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My One Little Word for 2023 is "Curious." I am most curious in my art and writing. I have been pushing my self to try that different aspects of art. I love creating in mixed media, have shied away from loose watercolors (It's a thing). So yesterday, I had an opportunity to take a Loose Watercolor Florals from Pamela Sue Johnson. There's a technique with holding the brush. There's a technique with paper towels, there's letting go and letting the colors bloom.
This is as far as we got in a three hour time. Time to let this set and give room for the next step to detail and finish. It's for of like writing. You write a draft and then let it sit, let it percolate. Yesterday, I was really pleased with one and not so much with the other. Now, I can see what comes next. I can be curious about the process. I am loving my word, curious, for 2023. It makes me slow and wonder a bit. What makes you curious? Photo Small PoemsScribbles in the NotebookSome small poems were scribbles in my notebook.
December 5, 2022 slurping soup chicken noodle bowl achy tooth © jone rush macculloch December 8, 2022 Worked on a Spark 53 Poem December 9, 2022 kindergartners joyous sounds making snow people ©jone rush macculloch December 10, 2022 amber gold winter whisky warmth grandfather ©jone rush macculloch
On the November 17, 2022 post, I featured an interview with Rebecca Brock, author of Each Bearing Out. She graciously sent me two poems to share. One was shared during that post and today, I'm sharing her other poem.
Originally appeared online at Mom Egg Review, December 2020 Good Housekeeping She keeps trying to get her house in order pretending with the rest of them that the sun won’t melt the earth, that the seas won’t burn, that the land won’t disappear under water or ice or our own triggered destruction. She keeps going back to the dishes, to the meals, to washing the clothes, to worrying over the state of the carpet which is funny in a sad way if you knew the state of her house-- the way the windows leak, the way the doors have to be snugged closed, the way they blow open anyway, with the slightest wind, the cracks in the ceiling from settling or moisture or just poor craftsmanship. She still decorates for holidays, she still worries over the tidiness of things, the nutrition of meals, the state of the bathroom—of the toilet-- under assault by the misdirection and lack of attention of three males in one small house. She is like some mad woman straightening a frame during an earthquake, righting a vase after a hurricane took off the roof. She sees it is the season to behave so, to live beside, within madness-- to mother through it. It is despair pushed off to vacuum anyway, to make a decent meal, to require everyone to sit. She is hoping the children won’t notice or remember the windows, the carpets—the way the door won’t shut. She is desperate for their happiness for their solidity, for them to make it to some new place she never will. This poem really caught my eye. Plus happy news, Rebecca has recently found out she is a Pushcart Poetry Award nominee for two other poems The Poeming Pigeon Launch Party Via Zoom, December 10
On November 12, The Poeming Pigeon held an online launch party for Issue 12. The video for that event is now posted and can be found HERE or below.
There was to be an in person event on November 13 but it needed to be rescheduled and moved to Zoom. While I was excited to present in person, I can now have my friends in other time zones attend via Zoom. You must register to attend. Hope to see you next month for our December 10th show for Part 2 of our launch of The Poeming Pigeon. You can register for event HERE I had planned to share something else today but in light of this weekend's shootings, I am sharing this poem which I posted in May. I also submitted it to the Oregon State Fair this year and is won second place in short poetry. While my poem is in response to the Uvalde School shooting, it holds true for any place. People should have the right to have fun and go out without the worry of not coming home. My heart goes out to those families who lost loved ones this past weekend. A Thread
There’s a thread you follow ~ William Stafford In the middle of the day, there’s one moment in which a classroom doesn’t know their thread life will unravel. And again, you wonder when gun safety reform will follow © Jone Rush MacCulloch It's Halloween. Have you ever taken a dare on Halloween?  Addison W. Lee House, constructed 1888. This house was around the corner from my childhood home (1958-1963). As a child, I was afraid of a tiny old woman and her St. Bernand who lived in a house down the street from my house. I was convinced this woman was a witch and that she would cast spells on the neighborhood houses. (The lights in those houses would be out at night if she hast put her spell on them). Carrie Clickard was a guest author at Today's Little Ditty, in 2017. She challenged us to write a poem about a person, place, or thing which scared or spooked you as a child. Michelle Barnes, selected the poem below to be part of her collection, The Best of Today's Little Ditty: 2017-2018, published in 2019. I moved from Monrovia in 1963. It was that year that this magnificent house was torn down, making way for a housing development,  Designed by Moe Phillips with Canva I love autumn. And Joy Harjo's poem is spot on.
Fall Song by Joy Harjo It is a dark fall day. The earth is slightly damp with rain. I hear a jay. The cry is blue. I have found you in the story again. Is there another word for “divine”? I need a song that will keep the sky open in my mind. If I think behind me, I might break. If I think forward, I lose now. Forever will be a day like this Strung perfectly on the necklace of days. Slightly overcast Yellow leaves Your jacket hanging in the hallway Next to mine. From Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings (Norton, 2015). I am making an effort to listen to The Slowdown everyday. Listening to podcasts is something I am working on.
There other day I listened to Ada Limón, share this on The Slowdown: My Rock BY PAT MORA Summer’s ending. I sit on my desert rock, listen to the world’s hum. Crows and ravens caw, finches and sparrows chirp. A dog barks. Can I face the halls of judgments? You can read the rest at Poetry Foundation |
AuthorAll photos and poems in these blog posts are copyrighted to Jone Rush MacCulloch 2006- Present. Please do not copy, reprint or reproduce without written permission from me. 
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April 1 Mary Lee Hahn, Another Year of Reading April 2 Heidi Mordhorst, My Juicy Little Universe April 3 Tabatha, The Opposite of Indifference April 4 Buffy Silverman April 5 Rose Cappelli, Imagine the Possibilities April 6 Donna Smith, Mainely Write April 7 Margaret Simon, Reflections on the Teche April 8 Leigh Anne, A Day in the Life April 9 Linda Mitchell, A Word Edgewise April 10 Denise Krebs, Dare to Care April 11 Emma Roller, Penguins and Poems April 12 Dave Roller, Leap Of Dave April 13 Irene Latham Live You Poem April 14 Janice Scully, Salt City Verse April 15 Jone Rush MacCulloch April 16 Linda Baie, TeacherDance April 17 Carol Varsalona, Beyond Literacy Link April 18 Marcie Atkins April 19 Carol Labuzzetta at The Apples in My Orchard April 20 Cathy Hutter, Poeturescapes April 21 Sarah Grace Tuttle, Sarah Grace Tuttle’s Blog, April 22 Marilyn Garcia April 23 Catherine, Reading to the Core April 24 Janet Fagal, hosted by Tabatha, The Opposite of Indifference April 25 Ruth, There is no Such Thing as a God-Forsaken Town April 26 Patricia J. Franz, Reverie April 27 Theresa Gaughan, Theresa’s Teaching Tidbits April 28 Karin Fisher-Golton, Still in Awe Blog April 29 Karen Eastlund, Karen’s Got a Blog April 30 Michelle Kogan Illustration, Painting, and Writing |
