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Posts Tagged ‘Saturday readers share’

Coltsfoot

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Saturday morning readers share
[George Harrison, Damaris King]
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Neighbors
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Into the woods I go
To watch my little creek flow.
Along it winds through crevice and pine
Arrayed in bright shine.
It glistens in sunlight,
bidding my neighbors, deer with tails white
And a crow, black as night
To drink its sweet nectar.
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George Harrison
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I attend Joseph Bathanti’s weekly writer’s group [Joseph is former North Carolina poet laureate – ed.].  Our mentor and leader, Joseph prompted us to write anything about “Getting Out”. It could have been about getting out of anything or getting out to go somewhere. We have a very short time to write, so this simple and short poem is what I came up with.
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Joseph invited us to submit poems to you to celebrate Earth Day. What a joy it is to read the poems on your poetry site [for Earth Day and Earth Month].  As a fly fisherman, I was particularly drawn to Ron Rash’s poem. [Poetry and Earth – Awe]
George
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Nothing in nature is isolated. Nothing is without reference to something else. Nothing achieves meaning apart from that which neighbors it.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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In Sligo’s Woods
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Pay attention along the path,
among the trees are mysteries.
Bright clusters of ferns emerge
sheltering their rusty veins.
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Feel the texture of varied fronds,
some craggy, some silky.
In the middle of this array,
five tender petals newly shine.
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Draw in the colors. See the dead
cradled unsung in blood-dried
leaves. Note the greens, from palest
wisp to boldest hue, how
light unfurls from fiddleheads.
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Damaris King
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I wrote this poem after a walk in the woods, one of those lovely walks that calls you to slow down and look around you. There is a certain peace and awe that overcomes me when I am in nature and this poem is my attempt to share that feeling with others. 
Damaris
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You will find something more in woods than in books. Trees and stones will teach you that which you can never learn from masters.
St. Bernard (1090-1153)
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . Saturdays I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
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If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, include a comment and if possible a photograph of yourself in your native habitat. Review these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
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If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
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If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
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COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
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Thanks again for joining the conversation.
And Mike, thanks as always for the apt quotations. A treasure chest!
– Bill
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Saturday morning readers share:
Ben Stinson
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Cosmic Okra
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With a low,
warbling harmonica
and a banjo pluck intro
We fade into Jim,
he’s got a beard
like a startled badger,
and I,
well,
I’m wearing mismatched socks, again.
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We’re staring up,
at a sky so black,
like a cosmic inkwell spilled.
Jim says, “You know, the nearest star,
it’s, like, a zillion miles away,
give or take a Tuesday.”
I say, “Yeah,”
and remind him,
“that’s just
the neighbor’s
backyard bug zapper.”
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Sitting on his porch swing,
the rusty springs creaking like a chorus of old robots.
We’re eating pickled okra,
(because,
well,
why not?),
While pondering the sheer,
unadulterated,
mind-bending,
eyeball-melting,
banana-hammock-wearing,
vastness of it all.
Galaxies spiraling,
black holes slurping,
quasars burping out light
like a drunken dragon.
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And here we are,
Jim and I,
two blips,
two specks,
two slightly damp,
okra-flavored consciousnesses,
witnessing the cosmic freak show.
Like two white squirrels
at a symphony,
trying to figure out
if the conductor’s hat
is edible.
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We’re here,
we’re aware,
we’re mildly confused.
And Jim just asked if the moon is made of cheddar.
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The universe,
it doesn’t care about our socks,
or our pickled okra,
or our existential dread.
It just keeps spinning,
expanding,
doing its thing,
like a giant,
cosmic washing machine,
set on “infinite rinse cycle.”
And we’re here,
watching the suds,
wondering
if we left the dryer running.
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And Jim just burped,
saying profoundly,
“That’s probably a supernova.”
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I am a sculptor and poet living in the mountains of NC.  I find inspiration from all the bounty that nature provides. — Ben
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . every Saturday I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
 . 
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
 . 
 . 
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
 . 
If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
 . 
COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
 . 
Thanks again for joining the conversation.
 . 
– Bill
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 . Saturday morning readers share:
Sam Barbee and Jenny Bates
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Tomato
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I pass my time well,
but if a man is worth his salt,
he will learn his season.
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I hope to die some indigo night—
un-diagnosed—preferably,
in my tomato garden.
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I wait content in this fertile space.
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I water each vine.
Spray rattles the dry leaves
and collects on stem bristles.
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Tonight I know, plucking
ripe fruit is kind: by autumn,
so much rots, ignored.
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Sam Barbee
from That Rain We Needed, Press 53, Winston-Salem NC; © 2016
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Tomato was also a Poetry in Plain Sight poster poem.  I grew up in Wilmington, and am still an autumn-season beach-bum. I’ve lost my enthusiasm for fishing, but the solitude continues to delight me. 
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Additional poetry by Sam Barbee at Verse and Image:
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Trimmed in Black
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The bears came back yesterday then
last night you spun a black ribbon in
my hair did I mention?
the bears were black too if I could
only remember the words the turned
tune of words as you wove that ribbon
in and out and through my braid
the bears were in color as was the dream
I tried to stitch all the hues mostly the black
into the wind like trimming a tree with
memory or wishing I had umber bat wings
webbing I could spread and catch your vow
or the sound of any how hung high
in a tree so the breeze will always touch them.
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Jenny Bates
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I’m going through a wringer of a time in life right now, but … in reality I hope to disappear, but I would also go for becoming a Pine Marten! and really? I am my environment on the mountain and the fellow creatures I live with so the photo is the inspiration for the poem…
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Additional poetry by Jenny Bates at Verse and Image:
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Thank you for visiting VERSE and IMAGE:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . every Saturday I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
 . 
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
 . 
                            https://griffinpoetry.com/about/
 . 
Also note: after January 1, 2026 I will no longer be sending separate weekly email reminders.
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to VERSE and IMAGE using the button on the Home Page.
 . 
If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
 . 
COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
 . 
Thanks again for joining the conversation.
 . 
– Bill
 . 
Doughton Park Tree 4/30/2022

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