Today, Poetry Friday is hosted Downunder at Kat at Kathryn Apel.   And she's shares her interesting pets.

This week I received this gorgeous painting and poem from Mary Iphigene. 
Do you know her work? She's an incredible artist and poet. 
And from the sounds of it life has been particularly challenging in the Philippines.
I love how she used mourning/morning in her poem.
I also love 'crows feet/gathering'.
Thank you for this treasure, Mary.

This is my response to Mary's poem.  I used the phrase "Waking Up to Sunlight" for a sort of Golden Shovel (added an extra line).
Waking Up to Sunlight
Dream clouds fade with songbirds waking
me. The dog jumps up
tail wagging, nose nudging me to
rise and greet the morning sunlight.
This is joy.

©jone rush macculloch(2021, draft)

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