Tag Archives: Poet

Colleen’s Poetry Challenge – Spring Dance

It’s the first of the month! Happy April! Poets choose their own words!

 

 

I visited the nursery this morning to get new flowers. I brought a list with plants that attract bees, butterflies and hummingbirds.

The bees have been working hard to pollinate the plum and orange blossoms. The apple trees just budded. I want to have different flowers to attract the bees to stay around. Besides the fruit tree blossoms, I’ll plant sunflowers for the bees.

For the hummingbirds, there are two feeders, one in the front yard and one in the back. Yet I wanted to get flowers with nectar enjoyed by the hummingbirds. I only have Salvia flowers they like. So, I’ll make hanging baskets with petunia and hang them by the bird feeders.

There were Monarch and Mourning Cloak butterflies flying by my garden, but they visited the flowers in my next-door neighbor. I would like to have flowers attract them to stay longer. For the butterflies, I bought marigold and delphinium. I’ll get milkweed on my next trip.

 

Bitter cold is gone

Fresh fragrance drifts in the air

Chirping, fluttering

Answered the invitation

Creatures joined in the spring dance

~   ~   ~

Colleen’s Poetry Challenge – Spring Dance

Author, Miriam Hurdle | Songs of Heartstrings

I’m excited Author of “The Fall of Lilith” and “Son of the Serpent” Vashti Quiroz-Vega has me as Featured Author on her blog. She did a fabulous review of my poetry book. Her post also featured two of the poems. Please head over to read the entire post and find out about her books.

The Writer Next Door|Vashti Q

Hi, everyone! I hope you’ve had a great start to the new week.

Today I’m happy to introduce a lovely lady who also happens to be a wonderful poet and writer. She has a new release, a poetry book called, Songs of Heartstrings. Please help me welcome, Author, Miriam Hurdle.

miriam hurdle-Poetry-author-vashti quiroz vega-Vashti Q-blog tour-new_book-The Writer Next Door Author, Miriam Hurdle

About the Author

Miriam Hurdle is an Amazon Best-Selling Author. She writes poetry, flash fiction, short stories, and memoir. Her poems are included in Letters to Gaia, Whispers and Echoes Issue 2, Whispers and Echoes Issue 3, Outcast, and More Words.

She is passionate about poetry and her favorite poets are Robert Frost with his poems “The Road Not Taken,” and Linda Pastan with her poem “To a Daughter Leaving Home.”

Music has rooted in her life. Being a soloist as a teenager led her to taking voice lessons and to have ongoing singing…

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Conversations With Colleen: Meet Author & Poet, Miriam Hurdle

I’m delighted Colleen invited me over to have a conversation with her. I got a chance to talk about things I’ve never written for my blog. I love to invite you stopping by her blog and find out about our conversation. ❤ ❤

The Faery Whisperer

Hello everyone! This week I’m thrilled to bring you a new author. Miriam Hurdle participates in my Weekly Poetry Challenge and I often run into her at the Carrot Ranch Literary Community, where she participates in the flash fiction challenges. When I asked her to pick three or four questions from my huge list HERE, she got really excited. We all aspire to be successful authors and the best way to learn some of the tricks of the trade is to ask questions and learn everything we can along the way.

First, please meet my guest, Miriam Hurdle.

Miriam Hurdle is a multi-genre writer. She writes poetry, flash fiction, and short stories. Her poems are included in “Letters to Gaia,” “Whispers and Echoes Issue 2,” “Whispers and Echoes Issue 3,” and “Outkast and More Words.”

She is passionate about poetry and her favorite poets are Robert Frost with…

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To a Daughter Leaving Home by Linda Pastan

linda-pastan

On May 27, 1932, Linda Pastan was born to a Jewish family in the Bronx. She graduated from Radcliffe College and received an MA from Brandeis University.
Among her publications are – Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968-1998 (W. W. Norton, 1998), which was nominated for the National Book Award; The Imperfect Paradise (W. W. Norton, 1988), a nominee for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize.
Linda Pastan lives in Potomac, Maryland.

I feature two of her poems. The first one makes me laugh and think. When I first read the title, I thought she was writing about her daughter going to college, or at a wedding. When I read on to the last line, I could feel her heart. Yes, our children leave us in different stages and different circumstances.

I found myself letting Mercy go little by little as she was growing up. Letting her go in a way of respect her to become independent but still stay close by to be her support. When Mercy was in fifth grade, she configured my first cell phone. When she was a young adult, she became my friend as remains to be my daughter. At the present, I rely on her expertise and am not afraid to ask.

~

To A Daughter Leaving Home by Linda Pastan

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.

The second poem evokes my reflection on the question: when am I most myself? I think it is ever since I had cancer. I reflect on life vs. death, health vs. sickness, essential vs. contemporary, personal right vs. relationship. I accept who I am and no interest in pretending. I’m satisfied with what I have and no ambition to acquire “one more.”

~

Something About the Trees by Linda Pastan

I remember what my father told me:
There is an age when you are most yourself.
He was just past fifty then,
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
There is an age when you are most yourself.
I know more than I did once.
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
Only a single leaf had turned so far.
I know more than I did once.
I used to think he’d always be the surgeon.
Only a single leaf had turned so far,
Even his body kept its secrets.
I used to think he’d always be the surgeon,
My mother was the perfect surgeon’s wife.
Even his body kept its secrets.
I thought they both would live forever.
My mother was the perfect surgeon’s wife,
I can still see her face at thirty.
I thought they both would live forever.
I thought I’d always be their child.
I can still see her face at thirty.
When will I be most myself?
I thought I’d always be their child.
In my sleep, it’s never winter.
When will I be most myself?
I remember what my father told me.
In my sleep, it’s never winter.
He was just past fifty then.

~

This is an expansion of Pantoum Poem Form from 4 stanzas to 7 stanzas.
Stanza 1: 1, 2, 3, 4
Stanza 2: 2, 5, 4, 6
Stanza 3: 5, 7, 6, 8
Stanza 4: 7, 9, 8, 10
Stanza 5: 9, 11, 10, 12
Stanza 6: 11, 13, 12, 14
Stanza 7: 13, 1, 14, 3

 

 

SoCS July 15, 2017 – Book Title

The prompt for “Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: ‘book title.’ Take the title of the book you’re currently reading or the one sitting closest to you when you’re ready to write your SoCS post and base your post on the title only. I’m not asking for a book review or a synopsis, just whatever the title itself brings to mind.” – Linda G Hill 

Even though Linda is not asking for a book review, and I’m not doing a book review, but Emily Dickinson’s journey of poetry proved herself as a moxie poet of her time. I can’t get this out of my mind but write something about her.

Emily_Dickinson 

The most recent book I read was entitled: “The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson” edited by two of her friends, Mabel Loomis Todd and Thomas Wentworth Higginson.

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. She was one of the greatest and most original poets of the 19th century. She took definition as her province and challenged the existing definitions of poetry and the poet’s work. She experimented with expression in order to free it from conventional restraints. She is now recognized as the most important American poet.

There were fewer than a dozen poems published during her lifetime. The published poems were extremely edited to match the punctuation and capitalization to late 19th century standards, with occasional re-wordings.

Upon her death, her sister found 1,800 poems in her room. Dickinson expressed her wishes to her sister to burn the poems after she died. Her sister did burn some of her correspondences. The three series of poems that Dickinson edited and organized during her good health years was kept, in addition to piles of loose poems written on tear-apart pieces of envelopes found in her desk drawers.

The following is one of her early poem in its original form of punctuation, capitalization, and spellings.

~   ~   ~

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

~     ~     ~

SoCS July 14, 2017 – “Book Title”

Daily Prompt: Moxie

American Poet – Elizabeth Bishop

Elizabeth Bishop

Elizabeth Bishop

Elizabeth Bishop (February 8, 1911 – October 6, 1979) was an American poet and short-story writer. She was Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 1949 to 1950, the Pulitzer Prize winner for Poetry in 1956, the National Book Award winner in 1970, and the recipient of the Neustadt International Prize for Literature in 1976.

The following are two of my favorite poems by Elizabeth Bishop.

 

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The Art of Losing 

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! My last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

– Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like a disaster.

Form: Villanelle

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I Am In Need Of Music 

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

 

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