Poetry Palooza continued (National Poetry Month!)

 
Today is a lovely spring day here in Seattle so some Emily Dickinson seems apropos....for our Earth---Celebrating EARTH DAY every day!

A little Madness in the Spring (1333)

By Emily Dickinson

A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown---

Who ponders this tremendous scene---
This whole Experiment of Green---
As if it were his own!

***************************

this poem--although written in the 1800's---to me speaks of Earth love, environmentalism & preservation....how can we think we "own" our Earth? if we revered her properly, we would not be mistreating her so. So far much of our Earth stewardship has not been the best, I hope the tide is turning in favor of more care and real concern for the mess we have made of her.

I took these photos one spring in Alaska...where I learned to love and revere our green Earth.

**************************************************************

Poetry-palooza # 5 for National Poetry Month

Sometimes

by Sheenagh Pugh

Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down green frost, green thrives, the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people will sometimes step back from war;
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss, sometimes we all do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

Note: above drawing by me --- a tessalation!

Poetry-palooza Daffodills (and Spring)

In time of daffodils

 by E. E. Cummings

in time of daffodils (who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why, remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so (forgetting seem)

in time of roses (who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if, remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek (forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me, remember me

Nature's Holy Plan

Lines Written in Early Spring

by William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts

Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think

What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;

And ’tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,

Their thoughts I cannot measure:—

But the least motion which they made

It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,

If such be Nature’s holy plan,

Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

Ah! how long ago was this written? before 1850--since Wordsworth died then. And yet --his lament--"what man has made of man?" seems too much apropos today with the mess we have made of our Mother Earth, and how we are killing others in senseless wars. And now the Earth rumbles with Earthquakes, and still we fiddle and fumble; but spring brings new hope that those us us who care and are sane will prevail and justice and peace and love of our planet will win out.

April is NATIONAL POETRY MONTH--please feel free to leave your favorite poem here in the comments....

April is National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month here in the USA--and I like to honor poems and the poets by featuring some here throughout the month...here is one by African American poet Nikki Giovanni....a wonderful poem I think is in keeping with the current theme on my blog ---my reflections on my recent trip to Ghana.

They Clapped

by Nikki Giovanni

they clapped when we landed

thinking africa was just an extension

of the black world

they smiled as we taxied home to be met

black to black face not understanding africans lack

color prejudice

they rushed to declare

cigarettes, money, allegiance to the mother land

not knowing despite having read fanon and davenport

hearing all of j.h. clarke’s lectures, supporting

nkrumah in ghana and nigeria in the war that there was once

a tribe called afro-americans that populated the whole

of africa

they stopped running when they learned the packages

on the women’s heads were heavy and that babies didn’t

cry and disease is uncomfortable and that villages are fun

only because you knew the feel of good leather on good

pavement

they cried when they saw mercedes benz were as common

in lagos as volkswagens are in berlin

they shook their heads when they understood there was no

difference between the french and the english and the americans

and the afro-americans or the tribe next door or the country

across the border

they were exasperated when they heard sly and the family stone

in francophone africa and they finally smiled when little boys

who spoke no western tongue said “james brown” with reverence

they brought out their cameras and bought out africa’s drums

when they finally realized that they are strangers all over

and love is only and always about the lover not the beloved

they marveled at the beauty of the people and the richness

of the land knowing they could never possess either

they clapped when they took off

for home despite the dead

dream they saw a free future

Source: The Collected Poems of Nikki Giovanni (2003)

WATER week

WATER WEEK : I worked for over 20 years on the ocean on commercial fishing boats in Alaska; one does not spend that much time on the sea without developing a very healthy respect for the power of the oceans and water. I have been in storms at sea where the waves were towering over our 65 foot boat, and I feared for our survival. I learned to think of the ocean as a living being which we must treat with proper respect in order to survive our travels upon her. I have great concern and care for our Earth's oceans and the way we are currently mistreating them; for we "will not survive a dieing sea." For me, water week is all about my long relationship with salt water and the sea....

I like the concept of Soul Coaching : Day 9

Going to the Source of Meaning: " You cannot always choose the circumstances of your life, but you can choose the meaning that you give those events."

I have never thought about the various events in my life quite this way. For some reason, this notion made me think of this poem by one of my favorite poets--Mary Oliver.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Today's Quote:
"Life is now in session. Are you present?" --B. Copeland

Poem for the Election

I Hear America Singing
by Walt Whitman
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs. VOTE NOW! or vote on November 4th but VOTE! Thomas Jefferson: A politician looks forward only to the next election. A statesman looks forward to the next generation.

37 days to wake up

I had been blogging here about a year or so when I stumbled on Patti Digh's wonderful soulful blog: 37 DAYS. Patti posed this question on her blog: "What would you be doing today if you only had 37 days to live? The death of her stepfather just 37 days after being diagnosed with cancer woke Patti Digh up, scared her, and made her examine her own life..." One result was her blog--37 DAYS--where she has touched thousands of readers lives with her inspiring life stories---and recipes for "living without regrets, no matter how many days you have left."

Now Patti has created a book--LIFE IS A VERB--- from her many inspirational blog posts. In the process of writing and creating her book she also invited her blog readers to contribute the art work for the book. Inspired by an artist trading card that blog reader Donna B. Miller sent her--she posted an invitation on her blog for others to create art---in the same artist trading card format---for various essays in the book. She received over 120 pieces of art in 2 weeks.

I was one of those artists who responded to Patti's invitation and created 2 illustrations--which I am proud to say are in this book (pp. 22 & 49).

Rather than explain the images and words I used in these two illustrations---I am instead urging you to buy Patti's book--LIFE IS A VERB--- and read the two essays that these accompany. This is one book you will never be sorry you purchased--one you will want to read over and over and write in the margins and dog-ear as it accompanies you through your life. Thanks Patti! for such a wonderful gift to us all and for being you.

Women's History Month : Authors and WIP

My friend Ms. Godsey at Bibliophile Bullpen has another great blog --- Literary Stamps, which is part of the inspiration for this post.

Poet Edna St Vincent Millay was born in Rockland, Maine in 1892. Millay's life always fascinated me---since she was an early "Bohemian"---and a women not afraid to go against the norms of what was expected of women of her time.

Nancy Mitford has written an excellent biography of Millay titled Savage Beauty



which I read and enjoyed immensely. Mitford captured her life and spirit, as well as the times she lived in ....

Souvenir
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
(from The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems, 1923 edition)
Just a rainy day or two
In a windy tower,
That was all I had of you----
Saving half an hour

Marred by greeting passing groups
In a cinder walk,
Near some naked blackberry hoops
Dim with purple chalk.

I remember three or four
Things you said in spite,
And an ugly coat you wore,
Plaided black and white.

Just a rainy day or two
And a bitter word.
Why do I remember you
as a singing bird?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

on another note---WIP: I am currently knitting squares for a healing blanket or small afghan for a friend who is quite ill--something cuddly for him to wrap himself in when he is sitting, or when is he is cold....several knitting friends are also contributing to this project.


so far, I have five 8" x 8" squares done and another one on the needles--I am having fun trying out new stitches for some squares...this is turning out to be a nice way to swatch and experiment with new stitch ideas, plus use up some miscellaneous wools I have in my stash.

Winter Holiday Children's Books

I think the Holiday Season should be a magical time for children---and this should include reading some books to the children in your life. I also have a fondness for lovely children's picture books about winter, Christmas, and the holiday season. Here are some of my favorites---they are good reads an all wonderfully illustrated.

I'm starting with my current favorite---I discovered this book when the author, Daniel Pinkwater, read this book aloud on NPR a few holiday seasons ago--the reading was so entrancing--I promptly went out a bought a copy. The illustrations by the author's wife, Jill Pinkwater, really enhance the story.


Next is the nicely illustrated rendition of Robert Frost's famous winter poem....


Third on my list is this endearing story by an Alaskan author and a well known Alaskan artist...


next, this classic--originally published in the Ladies Home Journal in 1958....


And then we have the pop-ups!





These are just few highlights from my small collection of holiday books---guess I will save some for next year! I recommend any of these if you are looking for a child's gift for the Holidaze.

More Cookies!

Now that the packages are in the mail...it is time to bake cookies...here is another of the cookie recipes I bake every year --this one came to me from my (Great) Aunt Esther. Aunt Esther was my Grandma's sister---and in their later years (after my Grandfather died) Grandma and Aunt Esther lived together---it was like having 2 grandmas in the same house and they lived about a block away from us, so I saw them often. They both baked the best cookies ---and my Grandma had an old cookie jar on her kitchen counter--which ALWAYS had homemade cookies in it (just like her purse always had Chicklet gum for us kids).

Orange Crispie Cookies

2 cups sugar
2 eggs beaten
1 cup butter
1 teaspoon baking powder
4 cups flour
5 tablespoons frozen concentrated orange juice
grated rind of 2 organic oranges

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream butter and sugar, beat in eggs. Add flour, baking powder, orange juice and grated peel--mix well. Chill dough. Make the dough into small balls, place on a well greased cookie sheet, and flatten each small ball of dough with a glass dipped in soft butter, then sugar. Bake at 350 degrees about 8-10 minutes, until cookies just begin to brown on the edges.

Someday, Perhaps

It begins long before the first frost -
Somewhere between memory and reality.
It touches us with compassion
and whispers to us of hope.
It tiptoes into our hearts with elation
and opens our souls to faith.

Its name is Christmas and we have yet to learn
How to keep it close for more than
this one brief, shining moment.
Someday, perhaps... with love.

------Judith A. Lindberg

Giving Thanks...

The year has turned its circle,
The seasons come and go.
The harvest all is gathered in
And chilly north winds blow.

Orchards have shared their treasures,
The fields, their yellow grain,
So open wide the doorway ---
Thanksgiving comes again!



THANKSGIVING
Count your blessings instead of your crosses;
Count your gains instead of your losses.
Count your joys instead of your woes;
Count your friends instead of your foes.
Count your smiles instead of your tears;
Count your courage instead of your fears.
Count your full years instead of your lean;
Count your kind deeds instead of your mean.
Count your health instead of your wealth;
Count on Spirit instead of yourself.

For me Thanksgiving is a time to reflect on the changes---to remember that we, too, grow and change from one season of life to another. Let us remember the true meaning of Thanksgiving and let us give thanks in our hearts.

National Poetry Month

Spring
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.


April is NATIONAL POETRY MONTH

Since I love poetry and I always celebrate National Poetry Month by reading a new poem every day--I have decided to spotlight a few poetry resources I have discovered while surfing around the web.

One of my favorite sites is Poets.org--the website for the National Poetry Foundation--a great place to look up your favorite poet's poems, search for poems to read at that special occasion, or read interview's of poets or sign up to have a poem a day delivered to your inbox for the month of April. The National Poetry Foundation established April as the National Poetry Month in 1996.

Another great poetry resource is The Poetry Foundation---they have a blog, articles, news, and you can search thousands of poems in their archives---by subject, occasion or author.



"Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does."
—Allen Ginsberg, Ginsberg: A Biography, Barry Miles (1989).

For great animated visuals while poet Billy Collins read his poetry try Billy Collins Action Poetry or listen to Garrison Keillor's weekly podcast of The Writer's Almanac. Create your own poem at the Magnetic Poetry Board....looking for that perfect word to rhyme with blog? check out the Online Rhyming Dictionary.

I also highly recommend the Poets' Corner, "one of the largest and oldest text resources on the web. The goal of this project is to create a user-friendly library of works that promotes browsing and exploring through a site that spans thousands of works by hundreds of authors covering thousands of years." At Poetry Daily--you can read a new poem every day! (not just during April). Poets Against War "continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression."

Or join NaPoWriMo---National Poetry Writing Month! Write a poem every day (or at least try to) and post it to your blog if you dare...this dare is from the blog 32 Poems Poetry Magazine.


LIFE, believe, is not a dream,
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day:
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
Oh, why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly.

----From LIFE by Charlotte Bronte

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

"Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That Story."
----Anne Sexton