My dog presses his nose to the grass, lifts his paws high again, runs the trail of yesterday’s rabbits. Last year’s baskets of Queen Anne’s lace line my path. The forest opens to a field of fleabane—new flowers every day in never-ending succession. I cannot hold it all: the feeling that I’ve been here before, a living door swinging open to reveal something new, every moment converging, a rabbit thumping at the intersection.
This is so lovely, Larry! It makes me happy to think of you there at the edge of Flathead Lake (a place I love - my sis used to live near there). And I adore these lines - “stories abound in the cracks of life’s highway.” Beautiful. Thanks for sharing snippets of those stories with us!
Your prompt reached me right as I took a break from riding and tested and had a bite to eat. The best companion in that precious moment. Thank you, Lisa!
Very nice A. I like that we can take what may be works in progress and put them out here, knowing that they may evolve and change. And I really like that your wise 5 year old loves you beyond measure!
This makes me nostalgic for fishing with my dad. I asked him if we could plan a time to go together this year with my kids because my 5-year-old recently mentioned fishing, and I have no idea who is most excited.
Mine came from the line about “if you don’t like the weather just wait a minute” or something along those lines. It was actually in a tv show I was watching. So I grabbed onto that and wrote about change.
Beautiful, Lisa. I love your poem and I love your prompt. The juxtaposition of old and new revolving around one another is just lovely. As I mulled your prompt, a friend's words about "living in the fallow ache" of letting go wanted to be written about.
This is so tender, moving and passionate, Keith. The term “ fallow ache “ is just tremendous. The ending is so sweet and pointing towards hope ache” is just tremendous. Another splendid bit of poetic wonder!
This is absolutely gorgeous and brought me to tears. I am in the midst of the dormancy right now but soon I am going to have to grow and move forward and the thought of it is overwhelming.
Thanks, Karri. It makes so much sense to me that thinking ahead to growth feels overwhelming when you are in the midst of dormancy. It is always hard for me to imagine anything but the brown and gray drear of winter when I am in it. I believe it will feel natural for you to move into a different place when it is time. <3
Oh wow, Keith -- this is beautiful. I love your friend's words that inspired the poem, and everything that your poem became. "A space below low, a slow place / where it is safe enough / for you to disintegrate" -- those lines really got me. Also, I love the invitation to lie dormant, knowing there is rain/sun/growth to come.
This is gorgeous, Larry - you really capture the agony and the ecstasy. "the plunging dripline of despair" really socked me in the gut, as did "Where kindness is just what you do/and every new face holds/the possibility/of a new friend."
Ohhhh I love this! Are you on a long bike ride? The Great Divide Trail maybe? I used to live between Kalispell and Bigfork on Foothill Road -- I think the Great Divide Trail goes right past there. Anyhow, this poem made me nostalgic about my old stomping grounds, and the slices of humanity you shared put a big smile on my face. Also, my mouth is watering thinking about jalapeno cheese bread, apple cakes, and strawberry lemonade.
Hi Rebekah! I know Foothills Road and we in Kalispell for a week and spent a morning and afternoon in Big Fork. I was bike riding in Montana while Dea was at a conference in Kalispell and the next week over near Whitefish. I did a lot of rail trail riding, as there were some great rail trail options, some modestg off road biking, and a glorious trip up to Logan Pass and back withoiut cars. We also hiked a lot in Glacier NP. The road through the pass was just opened the night before, and the day and ride was splendid and beautifully exhausting. The Great Divide Trail was near, and one day, or the next life, I would love to ride pieces of it.
That sounds like such a wonderful trip! When I lived in Kalispell I had an annual tradition with friends to ride Going to the Sun Road in that tiny window before cars. Seems like we always timed it before the plowing was fully done, though, just riding to the Loop and back. What an amazing ride that was — and you went all the way to the pass!
Thank you A. It is my first poem crafted and originally typed on my phone! Alas, the tailwinds turned into Crosswinds on the return trip to Kalispell, so the poem may need a part 2!
I love this one, Rebekah...and the idea of being a Whitmanesque forest of multitudes (!!). Being a country of one's own, contained by the epidermal borders is brilliant. I think I'll call mine Keithland....all the while recognizing my own conceits in so doing ; )
Best to all of my new friends on this thread. I am soon to be on a vacation and leaving my phone off for as much of it as possible. I’ll be checking back in toward the end of the month. I appreciate Lisa and all of the contributors here. I feel blessed by God to have found this group. Prayers and blessings to you all. See you in a bit.
Lisa, your poetry and your prompts, in fact your essential virtual spirit, are kind and bright lights no matter where I am or what is happening around me. This poem about your spunky dog is delightful! Thank you!
I had never heard that phrase of chasing yesterday's rabbits. I asked my daughter if she had and she was like "yes and that's you, you do it all the time." Oof. But true!
This is so lovely, Larry! It makes me happy to think of you there at the edge of Flathead Lake (a place I love - my sis used to live near there). And I adore these lines - “stories abound in the cracks of life’s highway.” Beautiful. Thanks for sharing snippets of those stories with us!
Your prompt reached me right as I took a break from riding and tested and had a bite to eat. The best companion in that precious moment. Thank you, Lisa!
This is one I started a while ago based on a conversation with my 5-year-old. I'm still not sure if it's finished, but this is what it is for now.
You say, "I think he loves you
a lot - like, three pounds!"
and I ask how much
you love me; "ten!" you shout.
.
Is that how you measure love?
By the weight of it?
Ohhhh I love this! Kids say the best things.
This really made me smile (like, in my heart). It reminds me of reading that book "I Love you to the Moon and Back" to my son, 20+ years ago now.
Awww how sweet!
Very nice A. I like that we can take what may be works in progress and put them out here, knowing that they may evolve and change. And I really like that your wise 5 year old loves you beyond measure!
Stretched out on the dock,
like every summer saturday morning of his sixth year,
he peers over the edge
with line carefully, expertly, & seriously perched
in his young hand.
Head cocked to the side like he was listening for something,
he ponders the river with the reverence of an old man
as we wait, wordless,
for those Chesapeake bay blue crabs to find our chicken necks.
"Daddy, does water float?"
Those treasured gold nuggets
from the mouth of our babes.
They never ring the doorbell..
Love this question! Such a vivid scene.
What a lovely poem and memory!
This is so evocative, Chuck. It made me feel nostalgic for a memory that's not even mine!
Probably gonna get some more chicken necks and try again fathers day sunday, thirty years later,
Maybe I will re-ask him his own question
Oh, I love that! You will have to write a part 2 for the poem based on that convo & commemorative crabbing event.
Happy Father's Day, Chuck!
This makes me nostalgic for fishing with my dad. I asked him if we could plan a time to go together this year with my kids because my 5-year-old recently mentioned fishing, and I have no idea who is most excited.
Mine came from the line about “if you don’t like the weather just wait a minute” or something along those lines. It was actually in a tv show I was watching. So I grabbed onto that and wrote about change.
Change
Is it easier when it’s gradual?
Or when it happens all at once?
If we have some time to think it through?
Or if it all comes in a rush?
Life is always moving,
Nothing remains the same.
Like it or not wait a minute,
Like the weather, life will change.
That’s such a great (and true) expression! I love the questions you pose here. They’ll be knocking around my brain for awhile I suspect!
Wise words, Karri, and the weather metaphor is spot on. Who was it who said "the only constant in life is change?"
This is both frustrating and reassuring.
Beautiful, Lisa. I love your poem and I love your prompt. The juxtaposition of old and new revolving around one another is just lovely. As I mulled your prompt, a friend's words about "living in the fallow ache" of letting go wanted to be written about.
*
In the wake of letting go
trails a fallow ache.
It comes to rest in a
space below low,
a slow place
where it is safe enough
for you to disintegrate.
This is not a season to grow, but
a reason to lie dormant.
In time, the rain will fall and
the pain will dissipate.
The sun will burst again from
your enduring soul and the
soil that remains will aerate
because somewhere in that low,
slow space, you will anticipate
the brilliant blooms to come.
This is lovely! “Fallow ache” - such gorgeous words that definitely warranted a poem, and I love what you did with it.
Indeed..."fallow ache" is practically a poem in and of itself! Thanks, friend.
This is so gorgeous, Keith. And what an apt description of the grief that comes with letting go.
Thanks, A - yes, I've been thinking a lot about this concept of the fallow ache.
This is so tender, moving and passionate, Keith. The term “ fallow ache “ is just tremendous. The ending is so sweet and pointing towards hope ache” is just tremendous. Another splendid bit of poetic wonder!
Thank you, Larry - all the aches! Yes, I love the words "fallow ache." Low-hanging fruit for a poem.
This is absolutely gorgeous and brought me to tears. I am in the midst of the dormancy right now but soon I am going to have to grow and move forward and the thought of it is overwhelming.
Thanks, Karri. It makes so much sense to me that thinking ahead to growth feels overwhelming when you are in the midst of dormancy. It is always hard for me to imagine anything but the brown and gray drear of winter when I am in it. I believe it will feel natural for you to move into a different place when it is time. <3
Oh wow, Keith -- this is beautiful. I love your friend's words that inspired the poem, and everything that your poem became. "A space below low, a slow place / where it is safe enough / for you to disintegrate" -- those lines really got me. Also, I love the invitation to lie dormant, knowing there is rain/sun/growth to come.
Thanks Rebekah, so glad to know that it resonated with you <3
Here’s a try at a poem while eating lunch at Somers Bay Cafe in the north edge of Flathead Lake, Montana.
Twelve miles of headwinds
Slogging south through
Flathead Valley,
Small inconvenience compared
To the headwinds
Of poverty,
Society’s isms,
The plunging drip line
Of despair.
Madison carving a life out
In her Montana hometown,
Surrounded by love,
A giant dog,
A child of ceaseless wonder.
Baking jalapeño cheese bread
And apple cakes
For the pure joy of it,
And the chance to share with others.
Sherwyn finding glimpses of a future
Far from the northwest coast
That rumbles in her bones.
Julian being sure I make it safely
Back from a bike ride,
Strawberry lemonade gleaming in the sun.
Gabby and Kirk declaring
“Hell Yes” as vows
Of forever,
Or as long as the grass shall grow.
Stories abound in the cracks
Of life’s highway.
Hope soars high
Where kindness is just what you do,
And every new face holds
The possibility
Of a new friend.
Big sky above me,
Swan River rolling south,
I saddle up,
Grateful for the tailwinds.
This is gorgeous, Larry - you really capture the agony and the ecstasy. "the plunging dripline of despair" really socked me in the gut, as did "Where kindness is just what you do/and every new face holds/the possibility/of a new friend."
Thank you Keith. It’s the special people in this world who feed the poem!
What marvelous descriptions of the people and places you are experiencing right now! I love "stories abound in the cracks of life's highway..."
Thank you Karri!
Ohhhh I love this! Are you on a long bike ride? The Great Divide Trail maybe? I used to live between Kalispell and Bigfork on Foothill Road -- I think the Great Divide Trail goes right past there. Anyhow, this poem made me nostalgic about my old stomping grounds, and the slices of humanity you shared put a big smile on my face. Also, my mouth is watering thinking about jalapeno cheese bread, apple cakes, and strawberry lemonade.
Hi Rebekah! I know Foothills Road and we in Kalispell for a week and spent a morning and afternoon in Big Fork. I was bike riding in Montana while Dea was at a conference in Kalispell and the next week over near Whitefish. I did a lot of rail trail riding, as there were some great rail trail options, some modestg off road biking, and a glorious trip up to Logan Pass and back withoiut cars. We also hiked a lot in Glacier NP. The road through the pass was just opened the night before, and the day and ride was splendid and beautifully exhausting. The Great Divide Trail was near, and one day, or the next life, I would love to ride pieces of it.
That sounds like such a wonderful trip! When I lived in Kalispell I had an annual tradition with friends to ride Going to the Sun Road in that tiny window before cars. Seems like we always timed it before the plowing was fully done, though, just riding to the Loop and back. What an amazing ride that was — and you went all the way to the pass!
This is so lovely. The lens through which you view the world is so full of kindness and hope. I'm so grateful for these snapshots.
Thank you A. It is my first poem crafted and originally typed on my phone! Alas, the tailwinds turned into Crosswinds on the return trip to Kalispell, so the poem may need a part 2!
We are not ourselves.
We are an entire forest,
.
said my friend,
who is not even a poet.
.
She was talking about
the multitudes we carry,
the tiny good things that
work for us, and the
tiny bad things that don’t.
.
I’ve mostly thought of skin
as political boundary
denoting my country of one
(Rebekistan).
It reminds me where to stop,
and others, too.
.
But bears at the border
barely notice the treeless strip
as they lumber across.
My contours are also
conceits.
.
I walk around feeding
invisible animals.
The earth spins,
and doesn’t know we’re here.
Rebekistan!!!!! 😍
I love this one, Rebekah...and the idea of being a Whitmanesque forest of multitudes (!!). Being a country of one's own, contained by the epidermal borders is brilliant. I think I'll call mine Keithland....all the while recognizing my own conceits in so doing ; )
Ooh, I would like to be A Wilderness.
This is incredible, Rebekah.
Best to all of my new friends on this thread. I am soon to be on a vacation and leaving my phone off for as much of it as possible. I’ll be checking back in toward the end of the month. I appreciate Lisa and all of the contributors here. I feel blessed by God to have found this group. Prayers and blessings to you all. See you in a bit.
Enjoy your vacation, Billy! I love that you’re taking a break from your phone, too - that can feel so hard to do and so good for the soul!
You'll be missed! Enjoy the silence and the surroundings, Billy.
That sounds like a wonderful vacation. Enjoy!
Enjoy Billy!!!
So lovely. I savored each line, especially these:
"I cannot hold it all:
the feeling that I’ve been here before,
a living door swinging open to
reveal something new"
Thank you so much! I wasn’t sure if those lines would even make sense to anyone else, so I’m glad they landed for you!
Mmmmm love this one, and it's summery-ness.
"Yesterday's rabbits" is so delicious. I can see why it was rolling around your head for days.
Lisa, your poetry and your prompts, in fact your essential virtual spirit, are kind and bright lights no matter where I am or what is happening around me. This poem about your spunky dog is delightful! Thank you!
I had never heard that phrase of chasing yesterday's rabbits. I asked my daughter if she had and she was like "yes and that's you, you do it all the time." Oof. But true!
I think maybe I do too. Or maybe I worry about tomorrow's rabbits? 😅