Night Dreams

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

Bumble Bee, I Miss Thee

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

Grounded in Winter

Near my front door
Ancient rocks and crystals
Ground me in winter

Crunch

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

Turbulent Times

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

Oliver’s Toad

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.”

 

To Move

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.  

Slays My Heart

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

Rain Sticks

winter winds play
the brown marcescent leaves
music of rain sticks

Fine Memories

Fine memories dwell here.
I can almost hear them
when I close my eyes.