SALT CITY VERSE – Page 21 – Mostly Poetry for Children

Always on Time

Thank you, Margaret Simon, at Reflections on the Teche, for hosting today. While you check out what she has in store for this Poetry Friday, you can read, on her June 2nd post, a found poem well worth reading that has to do with the protests of this week. There has been legal progress in the George Floyd case, and we hope, reform on many fronts over time.

Today I’ve been thinking about time and calendars. (as an aside, I don’t know why Julius Caesar is on the 1582 Gregorian calendar below. But like Susan B. Anthony’s face on our coins, Pope Gregory Xlll must have admired Caesar. )

Anyway, I’ve been thinking more specifically about flowers and calendars. Flowers are a kind of calendar, that mark time each year, April through September in upstate New York, from crocus to crysanthamum. How different it is to see flowers in December, like the primrose, in California where my sister lives. I am grateful that I can depend on certain flowers appearing every year to celebrate the month and season. This poem is a small homage to that:

MY CALENDAR

The tulips are pink,
cone flowers yellow,
daisies are white,
the friendliest fellows,
they swell and they bloom
in my garden in June
never too late,
never too soon.

We must pay attention because, like acts in a cabaret, allotted only a brief window, flowers come and go. There’s drama in the natural world, all of it driven by time.

LETTING GO

Daffodils bloom,
for just a few weeks
the loveliest flowers,
come take a peek-

I hoped they’d last longer,
if only they could. 
I’d ask them to stay,
if I thought that they would,

I'd yell, “Wait!” to daisies,
next in the queue,
but I have to let go
what else can I do?

© Janice Scully 2020

I felt sad writing this poem, thinking of everything I have let go of beyond flowers. But there is always something to look forward to. Some things are as small as a haircut and bigger things like returning to work and school. And so many look forward to deep structural reform and social justice in America.

I hope everyone is healthy. Make sure you stop by to check out what Margaret Simon has in store for Poetry Friday.

About Optimism

It is another Poetry Friday and there is continued tragedy in America beyond the Corona virus. Mary Lee is hosting and she has been using her blog, A Year of Reading, to support the #Blacklivesmatter, the family of George Floyd and all people of color who simply ask for the justice that white people enjoy every day. No one can be neutral. Thank you Mary Lee.

I wrote this to express my frustration.

WHAT A WHITE PERSON CAN DO FOR GEORGE FLOYD

Blind cops
broken justice
black man killed with a knee
four against one. We must speak up!
SPEAK UP! 

© Janice Scully 2020

I was going to post about nature, share a poem about the progression of flowers outside, but it seems inappropriate now. Maybe next week.

What does it take for people to get through tragedy?

On-line yesterday I listened to British playwright Simon Stephens talk about his play SEA WALL, a monologue staring actor Andrew Scott, that he shared this week on YouTube. In this short play an unthinkable family tragedy occurs. In a discussion afterward Stephens said that the only mature response to a terrible tragedy is strive to find optimism. I think that what he said is true, but with the leadership we have in America, racism, and the rampant lack of empathy for those who suffer, it optimism possible? But still we try to find a way forward.

I will end with a photo of my beautiful bleeding heart plant. Maybe there’s a little hope in it because it never quits. It keeps coming back every year. Sympathetic people, tree huggers, etc, those who try to help others are called bleeding hearts as if it’s a weakness, but these flowers seem to belie that with their beauty.

Thank you again, Mary Lee, for hosting.

Poems about Brothers

Welcome to Poetry Friday, today hosted by the talented Carol Varsalona at her blog, Beyond Literacy. Stop by, she is sure to inspire. Thank you, Carol, for hosting. I hope everyone is healthy and getting through the current crisis day by day. My thoughts are with all teachers and health care workers everywhere.

Today I will do a short post about brothers. I grew up with three, all older. I have been thinking this week about my youngest brother, Mike, who for many years, was a stalwart playmate. A year and a half apart, we often played together, climbing trees, and swimming. He passed away over ten years ago and I miss him, but mostly I remember how fun and kind he was.

Me, my brother, Mike, and my sister, Barbara.

We were both competitive and my dream was driven to prove I could run faster than Mike. I tried and tried and loved trying. Usually, one of us would pick out a tree in our yard, say “On your mark, get set, go!” and run there and back. He usually won, being wiry and fast. But he didn’t always. At least, in my memory.

BROTHER AND SISTER

“I will race you to that tree!’
My brother challenged me.

But when I raced him to that tree
we tied, and he said, “Gee!

How'd you get so quick today?
He spied me with a scowl.

"Can't you see I'm taller now,
and faster? That is how."

© Janice Scully 2020

I was curious to find other poems written about brothers. I found a site called Interesting Literature were I found poems written by celebrated poets such as Sappho, Herrick, Keats and more. Many were about war and about the death of a brother and they are all worth reading, and mostly written for adults. But for this post, I will post a poem by Lewis Carroll, of Alice and Wonderland fame. He also was a poet. He was born Charles Lutwidge Dodgson in 1832 and died in 1898.

His poem, Brother and Sister captures the annoyance a brother can have towards his little sister. It’s over the top, but it is, after all, Lewis Carroll.

BROTHER AND SISTER
by Lewis Carroll

SISTER, Sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.

"Do you want a battered hide,
Or scratches to your face applied?"
Thus his sister calm replied.

"Sister, do not raise my wrath.
I'd make you into mutton broth
As easily as kill a moth."

The sister raised her beaming eye
And looked at him indignantly
And sternly answered, "Only try!"

Off to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To me as quickly as you can."

And wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The reason, Cook, is plain to view.
I wish to make an Irish Stew."

"What meat is in that stew to go?"
"My sister'll be the contents!"
"Oh"
"You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?"
"No!"

Moral: Never stew your sister.

Well, I don’t think my brother ever wanted to stew me. But our days of foot races and swimming in the Delaware had to end. When we became adolescents, he took up wrestling in school. Cars and girlfriends made him scarce, but now I often think about when we were eleven and ten.

Enjoy poetry Friday!

ANONYMOUS POETS and Humor

Welcome to Poetry Friday this week hosted by Jama Rattigan at Jama’s Alphabet Soup. Stop by. You are sure to find something delicious either baked or written in verse. Thank you, Jama, for hosting!

Several months ago I was in a used bookstore called the Bookery in Ithaca, N.Y. that was going out of business. In a cardboard box tucked away in a corner, I found the poetry anthology Knock on a Star: A Child’s introduction to Poetry, edited by X.J. Kennedy and his wife, Dorothy M. Kennedy, with whom he collaborated on textbooks and magazines.

Born in 1929 in New Jersey, X.J Kennedy is known for his humorous poems for all ages. He added the letter X to his name so people would stop confusing him with Joseph Kennedy, JFK’s father.

Among the poems in Knock at a Star were some by anonymous authors.

This is a quote from the book:

“Who is Anonymous, anyway? Anonymous means “no name.” In this book, we’ll give this by-line to any poet whose name nobody knows. Anonymous, after Shakespeare, may be the second best poet in our language. At least, he and she wrote more good poems then most poets who sign what they write.”

Yes, for sure, Anonymous has written many, many poems. Here are two silly anonymous poems from the collection:

ALGY

Algy met a bear.
The bear met Algy.
The bear was bulgy,
The bulge was Algy.

Anonymous

DID YOU EEVER, IVER, OVER?

Did you eever, iver, over
In your leef, life, loaf
See the deevel, divel, dovel
Kiss his welf, wife, woaf?

No, I neever, niver, nover
In my leef, life, loaf
Saw the deevel, divel, dovel
Kiss his weef, wife, woaf. 

Anonymous

Also, according to the Kennedys, poems do five things: 1) Make you laugh 2) Tell stories 3) Send Messages 4) Share Feelings 5)Start you wondering.

The poems above are written simply to make us laugh. I’m drawn to humorous poems. I’ve always been interested, even as a child, in what it is that makes people laugh. It isn’t easy to write humor, whether a story, joke or poem.

An important part of humor is the comic premise, which is an idea that is skewed away from reality. For instance, in the poem Algy, above, the comic premise is this: the idea that a bear and a person meet, as friends do. This is not reality, but the gap between reality and the comic premise is where the humor bubbles up. And of course, the word play Algy/ bulgy is funny.

Another ingredient to humor is surprise. In the poem Algy, the bear eats the person he just met. That’s a surprise. It’s also important that is no one gets hurt. People getting hurt isn’t funny. But wait? What about Algy? Well, he doesn’t really get hurt, he just ends up as a bulge inside the bear. This is not a violent poem. We wouldn’t think it was funny if the scene was bloody.

Humor is trial and error. Only one out of ten ideas that a writer might think is funny will actually be funny to their audience. That seems about right to me. So a poet is taking a risk sharing work that they think will be funny. It takes courage. Having said that, here are two word-play poems I wrote that might have some humor in them, but who knows?

BIN AND IN

Would you rather be IN
or the BIN that it's in? 

© Janice Scully 2020

THE MUG BUG

I saw something floating
one day in my mug,
legs in the air--
a bug, very smug.

"Get out!" I yelled,"Now!
or drowned you could be!"
She said,"Thanks for the warning
and thanks for the tea!" 

© Janice Scully 2020

A sense of humor during this pandemic is important for mental health.

My prompt? I took two rhyming words, unrelated, like bug and mug, and tried to find a comic premise. We see bugs in our mugs sometimes. That’s reality. But a bug swimming for fun? That’s not reality. Maybe there is something funny there. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t work, but that’s OK. Give it a try. You can always sign it Anonymous.

I hope some of this made sense.

Thank you, Jama for hosting Poetry Friday today! And thanks to all poets everywhere who make us laugh, tell stories, send a message, share feelings and start us wondering.

New York Haiku

Thank you, Michelle Barnes for hosting this week. Be sure to find her at Today’s Little Ditty and discover what poetry treasure she has in store for Poetry Friday.

Just a few haiku to share this week. The one below inspired by a tree near my home. What caused its unusual split? Weather? I can’t explain this strange pine tree. But it grows on and I see hope in what the tree becomes.

I’ve been feeling more nervous about the next few months. We will be changed by pandemic, that’s for certain, and I hope for the good. I feel fortunate to have a steady governor, Andrew Cuomo, who gives a thorough briefing every day. He usually talks about building back and building better. I’m hoping for positive change.

My son in New York City is doing well and getting through the worst of it. I read the New Yorker Magazine to see what’s going on in the city. Here in Syracuse, there is less virus, but everyone is still staying in, wearing masks when they are out, and thinking of others. I’ve been making bread, like so many others on Poetry Friday. I have these to show for it:

Below are a few haiku inspired from vignettes I read in New Yorker. I feel so much gratitude, for all the essential workers who are cleaning subways, delivering food, caring for the sick, teaching, doing so many different jobs, while my job is to stay safe at home.

 NEW YORK May 2020


Job over for now.
Seventy five cents in bank,
will stimulus come? 


Brighten Beach high-rise.
Sunrise over glistening waves.
Ambulance sirens.

At the reservoir,
Central Park runners in masks,
slow down, keep distant.

Medical students
graduate a month early,
to do what they can.

Nurses, exhausted
return home after long shifts
faces creased by masks.

©Janice Scully 2020

I’d like to share a poem my Stephen Crane. The “I” of the poem is a free thinker.

"Think as I think," said a man
by Stephen Crane

"Think as I think," said a man,
"or you are abominably wicked;
You are a toad."

And after I had thought of it,
I said, "I will, then, be a toad.

Free thinking is best informed by science these days. Stay well and keep writing in spite of the distractions.

Redwood and Ponytail, a Novel in Verse by K.A Holt

Thank you, Elizabeth Steinglass, for hosting Poetry Friday this week. On her blog you will find a delightful and well done video of Elizabeth reading poems from her picture book poetry collection, SOCCERVERSE. Don’t miss it.

I can’t believe that it is May 1st. April has been a great month for those who love poetry! So many interesting prompts and of course the progressive poem which has been great fun. I really loved every line. It was a wonderful collaboration and how often do writers get to collaborate? Thank you Michelle Kogan for your last line and also for putting this community effort to music.

I’d like to share a poetry novel I read this week. Redwood and Ponytail, by author K.A. Holt, is a serious book about identity, about a seventh grade girl discovering she is gay. It’s also a fun read and I hope it gets into the hands of kids who might see themselves in this story, about the friendship between a popular middle school cheerleader, Kate, and a school volleyball star, Tam.

Tam has already come out to her mother. But when Kate realizes that her feelings for Tam are more than friendship, she has to face her mother’s ardent denial and the disdain of her cheerleading squad, the foundations of her world. She is forced to question everything.

Holt’s free verse is full of great language appropriate for middle school students and detail. Below, Tam notices Kate on the first day of school.

TAM

Over there
strutting,
laughing,
She thinks I don't see
but I do,
I do,
that little cheerleader
looking at me.
The red bow in her hair
snapped military tight,
right?

And Kate notices Tam:

KATE

This girl in the gym today,
looking at me.
Tall as a palm tree,
shaped like one, too.
Big hair on top,
giraffe neck,
legs like a stick figure
stretching right off the page,
her skin shimmering
her head tossed back
a loud laugh flying from her mouth

It takes more than these two snippets of verse to fully show it, but Holt manages the give the two girls clear and separate voices throughout the novel.

One thing I loved was Holt’s use of a clever and entertaining device in her story telling. I’ll call it a Greek chorus. It takes the form of three personas, Alex, Alyx and Alexx, who represent the kids in the hallways at school, always watching. They give their humorous commentary as Tam and Kate’s relationship develop, in the following format, periodically throughout the novel:

“We are the kids in the halls/We are the kids you don’t see/

We are the kids watching/We are everyone/We are everywhere/We are everything /

And what do we see?/A love story? A tragedy?/ A comedy?/

Real life?/Will we cry?/Will we laugh?/

I guess we’ll find out?/ I guess we’ll find out/ I guess we’ll find out.”

Holt does not hold back on how difficult coming out to family and friends can be, there are fiery feelings here, and something scary happens. Kate has been changed by meeting Tam, and the ending is hopeful. As they read this entertaining and moving story, teens who struggle with their identity and perhaps their parents, might be able to better understand difficult feelings and gain compassion towards others.

I will end with a short poem I wrote from a photo prompt offered by Margaret Simon on her blog Reflections from the Teche, and share it again here. Imagine a little boy drawing on a driveway with chalk.

Sidewalk Artist

Small feet grip
rough concrete.
Squatting like
a frog on a rock,
a boy draws.

© Janice Scully 2020

What is Poetry Friday? Learn more at Renee LaTulippe’s blog, No Water River.

Degas’ Fourteen Year Old Dancer

Thank you, Christie Wyman, for hosting Poetry Friday this week. Check out this week’s poetry offerings at her blog, Wondering and Wandering.

I miss New York City. When we used to visit our son, which we can’t do now, we would stroll though Central Park on the way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

We like to revisit pieces of art, such as Isis from the 2nd century A.D, Egypt during the Roman period. Today we wear much less head gear and more clothing. I usually encounter her as I try to make some sense of the time periods in the Egyptian wing.

And I never miss one of my favorite sculptures. It’s by Edgar Degas, Little Dancer Aged Fourteen who stands as unapologetic as Isis. Little Dancer has had a fascinating evolution as a work of art.

In 1881, (image, below, on the left) she was Degas’s first and only sculpture ever presented to the public at the Paris impressionist exhibition. It caused a stir. This likeness of a poor lower class ballerina, was made of tinted beeswax, wore a wig of human hair, a cotton bodice, linen slipper and a cotton-silk tutu. It is beloved today, but because of strange materials used to make the piece and the modern subject, it was considered ugly and repulsive by critics. She was threat to the art world’s status quo.

In 1917, with Degas’s death, the wax was replaced with bronze and over the years the curators of the Met have replaced the tutu three times either because it had deteriorated or they were unhappy with its look.

I discovered a fascinating video found here about the design of the last tutu by curator Glenn Petersen. Through his historical research he created a skirt like those worn by ballerinas in Degas’s time, in length and composition.

I love her proud pose and she seems as courageous as she was vulnerable to the whims of others.

I wrote this for her:

LITTLE PARIS DANCER

Inspired by Degas’s LITTLE DANCER AGED FOURTEEN
Paris, sixth Impressionist Exhibit 1881


With face towards the sky
shoulders back, hands clasped
Little Paris Dancers
did what was asked.

In short steps you scurried, 
a petite “opera rat”
“Your likeness is ugly!”
They used to say that.

Too poor to rebel,
lose your job if you do,
and can't trust the men
who act kindly towards you.

But the last word is yours,
there you are, at the Met,
in a stunning tutu,
beloved, no threat.

© Janice Scully 2020 (draft)

I’ll close with a poem about a dancer by Sir John Suckling (1609-1641). It reminded me of Paris’s little “opera rat.”

At a Wedding
Sir John Suckling

Her feet beneath her petticoat
Like little mice, stole in and out,
As if they feared the light.
And oh! She dances such a way
No sun upon an Easter day
Is half so fine a sight.

Enjoy Poetry Friday as we all continue at home making virtual trips and imagining a new and better future as we dance forward after Covid 19.

PROGRESSIVE POEM, Day 21

Greetings on this Tuesday! This is my first time participating in the Progressive Poem, which was founded in 2012 by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem. I think it’s an awesome project and has been so much fun to follow. This year it is hosted by Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche. Thanks to both of you.

This poem has a dramatic feel. It’s a story that begins with the “I” of the poem setting out very early, just before dawn on a spring day with provisions and a banjo. The setting is gorgeous and evolves with every line. There is constant movement forward. As we get deeper into the wooded and grassy journey, the sun awakens everything along the path, the trees, the bees.

Then something happens at the beginning of the fourth stanza and that action/scene continues. I spent hours thinking about how to move forward and I hope Julieanne likes one of my options.

Thank you, Rose Capelli for giving me two interesting lines to choose from:

Safely exiting this strange ballet

or,

My heart aware, content to share.

Progressive Poem 2020

Sweet violets shimmy, daffodils sway
along the wiregrass path to the lake
I carry a rucksack of tasty cakes
and a banjo passed down from my gram.

I follow the tracks of deer and raccoon
and echo the call of a wandering loon.
A whispering breeze joins in our song
and night melts into a rose gold dawn

Deep into nature’s embrace, I fold.
Promise of spring helps shake the cold
hints of sun lightly dapple the trees
calling out the sleepy bees

Leaf-litter crackles…I pause. Twig snaps.
I gasp! Shudder! Breathe out. Relax…
as a whitetail doe comes into view.
She shifts and spotted fawns debut.

We freeze. My green eyes and her brown
Meet and lock. Time slows down.
I scatter the cakes, backing away
Safely exiting this strange ballet.

I figure that my line has to move the poem forward, past the doe and fawn. So here are the two lines I offer to Julieanne:


I continue the path that winds down to the lake.

or

I shake from my rucksack sweet sticky crumbs,

2020 Progressive Poem

1 Donna Smith at Mainely Write
2 Irene Latham at Live Your Poem
3 Jone MacCulloch at deowriter
4 Liz Steinglass
5 Buffy Silverman
6 Kay McGriff
7 Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core
8 Tara Smith at Going to Walden
9 Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Link
10 Matt Forrest Esenwine at Radio, Rhythm, and Rhyme
11 Janet Fagel, hosted at Reflections on the Teche
12 Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
13 Kat Apel at Kat Whiskers
14 Margaret at Reflections on the Teche
15 Leigh Anne Eck at A Day in the Life
16 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
17 Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe
18 Mary Lee Hahn at A Year of Reading
19 Tabatha at Opposite of Indifference
20 Rose Cappelli at Imagine the Possibilities
21 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
22 Julieanne Harmatz at To Read, To Write, To Be
23 Ruth at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town
24 Christie Wyman at Wondering and Wandering
25 Amy at The Poem Farm
26 Dani Burtsfield at Doing the Work That Matters
27 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge
28 Jessica Bigi at TBD
29 Fran Haley at lit bits and pieces
30 Michelle Kogan

Fits and Starts of Spring

It’s Poetry Friday! Thank you Molly at Nix the Comfort Zone for hosting. Stop by and when you do, check out her photographs of birds and much more on her previous post as well. They are quite beautiful.

I have two poems to share today, but just as I was searching for another poet’s work to spice up my post I received this card from a second grade student named Andrew from the Poetry Project in Happy Valley, Oregon. It made my day that had included a brief local power outage while I was about to put bread in my electric oven. Anyway, all that resolved and I can’t wait to share Andrew’s poem! Was it a coincidence that my husband and I had pizza for dinner?

Spring is coming to Syracuse, N.Y. in fits and starts. My forsythias this morning were blanketed overnight:

Change of course is the only thing we can depend on. It comes no matter what, and is determined as a main character, in a middle grade novel. Strong and persistent.

In many things, there is no clean break with what came before. Think seasons, kids growing up and adults aging. Change reveals our humble place on the planet, our part in something bigger.

The seasons here in Syracuse change like the flow of cold molasses. Seasons moves forward as if ambivalent. Spring to summer, summer to fall, fall to winter, and winter to spring takes weeks, even months.

So, with all the time I now suddenly have on my hands, I’ve been watching closely out my window and on long walks, spring approaching with its fits and starts, stepping forward and then backward. Below is a tanka and a short free verse poem inspired by this week’s weather.

SPRING CAUTION 

Trees wear snow today,
coating limbs way past elbows,
halting the lilacs.
I suspect spring was frightened
by yesterday's hyacinths. 

© Janice Scully 2020

And another inspired by a sideways windy day this week:

WINDY TUESDAY

The wind ebbed
and flowed through the trees
like a witch
with lips pursed blowing,
cheeks big as balloons
starting and stopping,
unsure if she 
wanted company or
to scare everyone away.

© Janice Scully 2020

I hope everyone is enjoying the amazing progressive poem organized by Margaret Simon at Reflections of the Teche. It’s been really interesting to see the choices the poets are making. Thank you, Molly, for hosting Poetry Friday this week!

A Stay Safe Twitter Campaign

Thank you Amy Ludwig VanDerwater for hosting this week’s Poetry Friday! Please check in with her at The Poetry Farm where you will be rewarded, as usual, with poetry and her inspiring and insightful thoughts about poetry. She possesses a remarkable wealth of talent.

The forsythia is wonderful news this week, along with my family’s good health.

Today, I would like to tell Poetry Friday authors who have the time, that there is a Twitter campaign afoot to encourage young people to stay in place and stay safe. Kids need encouragement to take social distancing seriously in order to save lives.

Thank you, Padma Venkatraman, a fellow contributor in THANKU: POEMS OF GRATITUDE and the author of THE BRIDGE HOME, for launching this hashtag campaign! Padma is requesting that authors take a selfie of themselves with one of their books, and post with it a message. It can be written on a post-it stuck on the book. Padma reminds us of the many kids who might be homeless. Your message might be “Stay safe. Shelter in place. Stay safe” or whatever message you like. This is not a marketing opportunity, just a chance to encourage kids.

Kids are “looking for guidance from people they trust: celebrities, athletes, teachers, authors.” Hashtags include: #AuthorsTakeAction, #TakeShelterInStory, #socialdistancing, #thankyoufirstresponders.

If you have the time, check out these hashtags to see what some authors have done.

Below is a cinquain addressed to the very infectious Covid 19 virus. It’s a weak plea. It cannot be heard by this bundle of RNA, this dreadful highjacker looking for a host. Once it gets in a nose, eye or mouth, it takes over the DNA in normal cells and replicates efficiently, like a house fire

Virus.
Dumb, blind pirate,
accidentally conceived,
on the wind in search of a home-
Please leave!

Stay safe and well, everyone.