Monthly Archives: September 2011

A poem is

A poem is


15-minute stretch session
that turns into an hour-long workout

daily dose of Vitamin B Complex
empowering, strengthening, energizing

word binge of connotation, alliteration, rhyme
rich helpings of similes and metaphors

catharsis, mind-cleanse, purge
veiled in enigma to say the unsayable

one more cipher
on the cell-wall of life


gift bag bouffant with tissue
hiding surprise, humor, delight

jewelry-box dancer
twirling clear tones

rainbow-ribbon gymnast
dazzling with mental agility and color

ponderous backpack
of awakened implication, guilt, responsibility

birdsong celebration
of the ordinary but magnificent

© 2009 by Violet Nesdoly


I really enjoyed Angela Alaimo O’Donnell’s second “What is Poetry” essay on the Tweetspeak blog last week. In it she talks about writing poetry herself and how that process contains a consciousness of the reader.

Her piece reminded me of “A poem is” that I wrote in 2009. In it I tried to express my relationship with poetry, first as a writer of poems, and then as a reader of the poems of others.

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Posted by on September 27, 2011 in Personal, Writing


B.C. Children’s Hospital

B.C. Children’s Hospital

plants pale as the kids
in blue gowns
I.V. poles
too empathetic or sad
to bloom loud and bright.

Cut-out words
on the dividers
pastel hopes:
but most of all LIVE.

© 2011 by Violet Nesdoly (all rights reserved)

Posted by on September 20, 2011 in People, Shadorma


False Ceiling

False Ceiling

The brightening sky
is the color of watermelon
close to the rind.
Clouds smile
soft but radiant
at the rising sun.
Later crocuses
offer the brilliant day
handfuls of unfurled bouquet
while snowdrops
white and pure
bow demure
in sweet deference.

No evidence in the pastel ether
of sovereignty or sphere
vying for control
of dark spirits
battling holy hosts
of Michael or Gabriel
challenged by the diabolical princes
of northern fiefdoms.

but the heavenly army
has an earth force
invisible but deadly missiles
rise flare
intercessions prayer
fired by saints
not lulled or forgetful
under the false ceiling.

© 2007 by V. Nesdoly

Posted by on September 13, 2011 in Religious


What They Wore

What they wore

Magnolia’s wedding gown
was French satin
with a veil of lacy
water parsnip.

The Rose sisters
classic suits were tailored
pink jersey.

Aliums chose
ruffled sundresses
of yellow lawn.

was crisp and cool
in blue seersucker.

But the Pansies
in their elegant but flirty
little black satins
stole the show.

By Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

Posted by on September 6, 2011 in Light, Nature


Seasonal Junction

Seasonal Junction

The shouts of the kids from the pool
and the smell of chlorine alternate
with the smack of a kicked soccer ball
and the prairie-wheat fragrance of grass
on a breeze that blows summer-to-fall
like the warm-to-cool currents that pass
over swimmers in blue summer lakes.

© 2004 by Violet Nesdoly (all rights reserved)


Today is the beginning of Labor Day Weekend in Canada, the junction weekend that signals the end of summer and the beginning of fall. The park near where we used to live had a swimming pool where my kids took lessons in the summer, played baseball in spring, and soccer in fall and winter. I spent many hours in that park. This poem grew out of one Labor Day Weekend experience when the pool was open for its last day, though the soccer balls had begun to fly.


This poem is linked to Poetry Friday—a collection of poetry and poetry-related links. This week Poetry Friday is hosted by Miss Rumphius Effect.

Poetry Friday is part of Kitlitosphere—a multitude of bloggers who are part of the world of children’s literature.


Posted by on September 2, 2011 in Personal