Spoken Word: a poem for Amber

Amber was taken from us way too soon.  She was a friend and colleague of mine, and I have had so many emotions around her murder that I have been re-visiting my poetic side to process things.

I shared this at one of her memorial services, and it apparently touched many.

Happy Poetry Month!

April is National Poetry Month!

It's high time I started doing some posting again, don't you think?  I doubt I have many (if any) readers left, but just for my own personal growth I am going to post again, perhaps.  You know, when the mood strikes.

Today, a poem by e.e. cummings:

you shall above all things be glad and young.
For if you're young, whatever life you wear 

it will become you; and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love 

whose any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on;and his mind take off time 

that you should ever think,may god forbid
and(in his mercy)your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge life,the foetal grave
called progress,and negation's dead undoom. 

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance

I love that final couplet.  It speaks to me in so many ways.    Do you have a favorite poem?  A favorite poet?  Do you write your own poems from time to time?

National Poetry Month

I'd like to pretend that I didn't write and post a poem yesterday for some deep, meaningful reason, but honestly I just didn't get around to it, even though it was my day off. So here is yesterday's extemporaneous poem:

4-1-11
I had a Princess Day
My sis and I did play
we had ice cream
like in a dream
and time was whiled away!


Today's poem:

4/2/11: haiku for you

serving the people
#Saturdaylibrarian
all day on the desk

Nikki Giovanni Poem

This poem was posted by PBS, and it has given me a lot to think about today. Would she remember her childhood with such fondness if she had never become famous and successful? Do the children I see every day have this kind of peace and joy in their lives? Should I respect that culture and no longer fight against the poverty that is pervading our society? I think it feels more like a challenge because she's made it more of a racial issue than a class issue. What do you all think?

Nikki-Rosa
by Nikki Giovanni

childhood remembrances are always a drag
if you're Black
you always remember things like living in Woodlawn
with no inside toilet
and if you become famous or something
they never talk about how happy you were to have
your mother
all to yourself and
how good the water felt when you got your bath
from one of those
big tubs that folk in chicago barbecue in
and somehow when you talk about home
it never gets across how much you
understood their feelings
as the whole family attended meetings about Hollydale
and even though you remember
your biographers never understand
your father's pain as he sells his stock
and another dream goes
And though you're poor it isn't poverty that
concerns you
and though they fought a lot
it isn't your father's drinking that makes any difference
but only that everybody is together and you
and your sister have happy birthdays and very good
Christmases
and I really hope no white person ever has cause
to write about me
because they never understand
Black love is Black wealth and they'll
probably talk about my hard childhood
and never understand that
all the while I was quite happy

Patriotic Poetry Friday

I won't comment on my health other than to say I feel crummy. Dratted sinuses.

In honor of Independence Day, I offer up a link to the poem "The Battle of Lexington" by Sidney Lanier. I like that it doesn't sugar-coat the bloodiness too much . . . but it is still romantic in an historical way.

Here's my favorite stanza:

Good men in fustian, stand ye still;
The men in red come o'er the hill.
Lay down your arms, damned Rebels! cry
The men in red full haughtily.
But never a grounding gun is heard;
The men in fustian stand unstirred;
Dead calm, save maybe a wise bluebird
Puts in his little heavenly word.

I can just imagine, men poised for battle and that calm before the chaos where you can hear a bird chirp.

Happy Fourth of July!

Back to Life

Well, I totally missed Poetry Friday again, but I just came across this great site, and I figure I need to share it. My friend, Megan sent the link to me for The Favorite Poem Project, and I finally took time this morning to look. It's really cool! Little embedded vids allow regular folks to talk about their favorite poems, how they've influenced their lives, and then the poem is there, in text and read by the person.

I found the vid about this poem to be particularly touching, and quite apropos for where I am right now in my physical recovery.

A Psalm of Life

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST
I Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

II Life is real—life is earnest—

And the grave is not its goal:
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

III Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destin'd end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

IV Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

V In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

VI
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act—act in the glorious Present!

Heart within, and God o'er head!

VII
Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time.

VIII
Footprints, that, perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

IX
Let us then be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

I feel like I've been slumbering a bit (although obviously not long enough this morning, because I was up at 4:30!), but, you know, in my life, because things have to be put on hold while one recovers from injury or illness. But I am glad to be back in the active world again, working and living and making my own footprints in the sand.

My sinuses are still dripping (more like the fateful call of The Raven by Poe, actually - drip, drip, drip, drip), but I'm back at work and doing well. The surgeon said Friday that he's thinking I might never need to have the knee replaced - isn't that cool? It's all healing so well! What a lovely bit of news, eh? Each time it seems more real! I have one more week of part-time work, and physical therapy is scheduled . . . and then he said to continue physical therapy as long as worker's comp will let me. I'm going to need to call my case worker Monday and see what the deal is on that!

Simon leaves for Scout Camp today (Mike will drive him out there), and we'll go retrieve him Saturday. He only has a few badges he's working on this time (in the past he's worked on 6 in a week), but one of them is Lifeguarding, which could eventually yield him some income - gasp!

A favorite Poem

It's poetry Friday again, and even though I don't always participate, it occured to me to today to share one of my favorite poems with you:

There Once Was a Puffin

Oh, there once was a Puffin
Just the shape of a muffin,
And he lived on an island
In the bright blue sea!

He ate little fishes,
That were most delicious,
And he had them for supper
And he had them for tea.

But this poor little Puffin,
He couldn't play nothin',
For he hadn't anybody
To play with at all.

So he sat on his island,
And he cried for awhile, and
He felt very lonely,
And he felt very small.

Then along came the fishes,
And they said, "If you wishes,
You can have us for playmates,
Instead of for tea!"

So they now play together,
In all sorts of weather,
And the Puffin eats pancakes,
Like you and like me.

by Florence Page Jaques

This has been published with delightful illustrations by Shari Halpern

Oops - poetry Friday a day late

And I'm only giving you a link, can you believe it?

No Strings Attached by Julie Lario

Gregory has been doing a new, fantastic poet each day of National Poetry Month, and I've enjoyed the whole series, but this one just made me happy to read. Hope you find some lovely happy verse this weekend!

Poetry Friday!

I posted a haiku on twitter to celebrate Poetry Friday:

Nice visit with friend
Sisters came to see me, too
Blessed with Fellowship


It's been a great day!

Poetry Friday!

Today, with the lovely Spring rains and the beautiful sunshine we've had, as well as the daffodils and crocus' blooming in my garden, I'm in such a thankful mood. Although I'm not using the original language in which it was written, and it has lost it's rhyme and meter, I will share a Psalm today, for Poetry Friday:

Psalm 116, verses 1-7
I love the Lord, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy.
Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live.

The cords of death entangled me, the anguish of the grave came upon me; I was overcome by trouble and sorrow.

Then I called on the name of the Lord: "O Lord, save me!"

The Lord is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion.
the Lord protects teh simple-hearted; when I was in great need, he saved me.

Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you.


Happy Poetry Friday, in this beautiful National Poetry Month!

Poetry Friday!

And to think I nearly missed another week of Poetry Friday!

Ok - I'm in the mood for some extemporaneous composition . . .


Our Day

A lovely day, the sun did shine
I spent it with my hubby, mine.
We saw the doc we had no shock
We had raw fish, bought yarn for socks.
And after traveling to and fro
I cut some fabric, had to sew.

I patched boy's pants, he gathered stuff
and off he went, to camping, rough.
Now Hubs and I are in the house
me in the chair, he on the couse.
We could go dancing, stay out late
but that is not our current fate.

dancing

Poetry Friday . .. a day late . . . and the vid following inspired me to write this:

I can't dance,
I won't take the chance
but that doesn't mean
I can't still be a smarty pants . . .


enjoy the vid:

Post-Op Playlist

Good Stuff:

• friends have been so kind - so encouraging - emails, FB notes, flowers, tweets - thank you all so much
• Hubby and Son are both wonderful, kind, loving, the best, really!
  
• surgery is done, bone is repaired (screws and a plate)
• pain is under control, as long as I don't move much
  
• got up already! can hobble across the room, even . .. with the walker
• my surgeon (a.k.a. Dr. Cajones) is fabbo
• the nurses and the assistants are all fantastic - excellent customer service from everyone so far
• my PT was way fun and inspiring and got me up and moving, Bless him
• this wifi at the hosp is amazing - what a blessing to be able to be online!
• good music through blip.fm (Chuck Mangione at the moment)
• sunshine coming in the window - looks beautiful!
• phone calls from Mom, sister, MIL . . . and friends - yay!
• new issue of Interweave Knits came in mail yesterday and DH brought it to me!
  

Bad Stuff:

• nearly all the ligaments in my knee are torn, and I will need more surgery once the bone is healed - maybe even a knee replacement
• pain still hurts - go figure
• I hate the way the pain meds affect my brain. . . but I guess that's the point of what they're supposed to do, right? Sigh
• our home still has no power - Mike and Si went to a hotel last night, and might need to hotel until Sunday!

Isn't it cool how the good stuff outweighs the bad? God is good.

Black ice, however, is evil. My buddy, JB, declares a word of the day on twitter every day, and today's word is EVIL. This inspired me to write the following poem for Friday, the day before Valentine's Day . . . surely you'll figure out how this all connects (you're a smart bunch).



POETRY FRIDAY!

E is for the exit lines you gave me
V is for the very vicious pain
I is for the injuries to my knee, and
L is for the limping once again

Comics Crack Me Up!

I laughed very loudly when I saw today's Foxtrot. I don't know how to embed the image in a readable format, but you can, I think, see it here. I've had a great admiration and fascination with Fibonacci for a while. I've even tried writing some fibonacci poetry. :-)
And, speaking of poetry, I also enjoyed Sally Forth today. What kind of poems will you share with your loved ones? Free verse? Iambic Pentameter? Fibonacci Poems? Limericks? Double Dactyls? Haiku? Do share!


Sunday update:

• The pain seems to be under control, and I'm gaining a little bit of mobility (which really just means that I'm not completely glued to my recliner all the time anymore - still can't do stairs at all)
• Ran out of yarn for my mini-Clapotis, and sending DH to LYS today for more (if he's ammenable)
• I'm enjoying sleeping with the cat on top of me every night - he loves having Mama downstairs in the recliner, too, I think . . . and immobile
  
• discovered blip.fm (thanks to MM), a sort of online music social network - I'll try it out and see if I like it or not, but for now:
  

Poetry Friday!

I've been thinking alot about being adaptive this week, so our poem today comes from an online project where people are striving to write a comprehensive dictionary entirely in limerick form. They are currently working in the D's somewhere. If you're interested, you can check it out for yourself.

adaptiveness by David Schildkret

My adaptiveness, much to be praised,

Leaves the people who meet me amazed.

I speak Roman in Rome,

And Alaskan in Nome,

And in Amsterdam, pure Hollandaised.

Lurve Poetry Friday!

Cheryl pointed me to the "I Love you more than" website - it's fun!


I love you more than watching what I like on TV.
I love you more than getting my own way.
I love you more than a clean house.
I love you more than sleeping in.
I love you more than dark chocolate . . . with roasted pecans. . . . ok, maybe not with the pecans.


I've also got to tell you that I love the book Hate That Cat by Sharon Creech. It's the sequel to Love that Dog, and it's great. I'm listening to it in the car, and I actually laughed out loud on the ride to work today (even though my toes were froze) It's written mostly in poems, or at least that is how the reader is reading it. Lurve it!

OK - today's extemporaneous Lurve Poem:


I love warm
warm, cozy, snug
cuddled like a bug
cocoa in a mug
chili in my tum
mitten on my thumb
toes not numb
warm.

Poetry Friday!

I was going to write about snow . . . but then decided I needed to compose something extemporaneously . . . with apologies to Robert Frost

Whose mess this is I think I know
His room is down the hallway, though.
He will not see me stopping here
To bend and lift, the trash to throw.

My lazy cat must think I'm queer
To pick up toys and jump with fear
At seeing bits of curdled milk.
A sniff will tell me, yogurt's near.

My son's a slob, the mess is deep,
but I have dusting, things to sweep,
And vacuuming before I sleep
And vacuuming before I sleep.

(oooh - you should see the glare my DS just gave me!)

Poetry Friday!

Vacation Day

A peaceful way to knit and play
and move us t'ward this Christmas Day.
A mom's tradition, tightly held
allowing me to clean and meld.
I knit some gifts, the flour sifts,
the gingerbread with tangy wiffs.
My friends can come, the house is done,
contentment when the battle's won.

~ Cat

Several years ago, not able to take time off right at the holidays, I took a week at the beginning of December. It was bliss! Taking a few days off now means that I approach the holidays with MUCH less stress and worry. The house is ready (even though we're not really having guests this year), the gifts are bought (and I'll start wrapping soon), and I have time to finish knitting gifts (don't expect pictures til after they've been gifted!). I'm not baking much this year because of WW, but I will make Dad his sweetroll, and Si will want to make some sugar cookies, I'm sure. That'll happen next weekend. Although this week has been different than in past (had to work Mon. afternoon and Thursday, spent Tuesday with a good friend going through Chemo), it's been a blessing and a joy.

Poetry Friday!

Christmas is so close now
I feel the deadline looming
I must do all my shopping,
the cleaning and the grooming.
There's so much still to do,
I can't quite fit it in.
So now I must prioritize,
Make lists and categoricize,
Knit this, clean that, now knit a hat
I wonder if it's this boy's size . . .

Or maybe what I need to do
Is focus on what I know is true.
This holiday is ringing clear,
Spend time with those that you hold dear.
Don't worry about each speck of dust.
Baking more sweets is not a must!
Find time to nurture, time to hug,
Slow down and spend time close, and snug.
Presents are nice, and cookies, too
But more important, is being with you.

~ sappiness brought to you by Cat, herself.

Poetry Friday (day late again)

Thankful
Week before Thanksgiving,
I limp around real strange.
Huddle in the corner,
As though I have the mange.
All the other turkeys,
Just gobble, gobble on.
I'm silent, and I act
As if my gobbler's gone. Everyone is thankful
On Thanksgiving Day.
Friday it's forgotten.
You all go on your way.
I know what thankful is
So listen when I say.
"It's great to be a turkey,
After Thanksgiving Day."
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