Hannah Gosselin
(and Fin)
This week our co-host is someone who I have looked forward to working with since the concept of co-hosts came to fruition. This poet brings a smile to many faces just by intoning that simple word. SMILES. In developing her blog, we talked about that aspect of her work and in that chat the title “Metaphors and Smiles” (as opposed to similies) came to light and she certainly brought that site into prominence. A true poetic soul grounded in her faith and family and a poetic friend to any and all poets who come to know the name, Hannah Gosselin!
***
Hannah Gosselin’s song is one inspired of natural beauty. She seeks words early and feels complete in the daily practice of heart-spilling ink to page. She finds that there’re poems begging to be written, hidden and waiting – like the still, seeded center of dandelion…there’s so much poetic potential in each day.
Hannah’s words find footing @ her writing, (and sometimes photography), blog Metaphors and Smiles.
PROMPT #145 “NOTHING FOR GRANTED” – Our lives are guided by our hearts and logic, and sometimes with both at odds. The influences in our personal domains are as varied as there are stars in the skies. But for every big moment in our daily living, it is the small sparks of life that we seek. Every little thing influences our lives. You are asked to pick something others would consider insignificant and give it its due.
WALT’S SMALL THINGS:
SIMPLE PLEASURES
Poems that prod,
nods to God,
tilling the sod,
musical notes,
famous quotes,
boats that float,
crystal skies,
bright blue eyes,
cherry pies,
rhyming things,
things with wings,
kids that sing,
chocolate cake,
the eerie lake,
goodness sake,
welcome guests,
doing my best,
my beating chest,
folks worthwhile,
carried in style,
a heart felt smile.
valued treasures,
easy measures,
Simple pleasures.
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
***
HANNAH’S LITTLE INFLUENCES
A Drive-by (Mental) Snapshot
As pulse beats blue
three large dark birds
burn permanently
an image on my mind:
Crows hold the center line,
afield, where snow has let go-
where the yellowed grass shows;
beneath the pines
feathers shine iridescent
with sudden spring sun.
And this,
this is indelible-
a moment
fast-fixed to my soul.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
AMIDST THE SALT AND GRAVEL,
roadsides
in wintertime
may greet each passing car
with wanton white bursts of sparkling
horned larks.
copyright 2014, William Preston
I can see potholes through this image. Nice William.
“wanton white bursts” ooooOH, loverly
Yes, I like that also!
Great to see you at the helm Hannah (brings a smile to my whole self actually)…and you and Walt led off with excellent examples for this prompt. I forget what that form’s called Walt but whatever it is, you’ve done a stellar job with it here…”simple pleasures” indeed. William, since this will fall below your poem, thought I’d mention how fine I found it as well…so much grand imagery in so few words…”sparkling horned larks” is delicious…
Thank you so much, Sharon!! 🙂
Lovely image, William. I’d never equated the one with the other. Great job.
Hannah and Walt, your examples are just superb, and a bit sneaky here and there (“eerie lake’). The topic recalls, for me, Robert Service’s Little Things, which I’ve always loved even though it seems to be universally scorned as bad poetry.
Thank you, William! :)’s
I Loved them both!!
WIND CHILL
This cold.
amazingly,
is invigorating,
lending its strange grace to a life
well braced.
copyright 2014, William Preston
a bit sneaky yourself – love it.
Oh, yes…I agree…love the phrasing strange grace…so apt in this instance.
… there ya go… great perspective!!
Glad you could find it so, William. Yet, I understand the feeling, especially when coming out of a store that’s crowded and overheated, into that chill and sparkly air of the parking lot that allows a person to breathe deep of air untainted by recycling through others’ lungs. 🙂
Well said, William!
We’re here for the whole trip,
to catch each moment while we can;
to celebrate life and live it all
so we don’t miss out on paradise.
Take everything that’s on the platter,
wring every last crumb that’s on offer.
Let nothing and no-one moulder
unnappreciated, unrecorded –
the bent old man who sweeps the gutter,
the lover who makes me sing for joy;
returning leaves in Spring;
Summer and Autumn, nature’s bling.
Put words in a row to make a line,
bake lines into poems to shout aloud,
then hurry along with the golden motley.
I made this poem out of today’s wordle words at The Sunday Whirl = http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2014/03/09/wordle-151/ which had popped into my inbox as I was cogitating Hannah’s prompt.
Viv! This is is breathtaking! Love it.
Wonderful… loud applause!
Oh, yes.
And a standing ovation!
So clever to bake lines into poems and shout about it. I think I might, too, if I could bake like you! : )
There’s such a joy for life in this, Viv…brings a smile for sure…thank you!
Lovely, Viv!!
Very nicely done Viv…I especially like it when someone is able to skillfully weave two prompts together the way you’ve done here…the wordle words disappear seamlessly…congrats; I especially loved “then hurry along with the golden motley” – what a great line!
And a wonderful wordle poem it is, too. It does remind us of those things common and many-times unseen. Lovely, Viv, and soothing in its flow.
Wonderful! Very clever usage for both prompts.
A lot has been going on lately, and I haven’t really felt up to writing poetry or commenting on here very much. So here’s another older piece. I hope to read everyone else’s soon. 🙂
Little Glass Jars (Saraband)
Little glass jars standing neatly
On a windowsill in a line,
Magnify sunlight intensely:
Changing, shifting with the weather,
Rainbows dancing, light reflecting,
Growing dimmer, growing brighter,
Filled with light, still more collecting;
Collecting and then spilling out,
As we are to receive His word
And let it, in great streams, pour out:
Washing, cleansing, peaceful healing,
Steadily giving as we get,
To our neighbors life imparting,
Hands held open to receive Him.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Very graceful and full of peace. Thanks for sharing!
Doesn’t matter when you wrote this; it’s lovely and as others have said, full of grace and serenity, a kind of peace. I really like it.
This is lovely… hope things get less harried for you soon.
Dry times and poetry go together, I think; hope yours gets some rain soon.
This light and lightness in spirit permeates your poem, Erin. Beautiful!
This is so Beautiful, Erin… Hang in there, kind friend… <3!!
Erin, this piece instructs as easily as it reads. Two poems, or perhaps three, in the space of one. Each stanza could stand alone, with separate meaning. Together they hold onto their individual essence while creating a third, combined meaning. For good measure, they leave the reader with yet another deeper response.
Terrific work here, and I hope your circumstances bring you back to the pen soon to share more creative wonders.
silently mouthing
lyrics in a crowded hall
music of the soul
As one who has no idea of what “carrying a tune” means, I understand this well.
*Smiling*
I do this in my car.
Nothing quite compares to the “music of the soul”…nicely put RJ…
A hummer and whistler, I can identify with this.
Sometimes one can be SO full with a silent song…great snap-shot, RJ.
I can’t sing but that doesn’t stop me. It just has to come out sometimes. : )
Hee, hee, hee… absolutely!!
Don’t we all do that? This one connected in a bit way. Marveouls three-liner, RJ.
A perfect little moment in time.
Unlost
I
found a
pebble with
a roadmap for
an ant: I traced a zigzag, random line
with my finger, one end to the other
and discovered
how to find
my way
home.
###
Oh, genius, I like it RJ. The ant’s GPS. I can visualize it in my head.
Genius, indeed!
Yes… I so agree!!
So clever!
I just love the way this brings me back to little and close to the ground, Well done RJ. 🙂
I love this! As someone married to a survey-engineer and also someone who loves compasses and is always getting lost…I find this especially endearing.
I love this, RJ. And the form is perfect for the subject and sentiment.
Morning Hannah and co!
THIS IS FOR THE BIRDS
The seemingly
Insignificant things
Attributed little value
Is for the birds
The tiny
feathered beasts
Assigned
Shallow honor
As expendable
Left to sheets of wind
With open wings
But catches the mind
Of Mother Nature
Whose skilled warblers
Bring opera voice to forest
Whose spirited song
Weathers a chorus
For us in the ecstasy
Of the moment
Whose imperial woodpecker
Rocks every tree
As he pleases
Until we all march
To the beat
Of a different drummer
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
I think this is superb.
Thanks William
I enjoy the voices vying for our attention in this…I experienced the very thing on my morning walk today. Nicely conveyed, Benjamin.
Thank you Hannah!
Love this!
Thanks Deb
Oh, I Love this!!
Thanks HEN!
Oh so true Benjamin…the lowly woodpecker garners little respect or notice…nicely penned.
Thanks Sharon
This poem is for the birds, Benjamin — skillfully warbled, floating on sheets of wind and marching to the beat of a different drummer! 😉
Lol, thanks!
Ah, Benjamin, this is sumptuous. I loved the flow of the words, this short lines speeding along, even as their words demanded the reader move slowly and enjoy.
Thanks Claudsy 🙂
I love this, Benjamin.
Breath by Breath We Live
Each breath
We take
Is a blessing
We rake
Gathered
From the royal
Sky beryl lake
Above us
Around us
Within us
As well as
Expelling
The parts
Of us
We expend
Or hate
And try to
Dissociate
With
But
Somewhere
Someone else
Always inhales
What we
Extricate
From ourselves
Takes it in
As breath
Expends
It
As energy
To survive
Live
By the next
Breath
Funny
How the world
Works
In synergy
This beryl-blue
Bonded
Mutual energy
Is shared
Traded
Taken
Breath by breath
Into our account
Quite the business
Of human
Life
Giving
And
Receiving
Constantly
Perpetually
Effortlessly
Beautifully
Until
We sever
Ourselves
Completely
From others
A helping hand
Loving brother
A sister
Cherishing mother
Until
We no longer
Receive
Refuse
That next breath
From others
The beryl lake
The blessings
Waste in stillness
And never makes
Another ripple
Silent lies
No longer
Supplied
But
Dried stiff
A sad shift
To earthy brown
Until
Hopelessly
Drowned
In
independence
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
This addresses the absolute necessity of connectivity so well.
This is right-on…
” Until
We no longer
Receive
Refuse
That next breath
From others
The beryl lake
The blessings
Waste in stillness
And never makes
Another ripple”
Yup.
Nicely spilled.
…yesss…
Wow – Benjamin…just that…wow.
thx
Hi. I hadn’t read yours until I after I wrote mine. 😉
Hi Ellen, I enjoyed your shadorma. It gets the point across. I recently recovered from a respiratory infection. Each breath is so precious! Thx
Amazing! Ben. I’m wondering if you wrote this as you became of aware of your own breathing and staying solemnly mindful of the process as you wrote. Terrific poem.
thx
as always, a beautiful poem you’ve written, Hannah.
Thank you so much, Linda. 🙂
SHE HELD THE LITTLE BIRD
the child found in
the April grass
the swallow that perished
in the snows of March
she held the little bird
in her warm hands
hoping to bring it
back to what it was
imagined its stiff wings
remembered flight
enough to flutter upwards
towards the tall sycamore
#
Oh, breath-takingly beautiful images here.
Enjoyed the soft touch to this. It paints well the compassion of the little girl for the little bird.
Poignant in your closing, Sal…
Love your poem and this:
“remembered flight
enough to flutter upwards
towards the tall sycamore”
I heartily agree. A stunning visual
A child’s hope and tender heart.
Oh, this reminds of my sister in heaven… she was kindest to the animals…
Wow – Benjamin…just that…wow.
Sweet, sad, nicely captured, Sal!
Ah, Sal, such tender verse. I have the feeling this happened with you as witness. I wonder how many of us were that little girl at some point in our lives, whether with a bird or with some other creature. Wonderful, Sal. Thank you.
Beautiful, Sal. The hope and compassion of the very young.
MAKING WISHES
she can make wishes beneath
the evening sky one star at a time
until she covers all she sees
fills her head like a basket
with dreams to last a lifetime
but the stars have no clue
about the wants of a child
the wish list she keeps secret
in the diary pages of her mind
the stars are too far away
too preoccupied with twinkling
in outer space to hear her
too hard-pressed to figure out
what they could do to please her
but every night she shouts
to the sky one more wish
#
I think this is marvellous. For me, it captures the feel of a kid on a starlit night, innocent of the indifference of the universe.
Marvelous it is. Its good she remains hopeful in the the end.
Despite distance and as William states, indifference…the faith of a child persists…beauty.
We all have a need to believe in something bigger than ourselves and hope it cares for us.
… oh how we can live in our own little magical world…
Oh Sal, the naive innocence of the very young…would that they could keep it longer….this is lovely, so touching.
Absolutely lovely, Sal. Stunning visuals as always.
Stunning, Sal. You are really on a roll here.
I THINK THIS HAPPENED
therefore I am
thinking
of an afternoon
at Wal-mart
years ago when
my job was
pushing a day cart
and Ergo Sum
was my boss
a mean old Latin
who never thought
things out
and one morning
in his office
sat me down
and said
(exhaling
hellish vapors)
“Cogito, you’re fired!”
#
Wonderful!
Love the details!! Brings it to life!
bummer ending…
Oh, Sal, how rude could he be? Mean, indeed. 🙂 Many can sympathize, I bet.
Nice build up to the end Sal
ON THE BORDERLINE
sun (she said
she’s bored) light
filters through
clouds (eyes
covered with
trem…hands…bling,
fear dark enough
(star) to squeeze
dry a stone’s throw
from (light)
this place of ennui
to (make one more
wish) undisturbed
(tonight) sleep
#
I think this is great; for me, anyway, it captures the drifting-off time.
Sal, these are just getting better as you go along today 🙂
I love what you did with the word breaks and parenthesis. Nice one!!
Yes… so interesting to read and reread…
I love that! It is something I am not able to pull off often, but you did it so well.
This is very fine. So many metaphoric moments…
NICE! Begs to be read & re-read.
Definitely makes one think. Good one, Sal.
A Pebble
I keep a pebble in my purse
Reminding me to write
For it’s the mundane things of life
That parallel our plight
A pebble’s often overlooked
It takes a special mind
To see the beauty in the small
To seek gold and to find
I keep a pebble in my purse
I know it may sound strange
But there it is reminding me
When I go look for change
To see the trivial and bland
With fresh and skillful eye
And sprinkled with incredulity
To spark a grand insight
I keep a pebble in my purse
With it I can relate
For it’s the teeny tiny things
That just may turn our fate
Superb! The repeated lines are a reminder to the reader, as the pebble is to you.
What a perfect way to exemplify this prompt – a simple pebble in your purse is a wonderful way to remind you to notice “the teeny tiny things/That just may turn our fate”…nice.
Sounds like great inspiration Connie.
Your closing thoughts bring a nod and a smile, Connie…well versed.
For it’s the teeny tiny things
That just may turn our fate… yes!
Oh yes… my pebble is in my pocket… :)!!
Sprinkled with incredulity – marvelous
A sweet, simple reminder — something we could all use.
“For it is the teeny tiny things that just may turn our fate.” Exactly! Wonderful, Connie. Love your rhyme, always well done. I Have small things that never leave my purse and which always blash reminders when my questing fingers brush against them.
Love the use of a pebble, Connie.
TAKING FOR GRANTED (T-4-G)
T-4-G….
how easily
it slips into
the things we do.
With only work
you are a jerk!
But, dull is dull,
and what we cull,
when nothing new
we choose to do.
Pick out a day…
we go our way
and seldom stop
to give bold thought –
or find some new
fun things to do.
Things to spark..
to give a lark.
A job begun.
A job well done.
To stand and fight
for what is right.
To give a smile,
to walk a mile,
Smell the flowers,
watch clouds for hours.
Before to late,
let’s celebrate!
Trace a sunbeam,
share pink ice-cream!
Remembering
a life serene.
When wine and cheese
in moon-light please,
ending those days
in special ways.
We need to play
a bit each day!
A ball to fling,
a song to sing….
So let the child,
quick, bold or mild,
who freely gives,
who in you lives,
expand it’s wings
to do new things.
Bingo!
Agree with William exactly…well done.
Than You Wm and Se – Could not pick just one thing….. 🙂
You bring in a poetic list-y way all of these sentiments that make it all “worthwhile,” Marjory…beautiful thoughts. 🙂
Happy you enjoyed it Hannah. Thanks.
Wonderful advice Marjory
Than You 🙂
Oh, I Love this… many want us to just “…sit down, hush up, and “act” our age” — but where’s the fun in that?!! 😀 !!
Thanks Friend, That little child in me is still alive and kicking! 🙂
Nice Marjory, I’ve never seen T-4-G before.
🙂 say “T-4-G” and folks will ask……
Congrats on the bloom 😀 thx
Another sweet reminder! “how easily/it slips into/the things we do.” — indeed! Love the ending, too, Marjory!
Thanks Pam – I am still working a combating T-4-G.
Marvelous, Marjory. Well said. We do need a shake-up, however small, each day to keep our thinking processes perked up. I love how you’ve used your lines to move the reader along with the quick rhyme. No easy for me, so I appreciate reading others who do it so well.
Thank You, Claudsy. . It was fun to do (once I figured out what I would do! 🙂 )
And you did it so well, Marjory.
(Harrisham)
Moments of Bliss
Tired from weeding on achy knees
Doddering, I rise and lift my eyes to the sky
Gracefully, tree tops sway in lofty breeze
Yawping hawk glides on airy currents
Greedily this moment I seize, then
Yielding to exquisite joy I sigh
ignore that “then”- it shouldn’t be there and upsets the rhyme : (
Drat… Let me try again
Moments of Bliss
Tired from weeding on achy knees
Doddering I rise and lift my eyes to the sky
Gracefully, tree tops sway in lofty breeze,
Yawping hawk glides on currents high.
Greedily this moment I seize
Yielding to exquisite joy I contentedly sigh.
I love this, especially the way you began most of the lines.
I agree. You wasted no time on ordinary words while connecting us to the extraordinary.
Yes, a snippet of daily life. I can almost feel those knees myself.
Ohh… you captured it…!
Yes…true joy…sigh worthy…expressed in such a pure physical way here, Debi. Thank you! 🙂
Even with the misplaced “then”, this is a very nice piece…truly.
Love, Debi. This was a joy to read, as well. I well understand those knees and the sigh of both relief and reverence at being able to stand and appreciate being one more time.
There’s Nothing like the Four Seasons
There’s nothing
Like a bold hug
In the artic plunge
Of winter
There’s nothing
Like the perky kiss
Of Spring
When things are
Livening up
There’s nothing
Like a fresh exhortation
To cool things down
In the blazing heat
Of Summer
There’s nothing
Like “I’m sorry”
When things fall awry
Your own leaves retreat
And the fruit vanishes
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Wow. I think this needs a Normal Rockwell series to go with it.
I’ll have to look him up.
thx
This is bright in its contrasting images and alive with descriptive action, Benjamin…enjoyed indeed! 🙂
Thanks buddy
Just wonderful, Benjamin!!
thx Hen
Nice one, Ben. You’re right. Such small things do catch our attention and linger with meaning.
Yep, its the small things in life.
Like Bourbon it’s Best Aged
Can it be possible
you look at me and see
something I don’t see?
You fell in love,
I can understand that,
cause love is blind they say.
What puzzles me is that you stay –
not stay with me, you’re a faithful man,
but stay in love with this old crone
of loose flesh and thinning bone.
Can it be possible
after all this time
of plodding forward arm in arm
you forgive the passing years
and gravity for the damage
to sweet young flesh?
Can overlook reality
and view instead
with eyes that gently see
what is the true, authentic me?
Can it be possible?
Oh, yes.
I think this is a great little poem; in my view, it could stand with Browning’s.
Again, I agree with William…this is a very fine poem…poignant, honest…truly good. Well done.
YES, enjoyed your flow, thought and reflection here Debi. LOVE is just one of those amazing things huh?
Umm…this makes me teary…you brought that true love aspect to life and in such a personal way…thank you for sharing this, Debi.
Thank you guys.
How beautiful to have such a special man…
I agree, Henrietta, I’m blessed.
This is sweet, Debi. How many of the older set look at partners and ask, if silently, these questions. Beautifully done, my friend. I thoroughly enjoyed this.
This is superb, Debi!
SPIED ON A BLADE OF GRASS
A whole world
spreads out before me:
tall and wide,
yet inside
the clear magnifying lens
of one lone dewdrop.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
Love this zoomed in perspective, William!
Yes!
Another perfect microcosm of a poem William…lovely.
The world from a fish-eyed lense. Love it
Awesome! Love this micro-universe
Nicely done, Bill. I like this. I love dewdrops and the scenes they paint for those with eyes to see the telescopic view.
Outer to inner, where things are smaller. I love this, William.
Nothing much
I racked my brains to find that something
insignigicant, to write about
I tapped my eager fingers with hope
In a ‘ready set go’ motion on the keyboard
Thoughts leaped like microwave popcorn
but were missing salt
I tried to write about broken slippers
Dead flowers, empty pages, trash cans
Gibberish, still air, rotted food, pointless moves
that fading old man barely breathing, alone
or the rock, paper, scissors, shoots
but I couldn’t find that unimportant stamp
I guessed I missed the mark
One thing that poetry has defined for me
( and I’m fairly new, ordinary, at this)
is that simple things have values granted
in their square roots, not necessarily numerical
Even a broken piece of junk , nothing much
Can shine with magic fairy dust
For “nothing much,” this says loads.
Intriguing “nothings” add up to a whole lot of something…
I enjoyed your list in the middle and the rest too, Priti…the conversational tone is endearing. 🙂
Yes, beauty and importance in the beholder’s eye.
Oh, your last line… “Can shine with magic fairy dust” I Love that!!
Love this sentiment, Priti. Each discarded item has history and a tale, a significance to something/someone. How can any of what exists be insignificant when existence itself is significant enough?
Hi Priti, enjoyed this
Ah, but this is magic fairy dust!
AFTER SPRING PLOWING
The gulls are gleaning in the field;
the warmth is coming back to Earth;
in search of sunlight’s early yield
the gulls are gleaning in the field
where life, no longer hard congealed,
is almost giddy in its mirth.
The gulls are gleaning. In the field,
the warmth is coming back to Earth.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
Most definitely and this giddiness trnaslates from creation and the dirt to all these earth roaming and sky-flying creatures…beautiful imagery!
*translates* that is. 🙂
I like this indeed and feel giddy myself that warmth is returning.
“… the warmth…”, I can feel it…
Ah, love this, William. The refrain line brings an image to mind of seeing my first spring-turned field in NW Montana, where countless gulls gleaned the newly exposed grass roots for treats. I wasn’t accustomed to the image and it never left me. This poem of yours brought it all back in spaded. Thank you.
Nice William, this instills a solid hope for change of weather.
Happy Hour
The monotony of myriad shoes shuffling atop
seasoned carpets, crinkled faces browsing in biography,
a lingering with Dante, Chaucer, medieval crosses.
The crackle of book covers spilling from stacks,
frisky pages dog-eared in haste, the taste of
adventure, the thrill of the hunt. Kissing whispers hushed
between Steinbeck and Faulkner.
Furrowed librarian brows.
Searching for Lost Time with Proust.
A dozen fingers clacking keyboards exploring
endless exploring for letters
leashed and bound
that may entice, tempt, and woo
inkhorns and bookworms
to indulge in yet another whimsical
all-nighter.
I love this. It’s a poem to linger over.
Love the way this is expressed…breathless and passionate for the hunting and haunting of words. Lovely read, J.lynn!!
Yes!!
I love the literary allusions here and the way the poem wraps itself around the reader…I’m with William yet again; this is one I will be coming back to read and re-read…
Ah, Jlynn, this sounds like such a soothing and enticing evening. My favorite and most stimulating environment–a library, where full access and wide range draw the reader onward. Love this image and sentiment.
Very good. Sounds like a nice trip to the library.
Petrichor & Cinnamon
Olé Olfaction!
nasal receptors
spring into action
aromatic delights
lift the spirits
with flights
of fancy and fantasy
endorphin induced
natural ecstasy
a fresh mown lawn
green leaf volatiles
from blades newly torn
odor of the baker’s ware
wafting breezily
through the air
brings a smile to the weary
high street passenger
the glum feel cheery
fresh roasting coffee beans
fill tired hearts with hope
and revitalize their dreams
sizzling bacon on the grill
makes vegetarians
lose their will
cinnamon acts like no other
pleasing men alone
just like a lover
but the very finest scent
comes with rainbows
as though heaven sent
Petrichor follows the rain
paving the way for the fresh:
pause, reflect; start again
Iain
Umm…yes, yes and yes…you bring a scentual delight with this one Iain…loved it!!
I’ve been SUCH a fan of cinnamon these days. 🙂
Thanks Hannah 🙂
Oh, mmm… you took me there, Iain 🙂 !!
Thank you Hen 🙂
Lovely piece, this.
Cheers! 🙂
This is marvellous Iain…so many rich aromas to follow and imagine…as one who is steadily losing all sense of smell and taste (and has been for about the last decade) poems like yours remind me of what I used to enjoy and almost bring the sensations back again…I enjoyed it on so many levels.
Thanks Sharon – glad to be of service 🙂
Iain, some of my favorite aromas are listed here, but you’ve given me even more, in a word not seen before–that word, petrichor. It heralds my most favored scent–that for which line-dried clothes is sent. Love this.
Thanks Claudsy – appreciate it & yes, it’s a super little word 🙂
You’re welcome, Iain. I’ve made it my word of the day and will place it in my vocab list for later use. Love learning new words.
I’m with you, learned a new one…
Exquisite Iain
Wonderful, Iain!
Small Gifts
By David De Jong
First light of morning, lifts the shade,
While evening’s stars, relent and fade.
Songbirds sing and coax the day,
Telling nocturnals; “Slip away”.
Tender pods asleep in the earth,
Reach for heaven, in joyous birth.
Infant sprouts shed their harvest home,
As resurrecting from their tomb.
A season of storms, tests their will,
Sunlight and calm, blesses their fill.
Blossoms of grandeur, nectar breeze,
Creation’s wonders, all from seeds.
Some grow once and fall to their knees,
Some grow old into ancient trees.
Bearing fruit in which way they can,
Sharing blessings from hand to hand.
Bringing sweet tastes of joy, soft scents of love,
These small gifts reaching for heaven above.
The glowing growing that emanates from this poem is a joy, David.
I love this:
“Some grow once and fall to their knees,
Some grow old into ancient trees.”
I love that part, too!
Me, three…
It is that.
Thank you, Hannah! 🙂 Cinnamon affects the male brain the same way as female pheromones do!!! 😀
Sorry page slipped and this is in the wrong place!
Wow!! I did not know that…good to know! :)!!
Another winner David…this poem fairly sings…
Wonderful poem, David. Such vivid description. imagery, and soft, soothing sonorous. Kudos.
Very beautiful David
A Day in Shadows
The Monarch Sun stretches it’s rayed wings
Casts a sliver-shadow on a host of things
Whose cleaving image grasps our every move
Like something’s up it’s sleeve or point to prove
Does this fly with spoken or written word?
Does it cast a shadow like the daytime bird?
Would twin graceful triolets come to dance a ballet?
One the sliver-shadow, and the other accepting ray?
Like a fine-mirrored bird
Reflecting the light, returns to Monarch on a one way flight?
Would words refract the gifted light that it lends? Manipulate direction like an optic lens?
Could it distribute the light and make it mend?
Like a parceled rainbow, or a hue for a friend?
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
I just love the flow of this and the questions you poise….a very thoughtful piece…Monarchs have been on my heart.
This is gorgeous, Ben…
I love the song in this.
You are really knocking them out of the park again this week Benjamin…this is beautiful, and I am very fond of Monarch also.
Wonderful poem, Benjamin. I love how this reads and the questions it asks. Terrific work here.
This is like a melody.
Ordinary Blades
Wielded green of balmy gust,
through heart of ice and flurry thrust,
verdant fight to gain sky’s trust.
Velvet rug for hungry feet,
peaceful wave of sharpened sea,
swords of spring held high for me.
This feels so like flight and dreamer’s journey…love the line lengths and “hungry feet,” I know just what those are. :)!!
Yes, I loved: “…peaceful wave of sharpened sea…”
Your final line reminds me of the springtime Big Dipper. Another superb piece.
Your very own “Leaves of Grass” … nicely done De…
Lovely, De. This short piece breathes a freshness for me to taste and smell those first fresh shoots and the anticipated scent of a first cut.
[…] .. Written for Creative Bloomings. […]
The Little Things in Life
It’s the little
Things in life
That make you happy.
A thank you.
A smile–
Of varying degrees.
A laugh.
A child.
Oh, yes…all of these. A child sure stole the show for me at church today…she was something alright…super charged with innocence and life…sigh.
Aww…
Exactly.
… yes… so much joy brought to my life in these things… <3!!
So very true, my friend. It is the little things that do not shout, but slid past our attention to blend into life as necessary.
PEPPERMINT PASSION
Peppermint
You spirit
My cup
With jumping scent
Virginal freshness
Good
Til’ lasting drop
You and me
Were mint
To be
He-he…and now….I’m off to brew a cup of peppermint tea! Love it.
Yes! Peppermint tea and poetry.
Mmm… perfect…
Tea-hee
🙂 Love it.
First Time
Whispered secrets
unspoken,
Closeness randomly
untouched.
So much said and un-said in this…great and thought provoking, Hen!
Amen!
Thank you, William!
Thank you, Hannah… it took quite a while to write it… the words kept jumping around, then finally settled here… ❤ !!
Succinct and poignant…nicely done Hen.
Thank you, Sharon ❤ !!
So much in so few words. Great work, Hen.
Love the feel of this, Hen.
Deep thought in such few words Hen!
Breath of Life (a Shadorma)
First breathe in,
and then out again.
Simply done.
Only when
each one becomes an effort,
that we are grateful.
Ellen Evans (c) Copyright – 2014
[A “simple things” poem for CB 3.9.14]
Nicely done and very true. Labored breathing is not fun.
SO true…the seeming simplicity is utterly complex in this breath. Nicely done, Ellen.
I can relate. Wonderfully told.
yes…
Bang on! Well done…
Truth takes little effort, but often shuns spoken words. You’ve done well to remind us of this one truth, Ellen. And done it so beautifully. Thank you.
You truly found an everyday thing we all take for granted.
A LITTLE SOMETHING EXTRA
An asthmatic, quite the old geezer,
had for years been a cougher and wheezer,
and when colds would take hold
he was hardly paroled:
the old geezer was wheezer and sneezer.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
I can relate…a job I once took left me with allergy induced asthma and every fall-start of winter is rough.
🙂 William, you are not alone in this one. Many, young and old, it seems, fall into that boat to help you row.
Lol! Fun read William
WHEN TIME VANISHES
Stories
gathered from life
were saved for a later date,
when time allowed for reflection
on words hidden away.
The tales
she recorded
remained forever unread
when memories dissipated
and fled from her mind.
Pages
became empty,
no names or places recalled.
Her tired and spiritless eyes
could never bring them back.
Her words
saved for later
now languish on dusty shelves.
Never promised a tomorrow,
today was lost to time.
© Susan Schoeffield
I think this is a wonderful argument for carpe diem.
Exactly how William states it.
Such sadness in the underlying cause…wish it weren’t so for so many and I agree with William’s statement…well written.
yes…
Yes I agree, written very well Susan. Thanks for offering.
This speaks to so much of the writer in me and I’m sure in many others…a beautiful poem, a cautionary tale…well done Susan.
So often this seems the case, and yet for many, those dusty words are the only personal history that can be reread to stimulate the mind of those failing.
Well done, Susan.
Thank you all 🙂
Come, Walk with Me
As a surveyor of all things natural
I have spent hours watching the minutest insects
scurry and plod along, grooming, collecting, singing,
or just moving fascinated by the differences
and the subtle similarities of daily life.
I’ve gone on the hunt of the elusive predators of the sky
shooting thousands of images for my perusal and yours,
consumed by the beauty and grace inherit
in the cycle of survival, life and death –
awestruck with wonder.
I’ve sat for hours in the elements
trying to capture nature’s most frightening ventures
from a sheltered safe distance, with
one wary eye on my immediate surroundings
and the other cast away, waiting.
I take advantage of all nature has to offer me
from watery flukes to dry dances, but I do not
take the offerings for granted. I hold each one
dearly in my heart and mind,
thankful for the gift.
Collecting and storing each instance
for enjoyment in this life,
and while I do not know for certain
what happens after death…
I’m thinking (hoping) the next plane of existence
must be at least as beautiful as this one.
Superb!
This speaks in such an honest way…your words are endearing and the sentiment is truly wise…a gem, Michelle…thank you!
This is mmmMMMhhh good. “I take advantage of all nature has to offer me” awesome…perfect ending. And the next plane of existence is simply off the charts. 🙂
How very well-put…I think you’ve said what many of us feel but oh-so-eloquently…Nice.
Yes… I Love this!!
Lovely, Michelle. As a nature-lover, I can sit with you in these words, knowing what hours spend in quiet observation brings to bear. Terrific piece.
Wonderful words, Michelle, and I love your title.
Thank you so much everyone!
Ah, another week of the good stuff. I’ll be back later to comment on all the lovely verse. Until then, Hello, Hannah. It’s so good to see you here, behind the wheel of the garden cart.
I have one poem for now and will have another soon. Enjoy, all.
Perception
It takes up no space,
Yet creates it for us,
As we move from place to place,
Eager and most generous.
It allows us to reach,
Forward or back;
Whether on a sandy beach
Or along a mountain track.
Without it, our lives
Narrow, seize up;
Trades Sunday drives
For time with a teacup.
Fear erodes confidence
As depth fades away.
For me, this is a striking poem, and the phrase, “Trades Sunday drives / For time with a teacup” is rivetting.
Thank you so much, William. I’m happy you liked it.
Hello Claudsy!! It’s such an honor to bee-keeper-of-the-blooms this week…buzzing from row to row it’s such sweet nectar for the taking. 🙂
I love the contrasting life-styles you frame and the thing that’s cool to me is that as writers our perception is broadened by our imaginations…such a thrill! 🙂
Oh Hannah… “bee-keeper of the blooms…” is Lovely!!
I agree with you whole-heartedly, Hen.
Thanks, Hannah. So many small things are taken for granted, go unseen, until something happens and then we are little prepared for a loss that so greatly effects us.
I’m glad you liked my poems.
This is… wow!!
Oh, Hen, thank you. Wow, indeed. I’m blushing here. 🙂
Yes, very striking. Well done
Thanks, Benjamin.
‘Time with a teacup’ is really sticking in my head. Lovely poem.
Thanks, Sara. I’m happy you enjoyed it.
Excellent Claudsy! Very scenic in nature. Love the word perception and closing lines.
Thanks so much, Benjamin. Glad you liked it.
I’ll leave this one and come again later to read and enjoy everyone else’s work.
A Little Opposition
Bend it, make it
Do all those things
Required of it,
During your flings.
Keep it,
Whatever else you do,
Never let it
Come to harm or you’ll
Learn its
Loss will change your life
As its
Absence creates only strife.
Hold on tight
To your lowly thumb.
Oh, yes…this is legit – a most necessary digit indeed. 🙂
Thanks, Hannah/ 🙂
Claudsy – you are rocking the garden this weekend…these two poems are so fine! I think I love opposition the best but I’m really not sure, they’re both so good…well done. “Hold on tight/To your lowly thumb.” I do believe I will!
High praise, Sharon. Thank you so much for the compliments. I’ve known some who’ve lost thumbs. Life isn’t easy without them. Arthritis sufferers know a little about that too.
!! 😀 !
I echo the praise, excellent Claudsy
Thanks so much.
I might be spilling this week – my daughter died 6 tears ago this Thursday.
Anyhow, I wrote about a worn teddy bear which others would throw away. 🙂
Of Jolene
Where is Michael?
Velveteen bear rescued from the rubbish
Matted, lumpy, dirty and broken
No velvet nor bow of satin
Only a memory of the way things were
Where was Michael born?
Brown head, red bow and beady black eyes
Popped out of paper of green, red and blue
Gift-giver sings of the manger
Infant slumbers calm the fears
Where is Michael?
Joins his brothers on the shelf, forgotten
Talisman of happy time
Phone rings, Michael clutched to breast
Michael is found, but his mother is lost
Where is Jolene? With Michael, next to my heart
This is heart wrenching and, although I suppose it’s a typo, “6 tears ago” is especially poignant.
My heart breaks with this…the questions are haunting placed with what is supposed to bring comfort…sigh…I’m sorry for your loss.
Yes, Darlene – “six tears ago” makes this all the more poignant, and it was plenty that in the first place. I always find myself thinking and saying, parents should never have to bury their children, believing it to be the most un-natural and difficult thing imaginable…You have recounted your sadness in a most remarkable way Darlene, using Michael as the intermediary, and it makes the telling all the more powerful. I applaud your courage while my heart aches for you.
…Darlene… you broke my heart… I can’t even imagine how you have managed to live through this… Hugs to you…!
I’m spilling with you on this one, Darlene. By the end, I was in tears. Lovely and sad, sweet and sorrowful. Blessings, for each must be present to acknowledge the other.
Thanks for the heartfelt encouragement. I was trying to think of what is overlooked,, and eventually made my way to the teddy bear. Joy is a choice, to some extent, but this I need to honor Jolene’s memory.
Darlene, you continue to astound me with your poetry. I think I like this one the best so far.
Oh Darlene, this is so heartbreaking. I am sorry for the loss of Jolene.
brilliant typo. Thanks, William
The Little Things
I trudge slowly to the kitchen
Eyes half open and half closed
Now sure how I got this cup of coffee
Or how I ended up in the kitchen
I look down
There’s the reason
Thank you, feet
Blue tooth plays my favorite tune
Wife on the other end of the call
We talk sometimes about nothing at all
Ending all conversations with, “I love you”
Forgetting, of course, to thank
Our ears and voices
Thoughts come quickly, pages pile
Brain on auto pilot, cursor flies
One page, two pages, three and more
Thirty written on reflex alone
Break time, grab the water bottle
Oh, and thanks fingers
You are so fast on those keys
Now I lay me down to sleep
Tired from the hours past
Tired from doing and writing
From running errands and working
Pray a prayer of thanks for everything
Especially those things taken for granted
All gifts passed down from Heaven
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Truly, Earl…and your poem is an honest and humbling reminder to give gratitude for these “small” things. Well written.
Indeed.
Brilliant tribute to so many things we take for granted Earl…nicely done.
Yes.
Marvelous, Earl. Very true and meaningful. We seldom give thanks for these treasures, until we lose one, and even then the others are ignored in favor of the one gone astray. Love it.
[…] for the 3/9/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings to write a “nothing for granted” […]
[…] PROMPT #145 “NOTHING FOR GRANTED” – Our lives are guided by our hearts and logic, and sometimes with both at odds. The influences in our personal domains are as varied as there are stars in the skies. But for every big moment in our daily living, it is the small sparks of life that we seek. Every little thing influences our lives. You are asked to pick something others would consider insignificant and give it its due. […]
Wow ! Y’all have been busy! I am working in the dar on my iPad in a guesthouse near Port-au-Prince so I could keep it from automatically capitalizing the first of each line. Pretend I didn’t.
Dust cloth
Riding in the covered truckbed
Benches lining the sides,
We kept stopping for children
In nearly matching uniforms,
Yellow and navy, the smallest
Wagging his lunch in a Bud Lite
Backpack, his older brother, six
Perhaps, with My Little Pony.
We all scooted closer for our ride
Through Port-au-Prince, horns
Signaling the passing tap taps
And motorcycles. Mountains
Rose in the distance, a sharp
Contrast to the hovels, concrete
Block houses, piles of rocks,
Their Mizpah, an unnecessary
Reminder of the quake. Dust
Covered everything, a weary
Veneer. We considered shopping
Around for foot washing Baptists.
Reaching the tin and cinder lock
Church, before we disembarked
I saw an old pair of gym trunks,
Left behind, I presumed, but
By whom? Then each child bent,
Picked up the cloth and gave
A quick shine to their shoes,
Insistent on theirSunday best.
N. Posey
Wow…Nancy, your way with words astounds, always. You’ve planted such a vivid piece here…I love your closing thoughts. Thank you!!
Brilliant!
… I was Right There… Thank you!!
This is a terrific portrayal, Nancy. A broad scene, with social commentary, all rolled into a poem. It says so much about human resilience and expectation. Well done, my friend.
Ditto Hannah’s comment Nancy…you do have a way with words…this is some fine writing.
Savory Wisdom
An aged woman
Is like
Antiquated wine
Stocked
With sage wisdom
Shaped in a bottle
Processed
Until savory
Slow timed
For delivery
As amber dew
Sherry wine
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Wonderful tribute to the eternal Crone.
lol!
Lovely, Ben…
Thanks Hen!
Wonderful, Benjamin. You do so much with so few words. Good job.
Thanks for the encouragement Claudsy
I agree with William…fine tribute. 🙂
This is a bit of an older, reworked piece but will have to do I think…
DRAGONS AT THE GATE
An unremarkable life, for all that
mine was, and taken for granted just so
Neither rich nor poor but, a good marriage,
great kids; and, ‘we had our health’
After all, you cannot ask for more really
until, you wish you had, asked at least
to keep what you had, or barring that:
Learned the value of it while you had it
Before the dragons, licking ’round the gates,
their tongues of fire, charring
just the surfaces of cells and synapses,
crumbling what was real and what was not
Until, they—the demon stuff of fairy tales
and nightmares—became commonplace
inhabiting most of every day and all of every night
And the stranger in the mirror laughed
Insisted the only way to slay those dragons
was to actually slaughter them. It took
everything you had left to stay their noise,
go to ground, unreachable, for now.
.
“…After all, you cannot ask for more really…” ohh…so…true…!
Well done. A powerful piece, Sharon, leaving questions in the reader’s mind, but too many possible answers to satisfy. A lingering specter haunts the reader of this piece. It won’t be forgotten, easily or otherwise. It carries its own fire for the mind.
Oh yes, it will do indeed! Powerful, poignant, well done, Sharon.
This speaks of such struggle and journey, perseverance and emergence…this was striking to me, “And the stranger in the mirror laughed” I can connect with that. Well done, Sharon…thank you.
This is very rich in it’s expression and imagery.
This is wonderful, Sharon. I love the ‘dragons licking ’round the gate’
Walt, loved your “Simple Pleasures”! And, Hannah, have enjoyed similar “Drive-by (Mental) Snapshot” moments! Thanks for both of these. Running out of time, so posting & hoping to get back later for more.
Thank you!! 🙂
A long-winded (& maybe odd) response to this prompt. Sorry! I was intending to write something more positive & upbeat, but this one just kept nagging me… and it does, somewhat, meet the requirements: “pick something others would consider insignificant and give it its due.”
Judgment
Guilty. He
never saw it coming
(wrong place, wrong time), this
black masked bandit
crept from the dark,
stepped into headlamp glare,
stopped, stared,
rose up and froze, showing only
eyes – glinting light
at the height of a toddler;
too late to brake, insufficient space,
tight swerve, a percussive thud
(thump, lump in gut and throat)
catapulted to the curb;
only a moment of brief relief at the realization –
no child, but a beast, (nightly marauder,
pilferer of garbage cans and bird feeders) –
before traffic resumed,
cars once again passing without pause.
Everyone going somewhere…
else. (Too busy. Too late. Nothing to be done.)
Did any wonder what became of him?
~
Guilty. She
stole things at night,
breaking and entering,
thinking (perhaps), no one would know or care.
It was cold, the house – warm, inviting.
Who would miss this
crust of bread, that
bit of chocolate? But
she was wrong; she didn’t belong here;
her welcome — just an illusion.
The intrusion detected,
traps were baited, set,
entrances sealed.
She was snagged, bagged,
(still clinging, barely, to life),
and summarily disposed of.
~
Guilty. This squatter
did nothing wrong, only
set up housekeeping
outside in the open air,
beside my own back door.
Huge, hairy, scary and
a tad too close for comfort.
Silken lines stretched, spanned
from window to basement bulkhead.
This would never do, so
heavy handed with an aerosol can
(staying a wary distance away)
I dispatched the intruder,
leaving the body dangling –
not bold enough
to approach so close.
~
Regrets came later.
(They always do.)
~
Manslaughter, entrapment,
premeditated murder.
Guilty.
PSC/2014
Ah, Pamela, this is marvelous. You’ve spoken for so many of us. We are intruders into nature’s preserves and wreak havoc on the doorsteps of her rightful inhabitants, never pausing to think of the functions performed by those we see as inconvenience or a nuisance.
Well done on this self-judgment of guilt for humanity. Can you tell that I like it?
Ahhh, thanks so much, Claudsy! So glad you enjoyed it!
Yes… and they usually seem willing to “step aside” for our intrusions…
Your alliteration and sound play are a delight to this poet’s ear!! Your perspective is endearing…I have a soft spot in my heart for the creatures you know. Lovely writing, Pamela…thank you!!
Wow.
So true. It is time we stepped aside, rather than on.
Must pause here for a juried art show. I’ll return later to pick up where I left off. I’m loving what everyone has done so far. 🙂
Signature Scent
Years later, he saw her
snapping a picture
of blooming lilac bushes
in the gardens. Maybe,
he thought, I am mistaken.
So many years had fluttered
away, petals falling
from a rose. He drew near,
and a fragrance filled his
senses. She still wore
that same permeating perfume.
He could never forget
that haunting scent, and all
those memories that went
with it. They would linger
a lifetime.
Ah, well done, Sara. Scent is so powerful to memory and our response to it. Years mean nothing when it reigns. Love this poem and its image/story.
Thanks so much, Clauds.
Oh, yes…those scents conjure up so much…lilac was one I wore for a long time…love that floral fragrance. Beautiful, Sara!
Thanks, Hannah. Your example for this prompt was wonderful. You make a great co-host.
Thank you so much Sara!!
Yes, love it. “He would never forget that haunting scent” excellent.
Thanks, Benjamin.
Mmm, yes… I still wear my husband’s Old Spice…
I love both the poem (“he could never forget that haunting scent”) and Hen’s comment about still wearing her husband’s “Old Spice” – how lovely…
Momma Duck
Momma Duck
contemplates
her own steps.
Then turns
to ponder
the feathers
of the flock.
Here’s the image: http://wp.me/p1OZDf-kG
They are amazing…I love birds.
Perfect poem to go with a perfect photo…
The Nature of the Beast
Poetry
Is
Voice
Skill
Of
Word
Nature
Of
The beast
Flight
Of
Bird
Within
Poetry
Is
Choice
Bouquet
Of
Word
Nature
Of
The feast
Obtained
From
Herd
Ascend
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Such good poems here. Power outage for 4 days until cell phones and laptops died reminded me of small things I so often take for granted. Morning coffee, for example. A hot shower. Hmmm. Another poem? a sonnet this time.
Design
An oak leaf spread and veined like granny hands,
a shriveled bulb that lifts its head a flower,
a pink-lipped shell, a raccoon’s mask and bands,
a woodland stream, a trout, a mossy bower,
a single feather’s weight and will to fly,
a rainbow’s spectrum arched after a rain,
a zebra’s stripes, hawks’ keens, and tiger’s eye,
a sunset’s rose and gold like day’s refrain,
a caterpillar on a lacy weed,
all wild things drinking from a crystal pond,
a songbird’s flit and praise of flower seed,
create a web, a universal bond.
We witness wonders, possibilities,
inducting us into life’s mysteries.
Yes, wonderful Jane. Love your closing lines…. The wonders, possibilities…inducting us into life’s mysteries. And a mystery it is.
Oh! This is Gorgeous!!
Beautiful, Jane. I am bewitched by ‘a pink-lipped shell.’
The rhythm and grace in this poem is so pleasing, Jane…I love the image of, “all wild things drinking from a crystal pond,” beautiful.
A thousand reasons of insignificance
How insignificant
Is a thousand feet.
Clickety-clack
Tap dancing
In cadence…
Piano’s rhythm
In sync to feet.
Broadway’s dapper
Tap dancer:
COMMY THE CATEPILLAR !
Come see now
The pre-chyrsalis show!
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Ben, your work is delightful… this last one made me smile and I recall a joke someone once told… of course I cannot remember all the little details of it, but the ending made me burst out laughing. It was something about an acquaintance of a caterpillar asking it to go for a walk… the acquaintance waited and waited and waited, and finally asked WHY it was taking so long… to which the caterpillar replied: “… wait! I’m putting on my shoes!!” Ha, ha, ha… 😀 !!
That’s hilarious! Lol!
That’s awesome!!! I love that, thank you Hen!! I agree about Ben’s work, too!! A delight. 🙂
Mirror Talk
Caution.
Objects are closer
Than they appear.
The real you,
Is near.
Look,
Behold and ponder,
The true nature
Of things.
Tell me,
What do you see?
Or rather, perceive?
We definitely don’t
See eye to eye
On everything.
But let’s be clear,
there can be only one
Reflection.
Please don’t confuse
Me for a mistaken
Reflection of water.
To cast a stone
Rid yourself
Of reality.
When the ripples dissipate,
The waters lie still,
The true image always returns.
Close your eyes.
Count to three.
This time,
When you open
Your eyes,
See yourself
In a new light.
And just remember…
I’m a mirror,
Not a measuring stick.
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Yes, I’ve been working on mirror-talk…this is spot on, Ben and your closing lines…brilliant!
Poetry: The Written Arrow
Poetry
Insignificant?
Not so.
Voices spent
Gladly,
Hearts in tow.
Pulled by
Written arrows
With ropes intact.
Hauls across
Lands and sea
In fact.
Each reaches
Quick for quiver,
Considers his aim.
Sees the mark.
Says its fair game.
Arrows delivered.
Thrill is the same.
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Irresistible Splurge
Weakness.
Simply
Can’t resist…
The red eye flight
Weighing of word
At high altitude
Musing
Banking
Skiing on cloud
In multitude
Must be…
Weakness of Will
Disease
To pen or quill
Must rise up
Once more
And fill
With word
Ink a thought
And write again
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
HEALTH FOOD
Poetry
Is an extract
Of heart
A solution
An essence read
An organic ingredient
In crafting bread
A concentration
Of thought
Instead
Words wasted
When spoken
Fall dead
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
MOURNING MAPLE
(fun prompt! whew-hew!)
A mourning maple tree;
Attempts to mind
Her manners
When her leaves
Submit to season’s ground,
And She’s left
Exposed to the elements,
Her crown no longer found.
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Forgotten Art
Poetry is art;
Like Claude Monet, lively as Leonardo Davinci,
Pensive Picasso and
Musical composure of Mozart.
Startlingly scenic as Ansel Adams.
Although everything is not black and white,
As it may seem, but as dreams are painted it steam rolls with a barrel of color.
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
HOME ALONE
(a shadorma)
Furry tails
intertwine my legs,
reminding
me I’m not
as alone as my empty
apartment can feel.
[…] Written for Creative Bloomings #145: Nothing For Granted […]
Finally getting a chance to catch up on reading. You people are trying to make my brain explode with all this incredible poetry, aren’t you? 😉 I am humbled to be in your company, all of you!
I’m in agreement, Walt, on all counts!!
:)!!