A chilly river tumbles
over asphalt
but
faucets gurgle
only air.
Swirling
in the kettle,
enough for
one cup of tea.
Hot mug meditation.
Gratitude.
Anna E. Jordan
November 30, 2025
Category: Poetry
Poetry Friday? It’s Poetry Month! (But you knew that.)
Around the blogosphere, there have fantastic posts all month about April, National Poetry Month. If you haven’t been privy to the wealth of words please see this 2023 National Poetry Month Kidlitosphere Roundup from the incomparable Jama Rattigan on her fantastic blog, Jama’s Alphabet Soup.
As with many celebratory “months,” I firmly believe that poetry should be enjoyed all year round–read it, write it, buy it! Here are a few of new few of my new favorite purchases.
I’m a huge fan of Dr. William Carlos Williams, and I’ve slipped this tiny red volume in my bag to go with me everywhere and anytime I need a poem. Place is so important to Williams; he has a knack for specific details about everyday things that change how you see your surroundings.
The Path to Kindness, is an anthology to pick up when you need a moment of sunshine in an otherwise dark world. In “Grandmother,” Kate Duignan writes of the bond forged over separated eggs when making a cake. Julia Alvarez’s contribution includes “Love Portions,” about the balance and imbalance of relationships and domestic work. Each poem, as mentioned in the subtitle, illuminates connection and joy.
Dorothy Parker keeps it light with mostly rhymed verse in Enough Rope. Parker lived from 1893-1967. Many of the poems have a turn-of-the-century sensibility.
EXPERIENCE
Some men break your heart in two,
Some men fawn and flatter,
Some men never look at you;
And that cleans up the matter.
Love Poems (for Anxious People) by John Kenney is entirely modern and hilarious. Titles of the poems include: “Here comes someone whose name I should know,” “A friend hasn’t texted me back yet and I am totally fine with that,” and “To the man on his phone at 7-Eleven who bumped into me and spilled iced coffee on my pants and said, “Whoops,” and then walked away.” I couldn’t stop laughing. These are poems that you finish and you can’t help but laugh at the you you see in the poem.
While these are all poems written for the adult market, I would be remiss if I didn’t take this poetry month moment to remind you of my poems in the anthology, The Proper Way to Meet a Hedgehog and Other How-to Poems, which include “Playin’ Jacks” and “Fireworks.” This Pup Steps Up for the youngest readers also features an extended poem with rhymed couplets. Pick yours up today and happy Poetry Month!
How do you eat a whale?
I’m in the copy editing stage of the publishing process for my book SHIRA AND ESTHER DOUBLE THE WONDER. My middle-grade debut novel launches Fall 2023 from Chronicle Books.
Perhaps because of the heat, my attention is not as focused as usual. Like a squirrel, I skitter from one thing to another—foraging, cleaning, social media, videos, playing with Rothko the cat, and back to the work at hand before something else shiny catches my eye. I’ve been waiting and working for this moment for the last 20 years and yet, I’m procrastinating.
One show that I’ve been obsessively procrastinating with is Home Town Takeover with Ben (a cuddly bear of a man who can make anything out of wood) and Erin (pixie-dream-girl, and artist extraordinaire) Napier. The premise of this show (in case you don’t know) is that they have chosen one town to revitalize. Ostensibly, the show is about remodeling buildings but REALLY it is about leadership, economics, transportation policy, marketing and community. The Napiers often reflect on the massive task they’ve taken on with the question: How do you eat a whale? The answer of course is: One bite at a time.
Back to copy edits. Enjoy this excerpt of the poem “The Whale,” by Joseph Edwards Carpenter.
The Whale
by Joseph Edwards Carpenter
1
Oh! the whale is free of the boundless sea
He lives for a thousand years;
He sinks to rest in the billows breast,
Nor the roughest tempest fears:
The howling blast as it hurries past,
Is music to lull him to sleep,
And he scatters the spray in his boisterous play,
As he dashes the king of the deep.
Oh! the rare old whale, ‘mid storm and gale,
In his ocean home shall be,
A giant in might, where might is right
And kind of the boundless sea!
Poetry Friday: Empty Nesting
It’s been a long time since I spoke about mothering. Mommy blogs as a genre seem to satisfy their purpose once a child has become an adult. And yet, I am still a mother. With two sons, I’ve experienced everything twice. They each left for college but came back for holidays and vacations. Then they each finished college and set up nests of their own.
This last time handed me a gut punch I wasn’t really expecting. After all, we had already navigated long stretches away from each other, serious girlfriends, a pandemic separation (when we all agreed they’d be better with Dad in Maine then with me in NYC), and weekly phone calls that became more occasional. I’ve learned I cannot control their day-to-day health and safety (much less my own). I understand not only that I’ve given them all I could, but also, that they are fine humans whom I trust completely.
However, I had those moments, maybe you’ve had them too, where you look at the young man before you, and perhaps the light shifts, and you see a flicker of them as the small child they once were. And then it’s gone.
This poem from Laura Foley in the poetry anthology THE PATH TO KINDNESS: POEMS OF CONNECTION AND JOY (p.76 Edited by James Crews, Storey Publishing, 2022) captures my experience.
Laura Foley
A PERFECT ARC
I remember the first time he dove.
He was five and we were at a swimming pool
and I said: you tip your head down as you are going in,
while your feet go up.
And then his lithe little body did it exactly right,
a perfect dive, sliding downward, arcing without a wave,
and I just stood
amazed and without words
as his blond head came up again
and today
I watched him for the longest time as he walked
firm and upright along the street,
with backpack, guitar, all he needs,
blossoming outward in a perfect arc,
a graceful turning
away from me.
My Book Birthday! This Pup Steps Up! A dog book for kids.
Arf, yip, yap, bark! Today is my book birthday for This Pup Steps Up! A dog book for kids.
After a long social media roll-out with a cover reveal…
…and a puppy countdown…
The print book is available!!!
In my last post, I discussed how I compose my rhyme. It’s a tricky thing to get rhyme right and it doesn’t just appear fully formed on the page. I showed this image of my notes:
This scribble with cross-outs, word lists, and prose eventually (with a lot of reading aloud) turned into this:
The rhyming couplets are rhythmic and great for early learners (0-3) as well emergent readers (3-6).
While my editors and I are responsible for the text, I couldn’t be more pleased with the design and photo illustrations. I’m grateful to the graphic designers at Callisto Media and Rockridge Press for making this book diverse, fun, and engaging for young readers.
The book is currently available on Amazon but if you are a bookseller or book buyer at an independent bookstore, please contact me and I’ll put you in touch with the right people!
Please follow me on my Author Page or on Instagram where I’ll be sharing a few more spreads from the book. If you purchase a book, (especially with a dog or young reader) I’d love for you to tag me @annawritedraw or use #thispupstepsup!
Madness Poetry Returns: 2018
Madness Poetry competition is back, and I’ll try once again to best the best. I’ve had a series of one-off experiences as an “authlete.” (One against Jane Yolen!) My first poem has been submitted and will be published tomorrow for voting. One big change this year is that both my opponent, Gabi Snyder, and I have to use the same word — overkill — in our poems. I love this because the students, other authletes, and the general public will get more of an apples to apples judging experience.
Please follow along and vote, vote, vote!
Edited to add: Here’s the permalink to my match up with Gabi.
Poetry Friday: “One Today”
For many bloggers, Friday is for poetry. I was so pleased this week to attend a reading by poet Richard Blanco. In his presentation, the poet, civil engineer, and city planner spoke about the importance of place addressing the questions: Where am I from? Where do I belong? Who am I in this world? Not only were the well-crafted essays and poems a joy to experience, but I was also able to meet the lovely Mr. Blanco. Even though I was at the very end of a very long signing line, he still took the time to address each of us personally and with intention.
I first heard Mr. Blanco read in Portland’s Merrill Auditorium soon after President Obama’s inauguration in January of 2013. I couldn’t believe an auditorium that seats 1900 was filled—for poetry! When he read “One Today” for us, I had an overwhelming feeling of joy that real change was on the horizon—that we were moving forward.
In Falmouth this week, I had a decidedly different feeling. How was it that in five short years we’d gone from a nation celebrating “all of us” to…this?
There is no poetry in the presidency now. There are no books, no decorum, no diplomacy. There are only bits and pieces of anger and outrage, racism and division. There are short memories and shorter-term fixes.
Every day brings a new scandal that causes us to forget and diminish the scandal that came moments before. And all of these scandals are screens to the real changes in our country and government: lifetime appointments of ultra-conservative judges, a new “Conscious and Religious Freedom” division in the U.S. Department Health and Human Services whose purpose is to deny abortions and transition surgeries to transgendered individuals if a health provider has a religious issue with the medical procedure, free speech and freedom of the press is constantly under attack, and Dreamers and children without healthcare are used as pawns in a political game of will-we-or-won’t-we-shut-down-the-government.
Tomorrow, I will be out in the January cold to march for the home about which Mr. Blanco writes in the final stanza of his poem. Join me and vote in 2018 for the home you imagine.
We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always—home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country—all of us—
facing the stars
hope—a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it—together.-Richard Blanco
You can check-out the picture book One Today at your local library or purchase/order it at your local independent bookstore.
#MadnessPoetry has begun!
In my last post, I promoted the call for poets on the completely redesigned and fabulous Madness Poetry website. Well…I was accepted as an “authlete” and received my first word, “reciprocal,” last night at 8pm with a thirty-six hour deadline. Twenty-four hours later I’ve submitted a poem. Nothing like a deadline to get the creative juices flowing!
Now it’s your turn. Check out the Authlete Brackets to see how the competition is progressing, the Authlete Matchups to see the word assignments, and the Calendar of Events to see when poems will be posted, then start voting for you favorite poetry. And faithful blog readers, I humbly ask for your votes.
If you are a teacher, there’s a special place for you and your classroom to sign up, vote, and be counted.
Only the best, funniest, most technically sound, fearless poets will survive.
2017 March Madness Poetry is back!
For all of you who love reading and writing poetry for kids, it’s time to celebrate. Ed DeCaria is reviving the March Madness Poetry contest. Not only that, but he has also put in an amazing effort to give Madness Poetry it’s own website with new and improved user experience. He is currently taking 1) Poet Authlete Applications 2) Classroom Teachers who want their students to participate in voting and 3) Fans who want to participate in voting. As we’ve all discovered, if you don’t vote, you suffer the results so go to http://madnesspoetry.com/ today and signup! Thank you, Ed!
Poetry Friday: The Smith-Corona
I recently became the caregiver to a 1953(?) Smith-Corona typewriter which inspired the following poem. Enjoy! (Now if I could only find a new ribbon.)
There aren’t a lot of typewriters out there
not a lot of typers either.
Hard to get ribbons and parts.
A’s require pinkie force that I do not possess.
Computers have made me soft.
Still there is a satisfaction of
FORCE
and noise
each clack of hammer on roller
the absence of wires
no plug in sight
just me and the keys and the return bar.
My thoughts too quick
hammers catch on each other
stuck like a logjam of paperwork
sitting on some secretary’s desk.
She with pencils in her hair
and a pencil slim skirt
doing a hard days work.
I imagine her
young
spunky
driven
wanting more.
To be a journalist
a novelist
the boss.
Just like her
my time will come.
Creative Chaos 