I have lived in New England my entire life. Certain snowstorms are vivid in my memory. In the late 60s, a drift the size of a dump truck blocked our street for what seemed like days and we had to get fresh milk straight from the farm across the street. When we returned to school after the blizzard of ’78, the snow was drifted to the roof of our sprawling, one-story school in some spots. I even remember one winter when we didn’t have a single snow day until March. Then we had one every week.

But I can’t remember any winter that compares to the weather we’ve had in the past two weeks. Three nor’easters since the beginning of March have dumped almost two feet of snow at my house, and we’re on the lower end of the snow totals! Even though it’s still winter, the days are getting longer and snow melts quickly at this time of year. There was even a tiny hint spring in the air last week.

So when I reread the poems Nikki Grimes and Michelle Heidenrich Barnes shared for this month’s ditty challenge, this line, from Nikki’s poem, “Truth, by Tyrone Bittings,” shone out like a beacon:

a reason for a song

It made me think of a photo of crocuses blooming in the snow I’d seen recently and inspired this Golden Shovel:

© Catherine Flynn, 2018

Hope your crocuses are blooming, or will be soon!

Please be sure to visit Linda Baie at TeacherDance for the Poetry Friday Roundup. And thank you to Stacey, Betsy, Beth, Kathleen, Deb, Melanie, and Lanny for creating this community and providing this space for teachers and others to share their stories every day in March and each Tuesday throughout the year. Be sure to visit Two Writing Teachers to read more Slice of Life posts.

Every month I look forward the Ditty Challenge that Michelle Heidenrich Barnes shares on her blog. In February, to celebrate their new book, Last Laughs: Prehistoric Epitaphs (Charlesbridge, 2017), J. Patrick Lewis and Jane Yolen challenged Michelle’s readers  to write an epitaph poem. All month I’ve been at a loss for a topic. Then, yesterday, inspiration arrived in the mail:

“An Epitaph for Medusa”

With slithering, serpentine hair
and a cold, penetrating stare,
you turned men into statues of stone,
so most mortals left you alone.

But while you slumbered in bed,
Perseus chopped of your head.
Now, instead of resting in Elysian’s field,
you’re entombed on Athena’s bronze shield.

 © Catherine Flynn, 2018

Please be sure to visit Elizabeth Steinglass for the Poetry Friday Roundup, and then stop by Michelle’s blog to read more epitaphs.

Like many Poetry Friday friends, I’m participating in Laura Shovan‘s 6th Annual February Daily Poem Project. This year’s theme is ekphrasis. Each day, a group member posts a photo of a work of art in his or her home. The variety of works shared during the past week alone has been astounding. I haven’t been able to keep up and write a poem every day, but I’m trying. This daily writing is stretching my poetry muscles in different ways and has yielded many surprises. Almost accidentally, I’ve also been playing with new and different forms. Last week, I shared an abecedarian. This week, Heather Meloche shared a block print created by her grandmother, Thelma Wilson Brain.

Troubadours and courtly love immediately came to mind, so I decide to tried my had at a lai. In The Essential Poet’s Glossary, Edward Hirsch writes that “in Old French Poetry, a lai is a short lyrical or narrative poem…usually written in octosyllabic verse.” Sticking to a strict syllable count and rhyme scheme was quite a challenge. I tried not to sacrifice sense while maintaining both, but don’t think I completely succeeded. In any case, this draft was fun to write, and brought back many fond memories of a favorite English professor who specialized in the lais of Marie de France.

The Maiden and the Dove

When troubadours in days of old
Sang songs of maids with hair of gold,
Sweet lady Jane traversed a wood
To where the sacred hazel stood.
Beneath its boughs she met a dove
Who trilled the promise of true love.
“Gather rosebuds of red and white.
Present them to a gallant knight.
For you he will forego all strife,
Preferring an idyllic life.”     

No damsel in distress was she,
Jane soon was down upon one knee.
“Dear dove, thank you for these wise words
But taking such advice from birds
Seems like a foolish plan to make
And sure would bring me much heartache.
Don’t fill my head with fluff and froth.
I’ll only ever pledge my troth
To one who’s loyal and steadfast,
Whose bravery is unsurpassed.
On such a man I will bestow
My tender love, then all will know.”

To her word, gracious Jane was true,
Tales of her love and kindness grew,
Throughout the land her story was told,
By troubadours in days of old.

© Catherine Flynn, 2018

Please be sure to visit Sally Murphy’s blog for the Poetry Friday Roundup.