1 Way I Play: Poem Making!

 Howdy, Campers, and Happy Poetry Friday! 

In this round, we TeachingAuthors are tossing around the idea of PLAY.  Carmela started us off Playing with Poetry Snowballs; Zeena took a look at Play Deprivation During the Pandemic; Bobbi introduced us to a fascinating book called Story Engineering in My Kind of Play; Mary Ann writes about what's been taken away during the pandemic in I Got Dem Ol' Kozmic (Creative) Blues Again; and now it's my turn.

We had house guests last week! It was SOOOO good to see my longtime friend, Bruce and his wife Alene who have been sailing around the world for over 15 years! It hasn't been 15 years since we've seen them...but it was the first time my husband and I have lived with other people for over two years...

At first it was weirdly scary. Gradually, very gradually, was fine. One night, we brought out the 1960's edition of GO TO THE HEAD OF THE CLASS (remember that game?)...

I choose the token of the red-headed boy named Butch.

...and laughed our heads off at the antiquated questions. 

What a relief play provides.

I build play into my 10 week beginning picture book class, especially the class on rewriting, because it's the session I dread teaching the most. Why? Because I lift the curtain to reveal the long, painful path some picture books trudge. Using my book NEW YEAR AT THE PIER as an example, I show them its depressing nine-year timeline.

Then, to dispel the nasty fog of despair in the room, my students play...with Play-Doh! 

Can you remember that Play-Doh smell?

In an older post, I included a step-by-step description of the Play-Doh exercise. To my surprise, this exercise also works well on Zoom, so I also describe how to modify it for a virtual class.

But how do I personally play these days?  Well, not so much with Play-Doh, and for the time being, not with my folk music friends and my fiddle in our cozy livingroom. :-(

Most days I'll either exercise, hike with friends and dogs, or walk by the beach. But every day I take my vitamins and every day I dive into Poem-Making (I borrowed this word from my mentor Myra Cohn Livingston's book of the same name.)

Some days I try different poetry forms, some days I write adult poems or poetry on a particular topic. Other days I'll goof around with In One Word poems...or simply play.  Here's an example of playing with a poem I sent to Bruce in 2011. He sends me a poem every day, too.. Below the poem is the backstory I included when I sent it...and his comment.

CAMERON SCAMPER

Cameron Scamper

baked glue-crayon cake.

“Yum,” said his brother.

“Yawn,” said the snake.

 

Cameron Scamper

taught their dog how to fly

“Wow,” said his brother.

The snake closed its eyes.

 

Cameron Scamper

stopped talking for weeks.

“Gosh,” said his brother.

The snake went to sleep. 

Cameron Scamper

hid the dog in a drum.

“Oooh!” said his brother

The snake said, “Ho-hum.”

 

Cameron Scamper

made soup out of dirt.

“Yum,” said his brother.

Snake said he much prefered chocolate yogurt.

===================================
I sent this backstory to Bruce:

Always listening for odd names, I thought I heard "Cameron Scamper please report to Gate 14" at the Los Angeles International Airport...but later I heard it as a slightly tamer name.

I played with it below...and played and played and ran out of steam! 

Bruce replied: We liked this poem a lot… except for the last line (which, as you said, did run out of steam). Fix it and keep it.

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

Writing and sending a poem a day for the last 11 years has made us even closer friends than we were before. Try it and see: gGrab someone you love who loves to write and dive in!

Thank you, Linda at TeacherDance, for hosting Poetry Friday this week!

posted by April Halprin Wayland (before I've written today's poem) with the help of  Meredith and Derek our 10-month-old tortoises, Sheldon, our hibernating 28-year-old tortoise, Kitty, our most excellent pandemic adoptee, and Eli our elder statesman dog. (for pix of them scattered among other posts, see FB or Instagram)

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

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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:

MESSY,PERPLEXING POETRY--ONE GAL'S JOURNEY

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Howdy, Campers ~ and Happy Poetry Friday! (PF link at the end)

The topic of this round is MESSY MIDDLES,  talking about what happens if the middle of a novel is sagging or the middle of another project just isn't working, etc. 

I can't offer much advice or examples of this except to say that I'm always in the middle of quiet terror. Can anyone relate?

So...let's talk about the messiness of writing a poem.

Here's how this poem evolved...in four steps (I've left out many of the middle attempts):

1. Looking for an idea. 

I started with a first line: I am musing about music.

(UNTITLED)

by April Halprin Wayland

I am musing about music.

I am lost.

I cannot find my feet.

They are sinking in sand.

There is no topic.

There is not bottompic.

There is just sinking

no thinking

no help

no hope

no nothing

until a little bird.

Just a word.

Just a chirpy word.

One chirpy word.

I look up

from this hole

from sand in my hair

sand on my cheeks

sand on my hands

sand from the beach

sand into next week

at a sandpiper

at her slender needle beak

I wait for her to speak.

another chirpy word

which I find thrilling

I'm twirling in this hole

a sort of reverse drilling

I'm spinning out this hole

scattering the sand

spraying it

playing it

abyss

this poem sucks

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

2. Research. 

I looked up the word music:

From Greek mousikē, any art presided over by the Muses

Read more: http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_the_origin_of_the_word_'music'#ixzz1G3YuxcOS

The word music comes from the Greek mousikê (tekhnê) by way of the Latin musica. It is ultimately derived from mousa, the Greek word for muse. In ancient Greece, the word mousike was used to mean any of the arts or sciences governed by the Muses. Later, in Rome, ars musica embraced poetry as well as instrument-oriented music. Read more:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Definition_of_music

...and wrote this:

This is a mushroom

This is my brain.

This fat white bumpershoot

Amusing

music.

I am the piano

I am the violin

I am a stupid poem

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

3. What's at the heart of this idea? 

drawing by April Halprin Wayland

I broke away from everything above and thought about what I was feeling inside:

(UNTITLED)
by April Halprin Wayland 

Today I know

how that boy at the back desk feels

when his teacher tells him to write a poem.

He blinks blankly.

He isn't writing while all around him pencils fly.

He scratches his left eye

A storm cloud brews about his head.

His brows grow knotty.

When all around him ideas sprout

this boy at the back

is locked out.

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

I rewrote it and sent it off to my friend Bruce, who has been sailing around the world with his wife for over 13 years. Regular readers know that he and I send each other a poem a day. We've been doing it since April 2010.

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

4. Let let it cook. 

That was in March 2011. Today I searched my poems tagged WRITERS' BLOCK, found this poem (which has been cooking for quite awhile), and took another stab at it:

THE BOY IN THE BACK
by April Halprin Wayland

While all around him ideas begin,

he picks the scab on his freckled chin.

While all around him pencils fly,

his brows grow knotty, mystified.

While all around him windows open,

He closes his eyes hoping, hoping.

Ideas take root and poems sprout,

but the boy in the back?

That boy's locked out.

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

Rewrites count as a day's poem in our rule book, so I'm sending this one off.

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

Thanks to Tabatha for hosting this week's Poetry Friday at The Opposite of Indifference!

posted by April Halprin Wayland with lots of love and the help of (in order of appearance) Gin, Eli, and Penny...who are sacked out after helping to edit this:

1 Poem I Wrote When I Was Young(er)--and Happy Poetry Friday!

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Howdy Campers!  Happy National Dog Day on August 26, happy book birthday to a new and marvelous poetry resource, A POETRY FRIDAY POWER BOOK PET CRAZY By Sylvia Vardel and Janet Wong. (more on this book soon)....and happy Poetry Friday! The link to PF is below.

I'm in Kauai, and the other day we went on a glorious red-dirt tropical jungle hike, and within an hour, the heavens opened, pouring bathtubs of water on us for over an hour!  The upshot was a hilariously red-mud, slippery and stunning hike...and a drenched cell phone which lingered in a coma in a bag a rice for 24 hours, was transferred to the ICU of dehumidifying crystals, and died a sad death yesterday morning.

Which is a long way of saying that the universe did me a favor by ripping my cell phone out of my grip but also messing with me, my brain, my calendar and the fact that it is my turn to post today--oops!

None of my photos from the hike survived to float up to the cloud, so here's a picture I took of a bumpersticker the day before our hike for your amusement:

I'm the last to post on our topic along the lines of What I Wrote When I Was Young (scroll below for what I'm sure are magnificent posts by my fellow bloggettes--I haven't read them yet)

I've decided to offer you a poem I wrote it on this date seven years ago, when I was five months into my first year of writing a poem a day.

Enjoy!

I LIKE SUMMER IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER
by April Halprin Wayland

I like summer

when Eli is chewing his old bone

which hasn’t had meat on it for forever

and it is a gnawing chewing crunchy sound

and I just mixed yogurt and honey and pecans together which is

deeply delicious

I like the summer

when Mom opens the roof of our old car

and we zoom down the road with all the windows down

and my job is to watch Eli to make sure

he’s only putting his head out of the window

and not trying to hang his whole body out.

I like summer

when shoes are optional and I opt no

and the breeze is good on my shoulders

and the cement is hot on the bottoms of my feet

and we get to go to the thrift store after all the errands

and I can buy anything I want for three dollars

and I pick the little red boat with a real sail

I like summer

when Dad puts one leg on the arm of our old couch

and he’s reading a mystery novel

and its night and you can hear the crickets outside

because the door is open

and Mom and I are playing Scrabble

and I have all the letters for SUMMERY

and the first M and the Y are on triple letter squares.

I like summer

because my breathing gets slower

and we don’t have to go anywhere

and we walk the dog without shoes

and a postcard comes from my friend who lives on a sail boat

and I am almost there with him, swimming with the dolphins

and I am also here in our backyard, barefoot

eating a deeply delicious grape.

poem (c)April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved

Thank you, Jone for hosting at Check It Out!

posted with sun on my shoulders by April Halprin Wayland

3 Things I Am Doing Today...What's YOUR Fingerprint?

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

Today's TeachingAuthor topic is "What are you working on now?" An alternate topic I could have chosen was: "Since the ALA awards were announced this week, what is your reaction as a writer to the success/acclaim for other writers. Does it inspire you, or make you envious?

All last year I was thinking about the fact that we are each a fingerprint. We can only help another so much. Ultimately, each person must discover what works in her life; what her fingerprint is.

So...what am I working on now? You mean, what am I doing today?

Well. 

That's a tough one.

To be honest...

I'm not sure.

I'm so tired of the dead bodies of stories that stretch back for decades. It's not that they are unfinished. Most of them are finished. The problem is that they're not quite right. I listen to my critique group or a workshop teacher or a mentor or my best friend but mostly myself...and know that I haven't quite touched the heart of the story; it doesn't yet move the reader. I haven't gone deep enough.

I hear their comments, each given kindly in the belief that I can fix the story and then--TA-DAH! I'll send it off with a note in its lunchbox to an editor and it will roll back to me on a rose covered float with a publishing contract in hand.

I hear them. I understand that I need to jump from this lily pad to that one, by the far edge of the pond... But I can't seem to make the changes. I don't know how.

photo by me

This is hard to admit!

In my over-thirty year career as a children's book author and poet, I've seriously considered leaving the profession once before.

I remember that I was driving two hours home from ALA in San Diego on a rainy night. I had just come from a private party, celebrating an award for the book of a dear friend. And I was sobbing.

I passed a billboard featuring a beautiful baby. Maybe I should quit writing and adopt a baby, I thought.

I didn't know if I could go to one more conference where there seemed to be so much success. It was if I had stepped into Facebook where only fabulous things happen to people. I couldn't stand it anymore.

That's not exactly how I feel now. I can celebrate other people's success today. I wish I were feeling anger or rage or defiance. I'm not. What I'm feeling is heart-sickness.

So, what am I working on now? Figuring it all out: who I want to be. What I want to do. Whether I ever want to write again. (That last sentence is not exactly true. Keep reading.)

Some of this upheaval is due to the current political landscape. Part of me feels I have to stop my life and help save the world. But maybe part of me wants to do this precisely because that would be easier than wading through my confusion and sadness. Hard to know.

So here's what I'm doing:

1) For today, I am writing one poem and also writing beside my sister TeachingAuthors. I love writing a poem a day, which I've done since April 1, 2010. I send them to my friend and he sends me his. I won't stop writing a poem a day, nor will I stop blogging, which has opened a door for me I didn't even know was down the hallway.

2) For today, I have not quit my verse novel...the one I wrote and which was accepted for publication by Dial Books for Young Readers over a decade ago and then cancelled, and which I've been writing and finishing and rewriting and rewriting and not writing and nearly setting fire to since 2002. It's bubbling just under my skin. For today I am letting it bubble.

3) For today, I am listening to my own fingerprint. Just for today I am not listening to mentors or workshop leaders or best-selling writing books or even my beloved fellow writers. Just for today, I am listening to what feels right for me, teaching what feels right for this class, for this poem, for this picture book, for this novel. Maybe what I write doesn't fit into today's publishing world. And I have zero desire to self-publish. But still I think about my verse novel almost every day. Mostly with sadness, but with a touch of desire. And some small hope that maybe I haven't yet lived the part of my life that needs to be added to it to complete this book. And others, too.

"I haven't yet lived the part of my life..." Yet is a powerful word.

A month after the election, I was reading about the eyes of flies, for reasons which escape me now:

"House fly eyes are compound organs that are comprised of thousands of individual lenses. Compound eyes are capable of detecting both the polarization of light and color spectrums unseen by humans.” http://www.orkin.com/flies/house-fly/house-fly-eyes/

Reading that triggered the poem I wrote that day, which even I don't understand:

WHAT KEEPS ME GOING
by April Halprin Wayland

"Why," asked Sir Spider, "are you an optimist, friend Fly?"

"I've iridescent eyes," said the ever watchful fly...

and then she said, "Good-bye!"

poem (c) 2017 by April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.

For today, those are three things I am doing and an odd poem. That's my fingerprint. What's yours?

Thank you, Beyond LiteracyLink for hosting today ~

Posted by April Halprin Wayland with the help of Eli, who slept quietly on his doggy couch while I wrote.

Final Poem in Your Pocket for Poetry Month 2016

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Howdy Campers!

Well...how was your Poetry Month?  We TeachingAuthors celebrated our 7th (!) Blogiversary (with a book giveaway--details in that link).

Mine was a blur of activity because my new Passover picture book came out, I'm teaching this quarter, and there were a gazillion other things I was going to tell you but that I can't actually remember right now. But they were important. And they were right here a minute ago...

Photo of me from Morguefile.com

Poetry Month is ending for me this weekend in a cheerful house by a dreamy creek with a bit of yoga. That, right there, is a poem, don't you think?

Although Poem in Your Pocket Day was officially April 21st this year, I'm offering one more to close out this delicious month.

I was looking through bird poems I've written, and this one made me want to tap dance. And I am not a tap dancer.

So here's my tap dancing thank you to every bird in the Kidlitosphere-and-beyond who've splashed into this poetry pond intending to stay only a minute or two...and who have now built cheerful homes here.

A Kidlitosphere Poetry Friday selfie

CROW TALK
by April Halprin Wayland

There's a sound crows make when they gather in a crowd.

It's a woody kind of note and it's not very loud

like knuckles that are rapping on the front porch door

or a tap dancer tapping on the cracked dance floor.

When one crow makes it, the whole crowd stops.

I wonder what it means, this woodland knock?

There's a hawk in the clouds? There's a hunter on the ground?

I watch them and I practice, teach my tongue to make that sound.

Listen—I can do it! Now my mouth knows how to knock.I'm a smooth feathered bird-- I can talk crow talk.

poem (c) 2016 by April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.

This is actually true: I know one word in crow.      

And another thing that's true: you still have time to enter TeachingAuthor's 7th Blogiversary Giveaway to win the newest edition of  Carmela Martino's new edition of  Rosa, Sola (which got a starred review in BookList)! Read all about it and enter our giveaway here.

Thank you for hosting PF today, Buffy!

posted by April Halprin Wayland, tick-tock-clocking with her tongue

3 Leading Ways to Target Your Writing for Children--NOT!....and Poetry Friday!

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Howdy, Campers!  Happy Poetry Friday!  Poem and link to Poetry Friday are below ~

Our topic this round is Do you try to appeal to reluctant readers, or any particular type of reader, when you write? 

Carmela's post addresses the topic of writing to reading levels thoroughly. She writes:"If you want your writing to appeal to boys and other reluctant readers, don't try to target this particular audience. That's right, DON'T target them. Instead, write what moves, excites, or interests YOU."

Mary Ann's post, agrees: "I write what I am passionate about. I write for my inner eleven-year-old. It's the best that I can do. It's all any of us can do."

As for me?

I titled this 3 Leading Ways to Target Your Writing for Children--NOT!  because I agree with Carmela and Mary Ann's conclusions.  Essentially, write with passion and you'll hit a bullseye.

from morguefile.com

Here are three thoughts hopefully slightly related to this topic:

1) I am a reluctant reader.  Always have been. Once I dive into a book, I'm swimming, but getting to the edge of the pool, dipping my toe in? Terrifying.  Every book.  Every time.

2) Many years ago, former bookseller, and book reviewer Janet Zarem was hired by my son's elementary school to talk to parents about reading.  She began by passing out a paragraph in and asking us what it said.  Okay, so let's try it.  I'd like you to read this paragraph and tell me what it says.  You have two minutes:

*see bottom of this post for attribution*

When we saw the paragraph, we were scared'r than a long-tail cat in a room full of rockin' chairs.**

Isn't that a powerful way to show someone the world from a new or challenged or reluctant reader's point of view?

3) That's how scared many of us feel about learning anything new.

For example, UCLA Extension's Writers' Program is in the process of changing how its instructors post course materials for our students.  We are moving from a platform called Blackboard to one called Canvas.

When I saw the first email about this, I rolled into a little ball.  I felt as outdated and useless as a screen door on a submarine.***

I see now that I went through the five stages of loss and grief, finally arriving at acceptance: Wow--it's done, it didn't take long, and I am truly invincible.

Tah-dah--I did it!

RELUCTANT
by April Halprin Wayland

New?
New?
Who are you talking to?

You’ll have to leave a message—
I think I have the flu.
It’s too bad that you saw me
I stick with tried and true.

If you want revolution,
I’ll leave it up to you.

Who?
Me?
You found me up this tree?

Just cut that sheet in two?
And paste it here with glue?
That’s all we have to do?

I’m standing on my head, now:
I see your point of view.

poem and drawing (c) April Halprin Wayland 2014
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Don't forget to enter our latest book giveaway for a chance to win a copy of the 2015 Children's Writer's and Illustrator's Market (in which our very own Carmela Martino has an article!). See Carmela's post for all the details.

Update!  We have another copy to give away...so this giveaway ends on November 28--you still have time to enter!

Poetry Friday is at Merely Day By Day ~ Thanks, Cathy!

poem & drawing (c) April Halprin Wayland 2014

posted by April Halprin Wayland, who thanks you in Greek for reading all the way to here.

*from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odyssey
**from: http://charlottenewcomers.blogspot.com/2008/01/southern-expressions-uglier-than.html
***from: http://www.examiner.com/article/southern-isms-50-of-the-funniest-southern-expressions-and-colloquialisms

The Progressive Poem's denouement!

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Howdy Campers!

Remember to enter to win in our 4 x 4 Blogiversary Celebration!

Today I have the absolute honor and (as Esther would say) knee-buckling responsibility to write the last line of 2013's Progressive Poem.  Yay!  And yikes!

The brainchild of Irene Latham, this Progressive Poem has been moving from blog to blog, growing poet by poet, for 29 days until it's come here for one final line.  For the poem and a list of contributing poets, see below.
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At the end of a month posting rough drafts of poems about dogs, I think you could say that this, too, is a rough draft.  As Laura Puride Salas says, it's poetry improv.  Yes, and a poetry game.  It's been fascinating to read the process of those who've proceeded me.

When I got the line by Denise Mortensen, it's such a great line, I thought I should just write THE END.  Then I could talk about how a poet needs to know when to quit and when a good line's a good ending.  That would be funny. If only I had the courage!

But I don't.  So off we go!

Here is the list of the poets who each contributed a line (in this space, some appear to be a line and then some, but they are all really one line each), and below their names is the (yikes!) finished poem.  Take a bow, poets!

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DAY/LINE + POET

1  Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
2  Joy Acey
3  Matt Forrest Esenwine
4  Jone MacCulloch
5  Doraine Bennett
6  Gayle Krause
7  Janet Fagal
8  Julie Larios
9  Carrie Finison
10  Linda Baie
11  Margaret Simon
12  Linda Kulp
13  Catherine Johnson
14  Heidi Mordhorst
15  Mary Lee Hahn
16  Liz Steinglass
17  Renee LaTulippe
18  Penny Klostermann
19  Irene Latham
20  Buffy Silverman
21  Tabatha Yeatts
22  Laura Shovan
23  Joanna Marple
24  Katya Czaja
25  Diane Mayr
26  Robyn Hood Black
27  Ruth Hersey
28  Laura Purdie Salas
29  Denise Mortensen
30  April Halprin Wayland

P.T. BARNUM'S GREAT TRAVELING MUSEUM, MENAGERIE, CARAVAN, AND HIPPODROME*
by Thirty Poets on a mission in the Kidlitosphere...see list above

When you listen to your footsteps
the words become music and
the rhythm that you’re rapping gets your fingers tapping, too.
Your pen starts dancing across the page
a private pirouette, a solitary samba until
smiling, you’re beguiling as your love comes shining through.

Pause a moment in your dreaming, hear the whispers
of the words, one dancer to another, saying
Listen, that’s our cue! Mind your meter. Find your rhyme.
Ignore the trepidation while you jitterbug and jive.
Arm in arm, toe to toe, words begin to wiggle and flow
as your heart starts singing let your mind keep swinging

from life’s trapeze, like a clown on the breeze.
Swinging upside down, throw and catch new sounds–
Take a risk, try a trick; break a sweat: safety net?
Don’t check! You’re soaring and exploring,
dangle high, blood rush; spiral down, crowd hush–
limb-by-line-by-limb envision, pyramidic penned precision.

And if you should topple, if you should flop
if your meter takes a beating; your rhyme runs out of steam—
know this tumbling and fumbling is all part of the act,
so get up with a flourish. Your pencil’s still intact.
Snap those synapses! Feel the pulsing through your pen
Commit, measure by measure, to the coda’s cadence.

You've got them now--in the palm of your hand!
Finger by finger you’re reeling them in—
Big Top throng refrains from cheering, strains to hear the poem nearing…
Inky paws, uncaged, claw straw and sawdust
Until… CRACK! You’re in the center ring, mind unleashed, your words take wing--
they circle, soar, then light in the lap of an open-mouthed child; the crowd goes wild.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

* Barnum's circus was originally called "P.T. Barnum's Great Traveling Museum, Menagerie, Caravan, and Hippodrome," which is pretty much what our poem is. ("Greatest Show on Earth" was added later...that's us, too!)

It never hurts to join forces...

 

...ask all the thirsty pooches at the dog park!

Let's play some more!

Hey--where'd everybody go???

G'bye to Poetry Month 2013!  See you next year!

Posted by April Halprin Wayland

You Are Awesome, Says the Dog--HAPPY POETRY FRIDAY and HAPPY POETRY MONTH!

.
Howdy Campers!

Happy Poetry Friday!

Hop over to Robyn Hood Black's blog,
Life on the Deckle Edge for all the Poetry Friday doings!

Thanks for hosting today, Robyn!

and...

National Poetry Month is finally here!

Please bookmark Jama Rattigan's blog, Jama's Alphabet Soup
which lists kidlit blog events celebrating National Poetry Month

and run, don't walk, to Renee La Tulippe blog's
The Poetry Friday Anthology for Middle School Poet-a-Palooza,
featuring short videos of poets and their poems.  A work of art!

And speaking of celebrating, today I'm pleased to celebrate Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's debut poetry collection, Forest Has A Song (Clarion), irresistibly illustrated by Robbin Gourley. (Many of you know Amy's blog, The Poem Farm.)

In honor of Amy's debut and Poetry Friday and Poetry Month, I offer you one stunning poem from this beautiful duet of a book.  Can you guess why it's one of my favorites?

April Waking
by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
Ferny frondy fiddleheads
unfurl curls from dirty beds.
Stretching stems they sweetly sing
greenest greetings sent to Spring.

Copyright © 2013 Amy Ludwig VanDerwater. All rights reserved.

From Forest Has a Song by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater.
Art copyright © 2013 Robbin Gourley

For more on this book, race over to Jama's post where she has outdone herself with fabulous costumes in which to venture into the forest, and knock-your-socks-off stunning food to welcome Forest Has a Song into the world. 

In years past, I've posted an original poem each day of National Poetry Month.  But this year I faced a conundrum.  Lately when poetry anthologists solicit poems, they ask for poems that have never been published, not even on the internet.  Not even on a blog.  ACK!

So: which poems do we post on our blogs--understanding that it's possible we may not be able to sell them? And why would we want to post second-string poems for all to read?

My solution?  Every day in April I am posting rough drafts of canine-themed poems at RuffDrafts.com

Many of the poems feature Eli, who regular readers have met before.

Eli looks forward to seeing you at RuffDrafts.com

~ Happy Poetry Friday and Happy National Poetry Month one and all!~

P.S. to my son: Happy Birthday! 
You are Awesome, says Eli (and I agree).

posted by April Halprin Wayland with a little bit of mischief