you’ve been here before
i’ve seen you
hiding behind the stones
hands filled with shells
feet covered in sand
laughing with the wind
our shadows danced
two merging into one
a forgotten fish
a billion bubbles blinking
small words made clear
you’ve been here before
i’ve seen you
stay
*24/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.
a glittery speck of sun
winked through lacy trees,
condensing clouds in the backseat.
another world layered on ours—
where cars hover,
and asphalt floats.
as a child, i pressed against the glass
framed in heavy, dark oak.
hours dissolved into the silver coating
whispering to the girl inside.
she wore her hair cropped short,
kept her candy in the open,
and spoke in thunder.
years blurred the glass,
until this afternoon—
loading grocery bags into the van,
the rear window swallowed the sky.
trapped in the glass,
the clouds drifted,
and a familiar shadow smiled.
*12/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.
one time i stood
under a flowering pear tree
in my wild backyard
and thought, this is good.
it was warm
and i’d just finished nursing my baby girl.
she heavy-slept in a sling
on my freckled chest.
her hair was red
and my feet were bare.
one time i stood
on a street in london
in my doc martens
and thought, this is good.
it was warm
and i’d just toured buckingham palace
pretending i belonged.
steaming tea, a double-decker bus.
my dress was red
and my socks were yellow.
one time i stood
all alone
in my choked bedroom—
the air was hot,
the bed unmade—
a shadow stretched
over drifts of laundry
left to fold.
my face was red,
the pen denting my thumb,
and i thought,
is this good?
*5/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.
cars zoom past to anywhere but
here, each carrying someone’s entire
world. bees swarm inside my chest,
heavy and frantic, a hum vibrating
beneath my ribs. only my finger
moves, pressing each letter
into my phone, like sitting
years ago in the sand, pushing
rocks down as far as they would go.
maybe if i press hard enough now
it will reach you. a little gift
from my hand to yours. a single bee
let loose across the distance. do you see
the sun cutting through the leaves
too? does the air taste like honey
there? i need everything to be okay,
for you, for us.
clouds streak white, smudges in pale blue.
buzzing slows to a quiet ache.
i just need to hear you say—
it’s all going to be okay.
one more thread for us.
*2/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.
birthday soon
leaves begin their autumn dress
eager wind rushes to receive
only in dreams, summer remains
—Neil, 2021
As many of you know, my dear friend and fellow blogger, Neil Reid, left us last November. Today would have been his 78th birthday. In honor of his kind heart and beautiful writing, I’d like to share with you two poems that will be in our poetry collection coming out next spring. The first one I wrote in honor of Neil, and the second is a favorite poem of his. He had a way of stringing together many different ideas to make you understand a deep truth. The photo above is of his beloved dragon statue which made it’s way to me. It’s magical, like him.
I miss him so much.
If you have a favorite Neil memory, please share it. Or, if his writing is new to you, read more and let me know what you think.
you are my moose
four legs rooted in soil
stars dancing in dark pupils
sniffing for ripe plums
running from wolves
you hand me threads
wrapped around words
unraveling big pills
not wooden, real live boy
feet kissing earth
you turn toward light
living moss-covered verbs
bowls of ocean water
melt like sugar does
children need sunlight
you wanted Neverland
stories told under willows
hunger turned into warmth
forgetting ancient lost faces
harvest moon dancing
you call me mother
as in honey comb
solid tree branches
bend into dream blossoms
nests, fragile eggs
you remain soft bear
flowing tidal kindness
snuggling soft memories
chocolate cake, closed eyes
embrace salty breath
you return home
tail, fin, gills, scales
shyness turned into galaxies
unafraid of unknown shapes
love is a bucket
we keep filling
forever
—Bridgette
when I can’t quite see you. unclear. obstructed.
cluttered by stray thought. sound but no sight.
although more than an arm’s length away. or,
maybe it’s just smoke. fine bits of something
recently burnt. a particulate suspended mass.
describe smoke
when I called, you came to me. only a few steps
measured away, but it meant you had to get up,
get out of bed. something in the dark looked
awry. my height marked in pencil, ascending
on the doorway jam. yours by a calming hand.
describe mother
she was always there. more than anyone. her.
feeder of stray cats, any cats. hands that held
no threats, not to anyone. a gingham dress.
always. at least my always. memory bigger
than me. mother of mother.
describe Janet
you come from out of the ground. you come
from mountaintops. you come from high and
grey and green and white and dark, clouds we
say. one drop at a time still makes an ocean
to waiting watchful acolytes. thirst. we drink.
describe water
check mark all of the above. a first beginning,
eagerly. tell me all the stars. tell me all the
worlds. tell me about me and about you. I’m
all ears. I’ll bring the old cooking pot.
describe everything
you come from the ground when I call. you answer thirst.
you bake bread. I comb your hair. cat’s asleep on the bed.
you are rolling brown grass hills. my hand knows the curves.
you are a bowl of soup. you are inside when outside is rain.
describe loving
—Neil
You’ll forever be my water, Neil. Happy Birthday.
“If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the imagination is worth a thousand pictures.” —J.E.B. Spredemann
This week’s assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to photograph something meaningful to you. As it’s Christmas Eve, I decided to share some decorations around my house that hold meaning for me and my family.
I hope you enjoy these photos and you have a wonderful holiday.
52 Photo Challenge
Week 1: Bokeh
Week 2: Silhouette
Week 3: Black and White
Week 4: Motion Blur
Week 5: Texture
Week 6: Framing
Week 7: Leading Lines
Week 8: Negative Space
Week 9: Patterns
Week 10: Symmetry
Week 11: Green
Week 12: Sidelight
Week 13: Sense of Scale
Week 14: One Lens
Week 15: Series
Week 16: Flat Lay
Week 17: Behind the Scenes
Week 18: Water
Week 19: Blurry Foreground
Week 20: Unique Perspective
Week 21: Shadow
Week 22: Food
Week 23: Abstract
Week 24: Reflection
Week 25: Contrast Color
Week 26: Think in Threes
Week 27: Starburst
Week 28: Low Perspective
Week 29: Macro
Week 30: Backlight
Week 31: Big Sky
Week 32: Dominant Color
Week 33: Fill the Frame
Week 34: Spot Metering
Week 35: Handheld Long Exposure
Week 36: S Curve
Week 37: Shoot Through
Week 38: Faces
Week 39: Blossom
Week 40: Environmental Portrait
Week 41: Texture Overlay
Week 42: Details
Week 43: Season
Week 44: Fog & Steam
Week 45: Nighttime
Week 46: Analog
Week 47: Sunrise/Sunset
Week 48: Lens Flare
Week 49: Panorama
Week 50: Street
if you want to mold something out of beeswax you must first warm it in your hands. tuck fragrant squares between palms. make an oven.
when my kids’ hands were small, we’d combine our warmth. tiny cupped hands held tight in my tired ones. turn hard into soft.
on our first family vacation, the kids filled the backseat with a menagerie of figurines. six hours of fairies and flowers. snails and gnomes.
we carried them stuck on the tops of our suitcases into our hotel room. little waxy travelers. they covered chairs, the mini-fridge, our shoes.
what must the hotel staff thought of these lumpy things. these fairytale abstractions smelling of honey. our fragile childhood treasure.
i don’t know, but each time we returned the scenes were changed. as if they had come to life to play while we were away. magic creating magic.
those days have passed, but this candle brings it back. a bright amber thread i can light whenever I like. motherhood shining in the palm of my hand.
I can’t resist sharing some photos from that first family trip.
sometimes i let the neighbor cat
inside to wander my things. tail
held high he weaves through rooms, king
of the castle, purring. today
he finds grandmother’s wood hope chest
with the carved letter K, for Kate. “what’s
this?” he asks rubbing against my
bare legs. “let me show you,” i say
lifting him from the lid. her smell
is gone, but her things remain, tucked
inside mine. old and older. dear
grandmother and granddaughter. here.
gently i pull out a dark blue
handkerchief, tracing the small K. “see?”
we walk into the backyard, cat
at my heels, and place it upon
the bright flowers. she loves being
outside. sunlight warms my skin. twice.
4/30
time isn’t linear at all. broken
hearts know this truth. concentric
circles might be closer. i drive
into the rice fields to see myself
riding bareback, kicking up dirt
into the water. cranes take flight
scared by hoofbeats and hollering—
‘your eyes can be so cruel,
just as i can be so cruel.’ vultures
watch me traveltime, hissing
‘you don’t belong here anymore.’
i know. circling, i turn back.
More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
2/30
warm sunlight trapped
in golden stalks
sits so pretty
within pottered glass.
bright cinnamon dances
honeyed by walnuts.
it smells like
sprinkled brown sugar
tiny silver spoons
chubby neck rolls
wooden high chairs.
bring me wholeness—
blue sky comfort
thick sweet memory.
More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
Bridgette Tales 