mojosmom: (Default)
We had major thunderstorms last night and into the early morning. When it finally stopped, around 10 a.m., I went to the farmers' market, where people were just setting up. I got flowers, a chicken, red onions and blackberries. Then I headed for Ping Tom Park for the Dragon Boat Race for Literacy. I've missed it the last few years, either because I had a conflict, or just didn't register the date. I was afraid that it would be too hot to go today, but the rain cooled things down considerably.  Unfortunately, it also caused the Chicago River to swell to such proportions that it was too dangerous for the boats to race, and so the event was cancelled. Nevertheless, I'm glad I went because I made an interesting discovery. I had taken two buses to the Park, but decided to take the subway back downtown to catch my bus home. I took the Red Line to Harrison and State, and discovered Harrison Haiku! There are mosaics of poems all over the station: "Harrison Haiku"

That was pretty neat to see!



Maybe I'll get to see the Dragon Boat Race next year.
mojosmom: (Default)
On Saturday, I went to my AAUW meeting. We had invited some young women who have been recipients of AAUW fellowships, some from other countries, some from the U.S., and asked them to talk about their research. What an interesting, intelligent group the were, and such interesting and valuable projects! One is working on islet cell transplants, another is doing research into Alzheimer's, one is involved in environmental projects, one is studying a nurse-midwife studying maternal health. And, oh dear, they all look so young! (Of course, they're not, all being in doctoral or post-doc programs, but still . . .)

That evening, I went to the home of the lovely [livejournal.com profile] tzurriz to eat latkes. Lots of other good things, too, but the point was the latkes. (And, of course, to admire her two adorable children.)

Sunday was my monthly get-together with friends up north, and our annual holiday party. Usually, the guys join us, but between people being sick and a retirement party, it was just us women. We had a lovely dinner, and, as usual, I came home with leftovers.

Tonight, I went to the Poetry Café program at my branch library. I can't usually go, because my Italian class is on Monday nights, but as we are on winter break now, I could. We read poetry, our own or other people's, and played some poetry games. For instance, the facilitator chose a random line of poetry, and then we each dashed off a poem using that line. It was rather fun! As expected, there was quite a range of talent, a bit of pretentiousness, but mostly just people having a good time. I know I did.
mojosmom: (poetry)
Now April has come, by Geoffrey Dearmer (1893-1996):

Now April has come, The country grows sweet here,
The chiff-chaff and wheatear, Behold, from the land of ripe oranges come!
And cherry and plum, With white blossom gleaming, The hillsides are seaming.
Too long have been dumb The woods and the wold
With buttercups blest, The lark builds her nest In green and in gold.
There’s cover for all birds, For large birds and small birds, Where furled leaved unfold.
She comes like a bride In front of the tide Of emerald mist.
No keen weather stays her; No bird disobeys her; No bud can resist.

A touch of her wand The buds rise to meet her, And birds’ eyes all greet her
Why even the garrulous ducks on the pond See signs of her wand!
As if the Magician Sent ducks on a mission With news from Beyond,
With tidings which they Through natural art Feel bound to impart!
But April and May Themselves are their voices, And no bird rejoices Superbly as they.
They come like a bride In front of the tide Of emerald mist.
No keen weather stays them; No bird disobeys them; No bud can resist.
mojosmom: (poetry)
Now April has come, by Geoffrey Dearmer (1893-1996):

Now April has come, The country grows sweet here,
The chiff-chaff and wheatear, Behold, from the land of ripe oranges come!
And cherry and plum, With white blossom gleaming, The hillsides are seaming.
Too long have been dumb The woods and the wold
With buttercups blest, The lark builds her nest In green and in gold.
There’s cover for all birds, For large birds and small birds, Where furled leaved unfold.
She comes like a bride In front of the tide Of emerald mist.
No keen weather stays her; No bird disobeys her; No bud can resist.

A touch of her wand The buds rise to meet her, And birds’ eyes all greet her
Why even the garrulous ducks on the pond See signs of her wand!
As if the Magician Sent ducks on a mission With news from Beyond,
With tidings which they Through natural art Feel bound to impart!
But April and May Themselves are their voices, And no bird rejoices Superbly as they.
They come like a bride In front of the tide Of emerald mist.
No keen weather stays them; No bird disobeys them; No bud can resist.
mojosmom: (poetry)
A haiku for Wrigleyville on the occasion of opening day* of the baseball season:

Beer and a ball game
On a sunny afternoon -
Now come parking woes.


*They'll be lucky. It's raining.
mojosmom: (poetry)
A haiku for Wrigleyville on the occasion of opening day* of the baseball season:

Beer and a ball game
On a sunny afternoon -
Now come parking woes.


*They'll be lucky. It's raining.

A poem

Jan. 2nd, 2007 01:31 pm
mojosmom: (japanese icon)
I had to try this:

A poem (rhymed for preference) using the words 'ice', 'bitter', 'wind', 'dark' and 'bare'. Extra credit for cheerful, uplifting poems :)

When winter comes, the bitter ice
Entices thoughts both dark and light,
Throughout the cold and starlit night.
The wind strips trees of all their leaves,
Yet leaves the nuts, to squirrrels’ delight.

A poem

Jan. 2nd, 2007 01:31 pm
mojosmom: (japanese icon)
I had to try this:

A poem (rhymed for preference) using the words 'ice', 'bitter', 'wind', 'dark' and 'bare'. Extra credit for cheerful, uplifting poems :)

When winter comes, the bitter ice
Entices thoughts both dark and light,
Throughout the cold and starlit night.
The wind strips trees of all their leaves,
Yet leaves the nuts, to squirrrels’ delight.
mojosmom: (poetry)
I read this poem yesterday in Stephen Fry's The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking The Poet Within (great book, by the way), and knew I had to share:



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