Poem of the Month--A Soldier's Christmas

Perhaps you've read the poem "A Soldier's Christmas" in a forwarded email. It's been circulating on the internet since 2000 but I just received it (thanks, Cheryl) and was moved to tears.

Whatever we believe about war, I think we can all agree with the final two stanzas--standing watch is a duty we all share and letting every person know they matter is important.

Here's a link to the full poem that also gives credit to the author, Michael Marks. The final two stanzas are below.

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

Poem of the Month in Honor of Autumn

Another wonderful poem courtesy of American Life in Poetry. This one by Washington, D.C. poet, Judith Harris, is so good you can almost hear the crunching of leaves.

For your own autumn experience, the Chicago Botanic Garden, pictured here from a few years ago, puts on a lovely show of colors.

Gathering Leaves in Grade School

They were smooth ovals,
and some the shade of potatoes--
some had been moth-eaten
or spotted, the maples
were starched, and crackled
like campfire.

We put them under tracing paper
and rubbed our crayons
over them, X-raying
the spread of their bones
and black, veined catacombs.

We colored them green and brown
and orange, and
cut them out along the edges,
labeling them deciduous
or evergreen.

All day, in the stuffy air of the classroom, with its cockeyed globe, and nautical maps of ocean floors, I watched those leaves

lost in their own worlds
flap on the pins of the bulletin boards:
without branches or roots,
or even a sky to hold on to.

Poem of the Month--August

A bit late but worth the wait.

August
By Mary Oliver

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

July Poem of the Month, Pied Beauty

As a lover of dappled sunlight, I was immediately drawn to this poem and was reminded of it today when it was mentioned in my current summer read, "Middlesex".

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things,

For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow,

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls, finches’ wings’

Landscape plotted and pieced, fold, fallow and plough,

And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange,

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow, sweet, sour, adazzle, dim.

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change;

Praise him.

---Gerard Manley Hopkins

As a special treat, I found a reading of this month's poem on YouTube. See what you think.

Poem of the Month--Beach Glass

For Betsy--beach glass collector extraordinaire. Hope it inspires many walks on the beach.

Beach Glass
By Amy Clampitt

While you walk the water's edge,
turning over concepts
I can't envision, the honking buoy
serves notice that at any time
the wind may change,
the reef-bell clatters
its treble monotone, deaf as Cassandra
to any note but warning. The ocean,
cumbered by no business more urgent
than keeping open old accounts
that never balanced,
goes on shuffling its millenniums
of quartz, granite, and basalt.

It behaves
toward the permutations of novelty—
driftwood and shipwreck, last night's
beer cans, spilt oil, the coughed-up
residue of plastic—with random
impartiality, playing catch or tag
or touch-last like a terrier,
turning the same thing over and over,
over and over. For the ocean, nothing
is beneath consideration.

The houses
of so many mussels and periwinkles
have been abandoned here, it's hopeless
to know which to salvage. Instead
I keep a lookout for beach glass—
amber of Budweiser, chrysoprase
of Almaden and Gallo, lapis
by way of (no getting around it,
I'm afraid) Phillips'
Milk of Magnesia, with now and then a rare
translucent turquoise or blurred amethyst
of no known origin.

The process
goes on forever: they come from sand,
they go back to gravel,
along with the treasuries
of Murano, the buttressed
astonishments of Chartres,
which even now are readying
for being turned over and over as gravely
and gradually as an intellect
engaged in the hazardous
redefinition of structures
no one has yet looked at.

May Poem of the Month

Here's a lovely poem that was the winner of the 2007 Sit Stay Read poetry contest.

The Angel Dog

By Ashley M.

Lowell Elementary, 2^nd Grade

The Angel dog came from the star.

He shows little kids how to be good in school.

The Angel dog helps people write and shows people how to cook.

The Angel dog loves to play in the park,

fly in the air and he helps people of all colors.

He helps people feel good when they are sick.

He lives in the sky.

April Poem of the Month

This classic poem from Maya Angelou has always been a favorite of mine. It takes on added meaning when you think of how a child's "wings are clipped" by not being able to read.

Caged Bird
By Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Shandy Dog Tags Poem

I've never been one to write poetry but the poetry dog tags really make it fun. You just pull some tags from the tin and see what comes to you. Here's the one I mentioned about Shandy--almost seems inspired by the February poem of the month although it was random tags pulled from the box.

Her dark angelic eyes
Consume heart and soul.

Poetry Dog Tags

The Chicago Cultural Center across from Millennium Park has a great gift shop where you can always find fun stuff.

Recently I couldn't resist the cool glycerin soaps from the Enterprising Kitchen that were reminiscent of the ice paintings in the park. And I just had to buy the Poetry Dog Tags seen here. I love to pull a few tags from the box, see what comes up for the day, and wear them as a literary reminder.

The first day I wore: Billions beat as one
While Richard's read: Free, fast, happy

It wasn't until later that we realized how well they work together. I'll post more later--there's one for Shandy that I especially like.

March Poem of Month

This poem by Trish Dugger, Poet Laureate of the City of Encinitas, in California, came in a weekly update from American Life in Poetry. It's nice to get a poem each week. Usually makes me stop and ponder.

Spare Parts
We barge out of the womb
with two of them: eyes, ears,

arms, hands, legs, feet.
Only one heart. Not a good

plan. God should know we
need at least a dozen,

a baker's dozen of hearts.
They break like Easter eggs

hidden in the grass,
stepped on and smashed.

My own heart is patched,
bandaged, taped, barely

the same shape it once was
when it beat fast for you.

February Poem of the Month

Oh wisdom
in your fur coat
and whiskers.
What don't you know?
sometimes I believe
I have seen my soul searched
in your eyes,
how much time passes
between us without word?
how much do you know
that I've just begun
to understand?

spirit of grace
and humor
on all fours.

I came across this poem by Pam Reinke in a book called Animals as Teachers & Healers by Susan Chernak McElroy. Though it doesn't specifically mention a dog, I think of Shandy each time I read it.

January Poem of the Month

Welcome to the newly formed Sit Stay Read Poem of the Month Club!

When I came across this month's wonderful poem by Langston Hughes I realized that I'm not familiar with much poetry. So, as there's nothing like an assignment to get me moving, I thought I'd post a new poem each month.

What especially appealed to me about this poem is that Hughes says his work is meant, "to be read aloud, crooned, shouted, recited and sung." I read it aloud to Shandy and even she seemed to enjoy it. Try it and feel the rhythm of his words for yourself.

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.