Today's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1)Write a "problem" poem, and (2) "Try your hand today at writing your own poem about a remembered, cherished landscape. It could be your grandmother’s backyard, your schoolyard basketball court, or a tiny strip of woods near the railroad tracks. At some point in the poem, include language or phrasing that would be unusual in normal, spoken speech – like a rhyme, or syntax that feels old-fashioned or high-toned."
I focused again today on memories of my grandparents' house. I'm not sure if I quite captured the spirit of the NaPoWriMo prompt (I wax "old-fashioned" poetic toward the end - I resisted the urge to use the word "gossamer," though), and I made just a nod toward the Write Better Poetry prompt. But for what it's worth:
of grass out their back door—
to the left, the pink and white roses
she pruned meticulously.
To the right, his garden by the side
of the garage, growing tomatoes
and peppers, red-green rhubarb
and strawberries, the whole plot
edged with marigolds,
because rabbits didn’t like the smell.
He kept the bunnies away,
but she fed the squirrels—
there was one with a limp right ear
she called “Gimpy-ear,” and he
took peanuts right out of her hand.
In the center, a stone birdbath
that the robins and sparrows
would revel in, fluttering wings,
spraying water like a lawn sprinkler.
I spent many summer afternoons
out there, on an Adirondack chair
with a lemonade in hand, any problems
I left back home melting like the ice
in my glass. I would watch
the pines shift in a warm breeze,
and imagined how there must be magic
hidden in those whispering boughs,
how it might come down while we slept,
old-fashioned storybook or poetic magic,
ere Eos painted the morn a sensual red
and birdsong graced the day,
and if I peered out the back window,
I might perchance spy fairies in the birdbath,
translucent wings flashing in the dim,
just before the sun began to show his rim.
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