December 2012 Poetry Challenge - The Wind

The wind has always fascinated me. Perhaps it is because we cannot see the wind, but can only see and feel its effects. Wind can cool you on a hot day or chill you in a cold rain or snowstorm. It can blow branches from a tree, pull a balloon or kite string from the hand of a child, ruffle the waters of a river or bay, or—as I learned in my teen years—embarrass a young woman by blowing her skirt up. Wind can be quite destructive when it take the form of a hurricane or tornado. On the other hand, wind spreads the seeds of wildflowers, enhancing the beauty of woodland or prairie.

I was quite young when I first learned to love Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem, “The Wind.” I liked the idea of the wind singing “so loud a song.” In his poem, “The Wind at Vinci,” English poet Michael Hulse, doesn’t exactly say the wind sings—at least not in those words. But does it?

The Wind at Vinci

The magi of day left their gifts and departed,

    and for a little while I lay awake

    as your breathing beside me rose and fell

        and the wind across the vineyards

shrilled and then keened and then darkened into a moan.

And the wind was as old as my fears, and it said:

    a man who has not learnt to know his home

    in an hour such as this will lie alone

        for the rest of his mortal days.

I thought of my dying father, one August night

unseasonably cold, that last of his summers,

    lost for his words and wanting to tell us

    the weather was wintry, instead (poor man)

        declaring in confusion: What

a horrible night! – it’s like Christmas! And I thought

of my mother, a teenager after a war,

    thrilling to Mozart where fountains play in

    a courtyard amid the rubble, knowing

        that this was the meaning of peace.

So quickly a future is over; so quickly

the home we imagined we’d live for is lost; so soon

    the words and the music are wind. I thought

    of Leonardo too, his boyhood spent

        in the olive light of the groves,

accepting in manhood commissions to image

the Baptist inward and radiant with knowledge,

    the Saviour calmly foreknowing it all

    as he breaks the bread in the company

        of the man who will betray him.

It may be nobody has a home in the world

but that is the way of the little night music,

    that is the point of the wind in the hills.

    Love (so the wonderful man from Vinci

        said) is the offspring of knowledge.

You smiled in your sleep; and I… I knew I was home.

~ Michael Hulse

From The Secret History (Arc Publications, 2009), pp. 99-100.

In this poem, the narrator lies awake listening to the breathing of the one who lies beside him and to “the wind across the vineyards.” The wind keens and moans but by the end of the poem, “the wind in the hills” turns into “night music.” In the meantime, it has blown his thoughts in several directions—his dying father (the wind of aging has deprived the poet's father of his ability to use language to express his thoughts and feelings), his mother (thrilling to Mozart amidst rubble from the war), to Leonardo and his paintings. When the poem circles back to the wind, it also circles back to the one lying beside the narrator.

The poem forces me to reflect on that future that is so quickly over (stanza 4) in a world where “the words and the music are wind” (stanza 5), and to ask myself how I, too, have found satisfaction in a relationship which has become home.

I was drawn in by the first line of the poem, with its creative reference to “the magi of the day” leaving their gifts (one of those futures which is so quickly over, if I am not mistaken). This biblical reference forms an additional envelope for the poem, connecting subtly to the biblical references in the next to the last stanza. Also, when the magi bring gifts, they are away from home, which links them thematically to the poet's finding home in the conclusion.

The "Author's Note," in the front of The Secret History enhances the reader's understanding of this poem and the others in the book. There Hulse speaks of "coming to terms with the difficult legacies of the two nations, England and Germany," his parents' homelands. The resulting struggle to determine his identity led him to explore his parents' lives as he sought to understand what for him was and is "home." This is his only essentially autobiographical book, and it is very nuanced.

I have read many poems about the wind, but few with the breadth, depth and subtle complexity of “The Wind at Vinci.”

Michael Hulse is an associate professor at the University of Warwick in England, where he teaches creative writing and comparative literature. He was international poetry editor for Arc from 1993 to 1999 and general editor of a literature classics and a travel classics series for Könemann from 1994 to 2001. He co-edited the best-selling Bloodaxe poetry anthology, The New Poetry (1993), ran Leviathan poetry press, and has edited the literary magazines Stand, Leviathan Quarterly and The Warwick Review. He received a Cholmondeley Award in 1991. In 2011, he co-edited The Twentieth Century in Poetry.

His poetry collections include Eating Strawberries in the Necropolis (1991); Empires and Holy Lands: Poems 1976-2000 (2002); and The Secret History (2009). Another book of poems, Half-Life, will be published in 2013. Hulse, who has lived in Germany and The Netherlands as well as England, is internationally recognized not only as a poet but also as a translator. You can read more about his work at http://literature.britishcouncil.org/michael-hulse.

Other Interesting Poems Inspired by the Wind:
* Robert Louis Stevenson, “The Wind,” A Child’s Garden of Verses, rev. ed. (Star Bright Books, 2008).
* Ellen Kort, “Five Ways of Listening to the Wind,” Notes From a Small Island (Appleton WS: Fox Print, 1994), pp. 4-5.
* Robin Chapman, “Wind in the Boundary Waters,” Abundance (Cider Press, 2009), p. 25.
* Kwesi Brew. “The Earth,” African Panorama: New Poems by Kwesi Brew (Greenfield Center, New York: Greenfield Review Press, 1981), p. 46.
* Sidney Hall Jr., “Something About the Wind,” Fumbling in the Light (Hobblebush Books, 2008).
* Ted Kooser, “In an Old Apple Orchard,” Flying At Night: Poems 1965-1985 (Pitt Poetry Series; University of Pittsburg Press, 2005).
* Georgia Ressmeyer, “Wind Lover,” Wisconsin People & Ideas, 53:4 (Fall 2007), p. 43.
* Christina Rossetti, “Who Has Seen the Wind,” The Golden Book of Poetry, 1947.
* A. A. Milne, “Wind on the Hill,” http://allpoetry.com/poem/8518981-Wind_On_The_Hill-by-A.A._Milne.
* John Masefield, “The West Wind,” Poems (Kessinger Publishing, LLC, 2005); There is a Youtube video of Ethel Barrymore reading “this poem at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qwmAKj4QnU).
You can find a collection of wind poems at http://www.poetandpoem.com/wind_poems.html.

December Poetry Challenge

Write a poem inspired by the wind. Your poem may be in free or formal verse (if you use a form, specify which form it is). It may be a serious poem or a light one. A poem with both depth and poetic artistry will have the best chance of winning.

Please put your name at the bottom of the poem (note the format used above).

Poems published in books or on the Internet (including Facebook and other on-line social networks) are not eligible. If your poem has been published in a periodical, please include publication data. Poems submitted after the December 15 deadline will not be considered.

I reserve the right to declare no winner, if the judges for the month do not believe any poem submitted is quite good enough. Decisions of the judges are final.

How to Submit Your Poem:
Send your poem to wildamorris[at]ameritech[dot]net (substitute the @ sign for “at” and a . for [dot]). Put "December Challenge" in the subject line of your email. If you want a bio published with your poem should it be a winner, please include put a brief bio below your poem. Submission of a poem gives permission for the poem to be posted on the blog if it is a winner. The deadline is December 15, 2012. Copyright on poems is retained by their authors.

© 2012 Wilda Morris

November Challenge Winner

Congratulations to Eve Lomoro, who submitted the winning poem this month.

Kelsey

I’m seeking your vote as the Nanny of the Year.
Here’s why:

The youngest one, they said
can be a handful. Has tantrums,
doesn’t cooperate, she’s stubborn
as a donkey straining
against his owner’s rope.
That’s what they told me, going in.

At preschool she hangs her head down
to her chin, and refuses to speak.
Driving home, I ask about her day,
she drops her head lower.
Petrified, I stop talking.

Do you want a snack? I ask.
She shakes her head.
A response – real progress.
Do you want to play? A silent no.
She’s tough, I think,
but I’m tougher.

She mumbles something. I lean down.
I can’t hear you, I say.
I want to go downstairs – by myself.
Emphasis: By myself. She goes.
I consider my next move.

She jumps from the back of the couch
into the seat. Stop, please. I want to talk.
She sits down, and I sit in a child’s chair,
facing the little darling.
We’re going to be great friends, you know,
so why not start now?

I hide behind my hand,
peek through my fingers,
and hear a very small giggle.
I duck behind a pillow, and hear
more giggles, louder, more
and more giggles.

We watch a cartoon,
but not really—she’s jumping again.
Jump on me—I’ll catch you.
She looks at me, deciding if she can trust me.
I won’t drop you, I say. I promise.

She dives, and I catch her,
put her upright again. She giggles.
We do this over and over.
She’s beginning to like me, I think.

Third day, she comes back
for more jumps—ten and then
one more. This time, when I catch her,
she stays, squiggling into the curve of my arm.
We cuddle and watch the cartoon.

This is why I should win your vote – I’m Mary Poppins.

     ~ Eve Lomoro

Eve Lomoro retains copyright on this poem.

Judges for November were again Jim Lambert and Jacob Erin-Cilberto. The judges said their favorite part of the poem was the last line.

Jim lives lives with his wife of 47 years and two 28 year-old desert tortoises near Carbondale, IL. He is active in community theater. His poetry book Winds of Life was published in 2007. Jacob lives and teaches in Southern Illinois. He has been writing and publishing poetry since 1970. His 12th and most recent book, Used Lanterns is available from Water Forest Press, Stormville, NY. Jacob has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize in poetry 2006-2008 and again in 2010.

Thank you to the judges, and those who entered the September challenge. Congratulations to the winning poet.Stop by soon to see the December challenge

© 2012 Wilda Morris

November 2012 Poetry Challenge - Nominate Yourself

George W. Bush was president of the US when Jim Lambert wrote his poem, “Jim Lambert for Poet Laureate.” Only one line of this poem would have been different had it been written during the Obama Administration however.

Jim Lambert for Poet Laureate

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Committee
I come before you today
To nominate Jim Lambert and to
Embellish his resume.

A superior poet laureate
He would most assuredly make.
It is a grave responsibility
He is more than willing to take.

Academia is normally the source
Of most of your nominees.
Usually published poets
With fancy schmancy degrees.

But let us consider Lambert
For the reasons detailed below
He’s a real sore-fingered poetic machine
With loftier places to go.

From humble rural beginnings,
He was raised down on the farm.
Though he attended public schools,
He suffered little apparent harm.

He served in the U. S. Army--
That should be considered a plus.
Although we admit he was drafted
He refrained from making much of a fuss.

While serving in the Army
He met his beautiful wife.
They went from love at first sight
To together for his entire life.

Mr. Lambert has vast experience
In the outside of government world.
He’s played the corporate game for years
Waiting for his talents to be unfurled.

He’s lived all around the country
And what may interest you the most
Is that he’s never had a permanent address
Any where on the eastern coast.

Lambert has no skeleton to hide
That might provoke political attack,
But be advised that he may very well be
A tiny percentage Black.

No forebear of his was ever a cad
And certainly none were schrewish.
One was a Native American lass
And one of the guys was Jewish.

But in these enlightened modern times
We’re certain that you will feel
The fact that he is multi-ethnic,
Just adds to his appeal.

So cast your vote and select this man
Who deserves this lofty position
He’ll find for you the perfect rhyme
And in its best rendition.

Say that you want the rich to have
A massive tax reduction,
He’ll write a poem just for that
It’ll be a voter rhyme seduction.

Perhaps you’ll want to go to war
Whether justified or not
He’ll produce a poem in support
He’ll give it his very best shot.

But if he does not succeed at this
Perhaps butchers a Terza Rima,
Then President Bush, without batting an eye,
Can make Lambert the Director of FEMA.

~ Jim Lambert

Jim Lambert 9/10/05 Used by Permission of the author.

The challenge for November is to nominate yourself for some kind of major award or position. Maybe you will follow Jim Lambert’s example and nominate yourself for Poet Laureate. Maybe, though, you’d rather win a Pulitzer Prize, a place on an Olympic team, the presidency or premiership of your nation, a MacArthur Genius Award or a Nobel Prize. Or perhaps you would like to be named Mother, Father or Grandparent of the Year. Whatever award you dream of winning, write a poem nominating yourself. Your poem might be serious, or it might be tongue-in-check.

Your poem may be in free or formal verse (if you use a form, specify which form it is). Please put your name at the bottom of the poem (note the format used above).

Due to formatting restrictions on the blog, all poems should be left justified. Unfortunately I am unable to publish indentations or shaped poems.

Poems must be in English (due to my lack of skills in other languages), original and property of the poet making the submission. Poems published in books or on the Internet (including Facebook and other on-line social networks) are not eligible. If your poem has been published in a periodical, please include publication data. Poems submitted after the November 17 deadline will not be considered.

How to Submit Your Poem:

Send your poem to wildamorris[at]ameritech[dot]net (substitute the @ sign for “at” and a . for [dot]). Be sure provide your e-mail address. If you want a bio published with your poem should it be a winner, please include put a brief bio below your poem. Submission of a poem gives permission for the poem to be posted on the blog if it is a winner. Due to the fact that I did not get the Challenge posted until November 3, the deadline is November 17, 2012. Copyright on poems is retained by their authors.

© 2012 Wilda Morris

October Challenge - A Twist on the News

Judges for the October Challenge were Judith Tullis and John Quinn, whose poems provided inspiration for this contest. You can find their bios at www.illinoispoets.org.

One of the winning poems is “What’s Happenin’.” It reminded me of the hours I’ve spent reading old Kansas newspapers, looking for hints into the lives of my great-grandparents, who were among the early European-American settlers of Lincoln, Kansas. The Chicago Tribune, New York Times, Washington Post, and other major newspapers, don’t report it when someone goes out to hunt buffalo, attends a bridal shower, or catches a very large beaver in his trap! When I was a child, the Iowa City Press Citizen still did report visitors from out of town and other social events; I’m not sure if they still do or not. I do know that, like most other papers, they charge by the inch for obituaries. Peggy Trojan’s poem made me nostalgic for the days when a local paper—or someone in the neighborhood—put to paper the small news that is big news for family and friends.

What’s Happenin’

Selma Makkela
printed all the news fit to print.
The Hemmilas had a boy,
Erickson’s cow was hit by lightening,
the Polks motored to Chicago
for their grandson’s graduation.
Nothing to cause you anger
or “take to bed worry.”
When you saw Willard
at the feed store, you could ask how
Mildred’s broken leg was coming along,
send an anniversary card
to the Mattsens,
keep an eye out for
Johnson’s lost calico cat.
The news connected you
to community,
safe in the knowledge
you were informed enough
to know just what
was going on.

~ Peggy Trojan

I got more laughs, though, from John Gordon’s poem, ‘We’ll Be Right Back. . . .” I hope you will enjoy it, too!

We’ll Be Right Back…

I switch the TV on each night,
Those grinning anchors are a sight.
They laugh and joke, never seem sad,
Chatter brightly when times are bad.
What they report we’re told is news.
While they’re on screen, I sometimes snooze.
The ads are what I want to see,
Because they speak the truth to me.

If I opt for this famous beer,
Attractive girls will gather near.
They’ll ogle me, admire my brawn,
We’ll party hard until the dawn.
The credit card that I select,
Will gain for me utmost respect.
I’ll get cash back each time I spend,
A most ingenious dividend.
A tiny pill makes me a man,
A harmless boost to nature’s plan.
No longer fear of growing old,
My prowess will increase tenfold.
An auto plays a crucial role,
Ensures I’ll reach my lofty goal.
It’s pre-ordained that I’ll be seen,
As prosperous in this machine.

It’s often said, there’s no free lunch,
So I endure that anchor bunch.
Resign myself to suffer through
More cat rescues, bad interviews.
But when, We’ll be right back, they plead,
What follows them is what I need.
I don’t learn much from nightly news,
Those cool commercials shape my views.

~ John Gordon

I’ve seen those commercials, too! Maybe if I get a different car, or use a different shampoo, I could win the Pulitzer Prize? ? ? ?

If you would like to read some of my poems, check the links on the right side of this page.

Check in on November 1 to see the next poetry challenge. You might be the winner next time!

© 2012 Wilda Morris

October 2012 Poetry Challenge

On the last Sunday of each month, there is a poetry reading at the Brewed Awakening, a coffee shop across from the train station in Westmont, IL. The readings are sponsored by the Illinois State Poetry Society (see www.illinoispoets.org for announcements concerning upcoming featured poets). Two excellent poets, Judith Tullis and John Quinn, were featured on Sunday, September 30. Each one read a poem about the news (or someone’s response to the news), not a heavy or sad or angry poem, but a poem with a lighter touch and a bit of humor. John’s poem is a sonnet; Judith’s is free verse.

Details at Ten!

Alar on apples! Asbestos in school!
Our water's not fit for your pasta fazool!
Radon in basements! Be cautious in love!
Watch out! Beware! There's no ozone above! Chlorine's a crime! So's driving to work!
Cigarette smoking's the realm of the jerk!
Stay out of the sun! Don't play in the street!
Fried eggs are verboten, so is red meat! The stuff my dad worked so hard to obtain
are now objects of fear, loathing, disdain.
"The good things of life," we all tried to get
are getting us now, it's our life we bet. Whatever we do, we'll all end up dead
unless, as we rise, we crawl under our bed.

~ John Quinn

Morning News

Every morning
he reads the newspaper
through the steam from
his coffee – Boston, two sugars.

Every day in a plaid flannel shirt
and worn slippers, he confers
in the paper with heads of state,
beleaguered economists, city officials.

He coaches the Bears,
consults the weatherman
and test drives the latest
foreign luxury car.

Every day through the steam
from a mug of orange herbal tea,
across a kitchen table set for two,
I read him.

~ Judith Tullis

October Poetry Challenge:

Write a light or humorous poem about the news—whether the news comes from radio, television, or the internet—or second hand from friends. No angry poems. No partisan poems. No heavy-duty advocacy poems for or against the UN, the US, Iran, North Korea, abortion, legalization of marijuana, etc. Advocacy has its place, but the challenge for this month is a poem which will bring a smile, not make the reader angry (pro or con). Your poem may be in free or formal verse (if you use a form, specify which form it is). Please put your name at the bottom of the poem (note the format used above).

Due to formatting restrictions on the blog, all poems should be left justified. Unfortunately I am unable to publish indentations or shaped poems.

Poems published in books or on the Internet (including Facebook and other on-line social networks) are not eligible. If your poem has been published in a periodical, please include publication data. Poems submitted after the October 15 deadline will not be considered.

How to Submit Your Poem:

Send your poem to wildamorris[at]ameritech[dot]net (substitute the @ sign for “at” and a . for [dot]). Be sure provide your e-mail address. If you want a bio published with your poem should it be a winner, please include put a brief bio below your poem. Submission of a poem gives permission for the poem to be posted on the blog if it is a winner. The deadline is October 15, 2012. Copyright on poems is retained by their authors.

© 2012 Wilda Morris

Winning Failure Poem - September 2012

The winning poem for September, a poem regarding failure, is somewhat mysterious. The poem can be read in several ways. I was tempted to explain how I read it, but will only say it looks to me as though an adult is apologizing for failure to adequately communicate something important to a child. I have one or two specific ideas, but decided not to express them here, since that might prejudice your own reading.

I will say, however that I like the poet's use of jacks in this poem.

Dear Agnieszka

I know it’s too late
to stop the wounds,
the hurt. The cow
is already out of the barn.
Before you were nine
all things should have
been spoken. The
lines tossed to you
light as jacks, and just
as sharp, bouncing
round your head, dribbling
into your heart.
But you know
I loved you and that
should count for something.

~ Connie K Walle

Ms. Walle retains copyright on this poem. She is a lifelong resident of Tacoma, Washington, and President of Puget Sound Poetry Connection which brings The Distinguished Writer Series to Tacoma monthly, now in its 23rd season.

Judges for September were Jim Lambert and Jacob Erin-Cilberto.

Jim lives lives with his wife of 47 years and two 28 year-old desert tortoises near Carbondale, IL. He is active in community theater. His poetry book "Winds of Life" was published in 2007.

Jacob lives and teaches in Southern Illinois. He has been writing and publishing poetry since 1970. His 12th and most recent book, Used Lanterns is available from Water Forest Press, Stormville, NY. Jacob has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize in poetry 2006-2008 and again in 2010.

Thank you to the judges, and everyone who entered the September challenge. Congratulations to the winning poet.

Return to this address on October 1 or 2 to find out what the October challenge will be.

© Wilda Morris 2012

September Poetry Challenge - Failure

Last night, on the way home from the rehearsal dinner for our oldest grandson and the love of his life, I expressed regret that, for the first time, I would not be ready to post the new poetry challenge on the first day of the month.

I was out of town two weeks in August, and returned with only one week in which to catch up on the mail and laundry, and to meet all the end of the month deadlines. I got my wedding gifts wrapped and found a new dress for the special occasion. I wrote the blessing for the bride and groom (I’m co-officiating). I had a wonderful time eating meals with out-of-town family members here for the big event. With the help of David Gecic, I got the results of the July challenge completed. I took an August walk on the DuPage River Greenway, and succeeded in writing and submitting a “Walking with Nature” piece for the Bolingbrook Patch (see http://bolingbrook.patch.com//blog_posts/walking-with-nature-walking-the-dupage-river-greenway-in-august).

As we drove home, I decided I would have to post an apology for my failure to post a challenge on time. But during the early hours of the morning, when I started composing in my mind, the word “failure” reminded me of a silly little poem I wrote while driving through Northern Indiana in 20002:

Fail Road

The next intersection
is Fail Road.

If I turn there,
all the landmarks
should look familiar.

~ Wilda Morris

I don’t know how the road got its name, but I’m sure we all take “Fail Road” from time to time in our lives!

After thinking about that little attempt at irony, I recalled that I wrote another poem about failure, an attempt at humor. I was in a workshop in which the leader shared titles of several poems, and invited us to use one as a prompt for our own poem. On the list was “Once Again I Fail to Read an Important Novel, the tile of a poem by George Bilgere. You can read his poem at http://www.georgebilgere.com/onceagain.html.

I wrote the following poem:

Poet’s Protest
Beginning with a Fragment from a Title by George Bilgere

Once again I fail ,
to be nominated for the Pulitzer Prize
despite the superiority of my poems
to those of Sexton and Simic,
Kenyon and Collins.
It’s not my fault as you can see
from the alliteration I’ve already pushed
into this poem and the active verbs
bouncing around, begging you to listen.
[Note how well I personify.]
My metaphors are free-range chickens,
meaty, tough enough for you to chew on.
Get some unbiased judges in there—
see, I write protest poetry, too—
and maybe next year. . . .

~ Wilda Morris

The sorrows and disappointments of life, the funny thing that happen, the unexpected—writers say “it’s all material.” Material for a short story with an unexpected twist, the scene in a novel, or a poem. Even failure—real or imagined—is material. Maybe writers learned that from nature. The failure of a tree to survive provides “material.” It provides a home small animals, food for insects, and fertilizer for the soil. I have turned my failure to prepare a challenge ahead of time (and my expected failure to get a challenge posted today) into material for the September poetry challenge.

September Poetry Challenge:

Write a poem about a failure. You may begin with the phrase I borrowed from George Belgere, “Once again I have failed,” but that is not necessary. It may be your own failure or that of someone else. It may be serious or humorous. Please, though, no poems about contemporary politics.

You may write free verse or a formal poem. A repeated failure might be good material for a villanelle. A failure at love might work its way into a sonnet. It’s up to you. But if you do write a formal poem, please designate the form you have chosen. The poem should be left-justified and not contain extra spaces.

The deadline is 12:59 p.m., September 15, 2012. Poems submitted after that time will not be considered.

Copyright on poems is retained by their authors. Poems are archived on this blog.

Poems published in books or on the Internet (including Facebook and other on-line social networks) are not eligible. If your poem has been published in a periodical, you may submit it if you retain copyright, but please include publication data. Submit only one poem. Decisions of the judge or judges is final.

How to Submit Your Poem

Send your poem to wildamorris[at]ameritech[dot]net (substitute the @ sign for “at” and a . for [dot]. Be sure provide your e-mail address. Submission of a poem gives permission for the poem to be posted on the blog if it is a winner, so be sure that you put your name, exactly as you would like it to appear if you do win, at the end of the poem.

Book for Sale:

If you are interested in purchasing a copy of my book, Szechwan Shrimp and Fortune Cookies: Poems from a Chinese Restaurant, please contact me at wildamorris[at]ameritech[dot]net. The book costs $14.00 US. I will not charge postage or handling on orders sent to addresses in the U.S. during the month of September.

Here is what Wisconsin poet and writer John Lehman, founder and original publisher of Rosebud, wrote about the book:

“The zodiac on the placemat before you predicts a delectable aesthetic experience and Wilda Morris’s book delivers just that. There are sweet and sour delights. ‘Leftovers’ mirrors a troubled relationship; ‘Crab Rangoon,’ a blossoming romance. In ‘Shrimp Kow’ we reminisce with a white-haired woman who taught young children in Chinatown. ‘The Embittered Veteran Orders His Meal’ confronts the ravages of war at its most visceral level. Each poem is a subtle delight. Ten years ago Wilda observed a Chinese grandfather feed an icy treat to a young boy by the Ming tombs. Years from now you will remember the poetic delicacies Wilda Morris offers in this wonderful book.”

© 2012 Wilda Morris