Friday, November 27, 2009

Poetry Friday Schedule

Here is the Poetry Friday schedule for the next few weeks:

11/27 Becky (Becky's Book Reviews)
12/4 Elaine (Wild Rose Reader)
12/11 Diane (Random Noodling)
12/18 Susan (Susan Writes)
12/25 Kate (Book Aunt)
1/1 Mary Lee (A Year of Reading)
1/8 Tricia (Miss Rumphius Effect)
1/15 Mary Ann (Great Kid Books)
1/22 Liz (Liz in Ink)
1/29 Anastasia (Picture Book of the Day)
2/5 Olgy (Children Come First)
2/12 Lee (I'm Here. I'm Queer. What the hell do I read?)
2/19 Irene (
2/26 Jone (Check It Out)

I've been looking for this one:

Introduction to Poetry

Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

Read the rest of the poem here.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

The Poetry Roundup this week is over at The Drift Record. I found this Thanksgiving Blessing among the posts at Carol's Corner. It certainly was a blessing and it gave me food for thought. I am as thankful for it as I am the food I am about to start cooking! I felt like the words were written especially for me. This is why I love Poetry Friday. There are treasures out there just waiting to be found. Happy Thanksgiving, enjoy!


May we be aware not of the things we lack,
but of all that we have.

May we feel not the absence of those we love,
but the presence of those who love us.

May we see not just the harshness of our world,
but the gentleness of its mystery.

May we know not the cold of despair,
but the warmth of hope rising.

May we speak not of our hurts and losses,
but of our healings and blessings.

May we be with each other not in the shadows of the past,
but in the light of the present.

May we bring to our table not judgment, resentment, or anger,
but acceptance, compassion, and forgiveness.

May we remember to feed our spirit by living out of thankfulness.


Friday, November 13, 2009

I'm back from New York City. It's good to be home. It's Poetry Friday, so here I will share a little piece of my time in the city by posting a poem that I had the privilege of hearing the author, Dave Johnson, read during the Poetry In The Branches Institute at Poets House last week. The rest of the Poetry Friday roundup can be found at GottaBook. Head on over, read, and post!


We got on the train together
at the end of the line.
Alone, we eyed each other.
At each stop more
and more people got on.
I looked at all of them.
Some of them handsome,
some pretty sharp
and hard, some
with soft features.
One or two were out
and out beautiful.
But each time
I would look back at you,
and you would catch me and wait
until one of us had to cut away.
This went on and on into Manhattan.
And as sweet and tempting
as all the new riders looked,
I couldn't stop watching you.
The more and more stops
we made together,
the more I knew, we were becoming attached.
By the time we made it to Chinatown we had a history
and I knew there was no turning back
I also knew, if I looked
at another, too long,
without coming back to you,
it would officially be, cheating,
and this, I could never do.
By the time we got to the West Village
we both were holding on
for the inevitable.
We're talking long beyond anticipation here.
I was sweating the way men will,
right before they give
all they've got,
because they know,
even the most animalistic,
that they are just before doing something
they can no longer control,
and no matter what
words slip out of them
they will not be enough
to explain what is happening.
At 51st street the doors
opened quickly
and with the rush
of the midtown crush hour,
you stared hard, like you too
were giving off
a sweat
-a teeth grinding, lip curling
way back inside the mouth so
the nose holes can swell
and flare to get the deepest
lung suck possible sweat-
that you too, were not fully, understanding.
And with a drop of your eyes
you grabbed the center pole and were shuffled
throught the doors.
You were gone and I was left with
my mouth in the shape
of an imperfect O.
I am telling this because
I wanted you to know.
The whole time we were together,
I was never cheating on you.
And as hard as it was to let you go,
I rode with you, way past,
my stop.

Dave Johnson

Sunday, November 8, 2009

I'm not in Little Rock anymore. In fact, last night I was in the beautiful St. James Theatre on Broadway watching Finian's Rainbow. Rick and I enjoyed the show full of beautiful music, great dancing, and fabulously talented cast! Even the set was delightful! More photos from the show here: Broadway Photos |

Friday, November 6, 2009

I'm in New York City this weekend attending Poets House Poetry in the Branches National Institute. I'm learning how to build a good poetry collection and how to conduct exciting poetry programs in the library. If you don't know about Poets House, PLEASE go to their website ( and click around. They have just moved into a beautiful new building in Lower Manhattan overlooking the Hudson River. Here is a poem I found in the stacks there today. The rest of the Poetry Friday roundup is over at Wild Rose Reader.

Human Heart by Gregory Orr

Human heart -
That tender engine
Love revs it;
Loss stalls it.
What can make it
Go Again?
The poem, the poem.