Poetry Friday: James Crews, via George Bilgere, via Poetry Town (with a word about Hamnet)

I usually get a Poetry Friday post put together on Thursday afternoon, but yesterday I was too busy weeping. I saw Hamnet for the second time in a week — Saturday with my daughter, yesterday with Atticus. It's possibly one of the most beautiful films I’ve ever seen. Reviewers who are calling it “emotionally manipulative” (and worse) are (in my not-so-subtle opinion) callous, jaded, and ridiculous. Have you ever lost a child? Have you ever felt deep, raw, uncaged grief? No? Then go write about something else. Review a different kind of movie. Or maybe, instead of cranking out reviews, go create something yourself. There’s a challenge for you.

(Do I sound salty? Yes, yes, I do. Perhaps my patience is wearing thin these days.) 

Hamnet is a mesmerizing, two-hour meditation on love and grief, love and forgiveness, love and the power of art. If it’s not your thing, that’s fine, but don’t call it “grief p*rn,” which is an idiotic expression and an idiotic way to characterize a sensitive, serious film about one of the most horrific losses a couple can endure. 

We now return to our regularly scheduled Poetry Friday post. 

I had nothing ready for Poetry Friday, but this morning George Bilgere came to my rescue again. I have enjoyed Bilgere’s work for a long time, but in the summer of 2024 I found him in his latest habitat: Poetry Town. If you haven’t checked it out yet, run, do not walk, over there. Now! 

Today’s Poetry Town pick is from the marvelous James Crews. In October, I participated in a four-week (four Zoom meetings over consecutive Fridays) workshop with Crews called “Turning Toward Grief.” Each week featured a conversation between James and another poet (Bilgere was one, along with Naomi Shihab Nye, January Gill O’Neil, and Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer), followed by writing prompts from James. It was sublime. 

Today, I invite you to enjoy the awe that James describes, inspires and encourages in this poem. Then, run, do not walk, over to his website to sign up for his beautiful newsletter, “The Weekly Pause.” Now! 

Awe

by James Crews

It’s a shiver that climbs the trellis
of the spine, each tingle a bright white
morning glory breaking into blossom
beneath the skin. It can happen anywhere,
anytime, even finding this sleeve of ice
worn by a branch all morning, now fallen

….

(Read the rest here, at George Bilgere’s Poetry Town.) 

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Amy Ludwig VanDerwater is hosting the Poetry Friday round-up today at The Poem Farm. 

Photo courtesy of Ilona Burschl at Pixabay. 

“When Giving is All We Have” by Alberto Ríos (and finally settled on my Word of the Year)

A beautiful poem from Alberto Ríos, who says:

This is a poem of thanks to those who live lives of service, which, I think, includes all of us—from the large measure to the smallest gesture, from care-giving to volunteerism to being an audience member or a reader. 

When Giving Is All We Have
by Alberto Ríos

                One river gives
                Its journey to the next.


We give because someone gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,
We have been wounded by it—

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,

….

(Read the rest here, at Poets.org.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Which brings me to finally settling on a word for 2026. 

“Word of the Year” … “One Little Word” … whatever we want to call it. I like to do this, but I’m not always consistent. In 2024, I chose the word “Hope,” because hope was much-needed that year. Last year (after waaaaaay overthinking it) I chose the word “Create” (also much-needed, immensely-overthought, and ultimately overstuffed with goals I didn’t live up to as I'd hoped or envisioned. Maybe I should have chosen a phrase instead of word: “Hope to create and stop overthinking.”) 

Anyway. This year, I dithered for a while but eventually landed on: 

“Giving” (as Alberto Ríos presents it) and “engagement" aren’t exactly the same thing, but they're affectionate sisters. 

I am striving to engage with intentionality in the areas of life that are most important to me, and to let go of the things that sap my energy. I want to engage (begin to, continue to, or expand on previous engagement) in a variety of ways: 

Socially and politically (read: “Advocacy for human dignity and basic human decency, and the same human rights for all people everywhere.” It should be so simple. Why is it not?) 

Professionally (read: I want more accountability and formal community for my writing … Poetry! Picture Book Aspirations! All the Things!) 

Family: (read: We’re already a close family, but a busy one. I want more regularly scheduled get-togethers and dinners. Hear that, grown-up kids? I’m comin' for ya.) 

I know this doesn’t cover all the bases, and my thoughts on Engagement in 2026 will keep developing, but it's a start. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference is hosting this week’s Poetry Friday round-up. 

Poetry Friday: "The Before Picture" by Maggie Smith

I'm with Maggie Smith — my relationship with progress is complicated. But what's the alternative? It is always, as she says in the final line, "now again." 

(Do you ever want to say, "Stop the world, I want to get off"? Me too.) 

Let's keep trying to turn our Before Pictures, the ones that embody the best of us, into now, into the future. And into poetry, compassion, love for our fellow human beings, and justice. 

The time is now. 

The Before Picture

by Maggie Smith 

It’s complicated, my relationship status
with progress. I often prefer

the “before” picture. The future
is where I’m going only because

I have no choice, because time

....

(Read the rest here, at the Poetry Foundation.) 

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The Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted this week by Jan at Bookseed Studio. 

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.

Poetry Friday: “What Can I Say?” by Mary Oliver

It’s hard to know what to say about our country and the world in 2026. I’m repeatedly struck dumb, horrified, paralyzed by the worst of situations, events, governance. What can we say that we haven’t said before? Why are so many not listening? And why are those who have the power and responsibility to do something doing nothing? 

What can I say? I’m figuring that out on a daily basis, and in the meantime, I often turn to poets and peacemakers like Mary Oliver. (Thanks to my youngest daughter for bringing this one to my attention.) 

What Can I Say 

by Mary Oliver 

What can I say that I have not said before?
So I’ll say it again.
The leaf has a song in it.
Stone is the face of patience.
Inside the river there is an unfinishable story
and you are somewhere in it
and it will never end until all ends.

Take your busy heart to the art museum and the
chamber of commerce
but take it also to the forest.

….

(Read the rest here.) 

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The Poetry Friday round-up this week is being hosted by Ruth at There is No Such Thing as a God-forsaken Town. 

Photo courtesy of Pixabay and Nordseher. 

Poetry Friday: New Year's Morning by Helen Hunt Jackson

Here's a marvelous poem from Helen Hunt Jackson who was born in 1830 in my home state* of Massachusetts. She was a poet, writer, and activist for Indigenous Americans. She often published anonymously under the names H.H., Rip van Winkle, or Saxe Holm. In 1985, a hundred years after her death, she was inducted into the Colorado Women's Hall of Fame. (Well, it takes us a while to catch up with women and their accomplishments, doesn't it?) 

I especially love these lines: 

The Old Year's heart all weary grew,
But said: "The New Year rest has brought."
The Old Year's hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but, trusting, said:
"The blossoms of the New Year's crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead."

May we go into 2026 trusting in the new year's crown, that it will bloom from the ashes of 2025. 

New Year's Morning
by Helen Hunt Jackson

Only a night from old to new!
Only a night, and so much wrought!
The Old Year's heart all weary grew,
But said: "The New Year rest has brought."
The Old Year's hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but, trusting, said:
"The blossoms of the New Year's crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead."
The Old Year's heart was full of greed;
With selfishness it longed and ached,
And cried: "I have not half I need.
My thirst is bitter and unslaked.
But to the New Year's generous hand
All gifts in plenty shall return;
True love it shall understand;
By all my failures it shall learn.
I have been reckless; it shall be
Quiet and calm and pure of life.
I was a slave; it shall go free,
And find sweet peace where I leave strife."
Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.

Always a night from old to new!
Night and the healing balm of sleep!
Each morn is New Year's morn come true,
Morn of a festival to keep.
All nights are sacred nights to make
Confession and resolve and prayer;
All days are sacred days to wake
New gladness in the sunny air.
Only a night from old to new;
Only a sleep from night to morn.
The new is but the old come true;
Each sunrise sees a new year born.

(This poem is in the public domain.)

~~~~~

Catherine Flynn has the round-up at Reading to the Core.

* Sort of. We moved when I was three years old. I've lived everywhere from Alaska to Florida to the midwest but I still love that I was born on Cape Cod. When I close my eyes and think of them, I can still hear my grandparents' New England accents. 

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.