Last night, the black, gray, and white clouds swirled on top of each other while the radio screeched the National Weather Center warning. “This is not a test,” it said before indicating that a Tornado watch was in effect. I pulled into the drive, where Amber and the boys were standing, watching the clouds roll against each other like ocean waves. Titus pointed to the sky, “pormado, Dadda,” he said. I told him it’d be okay, that we were protected by a sturdy Ozark ridge (as if he understood the interaction of meteorology and geology). He smiled, pointed again, and said “pormado, pormado, pormado.”
Some words are just fun to say, I reckon. Titus is learning that. (And worry not; the fact that you are reading this is an indication that my home was not swept away to Oz.)
Speaking of fun words, I’ve been digging into a few this week. Check out this week’s list of good links.
Breaking convention, I’m leading with a video segment from Jimmy Kimmel’s interview of Bill Clinton. In it, the forty-second president speaks of alien visitation: “I just hope, that it’s not like Independence Day, the movie,” he says.
Did you know it’s National Poetry Month? The good folks at Tweetspeak Poetry have a Poetry Dare for you. Pick a poet and read his or her work every day through the month of April. Lyla Lindquist is reading Polish poet Wisława Szymborska. Check out her piece and take her up on the Poetry Dare. If you could pick one poet to read this month, who would it be? (I’m reading John Ciardi.)
Speaking of picking a poet, last night, I picked a few Facebook poets and followed links to their words. I ran across James Scott Smith’s poem “Weaver’s Prayer.” He writes, in part:
…we, cloak ourselves in the
love of one day’s worth of revelation, of a simple
reckoning with faith, enough to warm our faces in the
dawn and thank the One that fires up the rising sun for this
wondrous and mysterious consciousness of being in the world.
Visit his place, By Way of the Dog, for the rest of the poem. It’s a good one.
Yesterday, Hilary Sherratt writes on the connection between writing good poetry and voracious reading. By reading poetry, Hilary learned to read the world, learned to see the poetry all around her. She writes:
It is this way with the man who shovels snow too early in the morning to talk back to the silent trees. It is this way with the woman I see making her way nervously, heels-clicking, down the sidewalk towards the post office on Saturday, the way it is with the bird chatter or the dog and his patient tail thumping the song of our mornings.
Over the last year or so, I’ve collected some of my favorite poetic songs in one extraordinary playlist (if I might say so myself). Enjoy.
Happy National Poetry Month! I hope you take the opportunity to delve deep into verse!Want to receive my updates in your inbox? Click here. Also, follow along on Twitter and Facebook.