WHAT IS POETRY?
Poetry is as precise as geometry. --Gustave Flaubert
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
It's the feel of two soft puppy ears.
It's a bright sun rise and glowing moon shine.
It's a Carolina wren singing in a Lob-lolly pine.
It's a snowman rolled on a cold winter morn.
It's crows calling from tall tasseled corn.
It's the whisper of hummingbird wings in the air.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Progressive Poem
WHAT IS POETRY?
The poet doesn't invent. He listens. --Jean Cocteau
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
It's the feel of two soft puppy ears.
It's a bright sun rise and glowing moon shine.
It's a Carolina wren singing in a Lob-lolly pine.
It's a snowman rolled on a cold winter morn.
It's crows calling from tall tasseled corn.
Each day during April, I will add a line to this poem. If you'd like to suggest lines, please leave your suggestions in the comments below.
Sorry I'm late today. It is a busy Saturday and I should have taken care of this last night, but you know how Fridays are. I hope you are having a great weekend.
THE QUAIL EGG
I found a little quail egg
in the gravel by the pond.
When I picked it up I found
part of it was gone.
I brought the egg
into the house
and blew the insides out.
I set it on the counter
to let the egg dry out.
I thought about that little egg;
it never grew to much.
I hoped that mother quail
would try to double clutch.
Do you know what double clutch means? It has nothing to do with cars and shifting gears in this poem. A group of eggs that a bird lays is called a clutch of eggs. When the eggs are removed, sometimes the bird will lay another set of eggs. This is double clutching. So my poems is saying, I hope the mother quail lays another set of eggs. I have no idea who moved the egg to the edge of the pond. I wonder if it could have been a packrat, or a larger bird. I'm going to have to do some research to find out. Next, I'm going to have to see if I can boil some of this information down to a haiku. I'll let you know if that works out.
Your challenge for today is to write a poem about a bird, perhaps you can make it a persona poem. How do you think are reacting to the end of winter? Have fun writing.
The poet doesn't invent. He listens. --Jean Cocteau
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
It's the feel of two soft puppy ears.
It's a bright sun rise and glowing moon shine.
It's a Carolina wren singing in a Lob-lolly pine.
It's a snowman rolled on a cold winter morn.
It's crows calling from tall tasseled corn.
Each day during April, I will add a line to this poem. If you'd like to suggest lines, please leave your suggestions in the comments below.
Sorry I'm late today. It is a busy Saturday and I should have taken care of this last night, but you know how Fridays are. I hope you are having a great weekend.
THE QUAIL EGG
I found a little quail egg
in the gravel by the pond.
When I picked it up I found
part of it was gone.
I brought the egg
into the house
and blew the insides out.
I set it on the counter
to let the egg dry out.
I thought about that little egg;
it never grew to much.
I hoped that mother quail
would try to double clutch.
Do you know what double clutch means? It has nothing to do with cars and shifting gears in this poem. A group of eggs that a bird lays is called a clutch of eggs. When the eggs are removed, sometimes the bird will lay another set of eggs. This is double clutching. So my poems is saying, I hope the mother quail lays another set of eggs. I have no idea who moved the egg to the edge of the pond. I wonder if it could have been a packrat, or a larger bird. I'm going to have to do some research to find out. Next, I'm going to have to see if I can boil some of this information down to a haiku. I'll let you know if that works out.
Your challenge for today is to write a poem about a bird, perhaps you can make it a persona poem. How do you think are reacting to the end of winter? Have fun writing.
Friday, April 12, 2013
WHAT IS POETRY?
Poetry is the language in which man explores his own amazement. --Christopher Fry
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
It's the feel of two soft puppy ears.
It's a bright sun rise and glowing moon shine.
It's a Carolina wren singing in a Lob-lolly pine.
It's a snowman rolled on a cold winter morn.
Each day during April, I will add a line to this poem. If you'd like to suggest lines, please leave your suggestions in the comments below.
Next Thursday is Poem in Your Pocket Day, April 18, 2013. Last week I shared with you how I've been making poetry pockets for some of my friends. Janet Wong, editor of THE POETRY FRIDAY ANTHOLOGY has created pockets with poems from the anthology. My poem, Keys , is one of the four. Also included are Petting Zoo by Laura Purdie Salas, Bluejay Sings Two Different Songs by Mary Lee Hahn, and Sack Lunch by Charles Waters.
And in the mail yesterday came a lovely surprise I wanted to share with you, Tabatha Yeatts sent me a FIB to carry in my pocket.
A Fibonacci Poem for Joy
by Tabatha Yeatts
Sneak
A
Poem
Into your
Pocket for those days
When your secret self needs a friend.
Thank you, Tabatha for letting me share your poem.
The Friday Poetry roundup is hosted this week by Diane Mayr at Random Noodling.
Poetry is the language in which man explores his own amazement. --Christopher Fry
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
It's the feel of two soft puppy ears.
It's a bright sun rise and glowing moon shine.
It's a Carolina wren singing in a Lob-lolly pine.
It's a snowman rolled on a cold winter morn.
Each day during April, I will add a line to this poem. If you'd like to suggest lines, please leave your suggestions in the comments below.
Next Thursday is Poem in Your Pocket Day, April 18, 2013. Last week I shared with you how I've been making poetry pockets for some of my friends. Janet Wong, editor of THE POETRY FRIDAY ANTHOLOGY has created pockets with poems from the anthology. My poem, Keys , is one of the four. Also included are Petting Zoo by Laura Purdie Salas, Bluejay Sings Two Different Songs by Mary Lee Hahn, and Sack Lunch by Charles Waters.
And in the mail yesterday came a lovely surprise I wanted to share with you, Tabatha Yeatts sent me a FIB to carry in my pocket.
A Fibonacci Poem for Joy
by Tabatha Yeatts
Sneak
A
Poem
Into your
Pocket for those days
When your secret self needs a friend.
Thank you, Tabatha for letting me share your poem.
The Friday Poetry roundup is hosted this week by Diane Mayr at Random Noodling.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Progressive Poem
WHAT IS POETRY?
The smell of ink is intoxicating to me--others may have wine, but I have poetry. --Terri Guillemets
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
It's the feel of two soft puppy ears.
It's a bright sun rise and glowing moon shine.
It's a Carolina wren singing in a Lob-lolly pine.
Happy Thursday. My children's poetry critique group meets today and I'm anxious to see what suggestions they have for the piece I submitted. I feel so fortunate to have a group of friends who look at my poetry and offer suggestions for making it better.
For your challenge today, can you write a haiku?
women having tea
being noisy, talk, gossip
create new kanji
When I was in Japan, I learned the symbol for a woman. It looked like a triangle. Then I was shown another symbol for the word gossip. I was told it was fairly modern. The symbol was three triangles, or what happens when you get three women together. The name for the symbol alphabet used in Japan is kanji.
Have fun writing.
The smell of ink is intoxicating to me--others may have wine, but I have poetry. --Terri Guillemets
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
It's the feel of two soft puppy ears.
It's a bright sun rise and glowing moon shine.
It's a Carolina wren singing in a Lob-lolly pine.
Happy Thursday. My children's poetry critique group meets today and I'm anxious to see what suggestions they have for the piece I submitted. I feel so fortunate to have a group of friends who look at my poetry and offer suggestions for making it better.
For your challenge today, can you write a haiku?
women having tea
being noisy, talk, gossip
create new kanji
When I was in Japan, I learned the symbol for a woman. It looked like a triangle. Then I was shown another symbol for the word gossip. I was told it was fairly modern. The symbol was three triangles, or what happens when you get three women together. The name for the symbol alphabet used in Japan is kanji.
Have fun writing.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Progressive Poem
WHAT IS POETRY?
Poetry is man's rebellion against being what he is. --James Branch Cabell
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
It's the feel of two soft puppy ears.
It's a bright sun rise and glowing moon shine.
This is the progressive poem I'm writing for National Poetry Month. Each day I'll add a line and change the epigraph. I'm hoping I can keep this up for the entire month. Can you write your own list poem today about things that are soft? If that doesn't work try writing about things that are hard. What ever you do have fun. I'm going for a picnic in the park today.
Poetry is man's rebellion against being what he is. --James Branch Cabell
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
It's the feel of two soft puppy ears.
It's a bright sun rise and glowing moon shine.
This is the progressive poem I'm writing for National Poetry Month. Each day I'll add a line and change the epigraph. I'm hoping I can keep this up for the entire month. Can you write your own list poem today about things that are soft? If that doesn't work try writing about things that are hard. What ever you do have fun. I'm going for a picnic in the park today.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
WHAT IS POETRY?
Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.--Percy Byshe Shelly
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
I hope you are enjoying National Poetry Month. Just for fun can you write an acrostic poem today using "Poetry" or any other word you choose?
OK, let's see if I can quickly do this.
Please,
open you heart, your
eyes and mind
to the wonder of words;
remember your
yearning to be surrounded.
I think I'm going to need to come back to this again later. Have fun with your own word experimentation.
Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.--Percy Byshe Shelly
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
It's the sound of a truck shifting its gears.
I hope you are enjoying National Poetry Month. Just for fun can you write an acrostic poem today using "Poetry" or any other word you choose?
OK, let's see if I can quickly do this.
Please,
open you heart, your
eyes and mind
to the wonder of words;
remember your
yearning to be surrounded.
I think I'm going to need to come back to this again later. Have fun with your own word experimentation.
Monday, April 8, 2013
WHAT IS POETRY?
WHAT IS POETRY?
It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things. --Stephen Mallarme
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
This is my progressive poem for National Poetry Month. Each day I'll add a line to this list poem of what poetry is to me. What is poetry to you? You're welcome to leave suggestions for lines for me.
Try writing your own poem today. What would your life be like without poetry? I know that poetry makes me very happy and I think I'd be sad, unhappy if I couldn't surround myself with poetry. Have a great week.
It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things. --Stephen Mallarme
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.
It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail.
It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.
It's giggling and laughing and being absurd.
It's reading a haiku and feeling each word.
It's a dragon who blows flames, loud and hardy.
It's fairies in the garden having a tea party.
This is my progressive poem for National Poetry Month. Each day I'll add a line to this list poem of what poetry is to me. What is poetry to you? You're welcome to leave suggestions for lines for me.
Try writing your own poem today. What would your life be like without poetry? I know that poetry makes me very happy and I think I'd be sad, unhappy if I couldn't surround myself with poetry. Have a great week.
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