a poetry month wrap-up.

I had grand plans for poetry month; reading a daily poem, discovering new poets and favorites, writing several poems of my own and sharing them all with you. Oh, the best laid plans...

I hope you found time to soak up the beauty of a well-placed turn of phrase, a precisely chosen rhyme or ingenious metaphor.

I did want to share the one short verse I did manage to compose along with a vow to strive to be a bit more diligent about posting. (But no guarantees!) 

strength 
comes in tiny packages
little bits at a time
like strands of rope
breakable strings 
on their own
yet wound together
you find yourself bound
for greatness

c-Amy McMillan, 2013

a newly discovered gem.

I came across this poem earlier this week, fell in love and had to share. I'd seen bits of it swirling around the interwebs after the Boston attack and finally found it in its entirety.  While it is specifically about tragedy and survival the idea that our lives can change in an instant (for the good as well as the not-so-good) is a powerful one and leads me to believe in all the possibilities of the future.

There is the hope that something difficult can be overcome and the reminder that good things rarely last forever and that the pendulum can swing from one apex to the other in just the blink of an eye. Appreciate what you have, don't give up just yet, and don't be afraid to marvel at the miracles of the millions of interactions and near misses that make up our amazingly wonderful lives.

a book of poetry.

As poetry month draws to a close I wanted to feature a few of my favorite books written in verse.  Often we think of poems as a series of short stanzas or maybe an epic narrative (generally translate from Greek or something!) but there's a relatively modern trend of using a series of shorter verses (often confined to one or two pages) that build on each other to tell a complete story. I've read some that follow very strict formatting rules (each character 'speaking' in a different poetic form, for example) though most tend to lean toward free verse. The great thing about these books is they tend to be very quick reads. So, take a half hour or so and dive into one of these fun books in verse.

Three Rivers Rising
A novel of the Johnstown, Pennsylvania flood of 1889. (Ages 12 and up)

Your Own Sylvia
A biographical glimpse into the life of Sylvia Plath. (Ages 12 and up)

Odette's Secrets
A young Jewish girl is forced to leave her home in Paris when the Nazis invade. Based on a true story. (Ages 10 and up)

May B
A young girl is separated from her family by a snowstorm on the Kansas prairie in the 1870s and must use all her wits to survive. (Ages 9 and up)

Kaleidoscope Eyes
During the Vietnam War era, a girl enlists the help of her friends in searching search for pirate treasure after finding clues in her grandfather's attic. (Ages 10 and up)

All the Broken Pieces
After leaving his home in Vietnam during the war, a young boy, now living in America, struggles to find his place in the world. (Ages 9 and up)

Inside Out and Back Again
Forced to flee her home in Saigon, a young girl and her family fight to make a new life for themselves in America.  (Ages 9 and up, Newbery Honor)

Love That Dog  and its sequel Hate That Cat
Forced to compile a poetry notebook for a class assignment, Jack concedes that even boys can write poetry as he discovers other truths about himself and mourns his faithful companion.  (Ages 9 and up)

And as a bonus, here are a couple of books that feature poetry throughout the plot

Edgar Allan's Official Crime Investigation Notebook
When the class fish disappears and a poem is left in his place, Edgar Allan is on the case to find out who fishnapped Slurpy.  (Ages 9 and up)

Destiny, Rewritten
A young girl, named after Emily Dickinson, fights against a future that was fated to her at birth and learns a few things about herself along the way. (Ages 9 and up)

Most, as you can see, hit the middle grade reading range with only a few reaching into the young adult level but I'll vouch for them all as being delightful enough to keep older readers (and even adults) entertained. I'd love to hear about others you may have read, specifically those written just for adults. Any suggestions or recommendations?

some thought-filled words.

In light of all that has been going on the last couple of days I've had a phrase running constantly through my head.  "Things shouldn't be so hard." *

I feel grateful to have a spiritual background that gives me a bit of peace in the midst of confusion and pain even if it doesn't always answer the questions. Don't get me wrong. The pain is real and still hurts, but the peace can eventually soothe it to a dull ache and allow us to go on with our lives.  My heart goes out to all who are suffering in any way and hope that they find their moments of peace and maybe even answers. Life is hard but it is usually through the 'hard' that we learn lessons and grow our character and prove that we can both rise above and not go down without a fight.

Thoughts and prayers with all those affected by the events in Boston. God bless us all.

*Taken from this poem by Kay Ryan

a bit of poetry.

As most of you most likely already know (but I'm going to tell you anyway) April is National Poetry Month.  This year I'd made a New Year's resolution to read a poem a day.  I haven't quite made it daily but I figure many days I've read more than one so it's probably come out about even so far.

I'll be sharing a few of my favorite poems throughout the rest of the month but I wanted to start off by sharing some new favorite collections to give you all some ideas for your own reading as the days tick on.  Maybe you'll discover a favorite or two for yourselves!

Most of these are cataloged as children's but even adults will find something to appreciate within the lines and stanzas.

When Thunder Comes  by J. Patrick Lewis
The poems in this collection are each dedicated to a different civil rights leader. The usual suspects (MLK, Nelson Mandela, Gandhi) make appearances but lesser-known names are introduced as well.  Internment Camp member Mitsuye Endo, Native American Dennis James Banks, Astronaut Ellison Onizuka and more lives all make for interesting reading.  Each poem is also illustrated by a different artist.  Lots of great info in this book.

I Haiku You by Betsy E. Snyder
A short picture book with sweet watercolor illustrations contains a bunch of haiku poems all declaring their love for someone/thing. A perfect little giftable tie-on for the love of your life!

Stardines Swim High Across the Sky by Jack Prelutsky
THE name in children's poetry (particularly humorous poetry) and the king of creature mash-ups (umbrellaphants, wiguanas, halibutterflies) has teamed with a spectacular illustrator for his latest edition of crazy creature verses. You almost believe that they're real, pinned into the pages like an old-fashioned album or naturalist's collection.

Follow Follow by Marilyn Singer
A companion to her earlier Mirror Mirror, Singer's reverso poems focus on fairy tales and their characters presented in an enchanting and clever way. Here's an example so you can see how it works.  (In the author's note in Mirror Mirror she shares this, the first reverso she'd ever written.)

A cat                                   Incomplete:
without                               A chair
a chair:                                without
Incomplete.                        a cat.

The others in her book are more lengthy which makes them all the more fascinating and would make a perfect jumping off point for a lesson on punctuation (it's amazing how she uses so many different kinds to help make her meaning change subtly.) 

Next week I'll be back with some more ideas and a few poems to enlighten your minds.  Because every day should have a bit of poetry in it. You'll thank me later, I promise!

 Any healthy man can go without food for two days--but not without poetry.
~Charles Baudelaire

hearing the right words at the right time.

I was perusing this book of poetry by Mary Oliver today and came across a phrase that hit me like a ton of bricks.  Her poem Hurricane* ends with the lines "For some things there are no wrong seasons. Which is what I dream of for me."

I read that four or five times and then sat with it rolling around in my brain for a few minutes, and then read it again. I've been struggling with some major life decisions lately and trying to come to terms with the fact that some seasons of my life seem to have passed me by while I've put off doing certain things while waiting for a particular season to come. I have a very specific definition of the seasons of my life and the timelines that I think I should be following but for some reason life has a different definition.  And somehow this phrase gave me a freedom I didn't know I'd been looking for; the freedom to erase my own predetermined labels, confines and constraints and just live the life I've been given.  Easier said than done, of course, but the first step is acknowledgment so I figure I'm at least on the right track.

 *You can find the complete text here.

(and a huge thanks to Madame M for introducing me to her works.)

an old friend.

Today marks the 131st anniversary of the birth of AA Milne, creator of the Winnie the Pooh characters. I grew up poring over a small but prized collection (which I still have in storage somewhere) of both the Pooh stories and his volumes of poetry making friends with beetles named Alexander, feeling very sorry for poor King John, dreaming of a visit to Buckingham Palace and of course, bonding with Christopher Robin and Pooh Bear.

I fell in love with Ernest Shepard's deceptively simple sketchy pencil illustrations and played games of Pooh sticks every time I came to a bridge or gutter filled with water.

This might be a bit blasphemous but I love the Disney incarnations almost as much as the originals. The first animated episode so brilliantly incorporated the book format; Pooh climbing through the paragraphs, the letters washing away in the rain, the narrator interacting with the characters. Amazing stuff.

A year or so ago when I was in NYC I made a trip to the public library where the stuffed animals that were the inspiration are now housed. And it was an experience I won't forget, taking me back to my childhood in an instant, yet looking at their worn and shabby appearances made me feel older than my years.

Happy birthday to a literary genius and the shaper of many a childhood.

Let's finish things off with a clip of the catchy theme song to get stuck in your head. You're welcome.

a poem to match the mood.

I've been trying to get a little more poetry in my life and made a goal to read a poem a day. It hasn't exactly worked that way, some days I read 5 or 6 and some days I don't read any at all.  But yesterday I was flipping through my Dickinson collection and came across this poem.

Frequently the woods are pink,
Frequently are brown;
Frequently the hills undress
Behind my native town.

Oft a head is crested
I was wont to see,
And as oft a cranny
Where it used to be.

And the earth, they tell me,
On its axis turned, --
Wonderful rotation
By but twelve performed.

And then today this was my view during my lunch walk. Fitting, yes?

(

Happiness is...having a poem in your pocket.

Keep a poem in your pocket
and a picture in your head
and you'll never feel lonely
at night when you are in bed

The little poem will sing to you
the little picture bring to you
a dozen dreams to dance to you
at night when you’re in bed

So-
keep a picture in your pocket
and a poem in your head
and you'll never feel lonely
at night when you’re in bed.
 

~Beatrice Schenk de Regniers 

Like many teachers I used this poem often in my classroom to encourage my students to read, memorize and enjoy poetry. The last few years there has even been a formal celebration of ‘poem in your pocket day’ where people are encouraged to keep copies of their favorite poems in their pockets literally, and then to give them out and share them with people the encounter throughout the day. 

I love this idea. I love this intimate and emotional transfer of information between friends and strangers!  But even more, I love the idea of having poems readily available, at your disposal for any need or occasion. But barring keeping a poetry book with you at all times the easiest way to do this is to have one or two (or more!) memorized.

I mentioned earlier that I used to be a memorizer.  I haven't done much of it lately but even now snatches and lines of verse and rhyme will enter my thoughts unbidden and when I stop to think about it I can cobble together bits of Louis Carroll, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, and even Shakespeare. However it’s not often in a way that would bring honor to the writer; stanzas often come up missing, words get swapped and thoughts are truncated. If I put a lot of thought and effort into it I'm sure I could eventually do them all justice, but my brain has fallen victim to the adult onset ADHD mentality and I don't/can't concentrate the way I used to. And it's a sad thing when I think of all the friends I might have made, just waiting for me to commit them to memory. It's like having a friend to call on any time of day or night. You know just what to expect and how they'll make you feel. They can keep you company when you need it, share your tears, cheer you up, make you laugh, commiserate your loses and heartaches, take your mind off of something troublesome or just help you to pass the time.

Today marks the final day of National Poetry month so I wanted to give you a few last poems to ponder and carry you through the next little while.   Maybe one of them will make it into your pocket, or better yet, your head!

Ars Poetica

A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,

Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown –

A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind –

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.

A poem should be equal to
Not true.

For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.

For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea –

A poem should not mean
But be.

~Archibald MacLeish

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

"Nature" is what we see

"Nature" is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse— the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.

~Emily Dickinson

I Am in Need of Music

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

~Elizabeth Bishop

Happiness is...unexpected poetry.

I love when poems show up randomly in narrative fiction.  Often I'm not brilliant enough to pick up on it and occasionally the authors realize that the lay reader won't be and stick a bit of translation in the text to help us out. 

So, right now I'm reading  The Fault in Our Stars by John Green (the title, as he so kindly pointed out, is a reference to Shakespeare, not a poem actually but Julius Caesar when Cassius states, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars/But in ourselves.") Anyway, Green is one of those authors that has collected a fan following of cult status. He has a particular way of writing that is akin to reading one of the heavier episodes of the Gillmore Girls. The characters all speak in these brilliantly convoluted sentences with vocabulary and philosophical grasps like no real teenager I've ever met.  I've read several of his books so far and enjoyed them alright but have not seen it necessary to launch myself onto the John Green train...until now.

I'm not even half way through this one so maybe it's too soon to speak but I must confess Mr. Green, I am in love.

The book is heavy, the main character is a sixteen year old fighting cancer and while there are plenty of realistic moments and tough discussions and situations going on Green's writing keeps it from becoming maudlin or depressing (so far!  I reserve the right to change my opinion if Hazel dies at the end!) Take this exchange for example:

"Swing Set Needs Home," I said.
"Desperately Lonely Swing Set Needs Loving Home," he said.
"Lonely, Vaguely Pedophilic Swing Set Seeks the Butts of Children," I said.
He laughed.  "That's why."
"What?"

"That's why I like you.  Do you realize how rare it is to come across a hot girl who creates an adjectival version of the word pedophile? You are so busy being you that you have no idea how utterly unprecedented you are."

Commenting on the thought "Without Pain, How Could We Know Joy?"


(This is an old argument in the field of Thinking About Suffering, and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries, but suffice it to say that the existence of broccoli does not in any way affect the taste of chocolate.)...

And this comment when Hazel's newly acquired friend whips out a cigarette:

"The whole thing where a boy who is not unattractive or unintelligent or seemingly in any way unacceptable stares at me and points out incorrect uses of literality and compares me to actresses and asks me to watch a movie at his house. But of course there is always a hamartia and yours is that oh, my God, even you though you HAD FREAKING CANCER you give money to a company in exchange for the chance to acquire YET MORE CANCER. Oh, my God. Let me just assure you that not being able to breathe? SUCKS. Totally disappointing. Totally."

...and so far there are at least 8 poetic references! Way to sneak in some additional culture.

I confess, I haven't done a lot of poetry reading this month. I had great expectations for devouring Leaves of Grass and The Collected Emily Dickinson while exposing myself to new names and verses while perusing some anthologies and such, but, well, the best laid plans as they say.  So, many thanks, John Green, for giving me an extra dose of much-needed verse (and for making me laugh while appreciating the fact that my life could be a heck of a lot worse!)

Happiness is...creating a poem.

There's a particular challenge that comes in trying to write a poem, to choose the best words to share your message, or even in deciding what message to share. There is a world of possibility, millions upon millions of words at your disposal to be rearranged and organized in the most particular way, a way that's never been done before. Sometimes it seems daunting at best, impossible at worst. And yet it happens every day.

But there's also a recent (at least I think it's recent) trend to create poetry from words that already exist. Found poems, using others' words to create a meaning all your own. Sometimes you choose words from books, newspapers, letters to tell your own story and create a new thought while sometimes you seek to preserve the original thought but in your own way (creative summarizing if you will.) The words remain in the same order you found them but with giant gaps and chunks removed in between. I've read a few historical fiction novels in verse that were created this way, using a person's letters, journals and more to authentically tell their own story in a poetically abbreviated way.

Then there are black-out poems, created by blacking out (!) all but a few words from the page in a book or a news article or something, leaving behind a poem.

Here's one I created out of the recent Alexandria Times:

The show's the thing

never a string
of fate
not a brief experience
foreshadowed and boasting
neither a prerequisite
for frequent choice~
Instead the missing treasure,
full potential from within
Imagine the potential
Imagine

I'll admit, it doesn't make a lot of sense, but it sounds poetic, yes? (It's a bit harder than you might think, making meaning within the parameters of someone else's pre-composed words.)

And then there are the book spine poems. Using the titles of books you create a stacked and visual representation of your poem. Again, a bit harder than it sounds seeing as you are confined to a lack of conjunctions and connections to help create full sentences and aid in flow. But here's one I threw together today at work.

I'm...

waiting for normal

before I fall

inside out and back again

except~if

the sky is everywhere,

so be it!

What is your favorite form of poetry? Are you a fan of diamante and shape poems, haiku or limericks? Or do you prefer free verse with no real rules or limitations?

Happiness is...a poetic song.

There's a power in music and the combination of words and tune are one of the most powerful forces on earth. So it's no surprise that song lyrics are one of my favorite kind of poetry. It's often hard to separate the words from their musical casing, to consider each piece separately will often cause a disservice to one or the other (think of the countless yeahs, ahs, and ooh babys that somehow sound brilliant surrounded by pounding drums and wailing guitars yet utterly ridiculous on their own). As with any poetry, sometimes the words simply create a beautiful image, others are powerfully profound, still others seem to concisely and precisely express what your mind has been chewing on and muddling through for days while others rip open your heart and lay it bare for all the world to see though you could have sworn you were the only person to ever have felt that way.

Here are a few bits of some of songs that have popped up on my random playlist this week. (All are listed simply by the title and the artist whose version I listened to.)


The Bells of New York City-Josh Groban
It's always this time of year that my thoughts undo me
With the ghosts of many lifetimes all around

Helplessness Blues-Fleet Foxes
I was raised up believing I was somehow unique
Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes unique in each way you can see
And now after some thinking I say I'd say I'd rather be
A functioning cog in some great machinery serving some thing beyond me

And So It Goes-Billy Joel
In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along

Harbor-Vienna Teng
Fear is the brightest of signs
The shape of the boundary you leave behind
So sing all your questions to sleep
The answers are out there in the drowning deep

Homeward Bound-Simon and Garfunkel
I'm sittin' in the railway station.
Got a ticket for my destination.
On a tour of one-night stands,
My suitcase and guitar in hand.
And ev'ry stop is neatly planned
For a poet and a one-man band.

The Cave- Mumford and Sons
It's empty in the valley of your heart
The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And all the faults you've left behind

Across the Universe-The Beatles
Words are flowing out
Like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe

Pools of sorrow waves of joy
Are drifting through my open mind
Possessing and caressing me...

Angel-Sarah MacLachlan
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

Vincent-Don McLean
Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul

Stairway to Heaven-Led Zeppelin
There's a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings
In a tree by the brook
There's a songbird who sings
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven

Heart Half Empty-Ty Herndon
Will the memories taste sweet as they linger
Or the bitterness stay on my tongue
Is my heart half full of the love you gave me
Or my heart half empty cuz your love is gone

The Man That Got Away- Judy Garland
The night is bitter,
The stars have lost their glitter,
The winds grow colder
And suddenly you're older,
And all because of the man that got away.
No more his eager call,
The writing's on the wall,
The dreams you dreamed have all
Gone astray.

Breakup songs are a lot easier to relate to it seems. Somehow the pain translates to words better than the joy does. But I love the unique way this song puts it.

How Your Love Makes Me Feel-Diamond Rio
It's like just before dark, jump in the car
Buying ice cream and see how far we can drive before it melts kind of feeling
There's a cow in the road and we swerve to the left
Fate skips a beat and it scares you to death and you laugh until you cry
That's how your love makes me feel inside

And this post wouldn't be complete without mentioning one of the most poetic bands working today. I was going to post the lyrics but decided to just let you listen to the fabulous words as they sound in their natural environment. But if anything could qualify as a poem entirely on its own, I think this song could.

That Colin Meloy is gifted, no?

This is by no means a complete or anywhere near perfect list, just a few that caught my eye ear in passing.  For a much different and obviously more thought out and 'professional' list check out  this article from Huffington Post.

What are some of your favorite lyrics? Please share!

Happiness is...a springish list.

Here are just a few of the things that have made me happy and kept me busy this past week or so...

• key lime cake
• flowers in surprising places
• dyeing Easter eggs
• this book (exquisitely charming!)
• 
• the news of newly arrived babies and babies soon to arrive 
• getting a pedicure
• the sound of toe shoes on a stage
• this movie
• and this book(sweetly imaginative and poetic)
• 
• spring cleaning
• long talks with old friends
• opportunities to start over
• this song (sometimes you just need to sing 'the blues'!)

• writing poems*
• planning road trips
• eating Peeps!

How have you been spending your Spring?

*for those who were curious...

Truth
strength comes in tiny packages,
in little morsels over time
often unrecognized
at the moment of delivery~
like fragile strands of twine,
mere breakable bits of string on their own
yet wound together
you find yourself bound
for greatness

cAmy McMillan 2012

Happiness is...a spot of poetry.

April is National Poetry month and I thought I'd kick it off with a few thoughts on the power that can be found in reading and enjoying carefully composed verse.


I'm most often a straight forward message/story type poetry reader. If things get too cerebral or hazy I get lost in them and my attention wanes. I often feel as if I'm not smart enough to understand much of poetry
and I tend to enjoy a good rhyme or meter more than free verse (strangely enough, however, when I write it's usually free verse that oozes from my pen.)  I think that hearkens back to the days when I used to memorize things on a semi-regular basis.  It's much easier to memorize something that has a rhythm to it.
But every once in a while I like to read something that I don't understand at all and just glory in the sound (if not the meaning) of the words, letting them paint abstract images in my mind much as one might imagine while listening to certain pieces of classical music.   There are no concrete 'answers' to what you are supposed to be hearing or seeing (though undoubtably the authors would argue) just impressions of mood and shape.

And much like those musical pieces touch our hearts and leave us a bit smarter and wiser and more in tune with the world around us, so the words of the poets can impress themselves in the crevices and folds of our brain in ways that we might not understand or appreciate, but they are there nonetheless.

In his book Zen in the Art of Writing Ray Bradbury (one of my favorite authors) put it this way:



Read poetry every day of your life. Poetry is good because it flexes muscles you don't use often enough. Poetry expands the senses and keeps them in prime condition. It keeps you aware of your nose, your eye, your ear, your tongue, your hand. And above all, poetery is compacted metaphor or simile. Such metaphors, like Japanese paper flowers, may expand outward into gigantic shapes...What poetry? Any poetry that makes your hair stand up along your arms.  Don't force yourself too hard. Take it easy.  Over the years you may catch up to, move even with, and pass TS Eliot on your way to other pastures. You say you don't understand Dylan Thomas? Yes, but your ganglion does, and your secret wits, and all your unborn children. Read him, as you can read a horse with your eyes, set free and charging over an endless green meadow on a windy day.


So, go find a poem. Read it and revel in it and let it sink in to your soul. Even if you don't know what it is talking about! (And then share with me some of your favorite poets or poems in the comments. I'd love a running dialogue on what words and thoughts move you and just might move me too!)

Happiness is...a penguin party!

I wanted to give you a few of the promised pictures today. When anyone asks about the trip I begin spewing the overused and completely inadequate superlatives of 'fantastic', 'awesome', and 'amazing'. Then there's the descriptions of the ice (more of that to come) and then waxing poetic about the penguins. I've taken to saying 'penguins' in this squeaky, double speed sort of voice, like a kindergartener on crack....be grateful this isn't a vlog so you don't have to be subjected to that. And apologies to anyone who has already heard it. But it kind of encapsulates how they make me feel; childlike and giggly and super-excited. I still can't believe I was able to see so many of them in the wild.

So, here are some photos and a little poem I scratched out over the course of my travels. Enjoy!

Penguin Promenade

dressed in his formal finery
he waddles and wanders from berg to floe
awkward as a newborn colt
wobbling and weaving
slipping and sliding
until he reaches the waters edge

tentatively he peers over the brink
and into the brine
until tumble,
fall,
splash~

he's in
and takes off like a well-dressed torpedo
cutting through the deep
with laser speed and precision
flightlessly flying through the blue sea sky

Gentoo Chick

King penguins on the Falkland Islands

King Penguins

Magellan penguin-Punto Tombo

Magellan penguins-Punto Tombo

Tell me they aren't cute?!

Happiness is...writing a poem.

Even when the subject matter isn't necessarily happy I do get a bit of a lift when I create something. So, here is a poem to match my melancholy mood of late.

Loose Ends

It has been said
that
each new beginning
is really just the end of some other
beginning from long ago
and
'happily ever after'
is actually
'to be continued.'
But what happens
when,
rather than a happy ending,
the ends of things are sad
and there are
not
enough
beginnings
to go around?
What happens to the possibilities
stuck in the middle
waiting to play out
for better
or worse?
How do I tell my story
minus its
most
important
parts?

c-Amy McMillan, 2011

Yeah, that's about how I'm feeling at the moment. Don't you hate it when things just don't go the way you want them to and there's not really anything you can do about it? I mean, it's one thing when life sucks and it's your own fault or you can at least construct a battle plan and put it into play (or sit back and dwell in your misery knowing full-well that when you're done dwelling and moping you can get up and kick its [whatever 'it' happens to be] butt and move on!) But when there's no apparent reason for any of it, no direction, no drive...yeah, that bites!

Any advice? How do you get over your discouragements? Find direction when you're lost? Or just beat the blahs?  I'd love to hear from you!

Happiness is...a moment of peace.

I can't believe that April is already over. There are so many things I didn't get done and things I didn't blog about.  Easter came and went with barely a notice and I failed to mention National Poetry Month. But today I finally had a little bit of time to myself and was able to re-group a bit and relax and I wanted to do a re-cap of some of the goings on and things that have helped me find some happiness among the chaos this month.

• Allergy meds.  I'm serious. I never had allergies until I moved to Virginia.  And even then I didn't have them for the first 2 years.  But once they hit they decided to make up for all those years I spent allergy-free and they knock me out every Spring. Itchy, watery, red crusty eyes. Seven million sneezes an hour. Headaches and runny noses. If it weren't for the miracle of modern drugs I wouldn't be able to surface until June.
• Gratitude for somehow being on the periphery of all the extreme weather lately.  We had severe storm warnings all winter but never got a snowstorm (we more than paid our dues last year) and we've missed the worst of the flooding and rains and tornadoes this Spring. We've had some wacky temperatures but so far that's it. 
• Spring flowers. We have had quite a bit of rain this Spring and that has made for some absolutely incredible floral fantasies in each and every yard. I spent part of the afternoon today wandering through the National Arboretum ogling all the azaleas. The hillsides are literally covered in mounds of flamboyant blooms in coral, fuchsia, violet, white, red and more.  Take a gander. 

An azalea flower close-up

NOT an azalea but isn't it lovely?  And the red background flowers are all azaleas

• The royal wedding.  I realize it doesn't have anything to do with us here in America and won't even really politically affect Great Britain for years if at all, but there's something charming about all the pomp and circumstance and romance of a fairy tale come to life.  I gathered with a bunch of friends Friday night to re-live (at a more reasonable hour) the event.  We were dressed in our finest with hats and the whole shebang and for those few short hours I envied the stodgy, romantically-challenged Brits all their traditions and proper protocols. We could do with just a bit more formal celebrations in our neck of the woods.  (And who wouldn't kill for that exquisite dress, eh?)
• Packing boxes. I'm in the process of moving apartments and I've had several people donate boxes to the cause.  It's made the crazy stress of it all just a tiny bit easier to handle with one less thing to have to worry about. Now all I have to do is fill them, transport them, unpack them, organize all their contents... *sigh*
• Easter. I love Easter and Spring and the correlation between the re-birth of our world after the harsh winter and the gift of the resurrection.  There are no words to describe my gratitude for the Atonement and sacrifice and suffering that Jesus endured for each of us so that we can repent and find peace and return to live with Him and our Heavenly Father after our time on this earth is finished. Here are some fantastic messages and testimonies of Christ and His mission from His modern-day apostles. 
• Easter candy!  Easter has the best candy of any holiday, hands-down.  My absolute favorite of all is (are?) Peeps!. I think as I've gotten older my taste for them has waned a bit (though the chocolate mousse flavored ones are pretty yummy) but I will forever love the idea of them (and will still eat them, don't get me wrong, just not as many as I used to!)  They're cute and cuddly-looking, soft and squishy in a rainbow of sugar-shimmery pastel colors that can't help but scream a silent squeal of springtime. The Washington Post also hosts a Peeps diorama contest every year that turns out some pretty hysterical results like this scene from The King's Speech and this rendition of The Muppet Show. What do you think?
• Buying tickets for Summer excursions.  I don't get to take a vacation until late August this year.  I worked Easter weekend and I'm scheduled to work Memorial Day weekend and the 4th of July weekend too so I don't even get a day off or 3-day weekend until September.  So I decided I needed to book me some mini stay-cation type activities between now and then.  Here's what's on the docket so far.  First up is Wicked at the Kennedy Center.  And later on is a performance of Sweeney Todd under the stars at Wolf Trap. And of course, this epic midnight (is there any other way?!) experience coming to a theater near you! 

   

     It's not much and they all happen in July so I need to get some June activities in the works but it's a good start at least.  Anyone have any other suggestions of things to keep me busy this summer?

And last but not least, a poem to finish out the month dedicated to poetry. This is one of my favorites and very appropriate for spring.

 

I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Here's to you all and the promises of happiness possibilities in the coming month. Hope it's as full and rich as the last one has been.