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Runcible spoons

And other kitchen necessities
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama ∙ 310 LIKES
Tierney
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!"
I hear it in my mom's voice. I haven't heard my mom's voice in fifteen months. She used to read those lines as if she were the cat. Her "You elegant fowl!" sounded like she was calling the Owl a dirty old rascal. With the next breath, she shifted to a sort of surprised delight, as though she had just discovered the Owl had a beautiful baritone...
And I can still hear her saying these lines in exactly this way, so I'm smiling and tearing up at the same time.
Maggie
I awoke today feeling the weight of a melancholy weekend, not from tasks and overwhelm, but from longing to be with family. I’d planned to travel to Nashville to see two of my three young adult kids who live there but the weather canceled my plan. It is my 52nd birthday today and my parents died over ten and two years ago…but reading Edward Lear’s poem was a reunion and return to my mom’s presence. She used to recite poems to me when I was young and this one, buried but not forgotten (as I recognize it!), brought her voice and presence to me this morning. I love the rhyming. Thank you.

Short poems

Big stories
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama ∙ 229 LIKES
Mona Chopra
As I Lay Here in My Mom’s Bed Eleven Weeks After Her Passing, I Remember All the Times She Invited Me to Sleep in the Bed Next to Her
And my automatic, cheerful, high pitched response: “no thanks!”
Jenny Noble Anderson
EVERY YEAR MY MOM GIVES ME A BOX OF ANDES MINTS TO PLACE IN MY CHRISTMAS STOCKING.
Last year, she forgot.

It's pantoum time

What object is important to you?
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama ∙ 262 LIKES
Michael T Smith
After Danny’s accident it was given
Now it rests at the bottom of the stairway
Visitors stop and ask if I painted it
Smiling, I shake my head and say “Some day”
Now it rests at the bottom of the stairway
A childhood road in a winters light
Smiling, I shake my head and say “Some day”
Remembering that crisp fall night
A childhood road in a winters light
It brings some kind of hope that gets lost
Remembering that crisp fall night
It seems every gift we are given also has a cost
It brings some kind of hope that gets lost
Visitors stop and ask if I painted it
It seems every gift we are given also has a cost
After Danny’s accident it was given
Elianor
In a blue box from my Great Grandmother’s hands
By my pillow tucked under the quilt
She needs a wash
How often I lay awake at night and laze in the morning
By my pillow tucked under the quilt
Once white fur, a stained pink ribbon, bent whiskers
How often I lay awake at night and laze in the morning
An old, worn toy
Once white fur, a stained pink ribbon, bent whiskers
My body ached with dread and despair unnamed
An old, worn toy
My coherence and comfort
My body ached with dread and despair unnamed
She needs a wash
My coherence and comfort
In a blue box from my Great Grandmother’s hands

A vessel

… the sea is so big and my boat is so small
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama ∙ 197 LIKES
maeve.fior
I turn to the language of my garden. What is it that the weeds are teaching me today? -- "Easy come, easy go." What about the bulbs? "There is a time for dormancy."
A poem I wrote:
Let Me Begin Again
after Major Jackson and Philip Levine
Let me begin again
as a patient bulb
nestled in the dark earth
of early spring.
Let me begin this time
already knowing
the schedule of my blooming,
settled snugly on my basal plate,
gathering strength
below the surface, self-contained
and content in the damp.
This time, let me know
that the darkness is essential
to my ability to detect light.
Let me know my season,
know all things have theirs,
that mine will arrive
as sure as the earth spins.
My business is silent and secret –
let me not act with the rash urgency
of the weed, overeager,
tangled and choking
the plantings.
Let me emerge when
the pale, nudging light of spring
bids me
reach and reach
for the warmth until
my petals unfold.
Wendy Haynes
I turn to the language of Needs. When I struggle or mourn, I am curious as to what is it that is calling to be heard? What needs are underlying my expression whether that be sadness or celebration? Just this week in a high tide of tiredness, I paused and listened to the waves of sadness and uncertainty. Listening to my body, to my breath, my needs were for rest, integrity and wellness. I pondered on these over my busy week: two difficult funerals and a 20th anniversary wedding celebration and renewal of vows. Mourning and celebration.
How then, I inquire, do these needs live in me, become alive through me? I cancelled what I had planned for today and leaned into a day of rest and prayer and meditation. I walked slowly along the beach. I took my 88 year old father for a walk; and then after dinner, I sat and watched the light fade and night descend. I feel nourished and rested, and ready for bed and to let go of everything as I sleep tonight.
I turn to the language of needs and listen for what is most alive and calling me home. This, time and time again, brings for me: clarity, connection and a sense of belonging. In writing down my needs in my diary is like a haiku, simple yet complex, seasonal and surprising.
Happy blessed birthday Padraig. When I read your messages and respond to your prompts it meets my needs for creativity, inspiration and a sense of belonging to this wonderful community you nourish and nurture. Thank you.

Making a poem

During a week of awful anniversaries
Dear friends,
Pádraig Ó Tuama ∙ 303 LIKES
Katherine H.
From time to time, it helps to ask whether I’ve got something backwards. Doesn’t always work, but it can be profound when it does.. October 7 is intolerable. What came before and to which October 7 is a response is intolerable, unsustainable. The only thing I can think of to ask is whether in these situations our grief can be so profoundly shared that it might transform us, might travel with us to a moment where imagination and action are again possible, where that ordinary, momentary, 180-degree rearrangement of expectations can accommodate us to each other in just some tiny or fragile way that we did not have before.
David Levy
Hi, Padraig,
As always, thank you for your thoughts, concerns, and chosen words. In 2016 I sat on a park bench in the center of a small village in Palestine, drinking Arabic coffee and playing, of all things, a Native American style flute. A Palestinian family arrived and sat at a picnic table right before me. The parents had just bought their two young daughters small wooden flutes. One-by-one the children took turns sitting by me and we played flutes together. In that moment I felt adopted by this family. Music gave us a freedom that transcended words. Once tasted, this freedom released us from feeling separated from each other.
I offer a poem by Wang Wei(a very new visitor into my life):
A Red Peony
Among captivating greens idle and serene,
it’s red robes are shallow, and then so deep.
A blossom’s heart is grief-torn? In all this
spring color, who could fathom the heart?
Your words today, Padraig, deepen my appreciation of this poem. Best, David🏮

Upcoming poetry events

Check out poetry events happening near you!
Welcome to Uplift’s monthly free events newsletter, featuring poetry events in Meanjin (Brisbane), Queensland, and Australia-wide.
Uplift Poetry ∙ 1 LIKES

Butter

By Teddy Webb
Hello Fridgescapers ! Before we reach back into our kitchen to present you with another food flavored poem, I would like to take another moment to thank you & Tania for the piece we put out on Friday about the myth of western goodness. Thank you for reading and sharing it widely (please continue to do so) & Thank you
Poetry Trapper Keeper ∙ 9 LIKES
Todd Jackson
Smooth and sweet!


2024-25 NBA Western Conference Preview Haikus

The last poetry for a calendar year, I promise
We just did a quick whip-around of the Eastern Conference with some preview haikus and a Key Question, and now we’re back with fifteen more teams to discuss!
Mike Shearer ∙ 19 LIKES
3 IN THE KEY
The Nuggets bench might be one of the worst in the league among playoff teams (minus Russ, cuz well, it's Russ).
The Pels will move Ingram for Ayton, though Ingram will somehow end up in Miami or Milwaukee.
baclap
So just to be clear, this doubles as your Western conference rankings prediction right? I love the Phoenix take. Bold but fair. I'm pretty much with you the whole way but I'd move Memphis up to 4 and just slide everyone else down. I'd put the Lakers above the Rockets too at least, maybe the Pels also.

Stick To Your Guns

And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he kept crying out all the more… Mark 10:48
“Stick to your guns,” the father counseled.
Holy Poetry ∙ 8 LIKES
Martin Casella
Excellent advice, Frank. Thank you.


Poetry: Firebird

The Ekphrastic Poems
I’m so glad to be posting this poem today. As the American election looms, today feels like a very good day to celebrate and honour Saint Lucy. I’m sure many of you are familiar with her story, but I wasn’t until I began writing this collection of poems. I’d looked at Caravaggio’s painting, ‘The Burial of St. Lucy’, many times, but I’d not known what ha…
Emerging Hermit ∙ 23 LIKES
Kasey Jueds
Oh thank you for this, both the poem and commentary; so grateful to have found your work. There’s much I love here but especially: “… we often forget the invisible worlds altogether. Yet this is where courage and truth count for so much.”
Helen Boden
💜from one born on St Lucy’s Day!

Episode 34 - Kala Ramesh

In this episode, Claire chats to poet Kala Ramesh about her collection The Forest I Know published by Harper Collins.
The Wee Sparrow Poetry Press ∙ 10 LIKES
Rupa Anand
A super podcast on Kala’s book - ‘The Forest I Know’. The ‘beauty, transience, & mysterious Grace’ of Tanka - speaks to me in more ways than one . . .Loved listening to Kala in her deliciously mellifluous voice. Enjoyed it very much. ❤️
Nandita
Loved listening to Kala in this episode. Claire asked very insightful questions and the discussion was so engaging.
A musician and a poet, and so much more, Kala never ceases to inspire me. Listening to such lovely poems in Kala’s lyrical style kept me spellbound.
I will have to come to this podcast again, atleast once more to savour the beauty of this conversation. Thank you!!



Craft & Play Vol. 20

Facing our fears
Hello darkness my old friend. We’re talking about our fears again.
Of Trees & Poetry, Julia McMullen, and E R Skulmoski ∙ 13 LIKES
Riley Morsman
I think one of the creepiest poems I've written was a response to a Game of Thrones episode. Ha! Not my usual subject. But I was so disturbed by a specific act of violence in the episode (eye gouging... I'll leave it there) that I had to write about it to get it out of my head. I'm more likely to stick to darkness and decay found in nature, and I'm okay with that. 😂 But I do love this challenge!
Kassi Wilson
🖤👻

October Poetry Dump

Wednesday is about books and writing. (And reading). Once a month or so I share the latest poems I’ve written. Here’s October's…
I seem to have started this thing where at the start of a month I share the previous month’s batch of poems. I’m writing them when and where I can, sharing most of them on this site here, although not often emailing them out to you directly, so instead I gather them all in a ‘dump’ here at the start of each month.
Simon Sweetman ∙ 1 LIKES


I'm trying something new...

Exciting news! I have just launched a brand-new Substack newsletter dedicated to all things Atticus but with a special focus on book publishing tips, tricks, and recommendations for subscribers.
Atticus ∙ 18 LIKES

Breathe Poetry Into Me

Erotica Poëtica
I had a partner who laughed when I said: “Respect the Goddess.”
Amanda Norgaard ∙ 18 LIKES
Julie thonnel
So beautiful!! ❤️‍🔥

Neurodivergence, Poetry and Me

or: A Trip to the Forwards with Kim Moore.
Glimmers are the opposite of triggers: they are “tiny micro moments of joy—fleeting, everyday moments that elicit a rush of happiness, gratitude, calm, peace, safety, or goodwill”. Like a squirrel storing nuts in the autumn, I am saving up glimmers in my mind, a bulwark against winter and its darkness. I find them in nature; in my teenager, Niamh; in la…
Kim Moore and Clare Shaw ∙ 58 LIKES
Deborah Harvey
Thank you, Clare. My four children have varying degrees of neurodivergence, two of them having been diagnosed in very early childhood, but it has taken me forever to recognise how it manifests in myself, and articles like these are hugely validating as I give myself permission to do so.
Kathleen Madigan
a powerful read Clare....thank you for your bravery. It makes a difference .
On another note. I wrote earlier about not being able to put a new card into substack and I have tried repeatedly with two different cards but now it is rejecting cards that are perfectly ok
Not sure what to do but will try in daylight hours on Monday to get an answer from substack...I can only pay the the bottom tier but I would like to support you two. All signed up for January :) whoop whoop !

When Numbers Were Poetry

Numerical symbolism in medieval culture
In a recent Substack post, Peter Kwasniewski examined, with his usual cogency and scholarly rigor, the two different numbering systems used in the Book of Psalms. His article will be of interest to those who enjoy studying or praying the Psalms, and also those who have a general interest in Bible translations and the English-language biblical tradition. However, there i…
Robert Keim ∙ 49 LIKES
Fat Rabbit Iron
I’ve taught math classes before—trigonometry, statistics, calculus—and nowhere in those curricula do we find this sense of wonder.
And this is why math is universally despised. The way we teach it just sucks the soul out of it. Everyone knows about classical literature and classical music, but classical mathematics is sorely neglected. If we went back to studying Euclid, Apollonius of Perga, Aristotle, et al., I wager that we would see much more intellectual creativity. Primary sources beat textbooks every single time.
Hilary White
Robert, I got this note just now from a priest friend in Toronto who asked me to pass it along.
~~
today on my substacks feed I got a triple reference to Kwasniewski, Keim, and you discussing number theory. This and symbolism are crucial to the recovery of premodern thought, as you and your cohort see. I'm writing to you because I am so computer illiterate that I don't know how to submit anything to whatever sort of entity forwarded the summary of your articles and comments to me. 
Mr Keim's work is good, but in it he quotes something very puzzling about the number six, which seems to be a mistake--or possibly deliberate trolling on someone's part, viz., the claim that 6 represents imperfection. Far from it! 6 is (and is known as) the first of the "perfect numbers" in traditional number theory and in medieval lore. In witness to which I append a text about this standard teaching. If you could pass it along to Mr Keim it might be useful for him to consider:
“The number 6 was the first perfect number, and the number of creation. The adjective "perfect" was attached to numbers that are precisely equal to the sum of all the smaller numbers that divide into them, as 6=1+2+3. The next such number, incidentally, is 28=1+2+4+7+14, followed by 496=1+2+4+8+16+31+62+124+248; by the time we reach the ninth perfect number, it contains thirty-seven digits. Six is also the product of the first female number, 2, and the first masculine number, 3. The Hellenistic Jewish philosopher Philo Judaeus of Alexandria (ca. 20 B.C.-c.a. A.D. 40), whose work brought together Greek philosophy and Hebrew scriptures, suggested that God created the world in six days because six was a perfect number. The same idea was elaborated upon by St. Augustine (354-430) in The City of God: "Six is a number perfect in itself, and not because God created the world in six days; rather the contrary is true: God created the world in six days because this number is perfect, and it would remain perfect, even if the work of the six days did not exist." Some commentators of the Bible regarded 28 also as a basic number of the Supreme Architect, pointing to the 28 days of the lunar cycle. The fascination with perfect numbers penetrated even into Judaism, and their study was advocated in the twelfth century by Rabbi Yosef ben Yehudah Ankin in his book, Healing of the Souls.” ― Mario Livio, The Golden Ratio: The Story of Phi, the World's Most Astonishing Number
P.S. I can see that, considered from the perspective of grace presupposing and perfecting nature that 6 would be incomplete. But I think the traditional understanding of the integrity of creation in its own order (even fallen creation) would militate against identifying it with imperfection first and foremost. It is almost perverse to identify the first perfect number with imperfection!

This Week’s Spark ✨ Moments That Matter

This week, I’m sharing the sparks of creativity that have fueled my soul—small reminders that beauty is everywhere, if you pause long enough to see it.
This week, I’ve found inspiration in the quiet spaces—the fleeting moments we often overlook. Whether it's a piece of music, a line of poetry, or an artist's work that caught my eye, these are the things that reminded me to slow down and appreciate the beauty that exists in the stillness. I hope these small sparks bring something meaningful to your own …
Atticus ∙ 6 LIKES

A Round-Up of Halloween Poems

✨ + an invitation to write/share your own! ✨
Dear Friends,
Maya C. Popa ∙ 44 LIKES
Angela Cummings
The Gluck and Sexton poems especially spoke to me today.
And thank you for the prompt! Here goes:
“Jaywalkers”
Those who fear the dead
have certainly not met
The Living.
Nothing scares the bejesus
out of me more
than bumping into
one of those sugared-up bags,
all chill and no fulfill,
costumed-up for a customary life,
as they walk by, dim-lamped,
forgetting to look
the dissolving hour
directly in the eye.
🎃
Mary Roblyn
The Spirit Speaks
I wake to find the window open again.
Nudged, pushed, shoved, flung -
Your rage escalated. Eighteen months.
I know what comes next.
It’s Halloween. Can’t you wait?
Tomorrow’s all yours: Day of the Dead
When you get to do your worst.
Today, just let me drink my coffee first.