poetry and prose about place


with 2 comments




Convallaria majalis L.


where they came from

I do not know, perhaps


from my mother’s old home

in a shovel-full of lilac

a sheet of white writing paper

in a green box crammed with letters


perhaps from my grandfather’s farm

tucked in beside the creeping Jenny

a green and white plate printed

with a saying about home


perhaps from a seed in the gravel

spread on the paths or the road

a line of red pebbles

in a spill of quartz


every summer the colony spreads

green flames lick at gravel

white bells, delicate perfume

scarlet berries


a letter not written

a plate hung on the wall

a pathway leading home



All my best!

Stay safe!


Written by jane tims

October 7, 2020 at 7:00 am

2 Responses

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  1. I love this, Jane. Had me playing again … with my brother and cousins, in the lily-spread under the oak trees that edged Aunt Doris’ property. Lime popsicles. Ginger snaps. CCM bikes with handle grip streamers. Maybe … a first kiss? {I’ll never tell.}

    Ain’t it funny what a poem can do?
    Great stuff.



    November 7, 2020 at 7:29 am

    • As we get older I find we forget so many little things. Sometimes I think that is the value of art and poetry/ story … they trigger memories thought lost but just hiding there! I remember those streamers!


      jane tims

      November 7, 2020 at 10:58 am

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