We are finally thawing out from our deep freeze. While it’s not quite warm enough for bare feet, there are signs of springs. I discovered new green shoots from my crocus and daffodil bulbs poking tentative shoots up from the ground.

Today’s poem looks forward to even warmer days when my toes can enjoy freedom again. It is also one of my daily poems from Laura Shovan’s February Daily Poem Project. Check out the prompts from the past week. They have all been fabulous–and brain-stretching. Just a few more days to go, and I might actually make a poem each day this year.

FREE THE FEET

unfetter my feet
from their boxy boots
and clunky clogs
let them gallop
through fresh spring grass
and sink into warm sand
even let them gingerly
graze across the gravel drive
until they dig
in the garden dirt
and connect again
with earth

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Karen hosts the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Karen Edmisten. She shares the whimsical wisdom of Billy Collins. (Are you as old as Cheerios?) Hurry  over and check out all the poetry morsels offered up today.

Brrrr…I hope you are staying warm wherever you are. For once, I may actually have enough snow. We’ve had three snowstorms in the past two weeks. Usually all the snow melts before the next one falls, but not this time.

I am taking part in Laura Shovan’s February Daily Poem Project, and so far have written a poem every day. The prompts on the theme of bodies have been incredible and the poems written in response even more so. This poem came from the prompt offered by Donna Smith, a squiggle (an illustration that she draws from a black squiggle line). This illustration showed a mitten-covered hand adding a carrot nose to a snowman. It seems appropriate for this week’s weather.

How to Be a Snowman

Start with a squiggle of snow
and hope someone
will roll your body into balls.
Shiver.
Stand tall under a top hat.
Stare straight ahead.
Shiver some more.
Try not to sneeze
when a mittened hand
tickles your carrot nose.

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Ruth hosts the Poetry Friday Roundup today at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken place. She invites everyone to leave a fact that is a poem. She will round them up into a poem along with the links to more poetry. Hurry  over and check out all the poetry morsels offered up today.

So far I am managing to keep up with the February Daily Poetry Project hosted by Laura Shovan. Check out this week’s prompts here. Some of the prompts push and challenge me. Some days I write better poems than others. But I am writing every day, which feels good after a too-long hiatus. Even better, I get to read poems everyday around a common prompt and be amazed at the wit and word play and wisdom of other poets.

The poem I’m sharing today is one I’ve been wanting to write since this summer in memory of our dog Trixie, who died after fourteen years with us. Jone MacCulloch shared a gorgeous photo of a close up of a dog’s eye for the prompt. I’m sharing a photo of Trixie with my poem.

Last Goodbye

In those last few days you followed
my every move
with your
eyes.
Your wagging tail
now just
lies
still beyond our
last good
byes.

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Molly hosts the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Nix the comfort zone. She offers an Artist’s Prayer and shares her journey to discover it. Hurry  over and check out all the poetry morsels offered up today.

I have long loved the writings of Madeleine L’Engle–she is often the one I name as my favorite author, though I have a hard time narrowing down a favorite book. I started with A Wrinkle in Time and the stories that followed. I met the Austins and devoured the Crosswicks Journals and even explored her ficiton for grownups. I knew she wrote poetry, but had not read much until I received A Cry Like a Bell for Christmas.

In these poems, L’Engle speaks in the voices of Biblical characters, ranging from Eve to Esau, Isaac to the woman at the well. Just as in her other writings, she is unafraid to live in the questions rather than settling for easy answers. She dives into some of the most difficult stories.

What did Isaac think when Abraham let him up the mountain to be sacrificed? Did he ask,

What kind of God the Father would ask Abraham,
Abraham, his son
to offer up Isaac, his son.
Why ask?
Why demand obedience for such a wanton sacrifice?
How can my father’s Father be a God of love?
How could my father sharpen the knife?

And the cry from Jepthah’s daughter in one of her two poems, echoes the cries of so many who face an unjust fate:

Does anybody hear me? El! Are you there?
Where are you? You said you would always care
If you are not, then there is nothing anywhere?

The largest selection of poems wonder at the Incarnation of God come to live among us — not just through the voices of the familiar cast of characters of Mary and Joseph and shepherds and wise men, but many of the poems point to or circle around it as well. The “First coming” seems to speak to where we are today. Here are the first and last stanzas:

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

But it was a line from Balaam’s Ass that stopped me in my tracks:

my heaviest burden is to turn the curse into a blessing

I used it to write a Golden Shovel poem.

My Pledge

I give my
pledge to listen to the heaviest
memories that burden
our shared history. The truth is
needed before we can begin to
reconcile and turn
toward each other in the
hope that the curse
of hate can be shattered into
contrite heart ready to claim a
promise of blessing.

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Jan hosts the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Bookseedstudio. She has much to SING about–including upcoming books by Amanda Gorman and lots of resources to learn more about this bright and shining young poet. Hurry over and check out all the poetry morsels offered up today.

Wow! What a week for poetry. There were many things to rejoice in at Wednesday’s Inauguration, but my favorite part was hearing Amanda Gorman recite her poem, “The Hill We Climb.” I am also thrilled that so many people–many of whom did not know they liked poetry–have been moved by her powerful words and performance that more than met the moment we are in and inspires hope for our future.

I am glad she had words to share with us all, because I have struggled to find words at all this week. None of my thoughts or feelings wanted to settle down into words. Fortunately, Laura Shovan and Margaret Simon introduced me to another poet-teacher, who led the way. Stacey L. Joy offered a writing prompt inspired by Nikki Giovanni at Ethical ELA. After several false starts, I wrote a response to Psalm 139, using Nikki GIovanni’s poem “Quiet (for Marvalene)” as a model.

Truly

truly
you know my
deepest being

true
you know
my ways of work
and times of rest

truly
you know
my thoughts before
I share my posts

true
like the stars
that stretch above me and
the sun that rises

truly
you will search for me
and find me wherever
I may wander

true
you created me
in your image

truly
truly
truly

I will praise you
because I am wondrously made

and you called me good

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Laura hosts the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Laura Shovan – Blog. She celebrates Amanda Gorman’s poem and shares more resources to share Amanda’s poetry with students. Hurry over and check out all the poetry morsels offered up today.

It seems we are living in a time for lament. Whether it’s the time we are living through or coincidence, the idea of lament has been coming across my reading and listening.

First, Latasha Morrison introduces acknowledgement and lament as a step in the journey toward racial reconciliation in her book Be the Bridge. First we have to acknowledge hard truths, including our own role. She explains:

In order to move from awareness to acknowledgement, we must first be brave enough to accept the historical truths and modern realities. Yes, we may have to acknowledge the death of Mary Turner in 1918, but we might also have to acknowledge senseless death of a mama’s Black son at the hands of a police officer in 2014. We can’t shy away from the conversations just because they’re uncomfortable or awkward or unpleasant. We can’t change the subject because issues of racism make us feel bad. Instead, we have to have the hard conversations sw we can move to a place of deep lament.

To lament means to express sorrow or regret. Lamenting something horrific that has taken place allows a deep connection to form between the person lamenting and the harm that was done, and that emotional connection is the first step in creating a pathway for healing and hope. We have to sit in the sorrow, avoid trying to fix it right away, avoid our attempts to make it all okay. Only then is the pain useful. Only then can it lead us into healing and wisdom.

I can relate to that desire to rush to justice and to make things better now (especially when there are threats of even more violence looming), but I am trying to sit in this place of lament for our country. Poetry helps, as it offers a voice for lament.

Later this week a friend shared a link to Malcom Guite’s The Random Vandals: A response to psalm 74. Even though he wrote it before January 6. 2021, it seems an appropriate response. These lines in particular caught my heart:

‘How long will the destroyers work their will?

The random vandals who don’t even try

To understand the good things they deface.

They trash the past, and cast a jaundiced eye

On all the works of beauty, art and grace

That once made up our culture.

You can read the rest of the poem here.

Inspired by Margaret’s nestlings she wrote with her students this week, I tried a couple of nestlings from Guite’s poem. It’s much harder than it sounds. I don’t have titles yet. What do you suggest?

vandals
trash our culture
making chaos

——————–

Destroyers
don’t understand
the past.
Their flaming sword
brings darkness.

As I sit with lament this week, and with lots of not knowing (what is coming next, where will we go from here, how do you bring people back to reality), I am trying not to rush through, but to let my sorrow have time to lead me to wisdom.

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Margaret hosts the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Reflections on the Teche. She shares a tree full of more nestlings and a beautiful poetry gift. Hurry over and check out all the poetry morsels offered up today.

Like so many, I am appalled at the events that unfolded in the US Capitol on Wednesday. Appalled and heartbroken, but not shocked or even surprised. Anyone who has been paying attention has seen this coming. I held my breath on election day, hoping there would not be violence at the polls. We made it through that day, but still I worried through vote certifications across different states and the meeting of the Electoral College.

Tuesday night, I told my daughter that I hoped we got through Wednesday without violence erupting. I hate that my worries were right. Even more disturbing than the images of people swarming over walls and through the Capital to create mayhem (and fail at stopping Congress from completing the democratic responsibilities to certify the election results) was the response of law enforcement.

In the face of hordes of people who came armed (with pipe bombs, guns, sticks, fists) and who came with the announced intention to disrupt our government, Capital police treated them with respect and gentleness. Some appeared to be removing barricades out of the way. Some stopped to take selfies with those committing insurrection. Even when they cleared the Capitol, law enforcement escorted insurrectionists out with very few arrests.

Compare that to the images from protests against police brutality from this summer. In the face of mostly peaceful people protesting a long history of oppression and killings at the hands of law enforcement, police dressed in full riot gear and were eager to deploy tear gas and rubber bullets.

Our black and brown brothers and sisters have been trying to tell us their experience for a long time. It is time we listen. It is time we take action.

I do not agree with Lindsey Graham (imagine that) who said the Capitol police should have been quicker to use deadly force on Wednesday. But law enforcement have shown that they have the ability to deescalate and disperse angry crowds without turning to violence as their first choice. When police officers choose to shoot first, they need to be held accountable.

While I remain appalled, I am not surprised. I went again back to poems I wrote in February of 2017, when I was writing poems to help me process the election from four years ago. Unfortunately, too many of them hold up to today, such as this one.

Conservation of Truth

Wrath builds
amid a drought
of truth that lingers
after earthquakes
of fake news
and continuing tremors
of alternative facts
and conspiracy theories.
We may feel helpless
when the lies explode
in the face
of violent reality,
but with careful
conservation
we may cultivate
the nature
of truth
again.

We have much work in front of us to cultivate truth and justice. I hope we are up for it, but I am shaken this week.

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Sylvia hosts the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Poetry for Children. She offers a sneak peek at many of the poetry books coming in the new year. Hurry over and check out all the poetry morsels offered up today.

I browsed back through my journal today to find a poem. I spent quite a bit of time back in February 2017 where I wrote (most) days in response to Laura Shovan’s daily poetry challenge. Each day that year, a poet selected a news story and choose ten words from it to use in a poem. I wrote many of the poems that month to process the news at the beginning of the current Presidential administration. What struck me today is how little things have changed. Even though we knew nothing of experiencing a global pandemic first hand back in 2017, this poem could just as easily be written today.

If my notes are correct, this article from The New York Times was shared by Margaret Simon: In Covering Civil Rights, Reporter Enhanced His Words with Film. The ten words she chose were voting, rubble, playing, pen, capture, light, faced, power, frame, register. A few words didn’t make the cut during revisions.

Season of Discontent, or Our Fearful Leader

Mad with power
our fearful leader
registers his daily discontent.
Here a tweet
that frames how unfair
the papers pen their stories.
There a tweet
that twists perception
with alternative facts.
Faced with hard reality,
he plays a dangerous game
where we must
clear the fog
of disinformation
before we vote again.

Now is the time to blow away that fog and clear away obstacles that stand in the way of voting. If you have not registered to vote, or if you aren’t sure when or if you can take part in early voting or absentee voting, check out the information at the Center for Voting Information or VOTE411 or the Secretary of State website for your state. If you are able and not at high risk for COVID-19, consider volunteering to be a poll worker. The need is greater than ever this year since many poll workers in the past are in high risk categories for COVID-19.

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Kiesha hosts the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Whispers from the Ridge. She offers two of her favorite poems from Paul Laurence Dunbar that speak powerfully too our current times. Hurry over and check out all the poetry morsels offered up today.