The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible
to silence it.
Frederico García Lorca, from The Guitar
Tag: poet
Sunflowers and Poetry | Meet Me Halfway
Since we are in the final week of National Poetry Month, I decided to share poetry and sunflowers all week long. This month–with all its busyness–tried to rob me of poetry, but I persisted. I wrote and read poetry daily and even managed to plan and host another successful [annual] poetry event.
This weekend I “rediscovered” Javan, a poet I enjoyed as a teen. I [probably] purchased the two books I own while perusing shops on Canal Street in New Orleans–Meet Me Halfway and Something to Someone. I have not read these books in decades, but thought about them a couple of days ago and luckily found them with ease in my home library.
After reading through selections, I see why I loved his works way back then. His poetry is uncomplicated and speaks to our yearnings and all the things that cause teenage angst.
Here are two poems from Meet Me Halfway to start you work week. I plan to share another one of his poems Thursday.
By Javan
I’ve learned
That Life offers much more
Than most people take
I’ve learned
That many people live their life
Within small circles
Afraid to go out
Afraid to let others in
And I’ve also learned
That at the end of Life’s game
Most people wish
That somehow
They could have played it differently
By Javan
Many people complain
Life never gave them any chances
We are given Life
We must take the Chances
About the Image: Today’s tiny art is brought to you by none other than Sheila Delgado of Sheila’s Corner Studio. She sent this gem to me in late October and I have been looking forward to sharing it with you. It kicks off “Sunflowers and Poetry Week” perfectly! You can view a better scan of the sunflower and read about her creative process in Smooth the Way. Oh, why sunflowers with poetry? “Just because,” of course!
Purple | “Bump Up the Color”
I read the few words [below] by poet Yrsa Daley-Ward a week ago, and they have been an answer to the chaos and noise of the world, noise I do not want to be a part of.
Life is beautiful. Live it. Bump up the colour of the moment. Bright things can be found everywhere – in the undergrowth, in the unexpected, in the calm following something significant, in the pure thought inside a meditation.
There are things that I will hold forever. I have to turn over the soil each day. There is beauty everywhere. Often, I miss it. –Yrsa Daley-Ward, the utter
I’m convinced it was her words that led me to all the purple this weekend.
christmas. merry. | a poem and a song
I come this evening bearing two Christmas gifts for you–“merry,” a poem by Ullie-Kaye, and “This Christmas,” a song by Luther Vandross.
merry.
so let us be merry then.
it is written in the stars
after all, that we sing.
and if we do not know the
words, to hum. and if we do
not know the melody, to close
our eyes and feel the music
beating in our lungs.
and should we be too tired
to feel. should our hearts be
stained with sadness, find
the silence. hunt for peace.
free ourselves from the notion
that we must always be okay.
then save our hallelujahs,
for another day.
ullie-kaye [Trust me. Click the link.]
You’re welcome. 😀
Merry Christmas!
1LW: The First to Rise
Soon a host of lovely flowers
From vales and woodland burst;
But in all that fair procession
The crocuses were first.
–from “The Crocuses” by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (1825-1911)
The magnificent artwork above is the second precious gift Lori-Anne C sent in honor of my one little word (1LW). [See previous post for the first]. She sent it with the following note, explaining its serendipitous connection to my 1LW:
. . . No matter how I worked your tulips, they kept looking to me like crocus.
It got me to thinking of how the crocus is often our first flower to pop up through the cold dirt and show its glory . . . spring! As though it’s celebrating the returned warmth of the sun . . . in deep yellow and purple.
Maybe this year, a crocus is good . . . for both of us.
Your word “rise” —
A crocus isn’t very tall, but its colour and determination to push through and rise are deep and strong.
Yes, the early crocus and what it has to survive and grow through [especially in Ontario, Canada] to reach the sun and bloom strong may, in fact, be perfect [for your one little word].
Lori-Anne intended to send the flowers for International Women’s Day, but her muse had other plans. The sunflowers and crocuses and her meditation on the crocus’s struggle and determination to rise contribute beautifully to my journey.
1LW: When I Rise Up
Georgia Douglas Johnson’s poem, “When I Rise Up Above the Earth” was the first poem I ran across related to my “one little word.” Of course, I am familiar with Maya Angelou’s popular “Still I Rise,” which gives voice to a collective Black [women’s] “I”–talking back to and ascending in spite of an oppressive system. However, Johnson’s poem speaks to the journey I’m on as an individual wrestling with and rising above personal challenges. [Plus, lines 5-6 present a strong image that I would also illustrate, if I had the skills 😉 ]
“When I Rise Above the Earth”
Georgia Douglas Johnson
When I rise up above the earth,
And look down on the things that fetter me,
I beat my wings upon the air,
Or tranquil lie,
Surge after surge of potent strength
Like incense comes to me
When I rise up above the earth
And look down upon the things that fetter me.
My friend, Cy, also posted about her 1LW today. She, too, chose a poem. Be sure to check out her post on “boundaries,” her one little word.
The “Rise” pennant in the photo above was made by my Love Notes friend Lori-Anne C. This is one of two precious gifts she sent in honor of my 1LW. I recently moved it from my home office to my work office where it hangs as you see it with a sunflower art by Ty, one of my former students. The sunflower reminds me of a sunRISE, so I couldn’t resist placing them together.
God of the Drop-Kick
Unrelated photo-art because I couldn’t find a “drop-kick” pic. 
I “found” the poem I’m sharing today “by chance” on novelist Alison McGhee’s blog. The poem, by 14th century Persian poet, Hafiz, reminded me of the conversation a friend and I had a few days ago about the narrow view of God as a docile, old man in the sky. Many of us “speak sweetly” of the gentle “Lamb of God,” but want to deal as little as possible with the Lion of Judah. We certainly don’t want to deal with a God who tires of human foolishness and foibles to the point that He might consider “drop-kicking” us.
Tired of Speaking Sweetly
Hafiz (Translation by Daniel Ladinsky)
Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.
If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.
Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth
That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,
Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.
God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.
The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:
Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.
But when we hear
He is in such a “playful drunken mood”
Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.
Thankfully, despite how impossible we can be, God does love us enough not to harm us. I’m grateful–though He might shake his head or “fist” at me sometimes–His deep love for me and His mercy and grace override any inclination to drop-kick me. This doesn’t mean I get a pass or that He doesn’t get tough with me. He does. But His ways are not our ways. Again…thankfully.
Interesting Fact: Bobby Bare recorded a song in 1976 entitled “Drop Kick Me, Jesus.” Go figure.
The Sacred | #PocketPoem
Image by Lisa Runnels from Pixabay
I’m back with a poem in my pocket!
What am I carrying? “The Sacred” by Pulitzer Prize-winning poet, Stephen Dunn. The poem speaks plainly and authentically about an everyday occurrence in which we (can) find a small, sacred moment of freedom.
After the teacher asked if anyone had
a sacred place
and the students fidgeted and shrank
in their chairs, the most serious of them all
said it was his car,
being in it alone, his tape deck playing
things he’d chosen, and others knew the truth
had been spoken
and began speaking about their rooms,
their hiding places, but the car kept coming up,
the car in motion,
music filling it, and sometimes one other person
who understood the bright altar of the dashboard
and how far away
a car could take him from the need
to speak, or to answer, the key
in having a key
and putting it in, and going.
Life gets so busy, so complicated, so crazy at times that I look forward to those small moments in the car alone with my thoughts, my music, my podcasts. One of my colleagues gets in her car and drives to a parking lot to get work done. I get it. That cramped space with windows “uncurtained” is the perfect hiding place from the world.
Did you share a poem on your blog today? Be sure to drop your link in the “Comments” section below.
Fall in Love…
I had planned to share poetry on the blog every day this month–as I did last year–but reality dictated otherwise. What was I thinking, anyway? Last April we were “sheltering-in-place,” so I had time to read and think about poetry for pleasure. This April, hmm…not so much.
However, I will take advantage of the last three days of National Poetry Month and share a few poems.
For today’s literary treat, I’m sharing one from Morgan Harper Nichols‘ book, All Along You Were Blooming, which I talked about in a previous post. She has a gift for speaking to whatever moment I’m in; I am sure many feel the same way. The poem I share today is a lighthearted reminder to love life in all of its simplicity and complexity.
Fall in love with the art of living.
Fall in love with letting things be.
Fall in love with listening.
Be still in the sun,
where the winds ever-gently blow,
knowing it is here,
in moments like this,
you are living,
and you will grow.
Morgan Harper Nichols, from All Along You Were Blooming
Tomorrow is “Poem in Your Pocket Day,” so let’s have a link party! Join me by sharing a poem on your blog–yours or someone else’s. Be sure to come back here and add your link to the comments. I don’t want to miss your poems! Maybe, I’ll “discover” a new poet!
Let’s share until the very last minute of National Poetry Month, 11:59 PM.
Check out some other ideas for PYP Day by downloading a PDF filled with ideas and poetry from the Academy of American Poets.
Student Post 3: Three Poems and a Tea
The weather is not being nice to me today [imagine that in a whiney four-year-old voice]! We went from gorgeous, breezy, 80-degree (Fahrenheit) days to a chilly, windy 30/40-degree day!
The temperature thwarted my plans to take long walks between tasks and classes, but it gave me an opportunity to pause, sip tea, and read poetry. Don’t you want to join me?
Well, just grab a cup of your favorite tea and settle in.
I am sharing a few poems written by Na’veh of The Bloggings of V. Na’veh is one of our department’s most prolific poets, the self-proclaimed favorite student, and my homegirl (from NOLA).
Here are three of her poems–because poems should be read in threes:
If you need more poetry for your tea, you can find Na’veh on her blog or at thewritingsofv on Instagram, where she shares her poetry with complementary imagery.
About the Image: The red and white tulips are from one of my very early spring walks. I was surprised to see the “field” of tulips in a hardly peopled area of campus. Na’veh selected the tulips for this post because she “loves roses.” [Inside joke] 😉
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