Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

It’s Saturday, which means I’m putting out another Friday Fictioneers story from my archives and I just happen to have one that is about the night before Christmas.  It’s Christmas Eve Day, so how could that possibly work any more neatly, I ask you?  I hope you enjoy this bit of Christmas poetry and also a joy-filled Christmas Eve.



‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
(With thanks to Clement Clarke Moore for the original)

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Just one creature was stirring and it wasn’t a mouse.
The stockings were hung on the mantel with care
Just a jump-able distance away in the air.

The tree looked delightful, amazing to see,
The perfect playground for a Christmas kitty.
The family was snoozing away for the night.
Now was the time for some Christmas delight.

All of a sudden, there arose such a clatter
They rushed down to see the whole lot in tatters.
But in the kitchen, there was nothing to see
Save an innocent-looking, complacent kitty!

I struggled this week to not run amok and re-write the entire poem because I had some great lines that I couldn’t get in to this version. (May do it another time.) However, I ruthlessly channeled my inner Rich/Nazi English teacher (NOT saying that’s you, Rich, but I know you’ll give me a hard time about it anyway) and pared and re-pared until I actually got down to 100 words, my goal each week just because it is. 🙂  I hope it gave you a good laugh and got you in the Christmas spirit!


Posted: November 26, 2016 in Poetry
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© janet m. webb 2016

I’d planned to do a post on some of Chicago’s architecture that we saw on our river cruise last Friday, but I have a sore throat and runny nose, so I don’t feel like spending much time on my laptop.  Earlier, I was think about poetry and how much fun it was to read aloud to our girls (whether poetry or books.)

As I’ve mentioned before, we had a set of the orange Childcraft books and among the volumes I still have are several with poetry. Poetry is meant to be read aloud, so if you have young children, read it aloud to them.  If not, feel free to read this one of my favorites aloud if you’re somewhere where you can do so without causing people to think you insane.  Or, just let them!

Laura Elizabeth Richards

Once there was an elephant,
Who tried to use the telephant—
No! no! I mean an elephone
Who tried to use the telephone—
(Dear me! I am not certain quite
That even now I’ve got it right.)
Howe’er it was, he got his trunk
Entangled in the telephunk;
The more he tried to get it free,
The louder buzzed the telephee—
(I fear I’d better drop the song
Of elephop and telephong!)

“Laura Elizabeth Richards was born February 27, 1850, Boston, Massachusetts. Her father was a social reformer who later gained fame as an abolitionist and was the founder of the Perkins Institution and Massachusetts school for the blind. Her mother was the poet Julia Ward Howe who is best known as the author of “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

From All Poetry

For more of Laura’s poetry, click here.

© janet m. webb 2016

A new flower blooms
Delicate and resilient
Reaches for the sky

© janet m. webb 2016

Groups of animals have some intriguing and unusual names, such as a gulp of cormorants and others I mentioned several years ago in my post, “A Fine Kettle of FIsh.”  In “The Three Amigos”, El Guapo tells Jefe that he has  a “plethora of pinatas.”  (If you haven’t seen the movie, do, but also go to the link and read the first quote, which will clue you in on the pinata line.)

It’s spring, so I went to the file of haiku I’ve written over the years I’ve had my blog and pulled out the spring verses.  But what would I call the group?  A happenstance of haiku?  I’m partial to that.   A handsomeness of haiku?  A beaucoup of haiku?  At any rate, here are my spring haiku and you’re welcome to chime in on what the aggregate of them should be called.

 Spring Haiku

Are robins ever
Babies or do they emerge
Fat and red-breasted?

While we slept soundly
A spring fairy flitted ‘round
Tapping with green wand

In the dark of night
A green spring bomb exploded
Everywhere outside

White dogwood petals
Fall gently in spring snowfall
Wind shovels for me

Earth waits patiently
Watered by the melting snow
Ready for new growth

Frozen life unfurls
Green leaves stretch toward pale sunlight
Children play outside

Today it blew so hard
	that I considered taking my shower
	fully clothed
lest the roof blow off
	and I
                like Dorothy
	land in Oz
(more likely?)
	be left exposed
	to the neighbor’s gaze

Poetry of loss.

Posted: March 11, 2016 in Poetry
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I’ve been thinking about and reading poetry again these days, something I used to do regularly “back in the day.”  I’ve shared some favorite poems here before:

The Highwayman
When the Frost is on the Punkin
A Ballad of China
And don’t forget Patterns.

Emily Dickinson is another poet, like e.e. cummings,  with a unique style of presentation.  This poem is one I enjoyed in those days when I was distraught by disappointment in love or like.  See what you think.

I got so I could take his name
Emily Dickinson

I got so I could take his name—
Without—Tremendous gain—
That Stop-sensation—on my Soul—
And Thunder—in the Room—

I got so I could walk across
That Angle in the floor,
Where he turned so, and I turned—how—
And all our Sinew tore—

I got so I could stir the Box—
In which his letters grew
Without that forcing, in my breath—
As Staples—driven through—

Could dimly recollect a Grace—
I think, they call it “God”—
Renowned to ease Extremity—
When Formula, had failed—

And shape my Hands—
Petition’s way,
Tho’ ignorant of a word
That Ordination—utters—

My Business, with the Cloud,
If any Power behind it, be,
Not subject to Despair—
It care, in some remoter way,
For so minute affair
As Misery—
Itself, too vast, for interrupting—more—


Posted: March 8, 2016 in Musings, Poetry
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e. e. cummings is a poet I enjoyed while growing up and probably the reason I don’t use capital letters in my name unless signing something, although I use them elsewhere, being the English/grammar nerd I am.

I find it ironic that there are three somewhat random caps in the poem and I love the way he used spacing and hyphens as well as sometimes smushing words together. When I lived in Steamboat Springs, Colorado for a few year, spring was certainly mud-luscious!  In fact, we had mud season between winter and spring and at the library, everyone left their shoes at the door.  Wasn’t spring “puddle-wonderful” when you were a child, when puddles were still places to float boats and stomp in, rather than irritations that soaked your good shoes?

There are photos and poems that make you “feel” whatever they show.  This poem is spring for me: the anticipation after a long winter, the child-like joy of play and make-believe, that inexpressible feeling in your heart that any and everything is possible.

[in Just-]
By e. e. cummings
in Just-
spring          when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far          and             wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and




balloonMan          whistles


Posted: March 4, 2016 in Poetry
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Sitting in a sun-drenched kitchen
   at a table clothed in Provençal linen
   steam rising from my tea,
I sip,
   warmed and content,
gazing out upon drifts of powdered snow.

Cold water creek

Posted: January 22, 2016 in Nature, Poetry
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© janet m. webb 2015

River runs fast and dark
singing its rushing water song
innumerable choruses
of the same mesmerizing melody

scratches at the edges
of its icy beard
all the while chuckling.

Does it dream of summer
or simply delight
in its cold journey?

© janet m. webb 2015

Today I leave for a visit to Arizona to see my parents.  They don’t have internet, or a computer, so I have to go to the library or a coffee shop to get connected.  Consequently, I’ll be offline most of the time for the next ten days.  Thanks for understanding if I don’t get to your blog quite as often.  Just doing posts and responding to comments takes all the time not spent culling emails!