Poetry Friday: "On Days Like This" by Rudy Francisco

from Button Poetry 

My youngest daughter introduced me to Rudy Francisco.
And I ask you: What would we do without daughters? 
Without poets?
Without the beauty of the spoken word? 

"Being human is difficult. 

Being a good human is even harder. 

But it's still something I would like to accomplish." 

~ Rudy Francisco 

Here's Rudy Francisco, sharing "On Days Like This":   

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Jill Dailey has the Poetry Friday round-up today. 

Poetry Friday: "I love you. I'm glad I exist." (Wendy Cope's "The Orange")

The Orange
by Wendy Cope 

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange –
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave –
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do

....

(Read the last few lines and/or hear the poem read aloud here.) 

Wendy Cope talks (only a wee bit) about the origins of the poem here. 

and now I want the pin.

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The Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted this week by Michelle Kogan. 

Photo courtesy of Pixabay. 

Poetry Friday: "A Dangerous Adventure" by James Tate

I was cleaning out files yesterday and found a typed copy of James Tate's poem, "A Dangerous Adventure." I had forgotten about this poem, and that's astonishing because who could forget a poem that begins:

The woman I love is typing in a nearby room.

Clippity clippity clippity clippity, then silence.

Today I went hunting for it online because now it had to be my Poetry Friday pick. (He had me at clippity.) It was a bit of a scavenger hunt, with my first search result landing on a page that told me this: 

Wait. Full Poem Text Available at ...  Jama's blog?! Perfect. I headed over there. 

The post from Jama, written in 2009, began like this: 

Ummm, if it hadn't already been obvious that I needed to share the Tate poem, this coincidence clinched it. I mean, really, friends. Marvel with me. I randomly stumble on a poem in my files, follow a bread crumb trail, am led to a Poetry Friday friend's post — FROM 2009  — that specifically refers back to a post of mine ... and to TODAY'S POETRY FRIDAY HOST, TRICIA (yes, I'm screaming) and I'm NOT gonna share about it? 

Well, of course I am. 

And at the same time, please marvel with me at the beauty and endurance of this Poetry Friday community. I've been on this ride with you all for nearly twenty years. We post, we read, we share, we comment, we forget who-posted-what-or-when and it's all good because it's all about poetry and friends. The people of Poetry Friday are typing in nearby rooms — clippity, clippity, clippity, clippity — and I love every single one of you. 

A Dangerous Adventure 

by James Tate 

The woman I love is typing in a nearby room.

Clippity clippity clippity clippity, then silence.

She’s thinking, like a jaguar, or a dagger.

Words but more than words. Currents, hairpin

turns. It’s scary but exciting. It’s like dancing

on a precipice or sleeping under a waterfall.

She doesn’t know the way home but she’s running

and leaping over chasms in the earth, and she’s singing too,

in a foreign language she’s never heard spoken.

But the melody is one I’ve known all my life.

....

(Read the rest here, at Jama's blog, and kindly applaud 

her husband Len for his forever-support of a wife 

who types in a nearby room.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round-up this week is being hosted (of course) by Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.

Poetry Friday: A.E. Stallings

This poem struck me because it touches on two things I've thought about high school: 

1. Those days so far removed from the person I am now that they may as well have occurred in the Mesozoic Era. 

2. There are white-hot memories I can call up in a matter of seconds. 

Life, it seems, is a series of eras, periods, and ages that are constantly shifting, rearranging, being integrated, and viewed anew. 

This is such a good poem, and the final line is a killer.  

Written on the eve of my 20th high school reunion, 

which I was not able to attend

by A.E. Stallings 

    For the Briarcliff High School class of 1986


Just what I needed,
Just when the dreams had almost totally receded,

The dreams of roles for which I learned no lines and knew no cues,
Dreams of pop quizzes with no pants on and no shoes,

Just when I understood I was no longer among
Those ephemeral immortals, the gauche and pitiable young,

Suddenly come phone calls, messages sift out of the air
To ask who will be there:

Names I haven't given a thought to in a score
(A score!) of years, and names I used to think about but don't much anymore,

And those I think of all the time and yet
Have lost somehow like keys to doors I've closed, and some I have tried to forget—

....

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

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The Poetry Friday round-up is hosted this week by Buffy Silverman.

Photo courtesy of elizabethaferry at Pixabay. 

Poetry Friday: Get a word in Edgewise with Linda Mitchell

 I didn't get a poetry post done this week, so how about a few words on writing? 

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” ― William Wordsworth

“Tears are words that need to be written.” ― Paulo Coelho

“If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.” 

― Toni Morrison

“You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.” 

― Madeleine L'Engle

“Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.” ― Picasso

“Write what should not be forgotten.” ― Isabel Allende

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Visit Linda Mitchell at Another Word Edgewise for the Poetry Friday round-up this week. 

Photo courtesy of Tama66 at Pixabay.

Poetry Friday: "Dharma" by Billy Collins

 

Photo courtesy of Tati Hilabi, Pixabay. 

Monday morning, while walking and listening to Sad Boy Noah Kahan, I met the handsomest boy, who wasn't sad at all. I asked his person what his name was. Jake! It was Jake. A perfect name for a lumbering, retriever-y, labradorian-kinda guy with a thick, coppery coat and sprays of gray on his aging, distinguished cheeks. Jake and I immediately became best friends. I'd invite Jake over to spend some time together, but I didn't catch his last name, and it would be awkward to invite him and ignore his person (which I would totally do.) 

Who was walking Jake anyway? A man, a woman? A robot? Who knows, who cares? My relationship is solely with Jake, who made me think of "Dharma" by Billy Collins. I think Jake would like this poem, good, handsome, not-sad boy that he is. 

{Postscript: Do I need to get another dog?} 

{{Post-postscript: Maisy would say no, no. Most definitely, decidedly not. Do not mess around with her current lifestyle.}} 

Dharma 

by Billy Collins 

The way the dog trots out the front door

every morning

without a hat or an umbrella,

without any money

or the keys to her dog house

never fails to fill the saucer of my heart

with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example

of a life without encumbrance—

Thoreau in his curtainless hut

with a single plate, a single spoon?

Ghandi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off she goes into the material world

with nothing but her brown coat

and her modest blue collar,

....

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

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The Poetry Friday round-up this week is being hosted by Mona Voelkel. 

Poetry Friday: “Spring is like a perhaps hand” by e.e. cummings

It’s been a busy week and although I did write a handful of new poems (thanks, April Halprin Wayland, for a delightfully productive class on Wednesday!), they aren’t ready to see the light of day. So, instead, I give you … 

… Another spring poem! 

This one is from the incomparably weird and sometimes wonderful e.e. cummings: 

Spring is like a perhaps hand

by e.e. cummings 

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare arranging and changing placing

carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

…. (Read the rest here, at Poets.org.)

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The Poetry Friday round-up this week is being hosted by the lovely and talented Cathy Stenquist. 

Photo courtesy of Pixabay. 

Poetry Friday: “A Light Exists in Spring” by Emily Dickinson

Nothing new to report here, other than this: I love springtime. 

So, I think, did dear Emily, in her beautiful, melancholy way: 

A Light exists in Spring

by Emily Dickinson

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period-
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay-

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.

~~~~~~~~~~

Rose Cappelli is hosting the Poetry Friday round-up today. Thank you, Rose! 

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.

Poetry Friday: “Impressions” — An Ekphrastic

Last month, Tanita Davis shared the latest challenge from the Poetry Pals: 

Here’s the scoop: we’re writing ekphrastic poems, which might pair beautifully with your plans for National Poetry Month (I’m attempting poetry comics). Ekphrasis is a Greek word which means “description,” and you’re invited to choose your own image from anywhere – personal pictures or otherwise. Are you in? Good! You’ll have the month to craft your creation and share it April 24th in a blog post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. We hope you’ll play along!

Oooh, I love an ekphrastic. Even so, I put this assignment off until this week because … well, because that’s how I roll. Image choice was WIDE open, so I had trouble narrowing it down. Then yesterday, out of the blue, this one — A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte by Georges Seurat — came to mind. 

I realized I’ve never thought much about the people depicted in this painting. I’ve assumed they're an ordinary assortment of urbanites enjoying a day by the water. It turns out there's other speculation about them too. I found several commentaries that remarked on this idea: 

There has been scholarly debate as to why Seurat included certain motifs in the painting, possibly alluding to prostitution that took place on the island, where clients would meet. Two notable motifs include the woman to the left with the fishing rod and the woman to the right with the monkey.

The fishing rod could be suggestive of the idea of “fishing” for a possible desirable woman or that the prostitutes fished for prospective clients. The female monkey’s name in French was singesse, which was also a term utilized for prostitutes. The woman on the right could be with a client.

                                                     — from Art in Context

Who knew? 

On the other hand, given that women are routinely misjudged, unfairly labeled, frequently stereotyped, presumed upon, lied about, and otherwise wronged and maligned, the idea/poem/twist that came to me was this:   

Impressions  

(after A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte) 

People always have their opinions. 

Some of you eye us and think,
“Ah, another Sunday in the park 

with George.” 

But also? 

Many look askance. 

They assign a seedy motive

to my sister’s fishing expedition. 

Presume my pet monkey 

means I am a woman 

of questionable character. 

But perhaps I just love animals? 

Why has no one asserted 

or assumed that 

my predominant thoughts are these: 
"This fabric does not breathe. 

I’m ready to go. 

I hate this stupid bustle. 

It's hitting the floor the minute 

my monkey and I get home.” 

    — Karen Edmisten 

~~~~~~~~~~

The Queen of Ekphrastics — visit her entire “ArtSpeak” series here —

 Irene Latham, has the Poetry Friday round up this week. 

Progressive Poem is here! (Day 22)

"The Land of Poetry" — created by Tabatha Yeatts (place names added by Donna and Heidi)

It's my first year participating in the Progressive Poem, and I'm happy to add Line 22 to this delightful work in progress. 

What's the Progressive Poem? Thanks to Linda Baie at TeacherDance, we have this succinct summary:

It began with Irene Latham, who hosted it from 2012-2019. Those archives of the poem can be found HERE! Margaret Simon took over in 2020, and those archives are HERE!

Here are the rules:

The poem passes from blog to blog.

Each poet/blogger adds a line.

The poem is for children.

Each blogger copies the previous line exactly as written, unless permission from that poet has been given. They then add their own line, offering an introduction if they wish.

So today I’m following Irene’s lead. She said, "It seems time to bring it back around to the speaker of our poem...how is she feeling now, after listening to the birds? What will she DO?” 

Let’s find out! Here's the poem so far, with my line added in bold: 

The Land of Poetry

On my first trip to the Land of Poetry,
I saw anthologies of every color, tall as buildings.
A world of words, wonder on wings, waiting just for me!
Birding for words shimmering, flecked in golden gilding.

Binoculars ready, I toured boulevards and side streets,
exploring vibrant verses, verses so honest and tender.
feathery lyrics, bright flitting avian athletes
soaring ‘cross pages in rhythmic splendor.

In the Land of Poetry, I am the conductor,
seeking oodles of poems that tug at my heart,
a musical medley of sound and structure,
An open mic in Frost Forest! Wonder who’ll take part?

There’s a pause in the program; no one takes the stage
the trees quiver, the audience looks up. Raven lands,
singing Earth’s message of the sage.
“Poetry in motion will be forevermore, from forests to sands.”

“Scatter,” she croaked. “Beyond Wilde Pond, to each and every beach.”
Meek Dove mustered courage and sang, “Instill humanity with compassion and peace.
Let Thackeray’s middle name, from this thicket, hearts reach!”
Her gentle coo-ooo-ooos reverberate, soft as fleece.

Words dart, dimple—Do I dare warble what's in my soul?

I’ve inhaled inspiration…yes, I’ll risk my refrain. 

~~~~~

The fabulous Heidi Mordhorst is up next with Day 23! 

And here’s a full list of this year’s contributors. Tabatha launched us into the Land of Poetry with Line 1, and she’ll bring us full circle on April 28:

April 1 Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference
April 2 Cathy Stenquist at A Little Bit of This and That
April 3 Patricia Franz at Reverie
April 4 Donna Smith at Mainely Write
April 5 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
April 6 Denise Krebs at Dare to Care
April 7 Ruth Hersey at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town
April 8 Rose Cappelli at Imagine the Possibilities 
April 9 Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche
April 10 Janet Clare Fagel at Reflections on the Teche
April 11 Diane Davis at Starting Again in Poetry 
April 12 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
April 13 Linda Mitchell at Another Word Edgewise
April 14 Jone MacCulloch at 
April 15 Joyce Uglow at Storied Ink
April 16 Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Link
April 17 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 18 Michele Kogan at More Art for All
April 19 Kim Johnson at Common Threads
April 20 Buffy Silverman
April 21 Irene Latham at Live Your Poem
April 22 Karen Edmisten
April 23 Heidi Mordhorst at my juicy little universe 
April 24 Mary Lee Hahn at A(nother) Year of Reading
April 25 Tanita Davis at Fiction, instead of Lies
April 26 Sharon Roy at Pedaling Poet
April 27 Tracey Kiff-Judson at Tangles and Tails
April 28 Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference