POETRY FRIDAY: Things to Do If You Are a Book

I’ve been away from blogging at Wild Rose Reader and Blue Rose Girls for so long that I thought I might forget how to post. It has been an eventful year for me. We finally moved into our new home in June. It was—at first—difficult saying goodbye to my home of thirty-seven years…and even more difficult boxing up and moving all the “stuff” we had collected in nearly four decades. The heaviest things to tote to our new place were the thousands of children’s books that I owned and cherished—books that I’ve been sharing with my granddaughter Julia. We had a number of bookcases built for our in-law apartment so I could keep my books on display…and easily accessible. 

NOTE: For Mother's Day, my daughter gave me 

a lovely drawing of our old home. 

We’re fortunate that our apartment is more spacious than most in-law suites. Still, it’s much smaller than our old place. At my age, it has been good to “downsize.” My apartment is much easier to clean than my other home. It’s the perfect size for two old fogeys! 

It’s so wonderful living next door to my daughter and son-in-law. I get to see Julia every day. It’s such fun watching her change and grow…reading books with her…helping her make puzzles…listening to her vocabulary grow.

Lots and Lots of Book Shelves!

THINGS TO DO IF YOU ARE A BOOK

By Elaine Magliaro

Be filled with words that tell a tale

of a little mouse and a giant whale

of a runty pig and his spider friend

who was true and loyal to the end

of a badger who loved eating bread and jam

of a funky guy, green eggs, and ham

of a spunky girl named Ramona Q.

of a boy and the Jabberwock he slew.

Be filled with words and tell a tale

that will let my imagination sail.

Be a mystery

or a fantasy

or sing with sounds of poetry.

Between your covers

let there be

a story that’s just right for me.

Over at Wild Rose Reader, I’ve posted an original poem for the holiday season titled Under the Tree.

It Snowed and Snowed: An Original Poem

Here’s one of the “weather-inspired” poem that I wrote two years ago. The winter of 2011 we kept getting one snowstorm after another here in Massachusetts. There was so much snow piled up around our house that we had no place left to shovel it. I didn't go out much for a while. I DID stay inside a lot and write poetry though.

Here are some pictures that I took in early February of 2011:

Seeing the picture that Anna posted of Tilda out in the snow inspired me to share the following poem, which I wrote that snowy winter:

It Snowed and Snowed

It snowed all day.

It snowed all night.

It snowed and snowed.

Two feet of white

covered everything in sight.

Our yard,

our deck,

our walk,

the road

don’t look the same

because it snowed

and snowed

and snowed

and snowed

and snowed.

I dress up in my winter wear

and step out in the frosty air.

I look around and what I see

is a marshmallow world

waiting for me!

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At Wild Rose Reader, I have a “forgotten” mask poem that I wrote some years ago titled Dinosaur Egg.

Matt has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme.

SAVING SUMMER: A Memoir Poem

In September of 1984, my mother’s father passed away. I was devastated. I had spent many of my happiest childhood days at the home of my maternal grandparents. Two of my cousins lived on the other side of my grandparents’ duplex. We three cousins played together in my grandparents’ yard, made a clubhouse under their porch, picked apples and pears from their trees. We also had great times inside their house celebrating holidays like Easter and Christmas Eve. My grandparents took great joy in their granddaughters and loved watching us have fun together.

Dzidzi, my grandfather, had a big vegetable garden behind the house. He loved working there. He enjoyed having us kids pick tomatoes and peppers and onions and carrots and beets from his garden. Babci, my grandmother, would preserve many of the vegetables and fruits reaped in late summer and early fall.

After my grandfather died, I so wanted to write a story in verse about my Babci and Dzidzi. It didn’t work out too well. Some years later, an image from my childhood of my grandmother working in the cellar preserving tomatoes in mason jars popped into my head. That image gave me the inspiration for writing the poem Saving Summer—and for an entire collection of poems about my grandparents, their house, their yard, their garden—and the happy times I spent their with my cousins and sister. The collection takes me through a year at their house. The unpublished collection is titled A Home for the Seasons.


SAVING SUMMER

In the cellar
Babci sits on an old kitchen chair
made new with glossy gray paint.
Wearing an apron blooming with faded flowers,
she leans over the tub of steaming water,
plucks out plump tomatoes,
and peels off the wet, papery skins.
She fills shiny jars with soft red pulp,
stretches on rubber sealers,
presses down moon-round lids,
clicks closed the metal clamps.
She places the jars in a wire basket
and lowers them into a pot of bubbling water to cook.


On wooden shelves in a corner
she stores stewed tomatoes beside rows of pickled beets,
golden peach slices, green piccalilli,
and carrots the color of October pumpkins.
Standing there in late afternoon,
sunlight shining through a small side window,
I see her harvest preserved:
a rainbow glistening in glass.
Babci is keeping summer alive in jars.

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Over at Wild Rose Reader, I have a post titled Old Poems & New Furniture.

Sara Lewis Holmes has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Read Write Believe.

THE HAND: A School Poem by Mary Ruefle

It’s that “back to school” time of year. I was an elementary teacher for more than three decades and a school librarian for three years. I retired in 2004. Still, these August days bring back memories of the times I spent preparing my classroom—or my library—for the beginning days of a brand new school year and the return of students.

Today, at Wild Rose Reader, I posted some original “things to do” poems about school. Here at Blue Rose Girls, I have another poem about school that was written by Mary Ruefle.

THE HAND

The teacher asks a question.
You know the answer, you suspect
you are the only one in the classroom
who knows the answer, because the person
in question is yourself, and on that
you are the greatest living authority,
but you don’t raise your hand.
You raise the top of your desk
and take out an apple.
You look out the window.

You can read the rest of the poem here.

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The Poetry Friday Roundup is at Dori Reads.

My Granddaughter Was Born!!!

I'm sorry that I've only been posting intermittently on Fridays in recent weeks. I've been busy trying to get a couple of projects completed--and I was spending as much time as I could with my daughter before she became a mother.

Last Saturday morning, I was at the hospital when my daughter gave birth to her first child--my first grandchild. It was an amazing experience for me to be there to help my daughter, to give her words of encouragement, to see that feisty little baby enter the world. Doctors were monitoring my daughter late in her pregnancy. It had been thought that my granddaughter was going to be quite small. We were all surprised when Julia Anna was born. She weighed in at 7 lbs. 11 oz. and measured 21 inches.

Little Julia Anna is beautiful! See for yourself.



YOU BEGIN: A Poem by Margaret Atwood & An Original Wedding Poem

Last week, my daughter Sara sent me a picture of my first grandchild. I should note that she hasn’t been born yet. Still, It was such a great thrill for me to see my granddaughter’s face.

I’m posting one of my favorite poems today. It’s by Margaret Atwood. It was the inspiration for the wedding poem that I wrote for Sara and my son-in-law Jerry. They got married last July.

You Begin
by Margaret Atwood

You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye,
that is a fish, blue and flat
on the paper, almost
the shape of an eye.
This is your mouth, this is an O
or a moon, whichever
you like. This is yellow.


Outside the window
is the rain, green
because it is summer, and beyond that
the trees and then the world,
which is round and has only
the colors of these nine crayons.


This is the world, which is fuller
and more difficult to learn than I have said.
You are right to smudge it that way
with the red and then
the orange: the world burns.

You can read the rest of the poem here.

Here is the wedding poem that I wrote:

Wedding Poem for Sara & Jerry

(Inspired by Margaret Atwood’s poem “You Begin”)

by Mom

We begin this way:

this is my hand—

take it in yours,

hold on to it tightly.

Now we are one.

Here is my heart.

It holds rivers of love

that will flow to you freely

this day…and forever.

Outside the church window

summer awaits

with songbirds and sunlight

and shade trees to cool us

when days get too hot.

This is our world—

our family and friends

who know us and love us.

They’re smiling and happy

on our wedding day.

Now we are married…

we’re husband and wife—

we are partners for life.

We will share all our days,

all our sorrows and tears

all our laughter and triumphs

throughout the years.

This is my hand, this is my heart,

this is our world,

ahead is our future

filled with surprises

that we can’t imagine.

It all begins here

with our family and friends

with our promises…vows…

with the taking of hands

and the binding of hearts.

We begin and we end:

Here is my heart.

It holds rivers of love

that will flow to you freely.

This is my hand—

take it in yours,

hold on to it tightly

this day…and forever.

Now we are one.

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At Wild Rose Reader, I have an originalmemoir poem titled Backyard Mermaids.

The Poetry Friday Roundup is over at Book Aunt this week.

COOL POOL: An Original Poem



Fortunately, the weather here has been beautiful the past couple of days. I hate humid summer days when I can barely breathe. I don’t feel like doing anything when the weather is oppressive.


I wrote the following poem a long time ago for an unpublished collection of seasonal poems titled Tasting the Sun.

COOL POOL
by Elaine Magliaro

The sun beats down.
It sears.
It scorches.
Sweating neighbors sit on porches
Sipping ice-cold lemonade
Waiting for the day to fade.
BUT
When I’m hot as steaming tea,
I stand beneath our maple tree,
Remove my sneakers, socks…and wade
Into a cool green pool of shade.

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At Wild Rose Reader, I have Toasting Marshmallows, an original poem that I wrote for another unpublished poetry collection about candy.

The Poetry Friday Roundup is over at A Year of Reading.

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P.S. I published a post titled Go the F**k to Sleep: What's Your Opinion of This Picture Book for Parents? at Wild Rose Reader yesterday. I'd like to get people's opinions about this new book that appears destined to be a really big bestseller.

This Land Is Your Land: A Poetry Friday Post to Celebrate Independence Day

I'm posting a video today of Pete Seeger and Bruce Springsteen leading thousands of Americans in singing This Land Is Your Land at the Lincoln Memorial to celebrate the Fourth of July.

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At Wild Rose Reader, I have a post titled Let's Celebrate the Fourth of July with Poetry!!!

 

The Poetry Friday Roundup is at A Wrung Sponge.

 

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!!!

GRIZZLY BEAR: An Animal Mask Poem



Last week, I had brunch with Grace at one of our favorite restaurants—Henrietta’s Table in Cambridge. Grace has been getting on my case. She’s been encouraging me for months to send out my poetry manuscripts to publishers before I become a grandmother and a part-time daycare provider for my first grandchild. We talked a lot about my poetry during brunch.

Yesterday, Grace and I had a long talk on the phone about which manuscripts I should get back to work on. The discussion reminded me of a get-together I had had with Grace and Janet Wong a couple of years ago. That day, they gave me advice about the poetry collections that I had already written. In fact, they even gave me a great idea for a brand new collection. I returned home and I began work on it right away. The new collection, titled Docile Fossil,  includes poems about dinosaurs and other extinct animals, fossils, the La Brea Tar Pits, and the Petrified Forest. 

One thing I had forgotten about our conversation that day was the suggestion both Grace and Janet had given me about my collection of animal mask poems. They thought the collection included poems about too many different kinds of animals—and that it needed a narrower focus. They thought I should include only poems about animals that children might see in their backyards or neighborhoods. After talking to Grace yesterday, I remembered their suggestion—and got back to work eliminating poems from the collection...and thinking of subjects for new poems. Grace and I decided on a tentative title for the collection: Backyard Voices. It will include poems about earthworms, a butterfly larva, a silkworm pupa, crickets, a snail, a slug, a spider, frogs, a baby bird trying to break out of its shell, and a number of other little creatures.

Here is one the animal mask poems that I had to cut from the collection:

GRIZZLY BEAR
by Elaine Magliaro

I’m grizzly bear. I’m fierce and fat…
And dangerous. Remember that!
My teeth are sharp as sabers.
My curvy claws can cut like saws,
And when I prowl the woods I growl
And frighten all my neighbors.


I rule the land. This forest’s mine!
I ain’t NOBODY’S valentine!
Don’t think that you can be my friend…
My dinner?
Yum!
GULP!


The End

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At Wild Rose Reader, I have a cento poem that I wrote for a retiring music teacher who worked for many years at the school where I taught. She was fabulous!

The Poetry Friday Roundup is at Carol’s Corner this week.