janice.scully – Page 13 – SALT CITY VERSE

Postcards from Poetry Friday Friends

Welcome to Poetry Friday! This week our host is Linda Baie Here. Thank you, Linda, for hosting! Make sure you stop by and check out what Linda is sharing with us this week from Colorado.

I have been busy this week writing and submitting poems which has felt productive. I have to catch up on the Taylor Mali talk, which I couldn’t attend but will definitely listen and submit his contest. If you need info, check out Janet Fagel’s post, January 28, 2022, HERE.

I would like to share the terrific artwork and poetry I have received for our New Year postcard exchange organized by artist and poet Jone Rush MacCullough. The first is artwork and a haiku from Robyn Hood Black.

Here’s to

Poetry running wild

in the year of the Tiger

I so hope it is poetry that runs wild this year!

The following sparkling photo and poem is from Gail Aldous:

cloud layers

mountain layers

life layers

joy

Carol Varsolona sent the following art and poetry:

Here’s hoping for a “cloudberry sunset” for everyone.

The last postcard is from Jone Rush MacCullough. I have been told that the unusual texture was created by bird feet and captured by Jone’s lens. It does look alive.

The Poetry Friday community has given me such a boost this winter–that and my husband, sons and my other wonderful friends. So much positive energy and emotion. These postcards were a delightful extra.

Thank you, Linda, for hosting this week!

A Mentor Poem by Jack Prelutsky and a Postcard.

Happy Poetry Friday, this week hosted by teacher and writer, Elizabeth Norton HERE, at her blog “Unexpected Intersections.” Thank you for hosting this week, Elizabeth. I am looking forward to what she has to offer us this week.

I have some ideas for some new poems for kids that I hope will be light and humorous. So in search of further ideas about form and style, I turned to Sylvia Vardell’s wonderful anthology, A WORLD FULL OF POEMS, a book I’ve mentioned before.

I quickly discovered a poem by Jack Prelutsky, with repetition, rhyming and humor that meshed with my topic. Here is the first stanza:

I'M MUCH TOO TIRED TO PLAY TONIGHT
by Jack Prelutsky

I’m much too tired to play tonight,
I’m much too tired to talk,
I’m much too tired to pet the dog,
or take him for a walk,
I’m much too tired to bounce a ball,
I’m much too tired to sing,
I’m much to tired to try to think
about a single thing.

read the rest Here.

So, using this as a mentor poem, and given our zero degree temperatures lately in New York, I came up with this:

TOO COLD TO PLAY OUTSIDE TODAY
(Inspired by Jack Prelutsky's "I'm Much Too Tired to Play Tonight") 

Too cold to play outside today,
too cold to climb the slide,
too cold to swing on swings today,
too cold to chase and hide,

too cold to throw a rubber ball,
too cold to skip and run,
too cold to sleigh ride down the hill,
there’s hardly any sun!

But I'm tired of playing silly games,
I'm bored with the TV!
I chased the dog around the house,
now Sister’s mad at me.

So although it is a cold, cold day
not fit for even crows,
I'll put on my coat, my boots, my hat
and plunge into the snow. 

@ Janice Scully 2022

Maybe writing this was good luck, because as I write this it’s a warm 40 F and I hear dripping from the eaves. I think I’ll even play outside today.

Before I close, I have a beautiful postcard and haiku from Carol Labuzzetta to share from Arches National Park. I wish I could go there today! Thank you, Carol!

Eye of the tiger
Keenly seeing the future
Blinking honestly

© Carol Labuzzetta 2022

Good health to all! Thank you, Elizabeth Norton, for hosting!

Guest Blogger: Poet Janet Clare Fagal and Two Opportunities for Poets

It’s Poetry Friday hosted today by the amazingly creative and prolific Irene Latham Here. Thank you, Irene! This week, I turn my blog over to guest blogger, Janet Clare Fagal, with a poetry opportunity that I know will interest many here on Poetry Friday.

Here is Janet:

Thank you to my friend, Janice, for the opportunity to guest blog today. Janice and I have been lucky attendees at Highlights workshops with Georgia Heard and Rebecca Kai Dotlitch, and were roommates at NCTE’19 in Baltmore. It has been great getting to know her better!

I have two poetry opportunites to share with you.

FIRST, as past president and the current treasurer of the Central New York Branch of the National League of American Women here in snow country near Syracuse, NY, I would like to invite you to attend a Zoom presentation by poet, educator and creator of Metaphor Dice, my friend, Taylor Mali. It is Feb. 9 at 6:30 pm EST.

Here’s a Twitter post about one of Taylor Mali’s previous presentations. Maybe you’ve heard him before. He’s particularly well-known for his poem “What Teachers Make.”

So how do I sign up? Email me, Janet Fagal, at cnypenwomensignup@gmail. I will be in touch with further information.

We now have 500 spots in the Zoom session. I am planning to share a recording of the session with those who can’t make it.

Description of the presentation: Sometimes we need to be given permission to change the details of our memories so that they create better poems. Sometimes we need to be told that certain lines just don’t work in poems even if “that’s how it was.” Taylor Mali discusses memory, telling stories, and poetic license.

This all came about when our Branch of Pen Women was awarded a community grant from the CNY Arts Council to bring Taylor to our area to share insights and ideas on poetry. The grant also included some of our Pen Women poets working with area students. Taylor teaches a lesson to those students via Zoom (recorded).

SECOND: Taylor is sponsoring The Golden Die Poetry Contest + Anthology using the words from Metaphor Dice. There will be one adult winner who will receive $1000. In addition many poems will be selected to appear in the anthology. The student winner receives $500 and sets of Metaphor Dice. ALL who enter the contest will be considered for the contest!

Complete GUIDELINES to the Golden Die Poetry Contest are HERE

You don’t have to own Metaphor Dice to enter. The list of all the words for you to see, and hopefully use, is HERE .

Good luck should you enter the contest and I hope you will. As a level 1 judge for students (blind review) I am not eligible to enter but hope to see some of my wonderful Poetry Friday friends in the anthology.

Janet Clare Fagal

Eels and the Sargasso Sea and a Postcard.

Welcome to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Tabatha Here. Thank you so much for hosting, Tabatha, and I look forward to what you and everyone has to offer us this week. I know it will warm up the cold here in Upstate New York.

I have been reading, as it’s the best way for me to get new ideas, to go beyond my world. This week I read a fascinating book entitled EELS, by James Prosek.

Actually it’s the second time I read it because it’s about a fish that has an amazing life cycle which I appreciate as I grew up on a river known for eels.

When I was a child I went fishing in the Delaware River with my brother and pulled one of these out of the water. Needless to say I was not drawn to this creature. It was as scary to look at as it was harmless. And I discovered they tasted good deep fried.

But now this freshwater eel, scientific name, Anguilla Rostata, is endangered, mostly because of hydroelectric dams in rivers. Also, there is a tremendous appetite for eel in countries outside the U.S. It is considered delicious in Japan, and has become extremely expensive to eat. (For some reason, the taste of eel has never caught on in America.) There are efforts to grow eels artificially, though it’s slow going.

Eel are catadromous fish, which means they are born in salt water yet grow to adulthood in freshwater. So that requires that the tiniest eels, ride the sea currents to coastlines where they swim up freshwater rivers. Thus: the following poem.

THE AMERICAN EEL

In the middle of Atlantic Ocean,
in the Sargasso Sea,
thousands and thousands
of baby eel are hatched 
in salt water.

tiny and see-through as glass, 
they float and swim the ocean currents,
heading to the North American coastline,
to find freshwater.
 
They find a river and follow it
into the continent,
living on clams,
fish and frogs

for five to thirty years
more or less they grow.
 
until one day
as if something calls to them,
they head back down that river.

No one knows exactly why,
but eels always return 
to their birthplace,
the Sargosso Sea.

The females lay eggs.
The males fertilize them.

Soon, thousands of new baby eel 
wiggle along the currents
back to the coastline, 
to find a river.

Where they will grow,
and return again someday
to the waters
where they were born.  


© Janice Scully 2022

Just for their remarkable determination, Eel deserve our respect and protection in spite of their slithery, slimy appearance.

After reading about eels, readers, you deserve something more beautiful, so I will end with this collage postcard from Margaret Simon that arrived in the mail.

“Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door.” E. Dickenson.

And this poem:

A new year

new ideas

growing buds

to find a garden

already blooming.

by Margaret Simon

May you all add to whatever is already blooming in your artistic gardens. Thank you, Tabatha for hosting this week’s Poetry Friday.

Two Nature Poems and a Postcard

Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by the brilliant and kind Mary Lee Hahn Here. Thank you for hosting!

First things first: a lovely postcard I received from Linda Baie:

I recognize the Colorado sky and mountains

This is good advice, to slow down and enjoy the journey. I tell my sons that, and they are too busy to hear which is ironic. I’m just learning it.

I will also share two poems that were published in December on the Dirigible Balloon website.

MINNOW TAG 

By a boulder, in silvery slivers
swam some minnows, in the river.

I’d see if I could—give it a crack—
grab a few and toss them back.

I grabbed and I grabbed,
but they fled in a flicker,

like shooting stars
They swam even quicker.

©Janice Scully 2021

SOME SPIDERS


Not every spider spins a web
of silky sticky glue
to trap an unsuspecting fly
and gnats that wander through.

I’ve heard about some spiders, 
with fangs for hunting prey.
They don’t need a web at all—
just grab and chomp away! 

If I became an arthropod 
I’d think I’d hunt with silk.
I’d take a nap, pluck my prey,
and eat my snack with milk. 


© Janice Scully 2021

Take care. I hope everyone is healthy.

Poetry Gifts

Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by the talented Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Here. Stop by, she always has wonderful poetry to share.

And so do I today. Thank you Jone Rush MacCullough for organizing the postcard swap, to celebrate the New Year with poems. Here are two lovely gifts I received this week. This postcard was sent by Mary Lee:

On the back was this haiku:

each flame provides light
we illuminate this world
us all--together

Mary Lee Hahn

Maybe Mary Lee is referring to Poetry Friday bloggers. She could be. I’m so grateful to feel welcome and part of this group.

And from Linda Mitchell came a Christmas ornament inspired by one of Sara Teasdale’s poems:

There will Be Stars

There will be stars over the place forever;
Though the house we loved and the street
we loved are lost,
Every time the earth circles her orbit
On the night the autumn equinox is crossed,
Two stars we knew, poised on the peak of mid-night
Will reach their zenith; stillness will be deep;
There will be stars over the place forever,
There will be stars forever, while we sleep.

by Sara Teasdale
Dark of the Moon (1926)

On the sky colored star-shaped ornament that Linda made is a haiku inspired by “There will be stars.”

stillness will be deep
stars forever while we sleep
circles on the night

Linda Mitchell

Linda also added another poem:

Between joy and sorrow,
all I need to do is look up
to know the stars are above you too.
Remember to look up.
Happy New Year!
2022

Linda Mitchell

I was so thrilled to get these in my mailbox and so grateful.

No matter what happens this year, there will be stars.

Stay well, Everyone. Thank you, Carol, for hosting Poetry Friday!

Salt and Bells

Welcome to the last Poetry Friday of 2021, this week hosted by Carol Here. Thank you, Carol, for hosting! Happy Holidays to all. I for one am ready to welcome in a new year.

A couple of week ago the Poetry Princesses presented a prompt to write a poem that has to do with bells. You can find out more about this group of poets on Laura Purdie Salas’ blog Here.

The first thing that came to mind, since I live near Syracuse, are what used to be known as “salt bells.” They were used to warn of bad weather.

In the 1800’s, when the solar salt industry boomed in the Fingerlakes of NY, the salty brine that bubbled up from under the lakes held valuable salt.

One hundred and fifty years ago, thousands of 14 foot long shallow wooden vats covered acres of land around Syracuse. In these vats, salt water was evaporated leaving piles of salt. It was plentiful and the main source of salt for the Union Army in the 1860’s. Salt profits had built the Erie Canal. Men would rake it up the salt and place it in willow baskets to be dried and shipped away by Canal boat or railcar.

Men raking salt in solar salt vats. The rolling covers sit on the left

But rain would ruin salt. So, if rain clouds threatened, the salt boss in the salt yard would ring the salt bell and everyone, even the dogs, so they said, would run to roll the covers over the vats and save the precious salt.

I once wrote a story about a salt dog, and I tried to write a poem about the salt bell, but didn’t find it poetic enough. Instead, I wrote another poem about bells.

I thought of the ways bells are useful, from gathering people together, locating animals, entertaining, warning of danger, etc. And I was surprised at all the vocabulary for bell sounds.

BELLS

Jingles
knells 
tinkles
tolls

          touching the soul,
          warning of fire,
          some sounds are joyful,
          others are dire.

          Cow bells are noisy 
          thingamabobs!
          School bells, church bells,
          each has a job,

to chime
clang
ding dong
or peel

And oh how different
each bell makes me feel. 

©Janice Scully 2021

Have a happy and healthy New Year! Thank you, Carol, for hosting.

Christmas Poetry Swap

Merry Christmas and welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by Buffy Silverman Here. Thank you, Buffy, for hosting. I’m looking forward to finding out what Buffy has in store for us!

In 2014, I published a story in the Holiday Issue of Highlights for Children entitled “Tulip Lane Holidays.” It’s the story about a little boy, who happens to celebrate Christmas, and how he befriends his next door neighbor, an elderly Jewish woman. I actually love this story and had been wondering whether it was available on the Internet. So I Googled the title and discovered that Highlights had made the story into an audio book that is available Here. So my little story lives on!

This week I received this lovely photo and poem “Into the Light” from Janet Fagel. It made me think of how “light” can be a metaphor for many things, emotional or intellectual, and we can let the light in or not.

           Into the Light

           In dark moments
       Sparks of brightness shoot
           Towards hearts. 
         Candles’ glow sings
          Notes we can hear,
            If we listen,
          Light can change
             Everything
            If we let it. 

             Janet Fagel
            December 2021

My was finally decorated and this clown is my favorite ornament, hand made by the wife of a very sweet elderly man, the proprietor of an Irish pub, who I saw in my medical clinic in Syracuse, quite a while ago, when I was an intern. She made me two little clowns, like the one in the photo, and they show up every year to boost my Christmas spirit.

Merry Christmas to all, stay well, and thank you, Buffy, for hosting.

Winter Morning

Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by Jone Macullough Here. Thank you , Jone, for hosting. Be sure to stop by and see what she has for us today.

This has been a busy week and I didn’t post yesterday, on Thursday, as I usually do. I wrote cards, baked stollen with my friend, Leah, and spent a morning at a day surgery center in Watertown, NY, while my husband, Bart, had a carpal tunnel release of his wrist. It was a minor thing, though no surgery is minor to the person who has to have it. It went well and we are so grateful to the medical and nursing staff who continue to work, helping people everyday in the midst of this pandemic.

Now we are ready to move on and soon, this pine will be ready for Christmas.

I hadn’t prepared for Poetry Friday this week, but I wanted to share something. so I found an old notebook where I scribble down things, bits of poetry I write or find here and there. I found this:

WHY COMPLAIN ABOUT WINTER?

moan about snow
lament the howling wind
wishing you were elsewhere?

Here is a blank page
a pen full of ink
whole worlds to think,

thoughts that have nothing
to do with January.

©Janice Scully

For me, winter is a time to slow down. I look forward to it.

I have more time to read, and I want to share this book by Omar El Akkad. I heard him speak two weeks ago at Colgate University as part of their Living Writer’s series. If you don’t know about this series, check it out. All the author’s talks and readings are shared on line and it costs nothing.

El Akkad is a journalist, born in the Middle East, who has traveled and lived in several Arab, so many that he himself has always felt stateless. His amazing book, WHAT STRANGE PARADISE, is about a Syrian boy, Amir, who washes up on the shore of a Western European island (probably Greek) and rescued by a teenage girl. If you ever wonder what it might be like to be a refugee, this author makes you feel it and understand the terrible risk taken by so many who flee, so many who are children.

Have a healthy week, everyone and thank you, Jone, for hosting!

I AM SMOKE: A Non-fiction Picture Book

Welcome to Poetry Friday! This week we are hosted by Cathy at her blog: Merely Day by Day HERE. Stop by and find out what she has for us this week.Thank you, Cathy, for hosting!

I went for a browse at a local bookstore, thinking about picture books that would make good Christmas gifts. As I love non-fiction and nature, this caught my eye. I had heard the author speak recently about how long it took for him to find a publisher for this. It puzzles me, as it seems a fascinating topic.

I AM SMOKE, written by Henry Herz and illustrated by Mercè López, is engaging and beautiful. Smoke is, of course, an integral part of recycling in nature, but smoke also is was used throughout history in religious rituals, in such things as the preparation of food the calming of bees and more.

I like the poetic language and scientific fact combined:

I am smoke.
I twirl in dark dance from every campfire.
Flickering flames work their mysterious
magic on burning branches. 

I am born a whirling, roiling mist of
carbon dioxide, water vapor, and ash.

“I am smoke” is a striking beginning, personifying smoke, making it a character.

Fire and smoke is of course dangerous, too, but this book helps us get to see the other side, how it has served human beings as well. Below, we see smoke as a means of communication. Notice the colors in the art. I found the pictures haunting.

For centuries, I helped Chinese,
Native Americans of the Plains and
Southwest, and others signal one
another over long distances.

You will have to see the rest for yourself, of course, but I hope I have peaked your curiosity.

Today I will share a poem about the Christmas weather outside my window. As I wrote it it began to remind me of THE PASTURE one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost.

DECEMBER DAY (Inspired by The Pasture, by Robert Frost.) 


Whistling wind.
Dusky sky.
Grass crunches under feet.
Snow flurries needle noses,

It's not a bad day, you say,
for a walk,

You come too. 



© Janice Scully 2021

Have a great weekend. My husband and I have been invited to spend Christmas away with a large number of family of all ages. Not sure what to do this year. I’m vaccinated and boostered. I wonder if others are unsure as I am.

Thank you, Cathy, for hosting!