Welcome to Poetry Friday! This week we are hosted by clever and delightful Mona Voelkel, who I was lucky to meet at Highlights Poetry Palooza November 1025. Thanks for hosting, Mona. I look forward to what you will be sharing this week. I have a wee haiku at the end of my post.
Having just returned from visiting my family in Pacifica, California, I’m missing the Chit Chat Cafe where we had coffee almost everyday. I doubt I’m unusual, but I get very attached to places, and love out of the way stores and people that give a location an identity and character.
The Chit Chat Cafe is located on the Pacifica pier which stands on a sturdy but rusty foundation. As you get there, you are striking distance from crashing waves and a cold briny shower if you aren’t careful. It is free to fish on the pier and it’s usually busy with fishermen from many different countries who seem quite experienced. Inside the cafe is where fisherman buy bait and where customers buy coffee, sit, think and listen to the waves. That the cafe still stands year after year so close to the ocean is to me miraculous, but it does. The nearby streets of Pacifica are battered by the waves and the weather all along the beach..
The cafe is on the far right, a pink building.
I embellished painting of the Chit Chat with a bit with color.
Now I’m back in Syracuse where the weather is sunny and warm.
This morning I came across this tiny baby deer, standing by my porch, with no mother in site! Eventually, after a very long while, it made a few peeps, and scooted away to the woods. I have never seen a fawn this close, and never heard one. It so reminded me of my favorite book, The Yearling by Margaret Rawlings
Splattering of white, new born big eyed wobbly deer-- lost but quite perfect.
Before I sign off I’ll mention that after my poem ESOPHAGUS came out in Little Thoughts Press, Claire Taylor, the editor interviewed me about my writing process and background. She posted it on the magazine website here. I enjoyed the interview and since it felt like a rather rare event, why not share it?
Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by Carol Labuzzetta Here. Thank you, Carol, for hosting.
Greeting from my last week in California. It will be hard to leave my grandson, but his Grandparents from China are on the way. Tommy is being emmersed in two languages, sorting them out, trying out sounds.
But, enough about me.
Jone Rush MacCullogh’s new middle grade novel in verse, TILT, is a must read.
Jone Rush MacCullogh is an artist, poet, librarian and Poetry Friday blogger Here. Several weeks ago, Jone invited bloggers to get the word out about her new middle grade novel-in-verse.
So I ordered TILT from Amazon. It was a great read, the voice of her main character, fifth grade Darrah, is totally authentic.
In the author’s note, she explains that her book was inspired by a 2004 tragedy at the middle school where she worked: A fifth grade boy died. “He was killed by dog mauling.” Jone’s fictionalized novel has been in the making ever since.
Children learn through story. I don’t have to tell teachers and Librarians that. They don’t learn by being preached at. The best books for kids place readers in a believable setting and tell stories through believable characters. They elicit emotion in readers. TILT, does just that. The word “tilt” of pinball origin, is a metaphor for how the main character, fifth grader Darrah’s, world is suddenly changed… tilted.
DAD'S FAVORITE WORD
Dad taught me to play pinball. Plant your feet, maybe one in front of the other. Lean in. Body centered. Practice flipping.
nudging--left, right, left, right--an art. Slight nudge right, slight nudge left, and BAM-- Winning! But beware!
If you nudge too hard, loud bells ring, lights flash, TILT! Dad sometimes says TILT as a swear word. TILT --everything changes. Sometimes good, sometimes rotten.
My world now? TILT!
The novel is set into motion soon after because Dad leaves Mom and moves out.
TILT!
Her mother and Darrah are sad and angry. Mom is withdrawn.
In addition, Darrah, absorbed in this tragedy, feels insulted by her best friend, Lily, and the two friends grow distant: another loss. Who can Darrah trust?
Enter a a boy named Jackson. He is charming, a risk -taker, who likes to climb trees, whereas Darrah is afraid of heights. He likes dogs whereas Darrah who has been bitten by a dog in the past, is wary of dogs. But they are soon best friends, the two name themselves “The Fearless Daredevils.”
With her new friend, Darrah begins to do dangerous things like sneaking out at night to do, going where kids should not. One adventure at school lands them in the principal’s office. Tension in the novel rises.
Eventually, Jackson asks Darrah to sneak out of her house late at night to meet him on an adventure. Hesitant, she agrees and rides her bike to a fenced in yard in their neighborhood. She finds Jackson there visiting with two large dogs beyond a fence. Will she climb over?
THE DOGS AND JACKSON
The streetlight casts a spooky glow on the yard littered with chew toys. Jackson stands with the dogs.
I ask, "Jackson, WTH? Why are you with them?" Hair prickles on my neck. Hop off my bike.
He replies, "I'm having fun. These dogs are sweet. Look at them1"
Tails wag. Noses nudge his leg. I ask, What if the owners see you?"
Jackson shrugs. "Not sure. I don't know. C'mon over! Jump the chain link fence."
I step back. "No, don't think so. Not a good idea."
This dare-devil scheme, a visit with these dogs, is a bridge too far. Darrah leaves and goes home. She finds out the next day that dogs have taken Jackson’s life.
With this climax, the novel winds down. Darrah has to talk to the authorities and other grownups, including her parents, who offer support.
Through reading, Kids don’t have to sneak out of their houses at night in real life and go to dangerous places to understand that it might not end well.
Jone Rush MacCullogh tells the story through engaging free verse poems and the voices of believable characters. The obstacles Darrah faces are clear and evocative. The reader feelsthe thrill of breaking rules, yet might understand that it’s wise to think and to question one’s decisions.
Away from home for six weeks now, I have been writing some, and drawing and painting when I can. This is Tommy, who is one and a half on his play mat. I have learned that it’s hard capturing babies. In most of my pictures of him he looks like a little man. I like this one. He looks like a baby.
I have been working on a novel in verse about my brother’s year in Vietnam inspired by his letters home in 1969. I’m working on submitting it, but I thought I’d share the first free verse poem:
NICK’S LETTERS
July 1970, summer before ninth grade:
I have decided,
after all that happened, during the last two years,
and
with so many letters from Vietnam in my hands,
that I will stitch together what I figured out about
my family, our town and the war
the way I stitch together a new dress or pants,
one piece at a time.
Can I do it? I sew pretty well. Maybe I can write this story, too.
Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by poet and teacher Rose Cappelli HERE, at Imagine the Possibilities. Thank you, Rose, and I look forward to reading what you are sharing this week.
I shared a poem last week inspired by the poetry of Grant Snider. This week, with my beginner’s drawing skills, I turned it into a comic. Why not? I can only reveal my rudimentary drawing skills for what they are. First of all, it took a number of drafts before it became anything I could share. I kept at it.
I bought some watercolor pencils that were fun to use. You used them like pencils then add water with a brush. I gained a better appreciation for the art of illustration, that’s for sure. I would like to try making another cartoon perhaps and work on this one some more.
What I love about Poetry Friday is that I can post poems or pictures that are simply works in progress, maybe on the way to becoming something better.
One other thing.
I have to acknowledge here the dreadful news this week. The Supreme Court has hammered The Voting Rights Act, making the hole we have to dig ourselves out of even more cavernous. Shame on them!
Welcome to Poetry Friday! I’m writing on the twenty third day of National Poetry Month. This week we are hosted by the amazing poet and author, Irene Latham. Thank you for hosting! I am in the midst of reading her romantic new novel SOME STARRY NIGHT, and have also just read FOR THE WIN, a must read for teens who love sports.
The Progressive Poem has been fabulous and I’ve read every line even if I haven’t had the chance to comment on every one. I’ve been in California visiting my Grandson and it’s been busy. This week several of us have been sharing a virus baby Tommy acquired in daycare. Fortunately it’s been mild.
I have been doing some creative work, much of it just thinking.
Thanks to Mary Lee Hahn, on one of her recent posts, I discovered Grant Snider’s Poetry Comics.
What a wonderful book! In it he has written three different poems about How to Write a Poem and titles #1, #2, #3. I hope interested readers will find a copy and check it out. The cover gives you a taste of it. Below is #1, without the art.
HOW TO WRITE A POEM #! By Grant Snider
Find a quiet place. A sharp pencil. A blank page. Sit Still. Keep quiet. Wait. A poem will rush in to fill the space.
I used it as a mentor text. Poets are always looking for poems.
I LOOKED FOR A POEM by Janice Scully
searched the sky, found the sun.
poems about the sun have already been done,
and poems about mountains, creatures that roar,
ravens, daisies, I see at the shore.
But does that matter?
whenever I search I always find more.
Could I make this a comic? Well, I quickly realized that it would take some time. I needed to create a unique character, and several scenes and to draw even a stick figure I’d have to practice. The characters have to move, as you see on the cover of his book. Snider’s characters, run, tumble, spin and make snow angels. Still it might be fun and I might work at it this week.
I did paint a picture I liked this week. I put some colors on a small sheet of watercolor paper, just to experiment with some color washes. What I ended up with looked a lot like the colors I saw in an Arizona desert a few years ago. Blues, browns, yellows.
In the distance, through an opening in the monument are pinks, blues, but also a lot of shrubs trailing off into the distance. So added some shrubs to my picture and this is what I came up with. What I like about watercolor is that I often feel as if I’ve painted something horrible, but with a brush, some water and tissue, I can often make better, something I actually like. You may or may not.
THE DESERT AT THE WAPATKI NATIONAL MONUMENT.
I hope you have a great week. I have been following the news and find that Poetry Friday and all the wonderful and creative people here give me some hope.
Today it is my turn to move this poem forward on our journey through the land of poetry.
Thank you Tabatha for the lovely picture to help us imagine where we are going. And thank you to Irene Latham for beginning this yearly NPM tradition on Poetry Friday.
Donna Smith’s line:
“birding for words shimmering, flecked in golden gilding”
added sparkle to this journey through the Land of Poetry. She also embellished the map, inviting poets to add to it if they wish. Hardy Harbor? How about Coleridge Cove? So many possibilities, but I found myself busy enough coming up with a fifth line. Yikes! Every year it’s a challenge.
First, some punctuation.
Patricia Franz’s third line had ended in an exclamation point, so I restored it, which made “birding” the beginning of a new sentence. So I capitalized “Birding.” I hope that’s OK, Donna.
Intrigued by the introduction of birding, here’s my addition:
On my first trip to the Land of Poetry, I saw anthologies of every color, tall as buildings. A world of words, wonder on wings, waiting just for me! Birding for words shimmering, flecked in golden gilding,
binoculars ready, I toured boulevards and side streets
Denise Krebs will take it from here. Bon Voyage! Feel free to punctuate my fifth line in whatever way you need to.
Welcome to Poetry Friday, the first one during National Poetry month. We are hosted this week by Matt Forest Ersenwine Here. He is a teacher and prolific author of poetry books for kids including A UNIVERSE OF RAINBOWS, a beautiful anthology that included many Poetry Friday authors. It earned a 2026 Notable Book Award for Children’s Poetry. Thank you, Matt, for hosting.
This is National Poetry Month. One of my favorite things is the PROGRESSIVE POEM. Every day of the month a Poetry Friday blogger adds a line, moving the poem forward. The yearly event was started by poet Irene Latham and I love being part of it each year. I am following closely at the moment because I have to come up with the 5th line on Easter Sunday.
Tabatha started the PROGRESSIVE POEM on 4/1 Here with an amazing first line, and the lineup of poets is as follows, if you’d like to follow along.
My post today is about two surprises I discovered on my walk: two flower that compete with the crocus for the first spring flowers to bloom. They were growing in a gully in front of my house. I never knew they existed.
The first is the Siberian Squill or Wood Squill. It is an immigrant flower, native to Turkey and Southwestern Russia (not Siberia). It is a lovely tiny little flower but beware! It’s poisonous for some animals.
FROM RUSSIA
From damp fallen leaves shy blue flowers: "I am here!" to color this land
The other flower in full bloom is the Common Snowdrop. (not to be confused with the Snowflake) . It is another flower first to appear in the spring, at least in temperate regions like New York. I have always thought of the crocus as coming first, but this definitely competes.
COMMON SNOWDROP
buds may hang their heads but they sneak-up and arrive to join the chorus
As I am planning a few weeks with our grandson, it might be hard to keep up, but I will try and definitely follow along on the NPM celebrations.
My contributor’s copy of The current issue of Little Thought’s Press arrived this week. The issue is about the human body and entitled HEAD, SHOULDERS, SPLEEN AND NOSE. Moe Phillips’ delightful poem about the Uvula is also in this issue and many poets new to me, all focused on the body.
Below is my short poem entitled ESOPHAGUS, and its illustration.
I leave you with a painting of a deer grazing in our neighborhood. I hope he looks more like a deer than a horse.
Welcome to Poetry Friday! This week we are hosted by Marcie Flinchum Atkins Here. Thank you, Marcie, for hosting.
First, there are two winners of Valarie Short’s picture book THE SOUNDS OF FREEDOM COMING!
CAROL VARSALONA and PATRICIA FRANZ
CONGRATULATIONS !!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!
It’s not my book, but it’s still fun to give things away.
(Carol, please send your address to me at Janice.scully@gmail.com)
What a crazy time we live in! I’ve been busy editing my novel in verse entitled WHEN MY BROTHER WENT TO WAR. It’s a fictionalized version of the year my brother went to Vietnam through the eyes of his fourteen year old sister reading his letters and hearing his stories. I’ve posted about this I believe, so I hope I’m not sounding repetitive. I am enthusiastic, though. I really like how it’s taking shape.
A year ago I rather gave up on it as it seems that a Vietnam War story was no longer relevant.
Ancient history.
No one would be interested.
I lost faith in my ability to get this story into the world.
But possibilities seem to be changing as we are perhaps about to relive that era, granted, through a bazaar surrealism lens, a blending of fantasy and reality.
So, I’m plugging along and have been encouraged by the responses of several reliable readers I’ve shared it with. Over time the ending has become stronger, more nuanced. If anyone knows of agents and editors looking to publish or represent verse novels and might be interested in a war story, let me know.
Meanwhile:
My daffodils are getting taller, just short of blooming.
DAFFODIL LAST WEEK IN MARCH
Blue green leaves cradle a hidden yellow ruffled promise.
I’m a bit emotional, what with the actual clinical-level insanity going on in our country (behavior certainly described in any psychiatry text), the heartbreak of families losing soldiers and the visions I see in my head of the personal loss of so many overseas. I also just listened to a podcast about the extreme misogyny in right wing circles, the flat out hatred towards women.
This is not normal.
However, we still have daffodils and adorable grandchildren. My grandson Tommy is walking. A little like Frankenstein but he’s not even a year and a half!
Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by poet Tanita Davis. HERE. Thanks Tanita for hosting!
BOOK GIVAWAY! One lucky person commenting below in this post during the next week will receive a free copy of THE SOUNDS OF FREEDOM COMING.
I’d like to shout out about a picture book. about an event took place on October 1, 1851, a year after the Fugitive Slave Law of 1950 was passed. This law was intended to appease slave owners, angry about their “property” disappearing. Now, the U.S. Marshals were allowed cross borders into free states, like New York, and capture fugitive enslaved people. Daniel Webster, the Secretary of State for President Fillmore, came to Syracuse and warned the citizens, threatening them not to resist.
The fugitive carpenter named William Henry, known as Jerry, was captured making barrels in his cooperage. He was jailed, but abolitionists were ready, and later in the night Jerry was busted from jail. Thousands of townspeople showed up in the streets.
He successfully made it to Canada and freedom.
There is a sculpture in the heart of town dedicated to the Jerry Rescue. I have seen a short film at the Historical Society about the Jerry Rescue, but not a children’s book.
Valarie Short, a playwright, could HEAR the story in her head. All the noise in the streets. She decided to tell the story, collaborating with her niece artist Valencia Short. It’s called the THE SOUNDS OF FREEDOM COMING.
THE COVER. JERRY AT WORK
AUTHOR VALARIE SHORT
The book begins on a beautiful fall day in the midst of an Agricultural fair in Syracuse.
“It was October 1, 1851. Colorful leaves floated down and crunched underfoot, squirrels busily gathered nuts and birds flew south ahead of the long winter.”
“Now Jerry was hard at work in Morrell’s Cooperage Shop, where they made barrels to transport salt and other goods down the Erie Canal.”
“Jerry had his back to the door and did not see the police buggy approaching.”
The rest of the story is action-packed. Jerry is taken to jail, Crowds show up, he runs and is aided by freedom fighters and smuggled on to Canada.
In the end, we see that he is free in Canada.
“Finally, Jerry was free to make choices about how to live his own life and to do the things that made him happy. AH . . . FREEDOM. “
A story about government stealing freedom resonates now, as our government tries to divided us by race.
A brief interview with Valarie Short
JS
Why did you chose to self publish SOUNDS OF FREEDOM COMING?
VS
“Because my husband, Robert, and I felt the story was important and wanted to tell it and get it to children. Self publshing seemed more expedient. We saw that fewer and fewer people we spoke to knew about the Jerry Rescue.”
JS
“How did being a playwright influence you?”
VS
“For me, as a playwright, I could hear the story, Jerry’s hammer building barrels, the horses on the street. I could imagine what that day looked like and sounded like. Also I enjoyed working with my niece, Valencia, who contributed to the illustrations.
I hope that librarians and teachers will consider sharing this book in their libraries and classrooms.”
________________
Thank you, Tanita, for hosting. I hope everyone has a great weekend.
HELLO Poetry Friday Friends! This week we are hosted by Linda Baie at TeacherDance. . Thank you for hosting! I look forward to seeing what you have for us today.
I have been revisiting my novel in verse about Vietnam. I had thought it was no longer relevant. But war is apparently not old hat. Not with a new one in progress. I’m revising the poems and thinking about its arc. Maybe I’m just trying to get my family’s story right. Maybe it’s a way of challenging myself.
Signs of spring are here in Upstate NY. Below are daffodils making their presence known. Tree buds appeared on my walk today. Might be cherry blossoms. I hope so because I love Cherry blossoms.
Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by poet and teacher Margaret Simon Here. Thank you, Margaret for hosting. I look forward to what you will be sharing this week.
It’s been important for me to try to maintain optimism with the news the way it is. I’m trying to keep my sense of humor.
So I keep practicing drawing and painting. Can you tell these are goats? It’s rough, and drawing goats was challenging.
GOATS IN SEVERAL TONES
Three in the barnyard looking for something-perhaps a new patch of grass.
What if we saw only goats as we walked through the woods? Can you imagine if there was no diversity allowed in the Animal kingdom? No lions or Gazelles? Spiders or snakes?
ALL THE SAME
With no diversity, everything will be the same, no strange languages or hairdos.
With no diversity, no one will surprise you with Korean tofu soup or Kung Pao shrimp.
With no diversity there will be no need to ask "Where are you from?"
With no diversity, or fun, the only music will be YMCA performed on Saturdays in bars and ballrooms.
With no diversity, be careful who you love outside your door.
Americans will be forever safe in America. Everywhere, men wearing masks and driving unmarked cars, are ready to protect you against foreigners and pedophiles--
