PAD 2021 – Day 24

Today I used the 30/30 prompt calling for a “Ten Things” poem.

10 things about this morning


There are birds. An entire assembly welcoming the day from the bare lilac bushes outside my bedroom window.

There is sun. Spilling through that window, because some lucky Saturdays it awakens before I do.

There is coffee. No less enjoyed though it’s been made and poured by only me. 

There are dishes. Left drying on a rack after another meal spent with people I’m fortunate to make a home with.

There is a table. Awash in morning light, and shadows cast from the chairs we use to make it a gathering place. 

There are cats. Greeting me with demand, but also affection. Possibly gratitude.

There is a sweater. Once belonging to my mom. Slipped over shoulders that have yet to carry what she did.

There is a message. From a faraway friend offering small but welcome news.

There are seedlings. In need of water and attention. Patient in their want of a whole garden.

There are words. Waiting to be fished from a mysterious stream that reliably flows, even when I’ve wandered far from its banks.
Shadowchair by Me

PAD 2019 – Day 4

Today I combined the Poetic Asides prompt to use an artist’s name as a title, with my local Stroll of Poets prompt to make a “10 Things” poem. I’ve always been inspired by Monet’s art, and especially love the “Camille Monet et un enfant au jardin” painting (image below). As I’ve aged, I have come to see the painting differently than I once did.

10 things about Monet’s “Mother and Child”

 

It’s the flowers I always remember.

The beauty in shades of red, and all the white that suggests an ideal day.

The mother is Monet’s wife, Camille.

No one else appears in his paintings as often as Camille.

The Child is only identified as “Child.”

I imagine the texture of the grass, the feel of Camille’s dress, the softness of the child’s hair.

I wish I knew what book the child looks at.

I see my  own mother in Camille, never attending to just one thing.

I stare at the faces of mother and child, obscured in indistinct brushstrokes.

I wonder why it’s the flowers I always remember.