In the Trenches
Thoughts quickly scribbled
on the back of an envelope,
a barrage of tenets
attack the plain.
An attempt to capture
a simple construct,
a voice.
Words rethought
fall victim to the slashing pen,
silent chatter discarded,
bound characters boldly
replace the fallen symbols
to shape ideas into verse.
A battleground, blotched
and torn, valued
as much for what is lost,
as for what is gained. -----------Judi Van Gorder
As you can see in the
This last Tuesday I woke to snow covering my yard. For some of you, it is a pretty normal winter occurrence. But for me living in the coastal mountains of Northern California, it is rare. We do get an occasional winter snow flurry but it rarely sticks to the ground. Therefore, I was pretty excited finding a white blanket over everything and I wanted to capture it. I grabbed my phone, stepped through my front door and took a few photos. But when I looked at them, I saw none of the uniqueness
I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
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
Wednesday Walk
The trail is wet
from yesterday's rain.
The earth soft
under my Sneaks.
I place one foot after another
and will myself on.
I will repeat this,
I will honor this substance,
I will write of this,
I will apply this to all things,
I will. ~~Judi Van Gorder
I'm posting my blog a day early in case you didn't know, Wednesday April 3 is International Walking Day. I did take a walk this morning. And after being prodded by my doctor, I'm committin
Uniquely Irish, The Shamrock
Never want to sound terse
nothing could be any worse
so I'll try to write a clever verse.
Of shamrock's I will carp,
may sound a bit too sharp,
not like sweet music on the harp.
In distant Ireland of all places,
they cover most of the bases,
even the art of shaving faces.
~~ Judi Van Gorder
Seamrog, (Gaelic) shamrock, with its 3 leaves is said to represent not only the Holy Trinity, but also (the fruits o
Toni Morrison, author, poet, Nobel Prize winner, Poet Laureate, teacher, African-American woman, left her earthly home August 5, 2019. Someone Leans Near
Someone leans near
And sees the salt your eyes have shed.
You wait, longing to hear
Words of reason, love or play
To lash or lull you toward the hollow day.
Silence kneads your fear
Of crumbled star-ash sifting down
Clouding the rooms here, here.
You shore up your heart to run. To stay.
But no sign or design marks the na
To Rhyme or Not to Rhyme
Many poets today believe rhyme is old fashioned, artificial or strained. Rhyme has a long history in verse which dates back to before the written word. Stories of love, war, gods and heroes were told through oral traditions and often rhyme was used to assist memory in order that the tale could be passed on. Since the written word language has evolved and rhyme has become more sophisticated than just a tool for communication, it has become an art form. Still in muc
For the month of March, I with others have been challenged to read a published poem and write a short commentary every day. Those involved in this group challenge, not only post a different poem with commentary every day but often comment on another's offering. And of course, the "Like" button is overused. That can't happen here because we don't have a "Like" button. For me, hitting the "Like" button acknowledges I read the other poems posted. (with 20 odd participants I don't have time to
For All You Poets Out There
I never thought to stifle
an image thought an eye full;
I admire a winker thinker
who may compose a stinker
but still attempts to tinker
with words so wondrous
inciting thoughts so thunderous
inspiring poets under us,
it merits making a fuss.
--Judi Van Gorder
I have the day off from the office today so I can either take care of a multitude of chores at home or I can play a bit. When I was young a day off meant saddling up and
Hi to any who stop by here. I haven't been very active in the blog forum, not really sure what I should share here. I am a student of poetry and what I have posted in the Reference Forum is simply me trying to make sense of it all. In future blogs I will be using parts of that Forum but If you want to know something from the reference section, all you need do is go there. You don't need a blog to direct you.
Lately I've been reading blogs at different poetry sites and I'm taking on a new
Judging by the number of hits the articles in the "Sonnet" section receives, the Sonnet and it's many shapes and sizes wins hands down as the most popular verse form in the Reference Forum. Ranging from the purists to the new age anything goes poets and most of us in between, if I make one point about the Sonnet it is: the Sonnet is a lyrical meditation. It should sing to its reader. Meter, rhyme, pivot, even length, all are secondary to the fluid melody that should ring in your reader's ea
Recently our own badger posted a poem in which he used the term "packet of crisps". Badger is a Welshman living halfway across the world. We are both English speakers. But no one here in California would ever think of using the term "packet of crisps". I got it, even though I would have written "bag of chips". My granddaughter would have written " a Tacquis bag". {Tacquis are a brand of corn chips. The only kind of chips in her world, peppered with Jalapenos, hot and spicy.} My grandkid
If the word is the cornerstone of poetry, the line is it's foundation. The line is the fundamental element of verse, the difference between verse and prose. Its purpose is to increase the density of the thought or image and give focus to the words. The line is written in many styles, patterns and meters.
I recently discovered this article by Dana Gioia on the poetic line which prompted this blog. After reading it I realized I cannot improve on it. It says it all, I encourage you to read
Pacific Golden WayLocked and closed in night,full throttle in sunlight,blanketing the rise and fallof rolling hills, turning themto carpets of pirate-booty.Greedily they gobblethe land from mountain to shore.
Fog-horns outside the bay, trumpet
the glory of California's
untamed, golden, prodigal poppy. ~~Judi Van Gorder
This morning I looked outside to see my field covered with California poppies. These wildflowers turn my empty, horse-pasture into a land of gold. Their vib
This has been a week of winter storms. Living on the top of a mountain, rain and wind have been raging outside for four days and four nights. Giant limbs have broken from our Redwoods, and even whole trees have uprooted and toppled. I have to admit it can get a little scary lying in bed at night listening to the slashing rain and howling wind. Because of the wind, the power has gone out several times. Thankfully I have a generator that automatically switches on when my power goes out. I had
The more poetry I write, the more I realize that the craft of writing is the same for poetry as it is writing an essay, an article, a blog, a short story or a novel. The same tools are available. However, each has its unique personality. I was recently asked to review an essay, a genre of writing I know little about. College kids write them all of the time, well I was in college 59 years ago and I don't remember ever writing an essay. So I went googling.
An essay "is a written argument
My home is under attack and I have gone to war with the most tenacious, covert, enemy on the planet. The ant! Soldiers scout, platoons swarm, and their bite stings. Such a tiny nemesis, impossible to defeat entirely. I don't have a problem coexisting as long as they stay in their space outside and leave the inside of my house alone. An invasion of my territory is unacceptable. They are annoying pests that seem to show up after a rain. I understand these seemingly harmless insects are si
Seder Meal
In an upper room,
twelve join Him for Seder meal.
He washes their feet
then breaks bread and shares a cup
and asks to be remembered.
One will be the rock
upon which a church is built.
One will turn his back,
choose coin over faithfulness.
He will be nailed to a cross.
~~~Judi Van Gorder
The best poetry is communicated through thoughts condensed into concrete images. Show don’t tell. The poet’s mantra. Today is Maundy
I've blogged here in fits and starts, running out of ideas of what to write. When I blog, I want it to be worth your time to read. This last month I joined a forum that extended a challenge to blog in response to a daily prompt. I thought this experience might make me a better blog writer. But I have to say, so far I kind of compare the prompts to journal writing that you share with the public. The prompts have been all over the place but most often relate to writing in some way. And I o
Death and Taxes "in this world
nothing can be said to be certain,
except death and taxes.”
Benjamin Franklin
I bounce from pillar to pillar,
a pinball attempting escape,
fearing the IRS
more than the grim reaper.
Mind frozen from forming a plan
to meet imposed deadlines,
I deny reward until the deed is done.
Outside the VA ClinicMostly men in somber colorscluster along the covered walkway,sitting or standing near the whitemetal benches that line one sideof the cement VA Building.The absence of cigarette smokedrifting from the green "smoking area"allows the scent of rosesthat grow groomed on the other sideto dominate the Spring air.There is a cacophony of laughter,a cough and bass and tenor voices that drawl in conversation.A jacketed, sad-eyed PTSD Doghugs the leg of his young masterwhose hand absen
There are so many great love poems written, gushing with emotion. Personally, I've always found that kind of poetry difficult to write. But love can be expressed in many different ways.
Belonging to a professional women's service organization I had the opportunity to join with others to visit a nursing home for Valentine's Day. We purchased boxes of children's Valentine cards and little heart stickers. We went through the home, greeting each resident, handing them a card and placing a hear
Today is the birthday of our 14th president Abraham Lincoln. He was not a poet but he inspired some great poetry. Among the greatest is O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman, written on news of Lincoln's death. O Captain! My Captain!
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
"There are two men inside the artist,
the poet and the craftsman.
One is born a poet.
One becomes a craftsman. . ." ~ ~ Emile Zola to Cézanne, 16 April, 1860 Poetry stirs the emotions as much by the manner of delivery as the message. The message comes from a poet's experiences, observations, imagination and most importantly, the poet's soul. The manner of delivery or craft comes from a poet's intellect and training. It is magic when soul and intellect work in harmony to touch the reader.
Before I wrote poetry I danced. I told stories with my hands. You might say as a poet I still tell stories with my hands as they float across the keyboard. I was recently prompted to write a blog about what kind of music made me want to get up and dance. Here is my response. StorytellerTime has flown sincehumuhumunukunukuapuaha’a *swam from my fingertipsas I dancedthe tales I was taught.These same handsbuilt a business,showed horses how to trustand the babein my arms how to love.Now spotted
