In this final month of the year, our challenge was to write a poem of gratitude in any form. I've been pondering favorite lines of poetry and using them to write my own poems, so today I'm sharing a golden shovel that uses a line from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot.
A Golden Shovel for My Poetry Sisters
This is beyond me, myself, and I.
We are friends who have
been tested and measured
by all that life can throw at us. Out
of affection and gratitude for my
sisters, I declare that this life
would not be the same with-
out you. I am the tea to your coffee,
you are the forks to my spoons.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
You can read the poems written by my poetry sisters at the links below.
Tanita Davis
Sara Lewis Holmes
Rebecca Holmes
Kelly Ramsdell
Laura Purdie Salas
Liz Garton Scanlon
Andi Sibley
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Tanita Davis at fiction, instead of lies. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Friday, December 06, 2019
Friday, November 01, 2019
Poetry Sisters Write Villanelles
This month Tanita set the challenge to write a villanelle on a wintry topic. We had the added requirement of including a pair of words (or homonyms thereof) from the following eleven: bleak, draft, gutter, chill, chime, glitter, gust, harsh, rime, nip, thaw.
The villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. It is made up of five tercets and a quatrain. The rhyme scheme is aba aba aba aba aba abaa. The 1st and 3rd lines from the first stanza are alternately repeated so that the 1st line becomes the last line in the second stanza, and the 3rd line becomes the last line in the third stanza and so on. The last two lines of the poem are lines 1 and 3 respectively.
The villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. It is made up of five tercets and a quatrain. The rhyme scheme is aba aba aba aba aba abaa. The 1st and 3rd lines from the first stanza are alternately repeated so that the 1st line becomes the last line in the second stanza, and the 3rd line becomes the last line in the third stanza and so on. The last two lines of the poem are lines 1 and 3 respectively.
As much as I love winter, I tend to get the blues from December through February. I started thinking about the coming season, the snow projections (more than usual for VA), the prospect of indoor recess, the early placement of Christmas items (before Halloween!), and a number of other ideas. Once I started writing, I realized I'd chosen an odd end word for the "a" rhyme, which made choosing words a bit challenging, but the poem finally came together. Here's what I came up with.
December's Discontent
December’s onset brings a discontent
a case of blues that lingers into spring
when winter’s snow and chill will not relent
Short days a coda to the heart’s lament
it’s fall’s crisp days to which we madly cling
when December brings a discontent
As autumn turns to winter we resent
the doldrums of the months that clip our wings
when winter’s snow and chill will not relent
The house is bleak, the family in dissent
for cabin fever leads to arguing
December’s onset brings a discontent
Time outdoors brings nothing but torment
as ice and wind assault the cheeks and sting
when winter’s snow and chill will not relent
But we'll hunker by the fire, breathe in its scent
and dream of early thaw and blossoms crowning
December’s onset brings a discontent
when winter’s snow and chill will not relent
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.a case of blues that lingers into spring
when winter’s snow and chill will not relent
Short days a coda to the heart’s lament
it’s fall’s crisp days to which we madly cling
when December brings a discontent
As autumn turns to winter we resent
the doldrums of the months that clip our wings
when winter’s snow and chill will not relent
The house is bleak, the family in dissent
for cabin fever leads to arguing
December’s onset brings a discontent
Time outdoors brings nothing but torment
as ice and wind assault the cheeks and sting
when winter’s snow and chill will not relent
But we'll hunker by the fire, breathe in its scent
and dream of early thaw and blossoms crowning
December’s onset brings a discontent
when winter’s snow and chill will not relent
You can read the poems written by my poetry sisters at the links below. Kelly and Andi are both on the mend, so we'll welcome their return when they're both feeling better.
- Tanita Davis
- Sara Lewis Holmes
- Rebecca Holmes
- Laura Purdie Salas
- Liz Garton Scanlon
Friday, October 04, 2019
Poetry Sisters Write Pastoral Poems
Rebecca set this month's challenge to write a poem in the pastoral mode. We could choose the form and topic, so this one was wide open. Rebecca shared an excerpt from one of my "go to" books on form, The Making of a Poem: A Norton Anthology of Poetic Forms. I also found Poetry 101: What Is a Pastoral Poem? to be particularly helpful. Here is an excerpt:
On Retirement In a Tiny House
In dreams I Marie Kondo my life
pack what remains into a tiny house
built from reclaimed barn wood
and church windows
(indoor plumbing be damned)
I put down roots in my very own Walden
find solitude in a wildflower meadow
just beside a copse of trees
or shallow, vernal pool
a bucolic spot to loiter through the seasons
my only neighbors the birds and wild creatures
No television, phone, or radio to distract
from the serenading of the hooting owl,
chirping cricket, chittering squirrel
I've all the time in the world
to tend a garden
read books
write poems
walk and wander and wonder
grateful and thrilled to be alive
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
What is the Purpose of a Pastoral Poem?
An overriding, defining theme of pastoral poems is the idea of an idealized vision of country life, in which humans live simply and in harmony with nature. Other common themes and motifs that characterize the pastoral mode include:It was hard to live up to some of these motifs, but I gave it a shot. I have been scribbling random lines of poetry all over my field notes this week. I'm not sure I have a finished poem, but the idea here is to be brave and share our drafts. Here's mine.
- A beautiful, natural setting
- Shepherds as central characters (who are often used as vehicles for political or religious allegory)
- Religious allegory in pastoral poetry is aided by the common association between Christianity and shepherds/flocks of sheep
- The trope of a return to an idealized Golden Age, when humans lived in complete harmony with nature
- Focus on imagined life in the country, rather than reality
- The working belief that country life is superior to urban life
On Retirement In a Tiny House
In dreams I Marie Kondo my life
pack what remains into a tiny house
built from reclaimed barn wood
and church windows
(indoor plumbing be damned)
I put down roots in my very own Walden
find solitude in a wildflower meadow
just beside a copse of trees
or shallow, vernal pool
a bucolic spot to loiter through the seasons
my only neighbors the birds and wild creatures
No television, phone, or radio to distract
from the serenading of the hooting owl,
chirping cricket, chittering squirrel
I've all the time in the world
to tend a garden
read books
write poems
walk and wander and wonder
grateful and thrilled to be alive
You can read the pieces written by my Poetry Sisters at the links below.
- Tanita Davis
- Rebecca Holmes
- Sara Lewis Holmes
- Kelly Ramsdell
- Laura Purdie Salas
- Liz Garton Scanlon
- Andi Sibley
Sunday, September 08, 2019
Poetry Sisters Get Herpetological
Laura set this month's challenge to write a "poem comparing something with a snake — some snake pairing you think has never been done before! 8 lines or less."
Hmmmmm ... my brain has been on overload since I started my sabbatical in earnest 3 weeks ago. I'm going to blame it for my inability to follow the rules in any meaningful way. I did however come up with something that is a close tangent.
What a Herpetologist Sees
That lamp cord, that shoelace,
that bathrobe waist tie,
some pasta just rolled up
jet trails in the sky
Anguiform, serpentine
shapes all around
each place that I look
snakes simply abound
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Hmmmmm ... my brain has been on overload since I started my sabbatical in earnest 3 weeks ago. I'm going to blame it for my inability to follow the rules in any meaningful way. I did however come up with something that is a close tangent.
What a Herpetologist Sees
That lamp cord, that shoelace,
that bathrobe waist tie,
some pasta just rolled up
jet trails in the sky
Anguiform, serpentine
shapes all around
each place that I look
snakes simply abound
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
You can read the pieces written by my Poetry Sisters at the links below. Kelly will be back with us next time.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected by Sylvia Vardell at Poetry for Children. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Friday, August 23, 2019
Poetry Friday - #DearOneLBH
Today I'm sharing a poem that includes a line from a Lee Bennett Hopkins poem and is inspired by the man himself. He is so very missed.
The line I chose is "He opened the door." It is the first line from the poem entitled Librarian, found in the book School People. Here is that poem.
And here is mine.
Always Opening Doors
He opened the door
to the magic of words
of word play
of metaphor
of poetry
He was pure poetry
He opened the door
for writers of rhythm
writers of rhyme
writers of nature
of space and of time
He was pure poetry
He opened the door
for teachers
for children
for young and for old
for the love of a poem
and the joy that it holds
Lee opened the door
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
And here is mine.
Always Opening Doors
He opened the door
to the magic of words
of word play
of metaphor
of poetry
He was pure poetry
He opened the door
for writers of rhythm
writers of rhyme
writers of nature
of space and of time
He was pure poetry
He opened the door
for teachers
for children
for young and for old
for the love of a poem
and the joy that it holds
Lee opened the door
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Saturday, August 03, 2019
Poetry Sisters At It Again with Ekphrastic Poems
This month the challenge was to write to one of three photos Sara shared with us. Here's the photo I chose and a few of the poems I scratched out.
Street Art, along the waterfront, Tel-Aviv
Photo by Sara Lewis Holmes
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Street Art, along the waterfront, Tel-Aviv
Photo by Sara Lewis Holmes
13 Ways of Learning This Landscape
I.
open your heart
open your mind
II.
rely on all your senses
what do you see?
what do you hear?
what do you smell?
III.
start with the sky
the blue
the white
the spaces in-between
IV.
notice the dark
the light
the rising
the setting
the moon and the sun
V.
lower your eyes
to the horizon
where lines blur
VI.
see what rises
out of the landscape
tall and imposing
VII.
admire flora
and fauna
earth and water
VIII.
take your shoes off
sink your feet in the sand
dip your toes in the water
IX.
shift your view
to what man has made
take it in from
every angle
X.
find structures of
concrete and metal
barbed wire
XI.
look for color
for movement
for light
XII.
find it not among
the buildings
but on their sides
XIII.
birds take wing
street art bringing
hope to life
I.
open your heart
open your mind
II.
rely on all your senses
what do you see?
what do you hear?
what do you smell?
III.
start with the sky
the blue
the white
the spaces in-between
IV.
notice the dark
the light
the rising
the setting
the moon and the sun
V.
lower your eyes
to the horizon
where lines blur
VI.
see what rises
out of the landscape
tall and imposing
VII.
admire flora
and fauna
earth and water
VIII.
take your shoes off
sink your feet in the sand
dip your toes in the water
IX.
shift your view
to what man has made
take it in from
every angle
X.
find structures of
concrete and metal
barbed wire
XI.
look for color
for movement
for light
XII.
find it not among
the buildings
but on their sides
XIII.
birds take wing
street art bringing
hope to life
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
You can read the pieces written by my Poetry Sisters at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected by Heidi Mordhorst at my juicy little universe. Happy poetry Friday friends!Thursday, July 04, 2019
Poetry Friday and Triolets
Welcome! Poetry Friday is here today. It's also the first Friday of the month and that means the Poetry Sisters are sharing poems for a new challenge. This month we were charged with writing triolets with heat as a theme.
A triolet is an 8-line poem that uses only two rhymes throughout. Additionally, the first line is repeated in the fourth and seventh lines, while the second line is repeated in the final line. Because of this, only five different poetic lines are written. The rhyme scheme for a triolet is ABaAabAB (where capital letters stand for repeated lines).
My poem was inspired by a memory of my grandmother and the realization that I was complaining and just needed to buck up and do my work. While writing it, I was also reminded of a letter my grandmother wrote to my father during the war. (One page is pictured below.)
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
***************
Original Poems
At A Journey Through the Pages, Kay shares an original poem entitled Lady Liberty.
Kimberly Hutmacher shares a poem she wrote for a clunker swap (cool idea!). It is entitled Be Changed, Be You.
Molly Hogan shares a "little love song to oatmeal" in her poem entitled Oatmeal.
Linda Baie shares a poem entitled Looking Long. It was inspired by the exhortations of a John Moffitt poem that says "If you would know that thing/You must look at it long."
Michelle Kogan is sharing an acrostic poem for the 4th of July reflecting on American values. She's also sharing "The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus.
Amy Ludwig VanDerwater is sharing her poem "For A Little While" in the new anthology I Am Someone Else.
Carol Varsalona is reflecting on nature the part it plays in her writing life. She shares some digipoetry and a cherita.
Matt Forrest Esenwine shares a tanka in the form of photo poem. What a lovely window box!
Irene Latham is sharing a number of poems she's written, inspired by LOST WORDS>
Inspired by the word feldgang, Margaret Simon wrote a poem while looking out her kitchen window.
Heidi Mordhorst is cleaning out, going through papers, and sharing some original poems from childhood.
Mary Lee Hahn is showing off her fence beautification project and her poem entitled The Choice is Yours.
Cheriee Weichel is writing about her family history and sharing these inspired poems. Today's poem is entitled Crossing.
Jone MacCulloch is sharing a lovely haiga/haiku.
Poems of Others
Tabatha Yeatts is sharing the poems of Christine Potter and Cambra Koczkur, two poets writing about current events.
Catherine Flynn is honoring her dad and sharing the poem High Flight by John Magee.
Ruth is sharing a lovely collection of thoughts and poems on and by Donald Hall.
Sylvia Vardell is is asking poets to share poems that did not end up in a published collection. One such poem and an interview with Janet Wong are highlighted today.
Little Willow is sharing song lyrics from the Duncan Sheik song She Runs Away.
Poetry Projects and Exchanges
Linda Mitchell is showing off some of the incredible poetry swap goodies she has received.
Talking Poetry and Writing
Michelle Heidenrich Barnes is kicking off a new series of reader highlights. Today she's spotlighting Linda Mitchell, who also set the ditty challenge for the month.
Poetry Books and Other Inspirations
Carol is sharing a review of Kate Messner's middle grade novel, Breakout, where one of the main characters uses mentor poets to write her own poems.
Myra from Gathering Books is sharing thoughts about the collection Standing Female Nude: Poems by Carol Ann Duffy.
Robyn Hood Black shares a link to her artsyletters Summer Letter. There are so many fun things in it. Do stop by for a visit.
A triolet is an 8-line poem that uses only two rhymes throughout. Additionally, the first line is repeated in the fourth and seventh lines, while the second line is repeated in the final line. Because of this, only five different poetic lines are written. The rhyme scheme for a triolet is ABaAabAB (where capital letters stand for repeated lines).
My poem was inspired by a memory of my grandmother and the realization that I was complaining and just needed to buck up and do my work. While writing it, I was also reminded of a letter my grandmother wrote to my father during the war. (One page is pictured below.)
If you can't read it, the portion at the beginning says:
We are having lots of fun trying to get butter, so far we have had enough, & now Truman says we have to tighten up our belts, so we can feed the other countries, & we are going to have to eat dark bread, so there was a flour scare on & Sat. I went shopping in the Star Market & the people in there it was just like a mad house & no flour.
So, that's a long introduction to my poem, which isn't really about heat, but uses the word.
Grandma Quoted Truman
Grandma quoted Truman in times of trial
"If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."
Would tell tales of Depression and war, if you'd just sit a while
Grandma quoted Truman in times of trial
Made my worries seem so juvenile
I think of her words when I feel like bitchin'
Grandma quoted Truman in times of trial
"If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."
You can read the pieces written by my Poetry Sisters at the links below. (I won't be adding them again to the round-up below, so be sure to visit them!)
- Tanita Davis
- Rebecca Holmes
- Sara Lewis Holmes
- Kelly Ramsdell
- Laura Purdie Salas
- Liz Garton Scanlon
- Andi Sibley
***************
Original Poems
At A Journey Through the Pages, Kay shares an original poem entitled Lady Liberty.
Kimberly Hutmacher shares a poem she wrote for a clunker swap (cool idea!). It is entitled Be Changed, Be You.
Molly Hogan shares a "little love song to oatmeal" in her poem entitled Oatmeal.
Linda Baie shares a poem entitled Looking Long. It was inspired by the exhortations of a John Moffitt poem that says "If you would know that thing/You must look at it long."
Michelle Kogan is sharing an acrostic poem for the 4th of July reflecting on American values. She's also sharing "The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus.
Amy Ludwig VanDerwater is sharing her poem "For A Little While" in the new anthology I Am Someone Else.
Carol Varsalona is reflecting on nature the part it plays in her writing life. She shares some digipoetry and a cherita.
Matt Forrest Esenwine shares a tanka in the form of photo poem. What a lovely window box!
Irene Latham is sharing a number of poems she's written, inspired by LOST WORDS>
Inspired by the word feldgang, Margaret Simon wrote a poem while looking out her kitchen window.
Heidi Mordhorst is cleaning out, going through papers, and sharing some original poems from childhood.
Mary Lee Hahn is showing off her fence beautification project and her poem entitled The Choice is Yours.
Cheriee Weichel is writing about her family history and sharing these inspired poems. Today's poem is entitled Crossing.
Jone MacCulloch is sharing a lovely haiga/haiku.
Tabatha Yeatts is sharing the poems of Christine Potter and Cambra Koczkur, two poets writing about current events.
Catherine Flynn is honoring her dad and sharing the poem High Flight by John Magee.
Ruth is sharing a lovely collection of thoughts and poems on and by Donald Hall.
Sylvia Vardell is is asking poets to share poems that did not end up in a published collection. One such poem and an interview with Janet Wong are highlighted today.
Little Willow is sharing song lyrics from the Duncan Sheik song She Runs Away.
Poetry Projects and Exchanges
Linda Mitchell is showing off some of the incredible poetry swap goodies she has received.
Talking Poetry and Writing
Michelle Heidenrich Barnes is kicking off a new series of reader highlights. Today she's spotlighting Linda Mitchell, who also set the ditty challenge for the month.
Poetry Books and Other Inspirations
Carol is sharing a review of Kate Messner's middle grade novel, Breakout, where one of the main characters uses mentor poets to write her own poems.
Myra from Gathering Books is sharing thoughts about the collection Standing Female Nude: Poems by Carol Ann Duffy.
Robyn Hood Black shares a link to her artsyletters Summer Letter. There are so many fun things in it. Do stop by for a visit.
Friday, June 07, 2019
Poetry Sisters Write Skinny Poems
Andi set this month's challenge to write a skinny poem. A skinny poem consists of eleven lines. Lines 1 and 11 can be any length and line 11 must use the same words from line 1, though they can be rearranged. Lines 2, 6, and 10 must be identical. And finally, what makes this poem skinny, is that fact that all lines except for 1 and 11 (the first and last) may be only ONE WORD LONG. You can learn more about the form at The Skinny Poetry Journal.
This form scared me. Couple that fear with a hellacious work schedule as of late, and that meant I had no poems the afternoon before posting. So, I was poem-less, but promised I'd try my hand at this form. Here are several first drafts of poems I whipped up just in the nick of time.
Skinny 1
A poem is a prayer
a
touchstone
of
truth
a
triumphant
metaphorical
wonder
a
prayer is a poem
Skinny 2
My numbers don't lie
just
forget
the audit
just
trust
my
calculations
just
don't number my lies
Skinny 3
Carefully chosen words
are
poems
stories
psalms
are
epistles
lyrics
speeches
are
words carefully chosen
Skinny 4
Traveling through time:
one
dimensionally
transcendental
TARDIS,
one
Doctor.
We
are
one,
traveling through time.
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
This form scared me. Couple that fear with a hellacious work schedule as of late, and that meant I had no poems the afternoon before posting. So, I was poem-less, but promised I'd try my hand at this form. Here are several first drafts of poems I whipped up just in the nick of time.
Skinny 1
A poem is a prayer
a
touchstone
of
truth
a
triumphant
metaphorical
wonder
a
prayer is a poem
Skinny 2
My numbers don't lie
just
forget
the audit
just
trust
my
calculations
just
don't number my lies
Skinny 3
Carefully chosen words
are
poems
stories
psalms
are
epistles
lyrics
speeches
are
words carefully chosen
Skinny 4
Traveling through time:
one
dimensionally
transcendental
TARDIS,
one
Doctor.
We
are
one,
traveling through time.
You can read the pieces written by my Poetry Sisters at the links below. Liz and Sara hope to have poems in the next week or so.
- Tanita Davis
- Rebecca Holmes
- Kelly Ramsdell
- Laura Purdie Salas
- Andi Sibley
Friday, May 03, 2019
Poetry Sisters Write Dizain
Sara set this month's challenge to write a French Dizain, with bonus points awarded for using the word “square” in the poem. This form consists of one 10-line stanza with 10 syllables per line. The rhyme scheme is a/b/a/b/b/c/c/d/c/d. You can read more about the form at Robert Lee Brewer's site at the Writer's Digest.
I played around with a several topics and wrote three poems, all of which are fair attempts at the form. However, I couldn't get past the calendar and the date, so I decided to write one more poem. You see, my father would have been 93 on Sunday. The tenth anniversary of his death is May 7th, and on the 10th, he and my mother would have celebrated 67 years of marriage. I hate that the beginning of May makes me so downcast, especially because I thought it would be easier by now. It's not. Here's the poem I was inspired to write about my dad. I struggle with titles, so this one is untitled at the moment.
In early May my heart’s a hollow square
a box that holds my memories of you
Time heals all wounds but this cannot repair
Ten years without a father, I’ve made do
despite the dark and sad days I pushed through
I long to call you up, seek your advice
This time I’d listen well, would not think twice
Despite the gruff exterior you cared
I knew your heart, your work, your sacrifice
I’m pained by all you’ve missed and should have shared
Here are two additional poems I wrote while experimenting with this form.
How to Write a Poem
A poem doesn’t need to rhyme they said
it’s all about the heart and words you choose
select the ones that mend a broken thread
or square with all you know or just amuse
then tell the story of your faithful muse
take form and substance over what is new
eschew the window dressing, find a view
translate the human drama into art
dig deep into your soul and tell it true
love letter to the world a splendid start
Welcome to Boot Camp
A military life? They were surprised
It didn’t seem the hill I’d want to climb
The day we all arrived we exercised
our independence for one final time
then changed our clothes and scrubbed the floor of grime
We marched from place to place our corners squared
No matter what we thought we weren’t prepared
They broke us down and built us up again
as iron bonds were formed by hardships shared
they gave us swords but I preferred the pen
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I played around with a several topics and wrote three poems, all of which are fair attempts at the form. However, I couldn't get past the calendar and the date, so I decided to write one more poem. You see, my father would have been 93 on Sunday. The tenth anniversary of his death is May 7th, and on the 10th, he and my mother would have celebrated 67 years of marriage. I hate that the beginning of May makes me so downcast, especially because I thought it would be easier by now. It's not. Here's the poem I was inspired to write about my dad. I struggle with titles, so this one is untitled at the moment.
In early May my heart’s a hollow square
a box that holds my memories of you
Time heals all wounds but this cannot repair
Ten years without a father, I’ve made do
despite the dark and sad days I pushed through
I long to call you up, seek your advice
This time I’d listen well, would not think twice
Despite the gruff exterior you cared
I knew your heart, your work, your sacrifice
I’m pained by all you’ve missed and should have shared
Here are two additional poems I wrote while experimenting with this form.
How to Write a Poem
A poem doesn’t need to rhyme they said
it’s all about the heart and words you choose
select the ones that mend a broken thread
or square with all you know or just amuse
then tell the story of your faithful muse
take form and substance over what is new
eschew the window dressing, find a view
translate the human drama into art
dig deep into your soul and tell it true
love letter to the world a splendid start
Welcome to Boot Camp
A military life? They were surprised
It didn’t seem the hill I’d want to climb
The day we all arrived we exercised
our independence for one final time
then changed our clothes and scrubbed the floor of grime
We marched from place to place our corners squared
No matter what we thought we weren’t prepared
They broke us down and built us up again
as iron bonds were formed by hardships shared
they gave us swords but I preferred the pen
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I also gave Laura's photo poem format a try and posted another dizain to Twitter. Head on over to check out my math-themed poem.
You can read the pieces written by my Poetry Sisters at the links below. Kelly, Laura, and Andi are all grappling with life this month, but they'll be back with us soon.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Jama Rattigan at Jama's Alphabet Soup. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 30: Personal Ad for a Frog
It's hard to believe that April is coming to a close. The last poem I'm sharing is part of series of poems I am working on that resemble classified or personal ads.
Personal Ad for a Frog
Winter sleeper, spring peeper
Champion hopper, eyes copper
Log squatter, loves water
Bug catcher, heart snatcher
Eats flies, great thighs
Winner of the swimming prize
Better than those other guys
Pick me!
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
You can see all the poems I shared this month at NPM 2019 Original Poems.
Happy Tuesday all. I'm so glad you spent this month with me celebrating poetry. Since Friday is the first of a new month, I'll see you back here for another Poetry Sisters challenge.
Personal Ad for a Frog
Winter sleeper, spring peeper
Champion hopper, eyes copper
Log squatter, loves water
Bug catcher, heart snatcher
Eats flies, great thighs
Winner of the swimming prize
Better than those other guys
Pick me!
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
You can see all the poems I shared this month at NPM 2019 Original Poems.
Happy Tuesday all. I'm so glad you spent this month with me celebrating poetry. Since Friday is the first of a new month, I'll see you back here for another Poetry Sisters challenge.
Monday, April 29, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 29: Scenes From a Train
Today I'm sharing a poem I wrote for a 2008 challenge that required using the five words sky, knot, fork, wall, and rose, as well as either trumpet or bullet as the sixth word. I recently dusted this one off and revised it.
Scenes From a Train
She imagined riding on a bullet train
not in this creeping coach filled with
the sounds of screaming kids,
strains of muffled music, and
buzz of constant chatter.
She stared out the window,
eyes locked on the swirl and
knot of a flock ascending--
an immense black wall of
feet and feathers, wings and wind.
When the sky grayed and opened,
she traced the heavy drops,
rolling in forked rivers and streams
down the glass.
Hours later, lulled by the hum of
steel wheels and whispered voices,
she nodded off and missed
the rose and orange sunset
that quietly followed the summer rain.
Unfazed by all these events,
large and small,
within and without,
the train traveled on.
Happy Monday all. See you tomorrow for the wrap-up of National Poetry Month and one more original poem.
Sunday, April 28, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 28: Acrostic Riddle
For more than 10 years I've been working on a series of riddle poems on animal collectives. I'm not sure why I've been stuck on this topic, but perhaps it's because I love words and collective nouns are a fascinating bunch of words. Here's one of the riddle poems, written as an acrostic.
Sticklike legs step and strut
Through tidal flats, mangrove swamps
Awash in pink and vermilion
Noisy honking keeps us together as we
Dig and forage for meals in the mud
Who are we?
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2017. All rights reserved.
My thought in writing these poems is that the collective noun would appear somewhere in the poem, along with clues to the animal. Once the reader turns the page, the animal would be revealed, along with some factual information.
For the above animal, you may be more familiar with the term flamboyance, but a group of these birds is also called a stand.
Happy Sunday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Sticklike legs step and strut
Through tidal flats, mangrove swamps
Awash in pink and vermilion
Noisy honking keeps us together as we
Dig and forage for meals in the mud
Who are we?
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2017. All rights reserved.
My thought in writing these poems is that the collective noun would appear somewhere in the poem, along with clues to the animal. Once the reader turns the page, the animal would be revealed, along with some factual information.
For the above animal, you may be more familiar with the term flamboyance, but a group of these birds is also called a stand.
Image from article Beauty From the Bottom Up
Happy Sunday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Saturday, April 27, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 27: Spread the Love
Back in 2017 I was an authlete in the Madness! Poetry competition. My first round word was propagate and I wrote several poems before selecting one to submit. This is one of the poems I did not share.
Spread the Love
Like plants we snip and grow,
we should cultivate kindness,
redouble compassion and caring,
give smiles
in return for nothing.
Like seismic waves that ripple outwards
from the epicenter,
goodwill, charity, and mercy
should be granted
to everyone.
Why do we allow hate to spread?
Let’s choose to propagate love instead.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2017-2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Saturday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Spread the Love
Like plants we snip and grow,
we should cultivate kindness,
redouble compassion and caring,
give smiles
in return for nothing.
Like seismic waves that ripple outwards
from the epicenter,
goodwill, charity, and mercy
should be granted
to everyone.
Why do we allow hate to spread?
Let’s choose to propagate love instead.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2017-2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Saturday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Friday, April 26, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 26: Prince's Lament
As I mentioned earlier in the month, I love to write poems based on fairy tales. Today I'm sharing one inspired by the story of the frog prince.
Prince’s Lament
Be careful what you wish for.
You just might get it …
Curse broken
I was transformed
but I despise this life
(don’t get me started
on my wife)
Restricted in every way
I cannot breathe
or stretch
or hop
cannot eat or sleep
whenever I want
I long to be
refreshed in the pool
to cool in the shade
of the trees
to join the chorus of
song at dawn
Each day I leave the castle
in search of a witch
(a real one)
hungry for a new curse
to set me free
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Carol Varsalona at Beyond LiteracyLink. Happy poetry Friday friends! See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Prince’s Lament
Be careful what you wish for.
You just might get it …
Curse broken
I was transformed
but I despise this life
(don’t get me started
on my wife)
Restricted in every way
I cannot breathe
or stretch
or hop
cannot eat or sleep
whenever I want
I long to be
refreshed in the pool
to cool in the shade
of the trees
to join the chorus of
song at dawn
Each day I leave the castle
in search of a witch
(a real one)
hungry for a new curse
to set me free
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Carol Varsalona at Beyond LiteracyLink. Happy poetry Friday friends! See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Thursday, April 25, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 25: Jade monkey with peach
I traveled to Taiwan, China, and Tibet in 2007. While there, I bought jade figures for both my mother and father. For my mother I selected a hummingbird, for my father a monkey. After my father passed away, I wrote a lot of poetry about him. Here's one centered on that monkey that I've dusted off and revised.
Jade monkey with peach
A small jade monkey
holding a peach
sits on my mantle
just within reach
I often rub its smooth head
proud of the negotiation
skills that brought him
home from Tibet
Dueling calculators the
mode of communication
instead of words there were
head shakes
double takes
rolled eyes
threatened goodbyes
sighs of exasperation
then celebration
A gift for my father
this Chinese symbol
for longevity
that failed to fulfill
its destiny.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Thursday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Jade monkey with peach
A small jade monkey
holding a peach
sits on my mantle
just within reach
I often rub its smooth head
proud of the negotiation
skills that brought him
home from Tibet
Dueling calculators the
mode of communication
instead of words there were
head shakes
double takes
rolled eyes
threatened goodbyes
sighs of exasperation
then celebration
A gift for my father
this Chinese symbol
for longevity
that failed to fulfill
its destiny.
Happy Thursday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 24: Acrostic Poem
Because I love poetry and writing, they are often the subject of my poems. Today I'm sharing an acrostic on, what else, poetry!
Phrases imperfect, imprecise
Ordered and reordered
Endlessly
Turned and twisted end over end
Revised
Yet again
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Wednesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Phrases imperfect, imprecise
Ordered and reordered
Endlessly
Turned and twisted end over end
Revised
Yet again
Happy Wednesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 23: Inspired by the Dictionary
I am a word collector. I like to read the dictionary and thesaurus for fun. Sometimes I'm inspired by words I read and write a poem based on them. Here's one of those poems.
miz·zle - very fine, misty rain n.
[from the Middle English mysell and Middle Dutch misel]
The skies are heavy
with woolen clouds
of gray that
do not dump or pelt
but fairly spritz
the earth
in a nebulous
fog of delicious
rain
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2009-2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Tuesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
miz·zle - very fine, misty rain n.
[from the Middle English mysell and Middle Dutch misel]
The skies are heavy
with woolen clouds
of gray that
do not dump or pelt
but fairly spritz
the earth
in a nebulous
fog of delicious
rain
Happy Tuesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Monday, April 22, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 22: Book Spine Poem for Earth Day
For today's entry I culled my poetry shelves to create a poem for Earth Day.
Outside your window
red sings from treetops
land, sea, and sky
swirl by swirl
the Earth is painted green
Weather report?
sky magic
thunder underground
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Book spine poem brought to you by:
Outside Your Window: A First Book of Nature by Nicola Davies
Red Sings From Treetops: A Year in Colors by Joyce Sidman
Land, Sea, & Sky: Poems to Celebrate the Earth by Catherine Paladino
Swirl by Swirl: Spirals in Nature by Joyce Sidman
The Earth is Painted Green: A Garden of Poems About Our Planet by Barbara Brenner
Weather Report by Jane Yolen
Sky Magic compiled by Lee Bennett Hopkins
Thunder Underground by Jane Yolen
Happy Monday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Outside your window
red sings from treetops
land, sea, and sky
swirl by swirl
the Earth is painted green
Weather report?
sky magic
thunder underground
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Book spine poem brought to you by:
Outside Your Window: A First Book of Nature by Nicola Davies
Red Sings From Treetops: A Year in Colors by Joyce Sidman
Land, Sea, & Sky: Poems to Celebrate the Earth by Catherine Paladino
Swirl by Swirl: Spirals in Nature by Joyce Sidman
The Earth is Painted Green: A Garden of Poems About Our Planet by Barbara Brenner
Weather Report by Jane Yolen
Sky Magic compiled by Lee Bennett Hopkins
Thunder Underground by Jane Yolen
Happy Monday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Sunday, April 21, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 21: Lunch Box Blues
Today I'm sharing another blues poem I wrote for my son when he was six. This grew out of my experience as a child with school lunches, which included healthy and unhealthy choices, and his very particular tastes. I should note that he'll be graduating this year after taking his lunch to school all 13 years. For most of those years he refused to eat bread, so his lunch meat was packed in neat little rolls. Some years he wanted carrots, while others it was cucumbers. The one constant through it all was a square of Ghirardelli dark chocolate.
Lunch Box Blues
I eat a brown bag lunch
in the dining hall at noon
a peanut butter sandwich
September through to June
That same old peanut butter
gonna’ send me to the moon
oh man I gotta’ say it
got the doggone lunch box blues!
No Lunchables in my sack
no sandwich made of Fluff
no Ho Hos, chips or candy
just the same old healthy stuff
That peanut butter sandwich
it’s gonna’ make me snap
oh man I gotta’ say it
got the doggone lunch box blues!
I know my Momma loves me
feeds me good stuff every day
grapes and cheese and carrots
a healthy food buffet
And yes, that peanut butter
looks like it’s here to stay
oh man I gotta’ say it
got the doggone lunch box blues!
I’d trade it all for junk food
like pizza or some fries
a chocolate covered pretzel
or non-vegetable surprise
You see that peanut butter
has lost all of its appeal
ain’t no other way to say it
got the doggone lunch box blues!
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2007-2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Sunday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Lunch Box Blues
I eat a brown bag lunch
in the dining hall at noon
a peanut butter sandwich
September through to June
That same old peanut butter
gonna’ send me to the moon
oh man I gotta’ say it
got the doggone lunch box blues!
No Lunchables in my sack
no sandwich made of Fluff
no Ho Hos, chips or candy
just the same old healthy stuff
That peanut butter sandwich
it’s gonna’ make me snap
oh man I gotta’ say it
got the doggone lunch box blues!
I know my Momma loves me
feeds me good stuff every day
grapes and cheese and carrots
a healthy food buffet
And yes, that peanut butter
looks like it’s here to stay
oh man I gotta’ say it
got the doggone lunch box blues!
I’d trade it all for junk food
like pizza or some fries
a chocolate covered pretzel
or non-vegetable surprise
You see that peanut butter
has lost all of its appeal
ain’t no other way to say it
got the doggone lunch box blues!
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2007-2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Sunday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Saturday, April 20, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 20: A Terzanelle
I've been playing around for a while with writing a villanelle, but it hasn't been working, so I took some of the lines I liked and put them into a terzanelle. A terzanelle is cross between a terza rima and a villanelle. It uses the villanelle’s form of five triplets and a quatrain with the interlocking rhyme scheme of the terza rima.
Inspired by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's site Sharing Our Notebooks, and the recent workshop I gave entitled The Art and Science of Nature Journaling, I've been writing more poems in my nature journal. This poem is my first draft about the act of observing and journaling. It needs a lot of work, but it's a start.
Untitled Terzanelle
With a scientist’s eye and poet’s heart
nature’s recorded in fine detail
with words chosen carefully, journal as art
observe river and stream, hill and vale
note all that you hear, touch, smell and see
nature recorded in fine detail
sketch flora and fauna, that robin, that tree
stop for a moment to take it all in
note all that you hear, touch, smell and see
taking stock of the world lights a fire within
humbles the soul with such beautiful sights
stop for a moment to take it all in
sunset gives way to bright twinkling lights
the moon and the stars, all the heavens inspire
humble the soul with such beautiful sights
keep your eyes open, make time to admire
with a scientist’s eye and poet’s heart
the moon and the stars, all the heavens inspire
your words written carefully, journal as art
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Saturday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Inspired by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's site Sharing Our Notebooks, and the recent workshop I gave entitled The Art and Science of Nature Journaling, I've been writing more poems in my nature journal. This poem is my first draft about the act of observing and journaling. It needs a lot of work, but it's a start.
Untitled Terzanelle
With a scientist’s eye and poet’s heart
nature’s recorded in fine detail
with words chosen carefully, journal as art
observe river and stream, hill and vale
note all that you hear, touch, smell and see
nature recorded in fine detail
sketch flora and fauna, that robin, that tree
stop for a moment to take it all in
note all that you hear, touch, smell and see
taking stock of the world lights a fire within
humbles the soul with such beautiful sights
stop for a moment to take it all in
sunset gives way to bright twinkling lights
the moon and the stars, all the heavens inspire
humble the soul with such beautiful sights
keep your eyes open, make time to admire
with a scientist’s eye and poet’s heart
the moon and the stars, all the heavens inspire
your words written carefully, journal as art
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Saturday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Friday, April 19, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 19: Rainy Day Blues
Last week my social studies methods class engaged in a series activities designed to explore the events around the Dust Bowl. In using primary sources, we listened to the Woody Guthrie song Dust Bowl Blues. That got me thinking about blues poetry. (You can read more about it at Blues Poem: Poetic Form.)
When William was six I wrote a number of blues poems for him, among them poems entitled Lunch Box Blues and Bedtime Blues. Today I'm sharing another I wrote for him in the spring of 2007 and recently revised.
Rainy Day Blues
Clouds loomin' and thunder boomin'
skies grayin' and people sayin'
here come the rainy day blues.
Drops ploppin' and garden soppin'
puddles growin' and rivers flowin'
with rainy day blues.
Gutters spillin' and pools fillin'
ground seepin' and trees weepin'
with rainy day blues.
Hair drippin' and shoes squishin'
umbrella flyin' -- there's no denyin'
I got the rainy day blues.
Skies clearin' and sunshine nearin'
storms endin' with rainbow bendin'
no more rainy day blues!
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2007-2019. All rights reserved.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm. Happy poetry Friday friends! See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Thursday, April 18, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 18: Ode to an Oriental Rug
Our first house in Richmond was a lovely little bungalow style house built in 1925. It had plaster walls, hardwood floors, and so much character. Despite the absence of air conditioning and a dishwasher, I loved it. Just a few months before William was born, my in-laws gifted us with a rug. In large part, I believe this was because they didn't want our new baby crawling around on a bare floor. Instead of a thank you note, I wrote them a poem. I came across it recently while backing up my computer files. It's corny, but it was from the heart.
Ode to An Oriental Rug
I hate to wear slippers
as you both know
now we've a carpet
to warm my cold toes
The colors are lovely
the texture so lush
our living room now
oh, how we could gush!
Each day we observe it
and see something fun
a shade or a pattern
that's so finely spun
We imagine our baby
this time next year
crawling upon it
in full baby gear!
So lucky a child
who will get to explore
the home being lived in
on more than cold floors
You just can't imagine
how lucky we feel
to own such a prize
it doesn't seem real
Please visit us soon
you'll be happy to see
a warm cozy room
for the Hunt family
We can't thank you enough
for all that you do
whether gifts or advice
love always shines through
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Thursday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Ode to An Oriental Rug
I hate to wear slippers
as you both know
now we've a carpet
to warm my cold toes
The colors are lovely
the texture so lush
our living room now
oh, how we could gush!
Each day we observe it
and see something fun
a shade or a pattern
that's so finely spun
We imagine our baby
this time next year
crawling upon it
in full baby gear!
So lucky a child
who will get to explore
the home being lived in
on more than cold floors
You just can't imagine
how lucky we feel
to own such a prize
it doesn't seem real
Please visit us soon
you'll be happy to see
a warm cozy room
for the Hunt family
We can't thank you enough
for all that you do
whether gifts or advice
love always shines through
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Thursday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Wednesday, April 17, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 17: Where Readers Come From
Here's another poem I wrote for the summer poetry swap in 2017. This poem was written for Jone MacCulloch of DeoWriter and Check It Out. Since Jone is a librarian (retired), I knew I wanted to write about readers or books. Using George Ella Lyon's poem Where I'm From as a mentor text, this is what I came up with.
Where Readers Come From
(with apologies to George Ella Lyon)
Readers come from songs,
from rhyme and finger play.
They come from recitation and repetition
(all those Moo, Baa, La La La’s
and Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?)
They come from Sunday comics,
cereal boxes and read alouds
that feature character voices,
sound effects,
and mood lighting.
They come from independent bookstores and libraries,
from authors and librarians.
They come from
Once upon a time,
happily ever after,
“It was a dark and stormy night,” and
“There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.”
They come from Minli, Harriet, and Ramona,
from Clementine, Omakayas, and Baby Mouse.
They come from Stanley Yelnats, Auggie Pullman, and Jackson Greene,
from Jin Wang, Octavian Nothing, and Captain Underpants.
They come from Narnia, Middle Earth, and Hogwarts,
from Panem, Redwall, and the Island of Berk.
Readers come from “It’s past your bedtime,”
with flashlights under the covers
turning page after page,
racing to the end.
Readers come from letters strung into words
and words arranged in a million different ways
into stories that leave us
gloomy or cheerful,
quiet or agitated,
exasperated or pleased,
and every human emotion in between.
Under my pillow is a well-worn book
pages bent
cover crinkled.
I am from this book --
from all those that came before --
and all those yet to come.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2017. All rights reserved.
Happy Wednesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Where Readers Come From
(with apologies to George Ella Lyon)
Readers come from songs,
from rhyme and finger play.
They come from recitation and repetition
(all those Moo, Baa, La La La’s
and Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?)
They come from Sunday comics,
cereal boxes and read alouds
that feature character voices,
sound effects,
and mood lighting.
They come from independent bookstores and libraries,
from authors and librarians.
They come from
Once upon a time,
happily ever after,
“It was a dark and stormy night,” and
“There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.”
They come from Minli, Harriet, and Ramona,
from Clementine, Omakayas, and Baby Mouse.
They come from Stanley Yelnats, Auggie Pullman, and Jackson Greene,
from Jin Wang, Octavian Nothing, and Captain Underpants.
They come from Narnia, Middle Earth, and Hogwarts,
from Panem, Redwall, and the Island of Berk.
Readers come from “It’s past your bedtime,”
with flashlights under the covers
turning page after page,
racing to the end.
Readers come from letters strung into words
and words arranged in a million different ways
into stories that leave us
gloomy or cheerful,
quiet or agitated,
exasperated or pleased,
and every human emotion in between.
Under my pillow is a well-worn book
pages bent
cover crinkled.
I am from this book --
from all those that came before --
and all those yet to come.
Happy Wednesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Tuesday, April 16, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 16: A Poem on Time
Today I'm sharing a poem I wrote of draft of nearly 10 years ago for one of my weekly poetry challenges. The theme was time and I wrote about how quickly time seemed to be passing as I watched my son grow. Well, that son is now on the cusp of adulthood, preparing to graduate from high school, so it seemed appropriate to dust this one off and revise.
Untitled
On the day you entered this world
sand in the hourglass of life
dropped to the bare bottom
stacking grain upon grain
building a tiny hill.
Unable to flip the glass
(oh how I wish I could!)
I watch the hill grow taller.
I long to narrow the neck
slow the march of time
that steals childhood
propels you to eighteen.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Tuesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Untitled
On the day you entered this world
sand in the hourglass of life
dropped to the bare bottom
stacking grain upon grain
building a tiny hill.
Unable to flip the glass
(oh how I wish I could!)
I watch the hill grow taller.
I long to narrow the neck
slow the march of time
that steals childhood
propels you to eighteen.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Tuesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Monday, April 15, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 15: A Watermelon Poem
While working on my poem for the Poetry Friday Anthology for Celebrations: Holiday Poems for the Whole Year in English and Spanish, I wrote a number of poems for August 3rd, which is National Watermelon Day. Here is one of the early drafts that I've played with a bit.
Untitled
from yellow flowers
sprouts a fruit
round or oval
green with stripes
pick it
eat it
when it’s ripe
hold a half-moon
in your hands
find the spot
just right to start
bite it
chew it
spit seeds out
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2014-2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Monday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Untitled
from yellow flowers
sprouts a fruit
round or oval
green with stripes
pick it
eat it
when it’s ripe
hold a half-moon
in your hands
find the spot
just right to start
bite it
chew it
spit seeds out
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2014-2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Monday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Sunday, April 14, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 14: A Cartwheel Is a Poem
In December I wrote a list poem entitled How I Turned That Frown Upside Down. This was the last stanza.
A Cartwheel Is a Poem
don’t feel fifty-three
don’t see it in the mirror
will not act my age
think tall, toes pointed
muscle memory kicks in
smile through it all
morning on the beach
no better way to spend it
turning upside down
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Sunday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
I still whistle and read the funny pagesToday's poem is a follow-up to the last line of this poem.
Still love a dog and walking barefoot
Just yesterday I stood on my head
I imagine a cartwheel isn't far behind
A Cartwheel Is a Poem
don’t feel fifty-three
don’t see it in the mirror
will not act my age
think tall, toes pointed
muscle memory kicks in
smile through it all
morning on the beach
no better way to spend it
turning upside down
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Sunday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Saturday, April 13, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 13: Prefix Poem
Long ago I read a post at the blog How A Poem Happens. In it, poet Idra Novey shared her poem Trans and described its creation. In the poem she used the prefix trans- as the title of her poem and created sections that begin -late, -gress, -mogrify, -form, and -scend.
I'm quite taken with this idea and have tried writing in this form a number of times. Today I'm sharing a prefix poem of my own.
Home
-town
Just a dot
on the map
I once claimed
Upstate NY
but that means
something different
in the five boroughs
now western NY
is mine
-grown
Like summer corn
I grew straight
and tall here
wandering fields
catching snakes and fireflies
loving the freedom of pedaling
fast and rolling away from
newly fertilized fields
-sick
Nearly twenty-five years
in the south
and I’m still a
puzzle missing pieces
-coming
Mom still waits
for me
I’ve worn the roads
from here to there
and back again
wondering which trip
will be my last
-less
And then what will I do?
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Saturday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
I'm quite taken with this idea and have tried writing in this form a number of times. Today I'm sharing a prefix poem of my own.
Home
-town
Just a dot
on the map
I once claimed
Upstate NY
but that means
something different
in the five boroughs
now western NY
is mine
-grown
Like summer corn
I grew straight
and tall here
wandering fields
catching snakes and fireflies
loving the freedom of pedaling
fast and rolling away from
newly fertilized fields
-sick
Nearly twenty-five years
in the south
and I’m still a
puzzle missing pieces
-coming
Mom still waits
for me
I’ve worn the roads
from here to there
and back again
wondering which trip
will be my last
-less
And then what will I do?
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Saturday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Friday, April 12, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 12: Blackout Poem
Today I'm sharing a blackout poem I created from one of the earliest entries from the blog of The Julie/Julia Project. The entry I used was from Thursday, August 29, 2002 (which just so happens to be my birthday). It begins this way.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem. Happy poetry Friday friends! See you tomorrow for another original poem.
If you think I'm going to come home and cook a French meal after schlepping to Jersey, being labeled a soulless bureaucratic goon by an irate public, and schlepping back again via late-night public transit to my apartment in far Bay Ridge, all as an unpaid volunteer, just for your web-based entertainment, you're nuts.
What I'd like to do instead is ruminate on the essential questions posed so inevitably by this here loony undertaking.Here's my blackout poem. (You may need to enlarge the image to read it.)
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem. Happy poetry Friday friends! See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Thursday, April 11, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 11: Mirror
I have a great fondness for poems related to fairy tales. Here's a poem I wrote using Eve Merriam's poem "Apple" as a mentor text. The last stanza isn't as punchy as Merriam's, but I'm still working on this one.
Happy Thursday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
| Apple by Eve Merriam Apple, sweet apple, what do you hide? Wormy and squirmy, rotten inside. Apple, sweet apple, so shiny and red, taste it, don't waste it, come and be fed. Delicious, malicious; one bite and you're dead. |
Mirror Mirror, dear mirror, what do you see? Choose now the fairest, let it be me. Mirror, wise mirror, voice so compelling, look into the future, my beauty foretelling. Mirror poor mirror, your future I see. If I’m not the fairest then shattered you’ll be. Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved. |
Happy Thursday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 10: Picture Day
I few weeks ago I was visiting my elementary school and it was picture day. For the students, it was a day filled with excitement and more than a few tears. It brought back a lot of memories of sitting for those photos. Alas, we did not have the luxury of digital cameras in my day, so there more than a few years of lopsided grins and closed eyes. Today's poem is about this day and what I imagine it's still like for so many students.
Picture Day
I face the mirror on the wall
practice smiling, stand up tall
tilt my head, place hand to chin
try to mask the fear within
Is my smile really crooked?
Nose so pointy at the end?
Is my face a perfect oval?
Ears too big to recommend?
The face I see each day
the one that frowns and laughs
is not the one revealed
in my school photographs
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Wednesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Picture Day
I face the mirror on the wall
practice smiling, stand up tall
tilt my head, place hand to chin
try to mask the fear within
Is my smile really crooked?
Nose so pointy at the end?
Is my face a perfect oval?
Ears too big to recommend?
The face I see each day
the one that frowns and laughs
is not the one revealed
in my school photographs
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Wednesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Tuesday, April 09, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 9: Bittersweet Memories of Mary
In 2010 I wrote a poem for Jama Rattigan's Poetry Potluck series. I've since dusted off that poem and revised it. The new version is a bit tighter than the original, and a little bit better. It is about my grandmother. That's me and her in the photo.
Bittersweet Memories of Mary
I am a generous baker
the polar opposite of my grandmother
who stood in the kitchen, strings
of a yellow flowered apron wrapped
twice around her tiny waist
and tied in the front
She slowly added the ingredients
weary hands stirring and beating
the confection into beautiful smoothness
while the pièce de résistance
sat off to the side in a
small, unremarkable bowl
Frugal as ever, this woman who
shepherded a family through the
Depression, a son through the War
dropped small dollops of dough
onto the cookie sheet, then
pressed three chips into each one
I am a generous baker
pouring an entire bag of chips
into the dough, ensuring each bite
oozes chocolate, not disappointment
I gaze heavenward each time I
bake them, whispering
half-hearted apologies
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Tuesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Bittersweet Memories of Mary
I am a generous baker
the polar opposite of my grandmother
who stood in the kitchen, strings
of a yellow flowered apron wrapped
twice around her tiny waist
and tied in the front
She slowly added the ingredients
weary hands stirring and beating
the confection into beautiful smoothness
while the pièce de résistance
sat off to the side in a
small, unremarkable bowl
Frugal as ever, this woman who
shepherded a family through the
Depression, a son through the War
dropped small dollops of dough
onto the cookie sheet, then
pressed three chips into each one
I am a generous baker
pouring an entire bag of chips
into the dough, ensuring each bite
oozes chocolate, not disappointment
I gaze heavenward each time I
bake them, whispering
half-hearted apologies
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Tuesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Monday, April 08, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 8: What does a Yankee know of the bayou?
Here's another poem I wrote for the summer poetry swap in 2017. This poem was written for Margaret Simon of Reflections on the Teche. Since she writes about life on the bayou, I knew that's what I wanted to write about.
What does a Yankee know of the bayou?
The science teacher knows
coastal wetlands,
the evolution of the Mississippi delta,
the brackish, slow moving water.
The naturalist knows
the Bald cypress and tupelo,
the pelican and egret,
the alligators.
The historian knows
the Chitimacha and Acadians,
West African slaves,
pirates and riverboats,
the reach of the Civil War.
The Yankee poet knows
the bayou only in her dreams,
so when putting pen to paper
meanders like the Teche,
through moss-draped live oaks,
and sun-kissed swamps.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2017. All rights reserved.
Happy Monday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
What does a Yankee know of the bayou?
The science teacher knows
coastal wetlands,
the evolution of the Mississippi delta,
the brackish, slow moving water.
The naturalist knows
the Bald cypress and tupelo,
the pelican and egret,
the alligators.
The historian knows
the Chitimacha and Acadians,
West African slaves,
pirates and riverboats,
the reach of the Civil War.
The Yankee poet knows
the bayou only in her dreams,
so when putting pen to paper
meanders like the Teche,
through moss-draped live oaks,
and sun-kissed swamps.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2017. All rights reserved.
Happy Monday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Sunday, April 07, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 7: Paoay Church
It's Sunday, so a church inspired poem seems appropriate to share today.
Two years ago I participated in the summer poem swap sponsored by Tabatha Yeatts. This is the note and poem I wrote for one of my swap mates. The poem was based on the photo of this church.
Paoay Church
form over function
this holy misshapen pearl
built earthquake ready
no soaring spires
walls low and wide, buttressed strong
solid and weighty
strong enough to bear
world war, tremors and typhoons
beautiful she stands
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2017. All rights reserved.
You can read about Earthquake Baroque at Wikipedia.
Happy Sunday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Two years ago I participated in the summer poem swap sponsored by Tabatha Yeatts. This is the note and poem I wrote for one of my swap mates. The poem was based on the photo of this church.
Photo by Wowieology
Dear Iphigene,
I know nothing about the Philippines or Manila, so in doing research to write you a poem I came across a description of Earthquake Baroque and just knew I needed to learn more. I found some pictures of churches built in this style and was quite taken with San Agustin Church of Paoay. From these photos, this poem was born.
form over function
this holy misshapen pearl
built earthquake ready
no soaring spires
walls low and wide, buttressed strong
solid and weighty
strong enough to bear
world war, tremors and typhoons
beautiful she stands
You can read about Earthquake Baroque at Wikipedia.
Happy Sunday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Saturday, April 06, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 6: Minor Miracles Happen Every Day
Back in February, the Poetry Sister's monthly challenge was to write a poem in the style of Marilyn Nelson’s “Minor Miracle,” about a small, miraculous thing we had seen or known. I struggled mightily with the challenge. My first poem was a long poem about a personal experience of mine. I was discouraged because it felt more prose than poem. However, I got terrific feedback from everyone in the group. Tanita wrote:
Minor Miracles Happen Every Day
Which reminds me of her first year teaching
it was January, in Buffalo, and she was late for work
A prudent driver would have obeyed the speed limit,
understood why I was moving slowly
Of course, I saw her behind me,
waving her arms, beating the steering wheel
I’ll admit to easing up on the gas a bit
When her blue Hyundai sped around me
I slowed further and looked her way
only to find she’d flipped me the bird
What?! I hit the brake and began
to swerve. Rattled, I righted the Plymouth
and carefully made my way the remaining
blocks to school. I sat for a few moments
before heading into the office
The principal took one look at my blank face
and asked what was wrong, so I told her.
I may have embellished a bit
She marched down to a classroom
I watched her open the door,
call the crazy driver out
She looked her up and down and said,
“The next time you decide to flip off another driver,
make sure it’s not Agnes Claire. She’s nearly
80 and it made for a rough start to her day.”
I giggled. This was going to be good
I could imagine her students looking at her
aghast and saying “You flipped off a nun?!”
That should slow her down a bit
A few minutes later, she called the office,
asked for me to come to her room
I walked to the science lab and knocked
She opened the door, ushered me in, and then,
in front of 22 middle school students,
took my hands, looked me in the eyes,
and told me how very sorry she was
I might have looked surprised, but
I patted her cheek and said,
“Don’t let it happen again. Ever.”
I turned, habit whirling around my ankles,
and walked away
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I sense your dissatisfaction, and think that asking yourself to identify the small, miraculous thing in this narrative might get you from story more to poem (although, in a prose poem there are fewer rules, but it does lack the leanness, perhaps, that Marilyn Nelson's example had).
Was the minor miracle that you didn't spin out in your car on the icy road after being awful to a nun? ;) That Sr. Agnes Claire came to your room after all of that? That Sr. Bea didn't yell when she corrected you? That you survived modeling contrition in front of middle school students? There are a great many things which comprise the miraculous, in my sight, in this, but what is the MOST meaningful to you?
Was the minor miracle that you forgave yourself?She gave me a lot to think about. In the end, I gave up and went with a completely different topic and poem. There were other comments about that first poem, but it was another comment of Tanita's that got stuck in my head:
I wonder how this story would be told from her perspective...I kept turning this over and just knew I had to come back and revise. I'm not sure this is a better poem, but it's different. Told from the nun's perspective, I titled this Minor Miracles Happen Every Day because I imagine for someone devoutly religious, they actually do.
Minor Miracles Happen Every Day
Which reminds me of her first year teaching
it was January, in Buffalo, and she was late for work
A prudent driver would have obeyed the speed limit,
understood why I was moving slowly
Of course, I saw her behind me,
waving her arms, beating the steering wheel
I’ll admit to easing up on the gas a bit
When her blue Hyundai sped around me
I slowed further and looked her way
only to find she’d flipped me the bird
What?! I hit the brake and began
to swerve. Rattled, I righted the Plymouth
and carefully made my way the remaining
blocks to school. I sat for a few moments
before heading into the office
The principal took one look at my blank face
and asked what was wrong, so I told her.
I may have embellished a bit
She marched down to a classroom
I watched her open the door,
call the crazy driver out
She looked her up and down and said,
“The next time you decide to flip off another driver,
make sure it’s not Agnes Claire. She’s nearly
80 and it made for a rough start to her day.”
I giggled. This was going to be good
I could imagine her students looking at her
aghast and saying “You flipped off a nun?!”
That should slow her down a bit
A few minutes later, she called the office,
asked for me to come to her room
I walked to the science lab and knocked
She opened the door, ushered me in, and then,
in front of 22 middle school students,
took my hands, looked me in the eyes,
and told me how very sorry she was
I might have looked surprised, but
I patted her cheek and said,
“Don’t let it happen again. Ever.”
I turned, habit whirling around my ankles,
and walked away
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Yes, this is where I sheepishly admit that I was a very impatient driver in my 20s and did, in fact, flip off one of the nuns who worked at the school where I was employed. (Don't tell my mom.) I was called out from my class and admonished by the principal, who was also a nun. And yes, my students were shocked. I did apologize, most genuinely. However, try as I might, I still get the itch to let the bird fly while I'm driving. It is indeed a minor miracle every time I restrain myself. Herein ends my sordid tale.
Oh, and if you're interested, here's the legal take on this particular gesture.
Digitus Impudicus: The Middle Finger and the Law
Happy Saturday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Oh, and if you're interested, here's the legal take on this particular gesture.
Digitus Impudicus: The Middle Finger and the Law
Happy Saturday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Friday, April 05, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 5: Poetry Sisters Write Anagram Poems
It's the first Friday of the month, so that means the poetry sisters have taken up another poetic challenge. This month we focused on writing anagram poems with the added burden of a theme relating to umbrellas, weather, or natural cycles. We were inspired by the poem Linda Baie of Teacher Dance shared last month when she hosted Poetry Friday. That poem, A Gander to Garden, included two anagrams in each line. It wasn't until recently that our group started sharing other forms of anagram poems, but by then I was too far gone down this path to try anything too different.
Both of these offerings are very rough drafts and are really just tangents to the themes we chose. However, I promised myself to be brave this year and share my work even when it feels unfinished and lacks polish. I look forward to seeing what future revision to these poems brings.
By Every Morning Undone
She is sometimes bleary eyed and barely there
when she rises, silent, to listen for the waking dawn,
to watch bursting sunlight race across the acre
of green space, the one she paces off
dreaming of garden plots. She takes a gander
at the risen morn, siren call of a new day,
never subtle, but welcome against the bluest sky.
Left weak in the wake of such beauty,
the pastel wildflowers dropping petals,
even the bleats coming from the stable.
End of the Year Blues
December is the hardest month
when the chill threads of winter
weave their way into our bones
Snow, so welcomed upon that first fall,
soon owns our lives as we give in
to shoveling and scraping
Dad grew a beard for fear that his
bared face would chafe in the cold, dry air
Stuck indoors, we reward ourselves with
hot chocolate for cleaning out the junk drawer
We hang tinsel on the tree
and listen to Silent Night
This blizzard is just another stain
on our collective memory
The weather reduces us to tears,
but we are rescued by the promise
of decorating cookies
Mom has the patience of a saint
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Both of these offerings are very rough drafts and are really just tangents to the themes we chose. However, I promised myself to be brave this year and share my work even when it feels unfinished and lacks polish. I look forward to seeing what future revision to these poems brings.
By Every Morning Undone
She is sometimes bleary eyed and barely there
when she rises, silent, to listen for the waking dawn,
to watch bursting sunlight race across the acre
of green space, the one she paces off
dreaming of garden plots. She takes a gander
at the risen morn, siren call of a new day,
never subtle, but welcome against the bluest sky.
Left weak in the wake of such beauty,
her heart lays claim to the earth,
the thickset brambles and thickets,the pastel wildflowers dropping petals,
even the bleats coming from the stable.
End of the Year Blues
December is the hardest month
when the chill threads of winter
weave their way into our bones
Snow, so welcomed upon that first fall,
soon owns our lives as we give in
to shoveling and scraping
Dad grew a beard for fear that his
bared face would chafe in the cold, dry air
Stuck indoors, we reward ourselves with
hot chocolate for cleaning out the junk drawer
We hang tinsel on the tree
and listen to Silent Night
This blizzard is just another stain
on our collective memory
The weather reduces us to tears,
but we are rescued by the promise
of decorating cookies
Mom has the patience of a saint
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
You can read the pieces written by my Poetry Sisters at the links below. Kelly and Rebecca are off this month, but we look forward to welcoming them back soon.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Karen Edmisten. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Thursday, April 04, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 4: Inspired by Calvin and Hobbes
I find art, beauty, poetry, and smiles sometimes in the strangest places. A while back I saw these bags while waiting in line at a Which Wich. I love that people take the time to make art on the back of these sandwich bags. And I love that the employees of the shop display them for others to enjoy.
I'm a huge Calvin and Hobbes fan, so these made me smile, and then they reminded me of this particular strip and a poem I know by heart. (I like to share it with my science students.)
If you can't quite make out the text, here's what Calvin opines.
While pondering nature
I write out some rhymes
thumb through the Thesaurus
a few hundred times.
From brain out to fingers
then pen to the page ...
another draft poem
takes center stage.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I'm actually a bit mortified to be sharing a first draft poem, but I've decided that if I'm sharing original poetry this month, I'm going to share poems in all their naked glory, raw and unfinished, as well as those I've attempted to polish.
Thanks for visiting! Here's wishing you a Happy Thursday and hoping I'll see you tomorrow for Poetry Friday and the April Poetry Sisters collaboration.
Like delicate lace,
so the threads intertwine,
Oh, gossamer web
of wondrous design!
Such beauty and grace
wild nature produces …
UGHH, look at the spiderThis is all a silly introduction to a poem I wrote inspired by these bags and my memory of the above poem. I like the short form and thought it would be interesting to emulate. I don't know about other poets, but I often times write about poetry and writing. I wrote this one in the notes on my phone while waiting for my order. Interestingly enough, there are LOTS of impromptu poems and poetic lines on my phone. This one is untitled.
suck out that bug’s juices!
While pondering nature
I write out some rhymes
thumb through the Thesaurus
a few hundred times.
From brain out to fingers
then pen to the page ...
another draft poem
takes center stage.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I'm actually a bit mortified to be sharing a first draft poem, but I've decided that if I'm sharing original poetry this month, I'm going to share poems in all their naked glory, raw and unfinished, as well as those I've attempted to polish.
Thanks for visiting! Here's wishing you a Happy Thursday and hoping I'll see you tomorrow for Poetry Friday and the April Poetry Sisters collaboration.
Wednesday, April 03, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 3: Hollar's Work
There is an exhibition currently at the VMFA entitled Hollar’s Encyclopedic Eye: Prints from the Frank Raysor Collection. Wenceslaus Hollar was a Baroque printmaker who produced nearly 2500 etchings. When you walk into the exhibition, the first thing you do is pick up a magnifying glass. Upon closer inspection of the prints are these AMAZING hidden worlds. Exploring the images felt a bit like looking at Where's Waldo? pages. There's just so much to see!
I wrote this poem about the etching process and the surprise animal hidden in the title page of a book on flora and fauna.
Hollar's Work
begin with copper plate
coat with wax
apply a sharp tool with skill
and imagination
bathe in acid
repeat
repeat
repeat
remove remaining wax
ink and clean
place dampened paper over plate
press
press
press
mirror image now revealed
showcase the brilliance of
the artist’s mind
and madness
is that a unicorn?
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Wednesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
I wrote this poem about the etching process and the surprise animal hidden in the title page of a book on flora and fauna.
Hollar's Work
begin with copper plate
coat with wax
apply a sharp tool with skill
and imagination
bathe in acid
repeat
repeat
repeat
remove remaining wax
ink and clean
place dampened paper over plate
press
press
press
mirror image now revealed
showcase the brilliance of
the artist’s mind
and madness
is that a unicorn?
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Wednesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Tuesday, April 02, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 2: Ekphrastic Haiku
A wrote a number of poems Saturday while at the VMFA. One of the activities in the workshop was to write sensory descriptors for one of the paintings we viewed. Afterwards, we used those words to write poems. I wish you could stand in front of this painting to understand how magnificent it really is. The photograph doesn't do it justice.
Happy Tuesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Shepherds and Their Flock Resting Under a Tree (1868) by Charles Hoguet
I wrote a haiku for this one.
cotton candy sky
frames an ancient, gnarled tree
perfect resting place
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy Tuesday all. See you tomorrow for another original poem.
Monday, April 01, 2019
NPM 2019 Day 1: A Triolet for Spring
Last year during National Poetry Month I shared a poem that was new to me each day. I loved exploring poets I hadn't read before. This year I've decided to share original poetry.
On Saturday I spent the day at the Virginia Museum for Fine Arts in a teacher workshop entitled The Art and Science of Trees. As part of that workshop we made books, created art, and wrote poems. Here's one entry from the book I made.
A Triolet for Spring
Push winter out the door today
let's celebrate the coming spring
while ambling down the wooded way
Push winter out the door today
count the days 'til the blush of May
spy flowers gold and birds that sing
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Happy April to one and all and a big warm welcome to National Poetry Month. See you tomorrow.
On Saturday I spent the day at the Virginia Museum for Fine Arts in a teacher workshop entitled The Art and Science of Trees. As part of that workshop we made books, created art, and wrote poems. Here's one entry from the book I made.
A Triolet for Spring
Push winter out the door today
let's celebrate the coming spring
while ambling down the wooded way
Push winter out the door today
count the days 'til the blush of May
spy flowers gold and birds that sing
Push winter out the door today
let's celebrate the coming spring!
let's celebrate the coming spring!
Happy April to one and all and a big warm welcome to National Poetry Month. See you tomorrow.
Friday, March 01, 2019
Mask Poems with My Poetry Sisters
Where did February go?! For March, Laura challenged us to write a mask poem from the point of view of any everyday object (toothbrush, pencil, car keys, etc.). You can learn more about this form and read some great examples at Wild Rose Reader.
I took my class to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts on Tuesday to learn about how to use the museum and its resources to teach social studies. We took a trip through the Ancient World galleries and spent time engaging with 3 different works. I was quite taken with a camel sculpture created for the tomb of a Chinese merchant. As the class completed a notice and wonder activity, I started wondering what the camel might be thinking, and what it would say if it could hear our conversation.
This isn't my finest poem, but it is a first draft that made its way out of my head and onto paper, and that is always a very good thing.
What a 7th Century Camel Knows
Few make it to this room in the gallery
tucked into a corner on the second floor
the mummies and marble statues of
the gods draw them in and captivate
If they make it this far, I see only their backs
hear them as they ooh and aah
over "Bowl with Bats, Waves, and Rocks"
a tiny slip not even 200 years old
I've got a thousand years on that bit
of porcelain, but they barely notice me
"They had camels in China?"
the visitors all say
If I could snort I would, but my breath
would surely fog the glass
Just once I'd like to stretch my legs
move a muscle, turn my head
I wish they could see my natural form
but both my beautiful humps are
obscured by heavy packs of goods
the saddle piled high
Silk Road still calling my name
And so I wait
for the one who will SEE me
take more than 7 seconds to glance my way
the one who will stare and study and imagine
their way into my head, into my dreams
into my story, my history
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
I took my class to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts on Tuesday to learn about how to use the museum and its resources to teach social studies. We took a trip through the Ancient World galleries and spent time engaging with 3 different works. I was quite taken with a camel sculpture created for the tomb of a Chinese merchant. As the class completed a notice and wonder activity, I started wondering what the camel might be thinking, and what it would say if it could hear our conversation.
This isn't my finest poem, but it is a first draft that made its way out of my head and onto paper, and that is always a very good thing.
What a 7th Century Camel Knows
Few make it to this room in the gallery
tucked into a corner on the second floor
the mummies and marble statues of
the gods draw them in and captivate
If they make it this far, I see only their backs
hear them as they ooh and aah
over "Bowl with Bats, Waves, and Rocks"
a tiny slip not even 200 years old
I've got a thousand years on that bit
of porcelain, but they barely notice me
"They had camels in China?"
the visitors all say
If I could snort I would, but my breath
would surely fog the glass
Just once I'd like to stretch my legs
move a muscle, turn my head
I wish they could see my natural form
but both my beautiful humps are
obscured by heavy packs of goods
the saddle piled high
Silk Road still calling my name
And so I wait
for the one who will SEE me
take more than 7 seconds to glance my way
the one who will stare and study and imagine
their way into my head, into my dreams
into my story, my history
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2019. All rights reserved.
Bactrian Camel (Unknown Artist), 7th Century Chinese
© Virginia Museum of Fine Arts
You can read the pieces written by my Poetry Sisters at the links below. Andi and Kelly are off this month, but we look forward to welcoming them back soon. Today we're thrilled to welcome a new member to the fold. You just might recognize her last name. Welcome Rebecca!
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Linda Baie at Teacher Dance. Happy poetry Friday friends!
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