POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

GRANADA CAMP FOR WAYWARD POETS – “NIGHT LIGHTS OVER THE LAKE”

July 4thHappy Independence Day and Happy Canada Day (July 1)!  We look to the night sky for today’s inspiration. And certainly, neither celebration would be complete without fireworks displays. Write of the lights the night reveals. Fireworks, citronella candles, fireflies, patio lanterns… you choose your illumination.

STAYING ON THE TRAIL

July 3 – IN THE SUMMERTIME (MUSIC)

July 2 – EXPLORATION / BOP FORM

July 1 – ADVENTURE

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112 thoughts on “GRANADA CAMP FOR WAYWARD POETS – “NIGHT LIGHTS OVER THE LAKE”

  1. SMOLDERING EMBERS

    Lifting into the sky,
    a string of flickering light.
    A random path to the stars,
    each pop and crackle
    augments every pinprick
    in the evening darkness.
    The lake is still, reflecting
    each fleck of every spark presented.
    All send heavenward
    until the campfire dies.

    © Walter J Wojtanik, 2014

  2. William Preston on said:

    CAMPFIRE

    Orange flickering;
    crickets snickering;
    embers floating in the sky;
    on this patch of ground
    we sit, all around,
    entranced as all time stands by.

    Fly-sparks greet the night,
    transient, yet bright;
    stars all glitter in surprise
    till morning intrudes.
    Each of us concludes:
    dawn should wait till all time flies.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  3. Pingback: Golden Rain and rockets | Vivinfrance's Blog

  4. Golden Rain and rockets

    The Granada Camp for Wayward Poets prompt today is for a fireworks poem for the fourth of July; theFrench National Day, with fireworks, is quatorze juillet, and there will also be fireworks for the Fête Saint Pierre carneval, in our old village on 12th July and Fête Saint Clair in our new village the following Saturday, so

    We shall feast with fireworks
    all the way through July
    with oohs and aahs
    from most of us
    and Jock will wonder why?
    He’s a firework philistine.

  5. THE LIGHTS OF FREEDOM

    The festive spirit
    hastily ignites a nation.

    Ever burning brightly,
    sightly, without hesitation.

    Rident with red, white, wise barrels of blazing blue.

    Tis famed report; a storied three, yet single mingled hue.

    Benjamin Thomas

  6. Pingback: Imagine | Metaphors and Smiles

  7. Imagine

    Somewhere not too far from here
    there’re lots of someones standing,
    every face is tuned to the heavens –
    anticipation builds as they wait,
    watching for bright things to explode.
    Bouquets of fiery iris’ fill the firmament
    they’re imprinted in mind’s eye,
    I don’t need to see them every year
    I can conjure the excitement in my belly…
    my first sprinkler that overwhelmed me
    and my first view of consuming wild blooms
    etched across the inky sky in stippled light.
    Yes, it’s easy to recall these feelings
    as I lay beneath a summer sheet of stars –
    twinkling distant planets and swell of moon,
    I listen to the distant booms and imagine.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

  8. (Poem w/image: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)

    Serenity’s Flight

    Twinkling solitaire in the night
    Serenity singing in fireflies’ light
    Wandering quietly thru night’s dark plight
    Settling softly on wings of flight.

  9. WHAT DO THE STARS WHISPER

    Do the stars of the Fourth snicker up there
    at the unreasonable facsimile of fireworks?
    What do they whisper to one another
    in their constant galactic orbits in the skies of July?
    We have no idea, and even question
    that stars can speak, but who are we to second-guess the Creator
    of the universe? What do we really know?

    We carry our canvas chairs from the trunk of the Toyota,
    find a place in the Kroeger parking lot
    across from the stadium and wait impatiently for night to fall,
    its darkness devouring the late sun’s shadow.
    “Look at the moon,” you say, “full and bright up there.”

    I look and wonder what secrets hide behind that lunar face,
    How many millions of brave soldiers sucked into history
    Are remembered: grave markets on the pocked
    crater surface. Meanwhile, the celebration has begun.
    A salvo of explosive fire
    Trails a bright ascension into the ebony sky.

    For a moment these fireworks sadden me.
    I’ve seen them on TV in the Middle East
    far above bomb-demolished, body-littered streets.
    Do the stars snicker at our hypocrisy?
    Do they whisper how far we need to go before we reach
    the stellar brilliance of seeing the absurdity
    of bombs bursting in air?

    #

  10. connielpeters on said:

    That’s Progress

    In our country neighborhood
    streetlights appeared one by one,
    so gradually, we didn’t realize
    they blocked the stars
    until we hiked up in the hills
    and there they were pulsing white
    in a black, black sky.

    • Wm Preston on said:

      I hear you, and wish i could see more of them. It took a cross-country trip, and a stop at 3:00 a.m. in southern Utah, for me to realize what I’d been missing. Thanks for this.

    • Darlene Franklin on said:

      Connie, we had similar thoughts. . . loved your poem

    • I understand this one all too well, Connie. It’s amazing how we believe we need all this light to see where we are at night, when the only time we can really appreciate our real location is when the lights are turned off. Well done, my friend.

    • I can see them blinking on and also the brilliant contrast in your closing…well painted, Connie!

  11. Pingback: Campcide Tales, Day 4: Shriekacide | The Chalk Hills Journal

  12. Campcide Tales, Day 4: Shriekacide

    It was a splendid unravel across the stars,
    more like dream with no need for ciphers
    or keys to translate. For that brief moment,
    I thought I knew my place in the world,
    thought the sky full of stark-nights and stars

    was a venerable stage. I was of that age,
    being strong and active, and assuming
    every door was open to me. I stretched
    out long and broad, fancied myself
    filling the sky …

    and then Janie Lee Potterhouse came
    plodding out of the woods, growling
    like an old drain and holding a torch
    under her chin …

    I screamed.
    She screamed because I screamed.
    We all screamed.
    It was a shriekacide.

    Yes, I really hate camping.

    ~

    http://miskmask.wordpress.com/2014/07/04/campcide-tales-day-4-shriekacide/

  13. janeshlensky on said:

    Rival Lights

    The stars look down with some disdain
    and sneer at transient displays
    of light that burst and fade away
    so fast that people dare not blink.

    Perhaps the fireworks make them sad,
    remind them that time has a way
    of easing all the universe
    toward a dark and empty space.

    The bursts of fireworks, red, white, blue
    (if truth be told) must make them smile
    for they know when the day is through,
    they’ll light our way a longish while.

    Tomorrow night we’ll crane our necks
    for dippers and Orion’s belt,
    and point in awe at falling stars
    who served us well, then slipped away.

  14. Electric Illumination

    Flickering flames
    from the campfire
    licking at the inky darkness
    trying to invade your space.

    Blinking lights
    in a field of fireflies
    dancing along the
    edges of your thoughts.

    You douse the flames,
    the fireflies settle
    and you tilt your head skyward
    to watch the electric, colorful power
    of a man made lightning show.

    Why savor one, when you can savor them all.

  15. Priti on said:

    SINGING FIREWORKS

    Fireworks, stirring songs
    of freedom, twinkling in the sky
    Chromatic swirling darts
    ignite golden thoughts
    which zoom like melodious acrobats
    applauding, — kaboom!

    Historical rainbows
    serenade the night
    Silvery waterfalls
    crescendo across the moon
    painting my Baroque imagination
    with loopy, happy tinker bells
    and liberating fairies
    Allegro heartbeats shimmer
    and chant with the stars
    Buzzing bee-lights and fireflies
    whistle smoky somethings
    Merry-go-rounds twirl mezzo curls
    of timbre-d time
    for ages 2 — to 92

    These radiant, crafted, gymnasts
    own the night today
    Each one rising,
    flowing and growing
    then, falling deep into nowhere
    just disappearing into thin air!
    making its own Capella
    that fills the silence
    with lingering silhouettes
    As we drift away
    wrapped in adagio chords–

    • Wm Preston on said:

      I’m entranced by this piece, especially by the reference to Capella. I understand the allusion to music, but the capitalization calls to mind (for me anyway), the binary star, Capella, in the constellation Auriga, lending an extra bit of ambioence to the lights you see and hear.

    • A masterful read, Priti, with its own swooping and soaring cadence. Well done with sensation in image and notes.

  16. Darlene Franklin on said:

    It’s past noon on a holiday. For whomever is here, here are my thoughts:

    UPSIDE DOWN SKY

    Not so long ago,
    Black velvet nights shown
    Stars and moons, from new to full
    Camping meant darkness
    A single candle
    Welcomed wayfarers’ visit

    Now, twenty-four hours
    Glow from pole to pole
    In homes, on cars, at airports
    People in planes look
    To earth for their light
    Stargaze at upside down sky

  17. ILLUMINATING SOUVENIRS

    Tiny gems sparkle in black mountain skies,
    a backdrop for flickering fireflies.
    Campfires blaze in a dazzling display.
    Burning “Off!” candles keep mosquitoes at bay.

    My eyes still reflect all the shimmering light
    from our tiny campsite on one bright summer night.

    © Susan Schoeffield

    We’re off to our next vacation adventure on Sunday, as soon as the cat and house sitter arrives. Have a safe and relaxing holiday and a poetically-filled week!

  18. Pingback: Illuminating Souvenirs | Words With Sooze

  19. Midnight at the camp counselor’s parking lot

    We tried to be as quiet as we could
    Though the air trembled with hidden rustlings.
    From the darkness a sleepy croak, the sound
    Of someone clearing his throat, a basso
    Profundo grunt
    Many little plops
    As small things tumbled into the water.

    It was not completely dark. The moon had set
    Bur the stars surrounded us with trails of glory.
    All different sizes, small and smaller and tiniest
    Imaginable or was it just a pin prick in the sky?

    Once whole constellations of learned astronomers
    Had names and measured every heavenly light.
    Some of then, perhaps, searching for
    The angels dancing on the head of pins.

    But not now, not in our modern superhighway
    In the sky – Rockets pierces the star-dust clouds
    And what they found was hardly glory
    But only old arrangements of the elements of earth.

    We sat in the silky grass. We talked of common things
    Our horizon interrupted by a plane, its red lights flashing.
    Soon the searchlight from the airport had it in its grasp.

    So much for straying far away. Earth is home
    and here is where we stay. Together now, our pledge
    beneath the stars, on my finger comfortable, your ring.

    • This is lovely, Marian. Well done. I like this story, and its wandering loop of meanings that come back to culminate in that single, final word. Very nice.

  20. Freedom to Blow Up Stuff

    A grocery bag full of goodies
    Dropped a few bucks at Shelton’s
    Gonna’ light ‘em up after the fireworks show
    When we get home from the park

    Roman Candles, tanks, and firecrackers
    Sparklers and sparkling showers
    All lit with everlasting punks
    Keeping the neighbors awake tonight
    But it’s the 4th
    Independence Day
    A time to celebrate our freedom
    Our freedom to blow up stuff

    Just hope we have all our fingers in the morning
    Don’t you know

    © 2014 Earl Parsons

    • Nice to know the reasoning for the mania of fireworks, Earl. I’ve always wondered what the draw was. 🙂 You’ve explained it in such an entertaining way that I smiled throughout. I grew up where they were outlawed, except for sparklers and then even those gave way to the law. It’s different now, but kids seem to have the same drive as so long ago. Thanks for the memory.

  21. In response to “Fireflies in the Garden”, By Robert Frost

    Fireflies in the Summer

    Stars dot the evening sky above, combust
    in fiery, swirling, clouds of gas and dust,
    twinkling carelessly in heartless beauty
    (and invite our fondest wishes come true)
    but never yet I think made a child laugh
    like fireflies in the summer always do.

  22. I couldn’t get to this earlier today. Hope you enjoy it. We’re staying in tonight. Too many tourists and craziness going on to brave streets and roads.

    Always Wait for the Finale

    Streamers and screamers
    blasted through air ripe
    with excitement.

    Crowds vocalized,
    rose with anticipation
    of colors splashed across
    a midnight curtain.

    Who would’ve thought
    a rodeo ground could
    sport such visual delight?

    But there we were,
    penned, like so many
    broncs and battered bulls,
    seeking sky lights once more.

    By finale, we were drained,
    expectations spent,
    dreaming of beds instead.

    That’s when perfection arrived,
    with blazing, waving flag,
    eagle, Statue of Liberty amid
    pinwheels and giant sparklers.

    Memories contained it all,
    sights, smells, laughter and
    The Star Spangled Banner.

    • I have to chuckle a little to see the people as a herd like that and the dreaming of beds instead!! Ahem…much how I feel about it really! I love this, “colors splashed across
      a midnight curtain.” unique way to state it, Claudsy! Well done!

  23. Fourth of July Light Show

    The lake outside our window
    mirrors a different sunset every night,
    the ridge of mountains sometimes clear
    as paper cutouts, other times, obscured by clouds.

    Tonight we watch at nightfall,
    as boats make their way upstream
    then stop and wait, watching skyward
    for the show to begin, their twinkling lights
    a prelude to the lightshow they know to expect.

    This one day up and down the lake,
    policemen turn their heads, ignoring breaches
    in the laws that govern fireworks, parking just close
    enough to enjoy the show, to keep an eye out–just in case.

    Once the fireworks start, a call and response
    between neighbors, each trying to top the last blast
    in blast and brightness, in color and height, boaters cheer
    and squeal and gasp along with the folks standing on the shore.

    And sometimes we look down, away
    from the sky, to see the little lights on each boat,
    like a mirror reflecting the illuminated nighttime sky,
    disappearing just as quickly once the fireworks show closes

  24. Lovely scene you’ve shared, Nancy. I lived on Flathead Lake for a long while and could watch the various towns along its shore compete with each other and the islands in the middle, to see who could make the most reflections on the water to delight those watching their shows.

    Well done.

  25. Candles

    Flicker in darkness
    candles glow
    throwing pink
    and purple shadows that dance
    elongated shapes.

  26. MAN ON THE MOON

    Does the man
    on the moon
    cry for us?

    Does he hide
    his phosphorescent face
    behind stiff hands

    and wonder why
    he must always
    light the way?

    Does he face
    our blue world
    and lean away

    wishing he could
    hide from our
    stiff smiles and

    wandering eyes, wishing
    man could see
    his own light?

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