Only a Season

Sometimes when I am writing a poem in the ronka form, it just won’t fit into the little 7X5 box I created. Here is one of those poems.

Photo by Binyamin Mellish on

Summer is only a season.
We teach,
and then we are gone.
What more can we do
but plant a few seeds
and hope for rain?

Poems About Hope

Photo by Torsten Dettlaff on

A friend who was going through this website trying to find a particular poem she remembered as being “about hope” did a search and was surprised to see how many poems have “hope” in their title. Even more poems use the word.

Maybe she doesn’t think of me as very hopeful. I don’t usually describe myself as an optimist or hopeful, but I’m not a pessimist and I do often feel hopeful about things.

The poem “Hope is the thing with feathers” is a poem by Emily Dickinson that inspired several of my poems. I’m not sure that Emily is all that hopeful in that poem and not all my “hope poems” are what you might describe as hopeful.

Several of the hope-titled poems have already been done as podcasts – Hope Is the Thing With Buds, Hope Is Also the Bud in Snow and The Thing with Feathers Flies Away

I will add podcasts this week for some others, such as Hope is a contract…, Hope in the Harvesting, and The Geography of Hope. It will be a week of hope because hope can appear in unexpected places like looking at the stars or in the back pages of a journal on a sad day.

The Thing with Feathers Flies Away

The bird who recently built its nest
in the drainpipe is either very optimistic –
or foolish. I feel that hopeful optimism
is foolish in these darkly troubling times.
Maybe the thing with feathers is optimism.

bird in pipe

The title and final line here is a nod to Emily Dickinson’s poem
in which the thing with feathers is hope
in the form of a bird who seems unabashed
by any troubles around it.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

When I Was Just a Baby

star chart

Aldebaran in the constellation Taurus sent light –
65 years ago –  that I see tonight.

Light that’s about as old as me.

The red giant, older than our Sun,
is still the brightest star in Taurus.

The light bathes me in irrational hope.

January 6, 7, and 8, 2020 show a bright waxing gibbous moon in front of the constellation Taurus the Bull. Even with the lunar glare, you might see Aldebaran and the Pleiades star cluster, also known as the Seven Sisters.