Beyond iambic pentameter

Celebrate Poetry Month

Every year in April the Academy of American Poets (AAP) celebrate their literary form for the whole month. As a sometime poet, I love to think about verses, scrawl them in random notebooks, and sometimes try to have them published.

The first poems I ever wrote are lost to me now. My youngest sisters–twins–needed to find a poem to take to school the next morning. I must have been in high school and they must have been in second or third grade. I was the most prolific reader of us four sisters, so they came to me for help.

We looked for a poem in one of the books in the house, but it wasn’t something our parents had. We might have found examples in our World Book encyclopedias, but I don’t think it occurred to us. Or if we did check, there were no poems for kids.

I fondly remembered checking out A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson when I was younger. I hadn’t, however, memorized full poems, so I couldn’t write any of them down for my sisters. Instead, I sat down and wrote them each a poem. One, if I remember right, was about a frog and one about a cat. I copied them neatly and gave one to each sister to take to school the next day.

They came home without the poems, but with a question from the sister who was their teacher that year. Could she keep the poems? What could I say but yes?

So, when Sister Mary Somebody, OSF, died, someone probably threw them away. I mourn the absence of those poems in my life. The memory of helping my siblings, and the pride I felt that a teacher liked my poems well enough to want to keep them, are strong.

I think, as small as that encouragement was, it made me believe I could write poetry, so I kept it up. My later rewards were publication in college literary magazines, including a first place award for one of them; selection for a writing group’s publication, and compliments from a poet I admire in one of her workshops.

I still write when I feel like it. Not much recently, but from time to time I challenge myself to try a new haiku. I think that spare form–seventeen syllables in lines of five, seven, and five–is my favorite.

Iambic pentameter, by the way, is the name for any poem that has lines with the rhythm ta-DUM ta-DUM ta-DUM ta-DUM ta-DUM. It’s just one of hundreds of poetry forms that you can try. Writer’s Digest magazine has an online list of many of the poetic forms. More than most folks who are fans of limericks would ever want to know. (Remember, “There was an old man from Cork….)

I remember falling in love with e.e. cummings, and the freedom he claimed for himself in poems with no capital letters. Imitating him in a high school class prompted my teacher to tell me I had to know the rules before I could break them. (She did let me get away with uncapitalized poems in that class.)

One of the AAP Poetry Month celebrations is Poem in Your Pocket Day, which will be April 30, 2026. It was initiated in New York City schools in 2002. AAP took over the celebration in 2008. There are official rules (check the link above), but you don’t need to follow them if you just want something you can pull out of your pocket anytime. Something to inspire, amuse, or comfort you. Something you can enjoy alone or share with friends.

For years, I had a creased copy of an Ogden Nash poem in my wallet. I remember typing it on the typewriter my parents gave me for high school graduation, cutting it from the paper and tucking it in change pocket. It was only a few lines long, which is ideal for a poem in your pocket.

It’s poetry month. Read one today at the AAP home page or at the Poetry Foundation.

À bientôt!

Farewell and hello

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood: on pexels

December has flown by in my life. I didn’t get as much writing done as I’d hoped, although this week I started a wonderful adventure at the Winter Writing Sanctuary, offered by British woman named Beth Kempton. My friend Sharon Michalove, a writer I see nearly every day in online writing groups, spent a week last winter with Beth and told several of us about it Monday.

It’s only Wednesday (yes, New Year’s Eve), and I’ve already made some critical discoveries about the main character in a novel I’ve been trying to revise for several years now. I don’t think Sharon M. knew just how serendipitous her suggestion would be for me.

For example, the novel’s working title is Lovely, Dark and Deep. I took it from Robert Frost’s poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. Amazingly (to me), that poem opened the welcome message for this year’s sanctuary.

The main character, after a few trial names, is now called Beth. That decision I made long before I ever heard of Beth Kempton.

The exercises–really suggestions for things a writer might try this week–have focused on the palette of winter, greens, greys, golds and more. And each day’s inspiration has taken me down a path, when I journey as my character, has helped me really understand my MC much better than I have. I wrote the first draft of this novel for National Novel Writing Month (a now defunct event) in 2020. Other things have gotten in the way of my finishing–including wonderful family distractions this month. But just a couple of hours these past few days have really helped me get back into the revisions.

I’m going to be distracted yet again with an impromptu family dinner tonight, and, no doubt with some surprise that will come up tomorrow. But I think this week’s writing exercises will make the beginning of 2026 much more productive than I imagined.

So, farewell to 2025. It was a great writing year for me.

{In fact, I added a page to this website to post my short stories. Check out “Blood on the White Rose” if you haven’t read it yet.)

And hello to 2026. I’m hoping for more of the same.

À bientôt!

Winter market

Farmers’ markets in my area are suimmer affairs that I rarely attend. I live on a country road and there are sale signs for eggs and honey and corn and more about a mile in any direction. But when the “season” is over, some of those signs come down.

I ventured south this month to drive a friend home to Houston and stayed for a short visit. On one of our outings, we went to a farmers’ market on a warm (only needed a sweater) winter day. I bought a few things, but I suspect my favorite will be my poem.

With her portable typewriter and tip jar, a young woman studying to be a midwife and doula was raising money to open a business to help women during pregnancy and birth. Her sign, painted on the typewriter case, drew me in immediately.

I’d heard of people who sell poems by request. I’ve even toyed with the idea of offering that kind of servicde at charity events, but never followed through.

Ziara Kýre York, however, has taken the plunge. Sitting at her small table between market stalls, she waited with a smile for someone to check out her wares. I asked for a short poem about vacation, dropped a bill into her jar, and waited a few minutes as she wound a pre-cut, thick sheet of creamy paper under the platten, thought for a few minues, and began to type.

I bought cookies and a mug warmer, all-natural snacks and a pottery pencil holder. I talked to farmers, crafters and a painter, listened to music from a lone guitarist in the midst of the fair. But at home, I’ll be buying a frame for my original poem about “vacation” to hang it on the wall near my computer. It’s nice to honor a crafter who works in the same medium that I do … words.

A bientôt!

In the waning of the year

pexels.com | Tom Fisk

(I wrote this for my turn on my Lake Summerset Writing Gals blog, but it’s doing double duty this month.)

Cold weather tends to put me in mind of warm fires, hot mulled wine and poetry. Sadly, I have no fireplace. (But I can always put that Netflix fireplace video on my TV.) I can manage the wine, or maybe hot chocolate, and I always have poetry.

I still remember the day I discovered Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses in the kids’ section of my hometown library. One of my favorites was “My Shadow.”

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
– Robert Louis Stevenson

At one point in my life, I memorized “My Shadow” and a few other verses in the book.

When I was in high school, John Lennon’s poem, “The Toy Boy” appeared in McCall’s Magazine. I cut out the page, memorized the poem, and took it on the road as my entry for our forensics club in the poetry category. (Back then forensics meant speech team, not CSI.) I think it’s still in my filing cabinet, but I haven’t looked for it in years. I did manage to find a post of the original image on Pinterest. I printed a copy and it’s hanging on the wall near my computer.

I just discovered “December” by Joseph D. Herron. I don’t know much about the author, but it felt right for the snowless chills we’ve had lately. The poem is included at one of my favorite websites — DiscoverPoetry.com. Another site I like is PoetryFoundation.org, which publishes Poetry Magazine. Both sites feature a poem each day; you can subscribe for free to have them emailed to you.

(Illustration by Sharon P. Lynn)

A third favorite poetry site is the Haiku Society of America. I love haiku, a traditional Japanese form of poetry. Like English sonnets, haiku has a specific format: seventeen syllables in three lines of five, seven and five. I was taught that the original haikus, before they even had that name, were supposed to be about nature. Today, at least in English, that rule has been abandoned. I’ve also seen variations on the seventeen-syllable format.

My first writing successes came in the newspaper business. But my first printed work that wasn’t nonfiction was poetry. I submitted several to my college literary magazine. A long-ish free verse took first place one year. A few of my haikus were also selected for publication there and in other small-circulation volumes.

I’ve never entirely abandoned my interest. I think my “old-year’s resolution” will be to read at least one poem a day before I start my own writing. I think it inspires me to write with all my senses. Maybe it will inspire others, too.

Pack up

Last year, before I went to Italy, I spent a lot of time looking for the best travel writing tips. But I had forgotten that merely traveling is a way to improve one’s writing. This sensationally-headlined blog post (super-sexy?) does offer several good reasons for getting away. And now I have a couple of trips I need to plan.

The Simple, Super-Sexy, Science-Backed Way to Improve Your Writing Skills.
http://writetodone.com/improve-your-writing-skills/