Happy March

Tea time, Nino's art

When we grow young
we find that on upside
to getting wrinkles
is our happiness.

We try no more
to turn the ocean tide —
we ride with it
and readily confess
that there’s one thing
we ever understood,
one truth, yours for the taking:

life is good.

© 2014 Sasha A. Palmer

Image: © 2018 Nino Chakvetadze, reproduced with permission.

Sorry for the image of cupcakes in case you’ve given up sweets for Lent. Hang in there, and have a beautiful and rich Lenten Season.

 

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How’s your February, Kids?

Tasha and Kolya, Nino

Kids, busy living,
have no use for our
big grownup words —
they know a better way
(the best there is)
to spend this precious hour,
so bite your tongue
and let them fly away.

Let them be children,
though it will not last.
Just let them be.
They’re in that magic place
where time is stalled—
no future yet, no past—
just happy now
shines on the old clock’s face.

© 2014 Sasha A. Palmer

Image: © 2013 Nino Chakvetadze, reproduced with permission.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Marc Chagall. The Promenade (La promenade).

HAPPY

I’ve no weight, I’m a kite,
Fly me high, hold on tight,
Don’t let go of my hand,
Bye-bye, land!

Keep your feet on the ground,
Planet Earth’s small and round,
With its oceans and all,
Like a ball.

Limitations disperse,
You are my universe,
Standing firmly, and bound
To the ground.

I am air, I am light,
I am day, I am night,
Watch me how I go whee!
Fly with me?

Burning bright, burning clear,
From this world disappear
In the blink of an eye
You and I.

 

© 2013 Sasha A. Palmer

Image: Marc Chagall, The Promenade (La Promenade) 1917-18; displayed under Fair Use.

On Marketing, Short Fiction Awards, & Roundelay

Jane Friedman on marketing for authors, “You’ll be stronger if you have a multi-faceted approach.” Find out what she means.

University of Iowa Press is giving two awards for first collections of short fiction. No entry fee. Deadline: September 30. Check the guidelines, and submit.

A new poetic form challenge from Writer’s Digest. Join the roundelay fun.

Here’s my contribution:

“A Simple Song”

The shore is kind, horizon — wide
A tender breeze so gently blows
Come, take your vessel for a ride
Those swift white caps are not your foes
Our happiness — an ocean tide
That comes and goes, that comes and goes…

Come, take your vessel for a ride
Those swift white caps are not your foes
You would not hold time if you tried
Gold specks of sand between your toes
Our happiness — an ocean tide
That comes and goes, that comes and goes…

You would not hold time if you tried
Gold specks of sand between your toes
Come, sail while dazzling seas abide
The day, the hour — nobody knows
Our happiness — an ocean tide
That comes and goes, that comes and goes…

Come, sail while dazzling seas abide
The day, the hour — nobody knows
Fragile sandcastles builds a child
The setting sun so softly glows
Our happiness — an ocean tide
That comes and goes, that comes and goes…

© 2017 Sasha A. Palmer (aka Happy)

“I do not miss childhood…”

“I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled. I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I took joy in the things that made me happy.”

― Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Herman Melville: Sea Romancer Turned Gardener

“His subjects at the end included roses and irises, bluebirds and chipmunks, his early life with Lizzie in the Berkshires, and children’s dreams. …

…toward the end, … Melville … seems to have been content to avoid socializing, preferring instead to read his books, write, and tend his rose bushes.”

A short essay by  Mark Beauregard, offering a glimpse into Melville’s last years.

Did the “failed novelist” fail at yet another thing — poetry? Did he crave commercial success? Was he a happy man?

Happy, believe, this Christmas eve,
Are Willie and Rob and Nellie and May—
Happy in hope! in hope to receive
These stockings well-stuffed from Santa Claus’ sleigh.

— from Weeds and Wildings, with a Rose or Two, a collection of Melville’s poetry published in a private edition by Lizzie, Melville’s wife of more than forty years.