Today is Poetry Friday with Ruth at There is No Such Thing as a God-Forsaken Town, where she is dreaming of her beloved Haiti.

What a fun surprise I had in my mailbox this week! Thank you, Marcie, for the Haiku Zine. The photos and haiku are so precious and life-affirming.

Here are a few #Verselove poems from this week at Ethical ELA:

22. Thank You Mother Earth with Donnetta Norris

Who would have thought–
more than we wanted, more
than we needed of
the gifts of Mother
Earth would have led us here?
Has she not
bled enough to get our attention?
For she is speaking to
us not just on Earth Day.

The worry is every word on
Earth can’t poem enough,
is not loud enough for
the masses to do something
right here. Is there any hope that this
side of gasolinism and of consumerism and
of lithium and of greedium
history will ever not destroy us?

---

This golden shovel has two lines from Andrea Gibson’s “Homesick: A Plea for our Planet” for the striking lines: “Who, more than the earth, has bled for us” and “The earth is the right side of history.”

Another Earth Day Blitz poem, where I tried to be more thankful…

Earth for Earth

Thank you, Mother
Thank you, Earth
Earth rising
Earth boiling
Boiling too much
Boiling in anger
Anger of depth
Anger justified
Justified this day
Justified forever
Forever creation
Forever healing
Healing despite
Healing strength
Strength to bury
Strength to overcome
Overcome indifference
Overcome pollutants
Pollutants of attitude
Pollutants of consumption
Consumption of greed
Consumption of fear
Fear of sharing
Fear of caring
Caring for earth
Caring for our mother
Mother of grace
Mother of mercy
Mercy rainforested
Mercy extended
Extended throughout
Extended worldwide
Worldwide growth
Worldwide grace
Grace of comfort
Grace of care
Care to try again
Care of renewables
Renewable energy
Renewable creation
Creation of hope
Creation of green
Green and blue
Green comfort
Comfort in our hearts
Comfort for Earth
Earth is our Mother
Earth is our choice
Choice
Mother

23. April Showers Bring May Flowers with Anna J. Small Roseboro

Louder than Hunger

Jake longed to be
Invisible. He heeded
the Voice shouting hate

FOOD’S THE ENEMY
His demons screeched their deceit
But Frieden listened

Step by step, sometimes
Back, finally crossed the bridge
Rejected the troll

Embraced poetry
Musicals, healing, light, hope
Grandma’s strength still here

John speaks up and out
To youth and all: Find your voice.
Find your people. Peace.

---

About this poem: I finished the book Louder than Hunger by John Schu, and the character’s life experience (and the author’s, as well) fit the prompt of April showers turned into May flowers.

24.  Writing the Night Sky with Kevin Hodgson

We, too, are made of wonders, of great
and ordinary loves, of small invisible worlds,
of a need to call out through the dark.

~Ada Limón (“In Praise of Mystery: A Poem for Europa”)

Great Bear

We were traveling yesterday at about 550 mph
(Too fast for us to comprehend this 737’s power) but
Are we really? I am reading Edward Hays who

Made this book called Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim
Of whom I am one, I hope (she actually
Wonders as she writes this poem). It is

Of interest to remember the 3 constant movements of our
Great earth: 1) spinning on its sweetly-tilting axis at 1000 mph,
And 2) journeying in order around the sun at 66,600 mph

(Ordinary for us, for we hardly recall it.) And 3) Mother
Loves sailing together with the whole family
Of our solar system at 43,000 mph. That last

Small miracle means we hurtle further into the
Invisible space over a million miles a day, into
Worlds not yet in existence, daily new creation

Of our Divine Mystery. And yet, here we are in
A jet, feeling humanity is mastering science. We
Need to look up and remember, in awe

To live both body and spirit, day and night, to
Call to the creator within, and to live
Out loud in our exterior life. Ursa Major

Through time, has become mostly
The Big Dipper. We see his tail and rump, but
Dark on his head and legs, yet he’s all still there.

---

About this poem: That was a journey and a half through all the thoughts in my head this morning. I read Ida Limón and had to use her precious last stanza in a golden shovel and her form of three line stanzas. Then I was reading this expansive thought book yesterday that reminded me of today’s prompt “Writing the Night Sky.” Third, I picked the well-known Ursa Major as my constellation and couldn’t let him go, so they all just collided into this mess. I’ve trusted Edward Hays for the stats within. I love the Big Dipper, and even though the stars are great out here in the desert, I rarely can make out any other constellations. I learned today that the Big Dipper phenomenon (a part of a bigger constellation) has a name for that, an asterism. I’ve never been able to figure out the whole Ursa Major, even though its the largest northern constellation.

25. “Where I’m From” with a Twist with Tammi Belko

I am Demon Copperhead
(After George Ella Lyon and Barbara Kingsolver)

I am from somewhere in Virginia
Southern Appalachia
from a too-hungry teen mom and a drowned father
whose demon was spawned by starving hearts
from a single-wide rental
and a soon drug-satiated dead mother
From the Dog of America getting kicked
I am from fucked up foster care,
child labor, and a dog urine bed
I am from snakes and hillbillies
(and with up-yours pride I wear the label)
From lovers of my broken life–
from Maggot and the Peggots
from June and Emmy
and from Dori and Angus
from my youth being used up way early
and my brief football stardom
I am from art pencils and markers,
the release found in creating
I am from busted knees, pain killers,
and sports doctor malpractice
I am from lost boys in a Dickensian tragedy,
from Fast Forward and Swap-Out
from big corporate greed
who blow the tops
off our mountains
who strive to remove
the cooperative land economy
of my once-thriving people
and green growing place,
from companies who demand
we use the taxable cash system of the city
I am from Redneck superheroes, like Tommy Waddles
I am from the moments marked from the get-out to lose
but turning out happier-ever-after than most

---

Italicized phrases are direct quotes from the book Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver.

26. Poetry as Billboard with Scott McCloskey

The 21st Century Art of Poetry

The art of poetry according to Horace
is complicated and intimidating (my assessment).
In a 476-line poem, he instructs young poets,
“Whenever you instruct, be brief…”

Oh, he gives lots of instruction. One example,
A poem should have charm as well as beauty.
He gives ancient Greek lessons
on iambus and spondee,
Oracles and orchestras,
Wisdom and leeches, Diana
and how a play should have exactly 5 acts.

“If I fail to keep and do not understand
these well-marked shifts and shades
of poetic forms, why am I hailed as poet?” he asks.
(Actually, that is a translation of what he asks.)

I think poetic forms are great myself.
I like having parameters that help me write.
Maybe you do too.

But I would suggest that poetry
can be billboard length, as well.
(Thank you, Mr. McCloskey.)

“Cut a good story anywhere and it will bleed.” ~Anton Chekhov

“Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.” ~Robert Frost

“When you put your words to paper, they live inside my head” ~Jennifer Guyor-Jowett

“Every little thing is gonna be all write. Just write.” ~Fran Haley

“If someone says you aren’t good enough,
Laugh and write a limerick about them.” ~Leilya Pitre

“Take life by the shoulders…Write it a poem.”  ~Joanne Emery

A poem is a what we need right now,
And you are hailed as the poet.

27. Sounding Off with Jessica Wiley

I just read an article by Robert Reich, “Elon Musk’s Grotesque Distortion of Capitalism” so I am channeling Reich’s sounding off, as this is mostly a found poem.

All About Money
for mercurial idiot savant
unprincipled robber baron
sociopathic leader who
demands vast
wealth and power
scoffs at norms
wants total control
no regard for anyone
but self–demanding $47
billion salary package
with threats if
shareholders don’t agree

Tesla laid off 14,000
without warning
(parking key didn’t work
one day)
minimum severance package
with stipulations–
no lawsuit
no arbitration
no publicly defaming
Tesla.

American capitalism
coming apart because
of people like Musk,
extorting shareholders
and shafting workers

28. Strike & Write Poem with Glenda Funk

For Grandma  Mom
I’ve been writing this since
I was six years old born and we
young ones had to climb
and you had to handle into the brokenness of life
with really without a partner window
to unlock the door to get all
into the house where the birds
had taken up residence
then after Dad died you
became the go-to giver
of all things for Grandma,
one being to restore
the bird and rodent infested
old homestead
for her.

I’ve been writing this since
that house homestead Grandpa
built in the 40s became your home
after Grandma died in the 80s
and that kitchen where she used to cook
became where you cooked,
we watched you make
popovers being just one of your masterpieces–
you gently beating the eggs and milk
and stirring in the flour
until just moistened.

I’ve been writing this since
your index finger spatula-ed
out every last bit of the batter
you poured the popover batter
into the mismatched custard cups
not caring about wasting that last bit
(a clapback at the not-so-great Depression
of your childhood, perhaps)
and baked them for what seemed
(to my children) like hours
at two different temperatures

I’ve been writing this since
those popovers, with their custardy
interiors and crispy toasted outsides,
came out of the oven
into the history of a new generation
who broke them open and enjoyed
and added
honey
or boysenberry jam
or syrup
the steam rising as honey drizzled
and boysenberry jam glopped
thank you, Jennifer
and We ate our fill
on those slow moving much faster
deserty mornings
at first Grandma’s house later your house

I’ve been writing this since
I found those old custard cups
high on a shelf in Lori’s laundry room
and she welcomed me to take
them home, and now I’m
I became the grandma who bakes popovers
in the desert. And you would be glad
wouldn’t care at all to hear
that I’ve got your
Grandma’s magic spatula
finger so I don’t waste a drop

29. First Time for Everything with Fran Haley

Firsts I Considered Writing About Today
my first sister-in-law who died last month
or all the ‘firsts’ from this week alone:
     the first time I started an official bird watching life list
     the first time our cabin bedroom got a closet
     the first time I ripped out sticky vinyl tiles
     the first time I got myself stuck on a sticky vinyl-less floor
or any of the “firsts” on the list of memories
I wrote this morning before I got word that
my third sibling died yesterday

30. Congratulations, Verselovers 2024

I lost another sister this week. Three years ago I wrote a poem about my sisters here during Verselove: https://www.ethicalela.com/24-30-snapshots-in-time/#comment-38674 Today I used that poem to write a blackout poem, and it’s attached as an image. There were 7 of us in my family, and now there are 4. Each sibling has died suddenly, no illness and no warnings. While it certainly can be counted as a blessing not to die by inches, it’s still shocking for those left behind. It’s also humbling to see my own expiration date on the horizon.