A belated poetry friday for Stella...

and her parents. I found this poem today and thought of you and your new family.

And so you arrive,
ancient-faced houseguest,
like some relative out of a sepia-toned photograph,
surrounded by a thousand pounds
of duffel bags and steamer trunks,
the contents spilling loose down our front steps.

Read the entire poem by David Harris Ebenbach here.

Poetry Friday: Eating the Bones

My grandfather passed away a few months back, and unfortunetly I haven't been able to get to Miami to see my grandmother since then. But this poem reminds me so much of her. Before I went veggie, I shared this habit of eating bones with my grandmother. My dad does it too. It totally grosses my mom out. You can read the poem Eating the Bones by Ellen Bass here.

Poetry Friday

Oh! An Alice poem! It makes me think of my last year at New College, writing my thesis chapter on Alice in Wonderland and wondering if I was ruining it for myself forever.

And as in Alice
by Mary Jo Bang

Alice cannot be in the poem, she says, because
She's only a metaphor for childhood
And a poem is a metaphor already
So we'd only have a metaphor

Read the rest here.

Poetry Friday

Yesterday I was explaining to someone at work why I love the 3-5 year old so much. The infants are cute and cuddly sure but I have the most fun with the kids who have a little sadistic streak in them. Okay, maybe sadistic is too strong, is impish better?

Anyway, Hansel and Gretel Duet by Nan Fry is a delicious spin on the tale, with a twist perfect for Halloween. And I think some of impish little story-time kids would like this ending better!

Read the poem HERE.

Poetry Friday: Morning Song

It seems all of a sudden I know a bunch of people who are having babies. I admit that every once in while I think, oh a baby, I want one. And then I remember that that's the same kind of thoughts I had about Emerson and then we adopted him and now I'm stuck with a needy dog that sheds everywhere. Plus, all I need is a particularly crazy story-time with a bunch of cranky two year olds to remind me that I'd rather wait a bit for kids. So, this Poetry Friday I want to dedicate Sylvia Plath's Morning Song to the new mommies and new mommies-to-be I know.

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.

The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry

Took its place among the elements.

For the rest go here.

Poetry Friday: Nelson, My Dog

Gary Soto's poems about his dog almost made me want to go home and play with Emerson. Almost.

Like the cat he scratches the flea camping in fur.
Unlike the cat he delights in water up to his ears.
He frolics. He catches a crooked stick –
On his back he naps with legs straight up in the air.
Nelson shudders awake. He responds to love
From head to tail...

Read the poem here.

Poetry Friday: The Poets' Grimm

This week's poem is from an anthology called The Poets' Grimm: 20th Century Poems from the Grimm Fairy Tales. Looks like a good read for anyone who's into fractured fairy tales. It almost makes me want to be a teacher again so I could use it in the classroom. Almost.

Snow White Turns 39 by Anne Sheldon

I'm planning how to break a talking mirror:

hammer and earplugs. Seven years of bad luck?

Better than that Bette Davis cackle

every morning when I hit the sink

Read the whole poem here.

Poetry Friday

Since I'm on a kick with poems I loved in highschool, this Friday's poem is Skunk Hour by Robert Lowell. All the angst in the world seemed to be summed up in those two lines:

I myself am hell,

nobody's here--

Read the whole poem here.

Poetry Friday

This weeks poem is by Sharon Olds, because I love her.

Rite of Passage
by Sharon Olds

As the guests arrive at our son’s party
they gather in the living room—
short men, men in first grade
with smooth jaws and chins.
Hands in pockets, they stand around
jostling, jockeying for place, small fights
breaking out and calming. One says to another
How old are you? —Six. —I’m seven. —So?
They eye each other, seeing themselves
tiny in the other’s pupils. They clear their
throats a lot, a room of small bankers,
they fold their arms and frown. I could beat you
up, a seven says to a six,

Link to the whole poem here.

Poetry Friday

I saw the new Harry Potter movie last night. I am so impressed with how the movies have really created this universe. Oh and Snape! I have such a literary crush on Snape. Mr. Darcy, Mr. Rochester, and Snape...I love those brooding, slightly mean characters. My new Harry Potter theory is that Snape is Harry's real father. Before anyone gets up in arms, I KNOW it's not true, but wouldn't it make the story a bit more interesting?

As for poetry this Friday, I am posting a poem by another children's fantasy writer. I love the last two lines in this poem. Not as much as I love Snape...but almost.

Fat Is Not a Fairy Tale by Jane Yolen

I am thinking of a fairy tale,
Cinder Elephant,
Sleeping Tubby,
Snow Weight,
where the princess is not
anorexic, wasp-waisted,
flinging herself down the stairs.

Read the rest of the poem here.

A bit late for Poetry Friday but let's give it a go

This weeks poem is Travel Advisory by Michael Dumanis. You can read the poem here. No particular reason for picking it other than the fact that I like poems that boss me around. Seriously. Ever since my high school English teacher Mr. Haness had us read David Wagoner's Staying Alive, I've had an affinity for bossy poems.

Anyway, in other news, I went with Josh and his buddies to see the new Transformers movie. Now, as low as my expectations were, and let me assure you they were pretty low, that movie was disappointing. It wasn't funny enough to laugh at, there wasn't enough action to keep my mind sufficiently numbed, and it was full of offensive stereotypes. I should have known better when the 18 year old page at the library warned me it was bad. I mean, if a teenage boy hated the movie then really there's not much hope. I thought I had nothing better to do but really ANYTHING would have been better.

Poetry Friday

I like this poem because it reminds me of my days in the classroom. Ah, those mornings when you are still groggy and the caffine is just kicking in and the kids start to trickle in the door and there's always the one who asks...

Did I Miss Anything?
Tom Wayman

Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours

Everything. I gave an exam worth
40 percent of the grade for this term
and assigned some reading due today
on which I’m about to hand out a quiz
worth 50 percent

Finish reading the poem here.

Poetry Fridays

Despite my massive failure with project 365, I attempting a new project: Poetry Fridays. To sum it up, every Friday I am going to post a poem, or a few lines of a poem (I'm trying to follow copyright regulations here) or write about a poetry book I've read. Anyway, the point is Fridays from now on are devoted to poetry. Anyone who wants to join me in this is welcome. (Erin , this means you, 'cause I know you'll like this). So in honor of father's day I give you...

Locks

By Neil Gaiman

We owe it to each other to tell stories,
as people simply,
not as father and daughter.
I tell it to you for the hundredth time:

"There was a little girl, called Goldilocks,
for her
hair was long and golden,
and she was walking in the Wood and she saw —
"

"— cows." You say it with certainty,
remembering the
strayed heifers we saw in the woods
behind the house, last month...

Read the entire poem here.