Green is grass.
Green is leaves.
Green is growing
under the sun
elbowing the earth,
pushing it aside
stretching, reaching
with open hands.
Green is calling you
to lie in the grass
under a firmament of leaves
and breathe.

© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved

Sweet Gum Balls

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Sweet Gum Balls

There on the ground,
abundant and free,
small spiky balls,
gifts of the tree.

Like porcupine eggs,
or a wee knight’s flail,
they’re perfect for making
your enemies wail!

They’re not really gum,
but they are a sweet find.
I stuff them in my pocket,
then change my mind.


I did actually put one in my pocket to bring home. That’s how I got the idea for this poem. Usually I write the first line first, but this time I started at the end.

© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved

Message on a Log

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Message on a Log

Someone’s left a message here,
a swirling, curling missive, clear
in the flesh of this log.

They’ve stripped away the gnarled bark.
They’ve used a blade to leave their mark
in letters I can’t read.

Like hieroglyphs from ancient lands,
or characters by distant hands.
I wonder what it says.

Perhaps it tells where treasure lies.
Perhaps it warns that someone dies.
Or maybe all it says is:
                                     “I was here.”


They are probably not so good for the tree, but I do love the beautiful squiggles that beetle larvae leave on wood as they eat their way underneath the bark.

Happy Day 2 of National Poetry Month.

© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved.

National Poetry Month–30 Days, 30 Treasures

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This year I will be celebrating National Poetry Month by writing a poem a day about a “Backyard Treasure.” Every day I will go for a walk, take a picture of a treasure I find, and then, write a poem about it. These won’t be polished poems. They will be the day’s best draft.

Today’s poem is about the daffodils blooming in my yard.


Dear Daffodil

Thank you for raising
your head in the rain.
Thank you for sounding
your silent fanfare.
Thank you for daring
to wear your bright yellow bonnet
to this endless gathering of mourners.
Thank you for huddling
in clumps like ducklings
chirruping in chorus—
 “Soon we can swim!”
  “Soon we can swim!”
Thank you, dear daffodil,
for coming every spring.


Happy first day of National Poetry Month!

© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved












Dear Officer,
I apologize.
I know I was going slow.
I was stunned
by the morning sun
shining a perfect spotlight
on the small maple
in the clearing,
so proud in her
new red dress.
Then I caught a glimpse
of the red cap
on a woodpecker’s head
as he flew by
on undulating waves.
I followed his path
to the fallen pine
along the stream.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean
to cause an accident.
I just wanted to slow down
enough to see.
I know you’re in a hurry
to check my registration and insurance,
but now that you’re here,
if you look over there,
along that first thick branch
of the accommodating oak
you can see the woodpecker
listening for larvae
under the bark.


No, I didn’t really get a ticket. But I imagine I will.

For more Poetry Friday, visit Katya at Write. Sketch. Repeat.

© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2013, all rights reserved.