Ingrid Bruck is wild flower gardener and a poet inspired by nature. She lives in Amish country in Pennsylvania. This site shocases selected works by her.

Harmonic Fields & Rusted Sonnet: Cento & Four Calicos: Golden Shovel  -  Published by:  A Measured Sense of Outrage: Anthology by June Gould Writers, 2019



Harmonic Fields

After Mary Lindberg playing Frederick Chopin’s Nocturne in E Minor at Guest House, a piece inspired by the Belcanto Melodies of Jonathan Fields. 


broken chords scatter

falling raindrops course

across ivory keys

a white bird with black feathers

flaps its wings and rises

wafts lazy circles on evening

the setting sun sifts the light

a diamond beaked bird sails 

toward red rimmed night

and I float on receding notes

into the vibrating darkness 

that descends outside


***


Rusted Sonnet: Cento from My Own Work


perhaps my fleeting winter friends

rain soaked, too weak to beg, up the steps 

black and white, cannot see grays


barely a mother

barely into late winter

our country controls the people


starving, no food and water

getting pregnant, a suitable avocation

slut, come get it for free


stolen lives

widowed two more times

speak in frost on the window pane


soothsayer, answer in wind and stars

perhaps the snow melting outside will conjure snow angels


***



Four Calicos: Golden Shovel

After:  “On the steps of the Jefferson Memorial” by Linda Pastan


Found in the garden two weeks later, one patch of soft fur. Moved on.

A hunter told me he’d seen: one the, two the, three the, four the

four kittens, kicked off someone’s steps, 

abandoned in our woods, he saw them Tuesday, a kind of 

living trash, obligation refused, four “the”

no bigger than the fist of Jefferson.  

Late Thursday afternoon, three babies found the house, caterwauling a Memorial 


to no food and water. Not our cats, said my husband, chasing them away. On

Friday, down one calico, hunger brought back two squalling “the”.

By Saturday, rain soaked, too weak to beg, they climbed up the steps,

pressed noses to glass. I gave them milk. Phoned shelters. Not my job of

course, but the kits found me. The shelters don’t take cats. I took the kits to the

vet, she reported distemper in the litter. Named one, “Jefferson”.  

They scarfed down two cans of food before euthanasia. Named two, “Memorial”.

First Published:  A Measured Sense of Outrage: Anthology by June Gould Writers


Date Published: June 2019


Bells Palsy - Published by: Poetry Breakfast

soapstone block - The Heron’s Nest, Volume XXI, Number 2, p. 11