Candles?

Hi everyone,

Here we are on the 9th without enough candle poems to light a modest closet. I’m guilty too. I plan to rope off some time this week, hopefully today, to finish the candle poem I’ve been carrying around in my head for some time. Let’s see some others from you.

IMAG1991I call this one, “They’ll never see it behind my back.”

Two other items. The first is a correction. In a FB exchange the other day about my poem in the upcoming Pomelo book about holidays and national celebrations, I said that mine was called, “The Very, Very, Very Sad Story About Lulu.” That was wrong. Janet Wong reminds me that the one in their book is called, “Leaf Dance.” Sorry, Janet and Sylvia Vardell. Now I need to go dumpster diving in my files to see where I placed Lulu. She’s out there somewhere.

The other thing is that I just heard from poet Bryn Strudwick in Basingstoke, England. I brought you word from Bryn recently to say he planned at an upcoming program to include one of my poems in his reading. That program occurred two days ago and here’s the word from Bryn. “Your poem, ‘My Book,’ took its place beside, among others, Shakespeare, Byron, Hardy, Betjeman, Emile Bronte and Roald Dahl, together with fellow American writers, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Maya Angelou, Ivy O Eastwick and Shel Silverstein. I ended the recital with my own “Paperback Eulogy” which you kindly included in your blog.”

Thank you, Bryn!

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6 comments on “Candles?

  1. My Tyger burns at both ends,
    A candle in the night,
    The forest feels electric,
    So brilliant in its light.

    The fireflies are all eclipsed,
    The will-o-wisps grow dim.
    When Tyger Tyger starts to burn
    There’s no one bright as him.

    ©2015 Jane Yolen all rights reserved

    • And with apologies to Blake:

      Tyger Tryger burning bright
      In that fertile Yolen mind:
      What immortal hand or eye
      Dare frame thy fearful wondrous kind?

  2. Very nice, Jane! David, I learned recently that fir tree cones grow upwards – they don’t dangle, like the pine cones we typically think of! So here’s my poem for this month:

    Frasier Fir

    Candlestick cones
    cast a frosty gleam;
    wickless, they wait
    for the spark of a dream.

    – © 2015, Matt Forrest Esenwine

  3. Pingback: Poetry Friday: So much poetry to go around! | Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme

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