Wednesday, June 22, 2011


I haven't been writing much for my personal blog lately - mostly because I've been spending 8 hours a day reading and writing as a participant in the Upstate Writing Project.

So far I've written lots and lots of poems, started a mystery, drafted a professional piece (crossing my fingers to get chosen to submit for publication!), called my Nana to get stories from her life for a narrative poetry book (a la Out of the Dust - but happier), outlined a trickster tale, and collected snippets for about 186 ideas for various stories.

I am a writing fool.

Okay, mostly a fool.

Last Friday we went on a field trip to Flat Rock, North Carolina to visit Connemara - Carl Sandburg's Estate. Everyone else was writing poems about leaves and flowers and trees.

Being the stubborn individual I am, I was determined to find inspiration in a different place.

Here's what I came up with:


Dirt –

The carpet showcase of the forest floor

Where seeds snuggle into squares

Of burnt sienna berber

And sandy plush pile

Cushions the hooves of baby deer

Taking their first fumbling steps.

Leaves don’t mind falling headfirst

Into this cozy cinnamon carpet

A lovely place to nap

In the dappled rays of the autumn sun.

Tufts of tawny espresso give energy to

The swiping paw of the black bear,

The swishing tail of the rust red fox,

The busy bustlings of red ant architects.

Finer than any Persian rug

Is the mahogany topsoil that comforts a fallen oak

Providing a peaceful place

For proud old limbs to be put to rest.

Dark black loam cradles

Blushing pink earthworms

That weave a complex pattern

From decaying ground,

Transforming old life into new.


  1. I had a dream that I was writing all my emails in iambic pentameter (which I'd be hard pressed to actually figure out now that I'm awake), and then someone got mad because I screwed up the last line. So that's my poetry story. Yours is better.

  2. beautiful, jilly jogs! calling you SOON!