For DVerse Poetics “Flights of Fancy” and inspired by something I saw in my family’s garden yesterday.
The finch perches
On the back of a sunflower,
As she awaits her turn
At the filled feeder:
She finds her chance
And when she flies
The flower dances springily back,
In true sunflower fashion;
The finch uses the free
Surplus of birdseed
To fuel more of her
Flight and avian dreams.
She cursed those three pomegranate seeds.
Now caught in dark winter, she wonders
Whose bright idea was it
To let her daughter eat them?
Demeter’s mood is tropical storm, far from warm,
And she feels her precious baby’s
Breath become a frigid frost again.
Shared with the Writers’ Pantry this week. Magaly talks about keeping a sense of hope, and I wrote this even before reading that.
You are slowly opening: Hope in nature’s bloom,
Showing what it is to wait,
And to give growth room.
Yellow petals reaching out,
Pretty little flower,
Like a set of open hands
With surprising power.
Sowing seeds of your greatness.
I’m not sure if I like how this turned out, but here is my (first) attempt.
Isn’t gratitude something mystical?
It turns key limes into a pie,
It creates a banana split
From one humble fruit —
Bloom into Grandma’s hydrangeas:
Not every flower is showy
Yet they make a beautiful whole,
Isn’t gratitude something mystical
Running in the family of hope?
Maybe this poem makes me sound pathetic, but gosh all I want is a hug. I don’t live by myself but am still so isolated, especially emotionally. Thanks to Fandango for the prompt word, and I am also sharing with the Writers’ Pantry. Will post this before I change my mind.
I decided to share this décima for Ronovan’s challenge, despite not being 100% happy with it. It’s pretty bleak, but that’s what kind of head-space I’ve been in: like, “If God is going to destroy the world now, can He get it over with?” Also sharing with this week’s MLMM photo challenge because the photo and poem are related. Apologies to Robert Frost for the title.
God said He’d never Earth entire
Destroy with rain, and that is why
The rainbow arcs across the sky –
But He said nothing about fire.
When will the Earth become a pyre,
Is there a method to avoid?
Repent, that we be not destroyed.
Of course we pray our rosary,
Yet despair haunts me doggedly:
What hell is this, Fauci to Floyd?
For this Wednesday’s Weekly Scribblings, we are writing about the idea of discipline. I’m not exactly happy with how this poem turned out, so let’s call it a rough draft. Maybe I’ll find the discipline to edit it later. 🙂
Painful in the moment
Is determined discipline:
Is it worth the perseverance
To keep going when
It seems better to quit?
The finish line — imagine
Exhilaration, crossing it!