Category Archives: Green Poetry

Woolly Bears and Rose Hips

Wooly_Bear_(2)

“Wooly Bear” by By Gerry Dincher from Hope Mills, NC (Uploaded by GrapedApe), via Wikimedia Commons

Fall 

You could opine that leaves burnished too early,
too hot this summer, too dry, the drifts
of wildfire smoke cured garden plants
like old tobacco. Then the woolly bears
seek sun-warmed cement, roses force
dwindling charms to make hips on forked canes,
last tomatoes announce they will only get green,
and powdery mildew silvers up the cucumber vines
like a harvest moon. Then it is fall.

—Tricia Knoll

 

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Tricia Knoll’s most recent book is Broadfork Farm, a series of love poems for the creatures, family, and gardens at a small organic farm in Trout Lake, Washington. In a time of urban disturbance, retreating to the farm brings a measure of peace.

 

Website: triciaknoll.com

 

(Note on wooly/woolly bear from the photographer on the Wikimedia Commons page:
“Legend in my part of Pennsylvania states that you can predict the winter weather by looking at the coloring of a wooly bear caterpillar (Pyrrharctia isabella). This guy says that Pennsylvania will have a cold start and finish to winter with a mild period in between. Either way I am glad I live in North Carolina. This critter was photographed at

Cowanesque Lake in Lawrence Township, Tioga County, Pennsylvania.”)—SK

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From the Compost Pile

Compost_2017

Image from a corner of Sandra Knauf’s compost pile, August 2017, featuring a surprise potato plant.

 

From the Compost Pile

Voluptuous vines mix in
with basil stems and potatoes,
sprouting from last winter’s seeds.

We come from something, some egg,
virus, dirt, but in my vegetable bed
this vigorous survivor fittest
tangling-with-everything

does not look like any melon
I ate last summer. Its squashes
are blander orange butternuts.
The what I grew is not what I knew.

—Tricia Knoll

 

Tricia Knoll (2)

Tricia Knoll is a contented gardener come late August. Four harvests of basil mixed up as pesto. The Romas about to explode bright red very soon. Her most recent book is Broadfork Farm, a series of love poems for the creatures, family, and gardens at a small organic farm in Trout Lake, Washington. In a time of urban disturbance, retreating to the farm brings a measure of peace.

 

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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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On Fire Orange Legs

Ensatina_eschscholtzii_e (2)

Ensatina eschscholtzii eschscholtzii”, photo by Chris Brown, via Wikimedia Commons

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Rock Wall in Suburban Woods

Stones in the wall nest with each other
as communion comes in touch and quiet.

The moss earns its way in solace
giving seasons a green to measure.

An ensatina salamander slips
from the verge of stone and mud

on fire-orange legs in the dark
and scrabbles for spiders and slugs.

Breathing through skin, hidden
under a rock roof, moss for a rug,

and silence as its hiding place.

—Tricia Knoll

 aiawiwi
sieiei
Tricia Knoll has clan in Vermont and follows the ever-so-gradual coming out of snow and snowfest of this late to bloom state. Her garden is full of wildly blooming forsythia, daffodils, hellebore, and the tulips are thinking about it. In summer 2017 her new book, Broadfork Farm, is coming out from The Poetry Box. It salutes life on a small organic farm in Trout Lake, Washington.

Now available at Amazon.com from Aldrich Press, Ocean’s Laughter — a book of lyric and eco-poetry about Manzanita, Oregon. Reviews. 

Urban Wild, a poetry chapbook now available from Finishing Line Press
website: triciaknoll.com
 SIE
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siei

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April Musings

Tulipa 'Apeldoorn Elite', Hybridized by J.S. Verdegaal, 1968

Tulipa ‘Apeldoorn Elite’, by By Jerzy Opioła, via Wikimedia Commons

April Musings

No rain today, a break
from weeks of showers.
A slight headache.

I could have raked up
alder catkins or
plucked off spent daffodils.

I picked up most
of the twigs
that windstorm tore down.

An orange and yellow
tulip opened. The roses
are shooting out new thorns.

I swept up dog hair and dirt
and wrote a poem,
not a good one,

one without wind,
or dirt, thorns or rain.
It feels of old daffodils

and dogs settled into naps –
a comma for the big dog
and a dash for the terrier.

—Tricia Knoll

 aiawiwi
sieiei
Tricia Knoll has clan in Vermont and follows the ever-so-gradual coming out of snow and snowfest of this late to bloom state. Her garden is full of wildly blooming forsythia, daffodils, hellebore, and the tulips are thinking about it. In summer 2017 her new book, Broadfork Farm, is coming out from The Poetry Box. It salutes life on a small organic farm in Trout Lake, Washington.

Now available at Amazon.com from Aldrich Press, Ocean’s Laughter — a book of lyric and eco-poetry about Manzanita, Oregon. Reviews. 

Urban Wild, a poetry chapbook now available from Finishing Line Press
website: triciaknoll.com
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siei

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The Gifts of April

By Lobachev Vladimir, via Wikimedia Commons

Girl with a wreath, by Lobachev Vladamir. Via Wikimedia Commons.

The Gifts

April’s garden fraught with scent,

Spring’s gift until the blooms spent.

The jewels of nature, flora crown,

Bespeak a world of grace renown.

(April 28, 1990)

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Virginia_G

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, who sometimes called her “lamb’s lettuce” was a dressmaker for Bergdorf Goodman. Virginia has one son and three grandchildren and 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.”

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