forward...arCH!

http://clicksandtrips.com/2013/10/14/ingalls-pass-and-yellow-larches/

Happy Poetry Friday to all, and thanks for meeting me under the arCHes!  If you have not been following my Forward...MarCH CHallenge, you can read about it here, and you are in for suCH a treat.  The participating poets (and that could include YOU) have labored in the trenCHes, stretCHed themselves day after day, reaCHed for new heights, and will bewitCH you with their riCH offerings.  Just scroll down to see the week's posts, featuring the words preaCH, sketCH, smooCH and pitCH.

Today's word is "arCH".  I learned all kinds of things I wasn't planning to this morning, but then we're all about researCH in kindergarten right now!

Larix laricina

Behold the golden larches.
Unlike the yellow beeches
that bend their leafen branches
the larches do not arch
but stand in straightened marches
rich with needled thatches
and bear their spiral cones.

HM 2015
all rights reserved



What's arching towards you this morning?  Leave your poems in the comments or send me an email!

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Diane brings us what she refers to as "poehistry. Readers will need a little background:  when WW I ended, the French held a celebration in Paris.  The men who flew planes, were made to march with common foot soldiers.  They felt slighted and took their revenge having a pilot fly through the Arc de Triomphe.  It was a well-planned stunt, and the perps made sure there was someone on hand to film it.  Here's a link to the video of the feat: https://youtu.be/HIZzkq5Y8q0/.  The man who flew the small plane (known as the bebe) was Charles Godefroy."  ALERT: unapproved words in this post--but in French.  : )

Arch of Triumph of the Star
(You Up for It, Mr. Godefroy?) 

Merde!
They make us march
with foot soldiers--
those who have no
connection to stars!

Imbéciles!
They make light of us!
We are the future.
We've conquered the enemy.
We've conquered the skies!

Il faut!
They underestimate us.
We will plan carefully.
Study the arch, the air,
le bébé Nieuport.

L’appel du vide!
We will do it—fly through
l'Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile.
We will touch the heavens.
We will honor this land.

Ça te dit?

14 Juillet, 1919

Donna's back with another shaped poem, and I see we both had trees on the mind:

Arch Overhead

Fingers of trees
gloved in snow
Arch overhead
wherever I go;
Some clasped in prayer,
Some reaching strong,
Loving hands twining,
Sighing for long
Winter to end
and spring to arrive,
when white gloves toss
dust flakes aside,
and tender buds prosper
as branches upraise
their green fingered hands
softly swaying sweet praise

©Donna JT Smith, 2015

        
I'm sorry that the beautiful arch of her poem is not preserved in the formatting--I tried it two ways an couldn't get it to work.  You can see it the right way at Mainely Write.  Wow.  Also check out Donna's winning round in the March Madness Poetry Tournament this week!


Mary Lee's poem is in conversation with her plan for a National Poetry Month Project, described here:

SKEPTIC

Head tilted,
one eyebrow arched,
lips pinched:

Are you sure?
Seven days a week?
Really?


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015

Kate brings us the arches of Utah:

Arches

Red rock arches, making
a cathedral in the still
desert light of morning.
Sacred shadows sing.

—Kate Coombs

 I bet Diane will like this illustrated one  from Jone, about a different kind of battle!

From Carol we have a Slice of Life rumination on the Grand Army Plaza in Brooklyn, NY:

Oh, impressive arch,

you stand regally as a connector.

Your massive structure

with old world feel, greets each day,

not as a landing platform for pigeons 

but as a gateway to possibilities.

As a separator from a noisy city,

your arched style graces Park Slope.

Visitors stand in awe of your grandeur-
stories told of your life as a Beaux-arts monument,

Brooklyn's own version of the Arc de Triomphe.

Regally and royally, you

recall a bygone time and herald in
the revival of old world Brooklyn.

Oh, historic monument how impressive
you remain as a landmark point of interest
to travelers, tourists, and New York City residents.
As a backdrop for weddings and market vendors
you represent what used to be and
what is to coming back to a borough of old world charm.

Joy has another acrostic that manages to be both dynamic and restful:

Arches
Rest in
Curved open
Humps

Charles closes us out today with a yoga poem--a first at my juicy little universe!

PRETZEL LOGIC

Arching like an upright horseshoe,

I contort my frame as each piece

Of sinew screams in anger; I hope

This human bridge I've created

Doesn't have a faulty structure

So my yoga teacher could one day

 Be my beloved. 

(c) Charles Waters 2015 all rights reserved.

Laura Shovan has the round-up today and shares details of a really thrilling Poetry Month Project.  See you at Author Amok!

forward...pitCH!

I'm tossing out an old pitch today, a poem from Pumpkin Butterfly that 's just full of those -CHs I love so muCH.  Without further ado (and with deep longing for more of the hint of warmth that we got in Bethesda today)....

Cherry Very

Be sneaky, be cheeky

Pinch from the kitchen

The reddest, the roundest there are

A bowl full of cherries

a bowl of the very

most cherriest bombs by far

Backbone straight

Step up to the plate

Puff up your chest and lungs

Swallow the fruit

Ready to shoot

Put the pit in the groove of your tongue

One more tip:

Round your lips

To launch it without a hitch

Don’t get tense

Aim for the fence

Wind up like you’re fixing to pitch

Now blast it hard

Across the yard

Kissing that missile goodbye

It’s over the fence!

It’s out of the park!

It’s a letloose cherryjuice

        noschool slobberdrool

        spitwhistle summerfun    home run!

HM 2009

all rights reserved

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And what cherry pits are you spittin' I mean pitCHing at us today?  I heard a rumor that we might have some kids' work coming our way today....CHampion!

Diane outdoes herself and just about wears out the word with her tale of a pirate taleteller:

Mr. Peeps a.k.a. the Pitch Perfect Pirate

Filthy from pine pitch and stinking
of rum still his mateys love
the timbre and pitch of his voice.
They spend hours rapt in his tales
of heroics and winsome lasses.

Like the pitch of a snake oil salesman
Mr. Peeps grabs their attention and
doesn't let go until the sale is made.

Any helmsman who dares steer
into a swell will find himself
pitched overboard if he causes
the vessel to pitch and roll.
Ship mates brought to
an emotional pitch become
testy if a story is interrupted.

The captain knows the pitched
battle will ne'er be fought when
Peeps is telling tales, but he
no longer pitches a fit, for in
the pitch black night no one
notices him sitting listening
with thumb in his mouth
thinking of his dear, old, mum.

Mr. Peeps' stories'll do that to a man.

--Diane Mayr

Charles gets in the game with a distinctly diamond-shaped pitch--love all the muscular language and the cacophony of metaphors!

PUNCH OUT

Tattered mound caked in cleated footprints,

Dirt soaked uniform clings to my flesh,

Arm dangles like spaghetti being hoisted out

Of a colander. I blink; wipe sweat out of eyes,

Identify my battery mates signal, #1,

The Heater. Fingers pressed across crimson

Colored sutures, I breathe deep, rear back, let fly

This ruby pearled orb, the pitch whizzes by

As the batter stands frozen as

An Alaskan winter, “Strike 3!” Game over.

I slouch in happiness.

(c) Charles Waters 2015 all rights reserved.

Mary Lee's taking it to the retail sector where pitching a fit might lead to a moral dilemma:

RIGHT AND WRONG

The customer is always right
except when they're wrong
and so determined to get their way
that they go over your head to your boss
and next will be your boss' boss
if you don't pitch your scruples
in order to keep the peace.
The customer who is the biggest bully is always right.
And that's just wrong.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015

Donna returns with another how-many-pitches-can-we-fit? story (so glad not to be on this trip):

The Pitch

The salesman made the perfect pitch
and sold me on a tent ;
I called my friends they all pitched in
and in the van we went .
We drove down to the town boat launch,
put rowboat in the lake
A storm came up as we set out
which was our next mistake!
Our little rowboat pitched and rolled
more than a little bit -
We tossed our cookies in the lake
and pitched a whiny fit!
We tried to sing some sailing songs,
our voices swayed off key
Along the way to camp, I fear,
Our pitch was lost at sea!
To shore we rowed and rowed some more
and pitched the boat on land.
We tried to pitch our tent upright
But we were on wet sand.
Pitch black, and raining pitchforks
and hammer handles, too,
No flashlight, nor a candle,
What were we all to do?
The home-run pitch to pack it up
Was uttered from some lips
We crossed the water to the van
parked under pitch pine drips.
We pitched the tent into the back
to head home for a towel.
I aired the tent and washed the van -
proclaimed the pitch was foul.

©Donna JT Smith, 2015

Keeping it tight, Kate's got it right:

Wow

She sings and she plays baseball.
She really is a witch.
Cause either thing she’s doing
the girl’s got perfect pitch.

—Kate Coombs

Carol brings us just the Concluding Poem of her Spiritual Journey Thursday post:

So let me pitch an inviting plea
to find the road to positivity
and discover what falls along your way
that allows one new discovery each and every day.

--Carol Varsalona

Joy's pitch is the dark pine-type:

The night is dark,
as dark as pitch.
Mosquitoes are flying
and I've got an itch.

And perhaps most excitingly, Kim Doele, a 3rd grade teacher and Poetry Club Advisor from Wealthy Elementary School (would that they were all Wealthy!) in Grand Rapids, MI, has linked to some pitch-perfect poems by her students. Follow THIS LINK to continue reading poems by Teagan, Eli and Hania!

      Homerun!

The batter's at home.
He taps his bat.

The pitcher's arm swings
Here comes the pitch-.......


Sa-Wing bada bada

The pitch is coming down the lane
The crowd is shouting, "Sa-wing bada bada."
Bathroom using, I had ta!
Suddenly the crowd went
silent.
Was this gonna get violent?
Here's the pitch,......


Pitch Perfect

You need to be
pitch perfect
You look quite ugly to me.
Look at you.  You're a mess!
Go put on your dirty dress.......

We just love it when "The Naturals" get in on the poetry game!  Thanks, Ms. Doele and kids!

 

forward...smooCH!

In case you're just joining us, I and several intrepid poets (including you!) are writing 20 new poems this month in the Forward...MarCH Poetry CHallenge.  I've selected 20 verbs ending in -CH (the list is here) and today's word is "smooCH".  I guess I was in the mood for birthday kisses....

This one is a double challenge--it's crossposted over at the Monday Poetry Stretch with  Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect, where the CHarge is to write an ottava rima.

Birthday Ottava Rima

The day approaches like a kiss,

a smooch from the universe.

"Welcome, honeybunch! Follow your bliss!

Look what’s in your purse:

shiny swatch of that and this,

Book of Blessing, chapter and verse,

pebble and penny and pocketwatch

for hours of wishes and hopscotch.“

The day begins each year like a kiss,

a smooch from the universe.

“Forward, honeybunch! Follow your bliss!

There's nothing to do but immerse

yourself in this life.  Nothing's amiss--

or at least it could always be worse."

Bewitched by blessing, I follow a hunch:

I invite the whole world over for lunch.

HM 2015

all rights reserved

Who's smooching who today?   Leave your poem in the comments or send me an email.

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Donna sends us a kiss-shaped diamante today:

Smooch

Soft, tender,

Healing, soothing, loving

Good-morning, all better, good-bye, I love you, good-night

Teasing, chuckling, tickling

Loud, whiskery

Grandpa’s smooch!

-- Donna JT Smith

Next up is Mary Lee, who surprises with this slime-borne kiss (ew cool):

SNAIL

My snail is mostly foot.
His mouth is really small.
So does he scale, or does he smooch
the glass of the fish tank wall?


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015

Charles's animal smooch is less slime and more slobber!

RECIPROCATION

When I smooch my pooch

She slobbers me back,

I love being smothered

In her puppy attack.

Hee hee hee--Besame Smoocho!

Besame (No) Smoocho

A kiss is a peck or a
passionate surrender.

A smooch is not a kiss--
a smooch is an event.

Onomatopoeia
as performance art.

--Diane Mayr

And from far-off Utah, Kate Coombs joins the CHallenge!  Here's her "smooCH" poem (haven't we all known a guy like this?).

That One Guy

He’s smooth with his smooch
but not with his lines.
If he’d just keep quiet
he’d do fine.
First the ladies smile
and then they frown.
If he’d play silent film star
he’d win hands down.

—Kate Coombs

Carol is also joining the smoochfest with this one--it's so romantic!


Snowman Smooch

My snowman looked so forlorn.
He needed a mate to weather the storm.
I asked the children down the street
to find a partner for him to meet.
They molded and sculpted a beautiful one.
She came alive in the morning sun.
Then, her heart quickly melted away
as Snowman gave her a smooch that day.

--Carol Varsalona

Joy bring us a tiny mousie smooch:

I have a little mouse.
Kissie is his name.
He eeks and squeaks
and makes smooching sounds
whenever he sees a dame.

And now, in catching-up tour-de-force, Kate uses 7 of the words so far (plus 7 extras) in a poem as big as the 

Universe

The universe preaches, it’s giving us speeches
in words launching morning, like day moon, tree waking,
night going, clouds lighting, sky bluing, dawn breaking.
The universe stretches, it marches along,
sketching in daisies and wind and birdsong.
The universe twitches, it sews and unstitches,
with frog croaks and brushstrokes of reeds it unhitches,
with bug crawls and seedfalls and splashes in ditches.
It reads us the planets and points out the ants,
it watches the branches and fusses with plants.
Sky bleaching, sea reaching, the universe talks—
I listen to each of its beetles and hawks,
its message of bright and high hopes as I walk.

—Kate Coombs 

What a show-off, and I mean that in the best possible way.  Like in a Gerard Manley Hopkins way.  Golly.

I want to thank all of the participants so far for giving me this fabulous birthday gift--the Gift of Poetry!

forward...sketCH!

Time crunCH this morning, folks.  Here's my effort for today's word, "sketCH."

[poem]

I think there needs to be some reordering of lines there...  And what have YOU sketched out for today?

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Jone has revised an older poem for today--and what a fine portrait of a moment!

Behind the Museum Door

A young artist sits on the cold bench
colored pencils, sketchbook in hand
instead of homework

Her head bobs up and down

eyes glance at mentor’s  painting

draft lines, shapes appear

closing time announced

She crumples her sketch,
tosses it away
the painting speaks, keep at it
She stares and retrieves her tattered draft

--Jone MacCulloch

 And Charles is back with this love poem to a Momma...

ILLUSTRATION

Dusting charcoal over suntanned parchment

I begin sketching Momma, starting

With her rose tinted, pillow soft cheeks

That I kiss and snuggle against when

She’s reading me bedtime stories,

Then turning to those cinnamon colored

 Eyes, which can darken in anger when I

Neglect my chores or burnish with pride

When I perform at school recitals.

I zero in on her hair, braided in rows

Like Grandma’s organic vegetable garden

Before finishing up with her lips

Festooned in ruby red wonder. 

After showing Momma my illustration

I get sheltered in her rocking arms.

(c) Charles Waters 2015 all rights reserved.

 
Mary Lee's offering is a study in contrasts and blessings (includes patCH, ditCH and perCH along with sketCH!)

FLIGHT

Outside my apartment
is a small patch of grass
and a parking lot.
Beyond that is a ditch
full of dirty snow and trash.

But across the road
are power lines
where a hawk often perches
long enough for me to sketch.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015

Again, I'm sorry for throwing a wrenCH into the works with my (probably pointless) last-minute word changes.  Here's  Diane with the "old" word bleaCH (on my way to look up this verse) and the new word sketCH.

The Biblical Laundry Lesson

Full-strength bleach
eats a hole in fabric.
For whiter clothes mix
one part bleach to
thirty parts water.
2 Corinthians 12:9.


Sketch of a Newbie

She assumed that
talent is enough.
In attempting a leap
from best friend's
praise to stories in
The New Yorker,
she clearly forgot to
practice take-offs
and landings.

--Diane Mayr 2015

A curious and interesting metaphor.  Donna will not rest until she gets EVERY poem written! Here are her clever, special sketCH poem and her bleaCH poem, and check out her first round piece at the March Madness Tournament, too.

A Woman's Work is Never Done

A little bleach, a lot of soap;
So why the dirt and grime again?
I scrubbed it twenty years ago -
Why should it need recleaning then?