Ordinary PP

Today's challenge over at Poetry Jam was to write a poem about something ordinary.  This morning my toast sat upon an ordinary paper plate...

Ordinary PP

slice
of tree
cradles cobs,
holds hot dogs,
and piles of fries;
shades squinty eyes,
fans you in a breezeless plight,
but in a breeze transforms to kite.
cut some holes and make a face,
or use it as an artist’s base.
short lived lively paper treasure
9 inch, snack-sized, what’s your measure?
white or color, fancy trimmed,
round or square, wavy rimmed,
how could anyone berate
this lowly, imitation plate
with rights to boast?
a morning toast for
white thin
slice!

©2014, Donna JT Smith

24/7

It's Poetry Friday!   Yea!  And it is being hosted by Sylvia at Poetry for Children.  Hope you can drop in and help celebrate at the poetry party! 
Thank you Margaret, for featuring my Poetry Swap poem on your blog, Reflections on the Teche, today.  It was a real treat to write it for you!
My poem is at the end... you have to endure photos I've taken.  Fortunately for you, I did not include all that I took!

Love the cloud reflections!

It was too warm in the house, so tonight before supper, my husband and I drove a few miles down the road to the local State Park and around the island a bit.  We got out at the park and climbed the stone steps to the point that overlooks the ocean.  And I again marveled at the wonderfulness of being on vacation 24/7.  Even when I was working, it seemed that we always lived somewhere that felt like vacation when I got home in the evening.
Minnesota was our horse farm in the country, New Hampshire and Rhode Island homes were in the woods, and now back to real home in Maine, we have been near or on the coast.
I have never "needed" a vacation.

A couple of weeks ago I saw this on our garage:

Luna moth sunning himself - herself?

Last week a I saw this:

Sunset by the dock

A couple of days ago I saw this from my front livingroom window:

Great Horned Owl - up high and very large and very loud!

 And this from my front door window:

A young deer on my front lawn - very quiet, very hungry!

 Then down the road about 6 miles, last night I saw this:

1 mile of beach - you can see a person on the edge of the water

I left a quarter here so someone could use the viewer.

How can you need to "get away from it all" when you are already there?

I thought putting these pictures up would help me with writing a poem.  But the visuals have quite taken over my brain and the words are not doing them justice.  Perhaps it is the variety
of pictures, perhaps the timeframes in which they were taken.  I don't know.  But maybe I'll try again, focusing only on yesterday's photos.

 (time has elapsed here and words have been written and deleted and rewritten)

Okay, here it is.  This started out about yesterday's time at the ocean near our house now,  but became a memory poem about my childhood times at my grandparents' house just a few houses away from where the sunset photo was taken last week.

Sea Memories

There's nothing more I that could want
As I sit upon these boulders
White clouds sail above the sea
And salt spray wraps my shoulders.
I hear the waves crash and hiss,
I watch the cormorants dive,
I smell the seaweed draped on shore,
And feel so much alive.
The taste of salt, the smell of rose
And I am drawn with waves
Back to a simpler, younger time
That my old memory craves;
Ah, yes, there's lobsters in the pot,
Some biscuits, and then tea,
And everyone is gathered round
Our table by the sea.
We eat our fill and grownups chat
The kids run off to play
To climb the cliff and skip some rocks
Way out into the bay
The voices hush and stars come out
It's time to load the car
And head inland to go to bed
It isn't very far
As I watch the seagulls soar and dip
And hear the roaring seas
I'm happy that these kinds of days
Bring back those memories.

©2014, Donna JT Smith

Trash or Treasure

At Poetry Jam this week, the prompt is to write about Trash or Treasure.  You know the phrase "one man's trash is another man's treasure"  -

I had so many ideas, and then when I sat down to write - this one just pushed all the others aside and an old memory came back.

Trash or treasure, what do you see?
I saw a treasure placed there for me;
An old leather Bible discarded in trash
Was it unwanted, who’d be so brash?

“I hope that you’ll treasure this as much as I”
But wishes and lives must have gone quite awry.
A treasure turned trash was now in the heap;
We rescued those words before their last sleep.

A Bible so carelessly tossed out that day
Was carefully, graciously set in our way.
I’ve read both her words and the Word that’s inside
And found Comfort and Peace and a Way to abide.

I hope that the son who tossed Treasure as trash
Has found Peace in his world, new Bible in stash,
And sometimes reflects on that day long ago
When he threw out Mom’s gift before he could know.

Trash or Treasure in life, which shall it be?
What ever you make it, that’s what you’ll see.
I choose to see Treasure when I look about;
With that Wonderful Peace, there’s no room for doubt.

Though a treasure to her, it was trash in his heap,
I pray what he’s sown, is not what he’ll reap;
For that day, though he saw it as useless to him,
It opened some eyes that were growing too dim.

I thank him for giving us his Mom’s finest treasure,
And hope that he’ll reap in a similar measure.
Some trash or a treasure, what do you see?
It looked like His Treasure placed there for me.

©2014, Donna JT Smith

As a side note just now:  I went to my online Bible to locate a verse about "treasure", then went to the actual "found" Bible to photograph it.  There was a paper in the Bible, so opened it there.  It was already marking the page I sought... 

Expect the Unexpected

Today I'm Jammin' at Poetry Jam and participating in Poetry Friday at The Opposite of Indifference with Tabatha Yeatts...try out both spots for some great poetry today!  There's something for everyone!
At Poetry Jam, the challenge is to write about something unexpected "Life is full of surprises, good or bad, things we never thought would occur. So this week I'd like you to write a poem about unexpected."
And so I did.  I think it is the thing we hear about, but don't get to experience until we have a child.

You Should Expect the Unexpected

How can you love
someone with your whole heart
and then find that there was
a reserve -
a hidden place in the heart perhaps
that held more
more love
than you knew you possessed
and that your heart
could be so effortlessly opened
by someone so small,
so fragile,
and helpless?
Still when she arrived
in that tiny wrinkly package
she opened your heart,
and love tumbled out
surrounding her
and cradling her
and you wanted
to forever keep her from pain,
sorrow,
hunger
and tears.
This flood of love
so unexpected
and so sudden,
was there all along
but you had no inkling.
Yet you should have
expected it.
It happened before -
on the night your
son was born -
Why should you be surprised
this morning
at your daughter’s birth?

©2014, Donna JT Smith

Special note:
Thank you, Buffy, for the tappy Sapsucker Rap poem!  What a wonderful rhythm and rhyme this had.  We live in a log home, and a couple of weeks ago we had a pair of Downy Woodpeckers inspecting our eaves, rapping and tapping.  They evidently didn't get what they thought should be there, as the next day they were gone!
Mary Lee, what a unique way to send a poem.  I keep the poem magnet on my refrigerator and can enjoy the image of thunderheads and the wish for monarchs!  We've had plenty of thunderheads lately and they are so beautiful - in an ominous way!

Tomorrow I'm sending out my fourth Blog-Gem...at the end of summer I will post all the Blog-gems on a Poetry Friday.  But for now, here's what happens to create a Blog-gem:

I put your URL into Tagxedo and came up with the image.  Then I used the words found in the Tagxedo to construct the poem, which I call a Blog-gem.
I’ve found that in making the Tagxedo, I have to take out names and allow apostrophes.  I also increase the number of words to 300 and allow common words, so I have a good assortment of words from which to choose.
When I finish the Tagxedo image, I type out the words, sort them by parts of speech, print them, cut them out and start playing with them.  After a bit I leave them alone to continue sorting themselves on their own (or that’s what it seems) until they make themselves into a poem. 

Ah, yes, if you could only read the words, you might know who was getting this next Blog-Gem!

Each time I’ve thought, “Man, this is too hard.  I can’t do this.  What was I thinking?”  And then I’ve left them on their own, sitting on the kitchen table taking up all the space for lunch, while I go and eat lunch by my computer.   
Then the "unexpected" begins to happen.  A few words will call out to me and say things like, “Hey, look what do you think of this!”  and “Read us!  We sound good together.”  And then I will go over and slide a few more around until they all just start marching to their spots. 
Like a good hostess, I sometimes have to make different seating arrangements when I find that some other word has more in common than the one I originally intended for the spot. 
The words are very patient with me as I make mistakes and have to slide them into a new spot. They have faith that I will get them where they need to be. 
And the leftover words?  For some reason they have not gotten all pouty and huffy.  They know that their day will come in some other poem on another occasion.  I have not forgotten them.  At some time I will just use them in a thought or in the course of a day speaking to someone.  And they are fine with that.
Lucky for me, the blog words have all been so forgiving and unselfish and can take the revisions and editing that I deal out to them.  What a wonderful groups of words!  So far every word I’ve worked with has shown true good sportsmanship, strength and character. 
It is truly an honor to work with these words.  They are champs!  And they all, whether used in the final copy poem or not, help to create each Blog-gem!
Today I finished creating my fourth Blog-gem.  I will miss working with these diverse word groups as the summer comes to a close.  I may just have to pick up some Blog-gem work on the sly...a little poetic moonlighting...

A little side note for today... I stayed up all night.  Why?  I don't know.  I just didn't get tired.  I wrote a bit, cleaned a bit and watched the sun come up.  I'm still awake.  This is going to be an interesting day!

RefrigerARTor

Poetry Friday is being hosted over at Linda Kulp's Write Time.  Head over there for some great links to poetry today!

First, I'd like to thank Linda Baie over at TeacherDance for the beautiful poem she wrote for me.  It was part of a poetry exchange that Tabatha Yeatts created and organizes, where people are matched up to write a poem for another person.  My first poem was written for Tabatha, and my second for Anastasia Suen.  The third is about to go out...
Anyway, Linda B. wrote and illustrated this wonderful poem:

Transformation

Tiny fingers
tiny toes,
until arriving
no one knows
that a grandchild,
by giving the names
'Gran and Gramps',
start a magical dance,
seeming by chance.

It rearranges you
into

lullaby-singing (no matter the voice)
mud-puddle-jumping (not given a choice)
cookie-baking (a sugar success)
finger-painting (in spite of the mess)
toy-truck-racing (vroom sounds just right)
picture-book making (easy to write)

KIDS,
all over again.

by Linda Baie, 2014

Thanks, Linda!

And in that vein... Here's

 RefrigerARTor!

I did it!

I did it!

I painted a duck.

Quack, quack!

I'll clip it right here

Then step back!

To admire that picture

Painted by me!

It makes the room beautiful, 

Don't you agree?

The only thing better

Than one piece of art

Is two, three or four!

Must get busy and start

To fill the refrigerator

With more of my stuff!

Being an artist

Can be pretty rough

Working all morning

Using my brush;

Masterpieces can't be

Done in a rush!

©2014, Donna JT Smith

Oh, there was so much more fun this past week...  I'll try to tell more about it all soon!
 

The Lone Ranger Said "HI-___, SILVER, AWAY -"

So what do you think goes in the blank?  Where do you stand on the Lone Ranger's departing shot on his trusty horse, Silver?

I cannot believe that I believed for my whole life that the Lone Ranger was saying something he wasn't saying!

This all started with a picture of a horse's glittery hooves on Laura Purdie Salas' website for her 15 Words or Less poetry challenge.  I commented on another commenter and wrote "Hi-ho, Silver!  Away!" after checking to make sure the "Hi" was really "Hi" and not "Heigh" or "High".

During my spelling research, I found that some people thought The Lone Ranger actually said "Hi-yo, Silver..."  Now that was just ridiculous!  No one said "yo" in the 40's and 50's!  I was positive it was "Hi-ho", as were many others on the Internet.  But now I was intrigued.  How could you tell what had really been said?  Probably not by watching an old show, but maybe...perhaps I'd heard it wrong so many times, so long ago.  Could I trust my ears to hear it correctly?  It seemed I might not.  I needed to see it written.

So I went looking for a script for an old radio or tv show.  I happened upon Generic Radio Workshop Scripts.  In it they used "Hi-ho"!  Yea!  Score!   That must be it.  I was right!

But then I found a site that had old comic book files scanned in, Our Media.  I thought this would confirm my thoughts and the scripts.  But no.  I downloaded a copy of The Lone Ranger comic book from 1949 and tried to open it.  Gibberish.  It was a .cbr file.  I went online and found that cbr stands for Comic Book Reader.  So I looked for something that would read that type of a file...oh, yeah, on a Mac not a PC.  Found one finally, through CNET - Simple Comic for Mac.  Yes!  It was free and it was a quick download.  The file opened easily.  And there on my screen was an old copy of a Lone Ranger comic book!  I flipped through the pages.  This was so slick!

And then, there it was:

Do I need more proof than this?

HI-YO, SILVER, AWAY- ?  Not even an exclamation point.

Nooooooo!

The script at Generic Radio Workshops must have been transcribed by someone who "knew what he said", as I had.  I've contacted them (to see if that was the case, as I'm sure it was).

I am in the process of deconstructing and reconstructing my childhood memories today.  I'll be looking for some old videos and trying to reconcile these conflicting audios that are playing in my head.

Oh, just found one on YouTube from 1956...

...and yes, I can hear it...now...
now that I know what he was saying for...all...those...years...!

Listen closely.  It is at the end of the show around 1:22:34, in case you aren't in the mood to watch the whole show.  I wasn't yet.  I'll watch it later, after I've reconciled my memory and the actuality.

Right now I'm feeling a little betrayed, misled, and annoyed - and yet somehow, enlightened and educated, ready for Jeopardy. "What is HI-YO, SILVER, AWAY"?

I feel like I did when I realized that the words to Winter Wonderland were not "Later on we'll perspire, as we dream by the fire".  I still think "perspire" makes more sense than "conspire" though.  Does anyone else?

BTW:  The Lone Ranger said "HI-YI" in the first episode...

No U-Turns

The prompt today on Poetry Jam calls for a poem about an impossible place.


I cannot go back
to live the life
again
I must be satisfied
with the one trip
done
as well as I could
impossible
to make changes
to things
seen
done
said
before today
no U-turns
allowed
no reverse gear
only the mirror
to see where I have been
eyes focus
on the now and future
make the right turns
say the right words
so I will be
satisfied
when I look
back
and I will not care that
there is no
U-turn
and that
reverse
is an impossibility.

A Grasshopper Alone

This week at Poetry Jam, the prompt is to write about being alone or lonely...
You know very well, oh
I'm not one to dwell, so
I wrote something mellow
about this young fellow.

Baby grasshopper on my porch post

A Grasshopper Alone

A grasshopper cannot find
true friends
For he’s at the mercy
of where his jump ends
Just when he thinks he’s
spotted a stop
He finds that he’s taken
too huge a hop
Over that spot and just
out of reach
He calls out “hello” to every
and each
Grasshopper as he soars
overhead
And lands wherever his
jumping has led
No friends come to visit
for their plight’s the same
Jumping and hopping
is their lonely game.
It cannot be done
with a partner in tow
Their jumps seldom land
where another one goes
The chances of two of them
landing together
Is as rare as snow in
summer’s warm weather

But if ever two should
land in one spot
I’m sure they’d remember
the manners they’re taught
        “Hello, how are you?”
          “I’m fine.” 

        “Glad we met.”
          “Good-bye”

         and “Good day!”
And without one regret
They’d both take a leap
And go on their ways
Never to meet again
all of their days.

©Donna JT Smith

Tuesday Amuse-me Day

It's Slice of Life Tuesday, so visit Two Writing Teachers and see what kind of week or day people have had by sampling their "slices"!
Last week I went for a drive with a friend to look at some potential "fun spots" for a soon to be 3 year old boy to visit while he is here.  On the meandering trip back from those places, we came across this scene.

You have heard the saying "A boat is a hole in the water into which you pour money”, and then there is "A yacht is a hole in the water lined with wood, into which you pour money".
But this lobster boat?  It looks like a boat trying to plug the hole in the water, or a boat actually being sucked down the hole in the water.  Soon there will be nowhere to toss the money in.
You can tell boats don't really have hearts, nor feel true compassion.  There were other boats nearby.  They weren't even facing this boat.  They never looked at it, nor did they try to help.  Could it be that they wanted to, but because they were all moored, they knew they couldn't reach it to rescue it.  So they all turned away so as not to see the sad plight of the lobster boat.  Salty tears in a salty sea...sure they have hearts!
Or maybe these boats are tethered to their spots so they are far enough away so as not to be able to reach one another (you know, like dogs in their separate kennels so they won't tear each other apart!). 
Maybe boats would fight at night if they weren't tied fast separately.  Maybe one did break away and bully this boat right into the sea.
Wow! I've never thought of that.  Some of these boats have "tough" names.  They might be "ocean bullies".  Of course, most of them are named with women's names...remember Roller Derby?

At any rate, whatever is really going on in the secret lives of boats, the owner of this boat is not going to be very pleased with the leakage issue here.  There will be no "quick bailing and sailing" when he gets there.  There will be rowing and towing though.
I'm happy not to own a boat.

The Passing of Ages

Poetry Friday is being hosted by Jone over at Check It Out.  There are lots of great pieces of poetry to be had there and by following the links!

I don't know what mood I was in when I first wrote this.  Yes, I do.  But that's not important.  I just remember this feeling happening after the second grandchild was about to be born.  It is a strange feeling of wanting to know more, and coming to grips with the idea that this is all I can know and pass on.  Did I do it?  I don't know.  Most likely no, not yet, as I still have unanswered questions myself and realize that for some of these questions I was given an answer once when I was too young to know I would want to remember it someday.

The Passing of Ages

I remember watching my grandparents
enjoying time
with their brothers
and sisters
laughing over
old stories of past deeds,
giving advice from a life lived
I remember as they eased away in life
and then faded in memory
my parents and aunts and uncles
became the keepers of
family stories
life's wisdoms
until slowly they too eased away,
leaving us
to become the keepers,
the knowers -
a terrifying day
of realization -
Did those before feel the same?
Where were the people to ask?
Where were the recipes?
In which village in Newfoundland did my grandparents get married?
Which aunt
        - wait, did you say she was my aunt or my cousin?
Where was that summer cottage?
Who had twins?
Which child died?

And we are next to fade.
I can feel its approach,
have I remembered enough?
have I passed it on?
was it good enough?
will they remember?
our children could never
remember enough
cannot know what we’ve forgotten
Put up new wallpaper
Paint over faded picture squares
But carry the gift forward
all the family knowledge
you can hold
for you too will age
and panic when you are the wisdom holders
patriarchs and matriarchs of family -
When the young ones ask,
      Will you know?
      Will they hear?
      Will they know
             that they are next -
             that they will need
                    to tell the stories?
         ©Donna JT Smith, 2014

The Bridge ~ A Puente

On Poetry Jam today the challenge is to write about the word "bridge".  One of the forms of poetry featured there today is the Puente - meaning Bridge in Spanish.
I decided to go the common route for bridge, even using "bridge" as my bridge in a Puente.  No deep meaning here.  Just a bridge - from over and under... you know the story...

Tip tap,
     trip trap!
My tiny hooves rap!
I'll eat as soon as I'm over

~ the bridge ~

so fine,
      all mine!
Perhaps I will dine
before you get to the clover!


©Donna JT Smith, 2014

The Owls Were Out

In a pouring rain, the owl sat in a tree next to our house; another owl was farther away.  They were talking to each other for about an hour out there.  At midnight they quit for the night, I think... They may have started up their conversation again after I fell asleep.
I really don't think I'd want to be a little critter outside at night, hearing those big voices above.  Not being a little critter by any means, I bravely fetched my phone and recorded those awesome sounds.  If you turn the volume up enough to really disturb your cat or dog, you may be able to hear the faint sound of the more distant owl answering the first's call.




Oh, great horned fowl,

I heard you howl,

Great baritone of flight.

Tucked in a tree

You haunted me;

Unseen, I felt your stare.

Your questions hung

In realms unsung

Until beyond my sight

Another heard -

Echoed the word
- 
A harmonizing pair.

Oh, stealthy owl,

How well you prowl

Tiptoeing through the night.

No time to hide

With silent glide

Piercing the moonless air.

No mice dare flit

Nor rabbit sit

Under these songs tonight.

In rain or moon

The night owl’s tune

Warns creatures to beware.

©Donna JT Smith, 2014

Poetry Friday

Poetry Friday is being hosted today by Catherine Johnson! Go there to find links to good poetry stuff!
My offerings are from yesterday and last week:
Lost and Found: Without You
Rain, Rain, Go Away  (raining like crazy again today....guess I'd better start singing again!)

Poetry Jam Prompt - Lost and Found

The prompt at Poetry Jam is to "write a poem about an object or a person that has disappeared from your life or entered it and is now uniquely special to you".

After messing about and throwing away stuff, this occurred to me and came to be.   It makes me teary to read it.  I hope it doesn't ruin your day.  I need to go do laundry or vacuum or something else now.  I'm not reading it again.  Ever. 

To cheer yourself up later, you can revisit some of my other "Lost" poems here, that I've written when I've Found other people's Lost gloves:
Pink Glove Wave
Lost Glove #2

And a "Lost Glove" writing here: First Glove of the Season


Without You

If there should ever come a day
when I look across the table
and you are not there -
when meals are unappreciated
and shirts no longer need ironing
when the pillow is still fluffed
and I open my own doors
when your hand's not there to hold
and open jars for me
when I feel the breeze kiss my neck
but not you
when no one beckons me to come outside
to look at the moon and stars
or hear the owls
when the winding roads become
just roads of convenience
not discovery
and discussion -
If ever there should come that time
I will be lost
gone
never to be found
and I will not want to be found
unless
until
someday
again
by you



©Donna JT Smith, 2014

Rain, Rain, go away...

It's been raining a lot today (Thursday) and off and on for a bit...so when I sat down to write, it wasn't as difficult to do today as it has been.
Thank you, Rain!

ceaseless Rain
incessant
inconsolable
weather
listen while
I sing
sing a song
of sun
shining
down
and clouds
moving on
as I watch
puddles rising
from the ground
cold
brown
little lakes
revealing recessed
spots in the earth
here’s one
here’s one
and another...
even on a hilltop
cheer up
Rain
you’ve had your cry
dry, dry, dry your eyes
listen Rain
as I sing a refrain
of what goes on in
Spain
and the plain,
and how you can come back
another day
Rain,
listen as I sing
singing in the rain
go away
and I promise
someday
to do a special dance
just for you
a rain dance
to welcome you
back
see
I’ve put my
dancing shoes
right here
by the door
it was nice of
you to visit
but now
here comes the Sun...

*And it worked!  Today (Friday) is gorgeous!  The sun is shining on those bright green very clean leaves!

The Moon

"So what does the Moon mean to you?" is the challenge at Poetry Jam this week.  

After thinking about it for a bit, I wrote and wrote and wrote and slashed and crumpled (figuratively) and deleted and spaced forward and edited and revised and napped and watched a little TV, until I was left with what is here.  It is a Haiku - Accrostic... a Haccrostu?

At any rate, it is four lines so MOON can be spelled out.  First line is 5 syllables, the Second and Third lines combine to make 7 syllables, and the Fourth line is 5 syllables. (ok, there is a second poem at the end of the post...just happened...)

                                           Master of disguise
                                           Orbiting pearlescent
                                           Orb

                                           Nightly reflecting

©Donna JT Smith, 2014

I have always been fascinated that the moon is smaller than the sun by a lot, and it is closer by a lot - but given those two factors you come up with two objects that appear to be the same size in the sky. and they both appear to light up.  I also like picturing the moon traveling around the earth at the same time the earth is orbiting the sun.  And because they appear to be the same size, the moon can eclipse the sun.  The sun is, of course, the greater of the two celestial bodies, but the moon is still important in its job of directing the tides and giving us something that proves that the sun is still there even in the dark.  It's a comforting thought.

I did not write a dreamy, emotion packed moon poem.  I haven't been in the mood to write for a while - not since the accident and the birth of our granddaughter.  Not sure why.  Both should be catalysts, but my writer brain has shut down for a bit.  I'm trying to get it in gear again, but I think the precariousness of life has shut me up for a bit.  I keep thinking back with some fascination on how lives can be and are changed in an instant.

One who was not here, is now here.  Ones who are here, can suddenly be gone.

Just thoughts lately.  I feel like living life for a bit, not writing it.

I was with my daughter and her family for a month, but I'm home again.  I bought a new car two days ago to replace the totaled one. I can't believe that the windshield is broken already.

Yesterday, a stone hit it, and it immediately cracked. I hadn't even owned it for 24 hours!  I know I'm being reminded yet again that stuff is only stuff.  I can deal with that.

Maybe I'm back.  Not sure.  Check here tomorrow or Friday.

The moon 

looks down

on me

nudging me

whispering

telling me to rise

and reflect

as it does -

reflect the Son

that others might see 

past the darkness

to where there is

always

Light

©Donna JT Smith, 2014

Well, that one just came to me.  Wasn't expecting it.  Maybe... could be I'm back.

How Can You Make a River?

I am not really back, but have a couple of minutes to spare.   I am still in waa-waa land with my new granddaughter, and old grandson (ha!).  He does look so big and grown up now next to a newborn!
I will be purchasing a new car when I return.  Mine was officially "totaled" in our accident 3 weeks ago on our trip to be with our daughter and son-in-law at the birth of our second grandchild.
Poetry Jam today calls for a poem about " 'wet or dry' and to reflect on rain or lack of.....Or you can think of rain or drought metaphorically."


when the rain stopped
my mother taught us
to connect puddles
to make rivers
with a stick
dig a trench
from top of the driveway
to the bottom
trace a line from one puddle to another
watch a puddle empty
and the next one fill
break off a bit of stick
to float down your river
see how far it can go
before you poke it back into the flow
she was drying out the driveway
we were making rivers
floating boats
getting wet
though I don’t remember the latter
I just assume it
how can you make a river
and not get wet?

Exhausted but Happy

Great March Madness 2014!  Thanks, Ed, for hosting that wonderful event.
Wonderful SOLC 2014!  Thanks all in Two Writing Teachers for running that event.
Super Poetry Month!  Thanks, poets of the world, for writing poetry!
Awesome A-to-Z Challenge in April!  Thanks, Arlee and company!
Amazing Progressive Poem in April!  Thanks, Irene Latham and all the other poets!

I have so much to say, but so little ability to say it today.  So, I am going to take the day off (ok, this isn't taking the day off, if I keep writing!).

Posting 61 days (see list above) straight, having a "we walked away from it" car accident and being blessed with a new granddaughter has left me very happy, but also very tired!  It's a good tired though.
So have a pleasant day.  My daughter comes home from the hospital the day before her birthday.  I have to go get her a present.  It's going to be tough.  How can you top a newborn?
If you really must read more...
please feel free to check out any of my posts in April that you haven't read yet!  
I'll be back!

Ayuh to Z Challenge - Z

I can't believe there is Zilch to go!
Zero.  Nada!
We are done!

Before l finish,  I just want to say thankfully "we are not done"!  Yesterday was a special day for us.
And so was the day before that.

On Monday, we were almost not here for the last two letters of the alphabet.  My husband and I were in a car accident on the Interstate that involved being rear-ended by a person who was distracted and driving way, way, WAY too fast.  My husband saw her coming and tried to get us out of the center lane and to the right lane to avoid being hit, but she was still too fast and hit us on the back left with her right front.  We spun around a few times in the middle of the highway, missing cement dividers and the overhead pass wall, and thankfully no semis or other cars hit us, though it was a busy highway and we covered most of it!  I remember wondering how far the car would cave in, and could I avoid the door crushing in by leaning to the center.  We did not hit anything though.  I am amazed that everyone involved walked away.  Our car is totaled, and resting peacefully.  We had to pick up baby gifts from off the highway.  Some antique dishes I had gotten my daughter at Christmas were in the back, and some of the set is broken now.  But, who cares about that "stuff" - we were able to continue on in a rental car, getting there in plenty of time to see our beautiful granddaughter born early the next morning (yesterday)!

Two miracles in two days.  

Just the two things we'd been praying for: safe travels and a healthy baby girl.

My theme: Book Titles A to Z written by Maine authors,
and a poem for that title each day for the month of April.
 The poem is not about the book, but is written with the title as inspiration!

Welcome to Z!

Z is for 

Zero, Zilch, Nada

by Wendy Ulmer

                           Zero, Zilch, Nada

3
  2
   1!
Here I come!

You're not done

You forgot some!

No, I didn't!

Yes, you did!

You don't know -
you're just a kid!

Start again! this time more!

I couldn't get past the door.

654321 -
       Nada!
           Done!
               Here I come!

Not again, that's not right!

I couldn't get out of sight.

10987654321 - Zilch!

What!  Not so fast!

They zipped right past!

10...
....9...
......8...
........7...
..........6...
............5...
..............4...
................3...
..................2...
....................1...
......................ZERO!

Yea! You're my hero!

You counted slow!

Can you do it again?

I forgot to go!

Your chances are zilch!
       I'll do zero more -
           Nada times again!
               I'm out the door!

©Donna JT Smith, 2014

Zero, Zilch, Nada - Counting to Nothing

Harry needs to blow up 100 balloons for a birthday party, but counting the balloons gets confusing. What is the best way to count to 100? Young readers help figure out what Harry needs to do to solve his math problem.

Wendy Ulmer is a former music and English teacher who currently spends her time writing or running her quilt shop. She lives in Arrowsic, Maine.  She lives very close to me, and has come to our school to share her book "A Campfire for Cowboy Billy".

I almost used this book, Mama Zooms, with a Z in it, before I remembered to check on Wendy's book titles.  I purchased this book in one of the bins of books in our local grocery store a long time ago.  It's a sweet book, so I'm still sharing it!

Mama Zooms

by Jane Cowen-Fletcher

Jane Cowen-Fletcher lives in South Berwick, Maine.  She is on the South Berwick Public Library Planning Task Force.  She was in the  Peace Corps for two years.

Mama Zooms is about a mother who is confined to a wheelchair.  Her son, plays with his mom and her wheelchair, the "zooming machine", pretending that he is on a train, a spaceship, and more.

Brought to you by the letter Z!
Zany!
And now there's zilch, zero, nada letters left!

Ayuh to Z Challenge - Y

My theme: Book Titles A to Z written by Maine authors,
and a poem for that title each day for the month of April.
The poem is not about the book, but is written with the title as inspiration! 

Welcome to Y!

Y is for

Yellow Dog
by Gary Lawless

Yellow Dog

floppy eared puppies
popping hopping
stopping on their chins
stepping on and over
no telling which one wins
like warm buttered popcorn
they spill
down the hill
until they reach the
bottom where
I am.
They wrestle and wriggle
around me
I think no puppy sees
that I am waiting quietly
on my knees
until one little puppy
comes to me
joyfully
and she begins to pounce
and bounce
and say to me that I should
pick her
for she’s picked me -
and that is how yellow dog
and I came to be
family.

©Donna JT Smith, 2014

"Yellow Dog" seems to be a "brochure*", as it is listed as such for sale privately.  So I don't know if it qualifies as a book or not.  Ok.  All the votes are in.  It qualifies.  I have not read it, and I cannot find a review or synopsis of it anywhere, though.

*I received an email from Gary explaining that "Yellow Dog" was a chapbook of poems written quite a while ago.  "Yellow Dog" was a poem about the oldest dog in their sled team, who had passed away.  Thanks, Gary!

Gary Lawless is a poet, book editor, and publisher, born in Belfast, Maine. He is co-owner of the Gulf of Maine Bookstore in downtown Brunswick.
Gary Lawless website
"Yellow Dog" on Amazon

Yes, this post was brought to you by the letter Y!

Yippee!
Next is Z!
Z ending letter...

Ayuh to Z Challenge - X

My theme: Book Titles A to Z written by Maine authors,
and a poem for that title each day for the month of April.  The poem is not about the book, but is written with the title as inspiration! 
There was no book that began with an X or EX, so I went with a word that ended in X.

Here is my double Haiku for foX .

Welcome to X!

 X is for

Fox

by Kate Banks

Fox

fiery-tailed red fox

sunset prowler, night hunter -

beware, slight tailed mouse

wary, bright-eyed mouse

field dweller, harvest nibbler

red fox waits for you

©Donna JT Smith

Katherine Anne (Kate) Banks was born in and grew up in Maine.  She graduate from Brewer High School.
Kate Banks' website

In Fox, a little fox, guided by his parents, learns to hunt, bury his food, cover his trail and run fast, until he is ready at last to go out on his own.

More about "Fox"
Macmillan's review of Fox and some illustrations

Brought to you by the letter X!
Y is next.  Yes, I found a Y.  Yes begins with Y.  So does Yellow.
And then there's You.
See You tomorrow...or Yellow or Yes.
Guess.

Little Girl Across the Street

Precious girl, you are almost here,
I know just how you'll cry;
I already see your curled up fists
And feel the mother's tie.

Treasured girl, you've already caught
Our hearts, our minds, our souls;
I want to wrap you, keep you safe
From rocky life's hard shoals.

I know you'll press to be on your own
With ways you'll want to try,
And you will give us fits and starts
That make us want to cry.

First take the hand that's given you
And let's both cross the street;
I know the little girl you'll be
And I think you two should meet.

She's making castles in the sand,
Eating broccoli ,
Swirling angels in the snow,
Sitting on my knee.

She's holding bugs and reading books,
Standing in the rain,
Collecting shells and bits of glass,
Waving to a train.

She's riding on a grown up bike,
Listening to owls,
Rolling out some cookie dough,
Making thinking scowls.

This little girl is not alone
To do all the hard stuff,
Someone’s with her every day
To help when things get rough.

Even though she'll be so strong
And she will do it all,
We will stand beside her
To soften any fall.

We can't do it for her
And she won’t want us to
But we will help her through it
Our hearts are stuck like glue.

She'll be a friend, and she'll be kind
And we will love her so
She will know much of this world
Before we let her go.

Come see who's out here waiting,
Excited at last to meet
The new one soon to be that girl
Just across the street.

©Donna JT Smith, 2014

Ayuh to Z Challenge - W

My theme: Book Titles A to Z written by Maine authors,
and a poem for that title each day for the month of April.
The poem is not about the book, but is written with the title as inspiration!

Welcome to W!

 W is for 

The Weather Sky
by Bruce McMillan

 The Weather Sky

I look above
and my eyes are greeted with blue
clouds skim the sky
clouds with stories to tell
like where they have been
how cold they are
how old they are
how high and
how fast they are moving
where they are going
if a storm is coming
whether there will be thunder and lightning
whether the weather will be snow
or will it blow in rain
or rattle down sleet
will the day be humid, hazy and lazy
or will it be a day to dry the clothes
the weather sky
will tell you
look it in the eye
watch and learn
it has a lot to say
if you will use discerning eyes
if you will listen to what you see
the sky will tell you
what the
weather
will be
but not whether
you will like it
for the weather sky
just is
and does not
discern you

©Donna JT Smith

Bruce McMillan lives in Shapleigh, Maine.  Years ago I went to a workshop given by him.

Bruce McMillan's website

Bruce McMillan information at Maine Writers' List

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Wicked Big Toddlah

by Kevin Hawkes

Kevin Hawkes is a writer and illustrator from Maine.  He illustrated The Pig Parade, which I wrote a poem for the letter P, and has written some Wicked Big Toddlah books.
"The Wicked Big Toddlah" tells, and shows, how difficult it can be to raise a toddler - especially a wicked big one.  It's a really cute story about toddler life in a giant size!
Book link on Amazon
Kevin Hawkes' Website

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whistling with Olives: 54+ Things to do at Dinner Besides Eating by Robin Hanson
Robin Hanson lives on her sheep farm West Bath, Maine.  She also writes books about knitting.

 Brought to you by the letter W!

- or "wubble you", as I used to call it with my first graders, so they'd remember it's sound was /w/ and not /d/.  It's the only letter that goes by a name that says what it looks like instead of giving a clue to its sound.  Okay, and sometimes I called it a "double vé" because it is a double v, not a double u.

But now for our X-it............stage right.

Ayuh to Z Challenge - V

My theme: Book Titles A to Z written by Maine authors,
and a poem for that title each day for the month of April.
The poem is not about the book, but is written with the title as inspiration! 
 
Welcome to V!

 V is for 

the giVer riVer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To help make up for the lack of V titles, in addition to using two titles in one poem, I will use a V poetry form: the Villanelle - a nineteen-line poem with a rhyming scheme of: aba aba aba aba aba abaa.

 The first and the third lines in the first stanza are repeated in alternating order throughout the poem, and both are in the last two lines of the couplet at the end.

River
by Debby Atwell

The Giver
by Lois Lowry

The giVer riVer

I’d like to be a river,
winding round the bend -
a rolling life giver

whose cold spray sends a shiver
as over rocks I wend.
I’d like to be a river

I’d start out as a sliver -
a wide bay at ocean end.
a rolling life giver

who’s able to deliver
whatever men would send.
I’d like to be a river

to set a bear aquiver
sniffing fishes he would rend
a rolling life giver

quenching thirst before a wither
the world’s best friend
I’d like to be a river
a rolling life giver

©Donna JT Smith, 2014

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Debby Atwell lives in Rockland, Maine.

"River" tells how a clean river became dirty and polluted but with care recovered.

Debby Atwell's website

Lois Lowry lives part-time in Maine.

"The Giver" is about a perfect world. The Giver holds the memories of the pains and pleasures of life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this poem first when I wasn't sure I'd find a V title (which technically I didn't do).This book began with a V, but Jill Krementz is not a Maine author.  However there is a  connection to Maine, in that the ten-year-old trumpet player, the subject of her book, is Josh Broder from Portland, Maine. 

"A Very Young Musician" shows, in photographs, Josh and how his music plays a role in his everyday life.

A Very Young Musician
by Jill Krementz

A Very Young Musician

An old tin can was a drum
His dirt clad hands would beat
Some measuring spoons on a cord
Made him stomp his feet,
Two pencils slapped together
Made such a happy sound
A paper tube against his lips
Could toot a tune, he found.
Teaspoons clapped together,
Rubber bands stretched out tight
Could be firmly rapped and strummed
To give a sound quite right.
His audience was an Army man,
Teddy bear and Lego toy,
A space cadet, a farmer,
and a bow-legged cowboy.
He played upon the rock top
Sunny or cloudy skied 
His notes sprang forth and touched my heart -
As I watched from inside.
Though he was just a young one
Such music in his soul
Every heartbeat was a note
And every note pure gold.

©Donna JT Smith, 2014

Brought to you by the letter V!

Vivacious!

Wonder where the Wubbleyou went?