Thank you, Keith! It is one of those prompts that could go on forever (looking deeper at the colors). I had to wrap mine up a little faster because my daughter needed me, but I’m thinking I might return to this one.
Thank you, Larry! They weren’t my peels, so I didn’t touch them, but I love how oranges make your hands smell and how they spray the air with perfume and are also very texturally interesting (and so forth).
“Their presence on the ground/ changes the way I look at the trees” - these lines really struck me. It has me thinking about how our losses often make us appreciate what (and whom) we have even more.
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!
This is beautiful, A. I love both the feeling of permission -- "I am allowed to feel / so very many things all at once" -- and the *invitation* to view/feel the world this way.
I’m so sorry to hear you’ve been sick, Larry! I hope your symptoms fall away like leaves and you’re left in a state of springy bloom - or you know, as close as you can get to that in the 40+ phase of life. Your poem is lovely. It made me think of the lovely smell of autumn rain.
I love this little study, Larry! I can smell the rain and see that first dropped maple leaf. "Thin spine on golden palate" -- beautiful! Hope you are healed by now, but if not, I'm sending you my well wishes.
I'm so glad you've had some improvement. I hope you're feeling well again soon. I love the smell of autumn leaves and rain, and your poem made me smile.
We’d had two weeks of beautiful weather, and the rain this week brought the colors out and the leaves down. The turning of the seasons! Enjoy the crunchy walks!
I am! One of the trees in our front yard turns earlier than many others, so we've got lots of fallen leaves already, and the kids and I crunch through them every day when Sybi comes home from school. 😊
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 is such lovely praise, Weston! Thank you so much. I always hope for my poetry to feel grounded and accessible because that’s what I like to read . . . but when I ground myself deeply in reality, I invariably find magic, so there’s that, too.
This was such a fun prompt to ponder. I love the way thinking about color lends itself so easily to metaphor...what a delight! I laid down to slow down and really ponder the prompt, and this little poem tumbled out:
This is marvelous, Keith. Your skill and artisitc genius with words is exceptional. And, as often happens, I read your splendid poems with a window open to a dictionary! Thank you for being so expansive in your writing!
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!
Thank you so much, Larry! I feel honored that you took so much time with the poem. And at least some of the beauty is always bound to be in the eye of the beholder!
Ah Yes! Beauty is subjective, and the ability to appreciate and recognize beauty is one of the losses in a society of toxicity and polarization. I hope you know your writing and guidance here are parts of the resistance to that, shining more beauty into the world. I also love when you record your poems and we get to listen to them!
The wordplay in your poem is so delicious! "the weight of this wait / teaching me patience, stillness, / steelness." Wow! And I adore the lines "I am back at hte old game of catching time between my fingers." Thank you so much for sharing your writing.
you're welcome always Lisa and I appreciate you sharing these prompts and your experiences too, it's always a refreshing read for me when I get email notifications from your newsletter so I decided to at least contribute today haha
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
Your friend’s artwork is gorgeous! Thank you for sharing it . . . and I love that, artistic gifts notwithstanding, he was a terrible dresser. I notice you used the past tense. If that means you don’t get to enjoy his quirky style anymore, then I’m very sorry to hear that. ❤️ I am about to rush out the door but look forward to coming back to read your poems a little later.
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?
I would never have guessed that staring at color and trying to pull it apart into each hue would be so comforting . . . but it really is! It demands enough focus that everything else sort of falls away.
I was just noticing the deep changing colors of fall yesterday … the dark burgundy wine red and the fiery oranges and yellows. The herbal smell of the fallen leaves … It’s all so very bittersweet …
What a lovely thing to say! Writing poetry heals me, and I think "selfish" reasons are reason enough to write . . . but it's always my hope that my writing will offer healing or catharsis or inspiration (or even just a laugh!) to others, too. So thank you, Mike.
I love this poem, Lisa. I'm late to the party, as usual. I love the colors and how you delve into them. I probably saw the same Hockney exhibit that you did in San Francisco. It was really amazing.
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.
I love the image of you turning your ear toward the oranges to listen to them! This is delightful.
Thank you, Lisa! This prompt could lead to so many cool poems—I love it.
A beautiful deep dive :)
Thank you, Keith! It is one of those prompts that could go on forever (looking deeper at the colors). I had to wrap mine up a little faster because my daughter needed me, but I’m thinking I might return to this one.
Very nice Margaret Ann! A true deep focus look at an orange peel and its pull to the senses!
Thank you, Larry! They weren’t my peels, so I didn’t touch them, but I love how oranges make your hands smell and how they spray the air with perfume and are also very texturally interesting (and so forth).
Yes. To all you say! They are quite a-peeling! 😃
😁
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.
“Their presence on the ground/ changes the way I look at the trees” - these lines really struck me. It has me thinking about how our losses often make us appreciate what (and whom) we have even more.
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!
I loved this on Writing Wilder and am loving it again here...and grateful for the reminder of living in the marbling of the contrasts <3
What a beautiful poem.
This is beautiful, A. I love both the feeling of permission -- "I am allowed to feel / so very many things all at once" -- and the *invitation* to view/feel the world this way.
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.
I’m so sorry to hear you’ve been sick, Larry! I hope your symptoms fall away like leaves and you’re left in a state of springy bloom - or you know, as close as you can get to that in the 40+ phase of life. Your poem is lovely. It made me think of the lovely smell of autumn rain.
Thank you Lisa! It feels like autumn in many ways here! Happy Autumnal equinox!
I love this little study, Larry! I can smell the rain and see that first dropped maple leaf. "Thin spine on golden palate" -- beautiful! Hope you are healed by now, but if not, I'm sending you my well wishes.
Thank you Rebekah! A comment from you is a healing ❤️🩹 balm. I’m back to work but still struggling, but getting good care all the way around!
Larry, I hope you're feeling better. This poem has a quiet, lovely feel...a sort of patience to it that soothes. Thank you.
Thank you Keith. It has been a rugged week. Trying to be open to healing in many ways. Thank you for your kind note.
I'm so glad you've had some improvement. I hope you're feeling well again soon. I love the smell of autumn leaves and rain, and your poem made me smile.
Thank you A. A note from you is always a good healing remedy. Enjoy Autumn's entrance in our northern hemisphere!
We’d had two weeks of beautiful weather, and the rain this week brought the colors out and the leaves down. The turning of the seasons! Enjoy the crunchy walks!
I am! One of the trees in our front yard turns earlier than many others, so we've got lots of fallen leaves already, and the kids and I crunch through them every day when Sybi comes home from school. 😊
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 love the idea of colors ganging up!
"monochrome crisp"...instantly relatable! I appreciate "failsafes" as a verb, too.
I like it Chuck!
You are the master of lyrical humility + humor, Chuck! This is a gem.
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 is such lovely praise, Weston! Thank you so much. I always hope for my poetry to feel grounded and accessible because that’s what I like to read . . . but when I ground myself deeply in reality, I invariably find magic, so there’s that, too.
In the deepest reality lies the deepest magic, right?
YES!
This was such a fun prompt to ponder. I love the way thinking about color lends itself so easily to metaphor...what a delight! I laid down to slow down and really ponder the prompt, and this little poem tumbled out:
***
Inside my eyelids
are lights fantastic --
royal purple and forest green.
Squeezed like paints
from tubes unseen,
erratic, stochastic.
A decoupage in phosphene.
I love the crispness of the sounds in this poem! Somehow that amplifies the vividness of the colors for me.
This is marvelous, Keith. Your skill and artisitc genius with words is exceptional. And, as often happens, I read your splendid poems with a window open to a dictionary! Thank you for being so expansive in your writing!
Thank you, Larry 😊
Ooooh, I love this, Keith! It's playful and gaudy and clever -- and as usual, really fun to read out loud!
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...
Like the one brought to show and tell
in 1981, but 14 years unborn then
and 43 years unfound,
she laughs in color.
.
The forest delivers small feathers
that suggest coral on one side
and mud on the other, paired hearts,
each praising her mate as her
better half. See how the coral side
is edged brown, and the brown side
flame-shafted? They are in love.
.
The rose hips have pulsed into view
overnight, summer’s last trinkets,
but I’m not sure that’s what matters
most. The toothed leaf was
always here in some form.
Now that we see it, we know.
.
All are assembled on
new baby sister’s palm – the feather,
the rose, a flake of lichen, a small round
stone that is uncannily waning gibbous,
a few days past the perfect moon
that brought her here,
a few steps into a world
suddenly saturated,
fuller than before.
Loooooovely! And it made the Rolling Stone's (she's a rainbow) start playing in my head.
Haha I had that problem too. 😝
This is stunning, Rebekah.
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!
Thank you so much, Larry! I feel honored that you took so much time with the poem. And at least some of the beauty is always bound to be in the eye of the beholder!
Ah Yes! Beauty is subjective, and the ability to appreciate and recognize beauty is one of the losses in a society of toxicity and polarization. I hope you know your writing and guidance here are parts of the resistance to that, shining more beauty into the world. I also love when you record your poems and we get to listen to them!
The Weight of Silence
Yellow wall stares back at me,
unblinking, unfazed,
frozen yet holding up the weight of this wait,
Teaching me patience, stillness,
steelness;
unmoved yet showing me the fluency of silence..
I am back at the old game of catching time
between my fingers,
Emotions dressed in motion,
Ignition brought to standstill.
This yellow speaks of vibrance, a rebirth that comes with healing,
Deep breathes no longer stinging and a heart that longs for feeling.
The wordplay in your poem is so delicious! "the weight of this wait / teaching me patience, stillness, / steelness." Wow! And I adore the lines "I am back at hte old game of catching time between my fingers." Thank you so much for sharing your writing.
you're welcome always Lisa and I appreciate you sharing these prompts and your experiences too, it's always a refreshing read for me when I get email notifications from your newsletter so I decided to at least contribute today haha
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
Your friend’s artwork is gorgeous! Thank you for sharing it . . . and I love that, artistic gifts notwithstanding, he was a terrible dresser. I notice you used the past tense. If that means you don’t get to enjoy his quirky style anymore, then I’m very sorry to hear that. ❤️ I am about to rush out the door but look forward to coming back to read your poems a little later.
Not to worry, Doug is still making wonderful art and dressing like a bum on crack.
I’m so glad! 😂
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?
I would never have guessed that staring at color and trying to pull it apart into each hue would be so comforting . . . but it really is! It demands enough focus that everything else sort of falls away.
Great color and texture!
Thank you so much!
So lovely. 🍂🥀
Thank you, Cynthia!
I was just noticing the deep changing colors of fall yesterday … the dark burgundy wine red and the fiery oranges and yellows. The herbal smell of the fallen leaves … It’s all so very bittersweet …
You describe the images so beautifully - it makes me think of mulled wine!
Ooohh let’s! Cheers! 🥀
The beauty of your poetry is healing me tonight. I hear the rhythm so clearly in this one. Thank for for writing and recording it. What a treat.
What a lovely thing to say! Writing poetry heals me, and I think "selfish" reasons are reason enough to write . . . but it's always my hope that my writing will offer healing or catharsis or inspiration (or even just a laugh!) to others, too. So thank you, Mike.
I love this poem, Lisa. I'm late to the party, as usual. I love the colors and how you delve into them. I probably saw the same Hockney exhibit that you did in San Francisco. It was really amazing.
The party never ends, so just arrive whenever! How cool that you saw the same exhibit - and yes, it was amazing!