The triversen ("triple verse sentence") is a verse form invented by William Carlos Williams. Each stanza is composed of a single sentence, broken into three parts, which together form a stanza. The poems are generally unrhymed and often contain alliteration. They can be composed of any number of tercets.
You can learn more about the triversen and read some examples at Poetics and Ruminations.
So, there's your challenge for the week. I hope you'll join me in writing a triversen. Please share a link to your poem or the poem itself in the comments.
Monday, May 23, 2016
Monday, May 16, 2016
Monday Poetry Stretch - Wayra
The Wayra is a Latin American verse from popular in Peru and Bolivia. It is a short syllabic verse that follows these guidelines:
- a pentastich (5 line poem)
- unrhymed
- syllable count = 5/7/7/6/8
Monday, May 09, 2016
Monday Poetry Stretch - Akshar-Mala
Akshar-Mala is an Indian poetic form in which the initial letters of each line are in alphabetical order. There are no other requirements for the form.
I found this form in The Dictionary of Indian Literature, One, Beginnnings-1850. I haven't been able to find any other descriptions of it, or any another Indian form that resembles it closely.
A while back we wrote in the form of iroha mojigusari, where the first letter of the alphabet starts off the first line and the second letter of the alphabet concludes it. The third letter starts the second line and the fourth letter finishes it. This continues until all the letters of the alphabet have been used in order.
Since there are no other guidelines here than order, I don't see why you can't begin with any letter of your choosing and make the poem as long as you like.
So, there's your challenge for the week. I hope you'll join me in writing an akshar-mala. Please share a link to your poem or the poem itself in the comments.
I found this form in The Dictionary of Indian Literature, One, Beginnnings-1850. I haven't been able to find any other descriptions of it, or any another Indian form that resembles it closely.
A while back we wrote in the form of iroha mojigusari, where the first letter of the alphabet starts off the first line and the second letter of the alphabet concludes it. The third letter starts the second line and the fourth letter finishes it. This continues until all the letters of the alphabet have been used in order.
Since there are no other guidelines here than order, I don't see why you can't begin with any letter of your choosing and make the poem as long as you like.
So, there's your challenge for the week. I hope you'll join me in writing an akshar-mala. Please share a link to your poem or the poem itself in the comments.
Saturday, May 07, 2016
Book Review - California, the Magic Island
Here's the overview from the back cover.
Queen Calafia, the legendary heroine of a sixteenth-century Spanish romance about an island overflowing with gold, is incensed with she hears that a state has been named after her. Being the good queen that she is, she's willing to hear from twenty-six animals about why California is worthy of her regal name. Each animal describes an iconic cultural object or historical event, enchanting readers—and maybe even Calafia herself—with their tales of the magical place called California.Hailing from western New York, I have visited the state on a number of occasions, but know very little about California history, so this was a very nice introduction.
The book opens with an introduction to Queen Calafia and Her Magic Island. As all good stories begin, this one starts with "Once upon a time (or maybe only yesterday) ..." Readers learn about the Queen and her island, her fury at the use of their island name, and her command to her warriors to let the animals speak for California as she decides the fate of the people. What follows are 26 stories, each told by a different animal, each about a different event, location, industry, animal, or some other important piece related to California history or present. After their stories, readers learn about the judgment that Queen Calafia has made.
Back matter in the text contains information about the origin of the Queen Califia legend, additional information about each of the animals and the stories they narrate, and a note about the artist and the content of the borders at the beginning of the book. The illustrations are brightly colored, gloriously vibrant images that are nothing short of magical. I spent almost as much time pouring over the illustrations as I did reading the text.
I loved the story of the monarch butterflies, and will use excerpts from this in my science teaching. Other connections to science include stories about the La Brea Tar Pits, Mount Palomar Observatory, and Yosemite.
Hansen looks broadly and inclusively at California history. The stories are short, providing just information to pique the interest of readers. I know that I closed the book wanting to know so much more. This is a beautiful book with a story inventively told.
Friday, May 06, 2016
Poetry Seven Write Tritinas
This month the Poetry Seven crew wrote in the form of the tritina. The tritina is composed of 3 tercets and a final line (envoi) that stands alone. Similar to a sestina, though shorter, it uses a set of 3 alternating end words instead of six. The form is: ABC / CAB / BCA / A, B, and C (final line/envoi).
The words we chose from were selected by Tanita. They were:
sweet, cold, stone, hope, mouth, thread
I think repeating words are hard, so this took some thought. However, it was the final line using all three words at once that proved to be the real challenge. I wrote two poems for this form. The first is a bit melancholy, but that always happens to me at this time of the year. My father’s birthday was yesterday (the 5th). He would have been 90 this year. And tomorrow (the 7th) is the 7th anniversary of his death, so he’s been much on my mind as of late. Therefore, the first poem is for/about him. The second is much lighter.
Without further ado, my tritinas.
Tritina #1
My father pulled the hook from the mouth
of the bass. I touched its cold
scales, the thrill of catching it sweet.
Memories of my father are sweet,
though sometimes I imagine him, mouth
agape, my mother at his side touching his cold
hands. At the end, the world went cold.
There was nothing sweet
in death. My heart and mouth
slammed shut. Now I fish alone--no dad, no largemouth--just cold, sweet stillness.
Tritina #2
Speed Dating Introduction ... A 30-Second Tritina
I relish the smoothness of a stone
worn by water, the sweet
smell of freshly mown grass, the cold
slide of ice cream down my throat. I long for winter cold,
summer sun, the skipping of a stone
across the lake, that first buttery taste of sweet
corn. I believe in the sweet
hereafter, going cold
turkey, that some things are set in stone.
I’m stone cold sober, so lay some sweet lines on me.
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.
You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Sylvia Vardell at Poetry for Children. Happy poetry Friday friends!
The words we chose from were selected by Tanita. They were:
sweet, cold, stone, hope, mouth, thread
I think repeating words are hard, so this took some thought. However, it was the final line using all three words at once that proved to be the real challenge. I wrote two poems for this form. The first is a bit melancholy, but that always happens to me at this time of the year. My father’s birthday was yesterday (the 5th). He would have been 90 this year. And tomorrow (the 7th) is the 7th anniversary of his death, so he’s been much on my mind as of late. Therefore, the first poem is for/about him. The second is much lighter.
Without further ado, my tritinas.
Tritina #1
My father pulled the hook from the mouth
of the bass. I touched its cold
scales, the thrill of catching it sweet.
Memories of my father are sweet,
though sometimes I imagine him, mouth
agape, my mother at his side touching his cold
hands. At the end, the world went cold.
There was nothing sweet
in death. My heart and mouth
slammed shut. Now I fish alone--no dad, no largemouth--just cold, sweet stillness.
Tritina #2
Speed Dating Introduction ... A 30-Second Tritina
I relish the smoothness of a stone
worn by water, the sweet
smell of freshly mown grass, the cold
slide of ice cream down my throat. I long for winter cold,
summer sun, the skipping of a stone
across the lake, that first buttery taste of sweet
corn. I believe in the sweet
hereafter, going cold
turkey, that some things are set in stone.
I’m stone cold sober, so lay some sweet lines on me.
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.
You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Sylvia Vardell at Poetry for Children. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Thursday, May 05, 2016
You Can Fly with the Weatherfords
When I was young and learned my father served in the Naval Air Corps during WWII, I became a voracious reader of anything and everything about the war, including the Holocaust, Pearl Harbor, Jackie Robinson, Rosie the Riveter, the WACs, and more. What I didn't find were stories about the Tuskegee Airmen. My young self would have been as thrilled as I am today with the release of an amazing poetry collection entitled You Can Fly: The Tuskegee Airmen, written by Carole Boston Weatherford and illustrated by Jeffery Boston Weatherford.
Carole: When did you first hear about the Tuskegee Airmen?
Jeffery: I first heard about them when I was a young boy. We took family trips to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum in Washington and to Tuskegee Institute, Alabama where we toured exhibits about the Tuskegee University’s founder Booker T. Washington, botanist George Washington Carver and the Tuskegee Airmen. I always had dreams of flight.
Jeffery: Why did you want to write this book?
Carole: I first learned of the Tuskegee Airmen in a magazine article in the 1980s. I was so moved by their story that I saved the magazine. My literary mission is to mine the past for family stories, fading traditions and forgotten struggles. The Airmen’s saga is historically and politically significant. As a children’s literature professor, I knew of at least one historical fiction picture book and of several informational books about the Tuskegee Airmen. I felt that the story would lend itself well to a poetic treatment.
Jeffery: What is your favorite illustration from the book?
Carole: I like the one opposite the poem “Routines.” It shows a dogfight in which one plane gets bombed and explodes. The explosion is quite animated, like something out of a comic book. I almost want to add an action bubble: Boom!
Carole: Describe your creative process.
Jeffery: For inspiration, I viewed documentary photographs from the Library of Congress and National Archives collections. While researching picture references, I had some dreams of meeting Tuskegee Airmen. I also watched the movie Red Tails. For each illustration, I drew a graphite study to layout the composition. Once that was completed and approved by the publisher, I refined the image and transferred it to scratchboard. I used various nibs for different effects.
You Can Fly: The Tuskegee Airmen is a collaboration between award-winning children’s book author Carole Boston Weatherford and her son, debut illustrator Jeffery Boston Weatherford. They have woven poems and scratchboard illustrations into a history in verse inspired as much by World War II newsreels as by modern day graphic novels. The project was nearly ten years in the making. With starred reviews in Kirkus and Publisher’s Weekly, the book for middle grades is off to a flying start.
Here the mother-son/author-illustrator team interview each other.
Carole: When did you first hear about the Tuskegee Airmen?Jeffery: Why did you want to write this book?
Carole: I first learned of the Tuskegee Airmen in a magazine article in the 1980s. I was so moved by their story that I saved the magazine. My literary mission is to mine the past for family stories, fading traditions and forgotten struggles. The Airmen’s saga is historically and politically significant. As a children’s literature professor, I knew of at least one historical fiction picture book and of several informational books about the Tuskegee Airmen. I felt that the story would lend itself well to a poetic treatment.
Carole: Tell us about your family’s military ties?
Jeffery: My great great great grandfather Isaac Copper fought in the U.S. Colored Troops during the Civil War. He was one of 17 veterans who founded the town of Unionville on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. My mother’s father Joseph Boston Jr. served in World War II. He was a technical sergeant in the Army Corps of Engineers in New Guinea and the Philippines. My grandmother still has his uniform and medals.
Jeffery: Which poem was most challenging to write?
Carole: “Operation Prove Them Wrong” was by far the toughest to write. It was like plotting scenes for a war movie. I had to boil down Operation Corkscrew and Operation Diadem to a few lines that captured the battles. It might have been easier if I were gamer like you or at least a World War II buff.
Carole: You were a serious gamer growing up. Did your background as a gamer influence how you illustrated the battle scenes?
Jeffery: Yes, absolutely. I had lots of residual visual references from battles across galaxies.
Jeffery: What is your favorite illustration from the book?
Carole: I like the one opposite the poem “Routines.” It shows a dogfight in which one plane gets bombed and explodes. The explosion is quite animated, like something out of a comic book. I almost want to add an action bubble: Boom!
Carole: Describe your creative process.
Jeffery: For inspiration, I viewed documentary photographs from the Library of Congress and National Archives collections. While researching picture references, I had some dreams of meeting Tuskegee Airmen. I also watched the movie Red Tails. For each illustration, I drew a graphite study to layout the composition. Once that was completed and approved by the publisher, I refined the image and transferred it to scratchboard. I used various nibs for different effects.
Jeffery with Airman portrait
Jeffery: What do you want readers to take away from the book?
Carole: I want them to be inspired by the courage and determination of the Tuskegee Airmen. I want them to understand that the sky is no limit if they are willing to prepare themselves, practice and persevere. The book aims to lift the ceiling off of young people’s dreams.
P-51 Mustangs flying in formation over Ramitelli, Italy.
From the LOC archives: http://cdn.loc.gov/service/pnp/ppmsca/13200/13268r.jpg
Did you know? The Tuskegee Airmen got the name Red Tails when their ground crew painted the tail of the P-47 red.
WWII by the numbers: Before the Tuskegee Experiment began, there were only 130 licensed African American pilots in the U.S.
Here's one of my favorite poems from the book.
Train Ride to the Clouds
All aboard for Tuskegee Institute,
where Booker T. Washington uplifted ex-slaves
and George Washington Carver
is working wonders with sweet potatoes!
If Carver can make paint
from clay and plastics from soy,
then the school Booker T. founded
can surely make you a pilot.
If you did not believe that were true
you would not have packed your bag
and boarded the train for Alabama
with a Bible and a box lunch from your mama.
If your faith were not vast as the sky,
you would never have taken this leap.
Poem © Carole Boston Weatherford, 2016. All rights reserved.
The poems in this volume are moving, vivid, and packed with information. The poem in the Epilogue describes the race barrier breaking moments that came after the Tuskegee Airmen paved the way for integration of the U.S. military. The backmatter includes an author's note, timeline, and extensive list of additional resources and primary sources.
You can find helpful teacher resources for this work at: https://cbweatherford.com/books/youcanfly/teacher-resources/
*****
My thanks to Carole and Jeffery for sharing their conversation and their work. You Can Fly: The Tuskegee Airmen was released on May 3rd and is available now. Don't miss it!
Monday, May 02, 2016
Monday Poetry Stretch - Ae freslige
Today I'm sharing a form known as ae freslige. Some say it's Irish, others Celtic. Some spell it ae freslige, other ae freslighe. There are even different descriptions of the form. Here are two I've seen.
From The Shapes of Our Singing, by Robin Skelton:
The Ae Freslige may be summarised as follows: the numbers in the brackets indicating th enumber of syllables in the last word of the line:
Syllables: 7(3) 7(2) 7(3) 7(2)
End rhymes: A B A B
From The Poets Garret:
Each stanza is a quatrain of seven syllables. Lines one and three rhyme with a triple (three syllable) rhyme and two and four use a double (two syllable) rhyme. As was stated earlier. the poem should end with the first syllable word or the complete line that it began with.
x x x x (x x a)
x x x x x (x b)
x x x x (x x a)
x x x x x (x b)
I hope you'll join me today in writing some version of an ae freslige. I love the added challenge provided in the form as escribed by The Poets Garret. Please share a link to your poem or the poem itself in the comments.
From The Shapes of Our Singing, by Robin Skelton:
The Ae Freslige may be summarised as follows: the numbers in the brackets indicating th enumber of syllables in the last word of the line:
Syllables: 7(3) 7(2) 7(3) 7(2)
End rhymes: A B A B
From The Poets Garret:
Each stanza is a quatrain of seven syllables. Lines one and three rhyme with a triple (three syllable) rhyme and two and four use a double (two syllable) rhyme. As was stated earlier. the poem should end with the first syllable word or the complete line that it began with.
x x x x (x x a)
x x x x x (x b)
x x x x (x x a)
x x x x x (x b)
I hope you'll join me today in writing some version of an ae freslige. I love the added challenge provided in the form as escribed by The Poets Garret. Please share a link to your poem or the poem itself in the comments.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
NPM Celebrations - National Adopt a Shelter Pet Day
As I write this post my buddy Cooper, our latest rescue dog, is on the couch beside me snoring away. His predecessor was also rescued from a shelter. We were fortunate to call Sydney ours for nearly 16 years. When she was put to sleep, I swore it would be a long time before another one graced our doorstep. I lasted all of one month before needing to fill the space she left in our lives. All of you pet lovers out there know what I'm talking about.
Today I'm sharing poems about some pets lucky enough to find their forever homes.
Stella, Unleashed: Notes From the Doghouse (2008), written by Linda Ashman and illustrated by Paul Meisel, is a collection of poems told from the point of view of Stella, a dog rescued from the pound and brought to live with a family. The poems cover topics as varied as her rescue from the pound, selecting a name, the family members, other pets, eating, sleeping, the dog park, and more.
Lost & Found
Metal bars.
A cold, hard floor.
No window seat.
No doggy door.
Countless strangers come to call—
I listened,
watched,
and sniffed them all . . .
then turned away
and curled up tight
Nice enough but not quite right.
Then, one day, I sniffed a sniff
and got the most delightful whiff:
dirt and candy, grass and cake.
I stuck my paw out for a shake.
A boy knelt down.
I licked his face.
He rubbed my head.
I'd found my place.
That's how I chose this family.
Not perfect, no.
Except for me.
**
Water!
I swim in the ocean,
no matter how rough.
In rivers and lakes—
I can't get enough!
When I see a pool,
I dive like a sub.
I LOVE the water—
but not in the tub.
Poems ©Linda Ashman, 2008. All rights reserved.
Won Ton: A Cat Tale Told in Haiku, written by Lee Wardlaw and illustrated by Eugene Yelchin, is the story of a shelter cat and how she acclimates to her new home, told entirely in senryu. Won Ton's story is divided into sections, including The Shelter, The Choosing, The Car Ride, The Naming, The New Place, The Feeding, The Adjustment, The Yard, and Home.
No rush. I've got plans.
Gnaw this paw. Nip that flea. And
wish: Please, Boy, pick me.
Dogs have hair. Cats, fur.
Dogs whine, yip, howl, bark. Cats purr.
I say: No contest.
Scrat-ching-post? Haven't
heard of it. Besides, the couch
is so much closer.
Poems ©Lee Wardlaw, 2011. All rights reserved.
Won Ton and Chopstick: A Cat and Dog Tale Told in Haiku (2015), written by Lee Wardlaw and illustrated by Eugene Yelchin, is the sequel to Won Ton: A Cat Tale Told in Haiku. In it, Won Ton again narrated and shares with readers what life is like with a new and annoying puppy in the house.
Ears perk. Fur prickles.
Belly low, I creep . . . peek . . . FREEZE!
My eyes full of Doom.
Don't bother barking
your real name. I've already
guessed. It must be . . . Pest!
Breaking news: YOU SNORE.
Twitch and whimper too. Yet you
make a soft pillow.
Poems ©Lee Wardlaw, 2015. All rights reserved.
The PBS series Martha Speaks produced a nice list of books about dogs, including shelter dogs.
No rush. I've got plans.
Gnaw this paw. Nip that flea. And
wish: Please, Boy, pick me.
Dogs have hair. Cats, fur.
Dogs whine, yip, howl, bark. Cats purr.
I say: No contest.
Scrat-ching-post? Haven't
heard of it. Besides, the couch
is so much closer.
Poems ©Lee Wardlaw, 2011. All rights reserved.
Ears perk. Fur prickles.
Belly low, I creep . . . peek . . . FREEZE!
My eyes full of Doom.
Don't bother barking
your real name. I've already
guessed. It must be . . . Pest!
Breaking news: YOU SNORE.
Twitch and whimper too. Yet you
make a soft pillow.
Poems ©Lee Wardlaw, 2015. All rights reserved.
Dogku (2007), written by Andrew Clements and illustrated by Tim Bowers, is the story of a stray dog told through a series of 17 haiku. While not about a shelter dog, it is about a pet in need of a home. The story begins with this poem.
There on the back steps,
the eyes of a hungry dog.
Will she shut the door?
The door is opened and the dog welcomed in. Eventually he earns the name Mooch and becomes a part of the family. Here are two additional poems.
Scratch, sniff, eat, yawn, nap.
Dreams of rabbits and running.
Could life be sweeter?
Dreams of rabbits and running.
Could life be sweeter?
Family meeting.
There are words and words and words.
Did someone say "pound"?
There are words and words and words.
Did someone say "pound"?
Poems ©Andrew Clements, 2007. All rights reserved.
Friday, April 29, 2016
NPM Celebrations - Arbor Day
Just how many trees are there in the world?
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Trees
I.
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
From Trees by Joyce Kilmer
II.
Trees know the soft secrets of clouds
the dark siftings of soil
The hear the high keening of squalls
the deep rumbling of rocks
Trees whisper for the sky's damp blessings
and the earth's misty kisses
From Go-Betweens by Marilyn Singer
in Footprints on the Roof: Poems About the Earth, written by Marilyn Singer and illustrated by Meilo So
III.
Trees need not walk the earth
For beauty or for bread;
Beauty will come to them
In the rainbow—
The sunlight—
And the lilac-haunted rain;
And bread will come to them
From Trees Need Not Walk the Earth by David Rosenthal
IV.
Major tree traffic today—
commuters in both directions,
rippling up and down,
tails unfurled.
The treeway is
heavily squirreled.
Tree Traffic by Kristine O'Connell George
in Old Elm Speaks: Tree Poems, written by Kristine O'Connell George and illustrated by Kate Kiesler
V.
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
he recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
From The Trees by Philip Larkin
in The Collected Poems, written by Philip Larkin and edited by Anthony Thwaite
VI.
The cherry trees bend over and are shedding
On the old road where all that passed are dead,
Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding
This early May morn when there is none to wed.
From The Cherry Trees by Edward Thomas
VII.
Buds, which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest;
From The Planting of the Apple-Tree by William Cullen Bryant
VIII.
O white pear,
your flower-tufts,
thick on the branch,
bring summer and ripe fruits
in their purple hearts.
From Pear Tree by H.D.
IX.
This is the way that autumn came to the trees:
it stripped them down to the skin,
left their ebony bodies naked.
It shook out their hearts, the yellow leaves,
scattered them over the ground.
Anyone could trample them out of shape
undisturbed by a single moan of protest.
From When Autumn Came by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
in The True Subject: Selected Poems of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, translated by Naomi Lazard
X.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.
From Winter Trees by William Carlos Williams
XI.
Years love trees in a way we can’t
imagine. They just don’t use the fruit
like us; they want instead the slant
of sun through narrow branches, the buckshot
of rain on these old cherries.
From Remaking a Neglected Orchard by Nathaniel Perry
XII.
Think finally about the secret will
Pretending obedience to Nature, but
Invidiously distinguishing everywhere,
Dividing up the world to conquer it,
From Learning the Trees by Howard Nemerov
in The Collected Poems of Howard Nemerov, written by Howard Nemerov
XIII.
With strong and graceful outline,
With branches green and bare,
We fill the land through all the year,
With beauty everywhere.
From The Heart of the Tree by Henry Cuyler Bunner
Here's a handout of poems about trees from the Arbor Day Foundation.
I've written about trees and poetry before. Check out my Thematic Book List on Trees. (You'll find poetry books at the very top.)
That's it for today. I hope you'll join me tomorrow for our last celebration of the month. I can't believe it's almost done.
Poetry Friday - Cartoon Physics, part 1
Last week I shared the poem After Reading a Child's Guide to Modern Physics by W.H. Auden. I'm still thinking about physics and poetry this week.
Cartoon Physics, part 1
by Nick Flynn
Children under, say, ten, shouldn't know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies
swallowed by galaxies, whole
solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning
the rules of cartoon animation,
Read the poem in its entirety.
If you haven't been here before, or haven't been following my National Poetry Month project, here are the posts from this week. Feel free to poke around.
24 - Sky Awareness Week
25 - World Penguin Day
26 - Richter Scale Day
27 - Babe Ruth Day
28 - National Blueberry Pie Day
29 - Arbor Day
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Buffy Silverman at Buffy's Blog. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Cartoon Physics, part 1
by Nick Flynn
Children under, say, ten, shouldn't know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies
swallowed by galaxies, whole
solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning
the rules of cartoon animation,
Read the poem in its entirety.
If you haven't been here before, or haven't been following my National Poetry Month project, here are the posts from this week. Feel free to poke around.
24 - Sky Awareness Week
25 - World Penguin Day
26 - Richter Scale Day
27 - Babe Ruth Day
28 - National Blueberry Pie Day
29 - Arbor Day
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Buffy Silverman at Buffy's Blog. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Thursday, April 28, 2016
NPM Celebrations - National Blueberry Pie Day
I buy my blueberries when they are available at my local farmer's market. I'm lucky if I can get them home before popping one after another into my mouth. And really, isn't that what you want to do with sweet, fresh, juicy fruit?
Blueberries
Blueberries
are sweet
but not
too
sweet.
One fits
perfectly
between
finger
and thumb.
They burst
like flavor-filled
fireworks
in waffles
and muffins.
Poem © Irene Latham, 2016. All rights reserved.
Blueberry
Fill your mouth with blue.
Share a bowl heaped with summer.
Chew indigo O.
*****
Blueberries are delicious, healthy treats. Originating in North America, they were eaten fresh and dried by Native Americans. They also ground blueberries into spice rubs and used the berries in medicines. European settlers in North America made gray paint by boiling blueberries in milk, and today the United States is the largest producer of blueberries in the world. Wild blueberries, the official state berry of Maine, are sometimes harvested using traditional handheld rakes. Plan a blueberry party in July, National Blueberry Month.
Poem and Text © Pat Mora, 2009. All rights reserved.
Here's a long and lovely poem by Robert Frost.
Blueberries
by Robert Frost
“You ought to have seen what I saw on my way
To the village, through Mortenson’s pasture to-day:
Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb,
Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum
In the cavernous pail of the first one to come!
And all ripe together, not some of them green
And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!”
Read the poem in its entirety.
Too Early!
Mom says to wake up
I don't want to
It's the middle of the night
Right?
Wrong
Dad makes me a
"Cheer up!" waffle-boy
with blueberry eyes and
a fresh citrus smile
What's he so happy about?
Poem © Laura Purdie Salas, 2008. All rights reserved.
In addition to blueberries on and in my pancakes, I do love a good blueberry muffin. My favorite recipe is this one for Jordan Marsh's Blueberry Muffins.
This last poem isn't really about blueberries, but the imagery reminds me of them.
Berries on the bushes
In the summer sun.
Bring along a bucket
And pluck every one.
Look at my teeth,
They're raspberry red.
Look at my fingers,
They're strawberry pink.
Look at my mouth,
It's huckleberry purple.
Look at my tongue,
It's blackberry ink.
Poem © Eve Merriam, 1985. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
NPM Celebrations - Babe Ruth Day
George Herman Ruth, Jr. (1895-1948), best known as "Babe" Ruth, was an American baseball player who spent 22 seasons in Major League Baseball playing for three different teams, the Boston Red Sox, the New York Yankees, and the Boston Braves.
One of my favorite baseball movies is The Sandlot (1993). Here's a favorite scene side-by-side with the NY Yankees, in a commercial they did for the opening of the 2015 season. In it, the boys school their friend on just who Babe Ruth was.
You can learn more about this commercial in this Inside Edition video.
Let's start today with a poem sent to me by J. Patrick Lewis for this month's project.
The Battle Hymn of the Babe
by J. Patrick Lewis
George Herman "Babe" Ruth, Jr.
1895 – 1948
[Note: To be sung to “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”]
He’s American as Jell-o, apple pie, and ice cream cones.
He’s synonymous with magic, miracles, and milestones.
He’s the nemesis of Beantown where they hate him in their bones.
Babe Ruth is marching on.
Watch him nonchalantly waving, as he steps up to the plate,
To the spectators applauding for the Yankee head of state.
Will the Sultan swat one out today? They won’t have long to wait.
Babe Ruth is marching on.
The pitcher eyes him cruelly, the Bambino eyes him back,
Like a bike with training wheels up against a Cadillac.
When he points a warning finger at the useless warning track,
Babe Ruth is marching on.
He swings so hard you almost feel sorry for the air.
The second strike is in the dirt. The Babe? He doesn’t care.
But the umpire shrinks a little from the heat wave of his glare.
Babe Ruth is marching on.
Now here it comes, the best forkball the pitcher’s thrown all year . . .
Rainbowing to the right-field bleachers as a souvenir.
That pill could make it hail throughout the Western hemisphere.
Babe Ruth is marching on.
Poem © J. Patrick Lewis, 2016. All rights reserved.
Pat may not remember this, but he also sent me a baseball poem back in 2008. It's one of my favorite baseball poems.
A Baseball Poem
by J. Patrick Lewis
A baseball poem
should swerve
like a sidearm curve
or tease a designated reader
with sublime
off-rhyme.
A baseball poem
should be as unexpected, say,
as an undetected
squeeze play
or explode like a six-run
bonanza and a grand slam
into the leftfield stanza.
Poem © J. Patrick Lewis, 2008. All rights reserved.
When I think of baseball poems in general, three come to mind.
1. Every year when spring training begins and on opening day, I read the poem Analysis of Baseball by May Swenson. Here's how it begins.
2. This poem that I memorized in middle school. It ends this way.Let's start today with a poem sent to me by J. Patrick Lewis for this month's project.
The Battle Hymn of the Babe
by J. Patrick Lewis
George Herman "Babe" Ruth, Jr.
1895 – 1948
[Note: To be sung to “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”]
He’s American as Jell-o, apple pie, and ice cream cones.
He’s synonymous with magic, miracles, and milestones.
He’s the nemesis of Beantown where they hate him in their bones.
Babe Ruth is marching on.
Watch him nonchalantly waving, as he steps up to the plate,
To the spectators applauding for the Yankee head of state.
Will the Sultan swat one out today? They won’t have long to wait.
Babe Ruth is marching on.
The pitcher eyes him cruelly, the Bambino eyes him back,
Like a bike with training wheels up against a Cadillac.
When he points a warning finger at the useless warning track,
Babe Ruth is marching on.
He swings so hard you almost feel sorry for the air.
The second strike is in the dirt. The Babe? He doesn’t care.
But the umpire shrinks a little from the heat wave of his glare.
Babe Ruth is marching on.
Now here it comes, the best forkball the pitcher’s thrown all year . . .
Rainbowing to the right-field bleachers as a souvenir.
That pill could make it hail throughout the Western hemisphere.
Babe Ruth is marching on.
Poem © J. Patrick Lewis, 2016. All rights reserved.
Pat may not remember this, but he also sent me a baseball poem back in 2008. It's one of my favorite baseball poems.
A Baseball Poem
by J. Patrick Lewis
A baseball poem
should swerve
like a sidearm curve
or tease a designated reader
with sublime
off-rhyme.
A baseball poem
should be as unexpected, say,
as an undetected
squeeze play
or explode like a six-run
bonanza and a grand slam
into the leftfield stanza.
Poem © J. Patrick Lewis, 2008. All rights reserved.
When I think of baseball poems in general, three come to mind.
1. Every year when spring training begins and on opening day, I read the poem Analysis of Baseball by May Swenson. Here's how it begins.
It’s about
the ball,
the bat,
and the mitt.
Ball hits
bat, or it
hits mitt.
Read the poem in its entirety.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;If you don't recognize it, the poem is Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer.
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.
3. I'm also quite fond of this poem by Ogden Nash. Line-Up for Yesterday: An ABC of Baseball Immortals was written for the January 1949 issue of SPORT Magazine. The poem pays tribute to 24 of the games greatest players. Here's how it begins.
A is for Alex
The great Alexander;
More Goose eggs he pitched
Than a popular gander.
B is for Bresnahan
Back of the plate;
The Cubs were his love,
and McGraw his hate.
C is for Cobb,
Who grew spikes and not corn,
And made all the basemen
Wish they weren't born.
Read the poem in its entirety.Creative Editions published this poem, illustrated by C.F. Payne in 2001.
I'll wrap up with this poem by Franklin Pierce Adams.
A Ballad of Baseball Burdens
by Franklin Pierce Adams
The burden of hard hitting. Slug away
Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus Cobb.
Else fandom shouteth: “Who said you could play?
Back to the jasper league, you minor slob!”
Swat, hit, connect, line out, get on the job.
Else you shall feel the brunt of fandom’s ire
Biff, bang it, clout it, hit it on the knob—
This is the end of every fan’s desire.
Read the poem in its entirety.
I've written numerous times about my love for baseball and about baseball poetry. Check out the post Poetry in the Classroom: Take Me Out To the Ballgame from 2011 and Poetry A-Z: Day 27 ... Baseball from 2013.
You'll also find a wealth of baseball poems at the Baseball Almanac. Be sure to check out the poem Frosty and the Babe by John Robert McFarland.
I'm ending today with this gem.
That's it for today. I hope you'll join me tomorrow for our next celebration.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
NPM Celebrations - Richter Scale Day
Image from CBC NewsWorld
Here's a bit more about the scale.
River Meets Crack in the Earth
A river crosses the San Andreas fault.
It turns right, then continues on,
a little shaken up.
Instructions for the Earth's Dishwasher
Please set the
continental plates
gently on the
continental shelves.
No jostling or scraping.
Please stack the
basin right side up.
No tilting or turning
upside-down.
Please scrape the mud
out of the mud pots.
But watch out!
They're still hot.
As for the forks
in the river,
just let them soak.
Remember,
if anything breaks,
it's your fault.
Poems © Lisa Westberg Peters, 2003. All rights reserved.
Awesome Forces
The earth is
unsettled,
it would seem,
for here and about
it lets off
steam,
lava flows,
geysers gush,
canyons are carved
by a river's
push.
The earth's old crust
cracks and creaks,
shakes and
shoves up
mountain
peaks.
Ice caps recede,
glaciers advance,
ever in motion—
a global dance.
Will it ever
stand still?
no chance
Poem © Joan Bransfield Graham, 2006. All rights reserved.
Earthquake
Dakota, first to sense a change,
Begins to whimper—passing strange.
Here comes the catastrophic whine:
The loss is yours, the fault is mine.
Tectonic plates can only shake
A continental bellyache
By stretching several feet or more
To rearrange themselves before
The settlements of Earth lie bare
Among the rubble of despair.
Poem © Mariel Bede. All rights reserved.
I'll wrap up today with this piece from PBS NewsHour. Kwame Dawes is a writer whose work include poems, plays, essays, criticism, and novels. He spent time in Haiti in the aftermath of the earthquake, reporting on events and writing poetry in response. (This story was produced through a partnership with USA Today, the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting, and the NewsHour.)
You'll find the video poem Mother of Mothers around minute 7:58.
That's it for today. I hope you'll join me tomorrow for our next celebration.
Monday, April 25, 2016
NPM Celebrations - World Penguin Day
An Old Shell: Poems of the Galapagos (1999), written by Tony Johnston and illustrated by Tom Pohrt, is a collection of 34 poems (most written in free verse, though a few are written in haiku) in which Johnston pays tribute to the wonder that is the Galapagos. The book opens with a two-page map of the islands. The poem topics include the sea, the islands, animals, plants, and more.
Galápagos Penguins
The penguins are swimming
again.
See how the water
holds them
in its cool green
hands,
how it lifts them
light as kelp
lets them splash
and reel
and roll
over its bright
back.
Oh, see how the water
loves them!
The penguins are swimming
again.
See how the water
holds them
in its cool green
hands,
how it lifts them
light as kelp
lets them splash
and reel
and roll
over its bright
back.
Oh, see how the water
loves them!
Poem ©Tony Johnston, 1999. All rights reserved.
Enigma Sartorial
by Lucy W. Rhu
Consider the penguin
He's smart as can be—
Dressed in his dinner clothes
Permanently.
You can never tell
When you see him about,
If he's just coming in
Or just going out!
Poem ©Lucy W. Rhu. All rights reserved.
Penguin
by Valerie Worth
Where the only
Land is ice, loose
Crystals worked
To white diamond
By ridge heaped
Upon crevasse, or
Carved into looming
Emerald veins, or
Pressed past sapphire
To the shuddering cobalt
Gloom of the berg's
Abysmal bone,
The penguin swims
At home, or frolics
Over the treacherous
Floe: or amidst
Those fearful frozen
Smolderings, settles
To its nest of
Snow: cheerful
As a house cat
Toasting its haunches
On the hearth's
Warm stones.
Poem ©Valerie Worth. All rights reserved.
Animal Sense (2003), written by Diane Ackerman and illustrated by Peter Sís, explores the ways that animals navigate the world using their senses. The poems are funny and clever and occasionally include made-up words. Organized into sections for touch, hearing, vision, smell, and taste, three different animals are highlighted in each. Here's the first poem from the section on touch.
Penguin babies,
on the other hand (or wing),
will cozy up to almost anything
summery and snug—
preferring Mom's tummy,
but a human hand or rug
also feels yummy.
Frantic for a big, smothery
featherbed cuddle,
they sometimes wobble around
in a chilly muddle,
gawking everywhere
for their next of kin.
"Hug me!" they squawk.
"I need wings to snooze in."
Then while the antarctic night
blusters and blows
and rainbow-bright auroras glow,
the air plunges to 40 below.
But penguin babies keep warm—
they peep songs of summer
and nuzzle in deep,
waltzing through their ice palace
on Mama's feet.
Poem © Diane Ackerman, 2003. All rights reserved.
The Emperor Penguins
The life of these penguins
Is harsh as can be:
They gather on ice packs
Of antarctic sea,
All huddled together
For warmth and protection,
And choose a new emperor
Without an election.
Poem ©Douglas Florian, 1996. All rights reserved.
zoo's who (2005), written and illustrated by Douglas Florian, is a collection of 21 poems and paintings on a variety of animals, including the bush baby, tortoise, ladybugs, slugs and more.
The Penguin
A penguin isn't thin—it's fat.
It has penguinsulation.
And it toboggans through the snow
On penguinter vacation.
The penguin's a penguinsome bird
Of black-and-white fine feather.
And it will huddle with its friends
In cold penguindy weather.
Poem ©Douglas Florian, 2005. All rights reserved.
The National Geographic Book of Animal Poetry: 200 Poems With Photographs That Squeak, Soar, and Roar! (2012), compiled by J. Patrick Lewis, contains the photos we've come to love from National Geographic, accompanied by one and sometimes two poems from classic to contemporary poets. The book categorizes the poems under the headings “the big ones,” “the little ones,” “the winged ones,” “the water ones,” “the strange ones,” “the noisy ones,” and “the quiet ones.”
Penguins
by Charles Ghigna
Penguins waddle.
Penguins stroll
All around
The cold South Pole.
Penguins slide.
Penguins swim.
Penguins never
Look too slim.
Penguins play.
Penguins dress
Always in
Their Sunday best.
Antarctic Antics: A Book of Penguin Poems (1998), written by Judy Sierra and illustrated by Jose Aruego and Ariane Dewey, is a collection devoted entirely to the lives and habitats of emperor penguins. It begins with the hatching of a new penguin and comes full circle with the grown penguin finding a mate and new chicks being hatched.Diary of a Very Short Winter Day
At the first hint of dawn
I awake with a yawn
And follow my cousins
(All thirty-three dozen)
To the end of the land,
Where we stand and we stand,
Playing who'll-dive-in-first,
And, fearing the worst,
We listen for seals
Who want us for meals.
I see on penguin lunge,
Then in we all plunge,
Take a bath, gulp a snack,
And climb out in a pack . . . .
Hurry back to our home
For a quick preen and comb
So our feathers aren't wet
As we watch the sun set.
Poem ©Judy Sierra, 1998. All rights reserved.
If you want to combine poetry with a bit of citizen science, check out Penguin Watch and get involved in counting penguins in images taken by remote cameras monitoring nearly 100 colonies in Antarctica. Here's a screenshot I took of a recent penguin count I worked on. Can you find the chicks?
That's it for today. I hope you'll join me tomorrow for our next celebration.
Monday Poetry Stretch - Cento
Today's poetry stretch takes the form of thievery. Actually, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so let's think about this as an exercise in honoring our favorite lines of poetry. Today's exercise in mental gymnastics takes the form of the cento.
The cento is a poem made entirely of pieces from poems by other authors. Centos can be rhymed or unrhymed, short or long.
(From The Teachers & Writers Handbook of Poetic Forms.)
You can read more about the cento at Poets.org.
Not one to stick with the rules, a few years ago I wrote a cento using titles from my bookshelf.
Nobody's Fool
He waits in the secret garden while hisHere are the books that make up this cento.
love is lost to the housekeeping.
He knows the name of the rose,
and all creatures great and small.
He meditates on beauty,
and walks where angels fear to tread.
He is the constant gardener,
tending the family orchard while
the sun also rises.
He lives in a brave new world,
without pride and prejudice,
by a thread of grace.
He dreams of Gilead,
the wide Sargasso Sea and
going to the lighthouse,
but dreams blow away
on the shadow of the wind.
He views the world through
an imperfect lens, and knows it's all
one big damn puzzler, but
he believes that life is a miracle and
that the Lord God made them all.
- Nobody's Fool by Richard Russo
- The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
- Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
- The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
- All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot
- On Beauty by Zadie Smith
- Where Angels Fear to Tread by E.M. Forster
- The Constant Gardener by John le Carre
- The Family Orchard by Nomi Eve
- The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
- Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
- Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
- A Thread of Grace by Maria Doria Russell
- Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
- Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys
- To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
- Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
- An Imperfect Lens by Anne Roiphe
- One Damn Big Puzzler by John Harding
- Life is a Miracle by Wendell Berry
- The Lord God Made Them All by James Herriot
You can also read the cento I wrote this month for Draw a Bird Day. It's called Thirteen Ways of Looking at Birds.
So, do you want to play? What kind of poem will you assemble? Please share a link to your poem or the poem itself in the comments.
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