Introduction first : this poem is written by my 10 year old granddaughter, Stella Hallberg. She and I are sharing monthly prompts – for April, I sent her the word “glisten.” She could use any variation on the word. There are no edits here. This is what she wrote.
I slip outdoors
left foot, right
sounds, sensations, engulfing me,
taking me far from my bustling home
into the undergrowth and brush.
The birds make thousands of different peeps
in a language not known among men.
The sunlight filters in through the trees
glistening like magic everywhere I look.
Gazing up I see the butterflies
seizing their chance in the spot light
to be stars in their hearts.
Windows open to spring,
soft breeze rustles lace curtains.
Backyard crocus peek about
as lawn greens ‘neath lemon sun.
Down comforter billows on clothesline,
and one feather floats gracefully
toward cirrus clouds above.
My granddaughter and I are trading poetry prompts each month. For April, she asked that I write a poem using the word “gracefully.” Stella is 10.
Sunshine on my Sunday.
Prayers of thanksgiving
for this and every day.
spring upstaged again
winter has its last hurrah –
robin dreams in snow
Winter storm came to the New England states yesterday. Mother Nature’s April Fools’ Day prank!
balloon wishes to the sky
breeze blows hope for life
earth sheds detritus
clutter clutched in melting snow –
rivers cascade spring
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets from across the globe where today, Paul is tending bar and asks us to write about rivers. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come river dance with us!
Cornstalk remnant icy spikes
pierce snow crusted land.
Rare snowy owl, alert
watches for prey.
Written for day 15 of Holly Wren Spaulding’s online 21-day Vernal Equinox course. A four line poem that includes snow.
moss, lichen and fiddle ferns
padded damp silent floor
cool moisture clings
leaves shiver in residual rain
stubborn clouds persist
dawn struggles to lift the shade
Post written in response to Day 12 of 21 day challenge online course led by Holly Wren Spaulding. Write about a room.
Sun struggles behind shrouded sky.
Three rays burst through darkness,
beacons that proclaim
there shall be hope this day.
Photo taken at dawn from deck of our rented apartment in Bermuda. No filters – no photoshopping. It was truly glorious.
Shards tumbled, churned.
amber, green, clear.
Once broken, glint in sun
smoothed by roiling seas.
Are these but reminders
of those who washed ashore?
See me. Know me.
in that which is made anew.
Bermuda sea glass. Bermuda was originally an uninhabited island. All Bermudians are either immigrants or descendants of immigrants. There are no indigenous peoples.