Laura Shovan's Blog, page 27

February 6, 2016

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 6

It’s Day 6 of our month-long daily writing project.

This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.

FOUND: Antique Dolls

I found today’s object in my home town, Ellicott City, Maryland. Just down the road from where I live is the center and oldest part of town. Old Ellicott City was the first terminus of the B&O Railroad, a pre-Revolutionary mill town. Today, it is a quaint stretch of old buildings and townhouses with antique shops, boutiques, and restaurants.

I’ve always loved this photograph. Something about the reflection in the cracked window glass makes these dolls feel like more than old toys for sale. Let’s see what everyone came up with.

I wonder whether Jennifer Lewis, who used to live near me, guessed that I took this picture in Old Ellicott City, where trains still rumble through town today.

They’ve Seen Much

By Jennifer Lewis

They saw the train tip in sky,

Offering one last lullaby,

They saw the child make a face,

Breath’s condensation, fingers trace,

Rock and grass picnic tables,

Twig and stick equine stables,

Tea party attire, sipping air,

Guest list inviting Ted E. Bear,

Crackling glass, cracking skin,

Wondering if the story ends,

Universal melancholy,

When we see, one’s lost dolly,

They’ve seen better days this is true,

But homemade memories imbue,

The storybooks, the belly’s laughter,

A child’s love for ever after.

I wanted to get away from humanizing the dolls and recognize that they are, especially without their usual trappings of clothing and packaging, objects. But one of these ladies had something else in mind. (Heidi — this is a sort of “No” poem.)

Window: Antique Shop

by Laura Shovan

Without their dresses,

rompers, ribbons,

lace, without

their boxes, gift wrap,

tissue, pink bows,

the dolls stand

disjointed, quiet.

They face the street,

hear no birds,

people, rumbling train,

see no cars pass.

They do not

watch the growing crack

in the glass pane,

nor the one

who seems to raise her

plastic fist to

strike again.

In contrast to my poem, Linda Baie added fabrics into her response. Since we are working on sensory details this year, I love this addition to the dolls.

Dolly Cry

I need a friend:

Pick me, pick me

for garden walks,

dressed up for tea.

I’ll need the softest

organza dress

I’d love a hat,

best to impress.

You’ll play with me

be all I want

a loving child,

a confidante.

We’ll stroll and sniff

those blooms en masse

I spy outside

my window glass.

Pick me, pick me.

Let us conspire.

I’m lonely here,

you’re my desire.

Do you find Linda’s final line creepy or inviting?

The last line of Jessica Bigi’s doll poem feels very wistful to me. I love the wordplay here.

Store Window Dolls

By Jessica Bigi

Umbrella bonnets

Locks looping curlers

Blinking eyelash eyes

Walking talking crying

Umbrella dresses

Store Window Dolls

Hoping for hugs

Diane Mayr uses the last few lines of her poem to reveal the setting.

Parking Lot in New Hampshire on a Sunny February Day

By Diane Mayr

Unbuckle your seatbelt

incline your seat backwards

close your eyes, relax.

Feel the deeply penetrating

radiant heat of the sun.

Relish the seclusion. No

sand in your underwear when

your beach is glass and steel.

From the first lines of Molly Hogan’s poem, you’ll know whether she’s in the “creepy” or “nostalgic” camp when it comes to these dolls.

Breaking News

By Molly Hogan

Mass Escape from

St. Claud’s Center

for Delinquent Dolls

Just this morning

a passing photographer

captured this pivotal scene

of the notorious Brown-Haired Doll

with her famous fringed blue eyes,

gang leader, miscreant,

dimpled arm raised,

baby-blue-shoed foot

kicking out,

targeting the glass barrier,

already fractured,

and demure-looking accomplices

lurking in assumed postures

with their flat and soulless

marble gazes intent.

Look-outs.

All poised on the verge of escape.

I’m impressed with how each poet today uses language to set the tone of his or her poem, communicating different ways of feeling about our found object. This one is from Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core.

Haunted by ghosts

of little girls

who loved them once,

dolls, long forgotten

stare, eyes blank,

through cracked

plate glass.

“Have you seen Emma or Ida or Grace?”

their soulless eyes plead

with people rushing by.

They long for the warmth

of tender hugs

that would break this spell

and mend their broken hearts.

By Catherine Flynn

I’m so pleased to see my friend (and fellow Pisces) Heidi Mordhorst joining us today! You’ll see the image at the left that shows Heidi’s playfulness with form. It’s amazing what spacing can do in a poem. When you compare the two version of “A Doll Trap” side by side, the one on the left is full of movement.

A Doll Trap

secured behind glass

half-dressed

or less

doubly exposed

glazed

they gaze out

lean reaching toward

freedom

one does more than yearn

raises her

chubby arm

to crack that glass again

again

dolly hai-ya

she will be

free

will walk among

walls and rock

follow plastic paths

to new clothes

new scenes

Speaking of form, I’m glad to see I’m not the only person trying out prose poetry this month. Margaret Simon sent in this response.

The Doll Collection

by Margaret Simon

A collection of dolls makes me nostalgic for those days when my girls were young, each one with a favorite baby doll with a name like Danielle or Harriet, carried everywhere, to the grocery store, pushed around in the rolling cart shopping like Mommy, or to the church nursery equipped with a bulging diaper bag, and I cry at the thought that today these well-loved, adorned dolls are alone in a plastic bin inside the upstairs closet waiting for a new child to love her, hug her until the stuffing breaks. Maybe I hear them crying, too.

***

Another new face — though she has been a regular in past years — is poet Patricia VanAmburg. Great use of a title working against the poem here, which creates so much tension.

Lullaby

By Patricia VanAmburg

Dolly told Baby she wanted to scream

Baby said, Dolly, don ’t taunt—

You know that we are held in a dream—

and all we can do is haunt.

Dolly said, Baby, you’re kind of creepy

Sometimes you make my skin crawl—

I hope that you will soon feel sleepy—

But Baby started to bawl.

***

Last in today is Mary Lee Hahn.

Abandoned

As a child,

my dolls were my closest friends.

When I left for college,

I tried to pack them in a trunk,

but had to release them before they suffocated.

They’ve lived my entire adult life

(up until now)

on the closet shelf

in my childhood bedroom.

Soon,

they will be auctioned away

to strangers.

I will hear them calling to me

for the rest of my life.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

http://www.maryleehahn.com/2016/02/found-object-poem-dolls.html

Mary Lee’s poem reminds me of my mother’s dolls from the 1940s and 50s. Several of them are wrapped up, sitting in the bottom of a bureau, waiting for a trip to the doll hospital for some TLC.

DAY 7 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT

See you tomorrow for Day 7 and the Week 2 prompts.

Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:

Monday, February 1

FOUND OBJECT: 100 year-old mailing box

Poems by: Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie, Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Laura Shovan, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Brenda Harsham.

Tuesday, February 2

FOUND OBJECT: Fancy peppers and produce

Poems by: Mary Lee Hahn, Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Laura Shovan, Linda Baie, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Margaret Simon, Jennifer Lewis.

Wednesday, February 3

FOUND OBJECT: Moth eggs

Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Diane Mayr, Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Linda Baie, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn.

Thursday, February 4

FOUND OBJECT: Table fan

Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Margaret Simon, Laura Shovan, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie, Carol Varsalona, Catherine Flynn.

Friday, February 5 at Guest Blog, Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme

FOUND OBJECT: Tomato Moon

Poems by: Matt Forrest Esenwine, Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Margaret Simon, Carol Varsalona, Laura Shovan, Mary Lee Hahn.

View more on Laura Shovan's website »

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on February 06, 2016 16:01

February 4, 2016

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 5

Contributor Matt Forrest Esenwine calls this found object “Tomato Moon.”

Hello, Found Object Poets. I am taking a break from blogging today.

FOUND: Tomato Moon

Don’t throw any rotten tomatoes my way! We’re still writing and sharing for Poetry Friday.

You will find the Day 5 Found Object Poem Project post at Matt Forrest Esenwine’s blog, Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme. Thanks, Matt!

And please stop by Tricia’s blog, The Miss Rumphius Effect, for all of the Poetry Friday posts this week.

I’ll see you back here tomorrow for Day 6. Be sure to leave your Day 6 responses at this post.

DAY 6 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT

View more on Laura Shovan's website »

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on February 04, 2016 19:00

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 4

Are we feeling the burn yet? It’s Day 4 of our 2016 daily write-in! This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. We have a new writing prompt for every day in February.

My favorite part of this annual project is seeing how the poems, written in response to the same prompt, resonate with each other.

For those of you who are new to my blog, please read my introductory post about the February daily write-in. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.

PLEASE NOTE: This year, a few friendly bloggers have volunteered to host a day or two. Tomorrow’s post, which is DAY 5, will be at Matt Forrest Esenwine’s blog, Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme. Leave your Day 5 responses here, in the comments, as usual. I will get your writing to Matt.

FOUND: Desk Fan

A couple of days ago, I mentioned that the FOUND OBJECT prompts people contributed fell into certain categories. One of those categories is functional objects.

The desk fan was sent in by poet Charles Waters. I’m curious to read what everyone came up with in response to an everyday object. Interesting challenge, Charles!

I really enjoyed the voice of the character speaking in Jessica Bigi’s poem today.

Not I Sharif

by Jessica Bigi

Fly on the wall

I saw nothing

I heard nothing

Humming of fans

Eggs firing on the floor

Shooting sticky words

Like rattle snakes tongues

Pluming clouds of stall sugars

Fingers shuffle papers

As I write my name

not I Sharif

I saw nothing

I heard nothing

Humming of fans

Not I Sharif -Not I

Fly on the wall

What a gift to have another one of Diane Mayr’s beautifully designed poem-collages today.

Before the Electric Fan

By Diane Mayr

There was a tool far

more powerful than any

with an on/off switch.

Simple, easy to operate,

the hand fan could

cool the flush on a cheek

hide an ironic smile

emphasize a point

mask a nervous gesture

keep a young girl

grounded when infatuation

threatened to get

the better of her. And,

it was pretty to look at.

Playing around with traditional forms is one of my favorite ways to shape an idea or observation into a poem. If you are not familiar with the tightly knit form triolet, read about it at Poets.org. Margaret Simon uses the repeating and rhymed lines to suggest the patterned whirring of a fan.

Fan Triolet

By Margaret Simon

Rusted lines box you in.

Clouds of dust dance on air.

Blades whistle while you spin.

Rusted lines box you in

Making wind, making wind

buzz with a flashy fan flair.

Rusted lines box you in.

Clouds of dust dance on air.

Instead of playing around with form today, I decided to try a prose poem. I’ve been reading a book of interviews with Ray Bradbury, LISTEN TO THE ECHOES, by Sam Weller. In it, Bradbury describes a writing method he used as a teenager. He’d begin with a series of nouns, then word associate with those nouns, asking, “Why did I put this word down? What does it mean to me? Why did I instantly put this word down and not some other word.” The result was a 100-200 word descriptive paragraph.

I decided to try this out with the fan. My nouns were “fan,” “meeting,” “table,” and “Chuck Yeager.” (This will make some sense in a second.) What came up was a memory.

Meeting

by Laura Shovan

The only thing moving was the fan, upright on the end of the heavy wooden table. I was 19, maybe, not old enough to be at the meeting. Not old enough to be sitting across from Chuck Yeager. He was old, his back military straight. I was old enough to know I should keep my fingers still.

The plastic blades spun a slow a circle inside the fan’s square cage. The only thing escaping was air and a whirring sound. Chuck Yeager was the first person to break the sound barrier. I thought he was paying attention to the meeting. He had a pilot’s awareness of the periphery, of movement. No one else saw my fingers slide between the spokes of the box. No one else saw me pull them away, without a sound, when I met the edge of the fan blades.

***

I’m struck by how many of today’s responses create a mood, as if a fan can help change or create a mood, simply by moving the air around us. Molly Hogan’s poem fits this theme well.

Ahhh, A Fan

By Molly Hogan

On certain sticky summer days

when heat slaps me in the face

and my flushed skin drips

and my thoughts grumble

into curdled meanness

and a rash of spiteful words

trembles at my lips,

I would kill

for the simple respite

of a fan

with sweet hum of rotating blades

and soft, stirring air

to dispel the sour chunks

of my humid mood.

Last one in today is Mary Lee Hahn. Don’t you love the voice she creates for the fan?

Lament of the Portable Fan

I’ll never spin a hurricane,

I’ll never turn a weather vane.

I’ll never push a sailboat’s sail

or ruffle feathers on a tail,

power windmills, shape the land,

carry ash or desert sand.

The most that I will ever be

is one small oscillating breeze.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

http://www.maryleehahn.com/2016/02/found-object-poem-fan.html

DAY 5 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT

See you at Matt’s blog tomorrow for Day 5 and Poetry Friday.

Reminder: Leave your Day 5 responses in the comments of this post for Matt Forrest Esenwine, who is hosting tomorrow’s FOUND OBJECT poems. His blog is Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme.

If you’d like to read what we’ve written so far, here are links to this week’s poems:

Wednesday, February 3

FOUND OBJECT: Moth eggs

Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Diane Mayr, Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Linda Baie, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Laura Shovan.

View more on Laura Shovan's website »

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on February 04, 2016 16:00

February 3, 2016

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 3

Welcome to Day 3 of our month-long daily writing project. Newbies, this is an annual community writing project that I host every February. You don’t have to be a poet to participate. Short prose pieces are a great way to join in the fun.

This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.

It’s Day 3. Let’s talk about a new category of found item today, objects we spotted in nature.

FOUND: Moth Eggs

What caught my eye about these eggs, stuck on the passenger-side window of my mini-van, was how much the bottom group looked like the continent of South America. I especially like the photograph where the continent of eggs appears to be floating in a sea of sky.

The photo I posted as our prompt IS a bit mysterious. I’ll put more information about the moth at the bottom of this post.

The first person in with a guess was Diane Mayr, who said, “I have no idea what the Day 3 pic represents, so I imagined roe. ”

Roe Your Boat

By Diane Mayr

Peculiar, pearlescent,

gelatinous beads

are clustered in places

where sea creatures breed.

Place your feet gently.

Avoid, please, the weeds.

Sail your boats elsewhere.

Let fish life proceed.

Margaret Simon claimed to be “stumped” by today’s found object, but shared a haiku poem that made me look more closely at the image.

Please ignore my

provocative position.

My shadow self intrigues.

By Margaret Simon

I’m fascinated by all the interpretations of these little eggs. Here is Jessica Bigi’s poem.

Berry Picking

By Jessica Bigi

Bare legs scratchy thistles

Grandmother shadow curling

Under my feet

Tasseled fields of winding hills

Windy chimes brushing rose cheeks

Whistles of laughter swings from buckets

Sweetness of berries feel the breeze

Purple berry giggles

Let grandmother know I’ve eaten more

Than I’ve put in my bucket

At home just for fun

We count our berries

Looks like grandmother has berry giggles too

I tried to heed my own call for imagery of the five senses today. Did I get all five?

Found Object

By Laura Shovan

A continent of lemon drops,

sweet bite of foreign words

on my tongue.

Bath pearls spilled on mirror top,

waxy shells ready to release

their tangy scent.

A nest of snowy Tiger Moths

about to burst, consume, cocoon.

A blizzard of wings.

Like me, Mary Lee Hahn noticed that the bottom grouping of eggs had a very familiar shape.

Mysteries

The mysteries of the world are myriad.

Sometimes they look like little balls of butter.

Sometimes they clump together in the shape of South America.

The mysteries of the world puzzle us.

They make us take our glasses off and look so close

we dust our noses with them.

The mysteries of the world hold hidden ripeness.

Each might contain a new life,

or the possibility to change the weather patterns of the entire world.

The mysteries of the world cast shadows.

Hovering above, they block the sun

and send a chill through us as they pass over.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Molly Hogan wrote, “This picture was certainly challenging!” I wonder what you are all thinking, now that the mystery is solved.

Mystery Orbs

by Molly Hogan

I itch to pick one up

squish it with a POP

and see what oozes out,

feel the dripping liquid

sticky on my pinching fingers.

I yearn to bite

and sink my teeth

into pale, silken green

to discover

if they are as juicy

as they look,

sugar-sweet like candy

or tongue-zapping,

puckering sour.

God forbid they’re bacteria!

I like how choosing a setting for her poem creates a totally different feel in Linda Baie’s response.

The Art Opening

The beads leapt off the canvas.

Adults were amused observing the child

who reached out to touch the beads.

They wouldn’t admit their desire to touch, too.

Even the shadows felt like mistakes.

The artist was that good.

DAY 4 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT

Thanks so much for joining me today, everyone. Wasn’t it fun to have a UFO: Unidentified Found Object to work with?

I’m heading out to a high school drama club meeting this evening. I’ll continue to post responses to FOUND OBJECT 3 as they come in, but may not be adding additional poems until tomorrow morning.

See you tomorrow for Day 4.

If you’d like to read what we’ve written so far, here are links to this week’s poems:

More about the moth:

It took me about fifteen minutes of internet searching to identify Mama Moth. She is a Virginian Tiger Moth, Spilosoma virginica. You can read more about her at Buglifecycle. There is a photograph of this moth’s eggs at the top of the page. They are a perfect match for our Day 3 FOUND OBJECT.

View more on Laura Shovan's website »

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on February 03, 2016 16:03

February 2, 2016

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 2

It’s Day 2 of our 2016 daily write-in. This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. Thanks to all of the poets and writers who contributed objects for our daily prompts.

For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.

On to Day 2. As I was going through potential prompts, I noticed a few themes developing among the objects we found. One category of FOUND OBJECTS is interesting food. Since we’re focusing on using all five senses in our writing this year, food is a perfect way to get our sensory imagery flowing.

Found: Fancy Produce

Today’s object(s) was sent in by Mary Lee Hahn of the blog A Year of Reading. I’m guessing Mary Lee found some farmer’s market treasures to share with us.

Let’s start with Mary Lee’s response today. You can also find this poem at Mary Lee’s blog.

Ode to Summer Produce

I realize now, in the grey shrivel of winter,

I took you for granted.

Your abundance overwhelmed me.

Your spectacular crunch became ordinary.

How I long for your vibrant colors!

How I miss your ripeness!

Seed packets dance in my dreams.

(Shovel, hoe, trowel and water jugs hold their peace.)

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

One of my favorite things to cook, especially in the fall and winter, is soup. Jessica Bigi’s poem really warmed me up!

Vegetable Soup

By Jessica Bigi

Vegetables

Eggplants

Green peppers

Egg noodles

Tomatoes salt

Alphabet noodles

Bay leaf beats

Lentils leeks

Elbow macaroni

Summer squash

Onions oyster crackers

Unbelievably delicious

Parmesan cheese smile

Fans of Poetry Friday will recognize Diane Mayr’s style in this art/poem creation. Diane says, “Mary Lee’s vegetables reminded me of the veggies exhibited at the Topsfield Fair this past October.”

children’s exhibit…

a decided irreverence

for vegetables

By Diane Mayr

Molly Hogan’s poem for today is filled with great action verbs. Check out her blog post about the poem here.

A rainbow of vegetables

Cascades across the cloth

in a vegetable tangle

Richly hued glossy skins

and upright stems

like jewels from a casket

in burnished splendor

glistening with ruby lights

and polished emerald hues

A garden offering.

Soon the sharpened knife

will slice crisply

piercing taut skins

chopping, dicing, mincing

exposing seeds nestled deep in the core

or scattered throughout the flesh

carving out slivers and slices

on the scarred cutting board

stained with pooling juices

a stew?

a soup?

a sacrifice.

by Molly Hogan

I’ll never forget a visit to the farmer’s market, when the Pepper Man gave my young son a chocolate pepper to taste. He ate the whole thing like an apple, to the farmer’s amazement. I’m in with a short rhyme today.

Chocolate Pepper

By Laura Shovan

Looks like candy,

crunchy, sweet,

glistening in summer heat.

Cooking and eating are closely tied to family traditions and memories, as we see in Linda Baie’s pepper poem.

Yesterday in August

I remember my grandmother

pulling peppers from the vine.

Baskets full, washed at the pump,

then slice and fill the jars–

her winter’s garden.

That day, we kept some to taste.

They’re crispy water,

ready for salad,

lunch on the summer porch,

fan whirling overhead.

Speaking of families and food (and poems), Matt Forrest Esenwine left an adorable note with his poem today:

“My 2-year-old is demanding my attention, so it’s a haiku today!”

sunlight pierces morn

refracts through rows of raised beds

vegetable prism

Wow. Check out the playfulness in Margaret Simon’s pepper poem. I love it, and this comment: “I am composing on the yellow notepad on my laptop. That way I don’t feel there’s as much of a commitment to excellence. This one was just fun playing with the sounds of words.”

Peppers

By Margaret Simon

Peppers purple

peppers green

squash

squash

squash

I see ya, eggplant

think you’re hiding

in your shiny skin?

Market days

are silver dollar days

when fresh is

as fresh does.

Make me a salad,

please.

Finally, my dear friend and critique partner Jennifer Lewis is joining us!!

Market Fare

By Jennifer Lewis

The musky scent of summer’s gifts,

Arrives solicitous, upon the wind,

Gazes adrift consume the view,

As organic rainbows suffuse,

Joyful laughter ebbs and flows,

Crimson juices southward goes,

Melodies contour their staff,

As mothers sway, bounce and tap,

Fill your bag and fill your soul,

There’s more at market than escarole.

DAY 3 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT

What a great final line, Jen. I’ll continue to post responses to FOUND OBJECT 2 as they come in.

See you tomorrow for Day 3.

If you’d like to read what we’ve written so far, here are links to this week’s poems:

View more on Laura Shovan's website »

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on February 02, 2016 16:00

February 1, 2016

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 1

Welcome to Day 1 of our 2016 daily write-in! This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. We have a new writing prompt for every day in February.

The object of this project is to turn off our inner critics, play with a daily writing practice, and share the results in a community setting.

For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post. At the end of the month, I’ll have prizes for the most frequent contributors. However, there’s no obligation to write every day. Drop in as often as you like.

Ready? Let’s get started!

Found: One hundred year-old mailing box.

I purposely left out information about the objects when I posted the prompts. Think of it as a Freedom from Information Act, a way of giving us more space to think, imagine, and play.

Now that our poems are in, let’s find out more about today’s FOUND OBJECT. It was contributed by Robyn Hood Black, who says, “Here is something I found (& bought) in an antique store a while back, and I keep in my studio – just because I love it. It’s a little wooden box that was used to mail something! Over 100 years old.”

Diane Mayr, who blogs at Random Noodling, sent in this poem. I’m a big fan of portrait poems and I love the way Diane creates a character, and hints at her back-story, in this poem.

The Truth of the Matter

I was afraid to open

that wooden box

addressed to me in

an unknown hand.

It came by morning post

on a Tuesday in April.

Its contents shifting

and rustling. Telling

me of a fallen soldier’s

effects? Or of the

sweet-bitter savor

of lemon cream taffy

sent to quicken my

blood in anticipation

of his homecoming kiss?

I tried the whole box/fox/socks angle, but something else wanted to escape from the wooden box and my imagination took over.

Postmark: Valley of the Kings

by Laura Shovan

What’s in the box?

An ancient breath

captured, saved

at Pharaoh’s death.

What’s in the box?

A long-lost curse

in hieroglyphic

picto-verse.

What’s in the box?

I hear creaking.

Are those mummy

fingers sneaking?

What’s in the box?

I’m curious, but

perhaps I’d better

leave it shut.

Jessica Bigi took the call for sensory images to heart. Check out all of the tactile, visual, and scent images in this poem.

Box Of Memories

By Jessica Bigi

Simply a box

Stained from tea

Ginger, nutmeg

Scented cherry wood

A splintered craft

of Grandfather’s hands

Who we’ve never met

Momma’s tearful voice

Saying take only this box

Some jam and bread

Letters I’ve written you

Small carved horses that

Grandfather made

Mint tea, some salted broth

Pictures of Momma and me

My tearful voice saying

Momma please go too

Take this box dear girl

Only one can go so I must stay

I’m too young to understand

Sailed that rain soaked ship

Which smelled of salty grime

My box of precious memories

I brought to share with

An aunt I’ve never meant

her land, my new home, my new life

eating bread with jam

we opened my box

and wiped tears from our eyes

Oh, child how I miss your mother

You have her beautiful eyes

I smiled and hugged my aunt

You have Momma’s hugs and

Beautiful heart, I told her

Here is another box poem that tells a story. I like the way Mary Lee Hahn uses the contents of the box to represent a moment between the past and the future. The object inside takes on an extra layer of meaning.

The Box I Keep at the Back of My Dresser Drawer

I remember

when he sent the new watch

I’d had my eye on.

He was thoughtful that way.

The postman handed me this wooden box

with the address written

in his confident handwriting.

Written before the accident,

when a whole different future lay before us.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

When I’m working with writers, one of my favorite exercises is to look at an object or work of art and write down all the details of what we can see first. Then, using facts as a diving board, we splash around in our imaginations. Molly Hogan pays careful attention to the details of our found object in this poem.

Wooden Box

By Molly Hogan

Capable hands

held the potential of

raw, green wood,

inspired,

rejecting spoon, platter,

a plethora of options,

crafted a secret-holder,

a box for treasures,

dovetailing corners

fitting the lid precisely

sanding smooth the slivers

and splinters,

adhering paper

with written words

whispering on wood

a destination

that has faded into memory

with the accumulating

patina of time.

Inside the box

echoes of those hands

and unknown treasures,

past and present,

breathe,

stirring dusty molecules

and memories.

You can also check out Molly’s blog post with her poem here.

One of people who has participated in this project every year is Linda Baie of Teacher Dance. Her poem is tied to a specific time in history.

In My Attic Graveyard

Not so romantic anymore.

this dusty box on the attic floor

where mice have had a meal or three.

Something’s gnawed on the corner – See!

Mildew’s set in, the smell has set;

perhaps some days in the sun will get

the box back to its sweet wood smell,

the better ready to show it well.

Mister E.N. Chisholm of Lycoming County

received and paid dear for this precious bounty:

the final effects of his fallen friend,

perished among trees of far Ardennes.

Some of you may have noticed the corners of the wooden box, which reveal that — rather than nails — the maker used a dovetail joint to fit the sides together. Margaret Simon (Reflections on the Teche) opens her poem with that detail.

Box

By Margaret Simon

Tongue in groove he tells me

is how they used to do it,

before nails

before cardboard and glue.

This old box

traveled over miles

snow-covered hills,

through the mountains, perhaps.

I slide the wood

across grooves

breathe pine, spicy pipe tobacco,

remember my grandfather’s

stories of the railroad,

how steam would rise above

houses and whistle

his way home.

DAY 2 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT

I’ll continue to post responses to FOUND OBJECT 1 as they come in.

See you tomorrow for Day 2.

View more on Laura Shovan's website »

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on February 01, 2016 16:00

January 31, 2016

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Week 1 Prompts

Hello, friends!

Think of today as the pre-game stretch. We are getting our fingers warmed up for 29 days of writing in response to found objects and posting that writing the same day, as a community.

Don’t know what I’m talking about? Read this post to find out more about my annual daily writing project. Over a dozen authors gather every February to write in response to a daily prompt. In the past, we have written a month of Pantone poems and a month of responses to sound clips. This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. Several friends have sent in images of objects that we will be using as our daily inspiration.

So … how does a person participate?

Leave your writing in the blog comments (feel free to post a poem or response in the comments of any project-related post). Be sure to note which day/prompt your poem or prose short goes with so I can post it on the correct day. Send in your writing ANY TIME — early, late. As long as I receive it by February 29, it will be posted along with the object of the day.

Perfect attendance is not a requirement of this project. Write and share your work as often as you like, even if it’s only once. The goal is to practice and share, not to polish, and certainly not to aim for perfection.

I know you want to see the Week 1 prompts, but be sure to read my pep talk at the bottom of this post.

Reminder: I will not be posting any information about the objects at this time. This year, we are emphasizing using all five senses in our imagery, whether we write poems or prose in response to the objects.

DAY 1 PROMPT Contributed by Robyn Hood Black (February 1)

DAY 2 PROMPT Contributed by Mary Lee Hahn (February 2)

DAY 3 PROMPT Contributed by Laura Shovan (February 3)

DAY 4 PROMPT Contributed by Charles Waters (February 4)

DAY 5 PROMPT Contributed by Matt Forrest Esenwine (February 5)

DAY 6 PROMPT Contributed by Laura Shovan (February 6)

DAY 7 PROMPT Contributed by Jone MacCulloch (February 7)

PEP TALK TIME!

Thanks for sticking with your coach instead of diving onto writing field with your prompts, everyone. Here are two examples of FOUND OBJECT writing to help you get your head in the game.

First up is an old poem of mine, written in response to found objects: a group of children’s winter coats slung over a playground fence. Enjoy these two readings. I’ll see you on Monday!

In Early Spring

by Laura Shovan

When color still arrests the eye,

a row of children’s winter coats

slung over the playground fence.

Bright as tulips, pairs of empty arms hang down.

They reach for earth, asking.

Each hood bows — a line of prayer.

But the children?

scattered like the milkweed to come,

nowhere.

From Mountain, Log, Salt, and Stone

And Poetry Friday regular Jessica Bigi sent me a story to inspire you. She writes, “Sadly, I do not have a pic to go with this, but it was inspired by a little child’s dragon hat that I saw at a yard sale.”

Find it on Etsy.

The Boy with the Dragon Hat

by Jessica Bigi

On a small farm on the outskirts of a Chinese village, lived a boy named Soso. Soso lived with his grandmother and would often help her gather eggs from the chickens. He helped her sell them on market day. Sometimes, Soso’s grandmother would pay him 50 yuan for helping. Though that might not seem like a lot of money, to Soso it was. He knew his grandmother did not have much money and when she gave him some he always put it in a jar until he saved up enough to buy himself something that he might like to have from the market. He would often take a break from selling eggs and walk around to see what the other villagers were selling. Some sold jars of honey, some sold vegetables, some sold bright pieces of cloth.

Then there was the dragon lady. She was one of the oldest, wisest women in the village. She sold dragons. And for every dragon she sold she told a story of wisdom to go with it. Soso loved stopping by her stand. The dragons were too expensive for him but he loved to hear the stories.

“Soso, you are a boy of great courage,” she would often tell him. “Someday you will save enough yuan to buy a dragon from me and then I will have a story for you.” Soso could hardly wait for that day so he kept saving his yuan from selling eggs.

One day, when he went to her stand he could hardly believe his eyes. “That’s it,” he said. “That is the dragon for me.” It was a hat that looked like a dragon’s head. “Dragon lady” he said, “how much is that hat?”

“Oh” she said, “Soso, that is a very special hat to be worn by a very special person. You must have courage to wear that hat. You must be strong and wise, for it is a knight’s hat.”

“I am all of those things. Dragon lady,” Soso said, “I have 10 yuan saved. Would that be enough to buy that hat?”

“Soso” she said, “first, you must do something kind for someone else. I will save the hat for you until you do so.”

As Soso walked back to the egg stand, he saw his grandmother looking at a sand sculpture at the trinket stand. She did not see him but he watched as she walked away. He thought about what the dragon lady said, walked over to the trinket stand, and said, “Miss, that lady that was just here was my grandmother. I was wondering what it was that she was looking at.”

She pointed to a sculpture of a sand castle. “This is it, son,” she said. “She told me she wished she owned a castle like this so she wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

“How much is this castle?” Soso asked. “I have 10 yuan. Would that be enough for the castle? I was saving it for myself but I would like for my grandmother to have her castle.”

“I’ll give it to you for 5 yuan,” she said. Soso was so happy that he didn’t notice that the dragon lady had seen what he had done. He went back to his egg stand.

The next day was his day that he didn’t have to go to the market and got to go play with his friends. His grandmother went to the market that day herself and Soso stayed home. On that day, the dragon lady walked over to their stand and said to Soso’s grandmother, “You have a wise grandson.”

Grandmother said, “Thank you, I am very proud of him and he is a good worker.”

Dragon lady said, “I want you to give him this hat. It is a knight’s hat and your grandson is worthy of a knight’s hat.”

“Oh, that is so kind of you,” Grandmother said. “Please, take a dozen of my eggs for your kindness.” That day, Soso’s grandmother went to look at the sand castle but noticed that it was gone from the table. Walking away, she thought about what the dragon lady said about Soso. She thought, “If only I could make our lives easier. I will wait until the weekend to give him his hat,” she said.

The next day, Soso and his grandmother were back at the market. Soso could hardly wait. He went to see the hat at the dragon lady’s stand but it wasn’t there. “I had to sell it to a knight,” she said. “Don’t be sad,” she said. “Someday I will have a story for you.”

Soso walked back to his egg cart. “Tomorrow will be Saturday. I will give grandmother her castle tomorrow.” Saturday morning, Soso and his grandmother gathered eggs from the chickens. While gathering eggs, they both told each other that they had a surprise for each other. Soso said, “Grandmother, I want you to know that you’ve given me the perfect life. I bought this for you, Grandmother.”

“Thank you, Soso,” said grandmother. As she opened it, tears streamed down her face. “It’s my castle” she said.

Soso said, “No, it’s our castle. Our home is our castle and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.” For a moment Soso forgot about the dragon lady’s hat.

As grandmother wiped tears from her eyes, she said, “I have something for you also, Soso.” As she handed him the gift, she said “Only a knight can wear this, Soso.”

To Soso, that sounded familiar but he couldn’t remember why. He opened it. “It’s my hat! My dragon hat!” he said.

“The dragon lady gave this to me to give to you. My Soso, my knight, you are the boy with the dragon hat.”

The next week when Soso and his grandmother went to the market, Soso ran to where the dragon lady’s stand was but her stand wasn’t there. Soso looked for her all over the market but never saw the dragon lady again. He remembered her stories and he loved to wear the hat she had given to him. On the walk home that evening he held his grandmother’s hand and told her that he loved her. She smiled and said “My Soso, I love you also.”

View more on Laura Shovan's website »

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on January 31, 2016 06:00

January 28, 2016

Poetry Friday: Moving Day

This week’s host is Catherine at Reading to the Core.

Happy Poetry Friday, friends.

After nearly eight years blogging as Author Amok, I am moving to my new website! As of February 1, I will be blogging and participating in Poetry Friday right here at www.laurashovan.com.

There are a few housekeeping items to share before I close up shop at the old digs.

First, the annual daily writing prompt project is on for 2016.

This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. I invite you to join this community project. The focus is on writing every day (or as often as you can) and sharing the results with our fellow poets and authors — an opportunity to focus on drafting and to turn off our inner-editors for one month. We always have a great time with this project and there are prizes for contributors.

This year, we are focusing on writing about FOUND OBJECTS using multi-sensory imagery.

You’ll find more information about the project at this post. And here is a sneak preview of our first writing prompt, contributed by Robyn Hood Black.

If you’d like to contribute a poem, please leave it in the comments of this post. Be sure to specify that this is your DAY 1 found object poem.

Second, an update on my book launch. THE LAST FIFTH GRADE OF EMERSON ELEMENTARY will be published on April 12. I’m excited to have a book birthday during National Poetry Month. The Poetry Friday community has been so supportive of this project.

In the weeks leading up to NPM, I’ll be introducing the Emerson E.S. fifth graders at the new blog. I came across this poem today, which was cut from the novel. Newt Mathews is an amphibian-loving, rule-following student who shares in his poems how Asperger’s Syndrome affects his writing. Mr. White is his aide.

You can spot Abigail Halpin’s wonderful illustration of Newt at the bottom right. He’s dressed in his favorite frog T-shirt.

Sound Poem

By Newt Mathews

Buzz! Beep!

Goodbye sleep.

Time to get out of bed.

Honk! Zoom!

Rumble! Vroom!

Time for the bus to come.

Rush. Zing!

The late bell rings.

Time to take my seat.

Scritch, scratch.

Quiet at last.

Mr. White helps me write a poem.

The Tower, symbolic or real, is the theme of this speculative fiction anthology. Read more about it at Goodreads.

Another update: I am giving away two copies of the spec fiction anthology HIDES THE DARK TOWER at my author Facebook page. I was honored when editors Kelly Harmon and Vonnie Winslow Crist asked me to write a poem to open the anthology. Stop by to enter into the drawing.

Last, I thought it would be fun to reprint something from my very first blog post, from August of 2008. I was just back from a creativity workshop with master storyteller Odds Bodkin.

This Week’s Writing Exercise (Appropriate for All Ages and Levels)

Don’t Write! Imagine

We often ask students, and ourselves, to be imaginative when writing. But imagination without boundaries can be uncomfortable. After all, our imaginations produce nightmares. Here is one of Odds’ best recommendations from the storytelling workshop: when you’re asking someone to use his/her imagination, start with a familiar setting to warm-up those mental muscles. So, put away the notebook and pencil while you try this exercise in sensory imagination (adapted from Odds Bodkin’s workshop). You can take notes later.

Sit quietly, close your eyes and imagine that you are in your bedroom. Your bare feet are standing on a low marble pedestal. Turn slowly – 360 degrees – and take in every detail of the room. Not just the pictures on the walls and the colors of the bed spread, but also any smells, and the temperature of the air. You notice a light coming from under the bed. Filled with curiosity, you step off the pedestal. You move the bed aside with one hand – it’s as light as an empty box and glides across the floor. There, where you expected to see carpet or planks of wood, is a window. What a strange place for a window! How can sunlight be shining through a window in your floor? You kneel down beside the window and see… this is the tricky part, writers. Without composing a story, let your imagination see, feel, hear, taste and smell whatever is beyond that window. Let us know what’s out there.

Thank you all! Blogging at Author Amok has been an adventure. It’s been wonderful to have so many traveling companions.

View more on Laura Shovan's website »

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on January 28, 2016 09:40

January 25, 2016

Tiger Laughs When You Push

Since my middle grade novel sold in 2014, I’ve gotten to know many of my fellow debut authors. Within that group is a small cadre of poets who also write fiction for children. Some of us have had long careers publishing in literary journals and teaching creative writing before we made the cross-over to a big-press contract with a middle grade or YA novel.

One of these poets is Ruth Lehrer. Ruth’s fiction and poetry is widely published in the world of small presses. Her novel for children, BEING FISHKILL, debuts from Candlewick in 2017. You can read about it here.

Find it at Amazon.

Today, I’d like to focus on Ruth’s poetry. She’s celebrating the new year with the publication of her first chapbook, TIGER LAUGHS WHEN YOU PUSH, from Headmistress Press.

Let’s take a look at a poem first, then Ruth will join us to talk about it. In my last post, we were looking at how to create tension between the characters in a poem. The small space of a poem doesn’t give the poet much room for backstory, so tension must be communicate through small, often symbolic, details. Pay attention to all of the layers that Ruth creates between the two people in her poem, “Détente.”

Détente

By Ruth Lehrer

A military man

forty years

in the people’s liberation

army, now he grows

a garden in a westchester suburb.

Fight the chemo and

the foreign food

he speaks only chinese

and I only english.

We meet in gestural middle

to discuss his eggplants

qie zi — my one chinese word.

Tempting fate

he plants my two

new england garlics

and the next year

he has eight.

I asked Ruth to give us a little bit of background on this poem.

“This poem came from a memory of an actual interaction I had with a member of my extended family. Memories, though, are always your interpretation of the event or image. A poem is an interpretation of that interpretation. Sometimes a narrative transforms into something less transparent than the original story. Sometimes not. Sometimes a simple image becomes a narrative. The reader also is an interpreter, creating a logic to hold the poet’s words together. Which of course, may be similar to the writer’s interpretation … or not.”

Ruth Lehrer is a writer and sign language interpreter living in western Massachusetts. Her fiction and poetry have been published in journals such as Jubilat, DecomP, and Trivia: Voices of Feminism. She is the author of the poetry chapbook, TIGER LAUGHS WHEN YOU PUSH, published by Headmistress Press. Her novel, BEING FISHKILL, will be published in 2017. She can be found at ruthlehrer.com

View more on Laura Shovan's website »

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on January 25, 2016 17:00

January 23, 2016

Blizzard Poem

Early this morning, a bright white flashed at the windows and thunder shook the house. I knew this blizzard would be a significant one for me. It is the first storm where keeping everyone indoors does not include my son. He is six hours away, a freshman in college.

“An Absolute Vista” is an older poem of mine about a winter storm (judging from my son’s age in the poem, it must have been 2002 or 2003). A few weeks ago, I was visiting Marriott’s Ridge High School, working with students in my role as HoCoPoLitSo’s Writer-in-Residence. The high schoolers had been reading a packet of poems, ones I have written and a few that I’ve edited. I asked them which poems they wanted to discuss. A young man at a back table raised his hand and asked for this poem. There were two English classes attending the session, and we had an in-depth discussion about the characters in this poem: who is acting, who is observing and reporting, and what does this say about their relationships? We talked about elements in the poem that create a sense of tension between the mother/speaker, the son, and the father.

There’s a strange detachment that happens when I enter into a conversation about one of my own poems, especially an older one. That detachment helps me. I’m no longer the expert on the poem. Along with the students, I am a reader. Their insights often help me recall details in the writing process that I’d forgotten, or to see elements of the poem I wasn’t fully aware of.

A little history on this poem: It was written in response to William Stafford’s “With Kit, Age 7, At the Beach,” and takes its title from a line in that poem. What do you notice when you read the poems side by side?

An Absolute Vista

By Laura Shovan

Our six year old climbed a snow bank at the back door

to walk and meet his father.

The snow was deep.

White erased everything – fences, sandbox.

Ground was something to imagine.

Why would he go?

His weight was too sleight

to puncture the icy crust with his boots.

Our son floated on the surface, a dark form

crawling away from the house.

Midway he stopped.

No one near but the wind, racing.

My husband left off sweeping pear branches,

strode deeply toward our child,

and lifted him off that shifting surface.

One body, they turned for home,

each step sinking to the good, solid ground.

from Mountain, Log, Salt, and Stone