Gather and thank

Poetry Friday’s own Teacher Dance, Linda B. gathers us this week

Poetry Friday’s spiritual Thursday of Novemeber,is gathered by Ramona. Appreciations, Ramona!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Gather and thank

For a gathering sense of shared community here,
pulled together by response to the local yoga tragedy
& the quest for valid votes in Florida governor
& senate elections, I am appreciative
for the the ahisma people,
non-harming people

For a gathering of new poems** flowing to
my pen since summer, I am appreciative

For the brave gathering of journalists at
meetings, speaking with sources, asking
questions across our states & world,
I am appreciative

For creativity, dignity of leadership & perseverance
within U.S. indigenous tribes, I am appreciative

For a gathering of most-loved ones by my
side on Nov. 22, I am so very appreciative

And for my Poetry Friday world,
all of you, ashisma people,
I am always so appreciative
to be gathered with you.

** poems!
I feel grateful that my writing guru, Adrian Fogelin, has looked over a small gathering of my new poems, written since summer, which surprised me to be on a theme. If I can continue apace, I plan to bring more to an early 2019 workshop. I will say that terms such as “flamingo”, “catamount” & “skunk ape” appear among the lines. . .

Summer 2018

Summer 2018

And so sweet summer solstice arrives in
just 10 days with our blue/green marble rubbing closer to the sunstar on June 21.
Without awareness, until this reflective moment,
I find that I am less inclinded to cook up Red Mill oat bran in the morning,
more likely to have already prepared a batch of chocolate-raspberry pudding
(tofu protein base) for the first meal of the day.

Summer in a weather zone such as our North Florida suburban woods
provides us
mold & mosquitoes,
high 90s, sometimes 100s,
humidity my husband labels perfidy
walls of rain,
sometimes hurricanes.
I take our summer to be like others’ winter,
a signal to embrace extreme conditions.
I savor close-to-home expeditions,
love the gifts of this summer,
wouldn’t want any other summer.

Summer treasure
is tactile
living jewel on hand
ocean necklace plucked from sand

beach hard to reach
little yard tomato, one for each 



unnamed….

Summer June’s tune for Spiritual Thursday writers, sung by Margaret Simon.
And here is the most recent Poetry Friday picnic from Whispers at The Ridge.

Spiritual Thursday: Special Days

Night flights

Sky
true blue,
a serving plate.

Insects
fly free,
devoured by diners.
c. 2018JanGodownAnnino

My family & I hunted the full moon when
we scooted away overnight for
a Florida wedding just last weekend.
Seeking a nearby lake for the moon view,
such intakes of breath we gave
for hundreds of thousands
of free-flying, mosquito-gobbling bats.

I do look for the special days that many of us celebrate around the calendar
& the individual family days we love to cheer,
but Oh, how I am nourished by the
serendipity of an unplanned
special night
or day.

The poet Stanley Kunitz said it this way-
“I can scarcely wait for tomorrow
when a new day begins for me
as it does each day
as it does each day.”

c.2018NightFlight

The Spiritual Thursday topic for May, suggested by Violet, covers Special Days. I look forward to coasting around to everyone’s thoughts. If you are here for Poetry Friday, it is collected in a bountiful bouquet by Brenda.

“To Make This World A Whole Lot Brighter…”

‘Twas a mighty day, when Lee Bennett Hopkins was born.

To appropriate from an ancient text,
how I feel about poetry is that
poetry “restoreth my soul.”

And today on April 13, the birthday of Lee Bennett Hopkins,
I am thrilled to think about how
it seems that no other person for so long, steadily
creates opportunity “to restoreth the soul”
of poetry to young readers of all ages,
than Maestro Lee Bennett Hopkins.


For decades & decades, Lee has not only shared
his poems, but he has also brought hundreds of
other poem makers into anthologies that are
beautifully illustrated &
sought by families who love poetry,
by classroom teachers & by school librarians.
Lee is a book maestro
arranging for poet & artist to create together
musical results, such as in
THE SEA IS CALLING ME
& JUMPING OFF LIBRARY SHELVES.
& RAGGED SHADOWS
& SHARING THE SEASONS
& ALPHATHOUGHTS
& others, which some outfit by the name of
Guinness has counted up.

In one of my favorite’s of his, THE SEA IS CALLING ME,
a three-verse poem by Lilian Moore floats the lines:

“Until I saw the sea
I did not know
that wind
could wrinkle water so…”

©LILLIANMOOREallrightsreserved “Until I Saw The Sea”

At the shore
I now am tickled to see
Lilian Moore’s wrinkled water
where I didn’t think of it
that way before.

Lee is a fierce
advocate of many decades standing for
diverse voices being on stage.
In
A CHORUS OF CULTURES, Lee brings Arnold Adoff
into class with the four-verse,
“The Way I See Any Hope For Later”
that says in part,
“…And stop looking
at who is a woman
and
who is a man.”

©ARNOLDADOFFallrightsreserved
And Lee published this book 25 years ago.

I am among the many fortunates, especially in children’s literature,
who call Lee & his genial partner Charles, pals.
We met at a poetry workshop in their adopted
state, Florida, which has also adopted back,
naming Lee Bennett Hopkins
to the august roll call
of artistic legends in the Florida Artist Hall of Fame
where Hurston, Hemingway, Williams & Rawlings
are equally honored.

 

And back at that Society of Children’s Book Writers’ & Editors
workshop I met writers
in a nurturing space who have become pals. There, I also
felt how Lee leads us into the still waters &
the green pastures
of poem making with goodness, mercy
& his sprightly twinkle.

His rough child days
held little twinkle,
needed more laughs.
A teacher
saw a creative spark
in the writings of her student
Lee, who was being ridiculed
for liking writing. Her
lifting him up
made him hope:

“To
make
this world
a whole lot
brighter

when
I grow up
I’ll
be
a writer…”

©LEEBENNETTHOPKINSallrightsreserved

Reading through the
other linked poem moments of his New Jersey
& Pennsylvania start with
a very stressed single mother,
in BEEN TO YESTERDAYS,
fully shivered me.

Lee Bennett Hopkins does
make this word a whole lot brighter.

HB!HB!HB! to dear Lee.
With many many more
poetry books
yet to see,
on top.
SMOOCH!


……..
To see more Lee Bennett Hopkins joy celebrated across
the Kidlitosphere of Poetry Friday & associates, please
turn to the artistic site of my South Carolina
pal & Haiku whisperer,
Robyn Hood Black.

2018 April Poetry Month Progressive Poem – day 5

Glad sunrise to you on April 5th, this 5th day of National Poetry Month, 2018/USA!

c.2018JGAnnino
OrmondBeachOleoWater

The Kidlitosphere poem-in-progress 2018 sprouts here this moment,
a day-by-day bud of felt beauty. It unfolded last weekend
while I rose for an Atlantic sunrise. The butter water
reflection wrapped me in morning meditations before
driving home from being with heart-love Elders,
(with no cottage WiFi)
on the other side of our state.
I carry this heart tug into today’s visit with
the boundless creativity of my poetry pals:

2018 April Poetry Month Progressive Poem

Nestled in her cozy bed, a seed stretched.
Oh, what wonderful dreams she had had!
Blooming in midnight moonlight, dancing with
the pulse of a thousand stars, sweet Jasmine 

invented a game.

******************

We invite you to dream with these lines!
And also, to conjure: Where may these words wander from here?
Tomorrow, a new line is due to pop up from the fertile lake territory of Irene Latham,
instigator of this once-a-year collaborative of writing creativity,
who is sweet-with-moxie poetry pal to us all.

To think on a Progressive Poem process question from Irene,
about a catalyst/origin of each of our lines,
here’s how I reacted on when I saw the important first-line opening from Liz:

Nestled in her cozy bed, a seed stretched

I love thinking about this little package planted in her bed. And thinking: what bed? The earthy dirt like in our yard here, where we’ve just put in the basil seeds? Or a big big patio pot? Or in a hothouse greenhouse in Alaska?

I’m a constant internal line rhymer so also a list:
seed: bead, heed, lead, need, plead
& bed – led, wed, said, dead

Then, looking at Michelle’s line, naming our seed,
immediately that line
sent me a vision.
A Jasmine girl character,
wafting up in pantaloons out of a
fragrant full-flowering vine
with a most mischievous look in her eyes
& I knew she was an inventor. I knew in that instant that s
weet Jasmine

invented a game.

Invents, or invented?
Took my cue from that great first line…stretched.
So what say you, dear Irene?
I would like to know NOW (6 PM-ish Wed.)
But I will wait to the Friday morn when you are on stage.
Irene need not keep my mind-image. I didn’t write
that into the poem; that picture brought me into the line.
Jasmine may very well be yet a seed about to undergo
an under-dirt metamorphosis. Her game could be something
she invents in a dream, or that is/was taught to her… how? why?
Or… who knows? This is the jolly nature of our
one-a-day-writer go-go juicy juice.
It could be scary
to hand off the next day’s duty
to 2018 Progressive Poem’s idea-creator, except
for the knowing that we are all one heart in this.
Irene will clothe this poem ever-unexpectedly,
with love & beauty. And perhaps with a dollop of her signature
impishness.

Now some more appreciations also, with a
sprinkle of the choicest rich organic poem-starter on top,
to the brave beginners:

Liz
Jane
Laura
Michelle

I love their heart handiwork in this verse garden.
And still more smiles to Irene for setting
us on our way with the first PP & adding new ideas, foretold recently with Heidi,
in sharing process, with this, the latest.

**************

Please visit us all the poem grow days, until sweet Doriane in my sister state,
Georgia, sings us home.
And a reference note for all you dedicated researchers,
garden journalists,
& curious poem-makers,
yes, we can grow jasmine vine from seed. And of course, we can
grow anything, any which way we want, in
the pleasure of poetry.

********************

After Easter I arrived home at our little yellow cottage,
tucked under a grandmother live oak tree,
30-40 minutes close to the gulf shore, five hours from the Atlantic,
into a whirl of wanted work,
plus a warbling once-in-a-lifetime song workshop & then
& a differently great biz dinner for my hubby.
Now I catch up. And if you look in the Poetry Friday universe for Spiritual Thursday,
– that’s today! – I am so pleased to say it is kindly collected at the Carol V. Home page.

c.2018AllRightsReserved

For great links to all 2018 Progressive Poem Contributors.
I am primed to visit all the Progressive Poem days’ yet-unknown, lines.
And also, I want to visit the many Poetry Month Projects beyond the Progressive Poem which aretastily presented at our own Jama’s Alphabet Soup.  My Poetry Month project is to catch up on my big heart project, the history-set verse novel & to present fun, young-age performance poetry this month, promised here at the bottom of SNOWBALL.

SNOWBALL

Snowball in March

Spring springs in Florida,
lemons bud fancy.
Snow falls in New York.
Makes me feel antsy.
I stepped it in, sloshed it,
finally mashed it.
Snowball in March?
Love to laugh at it.

c.2018JGAnnino

c.2018 Snow ball in March, NYC, Pier 15


c.2018 NYC
Cobbled streets,
lonely snow

Hello!
Back at work here after visiting our college gal during a break from
revising my history-set verse novel, completed
in December, in d r a f t.
Walking cobbled streets past 1800s buildings & piles of snow in
Lower Manhattan inspired notebook jottings for the novel. And made me think of THE NEW COLOSSUS poet Emma Lazarus.

She (along with many I crave to know more about, such as Galway Kinnell) happens to be featured in a new March 28 to May 2 poem series airing many places in time for a keen
POETRY MONTH APRIL – surely warmer, then-
public T.V.
show launched from those creatives at WGBH, Boston
.

c. 2018 North Florida
Lemonade, pre-squeeze

Here with our citrus perfume blooms,
it’s time for me to marvel at the silly thoughts in picture books & poems, of Alan Katz, Ame Dyckman, Dennis Lee, Douglas Florian, Lisa Loeb, Jon Scieszka,
Kenn Nesbitt, Rebecca Kai Doltish, Shel Silverstein & the like.

SNOWBALL by Shel Silverstein

I made myself a snowball
as perfect as could be.
I thought I’d keep it as a pet
and let it sleep with me…

(enjoy the rest of SNOWBALL by Shel Silverstein & classroom fun with FIRSTGRADEWOW.)

I’m pulling out silly verses
(accepting recommendations)
to prepare for a presentation on poetry,
staged in a big park’s tent,
right next to a noisy popular playground,
at a great book festival,
Word of South.
A perk for me is that Poetry Friday pal, pied piper Irene Latham
will appear at Word of South at a different time,
so I can catch her mojo LIVE.

***
March clothing!

March 2018
Dressed for Winter Walking

MUSIC

The Spiritual Thursday choir collects around Karen Eastlund, via Irene Latham’s blog. And Renee at No Water River organizes the The Poetry Friday Party at her blog, with a wonderful shout out.

APALACHICOLA RIVER
c. JanGodownAnninoall rights reserved

In January in this space, not knowing that March would conduct
the gift of Music Month
to Spiritual Thursday,
I shared from poet Edward Hoagland:

“But songs need silences to be musical.
Prayer needs silence to be heard.
The world needs silhouetting silence.”

Today I sing a song of nature notes, for the bird symphonies
I wake to & also walk to, day into the night.
If you know someone in Alabama perhaps they catch the sounds of a surprising yellow cardinal!

Adding to sounds from Nature, a few thoughts about people-created music.
When my Father wanted soothing sound he called upon Mahalia Jackson. (Even tho’
this sweet man was an agnostic.)
The legacy of Mahalia Jackson is here.

My Mother favored most any classical French composer on record albums or also, heard on public radio, especially DeBussy, shared by NPR here.

I was never in band nor was I close to anyone in a band, but I perk up with
the music of parading high school musicians.
Anyone for a national public radio march music program we could hear from coast to coast? Having learned a lot about writing in community newspapers as a kid tagging along with my news writer Mom & then in my own career, are you surprised that my favorite is
Washington Post.
A California high school band steps out with it here.

Drums & brass horns wouldn’t have helped last month, living
on a small part of this giant blue/breen marble where the name
Parkland has become a word not at all about bucolic parks. Of the many
comforts provided the teacher, student & family survivors, I like to think
of the soothing snuffling, comforting pants & friendly behaved barks of

the Lutheran Church comfort dogs.

I lean upon a reliable choral comfort when I am not
listening to Nature. This balm is from a musician, lyricist, composer, pianist & vocalist
(all in one incomparable person)
Velma Frye.
I am soothed by her performance of An Irish Blessing, which you can easily
“>listen to on You Tube.

I cherish my collection of Velma Frye CDs,
which you can find along with Velma Frye, here.
Although I am on hiatus from singing with a special women’s song circle this talented
educator collected,
I look forward to my return another day.

I also cherish Spiritual Thursday, Poetry Friday &
music that heals.

And one more bird note,
I am imagining the chirping sound track as I read
Jason Reynolds’ AS BRAVE AS YOU, in which birds
inhabit certain unexpected spaces. His birds can be heard
by many more if a film version of this unique middle grade book is made some day. Hope so.