How I Spent My Summer (Plus Publication News)

Happy Friday! 

Today, I continue our TeachingAuthors series on something fun, interesting, or unusual we did over the summer. Esther kicked off the series back in August with this post about the joy she experienced facilitating a Manuscript Workshop in Vermont and also while helping several of her authors birth new books. Next, April gave us this sneak peek into her writing retreat with her best friend, Bruce Balan, and she shared a sensory-filled poetry writing prompt. Mary Ann wrote in September of rediscovering Brenda Ueland's classic So You Want to Write and being once again inspired to write with JOY. (Hmm. That seems a recurring theme here.) And most recently, Bobbi discussed starting a new chapter of her life and contemplating What happens next?  In today's post, I will share bits of writing-related news and a recently published poem. You'll also find a link to this week's Poetry Friday roundup at the end of the post. 

We've had an unseasonably warm fall so far in the Chicago area, and a taste of summer seems to still linger here in the middle of October. I kicked off summer with a visit to downtown Naperville to check out the 18 painted duck sculptures scattered around town. (Watch a video about the ducks here.)

However, I didn't spend as much time outdoors this summer as I would have liked. Instead, I worked on bringing my young adult historical Playing by Heart back into print. I don't recall if I've mentioned here that the book's publisher, Vinspire Publishing, closed their doors unexpectedly in late 2024. I was shocked by the news, but grateful they returned all rights to their authors before completely shutting down. 

Years ago, after I got the rights back from Candlewick for my first novel, Rosa, Sola, I self-published the paperback and ebook versions. But lots has changed since then, and it took longer to get Playing by Heart back into print than I expected. I was finally able to release the new edition, which now includes book discussion questions, on September 8. I'm hoping the book discussion questions will be used by book clubs, classroom teachers, and homeschooling groups. And I'm inviting these groups to join my 25 Book Clubs Challenge. 

As a thank you for participating, I'm offering a free virtual visit to any group that reads the book. I love sharing the true story of the two amazing sisters who inspired Playing by Heart, so I hope you'll help spread the word to any group that might be interested. While Playing by Heart is considered young adult because the main characters are teens, many adult readers have enjoyed it, including members of two adult book clubs I've already visited.  Please help me meet my goal of speaking to at least 25 groups! For more about the challenge, see the Book Clubs page of my website. 

I'm also happy to share two other bits of publication news I received over the summer. First, I found out that my story, “Blessing in Disguise,” was accepted for publication in Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Spirit of Christmas: 101 Joyful Holiday Stories edited by Amy Newmark, which released just this week! 

You may recall that I had a story in last year's Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tales of Christmas: 101 Stories of Holiday Joy, Love and Gratitude. It's fun to have stories in back-to-back Chicken Soup holiday books. But what makes this even MORE fun is the fact that my friend and critique group partner Julie Phend also has a story in The Spirit of Christmas, and we'll be having a joint book signing at Anderson's Bookshop in Naperville on Sunday, November 23, 2025 at 2:00 PM! Details are posted on the Anderson's website here. I hope some of our TeachingAuthors readers will join us!

My second bit of publishing news is that I have a poem in the fall 2025 issue of Little Thoughts Press Magazine. The poem, "Thirsty Amaryllis" is one I first wrote years ago, but it wasn't until recently that I revised it to my satisfaction. I hope you can read it in the photo I took of the magazine page below. Or you can get your own copy of the magazine in print or pdf form here.  

 

For more poetry, check out this week's Poetry Friday roundup hosted by Sarah Grace Tuttle.

Happy writing!

Carmela

FRIENDS WRITING RETREAT & POETRY PROMPT

A WRITING RETREAT WITH MY BEST FRIEND

Howdy, Campers ~ and happy Poetry Friday! 

Today's PF host is Heidi at My Juicy Little Universe. Her link, my poem, a poetry prompt, and a link to my one-day, 3-hour Writing Poetry class on September 24, 2025 are at the end of this post

This August, Bruce Balan and his wife Alene D. Rice (who have been sailing around the world on their boat, Migration for twenty years) stayed with us for a month. 

Bruce and Alene on Migration, 

their home for over 20 years.

Migration is named after Bruce Balan's picture book,
THE CHERRY MIGRATION; thus, her cherry red hull.

In case you're wondering, they are the most marvelous house guests you'd imagine: they tiptoed in if they came back late at night, treated us to dinners, came bearing gifts (manuka honey!), often left for a few days to visit friends and relatives, and left a bouquet of fresh flowers and hidden thank yous all over the house. Our dog and cat adored them so much, our cat slept on their bed for days after they'd left. (Okay, yes, I was a tad jealous that our pets' affections transferred to Bruce and Alene so completely and so fast.)

Kitty waited at their bedroom door 
until they came home

Bruce and I have been sending each other a poem a day since 2010. Months ago, Bruce suggested that he and I plan a writing retreat when they came to the States, so that we could sort through our 10,000+ poems to find the gems for a book.

What fun!

Here's a peek, culled from my journal, of our first full day:

After yesterday's four-hour drive up the California coast, today has been very productive. 

Morning: Bruce and I made breakfast, then practiced yoga on the front grass (he and Alene do yoga on their boat every day, guided by this app which gives clear—and kind—instructions). The lawn overlooks Peacock Hill Farm's 50 acres of orchards, and the beautiful rolling hills of neighboring farms.

Fields of Peacock Hill Farm and beyond

The owners, whose house adjoined our rental, were out of town--so we were the rulers of this gorgeousness for three full days. At first, we were nervous that the peacocks would wake us up early each morning with the typical infant wailing/screaming alley cat music they make. But it turned out that there were only two who never screeched. We named them John and Mary.

Our work begins. Thank goodness Bruce is so organized. He sets our daily schedule, and I'm grateful for that:

1: Sitting in separate work spaces, we each re-read some of the hundreds of poems written by the other, adding only those we thought might fit our book to a folder. (I made a YES folder of his poems that were "maybes," and he made a YES folder for mine)

2: During another timed hour, we sat across from each other at the kitchen table discussing each possible YES poem with brutal honesty. Well, it wasn't exactly brutal--maybe steadfast is a better word. 

I was wondering how my ego would take the jettisoning of some of my favorite poems. To my surprise, it wasn't hard to agree when he didn't think a poem fit. Take a seat, ego!

3: We took a walk through the avocado orchards (the AirB&B owners invited guests to pick as much of their fruit as we wanted).

4: We worked, separately evaluating poems for another hour...

5: ...then walked, discovering incredibly delicious, ripe tangerines on trees all around us. Those, too, we were also encouraged to harvest. 

6: We evaluated poems together for another hour.

Then, we had delicious Mexican food in a crowded little diner filled with Spanish-speaking diners. Yum!

 And that was Day 1.

Bruce and moi at the AirB&B,
overlooking hills and neighboring fields

We didn't get a photo of John and Mary Peacock, 

but peacocks were everywhere at the rental:

on pillows, paintings, sculptures, books, and so much more

Here's a sample of how emailing poems back and forth has worked for us over the years (except I've added my name and copyright info for this post)

 THE UBBERY TREE
(GREATLY REVISED AS A RESULT OF YOUR CRITIQUE)
by April Halprin Wayland

I wish I could FaceBook our old avocado.   
She held out her arms for us to climb
when I was nine.

My sister dubbed her The Ubbery Tree;
we knighted my sister our Ubbery Queen—
her crown was green. 

We stepped in the middle of our dappled tree tent,
crunched on brown leaves, sticks and dirt,
we smelled wild earth.

We searched for her fruit, climbed her rough branches,
rode her dragon-grey trunk, holding on tight
in filtered light.

We crushed glossy leaves between our fingers,
then breathed her licorice perfume
in our leafy room.

I wish I could FaceBook our old avocado.
She held out her arms for us to climb
when I was nine.

(c) 2011 April Halprin Wayland, all rights reserved

From: Bruce Balan To: 'April Halprin Wayland' 
Sent: Wed, May 11, 2011 10:54 pm
Subject: RE: poem for May 11, 2011 REWRITE OF THE UBBERY TREE

I like this better!
More tree, less sister.
A fine avocado tree
You can’t resist her.

Love,
BB

POETRY PROMPT: Remembering A Special Tree

1) Close your eyes.  Breathe.  Think back; remember a tree.

2) Jot down as many memories about the tree as you can.  Scribble wildly about the smells, about each sense. 

3) You're looking for real details.  The ants.  The nest.  A dead hatchling under the tree. Fruit-juice dribbling down your chin.

4) If you find a tree that reminds you of your long-ago tree, go to it now.  Lie under it. Look up. Run your fingers along its trunk. Crush and smell its leaves. Climb it.

5) I couldn't go back to my tree, so I went to Pixabay and typed child climbing avocado tree, child climbing tree.  Even though neither photo I chose was an avocado tree, the photos brought back the Ubbery Tree and helped me remember more details.

Image by Mircea Iancu from Pixabay

Image by beauty_of_nature from Pixabay

6) Okay.  So now you have the raw material.  Now what?  I finally decided on three-lined stanzas in which the last two lines rhymed.  In the end, the rhythm of each third line is the same. Try this...or find another poem you love and imitate the structure of that. Enjoy your tree memories!

I'd love to hear what tree you (or your students?) chose to write about!

And speaking of students, UCLA Extension Writers' Program is offering my 3-hour one-day Writing Poetry for Children class on Wednesday, September 24th, noon-3pm PST. I'd love to meet you there in your little zoom square!

In the end, it's the specifics, the details that make a poem.

Thank you, Margaret, for hosting Poetry Friday today at Reflections on the Teche

Last Line of this year's Progressive Poem

The 2025 Progressive Poem

Ends Here!

Howdy, Campers, and welcome!

As Linda Baie wrote (exclamation marks and all): “Irene Latham began the Progressive Poem and hosted it from 2012-2019. Those archives of the poem can be found HERE! Margaret Simon took over
in 2020, and those archives are HERE!”

The rules: 1) The poem passes from blog to blog. 2) Each poet/blogger adds a line. 3) The poem is for children.

Here are some juicy quotes from Heidi Mordhorst’s March 29, 2018 interview with Irene Latham and Liz Steinglass about each Progressive Poem's team over the years:

Irene: People may come with some idea of where they would like to take it, but also an understanding that it may not go there at all.

Liz: And I think this exercise can be a reminder to let go, relinquish control, and see where things go.

Heidi: It’s a situation of “trust without danger,” isn’t it, and the reason I think that most of us (even though many of us who want to write tend to write by ourselves and it IS hard to give up ownership), can do it in this case because there’s really no stakes. It’s just for fun, it’s to play, and if things don’t go quite the way we expected, we just step back and say, “Oooh, that’s so interesting!”

Irene: I will tell you that some people take it very seriously, talk about how they couldn’t sleep the night before their line, and I think people really want to bring their best and that they really love the positive feedback. That’s a good thing in our community, being encouragers and cheerleaders of each other’s efforts, and you know you’re going to get that, but you also want to be the person who brings some really cool word to the poem, turns it in a new direction, but that’s why we’re here: to encourage each other! That’s why people invest in it, because they want that—being pushed by the community to bring their best to it.

........................................
Confession: I'm one of this year's participants who've lost sleep over it.

Can I say how much I love the line Linda Mitchell chose to start the poem? It makes me want to open my windows wide.

I began wondering...could I repeat Linda's first line as the last line? Would it work with the mystery line coming my way? If it does...our poem would be an envelope poem! (There are several definitions of envelope poems. Here's my post which includes a Writing Workout towards the end about envelope poems)

When Deborah Davis' evocative 29th line flew onto our poem, I began playing with the rhythm of her line. In trying to emulate her rhythm, I looked up the word April in different languages. The Finnish word sounded promising: huhtikuu (hooth-teek-koo) Until it didn't.

Instead, I found inspiration in Linda Baie's line (4th-from-the-end). And the rest is history.

........................................

And now, drum roll, please...

photo by Nguyen Tuan Hung from pixabay

Here, without further ado, is our CPP-2025 (Complete Progressive Poem of 2025):

SPRING WISHES FOR US ALL title by Linda Baie (slightly modified by my dog Sadie)

Open an April window
let sunlight paint the air
stippling every dogwood
dappling daffodils with flair

Race to the garden
where woodpeckers drum
as hummingbirds thrum
in the blossoming Sweetgum

Sing as you set up the easels
dabble in the paints
echo the colors of lilac and phlox
commune without constraints

Breathe deeply the gifts of lilacs
rejoice in earth’s sweet offerings
feel renewed-give thanks at day’s end
remember long-ago springs

Bask in a royal spring meadow
romp like a golden-doodle pup!
startle the sleeping grasshoppers
delight in each flowering shrub…

Drinking in orange-blossom twilight
relax to the rhythm of stars dotting sky
as a passing Whip-poor-will gulps bugs
We follow a moonlit path that calls us

Grab your dripping brushes!
Our celestial canvas awaits
There we swirl, red, white, and blue
Behold what magic our montage creates!

Such marvelous palettes the earth bestows
When rain greens our hopes, watch them grow, watch them grow!

                                           ........................................
Regarding a title, I asked Margaret Simon, Irene Latham, Amy Ludwig Vanderwater, Robyn Hood Black, Doraine Bennet, Jeannine Atkins, and Linda Baie: who titles our completed poem? Apparently, there is no rule.

So, Campers ~ Here's your assignment:
1) Read this terrific prompt about titling a poem, which Margaret pointed me to...
2) After you've been blown away by the example in that prompt...
3) I'd love to hear your suggestion for the title of this year's poem! ........................................
HERE'S THE COMMUNITY OF POETS WHO HATCHED THIS POEM:
April 1 Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
April 2 Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect
April 3 Robyn at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 4 Donna Smith at Mainely Write
April 5 Denise at Dare to Care
April 6 Buffy at Buffy Silverman
April 7 Jone at Jone Rush Macculloch
April 8 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
April 9 Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference
April 10 Marcie at Marcie Flinchum Atkins
April 11 Rose at Imagine the Possibilities
April 12 Fran Haley at Lit Bits and Pieces
April 13 Cathy Stenquist at Cathy Stenquist
April 14 Janet Fagel at Mainly Write
April 15 Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy
April 16 Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm
April 17 Kim Johnson at Common Threads
April 18 Margaret at Reflections on the Teche
April 19 Ramona at Pleasures from the Page
April 20 Mary Lee at A(nother) Year of Reading
April 21 Tanita at {fiction instead of lies}
April 22 Patricia Franz at Patricia Franz
April 23 Ruth at There’s No Such Thing as a Godforsaken Town
April 24 Linda Kulp Trout at Linda Kulp Trout
April 25 Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe
April 26 Michelle Kogan at: Michelle Kogan
April 27 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
April 28 Pamela Ross at Words in Flight
April 29 Diane Davis at Starting Again in Poetry
April 30 April Halprin Wayland at Teaching Authors

It's time to dance, poets ~

here's a song for our celebration:
"The Last Line"

Thank you, Sadie, for hanging out with me
for hours while I sweated over this post.

(This is Sadie, watching her current favorite movie, FLOW,

made in Latvia, and winner of the 2025 Academy Award for Animation.

It's wonderous! Run, do not walk to see it)

PS: For me, April is whiplash month. I'm constantly turning around, wondering who just called my name--when they're simply making dinner reservations. Yes, my birthday is in April; I was named for the Ogden Nash poem, "Always Marry an April Girl". 

Poem That Changes Everything

Howdy Campers, and Happy Poetry Friday! (The link to PF is below).

Today I'm sharing a recent post from author/poet Alison McGhee's glorious blog...a poem that will change everything for you. 

I promise.

I subscribe to Alison's blog; each poem she chooses floats into my inbox as Poem of the Week. The gift is not only Alison's choice of poems, but her short intros to each poem, which are as gorgeous as the poems she chooses:

Here's the link to the poem she sent May 29, 2021--do click on it...her brief intros are definitely worth reading. But here's the poem if you can't click:

IF THE MOON CAME OUT ONLY ONCE A MONTH
by Cathy Ross

If the moon came out only once a month
people would appreciate it more. They’d mark it
in their datebooks, take a walk by moonlight, notice
how their bedroom window framed its silver smile.
And if the moon came out just once a year,
it would be a holiday, with tinsel streamers
tied to lampposts, stores closing early
so no one has to work on lunar eve,
travelers rushing to get home by moon-night,
celebrations with champagne and cheese.
Folks would stay awake ’til dawn
to watch it turn transparent and slowly fade away.
And if the moon came out randomly,
the world would be on wide alert, never knowing
when it might appear, spotters scanning empty skies,
weathermen on TV giving odds—“a 10% chance
of moon tonight”—and when it suddenly began to rise,
everyone would cry “the moon is out,” crowds
would fill the streets, jostling and pointing,
night events would be canceled,
moon-closure signs posted on the doors.
And if the moon rose but once a century,
ascending luminous and lush on a long-awaited night,
all humans on the planet would gather
in huddled, whispering groups
to stare in awe, dazzled by its brilliance,
enchanted by its spell. Years later,
they would tell their children, “Yes, I saw it once.
Maybe you will live to see it too.”
But the moon is always with us,
an old familiar face, like the mantel clock,
so no one pays it much attention.
Tonight
why not go outside and gaze up in wonder,
as if you’d never seen it before,
as if it were a miracle,
as if you had been waiting
all your life.

For more information on Cathy Ross, check out her website.

I imitated this poem, choosing my own subject, playing it out, as Cathy Ross did. Amazing. Try it!

from pixabay

Carol's hosting today at Carol's Corner

Posted with love by April Halprin Wayland

POETRY IN THE TIME OF COVID19

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Howdy, Campers, and Happy Poetry Friday! (My poem and the PF link is below)

The topic we TeachingAuthors are exploring in this round is Creativity in the Time of the Coronavirus, a take-off on the title, Love in the Time of Cholera. It's funny--I've been thinking about the title of that book a lot lately, though I've never read it. I wonder if you've thought of that title, too.

And as much as I appreciate and am in awe of the shower of resources, inspirations and suggested activities raining down around us,

can I be totally honest here and say that simply reading the title of each link tires me out?

Eli, after looking at too many Instagram posts

In suggesting this topic, our Blog's Founder and Queen Mother, Carmela, sent us this link to Cynthia Leitich Smith's Twitter thread on March 22nd. (I've condensed it--it was 10 separate tweets on the same day):

Dear Children's-YA Author/Illustrator,

• It’s okay if you can’t get any writing and/or artwork done today.
• It’s okay if you need your writing and/or artwork more than ever.
• It’s okay if you’re upset that your new book isn’t getting the attention it deserves.
• It’s okay if you’re struggling to do online events.
• It’s okay if you don’t have a single idea for a video lesson or activity.
• It’s okay if you’re opting out of online events.
• It’s okay if you owe people messages.
• It’s okay if you don’t have the money to purchase or donate.
• It’s okay if you can’t focus on anything beyond your family/household.
• You take care. Wash your hands. Do what you need to do. Really, it’s okay.

I love all those okays. This list is so forgiving. So comforting.

Have you looked at your calendar lately after canceling event after event, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief?

I had to stop attending my beloved critique group when I was ill and have yet to reconnect. I couldn't drive across Los Angeles for an hour when I was sick. Once I let that go, I realized something: that drive is not healthy for me even when I'm well. 

And thus I eliminated several things I'd done regularly for years.

Am I an agoraphobic in an audacious person's clothing?

On March 24th (So long ago, right?  Where have all my days gone?), I was feeling "teacherly" and emailed a friend, who seemed as lost as I feel now:

Dear Janey,

I think you're asking for survival tips. 

Yesterday my survival tip was to label what I feel. I feel lethargic. Just finding that one right word for how I was feeling helped me. And I stopped yelling at myself for not being as productive as I imagine everyone else is. I just let little April be lethargic. 

Today I made a point of meditating before having breakfast. (What? Delay my breakfast????). Because it's easy to not meditate as my day speeds off on its own. This helped.
And I hiked with my dog and my two grand dogs (I call myself their Dogma) on a beautiful, muddy trail. Drenching myself in green always moves my meter closer to happy.

Note that this upbeat, helpful email was written when my son and his fiancee were hunkered down with us. I loved having them and their dogs fill our house. (Bonus: he bakes bread every day. That smell is house perfume.)  But they drove off to New Mexico two weeks ago, where he'll starts his residency in emergency medicine soon. (I know--yay, Son, and also, oh, dear...).

So now I'm alone most of the day, which is VERY different. I am not gardening. I am not making ratatouille. I am not decluttering. I am not even cutting my bangs.

But how am I surviving creatively?

I write a poem every day and send it to my friend, author Bruce Balan, who sends me a poem each day, too.

Want an example?

On April 7th, I wrote in my journal:

LA County is asking everyone to refrain from even shopping for food this week. We're bracing for a big wave of COVID-19...unless we all lay low. This is kind of like when you're in the ocean and you've miscalculated and that huge wave, which you'd thought you could swim over, is about to crash on top of you and you dive deep, hoping to avoid being in the washing-machine of the wave.

from Pixabay

And here's my April 7, 2020 poem (I immediately want to tell you that it's just a draft and I know it needs cutting and lots of other things are wrong with it, but I refrain from telling you this):

DADDY TOOK YOUR HAND

by April Halprin Wayland

Remember when Daddy took your hand

after you were thrashed

in a watery washing-machine of a wave

and you both walked slowly, so slowly

into the summery ocean
as that big wave came closer

and you could barely breathe

but he was gentle

he was calm

he held your hand

until you rose above the roar

as it pounded sand

and when the next one—the very next one

came growling at both of you

he showed you how to dive deep,

deeper then you thought you could go

below the wave's grasp

so it rumbled it rumbled

past

and all waves

the rest of that day

were just plain old nothing-to-be-afraid-of waves

you could fly

you could breathe

you were somewhere glorious and far away

all day

poem and drawing of the child in the rain © 2020 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved

================================

So...for today, I stand back and watch the world spin. And I forgive myself. It's okay.

Thank you, Molly, at Nix The Comfort Zone for hosting Poetry Friday!

Posted with gratitude by April Halprin Wayland with help from Eli and our teeny tiny newborn pond turtle:

2 Poems of Hope for the New Year

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Howdy, Campers ~ and happy Poetry Friday!  (Two poems and the PF link are below)

CONGRATULATIONS to the TeachingAuthors reader who won Kimberly Hutmacher's book, Your Nose Never Stops Growing and Other Cool Human Body Facts in our last giveaway of the year.... drum roll, please...

 ---> John S! <---
(This is not a picture of John, but I'll bet he's this excited)

I'm honored to be writing the last TeachingAuthors post of our 10th year. We'll return refreshed and ready to entertain, educate and inspire you on January 10, 2020.
......................................................................................................

I wanted to end this year with a note of hope.

Or two.

I scrolled through old poems tagged with the word hope--there are lots!

Then I cold-bloodedly killed off all but two...and can't decide which to post. So here are two to send you into the new year with hearts full of hope. Which do you prefer?

IN KAUAI
by April Halprin Wayland
July 27, 2018

I'm fourteen

the sand is neon hot

I run into the sea

letting its waves drink me

I swim as if I'm in our school's pool

burying my face in its warm water

savoring that strange grey light the concrete walls cast

reveling in its chlorine smell

but I'm in Kauai, Hawaii, salt in my eyes, salt in the air

there are fish below, but I don't have a snorkel or mask

so I swim and swim and swim—

there are no concrete walls here

and oof! I bump into a snorkeling man and his daughter

we laugh and he takes off his gear, "Here—you've got to see this"

as if it were the most natural thing

as if we were long-time friends

so I do—I put my mouth on the bite tab

even though we've never met—

and slip on the mask to see
what I knew was there

what I didn't know

was how much kindness
was swimming

so near

................................................

ALMOST 10 PM

by April Halprin Wayland
August 19, 2010

My brain is sinking into the first chapter of a really great book.

I’m on top of the bed leaning against four fat pillows

wearing my seriously soft socks

as always.

Gary's reading The Economist on the little couch

head back against the square cushion he’s positioned just right  

feet on the opposite arm of the couch

as always.

Eli is upside down, back legs against the couch

front legs straight up in the air, paws flopped

eyes closed, breathing deeply

as always.

The balcony door nearest the couch

is open

letting in a loose tangle of African daisies

and this just-right August night.

I turn a page.

Something makes me look up.

Elsie

pokes her head in the bedroom door.

Her green eyes narrow.

She studies the dog for a minute.

Then she slinks blackly along the edge of the room

towards our bed.

I wave my arm frantically over my head,

finally catch Gary's eye,

mouth, “ELSIE!”

and point.

Elsie is evading a predator.

She relaxes as she slips past the bed

which will block Eli's view if he wakes,

then takes a cat-light leap, landing next to my thigh.

By the time I turn on the ten’ clock news

(which wakes Eli)

Elsie is warm on my stomach.

Eli trots over.

She offers her head to him for a lick.

For several licks.

She leans further forward,

purring.

His tail wags furiously.

He puts his paw on her

and cocks his head.

Her ears flatten.

Elsie's purr goes guttural, dark, deep.

Eli sits down.

Then he yawns (I am so bored).
Chews an itch by his tail. Lies down.

Maybe there is hope

for peace

in the Middle East

after all.

 Elsie & Eli the first day they met, 2010

Eli romancing Elsie when they were young

poems (c) 2019 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.

..............................

From all of us at TeachingAuthors ~
may you have moments of peace
this holiday season
and may we all find hope
in the new year.

And thank you, Buffy, for hosting Poetry Friday today!

posted with a little help from Eli by April Halprin Wayland

2018's Progressive Poem is HERE today!

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Howdy, Campers ~ And yikes!  The Progressive Poem is HERE today!

The Kidlitosphere Progressive Poem began in 2012 as a way to celebrate National Poetry Month (April) as a community of writers. Here's a three-way conversation between this poetry game's originator Irene Latham, Heidi Mordhorst, and Liz Steinglass just before 2018's poem sprouted.

This year, 30 poets signed on. Our mission: to grow the poem, one line at a time.

A few days ago, I posted a poem about my mixed-up feelings leading up to this momentous day. ...aka, the day I add a line.

This year, our instructions were: "take a minute to record your first impressions of how the [first] line strikes your imagination and what you think the poem might become."

So...I read the first line, by Liz Steinglass: Nestled in her cozy bed, a seed stretched.

Like so many others on this 30-day most excellent adventure, I was very happy with this first line because I like concrete, accessible images. I wrote:
Okay, a personified seed. Let's see...by nearly-the-end of this month, our seed will be
s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d to the max. Will she be a vine who crawls along the tops of walls? A tree who ages with each generation?

And my, my, look how our small seed has grown!  I loved Jan's line #5: invented a game. It grounded me; I couldn't wait to learn the rules of the game which Jasmine, Owl and Moon would play.  And then...off we veered! As Matt wrote: "the seed has invented a game, but she’s not playing it – which is a conundrum as far as a narrative goes." And as Heidi wrote:"you poets, you really know how to turn a ship with a well-chosen word!"

I liked Donna's prethinking of possibly including a sound, a texture, a smell...or perhaps, why be serious?  Donna jokingly toyed with the idea "that Jasmine slipped out of the owl's talons and fell to the ground and the owl ate her, The End..."

I was grateful for Sarah's grounding Jasmine on a trellis ("made of braided wind and song"~ such a pretty line) so that I could see her as a vine once more. I need images I can hold on to. (My favorite earrings are monarch butterflies. I also wear tiny bicycles, a little girl in a red dress, and big juicy slices of watermelon. My sister said: "I figured it out: you like to wear nouns.")

So, in order to be clear about what was going on in this poem, I printed it and added little drawings along the margin:

My notes. Star jasmine on the left, poet's jasmine on the right.
And boy, is its aroma intoxicating!

Along the way, Christie discovered that poet's jasmine is a real plant (which curls up the posts of our home--but I didn't know it was poet's jasmine! Thank you, for this, Christie!) According to one website, "give [this plant] heavy support [e.g., a trellis, etc.]." Isn't that what our warm community of poets and readers does?

Another site says, "this jasmine grows quickly and has a strong resilient root system." And that was my way in. I thought about what a young person could take away from our poem, especially in light of the fast-growing, newly awakened, resilient power of this generation.

So here's the poem thus far (I added a period after Kat's line):

Nestled in her cozy bed, a seed stretched.

Oh, what wonderful dreams she had had!

Blooming in midnight moonlight, dancing with

the pulse of a thousand stars, sweet Jasmine

invented a game.

“Moon?” she called across warm honeyed air.

“I’m sad you’re alone; come join Owl and me.

We’re feasting on stardrops, we’ll share them with you.”

“Come find me,” Moon called, hiding behind a cloud.

Secure in gentle talons’ embrace, Jasmine rose

and set. She split, twining up Owl’s toes, pale

moonbeams sliding in between, Whoosh, Jasmine goes.

Owl flew Jasmine between clouds and moon to Lee’s party!

Moon, that wily bright balloon, was NOT alone.

                                         Jas grinned,

                                                stretched,

                                                      reached,

                                                          wrapped

                                                        a new,

                                around           tender

                                         rootlet

a trellis Sky held out to her, made of braided wind and song.

Her green melody line twisted and clung.

Because she was twining poet’s jasmine, she

wiggled a wink back at Moon, and began her poem.

Her whispered words floated on a puff of wind,

filled with light and starsong. “Revelers, lean in –

let’s add to this merriment a game that grows

wordgifts for Lee. He’s a man who knows

selection, collection, and wisely advising

these dreamers, word-weavers, and friends.”

Jas enfolded Moon-Sky-Owl into the cup of her petals,

lifted new greens to the warming rays of spring. Sun

smeared the horizon with colour, as Jasmine stretched.
She felt powerful. She felt fresh. She bloomed and took a breath

The Progressive Poem is a kind of poet's relay race isn't it?

 So it is with a deep breath of relief, that I hand it over to dear Doraine...

  who takes us to the finish line!

Thanks for creating this, Irene ~ and thank you to every member of this year's team!2018 Progressive Poetry Contributors:

1 Liz at Elizabeth Steinglass

2 Jane at Raincity Librarian

3 Laura at Writing the World for Kids

4 Michelle at Today's Little Ditty

5 Jan at bookseedstudio

6 Irene at Live Your Poem

7 Linda at TeacherDance

8 Janet F. at Live Your Poem

9 Ramona at Pleasures from the Page

10 Matt at Radio, Rhythm and Rhyme

11 Brenda at Friendly Fairy Tales

12 Carol at Beyond LiteracyLink

13 Linda at A Word Edgewise

14 Heidi at my juicy little universe

15 Donna at Mainely Write

16 Sarah at Sarah Grace Tuttle

17 Ruth at There is no such thing asa Godforsaken town

18 Christie at Wondering and Wandering

19 Michelle at Michelle Kogan

20 Linda at Write Time

21 Robyn at Life on the Deckle Edge

22 Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference

23 Amy at The Poem Farm

24 Mary Lee at A Year of Reading

25 Kiesha at Whispers from the Ridge

26 Renee at No Water River

27 Buffy at Buffy's Blog

28 Kat at Kat's Whiskers

29 April at Teaching Authors

30 Doraine at Dori Reads 

posted with love by April Halprin Wayland, with help from Eli and Monkey

Monkey and Eli share a favorite poem

from Louis Untermeyer's The Golden Treasury of Poetry