Spring has sprung and it is a welcomed sight. The warmer weather in the Northeast has brought out the early blooms of the daffodils and tulip bulbs and the trees are beginning to green up. This season is tailor-made for poets, and our “garden” is all the more beautiful because of it.  So, as long as we’re blooming beautifully, let’s give out our acknowledgements:



So much hope and beauty contained in the collective poetic mind here this week.  Once again, it was a difficult task to choose only one “bloom.”  What to do when more than one poem utterly enchants me?  *sigh*  I decided to award my Bloom to Marian J. Veverka for “Chicago Good Friday Afternoon.”  Her altogether poetic and unconventional description seized my imagination.  Oh, to write such an artistically splendid piece!

Chicago Good Friday Afternoon,  by Marian J. Veverka

A tide of traffic surges
beneath the elevated
where Spring is riding in.
She pokes her fingers down
into small damp yards
finds one skinny tree
dressed in garish pink
Shouting “I am the resurrection and the life!”
to anyone who stops
long enough to listen.



The best part of Spring is the gradual awakening of everything that had gone to “sleep” over the long Winter months. There is a newness in the air and the birth of new blooms brings a fresh outlook to the world around us. My choice of poems expresses this awakening quite exquisitely and earns my BEAUTIFUL BLOOM, This is SevenAcreSky‘s WHEN THEY SMILE.

WHEN THEY SMILE, by SevenAcreSky

I love it when the waking world
responds to me.
It hears me yawn
in my garden,
and sees my arms stretch wide,
and feels my back and neck bend back,
like a waking tree.

I love it when the morning
then yawns back,
while I inhale the steam
of a morning tea,
and visiting yesterdays plantings
I sip,
and the thirsty sky licks
its longing lips.

I’ve been longing for a drink
of greening dawn like this
all winter , when,
as deep as my dark garden dirt
I wanted things to live and grow

I watch the dancing willow;
which song sways the tree?

My sweet peas tease the trellis.
Their tendrils caress the slats,
and I, too, feel the tickle
inside of me.

I love to hear grass
weeping for gladness
with tears of dew.

And I love it when my
baby zinnias smile at me,
and I smile at them,



13 thoughts on “BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS – PROMPT #47

  1. Walt and Marie, Both poems are stunning, completely breath-taking. There were so many great poems to choose from, So many wondrous ‘spring-scapes’ but your eyes drew from the two very special blooms!

    Well done!

  2. I got caught up in other things in the second half of the week and couldn’t read all the poems 😦 These two are among the poems I’ve missed, and it was wonderful to read them both this morning! Thank you and congratulations!

  3. Beautiful Blooms, indeed. Especially LOVE these lines:

    “She pokes her fingers down
    into small damp yards
    finds one skinny tree
    dressed in garish pink”

    “and the thirsty sky licks
    its longing lips.”

    Perfect way to start the day, soaking on such gorgeous and descriptive phrases. Thank you! And congratulations!

  4. Thanks Walt & Marie…so honored to have my poem chosen. There’s a world of encouragement for us all at this site, and to be able to share the bloomings of our hearts and minds is a walk in a garden of joy.

  5. Thank you, Walt & Marie for choosing my poem to be a “Beautiful Bloom.”
    Thanks, also, to those who offered comments.
    A beautiful garden is growing there, and I am happy to be a part of it.

  6. Sometimes the words–they just don’t come.
    Mouth gaping, mind racing, my world’s washed in white….
    All is a blank.

    Finger poised over delete,
    My hand is in my mouth
    Lest my mouth contain my feet.

    Father, even in this stillness,
    I can scream so loud. Still stand lonely in a crowd.
    Father, even when I’m trapped
    I still find the room to fight. “I can do this, just–give me time.”

    Time’s up.

    God of Heaven,
    God of earth,
    I have had enough.

    Bloom, Father, let me grow
    Complete and holy in Your teachings,
    Bloom, Father, I let go,
    You alone can give me what I’m seeking.

    So plant a seed, plant deep inside
    Deep down where only secrets hide.
    And sprout a longing, a love, a need
    To be with the God in which I believe.

    Let the page be blank, be open, pure,
    And now, to mix my metaphors:

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