It's National Poetry Month, and many of my poet friends are pulling out all the stops to celebrate. I volunteered to add a line in the Progressive Poem, and offered to give a poetry program for school-aged children at my library. Today I report on that adventure.
The librarian told me they weren't getting many school-aged children. Sad news. I called the day before the program. No one was signed up. I decided to show up anyway. When I arrived she said that two children were signed up, ages 7 and 4.
My plan was to engage in conversation about poetry, elicit some poems they might know and build on that. So... we started... yes, they knew several simple poems. I read some more and shared a poem or two of mine.
The four-year-old stayed with us for a while, then went to the lego table. His sister and I talked and read, enjoying especially some poems for two-voices. She is an excellent reader already at 7. At some point I shared a photo from Margaret Simon's blog and elicited her reactions to it:
I had promised to send each child home with a poem in their pocket.
My young friend, Fatima, chose the paper with the butterfly and bow, and we used my poem as a starting place to write her original poem:
Yes, yes!
Yes, I did!
I read this book
Myself
I did!
Amma's proud
Abba's proud too
I read this book
I'm over the moon!
- Fatima
Fatima was proud of her poem, and she chose to stand up and read it to her mom, brother, the librarian and me. Of course we all clapped and congratulated her.
(An aside: Amy Ludwig VanDerwater had graciously offered to let me use one of her poems as a mentor text, but because of the age of the child, I used my own. Thanks, Amy.)
It's been some years since I've given a library program, and although I had hoped for an older group, and at least 4 children, I felt that sharing with one child helped me learn what worked and what didn't. The younger brother didn't care to make a poem for his pocket, and I didn't feel that a 4-year-old was ready for my offering, so that was okay.
Just as David L. Harrison wrote this week after no one showed up for a poetry reading, we poets can be flexible... and proud. In retrospect, I'm happy with the outcome. One little girl went home with a poem in her pocket. I'm proud of that.
Today's Poetry Friday gathering is hosted by Jone Ruth MacCulloch. Click HERE. Jone is hosting a collection of poems found in classic books. What a fun idea! Be sure to check it out.
One of the practices I have learned, and that I call upon from time to time, is a breath prayer. I am no longer sure how I learned it, but I do know that it brings me comfort and strength.
What is a breath prayer? As mentioned in the link below, it is prayer in which our breathing supports our practice. With each inhale I pray a short line, and with each exhale I pray a short line. The prayer I learned goes like this:
Inhale: Jesus Christ
Exhale: Son of God
Inhale: Have mercy on me
Exhale: A sinner.
This is also called the Jesus Prayer. There are occasions when I pray this prayer over and over, each breath and repetition bringing me clearer focus on the content of the prayer. It is a prayer of praise and humility, a prayer of intercession, and a prayer that is always in my heart when I don't know how or what to pray.
Today I tried creating my own for the first time. I find that I prefer a four-line prayer so that I have two sets of inhales and exhales. My prayer is:
Lord of Life
Gentle shepherd
Grant me courage
To walk your path
I hope you will try breath prayer, and I wish you a glorious month.
Be sure to visit Ruth at There's No such Things as a God-forsaken Town. You will find links in the comments to others in our Spiritual Journey group. Click HERE. Thanks for our prompt this month, Ruth, and for hosting.
Today's blog celebrates my mother's old hope chest, which is 100 years old this year. She was given this chest when she turned 16, and little did she know then of the ten children she would raise, or of the many grandchildren and great grandchildren that followed. I admit, I am currently behind in the count.
I was surprised that no one else in the family wanted her hope chest. As furniture goes, I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise. It is anything but pristine. I remember it sitting in our upstairs, full of blankets and quilts. We sat on it, stood on it as a stage when giving a play, and probably used it as a barrier during rubber band wars. The scratches and dings remind me of our life together, and I view them warmly.
Today the chest holds a quilt made by Mama's mother, Grace Pierce. Hand stitched, it is a beautiful lone star quilt which was once on my wall but is now a bit lumpy and needs rest. It also holds some weavings that I made years ago, some hats and mittens, and a flag or two. The beauty of the chest, however, is that it prompts memories. One hundred years of memories.
Hope Chest
She would have loved
the shoes of grands
and great-grands
huddled around
her battered old
hope chest.
If only she
could hear
their voices...
If, for a
single day,
she could
join us...
catch the aroma
of fresh coffee,
hear the clatter
of pans
on the stove
and a child
practicing piano,
or playing cards
snapping
on the table,
laughter erupting,
whispers of comfort,
shuffling chairs,
a contented sigh after
homemade bread
with butter...
How her eyes would shine.
- Karen Eastlund
It dawns on me that even Mama would be surprised at some of the tales this chest could tell. And then again, maybe it's silence is a treasure also.
Margaret Simon's photo prompt this week set me off to find these photos and write this poem. Thank you Margaret!
It's Poetry Friday at Rose Cappelli's blog... she's sharing poems celebrating spring HERE. Thanks so much for hosting, Rose.
Welcome to our Spiritual Journey for March, 2023. Today I've asked members of the group to write about words they fall back on. I think that many of us have special verses or poems, hymns or quotes that give us strength and encouragement, and act as touchstones.
Frederick Buechner wrote these words about the Power of Language:
I started to sense that words not only convey something, but are something; that words have color, depth, texture of their own, and the power to evoke vastly more than they mean; that words can be used not merely to make things clear, make things vivid, make things interesting and whatever else, but to make things happen inside the one who reads them or hears them.
Another February 14th rolls around, and I send you all my love and Valentine greetings.
This year finds me on a health kick: lots of walking and lots of vegetables. And then, as if to encourage me, one day this happened:
Serendipity
All I did was trim the end of the root. The radish shared serendipitous love!
This is as close to snow as we've had this winter, but no complaints. I like good walking weather.
This Valentine's Day I think I will finally succeed in memorizing a favorite love poem. When was the last time you tried memorization? Brains like a good challenge.
“The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix forever, With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle:— Why not I with thine?
See! the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea:— What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me?”
― Percy Bysshe Shelley
We recently sang an anthem that has such wonderful words, I want to share them here:
Beloved, God's chosen,
put on as a garment
compassion, forgiveness
and goodness of heart.
Above all, before all,
let love be your raiment
that binds into one
every dissonant part.
I love the image of binding into one all our dissonant parts. May it be so.
Again, "Happy Valentine's Day!" Be well, be happy, and shine your light!
Today I'm writing about a vegetable, of all things... with poetry included. Come along if you dare.
Confession: I've become somewhat smitten with rutabagas. I know... what a world!?!
What is a rutabaga? A root vegetable that is an unlikely cross between cabbage and turnip.
Purple turnip on the left is NOT a rutabaga, golden rutabaga is on the right.
Rutabagas are sometimes called swedes because they originated in Sweden and are popular in Scandinavia. Maybe because of our scandinavian background, or maybe because I like vegetables in general, every once in a while I give rutabagas a try.
Reactions to a Rutabaga
You need a huge strong knife
to cleave this brute in two
hard work!
peel and dice
cook until tender
patience!
extra texture
mellow cabbage flavor
a bright star in your stew
--draft, Karen Eastlund
All this rutabaga talk because recently I came across this poem about rutabagas and if felt perfect. Here are a few lines with the link to the entire poem below:
Rutabagas: A Love Poem
by James Silas Rogers
...
Rutabagas were on the table. I had to ask Jean what they were. My first mouthful tasted like something in a gunny sack;
...
She said she loved their dug-up texture the hint of dirt that couldn't be washed away, how they left the tongue with a rumor of something underground and dark.
Okay, so Rogers doesn't exactly endorse them, but I love his description. I had to savor that if nothing else.
I find rutabagas easy on the pocketbook and heavy in the grocery bag. And, it turns out they're very good for you! https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/rutabagas If you decide to try them, let me know!
As an aside, Carl Sandburg wrote Rootabaga Stories for children. I'm going to get them from my library.
What the heck... I'm on a roll with rootabagas!!!
Whew! I'm done with vegetable talk. Heave a sigh of relief! Have a laugh and a good week!
It is Poetry Friday, and you can find the whole gang at Carol Varsalona's. Don't miss her stunning collection of poetry postcards!
"Blue... blue was a color so splendid..." - Joe Newberry
Our host this month, Robert Hamera, asks us to consider the colors we project to others, or the colors that act as guiding lights to us. Look for Robert's post and links to others in the Spiritual Journey group HERE.
I taught preschool for a number of years, and I loved the preschool classroom. It was a wonderful learning experience for me, as well as a great joy and a deep responsibility. One of my most enduring realizations was that I was responsible for the tone of the classroom. I knew that children needed to feel safe so that they could take risks and learn, so I tried to provide a safe and calm learning space. And the color I most associate with calm is blue.
I am drawn to color, and greatly affected by it. For me, blues are always at the top of the list. I often wear blue, and blue is a theme in my home. I like to think of bluejeans... they're comfortable and go with everything, right? That's what I want my home and my classroom to reflect. I want to do real work in these spaces, and I might get messy, so bluejeans will be perfect.
I've been told that I project calm when working with children, and I hope I have also projected it in my home. And along with calm is also wonder and joy. Blues suggest all these qualities.
Above: Starry Night quilt for my granddaughter Gracie
There's beauty in blue. Consider the sky, from morning to night. Where better to feel calm and wonder than gazing into the great beyond? I once saw such a gorgeous blue night sky that I could scarcely stop staring at it and pay attention to my walk home. I haven't been able to name that deep blue, but it captivated me and enveloped me, and I still think about it even though it must have been 30+ years ago.
I love the beauty and surprise of morning glories, the shock of deep blue lobelia (some volunteered in my garden this past summer!) and the chalky blue of globe thistles. I have relaxed in the deep blue of clear lakes and laughed at the twinkle in my father's blue eyes. I am thankful to live on a blue planet where even the ice and snow reflect blue.
Blue may also suggest sadness. We all experience and express sadness, often with tears, words and music. Blue can be both calm and buoyant, a perfect hue to bear our emotions. Below is a blues song I enjoy, especially for its wordplay. Joe Newberry wrote it, and he tells that the whole first line came to him while waiting in line at the post office. He wrote the words on the back of a Christmas card envelope, so someone didn't get a card from him that year. He's accompanied by April Verch. Enjoy!
I agree with Joe's first line, but I have to change the tense of his verb. Blue IS a color "so splendid."
Along with blue, if I look in my closet, I see red, red, red. My second favorite color. But that's a story for another day.
Thanks for hosting today, Robert, and for this interesting prompt!
