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Friday, February 24, 2017

Poetry Friday: In a Cloud of Dust

Today's Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Karen Edmisten.


I read Alma Fullerton's beautiful picture book this week. Though I've never been to Africa myself, I have children who have spent time in Senegal and Nigeria and friends who live in Kenya and South Africa. So while my sense of the landscape and culture of these countries comes second hand, there is  something of my heart invested there.

My South African friend Wilna (pronounced vulna) in Zimbabwe.

My son and grandson at the American International School in Nigeria.

In a Cloud of Dust begins...

       In a Tanzanian village, 
       a little schoolhouse sits
       at the end of a dusty road.


Such simplicity, and yet, already these few words and Brian Deines' deftly muted illustrations place me solidly on this dusty road. The author captures the characters, their friendships, their dependence on on another, and the hardships they face with the joyful spirit of an African village. A really beautiful book. 


View more illustrations here.
Visit Alma Fullerton's author page here.
Find more art from Brian Deines here.

From Peace Corps Writers Online Magazine, 2005 issue


By the Light of the Moon
by Carrie Young (Mali 2000–01)


How free is the ocean
Or the moon
Really?

The village was off the road
And away from the world
Like a soft breeze
Blowing across the ground
Felt only by the Earth
At the bottom of the mountain
That calls it home

The beauty of the place
Equaled by the difficulties
Surrounding this life
Filled with the noise of natural things-
The pounding of grain like thunder,
Roosters crowing at every mood of the sun,
Fires crackling with ancient memories,
Children laughing and disappearing into tall grasses

And almost every night
The sound of a bilaphone
Playing at a fete somewhere
On another side of the village
Sending out a deep and hyper sound
That somehow found its way to me
Even in the thick, dark air of Africa

People dressed in bright fabrics
Were dancing until the dirt stirred
Into a fog around them
And all that was hard about the days
Trickled down their faces
In sweat like tears

I could see them in my mind
As I lay in a room lit quietly by candles
My book resting next to me
While I joined them somewhere
In that fog of dirt and freedom

Freedom for muscles
That were bent and tired
From hours spent in the fields
And freedom from a mind
That was never allowed to forget
The weightless breath of fate
Waiting in the wind

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Pondering: Solitude

Photo courtesy UM School of Natural Resources..


Dietrich Bonhoeffer in Life Together...writes, "Let him who cannot be alone beware of community...Let him who is not in community beware of being alone...Each by itself has profound pitfalls and perils. One who wants fellowship without solitude plunges into the void of words and feelings, and one who seeks solitude without fellowship perishes in the abyss of vanity self-infatuation, and despair."

Therefore, we must seek out the recreating stillness of solitude if we want to be with others meaningfully. We must seek the fellowship and accountability of others if we want to be alone safely. We must cultivate both if we are to live in obedience.

---Richard Foster, Celebration of Discipline

Friday, February 17, 2017

Poetry Friday: Thinking in Bed

"Bedroom in Arles" by Vincent Van Gogh

Thinking in Bed
by Dennis Lee, 1939

I’m thinking in bed, 
Cause I can’t get out 
Till I learn how to think 
What I’m thinking about; 
What I’m thinking about 
Is a person to be--
A sort of a person 
Who feels like me. 

I might still be Alice, 
Excepting I’m not. 
And Snoopy is super, 
But not when it’s hot; 
I couldn’t be Piglet, 
I don’t think I’m Pooh, 
I know I’m not Daddy 
And I can’t be you. 

My breakfast is waiting. 
My clothes are all out, 
But what was that thing 
I was thinking about? 
I’ll never get up 
If I lie here all day; 
But I still haven’t thought, 
So I’ll just have to stay. 

If I was a Grinch 
I expect I would know. 
But I don’t think so. 
There’s so many people 
I don’t seem to be-- 
I guess I’ll just have to 
Get up and be me.
   --From Alligator Pie, published by Macmillan Canada, 1974. Retrieved from poets.org.
And just for fun--oh, the thinks you can think!
Visit Jone at Check it Out for more Poetry Friday posts.

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Pondering: Nearness

    
Art by Gwen Meharg


    Draw Near
    by Scott Cairns


        προσέλθετε


For near is where you’ll meet what you have wandered

far to find. And near is where you’ll very likely see

how far the near obtains. In the dark katholikon

the lighted candles lent their gold to give the eye

a more than common sense of what lay flickering

just beyond the ken,



Read the rest here.

The Greek word προσέλθετε translates as attend.

Friday, February 10, 2017

Poetry Friday: Valentine

Welcome to Poetry Friday. Our host today is Katie at the Logonauts.

Photo courtesy Sherry's Berries.

Thinking of Valentines Day next week and how much my hubs loves to shower his girls (me, daughters, daughter-in-laws, granddaughters) with cards and candy. I came across this poem in Poetry Speaks to Children. Enjoy!


Valentine
by Donald Hall

Chipmunks jump, and
Greensnakes slither.
Rather burst than
Not be with her.

Bluebirds fight, but
Bears are stronger.
We've got fifty
Years or longer.

Hoptoads hop, but 
Hogs are fatter.
Nothing else but
Us can matter.


And now just for the fun of it...Donald Hall on what people say when they find out you're a poet.

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Pondering: Patience



The two most powerful warriors are patience and time. Leo Tolstoy


Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience. Ralph Waldo Emerson


We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world. Helen Keller

Friday, February 3, 2017

Early Spring

Here in the Deep South, we tend to ignore Punxsutawney Phil.

Penny hosts today roundup at A Penny and Her Jots.



Magnolia Blooms
by Florence Edsall
Poetry Magazine, April 1927, p. 22

Cool crisp loveliness
cupped and brittle

Against the steel tracery
Of winter boughs.

Only iron blossoming
Could flower so.