I bought some red geraniums at the nursery, and the depth of color left me gobsmacked. I love deep color. It draws me like bees to a sweet pickle jar. So I had to write about it...
Geranium's green fists
soon flutter prayer flags
drenched in crimson
-- Karen Eastlund
So the question comes... is it a haiku in hiding? If I move the word "fists" to the second line, I'm close to the 5-7-5 configuration for a haiku. That was my original plan. But then I did a little more investigating and learned haiku do not include metaphors or similes. Well... I liked my metaphor more than I liked the idea of a haiku. I moved "fists" to the first row and that's how it ended up as it is. Let me know what you think.
That's my little poem for today. I hope it speaks to you. If you are a poetry fan, please feel free to join the Poetry Friday gang, hosted today at the ever so talented Michelle Kogan's. Don't miss her gorgeous illustrations, plus...you will find plenty of poetry to please you there! Thanks for hosting, Michelle, and happy birthday!
I took Irene Latham's revision class a few weeks ago. It was excellent, just as I suspected it would be. So... with a her advice in mind, and a poem I wrote in 2014, I went to work. Here is my revision... I'm still monkeying with it, but I sense progress.
Congratulations today to Mary Lee Hahn, an extraordinary educator and poet who inspires us all. My best to you, Mary Lee. Enjoy your retirement! Write more poetry!
It's Poetry Friday again! The weeks seem to speed by. Find the Poetry Friday gang today at
Christie Wyman's Wondering & Wandering. Thanks for hosting, Christie, and thanks for sharing some of Mary Lee's poems.
Sending good wishes to all, especially teachers and students who will be winding up a year.
Days are warming, flowers are blooming, birds are singing. The world seems a little sweeter, a little kinder in spring. It's no surprise that spirits rise as the sun's warm rays return, as bees begin to buzz and eggs appear in nests. And yet, for several reasons, this month holds a hair shirt of challenges for me. Perhaps some of the problem lies with the medicine I have to take while lilacs bloom. Anyway... instead of my own words, I've chosen to share some poems that feel right for today. I hope you will find joy and solace in them. In the first one you will notice the word "man" where I wish a more encompassing word had been used, but I did not feel comfortable changing the original. Most of my readers are women... please know that my heart is with you.
Flower in the Crannied Wall
Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies;--
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower -- but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.
--Alfred Lord Tennyson
Small Things
It usually starts taking shape from one word
reveals itself in one smile
sometimes in the blue glint of eyeglasses
in a trampled daisy
in a splash of light on a path
in quivering carrot leaves
in a bunch of parsley
It comes from laundry hung on a balcony
from hands thrust into dough
It seeps through closed eyelids
as through the prison wall of things of objects
of faces of landscapes
It's when you slice bread
when you pour out some tea
It comes from a broom from a shopping bag
from peeling new potatoes
from a drop of blood from the prick of a needle
when making panties for a child
or sewing a button on a husband's burial shirt
It comes out of toil out of care
out of immense fatigue in the evening
out of a tear wiped away
out of a prayer broken off in mid-word by sleep
It's not from the grand
but from every tiny thing
that it grows enormous
as if Someone was building Eternity
as a swallow its nest
out of clumps of moments --Anna Kashenska (Polish, 1920-1986)
I praise Thee while my days go on;
I love Thee while my days go on:
Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost,
With emptied arms and treasure lost,
I thank Thee while my days go on.
--Elizabeth Barrett Browning
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well.
-- T.S. Eliot
You are invited to read the offerings of the other bloggers in this group by
Spring is in full swing now, here in NJ. Trees are blossoming in lovely whites and pinks, and the forsythia are bragging their bright yellows. My daffodils have already faded, but red tulips have taken their place, and a few deep purple violets are sprinkled here and there. Such beauty!
The picture below was taken a week or so ago, along the river where not everything is blooming yet. It made me think of a poem.
Do any of you remember a children's poem from years back about the sky and wind and bare branches? I thought I remembered one, but I couldn't find it, so I wrote the poem I'm about to share. I'm just a little apprehensive about sharing it, but I figure that someone in this group will know the poem if there is one. If not, maybe it is my idea... or maybe I dreamed it...
If I were the Sky
If I were the sky
On a windy day
Watching bare branches
Writhe and sway
I'd turn my back to the trees and say
Could you, please,
You tallest of trees,
Scratch my itches away?
-- draft
It's Poetry Friday, and Jama Rattigan is hosting at Jama's Alphabet Soup. Don't miss the fun!
The chorus of songbirds has begun to echo each dawn. Why do they sing? Scientists have theories, but to me it seems a chorus of joy, a spontaneous celebration of the new day. Their songs have a sense of life and hope about them. The robin says "chirry up!" The cardinal answers "What cheer, cheer, cheer."
Who can resist the feelings of hope and joy that one gets from participating in nature's birth? Edward Giobbi
All kinds of buds are opening, the lawns greening, the trees showing some life. We find great joy, great hope in these signs. The cold death of winter loses its strength, warm days of promise are ahead, and new life, suddenly, is all around us. New life is at our door. It blesses us. We have been given the chance to start over, and start with a fresh slate. Anything is possible.
Earth is crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God, but only he who sees takes off his shoes. Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The soft velvet of an infant's cheek brings tears to our eyes, reminds us of vulnerability and possibility, of the miracle of life. Nothing touches us so deeply. This is the promise we treasure, and we celebrate each new milestone: the first smile, the first word, the first step, the first day at school. The Christian tradition often speaks of newness, a new order, a clean slate. I rest in that promise, especially this year.
1 Peter 1:3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead...
So I share with you this prayer poem from Celtic Daily Prayer... from the Northumbria Community...
If my lips could sing as many songs
as there are waves in the sea:
if my tongue could sing as many hymns
as there are ocean billows:
if my mouth
filled the firmament with praise:
if my face
shone like the sun and moon together:
if my hands
were to hover in the sky like powerful eagles
and my feet
ran across mountains as swiftly as the deer:
all that would not be enough
to pay You fitting tribute,
O Lord my God.
-Unknown author
Chopin's Spring Waltz
Many blessings to you for this spring season and this Holy Week. Please leave your links in the comments below and I will round them up throughout the day or days ahead.
A new concept for me: the sounds in words can sing like notes on a scale. The idea comes from Gregory Orr's book, A Primer for Poets & Readers of Poetry, which I've been working my way through for a while now. The poem I will share with you today is my response to an exercise from the chapter entitled Singing. There are quite a few rules with this exercise which I found both challenging and interesting. So... here goes...
Write a poem using the following eight words:
Willow (use as a noun)
Swallow (use as either verb or noun)
Lame (adjective)
Disdain (use as either verb or noun)
Flame (use as either verb or noun)
Green (adjective)
Sway (verb)
Gave (verb)
Rules:
The poem must be ten to twelve lines long
You must use all the words
You can use them in whatever order you wish
You can't use more than one of the listed words in each line, i.e., you must space the designated words throughout the poem -- you can't jam several of them in the same line.
Hint: If you find yourself aware of the sound echoes and effects that these eight words suggest, feel free to use words of your own choosing that continue, or expand on, or play off the sounds you 're responding to in these eight words. Doing so will heighten and possibly alter the sonic texture of your poem.
I'm interested in Orr's approach to poetry, emphasizing poetry's work of bringing order out of disorder. I hope you find something of interest in this exercise. I admit that I wonder... would it "sing" more if I had freedom? What do you think?
Poetry Friday is hosted by Susan at Soul Blossom Living. Be sure to check out everyone's plans for celebrating April as Poetry Month. Thanks for hosting, Susan!
