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Robyn Hood Black - children's author, poet, artist

Life on the Deckle Edge

The 2025 Kidlit Progressive Poem Parks HERE for Day Three!

April 3, 2025
Tags: --poetry, National Poetry Month, Poetry Friday, Kidlit Progressive Poem 2025

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers, and Happy National Poetry Month! (& Happy Poetry Friday if you're here Friday!)

 

I'm delighted to have our annual Kidlit Progressive Poem park here for Day Three. The Progressive Poem was launched several years ago by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem and is now tended by Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche.  It always brings surprises. 

 

For this year's offering, Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise wrote the first *perfect*  line, and Tricia Stohr-Hunt of The Miss Rumphius Effect handed me a delicious second line.  My addition is the third line in bold. A few comments about it are below the month's schedule.

 

 

Open an April window
let sunlight paint the air

stippling every dogwood

 

 

(Take it away, Donna, at Mainely Write!)

 

Here's the month's lineup. (Please excuse my lack of hyperlinks, but my website doesn't do those without my manually putting in each one, and I've got a deadline this week! Link to active links is below the list.)

 

April 1 Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
April 2 Tricia Stohr-Hunt at The Miss Rumphius Effect
April 3 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 4 Donna Smith at Mainely Write
April 5 Denise Krebs at Dare to Care
April 6 Buffy Silverman
April 7 Jone Rush MacCulloch
April 8 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
April 9 Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference
April 10 Marcie Flinchum Atkins
April 11 Rose Capelli at Imagine the Possibilities
April 12 Fran Haley at Lit Bits and Pieces
April 13 Cathy Stenquist
April 14 Janet Fagel at Mainely Write
April 15 Carol Varsalona at Beyond LiteracyLink
April 16 Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm
April 17 Kim Johnson at Common Threads
April 18 Margaret at Reflections on the Teche
April 19 Ramona at Pleasures from the Page
April 20 Mary Lee at A(nother) Year of Reading
April 21 Tanita Davis
April 22 Patricia Franz
April 23 Ruth at There's no such thing as a Godforsaken town
April 24 Linda Kulp Trout
April 25 Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe
April 26 Michelle Kogan
April 27 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
April 28 Pamela Ross at Words in Flight
April 29 Diane Davis at Starting Again in Poetry
April 30 April Halprin Wayland at Teaching Authors

 

Here is the sign-up page at Margaret's blog with all the links.

 

 

Why dogwoods in my line? Because they've been delighting me for the past week or so here in upstate South Carolina!  I did make sure their range includes Maine, so I wasn't tossing a unfamiliar image to Donna.  And I wasn't really trying to turn my back on those of you west of the Mississippi; I just wanted to include a specific detail. 

 

I tried to generally echo the syllables/rhythm of the first line, and chose "stippling" to add another "p" sound to those in "Open," "April," and "paint." Now Donna can decide whether to make a rhyme and a traditional four-line stanza - or NOT!  I love that each poet can make her/his own path turning the poem. 

 

In case you saw my post last week, I'll add that I was particularly struck by "let sunlight paint the air" because we've all been hyper-focused on the air here in upstate South Carolina and Western North Carolina in the past couple of weeks because of wildfires.  (Our house is about 7-8 miles from one of them.) Depending on which way the wind blew, we had oppressive smoke or clear-ish skies.  But last weekend, things improved. (Except that we sent all our smoke across the line to North Carolina for a couple of days - sorry!) Federal help arrived a week or so ago and brought big equipment and more folks, and then we had RAIN on Sunday and Monday.  The containment percentages for all these fires went up slowly over the week (in the 90s as I type this early Thursday), residents have been allowed to return to their homes, and burn bans have been lifted.  The acreage burned in the Table Rock Complex fires totaled more than 15,000, making it the largest fire in Upstate South Carolina history. 

 

If you're still reading this, and you're reading on Friday, be sure to visit oh-so-busy Matt at Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme for this week's Poetry Friday Roundup.  And be sure to check our generous Jama's roundup of poetry events for April in the kidlitosphere at Jama's Alphabet Soup. 

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Poetry Friday - Little Birdie and Knockout Roses

April 18, 2024
Tags: --poetry, -Poetry Friday, roses, Little Birdie song

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!  Here we are in the middle of Poetry Month, and I have something short and sweet.

 

This winter, I lamented that the rose bushes at the front of our house looked gangly and scraggly.  We didn't prune them as early as we had last year, and I wondered what they would look like come spring.  Also, my husband had added three more little bushes beside the driveway.  They weren't forlorn looking, but they were small. 

 

One day this week, I walked out the front door and was knocked out by all the knockout roses - it's as if they all buffed up and bloomed overnight!  Actually, I had been out of town a few days, and there was a fair bit of rain during that time.  But it still felt like magic to me. The picture above is one of the "new" small bushes - which transformed from a teepee-like bundle of sticks and a few leaves to this!

 

The roses reminded me of a song my mother sang to me, from my grandmother, and that I (and my daughter) now sing to our almost two-year-old Baby Grand, Sawyer. 

Was this little ditty in your family?

 

 

Little Birdie in the tree,

in the tree,

in the tree,

 

Little Birdie in the tree,

sing your song for me.

 

Sing about the roooo-ses 

on the garden wall.

 

Little Birdie in the tree,

sing your song for me.

 

I also recorded myself singing this for Sawyer's Tonie Box .  Do you know about those? It's a fun little box (no screen) that little ones can play songs and stories on, and there's a way to make your own recordings for them, too.

 

I wondered about the origin of this song and asked the Google.  I found a brief entry on a Library of Congress site.  The song was attributed to Ray Wood with a date in April (!) of 1939.  The lyrics are a bit different, though - I'll have to ask my mother if she knows how they came to be the more pleasing version above in our family.

 

Here's the recorded version:

 

---

 

Little birdie in the tree, in the tree, in the tree, Little birdie in the tree, Sing a song to me.

 

Sing about the robin, Way up in the sky; When you go out callin, Do your children cry?

 

(Repeat first verse)

 

Sung by Ray Wood, Houston, Texas, April 13, 1939.

 

---

 

I didn't do a deep dive to find Ray Wood, but I couldn't find anything in the shallow end of the internet.  Anybody know anything about him?

 

Well, I hope whatever ditties are passed down from generation to generation in your family bring a smile, and delight that blooms like April roses.

 

Happy Earth Day on Monday!

 

Our earth-loving and rosy Heidi has the Roundup today at My Juicy Little Universe, and Catherine adds a line to the Progressive Poem today over at Reading to the Core.

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Poetry Friday - She Said Yes!

January 4, 2024
Tags: --poetry, -Poetry Friday, Kahlil Gibran, marriage poem

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers - and Happy New Year!  I've missed you.  We've been happily covered up hosting family for the past couple of weeks (everyone from the wee 18-month-old baby grand to my folks from Florida, who hadn't been on a plane in decades.  They survived!) Keeping the six-month-old pup in check was an extra adventure, with additional people around.  He loved the attention. We also had a small overnight trip in the middle. 

 

Said trip was to be in on the surprise for our future daughter-in-law, Ginnie, when our son Seth asked her to marry him.  He cooked up a warm event with friends and family on a very chilly night in Asheville, in the same little city park where they had their first meeting/date.

 

He told her,

 

•I promise to love you a forever full of tomorrows•

 

(Pretty poetic if you ask me.  He's quite the able wordsmith, crafting regular sermons and a witty family text here and there.)

 

I didn't have to look far to find a poem to share in their honor this week. You've likely seen it, or at least parts of it.  It's from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet, published in 1923, 100 years before these two got engaged.

 

 

On Marriage

by Kahlil Gibran (1883–1931)


Then Almitra spoke again and said, And what of Marriage, master?
      And he answered saying:
      You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
      You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
      Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
      But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
      And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

 

     Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
      Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
      Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
      Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
      Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
      Even as the strings of the lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

 

     Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
      For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
      And stand together yet not too near together:
      For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
      And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

 

(Here's the link from poets.org.)

 

My hubby Jeff and I will celebrate our 40th anniversary in June, and I'd say that from my perspective anyway, these poetic words above contain sound advice!

 

Jeff's parents are no longer with us, but I would imagine they would share with Seth and Ginnie the same sentiment they gave to many other grandchildren about to marry:  love is not a feeling, but a commitment.

 

When my folks got married in 1980, it was a second marriage for both of them.  They'll celebrate 44 years next month.  I asked them for a gem to share, and they offered a couple of shiny nuggets.  From my mom, Nita, "Of course, have Jesus in there somewhere leading the way."  And from Jack, "Each one putting the other one first.  Respect, trust, and putting the other first."

 

We've seen these traits alive and well with our oldest, Morgan, and her hubby, Matt (world's best son-in-law).

 

Every couple finds their own way, and we'll be cheering on our young 'uns with love and support, from a respectable distance. ;0)

 

Congrats, Kids! 

 

Any pearls (or diamonds, or sapphires) you'd like to add? Please do, and then be sure to visit Marcie Flinchum Atkins for the first Poetry Friday Roundup of 2024!  Thanks, Marcie. 

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Poetry Friday - First Birthday Poem!

June 1, 2023
Tags: --poetry, -Poetry Friday, Robyn Hood Black, Robyn Hood Black poems

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!  How did it get to be June so fast?

 

We had a delightful visit from our baby grand, Sawyer, last weekend.  (The picture was one of my favorites from the weekend - that's my hubby, Jeff , aka "Baba.") In a few days, we'll be celebrating Sawyer's first birthday! 

 

He's grown from a beautiful wee bairn into a snuggly, music-loving, baby-engineering, dog-bowl splashing, truck-admiring, mischief-making singer of mysterious songs.  He is a voracious lover of books, and has recently started "reading" them himself, with the pictures turned the right way, even. Also, he's a dumper of laundry baskets, little trash cans, and toilet paper from the roll. He's on the move most of the time, except for the occasional "Ms. Rachel" break in his special chair. He's stolen all of our hearts and we can't wait to see where he'll go next!  (Babyproof, people!)

 

Here's a little ditty to celebrate.

 

                  You're the ONE!

                   (for Sawyer)

 

              Look at you, Baby - 

              Look what you've done.

 

              You made your first trip 

              around the sun!

 

              Here's to another

              year of fun.

 

              Here's to you - 

              Hooray!  You're one!

 

             ©Robyn Hood Black.

 

We're so proud of his parents - our Morgan and hubby Matt, and their oh-so-patient lab, Maggie.  Uncle Seth (& Aunt Ginnie) keep Sawyer entertained & full of joy, too.

 

Wishing you much to revel in this summer.  Speaking of which, Happy Pride Month to all who celebrate!

 

For bushels of poetry, visit the ever-talented Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect for this week's Roundup. 

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Poetry Friday = Poetry Month Eve; Go See Mary Lee!

March 30, 2023
Tags: --poetry, -Poetry Friday

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!  I'm still up to my elbows in boxes and trying to wrestle order out of chaos over here, but I appreciate Mary Lee's getting us ready for Poetry Month over at A(nother) Year of Reading.    Enjoy her original poem and her enthusiasm here on the cusp of April - good things will be blooming all over. See you next week!

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Poetry Friday - "Fall, leaves, fall" by Emily Bronte

September 22, 2022
Tags: --poetry, -Poetry Friday, Emily Bronte, leaves
My "Fancy Fall Leaves" bookmark on Etsy....

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!

 

On the road today (a road full of farms and fields with large rolls of freshly cut hay), so I'm just here with a HAPPY FALL wave and a short, classic poem.  Autumn is my favorite season, though I wouldn't quite describe it the way Emily B. did here... but then again, there's a bit of thrill in the macabre this time of year.

 

 

 

Fall, leaves, fall

 

by Emily Bronte (1818-1848)

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.


I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night's decay
Ushers in a drearier day.

 

 

Wishing you and yours plenty of un-dreary days as our calendars flutter into Fall and beyond! 

 

Our year-round Rose has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Imagine the Possibilities.. drift on over and enjoy!

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Poetry Friday - Farewell to Summer with Two Classic September Poems

September 15, 2022
Tags: --poetry, -Poetry Friday, Sara Teasdale, artsyletters, fall poems, Joanne Kyger, autumn poems
I've been upcycing antique postcards into collages on cradled boards, adding complementary gouache backgrounds and a few sparkly Swarovski crystals. This Edwardian bathing beauty from the early 1900s invites you to keep the spirit of summer around all year! Click to see on Etsy. 

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!

 

Here in coastal South Carolina, the days are still warm, but not excessively hot; some leaves are scattered on the ground; and we're still keeping a cautious eye ocean-ward after an unusually quiet start to the hurricane season in our corner of the Atlantic, anyway. (The peak Atlantic season occurs in September and October.)

 

Our kids in and near the mountains report cooler days of late, and at our Upstate South Carolina house last weekend, the deep green of summer is giving away to early hints of color in the trees. 

 

Back at the coast, I've been making collages featuring actual postcards of bathing beauties from the early 1900s.  I have some for sale at a local shop here, and I'll be adding some (such as the one pictured above) to my Etsy shop, too.  I guess it's my way of hanging on to summer a wee bit, even as the calendar pages turn themselves to autumn....

 

Here are a couple of September poems to help me get oriented, and maybe they'll strike your fancy as well. The first even begins with a nod to the sea.

 

 

 

September


By Joanne Kyger (1934-2017)

 

The grasses are light brown
and the ocean comes in
long shimmering lines
under the fleet from last night
which dozes now in the early morning 

 

...

 

Enjoy the rest of this rich poem here.  And you can read more about Joanne Kyger's rich life here. 

 

 

And here is a poem published in 1914, a few years after that postcard above was published, as a matter of fact. 

 

 

 

September Midnight


By Sara Teasdale

 
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.

 

The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.

 

Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.

 

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.

 


Originally published in Poetry, March 1914. You can read more about Sara Teasdale here. 

 

Back to the present, hop on over to Australia to enjoy a different season from mine in the Northern Hemisphere, and lots of great poetry - Kat Apel has our Roundup (& a "Katch-up"!).  Thanks, Kat. :0)

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Poetry Friday - Hearts in Great Britain & Poetry by Vita Sackville-West

September 8, 2022
Tags: --poetry, -Poetry Friday, Vita Sackville-West, England, sissinghurst

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers - I had already sipped my daily cup of English tea (Clipper) early on Thursday before I heard the worrisome news of the Queen's decline, and then, later, the sad news of her death. 

 

Between both of those pieces of news, my mind went back to our 1994 trip to England to visit friends of Jeff's family and have a look around.  (Our Morgan was just a wee two-year-old.) We were based in Kent, with a sojourn or two to London. For a couple of days, our little family stayed at a renovated Victorian farmhouse on the grounds of Sissinghurst Castle.  An Elizabethan tower survives, and in the 16th century, Queen Elizabeth I did visit a mansion house there.

 

Now the world-renowned gardens draw throngs of visitors each year.  These spectacular outdoor rooms were created in the 1930s by poet and writer Vita Sackville-West and her husband, Harold Nicolson (an author and diplomat).  They were quite the bohemians and interesting characters.  You can learn more about them and the castle gardens here. 

 

Sackville-West (1892-1962) published novels as well as poetry and also wrote articles, letters, and journals. She loved the outdoors, as did Queen Elizabeth II.  

 

On our trip, at Sissinghurst, I bought an edition of two of Sackville-West's most famous works together - The Land & The Garden. The book has striking illustrations by Peter Firmin and an introduction by Nigel Nicolson (Frome and London: Webb & Bower, 1989).

 

As we're now about to welcome Fall, and with the heavy news from across The Pond, I thought these opening words from AUTMUMN (part of THE LAND) were fitting:

 

AUTUMN

 

by Vita Sackville-West

 

(excerpt)

 

How slow the darkness comes, once daylight's gone,

A slowness natural after English day,

So unimpassioned, tardy to move on,

No southern violence that burns away,

Ardent to live, and eager to be done.

The twilight lingers, etching tree on sky;

The gap's a portal on the ridge's crest;

The partridge coveys call beyond the rye;

Still some red bar of sunset cracks the west;

The orange harvest-moon like a dull sun

Rolls silent up the east above the hill;

Earth like a sleeper breathes, and all is still

This hour of after-day, the dying day's bequest,

This autumn dusk, when neither day nor night

Urges a man to strive or sleep; he stands

Filled with the calm of that familiar place,

 

...

 

(The verses go on for miles....)

 

I'm grateful that Queen Elizabeth was able to say her goodbyes in a place that was calm and familiar to her.  I heard in a news story that she liked to tell guests at Balmoral exactly where to stand outside on the grounds at midnight, to have the best view of the stars in the vast Scottish sky.

 

Our wonderful Carol has this week's Roundup at Beyond Literacy Week.  Thank you, Carol!

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Poetry Friday - Hooray for Pens!

April 14, 2022
Tags: --poetry, -Poetry Friday, National Poetry Month, artsyletters, pens, Seamus Heaney, -haiku, pen poems, pen poetry
(Click for my Etsy listings...)

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!

 

Last week in a comment, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater asked about the glass pen in the picture with my little journals, and if I wrote with it.  Actually, that pen was an exquisite gift brought back for me from Italy from my very dear friend and fellow kidlit-folk, Paula Puckett. I have written with it, but mostly use it for Etsy photos.  It has a metal nib. 

 

I did, however, purchase an all-glass pen not very long ago.  I hadn't tried it, but since Amy asked, I finally gave it a wee scribble. I think I'm in love! It's fun to hold and terribly smooth.  The line is a bit wider than I'm used to writing or drawing with, as I usually use smaller nibs (especially the metal hawks quill or crow quill for drawing).  But I'm envisioning a lovely future with this pen, especially if I can keep from breaking it. 

 

The one I have is from Herbin; you can see a demonstration at their website here.  The side of the box explains, "Glass pens were very trendy in 17th century Venice." Because the nib has grooves, you can write several words before having to take the pen for a dip in the inkwell. 

 

I've always loved the physical act of writing.  As a kid, I took to cursive like a bee to nectar.  I have a vague memory of my second grade teacher letting me "teach" writing on the chalk board one day.

 

I've shared this haiku before, but I did write a poem about writing with a dip pen, before my daughter's marriage in 2016:

 

 

wedding invitations
the press and release
of the nib

 

©Robyn Hood Black

 
Third Honorable Mention, Harold G. Henderson Haiku Awards, Frogpond, Volume 39 Number 3, Autumn 2016

 

dust devils - THE RED MOON ANTHOLOGY OF ENGLISH-LANGUAGE HAIKU 2016, edited by Jim Kacian & The Red Moon Editorial Staff, Red Moon Press, 2017

 

For a longer poem with a pen reference, rich in imagery and family dynamics, here's a link to a treasure from Seamus Heaney's Death of a Naturalist (Oxford University Press, 1966):

 

 

Digging

 

by Seamus Heaney


Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

...

 

Click here for the poem. 

 

 

If you're a fountain pen fan, you might enjoy this 2016 article by Elizabeth Vogdes that I stumbled upon.  It's from the Swarthmore College Bulletin, "The Poetry of Pen and Ink."

 

What's your favorite way to commit poetic inspirations to paper - or, are you all electronic?  Or is a vintage typewriter your mode of literary record? My aforementioned friend Paula loves itty bitty ends of pencils! I'll grab whatever is handy, but I do love real pens.  Dip pens are best, but  Pigma Microns come in handy if I need a narrow line in a jiffy, or a way to write tiny text on little stained price tags for my items in local shops.

 

Do you like bold color? India ink? Do you end up with all the pens in the universe in the bottom of your purse (for those who carry purses)? Would you be caught without a pen?

 

Thanks for visiting, and be sure to check out all the luscious lines rounded up by Matt this week at Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme. (He's got an interview with Leslie Bulion, and a giveaway!)  Thanks, Matt. Also, follow along with our annual Kidlit Progressive Poem - here's a link to it from Jama's Alphabet Soup, and while you're there, check out Jama's roundup of Kidlit Poetry Month goodness! 

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Poetry Friday - Nesting in SPRING!

March 24, 2022
Tags: -Poetry Friday, paul dunbar, --poetry, Spring, quilts
©Robyn Hood Black

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!  Sorry to miss you last weekend - I was so busy traveling and finishing up a baby quilt for a family gathering & bonus baby shower for our daughter and her hubby that I didn't come up for air at all.

 

You can see the little quilt above, with Matt and Morgan.  The four little flying-geese-type patches (-does anyone know exactly what those squares are called, with the little chevron element?-) were from a quilt top that my own grandmother (my mother's mother) made decades ago, so there's love going back four generations in all those stitches. :0) 

 

After the big family gathering, my husband Jeff helped Matt put together the crib for the new nursery. I helped Matt hang some pictures.  (Actually, a set of Noah's Ark drawings I had made 30 years ago when Morgan was born!) The parents-to-be have been getting the room ready for the last several weeks, and it is looking cozy and welcoming.  I'm sure everything will be in place for its special occupant come early June.

 

Speaking of nesting, a couple of weeks ago I noticed that skillfully tucked inside the gate to the storage area beneath our house is a perfect little Carolina wren nest.  You can't see it very well from the pictures, but you get the idea.  It's actually quite pretty in person, with bits of green lichen laced into the pine needles and such.  I wanted to get a better photo Thursday to show you, but it was chilly and rainy and I didn't want to cause Ms. Wren to fly away.  The birdie couple has at least four eggs in there, from what I could tell last week. 

 

I do love wrens.  That's why I was dellighted to see a social media posting by our own Jone Rush MacCulloch, who you might know has been learning Scots Gaelic, with a link to the pronunciation of 'wren' by learngaelicscot on Instagram. Enjoy!

 

In addition to the joyous anticipation of new baby life and bird life right now, we've got azaleas and dogwoods blooming in Beaufort, and masses of little green leaves covering the big live oaks. 

 

Here's a poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906) capturing Spring's exuberance. 

 

 

Spring Song

 

by Paul Laurence Dunbar
 
A blue-bell springs upon the ledge,
A lark sits singing in the hedge;
Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,
And life is brimming everywhere.
What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,
    Is Spring, Spring, Spring!

 

No more the air is sharp and cold;
The planter wends across the wold,
And, glad, beneath the shining sky
We wander forth, my love and I.
And ever in our hearts doth ring
    This song of Spring, Spring!

 

For life is life and love is love,
'Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.
Life may be short, life may be long,
But love will come, and to its song
Shall this refrain for ever cling
    Of Spring, Spring, Spring!

 

 

My own baby boy, by the way, turned 27 this week.  (Happy Birthday, Seth!) Hard to believe that next week, we'll be celebrating the start of National Poetry Month. I plan to make & feature some new artsyletters goodies for poets along with poems for Poetry Fridays, and I look forward to my usual participation in the Kidlit Progressive Poem, which will be hosted again by Margaret at Reflections on the Teche.  (Thanks, Margaret!)

 

So get ready for April by flitting around all the great posts this week, rounded up for us by the ever-talented and wonderful Amy at The Poem Farm.  (Thanks, Amy!) And for fellow bird-lovers and poem-lovers, check out Amy's NEWEST treasure of a book while you're over there, IF THIS BIRD HAD POCKETS.

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