Lungs continue to inflate. Outside, white clouds are Rorschach blots in a sea of sky. The neighbors’ cypress tree is leaning as the wind breathes. Lungs hold their precious breath as birds chip. Lungs let go: Exhale.
notice past preconceptions
a breeze — a shiver
This picture was taken when 11 months ago was “now.”
Today’s official NaPoWriMo prompt is to use one of the chapter titles from the book Poemcrazy as inspiration for a poem. There are 60 or so different chapters so plenty to choose from. I chose “Being Here,” which fit well with FOWC: Focus. I might return to these chapter titles because most of them could lead to some intriguing poems! I am also sharing with the Writers’ Pantry. Happy Sunday!
I wrote this string of haiku after observing the strawberry plants in my family’s garden. We have many berries growing and a few flowers on the plants.
I wrote this poem, in a way, to the little flower and about them. The interesting thing about them is that, even though there are many fully-grown berries by them, they do not compare themselves, and they never think that they are growing too slowly, nor think of themselves as failures. There are lessons that flowers can teach us, I think. And by “us,” of course I mean “me.”
A warm afternoon at the end of March passes both languidly and much too quickly. The sky is blue, with no clouds blowing in the slight breeze. A monarch butterfly, black-and-orange wings majestic and beautiful flies — almost floats — nearly close enough to kiss the nose of an observer. The bird-feeders, filled for the first time in a long while, attract many other winged creatures, feathered things opening their hungry beaks.
And it is around now, when the cherry blossoms bloom at their peak.
Nature takes her time —
From the outside see Earth spin
Making us dizzy
The alarm incessantly dings, and it seems the Clock is chiming, “It’s time for a change!” A huge task: A plethora of aspects Could use revising; life might seem strange. Yet even small changes feel the same. It’s certainly time for me to stop Feeling pained, drained, and afraid.
This week’s paint-chip poetry prompt is a free-write, with only three paint chips: heirloom tomato, stepping stone, and grandma’s hydrangeas. I wrote this poem as a response and also inspired by this prompt about weather.
This is for Ronovan Writes’s décima challenge this week (shockingly 🙂 ). I started it 2 days ago but only finished it 2 minutes ago.
Ten years ago expansive dreams
Existed for my future plans,
And I believed that my two hands
Could grab them. How wrong that now seems.
In childhood I saw hopes gleam
And thought them gold. But what a shock
When they were pyrite: foolish rock.
Somewhere there still might be a stone
To find, a gem, not one alone —
Maybe next time I take a walk.