Imagine the Possibilities

Happy New Year and welcome to Poetry Friday!

Mary Lee has the roundup today at A(nother) Year of Reading where she shares wisdom from the Land of Grammar and lots more poetry goodness.

If you’re familiar with The Comfort of Crows by Margaret Renkle, then you probably know the importance of a first bird sighting in the new year.

            According to birding tradition, the first bird you see on the first day
of the new year sets the tone for your next twelve months. (p. 5)

The book is divided into seasons with an entry for each week. I bought the book in the spring, so that’s where I jumped in, devouring each luscious word and idea week to week. But I also read what I missed and am now rereading the whole book in order. I’ll admit, I was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning with the anticipation of my first bird sighting on January 1^st. I see fewer birds this time of year, but there are cardinals, finches, woodpeckers, wrens, and sparrows that visit regularly. Imagine my joy when the first bird I saw was a female bluebird, soon joined by her partner.

I researched all the symbolic and spiritual meanings connected with bluebirds, and there are many – happiness, renewal, harmony, hope. Bluebirds can also be a reminder to stay positive and live authentically. That’s what I want to focus on and use along with my OLW for 2025 – light.

First Bird: A Cherita for the New Year

I raised the binoculars, heart aflutter

a small miracle
perched on the birdhouse roof

a bluebird to guide me through the year
with harmony and hope
joy and light
Draft, RoseCappelli2025

My daughter gave me Renkle’s companion journal Leaf, Cloud, Crow for Christmas. I’m looking forward to filling it with small poems and thoughts. So maybe you’ll hear more about my bluebird. By the way, I named her Evie, and the pair returned today.

Mary Lee has the roundup today at A(nother) Year of Reading where she shares wisdom from the Land of Grammar and lots more poetry goodness.

Happy Poetry Friday!

On Wednesday I completed a series of three small online writing workshops with poets extraordinaire Georgia Heard and Ralph Fletcher. They were offered through Georgia’s Poet’s Studio. Titled “Write Bites,” the sessions were just 45-50 minutes in length. For each session, Georgia and Ralph offered a prompt, then gave us time to write and share. Some of the poets in the community (Jen, Moe, and fellow Poetry Friday contributor Jone) I knew, but many of us were meeting for the first time. Still, we all bonded quickly in the supportive environment created by Georgia and Ralph. I was in awe of the heartfelt and beautiful writing produced by my fellow classmates.

On the last night, Ralph’s prompt came from a photo of a tree he had taken while in New Zealand. He called it “The Lonely Tree.” I’m sorry I don’t have a copy of it, but imagine a lone tree, bending over the water surrounding it, with mountains and clouds in the background. It was the kind of photograph that can mean something different to just about everyone who sees it. I was surprised at where the photo took me, but when I started writing, this is where my thoughts wandered.

Yes

Sometimes life catches us off guard.
We’re surrounded by sustenance,
beauty,
warmth,
but can’t quite touch it,
can’t quite hold its essence.

I bend low—
almost,
almost there.

To find the right words,
to feel them flow like blood in my veins,
to be caught off guard with acceptance
would sustain me
for always.
Draft, RoseCappelli2024

Georgia and Ralph are offering Write Bites 2.0 beginning in late January. You can find more information about it and lots of other writing opportunities with Georgia at The Poet’s Studio.

Linda Mitchell has the roundup today at her blog A Word Edgewise where she is playing with centos. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness!

It’s Poetry Friday!

I had a houseful of family for Thanksgiving – just the kind of holiday I love. My niece, who had just gotten in from a quick trip to Florence, arrived with a beautiful shawl for me. It was so soft I didn’t want to put it down. She said it made her think of me. Perhaps it was the pastel yellows and blues, or maybe the tulips that reminded her of me. Whatever it was, it was joyous that someone thought of me in such a special way. I noticed today that there is a small bee in the design that I didn’t see at first. Perhaps the bee thought it special, too, to be noticed.

The Gift

Tulips dance on threads
of soft yellow and blue,
wrapping me in warmth,
cuddling me in care,
and all the while the bee beckons.
Draft, RoseCappelli2024

Right after Thanksgiving, I always marvel at the number of cars traveling with trees tied to their roofs. I posted this poem a few years ago, but it seemed to be an appropriate time to revisit it.

A Caravan of Trees

After Thanksgiving I start to see
a caravan of Christmas trees.
Perfectly picked or freshly cut,
secured on car roofs,
bundled with care.
Will they have lights
or strands of gold?
Perhaps they’ll be topped
with a shining star.
A season of peace and hope begins
with a caravan of trees.
Draft, RoseCappelli2021

In this busy season, I hope you are able to take some time to think warm thoughts. Carol has the roundup today at The Apples in My Orchard. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

It’s Poetry Friday!

I was prompted recently to reread Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse, remembering the powerful list poem near the end, “Thanksgiving List.” I remember thinking the first time I read it how uplifting it was that among all of the sadness and turmoil, Billie Jo was still able to find much to be thankful for. Out of the Dust is written in verse and is one of those books where I have many pages flagged. Each poem contributes to the story, but many of them can stand alone. One of those is “Boxes” in which Billie Jo recalls the gatherings of her life that her mother packed away. Those two poems by Karen Hesse brought to mind another list poem, “What Shall I Pack in the Box Marked Summer?” by Bobbi Katz that I used in my teaching days. Here are the beginning lines:

A handful of wind that I caught with a kite
A firefly’s flame in the dark of the night
The green grass of June that I tasted with toes
The flowers I knew from the tip of my nose
The clink of the ice cubes in pink lemonade
The fourth of July Independence parade!
…

Inspired to write a list poem about autumn, I reread my daily (almost) snippets for the last few months to recall some of the wonders of autumn I noticed and what I might pack away to remember.

Packing Up Autumn

sapphire skies aching with blue
shadows, long and lacy
days as warm as buttered pancakes
nights, cool and frosty
purple-black juice
on berry-bursting bushes
the mantis nest snug in the dogwood
that one red leaf among the brown
milkweed covered in cotton down
a sliver of moon-glow in a midnight sky
as autumn waves goodbye
Draft, 2024RoseCappelli

Ruth has the roundup today coming all the way from Uganda at her blog here. Be sure to stop by for lots of poetry goodness.

It’s Poetry Friday!

The leaves of the cherry tree in our back yard usually turn a fiery orange. That lasts about a week or so, then they all drop at once, sometimes seemingly overnight. But this year is different. The leaves on the outside have turned, but the inside leaves, the ones closest to the heart of the tree, are still green. It could be because of the lack of rain this season, or maybe the warmer temperatures, but to me it’s as if the tree is in denial, keeping something hidden to protect it.

If my poem for today strikes you as having a political undertone, it was unintentional (except “perhaps” on some unconscious level). The photo is the tree from last November, in all its fiery glory.

Perhaps

The maples know they must let go,
do what must be done.
But the cherry, oh the cherry,
she just pretends to understand.

Tipped with orange,
cherry hides what green remains,
holds it close,
protects the calm,
unprepared for the harsh to come.

Trees are survivors,
perhaps we are, too.
Draft, 2024RoseCappelli

Karen has the round up today here where she shares a hopeful poem by Ellen Bass. Be sure to stop by to fill your heart with lots of poetry goodness.