Poems are made by fools like me,by Joyce Kilmer
But only God can make a tree.
I am channeling Joyce Kilmer, as you can see. His poem “Trees” was brought fully to mind. The weather the other day turned downright surly. We had experienced the most violent thunderstorm that I can ever remember. Monsoon winds, zero visibility. Thunder and lightning.
Lightning. It found the tree behind the back fence on my property. Branches ripped away from the trunk. A forty-foot limb came straight down to embed itself a foot and a half into the ground where I had been working thirty minutes earlier. Such destruction … poor tree scattered all over my tree-less yard.
Of course, I don’t blame the tree. I stand in defense of trees. And so will you. Your poems this week will be tree-centric. Write about a specific tree. A tree from your youth. There’s pastries, pantries, poetry, carpentry … any tree will do. Spread your limbs and write of trees. Mr. Kilmer said it best.
branches sing with birds
beg me bask in their cool shade
unlike palm thingies
© Marie Elena Good 2022
Can you tell I love being a northern gal? 😉
LAND OF TWO TREES
Tall and thickly rooted,
an “orchard” amidst a garden.
The hardened immigrant toils,
muddied soil his base,
and his face is ruddy and worn.
He had been removed
from the home country he knew trans-
planted between two trees
shading his vegetable patch.
Tall and thickly rooted,
the gardener stands amidst his garden.
An apple tree reaching,
arms raised in prayer beseeching
for a fruitful yield. Across the way
plums, purple and regal.
Leathery hands gripping a hoe,
a “Hokka” he calls it, chopping
and tilling clods of dried sod.
Plans for tomatoes, potatoes,
beets and cucumbers
and a number of other plants.
Bandanna flailing raised to brow
mopping the flop-sweat
under the noon day sun, baking.
A curse in his mother tongue,
chopping against bark to free
the mud held tightly. Releasing
his place of birth for a new home!
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik - 2022
Can you tell i love being the son of a Polish immigrant who embraced America for all it had to offer and who offered all he had to give to have that life?
Temperatures are drifting into the temperate zone of late. The heat is certainly on. so we’re writing the heat in a very cool way, through poetry. Write a hot poem, a heat poem or a poem about someone under pressure. It is the heat of the moment! Write it!
Their heated discussions uniquely
would get fired up indiscreetly,
(no warmth in their tone;
like bone against bone)
yet somehow they’d cool it down treacly.
© Marie Elena Good 2022
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY WALT, AND ALL THE DADS AMONG US! ❤
ICE PACKS AND HEATING PADS
The yin and yang of aches and pains,
weapons in a constant war!
Where medications miss the mark
I hearken for these modalities.
Not a finality by any stretch,
but, it’s good right now, right here.
And right here and here.
Heat it up and chill it down.
It satisfies this aching clown!
© Walter J. Wojtanik - 2022
Playing off Walt’s lyrics prompt from last week, let’s take a sad song, and make it better. Take something that is a downer (song, poem, book title, movie, etc.), and put a hopeful twist on it.
“One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.” ~Three Dog Night, 1968
They say one’s lonely
but that’s a tune we can change
if we are all one.
(c) Marie Elena Good, 2022
I will send you a bouquet,
a flourish of words sung
to our shared melody.
Romance set to music,
words of love to placate the soul.
A lyric blooms, filling our room
with a fragrance meant
to seduce you, entice you
to love me, make you hate
to leave me. Believe me,
I will bring you flowers.
I will sing you love songs.
"You Don't Bring Me Flowers" sung by Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand
(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2022
We are all affected by music in one way or another. And whether we appreciate the melodics of it all, a good lyric touches a chord (see what I did there?) and has a way of sticking in our craw. Think Finnegan, and begin again! But, be it Ira Gershwin or Lennon and McCartney, a lyricist is a true poet. It is where I cut my poetic chops.
So, think of a lyric you enjoy, or listen to some music and cull a line to use in your poem or as your inspiration. Credit the source. Music doth have charms. Let it speak to you!
“Why should I gain from His reward? I cannot give an answer. But this I know with all my heart: His wounds have paid my ransom.” (From Stuart Townend’s How Great the Father’s Love for Us)
Who can sing with a
voice that breaks at the thought of
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
DRIZZLE OF THE RAIN
I hear the drizzle of the rain,
like a memory it falls.
~ from Kathy’s Song by Simon and Garfunkle
Flushing other thoughts from my brain
keeping me with only you in mind.
The cold misty droplets find me
longing for a torrent; a storm
to warm me with recollections
of where we were; of whom we’ve become.
And when it is done, I am awash
with the realization that we once loved.
Every dismal day reminds me you’re gone.
(c) Walter J Wojtanik - 2022