Some Photos from Two Nature Walks

These are just some photos from yesterday’s nature walk, and the walk in the fen the day before with the hubby. I am so grateful to live near such natural beauty, and grateful my husband likes to walk in nature with me, after 40+ years!

Nature inspires my writing, a lot, as do the changing seasons.

Enjoy, and thanks for stopping by.

Laura

 

 

 

“Click,” a Poem, Published at Willowdown Books, Poetic Bond VIII

click  Willowdown Books published “Click,” in their Poetic Bond VIII print issue last year here: “Click” in Poetic Bond VIII. .

This was a fun collaboration between the editor and me.  I submitted the poem and the editor liked it, but felt the second stanza should be numbered and have a title.

I had originally written this as a short story, then a poem, then a short story introduced by a poem.  How it ended up is quite different, although I do have a poem “left over” and a complete short story as well, both needing a home. I wrote the short story, “Click,” during a writing workshop a few years ago and it was probably one of the best short stories I have ever written.

I do like the resulting poem! All are my words, but some of the words were moved around and we did add the numbered and titled second stanzas.

Thanks for reading!

Laura

 

 

“Not Sleep,” a Poem, Published in Cagibi Literary Journal

My poem, “Not Sleep,” was published in Cagibi, a Literary Space last summer.  I didn’t realize, since I am rather new to publishing, that I could promote published works. So I am now.

I should try writing a happy or humorous poem, perhaps.  I am a joyful person often, but write to help understand life and especially losses.  So I don’t write that many happy poems. I do write humor fiction and nonfiction, however.

As to this poem, I wanted to honor and show respect for long term relationships. I hope I have done so here.

Thanks for reading!

Laura

 

NOT SLEEP

A face in the window
listening to the high pitch of crickets,
low tones of frogs.
Fireflies blink and I think
I should sleep
but Venus has risen
and the silence of navy skies calls.

I hear your deep cough
know you have
put pillow to mouth.
I check forehead
bring cool cloths and water.
You kiss my hand
tell me you are fine, tell me
go back to the night.

I stay
awake, alone
listening.

Hours later
delight at the open window:
robins’ morning song.

You arise, sit next to me
try to stop shivering
as we remember winter
when this window was ice-locked.

Listen,
you whisper between coughs,
It’s lovely.

We wait together
to start our day,
tiptoe breathing.

Laura Lee is a Chicago area poet, college student mentor and instructor, literacy tutor, and writer. Her poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have been published in print and online journals in the US, the UK, New Zealand, Greece, and India. Literacy in all its forms is her passion. For a complete list of publications, visit her website at: http://lauraleewriterpoeteducator.com. Follow Laura Lee on Twitter @LauraLe97942016.

“They Left the Bed” Published at Willowdown Books, Poetic Bond VIII

This poem was inspired by a photo in an ekphrastic poetry contest.  While I did not win the contest, I thought it was a good poem so submitted elsewhere.    You should have see the photo!  Desolate, reminiscent of something vaguely wartime.

 

Willowdown Books published the poem in Volume VIII, Poetic Bond late in 2018.   As rights have reverted to me, I post it here just because.

 

Thanks for reading!

Laura

They Left the Bed

They left the bed, he said
As I was thinking the same.
And wonderful
TV, one chair,
a painting.

Sometimes
we made up names
for each other
on cold nights on strange floors
but knew better than to know.

What’s that on the bed, he said?
And we were afraid to look
blood spatters or bone dust
police matters or lone lust
we’d seen it all by then.

I’ll take the floor, he said.
I wish I hadn’t seen the bed.
Moved closer to the painting:
A Renoir? I know I knew
In another life.

Not romantic enough,
he said,
a Monet is my guess
but the colors are all off.

The colors are all off
cold nights on strange floors
blood spatters or bone dust
police matters or lone lust
we’d seen it all by then.

Rough Draft

 

cropped-be-creative-creative-creativity-256514

 

Rough Draft from a few years ago.. dozen dull.  I really react to the lack of sunshine! Perhaps if we had lovely weather all the time I’d grow complacent to the beauty.

 

 

Nah…

 

Anyway, here we go, and thanks for reading.

November gray came
early into late September
baby baboon sounds  (what??? I need to reconsider this wording!)
from the old sycamore
small wolverine shaped scamperers

crashing down
the squirrel twitched, looked
left, right
while the red tabby cat
lay sick in the bushes,
its one good eye on
the swollen blue berries.

………


look up–study the gray
it lasts
into November, December, January
when sun on green does not

before then the changing colors
briefly blaze, lull, trick

as if other than gray could remain
during those dozen dull weeks.

Rough Draft/ The Nine Month Sentence/Newish Poem

img_1235-1                ROUGH DRAFT. To revise.  Sometimes things come out and I am not sure what they mean, but for this one, I know it’s an autumn facing winter poem.  To work on and revise. Thanks for reading!

Laura

The Nine Month Sentence–(Must work on this title. Sounds weird.)

Stunned. Nine months of
little sun, closed streaked
windows to follow.

We had not
used our summer well.

We had not slept
under a June blue sky,
toes curled in fresh green.

We had not wrapped nights
in tender sighs under stars;
our nights
were wasted in worries.

Midnight.

If we slip outside now,
we might walk unnoticed.
We might find the source
of the crescent, the crickets,
the scamperers.
We might
flee with them.

 

?????

************* Let’s slip outside

find sources of

crescents

crickets

scamperers.

maybe we’ll leave

with them.

 

*****Addendum:

Worked a lot on editing this one, and it’s ready to submit…but where? It’s no longer..Nine Month Sentence…because winter is not that long. Other good revisions… now to look for a home for this revised and edited (for the better, I hope!) poem. #poetrycommunity #poetry

Is This the Day Autumn Blows In?

Every year there’s a day in September when I think Autumn blows in. I think that’s today. The wind is picking up and all of a sudden there are thousands of little yellow leaves on the ground. Even though it’s a hot humid day today, you can tell there’s a change. Not particularly pretty, but I love following the seasons.  autumn blowing in