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 – SENSORY OVERLOAD

July 13 – Again we’re on the nature trail. Your senses are bombarded and you experience each one. Write to your senses as we walk the trail. What are the scents? Scenes? What do you hear? Write your poem in five stanzas highlighting your walk through Mother Nature’s playground one sense at a time.

 

STAYING ON THE TRAIL

July 12 – PICTURE PERFECT

July 11 – BOY CAMP / GIRL CAMP

July 10 – CAMPFIRE

July 9 – FOLLOW THE LEADER

July 8 – POET CAMP

 

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86 thoughts on “GRANADA CAMP FOR WAYWARD POETS – SENSORY OVERLOAD

  1. Sensing the Trail
    (a haiku string)

    Through the woods I walk
    Taking in Mother Nature
    Such beauties I see

    I close my eyes tight
    My nostrils become portals
    Pungent pine needles

    Up high on a branch
    A mother feeds hungry mouths
    Chirping from the nest

    Moss on the north side
    Like a green coat in winter
    So soft to the touch

    Next to a cold stream
    Fiddleheads grow wild and tall
    Cooked, buttery bliss

    © 2014 Earl Parsons

  2. EVENING WALK

    Distant view
    of trees and pastures
    now obscured by waving maize.

    Remote hum
    of main road motors
    muffled by beloved birdsong .

    Inaccessible roughness
    of thick bark on oak trunk
    untouchable high above the bank.

    Sweet flavour
    of luscious blackberries
    lingers long on my grassy walk.

    Insistent perfume
    transports rosy thoughts
    from some secluded garden.

    With pictures: http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2014/07/13/evening-walk-2/

  3. Wm Preston on said:

    A TREK IN THE WOODS

    The very air is sweet and dense,
    full of wondrous scents I sense;

    the clear stream begs that I should taste it
    and not be tardy, lest I waste it;

    the bark of evergreens is much
    too mossy-wet for lingering touch

    and all the trees are full of birds
    whose songs translate the forest’s words.

    All about, the green I see
    is laden with love and piety,

    the kind no church can ever know,
    for they are closed to things that grow.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  4. Pingback: Campcide Tales, Day 13: Loonacide | The Chalk Hills Journal

  5. Campcide Tales, Day 13: Loonacide

    Loonacide

    The next morning strained.
    We were the slow rise of sun
    Along the edge of bloody
    bedlam in the forest. Birds.
    Birds filled the air with noise.

    Janie Lee swore that silence
    Took the heat out of the day,
    So we stood still as sticks,
    Begging the birds to shut-up.
    But we could see now – sleep

    Was a twittering deception.
    That much was clear; the heat
    Clung about us, then swallowed.
    We came stumbling into morning
    From hard exhaustion, racked

    From lack of sleep, and creaked
    Into stiffness as we bent double
    Over the creek in slow jolts.
    Extreme effort just for a wash.
    We were a stiffened hobble,

    Expected to walk again today.
    It was creakacide.
    Bent-into-a-pretzelcide.
    Only Janie Lee still loved camping,
    And she was a committed loonacide.

  6. COMING TO OUR SENSES

    Treasures of rich green leaves
    discovered in tall oak branches
    and on paths sprouting underfoot
    dazzle the eyes of campers.

    Forest creatures delight
    in summer harmony with songs
    that add rhythm to hiking steps
    of campers on the move.

    Oh, and the sweet fragrance
    of flowers along the pathways!
    Scents of multi-colored petals
    please camper passers-by.

    A still life? No, the wind
    rustling tree leaves and the flowers.
    It swirls its breezes around heads
    of campers cooling off.

    The call of the campsite
    is the ping of the triangle.
    “Lunch is ready! Let’s hurry back.”
    Campers relish hot dogs.

    #

    • Wm Preston on said:

      I love how this poem brings me back down to earth, figuratively, that is. It is a celebration of Earth, though, in my view.

    • “Campers relish hot dogs.” They do indeed, Sal. This is such a lively sprint of stanzas, rushing the reader along the trail to the treat at the end. Nice one.

    • connielpeters on said:

      I like how the mention of campers in the last line of each verse ties the poem together.

  7. connielpeters on said:

    Alaska Rainforest

    Retired mossy logs recline
    on spruce and hemlock-covered hills
    amidst oceans of ferns and green leafy plants
    while rivulets of water weave through stones
    and pale blue sky peeks through treetops.

    Whooshes of wings, patter of claws,
    scrambling hooves, raven cries,
    rain falling through leaves,
    whispering wind through woods
    make a melody, calming the nerves.

    Sweet and tart blueberries,
    seriously flavored blackberries
    and wholesome taste of juicy gooseberries
    seem to dance across the tongue,
    while we tramp through forest.

    Underfoot, the uneven ground, a combination
    of rocks, moss, pebbles, sticks, pine needles
    trigger country memories preceding sidewalks,
    while a cool breeze sweeps across my sweaty cheek,
    and my pack weighs heavy on my back.

    Luscious lively greenery,
    earthy decaying leaves and dirt,
    tangy pine needles and fragrant wild roses,
    with a touch of animal feces and wet fur
    quicken my spirit and energize my steps.

  8. RJ Clarken on said:

    Breathe deep…
    honeysuckle
    aroma fills the air.
    I’m intoxicated; in love.
    Hiking…

    ###

    • Wm Preston on said:

      The use of “honeysuckle” and “intoxicated” gave this poem a rolling, swaying feel,m with a faint echo, in my mind. The former reminds me, also, of orange blossoms. Thanks for the memory.

    • You’ve obviously been walking in Oklahoma, RJ. That’s almost all you can smell in places there in the summer. Good one.

    • connielpeters on said:

      Can almost smell this one. In a good way! 🙂

  9. SUNRISE, EARLY MORNING

    Quiet. Serene. Soft and gentle
    calling to the soul seeking refuge,
    solace in the silent sanctuary.
    It’s a feeling that rises up, touching
    every fiber of your being.

    As the sun rises, you are seeing
    things in the light of a new day, another
    way to capture the beauty of a world
    left to your own devices, It is nice
    that the vision of that first sun, shines through.

    You fill your lungs with as much fresh air
    as you can inhale and without fail, the scent
    of the pines brings a tear for it is here
    that the world began. Your heart beats
    more true as you stand and listen

    to the awakening that began
    with the rays of the sun as it raises its hands
    to glorify all that it touches. A symphony
    of avian arias and woodland creatures
    alerting the world they have arisen.

    There is a sweetness that exists in nature,
    a honeyed palette that quenches your thirst
    and satisfies your hunger for each new day.
    You savor the flavor of what your senses reveal.
    You believe this is the most alive that you will feel!

  10. My first instinct for this one was a flash of image from long ago when I lived in AZ. So here it is.

    Matter of Perspective

    Some say deserts are deserted,
    Though they may be misinformed.
    If one sits quietly for a moment,
    Life’s sights and sounds will penetrate;

    Chirrups by Gambel quail, their purple topknots
    waving, scuttle between clumps of cat’s claw
    and manzanita, and snuffling and rooting
    can bring alarm with collared peccary close by,
    Called skunk pigs by locals for nasal reasons.

    Among the saguaro blossoms ringed
    Above on arms’ ends, Mexican bats
    Feast during their migration, though
    Only by moonlight and when tiny owls
    Have vacated nests for personal feeding.

    Dust-scented breezes slide hot across skin;
    Careful with your hands when leaning back,
    Tarantulas and scorpions can take offense
    And can cause pain and suffering as
    Easily as a sidewinder’s strike.

    But beauty’s golden prickly pear blossoms
    Turn to magenta, nectar-filled pods, jelly-
    Making ahead for those willing to harvest, as
    lizards scurry and horny toads do one-act plays
    To kids’ delight in a sunshine state of mind.

    No desert is deserted except by those unaware.

    • Wm Preston on said:

      Excellent, and spot on. The last line is superb; it takes me back to the Mojave, which is a veritable oasis compared to the Sonoran.

      • That’s so true, William. We lived in the Prescott area and had all four seasons. One Good Friday, we woke to 28 inches of snow on the ground, believe it or not. And we lived in town. The measurement did more than amaze us. It took all day to get up the hillside drive.

        We learned so much living there and by watching the natural world around us.

    • Oh, Clauds… you took me back to warm memories ❤ !! (and in AZ, I am also reminded of the citrus blossom fragrance that William spoke of {above} 🙂 !! )

      • Thanks, Henrietta.
        We only got that fragrance when we ran down to Phoenix. And then many of the groves have been ripped out and all we were left with was the bitter oranges along the highways.

        There are many things I still miss about living there, as much as I love living here. Glad you liked it, Hen.

        • Oh, so sad… change can be. We lived in Tucson, though I haven’t visited there in years, so I wonder how much it has also changed.

          • If you went back, you’d have to be prepared for major changes, Hen. Throughout the state. If you know the Phoenix area at all, you wouldn’t be able to tell where the lines are drawn from Apache Junction to the east to Glendale to the west. It’s nuts down there, and the freeways were getting worse by the day when we left in 2001. We hear it’s worse now.

        • Wow, yes, I believe it!

    • connielpeters on said:

      I’m glad you wrote about the AZ desert. My kids live down there now and I enjoy seeing the scenery on my visits, so different from everywhere else.

      • So glad to remind you, Hen, and William. Those who see only sparseness and desolation in the desert haven’t looked very closely or they’ve been out in the heat of the day and missed all the really active hours of early morning and late evening. 🙂

    • Such beauty of nature I this poem, Claudsy. Your last line is a true gem.

  11. One with the Earth

    Hiking –
    I stop on a slight rise
    and just savor the views…
    drinking in the lush green beauty of the forest,
    speckled with brown trunks
    and covered with an umbrella of blue so pure
    even the clouds are chaste.

    I absorb the rustling
    of the breeze tickling the leaves
    and teasing my skin,
    as the happy chirps and whistles
    of the birds sing me a melody.

    I move on
    leaving behind the crisp, fresh air
    for the heavier scent of the forest;
    earth, decaying leaves and logs –
    pleasant, natural smells
    which make you glad to be alive.

    I pause for a sip of water
    from my canteen,
    crisp, cold and clean –
    always surprised how much better
    everything, and I mean everything,
    tastes when outside.

    I reach up
    and touch a tree trunk
    heavy with grooves,
    rough but not hurtful
    as I maneuver around the tricky trail
    and I have and overwhelming urge
    to hug this tree –
    just so thankful am I
    to be here, sharing this place and moment…
    feeling so alive.

  12. Darlene Franklin on said:

    (do cinquis need titles?)

    I see
    Leafy sky
    Tiny pink blooms
    Scissor-tailed flycatchers
    Color

    I hear
    Burbling brook
    Whispers of wind
    A whippoor will’s call
    Silence

    I touch
    Rough tree bark
    Spiky tree leaves
    Branches smacking my face
    Scratches

    I taste
    Raspberries
    Icy water
    Raisins, nut, chocolate
    Content

    I smell
    Cool, fresh air
    Pungent fir trees
    The moldy forest floor
    Essence

  13. Awakenings

    After the frost has left the ground
    Raindrops sing a welcoming sound
    Stirring old memories from their sleep
    Dreaming through the winter deep
    As our universe turns once more around.

    Spring beauties with their fragile stems
    Open their tiny bells again
    Hatchlings hop on trembling feet.
    Minnows dart and puppies greet
    A new-born world of tiny friends.

    Through darkest night the stars we see
    Gleaming down from homes heavenly
    Mother moon and father stars
    Help to protect those near and far
    While sun shines down so gloriously

    Deep thundering booms might make us hide
    From piercing raindrops on wild rides
    Storms will bring us water sweet
    Turn hardest rocks into sludge and peat –
    Time and again, earth will abide.

  14. Priti on said:

    A meandering walk

    Hesitating, I enter this lively world-
    Watching its netted patient swirl
    The wrestling leaves are having fun
    Swaying, spraying the peeling sun

    The creek is singing, skipping a song
    Continuos, yet changing, its beat, to the gong
    Some rocky banks, like Humpty’s wall
    Stand guarding, churning, crystal falls

    A happy pill was mixed in there
    For us, to breathe this moistened Air
    The smell of earth so rich and lush
    That ebbs and flows, stroking nose buds

    The berries sweet, in leafy twine
    A minty freshness full of wine
    For feet or wings or crawly buns
    There’s something here for everyone

    A peekaboo sun caresses with care
    The dance of shadows questioning glare-
    Maybe tomorrow I will deepen my stare
    There is so much more I’d like to share

  15. Beautiful, everyone!!

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

    Glen

    A fragrance lies in hollow’s den
    Inviting us, return again

    To breeze that touches faces when
    It winds its way through gorgeous glen

    And dew drops taste as fresh the well
    That bubbles up when streams dispel

    A song of gurgling, flowing quell
    Among the rocks, in soothing spell

    That softens eyes passing within
    The richness shared inside the glen.

  17. Wilderness Willies

    Something scampered past my feet.
    Before I did a quick retreat,
    I spotted a rabbit, petite athlete.

    Oh no! I heard a horrid shriek,
    like a horror film door that squeaks.
    Oh, it was just a bird with enormous beak.

    Did a strange creature touch my arm,
    to bite or sting and bring me harm?
    ‘Twas just a twig, a false alarm.

    A foul odor assaulted my nose.
    Was something dead? My feet froze.
    A kid eating cheese that smelled like toes.

    Let this hike end, I prayed for rain.
    I had no taste for this terrain.
    Let me go home to pork lo mein.

  18. Pingback: GRANADA CAMP FOR WAYWARD POETS – IT’S RAINING | CREATIVE BLOOMINGS

  19. Pingback: Follow the Dune Twisted Trail | Metaphors and Smiles

  20. Follow the Dune Twisted Trail

    Track the sea seasoned whiff
    relish in the rose-wild gift,
    sand and tall swaying grasses
    beckon with an alluring aroma.

    My soul croons the tune
    of the ebb and flow ocean
    with a gentle crashing cadence,
    I’m carried by the shrill call of osprey.

    Becoming pebble led
    my feet read the braille
    of a rock speckled shore –
    it leads the stone-storied way.

    There’s a brackish flavor
    and taste buds savor it brightly,
    lungs greedily gulp salted air;
    I’m satiated and awakened.

    Eyes delight in a pink-tinged sky and the parallel line
    where the endless horizon meets a boundless ocean.
    Abundant womb of blue births countless creatures
    and heaven holds the means for balance and gravity.

    This scene’s perfected by an ivory sphere – it’s kissed by a sand dollar moon.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

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