dogwood trees are in bloom
petals, bright, chase the gloom
though stormy clouds may loom, life is good
~kat
Florescence Day 20 for Jane Dougherty’s Daily Poetry Challenge. Today a look up the street of my neighborhood…at the dogwood blooming. My favorite tree along with the Magnolia. Have a happy Friday everyone!
billowing swells due west
mean rain, or so you’d guess,
wise weather seers confess not knowing
~kat
For Jane Dougherty’s Daily Florescence Poetry Challenge Day 19.
well, they’ve all gone to seed,
their balding heads, puff freed,
far from dandy, indeed, blown to hell
~kat
Florescence Day 18 for Jane Dougherty’s Poem a Day Challenge. The dandelions are so pretty…until they are not. Beauty is fleeting, indeed. 😉
Indian Princess
grandma
told me stories
of generations past
and my great great great grandmother
Princess
born of the Blackfoot tribe, but then
ancestry-dot-com and
my dna
cried myth
I wonder how many other little girls grew up listening to family tales of Native American royal lineage? Even after I grew up and realized that I wasn’t a real “princess”, as my grandma used to call me, I still believed in my many-great, princess grandmother. That is, until a thorough search on ancestry.com revealed the truth.
In fact, there was no Native American streak to be found in the strands of our DNA. Not a drop. The stories of my Indian Princess great, great…great was no more than a fantasy, like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy. To soften the blow, I did discover a few notable people in my family tree. Saints, sinners, pilgrims, soldiers, writers, and philanthropists. Given who I am and who they were, where I come from, and who I come from, actually makes more sense to me now.
But there are still nights when the fireflies are legion, the smell of smoke from fire-pits is wafting through the neighborhood, and the low, droning click of cricket song hums from the misty hollows of the hedgerow. On those nights I remember my grandma Mary’s stories and I think about my great, great, great Blackfoot grandmother, who never was, and I miss her.
~kat
And there goes a Butterfly…Cinquain, that is, for NaPoWriMo 2018 – Day 17 Prompt: write a poem re-telling a family anecdote that has stuck with you over time.
no u-turn, stop, one way,
red danger on display,
gridlocked traffic, delay, rows to hoe
~kat
Florescence Day 17 for Jane Dougherty. Stuck at a traffic light this morning. I don’t even remember getting here. I suspect it may be that the rut I wear out every day is so deep, I’ve stopped noticing the scenery. Crazy, mind-numbing routine. Did I mention it’s freezing and cloudy? There’s that too. 😉
