Posts Tagged ‘full moon alert’

Poetry Friday is with sweet Irene from Birmingham.

Poetry Friday is with sweet Irene from Birmingham.


I was letting this Poetry Friday go, but this morning (Saturday) I received the Full Moon Alert from my friend Jim.  Jim has missed two FMAs.  When I saw him out dancing at La Poussiere a few weekends ago, I felt I conjured him out of the dust. (La Poussiere means “the dust” in Cajun French.) Turns out, Jim and his wife Paula are fine, just busy.  That’s my excuse, too.  Well, isn’t it everyone’s?

The thing I love about Jim, in addition to his attention to nature and moons, is his love of poetry.  I am reposting the two poems he sent.  The first is from David Lee.  I have taken in the hummingbird feeder, but I still have such a fond image of them at the feeder this summer.


Hummingbird at the feeder in my backyard. Taken August 30th. Photo by Margaret Simon

Hummingbird at the feeder in my backyard. Taken August 30th. Photo by Margaret Simon

Ode Beneath a Hummingbird Feeder


Greenflash of lightning
and memory of a red scar
etched on the golden throat
of a still afternoon.


Whirr of tiny wings
like a small thunder
across the redwood porch.


Oh, arrogant little warrior,
if I had a naked weapon
I could brandish like yours,
I, too, would suffer
no foolish rival suitors
sipping at my ruby fount.

–David Lee 

The second poem Jim sent was by Mary Oliver.  The sentiment she expresses of hurricanes and the resurrection after is familiar to me.  I send this out to my Poetry Friday friends who recently endured Hurricane Matthew.


It didn’t behave
like anything you had
ever imagined. The wind
tore at the trees, the rain
fell for days slant and hard.
The back of the hand
to everything. I watched
the trees bow and their leaves fall
and crawl back into the Earth.
As though, that was that.
This was one hurricane
I lived through, the other one
was of a different sort, and
lasted longer. Then
I felt my own leaves giving up and
falling. The back of the hand to
Everything. But listen now to what happened
to the actual trees;
toward the end of that summer they
pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.
It was the wrong season, yes,
But they couldn’t stop. They
Looked like telephone poles and didn’t
care. And after the leaves came
blossoms. For some things
There are no wrong seasons.
Which is what I dream of for me.

–Mary Oliver 


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Slice of Life Day 17.  Join the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Challenge.

Slice of Life Day 17. Join the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Challenge.

I have a tree-hugging naturalist friend who sends out an email every month around the time of the full moon. His email is called Full Moon Alert or FMA.

One of the methods of writing I enjoy is erasure poetry or found poetry. I often find a poem in Jim’s FMA.

flower tree

Full Ides (of March) Moon

Full moon rises Sunday at sunset.
Spring officially starts Friday,
Buds swelling,
swamp red maples coming into bloom,
thangs were moving y’all.

Sky reverberates
with the smudge of cranes.
I love you little.
I love you big.

My ladies are working hard already.
European honey bees are an all-girl operation,
and these are happy dancing
their butter butts, like the warblers
catching Crane flies.

A pair of raptors dive spectacularly,
two lovers celebrating newfound love
in this the season of love.

Happy spring y’all!

Get out and enjoy the fine spring weather.
Get out and stand there with your mouth open
watching that moonrise and sunset with loved ones.
What a gift! And bring some little ones along.

–Margaret Simon, found from Possum Foret’s FMA March 15, 2014

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“I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.” —Walt Whitman

Slice of Life Challenge Day 27

Slice of Life Challenge Day 27

satsuma buds

Even here in the deep south, we’ve had a blast of winter wind. The temperature this morning was 36 degrees. I bundled up in my wool sweater that I’ve only worn twice since I bought it on sale after Christmas, wool socks, and a warm scarf, gloves, the works. Despite the cold, spring is here in full color. My satsuma tree is budding. This means in the fall we will have a full tree of delicious juicy citrus, my favorite fruit. We also have a grapefruit and a lemon budding.

Once a month I get a full moon alert from my friend, Possum. I love to peruse his email for found lines. This month was full of them. Here’s my found poem:

Full moon returns
in the company of ruby-throats.
The worm, sap, or Lenten full,
whatever you call it,
the full girl rises around 6 PM.

Dog whispers, hummers hide,
the woods fill us with wonder:
Spider eyes, lightning bugs,
carnivorous plants,
and an endless frog choir.

The dawn captures a line of ants
carrying only winged seeds
of swamp red maple,
mushroom eaters,
a site to see.

Swarm of honey bees safely hived
bring hope for a fruitful year.
Pollen blowing a dust storm,
new shoots, female flowers
ripen and procreate.

This amazing earth
with arriving hummers,
with wild red buckeye,
pecans leafing out,
with bees waxing and brooding,

Take the last pile of wood
for your campfire.
Raise a glass, honor
each other and the mother.
Bask in the quiet moonlight.

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Read other Slice of Life writers at The Two Writing Teachers

Happy Birthday to my naturalist friend, Jim Foret. You keep me on the alert for full moons, endangered trees, and nesting birds. You inspire everyone you know to be more alert. Here’s a little poem for you:

Full Moon Alert
for Jim Foret

The full moon rises
glorious among
a respectable row of planets–
pregnant moon.

The alert comes again.

He is the custodian of the night sky–
calendar keeper—
friend to the birds, the bogs,
butterflies and bees.

He counts the Purple Martins,
announces the Mississippi Kites.
He hears the sacred drumbeat,
tells the stories, and inspires all.

Humbly hold someone’s hand
and show her the moon.

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