Pretty Potato in the Wind

The Sunday poetry prompt #348 from Poetic Bloomings is Weather or Not. This prompt feels very timely since I took my flower pictures in the wind this morning. That little purple potato flower did not want to stop dancing to pose for my camera.

Flower-a-day #8

The pages of my sketchbook with all the flowers so far.

And yesterday–the first time one of my closest friends came to this house, and during this summer of record drought and heat–it was so cold and cloudy she put on a sweatshirt that looked like two fuzzy blankets sewn together, and as she went to her car, it was raining. We had a great day, and I am seriously happy about the rain, but really, weather? She didn’t even see the mountain.

The Weather Couldn’t Cooperate

We sat bundled in
my Adirondack chairs
and stared at
the black plume
building behind
the firs.

I had imagined
dives and floats in
the summer sun,
a little brisk, but balanced
by hot tub dips
if or when needed

but the gray, thick clouds
didn’t break, and the breeze
began to bite, smelling heavy.
Like hanging weights in the nostrils, she said.
A cold wind, sharp with electrical fire
is not what I ordered for our visit,

her first visit in
these long-short fifteen years,
but the plums were ripe
and tasty as was the wine, inside
was warm, and the sweet frosting melted
as did the time.

As we said our goodbyes
we were both
delighted by the rain.

Thinking about the smell of beautiful mistakes

Today I spent some time finding new poetry resources and sites to follow. I found a lot of prompts for today, but two stood out and I thought I would combine them (as I like to do) and write a poem.

The first is the Sunday Writing Prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. The prompt is “Beautiful Mistake.”

The second is PROMPT #333 from Poetic Bloomings which is “Sweet Smell of Success.”

photograph of camellias by the NaPoWriMo poster
a beautiful mistake like this sun glare

A Beautiful Mistake Recognizes the Smell of Success

Beauty asks bubbles on a wire to interrupt
the ugly lips in the oven entertaining
a mistake exudes the middle thumb, wondering
while perfection glues pests to lenses on command
Success smells like powdered teeth complaining
that failure belongs as blinking noise