Poetry comes slowly for some of us but one haiku at a time and hundreds will be created. When my life overflows with deaths and births which happened this month I write short poems as a release  from the cares of the world. Here’s a couple I have created.

Shelter rests in you

whispers sparrow to the elm

leaves balance on limbs

Sun crawls up the sky

the moon is in  the heavens

the morning-glory

Writing keeps me alive.

We had the tree up for less than a week – we were late putting it up and then I had to take it down before traveling to the warm winter place where I am now.

Especially wonderful was having our granddaughters, Katrina, Celeste, Quinlan and Cecile, stay overnight. Another granddaughter is due to arrive next month. Cecile will never remember a time without her sister as Celeste doesn’t remember life without Quinn.

Rich and I treated ourselves in December. We visited my friend, the poet Marie Ponsot. Marie made me lunch, then Rich and I taxied with her to her last class of teaching at The New School in Manhattan. Later we viewed Islamic and Indian treasures at the Metropolitan Museum. We also saw The Jersey Boys on Broadway – a reminder to be thankful for the wonderful shows at the Hanover Theatre, in Worcester.

Now a note to myself and to anyone who may read this. January is the month to look at your poems and organize them. File them under categories. For example, file under family, war, form or what ever comes to mind. Then while you are compiling them, look them over and revise where needed. Writing poetry comes at any time – don’t forget to carry a small notebook for those ideas that could be the core for the next poem.

The Civil War Flag I donated was perfectly conserved after years of the Society’s fund- raising and now is ready for hanging. There remains a dearth of information about the history of the flag but I asked those who attended the event to notice the flags in any Civil War photographs published on the web or other places. Also, If you see any flag with the exact configuration of thirty-three stars — two inner circles of stars and three stars in each corner of the blue section of the American Flag please send that information to the Bedford Historical Society. Thank you for that.

Now on to Thanksgiving… It was a delightful day on many levels. The weather was mild and sunny and my guests were happy and comfortable. I cooked not only the traditional turkey and squash plus fixings, but also, creole beans and rice and other vegetarian dishes – one included quinoa – a crowd pleaser.

I’m very grateful for a large family that agrees to disagree, for good health, for interesting work such as my poetry and for so much more. There’s always much to complain about but there’s much more to be thankful for. I hope that your Thanksgiving Day brought reminders of all that you have to be thankful for.

Veteran’s Day will be special this year as Rich and I are being honored by the Bedford NH  Historical Society. They have conserved the Civil War Flag that we donated to them and want to celebrate the occasion with us as quests at the city hall. Doris Spurway, a fixture at the Bedford Historical Society, will deliver a speech about the history of 33 starred flags and flags in general. Doris is an amazing woman – still going strong in her ninth decade.

Poets from the Louise Bogan Chapter of MSPS joined the festive atmosphere and were inspired to continue their bond with each other. Next month the LB Chapter will celebrate their one year anniversary. They will discuss poetry and poems as they always do but it will be with a new commitment to themselves and to the value of poetry. The Louise Bogan Chapter of MSPS thanks Linda Hoffman, Kathryn Lebowitz, and Susan Edwards Richmond for their fine workmanship.

Put a bright color notebook by the refrigerator or at your breakfast table and jot down thoughts to be coalesced into poems. Daily writing is essential for writers’ well being even if it’s only a scribble or a short poem.

Write as if you don’t know what you are going to write and discover. You’ll be surprised. Okay, let’s just write to see what happens.

Don’t forget to stand up and stretch every hour so that you wont get stuck in one position luck a gumby doll. Headaches, backaches and all kinds of aches appear after too much time in front of the computer. When you get to the period when  you are in flow time will no longer be an issue. Here’s a short poem for the moment: Monoosnock Brook/ dawdles between banks some days/others it storms in a rush/ winding through reeds and brush/it doesn’t care what season/splutters with force after rain/eddies down steep embankments/leaves gashes that fill with remains/the rubbish from streamside visitors/unaware of the brook’s good name.

Writing in the rain.

In those years our home base was in Port Chicago, California — my husband always says, ” I lived in California for two weeks, my wife lived there for two years.”

I would have stayed in the golden state for I had a job I liked, but good jobs were hard to find if you were young and getting out of the military. So, we moved east and have been on the east coast most of the time since.

Here’s a poem I wrote while thinking of those old times:

To My Daughter, Living in Asia

In 1968 I found a place in California to build a home,

prepared for you, dear child of mine.

The backyard was an Eden without an Adam,

snakes lurked among the jade trees and birds-of-paradise.

That glamour of being married to a Naval officer

shipped out with the Mauna Kea. The USS Forever-Sail,

as it was known by the wives, steamed to the Tonkin Bay

to supply the Eastern Fleet with ammunition and boys.

You burst into life too soon—or was the ship just too late?

Your Dad sent tapes, “ Welcome to the world, Marie,”

I’ll be home soon”.

When he stepped on shore, you knew that voice.

Now you are drawn to the East to see those places your father knew.

It’s something you want to do.

I linger at the airport-security-gate. You fly away—

to create a world that’s your own.

Please write me about the orchids that bloom at your door.

I see oak leaves, brown and rust in my yard—

dream the jade and bird-of-paradise.

Come and hear him read at the Beverly, MA Public Library Saturday, September 17 at 11:am. We’ll socialize and share refreshments after the reading.

Gabriel Okara is considered one of the founders of modern African literature and he is one of the most famous West African writers working in the English language today. He’s won a number of awards including the Commonwealth Poetry Award.

A poem from Gabriel’s work:

Piano and Drums

When at break of day at a riverside
I hear the jungle drums telegraphing
the mystic rhythm, urgent, raw
like bleeding flesh, speaking of
primal youth and the beginning
I see the panther ready to pounce
the leopard snarling about to leap
and the hunters crouch with spears poised;

And my blood ripples, turns torrent,
topples the years and at once I’m
in my mother’s laps a suckling;
at once I’m walking simple
paths with no innovations,
rugged, fashioned with the naked
warmth of hurrying feet and groping hearts
in green leaves and wild flowers pulsing.

Then I hear a wailing piano
solo speaking of complex ways in
tear-furrowed concerto;
of far away lands
and new horizons with
coaxing diminuendo, counterpoint,
crescendo. But lost in the labyrinth
of its complexities, it ends in the middle
of a phrase at a daggerpoint.

And I lost in the morning mist
of an age at a riverside keep
wandering in the mystic rhythm
of jungle drums and the concerto.

Gabriel Okara

My poems were revised or put aside with a core of poems remaining.  I’m thrilled to finally have a collection that hopefully will became a published chapbook called PLENTY.

Plan to participate in a FAWC  workshop next summer and you will be very satisfied at the results.

Tonight, to honor Stanley Kunitz and his poems, we celebrated in his boyhood home, his only house still standing in Worcester. Now privately owned, it was open for a tour and schmoozing. Dozens of visitors walked through the Stockmal House and enjoyed a progressive docent tour.  There was a docent (me included) in each room sharing stories and poems about and by the award-winning Stanley Kunitz and his artist/poet wife Elise Asher.

The tour was followed by a poetry reading and refreshments. It was delightfully successful. If you missed the tour do give us a try this coming October.