Ode To Elizabeth Ludlow Bowman
Ode To Elizabeth Ludlow Bowman
Spirit of the wind
Blow for us
Cool our fiery kin
Settle down
Underneath a cloud
Feel your tired feet
She was golden
She was pure
She now lays
Amidst the moors,
A pixie, a sprite
With dragonfly wings
If you listen to the earth
You can still hear her sing,
In this original poetry, a guardian for the garden
Nature's Peony fleet
Echoes in The Bee Balm
That dance beneath her feet,
Till the roots in the bed
Lay petals by her head
Wash her feet in Spearmint
Bathed in Basil jubilance,
A teacher to me
Amongst yellow Daisies
Working and weeding
Edging and seeding,
The Iris like an eye
The Canna like a finger
Artemisia’s daughter
An American folk singer,
The Lavender will shuffle
As the Jenny will creep
The Lillie’s are reaching
While Chamomile’s asleep,
St. Peter’s wort welcomes you
As the Heliotrope kneels
Heucherahs copious
Beside Goldenseal,
A woman
A worker
A friend
A leader,
The Primrose eden prays
Nearest blue Columbines
Purple Emperor Sedums
Below the Clematis climb,
A writer
A poet
A lady
Who knows it,
Existential
Transcendental
Beautifully
Mental,
Sentimental Senecio's
Ragworts and groundsels
You were always counsel
To our earthly elementals,
I mourn for the gardens
Butterfly bushes are quiet
The fireflies are beaming
In the red Begonias riot,
You left in the summer
When all is in bloom
Birds pursue chirping
You’re now the sunset's hue,
Forever a flower
Queen Elizabeth’s grace
No gardener or botanist
Could take her place,
Evergreen Erica
Heathers and heath
Cynthia and I planted
In our oasis this week,
So long, farewell
My mentor, my friend
You taught us all how
To mulch and to blend,
I’m blessed to have seen
The gardens you kept
The beds of Carex
Where Ajuga slept,
Alone I won’t find you
You’re sheltered with love
Praised from us humans
Through clouds up above,
In nature you dwell
Moon vines specifically
White Morning Glory
Flowering eternally,
Galanthus Nivalis
The initial bloom in spring
Daffodils to Chrysanthemums
You’ve attained angel wings.
Reflections On Summer
Written by Stephen Palovcak August 25th 2019
As I awake on this cool August morn, I reflect on the original poetry of summer past. It started with planting flowers and seeds, pondering which perennial might be replaced. Beautiful sunsets of purple and blue filled our days, as I spent time with good friends—some vintage and some new. The rain was insane, and the heat was extreme, with tornadoes like tyrants ripping through the plains. A new garden was planted with grasses and flowers, as family moved closer like waves to the shore, swimmingly united as we age with grace during those lazy hot afternoons that passed the hours. A death of a friend in the days of July surprised us all, and though we lost him, we still internally sign. Here comes the sunrise, looking pink amid the trees, promising warmth with a subtle breeze. The bird songs are still singing, while the crickets have fallen asleep. Oh, hush outside my window as summer days linger, offering poems with sound that echo through my mind. Autumn time is around the bend; schools are ready to teach, and leaves will soon be falling, yet our hearts remain tender and still on the mend. In the spirit of Stephen The Storyteller, we weave these memories into the fabric of our lives.
Rights For Blindness
Written by Stephen Palovcak August 15th 2019
Searching for solitude in the world of original poetry,
Over the din and clamor of life,
Pioneering for people, weaving words as Stephen The Storyteller does,
Wielding a hammer of sound in poems with sound.
Proposed legislation unfolding,
Highest frequency trading in the market of ideas,
Medical interest rates rise,
Consistently degrading hope,
Amidst the debt and despair.