Poetry in Motion (Johnny Tillotson)

Sadly, today is the last day of National Poetry Month.  Joyfully, I was able to post almost every day (although there were a few blips along the way).  I urge you to explore more, discover more, enjoy more poetry... whether it's haiku, free verse, sonnets, cinquains, villanelles, sestinas.  Find what you like, and then read more of it. Don't make it a lesson, appreciate it as a pleasure.  Feel free to share one of your favorite poems in the comment section below and, if you wish, give the backstory of how you it came on your radar and why it "speaks" to you... 💓

It is indeed Feel Good Friday.  As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor (all poetry-related) to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy! 

~ Poetry & the Creative Mind 2021:  Celebrating 25 years of National Poetry Month:  We are thrilled to welcome an incredible lineup of readers, including Meryl Streep, Elizabeth Alexander, Lauren Ambrose, John Darnielle, Terrance Hayes, Regina King, Delroy Lindo, Samin Nosrat, Sandra Oh, Jason Reynolds, Sarah Sze, and more. [Watched and listened to this phenomenal program last night, alternately weeping and smiling!]

~ This Is Why You Should Write Poetry, no matter what kind of writer you are:  Poetry is a shortcut from heart to heart.  “The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That’s what poetry does.” — Allen Ginsberg

~ Our modern obsession with poetry is only growing:  Outlining the popularity of the Instagram poet:  Given the recent mainstream popularity of poets like Rupi Kaur, it’s no secret that there’s been a poetry revival over the last few years. Poems are no longer only read by aspiring writers, English majors, and souls who find refuge in words. They’re being circulated to the masses.

~ Do You Have a Favorite Poem?:  Her name was Charlotte, and she was part of my mom’s book club. When I complimented her straw hat one afternoon, she invited me over for “tea and a poem.” My mom, of course, made me go. At first, I dreaded it. All my friends were selling Girl Scout cookies, and I was hanging out with Chaaaaarlotte. (573 comments, most of them offering up exquisite poems, many of them new to me... ❤)

~ When the Doctor Prescribes Poetry:  “This crisis affects more or less everyone, and poetry can help us process difficult feelings like loss, sadness, anger, lack of hope.”

SONG:  Poetry in Motion by Johnny Tillotson

BOOK:  Poetry Rx: How 50 Inspiring Poems Can Heal and Bring Joy To Your Life by Norman E. Rosenthal

POEM:  Mugged by Poetry by Dorianne Laux

—for Tony Hoagland who sent me a handmade chapbook made from old postcards called OMIGOD POETRY with a whale breaching off the coast of New Jersey and seven of his favorite poems by various authors typed up, taped on, and tied together with a broken shoelace. 

Reading a good one makes me love the one who wrote it,

as well as the animal or element or planet or person

the poet wrote the poem for. I end up like I always do,

flat on my back like a drunk in the grass, loving the world.

Like right now, I'm reading a poem called "Summer"

by John Ashbery whose poems I never much cared for,

and suddenly, in the dead of winter, "There is that sound

like the wind/Forgetting in the branches that means

something/Nobody can translate..." I fall in love

with that line, can actually hear it (not the line

but the wind) and it's summer again and I forget

I don't like John Ashbery poems. So I light a cigarette

and read another by Zbigniew Herbert, a poet

I've always admired but haven't read enough of, called

"To Marcus Aurelius" that begins "Good night Marcus

put out the light/and shut the book For overhead/is raised

a gold alarm of stars..." First of all I suddenly love

anyone with the name Zbigniew. Second of all I love

anyone who speaks in all sincerity to the dead

and by doing so brings that personage back to life,

plunging a hand through the past to flip off the light.

The astral physics of it just floors me. Third of all

is that "gold alarm of stars..." By now I'm a goner,

and even though I have to get up tomorrow at 6 am

I forge ahead and read "God's Justice" by Anne Carson,

another whose poems I'm not overly fond of

but don't actively disdain. I keep reading one line

over and over, hovering above it like a bird on a wire

spying on the dragonfly with "turquoise dots all down its back

like Lauren Bacall". Like Lauren Bacall!! Well hell,

I could do this all night. I could be in love like this

for the rest of my life, with everything in the expanding

universe and whatever else might be beyond it

that we can't grind a lens big enough to see. I light up

another smoke, maybe the one that will kill me,

and go outside to listen to the moon scalding the iced trees.

What, I ask you, will become of me?

QUOTE(S):  "All my life I have tried to save some part of my time for the inspiration which the poets give." ~ Newton D. Baker

"Then let us ask poetry to portray us as we are, our times, our ways of life. Who but our poets can give these supreme word-pictures to our descendants? How shall these children of our children visualize our era if our poets are silent? Through the cold, factual lines of historians? The limited dimensions of painters, sculptors and musicians? The poet is all and more than these." ~ Marie Bullock

Poetic Justice (Buddy Mondlock/Tom Kimmel)

I received a lovely card a few weeks ago from my former UU congregation (MollyL's handwriting, I'm pretty sure), wishing me a Happy Birthday and inviting me to their upcoming David Fisher Memorial Annual Poetry Service, via Zoom, which I had coordinated for the previous nine years.  I think I surprised everyone by showing up, and we were all mutually glad to see each other.  It was delightful to view everyone's faces, especially Rev. Susan, who is recovering from a tragic car accident, and the usual cast of poets/readers:  Alfredo, Gary, Sarah/Birch, Jerry... as well as a few newcomers.

As I had spoken from the pulpit for many years running, updating the math:

If you began attending or visiting the UU Church of Ft. Lauderdale after June 26, 2010 (the date of David Fisher’s passing, at the age of 81), you may be wondering who he was and why this service is a memorial to him.  During Coffee Hour after today’s service, you should approach one of our long-term members and ask them to tell you a David Fisher story.

In the meantime, here’s the 75-words-or-less answer:  David Fisher graduated college with a philosophy degree, he did two years of Army service, he was a doctor (practicing internal medicine), he was a minister, he was a college professor, he was a psychiatrist, he was a member of our Sunday Services Committee, and he was our choir director from 2003-2009.  He was a brother, a father, a grandfather… and he was in a long-term committed relationship with his partner Paul. 

Rev. Gail (our previous minister) said "he was one of the most graceful, gracious, grace-filled people I ever met” with the "unique ability to live lightly in the world and have great impact.  He was a minister in every aspect of his life.” 

David and I shared a love of verse… and his annual poetry service was always a spiritual experience.  I had volunteered to help coordinate the last one (April 2010) since David’s health issues were becoming a factor… and he had actually been in the hospital the week before the service. However, he pushed to be discharged the day prior, which made our collaboration even more inspiring and joyful… 

In his absence, this is my ninth year coordinating, and I am beyond honored to have taken up the baton, to make sure this service remains an annual event. 

However, this service is about so much more than poetry.  We here at the UUCFL are rich:  in tradition (remember Noralee’s cat poems?)… in community (look how many of you chose to attend and/or participate)… and in memories (David Fisher would be proud).

Here's/cheers to David, and to the many who carry on his legacy.  I certainly vow to continue!


SONG:  Poetic Justice by Buddy Mondlock and Tom Kimmel

BOOK:  The Carrying by Ada Limón (here's a wonderful interview with the poet, who was new to me before Sunday's service... 💖)

POEM:  This Day, O Soul by Walt Whitman

This day, O soul, I give you a wondrous mirror;
Long in the dark, in tarnish and cloud it lay—But the cloud
has pass'd, and the tarnish gone;
…Behold, O soul! it is now a clean and bright mirror,
Faithfully showing you all the things of the world.

QUOTE(S):  "Who knows anyway what it is, that wild, silky part of ourselves without which no poem can live?" ~ Mary Oliver

"Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away." ~ by Carl Sandburg

I Cain't Say No ( Rodgers and Hammerstein, from the musical Oklahoma)

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): It might be tempting to turn your home into a womb-like sanctuary and explore the mysteries of doing absolutely nothing while clad in your pajamas. And frankly, this might be a good idea. After the risks you've taken to reach out to the other side, after the bridges you've built in the midst of the storms, after the skirmishes you've fought in the Gossip Wars, you have every right to retreat and get your homebody persona humming at a higher vibration. So I say: Be meticulously leisurely as you celebrate the deep pleasures of self-care.


November 2, 2009
The Time You Find
Simplifying Your Schedule

For many, life is a hodgepodge of never-ending commitments. Yet few of us can be truly healthy or happy without regular periods of downtime. While there is nothing inherently wrong with busyness, those of us who over-commit or over-extend ourselves potentially face exhaustion and burnout. When you feel overwhelmed by your commitments, examining your motivation for taking on so many obligations can help you understand why you feel compelled to do so much. You may discover that you are being driven by fear that no one else will do the job or guilt that you aren’t doing enough. To regain your equilibrium and clear the clutter from your calendar, simplify your life by establishing limits regarding what you will and will not do based on your personal priorities.

Determining where your priorities lie can be as easy as making two lists: one that outlines all those obligations that are vital to your well-being, such as work, meditation, and exercise, and another that describes everything you do that is not directly related to your well-being. Although there will likely be items in the latter list that excite your passion or bring you joy, you may discover that you devote a large portion of your time to unnecessary activities. To simplify your schedule, consider which of these unnecessary activities add little value to your life and edit them from your agenda. Remember that you may need to ask for help, say no firmly, or delegate responsibility in order to distance yourself from such encumbrances. However, as you divest yourself of non-vital obligations that cause you stress, serve no purpose, or rob you of opportunities to refresh yourself, you will feel more energetic and enthusiastic about life in general.

If simplifying your schedule seems prohibitively difficult and you still feel pressed to take on more, try imagining how each new commitment will impact your life before saying yes. When you consider the hassle associated with superfluous obligations, you may be surprised to see that your schedule is impeding your attempts to grow as an individual. Your willingness to pare down your agenda, no matter how gradual your progress, will empower you to retake active control of the life that defines you.


This past weekend was the South Florida Folk Festival.  More on that next week, as it deserves its own post, but I really want to tell you the tale of friendship between myself and Michael McNevin.  We go back more than twenty years, having met at the Kerrville Folk Festival in May 1999, as he was standing outside the bathrooms, serenading those who walked by with his sweet voice and subtle lyrics.  We stayed in touch and, when I went to the Booking School at the Nashville Folk Alliance in 2002, he was the first person I agreed to represent.  Another story for another time; the business eventually folded but the friendship remained.

His plan was to come into town this past weekend to hang with our mutual friend Tom Prasada-Rao (dealing with difficult health issues), who had a mainstage slot at the festival. Michael was patient and, due to another artist's unfortunate illness, he also received a mainstage set. Great music, community, and comaraderie. At my invitation, Michael stayed with me from Thursday night to about an hour ago.  He is equally exhausting and endearing, and we had some wonderfully deep conversations, as well as hearty laughter, along the way.

Michael invited Tom over to my place earlier today so they could do some co-writing for a few hours before moving on to the next step in their journey.  We bandied some ideas/themes around and, when they were ready to get serious, I retired to my bedroom to read... or so I thought. Couldn't stop my swirling brain until I committed pen to paper, or fingers to Samsung Memo.  The following poem is what I came up with, fleshed out but still rough, could use some minor tweaking but I am leaving as is for now, or No!

Michael and Tom said they liked it.  Then again, they wouldn't want to hurt my feelings either. 

Soul-searching, while terrifying, is important. It has to be an internal, as well as intuitive, vision and, once that is in place, the next stage of your life, the third act, begins. I am now a retired, nature-watching, sleeping-until-9-am, lunching-with-friends, reading whore, Lala. And I'm okay with that... :-)

P.S.  When I was blogging regularly, as ideas came to me, I would set them aside as drafts, to be gone back to later.  The above horoscope and DailyOm are from *ten years ago*, and were just waiting for me to return to them at the appropriate time.  That would be NOW.  Spooky, right?



SONG:  I Cain't Say No by Rodgers and Hammerstein (from the musical Oklahoma)

BOOK:  The Power of No: Because One Little Word Can Bring Health, Abundance, and Happiness Paperback by James Altucher and Claudia Azula Altucher

POEM:  The Power of NOW by Susan (me...  :-)

I once was a woman of pleasure
for everyone else in my life
When they wanted a piece of my leisure
I submitted as friend, mom, and wife

No problem, no worries, no pressure, no guilt
I bent, and I swayed, and I folded
Whatever they stitched was my crazy quilt
Little regard for what my soul did

Good Time Charleen was the role I embraced
Concerts, committees, congregations
The more the merrier, the thrill of the chase
I filled up on action, applause, adulation

Act Three, Scene One, running on fumes
Do I really wish to keep up this pace?
What is my purpose? Where is my full moon?
I'm choosing to drop out of this race

The Magic Art of Tidying Up, and
Swedish Death Purge for the win
I'm only keeping the useful and beautiful
This is where my next stage begins

Those in my circle will understand
It's not you, it's me, and what I need now
I'm slowing down as part of the plan
More mindful, more grateful, less when, and more how

The Power of No sounds harsh, but it's freeing
Obligation and stress become memories
My focus these days is on really just Being
My safe cocoon, my inner light, at peace

QUOTE:  "I'll give you my answer calmly and sensibly, my final answer. My final answer is finally no. The answer is no! Absolutely and finally no! Finally and positively no! No! No! No! N - O!" ~ Abraham Polonsky

Pretty How Town (Kris Delmorst)

April 1 is most certainly April Fool's Day... but it is also the beginning of National Poetry Month:

Inaugurated by the Academy of American Poets in 1996, National Poetry Month is now held every April, when publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools and poets around the country band together to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture. Thousands of businesses and non-profit organizations participate through readings, festivals, book displays, workshops, and other events.

More here...

P.S. SMM here, here and here...

SONG: Pretty How Town by Kris Delmhorst

BOOK: Poem in Your Pocket: 200 Poems to Read and Carry, edited by Elaine Bleakney

POEM: How to Read a Poem: Beginner's Manual by Pamela Spiro Wagner

First, forget everything you have learned,

that poetry is difficult,

that it cannot be appreciated by the likes of you,

with your high school equivalency diploma,

your steel-tipped boots,

or your white-collar misunderstandings.

Do not assume meanings hidden from you:

the best poems mean what they say and say it.

To read poetry requires only courage

enough to leap from the edge

and trust.

Treat a poem like dirt,

humus rich and heavy from the garden.

Later it will become the fat tomatoes

and golden squash piled high upon your kitchen table.

Poetry demands surrender,

language saying what is true,

doing holy things to the ordinary.

Read just one poem a day.

Someday a book of poems may open in your hands

like a daffodil offering its cup

to the sun.

When you can name five poets

without including Bob Dylan,

when you exceed your quota

and don't even notice,

close this manual.

QUOTE: "Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary." ~ Kahlil Gibran

Inside Your Painting (Patty Larkin)

[ Plumbing update: As promised, my husband is now home dealing with the situation - LDG (Leak Detection Guy/Kenny) has already come and determined the leak is now to the *left* of where originally determined (closer to the shower, as opposed to under the vanity). Al (not Joe)the plumber should be coming out later to re-evaluate the two options (see post of a few days ago), at which point we'll determine which route to take - long story short: sounds as if I'll be getting a new bathroom out of this, whether we or homeowners insurance pay. Relate, relax, release - more tomorrow... ]

I don't consider myself an artist per se (yeah, I make a h*lla mix tape/CD... and amazing soups... and inventive collages, oh my!), but I do seem to be surrounded by those who are... and take delight in recognizing their gifts and paying them forward - today's blog post is dedicated, with sincere gratitude, to all those friends (old and new) who open my eyes, color my world and provide the soundtrack to my rich and delicious life... <3

Daily Om
October 15, 2008
Sharing Your Genius
Your Special Gift

Each of us is born with a specific genius that was bestowed upon us so we can do our part to make this world a better place. All of us have a role that we’re uniquely suited for. Imagine our planet without trees, oceans, or clouds. In this same way, when one of us doesn’t develop or use our special gift, a cosmic void takes place.

This unique talent or ability may be hidden from your own sight like a golden treasure buried under shifting sands. Often, we spend so much time dazzled by the talents of others that we can overlook our own gifts. It may even be that our unique ability is something we view negatively. Perhaps we find it difficult concentrating on any one subject for long; meanwhile, others are thrilled by our ability to weave various ideas throughout our conversations. Or, you might think of yourself as “frivolous,” when it’s likely your charming approach to life casts a light of inspiration that others can’t help but follow. It’s important for all of us to try to find our special gift and discover how we can best express it. Ask others to name what they think is your most overlooked talent or character trait. Their answers may change your life.

Explore these riches that are yours to express, and you may find yourself helping others discover and develop their own blessings. Acknowledge and appreciate the gifts you see in those around you. Tell your neighbor that loves to garden how much her green thumb enlivens the whole block. Thank your coworker for always greeting your days together with a smile. Tell your close friends that their ability to listen makes your world a better place. Our unique gifts are like golden rays of expression that can encircle the world with light.

SONG: Inside Your Painting by Patty Larkin

BOOK: Learning to Love You More by Harrell Fletcher, Miranda July

POEM: Instructions to Painters & Poets by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

I asked a hundred painters and a hundred poets
how to paint sunlight
on the face of life
Their answers were ambiguous and ingenuous
as if they were all guarding trade secrets
Whereas it seems to me
all you have to do
is conceive of the whole world
and all humanity
as a kind of art work
a site-specific art work
an art project of the god of light
the whole earth and all that's in it
to be painted with light

And the first thing you have to do
is paint out postmodern painting
And the next thing is to paint yourself
in your true colors
in primary colors
as you seem them
(without whitewash)
paint yourself as you see yourself
without make-up
without masks
Then paint your favorite people and animals
with your brush loaded with light
And be sure you get the perspective right
and don't fake it
because one false line leads to another

And then paint the high hills
when the sun first strikes them
on an autumn morning
With your palette knife
lay it onthe cadmium yellow leaves
the ochre leaves
the vermillion leaves
of a New England autumn
And paint the ghost light of summer nights
and the light of the midnight sun
which is moon light
And don't paint out the shadows made by light

for without chiaroscuro you'll have shallow pictures
So paint all the dark corners too
everywhere in the world
all the hidden places and minds and hearts
which light never reaches
all the caves of ignorance and fear
the pits of despair
the sloughs of despond
and write plain upon them
"Abandon all despair, ye who enter here"

And don't forget to paint
all those who lived their lives
as bearers of light
Paint their eyes
and the eyes of every animal
and the eyes of beautiful women
known best for the perfection of their breasts
and the eyes of men and women
known only for the light of their minds
Paint the light of their eyes
the light of sunlit laughter
the song of eyes
the song of birds in flight

And remember that the light is within
if it is anywhere
and you must paint from the inside
Start with purity
with pure white
the pure white of gesso
the pure white of cadmium white
the pure white of flake white
the pure virgin canvas
the pure life we all begin with

Turner painted sunlight
with egg tempera
(which proved unstable)
and Van Gogh did it with madness
and the blood of his ear
(also unstable)
and the Impressionists did itby never using black
and the Abstract Expressionists did it
with white house paint
But you can do it with the pure pigment
(if you can figure out the formula)
of your own true light
But before you strike the first blow
on the virgin canvas
remember its fragility
life's extreme fragility
and remember its innocence
its original innocence
before you strike the first blow

Or perhaps never strike it
And let the light come through
the inner light of the canvas
the inner light of the models posed
in the life study
the inner light of everyone
Let it all come through
like a pentimento
the light that's been painted over
the life that's been painted over
so many times
Let it all surge to the surface
the painted-over image
of primal life on earth

And when you've finished your painting
stand back astonished
stand back and observe
the life on earth that you've created
the lighted life on earth
that you've created
a new brave world

QUOTE: "To send light into the darkness of men's hearts - such is the duty of the artist." ~ Robert Schumann

Cold Dog Soup (Guy Clark)

Thanks to my friend sharon, who posted a heads-up to the Mary Chapin Carpenter list regarding the first national Poem in Your Pocket Day - I use Poets.org quite often as a resource for my blog, as well as The Writer's Almanac and Panhala.

Poetry has always been a major personal weakness of mine - how lovely to see an extended widening of the circle to encourage "read[ing] a poem, anytime, anywhere - whether to fill a spare moment, woo a darling, toast a friend, find solace, or recall a few favorite lines".

The idea is simple: select a poem you love during National Poetry Month then carry it with you to share with co-workers, family, and friends on April 17.

Poems from pockets will be unfolded throughout the day with events in parks, libraries, schools, workplaces, and bookstores. Create your own Poem In Your Pocket Day event using ideas below or let us know how you will celebrate Poem In Your Pocket Day by emailing npm@poets.org.

In this age of mechanical and digital reproduction, it's easy to carry a poem, share a poem, or start your own PIYP day event. Here are some ideas of how you might get involved:

~ Start a "poems for pockets" give-a-way in your school or workplace
~ Urge local businesses to offer discounts for those carrying poems
~ Post pocket-sized verses in public places
~ Handwrite some lines on the back of your business cards
~ Start a street team to pass out poems in your community
~ Distribute bookmarks with your favorite immortal lines
~ Add a poem to your email footer
~ Post a poem on your blog or social networking page
~ Project a poem on a wall, inside or out
~ Text a poem to friends

Along with your library, bookstore, or shelf at home, you can find the perfect poem for your pocket by browsing Poets.org, or by signing up to receive a poem from new spring poetry titles each day during April. Download pocket-sized Poem PDFs to print and share.

Poem In Your Pocket Day has been celebrated each April in New York City since 2002. Each year, city parks, bookstores, workplaces, and other venues burst with open readings of poems from pockets. Even the Mayor gets in on the festivities, reading a poem on the radio. For more information on New York City’s celebration, visit nyc.gov/poem.

Poems have been stowed in pockets in a variety of ways, from the commonplace books of the Renaissance to the pocket-sized publications for Army soldiers in World War II. Have a story about the marriage of the poem and the pocket? Send them to npm@poets.org.

SONG: Cold Dog Soup by Guy Clark

BOOK: Wonderful Words: Poems About Reading, Writing, Speaking, and Listening by Lee Bennett Hopkins (Compiler), Karen Barbour (Illustrator)

POEM: How To Eat a Poem by Eve Merriam

Don't be polite.

Bite in.

Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that
may run down your chin.

It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are.
You do not need a knife or fork or spoon

or plate or napkin or tablecloth.

For there is no core

or stem

or rind

or pit

or seed

or skin

to throw away.

QUOTE(S): "I would define poetry as the rhythmical creation of beauty." ~ Edgar Allen Poe

"Poetry ennobles the heart and the eyes, and unveils the meaning of all things upon which the heart and the eyes dwell. It discovers the secret rays of the universe, and restores to us forgotten paradises." ~ Edith Sitwell

Make Right the Time (Danny Schmidt)

SONG: Make Right the Time by Danny Schmidt

BOOK: Poetic Logic: The Role of Metaphor in Thought, Language, and Culture by Marcel Danesi

POEM: The Hour by Michael Lind

Maybe the moment recurs daily at six, when commuters,

freed from the staring computers,

elbow and bump in unsought intimacy on a station

platform with you, and frustration

rots what is left of your strength. Maybe the hour comes after

dinner, when televised laughter

seeps from a neighboring room; maybe the time is the dead of

night, when you ponder, instead of

dreaming. Whatever the time, you will escape it—by sinking

down with a book, or by drinking

secretly out in the dark studio, or by unbuckling

pants on a stranger, or chuckling,

one with a mob, in a deep theater. Soon, though, the hour

comes to corrode all your power,

pleasure and faith with the damp dread that it daily assigns you.

How you evade it defines you.

QUOTE: "When I am asked by young poets what advice I have to offer them about the conduct of their lives, I am inclined to warn them about the dangers of hothouse anemia. “Do something else, ” I tell them, “develop any other skill to turn to any other branch of knowledge. Learn how to use your hands. Try woodworking, birdwatching, gardening, sailing, weaving, pottery, archaeology, oceanography, spelunking, animal husbandry — take your pick. Whatever activity you engage in, as a trade or hobby or field study, will tone up your body and clear your head. At the very least it will help you with your metaphors.” ~ Stanley Kunitz

Poetry Man (Phoebe Snow)

Yesterday at our UU church was the fourth annual poetry/spoken word/song event, in which congregants submit personal favorites, which are then chosen to be read throughout the service, along with a brief description of what makes them meaningful - I always participate and in the past have picked some poems near and dear to my heart written by others... but this time found me brave enough to want to share my Prayer to St. Margarita (Be Careful What You Wish For), which was very well-received. In addition, there was a soliloquy from King Richard II, a goddess song to the tune of Ode to Joy, some Adrienne Rich and some Omar Khayyam - we also had a returning member present a poetry workshop before the service, showcasing his latest book of verse, as well as reading some selections along with ours. Second only to music, poetry fills me in ways I cannot begin to describe - the service, paired with a mid-afternoon nap lulled by the sounds of a heavy rainstorm... and I was ectoplasm the rest of the day (much-needed, I must admit!)

SONG: Poetry Man by Phoebe Snow

BOOK: No More Masks!: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Women Poets by Florence Howe (editor)

POEM: How to Be a Poet (to remind myself) by Wendell Berry

Make a place to sit down.

Sit down. Be quiet.

You must depend upon

affection, reading, knowledge,

skill—more of each

than you have—inspiration,

work, growing older, patience,

for patience joins time

to eternity. Any readers

who like your work,

doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath

the unconditioned air.

Shun electric wire.

Communicate slowly. Live

a three-dimensioned life;

stay away from screens.

Stay away from anything

that obscures the place it is in.

There are no unsacred places;

There are only sacred places

And desecrated places.

QUOTE: "Poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn." ~Thomas Gray

The Trouble with Poets (Peter Mulvey)

I've always been enamored with words - my uncle (a published poet and author) was an English professor at the University of Louisville... and my father wrote for the Athens Banner-Herald, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and Atlanta magazine (on staff with Anne Rivers Siddons). My punishments as a child were rarely corporal - instead, I'd be asked to write an essay on whatever it was I did wrong, and then my father would correct it *with* me, discussing alternate word choices and thematic structure. It was a wonderful bonding time and taught me as much about grammar/syntax/language as it did about values and ethics - I went on to graduate college with an English major/journalism minor.

I think my softest spot is reserved for poetry - I am more than a bit in awe of those who can convey volumes in a condensed form, not to mention the occasional rhyme scheme (sigh)...

SONG: The Trouble with Poets by Peter Mulvey

BOOK: Good Poems edited by Garrison Keillor

POEM: Everything on the Menu by Ellen Bass

In a poem it doesn’t matter
if the house is dirty. Dust
that claims the photographs like a smothering
love. Sand spilled from a boy’s sneaker,
the faceted grains scattered on the emerald rug
like the stars and planets of a tiny
solar system. Monopoly
butted up against Dostoyevsky.
El techo, a shiny sticker, labeling the ceiling
from the summer a nephew studied Spanish.
Mold on the bread in the refrigerator
is as interesting as lichen on an oak –
its miniscule hairs like the fuzz
on an infant’s head, its delicate
blues and spring greens, its plethora of spores,
whole continents of creatures, dazzling in our palms.

In a poem, life and death are equals.
We receive the child, crushed
like gravel under the tire.
And the grandfather at the open grave
holding her small blue sweatshirt to his face.
And we welcome the baby born
at daybreak, the mother naked, squatting
and pushing in front of the picture window
just as the garbage truck roars up
and the men jump out, clanking
the metal cans into its maw.

In a poem, we don’t care if you got hired
or fired, lost or found love,
recovered or kept drinking.
You don’t have to exercise
or forgive. We’re hungry.
We’ll take everything on the menu.

In poems joy and sorrow are mates.
They lie down together, their hands
all over each other, fingers
swollen in mouths,
nipples chafed to flame, their sexes
fitting seamlessly as day and night.
They arch over us, glistening and bucking,
the portals through which we enter our lives.

QUOTE: "Poetry is ordinary language raised to the nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words." ~ Paul Engle