If it's spring, it must be time for Lynn Levin's Poetry Class!

 Needed some supplies at the Giant, so drove over this morning. Ran into Wayne, my neighbor on Greyhorse Road, who came shopping with a friend of his who was riding in one of their wheelchairs, after a hip replacement.

Wayne did not like that idea.

He had a bunch of Snapple in his basket. I asked him what his late wife Carol liked to drink. Coke or Diet Coke, he said.

Important to always remember and honor their beloveds.

***

What kind of coffee am I drinking?

The Snickerdoodle or something like that Iris gave me years ago when they visited. It's quite tasty and will help me compose.




My poem of the day on Facebook

THE LITTLE BLUE BUDDHA

Sitting outside this morning
on the stoop, the buzz of
a pollinator shattered my
reverie, arriving like a
bomb on the silky soft
egg white

One thing on my mind was
the Easter Egg Hunt on
the White House Lawn.
A tradition since the days
of Rutherford B Hayes.

Egg hunt? There was none.
But, Donny, his wife may
have said. The children
will be so disappointed.

Go back to your knitting,
Melania, no one will notice.
No one, dear Donny, but the media.

The little blue Buddha
in the front yard said
the Serenity Prayer by
Reinhold Niebuhr,
while I turned my
head skyward on this
glorious spring day
and sighed for all the
deaths coming down
for today.

IT WAS CHALLENGED by a woman on POETRY PLACE named Lin Bai. She's a Chinese poet and novelist, says Wiki, who focuses on women's issues.

My answer to her, on Poetry Place was: Lin Bal, that's not what I heard on the Charlie Rose Show last night. Also, I get the Daily Report from the White House. On the day of the Egg Hunt, there was not a single photo, only photos of past egg hunts. No matter.

***

 
 Lynn Levin. Last year she cancelled one of her classes as her father was ill. In St Louis, I think. He did pass away.


LYNN LEVIN'S POETRY CLASS AT THE LIBRARY

Such poems! I'd never read a single one.
The Highwayman! Dark and handsome, he
rode in to save his lady, kept prisoner
by uncouth men. Rather than be sullied
by such vermin, she shot herself.

Would you?

A poem about Smarty Jones, the
racehorse all America fell in
love with. Even my mother
watched! The way the poet
described the horse, we
could see Smarty and rider
as they faltered near the
finish line. We wept at
our long table in the
library, our papers
spread about, now
marred with tears.

The name of the poet?
Lynn.
Lynn Levin.

***
Am working to finish my entries for P and S. Will write a narrative poem, as we're reading em in class.

I have many ideas, but if you'll excuse me, gonna try my hand with a good old fashioned soda fountain.

And, I will NOT do research as I had planned.

Wish me luck!!!