#ronna bloom

[seekingstars]

Rending the Garments - Ronna Bloom

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Ronna Bloom in the new Fiddlehead. What a poem.

[violettesiren]

The cicadas opened a place in the sky and I fell through. It was dark. All I could see was sound. And mosquitoes. The great porch music festival of the night. Clouds and absence of absence. I fell into it. It's where I wanted to be. A definite place with a name. Roblin Lake, Ameliasburg. But it was and wasn't the place.

It was the space the place made and the falling into sound. Warm and still. Voices come softly, but cicadas are the dominant species tonight. And the willow, that in the dark by the lake, looks like a creature from the deep. I defer to them. I am so small here. And there are so many I haven't met.

Cicadas by Ronna Bloom

[what-we-talk-about-when]

and how do we ever know what matters

Read For the Gist

For the juice, for the words that grab you

and if they don’t—grab them.

But not too frantically. Read

as though you were walking

down Queen Street and curious

look at the stores, the signs, the skirts

and smell the roasted coffee beans.

Let your eye be taken to the things

that matter on the street. And how do we

ever know what matters—we look, we smell,

we take our time, a stroll

and then we come back again.

Read as though you are a wanderer

unrushed and wanting more.

--Ronna Bloom

[truthofnostalgia]

83% by Ronna Bloom

My old love comes to my door and my heart doesn’t pound. Though I am happy. 83% happy. Like the Mona Lisa.