Imagine the Possibilities

Welcome to my Poetry Friday post. Things get a little sporadic in the summer, but I’m happy to be back this week to share a poem I recently wrote about my beloved cherry tree.

From The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year by Margaret Renkl:

“Even now, with the natural world in so much trouble – even now, with the pattern
of my daily life changing in ways I don’t always welcome or understand – radiant
things are bursting forth in the darkest places, in the smallest nooks and deepest
cracks of the hidden world.”

The flowering cherry that grows in our back yard was here when we moved in over 45 years ago. I’ve written about it before on this blog, so you might be familiar with it. It has withstood stress from storms throughout the years and has been a source of shelter for countless creatures. Every spring, right on cue, it bursts into beautiful blooms of hope and resilience. From time-to-time limbs have fallen or we’ve had to prune some branches, but there is always, somewhere, new growth.

We are both growing older, the tree and I. Over the years we have changed in appearance and sometimes in purpose. It is a reminder that although life still has more to offer, perhaps parts of us are ready to rest.

On a Hot Summer Afternoon

the large limb that allowed
spiders to roam
nestlings to roost
squirrels to shelter
through rain and snow
wind and sun…

fell to earth
with a gentle sigh –
time to rest.
Draft, RoseCappelli2024

Jan has the roundup today at Bookseedstudio. Be sure to stop by for links to lots of wonderful poetry.

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.

__________________________________________________

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.