Since April is all about poetry, a well written piece should elicit emotions, or memories of days gone by, the ‘here and now’, and even dreams of tomorrow in all of its capacity. However the piece may be penned and therefore its focus, it should be able to capture and draw you into its depths. This writer had the opportunity presented to her in which to participate in a project called, ‘Poets and Painters’ which was held at the Prairie Art Alliance Gallery II in the Hoogland Center for the Arts in Springfield, IL last June in 2011. The idea of this project was to pair poets with painters, i.e. the painters already had their artistic works created, and so it was the job of the poets to choose one artistic piece that inspired them and to write a piece reflecting that inspiration.
When the time came to choose, this writer had perused through all of the works several times, or so I thought, and was just about ready to give up, when a little alcove that I had not noticed before suddenly popped into my view. I walked into it looking at these pieces when one fairly jumped off the wall at me and poetry was flowing through my mind just looking at its subject. So with that said this poem was inspired by ‘Wildflowers’ by Tracy Maras, an established artist in her own right.
‘A Hidden Place in my Heart’
The little hidden cove by the way
Covered in cool greens…Sprinkled with yellow surprises
The blue pond where I dreamed up dreams
Balancing on rocks submerged, there I stood
asking questions of all the ‘whys’ of childhood
The way things worked…Or I thought they should
Hey…is that ‘Mopsey, Flopsey…or Cottontail?’
I can still see my toy boats sporting their sails
Snuggled down in the satin grasses
Watching the ants traipse back and forth in endless passes
At least they know where they’re going
Little songbirds flutter against the leaves above my head
Singing songs that only they know
But it’s still pretty…though I wish I could sing along
Then I whistle…and they cock their heads to listen
Trying to interpret…I wonder…Do they wish the same?
I look intently at the gnarly wood next to my face
Wow…this tree must be a thousand years old
Was this the first one that God planted?
As time rolls back in my memories
I hear the faint remembrance of trilling over the meadow
‘Come on home…it’s dinner time!’
The mother’s voice is calling a new child playing in these woods,
But Gee Whiz…it surely was just getting good!
By Janice J. Robinson © 2011
During the month of April, this writer would like to make available to Chicago poets a place to exhibit some of your poems. Please only submit your own original poems, since you can give permission to publish your work. You can contact this writer at firstname.lastname@example.org. Your poems must glorify the Lord God, or His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ or the Word of God. God Bless you in your endeavors.