We had the honor and pleasure to be guided by the hand of Michelle Hed this week at CREATIVE BLOOMINGS. Michelle has continued to carry the torch, as all of our co-hosts have, shining its light upon our poets and their extraordinary work. Thank you Michelle for your diligence and dedication, and for all of your contributions to our site,

In our prompt, you were given this incomplete thought (Every Life Needs It’s Own_____) and your mission was to complete it and make that your poem. It was interesting to see what our poets required to fill this void. As per usual, you have not failed to make these selections difficult indeed.


After reading through the poems proposed to fill a need in our lives, my eyes were tired and my mind was torn between an exorbitant amount of poetry deserving of the BLOOM designation. In my head lines from poems randomly popped up and faded, playing almost like lyrics for music that played there. And then it hit me. Of all the things we need in our lives, we could all use our own theme song. No one expressed that any better than Nancy Posey’s “My Life Needs Theme Music”. And it certainly does!


It’s the quiet I can’t bear, left here
alone inside my life. The company—
it’s not so bad—I’ve made peace,
come to terms with myself after
all those years of wrestling ghosts.

The music piped into the elevator,
following me through cosmetics,
up to the mezzanine, innocuous
at best, at worst, gave me a thought.
I need my own theme music,

playing always in the background,
following me out the door,
through the park, something easy
in just the right key, so I can hum
along, imagining the words I’d sing.

A catchy little tune that works as well
on keyboard as on strings. Some days,
I’d like to hear the music swell, evoking
images of men and women, all in black,
playing from the orchestra pit; on others,

I might hear a single flutist, strolling
along behind me, our own parade
of two. At home alone, let me catch
snatches of the tune, whistled, perhaps
from someone crossing my lawn, someone
about to step up to my door and knock.

(C) Copyright Nancy Posey – 2014



Since I’ve been writing with many of you for years, I expected picking JUST ONE poem would be incredibly difficult – it was. So many of you touched on a part of my soul that sang with you, or whispered to my whimsical side or just tickled my funny bone. After reading, reading and more reading…I narrowed my list down to my top six. What I really wish I could do, is tell you what/how your words affected me. But since that would be the equivalent of writing a small book, please know that everyone of your poems, your words, touched me. Your poetry sings!

I picked the following poem because I am a pack rat, a collector of memories, and a sentimentalist and for every one of her lines in her poem, I was nodding my head and saying, “yes, I have that here and oh, this one is over there”. The rhyming and the flow of her poem was outstanding. So without further ado, I offer my bloom to Jane Shlensky’s “Every Life Needs its own Closet”.


Every life needs its own closet, lined with shelves,
to house reminders of our many selves—
the mitts and rackets of an active life
still good as new almost, each parcel rife
with memories of when we were athletic,
or someone who could make crowds sympathetic.
And side-by-side are skills we hardly tried,
boxes of almosts, one days, tucked inside

It’s true such closets, cavernous and stacked,
can make us keenly feel talents we lacked.
It’s true that willy-nilly here and there,
we glimpse successes, losses we can’t bear,
heartbreaks in tissue paper, joys so keen
we hardly recognize these selves we’ve been.

But every life has things too good to junk,
moments we are not done with in a trunk,
objects we loved so dearly over time
that though they’re threadbare, we call them sublime
and do not toss them to the rubbish heap
because they clothe a memory we keep.

Imagine all the selves we recollect—
some naughty, hardly worthy of respect;
some curious, courageous periscope
from bubble wrap, their heads turbaned in hope.
Some kind, loving, and gentle walk with shame
that wretched, mean, and stubborn weren’t the same.

Pictures of long ago, an Easter hat,
an honor pin, wild flowers, smiles pressed flat,
certificates and letters, ribbon bound,
old worn-out jeans and journals lost, now found;
a baby’s bonnet, toys and rubber nose,
proof of our fear and whimsy, lives we chose.

And yet we keep them all, make room for more
until life clears the shelves, shows us the door.
We think, perhaps quite rightly, we will mend
the memories our actions helped to rend.
We want a chance to edit and rewrite,
a chance to change our stories, phrase life right,

whatever that means; we feel we aren’t done
and feel sometimes we’ve only now begun
to understand the parcels we have saved,
the passages to perils we have braved.
We shuffle through, reshelve bits, wanly sigh
for life’s closet expands until we die.

(C) Copyright Jane Shlensky – 2014



Surprisingly, there is one poem that just absolutely shouted at me – probably because I’ve stood on this watch a few times. Her poem is so full of feeling. In fact, it seems the first two lines of every stanza is about the loved one dying and the last three lines in every stanza is the reaction of those on vigil – reflecting a superb use of the form. Michelle’s bloom goes to Connie Peter’s “Vigil”.

VIGIL by Connie Peters

Wounded, broken in her bed, she lay
Her pain bluntly on display
A pain here to stay
Come let’s pray

An agonizing, soul-wrenching day
We watch and wait in dismay
A pain here to stay
Come let’s pray

She dwells in another world today
Death carried the greatest sway
A pain here to stay
Come let’s pray

(C) Copyright Connie Peters – 2014


My choice in the form category goes to a poet who started out demurely commenting on all our works and was a supportive and nurturing soul. And then she decided to join the fray. She has come on strong of late, and I couldn’t be any more pleased. With the change of seasons imminent, this poem was truly apropos. Henrietta Choplin, you’ve earned this BLOOM for “Springtime Path”

SPRINGTIME PATH by Henrietta Choplin

A heady, primrose fragrance to stay
Crystals slowly melt away
A heart is released
Sweet song sung

In sunshine green with no ice this day
To block sunny, warming rays
A heart is released
Sweet song sung

Despite the forecast of yesterday
Seeming end, no more delay
A heart is released
Sweet song sung,

 (C) Copyright Henrietta Choplin – 2014