Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by the lovely Kat Apel on her blog HERE. Stop by to see what she has for us this week! Thank you, Kat!
Maybe because it’s still cold out. And because there is so much trouble and worry in the world, I began to think about warmer, quieter, summer times, quiet moments when I had nothing to do as a child but wonder about the miracles in the world around me. I lived in a small town with trees, grass, and wild life just outside my door. How fortunate!
Welcome to Poetry Friday, this week hosted by Tricia HERE. Thank you, Tricia, for hosting!
Dr. Paul Farmer, a pioneer and champion of global public health passed away suddenly at home this week. He was 62.
I learned about his amazing work and life through Tracy Kidder’s non-fiction book, MOUNTAINS BEYOND MOUNTAINS, which is brilliant. At a time when the medical community believed poor, sick patients with AIDS were not capable of taking complicated regimens of life saving medicine, he refused to accept that. He rejected the notion that hospitals were for the rich only.
Dr. Farmer proved that all people were capable of getting well if the needed social structures were in place to help them. For example, he established the clinics and hospitals in Haiti, to treat people with AIDS within their communities. Dr. Farmer was also involved in fighting Ebola, Tuberculosis and during the Covid 19 pandemic was instrumental in getting drug companies to share their technologies. I hope readers will learn more about him, as he had such an inspiring life.
Welcome to Poetry Friday! This week Laura Purdie Salas is hosting us HERE. Be sure to stop by on your Poetry Friday travels. Thank you, Laura!
Lately I’ve been thinking about the privilege I had of growing up in a busy family restaurant.
This is the awning by the front door.
But, I didn’t always think it a privilege at the time.
My parents were always working. There were no days off in the summer. My four siblings and I worked, too, eventually. As a teen, it seemed such an unfortunate plight. Like most kids, I had little idea how lucky I was that good food was ubiquitous and my parents made a good living.
My mother at work
But the cooks, waiters, and bartenders and customers arriving each day, in addition to my family, have given me much to think and now, more than I have in the past, to write about. I’ve been writing poems for kids inspired by all the hustle and bustle. The dishwasher room next to the kitchen, was an interesting, if rather grim place. I have no picture but maybe this poem describes it.
This is my last postcard this season, from the amazing artist and poet Michelle Kogan. See how she captures the movement of this tiger, the bent forward leg, its gaze forward.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
