I blame the heat.

Rants and raves abound on other “private” sites about poetry. Read private as “closed group” of poets who have become acquainted on certain sites to develop this craft we
propose. Where claimed as supportive and nurturing, there appears to be a bit less of that out there.

There is a certain process for which we all as poets strive. Developing and instructive, yes, supportive and sharing. We all want that I’m sure. And though finding success through recognition or possible publication is the end game, it should not over-ride the process.

The truth is, we are poetry sites. We are not truly a “garden”, or a “street” or bloody brothel, although it’s cute to think so simplistically. As our masthead says, “Poetic Bloomings is a blog to nurture the poetic spirit in a supportive and inspired way. All poets are welcome to add their “poetic blooms” … bring the beauty of the written word to the world, one expressive bouquet at a time.” And so we will remain.

We propose poetry. It was mentioned early on in the planning of this site for a POSSIBLE anthology if the support and commitment were there. There are no promises offered here. We are “Unconditional Poetry” in a pleasant setting without any one voice dominating the conversation. Every voice is important. HOWEVER, rancor and vitriol are not AND will not be tolerated here. There is an editorial policy in place here that has never needed to be used and I hope it remains so. As Marie Elena and I have stated, we are here to suport and promote you the poets who have chosen to post to the prompts at Poetic Bloomings or wish to follow their development.

All poets here know that as fact and I’m sure appreciate that. So if you need reminding, click the WELCOME and re-read our introduction. We’re all gifted poets. That is our badge of honor. Enjoy the process. The payoff is the exposure to your and other poets finery.

ON A SOMEWHAT PERSONAL NOTE: Marie Elena is the most caring, nurturing and supportive person I’ve never met. But the friendship that has evolved from our association with poetry is very strong. That’s all we’ve ever needed to say about it. You are all aware of her manner and temperament. So take any criticism of her here or at any other blogs with a BIG grain of salt. One of the finest human beings and poets I’ve ever had the honor to share not one, but two blogs with. And that loyalty extends to each poet here with the above idea in mind.

That being said, we welcome you to post to the Week #13 prompt for a Goal-oriented poem.

This Wednesday will offer In-Form Poet with a new poetry form highlighted.

Saturday, we present our “Beautiful Blooms” selections for the Goal Poems.

As always, a new “Seed” will be planted every Sunday. Poem to the People!


GO FOR THE GOLD – Prompt #13

The recent events surrounding the U.S. Women’s Soccer team has opened us up to a very direct pursuit with much of our lives, including our poetry. The first big story of the tournament was the amazing goal scored to put the team into contention for the cup. The second story was the rise of the Japan Women’s team to defeat the U.S. squad, causing them to fall short of their goal. What goals do you set for yourself? How often do you achieve them? Is it the effort that stands out for you, or is it all about the glory? What’s your story?

The prompt for week #13 is to write a goal-oriented poem. It could be your crowning achievement to date, or the never say die spirit that keeps you in the game. Go for poetic gold.

Marie Elena’s goal poem:

Introspective Perspective

my prospective objective
and selective directive,
though defective, were effective.

Walt’s Shot at the target:


Hand steady,
you scope straight and true.
You pull your string taut,
your arrow quivers with the
tension your hand provides.
There is no such thing
as aiming too high.
Glad for the opportunity
to give it your best shot,
whether you hit it or not,
the prize lies in having
a goal in the first place.
Never meant to be a race,
just a leisure walk from birth
until the end of the day.


Sorry for the late start crew, but had some family matters to clear up today.
Our Saturday excursion into the beautiful words that live within us has brought Marie and me to another wonderful dilemma. The poetry here is outstanding and we can only choose one apiece. So…

Here is Marie’s Beautiful Bloom for this week. This was the hardest week yet to choose.


So many exceptionally well-done poems this week made it even harder than usual to choose only one. I finally decided I simply MUST choose Iain D. Kemp’s “The Teacher’s Cat.” As he explains, “The Teacher’s Cat is an adjective game I play with students based on the old Scottish parlour game ‘The Minister’s Cat.’” This teaching tool is entirely too fun and contagious. Mr. Kemp offers this well-thought-out, smartly written, clever, rhythmic, story-telling, bittersweet-ending, TOTALLY FUN read. Standing ovation, Iain!


The teacher’s cat is an adorable cat,
the teacher’s cat is a beautiful cat,
the teacher’s cat is a Charlie cat.

Charlie sat and looked and looked and looked,
all day every day Charlie looked at the outside world,
where he used to live.
He purred round the teacher’s legs as he worked,
he snuggled and slept on the teacher’s bed as the teacher slept,
he ate and played with his friend when it suited,
but mostly he looked out the window
and deep down inside the teacher knew.

The teacher’s cat is a delightful cat,
the teacher’s cat is an elegant cat,
the teacher’s cat is a furry cat,
the teacher’s cat is a garden cat.

A simple error with a door
and Charlie was house bound no more,
he went back to the garden where he was young,
he called back now and again but never did enter in,
his wild side had won through,
there was nothing for the teacher to do.

The teacher’s cat is a hopeless cat,
the teacher’s cat is an independent cat,
the teacher’s cat is a jumping cat,
the teacher’s cat is a kindly cat,
the teacher’s cat is a lonely cat,
the teacher’s cat is a magnificent cat.

For many long months he lived alone,
fed each day by a friend in need,
a friend indeed
and plans were made for future times,
twice he was brought home,
only to leave again.
The teacher’s cat is a naughty cat,
the teacher’s cat is an outside cat.

Hope rises as a home is found,
charitable friends of the feline form,
will take the homeless wanderer away,
to foreign climes where he will have a door that opens,
a garden to play in, to laze in and a bed to sleep and dream in:
the teacher’s cat is passported cat.

The teacher’s cat is a quiet cat,
the teacher’s cat is a runaway cat,
the teacher’s cat is a sneaky cat,
the teacher’s cat is a travelling cat.

He boards the van, caged again,
not knowing his fate,
not content in his confinement,
not hoping for freedom,
the teacher’s cat is an unhappy cat.

The teacher’s cat is a vagabond cat,
the teacher’s cat is a wild cat,
the teacher’s cat is xenophobic cat,
the teacher’s cat is a yowling cat,
the teacher’s cat is a Zydeco cat – danse-toi!

And so a new life begins on German soil with doors wide open
and the food bowl full
and a warm bed when he wants it and a garden when he doesn’t,
the teacher’s cat is an absent cat,
but absence makes the heart grow fonder
and still he is missed
and still he is thought of,
but his happiness is paramount
and tears are wiped away with a smile, even though
the teacher’s cat is not a teacher’s cat.

Walt’s choice:

I love the heart wrenching love that is exhibited in this poem. It extends from the subject right to the viewer/poet and directly to every reader. Isn’t that the essence of our craft? I enjoy this poet’s work immensely and am honored to present Linda Evans Hofke a Beautiful Bloom for her, “Elephant Observation”


Giant rolls of thick grey skin
parched by the blazing sun
refuse to budge. She remains there,
sitting next to a smaller one,

her baby, who remains still as stone,
its rounded body, trunk and ears
reduced to a lifeless 250 pound clump.
The sight brings me to tears.

We watched the same scene yesterday,
and the day before–nudging its back,
pacing slowly around it, waiting,
protecting it from risk of attack–

and, yet, we think she knows. She
mourns her loss, as would you or I,
but she must do it all alone. Alone.
I stray from the group, continue to cry.

Congrats to Iain and Linda and all the Poetic Gardeners for your fantastic work!