In recent years, connecting with fellow poets on social media has brought a whole new aspect to my writing career. It is a great joy to be able to share some of their work here, and I am honored to do so. This week's featured poet hails from Washington state, where she is a teacher, mom, and Betty White enthusiast! Thank you, Elizabeth for sharing your lovely poetry with us.
Rose Gold
(Previously published by The Daily Drunk, and STAY GOLDEN zine.)
And time and time again
the adage we were told:
gold will always fade.
I live in other adages,
as they’d say them in St. Olaf.
Things about not blowing my vertubenflugen.
And some might be able to
calculate the hours
until gold’s sparkle ceases.
I don’t—and I won’t—because Nylund math
starts and ends with asking permission
to ask a dumb question.
And maybe eternal gold
defies all sense
of logic.
I never counted
common sense
as a crowning glory--
and to the benefit of us all
neither does Rose
who knows it’s just as well
that everyone blows that right
out their tubenburbles.
Gold in all its variations
may vanish,
but true gold--Rose gold--
is here to stay.
the adage we were told:
gold will always fade.
I live in other adages,
as they’d say them in St. Olaf.
Things about not blowing my vertubenflugen.
And some might be able to
calculate the hours
until gold’s sparkle ceases.
I don’t—and I won’t—because Nylund math
starts and ends with asking permission
to ask a dumb question.
And maybe eternal gold
defies all sense
of logic.
I never counted
common sense
as a crowning glory--
and to the benefit of us all
neither does Rose
who knows it’s just as well
that everyone blows that right
out their tubenburbles.
Gold in all its variations
may vanish,
but true gold--Rose gold--
is here to stay.
Calls
(Previously published in Masque & Spectacle, Issue 25.)
Eggs stare back at me, distinct blue, like piercing eyes through
the forest undergrowth. The nest begs for help. To get back
where it belongs. To get back to what it is becoming. Out by the
cattails, a red-winged blackbird reminds me,
“Plant your garden seed.” There is still so much to do to ensure
proper nurturing. I’m hungry for what’s to come. It’s almost lunch
when the goldfinch passes over. “Po-ta-to-chip.” Naturally,
the reminders of all the days still require threaten to overwhelm as dusk,
like a beacon to home, calls for my attention.
But then, the barred owl begs the question:
“Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all?”
Someone takes care of me always.
The helpless blue has my full attention. With the fallen nest secured,
I walk home. The door opens where I’m greeted
by blue eyes.
the forest undergrowth. The nest begs for help. To get back
where it belongs. To get back to what it is becoming. Out by the
cattails, a red-winged blackbird reminds me,
“Plant your garden seed.” There is still so much to do to ensure
proper nurturing. I’m hungry for what’s to come. It’s almost lunch
when the goldfinch passes over. “Po-ta-to-chip.” Naturally,
the reminders of all the days still require threaten to overwhelm as dusk,
like a beacon to home, calls for my attention.
But then, the barred owl begs the question:
“Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all?”
Someone takes care of me always.
The helpless blue has my full attention. With the fallen nest secured,
I walk home. The door opens where I’m greeted
by blue eyes.
Elizabeth Bates is a Best of the Net and Pushcart-nominated writer from Washington state. She is the author of MOSAICS & MIRAGES (Fahmidan, 2022) and ROSE GOLD: BETTY WHITE POEMS. “Rose Gold” is the titular poem of Bates’ chapbook released on her Substack, THE LETTER “B,” in January 2023. “Calls” is a poem from Bates’ currently unpublished chapbook. When Bates is not writing, she is making memories with her family; teaching high school English; or tweeting about Betty White. Twitter: @ElizabethKBates Website: elizabethkbates.com