FREE CLASS BAD DAY and 2 poems

Howdy, Campers and Happy Poetry Friday (Irene's hosting today)

I asked UCLA Extension to reschedule my free, 3-hour Writing Poetry for Children ~ an Introductory Course for the Big-Hearted, Brave, & Curious (my title, not necessarily UCLA's)

Why? Because of MASSIVE technical difficulties. 

image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay 

I'm sure none of you have experienced that before, right?

The good news is that everything will be working smoothly on the new date: May 6, 2026 12 noon PST and here's the link to sign-up.

So...lemme give you the back story through two poems I wrote the day it all began and the next day (the first poem is simply a very long list, Hang in there ~ the 2nd poem is very short):

MY BAD DAY by April Halprin Wayland

note: on Friday the 13th, I was at the Tucson Festival of Books, and everything below is true.

Why was it a bad day?

Well, after 21 days of the flu,

I land in Tucson,

check into my hotel,

and decide to find the University's Education Building
where I have to check in on Saturday.

The trolleys, shuttles, and buses in Tucson are free.

Free, my friend!

The hotel clerk tells me where to the catch the trolley.

I wait.

And wait.

Finally, I ask a woman who looks like she might have information because she is wearing a neon green vest

when the trolley's coming, and she says, because she is, indeed, an information woman, that the electrical circuitry of the trolley rails is down.

I ask her what alternative I could use, and she suggests a shuttle, but the shuttle never comes, so I walk a ways and discover a large transport hub with buses coming and going.

I ask the information supervisor which bus I can take to the university. She walks me to the sign that says,"3 West"

"It should be here soon," she says, walking back to the information station.

After about 25 minutes, the bus comes, and I ask the bus driver to take me to the Education Building. He looks puzzled. Not a good sign. He asks for the address. I give it to him.

He looks it up in his map.

"Nope, I don't go there. But lemme go check."

Comes back 15 minutes later. "You need to take the 16 East."

He drives off. I decide not to wait for the 16 East.

I walk back to my room to work on my laptop, but when I open it, my computer says I have two minutes worth of power (even though it's plugged in). Then it offers to figure out what the problem is. The diagnosis: you've come to the end of the battery life of this laptop.

I'm not worried. I can do a lot on my phone. 

Until I look over at my phone...which just died...

...and it's not charging.

When I have just a few minutes of phone left, I text my longtime tech guy, Scott, who figures out which three Target stores near me carry the products I need.

Argh. I've been boycotting Target.

I remind myself that my mantra is "heal yourself first and the world second."

So...

Scott texts me the links of the products I need, but as my phone's power slowly disappears, the links no longer open when I touch them. 

They're just gobble-dee-goop.

So Scott writes the description of each product including Target's item number. 

1 minute of power left. 

I ask a guy from the hotel to take a picture of what Scott just sent me.

Then I realize I can't call a Lyft or Uber because those are apps...

...are on my very dead phone. 

So I go inside and ask the desk clerk to call me a cab. 

She looks at me blankly...doesn't seem to know the meaning of "calling a cab". 

I gently say, "Try Yellow Cab ~ there's usually a Yellow Cab in a town like this." 

She calls Yellow Cab and they ask her to ask me if I have cash.

Realizing that I may need to keep my cash now that I'm without technology, I tell them I don't.

The desk clerk says there's an ATM in our lobby. 

Well, that sounds promising! 

So I stick in my credit card, and it asks me for my password. At first I can't remember it but when I do, it includes the pound sign... 

...and the keyboard on the ATM does not have a pound sign. 

Finally, the hotel says a taxi will come for me.

I wait outside 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 30 minutes. 40 minutes. 50 minutes...

...then walk across the street to the steak house, which has a wonderful selection of food. I splurge, and bring it all back to my hotel room feeling cozy.

I'll watch TV! So I settle down with my yummy feast and turn on the TV, which immediately goes dark as does my entire hotel room 

and, as it turns out, the entire hotel.

This part is kind of fun. My room is six stories up facing the street, and every building surrounding our hotel is dark. The cars below are stuck in a long line, which, I assume, is because the traffic lights aren't working. When I look at the distant freeway, all the cars on the freeway are also stuck in a long line.

So I eat my yummy dinner and decide to go to sleep.

But it's Easter break near a college campus, so every 15 minutes some hell-bent group of kids in loud cars who have probably been drinking make enormous amounts of noise up and down the street directly below me.

And every 15 minutes I wake up. 

I decide I will call the office in the morning to switch rooms...

...until I remember that I am not a morning person. I think better at night.

So I call the hotel and ask if they possibly have another room for me. 

They're very nice. 

They immediately secure me an interior facing room on the 8th floor.

They send up a roller cart and I pack everything up, 

trying to keep it in some kind of order so that it's easy to unpack.

I go to sleep and thus ends my bad day.

poem (c) April Halprin Wayland
============ 
poem for March 14, 2026

THEIR BAD DAY by April Halprin Wayland

A frightened Ukrainian mother with five freezing children huddles in this bus with 65 freezing neighbors, a bleeding Iranian infant, a deported American grandfather, and the body of the dead soldier from Gaza...

all lean over, CC apeer out the window of the bus at my bad day...

and laugh. 

poem (c) April Halprin Wayland

======

My tech guy, Scott was my rescuer. He helped me order a new laptop at Costco (which is a really good company in a world of creepy businesses), helped me order a new phone, and sat by my side every freaking step of the way (of course, the new laptop decided to rearrange everything as in where is that freaking file?)

I am a lucky duck.

I hope to see some of you on May 6th. (And don't be discouraged by the waiting list...students always need to cancel at the last minute, and UCLA lets waiting list folk in as soon as there's an opening.)

Thank you, Irene, for hosting today!

Do you have a poem inside
about a very, very, very bad day? 

It was theraputic to write about mine...

...share yours!

2 NEW THINGYS: Singing and Getting Published

Howdy, Campers ~ and Happy Poetry Friday! (the links to PF and to my upcoming free poetry class are at the end of this post).

TeachingAuthors' topic this round is "Something New for the New Year" and it's my turn. But there's so much happening these days...where should I begin?

Let's start with singing!

For years, I've run two folk music clubs: The Santa Monica Folk Music Club and The Beach Cities Folk Club. So many songs are poetry...and so much poetry can be sung.

About a year ago, I approached the organizers of our local politial events, suggesting that our rallies needed music. Singing together in the midst of struggle brings joy and a sense of community to marches and rallies.

I've been the "music wrangler" ever since. We named ourselves The Resisters. My favorite feedback we've gotten after a rally is: "I come to these rallies to hear the music!"

And then, in January of this year, in the midst of danger and horrific violence in Minnesota, a beautiful thing took seed. Watch Anderson Cooper's 3 min and 30 second video to witness its growth.

Singing Resisance now trains groups all over this country (called Pods) teaching us that singing is resistance.

There are 18 singers in our pod. The number of singers who are available for any one event varies widely--once there were only two--and that worked out just fine. Our pod meets at my house, and today eight singers showed up for our last rehearsal before the March 28th rally

I am filled with joy. Most of the songs we will be singing are short and easy to pick up. One of my favorite songs is longer but also easy to learn. It's called SINGING FOR OUR LIVES, written by Holly Near. Watch Holly lead her crazy-beautiful 4 minute song

Now, let's talk poetry!

I'm thrilled to announce that one of my poems has just been published in 

DEMOCRACY'S URGENT CALL ~ 

A Poetry Anthology by League of Women Voters Members

Here were the submission guidelines:

We invite original poems that reflect on the guiding principles of democracy—such as justice, equality, freedom, civic engagement, and the common good.​ Please avoid references to specific elected officials or political parties, as we are committed to maintaining a nonpartisan focus.

We welcome a wide range of voices, styles, and perspectives. ​Surprise us with something fresh—insightful, musical, memorable. We’re looking for poems that move us: make us laugh, cry, reflect, or ​see the world in a new way. Both free verse and traditional forms are encouraged.

Please submit one unpublished, original poem of no more than 30 lines, ​including stanza breaks, formatted to fit on a single page using Times New Roman with 12 pt font. Submissions with special formatting, visual elements, or artwork cannot be considered.

A panel including a former Poet Laureate, a University of Wisconsin Professor of Poetry, and an experienced editor will review submissions and make final selections.

Chosen poems will reflect the League of Women Voters’ commitment to nonpartisanship as well as diversity, equity, and inclusion.

So! I plowed through the file of political poems I've written over the years...and also wrote some new ones.

Then I chose six of my favorite poems and sent them to five important people in my life: my husband, my sister Lyra, Teri, the president of our local League, a dear friend who is not on the same page with me politically, and my best friend Bruce (who is also a children's author and poet). 

I asked them to rank the poems first to last.

In a minute I'll post the poem for you, but it might help to know that I live in California, and for years I've been part of a task force in our community to teach people earthquake safety.

Okay, here's the poem my friends voted for, which I submitted, and which was accepted:

EARTHQUAKE
by April Halprin Wayland

She was ready.
On the shelves in her garage
were jugs of water,
cans of cat and dog food,
boxes of energy bars,
bandages, flashlights, batteries.

She was ready.
She stored sturdy shoes
beneath the bed
because in the aftermath,​
when you're running to help someone,
broken glass will slash your feet.

She was ready...
but not for this.
Not for tornadoes,
green-faced warlocks,
prison guards,
or flying monkeys.

Still, she was glad
for the sturdy shoes
beneath her bed.
There wasn't time
for bloody feet.
She was off to save the world.

poem © 2026 April Halprin Wayland

Thank you, Marcie, for hosting Poetry Friday this week!

Oh--I almost forgot!

Come join my next 3-hour free class 

on the first day of Poetry Month, April 1st 2026:

UCLA Extension's Writers' Program class, 

INTRO TO WRITING THE CHILDREN'S POETRY

~ A Workshop for Absolute Beginners

Enrollment ends soon...classes fill FAST. Why?

Because UCLA Extension offers 3-hour classes for FREE!

Do I still get nervous when my classes begin? You betcha.

But the moment I know my students and I are in that flow--that's the Great Gift.

many thanks to Barney Saltzberg for this illustration

Note: this is a basic workshop for absolute beginners.

💓Thank you for reading this post💓

Now, it's your turn. What's something new in your life this year?

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