Friday, May 29, 2026

Poetry Friday: Poetry Potluck

We're kicking off the summer season with a Poetry Potluck.  At first, it was any topic, any form, but then we thought it would be fun to theme our challenge around real life potluck contributions.  (For a quick history of the potluck in America, including "The Church Lady Law," see this article.)


My inspiration came from a book of poetry, and a bag of chips. For my birthday, my dad gifted me the fantastic collection, A Century of Poetry in the New Yorker, and I've been dipping into it whenever I need a poetry fix.




It shouldn't amaze me any more, but I'm still stunned when the act of reading a poem can change my day.  Even if the poem at first seems simple on the page.  Maybe, especially then....I'm not resisting it, or studying it, or trying to make it be something it isn't....I'm simply munching on the words.  

I wrote my poem about that. 



her poem

is like a bag
of chips at a potluck—

you want to scoff
at the lack of effort—
who does she think she is,
a college kid with no kitchen?

but somehow her poem—
bagged like a plump, slightly creased pillow
and tossed on the hard bench of the table
is effortlessly inviting—and
when it pops open 

(before any other dish has been
stripped of its foil shield)
you pinch out the ridged wafers
in two clumps to snack on —

you know, just until the late-comers
with their farro-gorgonzola croquettes
arrive—

and her words become
the friend everyone wants
to sit next to—

the one who can champion
marshmallows in salad, 
and dissect the day he died,
both with humility;  

who can discuss two-letter Scrabble words
and cry-choking in the car
each with authority;

who speaks of the soaking rain yesterday
and of burnt faith today
as one and same—

of necessary anger
and ridiculous love,
each invited to this potluck—

as she passes you the bag
of chips, rolling down the corners
so you can reach in, deeply—

even as the salt 
of her meaning
stings your chapped lips,
she is feeding you.

this is not luck
this is poetry. 

        ----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved) 


More poetry dishes from my Poetry Sisters (who are all friends everyone wants to sit next to): 

Laura



Poetry Friday is hosted today by our own Mary Lee Hahn at A Year of Reading


Friday, April 24, 2026

Poetry Friday: A Clogyrnach for my Birthday

 April's challenge was to write a poem to an image, any form, any topic. Such freedom! Too much, perhaps, so I sought refuge in a form I'd tried earlier: the clogyrnach.  It's a traditional Welsh form, "rarely used by today's poets."  Well. For special occasions, then?  Like my birthday?








I love this photo (I'm on the right) but questions come to mind. Is my head really that rectangular...and who gave me that haircut?  Why don't I always eat cake with a spoon? Why do I look like I've been caught stealing?  I have no answers, but questions are always a great place to begin a poem. 



On in years

Do you believe life boomerangs?
In old age, will Frankenstein bangs
feather my forehead?
Will I leap from bed
Arms outspread, greedy pangs

for crumbled cake to smash and spoon?
Close my eyes dark and warm as prunes
as the day’s end nears?
Sing through icing smears?
On in years... same sweet tune.

----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)


If you're curious, the form is below.  You can repeat, as I did, the form in more stanzas, to tell a longer story.


8 syllables - x x x x x x x a
8 syllables - x x x x x x x a
5 syllables - x x x x b
5 syllables - x x x x b
3 syllables - x x b 
3 syllables - x x a 
(you may combine last two lines into one line)



My poetry sisters poems, written to images of their choosing, can be found here:


Poetry Friday is hosted today by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem.







Friday, March 27, 2026

Poetry Friday: The Ovillejo

 





I left this month's challenge until late. What was I waiting for? I don't know, but when I saw the rules of the ovillejo, I was afraid.  It's so tightly arranged.  Take a look:

Line 1: a rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 2: a rhyme in 3-4 syllables

Line 3: b rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 4: b rhyme in 3-4 syllables

Line 5: c rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 6: c rhyme in 3-4 syllables

Line 7: c rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 8: d rhyme in 8 syllables

Line 9: d rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 10: (Line 2) (Line 4) (Line 6)


On the other hand, the punchy short lines and the rhyme seemed fun. But how to make it all work together? My poetry sisters advised starting with the last line and reverse engineering. But...I didn't do that.  Nope. Part of why I write poetry is to discover what I think, and if I write the last lines first, I can't think well...my head is too full of where I'm going. So I just wrote a first line, then another silly one, and so on and so on, until I had...well, a mess that fit the rules but was as goofy as a bad commercial.  

Fortunately, revision came to the rescue. Even in a tight form, you have wriggle room. Even on busy days, you have time.  





Oh, when will the cherry blossoms bloom?
Wait. Wait. Ka-boom!

Bursting, busting, bruising the shocked air—
now, everywhere.

Time roots down as petals swirl; they free
you and me

from overflow; we can be empty
of questions of when; they sticky kiss 
our foreheads, they croon: Time is but this:
Wait. Wait. Ka-boom!— now and everywhere—you and me.

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)




My poetry sisters' poems are found here:



Poetry Friday is hosted by Marcie Flinchun Atkins