Tag: poetry

Poem: The Hummers Tease

Photo by Djalma Paiva Armelin on Pexels.com

In the home stretch. It’s day 26 of 30 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. I’m writing about hummingbirds today.

The Hummers Tease

The hummers drop hints
that they’ve returned 
to the trumpet vines
one more year. 
Tiny shadows blink 
through green sinews
like floaters in my eye.
Look at them directly,
they disappear.
Orange blossoms are 
not yet open.
Look elsewhere little 
thimbleful of feathers.
Grow and come back in a week.
Then dangle your colors 
before me as you feed
giving me more than a tease.

~~

Poem: Taking Up Space

Day 25/30 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. Today’s poem was inspired by a conversation with a dear friend about the issue of taking up space while female.

Taking Up Space

Trying to outrun the apologies
that cling to my essence
I search for a space 
out of the shadows
search for the daring to claim
some corner of light
a space to expand to my full
magnitude, an unshrinking
unwary unsorry
soul focused on more
than survival
maybe more than a corner
of light maybe without
even asking permission
more than a corner
not seeking permission

~~

Poem: Bridge

pedestrian bridge

Day 24/30 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. This feels pretty unfinished, but I’m calling it okay for tonight.

Bridge

A wooden foot bridge spans the creek
that divides the park near my house
I raised my kids on this bridge
or so it seems when I stand on it now
recalling the span of their years
at the site of our former daily adventures
when adventures were daily
This bridge was a place to loiter and plan
to learn about ripples and gravity
as twigs and rocks dropped to the current
It was our place to wait and watch
the fish and crawdads and neighbors
and birds. Once on a cold day even
a great blue heron, a solitary event
the span of its wings startling in enormity
We always brought home stories
A bridge is not primarily for lingering
of course and the crossing seemed
an ever satisfying feat in a young life
a solid accomplishment
I was there on the other side
and now I’m here in a new place
with a clear line between the two.

~~

Abecedarian Poem

Day 23 of the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. The prompt today was to write an abecedarian poem, working through the alphabet a-z with each line’s first word. I found it a challenge and the poem didn’t come out quite how I wanted — do they ever? — but here it is. 

All the Troubles and Yet

All the troubles everywhere, yet a
Baby brings joy, each new
Child in my circle a welcome
Discovery that the world goes on
Each one accepted as the 
Finest example of what the universe offers
Greeted with adoration and wonder
Heralded with hope
Imagine receiving that level of tenderness
Just for being, freely given
Love with no expectations
Meaning found simply in connection
No earning it or losing it
Only a thereness
Produced because it’s how we survive
Quarrels most certainly will arrive
Right along with disappointments
Suffering and sickness
There’ll be time to think on those
Upsets later, rather than wasting the
Velvet days of infancy with our minds
X number of years in the future
Youth speeds away but comes 
Zipping back to humanity again and again

~~

Poem: Wildflowers Swim

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

I like flowers, so I’m writing about them again for day 22 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon.

Wildflowers swim

Wildflowers swim in a sea of grass
breaking to the surface, dipping back
below the green, gliding to and fro
as the wind creates ripples and waves
petal overlapping petal like scales
on fish, they bob and undulate.
If I dangled a raindrop on a hook
could I catch one?

Poem: To the Little Phlox That Could

Small phlox plant with purple flowers
Woodland Phlox

Here is entry number 21 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon.

To the Little Phlox That Could

You were devalued when first we met
at the hardware store, lonely
the one remaining woodland phlox
rejected by all who came before.
Only I was willing to take the chance
on your struggling, half-withered self
being in pretty much the same condition.
“It won’t last” – I could see that message
in the eyes of the cashier who united us.
I wasn’t a great bet either
have not logged a high success rate
with green growing things.
Yet I gave it my best and so did you.
Look at us now, you with your
amethyst petals bursting with pride
and me, not doing too bad my own self.

~~

Poem: Year of Grief and Fear

I’m going to be a real downer with entry #20 for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. I came across a snippet of journal writing I did in late 2016, which was a terrible year for many of us on a large scale, but also one of the most difficult years I’ve ever experienced in my personal life. Anyway, I adapted it into a poem.

Year of Grief and Foreboding

My heart has become 
a heavy-footed drunk
pounding the walls
disturbing my rest
railing against loss
upon loss.
Even when it wants to dance
it can’t find the beat
staggering with
uneven steps
raggedly rhythmless.

~~

Poem: Marbled Orb Weaver

Entry 18 of 30 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon.

I have written about marbled orb weavers before on my blog, but this time I turned it into a poem.
**

Marbled Orb Weaver

Such a lovely day
even this bashful
leaf dweller couldn’t 
hold out against the yearning
to embark from the shadowy
security of its home
by the creek
and explore the delights
of the afternoon
carrying the sun on its back

~~

Poem: Luxury Resort

Fancy resort lobby with stone walls.

Today’s entry for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon is an ekphrastic poem. I followed the email prompt this time, which explains ‘”Ekphrasis” means “description” in Greek, and it has become the name of a kind of poem that describes a work of art.’ The email included a link to a site for random images and I used the first one. The image is a jumping off point for me. My poem is not meant to be an exact description.

**

Luxury Resort

Someone quarried the stone 
for the rustic walls.
Someone felled the trees
for the finely crafted
furniture carved by human hands.
The rugs were woven on a loom.
By whom?
The lovely potted plants did not
bring themselves to the setting.
Presumedly someone does the watering.
Authors and artists devoted
hours (months? years?) to the
creation of the coffee table books
that someone selected and someone packed
and someone delivered. 
How many workers labored 
to lay the granite floor?
Someone scaled ladders to hang the 
mood lighting, placing it just so.
Someone cleans it all
day after day after day.
Every 12 seconds someone remembers
that we’re all in this together.
So says the sign someone
hung near the entrance.

**