Listen to the Musn'ts

I have a poem taped to my work computer that has been with me for years - different jobs, different computers. Whenever I'm feeling stressed out or overwhelmed, I just peer over my keyboard to look at these words.

Listen to the Musn'ts - Shel Silverstein

Listen to the MUSN'TS, child,
Listen to the DON'Ts
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS,
The IMPOSSIBLES, THE WON'TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me -
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.

For more Shel: http://www.shelsilverstein.com/html/home.html

Emily Dickinson

As I mentioned April is poetry month. I'll try to post some poems this month. Leave a comment if you have a suggestion.

Today's poem comes from Emily Dickinson.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all-

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird -
That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of Me.

April is for poetry

This month is poetry month. It was established in 1996 by the Academy of American Poets. According to its Web site, poetry month was started to:

• Highlight the extraordinary legacy and ongoing achievement of American poets
• Introduce more Americans to the pleasures of reading poetry
• Bring poets and poetry to the public in immediate and innovative ways
• Make poetry a more important part of the school curriculum
• Increase the attention paid to poetry by national and local media
• Encourage increased publication, distribution, and sales of poetry books
• Increase public and private philanthropic support for poets and poetry

I have my eye on these poetry books for my nieces and nephews – Because I Could Not Stop My Bike, I Must Go Down to the Beach Again by Karen Jo Shapiro. The poems are parodies of famous poems but with in a children-friendly style. Cute stuff and the author was originally from Andover, Mass.

Keep your eyes peeled. I’ll try to post several poems this month. If you have a favorite poem, mention it in the comments and I’ll post it.

http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/47

A poem for every occasion - cat hair

As I engaged in some serious cleaning this weekend, I pondered the eternal questions all cat owners face.

How is it possible that cat hair can attach itself to anything - walls, the stove, blankets, etc.?
How can an eight pound cat shed enough hair to build another cat from scratch?
Do I have any clothes without cat hair on them?

Here's my girl most likely shedding on two sweaters. Why use a rug when there's clothing nearby!

Amazingly, a quick Internet search (Google is there nothing you can't do!), yielded a cat hair poem. I especially enjoyed the health part, seeing as my cat's vet bills are much, much more than my medical bills.

Cat Hair (parody of Scarborough Fair)
Cat Barson, December 2, 2004

Why is my house is full of Cat Hair?
Meow mix, litter, catnip, and fur
Cat hair is now my favorite thing to wear
Since my cat wants me to only love her.

If I tell her I'm going away
Meow mix, litter, catnip, and fur
She'll tear up the house within a day
Since my cat wants me to only love her.

And when I let her outside for to stray
Meow mix, litter, catnip, and fur
She brings back squirrels, mice, and blue jays.
Since my cat wants me to only love her.

Then when I take her to the vet
Meow mix, litter, catnip, and fur
My health insurance rates can pay the national debt
Yet through this all, I only love her.

So now that my house is full of cat hair
Meow mix, litter, catnip, and fur
I can kiss farewell to my leather chair
Since my cat wants me to only love her.

Maya Angelou’s Birthday

USA Today has a story about Maya Angelou, who is turning 80 this year.

Maya Angelou celebrates her 80 years of pain and joy, http://www.usatoday.com/life/books/news/2008-03-26-maya-angelou_N.htm?loc=interstitialskip&POE=click-refer

A book featuring pictures and letters is coming out next month – Maya Angelou: A Glorious Celebration.

An interesting nugget on her writing method:

She writes on yellow legal pads and says that even after all these years, a clean sheet of paper scares and thrills her: "I see a yellow pad, and my knees get weak, and I salivate. I know that sounds like coyness, but I have less coyness than modesty, and I have none of that." She laughs.

And now, in honor of Maya Angelou’s birthdays, one of her poems:

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room?

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind the nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave,
I rise
I rise
I rise.