BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS – PROMPT #111
We supplied the clues. You provided the pieces, and a poem was born. Now the puzzle remains, who will be awarded a BEAUTIFUL BLOOM for this week? Let’s find out:
MARIE ELENA’S CHOICE:
For me, this was a very difficult prompt. Many of you made it look quite easy, including Marilyn Braendeholm (aka Misky). Misk, you could not write a bad poem if you tried. But this? This is absolute brilliance. Nothing I can say would add anything of worth, so I simply present you with my “Bloom.”
Aleph’s Name (by Marilyn Braendeholm)There’s a photograph on the wall, framed
in scrolled silver-plate, and the photo always
falls askew, slips and tucks into the bottom
white matt like the sinking of the Mary Rose.
She refuses to sit, be still, be centred. She is my mother: Aleph. Her name is ancient, a glyph on walls, a mark
by scribes on the stone lions of Babylon, inscribed
on the eight towers of Ravenna. You’ll find
her name where truth sprouts from sands,
across deserts silently running as time races blind through Syria’s ruins, and you’ll find
her name on temple columns that drink
from the Blue Nile. Her name speaks of bridled
oxen in Samarian, an ox’s head in Arabic. She is my mother, Aleph. Stubborn as the ox, refusing to be positioned
within confines of silver. Aleph, in Hebrew –
words spoken in truth, she – the silent one,
she – who is sometimes first but never last. She is my mother, Aleph. Aleph, King of Breath. Aleph, air of the universe,
and the lungs of one’s soul. Aleph, your name
speaks of Oneness with God. My mother, Aleph,
who’s off centre and slipping to the bottom of silver,
a name that calls to her from beginning to end. She is my mother, Aleph.
1. Aleph 2. Lions and oxen 3. Ancient Babylon 4. Photography 5. Running 6. Sprouts 7. Eight 8. Blue 9. Sand Name End 10. Sinking of the Mary Rose 11. Mary 12. Ravenna Blvd.
The vignette portrayed here is a piece that as Amy Barlow Liberatore labeled a “day in the life” poem. And Amy has a good point there. It tells a story. A wonderful walk to fetch the morning news and begin the day’s labors. A homey and welcoming poem, as one would imagine from an Alabama Tarheel! Nancy Posey, you’ve earned this BEAUTIFUL BLOOM.
Barbara Early (by Nancy Posey)
Never one to sleep in, she slipped out of bed,
walked out to the end of the driveway
for the paper thrown from the window
of a car with a noisy muffler,
not a small boy on a bicycle
as she remembered years ago
collecting twenty-seven cents
every Saturday morning.
She sat reading at the kitchen table
while the coffee brewed, hardly seeing
the red sun rise over her shoulder,
never even noticed the coyotes
howling far beyond the fence line,
lost in thoughts that over formed
themselves into prayers of thanks,
not for dreams that came true,
but for blessings she never dreamed
of asking before they arrived
unbidden, the sorrows averted.
These rare quiet moments alone
were enough. She knew soon
her phone would ring, her oldest,
Elaine, calling to say good morning.
A car in the drive or a knock
on the backdoor would signal
a visit, pleasant, though unexpected,
a chance to share the blessings.