Posts on poetry friday

In celebration of National Poetry Month back in April, sixth graders at St. Mary's International School in Japan created "book spine haiku." Pretty simple idea—stack up three books so that, together, their titles say something—and a whole lot of fun, it turns out.

One of my personal favorites is "When Elephants Fight / Under the Blood-Red Sun / Stand Your Ground." Words to live by! But I must also give mad props to the deliciously gruesome "A Wizard of Earthsea / Skinned / Black Beauty." Yikes!

Anyway, on a slow afternoon my coworker Janet and I decided to try some book spine haiku ourselves. These are some of our better efforts. (I think it's fair to say this exercise has taken my obsession with book spines to a whole new level.)

I hear mockingbirds are also fond of roosting where the red fern grows. Speaking of which...

They may itch.

I like to think they're working side by side in America's Test Kitchen.

That was our shortest "haiku" (full credit to Janet), but it delivers!

A few more:

What "haiku" is hiding on your book shelves?

Last year, Jenn Knoblock, Jim Danielson, and I ended up in some strange sparring in which we tried to use the highest proportion of high-scoring letters in Scrabble... in a poem. Jim took top honors with an average score of 2.8194 points per letter. (My own score was 2.725.) Anyway, gluttons for punishment that we are, we're back. Here's my new horror:
 

The Quartz Zyzzyva (Just Kidding)

Kooky Jack's poxy yak
grew boxy with ivy and fuzz.
Folk took it for grizzly if it was drizzly.
(Quizzically often, it was.)
Vexed, with his ax, Jack gave a whack,
then—zip, zap—gave it a buzz.
 

Scoring (Scrabble points/number of letters):

Kooky 16/5 Jack's 18/5 poxy 16/4 yak 10/3
grew 8/4 boxy 16/4 with 10/4 ivy 9/3 and 4/3 fuzz. 25/4
Folk 11/4 took 8/4 it 2/2 for 6/4 grizzly 29/7 if 5/2 it 2/2 was 6/3 drizzly. 29/7
(Quizzically 43/11 often, 8/5 it 2/2 was.) 6/3
Vexed, 16/5 with 10/4 his 6/3 ax, 9/2 Jack 17/4 gave 8/4 a 1/1 whack, 17/5
then 7/4 —zip, 14/3 zap— 14/3 gave 8/4 it 2/2 a 1/1 buzz. 24/4

Total: 443/143=3.097

I really hope I got the math right. I am far too tired to check it again, but please feel free. I daresay I hope this is the nerdiest thing I do for the rest of the year, because I am drained! I do not want to admit how much time I spent writing this thing. TOO MUCH.

I was thinking yesterday of how nothing in life is wasted—none of our wandering, none of our pain. It is, as a wise person (though I can't remember who) once told me, "all grist." Or maybe that's just how writers and other artistic sorts (and bloggers!) console themselves with the hard stuff in life. "At least this experience will be good for a story/song/poem/painting or two..."

At bedtime I happened to read this poem, which seemed perfect for that line of thought:
 

Alchemy

I lift my heart as spring lifts up
     A yellow daisy to the rain;
My heart will be a lovely cup
     Altho' it holds but pain.

For I shall learn from flower and leaf
     That color every drop they hold,
To change the lifeless wine of grief
     To living gold.

—Sara Teasdale, 1915
 

Lately I've been plagued by existential gloom and doom. I guess most of us experience it at one time or another. "Why are we here?" "What's the point?" Etc.

A few days ago, as I walked through the cold rain to meet a friend for tea, I thought: why am I trying to define my purpose in terms of an end state? Maybe the question isn't, "Why are we here in the long run?", but rather, "Why are we here at this moment in time?"

This poem is my attempt to answer that question.
 

Why I’m Here

To walk in the misty drizzle
beneath an orange umbrella,
and hear the raindrops’ sizzle
against my sunny mandala.

To pause in a cozy café,
its rain-streaked windows glistening.
To serve up my stories au lait,
a friend beside me, listening.

To fall asleep to the patter
and dream of shipwrecks all night.
To wake to the sparrows’ chatter.
To pick up my notebook and write.
 

Welcome, all! Today's Poetry Friday round-up is here. I like to do things the old-fashioned way, so if you'd like to participate, please leave a comment with a link to your contribution. I'll check in throughout the day and add your links to this entry. And, of course, if you'd just like to say hi... please do!

Poetry News

• At The Drift Record, Julie Larios reminds readers of the Peace Poem Project and reflects on books versus bombs.
• There are still a few Poetry Friday hosting slots available this spring and summer. Leave a comment at A Year of Reading if you would like to host.

Original Poems and Translations

• Black-Eyed Susan shares her lyrical creation, "smells like rain."
• At Political Verses, Elaine Magliaro shares a humorous original, "Knock, Knock, Knockin' on Heaven's Door: John Yoo at the Pearly Gates."
• At A Wrung Sponge, Andromeda Jazmon shares three spring haiku.
• Jeannine Atkins takes the plunge and shares her original poem "The Biographer Becomes a Poet."
• At Lectitans, Kimberley offers her translation of a stanza from The Aeniad.
• At Rooted, Gautami Tripathy shares "moon eats sugar puffs". (For some strange reason, I could really go for a snickerdoodle right about now.)
• At Fomagrams, David Elzey shares a series of twitku (Twitter haiku)—making far better use of Twitter than most of us!
• At Deo Writer, Jone shares "Outside My Window," her response to this week's Poetry Stretch at The Miss Rumphius Effect.
• At Liz in Ink, Liz Scanlon shares a link to her daily haiku, not to mention other haiku fun.
• At My World—Mi Mundo, Stella shares "Things to Do When You Are Feeling Blue."
• At Knocking from Inside, Tiel Aisha Ansari shares "Not from Here."
• At On Point, Lorie Ann Grover shares an original haiku.
• Kelly Polark shares an ode to the northern cardinal.
• Laurel Snyder shares an Arbor Day poem for children.
• Miss Erin shares a personal verse, "Disconnection."
• Maya Ganesan shares her NaPoWriMo poem of the day, "Broken Stars."

Poetry Challenges

• This week, Two Writing Teachers are hosting a Poem a Day Challenge. Today's challenge is to write a sensory poem about your favorite season, but poems on other subjects are welcome as well!
• Laura Purdie Salas shares the results of this week's 15 words or less challenge, "Under the Bleachers."
• At Blue Rose Readers, Elaine Magliaro shares the results of her opposite poems challenge.
• At The Miss Rumphius Effect, Tricia shares the results of her "Outside the Window" challenge.

Book Reviews and Stretchers

• At Wild Rose Reader, Elaine Magliaro reviews four animal haiku books.
• At Just One More Book, Andrea and Mark chat about rhyming picture book Silly Tilly, by Eileen Spinelli.
• At Write Time, Linda offers classroom connections for The Underwear Salesman, by J. Patrick Lewis.
• At A Patchwork of Books, Amanda discusses I Love Our Earth, by Bill Martin, Jr., and Michael Sampson.
• At Biblio File, Jennie reviews Meet Danitra Brown, by Nikki Grimes.
• Fuse #8 reviews My Hippo Has the Hiccups, by Kenn Nesbitt.
• At Poetry for Children, Sylvia reviews Loose Leashes, a collection of dog poems.

Poetry by Kids

• At A Year of Reading, Mary Lee shares her fourth graders' 15 words or less poems.
• MsMac shares fourth graders' Fibonacci poems.

Favorite Poems

• At Writing and Ruminating, Kelly Fineman shares Ben Jonson's classic poem "Song: To Celia," along with her analysis and a recording of the poem set to music.
• At Sandy Cove Trail, Andromeda Jazmon shares Ogden Nash's "Always Marry an April Girl" and some beautiful April photos.
• Shelf Elf shares a haiku by Issa.
• Kurious Kitty shares Robert Penn Warren's "Ways of Day."
• At The Miss Rumphius Effect, Tricia shares Paul Laurence Dunbar's "A Lazy Day."
• Color Online shares Kimiko Hahn's "The Razor."
• At Carol's Corner, Carol shares Anna Denise's "How to Change a Frog into a Prince."
• Laura Purdie Salas shares some favorites from The Underwear Salesman, by J. Patrick Lewis, plus some other fun poetry-related links.
• The Stenhouse Blog shares Donald Graves' "The Night Before Fishing Season Opens."
• Jama Rattigan shares some tasty poetic tidbits about banbury cakes. (Warning: do not read on an empty stomach!)
• At The Book Mine Set, John Mutford shares two favorites from Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass.
• Yat-Yee Chong shares J.R.R. Tolkien's "Roads Go Ever On."
• Karen Edmisten shares Helen H. Moore's "Reading in Bed."
• At I'm Here; I'm Queer; What the Hell Do I Read?, Lee Wind shares a rumination on love by Sappho.
• Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast shares Dylan Thomas' "In the Beginning."
• At GottaBook, Gregory K. shares a new J. Patrick Lewis poem, "The Poet of the World." Be sure to click back in Gregory's blog for poems by other great children's poets of today (including himself)!
• At Bildungsroman, Little Willow shares Emily Dickinson's "Hope Is the Thing with Feathers."
• Neverending Story shares Julie Redstone's "The Baobab Tree."
• At Read Write Believe, Sara Lewis Holmes shares Mark Jarman's "Dressing My Daughters" and other poetry tidbits.
• At Angieville, Angie shares "Taking Off Emily Dickinson's Clothes," by Billy Collins.
• At Readertotz, Lorie Ann Grover shares "Intery, Mintery," a traditional children's rhyme.
• Tabatha Yeatts shares several musical poems.

This week, Tricia’s challenge at The Miss Rumphius Effect was to write a poem about something found “behind the museum door.” I cast into my soupy sea of memories for an idea, and this is what surfaced.

When I was five years old, my family lived in Madrid, Spain. We split our time between “normal” life (for me, kindergarten, church, and walking the dog in the Casa de Campo) and tourism. On one of our outings, we viewed Picasso’s painting Guernica, which portrays the bombing by German and Italian forces of the Basque village Guernica on April 26, 1937.

You can’t fully appreciate Guernica’s power except in person. The painting is 11 feet tall and over 26 feet wide. It makes an adult feel small; at five years old, I was utterly overwhelmed. I hated everything about it: the wailing people, the shrieking horse, but most of all the baby, its nose like an accusing finger, hanging limply from its mother's arms.

But I couldn’t look away. And I’ve never forgotten it. Picasso did his job all too effectively. Here’s my rondelet about this painting which has made its way from the Museo Reina Sofia to the museum in my mind.
 

Guernica Burns

Guernica burns,
its slaughter prelude to the war.
Guernica burns,
the tourists stare. My stomach churns
at blank-eyed babies splashed with gore.
I clench my eyelids shut; still poor
Guernica burns.
 

Catch this week’s Poetry Friday round-up at Becky’s Book Reviews!

This week's Poetry Stretch at The Miss Rumphius Effect was to write a bite-sized sonnet. The poem follows the (English) sonnet rhyme scheme, but each line consists of only one syllable. This is what we call "deceptively simple." Or "deceptively complicated." Whichever it is when it's harder than it looks!
 

Downturn

Slow
day,
no
pay.

Drab
news,
grab
booze.

Thick
wrists,
quick
fists.

Stay.
Pray.
 

If nothing else, you can always count on me for a cheerful poem.

Catch this week's Poetry Friday round-up at Carol's Corner!

This week's Poetry Stretch at The Miss Rumphius Effect was to write a triolet. The pattern of repetition reminded me of riding a swing, swooping one direction, then retracing your path.
 

Swing Song

Over the rooftops I go swinging
‘til I know no up or down.
Silent as geese, moonward winging,
over the rooftops I go swinging—
body sailing, heartbeat singing.
Waving goodbye—or hello?—to my town,
over the rooftops I go swinging
‘til I know no up or down.
 

Julie Larios has this week's Poetry Friday round-up at The Drift Record!

Tricia's Poetry Stretch at the Miss Rumphius Effect this week was write a poem using opposites in the body and title. This is what I came up with; was I trying to channel Edgar Allan Poe or something?
 

Blind/Sighted

I glimpsed a loathsome creature with my face
and trapped her in a heavy wooden box.
The latch was stiff, the hinges caked with rust;
there was no need to bother with a lock.

I thought to suffocate her, starve her dead—
and with no room to stretch an arm or leg,
her body soon would atrophy, I hoped.
My heart was stone, no matter how she begged.

For years, I kept her blind and deaf and mute,
and I took comfort, knowing I was safe
from her gaunt visage, gnarled limbs, and eyes
like tarnished coins—that gruesome little waif!

In time, the creature ceased to caterwaul;
I thought her fate she’d finally stopped fighting.
But little did I know, in shadows deep,
the wretched beast her time was merely biding.

For one day, when a tremor shook the earth,
and rattled that old box across the floor,
the latch popped open, hinges creaked a crack;
the creature flung herself against the door!

She burst into the daylight, ghostly pale
and whisper-thin. She blinked when she saw me.
Her clawlike hands reached hither, and I cried
in terror, for the beast I’d feared was free—

and lo, her years in thrall had made her fierce!
I feared she’d slay me, now she had the chance—
and yet she didn’t; rather she embraced
me—did I dream?—and she began to dance.

I struggled to break from her, flee her grasp,
and hide myself—inside the box, perhaps?
My victim was now victor, it would seem,
and showed no sign of weakness or collapse.

She whirled us faster, till I couldn’t tell:
was I still I, or had she thieved my soul?
Would she usurp my station, claim my name?
Or did she have another, darker goal?

We danced till night, when in moon’s silver glow
I could, as in a mirror darkly, see:
her hands were mine, her head, her heart, her eyes—
no monster but a replica of me!

The creature whom I’d thought to nihilate
took substance when I cleaved my soul in twain,
thinking to destroy the parts I shunned.
As long as I survived, she’d do the same.

But in the open air, the truth sprang free!
Just as she couldn’t die while yet I breathed,
without her heart I’d lived but half a life,
inside a box. Myself I had deceived.

So, leaning close, I kissed her pallid cheek.
Our essence merged, we melted into one.
And though I mourn the years we spent apart,
hope flares within: our new life has begun.
 

You'll also find this week's Poetry Friday round-up at the Miss Rumphius Effect!

Last week, a reader commented that poetry prompts can be gimmicky. True, but sometimes they’re also great creative un-stickers—not to mention fun! Here’s a Poetry Friday post of prompted poems.

At The Miss Rumphius Effect this week, the Poetry Stretch was to write a poem in “diminishing” or “nested” rhyme. Each rhyming word is contained within the previous one. Here’s mine:
 

Lunatic’s Lullaby

Hush, little child, do not be afraid;
the fabric of sanity ever was frayed.
Surrender your sense when the hobgoblins raid,
for no one but madmen will come to your aid.
 

Following last week’s lipogram, Jennifer Knoblock threw down the gauntlet, challenging me (and anyone else foolish/brave enough to try) to write a poem using letters that get high points in Scrabble. We decided success would be measured by taking the ratio of Scrabble points to the number of letters. (Yes, it's admittedly silly.) Here’s my dubious contribution:
 

Limerickqxz

A foxy young doxy blew sax.
With hip-hop, she hardly was lax.
But when she played jazz,
her lip work lacked pizzazz;
then nightclubs would give her the ax.
 

And here’s how I figured the score (Scrabble points/letters):

A (1/1) foxy (17/4) young (9/5) doxy (15/4) blew (9/4) sax (10/3).
With (10/4) hip-hop (16/6), she (6/3) hardly (13/6) was (6/3) lax (10/3).
But (5/3) when (10/4) she (6/3) played (12/6) jazz (29/4),
her (6/3) lip (5/3) work (11/4) lacked (13/6) pizzazz (45/7);
then (7/4) nightclubs (18/10) would (9/5) give (8/4) her (6/3) the (6/3) ax (9/2).

327 points divided by 120 letters = 2.725

I'll be getting a MacArthur genius grant any day now... And yes, saxophones are VERY POPULAR instruments in hip-hop culture! How dare you suggest otherwise?

I am, of course, reminded of this wonderful Threadless shirt, "Well, This Just Really Sucks..."

ETA: Jim Danielson has blown away my Scrabble score with a whopping 2.8194 point/letter average! Way to go, Jim!
 

This week’s Poetry Friday round-up is hosted by Wild Rose Reader!

_dent_ty Theft

Love seemed a dream, a warm well of contentment.
She gave herself up to the arms of another
and packed her own dreams far away, sans resentment,
unaware that the sweetest embrace can yet smother.

For she was no doormat! No, merely enchanted.
Bound up by love’s feathery arms, she could fly.
Slowly her own lofty goals were supplanted.
She never asked how; she forgot to ask why.

She never gazed up at the stars to remember;
her eyes shut, she rode a warm current to sea.
She slept, and her soul wasted to a dull ember,
a kernel of self that no more blossomed free.

But one day she woke up, no longer enraptured.
She rubbed her eyes, saw how she’d stumbled awry.
She scrambled for her scattered dreams and recaptured
them, strode to the door, and declared, “I am I.”
 

This week, Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect challenged readers to write a lipogram—a poem that avoids one or more letters of the alphabet.

Obviously, I chose the letter I, avoiding it until the final phrase. The poem doesn't include J, Q, or X, either, but high-scoring Scrabble tiles don't really count in Lipogram Land.

This week's Poetry Friday round-up is at Adventures in Daily Living!