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

Helloooo - After hosting all the delightful posts last week, I didn't have my Poetry Friday act together this week to make a new post myself.  (Just lots of family busy-ness and summer days running togther....)  But be sure to row on over to Reflections on the Teche, where Margaret offers up a praise poem sure to slow your breathing and lift your spirits. Thanks, Margaret!

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers! Bonjour, Mes Amis! Welcome to the Poetry Friday Roundup, where you can peruse a grand assortment of poetry posts across a variety of wonderful blogs. Newcomer or veteran, feel free to add your own link and topic in the comments, and I'll round up the posts old-school today. (We have a couple of rounds of family visiting; I will be dipping in and out here as the day goes along!)

 

Perhaps you're a fan of grand slam tennis as I am, and your eyes have been turned to London for Wimbledon this fortnight. (Finals are this weekend.) Soon our attention will drift to Paris, where the Games of the Summer Olympics begin July 26. The Paralympic Games begin August 28.  

 

The River Seine will be the focus of many athletes and countless spectators and tourists in coming weeks. From National Geographic, I learned that this river had (has?) an ancient Celtic goddess, Sequana.  I found some lovely lines about the river quoted by Elaine Sciolino in a 2019 article on a site called Literary Hub. She is the author of a book called The Seine – The River that Made Paris (Norton).  She shares this beautiful poetic passage:

 

She goes to the sea
Passing through Paris. . . .
And . . .  walks between the quays
In her beautiful green dress
And her golden lights.

 

–Jacques Prévert, "Chanson de la Seine"

 

Jacques Prévert  was a celebrated French poet and screenwriter who lived from 1900-1977.

 

I'm adding more items to the French corner of my Etsy shop in celebration of the Olympics.  Lately I've returned to an old love from my childhood, wax seals.

 

Any other fans of Victoria Magazine, dear readers?  I've been a devotee forever. The January/February 2024 issue featured odes to correspondence, including a feature on Kathryn Hastings, who takes correspondence to a new artistic level (and offers wax seal products for sale).  I might have succumbed to purchasing one of Victoria's lovely books, The Art of Correspondence.  The photography is gorgeous, of course!

 

I've also discovered a wonderful supplier called Letterseals.com, which features lots of irresistible items and waxes, including vegan options and sticks from a company in Scotland, Waterstons, which has been creating sealing waxes the same way for 300 years. And on Etsy, I happened upon a small business in Seattle which has made letter seals products since 1998 – BeeImpressed.

 

Vintage brass stamps from Etsy and Ebay have made their way to my doorstep.

 

I altered a wax seal that came with an order and used it inside a little book I made last week for an online workshop.  I know there are many mixed media artists among us; if that means you and you don't know of him already, I highly recommend Seth Apter as an instructor and curator of many enticing items in his online shop. (When I started my artsyletters business more than a decade ago, I stumbled upon his books and videos.)

 

Last year, I participated in Seth's "Mixed Media Mechanics" monthly workshop series.  And a couple of weeks ago, I created along with "Double Jointed" – a simple bookmaking class.  Six hours flew by! (Here's my Instagram post  (@artsylettersgifts) featuring the book, which took me a couple more days to finish.)

 

My apologies if any of these links cause a dent in your wallet, as they have in mine!  Too good not to share.  But hey – Poetry Friday is free!  Thank you for sharing your wondrous poetic adventures with the world this week.  I look forward to sealing this post with their goodness.

 

[Thanks to you Early Birds who left links when I put up my placeholder post Thursday night... I'll get the Roundup list together ASAP!]

 

----------

 

Laura Purdie Salas starts us off with a journey!  Join Laura and illustrator Kayla Harren on a fun-filled, yummy promotional trip to Duluth, Minnesota for Oskar's Voyage. (Looks like Oskar had a blast!) Then enjoy one of Laura's original poetryaction poems, "We Sleep,"  in response to the book, Sweet Dreamers.

 

Love is in the air over at Karen Edmisten's place - she offers a gorgeous 10-line poem with all kinds of surprises, "You and I," by Jonathan Potter.

 

At The Opposite of Indifference, Tabatha shares an ethereal textile-themed cento stitched together by Elinor Ann Walker, "Dew Dresses." (PS - Only a "half-birthday" for me... but the baby grand just turned two, the pup just turned one, and Jeff's birthday is in a couple of weeks! ;0)  )

 

Denise at Dare to Care checks in from her travels with a thoughtful and ultimately encouraging poem, "I Don't Know."

 

Over at Teaching Authors, April is celebrating that amazing group's 15th blogiversary!  (Cue the confetti!)  Go, Teaching Authors.  You're still  "blooming in the blogisphere/post by post, year by year."

 

Lots of talk about different kinds of intelligence these days - human vs. artificial.  Mary Lee offers her mindful, poetic take on the topic at A(nother) Year of Reading.

 

The world-weary among us (isn't that just about all of us these days?) will find a refreshing pause with a classic William Stafford poem, "You Reading This, Be Ready," over at TeacherDance today.  Thank you, Linda, for bringing out this treasure at a perfect time.

 

The OH-so-creative Michelle Kogan is spinning lots of colorful plates herself, but lucky for us, she took time to share a wonderful plein-air pen-and-ink drawing and a summery haiku that will leave you smiling with appreciation! Good medicine, both. :0)

 

 When Irene Latham lives her own poem and tells you it has "grapes and angels and a turtle in it," you can't resist clicking over.  See?  Yep.  (It has some magic in it, too.)

 

At There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town, Ruth reminds us that school will start soon enough, but there's still time for delighful summertime imaginings with Frank Asch's poem, "Sunflakes."

 

Inspired by a line from Naomi Shihab Nye's "Kindness," Margaret at Reflections on the Teche has a breathtaking poem about grief and sorrow, with some light in it.  The title, "You Must Know," was borrowed from the line.

 

So, one thing I didn't know was that "I Don't Know" was a prompt/theme... offered by Ruth (see above!) for Spiritual Thursday.  I am definitely out of the loop and sleep-deprived lately. ;0) Patricia J. Franz has some musings (so specific and lovely!), photographs, and her own poetic considerations of "I Don't Know" - prayer as well as poem. 

 

Last week's Poetry Friday host and one of the world's finest humans Jan kindly links her post from last week at bookseed studio - it's still watermelon time!  And some of us were too busy eating watermelon elsewhere to be able to savor recent Poetry Friday picnics, so we appreciate it.  ;0) Thanks, Jan!!

 

In Carol's original poem, "What I Didn't Know," at Beyond Literacy Link (another in the Spiritual Thursday theme), she conveys a harrowing medical experience following what she thought would be a simple outpatient surgery. Even in the midst of her very real struggle, she still somehow found a way to let the light in, and to share it with us.

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers! 

 

It's been a while since I shared an Issa poems from David G. Lanoue's amazing treasure house of thousands of Issa poems he has translated (up to more than 12,000 now....)

 

So here are a few to welcome summer, and you can find details about these, and many more summer poems, here. (Just put any term you are interested in into the search box.  I found these with "summer.")

 

Haiku by Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828)

 

 

meeting at the fence--
an early summer rain
streams down

 

 

answering prayers
for the grasses...
summer heat

 

 

amid scented cedars
a bush warbler's song...
new summer robes

 

 

making the lawn
a sit-down teahouse...
summer trees

 

 

short summer night--
a deer pokes her face
through the hedge

 

 

All poems translated by David G. Lanoue and used with permission.  Learn more about David here. 

 

Wishing you and yours a fantabulous start to summer.  My blog will be taking a wee break for June as we have several trips planned, plus elbow surgery for the pup, who turns 1 at the end of the month. Our first little trip is to celebrate our Baby Grand's SECOND birthday - how did that happen so fast?! We have a wedding anniversay in June, too - number 40! (Yes, we were babes when we got married - Ha!)

 

I'll see you in a few weeks (and look forward to hosting in July). Be sure to start your first weekend in June off with all the poetic goodness hosted by the oh-so-talented Janice at Salt City Verse. She's highlighting Carol Labuzzetta's new anthology!

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!  As we enter the Memorial Day weekend, my thoughts turn to the grandfather I never met.  He died four years before I was born.  I blogged about him before, I'm sure, and know I used this picture, though I can't put my finger on that post at the moment! 

 

John Hollingsworth Conditt was born in 1900, though he lied about his age to join the Army in World War I in 1917.  (Official records say either 1898 or 1899.) Both of his parents died in 1917; I'm guessing from the influenza pandemic? He was a fiesty one, a drinker and a fighter in his youth, as my mother Nita remembers being told.  From my forays through family trees and on Ancestry.com, his line of folks seems to be the most livelly and interesting in the family, on both his mother's and father's sides!  But I digress. 

 

He was wounded in France, was sent back and patched up, and returned to the fight.  Then he went with the Army to China for a bit.

 

My mother also told me once that after he returned home to Arkansas, he saw my grandmother working in a field and told his buddy, "I'm going to marry her."  And, he did!  Outside on the street, evidently, as her father had some sort of objection.  

 

He was reserved and devoted to his family.  In my living room I have a wooden box with maps pasted on the inside, something he made for my mother to put her doll in.  They were dirt poor tenant farmers, but they could make and make do like nobody's business. My grandmother bore six children, losing one as an infant and another at the age of four.  Times were hard.  My mother was the baby. 

 

She said her daddy never talked about the war.  As I was researching a few years ago, I discovered on his "Headstone Application for Military Veterans" that someone had written in "Silver Star" and "Purple Heart" in red pencil.  Looking at a few more of these types of applications, it looks like red marks were made by the government staff members who reviewed the applications.  Though he got himself into a bit of trouble during his service, my mother recalls, he was honorably discharged in 1922. In World War I, the award was called the "Citation Star" - the Silver Star was retroactively awarded to those recipients.  I only recently discovered that on his actual grave marker, it does say "SS" and "PH"!  The Silver Star is awarded for "gallentry in action" and is the third highest award for combat valor.

 

I've only seen one giant list online of majojr mililtary award recipients and didn't see his name listed (though a very close name attributed to WWII), but the list said the absence of a name should not be interpreted to mean one's family member did not receive the Silver Star.  So it's still a bit of a mystery, one I might have to hire a professional to help track down if possible.

 

My mother says she doesn't remember her father smiling.  Times were certainly different.  And those who came back from the front lines 100 years ago didn't have the resources we have available today.  (My psychiatrist hubby worked for 10 years with Marines and members of the Navy before starting his current job.)

 

Thanks for reading this family ramble.  I'm sharing two poems, a famous one associated with WWI, and an older one with a couple of similar images but NOT about war.  

 

Deep gratitude to everyone who wears or has worn a uniform, and to their families, especially those whose grief will be especially keen this weekend. 

 

 

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae

(1872 – 1918)

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
    That mark our place; and in the sky
    The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
    Loved and were loved, and now we lie
        In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe: 
To you from failing hands we throw
    The torch; be yours to hold it high. 
    If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
        In Flanders fields.

 

 

This one was written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who died a decade before John McCrae was born. I wish peace like this for all who face any kind of battle.

 

 

Out in the Fields

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

(1806–1861)

The little cares that fretted me
   I lost them yesterday,
Among the fields above the sea,
   Among the winds at play,
Among the lowing of the herds,
   The rustling of the trees,
Among the singing of the birds,
   The humming of the bees.

 

The foolish fears of what might happen.
   I cast them all away
Among the clover-scented grass,
   Among the new-mown hay,
Among the husking of the corn,
  Where drowsy poppies nod
Where ill thoughts die and good are born--
  Out in the fields with God.

 

This Just In - My mother read the post and offered a few more details that tugged at my heart:

 

"Flanders Fields" always brings tears and memories of Poppies which Daddy loved and respected. He always made sure we each had a red poppy to wear on National Poppy Day, which is the Friday before Memorial Day....TODAY! He always donated $10.00 to The American Legion to help provide Poppies which were given to people to wear. We kids gave him our 'savings' to help. $10.00 was a lot of money! ... I know we sometimes would donate and wear a poppy when you were young...American Legion members would be on street corners or in front of stores. Do you remember?

   

I do seem to remember those little red poppies, with paper-covered wires to wrap around a button or such I think. 

 

Thanks again for reading along.  Start your long weekend off with all kinds of poetry (and art) at More Art 4 All with Michelle (& blow out a birthday streamer in her honor!).

 

Quick wave from the Where-Did-the-Week-Go Dept.... Well, I'm not sure, but Patricia knows.  She's been up to SOME good and she's also rounding up this week at https://patriciajfranz.com/blog-poetry-friday-is-here/ - Go plant your roots for a bit!

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!  May is well upon us.  In my corner, our flowers are blooming, the trees are leafy and full, and the first brood of baby bluebirds has fledged. And, storms have been rolling through.  [We've been fortunate; prayers for those who have lost so much this week.]

 

Are you familiar with those NPR/Public Radio "driveway moments?" You know, when you become entranced by a story and even though you've parked your car, you leave it running to listen until the end? Recently I had that experience with an episode of the "My Unsung Hero" series.  It has stuck with me. It was about the life-saving power of a very simple kindness - just a smile - extended by a stranger. Here's the link to the 3-minute recording, or you can quickly read the text. 

 

In looking for some poetic May morsels to share, I turned to my oft-mentioned copy of THE ILLUMINATED BOOK OF DAYS edited by Kay & Marshall Lee with illustrations by Kate Greenaway and Eugene Grasset (G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1979.) There I stumbled onto the fact that May 7 was Robert Browning's birthday.  May 7 is also the birthday of our wonderful son-in-law, Matt! :0)

 

(Hang with me.  This all relates.) A romp through THE COLUMBIA GRANGER'S DICTIONARY OF POETRY QUOTATIONS (Columbia University Press, 1992) for a few inspirational Browning lines found me reading some familiar ones - but I must confess, I never knew the origin of the ones below!  They are from Pippa Passes, a four-part verse drama published in 1841. Here's the brief Encyclopedia Brittanica description: 

 

On New Year's morning, her only holiday for the entire year, Pippa, an impoverished young silk-winder, sings as she wanders aimlessly. In each section of the poem, people who are at critical points in their lives make significant and far-reaching decisions when they hear Pippa sing as she passes by.

 

Here's the excerpt from Robert Browning (1812-1889, British):

 

The year's at the spring,

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn:

God's in His Heaven --

All's right with the world!

 

I know it certainly doesn't feel like all's right with the world these days. 

 

I've just turned in some yearly freelance writing I do for a character education program, Core Essentials, and part of my contribution is choosing and writing about an animal to pair with each month's value.  For one of next spring's months, I picked the bluebird - a symbol of happiness but also of hope.  Last year, our pair of bluebirds built a nest, but babies never hatched.  (Perhaps a snake or some other mishap.) This year, I never actually saw the babies - but I heard their hearty high-pitched cries from the little nest box when I was outside.  Mom and Dad worked so hard feeding them, day after day after day.  I was afraid they might flege when I was out of town attending an SCBWI conference in Birmingham weekend before last, and evidently they did.  

 

I still think of them each time I take the dog out. Though I never laid eyes on them and the birdhouse is quiet now, I hope the young ones are making their way in the world to build their own nests some day.

 

Wishing you grace to receive a smile (or bluebird song) if you need one this week; appreciation if you're able to share with someone who does. 

 

Our gracious and mulit-talented Linda at A Word Edgewise has today's Roundup. She's sharing a fun tradition that makes poetic lemonade out of lemons!

Howdy!  HAPPY MAY!  This week has been a blur of wrangling deadlines, Etsy orders, and a big rambunctious pup to various vet appointments.  I didn't get a post ready for today!  But be sure to visit the ever-delightful and talented Buffy Silverman for the first Roundup of May.  Thanks, Buffy!

 

Greetings, Poetry Lovers!  Can you believe we are in the final week of Poetry Month?  How did that happen?

 

Also, apparently I have a teeny wee mouse in my studio in the basement.  How did that happen? 

 

Well, that's easier to explain, as the renovated basement WAS an unfinished garage space, and it butts up on three sides to the ground, including whatever space is under the front porch.  Ah, well. My hubby says he'll take a look at trying to seal some questionable cracks. A few weeks ago, I noticed some teeny bits of shredded paper and insulation inside the little compartments of one of the old wooden printer's trays (inside an old metal flat file) that I use for some of my way-too-many tidbits.  Cute, but I did remove the shreds and sprinkle some peppermint detergent in there.  This week I found a few little bitty "deposits" in the closet I've also taken over with my art/packaging supplies (the tiny room right beneath the porch).

 

In THE POET'S CRAFT ( Helen Fern Daringer and Anne Thaxter Eaton, 1935), I came across an unknown-to me poem by Elizabeth Coatsworth (1893-1986) which takes the mouse's side.  She wrote for both children and adults, and won the Newbery Medal in 1931.

 

The Mouse

 

by Elizabeth Coatsworth

 

I hear a mouse

Bitterly complaining

In a crack of moonlight

Aslant on the floor -

 

"Little I ask

And that little is not granted.

There are few crumbs

In this world any more.

 

"The bread box is tin.

And I cannot get in.

 

"The jam's in a jar

My teeth cannot mar.

 

"The cheese sits by itself

On the pantry shelf. - 

 

"All night I run

Searching and seeking,

All night I run

About on the floor.

 

"Moonlight is there

And a bare place for dancing,

But no little feast

Is spread any more."

 

 

Poor Mousey. But I do love the image of mice dancing in the moonlight!

 

Waltz on over to see our talented Ruth at There is No Such Thing as a God-forsaken Town for this week's Roundup, and be sure to catch up on the Progressive Poem, which is parked at Still in Awe with Karin Fisher-Golton today. (I have Monday's line - wish me luck!)  Apologies in advance if I'm not swift in responding to comments this weekend - I'm off to the SCBWI Southern Breeze conference in Birmingham!

 

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.

Howdy!  I am traveling this weekend but Poetry Month marches on!  Please see Jone Rush MacCulloch today for the Roundup. Don't forget to follow along with the Progressive Poem, parked at Linda Mitchell's place this Friday, and check out Jama's Roundup of Kidlit Poetry Month Events.  Take good care, Robyn