The seeds that were planted are now seeing their blossoming beauty shine. The accompanying photo shows my tulips. What has your planting brought forth? What is your bloom? Write about what has flourished from your nurturing and attention. If it is an actual plant or flower, use the name as your title and write your poem. If it reaches beyond botany, write about what your work has accomplished. All our labors are worth expressing.
Marie Elena’s submission:
She looks into my eyes, her smile blossoms,
and it becomes crystal clear
she’s flourishing with love.

Walt’s Entry:
A gentle kiss
planted, pressed flesh
in a fresh breath.
Nurturing and
caressing, expressing
the early growth of love
through the colorful flowering
of hearts in full bloom.
Two lips tasting love’s nectar
a savory sip.

24 thoughts on “FRUITS OF OUR LABORS – Prompt #4

  1. Not happy with the title, but here's mine: FruitShe has long forgotten what she planted where. The wind blew down most of the little pronged signs and some of the seeds got all mixed up, catawampus scattering far and wee and she has thought many times about just plowing the whole thing underand starting over. But then dandelion and rose parenting and prosepraise and rainy days all explode at once in a vividsymphony of chaotic colorand she sits at shambled brambled center digs nails deep into ready earth, bids heart make room waits for the next bloom.

  2. Writing My (Unpublished and Maybe Unpublishable) NovelIt was easy in the beginning.The words magically appearedin my head and ran through my fingers to the keyboard and jumped onto the screen.But in the middle the words stalled,a broken down car in the middleof the intersection.I looked both waysand began to push.Slow and steady,pushing with all my might.A few words beating out with each step.Each shove building momentumuntil that car really began to moveand I was running to keep up.Each character began makingher own decisions and I was merely recording theirlives as they unfurled.Typing the last word felt likewinning the lottery untilI realized I was only just beginning.Draft and draft after draft,asking myself, "Does this make sense? Do I need this part? ShouldI change this word?"Each decision painful.Each drastic cut like severing a limb.I wasn't just the authorI lived through each character.The story was me.The story is me.

  3. LettuceSeeds,baptized in rain,fertilized,incubated in sunshine.Seeds sprout,baby green facespeeking out,born to the world.Sprouts soar,nursing on springtime,burgeoning,wind-tossed salad.

  4. FaithF aith grows like a mighty oak. A corn of belief, lies in the fertile earth of the WordI n the sunshine of God’s love andT he rain of His Holy SpiritH ow slowly it grows until its unshakeable, mighty, and strong.

  5. GlimpsesSmiling eyes and happy hearts surround me.Nothing but the bluest skies around.Seeds were planted, nurtured, and were cared for. Glimpses of the blooms have now been found.Great beauty in the day that has been made here.Glory in new growth that each day brings.Glimpses of the brightness of the future,thru harmonies that mother nature sings.It’s a little like a pretty rainbow.It’s a glimpse of heaven here on earth.It is what will now rejuvenate us. Reassure us that our labors have been worth.Glimpses of the new growth in the future.Glimpses of a crop about to reap.Glimpses of a strength and hope united.Glimpses of a peace inside so deep.By Michael Grove

  6. Hiding, providing only the obligatory beatEmbarking damaged, protective, aloneArrival unexpected, quickens the pulseRomance, honesty, comfort, refugeTaking a chance again, LOVE!~Kelly

  7. Guys, these poems are all so beautiful!SOCCER COACH: JOB INCLUDES GIVING PIGGY-BACK RIDESThe girls were so tiny, barely up to my chest.But we were equals, and they knew it with that perfect senseOnly third-graders have.Hard-times at school. Girls without real homes.Little Shayla hadn’t seen her mom since she was three-years-old.Lily was bullied in school.Hannah had a houseful of half-siblings.But I played with them, laughed with them.We kicked our soccer balls and talked aboutThe love of Jesus. Who knew a sport couldHave such a beautiful harvest of smiles?And now little Shayla,Lily,Hannah,Jenna,Emily,Alana,Mikinsie,And red-headed Emma,Have become fragments of my being,And my best friends forever.They know they are loved with that perfect senseOnly third-graders have.By Londy Leigh 🙂

  8. GO SPEND SOMETIME IN GARDEN PLACESDon't forget to smell the other flowers,not just red roses famous for their scent.In your lifetime they all delight the hoursOf these passing years that we all spend.Give time to the daffodil and daisy.Touch their velvet petals wet with dew.Don’t let life’s pressures drive you crazy.Take the time to savor floral hues.Sometimes we lose ourselves in worry.We let the world take too much of our time.It seems we’re always in a hurry.A moment to reflect we cannot find. Smell the lilac and the rhododendron.Lose yourself in the yellow disk of asters. Run your fingers along their green stems.Pause. Reflect. Don’t make time your master.God Who created all living thingsKnows the name of everything He made.Every flower that bloomed in every spring:From first seed, to flower, to decay.He put us all on earth to share His graces.We need to open up our eyes and look around.Go and spend some time in garden placesWhere flowers of all kinds abound. #

  9. LOVE RESTOREDEstrangedrelationship.The distancecontinued to growbetween two who are family;it was meant to be better than this.In prayer, she took the first step toward bridging the gap between them.The process was long and not easy, butresulted in twelve years theywouldn’t have had.Better latethannever.2011-05-23P. Wankenwritten for Sunday Scribblings prompt: “better late than never” and Poetic Bloomings prompt: fruit of your labor

  10. I have been slothful, and lack any blooming thing, but here's a sillyaccomplishedone-thirty, two-thirtythree-thirty,fourstepped on a crackon the way to the store.crack was my grandmotherthree-thirty,, two-thirtydriving my carI hit a tree coming home from the bar.tree was my motherone-thirty, for life to begin.sitting on plans like a plymouth rock hen.plan was this poemI'll start it again

  11. I love Barbara's 'silly'Here's mine – taking the prompt rather too literally, as usual:Tanka legacyMiddle-aged offspringand a couple of grandsons,a bundle of quiltsand a large heap of poetry,memories and little money.SevenlingPotatoes, peas and beans in flowerin the youth of spring.The ice saints failed to come this year.Currants, cherries and tomatoesshowing colour despite the drought;unseasonal warmth a bonus.Catastrophe to come?

  12. Reassuring the lettuceMy friend Rob grew a prize-winning marrow.It sat grumpily on the podiumPerspiring like a boxer on the juice,Calling to mind those melons in ChinaWhose raging hormones finally blew upLeaving bewildered farmers in the pits.Such focus on size I find juvenile.Perhaps it is simply from jealousy,But I would rather be Maine than Alaska…Size is overrated, I reassureOur brave line of half-chewed lettuce. You areChampions to me. Small is beautiful.

  13. Volcanic Ash and Wind: Rescued for a VaseWind strangledlimp on a trellisligatureda quick snipa pink rose exhaustedfalls into my handWith Photo

  14. SURPRISING SHAPES his gnarled handssuggest age beyond numberswondrous stories he could tellus if just someone askedbut todayhe's focused on prioritiesalonewith his thoughtssilently clipping away straysrestoring ancient box hedgesto surprising shapes

  15. Short and simple, like most everything written by a poet with a short attention span.BLOSSOMINGEvery morning I prune and preen in front of a mirror that does not reflect the truth

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