Lisa, more to say, after rereading 3x, which I almost never do unless it calls me back and most of what I read does not.
You do that thing I most appreciate. You set the scene without excess mystery and confusion. Then you proceed through yummy things, images, these are the early gifts of your poems. Then you do that thing most poets do not, you depart into the realm of magic, the reason you had to write it in the first place and here the gifts are heavier (tips the pallet) and deeper (narrow slits for a round reality) and even more gratifying (the turning wheel, the flagging light). So, thanks, again for this treat.
What a lovely poem, A. Each line is captivating, and full of the kaleidoscope of colors and emotions living in this world can bring. I love the ending: “I am reminded that I am allowed to breathe/I to the quiet/that there can be beauty/alongside the dying.” Just marvelous!
Beautiful. That opening stanza is such a picture. I thought I might have to wait to go home to do this (I'm at my kids' school), but I just spotted some abandoned orange peels...
This is a remarkable poem, Lisa, and a very creative prompt. I read the poem, listened to it, read it again, listened, and read one more time. Each reading/listening brought more and more substance to the hearing, and opened up spaces each time through. It felt like the invitation in your prompt, to look deeply at one thing for a time, seeing it unfold and evolve in the viewing and taking in. What a gift you share!
Such a great poem! You sure are loaded up with talent and not wasting a spec as you share it with us. My best friend, Doug Moulden is a painter and he would often talk about how any one color is entirely effected by what colors are nearby. That said, he was a horrible dresser, total slob with the worst grouping of colors imaginable. He said it felt exciting. This is his site with his art. https://www.douglasmoulden.com/
and these are poems similar to yours in content. thanks ,Wes
This is gorgeous, Lisa. I often find myself staring at things and wondering what colour they actually are, especially since I began knitting and whenever I pick up embroidery again. I'll look at the most stunning yarn/ thread and patterns but it's often hard for me to imagine the one translating into the other, so it very often takes me a while to choose yarn or thread for a project. And now I often stare at my Bombas slippers trying to parse out the individual colours. I'm still not sure I've got them all right, but it's something I find sort of... comforting?
Lisa, more to say, after rereading 3x, which I almost never do unless it calls me back and most of what I read does not.
You do that thing I most appreciate. You set the scene without excess mystery and confusion. Then you proceed through yummy things, images, these are the early gifts of your poems. Then you do that thing most poets do not, you depart into the realm of magic, the reason you had to write it in the first place and here the gifts are heavier (tips the pallet) and deeper (narrow slits for a round reality) and even more gratifying (the turning wheel, the flagging light). So, thanks, again for this treat.
This time of year I often find myself
staring at the ever-changing leaves, noting
the way that their presence on the ground
changes the way I look at the trees.
I am reminded by the dense morning fog
and the clear blue sky
and the slanting afternoon light
that the world is so very many things
all at once.
I am reminded that I am allowed to feel
so very many things all at once.
I am reminded that I am allowed to breathe
into the quiet,
that there can be beauty
alongside the dying.
Beautiful. I love
"the way that their presence on the ground
changes the way I look at the trees."
What a lovely poem, A. Each line is captivating, and full of the kaleidoscope of colors and emotions living in this world can bring. I love the ending: “I am reminded that I am allowed to breathe/I to the quiet/that there can be beauty/alongside the dying.” Just marvelous!
What color are the orange peels?
.
They are orange. I think it’s okay to start there.
Left on a little plate on a nearby table.
I feel like a creep, sneaking over to study them
since they were gnawed clean by a little mouth
not belonging to my children. But still
they are like a little beacon in the room.
They say orange! And I listen, my ear
instead of eye cocked toward them.
Then, the dimpled skin that I cannot touch
the light freckles deep in the dimples
brown and gray, the torn white pith where teeth
bit deep, pulling apart the flesh.
Very nice Margaret Ann! A true deep focus look at an orange peel and its pull to the senses!
Beautiful. That opening stanza is such a picture. I thought I might have to wait to go home to do this (I'm at my kids' school), but I just spotted some abandoned orange peels...
This is a remarkable poem, Lisa, and a very creative prompt. I read the poem, listened to it, read it again, listened, and read one more time. Each reading/listening brought more and more substance to the hearing, and opened up spaces each time through. It felt like the invitation in your prompt, to look deeply at one thing for a time, seeing it unfold and evolve in the viewing and taking in. What a gift you share!
I have been sick all week, and creativity blocked with the fatigue of it all. Today felt a bit better, and this poem came as I gazed out the window.
^
The scent of rain sneaks through windows,
Summer shifting to autumn even as
My heart is still anchored in summer’s embrace.
First maple leaf on the yard
thin spine on golden palate,
yellow sheen laying underneath,
brown hues ready to drop
at the first autumn rain.
A leaf by any name is a leaf,
beauty in any form is beauty,
A breath in this present moment, a blessing.
When all the glorious colors
seem to gang up
all at once
to soften my borders
and blur my edges
My little pea-brain
failsafes to
monochrome crisp.
I like it Chuck!
Such a great poem! You sure are loaded up with talent and not wasting a spec as you share it with us. My best friend, Doug Moulden is a painter and he would often talk about how any one color is entirely effected by what colors are nearby. That said, he was a horrible dresser, total slob with the worst grouping of colors imaginable. He said it felt exciting. This is his site with his art. https://www.douglasmoulden.com/
and these are poems similar to yours in content. thanks ,Wes
https://westonpparker.substack.com/p/the-light
https://westonpparker.substack.com/p/a-view-of-beauty
Thank you for sharing Weston! A View of Beauty is a real gem!
This is gorgeous, Lisa. I often find myself staring at things and wondering what colour they actually are, especially since I began knitting and whenever I pick up embroidery again. I'll look at the most stunning yarn/ thread and patterns but it's often hard for me to imagine the one translating into the other, so it very often takes me a while to choose yarn or thread for a project. And now I often stare at my Bombas slippers trying to parse out the individual colours. I'm still not sure I've got them all right, but it's something I find sort of... comforting?
Great color and texture!