This is the Open Write, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We gather every month and daily in April — no sign-ups, no fees, no commitments. Come and go as you please. All that we ask is that if you write, you respond to others to mirror to them your readerly experiences — beautiful lines, phrases that resonate, ideas stirred. Enjoy. (Learn more here.)
Our Co-Hosts

Jennifer Guyor Jowett once was a girl who typed away on a little plastic yellow typewriter that Santa delivered one Christmas. She loved words and books and the wonder that the world offered every day. She is the author of Into the Shadows and co-authored the poetry book Words That Mend. Jennifer is the creator of the DogEaredBookAwards, a student-led award given to middle grade and young adult novels each year.

Ann E. Burg has been writing since her early childhood days in Brooklyn. She is drawn to stories of the disenfranchised and voiceless and finds inspiration in little known or too-soon-forgotten historical incidents. Her most recent works have been historical verse novels published by Scholastic. Ann is pictured here with her writing partner, Finnegan B.
Inspiration
I stemmed from a family of conservationists and garden planters, both flower and veggie. My family tapped maple syrup trees and tread lightly. During my first years of teaching, I discovered Silent Spring, Rachel Carson’s story that affected change to every layer of our environment while reminding us that “In nature, nothing exists alone.” In the prelude to Force of Nature, poet and author Ann Burg introduces readers to Carson, beyond her work as naturalist and marine biologist, in a beautiful and hopeful story written in verse. I hope you are as inspired as I was to write alongside her today.
Process
Let’s reconnect with nature. July is the midway point of the year, of the summer, of the time when teachers reconnect with themselves and the world around them. The freedom found in mid-summer offers choice. You might recall a moment in nature when something wondrous happened. Or you might write an autobiographical poem sharing bits and pieces of who you were (and are). As always, the choice is yours. We hope that the freedom of the natural world and this moment in summer will bring words to you today.
Ann’s Poem
(from Force of Nature)
Prelude
On the milkweed
that borders the orchard,
Mamma and I watch
a beautiful butterfly
flit from leaf to leaf,
Maybe she is laying eggs,
Mamma whispers,
and when the butterfly
flutters away,
she shows me a pale
golden egg–
almost too tiny to see–
hidden in the fuzzy
underside
I reach out my hand
to touch it, but Mamma
shakes her head.
We must always leave nature
as we find her, she says.
Be patient,
Something wonderful will happen.
Jennifer’s Poem
Not Yet Spring
(inspired by the opening lines of Force of Nature)
On the branch that bent
toward the feeder,
the chickadees hopped along
nearer and nearer
to both the feeder and me.
I lay sprawled quietly
in a drift of snow,
watching the birds come and go,
their black-capped heads
darting this way and that.
Every so often
they bent an eye toward me
head tipping in curiosity.
Fascinated by their fragile boldness,
I wanted one enough
to later ask my parents
if we could keep one.
Nature belongs where nature is, they said,
so the world is there
for both you and me.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
The fireflies, lightning bugs whatever you want to call them
they know the perfect time
they know when to shine
not too early, not too late
how is this all possible?
who taught the fireflies their sublime poetry?
dancing through dusk perfectly
The toads know when to speak up and when to be silent
so do the crickets
the blue jays and robins speak
knowing when to fly and when to land
they all know exactly when it’s time to leave the nest, no hesitation
even more amazing the tulips know when to stand tall and when, and how, to wait until next year
the grass below the oak gets everything it needs
nothing more nothing less
rain or shine, sun or shade
but we, humans.
what a mess, we can’t ever figure out human nature
Luke, your poem lands so perfectly, beginning with my favorite–fireflies (love the phrase “sublime poetry to refer to their movements) and ending with that punch of how we just can’t get in sync with nature. The navigation of birds always amazes me–that’s my big “how is this all possible” question. I love what you’ve done here.
it is amazing, isn’t it? The dancing fireflies, the toads knowing when to speak up and when to be silent…all of nature knowing when to stand tall and when to stay hidden…why can’t we learn? Will we ever? I love this poem!
Luke, what a great idea for a poem. I love all the questions. My favorite is “who taught the fireflies their sublime poetry?” Beautiful! Then that final question leaves me scratching my head, more even than I usually do!
Yep, you nailed it, Luke! “[H]umans. / what a mess.”! I love your many examples of nature knowing just what to do — “the blue jays and robins speak / knowing when to fly and when to land” — while we humans are anxious, confused, flighty, etc. Thanks for this!
Miniature View
the trail was alongside
a shimmering lake
in emerald blue
surrounded (or is it embraced?)
by these extraordinary mountains
capped with snow
we traipsed along
bright berry bushes
overflowing in purple and red
soft blue asters
yellow buttercups
bold red paintbrushes
a rainbow of berries, grasses,
and blossoms singing out
enjoy this gift of a day!
the tiny wild rose
caught her eye
this wee blossom
hiding at the edge of the path
popping out in playful pink
she plucked one
“dear one, let’s leave the flowers
for birds and butterflies”
she toyed with the blossom,
and showed me her adorned hand
“no, Nana, look –
this is my beautiful RING!”
“well, just this one, just this one.”
and so we continued on,
all the slower now
it is hard to walk fast
when you are
balancing a flower
on your fingertips
in the Canadian rockies,
even the smallest beings
are wondrous
Those blossoms are just so tempting that it’s hard to resist! I knew at the mention of paintbrushes that you were west. We have hiked many a trail where the wildflowers brushed across the meadows, and I love that you returned me there, against the backdrop of snowcapped mountains. What a peaceful respite for the day’s end. Beautifully written, Maureen.
I enjoyed this gift of a poem, what a beautiful scene and memory. The dialogue adds sweet innocence and joy, too. Thank you for sharing
This is so lovely, Maureen. You’ve painted us a gorgeous picture with your vivid images. The precious story makes it amazing.
There are some lovely images here, Maureen, Right from the start I loved the shimmering emerald blue lake embraced by extraordinary mountains. It’s just an image I won’t forget ~ there is something so beautiful in the thought that the mountains are embracing the lake…the poem grew even lovelier with the dear one and her beautiful ring. How wonderful it is that balancing a flower on your fingertips forces you to walk slowly, allowing you to see (and prove) that the smallest things are wondrous.
Ah, Maureen, I love the colorful description of the Rockies. Then how you bring us with you as an occasional line reminds us you are there in the midst of all the beauty. Such a sweet poem about one of your sweet girls.
There’s a moment in Hamlet, just after Polonius is killed
when Hamlet uses a parable about “the famous ape”
as he’s trying to convince his mother not to spill the beans
to her new husband. The footnote in my dog-eared, well-worn
copy of The Riverside Shakespeare simply states,
“The actual story has been lost.”
And this, I think, is Shakespeare’s Coldplay Kiss Cam moment.
I think he was just riffing on some current meme, some current
parable of his day, and, was, like, Imma gonna put that in my play.
And he did.
I mean, he was a genius, an architect of humanity, sure, but he
was also a man of the people, had his finger on the pulse of
Elizabethan society and whatnot; he knew what his audiences wanted
(which, of course, explains why Macbeth was such a short play
once you realize King James only liked short plays) and he was a
businessman, too, an entrepreneur, which, again, explains why
Horatio is talking about “the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell” at the start of Hamlet. It’s as if
Shakespeare is reminding the audience that, oh, by the way,
Julius Caesar will be making a return performance at the Globe
next week! Having a pop-up ad for a play at the start of another,
different play is wild. And, don’t forget the bear-bating product
placement in act five of Macbeth; it is next level, top notch.
I can just imagine Richard Burbage winking at the audience
when he delivered the line, “They have tied me to a stake; I cannot
fly, / But, Bear-like, I must fight the course.”
(And it’s no wonder there is rumored to be a rare (earlier) Quarto
edition of the play with Lady Macbeth extolling the virtues
of Irish Springs to clean her unsightly hands.)
I’m just saying that if something happened as zeitgeistgrabbing
as a CEO being outed for his infidelity with the head of his own
company’s HR department while they canoodled on the
Jumbotron at a Coldplay concert, he would have put it in one
of his plays or, in the very least, one of his sonnets. He wouldn’t
have let it go to waste even though it is extremely topical and
will be forgotten in mere moments
and neither would I.
Life is
ephemeral
and transitory
which is to say
that sometimes
Charlie bites
your finger
and sometimes
you see a
double
rainbow
and
sometimes,
well,
sometimes
a famous ape
does something
terrible and
incredibly
stupid,
I mean,
I guess,
I’m not
quite sure
though
because
the story
was
lost
but
that’s
Ok
and did
I really
just compare
myself to
Shakespeare?
I did.
I said what I said.
___________________________________________
Thank you Jennifer and Ann for your mentor poems and your prompt today! I love that both of your poems are moments of active teaching from one generation to the next, the lesson that we – humankind – should not impose ourselves on Nature. For my offering, I wanted to riff a bit on “human nature” instead of, you know, nature nature, and ended up just cramming too much stuff in this one. I still like the ideas here, but the execution, yeesh, an overstuffed mess of a poemthing.
Scott, I’m loving all these invented forms today: Echo Poems, Poemthings. This group is just amazing. As is your poem. I have to add that I learned a lot from you today that I didn’t already know about Shakespeare (and there’s just so much to know!). The connecting of the Coldplay Kiss Cam moment with the famous ape parable being moments of current culture for their times is so satisfying in this weird, convoluted yet strikingly clear way. Love this!
Scott, this is so funny! I burst out laughing at the outset with
Your comedic wit is extraordinarily insightful…loved this so.
This was a fun walk through time in pop culture and so brilliantly tied to your Shakespearean love and knowledge. This was fun to read and hopefully when you reread in 5 years you’ll know exactly what Coldplay references and you can add many more stanzas. Love it. Thanks for humoring us this weekend.
Thank you Scott ~ I love that your poem is also a kind of Echo poem…echoing through the centuries the truth that Shakespeare was simply a poet of his time…as are you! Thanks for this clever poemthing.
Riotous! Uproarious! And might I suggest the title Roller Coasters for a collection of your poetry?
So fun and satisfying to read. What a journey. Thanks for writing Scott!
Doe, a Deer
By Mo Daley 7/21/25
When my husband told me last spring
that he’d seen “our” doe with triplets,
I didn’t believe him until Google told me
triplet births in whitetails are rare but do occur.
Three weeks ago, in early summer, I spied
three newly-born milk-spotted fawns
without their mother. Another miracle!
They approached within feet of me,
not knowing humans don’t always have good intentions.
Where was their mama, and why wasn’t she teaching them?
The next day as I played with little Logan,
the doe appeared across the street, but with an unnatural gait.
We observed quietly and wondered if her hip was injured.
Logan wanted to comfort her with a hug.
It was then we noticed her back foot was missing-
perhaps she lost it caught in a trap.
She was clumsily learning to navigate her new body
as she lumbered off to teach her fawns a life lesson.
“What should we do?” Logan whispered.
Marvel at the beauty and strength of nature.
Oh, Mo, you developed a relationship with the doe and her triplets. This is pretty remarkable and miraculous too. Thank you for sharing this nature’s marvel.
Mo—I followed your tale with anticipation and worry. I know that they are overpopulated and destructive, but that doe will always be Bambi to me. The last line says it all…
Mo, what an amazing tale! I love the dialogue at the end. The compelling details have me contemplating nature’s strength! Thought-provoking poem!!
Mo, I feel for that deer. We had one that used to come to our bird feeder who’d clearly been injured and limped badly, but she was incredibly spunky and would stomp her feet if we hadn’t filled the feeder yet. What a lesson for Logan and how sweet a boy he is.
Oh, wow! What a sight. I am marveling at this sweet question –
Nature finds a way and what a beautiful way it is teaching you and Logan here. Love this tale of three tails. Thanks for sharing
I think I should have added the word “another” in the second stanza. I don’t think I made it clear that this sweet Mama had two sets of triplets!
How special! I love that your little Logan got to witness such a tender moment. I had the pleasure of capturing a video of a beautiful deer in the backyard during my visit to North Carolina. They are truly magical gifts.
This line made me think about the poem I wrote about once knowing strength. I bet she was wondering where her strength had gone. 😒
Mo, Such a powerful story with a reminder that nature provides us all with abundant strength to do the unimaginable! Triplets in the wild is crazy enough, but without a foot, this momma has her work cut out for her.
Jennifer & Ann,
Thank you for this prompt and your mentor poems.
Ann, Force of Nature is a wonderful book. Thank you for introducing young people to Rachel Carson and god highlighting both her advocacy for the environment and her struggles as a female in a male-dominated field.
Jennifer, your poem has wonderful detail and an important lesson about observing and disrupting. I love the closing admonition.
Today is our anniversary. I wrote a poem for my husband as well as my “nature” poem, which is based on a hike we took during the pandemic up in Sun Valley. The photo is from near SV.
Where do we go?
when nature
calls—her signal sounds—
deep down; some-
thing moves all
to seek a substitute be-
hind a bush or tree
Glenda Funk
July 21, 2025
LOL! So funny, Glenda! I love the split of “be- / hind,” too! (And Happy Anniversary!)
Glenda, I applaud your sense of humor and smart moves in this poem where each word counts. “Nature calls” can be unexpected and cruel, and some are lucky to find “a substitute.” ))
I like how you break “some-thing” and “be-hind” to build up anticipation.
Oh boy, Glenda. Your poem sure resonated with me. I can think of so many times when nature called, and it was hard to find that bush or tree! Love the way you formatted this one and your Canva picture is perfect. So much fun. Thanks for the laugh!
Haha! Every bit of this just plays so well together. Too fun. Happy Anniversary to you both!
Those deep down nature calls! Love this, Glenda. Happy anniversary!!!
I adore this. For many reasons. But the layers of meaning close out such a lovely weekend of poems. Thank you for this
Happy anniversary to you and Ken! Love your love!❤️
I laughed at nature calling and imagining that environment in which to choose where to go. I have a hard time when nature calls and I can’t make it to a toilet. I don’t think I’d live long in the woods. 🤣
Glenda, this is so fun and SO true. We have all been there, seeking something to shield us as we answer nature’s call
Glenda and Ken, Happy Anniversary!
Haha! This is such a great poem. We’ve all been there, adn had to find somewhere “be-
hind a bush or tree” Awesome!
Jennifer and Ann, thank you for sharing your lovely gifts of poetry today. Both are inspiring. I love the lessons both provide and the focus on a particular childhood memory.
Those Dam Narrow Fellows
limp from heat
I long for shadows
pure cool springs
to bathe my feet
a quiet glade
offers shade, but I feel
my blood quicken
my heart skip a beat
as I hear a sibilant
whisper hiss near my feet
I dance a two-step boogaloo
back into the heat
Barb Edler
21 July 2025
I love the literary reference in your title, Barb! I was waiting for the reveal as eagerly as with Dickinson’s piece. I feel her in the quiet glade as well. What an interesting challenge this could be for students too!
Such joyful anticipation of pure cool springs… (quite honestly, I love Emily Dickinson but your two-step boogaloo captured the moment more like I’d imagine it!)
Barb, what fun! I love the rhyming throughout, and that snake hissing in the third stanza–magical word play, friend.
Two-step boogaloo!!
Barb,
I sense echos of Emily Dickinson in your poem. Yikes. Love the calm tone that switches to tension and ultimately flight instinct. Now I want to dip my toes in a cool spring. Lovely poem w/ the gift of an unexpected turn.
Barb, the rhythm and rhyme here are perfect! Your poem is pure joy to read. It makes my heart dance – even to the hurried boogaloo, ha! Such great word choices. Sibilant – gotta love that word – it pulls its weight here. I also went back to read and comment on your Saturday poem for the “Memory Threads” prompt – it is profound. Thank you for sharing your word artistry with us.
Barb, I didn’t expect the surprise twist in the final stanza, but you skillfully lured me there. “A two-step boogaloo” is epic! I love the rhymes (glade/shade, feet/heat), consonance (a sibilant whisper hiss), and word choices that make your poem so dynamic. It’s a joy to read.
Oh Barb, that is scary! I like the feeling of bathing my feet in the cool but then I wouldn’t like that surprise visitor.
I’d dance away from that nature sound too! I love the words “sibilant/
whisper hiss” together, how they roll – hiss, really – across the tongue.
What a fun dance of a story. The rhythm matches the feet escaping the hiss. Love how playful this memory is. Thanks for sharing.
Barb, the rhythm and flow of this quest for relief from the heat leads to your wonderful last stanza heading right back into the heat
I’m with everyone else, Barb; I love the rhythm and rhyme — the “two-step boogaloo” — that you’ve crafted here! And that “sibilant / whisper hiss” would have freaked me out too!!
Hello, friends! Jennifer and Ann, I am so grateful for your prompt and poems today. Ann, your poem captures the nature’s wonder, and Mamma’s advice is the wisest: “We must always leave nature / as we find her, she says.” Jennifer, your parents (or the speaker’s parents) carry this important wisdom too: “Nature belongs where nature is, they said, / so the world is there / for both you and me.”
A few times already Denise (yesterday) and someone else mentioned that some of my poems could be a children’s picture book. I am beginning to think about that. So, today I wrote this lighthearted poem based on my recent West Coast road trip picture from Arizona. For the actual picture book, I’d like to have an illustrator, so if anyone can help, I got the ideas )))
Bob the Cactus from Arizona
Bob the Cactus, tall and proud,
Grew on a hill, away from the crowd.
Wearing a crown of desert sun,
He waved hello to everyone.
With arms all bent in curious grace,
He stood like a guardian watching his place.
But don’t be fooled—he’s never alone,
His roots run deep through ancient stone.
He hums with bees, and chats with breeze,
Offers shade to lizards with ease.
Each arm he lifts is not just for fun—
He’s stretching his soul to greet the sun.
A both fun and poignant poem! My favorite line? “His roots run deep through ancient stone.” My favorite image? “…stretching his soul to greet the sun.” Lovely!
Leilya,
I am here for a Leilya-authored illustrated book of poetry for kids–and adults!
Love the whimsy of naming the cactus Bob paired with this educational and sensory details:
I will not see a Saguaro cactus the same way again!
Thank you!
I vote withSharon! And I will buy that book! I love this poem!
This is fun and I love the picture!! What a lovely start to the week ahead
Leilya, my students would love this as much as I do. It’s beautiful to imagine Bob with all of those amazing traits. This would be a fun way to teach students about the cactus.
I am a succulent lover so Bob touched my heart!
Leilya, this is wonderful. I love the idea of your poetry book for children and this one would be an excellent addition. Love how well this poem flows and the photo is priceless! Kudos and good luck with achieving your goal.
How fun this will be, Leilya! I can see Bob being an engaging character for kids and adults too. You might check Fivver for an illustrator. I’m excited for your journey into the publishing PB world!
Leilya, this is a wonderful and fun read, for sure. I am smiling as I think of the cactus in his “desert crown.” I agree with others that you have the makings a a poem to publish.
Hooray! I’m on board for a children’s book of your poems! I’m so glad you are considering it. Bob is a dear. I especially love that last majestic line.
Leilya,
I love this poem. The rhyme is perfect. I can see this poem in a picture book w/ information about how cacti live and provide a home for other critters. Wonderful fun!
Yes, Leilya – perfect for a children’s book, and even we adults love a rhyme that rolls so easily – a sure sign that work went into the poem! How can we not love Bob, so friendly, with such deep roots (in ancient stone – I LOVE this), and stretching his soul to the sun?? He’s an inspiration! I adore this poem.
I never give enough thanks. I am so grateful for this group. Thank you so much Jennifer and Ann for you wonderful inspiration!
Hawks
Just awake
I rubbed my eyes
and slowly walked to open the gate.
A flurry of wings
from the pine tree above
an explosion of sound and wind.
Startled, I looked above
at three hawks
bursting up toward
taller trees.
Eyes now alive
I discovered
a high nest
tucked into branches
of a tall offshoot
that was dancing in the wind.
What a precarious life!
I envied their alertness,
strength and engineering.
They bring royalty
to the skies.
Ooof, I keep seeing them on my walks and they terrify me, but all birds do. I’m in awe of how you can see them as “bringing royalty to the skies.” I am grateful to recognize their sound because it helps me hide. 😂
Oh, Susan, “They bring royalty to the skies” will be my mental image of hawks from now on. Such a glorious expression. I, too, think about birds and their life remembering one of the famous phrases from Chekhov’s screenplay “Chaika” (The Seagull) where the protagonist asks: “Why can’t people fly like birds?” Thank you for this amusing morning creation!
Susan, it was wonderful how you shook us from sleep with that “flurry of wings/from the pine tree above/an explosion of sound and wind! If only our eyes could always be so alive to the wonders that surround us! Just lovely!
Susan,
What a fantastic sighting! Thanks for sharing. I love your description of the action:
Hawks are special to me and I really enjoyed this. I connected with “royalty to the skies” what a lovely honor. Thanks for sharing
Gorgeous photograph and poem, Susan. I loved your ending lines “They bring royalty/to the skies.” I agree and they are almost indescribable. Your word choice is perfect with showing their action and magnificence.
Susan, we have a hawk that inhabits a large tree on our path through the woods and the variety of entrails and body parts that fall to the ground below (and we have to step around) is disgusting, it just is. But I’m fascinated by the discoveries we’ve made along the way. I love your presentation of them as royalty in the sky – they truly are majestic!
Susan, you, like so many others, have captured incredible images from nature that are mind-blowing in the color and power. I too have watched the hawks tucked high up in the trees, their “strength and engineering” a testament to nature.
Susan, that is a royal bird! I like the idea that their very e istence is precarious. I wrote about a humble bird today.
Susan,
This is a gorgeous celebration of a majestic bird. Love the photo. I’m seeing lots of poems I’d love to see in a picture book.
Susan,
I like how you captured the nature of noticing the birds, starting with the sound, and how it fires up the awareness of vision. I like the description of them as bringing royalty to the skies. It is so neat to see them in driving, perched watching off to the side of the road.
Jennifer and Ann, thank you! I appreciated another opportunity to use one of my nature photos to honor in poetry. I was pleasantly surprised by this beautiful artichoke when I was out walking. I chose an Etheree.
An Artichoke Delight
A
surprise
from nature
artichokes bloom
when not harvested
enjoy this royal treat
don’t make it a dip to eat
let its beauty beckon walkers
who take pictures of purple delights
and write poems to honor creation
© Stacey L. Joy, 7-21-25
Whew! I have never seen these with blooms. So beautiful. Thanks for your poem to honor artichokes.
“and write poems to honor creation” I just love that line…and I never knew that artichokes bloom when not harvested. Thank you for noticing and sharing their beauty!
Stacey, I’ve seen artichokes bloom, and they are gorgeous. You capture their beauty, and I like your advice:
“enjoy this royal treat
don’t make it a dip to eat
let its beauty beckon walkers”
I am seeing so many surprises of nature today, and each one is unique. Thank you!
Stacey,
Thanks for sharing both your lovely poem and your beautiful photo. What a gentle, whimsical bloom atop such a hearty plant.
My favorite lines:
Fantastic!
Stacey—this is wonderful—poetic and informative!
What a fun image and fact about the “flower” that is the artichoke. Also this structure is perfect when blooming bigger each line. Nicely done.
Your Etheree is perfect for showing this lovely suprise. Gorgeous photograph too. Your end is perfectly delivered. Delightful poem!
Stacey, nature really does create the most colorful and magical images. Thank you for sharing.
Stacey, I love this! Not only because I learned what an artichoke does if not picked (beautiful!), but also in your honoring of it. The poem unfolds much like the blooming artichoke, lines building in both form and description. And I so enjoy seeing all your nature photos on FB. They remind me to pause and ground myself in what is around me.
Stacey,
What a gorgeous poem and photo to create yet another photopoem. I love the invitation to let this artichoke live a full life instead of being turned into a snack,
Stacey,
I learned something new. The bloom is a reward to those who spare them from the dip! I like how you portray it as a surprise, when it is just us humans getting to see something on a different timeline. We need to find more surprises like this!
This is perfect, Stacey. You taught me something about artichoke flowers. And then to turn it into a tribute to honor this creation is just a delight, like the flower was for you to see in person. The photo is gorgeous.
Jennifer and Anne–you sent me on the most beautiful memory trip! Your poems were quiet and peaceful and full of the message we all need–to appreciate nature and let it carry on. My breathing slowed as I read…
The Reading Pond
We had a pond in the backyard.
Full of minnows and the first peepers of the year and harumphing bullfrogs.
But that wasn’t the pond we craved.
It was too visible, too close to home.
The pond you couldn’t see,
the one up and over the hill–that was the goal.
A cheese sandwich, a thermos of water, a blanket, and a book.
All the ingredients of a perfect summer afternoon.
We would slide carefully under the electric fence
(flat on stomachs, so as not to catch the fire on our backs)
and hike through the hayfield.
The breeze cooled us; the sun warmed us.
The pond beckoned, just over the rise.
Silence, except for birdsong
the ever-present bullfrogs’ comments on the weather,
the splash of a leaping fish.
Dragonflies whirred from cattail to cattail.
Butterflies (there were so many, then) embroidered the reeds.
Bees thrummed among the wildflowers.
Sunlight glistened on the water.
We laid out our tattered quilt in a just-right hollow in the grass
and settled in to read Trixie Belden’s latest mystery.
We didn’t know how lucky we were.
GJ Sands
7/21/25
Gayle, you brought me right inside your wonderful memory! I heard the bullfrogs harrumphing and was right there slithering under the fence where the butterflies “embroidered the reeds” (such a lovely phrase). I’d have liked to stay at Crabapple Farm much longer…perhaps it’s time for another visit! Thanks for sharing today!
Gayle, what a memory! My favorite part is where you are getting through the fence:
“We would slide carefully under the electric fence
(flat on stomachs, so as not to catch the fire on our backs)
and hike through the hayfield.”
I can vividly see it because of your description and because my siblings and I were those kids who would do the same :).
Love the stanza picturing the pond setting with all the creatures and sunlight reflections. It makes me want to join you on that quilt and listened to the mystery. Amazing!
Wow!
Gayle, thanks for this lovely field trip that you packed so perfectly for:
I love these simple pleasures amidst the peace of nature.
And your poignant ending:
“We didn’t know how lucky we were” is such a beautiful reflection to reminisce fondly. I especially liked the electric fence bit, how wild. Thanks for sharing.
Gayle, such a wonderful memory you take us on leaving us wit the powerful reflection that we already suspect, “You didn’t know how lucky you were!”
Oh, what a treasure of a moment in nature…..the sounds of bees and frogs, splash of water from a fish, and the whirring of dragonflies and sunlight on the water – – – and the reading on a quilt. There is nothing finer that this in all the world, I’m convinced. Reading with all the accoutrements of nature.
Oh so lucky, indeed! This is magical and a call back to my childhood (though I never risked the fire of sliding under an electric fence!). Your poetry is always so beautifully evocative. Just enough detail is given for the first pond that we can feel it, but that second pond – oh, how I want to be there.
Gorgeous poem, Gayle. I love the sounds and completely understand the last line. I can smell that hayfield and know those electric fences! Your poem has me tripping down memory lane. Thank you!
Jennifer and Ann—
Thank you for turning our hearts and mind OUT rather than my constant introspection and reflection.
Each of your mentor poems are packed with beautiful language and imagery.
This is not my wheel house at all…
landscape
ancient glaciers lop off
the tops of dinosaurs’ anthills
leaving flat land where
you can see east and west
for miles.
millenia later
farmers till and plow
the loam
leveraging the soil
left behind after the melt.
just south,
where the icy knife
never reached,
the rolls and dips
of the landscape
offer hiking and skiing
and a different kind
of beauty.
~Susan Ahlbrand
21 July 2025
I think you wheelhouse is beautiful,Susan, lopped anthills and all. Nature has many faces and you are right to note that while in some places farmers still leverage the soil, there are also places that the icy knife and plowing farmers never touched. There is still so much beauty in this broken world!
Susan, I think you sketched this landscape quite realistically for us with rich imagery of “dinosaurs’ anthills,” “icy knife,” and “the rolls and dips.” It often surprises me to see the contrast between the natural beauty and the manmade one. Yet, they coexist closely, and you beautifully show it in your poem.
The “icy knife never reached” is gorgeous, I love that line so much. I can picture exactly where you’re talking about and I agree how beautiful it is. Thank you for sharing
Susan, this is beautiful, really. I am in awe of nature’s magnificent creation from an “icy knife” that shaped generations of land but could not make it’s mark everywhere.
Susan, my heart longs for some cooler climates where there is the hope of hiking! You illustrate the land and landscape so vividly here and show that there is beauty all around.
Susan, what beautiful imagery you share with us. I felt as if I could breathe in the poem’s landscape, even with all the action of tilling and plowing and hiking and skiing. I wanted to inhale all of it and spend time there.
Jennifer, thank you for hosting this week! I appreciated the purposeful prompts. Ann, thank you for being here today too. I so love your telling of Rachel Carson’s story. Your two echo poems were a delight to read this morning.
I’ve been watching my sweet little mourning dove pair nest for years. So often they seem not to succeed, but they remain persistent. This time they have nested in our carport, where there is too much activity, and yet they persist. (I wrote my poem before I learned that the male takes turns sitting on the nest, but I didn’t want to redo.)
The Mourning Dove
She sits on her slapdash scattered nest,
Peaceful in her litany of life, unstressed.
She’s a gentle, cooing giant,
on the margins,
content to do the work of nature.
Day and night sedentary, exposed.
She knows—quiet strength and
persistence will get her job done,
as she raises the next generation
without fanfare and celebrity.
She is not an eagle,
not royal,
not priestly,
not powerful,
not a victor in nature’s eyes,
but her success somehow
gives me hope
in a justice where the victim
becomes the victor.
Denise, how sweet she looks there in a comfy spot, sheltered with the protection of your carport. Their persistence and strength in seeing the babies thrive is amazing. I can remember a time when robins built a nest in my grandparents’ hanging basket of flowers, which was all fine until the flowers died and the basket was drenched in sunlight. The poor mom would wit with her wings spread, panting in the heat. Wishing success to your nesting pair.
I love mourning doves and your poem captures their gracious, understated beauty so perfectly and grants it the attention it deserves. Thank you for sharing!
Denise, this is a lovely, quiet poem of resistance. While I identified with the mourning dove’s slapdashed, scattered nest, considering the chaos that surrounds us I wish I could also share her peace in the litany of life. Still, like you I love her strength and persistence and am grateful for the hope she represents, A lovely poem!
Denise, you have a heart of gold. I would not be able to enter my carport if this were me. 🤣
I can appreciate her determination and diligence. I hope to be diligent this year at work and not lose sight of my goals. Thank you for the reminder.
Denise, like you, I am amazed by the birds’ resilience and persistence. We do not have mourning doves nesting close to our house, but have three killdeer nests right now: one in the mailbox, where the newspapers go; the second one is in the grapevine, and the thirds one is in the sweet olive tree, next to the grapevine. Every time I check mail, the mama bird flies out with a loud shriek.
I love the second stanza where you find hope in the dove’s persistence and success with these lines in particular:
“not a victor in nature’s eyes,
but her success somehow
gives me hope”
Thank you for reminding us that nature is inspiring and hopeful.
I have always been amazed at the ability of a dove to set on eggs, hatch them and do it again and again in one season. Yes, very consistent and has the patience to get the job done.
All of that beauty and honor leading up to a killer last line, oof. I loved this and enjoy the photos. Thanks for sharing this, great connection and metaphor with nature. Really lovely.
Gorgeous poem, Denise. I love the focus on justice and victim. I also loved the line “She’s a gentle, cooing giant”. Sometimes a hero can be a quiet victor whose quiet resolve to change things makes all the difference.
Denise, you have made me fall in love with THIS dove as she sits proudly, patiently “without fanfare” while the busy world swirls around her. This is beautifully written and filled with respect for this bird and nature,
Denise, the photos are wonderful to see with the poem! I hear the joy of the persistence and hope here in your mourning doves. Birds carry such messages for us and such lessons – despite the harsh cruelty of nature that is so often seen, there is a peace and determination that I can learn from these feathered friends.
Denise,
I sense your love for this dove and the hope you find in nature’s power to prevail and provide an example for us. Like the dove, her nest is “slapdash scattered” and not regal. We have doves hanging around our yard. In the winter they eat ravenously from the bird feeder. They’re intent on surviving as we must be.
Denise, I’m so glad you included photos. Isn’t she beautiful?? 🥹 I hope things work out for her. We have a pair of doves here who come to the birdbath every evening. The sight fills me with a deep sense of peace. Your poem is such a beautiful, caring tribute, with so many musical phrases. I especially love “her litany of life” and “not priestly” – emphasizing the humble nature of this bird. Utterly lovely.
Jennifer and Ann,
Thanks so much for the prompt. I didn’t want to be a Debbie Downer with this prompt. but it sorta went that direction. I really feel this one will be revisited as poems go, and I may have to sacrifice the structured stanzas to let it breathe a bit. It certainly feels like a work in progress, but I had to get it out, like a heartburn burp.
THE SHIVA SUMMER
The summer my brother
got the Shiva tattoo in Berkeley,
I took to growing cilantro, lettuce, peppers,
marigolds, peppermint, tomatoes and spinach.
The summer of the Shiva tattoo,
I learned about rescission,
and nurturing plants as a natural reaction
to schadenfreude from the capital.
The summer of permanent inking
I made a pilgrimage to Yellowstone to say goodbye,
and began to read the nation’s tragedy,
written in alliteration, and bilious disregard.
The summer of Shiva’s arrival
was a summer of anticipated goodbyes,
to acronyms and insects,
EPA, NOAA, NPR, lightning bugs and honey bees.
The summer of the brother’s tattoo,
I searched to find a mentor,
to guide me in deadheading my butterfly bushes,
cilantro, and our nation’s soul.
The way you slightly change the repetition of the tattoo line, is really fascinating to me. The deadheading is also a necessary image in nature which you use in new and also necessary ways. Thank you for this piece and its connection to many parts of life.
Rex, this is an engrossing poem. I am captured with the connection between Shiva and the dismantling of protections. Hopefully next summer he’ll get a Krishna tattoo.
Rex, I’m reading this as a poem of hope as much of as loss. You are nurturing plants and your spirit with mentors and gardening. I have had to reframe my day to day in order to keep moving forward. Each small act (planting, kindness, growing, empathy) creates a mini beautiful space that ripples to others. I see that in your actions. I hope we don’t lose all that it looks like we could.
Extraordinary poem, Rex, and in keeping with the complexity of “Shiva” (Jewish/Hindu— destruction/mourning and transformation) it’s as much about endings as it is about beginnings, about “deadheading” and nurturing new growth. Love it.
Well Rex, it’s hard not to be a DebbieDowner when the government is deadheading our democracy, but that being said, the Shiva tattoo will last longer than a vegetable/flower garden and hopefully, Shiva himself will last even longer. Haven’t yet given up on our nation’s soul.
Rex, magnificent poem. I love the metaphors throughout this poem. I can feel the emotion in “a summer of anticipated goodbyes”. Your closing stanza is a jaw-dropper. This is definitely a keeper even if do decide to make some revisions.
Rex, I have read your poem several times and one thing I am sure of is the multiple layers and multi-meanings nestled here with roots in the tragedy happening to our country. I too am searching for a mentor to guide me through this sad stage of our nation’s story;
Bravo!!
vegetable dog
Naturally, I saw a man,
walking his dog,
sitting on a chair,
not on a log.
And he naturally
scooped up his mess,
and put it plastic bags with
the rest.
Naturally, he disregarded bones,
opened up a bag,
and watched him groaned.
Naturrally, he kept his dog indoors,
In a cage,
to protect his natural floors.
Naturally, he went fishing,
but threw them back,
and ate his fish sandwich,
from a paper sack.
Naturally, he cuts his grass,
on a zero turn, naturally fast.
Naturally, he hunts in a tower,
puts out corn,
so he only sits for an hour.
Naturally, donates his deer meat,
microwaves a pizza,
so he can eat.
Naturally, he plays on his phone,
but can’t call his kids,
cause he feels alone.
Naturally, he works all week,
to complain about the life,
he didn’t seek.
Naturally, he grows old,
tries to reclaim a life,
he sold…..
to plastic, junk,
Days of monotony,
Searching for green,
With no offering.
lost time,
lost legacy,
With naturally,
Inscribed on his effigy.
The repetition here echos the monotony of the final stanza but there are little pockets of unusual or extraordinary events tucked in there. “Works all week to complain about the life he didn’t seek” is so so so relatable for many. Thank you for writing this weekend.
Wow, such a great poem, Boxer. It seems like it’s about each one of us. “Naturally” living life so unnaturally. It seems a prophetic warning to care for the planet.
Naturally, first thing I did was double check that my pooper-scoop bags (green) were biodegradable which thankfully they were (which if I remember is why I bought them). Naturally I don’t have any deer meet, but I did microwave my coffee because I let it sit too long and I don’t like cold coffee…I texted my kids before scrolling (and didn’t complain because the news was bad). Naturally, I enjoyed your poem because reading/writing poetry is never lost time. Thanks for the reminder!
This reminds me of Last Man Standing, especially in that final stanza. I really appreciate the juxtapositioning of natural life in the midst of everything that is not. Hoping that we can all be redirected into a better way of living. Thanks for allowing us to delve deeper in such a unique way.
Boxer,
With my ridiculous fear of birds and the plethora of bird poems today, my heart warmed with your poem, naturally. 💜
The life lessons resonated with me. This especially speaks to me because I can’t stand whiners! Go out there and get the life we seek!
Boxer, your careful depiction of “naturally” makes me smile from ear to ear. I could add microwaving organic veggies in plastic bowls and purchasing organic cotton diapers to be placed in a Diaper Genie for disposal in a landfill…sigh and I could go on…
Boxer, your rhyme scheme and irony here are amazing. I always look forward to the rural notes that are your trademark style.
I love this prompt. Thank you! I had more birds floating around in my memory (and home) than I realized!
Birds of America
The grandfather I never met left a 1944 copy of BIRDS OF AMERICA
With a pair of ducks etched into its bayleaf-colored linen cover in a state of
Permanent flight– perennially either coming or going, fleeing or floating.
The book now rests on the torn, leather seat of the mahogany ribbon-back chair at which that
Same grandfather or one of the seven children he fathered (which is different than parented) sat
In the long lost Providence dining room, in the house built by his Irish father on River Avenue.
I know so little about this grandfather, but my mother said that he could identify every bird, (And flower and plant) by genus and species. A linnaean attention to detail and care that
Cognitively conflicts with my small mother’s Shirley Temple blushing next to his whisky at another bar as she perched next to him, legs swinging.
Once in her twenties, my mother flew (fleeing or floating) to Bermuda to visit a friend and Penned a postcard to River Avenue: “I love it here. I am staying.” Six years later, she was
Pulled back across the Atlantic to care for her dying father; an innate, unavoidable, migratory return.
My mother raised me with the book, with my mouth full of yellow-green words like forsythia and
Jonquil, with “four little chickadees singing in a tree,” with the Aynsley Pembroke china’s vibrant
Sapphire kingfisher and its loquat orange belly amongst branches studded with Bermuda blue and coral pink blossoms.
It was my husband who (having never even met her since she died 5 years before we met) Pointed out that my mother’s wedding china (now ours) was a homage to the island that she’d landed in– if only briefly– when her movements were her own,
A carefully selected pastel twist to weave into the halcyon nest of memories that she, herself,
So carefully created (and curated) for my sister and for me.
©Mariah M.L. Bauer
07/21/2025
So much color and time in this piece. The language is really lovely and describes different parts of nature, life and death and change. I was drawn to the “inane unavoidable migratory return” thank you for sharing.
I love this Mariah! And, somehow I love your mother too— from the dangling feet perched on the bar stool to the little chickadees singing in the tree and the halcyon nest of memories that she created (and curated) for you and your sister. An exquisite poem!
Wow, Mariah, the colors and other adjectives, the precise descriptive nouns, the details in the relationship between your grandfather and mother, and you and your mother, are rich and enthralling. I thoroughly enjoyed every line.
Mariah, you sketched a few vignettes here that intersect and connect interestingly to the nature. Each one has a potential to result in a poem of its own. I especially appreciated your parenthetical clarifications. They add a needed context in just a few words but enhance the text and subtext.
Mariah, you carefully crafted a tale of your family across the generations and places with nature’s colorful birds and flowers. This is lovely and also the book jacket quote for your memoir!
Mariah, I feel as if I have just watched a movie, with such beautiful settings, symbolic props, and intriguing characters. How fascinating, what you know about a grandfather you never knew, and how the threads of his passion for birds weaves through the whole story poem – and life. I’ve read your poem several times for the richness of it all. Magnificent!
You capture so much here, Mariah! It’s so rich in detail and emotion. The line that sticks with me is
Mariah,
I love the depth and intricacies of your focus on the flights in the pages, and the unfolding of a family history. It gave me the same sense of appreciation as I get reading classic novels, painting word pictures, level upon level. I like the surprise extra of your husband noticing the little detail. So often with family we don’t see those little things.
Jennifer and Ann, Thank you so much for your wonderful inspiring poems and prompts this morning. I could hardly wait to begin writing, sharing a very recent but very real night recently when fireflies began to put on a show as we talked about memories of fireflies!
Fireflies
“I remember watching fireflies
With her,” she mused,
Sitting in front of her house, running after them.
My eyes welled, memories with her,
Watching butterflies, dragonflies, and fireflies,
Dancing in the moonlight in the big backyard,
Celebrating life at the Falls,
Sipping camping “medicine” around the campfire.
As we settled into a rhythm,
Chairs rocking ever so slowly
On the porch, on a summer night,
So many years later, I shared memories,
As they, on cue,
Put on the best show.
Rising gently, but with determination
A swarm of fireflies
Grateful for a warm night, an audience,
Celebrated family, summer nights, memories.
The spacing and rhythm felt soothing to me. And transports me to my own firefly chasing. Thank you for sharing this scene and helping others see this part of nature and spirit.
I wonder if any adult who has chased fireflies in their younger years does not have a “her” or a “him” they recall when reading this beautiful testimony to those small flashes of light and flight brightening our summer evenings and childhood memories. Thank you! I too am grateful for a warm night, family and memories.
Lovely. I read an article about fireflies phasing out in the coming years and it broke my heart! Nothing can replace the magical quality of fireflies that’s captured in your poem. So many core memories around fireflies.
Oh, what a sweet story of memories of someone dear and the firefly memories. I love the personification of the fireflies at the end as they entertained you in this memorable experience. Thank you for letting us in on it.
Watching fireflies can be mesmerizing and meditative at the same time, and I can sense it in your poem, Anita! I enjoyed watching them with you through this warm memory. Thank you.
Anita, fireflies have captivated me since childhood, too. I have them here where I live as an adult, and rediscovered my joy of them after moving back to the country in 2006. They are no less mesmerizing now than they were when we were children. I love that you wrote about them today – – they bring such feelings of relaxing summer evenings. A lady camping next to us had a firefly lamp that she shone into the trees – tiny green lights all over the place, and when I saw it I knew I needed that lamp for wintertime in the trees. Now all my trees are gone, but I take it camping with me when we go. Recently I was listening with the window open and overheard some children talking about what the lights could be. “Them’s fireflies,” one said. “They AIN’t fireflies,” said the other. “Those are magical tree fairies,” I said from inside, where they could hear me but not see me. They admired another minute or two and ran off. I like real fireflies better, but in the absence of live ones, I’ll admire fake ones too. 🙂
Anita,
Gorgeous imagery of dancing fireflies. Your poem has me thinking about days on the river when I was a kid, but especially nights chasing fireflies at my grandparents’ house in the woods. I didn’t know then I was witnessing a symphony.
Anita, you’ve done. Awaken fond memories for many of us. I, too, r ember trying to capture the fireflies in canning jars, but not allowed to screw on the caps. We could watch, but we could not keep them … anywhere but in our minds.
anita,
I love how evocative the fireflies are, and it all hinges on them coming out in darkness to make the show. I like how you tied it to a chair rocking rhythm, as they do that some with the floating on and off across the darkness. The medicine was a nice touch. Makes me think of peppermint schnapps…
I have many memories of watching, chasing, capturing, keeping and, unfortunately, mutilating lightning bugs as we call them in Indiana. We would take the part that lights off of them and put them on our ring finger to shine like a diamond. I feel so badly about that now. But, in general, lightning bugs have always brought me joy and take me back.
Your poem captures those sentiments so well, Anita.
Ann and Jennifer, what a joy to take a walk “on the laptop”, recalling moments, reflecting on the various observations of nature and what they imply. I’m also learning the difference between JPEG and PNG. 🙂 When generating graphics with AI, they send the file as PNG, but the file has been too “large” to upload here. So, thanks to the same technology, I “save as” JPEG and Whoopee! Here it is!
Moments in Nature
Watching the birds on the stream outside
Each Spring, fighting for space in the water
Each winter, seeing deer tracks left from
Tramping across this same stream
Which doesn’t melt in a strong, bright sunbeam.
Gazing in awe at the leaning redwoods
Wondering why they don’t topple and fall.
Surprised at the green leaves punching the highway sidewall,
I recall, we’re part of the family of nature
None of us can control it all.
Strolling through a botanical garden
Noticing the variety there.
Bronzes and greens, tall and shorts,
Sticking out to be seen, flowers of all sorts.
Then, scrambling across the walking trail,
Stopping long enough to wink and then run
Flurry-tailed squirrels, having so much fun.
My husband and I pause at the water fall
And glance up at the sky.
Yes we really, truly do know why.
Silently, we each give thanks
For the natural world we share
Not just here and there, but everywhere.
Anna, I love that ending. The silence, the thanks, the abundance of nature, the pause. I paused right along with it. Thinking back to similar moments in nature (standing beside redwoods is such an impactful experience). Thank you for taking us along with you today.
Anna, it’s really neat that your poems create an image with your words and then with help from AI. I am inspired to try the same and see what wild images are produced. Thank you for sharing these different seasons with us.
Anna, you’ve captured Nature in all her glory — without forgetting and you and your husband complete the beautiful scene of the Natural World. Lovely! and thanks for including AI’s image!
Anna, sweet experiences in nature, and the silence of gratitude at the end is particularly sweet.
Jennifer and Ann: Thank you both for the wellspring of inspiration today. Nature offers us more awe, comfort, sustenance, and healing than we can even comprehend. I love how you both returned to childhood memories and early lessons on honoring nature. Such a deeply reflective, vital topic. One of my favorites, in fact. I have ended up with what I am calling a prose poem – and again, thank you for inviting us to savor freedoms afforded by nature.
Provision
It is July. The hummingbirds are drinking a whole feeder of sugar water a day. My friends say they have no hummingbirds this year and I joke that they are all coming to me. My granddaughters try to help me count, but, in all the frenetic zoomings from window to crape myrtle and every which way, we lose track: Is it seven? Ten? We cannot be sure, even though every bird has different markings. Most are female. One tiny silvery girl has a red dot at her throat. This is somewhat rare, I learn, in researching. I have taken to calling her The Princess. She was here last year. She has come home to her realm again and it is my great pleasure to serve her. A documentary tells me that that every day of life is in a combat zone for hummingbirds. I already know this; I am eyewitness to their fierce competition for food. Their awareness and aerial acrobatics are astonishing. I am occasionally startled by the sound of a hummingbird slamming against the window where the feeder hangs. How is it so loud? How does the body-slammed bird not die? Every once in a while, a male finds his way to the feeder for a moment, his brilliant ruby-throat like nothing else in nature, as long as the light is right; his jewel-fire turns black in shadows. The women soon drive him away. They rule the feeder. I see females sometimes picking near-invisible gnats off of its plastic flowers, likely to carry to their young. I am thinking some of these birds hatched here in our trees last year. We have never had this many before. It is not hummingbird nature to “bring your friends.” They do not have friends. They are individuals. Loners. Warriors. As fierce and resilient as anything in the animal kingdom. They are, in their way, mightier than eagles. And they know me. I step outside, and there’s a helicopteresque whirrrr accompanied by loud chips and chitterings…food’s gone! they say, so hurry up, hurry up. A bird will hover, not too near, as I rehang the feeder full of fresh cool sugar-water, condensation already running down the glass, gleaming in the light. They are back at it before I can open the door to go inside. I do not expect their gratitude. Their love. Their allegiance. None of that is possible. Their beauty and perseverance, their very presence, is enough. They light on the branches of the pines out back whenever I am on the deck. They are watching me, these tiny winged wonders of sublime iridescence and supreme intelligence. They know me. It is more than enough.
Fran, I am struck by the contrast between the prose poem (for its size) and the hummingbird (the smallest of smalls) and how that contrast helps reveal the complexity of even that which is tiny, perhaps even more so. Hummingbirds come into our yard for the flowers and something they find on the spruce trees (sap? bugs?). And I recently learned a praying mantis has the ability to catch one (who would have imagined?). Thank you for caring for them. Thank you for sharing this moment in such a lovely, and loving, way.
I had to read this more than once as I had a strong feeling those small creatures had something to tell me…that everyday can be a combat zone is something I had already learned, but that one may be an individual, even a loner or warrior, fierce and resilient despite one’s size (or power) promises each of us a place at the feeder… that is something to think about, especially in these anxious times. You are right. These winged wonders are enough and you really are blessed by their presence!
Fran, this is gorgeous. I’m looking at my own one or two hummingbirds this morning and applying your beautiful description “these tiny winged wonders of sublime iridescence and supreme intelligence.” Yes, it is enough to be known by them.
I watched a pair of hummingbirds yesterday, dancing and chasing each other, it was almost as lovely as the story you tell in prose. I really enjoyed the connection between bird and woman here. Really lovely.
I love this. The descriptions of the hummingbirds’ movements are wonderful: “frenetic zoomings” and “arial acrobatics.” You note that they are “individuals. Loners. Warriors” and then introduce us to those individuals so thoroughly. I think that Jennifer’s comment is right— the scale of the poem vs. the size if it’s subjects and how it underscores that the most minute can sometimes be the most complex.
Fran, when I read the prompt early in the morning, I thought I could write about hummingbirds; we have so many around here by our feeders. And then I saw your prose poem and thought I couldn’t be anywhere close in eloquence and richness. Your poem offers such a delightful and insightful glimpse into the world of hummingbirds through your careful “observer glasses.” You beautifully, and skillfully, capture the duality of the hummingbirds’ nature: they are delicate and dazzling, on one hand, and intensely competitive “warriors,” on the other. I like how your personify The Princess, that “tiny tiny silvery girl” with “a red dot at her throat,” and your description of a male bird with “his brilliant ruby-throat like nothing else in nature, as long as the light is right; his jewel-fire turns black in shadows.” The ending is perfect: “They know me. It is more than enough. “
Fran, I love that you have a relationship with your hummers. I’m not surprised at all by all of your research on the bird world – both the facts and the knowing, and there’s a difference. I too have a returning female who says thank you for her food – – she hovers so close to me that I can almost hear her gratitude. Her tiny wings kissed my cheek with a gentle breeze yesterday, and I felt blessed. I agree that these tiny warriors are as fierce as eagles – they are actually tougher I think. After this morning’s bat out front, I looked out to find a hawk right under a remaining shade tree in the back yard, jumping and stomping on something – – and I went out to investigate but came up empty. There are such spiritual connections in the bird world, this feeling of messages and divine presence. I know your birds know you – – their name alone suggests a connection: RUBY Throated Hummingbirds.
Fran, I love your prose poem and also enjoy hummingbirds in my back yard, so your poem today resonated. I am more than amazed when watching them. I love the way you used italics in this poem, and I must say my husband has said on several occasions how much sugar water our birds are going through. It’s just sugar, right? I think you should consider adding a haiku at the end of this to show your gratitude. I think it would be a lovely haibun. Just a thought because this is perfect as is!
I was at an arboretum yesterday and jokingly said “should I write some Walden or just keep writing about sadness?” but luckily nature has it all. Thanks for hosting another weekend! I assume some of us will be back in school by the next open write. Best wishes!
nature moved along
Each day I checked on the baby birds. Watching and waiting for parents then fledglings to stop swooping us in our driveway.
And in time, nature moved along.
Each day I checked on the rabbit carcass.
Watching and waiting as flies then maggots then rain cleaned the bones in our basement window well.
And in time, nature moved along.
Each day I checked on me, too.
Watching and waiting for calm to water my soul and sunshine to warm my heart.
And in time, nature moved along.
And life and death and life again cycled all summer in perfect balance and harmony.
Each day, nature moved along.
The repetition of the intro phrase (each day) and the final line in each stanza reflects the life cycle so beautifully. The movement between new life (fledglings) and death (not sure I could keep watching the rabbit) as nature carries forward, with the interjection of you, feels complete and incomplete, all at once. I am thankful for these hints (jokingly, back to school wishes, “life and death and life again” matching the first three stanzas) that all is (or will be) well with you. Seeing that life offers ups and downs as it balances itself is important to knowing that an up is ahead.
“In perfect balance and harmony…” exactly how “nature moves along, C.O. Life to death to life again, and everything needed, provided. It is the most ancient of rhythms. I found a beautiful, perfect fledgling dead in the middle of the backyard just before dawn a few weeks ago. Hard to conceive of how it died and ended up there. I moved it to the shade under the pines and in no time carpenter ants had taken over it. It felt more honorable, more right, than a burial or plastic bag disposal in the trash. Suffice it to say I love every single line of your verse.
Love the repetition here mimicking the progression of decomposition and the moving along of the physical of one and the spiritual of another. Yes. And in time.
C.O., This is beautiful. I love “Each day I checked on…” beginning each stanza, and it is especially fitting and beautiful that you are one of the check ins. “…all summer in perfect balance and harmony.”
From beginning to end your poem captures the rhythm of nature without forgetting that we ourselves are part of nature. While nature moves along, I was happiest that you “checked on me too” a step we sometimes forget. To be aware of nature is to be aware of ourselves too. A lovely poem!
C.O.,
Your poem brings me such a sense of wonder and of peace. Its so beautifully crafted with the repetition of
and
the acceptance of
Stunning!
I love how your checkins with nature led to you checking in on yourself and your expectation that nature would provide a balm.
Such a powerful stanza. Well done, C.O.
Thank you for sharing your experiences and wisdom.
Gorgeous! Perfectly yokes together the beginning and end of the life cycle and places us within it and amongst the animals.
CO, Your poem frames the cycle of nature, life and death. You describe that perfect harmony and balance that nature accepts as normal.
CO, the cycles of nature bring peace and comfort – – the knowing that baby birds do fledge, the detritus eaters of the universe do feast and recycle old rabbits, seasons change, and we find peace in the sunshine. This is a lovely reminder of all that happens when we just take the time to notice. I love this sense of moving along. No one will be sad forever, and no rabbit will go unrecycled. 🙂 Your poetry brings a smile to my soul today.
C.O., I love your poem and especially the third stanza. Even in grief, nature pushes us on. Beautiful poem full of vivid and contrasting details from the carcass to the calm water. Powerful!
C.O.
Your repetition is a gorgeous reminder of the cycles of life and how like the critters we too move along. I sense a keen, observant eye in the specific observations about birds, rabbit, and self. I think about these cycles often, which seems to be a thing in old age.
I’m a huge fan of anaphora and your “Each day” and “And in time” really move this poem
forward so well.
I love the idea of checking on yourself as you do the other things in nature.
C.O. Your poem evokes warm memories of glad they’re gone and cool memories of sad they’re gone. But, that’s okay. Clever, thoughtful poets like you help us see that it’s all the cycle of nature, so just chill in the warm memories of the past times with friends and loved ones who’ve gone on.
Jennifer and Anne,
thanks for hosting and shaking loose this childhood memory.
Ann, thank you for this lovely description:
I feel myself leaning into your poem to get a closer view.
Jennifer, I like how you wrote a poem inspired by Ann’s and echoed her theme. I love seeing the cross-pollination in our poetry community.
Thank you for these details:
——————————————————-
It was summer
My cousins and I were little
We were all at Uncle Norman’s camp at Jerry Lake
We’d stopped along the way to get that good Canadian ice cream that came in huge tubs, red hot dogs and Humpty Dumpty potato chips
As we walked down to the lake
Uncle Jeff took out his pocket knife
He showed us how
To cut sap from a pine tree
He cut a piece for each cousin
Nature’s chewing gum
Mmmmm, Sharon! Your poem has me wanting to eat. The shift in lake living from all the not-so-good-for-you food (still yummy, unfortunately) to “nature’s chewing gum” felt like going back in time and then going further back. It highlights the simplicity of what used to be. I’ve never chewed pine sap, though I might give it a go now.
“Nature’s chewing gum” – fascinating, Sharon! I can just envision the rapt attention of all the little cousins gathered there to watch the cutting of sap. I can feel the magic of that day through your every detail, still so clear in your memory.
Sharon, I remember those red hot dogs from somewhere in my past. (What is that anyway?) I love walking down to the lake with you and your uncle and cousins having a piece of “nature’s chewing gum”. Precious memory.
I was wondering how you could top huge tubs of Canadian ice cream, red hot dogs and Humpty Dumpty potato chips…but you did…Nature did! Pine-sap chewing gum. Perfect!
This memory is so serene. And wonderful how nature is woven in our memories as strongly as the people. Really lovely. Thank you for sharing
Sharon, I too remember nature’s chewing gum, fresh from the tree! Great memory of the “rea” thing!
Loving how you admire the cross-pollination of the poetry community in the mentor poem, and yours brings such memories – – – the food we used to eat and the old time ways of chewing pine rosin. My grandfather did this, too, with some tree (maybe ours was pine, too) whittling it like we would slice a piece of cheese. You bring all the memories of exact foods of the good old days!
Sharon,
This poem honors such a unique experience. Is that a sign of the times? A commentary on our culture? From ice cream to pine sap has me thinking about all that has changed in my lifetime. Love this poem.
Sharon, your poem makes me want to join you. That “good Canadian ice cream that came in huge tubs” sounds so attractive right now.
You reminded me about my childhood treat of “nature’s chewing gum.” We also made cuts on birch trees to collect their juice.
Such a cozy poem today! Thank you.
Jennifer, your poem is a perfect echo poem – is there such a thing? (There should be.)I loved the scene you created – the drift of snow – the black capped heads – the echoed moment of my poem in another season.
Let’s make it a thing!
Jennifer and Ann, thank you for today’s prompt to take a moment in nature and write about it. I took you up on that and spent a few moments on the porch noticing the world from my unique GPS points here this morning. Jennifer, your poem thrills my inner birdwatching soul, and Ann, yours brings memories of my mother planting her fennel for the Black Swallowtails and her excitement over all the caterpillars she loved to watch. You inspire us to notice nature and to embrace the peace in it. I found some crazy this morning.
Bat Crap Crazy
it’s okay ~
go ahead, think it ~
we all know
the better title
for this poem
and how that expression
originated out of bats
in the belfry and rabies
from the droppings and I
still Googled to see if
anything had changed but
it’s all still the same
kind of crazy it always was
where here on the
Johnson Funny Farm at
33°8’42″N / 84°25’33″W
in Williamson, Georgia
at 6:10 a.m. with clear
skies at 77° with the
moon cradling its
own light and winking at
Venus to its 5:00 position
due East of my front door
I stand on the
porch listening to the calls
of the Eastern Wood Pewees
from all the dead trees
that used to be their homes
now lying like corpses across
the acres and see our
one single solitary bat that
flies in endless circles
overhead
as it always does
from dusk to dawn
and I’m not sure
which of us
is the
bat shit crazier
…..oops
Haha 😆 I absolutely love this one!!! This made my morning 🤣🤣
Kim,
This heart-breaking scene would be enough to drive any one bat shit crazy:
I love how you use both numbers and names to place us so specifically in the scene:
Sending peace and love to you and the Eastern Wood Pewees.
What a heart-breaking moment in all its specificity, Kim. The trees in corpse positions (without the benefit of yoga) to the endless circles of the bat (alone) reflects this current world, as does our ability to give the precision of the location with temp noted (only a google street map and overhead drone view away). Perfect title and even better ending!
Oh, all of this in the truth and absurdity and the utter seriousness of the trees cleared as now remains either the single bay endlessly circle, maybe searching maybe also waving its wings at all the craziness of the world. Wow. Love this poem.
Oh, Kim. The cry of the Pewees over the tree-corpses of their homes…every time I drive the country roads ’round my neck of the woods, I mourn the ongoing loss of habitat by timbering. The eagles have just come back, for heaven’s sake. How much we humans lose by trying to gain… not sure if your loss there is manmade or storm-wrought, but either way, the crying of the birds pierces my soul. Again. As for the bats… I see ’em, too, zigzagging before sunrise when I am outside with Jesse, and I thank God for their eating bugs that bite me and leave me with such welts. You also made me remember a story I read, wherein folks bought a house with a mysterious stench, only to discover the attic was a bat haven full of guano. YIKES. I feel the real angst in your lines, tied to grief and many layers of feeling. Just so you know, I am often out on the back deck at the same time you are on your porch, marveling at Venus in the east – almost wrote of that today, myself. Its beautiful, bright presence is an orienting comfort…even among the bat doo. As always, your energetic verse and wit bring the reader right into the moment.
Oh, Kim, how sad. You continue to see the effects of the development in your area. I like how you describe “one single solitary bat” as ours. I’m sorry it and all the others have been so disrupted.
Everything was bat-crap-crazy fun until we got to the unhomed Eastern Wood Pewees, the dead trees lying like corpses, that solitary bat flying in endless circles and your final contemplation…which of us??? A great poem.
I smiled throughout and especially enjoyed the ending. The form and flow matched the subject so well. Thanks for sharing this weekend, I admire your work.
Kim–I LOVE this! The specificity (is that really the location, or did you make that up!!?), the description, the layout of the poem, the Johnson Funny Farm (I was a Johnson once upon a time), and the wry close. Yes!
Kim, your start brought me in with rapt attention. Then I smiled at your coordinates knowing they were accurate without checking. Finally, you connected with my “bat shit crazy” life where I once lived in a home surrounded by bats who sometimes found their way into our lives. This is lovely. I too am batty!
Kim, I love your honest voice in this one and the very specifics of your place in the world. You pulled me onto your porch with you to see the fallen trees and to watch the bat circling. Your end is perfect! Hugs!
Kim,
Yes, we know the word, and, my friend, it is appropriate. I hate that those trees are dead. This scene reminds me of my sister and her asshat husband clear cutting their land in Tennessee and selling the lumber for $250K. The greed is batshit crazy because we know what it means to all species. My heart hurts for that poor bat flying around. Bats are our friends and far less likely to destroy our homes. Your poem is 🔥. I love everything about it except the reality. The specificity in adding latitude and longitude score gold.
Thank you for this lovely prompt. I love how so much in nature can be a metaphor and how you remind us that “nature belongs where nature is”. I just rode the tidal bore in the Bay of Fundy a few days ago and for some reason, it made me remember a last moment with my brother who died of cancer a few years ago in his 40’s.
I sink knee-deep into
Mud in the Bay of Fundy
Walk the river bottom
Squelch beneath it
Feet as heavy as a
Dream run
When your legs are stone.
It’s 3 am when my sister
Wakes me to help her role my
Brother on his side
Since he can no longer make this
Simple movement.
He is heavy,
As heavy as
Cancer.
I like the oozing between my toes, The stains on my polished fingers
I see how swiftly it goes
Like the tidal bore
Rolling back in.
This life
Full of death and dream runs
Full of living
In all its stickiness and play
In its stillness too.
Emily, I’m so sorry for the loss of your brother. Whether years ago or yesterday, the grief comes raging back at times and pulls us into the muck of the mud at the bottom. I love the way your poem plays with the ebb and flow, the waves, the rushing of this and that and the pull we feel in these different directions. That last stanza has so much truth and hits in a deep place to remind us of the cycles of living and dying. Beautiful lines this morning!
Emily, my heart aches in reading this, not only for you but also for your brother (I’m so sorry). Our lives are intersecting today. Someone very close to me is struggling with cancer now, and it’s a daily battle, so these lines, “He is heavy, as heavy as cancer” are palpable to me. The combination of memories and how that represents life is powerful, built so well into the poem and joining perfectly in the last stanza. I have also been to the Bay of Fundy but had no idea you could ride the tidal bore. I was 13 at our visit so it likely wasn’t allowed or even thought about then. Who knows! But I do remember being fascinated and seeing the sea birds following the wave in. One of my favorite trips.
Emily, wow, you have captured nature’s circle of life and death “In all its stickiness and play” Oh, this is so powerful. The short three lines describing your brother stick with me. That last stanza tying together his young cancerous body with the deep mud is so moving. Masterfully crafted.
Oh my goodness – these associations, Emily! The real mud a metaphor for the heaviness and paralysis of loss, a dying brother as heavy as the illness taking him … and yet learning to embrace the “oozing” and “stickiness” of life. Brilliant point, and poem. There is a rhythm in it, like the tides. I am sorry for the loss of your brother and very moved by how you and your sister were there for him. Love in action.
What a tender poem this is, Emily. I am so sorry for the loss of your brother.. I feel the sinking of your feet into the mud, I feel them “heavy as a Dream run when your legs are like stone”… I see you with your sister…the heavy roll… this metaphor for life and death…such a profound poem. Thank you for sharing it with us. It’s beautiful.
That last stanza is so beautiful and captures many of our poems; nature representing this contrast of life and death but in order. I admire your bravery in imagery for this powerful memory. Thank you for sharing.
Emily–this:
“He is heavy,
As heavy as
Cancer.”
If you had written nothing but this stanza, the poem would be enough. But you surrounded it with observation and feeling and–everything. Beautiful.
Emily, your images of life and impending death bring tears to my eyes. I, too, lost a brother to cancer. This life, does as you write, is full of living even in its stillness. I wish you peace in your memories.
It takes quiet,
doesn’t it,
to notice
the lone leaf,
dropping?
The way it
swoops its way
downward,
taking its time
dancing on
the currents
This, the
first sign
of summer
ending,
signaling
something
to a sleepy
world
— Kevin
I love the image of the leave dancing on the currents and what this means to watch it. It is true it takes me often the quiet of a sleep morning to take notice.
You remind me of the e.e.cummings poem about the leaf that falls, and yes – – oh yes, I’m ready for them to signal that fall is on its way.
Kevin, finding solace in your quite and sleep world today. I needed that respite. Thank you.
It does take quiet, doesn’t it? You’ve given that lone leaf a singular gift ~ the appreciation of it’s existence in a world of full of noise and clutter.
Wow lovely image to close out summer and signal what’s next. Yesterday I found myself watching three leaves blowing in a vortex caught in a corner by a building and thought how loud it was made by such small and simple things. Thank you for sharing.
Kevin–what a peaceful poem! You have painted a picture for us–a lovely one. Although, it did make me wince a bit when I thought of summer ending. You are forgiven, though.
I envy how you can take a moment and capture it so beautifully.
On these very hot, still long and full days of summer, your image is one of both reality and a bit of foreboding. Yet, I feel as if your real message here is not of the impending seasonal shift, but rather of the need to sit still in order to see the small changes happening all around us. Lovely
Between the slats of the shutter,
black birds stretch wings tip to
tip, shading Moon’s light from
my closed eyes, veiled in dreams:
fissured scenes of grief unburied
by rest. They nudge me to stay in
the past a bit longer, holding form
through dawn until Sun scalds
their tired wings, returning their
feathers to laundry clipped blouses,
dangling compression socks–
present scenes waiting for drip
coffee to comfort the dreamwork
of grieving.
Sarah,
The imagery of your poem is profound. The birds wings shading the moonlight letting in bits of the grief (fissures- what a great word to use there!) You describe how grief feels with so much image here. Lovely.
Sarah, this dreamwork of grieving and the coffee to bring comfort – – and the metaphor of the blackbirds bringing the grief and the unrest – – is deeply stirring and so understood. The feathers returning to the laundry clipped blouses brings to mind the ever presentness of grief that we carry with us on our shoulders always – – it’s just waiting to return again, and in the mean time there is work to be done, clothes to be worn, coffee to be consumed. Absolutely mesmerizing.
Sarah, I can imagine those early morning hours, when all is quiet and peaceful, just stirring with the memories or reality of loss. Color does its work here, representing grief, sleep, darkness, weight, even the fissured scenes previously buried. Where we might find light (between shutter slats and moonlight), color/grief keeps it hidden.
Sarah, I’m holding on to all these images. Masterfully said: “fissured scenes of grief unburied by rest” is something we have faced too. Moon and Sun doing their work to help comfort the griever.
This fissured scene is so well captured in shutter slats and black birds’wings… perhaps the only way for any of us to experience the heaviness of grief. A beautiful poem.
“Fissured scenes of grief unburied by rest” is so powerful and crisply describes how you can’t touch a hot coal, we need rest and time to be ready to touch the hurt and pain with peace. Beautiful, I will carry that with me. The capital letters also drew me to the personalities of sun and moon. Really really lovely, Sarah, thank you for sharing this healing nature with us.
The imagery is perfection.
Sarah-As always, you give us imagery that takes us into your world. The prosaic details at the end bring us back to earth. These lines– “waiting for drip/coffee to comfort the dreamwork/of grieving–are so very real. Life does go on.
Sarah, your poem is profoundly moving. I found myself laying in bed, with you, in the past, knowing full well they will take on the new “laundry” as the day begins. This should be published.