Backyard Wonders

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.

Backyard Wonders

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
forever free
to be stars in their hearts.

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Solitude

My lineage lies in bleached bones,
ash commingled with soil and sea.

I am the living
happily paired,
wed forty-seven years
progressing still.

Mother of two
grandmother of five.
Eleven total
in raucous revelry.

This crowded world
my species’ millions
and millions more,
multiplied by the unknown.

In the midst of all,
I savor oneness.
Scraps of solitude
contemplative discovery,

and recovery.
Sips of silence
to be and to know
who and what is me.


Posted from Bermuda. We are in midst of TransAtlantic crossing and will not have access to Internet for five days. I shall post again from Lisbon.

Helen Cecile

Discombobulized,
she was like that.

Wound up tight tremors,
taut sprockets of the mind.

Spring-like nerves compressed
temper flares spewed.

Church hands folded, twitched, 
flailed by noon.

Even keel sailing
turned runaway train.

Expect the unexpected,
she was like that.


Kim is hosting today’s quadrille ( a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title) at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, and asks us to use the word “spring.” Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! 

This I’ve Learned

When two become one, the base remains two.
When two multiplies to four, the base remains two.

Time invested.
Birthing and unconditional love.
Your child’s everything
until independence blooms.

Time apart increases.
They see more, learn more.
And you step in and out,
never fully immersed again.

And they leave.
You are the beginning two again.

Memories, age spots,
and more love.
Knowing as they become two and multiply,
it is a cycle born to repeat itself.

And the most important arc is the base of two.
That is the constant.

Sharing with Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today there is no prompt. We’re free to post one poem of our choosing, Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! 

Cherished Memory

He was a quiet man. I don’t remember playing with my father or hearing words of praise or love. I don’t remember hugs. But I do remember a few summer mornings each year when I was young. A silent drive to the lake. A long walk out the pier. He’d take a wriggly worm from an old tin can and put it on the end of my bamboo pole. And we’d sit. Just sit. A skinny little girl with giraffe-knobby knees and her whiskered dad, under the rising sun and ever bluing sky. No need for words. No need to catch a thing.

Steadfast sky and sun,
their promise always fulfilled.
Light shall break through clouds.

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It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Toni asks us to write a haibun about the day sky. Thanks Toni. Your prompt brought back this cherished memory.

Baby Album

I still look at it.
On birthdays and occasional winter days,
when the snow swirls
and makes the windows glazed.
I wanted to keep moments of you
for you to meet, much later in life.
Lock of hair, corn silk fine.
Stick figures with circle knees
drawn by pudgy hands.
First this and first that.
A young mother’s notes.
Faded ink and colors smudged,
spine too thin for all within.
I wanted to keep moments of you
for you to meet, much later in life.

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Written for a June challenge from Holly Wren Spaulding’s class: write about something you saved for someone else.

Ode to a Child

Oh my little one, smile and play,
such simplicity and purity of heart.
Would that I could splash you,
bring soft waters of joy
this day and forevermore.

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Hosting dVerse for Tuesday Poetics — a virtual pub for those who enjoy working with words and creating poetry. Today, I’m asking folks to find a sculpture that inspires them — and then to write in the voice of that sculpture — become either the artist who created the piece, or the subject of the sculpture. Don’t tell us about the sculpture, rather take on its voice. Come on over and see what others do — or how about joining us and lending your voice too?  Photo from Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens, Akron, Ohio.

A Step Through Time

Ah youth
tis so hard to say goodbye.
Twirl the rope instead of jump
avoid the puddles instead of stomp.
Piggy bank replaced by credit card,
stiff joints and aging spots.

The antidote is children’s laughter,
hugs and kisses, daring do,
dragons, dollies and make-believe.
Clocks turn magically backwards,
surround sounds of silliness
in gramma’s visits to Neverland .

Written for dVerse Poets’ Pub: Abhra tending bar asks us to write a poem about a temporary goodbye. Just back from a family visit — and a return to my writing — I thought this appropriate!  Various photos of me and grandkids — they do keep me young! 🙂

 

…and the bloom shall fade

Her garden suffers from end-of-season neglect. Nutrients wane as days shorten. Young trees, now mature, cast their presence in shadows.  Flower petals and fronds wither to veined brittle frames of their former beauty. They bend closer day by day, to the earth from which they came. Winter’s cold reality approaches, as sure as the moon changes face. Life hovers on a thread.

She sits patiently
window blurred with veins of frost
waits for children gone.

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Susan Judd is hosting dVerse for Haibun Monday and provides us with her beautiful photography and the descriptive phrase “beauty in decay” as a prompt for writing today. If you’re not familiar with dVerse, stop in for a visit. It’s a great gathering place for those who enjoy poetry!  Also using for NaPoWriMo day 25.  30 poems in 30 days, that’s April – National Poetry Writing Month.