Tag: Poems

poetry

Into a New Year with Poetry

Mona Alvarado Frazier

A steady light rain has blessed drought-stricken southern California for the past three days. This gave me plenty of time to read, write, and enjoy my Christmas chocolates and teas.

I know it’s Saturday, but given it’s a holiday weekend, I decided to do a Sunday share today to honor the year going out and the one coming in. I find the complexity and simplicity of poetry communicate feelings the best.

Burning the Old Year

BY NAOMI SHIHAB NYE

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.   
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,   
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,   
lists of vegetables, partial poems.   
Orange swirling flame of days,   
so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,   
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.   
I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,   
only the things I didn’t do   
crackle after the blazing dies.

And to welcome in a new year: Promise by Jackie Kay.

More rain is in store for this evening, so I’ll celebrate the passing year and talk about the one ahead with my two kids, who’ve decided to stay home instead of attending parties.

A wish for every good thing in your life to come into being. Flip the page to a new chapter and discover what’s ahead.

P.S. If you noticed, I accidentally posted a poem today. I hit a ‘reblog’ button of a poet I follow, Bill Bisgood. He writes a daily haiku. They’re very good. Visit his page.

Holiday Traditions, Mexican Holiday food

Tamales, holidays & poetry

Mona Alvarado Frazier

The next couple of days are spent making tamales, so I’m sending out my Sunday Share post ahead of time.

This year it’s a vegan, vegetarian, and meat lovers tamale fest.

All of the tamales are filled with strips of California green chile. What makes them vegan is adding plant-based cheese strips, while the others have Monterrey Jack cheese, and the ex-vegan, now a meat lover, has a beef filling.

Making tamales is a lot of work. It takes hours, but worth it because of the tradition we have in our family. Every December, I write a post about tamales. The most visited is this tamale recipe.

I’ve been part of the tamale-making process since five years old. Those were the days when my aunts and cousins came over to my mom’s to make pork tamales. When only the women did the preparation. Now, the men help spread the ojas, the corn husks, and fill them. (At least at my house).

The best part of making tamales is when the family is around the table, chatting, laughing, and recalling the previous years’ stories as we spread the masa on the ojas. We always have music or a Christmas movie on in the background. We snack on appetizers as we fold, and I jump from table to sink to stove.

As I fill and fold the ojas, I think about how the masa is suffused with my culture. The filling is loaded with each of my kid’s personalities. I’m folding stories as I wrap each tamal.

This recollection helped me choose a poem by Joy Harjo to share:

Perhaps the World Ends Here

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

Joy Harjo

Thank you for subscribing, commenting, and liking these posts throughout the year. I appreciate it.

May you experience the light of laughter, the warmth of love, and the joy of gratitude this season and beyond.