Knit Yourself a Poem

(Photo by Mr. T in DC flickr.com/photos/mr_t_in_dc/2601995361/)

Let's face it, paper and pen or computer and keyboard are not for everyone. Besides, poetry has many colors and textures. The Poetry Society, a British institution since 1909, feels the same way and has concocted a method of knitting poems.

Here's one square of mine:

Feel inspired? Alas, I couldn't find a way to save the finished product, but I could save the separate letters. Hmmm...

Here's my poem, sans knitting:

(photo by Sujit kumar http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:American_robin.jpg)


Spring blows in fits
and starts. Then
stops.
We wait for warmth.
We wait for green.
Til then,
robin's reveille gives
Hope.

Try knitting your own poem here and have fun crafting your poem! Take a look at what else the Poetry Society has to offer while you're there.

Poetry Tag and Other Sites--National Poetry Month

http://www.flickr.com/photos/aehack/ / CC BY-ND 2.0

Today, I'd like to introduce you to some other bloggers who are celebrating National Poetry Month. Sylvia Vardell at Poetry for Children is playing Poetry Tag. Poet J. Patrick Lewis kicked it off on March 31. He tagged another poet, who tagged another poet, and so it goes. Take a look for a new poem every day!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/seeminglee/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Greg Pincus. at Gotta Book offers us Thirty Poets, Thirty Days. He has invited thirty prominent poets (no, poets aren't all dead white men!) to share new poems each day of this month.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/seeminglee/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Over at poet Lara Salas' blog, Writing the World for Kids, find a new poem for children every day this month by well-known children's poet.

Finally, create your own poems using Scholastic's Poetry Maker! Have fun!! Share your masterpieces--if you dare!

Spring Rain--National Poetry Month

(photo by John Aldersey-Williams, www.geograph.org.uk/photo/12091)

It's raining this morning! After all the snow melt, you wouldn't think we'd need rain, but we are glad to see it soak the ground afresh and clean things off. To celebrate, here are a couple rain haiku by Japanese masters:


(photo by Tacuma, picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/xcsN2uH5OEGBWwn0MIVO7Q)

In spring rain

In spring rain
a pretty girl
yawning.

--Kobayashi Issa




(photo by Oimax flickr.com/photos/72396314@N00/2606379621/)

Spring rain

Spring rain
leaking through the roof
dripping from the wasps' nest.

--Matsuo Basho




(photo by Leah Jones flickr.com/photos/accidentallyjewish/3630023243/)

And just for fun, go to children's poet and songwriter Eric Ode's poetry page to read his poem "Soggy Sneaker Parade."

What does spring rain remind you of? Happy splashing!

What is Poetry?

(photo by Horia Varlan, www.flickr.com/photos/horiavarlan/4272103787/)

Many people have tried to define poetry, a subjective endeavor. I especially like Emily Dickinson's definition:

"If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry."


This stanza of hers makes the point that language is a living thing:

A WORD is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.


What poems blow your mind and bring language to life?

National Poetry Month--Happy Easter!

(photo by prkos flickr.com/photos/prkos/1162124205/)

Today, Christians around the globe proclaim, "Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!" Nineteenth century English poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins put it more eloquently:

GOD'S GRANDEUR

THE world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.


(photo by Untitled Blue, www.flickr.com/photos/untitlism/2547423465/)

Two centuries earlier, British metaphysical poet John Donne addressed death this way:

Death Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.


(photo by Pink Dispatcher flickr.com/photos/98529529@N00/254011128)

Early 20th-century Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas, asserts the continuation of life in "And Death Shall Have No Dominion."

And death shall have no dominion. Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed!

National Poetry Month--Easter Vigil

(photo by Simon Lo http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Candlelight_Vigil_for_June_4_Massacre_2007_-_002.JPG)


Easter Vigil, also called Holy Saturday, is a time of waiting. Jesus' disciples waited in fear and suspense. Jesus was crucified--would they be next? Jesus said he would return, but how could that be? The Psalmist foreshadowed this wait and encourages in his poetry:

Wait for the LORD;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD.

Read the entire Psalm here.

Boris Pasternak, best known for writing Dr. Zhivago, ends his poem "In Holy Week":

At midnight man and beast fall dumb
On hearing springtime's revelation:
Once weather clears, then just as soon
Can death itself be overcome
By the power of Resurrection.

Read the whole poem and others here.


(photo by Jeffrey Maxwell http://www.world66.com/southamerica/peru/lima/lib/gallery/showimage?pic=southamerica/peru/lima/in_line_waiting_fo)

We spend much of our lives waiting--waiting to be old enough to drive, to vote. Waiting to find the right mate, job, dwelling. Waiting for spring, vacation, supper. Or simply waiting in line at the store, the bank, the theater, the doctor's office.

The poem "I am Waiting" tells what Lawrence Ferlinghetti is waiting for.

What are you waiting for?

National Poetry Month--Good Friday

(photo by Dennis Tang www.flickr.com/photos/tangysd/3348460359/)

George Herbert was born April 3, 1593, in Wales. He was a scholar, an orator, a politician, and a priest in the Church of England, but it is for his poetry that he is remembered today. Influenced by John Donne, his poems use unusual shapes and unique comparisons to make their statements.

REDEMPTION

by George Herbert

Having been tenant long to a rich Lord,
Not thriving, I resolved to be bold,
And make a suit unto him, to afford
A new small-rented lease, and cancel th’ old.

In heaven at his manor I him sought:
They told me there, that he was lately gone
About some land, which he had dearly bought
Long since on earth, to take possession.

I straight return’d, and knowing his great birth,
Sought him accordingly in great resorts;
In cities, theaters, gardens, parks, and courts:
At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth

Of thieves and murderers: there I him espied,
Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.




Here are the final lines from John Masefield's dramatic poem, "Good Friday":

MADMAN. Only a penny, a penny,
Lilies brighter than any,
Lilies whiter than snow. [He feels that he is
alone.]
Beautiful lilies grow
Wherever the truth so sweet
Has trodden with bloody feet,
Has stood with a bloody brow.
Friend, it is over now,
The passion, the sweat, the pains,
Only the truth remains. [He lays lilies down.]
I cannot see what others see;
Wisdom alone is kind to me,
Wisdom that comes from Agony.
Wisdom that lives in the pure skies,
The untouched star, the spirit's eyes;
O Beauty, touch me, make me wise.
CURTAIN.

More Good Friday poems are found at As Iron Sharpens Iron. Do you know of others? If so, send them my way.