To his mother ~ an epistolary poem

It was Margaret’s poem in my inbox that ignited my spark to receive poem today. She nudged me over to Ruth’s lovely page, who is hosting Poetry Friday today and inviting us to give a go at a recipe poem.

Ellen Bass, my poet guide this month, along with Wendell Barry, has been also offering advice this month. The Epistolary Poem, a poem written as a letter, a form has been shaping poems in my notebook this month.

Could I combine the two? The recipe poem and the letter poem?

Perhaps . . .

Thank you to Margaret, Ruth, Ellen, my husband’s adoration of the food I cook for him and, his mother’s love.

If you’d like to read more poems, or add your own, head over to Ruth’s page to read a few more recipe poems. Be sure to fill your cup of coffee first.

Poem to chatter

To the chatter that stirs
a Bru-ha-ha when I accidentally
wake at 2:30am because I climbed
into bed too early because of
the chatter Bru-ha-ha the night before,

It's not necessary for you
to attend to my restlessness,
to pick the locks of the anxious
back doors of my brain
causing turbulent mental weather
and hopscotching through
time and space rounding up
all the past forget me nots
and future would bees to
relish in unproductive wallowing.

I don't need reminders of
projects to be due and ones I've
not yet invented but put off.
And, yes, I realize
the earth is a hot mess
and my grandchildren and great great
grandchildren even possibly will
one day point their fingers at me
and ask, What did you do to us?
And, also, I am conscious of the fact
that time is moving faster and faster with
each passing year so please.
You. Must. Stop.
shouting at me my number of years
that I've lived versus what I've left.
I. CAN. ADD. AND. SUBTRACT.

This is a gentle reminder that should
you visit me tomorrow while I am
attempting a full eight hours sleep,
I'm calling in my Chatter Board of Advisors

and they WILL be attending the meeting.

You will all have some explaining to do
to the members in charge.

I will be expecting a full report.

Signed, Tired.

Draft 2022 Shari Daniels
Writing and sharing a poem a day ~ 
"The writing is inhaling and the sharing is exhaling.
They don't have to be good, they just have to be true."
                      ~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

a hard frost

forgotten flowers
She knew it was predicted
a coldness forecasted
the signs all there
moments of soft autumn glow,
warmth, softness and comfort.

She knew it couldn't last
many seasons behind her
the chill always returning
to settle the perennial score.

Bring the flowers in -
at least cover them,
she reminds herself,
protect the beauty
stretch each sacred moment
of radiant heaven and bliss.

But she forgets this small act of care
distractions rob her common sense
her careless neglect invites
the creep of silent hoar.

In the morn, distress her first alarm
she gently caresses her blooms
wrapped in frozen crystals
and knows that soon each petal
must say good-bye as it wilts away.

I'm so sorry, she whispers to each blossom,
in the sorrow of her deepest gloom
She gazes up at the morning dawn
her reminder of the hopeful light

and she sighs with cautious knowing
for the season to return
to thaw with gentle charm
her garden of the heart.

Draft 2022 Shari Daniels


Sarah Grace Tuttle is hosting Poetry Friday today. Grab some coffee and a scone and head over to read a few poems and share you own. 

oh. . . To be a squirrel

Oh, Dear Squirrel,
racing along the twisting branches
high among the tallest of oaks,
leaping from tree to tree
across the air without hesitation

Are you not afraid
of missing a steady branch
your estimations a wee bit off?
or worse. . .
the branch not able to sustain you at all?
and breaking - prompting a long, treacherous fall?

Has this happened to you, Dear Squirrel?
If so - 
How do you manage?
to continue climbing back up 
on the highest of trees 
and repeating the feat?

I mean it must seem like the ground
is light years away from your place so high in the sky,
Do you look down?
or keep your eyes on the road
intent on your destination?

Please tell me dear squirrel,
how do you do it?
What's your fear busting secret?

For I desire to fly like you
across the sky
from tree to tree

with the bravery of a squirrel.

draft 2022 Shari Daniels

Writing and sharing a poem a day ~ 
"The writing is inhaling and the sharing is exhaling.
They don't have to be good, they just have to be true."
                      ~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Ada’s Invitation: The Lightkeeper

An early commute of 37 miles to teach writers
Ada's The Slow Down poem a balm
for my languishing soul
The Lightkeeper, she reads 
with a voice of sweet honey

The air thick with fog this warm autumn morn
Stay awake, the poem's words speak loud
a friend, pulling me by the hand,
so I might see this for once in my life.
the light in search of the lost.

Visions of my own lightkeeper friend
swirl between the poem's words and Ada's voice
I feel her hand as I stepped inside of this poem,
lost in my fog, seeking a lighthouse.

Shari, she whispers, the world needs your voice.
I need your voice. Give us your gift. I'll be waiting.

She is in the front row, her cheers are the loudest
Genuine, real, and true, with each word
tossed out for eyes other than mine.

To my lightkeeper friend I say,
You taught me to live like this.
Writing and sharing a poem a day ~ 
"The writing is inhaling and the sharing is exhaling.
They don't have to be good, they just have to be true."
                      ~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

tiny Oak Leaf Lessons



Oh, tiniest of oak leaves
that flutter from high above
down to the pages
of a notebook in waiting.

Why now? This moment?
Why did you let go?
So miniscule you are - the baby leaf -
Your elders still hanging on. . .

Perhaps it was your lightness
the breeze so easily lifts you
from the sturdy branch.
Perhaps you had not yet learned
the act of holding on.

But - what if it was a mistake?
to let go so very soon?
What if there was more
of what you were supposed to live
as a leaf among majestic oaks?

What if you letting go
was weakness? Fear? or giving up?

If all depends, I suppose
on who is doing the watching
You may be the way-shower for some
and what not to do for others.

Either way, you are a teacher
in the art of letting go.

draft 2022 Shari Daniels

Writing and sharing a poem a day ~ 
"The writing is inhaling and the sharing is exhaling.
They don't have to be good, they just have to be true."
                      ~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Today, I am participating in twowritingteachers Slice of Life. Join us in sharing a slice of your life, or take a sweet moment to read some small slices in the lives of others. May they inspire you to write and record you own small moments so that you may find meaning is what our lives have to offer us.

Where is home?

Where is home? I ask
my hunter husband,
for the geese and the ducks?
Is it south or is it north?

They nest in the north,
he replies, and then
head south when it gets cold,
his eyes occupied somewhere else.

I realize that I say,
brows furrowed.
But where is home?

He didn't have a certain answer
underneath the response
he mumbled.

Humans tend to search
for their home
have a need to call one place
home.

But maybe home
is where ever you are
as long as love
is near.

And safety and rest.

Peace and calm.

draft 2022 Shari Daniels

Writing a poem-a-day.
They don't have to be good,
They just have to be true.
~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer