The Summer Days are Long This Year : A Triolet

-
Poets and Storytellers United
Friday Writings #188

 Rather than the optional prompt, I've gone with a triolet.  


The summer days are long this year.

Our garden planted dry as bone.

With scorching sun, the skies are clear.

The summer days are long, this year

I miss you more than last, my dear.

I tend our garden all alone.

The summer days are long, this year

our garden planted dry as bone.


©2025 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved  

Comments

  1. Jae RoseAugust 1, 2025 at 7:33 PM

    I love the beautiful flow and lightness - Jae

    ReplyDelete
  2. MarjaAugust 1, 2025 at 7:55 PM

    A poignant poem I feel the emptiness in the garden

    ReplyDelete
  3. Rosemary Nissen-WadeAugust 1, 2025 at 9:14 PM

    Beautiful and piognant! A perfect triolet – and I can very much identify with the theme.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What Do Mothers Know?

-
  dVerse prompt for Sept. 9, 2024 For your Prosery prompt, I have selected the first line from her (Tina Chang) poem “Love”: “ I am haunted by how much our mothers do not know. ” Write a piece of prosery of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line in the order in which it has been given. You may add or change punctuation, but you may not add or delete words. I purposely did not read the rest of Tina Chang's poem, as to not influence my first thoughts by her words and their meanings.  I was recalled back to an overheard conversation between a group of teenage girls, who didn't realize I could hear.  They were trying to come up with alternative ways they could have gotten "hickeys," or "love bites," what to tell their parents.  I laughed and told them  their  parents told  their  parents those exact same things, and no one was fooled!  No one would believe they "ran into a door knob," yet that's one that seems to pass through the ge...
Read more

Words of Ila, Born 1919

-
Image
NaPoWriMo Day 8   Yes, it's day 11, but my Monday-Saturday poems are A-Z , so I'm posting a NaPoWriMo prompt on Sundays only. Also, linking to Poets and Storytellers United   Writers' Pantry #65 . The Prompt: "Today, I’d like to challenge you to read a few of the poems from Spoon River Anthology, and then write your own poem in the form of a monologue delivered by someone who is dead...  (It)...  could be a fictional remembering of some important moment, or statement of purpose or philosophy. Be as dramatic as you like – Masters’ certainly didn’t shy away from high emotion in writing his poems." ************ I remember Ruby with her curly hair. She had a little wire-haired terrier pup she carried in a basket. Then Ruby died. Measles.   Rodney ran the fastest of any boy in school. Pertussis killed Rodney. He couldn’t breathe to run… or to live. Whooping Cough.   Mary and her sister May were both born deaf and blind...
Read more

A Cool Jade Wind Will Blow

-
Image
 The Sunday Muse #139 photo prompt:   “ I always sang, from the time I could make a noise. And I always wrote. I wrote little poems and at about 8 or 9, I started writing little songs. ” 1970 Laura Nyro, 1947- 1997.  Surprisingly, this is the first I've heard of this song writer/recording artist, although I am familiar with some of the songs she wrote.  After an afternoon learning more about her I wrote two responses to the prompt.  I incorporated lines from her songs, which are italicized. Some poetic license was taken; don't take my words as biographical. I Know I know my days are numbered as my mother’s were. Mourn for me, yes, miss me when I’m gone. Then, scatter me beneath the maple where I saw leafy green springs and red autumns. For the trees have eyes , to see the stars .   A Cool Jade Wind Will Blow Searching for a miracle , pearl in an oyster . I’m so tired . But the oyster’s just an oyster and there ain’t ...
Read more