I'm quite fond of the articles published at the Poetry Foundation web site. In the article Again! Again! by Sonia Levitin, she says the following about poetry.
As adults, we’ve learned to turn to poetry to mark an important occasion: a wedding, a death, a graduation, the birth of a child. Poems are large enough to capture the emotional richness of the event. But I think we forget that poetry is also large enough to encapsulate everyday experiences—and children’s poetry does that so well: the wonder of seeing a caterpillar wind its way across the sidewalk, the birth of a butterfly, the beauty of a pansy, the taste of maple syrup. Children’s poems take for their subjects every possible relationship, training the heart and the mind to savor and pay attention in a language that a child can understand.I love the fact that poetry pays attention to the everyday and makes the ordinary extraordinary. Since I reviewed a book on eggs today, that's the subject that is stuck in my mind. So let's write about eggs. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.
Dear Egg
ReplyDeleteI could poach you, stir you,
coddle you, shirr you—
I could scramble you with bacon
or fry you up with rice,
I could sunny-side up you
or fill you with spice.
I could fold you in an omelet,
maybe peak you for meringue,
soft-boil you, hard-boil you,
or give you a southwest tang.
I could mix you with onions,
with sausage and cheese,
custard you, soufflé you,
or turn you into quiche.
I could devil you, frittata you,
or add you to a hash,
put you in potato salad
with pepper and panache.
But instead—
I'm going to fill you with confetti,
paint you yellow, green, and red,
then crack you for good luck
on my brother's luckless head.
--Kate Coombs, 2011, all rights reserved
EGGS
ReplyDeleteeggs-acting ovals
eggs-ceptional package
eggs-tra color
eggs-tremely varied sizes
eggs-traordinary taste
all outcomes eggs-ceptional
Fun poems! We have endless bird drama in the back yard this time of year, so here's a nod to the wrens and robins.
ReplyDeletewren eggs
abandoned last year
light as a feather
---
discarded shards
broken turquoise shells -
ah, but the music…
©Robyn Hood Black
All rights reserved.
Here's a mask poem:
ReplyDeleteCHICK CHATTER
I’m pecking, pecking
On this dome.
I’m cramped inside
My little home.
Can’t spread my wings,
Can’t run…or walk.
Can’t see the sun.
Can barely talk!
Oh, I’ve been pecking
Since last night.
This shell is really
REALLY tight!
I just can’t stand it
Anymore!
Oh where? Oh, where
Is my front door?!
Hmmm--you took every single one of my egg poem ideas and I'm left with nada!
ReplyDeleteSo thanks for the great reads, poets. Will try again next week.
Jane
SUPPER
ReplyDeleteCrack those eggs
yellow, white
add bacon,
toast, juice
Breakfast tonight!
(c) Charles Waters 2011 all rights reserved.