a poem a day in the month of may
Blessed is the bloom
Who knew what it meant to lie dormant
That prospers at the proper time
Who embraces rest not as status
But as state of being
Who accepts the gentleness of rain
Even on days when hope is scarce
And proof of growth is sparse
Who trusts the seed to sprout anyway
Blessed are we who don't rush our flourishing
Or softening,
Who when weary need
Sunshine & water & patience,
A salvation indeed
To learn the way of flowers
Dandelion’s toothy petals
dance beside the violets
and the tiny blue Veronicas—
a riot of spring,
sprinkled with redbud petals.
But how do I get lost
in the revelry
when my insides feel like dust?
How do I drift along the blooms like a honeybee
when the cares of a whole globe
tear at my throat?
Teach me your ways, first flowers of spring:
teach me to open myself
again and again and again and again.
Bloom
when I miscarried,
Nadia Bloom had just been located in a Florida swamp alive
she'd wandered off
seeking plants to photograph
green fronds and saw palmetto amongst boggy marsh and mosquitos
an artist's adventure
I didn't know her
but I could feel her naive curiosity like a fact
like the temperature
she wasn't afraid
my little lost package was named Nadia
and I invited the pain of cramps so I could cry
trillium marks the place we remember her in the mountain woods amongst tangled roots
three white petals pointing to the corners of the earth
shining like a star in the wilderness
Bushwacking through the forest
A rock was inviting as a place to rest
Ah, to relax and breathe in the forest,
And, surprise, to see a first flower of Spring
Very likely no human would have
Ever seen this flower
No matter, it blooms because
It blooms
May we humans be so natural
May we too bloom because we bloom
Because of the divine blessing,
The divine calling
Things outside are growing.
There are fresh leaves on the trees,
and the grass is green again,
and the daffodils and dandelions have sprouted.
Things inside are growing.
There are new teeth in the mouth of my infant,
and new words in the mouth of my toddler,
and a sweet bond between them has sprouted.
I am growing, too.
There are new connections in my mind,
and I have energy again,
and a new confidence has sprouted.
Life is cyclical.
Some of the sweetest things
come from the mouths of babes,
and new parts of us are always sprouting.
Every day is a chance to bloom.
We are all growing into ourselves.
To bloom is a process
The blossom, itself, needs
Nourishment
Time
Patience
Some, darkness to sprout
Others, bright light
And oh, the beauty when first open to the day!
Pollen
Beware the dust of a yellow breeze,
flying free from the top of pine trees,
what was unassuming
now seems to be blooming,
but how darling you sound when you sneeze!
No one takes a picture of the roots
Or the stem
Or the leaves
Or the thorns
Sometimes the buds
But always the bloom
Never realizing
that without the roots
We’d never have the bloom
Stability (hidden or not)
Provides great beauty
For all of Us
bloom.
some short and quick, some can't breathe, some never had a chance, and some begin something big.
...gospel stuff, I guess.
I see you
over there, patient and,
by all appearances still.
But you, dearest.
You are grounded, roots dug deep.
You are strong, stalk steady and true.
You are diligent, foliage doing the hard work of providing.
You are already a wonder.
.
And then.
In a moment of radiance and vulnerability,
you make your identity known.
Unmistakable.
We see the fullness
of who and what you are.
The arrival
The opening
After the waiting
Long patient
Dark waiting
The flower
The hope
The life
I wonder if I can allow myself to bloom
as opposed to working so hard to bloom
As the flowers bloom all around me
it appears an easeful transition for them
One in alignment with their soul’s purpose and the expansive universe
Their whole being seems to know
fully who they are and how to bloom
They receive the gifts offered to them
to bloom into their most radiant being
I wonder if I can learn to be still enough
to be wholly aligned with my soul
To receive the gifts of interdependence
that will support my blooming
And then offer my own gifts back
into the web of relationships
Like an expectant mother, I sit beside my potted amaryllis.
With a sense of expectation, I wonder what awaits.
In silence, with daily watering, life begins to emerge...
First the leaves, then the stem, and finally the buds.
I am filled with awe as I witness my flower blooming....
In all its scarlet beauty, it boldly proclaims the I AM .
It invites me to journey...to be like a bulb in darkness,
Relying on sun and water.... hoping I will get the nourishment I need.
One day, will I be as strong as the stem, enabling me to stand proudly?
Will I have the courage to undergo the transformation that starts deep within?
Will I both humbly and proudly acknowledge my own blooming - the beauty of my creation, the gift that shares life and joy with others?
We wait and watch
then a sign
a sprout
a bud
getting close
any day now
Wow
beauty
fullness
depth
complexity
simply incredible
and the person
bloom
in a similar way
let's watch in amazement
for both
Sometimes i imagine seeds
Buried in the cold ground out of sight
Full of potential but so dry and dead
I wonder how it would feel…
I feel how it would feel
Dryness welcoming water
Dark welcoming light
Stillness welcoming movement
Stirring deep inside
That first bit of life poking out
Pushing up through earth and down deeper to root
Slowly slowly growing
A stalk breaking into bright light going higher and higher to its designated place
And then changing form right there…popping out into all its destined glory and beauty
Death to life, seed to bloom
What a journey
Mustn’t give up.
The birds are astounding
And tried (twice) to build nests in the truck
Which we hired to help
To pack all the things of your life
-
Tomorrow we will take the roses
Only six months dried and pressed (at your request)
from her funeral
to add to your ashes in her grave
The apple tree is shedding white petals like snow
On the porch where your presence is smiling
And there is a symphony of song
As we move on both with
And without you
Blessed is the bloom
Who knew what it meant to lie dormant
That prospers at the proper time
Who embraces rest not as status
But as state of being
Who accepts the gentleness of rain
Even on days when hope is scarce
And proof of growth is sparse
Who trusts the seed to sprout anyway
Blessed are we who don't rush our flourishing
Or softening,
Who when weary need
Sunshine & water & patience,
A salvation indeed
To learn the way of flowers
Dandelion’s toothy petals
dance beside the violets
and the tiny blue Veronicas—
a riot of spring,
sprinkled with redbud petals.
But how do I get lost
in the revelry
when my insides feel like dust?
How do I drift along the blooms like a honeybee
when the cares of a whole globe
tear at my throat?
Teach me your ways, first flowers of spring:
teach me to open myself
again and again and again and again.
Bloom
when I miscarried,
Nadia Bloom had just been located in a Florida swamp alive
she'd wandered off
seeking plants to photograph
green fronds and saw palmetto amongst boggy marsh and mosquitos
an artist's adventure
I didn't know her
but I could feel her naive curiosity like a fact
like the temperature
she wasn't afraid
my little lost package was named Nadia
and I invited the pain of cramps so I could cry
trillium marks the place we remember her in the mountain woods amongst tangled roots
three white petals pointing to the corners of the earth
shining like a star in the wilderness
Bushwacking through the forest
A rock was inviting as a place to rest
Ah, to relax and breathe in the forest,
And, surprise, to see a first flower of Spring
Very likely no human would have
Ever seen this flower
No matter, it blooms because
It blooms
May we humans be so natural
May we too bloom because we bloom
Because of the divine blessing,
The divine calling
Things outside are growing.
There are fresh leaves on the trees,
and the grass is green again,
and the daffodils and dandelions have sprouted.
Things inside are growing.
There are new teeth in the mouth of my infant,
and new words in the mouth of my toddler,
and a sweet bond between them has sprouted.
I am growing, too.
There are new connections in my mind,
and I have energy again,
and a new confidence has sprouted.
Life is cyclical.
Some of the sweetest things
come from the mouths of babes,
and new parts of us are always sprouting.
Every day is a chance to bloom.
We are all growing into ourselves.
To bloom is a process
The blossom, itself, needs
Nourishment
Time
Patience
Some, darkness to sprout
Others, bright light
And oh, the beauty when first open to the day!
Pollen
Beware the dust of a yellow breeze,
flying free from the top of pine trees,
what was unassuming
now seems to be blooming,
but how darling you sound when you sneeze!
Bloom
No one takes a picture of the roots
Or the stem
Or the leaves
Or the thorns
Sometimes the buds
But always the bloom
Never realizing
that without the roots
We’d never have the bloom
Stability (hidden or not)
Provides great beauty
For all of Us
bloom.
some short and quick, some can't breathe, some never had a chance, and some begin something big.
...gospel stuff, I guess.
I see you
over there, patient and,
by all appearances still.
But you, dearest.
You are grounded, roots dug deep.
You are strong, stalk steady and true.
You are diligent, foliage doing the hard work of providing.
You are already a wonder.
.
And then.
.
In a moment of radiance and vulnerability,
you make your identity known.
Unmistakable.
We see the fullness
of who and what you are.
Bloom
The arrival
The opening
After the waiting
Long patient
Dark waiting
The flower
The hope
The life
I wonder if I can allow myself to bloom
as opposed to working so hard to bloom
As the flowers bloom all around me
it appears an easeful transition for them
One in alignment with their soul’s purpose and the expansive universe
Their whole being seems to know
fully who they are and how to bloom
They receive the gifts offered to them
to bloom into their most radiant being
I wonder if I can learn to be still enough
to be wholly aligned with my soul
To receive the gifts of interdependence
that will support my blooming
And then offer my own gifts back
into the web of relationships
Like an expectant mother, I sit beside my potted amaryllis.
With a sense of expectation, I wonder what awaits.
In silence, with daily watering, life begins to emerge...
First the leaves, then the stem, and finally the buds.
I am filled with awe as I witness my flower blooming....
In all its scarlet beauty, it boldly proclaims the I AM .
It invites me to journey...to be like a bulb in darkness,
Relying on sun and water.... hoping I will get the nourishment I need.
One day, will I be as strong as the stem, enabling me to stand proudly?
Will I have the courage to undergo the transformation that starts deep within?
Will I both humbly and proudly acknowledge my own blooming - the beauty of my creation, the gift that shares life and joy with others?
We wait and watch
then a sign
a sprout
a bud
getting close
any day now
Wow
beauty
fullness
depth
complexity
simply incredible
The flower
and the person
bloom
in a similar way
let's watch in amazement
for both
Sometimes i imagine seeds
Buried in the cold ground out of sight
Full of potential but so dry and dead
I wonder how it would feel…
I feel how it would feel
Dryness welcoming water
Dark welcoming light
Stillness welcoming movement
Stirring deep inside
That first bit of life poking out
Pushing up through earth and down deeper to root
Slowly slowly growing
A stalk breaking into bright light going higher and higher to its designated place
And then changing form right there…popping out into all its destined glory and beauty
Death to life, seed to bloom
What a journey
Mustn’t give up.
The birds are astounding
And tried (twice) to build nests in the truck
Which we hired to help
To pack all the things of your life
-
Tomorrow we will take the roses
Only six months dried and pressed (at your request)
from her funeral
to add to your ashes in her grave
-
The apple tree is shedding white petals like snow
On the porch where your presence is smiling
And there is a symphony of song
As we move on both with
And without you