Category Archives: Seeds

IN THE AIR TONIGHT – PROMPT #58

Go outside and inhale. It’s there. You can feel it. What is it? As the title indicates, it’s “IN THE AIR TONIGHT.”

Your poem today involves something “in the air.”  A flock of birds, ominous clouds or the sweet smell of success are all fair game for this prompt. And the air is an infinite concept. Even writing about your home planet will qualify.

So take that lung full of fresh air and sit down to pen your poem. If it’s “IN THE AIR TONIGHT,” it’s in there, alright!

MARIE ELENA’S  POEM:

EVAPORATION (a Fibonacci)

Her
heart’s
silent
insistent
pulsing prayers ascend -
cares vanishing into thin air.

WALT’S ATMOSPHERE:

BON VOYAGE!

Living on the flight path,
hearing the roar of jets heading
to and from parts unknown. The noise
has grown on me, or at least
the beast has been tamed in my mind.
I find myself fantasizing, that I’m up there;
a window seat and a sweet escape
awaiting. I’m debating – Florida
or to L.A.? It does not matter.
Any place would be better, I’d say.
“Up, up and away!”


THE WALK OF LIFE – PROMPT #57

 Are you a leader?
Do you follow?
Do you walk with the masses
or in the silence of your own thoughts?
Only you can know where your direction leads.
Give us a glimpse of your journey, 
knowing we’ll be with you every step of the way.


MARIE ELENA’S PATH:

Elements of Design
a sonnet

Her longings go beyond where he has led.
His nightmares see her leaving him behind.
She takes his hand, in hopes that he will tread
Uncertain pathways – pages yet unlined.

His ruler and his compass firmly gripped,
He pointedly denotes their journey’s source.
Just staring blankly, feeling ill-equipped -
No dots to link; no way to chart their course.

She tenderly removes the tools in hand,
Endows him with a palette of rich hues,
Presents him with a canvassed-life unplanned;
Excitedly, they watch the tints diffuse.

Her watercolor fantasies achieved;
His fear of spontaneity relieved.

WALT’S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE:

WHERE I GO, WILL YOU FOLLOW?

The journey is long in this life.
We share our joys; suffer through strife
learning to give and love and grow,
teaching to others what we know;
this experiment in true-life.

In this life, we find it is rife
with heartaches that cut like a knife,
but we carry on even though
the journey is long.

From here until the afterlife,
I will walk all paths in this life.
The world has so much more to show.
So much to see before I go,
and here I’m stuck in this mid-life?
The journey is long.


TAXED! (No, not in THAT way.) – PROMPT #28

Some of you are involved in NaNoWriMo, some are involved in the Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, and some insane brave souls are attempting both. Some thrive on the stimulation. Some wonder why they ever committed themselves. Some should be committed. ;)   Regardless, we all have times in our lives when we just don’t know how we’ll ever get it all done, and reclaim our sanity in the process.

Overworked? Overwhelmed? Inundated? Have a tried-and-tested way to deal with the demands? Let’s write about how it feels, coping methods, or perhaps how we avoid it altogether.

Or, maybe life is good, and you can’t relate to feeling snowed under. Feel free to write accordingly.

Marie Elena’s attempt:

Frazzled Momma

She had her litter in the guest closet. I gently and lovingly moved her and her six darlings to a cozy spot in the basement. Then cleaned the guest closet. Thoroughly.

Thud
Thud
Thud

What was this soft and elusive sound? It seemed as soon as I would get up to check it out, it stopped. Then it would start up again. I began thinking I was hearing things.

Heading to the basement to check on the kittens, I discovered what was happening. Momma was in the process of dragging each kitten, one at a time, back upstairs to the closet she had chosen to begin with. Hanging from the scruff of their necks, these poor little ones were banging against each step, all the way up. Momma actually did look frazzled, and a bit miffed with me. I brought the last two kittens up to the closet for her. After all, new moms have enough to deal with.

 

Walt’s worn out:

Life is a whirlwind.

Here in the eye of the storm,

everything seems calm.

 

 

 

 

 


LOST AND FOUND – Prompt #14

Throughout our lives things that exist in our realm of influence by which we have been effected, fall into either end of that spectrum. Write a poem on something you’ve lost. If you’ve found something, write that poem. It could be something you thought you’d never see again, only to be surprised by its rediscovery. Either way, go to the lost and found to reclaim your poetic wile.

 

Marie Elena’s effort:

 

Nothing Lost

 

As I embrace One who was slain,

and forfeit self, what will I gain?

 

Eternal life in Christ is mine

not of my self, but His design.

 

His agony, my boundless gain

corrupted self cannot attain.

 

In death to self I gain no loss,

my life secured on Calvary’s cross.

~~~

 

Inspired by Luke 9:24-25.“For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self?”

 

And by missionary Jim Elliot, who wisely stated, “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose.”

 


Walt’s Re-Discovery:


RECLAMATION PROJECT

 

1.)Phase One – Losing Myself

 

Rev up the Delorean, I’m going back. We all have that defining moment, pointed and prescient that had set our course. The forces of nature were strong and one wrong turn could have sent me reeling. I have a feeling it did.

My temerity was the social end of me, for as far as I can see, High School defined that moment in time, where I had let the ball drop.Not regret per se, but sadness now for those would have, should have, and could have moments so fleeting. Those errors of omission were well hidden in my condition from which I’ve been extricated. Celebrated now for my abilities to see things, and write things and expose things about me that without, would not be me. Debilitating was this fear to connect, rejection not something I handled well, or handled at all. So my fall from grace saved me from the disgrace of “embarrassing” myself by letting loose and living my life.

The perpetual lost boy languished in Neverland.

 

2.) Phase Two – Righting the Ship

Looky, looky, there goes Hooky!

The ribald Captain has been dispatched with a swift kick in his steering mechanism. A discovery, a long time in the making has taken a stand as well as command of my journey; a life’s worth of yearning for solid footing and a direction much easier to navigate than blindly following burned out novas in the cosmos of my mind. For in the stars, paths that crossed each other unnoticed have found a circuitous path to intersect once again.

Older now, more aware of selves and of this moment and what lead each to move to embrace it. In the kindling of a reborn kinship, acquaintances long removed and left unseen, find a connection that closes unsure circles, and opens the world to new adventures. Both stand, with eyes open like the wide-eyes kids we were when we began. A familiarity which neither knew, comes through to ground us as the friends we never realized we were.

The gathering of spirits once left to roam those hallowed halls has stepped back to touch base and begin anew, assuring us of the fact that yes, you can go home again.

 

***

I’m looking for something and it has me willing to lose a copy of the CD version of WOOD in the process. This prize will go to the first poet to post what it is for which I am looking. Good Luck!



 


GO FOR THE GOLD – Prompt #13

The recent events surrounding the U.S. Women’s Soccer team has opened us up to a very direct pursuit with much of our lives, including our poetry. The first big story of the tournament was the amazing goal scored to put the team into contention for the cup. The second story was the rise of the Japan Women’s team to defeat the U.S. squad, causing them to fall short of their goal. What goals do you set for yourself? How often do you achieve them? Is it the effort that stands out for you, or is it all about the glory? What’s your story?

The prompt for week #13 is to write a goal-oriented poem. It could be your crowning achievement to date, or the never say die spirit that keeps you in the game. Go for poetic gold.

Marie Elena’s goal poem:

Introspective Perspective

Irrespective,
my prospective objective
and selective directive,
though defective, were effective.

Walt’s Shot at the target:

HITTING THE MARK

Hand steady,
you scope straight and true.
You pull your string taut,
your arrow quivers with the
tension your hand provides.
There is no such thing
as aiming too high.
Glad for the opportunity
to give it your best shot,
whether you hit it or not,
the prize lies in having
a goal in the first place.
Never meant to be a race,
just a leisure walk from birth
until the end of the day.


BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS – PROMPT # 1

It has been Marie Elena’s and my intention to highlight a poem each from the weekly submissions. The quality of each and every one this week has been exceptional. We both thank you for your enthusiasm and devotion to the propagation of the poetic process. For the first week’s prompt, “It Starts With a Seed,” we have made our selections. Here are our choices for Week 1: 
 
Marie Elena’s Pick: Catherine Choi Lee’s “A Life of Their Own.”

 

I found the interpretation of the prompt, and use of metaphor intriguing in this piece. Beginning with the title, the forward movement is steady, each phrase creative and having a voice of its own, and ending with a stunning line that has replayed often in my mind this week: “If only for the lonely sake of extravagance.” Lovely, Catherine.
 
A LIFE OF THEIR OWN by Catherine Choi Lee

We bury unwanted words
To forget them.
But in the dark
Is stubborn growth,
Unseen movement
Pushing toward
The surface.
Though no witness
May ever see
Their beauty,
They bloom
In secret gardens
Without promise,
If only
For the lonely
Sake of extravagance.


Walt’s Pick: Barbara Yates Young’s “Seeds”.
 

Barbara had written “Seeds” in four phases, delineating between the stages of development a seed goes through from initial planting, through zygote and bringing the bloom of the seedling to the surface. I chose Barbara’s interpretation of the prompt to be a bit more “out of the flower box” thinking.
 
SEEDS by Barbara Yates Young

I.
not all seeds are like the maple
swirling in masses
germinating with carney barker ease
and profligate spenders
teenage girls with more credit cards than pennies
oh, look

II.
some only respond to coaxing
warm the soil
like hatching eggs
__or sprained ankles
__wrapped, propped, cosseted
__hot water bottles,
__microwaved buckwheat hulls
for day after day,
not too (much) (little) water
some will not open in the light,
–bashful as shy boys–
or the dark when foul deeds are done

III.
yet others, thriving on judicious mutilation,
keep for one or one thousand winters
expecting to wait out the generation before, sleeping
until their protective youth has worn away or been
burned by rioting fires, or acid intestines; etched off.
watch as the sheen on a red bucket is cut by sand corners,
and imagine a nascent redbud tree

IV.
when you came out of the chute raring to get on with it
he, incapable of imbibition, watched his shell change
and hoped to survive the process.


IT STARTS WITH A SEED – PROMPT #1

Every garden starts with a seed. A small part of the big picture; a beginning. And so we begin at Poetic Bloomings.

The prompt for this Sunday reflects that idea. Write a “seed” poem. It could literally be a seed of a plant, of an idea that sparks a greater effort. It could be the beginning of a life, or whatever you feel would be the start of something big. Get started. That’s a beginning in itself.

** Marie Elena’s poem:

OF DANDELIONS AND MANICURES

One edges, tidies, snips, and trims,
Who knows nothing of dreams and whims.

One scatters dandelion seeds,
Who understands a daydream’s needs.

By Marie Elena

(Dedicated to our mutual friend, *Jerry Walraven [“Chev”], who knows of dandelion fluff and other whimsical wonders. Chev, we are gravely sorry for your loss, and pray for God’s healing comfort.)

** Walt’s poem:

A TOUCH

Hearts ablaze in an unquenchable fire.
It is desire of the highest power.
It has been left to burn unattended.

It was a cold ember, a lump of coal
sparked with the excitement of a single touch.
Now burning brightly; love inflamed

by Walt Wojtanik.

Happy poeming to all, and enjoy this “Garden Walk” with us today, every Sunday, and continuing throughout the week.


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