Part I. The Mystery is Introduced a rusty-patched bumblebee gone in an “ecological poof” Part II. Our Intrepid Detective Stitches Together the Scene inside a mating cage one queen bee and her toadstool fungus-fattened drone with abdomen frozen the learned result? colonies starve when only males are born Part III. Balanced on a Tightwire trace the monetary tale of global decline unearth one more case of disease-carrying colonizers and ask who will melt thirty silver pennies into a savior’s silver bullet to cure this plague? **********************************************
The poetry blog imaginary garden with real toads presented a weekend focus challenge on insects and bugs. I did a little digging and found an interesting article on the plight of bumblebees, and then took a side trip into poetry forms. The bumblebee article was much too long to create an erasure (blackout poem) like this one, but I’m looking forward to experimenting. Enjoy!
ignorance is free while truth costs 30 silver pence April showers bring only sludge that slowly birth the sun’s defense winter cooks hibernate their tarnished snores fill the air ungreased wheels forget to squeak while crowbars pry up penny nails he burrows deep beneath the roots and grants the cat his flapping tongue questions hide from prying eyes and books come in one color the milk’s so thick it will not spill the hotcakes mold and shrivel with hair piled high, she sits alone trapped by her fun-house image as slow as eyes snared by insomnia find your strength in sameness you only need a single hand to make our circle straighten
Day 13’s NaPoWriMo challenge asked us to play with “turning cliché’s on their head.”
Voila . . . hope it works!
three seeds form one to the pop and sizzle of man-made stars above one in perfect intent and hope of family, forever formed one by a spur-of-the-moment, well-stewed gamble three seeds sprout one uprooted to granite and sky two twined together by fear and devotion three hopeful buds, long divided three seeds flower one fears the stigma of pollen’s gift one longs for pollen’s security one grafts a new bud and seedlings emerge three seeds mature one clings tightly to past joys and tears one scorns the common account of years one builds up hope, help for posterity Day 11 NaPoWriMo's prompt inspired a reflection on seeds. Enjoy!
NaPoWriMo Day 7 asked us to explore points of view. In my family, we always wonder how it is that the grandparents are so accepting and kind, when the parents were so strict. Perhaps, it’s just the natural progression of things?
in my dreams I sit, send heart and spirit to fly –
Day 6 NaPoWriMo encouraged us to play adventurously with line breaks. I started with a writing a tanka and then played with line breaks; definitely more art than science.
And . . . we’re off! NaPoWriMo challenged us to write a poem based on a secret shame, or a secret pleasure. So, you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.
I seek the Morning Star delivery and reverence the King of the Coast; I snub red and white meat, for a well-aged substitute found only under the rind. Served singly or paired matters not to me; the siren song of my “moreish” delight, must be answered and followed bite after bite. Whether with pinot noir or between toasted bread, I skip the roux to indulge my al dente. Devotee? Mere fan? Enthusiastic addict? I ruefully ponder how scientists can consider 35 pounds per year consumed as merely average.
Less than one day to go, fine friends, for April’s poetry writing challenge month. Every day in April, people across our fair globe free their inner muse. It’s a delightful way to welcome spring. Come out and play!
Poetry has been a love of mine for as long as I can recall. Happily, my father preserved one of my earliest childhood efforts, crayon art and all. Given that autumn is upon us and my love for crisp leaves underfoot has not dimmed one jot, it seems reasonable to share this memory from long ago.
Thou tender encasement of woolen yarn, Thou cocooning shelter of pooled warmth! Sturdy cocoon, a harbor ‘gainst frost, your purled patterns offer refuge for flesh, previously freed to frolic in mosses and dance ‘round leafleted trees. Toes dug lightly in the warm scented earth that bred spring dandelions, nurtured the summer rose. That same dirt -- now wearied with care – by Issue fully ripened and birthed, and now full circle carried to Harvest Home with thankful praise and blessings given, while Mother Earth quilts herself in rust and grey. Her blanket shelters the slumbering Fruits, hiding them from Winter’s chill that slides past trembling Rays, ushering in stillness and somber reflection. As frost lingers and our Fair Sun hides her face, Grant me Thy armor, Thy cordial affection! Shield my extremities from Winter’s sly suggestions of seasonal despair; wrap my numbed feet in your loving embrace, and safeguard their memories of Spring, simple joys and youthful pleasures. By your grace, free them from Winter’s misery.