POETIC BLOOMINGS, a site established in May 2011 and which reunites Marie Elena Good and Walter J Wojtanik to help nurture and inspire the poetic spirit.


Did you, do you have a hobby? Do you have an affinity for a special skill? Please share it.


Alternatively, write about any kind of hobby that you might find interesting.

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  1. WRITING POETRY, by Walter J Wojtanik

    Writing poetry;
    thoughts conceived in the heart.
    Finding life
    in every emotion,
    notions of words to express.

  2. William Preston on said:


    Some birders will go to extremes
    in pursuit of their life-listing dreams.
    They will search all the slips
    for the best of the ships
    just to see the seabirds off the beams,

    for, when birders go out on the ocean
    they’re led by a singular notion:
    that skuas and skimmers
    and divers and swimmers
    be sought out with utter devotion.

  3. Sketching, Baking

    I draw pencil sketches to relax–
    erasing, erasing, erasing. Seldom
    satisfied with my final drawing.
    Animals seem to emerge in far
    better quality than landscapes
    or people. Maybe because
    I prefer them.

    Baking is another way of relaxing
    for me. Rolling out pie dough,
    filling with fruit, pecans,
    or pumpkin is enjoyable. It’s
    a different world of weights
    and measures, neither of which
    I am a part of. And the aromas!

  4. Earl Parsons on said:

    To Be Contued…..

    So much spare time growing up
    Lots of time to ride my bike
    Play ball with my friends
    Go fishing in the summer
    Ice skating in the winter
    And just plain be a kid

    Then came my teen years
    Loved motorcycles and cars
    Then I suddenly noticed girls
    Drive-in movies on Saturdays
    Road trips on Sundays
    Not a care in the world

    Then adulthood struck
    Got a wife and kids and bills
    Spare time almost disappeared
    Except for bowling night
    And golf on the weekend
    Well, some weekends
    Actually, very few weekends

    Hobbies were nonexistent
    Spare time was for family
    Making precious memories
    Band camp and football games
    Working the concession stand
    Concerts and school plays
    Youth group activities
    All for the children
    No spare time for ourselves

    Then out of nowhere things changed
    Kids all grown up and on their own
    The empty next echoed loudly
    It was time for us to do our thing
    But what was that thing?
    We’d been out of the loop for years
    Spare time was strangely odd to us
    But oh, so welcomed

    What to do was the question
    So much to catch up on
    So much to try
    So much time
    But where to start?

    To be continued…….

  5. Hobbies

    Being well round applies to more than my physique.
    I have a plethora of hobbies I tend to each week.
    Jigsaw puzzles to remind me to take one task at a time.
    Writing stories, for adults and kids, and poems that may rhyme.
    Drawing and painting in mostly acrylic.
    To paint Plein Air, to me, is idyllic.
    I’m always itching to travel to somewhere new.
    The places I don’t want to go, truly are few.
    I love to read novels, poems, and memoirs galore,
    And to browse used book shops to see what’s in store.
    I enjoy hiking mountain trails till I can barely move.
    At times I dance when getting in the groove.
    I’m learning to play the ukulele and can play the Hokey Pokey.
    I like to sing around the campfire even if it’s smoky.
    Kayaking in the lake or bay is always is a thrill.
    And riding bikes, I enjoy, especially downhill.
    I like to crochet, mostly blankies for newborns.
    And to brush out alpacas before they are shorn.
    I took a photography class and love snapping photos.
    I like to go snow-shoeing whenever it snows.
    As you can tell, I can go on and on.
    But I best get to bed because I’m heading west at dawn.

  6. Darlene Franklin on said:

    after 24 plus hours of searching for form and starting point, I decided on an etheree.

    Both my present pasttime and a memoir


    quite capture
    Superman’s cape
    with my childish hands
    wrapped around red crayons
    I gave up visual art
    The changeling in my family
    And dove into music and writing
    Loving art, unable to create it

    Till I received adult coloring books.
    I didn’t have to draw, not one line,
    only trace and fill with color.
    Hues I chose applied with brush
    or gel pen or pencil
    I create beauty,
    spread it around,
    cherish it.
    Art I

  7. Loving catching up on all the wonderful writing. Dropping in while I have a unbusy few days…

    My Viola
    My viola
    is a hobby, not a skill
    and like four strings
    I vibrate at the thrill
    of notes on air, that leap from wavering steel.

    From the strings
    I feel them rise,
    a dared escape
    from wavering cold steel
    those long imprisoned criminals of song who longed to feel
    what I felt when I freed them from the strings.

    It’s a hobby,
    not a skill, I say
    but they rejoice, and dance, and fly,
    and breathe and call a burger and hot fries
    in any little border town a feast,
    and celebrate with liberties of joy.

    I dream of them
    when my bow rests,
    laid down beside a silent wooden form,
    a desert brown viola still and warm,
    and whisper as I wake from music dreams,
    “it’s just a hobby,
    not a skill. “

    © Damon Dean, 2016

  8. Where Lies My Interest?

    When I was a child,
    I loved to pretend.
    The “what” mattered little,
    As it was all in the imagining.

    As a young adult,
    I loved to garden,
    Bicycle, and hike.
    The “where” mattered little,
    As it was all in the doing.

    As a now-older adult,
    My passions are to
    Pray, write, and ponder.
    The “why” matters much,
    As it is all in the love.

    © Marie Elena Good, 2019

  9. Hobbies

    I thought I would try cross stitch
    I bought a book, some floss, and needles
    Birds might be the thing to stitch
    I sat for hours, in my house, stitching
    Long into the night until I had
    Completed a wren on a small canvas
    But it did not flit and sing like the
    Pair in my garden
    I thought I would try quilting
    I bought a book, some fabric, and needles
    Flowers would make a fine subject
    I sat for hours, in my house, cutting,
    Piecing, quilting, long into the night,
    Until I had a small throw filled with blossoms
    But they did not fill the space with fragrance
    Like the ones in my garden
    I thought I would try painting
    I bought a book, brushes, canvas, and pigments
    A sunset would be stunning
    I sat for hours, in my house, making brush
    Strokes of yellows, reds, purples, blues
    Until I had a small picture to hang on my wall
    But it did not capture the majesty of the
    Sun setting over my garden
    I walked outside, to my garden where I could
    Hear the wrens singing, smell the lavender,
    And watch the sky change colors as the
    Sun disappeared below the horizon

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