The Beginning


This was our first berry, and we were delighted. Until something ate it in the night. 🙁

So we are taking about the garden beds today. I know we probably should have thought of that before the first of May, but Michigan weather is so …. Michigan-like.

Not knowing much about bed gardening, we built them last year inside of a small 10’ x 20’ kennel we used for the dogs when they were puppies. Well, no one told the squirrels and the birds that a fenced in area means “KEEP OUT”. Too late to save the strawberry patch, we discovered bird netting and covered the top of our enclosure.

This year, we want to be proactive, so each bed is getting individual bird netting to protect our harvest.

I know, I know. I’m forgetting a Core Principle of Kindergarten: Share everything.

I don’t care. I’m not feeding the squirrels and birds. They both attack our feeders with gusto. I say they need to stop being so greedy.

Save some for the humans!

I cannot wait for the tiny green plants to start to grow. And better yet is the day when the buds of fruit appear. All tightly curled in to itself, the bloom is very self-contained. But at some point, the plant decides that it the risk of opening up is worth it—the plant must bloom to grow a seed pod and perpetuate after all.

And I have decided to be more like that bloom. Remaining tightly closed up is more painful than the risk of blooming.

I choose life.

I choose legacy.

And with that decision, this blog is truly born. I am not sure how often I will post, but I am determined to write more this year.

I sense the unfolding of a bloom.

NaPoWriMo 2021 Day 25


Check out this amazing time lapse video by Thomas Nelson found in this great little article about meteor showers.

The prompt for today was to write an “occasional” poem—a poem suited to, or written for, a particular occasion.

So I decided to write about a few memorable occasions. Welcome a few of my favorite memories.

Magic of Moments

I will never forget
the magic of his arrival,
relating not so much
to the nature of life,
but to the heart
of love itself—
a powerful catapult
a dance of irrevocable joy,
an electrifying connection,
an explosion of love.

Like the day
I saw her
come my way,
unfettered and
free wheeling and
free thinking, unbound
by convention
without an ounce
of pretension.

Like the moment
when a thousand
meteors exploded
in the august sky,
when wispy green fairies
twirled their skirts
behind the northern lights.

Like when the hawk
spread his wings
above our heads,
leading the way into
the flaming birch forest.

How can anyone not
believe in magic—
the humdrum, mundane
everyday magic of life?

—- A Draft Poem by Carla Jeanne Picklo Jordan

Let me know your favorite moments in the comments below.

NaPoWriMo2021 Day 13


Credit: contains modified Copernicus Sentinel data (2019), processed by ESA, CC BY-SA 3.0 IGO

Today’s prompt was to write a poem in the form of a newspaper article you wish would come out tomorrow.

I’m not sure this was the idea they had in mind, but I wrote a poem from an NPR news report that came out this morning.

Let’s just say it’s my twist on the subject. ☺️

Open Your Eyes

The quake and tsunami
contaminated water,
crippled plants.
next summer, they
will run out of space
for wastewater.

Environmental groups
remain skeptical
of broken promises,
of 20,000 dead or missing,
of empty assurances
of safety.

The danger is real;
oceanic release imminent.
Protestors rally
on uninhabitable land.
The black rockfish
tells the story in its flesh.

Don’t worry,
the diluting effects
of the vast ocean
will neutralize toxins.
Don’t worry,
poison won’t seep

into our shores.
Anyway, tritium only
slightly increases
the risk of cancer—
just a tiny little plop
of poop in your dinner.

Go ahead, eat up!
Enjoy! Who cares
if it poisons someone
else’s fish? I guess
that life and water
don’t matter to everyone.

Some express
deep regret—
so sorry
your life
is threatened
by our greed.

We are so sorry,
but we...
we don’t see
any other way,
we just don’t.

-A Draft by Carla Jeanne Picklo Jordan

Let me know what you think in the comments below. Share the love, write a poem, appreciate a good friend. Each moment is a new beginning.

NaPoWriMo 2021 Pre-Day One

IMG_3577*Stock Photo

The #NaPoWriMo2021 challenge today was to spend a few minutes looking for an interesting piece of art in the online galleries of New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Then after selecting a piece of art, I was challenged to write a poem!

I chose this lovely basket designed by Linda Hancock. It is traditional Ohlone cultural art made in Sycamore Creek, California. The medium is deer grass stems, sedge root, dyed bracken root, and redbud shoots.

The original photo of her artwork is copyright protected, so I am including a link here so you can see it.

Under the Mushroom Tree

I am the beginning
and the end. Born under
a dense canopy of shade
near the sloping riverbanks.

A coastal live oak was my father,
moisture dripping from his long
green beard of lichens, feeding
the ground beneath his fallen leaves.

The earth was my mother–
my rich and bountiful safe place.
Within the peace of their embrace,
I spread my lateral roots.

In the beginning I remained
(adventitious shoots and all)
ardent in my work of tilling
and moving through the soil.

Content to reside safely near
my riparian home, I stretched
and grew, nourished yet hungry
to explore the Far Reaches.

One day the women of patience
gently drew me from my dwelling
and reverently excavated
my tangled, criss-crossed roots.

I was not afraid for I could
hear their song of thanks,
“Shuururu Xuyxuyta”,
sung like the Ohlone ancestors,

blessing my mother, praising
my beauty, and promising
friendship far into the future.
I could see the jackrabbits

and cottontails waving goodbye
as I left my haven, but I did not
feel loss. The keen drive to grow
dimmed as I looked ahead.

I was split and peeled, dried
and dyed with bracken root, woven
together with deer grass stems,
redbud shoots and a grateful heart.

I was happy living simply,
visiting my mother as I carried
her bounties in my newly
woven bowl. But the whisper

of the ancestors helped me
realize my story needed
to be told; my story needed
to be heard. So I agreed to move.

Inside my glass case, far from
my mother and father and far
from the river, I remain.
I am a lesson for future

generations on how to live
in harmony. I am the fruit
of the marriage of my parents—
connected to the past,

formed in the present,
alive on into the future.
I am the beginning
and the end.

–a Draft by Carla Jeanne

I’d love to know what you’re thinking. Please drop a comment below and let me know!

NaPoWriMo 2016 Day Twenty-Two

Today’s prompt challenged me ton write a poem in honor of Earth Day. In school today, we celebrated with a beautiful display in the gym. The classes created banners and creations from recycled materials. They sorted trash and made promises to keep the earth green. Of course, in music class we sang songs about the earth, and I (being a Class A Tree Hugger) loved it.

lost beauty

i reckon the end will come
for all of us
sooner than we imagine,
but who will be here to care?

i reckon the once vibrant seas
will overflow with floating carnage, vacant of life,
but who will be here to care?

i reckon no longer will we
pass heirloom treasures on
to the future generations,
but who will be here to care?

i reckon decay will overrun us,
scattered by the reckless
perpetuated into the future,
but who will be here to care?

i reckon when the last tree
is felled by mankind
the forests will lie barren,
but who will be here to care?

i reckon the poison of greed
demanding births the realization:
you cannot eat money,
but who will be here to care?  

NaPoWriMo 2016 Day Twelve

#NaPoWriMo 2016 Day Twelve

Today’s challenge was to write my own index poem. They suggested starting with found language from an actual index or inventing an index. I chose to use random words from a random book on the shelf, “Altered Genes, Twisted Truth” by Steven M. Drucker. I feel the poem keeps in the spirit of the book and gives a synopsis for those who haven’t read it. It was interesting how the poem just fell together after I chose the words from the index. Surprising how I ended up enjoying this prompt more than I thought I would.  

altered genes, twisted truth

the agent orange of
agroecological methods–
some alfalfa alleles and beans.
bees that land on bent grass,
birds with birth defects
praying buddhist meditations
over the cauliflower.
a compiler of cotton and cows,
the domestication of ecology
and environment leads to
the faith-based fruit of pure gall–
genomes grafting into hazardous herbicide.
a world gone mad
with the insertion of jumping genes,
a labeling of livestock with markers
published in the media with monsanto.
peas with protein,
the randomness of rennet alternatives
and the rice of salt and soil:
all sources sustainable
without toxicity or tumors or virus.
we discover the twisted truth
after the fact–
whistleblowers be praised.

Day #10

National Poetry Month: Day #10

The prompt for today was interesting: “write your own advertisement-poem…You don’t need to advertise Burma-Shave. Any product (or idea) will do.”

I wrote two-for-the-price-of-one ads. Note: Ditty is sung to the tune of “London Bridges Falling Down”.

Monsanto Roundup
does it all,
does it all,
does it all.
Monsanto Roundup
does it all;
kills all creatures
large and small.

Buy Monsanto: at Monsanto we kill all things equally.


Butterfly and
buzzing bee,
crawling ant,
tiny flea.
Monsanto Roundup
does it all;
kills all creatures
large and small.

Shop for equality: buy Monsanto.