When we were little, we likely heard about the cow jumping over the moon and the dish running away with the spoon. We learned the moon was made of green cheese, and that when the man in the moon tumbled down too soon, he burned his mouth eating porridge.
Whether in nursery rhyme or popular folklore, the moon continues to charm us. No surprise that kids are especially captivated by its presence in the night sky and curious about its changing appearance.
In Sweet Dreams: Moon Poems for Bedtime (Schiffer Kids, 2025), beloved Alabama poet Charles Ghigna serves up a delightful platter of lunar treats illustrated by Jacqueline East. The fourteen short poems in the collection invite young readers to explore the moon’s many guises, whether playful, evocative, majestic or enchanting.
When night has fallen and children are tucked safely in their beds, they can imagine the moon as a lollipop, orange, pumpkin, ice cream cone or lost balloon. They can see the moon as artist, magician, or guardian of safety.
Happy to share another insightful poem by California poet Lori Levy today. Last time she wrote about her love of eggplant, wanting to make it her special hobby. Now, what about a peach?
Sometimes we just have to be still and let joy find us.
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“Summer Peaches” by Robert Papp via Fine Art America.
PEACH by Lori Levy
A woman writes about a peach. I don't know the woman, don't know why, out of all the poems and stories in a book I've just read, I remember her and her peach -- how, as she bites into it one August afternoon while reading on her patio, birds chirping around her, scent of roses in the air, her depression lifts.
Nothing more than a peach, but it's enough, the taste just right, juicy and sweet, fresh from the local farmers' market. Or maybe it's the woman herself, not expecting anything, but ready somehow. Open, alert, ripe as her peach. Four months of crying, grieving, numb from the death of her husband, and, suddenly, there it is for a moment: a thrill she thought she'd never feel again.
A peach. But it could just as well be a baked potato on a blanket at the beach, as it was for me once, picnicking with family as the sky turned as luscious as this woman's peach.
An awakening. A jolt to the senses. We search and search, and the moment we stop and pay attention, it's here, not there, and simple as a peach on a patio. Or a slice of chocolate cream pie by an open window, sun pouring in. Or just the sun, a patch on the table, like a note. A reminder.
~ posted by permission of the author (first published in Iris Literary Journal, March 2023).
#65 in an ongoing series of posts celebrating the alphabet.
Welcome to the Poetry Friday Roundup at Alphabet Soup!
So glad you’re here. Hope you’re having a good September. 🙂
Today we’re celebrating Alphabet Soup’s 18th blogiversary with one of my favorite (and oh-so-appropos) poetic forms, the abecedarian. Recently stumbled upon this gem by new-to-me poet Tom Disch (1940-2008).
A prolific award-winning author of speculative fiction as well as a noted poet, Disch was also a librettist, essayist, theater critic, and author of historical novels, computer-interactive fiction and children’s books (perhaps you’re familiar with his novella, The Brave Little Toaster (1980)). Of all these genres, he wished to excel most in poetry (Dana Gioia considered him a genius).
Love his conversational tone, sharp wit and matter-of-fact storytelling, which gives the poem a fresh, spontaneous feel. I haven’t read an abecedarian quite like this one before (so fun!); I like how his mind works.
“You will be pleased to know I stand obediently for the national anthem, though of course I would defend your right to remain seated should you so decide.” ~ Ira Glasser
“Placing the Stars on the Flag That Inspired Francis Scott Key to Write Our National Anthem, Claggett’s Brewery, Baltimore, 1812-1814,” by Robert McGill Mackall (1962). This depicts Mary Pickersgill and her nieces in 1813, sewing the flag that would become known as the Star-Spangled Banner.
A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM by Ada Limón
The truth is, I’ve never cared for the National Anthem. If you think about it, it’s not a good song. Too high for most of us with “the rockets red glare” and then there are the bombs. (Always, always, there is war and bombs.) Once, I sang it at homecoming and threw even the tenacious high school band off key. But the song didn’t mean anything, just a call to the field, something to get through before the pummeling of youth. And what of the stanzas we never sing, the third that mentions “no refuge could save the hireling and the slave”? Perhaps, the truth is, every song of this country has an unsung third stanza, something brutal snaking underneath us as we blindly sing the high notes with a beer sloshing in the stands hoping our team wins. Don’t get me wrong, I do like the flag, how it undulates in the wind like water, elemental, and best when it’s humbled, brought to its knees, clung to by someone who has lost everything, when it’s not a weapon, when it flickers, when it folds up so perfectly you can keep it until it’s needed, until you can love it again, until the song in your mouth feels like sustenance, a song where the notes are sung by even the ageless woods, the short-grass plains, the Red River Gorge, the fistful of land left unpoisoned, that song that’s our birthright, that’s sung in silence when it’s too hard to go on, that sounds like someone’s rough fingers weaving into another’s, that sounds like a match being lit in an endless cave, the song that says my bones are your bones, and your bones are my bones, and isn’t that enough?
“By Dawn’s Early Light” by Edward Percy Moran (1913) – Francis Scott Key observing the flag the morning after the Battle of Baltimore, Fort McHenry, Baltimore, Maryland.
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Distress or dissent?
Limón’s poem is especially relevant right now, not only because we are a country in crisis, but because 211 years ago, on September 14, 1814, American lawyer Francis Scott Key wrote his poem, “Defence of Fort M’Henry,” which became the lyrics for our national anthem.
“Better than a thousand days of diligent study is one day with a great teacher.” ~ Japanese proverb
Hooray for September and a brand new school year!
As a grade school student, I loved having new clothes, fresh school supplies, putting covers on assigned textbooks, making sure my quarter for lunch was safely stashed in my coin purse. I could hardly wait to open my spiral notebook and write on a clean page with a freshly-sharpened No. 2 pencil.
Most of all, I looked forward to meeting my new teacher.
Reading The Teachers I Loved Best by Taylor Mali and Erica Root (Doubleday BFYR, 2023) brought to mind my own favorites, making me appreciate them even more.
In his uplifting rhyming ode, Mali celebrates the extra-special, dedicated educators (classroom teachers, principals, librarians) who leave a lasting impression on all of us. “A great teacher is anyone who makes you work hard — harder than you ever thought you could — who makes you want to be better than just . . . plain . . . good.”
He goes on to laud their willingness to go above and beyond to bring out the best in their students, whether coaching from the sidelines to instill confidence, gently pushing to keep them on track, or being demanding “with the goal of commanding understanding.” The teachers he truly loved most were the ones who challenged and inspired him to give his all every single day.
He mentions his science teacher, who had the class dramatize the way the solar system worked, an art teacher he madly loved who dressed in “white paint-splattered smocks all of the time,” and every music teacher he ever had who encouraged him despite his bad, off-key singing voice.
Jama's Alphabet Soup 