Imagine the Possibilities

Welcome to Poetry Friday. Michelle has the roundup today here where she gives us a peek at the Yoko Ono exhibit in Chicago. Be sure to stop by for some much-needed peace and calm and lots of poetry goodness.

My poem for today was inspired by “Skating After School” by Barbara Crooker. Here are her opening lines:

In the space between school and supper,
light flat as a china plate,
sky and ice a single seam
stitched by black trees,
we raced over the railroad tracks,
down an embankment to the frozen pond,
snow embroidering our flannel jeans…

Isn’t that lovely? When I was young, my friends and I would anticipate the first day we could safely ice skate on the lake in the public gardens near where we lived. That memory came to mind after reading Barbara Crooker’s poem. So, when one of this week’s prompts on Georgia Heard’s Writing Invitations was to write about a winter memory from childhood, I returned to that lake with my childhood friends, if only in my mind.

Lake Skating

At the end of the school day
we walk in silence, single file,
Sister standing guard,
to the end of the block…
then run as fast as we can
across the street to Christina’s house
to make the call.

Is the lake safe for skating?
we shout to no one in particular.
An affirmative automated response
sends us into squeals of delight.

We trek six blocks,
skates laced together
dangling around necks
muffled in wool.

On the lake
we glide like the summer swans
who nibble the crusts of our sandwiches,
practice circles and figure 8’s,
link hands as we cut scratches in the ice,
down to the bridge and back,
down to the bridge and back,
down to the bridge and back
until the sun begins to sink.

Only then do we make our way home
arm in arm,
hearts full.
Draft, RoseCappelli2025

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

As the Winter Solstice approaches, may the return of the light bring peace and understanding to our world.

It’s Poetry Friday!

Winter has definitely set in here in the northeast. Cold, a bit of snow, the sun making brief appearances. It’s the season of candlelight and finding peace in the night sky lit by a full moon.

I’m making my way through Leaf, Cloud, Crow, the companion journal to The Comfort of Crows, both by Margaret Renkl. I followed the suggestion to walk outside every night for a week, just before bed, and look at the sky. The two small poems I offer today feel like companion pieces – one written from my late-night observations and one an early morning surprise.

Garden in December

full moon glowing
blesses the sleeping garden
with sweet dreams of spring
Draft, 2025Rose Cappelli

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Surprise

December morning
driveway dons a dusting
snowflakes dance
Draft, 2025RoseCappelli

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Linda has the round up today at A Word Edgewise where she offers a wonderful poetic mashup. Be sure to stop by and check the comments for lots of poetry goodness.

It’s Poetry Friday! Irene has the roundup today at Live Your Poem where she uses a lovely poem from one of my favorites, Barbara Crooker, as inspiration for her ArtSpeak poem. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

This week I’m catching up with my writing. Thanksgiving was a wonderfully hectic time with cooking, baking, decorating, and grandchildren. But right after everyone left, I left, too, to attend the Keystone State Literacy’s annual conference in the Pocono Mountains.

The theme of the conference was Beyond the Page: Fostering a Love of Reading for Lifelong Learners. Highlights included meeting and speaking with several well-loved authors like Lesa Cline-Ransom, Alison Green Myers, Gary Schmidt, Trinka Hakes Noble, and more. I pulled out a few nuggets from my notebook, looked for patterns in what was said, and came up with this poem:

Beyond the Page

Tell your story with passion,
with courage
because it’s easier to forget
than it is to remember.

Know that there’s strength
in a shared purpose.

One book,
one idea,
one step forward
can provide the mirror
to change a life forever.
Draft, 2025Rose Cappelli

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Today I’m also offering a poem I wrote a few years ago that is fitting for the week after Thanksgiving.

A Caravan of Trees

After Thanksgiving I start to see
a caravan of Christmas trees.
Perfectly picked or freshly cut,
secured on car roofs,
bundled with care.
Will they don lights
or strands of gold?
Perhaps be topped
with a shining star?
A season of peace and hope begins
with a caravan of trees.
Draft, RoseCappelli2021

Thanks for reading!

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

One of my guilty little pleasures is hand crafted, scented soaps. I almost always choose a few bars to bring home when I’m visiting a new town or shopping in a new location. The names, the scents, the colors all delight me, so I make my choices based on any or all of the above.

I especially look forward to starting a new bar. It’s fun and a little mysterious to look through my stash, read the names, and choose the one that speaks the loudest. This week, I found one I had purchased last summer – Ocean City Sunrise. It did not disappoint.

Why I Love Scented Soaps

The label read
Ocean City Sunrise.

Under the wrapper, a block of two-tone gold
scenting of summer
greeted me.

I stepped into the shower,
let the lather drift down,
transporting me to a moon-cooled beach
where a sliver of light

rose, coloring the sky
pink and yellow and blue…

the perfect start to my day.
Draft, 2025RoseCappelli

I hope you had a good start to your day, too. If you’re at NCTE, have a wonderful time soaking up all the kid lit goodness! I used to attend all the time but haven’t been back in a while. Next year it’s in Philadelphia, just a train ride away for me, so I may not have an excuse to stay away. If you’re looking for a panel moderator or collaborator, I’d love to help out.

Janice at Salt City Verse has the roundup today. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

It’s Poetry Friday!

Last week I talked about attending the wonderful Poetry Palooza at Highlights. The Highlights Foundation Retreat Center is nestled in the Pocono Mountains in northeastern PA. Beautiful in any season, the drive through the mountains in autumn is especially picturesque. Words and images and ideas swirled through my head as I drove home at the conclusion of the workshop when my thoughts suddenly turned to a treasured sweater I once owned. The next day those thoughts demanded to be a poem.

As I Drive Through the Mountains in Autumn

I travel in memories
of a sweater I once wore
in shades of gold and russet and green
like autumn maples and oaks—
my tree sweater,
my leaf sweater.

I wore it often on crisp autumn days,
but it seemed out of place
in any other season.
After Thanksgiving
I would tuck that sweater
in the back of my closet.
There it would languish,
lost in the mulberries of winter,
the pastels of spring,
awaiting its turn once again.

Over the years I chose it less often,
opting for updated styles,
subtler patterns perhaps.
Then one year I didn’t wear it at all,
nor the next,
nor the next—
so I passed it on.

I remember that sweater
as I drive through the mountains,
wondering if maybe somewhere
someone is greeting a crisp autumn day
in a sweater of gold and russet and green—
my tree sweater,
my leaf sweater.
Draft,2025RoseCappelli

Photo courtesy of Google images.

Carol Labuzzetta has the round up today at The Apples in My Orchard. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness, and thanks for reading.