Tuesday, October 04, 2011

Tuesday Poetry Stretch - What Makes You Smile?

Yes, I'm late, but Mondays are horrible days. I also scheduled this to post, but had the wrong date and didn't check the calendar, so I was off anyway!

Originally I wanted to write about things that make you happy, but this morning while stopping for a cup of tea, I saw two dogs outside my local coffee shop. They were both wagging their tails so vigorously that their whole behinds were shaking. If a sight like that doesn't make you smile, there isn't much that will. Babies make me smile, as do puddles (preferably ones I'm splashing in), bubble baths, the song Young Folks, Daniel Pinkwater talking children's books non NPR, and much more.

So, let's write about what makes you smile. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.


  1. Greetings, Poetry Stretchers--

    I’m happy to find Tricia’s suggestions here any day of the week, and I want to make sure you all know that I’ve started providing myself and other interested parties another “poetry tickle” every Tuesday evening at my juicy little universe. Tuesday is now *Overheard in Kindergarten* day, where I’m sharing a bon mot from the mouths of my 5-year-old kindergarteners for you to play with. Please stop by each week and see what tickles you!

    Now then...

    What Makes Me

    Singing: drawing in air and blowing out slidesswingsseesaws
    Mixing: slicingsizzling scents and flavors, serving up art on a plate
    Involving: growing curlytangled brainbranches out to meet others
    Laughing: bursting out at oopsurprises, braving tickles
    Ending: sinking heavyloaded into flowerbed of night, smiling

    Heidi Mordhorst 2011
    all rights reserved

  2. Nice, Heidi! Makes me smile to read your poems.

    I tried a Welsh verse form called a Rhupunt for this one (http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/welsh/rhup.html):

    Jurassic Fish
    By Steven Withrow

    My deepest wish:
    To catch a fish
    That dwarfs a whale.

    To hook and reel
    By look and feel
    A monster’s tail.

    But I’m too late
    To cast my bait
    For bones so strong

    And razor sharp.
    I’ve only carp
    To string along.

    I’d settle for
    A man o’ war
    Or basking shark

    If one will break
    For pity’s sake
    From fathoms dark.

    ©2011 Steven Withrow, all rights reserved

  3. Frog

    Green arrow stretches,
    shooting over pond and down
    to hit water SPLASH!

    --Kate Coombs, 2011, all rights reserved

  4. Little Girl in Fall

    fat cheeks
    green eyes
    tawny crop of hair
    bright teeth
    pumpkin smile…

    that’s my little girl.

  5. Kate -- Issa would smile!

    Julie -- A great snapshot!

  6. I wish I had more time, but it's a long weekend and I promised to be good to myself and not work all weekend so I've stopped by after many months away. I also have a great book to review for SLJ!!!! There's a clue within my poem but I'm not giving it away.

    This October Morning Recalling Bishop’s ,
    “We Looked and Looked Our Infant Sight Away….”

    The crabapple’s red fruit
    in a white bowl, the green leaves
    on the edge waiting for my pencils;
    and my fish, the lovely Miss Xioa,
    with scarves of blue and crimson fanning her waters;
    The end of summer’s cricket,
    alone but the woods are thick
    with mountain laurel, sassafras, and
    rabbits, spiders, chipmunks, squirrels,
    skunks, beetles, raccoons--
    They can all make me smile (but not mosquitoes).
    Don’t forget the loblolly pines
    that will brave a New England winter;
    and the small garden trespass--
    the little marks of teeth on the tomatoes,
    the lost ghostly shell of the eastern swallowtail;
    And in winter tracks in snow,
    the way a story without words is told,
    The beauty of love, both old and young.
    Chagall’s bride still floats air,
    While my red dog waits by the door,
    his brow following
    Fibonacci’s rule and me.


    Misty rain,
    soft cool pillows,
    nature walks,
    weeping willows,
    root beer floats,
    baling hay,
    That is called
    A perfect day.

    (c) Charles Waters 2011 all rights reserved.