Sharing two poems I wrote in a recent poetry circle facilitated by Ali Grimshaw https://flashlightbatteries.blog/. I continued to be amazed at the beautiful connections made across many miles over computer screens. ā¤ļø
At Seven
It is difficult To remember The me who Once was seven Do you find The same To be true? Oh, there are Glimpses Flashes of Childhood Aided by Photographs The reciting Of stories at Family gatherings I believe at seven Happy outweighed sad And freedom came When swinging To the sky Then bravely Jumping out It is difficult To remember The me who Once was seven But I am grateful For her spirit Continuing To reside in me Even when Iām afraid To jump out Of the swing
Tiny Boxes
Hours spent Together Make me want To remember Not just the present But every visit past- Each block of time Long or short Places another box Inside my heart Tiny boxes Full of surprises To open when Days are long Mind-wandering Tiny boxes Fighting battles Threatening To take away Focus, purpose, joy Tiny boxes Filled with Memories Of loving and Being loved
I cried at the sight Of you frail Unaware of My presence- Chose to remember Different images On that day- Tall and lanky Uncanny ability To sit comfortably On your haunches Elbows perched On knees Backside inches From the ground- My college senior Piano recital Me in my black dress You in your blue Cotton shirt and pants Both beaming- Five years later Christmastime My newborn son Sleeping in your arms- After you were gone I saw your reflection As my son sat On his haunches Elbows perched On knees Backside inches From the ground- Pictures of you Held dear, Grandpa
Workshirt
The morning Is dark blue The kind of blue That almost Looks black But once The sun rises Turns to cerulean- As the day Progresses The sky shifts Until night washes Over the work Of the day Bringing rest To the Earth- And rest to you Handsome you Strong you Wearing your Favorite blue shirt Faded with time As the dirt And sweat From a lifetime Of hard work Was washed away
I wrote the first poem specifically about my Grandpa Crow. He was a sweet man. Hardworking and loved to fish. The second could describe many different people from my growing up years. Maybe you can relate. šā¤ļø
Enjoying Art and Nature Exploring Lessons Offered By history- Our own Others- Reminiscing Our combined Years of living In only seven Of these Precious Allotments Of time Each holding The same Number Of hours Each passing Too quickly
Greetings from Massachusetts! My first visit to this beautiful state. Even though the weather was cloudy and rainy upon arrival, I quickly noticed the many shades of green. No matter where I looked, a different type of tree. Some familiar, others not.
This morning the sun is shining, and the sky is a perfect blue! I am excited to explore with my Aunt Martha and Uncle James. Such a treat! š
View from their lovely backyard in Lee, Massachusetts.
Chanel No. 5-Reblog from September, 2019
I donāt wear a lot of perfume. Iāve had a couple of favorites as an adult, but allergy sensitivities often keep me from enjoying them. Currently, I own one bottle of Chanel No. 5.
Iām not sure how long Iāve had this particular bottle. During our recent unpacking, it caught my eye. I could not remember the last time it was open. The design is so classic and pretty, I decided to leave it out.
One morning last week while getting ready for school, that bottle of Chanel caught my eye again. This time, I opened it and placed a small drop on my finger, then dabbed it on my neck and wrists. āIt might be nice to wear a little perfume again,ā I thought.
As the familiar scent filled the air, a flood of memories filled my mind.
When I was a little girl, visits to my Aunt Martha and Uncle Jamesās house were a treat. They, along with their children-Jim, Angela, and Brad-moved several times. I remember trips to Fayetteville, Memphis, and Louisiana. Typically, it was a week-long visit during summer vacation.
Some memories are as clear as a photograph. Dressing my cousin, Angela, up in her Raggedy Ann doll clothes. Riding the bus with my cousin, Jimmy, from Little Rock to Memphis and spilling an entire big bag of M&Ms. Kick boxing with Uncle James. Rolling a piano from room to room so I could play while Martha and James painted their house.
So, why did this sweet smell cause such reminiscing? Because Aunt Martha always had a bottle of Chanel No. 5. And when I visited, she would let me wear some of her perfume. Just a tiny drop on my finger, then dabbed on my neck and wrists. Such a treat for a little girl.
I continue to be amazed by the beautiful complexity of the heart and mind. The simple scent of perfume has the power to transport me back in time. It leads me to precious childhood memories. And it reminds me that the love I experienced then has only grown over the years.
I still live far away from Aunt Martha and Uncle James. I look forward to our visits, no matter how far apart. And I am thankful for time spent with them as a child.
Who would have thought a bottle of Chanel No. 5 could make such an impression on one little girl? š
My mind Can hardly Separate The words From melody Notes rising And fallingā¦one After the other In seasons of distress and grief Can you hear it? I silently sing The phrase As I write- Many times It has entered My thoughts Unannouncedā¦ Waiting for A phone call Sitting in a Hospital room Driving to A funeralā¦ The music repeats Easing tension On the last note The last word Of the new phrase My soul has often found relief Listen closely A peaceful Resolution Sweet hour of prayer
My husband likes to tell people I was raised in a commune. I was not. I suppose, however, that a simple description could be misinterpreted. Letās see.
Picture a two-lane country highway winding through small towns. Between two of those towns, turn onto a narrow paved road with thick trees lining both sides. Drive about a quarter of a mile until you see a clearing. My house was the first on the left.
Here is the unusual part. My grandparentsā house was in the center. And at any time over the last fifty-plus years, between four and six of their nine children lived nearby. Not a typical neighborhood with straight streets and cull de sacs. More like a valley. When standing in the middle, you could see almost everyoneās home.
Of course, we were free to come and go as we pleased. š And though I left at the wise-old age of seventeen, there is no other place I would have wished to grow up.
Growing up there meant family. It meant security. And no, it was not a peaceful utopia. There were disagreements. But none that could not be solved over a cup of coffee or a few days of staying home.
My mom also grew up there, though, during her childhood, there were more forests for exploring. And with nine children, they needed the space to roam. The original house was small, with only two bedrooms and an outhouse.
I have heard stories of sleeping sideways on the bed, lots of giggling and being scared to go outside at night. Mom remembers as a small child when men came to dig a hole for their first electricity pole.
As you can imagine, they were hard workers. Whether planting in the field or washing clothes on a scrub board, there were always chores to be done. But there was also always fun to be had.
Some days, her dad would come home with a pocket full of penny candy. Enough for everyone. On Fridays, they would have chili dogs and ice cream. Can you imagine dividing a carton of ice cream for nine children? They would open the entire carton and cut it into equal squares.
My mom is now in her seventies. Four of the siblings (including my mom and dad), some grandkids, and great-grandkids live in the clearing today. Only one of her siblings, her oldest sister, Pearl, is no longer living.
Mom recently shared some thoughts that touched me. She described being overcome with emotion thinking of how hard her mom worked to make sure the kids had fun times. She was so young herself; it could not have been easy. Mom said the older she gets, the greater her appreciation for her mom grows. I think I am beginning to understandā¦
Leaving for work This morning Car packed for A weekend Road trip Thoughts already At the end of today Think Iāll send A text to Mom See you tonight! Little cardinal Crosses my path His brightness Could not Be ignored His fluffy Red feathers Taking off From the ground Made me smile Slow down as I drove out of The neighborhood Rachel says every time She sees a cardinal It reminds her Of her Papa
I was a little grumpy when I got home yesterday. The reasons donāt matter. But any little thing seemed to grate on my nerves. As my frustration rose, I suddenly had a thought. Why donāt you go to the other room and play your piano?
I donāt know why this solution doesnāt appear faster in my brain.
Sitting down at the piano, I opened one of my favorites, Schumannās Scenes from Childhood, a beautiful set of short pieces. The first few I played didnāt fit my mood. Then I landed on Reverie. Just what I needed.
After playing it several times, I became curious about the original German title-TrƤumerei. Reverie is the translation in my edition, and I wanted to make sure my ideas matched the original intent. One definition said, āpleasant reveries, daydreams.ā
I got lost in my thoughts, listened to myself play, then wrote this poem. I felt much better. š
Reverie
Staring out The window Dreaming of Sunny days Even though Today is gray Running free Through a Golden field Of sunflowers Rolling Without Reserve Down a Grassy hill Walking Innocently Hand in hand Along a dirt road Daydreaming- Time well spent Lost in thoughts Energy renewed Before heading Back to the now
Reverie from Scenes from Childhood by SchumannKelley Morris, piano
One song A song from College days Simple melody Powerful message Tempted to quote You the lyrics or Start singing Even though I havenāt heard It in years- Somehow it found A hidden corner in My memory banks Locked itself away Patiently waiting for A chance at revival- Today was the day! Music rolled in Like a wave- One voice Singing in the darkness All it takes is one voice– Okay, okay No more lyrics Only these words- My voice matters And so does yours
