POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.


In the early 1920s, Robert Service wrote a poem called The Joy of Little Things. Although that poem has been ridiculed by some as mere doggerel, it has nonetheless been a favorite of others for its emphasis on the little things and events that make life enjoyable for most of us. These might be “a dog that leaps, a hand that clings,” as Service wrote, or a myriad of other topics, ranging from quarks or subatomic particles to hummingbirds or petunias. Or, “little things” might include the Sign of Peace at a Mass, or a smile from a stranger, or a poem. Write a poem about a little thing or event that stands out in your memory, or that you wish would happen.


“Jesus wept.”  ~John 11:35 

The Word became flesh
Revealing the heart of God
We can relate to.

© copyright 2013, Marie Elena Good

(Note from Marie: “Jesus wept” is the shortest verse in the Bible.  This tiny two-word sentence, for me, displays the warm human heart of Jesus Christ and magnificently voices the love and heart of my God.  Wow.)



Around and over rocks, the water flows
to scour the sand and tease the waiting creatures
entombed within themselves. The sunrise goes
around and over rocks; the water flows
to meet it. Flashing ebbs and liquid glows
bid life to loose its temporary features.
Around and over rocks the water flows,
to scour the sand and tease the waiting creatures.

© copyright 2013, William Preston


Making big deals out of little things
brings little by way of happy endings,
no matter how it burns, turn and walk away.
There is very little left to say.

© copyright 2013, Walter J Wojtanik

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288 thoughts on “PROMPT #126 – LITTLE THINGS

  1. Five Small Powerful Things

    A pretty girl
    winked at him
    and changed
    his world.

    A purple bud
    broke through
    snow. First crocus
    of spring.

    When her heart
    was too hurt,
    he gently
    took her hand.

    That deviant cell
    spreads faster
    than we could imagine.

    The silence after
    a beautiful song
    and a beautiful life.

  2. Little Things

    Thinks of
    The little
    Things in her life:
    The disease that spreads and steals loved one’s breath,
    Doubt that grows and eats away any truth
    That might be kept
    Somewhere deep
    In her
    And comfort
    Found in prayer,
    The little word that brings such peace of mind;
    The beauty in a silver spider’s web,
    A small bird’s song,
    Morning dew
    On the
    She thinks of the little things in her life,
    Realizing the impact they’ve all had on her –
    After all, it’s
    The little
    Things that

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013


    best policy.

  4. Sanctuary

    Girls, when you find yourselves
    alone at night,
    making the acquaintance
    of a city of lineage
    and dazzling shopping streets,
    spare a thought for the ragged alleyways and
    for the shy churches hiding
    behind the dying light and the pouring rain
    and put out your hand
    and wait
    for the flute-born Ave of a wanderer
    to alight on your palm, rest its wings and
    declare you its sanctuary.

  5. RJ Clarken on said:

    A Moment

    “I held a moment in my hand, brilliant as a star, fragile as a flower, a tiny sliver of one hour. I dripped it carelessly. Ah! I didn’t know I held opportunity. ~Hazel Lee

    A tiny sliver in my hand
    was a gift, but I didn’t see
    it was chance; opportunity.
    It slipped away: a grain of sand.
    It wasn’t what I would have planned
    if only I’d known what I’d had.
    Even now, that loss makes me sad,
    but I just didn’t understand.
    A moment is a flash of light;
    a starlit arc…and then it’s gone.
    What’s left is but the dark of night.
    And then…some realizations dawn:
    that brilliant moment simply might
    connect to more stars; oh, shine on!


  6. RJ Clarken on said:

    One Inch Tall

    If I were only one inch tall
    I’d be a tiny blue dart frog
    who sits upon her blue frog log
    and writes her tiny blue frog blog.
    Each posting would be full of wee
    small bits of blue frog history
    and stuff I knew quite poisonally.
    But I’m not blue, nor small at all.
    Still…that’s my call, if I were only one inch tall.

    (With apologies to Shel Silverstein.)

  7. A Glimpse of Mary

    I call her Mary, but her name was never recorded;
    Mary seems to fit as well as any other title
    for a girl who was left behind.
    Roughly aged ten and as pretty as a picture,
    she sat in a small round-seated arch-backed chair,
    upholstered in crushed green velvet.
    She wore a dark blue dress that reached to her calves,
    white lace trimmed the hem and short puffed sleeves
    and her stockings were black – like her high button boots;
    a pristine white pinafore would keep her best dress clean.
    Her dark brown hair in long plaits,
    her green eyes sparkling,
    she returned my smile
    and when I turned back to ask who she might be,
    as sure as eggs are eggs and the sun rises in the East
    Miss Mary was no more.
    Her first visit for a decade they told me.
    The Victorian child who, in leaving this world too soon,
    never quite managed to leave the house she called home.


  8. William, tide pools totally rock, as does your poem.

    Walt, I believe that is the smallest poem I’ve ever seen penned by your hand. And what a powerful little piece it is. I’m impressed!

  9. When I first considered the prompt, I thought about this – but then remembered I’d done it before – march 2010 (previously unpublished/posted) Another true story.

    Turning away from Felicity
    The cruelness of certainty
    Combines with the anguish of doubt
    Is there, could there be a defining moment?
    A point in life when turning left or right
    Will change everything to come
    That it only happens once
    That you don’t see it coming

    A sweet young girl makes a sweet request
    Drenched in pain and anger the response is cold
    Heartless and cruel
    The look in her eyes haunts dreams forever more
    The realization that this was it
    The one moment when everything might have changed
    The horror of knowing return is impossible
    The turning was made. The decision set in stone
    And the terrifyingly obvious irony that Felicity means happiness

    The cruelness of certainty
    Combines with the anguish of doubt
    One wrong turn and
    The back turned
    The chain of life’s events set in motion
    Felicity and happiness left in the past.



    Within the scenic Hocking Hills,
    Lies treatment for our city ills.
    Where sound is hushed, and life is good:
    Our little cabin in the wood.
    Her cozy stonework fireplace calls,
    and tranquil ambiance enthralls.
    For centuries, her walls have stood:
    Our little cabin in the wood.
    The time we spend is far too short,
    though always of the healing sort.
    We’d sooner stay here if we could:
    Our little cabin in the wood.

    © copyright 2013, Marie Elena Good


    Beginning later this morning and through Friday evening, my internet access will be extremely limited. Not a bad thing … in fact, a very good thing. My WONDERFUL husband and I take basically two weeks out of each year to unplug, take in the beauty of the outdoors, and just “be,” just the two of us. ❤

    Wishing you all a safe and lovely week!
    Marie Elena


    The French call it
    “the little death”
    but our commingling
    is neither little nor dying

    more an immeasurably
    bottomless pleasure
    shoring us up
    outside the confines
    of constrictive time

    a taste of the sublime
    a gracing of coming attractions
    when heaven will be ours

    not a little death at all!

    more a rebirth
    a gifting of new lives
    passion’s fire breathed into each of us
    a bold denouncement of those death mongers
    who wave sorrows in our faces
    who tamper our wine glasses
    with potions of hate

    but we two cannot die
    not even the so-called little deaths
    the French say lovers die in ecstasy

    there will be no dying here!
    no break in the circle
    of our commingling


  12. connielpeters on said:


    K eys start machines. Keys allow
    E ntrance. A full key chain shows
    Y our authority or that you’re a janitor.
    S piritual keys open up the unseen.

  13. His Hand

    It was
    A natural
    Reaction, his hand held
    Out to help me…my heart leapt at
    His touch.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  14. William Preston on said:

    Marie, your little senryu comes as close as anything I’ve ever read to the whole point of “incarnate.”

    Walt, that phrase, “Making big deals out of little things brings little,” is a keeper for me.

  15. One Thin Dime

    One thin dime, keeps on turning.
    One empty chest, can’t stop yearning.
    One open mind, always learning.
    One heart afire, truly burning.

    Trumpeters are heard a calling.
    Dominos aligned start falling.
    Asses will be out there hauling.
    Visions more than just appalling.

    Don’t stop believing
    in infinite free time
    or a world undeceiving
    turning on that one thin dime.

    By Michael Grove
    Copyright 10/27/2013

  16. An Orange Reminder

    Perched on the fencepost
    squat, smiling, small
    A pumpkin from our garden
    To welcome Fall
    And welcome ghosts and goblins
    Happy Halloween to all!

  17. elishevasmom on said:


    A genuine smile
    can give wings to soar even
    to the largest prayer.

    Ellen Knight 10.27.13
    write a “small” poem for PB

  18. Little Things

    A bit of grit in the eye,
    a corn from shoes too tight,
    a flea, a tick, a skeeter bite,
    a paper cut, a blistered heel
    might not be a real big deal.
    A fingernail torn to the quick,
    a splinter under the skin,
    a stubbed toe, a pimply chin
    a skinned knee, a broken thumb
    are enough to make one succumb
    to a pity party and a woe is me.
    It’s the little things that get one down
    and turn a smile into a frown.

  19. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Puppy Love (Lune form)

    A fresh, clean blankie
    that they love
    to tumble into.

  20. Henrietta Choplin on said:


    thoughts randomly.

  21. Watch Your Mouth

    Spoken in
    Anger can’t be
    Recalled: small words can tear down

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  22. Dad’s 65th

    In middle of May,
    Mom’s birthday
    was one month
    away, Dad’s two. In they walked.
    Surprise! we shouted.
    Dad thought the party
    was for mom.
    When he turned,
    we all laughed.
    Red-faced and grinning he saw
    this day was for him.

  23. elishevasmom on said:


    from broken heart shed,
    onto fertile ground falling,
    new growth watered,
    as daylight returns.
    Destiny calling.

    Ellen (Evans) Knight 9.23.95

  24. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Loved all three, Blessings to you and yours, Meg; William, you took me there; Walt, marriage comes to mind…

  25. “Pumpkin Sized”

    The first three cuts are equal,
    each an inch in length,
    forming a small triangle
    against an expanse of orange.
    She asks for help then,
    adding a circle
    on top of her triangle.
    I carve while she announces
    that we are carving her,
    then she hops down
    on a quest for paint.
    Brown first, for hair
    followed by red and purple,
    for a bow.
    A bigger triangle is next
    as her cousin is two years her senior.
    (Green and yellow bow)
    Then a square because this cousin
    is a boy.
    (more paint)
    The geometric parade
    as Grandma,
    then me,
    then Mom are added.
    (We all have blue shoes)
    Aunts and uncles
    complete the circle
    until one touches hands
    with her.
    She sits back
    then tells us
    the title
    is “Family Love Circle.”
    this moment
    to fill
    All of the available space
    and time
    before collapsing back.
    Pumpkin sized.

  26. Inoculation


  27. Small Things

    The King’s dungeon
    Maybe dark, dingy, capacious
    With booming impenetrable doors

    Although loathsome,
    In the most deplorably wicked
    Of conditions

    We must remember
    Humble keys,
    However small in stature,
    Open the doors of freedom.

  28. I really hate it when there’s a prompt that makes me write something that brings a tear to my eye. I must be getting old.

    Saturday Mornings

    Saturday mornings
    No time to sleep in
    Hectic and noisy
    Bathroom fights
    Feet running about
    Pajama clad children
    Sleepy-eyed adults
    Cooking for six
    Bacon, eggs and toast
    Pancakes stacked high
    Someone set the table
    Someone get drinks
    Everybody take a seat
    Time to start the day
    Who will say grace
    Thanks be to God
    For His provision
    Everyone digs in
    Talk about the week
    Talk about school
    Who’s gonna’ clean up
    Wash the dishes
    Put away the leftovers
    What leftovers
    All put away
    Check the weather
    Sunny and warm
    Let’s go to the beach

    Saturday mornings
    Now just us two
    Quiet and restful
    Slow and easy
    The children grown
    Families of their own
    We pray for them
    That they will be blessed
    As we were blessed
    For so many years
    With Saturday mornings
    No time to sleep in
    Hectic and noisy
    Bathroom fights
    Feet running about
    Pajama clad children
    Sleepy-eyed adults

    Saturday mornings
    Oh how I miss them

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  29. elishevasmom on said:

    Earl, I love the way this comes full circle.

  30. Dear Grandma

    Rest in still
    Love, your grandson

  31. a little news story

    a cherokee a cherokee a cherokee
    found the bridge remains
    in the tangle where the homeless sleep
    under the present five-lane
    a few courses of limestone

    a cherokee a cherokee a cherokee
    say that line five hundred times
    a short line
    a walking line
    escorted through the city to the bridge.

    somewhere near white’s creek
    a baby was born, two children died
    an old man lay down beside the fire

    it was november and he was tired
    and sick from the long (already) walk
    the missionary said his clothing burned
    he didn’t die until beyond Port Royal

    • Barbara, such a volume of raw hopeless desperation in this little news peek into reality. Wow.

    • William Preston on said:

      This is stunning, and couched in the beat of a walk along the road, the happenings below, presumably, unseen. Wow.

      • I live a couple of miles from one of the Trail of Tears routes. There was a Cherokee memorial service on the riverbank last week. They’re trying to have that remnant of the first Cumberland River bridge declared historic, and protected.

        The part about the old man was from the diary of a missionary who accompanied one of the groups who passed through, on the way to Oklahoma.

        • William Preston on said:

          Thank you for that information, Now the poem makes even more sense, but I could see homeless folks under bridges almost everywhere, when I read it.

          • elishevasmom on said:

            Since becoming disabled a few years ago, I had to give up up driving. Traveling exclusively by public transportation, I am just barely above homelessness myself. Not that I am in any way aligning my difficulties with the Cherokee, but it is easier to see the underbelly from here.

  32. The Walk
    It isn’t a trivial thing
    this placing of one foot in front of the other.
    It’s not a petite happening
    that we’re finding foothold-
    feet on familiar street,
    tiny soles treading
    pine-padded woods.
    It’s understood to be ginormous,
    (between my dog and I),
    this is the big stuff-
    this early ounce of day,
    this daily occurrence
    it’s the difference
    between happiness
    and well,
    not happiness.
    You see,
    we’re in the business of balance;
    it’s the commerce of coercion.
    It’s simple really…
    and complex
    we send out small smiles,
    (my dog and I),
    we’re in the occupation
    of harboring hospitable faces;
    we’ve boycotted the gloom and doom-
    masks that have become common.
    Despite circumstances,
    (theirs or ours),
    we find it important…
    slant out a slight grin,
    drop a word maybe,
    (if it seems right),
    perhaps a hello?
    Flight’s been initiated,
    joy’s inkling’s in the little things.
    There’s a song
    sung in our steps,
    a dance designed for each day;
    it isn’t a trivial thing
    this placing of one foot in front of the other.
    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013

  33. Dynamic Trio

    It’s the uncomely members
    That diligently bear the weight and
    Burden of the day

    That glamorous big toe (Harry the Hunk Hallux)
    The bold and beautiful pinky-winky toe (little piglet)
    The handsome heels aka calcaneus
    (Harry Heels)

    This dynamic trio regularly accepts the
    Crushing weight of the body
    transferring it to the earth

    Keeping us grounded
    Giving us stability
    A sense of balance
    And independence

  34. Those Little Things That Count Are Huge

    We thought it would be big things
    that tripped us up —
    love, hate, loss,
    envy and greed
    but it was the small stuff
    that brought us to our knees —
    unexpected kindness, a smile,
    a small hand, a memory —
    and now we spill ourselves
    into tears of thankfulness
    and count stars instead of coins

  35. Not much

    A few ounces of hair.
    Lost for hope.
    Loss shared for solidarity.

  36. Iris D on said:

    Tiny fingers
    Curled on mine
    Heart full

  37. trust
    her wee hand in mine
    first steps

  38. snuggle
    our hearts against each other
    warmth from the soul

  39. A Girl and her Dog

    She walks over on four paws
    jumps up on the couch
    and places her soft warm head
    against your achy stomach.

    With no words
    she comforts you
    with warmth, love
    and gentle sighs
    as you stroke her head.

  40. Iris D on said:

    Unlimited supply of coins
    In Tooth Fairy Heaven
    Is there a trophy case
    Displaying my princess’ cuspid

  41. Lately

    in God’s lyceum of life.

  42. Powered by Heart

    Powered by the heart of God
    I live.
    Sustained to impart,
    I give…

    Powered not by right
    Nor by wrong,
    But by the dynamism
    Of His heart’s desire.

    My heart beats for Him
    And the fervor of His will.
    Knowing no tomorrow
    Undespising the thrill of small things.

    The incomparability of heart
    A super-marvelous thing
    It’s intrinsic power a mountain
    It’s ardent love, a sting

    A locomotive’s heart knowing no fail
    Unceasing, yet increasing
    A heart set sail
    To retrieve us lost amidst the deep sea

    Powered by His heart,
    In this way
    We power the whole world…
    Simply because we have heart.

  43. Little

    By David De Jong

    My mind is so small
    That I am unable to
    Contemplate little

  44. oh,

    the day
            the tiny words
              flowed themselves
         a windsong of waves.


  45. Marjory MT on said:


    While white-hot tongues peel like thunder
    and dropping tears flood the parched land
    then know the still small voice of God.

    Single spark bursts forth in power,
    leads fire to race where it will
    while white hot tongues peel like thunder

    Nature’s force cries out, the earth moves –
    rent and broken by quakes and wind –
    as dropping tears flood the parched land.

    Quiet the soul, stand and be still
    with an open mind, heart and ears,
    then know the still small voice of God.

    (ref: I Kings 19:11-12)

  46. Not my cuppa tea but you’ve got to give credit where credit is most certainly due. Great find Lucy!

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