{okay, break is over, time for the other pantoum}

Working in young adult literature can be a little weird, because we’re marketing an idea of youth to the youthful, and everyone has their perception of youth culture and what’s cool, and sometimes it can feel like Fourth Grade: The Later Years, and can be a real bummer. Recently, the experience of having a copy […]

{poetry friday: the P7 and a non-mothering pantoum}

It’s always Liz. Seriously. She’s the one who pokes and prods us from our dailiness, who whispers, “Poetry!” in our routine-deafened ears, and we six follow the piping of her seventh, back into a poetry challenge. Seven Dancing Poetry Princesses have now worn a crown of sonnets, we’ve wrestled the brooding villanelle, and we learned […]

{pantoum: Whatever what is is, is what I want}

What Is, Will Be I aspire to, “what is will be,” Yet live in impatience and stress “What happens, accepted,” is key In living a life of success. “Yet live, in impatience and stress And survive,” is the goal, you’ll agree. In living a life of success You must free yourself of decrees. To survive […]

{pf: the p7 & the sestina scourge}

Okay, so maybe “scourge” was dramatic, but this, y’all, has been… just about impossible. Don’t get me wrong – every month, I adore the challenge of pitting myself against a poetic form, but the sestina and me… we’ve just never managed to do more than approach a strained d├ętente and limp back to our respective […]

{poetry friday: p7’s ekphrastic: on the rocks}

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: Because “mistakes flower/every hour,” this anthology of middle grade poetry will look at mistakes from as many angles as possible, including (but not limited to) mistakes that result in discoveries/inventions, grammar and etiquette mishaps, historical and fictional blunders, funny/silly/embarrassing missteps, ways to make things right, and forgiveness. Visit the link for details. […]

{a p7 poetry friday: ekphrastic on picasso’s “woman”}

In between episodes of flirting shamelessly with the universe and examining cubism and misplaced ears or whatnot in paintings, Pablo Picasso apparently could not simply hold still. Even while the Nazis were nosing around his studio, he was always busy. Creating. Making. In plaster, metal, wood, bronze — whatever junk came to hand, whatever met […]

{a year in iambs: twelve months, seven sisters}

Emily: …But first: Wait! One more look. Good-bye, Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover’s Corners….Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking….and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths….and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. (She looks toward the stage manager and asks […]