The prompt is the poem

More inspiration from a Lightning Droplets prompt:


Find a headline or story that is good
news, a very small silver lining.
Dive deep into the possible
implications; imagine all the neighbors
were helping. What happens
when this explodes into goodness?

It changes the course of everything.


late may sweet kate

Tradescantia ‘Sweet Kate’

More found (prompt) poetry

Again I found inspiration in a journal prompt at Lightning Droplets:

Describe in one small detail the change in your life

Think of one very small change
that offers a window into this time:
a crayon drawing, seeds
you planted, a mountain
of toilet paper.

Write down whatever comes
to mind; leave nothing
out. How does this small
detail relate to everything
else in your world?

Show us the colors and textures
you notice when you look
closely. What is the history
behind this? What meaning
does it hold for you?

Tell us why you noticed
this change, what captured
your attention. Show us how
it connects to something
larger in your life.


may daffodils

April Queen daffodils, a lovely gift from my lovely daughter

Prompt as poetry

Lightning Droplets has been posting journal prompts, but as we all know, prompts are prompts. 😉 Here’s a sort-of found poem from Monday’s post.

Prompt 18

Shelter and write
the pandemic as a turning
point: on what trajectory
was the year before the outbreak?
How does the virus change

things? It should alter life
decisions and goals, reshape
relations, spaces, and time,
transform who we are
as people.


may allium

Allium schubertii almost ready to bloom

A derangement of Celtic wisdom

Derangement of a quote from Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom posted yesterday at Latitudes of a Day

Blessing for the road
after John O’Donohue

In your journey
a kindness of rhythm
will teach you
but more important
where you need to go
it will take you
if you do.

indirect, oblique
you can trust this
your future, therefore
has the map
your soul alone.

Your destiny
knows the geography of
your soul.


may chives

chives, curiously untouched by the freeze

When you can’t write

Today’s post at Brevity is timely because a lot of creatives I know are struggling (though others are finding plenty of inspiration in these strange circumstances). Sometimes we are so eager to mine our experiences for creative potential that we neglect to live them first, kind of missing the point.

Jilted by the muse
after Sarah Eshleman

But I tell you: do not write
about the experience
— not yet. Let go
your feverish pursuit
of instant transcendence
and ready inspiration.

Silence holds its own
substance and purpose.
Delay is essential
as momentum, and motion
does not equal progress.

We live now and divine
significance later, rarely
absorbing the full weight
of a moment within itself.


spirea may

Something that wasn’t killed by the freeze

Anxious weather

It has been a lovely spring overall, though we’re about to get blasted with a late hard freeze certain to kill almost everything that has emerged. I feel so sad and powerless; I expect a cherished magnolia will die as a result, as it has already lost all leaves twice this spring to previous unseasonable hard freezes.

Meditation on my morning walk

‘Tis a grey day in May,
much colder than anyone
expects, with a hard freeze
predicted for the end
of the week. I long to throw
a blanket over the whole
yard, big enough to cover
even the mature ashes
with pinnate leaflets unfurling
tiny and chartreuse.


yellow irises 6may20

other likely victims of the impending freeze – naturally, this is the most blooms we’ve ever had on the yellow irises

Day 23, NaPoWriMo 2020

This is a found poem from Kelly Thompson’s post on Brevity:

Speaking from the sixties

“The world is acting like it’s going to lose us,” I said.
His smile was wry. As was mine.
Tender wry.
“Well, they’re losing us anyway,” he said.

No, I won’t die for capitalism, for Trump, for Wall Street.
I would for my girls, for my grandbabies.
But for consumerism? For the lie that there is not enough?
Not a chance.

Like my husband said, “You will lose us anyway.”
We are in the third act.
Age is a construct and so is time.
But death is not.


2020 National Poetry Month Poster-50