With past power
and future hope
I navigate
the tangle-covered
threshold to the year.
With past power
and future hope
I navigate
the tangle-covered
threshold to the year.
What a special thing that Jone Rush MacCulloch is hosting Poetry Friday HERE today because she had my name for the Winter Poetry Swap. The swap was first started by Tabatha Yeatts but this year coordinated by Laura Shovan. Thanks, Tabatha and Laura! Today Jone shows her expertise with golden shovels and reminds about her poetry postcard exchange. Be sure to check out her post along with all the others this Friday!
Then, more bounty: a new journal, a pack of fineliner pens, a framed poem/collage, and a bird ornament, with the beginning words of "I heard the bells on Christmas day. . ."
Linda Baie ©
Happy Holidays, Everyone!
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Thanks to Candlewick Press for this copy! |
Thanks to Candlewick Press for this copy. |
Thanks to Cathy Mere for hosting today at her blog, Merely Day by Day HERE!
It is with continued sadness I write this Friday, yet I also remember good things, too. There is much goodness in my life and I am grateful. However, I also do remember all these tragedies and others and will do all I am able to make changes.
Instead of being outraged in the "after", I believe we should be outraged in the "before"!
Those Other Memories
I don’t want to remember;
I mustn’t forget.
The world wonders about our
feeble fascination with guns.
If only there came an answer
when words spew,
and outrage shouts,
“Do something! Make this go away!”
that did not mean
people running
to buy more!
Linda Baie ©
Visit Kellee and Ricki at UnleashingReaders and
Visit Kellee and Ricki at UnleashingReaders and
Thanks to Candlewick Press for this copy! |
To Autumn
If I were to write an autumn ode,
list minute parts which I adore,
spring might cry “Foul! I've also glowed.”
And I’d reply, “Please, don’t be sore.
You’ll have a turn from Eliot’s reply
but now, I write of wealth in rainbows,
artists’ palettes drip down like sighs
as trees prepare their encore show.”
I praise the scene of autumn’s court,
sweater-snug under blue-bright sky,
a panoply of feuille morte*.
It tells how best to say goodbye.
Linda Baie ©
*(a brownish orange that is deeper and slightly redder than leather, yellower and deeper than spice, and yellower and deeper than gold pheasant. — called also autumn leaf, dead leaf, foliage brown, leather lake, oakleaf brown, philamot, withered leaf.)
Visit Kellee and Ricki at UnleashingReaders and
Thanks, Candlewick Press, for this copy. |
This published last month, a long awaited sequel to Ghetto Cowboy, which I'm sorry to say I have not read. There were references to that story in this book, yet it felt as if it would not be confusing. Those who have read the earlier one will love learning more about Cole's new choice, to stay in Philly with his father and the horse he saved earlier, Boo. His mother lives in Detroit. This feels like a good story for middle-grade readers.Its numerous layers include learning to get along with his dad, Harper, after years of being apart. He must get a job if he's really going to live there and the one his dad gives him is one where Dad owes a debt. Cole ends up working as a stable hand in a wealthy military school, one where those cadets treat him as a servant and unworthy of any kindness.
However, one of them happens to be a girl, yes, a black girl, Ruthie, who is as good with horses as Cole. Only, she plays polo! The story is surrounded by polo in various ways, and I also learned that not only at the wealthy academy, but there are city horses and woods in Philadelphia with riding paths, the ones Cole and horse Boo know so well. Conflicts mount as Cole's cousin, an 'underneath' nice guy mixes things up as he tries to keep in touch and give Cole money because he's 'dealer. Deep conversations among them all, an interesting sub-story about the ghetto cowboys, a sadness of the needs in the neighborhood and the principal of Cole's high school who keeps improving it makes, as written earlier, a complex story of Cole and the choices he is led to. And, of course, there are lots of polo descriptions, too!
As this was an ARC, I didn't see Jesse Joshua Watson's final illustrations, but the black and white ones were great, enough to give a glimpse of these kids.
Carol Varsalona is "Bedecked in Autumn HERE at her blog, Beyond Literacy Link! Hers is our celebration of these autumn months, beginning tints, fully painted, now the goodbye. It's nearly time. Our leaves have had their heyday dancing around, some gymnasts, others ballet artists, floating oh, so gracefully down. They now lie quietly on my garden beds. Thanks, Carol, and to all those in Carol's new Gallery who shared their own bounty!
Alen Ištoković, CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons |
Visit Kellee and Ricki at UnleashingReaders and
Thanks, Candlewick Press for this copy! |
Thanks to Matt Forrest Esenwine for hosting today at Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme, HERE! He's celebrating a one-year anniversary of a book of ocean poetry written and gathered by his "Writer's Loft" group and sharing one of his poems! Be sure to check out this book for future gift-giving!
Nearly always I go to bed and usually read some of an adult novel. All the other times, I read poetry and books for kids to review on Mondays. This week, when some were celebrating gaining an hour when saying goodbye to Daylight Savings Time, I did gain one, but it was in the morning, in the dark, waking up my usual time, about six. Only, sad to say, it was really five - right?
A few poems from Ted Kooser's Sure Signs was all I could manage at bedtime and an early one at that. He took me to First Snow when "The winter night curls round the legs of the trees", to August where "The cicada shell/clings to a day in the past", and he showed How To Make Rhubarb Wine where after all the instructions, one should "Take time each day to think about it." He helped me sleep with Year's End (where we are now) when he writes "Now the seasons are closing their files/on each of us". Find this book, or another by this poet and enjoy!
A Paean for Ted Kooser
It will be a wind-driven night
to read with Ted again.
I'm watching leaves cluster
upon the deck table,
not sharing the chairs
with anyone but themselves.
Yet, they do not linger.
They spiral and spin up
onto the last green plant,
the fence, the screen door,
scratching to be in
because it's cold
and windy
and they're already
done with autumn.
Linda Baie ©
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