Imagine the Possibilities

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.

October Morning

along the trail
light breezes through blushing leaves
dancing in shadows
Draft,2025RoseCappelli

Today is Poetry Friday!

One of our recent prompts/challenges at the Nevermores was to write about a fifth season. The first thing that came to mind was the old Donovan song from the ’60’s, “Season of the Witch.”

Since Halloween is next week, here’s something to get you in the mood:

Witching Season

eye of newt and toe of frog
sips and slurps of wicked grog

magic spells from charms and chants
spewing forth in reeling rants

hoots and howls and spooks that crawl
a talisman, a crystal ball

wind that whistles through the trees
broomsticks buoyant in the breeze

scary things across the region
all because of witching season
Draft, 2025RoseCappelli

Thanks for reading! Patricia has the roundup today at her blog, Reverie. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

Inspiration comes in waves for me. I can go days, weeks even, without a single idea that seems worthy enough to pursue. And maybe that’s the problem – too quickly dismissing ideas before they have a chance to nestle in and take shape. So, I’m trying to reset my mindset – listening more, noticing more, nurturing more.

One morning this week I went out to fill the feeder and noticed what looked like smoke rising from the squirrel baffle. I quickly put together the fact that the baffle, coated with dew, was chilled during the night, and now the sun was doing its best to warm it up. I learned later that it was indeed vapor created from the interplay of warm and cold, but not before I conjured up visions of garden fairies at play.

Baffling

Sun’s light heating morning dew
on the baffle baffles me.

Vapor forming wispy smoke
rises up into the oak.

Are there fairies underneath
cooking up a breakfast treat?

Or perhaps inviting squirrels
for a meet and greet.
Draft, RoseCappelli2025

This week I also noticed lots of walnuts littering the yard and the trail where I walk, sometimes surprising me with those unmistakable sounds.

Snap! Drop! Plop! Thud!
walnuts flood the forest floor
fuel for fox and jay
Draft, RoseCappelli2025

Linda has the roundup today at Teacher Dance where she’s serving up a little Dickens. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

It’s Poetry Friday! Today Amy is our gracious host, rounding up everyone’s posts at The Poem Farm. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

Earlier this week I had the privilege of attending a UCLA Extension class on writing poetry for children led by our own April Halprin Wayland. What a wonderful way to spend a few hours! April wasted no time in getting us outside in nature where we could notice, reflect, and find emotion.

In late fall my garden is not at its best, but I marveled at the few last blooms on the rose bushes. I recorded facts, feelings, and connections that resulted from observing the blooms. In just a few minutes I noted the softness of the petals, the sharp thorns, the different shades of green in the leaves, the sweet smell. I remembered rose scented soap, and the pink ears of my childhood cat. These connections led to poems that were revised throughout the class. This one came from wondering about a bud that was still tightly curled, as if wanting to wait for the perfect day to reveal itself, and a question I jotted: Will the bud unfurl slowly?

September Rosebud

You’re the last of your bunch,
not quite ready to call it quits.
Will you take your time unfurling
petal
by petal
by velvety-soft petal,
greeting the sun,
meeting each last best day,
lingering long
before the frost?

I hope so.
Draft, RoseCappelli2025

If you have an opportunity to take a class from April, please don’t hesitate. She values community and encourages trying things out to see how they fit.