Thursday, November 26, 2020

At This Table

 Happy Thanksgiving Friends,

What a strange holiday season. I sincerely hope all my poet friends are well. This week's round-up is hosted at Carol's Corner. Thank you, Carol.

One of the poems shared on social media this week was Perhaps The World Ends Here, by Joy Harjo. It's a lovely poem especially as we gather around holiday tables. The fifth stanza's opening grabbed me. I felt a need to respond. 
How about you?

Perhaps The World Ends Here
By Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
(read the rest here)

Response to Joy Harjo...

At This Table

We eat and talk
Sometimes, we are quiet
amongst junk mail, napkins,
and baseball caps
Mom has asked us a million times
to clear away.
These days, there is a plastic bucket
labeled with a sticky note
that reads dirty masks.

At this table we share
Pokemon achievements
and memes from our phones.
We chat about school and work.
We pass the salt, we say please
and thank you, move plates aside
for games of cribbage.

At this table, we alternate between singing prayer
or, real prayer--a bare-bones
quick thanks for the very hungry.

At this table, we laugh and cry
or patch up fights.
Sometimes, rules are laid down
as sure as forks and knives.

At this table, we introduce
girlfriends or boyfriends
to the rest of us.
We are family
no matter who sits in a chair
to butter toast
sip wine
blow out birthday candles
sweep up crumbs
of this delicious life.

(c) Linda Mitchell Thanksgiving '20 (draft)

At this table we are grateful...mixed media card by Linda

Thursday, November 19, 2020

Response to 'The Way In'

 Happy Friday, Poets

This past week I've enjoyed writing along to the prompts of Dr. Sarah Donovan's Ethical ELA's 5-Day Open Write.  During the week, I learned of poet Linda Hogan. I was so taken with her poem, Inside, that I went skipping off to read more at The Poetry Foundation. 

Hogan is a Native American poet with several published works to her credit. If you don't know her, please find poems by her right away. Here's The Way In, which I paired with a photo of a recent walk and reflection of my own...a sort of call and response.

The Poetry Friday round-up is hosted at Teacher Dance this week.

Thursday, November 12, 2020

If Robyn, haiku

 Hello Poets,

Hooray! Robyn's hosting Poetry Friday. How does our Artsy Letters friend keep up as the holiday's approach? I'm delighted that she's celebrating more haiku publications these days. Pop over to see her beautiful post at Life on the Deckle Edge for an uplifting sampling of her work.

I think of haiku when I see Robyn's name. She's skilled in more poetry forms and art in general. However, her haiku are extraordinary. She inspires me to haiku -- too.

(c) Linda Mitchell November 12, 2020

(c) Linda Mitchell November 12, 2020

Wednesday, November 4, 2020

Gratitude Thursday: November

 I am thankful today for a small thing that my mother-in-law made for me. 

I'm not sure what it's called. It's a sort of cozy. I can put it around a bowl or my giant mug when I use the microwave and it keeps my hands from being burned when I retrieve my soup or tea. And, because my office is upstairs in my bedroom during the pandemic, the cozy has saved the carpet on my stairs from wayward drips.

My mother-in-law made several of these for me and our family. Every time I use one I think of her and am grateful.

Yesterday, when appreciating my cozy I attempted writing a naan as I saw shared by the Poetry Sisters last week. 

I'm sending you all some warm and cozy thoughts today. Our friend, Ruth is hosting Spiritual Thursday this month. Find more warmth at her blog, There is no such no such thing as a God-forsaken town

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

Last Sunrise of Summer, an aubade

 Hello November,

Welcome, Poets. I hope all is well with you and yours. This time of year is beautiful in its way, isn't it? I always feel the tug of saying goodbye to my friends, the leaves. They take all the stories we've whispered together since spring. Time to rest, my friends.

Susan Bruck at Soul Blossom Living is hosting our round-up this week with a perfect collection of silly, funny poems to put a smile on all our faces. I am so very grateful to her for these. She makes me want to write some sillies! I just might.

I challenged our Sunday SWAGGERS to write an aubade this month. 

Merriam Webster

Last Sunrise of Summer

To find out what one is fitted to do 

and to secure an 

opportunity to do it is

the key to happiness.

-- John Dewey

We linger this last sunrise

of summer, you and I

each with our work to do

and return to

I have caressed 

as many blossoms 

as Sun called forth

with its many

green thumbs    

your goldenrod nectar

Pungent and bright

our love would heal sorrows--

a tincture for winter nights.

Can we preserve this one last morning? Label a jar in your flowery script sign the date as the title  of this poem

(c) Linda Mitchell -- draft

See more aubade poems at: 

Reading to the Core
Nix the Comfort Zone
My Juicy Little Universe
Reflections on the Teche

Photo that inspired the poem

paper wasp & goldenrod