Black blanket dances
brilliant lights filling the sky
while Moon waits backstage
first under-blanket
morn of fall; pumpkin spice tea
latte in new mug
Specialized motor
gives me fresh legs fit to move
through sand, rocks, and time
sitting in love with
feeding birds; this ladderback
comes to sip nectar
Reading in my bed
Prose and poetry good nights
Sweet dreams on the page
On another note:
In March, Sally shared this template that she uses to record her monthly literacy life. I finally tried it for September, but I let it spill back into the whole summer, since I couldn’t really remember when I finished these books. I’ll need to start listening to some meaningful podcasts and audio books. About that speaking, though, I’m unconvinced.
My husband has been reading Richard Rohr’s Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life. In this book, Keith is finding much truth about his second half of life. Rohr claims: “Poets like Gerard Manley Hopkins, Mary Oliver, David Whyte, Denise Levertov, Naomi Shihab Nye, Rainer Maria Rilke, and T.S. Eliot now name your own inner experience…” My husband jumped right in, especially to Mary Oliver, and he has been devouring her collection Devotions. This morning I woke up to have him right away share the poem “Evidence” with me. Here’s just the very beginning:
Where do I live? If I had no address, as many people do not, I could nevertheless say that I lived in the same town as the lilies of the field, and the still waters.
I couldn’t find the poem “Evidence” online, but it is in the book Evidence and in her Devotions collection.
It’s been very rewarding to read poetry about the second half of life with my love.
Here’s another Mary Oliver poem, and a response poem by me.
Sept. 12, 2023 TwoWritingTeachers.orgIt sounded worse than it was, I think.So much greenery and water on the trail, which is unusual for late summer in California.We saw several little waterfalls.Evidence of boulders blasted to make the trail more passable.Panorama image from our picnic spotEpilobium canum (California Fuchsia) – These were such pretty wildflowers dotting the landscapeTahquitz Rock from where we started our hikeTahquitz Rock (on the right) from the highest climb of our hike. Do you believe some people climb that face!?
In other news this week…
¡Lo hice! Aprendí español por ocho cien días. Realmente, 803 hoy!
Today’s Poetry Friday roundup is happening over at The Poem Farm with Amy Ludwig VanDerwater. “You asked how to write a poem?” Amy has some good advice! Thank you for hosting, Amy.
Last Saturday was The Poetry Marathon. It was a challenge to write 24 poems in 24 hours, but I did it, writing a lot of drivel, especially in the middle of my disrupted sleep.
Below is one of my favorite concoctions, which was based on listening to a music prompt. One of the songs that was suggested was without lyrics and lasted about six minutes. I just typed while I listened to the song; I was also listening to the birds outside my window. Two additional minutes of minor editing, and then I posted it. I want to experiment more with this kind of writing.
Daylight
Daylight beckons me
watching
running
spilling out of darkness
the day begins with
breezes of breath
tears of joy
crags of a life
well-lived
without regrets.
The birds are
playing and
humming their songs
sometimes screeching,
but always authentic.
Oh, to be like a bird
on the wing of this new day.
Inspired by Max Richter’s “On the Nature of Daylight”
Patricia Franz is hosting Spiritual Journey Thursday today. I am here on my phone, with so much joy about the theme of “Life at the Speed of Grace.” We took a little trip to the mountains and just got back from a hike–six miles round trip, but it seems like 12! Now we’re off to eat Mexican food.
I took a beautiful striking line from Patricia’s post to write a Golden Shovel poem about today: “I am learning to live life at the speed of Grace, letting God catch me, surprise me, love me, right where I am.” Thank you, Patricia, for the wonderful inspiration.
I won’t be in such a hurry, because I am here now in this moment. If I am learning anything, it is to be present in this gift of Grace, to live in Hope today because life isn’t promised tomorrow. Hiking at San Jacinto Wilderness today with the four of us 60-somethings, turtle speed at times, we were hikers of sore knees, fall risks, and only Grace to make it 6 miles up and down, letting me know to thank God for tiny big miracles that catch me off guard. Dazzling me with no twisted joints, but surprise and pinecones. Finding me in love with life and lizards. Me, who am I right here where God can Grace me? I am a grateful child caught by Grace.
Last Saturday, I participated in a fun event: The Poetry Marathon. I wrote 24 poems in 24 hours. We were given two optional prompts each hour–a text prompt or a photo. I chose to use one or the other of the prompts each hour. I’m sure I will revisit them, and consider the ones I didn’t try. I posted my Poetry Marathon poems with links to all the prompts here.
Now during the last couple days, I’ve gotten even more inspirational mileage from this event. As I read and comment on poems of other participants, I’m getting more ideas. I modeled this poem for my Slice of Life after a similar one someone wrote. Here’s a taste of my tender week:
Ten for Tenderness
Keith squeezes and says
“I’m holding Denise Reed in
the desert,” then sighs.
I loved meeting sweet, Blessen LaFleur, written by
Margaret Simon
Amber cuts my hair
the soft touch of scissors and
comb makes me tingle
Lori brings a box
of treasures from the sale, things
she knew I would love
Lotion plumps my skin
with “overnight Retinol
therapy” for dryness
The Hilary storm
helped a tall cactus send a
late bloom for the world
Move the couch in place
Popcorn and movie ready
watching in his arms
Funny joke, Milo!
“Jabber, jabber, jabber,” laughs
like a kookaburra
Three meals lovingly
made Saturday while I wrote
Then he did dishes
Sonny comes running
to get his treat then lies down
for a belly rub
Our journey on this sphere is limited in
time. Cliché, yes, but true. I think so much about life
and its ending now that I
am old enough for a senior discount. Some say–
“I won’t write to her, let
our sister be alone. She made her choices,” but me,
I can’t. I’ll keep reaching out and come
to the end, hopefully more healed and closer.
What happens in those in-between odd and even
years that breaks relationships? if
we knew would we fix it?
It is bitterness and apathy that kills
not forgiveness and love, which I choose for me
What will fill this need?
To the voices heed?
Commune
Plant in love the seed
Grow at great speed
Festoon
Spirit at last freed
Climbing up to feed
Blue Moon
I have been meaning to write a poem using the lai form, since I read one by Kat Apel here. I gave it a try using this photo as she climbs the ladder to this week’s blue moon.
Concerned
Commission of a
Crime together
in Fulton County,
Georgia.
Conspired and
Endeavored to
Conduct racketeering
in violation of
O.C.G.A. § 16-14-4(b)
Contrary to the laws–
The good order
Peace
And
Dignity
I gasped at the vastness,
it seemed as large as
the parking lot at Walmart.
Only there was
no pavement and
no painted lines and
no RVs free camping and
no shopping carts running amuck and
no conspiracy theories.
In fact, there was no solid ground,
except under my feet,
and the view was breathtaking
and reminded me to stop
and reevaluate
before I fell into oblivion.
Daylight beckons me
watching
running
spilling out of darkness
the day begins with
breezes of breath
tears of joy
crags of a life
well-lived
without regrets.
The birds are
playing and
humming their songs
sometimes screeching,
but always authentic.
Oh, to be like a bird
on the wing of this new day.
Inspired by Max Richter – “On the Nature of Daylight”
so much depends upon
the teal and cinnamon cruisers
with their elk-antler handlebars elbowed in on the cobblestone bridge
with the row houses jacketing the street
and our satisfied tremors of delight
as we clamber up onto the bikes.
I wish I had a photo of the little holes in the closet wall in our den when I was a child. After removing the rag bag and iron and spray water bottle and what-have-you, I could crawl up on the shelf into my closet; it was at about waist high to an adult. There were some decorative holes on the back of a curio shelf on the other side of the wall. They were perfectly situated for me. When I was sitting on my closet shelf, it was a perfect secret agent perch to look out at the goings-on of my family. I was the captain of a ship peering through the spyglass. I was taking detective notes. I was making subtle noises to try to get family members to wonder what they heard. It was my closet and no one could have convinced me otherwise.
Maybe I should make a new
sign for tomorrow. Today
I got enough dog food
and water to last awhile.
(Actually, how am I going to carry this bag of dogfood
when the store closes and I have to go “home”?)
She looked at me
and saw my sign,
“Need dog food and water”
and the dogfood and water
that someone bought me earlier.
She kept walking. I
do need another sign,
but what if she stopped and talked to me?
It’s pretty hot out here, I know.
She just got out of her A/Ced
car and she went into Von’s–
they have A/C too.
It’s hot out here.
9:00 p.m. Hour 16
Dictionary Entry
Poetry Marathon
Definitions:
verb
to create confidence
to whisper creativity
to meet and bless a worldwide poetry community
to climb expectations
as in We’ve been Poetry Marathoning for 15 hours so far.
noun
1. a chapbook full of admirable achievements Bring on the Poetry Marathon!
2. a day of hope in the life of a poet It’s been a Poetry Marathon day.
3. a gift of love from Caitlin and Jacob Thank you for that Poetry Marathon.
10:00 p.m. Hour 17
Stop Kaleidoscoping Me
I’m a beautiful form watcher
or as the Greeks would say
Kalos – eidos – scopos
I know you love my
reflective symmetry,
but stop grinding my wheel!
They arrived at dusk.
It was light
enough to see them gather
and crowd in along
the electrical wiring
above the ancient
Road house.
When the little old woman
fell, they swooped in on her doing
what carrion crows do, even
though
she’s yet to die
and begin the rotting process.
Midnight Hour 19
Yellow Sand
It’s an eerie chromatic primary land
where red are trees and yellow is sand
1:00 a.m. Hour 20
Disrupted Sleep
Going to bed every night is such a treat
I lotion up my body, floss and brushes
Then jump in bed, nestle up to sleep
But today, every hour my alarm rushes
2:00 a.m. Hour 21
Running
Running :
for cover :
into the ground :
around in circles :
running a temp : a foul :
a tab : hot and cold :
on empty : wild :
out the clock :
Running
3:00 a.m. Hour 22
Appian Way Pizza
Not to be confused with the road in Italy,
this Appian Way came in a box.
Not a pizza box, but a box right on the pantry shelf.
“Make your own for only 55¢” was their slogan.
It was always a special night
if our parents were going out
and we got to make our own pizza.
4:00 a.m. Hour 23
A World Away
The soldiers rally on, working to defeat the intruders.
After a late night invasion, the attack is doubled.
The forces surround the invaders, like skin tight around a sphere
The capture are conquer, divide, and dismember
They are sent out to do the bidding of King Acid.
In the world of Stomach, battles fire up, then cool.
something I always write about.
In fact, in a quick search, I used hope in
three poems in the last 24 hours: here and here and here
(And seven times the last time I did a Poetry Marathon.
And, on my blog, don’t get me counting. I seem to include
Hope more than anything else.) Hope is here,
the perfect little handful of a word.
A perfect world-full remedy to heal our brokenness.
If we lose hope, we’ll fall out of the sky,
plucked like Emily’s thing without the feathers.
It’s Poetry Friday and the host today is Ramona at Pleasures from the Page, with some back to school poetry goodness. Thank you for hosting, Ramona.
This summer I got a new Bananagrams game. I play with other people as often as I can, but I also have a brain-game hobby to play an almost daily game of solitaire Bananagrams. First, I choose 21 tiles and use them up in a grid, just like in the real game. Then, I choose 7 more and use them all, continuing to take 7 at a time until they are gone. (If needed, I also allow myself to “dump” one tile and pick 3 different ones, which is one of the rules in the real game.)
Some of my solitaire grids. (You may find a rotten banana or two if you look closely.)
One time I played making all “Rotten Banana” words. Silly, I know, but the words are fun to read.
Needing some more creativity, I guess, I thought to try some Bananagrams poetry. Here’s what I do:
Choose 15 tiles and create a word or two or three.
Commit to one or more of those words as a topic or part of a poem.
Then the whole pile of letters are available face up to create a short poem on the topic.
If there is more than one person participating, first come on the letters remaining.
Here are my first attempts with the caption telling the words I first saw in my 15-tile start.
“BAILEY” stood out, which was the name of a boy I bullied in sixth grade.“Quiet” and part of “Bible”“helix” and “lover”
Then I got the tiles out when my family came for dinner. There were five of us, and it was the first time I had ever asked them to “think poetically,” so it was awkward and the results were mostly silly. However, look at this beauty my sister-in-law created called “Hummingbird.”
Her first words were “sweet” and most of “song”
What other guidelines might you make for Bananagrams Poetry?
And just like that we’re finishing up the Sealey Challenge. The month went quickly, and I loved reading poetry each day. I hope I will continue reading more poetry. Hopefully it is becoming a habit.
August 25 – One Last Word: Wisdom from The Harlem Renaissance by Nikki Grimes
Have you read this book? Nikki Grimes takes poems from the Harlem Renaissance and creates golden shovel poems for them. Here are the first two stanzas of her poem based on the first two lines of “We Wear the Mask” by Paul Laurence Dunbar. I needed to read some poetry like this when I was in junior high:
August 26 – A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood lyrics by Fred Rogers
Did you know 143 was Fred Rogers’ favorite number. It represented the number of letters in I Love You.
August 27 – Library of Small Catastrophes by Alison C. Rollins – Though every poem is not related to Rollins being a librarian, there is so much she taught me about history and the world. Teacher-librarians and others, you will want to read this one, if you haven’t already.
August 28 – American Faith by Maya C. Popa
From “Lewisburg”From “On the Forces of Improvisation Under the Gun Law”
August 29 – Ellington Was Not A Street by Ntozake Shange – This is a beautiful book about the musicians and activists who visited the family home of the author as she grew up.
August 30 – Hey, You! Poems to Skyscrapers, Mosquitos, and Other Fun Things selected by Paul B. Janeczko
This was a delightful surprise of children’s poems from so many greats. The surprise started on page 1 with this beauty by George Ella Lyon.
What a sweet picture book by Laura! Here’s one of my favorite sections. After a full day of over-stimulation, Clover, melts down when a tail gets brushed in her face. “Clover spit. She bit. She threw a fur-flying hissy fit. ‘I quit!’ Clover fled.” The illustrations by Hiroe Nakata are precious. It’s a perfect book for a child who gets overwhelmed with sensory overload, or for friends of children who do. And bonus: the book is still on sale this week.
Keith squeezes and says
