Patchwork Prose and Verse
Today’s poem is a cherita, a form that has 3 stanzas and tells a story. In the first stanza, there is one line, the second two and the third three. My cherita is also a paint chip poem, inspired by the color keepsakes.
Keepsakes
keepsakes misdirected
keepsakes
bring regret
keepsakes
tainted, uncherished
keepsakes unkept
driveway gravel crackles under tires
resident deer appears in mists
hawks hunt meadows for field mice
playful will-o'-the-wisps
gather 'round at night
you can see them ~
ancestors
long gone ~
here
last-minute feels unintentional
for a goal-setting success planner
but I'd love to be spontaneous
retire and travel in an Airstream
for a goal-setting success planner
always checking boxes: Done!
retire and travel in an Airstream?
is there an action plan for that?
always checking boxes: Done!
at the RV show, we sprawled across the bed
is there an action plan for that?
what's my 401K say?
at the RV show, we sprawled across the bed
I'd love to be spontaneous
what's my 401k say?
last-minute feels unintentional
I was in a Pre-K class, where students were making predictions about Groundhog Day forecasts. I Googled the truth and didn’t spoil their afternoon surprises, but I came back to the office and shared the news in verse.
I bought a set of Haikubes a few years ago for a middle school poetry group, and I still find I love to pull them out of the box and give them a roll to see what the universe brings. Today’s haiku had journey and travel, so I rerolled other dice, slowly adding to the poem until the one in the picture was born.
These dice come in a love set, too, which would be perfect for Valentine’s Day poems.
For today, the travel bug bites. The Aurora Borealis is calling to me even through the dice. I’ve always wanted to see the hems of angel’s gowns in emerald and amethyst dancing through the heavens at night.
Today’s Pantoum poem celebrates warmth and comfort in these cold, wintry days leading up to mid-winter. I have a little faith in our southern groundhog, so I’m holding out some hope for a thick blanketing of snow to keep us home for a few days, snuggled fireside with books and dogs, before warming up and staying warm so the peaches will survive. Georgia lost 90% of its crop last year to a late freeze, and what few I was able to find locally cost a fortune and ended up in Mason jars as preserves so we could enjoy them all winter.
For today, though, there is hot tea with honey ~ and so begins my poem. Stay warm, friends.
Hygge Pantoum
chamomile tea with honey
warm blankets, heated throw
sherpa slippers (ears of bunny)
beeswax candle's ambient glow
warm blankets, heated throw
heavy quilts of rag-stitched flannel
beeswax candle's ambient glow
flickering shadows on the mantel
heavy quilts of rag-stitched flannel
heirloom warmth of hand-stitched hugs
flickering shadows on the mantel
cotton-braided oval rugs
heirloom warmth of hand-stitched hugs
sherpa slippers (ears of bunny)
cotton-braided oval rugs
chamomile tea with honey
Special thanks to Twowritingteachers at Slice of Life for giving writers space and inspiration!
I learned this form from Paul Hankins, who cuts letters from magazines and puts them onto blocks so that student writers can arrange them into words. I modified it by cutting out whole words and placing them onto Jenga blocks. Even the most reluctant poets have fun writing Jenga block poetry.
As we look to the month of 💕 February, here’s a Love Jenga poem:
he got his truck stuck
in the mud last week
and had to call a buddy with
a chain to pull him out
so now we are dickering
bickering about whether rain spots
on the road are dark or shiny
because that’s what
married people do ~
we dicker and bicker over words
in the car
playfully draw invisible
boundary lines
down the middle
just like kids
spinning tires
stuck in our own mud
all the way to see his favorite 70s band
Atlanta Rhythm Section
we sing all the words
at the show
except that one song
we remember when
link fingers
sneak a kiss
hold hands
all the way home
unstuck
invisible lines erased
humming
It’s just like a dream you can’t remember
Even though you always wish you could
When it’s gone, it’s gone forever
When it’s gone, it’s gone for G – o – o – o – o – D
Netvue camera
takes birdwatching to a whole
new “close-up” level
Many thanks to my friend and fellow writer Margaret Gibson Simon from Louisiana for introducing the elfchen poem, written in five lines where the first line has one word, the second two, the third three, the fourth four, and the fifth one. Our 3 rescue Schnoodles went for grooming this week and smiled for the camera (well, for the treats dangling in front of the camera) on our front porch.
Valentine
Schnoodles, groomed
heart neckerchiefs knotted
three sweeties smile (for
treaties)
Common Threads 