By Poetic Bloomings
    Change can come in many variances, Sometimes good. Sometimes hard to swallow. But every change (even just for the sake of change) offers a perspective we may not have noticed. Our poems this week spoke of change and our accepting/denial of same. In this game of life, the world changes. The question remains, can we keep pace. The Beautiful Blooms for this week:
    Marie’s Pick:
    My pick this week is Patricia A. Hawkenson’s “Stay Within the Lines.” She begins with a title that clearly has more than one meaning, but we don’t see that until we read through to the end. Her line breaks are used effectively, and add to the enjoyment of the poem, IMHO. Nature “growing” from the spilled crayons made me smile … quite a creative way to think of it. But the end? Oh the end … it made my heart sink.
    Outstanding, Patricia. (Nothing new for you.)
    Stay Within the Lines
    By Patricia A. Hawkenson
    The box spilled
    its contents rolled
    and grass and flowers grew
    then trees with swings
    and birds flew
    beyond the buildings
    to the clouds
    till Mama said,
    “You can use a different crayon.”
    But I colored everything
    a happy orange
    until I knew
    what black and blue meant
    and put my colors
    Walt’s Bloom:

    When I found this photo for the prompt, I had a lot of emotions flood my thinking. The warmth of the coloring, the mystery of the hazy background. There is a sadness there; and I can see a lover’s rendezvous. Many things happening here. But it wasn’t until I read this poem that I saw the exasperation in this simple scene. My bloom put that new emotion into my head and it is because of this new perspective that I had chosen to single it out. My pick is by Patricia A. Hawkenson, in her “DEEP IN THE HOUSE”.

    DEEP IN THE HOUSE by Patricia A. Hawkenson
    My curtains are drawn shut.
    I have condemned myself
    to endless puttering
    dusting my brick-a-brac,
    the miscellaneous objects,
    furniture and curios
    I raked up over the years.
    Till coffee brews
    to dispel my fog
    allowing me to finally see
    where what I value
    has been shit upon.
    So I scrub it all
    within an inch of its life
    for it is all I have
    and if God is willing,
    it will shine again.
    But God help me
    for my arms are tired.
    The piece feted below brings a new light to what we keep hidden. It touches us deeply and allows us to see a bit of us in the plight of others. This view of the shadow inherent in the aging process could serve as a reminder and lesson from which we glean wisdom. Patricia A. Hawkenson brought he light to bear on this photograph.

    FOR CATHERINE by Patricia A. Hawkenson
    She wishes she had enough power
    to send healing energy
    to the whole world
    and make everyone
    healthy and happy.
    But she can’t even manage it
    for herself.
    She sees the sunlight
    trying from the infinity
    of space and time
    trying to reach her flowers
    as her sheltering eaves
    block the bulbs
    in darkness.
    How the sun must cry
    with her in frustration
    as it lowers their heads
    but only manage
    to make the shadows longer
    and they finally give in
    to the darkness of the night.
    Yet the morning sneaks in
    with a whispered smile
    and a sliver of white teeth
    between lush lips
    and kisses her flowers
    until the eaves envy
    grabs them back again
    and again
    and again.
    Then she bends
    to inhale the fragrant
    remains of their struggle
    and carry a single blossom
    inside to remind her
    of the potential that grows
    in those tiny moments
    when she allows herself
    to push back her shadows
    and step into her light.
    Walt’s “Enough is Enough” prompt brought out such diversity! Humor, rants, memories, fears – poems just shy of 700 words, and as few as eight – all speaking volumes. This week, I offer my Beautiful Bloom to Patricia Hawkenson for “Past the Date.” Her smart choice of metaphor, well … smarts. Well done, Patricia!
    Past the Date (by Patricia Hawkenson)
    You can toss it out
    without any guilt
    glugging it down the drain
    with your head turned
    to avoid any possible
    and there is no offense,
    for milk proudly tells you
    when it has had enough.
    I have seen your head
    turn from me
    and I can smell your
    and clumped
    with bitterness
    while empty white jugs
    pile like snow on our back porch.

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