poetry friday roundup is here!

“All it takes is one bloom of hope to make a spiritual garden.” ~ Terri Guillemets

maybe3 (2)500

 WELCOME TO POETRY FRIDAY AT ALPHABET SOUP!

Please help yourself to a cup of tea and a cookie or two or three. 🙂

We have a very special treat today. Knowing how much you love her work, I asked Barbara Crooker if she’d share a poem especially appropriate for the holiday season. Whether you celebrate Hanukkah, Christmas, or Kwanzaa, it’s good to remember that no matter what our personal challenges may be, we’re all part of the same human family and nothing matters more than fostering Peace, Joy and Love whenever and wherever we can. Enjoy her poem and all the other poems being shared in our friendly circle this week, and may a good measure of Hope always light your way.

* * * * *

♥ BARBARA CROOKER ♥

I can’t exactly explain the connection, but somehow, I equate the amaryllis with hope. I’d sent one to a friend with breast cancer as a “no special reason” gift, and she reported to me how hopeful it made her feel, something green like that in the middle of winter. She died, and I bought one (the bulb, in a kit), for myself the following Christmas, and it became hopeful for me as well, the green blade rising (that references a hymn) when everything outside was dead, cold, white . . . I’ve given a number of these as gifts for these sorts of reasons, and everyone seems to have a similar response.

"White Amaryllis" by Kay Smith
“White Amaryllis” by Kay Smith

NATIVITY

The amaryllis bulb, dumb as dirt,
inert, how can anything spring
from this clod, this stone,
the pit of some subtropical,
atypical, likely inedible fruit?
But it does: out of the dark
earth, two shoots, green
flames in December,
despite the short days,
the Long Night Moon
flooding the hard ground.
Nothing outside grows;
even small rodents
are burrowed in
the silent nights.

Then, one morning—
a single stalk,
then a bud
that swells, bells
full sail, full-bellied,
the skin grows thin,
tighter, until it splits:
heralds the night
will not be endless,
that dawn will blossom,
pearly and radiant,
and two white
trumpets unfold, sing
their sweet song,
their Hallelujah chorus,
sing carols in the thin cold air,
and our mouths say O and O and O.

~ first published in Confluence, Copyright © 2001, Barbara Crooker. All rights reserved.

 

"Still Life with Amaryllis, Evening" by James Aponovich (2012)/Clark Gallery
“Still Life with Amaryllis, Evening” by James Aponovich (2012)/Clark Gallery

* * * * *

Now, please leave your poetry links with Mr. Linky, and don’t forget to add the title of your poem or book in parentheses after your name. I will update this post with your info throughout the day.

* * * * *

 TODAY’S POETRY FRIDAY MENU

1. Iza Trapani (Pet Names)

2. Jeff @ NC Teacher Stuff (Waterloo Sunset)

3. Laura Purdie Salas (Cherries in the Sun)

4. Laura Purdie Salas (15 Words or Less)

5. Diane Mayr (Spark)

6. Kurious Kitty (A Robert Frost Christmas Card)

7. KK’s Kwotes (Robert Frost)

8. Matt Forrest Esenwine (Not So Easy)

9. Steve Petersen (This Happens)

10. Linda Baie (Robert Louis Stevenson)

11. Robyn Hood Black (A Christmas Carol’s 170th Birthday)

12. Violet Nesdoly (Ben’s Quilt)

13. Charles Ghigna (The Snooze Cruise, Picking Out a Christmas Tree)

14. Vikram Madan (An original poem inspired by Renee LaTulippe’s ‘Bitter Snits’)

15. April Halprin Wayland/Teaching Authors (Winter Solstice: Girl Talking to the Sun)

16. Matt Goodfellow (Jean Genies)

17. Matt Goodfellow (ADVENTure)

18. Matt Goodfellow (Miss Bouquet’s End of Year  Class Comments)

19. Greg Pincus (Visit from Ken Nesbitt)

20. Laura Shovan (new postcard poem, The Mosquito)

21. Poem Farm (Look Up)

22. Tabatha (Walt Whitman)

23. Myra @ Gathering Books (Self Knowledge by Kahlil Gibran)

24. Janet (Bright Field)

25. Mary Lee (Ending ‘Self Esteem Week’)

25. Tara @ A Teaching Life (Visiting The Poem Farm: Indian Summer)

26. Donna (Deck the Hulls)

27. Liz Steinglass (Spark 18: Red Dress)

28. Heidi Mordhorst (Spark 18: We Be)

29. Margaret (Classroom poems inspired by Dickinson’s ‘There’s a Certain Slant of Light’)

30. Shelf-employed (original STEM haiku)

31. Doraine Bennett (The Snowflake)

32. Bridget Magee (Off to the Library)

33. Jone (Draw by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater)

34. Little Willow (Starlings in Winter by Mary Oliver)

35. Sylvia Vardell/Poetry Friday Anthology (Christmas Is by George Ella Lyon)

36. Sylvia Vardell/Poetry for Children (Bib of Christmas Poetry)

37. Jeannine Atkins (National Geographic Book of Animal Poetry)

38. JoAnn Early Macken (Meteor Shower)

39. Janet Squires (The World’s Greatest Poems by J. Patrick Lewis)

40. Lorie Ann Grover (Directed)

41. Joy Acey (Christmas Star)

42. Ruth (This Peace)

* * * * *

♥ For more about Barbara Crooker’s work, please visit her Official Website.

♥ Other Barbara poems at Alphabet Soup:

This will be my last Poetry Friday post for 2012. Thanks for joining us today and for visiting this past year. I appreciate all your poetry love and look forward to sharing more tasty poems in 2013. Have a joyful, supremely delicious holiday!!

————————————————
Copyright © 2012 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

poetry friday roundup is here!

Welcome Friends, Please Come In!

Why hello! What brings you here?

A poetry lover? You’re just the person I was hoping to see! Come in, make yourself at home, and help yourself to a cup of warm cider. Would you like an apple cider donut to go with that?

via heidi33

Today I’m happy to share one of my very favorite Autumn poems ever, by the one and only Barbara Crooker. She has perfectly captured the gorgeous melancholy that defines the season. Whenever I read this poem aloud, I’m amazed anew at the beauty of the English language and marvel at Barbara’s diction, phrasing, and musicality. Quite simply: a polished gem, a word painting, a heart song that takes my breath away.

THIS TIME OF YEAR,

when the light leaves early, sun slipping down
behind the beech trees as easily as a spoon
of cherry cough syrup, four deer step delicately
up our path, just at the moment when the colors
shift, to eat fallen apples in the tall grass.
Great grey ghosts. If we steal outside in the dark,
we can hear them chew. A sudden movement,
they’re gone, the whiteness of their tails
a burning afterimage. A hollow pumpkin moon rises,
turns the dried corn to chiaroscuro, shape and shadow;
the breath of the wind draws the leaves and stalks
like melancholy cellos. These days are songs, noon air
that flows like warm honey, the maple trees’ glissando
of fat buttery leaves. The sun goes straight to the gut
like a slug of brandy, an eau-de-vie. Ochre October:
the sky, a blue dazzle, the grand finale of trees,
this spontaneous applause; when darkness falls
like a curtain, the last act, the passage of time,
that blue current; October, and the light leaves early,
our radiant hungers, all these golden losses.

~ copyright © 2005 Barbara Crooker (from Radiance, published by Word Press). All rights reserved.

Show us your poems!

Please leave your links with Mr. Linky below. Don’t forget to include the title of your poem or book you’re reviewing in parentheses after your name. I will update throughout the day.

TODAY’S POETRY FRIDAY MENU (sip, savor, chew, swallow):

1. Charles Ghigna (“House of Perfection”)

2. Heidi Mordhorst (“Twenty-four Doors,” an original)

3. jama (“Apple Season”)

4. Gathering Books (Walking Free by Gemino Abad)

5. Teacher Dance (A Goodbye, original)

6. Robyn Hood Black (original wolfy poetry)

7. Amy LV (“I Love Choosing” & P*Tag!)

8. Judy (To the Grass of Autumn, W.S. Merwin)

9. Susan Taylor Brown (Proof of Life, original poem)

10. Mary Lee (Subway Poem)

11. Carol (“To Failure” by Philip Larkin)

12. Tabatha (Edward Shanks)

13. Tara (October poems by Bobbi Katz)

14. Ben @ The Small Nouns (Poetry Mix  Tape: Autumn Poems)

15. Maria Horvath’s Daily Poems (“For an Amorous Lady”)

16. Laura Salas (Dogku by Andrew Clements)

17. Laura Salas (15 Words or less poems)

18. KK’s Kwotes (quote by Paul Janeczko)

19. Kurious Kitty (Where Home Begins)

20. Diane Mayr (“Power Source”)

21. Kids of the Homefront Army (“Up Late”)

22. Julie Larios (P*Tag)

23. Greg Pincus (“My Father’s Hair”)

24. Irene Latham (Ars Poetica 5 for Friday)

25. Sara Lewis Holmes (Bad Taste)

26. Sylvia Vardell (Upcoming presentation at the IBBY Regional Conference)

27. Wild Rose Reader (Original Halloween Haiku)

28. The Write Sisters (Now Close the Windows)

29. Katie @ Secrets & Sharing Soda (Lemonade by Bob Raczka)

31. Donna (Shushing)

32. david e. (haul-o-ween)

33. Miss Rumphius (At the Sea Floor Café)

34. April @ Teaching Authors (two Thankus)

35. Janet Squires (Hallowilloween)

36. Kelly Ramsdell Fineman (Troubled Water)

37. Mandy Webster (Rules for the Dance by Mary Oliver)

38. Joyce Ray (J. Patrick Lewis poetry exercise)

39. MsMac (Robert Frost)

40. Ruth (Villain)

41. Wrung Sponge (original haiku)

42. Adrienne (Walt Whitman)

43. Polka Dot Owl (Jack Prelutsky)

——————————————————————————–

Thanks for participating and have a good weekend!

 

 

Copyright © 2011 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

friday feast: barbara’s back!

via Sifu Renka

Happy Poetry Friday!

It’s been awhile since my last Friday Feast, and I’ve missed the soul-enriching nourishment afforded by beautifully crafted poems. Only fitting that since the last poem I featured at the old LiveJournal blog was by Barbara Crooker, we begin the 5th course of alphabet soup in this new cyber kitchen with another of her food poems.

The subject? Pie Crust!

Oh yes, my Quest for Pie continues. ☺ And I am a crust person through and through. Not to say I don’t love all the fillings —  it’s just that a light flaky crust defines a pie. Such a difference between bland cardboard or soggy goo, and perfectly baked, golden richness — just the right soft crumble, gently yielding its precise measure of flour, fat, and water, alerting your taste buds to pastry nirvana.

via The Cooking Photographer

Making good shortcrust pastry is an acquired skill, a tricky proposition that requires flawless technique, practice, and that indefinable something only obtainable through the touch of human hands. And if they’re your mother’s hands? Then it approaches the sacred, a place where loving memories, family pride, and a desire to distill the essence of childhood prevails.

MY MOTHER’S PIE CRUST
by Barbara Crooker

Light as angels’ breath, shatter into flakes
with each forkful, never soggy-bottomed
or scorched on top, the lattices evenly woven,
pinched crimps an inch apart.
My ex-husband said he’d eat grasshoppers
if my mother baked them in a pie.
Smooth tart lemon, froth of meringue.
Apples dusted with cinnamon, nutmeg.
Pumpkin that cracks in the middle
of its own weight. Mine are good,
but not like hers, though I keep trying,
rolling the dough this way and that, dusting
the cloth with flour. “You have to chill the Crisco,”
she says. “You need a light touch
to keep it tender; too much handling
makes a tough crust.”

Gather the scraps, make a ball in your hands,
press into a circle. Spread thickly with butter,
sprinkle with cinnamon sugar, roll up, slice, bake.
The strange marriage of fat, flour, and salt
is annealed to ethereal bites. Heaven is attainable,
and the chimes of the timer bring us to the table.

~ Literary Lunch (Kentucky Writers Group) © 2011 Barbara Crooker. All rights reserved.

via Bella Dolce

Barbara: My favorite recipe comes from Betty Crocker (for whom I am sometimes mistaken — I even got a check from a magazine once, made out to her):

for an 8 or 9 inch double pie crust:

1-3/4 cups flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 cup oil (I use a heart healthy blend)
3-4 T. ice water

Stir the salt into the flour. Add oil, mix with a fork until the particles are the size of small peas. Sprinkle the ice water in, a tablespoon at a time. Gather into a ball, divide in half.

(This part is my special trick:) Wipe the counter, place a sheet of waxed paper down. Place ball of dough, top with another sheet of waxed paper. Roll into a ball two inches larger than your pie plate. Peel off the top sheet of the waxed paper. Use a small paring knife to help you. Remember that this is like Play-Doh; any tears can be pinched or squished back together, and you can’t hurt the crust!

Invert, and place the pie crust round in the pie pan. Peel off the bottom sheet of waxed paper (which is now on top). Pour in filling. Repeat with second crust. Once it’s in place, crimp the edges together, either with a fork, or pinch it with your fingers. Cut slits on top to vent the steam. Brush the crust with milk (I use a small paint brush), sprinkle with sugar. Most pies bake at 425 for 45 minutes, but this will vary depending on your oven.

———————————————————

I’m anxious to try Barbara’s (Betty’s ☺) recipe, because I like to avoid hydrogenated fats (Crisco). My experience has taught me that using all butter makes the dough (though flavorful) hard to handle. A Crisco crust is great for flakiness and making lattice tops. I’ve used half-butter and half-Crisco to good results. Barbara agrees that the oil recipe probably wouldn’t work as well if you’re attempting to make a lattice top crust. But certainly for a single crust French Apple Pie, custard, pumpkin, or lemon meringue, the oil crust is fine. BTW, the wax paper trick really works!

Hmmmmmmmmmm — here’s something to inspire you to make a pie this weekend:

via Dan4

♥ Today’s Poetry Friday host is the Shockingly Clever Coffee Maven, Karen Edmisten. Coffee goes well with pie, yes? As does tea and lemonade and milk and water and juice and champagne and raspberry cordial and pencil shavings (just checking to see if you’re paying attention).

♥ To prove how daunting making a good pie crust can be, check out this post by Dorie Greenspan. Seems even she’s been terrified of rolling.

Copyright © 2011 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

friday feast: vegetable love by barbara crooker


adamlawrence212/flickr

 

‘Tis the season for gorgeous summer produce and I’m envious of those of you with your own vegetable gardens. At our old house, where there were fewer trees to block the sunlight and no deer to nibble on devour everything, we had a nice little patch that yielded bell peppers, beefsteak, cherry and Early Girl tomatoes, cucumbers, and monster zucchini.


Tommy Williams/flickr

I love how each plant matured in its own time, extending our anticipation, and how it always seemed so miraculous that something delicious and satisfying could magically materialize from a tiny seed or starter plant.


Jean-François Chénier/flickr

No, there’s nothing like a freshly picked garden tomato at its peak of ripeness sliced just so, saying hello to three strips of bacon, a little butter lettuce and lightly toasted whole grain bread. And there’s no one who better celebrates the joy and wonder of the vegetable garden than Barbara Crooker. Her poetic garden flourishes with a variety of offerings, exquisite sensual details, and earthy enthusiasm. She always gets it just right.


kerryj.com/flickr

VEGETABLE LOVE
by Barbara Crooker

Feel a tomato, heft its weight in your palm,
think of buttocks, breasts, this plump pulp.
And carrots, mud clinging to the root,
gold mined from the earth’s tight purse.
And asparagus, that push their heads up,
rise to meet the returning sun,
and zucchini, green torpedoes
lurking in the Sargasso depths
of their raspy stalks and scratchy leaves.
And peppers, thick walls of cool jade, a green hush.
Secret caves. Sanctuary.
And beets, the dark blood of the earth.
And all the lettuces: bibb, flame, oak leaf, butter-
crunch, black-seeded Simpson, chicory, cos.
Elizabethan ruffs, crisp verbiage.
And spinach, the dark green
of northern forests, savoyed, ruffled,
hidden folds and clefts.
And basil, sweet basil, nuzzled
by fumbling bees drunk on the sun.
And cucumbers, crisp, cool white ice
in the heart of August, month of fire.
And peas in their delicate slippers,
little green boats, a string of beads,
repeating, repeating.
And sunflowers, nodding at night,
then rising to shout hallelujah! at noon.

All over the garden, the whisper of leaves
passing secrets and gossip, making assignations.
All of the vegetables bask in the sun,
languorous as lizards.
Quick, before the frost puts out
its green light, praise these vegetables,
earth’s voluptuaries,
praise what comes from the dirt.

~ from Radiance, winner of the Word Press First Book Prize, Copyright © 2005 Barbara Crooker. All rights reserved.


tirst/flickr

♥ Today’s Roundup is at Carol’s Corner. Check out the full menu of tasty poems and have a good weekend!

 

Copyright © 2011 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan’s alphabet soup. All rights reserved.

barbara crooker: come over to the dark side

#9 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2011.



Poetry lovers, slip on your black satin bibs and saunter right up to the table. For today, black berets only, please.

Goodbye sweetness and light, hello dark and sexy.

When it comes down to it, really down to it, who do you love? Barbara Crooker knows.

via Linnie

Very likely you’ve seen her “Ode to Chocolate” online, or maybe in her newest poetry collection, MORE (C&R Press, 2010). I love this swagger of a poem, the way it tempts and teases, plays to the rebel, takes no prisoners. Not an ounce of milquetoast, no hem or haw. Dark, baby, dark. Deep, decadent, divine.

ODE TO CHOCOLATE
by Barbara Crooker

I hate milk chocolate, don’t want clouds
of cream diluting the dark night sky,
don’t want pralines or raisins, rubble
in this smooth plateau.  I like my coffee
black, my beer from Germany, wine
from Burgundy, the darker, the better.
I like my heroes complicated and brooding,
James Dean in oiled leather, leaning
on a motorcycle.  You know the color.

Oh, chocolate!  From the spice bazaars
of Africa, hulled in mills, beaten,
pressed in bars.  The cold slab of a cave’s
interior, when all the stars
have gone to sleep.

Chocolate strolls up to the microphone
and plays jazz at midnight, the low slow
notes of a bass clarinet.  Chocolate saunters
down the runway, slouches in quaint
boutiques; its style is je ne sais quoi.
Chocolate stays up late and gambles,
likes roulette.  Always bets
on the noir.

© 2010 Barbara Crooker. All rights reserved. Used with permission of the author.

Barbara: “Ode to Chocolate” came out of a prompt I was doing with a women’s retreat, one where I’ve led the poetry workshop for oh, 26-27 years now. I was looking for a food prompt, and did a Google search on chocolate + poems, coming up blank. So I decided to write one of my own! The group still fondly remembers me breaking off small bits of a very dark chocolate bar and passing them out, almost like communion. They wrote some really neat poems as well.

I first encountered “Ode to Chocolate” at Diane Lockward’s Blogalicious, when she hosted a Poetry Salon in honor of Barbara’s MORE. Loved it, of course, and thus began my hunger for more Barbara poems.

Shortly after I posted Diane’s “If Only Humpty Dumpty Had Been a Cookie” for Poetry Friday, I received an email from Barbara, who offered to send me a batch of gluten free cookie recipes, several of them containing chocolate. We talked about “Ode to Chocolate,” “Ode to Olive Oil,” and the general deliciousness of food poetry. Yes, here was a woman after my own heart, extolling gravy and writing fondly about her mother’s piecrust. Sweet serendipity; there was more.

We discovered that the same novelist and professor, Asa Baber (who for many years wrote the “Men” column in Playboy magazine), had been pivotal in both our lives as fledging writers. Barbara met Asa at a conference; the advice he so kindly offered set her on the right path. Asa was my first college English professor in Hawai’i, the one who convinced me to pursue creative writing. He was unconventional and disarmingly handsome with a deep, dark tan. My James Dean, a master of je ne sais quoi. Simply no limits to the power of chocolate and poetry, happy connections being the greatest gift of all.

So, back to Barbara’s gluten free recipes. Last week, I made her Chocolate Shortbread, which is so, sooooooo good. The entire house smelled of rich chocolate, butter and vanilla all afternoon. I kind of drifted around from room to room in a deep chocolate reverie, thinking that if food is poetry, this cookie is the perfect love sonnet. As it turns out, the recipe actually represents the special love of a mother for her son:

Barbara: April is National Autism Awareness Month, and the reason I have all these gluten-free recipes is that being gluten (wheat, rye, oats, barley) and casein (milk, dairy products) -free has made a huge difference in our son’s ability to navigate the world. He’s 27 now, still living at home, and I’m still baking for him.

CHOCOLATE SHORTBREAD

1/2 cup butter, soft (or 1/4 tub Earth Balance non-dairy “butter”)
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla
6 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chips, melted
1 cup gluten free flour
1 tsp. xanthan gum

Mix butter, sugar, vanilla; add chocolate. Stir dry ingredients together, add. Press into a small (8-10″) spring form pan. Press fork around edges to make a design; prick holes in top with fork. Bake at 300 degrees for 45 minutes. Cool in pan. Cut into wedges while warm (then cut into smaller pieces, if desired).

Note: Barbara likes Bette Hagman’s Gluten-Free flour mixture.
————————————————————————-

Barbara Crooker has written more than 625 poems published in over 1,950 anthologies, books, and magazines such as Yankee, The Christian Science Monitor, Nimrod, Poetry International, and The Beloit Poetry Journal. She’s the recipient of the 2007 Pen and Brush Poetry Prize, the 2006 Ekphrastic Poetry Award from Rosebud, the 2004 WB Yeats Society of New York Award, the 2003 Thomas Merton Poetry of the Sacred Award, and many more. She’s been nominated an amazing 26 times for the Pushcart Prize and also received a 1997 Grammy nomination for her part in the audio version of the popular anthology, Grow Old Along With Me – The Best is Yet to Be (Papier Mache Press).

She’s authored ten chapbooks (two won national competitions), and published three full-length poetry collections: Radiance (2005 Word Press First Book Prize, 2006 Paterson Poetry Prize finalist), Line Dance (2009 Paterson Award for Literary Excellence), and More (2010). Her work has been read on the BBC, the ABC (Australian Broadcasting Company), and by Garrison Keillor on The Writer’s Almanac over a dozen times. You can find many of Barbara’s poems online, referenced at her official website.

♥ I love this:

What more can a person
hope for, in this world of a thousand sorrows,
than a life that was made for song, than a body
sometimes able to take wing?

~from “My Life as a Song Sparrow,” included in MORE, one of two prizes offered in my Poetry Book Giveaway.

♥ To listen to Barbara read “Ode to Chocolate,” click here.

Copyright © 2011 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan’s alphabet soup. All rights reserved.