Worth repeating

Hi everyone,

On Friday I posted a picture of my turtles studying my calendar and Jane wrote a witty poem about it. I followed up with this picture and a poem and Susan chipped in a poem as well, but I’m not sure many saw the fun developing. Today I’m reposting all that for anyone who missed the original and maybe we’ll see some further contributions before the day is done.

Jane Yolen

February 10, 2018 @ 7:04 am

The Turtles Escape

The Reading of Turtles
is not too well known.
They sit upon books
that their people all own.

They act as if reading–
–Or sleeping–who knows.
Their eyes are just painted
and they never close.

I worry they’re reading
and planning a trip.
I caution myself
that I must get a grip.

Next morning, the turtles
are missing, away.
I worry about it
for all of the day.

But turtles are careful,
deliberate, I know.
Wherever they’re headed,
It’s going to be sloooooooow.



The Turtle’s Response

All those nights
he read to us.
All those words
he fed to us.

Now those words
will take us far
cleverly hidden
in his car.

We’ve made our plans,
we’ve marked the date,
we’ve packed our bags,
and now we wait.

He says that turtles
aren’t allowed,
but we can READ!
He’ll be so proud!

(c) by David L. Harrison, all rights reserved

Susan Hutchens

February 11, 2018 @ 12:17 am

Don’t Judge a Turtle!

Likely ’cause
we walk so slow,
people think
we just don’t know.

Folks judge us by
our outer looks –
We might be green
but we love books!

Like other creatures
here on earth,
we didn’t choose
this reptile birth.

Ever hopeful
we surge ahead,
and know we’re smart
because we read!

The Boy with a Drum, Australia style

Hi everyone,

All packed and ready. I wasn’t going to post today but this just came in from Mike Jackson in Queenscliff, Victoria, https://www.facebook.com/mike.jackson.3152 so I decided to share it before I get away. A number of years ago Mike and a partner set my story, THE BOY WITH A DRUM, to music. On this occasion he saw the cover of the book on a wall (fourth row up, by the window) and was thoughtful enough to send me the picture. Here’s Mike’s note.

“Hi David, Hope you are well. Just sitting in a local café having a dose of caffeine when I spotted this on their wall. You’ll have to enlarge it and turn it on its side to see your contribution.

Still around after all these years!”
Mike Jackson
Queenscliff, Victoria

I asked Mike what he’s doing these days. And here’s his reply. “We’re doing spiffily well. My beloved Diane has just had her fourth children’s picture book published and I’ve just arrived home from a 10 week promotional tour in Europe and now have more work than I can poke a stick translating my ukulele tutors into other languages and creating a new teaching system.”

Whew! Thanks, Mike!

Muddling through

Hi everyone,
The poem a day goal this week is on schedule although I admit that today’s beauty struggled mightily to make a decent showing for itself. I seem to need enough words on the page before something finally clicks into place, like one of those Magic 8-balls you hold in your hand, ask a question, and wait for an answer eventually to bob up from the murky deep. Works the same for me whether I’m writing poems or fiction.

On occasion the form itself comes bubbling to the surface. In the early going of today’s effort, I scribbled a string of similar statements about my subject, looking for a path into it. It occurred to me that I might use those similar statements with a different rhyme at the end to introduce each stanza, which would be a nice little bonus for the poem. However there weren’t enough rhymes available that made sense. Instead I ended up repeating the same word at the end of each first line although the rest of each line was arranged differently to move the story forward. I cast the poem in three stanzas.

That arrangement alone, though, was boring, and I found I needed two additional stanzas to tell the story right. By using a different rhyme to end line #1 in stanzas 2 and 4, the final form fell into place and smiled back at me. The end result is a 5-stanza poem. Each stanza has three lines (tercet) rhyming abb/cdd/aee/cff/agg.

Sometimes we just have to muddle through.

Now just bear with me on this . . .

Hi everyone,

In the past few days I’ve given myself a good talking to about bragging too much, and I took wise advice from trusted friends, including suggestions about my propensity to talk about turtles and spiders and such. I think all this helped me quite a bit, more or less.

But here’s the thing about spiders. Let’s say that spiders make you shiver with disgust and you want to smash every one you see with your foot. That’s fair, except to the spider of course. I understand. BUT. Let’s say further that you also are a writer. And one day, no matter how much you despise it, you find yourself having to write something that has a spider in it. Now you’re in a fix. The only spiders you’ve ever studied were attached to the bottom of your shoe, and they weren’t really giving you their best face.

Let’s imagine that E. B. White felt the same as you about spiders. What a fix he would have been in when his pig picked out a spider to be his best friend. But he didn’t cower and utter rude remarks about his pig’s poor judgment and deplorable taste in friends. He did not change the story and insist that Wilbur choose a butterfly or a June bug or a chipmunk as his pal, confidant, and role model. NO! He soldiered on and wrote quite charmingly about a spider named Charlotte. “First,” she said to her little pig pal, explaining how to properly dispatch a fly that had just blundered into her web, “I dive at him . . . Next I wrap him up . . .and knock him out so he’ll be more comfortable.” She then proceeds to wrap the fly in silk and set it aside for her breakfast. “I am not entirely happy about my diet of flies and bugs,” Charlotte clarifies, “but it’s the way I’m made. A spider has to pick up a living somehow or other.”

You think White made up the life of a spider or read descriptions in a book, or did he really look at spiders and observe them going about their stealthy, deadly business of eating flies and, sometimes, one another? Me? I think he knows too much to have Googled it. He tells it too well to have imagined it. I think E. B. White was an observer who wrote about what he saw and came to understand the world around him.

So back to me and my blog and these spiders I keep watching. Last week we had two new ones move in about ten feet apart. One, a filmy dome spider (that’s its name I swear) showed up at the upper corner of the window that separates our dining and living rooms. It hung out for a couple of days checking out the place for a potential corner office.
20160902_203519_resized 20160911_132044_resized

The other, a large funnel web spider, took up residence outside the kitchen window between the glass and the frame. My first clue was a small leaf that blew into an otherwise hard to see web. 20160902_203542_resized
Before long, a bee hung suspended near the leaf, and this was interesting enough to get the spider up and out of its hideaway.
Meanwhile Miss Filmy Dome had hung her own web out for business and was as busy as a, uh, seven-legged spider. She had two gift packages already wrapped and waiting when she had time to stop for a bite.

But then fate stepped in. Our big hairy scary funnel webber made a mistake. She set out to pay a neighborly visit and got caught up in the conversation. Next thing she knew, she was dinner.
She hung overnight next to the small plate specials like a beef in the window. Yesterday morning the feast began as I watched. The hostess, several times smaller than her guest, was at all times polite as she picked away over much of the day. When at last she’d finished with the main course, she tossed the remains from her nest like any tidy homemaker might. Somewhere in the weeds below the denizens of the underworld must have rejoiced and yelled, “Food fight!”
20160917_123348_resizedWhen I stopped taking pictures, Miss Filmy was daintily finishing her meal and, I would think, be preparing for a nice long rest to aid her digestion.

Next time you have to write about a spider, find a web or two and settle down for a good watch. No major actors in these dramas, but dramas they are nevertheless.

P.S. I just stomped on a spider crawling across my floor. Man I hate those things!

A pleasant reminder

Hi everyone,

Yesterday I received a nice note from Chong Yiu Hei Yom, a reader in Hong Kong about a poem of mine from THE PURCHASE OF SMALL SECRETS that appears in a textbook there. It’s called “Leaving Corky” and I talked about it in 2012. Here’s the link to that post.
https://davidlharrison.wordpress.com/2012/10/24/leaving-corky .
I seem to be on a dog and cat roll this week. Well, that and spiders of course. I’m glad to know that my memory-based poem about the day I had to leave my cat is still alive and well in another part of the world. Corky always did get around. I’m grateful to Chong Yiu Hei Yom for letting me know.

FYI, today I’m not working on dogs or cats or spiders. Today it’s the king cobra. More about that some other time.