Blooms Out of Every Tempest

not-quite Journaling, 53

a silver lining
blooms out of every tempest
in fiery petals

5/8/2023: A few days of rain left most tulips around my place looking… interesting—the first looks like washed-out flames, the second is hiding under a bush, and the third lost half her clothes. Still, they look pretty; reminding me (and you, if you like) that storms can birth wonders.

 

Normal is impractical,
be you.

5/15/2023: Dictionaries define “normal” as (n.) the usual, average, or typical state or condition; and, (adj.) conforming to a standard, or expected. Well, I don’t know about you, but I doubt that “typical” or “conforming” could even begin to describe the glorious mess that is me, myself, and I. So, my peculiar, my weird, my uncanny and I shall keep delighting in the wondrous strangeness of being all of me.

 

nature never errs,
bolted onions speak of need
for fresh yum in soup

5/17/2023: My wee garden is blooming: the cornflowers, the tomatoes… and sadly, the onions—mood swings in temperature have confused this child of the allium, and caused it to bolt. I nipped the bud to pause the process. That particular onion will season my next pot of broth. The others are growing all right, and will be ready for harvesting in a month or three. What’s growing in your bit of our planet?   

P.S. To the one who has been yapping about my so-called “toxic positivity”, I say that a bit of optimism is never a bad thing. On the other hand, finding fault in someone else’s refusal to give into gloom, well, that can choke a soul to death. So, take a breath… and speak something useful.

 

Comfort is coffee, books,
and you.

5/18/2023: If the page had offered the words, this blackout would’ve included cooking, gardening, walks in the woods, conversation with friends, quiet (and not so quiet) time with my Piano Man, laughing until I cry, productive writing sessions, rain baths in summer, spring blooming, Halloween spookiness, petrichor, the taste of food I’ve grown. I could go on and on… Because living can be rough at times, but filled with delightful bits (that help smooth life’s jagged edges).

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #77: The DJ Sucks.

Crohn’s Disease and OCD Walk into a Bar…

all right, that’s a terror
of a joke. Everyone who knows
knows that even the idea of being
in a bar
would make Crohn’s lose its shit,
and push OCD to scream
for a soothing session
of repeated handwashing. 

So, let’s start the joke again,

Crohn’s disease and OCD run, run,
run! into a bathroom. And it’s no joke;
it’s enslaving, draining, unpoetic,
and too often
irritating.

photo by Yosuke Ota, on Unsplash

- for Poet’s and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #76: To-Do Lists (where a ridiculously awesome host, who seems totally incapable of following her own prompt, invites us to take a To-Do List (real or imagined) and turn it into a story or poem.

Blossoming Through Mud

not-quite Journaling, 52

4/22/2023: “[We’ve] got the whole world in [our] hands.” I know I’ve taken liberties with this quote, but it’s the real truth… what we must remember: our Earth depends on us, just like we completely depend on her. 

 

in April, crocus
blossoming brightly through mud—
entombing winter

4/23/2023: One of my favorite bits about April—aside from the departure of winter, the arrival of spring and my birthday—is seeing Nature burst in uplifting metaphor. I love seeing trees (that looked half-dead just days ago) budding with new life. I delight in birds, bees, butterflies and people coming out to enjoy the warming weather. And the best of all, crocuses… unburying themselves out of frigid slush, defying winter, and opening their petals to spring.

 

With work and help
damaged wings can still rise.

4/26/2023: My one-on-one physical therapy has ended. Not because all is well—the range of motion of my left shoulder is about 70%—but because it’s as much as this particular therapy can do for me. Next comes hydrotherapy. I hope it helps as much as the other one; doing my exercises six days a week, for 90 minutes, took me from 10% to 70%. If hydrotherapy takes me at least 25% closer to what my range used to be, I’ll be a happy woman. I’ll do the work, accept the help, and hope I’ll soon be able to raise my arms over my head. 

 

a wee taste
of home, tamarind
on my tongue

4/30/2023: Certain fruits (mango, guava, loquat… tamarind) take me back to warmer days, in the Dominican Republic—the tongue is a powerful conjurer of memories… Today, when NYC is rainy and gloomy, tasting something tropical feels just right.

 

May
the 4^th
be with you,
on World Naked Gardening
Day.

5/4/2023: At the moment, I’m not brave enough to celebrate World Naked Gardening Day in the flesh—the thought of certain of my bits being exposed to dirt, thorns, bees… makes me shudder (and not in a good way). Until I have a nice greenhouse, I shall join the celebration in my head. After that, there shall be naked gardening and Star Wars movie watching (to double the celebratory fun).

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #75: A Character from Myth or Fable.