And the word for February is . . .

Hi everyone,

Tell me the truth. Do you think it’s time I stopped long enough to declutter my office? Spoiler alert: my M.O.W. says it is.

Which leads me to this month’s Word of the Month Poetry Challenge. For the first time I’m leaving the word up to you. Look at my office, choose a word to describe it, and let that word become your inspiration for this month’s poem.

And please note how brave I am!

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Word of the Month word for January . . .

Hi everyone,

Here we go with another fresh slate on which to record our unfolding histories. To help accomplish it, we’ll begin with a new word to challenge our imaginations. This one was suggested by Jane Yolen, and it’s RETURN.

What does this word tell you? What does it mean? How will it lead forward by returning to . . . what? Can’t wait to discover the magic in one word. Off we go!

My Word of the Month memories poem

Hi everyone,

Here’s my contribution to this month’s poetry challenge. It began when Sandy and I were sitting close to the freshly covered pool, taking a short break before getting back to patio duty. The day was windy. Leaves from the maple tree were blowing across the sky blue cover and dancing on each new breeze. I thought I could see a slight undulation of the cover that gave an appearance of breathing.

POOL MEMORIES

Under leafy constellations
wheeling across a vinyl sky,
the pool rests. Its breast
rises and falls gently
as it recalls spring,
breeze massages,
fresh pollen powdering its skin.

The pool remembers toads swimming
on balmy nights, looking for love,
skimming insects, scooping tiny drinks,
dragonflies darting like hawks,
doomed spiders tickling with thrashing legs
as they perished to their fate below.

The pool remembers water games,
churning feet, heels that hit bottom hard,
sparks of bright light when rubber
balls fractured the surface
and bright divots danced in the sun.

So many memories, enough to last
through cold, silent nights
below the vinyl heaven.
At peace, the pool settles
for the long wait till spring.

© by David L. Harrison
All rights reserved