There’s something about solstices and equinoxes that turns my creative mind to nature. My talented husband Ron DeKett wandered with his camera down the steep path behind our house to Love Creek at the bottom of the ravine we call ours. He found beauty. (And below is a poem to accompany it). Happy Solstice!
Will you rise to the challenge of writing a poem a day during April? So far, five of us are in—Adamy Damaris Diaz, Jacquelyn Weddington, Cindy Carver Hosea, Cathy Zellmann and me. Choose a theme (which can be changed up to mid-month). Adamy is looking at “Memory Lane.” Cathy may choose “Places.” I’ve already changed mine—as a warm-up exercise I’ve been writing a poem a day and discovered I can’t keep to a topic. Instead, I need to write what the Muse inspires, so I’m thinking of changing my theme from goddesses to something less specific. We’d be happy to consider publishing the poems you wish to share here at mooingaround.com. Happy writing!
To the Goddess of Compassion as we celebrate spring. Please click on the title here –“she of many names“– to read the poem. If you like, leave a comment below sharing where you find compassion in this world.
Appreciating the sacred is for me a walk along a path at Paris Mountain State Park in Greenville, SC, meeting the occasional mountain bicyclist, the occasional friendly dogs walking their person, listening to a woodpecker hammer at a tree, keeping my photographer husband Ron DeKett company, and observing the gems nature offers such as this little pine tree that could have been decorated by Charlie Brown and friends. As often happens, my time close to Mother Earth produced this poem (in the middle of the night) to accompany Ron’s photo of a Winter Solstice Tree. Click on the poem title to read it and see the photo. Winter Solstice Tree. Blessed be.
The poem “Seeing” popped into my head while I was reflecting upon the way I felt about a man who told me he loved me…and then who chose to not act upon his feelings.
I eventually came to believe that he said he was in love with me just for the “thrill” of it and in order to stroke his own ego.
Because he speaks a lot about the subject of love, I wrote this poem in response to what, I thought, was his hypocrisy. In the relatively brief interaction I had with him, my own ideas about love changed quite a lot, and I began to think of him as a used-car salesman.
Sometimes an idea for a poem will start rattling around in my head in a way that becomes very, very distracting.
The only way to make the rattling go away is for me to…write the poem.