Friday, December 07, 2018

Poetry Friday - Poetry Sisters Write List Poems

When I was a cadet at the USCGA, I received demerits for whistling. I was called out by the company commander who told me whistling was for a boatswain's mate, not an officer in training. As someone who hummed, whistled, and sang to the fill the silences, it was a hard loss to swallow. More than 30 years later, I still think of that rebuke when I catch myself whistling. The only difference is that now I smile and keep right on going.

What does all this have to do with poetry? For some reason, that memory popped into my head when I read the words Liz provided as fodder for our list poems. Here is the list.
  • paper
  • stars
  • messages
  • promises
  • dirt
  • flour
  • rum
  • hope
There is nothing remotely related to whistling here, but the words sparked a number of long forgotten memories and made me think of things that make me happy, so I decided to run with that idea for today's poem.

How I Turned That Frown Upside Down
As a child often left to my own devices
mother admonished me not to sulk
Lost to introspection and loneliness
it was easy to succumb to unhappiness

When the doldrums of dark days
left me frowning and sad
joy came from simple pleasures
     hearing the rhythmic thumping of the dog's tail
        poring over the funny pages of the daily paper
     turning cartwheels across the lawn
        whistling to the music streaming from the kitchen
     gazing at the night sky and countless stars
        hanging upside down from the neighbor's cherry tree
     swinging as high as my pumping legs would take me
        walking barefoot in the creek
     biking to the Town Pump to buy penny candy
        sneaking into the pasture to pet the dairy cows
     chasing and catching all manner of little critters

I think back to these moments
when I need a smile or pick-me-up

I still whistle and read the funny pages
Still love a dog and walking barefoot
Just yesterday I stood on my head
I imagine a cartwheel isn't far behind

Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. 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 today by Liz Steinglass. Happy poetry Friday friends!

Friday, November 02, 2018

Poetry Sisters Write - Anaphora

This month's challenge was set by Tanita, who proposed we write in any form, but using anaphora. Anaphora is the repetition of a word or group of words at the beginning of two or more successive clauses or sentences. The theme she set was gratitude and grace in loss.

I'm not sure I hit the mark exactly on the theme, but I've got the repetition down. Here's my offering this month.

First Tuesday After November 1

On this day I will rise and run
chasing dawn with every footfall
On this day I will marvel at the sunrise
grateful for its slow explosion
of color on the horizon
On this day I will appreciate the swiftness
of sparrows, lifting and reeling
towards the trees
On this day I will relish the wind
in my hair, the rain on my face
On this day I will embrace the stutter,
the loss for words, the inevitable
lapse in memory
On this day I will not lament
unfinished business, lost keys,
or broken promises
On this day I will appreciate
every breath, every heart beat
every bead of sweat
On this day I will stand
in line to cast my vote
grateful to be heard

Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. All rights reserved.

You can read the pieces written by my poetry sisters at the links below. Sara is traveling, but may have something to share with us later.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Jama at Jama's Alphabet Soup. Happy poetry Friday friends!

Friday, October 05, 2018

Short Poems with My Poetry Sisters

This month's challenge, set by Laura, was to write a short poem (6 lines or fewer) describing an animal of our choosing using three words: spike, roof, and shadow.

Ok. Hardest. Challenge. Ever. Seriously, I could not make these words fit together. I'm sure my sisters worked some serious magic, but not me. I started and discarded poems on turtles, spiked dinosaurs, hedgehogs, electric eels, and the cutest little Himalayan mouse-hare. I think my problem came because I had a hard time finding meaning beyond the literal for roof. While I could use spike and shadow relatively easily, I couldn't make roof fit, and ALL THREE WORDS were required.


So, while I'm still noodling over this challenge, I only have one measly little poem to share. My offering is about this handsome guy, the Himalayan Monal (or the danphe, as he's known in Nepal).

Photo © Tambako the Jaguar 

In the shadow of the Himalayas
near the roof of the world
the danphe sports a spike of
iridescent feathers on his head

surely he knows a colorful mohawk
attracts all sorts of ladies

Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. 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 today by Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference. Happy poetry Friday friends!

Friday, September 07, 2018

Writing Centos With My Poetry Sisters

The challenge this month, set by Sara, was to write a cento. Here are the directions we received.
I pick a line of poetry from a poet outside our culture (whatever that means!).  Then to diversify, we each build our centos by choosing a different word from that line. That way, we will have varied poems, but each poem will be unified by its own unique word. 
Say I choose this from the poet Agha Shahid Ali:
     I see Argentina and Paraguay
     under a curfew of glass, their colors
     breaking, like oil. The night in Uruguay 
Then each of us could pick a word from it:  "Argentina" or "Paraguay" (hard!) or "curfew" or "glass" or "colors" or "breaking" or even "see" or "under"  and collage a poem from there. Every subsequent line has to be taken from a different poem and has to have your chosen word somewhere in it, long or short.  Feel free to use as many poems and cultures as you like.  
This has been my favorite challenge so far this year. I collected more than 12 pages of poetry lines containing the word under. I cut the lines apart and moved them around, a lot like magnetic poetry. Here's the first poem I wrote. You can find the source of the lines (and title) below the poem.

words under pressure bleed original sense1

answer, if you hear the words under the words2
under the edge of february3
under the holsteins’ steaming noses4
days below days like a river running under the stars5

remember the sky that you were born under6
under eclipse and the day blotted out7
under a curfew of glass8
crying under the alder9

without trousers and without underpants10
a stranger is peeing ecstatic under the moon11
under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs12

under awnings, under stars13
have sex under the giant philodendron14
and in the ooze under15
no gods remember it, no understanding16

I want to be whole again, so I begin living truthfully under17
every night, under the millions of stars18
heart expanding under the ice19
  1. words under pressure bleed original sense by George Quasha
  2. The Words Under the Words by Naomi Shihab Nye
  3. Under the Edge of February by Jayne Cortez
  4. A Family History by Julia Spicher Kasdorf
  5. The Forgotten Madmen of Ménilmontant by Frank Stanford
  6. Remember by Joy Harjo
  7. The Tower by W. B. Yeats
  8. I See Chile in My Rearview Mirror by Agha Shahid Ali
  9. What the Horses See at Night by Robin Robertson
  10. Lives of the Dead: An Epic: Chapter One by Hanoch Levin, translated by Ata Hadari
  11. Under a Full Moon at Midnight by Merrill Leffler
  12. Chicago by Carl Sandburg
  13. The Shooting of John Dillinger Outside the Biograph Theater, July 22, 1934 by David Wagoner
  14. Dispatches from Devereux Slough by Mark Jarman
  15. Canto XIV by Ezra Pound
  16. Twilights, V by Conrad Aiken
  17. Living Truthfully Under Imaginary Circumstances by Elizabeth A.I. Powell
  18. Ruins Under the Stars by Galway Kinnell
  19. Phases by Michael Redhill
I had so much fun writing the first poem that I decided to try a second. I like this one even better than the first. And yes, my dreams are this weird.

Where Dreams Take Me After Reading at Bedtime

our little apartment under the freeway overpass1
under chenille bedspreads2
watching the garden winter under the moon3

under the hooves of a horse4
trampled underfoot5
tossed, knotted and torn under6

by the sea under the yellow and sagging moon7
a beaked ship under sail8
under the arching heavens9

circling a railway underpass10
where badgers undermine the tarred road11
on the underside of the world12

under the gas lamps luring the farm boys13
to have sex under the giant philodendron14
in worn underpants and plastic sandals15

playing in the dirt under a porch16
crawling under the stairs17
under the brown fog of a winter noon18

under the triumphal arch19
the hard sidewalk under my shoes20
a heap of ruins trodden underfoot21

in your “office” under the lean-to22
under the racket of this day’s distractions23
reading the Greeks under a blanket of blue24

screaming under the stairways25
under Grand Central’s tattered vault26
under a curfew of glass27

wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs28
under the bedroom floor29
  1. At the Grave of My Guardian Angel: St. Louis Cemetery, New Orleans by Larry Levis
  2. Falling by James Dickey
  3. Phases by Michael Redhill
  4. The Forgotten Madmen of Ménilmontant by Frank Stanford
  5. Your Shakespeare by Marvin Bell
  6. Enter the Void by Juan Felipe Herrera
  7. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking by Walt Whitman
  8. The Swan by John Gould Fletcher
  9. When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d by Walt Whitman
  10. How to Draw a Perfect Circle by Terrance Hayes
  11. Over the Dead Flatness of the Fens by William Logan
  12.  [I pinch myself hard on the inner arm] by Susan Hampton
  13. Chicago by Carl Sandburg
  14. Dispatches from Devereux Slough by Mark Jarman
  15. Painted Eyes by Henri Cole
  16. The Great Migration by Minnie Bruce Pratt
  17. The Shark’s Parlor by James Dickey
  18. The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot
  19. The Cafe Underground by John Malcolm Brinnin
  20. CXIV by Sonnet L’Abeé 
  21. 1851: A Message to Denmark Hill by Richard Howard
  22. Vertumnal by Stephen Yenser
  23. Morning Voices by Ed Falco
  24. Reading the Greeks Under a Blanket of Blue by William Coleman
  25. Howl, Parts I & II by Allen Ginsberg
  26. Broadway by Mark Doty
  27. I See Chile in My Rearview Mirror by Agha Shahid Ali 
  28. Song of Myself (1892 version) by Walt Whitman
  29. The Shark’s Parlor by James Dickey
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. All rights reserved.

You can read the pieces written by my poetry sisters at the links below. Life has called some sisters away this month, but they'll be back.
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 Literacy Link. Happy poetry Friday friends!

Friday, August 10, 2018

#pb10for10 - Encouraging the Skill of Observation

I've spent the last two weeks cleaning my office and weeding my bookshelves. That means I've put my hands on every book and have had some time to think about my offering for the Picture Book 10for10 event.

In February for the Nonfiction 10for10 event, I shared a list of books to inspire future scientists. I'm still thinking about science as I prepare for the upcoming semester and am already selecting the books I will use in those early weeks. This time around I'm focusing on the books I share to teach and encourage the skill of observation.
written by Mac Barnett and illustrated by Jon Klassen

written and illustrated by Ed Young

written by Maranke Rinck and illustrated by Martijn Van Der Linden

written and illustrated by Olivier Tallec
(Definitely check out the companions to this title: Who What Where? and Who Was That?)

written and illustrated by Britta Tekentrup
(Tekentrup has SO MANY amazing books in this same format. Don't miss The Odd One Out, One Is Not a PairWhere Did They Go?, and Where's the Baby?)

written by Bob Raczka

written and illustrated by Brendan Wenzel

written and illustrated by Henry Cole
(Also check out I Took a Walk.)

written and photographed by Walter Wick
(Wick photographed the I Spy books and eventually developed this series of his own, which contains numerous titles.)

with riddles by Jean Marzollo and photographs by Walter Wick
(As you know, there are also many books in this series.)

written and photographed by Frank Serafini
(This is part of a series that also includes books for pond, shore, rainforest, forest, and desert.)

I know this is 11 books, and I suppose I cheated a bit by mentioning other related books, but it's so hard to stop at just 10! You can read the lists others have put together at Picture Book 10 for 10.

Friday, August 03, 2018

Writing Sestinas with the Poetry Sisters

This month the challenge we undertook was to write a sestina. It's been 3 years, so it seemed like time. Yeah, not so much!

A sestina is composed of 33 lines in five stanzas of six lines each, with a envoi of three lines for the final stanza. The form is created by the repetition of the six end-words of the first stanza. The final tercet is called the envoi and contains all of the end-words. Here is what the form looks like.

Stanza 1: ABCDEF
Stanza 2: FAEBDC
Stanza 3: FDABE
Stanza 4: ECBFAD
Stanza 5: DEACFB
Stanza 6: BDFECA
Envoi: BE / DC / FA

Each of us offered up two words to create a list of words to choose from. Those words were: face, down, mirror, ground, prism, prison, block, bend, wishes, beam, string, and blade.
I found the word pool hard to work with. The six words I chose were face, mirror, blade, down, prison, and wishes. After several false starts, I decided telling a story might help me make this form work. Here's what I came up with.

Madwoman in the Attic
She cannot see her own face
but remembers its reflection in the mirror
too dangerous, they say, shards too like a blade
he believes he can keep her down
locked inside this third floor prison
she won’t be honoring his wishes

She longs for freedom and she wishes
to confront him face-to-face
he’s the one deserving prison
yet he smiles at himself in the mirror
one day his world will tumble down
he’ll feel it as the sharpest blade

She’d like to wander in the grass, relish every blade
run to the well that’s made for wishes
toss a coin and follow it down
imagine the shock upon his face
her’s will be his mirror
guilt soon will be his prison

but the attic’s not her prison
it’s her mind that is the blade
she’s chopped up in the mirror
sharp edges, blurry lines, and wishes
all wrapped inside a fractured face
she’s keeping up appearances, but it will all come crashing down

Her nursemaid says, “Calm down.
Thornfield is not your prison.”
But the lie shows on her face
Grace has cut her like a blade
no one answers to her wishes
so untruth is what she’ll mirror

“Who’s the fairest, magic mirror?”
she asks while sitting down
she has nothing left but wishes
so she plots escape from prison
she stabbed one with a blade
burned another, marred his face

Amidst the flames she mirrors his pain while breaking from this prison.
She jumps and tumbles down, pain slicing deeper than a blade.
It’s insanity that wishes, one last look upon his face.

Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. All rights reserved.

I started a second poem, but after the third stanza I didn't know where to go with it. Instead of a story, I thought perhaps disconnected stanzas mights be easier to write. The six words I chose were ground, beam, face, down, string, and bend. Here's the rough draft I have so far. I hope to return to this one, perhaps as a tritina or some other form.

In the News (2018)
Young boys trapped underground
no light, no single beam
such fears they had to face
through water they dove down
the path to freedom marked by a string
they didn't break but had to bend

Staunch politicians will not bend
standing firm on 2nd amendment ground
we cannot pluck their heart strings
Undecideds walk the beam
"Can't let constituents down!"
but it's survivors (children) they must face

You can see acceptance on their faces
to Mother Nature they must bend
seems the world is falling down
cracking roads and shaking ground
lava burns houses to their beams
life holding to a string

Draft ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. All rights reserved.

You can read the pieces written by my poetry sisters at the links below. Life has called some sisters away this month, but they'll be back.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Mary Lee at A Year of Reading. Happy poetry Friday friends!

Friday, July 06, 2018

Poetry Friday is Here!

Welcome! I'm happy you are here to celebrate all things poetry today.

The first Friday of the month is always one of my favorite days because I get to share writing that I've engaged in with my poetry sisters. This month the challenge Kelly presented us was to write in the style of Aphra Behn, "one of the most influential dramatists of the late seventeenth century, was also a celebrated poet and novelist." (Or so says the Poetry Foundation. I had not heard of her until this challenge.) You can learn more about her at the Poetry Foundation site.

I ditched my original poem because it sucked. Since I spent all day yesterday at Busch Gardens, I decided that's what I needed to write about instead. I'll admit that I find iambic tetrameter hard. It seems incomplete, so some of my lines are actually 9 syllables long. Here's my offering for this month's challenge, along with a video of my favorite ride from the day.

Roller Coasters After Fifty
I can’t contain the scream that falls
or squelch the laugh from deep within
from high to low my world a spin,
"Again!" the roller coaster calls.
Hard and fast my heart pounds out a beat
surely you can hear it thumping
holding to the bar feels like a cheat
loud and bumpy, cars are jumping.
Fifty-something's not too old to ride.
Live a little on the wild side.

Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. All rights reserved.

You can read the pieces written written by my poetry sisters at the links below.
I'm thrilled to hosting this shindig today. I'm rounding this up old-school style, so leave a link and I'll get you listed. Happy poetry Friday friends!

Original Poetry
Kay McGriff is offering up a poem entitled Sunflowers.

At Random Noodling, Diane Mayr is sharing an ekphrastic poem entitled Iconography.

Over at A Word Edgewise, Mitchell Linda has a series of haiku that tell the story of a Flamingo named Bob.

Over at Nix the Comfort Zone, Molly is sharing some light-hearted verse.

Catherine Flynn of Reading to the Core is sharing a poem that begins with the line "All is in flux."

JoAnn Early Macken is sharing a bevy of haiku.

Heidi Mordhosrt of my juicy little universe is sharing a metaphor poem and thoughts about using metaphor dice to generate ideas.

Over at Wild Rose Reader, Elaine Magliaro is sharing some poems on beetles.

Amy Ludwig VanDerwater is sharing a poem on Monarchs, some lovely photos, and writing advice.

Matt Forrest Esenwine of Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme shares a poem entitled Standing at the Door, Mid-Summer.

Carol Varsalona of Beyond Literacy Link is sharing a gardening poem inspired by a Twitter chat.

Irene Latham of Live Your Poem shares some thoughts about The Lost Words by Robert Macfarlane and Jackie Morris. That book inspired an original poem, Skunk, written in the form used in the book.

Mandy of Enjoy and Embrace Writing shares a poem entitled Inside and Out.

Over at Mainely Write, Donna is sharing some acrostics and other poems on the theme of looking back/looking forward.

Poetry of Others
Mary Lee Hahn of A Year of Reading is sharing a haiku by Issa.

Over at Bildungsroman, Little Willow is sharing A Song on the End of the World by Czeslaw Milosz.

Tara Smith is swinging open the doors on a new blog, a new phase in life, a new adventure, and sharing Mary Oliver's poem Going to Walden.

Ruth from There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town is sharing thoughts of home and a bit of poetry by Wislawa Szymborska.

Over at Carol's Corner, Carol is sharing a trio of Naomi Shihab Nye poems.

Ramona of Pleasures From the Page is sharing the poem Moments of Summer by Racael Hadas.

Poetry Swap Goodies
Linda B. of Teacher Dance is sharing her latest poetry swap surprise.

Tabatha Yeatts is sharing her poetry swap swag, origami with poems!

Michelle Kogan a poem about the Plein Air event she's participating in, as well as sharing some poetry swap goodness.

Over at Wondering and Wandering, Christie is sharing her poetry sway swag.

Other Poetic Tidbits
Over at Kurious Kitty's Kurio Kabinet, Diane Mayr is sharing some spider poetry.

Kimberly Hutmacher continues the Bayou Song blog tour.

That's a wrap! Happy poetry Friday all. 

Friday, June 01, 2018

Poetry Friday - Writing Limericks with My Sisters

Tanita issued our challenge this month, which was to write limericks (3!) on the topic of bees and birds.

As usual, I wrote these at the last minute. I enjoy writing limericks because it's really the only time I allow myself to be silly when writing poetry. I suppose I should take this as encouragement to be silly a bit more often in my writing.

Here's what I ended up with.

There once was a bird in a tree
Who looked down unkindly on me
     He rose into the sky
     And shat in my eye
Then returned to his branch filled with glee

There once was a bee in my room
Drawn by the sweet scent of perfume
     He buzzed through the night
     Kept me up ’till dawn’s light
Then in anger my shoe spelled his doom

In a fruit basket near a ripe plum
Flew a bee round and round with a hum
     I swatted and swore
     But he knew the score
And repaid me by stinging my bum

Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. All rights reserved.

You can read the pieces written 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 today by Buffy Silverman at Buffy's Blog. Happy poetry Friday friends.

Friday, May 04, 2018

Poetry Friday - Toasting with My Poetry Sisters

Sara issued our challenge this month, which was to "write a pithy (or extended) toast to someone or something that could be recited on some occasion. You may use a form or not, as you see fit, but the toast must begin and end with the same two words."

Sigh ... I've never written a toast in my life, so I found this a bit daunting. Heck, I find most of our challenges daunting! The hardest bit for me was finding an appropriate topic. I fiddled for a long time, trying to find something I actually wanted to celebrate. Here's what I ended up with.

A Toast To My Sisters

A toast to my sisters
who see with keen eyes
the smallest details
from the ground to the sky

A toast to my sisters
who wrestle with words
and wrangle with meter
that begs to be heard

A toast to my sisters
who write it all down
then revise and rework
every verb, every noun

A toast to my sisters
who follow their hearts
give voice to the voiceless
emotion to art

To my poetry sisters
though we're miles apart
I raise up a glass to
offer my heart
and a toast.

Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. All rights reserved.

You can read the pieces written 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 today by Brenda Davis Harsham at Friendly Fairy Tales. Happy poetry Friday friends.

Monday, April 30, 2018

NPM 4-30: End of April

On this last day of April, it's fitting that I share this poem by Phillis Levin.

End of April

Under a cherry tree
I found a robin’s egg,
broken, but not shattered.

I had been thinking of you,
and was kneeling in the grass
among fallen blossoms

when I saw it: a blue scrap,
a delicate toy, as light
as confetti

It didn’t seem real,
but nature will do such things
from time to time.

I looked inside:
it was glistening, hollow,
a perfect shell

except for the missing crown,
which made it possible
to look inside.

What had been there
is gone now
and lives in my heart

where, periodically,
it opens up its wings,
tearing me apart.

I've enjoyed exploring different poets and poems this month. Thanks for following along. And remember, just because National Poetry Month is ending, doesn't mean the daily reading of poetry has to end.

Sunday, April 29, 2018

NPM 4-29: Like Two Negative Numbers Multiplied by Rain

Today I'm sharing a poem by Jane Hirshfield.

Like Two Negative Numbers Multiplied by Rain

Lie down, you are horizontal.
Stand up, you are not.

I wanted my fate to be human.

Like a perfume
that does not choose the direction it travels,
that cannot be straight or crooked, kept out or kept.

Yes, No, Or
—a day, a life, slips through them,
taking off the third skin,
taking off the fourth.

And the logic of shoes becomes at last simple,
an animal question, scuffing.

Old shoes, old roads—
the questions keep being new ones.
Like two negative numbers multiplied by rain
into oranges and olives.

Happy Sunday all.

Saturday, April 28, 2018

NPM 4-28: Insomniac's Song

Today I'm sharing a poem by Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné, a Trinidadian poet and artist. You can learn more about her at her web site.

Insomniac’s Song

The night is a bomb.

No one will sweep
up the morning.

I am wrecked,
a vessel hollow
and lost

Undone, I wander
an ocean of dying
moths, with a heartful
of flammable terrors
to buoy me.

This is my moon,
Sliver of bone
among the flotsam

I know the sun
will not wake
for me.

Happy Saturday all.

Friday, April 27, 2018

NPM 4-27: Poems by Safia Elhillo

All this month I've been sharing poems as they move me. I've made an effort to read new to me poets and poems. Today I'm sharing poems by Safia Elhillo, a Sudanese-American poet known for her written and spoken poetry.

You can read poems from her book The January Children at Beltway Poetry Quarterly.

I hope you'll take some time to check out all the amazing poetry being shared today by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem. Happy poetry Friday all. See you tomorrow.

Thursday, April 26, 2018

NPM 4-26: Requiem for the left hand

Today I'm sharing a poem by Cuban poet Nancy Morejón. You can learn more about Morejón at The Poetry Center at Smith College.

Requiem for the left hand

                         For Marta Valdés

On a map you can draw all the lines
          horizontal, straight, diagonal
from the meridian of Greenwich to the Gulf of Mexico
                    lines that more or less
reflect our idiosyncrasy

there are also very large maps
                    in the imagination
and infinite terrestrial globes

but today I guess that on very
          small map
the smallest
drawn on notebook paper
          all of history can fit

Happy Thursday all.

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

NPM 4-25: Poem About My Rights

Today I'm sharing a poem by June Jordan, the daughter of Jamaican immigrants born in Harlem in 1936. I have just learned about her and her writing and am humbled by it. You can read more about her at the Poetry Foundation.

Poem about My Rights

Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear
my head about this poem about why I can’t
go out without changing my clothes my shoes
my body posture my gender identity my age
my status as a woman alone in the evening/
alone on the streets/alone not being the point/
the point being that I can’t do what I want
to do with my own body because I am the wrong
sex the wrong age the wrong skin and
suppose it was not here in the city but down on the beach/
or far into the woods and I wanted to go
there by myself thinking about God/or thinking
about children or thinking about the world/all of it
disclosed by the stars and the silence:
I could not go and I could not think and I could not
stay there
as I need to be
alone because I can’t do what I want to do with my own
body and
who in the hell set things up
like this

Read the poem in its entirety.

Happy Wednesday all.

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

NPM 4-24: Maps

Today I'm sharing a poem by Yesenia Montilla.


For Marcelo

Some maps have blue borders
like the blue of your name
or the tributary lacing of
veins running through your
father’s hands. & how the last
time I saw you, you held
me for so long I saw whole
lifetimes flooding by me
small tentacles reaching
for both our faces. I wish
maps would be without
borders & that we belonged
to no one & to everyone
at once, what a world that
would be. Or not a world
maybe we would call it
something more intrinsic
like forgiving or something
simplistic like river or dirt.
& if I were to see you
tomorrow & everyone you
came from had disappeared
I would weep with you & drown
out any black lines that this
earth allowed us to give it—
because what is a map but
a useless prison? We are all
so lost & no naming of blank
spaces can save us. & what
is a map but the delusion of
safety? The line drawn is always
in the sand & folds on itself
before we’re done making it.
& that line, there, south of
el rio, how it dares to cover
up the bodies, as though we
would forget who died there
& for what? As if we could
forget that if you spin a globe
& stop it with your finger
you’ll land it on top of someone
living, someone who was not
expecting to be crushed by thirst—

This poem was first published in Poem-a-Day on March 28, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

Happy Tuesday all!

Monday, April 23, 2018

NPM 4-23: Names

Spoken word poetry sometimes brings me to my knees. Watch this video of Rachel Rostad reciting her poem Names during the 2013 National Poetry Slam.

You can read the poem in full at Verse. Here is a short excerpt.
When you find, say, an injured bird in your backyard, and you wanna to nurse it back to health and release it back into the wild, they tell you not to name it. If you name something, it becomes a someone. It makes it harder to give it up. 
When my parents named me Rachel, it was a prayer for everything they wanted me to be: American. 
Sometimes I’m glad my first name is as apple pie and baseball as Rachel. But also kinda not. 
How your ancestors had a different name stepping off of Ellis Island than when they stepped on. 
The pros and cons of taking your husband’s last name as your own. 
The pros and cons of accepting a diagnosis. 
Some say written language is only the bad translation of spoken. 
You cannot read a speech and see the speaker. 
You cannot read sheet music and hear the song. 
When the very first word was written down, something must have been lost. 
When my parents renamed me “Rachel,” something must have been lost.

Happy Monday all.

Sunday, April 22, 2018

NPM 4-22: Pinning Down

Today I'm sharing a poem by Jill Peláez Baumgartner, a Professor of English and the Dean of Humanities and Theological Studies at Wheaton College.

Pinning Down

My names, a drunkenness of vowels,
l’s, ümlauts, a mélange of ancestries,
diacritics, an unreasonable stretch
of signature, this seven-syllable
amalgam, this roughhouse of families,
this farrago of Spanish, English,
German, this gallimaufry
of tree gardener, medieval shrew,
Pelayo’s son, this rummage
sale of dactyl and anapest.

This, what I announce near the titles
of poems or at their endings,
on office door and syllabus,
name tags squeezing it into the exquisite
particularity of syllables.

To be envied: the orderly
timbre of Mary Smith
and its portable anonymity.

But here, now,
inextricably attached,
I stumble after, as my names,
roughshod, wheelless,
go galumphing on,
vowel-net unfurled,
all of my consonants pushing ahead
like a lopsided cow catcher.

Happy Sunday all.

Saturday, April 21, 2018

NPM 4-21: Valentine for Ernest Mann

Today I'll be walking all over downtown Richmond as part of the 2018 RVA Taco Crawl. Since I'll be eating tacos at 7 different restaurants, it will be good to walk a bit between bites.

Whenever I hear the word taco, I can't help but think of Naomi Shihab Nye and her poem Valentine for Ernest Mann.
You can read it at

Happy Saturday all.

Friday, April 20, 2018

NPM 4-20: Poems by Izumi Shikibu

Today I'm sharing 2 poems by Izumi Shikibu, a Japanese poet who lived more than a thousand years ago. You can learn a bit more about her at the Poetry Foundation.

From darkness
On a shadowed path
I must make my way;
Let it faintly shine,
The moon upon the mountain’s edge.

Varied are
The feelings in my heart
Soaking are my sleeves.

You can read more of her poems at Waka Poetry.

I  do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference. Happy poetry Friday friends.

Thursday, April 19, 2018

NPM 4-19: Poem of the One World

Today I'm sharing a bit of Mary Oliver.

Poem of the One World

This morning
the beautiful white heron
was floating along above the water

and then into the sky of this
the one world

we all belong to

where everything

sooner or later

is a part of everything else

which thought made me feel

for a little while
quite beautiful myself.

Happy Thursday all.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

NPM 4-18: Invictus

I love this recitation.

Here's the poem.

by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.

Happy Wednesday all.

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

NPM 4-17: The More Loving One

Today I'm sharing a poem by W. H. Auden, a poet I might never have read were it not for the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral. (You can see an excerpt here.)

The More Loving One

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

Happy Tuesday all.

Monday, April 16, 2018

NPM 4-16: Lord, the air smells good ...

Today I'm sharing a poem by Rumi.

Lord, the air smells good today,
straight from the mysteries
within the inner courts of God.
A grace like new clothes thrown
across the garden, free medicine for everybody.
The trees in their prayer, the birds in praise,
the first blue violets kneeling.
Whatever came from Being is caught up in being, drunkenly
forgetting the way back.

Happy Monday all.

Sunday, April 15, 2018

NPM 4-15: Ode to Ironing

Today I'm sharing a poem by Pablo Neruda.

Ode to Ironing

Poetry is white:
it comes from the water covered with drops,
it wrinkles and piles up,
the skin of this planet must be stretched,
the sea of its whiteness must be ironed,
and the hands move and move,
the holy surfaces are smoothed out,
and that is how things are made:
hands make the world each day,
fire becomes one with steel,
linen, canvas, and cotton arrive
from the combat of the laundries,
and out of light a dove is born:
chastity returns from the foam.

Happy Sunday all.

Saturday, April 14, 2018

NPM 4-14: Marathon

I'm not running a marathon, but a 10K today. This poem seemed fitting.

by E. Ethelbert Miller

it’s a strange time which finds me jogging
in early morning
the deadness of sleep alive in this world
the empty parks filled with unloved strangers
buildings grey with solitude
now near the end of another decade
i am witness to the loss of my twenties
a promise invisible
i run without purpose
far from the north star
i run with the sound of barking dogs closing in
i have lost count of the miles
i am older and nothing much matters
or has changed

Happy Saturday all.

Friday, April 13, 2018

NPM 4-13 and Poetry Friday: This One's for Lee

How do you honor someone who's heart and soul breathes poetry?

Today the inimitable Lee Bennett Hopkins is celebrating a birthday. This then, is the perfect day to celebrate all he has done and continues to do to commend, nurture and expand the world of children's poetry. While he is a noted poet and prized anthologist, Lee does so much more for children's poetry. Lee founded the Lee Bennett Hopkins Poetry Award, an award presented annually to an American poet or anthologist for the most outstanding new book of children's poetry published in the previous calendar year. Since its inception in 1993, the winning poet or anthologist has received a plaque and honorarium made possible through Lee's generosity. You'll also find his name attached to the ILA Lee Bennett Hopkins Promising Poet Award, which is given every three years to a promising new poet of children’s poetry (for children and young adults up to grade 12).

I first "met" Lee when I began my career as a classroom teacher and read a number of his articles in professional journals and publications for teachers. Now, I was not teaching elementary students or an English Language Arts teacher, but I saw great connections between poetry and science, particularly in emphasizing the skill of observation. My first poetry purchases for the classroom were the two anthologies pictured below.
In 2009 I was honored to interview Lee for my Poetry Makers series. I finally had the pleasure of meeting him in person in 2010 at the NCTE conference in Orlando. He was smart and funny and just plain lovely.

I can't say enough about his generosity of spirit, his mentoring and tireless efforts on behalf of poets both new and experienced, and his boundless enthusiasm for poetry as a medium to touch the hearts and lives of children.

On this special day, here's a short poem for Lee.

How do you honor
an icon? With poetry
crafted in love.

With much gratitude and so much love for who you are, what you do, and what you stand for, I send you the fondest birthday wishes.

I  do hope you'll take some time to check out the other birthday wishes and all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Robin at Life on the Deckle Edge. Happy poetry Friday friends.

Thursday, April 12, 2018

NPM 4-12: So Much Happiness

Today I'm sharing a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye.

So Much Happiness

It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to
pick up,
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs
or change.

But happiness floats.
It doesn’t need you to hold it down.
It doesn’t need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
and now live over a quarry of noise and dust
cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
it too could wake up filled with possibilities
of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
and love even the floor which needs to be swept,
the soiled linens and scratched records…

Since there is no place large enough
to contain so much happiness,
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it,
and in that way, be known.

Happy Thursday all.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

NPM 4-11: You See I Want a Lot

Today I'm sharing a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke.

You See I Want a Lot

You see, I want a lot.
Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shivering blaze of every step up.

So many live on and want nothing,
and are raised to the rank of prince
by the slippery ease of their light judgments.

But what you see are faces
that do work and feel thirst.

You love most of all those who need you
as they need a crowbar or a hoe.

You have not grown old, and it is not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret.

Happy Wednesday all.

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

NPM 4-10: When I Am Among the Trees

I've been listening to (in yin) and reading quite a bit of Mary Oliver these days. Today I'm sharing one of her poems.

When I Am Among the Trees
by Mary Oliver

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
 but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

Happy Tuesday all.

Monday, April 09, 2018

NPM 4-9: Lilacs

When I was growing up, we had purple and while lilac bushes in the yard. The city held a Lilac Festival every year. I adored lilacs. When I moved to Virginia, I learned that Wisteria is a shoddy substitute. Since I've just returned from a trip to Rochester (a snowy one!), I have lilacs on my mind.

Today I'm sharing an excerpt from a poem by Amy Lowell.

False blue,
Color of lilac.
Heart-leaves of lilac all over New England,
Roots of lilac under all the soil of New England,
Lilac in me because I am New England,
Because my roots are in it,
Because my leaves are of it,
Because my flowers are for it,
Because it is my country
And I speak to it of itself
And sing of it with my own voice
Since certainly it is mine.

Read the poem in its entirety.

Happy Monday all.

Sunday, April 08, 2018

NPM 4-8: When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d

Today I'm sharing an excerpt from the poem When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d by Walt Whitman.

Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird, 
Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes, 
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines. 

Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song, 
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. 

O liquid and free and tender! 
O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer! 
You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,) 
Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me. 

Happy Sunday all.

Saturday, April 07, 2018

NPM 4-7: Highway 90

I've been reading essays on poetry, most recently The Art of Finding by Linda Gregg. Today I'm sharing on of her poems.

Highway 90

An owl lands on the side
of the road. Turns its head
to look at me going fast,
window open to the night
on the desert. Clean air,
and the great stars.
I’m trying to decide
if this is what I want.

“Highway 90” by Linda Gregg from In the Middle Distance, Graywolf Press.

Happy Saturday all.

Friday, April 06, 2018

Poetry Sisters Write to a Bishop Line

The challenge this month was to take one line from the poem One Art by Elizabeth Bishop and use it as a line in a new poem.

Since I have a 10K coming up in a week, running has been on my mind. In an effort to lift my spirits when I go out for longer runs, I've been wearing pigtails. Can you imagine it? A 50-something in pigtails? It makes me giggle a little when I see my shadow and seems to make the miles just a bit more fun. If you've been on Facebook you've seen the pictures. Since one of our group is not on Facebook (ahem!), I've posted it here for her viewing pleasure.
Here's the poem I wrote to the line "Then practice losing farther, losing faster." This poem couldn't decide if it wanted to be angsty or funny, so it has a bit of a split personality, but it was a good place to start my writing and thinking.

I Am A Runner
Running is my morning prayer.
A meditation on the moment,
in the silence of waking dawn,
the beauty of the world unfolds
while I sweat, ache, and complain.
I do it, but often (usually) hate it.

I don’t run to win.
There won’t be a race I’ll finish
anywhere near the front.
Hills, water stops, a stray wisp of hair,
the need to constantly adjust my shorts,
slow me down.

I suppose this practice
(losing farther, losing faster),
only serves to push me forward,
keeps me putting one expensive shoe
in front of the other.

Running is about faith -
Faith in my feet
Faith in the uneven road
Faith that I’ll get out of bed
Faith that I’ll start
because once I'm in the race,
there's nothing to do but

After I got this one under my belt, I felt like I needed something more "serious." I ended up with a list poem that kept changing. Since these exercises are all about getting poems out in the world, I'm finally setting this one free, even though it doesn't actually feel finished. It actually needs some sort of lamentation at the end, but I'm just not sure what that is yet. Here's what I've written so far using the line "of lost door keys, the hour badly spent." You'll notice that in this poem and the one above, I didn't exactly stick to the selected line.

Lamentation for Things Lost

lost jobs, beloved colleagues
books lent and not returned

lost pets, time to myself
the pleasure of quiet spaces

lost door keys, hours badly spent
real money in loose change

lost oaks and pines, the Monopoly dog,
the sound of my father's voice

lost innocence, idealism
a favorite president

lost hope (every now and then)
the ability not to care

Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. All rights reserved.

You can read the pieces written 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 today by Amy at The Poem Farm. Happy poetry Friday friends.

Thursday, April 05, 2018

NPM 4-5: Keeping Things Whole

Today I am sharing a poem by Mark Strand.

Keeping Things Whole

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.

“Keeping Things Whole” by Mark Strand from Selected Poems, Alfred A. Knopf.

Happy Thursday all.

Wednesday, April 04, 2018

NPM 4-4: The Peace of Wild Things

Today I'm sharing a poem by Wendell Berry. Give a listen.

The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Happy Wednesday all.

Tuesday, April 03, 2018

NPM 4-3: A Map to the Next World

Today I'm sharing an excerpt from the poem A Map to the Next World by Joy Harjo.
You will see red cliffs. They are the heart, contain the ladder. 
A white deer will greet you when the last human climbs from the
Remember the hole of shame marking the act of abandoning our
tribal grounds. 
We were never perfect. 
Yet, the journey we make together is perfect on this earth who was
once a star and made the same mistakes as humans. 
We might make them again, she said. 
Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end. 
You must make your own map.
Read the poem in its entirety.

Happy Tuesday all.

Monday, April 02, 2018

NPM 4-2: Sailing Into National Poetry Month

I am late to the party, having nothing planned for the month but to share poetry as it moves me.

Can two words be a poem? I'd like to think so. Yesterday at the sunrise Easter service, the sermon ended with the words "Joy wins." Those words ran through my mind all day and are still with me. I'm going to carry them for a while.

Today I'm sharing a poem Lucille Clifton.

blessing the boats
(at St. Mary’s)

may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back   may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that

“blessing the boats” Copyright © 2001 by Lucille Clifton from Quilting: Poems 1987-1990, BOA Editions, Ltd.

Happy Monday all.

Friday, March 02, 2018

Ekphrastic Poems With My Poetry Sisters

This month Liz offered up a photo as fodder for our poems. She took this at the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs, Colorado.
Photo ©Liz Garton Scanlon

I did a quick brainstorming exercise, but had a hard time getting away from "between a rock and a hard place." Eventually, the word wedge came to me, and I spent some time thinking about examples of wedges -- a Trivial Pursuit pie, summer sandals, a tool for splitting wood, and more. In the end, it wasn't the noun that moved me, but the verb.

On Learning Vocabulary
Research on vocabulary learning contends we need 12 to 20 meaningful exposures to learn a word (McKeown, Beck, Omanson, and Pople, 1985). These exposures are most effective if they appear over an extended period of time.
1. force into a narrow space
Age 3
That painful ear wasn’t
due to infection
but rather a small plastic toy
from the gumball machine
stuck where it didn’t belong

Age 4
No, my head wasn’t meant
to fit between the support
bars underneath the kitchen table

Age 5
Playing hide and seek
in the house
my favorite spot was
between the furnace and the wall

Age 7
When my older sister’s boyfriends
came to the house
I regularly charmed my way
into the space between them
on the couch

Age 11
First day of junior high
changing classes in a crowded hallway
turning sideways didn’t make it easier
to pass, but flying elbows did

Age 16
The thrill of my first subway ride
accompanied by the terror
of bodies pressed on every side
wondering how I'll ever get out

Age 17
First time on a plane
Continental airlines flight
from Buffalo to San Francisco
middle seat between two smokers

Age 19
Friday night dance lessons
female cadets in dress blues lined the wall
surrounded by Conn College coeds
in beautiful civilian clothes

Age 20
Before you set sail you learn
that you can't turn around in the head
or sit up in the bunk

Age 22
Raised voices, fists flying
trying to separate two eighth grade boys
close enough to both
to feel the spit and tears

Age 25
It's an interesting dance
trying to fit into too small
clothes - that dress, those jeans

Age 35
Eight months pregnant
stubbornly trying to thread the gap
in public spaces I clearly wasn't meant
to navigate

Age 52
Preparing dinner
Cooper jams his head
between my legs and the counter
hoping for some scraps

Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2018. All rights reserved.

You can read the pieces written 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 today by Renee at No Water River. Happy poetry Friday friends.