Loose Leaf Notes

Meadow Haiku:  Mown grass beckons me / A gathering of poets / And the river waits – by Judith Stevens    

-The following first appeared in The Floyd Press on June 22, 2017 –

There was a poet named William Blake at the 2^nd annual Little River Poetry Festival (LRPF).  Under the blue-striped festival tent in the field at On the Water, he read a take-off spoof on Blake’s “Tyger Tyger Burning Bright” with a turkey and a hunter as the subjects. “Don’t take this serious,” he warned before beginning his open-mic offering.  

From her seat in the round, Newport News poet Serena Fusek shared her poem about a clock … “You’re late / get cracking / all the time its whip is snapping…” Comedy was abundant in the mix of poetry shared at the weekend event, but there were serious poems too.

Jill Winkowski read a poignant poem prompted by the widely seen photograph of the little Syrian refugee boy face-down on a shore after drowning.  “They must be very good shoes / to hug a baby’s feet so snuggly / that even a wild sea doesn’t tug them off   …  Maybe they are not shoes at all / but are two are fish / carrying a child’s body  to the shore / to rest in the sand …”

Many of the poets were members of a Hampton Roads poetry community that the LRPF founders, Judith Stevens and Jack Callan, host for readings in their home each month. Two poets came from Pennsylvania and two musicians from Ohio attended.

Local readers at the weekend event included featured reader Colleen Redman (this writer), Katherine Chantal and Luci Merlo.   Redman, read from her newly published collection Packing a Suitcase for the Afterlife and Chantal read tea poems from her chapbook A Tea Poet’s Journey.

Luci Merlo, a poet and R.N. from Blacksburg, was also a featured reader.  Her work as a nurse and her poetic creativity came together in a poem titled “Sherpa” “… I carry my good friend’s laundry / wood for the home fire / water for mopping / a tune ….I carry chants and prayers /the old cadence of mass / in my blood and bones / the drone of the heart sutra … I carry infirmed bodies to the toilet / to bed / in and out of wheelchairs / I carry massage tables / lemons / oil / a music box…”

Callan read a poem about coming upon a herd of cows at night while walking on the Sowers’ family land where the festival is held.  “… The cows will not forgive me / stupid lout who stomped through their dream / Even now the sound of my breath annoys them / This is their land / but I am their poet… I am their clown…”

Stevens read a prize winning poem she wrote about a phone booth that a survivor of the 2011 tsumani in Japan put in his yard for calling lost loved ones.

Among the poems that featured poet Tanya Cunningham read included “I Ain’t Gone Forget: A Poem for Jordan Edwards” “… Ain’t no marches gone fix the hole in his head / so I wonder which part of my arm I would have to sever to feel complete again / Last summer, all my tongues tasted of blood / felt like endings too big for my mouth / couldn’t form the words I meant to say…”

Narrators of her poems often take on characters and sometimes accents, Cunningham explained during an open discussion.  She also taught a workshop on Spoken Word Poetry, leading attendees in reading children’s stories that they acted out as a way to practice reading with passion and animation.

There was also a workshop on Japanese Haiku that included the usage and history of the form, and one on writing rondels,  a variation of the rondeau consisting of two quatrains followed by a quintet (13 lines total) or a sestet (14 lines total).  Walt Whitman Yoga was practiced at the beginning and closing of each day.  Some poets wrote ekphrastic poetry – poems inspired by a scene or work of art –while kayaking or hiking up Buffalo Mountain.

Inspiring, fellowship, peaceful and un-pretentious were words attendees used to describe the festival retreat experience. “I’m learning more about writing.  Everyone has something to share and give,” said Argentinean native Evangelina Poggi at the close of the festival on Sunday afternoon..

“It’s really a chance to break away from the mundane everyday things in such a beautiful place and with such lovely people,” said Merlo.  “The poetry reaches unexpected places.”

Suffolk poet Don MacKellar, who rode up and rode out on his Harley, said the weekend reinforced something important, that he’ll be back next year.