In the distance I hear the band warming up – not a single note piercing the air sounds right. Each is singular, isolated, and the sound of them issuing from so many instruments almost hurts the ear. It is not melodious or rich. It sounds a mess.

People young and old run and walk around me, depending on their ability. The youngest citizens are aided by the hands of parents who steady their wobbly steps. The elderly are aided by their children, their children’s children, or a kind neighbor. No one is alone.

Excitement is high. I can see the shopkeepers giving out red, white, and blue buttons, pinwheels, and balloons on sticks to anyone who wants them. Somehow, today isn’t about profit or loss. Those cares will wait until tomorrow. Competition forgotten, today they smile together and serve.

The entire of Main Street is lined with flags – 48 white stars, seven red stripes, and six white. My own native flag boasts the same colors but in a much different configuration. I never saw it displayed so much when my home was there. Of course, as countries go, mine is old and gray while this one is but a newborn. In the latter years, one doesn’t celebrate birthdays with quite as much vigor as a youngster. One hundred and fifty years old today, I’m reminded.

This little town of Portsong is like any other in the country. It boasts nothing outside its borders that make it unique. It is known for nothing, remembered by few, and can’t seem to grow despite the mayor’s efforts. Yet there is something special here. While I cannot put my finger on it or label it properly, there is something that made this old Brit stay and set up shop.

I believe the allure is in the small details.  For instance, I have been asked to join the festivities no less than seventeen times since I came and sat on this bench. Five of those offers came from people I do not know and four more came from people who saw me at a distance and went far out of their way to make their inquiry. I have been here since just after sunrise and it is now nearly eleven o’clock. In that time, I have counted forty-three people of various ages who have passed me. Forty-two of them shared a smile and kind word with me. The only one who did not was little Esther Parsons and being two, she was in the middle of a fit about her bonnet, I believe.

In most places I have been, an old man on a bench can blend in… be anonymous… simply fade away into background. Not here. In this place this old man has been knitted into the fabric of the community so tightly that I believe I would be missed if I left. Yes, I believe there would be a hole in the quilt if I or anyone else took flight. And that is the loveliness of Portsong. Does it exist in other small towns? I am certain to some degree. It is certainly here to stay. As am I.

The parade is about to start. As I leave my seat aided by the hand of a beautiful child with golden ringlets, I hear the marching band leading the way. No longer are they clanging individuals striking off on their own notes. Now they play as one group. Their sound gets closer. It is beautiful, melodious, and wonderful. Like this place, it is a collection of people working together in harmony.

I truly love it here.

-Colonel Clarence Birdwhistle

July 4, 1926

When did they make the last truly funny show? Has there been anything funny created in two decades or are they simply repeating the same thirty minute plotlines with different characters? The real question is, are they still using the same crazy laugh track from I Love Lucy and The Andy Griffith show? We are […]

I saw an odd sign today and had to investigate. It simply said:

Church for Rent

Because I have been told all my life that The Church isn’t a building, it is the body of believers, I found the rental concept intriguing. Remember the little folded hand thing little old ladies taught you in Vacation Bible School when you were six?

Here is the church

Here is the steeple

Open it up

And see all the people

How do you rent that? Are you renting people? Because that is clearly illegal and otherwise immoral. Hopefully, no kind of church (collection of believers) would do that.

Are you renting beliefs? Seems plausible, but slightly ridiculous since one church down the road is giving them away and on the other side on town there is one forcing them on any poor soul wandering past.

Maybe you are renting the building. Interesting…what do you do with a church building? This led to a whole other set of questions that forced me to survey the property. My initial investigation told me that this had been a Pentecostal church, most likely a Primitive Baptist church. I narrowed it down because of the booths that I found on the side, I think they are for potluck dinners and that is certainly a Baptist thing. I wiped a window and peeked inside to find a strange box next to the pulpit that I can only believe housed snakes in its day – thus the primitive. One other note, I live in the Deep South where you can’t swing a cat without hitting a Baptist church, so that is always the go-to denomination. (Yes, in this day and age, cat-swinging is discouraged, but only on Sundays with the blue laws and all.)

So if you are a Primitive Baptist Church and someone comes to rent your building (We will take the rental of members off the table because no one is going to pay for a bunch of staunchy guys yelling hellfire & brimstone at you, anyway), do you have a list of belief clauses the perspective renter has to adhere to before they can take over? I mean, you can’t let the building become a pool hall, bingo parlor, or a YMCA – which is just two towels short of a brothel. And what if a gaggle of Presbyterians comes along with their slick predestination/sovereignty of God talk and fermented drink? Do you even let them into the building? How about a flock of Methodists who debate the stickiness of salvation? Or God forbid, a cloister of Catholics? They would be crossing themselves, kneeling, and serving real wine in the very aisles that you used to charge up and down under the influence of the Spirit (not the alcoholic kind, the Holy kind). It flutters the mind to think of the radical change these denominations could bring to this sacred place.

The real question is, why does the church need to rent the space anyway? Tough times, I assume. But who holds the deed? The preacher, chairman of the deacons, or the head of the finance committee? If the church is caput, where does the rent money go? To the three guys probably responsible for its caputness?

You see the dilemma I’d fallen upon. You also know what all of these questions meant!  I simply had to call the number. It rang four times and then to my disappointment, a nasally clerk named Eunice answered the phone with a boring explanation. It seems the church has been vacant for years and the city owns the property.

What seemed like a huge let-down led to one more question – where do they keep the charred remains of the poor slob who foreclosed on God?

“Come, Henry,” Colonel Birdwhistle called as he shouldered his cane pole. “We should be on our way. The day is ending and your mother will be spreading supper soon.”

“But we didn’t catch nuthin’” replied the glum boy.

“We didn’t catch ‘anything’, you mean. And catching fish is but a small portion of our purpose here. We are here primarily to enjoy each other and the beauty of creation. If a fish should happen to find our bait attractive, that, my boy, is simply a bonus.”

Unconvinced, Henry pulled at his pole hoping for a nibble that would keep them a little longer. Receiving nothing for his trouble, he reluctantly stood and followed the Colonel toward home.

The two had not gone far when they heard the sound of an approaching horse. Soon it came into view as it galloped their way. Noting its speed, they moved well off of the path. When horse and rider came alongside the pair, the man on top pulled back on the reigns bringing the chestnut to a stop in a cloud of dust.

“Hello there,” called the rider from atop his mount. “Is this the way to Warbler’s Ridge?”

“I believe it used to be…” began the Colonel.

“I’m in an awful hurry,” interrupted the man. “I have urgent business at the paper mill there. This must be the right way, it was given me by the sheriff. I believe Whitaker was his name.”

“Yes, Hub Whitaker is the local sheriff. But as I was saying, this road…”

“Big fella, your sheriff. I’d guess you don’t have to worry much about crime here with a huge man like that minding the wall.”

“No sir,” answered Henry. “Things are pretty quiet round here. But…”

“That’s good, son. Real good,” cut in the stranger. “Well, I ain’t got time to sit around here talking. Like I said, I’ve got important business in Warbler’s Ridge. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

With a click of his tongue and flick of the reigns, he urged his horse forward while Henry held up an arm in protest.

“Mister, wait!” called Henry in futility, for the horse was gone. Turning to his companion, he asked, “Why wouldn’t he listen?”

“Henry, you have just learned an important lesson,” returned the Colonel. “Some people don’t understand that having a conversation means listening as well as talking. If he had taken a moment to close his mouth and open his ears, what would he have learned?”

“That the bridge he’s headed toward fell into the river a long time ago,” answered the boy slowly.

“I believe he should figure that out for himself any time now.”

As if on cue, a loud splash could be heard from the direction of the river. The old man and his young friend ambled quickly to the river and past the horse to help the fallen rider out of the water.

“You okay, mister?” asked Henry.

“Why didn’t you warn me, son?” inquired the dripping stranger.

“We tried, but couldn’t get a single word past all of yours,” returned the Colonel. “You missed a turn a ways back and need to follow the river a mile north to get to the nearest working bridge.”

Once more on his horse, the humbled rider continued on his way with every intent of listening for an answer the next time he asked a question. Henry and the Colonel headed home for supper, laughing the entire way. They may not have caught a fish, but they netted a good story to tell.

Photo credit:  Ward, Lock, & Tyler of London [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Today, a word from the Reverend Josiah Crane, who has been the preacher of the Goose Creek Country Church in Portsong for as long as anyone can remember. He’s a masterful orator of the Scriptures, but could be described as somewhat distant when it comes to the shepherding side of his calling. In his own way, he cares for the souls of his flock very much.

◊

I see you there.

I know you are squirming in your seat and I know why. What I just said hit close to your wandering heart…that is what the bead of sweat on your forehead tells me. A more compassionate man might offer you his handkerchief to mop your brow. But I say, better a little sweat now than hellfire for eternity!

So while you think I am speaking to the back wall, know that both God and I have you in our sights. Neither of us is oblivious to what goes on in these holy pews. For example:

1.  I know the children count the number of times I hit the pulpit every week and even play a little game with it. While I don’t condone wagering, I have stacked the odds for a couple of my favorite little lambs over the years.

2.  I know precisely what time it is. If you think repeated checks to your wristwatch will give me a subtle hint, understand that it only makes me slow my pace. You’ll get to your precious lunch, even if the Lutherans beat you there.

3.  You cannot hide your dozing off – see point one, that’s why I pound the pulpit. When your head bobs up and down, I assume you are agreeing with me, which stokes the fire of my verbosity.

4.  I do not believe in alliterations or acrostics like some word game player. I’ve got the Scriptures on my side and I don’t even care for the little numbers that man added.

5.  You are absolutely correct – I do, in fact, like to hear myself speak.

6.  I will not tell you how old I am or what year I was born! Before you were, I was. No one is going to win that bet. You may as well put the proceeds into the offering basket. I am not older than dirt, but recall firsthand accounts of its creation.

So next time you think you are pulling one over on the old preacher, remember that I have been doing this a long time. Ecclesiastes chapter 1 and verse 9 tells us, “There is no new thing under the sun.” I’ve seen quite a few suns rise and fall. Further, I’ve seen all the tricks.

◊

I hope the old Preacher will forgive me the edits I made to his submission. He sent me 3491 words that I condensed after dozing off a few times. If you have any memories of being terrified by an old preacher, then you can identify with my friend, Virgil Creech – who is more than a little afraid of the Reverend Crane.

◊

Photo Credit: National Galleries of Scotland Commons from Edinburgh, Scotland, UK via Wikimedia Commons

After six months of writing this blog, I have been issued a court order from The State of New Hampshire to cease and desist using the name Portsong. It seems that an official in the city of Portsmouth got hold of my fictional history book in which I poke a little fun at Yankees during Sherman’s march to the sea. The Honorable Thomas Lankin has taken umbrage with my depiction of Union soldiers from his fair city.

The letter looks official. I haven’t had the chance to get it to a lawyer and quite frankly don’t have the wherewithal to do so. This means a great deal for me, though. I’ve built whatever brand I have around the name Portsong and the characters within. The support I’ve garnered and readership I’ve built will be subject to loss when I rename everything. I find this turn of events quite disheartening.

Until I can sort this all out, I will have to go silent and shut down this blog. Obviously, there are some folks up north who will be happy with this. The Southern boy in me would like to make a Yankee joke about it, but I’m not up to it right now. I find it sad that a little guy in Georgia can’t come up with an idea and build a dream without being prosecuted. Where’s the justice in that?

So, goodbye, friends in my blogging community. Until we meet again, let us hope and pray that some people develop a sense of humor. The world would be a much better place – especially on this, the  first   day    of     April……

****Since April 1st is over, I will admit this was a gag. I think a successful one judging by the admissions below.  The best was my sister’s text of concern all the way from California where she was vacationing. Once a little brother, always a little brother.

Some folks like the bright lights, big city. nightclubs and swanky eateries. Call me backwards, but I love a small town any day. My submission for Illustration Friday's "backwards" prompt.

Well, it has been over a month since I offered to find poems for blog readers. Today, tomorrow, and Friday you can ask me to look for a children's poem for you on a specific topic or subject. I will do my best to fulfill your requests. As I stated in an earlier post, I will provide requesters with the titles of poems and titles of books in which the poems can be found. I may have more than one poem suggestion for each requester.

I have no idea how many requests will be made. I will definitely search high and low for poems for the first three requesters. Last time, I had four requesters and found poems for them all.

You can read my responses to the I Am Looking for a Poem About...#1 here and here.

I will do my best to post my poetry suggestions by late Sunday evening or Monday morning.

Please be reasonable with your poem requests.

Alkelda, you asked for a poem that I would like to hear set to music.



A Great Poetry Video with Songs
First, let me suggest you check to see if a library in your area has a copy of the video/DVD/CD of ANTARCTIC ANTICS based on the fabulous book of penguin poems written by Judy Sierra. (I have a review of the video in my Singing and Swinging with Children’s Poetry post at Blue Rose Girls.) It is an absolutely delightful video in which most of the poems have been put to catchy melodies. The songs are infectious—even for adults!

Poems for Alkelda
One poem that my second grade students and I used to love to recite while snapping our fingers and “semi-singing” is Douglas Florian’s The Daddy Longlegs, which is included in his book INSECTLOPEDIA, one of my favorite collections of animal poems.

The poem begins:

O Daddy
Daddy O
How’d you get
Those legs to grow
So very long
And lean in size?

My students really enjoyed reciting that poem. In fact, one boy liked it so much that he wrote a poem modeled after it for his dad for Father’s Day. As best I can recall, his poem began like this:

O Daddy
Daddy O
You’re the best
Dad I know
Tall and thin…

Where to Find the Poem

INSECTLOPEDIA
Written & illustrated by Douglas Florian
Harcourt Brace, 1998

OMNIBEASTS
Written & illustrated by Douglas Florian
Harcourt, 2004

Another poem that I think would be fun to sing is David McCord’s Bananas and Cream. This is how the poem begins:

Bananas and cream,
Bananas and cream:
All we could say was
Bananas and cream.

We couldn’t say fruit,
We wouldn’t say cow,
We didn’t say sugar—
We don’t say it now.

It ends like this:

Bananas and cream,
Bananas and cream?
We yelled for bananas,
Bananas and scream!

Where to Find the Poem

EVERY TIME I CLIMB A TREE
Written by David McCord
Little, Brown, 1967

HERE’S A LITTLE POEM: A VERY FIRST BOOK OF POETRY
Collected by Jane Yolen & Andrew Fusek Peters
Candlewick, 2007

And yet another poem that I think would be fun set to music is Mary Ann Hoberman’s Hello and Good-by, which begins like this:

Hello and good-by
Hello and good-by

When I’m in a swing
Swinging low and then high,
Good-by to the ground
Hello to the sky.

Mary Ann Hoberman is a master of meter and rhyme. She writes poetry that truly appeals to young children. I think many of her poems would make fine song lyrics. In fact, Hoberman has published a number of books for which she adapted traditional poems as sing-alongs for children: BILL GROGAN'S GOAT, YANKEE DOODLE, MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB, and others. Check her website for further information about these books.

Where the Poem Can Be Found

THE LLAMA WHO HAD NO PAJAMA: 100 FAVORITE POEMS
Written by Mary Ann Hoberman
Browndeer/Harcourt Brace, 1998

Finally, the poetry anthology SONG AND DANCE includes a few poems that I think would be great to set to music: What Is Jazz? by Mary O’Neill; Birds’ Square Dance by Beverly McLoughland; and Dance by Eve Merriam.

This is how Birds’ Square Dance begins:

Swing your partner
Cockatoo
Bluefoot booby
Marabou

This is how it ends:

Flap your feathers
Curlew, crow
Pipit, tern, and
Do-si-do.

Where to Find the Poems

SONG AND DANCE
Selected by Lee Bennett Hopkins
Simon & Schuster, 1997

In my I Am Looking for a Poem About... post last Friday, I told blog readers that they could ask me to locate a poem on a specific topic/subject for them. Here are the poems I selected for them.

Jules, Grace, and Vivian, I hope you like the poems I found for you.

A POEM FOR JULES
Jules, you requested my favorite poem about gratitude.

I chose the poem Prayer by the late Myra Cohn Livingston.
Here is how the poem Prayer begins:

Thank you for the sun,
the sky,
for all the things that like to fly,
the shining rain that turns grass green…

Where to Find the Poem
ON THE FARM
Selected by Lee Bennett Hopkins
Little, Brown and Company, 1991
(The poem originally appeared in Myra Cohn Livingston’s book THE MOON AND A STAR AND OTHER POEMS.)


A POEM FOR GRACE
I think the poem you may be thinking of is The Question, which was written by Karla Kuskin. Does this sound like the poem that you’re looking for, Grace?

From The Question:

People always say to me
“What do you think you’d like to be
when you grow up?”
And I say “Why,
I think I’d like to be the sky…”

Where to Find the Poem

DOGS AND DRAGONS, TREES AND DREAMS
Written by Karla Kuskin
Harper & Row, 1980
MOON, HAVE YOU MET MY MOTHER: THE COLLECTED POEMS OF KARLA KUSKIN
Written by Karla Kuskin
Laura Geringer/HarperCollins, 2003


A POEM OR TWO OR THREE FOR HIPWRITERMAMA
Vivian, I am not sure I have found the kind of poem you are looking for—but see if these fit the bill:

From the poem Give Yourself a Hug by Grace Nichols:

Give yourself a hug
when you feel unloved…

Give yourself a hug—
a big big hug

And keep on singing,
‘Only one in a million like me
Only one in a million-billion-thrillion-zillion
Like me.’


Where to Find the Poem

POETRY BY HEART: A CHILD'S BOOK OF POEMS TO REMEMBER
Compiled by Liz Attenborough
The Chicken House/Scholastic, 2001

Each of the next two poems is about a child celebrating himself/herself.

From I Know Someone by Michael Rosen:

I know someone who can
take a mouthful of custard and blow it
down their nose…

I know someone who can
say the alphabet backward…

I know someone who can put their hands in
their armpits and blow raspberries…

I know someone who can
slide their top lip one way
and their bottom lip the other way.
And that someone is
ME.

Where to Find the Poem MY SONG IS BEAUTIFUL: POEMS AND PICTURES IN MANY VOICES
Selected by Mary Ann Hoberman
Little, Brown, 1994


From A Circle of Sun by Rebecca Kai Dotlich:

I’m dancing.
I’m leaping.
I’m skipping about.
I gallop.
I grin.
I giggle.
I shout…

I’m swinging.
I’m singing.
I wiggle.
I run.
I’m a piece of the sky
in a circle of sun.

Where to Find the Poem
HERE’S A LITTLE POEM: A VERY FIRST BOOK OF POETRY
Collected by Jane Yolen and Andrew Fusek Peters
Candlewick, 2007
(You can read my review of the book here.)

A GIRAFFE POEM FOR GRACE

Grace, I know you didn't request a giraffe poem--but you commented on the giraffe poem I posted the other day. You said that you had a "soft spot" in your heart for these tallest of land mammals...so I found a poem entitled Giraffes for you. It was written by Mary Ann Hoberman.

From Giraffes:

I like them.
Ask me why.
Because they hold their heads so high.
Because their necks stretch to the sky…

Because they eat the tops of trees.
Because their legs have knobby knees.
Because.
Because.
Because. That’s why
I like giraffes.

Where to Find the PoemTHE LLAMA WHO HAD NO PAJAMA: 100 FAVORITE POEMS
Written by Mary Ann Hoberman
Browndeer/Harcourt Brace, 1998
ERIC CARLE’S ANIMALS ANIMALS
Compiled and illustrated by Eric Carle
Philomel, 1989

Well, I said I’d let you ask me to find poems for you—so here goes! Today and tomorrow you can ask me to look for a children’s poem for you on a specific topic/subject. I will do my best to fulfill your requests. As I stated in an earlier post, I will provide requesters with the titles of poems and titles of books in which the poems can be found. I may have more than one poem suggestion for each requester.

I will do my best to post my poetry suggestions by late Sunday evening or Monday morning.

Please be reasonable with your poem requests.