Imagine the Possibilities

The prompt this week for the Nevermores (a poetry writing group at Inked Voices) was to write a color poem. I love writing color poems! I wrote them in classes with kids of all ages when I was teaching, so this exercise brought back many sweet memories.

I began by rereading a few of my favorite mentor texts – COLOR ME A RHYME by Jane Yolen and Jason Stemple, HAILSTONES AND HALIBUT BONES by Mary O’Neill and John Wallner, and RED SINGS FROM TREETOPS: A YEAR IN COLORS by Joyce Sidman and Pamela Zagarenski. I also reread “That was Summer,” a poem by Marci Ridlon. All of these texts have different structures and strategies to offer – strong verbs, repetition, use of senses, and more. After picking yellow as my color and jotting down a few ideas, I challenged myself to spend the next few days searching for, and thinking about, yellow. I had fun jotting ideas on scraps of paper, the Notes app on my phone, and of course, a notebook. The best thing about this process was that I had fun playing with ideas and words and lived up to the mantra I chose for 2022 – Enjoy the Process.

That’s Yellow

Do you know yellow?
Sure you do.

Yellow winks from the wing of a blackbird
and the ring of a grackle’s eye.
It sings with the wind chimes
and shouts a warning when it’s not safe to cross.

Yellow is the smell of sunshine in the sheets on the line.
It’s the promise hidden deep inside daffodils,
and under the feathers of the finches at the feeder.
It’s life inside an egg.

Yellow is that feeling you get
when a laugh starts bubbling up inside
and you can’t wait,
you just can’t wait
to let it out—
and neither can your best friend.

That’s yellow.
Draft, 2022 Rose Cappelli

Please join the Poetry Friday group here where Ruth has a beautiful haibun, a new-to-me form that combines prose and haiku, about an early morning birding walk in her new home in Paraguay.

Thanks for reading!

The weather in March is unpredictable, at least here in the northeast. This week we had record warmth, followed by wet snow. And wind, blustery wind. The lawn wore a silvery blanket of frost this morning. I watched it evaporating inch by inch as the sun rose higher and higher. But there are signs that spring is on the way.

The First Signs of Spring

The gardens are strewn
with autumn’s leftover leaves
and windblown bits of trash—
a strip of window screen,
a scrap of Christmas wrap.
But the hellebores are waking,
roused by a few days of warmth.
Daffodils are pushing up, up, up.
They’ll soon join the crocuses
to bring spring,
all yellow and purple and green,
to the garden.
Draft, 2022 Rose Cappelli

Syvia and Janet have this week’s poetry roundup at Poetry for Children. There you’ll find a sneek peek of their new anthology that just came out, Things We Eat. Congratulations Syvia, Janet and all the poets!

I recently joined a small poetry group, The Nevermores, at Inked Voices. We take turns providing a prompt, then post sometime during the week. This past week, Patricia was inspired by a very poetic name she heard, so she challenged us to create a poem using a person’s name. My immediate thought went to Shel Silverstein’s “Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out.” I remember how much my kids and the kids I taught loved it. You can hear Shel Silverstein recite it here.

I used a list a poetic names, picked the first few that jumped out at me, and came up with Annabel Angelou Catherine Blake. So here is my poem, inspired by the late, great Shel Silverstein:

Annabel Angelou Catherine Blake
by Rose Cappelli

Annabel Angelou Catherine Blake
Harbored a love of chocolate cake.
A simple vanilla would just never do,
And lemon or angel food made her feel blue.

When invited to tea there was so much at stake.
She would ask in advance, will there be chocolate cake?
If the answer was no, she would simply not go.
Instead she’d eat five chocolate cakes in a row!

One day after eating her tenth chocolate cake,
She lay down in bed with a big belly ache.
Her tummy was covered in bumpy red spots,
It felt like her insides were tied up in knots.

The doctor was called to see what could be done
Because surely the dear girl was not having fun!
“No more chocolate for you!” the doctor affirmed.
An allergic reaction was promptly confirmed.

Now since Annabel Angelou Catherine Blake
Can no longer eat her beloved chocolate cake,
She’s developed a deep love of strawberry pie—
She’ll bake you a few if you care to drop by.
Draft, 2022 Rose Cappelli

Tricia has the round up this week at The Miss Rumphium Effect. There you find lots of poetry fun including a look at an Exquisite Corpse poem.

A friend of mine recently posted this picture of the sunrise taken at her shore house in New Jersey.

I love the way she captured the sun’s warm glow. I could almost hear those squawking gulls and crashing waves. It occured to me that it’s sometimes hard to tell a sunrise from a sunset in a picture. I thought a Tricube with its three parts might lend itself to capturing the beginning, middle, and end of a day at the beach. Thanks for the inspiration, Robin!

A Day at the Beach

morning sun
starts the day
streaking sky

seagulls squawk
children play
sand crabs scram

evening sun
ends the day
glowing low

Draft, 2022 Rose Cappelli

Laura has the round up today at Small Reads for Brighter Days along with a peek at her new book, We Belong. Be sure to stop by for some poetry fun.

In our house, the holidays often spill into January and February. I consider some of my decorations, like the Dickens Village houses and the Pfaltzgraff winterberry dishes to be as much about winter as they are about Christmas. At least that’s how I rationalize my procrastination to put them away – I simply want to enjoy them a bit longer. But this week we had an unusual spell of warm weather, and I knew it was time. Spring will be knocking on the door soon (I hope!) So we dragged out the boxes and packed everything up until next year. I’m already missing the warm lights of the houses along the windowsill. And this…

The Winterberry Mug

This morning
I wrapped my hand
around the winterberry mug —
that mug with the just-right feel,
that mug that holds the just-right pour of coffee.
Then I packed it away
with the other mugs and dishes—
those dishes with the red and white berries,
those dishes with the painted vines
curled around the edges
like memories curled around my heart.
Until next December,
when once again
I’ll wrap my hand around the winterberry mug,
remembering.
-Draft 2022 Rose Cappelli

Linda has the poetry roundup today at Teacher Dance. Head over there for a sweet celebration for Valentine’s Day and lots more poetry goodness.