POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER – PROMPT #5

Inspiration can be found wherever you look. Here is a case in point.

This provocative shot is one of many ground compositions Marie Elena’s daughter, Deanna Marie, has photographed.  None of Deanna’s photos are “staged.” She simply frames what she sees on the ground, and takes the photograph. 

What does this photo say to you?  What memory does it stir? What mood does it illicit? Is there music in its composition? Or, is there a thought it provokes?  Survey what the eye sees, and write where it carries you.

Marie Elena’s attempt:

HAIKU

apprehensively
she walks the path assigned her
softly detaching

Walt’s effort :

WHAT DO YOU SEE?

Decay in increments; comes alive.
When seen through a poet’s eyes
something lies beneath the surface.
Crusted flakes of paint appear
as the fragrant petals of rebirth
when written in metered verse.

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30 thoughts on “EYE OF THE BEHOLDER – PROMPT #5

  1. SUMMER SHOWERimpersonating snowvibrant and whitethe blossoms fallfrom the comfortof tall treesand rest their velvet selveson the pavementof our street #

  2. forgotten rose petalsshadowed beneath a colorless void, pinksilk on pebbled memories

  3. Their soft presence upon the weathered stones reminds me there is a place for delicacy and beauty even among the craggypaths of our everyday existenceAnd I rush outside to feel the puff of theirfeathery presence on my skinreminding me of the glorious spring daywhen the tree near our house bloomed pinkand I knew though winter had lingered too longspring had moved in and tossed winter awaycreating in me a joy that all would be well again.

  4. The subtle twist of entropy upon our fragile lives. All that’s done, undone beneath it’s lofty hand. Castles built in sand at low tide now gone high. Noble ramparts swept beneath the waves. Each lofty goal and all possessions claimed, are such as these, sandcastles that await the tide.Entropy a faithful friend that never leaves our side. Lives painted in illusionary hues will chip and fade. Dreams lived unattended to flutter in the wind. And yet amidst this passage of entropy’s delight, hope stands out like colors that just refuse to fade.And from that hope we dream once more,find strength to build our faded world anew.Not simply as before but something new. And though we curse our teacher’s name, for all we once held dear now past. To it we owe the honor of our new dreams built this day. And so I bow to thank you, Oh entropy old friendTim Snodgrass (blogspot won't let me log in for some reason)

  5. Aging GracefullyCrackingPeeling awayTruth revealedBeauty RemainsRose Petals"He loves me, he love me not."Two pink petals resting on the aged,cracked ground.The truth exposed, she thought.Beauty RevealedYears of enduring and sacrifice etched intoflaking, cracked skin.Pale pink cheeksilluminating the joyfound within.

  6. Memorial DayYou came home from warLike a thief in the night,Stealing time and hope.I was a wailing nestIn the cleft of a mountain,Dreaming of beautiful falling.Your name was etched in concrete,Weathered by an echo of bells,The resounding toll paid in full.I set a place for you still,Stored up in my heartWhere there is room.Please come to the table.

  7. He loves me.He loves me not.Each petal a coracleSailing frozen seas.A temporary memorialOf once colorful love,Flakes into scalesAnd black dust.

  8. a Cinquain inspired by the photo. However, it will not post with the proper spacing, thus it does not appear in true Cinquain format. path narrow, trodden cracking, winding, decaying makes for difficult travel choice~Kellyhttp://livingfourreal.blogspot.com/

  9. rewriter34 on said:

    In Taormina there is a balconyon a corner where the Vespas pausebefore they roar uphill to the Roman Stadium.On that bacony stands an old manhis chest sundried like a tomato, in a grey cotton vest. Behind him the darkness of his room framedby bougainvillea. The stucco peelsin the glare of the morning sun.I pass below the balcony where he stands thoughtfullyand in that moment something occurs.We leave Taormina.I never see the old man againbut in that moment I conceivethe need for a loneliness like his.

  10. Pink Amidst GrayChips crumble on decayed wall and fallGray catches the eye sucking you into gloomLines like veins run through cracked paintRose petals give a touch of beauty and hopeSo much like life, so much like poetry

  11. Chipped C hipped paint dry and forlornH ope hides itself in rose petalsI ntricate yet simple, the grand mundane P ale pink blazing compared to grayP atterns emerging in veined linesE very day we unwittingly walk by cluesD escribing God’s grace and beauty

  12. HouseLiving away for all those years,she didn’t find the timeduring visits hometo see the house, now empty,she once loved so well,the front porch, wide as the house,where she’d play, jumping offthe wall, like Mary Poppins,harvesting abelia bloomsplaying flower girl, long beforeshe even considered herselfa candidate for bride.In her absence, she could pretendthe swing still hung from the same rusty chains, its squeakmusic once, evoking memoriesof snuggling, half asleepinto the pillowy bosom where her own mother and grandmother had once napped.When word came the house was scheduled to come down,making room for the new road,she forced herself to go there,to see the now-empty shell,long void of life, still hauntedby friendly ghosts. And sure enough,the sidewalk, once sprinkledwith tiny white flower bells,now blanketed by the fragrant, dustypetals of the Grandma Sally Rose.

  13. Who believes(honestly, now)he will be old?

  14. Old ladies' faces in need of moisturiser,young men's hands with psoriasis.Flaking pastry-like scent of mustiness.Maybe when this paint was laid on thickit was by someone in the sunlovingly maintaining a treasured home.Where are they now?How long ago did they sit at a tableglowing with polish and laden with food,sharing a meal with their intimate familydiscussing the beauty of the pink rosesin the cut glass vase between them?Now the earwigs feast on detritusrose petals ignored for the tastier treats.

  15. Pink PetalsThere I kneltin the center of my frameas you looked on froma planer perspective.But I could see only youIn the center of your frame.Not all of youis visible or evident.A gentle part is hiddenby the dried mudof broken dreams.A gentle breezemight whisk meout of your framewhile the hidden parts of youare trapped under the mud.Yet, I have onlya firm graspof persona and spiritand breath and lifeand a glimpse of a vision. The brillianceof the blooms still glorifiedin their respective framesare so scattered and wedgedunder and againstthe sharp contrastof the peeling and chipping layersof weather beaten joyand dried hopedamagedby the storms of the past and the forgotten rays of the sun.There will beno wind to blow meoff course andout of your frame.Gentle raindropswill fall and free youfrom the trapas we will thendrift awayfrom this barren groundtogether.By Michael Grove

  16. Layers of yearsin strata of dirt;prayers and tearsand lots of road work!

  17. WHAT LIES BENEATHa gift beyond comparisonto discoverwhat has always been therehiddenwaiting to be foundlittle by little the façade is loosedthe masterpiece revealedpatientis the Giver of such gifts2011-05-30P. WankenFor additional notes regarding this poem, click here: WHAT LIES BENEATH~ Paula Wanken

  18. PetalsTwo petals fallunseen on colorless earth-mislaid messengers.

  19. As usual, a better wording came to mind as soon as I posted. Here's the revision:PetalsBlushing petals fadeunseen on colorless earth-mislaid messengers

  20. This will not seem to be to prompt (except for the title) but the photo was in the back of my mind, and directed the way I interpreted a prompt word list.The House With Chipped Paint and a Wild Pink RoseIt is twilight, and the houseof the old gods is growing cold.The Titans turn their Immense Tailsto the banked fire, butts burrowing intothe ashy coals like bumblebees in pollen.Warmth is sweet against their sagging cheeks.Tonight, though, there will beno saltlessly bland, digestible supper.Rhea has hung up her pots and ladles,and ripped off her hair net.She leaves the fallen planets, by the front doorfor once, turning the key, leaving it in the lock.Through the thick wood, she hears Chronos cry outfor his ale and biscuit.  The rumble windsaround the house like a spring.This time, she is not afraid of the recoil.  Smiling,Rhea pats the locked door, fondly.She settles her mantle,and departs the universe like a striding goddess.

  21. My good friend DARRYL HARDT wrote the poem pasted below. Blogger was acting up at the time.Look DeeperYears and sun have taken hold.They've pushed me to the brink of old.Age acts on all things through time,to drag them well away from prime.Yet underneath my flaking skin,a thing of beauty lies within.When seen through all the poets eyes,I'm not a thing you should despise.I'm flawed, of surface, this is true,But I could say the same…of you.By Darryl Hardt

  22. Longing (a shadorma) When she finds pieces of herself missing, torn scattered by the wind, she prays they might be bright spots, petaled breeze.

  23. "Weathered" Some dance for rain,their feet beating the ground, a precursorfor falling drops of sustenance, or fury,hands up to catch or block.Me, I stretch for sun,opening my heart andmy limbs for receivingheat that delivers a soothing sear, locking inthe flavors of my life.Now, rain is not always kindand neither is the sun.Logic and experience tellthat one can heal the other.But, I cannot abandonthe love of light for shade.

  24. Rewriter34 – Just wanted to let you know that I loved the story painted within your poem. In general, I'm a sucker for all things Italian, but this poem is truly beautiful 🙂

  25. What lies beneathWhat lies beneath this faded stain?The grain.The wind and rain that did this wrong?So strong.But fleeting beauty, did it know?Below.This ancient wall would have us knowWhen outward signs appear to showOur usefulness is wearing thinIgnore the cracks – there’s life withinThe grain so strong below.

  26. BLISTEREDSun scorched,white woodhides beneathpeeling paint.Hopeful petalsland lightlybringing life;pleasant, fragrant,a dream, a sacrifice.BY TRUTHAwakened by Son, shedding layersexposing bare skin.Fragile and free.Truth and Life alight, softly stirringResonating with Spirit. Unpublished work written by Hannah Gosselin © 2011

  27. Jane Shlensky asked us to post the following poem on her behalf. Jane, we're sorry you are still having problems posting to PB. Thank you so much for your patience and persistence. Your work adds much, and we appreciate not missing out.Study One: Petals on PavementNature has a way of taking back its own. Fire, ice, time, and decaychip away, break down, and transform energy and matterinto something a seed can love,what was into what is–layers ofcracking pavement and oozing charunlocked and loosened, nature's street mosaic, petal ready,newly opened to color, to life.By Jane Shlensky

  28. Blooms of PinkBlooms of pink are dancingin the darkness of the daywithin the chipping layersof destruction and decay.The beauty of the blossomsdraw attention to their plightas they seek to find a wayto escape and then unite.For one without the otherleaves the picture incompleteand the love they share in earnestmakes their hearts skip a beat.Fly away pink blossomsand leave this barren ground.A warmer brighter backgroundis somewhere to be found.By Michael Grove

  29. I'm going to have a hard time choosing my Beautiful Blooms pick of the week. But that's a good thing.

  30. Besides our Beautiful Blooms picks for this week, I simply must express my admiration for all of you. Every piece this week spoke to me. Janice: Your balcony in Taormina is stunning. I believe there is a novel waiting to be written. De: Written in your usual understated manner, this piece moved me to tears.Poetic phrasing that dazzled me:Laurie’s “pebbled memories”Elizabeth’s “mislaid messengers”Barbara’s “She leaves the fallen planets, by the front door”

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