This joy has roots

A poem and a prompt

These pots were made on an Artist’s Date earlier this year. Making small, beautiful, imperfect objects from mud was surprisingly satisfying.

This Joy

This joy has roots, thick and gnarled
pushed deep in the earth
It stands at the edge of a meadow
where the grasses grow wild,
its branches so heavy - so laden -
with what it has seen,
that they rest on the ground

"Climb on!" it whispers
"Swing from me!
Make a home in my leaves
from planks and old tarp
Bring your friends,
stay all summer,
glug homemade lemonade,
graze your knees as you climb up
again and again"

"Remember, I'm here," it whispers,
"when my leaves crunch under your feet,
when it's too cold to climb.
Rest your hand on me,
and know, I am here."

[Audio reading is above. It felt good to read aloud :) ]

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This poem was a response to a prompt from this book. If you simply want to play with poetry and see where it takes you, I highly recommend it.

For copyright reasons I won’t replicate the whole prompt here but in essence, the invitation was to make an abstract concept, concrete. As Emily Dickinson did here, making Hope into a bird. Or like Langston Hughes here, in his poem Harlem.

But importantly, relinquishing the need for the poem to take any particular form, or to use rhyme. Just allowing the imagery to speak for itself, and trusting it will make sense to others.

Allowing yourself to make something small, and imperfect, that feels true to you.

If you play along, I hope you enjoy!

As always, if you appreciate what I share here, let me know in the comments, hit reply or share with a friend who might appreciate it too.

I appreciate you being here.

With love and creativity,

Claire

x

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