What is JacketFlap

  • JacketFlap connects you to the work of more than 200,000 authors, illustrators, publishers and other creators of books for Children and Young Adults. The site is updated daily with information about every book, author, illustrator, and publisher in the children's / young adult book industry. Members include published authors and illustrators, librarians, agents, editors, publicists, booksellers, publishers and fans.
    Join now (it's free).

Sort Blog Posts

Sort Posts by:

  • in
    from   

Suggest a Blog

Enter a Blog's Feed URL below and click Submit:

Most Commented Posts

In the past 7 days

Recent Comments

MyJacketFlap Blogs

  • Login or Register for free to create your own customized page of blog posts from your favorite blogs. You can also add blogs by clicking the "Add to MyJacketFlap" links next to the blog name in each post.

Blog Posts by Tag

In the past 30 days

Blog Posts by Date

Click days in this calendar to see posts by day or month
new posts in all blogs
Viewing Blog: Read Write Believe, Most Recent at Top
Results 1 - 25 of 724
Visit This Blog | Login to Add to MyJacketFlap
Blog Banner
Sara Lewis Holmes, author of Letters From Rapunzel
Statistics for Read Write Believe

Number of Readers that added this blog to their MyJacketFlap: 19
1. Poetry Friday: ISO Haiku


Once, my son found a "help wanted" ad:

Remove nest of baby copperheads
from under porch. Will pay $20.

I always wondered if anyone was desperate enough to answer.  I mean, come on---they're BABY copperheads, right?

That's the thing about classifieds. They suggest (perhaps willfully) that if only you answer them, the full story will be revealed. More likely, the truth is that if you answer the ad, you become part of the story, too.



I think the same give and take applies to poetry. Which is good, because this month, the Poetry Sisters are playing with haiku/senryu in the form of classified ads. I wrote several because I couldn't help myself.



WANTED: rain, heavy
Must pelt/soak; no peevish squalls
Will pay in fresh corn.


LOST: my perspective
No reward; meet me for cake 
mountains>molehills>crumbs.


FREE: to a good home:
One book, never read, but loved.
#coverseducedme


POETS: Start today; 
word your way up; could capture
moon in fifty years.

----all poems by Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)


Read my Poetry Sisters efforts here: Liz, Tanita, Tricia, Laura, Kelly, Andi. 

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference.



0 Comments on Poetry Friday: ISO Haiku as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
2. Poetry Friday: "In Just---" Echoes of ee cummings

The assignment for the Poetry Seven this month was to write a poem in the style of ee cummings, taking one of his works as inspiration. Although cummings is one of my favorite poets, and I've blogged about him before (in relation to Frank Cottrell Boyce's fabulous novel, Cosmic) I did a little research anyway. And discovered this:

Between the ages of eight and twenty-two, cummings wrote a poem a day.

Yeah. That.

And here I am, trying to follow in his pen strokes.

First of all, I had a hard time naming what I was attempting to do. What did "in the style of" mean?

imitating?
mimicking?
shadowing?
following?
tracing?

Then one of the Poetry Seven used a word I liked: echoing. Perhaps I could do that. (thanks, Andi!)


in Just-
dusk when the world is shadow-
mossed the one-winged lightningbug

blinks, incan/descent

and pillbugandmoth come
floating from screenshanks and 
scatterall and it’s
dusk

when the world is wing-wonderful

the lop-flighted
lighteningbug blinks
incan/descent
and beetleandroach come scalltering

from rot-hopping and stank-rope and

it’s dusk
and
the
single-oared 
lightningbug stutters

incan

/descent

---Sara Lewis Holmes, inspired by "in Just-" by ee cummings


One more thing: we also decided to record these poems, as ee often did. Click on the sound file below to hear me read my work aloud.





Other echoes of ee cummings can be found at each of the Poetry Seven's blogs today:

Liz, echoing "i like my body when it is"
Tricia, echoing "silence.is a looking"
Tanita, echoing "the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls"
Laura,  echoing "Spring is like a perhaps hand"
Kelly,  echoing "maggie and milly and molly and may"
Andi, echoing "a wind has blown the rain away"

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Katie at the Logonauts.





0 Comments on Poetry Friday: "In Just---" Echoes of ee cummings as of 7/10/2015 1:42:00 AM
Add a Comment
3. Poetry Friday: An ode to...well, you'll see---I think

The Poetry Seven has a list: an agreed upon schedule of poetic forms we will attempt this year. And in which order.

But then, we get fancy. Throw around themes or a common word or two.

This month, we were due to tackle odes.  Free-verse odes, so no one had to wrestle with rhyme if they didn't want to.  The topic? Anything at all. The words? Up to us.

The only catch? They were supposed to be humorous.

Well.

It turns out that a funny ode---praising and pranking, both at once, you might say---is jolly hard.


An Ode to---well, you’ll see---I think


One wintry morn, waking to find
my snow shovel absconded with—
brazenly taken from under the front stairs
—and replaced by one with a cracked acrylic blade—
why oh why would you steal my shovel
and leave me your TRASH instead?—
I will make, to re-boot (re-foot? re-shoe?) the day
Frito waffles with mascarpone
and warm strawberry compote (!!!)
but today—having found this recipe
now am deeply depressed
for who can ode-alate
corn chips better than such a dish—certainly not
this poem, which is why
it is not about Fritos—

although, in a way, the first stanza touches
on but does not intersect
with the subject of this ode—
or should I say, the object of this ode—
for we use the term “object of my undying devotion”—
or perhaps the word is yet to be coined
 —the ode-ulatee? the ode-ified?—
or perhaps it is —like an old cell phone—in the clutches
of a different owner, and dialing it would yield
a word like odoriferous— which has nothing
to do with odes—

—still, there was this Danish mathematician—I know!
I know! the Danes don’t stink, but they are often confused
with the Finns, so I rather think it’s nearly as confusing
as odiferous—so, this Dane—
he thought nothing of writing
a book called Geomietriae Rotundi,
which might be funny if there were a photo
of him, jolly and circular, eating waffles,
but the year was 1585 and it was Denmark,
so perhaps he was wan and thin, and mope-y
in a Hamlet sort of no-snow-shovel way and really
would’ve annoyed you
with his tons and tons of friends, despite his lack
of social graces—or waffles—
and this is when— it occurs to you,
that he is a mathematician—

not a writer—and yet, he has introduced—
as you wish to—although not for the
first time, as he did, but soon! yes, soon!
the term you are gallantly ode-ifying
if only you could stop thinking
about Fritos—an idea which should be by now
all but parenthetical (which means enclosed)
while the term you are praising is entirely
uncaged— like one of those European
vacays, where you ricochet off borders
like you were being Googled
by a middle-schooler who must—in twelve minutes—
crib an ethnic costume indicative
of her illustrious ancestors
or else forfeit the extra credit needed
to crawl across the
finish (Ha! the Finns, again!) line
of World History and yet—

you cannot believe that in all this—
not once—perhaps because you are certain
that this mathematician, this Thomas Fincke—-
does that name sound Danish to you?— that he
had a snow shovel AND friends, and—despite having
a son-in-law named Ole Worm—perhaps he had
a loving, round-ish wife who made him waffles
—so maybe you should’ve praised
geometry, with all its useful
angles—but instead…
Sorry, I’ve lost my train
of thought. What was I saying?
Oh!
Yes.

This is an ode to tangents.
I like them.

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Buffy at Buffy's Blog.

Other humorous odes by the Poetry Seven can be found here:  Tricia, Liz, Kelly, Laura, Andi, Tanita.

0 Comments on Poetry Friday: An ode to...well, you'll see---I think as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
4. I would let in the moon (A Pantoum)


The last time I tried a pantoum, I was feeling mucky and complicated and my poem reflected that. This time, I resolved to write a small love song, and pare it down as much as possible.

A pantoum, it seems, can hold both moods---the rotating, repeating lines clarify the complicated and amplify the simple.



I would let in the moon
ere light floods
the room
and everything flies

ere light—flooding
fast the hole in my heart
where everything flies
into night; no keys lock

fast the hole in my heart
Dark as dusk, I swell
into night; no keys lock
you to me; only love,

dark as dusk. We swell
the room,
you to me, only. Love,
I would let in the moon.

           ----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)


End notes:
Don't miss this magnificent post from Michael Rosen at Tricia's blog about form poetry.
And find all the Poetry Seven's pantoums here: Liz, Tricia, Andi, Tanita, Kelly, and Laura.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Ellen at Space City Scribes.


0 Comments on I would let in the moon (A Pantoum) as of 5/1/2015 11:43:00 AM
Add a Comment
5. At the Fulcrum of the Day: A Raccontino


If you're like me, you had to look up a raccontino to know what it was. Or, more precisely, I had to scramble to Miss Rhumpius's blog to find out that it's a poem that is:

  • composed of couplets (any number)
  • even number lines share the same end rhyme
  • the title and last words of the odd numbered lines tell a story


The Poetry Seven had different approaches to this form. Some wrote their end line sentence first. Others came up with a theme first. Me? I wrote a non-rhyming poem, made it rhyme and then played with the odd numbered end words and line breaks to form a story sentence.  

As one of our group said of my method: Impossible. 

Heh. Well, I will admit that I didn't mind toying with the couplets or jiggering the rhyme scheme, but moving those end words around into a sentence was killer for me.  It felt wrong to be messing with how I shaped the poem originally.  I like my line breaks to be my line breaks!

But it all came right in the end. 



at the fulcrum of the day

I watch my children as the tides, escaping,
inch by inch, until they are fanned

out, too far out; I call to them: mind the time!  
Thin as a needle, I rise, slow to expand—

How closely sliced are the minutes, as onions shaved
to transparency; I see them, as near as my hand;

I have only seconds before noon slips into 
afternoon; blocks of hours eroded to sand.

Soon it is before supper; Beyond is the dusk
and the night; the tide I can withstand

But great God, let the sun balance, never-ending
Wait there, wait there! I call as l stand.

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Amy at The Poem Farm. The other raccontinos--by each of the Poetry Seven--can be found here:


0 Comments on At the Fulcrum of the Day: A Raccontino as of 4/3/2015 8:47:00 AM
Add a Comment
6. Chiral: a Poetry Friday Fling with a Villanelle





When I fall in love with a word, I go a bit mad.  It happened this week, when I belatedly began a draft of a villanelle so I could hang with the Poetry Seven today.

I'd written a villanelle with this Gang of Poets once before, and was pleased with my fairly traditional take on a feast. This time, I aimed to write about the "fulcrum of the day" (i.e. noon) but I made the fatal error of Googling rhymes on the Internet.

Specifically, I had a non-repeating line that ended with spiral and needed help.  Lo and behold! The rhyme search turned up

Chiral.

On to Wikipedia, where, along with some impenetrable diagrams of molecules, I found THIS:

"Human hands are perhaps the most universally recognized example of chirality: the left hand is a non-superposable mirror image of the right hand; no matter how the two hands are oriented, it is impossible for all the major features of both hands to coincide." 


Well, COOL. Our hands, although we think of them in pairs (like rhymes), they are, in reality, unmatchable. What a fitting subject for the villanelle, a poetic form built around the fiction that things can always be manipulated so they will line up, just so.

The only teeny problem with this lovely word, chiral, was that I could name but one other rhyme for it off the top of my head. (Besides spiral.)  Did that stop me? Did that stop me from making it the REPEATING LINE?

No, it made me fling myself further into the Internet to see what other unmatchable words were out there.

 See? MAD.

In truth, though, I've always been this way.

I admire other approaches to poetry, of course--  I adore a well-tempered line turn, a gorgeously formal word choice, an exquisitely correct rhyme---I really do.  I just don't know how to write that way.

To me, poetry is an excuse to play with words as hard as I possibly can.  A way to be madly in love with world, one cool fact at a time. A chance to gyre and gimble over the fundamental strangeness of my own hands.

My poetry sisters all know this, of course. What a veneration of villanelles they've made:  Tanita, Liz, Laura, Andi, Kelly, and Tricia.


No Matter

Our hands, no matter how we rotate them, are chiral
did you know that? they’re mirror images that never meet
Look at them! Look at them now! Don’t listen as I birle

(to cause a floating log to revolve by treading); I spiral
on the surface of the Inter-bog, layered rich as peat;
But my hands, no matter how I rotate them, are chiral

How did I find these facts? I was seeking rhymes more viral,
to conflagrate—OMG—there is such a thing as gleet?
Look at your hands! Look at them now! Don’t listen as I birle!

I blame Ogden Nash, who could precisely match eye roll
-ing end rhymes; no unruly corners on his fitted sheet!
Yet, my hands, no matter how I rotate them, are chiral

It’s like trying to tame the Jabberwock, most gyre-ral
but he’s one-off; no need for gamete to mate gamete
Look at your hands! Look at those doozies! Don’t listen as I birle!

But if you must Google these words, seek out too: gyral
(relating to the convolutions of the brain); how meet!
Yet, hands, no matter how we rotate them, are chiral;
Look at them! Look at them now! Don’t listen. I birle!

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Liz at Elizabeth Steinglass.



0 Comments on Chiral: a Poetry Friday Fling with a Villanelle as of 2/6/2015 7:38:00 AM
Add a Comment
7. Antidote: A Triolet for the New Year



The antidote to fear is honeyed in devotion
delivered deep, a draught of slow and barmy mead.
Else we dry to salt, fleeing night-depths of the ocean;
The antidote to fear is honeyed in devotion 

Why pillory our hearts, why gulp the unguent potion?
Why frack our veins to stir up courage quickly dead?
The antidote to fear is honey-slow devotion;
Yes, poetry, delivered deep, a draught of barmy mead.


This poem would not have been possible without the encouragement of the rest of the Poetry Seven:  Liz, Andi, Kelly, Laura, Tricia, and TanitaEach of these poets has a triolet posted today, so go and drink deeply.  

For more about triolets, see here.   For more about the Poetry Seven, read about our first gig together on this April day in 2008.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by one of the Poetry Seven, the amazing Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect 

0 Comments on Antidote: A Triolet for the New Year as of 1/5/2015 9:41:00 PM
Add a Comment
8. Poetry Friday: Writing Pantoums with Friends

When Liz suggested reviving the dormant Poetry 7 Collaborative by writing pantoums around a common line, I said: "I'm in." 

Then I went to look up a pantoum.

Oh.

Hmmm.

Writing this was like turning myself inside out. 

The best part? Getting to read all my poetry sisters' beautiful efforts, which Laura Salas has collected here for Poetry Friday.  


A Pantoum

With thanks to Ani DiFranco for the line “I’ve got better things to do than survive"

I’ve got better things to do than survive
Like bread, I’m buttered to the edge
Slathered in riches, I’ve
congealed, a manicured hedge

Like bread, I’m buttered to the edge
I roll my socks in pairs; nothing should be
congealed; a manicured hedge
bitten back to nubs; still---wood, tree.   

I roll my socks; in pairs, nothing should be
alone in the dark; I reach for matches
bitten back to nubs; still! Wood! Tree!
I call out names, stick knives in latches

Alone, in the dark, I reach for matches
made in heaven; thus, a poem is braced, stave by stave
I call out! Names stick knives in latches;
Turning wood is soft as butter on the lathe

Made in heaven---thus, a poem is! Braced, stave by stave, 
Slathered in riches, I’ve 
turned. Wood is soft as butter. On the lathe,
I've got better things to do than survive.

                  ----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

Laura Purdie Salas has the Poetry Friday roundup today.

0 Comments on Poetry Friday: Writing Pantoums with Friends as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
9. "Clear Thinking about Mixed Feelings": A Guest Post at Teachers Write

I'm guest posting about poetry and inspiration at Kate Messner's fabulous virtual writing camp, Teachers Write, today.

You may recognize some of the themes I talk about (and even the actual words!) as drawn from this blog---but then, I see this blog as a kind of notebook in which to gather my thoughts for both now and later.  It turns out there is a cumulative effect of reading, writing, and believing. 

 Come join me!


2 Comments on "Clear Thinking about Mixed Feelings": A Guest Post at Teachers Write, last added: 6/19/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
10. Poetry Friday: Renku


Poetry ought to be taught in schools as a game.  I mean it. All the way up to high school and beyond.

We start this way---with hand clap rhymes, or raps, or silly jingles which we make even sillier, or perhaps, (gasp!) off-color.

And then...the bell rings and recess is over and poetry gets made "a subject."

PHOOEY on that!

In contrast, there's  an old Japanese game called renku* in which poets build a linked chain of haiku together on the spot. Apparently, in ancient times, it used to get quite rowdy---even a little PG-13 here and there, perhaps like some modern day bouts of Pictionary tend to do...

It was about pleasing the crowd with a sly twist on theme. Or throwing in a tricky word. Or slipping in an allusion that tickled your brain until you had time to look it up and say: Oh, right! I should've gotten that!

So, in the spirit of going back to poetry's roots, the Poetry Seven are at it again with a pickup game of renku.  Liz and Andi threw us the idea a week ago, and presto! by today, we have something that weaves and jinks and laces us all together.  We have a game. Play with us.

*Renku: alternating verses of three lines, two lines (could be 17, 14 syllables) with a linked theme and a shift. Below, the initials at the end of the lines indicate which of the poets wrote it. lps=Laura Purdie Salas, aj = Andi Jazmon (Sibley), tsh=Tricia Stohr-Hunt, kf=Kelly Fineman, sh=Sara Holmes, td=Tanita Davis, lgs=Liz Garton Scanlon




fall leaf in April
wearing last season's fashions--
shunned by the green crowd lps

nature’s first green is gold
progeny emerge in flame aj

6 Comments on Poetry Friday: Renku, last added: 5/8/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
11. April is Poetry #30

 The orange truck moves from block to block.  Sometimes, kids watch.  A cat slinks by.  During the next storm, we'll be glad of the branches trimmed to limits.  But sometimes, I want to tear down the signs that go up overnight: No Parking. Tree Service. Monday 8-5.


Last day; last haiku
A tree dies in sawdust smoke
Who will I tell now?

---Sara Lewis Holmes


Thank you to all my friends who wrote beside me, and to those who commented here.  You made April poetry.

4 Comments on April is Poetry #30, last added: 5/2/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
12. April is Poetry: #28 and #29 (Citizen Science)


Oh, April is speeding by!  This weekend was gone in a flash, but that's because any time I have with the fabulous Loree Griffin Burns is always too short. Loree was in town for the USA Science and Engineering Fair, and I caught her presentation on Citizen Science.  After writing about scientists who track trash and scientists who investigate honeybees, Loree decided to write about something powerful and simple: how any human being with alert senses and a willing heart can participate in the grand adventure of scientific discovery.





Citizen Scientists
by Loree Griffin Burns
photographs by Ellen Harasimonwicz



From listening to frog calls to hunting for lost ladybugs, each citizen scientist is asked only to be an expert in their own local community, and to observe and share the data he or she collects.  It's a bit like Twitter science.  (I hope Loree won't object to that description!)  Just like Twitter has enabled millions of people to be on-the-spot reporters, observing and relaying what they see and hear, citizen science empowers kids, families, scout troops, classrooms, 4-H clubs, nearly anyone--- to take what they see and hear in the small square of their backyards and add that knowledge to the vast earth-wide pursuit of scientific knowledge.

Cool, huh?  You can read more about citizen science and Loree's fascinating path to writing the book here.

Loree and I also talked about haiku----since she knew I was writing some for Poetry Month--and because she believes science and haiku have a lot in common. By focusing on the very small and the very particular, we gain access to the profound.  She even recommended a poetry book to me that I can't wait to find: Seeds From a Birch Tree. For now, though, I'm paying attention only to what I heard and saw and learned from Loree today.



Shh! I'm listening
Spring peepers caught on iphone
shared sound grows louder


Red binoculars
Held breath, sharp eyes, open ears
One sky; many wings





3 Comments on April is Poetry: #28 and #29 (Citizen Science), last added: 4/30/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
13. Poetry Friday: A Love Song

This has been a week of singing.  My fledgling efforts to learn a single song have been alternately giddy and frustrating.  For one thing, I've discovered that I'm completely unused to singing to music.

Ha!  That's not really a joke.  To Mike's horror, I told him the accompanying chords he was so lovingly playing for me were a distraction.  I know. Awful.  But I've always sung with a crowd, and for me, what I listened to was them, their voices, so I wouldn't screech off-course.  I had no idea what to do when the only thing I could hear was a steady beat of chords.  What I really needed was to SEE how my voice was supposed to compete with lovingly entwine with that.

To help, my husband laid down a guitar track in Garage Band.  Now the measures click by and the sound waves pulse in and out. I can see it.  It's helping.

But it's also incorruptible. Tying to sing with music is thrilling in a way that trying to jump on a spinning carousel is fun.  I keep mis-timing my leaps and winding up in the dirt. But the lights! Those prancing steeds!  The hypnotizing spell of the notes pouring out and up and down and around and around...

Which brings me to the poem for today.  It's one that's I've shared on Poetry Friday before, back in 2009. But I love it for how it can gush without being mush. How everything spins and stays hyper-still at the same time. And it's so much about timing.  Love often is.




A Love Song
by William Carlos Williams

What have I to say to you
When we shall meet?
Yet—
I lie here thinking of you.

The stain of love
Is upon the world.
Yellow, yellow, yellow,
It eats into the leaves,
Smears with saffron
The horned branches that lean
Heavily
Against a smooth purple sky.

There is no light—
Only a honey-thick stain
That drips from leaf to leaf
And limb to limb
Spoiling the colours
Of the whole world.

I am alone.
The weight of love
Has buoyed me up
Till my head
Knocks against the sky.

See me!
My hair is dripping with nectar—
Starlings carry it
On their black wings.
See, at last
My arms and my hands
Are lying idle.

How can I tell
If I shall ever love you again
As I do now?


Listen to this poem read aloud.


Poetry Friday is hosted today by Tabitha Yeatts.

P. S. The poetry haiku daisy-chaining project I alluded to yesterday? Stay tuned for it next week!

3 Comments on Poetry Friday: A Love Song, last added: 4/27/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
14. April is Poetry #26



Poetry with friends
Interlacing daisy chains
Forgot yoga class


Ah, well. My head was in the poetry clouds. Working on a new group poetry project for tomorrow! Hint: it's haiku and it's the Poetry Seven.

3 Comments on April is Poetry #26, last added: 4/27/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
15. April is Poetry #25


Every morning on the back patio, my dog, paws delicately crossed, keeps watch like a stone lion  for the neighbor's cat.  At least, so she says. What really happens is that she leaps for the first available squirrel.


Statuesque canine
daily seeks SBS*
To uncross my paws


*Single Brown Squirrel


Are you tired of haiku about my dog yet? I find her more interesting than flower blossoms.

1 Comments on April is Poetry #25, last added: 4/25/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
16. April is Poetry #23 and #24

Last night, my dear husband and his age-mellowed guitar took it upon themselves to help me begin to learn to sing a song. A single song.  ONE.

We aren't going for "teaching me to sing." No. This is going to be like those beauty pageant contestants who create the illusion of vast talent by pouring tens of thousands of practice hours into three minutes.  At least that's what Mike says.  It can be done.

I have no idea what can be done. I don't even know what my real singing voice is because it's always throttled by fear.  I do best when I'm surrounded by deep, true voices in church, voices that I can lean on and hide behind.  Singing on my own is like being lost in a vast, foreign city---I can't read the signs, I only know I've made a wrong turn somewhere, and everyone is politely looking away from the panic in my eyes.

The song is Kasey Chamber's "If I Were You." The occasion is that I'm forty-nine today. Don't you think forty-nine is a fine age to finally learn to sing one song?


Fingers shift on frets
you easily hold my gaze
I am deaf to fear


Forty-nine reasons
to sing louder and longer
than each year before


I wish each of you love today, and a reason to sing.

----Sara





6 Comments on April is Poetry #23 and #24, last added: 4/25/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
17. April is Poetry #21: Open House at the Folger Shakespeare Library



 

Happiness reigned.


For some.


I think the little one in the pink bow is saying: This is SO not my century.

But again: check out how regal that girl in blue behind her looks!

I wonder which one Shakespeare would've written about.





What would the bard do?
Praise blue bird of happiness
Or ensoul a pout?





There was also this highly uncomfortable looking chair.
Perhaps that would make someone, even a princess, unhappy.


My favorite reading nook


4 Comments on April is Poetry #21: Open House at the Folger Shakespeare Library, last added: 4/23/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
18. April is Poetry #21


I wrote about the dog park earlier.  One of the nicest things is how well the dogs get along, even with my grumpy pet, a miniature Australian shepherd.  Naturally territorial and excessively protective, she makes me crazy at home. But at the dog park? She's Miss Social.  She sniffs and greets and meets and generally schmoozes like she's at some fancy fund-raiser.

 But nothing gives her more happiness than an escapee. Once, a small dog kept running off from its owner, and my dog kept zipping after it, grinning with glee when she blockaded his mad dashes for the grass on the far side.  The other day, she had wild romp with a rescue dog from Mexico, which she was sure was making a break for his homeland, thousands of miles away.


blue-eyed cattle dog
sunlight and torn rubber ball
my dog shepherds all

---Sara Lewis Holmes


Here's a short video of her, herding a remote-control helicopter:












2 Comments on April is Poetry #21, last added: 4/22/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
19. Poetry Friday: Book with Wings

Anselm Kiefer
Book with Wings, 1992–94
Lead, tin, and steel
74 3/4 x 208 5/8 x 43 3/8 inches (189.9 x 529.9 x 110.2 cm)
Collection of the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth,
Museum purchase, Sid W. Richardson Foundation Endowment Fund
Acquired in 2000



Prose, soaring? Muse flash?
Poem as hymn, hosannah high?
Lopsided wings flap.

           ---Sara Lewis Holmes


I woke up today, glad to be home from a week of travel, and was suddenly aware it was Poetry Friday.  No need to panic. My iPhone held this photo of a sculpture from the Modern Art Museum in Fort Worth, where we spent an hour trying to understand the questions modern art flings at us. Not nearly enough time, of course.

But I have you guys, and this day of poetry, and lots of time now to think about it all. Happy Poetry Friday!

The host today is Booktalking.







15 Comments on Poetry Friday: Book with Wings, last added: 4/15/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
20. April is Poetry 14 and 15

I believe I owe you two haiku.

It was my husband's birthday this past week. We celebrated aboard a military jet, with a group of wonderful folks singing to him in Hebrew, a first for him.  (We were escorting Israeli guests around the U.S. on an adventure I can hardly believe was real now that we're back home.) But I didn't get to cook for him, so tonight, I made up for it. Almost.  

coffee-rubbed rib-eyes
homemade coleslaw and cold beer
Cake: sweet IOU

Also, last night, we went to see Eugene O'Neil's A Long Day's Journey into Night, which isn't for the faint-hearted.  We nearly forgot we had tickets; I remembered over dinner, and we had to scramble to make curtain.  But it was completely worth the rush and bother.  Wow.

But for some, it was too much.

Production notes read
Oh, it's about family!
Intermission: gone.


I'll try to keep the daily in daily haiku next week...





4 Comments on April is Poetry 14 and 15, last added: 4/16/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
21. April is Poetry #16

Using creative math, I've now caught up the post title (#16) with the actual date (April 16.)  This was to cover some lapses in my daily output, some double posts, and some uncounted poetry Fridays.  

In general, I like math. I think of it as another language, one that's fun to learn, and capable of saying some amazing things.  But as much as I'm impressed by writers who adhere to strict word counts, with flashy online gadgets that tick over the daily output, I don't want to know such stuff. *


Let others count days
All is relative to me
Am I writing now?

----Sara Lewis Holmes

* I might do better if said gadgets plunked out M&Ms; five or so per line.




4 Comments on April is Poetry #16, last added: 4/18/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
22. April is Poetry #17

There were pictures all over Facebook.  People lined the highways.  I just happened to see it out my car window as we drove over the 14th Street Bridge.

Cars pulled off the road
White humpback whale in the sky
Ah, rubberneckers.

          ---Sara Lewis Holmes


0 Comments on April is Poetry #17 as of 4/17/2012 10:46:00 PM
Add a Comment
23. April is Poetry #18

It's always a good time at the dog park.  Dogs know how to make fun out of nothing.

dried puddle and dog
ecstatic flailing backstroke
savannah dust clouds

---Sara Lewis Holmes


0 Comments on April is Poetry #18 as of 4/18/2012 5:32:00 PM
Add a Comment
24. April is Poetry #19


Running through the Capitol Building grounds is like being in a movie. No matter how many times I do it, it still feels a bit unreal, as if suddenly dancers are going to emerge and beginning singing about democracy.  This is especially true after hours when the the plaza seems huge in its emptiness.

During the day, though, people are snapping pictures EVERYWHERE and it’s useless to dodge them.  I try not to cross in front, of course, but when I cut across the main steps, I have to accept I’m going to be a blur in a few dozen photos.  (Not a fast blur, mind you, although I do pick up my feet to get past in a hurry.)  I wonder where my pixels end up, in digital land?


Mobs in matching shirts
Capitol crowds poke and pry
I am deep background

---Sara Lewis Holmes

2 Comments on April is Poetry #19, last added: 4/22/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
25. Poetry Friday: Postcards from Poets

Postcards from Poets: advice to young poets, gathered from "old" poets, at the 2012 AWP Conference.


by Heather Christle

"Read beyond that which
immediately pleases you,
please."  ---Heather Christie


I resist this advice.  I want to follow my nose in choosing what to read, and in poetry, especially.  But I notice that the poet simply said read BEYOND.  She didn't recommend replacing pleasure. Only swimming out a few yards more.

Here's one that I had to swim for.

A Bird in Hand  
by Amber Flora Thomas

I’ve memorized its heart pounding into my thumb.
Breath buoys out. My fingers know how to kill,
closing on the bird’s slippery head.

I don’t remember. Was it that beak bit my chin?
Was it a claw cut my wrist? I blow feathers
away from its chest, smelling pennies and rain.

the rest is here.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Diane at Random Noodling.

 

7 Comments on Poetry Friday: Postcards from Poets, last added: 4/21/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment

View Next 25 Posts