Monthly Archives: June 2017

The Dream

Robert_Anning_Bell_1901_A_Flight_of_Fairies

Robert Anning Bell, 1901, “A Flight of Fairies” – via Wikimedia Commons.

 

The Dream

Hold my hand and we will go
to places only fairies know.
Beneath the green-striped lily leaf
beside a nest the robin weaves.
Into the tulip’s lifted cup
We’ll drink the dew drops while we sup.
Then ride a snail across the path,
to splash with sparrows in their bath.
Someday we’ll course a moonbeam bright,
and fade into the magic night.

Virginia Caroline Schmidt Gambardella

 

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Virginia Gambardella lives in New York, only three miles from where she grew up. Her dad was a naval engineer and adventurer, and her mom was a dressmaker for Bergdorf Goodman. Virginia enjoys: people, holidays, antiques, nature, gardening, fishing, decorating, fashion, sharing knowledge, cooking and baking. She’s a cancer survivor, a pancreatitis survivor, a widow, and the re-inventor of her life, “as necessary.” She wrote “The Dream” in 1991.

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The Woods With No Name

HEVER_CASTLE_AND_GARDENS_A_white_Camellia (2)

“Hever Castle and Gardens, A White Camellia” by Michael Garlick, via Wikimedia Commons

The Woods With No Name

Morning coffee and my attempt to think of news as stones
that I can shake through a screen to separate
pea gravel from those as big as eggs or golf balls.
The pope gifting his thoughts on climate change.
A man running for Congress assaulting a reporter.
Budget chicanery and bells that toll in Manchester.
All the rocks stayed upside the screen, glommed
to words I meant to string up for a social justice website.

I went to a woods, the woods with no name
where thought senses soft breezes, old firs,
and a few tall weeds. Bending toward the sun,
at the edge of the woods, a camellia that dropped
white blooms weeks ago. Dead twigs as innards,
branches the snow snapped or draped onto the mud.

Thinking in visuals. Open a sightline
to the obelisk raised for a dead son. Gut
what is dead or yellowed. Help what bowed
in defeat to lift up again. Encourage nodes that promise
next year’s bloom, next year’s leaves.

When I was done, a pleasing camellia poem
stood on the verge of the woods with no name.
Pruned so that no one would say who did that?
what happened? Pruned to a shape it yearned
to be but somehow lost in the traffic of daily life.

—Tricia Knoll

In summer 2017 Tricia’s new book, Broadfork Farm, is coming out from The Poetry Box. It salutes life on a small organic farm in Trout Lake, Washington.

Website: triciaknoll.com
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