Once again, it’s been my pleasure to work with a poetic talent who’s encouraging words and support have made a world of difference. Damon Dean, thank you for your wonderful work here this week at Creative Bloomings. Your contributions are appreciated.
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This week, we were “sent to our rooms” to write a memory in detail. And without fail, our poets have responded with their usual passion and flair. Who earned the blooms? Let’s find out:
WALT’S SELECTIONS:
I’m happy to see the return of some familiar names with Janice Sheridan and Nancy Posey back in the fold. And it’s good to see new faces too. Marie is it? Welcome and…what Damon? She used to… We were… never met? Anyway…
My very first read this week stayed with me straight through and for many reasons. First and foremost, it is an expressive poem. And I asked for “total recall”, but… 70 years worth? Vivienne Blake rose to the top for the bloom with her poem, “Total Recall 70 Years On”.
TOTAL RECALL 70 YEARS ON by Vivienne Blake
Beside Chris’s house – my friend who’s a boy,
not boyfriend – a nice distinction –
we had a den, a place safe from adults
where we could be free to live the real life
of our imaginations.
Between high garage and brown plank fence,
we stole the gap under the eaves.
We closed off the chicken run end
with boards, against the smell.
The other end we made a door
of scrap wood and chicken wire –
our entrance to another world.
A shelf to hold our treasures,
piles of bricks made seats
at a tatty thrown-out table
our only furniture.
A sleeping platform, which nowadays
would be called a mezzanine,
cantilevered above the door,
supported on a sturdy post.
A rickety ladder propped against it for stairway.
A pile of new mown grass cuttings our mattress,
fragrant when laid, stinky after a week.
We cooked outside,
behind the hedge by the compost heap,
our fire a secret, so we thought:
dampers of flour and water with a stick poked through
burned on the outside, raw in the middle.
No matter, we spread them with jam
sneaked from the house,
and feasted.
(C) Vivienne Blake, 2014
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INFORM PUENTE:
This form was a pleasure to write. The concept of the “bridge” was great crossing over from one aspect of a thought to another. And it seems our poets agreed with the quality of work reaching new heights every successive week. For my bloom selection, I love the misted morning gentleness in the getaway written by Henrietta Chopin, It’s for mornings like this that poems are custom made!
MORNING TRANSITION by Henrietta Chopin
Water poured, coffee fragrant
Tiny carafe, enough for two
Steamy warmth, Old Spice wafted
Dizzying through, our cozy room
~ Misty drizzle, gone by noon
Sandwiched in, aromatic loaf
Cheeses, a salad, yummy both
Sun tea fresh, enough for two
Breezing through, our afternoon.
(C) Henrietta Chopin, 2014
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DAMON’S CHOICES:
I am so grateful to have been a guest host for this prompt. Wow. Your memories took me places…to Earl’s idlyllic spaces of youthful freedom, through David’s rampant barn-loft adventures, into Paula’s dark-shadowed retreat clinging to dim moon-lit hopes. So many places, I’ve felt like I’ve been on a tour of your souls. I’ve seen mischief, worry, kindness, longing, joy and fear, but mostly endearment.
This tour was so worth the exacting price of having to choose a bloom among them all. In the end, I chose deep longing embraced in paper-thinness. Childhood three-dimensional spaces sometimes seem two dimensional now, except for our emotions for them. So this poet’s interpretation won me over. I’ve read it time and time and time again since she posted it. Marie’s “THERE” took me to a place that expanded, even beyond the space she was in. Stanza by stanza I relished the wonder, surprised to arrive in the present, but awed at the reality of the dream.
THERE by Marie Elena Good
Right there
All alone on the swing
Or cross-legged on the steps
Of the front porch –
The gateway of the inviting country home
With the never-entered door.
Right there
Stretched out comfortably in the grass
Contemplating the blue sky
Billowing clouds
And cool grass tickling my bare legs
On the softly rolling green hills
Gracing the inviting country home
With the never-entered door.
Right there
Wandering the wheat fields
Skipping along the narrow, bubbling stream, leading
To the weather-vaned horse barn
Acres from the inviting country home
With the never-entered door.
Right there
Listening to birds singing softly,
Songs wafting from weeping willows
Reading beneath them
To heart’s content
Yards from the inviting country home
With the never-entered door.
Right there
A beckoning door
To an inviting country home
In a watercolor scene
Papered on our dining room wall,
Right there.
© Marie Elena Good, 2014
(…and if Damon didn’t, I would have! 😉
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InForm – Puente
Okay…the bridges all of you illustrated in this form were of all types–emotional, mental, circumstantial, visual—and I was awed at your talent. As many other guest hosts have realized by now, choosing a favorite bloom is not easy. Priti’s folded-away longing, Henrietta’s soft misty morning, the faith-full leap of Hannah’s vines, and all of the variations above were transitions that made me think and smile and sigh.
In the end, a child’s view caught my eye and heart. Sara (purpleinportland) penned a Puente that rang a bell for me, since I’ve worked with kids so long as an teacher, uncle, father, and grandfather. I’ve observed this flip of attitude and mindset so many times I almost could have predicted the outcome. But that last line clenched it with the expedient lick. I chose Sara’s “Weighing the Pros and Cons.”
WEIGHING THE PROS AND CONS by Sara McNulty
Her parents said she was being punished.
She pouted, shouted, to no avail,
then sat curled up on a chair, determined
not to cry, not to care
~The ice cream truck’s bell rang as it headed down the block~
The state of being punished began to bother her,
leading to a tearful apology. She reversed
her psychology, promising to be obedient,
and oh, the expedience with which she licked her cone.
(C) Sara McNulty, 2014
Congratulations Vivienne, Henrietta, Marie Elena and Sara on your Blooms
POETIC BLOOMINGS 