Trying

We are trying to construct a more inclusive society. We are going to make a country in which no one is left out.
~Franklin D. Roosevelt

Would you like to send a poem and a gift to a poetry friend by mid-December (or just send a poem) (or just receive a poem or poem and a gift)? We have multiple options for the Holiday Poem Swap 2024! How quickly can you sign up? Registration will be ending Sunday November 3rd! Email me (tabatha at tabathayeatts dot com).

logo by Elena

I've been trying to remain calm while continually praying that our country does not choose misogyny, white supremacy, and fascism. I wish I could feel confident that it was out of the question. What are American values? We're about to find out.

While I go fix myself a soothing cup of tea, here's a warmhearted poem by Sheree Fitch:

Do Your Best Under the Circumstances
Sheree Fitch

There is no land of perfect, child.
There is no sea of ease.
There is no candy apple trail.
There’s broccoli and peas.

There is no suit of armour, child.
There’s arrows and there’s pain.
But when your heart is broken, child...

read the rest here

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Reverie has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Patricia!

Nut-crack night

On November first was Samhain ("summer's end").
~Ruth Edna Kelley

A nutty picture for Art Thursday. What does Halloween have to do with nuts? If you're trying to choose between suitors, apparently Halloween Night is the time to find out who's best. All you need are nuts and a fire. (Details below!)

Still Life with Mice
by Lodewik Susi

A bit of Halloween lore from The Book of Hallowe'en by Ruth Edna Kelley, A. M., originally published in 1919.

In the north of England Hallowe'en was called "nut-crack" and "snap-apple night." It was celebrated by "young people and sweethearts."

A variation of the nut test is, naming two for two lovers before they are put before[Pg 91] the fire to roast. The unfaithful lover's nut cracks and jumps away, the loyal burns with a steady ardent flame to ashes. "Two hazel-nuts I threw into the flame, And to each nut I gave a sweetheart's name. This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz'd, That in a flame of brightest color blaz'd; As blaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow, For 't was thy nut that did so brightly glow."

Gay: The Spell.

If they jump toward each other, they will be rivals. If one of the nuts has been named for the girl and burns quietly with a lover's nut, they will live happily together. If they are restless, there is trouble ahead.

"These glowing nuts are emblems true Of what in human life we view; The ill-matched couple fret and fume, And thus in strife themselves consume, Or from each other wildly start And with a noise forever part. But see the happy, happy pair Of genuine love and truth sincere; With mutual fondness, while they burn[Pg 92] Still to each other kindly turn: And as the vital sparks decay, Together gently sink away. Till, life's fierce ordeal being past, Their mingled ashes rest at last."

Graydon: On Nuts Burning, Allhallows Eve.

'Cause it felt so good

Just stop and realize just what is true. What else can you do?
Just follow the rules and keep your eyes on the road that's ahead of you.
~Little Feat

For Music Monday, Little Feat. Did I listen to this album a million times when it came out? Why, yes.



Also, Let It Roll
Halloween music

The right conditions

Maples are such sociable trees ... They're always rustling and whispering to you.
~Lucy Maud Montgomery

Happy Poetry Friday! When I was looking for quotes, I also found this delightful one:
I remember it as October days are always remembered, cloudless, maple-flavored, the air gold and so clean it quivers.
~Leif Enger

It's been very gold today. *happy sigh* I am a fan of October. We have two tree-related poems this week.

letter to my father
by Sara Eddy

I’ve been walking around with a knot
in my belly all week for no reason.
There’s nothing wrong, no big turmoil.

But I feel everything, a web of open nerves
zapping to the tune of every little thing.
We finally had winter this week, after many...

read the rest here

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Whenever you see a tree
By Padma Venkatraman
Think
how many long years
this tree waited as a seed
for an animal or bird or wind or rain
to maybe carry it to maybe the right spot
where again it waited months for seasons to change

read the rest here

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Beyond Literacy Link has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Carol!

Molten

"A singer can shatter glass with the proper high note, he said," "but the simplest way to break glass is simply to drop it on the floor.'"
~Anne Rice

For Art Thursday, Glass Blowers of Murano by Charles Frederic Ulrich. Have you watched the tv series that's a glass blowing competition (I can't remember the name! Arg)? It impressed upon me how dangerous glass blowing can be, although this painting looks very relaxed.

Glass Blowers of Murano
by Charles Frederic Ulrich

Photogravure (by Goupil & Co.) based on the 1886 painting by American artist Charles Frederic Ulrich

Orange-colored day

You’re a part of the season, no more and no less
~Liana Flores

For Music Monday, a song Ariana introduced me to during my visit. Liana Flores:

We can make a house called tomorrow

It's sobering to realize that there's a huge chunk of the U.S. voting population that doesn't think of sexual assault as something horrendous enough to disqualify a presidential candidate.
~Ana Kasparian

by Jogesh Chandra Seal

Happy Poetry Friday! How great is it to have poetry friends who will take up a meaningful challenge with you? Here's a post from 2020 full of poems about hand-marked paper ballots.

Ouch: Voting Machine by Maggie Smith

Lastly, I'm returning to Alberto Rios, who knows what to say:

A House Called Tomorrow
by Alberto Ríos

You are not fifteen, or twelve, or seventeen—
You are a hundred wild centuries

And fifteen, bringing with you
In every breath and in every step

Everyone who has come before you,
All the yous that you have been,

The mothers of your mother,
The fathers of your father.

If someone in your family tree was trouble,
A hundred were not:

The bad do not win—not finally,
No matter how loud they are...

read the rest here

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I'm visiting Ariana and Matthew this week but hope to make the rounds anyway, maybe a little late.

Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Matt!

Noodle Soup

Jazz music is an intensified feeling of nonchalance.
~Francoise Sagan

For Music Monday, Four80East:

Radiant

The meadows are yellow with buttercups, and the birds fly out of the gold.
~George Augustus Moore

photo by William Warby

Happy Poetry Friday! Today's poem is by Wendy Stern, whose poetry has an archive at the Buddhist Poetry Review.

Vision
by Wendy Stern

If all you see is cityness,
Heavy cement, paving stones,
Concretised un-breathing,
Can you still notice out of the far corner of your eye
That solo flying buttercup,
Rooted in the crusty soil,
There between the cracks,
Amid the greyness, the bleakness,
All radiant yellowness?

Life,
No matter what,
Survival,
No matter where.

All radiant yellowness.

Wendy was a Buddhist and poet who lived in Bristol, in the west of England. For many years she was completely bedridden, and her poetry therefore came from an unusual perspective. Writing poetry was Wendy’s passion and her only form of creativity and self-expression. Her work was produced without the capacity to look at text, to write or to use a laptop. Dictating the poems and then editing them aurally took an immense amount of energy and concentration. Wendy passed away on April 8, 2015. -Buddhist Poetry Review

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Jama's Alphabet Soup has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Jama!

Fionn and Áillen

[Áillen] would burn Tara [the seat of the High King of Ireland] to the ground every year at Samhain [Oct 31/Nov 1] with his fiery breath after lulling all the inhabitants to sleep with his music. This only ended with the arrival of Fionn mac Cumhaill, who inhaled the poison from his spear to keep himself awake and slew Áillen.
~The Boyhood Deeds of Fionn

Now that's a hero, right? Inhaled his own poison to stay awake! For Art Thursday, Fionn mac Cumhaill fighting "The Burner" Áillen. According to Irish History.com:

Fionn Mac Cumhaill, born as Demne, was the son of Cumhaill, the leader of the Fianna, and Muirne, the daughter of the druid Tadg mac Nuadat. Fearing for the child’s safety due to Cumhaill’s death in battle and the enmity of his enemies, Muirne entrusted her son to be raised in secrecy by the druidess Bodhmall and the warrior Liath Luachra.

The name Fionn, meaning “fair” or “bright,” was given to Demne after he killed a dangerous supernatural creature known as Aillen mac Midgna, who had terrorized the people of Tara for years. With his newfound fame, Demne adopted the name Fionn Mac Cumhaill, honoring his father and signifying his bright future as a great hero.

Both of these images seem to be from the same book, but they are quite different. I thought the second one was Áillen because it seemed like there was fire coming out of the creature's mouth but maybe not? What do you think?

Fionn fighting Áillen
illustration by Beatrice Elvery in Violet Russell's Heroes of the Dawn (1914)

illustration to a collection of tales from Irish mythology
Beatrice Elvery, 1914

Orla Gartland

La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la
I, I wouldn't trust me either
~Orla Gartland, Backseat Driver

For Music Monday, Irish singer, songwriter, and musician Orla Gartland with "Late to the Party" and "Backseat Driver":

We will be spirals and domes

“And if anyone knows anything about anything,” said Bear to himself, “it’s Owl who knows something about something.”
~Winnie the Pooh

Happy Poetry Friday! Glad you're here. It's National Poetry Day in the U.K. (on Oct 3rd) so huzzah for that!

One morning this week when I walked outside with my dogs, we startled an owl. It flew away but not too far, so I got a good look at it. How thrilled was I? Exceedingly! I told my neighbor, who said he'd seen that owl a couple of times before and he shared this picture:

by Nathan B.

He took this photo out his window! I have been looking for our owl ever since. When I was searching for an owl poem, I found this gorgeous one about starlings. It could make a good mentor poem! What if humans could move like a pod of whales or a caravan of camels? (You can find animal group names here.)

Murmuration
Emily Schulten

If we move with the fluidity of starlings,
like a puddle of clippings in the air that shape-
shifts but never falls hard to the ground,

if we sense enough of each other to know
in which direction to fly away from being
preyed upon, but never from one another,

in swirls and with the unshakable faith
that wherever we turn we will be synchronal,
miming in a language only our bodies

comprehend the intention of our design...

read the rest here

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Welcome to October!

Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.
~Jim Bishop

For Art Thursday, an assortment of Octobers:

October's "bright blue weather," Work Projects Administration Poster Collection 1940
Attributed to Albert M. Bender

Octobre
Eugène Grasset

Late October
John Atkinson Grimshaw

The Carolyn Wells year book of old favorites and new fancies for 1909