Tag: poetry

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Showing Up and Showing Out

Nature has a way of showing up and showing out.

For weeks, I’ve been watching and waiting for the figs to ripen, and almost overnight the first wave is ready for the picking. I saw the purple-brown fruits last evening and ran inside to fetch a plastic bowl and summoned my husband to bring his long arms and reach the branches down for me so that I could pick them. Together, we got what we could reach. It was too late to fire up the tractor, though. Usually, he raises me up in the bucket so that I can pick from the tip-top of the tree. That’ll happen after work today.

For now, we have our first bowl full, and they are plump and heavy.

But that’s not all that happened yesterday.

I finally caught a glimpse a bird I’ve been hoping to see for the past few years. Up until yesterday, I had only heard them. They live here on this farm, and I hear them in the wee hours of the morning, when it’s still dark. Ironically, I’d conceded our long game of hide and seek in yesterday morning’s post and declared them the winners. It’s as if one of these birds actually read my blog and decided to show a little mercy.

I was in the reading room that overlooks the butterfly garden. From the window that faces southward, I saw a stirring in the trees. A large stirring – – really an extra-large stirring.

Surely not, I thought.

It wasn’t dark. Just a couple of minutes before 8 p.m. on the nose.

It couldn’t be, I told myself.

I ran for my binoculars and searched the dense tree line for the bird, hoping it was still there when I returned.

I turned the knobs to focus and zoomed in as close as I could get.

Sure enough, just as I’d thought.

There it was, sitting on a pine branch, facing the house.

I could barely contain my excitement, yelling for my husband to come quickly, but not yelling loudly enough to scare off my buddy. I handed off my binoculars to him, and counted back the trees, pointed to the limb and actually used fractions to direct him 2/3 of the way up the Loblolly Pine to the Great Horned Owl grasping the branch with both feet.

We stood in awe, watching this great nocturnal bird of prey turn his head all around, watching the ground below for movement, like the embodiment of a Mary Oliver poem with wings.

It was fantastic to see. I still have shivers just thinking about the magnificent stature of this amazing creature and its commanding but camouflaged and silent presence.

After a few moments, he dove to the ground in pursuit of something he’d spotted, and just like that he vanished into the woods to feast on his catch.

And I’m burning with owl fever now, wishing desperately that he had a little camera attached to him like a policeman wears a bodycam, so I could have his night vision and see where all he goes and what he does. I’d have to hide my eyes when it came time for him to kill the bunnies and field mice and other critters, but I’d lose sleep for weeks just watching how he lives his days and nights.

Today was a treasure – ripe figs and Great Horned Owls. Life doesn’t get much more exciting.

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July Open Write – Day 5 with Mike Dombrowski

My brother and me at Mom’s grave, December 2022

Today’s host for the last day of the July Open Write is Mike Dombrowski of Michigan. You can read his full prompt here, along with the poems and responses of others. Today, Mike inspires us to write a poem about a time we experienced anxiety, and to include how we overcame it if possible. I chose to write about my mother’s last breath.

Christ Church Cemetery plot shopping

My brother’s cell phone rang.  “Hurry.”

We sped, cried, dodging traffic ~

Would we make it in time?

Each second mattered.

Through the front door

To her room

Three last

breaths

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Open Write Day 3 with Susan Ahlbrand

Our host at http://www.ethicalela.com for the third day of the July Open Write is Susan Ahlbrand of Indiana, who inspires us to write Venn Diagram poetry today. You can read her full prompt and the poems others have written here, and even try one of your own if you wish.

This is one form that I have never written before today, and honestly I’m not sure I’m coordinated enough to try again. My brain felt like Spaghetti Junction in Atlanta, where all the intersections dance and spin and twirl around and then peel off in different directions like little spinoff tornadoes.

The idea is to play with two completely different concepts or ideas and find the intersecting similarity in the middle section of the diagram, reading vertically.

I could only take a photo of my mess and post it. Other writers in my group are using Canva and making backgrounds beautiful and doing all the creative colors and designs, but I’m over here with an ink pen and an unlined piece of brown paper just trying not to be seen or heard…….

But in the spirit of having some good days of writing and some not-so-good days of writing, here is a day in the life of a writer who at least tries something new and different.

I’m putting back on my work hat after a truly wonderful summer. Today is my first day back on contract, as my district awaits the appointment of a new Superintendent.

And so these hats, as constant as they are, keep life in balance!

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July Open Write Day 1 with Mo Daley

Mo Daley is our host at ethicalela.com today for the first day of our July Open Write. Two things came to mind when I read her poem, in addition to all the memories of previous generations’ masks: the poem A Bag of Tools by R. L. Sharpe (a favorite since high school), and a birdwatching excursion in Palo Duro Canyon State Park in Texas over the summer, as I sat behind a bird blind counting birds. I chose a Golden Shovel poem using one line of Sharpe’s poem today.

Blinders

behind the bird blind, watching unaware, counting each

species, observing, admiring, appreciating, pondering: is

this what would happen if people were given

the same fanfare over the wonder of our beauty? a

way to admire all our brilliant feathers, to regain childhood’s shapeless

notions of race, share the same branch, and remove the mask?

Road Runner
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June 21 – The Open Write with Angie Braaten

Angie Braaten is our host at http://www.ethicalela.com today for the final day of this month’s Open Write. She encourages us to write a poem about what we would like to be when we grow up. You can read her full prompt here.

Secret Badge

when I grow up
I want to be a
traveling food critic
a descriptive writer
of all things edible….
….(or not)…..
all expenses paid
to go out into the world
and live it up
like a spy on a secret mission
with an official foodie badge
that I keep covered
until the end of the meal….
….(or forever)……
unless I want immediate
preferential seating
or my glass runs dry
or I get bad service
then I whip it out
like some veiled threat
of a viral review
that might shut the place down
….(or something)……

oh and a hotel critic too
I want to be one
who jumps on beds
to test the comfort
rolls around in the sheets
and fills the bathtub to overflowing
with expensive bubble bath
with little flecks of real gold dust
and eats all the snacks
that cost twelve dollars each
for free
in those presidential suites
with corner windows
on the top floor
one who shows my badge
at checkout

and I want an airplane badge, too
so I can cut the line at security
and go in my own private room
where the rest of everyone
all tired-legged and eyeing my
complimentary
plate of sugared grapes and chocolates
whispers
who is she??
but I play it cool
never revealing my name
like no one can know
who I am
a secret traveling critic
as I take my seat in first class
throw my feet up on the
plush footrest
whip out my review computer
and write away
into the clouds
….(or just dream about it all)….

then go home to the country
and press wildflowers
and read poetry
and bask in full-face dog kisses
with whole-body tail wags
because I’m back where I belong
…..(without a badge)…….

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June 20 – The Open Write with Angie Braaten

Today’s host for the Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Angie Braaten, who inspires us to write On Turning….poems, modeling verse about a particular age after Billy Collins’ On Turning Ten, and then to take it a step further by trying to connect form choice to the foused age. I chose a nonet since I chose to write about turning nine. You can read her full prompt here.

Karma Clogs

When I was nine years old, I wore clogs.

Chocolate brown leather ones, stamped

with daisies.  With wooden soles.

I kicked the class bully.

Fourth grade girl drama

met its match with

those weapons!

Karma

clogs.

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June 19 – The Open Write with Dr. Leilya Pitre

Dr. Leilya Pitre of Ponchatoula, Louisiana is our host for today’s Open Write. She brings us a short form, the sevenling, which you can read about here.

Foxgloves at Gibbs Gardens in Ball Ground, Georgia

Foxglove Funeral for a Grandson

Foxglove bells chime joy, bring smiles
on Mother’s Day in Georgia, painting gardens
in blush colors: the female womb blooms

Foxglove bells toll grief, stir longing
on Mother’s Day in Kentucky: a petal flips, a
cradle rocks in heaven ~ the female soul cries

empty arms mourning a baby not born

Foxglove in Kentucky, symbolizing a baby in heaven
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June 17 – June Open Write – Day 1 with Jessica

Just some of my writing friends, NCTE, Anaheim, CA November 2023

Today’s host at the Open Write is Jessica from Arkansas, who inspires us to write about our friends using borrowed lines from friendship songs. You can read her full prompt here.

I can’t think of a better way to kick off any month than celebrating friendship. Jessica’s invitation to search songs was just what my heart needed this morning, and for me, no one touches my heart like The Divine Miss M. Here’s to all of my friends who are writers – all of you, using a line or two from Wind Beneath My Wings

A Haiku for YOU

you, fellow writer,
are the wind beneath my wings
cheers to friends with pens!

did I ever tell
(forgive me if I haven’t)
you, you’re my hero?

-Kim

You can watch her sing it here: https://youtu.be/0iAzMRKFX3c

And here are some more songs to help you celebrate: https://parade.com/1182863/jessicasager/best-friend-songs-about-friendship/

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May 14 – My Mother’s Daughter

I’m so proud to be my mother’s daughter! She was one of a kind, ever conscientious and always protecting all of us. She was a seatbelt enthusiast, a nighttime curtain puller, and an avid door locker. So when someone tells me I’m just like her, I am reminded how fortunate I am! Remembering Mom today on this 8th Mother’s Day without her. Hug your mom if she’s still here – tomorrow holds no guarantees!

My mother in the early 1960s
My Mother's Daughter

at the Dames Ferry
dump station
at the top of the hill
two and a half days worth
of our waste
sliding down 
a three inch hose
from the belly
of our camper
into the waste tank

you stepped to 
the back to check
the spare tire

I looked out over 
the lake 
at the bottom of the hill
and panicked
thinking you, too, 
might slide

ran to the truck
set the emergency brake
announcing in a high pitch

I SET THE EMERGENCY BRAKE!
for all to hear

to let everyone know you were safe

not about to get flattened
and drenched in pee
sliding all the way down 
to the lake

you walked up the hill
wiping your hands with
a glove
chuckling your 
secret knowing smile
satisfied with yourself

I searched your face

you raised your eyebrows 
in answer

I love you
you said
kissing my cheek

and there's nothing wrong
with this
but 
you 
are
your
mother's 
daughter