Welcome to Poetry Friday. This week the talented poet Matt Esenwine is hosting HERE. I can’t wait to read his new anthology, A Universe of Rainbows! Congratulations! The cover is gorgeous!
I am so impressed by the poetry projects that so many are doing this month! I love the Progressive Poem and am waiting for my turn. I am also soaking up the ideas I learn from Poetry Friday poets. Thank you all.
What a great poster! Yes! I want to live in a shared world. For me there is no alternative. If we want to live in a shared world, we have to speak up!
This week I wrote a Cherita.
What is a Cherita? It is a poetry form described HERE. A cherita has three stanzas and it tells a story.
CHANGE IN AMERICA
Good change comes slowly,
inspired by the will of the people. But keep watch!
If change is sudden and requires flashlights on Friday night, in dark buildings suspect thieves.
Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by the talented Marcie Flinchum Atkins on her blog. Thank you for hosting, Denise. I did not get to read posts this week and I apologize. I’m working on a poetry collection I had critiqued and now am revising. It isn’t easy, but I’m moving forward, where to, I’m not sure. I am thrilled that I signed up for the Highlights Poetry Palooza this November with Georgia Heard, Rebecca Kai Dotlich, Irene Latham, and Charles Waters.
It’s warming, in the forties here in Syracuse today, The FORSYTHIAS are budding:
The DAFFODILS have arrived:
So I want to declare something.
DECLARATION BASED ON THINGS SEEN
Forsythia buds Patches of bright daffodils I declare it spring!
I feel, like many, that I have so little control over life these days. So many things that I took for granted, maybe too much, are changing. So why not declare something? I do believe that nothing, at this moment, could possibly prove I’m wrong today when it comes to spring. It is definitely coming to Syracuse.
My husband and I look forward to attending a local political protest on 4/5. I’ve never in the past felt as if I was propelled to take a stand against anything, such as DOGE, quite like I do now. This feels urgent and it’s fueled by hope.
My OLW for 2025 is HOPE, and I’ve neglected the poor little word. So here is my first poem.
HOPE
Hope makes you sign up Paint a poster, demonstrate, believe it matters.
Welcome to Poetry Friday. Today I am the host and I’m feeling a needed boost today, weather-wise. Spring is in the air–it’s warm and the sun has showed up in Syracuse, having shone elsewhere for quite a while. So, Yay!!!
I’m celebrating women’s history month by finding One Step Forward by Marcie Flinchum at my local library. Can’t wait to read it.
I also am about to read the Narrative of Sojourner Truth which I have never read.
I look forward to reading all your blogs! Please leave your blog address with Mr. Linky at the end of this post.
Before I continue, I would like to thank Laura Shovan for the 13th Annual February Facebook Poetry Project. Click on her name to find her blog containing useful information for poets and teachers, though I’m sure many are familiar with her work. In February, I was inspired by the daily prompts all by different poets on Facebook.
Like many I’ve been thinking about public service with all the firing of government civil servants, who, in their different ways, save lives. Think of the Department of Education. By supporting schools and scholarships, those civil servants certainly save lives by investing in the future of all students. Think of the Department of Justice that is supposed to investigate crime, and researchers at the NIH. Those who spend their lives helping others are special people.
I will share a short poem I wrote about nurses, who care for people 24/7 in V.A. Hospitals. When I was an intern the VA was a favorite place to work. The veterans were always grateful for their care and liked the young students who came by, even as they were poked and prodded. The patients taught students a great deal, as did the nursing staff.
NIGHT NURSE
In our busy ER monitors beep people in pain, records to keep.
I’ve been working since midnight, a twelve hour shift, IV’s to hang, sick patients to lift.
lunch break at five, from the chaos, a gap, I close my eyes for a moment, and steal a short nap.
The middle of the night in a hospital is special. It’s a world that few get to see, away from the noise and commotion of the busier hectic day shift. For staff, circadian rhythms seemed to bottom out around 5AM, and must recover however they can until the shift ends.
In the 19th century, Walt Whitman wrote about nursing in a most serious way. He worked as a nurse during the Civil War, caring for dying soldiers, describing in depth his experience in the poem, Nursing the Wounded and Dying. It’s a long poem. Here is an excerpt:
Excerpt from Nursing the Wounded and Dying by Walt Whitman
With dear or critical cases I generally sit by the restless all the dark night, Some are so young, some suffer so much. I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst-suffering and the most restless, I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches from them; I find deep things, unreckoned by current print or speech— It is perhaps the greatest interchange of magnetism human relations are capable of.
His “interchange of magnetism” in human relations is fascinating and emotionally touching; the feeling passing from patient to care giver. Here’s his likeness on a copy of his collection Leaves of Grass.
There are more men in nursing now. But it began as a women’s profession in the mid-nineteenth century. Florence Nightingale did much to established nursing as a profession during her work in the Crimea and later, and should be remembered.
During this time of upheaval which seems to involve every corner of the United States, I’ve appreciated by family and friends more than ever. I have become much more aware of those who serve our country and keep people and democracy alive. I look forward to reading all of your posts.
Welcome to Poetry Friday. This week hosted by teacher and poet Margaret Simon Here at Reflections on the Teche. Thank you, Margaret for hosting!
Ten years ago, I completed a haiku project about the American Presidents. I wrote a haiku or tanka about something specific about each life and a short factoid to fill in a fact or two. I thought I’d share what I wrote about Millard Fillmore, who was born in Upstate New York in a town called Moravia. There is a state park in Moravia named for him. You will find water falls, a swimming hole and walking trails.
Waterfall at Millard Fillmore State Park
Fillmore was President during the Compromise of 1850 which was an attempt to appease the South. Part of the agreement was to allow federal Marshalls to cross state lines to hunt down runaway enslaved people in the North and return them South.
We all know the Compromise of 1850 failed. The South could not be appeased, but the law was tested out:
In October 1851 the Marshalls came to Syracuse to capture a fugitive named Jerry. But famously, they failed miserably. The citizens in Syracuse, white and black, rescued him from jail and spirited him to nearby Canada in an event known as The Jerry Rescue. In the link you can see the sculpture dedicated to this event.
Here’s my haiku about President Fillmore, who is not on the top ten list.
Millard Fillmore
Hate was mounting—why could you see only money in a field of cotton?
#13 MILLARD FILLMORE (1850-1853) Mr. Fillmore, failed to see that slavery was immoral. In 1848, he was concerned only about the United States economy and cotton, which, at the time, depended on slaves. ___
This haiku seems relevant today, as everything has a price. The pesky needs of humanity inconveniently keep getting in the way of world peace, as Fillmore discovered.
Thank you, Margaret for hosting. I’ll be hosting next week. See you then.
Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by the talented Denise Krebs HERE. Thank you, Denise, for hosting!
It has been a busy week. After struggling with a failing laptop, I finally replaced it. So it’s a thrill to transfer my writing to a new computer which actually inspired me to get to work on some revisions. I feel like I’m getting a new start! My non-fiction poetry collection about “Team Digestion” received some needed cutting and a rework of its story line. Now what will I share this week?
Here’s two photos and haiku:
Earlier this winter in California, I would use the seagulls on the beach to tell me which way the wind was blowing. It seems that gulls face into the wind so they can remain upright and not blow over. The wind was so strong it almost blew walkers over. I loved seeing them standing together, all in the same direction, like soldiers.
On a breezy day Seagulls gather together To brave the west wind
I can’t let my mourning for the loss of respect and decency in our country take the joy from my life. There is no time for that. I am so grateful for my little grandson, Tommy, now already 2 months old and growing bigger every day! I look at a picture that comes every day and feel such joy and hope.
I’d like to celebrate a museum today: The Cloisters, in New York City.
My husband, Bart, and I happened to be in the NY suburbs visiting family and on a Sunday morning, drove across the GW bridge to one of our favorite places. It is part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and sits in northern Manhattan, close to the bridge, in Fort Tryon Park.
The museum displays medieval art including the seven Unicorn tapestries, woven in the late 1400’s.
The unicorn, of course if a legendary creature with a single horn protruding from it’s head. To some, the unicorn is the symbol of Christ and its pursuit and capture a metaphor for the crucifixion and resurrection. For others, the tapestries are explained by some as an allegory of marriage, the devotion and subjugation of love.
However you interpret them, through Christianity or culture, the tapestries are amazing. For instance, according to Wikipedia, in the background are 100 different plants, 85 identified by botanists. That’s a lot of detail! At the Wikipedia site, you can view the seven tapestries.
Unicorn in Captivity, the last of the series of seven tapestries.
I always learn something at every museum. One thing I learned at the Cloisters was that the tusk of the narwhal whale was thought my many to be that of a unicorn.
Such tusks, ten feet in length, when found were safeguarded in churches from London to Cracow. One such tusk, in France, was said to have been given to Charlemagne, according to a museum plaque. Other prized unicorn horns were gifted to San Marco of Venice, Philip the Good, the Duke of Burgundy and other deserving fellows.
A Narwhal tusk or, if you prefer, a unicorn horn, displayed in the corner of the tapestry room
What do you think? Is it love/marriage or religion, or today, government gone amok that has placed this beautiful unicorn inside a fence? Here’s a tanka:
I WONDER
Love or religion? A lovely animal fenced-- medieval, me thinks. Who made the fancy collar? Why fence an innocent in?
Today the mailman brought me the new poetry anthology IF I COULD CHOOSE A BEST DAY, edited by Irene Latham and Charles Waters, Illustrated by Olivia Sua.
The contains thirty poems by as many poets, many who are well know to the children’s poetry community, such as Nikki Grimes, Renee LaTulippe, Rebecca Kai Doltish, Georgia Heard, Joseph Bruchac, Laura Purdie Salas and many, many others. I feel honored to have been included. Thank you, Irene and Charles!
The collection is about possibility. What if you could choose the best day?
The artwork by Olivia Sua features children at play in a colorful, gentle and welcoming world. The book opens with a welcoming poem by the editors, entitled, “Welcome.”
Welcome by Irene Latham and Charles Waters
If you're reading this, It's time to unlock the door to possibility. Trust yourself--
Turn the key.
Every poem in the book begins with the word, “If” : which seems like an invitation to a child to imagine as they explore each poem, and think, “What if . . . ?” Some of the poem titles include “If this wind persists” by Sydell Rosenberg, “The gift of If” by JaNay Brown-Wood, “If We Were Rich” by Janet Wong, to mention a few.
I’m sorry I was not able to copy the art inside the book, but at least I can share the cover. The book will be released early March.
It’s been two years since I submitted and I almost forgot this book was being published, but here it is.
The illustration on the page of my poem is a picture of a pretty whitewashed town with snow falling. There is a silhouette of a child, a girl, in a window of one of the houses.
IF A SNOWSTORM COMES TO TOWN
If a snowstorm comes to town, I'll watch the snowflakes falling down, watch them swirling to the ground sparkling, spinning round and round. Never will they make a sound just keep falling down down down.
I love to watch the snowflakes fall-- no one rushes snow at all! Out my window, wandering free, snow is how I like to be.
Janice Scully 2025
I was thrilled when my copy arrived today! My new grandson in California is finally home from N.I.C.U and he seems, I hear, very happy to be there. I’ll definitely add this book to his growing collection!
Thank you for reading. I’m sure you will hear more in the coming months about this collection.
This week we are hosted by Carol Here at Beyond Literacy. Like me, Carol has been occupied this week writing a daily poem on Facebook along with author Laura Shovan‘s 13th Annual February Poetry Project. Thank you, Laura for this opportunity!
It’s been fun and the daily prompts have helped me find new ideas that might spark a poem. Plus I get to read the work of other poets.
One prompt asked us to write about small spaces. Hmm.
What came to mind were seeds, which are of course very small spaces filled with blue print of a new plant. Also I thought about how plants seem to adhere to a purpose, they do what they can to have a healthy life.
Plants, unlike us, follow its instruction and have it seems the wisdom to flourish. Unlike us, they don’t get distracted from their mission. They don’t self destruct. They simply grow and become part of a forest.
LAKE TAHOE
REDWOOD SEED
doesn't have the power to think, feel, see, smell or taste as it navigates life,
(we are so gifted!)
yet a redwood moves faithfullY towards its sacred destiny, growing taller and wider, year after year, decade after decade, it fits in among neighbors and if nature grants it, it lives a long life.
But as redwoods tower silently above us like cathedrals,
human neighbors spin round and round in ever more wasteful
and tragic circles.
Janice Scully 2025
Thank you, Carole for hosting Poetry Friday. Have a great weekend!
I have been away from Poetry Friday since August and am delighted to be posting again. I was worried I’d be too rusty or my website wouldn’t know me. But now as I write, it seems like I never left.
My little grandson was born in a big rush two days before Christmas, eight weeks early, miles away in California and the sea.
So my husband Bart and I left snowy New York
for chilly northern California.
In the December Christmas Poetry Swap organized by Tabetha Yeatts, I received this lovely poem written by Tabatha. She knew I was awaiting my first grandchild.
EMERGENCE for Janice by Tabatha Yeatts
A New Baby, like a sky vibrant with the northern lights,
draws us together where we gaze exhilarated
upon this gift-- The world, Illuminated.
I love “like a sky vibrant.” Every child is so different and each “illuminates” the world in a new way.
But now, on January 31st, Tommy Bartholomew has been with us a month. He was born quite early, and we were so worried! But thankfully, he is fine, and will be able to leave the hospital soon.
I wrote this in response to Tabatha’s poem:
FOR TOMMY B.
we will watch; wait each day as this new star marks his path.
Will we understand what he brings from so far away?
We will make sure he knows he is part of a family and we have been waiting breathlessly to meet him
Tricia, one of the POETRY SISTERS suggested we write a tanka followed by a haiku in response to it. It was written in honor of the doctors and nurses in the N.I.C.U at California Pacific Medical Center in San Francisco. It was a wonderfully supportive place, kind and professional.
THE N.I.C.U. December 23, 2024
in between two worlds a tiny boy, eyes still shut, cannot leave here yet. kind nurses swaddle and feed, keep him warm and safe.
sudden arrival! doctors hustled late at night, work that never ends.
I’ve anticipated claiming a new little word this year and I think it has to be HOPE. Hope for all babies, all families, hope for our country. I’ll see what I can come up with. Happy Belated New Year, everyone!
Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by Susan HERE at her blog Chicken Spaghetti. Thank you for hosting, Susan!
This week I will share a photo I took one evening this summer of a perfect half moon. The moon is very big, with a diameter of 2,159.2 miles, about 1/4 the size of Earth. But it is 238,855 away from our Earth and so it looks very small as I gaze up at it from my driveway.
Half-moon suspended held in view by gravity half lit, half hidden
I would not consider the moon a small thing, just a large object that happens to be far away.
Recently an on-line magazine was looking for poems about small things. So I thought about things much much smaller than the moon, things that I encounter here on earth. I wrote a poem and sent it. My poem wasn’t chosen, it’s short and straight forward. I revised it some and will share it here.
SMALL THINGS
A seedling in a forest, a raindrop in a lake, a firefly in the night, snow, a single flake.
The little bird that chatters every stone, or flower or bee.
On Earth all small things matter so we protect them, you and me.
