Not Quite Ready for the New Year

Photo by Julie Falk

Friday holidays play havoc with my brain. For two weeks, I haven't had a clue what day it was. I unattached myself from my phone and forgot a few things that I probably should have remembered. Someone fed all the wandering children and grandchildren that floated in and out of my house. I played, colored, read books, and went to the (very warm, indoor) pool. I sat and talked, took walks and talked, went for coffee and talked, and hid occasionally in search of no talking.

By Monday afternoon the out-of-town crew was all gone. Yesterday the remaining in-town children departed for Arizona for a month with work.

The silence is golden. Golden, I tell you.

I jumped right back into my routine and haven't yet had my fill of this wonderful lack of words. I haven't had time yet to do my normal beginning of the year sit down with my old calendar and my old journal. I have been thinking about my "one little word" for the year, but I'm not ready to share it yet. Give me another week or two of introverted silence and I'll be ready.

For today, enjoy this excerpt.

from "Frost at Midnight" 
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

     Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

You can read the full poem here.

Tabatha hosts today's roundup at The Opposite of Indifference.

Grumpy Greetings

This lovely crowd of people has been in my house for the last week. Half of them went home yesterday, so the noise level has been significantly reduced. It's been a wonderful visit, but tonight I sort of hit the wall. Okay, not sort of. Hubs has been fighting a cold and last night I ended up on the sofa in an effort to sleep without the constant movement that goes with the hacking and snorting and blowing and coughing. Since he couldn't sleep either he got up and did what he does so well. He started emptying the dishwasher. So sleeping on the couch became even less satisfying. I tried again today to take the remaining two grands to the pool to swim, but forgot it was New Years Eve and the pool was closed. (We missed it on the first attempt, too.) After we had eaten dinner and hubs had cleaned up again (sweet man that he is), I was so grumpy and unsociable I packed my jammies, grabbed  my pillow and took myself to the basement apartment just vacated by the departing set of grands.  I drank a glass of wine, binged on The Gilmore Girls, and went to bed. To no avail. Every kid in my neighborhood must have driven across the river and spent their last dime at Big Momma's Fireworks. Yes, I'm serious. That establishment does exist. 

So I gave in. I sat outside on the steps and watched the sky explode and remembered to be grateful 

for my children who love me and want to spend time at my house 

for a husband who knows I hate to make the bed and wash dishes and willingly does it for me

 for eight precious grands who live far away and really do love their Dori 

My life is full of good things. 

So come on in 2016. I'm going to bed now. I'll see you in the morning. 

Merry, Merry, Merry

Here you see thirteen of the eighteen stockings hanging in my den. I'm off until the new year, so enjoy your holidaying. Wishing you great joy, peace in the midst of your preparations, and rest deep in your bones.

from Seventeens
by Amit Majmudar

1. Incarnation

Inheart yourself, immensity. Immarrow,
Embone, enrib yourself. The wind won’t borrow
A plane, nor water climb aboard a current,
But you be all we are, and all we aren’t.
You rigged this whirligig, you make it run:
Stop juggling atoms and oppose your thumbs.
That’s what we like, we like our rich to slum.
The rich, it may be, like it too. Enmeat
Yourself so we can rise onto our feet
And meet. For eyes, just take two suns and shrink them.
Make all your thoughts as small as you can think them.
Encrypt in flesh, enigma, what we can’t
Quite English. We will almost understand.
And if there’s things for which we don’t have clearance,
There’s secrecy aplenty in appearance.
Face it, another word for skin is hide.
Show me the face that never lied.


For  more about the poet, see his bio at the Poetry Foundation. Visit the his website.

Read the full poem, "Seventeens," here at The Flea.

"Seventeens" was published in Heaven and Earth, Majmudar's second collection of poetry, which won the 2011 Donald Justice Prize.

Here is an interview by author, Sarah Arthur. 

Arthur's book, Light upon Light:A Literary Guide to Prayer for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany is where I first found the poem. It is a wonderful collection of readings for the season.

Be sure to stop at Random Noodling for the Poetry Friday Roundup. 

Winter Poetry Swap Goodness

Tabatha Yeatts, you rock, girl!

I came home yesterday to find a box on my front porch. I knew in a flash (you know, like in the song when the crooner knows it it Saint Nick?) it was my winter poetry swap gift! This is my first time participating in the poetry swap, and I was so excited to open my package from Tabatha. 

I opened the box and pulled back the tissue paper to find a YOGA magnetic poetry kit. Who knew they even made such a wonderful thing? You can see my first magnetic poem above. I haven't even pulled all the words apart yet, but my first yoga cinquain was such fun.  I'm planning on getting a magnetic board and hanging it in my yoga studio.

Underneath the kit, a wonderful assortment of tea. 

But I saved the best for last. The poem. Who but Tabatha could manage to combine my love for yoga with my crazy interest in Antarctica?  Thank you, Tabatha. 

Relaxing in Antarctica

By Tabatha Yeatts

for Dori

There is an urgency of cold,

a surge of shiver, danger of dark,

a supremacy of don't freeze,

 be on your guard,

  brace yourself,

that squares your shoulders,

 curls your fists,

  crusts your eyes...

what can you see beyond

your goggle-glazed view?

how can your spirit be light

under the weight of the wind?

but even in Antarctica,

once your studies are tended,

your numbers recorded and

your goggles hung to dry,

that spot on your neck

where you hold your hardships

begs you to bend,

to stretch,

to fill your lungs

with a warm breath,

to award yourself

all the sunlight

your mind can create.

Tara hosts the Poetry Friday round up today at A Teaching Life.

Thankful Poetry Friday

Thanksgiving dinner at my house this year is going to be a quiet affair. I'm looking forward to a simple holiday this year, grateful that my in-laws are still part of my life, grateful that my youngest daughter is living in the same town with me, grateful for my dear hubby. Last week he told me I was the greatest blessing of his life. What a sweet man. So my Thanksgiving poem is for him.

I've been experimenting with a few traditional poetry forms this week. I tried my hand at linked sonnets, but that effort is not printable at the moment. Poetry forms can be maddening sometimes. Playing with them, forcing my words to conform to meter and rhyme often distills the thought process, even if I throw out the form and keep what's left. That's what happened as I tried Tricia's Terzanelle poetry stretch. It was definitely a stretch, and still not especially skillful, but I like the result. I kept the pattern, but threw out the rhyme.

Thankful

for the late rose
blushing red
against my cheek

for the sunset
masked by clouds
blushing red

for the first hesitant
blink of starlight
masked by clouds

for the barred owl
startled by
blink of starlight

for the fog
your warm breath
startled by

the night sky
for the late rose
your warm breath
against my cheek

© Doraine Bennett 2015

Tricia hosts the Poetry Friday roundup today at Miss Rumphius Effect.

Wild about Antarctica!

Today I'm celebrating with dear friend, Irene Latham, on her ten year anniversary in the blogosphere. Irene has inspired me, challenged me, and entertained me for many of these ten years at Live Your Poem, where she does exactly that!

Many of us in the Kidslitosphere begin January with "One Little Word" for the year. I'm not sure, but this may have been Irene's invention, too. Irene's word for 2015 is WILD. You can see her post here, along with a pretty wild picture of the wild little girl she was. It's only appropriate that she has invited those of us who know and love her to be wild with her today. 

Here is my take on the topic. I'm still stuck in Antarctica, definitely a wild place. Cape Denison, the home base of Australian explorer Douglas Mawson, is the windiest place on earth. Katabatic winds blow down the surface of the Antarctic ice cap, pulled by gravity, gathering snow, until they reach hurricane speeds. These rivers of icy wind can blow for days. Explorers of old and research scientists of today can only sit and wait for the winds to cease. 

The poem below is a mask, or persona poem, written in the voice of the wind. Stop by Irene's blog where she is rounding up all of today's wild celebration posts. Happy Anniversary, Irene!

Katabatic winds at Cape Denison, Antartica. Photograph by Frank Hurley, 1912

Wind Warning

Set no foot here
or suffer violence.
This shore belongs to me.

A blizzard of rage,unbridled,
I plunge down ice. I plow
the snow, slam walls of white

against your face—a maelstrom,
uncontrolled. My raging
blast demands retreat.

A knife of driven air,
my wild banshee scream
prophesies despair.

© Doraine Bennett 2015

O October!

Photo by Wildcat Dunny

I love this quote from Rainbow Rowell's book, Attachments. I heard it read recently in a yoga class and went in search of the source. Rowell is the author of Eleanor and Park and Fan Girl. Attachments was her first novel. I've added it to my "want to read" pile.

I'm taking liberties with the lines, making it a found poem. It should really be a poem!

October, 
baptize me with leaves!
Swaddle me in corduroy
and nurse me with split pea soup. 

October, 
tuck tiny candy bars 
in my pockets and
carve my smile
into a thousand pumpkins.

O autumn!
O teakettle!
O grace!

Happy Autumn! I've been out of town and out of town and out of town. Now I'm writing and writing and writing. So if you've read this elsewhere lately, well, enjoy it again. Stop by A Year of Reading where Mary Lee is hosting the roundup.