Welcome to Poetry Friday.  We are so close to half way through the year.  Does anyone know how to slow down time? This week Buffy at Buffy Silverman is sharing observations and thoughts about spring time.  I love her photos and what she has cerated with the word 'time'.

Summer means swapping poetry with others.  This past week, I had poetry mail from Tabatha. She has a teaser in her post for Mary Lee a couple weeks ago. Blessings. They are rather fun to write.  This blessing from Tabatha speaks to anyone cultivating words. Yesterday I started collecting the poems that have lived on my blogs since 2006 and it indeed felt like I was a standing in a poem garden,

A blessing for those who cultivate words
by Tabatha Yeatts 
for Jone
 
May the sun find your seeds 
and rain settle on your sprouts 
and may you pick the weeds
of distraction and fear 
from around your precious seedlings.
 
May you invite birds to sing 
on your branches, bees to 
circle your blossoms, and 
praying mantises to stoutly 
guard your growth.
 
May your fingers be nimble
as you stand before rows of bushes,
ripe with the fruit of your imagination.
 
May your feet tread 
gently but firmly as you walk 
the dirt paths between these overflowing bushes,
​holding your words in your hands, 
your pockets, and cradled 
in the bottom of your shirt.
 
May you find the few you need
on the sparse bush that holds words
for hard times, for times when silence
and togetherness
are most necessary.
 
May you stand before 
the one you never 
thought would bear fruit 
and feel the joyous
bewilderment 
of seeing more than you can hold.

My response:
seeds of sprouts
nimble with imagination-
your blossoms

walk dirty paths
hold words in silence
feel joyous

~jone rush macculloch, 2021 draft

Welcome to Poetry Friday.  It is being hosted by Carol at Carol's Corner.  She's introducing us to poet, Jeannette Encinias.  
I was clearing out an old computer and discovered the following poem.  I am not exactly sure of the date it was written but I suspect in 2008 or 2009. I don't really remember writing it. I decided to revise it for sharing today.
​UPDATE:  Apparently the original poem was in this post in 2010.

Just Two Kids
just two kids, sister and brother
who played hide n’ seek
as we rambled down the street
me afraid of quicksand, you collected blue bellied lizards.

played hide n’ seek
until dusk’s blanket hid us all
me afraid of quicksand, you collected blue bellied lizards
I escaped inside a book while you looked through a telescope

 until dusk’s blanket hid us all
nightly routines: dishes, homework, practice the violin
I escaped inside a book while you looked through a telescope
parents sat at the kitchen table, drinks in hand
​
nightly routines: dishes, homework, practice the violin
television droned on and on, with the body counts
parents sat at the kitchen table, drinks in hand
I plotted my escape to college

television droned on and on, with the body counts
as we rambled down the street
I plotted my escape to college
just two kids, sister and brother

©jone rush macculloch, draft 2008, 2009?

Just Two Kids

just two kids, sister and brother
who played hide n’ seek and rambled down the street
orange blossoms permeated the air
one afraid of quicksand, the other collected blue bellied lizards.

who played hide n’ seek and rambled down the street
until dusk’s blanket hid us all
one afraid of quicksand, the other collected blue bellied lizards.
one escaped inside a book while the other looked through a telescope

until dusk’s blanket hid us all
nightly routines: dishes, homework, practice the violin
one escaped inside a book while the other looked through a telescope
parents sat at the kitchen table table , drinks in hand

nightly routines: dishes, homework, practice the violin
television droned on and on, with the body counts
parents sat at the kitchen table, drinks in hand
one plotted an escape to college, the other joined the service

television droned on and on, with the body counts
orange blossoms permeated the air
one plotted an escape to college, the other joined the service
just two kids, sister and brother

©jone rush macculloch, revised-probably still a draft, 2021

Today Margaret at Reflections on the Teche is hosting Poetry Friday.  And we are sharing collaborative posts.I decided to once again participate in SPARK, organized by Amy Souza. ( participated in SPARK 27 with an Inspiration piece and a Response piece).

If you are not familiar with this creative community, please check it out.  For times a year, writers, musicians, and visual artists are invited to participate in a 10-day project round.  As a participant
​you create a new work by using someone’s art, writing or music as inspiration.  And you have work with someone you know if you wish.  

I put the call out to the group of friends and Margaret responded. She sent me today’s poem and I created a mixed media response. I sent Margaret a photo from the California Redwoods and she wrote a poem for it.  She's sharing her response on her blog today.

This is the inspiration from Margaret:
Notes in a Locker
I forgot
    who she wanted to become.
    A note dropped into a locker
     scribbled in cursive,
     curly letters to sign her name.
I forgot
     who she was.
     When notes became soggy
     tissue floating in the river
      buried beneath the flood,
      we climbed out on Easter morning.
I forgot
      who she wanted to be.
      Her blonde Dorothy Hamill haircut
      flirted with the boys
       just wanting to be loved.
I become
     who she is
      daily walking from
      cocoon of sleep
       into full moon rising,
       
​      being fine
      being she
       being me.
 ©Margaret Simon

This was great fun. I will admit to some anxiety of getting it perfect. But I went with my heart and gut. The funny thing is that after reading Margaret’s poem, an image of a red locker came to me.  It surprised me upon re-reading her poem that while it said ‘locker’, the word red was nowhere in the poem. I noted these words in Margaret’s poem:
Locker
Note scribbled in cursive
Floating on the river
Dorothy Hamill haircut (those of us of a certain age had this haircut, “The Wedge”)
Full moon rising
Cocoon
My process for the mixed media was to create some painted papers. I have my great-grandfather’s letters from the Civil War, 1863 in cursive.  I printed them and added paint.  The red frame is from a gardening book. While I didn’t have a magazine photo of Dorothy Hamill, I was able to find an image and hide it in the painted papers.