I was only a matter of time that POETIC BLOOMINGS had gone to the birds. And we have amazingly amassed nearly 600 poems/comments at this writing. We are growing by leaps and bounds and Marie and I couldn’t be more pleased. You are all the reason that this place flourishes like it does. Thank you all for your continued support, encouragement and most importantly, your talents. To the BLOOMS:


Being a bird lover, I enjoyed this prompt immensely.  So many different birds represented, and so many poetic voices!  As difficult as it was for me to choose just one, The Kingfisher by Seven Acre Sky is poetry at its best, in my humble opinion.  I’d love to close my eyes and hear this read in an easy, lulling voice, with the sound of the river bubbling in the background.  Thank you, Damon, for freely sharing your talent with us week-after-week.

The Kingfisher by Seven Acre Sky

The river slides like time away,
the button-willows’ branches sway.
My boat slides through a silence vast,
as gray-sky, whispering, overcast,
asks if I’d put my oars aside
and look
and hear
and pray
and glide.

I do.

A chattering from the brushy shore
draws mind and eyes and ears and more–
yes, draws my heart–to a flash of blue,
that flies from limb to branch. I view
a fisherman at the river’s side.
Blue crest,
black beak,
his pride.

I see.

I feel his pride, his royal content.
He’s satisfied. The dives’ intent–
the minnow that he sought to seek–
is clasped within his hungry beak.
I take my rod and reel and fly,
throw out
my line
breathe deep,
and sigh.

I fish.

UPDATE:  If anyone comes back out here, they will certainly enjoy hearing Damon recite Kingfisher here:

It’s as wonderful as I envisioned.  THANK YOU SO MUCH, DAMON! 


For one who writes to a blog “One Inch Tall”, this poet writes some big things and sometimes in a small amount of space. Catherine Lee has presented a rather haunting (yes, that word has been sprinkled throughout the comments on her piece) prose poem. We can all relate to the “albatross” around our necks in our daily lives, be it  job related, or health issues, family struggles or whatever else brings us down. The beauty of the angst expressed here is what had grabbed me and so, I have chosen Catherine’s poem for my BEAUTIFUL BLOOM. In her words:

“This is my halting attempt at prose poetry with nods to both Coleridge and C.S. Lewis.”

ALBATROSS by Catherine Lee

I used to pretend that I was different, that I wasn’t born with it around my neck, but the smell of death was strong as hell, stinging my eyes like sinking ships. Through a blur of salt and pain, I saw the shadow of another pair of wings stretching east to west (or maybe top to bottom?) across the blackened sky. They reached with hands that knew my name, knew the whitewashed hollow I’d become. He took away the dying things, the cages I had fashioned into shiny things, to plant something beautiful and green inside the ashes.