Write Your Own III (A Poem & A Picture)

April 26, 2017April 25, 2017 / Janna Hill / 2 Comments

Write Your Own Daffodil and Oak

Let’s Talk About It Tuesday (A Poem & A Picture)

April 25, 2017April 24, 2017 / Janna Hill / Leave a comment

Let’s Talk Poe(try). What would National Poetry Month be without some Poe?

Talk Alone A Poem & A Picture

It seems Edgar Allan Poe was born an orphan and subsisted as a lonely dejected urchin all his life. His father David Poe Jr. abandoned his mother Elizabeth early on. A couple of years after his disappearance Elizabeth Poe died of tuberculosis; all before little Eddie was three years old.

A couple named John and Frances Allan took Edgar into their home and fostered him until adulthood or the age of eighteen. At 18 Poe joined the United States Army under the alias Edgar A. Perry claiming to be twenty-two years old because he could not [reportedly] find gainful employment

Tick tock tick tock.

Frances died and Poe was disowned by John Allan—the men had been at odds for some time. Poe did not turn out be the man Allan expected and Allan turned out to be a man Poe despised. One could not abide the other’s vices. That is my summation.

Poe had problems. He drank too much, dreamed too much and lived with depression. That’s undoubtedly obvious.

Tick tock tick tock.

Poe married his first cousin Virginia when he was 26, she was half his age. Yeah, and after a decade of harmony guess what? January 30th 1847 she died of tuberculosis.

Alone again and in failing health Poe became increasingly unstable. On October 3rd 1849 he was found wandering the streets of Baltimore bedraggled and in a state of delirium. Four days later on October 7th 1849 Edgar Allan Poe died in hospital. Alone.

Alone

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were – I have not seen

As others saw – I could not bring

My passions from a common spring –

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow – I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone –

And all I lov’d – I lov’d alone –

Then – in my childhood – in the dawn

Of a most stormy life – was drawn

From ev’ry depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still –

From the torrent, or the fountain –

From the red cliff of the mountain –

From the sun that ’round me roll’d

In its autumn tint of gold –

From the lightning in the sky

As it pass’d me flying by –

From the thunder, and the storm –

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view –

The poem was never printed during Poe’s lifetime. It was first published by E. L. Didier in Scribner’s Monthly for September of 1875, in the form of a facsimile. The facsimile, however, included the addition of a title and date not on the original manuscript. That title was “Alone,” which has remained. Doubts about its authenticity, in part inspired by this manipulation, have since been calmed. The poem is now seen as one of Poe’s most revealing works. Original available Maryland Historical Society

The official cause of death is not recorded, perhaps it is not known. Speculations abound. Alcoholism, tuberculosis, syphilis, encephalitis, concurrent disease, murder…

All I know is this: He was only forty years old and was (like most of us) his own worst enemy. Despite his inner darkness I think Edgar Allan Poe managed to shine a light. I pray he is not alone and that the demon no longer hinders his view.

His remains are buried at Westminster Hall Church in Baltimore, Maryland.

A Scene Worth Sharing (A Poem & A Picture)

April 17, 2017April 11, 2017 / Janna Hill / 2 Comments

Welcome to week three of NPM (A Poem & A Picture)

PRIVATE PROPERTY A Poem & A Picture

I chose this photograph for the sign and the turkey looking past the sign. This in no way implies that I think Sue is a turkey; on the contrary, she is a talented poet and photographer. That’s why I chose her SCENIC OVERLOOK to start week three of National Poetry Month.

SCENIC OVERLOOK by Sue

Some would say life has brought me backward.

I grew up poor in a rich town

where I had to hide my dark hair

beneath a golden hat, which only

made me feel hot and awkward.

Now I live poor in a poor town,

a place most of my old classmates

wouldn’t get caught dead in,

but at least I blend in:

another gray wisp of a cloud

on a sunless day,

another brown leaf on the ground

of a winter wood full of leafless trees

in muddy March

when spring’s new hope

feels like a crazy dream…

But I digress.

Yesterday I drove through some rich towns —

just looking —

not like an open-mouthed tourist

but like a coroner searching for clues to a death.

I examined the details as I saw them:

the handsome man with the perfect haircut

jogging on my side of the road

wearing clothes that I recognized

cost more than two week’s of my groceries,

(he forced me to the wrong side on a curve).

Then I pulled over to gaze at a view,

and to avoid the impatient BMW surging

at my back bumper, like the rough waves

against at the rocks at the beach

with the “No Trespassing” signs, whose beauty

I had to observe from afar.

But I will keep my scientist stance

because I don’t like the flavor

of bitterness.

I theorize the owners of these million dollar mansions

with empty yards would naturally

look like the jogging man because their parents

looked the same, and because beauty and wealth

go together like cut glass and cognac.

Why would hothouse plants live among weeds

that may choke them

to death?

Getting Me Back (The Voices Within) released this month and is now available in digital or paperback. AND to show my appreciation for your support there will be a gift of random books by ‘moi’ each weekend in April. Check in, check them out and follow my Author Page at Amazon for future updates.

Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay (A Poem & A Picture)

April 11, 2017April 7, 2017 / Janna Hill / 2 Comments

SPRING FLOWERS A Poem & A Picture Spring

From Second April (Courtesy of everypoet.com Classic Archives)

SPRING

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?

Beauty is not enough.

You can no longer quiet me with the redness

Of little leaves opening stickily.

I know what I know.

The sun is hot on my neck as I observe

The spikes of the crocus.

The smell of the earth is good.

It is apparent that there is no death.

But what does that signify?

Not only under ground are the brains of men

Eaten by maggots,

Life in itself

Is nothing,

An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.

It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,

April

Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Don’t you love the last line(s)? They do strike a chord with me — maybe because I am just living out loud and flinging cake against the wall, right?!

P.S. A little history on Edna St. Vincent Millay: After her husband’s death from a stroke in 1949 following the removal of a lung, Millay suffered a great deal; she drank recklessly, and had to be hospitalized. A month later she was back at her farm (Steepletop) where she passed a lonely year working on a new book of poems. She died in 1950 of a heart attack. For more about her works and life visit Poetry Foundation.

Turning Boys into Men (Tuesday’s Tell All)

March 28, 2017March 28, 2017 / Janna Hill / 2 Comments

I try to do my part in preparing the next generation; in this case turning boys into men. This year’s Spring Break was an excellent opportunity; it was just me and the grandsons.

I was excited as I made the rounds [about a forty mile round-trip] to pick them up. As I drove east I was imagining what sort of fun and informative games I might play with these boys; after all they aren’t ‘little boys’ any more at 10, 12 and 14 years of age. I decided to ad-lib.

Three and a half hours later we arrived home (aka Nana & Papa’s). Yeah, what should have been a forty-five minute drive [round-trip] took a little longer because I let them direct me. When one of them said turn right/left I did – even if it was [obviously] wrong. It was an adventure and we didn’t end up in Alaska so I count it as a win.

“What are we going to do Nana?” the trio immediately began chirping like a nest of baby birds when we arrived safely.

“Hmm…” They had often talked about camping alone in the woods around our house. Of course they had heard stories of their parent’s escapades while growing up here in the boondocks. I mulled it over, reasoned with myself and concluded: we didn’t end up in Alaska and they are pretty reasonable kids. Surely they are mature enough now to sleep in the woods without supervision. “Y’all are going to pick a spot anywhere within the ten-acre fence and camp out.” It probably sounded more like a command than an option but they were ecstatic!

The middle one had a brief anxiety attack, “I didn’t come prepared. I don’t have my sleeping bag – I didn’t bring my knife.”

The youngest one said, “So – you don’t need any of that! If you have to poop instead of cutting up your underwear you can use a leaf.” (His uncle taught him that.)

The eldest one was pumped, “I’ve got some Gatorade and sunflower seeds. We just have to manage our resources’. How many life-lines do we get?”

My daughter was listening on the phone, “Oh my gosh I thought they were just camping? Tell him three.” She cackled. (I don’t know where she gets her wicked humor.)

Yep, the #1 grandson went straight up survivor mode. I don’t know if he thought this was one of Nana’s games or he watches a lot of “reality” television; either way I went with it, gave them three life-lines and giggled to myself, Bwahaha this is going to be way more fun than I imagined.

“This is what you have.” I explained as I laid out three dusty web-laden sleeping bags, two coolers, a sack of food, a lighter and a gallon of water. “Make it last and good luck.”

They picked out their camping spot and began gathering wood. I went back to the house, closed the doors and pretended to ignore them as the hours ticked slowly by.

I truly thought they would be banging on the door and begging to come in by nightfall but nope; they made a cozy camp by the pond and had a nice fire going. They were so happy it made me ~~sad~~ smile.

After midnight I gave up spying on them, said a prayer and went to bed. The following morning I was sure they would be sound asleep in the living room but the house was empty. So I grabbed my camera and sneaked through the woods.

Then what to my wondering eyes did appear but three little men all drained of their cheer. Tee-hee-hee, oops I mean poor babies.

Boys 1

By dawn the fire had [literally and figuratively] gone out.

I continued to let them believe it was a survival game so they bargained for another gallon of water and a garden spade. By noon they were discussing if they should use their last life-line for a pillow, a thicker blanket for the trailer they were sleeping on or a Pepsi.

Boys 2

They chose the Pepsi.

The #2 grandson had packed bubbles. He and the #3 grandson entertained themselves while the #1 grandson prayed rested.

Boys 3

I hung out with them for a while, chased bubbles and asked, “How is the survival game going?”

Boys 4

#1 grandson tried to smile but he didn’t have the energy. “We still have plenty of food.” he replied. He was not going to quit or admit it was not so fun anymore.

“Well what if I said I am calling the game off – what if I said you boys have to stay in the house tonight. What would you say to that?”

Boys 5

“I’d say thank you!” he jumped to his feet with ~~tears~~ relief on his face. #3 grandson gave a ~~smirk~~ humble yet proud smile and #2 grandson disappeared inside before I could take his picture.

Thank goodness they don’t read blogs. 😉