We have planted our garden and have watered the seeds. The next step would be to “fertilize” the soil – from all that fertilizer can be, beauty is nurtured through its application. Think in terms of “Out of something bad, something good” or making the best of a bad situation. Write a poem that expresses how something not deemed to be the best, works out in the end better than you could have desired.
Marie Elena’s example:
“Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” Matthew 4:4.

Sustenance (A Kyrielle)

A seed lay wilting deep within;
Its shallow roots were frail and thin.
The Gardener spoke; its soul was stirred
to feast upon God’s sovereign Word.

Its thirsty roots took hold and fed,
reached deeper down, increased, and spread.
A miracle of life was spurred
by feasting on God’s sovereign Word.

Exquisite blooms released sweet scent,
dispersing precious seeds, once spent.
Please, tender sprouts; don’t be deterred
from feasting on God’s sovereign Word.

Walt’s effort:
Clip and sort;
shards of paper left to fall.
Ten cents off;
buy one; get one.
Expiration dates not heeded
until after needed.
A lot of time wasted
before the feast is tasted.
Your total savings today
is seven seventy three.
Such is our shopping spree
and me, left holding your coupons.

32 thoughts on “FROM OUR FERTILE MUSES – Prompt #3

  1. Composting TreasureLoose teaTea bagsCoffee groundsAnd filtersParsleyChopped chivesLettuce leavesAnd grassComfreyNettlesBroccoliAnd squashHeaped upForked overBottom to the topCompost reseedSquash andBroccoliNettlesComfreyGrass andLettuce leavesChopped chivesParsleyAnyone for tea or coffee?

  2. vermiculturerain today makes's pollen sneeze__tomorrow's weedlife gives you lemons__drive to the grocery, mama:__we're gonna need a bigger sugar bowlI know. I was supposed to turn it into something positive. That's what the titular worms are doing right now.

  3. It’ll Get BetterIt’ll get better after it’s worse, I know. When I clean up a room, it goes really slow.Several hours in, it’s such a disaster. It looks like I used a dynamite blaster.I’d like to give up, pack up, and go. But I know this catastrophe I must masterSo I muster some umph and work a bit faster,wondering if my effort will ever show. It’ll get better after it’s worse. So I become organizer and casterAnd I clean almost down to the plasterThen the room takes on a special glow. So if life’s storm begins to blow, you’ll make it, if you’re an out-laster.It gets better after it’s worse.

  4. ARRIVAL (a shadorma)You found me,In the mountain air,Among spring,Desert heat,Drove me south,Resistant search for your love . . .Beach love now, with you!

  5. The Garden ShowA diamond, a bush, a grasshoppertrip and stumble, flail and fallfrom her finger the ring hoppedaway with their engagement call.She thought her world might endhumiliation the final blow,until she met Prince Charmingbecause of that old garden show.@laurie kolp

  6. Picked LastGym class was a nightmare, the two alpha malesheading up the teams, choosing one by one,always leaving the same two or three ‘til last,each of us silently praying, “Please pick me.”Even lunch time provided no respite for some,scrawny children, picky eaters, not plate cleaners.While other kids hid the foods they couldn’t eat in milk cartoons, mine was still filled with milk.(Where was the lactose intolerance alibi in 1965?)Amid the A’s on our report cards were teacher notes:Nancy does not eat enough to keep a bird alive. Failing to master softball, running the wrong waywhen my bat finally hit the ball, I was sentby a well-intentioned teacher to jump rope instead.Did she not realize I was afraid of running in,dreading the rope’s certain lash across my face?Poetic justice, then, returning home for class reunions,I see inside their fleshy facades, former cheerleaders.No longer so stick thin that anyone even thinks to singthose taunting songs about sliding down bathrub drains,I still find myself full of health and happiness, no birdleft starving on my account, and still at my side,after all these years, the man who picked me first,still convinced (though I know better) that hegot the better deal.

  7. WaitingBarren seeds,desolate of roots,lonely for life-so sorrowfully sown,painfully plantedin autumn.Winter cultivateswith penetrating cold,winds of discipline;springtime fertilizeswith overflowing rains,buckets of tears.In summertime,blossoms of gratitude,flowers of courage-yet some remaindormant, waitingfor next year.

  8. Some fabulous responses to the prompt here. I had taken something positive from each one. A particular favourite is the one about compost: a subject close to my heart! Mine is still embryonic, but I will come back – that's a promise.

  9. I love that this is a safe place for rough drafts. This draft is rough, for sure, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to return before the week's out so I wanted to go ahead and share it now.Here it goes, still untitled:At first we did not notice as they woundaround our ankles, shedding them like shoes.We paraded proudly down the rows looking only sideTo side with our wide-brimmed hats and simple pails of water.Everything we learned said everythingWe’d need was water and sunshine to grow.Water and sun we had and we smiled,While creeping roots stole silently beneath.And then our walks got harder.Calves straining at the tangled vines and our backswondered from where they’d come as we bentfighting to free our legs from their wicked fingers.Turning to our flowering friends, our innocent, wincing eyes wept, straining to find hidden faces.But salty tears do not grow beauty from shallow soil And good and bad swirl together in their reflective pools.“These weeds have turned to trees!” I shout.Grasping, tearing with rough worn hands“We’ll never get them down.” But we let theNever carry over into our night-long toil.The day soon rises on straining shoulders;Our Weathered faces speak the sun.Pails are cast aside for buckets And our calloused feet sigh in cool, soaked soil.Our now muscled forms tread lightly on tender, tended earth. Knowing eyes keep careful watchover fledglings finally free. Lessons hard-learnedhave rescued beauty from ignorance . To see my writing on my blog, you will need to click on the "writing teacher writes" tab.

  10. I'm not sure why I show us as Nancy and not as Nancy Posey. The mysteries of the internet! How can I link my blog?

  11. Nancy, looking at your blog, the section labeled, "About Me" (your profile) shows as just Nancy. That's the only place I'm seeing your name in singularity. Try going back in to re-write your full name and see if that makes a difference.

  12. It's an ill windI learned to appreciate weeds. A painful back and arthritic knee brought disinclination to stoop or kneel.One whole summer of seedingwithout weeding. gave me flowers and grasses in wild array of colourand form.Still very much a draft…

  13. Jane Shlensky is having trouble posting, so I am posting this one for her:AttitudeThe boy in a room full of manure, joyfully shoveling, is sure a pony is in there somewhere. His cup halffull, his eye arched with the rainbow after the storm, his belief in happily ever-after struggle,and walking on the sunny side of lifeserve him well. His small hands gripping wooden handle, he understands instinctively that he is flinging fertilizer, not wading into a mountain of excrement. That boy might marvel that we are offended by being told to eat shit, when a garden lush from night soil fills our tables and bellies, given a little water and sunlight.In a world where recycling is still embraced as some new-fangled idea, perhaps we shouldadmit that the cycles of nature include whatwe eat and excrete, that the fertilizer we dispense feeds us and the animals we feed on. What we don’t use to fertilize the flowers will only stick to our shoes and bog us down. Fertilization then is a matter of attitude.Writers know that hardship provides forpowerful poetry, good blues lyrics, and stories worth the hearing. Pain informs understanding, and failures either pile up and stink or plow the ground for new seed.

  14. Nancy, thank you for posting this for Jane. Jane, I'm sorry you are still experiencing trouble. I've tried to figure it out, and I know Walt has as well. We'll keep working on it. Thank you for your persistence! We're glad to have you on board.Marie Elena

  15. Thanks for the kind words, and smiles Marie Elena and MiskMask . Was only able to get to a few poems– Co-fun's ''It'll get better''- encouragingE. Johnson's ''Waiting''- beautifulMarie Elena's ''Sustenance''- inspiring.

  16. If you didn't know you couldn't tell."The poor little mite – doesn't have much going for him does he?"She was wearing a blue man-made fiber overallThe too-red lipstick spidering round her mouth into pursed lines made me think of a cat's bottom as my anger rose."Get out," is all I said.In the low light glow hospitals do so well I gazed at my sonsleeping his second night in the worldin a transparent crib on a yellow cellular blanket.Long dark lashes like his father's, rosebud lips like his mother's,genetic heritage from both of us with all that meant.There were not fairy godmothers or good witches to herald his birth but I was there to know his gifts would be many,he would make friends easily,he would find the memories he needed when he needed them,he would be strong and he would do more than survive.That woman, her automatic thought processesalready categorising my child based on stereotypes!"More than you." I wish I'd said.Michele Brenton.Sorry it's a bit late.

  17. This was inspired by "Waiting" and "Sustenance" by E. Johnson and Marie Elena, respectively.Out of Death, Life, Powerful, Flows"…Unless the grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it abides alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." John 12:24Sown into the ground, forgotten,Through darkness, sorrow, tears and woes,Shell dies, releases life, and then,Out of death, life, powerful, flows.My hopeless "death" situations!Desires die, so life can grow…God's Word sustains: satisfaction–Out of death, life, powerful, flows.

  18. SaltIt’s time to mow the grass for the first timeThis spring – the tousled dandelion headsBobbing above great ragged waves of green.Next to the street, the lawn is struggling,Burned under mounds of salt thrown down by plowsLast winter. Nothing can live with that much salt.My father told me once how they used saltIn the ancient world, as fertilizer,Spreading it on the fields to make crops grow.Too much salt in one place damaged the soil,Scorched beyond use. But when spread thin it wasGolden! Life and death in each farmer’s hands.The good book says: you are salt for the earth.And I think of how we all get piled upIn great toxic mounds of long-lost goodness.We poison our own back yards, when we couldBe scooped up and scattered to the fresh windsHelping wheat and weeds grow up together.

  19. Rainbow ReminderRain tickles the treetopsand sprinkles the grass.Not much, but enough to flood our picnic plans. We scamperinside and snuggle by the fire, watching the rain dance across the groundwe drift into a trance inspired by the tinkling sound. The rain lets up and the sun breaks through the clouds. Invitingus to come outside and look around.Hand –in-hand we meander through the moistgrass. Shimmering drops reflecting the sun;a rainbow grows in the sky where this morning there was none.Reminding us how sweet the rain can be when with the one you love.This was a hard prompt for me…my husband said it was because I only write about depressing things.

  20. EMMA'S FAIRIESEmma is threeand it's all about fairieswith gossamer wings wholive in bushes and treeswho lazily nap and dreamon a warm summer breezeplaying with the bird and the beesEmma's pink frilly frockand matching silk wings her fairy wand dusting everything seeing magic and mysteryspringing from mythsof bewitched beings who live and play amongst us.

  21. MARINA MUSINGSIt starts at conception, they saidthe chromosomal triplicationbringing a host of differences.Nurture and feed, they saidbasic needs for growth and survivalare the same as any other.Saturate with love, they saidenvironment and supportcan make all the difference.Offer opportunity, they saidsuccess and productivity may comebut don’t be too hopeful.Watch in amazement, WE saidas personality, giftedness andjoy spring forth beyond all expectations!~Kelly

  22. beauty for ashes if you sprinkle them just rightaround the edges the breeze will catch theirembered, empty ruins feather them into a fine fringed sash, a new perimeter sewn into heart’s hem, forbidding wolves, inviting light. and if you close your eyes and quietly beckon the sun, something new will growup straight and strong from the center.

  23. Well, I hardly any sooner got it out of my mouth that I'd love for everyone here to be able to see little Marina, when Youngstown's Channel 21 piped up with this news story: . My cousin Chris Donadio and his wife Kelly (author of Marina's Musings, above) were interviewed regarding 21 iPads that their not-for-profit organization, Down Syndrome Association of the Valley, distributed for free. Check out the news feature, in which you will get to see Chris and Kelly's little Marina in action. 😉 SO very proud of you and Chris, Kelly!!

  24. I missed posting this before now…so…here’s a late entry! 😉


    with each new loss
    I ask the question why?
    most times,
    I’m not to understand
    the reason


    sometimes I’m given
    a sliver of a glimpse…
    just enough
    to no longer need
    the reason

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