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Sunday, May 8, 2011

RHYTHM OF THE FALLING RAIN – PROMPT # 2

And so our garden is started. "Seeds" of varied types and sentiments have been sown randomly from our fertile minds. A good start for our new adventure. But, now that the dirty work is done we’ll need to water our garden.

Water in its gentility possesses great power. It has healing capabilities, but can also be destructive in nature, as seen recently with the tsunamis in Japan. Write a water poem. It could be the rains of Spring, a lake or ocean, a toddler’s wading pool, even melting ice as a form of water; as long as it’s wet and you can express it, write it.


Marie Elena’s example:


CRY ME A RIVER
(Or, Graduate Student’s Lament)

Determination: diluted.
Social life: evaporated
Spirits: dampened.

Life is but a mist.
A mere drop in the bucket.

Then Graduate School
rained on his parade.

Pour soul.
I drought he knew
how swamped he would be,
nor how utterly drained
his pockets.


But,
that’s water under the bridge.

His assets, now liquid,
it’s full steam ahead.



Walt’s example:


UMBRELLA SMILES

The
sun peeks judiciously,
almost suspiciously from behind
darkened clouds. The loud crack of
thunder’s fury hurries through on winds of
change. The day is not a wash. You quash the blahs
 with          the              sing          le up               turn
of a
 st-
iff
up-
 per
lip,
Eve-
 ry
last
drip 
                                                                           is           defl-
                                                                          ect          ed.
                                                                          The        joy
                                                                           is re-    flect-
                                                                             ed in your
                                                                                 smile

***

Being Mother's Day, we're throwing up a wild card prompt as well. You can also post Mother's Day poems.

52 comments:

  1. First, let me wish a wonderful Mother's Day to all you wonderful mothers out there! May your children rise up and call you blessed.

    Here's my first draft of today's poem... I hope to post the next draft on my blog today after church sometime:

    MOTHER, MAY I?

    I can garden, just like you-
    Mother, may I?

    Look, my hands are dirty,
    black smudges on my face,
    forehead sweat-streaked, and
    my seeds are planted too!

    I can garden, just like you-
    Mother, may I?

    Look, I watered them,
    poured lots of water all over them,
    gave them to eat and drink so
    they can grow big and strong!

    I can garden, just like you-
    Mother, may I?

    Look, so pretty,
    I picked them just for you,
    these flowers that we grew,
    God and me and you!

    I can garden, just like you-
    Mother, may I?

    ReplyDelete
  2. Randomly, I wrote a poem about rain today before I knew your prompt. It is a cranky poem, though. Elena, I just may glue your Graduate Student's Lament to my laptop. <3

    Earth's Communication

    The rain
    Brings news of pain
    Of cosmos’ every thought
    Is writ upon the stain of turf
    Befouled.

    ReplyDelete
  3. What a fine umbrella. Smiles don't blow inside out in a stiff wind.

    mine is a pretty rough draft, but I had fun with it
    Rough as a Cob

    ReplyDelete
  4. Southern Storms

    Air hums with an electric tint; dry grounds
    cracked in anticipation. Stretched out
    on the porch, I wait: limbs loose,
    head tilted back, one foot soothing
    back and forth, back and forth the anxious
    pup on the step. Both of us ready.

    Goosebumps awake along my arms,
    like memories of rain that has not
    yet fallen, tree branches sway with the
    weight of anticipation, anticipated rain.
    There's a soft swish-thump of a tail
    marking time between heat lightning's hello.

    And thunder rolls. And the train comes.
    And for a moment, we don't know the difference. But dust
    turns to clay, staining my soles red beneath my feet.
    Tail caked and tucked Pup scoots beneath my knees,
    and I close my eyes, waiting to fall asleep to this,
    while light and shadows sketch premonitions of dreams.

    "Dust" in the third stanza should be at the end of the line above it, but can't seem to work it out that way in the comment box...

    ReplyDelete
  5. Oh, good! The preview lied and formatting turned out better than I thought! You can ignore the footnote on my post :)

    ReplyDelete
  6. Katie, that gave me shivers just reading it! Southern storms are in a class by themselves...

    ReplyDelete
  7. Water Girl

    When I was a child, too young to work the fields
    but eager to be of use, my mother made me water
    girl, in charge of filling mason jars from the pump
    house faucet where the water was coldest,
    and walking it to the fields up the hill beyond the
    pond, hemmed in by woods—that field that I could
    hardly see from the house. Four and determined,
    I filled two quart jars to their slippery tops, each slow
    Jostling step sloshing and spilling my load. Slow or
    fast with frequent stops and adjustments, I left a trail
    of muddy splotches, my bare feet covered with dusty
    mud pearls. By the time I arrived, my family was
    overdue for their break, and I stood soaked to the skin
    with water and sweat, with scarcely half of the water
    left in the jars. Normally, they would have laughed
    at me for being useless, but thirst turned them mean
    as they accused me of drinking it all, seeing well that
    I wore it like an indictment.
    My mother only looked at me, her eyes remeasuring,
    then she asked my slightly older sister to accompany
    me this time, and suggested caps on the jars, jars in
    a basket or bucket, and this time some cookies too.
    Then she hugged me and told me not to blame my
    siblings for being hard on me. “You see, everything
    needs water to live,” she said, “every plant and animal,
    and people too. Water is life, and that makes your job
    the most important of all.” I cried going back down the
    hills to the house, only partly because I had failed her,
    but mostly because I had not known that I was carrying life.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Harbingers

    Strands falling yellow-green,
    Striping browns with golden sheen,
    Brushing grounds dotted with gold
    Clumped bouquets for child’s hold.

    Rain’s dappled puddles hiss,
    Display results of frog’s kiss,
    Wriggling shadowed fat-tailed spawn,
    Soon grow legs, jump dawn.

    Peeking green blades sun bright
    Announce a coming old sight,
    Pansies, dogwood, and mushrooms
    Summer’s insane rush looms.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Happy Mother's Day!

    Rain on Me

    The desert place
    A place of wandering
    Alone

    The desert place
    A place of thirsting
    Parched

    The desert place
    A place of dying
    Barren

    Rain on me
    Green up my soul
    Let it be a place of life
    Growth, refreshing
    Fellowship, laughter
    Not a desert place

    ReplyDelete
  10. I had this double sonnet already on hand, and it fit the prompt, so I just shined it up a little:


    Rain… Rain

    Relentlessly the icy rain swoops down.
    The sodden earth, refusing, cries "No more!
    Have pity on your prey. I weep; I drown.
    Please show me now your mercy, I implore."
    New blossoms break; brave daffodils are bent,
    Their sunny faces pressed into the mud.
    Sweet pansies shredded, cheerful petals rent;
    The apple trees now mourn each frozen bud.
    But rain beats wings against the wintry gale
    And stretches talons, needle-sharp and cruel.
    We find no refuge from her keening wail
    Nor have we any respite from her rule
    'Til sun, her master, calls and she obeys.
    Now hooded, tamed, she broods on stormy days.

    Caressing, soft, the gentle rain creeps down,
    Now purring figure eights around our feet
    And nuzzling cheeks. The shadblow dons her gown
    While patient tulips fold their petals, neat.
    Narcissi bow, so graceful, heads now weighed
    By raindrops beading there like short-lived pearls,
    And grasses wear a shine on ev'ry blade.
    The glad earth drinks; the peony unfurls,
    And rain comes dancing, watching flowers preen.
    A playful tickle from her whiskers, then
    She's hiding and emerging, seen, unseen,
    And running catlike over field and fen,
    She's gone. The sun emerges, but with cause
    To be suspicious: kittens have their claws!

    ReplyDelete
  11. Last night, falling rain
    soaked the grass and flowers.
    Morning sunbeams strike-
    each leaf wears a pearl
    all the flowers are jewels.

    ReplyDelete
  12. “June on the River”

    Old tennis shoes
    Scruff up dust on a
    Country road and matte
    Back inner tubes float
    Along a lazy river,
    Hovering over hopeful
    Fishing hooks.

    As the sun sets, and the
    World’s lit up only by
    Starlight, fireflies, and
    Campfires, laughter
    Floats through the
    Darkness and soothing
    Breezes carry a whiff of
    Burnt marshmallows.

    And in the night, the
    Crickets croon and
    Rain tings and chinks on the
    Old tin roof. And it’s
    Summer.

    ReplyDelete
  13. Wind and rain

    Listen, you whisper, I hear it coming,
    Words wide-eyed thrilling into the still air.
    The slow crescendo of a distant crowd
    Rushes towards us through the ripened grain
    Where we drop our brushes in the rich loam
    Leaving the ladders swaying. Don’t think now.
    Faster than a breath, the curtain rings down,
    Clouds dipping, swirling, and I am the wind
    To you in the water, holding you up
    As you exult, tearing open the sky.

    ReplyDelete
  14. Summer Sprinklers

    Tiny drops tickling
    her shoulders,
    spraying her belly.
    Her arms flung wide
    hugging the water.
    She dances.

    A blur of drenched hair
    as she twirls around
    the water spout;
    pink polka dots whirring.

    The sun kissing her face,
    browning her delicate skin.
    Green grass massaging
    her bare feet.

    She glances my way
    tiny fingers beckoning.
    And we giggle as we
    fall to the earth and
    smile at the blue sky.

    ReplyDelete
  15. To Walk On Water

    She sits alone
    in a forgotten corner
    unnoticed
    with every accomplishment
    minimized
    with every accolade
    unworthy
    with every gift
    embarrassed
    with every compliment
    sinking
    with every blow
    to her low
    self-esteem,
    but she would walk
    on water
    if just once
    her father said,
    “I’m proud of you.”

    ReplyDelete
  16. Here's another one I posted on my blog:

    http://lkharris-kolp.blogspot.com/2011/05/water.html

    ReplyDelete
  17. I'm not sure how to make the indented sections here, in the comments. So I'm posting it "as is", followed by a link to my blog post. There are also some "process notes" there...I'd be interested in your feedback! :)

    MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE…ONCE FULL

    a river of tears released
    into his handkerchief, his tiny initials
    embroidered in its corner

    she breathes in deeply
    as the evaporation of the mist
    makes the water visible before her

    grief supersedes reason,
    she reads her words one last time
    before she slides them into the bottle:

    this bottle, once full,
    serves as a reminder
    of how empty my life is without you

    your words, you used
    to knead my wounded soul,
    no longer echo in this world

    your touch, you used
    to melt away my fears,
    is no longer felt in this world

    your love, you gave
    to cleanse my picture of self,
    is no longer given in this world

    this bottle, now filled with my words,
    serves as a reminder
    that my life can be full once more

    with a final whisper of goodbye
    she watches as water and seaweed
    tug at her words…and her heart

    2011-05-08 10:20 p.m.
    P. Wanken


    Message in a Bottle...Once Full

    ~ Paula Wanken

    ReplyDelete
  18. I may try another, but this was a "wet" one I'd already put to paper (or Blog). Will also include a Mother's Day poem, my 9 year old wrote for me this year.

    Spring has sprung
    a leak.
    Drizzles and
    downpours
    create lakes
    in the yard.
    Puddles can make
    staying dry
    very hard.
    Temperatures
    still waffling
    at night pretty low.
    Guess I'll be glad
    the rain
    isn't snow!

    ~Kelly Donadio
    http://livingfourreal.blogspot.com/

    A Mother's Day Poem

    Flowers are blooming
    it's time to shine
    I love you so much
    because you are mine.

    ~Claire Donadio (age 9)

    ReplyDelete
  19. Well, I thought I posted this once, but it didn't appear. My apologies, if it shows up twice.

    This is a "rain" poem I wrote for my blog sometime ago. I may give the prompt a new try before the week is up.

    I am also posting a Mother's Day poem written by one of my daughters for me this year.

    Spring has sprung
    a leak.
    Drizzles and
    downpours
    create lakes
    in the yard.
    Puddles can make
    staying dry
    very hard.
    Temperatures
    still waffling
    at night pretty low.
    Guess I'll be glad
    the rain
    isn't snow!

    ~Kelly D.
    http://livingfourreal.blogspot.com/

    A Mother's Day Poem

    Flowers are blooming
    it's time to shine
    I love you so much
    because you are mine.

    ~Claire (age 9)

    ReplyDelete
  20. Not sure if my attempt at concrete will work...


                        We
                      blink
                    a levee
                  of lashes
                into a bridge
             over liquid eyes,
         a troubled awakening
       in pools of bitter brown
     borrowed from elemental
      seep in puddles waiting
         for the deep pour of
             broken waters.

    ReplyDelete
  21. OF TIDES

    Wordless wonder
    as you swirl,
    dip and eddy,
    invisibly
    following
    the current
    round and swish
    back to where my toes
    are found
    hungrily searching
    the tide's stopping point.
    Olive-green seaweed
    marks place of your
    coming and going.
    Broken bits
    purple shells,
    translucent glass,
    salted mystery.
    Concrete layers
    proof of your
    presence.
    Tidal rush
    and retreat.
    Wordless
    I wonder.


    I had trouble posting yesterday. Did any body else? Any way just curious. Happy belated Mother's Day to the mothers in all of creation.

    AT THE HEART OF IT

    The mother in brother
    tenderly caring, playing.
    Mother in father as he
    gently rocks, sculpts
    his baby's face with
    uncountable kisses.
    Instinct in all of us
    that turn our hearts soft
    compassionate toward others.
    Unseen creatures of nature
    bringing forth young.
    Seed bearing plants
    with promise for tomorrow.
    For there's a bit of mother
    in the heart of all.

    ©2011 Hannah Gosselin

    ReplyDelete
  22. I think "turning hearts soft," sounds better.

    ReplyDelete
  23. Enjoyed these journeys through rainy water worlds! My poem is on my blog:
    Another Life Cycle

    ReplyDelete
  24. Perspective

    I am happy that I live
    in a place where
    the rescue of ducklings
    from a storm drain
    received the same headline as
    the burial at sea of
    a mass murderer.

    ReplyDelete
  25. ~Marie I love, "I drought he knew!" Fun play on words. Warm smiles to you.
    ~Amazing umbrella, Walt. :)
    ~Jane your poem was so touching and vivid, love this image: "I left a trail of muddy splotches, my bare feet covered with dusty mud pearls." And the deep underlying meaning.
    ~Elizabeth, so sweet, I can almost see her face.
    ~Laurie, heartbreaking, written beautifully.
    ~Katie, this line speaks to me: "Goosebumps awake along my arms,like memories of rain that has not yet fallen..." :)
    ~Catherine Lee, creatively concrete, I love the words you used and the alliteration. :)

    Such an honor to read all of everyone's words. Thank you and smiles all @!

    ReplyDelete
  26. Me: "So what do you think about when you think of water, Caiden?"
    Caiden: "Swimming with bellies and fishy tails....(long pause)."
    Me: "What else do you think of when you think of water? Colors or..."
    Caiden: "So I want to get a tank to put a starfish and jelly fish and cwabs or no starfish a cwab and jellyfish and fish and ahhhh ummm...and ah another fish. So I like that, so I want one. Lets play cars!"

    Looks like we're going to see a salt water fish tank in our future! Nemo here we come! Haha Thought I'd have some fun and get my toddler help me write a poem! :)

    ReplyDelete
  27. Juanita Lewison-SnyderTuesday, May 10, 2011 3:28:00 PM

    After the Rain
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    For months
    we prayed for rain,
    looked up into a gloom parched sky
    like recovering alcoholics
    desperate to sell our souls
    for just a few mere drops
    on the outstretched tongues
    of surrounding landfall.

    From Colorado to Kansas,
    Oklahoma to the Texas panhandle
    a drought ravaged the country
    dividing a nation.
    Large swirling dust storms
    repeatedly scoured the earth,
    then tossed like fish bait to
    both the Atlantic and the Gulf.
    Ranchers and farmers
    took turns pointing fingers
    while hundreds died from the heat.
    Millions more took to the roads
    seeking relief only to be exploited,
    while pristine wilderness areas
    began the painful process of embalming.
    A once proud and mighty nation
    soon reached the serrated edge of
    ecological and economic collapse.

    And when it finally came,
    ten long arid years later
    those first precious droplets
    of aqua pura a hundred thousand
    ransoms had paid dearly for,
    man once again rose from the dust,
    adam and eve paraffin's
    but without souls for they
    had been stripped away
    along with topsoil long ago.
    By the time anyone noticed,
    the room had already been emptied
    of such brine myths that
    nobody remembered if rains
    had ever followed the plow.

    It would not be the last time
    man chased after false gods.


    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    ReplyDelete
  28. Awaken Water Child

    Awaken water child
    Residing in the depths
    Hair like kelp in current
    Parts dancing rays of sun
    Booming voice soft spoken
    Like waves within a cave
    Flowing mystic garments
    The ripple of the waves
    Awaken water child
    On current now brought fourth
    Born to sea and wave Bourne
    Tides part the dark blue sea
    Set your feet to shoreline
    Your timeless thoughts made real
    Awaken water child
    Residing in my soul

    ReplyDelete
  29. Heehee! Thanks, Sweet Hannah! I'm glad you caught the humor, and didn't think it was just an error. That, and the "pour," instead of "poor" -- might have been a bit too subtle, and thought of as an error. ;)

    Cloaked Monk: Sounds like you are speaking from experience! Post away!

    Wow, we have TWO concrete poems, and a double sonnet! I'm feeling mighty blessed around here, people. Keep 'em comin'!

    ReplyDelete
  30. A Farewell to Dust

    She thought him as ancient as marble
    but that's where comparisons end
    His face weathered and rough
    with whiskers that scuff when
    he rubbed his cheek up against hers

    She touched a long lingering line
    carved from his nose to his chin
    deep as the cracks in the field
    where years ago corn used to grow
    as high as the top of her head

    Now dust swirls collecting in your ears
    driving its way up your nose and eating
    a meal means chewing on grit as it
    races its way through the night
    pricking and prodding at dreams

    He talks to her of times long ago
    stories that seem like tall-tales
    of the scent of pure green
    of a colour called pink
    of roses and clover and rain

    I remember, he'd say, the sound of rain
    a sound she'd never heard for herself
    He said it was a sound like that clown's
    flat-soled, oversized shoes, the one that
    chased her as she ran from its reach

    I remember, he'd say, the sound of rain
    pounding the top of my head cooling my skin
    after a long hard day's work. It pounded
    like a hammer on soap, he'd say, and it'd make you
    bend over and hide from its weight

    But now only dust and wind filled the air
    the clouds emptied of everything but dust
    There was no rest for him here, so God called him
    back home, a dark day when the sound of rain falling
    was once again heard as they all cried their final farewells.

    ReplyDelete
  31. Flow

    The ache
    for lake
    is so physical she can taste
    its fairied spell
    hear the fabled stories
    it longs to tell.

    The notion
    for ocean
    runs through her very veins
    saltwater and skin
    poised to dive
    be born again.

    The drink
    of ink
    allows her to remain fluid
    even on dry land
    with finned and metered feet
    so hungry for sand.

    ReplyDelete
  32. Mine is the common or garden wet stuff: http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2011/05/11/rain-for-poetic-bloomings/

    ReplyDelete
  33. Had a hard time posting earlier in the week. Am giving it another try.

    Although not about rain, this scene is forever etched in my mind when anyone mentions being wet.


    Unwillingly Wet

    Just a toddler
    exploring her surroundings
    GIGGLING!

    Hot tub bubbling
    something floating out of reach
    SPLASH!

    Gazelle-like speed
    One hand Herculean strength
    RESCUED!

    Accidental diver, instinctual rescuer
    crying, breathless,
    SOAKED!

    The scent of chlorine, the salt of tears
    it never felt so good to be
    WET!


    ~Kelly D.
    http://livingfourreal.blogspot.com/

    Am also adding a Mother's Day poem I received this year:

    Flowers are blooming
    it's time to shine
    I love you so much
    because you are mine.

    ~Claire (age 9)

    ReplyDelete
  34. Oh my goodness ... little Claire!! A gal after my own heart! <3 !!

    ReplyDelete
  35. Sea of Hearts

    You and me and all we see.
    And everything we will ever be.
    Eternally in ecstasy.
    We feel the beauty in being free.

    We are the water that is flowing
    In the river of this world.
    We’ll travel onward to awaiting destiny.
    We are but droplets in the pools.
    We’ll flow along as nature rules.
    We seek to live in happiness, peacefully.

    Our purpose and our mission never clear.
    We yearn to flow into excitement and not fear.
    We bind with others as we need,
    for our peaceful souls to feed.
    We’ll grow a fruit tree from the droplets of a tear.

    As we stream along in rhythm on this sphere,
    the currents move us all from over there to here.
    We do our best to do our part
    In the sea of all the hearts.
    We’ll stay true to our course and those so dear.

    by Michael Grove

    ReplyDelete
  36. The Quintessential Farmer

    A proud man, pride in the land
    that he's worked his long life.
    Steady, serious eyes balance

    the boyish smile lines that broaden
    like waxing and waning curves,
    a set of open and closed parenthesis,

    lines deeply set in happier times
    when he walked the fields
    to the rhythm of the rain.

    ReplyDelete
  37. Blogger had been experiencing difficulties since the 11th. Some were unable to post or comment. Hopefully it has been rectified. This is a test post to check the viability of the site.

    ReplyDelete
  38. Hannah Gosselin: "At the heart..."- sweet and true!

    Misk Mask: last 2 lines to "The Quintessential Farmer"- poetic elegance

    Walt: "Umbrella Smiles"- Very thought provoking

    Marie Elena: "Cry Me a River"- just great- a well-written, pun-filled, quick-witted lament!

    Here is my belated attempt. I almost gave up as it was too late but the prompt has stayed with me over these past days... and I was encouraged by all the other posts.

    Pitter-Patter

    Pitter-patter
    Rain drops fall
    On the garden of my soul.

    Pitter-patter
    Footsteps fall
    On the garden of my soul.

    Pitter-patter...
    Pitter-patter...
    Through hackneyed,
    Repeated days;
    Same old tasks,
    Dull routine.

    Dear Sender
    of these
    dripping drops,
    Show me the worth
    of all these
    simplistic,
    mundane days…

    Pitter-patter
    New life grows
    In the garden of our lives.

    Pitter-patter
    Flow’rs unfurl
    In the garden of our lives.

    ReplyDelete
  39. Benjamin Thomas

    Hi folks at Poetic Bloomings! The last two weeks I have fully intended on posting to the sunday prompts but to no avail. I have a feeling to post the last prompt if permissible.

    Will return later.

    See y'all

    ReplyDelete
  40. Good morning, all!

    Thanks, Walt, for filling us in on what the problem has been.

    Susie T: Thanks for your kind words. "Quick" wit is misleading, though. My wit is not quick -- it is painstakingly slow. ;) Thank you for commenting on the work of others here. Love that spirit, as well as your offering for this week!

    Benjamin: Good to see you out here! Post whenever you can, always feeling free to flit through previous weeks.

    This evening Walt will be posting our picks for this week. As with last week's prompt, I'm having a difficult time choosing. You guys rock!

    Keep 'em comin'!

    Marie Elena

    ReplyDelete
  41. P.S. I know there were at least two poems that were lost when blogger went down. We do NOT want to lose poems. If you know you posted, and no longer see your poem, please do post it again for our enjoyment. Thank you!

    Marie Elena

    ReplyDelete
  42. Me again. I just don't want anyone to miss the poem by 9-year-old Claire. And not just because she's my little cousin.=)

    In only our second week here at Poetic Bloomings, we have both adult and children posting, and represent the following countries: Canada, Bulgaria, Singapore, Germany, Mexico, Australia, France, Spain, United Kingdom, and United States! Oh, the wonders of the internet! Don't you just love it?

    Marie Elena

    ReplyDelete
  43. Me. AGAIN. *sigh* Obviously, in my post above, I was in error in referring blanketly to "countries." *double sigh* ;)

    ReplyDelete
  44. Difficult to pick a favourite, so I won't. I love this new site, with such un-prescriptive prompts. You drop a word into the poetic machine, cogs whirr and out comes a huge variety of inspired poems. Thank you,ME and Walt.

    ReplyDelete
  45. Thanks for starting up this blog Walt and Marie Elena! So fun to be here!

    Early Morning Rain

    The gentle tattoo of the falling rain
    lulls my slumbering brain,
    my body floating in between sleep
    and complete wakefulness.
    Until bright lights flash
    like camera bulbs,
    penetrating my still closed eyelids
    and the answering boom of thunder
    brings me forward to consciousness –
    My lips curve in a sleepy upward arc,
    as I sigh, stretch and snuggle back down
    to listen to the steady beat
    of the falling rain.

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  46. Thanks Marie for the updates and salutations.

    As Marie has stated, our second week has stretched our accomplishments here in "the Garden" to a wide international scope. It is our hope that the trend continues in a spirit of comaraderie and community. I will be posting
    the "Beautiful Blooms" for week #2 shortly.

    This week, we will introduce Web Wednesday which will highlight the blog/website of one of our esteemed gardeners (followers). Watch for it.

    Also on occasion, we will post an "In-form Poet".
    We will present a poetic form for your consideration and information. More of a tutorial for some of the lesser known or invented forms.

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  47. thought I had posted this on Wednesday. Might have gone away somehow...


    Sea of Hearts

    You and me and all we see.
    And everything we will ever be.
    Eternally in ecstasy.
    We feel the beauty in being free.

    We are the water that is flowing
    In the river of this world.
    We’ll travel onward to awaiting destiny.
    We are but droplets in the pools.
    We’ll flow along as nature rules.
    We seek to live in happiness, peacefully.

    Our purpose and our mission never clear.
    We yearn to flow into excitement and not fear.
    We bind with others as we need,
    for our peaceful souls to feed.
    We’ll grow a fruit tree from the droplets of a tear.

    As we stream along in rhythm on this sphere,
    the currents move us all from over there to here.
    We do our best to do our part
    In the sea of all the hearts.
    We’ll stay true to our course and those so dear.

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  48. Hi Mike! So glad you caught it an re-posted. As Walt explains above, Blogger has experienced some problems. We lost more than one poem here. :(

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  49. Raindrops

    Splatter, then glide down the window,
    become a visual meditation.
    Drops on the rusty tin roof provides
    rhythmic background music
    as the candle burns higher and reflects
    writer and her mythic muse.

    http://judyidliketosay.blogspot.com/2011/05/raindrops.html

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  50. Wrote and posted this one about water on May 10, but forgot to link to it here: Snow Melt

    ReplyDelete