Poetry Friday – Springtime in the Desert

It’s Poetry Friday in National Poetry Month. It’s been a busy month for me, entertaining good friends and family, chasing my sweet almost three-year-old grandson, celebrating my husband’s 70th, protests and good trouble work. I have missed being here. Today’s Poetry Friday host is Heidi at my juicy little universe. She’s got some Earth Day love, protesting, and poetry, along with the next line in our progressive poem. Thank you, Heidi.

Springtime in the desert is so magical this week, I’ve written about it the last two days in a row for my Verselove poems.

“Things to Do: Write a Poem” with Barb Edler

Things to Do Today 

  1. Give a new name to springtime in the Mojave, for there is no word for this special desert season. [It’s not like springtime in the Midwest, which springs to a summer of growth and an autumn of harvest. Springtime in the desert is its own sweet thing, shouting out to the world before it springs into the fire of searing summer.]

Here’s why our spring needs a new name:

    • The juniper and creosote scents drift on the breeze
    • The red-tailed hawk rises, watches for a meal
    • The tiny green star inside the blossom of the strawberry hedgehog cactus shouts, Look at me
    • The purple of the Mojave aster salutes this day
    • The bees make merry
    • The sparrows—Brewer’s, white-crowned, black-throated—hold a concert
    • The phainopepla enjoys the sparrow orchestra, while munching mistletoe berries
    • The hummingbirds feast on flowers
    • Grandfather Nolina, like Father Time, passes the dried torch of last year to the next generation, where bees dance around the new fresh blossom
    • The purple desert chia flowers wait to dry out and nourish others
    • So many shades of green
    • The quail’s wings shake and shiver
    • The apricot mallow flower holds a dozen shades of coral
    • My feet crunch sand to ground me in this place
    • And more and more and more

2. Write a poem

3. That will do

Seasons in Syllables with Larin Wade

Springtime By Any Other Name

What
To call
this magic–
where color, scent,
and gentle blossoms
hold sway in the breeze of
perfection, and greens abound
‘til they dry into brown season?
What can one call this sweet enchantment,
which changes daily as fresh buds open
and others take leave until next year’s bloom?
The ladderback woodpecker sips sweet
nectar with the hummingbird, both
share the wealth of this spring dawn.
Shall I call it “Birds-sing-
buds-burst-forth” season?
Or shall I just
savor this
one fine
day?

Poetry Friday – Love That Boy

Margaret Simon is hosting Poetry Friday at Reflections on the Teche. The Inklings are writing Hermit Crab poems today, and Margaret has an Aurora Forecast poem to share. Sign up for the April Progressive Poem too. Her post and this sweet picture that came today inspired me to write a dictionary definition of my grandson.

Mi•lo (proper noun)

  1. dear one of purpose and joy
    • Live life like Milo.
  2. reminder of wholeness; beloved
  3. the one who plays all the games
    • I can’t wait until Milo gets here.
  4. gracious and merciful one
  5. he who lives fully with big steps
  6. one with a smile as bright as the sun

 

The Poetry Friday Roundup is Here – Liberty

Liberty is a word I’d like to keep. How about you?

Welcome to Poetry Friday. Here we are gathered to celebrate poetry, which inevitably includes the power of wordplay. According to Nikki Grimes, “wordplay is a valuable skill in the process of creating dynamic, original poetry, or lyrical prose.” See her interview here at Today’s Little Ditty with Michele Barnes. Today some people will be sharing “____ is a word” poems. Some people will share other poetry goodness, for today is Poetry Friday. Thank you for joining us!

I have two word poems to share. Recently we had two inches of rain after a particularly long dry spell. It’s been a dry year, in fact. I woke up that wet and glorious morning and wrote this poem.

Rain is a breathing word,
a release of fire-worry word.
A wake up to the gentle taps
and remember kind of word.
Rain is a word that is
wet and glorious,
drenching, soaking.
Rain is a darkening landscape
and lightening my soul
kind of word.

Last Saturday I went to a town hall in a very red district in my blue state. Our representative, Jay Obernolte, made national news with his raucous crowd, his gaslighting, and his lies. A few days before this event, I had written another poem…

Liberty is a raucously quiet word,
an active and fighting word,
sometimes protecting to the death word.
Liberty is also an amnesic
and inattentive word, a
years-without-worry quiet word.
Liberty is a fighting word
when we’ve finally
had enough watching
side-eyed heresies
quietly happen on our watch.
Liberty seems a ubiquitous word
as in the flag salute, Lady Liberty,
and the Declaration of Independence.
Yes, a ubiquitous word,
out of sight, out of mind.
It’s easy to believe
Liberty is a safe word.
Liberty must be a remembered
and raucous word.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Denise Reed Krebs (@mrsdkrebs)

This is the time to make liberty raucous.

Images from the Hi-Desert Star
That’s me in the near front center. My sister is holding up the TYRANT sign next to me.

Please share your link in the comments below, so we can visit all your Poetry Friday loveliness this week. Thank you!

Here they are in a table, if it’s easier…I’ll keep updating.
Jane at Rain City Librarian
Jone Rush MacCulloch
Linda Kulp Trout
Susan Thomsen at Chicken Spaghetti
Tabatha Yeatts
Janice Scully
Jama’s Alphabet Soup
Jan at Bookseedstudio
Michelle Kogan
Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
Rose at Imagine the Possibilities
Karen Edmisten
Matt Forest Esenwine
Amy at The Poem Farm
Robyn Hood Black
Tracey Kiff-Judson
Buffy Silverman
Linda Baie
Marcie Flinchum Atkins
Laura Purdie Salas
Irene Latham
Tricia Stohr-Hunt
Margaret Simon
Liz Garton Scanlon
Patricia Franz
Sara Lewis Holmes
Tanita Davis
Joann Early Macken
Cathy Stenquist
Mary Lee Hahn
Carol Varsalona
 

 

 

Poetry Friday – The Addams Family and Relief

Poetry Friday is hosted today by talented Laura Purdie Salas and her precious new board books. 

I’ve spent the last two days at the hospital with my husband and niece. My husband’s brother has been admitted with a mild heart attack.

We came this week to visit the family and mostly to watch our great niece play Morticia in The Addams Family musical. Tonight was opening night at her high school.

We were relieved to be here when my brother-in-law had chest pains, and we’re thankful that now he is doing well after an EKG and angiogram with three stints put in. He wasn’t able to watch the play tonight, but he should have a chance to watch another show sometime in the next ten days.

I read a touching poem today on Joseph Fasano’s Instagram site, joseph.fasano. The poem is called “The Race” by Sharon Olds. It is a race for the poet to make it home to say goodbye to her dying father.

Here’s a short section from the middle of the poem:

at the top I saw the corridor,
and then I took a deep breath, I said
goodbye to my body, goodbye to comfort,
I used my legs and heart as if I would
gladly use them up for this,
to touch him again in this life.

Read the rest of “The Race” here.

I’m so thankful that Jim’s heart attack was a mild one, and no one had to rush to say goodbye today.


P.S. I’ll be hosting Poetry Friday next week right here. Next Friday is when you can share your “____ is a Word” poem with the Poetry Pals. Read more about it here and here.

Poetry Friday – Love Letter

Poetry Friday is full of love at TeacherDance with Linda Baie hosting. 

A happy Valentine’s Day to all!

What would you like to be to love?

“I’d like to be a lemon, to be zest all the time, or an olive tree to shimmer silver on the earth.” ~Nathalie Handal
Read more of Handal’s “Love Letter” here.

Love Letter
After Nathalie Handal

I’d like to be a rain cloud
to burst forth,
refreshing
streams in the desert.

I’d like to be the sand,
porous and strong,
filtering imperfections,
for water pure and soaking,
filling the well of life.

I’d like to be bread
to feed the fragmented
and fragile.

Thank you to all the Poetry Friday friends who sent beautiful postcards!

I’d like to be a snake to transform, renew, and grow.

 

 

Poetry Friday – A Love Letter to 2025

Today is Poetry Friday, and Carol Varsalona is hosting today with a lot of love at her blog, Beyond Literacy Link.

A Love Letter to 2025

Dear 2025,
I don’t want to love you.
After one month, I think
you are worse
than the incompetence
inundation of 2017,
the COVID crisis of 2020,
and the war, family deaths,
and disappointments of 2024.

What good would it do
to love you, 2025,
in your sorry state?
For you have already brought us
an abominable and unelected
South African-born president;
a plan for Gaza to become a resort
for the rich, while displacing
the residents (those who haven’t
already been killed or displaced);
tariffs on, tariffs off;
a new concentration camp
at Guantanamo Bay;
poster boy 1/6 insurrectionists;
rich oligarchs taking over,
and Congress
wringing their hands,
no clue what to do
in the flooded zone,
a muzzle velocity of absurdity.

Now, second thoughts
on that title,
I don’t necessarily
love you, 2025,
but I will choose Love.
I will choose Love.
I will choose Love.
I will choose Love.

It’s a long and winding road
to Liberty and Justice for All

Poetry Friday – A Tan-ku for America

It’s Poetry Friday. Thank you to Jan at Bookseed Studio who is hosting today with a wealth of links to explore.

Today is a day for a Tan-ku, a conversation between a tanka and a haiku. Thanks to the #PoetryPals for suggesting it. Tanita explains more about it here.

I’m also taking the Coursera.org class Tabatha told us about a couple of weeks ago. The course is called, “Sharpened Visions.” Our lesson this week was about using metaphor and more. I’m not sure my vision is sharpening, but I’m trying. We also learned about “a conceit,” which is an extended metaphor, like in John Donne’s “The Flea.” I had never heard of a conceit before.

Anyway, I was thinking of metaphors when I wrote my tan-ku. I tried to make the haiku answering back to the tanka, as if in conversation.

A Tank-ku for America
lesion of power
cultural bacteria
pus-filled, blistered ooze
hindering advances made
our sickly democracy
antibiotic
a prescription needed STAT
Not too late to heal
Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay

 

Kiah Duggins - The Resolution Project

Professor Kiah Duggins,
Civil rights attorney, brave
and beautiful. Lost too young.


Links

The Poetry Box Chapbook Prize – Opens February 1 – March 15, 2025.

National Federation of State Poetry Societies Annual Poetry Contests

Poetry Friday – Hopeless

Poetry Friday is hosted by the dear Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference.

I am trying to befriend hope these days, trying to avoid hopelessness.

I am sickened as I think of the lost hope at the end of “Reconstruction” in our country, a decade of living and trying to repair a life without slavery. Then the so-called “Redemption” of the status quo with its white supremacy and suppression of the black vote. I am troubled and pained to think of that era lasting almost a hundred years before the Civil Rights Act.

The belief in and protection of white supremacy is as strong today as ever. I hope I live to see the end of this current era, but I’m sadly aware that I may not.

Imagine how our 92% strong Black sisters must feel as they watch this administration wreck carnage on Civil Rights. Imagine all the generations of Black women who have endured travesties beyond our imagining, and white women were not (and still are not) there to stand up.

Let’s commit to fight injustice and hopelessness and the cancer of white supremacy.

In a poem by Nyah Hardmon, I was reminded again of the strength of Black women. Closing lines from “Cocoon”:

My nana be born hopeless
But she didn’t stay that way.