A sincere thank you to Patricia Hawkenson for her service as my co-host this week. She has continued the excellence that has been provided by our past guests.

Sometimes our dreams are an escape. And sometimes, they can be prophetic. But in our dreams we can do things that aren’t possible in our waking hours. We write about a dream that we’ve had and its effect on us.

And so we pick our “dream team” for the week with our BRILLIANT BLOOM designations:


Dreams can be very vivid “productions” and the wilder the dream, the more memorable. The first poem I honor is rife with imagery and vision and is well expressed. I present this BLOOM to Marilyn Braendeholm (Misky) for “INTERSECTIONS”

INTERSECTIONS by Marilyn Braendeholm

It was a misstep between dreams, 
a clarity between seaworthy swells. 
You and I, long friends of decades, 
we met for lunch — that restaurant 
at the intersection where rain soaked 
pavements fork off in all directions. 

You had minced beef, raw to ruby red 
with green capers rolling off the plate. 
You stabbed at the egg yolk, a mounted
beacon on beef, a raw cycloptic eye 
staring up at me, and it bled fluid gold 
veins across the plate. Everything 

about you was raw that day, and I 
was pained by our static conversation, 
so difficult, so splayed and tough 
to chew, and in between each word 
swallowed, I choked on incomplete 
thoughts. And then came the moment 

when my heart torqued, when I knew
that we had nothing left to say, that
our friendship was like corked wine.
You ordered another glass. Red.
I sucked on ice cubes that tortured 
my nerves, and dissolved to water. 

And I woke, knowing our friendship
deserved more than we’d given it.

(C) Copyright Marilyn Braendeholm – 2014


The Rime Royal has proved to be a popular choice of form this week. And it has rendered some excellent poems. The poet that receives this BLOOM, earns it with a tandem of wonderful words.  Darlene Franklin makes the color blue come alive, and provided a tender tribute on the passing of Maya Angelou.


Today my world is blue and I am blessed
Pastel walls framed with wood and white welcome
Me, dressed in sky blue and sunflowers, guest
Blanket of walnut and fern, rub my thumb
Accents of tropical blooms my anthem
Shower cleanses me behind violet blue sheets
Aqua to robin’s egg, my life is sweet

Darlene Franklin ©2014



Maya Angelou is dead
She spoke for rock, river and tree
Word-wrought spell brought light as it spread

She spoke for nations, worlds and me
Unique yet united are we

No longer caged by mortality
Her song leaps from star to star, free

Darlene Franklin ©2014



I pick Sal’s efforts for my Beautiful Bloom. He offered a trio of great poems with this one as my personal favorite. The gentle image of a garden that holds the souls of our loved ones is comforting, and I have often awoke from such emotional dreams crying those dream tears that stay with you all day.



in a dream one night
I walked in Mary’s garden
where every flower
was a soul at peace
and I stooped to touch
the softest petal
of the brightest red rose

it wore my father’s face
and Mary stooped
beside me
touched the velvet
and smiling said
how happy my Papa was
in this Garden of her Son

when I awoke
despite sleep tears
I could smell spring


(C) Copyright Salvatore Buttaci – 2014


For my Beautiful In Form Bloom, I chose Damon Dean’s efforts, as it speaks to me personally. My own daughter is moving out and on her own, and I relate to the longing of wanting her to see the life lessons we hope we planted in her. Being a poet that struggles with form, I applaud his ability to make the rhyme and meter fit where it should, but not let it become a tool that digs the heart from the emotion the poem should portray.

A Garden Left to Daughters

Well, here…take the rake. The plot is yours. It’s started well,
and it should bring a bounty, having had a gentle spring,
though several times we’ve had a good cold spell.
The squash are blooming, see. And they should bring
you dozens with each pickin’. You can hear bees singing
even now, in deep big yellow blooms. Somehow
we must find ways to save the bees. Somehow.

The vines of the tomatoes, they look good
as well. And if they bloom as hoped they probably
will be your best crop, if the summer’s mood
is kind, and heat holds off till June. We’ll see.
I’ll be longing to be here. I wish that I could be.
Water in the evening, not mid-day, never noon.
You’ll blister leaves, and the pepper plants would swoon.

Weed the okra as you will; I take the grass between
but leave the springy thin small water weeds, for they
are not of consequence, and in the coming days will not be seen.
And cukes—the climbing cukes, just aim them upward. Hey,
the vines, with wind and birds and weighty fruit will sway,
but they know where to go. The sun will play its role.
I have placed the wires, the strings, the poles.

I hope that these thick onions make. They may need space.
Just gently crumble, loosen dirt around their bulbs. I’ve never had
great onions. Still just learning, I suppose. It’s no disgrace
to still be learning, as a gardener, at my age. I’m somewhat sad,
though, to be going on, not having learned to make my onions glad.
But you two, if you aren’t afraid of dirt, can learn what I have not.
You can grow and thrive and harvest life in this small garden plot.

It’s yours. The space, the tools, the fence, the plants, the hose.
I give it up, I leave it here. I can’t regret my dew-soaked socks, nor
blame the sun for burns on days when I’ve not worn my hat. God knows
I’ve learned much on these rows, despite the sweat. And more
than that, I’ve eaten well. The gate, by the way, the gate stays open for
the neighbors. They should share the harvest too. They come late in the day.
I hope I’ve left you all you need. I hope I’ve said all that I need to say.

It’s yours.

(C) Copyright Damon Dean – 2014





  1. Congrats to Misky and Darlene – excellent poeming! I was really touched by your words and the emotions behind them.

    • Congrats to Sal and Damon, too. You guys weren’t ‘posted’ when I first checked this AM. Excellent choices all around!

  2. Pingback: Dreams and Intersections | The Chalk Hills Journal

  3. Misky, I loved your poem, felt the raw pain and loss, and I feel amazed to be in your company. I am shocked. . . but believe in myself more and most of all thank you for your encouragement.

  4. What a lovely group of Blooms this week. And marvelous verse, too. Congrats, Misky, Darlene, Sal, and Damon–four poets who never disappoint and always instruct by example. So proud to see you all in front of the pack.

  5. Thank you Patricia for selecting my bloom among the many wonderful offerings. Congrats Misky, for your urgent confession to neglected friendship; to Sal, for your surreal encounter with joy after loss; and Darlene for showing us that blue is best in colorful context, as well as her tribute to one of our own well known.

  6. Since “blue is my world when I’m without you,” I associate “blue” with depression but here in my room (with the blue walls) it is cheerful. I wanted to bring the joy of blue to life. Guess I succeeded.

  7. Congrats Marilyn, Darlene, Sal and Damon! Great picks! Woo hoo, Darlene, doing a happy dance for you. She’s a poet that didn’t know it.

  8. Connie, you know how I totter between a child opening an unexpected Christmas gift and an insecure writer who fears . . .what? how do I say “I don’t deserve it” without saying “you made a mistake”?

  9. Please pardon my late congratulations (I am out of town) to Misky, Darlene, Sal, and Damon. Great stuff.

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