Well hello there!

You've heard of "squirrel brain," right? Well, since NCTE, I've got Poetry Brain. If you popped open my skull, I think it would probably look kind of like those small leafy tornadoes that spin in the yard during fall... my mind has been swirling with wise words I heard, like "Poetry is about bearing witness." and pieces of books I've been reading, like SOMOS COMO LAS NUBES/WE ARE LIKE THE CLOUDS by Jorge Argueta and fragments of poems I want to write. It's kind of crazy in there right now, but beautiful, you know?

And today I am cooking. I tend to tackle Thanksgiving dinner in stages, preparing a couple of dishes a day beginning the Monday before the BIG day. Yesterday I made cranberry festival (gelatin) salad, and this morning I made the sweet potato casserole and the pumpkin bread. It smells like love and family and all that is good in the world.

I will be back for Poetry Friday to share with you some goodies from NCTE, including a poem I wrote in a brave, excellent session led by Mary Lee Hahn and Heidi Mordhorst.

OH. Did you hear Marilyn Nelson won the NCTE Award for Excellence in Poetry? Congratulations, Marilyn!! And to the committee: well done, all!

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Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Brenda at Friendly Fairy Tales for Roundup.

I'm in Atlanta for NCTE, which happens to be one of my most favorite conferences of the year. I love being around so many people who are passionate about books and education and children. I always come away so very inspired -- more about this next week!

So today, I have a new original poem to share with you. It's inspired in part by world events and the Writing for a Better World panel I'll be on tomorrow, and also by my seamstress-mother, who can create beauty out of even the most tattered piece of fabric.

And this is how
we shall remake
the world:
like a seamstress
with pins in her mouth,
steady fingers
coaxing thread,
a hum forever
in her throat
as stitch by stitch
the fabric is fitted,
             gathered –
until what was once

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A couple of weeks ago I issued the last 2016 edition of my occasional author email newsletter. If you missed it, you can view it here and subscribe here.

In the letter I offered a giveaway for my new chapbook DEAR SLAVE, which contains poems that are letters to former slaves. I wrote the letters after I read their words in slave narratives collected by Ruby Pickens Tartt.

To enter the giveaway, I asked people to reply with the name of a deceased loved one they'd like to write a letter to, and (optional) what they would say in the letter.

Response continues to be overwhelming! I've gotten so many messages from folks sharing their loved ones  -- parents and sisters and children and friends -- and I'm so very honored to read the things they would like to say to them.

A couple of things stand out to me about the experience. First, we NEED to say the names of the ones we love who are no longer with us. Saying their names, sharing them with others, is important. Second, we are all the same. Grief unites us. All the feelings and regrets and love -- no matter how different we are, or what the relationship, or what the circumstances of the death -- we share those emotions.

Below please find images of a few of the former slaves to whom I addressed poems in DEAR SLAVE. I wish I could have talked with them in real life. May we never forget their names.

Ank Bishop

Emma Crockett

Amy Chapman

All photos courtesy of the Library of Congress.

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Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Jama's Alphabet Soup for Roundup, where she is offering up HOPE, which is pretty essential, isn't it? Thank you,  Jama. What an emotional week this has been... and I've had the stomach flu. Feeling MUCH better now, thank you very much! Nothing like a few sick days to make one extra grateful for those good-health days. Wow.

So I have a lovely little poem for you, and some sheep. Yep. Read on!

Rhapsody

I am glad daylong for the gift of song,
For time and change and sorrow;
For the sunset wings and the world-end things
Which hang on the edge of tomorrow.
I am glad for my heart whose gates apart
Are the entrance-place of wonders,
Where dreams come in from the rush and din
Like sheep from the rains and thunders.

-William Stanley Braithwaite

Speaking of sheep, have you read THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE: Modern Dispatches from an Ancient Landscape by James Rebanks? I loved learning about these sheep families and the whole world of Beatrix Potter. (And now I totally want to watch again MISS POTTER.) It's a hard life, methinks, with so much out of one's control. But it's also obviously rewarding. I particularly enjoyed the lessons of such a life:

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Last year I was able to visit The Center for Civil and Human Rights in Atlanta, and it was powerful and unforgettable. I was there with dear poet-friends, and as we entered the building we asked one of the employees which part was his favorite, of all the displays, which did he most recommend. Right away, he said, "the lunch counter."

I nodded, thinking literally "lunch." I am always down for a sandwich or a nice salad. But that's not what he was talking about. He was talking about the interactive lunch counter exhibit where visitors sit at a model lunch counter, put on headphones, and "be" the people who were brave enough to do the sit-ins. To be taunted and shouted at and hit.

An exercise in empathy. And it left me in shambles. I was shaking when I came away from that counter. Shaking and crying and feeling so grateful for all the folks who have risked their lives for equality.

Seriously. Make time to go to this museum. Take a seat at the lunch counter. Let it change your life.

And, ponder this: What is your ethical footprint?

from an exhibit and The Center for Civil and Human Rights in Atlanta, GA

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I've just finished reading MY SALINGER YEAR by Joanna Rakoff, as part of Bas Bleu's Book Club. It's about the author's stint typing letters and such during the late '90s working for the literary agency that represented J.D. (Jerry) Salinger.

As an author who's repped by a stellar literary agency, I found a couple of passages that really resonated:



Reading manuscripts was the exact opposite of reading for grad school: it was pure instinct, with some emotion and intelligence thrown in. Does this novel work? Or can it be made to work? Does it move me? Does it grip me?

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...and for something entirely different, I posted yesterday at Smack Dab in the Middle about using a personal mission statement to navigate when to say Yes and when to say NO. I fear the only personal mission statement our current presidential candidates ascribe to is "win the election." Sigh.

But. It will be okay, no matter what. This I believe. xo

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The wall of book covers at the State Library!

This was my second time to participate in Louisiana Book Festival -- the first time was in 2012 just after DON'T FEED THE BOY was released. It was a busier festival this time, with more folks roaming about, more tents, more books, more authors... and this time it was HOT. Being under those tents was a little like being microwaved. At the signing, Tessa Gratton and I peeled back the velcro on the tent to let a little air in, and boy did that help!

The book signing line.

Before my book talk, I picnic-ed with writer-friends Pat Weaver, Sheila Renfro and Margaret Simon, who totally needs to write a book about how she fosters a passion for writing in her students!

 We sat under a giant magnolia tree, and the ground was so damp we had to sit on our books or bags -- and we still ended up a little muddy! But it was okay, because what is better than lunching with writer-friends?! The food was decent, too: catfish and red beans and rice. Gotta love Louisiana!

I presented FRESH DELICIOUS to a small but enthusiastic crowd, and the best part was afterward, when Margaret spied her student Madison, who, earlier that day, had received an award for a poem she wrote called "Reef for All" after my poem "Tree for All" in DEAR WANDERING WILDEBEEST. Isn't that cool? Here I am with Madison.

The Birthday Girl!

Books! Books! Books!

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A few days ago I visited the The National WWII Museum in New Orleans. While there I searched for and found a memorial brick my father purchased for his father -- my Granddaddy Dykes.

MSG Newton E Dykes, 819th Tank DST BTN "We Love You Dad"

Each section is marked to help you find "your" brick.

What surprised me how emotional the experience was for me. I cried when I saw it -- especially those words "We love you Dad." WE. Even though  my father was an only child, and he's the one who purchased the brick. We. My father knew the memorial wasn't just for one person, it was for all of us, for everyone, even those who never knew my grandfather. I don't know, it just touched me something fierce.

And it's got me thinking about how important it is to remember the people we love who have died. How these memorials, however permanent or semi-permanent, connect us to one another as a community, as a species. For two blocks along Magazine Street in front of the museum there are hundreds and hundreds of bricks, just like my grandfather's, but with different names. Other people come and find "their" bricks just like I did. We all share the same grief, the same love.

Which makes me especially grateful when I think about my father's bench in front of Bismarck Cancer Center in Bismarck, North Dakota. It was installed shortly after his death this past June. I haven't seen it yet in person, but I will. I will go sit on it, and I will remember. And yes, I will probably cry. And then I will be connected to everyone who has or ever will sit on that bench bearing my father's name.

"Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up." In Honor of Ken Dykes Bismarck Cancer Center Executive Director 2007-2016

Beautiful, isn't it?

Another thing that surprised me: how much I loved "in honor of" instead of "in memory of." Honor. Now that is a lovely lovely thing. My father would have loved it. I'm so grateful to Bismarck Cancer Center, especially new executive director Amy Gross, for making it happen!

More on my trip, including the Louisiana Book Festival later this week. And: are you a subscriber to my email newsletter? New edition coming later this week that will include a giveaway just for subscribers... sign up here.

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Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit sweet Linda at TeacherDance for Roundup. I'm excited because tomorrow I will be at Louisiana Book Festival presenting a book talk on FRESH DELICIOUS. Yay!

Here in Alabama we're in a stage 3 drought... so, in an effort to coax some rain this way I've been reading rain poems! Lucky me, I was gifted a sweet little book of such poems (thank you, Ramona!) called ONE BIG RAIN: Poems for Rainy Days compiled by Rita Gray, illustrated by Ryan O'Rourke .

Hope you enjoy the poems. Thank you for reading! And don't forget to enter the giveaway for GO SOUTH TO FREEDOM by Frye Gaillard! Deadline midnight Oct. 31!

November Rain
- Maud E. Uschold

This autumn rainfall
Is no shower
that freshens grass
And brings the flower.

This rain is long
And cold and gray,
Yet sleeping roots
Are fed this way.

Trees and bushes,
Nearly bare
Of leaves, now chains
Of raindrops wear

Along each twig.
Some clear beads fall.
A tree could never
Hold them all.

Rain
(Translated from the Norwegian by Sarah J. Hails)
- Sigbjorn Obstfelder

One is one, and two is two -
we sing in huddles,
we hop in puddles.
Plip, plop,
we drip on roof top,
trip, trop,
the rain will not stop.
Rain, rain, rain, rain,
bucketing rain,
chucketing rain,
rain, rain, rain, rain,
wonderfully raw,
wet to the core!
One is one, and two is two-
we sing in huddles,
we hop in puddles.
plip, plop,
we drip on roof top,
trip, trop,
the rain will not stop.

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Today I'd like to share with you a book I was asked to blurb: Go South to Freedom by Fry Gaillard, illus. by Anne Kent Rush. It was released in September by NewSouth Books, an Alabama publisher I'm thrilled to be working with for the paperback edition of Leaving Gee's Bend, coming spring 2017. (!) Leaving Gee's Bend was first released by Putnam/Penguin in 2010, so the paperback has been a long time coming! I'm excited.

Meanwhile, Go South to Freedom earned a starred review from Kirkus! And here's my blurb:

"Go South to Freedom is a campfire story for all ages, filled with surprise and adventure, truth and sadness, and ultimately hope. Readers experience the great pull of freedom in this account of the courageous efforts of the African and other enslaved people to make their lives better. Inspiring and entertaining."

Things I like about this book:

1. It's based on a true story.
2. Readers learn something about runaway slave communities that existed in Florida as well as the community of free blacks in Mobile, Alabama.
3. The narrative in written in the tradition of oral storytelling.
4. The story is full of adventure and danger.
5. It reaffirms the human spirit and illuminates the strength and determination of enslaved people to be free.

I hope you will check it out! Thanks to NewSouth, I am able to offer a copy for giveaway! To enter, simply leave a comment below between now and 11:59 pm October 31. Then Maggie the (magical, disappearing) cat will select a winner -- and I will contact that person to get an address. Good luck!

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Today I am happy to share with you a poem from National Book Award Finalist BRIGHT DEAD THINGS (Milkweed) by Ada Limón.

I love the whole poem, but those last lines really get me. They speak to me of this desire I have for meaning and connection, the desire to make an impact.

As much as I seek comfort, and also want to provide it -- I also want discomfort. I want to experience things that make me twitchy and uncomfortable, things that frighten me and things that I haven't yet (and maybe never will) figure out. It's in "rough clothes" that we deepen and broaden the experience of living and loving....

and those are just a few of my thoughts when reading this poem. :) What are YOUR thoughts?

The Noisiness of Sleep
by Ada Limón

Careful of what I carry
in my head and in my hollow,

I've been a long time worried
about grasping infinity

and coaxing some calm
out of the softest part

of the pins and needles of me.
I'd like to take a nap.

But not a nap that's eternal,
a nap where you wake up

having dreamt of falling, but
you've only fallen into

an ease so unknown to you
it looks like a new country.

Let me slip into a life less messy.
Let me slip into your sleeve.

Be very brave about my
trespass, the plan is simple --

the plan is the clock tower
and the lost crow. It'll be rich.

We'll live forever. Every moon
will be a moon of surrender

and lemon seeds. You there,
standing up in the crowd,

I'm not proud. The stove
can't boast of the meal.

All this to say -- consider this,
with your combination of firefly

and train whistle, consider this,
with your maze and steel,

I want to be the rough clothes
you can't sleep in.

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Hello, and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Tricia at Miss Rumphius Effect for Roundup.

I've just finished MOO by Sharon Creech. I thought of my mother the entire time I was reading it -- because my mom was once a big-time prize-winning 4-H girl who, in addition to competing in the areas of sewing and public speaking, showed dairy and beef cows. Her favorite was a Jersey cow named Penny, who won her a GRAND CHAMPION prize. Here's a picture:

Penny & Mama (before she was a mama!)

And here's an excerpt from the book:

BEAUTY DAY

Animals need primping for the fair:
     shampoos
     clipping
     pedicures (hoof-i-cures?)

I am not kidding!

Zep declared Beauty Day for Zora and
Yolanda
     We lathered
     we scrubbed
     we rinsed
     we dried them with a blow-dryer.

I am not kidding!

     We clipped
     we combed
     we brushed.
     We cleaned and polished hooves.
 
You'll have to do it all again at the fair,
Zep said.
This is just round one: preparation.

It made us laugh.
     Beauty Day for the heifers!
They looked SO good when we were done!

And then Zora tromped through
a mud puddle
and lay down
and said
     Moo.

- Sharon Creech
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This poem also reminds me of all the ways  my sister and I would primp our ponies. We painted their hooves and dyed their manes and tails... we also braided and brushed and occasionally broke out the hair dryer. Fun!

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As some readers may remember, my 2016 One Little Word is DELIGHT. So, imagine my delight when I stumbled across this poem in a little book called Gratitude Prayers, selected by June Cotner:

A Poem of Delight
by Dan Vera

What are the chemical properties of delight?

What physical law rules delight?

In which commandment did the Hebrew God command delight?

Does delight ever go on sale?

Does delight ever go on vacation?

What is the temperature of delight?

Who came first: the delighted chicken or the delighted egg?

What are the elemental principles of delight?

If I dropped delight from the Empire State Building at exactly the same time you dropped delight from the second story window of your apartment, which delight would land first?

If day follows night, does this mean delight follows delight?

With a billion sparkling beings illuminating the sky, is midnight the time of shimmering delight?

And if I feel delight at the twinkling of stars that long burned out in the blue ovens of night, what is the half-life of delight?

An east-bound train from Omaha to Denver is traveling at 110 miles an hour and a west-bound train from Denver to Omaha is traveling at 95 miles an hour. They both leave their respective stations at the same time and the distance between Denver and Omaha is 537 miles. How much time will it take the train conductors to feel delight at their meeting?

Is desperation jealous of delight?

Do the bells at the top of the hill ring with anything but delight?

I was walking through the aisles of the grocery store when I stumbled upon a pyramid display of delight. I placed one in my basket and proceeded to the checkout line. But when the cashier tried to scan it, he couldn't find the universal price code for delight.

                                  "Price check on Aisle 3!"

Love is just the space between our danger and delight.
-------------------------------

Isn't that delightful? And isn't that last line wonderful? Suddenly I am speaking in questions. :)

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Last week our indoor-only cat Maggie disappeared.

Paul searched everywhere -- high, low, outside, inside.

What made it so strange is that Maggie is not one of these dash-out-the-door cats. Even when a door is open, she wants only to sit there and WATCH. She has some very reliable habits. When she does hide, it's usually under our bed.

Not this time.

Paul posted signs in the neighborhood, just in case.

No calls. No Maggie. Paul was heartbroken.

And then, three days later... Maggie! She appeared in our basement. Our basement, where Paul has an office, and Andrew has a room, and we park our cars. We'd been in and out, and she'd been hiding all that time!

A friend of mine said she might have been sick, or working to clear a hairball. She must have needed to be alone.

We're so happy she's back! Especially Paul -- Maggie is his cat. And as much as we go into relationships with pets knowing that they will end sooner than we'd like them to, we're really glad we've got more time with her. She's special.

So if you have a pet(s), love 'em extra-hard today, for us, and for Maggie!

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Mrs. Frizzle!

Hello, children's poets and poetry lovers! A big Happy Poetry Friday to you! Roundup is HERE!!

I am away from my desk yet again this week -- helping my mom through a surgery. O, October, how you weary me! So I thought I would share with you as I always do pictures from our local elementary school's scarecrow show. (Here's a link to 2015 and 2014.) And I thought I'd also share a scarecrow poem by Valerie Worth. Sounds good, right?

Well. As it turns out, I only imagined that scarecrow poem by Valerie Worth! I've shared a pumpkin one and a skeleton one, but no scarecrow. Because it doesn't exist. So I decided to write one myself.


By summer's end
I'm crook-necked,
hunch-backed,
twig-thin.

I've lost an eye,
and an arm,
and my hat dangles
below my brow.

I saved the grain
from so many beaks and teeth,
and still my work
goes on –

I'll guard this field
until winter comes,
and then, Wind,
won't you please
                         oh so gently
                                      lay me down?

Waldo!

This poem started out with the title "Scarecrow," and then I changed it to "Scarecrow's Lament," then "Scarecrow's Request," and finally "Scarecrow's Wish."

Titling is a funny thing. I think of it's an important tool for the poet -- great for creating suspense, intrigue, or simply placing a poem so you don't have to use the first lines to do that.

I like the idea of Scarecrow having a wish, and I like the way those words sound and look together (better than "request"!). I really love "lament," but the poem really turned into something different at the end, so it didn't seem to fit anymore. Plain ol' "Scarecrow" is what Valerie Worth would do... and one can certainly argue for the simple title! What decisions we poets are faced with... Poets, how do you approach titles? Do share in comments!

The Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly!

For a related image, please see the cartoon called "The Scarecrow's Lament" in The New Yorker. And here is some original music, also with the title "The Scarecrow's Lament."

Pete!

...and finally....

Max!

And now, if you please, leave your link below! Thank you!!

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I love this title!

Last week it was my good fortune to attend a Writing Intensive with Bruce Coville, author of over 100 books -- most (all?) of them fantasy or sci-fi. And since I've just finished the latest draft of this little fantasy middle grade novel that's been haunting me for oh about SIX years now.... well, I was a happy sponge!

Here are some things I learned again or for the first time:

Fantasy as a genre gives readers a way to expand their lives through dreams and imagination and the re-enchantment of the world.

If it has a machine in it, it's probably science fiction (rather than fantasy).

The rule of 3 + 1: 3 little pigs & the big bad wolf. (The 4th thing should be the "topper" or the turn, i.e. "he'd been poked, punched, called names, and hit in the face with a cupcake")

"Window dressing" is the author's chance to paint a magical picture inside the imaginary world.

Bruce took us step by step through this book's opening... wonderful!

Use humor! Quirks and funny speech patterns are good, esp. for sidekicks.

Make maps. (this is great for ANY genre!)

What lifts the craft to art is the sense of mystery.

Embrace the unfinished chord. (leave the reader with something to think about.)

Bruce left ME with lots to think about! Plus he had some nice things to say about my wip, which, as all writers know, is why we go to conferences: to be encouraged, to re-light our fires, to learn.

Thanks, Bruce! Happy to know you!!

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This is the art that happened to be hanging outside my presentation room at The Classic Center in Athens, GA. Pretty fitting, right?

Last week I was privileged to present programs at Georgia COMO conference on my nature poetry books DEAR WANDERING WILDEBEEST and WHEN THE SUN SHINES ON ANTARCTICA as well as on food library programming related to FRESH DELICIOUS.

As I told the librarians, one of my goals for 2016 was to reach out to Georgia teachers and librarians, as I was born in Covington, Georgia and have always enjoyed thinking of myself as a Georgia "peach." And what I discovered (not a surprise) was that Georgia librarians are just as peachy as they can be! Thanks so much to those who attended for your enthusiasm for poetry and field notebooks in the first session, and for veggie-art in the second session! Here are some pictures taken by Paul who was my helper for the day:

Painting with asparagus... does it get any better?!

Veggie art! (I esp. love that flowered vine on the right.)

Watermelon make-n-take craft!

Fun with jewelers' loupes!

A couple of things I learned:

One way to handle potential food allergies when doing food programming is to post outside the door a list of all the foods included in the program so that parents can decide whether to bring their kids in or not.

Also, one of my programming suggestions is built around the book Mama Panya's Pancakes: A Village Tale from Kenya by Mary and Rich Chamberlin, illustrated by Julia Cairns. I suggest having a Pancake party and including all sorts of other "pancakes" to bring a multicultural slant, like French crepes and Mexican tortillas and Indian flatbread. One of the librarians in attendance said she has used the book Will It Waffle? to host a Waffle (tasting) Party. FUN!!

Great job, librarians! I look forward to creating more art and poetry with you in the future!

Also: if you're ever in Athens, GA for breakfast or lunch, check out the restaurant Mama's Boy. So good!

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Hello and Happy Poetry Friday, children's poets! Be sure to visit lovely Violet (whom I got to meet at Poetry Camp. Yay!!!) at Violet Nesdoly for Roundup.

This is my third and final post about my trip to the Seattle area. Here are links to posts chronicling my bookish adventures in Seattle and Mercer Island.

But first: hello to new friends I met during my presentations this week at Georgia COMO! Wow, Georgia is full of enthusiastic librarians. (More on this next week.) Yay!

And hello all my SCBWI Southern Breeze friends -- excited to be with you today
and tomorrow for our annual WIK (Writing and Illustrating for Kids) conference. I'll be launching my two 2016 books tomorrow morning, one of which, WHEN THE SUN SHINES ON ANTARCTICA was just named winner of the Silver Moonbeam Children's Book Award for Poetry! Go, penguins, go!!

Yes, I'm tired. And no, my schedule isn't always like this. October and April and March tend to be my busiest months for travel.

And now, the reason for last week's trip to Seattle, and for this post: Poetry Camp!

Poetry Camp was a partnership between the good folks Sylvia Tag and Nancy Johnson at WWU and Pomelo Books, aka Janet Wong & Sylvia Vardell! SO much planning went into this event. SO MUCH. And it showed. The whole thing was just kind of magical. Yes, it was like drinking from a firehose (perfect metaphor, Doraine!), but it was also such a rich and nourishing time. I loved meeting so many Poetry Friday poets... and hearing poets read their own work! Joy joy joy!

Howdy Campers! (l-r) Doraine Bennett, April Halprin Wayland, Jeannine Atkins, Robyn Hood Black, Irene Latham

I learned stuff, too, like some new ways to approach writing workshops with middle schoolers (presented by Sara Holbrook and Michael Salinger). And what great discussions: emotion vs. intellect in poems? Lots to talk about, and how wonderful to make new friends.

Shout-out to Robyn Hood Black whose poetry makerspace workshop was divine! Here is my creation:

me & Liz

And to Liz Steinglass who was the best session partner never. (Want a copy of our handout on Metaphor & Simile? Email me: irene (at) irenelatham (dot) com.) And to Carol-Ann Hoyte and Cynthia Grady and Michelle Schaub, who has a farmers' market poetry book coming next year! And to Nancy Bo Flood and Carmen T Bernier-Grand and to everyone everyone... yes, it was THAT kind of camp. :)

There came a point on Saturday when I had reached my limit -- I'm an introvert, and I wasn't feeling well, and I had been traveling all week... and thank God for Ramona who said, yes, I can take you back to Seattle. Yes, I will get you to your already-payed-for airport hotel. Yes, we can stop at the drugstore. And hey, have you ever tried Starbucks' SHORT (who knew then even had a "SHORT?") caramel apple cider? Well, I have now! Thank you again and again, Ramona! Mwah!

Sylvia Vardell posted lots of great photos on her Facebook page.

And now, for a poem from the newly released YOU JUST WAIT: A Poetry Friday Power Book, brought to you by Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong. This book is a writers' notebook and a story and a little bit of everything! One of the poems I love appears midway through the book.

Black Ice
by Joseph Bruchac

The whirl of winter wind
slicked the road surface
black and shiny as an otter's back.

The turn of the season's wheel
caught tire treads and heart
at the same time-stopped moment.

I spun, less like a top
than a whirligig beetle,
caromed into the kiss
of guardrail against bumper
rebounded and stopped
just at the edge.

Then the only breath
left held in my chest
was released at last
to spread its wings,
a bird of thanks.

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Yes! "A bird of thanks." Sending a whole flock out to the Poetry Friday community today!! I'm so thrilled to know all of you. See you at the next Poetry Camp! xo

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Ramona with fall flowers!

Life as a children's poet can take one to unexpected places... like Seattle, for instance! Please see my previous post about my first day's adventures. Today's post will be devoted to my time with book-loving, oh-so-generous Ramona who lives on Mercer Island. Read Ramona's post about it at her blog Pleasures from the Page.

First of all, Mercer Island actually IS an island. You cross a bridge over Lake Washington to get there. And it just feels different than Seattle. Small, quaint. Like everyone knows everyone. And one thing I learned: everyone really does know Ramona. Because She. Is. Awesome.

Our first visitors at the Meet-n-Greet. Thank you for coming!

The first place Ramona took me was to Island Books. This little indie bookstore has that warm, homey feel, and the children's department was awash in titles on my TBR list. We picked up copies of FRESH DELICIOUS and DON'T FEED THE BOY to take to a little meet-n-greet Ramona set up. And I do mean Ramona set it up: home-baked goods, check! Bottled water, check! Flowers from Pike Place Market, check!

...a table runner and everything!

We set up at Islander Middle School library, and I was delighted as a few folks meandered in to talk books and poetry and kids and grandkids. What fun. And Ramona's toffee bars? Delish.

Mercer Island sunset. Aaahhh....

That evening Ramona and I chased a sunset by popping in at a few of Mercer Island's "pocket" parks. (Ramona does this all the time.) We shared a lovely meal and pictures, so many pictures! I felt right at home.

The next morning we headed to Islander Middle School for two assemblies with 6th graders and a visit with Ramona's book club.

Islander Middle School is BRAND NEW. In fact, I got to be the guinea pig for the A/V equipment in the gym! Thanks to a great tech crew (hi, Keith!), everything went smoothly. Students and teachers were an attentive audience, and asked great questions about my adventures in writing. Here is a link to some of the student responses about the visit (on Padlet) here and here.

But the best part was talking with about 20 students who make up the book club Ramona runs (did I mention Ramona is RETIRED? Yep. She's one of those passionate educators who cannot stop!). Many of them had read my books, so they were able to ask more in-depth questions. We discussed things about being a writer, like, what to do when you want to give up; how to keep going; how to FINISH a story. These kids are thoughtful readers and eager learners -- my favorite kind of people to be around.

Many thanks to Ramona especially, and all the amazing teachers and staff (Patty, especially), and co-principals MaryJo Budzius & Aaron Miller. I loved meeting so many enthusiastic educators. What a great place to learn!

I hated to say goodbye to Ramona. I wanted to pack her in my suitcase and take her home with me. (I do live closer to new grandson Teddy, after all!) I was thrilled when our paths crossed again at Poetry Camp... where she kind of saved my life. And I will save THAT story for my next post!

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How to tell you about my week last week? Well, since this NEW week is already up and running with me off to Georgia COMO mid-week and our annual SCBWI Southern Breeze conference this weekend -- where I will be attending an Intensive with Bruce Coville.... I've decided to do some short posts about each part of my trip.

First up, Seattle with Sarah, who, among so many other things, keeps a blog called Shine Memoirs!

Sarah with pink-booted big-girl Georgia!

I met Sarah online when she contacted me with a request for a broadside of my poem "Black Shawl Remembers Crazy Horse." She saw it hanging at the Crazy Horse Memorial, and she wanted one for herself!

1. She saw my poem!
2. She like my poem!
3. She actually contacted me to tell me! (I totally want to be more like Sarah!)

Anyhow, years later... I come to Seattle, and Sarah is the lovely poet/mom/Antarctic explorer who picks me up!

Sarah and I shared a lunch under sunny (!) Seattle skies, then she shared her art-n-poetry filled home with me. I got to meet her gorgeous family! Eat home-grilled salmon with her! Talk poetry with her!

Sarah collects broadsides!

sweet Georgia

lego-loving Xavier (who reminded me SO MUCH of my boys when they were small...)

picture book display wall! (Christian, come to Alabama and build one for me! Please?)

And, we went to a Elliott Bay Books for a nonfiction book proposal class. Sarah was all like, we can skip it, but little did she know I am working on a memoir and I NEED that class! (I'm taking it online for the next five weeks!) Talk about serendipity.

After a lovely night's sleep, Sarah showed me the Olympic Sculpture Park where, it turns out, she first met her husband. Sweet! And then we went to Pike Place Market, which I had only seen on tv, so that was pretty awesome.

So. Much. Seafood.

Those berries!

Rocky Pacific shores... so sad the rock I brought home with the volcano-shaped barnacle no longer has the volcano-shaped barnacle. :(

I spy the Space Needle....

Sculptures are great for hide-n-seek.

The Eagle.

And then... we had lunch with Ramona, who whisked me away to Mercer Island!

Read about that part of my week... next post! Thank you, Sarah, whom I am so honored to know and call my friend. xo

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I am excited to be visiting Seattle and Mercer Island and Bellingham this week, but I wanted to share with you a fun bit from last week: I got the chance to go with a friend to pop in on another friend who is a keeper at the Birmingham Zoo. She does a lot of work in the Children's Zoo area, training raptors and goats and pigs. Yes, she's a multitalented gal! And she's living her dream of being a zookeeper. Makes me happy!

Here are some pics:

me & Amy & an irritated owl :)

Pat with a giant leaf!

hibiscus (?)

Pat goofing off at the pretend outhouse in the Children's Zoo

And here is the bear exhibit where I read this poster and got an idea for a book (love when that happens!). I'm not going to tell you MY idea... but maybe it will give YOU an idea, too!


Not pictured: we got to go behind the scenes to watch the river otters being fed! They are active, smart, enthusiastic creatures... when I asked their keeper Elizabeth what was the most rewarding part of her work with them, she said it was their recognition of her, their connection with her. They know who feeds them. :)

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Last April at TLA, it was my good fortune to meet and serve on a poetry panel that included Kwame Alexander. Here's the group shot:

I've since seen Kwame (somewhere -- where was it?) wearing a t-shirt that said "I Like Big Books and I Cannot Lie," which I thought was super fun but didn't know it had significance related to his new book BOOKED. Well, the t-shirt-- along with other equally clever book-love t-shirts -- appears in the book thanks to one dynamic librarian Mr. Mac who pretty much changes main character Nick's life. (I have met a real-life Mr. Mac in Florence, Alabama!)

Confession: I was about 3/4 of the way through the book before I realized the different meanings of the book's title. Sometimes I'm slow like that! But then Nick took a while to turn into a bonafide book-nerd, so I guess it's never too late, right?

Anyhow, I'd like to share with you a poem from the book. It's a response to an amazing poem by Langston Hughes called "Harlem" that begins with this line: "What happens to a dream deferred?"


Fun fact: "Harlem" also inspired one of my forthcoming picture books: POP BAM BOOM - Exploding Poems. So I especially loved seeing this poem. Enjoy! And if you want to read a story about a boy who learns to love books (among other things), read BOOKED!


What happens to a dream destroyed?

Does it sink
like a wrecked ship in the sea?

Or wade in the water
like a boy overboard?

Maybe it just floats
around and around. . .

or does it drown?

- Kwame Alexander (BOOKED)

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Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit lovely poet-teacher Catherine at Reading to the Core for Roundup.

First a couple of newsy items: FRESH DELICIOUS will be representing Alabama this weekend at the National Book Festival. Yippee! I'm excited to see Laura Shovan's THE LAST FIFTH GRADE representing Maryland. Yay yay yay!

And second, thanks to friends in poetic places, I will be speaking to students in the Seattle area (thank you, Sarah and Ramona!) before meeting so many great folks in Bellingham for POETRY CAMP. So excited!!! This probably means I won't be posting next week, but who knows?! I may get a spare moment, in which case I will of course say hello.

So, poetry memoirs. There's HOW I DISCOVERED POETRY by Marily Nelson and BROWN GIRL DREAMING by Jacqueline Woodson and ENCHANTED AIR by Magarita Engle. There's YOU REMIND ME OF YOU by Eireanne Corrigan, which I haven't read yet. And others... readers: any poetry memoir titles to recommend?

Meanwhile, have you read TALKING IN THE DARK by Billy Merrell? So, so good! Indeed, each poem is a stand-alone poem, which I appreciate. Here's an example:

Moth

I know neither how to open nor to close. - Peter Sirr


How does it happen? That flicker in the dark
like a candle lit and then blown out.
The smoke after, the smell of it. I need you

to hear this. Do you ever stop, halfway?
Or having crossed the street do you ever cross back
to look more closely at something in the road?

Do you walk on? Washing dishes,
do you catch yourself wandering
toward the light on the glass?

I don't know, finally, how to love.
And yet I do. Daily and wholly,
and not only people. We live:

stop at the bank, have a cup of coffee,
forget to write, remember to lock the door.
How often do we live,

having that steady nostalgia even as we live it,
feeling memory create itself as we stand there,
wandering? Wondering? Both, I think, together.

Do you ever wonder if these moments
are what life really is? These lit moments
you rise into will be what is cut together

to finally be your life. We open into it,
we catch ourselves, and we stop. Who saw me
staring into the candle like that?

What must they imagine I'm thinking?
Let us catch ourselves opening
and then catch ourselves stopping

and not. Let us open and open,
without knowing how.

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This

To be given all this --
My one incredible life
Day after day of secret blessings
To be held from the beginning
In such loving, holy hands.
How can I not be lucky?
How can I not trust love?

-Sheila O'Connor

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