We’re all here because we are creative people. Some of us in more ways than we admit. But none is no more and no less talented than the next. We achieve our own level of “greatness.”

And we flaunt it, as we should. There’s a difference between pride (one of the seven deadlies) and accomplishment. Baseball legend Dizzy Dean was known to say, “It ain’t braggin’ if you can back it up!” More times than not, others lift us up to those lofty standards and sing our praises. That’s the community we have created here at POETIC BLOOMINGS.

The majority of us have established a “blog” in which to showcase our stories or photos. We display our artwork. We proffer our poetry for those so inclined. What do you call your “special place?” What is the name of your blog? What do you call it? That is the title of this week’s offering. Give us the name of the site that touts YOU! What inspired that name? We’d be happy to know that. And for the last line of your comment, give us the URL of this incredible cavern of creativity. We’d like to visit whatchamacallit!

But you may also be saying, “Walt? What if I don’t really keep a blog?” Well, think of what you’d call it if you did? Write what your dream site would be, and maybe we can help you make your dream come true.



They say a picture paints a thousand words.
The pairing of the two gives me delight.
And if a picture paints a thousand words,
Then picture this:  a picture painted write.

The pairing of the two gives me delight –
A complement of image with my words –
Appealing to my mind, and to my sight.
Perhaps a picture paints a thousand words

But here is what I try hard to pursue:
I strive to bat a thousand, with a few.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

My little blog, Pictured Words, may be found here:




The poet’s heart is a sanctuary,
a haven for the emotive side
of life. Love is a common thread.
It is said that love grows
through the eyes of a poet’s heart.

Compassion is expressed in the actions
we perform to the benefit of others
needing its caress. We feel best
when we give to the cause, no applause
through the eyes of the poet’s heart.

Nature sparks our muses, it chooses
who embraces her realm,
at the helm is the Grand Master,
providing inspiration for our words
often heard through the eyes of a poet’s heart.

Also dwelling is the telling
of who we are, from whence we came
and where we’d like to be. We see ourselves,
dusted off of the shelves of life
written through the eyes of a poet’s heart.

Our hearts envision what our eyes refuse to see,
through the eyes of a poet’s heart.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Through the Eyes of a Poet’s Heart @

177 thoughts on “PROMPT #210 – WHATCHAMACALLIT

  1. Love this, Walt and Marie! No one has ever asked me about the why behind my blog, which is called Words from the Heart.

    I called it that because I felt strongly that when we speak (write) from the heart we bless the world. Too often words are used as weapons. One of my first blog posts was about how words can hurt and damage others. I wanted to write things that lifted people up, gave them something to hold onto, inspired them, educated them or simply gave them a moment of joy in an otherwise hectic day.

    I don’t always write poetry on my blog, though. Sometimes it is informative, other times musing. I guess there is something there for everyone who wants to look.

    My blog can be found at:

    Blessings to all!

    • What lovely thoughts. What especially strikes me is “…or simply gave them a moment of joy in an otherwise hectic day.” *sigh* Wonderful! Looking forward to your poem about it

      And this makes me realize I have never followed your blog. I just now subscribed.

    • It true there is a reason behind our choices. I’m sure for most poets/writers that is the case. Although we’ll see the occasional silly or sarcastic title emerge, ours will reflect something about us. Your blog sort of parallels mine as my poems are heart driven as well. I look forward to reading more of your works and will add a link to your blog on our Daisy Chain directory. I’m glad you brought that heart here to POETIC BLOOMINGS

  2. Walt, I love your offering. “Our hearts envision what our eyes refuse to see,
    through the eyes of a poet’s heart” is absolutely who you are as a poet. Lovely!

  3. Hullo.
    I came about because someone whose initials begin b.e. wanted an email that wasn’t full of spam, to connect to a prompt site. One she could give a quick once-over. And be.quik etc was available. voila voila

  4. Pingback: Rusty Midnight Ramblin’s | RustyMidnightRamblins

  5. Rusty Midnight Ramblin’s

    By David De Jong

    My mind tends to ramble in a strange sort of way
    Unless they’re written down the thoughts never stay
    They stir in the silence, in the field and on the trail
    Times it be like fetchin water with a bottomless pale
    Inclings slip out the seams and the sun dries em up
    Until the midnight hour and the brain just won’t shut

    What’s a man to do but write em all down
    With a picture or a verse for a fittin’ crown
    None can cypher like the Good Lord’s Book
    Nor can they capture His creation’s look
    But they tend to inspire an old rusty mind
    Workin’ on its heart while rustlin’ words that might rhyme

    I try my best with the gifts the Dear Lord gave
    All in gratitude for His Son sent to save
    So yes I be a ramblin’ as I carry on
    To tell a cowpoke’s tale, findin’ hope in a song
    And pray as someone reads em it brightens a day
    Whether its mom in the kitchen or dad balin’ hay

    So take a load off, grab a cup, just sit a spell
    I mostly stay calm and heartenin’, and try not yell
    Meet some folks from all over that will stop in to stay
    And a few takin’ the time with some kind words to say
    The door’s always open so come on in
    Find a suitin’ spot and please, come again

  6. Poetry Just for You by Darlene Franklin

    Just poetry—nothing else needed
    It captures your essence precisely
    Nothing states it more succinctly
    The lady compared to a summer’s day lives on

    Just for you
    A personal experience
    You, your memories
    Your uniqueness

    By me
    Because I know you or
    Perhaps I want to know you better
    I love to play with words with others

    Because I must share
    That vanilla ice cream cone
    Or a sherbert-colored sunset
    Or calling myself a bowling ball in God’s hands

    What’s mine is yours
    Some of it for a price

    Not a blog, but my Facebook page:

  7. I’ve Forgotten More Than I’ve Forgotten Forgetting

    I have been one acquainted with the blog.
    I have begun some in fun—and quit in fun.
    I have founded to fog–and pettifog.

    I have set down the sorriest old pun.
    I have bypassed the clear for the obscure
    And done obscure to death. Done, dead, re-done.

    I have slapped words on any armature
    Left the house in dust while I tried out themes,
    Colors and fonts, icons for the brochure.

    But don’t tell me “We’re bursting at the seams;
    you’ve had your fun. The rest is epilogue.
    No new blog for titles, or plots, or memes”.

    Whoa, now. I have more schemes left than fleas, Dawg.
    I have been one acquainted with the blog.

    (Apologies to R. Frost)

  8. Prompt 210 – My Blogs

    From the intro to and

    As a retired Air Force Master Sergeant, a long time Conservative, and a loving family man, I felt the need to open this blog with the intent of stirring the red, white, and blue blood in all true patriots. As a husband, father, son, brother, uncle, grandfather, and friend, I want to let my writings show my love for them and for America. I see the writing on America’s wall, and it’s not good. But, it’s also not over for this great land. If all true American patriots unite, we can save this Lady from destruction. So, with a prayer in my heart and the love of country in my head, I will write on. Be inspired. Unite. And help me save this nation.

    A poem from

    The Veteran
    Often left out
    Often overlooked
    Sometimes forgotten
    Sometimes reviled
    Many times cheated
    Often put down
    Sometimes a nuisance
    Swept off to the side

    Always prepared
    No matter the risk
    Standing for freedom
    Standing for truth
    Ready to sacrifice
    For the common good
    For you and me
    An hero unsung

    Always defending
    Upholding your rights
    On the alert
    For the enemy’s approach
    Ready for action
    Ready to defend
    Ready for battle
    Ready to die

    The veteran waits
    For the country to call
    Duty and honor
    And freedom at stake
    Protecting us all
    With no thought of self
    The veteran acts
    For God, country and you

    A poem from

    Where Hope Finds Me

    Dredging in the doldrums of sorrow and pain
    The past but a parade of badly made choices
    Bad choices that got me exactly where I stood
    At the lowest point in the valley of desperation
    Drowning in the impossibility of resurrection
    From my self-made prison of hopelessness

    Then through the flood of self-pitied tears
    As I stared down for fear of glimpsing doom
    I saw a shadow stretching from behind me
    But there was no sun for to cast this silhouette
    Quickly I turned that I might see for myself
    And I saw; and I fell to my knees in utter fear

    For the shadow grew larger as it came for me
    Close now, its red glowing eyes shone bright
    Black and cold it pointed a bony finger my way
    My frozen soul ached at the pull of pure evil
    Through thought that this evil could be my relief
    My escape from the despair of hopeless misery

    My life flashed before me, the good and the bad
    Then all thoughts stopped at one exact moment
    The day I rejected the One they called Jesus
    I’d pushed Him away and paved my own path
    A path fraught with bad choices, pain and strife
    Bad choices that got me exactly where I stood

    That moment would not depart from my brain
    Would this be the torture I’d carry for eternity
    Reliving the instant I rejected His mercy
    Just so I could do things the way I decided
    Decisions that have turned my life upside down
    Decisions that got me exactly where I stood

    I didn’t need Him then, but I need Him so now
    But, alas, I fear it must be too late to save me
    I’m unworthy, filthy, corrupted and immoral
    A heart of wickedness; an unsalvageable soul
    Not a decent bone in this wasted walking corpse
    I’m not even worthy of an eternity in Hell

    I crumpled to the ground as regret flooded in
    Why had I pushed away the hope of all mankind
    If only I had one last chance to accept His grace
    One chance to set my feet on the righteous path
    Forgive me, Lord, for turning my back on You
    That moment will be my torture forevermore

    Then I felt a gentle hand, softly on my shoulder
    I heard a voice so calming whisper in my ear
    I looked up and I saw Jesus smiling down at me
    He called me son as He took my hand in love
    Tears of joy filled my eyes as He lifted me up
    Hope had found me in the depths of my despair

    Thanks for this challenge, Walt and Marie. This should give us all a chance to visit others sites and peruse their creations. Hopefully it will inspire us all to write more and post more in our blogs. I know I have had a hard time posting, because there is little or no feedback whatsoever, and that, in itself, is depressing. Maybe this challenge will be the start of a blog resurrection. Let’s hope so.

    • I have to apologize, Earl. Your post got hung up in “pending,” and I didn’t notice it until now.

      I’m thankful for your service, and even more so for your love of Jesus. You and I don’t always see eye-to-eye politically, but we respect each other, and that is so important these days, you know?

      Love the passion in your pieces, here.

    • You links to these blogs we’re on the Daisy Chain. I was curious whether they were still active. Now I know. These two pieces are exceptional and the scope of your writing speaks well for both blogs. Nicely done Earl!

  9. Here is my haibun as to the why of my blog:
    The meaning of my Blog: Kanzen Sakura – Haibun

    The perfect blossom is a rare thing. You could spend your life looking for one, and it would not be a wasted life. Katumoto, The Last Samurai

    I was trying to figure out the perfect name for my new blog. I played with names both Japanese and English trying to meld the two together. I was watching the Last Samurai in the darkened theater. I was one of the few Caucasians in the theater – the majority were Asian. I understand the movie did not do well here in American but it was a big success in Japan. When Katumoto said his famous line about the perfect cherry blossom, It struck a chord in me. In the end when he died, looking at the cherry blossoms around him he said, “They all are…perfect”. I decided then that was the name of my blog – Kanzen Sakura – perfect cherry blossom or perfection.

    The Japanese have several aesthetics in their culture which basically dictate how they live. I wanted to incorporate all of the aesthetics into my blog but it was a mish mash in the beginning. I think after six years I have finally found the way – poetry. The Samurai were trained in flower arranging, kendo, swordsmanship, and poetry. Their last act before they commit seppuku is to write a jisei, a death poem. I did not want to write a death poem but I wanted to write poetry, to arrange the words as I would flowers, to cut and sweep with my words as I would my katana. The aesthetics are: mono no aware (sadness at the passing of things), wabi (subdued rustice beauty), sabi (rustic patina or aged), yugen (mysterious grace) iki (mysterious grace), kire (cutting). I strive to this perfection.
    cherry blossoms fall
    to the ground – blown by the wind –
    perfect pink snow

  10. Sheryl’s Sporadic Word Tag

    Hiding in its URL
    is Sheryl’s Sporadic Spurtings.
    Alliteration said it well.
    Sporadic, yes, but spurtings?

    Spurtings contain but little thought;
    they come and go at will.
    Her poetic words will not be caught
    but on her pages spill.

    Sporadic word tag is her game
    as she pursues her meaning.
    Creativity is her aim
    as from ideas she’s gleaning.

    On these pages you will find
    poems both good and bad.
    Some of them may make you laugh.
    Others will seem too sad.

    Sheryl Kay Oder

  11. I’m so glad Walt prompted us to share our blogs and the meaning behind them, if for nothing but this. This is amazing. I had no idea what Kanzen Sakura meant. And I’m embarrassed that I have never heard the quote, “The perfect blossom is a rare thing. You could spend your life looking for one, and it would not be a wasted life.” How lovely, with depth of meaning. “In the end when he died, looking at the cherry blossoms around him he said, “They all are…perfect.” Wow. Just, wow.

    Beautifully penned Haibun, and I especially love the ending haiku. I feel like I just got to know you better, Toni. And I’m better for it.

  12. Standing in Christ’s love, I’m not afraid
    Of wrath that I have earned for what I’ve done,
    Shame’s burden bore to the cross by the Son.
    Though sin beset me, his love was not swayed.
    Standing in His love, I am unafraid
    Of death and sin, for His grace far outweighs.
    Though sin once owned me, His love overruns.
    Now simply in His love I am arrayed.

    Standing in His love, I am not afraid
    of the Perfect One who from death was raised.
    Both hell and heartache Christ has helped me brave,
    healed broken places, raised me from the grave.
    So, I write my weakness and my story,
    praying many see His strength and glory.

    Standing In Christ’s Love

    • SHELLY! Okay, now I’m in tears. Everyone, this is my sweet/dear friend, who inspires me every single day. Every. Single. Day. And has an amazing, God-given writing talent that leaves me breathless. I’m so happy to see you out here, sweet sister! And so glad you are writing poetry now as well! WELCOME!

      This piece touches me greatly, and is beautifully penned. So much grace. So much Christ. So much truth. Standing with you. ❤

      • I don’t see an option to “follow” your blog. Perhaps you want it that way, and that is absolutely fine. I’d love to be able to sign up though, and get notifications when you post something new. No pressure, Shelly. ❤

        • Marie, I have no idea how to allow people to follow my blog. I shut it off at one point, but now can’t figure out how to turn it back on. So, maybe if someone out here in cyber world can help me?

          And thanks for welcoming me. Poetry is a challenge for me, but I am trying to stretch outside of my comfort zone occasionally. 🙂

    • Shelley, thank you for sharing this with us. As Marie states above, you are a natural. Poetry is cathartic and healing. Many of us have come to poetry to find those havens and ease our strife. You are welcome here and you will find us a supportive and encouraging bunch. Marie speaks of your friendship and that is a precious commodity. We tease each other that Marie and I are “ best friend who’ve never met.” I sense you’ve fared a bit better than I have. I look forward to your continued participation here.

      • Walt, thanks for your kind welcome and words of encouragement. Pouring words onto the page is a vise that has kept me sane and sober many a day. Poetry, however, is harder and I am certainly unrefined in my skills – a work in progress. You are right: Marie and I are face to face friends. I know none more loving, faithful and grace-filled than she. I expect that “best friends who’ve never met” have similar hearts. So, I am pleased to “meet” you here.

    • Michelle, so glad to meet you here. How precious is the love of God, that we can stand amazed in it in His saving Son. Love your poem, and like Walt has discovered and Marie attests, you have a natural flow with words.

      • Damon, pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your kind words and encouragement. Yes! The love of God shown to me through His Son is more than my heart can hold. I knocked on the door of your blog and was welcomed by your response to this prompt. What a delight! Your words led my heart to know without my eyes seeing the beauty of your SevenAcreSky – such is what faith is made of.

  13. Enthusiastic Soul

    If you meet me face to face,
    You may have to guess at what I’d say,
    For I usually keep things to myself.
    You may think me down or bored,
    Not excited for the Lord,
    A wall flower or some object on a shelf.

    But deep inside, I’m grinning
    And the wheels above are spinning,
    And my soul whirls about in glee.
    Because I am not alone
    I am part of the Lord’s home;
    His Spirit resides right inside of me.

    Jesus died and made me whole.
    I have an enthusiastic soul,
    No longer bound by sin, but free.
    Someday it might leak out
    And I’ll actually give a shout,
    Till then, it shows up in poetry.

  14. Rhymes With Bug

    Don’t know what I was thinking
    Sure that I wasn’t drinking
    Under pressure to choose
    Name this blog I would use
    To deposit some words
    About moonlight and birds
    Some words funny, some sad
    From a prompt or from PAD
    Does this name rhyme with bug
    Could be mug, snug, or hug
    Truth be told – I don’t know
    Do like the bugs though
    That live in my garden
    So I must beg your pardon
    For causing confusion
    Not providing conclusion
    Leaving you with a shrug
    Or, might I be the bug?

  15. Poem for a Sunday Evening

    Dinner’s in the oven
    table’s set for two
    but the potter’s in her workshop
    turning and tuning the wheel
    spinning and spinning
    ‘til the words are tight
    tumbling and turning
    til they sit just right

    Enjoy the potter’s feast
    and don’t let the dinner burn

    Here’s my poetry blog where I post poems when I can

  16. Remember this one Pard?

    ACROSS THE LAKE, EERILY: A Hand of Friendship

    On opposite shores
    of a stretch of lake,
    an Erie divide where
    the lake effects hide.
    From Maumee, Ohio,
    her dark eyes search eastward
    for the sound of mused
    verses and rhymes.
    And from Sloan, New York,
    his search emanates,
    a westward insemination
    of idyllic thought,
    ever wrought on the
    strength of connection,
    poetic perfection
    an elusive prize,
    but lost in the eyes
    of beholders both varied,
    the beauty that rests there
    is prompted and harried.
    The wonder he sees
    in the heartfelt struggle
    of a mother and wife,
    rapt in poetic nuance and affluence.
    And she awed and mystified
    by a heart mired
    in romantic remembrance
    and comedic absurdity
    written by a hand
    as new to the fight
    as her own nudged
    poetry proclaims.
    Two names, as far
    as they can see
    Walt and Marie,
    plotting along
    to bring the other
    to their next best verse.
    A joining of spirits by
    two veritable strangers,
    posing no danger
    to the comfort their
    sole influences provide.
    The stretch of an extended
    hand of friendship across
    the waters of this Great Lake
    returned in the guise
    of a poetic handshake
    and touching each others
    muse unmistakably.

    Past poems from the “Partners in Rhyme” reside at

  17. Enheduanna’s Daughter

    The first author in recorded history,
    what she wrote was poetry.

    She was High Priestess to the Goddess Inanna
    and also to the Moon Goddess, Nanna.

    She was an activist and social reformer.
    Of course I am – with others – her daughter!

    Thought to have been an Akkadian princess,
    I see her as the Diana of her age, no less.

    On the votive disc we distinguish her
    by her frills, her circlet, her braided hair.

    The men are plainly dressed and bald.
    But all are priests, all walking tall.

    A king’s daughter, with Privilege in her dress,
    she chose a life of constant service.

    In my own small way, I too hope to serve.
    May my ephemeral verses add to Love –

    which keeps the world going round, it’s said –
    and in some way, by being, to honour those dead

    who came before: each determined ancestor
    from whom I claim the name of daughter.

    Down through countless generations,
    through many lost and scattered nations,

    women have fallen, women have risen,
    but we know to use the gifts we are given.

    Enheduanna of the unknown face,
    warrior and healer, you carved your space

    in a world of challenge and diversity,
    as we now make our place. So shall it be.


    To see the votive disc referred to, at my blog: and click on the bars top left.

  18. And my second poetry blog:

    Stones for the River

    ‘Small stones’ are observations,
    pieces of mindful writing –
    looking outside oneself
    for the beautiful, interesting or strange,
    as if on a walk you found a stone,
    brought it home and polished it.

    Satya Robyn called them that
    in 2010 when she invented them
    and invited the world to play along
    every day for a month. The world did,
    creating a river of stones. Some of us
    continue. Mine are verse; it’s what I do.


  19. And then there’s this one:

    The Passionate Crone

    Once upon a time, when MySpace
    was the best place in the world
    for meeting other poets, devouring
    each other’s luscious words,
    Rob Chrysler (he’s dead now)
    posted as a joke an ad for auditions
    of potential porn stars for a movie.

    We poets responded with wicked
    written auditions, all hilarious.
    I signed mine ‘The Passionate Crone’
    (being well past tender years).
    It caused universal delight.
    Some of them called me that
    for a long time after … until

    MySpace died (killed off) and most
    migrated to facebook, which has its uses
    but isn’t the same. (Did, er, Someone
    pay the assassins, I wonder now.)
    I made me another poetry blog
    out in the wide-world blogosphere,
    calling it, of course, The Passionate Crone.

    Recently it developed a mind of its own,
    became intractable. Nothing fixed it.
    Was it just getting old and creaky? Am I?
    Might it be a sign from the Universe? (I know
    I’m too old to flaunt it, but can’t I even joke?)
    It’s now an archive. All things end.
    My new blog is much more dignified.



    I’m a fly-by-night
    working right up to the last minute,
    rewarding the nice
    (I’ve checked the list twice).
    The Mrs. is near with kisses and cocoa.
    She knows I’ll be out all night,
    and she’s alright with it.
    I speak to the fauna,
    no lawn ornaments they,
    they understand this man in red flannel.
    I channel all the greats
    and late greats who have held
    this position steeped in tradition.
    For as long as I’ve been living,
    I find my joy in the giving, The way
    they hear it, the spirit fills me,
    it thrills me to the core,
    and what’s more good golly,
    it keeps me quite jolly.
    The little folk work greatly
    and lately I’ve been seeing
    that their steps are lighter,
    their smiles, brighter,
    their bond is tighter
    than I’ve seen in years.
    Their cheer is contagious
    and their creations are
    outrageous! None better!
    My charges chomp at the bit
    and it is because of them
    I make it in one night.
    I keep the reason for the season
    in sight, and when the flakes of white
    descend, I tend to get anxious
    myself. Me, a jolly old elf,
    taking a deep breath, a pause,
    counting the days. I am Santa Claus.

  21. My blog is called “echoes from the silence” – and the blog address on WordPress is “when words escape”. Not long after I started my blog, I penned this poem (January 2011)…to fit both of those titles…

    for years
    thoughts have gone unspoken —
    my voice, unheard;
    i have longed to put words together —
    to speak, unhindered;
    when words escape me
    i am left in silence.
    by writing,
    my thoughts find words
    and when words escape me
    they are found in
    echoes from the silence.

    My blog (and this poem) can be found here:

  22. A bit of fluff brought on a wind
    now dropped to earth and tucking in
    will one day root and bloom and seed
    unless you recognize a weed…

    Let’s see if I get in here this time. If so, Hello Bloomers!

  23. Color Me Blogless

    Ain’t got no website, got no blog.
    My mind ain’t clear; I’m in a fog.
    Were I a hut, I’m missing boards.
    When questioned, I ain’t got no words.
    I got some dreams and hold ’em fast.
    I try to make each moment last,
    even the worstest ones that come.
    I want feelings to feel at home.
    I reckon I don’t advertise
    ’cause I’d mostly apologize
    for lines that stretch and rhymes that break.
    I’ll forego blogging, for poets’ sake.

  24. Pingback: Purple Pens A Poem | purplepeninportland

  25. Purple Pens A Poem

    Started my blog in Portland
    Now I am back in New York
    Everlasting love of purple
    seeded this blog’s garden

    Writing with a purple pen,
    when a lightbulb lit up
    in my head. Combine above
    and there you have it – a name.

    Sharing poems is vital
    as is the need for hugs,
    even if your have no title
    nor great love of bugs.

  26. Pingback: I AM SANTA CLAUS | I Am Santa Claus

  27. Pingback: What a Hiatus… | SevenAcreSky

  28. Here’s a link to my blog page, SevenAcreSky. I have had quite a Hiatus in the past year concerning my writing. My few followers might not have missed me.

    But as you will see if you follow the link I have been encouraged by the garden opening here again.

    In a SevenAcreSky

    Pines and oaks
    surround the pasture,
    fingering a line that meets the sky,
    a line that cloaks horizons,
    a jagged line of limits for
    the wondering mind and eyes.
    My mind and eyes imagine
    what my heart can only know,
    since eyes and minds prefer the facts,
    but hearts can freely go
    where words can take them–
    and then with them
    thru the open sky
    beyond a fence,
    past now to hence,
    my wandering mind,
    my wondering eye,
    follow my heart
    into a wide blue
    seven acre sky.

    (c) 2018, Damon Dean

  29. Damon, I read of your fence as I look at my own across the way. So glad to see you and other old friends scribbling here. I’ve started a few blogs but ultimately felt no one needs too much of my opinions on any given day. It’s like someone saying, “Say something in Chinese!” Suddenly, I can’t remember a thing. I’ll be a weed here for as long as I’m allowed.

  30. Pingback: On Poeming Online & Submitting Published Work | sasha a. palmer

  31. …and lest we forget…


    Attracted by lingering memories,
    or drawn by a heart felt compassion,
    we come together to fashion our thoughts
    into some semblance of conformity.
    The enormity of that which we wish to convey
    touches the hearts and souls of other such
    thinkers planting their seeds to flourish;
    in poetic bloom we are nourished.
    One to another we join; all invited and welcomed.
    A home for such ideas in the garden of thought,
    where we ought take root and grow
    in words of wisdom and echoes of heart.
    It all starts with a seed, we indeed will bloom!

  32. Another Porch (because the world can never have too many porches)

    Porches are for sitting
    For sipping cups of tea
    For reflection or knitting
    Or reading poetry

    Porches are a haven
    Of blessed quietness
    A place of relaxation
    And home-sweet-happiness

    Porches are for pausing
    To ponder simple things
    To put aside our fussing
    And feel like common kings

    A place to get together
    To watch the shadows fall
    To share in friendly chatter
    Or say nothing at all

    To cherish words like ‘we’, love
    To share laughter and tears
    And marvel at the ease of
    Days soon turned into years

    Porches are for flowers
    For songsters with guitars
    For watching summer showers
    Or cartwheel clowns or cars

    Porches are a picture
    Of the sweet by and by
    When we all get together
    In God’s front porch in the sky

    © Janet Martin

    The purpose of my blog-porch; a place to relax and be poetically
    and/or pho-etically refreshed…

    • Mariya, how lovely to see you here! And such a beautifully haunting poem of the “why” behind your blog name. Thank you so much for sharing it with us! We certainly miss your voice, and hope you can join in more often.

      Marie Elena

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