So many roads are ready to take you forward
Into the empty world to come, misty with promises.
So few will lead you back to what you’ve missed.
…………………from the poem Invitation by Carl Dennis
This dirt road leads to the farm on which I lived until my mid to late teens. A modern day photo of a place of memories. It is now posted property and not open for me to take a walk up that lane. Grateful for the experience of farm life, memories, and this photo.
for my body and mind
dreams are real adventures
causing morning moods
Written for the prompt: Dream Poem
Photo and poem by Sabra Bowers. Full Moon 12-29-20
oh, how I miss thee, bumble bee
buzzing from bloom to bloom
in my Azalea garden
once so plentiful
you freighted me
now I only see one
or two of thee
I miss the sunny days of
your sweet flight
child playing
husband swatting
he had a fear of bumble bees
your darting and humming flight
mirthful guy, precious child,
delightful bees, I miss thee
Poem written for a prompt from Robert Brewer
at Writer’s Digest. The prompt was to write an
insect poem. Photo is of my now late husband,
my now adult daughter, and me as a young woman.
Poem and photography by Sabra Bowers
Near my front door
Ancient rocks and crystals
Ground me in winter
Would watermelon taste as sweet without it
The sound and feel of crunch
There’s the obvious crunch of
Nuts, carrots, celery with cream cheese
There’s the softer crunch of
Roast beef, tomato, mayo, wrapped in lettuce leaves
Did I mention toast and jam, chips and salsa,
A cracker with pate
Green salad with bell pepper, cucumber,
And hearts of romaine
A meal doesn’t give a thrill without it
The sound, the feel, of crunch
no one at the helm
in a deadly storm
winds blowing
this and that way
emotions churning
I can’t breathe
once witnessed
turbulent times can’t be unseen
Poem and art by Sabra Bowers
This morning I delighted in a single line of poetry from Mary Oliver’s Toad. Can’t exactly say why it thrilled me, other than my love of storytelling, maybe. The line transported me to a place and time of imagination; where I remembered Einstein once said, “Imagination is everything.” Oliver’s line of poetry that sparked and delighted me: “I was walking by. He was sitting there.”
Not called to move
Prefer stillness
And looking within
I seek solitude and silence
Although
The world is never silent
Neither are my thoughts
They often ramble
To the past or future
Am I an antenna
For thoughts
Moving in the now?
I wrote this poem at a workshop given by John Fox of Poetic Medicine.
His prompt was – to move. I left the workshop at first break that day.
I was already feeling the call to social distance and honored my knowing
that I wanted to be in another place, alone.
A poem I won’t forget; it slays my heart every time I read it. The poet is Laura Gilpin and the poem is The Two-Headed Calf.
I’m sure growing up on a farm adds to my love of this poem because I see the pasture, the stars, the moon, the orchard, and feel the wind in the grasses. I see in my heart the cow and her calf. I feel their body heat, hear their breathing, and smell their cowness. I hear the sounds of the night; for the night is not silent.
The Two-Headed Calf by Laura Gilpin
Tomorrow, when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.
But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard; the wind in the grasses.
And as he stares into the sky,
there are twice as many stars as usual.
Photo by Lawrence at Unsplash
winter winds play
the brown marcescent leaves
music of rain sticks
