Friday, April 27, 2012
A short getaway to the Ozarks--again
by Pat Laster
What's a good way to celebrate April as National Poetry Month?
From Tuesday night through Thursday night in Eureka Springs, a gathering of poets from Arkansas and surrounding states participated in an intensive Lucidity Poetry Retreat held at the Inn of the Ozarks. The final official meeting was the Awards Banquet, but many of us prolonged our goodbyes at a local cantina.
Poets from as far away as Michigan and Illinois, and as close as Missouri, Texas and Oklahoma traveled again this spring to Eureka not only to renew inspiration and gain new techniques for writing, but also to savor the ambience and fellowship of like-minded folk. Laughter and conversations around tables at Myrtie Mae’s restaurant or Sparky’s enriched the experience further. New friends became old friends and old friends became “family.”
On Thursday afternoon, the group was free to ride the trolley, visit the masseuse, the flea markets, the trinket shops downtown, Thorncrown Chapel, Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge, or nap.
My carpooler and I visited the Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow and stopped back by the hospital’s Purple House thrift shop. Upper Spring Street was empty of spring flowers, but still rife with settings for novels, poems, essays and stories. I made sure to pick up an issue of the Lovely County Citizen, which is also full of writing possibilities.
Cap’n Stephen and (Mrs.) Burt Manning from near Hot Springs, Dorothy Johnson from Little Rock, Christine Henderson from Searcy and Betty Heidelberger from Lexa/Sherwood, Diane Stefan from Mountain Home, Pat Durmon from Norfork and myself were the Arkansas poets attending.
The last poem I’ve selected for National Poetry Month was written by Faye Boyette Wise, a Saline Countian who says her only claim to fame is being born on the fourth of July. She is too, too modest. Mrs. Wise is to Benton what Kitty Yeager is to Arkadelphia: the unofficial ‘poet laureate’ of the city.
This poem, APRIL COUPLETS comes from Faye’s book, Blessed Connections, and is used with permission.
Walking my boundaries is daily delight
With marvels of morning blessing my sight.
Sky in the east is a rosy-mauve hue.
Johnny Jump Ups tint meadow floor blue.
Lavender petals of apricot blooms
Are silky string-art from angelic looms.
Hear the brook babble where small foxes drink
The sing-along-song of a bobolink.
Spider webs woven by spinners of night
Leave shimmery veils to sparkle in light.
A breeze lifts my hair and tickles my face
And I laugh aloud for love of this place.
Earth is so lovely it’s simple to see
How much more beautiful heaven must be.
Sudden rain showers surprise April’s calm.
I catch clear droplets like pearls in my palm.
When God walks his boundaries, world neighborhood
Hope He laughs aloud and still calls it good.
Bon voyage to another April.
c 2012 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press
Thursday, April 19, 2012
If I can’t have a steel bridge, an old telephone pole will do
by Pat Laster
I have always been interested in the steel bridge on Boone Road in southwest Bryant. The reason: my Grandmother Couch, so family lore goes, was walking a footbridge across that part of the Hurricane River when she fell, an accident that crippled her for life. My research doesn’t tell me when the steel bridge across that body of water was built—nor the one we traveled over as a family of eight farther up in the county that we knew as Steel Bridge or North Fork (Saline River.) That was our “swimming hole.”
Several years ago, both bridges were cut away, hoisted to nearby roadsides and replaced with nondescript spans. How nice, I thought, one of those bridges would look on my south property line. The bridge official I called knew nothing. Now, I realize it would be too large and besides, the scrap metal thieves would have it gone in no time.
So when First Electric changed out the poles in our neighborhood last week and came to the one my electric lines were attached to, I asked if I could have the old one. The man seemed delighted and laid it where I directed. What to do with it now? Oh, I’ll think about that tomorrow.
This week’s poem, in honor of National Poetry Month, is “When April Does Her Laundry” by the late Arkansas poet, Geneva I. Crook. I found it in the 1955-1956 Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas’s Annual Brochure of Poetry, which later became the Anthology. An interesting note: “Printed for the Seventeenth Year/ By The/ Morrilton Headlight/ Morrilton, Arkansas.”
I found this issue in a flea market in southern Missouri several years ago. The price was $5.00, a whopping sum for used books, but there were two copies. I’d never seen such in all my years as a PRA member. So they had to be mine. On the flyleaf of one, Mrs. Crook had written, “To my friend, Mrs. Harris.”
Here is the poem, which won PRA’s annual Light Verse contest in 1955.
WHEN APRIL DOES HER LAUNDRY - by Geneva I. Crook
When April does her laundry and hangs it out to dry,
It’s white clouds moving in the breeze against a blue-rinsed sky.
Then while her laundry’s drying she tidies up her floor
Of old oak leaves and whisks them right out her March back door.
She spreads out fresh new carpets of grass as green as jade,
Hand-launders all the flowers so colors will not fade.
She brightens wings of redbirds and freshens up their song,
Then sets them on the branches to sing the whole month long.
No time for Mother April to sit and rest awhile,
She’s busy every hour, but still has time to smile
A smile which warms seed babies and makes them feel so good
They spring from bed to grow up just like plant children should!
Then dressing up her children she hums a happy tune
And leads them through the garden to sisters May and June.
I don’t know which is happiest––the flowers, birds or I––
When April does her laundry and hangs it out to dry!
What great personification.
I have always been interested in the steel bridge on Boone Road in southwest Bryant. The reason: my Grandmother Couch, so family lore goes, was walking a footbridge across that part of the Hurricane River when she fell, an accident that crippled her for life. My research doesn’t tell me when the steel bridge across that body of water was built—nor the one we traveled over as a family of eight farther up in the county that we knew as Steel Bridge or North Fork (Saline River.) That was our “swimming hole.”
Several years ago, both bridges were cut away, hoisted to nearby roadsides and replaced with nondescript spans. How nice, I thought, one of those bridges would look on my south property line. The bridge official I called knew nothing. Now, I realize it would be too large and besides, the scrap metal thieves would have it gone in no time.
So when First Electric changed out the poles in our neighborhood last week and came to the one my electric lines were attached to, I asked if I could have the old one. The man seemed delighted and laid it where I directed. What to do with it now? Oh, I’ll think about that tomorrow.
This week’s poem, in honor of National Poetry Month, is “When April Does Her Laundry” by the late Arkansas poet, Geneva I. Crook. I found it in the 1955-1956 Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas’s Annual Brochure of Poetry, which later became the Anthology. An interesting note: “Printed for the Seventeenth Year/ By The/ Morrilton Headlight/ Morrilton, Arkansas.”
I found this issue in a flea market in southern Missouri several years ago. The price was $5.00, a whopping sum for used books, but there were two copies. I’d never seen such in all my years as a PRA member. So they had to be mine. On the flyleaf of one, Mrs. Crook had written, “To my friend, Mrs. Harris.”
Here is the poem, which won PRA’s annual Light Verse contest in 1955.
WHEN APRIL DOES HER LAUNDRY - by Geneva I. Crook
When April does her laundry and hangs it out to dry,
It’s white clouds moving in the breeze against a blue-rinsed sky.
Then while her laundry’s drying she tidies up her floor
Of old oak leaves and whisks them right out her March back door.
She spreads out fresh new carpets of grass as green as jade,
Hand-launders all the flowers so colors will not fade.
She brightens wings of redbirds and freshens up their song,
Then sets them on the branches to sing the whole month long.
No time for Mother April to sit and rest awhile,
She’s busy every hour, but still has time to smile
A smile which warms seed babies and makes them feel so good
They spring from bed to grow up just like plant children should!
Then dressing up her children she hums a happy tune
And leads them through the garden to sisters May and June.
I don’t know which is happiest––the flowers, birds or I––
When April does her laundry and hangs it out to dry!
What great personification.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
More about all things April
by Pat Laster
Are you still exulting in the exuberance of Easter? If that feeling was not caused by the extra-ordinary pomp of a worship service, perhaps it came later over a family gathering—like ours—or an afternoon with friends. Hallelujah! Christ is risen!
As I promised last week, I discovered from my uncle John Pelton that the plant with the maroon capsule buds and the trumpet-shaped blooms is Cross-Vine. He only had a small picture on my cell phone to go by, but he gave me three possibilities: cross vine, trumpet creeper and trumpet honeysuckle. Pictures on the Internet proved that my first-time-to-bloom vine is a Cross Vine.
Last week’s anagram for April is Pilar, a main character in Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls.
One morning this week, I watched out the south window as a male robin commandeered the freshly-filled birdbath. He stood his ground, er rim. A female cardinal flew up faced him off by staying on the other side. Soon, a brown thrasher joined the two. As if waiting for the robin to leave, the thrasher swooped down and ate from the grass. When it flew back to the rim, the cardinal left and so did the thrasher. Meanwhile and afterwards, the robin availed himself of a good bath. In the background, an adult squirrel nosed around in the grass for who-knows-what?
The narcissus are blooming. Since they are later than the daffodils, tulips and jonquils, I always wonder if they are even going to bloom. Just when I decide they are too crowded, up pops the first white blossom and then another. Soon, there are enough of the heavily-scented, long-stemmed whites to snap off, take inside and slide down into a water-filled, lead-crystal vase. Along with Easter lilies and hyacinths, these flowers can be enjoyed by sight and smells.
A couple of tiger swallowtail butterflies have appeared this week, stopping at the azaleas and the dianthus.
April is Parkinson’s Awareness Month. It is also National Soy Foods Month. According to Rosemary Boggs, ADG, three companies that make soy products are Soyjoy, Morningstar Farms and WestSoy.
April is also the peak of tornado season that runs from March to June. (ADG wire)
The April poem for this week (in celebration of National Poetry Month) was written by Langston Hughes, who can also be heard reading it on the Internet. I found it in a severely-yellowed, Scholastic paperback book --bought for thirty-five cents by my first-grade-teacher (now deceased) mother, Anna Pearl Couch-- the Arrow Book of Poetry – poems selected by Ann McGovern and published in 1965.
“April Rain Song"
Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night
And I love the rain. – Langston Hughes.
So do I.
written 2012 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press
Are you still exulting in the exuberance of Easter? If that feeling was not caused by the extra-ordinary pomp of a worship service, perhaps it came later over a family gathering—like ours—or an afternoon with friends. Hallelujah! Christ is risen!
As I promised last week, I discovered from my uncle John Pelton that the plant with the maroon capsule buds and the trumpet-shaped blooms is Cross-Vine. He only had a small picture on my cell phone to go by, but he gave me three possibilities: cross vine, trumpet creeper and trumpet honeysuckle. Pictures on the Internet proved that my first-time-to-bloom vine is a Cross Vine.
Last week’s anagram for April is Pilar, a main character in Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls.
One morning this week, I watched out the south window as a male robin commandeered the freshly-filled birdbath. He stood his ground, er rim. A female cardinal flew up faced him off by staying on the other side. Soon, a brown thrasher joined the two. As if waiting for the robin to leave, the thrasher swooped down and ate from the grass. When it flew back to the rim, the cardinal left and so did the thrasher. Meanwhile and afterwards, the robin availed himself of a good bath. In the background, an adult squirrel nosed around in the grass for who-knows-what?
The narcissus are blooming. Since they are later than the daffodils, tulips and jonquils, I always wonder if they are even going to bloom. Just when I decide they are too crowded, up pops the first white blossom and then another. Soon, there are enough of the heavily-scented, long-stemmed whites to snap off, take inside and slide down into a water-filled, lead-crystal vase. Along with Easter lilies and hyacinths, these flowers can be enjoyed by sight and smells.
A couple of tiger swallowtail butterflies have appeared this week, stopping at the azaleas and the dianthus.
April is Parkinson’s Awareness Month. It is also National Soy Foods Month. According to Rosemary Boggs, ADG, three companies that make soy products are Soyjoy, Morningstar Farms and WestSoy.
April is also the peak of tornado season that runs from March to June. (ADG wire)
The April poem for this week (in celebration of National Poetry Month) was written by Langston Hughes, who can also be heard reading it on the Internet. I found it in a severely-yellowed, Scholastic paperback book --bought for thirty-five cents by my first-grade-teacher (now deceased) mother, Anna Pearl Couch-- the Arrow Book of Poetry – poems selected by Ann McGovern and published in 1965.
“April Rain Song"
Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night
And I love the rain. – Langston Hughes.
So do I.
written 2012 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Once again it’s April
by Pat Laster
Oh, oh, oh! The vining wisteria that twines around a truncated tree (left especially to host the vine) is in bud! Unlike the bush wisteria that grows low and blooms a solid-purple mass, the American Wisteria (so called in Carl G. Hunter’s book, Trees, Shrubs, & Vines of Arkansas, 2nd edition, 1995) blooms later than “the cultivated forms.”
Also, the vine that I thought was a white-blossomed vinca isn’t. It’s blooming for the first time since it came up by the mailboxes. The buds are maroon capsules. On the underside is a hole with a white stamen that reminds me of a jack-in-the-pulpit.
Voila! One of the buds became a flower with a deep throat of maroon and a yellow flange or collar. By next week, I will have found out the name from my uncle John Pelton, the wildflower buff and photographer.
Until then, here is some April trivia.
BOOKS: Across Five Aprils by Irene Hunt; April Moon (Harlequin); April Morning – Howard Fast; The Enchanted April – Elizabeth Von Arnim.
SONGS: “April is in my Mistress’ Face”-old madrigal-Thomas Morley; “April Showers” – Silvers/De Sylva, published in 1921; “April” –recorded by Deep Purple (band); “April Lady” – recorded by Queen; “Pieces of April” – Three Dog Night; “April Fool” – Soul Asylum; “April Love” – Pat Boone (Webster & Fain); “April Come She Will” – Simon and Garfunkel; “April in Paris” – Frank Sinatra.
NAMES: April Mae, Aprille, Aprilynne.
AUTHOR: Aprilynne Pike – Wings.
MUSICIAN: Johnny April, bass player for the hard-rock band Staind, gave $150,000 to buy a new ambulance for six rural, western-Massachusetts towns.
IMPORTANT EVENTS THIS WEEK: April 5 – 1640 – marriage of Pocahontas; April 6 – Robert Edwin Peary reached the North Pole in 1909; April 7 – 1827 – matches were first sold; April 8 – 1973 – Pablo Picasso, Spanish painter, died at age 91; April 8 – Buddha’s birthday; Zen Buddhists use this day as a flower festival to celebrate; April 9 – 1806 – Great Western Railway born; April 10 – signing of the Good Friday Agreement or Belfast Agreement (Information from projectbritain.com.); April 11 – a barren period. Do no planting. (from Farmers’ Almanac 2012)
ANAGRAM FOR APRIL: Think Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls.
WHAT SOME WRITERS SAID ABOUT APRIL:
Shakespeare: “April has put a spirit of youth in everything.”
Mark Twain: “The first of APRIL is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.”
Hal Borland: “April is a promise that May is bound to keep.”
T. S. Eliot: “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.”
Edna St. Vincent Millay: “April comes like an idiot, babbling and stewing/strewing flowers.” (Some sites write “stewing”; some “strewing,” which makes more sense to me. Let’s see if I can find that book of her poems I once bought at a Eureka Springs flea market.)
Since April is also National Poetry Month, indulge me, please:
“Petit Jean in April”
Slender
sapling on mountain
path stretches skyward; at its feet
three pale blue
Phoenix violets rise above
winter’s leafy, brushwoodsy
blanket.” (a Cameo pattern)
c 2012 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press
Oh, oh, oh! The vining wisteria that twines around a truncated tree (left especially to host the vine) is in bud! Unlike the bush wisteria that grows low and blooms a solid-purple mass, the American Wisteria (so called in Carl G. Hunter’s book, Trees, Shrubs, & Vines of Arkansas, 2nd edition, 1995) blooms later than “the cultivated forms.”
Also, the vine that I thought was a white-blossomed vinca isn’t. It’s blooming for the first time since it came up by the mailboxes. The buds are maroon capsules. On the underside is a hole with a white stamen that reminds me of a jack-in-the-pulpit.
Voila! One of the buds became a flower with a deep throat of maroon and a yellow flange or collar. By next week, I will have found out the name from my uncle John Pelton, the wildflower buff and photographer.
Until then, here is some April trivia.
BOOKS: Across Five Aprils by Irene Hunt; April Moon (Harlequin); April Morning – Howard Fast; The Enchanted April – Elizabeth Von Arnim.
SONGS: “April is in my Mistress’ Face”-old madrigal-Thomas Morley; “April Showers” – Silvers/De Sylva, published in 1921; “April” –recorded by Deep Purple (band); “April Lady” – recorded by Queen; “Pieces of April” – Three Dog Night; “April Fool” – Soul Asylum; “April Love” – Pat Boone (Webster & Fain); “April Come She Will” – Simon and Garfunkel; “April in Paris” – Frank Sinatra.
NAMES: April Mae, Aprille, Aprilynne.
AUTHOR: Aprilynne Pike – Wings.
MUSICIAN: Johnny April, bass player for the hard-rock band Staind, gave $150,000 to buy a new ambulance for six rural, western-Massachusetts towns.
IMPORTANT EVENTS THIS WEEK: April 5 – 1640 – marriage of Pocahontas; April 6 – Robert Edwin Peary reached the North Pole in 1909; April 7 – 1827 – matches were first sold; April 8 – 1973 – Pablo Picasso, Spanish painter, died at age 91; April 8 – Buddha’s birthday; Zen Buddhists use this day as a flower festival to celebrate; April 9 – 1806 – Great Western Railway born; April 10 – signing of the Good Friday Agreement or Belfast Agreement (Information from projectbritain.com.); April 11 – a barren period. Do no planting. (from Farmers’ Almanac 2012)
ANAGRAM FOR APRIL: Think Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls.
WHAT SOME WRITERS SAID ABOUT APRIL:
Shakespeare: “April has put a spirit of youth in everything.”
Mark Twain: “The first of APRIL is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.”
Hal Borland: “April is a promise that May is bound to keep.”
T. S. Eliot: “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.”
Edna St. Vincent Millay: “April comes like an idiot, babbling and stewing/strewing flowers.” (Some sites write “stewing”; some “strewing,” which makes more sense to me. Let’s see if I can find that book of her poems I once bought at a Eureka Springs flea market.)
Since April is also National Poetry Month, indulge me, please:
“Petit Jean in April”
Slender
sapling on mountain
path stretches skyward; at its feet
three pale blue
Phoenix violets rise above
winter’s leafy, brushwoodsy
blanket.” (a Cameo pattern)
c 2012 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press
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