Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Tis the Season

Mid-summer in Antarctica, January

Peggy here in Southern California. Hard for me to believe it could already be nearly February.  But those calendar pages just keep flipping by.

This season means different things to people. It's mid-summer in the Southern Hemisphere and mid-winter here in the north. And of course my Southern California winter is very different from a Wisconsin or Norwegian winter.
Mid-winter in Southern Mexico
There are a variety of holidays and special events associated with this season. I think school was out for a week in late February for the beginning of Lent  when we lived in the Netherlands and our Washington and Lincoln's birthdays have morphed into one long weekend here in California.  And of course there is Valentine's Day.
Some places this season means snow, as in Sierra Nevada Mountains.

So this week write about this mid-winter or mid-summer season and what it means to you.   Have your poem take us to where you live and what it's like this time of year.
Perhaps a memory of something that happened in your past.
Is there some task you always do this time of year--I always prune my roses and the other plants in my yard.
What holidays that are celebrated where you live and how do you feel about them.
Some places this season means rain as in  Southern California.
Post your new poem on your blog and link it below so we can all come around and read and comment. The reading and commenting are an important part of participating here at Poetry Jam.



Tuesday, January 20, 2015


I find that writing holds a lot of similarities with walking. It can be smooth, the views stunning but it can also be hard, arid and disappointing. Where you plan to go is not necessarily where you end up. In fact, contrary to what we may assume, neither is ever as linear as we picture it to be.

This week, I’d like you to write a poem on writing.

What would you compare your writing process to?

How Poetry Comes to Me
by Gary Snyder

It comes blundering over the 
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light

Do you write it all down in a frantic frenzy or slowly take notes as ideas come to you? Is writing vital to you or is it more like a hobby?

I stop writing the poem
by Tess Gallagher

to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I'm still a woman.
I'll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I'll get back
to the poem. I'll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there's a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it's done.

Share times when writing was hard. How did you feel? How did you overcome the dryness? 

You may prefer to write about your writing tool, your favorite pen, your pencil, paper pad or device.

Notes on the Art of Poetry
by Dylan Thomas

I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on
in the world between the covers of books, 
such sandstorms and ice blasts of words,,, 
such staggering peace, such enormous laughter, 
such and so many blinding bright lights,, ,
splashing all over the pages
in a million bits and pieces
all of which were words, words, words,
and each of which were alive forever
in its own delight and glory and oddity and light.

After writing your poem, post your link below. And in the spirit of community, visit others as well.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Shoes or Feet

This week I want you to think about, and write a new poem, about shoes or feet.  Your shoes, someone else's shoes, old shoes, new shoes, worn-out shoes, high heeled shoes, steel-toed workers' shoes, baby booties, scuffed shoes, shiny shoes, favorite shoes, hated shoes.

Feet marching in a parade or marching in protest.  Ballet shoes dancing.  Athletic shoes running a race, fielding a ball.  Baby shoes walking for the first time. Flip-flops on a sandy beach.  Tired feet after a long day's work.  Bare feet in the grass.

Do you remember a pair of shoes you yearned for at one time in your life, a pair of footwear that you just knew you HAD to have?   Did your parents ever make you wear a pair of shoes you hated? Write a poem about them!

For inspiration, here is a poem by Charles Bukowski:


when you're young
a pair of 
high-heeled shoes
just sitting
in the closet
can fire your
when you're old
it's just
a pair of shoes
in them
just as 

Work Boots:  Still Life

Next to the screen door
work boots dry in the sun.
Salt lines map the leather
and laces droop
like the arms of a new-hire
waiting to punch out.
The shoe hangs open like the sigh
of someone too tired to speak
a mouth that can almost breathe.
A tear in the leather reveals
a shiny steel toe
a glimpse of the promise of safety
the promise of steel and the years to come.

And here is a poem many know by Carl Sandburg:


The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches

and then moves on.

Link your poem below.  Say hello in the comments.  And  be sure to visit the poems of others throughout the week!