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You are HERE! Welcome to today’s stop on the The Land of Poetry tour!

For a bit of history: The Progressive Poem began with Irene Latham, who hosted it from 2012-2019. Those archives of the poem can be found HERE! Margaret Simon took over in 2020, and those archives are HERE.

The rules state:

  • The poem moves from blog to blog, with each poet/blogger adding a line.
  • Topically, the poem is intended for children.
  • Each poet/blogger must copy the previous line exactly as written, unless permission from that poet has been given.
  • After presenting the poem to date, the poet/blogger may add their own line, offering an introduction if they wish.

There’s no rule that the poem rhymes, but this year, there’s a definite rhyme scheme that we’ve worked hard to continue, and a very Earth forward sentiment with all this burgeoning life metaphorically embodying the poetic elements. It’s been wild, but I really love where we’re heading, and… okay, I’m stalling. So now, without further ado…


Map by Tabatha Yeatts-Lonske, with progressively more creative additions by a multitude of poets.

The Land of Poetry

On my first trip to the Land of Poetry,
I saw anthologies of every color, tall as buildings.
A world of words, wonder on wings, waiting just for me!
Birding for words shimmering, flecked in golden gilding.

Binoculars ready, I toured boulevards and side streets,
exploring vibrant verses, verses so honest and tender.
feathery lyrics, bright flitting avian athletes
soaring ‘cross pages in rhythmic splendor.

In the Land of Poetry, I am the conductor,
seeking oodles of poems that tug at my heart,
a musical medley of sound and structure,
An open mic in Frost Forest! Wonder who’ll take part?

There’s a pause in the program; no one takes the stage
the trees quiver, the audience looks up. Raven lands,
singing Earth’s message of the sage.
“Poetry in motion will be forevermore, from forests to sands.”

“Scatter,” she croaked. “Beyond Wilde Pond, to each and every beach.”
Meek Dove mustered courage and sang, “Instill humanity with compassion and peace.
Let Thackeray’s middle name, from this thicket, hearts reach!”
Her gentle coo-ooo-ooos reverberate, soft as fleece.

Words dart, dimple—Do I dare warble what’s in my soul?
I’ve inhaled inspiration…yes, I’ll risk my refrain.
I fly to the mic, chanting “Tadpole, mole and oriole!
Come all living beings from water, land, air; come high and low terrains!

Come, living your poems, hearts open, ablaze,

…and now, over to you, Sharon! Please feel free to add a closing quotation if you feel the Poet spirit has finished her statement with my line, but otherwise… Enjoy!


The 2026 Progressive Poem Poets Include:

April 1 Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference
April 2 Cathy Stenquist at A Little Bit of This and That
April 3 Patricia Franz at Reverie
April 4 Donna Smith at Mainely Write
April 5 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
April 6 Denise Krebs at Dare to Care
April 7 Ruth Hersey at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town
April 8 Rose Cappelli at Imagine the Possibilities
April 9 Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche
April 10 Janet Clare Fagel at Reflections on the Teche
April 11 Diane Davis at Starting Again in Poetry
April 12 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
April 13 Linda Mitchell at Another Word Edgewise
April 14 Jone MacCulloch at Jone Rush MacCulloch
April 15 Joyce Uglow at Storied Ink
April 16 Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Link
April 17 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 18 Michele Kogan at More Art for All
April 19 Kim Johnson at Common Threads
April 20 Buffy Silverman
April 21 Irene Latham at Live Your Poem
April 22 Karen Edmisten
April 23 Heidi Mordhorst at my juicy little universe
April 24 Mary Lee Hahn at A(nother) Year of Reading
April 25 Tanita Davis at {fiction, instead of lies}
April 26 Sharon Roy at Pedaling Poet​
April 27 Tracey Kiff-Judson at Tangles and Tails
April 28-30 wrap-up by Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference

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Washday

Consider
housekeeping:
constantly

applying
principles
of order.

(though laundry
demonstrates
entropy…)

(Since even my washing machines have windows, they seemed fair game for observation.)

Monday, November 13, 1620, the Mayflower came ashore. After they probably kissed the ground in gratitude for someplace solid to stand, the Pilgrim-esses hauled out the wash… because it was Monday, after all, and that’s what one did on Monday.

Every time I manage to do laundry on a Monday I feel some sort of bizarre kinship with hundreds-of-years-ago Englishwomen, who started this, and all who came after… Just trying to impose order on chaos, tying the days of the week to some sort of recognizable pattern, trying to make meaning of drudgery. Good luck to all of us who keep trying…

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Grr. I’m so discombobulated today I thought it was Friday. It’s the noise. I’m going to really need the neighbors (and the HOA) to coordinate on a day when they have the yardwork done, because the minute it stops raining it gets ridiculous…

suburban nuisance

“Don’t chase poems,”
let them come,”
I insist.

Arriving
afterwards,
an assault –

Leaf blowers.
Honestly,
What’s the point?!

SOMEONE is a little grumpy this morning. I really hope it’s going to go better tomorrow – on the plus side, the verse portion of today’s project went very, very quickly…


Seeing as its nearly Poetry Friday (sigh: not Friday yet. Alas), I am leaving myself a reminder to check in on the Kidlit Progressive Poem. This annual creative exercise, ably organized by poet Margaret Simon, is fascinating for someone who hated group projects in school. Somehow, even with all of our varied styles, the group pulls it off, though the verse takes frequent(!) unexpected (!!!) turns. I find the whole process enormously entertaining, so I’ve joined this year again, next in line after my play cousins Karen, Heidi, and Mary Lee. The theme this year is metaphorical, and so far it’s very… avian? in the Land of Poetry. Today kicks off a second stanza – I expect we’ll take another of those unexpected turns, so I look forward to seeing where we all end up…

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crowded table

Imagine
holidays
by Hallmark –

color-drenched
celluloid.
Realism

is crowded:
just space for…
…everyone.

There’s a song by The Highwomen called “Crowded Table” that was on my mind this morning (we’re doing a double quartet choral version sometime later this Spring, and the chorus is an incredible earworm), and it seems appropriate, as yesterday the niecelet informed the family group text that in a couple of Sundays at brunch she’ll be introducing us all to Someone Important. My little sister is buying matching hoodies with her Someone Important (they are tooth-achingly sweet), and it really does seem like in the next year or so the family will grow by two. There’s already seventeen of us for dinner when we’re all there, so… time to actually buy extra seating instead of making do with the piano bench and various office chairs.

It’s so different from when I came home from college with Himself – they’re well into their thirties and not shaky twenty-year-olds cringing in advance of the inevitable judgment. They’re giving us a chance to be part of their lives, not hat-in-hand asking for… anything, really, but their due: being treated like grown women with their own business to mind.

Vive la différence. You go, girls.

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morning calm

insistent,
raucous song,
repeating

while light slides
slow rainbows
down siding…

loud silence
morning brings
opposites.

Today seemed a good day to try again with the original prompts brought to me by Grant Snider’s POETRY COMICS prompts. As in his first example, I looked for a window to draw… Of course, because I’m difficult, my first window is the dining room’s glass door. (And nope, I couldn’t figure out how to draw the spherical prism hanging outside, either.)

I tried to let the poem come to me, rather than chase it or impose myself upon it, keeping in mind I also was trying to both be present and not succumb to the nagging feeling that I Ought To Be Doing Something more important than writing an imperfect poem. (Laundry. Dusting. Groceries. Novel word count…)

Sunday afternoon I watched a great little video on… practicing. We’re all acquainted with the idea, and we’re really good at telling children to do so, but it’s astonishing how bad we can be at just… consistently trying as adults. For myself, a few years ago I was so relieved to have a name and a diagnoses for my spatial perception (etc. etc.) issues. Whew, it’s a learning disability, I don’t have to try anymore! Which hasn’t made my desire to be able to stitch an even seam, visually judge distances, estimate distance and time, parallel park, use a sewing machine, draw straight lines or round circles, or to do All The Things that so many others do with such thoughtless ease. I’m having to try, armed with the knowledge that I will have specific kinds of failures – plus others I don’t even know to expect. Though this is daunting, if I merely accepted my brain’s limitations, I’d stay exactly where I am – wistful. And, eventually, resentful.

Thus this month I practice being better at being in the moment and letting poems come to me. I will dismiss my self-discipline and wordplay brain and just… sit. And color. It’s both entertaining and excruciating. Contradictory – the story of my life, and probably everyone’s.

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In Service of Shadows

Tenebrae:
ritual
requires

all candles
extinguished.
Acknowledge

in darkness
this planet,
this grieving.

I’m continually fascinated by how some people – communities or individuals – can make space for grief … and how some others relentless insistence on ‘this’ being some Part Of The Plan or Lesson. Sometimes awful things like pandemics, fascists, genocide, and war happen. Who wouldn’t weep? Who hasn’t?

(It also occurred to me after the drawing was done that it might have made more sense to draw the candle in grayscale, since tenebrae means shadows… but, oh well.)

Poetry Friday is hosted today at Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme. Thanks, Matt!

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mandé

mandatum
“Commandment”
in Latin.

A brick word –
Unyielding.
Requiring

Adherence,
Demanding
Charity.

Not having been raised with liturgy, I am the girl who’s always wondering, “Wait, what’s this about?” Our ensemble was asked to sing for “Maundy” Thursday. Could say MUCH MORE on the history of the medieval/traditional connection between the day and charitable behavior, but… won’t.

I hadn’t envisioned using crayons for this project, but boy are they faster. Additionally, they (and just scribbling on any old piece of paper, including old planners) help me remember the imperfection I’m meant to embrace within this practice — quick art and poetry made of and in the moment. I literally am requiring myself to let go of the rules for just a tic, scribble and post, the end. Meanwhile, this article on how art makes people healthier gently nudges me to keep going.


{happy…antiValentine’s! Here’s a giveaway!}

Berry Parker Doesn’t Catch Crushes

‘Tis the season for love, and to all my people out there who kind of hate Valentine’s Day… I see you. I was you, not because I was particularly anti-love, but because it all seemed like a lot of nonsense and noise – at least when I was in junior high. In honor of that somewhat oblivious girl, I’m offering a library or classroom (book club and home school libraries count, too) giveaway of ten copies of BERRY PARKER DOESN’T CATCH CRUSHES through Pop Goes the Library. Drop by, read Jen’s interview with me, and if you’re inclined, check out the giveaway, which is on from now through March.

Happy Valentine’s.