Can you believe it? With today’s prompt we celebrate the completion of our second full year at POETIC BLOOMINGS. We have explored many ideas and forms, and we published our first collection – POETIC BLOOMINGS – The First Year. The gears are in motion for our second installment. We have completed an ambitious twenty-week MEMOIR CHAPBOOK PROJECT with amazing results.We have supported and nurtured one another, celebrated and mourned, and we stand as strong as ever going into our third year.
Marie and I hope you continue to plant your poetic seeds in our garden and share in the bouquet of beauty that grows here each week.
****
Now our prompt: Time flies when you’re having fun! We’ve heard that throughout our lives. In the movies, time passing is depicted as a clock or sundial in time-lapse photography in rapid motion. We see hair gray up and other parts sag down. So for this poem, we want you to write a poem that shows the passing of time. The first part will center upon something you enjoyed or did as a child. The second part will focus on your perspective on that activity and how age has changed/enhanced your vision.
We thank you so much for your participation and continued support. WE ARE ALL POETIC BLOOMINGS! Grow beautifully!
MARIE ELENA’S PERSPECTIVE:
“The pourer is considered the guardian of the teapot, which implies sterling social graces and profound trust.” ~ Mike Lininger (Editor, Etiquette Scholar)
TEA PARTIES WITH TOM
Love ya, Cuz!
WALT’S LIFE SPAN:
GONE FISHING!
Along the railroad tracks
behind my grandfather’s garden,
Smokes Creek winds a serpentine
path rushing to feed Erie’s ravenous
hunger. A sloping bank beneath the trellis;
a bamboo pole and can of worms,
tranquility comes in nary a nibble.
The act becomes the pact made
between me and the Maker.
A good escape for a fish faker.
I have not found such serenity
since youth had offered its kind hand,
it’s every man for himself and a shelf full
of life that happens at the speed of sound.
If I wasn’t grounded I would have found
a replacement, a place meant to give me peace.
But memory is a strong bridge, reaching back
to grab lost moments in mind. I can return
with my eyes closed, knowing my seat
on the sloping bank awaits. Worms optional.
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Yes, memories are great. Wonderful job of sharing yours Marie and Walt.
When I was just a little girl,
I dreamed of wealth untold,
but I found a wealth in love
before I grew too old.
I dreamed of when I would be Great,
and have enormouse fame,
instead, I found a joy unknown
when a child called my name.
I dreamed of traveling far and wide
to see the world afar.
Then one night I found the world
in a flying star.
Lovely, M!!! I think every child dreams of being wealthy and great. I know I sure do! 😉
Sometimes, reality is better than our dreams. I think it’s in out perception. I like this MM
Thank you, Erin and Debi, we and our thoughts, goals, dreams seem to morph’ many time in a life-time. 🙂
Such lovely sentiments! The whole world needs the view from your eyes, Marjory.
Marie Elena
Marie, I appreciate your comment, thanks.
You have summed up so well the real meaning of joy and life. I love this!
Thank you, Linda – simple seems so much better than ‘grand and big’ – easier for me to handle.
This is so lovely, Marjory. I couldn’t agree more with those who’ve commented.
Thank You, Claudsy 🙂
You’re welcome, my friend.
Lovely, my friend! I especially Love your ending… 🙂 !
Thank You, Hen. There is so much more beauty in His creation than all of what man can do.
Wonderful poems, both of you!!!!
I’m leaving this morning for a two week vacation in Maui, HI. I really hope I will be able to keep up with the prompts, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to. So here’s my attempt at this one, very early, but here goes. 🙂 Oh, and since I haven’t really grown up yet, and still am a child, I couldn’t exactly write about something I enjoyed during my childhood. I kind of stretched the rules a little, but this should still tie in.
The Hedge and Me
When I was five
We planted a hedge
Of little green trees;
I watched it grow
In sunshine,
In rain,
I smiled with it
While it smiled at the sun;
I grew with it,
Both nurtured
By the same yellow sun,
And both fed
By the same green earth.
Now I’m fifteen,
The trees are much taller
Than me:
Elegant spires
Of darkest green,
Surrounded by ivy
And greenest grass;
We quickly grew,
The hedge and me,
Watched over by the sun,
Under a blue roof,
We quickly grew,
Oh how time flew!
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Oh…you and I are on similar pages!! Erin, this is so visual…I can picture it so well!! Thank you and have an excellent time on your trip!! 🙂
Thanks so much, Hannah!! I’m so glad you have time to post and comment on this prompt. Always glad to see you here. 🙂 My dad brought his wifi chip with us so I’m happy! I can comment! 😀
You’re such an encouragement…thank you Erin!!
You’re welcome…and you have no idea how encouraging YOU are! 🙂
Erin, you write so fluidly and with such ease. This is wonderful.
Thank you, Claudsy! This hedge was the first thing that came to mind for me with this prompt. We built our new house and planted the hedge when I was five. It’s a pretty vivid memory. 🙂
You’re welcome, Erin. Sometimes the least things do that for us. I have a few like this that seem to have always been there. I treasure them, too.
You are so right! 🙂
Ohh… “watched over by the sun/Under a blue roof…” Lovely images…! (We Loved Maui… it was like God’s little paradise right here on Mother Earth… Have a Beautiful vacation, Erin 🙂 !!
Thank you, Hen!! We love Maui too. My family’s been going regularly since before i was born. Your description is so accurate: ” God’s little paradise right here on Mother Earth…” How well you describe it! 🙂 I’m so glad I can still comment on here, and read all the beautiful poems, and each of your thoughts. And my dad is such an angel for bringing his wifi chip with us…he really didn’t have to. 🙂
WONDERFUL… Maui, Poetry, and Friendships… Life is Good!! 😀 !!
Erin – in years ahead, you will see thoses trees even taller and you might tell your kids …”I remember when those trees were planted.” and you will seem so old to them. 🙂
May you never completely outgrow the child in you which holds, gives and loves so much. Wonderful poem – have a great trip.
Thanks so much, M!! I think part of me will always be a child. 🙂
Well said, Marjory. I agree 100% with you.
Erin, your poem is delightful. Have a fabulous trip that will be remembered fondly for decades to come!
Hugs to you!
Marie Elena
Thank you, Marie. You are so very sweet. 🙂
This made me smile. What a wonderful outlook you have. I agree with Marjory and Marie, I hope you never lose that sense of wonder. I have never lost mine!
Thanks, Linda! ❤
!! 😀 !!
Grampy Earl
Fond memories of childhood
My mentor and hero at center
He was my grandfather
No greater man in my eyes
He raised me
He loved me
He taught me what it meant
To be a man
He set the bar high
For himself
And he lived up to every
Expectation
Now a grandfather myself
His lessons I’ve taken
His high bar is my goal
And all I want to do is
Live up to his expectations
I just wish he were here
To see the fruit of his efforts
Oh wonderful, Earl!! My grandpa has a special place in my heart as well. 🙂
I love it when you write about your grandfather, Earl. It makes me think of how my son speaks of my father.
Marie Elena
This brought a tear to my eyes. How awesome to have such a fantastic role model in your life, and what a loving tribute to him.
I think many of us can sympathize with that feeling Earl, when it comes to parents or grandparents. I thoroughly enjoyed this poem. I could almost see my version of the man who taught you. (y)
Thanks, everyone. My grandfather was a special kind of person.
Thankful too, for wonderful grandparents (at least on one side of the family). I like your poem.
Such wonderful memories to have (and share) and nicely presented.
Beautiful!!
ME and Walt, you are the experts at giving us perfect examples of your prompts. Follow them- can I? I doubt it.
You’re soooooo kind, oh talented one! And I must disagree, because I’ve seen your work. 🙂
Marie Elena
[…] Poetic Bloomings-TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE HAVING FUN – PROMPT# 104 […]
Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Poetic Bloomings, Happy Birthday to YOU!!!!!!!!! ♥
Gaining Rings Within
Small statures see the sapling,
the beauty of them fills their eyes;
the enormity of its entirety is a mystery
unveiled with years of growing together.
We’ve gained height alongside each other,
I’ve assumed the wonder and wisdom within cycles;
worldly with age-rings encircle my core, too.
I perceive the tree in all its awe-striking sensation;
every wrinkle of root that crawls steadily
forms a foundation beneath my feet.
Each rumple of roughhewn bark-
her shawl covering comforts,
I sense sap of soft bleeding heart,
I feel breath fresh in my lungs,
oxygen exuded from every vein and pore,
leaves extended in a praiseful canopy;
crisp life-giving kisses offered to the sky.
And I pattern myself after her,
arms echo her motion;
raised and ready to give,
living to learn more.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
Lovely, Hannah!! I love how you used trees as your theme. Such a sweet idea. 🙂 ❤
Thank you, Erin!! ♥
An appropriate analogy, Hannah, in that you give back to others with your words the way trees give back to us all. Wonderful.
Linda…this touches my heart!! For most of the time I feel like I’m still receiving when I’m giving words…when there’re encouraging people like you, thank you!! ♥
Wonderful, Hannah. Very visual and I could see it all. Love it.
Ditto what claudsy said. I think even before I read about Tolkien’s ‘Ents’ I have loved trees. Lovely poem Hannah!
Thank you, Debi!!
Thank you, Claudsy!! I’m so glad you enjoyed this one!
You’re welcome, Hannah, and I certainly did enjoy it.
Oh my goodness. The entire poem is so deep … so visually compelling. I see our sweet poet in this:
“leaves extended in a praiseful canopy;
crisp life-giving kisses offered to the sky.
And I pattern myself after her,
arms echo her motion;
raised and ready to give,
living to learn more.”
Yes. You an nature have much in common, and I have to believe that as much as you love nature, you are loved by “her.”
Warm, Hannah-esque smiles to you.
Marie
You always say just what is in my heart!! Thank you, Marie…this is confirmation for me, ” you are loved by “her.” This has been a pressing point of return for me these days… ♥ you.
Oh, Hannah, this is soo sensual… Beautifully written!!
Beautiful visions here, Hannah
LITTLE GIRL DREAMS
Little girl dreams
of flowers and hearts
have gone by the wayside.
Little girl dreams
of satin, lace and I do’s
have gone unfulfilled.
Little girl dreams
of pigtails, pancakes, and pitter patter feet
have faded with each passing year.
Will they always be, only
little girl dreams?
/ / /
This is not a new poem–it’s one of the first poems I wrote, over two years ago. But after reading the prompt, it’s what keeps coming into my head right now…if I can clear it and write something new, I will. 🙂
Wow, Paula. Appropriate indeed for this prompt. Dreams never die. Some change with age and some never should. ❤
Paula, this is perfect for the prompt. How forward thinking of you. Are you sure you’re not psychic? 🙂 It fit so beautifully. Great.
Perfect poem for this prompt! Lovely, Paula.
Perfect for the prompt – If you are that little girl I hope all your dreams come true.
Paula, this made my eyes misty. And it most certainly IS perfect for this prompt.
HUGS!
Marie Elena
Thank you, all…it seems another of my poems fits this prompt, as well, and has been coming to mind as I think about what to write. It is the poem I used in my interview with Marie Elena nearly two years ago. It was written in January 2011 and was within the first 10-15 poems I had ever written…and still says so much about the passage of time for me, and where I am today. Again…if I can get these images and words out of my head, I’ll come back with a new offering. In the meantime, if you haven’t already read it, here’s my poem “A Loss of Knowing”…
A LOSS OF KNOWING
she rides
with cards in the spokes
and colorful strips of plastic fluttering from the handlebars
tangles of long, brown hair flying freely and wildly behind her
for the moment
all is right with the world
she reads
sitting carefree in the pasture
resting comfortably against Dotty, the spotted pig
lost in a world of Ma & Pa on the prairie
for the moment
all is right with the world
she writes
in the corner of the classroom
using her best handwriting to tell the story
even drawing pictures to match
for the moment
all is right with the world
she hides
in silence she protects herself from being known
feelings are pushed aside
passions have died
for too long
all is not right with the world
when did it occur?
this loss of play
this loss of passion
this loss of knowing
when did she forget who God made her to be?
she writes
in the quiet apartment
her cats curled up, sleeping soundly next to her
she listens to the heart of God
while tapping out her words on her computer she remembers
and once again, for the moment,
all is right with the world
2011-01-06
P. Wanken
Oh, Paula… both poems, so beautiful…
Thanks, Hen. ❤
Paula, You have expressed so beautifully many things that I find I can ID with (in both poems) We can not always be on the Mt-top …that would be hard too. It is in the valleys we learn to climb and grow
My House
My house is big.
Stretched across a hilltop.
Many windows.
Inside, speeding on my tricycle
up and down the hallway.
Tiptoeing way back to the last room
with my sister, afraid of the dark.
My house is small.
Parents passed.
Sisters return for reunion.
Some get hotels.
First bedroom turned dining room.
How did seven of us
live in such a tiny place?
My house is gone.
Renters wreaked havoc.
Youngest sister, now owner,
shuddered at the desecration.
Made the decision.
Bulldozed. Grass grows.
Neighbors see an empty spot.
This is heartbreakingly true, Connie. I think every one of us has trouble giving up that childhood home, regardless of how it happens. You captured it beautifully as always.
So sorry such destruction was necessary, Connie, after renters. I can understand the confusion of a house’s size from child to grown up. We always seem to see the size of things as they relate to our body size.
The was a true progression poem showing an entire cycle. I like that and appreciated it more because of that and the emotion involved. Great poem.
I used to think the house I was raised in was soooooo big. After being away for a couple of decades, I visited it once again and found it to have shrunk considerably. Now it’s gone, and another was built on the same foundation. Such is the life of a house.
That’s sad, Connie. 😦 too bad it had to be destroyed…
Oh, Connie … this grabbed my heart. In so few words, you’ve managed to capture the life of a home, and how our view (physically and emotionally) changes as we age. Very much one of my all-time favorites of yours. WELL DONE.
Marie Elena
😦 !!
Very awesome, Connie, I’d just say what others have said!
The house is gone – but not the home and the memories that are still a part of it, and you. Well written. 🙂
LESSONS IN TIME
when I was young I dreamed a mountain
one day would be named for me
a mountain scraping heaven to carry my memory
a thousand years ahead of my allotted time
a mountain peaked with snow
to challenge flag-bearers climbing summits
I had tried but failed to reach
when I grew older I dreamed a street
would be named in my honor
a street that would bear the weight
of travelers years to come
a street lined with elms
to shade macadam walkers
on leisurely hikes I would no longer take
now I admit what little purpose
self-named monuments
would serve my immortality
all things are lost when time lines dead-end
even the majestic mountains
even one day the skies they scrape against
will reach oblivion
instead in my old age I pray this soul of mine
one timeless day will find me a respected place
free of finite glory fueled by pompous pride
an eternal place where I will praise God
in the company of my loved ones
beyond powdered mountain dust
beyond the memory of azure sky
#
How very true, Salvatore. It is interesting how our youthful dreams of glory crash into the reality of living and become the basis for a truly meaningful life. How well you captured that metamorphosis with your always powerful words.
Marvelous, Sal. Linda’s right about how glory and its meaning shift over time to more realistic and meaningful definitions. Lovely verses.
Yes, absolutely…
How true, Salvatore! This is a beautiful poem.
“Pride cometh before a fall.” Your poem is so full of truth, Sal. I like the “will find me a respected place
free of finite glory fueled by pompous pride
an eternal place where I will praise God
in the company of my loved ones.” Beautiful
Majestic write from a humble soul.
WOW.
Marie Elena
🙂 How we do ‘grow’ over the years.
TEACHER AND LEARNER
From my earliest memory
I wanted to be a teacher.
Not because it seemed
glamorous or respected,
but because it felt important.
My Father was a teacher,
and so were the most
influential people in my life.
I did become a teacher
and have enjoyed it greatly.
But as I grew I soon realized
that I have a more important role.
I am a lifelong learner.
If not for this secondary role
I could never be a teacher,
for what would their be to teach?
Wonderful, Linda!! My mom and older sister are teachers. I’m thinking of being one too when I grow up. That or a nurse. 🙂
Profound and wise…so much wisdom in the humble learner/teacher roles…I commend you greatly that you followed your dream, Linda, that really is something special!! ♥
Love it, Linda. All of it true and for many different reasons. Excellent.
You are the kind of teacher I admire – loves learning, loves passing it on. Very nice.
Linda, there is so much wisdom here. So very much, and so effectively penned.
Marie Elena
!! Yes !! 🙂 !
Wonderfully said. Yes, may we all continue to be learners. 🙂
Luther Herman Tilley
Luther Sherman Tilley you were born
but liked Herman better so changed it,
still everyone called you Luther
‘Cept me, you were grandpa to me.
You talked with a wuffle
Cause you had no teeth
Though your lips didn’t cave in as
Toothless ones do.
Your Irish red hair dulled to sand
topped a face weathered by time and fights
from your hot tempered youth .
A broken nose, blinded right eye, missing fingers,
relics of work accidents in the mine and mill,
could have looked harsh and unkind
but softened under your
leprechaun grin.
You carried a small knife in your pocket
A multi-purpose affair of handiness
That cut off corns,
Sliced apples into bite sized nubs
You mushed with strong gums,
Daubed Vick’s down the back of your throat
To sooth a cough,
And plucked tiny splinters from tiny fingers.
You wore plaid shirts and striped pants
To Mom and Grandma’s annoyance,
You smelled like Aqua Velva in the morning
and hard work at night.
You watched Matt Dillon and Ben Cartwright religiously
And read your Bible, cover to cover, worshipfully
And that is the picture I carry in my head.
Oh, how I wish, just once more, I could sit on your knee.
Awesome tribute to your grandpa – got my eyes wet on that one.
Thanks, David
There was so much of down home in this for me, Debi. There were many such men in my family, each with a different name, a different address, but the same background. As I read I was in my grandparent’s house and I was watching grandpa talking to my dad.
Thank you for the trip home, Debi. I enjoyed it more than you’ll ever know.
Oh, claudsy, the older I get the more I feel the pull of happy childhood memories. So many times I wish I could go back home and realize what I was going to miss in the years to come so I could memorize every word and precious hug from Grandma and Grandpa.
Yep, I know the feeling, Debi.
Aww, what a sweet recollection!! Grandpa’s are such amazing people, arent they? I have very vivid recollections of my dad’s dad, who died in 2008; the same year as my brother.
Debi, you have mentioned that you are learning much from Sal. This poem shows it the most of any I’ve read so far from you. There is so much detail here – not for the sake of detail, but for the sake of capturing your grandpa, and capturing a time in life that is no longer in existence. I feel like I KNOW this man of whom you speak. This is an absolutely amazing piece.
Have you thought of writing a book? It appears you would do well in drawing your readers in, and making them know and care about your characters.
FABULOUS WORK!
Marie Elena
Oh, thank you so much Marie. I have concentrated mostly on poetry but Sal does have me writing some flash fiction (55 words or less) and I am liking it a lot!
Your closing line, for me, makes this personal…so many carry that memory…I do. Thank you, Debi!
Oh, this is so very tenderly sweet… !!
One-Room Schoolhouse
It wasn’t red
But it was little
That one-room schoolhouse
Back in the woods
Four grades of children
Sixteen in all
Taught by one teacher
Mrs. Bradley was her name
She loved us all
Just like her own
And we loved her
And that little schoolhouse
Back in the woods
In times long past
Drove by the site
Where the schoolhouse stood
In times long past
But nothing remained
Except the memories
So many great memories
Ah, Earl. I missed going to a one-room schoolhouse by one year, but my cousin attended one and I knew where all of them were in our neighborhood. We had three in our small township.
This took me back a far piece. Thank you for picking up where Debi left off. Love it.
I went to a one-room schoolhouse for the first two grades. I learned a lot more in that one room listening to the teacher work with the upper grades than I would have in individual classrooms. It’s an experience I’ll never forget.
Those were good days, Earl. I miss them in so many ways.
Oh, I bet! I didn’t know this about you, Earl. This is a memory few have anymore, but especially few for your young years. Thanks for sharing!
Marie Elena
Lovely! Glad you still have the memories, Earl.
Nice memories. Isn’t it horrific that Alzheimer takes away memories. I found that terrifying when my aunt was in its grip. I hope at the end I still can remember all the wonderful times.
So true. Speaking of Alzheimer, this is something I wrote a decade ago when I had an office at the local assisted living facility:
Where Do They Go?
Where do they go when their minds wander away,
On the days when they leave everyone behind?
What do they do while they’re drifting here and there?
Are these old or new adventures that they find?
Are their thoughts running ’round?
Or do they just shut down?
Or have they very simply lost their minds?
Do you think, by some chance, they’re walking with God?
Maybe He’s showing them their reward that awaits.
Perhaps they’re with old friends who have passed on before
And already gone through those pearly gates.
But no matter where they are
We hope they don’t drift off too far,
Did we love them enough, or is our love too late?
I hope that I don’t end up like them someday.
I always want to know what’s going on.
But if I do, I hope someone will care for me,
And keep me from all danger while I’m gone.
And while my mind is on the town,
I hope no one shuts me down.
And I hope I’m not a burden for too long.
… soo touching…
Wonderful memories!
Days Long Past
Life was so simple
Fathers lead the family
Mothers ran the home
Children obeyed
Families prospered
Communities united
The churches were filled
And God was the Center
Of our existence
Are those days old fashioned
Gone forever
Passé
Or do we need to return to them
Well penned – well said!
I, personally, think a good dose of this living would go a long way. Add to that, children were disciplined for their bad behavior, instead of ignored. Love it, Earl.
Well said!! My church is very much like that still – I am so thankful!
I pray not EJ. At least my children are passing those values on to their children. I hope my grandchildren do the same.
Yes, I wonder if simpler times could ever be again. It seems we are too far removed from that now. 😦
Marie Elena
… your last sentence says it all!
The Squirrel
I will never forget the day
Gramp and I went out to play
In the field next to our house
In Northern Maine
With my granddad playing toss
A pastime I loved most
When Grandma brought us drinks
We took a break
My grandpa stood up tall
As he downed that iced tea all
Something moving in the grass
Caught my eye
A squirrel suddenly appeared
Then up Gramp’s pants disappeared
In the inside of his pant leg
What a sight
With this squirrel inside his pants
First time ever I saw Gramp dance
As the squirrel made his way down
The other side
Grandma couldn’t believe her eyes
Tears of laughter made us cry
It’s something I’ll never forget
Oh, what a sight
It’s fun memories like these
Keeps my Grandpa here with me
Makes me look forward to the day
We meet again
We can sit and reminisce
Of the good times I now miss
Memories that make me want to relive
What has been
Love the cadence, Earl. It reminds me of a songwriter back in the day who always used it, spoke all of his songs, and each was funny with a small sting at the end. Trouble is, I can’t for the life of me remember the guy’s name.
Anyway, I enjoyed this ride into my past, while watching your short movie in my mind. As you can see by what I write, I’m afraid I’ll be all night, getting this pacing out of my head.
Love it, my friend.
I think you’re thinking about Jim Stafford.
And, thanks.
Thanks, Earl. I figured you’d know. That could well be. I’ll have to check it out. Haven’t thought of that songwriter in years. And you’re welcome.
Of course, you may be thinking about Ray Stevens and his song about the squirrel that got loose at a church.
I thought about him, too, Earl, but that’s not the voice I hear in my head when I think about it. I think Stafford if the one. I really do. I have to find one of his recordings and see if it is. Otherwise, it’s going to drive me nuts. 🙂
A grand, fun memory! Smiled all the way through. 🙂
Marie Elena
:D!!
Meg, delightful… Walt, I smiled!! 🙂 !!
First off, I really like this prompt. It would have worked very well for the memoir chapbook prompts, too. (hint, hint) I have only one today, but it’s sort of thick, so I don’t think you’ll mind that it’s alone.
High Aspirations
“Stubborn” described me then,
Worn like honor’s badge all day
Riding my little pink bike,
No training wheels; falling off,
Getting up and starting again;
But high-wire work was mine,
Ankle hanging from swing-set’s
Top bar, doing pirouettes on high
While adults watched in horror.
All that training waiting for use
Toward something more important;
A life needful of high aspirations,
Needful of always gaining ground on
Challenges some saw as insurmountable;
Fears would come and do battle for life
Lived in joyous freedom from unwanted
Expectations, vanquished by stubbornness,
To allow adult pirouettes on life’s top bar.
“All that training waiting for use.” Very powerful claudsy.
Ah, thank you, Debi. I’m so glad you liked it.
Something I didn’t know about your childhood. I literally laughed out loud at my computer, all alone in the house! What a hoot! And your view as an adult … well, you already know how wise and wonderful I think you are.
Well done, my friend!!
Marie
Thank you so much, MEG. I’m glad that you found the humor in it. The family always compared me to my youngest aunt, who seemed the most stubborn in the family. Personally, they were very right to do so., I think. Two peas and all that.
This is a wonderful poem, Claudsy!! I love the connection between the child and the adult. Very powerful.
Thanks so much, Erin. It’s taken me many years to recognize the connection and impact of that stubborn child who dwells within. She finally got her due.
Oh wow!! Claudsy..this is so apt a comparison…I love the way you addressed this in an indirect but very focused way. So good!
Thanks so much, Hannah. I’m glad that you enjoyed it.
Oh, Clauds… you give me hope for my grandchildren… they are Fearless… 😀 !!
What I’ve learned is that each of us is taught to fear, that we come into this world fearless. Hope cannot die unless we choose to kill it. Perhaps that’s what is so amazing about it.
Yes…
Through the Looking Glass
“The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.” ~Madeleine L’Engle
In the mirror, I’d make faces,
and the girl who looked back at me
did the same, with giggles and glee.
Bedroom mirror, of all places
still retains the ancient traces
of the schoolgirl I used to be,
and that girl still looks back at me.
In the mirror, I’d make faces.
A laugh line is what replaces
monster-fangy, wry or wince-y
pouts and smiles, ‘cause ever since the
mirror-me said, “Let’s trade places,”
in the mirror, I’d make faces.
###
Oh, good one, RJ. I love how it circles back on itself and enver gets lost along the way.
Ditto! Perfectly put, Clauds. Well done, RJ!
Marie Elena
RJ, L’Engle is one of my favorite authors. Her “Crosswick Journals” are well worn and loved in my bookcase. I am so glad that all ages are still inside even if I haven’t taken the time to get to know them better – that MUST be remedied! Thanks for the reminder.
Ah, Madeleine. Mugging for the mirror, RJ? Going to your blog to comment there… Amy
This is so good, RJ!
Hee, hee 🙂 !!
Nothing Like Before
By David De Jong
We were young, imagination was free,
Surveyed our kingdoms, by climbing a tree.
We scaled our mountains by hiking a roof.
Cavalry scout, upon galloping hoof.
One grand adventure after another,
No one to answer to, except mother.
She seemed to understand, without a doubt,
Creeks to explore, pastures to roam about.
Now, we scale our mountains on bended knee.
My limbs refuse, to take me up a tree.
Find myself shaking, standing on a roof,
But still like the sound, of a gallant hoof.
Mother still lives, but nothing like before,
She wants to go home, she imagines more.
David, this I understand perfectly, in so many ways. I wonder if we all experience this dichotomy as we age. Great poem. It speaks for many of us, I think.
Thanks Claudsy
You’re welcome.
Yes, these old bones don’t move well anymore.
Mine was an old cherry tree that I escaped to when I wanted to read undisturbed. The pasture was the set of “Sea Hunt” where we battled sharks and other times the Wild West where my siblings and I traded being good guys and bad guys. Oh, the memories you unleashed this morning – thanks.
Thanks Debi,
We had to trade with my sister (one girl with 2 brothers on each side). She would play cowboys and Indians, trucks and tractors with us, if we would play girl stuff with her.
“Now, we scale our mountains on bended knee.” Wow. Love your expression of this. I can see this being quoted in the future by folks now unknown.
God bless your Mother.
Marie Elena
Thanks Marie
I love how you express this, David! Of course, I have never experienced, and can’t understand this yet, but I really like how you put it. 🙂
Bittersweet ending, David…
Congrats, Walt and Marie and all my sweet poetic friends. Two years of fun and counting!
Dogwood Dreams
A dogwood fan hid me from prying view
of mother, father, brother, sisters, pets.
I sat on moss where wondrous daydreams grew,
alone and happy as a shy child gets.
Imagination held me in its arms
and bore me into realms I could not go,
where I was fabulous, my many charms
just budding, from which miracles would grow.
I loved that dogwood’s shelter as I dreamed,
for sometimes I am still a wandering child.
Adulthood is much harder than it seemed
when I longed to be grown-up, free, and wild.
I still imagine things as they might be,
for in my mind, there grows a dogwood tree.
One of my favorite trees, Jane. This sounded much like me when I could escape the eyes of others. Terrific!
This one begged a second reading, Jane. This is so rich with visual, metaphor, dreams, aspirations, who Jane was and is – all captured in this lovely sonnet. The final couplet made me sigh.
BEAUTIFUL.
Marie Elena
Lovely sonnet, Jane.
Yes, congrats to Walt and Marie and everyone. And Jane, this is a lovely, lovely sonnet. The final couplet makes me smile!
Yes, Jane, I love dogwoods, and I admire your mastery of the sonnet. The “secret places” of our youth do inhabit our minds. I have an old, untended crabapple tree and I sit in memory amid its branches… Amy
How sweet, Jane!! I love this! ❤
Beautiful, beautiful ending, Jane… !
Cat Pants
Our play suits were identical, for rough play—
a halter top and bloomers full and wide,
elastic in the waist and in the legs
and useful to put many things inside.
The mouser in the barn bore eight kittens,
and we could think of nothing else to do.
Although we had been warned to leave them be,
we soon devised a plan to hide from view
a brace of little fur balls, two per leg
and sit down quietly in morning sun.
No one would be the wiser—darling girls—
with cats inside our pants, meowing and fun.
Of course, our mother caught us right away,
suspecting where our kittens might just be.
We stood before her lying, brazen, bold
until we saw a twitching tail set free.
We learned a few great lessons that have served
us well into adulthood from that day:
don’t dare your mother to spank you, don’t lie,
especially since tiny claws can flay.
We know now that we’re grown-ups, old and wise
to mind our pants and what we let inside.
We value clothes that stretch and hide our flaws,
adopting skirts and trousers soft and wide.
We have respect for animals (think cats),
for motherhood and longings of a child,
but we still love connections warm and sweet
and truth above all lies, no scratch of guile.
This was just too funny, Jane. I chuckled all through this one. I could see it so plainly, and feel those tiny claws. The tail twitching, exposed, was nearly the last straw before I lost it completely. And then came the rest.
This should be a children’s picture book, Jane. Seriously. It teaches such a fine lesson, is funny, has great mental pictures, and a nice pacing for kids to learn the words. Think about it.
Funny story – nice moral – loved it.
Thanks, Debi. I’m so glad you liked it.
What a fun read! Oh, little girls … 😀
Marie Elena
This is soooo funny, Jane!! I wish I had learnt that lesson before now: not to dare my mom to spank me, I mean. I always seemed to be giving her reasons… 😉
Ha, ha, ha… :D!!
Fun to read, great story, great lesson. Listening to kittens meew while reading. We have newborn kittens my dear wife brought in the house, to get out of the snow storms we keep getting. So we had sound effects to go along!
Aww… 🙂 !!
perfect!
Hearty congratulations to Marie Elena & Walt and indeed, to all the poets that make this a wonderful blooming garden of words. ❤
The Little Black Dots
or
It’s Gene Krupa’s Fault!
When I was the young, I loved the dots,
the little black dots on thin black lines,
or underneath, maybe above.
Some were solid and some hollow,
some had tails, some joined others.
I looked and read and saw and knew.
I played and played and never hesitated
and after three or four times around a sheet,
I could close my eyes and they were still there.
I loved those little black dots.
I hated classical guitar!
He said I had potential, a natural flair.
He reeked of tobacco and talked with a rasp,
but he knew more about the dots than I
and so I persisted though he wouldn’t
teach me chords.
I couldn’t play the music I loved
and I grew to hate the music I played
and detest the little black dots.
It was late one night, in Gleneagles Hotel,
a biopic moved me, shook me to the core,
the greatest, the finest (next to Buddy Rich).
I watched the story of Krupa and knew then,
I had to drum.
I loved the drums.
I loved the beat.
I played the music I loved, but played by ear
and slowly, surely, sadly forgot all about
the little black dots.
And now I need them, I crave them,
they must be in there somewhere;
my French is, so why not them,
but no, it’s futile, all In vain.
They are gone forever
and I serve as wordsmith to another:
poetry that craves a tune, a melody
that craves the addition of chords
and the little black dots.
I look at my guitar and ponder.
I don’t even know what the strings between the Es are
and the last time I put them on wrong!
I just want a few basics,
a grounding, a starting point.
Let me say: well I haven’t got it all, but it starts like this
and make a note of
some little black dots.
My projects never end; I have so much to do.
But can it be too late?
Is it possible? If they aren’t there, deep inside,
can I learn them again and feel the joy,
feel the exhilaration of humming a tune,
just by seeing a few
little black dots?
Time will tell, the effort would be great
but if I can learn new languages,
then surely can re-learn the greatest of them all.
Not English, not that of love, oh no!
The language of music
the little black dots.
Iain
The only dots that spoke to me were the ones under the words of the “sing along” song. I am so not musically inclined, except to listen to it.
🙂
Love it! And it makes me want to write a poem for children about the little black dots. Surely there is a poem in there for teaching children to read music.
This line says so much:
“I couldn’t play the music I loved and I grew to hate the music I played”
I’ll have to make sure my dad sees this poem of yours. I know he’ll love it as much as I do. 🙂
Marie Elena
Thanks Marie – yes, there must be! I’ll let you know what I come up with too 🙂
Please do!! 😀
Marie Elena
I’m living proof that, when kids are forced to play an instrument they do not enjoy, it can sour them on all of it. My two older sisters were forced to take piano because we owned one. They both quit in disgust. I was the only one with talent, but the dots eluded me. I played by ear and chord charts. Iain, I often refer to musical notes as “cockroaches, running around the page whenever I try to catch them.” Glad you found Krupa, just like Riley did! Love, Amy
Thanks Amy ❤
As a piano player, I know that love of the little black dots. Do keep trying to learn them again, Iain!! Love this poem! 🙂
Thanks Erin. I’m going to try hard this summer – starting with a tin whistle as it’s all I can take with me to summer school, well apart from my 9 harmonicas! LOL!
I’m so glad! Music is such a necessity, I think. 😉
… I remember those dots (violin) … 🙂 !!
🙂
!! 🙂 🙂 !!
Oh, wonderful, Iain. Those little black dots can do a person in, can’t they? Loved this piece. I saw the movie you described. I heard the frustration and the hesitancy in relaying the fact that you’d come back to those little black dots with chagrin in your heart and a plea on your lips.
Terrific job!
Thanks Claudsy!
You’re welcome.
WOW! There is a lot of reading here! I just can’t make it to this garden on most Sunday’s. Hopefully tonight I can return to read!….and offer something a little more ‘true’ to the prompt. This poem is true about the ‘fun’ of growing up then being the grown-up:)
For My Daughter Mel
Once I was a girl
Young, carefree, like you
Constrained by parents
With a straight, narrow view
Now I am the parent
And I love you
In spite of your scoffing
At my straight, narrow view
Someday I pray
You will have girls too
Loved and constrained
By your straight, narrow view
© Janet Martin
I read this prompt after a long and somewhat heated ‘debate’ with my teen-age daughter. We ended on amicable but not total agreement.
Janet, so true. I used to tell Riley, “Just say to your friends that your mom is old-fashioned.” But my rules kept her out of a whole lot of trouble: to wit, I am not raising my own grandkids… and she knew about condoms just in case! AMy
How adorable! Sounds like my mom and me. 🙂
That last stanza, I heard it often from my Mom… then I spoke it to my daughter… 🙂 !!
So much is said in this poem, Janet. Your daughter will appreciate all in you that she finds concerning these days. 😉
Marie Elena
[…] is for Poetic Bloomings Time Flies When You’re Having Fun prompt, linked with Miz Quickly’s extra prompt […]
Another that is worth the little cyber-jaunt. Excellent work, Viv!
Marie Elena
Mine is here, as it is also linked to another prompt. I hope it is coherent!
Beautiful, Viv…
Dirty Hands Again
Fingers in the dirt – the soil
Is the color of rich chocolate
Cultivated to a texture as fine as
Sifted flour. Its smell is of the
Earth, earth and sun. My father
Shows me how to take my finger
And draw a long line across the
ground we are working in. This
is a row and he lets me place the
monkey-faced Swiss chard seeds
Into their bed of earth – very carefully.
We brush the dirt back over the
Seeds and pat it down with our hands.
This is our Victory Garden, but it is
Something we do every year – we
Plant a garden and I have continued
This pleasure almost every year of
My life. Big gardens when our family
Was filled with growing children,
Smaller for just my husband and me,
Smaller yet for myself, but I plant extra
To give to family when they stop by.
It is spring now, but the weather has
Been unusually cool and my son has
Waited to spade my little garden patch.
All winter long, my windowsills have
Bloomed with house plants. Soon I
Will move them outside, to the porch.
Like most gardeners, I cannot give up
The practice. It is always a pleasure
To look forward to, even as the years
Take their toll on the back and the legs,
The fingers nervously wait for dirt.
… mmm, I can smell the dirt…
Great poem Marian, Anxious to get back in the garden too, been a long winter.
This is lovely, Marian! It reminds me so much of my brother; he is an avid gardener. 🙂
So beautiful, Marian! I love reading your poems, and picturing you in them. Just lovely.
Marie Elena
Thanks, Marie and Walt, for giving us a loving venue in which to poem.
Ice Skating
Ice skating with Uncle Bill,
our eyes gleaming, clear as ice.
Blue metal case clutched, bearing
white skates. Fit them on, tighten
laces. Tentative on blades, I hold
on to sides of rink until Uncle Bill takes
my hand in his, lengthening my stride,
twirling and whirling me. As I gain
confidence, he skates off easily
as a gliding swan, keeping eyes
on his red-cheeked, eager pupil.
We stop for hot chocolate.
Joyfully, I watch skaters carve
the ice at Rockefeller Center,
Christmas tree lights twinkling.
I recall cold anticipation, thrill
of skating around a rink. But time
passes quickly, and soon this
memory is distant. I can no
longer imagine balancing on ice.
Lovely, Sara… I Love to ice skate!!! 🙂 !!
Thanks, hen!
This captures the experience on ice, the slight fear that gives way to total enjoyment, and your relationship with your uncle. What a lovely poem! You make me want to lace up my skates again, even though I was always awkward at best. 😉
Marie Elena
I was no ballerina either!
[…] for Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge #22: Complex and for Poetic Bloomings Prompt #104: Time Flies When You’re Having Fun. Posted for day 51 in 100 Days of Spring – […]
Finally…something new, hot off the pressed fingers-to-the-keyboard… 🙂
THE SIMPLE LIFE
It seemed so simple then,
the days of early youth.
Nothing more to worry about than
making sure my toys were put away.
Of course there were endless
chores on the farm, but it was a part of life.
Life changed, though,
when our family fractured.
While I was really still a kid, the simple
became much more complex.
Responsibilities shifted, my age
became greater than my years;
independence became my life ring and
self-sufficiency, my anchor. Later,
anonymity of city-life, my sustenance;
the business of busyness, my companion.
Decades of responsibility brought
another shift, to a different kind of focus.
It’s simple: life doesn’t have to be
as complicated as I’ve made it.
The stuff that surrounds me is not
what is important—the people are; and
making time to play and doing your chores
is as complex as it needs to be.
2013-04-22
P. Wanken
Oh, I hear ya!!
What a wonderful and wise piece, Paula! You have a way of creating fabulous endings to your poem, and this one is exceptional, I believe:
“making time to play and doing your chores
is as complex as it needs to be.”
Wow. Absolute perfection.
Marie Elena
Thank you, Hen and Marie. ❤
[…] With Real Toads has Open Link Monday, so I will post there a wonderful prompt from my friends Walt and Marie Elena at Poetic Bloomings, “Time Flies.” When I thought of the hourglass, the next “tape” from the […]
This page is awfully long, so please visit my page and comment there? Hope this is OK. Lovely prompt, guys. Amy
All: I do hope you will visit Amy’s blog to read her offering. Worth the short cybertrip over.
Marie Elena
Blooming Miracles
So here we are, laughing,
The sun upon our face at midnight.
And I see a strand of hair go dancing across your face
Wide open in dimple-showing-joy,
Oh, joy…
There’s a light that has been chasing us these past few days,
It beyond bewilderment; you would call it “a haze”
For wasn’t there darkness here before?
Locking us behind closed doors? Honestly?
Weren’t we miserable?
I think maybe you’re different.
Maybe you and me.
For this house is the same one that we grew up in,
So I know it’s not the house.
And our bachelor neighbor still has cats forty-two.
And though he is getting older…
I don’t think he’s the cause of you,
The spring in your eyes.
The life in your cheeks.
Even your blouse, it’s new.
Maybe soon we thought we’d be grown up,
On our own, all moved out and worldly-tough
And able to say in lofty tones:
“Keep the change.”
But change occurs like child’s play,
And as I tick off another day,
We’ve never been so happy or dependent.
My ideas of manhood are down at the altar, repenting…
Yes, I know this moment cannot last,
But now I know my Father.
All too soon this day will pass.
But tomorrow brings another.
Lovely…
Mr. Dilettante, I love it when you come to share your words here in our “garden.” This lovely, haunting, and creatively written. Thank you.
Marie Elena
“The Road”
The direction
was always away,
on that re-gifted Schwinn.
Though the roads
never went far enough
to escape
the smell of stale beer
and cigarettes
and the voice
that told me–
in some hearts
alcohol takes first place
(just ride the bike,
he’s not coming
home from the bar)
the wind would sing
and tell me tales of a time
the road would open up
and take me home.
Light years have passed
and the roads still call
and on a long ride
I can tell that boy
the lessons learned
from skinny tires on pavement
were learned
well.
He knows where his heart is
and these roads
never leave home.
🙂 !
Tears. I could not read this poem aloud – I choked up.
Chev, you amaze me.
Marie Elena
(Naani form)
Fun and laughter traced, pitching
in our backyard field
Days now gone, laughter still
The Giants have replaced. :D!
So sweet, Hen!! I can never figure out how you express so much with so few words. You truly are amazing!
Why, Thank you, my friend! 🙂 !!
Hear, hear! Nice work, Hen!
Marie Elena
Thanks, Meg!! :)!
Friend and Foe
I love the feel of the wind
In my hair,
On my cheeks;
But what used to be mere pleasure,
And playfulness,
And teasing,
Now seems to haunt my very soul
With memories,
And sad recollections;
And still I love, and hate, the wind:
My dearest friend,
My bitterest foe.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
P. S. It is only rarely that I feel this way. But only three days ago marked the fifth anniversary of my brother’s death, and even here in Paradise, I feel very mournful just now.
Yes… Life can be very complex, Erin… Hugs to you!
Hugs to our young poet friend. May God release your joy.
Marie Elena
Thank you, Hen and Marie. I can always count on you two for support and sympathy. Bunches of hugs and love to both of you! ❤
Hey all,
it’s been too long. So bummed I missed the memoir project. Still plodding away at it though … slowly!
Anyhow, thought I’d jump back in this week. Here’s my attempt.
SUMMER SOLSTICE
The sprinklers were cool in
the summer heat,
spraying slivers of rainbows like
holograms hovering above
the thirsty summer grass.
We frolicked through the fountains
bathing suits sticking
to our slick skin, tanned
by our afternoon
forays in the yard.
We peeled the wet fabric
over plump bellies
filled with laughter and lunch,
shimmying and tugging
our bare-threaded bikinis
tossing them into the bathtub,
relishing our nakedness
ready for the next adventure.
Just a quick note of encouragement to keep plodding on the memoir project…I wasn’t “feeling it” as the prompts came up for the project, but I’m very glad I went back and did them all. It was a good exercise in compiling the chapbook as a finished product, as well. So…hang in there! 🙂
It’s definitely an endeavor. But a really good exercise for sure!
Two thumbs up!
Marie Elena
Imagery and sensory depth here! Great job, Kimiko! So good to have you back!!
Marie Elena
Thanks, ME. It’s been too long!
Fun and lovely!! 🙂