Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for inspiring writers.
Our three schnoodles aren’t spoiled, but they do expect a hand-fed breakfast every morning, so my husband gives them bites of graham crackers or Teddy Grahams. As they were sitting by the fire on Sunday morning having their royal feast, I wondered about the origins of graham crackers. I was thinking that perhaps since the Huitain is a French form of poetry and poodles are a German breed but are the national dog of France, then maybe if the crackers were of French origin, I could work all of that into a poem and serve it up like a fresh-baked croissant, all buttery and warm.
It was not to be.
I learned more about graham crackers than I should know.
Boo Radley and Ollie eating graham crackers
The crackers do not have French origins, and they were not invented to feed little dogs a healthy breakfast snack. They were invented by a preacher, Reverend Graham, who baked them to dissuade physical affection. I got quite an eye-opening education about these seemingly innocent little wafers. Who knew?
Huitain Graham Cracker Purity
three schnoodles when hungry like graham squares breakfast with Dad inspired Mom to inquire to see where they started, these squares and bears *** oh my! a sermon: brimstone and hellfire! to repress our deepest carnal desire crackers were baked to dissuade our urges to keep us out of the funeral pyre *** stay dressed! eat crackers! say NO to merges!
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for inspiring writers.
Earlier this week, I was drawn to a post by Denise Krebs, who shared her tea latte as a jumpstart to her hiking day. She inspired me to visit my local coffee shop, where they made me an oat milk tea latte. It was divine! Thank you, Denise, for introducing me to this new favorite!
dairy-free tea latte (not beer)
Tea Latte Sonnet
I heard it from a friend so dear
perfect jumpstart: tea latte
(it looks a lot like heady beer)
what a way to start the day!
stopped by the local coffee shop
ordered a lavender, dairy-free
beamed as the oat milk bubbled atop
eagerly sipped my first taste of tea
I’m sending Denise a cross-country high-five
certain I’ve found a new favorite drink
to help me hike mountains awake and alive
I’m raising a toast with cheers ~ and a wink
at first glance, it looks like this drink is naugh-tay
……..
Wait….could I get fired drinking frothy tea latte?!
Many thanks to Two Writing Teachers for giving writers space and inspiration to reach for the stars.
I love to go wandering through the paint sample section of a store. I sometimes bring a fabric swatch with me to look legit, like a real painter who knows exactly what she’s doing.
Truth is, I’m a paint chip thief, I don’t know what I’m doing, and I have no remorse over any of it.
I look for the best-named paints and pocket the chips. They’re free, but this isn’t why they are the best deal in the entire store.
The names of the colors are pure gold. Even though I bought a set of Paint Chip Poetry words a few years ago with enough chips to last me a lifetime, I can’t just saunter past the paint aisle without challenging myself to a short poem using a named color when it’s there for the choosing and word-amusing.
I chip-lifted Stargazer on a recent trip to WalMart, and I went a wee bit alliterative with a paint chip elfchen poem.
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for giving writers inspiration and space to share
Today’s poem is a random line poem, constructed from a line heard or read randomly. My husband is an NCIS fan, and he’s in season 20. I’m usually reading or writing when he’s watching his show. I heard Kasey say she was going to drink a ginger ale (a drink I don’t think she likes). I jotted it down and wrote this random line poem.
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for giving writers an encouraging and safe space.
I’m borrowing a line or two from Lucille Clifton today, from her book Quilting: Poems 1987-1990, to write a borrowed line poem. This line in italics is from her poem “eyes”: I could say so much to you if you could understand me
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for hosting the Slice of Life Story Challenge throughout the month of March
Vertigo runs on both sides of my family, particularly my father’s. They say it’s caused by crystals forming in the inner ear, and I’ve employed the Epley Maneuver with a mild degree of relief on a few occasions. I usually have a debilitating case of vertigo strike, on average, twice a year so bad that I don’t walk or drive. I never know exactly when it is coming, but I often feel it building and know immediately on waking that it’s here for the day, until I sleep it off through a full night. There is no silver lining in it, either. It’s not the type of sick day where reading a book by the fire or taking the dogs out for a quick walk or doing a load of laundry can happen. I can only close my eyes, rest my head, stay still in bed (with a small trashcan within reach) where I’m safe from falling. I thought I felt a vertigo visit building early last week (the left eye pressure happens), but it never manifested itself full force, thank goodness. My gratitude that it did not come calling inspired today’s poem – a sonnet.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for building a network of writers worth getting dressed for!
It was that kind of morning here in rural Georgia. I’m an hour south of the world’s busiest airport, but believe me – – nothing was busy here in my small town this morning. Low 60s, overcast with a light mist, and my husband and his brother were installing a motion sensor light over their dad’s garage about a half mile across the Johnson Funny Farm where we all live ~ something that has been on their to-do list since Christmas, but things kept getting in the way. That’s why I didn’t bother getting dressed to be anywhere.
My 80-year old father, a retired minister, was preaching in my childhood church, so I was streaming him on YouTube, kicked back on the couch and flanked by three snoozing Schnoodles. I imagine if anyone was watching through a hidden camera, they’d have thought we’d had a Saturday night party and were still recovering, moving slowly if at all, still in our pajamas.
Actual photo of a Sunday morning sermon-snoozing Schnoodle (Fitz), flanked upside down on the couch cushions next to me
Glenda Funk’s text came right as the service ended. She’d sent me a photo of her coffee mug a few minutes earlier, since my post was about my dogs on Sunday.
My text conversation with Glenda, who reminded me of the Slicer Meet-Up on Sunday
Thoughts of one particular Slicer Meet-Up came rushing back, the one where I was in California for the NCTE Convention and asked some random people on the street if they were going to the Slicer Meet-Up, and they stared at me like I was packing a blade before hastily walking off in the opposite direction.
I ran for the closet and threw my tousled hair up in a clip, setting a new personal record for putting on a bra and a shirt and looking alive. Boo Radley snuggled in on my shoulder as he usually does, and I took a deep breath and found the email reminder with the Zoom link from Stacey. Sure enough, there it was. I entered into a breakout room with Group 2: Sonia, Pia, and Glenda. We talked about our plan for writing through the month and how we were feeling, but we didn’t get to the part about what we wanted to get out of it. We were having too much fun chatting about the grace we give ourselves in making the timing of our writing and our reading work for us as we navigate the currents of writerhood.
After leaving the Breakout room, we shared our conversations and then had the opportunity to talk with another small group about these questions:
Questions from our Slicer Meet-Up Breakout room
I was in Group 1 with Kristen, Stacey, and Pia this time, and we talked about the way we choose the blogs we read and how we comment on them. Pia shared that she likes to consider the equity of comments; she looks for blogs needing comments, and those are the ones she reads. Kristen talked about managing her time with reading, writing, and commenting and is working on these parts of the Slicing Life right now, Stacey talked about the importance of first draft writing – to share organic slices of life and resist the urge to blog to perfection.
Seventeen Slicers shared an hour of conversation and getting to know each other, offering tips and sharing what has worked for us. Some like to set a timer, some read first to find the inspiration to write, some gravitate to those they know while visiting new bloggers, too, and some read for what we find we need that particular day. As we comment, we like to find connections and keep blogging conversational as we build relationships with other writers and feel the sense of belonging take root in this sacred space of writers all networking, encouraging and inspiring each other.
To Glenda, thank you for the text reminder since I had missed the email reminder. To Sonia, Pia, Glenda, Linda, Pia, Trish, Betsy, Carol, Kristen, Alice, Juliette, Barb, Cathleen, Stacey, Vanessa, and Amy, I want you to know that the hour I spent with you was most enjoyable. You are ALL worth getting dressed for, and I can’t wait to get to know all of this month’s Slicers better as we share our lives and inspire each other throughout this month!
Check out today’s homepage of Two Writing Teachers for a photo taken by Trish Emerson of Sunday’s Slicer Meet-Up Zoom attendees!
Slicer Meet-Up
Slicer Meet-Up sharing, inspiring, considering writers encouraging each other networking
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for inspiring writers to write each day!
Several years ago, I led a poetry workshop for teachers in my district using Mary Oliver’s Dogsongs as our text, inviting participants to write mirror poems inspired by the late great poet. One of my favorite poems in this collection is For I Will Consider My Dog Percy, which she wrote about her own dog following the form of Christopher Smart in the 1700s in his poem Jubilate Agno, or For I will Consider My Cat Jeoffry.
L-R: Fitz, Ollie, and Boo Radley in February 2024
Over the years, we have adopted several rescues, and they appear frequently in my writing. They’re all named after favorite Literary figures. We have Boo Radley from To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, because he was abandoned and found behind a door, an outcast of his original people. His rescue organization named him Einstein for his matted and untamed hair when he was found. I wrote a For I Will Consider poem about my Schnoodle, Boo Radley.
We also adopted a badly-abused (mostly Schnauzer, but some poodle) Schnoodle named Henry at the time, who had road rash and a broken leg that required surgery to save and eight weeks of intense physical therapy with his foster mom. We followed his journey back to health online, and prayed they would place him with us. When the news came, we eagerly met the foster mom and welcomed Henry into the fold, renaming him Fitz for F. Scott Fitzgerald, the party animal author. Turns out, he’d been correctly named as transcendental Henry David Thoreau, because he doesn’t party. Here is a poem I wrote about my Schnoodle, Fitz.
Which brings me to King. He was a young stray found on the streets of north Georgia, and he was supposed to be our girl. I’d put in a request with the rescue about a year prior to welcoming King, but the rescue called one day to let me know that they had a Schnoodle who met all the matching criteria as a good adoptee for us….except gender. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to meet this boy who needed a home but who had been turned down by two other families. It only took seconds. King was renamed Ollie for my favorite poet, Mary Oliver, and rode home with us that very day we’d hopped in the car for the 3 hour drive to meet him.
I’ve never written a For I Will Consider poem about Ollie, so today is the day especially set aside for my trophy dog we call the baby..
For I Will Consider My Schnoodle Ollie
For I will consider my schnoodle Ollie.
For he was a young stray running the streets, a real canine gangsta.
For he was named King like royalty, taken to a foster castle.
For he was rescued, brought to our Funny Farm with his one true love: a ball.
For he was renamed Ollie after Mary, who loved dogs through and through.
For he needs no bells and whistles when simple will do.
For he realized all too soon he had brothers vying for position.
For he rejected all possibility of being low dog.
For he rose like a king to the throne.
For we call him the baby.
For he eats sheets.
For he listens for empty K-cup boxes to hit the floor....(for he eats those too).
For he bites ankles and eats Ada Limon poetry books.
For he places one paw on the head of his brothers (sibling annoyance tactic? or knighting?).
For there is no such thing as a quick pee when there are things to see.
For he "kicks" the ball with his nose like a gauntlet at our feet. Throw, he commands.
For he catches popcorn mid-air.
For he fully belongs in our tribe.
For we whisper to him: you're the best dog we've got.
For he returns our love with royal full-face kisses.
Logo of an actual writing game changer – squeeze it and watch the magic happen as habits take root!
Cheers for the journey through the Slice of Life Challenge throughout March! Here’s the link if you’d like to read the daily blog posts of writers in this challenge.
I celebrate 3 years of daily blogging today all because the Slice of Life Challenge pushed me along in my thinking that if I could write for a week, I could write for two weeks. If I could write for a month, I could write for two months (I joined #VerseLove on the heels of SOLC). If I could write for two months, I could write every day of my life, as I now do with The Stafford Challenge. And so it began….and continues. Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers for the inspiration to make writing a part of my life every single day and for giving writers voice and space. If I can do this, we can all do this. Writers are born from mindset.
This year’s National Poetry Month (April) poster will feature a line from Lucille Clifton’s poem Blessing the Boats (at St. Mary’s) from her book Quilting: Poems 1987-1990. Today, I’m writing a Golden Shovel poem using the striking line: and may you in your innocence sail through this to that. The striking line appears vertically as ending words on each line.
if only these walls hadn't crumbled and we hadn't pretended, we may have made her proud ~ but you in your striped robe of pious innocence paint fake facades, sail in synthetic superlatives through frilly frippery, oblivious to this truth: she would not have wanted you to carry on like that
I was cleaning out a tub of sewing notions when my eyes were drawn to a trio of heart-shaped buttons that cost 70 cents a long time ago. My mother, a master seamstress, always had an ample supply of colors of threads, buttons, and laces for her next project. She made us matching dresses and taught me to sew when I was in elementary school, even though I never graduated to zippers, braking to a hard and fast stop at buttons. Today’s acrostic poem was inspired by these heart-shaped buttons, which I believe may have been destined to be sewn onto a Valentine’s Day top for me. Mom would have been 81 next week, and she still lives on in our memories.
Actual old buttons from my mother and grandmother’s age-spotted collection of notions
I Love Buttons
Because I wonder what Unfinished dress, never- Touched pattern, fabric- To-be-imagined Outfit Never quite got Sewn........
Common Threads 