Spring has sprung!
Here in Florida, the azaleas are in full bloom and our wreath nest has been occupied 24/7 by a mama house finch and some tiny blue eggs.
It's been a perfect month for
Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's DMC challenge:
Small as a Chickadee:
Write a poem about something small, an animal or object you see every day and do not usually give much thought.
As usual, I'm gobsmacked by the wealth of poetry that found its way into my inbox! One of the aspects I enjoy most about DMC challenges is weaving these poems into a final presentation. I strive to find a sense of movement that connects one poem to the next, but until I put all the poems together and juggle them around a bit, I rarely know where that flow will take me.
This month we were fortunate to get a number of illustrated poems, so it's an especially colorful stream! It begins with the world of plants, moves on to animals, then to objects in our home and classroom, and finally, we end up back in nature with poems inspired by the waves and sands of time. Although I often add my own titles to narrate readers through the collection, today I decided to let the flow speak for itself. I hope you enjoy the journey!
Thank you to everyone who contributed a poem this month, and especially to Amy for bringing out the best in us.
All poems are copyright 2016 and published with permission of the authors, who control all rights.
showy white blossoms
dazzle the night gardener
tender moonflower
– Cynthia Grady
Sweet, tart, tangy juice,
Regal sphere of indigo,
Nutritional star.
– Kathleen Mazurowski
WILDFLOWER
by Robyn Campbell
Squatter, immigrant
intruder
in a sea of gray and
grit
grows
through the crack
hero, stunner
heart-stopping
dazzle
no small thing
anymore.
LITTLES DANCE
by Brenda Davis Harsham
Form a circle like a tree grove,
lean to the right, lean to the left,
and wake to spring’s song!
Zip and zoom around the room;
feel your spirits bloom!
Back to where you started and
wiggle, push away old leaves,
and stretch like new trees.
Turn toward the center,
tilt your face up to the sun.
Shake, bounce, have some fun.
Climb hands up high
like green shoots growing.
Bend forward and
droop like snowbells,
cup your hands into petals.
Now, pop up like crocuses,
hold hands closed high,
then drop hands outwards,
like petals unfurling.
Spin three times and
form arms into a circle,
sway like daffodils —
doing the littles dance.
LICHEN
by Susannah Buhrman-Deever
Somber blossoms,
patiently,
inexorably,
return stone
to earth
CYPRESS MULCH
by Mindy Gars Dolandis
You might have existed for hundreds of years
A conifer, giant and regal
Pneumatophores reaching up out of the swamp
Your tree top for raptors and eagles
You might have become a carefully crafted
Cabinet, fence post or door
But your destiny took you from bog to buzz saw
To chipper to packer to store
Now you live in my garden protecting the soil
In a pile beneath the plants
As small as a finger you still provide shelter
For lizards and spiders and ants
While adding dimension and water retention
For bushes with floral bouquets
You’re a small but integral part of the landscape
Until the wind blows you away
SUMMERTIME HOCUS-POCUS
by LeeAnn Blankenship
Shining signals in the night
Kissing darkness with their light -
First I see them, then they're gone:
Firefly magic on my lawn.
MOSQUITO
by Kate O’Neil
This mosquito wants blood.
She wants mine.
Nothing will stop her.
She is everywhere.
So is her whine!
Nyeeeeeee-eeen.
I can’t believe her impudence,
audacious pest.
She’s driving me crazy.
I’m flapping about
like someone possessed.
Aha. She’s landed on my arm.
She looks so fine
on her filament legs,
but won’t fool me.
I know her design.
Carefully I take my aim.
Now take that.
I deal her a slap
then lift my hand.
Where’s the splat?
Nyeeeeeee-eeen.
LOVE SONG
by Michelle Heidenrich Barnes
In the sizzle of summer
a cicada emerges
from seventeen years
underground.
Patience worn thin,
he unzips his skin
wriggles and stretches
and clickity buzzes
to capture the heart
of a pretty young thing
gossiping in the treetops.
Patience worn thin,
the seduction begins
chit-chit-chIT-chIT-CHIT-CHIT-CHIT
he sets the summer on fire.
GARDEN SNAIL
by Angelique Pacheco
Small little garden snail,
what do you see?
I see the grass tickling me.
Small little garden snail,
what do you see?
I see the daisies smiling at me.
Small little garden snail,
what do you see?
I see the daisies eaten by me.
Small little garden snail,
what do you see?
I see the madam frowning at me!
ANTS
by Janie Lazo
Oh tiny mound of sandy earth
How did you come to be?
Each single grain - a curious birth
This work, I did not see.
But greater still the mystery
what goes on below?
A maze of grains placed gingerly
By workers strong and slow.
Success by pure resilience
These workers carry on.
Ants crafts their homes with brilliance,
Hard work from dawn to dawn.
In single file they march along
Their tasks they must fulfill.
I wonder if they sing a song
When working on that hill!
EARTHWORM'S RAIN SONG
by Mary Lee Hahn
My tunnel wasn't flooded
as you used to think was true.
Your sidewalk's now my highway --
step aside, I'm wriggling through!
I'm on my way to somewhere else
with roots and leaves to chew.
I'm helpful, don't you realize --
rich soil is earthworm poo!
Dear Spring Peeper,
Some mistake you for a cricket. Does that bother you?
If I didn't live in the eastern USA, I might not know of you.
If they'd listen very close to you,
you sing your name aloud, "Spp-rring Peeep, Spp-rring Peeep."
Many of you sing at once it sounds like quite a crowd.
I know that you're a little nighttime frog, who sings to find a mate.
When I hear your call before I sleep it reminds me of the date.
I silently sing along with your high-pitched whistle-like sound.
It soothes me how you repeat yourself and I feel on solid ground.
I'm also glad that you eat bugs.
I don't like bugs very much.
Bugs pester me when I play, bite or sting and such.
Sincerely,
Loves-Spring Wintersgone
– Leane Gill
hopefull
in between the greening
branches of a tree
an empty nest is nestled,
waiting there to see
if again this season
someone small may light,
line it full of fluff
and hope for future flight
– Heidi Mordhorst
NEST
by Jane Yolen
Hidden on the top
of the green shade,
made of twigs
and shadows,
smaller than any
of my fingers,
lingers the tiny nest.
Best I not open
the window,
or let the shade down,
or that smudge,
nudged by a breeze
will be squeezed out of
sanctuary.
Egg-laden, unwary,
it will slide down
onto the deck, unheard:
a wreckage
of unborn birds.
APAPANE
by Joy Acey
The apapane sits
in the ohi'a tree.
He flies so quickly,
he's hard to see.
Red and black feathers
whir to the beat
as he pauses
for nectar to eat.
He loves to sing
all day long.
Can you can hear,
his lilting song?
SPARROW
by Elizabeth Steinglass
small, brown bird
no cap, no crest
no scarlet streak
across his breast
small, brown bird
ho-humly dressed,
but always near,
so loved the best
BIRD NOTES
by Rosi Hollinbeck
Black birds settle on telephone wires
like notes on a musical stave.
They shift and flutter and what transpires
is a magical bird conclave.
My fingers dance on ivory keys
playing music bird by bird.
As they stir, I play new melodies
as sweet as I’ve ever heard.
Listen to "Birds on the Wires" by Jarbas Agnelli.
PAWS
by Damon Dean
First,
tap-tap-tap-tap-tap
on morning’s bedroom floor,
impatience played
between long stretches, yawns.
Then
scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch,
the tugs at bedside covers
pull my sheets,
beg for me to peek
—at least one eye—
to see a wide-eyed plea.
Next
rat-tat-tat-tat-tat
claws celebrate surrender.
Though reluctant,
I arise and stumble to the backyard door
in early-dark,
accompanied by staccato joy.
A caesura, fermata—a pause.
Then,
my slow wake,
my long-drawn-out capitulated yawn
breaks short at
sudden rhythms,
scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape,
wood-scarring pleads
upon the door.
I let them in,
all four percussion-gifted paws.
My day begins
with music
to my
ears.
DOGGIE HAIR
by Karen Eastlund
Doggie hair
Is everywhere
From socks to jeans
From beds to beans
It hugs, it clings
It mutates things
I’m sick of hair!
Wanna share?
THE LONELY WASTEBASKET
by Linda Baie
A woeful wire wastebasket
sits lonely by my desk,
dejected and rejected.
Waiting for work.
Crumpled scraps of abandoned words
find home with another group nearby.
In the kitchen,
a charming red metal can
holds a colorful collage of trash,
ripe for making assorted acquaintances.
“PIG”
by Catherine Flynn
A ceramic pig
sits in a shiny
green wash tub,
his ears and nose
the pale pink
of a winter sunrise.
Like Wilbur
as he licked
the buttermilk
trickling
into his mouth,
a blissful smile
spreads across his face.
THE PIE BIRD
by Catherine Flynn
No squawks or caws
from this blackbird,
nestled in a puddle
of fruit and spice.
But the swirls of steam
escaping the “o”
of his yellow mouth
send out the signal
loud and clear:
Pie is ready!
Deliciousness awaits!
SPOONS IN THE DRAWER
by Kristi Dee Veitenheimer
From scooping ice cream
To plunging it in my mouth,
Savoring the sweet coldness.
From digging damp soil
To throwing it in my pail,
Building rivers and highways.
WHAT YOU CAN USE
by Tabatha Yeatts
She tucks the stack of
small, clear cups into my hand,
along with a packet of saltines
and fun-sized M&Ms.
Can you use these? she asks.
Sure, Granny, I say,
leaning over to kiss
her soft, cushiony cheek.
She used to peel tomatoes
before she sliced them
when she had a kitchen of her own.
It shows how much you love
the folks you're feeding
when you take the skin off, she said.
There's no counter here,
no knives, no tomatoes from the garden,
but there are meals,
regular-like-clockwork meals,
which come with a steady stream
of pill-holding cups she saves
to give.
It's been years
since she passed them to me,
but I keep using the little plastic cups
'til they break.
This morning as I tilted a bottle
to pour medicine for my son,
I thought,
yes, Gran,
I can use your gifts.
 |
| – cbhanek |
 |
| – Michelle Kogan |
UNPRETENTIOUS PENCIL
by Michelle Kogan
Pencils peering out
waiting patiently for
their purpose, or a
person’s poppycock to
not so pleasingly pour
out… But wait there’s more,
those indescribable
words winding off their points,
even poppycock might
please an unpretentious
pencil. And still more…
The sketch that dances off
the tip, sends the tool
into a tizzy for
an eternity, till…
Exhausted, pencil
rests, catches breath, and waits
again patiently,
with fellow pencils to
be discovered once more…
She gave me a rock,
a smooth small stone
on which she wrote a quote
from a book about a boy who was bullied.
If you have a choice
of being right or being kind,
be kind.
Thirteen words to turn
my attention everyday
to the world
of choices, that choice
within myself to be kind.
I take her small kindness
into my hand and wonder
about the river bank
the stone lived in before,
a place where violent waves
smoothed rock.
I wonder
about the larger truth:
Can violence smooth out
the edges and leave behind
kind?
– Margaret Simon
A GRAIN OF SAND
by Vivian Kirkfield
Warm wet sand
molds my toes.
I listen to the melody of the beach:
waves lapping,
seagulls flapping,
far-off ships calling to each other
like long-lost friends.
My feet, sunk in a million grains of sand,
don’t want to leave their safe haven.
Yet home beckons.
I lift my feet,
brush them off,
slip into my shoes,
and walk away.
Soon I am limping.
How is it that a million grains of sand
feel like heaven,
but only one hurts like hell?
BURIED TREASURE
by Buffy Silverman
Nestled among stones
beach glass sparkles,
telling a tale of sand, waves,
sand, waves,
sand, waves,
until it settled here
waiting for eager fingers
and a pocket-ride home.
MEASURING TIME
by Maria Marshall
Pulled apart, we each drift and shift down
through the opening back to the ground.
Slowly slipping, counting out eternity,
we gather together in uniformity.
Individuals, separately small,
together we have the wherewithal,
to delineate time, measure your moments,
count down your life, or increase your focus.
We don't need any gears, springs, or hands,
we stand ready, awaiting your command,
to always and accurately amass -
We are the sands in the hourglass.
LITTLE(R) THINGS
by Matt Forrest Esenwine
Atoms, photons, quarks, bosons
have baffled many a scholar;
the more we see, the more we learn
there’s always something smaller.
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NIGHT AND DAY
by Alayne Kay Christian
As the morning light steals the night
A new day is on the horizon
I am drawn to the eastern sky
In complete silence
The bright morning star calls to me
I am one with the Universe
Of this I am never more certain than
Somewhere between night and day
Inspired to write one of your own?
You have until Thursday, March 31st (5:00 pm ET), to send your poem about a small thing to TodaysLittleDitty (at) gmail (dot) com, or use the contact form in the sidebar to the right.
Participants in this month's challenge will automatically be entered to win a personalized copy of EVERY DAY BIRDS, by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater and illustrated by Dylan Metrano (Orchard/Scholastic, 2016).
One entry per participant, not per poem.
Alternatively, you may enter the giveaway by commenting below. Comments must also be received no later than 5:00 pm ET on Thursday, March 31st. If you contribute a poem and comment below, you will receive two entries in total.
The winner will be determined by Random.org and announced next Friday, April 1st, when we reveal our new Spotlight ON interview and ditty challenge. Good luck!
Heidi Mordhorst is celebrating small things, big things, and all sorts of things at this week's Poetry Friday roundup! Join her at
my juicy little universe.
