Our Host: Brittany Saulnier
Brittany Saulnier is on a quest to inspire readers to find their own connection to nature. She is inspired by nature’s secrecy and often blends environmental science with whimsy. You can read her short story LIGHT OUT in the anthology Just YA: Short Stories, Poems, Essays & Fiction for Grades 7 -12. She is the co-creator of Read to Write Kidlit, a podcast dedicated to improving writing craft by talking with authors about their books.
Inspiration
I go to nature for peace. For inspiration. For renewed curiosity.
However, I rarely do this alone. In my attempt to capture a recent memory of playing in the snow with my daughter, three colors demanded my attention.
Process
I invite you to think of a recent memory where you were “in nature”, which brings to mind so many different situations. It could be walking along the bird-poop-speckled sidewalk to reach the bus stop or peering through a rain soaked window while washing the dishes. Nature is there. Then, identify three prominent colors in that memory. As an added challenge, avoid focusing on the color green, which we often associate with nature. Write a poem that highlights the three colors from your memory.
Brittany’s Poem
On Expectations
by Brittany Saulnier
Our cheeks are pink.
In the field, I fail to roll a ball of snow.
I forget how much work it is
To build a snowman,
And I have to reprimand myself,
Remind myself,
To watch how your little eyelashes blink away the pure white snowflakes.
Let us walk in the woods.
I lift you, checking your rosy face,
because your little feet are tired from the weight of your boots.
Somehow, I have forgotten boots of my own.
I carry you
My feet layered in damp socks and
slick bottomed shoes,
lost in the white and
testing for the soaked black branches buried beneath.
Together we reach our favorite boulder
And sit on layers of snow, lichen, stone and dirt.
The chill on my cheeks, the pinch,
Awakens my eyes and ears.
Above Chickadees chirp happily,
Bowing their black caps between frosted branches.
Your little feet, in little boots, swirl the snow beside mine.
Your little eyelashes, lifted toward the treetops, blink away the falling snow
And never look away.
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.
I love this poem, I actually got to appreciate nature with a friend recently!
You waved me down the gravel trail—
“Still know the way?” you grinned.
Bare trees nodded like old friends,
just happy to see us again.
On the bridge, we let the creek
do some of the talking.
Silence wasn’t awkward—
just taking a breath with us.
The garden’s still waking up,
but we were already blooming—
two stories tangled back together,
growing like it’s no big deal.
Late with my poetry but still writing … this was a fun prompt!
There’s so much brown mulch
Mulch stays on the ground, friends.
but there are little piles of mulch
on swings and slides
hidden in the crevices of the climbing logs
The logs are brown too
wood on wood is hard to see
but there are little piles of mulch
The gray track winds
around
crosses over the blacktop
and back down
a baby hill
Yes you can walk the track, friends.
Later we will line up to go inside,
along the black fence
For now jackets gather there
because it’s spring
Aren’t you cold, friends?
no matter the temperature they will take their coats off
when the sun is shining in April
That’s where the color starts to pop
Make sure you get your coats on the way in, friends!
purple jacket on the ground
a red sleeve
peeking out from under
a blue coat slung over the fence
a green hood
hanging on
Color Change
It seems like yesterday we hiked through
white snow that sparkled around the deep
chestnut of your hair.
Ashen branches and
Loamy leaves jutted out between hills
egg shell and just as fragile.
Buskin bodies cut virtually noiselessly in front of us
white tails and
coffee-colored antlers camouflaged no longer.
Rose and sapphire coats paused and held their breath next to
oil-slick and iridescent puddles where now
emerald green emerges between
brown all around and the
pale of our skin kisses
ultraviolet sun.
The snow lies still beneath my feet
A hush upon the waking land
The trees rise dark, both stark and grand
While sunrise paints the cold retreat.
A blush of gold on silver ground
The quiet hum of day begins
Light dances soft on frozen skins
As trees in silence watch, profound.
Each step creates a cloud that fades away
No voice but wind among the trees
Their branches whisper with the breeze
As night’s last shadow slips from day.
I love the calmness you describe within your poem. I think we forget to take a moment and be still while letting nature have a chance to speak.
Brittany, I”m late getting this posted because my computer acted kooky yesterday. But, because I”ve committed to posting something for each day’s prompt, I’m posting today anyway.
I Suppose, It’s Rose
Rose is my favorite color
Not because it colors his cheeks
Unless, he was sweating from basketball
You see, , they called him Rosie
He gained Penn State athletic fame
Yes, it’s my husband’s last name.
We liked the name Rosie so much
We named our daughter Rosalyn
Which means little rose.
She was almost his twin.
She looked so much like him
From the very day of her birth
Two other children were born
Both carrying our same last name
Yet none of those three became my favorite.
For, despite the thorns and the thistles
And occasional need for referee whistles
“Rosie” my Honey, still fills that role.
He’s ever the mate of my soul.
great poem Anna. I really like how the color rose has become such an important part of your life. I can really see that in this poem.
In the middle of the yard
erupting through dirt and debris
of construction
daffodils sprout.
Imploring arms
praise the sun
while saffron heads
bend in prayer
remembering
past lives
in the burnt sienna soil.
Wow, what beautiful colors you bring to mind in your poem. I love the idea of the daffodils imploring, praising, and praying.
I’m late but thought I’d post anyway
I love to relax
in a hammock in the Spring
gently rocking and soaking in the
blossoms on my flowering plum
pink as baby’s toes
against the clear blue sea
above me, tickling my senses.
If I’m there on the right day
in mid-April, I get a show:
the petals let go, leap off the tree
and ride the wind
swirling and twirling around me
until they land
sprinkling the cool grass like a birthday cake.
I love the image of the petals leaping off the tree into the cool birthday cake grass.
I love the idea of the plum petals as confetti on a birthday cake. Such rich details help us enjoy the tree with you.
I love this poem because I relate to it so much. I love to sit in my hammock and watch the trees in the spring and summer. my friends and I call it “tree appreciation.”
I love the imagery of being there on the right day … spring is so much about that, I think … noticing those “right” moments as the days get better and better.
Evening sky, blazing across the azure canvas—
Amethyst and fuschia twirling into each other—
Stretching into sleek silken strands
Highlighted by golden persimmon,
Flaming like DayGlo sherbet,
I will ride off into you.
Oh, to “ride off into you” is such an intimate look at this beautiful sunset. Glorious!
Brittany, your prompt was just what the doctor ordered! I loved the opportunity to write about colors and nature and lean into the joys of being outdoors. Your mentor poem is full of vivid images, but even more than that I love how it sounds!
Blue skies and muddy puddles
For four days I had stared up
at the dull gray skies, wind
whipped rain spotting my glasses–
Today would be different, my weather app
assured, nary a blue, green, or fuschia
storm system spiralled on my doppler radar,
instead, when I looked up I saw brilliant blue
skies and a bright yellow sun. A bit breezy and
a chill still in the air, but this emergence of a
new season called for a barbecue!
Grill lit, I gathered my ingredients in shiny new
silvery aluminum tray–
bright red marbled burger patties,
golden sharp cheddar slices,
glowing brioche buns, the color
of burnished burlywood,
this was going to be soooo good!
Stepping off the steps, tray in hand,
onto the slight incline of the backyard,
the soggy ground immediately gave way–
I was Charlie Brown
and Lucy had pulled away the football.
Me and the tray and all of its contents
were momentarily airborne
in that frozen moment,
my skyward eyes spotting
a tragic constellation–
Burgers, bread, and cheese
in ascent, and then crashing down
in a wet brown muddy mess,
which is what I was,
as I ordered pizza
and buried our burgers
in the trash can.
Note: No burgers were harmed in the creation of this poem. Loosely based in actual events, this poem leans heavily into hyperbole.
Hi Dave, I love your hyperbolic reconstruction of a mishap. Happy the burgers came out unscathed. I also love the colourful build-up to the climax – a visual and a gustatory delight.
Haha! I’m glad to learn that the events were hyperbolized here! So fun and so many colors. The Charlie Brown and Lucy reference made me smile.
Love this color-full story and all its hyperbole!
Brittany–this prompt was either amazing serendipity or one of us manifested the invitation! (You can read a little more of that context on my blog–along with a photo!). I love color and I love nature–what a perfect combination for today. Your poem is beautiful–and the colors so subtle, the kind of winter I really don’t know.
And I decided to play with a prose poem today…just because.
Last night I woke up in a dream reaching for color. I could see it, just beyond my fingertips. Words pushed and pulled in my brain, like poetry chewing gum, stretching to capture the colors in that narrow slice of sky sandwiched between the black of night and the shadows of the ocean. Vermillion chased crimson and burgundy, playing tag with golden amber, marigold, and coral until the purples came out to close out the night. Violet swallowed lavender, fading into magenta before allowing indigo to close the colorful show. I tossed in the colors of the dreamy sunset, reveling in their taste and smell. I wrapped myself in the warmth dripping from my dreams, painting images visible only to my mind’s eye. Colors lullabied me back into slumber, settling me, soothing me, refreshing me. I slept. The morning dawned gray, color drained. But my brain danced with the colors lingering, tucked safely away to carry me into the day.
https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2025/04/15/dreaming-in-color-npm25-day-15/
Kim, sunset is my favorite color and you described it so vividly!
Kim, I really appreciate your choice of form. It allows you to weave a colorful narrative. My favorite lines are:
The description of the colors as sentient and playing with each other really breathes life into your poem!
I love this nature prompt! I am so glad the weather is warmer where I am and I can get outside more because it really does make me feel alive after the winter. As I was brainstorming this poem, I went from colors to sounds to memories to a blanket. So here it is-a bit rough, but here nonetheless.
Patchwork blanket of seasons
winter white
brilliantly bright
blanket of peace
summer yellow
loud alive hot
blanket of renewal
springtime purple
impatiently peeking
blanket of life
fall orange
approaching calm
blanket of rest
I love the array of blankets–which also made me think about how the colors are different depending on where we live and how we experience the seasons. I think my favorite is winter white…blanket of peace.
Love how you found colors and blankets to describe each season. Beautiful, Alexis!
Two Chicks
Draped with cerulean-shaded stripe towels
around our necks, we marched down Ardmore
Lane-hopping over blacktop bridges and side
walk cracks to be first in line at the big pool
at the maple quilted clubhouse. Free of big-
ger sisters, we felt free to wander off the path,
to sing and twirl while looking both ways. But
before we made it to the chlorine turn, we
danced onto fallen eggs, crushing two incubate-
ing chicks with our bare toes, blue shells and
peach fuzz pulsing on concrete. The two of
us knew we sinned; too young for confession,
we prayed a silent prayer, used our pool cards
to inch the corpses toward their grassy graves.
The rest of the walk was a quiet hum, maybe
a hymnal that carried us to the turn and into
the shallow end of the pool to wash away
our sins and swim into our guilt.
Wow, Sarah. Just “Wow.”
There’s innocence in this poem, colors, and so….so much lyrical beauty.
Amazing…”used our pool cards to inch the corpses toward their grassy graves.” Also “swim in our guilt.” I just want to keep reading and rereading.
Brittany,
Thank you for hosting and prompting is to think observe nature. I has fun writing about a moment from my day.
I loved the ending of your poem:
I like that double gaze of the narrator looking at the little girl and seeing that the little girl is taking it all in and “never look[ing] away.”
There is something so simple and beautiful in this double act of looking.
——————————————————-
Conference Period
needing to clear my head
I wander outside
to walk a couple of laps
my gaze bounces off
the artificial colors
of the pink track
the too bright blues and greens
of the turf
my eyes seek solace above
in the white blanketing the blue
once refreshed
I spot the browns and whites
of three house sparrows
unhoused and bouncing
in a spring-colored tree
I love the lines “unhoused and bouncing,” Sharon. So true of our little winged friends. Beautifull
I really like the contrast between the colors. the difference between the artificial and natural colors. “my eyes feel solace above in the white blanketing the blue” I really enjoyed this line.
Colors
Lavender, yellow.
I see them all together
splotches of color.
Chartreuse, rose and peach.
Walking, glimpses catch the eye
edging a gray path.
Just time for a little Haiku today. Thanks Brittany for you prompt and lovely poem.
i want to walk the gray path and enjoy the scenery! Nice work
Susan,
thanks for taking us on this colorful walk. I like the contrast with the gray path
So many colors in your poem to “catch the eye,” Susan! Thanks for this!
Oh, the colors of haiku are a lovely contrast to the gray path.
Did you know
How many colors
Live in sand?
The white specks
Like drops of sunscreen
The bronze bits
Like sun-kissed skin
The hints of khaki
Like fishing shorts
All these little
Colors blend
To create a
Tan, sandy beach
Maybe it isn’t
The white pearl
Sands of Destin,
But Playalinda
Has the colors
Of home
I like how you took something so simple and showed us there is something more there. And makes me want to be there!
Ashley, I want to go to the beach and count all of the colors that I can find in the sand! After that I want to count all of the shades of blue that I can find in the ocean!
Such a lovely poem of discovery and a lesson in close reading of the earth. I love thinking about Destin and Playalinda as holding different meanings for the speaker: “Of home.”
Hope
Under a moody
Gray sky, I catch a glimpse of
Purple myrtle and
Yellow daffodils – little
flecks in a barren landscape
Heather,
This is just the poem I needed fo read this evening. Thank you for sharing the colors of hope!
Ah, that moody gray sky! Love the purple and yellow.
These “little / flecks in a barren landscape” are sometimes just enough to keep us going: such is the way of “Hope”! Thank you for articulating this so well, Heather!
Purple myrtle– yellow daffodils. Oh these colors are such a comfort in the “barren landscape.”
When I read about writing about color, I couldn’t help thinking back a week to when I visited the Canterbury Cathedral in England and the gorgeous stained glass windowson a sunny day, so instead of writing about nature, I wrote about that visit. (Tried to add a picture but can’t get it to upload.)
Sun gleams through the stained glass
casting mottled rainbows on the walls of the cathedral.
A man dressed in black
held by a woman in aqua and white,
surrounded by vibrant blues and purples.
But ever since Norman the volunteer
pointed out the secret
my eyes can only drift to the tiny red,
a keyhole in the center of an open padlock
that has liberated this man from his prison.
A tiny red
in the shape of a swastika,
a red so small and so high in the glass
that you would not see it,
(almost as invisible as the man must have felt)
if not for Norman
pulling our eyes to this dark detail
illuminated by the sun.
Here’s the picture.
Cheri, your opening lines beautifully establish the visual spectacle of the stained glass “casting mottled rainbows on the walls of the cathedral.” I like how you tell us a story of the image in this window and introduce Norman with a “secret.”
The parenthetical remark about the man’s invisibility adds a layer of emotional depth and connects the symbol to the human experience within the artwork. Wonderful explorations here! Thank you.
Cheri,
Thank you for bringing us on your visit to Canterbury Cathedral!
I love the cleverness of these lines:
I like how your poem conveys what you saw, your sense of wonder and how Norman guided your seeing.
I felt like I was right beside you on the tour.
marveling
the redbud’s precious purple blossoms
have lingered this cold spring
the graying trunk holds high many limbs
like a preacher giving benediction
the buds pour out along new brown stems
and chunkier charcoal branches
even bursting through the smoky black bark
of the main torso itself
it is as if the tree has been dipped
in plum floral
and sweet breezes send lavender
loveliness everywhere
a bit of joy and beauty in the midst
of a hurting world
The “lavender loveliness” lifted my heart, and then reality hit “in the midst of a hurting world.” Your description is so vivid.
Maureen I longed to write about the color purple too. I kept thinking of Alice Walker’s book and the redbuds that line the creek on both sides of the bridge of the dirt road I drive home. Thank you for doing what I didn’t. My favorite line is “like a preacher giving benediction.” As Shug said, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple and don’t notice it.” Nicely done!
Maureen,
Seems you, Susie, and I find the same struggle this spring. It’s hard to enjoy nature’s beauty when there is so much needless hurt and evil around us. Comparing the tree trunk to a “preacher giving a benediction” is a prayerful and mournful image, as well as being a unique and excellent figure of speech.
Maureen, I am in awe of the beauty you convey “in the midst of a hurting world.” Like Heather had noticed, I also got hung on “lavender loveliness” – such a lively image. Yesterday, was such a terrible day for me, and some days I can’t find the words at all. I wish those evil people stopped to see the beauty, and maybe, just maybe, they’d become a little kinder. Thank you for sharing your marveling today!
Maureen,
thank you for sharing so much beauty. I like your apt title—nature is indeed worth marveling over.
Your last stanza resonates:
a bit of joy and beauty in the midst
Thank you for noticing and shining a light on both the beauty and the pain within our communities.
ANOTHER DAY
it’s hard to write today
find colors true
though they burst around me
my eye sees only
red crusted to opaque couché
white slimed to mud,
blue smeared to grey
I bow my head
ashamed to hang
the flag
will Friday’s soft rains
wash away
careers erased
vile yellow hatred of my brown and black friends
families cleaved
broken promises
the oily stain of takers
it’s hard to write today
find solace
in true colors
by Susie Morice, April 15, 2025©
Susie, it is absolutely stunning what is happening in our country, the devastating edicts of this administration…and I am awed by how you brought this to light with your descriptions of red, white, and blue. Well done! These words hit home particularly hard today; I am holding back tears –
Susie,
Im finding writing particularly difficult this month. There’s a tinge of guilt every time I don’t call out the vile direction our country has taken. Like you, I am
“ashamed to hang
the flag”
and don’t know what we’ll do come July 4 and Memorial Day. I appreciate those in this community who validate what I know is true. ‘Preciate you.
Susie, I’m with you. It’s hard to write of flowers and joy in the times we are living in. But because you’re such a gifted writer, your poem is a song of soft sorrow. Praying we get through this together.
Love to you, Susie!
I am having a hard time putting words together after reading this powerful poem. “It’s hard to write today” packs a punch, but I am so thankful that you did write today.
Susie, this stanza describing how the colors of flag are stained as a result of the actions happening in this country today intensifies the tone of the first stanza: “it’s hard to write today / find colors true.” Yesterday was such a hard day for me, but writing is where we can at least unleash our feelings. Thank you! Sending hugs :).
Susie, this was cleverly done – – at first I thought maybe you were sick with runny eyes, and then I saw things come into focus. You always amaze me with your creative moves.
Oh Susie,
thank you for writing so vividly of the heartbreak of our country.
This stanza . . .
my eye sees only
red crusted to opaque couché
white slimed to mud,
blue smeared to grey
I bow my head
ashamed to hang
the flag . . .
speaks what my soul has been sadly carrying. Thank you for this cleverly worded and very vivid truth.
Susie, yes to this resistance. The ignorant cowards of “yellow hatred” of people of color is such a powerful image. I see that it is hard to keep writing and keep up with the nonsense of this chapter. Peace to you, friend.
i too empathize with this poem. I loved the lines, red crusted to opaque couche and white slimed to mud and blue smeared to grey. I can see these so clearly. And the emotion of the poem is just as powerful. It is certainly hard to write in days like this.
Hi, Brittany! What a wonderful poem with your adorable little girl. I tried a Shadorma poem thanks to Kim Johnson’s poem yesterday.
Camellia
pink beauty
sweet Camellia
nature’s love
deep green leaves
ancient Japanese blossom
golden in spring sun
© Stacey L. Joy, 4/15/25
Oops, I used green.
Stacey — I love. your flowers ALWAYS…and their green leaves (LOL!). Thank you…you made me smile. I needed that. Love, Susie
Stacey,
Your poem blooms to match that gorgeous flower.
This is a beautiful poem about a beautiful flower. I must try my hand at a Shadorma! Thank you for the photo – absolutely gorgeous.
Thank you for including the picture of “sweet Camellia” although you painted it perfectly with your words.
This Shadorma serves well to describe beautiful “sweet Camellia.” The flowers do look “golden in spring sun.” Hey, there is no nature with green, so let it be, let it be, let it be
Brittany, Your poem is A beautiful depiction of the magic of winter and children. It brings back many memories for me and also spurs me to think of the magic in other seasons, such as the fall.
Fall is still my favorite,
Yet, that year,
As the leaves put on their show,
My family disintegrated,
I welcomed grandchildren,
My home base became my car.
My days and nights were a blur
Newborn snuggles, interspersed with hospice care.
As the leaves put on that final show,
She sat in her rocker,
We watched Rachel Ray and talked. Then,
My mother passed.
I sat quietly as her caregiver packed and left
Noticing the leaves giving up,
I sat quietly, reflecting as people came and went
As the leaves collected by the door,
Were the leaves grieving in their own way?
I sat quietly, reflecting, feeling exhausted and empty as
The leaves covered the ground.
“Were the leaves grieving in their own way?”- that line stood out to me. Your word choices made a shift in feeling in the poem with the last stanza being quieter and reflective as grief makes us.
Anita,
Fall is my favorite time of year, too, and also when my father died. It will be 50 years in September. I’m hoping to spend time with the leaves as they “are grieving in their own way.” The contrast between life (newborns) and death is palpable.
Anita, this gave me the tingles. You have captured the sad and beautiful of life – the welcome of newborns, the tough goodbyes to our parents. I adore how the leaves are there, “feeling” alongside.
Your poem hits my heart.
It really left me breathless. I was moved to tears- it’s just so powerful and beautiful at the same time. Thank you for sharing it.
Anita, I, too, love when “the leaves put on their show,” and your poem is closer to me than I anticipated. These shows were more prominent back home, and my Mom left us in November. This question is so sad and haunting at the same time: “Were the leaves grieving in their own way?” i like how the image of leaves is woven throughout the poem contributing to the tone and message. Thank you for sharing!
Brittany,
Thank you for hosting. Your poem is a sweet, pink-cheeks celebration of someday fun. Such a precious way to spend time with young children.
watching spring-
dormant winter wear:
armless gray sleeves, fingerless
gloves greet yellow sun
on the schoolhouse lawn
red-breasted robins
flit from branch to branch, pecking
crabapple pink treats
in my favorite tree.
ravenous brown squirrels
thieve golden-corn-feed; they steal
seed for our winged friends
from the white feeder
purple, yellow, peach
flowering confetti blooms
unfurl silky buds
through signs of spring daze
incompetence blooms:
misplaced pension paperwork=
pasty-white doge cuts
off freedom’s weak branch.
Glenda Funk
April 15, 2025
Oh Glenda, you captured that early spring struggle of breaking through winter’s hold and finding a way to show it’s beauty. Yet, you clear reminder that this year, spring is also marked by very real dangerous damage as our country faces very serious challenges like never before, Well done. I wish I knew the answer
Glenda — The contrast between the sweet natural birds and flowers with the godawful “doge cuts” is exactly where I was today. You poem resonates with me for sure. I even went to the box store and bought some new herbs and a few flowers for the pots, but I was haunted all day by the pasty-white images in my head of the M-rat and his orange buffoon. What a frikkin nightmare this is. But your poem made me feel better…not alone in these thoughts. Love, Susie
“off freedom’s weak branch.” – such a pithy final line. You have captured the total mix-bag picture of this spring…the muck and the beauty. I love the form – the repetition of three-lined stanzas followed by a single line.
What a contrast from the sights of Spring on the schoolhouse lawn to inside at a desk full of ugly things. Like many of us, I would rather be in the warm sun looking at natural blooms than seeing the incompetence blooms. I like your structure putting a separate sentence at the end of each stanza.
Glenda, what you did with this poem is thoughtful and intentional. I was just teaching style to my students today, so everything (or almost everything) we do as writers is intentional.
The way you zoom in on a scene in each stanza and then zoom out to name the setting helps me to notice the move from a bigger picture to a smaller, and then deliver the final strike – the core of the issue.
I also realize that there is a poem within a poem here:
watching spring –
on the schoolhouse lawn
in my favorite tree
from the white feeder
through signs of spring daze
off freedom’s weak branch.
This is brilliant! Bravo!
Glenda, wow, those images at the beginning of your poem made me heart sore. Then the ravenous and thieving squirrels set us up for the second half. Oh, my gosh…”incompetence blooms” is such a sickening concept. Well done.
Glenda, wow, your poem blooms in vibrant color showing spring coming to life. I love the way you formatted this poem which adds emphasis to the single lines. The beauty contrasted at the end with the shift towards our government’s woeful actions is brilliantly played. The “incompetence blooms” is surely an apt phrase! Love the line “pasty-white doge cuts” as this effectively describes the greed that motivates these cuts, and of course your final line is perfectly delivered! Striking poem that needs to be read by a wide audience!
Thank you for the prompt, Brittany, and the beautiful poem, that brings us the colors of life: pink, rosy, white. I love the image of your child with “little eyelashes, lifted toward the treetops, blink away the falling snow.”
Between Light and Silence
The morning wakes in a quiet of gray,
low-hanging clouds and shadowed light.
A world half-dreaming, wrapped in mist,
unsure if dawn will bring some bright.
When noon arrives in bursting blue,
its canvas stretches beyond regret,
with white, soft cotton strokes brushed on—
like drifting thoughts that haven’t met.
By evening, blue unfolds its darker velvet,
as stars begin their silent climb.
A freckled dome, still and solemn,
settles for the night as keeper of time.
Stunningly beautiful Leilya. The half-dreaming world in the mist, the sky s “canvas stretching beyond regret” (how I love that) and “a freckled dome” with “night as keeper of time” – it’s all so mystical yet real and true. You wove this poetic tapestry with amazing word choices – the images shimmer and sing!
Your images of the changing sky during the day as the light changes and the day unfolds is lovely. It is a magnificent canvas that you describe. Certainly one no man could create.
Leilya — I love the title…it pulled me right in. The “keeper of time” and the play time through the poem is effective…it clocks the telltale shifts of time and how we become “still and solemn.” The whole notion of “between” is an intriguing place to explore in your poem and in our lives. Are we right now in the “between”… but of course. You have me thinking today and I needed that to get out of my own head. Thank you. Susie
“A freckled dome”- what a unique way to describe the night sky. Your poem passes calm through the computer screen.
This is beautiful. I love how you devote a stanza to each part of the day, and hone in on the way the light changes and the colors produced. Just gorgeous. I related to the last line of stanza one, “unsure if dawn will bring some bright.” – this is where I have been emotionally for weeks now.
Woooohoooo! What a gorgeous poem! I especially loved the colors from each phase of the day. The evening being like velvet is brilliant.
I adore these lines:
Leilya,
This should be a picture book. It reminds me of the book “It’s Time to Hush and Say Goodnight,” one of the books the NCTE Children’s Poetry Committee honored in November and one of my favorite poetry books from last year. I particularly like the climbing stars and thinking of them as freckled. Lovely poem.
I come home tired and meet at the door
a friendly earth spirit.
A creature that is pure.
He yelps, he leaps, he dances in circles!
He delights in my presence, panting and smiling.
How strange he seems when I examine him closely.
A tiny wolf- black lips, gaping jaws, predator fangs – instant attack
with licking kisses.
How strange that he loves me?
He is a wild earth spirit, a devoted fanatic.
I’m not capable of that kind of love.
I’m not capable of that much joy.
My humanity prevents that magic.
Perhaps in my next life,
I’ll humbly request
to live loyal and pure
as a canine earth spirit.
yes, the love of a dog is pure magic and genuine. I often wonder how we might emulate their spirit and loyalty to us humans! Lovely
I love a dog poem- they are so sweet. I am so glad you are here, and I am so glad you have a loyal friend.
Rachel, what a great! I think our fur babies must feel sorry for us nowadays. They really do get to enjoy life in ways I can’t imagine. Well done, Rachel. Looking forward to our next lives.
Rachel, how great it is to come home to the creature that is happy to see you: ” he yelps, he leaps, he dances in circles!” Just today, I discussed with my students the stylistic variations, and asyndeton among them – when the writer/poet chooses not to use conjunctions when using any listing variation. It serves a purpose and usually speeds up the action. This is what I see in your poem – all this movement of joy.
I also like philosophical pondering in your poem. This phrase is such a sober reminder: “My humanity prevents that magic.” Thank you for writing and sharing!
The Blue Bay
Expansive and blue. Stretching out to shore
and calling me towards its waves.
March air, much too cold for swimming
whispers hope of the coming season of warmth.
The dream of warmth sends shivers down my spine and turns my head to sun.
Yearning for a sweltering heat.
Windows open skin glowing,
warm rain, lightening bugs,
you and me by the fire.
Summer forever marks a new season. Back to school. Butterflies and feeling shy.
For now, it is a winter bay. Grand, blue and expansive. Stretching — reaching — spilling into places I’ve never seen.
The ocean is such a powerful backdrop for so many poems this month and it is clearly worthy of the note. Even in March, as you note, there is the promise of the season to come.
I thought lived spring, but your beautiful imagery makes me long for summer!
Victoria, I am drawn to this winter bay that is “[g]rand, blue and expansive.” I can imagine you dreaming of warmth and that perfect scene you describe int he third stanza. This line “Stretching — reaching — spilling” with M-dashes visually expands the bay for us. Thank you!
I chose to go a little bit of a different direction for this prompt. Thank you for the beautiful poem and prompt.
For Brandi, for Vegas
“She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man.
The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me
in all the right order.”
I land and recognize
a heat that suffocates-
dry desert breezes
demand a different kind of breath.
I am out of my element-
there is so much for me
to suffocate on.
But I am on my way to you
Later we leave the neon cacophony of
casinos behind-0
laugh about a black bull,
a black dress, and
I know Mateo knew
what he was doing.
Here, we paddle against
whitecapping waves,
into a blue green canyon
snap pictures in bright yellow life vests;
battle back like we always do.
The last day we wear black bikinis,
our breath is easy and
deep like purple veins;
we sit poolside with Jose
and the Empress,
paint our memories with
green lime wedges
and desert skies.
I love the direction you went in. It makes me want to write about my own dear friend… and call her too. What a beautiful way to shift the prompt.
I love the story you tell and the colors that pop, particularly the “neon cacophony of / casinos” and the “green lime wedges / and desert skies.”
Kacey, you still included the colors effectively into this poem. I like the nostalgic tone of this poem, a gentle longing for the time that can’t return. My favorite lines are the ones that conclude your poem:
“paint our memories with
green lime wedges
and desert skies. “
Thank you!
Yellow rays,
Across my face,
Warm my soul.
Reviving what once was,
And has now,
Come back to life.
Blue waves,
Their pointed fingers,
Reach out to me,
Beckoning me come closer.
Brown grains of sand,
Pull me close.
A sigh of relief,
For at last,
I am at the beach.
My poem was also an ode to summer and the water. I am dreaming of the days when warm air and blue water are the only things calling me. Summer is near!
I really liked how you used each stanza to point out something different about the beach!
I love the beach, and I wish “their pointed fingers” were able to reach out to me right now.
Amelia what a vivid image of waves in your second stanza:
“Blue waves,
Their pointed fingers,
Reach out to me,
Beckoning me come closer.”
Summer will be here before we know it. Thank you for sharing!
I am from the green room,
from the limes I drop into iced tea,
from the spinach blended into my smoothies.
I am from the green traffic light glowing at midnight,
from the snap wristbands on Halloween,
from the houseplants basking in their quiet sun.
I am from the jade ring passed down through hands,
the emerald of May, the peridot of August.
My mom and I—
forever connected in color.
I am wrapped in green,
just as she intended me to be.
I like how you used one color and connected it to so many areas of your life. You created a beautiful visual for your poem.
Yes, great job
Demry, what a great approach to today’s prompt. I love how you’ve joined the colors to symbolize such a special relationship.
You use the green to connect many things. I love the last stanza and it makes me wonder if you and your mom are Irish.
Green…I love all the green connections wrapped around you. Beautiful.
greyish-purple-black as her eyeliner.
clouds heavy with despair.
air cold as your final four words
you spoke as if you thought they’d disappear quickly
but they hang in the grey.
they stick around in the grey
matter.
chemically imbalanced
little blue/green pills help a little
but not enough to distract
her pink lips and purple nails help a little
but not enough to distract.
it matters that the winter won’t relent
it matters that the ground and sky mirror each other
they call to each other in greys and browns
as we all forget the yearning for yellow dandelions
and the greener grass of past days
the rainbows may return again
someday
but right now it’s only the rain.
Luke, your images are so strong and evocative. You have created such a sad place today. I like the glimmer of hope and color at the end.
There is a lot to unpack with this poem. I was particular drawn to the grey matter as it flowed into the common chemical imbalance we have all struggled with. There is longing and loss here and then there is uncertain hope. Thank you for so vulnerably sharing.
Thanks for a great prompt today, Brittany.
Speaking of Magnolias
By Mo Daley 4/15/25
This morning, as I grudgingly pulled on my winter coat,
I cursed the trickster Alexandrina Saucer Magnolia.
Why do I fall for her shenanigans every spring?
The lovely lavender, pretty pink, and finally,
the porcelain petals take my breath away
as I watch the teacups emerge in early spring.
I plan plantings in my mind, design gardens like Versailles.
I may even purchase a perennial or two,
the showy fuchsia shoots seeming to egg me on-
“Take a look at the rainbow of annuals, why don’t you?”
And then the frost breezes in again, mocking me, icing me out.
The red-winged blackbirds cackle in delight at my stupidity.
Today I vowed to myself the magnificent magnolia will not win again.
Next year, I will wait until alabaster, pearly pink, and amethyst turn tawny
and fall lifelessly to the earth.
Then, and only then, will I believe spring has returned to Illinois.
Mo — I love this. I have a saucer magnolia outside my kitchen window…every year I hold my breath that the frost snap doesn’t send every bloom brown and to the ground. Today, I was feeling really off…and finally yielded to spring…went to the nursery and bought herbs and some pink dipladinas to put in some of my pots. Checking weather forecasts doesn’t seem to help. That blasted cold snap is ruthless. I had 7 big sheets out of my stash of old sheets draped over the hillside in back, trying to save the azaleas buds. Still holding my breath that they bloom…so far a pink one is taking off, but others meh not so much. It’s a tug of way. Your poem captures that brilliantly. I love the voice…so strong and on target…and funny. Hugs, Susie
The heartbreak of this spring – feels as if it is happening all over the country. I enjoyed this poem, imagining that beautiful magnolia…and this made me laugh, “The red-winged blackbirds cackle in delight at my stupidity.” I hope hope hope that things don’t get as cold as forecasted and spring really does return.
Perplexing Spring
The color of perception,
With the scent of hearing,
The touch of spring,
And the dead are disappearing.
Tasting vivid images,
Feeling the lark’s tune,
Running my short walks,
Long lasting but ending soon.
All the colors flip,
From valley to high
And the rain, traps
The blue of a starling’s cry.
Deer brushed into thorns,
Grays nestled low,
Streams winding straight
Into blackberry undergrowth.
The owl hoots,
the blackest cord,
Silver stabs the sky,
With a starlit sword.
Colors swirl into
a tasty peach,
Savory breaking,
so close, beyond reach.
Gray illuminates
In my mind,
Sparkling thoughts,
Lost to find.
Imagining the wisp,
Of an afternoon breeze,
Daffodils, Rebirth,
the hardened to ease.
Wild turkeys,
Splashed in a meadow,
Yelps and clucks,
Soft sounds of yellow.
A buffalo
stands stoned,
Brown bellows
With beige undertones.
Sounds viewed,
With the sweetest taste,
Touched by the brackish.
Skin of a melodic face.
Found fresh,
with orange glow,
moon rises,
fast to slow.
Stirrring colors
In a springtime show,
Confusing my senses,
With blooms and growth.
A whole poem of synesthesia to send my senses rollicking! This is so well done, Boxer. The possibilities are endless!
Had to read this many times for the fun in the rhyme and movement. You include so many senses; perception, touch, hearing, seeing.
Love the image of the buffalo still as stone. I can visualize him standing there are the glowing moon rises. Thanks for this read.
5:45 am.
I am slipping a martingale collar on an antsy greyhound
Turning on his light vest
Its slow pulsing: pink, yellow, blue, green, red, purple and back
Ensures that we will be seen by any early morning drivers.
I have my own light vest
With the same goal: to be seen.
But even with a light vest, a black dog is hard to see when he suddenly stops
Ears on alert, looking at glowing eyes
I somehow avoid diving over the hip-high barrier
that is my dog,
Then wonder why he stopped.
Sometimes it’s a herd of deer
hanging out in my yard near the bird feeder
Sometimes it’s an unseen rafter of wild turkeys
or a bunny (please, don’t let it be another bunny . . .)
Or once, a dog-shaped figure running through a yard,
Setting other dogs barking
(please don’t be a coyote . . . please don’t eat that little dog that’s barking wildly)
I look at the purple and pink on the horizon
as the sun hints at rising
I look at the full moon still in the sky
and perhaps early morning walks aren’t so awful after all.
I love the setting you’ve created for us today, Sheila. I live 2 blocks from the forest preserve and our yard seems to be a highway for all the critters. We are constantly on high alert because we have 2 small dogs. I can so relate to your internal monologue!
Thank you for reminding me to open my eyes to the colors beyond green. The damp socks and the weight of the boots brought me back to the days when my own children were young.
Surprises
Well, Good Morning, Dogwoods!
Your bright white petals startled me.
Wasn’t it just yesterday your branches
were barren and brown?
Oh, and you there golden, yellow daffodils –
when did your trumpet flowers
pop up to herald the
arrival of spring?
I must have had my eyes on the sky
during my drive to school –
enjoying the quiet sunrise.
Thank you for the wake-up call.
Oh, such great images! I almost wrote about the dandelions that have suddenly shown up in my lawn, but then I would have been using green, which would have been cheating . . .
I really like the way your poem reads so smoothly! I also really liked the different words you used to describe the things in your poem.
I love the images you’ve created with your words. We have such a vivid picture of what you’re describing! My favorite line is when you say “thank you for the wake-up call”. Overall, great job!
Rita, there are such great descriptions that you crafted in this! The move that I really find captivating are the questions and your use of direct address in the first two stanzas–especially how “off the cuff” and conversational your framing is. So good!
I still sometimes think
about how the ancient
Greeks couldn’t see
the color blue.
What would the little
tykes do when their
parents were off
catching a show
at the amphitheater?
They couldn’t watch
little Blue leave paw
prints for Steve on
Blue’s Clues nor could
they watch Blue Velvet
from David “Don’t You
Look at Me!” Lynch nor
could they stay up late,
trying to tune in Cinemax
on a staticky television set
to watch Brooke Shields
in The Blue Lagoon nor–
wait, they shouldn’t be
watching any of that stuff,
anyways, I mean, I know
that they gave us Oedipus
gouging out his own eyes
and Medea taunting Jason
over the corpses of her children
she just murdered and, most
importantly, this theory that
they couldn’t see blue has
been largely debunked,
but, to be honest, I’m not
sure it matters anyway,
because there is no way
they could have handled
an animated dog, blue
or not, helping solve mysteries
while getting help from
an imaginary audience.
They would have thought
that was simply ridiculous,
and they would have been
right.
_______________________________________________
Brittany, thank you for your mentor poem and your prompt. I love how your two single-lined stanzas – “Let us walk in the woods” and “Together we reach our favorite boulder” – are surrounded by “white space,” as if they are, too, making it through the snow, like you and your daughter.
I love the clash of the centuries and your conversational tone. It left me smiling.
The stream of consciousness of your poem made me laugh, Scott. I needed that today. Thanks.
Scott — You BLUED this away! I loved the dance through the ancient ones and the movies and that big blue dog. LOL! So funny. And still, I love the stream of consciousness of it all…you are so darned good at it! Susie
Scott,
Ive never heard this “Greeks can’t see blue” thing before. Have you been to Greece? It is a stunning, gorgeous country, especially the blue ocean against the white buildings in Santorini. I don’t think the ancient Greeks would miss screens had they had them. I didn’t.
Hi Brittany, as others have mentioned, it’s your description of eyelashes that does it for me in your poem! Lovely. Thanks for the prompt!
Goin’ to Kashmir
Bone chillin’ angles of white
whipped cream mountain peaks
pass by in the sky
a Himalayan mixture
of smooth and brutal
Thank you for this glimpse into a place I have yet to see live in my life. The poem takes me into the dimensions a photo entices; oh, the angles of white and the whipped cream. I am in it. Lovely.
Angie, you have described what you were seeing so well with images and perfect word choice. Besides the “whipped cream peaks”, which I love, my favorite is the use of “smooth and brutal” together. Beautiful.
Angie, that’s a wonderful image, and your verse captures it perfectly. “[W]hite / whipped cream mountain peaks” is such a cool line!
Wow! Your poem illustrates the picture so well! I really like the different words you used to describe this picture!
the other night my two best friends and i went on a walk around campus. i love the feeling of going on walks at night, especially with them, so this goes out to them!!
bright
for gracie and taylor <3
campus is darker at night
with the warmth of the streetlights,
whites and yellows pouring through
bulbs and abandoned classrooms.
the sidewalk is emptier at night–
only the soft, gentle tapping of footseps
on pavement.
the three of us,
walking
in
horizontal
lines.
my two best friends are as bright
as the streetlights
warm, wide smiles,
and laughter,
skin brushing skin,
the soft smack of a shoulder,
the echo of our voices
of stone buildings and cracked
cement.
campus is beige at night,
without the array of clumps
of colored clothes
and the blazing golden sun.
but walking through the darkness with them
feels like jumping through clouds of
purple, and pink, and blue,
swimming through oceans, fish red,
water azure,
like running through fields,
with sunflowers, pink tulips, and peonies,
the pollen swirling around, the birds, and the bees,
feels like the brightest life could be in the
darkness of the night.
so as we walk back to the dorm room, through
the obsydian night,
i think that nothing else
could ever feel
so
bright.
Oh, you had me in the scenes of flowers and the “pollent swirling”– so sensory.
Oh, Molly, I hope you have shared this with these dear rainbow friends. That paragraph about what “walking through the darkness with them” is like makes me think of the painted bunting bird. Your friendship is full of color! And I love that last phrase, even in the darkest night “nothing else could ever feel so bright” Those are some good friends!
A beautiful tribute to your friends and I love how the title sets it all off – walking at night, no less, their being like the brightness of streetlights. That is my favorite stanza – especially this:
the echo of our voices
of stone buildings and cracked
cement
-there is something so poignant about it.
What an homage to friendship! I love “the obsydian night” that is so bright. I ended up with a similar paradox at the end of my poem.
My 8th graders are writing haiku chains this week, and I’m writing with them. As they write, I show what I’m writing on the projector. This is what I wrote during 1st–3rd periods.
A New Day Begins
Gold rises over
the mountains. Dew glistens on
the grass. A bird sings.
Tulips open and
daffodils sway in the breeze.
Chipmunks climb green trees.
Little, blue streams glide
over rocks. Ducks bathe in sun.
Dragonflies spiral.
Cows chew their cud in
green fields. Calves jump and play.
Flies swirl overhead
The sweet aroma
of spring blossoms fill the air
a new day begins.
What fun! Do you have your students add on to a classmate’s haiku, or is the chain their own? I’ve done something similar by having students exchange their poem with a “safe” person in the class.
I never considered having the students write a haiku chain with partners. That’s a great idea. I’ve only asked students to write haiku chains by themselves.
Melissa, I am so digging the alliteration here, which carries the sound of the cows (which are in my backyard right now grazing on the neighbor’s land). I always hear them before I see and smell them.
Melissa, what a great activity to combine the colors in nature prompt with the haiku chain. I love each quick clip in this movie of springtime. My favorite image perhaps is that opener, “Gold rises…”
These are lovely. I have never written a haiku chain. I will save this format for future use myself and with my 7th-graders. Besides your splashes of colors, your use of strong verbs moved me seamlessly through the chain.
Each of these haiku are so lovely, and they’re even lovelier as a chain. Little capsules of description hooked together.
Captured spring colors perfectly! I can see those dragonflies spiral!
Thank you, Brittany. I love how in your poem your first stanza has your daughter’s eyelashes blinking away the snow and how you repeat that in your last. This is such a great image.
Blue on Blue
Sailing for days and nights can be a lonely thing
One of the most spiritual things, too.
When seas are calm and
The rolling of the boat is a meditation
It’s impossible not to think of the magnificence of creation
And the shear magnitude of size.
When storms comes, (as they do)
Even the devil himself would believe.
Rain and thunder and lightning surround
Swells stretch like Poseidon himself
And when they are about to swallow
Spit you back as if they enjoy the chase.
A vast expanse of never-ending water
Rolls and twists and swells
Endlessly beneath.
To look in every direction
And see nothing until the
Blue of the sky
Meets the blue of the sea
Sewn together by a pale blue thread.
God’s favorite color must be blue
It’s my favorite color too,
Hundreds of shades of blue.
Emily, My daughter’s favorite color is blue too
. Your poem shows how it can be both strong and calming!
It’s my favorite too!!! I’m creepily obsessed with it ha! Love this in between the blues: “Sewn together by a pale blue thread.”
What great images in your poem. I think God’s favorite color must be blue too. You tell a great story about the water and what it means to you. This is beautiful!
I really like the way you included the color blue into your other stanzas! I think that it creates this flow in your poem!
Love this homage to blue – the sea – the sky – the magnificence of heaven. Beautiful poem. Thank you!
Thanks for helping me slow down this morning, Brittany! Here’s my poem:
When I first started teaching,
the veteran across the hall complained,
“I always miss fall!” He explained
that before he knew it, the trees were bare
and the fiery leaves collected. He’d missed
the branches’ flame, his nose too
deep in work.
And so it was with me, to school
too early. Home too late. The seasons
all the same. Until you, little one.
And you pulled me down the block,
stopping every few of your tiny steps
to awe at leaves an impossible shade
of orangey-pink, making a bouquet
for us to keep.
I remember so well how when my kids were little how everything in nature was magic. You reminded me of that in your poem. I love your last lines,
“to awe at leaves an impossible shade
of orangey-pink, making a bouquet
for us to keep.”
A bouquet, I hope, kept close to your heart forever and always.
Fall is my favorite time of year. I can empathize with what it’s like to miss the seasons because you are at work before the sun and often leave after the sun goes down. Beautiful poem. Children do have a way of helping us see the world again.
Kate,
oh how I can relate! Little ones have a way of making everything feel magical!
I love “fiery leaves” and “branches’ flames” powerful imagery!
Kate,
I love the breath in the line “and so it was with me” followed by the oo’s visually and orally in the too early and the too late.
Sarah
Kate, what a perfect set up to this. The whole beginning leads me to: “Until you, little one” and the following bouquet of leaves creation. This is just gorgeous. I like the description of the “impossible shade of orangey-pink”.
You’ve created such a relatable poem for anyone who is a teacher and buried in work at the start of a semester. How wonderful you have a little one who helped you to see the beauty of fall.
Oh this is so sweet – I love the leaf bouquet for keeps. What a great moment – an important one to remember.
April Tuesday Night Track Meet
Red Gold Black —
Saxons take the field.
Wind howls up here,
Red and gold fly around the track.
Top of the bleachers
black birds soar a little too close.
Mile complete,
red and gold uniforms become
black warm-up gear.
Skies change color —
Red-gold sunset turns
midnight black
as we wait
and wait
and wait
for the red and gold
to win
the final event of the day…
the 4×4.
Copyright Jennifer Kowaczek April 2025
Thank you, Brittnay, for inviting us to look at nature. My poem took a turn I wasn’t expecting, but as we are in outdoor track season there will be a lot of red, gold, and black durning my outdoor adventures.
You really use colors well in this poem. I love how you tied nature’s colors into school colors and where your poem took you – to a 4×4 race!
Jennifer,
Thank you for your poem! I adore the visual of the blackbirds flying above as if they too were racing.
Love the way you’ve described the sunset turned night here:
Oh, I like the use of red, gold and black in the two ways in this poem. From the uniforms of the Saxons to the beautiful sky. Perfection!
The Palette of an April Evening 4/15/2025
the amber humidity of aquamarine April,
slate rainstorms usher forth spring hues.
the twilight ambles, closing the day, sweet
silence after waking hours of grey static toil.
the motions of the fading sun,
motions of legs, strollers, neon bicycles.
the time where sweat meets tallow dirt,
rejuvenating the chalk made of stoic skies.
the woods creep forth, a haze of dripping navy ink
as the sky’s swan song stumbles, silences.
the muted, fluorescent white
of a dandelion haloed in halogen streetlight.
the pitch of penultimate night, pockmarked
with heralds of tomorrow’s genesis.
This is really beautiful, James. The rhythm and beat of it and the images! I love the line, “sweet
silence after waking hours of grey static toil.” It makes me think of the moment when my work is done and I go walking or biking at that peaceful time of day right before the sun sets.
Beautiful! Thank you for sharing. I loved your imagery. Your first line really caught my attention.
James,
I too love the rhythm of your poem! “of a dandelion haloed in halogen streetlight” stopped me in my tracks. Beautiful!
Ooooh, an aquamarine April with a halo of halogen streetlight on a dandelion – – it’s feeling like spring in all my favorite colors, especially the aquamarine. That’s my favorite color of all – – that shade of blue/green that is watery. Lovely!
Thank you for your prompt. I’ve been in a writing funk the last few weeks. Finally, having Spring weather and this call to write about nature meshed together and words started to flow.
Our feet traipse
over the dilapidated brown of leaf litter
blown across our uphill path.
My breath comes in quick, rushed rhythm
on this short, steep ascent,
Needing to pause,
I step into the brown, matted grass
that has just recently begun to be kissed by Spring sun.
Regular heart rate returns,
I begin the final steps to the crest of the hill…
VIBRANT yellow
bellows joyfully
across the circular paths spiraling to a pond below,
GOLD. GOLD, GOLD
blankets the view from far-left to far-right
as thousands
and thousands
of daffodils trumpet the arrival of Spring in this northern town.
(48, 500 in bloom according to the sign)
Reverently
we place our feet on the paths
resplendent with petalled-stars
stopping to honor
the lives inscribed on the thin, brittle, tilted white-washed tombstones,.
Our flower companions
bowing their golden heads in tribute
to the beauty found in the circle of all life.
I think you’re out of your writing funk! I love the “thousands
of daffodils trumpet the arrival of Spring in this northern town.” Trumpet is the perfect verb here! And then your last stanza is just beautiful!
Daffodils are one of my favorite flowers. I love how you tell the story of these beautiful spring offerings.
cmhunter,
I think the image of walking uphill to find the beautiful surprise of thousands of daffodils sums up our writing lives perfectly!
Cathy – your poem is so complex – starts with brown – turning golden – then the white tombstones and the daffodils bowing in tribute. Truly beautiful.
Cathy, your shift from “the dilapidated brown” to “VIBRANT yellow” and “GOLD” is visual and changes the tone to joyful as you see “thousands
and thousands
of daffodils trumpet the arrival of Spring.”
This gets even better in the final line as you acknowledge the beauty in the circle of life.
Brittany, thank you for this prompt, and your dear poem of you and your daughter. I feel I was there with you without your boots on and as her “little eyelashes blink away the pure white snowflakes.” Beautiful!
I have seen the quiet dust
on the blue sage beavertail pads–
day after week after month.
Until today and the fuchsia
fireworks show bursts out.
I love the juxtaposition of the muted dust, its pale “blue sage,” and the cacophony of fuchsia! You do such quick imagery work with those “beavertail pads”!
I love the idea of “fuschia fireworks show”–oh, there is so much joy in that phrase! That description is so perfect for how the flowers explode into being. Lovely!
Short, but powerful! I’m so glad that you included a picture. I loved…”quiet dust” and fuchsia fireworks!”
Denise,
Thank you for your poem! I love the quick burst of energy after weeks of “quiet dust”.
Denise – I am captivated by “quiet dust”- isn’t it astonishing how spring is not here one minute and bursting fuchsia fireworks the next?? Perect description – that amazing photo proves it!
Denise — I love the poem bursting just like those beautiful pink flowers. Boom! It looks so desert-y … takes me to spring in Tucson. Isn’t that something… how a little bitty poem transports this reader 1500 miles away to a memory she has of Catalina State Park and my sister’s desert yard. Thank you. Susie
Denise,
Enjoy that blooming desert. The photo is gorgeous. Love these last lines:
”fuchsia
fireworks show bursts out.”
Wow – I don’t get to see this fireworks show in New Jersey. Thank you, Denise!
Brittany, what a fun prompt! I love that you challenged us not to use green because of course that was first on my list –but the poem that came out needed different colors. I kinda like it! All the details in your poem are vivid…the snow of course but also the lichen and the chickadees and pink cheeks. Wonderful image of a mom and daughter making a good memory. I think that’s what launched me into my poem…making memories.
Blue, white, brown
Blue is the color
of the memory we are making
I wonder what kind of neighbors I’ll get?
you ask again and again and again
while I pretend it’s the first time
I’ve heard your question.
White is the color
of the page write on
a list of birds we see out the window
hawk, lady cardinal, bluebird, morning dove
Soon I’ll need a box of crayons.
Brown, frown, clown, around
giggles for rhymes we toss back and forth
not an exhaustive list but—
the part of you I still know, go, slow, even so, weeping willow…
I love your storytelling here! You combine making memories with vivid details and sweet moments. Fantastic poem!
Linda,
I love the progression of this poem! I can clearly see you with a special person at the window. I really appreciate the sense of community I get too… neighbors, birds, the two of you.
Brittany, your poem was wonderful! Loved the color imagery, the repetition, and — moist of all — the one-line break in between the stanzas. I felt that they slowed the pace and that mirrored the pace of the action in the poem. I loved reading about (your?) little one — what a beautiful picture you painted.
“Walking with Sam”
The minute I say the word
(Walk: he knows the sound),
his brown ears perk up –
his buff and white tail wags
like a metronome, clocking
the time it takes me to don
my shoes, socks, grab the
leash, the bags, and grab
The gold-handled door.
In the drive, he merrily kicks up
dirt in shades of camel, chestnut.
biscuit. We hit the road. First, a stop
to bark at Sawyer, next door’s
husky, his colors of fog and lava
while I gently reprimand.
We meander, our dog walk
always more of an aimless stroll:
this world is his social media.
He sniffs, snorts, licks and (tries to)
roll, imbibing every scent of this
world on every inch of his body,
while, walking,
I strive to shed it.
I’m impressed by how thoroughly you’ve taken up the challenge to incorporate color today—I love that “camel, chestnut, / biscuit” dirt. Those shades put me in mind of dogs galore. And fun use of “shed” in the poem’s final line!
I love the lines, “merrily kicks up / dirt in shades of camel, chestnut / biscuit.” It is such an accurate way to describe the meandering of dogs on walks…the world “as social media.” As I age, it is the daily dog-walk I appreciate the most about each day.
Wendy,
How fun! A reminder to take in all the world has to offer while “shedding” some things away.
I love the feeling in this poem especially the end-” imbibing every scent of this
world on every inch of his body,
while, walking,
I strive to shed it.”
The contrast here so accurately captures the experience. It’s perfect.
Wendy, what a great perspective on a walk with your dog. Your color descriptions are amazing, but the line that really gets me is “this world is his social media.” There are worlds in this line!
With apologies to the precious child looking out her window in today’s photograph prompted by Brittany. I so loved the ‘little eyelashes” blinking “away the pure white snowflakes.” Beautiful. I was getting my hair “did” as I read this morning’s prompt, so I drew on a true story of this day…came home quickly to write before heading to campus.
Beatlejuiced
fades in the factory
require precision,
razor-sharp buzzing skills,
where serious conversations
about the existence of aliens
& genetic engineering burst
from the clouds of talcum
powder amongst electric-blue
oceans of Barbicide.
Dude, the young clipper says,
sharing an article he found on his phone.
Like, they totally could
bring back Tyrannosaurus Rex!
We be having velociraptors
chasing us down Main Street!!!
The celadon thoughts were instant,
my frog-brain imagining the
dinosaur bags we’d have to carry,
to clean up viridescent, leafy yards.
Still, I add to the sheering of
Tuesday-morning ideas
How about pterodactyls?
Can you imagine the
grayscales they’d leave
on parked cars?
It was a hypothetical—
even already in existance outside…
these globs of liquid marshmallow
dripping upon the windshield of my life…
charcoaled-mayonnaise portraits
painted on plasma-green Subarus
right after the fresh cut.
Bryan,
Ha ha! The phrase “globs of liquid marshmallow” was so perfect, as was “charcoaled-mayonnaise portraits.” I wrinkled my nose in disgust just reading them, and the delicious Panera sandwich sitting next to me right now became slightly less appetizing, so thanks for that. P.S. My students have also, this week, been consumed by fantasies inspired by the recent “direwolf” experiment which is, I’m guessing what spawned this discussion. XD
Bwahaha! I so enjoyed the vibe of your poem today. Somehow, you’ve done more and thought more than I ever manage on a school morning. I absolutely love the frog-brain imaginings of dinosaur bags, and your delivery of each line is spot on. Oh, to be a bug on the wall of the conversations that must occur with this barber (maybe it’s all the Barbicide?).
brcrandall,
”these globs of liquid marshmallow”- isn’t nature beautiful?! This was a wonderful, thought provoking, poem.
Bryan, second graders were asking me today if I’d heard of the extinct animal that has been brought back to life. I have yet to research this information…but …that young clipper may be onto something… maybe it was indeed a pterodactyl that flew over the Subarus today?? Or maybe it was Eastern bluebirds. You would not believe what they do to cars here in our driveway. Ferocious terrors, bluebirds. Your poem is an absolute delight read – really, I am in awe of your creative brain!
Nobody does this like you, this imagined re-emergence of dinosaurs and all the humor playing in my mind like some movie with everyone running down the streets and dinosaur gloop all over the place. Like The Blob, only better. I saw the article about something this week that was brought back out of extinction from the DNA in a tooth, and now there are two of them. Maybe the barber is right. Dude, that would be something to have dinosaurs come back from the great beyond.
Winter Palette
White ground dazzles and shimmers
As winter beams dance on ice crystals,
Cornflower blue sky
Belying the temperature.
Sundogs frame the sun;
Their rainbow parentheses
The only hint of fine cirrus clouds.
While fence posts leave violet shadows
Slashing across the snow.
Kelley, what a terrific palette of whites!!
I’m ashamed to tell you that I had to look up “sundogs,” lol — what a cool word.
Great poem, great visual!
Oh, wow, I love the haunting image. “Violet shadows / slashing” is perfect!
Kelley,
I love the title of your poem! It really is a palette of colors and senses.
Moments in Color
I have gone down to the river to pray
searching for answers—for faith
found the cruelty in men—
suffered the silence of women
watched the black-blue-white water
dance-running over the rocks and stones,
sharp edges and cool smooth surfaces
I have looked over the gate
tilted my face to kiss the summer sun,
heard the words of my granny
talking of spit cups and strong women
I have draped myself over the back fence
searching for answers in the horizon,
abandoning immediate dreams
for new hopes farther away
I have been under trees
and dreamed of endless pear blossoms
I have twirled and whirled in falling white petals
and felt the bursting buds of new leaves
I have danced and held my breath
and inhaled the hazy gold of pollinated dreams
I have walked the uneven rows
of granite monuments to the buried dreams
of the old south—
not the plantation-white songs
and hoops of the shining dream
but the endless dirt
and Bible-thumping of the other South—
the one too concerned with survival
to see the sun—
too lacking in hope
to see past chains of poverty and hunger
to the chains that color had put on their brothers
I have sat on the storytelling porch
and listened to the drone of voices
stories sing-songed in rocking rhythms
I have held worn hands
wrinkled with work and worry
I have heard the chimes at midnight
followed the mule-drawn cart
walked in high cotton
I have whispered secrets to the wind
found replies in the dew-drop morning flowers
heard my name in the summer thunder
sounded my soul in winter-crisp air
I have bent with the weight of my history
to find my voice in the press
and cycle of my family’s stories
This brought me mentally to two places: one, the folk gospel music of Oh Brother Where Art Thou; and two, Langston Hughes’s poetry. Both are powerful connections. I especially love the line, “Whispered secrets to the wind.” It’s both alliterative and onomatopoetic.
Thank you! I appreciate your comments so much.
Melanie, your command of language and image in this poem was incredible. You had me entranced, and I read it more than once to enjoy all of the nuance it had to offer and to just soak myself in your language. Really, really beautiful.
Thank you so much.
Melanie, This is just beautiful. Your southern roots come through, and the “cycle of my family’s stories” is palpable. I wish I could write like this, and today I started my poem with “I have seen” as a shoutout to you.
Well, that made my day! I love the poem that you wrote!
Melanie, the sounds within this poem, soft in twirled and whirled, the hyphenated words (blue-black-white water and dew-drop mornings), the actions of whispering secrets, all of these give voice to the weight of your history. What a beautiful way to express the press and cycle of family stories. I was captivated and fully immersed!
Thank you. Your comments added so much joy to my day.
Melanie,
What a powerful poem! I love the line “wrinkled with work and work”. Beautiful.
Thank you so much.
My goodness, Melanie – – this is so moving, and I can hear the hymn – – let’s go down by the river to pray…..and the storytelling porch and the other south….it’s all just rivetingly captivating. I like your repeating line at the beginning of each stanza.
Thank you! I appreciate your comments so much!
Wow! This is really powerful- it captures the essence of growing up in the South with all its complexity. You connected that experience to nature and memory so well. It’s beautiful!
Thank you!!!
Brittany, Your vivid description of this scene with your daughter in the snow is authentic and visual. I have the perfect picture in my mind of her wonder. Thanks for sending us out in nature. That is my favorite topic to start from. Nature is a wonderful teacher.
Sunrise
I wake to sky color–
golden-white-lined gap
in purple-blue clouds
where sun rays sparkle
through
like angel wings.
Bittersweet grey clouds
hover high
like heaven’s shroud
reflected in heron’s stealth.
I imagine you next to me
with the news (all ghastly)
and your coffee mug steaming.
We sit in silence,
the silence of years between us
looking for the heron.
Beautiful poem, Margaret. I loved the line “golden-white-lined gap” simply because it captures the scene perfectly and is so wonderful to say out loud. Also appreciate the doubling of the heron, as the moment of one picture, triggers the memory of many more.
Margaret,
Gorgeous sky! I love that you included the photo to amplify your words. We, too, live with a heron (a Great Blue) that haunts our hill — my Merlin app just caught him the day before yesterday, (despite my husband’s puzzled insistence that herons don’t make noise often) and Jim saw him fly by our house yesterday, low enough for a good look — so he often helps us greet the morning. And that last line! So beautiful. I could relate to this picture that you paint.
What colors! “Bittersweet grey clouds” is wonderful and so true! Of course, I’m imagining that the heron in your last line is also a sort of bittersweet. lovely.
Margaret, this is simply delightful – – the imagining of someone next to you having coffee, and watching for a heron together in the gap of years. At sunrise, with a bit of angel wings touching this world, piercing through heaven to bring miracles.
Margaret — My very favorite part of the day, and you have such a vivid sensory re-creation of sunrise. And you pic is gorgeous. There is a poignance in the quiet, the “we” sitting there absorbing the moment…letting it seep inside you… enough to write this lovely poem. Wonderful! Susie
Margaret,
Lovely poem! I love the focus on grey! Such an overlooked color but very powerful in your poem.
Margaret – This is a poem like a whisper between father and daughter. I bought the book you both created, Illuminate a few years ago. It is beautiful. I love the way you wove angel’s wings, heaven’s shroud, the stealthy heron and that peaceful quiet.
Oh my favorite things – nature and color. I love the last 3 lines of your poem. It is so wonderful to share nature with children. Just beautiful.
Forsythia
You stand out
waving wildly
shouting – Yellow
in the rainy spring.
My father
always loved
forsythia – like him,
it attracted attention.
This spring
the forsythia
waves wildly
without him.
It goes on
shouting – Spring,
a bright bolt
in April gray.
He stands out
waving wildly
Enjoy spring
without me, Josie.
Joanne,
Thank you for your poem. I love that the color and the flower represent so much and the change to “He stands out” in the last stanza. A wonderful tribute.
Joanne, Fathers are on both of our minds today. My father loved to watch the heron on the lake behind their house. That sorrow-filled line “waves wildly without him” uses the w-sounds to echo the missing, the tug of heart.
Joanne, beautifully times as the forsythia are waving their ‘caution: here we come’ parade of soon-to-be-more blooming in the northeast. It most definitely attracts attention.
I love Forsythia! One of the last good photos of my Mom is her, standing next to a gray shed and a forsythia bush. I have such fond memories of the forsythia blooming and knowing for sure that spring had finally arrived (up north of where I live now). Your poem takes me right back to that feeling. And, of course, missing Mom. Wonderful color to spark all of this!
This is a gorgeous poem! So emotional, so detail driven. Amazing work here!!
Ah, Joanne, what a sweet poem remembering your father and the beauty of the forsythia. What a lovely message from him found in your poem.
Brittany, thank you for hosting today and sharing this sweet winter moment with your child. I was having trouble deciding what to write, so I went with what you said not to write about and got inspired to draft this–I still didnt’ name it though:)
The color that shall not be named
nature without
any shade of @#**!
is unlucky
ends scavengers
no longer searching
for four-leaf clovers
means no leaves
to change to shades of
neon reds, oranges in
the autumn
or lounge on a hill
to toast the sunset
to hold up the budding
beauty of the lily, crocus
bluebonnet of spring
rainbows would
fall apart without
this backbone of
our environment
no scratchy outdoor
natural carpet
to lay, play tag
picnic on dew
in the early morning
cool of summer
peek through the white of
snow in winter in hope
of change and warming
would we have
photosynthesis
without it
would we be, breathe
if this color didn’t fill our
earthly space
Stefani,
Ha! The color that shall not be named. Love it. And I love how you took the prompt to show just how important nature is to our lives.
I love the defiance of this poem and how we can connect to all the things that depend on green to be in existence. All the way from rolling in the grass to photosynthesis, necessary for life itself. Well played!
Love the quick rhyme of ‘dew’ with ‘peek through’. That was deliciously playful, Stefani. The colors pop not only in the earthly space, but our shared poetic space, too.
There is such richness here, such depth. I loved the rhymes–near rhymes in particular are so well done! There is such sneaky joy here!
I smirked. The color that shall not be named . . . not only a reference to spring green, but to slytherin and Hogwarts. Then it turned into a tribute to green. So nice.
Stefani, way to attack the challenge head on. I love how I’m caused to think about this color without it ever being named. Rainbows falling apart and the backbone of our environment are my two favorites!
Your censoring of the color-that-shall-not-be-named made me laugh, and the closing lines made me think about how we rely so heavily on something as commonplace as a color. I think we take for granted the milenniums of evolution that produced green–it’s more than just a color, but a representation of the fortitude and relentless evolution of nature, slowly tinkering to find the maximum potential of light absorbtion. Thank you for sharing!
I do love the title and hope it sticks. What a way to get us wondering and then figuring it out – – yes to the green!
Just light and fun today
New Season, New Color
It’s Cherry-trees-dropping-those-cherries-that-don’t-look-like-cherries-and-I-can’t-avoid-stepping-in-their-red-brown-guts-on-the-road Season
Which means it’s also Cherry-trees-past-their-peak-and-no-longer-puffing-along-the-roadways-in-clouds-of-white-and-cotton-candy-pink Season
Which means it’s also Clean-up-the-yard-from-the-brown-sticks-and-guts-and-winter-death-and-replace-it-with-fresher-browner-stinkier-mulch Season
See also, Spring
Yes!!!! The tree in front of my house has stopped dropping annoying seed pods and has started dropping the pink blossoms!
Ha! This is it exactly! Brown guts to brown guts. Thank you for the uplift and fun–this made me smile.
Ha, I like the play and use of hyphens in this. “Guts” is a great way to describe these squashed, stained berry-things all over! Thank you for sharing.
haha, also laughing that I didn’t read others’ responses and see I repeated Jennifer’s comments–that’s how powerful your use of guts is!
C.O.,
yay brown! An overlooked color but ever present. Thank you for your poem!
What a clever use of hyphenated adjectives describing spring. In our part of the world we have all the oak pollen covering everything in yellow-green. We have to wash our cars and our driveways and even our houses after they are finished, but who wants no oak trees? Not me. (Love the ending “See also, Spring)
Brilliant…there’s a commercial appeal to this (and I can see myself looking up from a book to follow this or that ad on the boob-tube, simply because the language is so playful). And my white back patio nose this season, because purple paw prints also arrive to stay it. Wonderful.
I love this so much! I love the hyphenated phrases–wow. They just pulled me in and created such strong visuals! Love the repetition of cherry as well.
I just noticed this morning that the road was covered in petals. Your poem reminded me that petal showers bring summer gushy grass and sweet fruit.
Wonderfully done, C.O.!! This is a treat to read, with all those hyphens and staccato thoughts that flow so perfectly, as definitions on the Season. That final reference sets it all off like a cherry on top – yikes!
Brittany, thank you for hosting us today with a prompt that is engaging and brings feelings of peace. Your poem is a snapshot of memory in words, and the invitation to walk in the woods….I could use those words in my life every day….Let us walk in the woods. Yes, that’s where the best living happens.
All the Colors of Sunset
what do you call the shade of sunset?
sometimes it’s 14-carat gold
other times, it’s tangerine
or pink cotton candy
sunflower yellow
or lilac storm
….the best days,
ruby
red
Kim, ruby red at night–sailor’s delight (is that a universal saying or just for those of us in Michigan surrounded by lakes?). You offer us such anl array of color choices, mimicking those sunsets–different every day. I want to spend time in the lilac storm. While lilacs are my favorite flower, and enough to draw me there, there’s something riotous in coloring the storm that way.
Good morning Kim, your poem is a gift and validates why sunsets can be watched, awed, and loved night after night every year! Thank you for sharing.
Kim, sometimes with purple peculiarity, too (nice: You got the lilc storm). Tangerine-pink, though, has always been my favorite shade as it sets. Here’s to all of them and your poem today.
I love the shape of this poem. I appreciate the layering of colors and how it starts with gold and ends with red.
Kim,
Thank you for this Each color variation is lovely and vibrant.
Every day that I miss the sunset feels like a day wasted. I think I discover new colors each and every evening, thank you for naming a few!
Gorgeous reverse nonet, Kim, with all those changeable colors of the sunset, afire with glories in every shade. Even lilac storm. Sounds like one of your paint chips:) The best days, ruby red – I love that for countless reasons.
Kim — Yes, what do you call that… you’ve given us uplifting colors and it takes me to the paint chips at the paint store. You should be in charge of naming the colors! Hugs, Susie
Oh Kim – I love the progression of colors here. You describe sunsets precisely and gorgeously.
Brittany, the tiniest of details make the biggest impact in your poem–the little booted feet swirling the snow, the pinch of cold air, the pure white snowflakes. This is my favorite time of year, especially as the birds are my morning alarm. They made their way into my poem today. It wouldn’t be spring without them.
i saw the bluest bluebird yesterday
swooping from roof to roof
somehow even bluer than the sky
i heard the chickadees calling
their black caps tilting from side to side
cheese burger, cheese burger
i tasted spring in the air
the glacial shift from grey to green
sweet, sweet spring
Jennifer, the bluebirds really are astonishingly blue. “Cheese burger, cheese burger” – ha! Too perfect for the whimsical chickadees! Your last stanza just takes my breath – the glacial shift from grey to green, tasting sweet, sweet spring. Glorious.
Jennifer, I love the middle stanza about chickadees and the imagery of hat tipping and the sound of cheeseburgers! Birds of spring bring such excitement! Thank you for sharing.
The colors! As I read the nine lines, it was the colors that popped through and reminded me the northeast gray will soon depart. Love it!
Such great visuals! I love the sound effects as well. Such a perfect poem for spring! I love how you tasted spring. Lovely!
Jennifer,
Thank you for your poem. Glacial is the perfect word for this poem. It evokes the movement away from winter as well as the slow progression!
The tasting of spring from glacial grey to green…..as a sweetness…..(minty? watermelon?) is sheer perfection and deliciously inviting. Love the call of the chickadee – and the bluest bluebird assures us spring is in full force. Lovely imagery.
Jennifer — I love these little birdies and that they usher in the spring is just right. SWEET! Hugs, Susie
Brittany, I got to help my three-year-old granddaughter build her first snowman in February; your colors and sense of wonder bring it all back. Rosy face, black branches – and how how i love the image of snowflakes on little eyelashes. Your one-line stanzas add that much more magic to the poem’s flow. i love this prompt! Thank you so much for this inspiration today.
Evening
At the end of day
I leave my blinds raised until
blue twilight descends
out in the birdbath
two sand-colored mourning doves
rest in the water
puffed to twice their size
—at the bay window, a flash
a tiny blood-red
spark, before the dark
—hummingbird, here for nectar
at the end of day
Fran, I feel as if I’m peeking through the window with you, just catching glimpses of what you’re seeing. For the last two years, I’ve been planting endlessly, adding color and texture to what was a pretty plain yard (I inherited a gorgeous forsythia, about 250 daffodils and a clematis). More and more birds and butterflies are finding their way here. i often find myself staring out my windows as well, searching for wildlife. So calming. So beautiful. Just like your poem.
Actually, Fran, I think the raised blinds of your words today, leave all of us with a little poetic nectar. Nicely framed, captures, and written. Love it.
Fran,
I love the feeling of settling down for the end of the day but yet so much movement watching the mourning doves and hummingbird!
I love the line “blue twilight descends,” such beautiful imagery! I love how you write about the different birds you see, I can feel a love of nature!
That little blood red spark flashes ruby throated at the final stanza, that streak like a signature Fran poem. So lovely, and against the evening bath of the mourning doves in all the puff of gray – – that red really stands out. I love this that you mentioned the blinds again like yesterday – – the rise and fall of the sun with the horizontal shade is well done!
Thanks, Fran for the spark, before the dark – the hummingbird prayer. Lovely!
Fran, I am sitting there watching the twilight come with you in each of these magnificent lines. “a tiny blood-red / spark, before the dark” sounds magical and flitting, just like the hummingbird. Lovely!
Thank you, Brittany, for getting me out of my head and out into nature!
Coastal Waters
grey water
buffered by marshlands of
tans and browns
beach reveals itself
swatches of smooth sand
bounded by puckered mounds.
swirls of blue and white
gold bursts bouncing off
the expanse where sea meets sky
~Susan Ahlbrand
15 April 2025
Absolutely gorgeous, Susan – I want to be there, surrounded by the coastal beauty! Your “gold burst” descriptions capture the majesty of shore and sea, all the way through.
Susan, I like the slight rhyme from lines 3 and 5, and you painted a coastline… “puckered mounds,” I feel, is a wonderful description of such a scene (and then there are the sand pipers : ). Here’s to the “gold bursts”
Susan,
I love the last stanza! So much color!
Hi Brittany
Thanks for letting us take notice.
Kevin
Where not so long ago
there was nothing but
winter, now there is
color – forgotten bulbs
blossoming into view,
in brilliant yellow, purple
and orange, a menagerie
occupying a sunny corner
of the yard
Those are the colors of celebration, are they not?? No longer forgotten and bursting forth toward the sun. Alluring image and even metaphor.
Love the coalition of colors here, Kevin. Just starting to see such a parade in southern CT.
ooooh, I love the prompt of this, “…nothing but/winter, now there is” such a great set up for the colors you list. It’s like a burst feeling.
The contrast of the muted grays of winter with the explosive palette of spring is always a treat. Walking around the town and seeing your “sunny conrer(s)” always makes me smile. Thank you for sharing!
Kevin,
I love the image of a “sunny corner” it invokes something hidden, something starting slowly, especially when combined with “not so long ago”.