Picnic basket and summer sun

[alee_grrl]

Sunday, every Sunday, let's have a community picnic. It's probably been a long week, and it's lovely to have a few minutes to sit back and relax and enjoy some good conversation in a less formal space. Feel free to bring something for the Picnic Basket - a poem you liked this week, a thought you had or something you experienced, or even something completely unrelated to poetry whatsoever that you just feel like sharing. Just take a moment to say hello, and maybe have a bite to eat; no one is going anywhere fast, and the shade promises some relief from the everyday heat. Let’s get to know each other a bit better, here under the branches of the poet’s tree.

Comments

[ashestosnow]

This week, this poem-- untitled I believe, from Anis Mojgani's The Feather Room has been the one running through my mind.

There's something about the line Another has shelves of speckled stones. that strikes me particularly. I think that if a certain someone had a room inside my heart, those would definitely be there: small smooth stones the colour of robin's eggs, with dark speckles like reverse stars. It makes me want to spin a poem off the idea. How would I describe the room? What would be in it?

[alee_grrl]

I just love this poem. I can think of several people who have rooms inside my heart, and how those rooms have changed and grown over time.

[ashestosnow]

I find it a fascinating concept. And, perhaps, an interesting relationship-building exercise: aksing the people in your life what kind of things they would imagine to be in their rooms, and sharing your own ideas.