It was good to see this place come alive with all the activity going on here at POETIC BLOOMINGS. We’ve had one of the (if not THE) busiest weeks since Marie and I butted… er, joined heads and brought this site to the masses. It gets even crazier. Aside from our weekly IN-FORM POET WEDNESDAY, the continued extraordinary Poet (Re)Interview with De Jackson and this new BEAUTIFUL BLOOM ANNOUNCEMENT, we have another (yes, another) Prompt for Sunday AND on Monday we will introduce Sheryl Kay Oder’s Chapbook-Memoir, “The Woman and the Child.” But first, the pleasure at hand, our BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS:


So like, I was gonna go all poetically mesmerizing on ya, but I kept thinkin’ like, you know — Andrew’s lonesome-if-not-eccentric snow blower might like the gratuitous attention. 😉

But seriously, folks, this is brilliant.  There is so much personality, humor, and wordplay packed in this little jewel, I just couldn’t NOT choose it for this week.    So ANDREW KREIDER, this Bloom is not not for you.  And thanks for the laughs!

When did you start smoking? By Andrew Kreider

So he comes home last night
and he’s all excited about something
and he bursts into my room with a
bottle and in his Dale Jr jacket.
Next thing I know he’s all over me
trying to warm me up, and I’m like,
Seriously? But OK I let him cause
it’s been a while and I like the attention

And then just when I’ve finally given in
And I’m kind of humming nicely
And I’m like is this a joke? Since like forever
Only you never even noticed you dipstick
Cause you never even ask me how I am
Except when you need something
And I have to watch you going out

With that plush-assed bitch all the time
With her fancy name and showroom perfume.
And he just looks at me like what are you talking about?
And right then I broke down. Just broke down.
And he just starts yelling at me.
And I’m like I don’t even care anymore.
You’re just a selfish user,
and I have had it with this relationship.

And he didn’t have the first idea what to do.
It was kind of funny, actually. His mouth
flapping open and shut like a broken intake valve
There he was, just a silly little brat having a tantrum
in his NASCAR shades, with a shovel in his hand,
and three feet of snow all the way down the driveway.
Well serves him right – and you can bet
SHE didn’t lift a finger to help him.


The saying goes, “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones”. That’s true, unless you’re a poet in January. Then it is clear (pun intended) that whether you’re writing about “glass houses” (or glass books) or writing small stones, the key is that you are expressing your heart. SARA McNULTY’s “My Windows” is rife with imagery and a beauty befitting this BLOOM.

MY WINDOWS by Sara McNulty

Smooth, clear, unmoving
unless I lift you. Luring
light in, shutting cold out,
you are always there for me
to follow the world–children biking,
people walking happy dogs,
postmen carrying packages
to front doors. When I turn
to face my backyard, there
you are again, showing me
miracles–buds opening,
hummingbirds darting,
whirling in air, trees loosening
leaves in November’s wind,
and rain sliding down
your lovely panes like
a waterfall. You are
my glass book.