Tag Archives: poetry

HAPPY NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

HAPPY NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

rhypimobanner

 

YAY!  I love that poetry has its own month. Read some poems! Write some poems! Vote in the March Madness poetry playoffs at: http://www.thinkkidthink.com/  .  (We’re down to the final eight today!)

Check out this link on 30 ways to celebrate at Poets Org.: http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/94

Also, consider signing up for RhyPiBoMo–which translates as Rhyming Picture Book Month at: http://angiekarcher.wordpress.com/ . (You only have to commit to reading a rhyming picture book a day–10 minutes, tops! And to writing a poem a day . . . and to having fun. Plus, there will be a lot of good posts about writing–a new one every day. And I’ve written one which will be posted on April 8th!)  So stop by.

May all your days be lyrical!

Shutta

DOZENS OF COUSINS (Cover, Trailer & 1st Review!)

DOZENS OF COUSINS (Cover, Trailer & 1st Review!)

CrumDozens300res

Dozens of Cousins (Published by Clarion HMH, and illustrated by the talented David Catrow.) is slated to be released July 1, but the first review is in already—and it’s a star. YAY!

Publisher’s Weekly says:  “An annual family reunion brings together a passel of carefree cousins in this joyful pairing of Crum’s (Mine!) comically heroic verse with Catrow’s (Have Fun, Molly Lou Mellon) equally rollicking pictures . . .  A triumphant ode to family in all of its messy, quirky glory.”  See the full review here: http://publishersweekly.com/978-0-618-15874-4 .

 

In celebration we’ve created a book trailer for those of you who want a closer peek. Enjoy!

 

COMING! July 2013 . . . published by Clarion.

A Poem for My Mother

A Poem for My Mother

momgetting kissed  My sister and I giving Mom a big kiss . . . miss her!

 

 

My Mother Taught Me to Quilt

(for Evelyn Crum, master quilter, 1933-2008)

 

 

My mother taught me to quilt—

how to measure width and length,

how to find shades of a rainy day,

or the hue of a child’s trust.

I watched as she patched each day’s pieces

into a kaleidoscopic whole.

And she always saved the scraps.

 

She taught me to ease dissonance

into harmonies of pattern, and to blind stitch.

She tugged, and I saw that the straight grain was strong.

But she said I must learn to work with bias,

for there are days when fabric needs to stretch.

 

I studied how she smoothed the layers—

how she rocked her needle, hand-stitching

it all to a strong back. And finally,

how she held me bundled in her patchwork.

 

Now, on rainy days

I walk out into the wet grass and collect

my colors–the impatient greens, the heart-deep browns,

the glistening grays, and the fresh-washed blue of a forget-me-not.

 

I measure. I cut. I rock my needle.

I bind my raw edges.

 

Mom and her quilts.

 

 

Shutta, revised 2013 (First published;  AACR2, 2010)