She's going to hate this.
Liz Garton Scanlon is hosting Poetry Friday today---her first time---and I can't help doing what I'm about to do. I'm afraid every soul in the universe isn't reading her blog, Liz in Ink. Isn't collecting the exquisitely bundled gift of words she so casually leaves for her readers there---calling it a "post" but truly, they are unmarked poems.
For a taste, see her thoughts about the month she wrote daily haiku or her rumination "Is it Enough?" about motherhood or her frontline reports of authorial adventures during school visits.
And then there is her poetry. I hate describing a poet's work---it's like those goofy wine descriptions where everything is plummy or with hints of peppercorn or notes of sweet wheatgrass. Let's just drink a Liz poem, shall we?
by Liz Garton Scanlon
It is nearly impossible -- impossible --
to recognize the difference
between dog and bear
in the transmuting dark
and the long croony whistle of a train
sounds so much like moo
as to be four-legged and lonesome
A sock looks like a hat
but doesn’t fit and isn’t
a pear looks like an apple
apple sounds like happy
the rest is here, along with more loveliness than you can handle in one day.
Poke about her archives. Subscribe to her posts. If you wish, read my interview with her. Make a friend of Liz in Ink.
The gathering-in of Poetry Friday posts is here.