Skagit Valley Tulip Festival

Tulips – La Conner Washington

Red, pink and yellow
on the distant horizon
like a rainbow mirage
beckons flower-hunters.

Textured strips of wine, crimson
magenta, plum, canary
blanket the fields
a crocheted afghan of color.

Packed clay borders
teem with beauty-seekers.
Couples walk hand-in-hand.
Old women push walkers

over the lumpy earth
beside middle-aged daughters
pleased to have given Mom
her springtime outing.

A young mother poses her little girl
in a storybook of princess pink.
The dark-skinned family are chocolate sprinkles
against a confection of yellow.

All the while photographers
tap smart phones and tablets
focus and click pocket-sized digitals
the serious weighted down

with tripods and equipment
peer through their blunt snouts of lenses
into cups and bowls, take with them
images of undersides and private rooms.

In April the fields of La Conner
are awash, a-drift, a-wonder
with spring’s one month miracle—
the resurrection of tulips!

© 2013 by Violet Nesdoly

***************
This week hubby and I took a mid-week break to go across the line and visit La Conner, Washington, part of the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival. What a thrill for this camera-toting flower-lover.

The collage contains a tiny sample of my photos. (In the days ahead, I’ll be sharing more at my photoblog, promptings 2).

The poem above is so new the ink is still wet on it, which means it is very much a first draft, but I feel like sharing the enjoyment during tulip season. The Skagit Valley Tulip Festival continues to the end of April.

This poem is part of Poetry Friday, hosted today by Laura Salas at Writing the World for Kids.

Loveliest of Trellis, the Chervonets Now

Loveliest of Trellis, the Chervonets Now

Loveliest of trellis the chervonets now
Is hung with blooper along the boulder
And stands about the woolpack ridicule
Wearing whitleather for easting.

Now of my thresher yeast and tenancy
Twig will not come again.
And take from severalty springer a scorpion
It only leaves me figment more.

And since to look at thinker in blooper
Figment springer are little root
About the woolpack I will go
to see the chervonets hung with snuggery.

V. Nesdoly

My huge apologies to A. E. Housman, who wrote the original

(which I present to you now, along with a tree to match):

Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

A. E. Housman

************
National Poetry month made me do it—make a travesty of Mr. Housman’s lovely poem. Actually, it was inspired by the April 10th prompt on the Poets & Writers site:

Write a poem using the N+7 form, conceived of by the French poets of the Oulipo movement. Choose a text and replace each noun in that text with the noun occurring seven entries below it in your dictionary. Next, try the exercise with one of your own poems.

What is the Oulipo movement? According to Wikipedia, Oulipo was short for a French phrase roughly translated “Workshop of potential literature.” The movement consisted of a group of French-speaking writers and mathematicians who sought to create literary works using constrained writing techniques.

Some other Oulipo constraints:

Snowball
A poem in which each line is a single word, and each successive word is one letter longer.

Lipogram
Writing that excludes one or more letters. The previous sentence is a lipogram in B, F, H, J, K, Q, V, Y, and Z (it does not contain any of those letters).

Prisoner’s constraint, also called Macao constraint
A type of lipogram that omits letters with ascenders and descenders (b, d, f, g, h, j, k, l, p, q, t, and y).

Palindromes
Sonnets and other poems constructed using palindromic techniques.

Univocalism
A poem using only one vowel, although the vowel may be used in any of its aural forms. For example, “born” and “cot” could both be used in a univocalism, but “sue” and “beau” could not.

This post is submitted to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem where you will find a  wealth of wonderful, proper, and no doubt some more silly poems too.

Adolescent spring

Spring is truly on its way where I live—something that makes poem-writing in April a lot easier. This is one of my poem-a-day efforts from this week along with the scene that inspired it.

This post is submitted to Poetry Friday, hosted this week by  Diane Mayr at Random Noodling.

Blooming

Tansy buds

Some poems write themselves
with the ease of flowers
opening in time-lapse photography.

Others leave me in a litter
of scribbled pages, green petals
ripped from a hard bud.

© 2013 by Violet Nesdoly

********************

Are you doing a poem-a-day writing challenge during April (in honor of National Poetry Month)? I am, though I don’t have the courage to post my efforts early in the process.

Yesterday the idea I got from one of my prompt sources was irresistible but when I started writing, nothing came together. Hours later I had only a 3 stanza piece typed into my computer ending with a note to myself: “This doesn’t feel finished” along with a stack of scribbled and crossed-out false starts.

Or maybe they aren’t false starts. Maybe, as the ditty above (that came to me this morning with complete ease) would suggest, the poem I was trying to write needs a little time to ripen and those attempts were its way of telling me that.

This poem is submitted to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge.

Betrayer

Judas – Artist unknown

Betrayer

I never fit with the eleven.
Fishermen, tax collector, even the Carpenter
lack my calculating mind.

Obviously now a push is needed
to make Him show Himself
for who He is.

The others will thank me
from their places by the throne
even the J. brothers—

getting their mother
to ask for left and right!
—how laughable.

Heavy bag
will soon be heavier still
this night

I alone have courage
to take their destinies
into my hands.

© 2013 by Violet Nesdoly

***************
Today is Good Friday, the day Christians all over the world commemorate the death of Christ. The story includes one of Jesus’ disciples—Judas— betraying Him to the Romans with a kiss in exchange for 30 pieces of silver from the chief priests and scribes.

The Bible gives us this chilling explanation of why he did this: “Then Satan entered Judas…” (Luke 22:3).  How he rationalized his actions and what  he hoped he would get out of it is not told us. “Betrayal” is one scenario I’ve imagined.

This poem is part of Poetry Friday, hosted today by Mary Lee Hahn at A Year of Reading

Houston Trail – Langley BC

“…branches arc…”

Peacock ferns, prehistoric, lush
draw us into the dim, cedar-canopied wood.
Uprooted trunks sprawl, branches arc,
snapped limbs leap in frozen pirouettes.
Slim apparitions forever grope, reach, grasp
a menagerie of many-appendaged moon monsters
sculpted from dripping filigree
and moss macramé.

Victim of the spell
in Mother’s warning:
“If you frown like that
your face will stay that way,”
the forest’s pose is fixed.
But time has softened the arboreal grimace
muffled the keening of the wind
with hangings of verdant chenille,
knitted blankets, sweaters,
hats and gloves of lime angora
for the slumbering
arms, stumps and claws.

© 2004 – Violet Nesdoly

“…apparitions forever grope, reach, grasp…”

********************

I live near rainforest. Some of my favorite walks are through woods beside the Fraser River. I’ll never forget the first time I walked the Houston Trail—a loop walk through the most mossy woods I’ve ever seen. It looked like a forest minefield draped in green. The poem above is my memory of that walk.

On Sunday I walked another trail near that one and again moss was everywhere. I wrote the poem some years ago. I took the photos on Sunday.

This poem is part of Poetry Friday, hosted today by Greg at GottaBook

Chopped–March Madness Edition

The week ahead will see the first rounds of the March Madness 2013 Poetry Showdown at Ed Decaria’s blog Think Kid Think.

The format of March Madness competition, with each poet given a surprise ingredient (word) to inspire and use in their poem, reminded me of the Food Network show Chopped.

In Chopped the contestants are presented with a basket of odd ingredients which they must use in preparing their appetizer, entree or dessert. The rounds are timed and when the time is up the judges taste each contestant’s offering and offer compliments or criticism. With the contestants out of the room the judges decide on the most unsuccessful dish. Then the contestants re-enter the studio, stand before the judges, and the show’s host lifts the cover of the losing plate of food. The contestant who prepared that dish is chopped and leaves the competition.

Now imagine you’re one of the March Madness competitors in a segment of Chopped:

Chopped–March Madness Edition

I’ve opened my basket
pulled out what’s inside.
Oh, what can be done
with a bag of riptide?

I’ve scratched and I’ve scribbled
diced sauteed and whipped
those rhymes and those rhythms
till tide is well lipped.

I’ve plated it nicely
in stanzas and lines
garnished with a title
it’s looking divine.

Just in time I am done.
Three, two, one–I must stop.
Now it’s on to the judges
for who lands on top.

I watch as the connoisseurs
sample my dish.
One says, “This is buttery
sweet and delish.”

Another judge grimaces
“I say, I wish
it wasn’t half raw
and tasting like fish.

The rhyme scheme is off
I feel grits when I swish
the words in my mouth
and they come out mash-mish.”

They sample the others
are equally tough
I do hope my buttery
riptide‘s enough!

We stand for the verdict
the cover is popped
on my darling riptide.
I have been chopped.

© 2013 Violet Nesdoly

***********
This post is part of Poetry Friday, hosted today by Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe

Tabitha

Dorcas (Tabitha) – Artist Unknown

TABITHA

While others haggled over meat and fish
I caressed bolts of nubby linen
examined weave of wool
marveled at the rich lightness of silk.

When I became disciple
love of finery and fabric
was all I had to give
the Risen Wearer of the unseamed cloak.
Then I forsook my search
for that embroidered purple robe
which would proclaim “Gazelle.”
Instead stitched love for Him
into the tunics of orphaned lambs,
pieced sad raw sackcloth mantles
for widowed wives,
decorated girdles to flatteringly fit
more hopeful garments.

This day I find myself
(my needle stilled—
I couldn’t move it steady for the chills)
floating above them all
(strange how the drape of fabric
changes with perspective).

What is this place I enter
all so white (the fuller* here
must be exceptional)?
Beings of dazzle walk me arm-in-arm
to where He stands
and then I see what He is holding
in His hands
garment so gleaming white
I cannot look to tell
if it is silk, linen or purest wool.
“Gazelle!” He cries,
and I am held
by warm and welcoming eyes…

“Tabitha! Arise!”

I stare surprised
into amazed and tear-smudged faces
feel the sturdy weight of covers
hear the squeals of children
remember—it seems years ago—the tunic
I put down yesterday,
and know that I again
take up the shuttle
to weave the warp and woof of life
as ever—but not
for I have seen my robe
and looked into His eyes.

© 2007 by Violet Nesdoly

(Based on Acts 9:36-42)

*****************

This week Adele Kenny’s poetry prompt was to write about heaven. After reading it I thought of this poem I wrote some years ago. It was inspired by the story of Tabitha from Acts 9:36-42 in the Bible. Tabitha (who is also known as Dorcas and whose name means gazelle) was an early Christian woman who got sick, died, and was then raised to life by Peter.

I’ve read many accounts of near-death experiences, and I’m sure my imaginings were influenced by those stories in my flight of fancy about how Tabitha spent the time between dying and coming back to life.

(Though written years ago, this poem fits into my current project—poems about women of the Bible.)

This post is part of Poetry Friday, hosted today by Julie Larios at The Drift Record / Julie Larios

“Tabitha” was previously published in my book Family Reunion – 2007, Utmost Christian Writers

* fuller:  The word “full” is from the Anglo-Saxon fullian, meaning “to whiten.” (See complete definition, bottom, under Bible Dictionary definition.)

Leah

“Rachel and Leah” by James Tissot

“…bury me with my fathers…. There they buried Abraham and Sarah…Isaac and Rebekah…and there I buried Leah” – Jacob in Genesis 49:29-31

The morning after Jacob lay with me
even my weak eyes saw his anger.
When I give him a son
he will love me.

Even my weak eyes saw his joy
at the births of Reuben and Simeon
will he finally love me
after Levi, Judah?

At the births of Reuben and Simeon.
Rachel brooded.
After Levi, Judah
she fumed and schemed.

Rachel brooded
bargained for my son’s mandrakes.*
She fumed and schemed
at Zebulun—my sixth!

The bargained-for mandrakes
have produced a son at last.
Zebulun, my sixth
followed by Joseph, Rachel’s first.

Have produced a second son—her last.
She died birthing Benjamin
who followed Joseph, Rachel’s first.
Still Jacob doesn’t love me.

Though she died birthing Benjamin
and I gave him six sons
still Jacob doesn’t love me
though forever now Jacob lies with me.

- Violet Nesdoly – January 2013

*******************

This bittersweet love poem is from a new project I’ve begun: writing poems about the women in the Bible.

You may know the story of Leah. She was the oldest daughter of Laban and sister of Rachel. Rachel was beautiful and Jacob, son of Isaac and Rebekah, fell in love with her, then  worked seven years to earn the right to marry her. But on the wedding night, the girls’ father (Laban) switched Leah (who is described as having “weak eyes”) for Rachel, telling his disappointed son-in-law the next morning that it wasn’t customary to give the younger daughter in marriage before the older one was married. A week later Laban gave Rachel to Jacob as a second wife on the condition Jacob would serve him another seven years. The jealousy and friction in that home are well documented in Genesis.

The voice in the poem is Leah’s from beyond the grave. And maybe she’s wrong. Maybe Jacob did come to love her, seeing that he chose to be buried near to her and not Rachel.

This poem is based loosely on Adele Kenny’s prompt about the old becoming new again. I chose the pantoum form because it literally circles back to the beginning.

(*Mandrakes were thought to be an aphrodisiac. In the story, Leah’s oldest son brought them to his mother, but Rachel persuaded Leah to give them to her in exchange for a night with Jacob.)

This poem is part of Poetry Friday, hosted today by the wonderful Linda at Teacherdance.

fog

penetrates
cold through jackets
bites into boots and gloves
grips bones
greedy for more
breathes on windows
slips under doors

muffles traffic’s roar
with cotton batting
drivers grope
through the tulle
maneuver cautious
past blurred landscapes
strain to see crimson
pinpricks ahead
standards looming
green, yellow, red

weakens under
distant globe
like consciousness
after a coma
colour seeps back
into earth-corpse
a blush
of pastel happiness
to clarity
then the brilliance
of hope
dissipating depression

© 2013 by Violet Nesdoly

***************

We are in the season of fog. Though our winter has been milder than many, we often have day after day of the stuff. I don’t mind fog, though it does have a way of poking shivers through jackets, it’s nasty to drive in, and when it lingers and lingers, I do feel a sort of cabin fever, even outside. What’s wonderful about fog is how suddenly and unexpectedly it can clear… like some other types of weather.

“fog” is part of Poetry Friday, hosted today by the very hospitable (she has tea!) April Halprin Wayland at Teaching Authors.