A Golden Friendship

The family...

Last night was a difficult night.  Our Golden Retriever had to be put down.  She was a dear, loyal friend for many years.  We half expected that she wouldn't be here last winter, but with the new pup arriving, she perked up a bit and let the puppy drag her around the house and they played while she reclined!  It was a sight to behold.
But yesterday morning, her eyesight suddenly just didn't seem right and she didn't want to go down the porch steps or up them.  Going up and down has been a problem physically for a while, but she's done it.  She had developed laryngeal paralysis, which eventually affects the hind limbs, and it had begun to do that. Where her back end had been weak with hip problems in youth, it finally gave way in old age.
So it was time to say good-bye.
And as I wrote this morning, I was reminded of an old Girl Scout song I learned so many years ago -
"Make new friends, but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold."
I have a new friend, but my gold will always be my remembered friend.

Pippi

She slept by my bed
by my feet
by my head
She slept
and kept
watch over fears.

I stroked her face
as she slipped
from this place;
I stroked
and choked
back the tears.

Golden retriever,
so gentle,
receive her;
Gold sleep,
night keep
my friend near.

Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm has a happier dog poem to share today, PLUS lots and lots of links to other poetry!  Go there for this week's Poetry Friday fare!

I'm Going to See...

It's Poetry Friday.  Heidi Mordehorst at My Juicy Little Universe is our Poetess for the week!  Thanks, Heidi!

It is late in the day for me to post.
I'm sick today and everyone is lying low - even the dogs.  Thank you dogs for sleeping.  However, earlier, Ginger (the young lab) stole a towel I'd used on them for drying off coming in from the rain.  Then she sneaked in the bedroom and stole one of my shoes.  She knew I wasn't feeling well, and wanted to cheer me up with a little game of "see if you can get what I shouldn't have".  I won but I was dizzy and had to rest after scolding her.  She just grinned at me.
Last night she knew I didn't feel well either.  She got in my lap...or maybe that should be - she covered me up on the chair.  She hasn't tried to be in my lap since she was 20 pounds...she's somewhere over 70 now.

Last night, on my lap, trying to comfort me...

Oh, crud.  The cat just came in the room meowing plaintively to get the Lab riled and interested in some cat game.  I don't think it is all the dogs' faults on Planet Cat'n'Dog when a cat gets chased by one of them.  At least one cat I can think of knows just what he's doing when he struts through a room.

Anyway.  I am going to see if my fuddled, muddled brain has a poem or refrain, or if it's too much of a strain to keep a thought on train.  There.  A poem has been slain without a bloody stain...though my nose still drips like rain and my powers seem to wane - I feel I'm swirling down the drain. That wasn't too much pain...this poetry from Maine...though maybe it's inane, and certain to draw disdain when read with unmuddled brain.

I am going to see... (not sea...)

if my befuddled, muddled brain
has a poem or refrain,
or if it's too much of a strain
to keep a thought on its train.
There.
A poem has been slain -
though lacking bloody stain -
my nose still drips like rain
and my powers seem to wane -
as I'm swirling down the drain.
But that wasn't too much pain...
this poem sent from Maine...
though maybe it's inane,
and sure to draw disdain
and thoughts that I'm insane,
when read with unmuddled brain.

Rewritten with edits, revisions.  Sorry.  I'll be better by next Friday, I'm sure.  The following poem was what I'd set out to try.  I got distracted by the muddling, puddling, befuddling of my brain.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie, Please

The dogs are just sleeping,

While my eyes are weeping.

The dogs are reposing,

While I am blow-nosing.

The dogs are a'cuddle,

While my brain's a'muddle.

The dogs are all cozy,

While my nose is rosy.

The dogs are so still,

While I have a chill.

The dogs' naps are pleasing,

While I sit up sneezing.

The dogs wake with zest,

I just want to rest.

When I got up, she decided to see if I was serious about not caring if she were in the chair...
so very quietly...

"I'm going to see if she notices...so far, so good,"

Stressed

It's Poetry Friday!  

I got a text from my daughter this morning.

Her 4 year old son asked to wear these shoes today.  He's usually in flipflops or Crocs, but today he asked to wear his "stress shoes".  And he named them:  Bobo and Bernie. 

Then he proceeded to "Time Out" when he couldn't wear them to go outside and do yard work.  There was a bit of a rough patch preceeding the "Time Out"... but we've all seen those, so I needn't describe the exchange that would lead to a need to calm down, right?  Speaking of "stress shoes"...

It was handy timing because I didn't know what I would write about.  I had no poem, until then.  Thanks, Grandson!  

Maybe next week I'll include his hand conversation at breakfast.

"Come on, you stress shoes!"

Stress Shoes

I want to wear my stress shoes

They're black and have real laces

I think I'll call them Bobo

And Bernie - with no faces.

Still they each have tongues,

Even though they do not smile;

And mom says I can wear them

For just a little while.

I cannot do real stress in them;

No working in the yard,

Even though I promised

Not to make them work too hard.

She says that they are dress shoes

But that just can't be so

I think I'd know it if they were

They'd need to have a bow.

Wait, Mom tied my laces in a - Oh, no!

Aren't dress shoes just for dresses?

Should I name them Brynne and Brenda?

Now I really know what stress is!

I wish I had real stress shoes

To work and kick about

Then I would be outside instead

Of waiting in Time Out.

by Nannie, ©Donna JT Smith, 2015

I forgot!  I did have a poem to share... in case you missed it -
Michelle H. Barnes, on Today's Little Ditty, is posting a whole slew of ME poems sent in by brave souls - poems of a pivotal moment in your young life to share with the world!  My poem, "A Passing Remark", is posted there with many wonderful snippets of our younger lives!

A PASSING REMARK
by Donna JT Smith

 
I was a child
of field and truck
with fingernails
a’la dirt and mud

the neighbors had
a girlie girl
with skin so soft
and hair a’curl

pale of face
with body narrow
a shape that barely
made a shadow

rosy cheeks and
toned farm arms
should not have been
cause for alarm

but our neighbor’s visitor
said to me
as I passed by
“Hello, chubby!”
 

from that time on

I realized
it mattered if
you weren’t pint-sized;

and that is when
my fight began
with body image
and who I am.

Visit.  Read.  Laugh.  Cry.  Gasp.  Wince.  Giggle.

Then think about what YOU might write before September 30!

Read more poetry on this glorious Poetry Friday
hosted by Janet Wong at Poetry for Children

and clicking on the links to other participants!

Great fun is in store

for those who read more!

Sharing My Poem on Today's Little Ditty

Today, Michelle Heidenrich Barnes at Today's Little Ditty, has my ME poem, written in response to Lee Bennett Hopkins' Ditty of the Month Club challenge.  It is a poem that is about a pivotal moment in your childhood - something that changed the way you thought about something, something that changed you in some way.

I have a few moments like that in my childhood, but the one that came to mind immediately was one that happened when I was probably somewhere between age 8 and 10.  It had a huge impact on my life, and I wish I could have spoken to that person in my future adult voice when it happened, and asked them what in the world they thought they were doing, and how did they think that would help me.  But I was just a kid, and if a grown up said something, it was probably true.  The remark was one they would today most likely have no memory of ever having said (if they were, in fact, still alive today).  I never ever saw this person again, but I didn't need to; the words stuck in my head and affected the way I thought of my self from then on.

No matter how thin I would become (and I would at one point become very thin), I would never think of myself as "thin" again.   There would always be something unacceptable about my shape.

I wish I could take back, for him, what he said; I'm sure he didn't intend it to be mean.  I wish I had not heard him.  I wish our paths hadn't crossed.  I wish he knew how much it had hurt when he said it.  I wish he knew how long the hurt had lasted.   But I really wish I'd understood how much it didn't matter - how much I didn't need his approval - how I should have taken it with a grain of salt.  For I was not even chubby.  I was not overweight.  I was just a healthy kid, probably in an outgrown red jersey.  See?  I even remember the shirt.

Sigh.
Heavy or not heavy, chubby or not chubby... my life has been WAY more than just okay.   And I take back the wish that he could know how much it had hurt, and how I'd run to my mother to ask her if it was true.  I would not want him to know.  I'm sure he didn't mean it.  It could never have been taken back - once spoken, it has hit its mark.  I tried to push it to the back of my mind - ignore it - not take it seriously, as my mother had advised.  It was mine to choose to ignore or dwell on.  I tried to ignore, as my mother had said... but it still resurfaced at various times... now I'm thinking that I may have dwelled on it a fair bit!

Perhaps the good in it (and I like finding that good in all things) is that it helped me to never say something like this to anyone.  I'm going with that good thought about it.  Because it did.  Maybe that is the more significant "change" that actually occurred - one infinitely more important than the forever changed "body image".

Please visit Michelle's Today's Little Ditty today where Michelle is sharing my poem, and other ME poems, too!

Aquasphere - Another Response

Poetry abounds, and you can bound along, too, if you go and visit Michelle at Today's Little Ditty where there are a plethora of poetry links! (Isn't "plethora" a great word... love it's opposite, too - "dearth")

I am posting Aquasphere today.  It was a "runner-up" in my brain, for posting on Spark as a Response Piece for the ocean picture by Tisha Carter.  You can see that image here.

You could say this particular poem was taken by force!  I tried a different technique to create it.  One that I hadn't used before.  You may want to try it with a picture you would like to write to.

Here's what I did: 

Because the sky and sea blended so nicely in Tish's picture, making them almost one entity or fluidly joining, I wanted them to be joined in the poem somehow, too.
 

I brought Tish's image into Sherwin Williams Color Snap.  There the names of Sherwin William's paint colors were assigned to different areas on the image that matched Sherwin William's paints.   I listed the paint names* associated with the image, and moved the image markers around to get more names for more hues in the picture.    

Some paint chip names referred to sky and some to sea (including one that was called “Sea Serpent”) giving me an idea for my "theme" for the poem - or a "where I am heading".
 

"Aquasphere", another paint name, seemed to fit the sky and earth realms, so I then researched to see if there were any “Sea Serpents” in the heavens.  Come to find out, there is a constellation called "Serpens", with two halves of a Serpent - the head, "Caput", and the tail, "Cauda", separated by a figure holding each half. 

I ran with it, seeing as there were no real scissors involved.

This is my own watercolor image to go with "Aquasphere".  Yesterday was my second group watercolor session with a local artist, Judith Kinsman.  Such a great group.  Wish I'd taken a picture of me... all clean brushes, clean palette, new pad of paper... not a clue what I was doing or if I should be there... but everyone was so supportive of a beginning painter.  Everyone is so helpful and KIND!  I am enjoying my time there immensely.  We worked on painting coastal rocks.  I made a pretty decent one.  Maybe you will see it someday.  That's my serious picture... this one below is a bit less formal!  I thought I was pretty clever putting those stars in (or rather leaving the paint out in starrish shaped areas)!

I am REALLY having fun with watercolors now!

Aquasphere

Somewhere in the aquasphere,
In meditative mood,
Submersed in pool of languid blue,
A lone sea serpent broods;

Breathtaking smoky daydreams

Waft in sky of powdered hues,
He renews his search for refuge
From the icy ocean brews.

Peering above into the sky

He sees the stars anew;
Should he remain Sea Serpent
Or was Sky Serpens his due?

What’s his to gain or lose in this? 
If one lives must one die?
Could he abide in realm
of sea
And take the helm
of sky?

Slowly with his dreams in tow,

Cruising the aquasphere,
Sea serpent swims by day at sea
But come night, disappears;

Leaving darkest depths of sea

For deepest skies of night,
Cauda and Caput reveal
His serpentining flight.

By Donna JT Smith, Sept. 2, 2015

*Some paint names were harmed/massacred or lost in translation for the ebb and flow, and meaning of the poem.  My sympathies to their relatives, but I make no apologies.  I would do it again.

Poetry Friday - A Garden, a Rose and Spark

Happy Friday, happy poetry!  We are all attending the poetry party at Robyn Hood Black's place, so go and take a look at what else is being offered today - right after you finish here, of course!
My last swap of the summer was with Margaret Simon...way down in Louisiana!  Quite a ways from Maine!  However, having frequently read Margaret's blog and swapping a poem last summer, has made me feel like I know her a little bit better than some of my face-to-face friends!
Anyway, for the poetry swap, Margaret sent me a "Happy Day" journal (in which I have already written!) with a sweet poem written about a Maine author, Cynthia Lord, using a line I'd put in one of my poems recently "When the haze sweeps in".  She paints a pretty authentic picture of living in Maine.  Margaret posted this poem last Friday and you may read more about her connection with Cynthia here.  With her permission, I have Margaret's poem written out here:

Cynthia's Garden
by Margaret Simon
for Donna Smith, Summer Poem Swap, 2015

When the haze sweeps in,
I stop by Cynthia's garden
to see the pink rose of Sharon
surprise with a bridal white.

Cynthia asks me in for tea,
a warm taste of sweet honey-orange spice.
On the center table,
sweet pea, Queen Anne's lace, elderberry.

On the mantle, a photograph
of last winter's snow, thick and unshoveled.
We look and sigh, knowing
this moment of surprise sweeetness
is fleeting.

Her kitchen window looks out on the bay.
Colorful sails rise like kites
above crystal blue.  We talk
about bunnies and blueberries
and boys who love to sleep
ouside under the stars.

When the haze sweeps in,
I tell Cynthia goodbye
and hold her heart
like a poem I want to hear
again.

Thank you, Margaret.  I think I would like to visit Cynthia's Garden someday.  I'm not much for gardening, but I love when other people take to it!

My first Maine beach rose watercolor...

Meanwhile, on Spark, I have two poems up.  One is a poem I wrote, and Tisha Carter responded to it with a photo she took.  She also sent me a picture, to which I have written a poem.  The two poems with their images by Tish, may be seen here.
Spark 1 - Tish's image as inspiration for my poem - I did not use "Aquasphere" as I said I was going to... "Beach Girl" won.  I'll put up "Aquasphere" someday!
Spark 2 - my poem as inspiration for Tish.  I had fun with this poem about a dog and I-scream - and Tish had fun finding the perfect picture!  Crazy eyes!  She found the knots on a piece of wood, and they looked like the intensely focused eyes of some of the dogs she's owned, and reminded her of "Blue Dog" by George Rodrigue.  So please, click on through.  Diane Mayr has some pieces up also!  So check it all out.  You may want to play along next time!

Spark for Poetry Friday

It's Poetry Friday - somehow I missed posting last week.  It's been busy - traveled by train down to Maryland for my nephew's wedding on the ocean for the weekend and that threw off my writing, plus this:
 
For the past ten days I have been ruminating over an image sent to me by a Spark participant. Has anyone else out there done Spark?  This is my first time.  Amy Souza at Spark organizes this meeting of artists - pairing an artist with a writer.  I sent my partner a poem, to which she will give an image response, and she sent me an image, to which I respond with a written piece.

The image she sent to me is of the ocean with just a bit of sand in the foreground, and the ocean goes on to blend with the gray cloudy sky.  It is hard to see where one stops and the next starts - a very intriguing picture by the sea.  (Fortunately for me, I love ocean scenes!)

Later this morning I have to send a poem response to this image.  I have had ten days to write.  And I have 4 poems now.  (Never give me too much time!  I have written, rewritten, jotted notes, more notes, revised, re-revised...and finally said, "hey, do the laundry!").  I had my daughter, my husband and a friend read them yesterday, to tell me which they think best goes with the image, or which they like best.  I have had 3 different answers.  They each picked two, so they have hit on all four of them.  This was not as much of a help as I'd hoped!  I should have known better.  Now I am almost right back where I started!

These are the names of the poems I wrote:

Aquasphere
Beach Girl
How Have You Left Me?
There Is a Fish

These are the picks, first and second choices:

Husband: Beach Girl and How Have You Left Me?
Daughter: Aquasphere and Beach Girl
Friend: Aquasphere and There Is a Fish

This is my deduction: Not "How Have You Left Me?" and "There Is a Fish", right?  And their were two firsts for "Aquasphere", though that wasn't my husband's favorite...

So with that information, I am going to use "Aquasphere", I guess.  It got two firsts.  I liked "Beach Girl", too, though.  I'd ask on here, but I need to wait until I've posted it for Spark.  So today for Poetry Friday I am going to post "How Have You Left Me?"  I won't post the image with it.  I have one of my own.

-->

How Have You Left Me?

Have you deserted

  in thinnest of air?

I cannot see you 

  drifting out there.

Where have you gone -

  slipped off into sea?

How can I know just

  where you might be?

Nowhere remains

  any footprint of you,

No clues to find

  in all this wide blue.

How can I follow,

  if follow I must?

Does promise, as you,

  dissolve into dust

To swirl off away

  becoming a dream?

I’m no longer one piece,

  but rent at the seam.

When you come back

  you must know that I'll be

Saving your seat

  by the sea

   next to me.

 

by Donna JT Smith, Sept. 2, 2015

Spark 26 Option 3

Please visit Linda Baie at Teacher Dance today, for more wonderful poetry offerings this fine Poetry Friday!  (Heaven help me, I was about to revise this one more time!  I stopped myself, so when you don't like one of the lines, I'll know which one and reprimand myself for not changing it when I had the chance.)

Poetry Puzzled Friday

Poetry Friday is here at last. For so many, it is time for back to school.  Enjoy, this, one of the last of the summer Poetry Fridays!  It is hosted today by Catherine at Reading to the Core.

Last year was my first year doing the Summer Poetry Swap that Tabatha Yeatts created, and initiates and organizes each year.  Thank you, Tabatha, for doing this.
I enjoy receiving the poems from such talented poet friends.  It is always a surprise, always a little mysterious and definitely makes going to the mailbox a whole lot more fun!
I've shared my poetry gifts received from Keri Collins Lewis, Diane Mayr, Tabatha Yeatts, and Heidi Mordhorst in past posts.  These have been wonderfully thoughtful poems, and accompanied by beautiful illustrations.  I have them on my refrigerator right now - my favorite place to post treasures! (I can see them from where I sit and write.)

Refrigerators can tell a lot about the person who uses it.

Refrigerators can tell a lot about the people the refrigerator owner hangs around with, too.

Today I thought I would just share my Poetry Swaps that I sent out this summer, and a bit about how I came about writing each.   The process was so much fun, and the finished product was even better than I'd hoped for.
You may want to try some for Christmas gifts to family and friends.  I got so carried away, I also created one for my mother-in-law up in the far reaches of Northern Maine.  She is in an assisted living community, and they all work on multiple puzzles at a time up together.  And now I have told you the format - the carrier - for my poems.  I used puzzles.

And here is what I did to get started:

For each recipient, I went back and read many posts.  Even if I'd read the posts before, I reread to remember and think.  Hopefully, I would get some sense of the person behind the words and be able to put together something that was meaningful for them.  Originally, I'd decided to use Tagxedo, as I had last year.  I did use it once, for Keri Collins Lewis, my first swap (I received a poem from her as her first swap, also!).  But then, decided to branch out and use images - either my own or theirs.  So everyone had a different experience when they read the poem and saw the image, yet had a common experience of "Poetry Puzzled".

After reading the posts and checking the blog from possible images that would work, I set about writing.  I jotted down "must use" words or ideas to get started.  When the poem was complete, I let it sit and stew for a bit.  Fat rose, and I skimmed it off.  A few more skimmings and rinsings in cool water, and only the necessary words remained.  It was ready to apply to an image.   The image then was transferred to Zazzle to be placed on a puzzle template!  I have a Zazzle Black account, so shipping is free, and I had each puzzle shipped directly to each recipient.

Keri Collins Lewis - I so enjoyed her "other life" as a beekeeper!  When I went to write her poem, I had read many of her posts and wanted to include as many little snippets of her life and posts as I could.  I wanted a literal "puzzle poem", with each piece of the poem making up the whole picture.  I put her web address into Tagxedo and found a bee silhouette to use as the shape of the tagxedo.  Then her poem, with the Tagxedo, was arranged in the Zazzle program to make a puzzle.  If you have read her blog, then you will probably (hopefully) recognize the pieces in her poem!

My second Poetry Puzzled recipient was Jone Rush MacCulloch.  She was in the midst of a big move when she received her poem.  Hopefully, all belongings have been moved and mostly re-established in their new home!  And that she has had some quiet time to construct her puzzle!
I found a beautiful picture Jone had taken of a hummingbird.  I'd been seeing a hummingbird around our house (saw him again yesterday after weeks of absence).  The image with the lilies was just so gorgeous, I had to use it.  I have planned a longer more involved poem, but what came out was shorter and, to me anyway, sweeter.  So I went with it.  A simple combination of her photography and a poem inspired by it.

My third Poetry Puzzled poet recipient was with a long time Blogger Buddy, Linda Baie.  For hers I decided that I would use an image from her site.  I remembered that she had a beautiful watercolor of a bleeding heart she'd painted and posted.  With that painting in mind, plus her 2015 One Little Word: "Paint",  and her love of "painting with words", I wrote her this poem to honor her beautiful talent of "painting with heart".

Joy Acey Frelinger was my next swap.  Now, Joy has very few photos on her site and it is filled with children's poetry.  Not a lot of bio to get except that she has a wonder, joy and heart for all writing, and especially poetry, for children. I read a lot of her poems, gleaning the wonders, and put pieces into a poem as a kind of list of things to learn and do in childhood.
Because she didn't have a picture I could use, I painted a watercolor of a heart to superimpose the poem on...and of course, used Joy's name in the title!

And my final swap was with Irene Latham.  First, I wanted to use her OLW "Wild" in the poem.  What's wilder than a tiger?  I found pictures of her family's visit with baby tigers and couldn't resist the image of Boris.  Boris, so large and in charge - for a little guy!
It seemed that he wanted a poem about himself, and Irene would get a little memento of their experience!  And here he is in all his tiger ferocious glory:

I'm kind of sad that I don't have any more to do!  I guess I know what I'm getting my daughter for Christmas.  Hope she isn't reading this today...

Tuesday Sliced

It's Slice of Life Tuesday - Join others and read more snippets of life on a Tuesday at Two Writing Teachers!

Fan #1 - The Silver Oscillator

It's been too hot in Maine recently.   On Sunday it was 88 degrees with 95% humidity.  That is totally unacceptable to me, but not unexpected. 

I know, I know, some of you have had over 200 degrees and 195% humidity - and in summers past we have had that, too, even in the years when we were told that another Ice Age was imminent.  Please don't tell me you don't remember that.  If you do, you are too young, and you probably have air conditioning and not fans!

Fan #2 - Old Faithful

The thing about Maine is that we get lots of different kids of weather all the time.  That's the predictability of Maine weather - that it is unpredictable.  Some would like to attribute EVERYTHING that happens nowadays to climate change/global warming/ etc.  But if they were really looking at the weather over the years in Maine, they would find that ANYTHING has ALWAYS happened here - and really everywhere else for that matter - it's cyclical.  When I was a kid in Maine, we got the deep and frequent snows that we had this past winter, and it happened a few winters in between my childhood and now.  We had summers so hot you thought you could fry an egg on the pavement - though who is going to eat that egg?  And I remember the summer my feet got badly burned when I went for a walk barefoot on the road sometime during my invincible years.  But it has also snowed in June in my lifetime and we've had many January thaws that give you a brief glimpse of spring in mid-winter.

We've had summers when it rained EVERY weekend, starting on Wednesday.   We've had summers when things dried up and blew away to look for rain. We've had flooding and hurricanes, earthquakes and tornadoes, blizzards and ice storms causing loss of power for a week or more.  These are not everyday occurrences, but they do happen and have happened off and on over the past 60 years of MY recorded history.

Fan #3 - The "Honey"

So I am not going to blame anyone or anything for how hot it has been this week.  We've always had a week when you wish you had AC.  We never know when that week will be until it happens.  This year it is happening this week.  It can stop any time now, I'm still not getting AC more cooling than my four fans.  I have officially noted this warm weather, recording it for future generations living in the Ice Age that should have been mine!

Fan #4 - New and improved Mr. Vorna-Dud.

Meanwhile, I'm officially beginning preparations for December.
I'm going to go find my mittens and boots.

I'm ready for winter's predictable unpredictability now.

Bring. It. On.
I promise not to complain.

Poetry Friday - Two Swaps

Last week, I was excited by the arrival of two more poetry swaps in my mailbox.  I'm beginning to like getting the mail...

Both poems today, have a very "Made in Maine" feel to them, maybe because they aren't from so very far away - one from Heidi Mordhorst (of My Juicy Little Universe) in Maryland, and the other from Diane Mayr (at Random Noodling) in New Hampshire.   I really enjoyed the images attached to these two poems, too.   They, with my recent picture taken at the beach nearby, prompted my own poem which I am posting at the end.

Here is the swap from Heidi Mordhorst, who has written an Ode.  I believe if you click on the image you will see it larger.  I've written the poem below, just in case that doesn't work.

Ode on a Grecian Yearn

                     for Donna JT Smith

Get thee behind me, Keats, thou sire

of purple-passion'd phrase and exclamation!

Who hath spoiled the joy of Poesy?

O flowery Romantic, it is thee!

My Grecian urn is plain red clay

beside the olive tree.  The day

is new and blue; the view is vast

with truth.  Only the bee is fast.

The rocks are rough; the sea is rippled smooth.

My Grecian yearn is slow and wide

and deep.  I count small steps, not strides.

Let green be silver, yellow, lime.

Let minutes tickle by in thyme.

Stone and salty water burn and soothe.

©Heidi Mordhorst

Summer Poem Swap 2015

Thank you, Heidi, for this beautiful poem.  The image is much like the views from any hilltop (or mountain, as we would call it) in Maine.

I like this ode in its whole, and many pieces in particular stand out as so meaningful to me.  But perhaps my favorite one to say is "The day is new and blue; the view is vast with truth..." because I feel that inside when I see the blue sky and land stretching before me.
But there are so many parts that ring true to me that I hate picking out just one part.
"Stone and salty water burn and soothe."  Lovely, Heidi!  Thank you for a soothing, yet invigorating poem that will be read over and over.

Diane's poem reminds me of how as a child, though I may not have had a "lobster purse", when traveling with my grandparents, they were sure to stop at "tourist traps" and get a few trinkets for me.  But my favorite things ultimately were the sparkling "mermaid glitter" reflections and collecting rocks and shells.  Postcards, back then, were also a big part of sharing summer fun with family and friends...so Diane has pretty much captured many of my snippets of memories!  And what a gorgeous image!  I love how the seagulls seem to be reflected in the waves, as well as the glittery sunlight.  Thanks, Diane!  I love it!

Hazy Day at the Beach

When the Haze Sweeps In

When the haze sweeps in,

And the waves crash low;

When the sand is wet,

And the seagulls crow,

That is my favorite

Time to be still

Sit and just listen

Ignoring the chill.

And I become one

With the sea and the shore;

Revisiting childhood

Through its reopened door.

Glistening rocks,

Shells no one owns,

Sticks worn down smooth,

Or maybe fish bones,

Treasures the haziness

Hides in her beaches -

Pleasures the mind

Once again reaches;

When roaring waves crash

 Breaking open the door,

My senses long hidden

Are bidden to fore.

by Donna JT Smith

Hope you are enjoying this beautiful Poetry Friday!  Keep enjoying by visiting the poetry roundup hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe.  Hey, isn't that who sent me a poem for the swap?  I believe so!

Poetry Friday - Adoption

Hello, Poetry Fridayers!  Our hostess for the roundup this week is the lovely dudette, Tabatha Yeatts, at The Opposite of Indifference.  Go there for some links to good poetry fare.

Today I have a poem I wrote last October.  Here's why I wrote it:

Good friends of ours are adopting a boy in China.  He is 13 and has been waiting forever for a family.  He is getting one now! I wrote this poem for him when they knew he would be their son sometime - but he did not know yet that there was a family working hard at preparing to adopt him.

It seemed so strange that someone so far away could be suddenly nestled so deep in your heart, and that so much work was going on in the process of adopting with approvals, home visits, classes, paperwork and finances, without the person being aware of any of this -  all this flurry of activity, all the pictures on friends' refrigerators, all the prayers.  But he is left out of the process for months in case anything were to fall through and the adoption process halted.

We had even heard his voice on video before he had an inkling that a family was preparing to make him their son. It struck me, and I had to write.

Welcome Home

We know your name,
we've seen your face,
in a faraway place.
   You don't know,
      but
         we know you.

The time is coming
to be a brother,
to have a mother.
   You don't know,
      but
         we know your laugh,

And wistful wishes;
we've seen the gleam,
we know your dream.
   You don't know,
      but
         we hold your picture,

As we speak your name
in our prayers, too,
asking blessings for you.
   You don't know,
      but
         at your new home

Your family awaits
holding your space
in the family embrace
   You don't know
      but
         you will know
            soon.

by Donna JT Smith

He knows now.  He has seen pictures and read letters.  We saw video of him reading the translated letter from his new family.  I can hardly wait to meet this new member of their family!  What a happy change in so many lives!
PS  Now I can say it on my blog - he's coming home with his family TODAY!  How exciting is that?

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream

I have been quiet recently because my daughter came for a visit and brought my two grandchildren with her.  I cannot write when they visit.  It is much too busy and when it isn't busy, I am much too tired.  Consequently, the writing suffers.  Too bad for you writing.  I'm otherwise engaged, body and soul.
We had a wonderful visit, and worked on a project together for almost two weeks.  It required working a couple of late nights, with Grampie babysitting the "soon to be four year old" making trips to the shore and Cabela's (their favorite place to go).
Today (the 4th) they went home.  What an quiet, empty house after the giggles, squeals and screams (mostly good screams, though we had a few mishaps!) of the last two weeks.  I could use a good scream.  It's pretty quiet here now.

There's nothing quite like the cold ocean, salty breezes, rocks, shells, seaweed, and a little boy loving it all.  What a beautiful time we had.

if i could hold the sky

if i could dance on the sea

i'd give it all up before my next breath

if i could have You near to me. 

by Donna JT Smith, 2015

 

Did You Say "Feed Me?'

Thanks, Two Writing Teachers (or more) for hosting the Tuesday Slice of Life.  This slice of life is a bit from earlier this summer, last week and when I was a child.  It's like a slice of three layer cake (gluten free, for me, of course).

Don't know who this bird is looking at the babies.  Sometimes wrens will come to steal a nest.

About 8 years ago, a phoebe built a nest on our porch.  We watched her sit on the nest and later feed her 4 babies.  We watched as they grew too large for the nest.  And one day, when my husband got too close, they just exploded out of the nest, never to be seen again that summer!  When they are ready to fly, they just up and leave.

We had a nest of phoebes on our porch again this year.  A phoebe came and made four starts that amounted to four small piles of stuff between porch rafters.  Reading about their habits, I learned that the male typically starts nests before the female arrives, and she decides which one will be "Home, Sweet Home" to her babies.   She must have selected "Door Number 3", for finally, after a little bit of time went by, the third one down the line "took" and was completed and eggs were deposited.

Not long before the four young phoebes departed their nest (I missed it - they left sometime during the day when I was gone), I saw the momma bird sitting on the railing with a moth in her mouth.  It was in head first with wings spread out on either side of her bill.  It looked like she was smiling or had a mustache.

Pheed Me

"Hurry mother,

need another!"

A bug refill

In momma's bill -

Moth wings spread wide

From side to side -

Her mustached grin 

Will soon drop in

That nested peak

Of lifted beaks.

"Next could we try

Some dragonfly?" 

©Donna JT Smith, 2015, all rights reserved

I am still disappointed in the sound of a phoebe.  When I was a little girl, my mother had told me that a phoebe says "phoebe".  For years when I heard phoebes calling, I was thrilled to hear them!  I love that sound!

While listening to the birds, occasionally I would hear what seemed like a broken phoebe.  It's voice was harsh, and almost sounded like a phoebe with laryngitis... it was more like it was saying "feed me" than "phoebe".  And there was definitely no polite "please" involved.  I felt bad for the poor phoebe who couldn't sing!

Then one day I was looking at those Audubon birds that you squeeze and they make the bird's sound.  I picked up a black capped chickadee, Maine's state bird, and gave it a squeeze, expecting to hear it's "chick-a-dee-dee-dee", but instead I heard "phoebe"....
Well, certainly this must have been a mistake.  Someone put the wrong voice box in this chickadee!  Phoebe's say "phoebe" and chickadees say "chick-a-dee", right?

After a bit of research online on various bird web sites, I discovered that the hoarse, throaty "feed-me" was actually the true phoebe sound, and the chickadee said both its name and the phoebe's name.  And, to add insult to injury, it said "phoebe" much more clearly, musically and politely than a phoebe ever could.

I wonder if Mom ever knew that, or if I just heard the chickadee once and assumed it was a phoebe saying it, and didn't ask about it.  I'm adjusting to the new association of sound and bird.

I was visiting with my sister last week I heard a phoebe call and asked her if she knew that chickadees said "phoebe".  No, she did not.   She was as disappointed as I.  Hopefully, she will get used to the new voice of the phoebes and chickadees, too.

Just when you think you couldn't possibly hold another morsel - your brain calls out "Feed me!".

Morsels to feed you -

Here's a YouTube with all the calls of a Chickadee:


This one below starts out with a chickadee image but then goes to the phoebe that the person recording notices.  The phoebe's call is then recorded instead of the chickadee's.

Fisherman Senryu Two

Good morning!  It's Poetry Friday!

My fisherman doorstop from last Friday's Roundup was still on my countertop a few days ago (I told you he didn't have a job), and he just spoke to me again.  This time, I added my first "little watercolor" using my new real watercolors on real paper as a backdrop for writing another poem in his honor!

He's a fun study.  Such a magnetic personality!

 

The Fisherman

Man of sea and shore

Smiling eyes blue as water
His laugh like thunder

©Donna JT Smith, 2015 

Then I put my fisherman in his rightful place (where he thinks he has a job, but there is no door to hold) and then decided to switch the picture to a watercolor that I did with my grandson's watercolor set that I keep here for his visits.  They are the typical paints in the round pots in a plastic container.  These paints, though they do make colors, have a tendency to want to give you "pieces of paint" instead of blending nicely.  The best thing about them is that they are what made me decide to get a few tubes of paint and some better paper than index cards.
I used pen on a small index card to draw a basic outline of the lupines and then painted.  This one is pretty small, and I know it is not going to win any awards (unless for sheer bravery for putting it online for the world to see), BUT it was fun, and it gave me a poem.  And fun and poetry are what it's all about in my world.

Lupines

Blooming wild flowers

Field of purple summer smiles

Happy morning walk

©Donna JT Smith, 2015

Now it's time to head over to another spot in Maine, where Kimberly Moran is hosting 

the Poetry Friday Roundup today!  She has posted a thought-provoking poem about writing by Seamus Heaney.

Summer Poetry Swap 2

My husband gets the mail.
A big envelope is in the box.
"That's big writing."
"Oh, that's my second poem.  Must be from Tabatha; she emailed it was on its way soon."
I open it as we drive (our mailbox is about a mile away from our house).
"Oooh!  That's so nice (as I pull out the penned letter "D"). 
"She says she wrote a word poem - a modified sonnet - from a word that was in ebullient abundance on my blog - "imagination"."
I read the note aloud to him.
I read the poem aloud, also.
"Imagination, huh.  I don't think I've ever used that word.  Is it really in "ebullient abundance on my blog"?
"Of course it is.  You really need to read your blog."

And, as I told Tabatha in my reply email,

"If I'd been drinking a latte, it would have been out my nose, the laugh came so suddenly, unexpectedly and forcefully!

See, I don't even know what I'm doing or what I'm about.  I like that others can see it though!"

So I have gone back and read bits of my blog.  Why just at the end of May I used the word "imagine" and "imagining"...  Tabatha is right.

Here is her beautiful, thoughtful poem, with its own ebullience!  And with a beautifully penned letter D:

Donna, Undeterred
©Tabatha Yeatts, all rights reserved

Imagination is a word
With arms stretching wide

Harboring artistry inside -
Imagination is a word

With whimsy preferred
And sunniness supplied -

Imagination is a word
With lengthy legs that stride

Untethered and untied,
Undaunted and undeterred.


I love it.  Thank you, Tabatha!  I love "with whimsy preferred and sunniness supplied"...and that you sneaked in "harboring"!

Happy Poetry Friday, everyone!  Head over to Katie at The Logonauts to put more poetry in your day!

A Slice of Cows and Poetry

I was doing a bit of Internet research yesterday for some poetry I’m working on.  I like to read articles and find out as much as I can before embarking on new writing topics.
While I was puttering around on the Internet, I came across the horrific story of children’s author, Babette Cole, author of Princess Smartypants.
On June 15, she was out walking her two terriers in a field, when cows with their calves approached.  The cows attacked her and her dogs, appearing to be attempting to kill her and the dogs, perhaps seeing them as a threat to their calves.
A man and woman were looking at a nearby house that was for sale, and they then decided to walk the land. The cows in the neighboring field seemed to be in some sort of commotion, so they looked over the fence, in time to see a dog hurtle through the air.  Looking down, they discovered Babette severely injured and bleeding.  The couple rescued her and she was flown to a hospital where she spent a week recovering from broken ribs, bruises and cuts requiring stitches.
Here is a link to the story:
http://www.plymouthherald.co.uk/Famous-children-s-author-lucky-alive-cow-herd/story-26841066-detail/story.html

This was a disconcerting story, and only goes to prove that no matter how cuddly and cute animals look, they are still animals, with animal instincts... and no remorse.

I may have to wait to continue my research and writing for today.  I’ve been put off a bit by this incident.  But this did come out of it, as I pondered the thoughts of the cows later that day.  And I got out my new set of watercolors, and bravely attempted a watercolor of a brown cow after searching through 50 or so pictures of cows online.  It's funny how you can know what a cow looks like right up until the minute you want to draw one, or paint one.
It's also funny how one little sidestep on a path can take you to an entirely different place than you were headed, but gets you somewhere interesting nonetheless.

Bought some watercolors last week...my first cow painting...

When the Cows Came Home

When the cows came home
they shuffled inside
lined up in the barn
and mooed and sighed,
And waited for corn
as they did every day,
And gave no hint
of going astray.
Their moos were the same,
Their tails slapped at flies,
And if you could ask them
They'd tell you no lies.
They had been naughty
though they didn’t know it;
they'd just done "whatever" -
their eyes didn’t show it -
no remorse nor guilt,
no heads hung in shame,
nor were they arrogant
after playing their game.
They were just cows -
cows doing their thing.
Just cud-chewing cows,
taking a swing
at anything threatening
their family’s contentment;
yet even still holding
no sign of resentment.
There are no bad cows -
there's only perception;
There’s always a reason -
though perhaps misconception -
So when cows come home
and have nothing to say,
you can try as you will, to ask
“how-now-brown-cow, was your day?’
But you’ll never know
they'll not tell you more -
No ways, whys and hows
of benign bovine lore.

©Donna JT Smith, 2015


Have a wonderful Tuesday, Slicers!  Don't forget to link at Two Writing Teachers today with your Tuesday Slice of Life!

Poetry Friday Roundup is Here

Posting early to let people start their Friday early....and to make sure there are no problems with the postings!
Welcome to Poetry Friday Mainia! It is a fun-filled five days in our area with Bath's Heritage Days in full swing!  I hope you have a wonderful Fourth of July on Saturday.
Meanwhile, back at our poetry party - join in the poetry action by adding your information below.

Fill in the first part with your name or web page name - title or poem offering. Your email won't show up, but then put in your unique URL to the page for today:


Hope you enjoy reading lots of poetry to get your holiday started. 

Below, is an old iron doorstop that my parents had for many years.  It's now at my home.  I don't really need any doors held open, but he enjoys a nice spot on the floor near a door in the livingroom.
After my Tuesday post about the Coincidental Seagull, I picked up my cast iron fisherman and set him on the kitchen countertop.  I looked at the magnetic words on the side of the refrigerator and assembled this poem.  It just seemed to fit him. 
Then I took down some rocks I have on the kitchen windowsill to add to the rocky coast as a scene for his photo.  These are rocks I collected on a trip to Newfoundland my siblings and mother took to do genealogy on my father's family.
The whole setting reminded me of my grandfather who came down to the States from his fishing village of Pouch Cove, Newfoundland, as a young married man with a little baby girl.  My uncle and father were born here a few years later. 

Come listen, child;

the morning wind breathes 

and leaves

a cloud
of fish.