I recently organized all my digital folders and finally gathered the poems that were scattered all over the computer into one place.  When I did, it was fun to see how many poems of certain poets I had saved in my favorites file. There were a lot of them by David Whyte. This is one of my favorites because it reminds me that to be a poet, to be a writer or an artist of any kind, you must first learn to be an observer of things that other people take for granted. For many years I bemoaned my lack of productivity and pushed myself to race back and forth doing things that I thought, for sure, would open the floodgates of my writing. How silly of me. The secret was to start where I was in that moment. I have this poem pinned up on my bulletin board near where I write.

START CLOSE IN

Start close in,
don’t take the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.

Start with
the ground
you know,
the pale ground
beneath your feet,
your own
way of starting
the conversation.

Read the rest of the poem here, on David’s website (left column of page)

The oh-so-talented Robyn Hood Black has the Poetry Friday roundup today–enjoy!

Many readers here will remember the story of Lily, the hummingbird who built a nest in my backyard this past spring and set me off on a new life journey with my camera. I wrote some poetry about her at the time but then, after the tragedy with her eggs, I found it hard to go back and revisit the story. Now enough time has passed and enough new hummingbirds have crossed my path that I feel I can begin to try and capture more of that wonderful experience in word to accompany the many photographs.

Today’s poem actually had its beginning back in April when I was doing Kick the Poetry Can’ts for National Poetry Month. You can read the first draft which had its beginning in a poetry exercise that eventually led me to this poem, Learning to See.

LEARNING TO SEE

Outside my office door
an aging Japanese maple begins the garden
her dress trimmed in deep green
lady ferns and soft baby tears
edged with purple violets,
yellow-eyed grass
a wetlands wonderland bordered
by bubbling water rocks.

Beyond the maple tree
a toyon waits to grow.

On stormy days its stick-arms
bend, break, then bend again
like a skeleton
shadow dancing  against the fence.

Within the bush
(no tree itself, at least not yet)
branches zig zag toward the sun
a modern highway for ants and aphids
a picnic place for spiders
a sunny spot for birds to perch, to preen
after a midday bath.

Along the branch
dark green leaves cluster like a fan
protect the jewel nestled
oh so carefully
in the vee that meets the trunk
hiding a secret I could not find
without the help of a friend.

Behind all the leaves
there sits a tiny nest
woven with bits of spider webs
scraps of dryer lint
white downy feathers
a so-soft bed newly made
waiting to hold the tiny eggs
from the tiny dancer.

Now I understand
all those days
the dog refused to budge
from her post on the path
all those days she watched
the coming and going
of the ambitious architect
all those days she knew
something magical was happening
right before our eyes
when all I saw was her stubbornness
that made her refuse to come
when I called her name.

–Susan Taylor Brown, all rights reserved

Amy Ludwig VanDerwater has the whole great big Poetry Friday roundup today at The Poem Farm.

Also a reminder that over in my Etsy shop, Poppiness,  (which has hummingbird calendars, prints, notecards and more) you can get a 10% discount on everything in the entire shop today just because you are a supporter of Poetry Friday.  Just be sure to use the coupon code PF2012at checkout.

Happy Post-Thanksgiving Poetry Friday!

Today I want to share about a book that is special in a way that is very new to me, instead of a credit on the cover as an author, it is my first credit as an illustrator.

The book is Haiku Diem, The Best of Year One and the illustrators are Kathryn Briggs, Ardith Goodwin, Kerry Dennehy and me!

Since 2012 Freeman Ng has been writing a haiku poem every day and posted it online. It began as a social experiment to see if he could keep up the pace of posting something to an unknown audience on a regular basis and it has evolved into a daily practice that has changed his life. When he decided to collect some of his best haiku into book form, he went looking to his artist friends to help illustrate his poems. We each got to pick our poems from a master collection and then create the artwork to go with it.

You can see sample pages art from each of the illustrators on Freeman’s website. As you can tell, we all approached it very differently.  Freeman published the book through CreateSpace and also wrote a detailed post about the experience of working with CreateSpace for others who might be contemplating giving it a try.

Here’s one haiku from the book.

stars fade, sun rises
every day a fallen leaf
I write one haiku

Learn more about the project or order your own copy here.

More poetry fun – You have a chance to win a free poetry e-thology from Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong! Go to PoetryTagTime.com and click on the orange box at the top. Leave a 12-word comment on any of three e-thology blogs to enter. Such a deal and so easy!

Mary Lee Hahn at A Year of Reading has the whole great big Poetry Friday roundup today.

And in non-poetry news – many of the shops over on Etsy are offering special holiday sales. over in my shop, Poppiness,  you can get a 10% discount on everything in the entire shop today through midnight Monday night.  You can pick up sets of photo notecards for gifts or maybe one of this hummingbird calendars for the coming year. Just be sure to use the coupon code BFHOLIDAY10 at checkout.

One of the nicest things about being a part of the Poetry Friday community is that it doesn’t matter if you drop out of the loop for a while and then step back in with a fresh post weeks or even months later. Poetry lovers are always welcome. But that mean getting back into the habit is easy. This poem from Rumi reminds me that the first step to anything is just to start.

Begin
This is now.  Now is,
all there is.  Don’t wait for Then;
strike the spark, light the fire.

Sit at the Beloved’s table,
feast with gusto, drink your fill

then dance
the way branches
of jasmine and cypress
dance in a spring wind.

The green earth
is your cloth;
tailor your robe
with dignity and grace.

~Rumi

To be honest, beginning is something I’m pretty good at. It’s that finishing of things that often gives me trouble. One of my newest beginnings was setting up Poppiness, a shop on Etsy to offer my nature photographs and greeting cards for sale. Funny thing about trying to sell photographs and art, it’s just as intimidating as facing the blank page for a new poem or novel. Luckily I discovered I am not the only poet/writer/artist. My first day on Etsy I reconnected with the lovely and talented Robyn Hood Black who has a delightful Etsy shop of her own, artsyletters, which features many wonderful gifts for literary lovers. This week Robyn is also offering a fun giveaway over on her art blog Art Break Wednesday. All you have to do is leave a comment on her blog for your chance to win a cute little portable light to help you create your next masterpiece during those long, late, and oh-so-dark nights.

To celebrate Poetry Friday and the opening of my new shop, and well, lets just celebrate the fact poetry lovers are some of the nicest people you ever want to meet, Robyn and I are both offering  a Poetry Friday discount for holiday shopping. From now through Dec. 31, just visit either of our shops – Poppiness or artsyletters – and type in the Coupon Code: PF2012 for a 10 percent discount!  You can also find us on Twitter @poppiness, @susanwrites, and @artsyletters or “like” our Facebook pages, Poppiness on Facebook and artsyletters on Facebook.

But wait, there’s more! To help me celebrate even more, Robyn is sharing some of my hummingbird poetry on her blog for Poetry Friday.

Anastasia has the complete Poetry Friday round up.

It’s been a long time since I participated in Poetry Friday but I’m getting back in the saddle again, a great prelude to National Poetry Month. I recently participated in the March poetry madness over at Think Kid Think where poets were challenged to create a poem in a short amount of time using an assigned word. I got the word “impaled” for my third round 3. Not exactly a word I use in a sentence every day. I took the challenge a step farther and decided to attempt to write a pantoum. So this is my first pantoum using my assigned word, impaled. (Note, the Think Kid Think tournament is still going on. It’s down to the final four so you can pop over there and read some amazing poems and vote for your favorite.)

Epitaph: In Memory of Rain

And when water freely flowed, we cheered
tiny seedlings impaled the crusted clay
giant sequoias stretched high to salute the sun
their roots anchored deep in the belly of the earth

tiny seedlings impaled the crusted clay
wildflowers carpeted canyons in a kaleidoscope of colors
their roots anchored deep in the belly of the earth
we danced at dawn to the music of birds and bees

wildflowers carpeted canyons in a kaleidoscope of colors
before the forest fell down around us
we danced at dawn to the music of birds and bees
until we squandered nature’s gift

before the forest fell down around us
giant sequoias stretched high to salute the sun
until we squandered nature’s gift
and when water ceased to flow, we wept.

–Susan Taylor Brown, all rights reserved

Heidi Mordhorst has the complete Poetry Friday round-up and don’t forget that Sunday starts my month-long series, KICK THE POETRY CAN’TS.

It’s been a while since I participated in Poetry Friday. I’ve missed it. Last night I attended a local poetry reading by San Francisco poet, Dean Rader. He read from his book Works & Days which I highly recommend. He’s a terrific reader and his poems are very accessible. And if you are looking for a kidlit connection, well he writes about Frog and Toad. Yes, THE Frog and Toad, but the poems are NOT for children.

The reading was hosted by The Willow Glen Poetry Project which is a terrific group that meets less than ten minutes from my house. I’m so glad I found them. After Dean’s reading it was an open mic night and I got to hear a variety of talented poets read their own and a few poetry lovers read poems by other writers.

I decided at nearly the last minute to read too. An original poem that wasn’t from my YA novel-in-progress, that wasn’t written with my normal kidlit world in mind. These simple facts shouldn’t matter but the thing is, they do. They do because I can’t remember the last time I had such an adrenalin attack and then adrenalin rush. I speak in front of people all the time with no fear (anymore) but this was a brand-new arena for me where I was a total stranger. No one knew I had been published or not. No one was there because they paid to hear me speak. It was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. I love it!

This poem had it’s genesis back in April of this year when, after taking the month of March off to play, I tried to distill the experience in a poem a day for National Poetry Month. The original poem appeared here. The new and much revised version is below.

Proof of Life
by Susan Taylor Brown

I find it hard to take anything on faith alone.

I want proof, facts to nourish the idea that mindfulness
is worth the time it takes away
from doing nothing.

Easier to cave in to echoes from the past,
nodding as they aim ink-stained arrows
at my list of undone dreams.

I think I’m finally (okay, just beginning) to understand.
Be here now is not defined
by climbing mountains and vanquishing dragons,
it is a never-ending journey
away from
back to
face-to-face with
the me I can never trust
is good enough.

Today I shadow-step the dog on garden patrol,
down the path behind the hedgerow where unwelcome Bermuda grass
creeps under the good-neighbor fence,
along the side yard filled with dogwoods, leaves still clinging
to the almost-red-for-winter branches,
and past the pond where goldfinches gather for their morning bath.

Nose to the ground, she gobbles any bugs that cross her path,
bugs that will make her throw up in the middle of the night,
bugs she will happily eat again the next day.

This is her religion, her testimony to me.
She will keep me safe from all things,
even from myself.

We weave a new path through the overgrown herb garden
until the scent of mint and sage clings to us both
until she has finally sniffed everything that could be sniffed
until she is content to sprawl in a puddle of sun,
trusting I will not stray far.

She knows how brave I’m not.

A lone, but not lonely Ceanothus
hugs the fence, just beyond her shadow.

Industrious honey bees,
fuzzy bumblebees,
plump carpenter bees
and hover bees that look like flies,
all swarm the blue blossoms,
ignoring the now sleeping, snoring dog
ignoring each other
ignoring me.

Faith isn’t always found in stained glass cathedrals.

I let go,
let go of unclimbed mountains and dragons still breathing fire,
let go of everything that isn’t here and now,
let hungry, happy bees buzz all around me
and listen to the concert
I almost missed.

© Susan Taylor Brown
All rights reserved.

Jama has the Poetry Friday Round-up at Jama’s Alphabet Soup. Please check out all the great postings. And come back next week when I’ll share some of the poetry books I’m reading as a panelist for this year’s Cybils!

A few months ago, Laura Salas and I read and worked our way through Sage Cohen’s book, Writing the Life Poetic with a little blog-to-blog book club we called, Write After Reading. The idea was that we read a lot of craft books but we don’t often to the exercises. This way we read together shared the exercises that we did.

One of the chapters had an exercise about using the another poem as the jumping off point for a poem of your own. The title I chose to write to was “How to Listen”.

Here’s my version.

How to Listen

Put down that stinky cigarette,
the one you promised to stop smoking.
Quit fiddling with the piano
and no, you don’t need another drink.
You never need another drink.

Pretend if you have to —
you’re at work,
inspection time,
uniform neatly pressed,
just like all those lies you told me.

Eyes straight ahead.
Must. Not. Move.

Look at me, no, really look at me
in the eyes, those windows to my soul
you tried to crush.
I know I’m angry.
I want you to know it too.
I want you to hear what I’m saying
with my entire body.

I may not get this brave again.

Don’t look down
or away with that
“you just kicked a puppy” expression on your face.
It doesn’t work any more.

Focus on me,
the way you used to focus on me,
before vodka became your lover.

That pause between words
isn’t an invitation for you to interrupt and tell me
how the world is against you.
I don’t care.
Not anymore.

You don’t have to listen long.
Just long enough
for me to say goodbye.

© 2011 Susan Taylor Brown.
All rights reserved.

The Poetry Friday Roundup is with Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference.

For the past few months and I have been working our way through the wonderful  book, Writing the Life Life Poetic, by Sage Cohen. We alternate hosting the discussion on our blogs on Wednesdays.

Sage’s book has a lot of juicy bits of knowledge for us and many fun exercises. This one was one of my favorites, an offshoot of Mad Libs. Another favorite was song lyrics as poems. And this one where we used titles as jumping off points for a poem.

Today I wanted to share an original poem I wrote by this week’s exercise using word lists.

My words were: pilgrim, universe, kneel, fly

Once trapped
in a carbohydrate prison
I am now a pilgrim in a new world,
a universe of edible wonders.

Stomach growling anticipation
I fly to the farmer’s market
and kneel before the Produce King.
“Please sir, may I have some more?”

Susan Taylor Brown, all rights reserved

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Carol, at Carol’s Corner.

Yay! It’s time for National Poetry Month when the Poetry Lovers unite across the blogosphere to share their love of poetry. Last year I wrote a poem a day about the father I had never known. It was an incredible emotional journey for me. I struggled to find a theme for this year, especially since my writing has not been going well. In fact the writing was going so “not well” that I decided to take the month of March off from all writing and try to do something I don’t know how to do very well – play.

For most of the month of March I have been learning the basics of painting backgrounds for my collages. Everything was foreign to me – the kinds of paint, the kinds of paper, the kinds of brushes, even how to hold the brush was a new adventure. I’ve learned some things about art which led me to learning some things about writing which led me to learning some things about myself.

For National Poetry Month I’m going to look back at my month of play and try to distill some of what I’ve learned into poems. I’m not promising final, finished and polished drafts. Just another emotional honest journey through my life.

Guilty fingers poke and prod,
pushing me toward something
that I don’t know
if I really know
how to do anymore.

The lack of words steals my voice,
the soul of what once defined me.

No longer a beginner
I cannot rely on hope
to bring me to the page.

I close my eyes

I am undone.

I am silent.

© 2011 Susan Taylor Brown. All rights reserved.

To see all the poetic events going on this month, check out this link at Kidlitosphere Central.
Amy, at The Poem Farm, has the Poetry Friday round-up.

A friend pointed me to this today and it is one of those poems that spoke to me right away. No need to try and figure it out. I love every line, wished that I had written them all. This poet is new to me and I can see that I am going to have to look for more of her work.

The Kama Sutra of Kindness: Position Number 3
by Mary Mackey

It’s easy to love
through a cold spring
when the poles
of the willows
turn green
pollen falls like
a yellow curtain
and the scent of
Paper Whites
clots
the air

but to love for a lifetime
takes talent
This is one of my favorite

but to love for a lifetime
takes talent

you have to mix yourself
with the strange
beauty of someone
else
wake each morning
for 72,000
mornings in
a row so
breathed and
bound and
tangled
that you can hardly
sort out
your arms
and
legs

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

Also check out this week’s list poem’s from the Poetry Push.

Sara Lewis Holmes has the Poetry Friday round-up today.

It’s Poetry Friday! First off I’d like to point you to This week’s Poetry Push poems where readers have shared their poetic response to a Poetry Push prompt for a list poem. I’ve decided to point to the original link for Poetry Friday, rather than repost the poems here because that way people can respond to any of the individual poems that might speak to them.

I started to panic when I realized that it was Poetry Friday because I’ve been flat out on the couch with the flu all week with my husband stuck taking care of me and the dog and the house and still going to work each day. So with Valentine’s Day around the corner, and the knowledge that I have one the best husbands ever, I decided to write a love poem for him.

IT’S EASY FOR HIM

It’s easy for him to say I love you
on the good days,
days when I’ve decluttered the house,
caught up on the laundry and
finally changed the sheets on the bed.

It’s easy for him to say I love you
on the pretty days,
when I dress up just a little,
days I let mascara wake up my tired eyes
and my clean hair falls to my waist
like strands of sunshine.

It’s easy to love
when life is beautiful.
Not so easy
(or so I thought)
to say I love you on the down days,
the not feeling like myself and
I’m getting sick days.

But he notices something about me
and asks are you okay?
I shake my head no and he holds my hair
away from my face,
and I lean over the bucket
while my stomach rebels.

I camp on the couch and
he brings me clear liquids
and soda crackers
and makes sure the remote control and the phone
are close at hand when he has to leave.

He comes home carrying every comfort food
he can remember I’ve ever mentioned,
alternates his day between letting me nap
and bringing me more foods
to tempt my lack of appetite.

He keeps the house running quietly in the background
while I do battle with the flu,
rubs my back,
tucks the comforter up under my chin,
blows me a kiss good night,
and oh, all the ways he tells me
he loves me
the good days and the bad days
he loves me
it’s so easy for him.

Susan Taylor Brown
All Rights Reserved

A friend recently shared this poem with me as one of her favorites and it has quickly become one of mine too. I want to give something I have made to people who matter to me and need to make a space in my days to do so.

The Rights

I want to give you
something I’ve made

some words on a page–as if
to say ‘Here are some blue beads’

or, ‘Here’s a bright red leaf I found on
the sidewalk’ (because

to find is to choose, and choice
is made.              But it’s difficult:

so far I’ve found
nothing but the wish to give. Or

copies of old words? Cheap
and cruel; also senseless:
                          Take

this instead, perhaps–a half-
promise: If
I ever write a poem of a certain temper
      (willful, tender, evasive,
      sad & rakish)

I’ll give it to you.

— Denise Levertov

Dori Reads has the Poetry Friday round-up for us all today. Pour a cup of your favorite beverage and poke around at some of the great poetry that’s being shared today.

This Tuesday I started a new poetry prompt series that will appear each Tuesday on my blog. The idea is to create list poems from the prompts I post. Here are this week’s poems.

GIVE BACK
I want to GIVE BACK all the times my father told me I would never amount to anything.
I want to GIVE BACK all the tears I shed when my Mother told me I could not play the games that my brother and sisters played.
I want to GIVE BACK all the times in the playground when the kids laughed at me because I was different from them.
I want to GIVE BACK all the hurt I felt when I could not go places and do the things other kids did because they were impossible for me even though they looked fun.
I want to GIVE BACK all the loneliness I felt in my heart because nobody ever really took the time to understand me and so left me out of most things.
All of these collectively made me who I am today
So I want these people to GIVE BACK all the confidence and the self esteem, they stole from me.
I can then go on with my life and be the person I can be, the person I should be.
If only people GIVE BACK.

- Anne Mckenna

Give Me Back…

Knees that don’t creak
Ankles less weak
Arms that don’t flag
Stomach sans sag

But please let me keep…

Football I played
Nights of charades
Daughters I bore*
Every last Skor

* And by bore I mean gave birth too, not make them drowsy with ennui:>)

–Laura Purdie Salas, all rights reserved

Give Back

Give In
Give Out
Give Off
Give Up
Give Away

Give It
Give It Up
Give Me Five

Give to a Good Cause
Give at The Office
Give Some More
Give Til It Hurts
What Gives?

Give The Order, The Finger, Your First Born
Give Blood
Give a Toast
Give Consent
Give Your Hand

Give up the Ghost
Give Your All, Your Word, Your Right Arm
Give Thanks
Give a Damn

Kellye Crocker

Give Back?
silver mirror
black chair
silver comb
black hair

see it curl
down my spine
below my waist–
it’s all mine!

silver shears
shoulder shove
quick snip for
locks of love

–Emily Jiang

I no longer have her
in my life
give back
the one
you took away.

Janet

Give back
Shreds of tinsel
Ticket stubs
Seashells
Dried flowers
Strands of Easter grass
Bicentennial quarters
Chunks of fool’s gold

All the bits
I scattered through your house
& thought I didn’t need.

–Jennifer R. Hubbard

You took
my self-esteem
my laughter
my pride in how I dress
my ability to trust
and to see the good in most people

You took
my dog, my cat
my good credit rating and almost,
my car

You took
my trust
my friends
my music

You gave back
a broken heart
a shattered dream
and finally, freedom.

— Susan Taylor Brown, all rights reserved

Dori Reads has the Poetry Friday round-up for us all today. Pour a cup of your favorite beverage and poke around at some of the great poetry that’s being shared today.

I had been thinking about Poetry Friday all week, trying to decide what to share but nothing spoke to me until this morning, when I came across this poem by Louise Bogan that made me catch my breath.

Zone
by Louise Bogan

“Zone” by Louise Bogan, from Poems and New Poems. Copyright © 1941, 1969, 2005 by Louise Bogan Charitable Trust.

 has this week’s Poetry Friday round-up!

I am reading William Stafford’s book, YOU MUST REVISE YOUR LIFE and will have much to report on when I am through. But for now I wanted to share this poem of his that speaks to me while I look for the hand of own muse.

When I Met My Muse

      I glanced at her and took my glasses
off–they were still singing. They buzzed
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew that nails up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. "I am your own
way of looking at things," she said. "When
you allow me to live with you, every
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation." And I took her hand.

William Stafford

Irene Latham has the Poetry Friday Round-up today. Why not head over and see what other lovely poems are just waiting to be discovered?

It’s Poetry Friday! I love this "good worm" poem! I can just picture this hungry caterpillar munching his way thorough the yard to build his "leaf-green mausoleum"

The Caterpillar      
by Robert Graves

Under this loop of honeysuckle,
A creeping, coloured caterpillar,
I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn spray,
I nibble it leaf by leaf away.

Down beneath grow dandelions,
Daisies, old-man’s-looking-glasses;
Rooks flap croaking across the lane.
I eat and swallow and eat again.

Here come raindrops helter-skelter;
I munch and nibble unregarding:
Hawthorn leaves are juicy and firm.
I’ll mind my business: I’m a good worm.

When I’m old, tired, melancholy,
I’ll build a leaf-green mausoleum
Close by, here on this lovely spray,
And die and dream the ages away.

Some say worms win resurrection,
With white wings beating flitter-flutter,
But wings or a sound sleep, why should I care?
Either way I’ll miss my share.

Under this loop of honeysuckle,
A hungry, hairy caterpillar,
I crawl on my high and swinging seat,
And eat, eat, eat—as one ought to eat.

Toby Speed has the Poetry Friday Round-up today.

I’ve been thinking about my post the other day about claiming my poet self and went looking for a poem that might support that idea. This one by Jorge Luis Borges hit home for me.

BROWNING DECIDES TO BE A POET

In these red labyrinths of London
I find that I have chosen
the strangest of all callings,
save that, in its way, any calling is strange.
Like the alchemist
who sought the philosopher’s stone
in quicksilver,
I shall make everyday words–
the gambler’s marked cards, the common coin–
give off the magic that was their
when Thor was both the god and the din,
the thunderclap and the prayer.
In today’s dialect
I shall say, in my fashion, eternal things:
I shall try to be worthy
of the great echo of Byron.
This dust that I am will be invulnerable.
If a woman shares my love
my verse will touch the tenth sphere of the concentric heavens;
if a woman turns my love aside
I will make of my sadness a music,
a full river to resound through time.
I shall live by forgetting myself.
I shall be the face I glimpse and forget,
I shall be Judas who takes on
the divine mission of being a betrayer,
I shall be Caliban in his bog,
I shall be a mercenary who dies
without fear and without faith,
I shall be Polycrates, who looks in awe
upon the seal returned by fate.
I will be the friend who hates me.
The persian will give me the nightingale, and Rome the sword.
Masks, agonies, resurrections
will weave and unweave my life,
and in time I shall be Robert Browning.

Jorge Luis Borges

Liz Scanlon is hosting the Poetry Friday Round-up today.

I am working on my verse novel inspired by the poems I wrote about my father during National Poetry Month and while the book will be told from the POV of the two girls, I am trying to see the main characters through the eyes of other family members and doing some character building through poetry.

Here is a new original poem from the point of view of one of the mothers in the book.

Seeing you, I see me
(your crooked mouth, your green eyes)
and him
(your long fingers, your black hair)
and it scares me so much
(you have no idea)
to remember that time
I so want to forget.

Hearing you, I hear me
(when you sing)
and him
(when you lose your temper)
and it makes me
(God help me)
want to tape your mouth shut
so I won’t ever
hear his voice again.

I know you don’t understand
why I tell you I can’t remember
but the truth is
I already remember too much
(the lies, the cheating)
and I think
If I let myself remember it all
(no! no! no!)
all of it
it would finish what he tried to do
himself
and kill me.

Just because I gave birth to you
doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything
or anything about him
at all.

@copyright Susan Taylor Brown 2010
All Rights Reserved

Picture Book of the Day has the  full round-up of all the Poetry Friday posts.

It has been a while since I participated in Poetry Friday but it seems the right way to get myself back into the blogosphere. I went looking for something to share and, as I often to, I started poking around the Poetry Foundation dropping in keywords and names and waiting for something to grab me. Then I glanced at the sidebar and the title of the poem came up and it seemed to fit my mood for the day (week? month?) Some of you who know me well will see some of me within the lines. I do not know this poet but after finding this poem, I’ll looking to read more of her work.

DO NOT MAKE THINGS TOO EASY

Do not make things too easy.
There are rocks and abysses in the mind
As well as meadows.
There are things knotty and hard: intractable.
Do not talk to me of love and understanding.
I am sick of blandishments.
I want the rock to be met by a rock.
If I am vile, and behave hideously,
Do not tell me it was just a misunderstanding.

by Martha Baird

Here are the links so far for this week’s Poetry Friday:

shares a poem from  exquisite book, Borrowed Names here. Also check out
this week’s 15 Words or Less poems.

MsMac has “Learning in the First Grade”  by Jane Kenyon.

Amy at the Poem Farm says, “I have #15 in my series of poems about poems, “Her Voice”. Also, I invite teachers and students to share poetry or their favorite poetry ideas at The Poem Farm.”

Alison says, “I have walls on my mind today, with Frost’s Mending Wallover at Wistful Wanderings.

When you need to take a break and destress, pop over and check out the poetic cartoon Tanita shared. You’ll be snorting and laughing.

Tabatha Yeatts gets things moving with an educational rap.

Mary Lee has a perfect poem for Labor Day over at A Reading Year.

Ruth shares an original poem.

Random Noodling looks at haiku by famous writers.

Kurious Kitty features Shakespeare’s 27th sonnet. The quote at Kurious K’s Kwotes is by Jean Cocteau.

The Write Sisters has “The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus.

Karen Edmisten shares Morning Song by Marcia F. Brown

Heidi Mordhorst perks things up with The Hello Song from PBS “Dragon Tales”

For Labor Day Shelly has some poems about some hard-working people

Jeannine Atkins says, “I wrote a post called Ways to Listen to the World about poetic inspiration.”

Over at on the Stenhouse Blog they have a great poem from Stenhouse author Charles Fuhrken.

At Wild Rose Reader Elaine Magliaro shares an original poem titled “Toasting Marshmallows.” and at Blue Rose Girls Elaine posts have a poem by Kalli Dakos titled “A Teacher’s Lament.”

Cassy says, “I’m on a campaign to create wonder over at my blog, and so I posted a poem called “Halleluiah” by Mary Oliver.

PaperTigers is in with a post about the poetry of Jorge Argueta.

Jeni Bell, aka,   shared an excerpt from the Tori Amos song “Winter” and offers thoughts on how it relates to Maggie Stiefvater’s new book LINGER (“Winter” was part of the playlist for the book).

Semicolon’s contribution to Poetry Friday is Young Lochinvar by Sir Walter Scott .

“Rivers” is the topic for Ben’s Poetry Mix tape this week.

Janet Squires shares Young Cornrows Callin Out the Moon: Poem, written by Ruth Forman with illustrations by Cbabi Bayoc.

At Bildungsroman today you can check out the lyrics and video for Shadowfeet by Brooke Fraser.

Carol Wilcox at Carol’s Corner shares some football poems to get us in the mood for the season.

Please add your links to Poetry Friday in the comments and I’ll round them up throughout the day! Thanks for participating!

It’s Poetry Friday! And I’m trying to jump back on (and stay on) the Poetry bandwagon. I don’t know why it’s so tough for me except that I am in short supply of confidence in the poetry department so it always makes me hesitate and then, usually, the time has passed.

Tonight I realized I’d never posted more poems from my incarcerated teen poetry project. The past month their work has been on display at the deSaisset museum at Santa Clara university as part of the ArtsConnect program sponsored by Arts Council Silicon Valley. Below are the displays they made with their poems (kind of a 3D effect). The backgrounds are a combination of paint and collage. You can click on each photo (they are all different) to see the larger version which makes the rest of the poems legible but I’ve put a few here in the post as well.

It’s so very hard to get teenage boys to dig deep about the emotional stuff in their lives. Compound that by trying to get boys who are locked up, away from their family, their girlfriends, and in some cases, their children, and asking them to write about their feelings is rarely embraced. And yet that’s just what these boys did. Session after session they wrote their hearts out for me.

For those of you who don’t know about the project, there is a list of links at the bottom of the post to tell you a bit more.

Now, the student work.

From Arts Connect 2010

I’m the aspirin always getting taken from the medicine box
Trying to fix for a minute but it never lasts too long
I wanna be like a giraffe with my head about it all
I’m at the top of the ladder where I can never fall
I’m an eagle, a leader, I soar through the sky
I don’t play with the pigeons because their mind is not right
I’m caged like an animal but want to be set free
I’m a lion in the jungle I run my domain
Reality hits
I’m Daniel
an 18 year old looking forward to tomorrow

~~~ Daniel

From Arts Connect 2010

THE POWER OF

I’m a strong individual
Power so strong, the guy who couldn’t get visible
People get a visual
See, but they don’t,cause my life is invisible
Do what I want and times can get critical
Powers so strong, it feels like life is a miracle
but still
I’m invisible

~~~ Rudy

From Arts Connect 2010

I feel motivated to strive
And eat cuz I’m hungry,
I feel like a dodgeball
Being thrown around
I’m feeling sleepy
And language can’t explain
The unhappy thoughts in my  mind
I want forgiveness
And to wake up to a better day

~~~Sergio

From Arts Connect 2010

I’m like the devil in disguise
I sound like bombs going off in a city, like death to a man
I look nice but inside I’m crazy in the mind
I smell like gun powder, evil in its darkest form
I taste bitter and sour, like snakes venom and nothing more.
I’m nothing nice

~~~ Sergio

Kelly Polark has the Poetry Friday round-up today. Check out some of the other great posts.

*** For those of you who missed the series of posts about my 10 sessions teaching poetry to incarcerated young men, you can read them all here, in order:

• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 1
• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 2
• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 3
• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 4
• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 5
• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 6
• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 7
• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 8
• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 9
• Incarcerated teens poetry 2010 class 1/session 10