When a Picture is Worthy of One Word...LOVE.

Monday Hearts For Madalene is a love story that has traveled the globe, one heart at a time. Skillfully crafted by Page Hodel, every Monday heart is now shared with the world in a gift of giving.

To learn more about Monday Hearts For Madalene and to receive your Monday Heart, visit HERE.

Goodbye April! See ya next year for National Poetry Month at Calendar Gal.

STEAL, STEAL, STEAL...

Because Austin says it's OK.

Austin Kleon, acclaimed author of "NEWSPAPER BLACKOUT" is back with another book entitled, "STEAL LIKE AN ARTIST". Already a New York Times beststeller, "STEAL LIKE AN ARTIST - 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative" has got writers and creators alike talking, and stealing (which is a good thing!)

Watch Austin Kleon at TEDxKC discuss HOW TO STEAL LIKE AN ARTIST.

To learn more about Austin Kleon, visit HERE.

Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

It's Good To Have Friends!!

Some writers are notorious for wanting to be left alone, to work on their craft. And when I say some, I mean me. They would rather be hidden away in a corner workspace to type at their computers or simply sit in a bit of quiet sunlight with some paper and pen. (Still me.) But thank heaven for friends who push them (again, me) out of their comfort zones.

A few years ago, I had the good fortune to work with my friend, Tamara and her award winning group, Musical Chairs Chamber Ensemble (MCCE). They now bask in the glow of their second National Endowment of the Arts Award which I am so very happy for them but at one time, it was I who had the extraordinary luck when they shared their stage with me.

First off, I must say that Tamara has a way with words. The project she proposed was entitled, Precious Metals, a collaboration of Russian Music and Poetry. Tamara had roped me in with the idea of immersing myself in Russian poetry. At the time, I knew very little about Russia's great poets. I knew I would have to dig deep into Russia's history to find my narrative thread. Initially, I was not afraid of the research or even the two month deadline, but when she explained that it all would culminate in a musical performance by MCCE featuring my narrative and poetry readings with members of the attending audience, well, to say that I was terrified by it all would have been fairly and utterly accurate. Ahh, thank heaven for friends who push us to leap. 

I could never have attempted such an experience without my friend, Tamara. Her confidence in me opened up my writing to something much greater than the four walls of my writing space and the experience stays with me still. It remains, always that friendly reminder to nudge me out of my pesky comfort zones and square writing rooms.

So today's poem (and star) comes to you as a gift, from Russia with love, and much thanks to Tam.

Now Listen!

Now Listen!
If the stars shine,
doesn’t it mean that somebody needs them?
Doesn’t it mean that somebody wants them?
Doesn’t it mean that someone calls these little gobbets
Pearls?
And bursting up
through the blizzards of southern dust,
Burst in to see God,
Afraid that he’s late,
weeps,
kisses His sinewed hands
begs Him
most urgently for a star,
beats his brow,
unable to stand this starless torture,
then goes on his way,
a little anxious
but perfectly calm outwardly.
He goes and asks whomever he did it for:
“Is that okay now?
You don’t feel too bad now…?
Do you?”

Now listen!

If stars
shine
it means somebody needs them.
It means you’ve gotta have
every evening
shining above the rooftops
at least one star – haven’t you?

(1926)

Translated by Bernard Meares

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky (1893-1930)

Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

Sima Speak - Two Windows

PHOTO CREDIT: Kelly Eddington

TWO WINDOWS

Have you ever rediscovered yourself, surprised at the thought that you could ever forget? It happened one day to her, with the quiet opening of a window. Suddenly, she was a little girl again, peeking out on a cool, winter morning.

While her breath connected with the world's, her fingertips played with a shelf of snow. The memory was so sudden, so abrupt that she held her breath. It was not just her youth she tried to savor but life. The morning sat sleepy, almost motionless, but in her hands it felt vast, alive.

So real was the memory that she licked her fingertips to taste once more the wet snow. When her eyes tried to focus out again, they fell not on winter, but an open window to SPRING. The grass was green, the flowers were blooming, the air was warm and fresh. The morning sun brought no birds, just a gentle hum of cars from a far off road.

How very strange to think that a spring day should align with a winter memory, that lush green could be a portal to winter white? How beautiful is the mind where everything stands connected, two seasons, two windows, two pieces of the self, lost and found again.

By Nancy Sima

Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

Poetry In Motion - Trixie Whitley

Amp up your "I am woman, hear me roar" mantra with this gorgeous video! Whitley is a delicate powerhouse ...oh yeah, and keep your eyes on that dress for an extra bit of poetry in motion.

A Thousand Thieves by Trixie Whitley

HAPPY MONDAY TO YA!

Nanowrimos - This One Is For You

Photo Credit: Joseph Hancock

NOVEMBER DIVE

Some say the act of putting down words
is a leap of faith, a sacred deed
where you try to meet your maker on the page.
Whether you believe it or not,
it still must feel good
to just let the words fall,
from your head, your heart,
creating pools on the page,
deep enough for you to feel
what it means to get wet.

By Nancy Sima

Happy Writing Nanos! How is your Nanwrimo experience so far?

The Poetry of Yuri Zhivago - Boris Pasternak

Wind

I have died, but you are still among the living.

And the wind, keening and complaining,

Makes the country house and forest rock –

Not each pine by itself

But all the trees as one,

Together with the illimitable distance;

It makes them rock as the hulls of sailboats

Rock on the mirrorous waters of a boat basin.

And this the wind does not out of bravado

Or in a senseless rage,

But so that in its desolation

It may find words to fashion a lullaby for you.

Translated by Yakov Hornstein

“The Poems of Yuri Zhivago” from the novel, Doctor Zhivago

Boris Leonidovich Pasternak (1890-1960)

The Giraffe by Nikolai Gumilev

Painting by Anne Weirich

 

The Giraffe

O, the look in your eyes this morning is more than usually sad,
With your little arms wrapped round your knees and body bent in half.
Let me tell you a story: far, far away, on the distant shores of Lake Chad,
There roams a most majestic giraffe
Blessed with a handsome build and graceful carriage
And a coat painted hypnotic, magical patterns,
With which none but the moon above dare compare
When her light falls down to be scattered and rocked on the waters,
Passing like a blazing sail far out at sea
As she runs by, nimble and carefree as a bird in flight.
I hear tell the earth has seen many wonderful things
When the giraffe hides herself away and the sun sets into night.
I know fabulous tales of far off, alien lands,
Of a dark maiden, of a young captain’s burning desire, all this I know,
But you’ve breathed in the damp marsh air for so long
You don’t want to believe in anything but the rain out your window.
I still haven’t told you about her tropic garden, with the slenderest palm trees,
The sweetest wildflowers, meadows of unbelievable grass . . .
Are you crying? Let me tell you a story: far away, on the distant shores of Lake Chad,
There roams a most majestic giraffe.

By Nikolai Gumilev/Translation by James Stotts

Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

A Beautiful Sight - Underpass Graffiti Poem

Photo Credit: Ed O'Keeffe

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth (1807)

Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

Newspaper Blackout Poems by Austin Kleon

Austin Kleon ROCKS poetry!  



HEARD ON THE TITANIC

 

GOLDILOCKS

HOW TO BE A TEXAN



HOUSE IN TEXAS

Learn more abut Austin Kleon HERE and grab some inspiration HERE.


Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

Are You Ready For Some Poetry?

In a couple of days it will be April. It's a fine month for tip toeing in the tulips and dancing in the rain but April is also National Poetry Month.

In honor of all things poetic, I will be featuring some of my favorite poems here at Calendar Gal in the upcoming weeks.

Here's a preview...one by me.

DEMOLITION HEART

Original Art By THE BOY

Deny

Every tender feeling and

Memory that lingers,

Overthrow Truth, it's only words

Let the past fall away to invention

In spite of

Tomes that remain on

Ink stained hearts. Deny it all,

Over and over again till you believe it true,that you

Never loved me and I never loved you.

                  By Nancy Sima

Hemingway's Great White Bull



It is the challenge of every writer to confront the page,to meet Hemingway's "great white bull". What do you see or hear when you begin to write?  Is your page as menacing as Hemingway's white bull? Or perhaps a bit like mine, just an uptight bore.

   



Once Upon A Page

A pen wrote feverishly,

scribbles and strokes,

dots of “i”s like land mines.

"Stop!” cried the page,

“You can’t write that! STOP!”

Its lines cried once more

staggering the pen

mid-sentence, mid-word, mid-letter.

“What is it that you object to -

the sentence, the simile, the syntax?”

“The word,” hissed the page.

“The word?”  The pen looked back. “Which word?”

“Any word,” scowled the page, “would suffice to offend.”

Offend? That’s good, thought the pen mischievously

and it continued to write again.

“Stop! Stop!” screamed the page once more.

"Have you no conscience?”

“On the contrary,” sighed the pen, “I have you."

                                        By Nancy Sima



Photo Credit: http://www.moneyorigamis.com/amazing-origami/19-amazing-origami/