A Word to the Wise

A poem I heard recently that I really liked and wanted to share. It seems that it was first published in November, 1906, in St. Nicholas Illustrated Magazine for Young Folk. It appears right between a comic strip and an article entitled "How Knives Cut."

A Word to the Wise
By Louise M. Laughton

Little owlet in the glen
I'm ashamed of you;
You are ungrammatical
In speaking as you do,
You should say, "To whom! To whom!"
Not, "To who! To who!"

Your small friend, Miss Katy-did,
May be green, 't is true,
But you never hear her say
"Kay do! She do!"

Sara Duane is a freelance writer in the Twin Cities area of the great state of Minnesota.  

Bad Poetry Day 2011

There is a holiday to celebrate everything! Today, and every other August 18, just so happens to be Bad Poetry Day.

According to Wellcat.com, the creators of this particular holiday, the proper way to celebrate the day is to gather a group of old high school friends, write some bad poetry and then send it to an old high school teacher. But who really celebrates Bad Poetry Day like that? Cracked says we don't have to celebrate it that way, and I deem them a credible source in this regard.

I think just about everyone has written a bad poem or two in their lifetime, whether of their own accord or under educationally administered duress. I may or may not admit that in one point in my life during high school, I may or may not have filled one or more notebooks with some of my own bad poetry. I perhaps lost one that has never been found, one could possibly have been stolen and I just might have actually given one away during my hopelessly romantic phase. All of that is rumor and speculation of course. I admit nothing.

I thought that I might at least try to write some bad poetry. I'm pretty sure some people would think the haiku and little bit of other poetry I've written here has bordered on bad. In fact, upon reflection, I have complete faith that I could write some bad poems here.

I realize this post is late in coming
(and tardiness is most unbecoming)
but to busy-ness I've been succumbing
- nah, I was really watching the Twins game.

Ha! Okay, so here is another one:

There once was a Sam from Minnesota
Who had hit her daily coffee quota.
Having much work yet to do
another pot she did brew
And she didn't sleep that night, one iota.

Still with me? I'm almost done. But it wouldn't be my blog if there wasn't some sort of haiku:

Haiku Poetry:
Five syllables, then seven
then five more. That's all.

So there. If any of my old high school English teachers or college proffessors are reading this (I highly doubt it, but if you are give a shout-out in the comments), see what I've done with my creative writing and poetry classes? To the random person (people?) who may or may not have stolen (found) really angst-ridden, moody, typical-teenage-geek type poetry I may or may not have penned, I may or may not really want those books back!

Did you participate in Bad Poetry Day? Want to, even if it is no longer Bad Poetry Day? Leave your bad poem in the comments!

ACK!

At long last, and on the last day no less, a non-haiku poem in honor of National Poetry Month, inspired by the previously shared poem, "OCK":

ACK!

A bruised and broken victim of a sneak attack,

Lay face down on frigid pavement in a grim, dark shack.

"This isn't just your punishment, this is payback!"

Red hot bullets fled the chamber and the world went black.

I so liked the cadence, brevity and darkness of "OCK," which originates from a comedic opera, that I wanted to use it as a basis for a poem. It has a singular rhyme scheme on a hard consonant, a 12 / 13 / 12 / 13 syllable count and a death-related topic. An entertaining way to kill some time and stretch the creative muscles. What do you think?

April is National Poetry Month

"Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words." ~  Edgar Allan Poe

April is National Poetry Month.

The Academy of American Poets introduced the first National Poetry Month in April of 1996 as a way to increase awareness and appreciation of poetry in the United States. Since then, the celebration of poetry has grown and now includes both Canada and Great Britain. Each year, publishers, booksellers, educators, literary organizations and bloggers (like me) use April to promote poetry.

Organizers encourage writing a poem a day in celebration. Though many schools incorporate this into their lesson plans and some individuals are even brave enough to do it, I'll not be quite so ambitious. Do expect at least a few poems from me (good or bad) sometime in April. Nothing on the scale of the Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn Seasonal Sonnet Series from a few years back because frankly I'm not quite sure where that inspiration came from (I couldn't even write a sonnet for an college assignment). But something interesting and poetic is sure to arise at some point.

You don't have to be a poet to enjoy what the month has to offer. Check out 30 Ways to Celebrate National Poetry Month. People who would like to be on the receiving end of a Poem a Day can sign up for the e-mail list at Poets.org. Poem Flow for iPhones, available through the iTunes store, features daily poems presented as both fixed and animated text. The truly poetic at heart can even search the National Map for events happening near them this month.

On a related note, there is still time for St. Paul residents to submit entries to have their poems published on city sidewalks. The Fourth Annual Saint Paul Sidewalk Poetry Contest ends April 17 at midnight.

My other previous attempts at poetry, for better or worse and some of which I had forgotten I'd even written:

Forgotten Roses
Under Your Skin
Into the Darkness
In Memory of Ian Talty
Summer on the Prairie

Don't forget my ever-present Haiku News Series.

Fourth Annual Saint Paul Sidewalk Poetry Contest

It’s time for the Fourth Annual Saint Paul Sidewalk Poetry Contest. I am not a St. Paul resident, so I can't participate, but I bet at least one reader of this post could.

Look down! Some of Saint Paul's sidewalks are paved with poetry. Since the Every Day Poems for City Sidewalk program began in 2008, 31 poems have been impressed into the cement of 268 of the city's sidewalks.

Once again, the St. Paul Public Works Department and Public Art Saint Paul invites would-be bards to submit their poems to the citywide contest. Winning poems will be permanently “published” in the cement of a sidewalk.

For this year's edition, organizers are requesting short poems, preferably those with a topic revolving around nature and the outdoors. Poems may be inspiring, humorous or thoughtful, as long as it is appropriate for the general public. St. Paul residents of all ages are invited to participate. Up to 5 poets will receive a $150 prize and citywide honor.

An example from a previous contest winner:

A dog on a walk
is like a person in love −
You can't tell them
it's the same old world. 

By Pat Owen

Additionally, Poet John Minczeski will lead two workshops for burgeoning poets on Saturday, April 9. The first is at Merriam Park Library, 1831 Marshall Ave., from 10:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. 651-642-0385. The second is at the Rice Street Library, 1011 Rice Street from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. 651-558-2223.

The contest began March 15 and ends April 17 at midnight. For more information and to submit entries, visit www.stpaul.gov/poetry.

Friday Photography - Forgotten Roses

Pink roses on the parlor table wilt,

unquenched despite her steady flow of tears.

Though the contents of her heart has been spilt,

she knows a new love will quiet her fears.

Forgotten Roses

A Day to Honor Dead Poets

Walter Skold, amateur poet and the Founder of the Dead Poets Society of America, has a new mission — to create a Dead Poets Remembrance Day. The former teacher would like to see it celebrated on October 7, the day of Edgar Allan Poe's death in 1849.

The Maine resident started his new project with a poetry reading on Friday, April 23, 2010, beginning a 22-state tour of the graves of dead poets. His "Dead Poets Grand Tour 2010" kicked off on what is believed to be the anniversary of William Shakespeare's birth in 1564. The launching point, Portland's Eastern Cemetery, is the burial place of British and American sea captains cited in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem "My Lost Youth."

As in his 2009 tour of dead poets' graves, Skold will drive a cargo van, dubbed the Poemobile, to the graveyards. He has enlisted 13 current and former state poets laureate to help drum up support. This year, he will also be accompanied by a couple from Georgia who will film the journey for a documentary.

Tennessee's poet laureate, Margaret Vaughn, noted that April is National Poetry Month. She said it would be nice to have a day set aside to honor poets, as well.

"When people write speeches, it's poets that they quote most of the time," she said. "I think to take one day to really recognize them would be great."

Since founding the Dead Poets Society of America in 2008, Skold and others have documented the final resting places of hundreds of poets. He currently has a list of the graves of more than 600 American poets.

To generate interest in documenting poets' graves, a photo and video contest will offer $4,000 in prize money. Read the rules of the contest to find out how to enter.

The Dead Poets Society of America's name was partly inspired by the 1989 Robin Williams movie "Dead Poets Society," about an nonconformist English teacher who inspires his boarding school students to love poetry. The society's motto is: "We Dig Dead Poets ... You Dig?"

Saint Paul Sidewalk Poetry Contest

Did you know that Saint Paul sidewalks are paved with poetry? Well, right now they seem paved with ice and salt solutions, but if you look real close, in some places you really will see poetry. After seeing a blurb at fresh.mn that briefly mentioned a 3rd Annual St. Paul Sidewalk Poetry Contest, I investigated it, was intrigued, and took it upon myself to give it more attention. More poetry will soon be making its way to our city streets.

The Department of Public Works and Public Art Saint Paul invite residents to leave their own mark on the city and bring some poetry to the lives of locals. All residents of St. Paul can enter this unique annual contest. Up to 5 poets will receive a $150 prize and citywide honor! Winning poems will be permanently published on city sidewalks.

Everyday Poems for City Sidewalk is a project by Marcus Young, City Artist in Residence. He says "Sidewalks are the blank pages of our city as a book." An excerpt from an introduction he wrote about the Everyday Poems project:

It is obvious that sidewalks are important to our city. We use them, repair them, and want them to be smooth. Not always obvious is how poetry is just as essential, if not more so. We live both in the physical world and in the world of metaphors and dreams. We should use poems more often, repair them when they are not smooth, and delight in them when they serve us well.

Everyday Poems for City Sidewalk is inspired by the universal, childish desire to draw a finger through tempting wet cement. The project also has higher-minded aspiration. Our public realm, crowded with commercial and regulatory text, could use more poetry. On our modest sidewalks, we hope to create delightful moments of open-air reading, and make public and common the beauty in our hearts as expressed by our poets. Beautiful poetry can be as present and plain as sidewalk, as grass and sky.

As a lover of poetry and I couldn't agree more.

All residents of Saint Paul are eligible to enter the contest, except for past winners. The poems must fit within a maximum of 10 lines, 40 characters per line including spaces, and 250 characters overall including spaces. The deadline to enter is Sunday, March 28, 2010, at midnight. Winners will be announced by May 1, 2010. Read the rest of the St. Paul sidewalk poetry contest guidelines here.

Additionally, if you're curious about seeing and reading the poetry, there is a map of St. Paul's Sidewalk Poetry. I don't live in Saint Paul, so I can't enter the contest, but I can take a look at some of the work that's already been written!

Under Your Skin

Disbelieve, disagree or deny,
the truth will reveal itself in time:
I am thoroughly under your skin...

...Like the moisture of hot, salty sweat,
simmering just below the surface,
before seeping through flimsy armor...

...Like fingernails sharp as razor blades
carving into flesh at the climax
of a torrid, lust-filled encounter...

...Like vital blood coursing through your veins,
bearing my poison so deep inside
it gushes forth from forgotten scars...

...Like the skeleton that supports you,
your shortcomings, failures, and mistakes,
deformed and crippled from your burdens...

...Like a rapidly spreading cancer,
proliferating without symptom,
consuming you from the inside out.

Beneath that calm, cool exterior
you feel as though you have lost your mind
since I crawled inside your crowded head...

...Like the scent of lilacs on the wind,
skirting the edge of your consciousness,
then abruptly breaching your thoughts...

...Like an enigmatic, arcane song,
invading your ear and memory,
compelling you to listen again...

...Like an ice pick to the eye socket,
unblinking and without subtlety,
piercing you with my dark perspective...

...Like the oxygen you insufflate,
mouth gasping for more and hoping it
is enough to sustain you through life...

...Like the breath with which you curse my name,
the words that you will eat piling up
before you like a seven course meal.

Your thirst for me unquenched, you spit froth
on the deep grave you dug for my bones,
even as you long to dig them up.

Autumn Awakening ~ Season Sonnet #4

Ere long, Summer's harvest has reached its crest,

and clear, azure skies fade to Autumn gray.

Pursuing sunny, warm places to nest,

winged creatures, great and small, fly away.

As Love and light wanes, the short days cool down.

Leaves of lush florae hastily change hue:

Green to gold to red, then bleak shades of brown,

fluttering to Earth on seasonal cue.

For that which was sown, Fall is time to reap,

slash and burn away the dying and dead.

Only sturdy roots - underground, grown deep -

are prepared for the cold evenings ahead.

When hope seems lost, one fireless winter night,

from soil and ash the rare Phoenix takes flight!

Deep Winter ~ Season Sonnet #1

Spring Flood ~ Season Sonnet #2

Summer Storms ~ Season Sonnet #3

Summer Storms ~ Season Sonnet #3

Time, like the changing season, marches on -
tulips wilt, obliging the budding rose.
With haste, Summer arrives and Spring is gone,
yielding fire, rain and hail in juxtapose.
Warm and wet, the South Wind made her way North,
Cold and dry, the North Wind made his way South.
Yet when the two meet, tornadoes burst forth,
hot and cold words twisting tongues, throat and mouth.
But it is said a little rain must fall
to nourish perennial Love, and blooms.
Sweet calm after the storms made her his thrall,
two souls entwined 'til they part for their tombs.
But who can tell when love will meet its death?
And can love extinguished regain its breath?

Deep Winter ~ Season Sonnet #1
Spring Flood ~ Season Sonnet #2
Autumn Awakening ~ Season Sonnet #4

Spring Flood ~ Season Sonnet #2

Even as Winter's cold days grew longer,

it seemed as if Spring would never appear.

Then, as the sun's warm, bright rays grew stronger

it soon became evident: She was here!

A little rain must first fall, it is said

for flowers, and Love, to grow tall and bloom.

Bursting forth in bright hues of pink and red,

Love, and flowers, enticed with sweet perfume.

Love craved the taste of salty skin and sweat,

drunk on the smell of grass, jasmine, and loam.

Discarding doubt and burying regret,

Love's fickle heart created a new Home.

But when two souls are suddenly entwined,

for how long can Love expect to be blind?

Deep Winter ~ Season Sonnet #1
Summer Storms ~ Season Sonnet #3
Autumn Awakening ~ Season Sonnet #4

Deep Winter ~ Season Sonnet #1

Her soul was icebound in an arctic land.
In the glow of moonlight, he stood alone.
Without a thought, he took her algid hand
and brought warmth to a heart frozen like stone.
It started as a flicker, just a spark,
some tinder, air - and with a puff of smoke,
a tiny flame sprung forth to light the dark.
Lo! After fitful sleep, her heart awoke!
Clutching each other, bathed in winter's cold,
they tended the fire they had created
until it burned brightly and uncontrolled.
Briefly, it seemed that the two were fated.
Then, quickly as new Love gave in to lust,
passions' fire burned away to ash and dust.

Spring Flood ~ Season Sonnet #2
Summer Storms ~ Season Sonnet #3
Autumn Awakening ~ Season Sonnet #4

Into the Darkness

Into the darkness
Without a torch light

Unexplored terrain
No compass or map

Tripping over roots
Falling over logs

Groping in the dark
For signals or signs

Fingers scraping bark
Tree branches tear flesh

Searching for moonlight
A path or a road

Hoping the journey
Will lead to wisdom

OCK

I just found a slip of paper with one of my favorite little poems written on it, and I wanted to share it. It originally appeared in The Mikado or, The Town of Titipu, a comic opera in two acts written by Sir William Schwenck Gilbert and Sir Arthur Seymour Sullivan first performed on March 14, 1885, in London. And now I've given more background on it than the length of the poem, so here it is.

OCK
To sit in solemn silence in a dull, dark dock,
In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock,
Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock,
From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block!

Summer on the Prairie

Summer on the Prairie

Seas of cornfields roll
Hills like green waves scroll
Island groves of trees
Sparse farm oases
Azure lakes glimmer
Spiral streams shimmer
Wind sweeping the plains
Warmth and sunshine reigns
Air smelling of loam
Dirt roads that lead home

In Memory of Ian Talty

This poem is in memory of my friend Ian William Talty, otherwise known as the Joy of the Mundane. This is also dedicated to all of his friends. I doubt that this is all I will have to say about this, but I finally found a way to express some of what I'm feeling right now.

In Memory of Ian Talty

Difficult as it is to understand
Surreal as all this may seem
These crushing moments are reality
And this is not a dream

Ceaseless curiosity brings transition
Beyond the ethereal boundary
To discover what lies along the path
Which may be followed once only

The hands of time pretend to still
Yet the world marches on incessantly
Seconds pass, minutes, hours, then days
Unfailingly, Unmercifully, Unapologetically

The sun sets, the sun rises
Lost opportunities like books stacked tall
Adventures incomplete, words unsaid
Activities undone - heartrending shortfall

We send our messages across eternity
To those passed beyond the veil
These sad events shake core beliefs
Yet ingrain them further still

Loved ones left behind pick up the pieces
Band together to fight the sorrow
And to keep the memory of his light
Burning brightly so others may follow

Recall the tears, but the laughter, too
Reminisce of the good times and bad
Above all, we must live as he would want us to
Smile, laugh, love: He wouldn't wish us to stay sad

Rest in Peace Ian Talty
October 25, 1978 - April 26, 2009