Home

come sit by me

on my front porch

first light rouses, groggy

from the dark of night

into the glorious morning skies

over rolling hills

winking at morning songbirds

praising their Maker

in the misty morning breeze

even as wildfires rage

come sit beside me

raise your coffee to your lips

take the lid off

breathe deeply

in /out/ in/ out

because just like any place

you must take it all in

to experience the rich flavor ~

hear its drip

taste its roasted bean

smell its trademark aroma

feel its piping warmth

see its dark awakenings

against the light of the eastern sky

come sit with me

let’s sip home

together

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VerseLove Day 25: Slam Poems

I am working on a slam poem to go with today’s prompt at ethicalela.com for the 25th day of VerseLove, but meanwhile this sonnet is burning a hole in my paper, so I share this one today and may convert it to a slam poem later. For now, peace.

Older woman reading a handwritten letter at a kitchen table with plants and a cup of tea
A woman happily reads a letter while sitting at a wooden kitchen table with plants and a cup of tea nearby.

Nature Sonnet

a fragrant flower in the windowsill

a bookmark made of braided meadow grass

the signs of earth indoors my heart doth fill

I long to take a watercolor class

to plein-air paint the sunsets orange-red

that fireball sinking ‘neath horizons west

where scenes of Mother Earth are richly fed

her images in nature-tones finessed

I long to write earthsongs in lilting verse

to feel cool breezes blowing through each line

as raindrops on fresh soil my soul immerse

as fragrant as bright morning glory vine

at every turn the earth extends her hand

inspiring me to love her ev’ry land

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VerseLove Day 23: Lose, Loss, Lost

Our host today for the 23rd day of VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com is Scott McCloskey of Michigan, who inspires us to write poems of loss. You can read his full prompt here.

Enough

here you are, slumped

next to me

in our favorite

chair and a half

your warmth on my hip

resting peacefully

Gabapentin doing its work

for your pain

Thank God your

mouth is on the armrest

with one paw

protecting it

breathing the other way

with breath so bad

it might kill a buzzard

but for your human it’s

the sign of life

of your holding on

and already I know

chances are high that

your teeth and mouth ulcers

and bladder stones

may not be all that is lost

next week

I feel tears welling just

thinking about it

you, our rescue schnauzer

with no known age or past

all things uncertain except

one thing:

we are tenderly and fiercely

bonded, imprinted, paired

as forever buddies

you are here,

you are warm and safe,

and you are loved

in this moment

now

which is

enough

for this hour

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4/19: The Kid Lit Progressive Poem

Come along and read our 2026 Progressive Poem, where a poet adds a line each day, it’s organized by Margaret Simon and originally started by Irene Latham.  Today is my day to add a line to the poem, and you can see below the map of the Land of Poetry. I’m continuing a tweet by Meek Dove today over in Thackeray’s Thicket. I learned, through a bit of research, that William Thackeray has a fitting middle name for a theme of The Land of Poetry.

One possibility for what The Land of Poetry might look like, line and map by Tabatha Yeatts

The Land of Poetry

On my first trip to the Land of Poetry,
I saw anthologies of every color, tall as buildings.
A world of words, wonder on wings, waiting just for me!
Birding for words shimmering, flecked in golden gilding.

Binoculars ready, I toured boulevards and side streets
exploring vibrant verses, verses so honest and tender,
feathery lyrics, bright flitting avian athletes
soaring ‘cross pages in rhythmic splendor.

In the Land of Poetry, I am the conductor,
seeking oodles of poems that tug at my heart,                                      
a musical medley of sound and structure,                             
an open mic in Frost Forest! Wonder who’ll take part?

There’s a pause in the program; no one takes the stage
the trees quiver, the audience looks up. Raven lands,                                
singing Earth’s message of the sage.  
“Poetry in motion will be forevermore, from forests to sands.”

“Scatter,” she croaked. “Beyond Wilde Pond, to each and every beach.”
Meek Dove mustered courage and sang, “Instill humanity with compassion and peace.

Let Thackeray’s middle name, from this thicket, hearts reach!”

A bird sitting on a moss-covered branch among flowers, singing 'Make Peace'
Meek Dove perched on a flowering branch singing ‘Make Peace’ from Thackeray Thicket in The Land of Poetry

And I’m handing the fabulous feather pen to Buffy Silverman to continue our journey through The Land of Poetry.  Take the wheel, Buffy!!

Below is a list of all the poets where the 2026 Progressive Poem has and will make stops:


April 1 Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference
April 2 Cathy Stenquist at A Little Bit of This and That
April 3 Patricia Franz at Reverie
April 4 Donna Smith at Mainely Write
April 5 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
April 6 Denise Krebs at Dare to Care
April 7 Ruth Hersey at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town
April 8 Rose Cappelli at Imagine the Possibilities
April 9 Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche
April 10 Janet Clare Fagel at Reflections on the Teche
April 11 Diane Davis at Starting Again in Poetry
April 12 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
April 13 Linda Mitchell at Another Word Edgewise
April 14 Jone MacCulloch at
April 15 Joyce Uglow at Storied Ink
April 16 Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Link
April 17 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 18 Michelle Kogan at More Art for All
April 19 Kim Johnson at Common Threads
April 20 Buffy Silverman
April 21 Irene Latham at Live Your Poem 
April 22 Karen Edmisten
April 23 Heidi Mordhorst at my juicy little universe
April 24 Mary Lee Hahn at A(nother) Year of Reading
April 25 Tanita Davis at Fiction, instead of Lies
April 26 Sharon Roy at Pedaling Poet
April 27 Tracey Kiff-Judson at Tangles and Tails
April 28 Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference
April 29
April 30

Also, hop over to http://www.ethicalela.com to day for the 19th day of VerseLove, where Stefani Boutelier is hosting us and inspiring us to up our game as she gamifies poems. I used a Wordle inspiration today:

God and Emily Having a Garden Chat

take a stand for hope
Hebrews Eleven, Verse One
the thing with feathers

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VerseLove Day 15: Cascade

Our host today for VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com is Erica Johnson, who offers inspiration here in a new-to-me form of poetry called a cascade. These remind me of Pantoum poems. Erika explains: It’s a form created by Udit Bhatia and asks that the poet take each line from the first stanza of a poem and makes each one the final line in the stanzas that follow. This results in the poem resembling a tumbling waterfall, which was when I knew I needed to go look through my photos of waterfalls for inspiration!

Erika shares the process with us: Read over the cascade form and write out the pattern you wish to follow: tercet or quatrain.  I found that having the structure written as a reminder helped guide my writing.

My mind went straight to Gibbs Gardens, where I’d rather spend the day in flowers than at work. Here, you can check out the bloom report and see where I’d take you if you were spending the day with me. We’d have lunch at The Burger Bus and order daffodils to plant next season.

Let’s Play

I did not want to get up today
I’d like to sip coffee with friends in a cafe
talk books, catch up, paint daffodils, play

I’d drive to Ball Ground
stroll Gibbs Gardens’ spring blooms
I did not want to get up today

the tulips have opened, Monet’s pond awaits
I’d load up the girls for a quick getaway
I’d like to sip coffee with friends in a cafe

we’d laugh and share stories
take off work for the day
get a slow start, talk books, paint daffodils, play

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VerseLove Day 13 – Haibun of Clarity

Our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for VerseLove is Ann Burg of New York, who inspires us to write haibun poetry. Haibun is a form that includes a prose passage to set the stage for a haiku, which immediately follows the prose. You can read her full prompt here. I reflected on a scene from Saturday morning as we ate breakfast.

The Head and The Feet

Saturday morning breakfast at the Country Kitchen on Pine Mountain we were waiting on our eggs and grits when I saw him shuffle past our table. A young and impatient mother with a crying child pitching a fit was stuck behind the elderly gentleman in in the aisle, clearly frustrated at his slow speed, in his ill-fitting sweatpants with black socks and orthopedic sandals. He veered right n the direction of the restroom and she squeezed left to her table, kid still screaming. My husband’s back was to the action as I gave the play-by-play. Notice him, I urged, when he comes back by. I thought it ironic that his orthopedic sandals looked like hiking sandals. Life can be cruel like that sometimes, but eggs arrive to scramble hard truths. I was taking a bite when my husband asked, Is that a veteran’s hat? We should buy his breakfast. And the next minute, this husband of mine – just like his mother would have done – excuses himself to walk by the man’s table to get a better look. And then I saw them talking. Why did tears fill my eyes? Why, here at this table, over eggs and bacon, coffee and grits and buttered biscuits with muscadine preserves, was I crying as I watched my husband place his hand on the shoulder of the old man and his wife as he thanked him for his service. I escaped to the gift shop to collect myself, wipe away the tears, before my husband returned with the scoop – as his mother would have done: it’s a veteran’s hat. He’s 78, was a sergeant in the Army, and he has four kids who are all currently serving in the military. His wife told me he has cancer, and when he finished chemo and his gray hair came back dark. And he always smiles. So we finished our last bites and I felt the tears welling again, excused myself to the restroom, and was almost fine until the old man walked by and place his hand on my husband’s shoulder in gesture of figuring out who’d treated them to breakfast. And I realized what we’d always said of ourselves when we walk into a place: I look down for snakes, he looks up for bees ~ and though we see things differently, we don’t miss what’s important.

I looked down, old feet

my husband looked up, saw him ~

a soldier marching