This first week at CREATIVE BLOOMINGS has been interesting to say the least. The name change was flawless, notifications have kept you abreast of our crossover. As we start to run on all cylinders, there will be less need for the constant  barrage of notifications to your e-mail due to the continuous postings here. Our test of the audio readings is proving to make this a very valuable part of our blog. Hearing our poets reading their works is bringing us a better glimpse of who they are and what they sound like. We have had additions to every new page, as photos, artwork and craftwork have made an appearance this week.

Starting February 1st, I will hopefully have the first trustees in place and have a Guest Host ready to take their turn at helping keep the garden tended.

The BEAUTIFUL BLOOM and been revamped as well to reflect the light shining on all of your creative works. Now as the BRILLIANT BLOOM we will highlight your poetic and literary works with this accolade. The BRILLIANT BLOOM is not necessarily given to the best entry of the week per se, since our belief is that all of your works would be honored EVERY week under that criteria. The written works selected are ones that touch us in some salient way. Either on an emotional level or in an intellectual way. It may make us smile or elicit a tear. If it is posted here, it will be considered. And so…


The first poem I chose was a powerful piece. I tend to think that we as poets like to reach deep inside and touch our pain so we can write how it feels. This personal “confession” is as emotional as it gets. When we pen these works we are again torn by either sharing our hurt or keeping it to ourselves. It is this openness that has made CREATIVE BLOOMING (POETIC BLOOMING) a very special place. A new contributor, Darlene Franklin earns our first BLOOM for such a work of heart.

Jolene Elizabeth Franklin
March 13, 2008

By Darlene Franklin

wait by
the phone late
into the night.
Tick, tock, my heart grows
colder with ev’ry beat.
Will the police never call?
Mother retreats, perchance to dream.
Facebook friends join my pain-filled vigil.
Coroner’s office on caller I.D.
Time freezes, my heart stops. I demand
answers–How? When? Not asking the
most important question: Why?
It cannot be answered.
Dead. Three Days. Hanging.
I disconnect.
“She’s dead, Mom!”


As with Darlene’s piece, the next BRILLIANT BLOOM goes to a poem that touches a memory and a point of interest for me personally. The subject has been one that I have used as inspiration many times. We remember where we were when certain event take place. We can recall where we were when John Kennedy was killed, we remember when the twin towers fell or the night the Beatles appeared on Ed Sullivan. And some of us hold in memory the night a Beatle died. Sara McNulty’s “Death of John Lennon – Dec. 8, 1980” receives the second BRILLIANT BLOOM.

Death of John Lennon-December 8, 1980 by Sara McNulty (purplepeninportland)

Outside the Dakota, shots rang out,
four bullets in the back, John Lennon
gone. Forty years old, concerned
with mankind, and a gift for creating
music and art. He only wanted
everyone to share his true belief
in harmony by asking us to imagine.
I imagined; I believed–for a time.
How sad he would be at the escalating
violence in our cities and our world.
We never did give peace a chance.


On Wednesday we revisited a form a bit more in-depth this time around, the PARODY POEM. These retained the scheme and structure of the original, although with a completely different subject and tone. It seems a majority of us tended to choose song lyrics over other forms of expression since music seems to be universal. I can imagine our poets sitting at their computers and singing aloud the words of the parodies a la Al Yankovic, and smiling. But the piece chosen has a “music” all its own and it was rendered by our friend Salvatore Buttaci.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY by Salvatore Buttaci (flashpoetguy)

She walks in beauty, Pennsylvania,
Like the night is safe and who would harm her
In this one-horse town deep in the sticks,
Far from the stone faces of city dwellers
Who insist Beauty is skin-deep, Beauty
Resides in the eyes of beholders.
To that she will disagree and swear you this:
“Beauty is a joy forever, here still
In an unpretentious corner of an
America grown too presumptuous,
A town halted in long ago time
where my granddaddy hoed the soil,
Sowed seeds and dreams, reaped golden harvests
Of so many blesséd seasons that he believed
Himself as native as the Indians
Who led their tribes across the Bering Strait.”
You tell her Beauty is fleeting; it will not last,
Which she ignores, sets her jaw tight as marble,
Then loose again. “Oh, the heroes of Beauty!”
She exclaims. “Beneath this soil lie both
Granddaddies who fell at Gettysburg.
I am not afraid.I tell you this:
Beauty is as Beauty does.I walk, I run,
I graft my skin and bones, my soul– all I am
To this land of Beauty, this last stronghold
In a country fallen out of grace with innocence.”




A wonderful sketch by Marjory M Thompson has been hung in the GARDEN GALLERY!