IT'S POETRY FRIDAY

Diane is Rounding-up at Random Noodling today.

Last night snow came to New England. I’ll mark it with New Hampshire treasure and former U.S. Poet Laureate Donald Hall’s poem “Blue Snow”. Last week Hall, author of the classic Ox Cart Man, read from his latest book of poems, The Back Chamber. He says whereas lines of poetry used to descend like meteor showers, poems aren’t coming to him nowadays. Hall calls The Back Chamber his last book of poetry, but if another comes up, he’ll not hammer it down.

Blue Snow

Pete Sullivan dropped by:
"Your barn needs work, and so do I."
Pete had the eye

To fix old boards with new
And keep the handy knotholes through
Which swallows flew.

Go to Poetry Daily to read the entire poem and another from Hall’s latest collection.

Here is a marvelous 3 minute video of Hall speaking from his home at Eagle Pond.

The Back Chamber; ISBN-13: 9780547645858

Poetry Friday

Poetry Friday! Enjoy the offerings at Jama’s Alphabet Soup. Then stretch and limber up your poet’s muscles with poetry calisthenics suggested by J. Patrick Lewis. Poetry Advocates for Children and Young Adults posted this link. PACYA offers terrific information for poets writing for children.

Here’s my stretch using the Zeno form invented by Lewis.
I used the leaves theme from last week’s poem.

The New England forest explodes!
Shy green dares to
become
bold–
yellow, crimson,
russet,
gold;
fall’s memory
meant to
hold.

© 2011 Joyce Ray

If leaves could talk on POETRY FRIDAY

Welcome to Poetry Friday. It’s a wet one here, perfect for enjoying the poetry selections posted at Fomograms. Thanks, David Elsey, for hosting today.

The leaves are lovely now and have helped me let go of summer. Hurricane Irene stripped many leaves away in August. The damage and hardship in neighboring areas has been so great that we’re not complaining about something as small as the lack of brilliant foliage. My mom used to sing this song in the fall:

“Come,” said the wind to the leaves one day /“Come over the meadow with me and play /Put on your dresses of red and gold /for summer is over and days grow cold.” American poet George Cooper

Remembering it got me thinking about what the leaves would say to the wind.

The Leaves Respond

Red silk rustles down
by the cattails and muffles
the murmur of gold gabardine.
Russet taffeta swishes
along the stonewall to
pose beside a bronze brocade.
Showing the fall collection,
they ignore the wind’s call.
They zip their zippers, fasten
their buttons, smooth their creases,
twirl, dip and sashay.
With a backward glance
and a ruffle flounce, they say,
“High fashion doesn’t play.”
Miffed, the wind insists
until colors deepen and reach their peak.
Then she teases apart their seams
and gathers their gowns
around their knees.