Sunday, April 9, 2017

#NPM - Poem 9 of 30 - Apple Blooms

 My goal for Poetry Month: TINY THINGS. My choices may surprise you, and I'm excited to write, share, and read how everyone writes to meet their special goals for celebrating poetry month.
     It's post number 1450! 


       Poetic things of interest:  
See the page on the bar above for the Progressive Poem's schedule of poets, hosted by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem.  

 Today, day nine, is my day, so be sure to see what I wrote!

And, if you'd like to see what everyone is doing for Poetry Month, look HERE at Jama Rattigan's post at Jama's Alphabet Soup.

         Bridget Magee and her family have started a project in response to the chaos happening in our government. Go HERE to find out about it, to see how you can help!

Poem Nine of Thirty




Apple Blooms

Infant buds, then blooms serve well
for trees to have their fling.
They promise bites of sweet delight
but first our noses sing
with this bouquet from spring.

Fruits arrive in sunny June
begin their waxing rise.
We spend the summer watching
and celebrate the prize
dropped under September skies.


So Far-Tiny Things

April 1 - Two Plates - Thanksgiving
April 2 - In Each Mind's Eye - baby elephant
April 3 - Discovered April First - miniature book
April 4 - A Promise - peach seed
April 5 -  haiku - one music note
April 6 - My Tiny List - must-do list
April 7 - Tiny Lights - window lights at dusk
April 8 - Cherita - pencil stub
April 9 - Apple Blooms - blooms/apple tree

4 comments:

  1. Just delightful, Linda. I love the smell of apple blossoms, then seeing the fruit appear and finally eating them in late summer/Fall. I like the ideas of trees having a fling with the blooms.

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    Replies
    1. Thanks again! I stood within those branches, just a bit of a walk from my house, and breathed in, wonderful. I had to write about it.

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  2. Love your apple blooms against the blue sky. I'm not familiar with the smell of apple blooms, but your poem makes me want to find an apple tree!

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  3. I'm enjoying this series of small poems, Linda. Our pear trees were budding when the last snow hit -- we're waiting to see whether their leaves will develop.

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