A CLOUD OF DAFFODILS

By Caroline Clemmons

April is National Poetry Month. If someone asked me if I enjoyed poetry, I’d probably say no.  Thinking about that, though, I realize poetry is important to me. One of my first books was A Childs’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. I loved that book and still have it packed away somewhere. At the time I was read the book and then learned to read it myself, I had no idea it was a classic or who the author was. Imagine my surprise when reading to my own children.

When I was about twelve, a neighbor gave me a book which included poems by Emily Dickinson. In my pre-teen angst, I read those frequently. I‘ve found many other poets since then. The tragic life of Elizabeth Barret Browning spoke to me, too. Yet, there are so many more cheerful poems.

Spring Daffodils

Who can think of spring without “a cloud of daffodils” coming to mind? William Wordsworth gave us a lovely, thought-provoking poem. Thinking about our good and bad choices, I am reminded of Robert Frost’s snowy woods and the road not taken. A favorite of my children was Silverstein’s Where The Sidewalk Ends. I love it, as well. It has humor to make us think.

I enjoy reading Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache series. Inspector Gamache frequently quotes lines from the character Ruth Zardo’s poetry. Not too much, just a line or two to make a point. (I love this series!)

Ada Limón

Ada Limon is the 24th Poet Laureate of the United States. The Library of Congress makes the choice. She is the first Latina to hold this post. Ms Limon is from Sonoma, California, and now divides her time between Sonoma and Lexington, Kentucky. Her publications include Lucky Wreck and This Big Fake World. In addition to being Poet Laureate, she has received numerous awards and grants. She teaches as well as writing.

Do you have a favorite poem? Does one hold special meaning for you? Leave a comment and tell readers your answer.

If you're looking for a good historical western romance to read, try KEITH AND THE MAIL ORDER BRIDE. 

https://www.amazon.com/Order-Bride-Texas-Country-Brides-ebook/dp/B0BZDT6Q1J/

The Humble Pines

 by Judy Ann Davis

Winter is the time to snuggle down and watch snowflakes fly. Unfortunately, tasks we’ve set aside indoors—lured outside by the long warm days of summer—now call us asking for completion.

As a writer, I have folders of unfinished stories and works shoved into folders, hidden from my eyes and conscience. Many pieces need a new direction, some may need corrections and rewrites, a few may need a trip to the trash can.                                                       

In my search through these fat folders marked, save, I found a poem I wrote for Christmas over a century ago. What I wanted to do with it, or even why I wrote it, is buried somewhere at the bottom of an informational dump in my brain. It’s a Christmas poem and seems
appropriate for December.

The Humble Pines

'Twas daybreak in the forest,

the winds blew crisp and cold. 

And snow lay in a white-washed 'guise

on oak trees, staunch and old.

The sky was slate. The drifts, knee-deep,

as snowflakes fluttered down.

While high above, the hemlock sighed

a faint melodious sound.

Across the vale a shaft of light
broke through the frigid morn,
And scattered rays of hope and love...
Today, the Child was born.

Then firethorn threw shimmering beads 

amid the sun-kissed laurel.

Bright holly bushes shook their limbs

with shades of red and coral.

And in these woods where nature reigned,

where peace and ice abound,

The stately pines all bent their heads

and bowed their branches down.

In these trying times let’s all send out a humble wish:

 “Let there be peace on earth…and let it begin with us.”

 

 

For some heartwarming reading during the holiday season, 

please check out my "Musical Christmas Series" 

 

Writing From The Heart: Poetry Edition By Laura Hunsaker

I’m going to apologize for the formatting up front-I have had no wifi for 2 days and my phone is iffy. This is being written on my phone.

This week was our last week of school. For those who don’t know, my day job is at an elementary school. A really big thing happened this week; my daughter’s teacher retired. This teacher is no ordinary teacher. She has had all of my children for fourth grade! She’s an amazing and kind person who cares so much about her students. One thing she has always done when a teacher retires, is she writes them a poem. 

This time, I wrote one for her. 

And wow, as much as my high school self might disagree, I am not a poet.

(My high school self fancied herself as a deeply profound and emotional poet. My adult self cringes a bit at the poems).

Writing this poem was so difficult, because even though I’m a writer, and even though I have quite a lot of emotion both put into my work, and in the words of my work, poetry is a different beast.

I had to not only write this for someone I know well, and about that someone, but I then had to present it in front of the faculty. wanted this poem to  say what I felt, of course, but I also wanted to impress. These are people I work with, people who know I write, but may not have read my books…and I had to bare my heart in front of them. 

I shook the whole time I read it.

I’m an excellent public speaker, I don’t usually have nerves, but boy oh boy, reading a heartfelt poem to someone and doing it in front of your work? Whew. It was not easy!

But one thing it did do was highlight the difference between poetry and prose, non-fiction and fiction. Around 450 words, and it was harder than any other 450 words I’ve written. Not because one is better than the other, don’t get me wrong. But writing a story is more comfortable for me, than writing a poem. Oh and it rhymed. Think of all the things that you can rhyme with heart…of course fart was the only thing I could think of! Luckily my brain kicked into high gear and I’m proud to say I used a different word ;) I’m proud of that poem. 

I’m also very grateful to say that all of that emotion I wrote into a poem that I had to read to a real person, can now be directed into fictional characters, and I won’t have to read it to anyone. I think that’s the beauty of romance novels. They contain that same heartfelt and sometimes heart- wrenching emotion, just as poetry does! But the stories are not actually about any one person. And every reader can make it their own. The emotion I pour into my books allows the reader to have that connection with the characters (and not with the author! Lol). 

So what do you think?

Do you write poetry? Read it? Only love the naughty limericks;) let me know! But also let me know if a poem has ever touched your heart.

In my new book Dangerous Past, Lark uses a bullet journal. And in her journal are lists, comments, and even...short poems.

www.laurahunsaker.com

She’s running from her past…

Lark Seawell is the daughter of a serial killer. His reputation has long been a shadow looming over her since his arrest when she was a child. Especially since she’s the one who called the police. She has spent her entire life trying to live as anonymously and quietly as possible. She is not her father’s legacy.

He wants to be her future...

FBI agent Jay Sutherland is visiting a friend in a small mountain town when free spirit Lark asks for help with her injured dog. He is instantly enamored with her, and their one night stand stays with him far into the next morning, though Lark is long gone. When his partner realizes that she is the daughter of The Highwayman, Jay refuses to believe Lark is anything like her father.

What happens when she stops running…

When a trail of dead bodies follows Lark on her cross-country drive, the FBI believes she’s the killer. How can the sweet woman who rescues injured animals and makes him feel things he hasn’t felt in years be a murderer? The bodies don’t lie. Jay knows there’s more at play. If he’s wrong, and Lark is as much a monster as her father, he may be the next target…

Sunshiney heroine, gruff hero, one night stand leads to more…