Imagine the Possibilities

A couple of weeks ago Mary Lee Hahn wrote about the August Poetry Peeps challenge – to write in the style of Jane Yolen or Joyce Sidman’s “What the _Knows” poems. I’m always up for a challenge, and I loved the form What the ____Knows, so I decided to join in.

I’ve been obsessed with the milkweed I planted last spring ever since starting to see some monarchs in the yard. I check on the plants daily, research the things I notice, and continue to learn from nature. So it seemed right that my poem be written about the milkweed. My poem is more free form. It’s more like a list poem and doesn’t follow a particular rhyme scheme, but you will hear some rhyming words and assonance.

What the Milkweed Knows

The quiet kiss of a monarch’s egg,
The gentle creep of caterpillar feet.
The buzzing bees,
A swaying breeze,
The silky strands of parachuting seeds.
The glow of the moon
on a clear starry night,
The wonders of nature,
The cycle of life.

Elisabeth has this week’s poetry roundup at Unexpected Intersections. Stop by to enjoy more poetry fun.

A few months ago I was gifted a pack of sunflower seeds from a clothing store of the same name (Sunflowers). I thought how wonderful to have a small crop of sunflowers in the garden, so I threw a handful in the soil and hoped for the best. I watered and waited, and was finally rewarded with a small sprout. I watched that small sprout grow and grow and grow into a spectacular plant full of hope and wonder.

Just One
by Rose Cappelli

Just as I was about to give up on the sunflower seeds,
one took root—

a small shoot branched out,
grew up, up, up
strong and straight and thick,
past the window
beyond the roof line.

One day it bowed to the roses, caught its breath,
then straightened and continued on.

The finches and I are waiting
for buds
and blooms
and glorious, wondrous seeds—

from just that one.

Then one day it collapsed from all that wonder. I felt as if I had lost a friend. I cut off as many blooms as I could and am once again watching and waiting. I’ll be sure to share the seeds with the finches.

Becky has this week’s Poetry Friday round up at Sloth Reads.

I’ve been rereading Writing Toward Home by Georgia Heard and came across “Valentine for Ernest Mann,” a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye. Here’s an excerpt:

“…poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.”

As an exercise, Georgia asked readers to list places where writing hides for us. I challenged myself to fill a page in my notebook.

Some phrases sounded so poetic that I crafted them into a sort of list poem.

Poems

Poems wait to be found.
They hide
in the grass, glistening in the morning dew
and the parade of ants across the path.
They linger
in the flutter of wings at the bird feeder
and the slow unfolding of the morning glories.
If I listen carefully I may hear poems
in the crunch of celery,
the laughter of children,
an early morning thunderstorm, or
the calls of a red-winged blackbird.
Poems greet me at the edge of my dreams,
then stick around for that first sip of coffee.
They crouch in the corners of my grandchildren’s smiles,
and hover in my husband’s hand on the small of my back.
Poems are buried deep in my dog’s soft fur,
and will live forever in my memories.

Margaret has today’s Poetry Round Up here. Thanks for hosting, Margaret.