On my tour of places where wonderful poetry is proffered by extremely talented poets, I find myself in the Northwest United States where this incredible transplanted New York poet prefers to pose her purple penned poetry in Portland, Oregon. Her screen name (if you haven’t guessed) is “purplepeninportland”, but we know her as the incredibly gifted and prolific poet, Sara McNulty.
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IN SARA’S WORDS:
After taking two short story writing classes at NYU, I concentrated on that genre of writing for several years. One day, in 2009, I came across Robert Brewer’s, Poetic Asides in Writer’s Digest. A purple pen ignited in my head, and I knew all I wanted to write was poetry. Five years later, I still love reading and writingpoetry. When Creative (Poetic) Bloomings came along, started by two poets I greatly admired, Walter Wojtanik and Marie Elena Good, I found a new garden in which to grow. I am a Poetic Sites Addict, but am trying to cut down. I have gained confidence, support, and great virtual friends.
Voices in Verse is a poetry group that meets at a local library once a month. Memberships is growing, and we all take turns reading. They are a diverse, wonderful group of people.
My work has been published in: The Avocet; Poetic Bloomings; Brevitypoetry; Underground Voices; Flashquake; Still Crazy; Writers Digest 79th Annual Poetry Competition; Fifth Annual Writer’s Digest Poetry Awards; Poetsespresso; Melisma; and The Oregonian.
On a personal note, My husband and I, both born and bred in Brooklyn, New York, have now been living in the Pacific Northwest for five years. We love the life here, and wish all our east coast friends would join us. We share our home with two rescue dogs, one from New York of unknown breed, and one from
Portland, a dachshund with issues. In June, my husband and I will be married for 35 years, after knowing each other two months. You never know!
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PROPMT #143 – PERSONIFICATION
The color and timber of our expressions are what makes our poetry sing. We give life to our words, sometimes in a very human way. We give feelings and emotions to inanimate objects, painting wonderful new portraits, the vignettes of our muse.
Use the device of Personification (examples: Love Waits or Time Flies…) Make this the title of your poem and write what it means to you.
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WALT’S PERSONIFICATION:
MY HEART SINGS
A sad lament sent forth
from deep in the bowels,
are the shrieky howls of my heart.
It started when the recently departed
moon crept between the reaching branches;
twiggy fingers pointed skyward and the melody
heard in whispers and whistles betwixt the thistles.
Love decided to hide inside the boisterous beating ballad
of that cardiac crooner and the sooner it was through
it would have a clue; my heart can’t carry a tune.
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
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SARA’S POEM COMES TO LIFE:
SHY VIOLETS
Peonies puffed out their chests,
roses nodded royal heads,
and pansies pranced,
smiling at attendees
as the dance began.
Violets in their velvet coats
remained bunched together,
too shy to glide
onto the dance floor.
When bluebells
rang in a waltz, three kind
camellias came to the rescue,
slowly fanning out around
the stiff violets, coaxing them
onto the floor. Sunflowers
scattered seeds of confetti.
The dance was a success.
Violets now eagerly await
the next Flower Ball.
(C) Copyright Sara McNulty – 2014
We welcome Sara McNulty as our co-host this week and invite you all to plant your poems here!
Responses
Not a new poem, written when I was much younger, but one I think uses personification and deserved a new audience perhaps.
It certainly fits Michael. And it’s new to our eyes and does deserve a fresh look.
thanks walt, appreciate the encouragement
It has a lullaby feel to me. (Go to sleep but wake to morning’s light) I really like the mood of this.
thank you Debi, I always had that impression as well, I always thought it could almost be a children’s story except the language is a bit too sophisticated for younger children perhaps
Excellent, Michael. I definitely fits.
hmmm, I could have sworn I wrote a comment back to you Claudsy, but thanks so much for reading. There are so many talented gardeners here!
You did reply, Michael. 🙂
Beautiful poem, Michael.
thank you connie, I really appreciate that
Loved that Michael…all of nature alive and personal. Beautiful.
thank you, I am happy you enjoyed it!
Superb.
Very good Michael. Full of rich expressions
Hey Sara…lovely to see you here…a great choice for co-host (if I’m not mistaken, you and I go back a long, long way…).”Shy Violets” exemplifies the best parts of personification and if I’m not mistaken, it’s a speciality of yours, yes? And Walt, “Your Heart Sings” — it also brings tears to the eyes…what a poignant, kind of tongue-in-cheek, punnish type of poem…I love it but it touched me in unexpected ways.
Thanks, Sharon. We do go back quite a way, and it is rewarding to be in such good company.
This is beautiful, Michael. I’m glad I had the chance to read it here.
FLYING CLOUDS
Nimbus
and cumulus
are accumulating,
racing to see which one can climb
higher.
copyright 2014, William Preston
I like this William, I can almost see this in a kids picture book.
I’ve seen this before. Clouds roiling, building, yes, like a race. Very Nice
Good one, William.
Wonderful Will. and it suits the form nicely as well
Nice one, William.
I love this image. A silent competition, and near the end the crowds will rumble.
Wow! Sara and Walt, stunning poems to start us off.
Amen to that! I had to laugh at Walt’s last verse though it is a bit sad. Sara – What a lovely poem. It needs to be a pretty picture book.
I agree.
Yes…!!
My tea pot like a portly host
Of her I will most gladly boast
She cannot clearly speak
She calls me with a shriek
Then graciously serves tea with toast
Sweet. I love a cuppa myself.
Love this, Connie. It has such a spritely feel to it. A joy to read.
😀
Thanks for the comments. I wish we all could have a cup of tea together.
now that is a most beautiful tea poem…. loving a good cuppa tea… there’s nothing like a good tea pot who sings a lovely tune….
Immediately you had my favorite little fat teapot appear in my mind, and your words fit her sweetly. Loved it Connie.
Wonderful, wonderful!
I recently burnt my poor teapot! I’m preparing for a burial.
Winter
Frosty and biting
Bullies his way into the year.
Howls, “My turn!”
Then struts across the countryside
Till it hunkers down like a
Whipped dog.
Short, effective, and very true this year. Great use of personification. Wonderful visuals, too. Terrific!
Love this and when winter hunkers down like a whipped dog.
yep that’s whaz going on over here… whipped bad…
Thanks Ladies. Yep, ms pie seems like winter always rushes in after my wisteria starts to bud and frosts it. It has only bloomed once beautifully since I planted it years ago.
Yes, you tagged grouch old man Winter well. Great, George.
I mean Debi. (Sorry, focused on your moniker, Debi.)
Either is fine : ) Thanks
Bingo!
personally, I think that is one puppy that needs to be swatted by a rolled up newspaper to the nose and put outside, maybe it will run away and we can get a cat instead? Great poem.
It is worth a try anyway : )
struts across the countryside till it hunkers down … what wonderful!
I really like this visual. This winter was certainly like a big bully dog. Barking and biting. I love the ending as well. Hunkering down…until next year!
Oh George…that’s winter for sure!
Personification hard at work here, Debi!
Time Flies
Time
Slips from under your feet
Like a rug
Pulled
Like a plug
Until drained
Time flies
With a thousand eyes
Like a bug
With an axe to grind
But hard to find
At times
To smash with a rug
Times flies
Like a hummingbird
At times
Hovering and sipping nectar
Sweet
While you sense the beat
Of simmering wings
Time flies
Erratic
Like a bat out of hell
Thirsty
For blood with fangs
Too difficult to quell
Time flies
In rhythm
Like a butterfly
Fresh out of prison
Anxious
Of enjoying springs wings
For the first time
Time flies
Slow
As the paint dries
The temperature
Low
And you need
A fresh coat of patience
Time flies
Bumbling
Like a bumblebee
Back and forth
Stings
Numbing thee
Right in the kisser!
Time flies
Away
Like a daughter
Astray
Happily to college
Relieved
Even though you’ll miss her
Time flies
In disguise
Like 007 spies
But you’re largely unaware
They’re there
Until you’re robbed
With no time left to spare
Times does fly and you’ve given this poem gossamer wings of truth.
Thanks Debi, and I learned a new word gossamer!
Wonderful job, Benjamin. So many visuals, so many small truths we don’t think about until they occur for us. Thoroughly enjoyed it.
Thank you.
Like the thought of the many aspects of something as consistent as time.
Thanks Connie
ohhhh, that is a wonderful ride through time….. so many images pass by as if going down a rabbit hole…
That’s how it struck me, too.
Thx! And I love your name by the way.
Ben, your images, with the emotions that you gave each item or animal, made this perfect personification.
Thx Damon
outstanding images and use of the assignment. I like the structure also, is this a specific form?
This is no particular form but I kind of had it in the back of my head though
Well done…time does indeed fly…
Love this, Benjamin! ‘Time flies like a hummingbird’ stanza is my favorite. This is a good form, pared down but still juicy.
Oh, lovely! Time truly DOES fly in many different ways, and you’ve capture them well!
Thanks so much Pamela
WORN DOWN
(Try and guess what personal item this is)
We need to talk…
I’ve suffered your hips
Long enough…
Yer walks.
Yer strides.
Yer moving side to side.
All yer belly achin’
And all yer rodeos put together…
Have GOT to go.
And the one-pack beer belly is reaaallly startin’ to get to me.
Its hard breathin’ under that caboose man!
Wake up! What’s the matter with you!
Get your ass on the treadmill!!
You now I actually used to be a fine piece of leather in my day. Until now.
You might’ve wore me down…
But I’m crackin’ this whip now mister!
Benjamin
Ah, Benjamin. At first I thought it might be a good pair of chaps, or perhaps a belt, but I’ve given up now. Please tell before the end of the week.
I certainly understand from a wearer’s POV the meaning of this poem. Treadmills and I don’t see eye to eye either. 🙂
Your comments are sooo on target today!
I’d have to go with belt.
Good one, Ben. I saw it all so clearly. I wonder what that says about my own chances for getting a belt to fit. 🙂
Correct!
That’s my guess, too, good poem.
Or saddle.
Your guess was right Connie it’s a belt!
Ben, gotta be a belt, with it’s fraying stitches, buckle falling apart, stretched and strained. I have one like that.
You guessed it! It’s a belt.
This sounds like something’s going to snap, one way or the other.
APRIL LOVE
(HAIKU STRING)
under warming ground
seeds break through their coverings
anticipating
when April rains fall
living plant creatures think green
and stretch their tendrils
imagine God’s joy
creating sparrow and rose
out of air and dust
a young man’s fancy
propels him on flights of love
old man’s fancies too
he sings “April Love”
voice smooth as maple syrup
and frigid hearts thaw
crows in the elm tree
what do you observe up there?
surely not straw men!
what would April say
if it had a mouth of words?
“God bless the flowers!”
#
Wonderful. I love the third and fifth esp.
Such a lovely piece, Sal. Marvelous.
Makes me more than ready for spring.
April in full expression….loved this too, Sal.
No offense meant, but for me April Love means Pat Boone, who had a voice that smooth.
engaging, lovely read, well done
Lovely Sal, enjoyed this Haiku spring!
SUMMER’S END
Single rose,
Last of summer,
Pearls of dew
Or your teardrops
On petals
Bright velvet-red?
We share this lonely garden.
#
Has a “Last of the Summer Wine” feel to me. Lovely,lonely
Another winner, Sal. Soft, sweet, and how we often look at our garden’s blossoms. Beautiful.
“teardrops on petals” nice
Sweet moment, caught there in your verse. Beautiful.
This leaves me with a touch of melancholy. Beautiful.
You are a good flower for this garden, Sal.
APRIL FOOLS
April fools
no one
we wait for her
to come
with magic wand
and wake from
winter sleep
the buried seeds
clothe barren trees
spread green
everywhere
reset lovers’ hearts
to warm thoughts
of love reborn
#
I love this twist from what we usually think when we read ‘April Fool’
I agree. Had me fooled.
The play on words works very well in this one and gives it a sense of intimacy, as if you’re telling the reader a secret or stating an opinion so strongly that you’re a judge standing in front of friends,beside a fireplace, discussing a monumental case before the bar.
I love it for that quality of placing me inside a scene in my mind, created with each well-chosen word. You gave me a terrific mind movie this morning, Sal. Thank you.
Yes, love that first line.
Exquisite Sal. I think the last stanza is my favorite one.
No wonder I’m a fool for love–it’s April’s fault.
Clever take on the prompt.
Ahhh, I like this one, Sal. We DO wait impatiently, every year, for her magical arrival.
I think I posted this before, but I’m not certain.
The Last Rose of Summer
The last rose of summer bent its red head,
The petals scattered, drifting to the ground
To lie in a heap of dull crimson…dead…
The last rose of summer bent its red head,
Unable to face the cold season’s dread,
It withered and fell, died without a sound;
The last rose of summer bent its red head,
The petals scattered, drifting to the ground,
Returning back to the earth whence it fed;
The last rose of summer bent it’s red head,
And, scarce noticed, lay there shriveled and dead,
The last sign of summer’s death that I found;
The last rose of summer bent its red head,
The petals scattered, drifting to the ground…
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014
The repeated line gives the poem a weight of…fulfillment? Is that the word I want? It could be sad but instead it has a resignation or maybe recognition of how to face that long sleep. It is very lovely.
Thank you for your insightful comment, Debi. 🙂
Lovely, Erin, as usual. This is very visual. It tells of so many, not just roses, which leave us, spent and mourning until their return on milder days of late spring.
Thanks, Claudsy. I actually hadn’t thought of it like that, but now that you say it, I can definitely see that. 🙂
You’re welcome, Erin. You never fail to provide an excellent read. That’s a definite gift.
The last rose is always a promise of more to come.
Yes… Thank you, M. ❤
Erin, don’t remember this if you did post it earlier. It’s lovely, I love ‘To lie in a heap of dull crimson…dead…” Perfect imagery, and the repeat descriptions but varied views give the moment multi-dimensions.
Thanks so much, Damon. Always appreciate your input. 🙂
I’m fainted by this form. It looks like a triolet plus. Wonderfully done, and the repetition feels like falling petals.
I’ve been trying to remember what this form is called for a while, but it hasn’t come. I know it’s one that RJ introduced to us, but that’s about it.
Thank you for your comment, Will. Glad you like it. 🙂
tomorrow waits…
yesterday dead and gone
yet the conscience dwells
lingering far too long
today comes full of promise
full of plans and things to do
but the mind is drawn away
and wanders off to play
the fingers type a merry dance
and dreams fill the screen
the eyes glaze over
the mind is blank
blocking out what should be done
work to be finished
still not begun
tasks piling up and up and up
like unread books are trophies
of waste and willful self-distraction
then comes a moment
a burst of energy
a decision made
and something useful takes place
the job not pointless but not of import
fills the heart with a sense of action
satisfaction
until
the evening fades
and the bed unmade
is entered into as though a pact
to start early before the dawn
to carry out the plans, fulfill the pledge
the obligation
no more abdication
to steer away from mindless idling
neglect the needless ironing and recycling
and finally get on with the thing
the thing that should long since have been complete
the mind drifts off into dreams soft and sweet
for tomorrow waits that is the motto
that is each night’s refrain
but truth be told
tomorrow waits in vain.
Iain
This reminds me of one of my favorite poems “I Meant to Do My Work Today by Richard Le Gallienne”. I think your poem is wonderful, too, and that we are too busy being busy most of the time.
Thanks George – unfortunately too true of my day!
Excellent, Sal! Such a descriptive of most people’s days and nights, and murmurs of rationalization and justification, notwithstanding, we move to this drummer as if tomorrow actually exists. Wonderful read.
the description of a day lay waiting patiently… while the sun travels across the sky…. no sorrow in that…. sort of just drifts along as a cloud in the sky of a slow wind….
Well, (and truthfully) done. Always enjoy reading your work.
Amen to both sentiments.
Ian, you must be speaking of us writers who dream of the discipline it takes to write. “the fingers type a merry dance and dreams fill the screen” but “eyes glaze over.” Loved this.
Thanks all – very kind!! 🙂
I hope tomorrow waits for me; it’s not here yet!
Oh yes! Enjoyed this one, Iain! Pretty much live it every day. But, those moments when…
“… something useful takes place
the job not pointless but not of import
fills the heart with a sense of action
satisfaction…”
— are SO worth it! 🙂
(For me, this is usually a poem written or a new posting on the blog)
Both of mine are older ones and I can’t remember if I have posted them here before or not – if I have, sorry, my brain is like a sieve.
Twisted Humor
I survived, but just barely, Spring’s hateful twin,
who spits out sleet and blows icy winds,
who fashions chaos from water and air
and send it hurtling with great deafening din,
till finally finished, the tumult at end,
she yields to her sister, conspirator and friend.
“Sis, it’s been fun,” she said with a grin,
“But I need a rest before I do it again.
So, come tease these mortals while I catch my breath.
Let the branch bud, the crocus peep through,
a robin pull up a fat worm or two.
Beguile them until they forget about me
then I’ll rush back in for one final spree!”
Yes, the twin’s twisted humor
I barely survived
and I didn’t rest easy till Summer arrived.
This is marvelous and fun, Debi. Such a path of twisted humor as you spin rises and falls, ebbs and flows, with all the movement of a roller coaster when read aloud. Truly a wondrous ride.
It is all of that.
Excellent Debi! Love the twins here. They do seem to work in tandem.
Sounds like an exchange between some living sisters. Very alive.
Debi, see my jump-ahead comment way-way below.
I love the idea of Spring having a hateful twin.
Oh fun! Usually imagining adversaries, I never thought of them as co-conspirators.
TIME HEALS
(a shadorma)
I first tried
Bandaids and fixes
of all kinds,
pain remained.
Months passed, seasons changed; my wounds
are but faint scars now.
Really nice, Paula. I wonder how many types of bandaids man has created to patch such wounds. I think all of us can relate to this one. Great job.
Thanks. (…and, personally – I’ve tried too many…)
I know the feeling, Paula. 🙂
Excellent Paula! You make it seem effortless.
That she does.
Thanks, William (and Benjamin).
I’ve somehow
latched onto this form…
or rather,
it has latched
onto me with twenty-six
syllables per thought.
Yes, indeed. You are the shadorma queen! 😉
hmmm that is lovely as I sit patiently waiting for the last part of winter to depart and spring to arrive…
Thanks, Ms Pie.
So true in so many ways. 🙂
Yes, isn’t it?
Liked this too Paula. I am fond of this form but used it rarely. Months and seasons are medicines, indeed.
Thanks, Damon. As noted above, I seem to be drawn to this form.
So very true. There are things I can think about now without a twinge after many years and seasons of healing.
Debi – seems this is a topic many can relate to. Thanks.
I agree with Claudsy. Most of us can relate to this, some on more painful levels than others.
Well done, Paula!
Thank you, PSC!! xo
[…] Written for Creative Bloomings #143: Personification. […]
Icy Hot
A moist layer spread thin
On skin over aching muscles
Cold as ice at first
Then the heat kicks in
Ahh
Relief
Zzzzzzzzz
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Love this, Earl. I know that AHHH. I can relate to that heat which comes from ice applied in its liquid form. 🙂
Yes! I love icy hot 🙂
Oh, this one is spot on!
Earl, after trimming crepe myrtles today, I appreciated this poem.
The Cup of Life
My porcelain vessel hangs
Behind router adorned wood door
Hook securely grips handle
It waits
Water drips through filter
Pot fills with goodness
Red light finally goes out
Time to release my cup
Scent fills my nostrils
Eyes flutter to focus
Top it off with cream
And drink
Drink
From the cup of life
Watch out world
I’m awake now
© 2014 Earl Parsons
This describes my sister’s morning so well, Earl. Such a fun telling of so many people’s ritual mornings. Good one, for sure.
“Good Morning” 🙂
I’m not a coffee drinker, but to me this piece almost resembles, and sounds, like a percolator.
Earl, yes, William is right, the sound of percolation is in your poem. And I just had my night-time cup. Loved this.
Aye, a cup of wake-up.
Good morning, all. Wonderful examples, Walt and Sara. Hello, Sara. It’s so good to see you at the head of the class, swinging your words like a metronome, waiting for us to “repeat after me.” 🙂 I only hope my efforts are as good as those already in evidence. Here goes.
She Broods
Lording it over
Those who’ve crowded
‘round her feet.
She hovers,
Ready to explode,
To lash out.
She threatens
Those who love her,
As if through hate.
She fumes,
Smoking, rumbling murmurs,
Ready to strike.
Always pretentious,
Vesuvius waits, Medusa
Looking to turn her lovers to stone.
seems to me you stepped up to the challenge quite nicely.
Aw, thanks, Ellen. Glad you liked it.
Love this read. Vesuvius and medusa! Good personification. This is well worthy Claudsy.
Thanks so much, Benjamin. I’ve had volcanoes on my mind for a week or so. This was a great experiment to use for them. Glad you liked it.
You make the mountain live from its very depth and with power.
Oh, thank you, Marjory. When a person lives with mountains, she begins to see them differently. I’ve lived so long in the Rockies, from the southern climes to the northern U.S. ranges, and each has its own personality, its own weather, and its own poem. The volcanoes are something else again. I’ve lived around those low rumblers, too.
I am glad that this personality came across.
The feel of this is ominous, accentuated, i think, by the short lines and phrases.
Oh, I am glad that I felt as intended. Thank you, William, for confirming that. And the short lines seemed mandatory for it, even as I began. 🙂
I meant to say that I was glad that “it” felt as intended. My fingers aren’t very limber today, I’m afraid.
Claudsy, this was marvelous…I read with rising, rumbling anticipation to find out who, then the last lines explode the answer. Perfect.
🙂 I’m so happy to have done what I set out to do with this one and that it had impact. Thank you, David.
Oh, yes, me too. That was perfect, Claudsy. Love the Medusa turning to stone image… just so apt.
Your efforts always pay off richly.
Aw, thanks so much, Sara. That was most kindly said. I try–less often than I’d like, but I try to get some verse right. 🙂 ❤
Nicely done, Claudsy! Can see her temper heating as she smokes & fumes — fully prepared to spew.
Glad you liked it, Pamela. It sort of blossomed on its own.
Cottonwood
By David De Jong
Patriarch of the grove, standing tall,
Stately on the hill, in view of all.
Persuading the sun from nightly rest,
Embracing her warmth, beyond the crest.
Though life has left you, you hold it still,
From fur’ed chatter, to downy quill.
Your crown so inviting, sharing peace,
All shed of calloused skin, soft as fleece.
You hold the owl in wisdom’s reach,
Echo his calling of midnight’s screech.
The hawks and eagles cherish your loft,
Matching your grace and visiting oft.
Myriads of feather, sing your praise,
Closer to heaven, their anthems raise.
Scars of sacrifice, show their toll,
Given so freely, a saintly soul.
You pulled the lightning from storms that brewed,
Coaxed the beaver, whittled what he chewed.
Relentless winds are calling your name,
Cutting your breath and attempting shame.
As you clasp the air and hold its view,
It penetrates your heart, through and through.
Weaker from the age of seasoned time,
Your branches ring in a ghostly chime.
While ethereal blows claim their tokens,
Your freedom speaks with words unspoken.
A fantastic tribute to this tree, David. Rhyme on the mark without stretching or standing out, creating its own song of wild. I’m so glad pastoral poetry is making a comeback. You do it so beautifully.
This poem is a work of love. Lovely in deed.
Beautifully written.
Wow. This belongs in a church…. outside. I think it’s a great piece.
Majestic. Loved this life view of this wonderful tree, “all shed of calloused skin…”
I love the skeletal trees that stand alone. They look so brave and enduring. This is a beautiful tribute to an old soul.
You have honored a tree beautifully, David. I love the last two lines.
Sweet tribute to a majestic life, David.
Munching Cookies
You think you have the drop on them,
(not lemon drop, but anyway)
they’re not quite what you might expect.
See, every time you bite a gem,
beware…because your ‘chip’ feast may
quite suddenly become suspect.
In fact, they might, in the A. M.
or P.M., bite you or betray
your taste buds. So, show some respect
for oatmeal, and do not condemn
the brownie bar on a buffet,
and peanut butter? Don’t neglect
or else, let’s say I have a hunch
these cookies might munch you for lunch.
###
I like it, RJ, and it’s play on words. The images invoked are interesting in their own right. Good one.
Fun to read – I think they do more sticking than munching!
Hmmmm….. they are in the munch you for lunch bunch, eh?
RJ…see my wandering comment below (I won’t use WP Reader to comment again! )
Playtime Babes
They exploded onto the scene,
Cavorting beach bunnies at high summer,
Shrieking laughter and piping calls,
Encouraging all to partake of hijinks.
Brunettes together, exposing sinuous
Bodies to sun and spectator alike,
Gambol along shoreline’s viewing stands.
They’re on the hunt, teasing others with
Their double-jointed movements, forever
Looking for games played by one or many,
Seeking others for frolic and water sports.
Finally, tiring of such distractions,
They race headlong into water’s depths
To perform their ballet of twists and turns,
Chasing each other in endless, willful joy;
Siblings together in life’s liquid dance,
Amused and besotted with living
As only otters can express so well.
Nicely done! You really caught me at the end, What a ‘!onderful gotcha”
Thanks, Ellen. Don’t ask me where it came from. I really haven’t a clue. It arrived unannounced. 🙂 Glad you liked it.
in my experience, those are often among the best!
Mine, too, Ellen.
I agree – I was totally convinced it was “someone” else – well played!
I’m so glad that I could pull off the switch at the end. Thanks, David. It was so much fun.
Indeed!
We ‘otta’ known better. Well done (My first thought was rabbits!) 🙂
Hahaha, naw, rabbits–unless they’re the swamp variety–don’t care for water that much. Shame on you, Marjrory for subjecting those poor bunnies to a watery afternoon. 🙂 ❤
Well, in my life-time I have seen more rabbits than otters. and you did say “…beach bunnies…” 🙂
Ah, but that was an allusion to young women cavorting on the sand and luring the boys to follow their lead. 🙂
Loved this ending too, Claudsy. They are fun to watch, and such hams.
🙂 Thanks, Damon. So glad you enjoyed the fun. You wouldn’t believe the images that flitted through my mind as I wrote this. I chuckled all the way through.
The image I had at first was tanned rowdy boys at the swimming hole – the ending was a treat.
I’m glad you enjoyed it, Debi. Thank you.
I am otterly amazed at the surprise ending here. Very cool.
So glad you enjoyed it, Sara. And thank you. Surprises can sometimes be fun for everyone.
Oh yes! A fun twist! 😀
They are some of the best comedians. I love watching them. We used to have several that lived along the river behind the ranch I worked on many years ago.
Feeding Time
With deluges doing the surging
all the garbage and waste they are purging.
The storm gutters grin
as they suck it all in
for them it’s a matter of splurging.
Ellen Evans (c) Copyright 2014
a “personification” poem for PB 2.23.14
Big grin spreading here. Love it!
This was clever and image laden…especially the ‘grin.’
Love this one, Ellen. The fun rhyme with the cadence was perfect.
Wonderful, Ellen!
🙂
Another fun time! Very visual, Ellen!
Contempt of Crows
Heard their raucous cawing
long before I spotted them
perched high in the canopy.
Pondering what (or who)
they heckled, I imagine them
cheering me on
as I labor uphill
hindered by heavy layers,
spindly sticks straddling unwieldy shoes,
while they look on, amused.
With droll departing squawk,
they levitate, slipstream the breeze,
and leave me alone to lumber.
Wonderful. This gives me a hint as to why a group of crows is sometimes called a “murder of crows.”
Thanks, William. I couldn’t agree with you more. 😉
Pamela, this was great. I watched a group this morning, as they cawed, came together in the pasture, and seemed to ‘convene’ over some gossip or matter of crow-importance. And I agree, they observe us too, and wonder what our business is about.
Too true, isn’t it? They have their own very important business to attend to and we are merely amusements and/or nuisances. 🙂
🙂 Pamela. Yes, the little magic-makers love a good laugh at humans below. We are wanderers in their sky-filled amusement park. They watch our antics, fussing at our misconceptions and misunderstandings, then join in congress to debate our fate.
Loved this piece.
Thank you, Claudsy! And I loved your comment — just as much! 🙂
🙂
Crows always make me think of Tolkien’s trilogy – I’ve never looked at them the same since. Love your poem about them. (They are very intelligent birds)
That they are! Thanks for reading & commenting. Glad you enjoyed it.
Fun tale, and love your pictures (Specially the reflection) on your site. 🙂
Awww, thanks Marjory. I love that you enjoy stopping by. 🙂
Pamela, I love crows! This is excellent–especially love that last stanza, very fun to read out loud. “they levitate, slipstream the breeze, and leave me alone to lumber” 🙂
One last fun one before I leave. This has been so much of a lark. I’ll be back later. Enjoy.
Call of the Wild
Spare some relief, please?
Have a care; even dandies
feel abuse when dished out.
Tread not so heavily
on me each day.
Murderous attempts
to poison me each year
are doomed, for I will
adapt, if only to cause
you frustration.
You’ve hacked at me,
ripped me to shreds,
and still, I roar back with
lion-like ferocity.
Face it.
You’re exhaustible.
I am dandelion!
Watch me grow!
What a hoot!
Thanks, William.
Yes, Clauds…the perfect picture of little yellow perseverance.
So right, the little beasties take such delight in subterfuge and thumbing noses. Speaking of which, be sure to keep the human nose from their touch. They rub off in the most amazing ways. 🙂
Yet, war is waged every year by frustrated homeowners. Personally, I love the bright yellow against the green but I guess they could easily take over. This was so much fun to read.
Thanks, Debi. You’re right about them taking over, and yet in years gone by they provided nutritious, fresh spring greens, wine, and several other purposes.
Hey, if you are short on dandies …. I could ship you a few come spring. 🙂
We have our own variety up here. They grow much bigger so it doesn’t take as many to occupy a space. 🙂 But thanks for the thought.
Yep, they can be pretty ferocious, alright. Fun, Claudsy!
But they make the most wonderful things: fabric dyes, wine, salad greens.
Okay, the snow finally reached the upper Pacific Northwest. (but is forecast not to stay) Just four inches, wet and flakey. 2PM out time, Sunday. 🙂
One
two, three,
ten-trillian
flakes drifting down,
seeking resting spot.
Steady, silent workers
laying a deep white blanket
shielding sleeping garden where the
crocus, daffodil, tulips bide time
dreaming of the advent of spring’s warm sun.
Snow workers melt to quench the bulb’s thirst,
softly calling them to awake
flex promising flowered core
for the spring’s morning call,
“Push your leaves up from
‘neath blanket, see
snow diamonds
in the
sun.”
that so describes my neighborhood here in the inland northwest of Idaho near Spokane, wa… the flowers absolutely… I just looked to see if the crocus have come popping up yet…. and yes, abt 4 inches so far… did i tell ya what a beautiful poem…
Thank You, ms pie ( like that handle) some of my crocus were up, but the snow has covered then, Other bulbs are working on spring. (At top end of I-5) I am waiting for the sun to show the diamonds.
No crocuses (croci?) here, but your poem is inviting them. Lovely.
“Crocuses” 🙂 went to my friend ‘Webster’, the older I get the more I visit him.
I hope they might come visit you (crocuses not Webster)
Loved this, and the form Marjory. The deepening, then the melt away.
🙂 In-form is fun. Thank you.
Wonderful, Marjory. Terrific imagery and the lines flow so well. A great read.
Appreciate you comment Claudsy. Am enjoying this prompt.
You have used this form so well. I love, “snow diamonds in the sun.”
Very visualm Marjory. I can see them working away while the flowers sleep undisturbed. Makes me long for spring too. It IS coming soon… isn’t it?
Ooops… that’s visual, Marjory. Comma’s too close to ‘m’ on the keyboard.
So great seeing Sara out here co-hosting! And Sara, you are just soooo pretty. 🙂
Hi Marie!
Thank you so much, Marie. I love helping the garden to grow.
(Fib)
Stars
are
hidden
by swirling
high white canopy
that settles to cover the yard.
I like how the shape settles, too.
Bottom heavy, 🙂 fun to ‘Fib’ again.
You can feel the spreading here, with that last line, Marjory. Lovely.
. Thanks, its a good spread.
Another great image, Marjory. Well done.
Thanks Claudsy, Neat giving ‘life’ to objects. (I even talk to imaginary people) 🙂
We’re writers, Marjory. Of course we talk to imaginary people.
😉
Sweet!
Hay(na)ku
A
fire burns
on the grate
Giving
steady warmth
to winter hours
Adding
flickering lights
against darkened days
Shooting
sparks from
deep scalding core
Warming
empty heart
with lingering memories.
Wonderful, especially that last stanza.
Thank You Wm – my favorite too. 🙂
Fires are phenomenal friends, with the warmth they gently push inside us. Again lovely, Marjory.
Thank you, SevenA
Ah, something with which to warm myself. Lovely Marjory. Simply lovely.
Do enjoy Claudsy. Can’t beat a wood-fire for warming the home and the heart.
🙂
Marjory, I loved all three of your poems but the second and third are a dead tie for me. I don’t know which I love the most, a lovely blanketing fog or a warm, meditative glow in the fireplace. Both images speak to me.
Good – connecting to what is written is what words are for. 🙂 Thanks.
[…] Creative Bloomings-Prompt 143 […]
Ocean Loves
Forever bounding
bountiful blue,
Ocean loves.
Her love is perfect,
it’s pure
its proof echoes-
wave after lovely wave
on our shores,
in our hearts
but we…
we’re all together ignorant
to the depths of her ardor;
we return her nurturing kiss
with a toxic blackened breath,
love is stained by the touch
of our human hands.
Well intentioned beings
have lost true blue,
the authentic connection
with the soul
of the broad abundant Sea.
Oh, if she could only reach
with strong cerulean fingers
and bring us epiphany-
the icy realization
of so many missed-steps;
show us our blatant disregard
for our opulent Ocean-
for our place of birth,
the collective watery womb.
Ocean loves.
Forever bounding
bountiful blue,
Ocean loves.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
Oboyoboy…. this is breath-taking in its ardor.
Hannah, the depth behind gentle loving waves is so well contrasted with our shallow thoughtless reply in your poem. This was beautiful.
So much truth in your lines, Hannah, and so much passion. Beautiful and rolling, it continues to look to us for salvation and yet ….
Powerful, Miss Hannah, as usual. Kudos
!!
Very well done, Hannah 🙂
What lovely tribute to my favorite place!
“proof echoes-
wave after lovely wave
on our shores,
in our hearts” — Lovely, Hannah!
Wonderful Sara and Walt…I love this prompt Sara, and despite other tasks on my list I’ve got to jump back in this week.
So glad that you’ve rejoined our mischievous troupe here, Damon.
Glad to see you here, Damon.
AHA! Loved this, Debi. I love the tease Spring gives while Winter catches a breath.
Sorry, Debi, this was supposed to go under your Sister’s poem below. (Trying to work thru WP Reader, different. Keeps jumping ahead.)
RJ…timely for me. We got our delivery of Girl Scout cookies today. Fun.
And delicious.
So many great poems, with so many perfect embodiments of character and life. Mine was written in 2011, but I found it met the prompt somewhat.
———
The Mosquito Sings
I did the job
that I must do
with one abdominal thrust…
for I was made on purpose
just to do the job I must.
I chose a pore
in which I plunged
my proboscotic tool
and there I placed a parasite
according to the rule.
I took the blood,
a fair exchange,
though fair is not the thing.
Instead, because
the Maker gave
me purpose, I must sing.
A call divine by Maker
to an insect insignific
is part now to a story,
yes, a pivot in an epic.
I did the job
like millions more
who sing in humans’ ears,
“It is because
my Maker calls
that I am biting here.”
Damon, this is the first time such a concept as this has passed through my mind. A strange little concept, yet one so very true. We tend to ignore the truth, when we swat, as is our due. 🙂
ahha, never considered it from that pov… still I don’t think I am thankful for their faithfulness.
I’m with you!
I will try to remember to give the next one a nice ‘love tap’…..
🙂
And another oldie…from way back in 2000…one of my “Walking Songs.”
————–
The Moon is a Spoon
The moon is a spoon of blue ice cream
in a night of bright festoon
but soon the sun
will ruin the fun
in pursuit of a noble noon.
His reign will roll and take a toll
of saint and sacred fool
until he sets
with his fears and frets
and the cool night ends his rule.
Then the moon will rise in the starry skies
and the party start anew
when sparkling lights
and comet flights
celebrate my love for you.
Love this, Damon. It reads like a song lyric. Hmm, have you chosen a melody? It could work you know.
Splendid Damon, this should in print somewhere.
Yes
Lovely words.
Sorry to bring out so many old ones. Heres my last I’d like to share. From a fishing moment long ago. (And Walt, someone must tell me how to put leading spaces in our posts, as they are part some of my verse.)
————-
On the Water
It is good
to be on the water
when the world wakes up,
when it yawns a bleary fog from its eyes
and squints because of the glint
on every wave
from the sun’s slow rise.
It is good to be on the water
when the night lies down
and every ripple sighs with a whispering sound,
and silver reflections rest at the moon’s request
while it rolls down and away,
big, white, round.
An un-bothered bittern
standing on a log
winks his golden eye.
He knows I love this place between the
water and the sky,
and he and I would be here as long as we could be
to watch the long lingering kisses
between now and eternity.
We would watch them in love exchange their
lives and dreams,
holding hands somewhere between what is and what seems.
We would watch them forever in this moment,
day, and night,
the gold-eyed bittern and I,
as they give and take
in this time that isn’t time,
between a listening sky and a waiting lake.
We would watch them pull and yield,
in a gentle dance,
in a soft embrace,
as a crowd of wondering birds, frogs, and fishes
witness in murmuring awe
from forest, lake, and field.
Yes, it’s good to be on the water,
to sense what God might reveal–
to see the day wake up
and hear the night lie down,
a tranquil loving trade between the light and dark
that makes forever seem so real.
Oh, Damon, this is absolutely gorgeous. Read aloud, it flows like the water, from line to line, pulse to pulse, a weaving of image and sound that masters the voice that places it on the air.
Thanks Clauds for your kind words…I have really missed the garden lately, but focusing a lot of effort on my kid-lit writing. Thanks for your replies.
Oh… me too, 7… and new foster puppies… such sweetness in the world of the young… 🙂 !!
Good for you Hen, hope the words are flowing for you. XO MMT
Per leading spaces:
While holding the ALT key,
type 0160 on your numeric keypad.
I’m still learning my iMac so not sure how to there yet.
Also not sure on a laptop. Anyone?
“…my iMac” – its own world.
But I’ll try (been wanting to know how it was done) –
laptop 😦 no numeric keypad)
Assume that you let-go the ‘alt’ after typing 0160
hummmm
Thanks Walt…I will try that. Knew it had to be some special ASCII character code or something.
Well…
hope this works (three before this line).
One more time and I’ll relent…
Three spaceskeyed into the post box.
I love this and so agree with you, especially your last few lines.
I was born on a bluff overlooking a bay and always say the salt water was mixed with my blood. Away from the ocean – I’ll settle for a lake, river, stream ….. or a walk in the rain. 🙂
Marjory…it’s probably due to the fact that we’re 94% water, anyway… 🙂
Party popper! 🙂
So lovely. I love the bittern imagery.
Thanks for introducing me to the bittern in this lovely poem.
I just wanted to say how much I enjoy everyone’s talents here. I try to read everything, but due to some technical issues, once the thread reaches a certain length, I am having trouble interacting with the poems and comments. No one is ignored on purpose! LOL Thanks for letting me play in the dirt here.
We enjoy your attendance to the poems here, Michael. I can understand tech issues. I sometimes crumple under them, too. You’re not alone on that issue.
Thank you
The River’s Crusade
Carnassial claws plunder the rushing water
The mighty river quivers, reluctant to release its treasure
Roars as the fowl bandit rips riches from its depths
Waves slap the feathered beast with intense fury
Fresh tears fall, overflowing its swollen banks
Defeated, the river ceases its coursing
Much power in your verse, Chi. Power and image. Good job.
Anyone know how to fix my link. It takes readers to the wrong blog!
When posting your comment Chi, beneath the comment box it gives you the option (Log Out/Change). Click on change. It should show E-mail, Name and your URL for your blog. Be sure your address is correct for the site you wish the link to connect to. Walt.
Thank you Walt. I fixed it!
“…Fresh tears fall,…” I see the river’s tears falling from the rising feathered beast. Neat
Powerful, with the plunging alliteration! Enjoyed this.
Amen to that.
Thank you William and everyone else who commented. I appreciate the praise.
I love the “carnassial claws”. And having read this for the second time it sounds like quite an epic fight!
Well done, Chi.
I cannot seem to get here on the day of. Lucky to get here at all. Enjoyed reading more about Sara. I’ll return to read the rest later. Cheers to all.
Cirrocumulus
Look up! Fleecy clouds baa, grazing in sky
spread like a cat-bed blanket, thick and high;
beneath lambs drifting, rests a world of blue
tucked in and snoring (metaphoring too).
A breath of wind shepherds away the flocks;
I search horizons, bleat: they’ve turned to socks.
Oh, good one, Jane. Love the images from our childhood games of “What do you see in the clouds,” and the reminder of their temporary state. 🙂
“…I was gonna say, a horsie and a duckie, but I changed my mind…” -Charlie Brown, from the Musical… 🙂 Adorable, Jane!!
Yes, it is. I remember lying in the grass watching the clouds morph from one shape to another – such fun.
I still enjoy “watching the clouds” as the drift and morph.
So relaxing, Jane! I feel the grass beneath me and the weed stem in my teeth.
NO…not that kind of weed stem.
I am grinning widely as I read this, especially at “snoring (metaphoring too)”
Wonderful Jane, you had me full of visuals!
I am smiling, Jane.
Oh, FUN, Jane! Snoring & metaphoring… and it’s only appropriate that those “wooly” lambs should be turned into socks! LOL
NAANI
Accumulating snow lies
in abandoned beach chair
like a slumbering
bleached beach bum.
Having only ever been on Gulf beaches, I have never, until now, imagined this image. Wow, Marjory, neat.
Hi 7 – to help your imagination, I sent a photo for Walt to put into the Garden’s “Photo Phocus” 🙂
Marjory’s photo has been posted ay “PHOTO PHOCUS”.
Thank You, Walt.
I commented there, but just wanted to say I like this visual image too.
I am Glad, Thank You Wm.
Wow Marj. Deep.
Amazing.
This short snacky write packs a crunch!
The image of snow accumulating on an abandoned beach chair says it all.
Thank You 🙂
Saw the chair beneath the snow … and “saw” the ‘man-in-the-chair.’ too .. had to put words to it.
What a cool image!
Sickness Perches
(I wrote this at we write poems, thought it would apply here as well)
(A Haiku)
When sickness perches;
And spreads her wings with fever,
Its a toilsome bird.
Benjamin
I confess that I was thinking of fish at first, but I like this, much.
Today Is Torn
Today is torn between sun and cloud
Ripped apart and put together
For the coming of the new moon
Ooohh. I like this. Excellent.
For me, this draws a lovely picture, despite the “torn” and “ripped” imagery.
February Speaks
February speaks
naturally
with a love dipped in mercurial highs and lows,
playing in clouds and lurking in shadows,
rolling frozen carpets and melting wrinkled skin,
riding angry waves and softening some feathers–
exposing us
to all kinds of love—
I think you’ve spoken very well of February. Its been quite a memorable one!
I like the playful feelings this arouses, for me, anyway.
You are right Priti…it has been a winter month in full measure. Well pennef.
Beautiful!
Perfect description of February!
The Blessed Anthem of Spring
The Slumbering garden
Athirst for lasting bloom
Finds it loom soon
In toothsome magnolias
Spreading pink spry blossoms
Fetching spring
They summon
Creeping phlox to sashay
The garden floor with red velvet
Carpet in fancied anticipation
For the Queen of hearts
Strolling majestic Rose of Sharon
Robed fine in high feathers
The Queen shakes
Her pristine glory but a moment
Escapes her own crown
Petaled dress and thorn
To seize a stare
At hidden hostas
Basking in shadow
Astray from pelting heat of day
And pomp of the Queen
The fair plume grass
Sports a laugh
Bellows hard towards the open sky
Crowded lanky lavenders snicker in awe
As they flap in the open wind
The Petunias cheesing
Quickly clean their grins
Myriads of wild flower
Douse the countryside
Against the sprawling meadows
But do not know the fair of the Queen
Flurries of dandelion populate
The open field as peasants teem
But are ignorant of solemn majesty
Peonies prance
Like ponies in peace
Keeping to self
All conflict ceased
Without care to the world
Like lilies of the valley
Full of a spirit of meekness
With no aim to please
A dying soul
Honey’s bumbling butlers
Drift to and fro
Lapping nectar smoothies
Flying low to the ground
Enjoying the drinking season’s
Festivities
With open ears
Curious climbing Clematis
Scurries anxiously
Up a fence in a hurry
Twisting and turning
While churning out
A cluster of his fair blooms
The Queen of Sharon
Quivers her petal-wings
Adjusts her particular stem
Signals the clanging cymbal team
And stately Gladiolus trumpets
To sing the blessed Anthem of Spring
She directs the garden symphony
With a twirl
And all living things scream with joy
And all living things thoroughly enjoy the sound of Spring
Wow. For me, this has a nice, olden-times feel to it.
You made this garden landscape come alive and made me more hungry for spring. Well done!
Jot and Tittle
(Haikus)
The flow of the pen
Resides under the will of
The writer’s own hand
Each jot and tittle
Carefully crafted demand
Inked and set in stone
Each stroke of the wrist
Slightest fiddle of finger
Conforms to art
The most powerful
Documents ever written
Flowed down through the pen
From the heart of men
Who inscribed history’s tome
From the hands well-known
Majestic, this.
This is simply stunning. Excellent work!
PUPPY LOVE
Her temporary supplication
is necessary for puplication.
(C) copyright 2014, William Preston
ROAD RAGE
The terms we use can be deceiving.
This one would have us believing
asphalt is to blame when tempers flare.
What power does an on-ramp wield
to force a driver not to yield,
then cause the Interstate to glare?
And when a lane and street converge,
do fights break out when there’s no merge?
Does one of them lay on the horn?
At traffic lights when cars don’t halt,
it’s not a piece of gravel’s fault
and doesn’t justify the scorn
we place on things that do not breathe,
that never swear, or sit and seethe,
or has an anger we can gauge.
And so, to end this ode of mine,
I’ll be so bold as to opine
it’s time to call it Human Rage.
© Susan Schoeffield
Bingo!
Thanks, William.
SO True, Well done Susan.
Thanks, Marjory.
Unique choice, Susan. You are right on the money here.
Thanks, Sara.
True, that! 😀
this (I think) fits both hand held and personification but not sure if the keyboards need to be more active
the keyboards, an ensemble of shackles
wait to suck our individualities
leaving only blank eyes and
obedient fingers clicking away our futures
every day another report for the betterment
Of electronica is filed away in bites and bytes
And the teeth only grow longer
If the goal is to personify the keyboards, I think you did that. Makes me want to avoid the things.
[…] for the 2/23/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings to write a “personification” […]
DAY TWO
In the abandoned beach chair
the slumbering beach bum
lies dieting
in the morning sun.
I think this is hilarious.
🙂
I just sent Day Two photo to Walt…………
0:)
Hah! Good sequel.
Wrapped Up in a Quilted Polar Vortex
Winter…
settles into your bones
as you take time to adjust
to inhaling ice crystals
and being slapped by the wind.
Just when you think you are use to the new normal
winter and the meteorologist throw you a curve ball
wrapped up in a scientific name, which causes you
to scratch your head. Then the cold, like you believe
you have never felt before, covers you like a frozen quilt
and you don’t want to leave the house.
Just when you think you can kick the polar vortex off
and just have ice water in your veins instead of chunks of ice,
she comes charging back and no one can hear your scream
of frustration because it is muffled under the polar vortex quilt.
Winter.
Makes me want to go sit on the wood stove.!! 🙂
TWILIGHT’S LAMENT
Like the juice of a blood orange,
the sun drips off the horizon
Streaking the sky between striations
of blue, it is melting into sunset
Twilight swishes herself on-stage
as soon as it seems decent to put
in an appearance; with her layers
of indigo, mauve and intimations
of lavender, lilac and royal
She hates to seem overly eager
But considering how brief her
stint is – once she’s on, she wants
every ounce of time due her,
it’s true
Before evening arrives,
towing all those bloody but
magnificent constellations
Spread like Swarovski crystals
on actual velvet – not velveteen –
interspersed with glowing planets
– aligned and not – but impressive
nonetheless
And God forbid,
it should be one of Luna’s showy
nights … well, twilight, dusk – call
her whatever romantic name you will
It doesn’t matter how wonderful
her palette may be, it will
never be quite memorable enough.
Excellent personification, Sharon! Her 15 minutes of fame are short lived and she is frequently upstaged, isn’t she? Beautiful!
Twilight deserves the stage.
I’m having fun with this prompt. Thanks – another expression
Big Bertha Ruled
It was love at first sight
from the moment
we saw her in the window
She was a perfect for us
luminous eyes, swooshy lashes,
zooming feet
thorough bred, broad-shouldered
reflective
with a large heart
and a gleaming girth
We called her Big Bertha
With the turn of a key
she breathed in life
and ruled our world
She pedaled honey in our cruises
steering in
all kinds of adventures
and classic fightings over songs
that made us feel like rock stars
She grew smells of
lavender ketchup
in soccer cleats
as hushed laughter
and wiggles
filled her back seat
She raised us
from kindergarten Falls
to high school blossoms
like a proud mama
keeping a watchful eye
on her crew
with an added turbo kick
that kept us in line
But
who knew
that her doting, fragile heart
would be brutally shattered
and our world would crash
in a split second
All that would remain of her
would be absorbed
in the golden memories
of our growing years——
Little Green Bus
(Haiku)
You must see the photo to get the full effect
Enjoy!
Benjamin
LOVE you little bus. Thanks for sharing.
Your ‘shack’ looks like a wonderful place go to.
One of my favorite pics.
Thx
Sweet! And a LOVELY photo of the little guy, too!
DAY THREE
Sadly,
the fading beach bum
ardently refuses all
forms of offered assistance.
Hi Sara! So nice to see you here. I love personification–a bit late to the party, but here I am 🙂
Morning Train
On a bough of fir
Sleepy atoms cuddled together
Linked like train cars
Sun shine lights, excites
Sending atoms stretch-
ing
Fling winged things
Black shapes coracoid
Clouds scatter avoid
Beakish Pierc-
ings
Sun pushes on horizon
Lifts belly–golden
And raises rays
Dew grasps grass
Tries to last
Instead becomes gas
‘Ol Sol laughs
While atoms climb together
Aboard the Skyliner
This one’s fun, Sara, with the rhythm & rhyme picking up speed as it progresses — just like that train.
Hi PSC!! Thank you very much 🙂
DAY FOUR….Sad to say,
Memorial is planned
at the abandoned beach chair
for the well-known, but anorexic
beach bum.
‘Viewing’ is made possible by Walt
in “Photo Phocus”
where cards and comments
may be directed.
Per the beach bum’s final request,
all gifts
will be given to the
“Home for Abandoned Beach Chairs”
Been enjoying your beach bum series.
Fun progression, Marjory, but you need one last photo. I’m betting he’s long gone by now, so maybe… a sympathy card on the mantle? 😉