Imagine the Possibilities

It’s Poetry Friday! Tabatha has the roundup today at The Opposite of Indifference where she very cleverly interviews poet William Blake. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

My last post was about peonies, so this week I decided to give the hydrangeas equal time. In contrast to peonies that don’t hang around long, hydrangeas have stamina. The blooms last and last outside (even in heat) as well as inside. They are bright and happy placed in cool water and left alone on the kitchen table. A few weeks ago, I snipped some blooms to take to a friend’s house. When I arrived, the blooms were so wilted I feared I had stretched their endurance too far. But I chose to bet on the potential of these resilient flowers, and I was rewarded.

I hope wherever you are you can enjoy these longest days of summer and the full Strawberry Moon tonight.

Welcome to my Poetry Friday post!

Each spring I delight in the abundance of peonies produced on the six bushes that line the fence in my side garden. They reach their heads toward the sun then suddenly, almost overnight it seems, burst into beautiful blossoms. I try to bring in as many as I can and give away bouquets to neighbors and friends. Depending on the weather, they don’t have a long life. A day of rain will send them flopping to the ground. Add in some wind and it will be time to say goodbye sooner rather than later. But I am always thankful for their beauty, fragrance, and the memories they bring for however long they stay.

Because I’ve been working on trinets this week, I wrote one about the bittersweet task of cutting down the last of the peonies’ fading blossoms. Thanks to Alan J. Wright who introduced me to this form. A trinet has seven lines. Lines 3 and 4 each have six words; the other lines have two words each.

The Last of the Peonies

spring’s final
peony blossoms
in a vase of cool water
remind me of each life’s fragility
petal drooped
fragrance filled
sweet goodbye
Draft, 2024RoseCappelli

Tracey has the round up today at Tangles and Tales where she’ll have you thinking about inspiration (and food!). Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

Welcome to Poetry Friday! Michelle has the roundup today here where she is celebrating May birthdays, including her own. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

Recently I wrote a Poetry Friday post about finding a white and brown spotted egg in one of my bluebird nesting boxes, along with four bluebird eggs. I am sad to report that things didn’t work out well. More tragic was the news this week of the passing of poet and children’s author, Katey Howes. I feel these two events are related somehow. Katey will be missed by many in more ways than I can count, but especially by her family. This post is dedicated to them.

I felt a haibun would be an appropriate form. A haibun is a combination of prose and poetry. It begins with a narrative or personal passage that describes an experience, a scene, or a memory. It concludes with a haiku that acts as a snapshot of the prose passage.

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Researchers report that bluebirds can come to know the faces of their caregivers as well as recognize their voices. I remembered this when I started noticing Fred, my male bluebird, perched on the patio chair each morning. Sometimes I’d see him sitting on a low tree branch or the roof of the nest box. This behavior was not unusual, except that Fred didn’t seem in a hurry to leave as I approached and addressed him in a soft voice. After a few days, I realized I hadn’t seen Ginger (his mate) lately.
I wondered.
I hoped.
I checked the nest box.
Inside I found only two bluebird eggs. The others, including the odd spotted one, were on the ground, under the hydrangea bush. I took a deep breath, then placed my fingers on the two remaining eggs.
Cold.
I believe something happened to Ginger and that Fred was trying to tell me of this loss. I mourn with him, and for all who have lost precious family members.

bluebird sings alone
his grief as wide as the sky
healing broken hearts

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

Last week Linda at A Word Edgewise invited us to exchange clunkers. She offered an array of short lines discarded or revised from various poems and offered them up for anyone to snatch and use in exchange for one of theirs.

I belong to a book group with ladies I have known since our kids were young. Together we’ve been through births, deaths, illnesses, marriages, divorce, and everyday ups and downs. We kept going during COVID with the advantage of technology and now use it to include one of our members who moved to South Carolina. We take turns meeting at each other’s houses, and when we are at my house, the sunroom is often our space. So, as soon as I read “In the sunroom, our old lady faces” I knew that was the clunker for me. I even dreamt the perfect poem, but of course in the morning I couldn’t remember it. At least the idea was still there.

Book Group

friends for more than thirty-five years,
we gather in the sunroom,
our old lady faces
bearing the effects of the lives we’ve lived—
exuberant joy
heart wrenching worry
devastating loss

perhaps it’s books that saved us,
or at least brought us together,
anchoring us to each other
sharing the wisdom of words
Draft, 2024Rose Cappelli

Image is from pixy.org.

Patricia has the roundup today at Reverie where she shares the joy of being part of something larger while planting pine seedlings. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

Happy Poetry Friday! Linda has the round up today at her blog A Word Edgewise where she is hosting a clunker exchange. Linda graciously posted a list of lines she didn’t use for one reason or another – a clunker. You can take one and weave it into a poem and leave one of yours for her to work some magic with.

One early morning last week I was sitting on our enclosed porch when I was startled to see Fred, my male bluebird, excitedly flying close to the window – a new behavior. He landed on the ledge and peered in. It was as if he were trying to get my attention. I knew there was some nest building going on in one of the boxes, so I investigated. Inside I found an egg, but it wasn’t a bluebird egg. After some further investigation I determined that it was most likely a cowbird egg. There’s an abundance of advice available on the internet, some conflicting, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I decided to listen to the bluebirds and follow their lead.

Something New    

The bluebird peered in the window
as if calling for my attention,
as if calling Come and see!

Yesterday,
nothing occupied
the perfect pine needle nest
in the box by the hydrangeas.

Today,
one white and brown spotted egg
nestled in the soft bed.
Was this the cause of the
What to do! excitement?

Later,
a pale blue egg rested
next to the first.

Like the bluebirds,
I’ll let nature take its course.
Draft, 2024RoseCappelli

Not a great picture, but there are now four bluebird eggs in addition to the one from the visitor. I’ll keep you posted.