Daily Bookish Challenges | Day Four: Monday, April 6

Daily Bookish Challenges
Trees of Reverie April Read-A-Thon
Day Four: Monday, April 6:

Create some book spine poetry!

These are getting harder to come up with each time! Even though I’m adding more books, it seems that I keep using the same ones every time. Not many of my books have verbs for a title, and so many start with A or The. It’s frustrating!

Somehow I came up with a very mysterious sinner’s lament type poem.


Fear nothing.


Angels & Demons,

A perfect union:

Deliver us from evil.

The confession

Without remorse.


Chasers of the light!

Red Dragon,

A time to kill.


No Joy in Mudville as Star is Caught in Controversy

Since I posted Casey at Bat during National Poetry Month, I thought I’d share this spoof of the poem. The dig on Reds’ Pete Rose is a little low…albeit maybe well placed. Hope you enjoy this!

The Grimm Report

A Special Report By Grimm Report Chief Pinch-Hitting Correspondent,
Jocelyn Koehler
http://teamblood.org | @jocelynk414

Following a disappointing game in which the plucky Mudville Nine fell to the opposing team, 4-2, ugly rumors are flying. The mighty Casey was last to bat, and was widely expected to restore the fortunes of the team. Both Flynn and Blake were on base—a surprising situation, considering both players’ abysmal performances in recent games.

So why did Casey disdain to even swing at the first two pitches? And why did Casey leave the offices of well-known bookie Freddie Doyle directly after the game?

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If I can stop one heart from breaking

Today is the last day of April, which means a bunch of different things!

1. It’s the 1 month anniversary of this blog! Hard to believe that it’s been a month already! I am so enjoying writing this, more than I’ve ever enjoyed a blog before. I’ve written more consistently, I have more followers (always a plus!), and I think my content is better. I think my success is due to finally writing about something that comes as naturally to me as breathing–reading. I hope you’re enjoying it as much as I am!

2. It’s the 10 year anniversary of Mean Girls! Seems silly, I know. But it has always been one of my favorite movies. It’s hilarious and quotable, sure, but it also has a really great message–stop bullying. That’s important! And, of course, the anniversary had to fall on a Wednesday, and you know what that means. On Wednesdays, we wear pink!!




3. Today ends National Poetry Month. As I said yesterday, I’ll probably keep posting poems every once in awhile, but maybe not every day. It has been a fun project, though!

In the spirit of Mean Girls day, and to end NPM, I have one of my favorite poems for you. It is a short one, but one that hangs on the bulletin board in the den as a reminder to try and be kind.

If I can stop one heart from breaking

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in bain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

–Emily Dickinson

Blue Monday

It’s another rainy Monday morning, and we are expecting some strong storms today from what I hear. Last week was a rough one, and I’m hoping this week is much better. We’ll see.

I’ve had this poem flagged for about a week now, but I couldn’t share it on any other day but today! This is the last week of April, and so the last week for daily poems. I will keep sharing poems as I find them interesting or poignant, but maybe not every day. It’s been fun tracking down ones to share, though! I hope you’ve enjoyed National Poetry Month!

Blue Monday

No use in my going
Downtown to work today,
     It’s eight,
     I’m late—
And it’s marked down that-a-way.
Saturday and Sunday’s
Fun to sport around.
But no use denying–
Monday’ll get you down.
That old blue Monday
Will surely get you down.
–Langston Hughes, Selected Poems of Langston Hughes

The Sun Rising

After a rainy Friday, we woke up to a bright, shining Saturday morning. And a horribly loud chorus of birds. I love our little grove of trees behind our apartment building–much nicer than the busy road we had at our old place–but man. Some of these bird are so loud and repetitive that they are worse than alarm clocks! There’s one that I call “Old School Rapper,” because its call sounds like “skeetskeetskeetskeetskeet.” I told my husband that this morning and now he can’t unhear it. It was quite comical.

The Sun Rising

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,

Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains call on us?

Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?

Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide

Late schoolboys, and sour prentices,

Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,

Call country ants to harvest offices,

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.


Thy beams, so reverend and strong

Why shouldst thou think?

I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,

But that I would not lose her sight so long:

If her eyes have not blinded thine,

Look, and tomorrow late, tell me

Whether both the’Indias of spice and mine

Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.

Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,

And thou shalt hear:  ‘All here in one bed lay.’


She’is all states, and all princes I,

Nothing else is.

Princes do but play us all; compar’d to this,

All honour’s mimic, all wealth alchemy.

Thou, sun, art half as happy’ as we,

In that the world’s contracted thus;

Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be

To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.

Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;

This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.

–John Donne

One Art

Holy cow it is a busy morning for me. I am the only one on the phones for my client this morning, so I am taking a quick break with my eye on the lines.

Since I’m losing my mind, I’m going to share one of my favorite poems with you…mostly (and admittedly) because I don’t have a lot of effort to spare at the moment. I first heard this on one of my favorite chick flicks “In Her Shoes.”

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Dejeuner du Matin

I’m going to cheat a little bit with this morning’s poem. Normally, I type it all out myself, in an effort to remember what I read. However, I do not speak French, and I think the original French is important here. And it looks neat. And there’s absolutely no way I am going to be able to figure out the WordPress formatting to do the columns!

So I ask forgiveness…I borrowed the image below from Tumblr somewhere…and honestly I don’t remember where. I pasted it into my journal at the beginning of National Poetry Month. Bad Blogger!!!!!!! I fully deny credit here, this is not my image. But, I loved the poem, and I want to share it with you.

I love this poem because of its absolute simplicity. It starts out with such an every day routine, but then it moves into such a strong emotion, that you almost can’t help but sob at the end.



Jacques Prevert

Old Barn

I grew up on a farm, with a big white barn. We had a pole barn, later. But the center point of our property was the glorious, old monstrosity. It was exactly what a barn should be–dusty and full of odd shaped rooms. The floor was concrete…or stone. Something hard and pitted, but so filthy that it was unrecognizable. We didn’t raise livestock or horses, much to my childhood dismay. Just several farm cats and dogs. But the barn raised my sisters and I, and housed our many adventures–and before that, it raised my dad and his siblings. There was even a painted basketball court in one of the upper lofts.

That barn is gone now, torn down after we sold the property and my parents moved in town. Every time I drive past there, the yard just looks empty. But the memory will always be there of the old white barn on our old homestead.

Old Barn

Where hay was stored,
there are birds
now in the
ancient straw.
They come and go
through lost boards.
Lights of sky
break the chorus
of dark.
The rains come,
puddles pool
for baths
to cleanse
dusty feathers.
They fly in and out
of this place.
They have waited,
knowing it has
always belonged
just to them.

–Jim Gustafson, Driving Home

Here in a Rocky Cup

Today is Earth Day! Make sure you get out and enjoy Spring a little bit today. It’s been warm here in the evenings, but I think today is supposed to be rainy. Maybe we can at least open the windows and enjoy the breeze later.


Here in a Rocky Cup


Here in a rocky cup of earth

The simple acorn brought to birth

What ages grown to be

A very oak, a mighty tree.

The granite of the rock is split

And crumbled by the girth of it.


In cautious was the rock to feed

The acorn’s mouth; unwise indeed

Am I, upon whose stony heart

Fell softly down, sits quietly,

The seed of love’s imperial tree

That soon may force my breast apart.


“I fear you not. I have no doubt

My meagre soil shall starve you out!”


Unless indeed you prove to be

The kernel of a kingly tree;


Which if you be I am content

To go the way the granite went,

And be myself no more at all,

So you but prosper and grow tall.


–Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Waking

Knowledge is particularly important to me now. I am striving to learn more about everything, and reaching out for new subjects. It’s why I started this blog, so that I could push myself harder, and write more. This poem speaks to that willingness and desire to learn. I don’t need a college or professors to teach me, I just need to wake up and teach myself.


The Waking


I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.

I learn by going where I have to go.


We think by feeling. What is there to know?

I hear my being dance from ear to ear.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.


Of those so close beside me, which are you?

God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,

And learn by going where I have to go.


Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?

The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.


Great Nature has another thing to do

To you and me; so take the lively air,

And, lovely, learn by going where to go.


This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.

What falls away is always. And is near.

I wake to sleep, and taking my waking slow.

I learn by going where I have to go.


–Theodore Roethke