COLOUR MY WORLD – PROMPT #39

The musical group CHICAGO has a long running classic by the same name, and being about as big a CHICAGO fan as I am a BEATLES fan, I felt the title of this prompt was apropos. Here we sit, the Holidays are a not-so-distant memory, and Winter is just catching her wind. The skies around  our Lake Erie region are dank and dreary. Marie would agree, we could use to have our world “coloured.” So this is our nudge. Write a colorful poem. It could be a poem about a specific color. It could be a poem of many colors. You might make a passing reference to the palette at your disposal. Just make sure the color is vivid and graces the title of your poems in some way. Colour My World (and we don’t even care if you stay within the lines!)

 

Marie Elena’s Portrait:

FLESH (a short lesson in color harmony)

You
(yes, you  — whoever you are, wherever you are)
complete my masterpiece.

 

Walt’s Spectrum:

BLACK LACE

Beauty beheld in eyes so tired and weary,
a bleary glimpse at the trappings of allure
and comfort. Graceful and delicate,
tatting in ebony hues. Slinky, sexy,
a sight for sore eyes. No surprise.
There is surely a place for black lace.

BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS – PROMPT #38

Before we get started, Marie and I would like to remind you that all of our poet’s blogs are (or should be) featured on our DAISY CHAIN. We have recently added new links for the blogs of Hannah Gosselin, The Happy Amateur, Mary Mansfield and Oscar Sparrow (a talented fan of POETIC BLOOMINGS, and hopefully soon a contributor). Please check your own link to be assured it is updated and keeps your blog a viable destination. If you want yours included, please let us know where we can find it and we’ll be happy to oblige. And visit one another’s blogs to leave an encouraging word. A little support goes a long way.

***

This week we had asked you to choose a line from another poet’s piece and use that as your title/inspiration for a new poem. What I loved most about this exercise was the sense of community it helped build. In using these tidbits of inspired thought, we in a sense offered BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS of our own to the poets who were so selected. We said, “I found your words had reached me in a special way.”  And so, it is time for the BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS to be chosen. This week will provide a twist in our process. Marie and I will be offering TWO honors for each poem. One goes to the poet of the honored piece. The other is given to the poet whose work was taken to offer the creative nudge. And so, getting down to business…

Marie’s Selection:

This has been my favorite prompt to date.  Thank you for this, Walt.  I think we should revisit this idea from time-to-time.

My choice this week, Jane Shlensky’s captivating  Praying with One Eye Open, was stirred by Mary Mansfield’s Splash  from Prompt #37. Both Jane and Mary grace us regularly with the beauty of their words.  It gives me pleasure to be able to honor them together with a “Bloom.”

From Mary Mansfield’s “Splash”

PRAYING WITH ONE EYE OPEN  By Jane Shlensky

Faith was not as blind as he let on
depending on belief with its eyes closed,
understanding without knowledge,
ears closed with palms
and voices raised
to stifle honest questions that
God can surely see.

Belief for her embodied studying,
asking and seeking,
sometimes finding,
always knocking and waiting,
reaching and waiting,
craving openings, vision and revision,
and praying from the deepest heart
for clear and useful answers,
still with one knee bent,
with one eye open
to see
the world.

Walt’s Inspired Tandem:

The work I have chosen was inspired by Elizabeth Johnson’s “BREATHE.” The angst of familial hardship plays out to a tender and loving solution in this poem by Kimiko Martinez. Faith in the ties that bind a family together was portrayed sweetly in what I have considered worthy of my BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS. Congratulations to Kimiko Martinez and Elizabeth Johnson for their efforts.

From Elizabeth Johnson’s “Breathe”

A LONG HOLD by Kimiko Martinez

His days were long.
Hers was too.

His was filled with
factory work, which
stuck to his face.

Hers was filled with
five children who
stuck to her legs.

Worried sighs drew
across his brow
as he sat at the dinner

table and whispered
to my mother about
bills and layoffs.

Worried eyes met
his as she held his
hands across the dinner

table and whispered
that everything would
be just fine.

Their talks were long.
But their kisses were too.