And so our garden is started. “Seeds” of varied types and sentiments have been sown randomly from our fertile minds. A good start for our new adventure. But, now that the dirty work is done we’ll need to water our garden.

Water in its gentility possesses great power. It has healing capabilities, but can also be destructive in nature, as seen recently with the tsunamis in Japan. Write a water poem. It could be the rains of Spring, a lake or ocean, a toddler’s wading pool, even melting ice as a form of water; as long as it’s wet and you can express it, write it.

Marie Elena’s example:

(Or, Graduate Student’s Lament)

Determination: diluted.
Social life: evaporated
Spirits: dampened.

Life is but a mist.
A mere drop in the bucket.

Then Graduate School
rained on his parade.

Pour soul.
I drought he knew
how swamped he would be,
nor how utterly drained
his pockets.

that’s water under the bridge.

His assets, now liquid,
it’s full steam ahead.

Walt’s example:


sun peeks judiciously,
almost suspiciously from behind
darkened clouds. The loud crack of
thunder’s fury hurries through on winds of
change. The day is not a wash. You quash the blahs
 with          the              sing          le up               turn
of a
                                                                           is           defl-
                                                                          ect          ed.
                                                                          The        joy
                                                                           is re-    flect-
                                                                             ed in your


Being Mother’s Day, we’re throwing up a wild card prompt as well. You can also post Mother’s Day poems.


It has been Marie Elena’s and my intention to highlight a poem each from the weekly submissions. The quality of each and every one this week has been exceptional. We both thank you for your enthusiasm and devotion to the propagation of the poetic process. For the first week’s prompt, “It Starts With a Seed,” we have made our selections. Here are our choices for Week 1: 
Marie Elena’s Pick: Catherine Choi Lee’s “A Life of Their Own.”


I found the interpretation of the prompt, and use of metaphor intriguing in this piece. Beginning with the title, the forward movement is steady, each phrase creative and having a voice of its own, and ending with a stunning line that has replayed often in my mind this week: “If only for the lonely sake of extravagance.” Lovely, Catherine.
A LIFE OF THEIR OWN by Catherine Choi Lee

We bury unwanted words
To forget them.
But in the dark
Is stubborn growth,
Unseen movement
Pushing toward
The surface.
Though no witness
May ever see
Their beauty,
They bloom
In secret gardens
Without promise,
If only
For the lonely
Sake of extravagance.

Walt’s Pick: Barbara Yates Young’s “Seeds”.

Barbara had written “Seeds” in four phases, delineating between the stages of development a seed goes through from initial planting, through zygote and bringing the bloom of the seedling to the surface. I chose Barbara’s interpretation of the prompt to be a bit more “out of the flower box” thinking.
SEEDS by Barbara Yates Young

not all seeds are like the maple
swirling in masses
germinating with carney barker ease
and profligate spenders
teenage girls with more credit cards than pennies
oh, look

some only respond to coaxing
warm the soil
like hatching eggs
__or sprained ankles
__wrapped, propped, cosseted
__hot water bottles,
__microwaved buckwheat hulls
for day after day,
not too (much) (little) water
some will not open in the light,
–bashful as shy boys–
or the dark when foul deeds are done

yet others, thriving on judicious mutilation,
keep for one or one thousand winters
expecting to wait out the generation before, sleeping
until their protective youth has worn away or been
burned by rioting fires, or acid intestines; etched off.
watch as the sheen on a red bucket is cut by sand corners,
and imagine a nascent redbud tree

when you came out of the chute raring to get on with it
he, incapable of imbibition, watched his shell change
and hoped to survive the process.


Every garden starts with a seed. A small part of the big picture; a beginning. And so we begin at Poetic Bloomings.

The prompt for this Sunday reflects that idea. Write a “seed” poem. It could literally be a seed of a plant, of an idea that sparks a greater effort. It could be the beginning of a life, or whatever you feel would be the start of something big. Get started. That’s a beginning in itself.

** Marie Elena’s poem:


One edges, tidies, snips, and trims,
Who knows nothing of dreams and whims.

One scatters dandelion seeds,
Who understands a daydream’s needs.

By Marie Elena

(Dedicated to our mutual friend, *Jerry Walraven [“Chev”], who knows of dandelion fluff and other whimsical wonders. Chev, we are gravely sorry for your loss, and pray for God’s healing comfort.)

** Walt’s poem:


Hearts ablaze in an unquenchable fire.
It is desire of the highest power.
It has been left to burn unattended.

It was a cold ember, a lump of coal
sparked with the excitement of a single touch.
Now burning brightly; love inflamed

by Walt Wojtanik.

Happy poeming to all, and enjoy this “Garden Walk” with us today, every Sunday, and continuing throughout the week.