Poetry Friday: Frost's Mending Wall

I have finally gotten around to reading Suzanne Collins' Catching Fire. (Yes, I know, I should be mocked... send your mockingjays my way).

The image of the walls and fences that separate the people in the Districts is vivid in my mind. Last fall we celebrated the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, and while I am not interested in discussing politics here, the images dovetail with  recent political rallies in the U.S. 

I guess you could say that walls, and the purpose of walls, are fresh in my  mind. 

Mending Wall
by Robert Frost

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors." 

(from http://writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/frost-mending.html)

I love the way Frost frames his questions about walls: why have them? what purpose do they serve? But most telling, I think, are the last three lines. "He will not go behind his father's saying/ And he likes having thought of it so well/ He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'"  Do they?

Poetry Friday is hosted by Susan Taylor Brown.

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Poetry Friday: Four Brown Toes

We are at the end of week one of the staycation, and it's been a lot of fun. Lots of good mom-kid time, and the imaginations have been running wild.

This morning, I looked over to see a storm bird and a flying fire lizard rising from the ground—pretty powerful imagery. Just the kind of thing my mind runs with (so don't be surprised to see something about a storm bird or a flying fire lizard in an upcoming Creativity Challenge).

So my kid-inspired poem for this Poetry Friday is...

Four Brown Toes
by Alison Pearce Stevens

What's that, you say? It's time for bed?
But I don't want to go.
Not past the chair or up the stair
I'd rather stay below.

I'll stay here on the sofa, no
my feet won't touch the floor.
There is no way, simply NO way
that you'll get me through that door.

So come and sit and read with me,
I've got my favorite book,
the one with knights and dragons,
come sit here, let's take a look.

I'd like to sit—
no, wait! Now, STOP!
You CAN'T sit over there!
He'll eat you up! I see him...
there's a MONSTER 'neath the chair!

Look there, a foot with four brown toes.
He waits for you to sit.
What ARE you doing?
DON'T REACH IN!
Oh. There's my baseball mitt.

All right, if you say so,
then I guess it's time for bed.
Just another silly monster
that was living in my head.


My blogging (and blog reading/commenting) time has been limited, since I've spent my precious computer time writing. But I'll make a special point to check out the Poetry Friday posts. You can find this week's round-up at Laura's blog Author Amok.

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Challenge results - The Aviaries

Okay... no poetry for me this Friday. My adventure muse was in for this Challenge. But see below for the Poetry Friday link and other creative offerings based on this image.

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I crept through the trees, stepping carefully to keep the noise down. Surprise was the only thing working in my favor.

I peered around a tree. He was there: still as a stone, propped against a tree, legs splayed out in front of him. His camouflage hid his features, though it didn’t hide him in the forest.

The Hunter faced the path into the woods. This was his third day of watching the entrance to the Aviaries.

The Aviaries housed the kingdom’s greatest treasures—rare birds found nowhere else. The newest hybrid was the glittering ruby of its mother with its father’s gossamer feathers and a great train of a tail that flashed purple and gold in the sunlight. The crown jewel of any collection.

The King planned to present it at his daughter’s wedding; an auspicious gift with which to begin her new life and a symbol of trust in the peace treaty.

But the Hunter clearly had other plans. He had been watching the path for the last three days. I suspected that he was waiting for an opportunity to steal the bird.

I couldn’t let that happen. My life was at stake—it was my job to keep the birds safe. The King tolerated no mistakes.

I knew today was the day he would make his move. The wedding was tomorrow. Today was the Hunter’s only chance.

I settled down behind the Hunter, ready to track him when he moved.

I didn’t have to wait long. As the sun got low in the sky, I saw the scientists and caretakers leaving for the day. The Hunter twitched.

As the voices faded away and the sky grew pink, the Hunter got to his feet. He stretched and looked around him. I watched. My camouflage was perfect—unless I moved, he couldn’t possibly see me. He glanced in my direction but continued to scan and turned away to retrieve a cage hidden in the brush. I stood and followed.

The Hunter moved quietly through the trees, but I could still hear his footsteps and his labored breath as he carried the cage toward the Aviaries.

At the gate, he set the cage on the ground and looked around again. He pulled a small set of tools from a pocket and began to pick the lock.

I cursed myself for letting the King insist on such a paltry lock, but he had demanded free access to the collection, and he would have nothing to do with high-tech security measures.

Within moments, the gate swung open. The Hunter picked up the cage and stepped inside.

Looming before the Hunter was a large, free-standing structure. Inside, I caught flashes of the gem-colored birds that lived there. They were flitting about in the fiery sunset, light reflecting off of their feathers. The Hunter stopped to stare, and I slipped into the Aviaries behind him.

I was weaponless—one of the King’s rules about working in the Aviaries. He didn’t want someone accidentally killing one of the birds. The Hunter, on the other hand, carried a shotgun, so I had to choose my position with care.

I darted behind an observation post—one from which the researchers watched the birds. The hybrid was kept in its own glass-walled enclosure about fifty feet away. I stood near a path of small stones. Thinking they might be of use, I scooped up a handful and shoved them in my pocket.

The Hunter pulled his eyes away from the birds. With a glance to either side, he headed for the glass cage. He set the cage on the ground and inspected the hybrid’s enclosure before he started to pick the lock.

As he knelt before the cage door, I climbed the ladder into the observation tower. From here a catwalk ran to a second flight cage, on the far side of the glass one. The catwalk ran directly over the top of the smaller enclosure.

I crawled along the catwalk, trying to keep a low profile. The setting sun threw an immense shadow on the wall of the Aviaries. I could see my shadow moving and hoped the Hunter didn’t turn around.

When I reached the glass cage, I swung my feet over the side of the catwalk. I lowered myself until my feet hung mere inches from the metal roof. I couldn’t get any closer without dropping.

I heard the click of the lock and a satisfied grunt from the Hunter. The cage door was open.

I dropped to the roof with a clang.

“What the—?” the Hunter said below me.

I threw some stones onto the path behind him, and he whirled around, pulling his shotgun to his shoulder.

He spotted my shadow on the orange-lit wall. He dropped to one knee and fired. But my shadow disappeared as the shot created clouds of dust in the wall.

I threw myself onto his back and wrestled for the shotgun. I was actually more worried that he would shoot a bird than me. Peace in the kingdoms depended on a successful wedding and gift-giving ceremony tomorrow. Dead birds tonight would derail the King’s peace negotiations.

The Hunter rolled to his side, trapping my left arm. I grunted at the impact and a sharp pain shot through my arm, but I held on. I slammed my right foot against his hand. The gun was now pointing at the distant flight cage. Nervous birds were flying in circles, and I knew one would be hit if the gun fired again.

I kicked a second time and heard the gratifying crunch of bone. The Hunter howled, and the birds erupted in alarm calls. The noise was deafening.

I yanked the gun from his injured hand and swung it out of his reach. Then I shoved the end of the barrel against his side. He arched away from it and stopped moving.

“You’re done,” I growled in his ear. I yanked my bruised arm from under his body and kept the gun trained on him as I backed away. Cradling his broken hand, he shifted to a sitting position and gazed past me.

“No,” he said. A slight smile played on his lips despite his grimace of pain. “You are.”

I turned to see that the door to the glass cage stood open, and I caught a glimpse of red as the hybrid flew away.

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 Post a link to your challenge results in the comments below. And comments on my challenge offering are also welcome.

If you're looking for poetry, check out the Poetry Friday Roundup at Live, Love, Explore!

Poetry Friday: What a rush

My poetry muse decided to stop by again. It's been a while, so it was nice to enjoy a cup of coffee and a little poetry-writing. The muse has apparently been visiting amusement parks while I've been working with my mystery muse, because this is what she gave me...

What a  Rush

We take our seats and hold the bar

though we're not going very far.

Off we go, with greater speed.

My hat flies off, my hair's been freed

to whip around my neck and ears...

wind's in my eyes, I blink back tears.

Up and down, around we go...

faster... faster... then we slow.

Click. Click. Click. We climb the hill.

Higher up we go, until...

car by car we clear the top.

Down we rush, my stomach drops.

We scream and yell and fly through space

then round a bend at break-neck pace.

And then we stop, the ride is done.

The roller coaster's so much fun!

This week's Poetry Friday roundup can be found at Language, Literacy, Love.

And don't forget the current Creativity Challenge—get your creative work posted one week from today (Friday, 30 July).

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Poetry Friday: The Haven of Words

I have been reading Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's book, Creativity: flow and the psychology of discovery and invention. In it, Dr. Csikszentmihalyi discusses Creativity (with a capital C): the sort that changes the world. He's not interested in personal creativity, rather the type that creates memes that spread new ideas and concepts from person to person, generation to generation. The type that changes the world.

In Creativity, Dr. Csikszentmihalyi reflects on a series of interviews with world-changing creatives and innovators. They provide a wealth of insight into their personal creative processes (the ultimate window of insight).

One of the people interviewed was Hilde Domin, a Jewish German poet who lived in exile for three decades with her husband. Forced to move from place to place, learn new languages and customs, it was not until she was free to return to Germany that she discovered the poetry within her.

In her interview, she says, "One evening, [following the death of her mother] I started writing a poem. I didn't have the idea that I wrote, but I started. It happened to me. Like, you know, falling in love. Or like being run over by a car. It happened. I had the language and I needed writing, so I wrote." (p. 244 of Creativity)

Dr. Csikszentmihalyi explains further, "This flight into a world of symbols saves the writer from the unbearable reality where experience is raw and unmediated. When painful experience is put into words, the poet is relieved of some of her burden." (p. 245)

The power of poetry is an extraordinary thing. It rescues the poet from events that could be life-shattering. At the same time, readers of the poem are provided with a window into the poet's soul, into the rough emotion found there. (See a nice reflection on the power of poetry by Simon C. Larter.)

The original poems are in German, but Elke Heckel and Meg Taylor have translated them into English. One of my favorites:

The Golden Rope
Nothing is as fleeting
as an encounter.

We play like children
we invite and reject
as if we had forever.
(read the rest of the poem)

What's your favorite poem? How does it affect you?

Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Amy Graves at The Art of Irreverence.

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Joined the Creativity Challenge, yet?  Last day to post your work is June 30. New word prompts will be up at the beginning of July.

Poetry Friday: Bees

I love spring. The sun, the flowers, the way everything turns green again. The world goes from shades of brown and gray to a patchwork of brilliant color, teeming with life. This was inspired by an event that took place last spring. I hope not to experience it again.

Bees

I found a bee,

and then another...

then I saw some more.

Mommy and I

counted them...

they came to ninety-four.

Most lay dead,

a few still dying...

all along the walk.

And in a nearby garden,

we could hear

some people talk.

'Bout how the flowers

looked so nice,

not one leaf had a hole.

But they never said a word

about the lives

their garden stole.

© 2010 Alison Pearce Stevens

Today's Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Laura at Writing the World for Kids.

Enjoy a wonderful weekend, everyone!

Poetry Friday: oh no, not me

My post on procrastination (or rather how NOT to procrastinate) sparked a poem. I had actually planned to write a post about Roald Dahl's Revolting Rhymes today, but the poem took precedence. Procrastination? Not necessarily... either one fits the bill for Poetry Friday.

Oh No, Not Me

Procrastinate? Oh no, not me.
I'll get it done, just wait and see.
But first I need to read the news,
and bake a cake and buy some shoes.
Turn on computer, make some tea.
(I'm just about to work, you see.)
I'll get on Facebook, tend the farm:
harvest crops and build a barn.
OK, that's done, it's time to write
'bout urban sprawl and urban blight...
Oh, look! I see I have a tweet.
@mariella: aren't you sweet!
Back to cities... built on grids...
Oh crap! I've got to get the kids!
The day is done. I wrote one line.
I've got a week... there's LOTS of time!

© Alison Pearce Stevens

Disclaimer: I do not know @mariella (or even if she exists), nor do I pursue any agricultural activities on Facebook. I wrote this in my head while out walking today.  That doesn't really count as procrastination, does it? I prefer to think of it as a good use of my time.

Poetry Friday is hosted by Diane Mayr at Random Noodling.

Bidding National Poetry Month adieu

Today is the last day of National Poetry Month, and I can't bid it adieu without some actual poetry. Here is a reprise from a few weeks ago (which I never actually linked to the Poetry Friday roundup that week).

I Want to Run Away

My children test my patience almost every single day.
Some days it gets so bad, they make me want to run away.
Run off to join the circus, where I'll train the dancing bear.
Or maybe to the city, to sell fancy underwear.
No, retail's not for me, instead I'll travel 'round the world.
Outracing storms and tidal waves with massive sails unfurled.
I'll go on a safari and I'll sleep up in a tree.
I'll fend off greedy pirates, search for treasure in the sea.
I'll climb upon the pyramids, go see the Taj Mahal,
commune with some orangutans and walk on China's wall.
I'll ride a Russian rocket, yes, I'll take it straight to Mars,
then further out to space to see Orion's eighty stars.
I'll travel 'round the universe, but come home when I'm tired
from all of the adventures that my children have inspired.
Copyright © 2010 Alison Pearce Stevens

Today's Poetry Friday roundup is hosted by Mary Ann Scheuer at  Great Kid Books.

Poetry Friday: fighting affluenza with a lullaby

My students just finished an enlightening discussion about Affluenza. Not sure what that is? Here's the video I ask my students to watch: The Story of Stuff. (You'll need about 20 minutes to see the whole thing.)

Done? Did you watch it all? Pretty incredible isn't it? It may well be a bit over the top, but I think it carries an important message. If nothing else, it makes us look at what we do in a different light. Stop to ask yourself: if even half of what Annie Leonard says is true, what does that mean for us? For our way of life? Our future? Our children?

Consider how easy it is to teach the values of consumerism to our children from day one. Take, for example, the popular lullaby, Hush Little Baby. It has a lovely melody, but my  husband and I didn't care for the values instilled by the original version... hush, now, and we'll buy you this... if it breaks, we'll buy you that... we'll just keep buying you things until you're calm and quiet. Hmm. Aside from the issues noted in the video, it sounds like a recipe for tantrums down the road.

When our oldest child was a baby, I happened across Sylvia Long's (now out-of-print) version of the lullaby. Long's Hush Little Baby instills in children (and their parents) wonder and appreciation for the world around them. It reminds us to take comfort in family and the little things we so often take for granted: the setting sun, crickets chirping, a warm blanket on a cold night, the moon as it traverses the sky, a few moments to sit and read a book or sing a lullaby.

Sylvia Long is an artist, and her illustrations for her version of Hush Little Baby bring to life each of the small joys she describes with her lyrics. Long used pen and ink with watercolor to create a young rabbit and its mother, and we watch them enjoy the world's forgotten treasures throughout the book. How can you not enjoy the evening sky, a shooting star, a lightning bug, time together? This book reminds us all to slow down and appreciate what we already have. One of the keys to happiness.

What is your favorite activity to do with your children, nieces, nephews, or grandchildren? What makes it special?

Today's Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Jules at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast.

Poetry Friday: I want to run away

I hope everyone enjoyed the recent holiday weekend. Easter is an extended holiday in Germany, so we had lots of good family time together. Family time is generally a good thing; even when it gets to be challenging, it has its benefits. Exhibit A: inspiration for this poem.

I Want to Run Away

My children test my patience almost every single day.
Some days it gets so bad, they make me want to run away.
Run off to join the circus, where I'll train the dancing bear.
Or maybe to the city, to sell fancy underwear.
No, retail's not for me, instead I'll travel 'round the world.
Outracing storms and tidal waves with massive sails unfurled.
I'll go on a safari and I'll sleep up in a tree.
I'll fend off greedy pirates, search for treasure in the sea.
I'll climb upon the pyramids, go see the Taj Mahal,
commune with some orangutans and walk on China's wall.
I'll ride a Russian rocket, yes, I'll take it straight to Mars,
then further out to space to see Orion's eighty stars.
I'll travel 'round the universe, but come home when I'm tired
from all of the adventures that my children have inspired.
Copyright © 2010 Alison Pearce Stevens

The myriad sources of inspiration never cease to amaze me. Certainly, I would not have started writing poetry without inspiration from my children, and their reaction to things like night lights, the stories they tell on the way home from kindergarten, and their infectious joie de vivre. The travel part of this poem was inspired by a conversation with a friend who lived in Europe before having children; she and her husband had more opportunities to travel than we have had with two little ones in tow.

Think about the sources of new ideas in your life. What inspires you?

Poetry Friday Roundup is at Paper Tigers today.

Poetry Friday: Darren Sardelli

As Stacy Nockowitz at Some Novel Ideas pointed out last week, children's poetry tends to be a lot of fun. Good meter, good rhymes, and quite often great humor. So I thought I'd highlight some terrific funny poems by Darren Sardelli today. Here's the beginning of one of my favorites.

Little Boy Blue
by Darren Sardelli

Little Boy Blue,
please cover your nose.
You sneezed on Miss Muffet
and ruined her clothes.

You can find the rest at Laugh A Lot Poetry, since I don't want to violate any copyright restrictions and wind up in poetry jail. 

Today's Poetry Friday Roundup is at Book Aunt.

Poetry Friday: Splendid Darkness

I am fortunate to be acquainted with a remarkably talented artist, Pamela Sukhum. I've always admired her art, but she's really outdone herself with her latest work, Splendid Darkness 2.  In fact, I wanted to purchase the painting, but the costs of international shipping and customs would probably exceed the cost of the painting itself. So I admire from afar.

In one of those wonderful examples of one art form inspiring another, Pam was inspired to paint this particular piece by a poem:

Sweet Darkness
By: David Whyte

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.

The dark will be your womb
tonight.

The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.

You must learn one thing:
the world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

And by wonderful coincidence, intrepid explorer Chris Guillebeau of the Art of Non-Conformity (a web site I love—more on this later) posted an inspirational quote by the same author on his Facebook fan page: "The cure for exhaustion isn't rest, it's enthusiasm." -David Whyte

If you are interested in Pam's work, you can see more at Infinite Vision Art and on Facebook. 

This week's Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted at The Drift Record.  In case David Whyte's Sweet Darkness wasn't enough poetry for you, you can also read one of my original poems from Monday. 

Happy Friday, everyone!

Celebrating spring

I thought I'd finally join in on Poetry Friday, rather than just reading from the sidelines. I have an original spring Haiku and a short review of one of my family's favorite picture books.

Spring is finally (nearly) here... birds are constantly dashing about outside my window, the grass turns greener every day, the sun has made a reappearance, as have snowdrops and crocuses, and our temperatures are finally getting back into the double-digits during the day.  It inspired this haiku:

Birds sing and give chase
Leaf buds swell in the sunlight...
Earth bursts into spring

And the picture book... One of the (very few) books that my oldest child has had since birth and still asks to read is On the Day You Were Born by Debra Frasier. The illustrations are beautiful paper collages that incorporate vibrant colors to illustrate physical features of "the Earth and her creatures."

The prose simply sings... written in a lilting rhythm, it gently introduces children to the wonderful world into which they have been born: migrating animals, cycles of night and day, the cycles of the moon and tides, the sun and stars, gravity, rain, and the atmosphere. The story itself appeals to the very young, and older children enjoy learning more about each of the concepts in the "More about the World around You" section at the end.

As a scientist, educator and aspiring author, I consider this book a tour de force. I was particularly pleased to discover that a portion of the proceeds of book sales go toward an Environmental Learning Center in Florida. Only by teaching our children about the wonders of our world can we hope to preserve them for generations to come. This is another book that I highly recommend for all children, and it makes an excellent gift for those just joining us in the world.

Enjoy spring, everyone! This week's Poetry Friday roundup is at Some Novel ideas.