BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS – PROMPT #80

Happy Sunday evening (or whatever date/time it is in your time zone) to all.  I haven’t heard from Walt today, and so I decided to go ahead and post my Beautiful Bloom for his evocative “Big Event” prompt.  Our Memoir Projects are coming along nicely.  Walt and I are enjoying getting to know you all better through this special project, and hope you are enjoying it as much as we are.

Sorry gang, it has been a very busy and emotional day and I am just sitting to post my BLOOM at 7 pm EST. I have found a lot of you had posted about PERSONAL event when the prompt asked for a world event. We will be writing the personal event shortly.  You will be allowed to re-post these poems when that is presented. But now, the BLOOMS:

MARIE ELENA’S BLOOM

So many powerfully worded pieces seized my heart this week.  All I can say is WOW.  I can’t even express how difficult it was to choose one poem to highlight.  Finally, being the sucker I am for expressing abundant emotion and/or imagery with few words, I chose this stunner by Jacqueline Casey.  Even the fact that it is untitled is suitable in a way I cannot give voice to.  When fourteen words can make my eyes tear and stomach turn, this is the power of the pen.  Jacqueline, we are happy to have you here with us.  I humbly offer you my Bloom.

Untitled (by Jacqueline Casey)

Auschwitz
overflowing
stacks of bones lie bulldozed
skeletons stare through the barbed-wire
wild-eyed.

 

WALT’S BLOOM:

My attachment to music brought this piece fully into focus for me. And I understand how music could have an effect on a life, either in its popularity or the tragedy behind it. Janis Joplin’s death (as with, Hendrix, and Morrison and more) had the ability to steer emotions in both regards. Today’s BLOOM goes to Sara McNulty for her poem, SHE STAYED.

SHE STAYED by Sara McNulty

Had she not found the love
and joy she sought? Why,
I wondered, still naive
in understanding inner
workings of a person’s clock,
including my own.

She was my rocking bad girl
idol, blues rock voice, hair
hanging wherever it fell,
feather boas, Southern
Comfort, kick-ass band,
Woodstock status,
ravaged laugh–a tell of how
she would treat herself.

Twice in my lifetime, she stole
into my brain, and burrowed
under my skin. At first, I just wanted
to sing like Janis. Then, Janis
died, amidst rumors of drugs,
unhappiness, suicide. It did
not matter why; no singer
would ever touch me
the way she had. She took
a piece of my heart.