Poetry Challenge #328-Into The Wilde
Who hasn’t heard of Oscar Wilde—so aptly surnamed? Imagine, even he had a mother (and a brother named Willie) Better yet, an Irish poet mother, and a Lady at that! What’s more, December 27 marks the 200th anniversary of Oscar’s mother, Lady Jane Wilde’s birth.
Oscar’s mother, born Jane Francesca Elgee on December 27, 1823 in Wexford, was a force! And a poet with a particular penchant for Irish poetry and folktales.
Below is a photograph of Lady Jane’s notoriously wild son, Oscar (standing) and Willie (right) with friends. According to unconfirmable sources, the photo was taken at Oxford in 1875.
It’s said Lady Jane Wilde she wrote under the name “Speranza” but hard as I tried, none of the search engines on my laptop could find an examples of her poetry.
But. . .
You can find out all about Jane and her poetry in this highly-reviewed biography by Eibhear Walshe. (Don’t think you’ll have a tough time recalling the title.)
Walshe’s book shows Lady Jane to be an outspoken and accomplished scholar, writer, translator and social commentator and fierce supporter of the Irish cause. Her list of books of Goodreads is extensive—check it out!
Now, back to the subject at hand: Poetry! Below is the beginning of Lady Jane Wilde’s poem, Sign of the Times—just a taste. Read the rest of the poem, and more by Lady Jane Wilde here.
Poetry Challenge #328
Into the Wilde
In honor of Lady Jane Wilde and . . .
Because it’s National Fruitcake Day, write a nutty poem.
Pack it with fruits and nutty bits—and if you rhyme, set an odd rhyming pattern—because that’s how I imagine Lady Jane Wilde liked it!
Set Your Timer for 7 Minutes
Start Writing!
Don’t Think About it, Write It!
If this fruitcake has your mouth watering, Collins Street Bakery in Corsicana, Texas has been baking fruitcake since 1868 (who know Lady Jane Wilde may well have tasted one) as Collins Street ships everywhere—but it’s not open on Christmas Day…I know. I tried stopping in.
Cindy Faughnan and I began this 7-Minute Poetry Challenge 2700+ days ago. Now we take turns creating prompts to share with you. Our hope is that creatives—children & adults—will use our prompts as springboards to word play time. If you join us in the Challenge, let us know by posting the title, a note, or if you want, the whole poem in the comments.
Click on Fishbowl link and sign up to receive email notifications from Kelly's blog (aka The Fishbowl):
All who subscribe, comment or share a poem will be entered in . . .
Happy Fishmas!
Happy Holidays from Kelly’s Fishbowl!
Here at the Kelly’s Fishbowl we celebrate all the holidays, with everyone—always with lights & food!
Bloodworms for everyone!
This morning Norman and Knot are swimming rings around Santa trying to get him to tell them what they’ll treats they’ll find hiding beneath their seaweed in the morning.
Of course they have been fintastic goldfish all year! How about you? (Don’t answer that…) Instead!
We have gifts for you! Five Goldfish Christmas Jokes to get your belly’s jiggling.
Happy Fishmas!
Q: What is Norman’s Favorite Christmas Song?
A: We Fish You a Merry Christmas
Q: What is Whale Santa’s official greeting?
A: Blow-Blow-Blow
Q: Who brings good-little goldfish Christmas presents?
A: Sandy Claws
Q: What do goldfish use to tie Christmas bows?
A: Ribbon Eels
Q: What do goldfish sing over the holidays?
A: Christmas Corals
Hope those got you HO-HO-HOing!
MORE FISHCAKE!
We’ll be back Wednesday with the 7-minute Poetry Challenge.
Happy Holidays to you and yours.
Treat yourself to an extra helping of happy!
Poetry Challenge #327-Idioma Can Be Catching
The idiom “Dot your i’s and cross your t’s” means that you pay attention to every little detail. It’s often used to express irritation for how long something takes for work that seems unnecessary. Or maybe it shows admiration for how carefully someone does a task.
Idioms often can’t be understood by looking at the meanings of the words involved.
Often an idiom means something different from the way it sounds which makes it harder to understand for a non-native speaker of the language (every language has its own idioms!).
Poetry Challenge #327
Idioma Can Be Catching
For today’s poem —December 12 is National Dot Your I’s Day after all!—choose an idiom from the list below. Write a poem that begins or ends with the idiom. Idioms in writing are often used to add humor, a sense of place, or an idea to simplify a difficult idea.
a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush the drop of a hat
piece of cake back to the drawing board
bark up the wrong tree by the skin of your teeth
every cloud has a silver lining don’t count your chickens before they hatch
on cloud nine you can’t judge a book by its cover
walk on thin ice wild goose chase
Set Your Timer for 7 Minutes
Start Writing!
Don’t Think About it, Write It!
If after creating your poem, you’d like a more thorough explanation of idioms, watch/listen to German Lopez’ “Dot Your “I”s & Cross Your “T”s Explained”:
Cindy Faughnan and I began this 7-Minute Poetry Challenge 2700+ days ago. Now we take turns creating prompts to share with you. Our hope is that creatives—children & adults—will use our prompts as springboards to word play time. If you join us in the Challenge, let us know by posting the title, a note, or if you want, the whole poem in the comments.
Click on Fishbowl link and sign up to receive email notifications from Kelly's blog (aka The Fishbowl):
All who subscribe, comment or share a poem will be entered in . . .
Poetry Challenge #326-Every Picture
Rod Stewart’s album, Every Picture Tells A Story, was one of my favorites growing up—it was one I “bought” for a penny in one of those Album subscription services. Dang I loved those! It’s where most of my coveted vinyl collection was amassed. As I listen to Rod growling, Every Picture Tells a Story don’t it/whoo-whoo . . . I imagine Kenneth Patchen, our birthday poet (born in Niles, Ohio Dec 13, 1911), listening too while confined to bed with debilitating pain, he created his “Picture-Poems.”
Why celebrate Kenneth Patchen?
Because even though his poetry never received recognition from critics, he didn’t let that bother him one bit—it may even have emboldened him. And, as is often the case, with mainstream unpopular anything, Patchen’s poetry was especially popular with college students
Patchen passed on Jan 8, 1972, but his poetry is alive and well on Etsy, Ebay, Instagram, etc. as wall art/inspiration/oddity.
Patchen as a poet who like to play with form. Over the course of his career, which included about forty books, he created concrete poetry, drama, prose, multi-media poetry with John Cage and jazz poetry—which included two weeks in New York creating poetry jazz with Charlie Mingus—verse, the anti-novel, and painted books.
Henry Miller called Patchen "The Man of Anger and Light"
And, as shown in this poem “The Great Birds,” Patchen saw, admired, and singled out moments of beauty.
Poets.org noted, “The picture-poems are jazz-like in that they keep rhythm through the words and move through the seemingly child-like nature of the anti-linear creatures and figments of Patchen's imagination. They are celebrations of everyday playfulness as well as realizations of the sadnesses, humor and limitations of the body and mind.”
"It happens that very often my writing with pen is interrupted by my writing with brush, but I think of both as writing," said Patchen. "In other words, I don’t consider myself a painter. I think of myself as someone who has used the medium of painting in an attempt to extend."
Poetry Challenge #326
Every Picture . . .
Patchen’s Picture-Poems have been described as, “a unique genre of poetry which integrated his ideas of human nature, social protest, and creativity.”
For this prompt, create a picture poem, be it a poem that paints a picture, or if you dare to step away from the computer, draw a picture poem integrating art and drawings ala Patchen.
Who knows, maybe yours will sell on Ebay one day too!
Set Your Timer for 7 Minutes
Start Writing!
Don’t Think About it, Write It!
Cindy Faughnan and I began this 7-Minute Poetry Challenge 2700+ days ago. Now we take turns creating prompts to share with you. Our hope is that creatives—children & adults—will use our prompts as springboards to word play time. If you join us in the Challenge, let us know by posting the title, a note, or if you want, the whole poem in the comments.
Click on Fishbowl link and sign up to receive email notifications from Kelly's blog (aka The Fishbowl):
All who subscribe, comment or share a poem will be entered in . . .
That Voice . . .
You know that little voice inside your head?
The voice behind the wagging finger?
The one that tells you want you should be doing…or should have done? Well, my little voice was talking all kinds of trash.
It may or may not have been why I was doing the OJ through JFK Thursday morning. (By OJ, I don’t mean perhaps stabbing "my" woman or high-speed racing cops down the freeway with the world watching. I mean sprinting through the airport jumping over suitcases ala Samsonite commercials from back when OJ was a rock-starish football hero.)
I was flying from JFK to Burlington, Vermont. My flight was scheduled for 9:10 am. My friend and fellow #VCFA UN (Unreliable Narrator), Cindy Faughnan was picking me up in Burlington.
Looking into the mirror can a dive into the Black Hole…
Excited about the trip, seeing friends, being back with writing friends, I was packed up, alarms—3 of them—set and ready to go with plenty of time, I thought . . .
But. . .
I may have pushed snooze
May have started daydreaming in the shower
May have used the high-magnification side of the make-up mirror—even though I hadn’t allowed time to apply make up at all—which showed a few errant eyebrow bristles that had to be plucked before I could leave. . .
(Where, I ask, was that darn little voice during all of that? It should have been warning me, telling me, hurrying me, but NO. . . )
So, I left home a little later—only 18 minutes—than planned. Big deal, I thought . . .
But. . . a highway lane was closed
Traffic was horrid
There was no gas station after the JFK exit . . .
So, I'm turning off the highway, onto the rental car return street, with about an hour to go before my flight was scheduled to leave. That’s when the little voice pipes up:
“You’re going to miss the flight.”
I’m trying not to listen but . . .
. . . That voice is loud, incessant:
“Why bother?” It’s telling me. “Turn around, find another gas station, fill up your tank, maybe get some breakfast cause there is no way in hell you’re making that flight, lady.”
That niggling little voice was persuasive. I could feel my foot lifting off the accelerator, could feel my arm muscles flex, ready to crank a U-Turn and go back to a gas station.
“La-la-la I don’t hear you,” I said, resigned to not refill the tank. “So, I’ll have to pay the rental car company premium for those few gallons,” I reasoned. “It’s less expensive than missing the flight.” I gunned the engine, roared into the rental car lot, pulled into the car return line. But. . . Where was the attendant? The shuttle bus was pulling away and there was no attendant!!!
“Told you!” said that little voice. “You’re too late. No way can you make the flight, now.”
Oh, yeah? Leaving the keys in, the car idling, I grabbed my suitcases, ran for the shuttle, tossed them inside and was about to ask the driver to call someone, when the attendant ambled out. “I’m going to be late,” I told him. “Please, check me in. Do I have to wait here?” I must have had that look on my face, because he kicked it into high, checked in the car and handed me the receipt before the shuttle door closed. (No questions about the lower fuel—I’m sure I’ll get an email about that soon.)
“Terminal 5,” I said.
The driver said: “You know we don’t go to the terminal. We stop at the Air Train.”
The little voice said:
“Give up already. No way you’re going to make this flight.”
“Yeah, but I can try.”
As that shuttle pulled up to that long, white tunnel leading to the escalator rising up to another escalator, to the Air Train station, with the huge Flight Board where all the flights, terminal numbers, gates, times and flight status posted overhead. And that little voice kept niggling, louder, as I searched the board for my flight where the status column was blinking, flashing in green: BOARDING.
So? So maybe I will miss my flight. But. . . maybe I won’t.
On the Airtrain, I tried using my phone to check-in for my flight, again. (I’d tried checking in 23 hours earlier, but hadn’t been able to.) But this time it did. Which bought me some time—and gave me hope—All I needed to do was get to the gate before boarding closed…
But . . . The Airtrain stop at terminal 5 is a long corridor, 3 escalators, and another long corridor and an escalator down to Check-in and Bag-Drop and there were all sorts of slow-walking, weaving, lagging people not in a hurry between me and checking-in.
And the clock was ticking inside, and my guts were twisting and that little voice was saying:
“You screwed up bad. You are not going to make this flight. Why did you put on make-up? You hadn’t planned for it. Why did you even bother showering? Why did you go to sleep at all? No way are you going to make this flight. . . ”
But . . . Maybe I can.
And maybe out of spite, when I tried to check in for my flight, the check-in kiosks couldn’t read my passport. “Told you,” taunted that little voice.
Shut up, I told it, and tried again, using my name. It worked! But a notice flashed saying it was too late to check bags and asked if I wanted to proceed without checking bags.
“You can’t do that,” said that little voice. “You have 2 bags and a purse. Besides, you probably have liquids in that bag you were going to check, too. You’re gonna get beeped…”
Maybe. Maybe not.
I completed the check-in, took my boarding pass and sped to the TSA pre-check line. The TSA guard was very nice and smiley as he told me my bag was too big, and I had too many, and he didn’t want to lose his job. And that little voice laughed and laughed.
Go on, laugh… I thought, and I didn't budge. I waited, with my eyes, urging the TSA guard to have pity. “Ask one of them to give permission for you to proceed," he said, directing me to the airline counter.
It was minutes until the Gate closed. The security line was long. The little voice was probably right: I was going to miss that flight.
Still, I did as directed. I walked—did not run—over to the Check-in desk. When the attendant asked what I wanted and I started tattling:
“That TSA guard wouldn’t let me go through,” I tattled. . . . “And now I’m going to miss my flight—” If I wasn’t actually, physically pouting, I was mentally, and that Jet Blue agent, may have been somebody’s mother, because she took my boarding pass. “Follow me,” she said, and started toward the long security line. And the now smiling “I’m on your side” TSA guard, waved me through.
“You’re still not going to make it,” that little voice was saying as I hoisted my 3 bags—which included the one I had planned to check that may or may not have liquids inside—onto the security belt.
“This is taking way too long,” that little voice taunted as my purse and boots went through the machine, then my first bag, but stalled with my 2nd bag, my may-have-liquids-or-a-corkscrew-inside-should-have-been-checked bag inside.
“GIVE IT UP!” that little voice hollered, as the security guard hauled my bag over to the machine for manual inspection and to be swabbed for explosives.
That little taunting, niggling, needling voice was making me crazy. But . . .
Even when I looked up at the Flight Status sign and saw a bold, all caps CLOSED sign next to my flight, even though the gate my flight was leaving from was—through the tangled Starbucks line—farthest away, I kept going.
“It’s gone!” that little voice said, “You screwed up. You are a mess. You blew it, sister!” as I passed Starbucks and the Gate sign came into view, and beneath and around it I saw a huge crowd gathered, and my spirits began to lift, my hopes soar: Maybe I hadn’t missed it! They’re still boarding.
“Yeah right…”said the little voice.
And it was right. It wasn’t my gate. The crowd wasn’t for my flight. My gate was the empty gate next to it.
I slowed. Excused my way through the crowd and walked toward the attendant at the empty check-in desk at my gate. She was talking with another woman who might or might not be a passenger—please be a passenger. The gateway door was still open. As I approached with my 2 bags and purse, red-faced and out of breath, cursing that little voice, the attendant motioned that other woman aside. She looked at me and said, “Mrs. Bennett? We’ve been waiting for you.”
That’s the thing about that little voice: It’s gonna talk.
There is not one single thing we can do about that. There’s no way to silence it, either. (At least I can’t. And I’ve tried.)
But, there is something we can do . . .
NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION #1: Decide not to listen.
Little Voice Playlist:
Something to Talk About by Bonnie Raitt
Leaving on a Jet Plane by Peter, Paul & Mary
Click on SUBSCRIBE if you'd like to receive email notification when entries are posted on Kelly's Fishbowl.
Poetry Challenge #325-Heard it in a Song
Happy Birthday, Jason Reynolds! The way coolest poet I wish I knew . . .
Why? He helps reluctant readers—at-risk kids—find their superpower!
Jason Reynolds, born December 6, 1983, is an award-winning, NY Times Bestselling YA author and poet.
He won both a Newbery and a Printz Honor in 2018 for his book Long Way Down.
And from 2020-2022 served as
National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature.
Here’s one of Jason Reynold’s poems I Haven’t Gone Through it all:
Jason Reynolds began writing poetry because of a favorite album by Queen Latifah, Black Reign. He says poetry was a way for him to begin telling his stories.
In his novels, he writes about real issues for young readers, often using events he observed growing up
The premise for Ghost
happened to one of Jason’s friends when he was about 7.
Poetry Challenge #325
Heard it in a Song
Think about a song you really like. Look at the words to the song.
Let the song inspire you to write your own poem.
Set Your Timer for 7 Minutes
Start Writing!
Don’t Think About it, Write It!
Cindy Faughnan and I began this 7-Minute Poetry Challenge 2700+ days ago. Now we take turns creating prompts to share with you. Our hope is that creatives—children & adults—will use our prompts as springboards to word play time. If you join us in the Challenge, let us know by posting the title, a note, or if you want, the whole poem in the comments.
Click on Fishbowl link and sign up to receive email notifications from Kelly's blog (aka The Fishbowl):
All who subscribe, comment or share a poem will be entered in . . .
Fin Pal asks Norman "Are You Famous?"
Have you read the Norman the Goldfish books, NOT NORMAN and NORMAN ONE AMAZING GOLDFISH? Have your friends read them? (They are available in your library and bookstores.)
So then, what do you think Norman will say? Is he famous?
Ready to read Norman’s answer? Scroll down . . .
Glug
Glug
Glug . . .
But first a finny!
Q: Why did the burglar try to steal Norman?
Q: Why did the burglar try to steal Norman the goldfish?
A: Because Norman is 100% pure gold! Get it?
Do you have a question for Norman the Goldfish- about friends, school, pets, family, life in and outside the fishbowl? Send him a letter!
Don’t forget to order your copy of NOT NORMAN: A GOLDFISH STORY and NORMAN: ONE AMAZING GOLDFISH!!
Poetry Challenge #324-But for a Wrinkle . . .
“It was a dark and stormy night…”
Which author penned it first? Hint: the answer isn’t Snoopy.
It’s sort of a trick question actually for, according to dictionary.com writers have been beginning stories with that line as long as night has fallen, rain has stormed, and people have been making up stories.
(For the record, the earliest published record noted was “The English novelist, playwright, and politician Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton used the line to open his 1830 book Paul Clifford.)
But most famously, Snoopy aside, “It was a dark and stormy night,” is line one of chapter one of A Wrinkle in Time written by our poet/writer of the week, Madeline L’Engle.
Madeleine was born on November 29th, 1918 in New York City to a pianist mother and mystery writer father. Of her childhood she once told a journalist she
“…Saw little of the stars and not enough of her parents,”
which left her endless time to read, make up stories and write.
“Little” became almost nothing when at 12, her parents moved to the French Alps and Madeline was sent to English Boarding School. (Maybe English Boarding School is the secret ingredient for writing success???) or not.
Madeline crossed the pond to do high school at Ashley Hall in South Carolina-wrote
Went to Smith-wrote
Moved to Greenwich Village-wrote-
Worked in theater-wrote
and published 2 novels-
Married Hugh Franklin-wrote
Hugh who?????
Who knew Madeline L’Engle was married to a soap opera star???
Madeline and Hugh had 3 kids-Madeline wrote- they bought a defunct general store in Connecticut. She wrote-became a librarian-wrote. . .
A Wrinkle in Time didn’t fit publishers’ mold or lists.
Editors didn’t think it would sell.
It took more than 2 years—25-40 rejections by Madeline’s own count—before Farrar, Straus & Giroux published A Wrinkle in Time in 1962.
“If I’ve ever written a book that says what I believe about God and the universe, this is it,”—L ’Engle’s journal June 2nd 1960
A Wrinkle in Time went on to win the prestigious 1963 Newbery medal and has sold over 16 million copies in more than 30 languages, and counting. In 1980, L’Engle won the National Book Award for A Swiftly Tilting Planet, paperback edition, (#4 in her Time Quintet). What a wrinkle . . .
Poetry Challenge #324
But for a Wrinkle . . .
Let’s use L ‘Engle’s basic list of ingredients to conjure up a poem titled “It Was a Dark and Stormy Night.”
Storm
Stranger
Wind
Time
Wrinkle
Use any/all of the ingredients above, stir in some fantasy and Presto!
Set Your Timer for 7 Minutes
Start Writing!
Don’t Think About it, Write It!
Cindy Faughnan and I began this 7-Minute Poetry Challenge 2700+ days ago. Now we take turns creating prompts to share with you. Our hope is that creatives—children & adults—will use our prompts as springboards to word play time. If you join us in the Challenge, let us know by posting the title, a note, or if you want, the whole poem in the comments.
Click on Fishbowl link and sign up to receive email notifications from Kelly's blog (aka The Fishbowl):
All who subscribe, comment or share a poem will be entered in . . .