We always look forward to the hummingbirds’ arrival in the spring. Some years they arrive, and then are scarcely seen as summer commences and flowers bloom, offering plenty of food in the wild. This year they have been present all summer, feeding from our feeder and garden blossoms. I usually have at least two or three of them whizzing about the garden, chittering and darting. Sometimes they show off their undulating “U” dance, which is always a delight. They also frequently perch in our birch tree, on our weather stick, or amidst the wisteria vines. I never tire of watching them and am always fascinated by how their colors change depending on the light. They are truly a gift of the season.
hummingbird
with her needle beak and darting flight summer seamstress stitches together all the sweetness of the season
Welcome! I’m delighted to be hosting the Poetry Friday Roundup this week!
After a few years of exciting travel and busy summers, and a hectic start to this one, I’m now enjoying a slow-flowing summer. I’m embracing and embodying words like putter, meander, wander, roam. I’ve done more than my fair share of digressing and side-tracking. And then there’s that delightful French verb, flâner, which means, essentially, to wander about with an engaged and inquisitive eye, but no destination in mind. I like to think of it as being open to everything, but with no agenda. Now, that’s a summer plan!
One of my favorite things to do this summer has been to follow the pollinators around my gardens and take pictures. It’s made for a lovely pace.
As the calendar flipped to August this week, I started thinking even more about pace. I confess, I have a propensity to hurry and rush. Too often I let the pace rev up to frantic, especially once the school year starts. I’m not sure how to stop this from happening (yet!). As I’ve been thinking about all the impending rush and scurry, this poem has been in my mind.
Hurry by Marie Howe
We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store and the gas station and the green market and Hurry up honey, I say, hurry, as she runs along two or three steps behind me her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.
Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave? To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown? (To read the the remainder of the poem, click here.)
Those first two lines of the second stanza are playing on repeat in my mind: “Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?/ To mine?”
So, I’m deliberately pushing pause while I can. Avoiding making too many plans. Cancelling or reorganizing them when I realize I have done so. I’ve taken more and longer naps this summer than I have in my entire life, and I’ll try to tuck in a few more. (The hammock and I have become good friends.) These days, when I think of running errands, I’m pausing to ask myself, “Do I want to do this right now? Do I need to do this right now?” More often than not, the answer to both of those question is: I don’t. It can wait.
Today as I lay in the hammock, I hear the bees buzzing about the hosta blossoms. I hear their sound ebb and flow, muffled by petals as they enter each soft chamber. My eyes trace the undulating path of a swallowtail butterfly. A pileated woodpecker swoops directly overhead to land momentarily on an adjacent tree. I watch it move up and down, hear it’s beak thunk into the trunk of wood, see it’s wings unfold as it flies away and listen to its ululating cry. I watch the shadows shape shift in the leafy canopy. I close my eyes and try to imprint the moment.
Summer is ending… but it has not yet ended.
Summer Mantra
May I be present in moment’s glow, resist directing its ebb and flow,
relax into the day’s embrace, let buzzing bees decide my pace.
May my eyes drift with monarch’s flight and revel in day’s changing light.
May I gauge time by shadow’s reach or tidal rhythms at the beach.
While clocks and phones sit idly by, may I unwind with heartfelt sigh,
and coalesce with present space. The gift of now can’t be replaced.
This month Catherine set the challenge for our group. Inspired by Irene Latham’s recent post, she asked us to try a triptych. I did a little research to make sure I fully understood the form. Apparently, there’s room for some interpretation 🙂 According to AI, “A triptych poem is a poetic form consisting of three distinct, yet related, sections or stanzas. It’s inspired by the visual art form of a triptych, which is a painting or sculpture made up of three panels, often hinged together. In poetry, the three parts of a triptych can explore different facets of a theme, tell a story in three stages, or offer contrasting perspectives on a subject.”
Another site I found offered additional, more complex, options, stating: “There are two types of Triptych poetry forms:
A poem consisting of three poems of equal length displayed side-by-side, like the panels of a triptych painting. Not only do the poems work together thematically, like the painting, they actually form a fourth poem. The fourth poem is read horizontally across the three poems. This fourth poem completes the theme of the Triptych.
A poem of three stanzas. The first stanza comments on the past, the second comments on the present, and the third comments on the future. The second stanza is twice as long as the first and third.”
I fooled around with all of these, lingering with the side-by-side format for a long time, enjoying the appeal of a visual triptych and the lure of a fourth poem to complete the trio. Eventually, I put that aside to work on again at another time. It was tough! The deadline was looming and I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do! But once again, I’m grateful for the birds. After looking out my window yesterday morning, I put everything aside and wrote this:
I the birch tree stands dappled in sun and shade one graceful branch arcs low a living artifact of the weight of winter snow
II blue jays gather and perch a cluster of fledglings all flutter and clatter and gawking beaks a constant, raucous clamor of bold and boisterous demand
III sudden lift and exclamation jays erupt skyward in an exhalation of blue and silence descends as softly as a falling feather alighting on the curve of the empty branch
This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Jane Whittingham at her blog, raincitylibrarian. If the summer heat has you down, click the link and spend some time chilling with some poetry!
I thought my summer hadn’t fallen into any sort of rhythm yet. Then, I realized that it’s actually been an unexpected rhythm, mostly consisting of a sedentary pattern of sleeping, eating and drinking, reading, napping. Rinse. Repeat. Other than the reading, I’m apparently emulating a newborn!
As the days of July are now more than half over, I’m considering how I want to shape the rest of my summer. Adding a bit more writing and creating to my days is high on the list. I haven’t participated in Poetry Friday in quite some time, and have really missed the community. Today, I’m chiming in with a late-to-the-party nonet.
Visiting my in-laws in Nashville wondering where the years have gone days spiced with laughter and tears time passes so quickly inevitably departure looms cherish each fleeting now
Once again I want to send a huge thank you to Mary Lee for stepping in with little notice when I had to withdraw from my PF hostess duties two weeks ago. It sounds like word got around, and everyone managed to find their way to the correct site. Poets are so smart! 🙂
Unfortunately, I do have a good excuse for my unexpected absence, as I was unexpectedly sidelined by an emergency eye surgery. (I wrote a little bit about it in this week’s Slice of Life.) This meant, in addition to missing more than a week of work, I missed the opportunity to participate in the Inklings challenge from Linda Mitchell on that date as well. Now that I’m on a path to recovery (and able to read again!), I’m sharing my response.
First, a little context: Linda invited us to explore Whitney Hanson’s poetry. Hanson shares her work on TikTok and is known for sharing poems that “begin with, “in poetry we say…” In these poems, Hanson takes a common phrase we know in English and translates it poetically.” Linda went on to say, “I see an invitation to write in a few ways:
Find a poem that you love to show how poetry translates English in a new way Or,
Write poetry in a way that responds to the phrase, “in poetry we say…”
Go rogue and respond to Hanson’s poetry in any way that makes you happy”
I chose door number two. As someone who is perpetually title-challenged, I’ll admit the fact that the structure of the poem essentially provides its own title is a huge plus to me. Unfortunately, now I’m not sure how to write a dedication line when there is no title. There’s definitely some irony there! Anyway, here’s my better-late-than-never response, written for my husband.
In English we say you were there
In poetry we say when all seems dark it’s you I seek your voice like a lifeline at the other end of the phone your hand an anchor in the swirling storm
I went off script with a double dactyl prompt today and veered into politics. Sadly, it’s never far from mind. Happily, double dactyls are a fun challenge. (If you’re interested in learning about the parameters of the form, you can click here.)
Vomitous gromitous President Donald Trump thrives on autocracy, bombast and lies.
Resist, Americans! He is the ultimate anticoagulant– bleeding us dry!
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at her blog, My Juicy Little Universe. In addition to hosting, she’ll be adding her line to this year’s Progressive Poem.
It’s February break and we headed south in search of a little warmth…
It hasn’t turned out exactly as we’d hoped.
Unfortunately, we brought Maine temperatures with us, along with a gusty wind. Brrrrrrr!!!! You’d think we’d be used to it! Regardless of the cold (thank goodness for layers!!!), we’re having a lovely time. And luckily, after thick clouds and misty rain on Wednesday, yesterday was sunny, so we had that going for us!
With the temperatures so low, it’s been odd to see green leaves and blooms. The majestic oaks, with their twisted limbs and long winter shadows, dazzle me. I have been feeling a little bad for the magnolias though. They look so cold!
grey clouds scud in a winter-frosted breeze blossoms tremble
This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Laura Purdie Salas, and she’s sharing all sorts of exciting book news. I’m still traveling, but hope to get around to read and comment over the next few days.
PS A highlight of the trip–hanging out with Margaret and Jeff Simon and parade watching!
Have you heard of the Public Domain Image Archive ? Well, if you haven’t, carve out some time and go visit. It’s amazing! Mary Lee introduced us to the site for our challenge and invited us to type a color into the search bar and write about one of the images that popped up. After a bit of playing around (and a lot of time passing!), I entered peach and was regaled with this image of a water tower in Gaffney, South Carolina.
Oh, my.
That’s what I thought, too.
So, while looking up synonyms for butts, I discovered the new-to-me word “callipygian”.
And that’s how this limerick came to be.
Down in Gaffney they sing a proud paean to this tower that’s oddly protean. They exclaim, “It’s a peach!” Tourists claim that’s a reach– it’s decidedly callipygian!
I can’t imagine living year long in a temperate climate. I love all the seasons, and they connect me to life and nature in a deep and meaningful way. Or at least they do when I pay attention. I’ve often thought that seasons heighten my awareness of time passing, which is bittersweet, but also valuable. In a weirdly related way, it’s why I’ve never colored my hair (okay, other than a temporary glaze a few times).
I love winter for so many reasons. One simple one is that, to my eyes at least, it’s simply stunning. I’m drawn to the stark contrasts of light and dark. To the beauty of snow and ice and to the grace of bare tree branches. Winter is filled with subtle mysteries. It offers up the bones of the world, and exposes things in new ways.
Still, sometimes I find myself wishing for a little color. Recently, on a freezing, not-much-snow-around-this-January day, an image popped up in my Facebook feed :
It was a painting by artist, Jane Dahmen, entitled “River Landscape.” Viewing this landscape with its vibrant colors felt like a detonation. They fed something in me that I hadn’t even realized was hungry.
On Viewing “River Landscape” in Winter
I yearn to lick vermilion patches like lollipops, feel their red and orange scratch and splash on my tongue, absorb the bold bursts of amber and pine into the stream of my cold, sluggish blood.
Oh! to grab dripping handfuls of effervescent blue raise them to my nose and inhale the coursing river, let it ripple down my throat anointing all lying dormant within.
Surrounded by a landscape swathed in grays and whites, I feast.
Until spring arrives with its shy greening and tentative bursts of color, I’ll continue to drink from winter’s chilly brew. It remains delicious.
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by the effervescent Jan at her blog bookseedstudio. Be sure to stop by and warm up with the poetry goodness on offer!
People often wonder how my husband and I ever got together. How we ever lasted over 35 years. Sometimes, it’s a mystery to me as well, but I’m always thankful. He is a man who defies description, but describes himself as a “hippie, red-neck philosopher.” He would be the first to admit that he has some rough edges, but he is a man to admire–someone who works hard at being his best self. He makes me a better person, too. He turned 60 recently and I wrote this poem for him.
I know you’ll laugh when you read this, hold up your knobby hands, rippled with callouses and scars of unknown origins, thick-fingered with nails bitten into deformity These hands? you’ll ask.
Yes, those hands, your hands I find them beautiful. Achingly so. How they cradled our children How they dance across my skin How I know they will be there when I reach out with mine.
And how those quick-bitten nails record the unceasing effort, the struggle you put into living your best life every single day.
Nix the comfort zone 