Poetry Friday: Cheer Challenge

Check out this fantastic cheer, written by an 8-year-old as her book report on the Jake Maddox book Cheer Challenge!

I like the book I read
Cheer Challenge is its name
The story of two friends
That really like to dance
They both are in a squad
That dances really bad
Arms and legs are flying
The Cougars are terrible no lying
The captain Amanda comes with a plan,
She thinks competing would be fun,
They practice every day,
Nobody can stand in their way,
This girl’s friendship is put to the test
For what these two friends love doing best.

--Victoria Fraser

Poetry Friday!--book spine style

Have you all seen the book spine poems at 100 Scope Notes? They're amazing!

I spotted an SAB title in these wonderful examples at Ms. B's Book Blog.

I've been thinking about titles a lot lately, because we're working on creating the perfect titles for our Spring 2011 books right now.

So I decided to use my BA in poetry and do a few of my own book spine poems, using Stone Arch and Picture Window books, of course.

(Sorry about the not-fabulous image quality!)



LIVING WITH VAMPIRES

Beware
the girl who breathed fire--
burning secrets
under the red sun



Don't go in the cellar
on the ghost trail!
Eric won't do it.


BREE'S BIKE JUMP

Horror of the heights--
how do you get there?
Leap of faith.
Diving off the edge.
Just try it--
slamming success!



Argh, it's an alien!
Abracadabra:
Yikes, it's a yeti!
Hit it!

Poetry Friday: Sweet voices whisper low

Happy Friday!

I have to admit something to you, blog readers: I am totally obsessed with Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. I read it as a kid, of course, and had vague memories of sort of liking it, but mostly relegating it to that pile of "old-fashioned" books that I didn't really understand. I picked it up again last week after Michael mentioned it off-handedly during a meeting, and I've been totally immersed in it ever since. I can see why I didn't adore it as a young girl; the references, for one thing, are still above my head, as a college-educated adult! But I'm loving it now--the plot is wonderful, entertaining, and I really care about these characters, but what really gets me are the descriptions of nineteenth-century domestic life--what a far cry from 2009, but some things are still the same! Babies still refuse to go to sleep, the laundry must still be done, and families gather together in the evenings--now with laptops and iPhones instead of mending and pipe-smoking, but still.

Anyway, I of course had to post a poem by Louisa May Alcott for today's Poetry Friday offering.

FAIRY SONG

The moonlight fades from flower and tree,

And the stars dim one by one;

The tale is told, the song is sung,

And the Fairy feast is done.

The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers,

And sings to them, soft and low.

The early birds erelong will wake:

'Tis time for the Elves to go.

O'er the sleeping earth we silently pass,

Unseen by mortal eye,

And send sweet dreams, as we lightly float

Through the quiet moonlit sky;--

For the stars' soft eyes alone may see,

And the flowers alone may know,

The feasts we hold, the tales we tell:

So 'tis time for the Elves to go.

From bird, and blossom, and bee,

We learn the lessons they teach;

And seek, by kindly deeds, to win

A loving friend in each.

And though unseen on earth we dwell,

Sweet voices whisper low,

And gentle hearts most joyously greet

The Elves where'er they go.

When next we meet in the Fairy dell,

May the silver moon's soft light

Shine then on faces gay as now,

And Elfin hearts as light.

Now spread each wing, for the eastern sky

With sunlight soon will glow.

The morning star shall light us home:

Farewell! for the Elves must go.

Poetry Friday is hosted at Wild Rose Reader this week.

Enjoy your weekend!
More soon,
Beth

Poetry Friday: A Living Thing

Here in Minnesota, Labor Day weekend means one thing—the State Fair. It's a big deal here. I live in St. Paul, just a couple of miles from the fairgrounds, and the traffic alone tells me people are flocking to the Fair. On Facebook, my friends are listing, in gory detail, all of the foods they sample (chocolate-covered bacon and cajun-fried-pickles, anyone?). Here in the office, our resident foodies have regaled us with stories of their culinary expeditions. It's not just food: I've heard about the animals, the Crop Art, the midway...as Leslie Ball writes in her 2006 poem, the Fair is, indeed, a living thing, changing with each person who experiences it.

The Fair is a Living Thing

Just past six a.m.

Light starting to leak into the sky.

They predict rain.

We don't care.

Today is day one of our beloved State Fair.

(Read the rest of the poem here.)

Today's Poetry Friday is hosted at Crossover.

Enjoy your long weekend—the last weekend of summer. See you next week!
More soon--
Beth

Poetry Friday: Scantly and Selectly

At a team-building session this week, we analyzed our working personalities and split into four groups. At work, I (and many of my colleagues) were Golds: we love order, lists, planning, organizing, and deadlines. In honor of my Gold (yellow) work style, I'm posting this poem by Emily Dickinson.


Nature rarer uses yellow
Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets,--
Prodigal of blue,

Spending scarlet like a woman,
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
Like a lover's words.

-- Emily Dickinson


Poetry Friday is at Book Aunt this week.

Have a great weekend!
Beth

Poetry Friday: Infant Joy

My best friends had a baby boy yesterday, so in honor of baby Cooper I'm posting this poem by William Blake. It's from his Songs of Innocence and Experience, and any good English major knows that the Innocence poems have a darker side about losing innocence, but for today, let's take it at face value: the true joy of welcoming a baby to a loving family.


Infant Joy

"I have no name:
I am but two days old."
What shall I call thee?
"I happy am,
Joy is my name."
Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but two days old.
Sweet Joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while;
Sweet joy befall thee!

Poetry Friday is hosted at a wrung sponge today.

Poetry Friday: Their fragrances and colors warmly mix

Good morning! This is my favorite part of summer--I'm not sick of it yet (although I'm starting to have yearnings for the crisp mornings of fall), and the bounty of the season is starting to, well, abound. Some of us here participate in a CSA (community supported agriculture) farmshare, and this week our baskets were literally overflowing with zucchinis, potatoes, cucumbers, cabbages, lemon thyme, beets, and more. In honor of the vegetables and herbs currently crowding my counters and refrigerator, I thought I'd post this great poem by Timothy Steele.

Herb Garden


"And these, small, unobserved . . . " —Janet Lewis

The lizard, an exemplar of the small,
Spreads fine, adhesive digits to perform
Vertical push-ups on a sunny wall;

[...]

Read the rest here.

This week's Poetry Friday is hosted at Poetry for Children.

Have a great weekend!
More soon--
Beth

Poetry Friday: like in water

I asked my coworker Julie for a theme for Poetry Friday today, to help me choose a poem. She and Christianne share an office in our Mankato location. (Christianne is back from maternity leave this week--yay!) Anyway, they're pretty isolated from the rest of the staff in the building, so today they're playing lots of music to help them finish off the week. When Julie suggested "music" as our theme this week, I found this great poem by Robert Creeley. It manages to conjure up summer and music and a lot of other things, all in just a few words.

Water Music

The words are a beautiful music.
The words bounce like in water.

. . .

Read the rest here.

This week's Poetry Friday is hosted at A Year of Reading.

Poetry Friday: I should like so much to play

This week's poem, by Robert Louis Stevenson, reminds me of being a kid--running around in the backyard, rollerskating with my friends, riding my bike "uptown" (I'm from a town of 700 people, so there wasn't much there). At night, we would fall into bed, smelling like sun. I never understood why my bedtime didn't change even though it was CLEARLY still daytime when the sun was up.

Bed in Summer

In winter I get up at night  
And dress by yellow candle-light.  
In summer, quite the other way,  
I have to go to bed by day.  [...]

Read the rest of the poem here.

This week's Poetry Friday is hosted at Alphabet Soup.

More next week!
Beth

Poetry Friday: that stretch of no time

My family and I are leaving for vacation, so this is my last day in the office for a week and a half. In honor of our trip, this week's Poetry Friday poem is a beautiful glimpse by Rita Dove of the no-man's-land an airport is as you wait for takeoff. (I just hope the "baby's exhausted mother" doesn't turn out to be me.)

Vacation

I love the hour before takeoff,
that stretch of no time, no home
but the gray vinyl seats linked like
unfolding paper dolls. ...

Read the rest of the poem here.

This week's Poetry Friday is hosted at Crossover (which, parenthetically, I--as a 28-year-old rabid fan of MG/YA literature--urge you to peruse further).


See you in a while--
Beth

Poetry Friday: Hot Summer Nights

Oh, for the days I was complaining it wasn't warm enough for summer! It certainly is now. And it'll only get worse!


Today's Poetry Friday poem, written by Mary Hamrick, perfectly captures the steamy feeling of summer nights.


Hot Summer Nights

It haunts me so
those summer nights
in dim lit homes

where music flows
and tempers flare
and lullabies fill the air. ...



Read the rest of the poem here.

Poetry Friday is hosted this week at Carol's Corner.

Poetry Friday: a robin is ruffling its feathers

The school year is over--or almost over--at most schools. We're in the midst of graduation-party season, and I'm suddenly starting to see a lot more kids out and about when I venture out for lunch during the week. I'm so jealous of those kids! One of the hardest things about being a grownup, to me, is the lack of summer vacation. Even though I haven't had a real summer vacation in years, I still feel that excitement as spring turns to summer. (Maybe I always will.)

Here's a poem by Mary Ruefle that really captures, to me, what those last restless days of school feel like.

The Hand The teacher asks a question. You know the answer, you suspect you are the only one in the classroom who knows the answer, ...

Read the rest of the poem here.

This week's Poetry Friday is hosted at Critique de Mr. Chompchomp.

Poetry Friday: If I stepped out of my body I would break / into blossom.

Poetry Friday explanation.

The weather in Minnesota of late (though I complained about it not being summery enough a few days ago) has been utterly perfect. Warm and sunny, and while I know my friends with allergies would not agree, there is something really gorgeous about all the pollen and bits of fluff floating in the air. In the afternoon, driving home, I often think of this poem by James Wright.

A Blessing

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.

Read the full poem here.

Poetry Friday is hosted at Read Write Believe today.

More soon!
Beth