clouds snowy bright ride
across skies seldom bluer
beneath petals preen
— ava wood
VF photos from opening day (May 31, 2015) of the Mellichamp Native Terrace, a new part of UNC Charlotte’s Botanical Gardens that displays native plants in a home landscape.
Me, dad, mom and sis
found, on road to Outer Banks,
vaults of inner bliss.
— ava wood
Witness God’s green work
Entrust your seed to the earth
Bloom, bloom, blossom burst
— ava wood
of all things to give
among the most cherished gift
is simply a chance
— ava wood
A cascade of gifts has, lately, refreshed me. The most generous of gestures from distant and nearby sources have rushed my heart and whirled inspiration, hinting the end of an exorbitantly long parched season.
I’ll likely share more about these experiences over the coming weeks, but here’s a splash of delight from just yesterday. My friend Manoj passed along something a friend shared with him—a poem! A good poem never ceases giving and, veritably, can replenish at a speed few things do. By Alberto Rios, Arizona’s first ever Poet Laureate, this one ripples and flows to my spring.
We give because someone gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.
We give because giving has changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.
We have been better for it,
We have been wounded by it—
Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,
Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.
Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,
But we read this book, anyway, over and again:
Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,
Mine to yours, yours to mine.
You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.
Together we are simple green. You gave me
What you did not have, and I gave you
What I had to give—together, we made
Something greater from the difference.
Alberto Ríos
℘
Sharing this again in celebration of National Poetry Month.
Never feels quite right
Too long bundled and uptight,
like a Nubian entombed or plainest Mennonite.
Tension risen, watch the bite
Mind churning, so burst it might.
Eternal tunnel absent a whisper of light
Sun conceded to perpetual night.
Well-plumbed valleys, nary a heavenly height
Nearly convinced no mercy in sight
Then, I write.
— ava wood
There she goes again. And why not, it’s National Poetry Month!
May I call you friend?
You’ve earned a name sweeter than,
dearer than weekend.
— Ava Wood
National Poetry Month draws out my poetical alter ego every time.
WRITE ON Q! A poem from Giving Back, as National Poetry Month continues!
Gave away my soul.
Giving back to get it back.
Given what I know.
— Ava Wood
No time today to pen a new poem, so I’ve recycled this haiku from Giving Back that I post here at least once a year.
Wishing you sweet sonnets, heavenly haiku, cozy couplets and such during National Poetry Writing Month!
valaida 