Happy Poetry Friday and Happy Almost Mother’s Day!
I’m sharing some small thoughts for Mom’s and nature…
Elizabeth Steinglass is hosting this weeks Poetry Friday Roundup at her blog ELIZABETH STEINGLASS Poetry for Children and their Grownups, thanks for hosting Liz! Liz has a debut picture book in verse on soccer that’s coming out soon, it’s called SOCCERVERSE POEMS ABOUT SOCCER. Stop by her blog for more poetry goodness and to check out her book!
YOU LONELY, LOVELY ONE…
Does anybody like you,
you’re a flower too.
Like a sun fallen from the sky
skirted in dainty ray florets–
Some cadmium yellow
dance around your middle
while others flash a hint of lime green.
Your jaggedy leaves add an
extra bonus on our salad fairs,
and your light ruby red stems
add an extra flair of savoir-faire.
You’re perfect in each and every way,
a neglected stepchild loaded with
oodles of essential potential.
I’ll only collect a few of you,
a sister, brother, aunt, and uncle,
rap a ribbon round your center,
and tie a tidy bow…
My mother would be so pleased
I didn’t take a tulip, daisy, or rose–
But only you… You lonely, lovely one,
darling dandelion for my
Mother’s Day nosegay!
©2019 Michelle Kogan
I’ve been hunting around for another Mother’s Day poem to share, and on my journey I found this poem Summer at the Orphanage by Laure-Anne Bosselaar. The poem is from my book If Bees Are Few A Hive of Bee Poems. As I couldn’t find it online, to share the rest with you, you’ll have to make a trip to your local library or bookstore to savor the rest, or let your fingers do the walking…
SUMMER AT THE ORPHANAGE
by Laure-Anne Bosselaar
The bee dozes in a lily’s yellow throat. July sighs
over the convent’s garth where an old
linden blooms & bees hover
low –– exhausted by the loads of pollen.
I’m only five, but exhausted too: I know longing’s
weight in my lungs & legs, so I
shelter the bee there, in its buttery abundance,
my shadow a dome over the bloom.
At dust, the chapel bells thorn the air. Swarms
of uniforms flock toward that bronze authority.
I’m alone. The courtyard is empty
& large as absence suddenly –– silent
as my mother, dark as her back & black car as she drove away,
flicking her ashes out the window.
Light dies. I fear the bee might get caught here ––
in this nunnery, like me ––so I stroke its belly from
under the bloom’s throat & lazy, slow, it comes out
golden as mother’s jewelry.