Wow! I can’t believe I let this prompt languish for this long. The last time we “played favorites” was late May in 2019. “Playing Favorites” is as simple as choosing a favorite poet/poem (world famous or just famous in our own little garden) and picking a line or title of one of their poems and using it as an inspiration for your new piece. Incorporate the line/title into your poem (remembering to credit the source and poet always).



She hosts a host of
concerts of many genres
in her core, daily,

hourly, or even
moment-by-moment. And in
those moments, she’s moved

but she doesn’t move.
Not really.  Oh, perhaps she
sways. Shifts her shoulders

She’s intimate with rhythm.
She knows which music

begs an offbeat tap.
She was likely introduced
long before her birth.

Drum cadence stirs her.
Jazz makes her long to sing. Swing.
Waltz softens her eyes,

behind which she glides
across an icy-smooth floor.
She, frozen in place.

Perhaps she will dance
with moonbeams on the wall, while
the house is asleep.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021

The idea of dancing with moonbeams on the wall while the house is asleep is from “TOM’S BEACH, Scène Fourteen: A View Inside Out,” by our own brilliant Marilyn Braendeholm. 




The days never end but for the longing,
a desire to hear you once more
long after death has closed the door.
A sense of place, a belonging,
but your absence has shaken me to the core,
I wish that I had told you long before

you’ve left this mortal coil as we work and toil
in the place where your voice held us enraptured.
Rest assured that we heard you and held your words dear.
I wish you were still here to express your heart,
to battle fiercely, to pierce through our fog.
The days never end but for the longing.

We had discussions, philosophic rambles on the shambles
the world had fallen into. Of this journey. Across an ocean and far
from eyes that witnessed your failing, to send you sailing
into the heavenly skies. Sadly, you were a fleeting moment
that I had left languishing for too long. Your words were strong,
your passion was fire. You reached me at the right time.

I am grateful for the time we shared, over miles divided,
the days never end but for the longing.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2021

*** The inspiration for this was taken from “O Magnitude” by one of our fallen flowers, and written for Andrea Heiberg



I came across this meme of a quote by Brooke Hampton. It struck me and made me think. We are the sum of all our parts. Our life is like the Chicken Dance. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Think of your situation as bits and pieces and how they had influenced you. To take Hampton’s quote, what places have you been, who have you loved? What song best describes you? Or book quote? Have any interesting adventure or had a very meaningful late night conversation? (We don’t need the juicy details!) Are you mesmerized by the moonlight, touched by starlight? 

You see, we are all a little of everything we’ve encountered. Your poetic voice is another piece. Use it to cover this prompt. 

Now, since I can’t smell, I’m just going to fill my cup and enjoy my coffee, ready to read poetry. Give me a bit…



A Bit Old Fashioned

Words and phrases came,
then faded. 
Some, once fly, are now outdated.
I miss smidgeon quite a lot,
calling gunshot,
knowing squat. 
Sweet pea and hunny bee,
once endearing terms to me.
Clean was squeaky (peachy keen!)
anger, red,
and envy, green. 
Little birds spoke,
cats got our tongue,
we’d go for broke
and hopes weren’t far flung.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020



I live in bits and pieces,
a junk drawer full of memories,
moments held close to heart
that start to fray on the ends
and sends you careening into fits
of rage and bits and pieces.

It never ceases these bits
and pieces of fleece that smell
like her perfume all these years
here after. Shards of laughter
stuck in the rafters of a mind
in which I would come to find

words and scraps of paper,
pieces upon which I had written
skits and bits of humorous falderal!
Post-its hosting numbers and names
gone up in the flames of a pathetic pyre,
a fire that was once desire and is now

not long for this world. A dervish of a girl
spinning in a whirl of dust and debris,
and me ready to steady the tumult,
a Walt at the ready to repair what was
laid bare, a life rife with a smattering
of tattered thoughts and ideas, pleas

for a quick end (please give me a quick end)
and a friend with which to trade barbs
and count carbs as the passage of time.
Lengthy rhymes that were once big hits now spread
as bits and left in pieces of peace
praying for a new lease on these bits and pieces,

or a bigger junk drawer to hold this shrapnel
well meant to be moments held close to the heart.
Always a good start. I live in bits and pieces.

© Walter J Wojtanik


There’s no mistaking the fact, that 2020 was a wild ride. With the constant threat of the Covid-19 virus and the other madness we’ve encountered, it’s time we look for a new direction in this life journey. Certainly, we can all be better people to each other, reaffirm our faith, enjoy life and the people in our realm of influence. We can become better poets and find our betterment through our expression.

But direction is direction. I’m talking compass direction. Choose one and use that as your inspiration for this week’s poem. It could be a direction away from someplace or toward somewhere. It could be something incorporated into a song or book or movie title. Wherever you want to be, there you go!



I put my feet up
and sip down hot tea,
then fall fast asleep.
(That doggone T.V!)

I climb up the stairs
and head down the hall,
then into my bed
I sluggishly crawl.

Too soon I wake up,
‘cause I have to pee.
*sigh* Back down the hall …
(That doggone hot tea!)

© Marie Elena Good, 2021



The end of the line.
Or the beginning. Bringing point A
to point B and all points South.
From an era where the rails rarely failed
and Iron Horses sailed on wings of diesel.
And steam. It was a dream of mine
to have seen those bygone days,
in which architecture was considered art and
tile, leather and chrome found a home for it.
Built up when bottoms were about to fall out,
a bout of depression to serve as a lesson
and trains were the only way to go.
My favorite art-deco stands as a remembrance
and offers a chance to recapture that feeling.
Stealing dreams in the high polished gleam of the time.
But, is the end of the line always
Terminal? Not the end, my friends!

© Walter J Wojtanik


As we nurture our words and poetic efforts, we seek to branch out in all directions in the hope that our modest attempts at poetry touches someone who needs to hear what we have to say at that precise moment. It is why we pen poetry in the first place, isn’t it? And since this is “the best garden for verse (poetry)”, it is fitting that we find strength and inspiration in the stem of our existence. The branch can hold many connotations in nature (tree branch), everyday (bank branch), personal (genealogy – family tree, reaching to achieve).

So this week we ask that you make that stretch and “branch out” into this still fledgling year and begin your new (but rekindled) journey into the poetic process. Write a “branch” poem. Even if you just include the word in a line, you’ve satisfied our prompt!


 (An American Sentence)

When the time comes to branch out, we mustn’t fear going out on a limb.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021



Beverly Dyer's original painting "Cardinal."
Beverly Dyer’s original painting “Cardinal.”

You’re on my branch.
You had the chance to land
here where I stand.
The view is sweet,
tweet, tweet. Tweet, tweet!
We seem to be a diverse lot,
I see across the open plot
of land where groups of us
are segregated. There’s sparrows
underneath the tree,
and robins in the clearing,
some cardinals held aloft,
softly singing their song,
that is the sound we’re hearing.
The talk of hawks does circulate
as they circle high above,
we need to keep the small ones safe,
it’s the tasty ones they love.
There goes “Johnny one note”, his chirp
is so annoying. It is invasive to this place;
and the peace we’ve been enjoying.
The sun, it warms before the storm,
but  we’ll soon be moving on
as seasons change. And one by one
they’ll take to wing, some will remain
to bask and sing, and I will sit
a wee bit more here on my branch –
a chance to just exist; to be.
To see the world from high in this tree.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik



It’s a brand new year. A fresh start, a new beginning. James Brown sang “get up on the good foot!” I say get off on the right foot. We’re heading in the right direction starting today. Some will say nothing has changed except the calendar year, but that’s a matter of attitude and perspective. Let’s take a positive step forward and keep pacing toward a great year.

So, Let’s get ready to launch. We’re blasting off for another great year of poeming here at POETIC BLOOMINGS! Write a LAUNCH poem and set a course for expressiveness!



It’s time to unveil
a new year. Inhale fresh air,
and care for what’s there.

Let my voice take wing
to sing in the key of peace.
May mercy increase

where now there are chains.
Where cold-heartedness remains,
may warmth fill my veins.

Let love with no caps
gush compassion, not rationed
in morsels or scraps.

Make me teachable
and easily reachable
when You wish to speak.

Please help me seek You.
In new ways through this new year,
help me feel You near.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021




We view the horizon,
vistas that beckon us,
calling us, “come walk with us”
a simple destination in this journey
of life’s undertaking.
There is no mistaking,
the master plan from the beginning
that has us winning the race.
A sure and steady pace,
launched one step at a time!

© Walter J. Wojtanik