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Once upon a time I wrote a truly useful post on ekphrasis, and what it is, and rather than copy it here, I'll just direct you there (though I haven't checked all the links in that post to see if they still work).

Today, I'm sharing an ekphrastic poem based on this photograph of street art taken by Sara Lewis Holmes when she was in Tel Aviv, Israel.

As the crows fly

As the crows fly,
shadows etch themselves
on walls below.
Another look,
unlit phoenixes,
rising in ash.
Another view:
instead of crows,
rising doves.

You can read the other poems here:

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Once upon a time I wrote a truly useful post on <b>ekphrasis</b>, and what it is, and rather than copy it here, <a href="https://kellyrfineman.livejournal.com/109804.html" target="_blank">I'll just direct you there</a> (though I haven't checked all the links in that post to see if they still work).

Today, I'm sharing an ekphrastic poem based on this photograph of street art taken by Sara Lewis Holmes when she was in Tel Aviv, Israel.

<img src="https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kellyrfineman/7067736/192601/192601_600.jpg" alt="" title="">

As the crows fly

As the crows fly,
shadows etch themselves
on walls below.
Another look,
unlit phoenixes,
rising in ash.
Another view:
instead of crows,
rising doves.

You can read the other poems here:

<a href="https://missrumphiuseffect.blogspot.com/2019/08/poetry-sisters-at-it-again-with.html" target="_blank">Tricia</a>
<a href="https://lizgartonscanlon.com/2019/08/poetry-project-august-2019/" target="_blank">Liz</a>
<a href="https://wp.me/p6Bicx-6Lv" target="_blank">Laura</a>
<a href="https://saralewisholmes.blogspot.com/2019/08/poetry-friday-drawn-from-stone.html" "target="_blank">Sara</a>
<a href="http://tanitasdavis.com/wp/?p=9684" target="_blank">Tanita</a>
<a href=" " target="_blank">Andi</a>

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It's the first Friday in the month of July (tomorrow), so I'm posting my poem written in tandem with my lovely poetry sisters. This month it's triolets, and they were supposed to be heat-related.

Here's mine:

"I'd gladly move to Mexico"

I’d gladly move to Mexico
if only I could stand the heat
and learn to speak in español.
I’d gladly move to Mexico—
just pack my bags and off I’d go
without a care. Let me repeat:
I’d gladly move to Mexico
If only I could stand the heat.

Find the others here:


"When Tanita hugs you" -- a skinny poem

Oh my! It's Poetry Friday and for the first time in an AGE I am back and writing with my poetry sisters. This month, it's skinny poems.

The rules of a skinny poem:

Eleven lines. The first line can be any length; the last is as long as the first because it uses the same words, though they can be in a different order. ALL of the intervening lines are a single word, AND lines 2, 6, and 10 use the same word.

My poem is written following my vacation in San Francisco with my husband, during which I caught up in person with my poetry sister, Tanita Davis. It was so phenomenal to see her and hug her and get to talk with her, and so I decided to write about her.

When Tanita hugs you
when Tanita hugs you.

You can find the poems written by my poetry sisters here:


Cookie Time

This month, my poetry sisters and I wrote list poems. Mine is half recipe, half doggerel, but it uses at least THREE of the words we needed to choose from, and we were only required to use two, so I consider it a win.

The real win, of course, is getting to write poetry month after month with these beautiful ladies, whom I love.

Cookie Time
Grab the flour, sugar, butter
Stir until it’s mixed up well.
Sift to find the cookie cutters:
Stars will work, perhaps a bell.

Throw the whole tray in the oven
Hope none of the edges singe
Decorate with sprinkles, icing,
Grab the milk: it’s time to binge

Watch a movie, read a book
Tinsel up a Christmas tree
There are still some cookies left:
Two for you and one for me

Here are the links to the rest of my sisters:


Happy Friday, all!

Enough: an election poem

Today's poem is written with my poetry sisters and our challenge in mind -- use anaphora, the fine art of rhetorical repetition, in a poem. Think Churchill's "We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender."

Today's poem is also written with the upcoming election in mind, and with a reminder to you to vote. We need checks and balances to exist in our government, and without your vote, we may not have them.

by Kelly Ramsdell

I am only one,
anxious and afraid.
What can one do?

I am only one,
one voice, one vote.
What can one do?

I am only one,
frustrated, enraged.
What can one do?

I am only one
but so are you.
Join me, we're two.

I am only one,
but we are myriad,
disgusted, outraged.
Watch what we will do.

You can find my other poetry sisters' posts by clicking the links below:


And here's the link to the Poetry Friday roundup, hosted by my friend Jama:

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A short poem about an animal

Our assignment for this month was from Laura Purdie Salas: write a short poem (6 lines or fewer) about an animal, using all three of these words: spike, roof, shadow.

My first thought was to write about a baby pangolin, because have you seen a picture of a baby pangolin?


I have more predictably settled on a cat. Because of course.

Here's my take:

Not on a hot tin roof, not even once,
she sits on sills, twitches
at squirrels and birds, bugs and grasses,
shadows, dead leaves. She chases and hunts
in dreams, imagines fangs and claws,
spikes her felt bird when she wakes.

You can find the poems by my poetry sisters here. Edited to add: And Andi is finally back and joining us this month!:


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Poor She-Spye: an original poem

This month, my poetry sisters and I are working using what's called the Aphra Behn form. It is a form used by the female author and poet, Aphra Behn, back in the 1600s. I like to think of it as a mini-sonnet. It uses 9 lines of iambic tetrameter (4 poetic feet per line) plus one of iambic pentameter (5 poetic feet), for a total of 10 lines. And its rhyme scheme is ABBACDDCEE.

The one I wrote is a sort of mini-biography of Aphra Behn herself, who actually spied for England back in the day. She spent a bit of time in debtor's prison after King Charles II disavowed her and refused to reimburse her for her passage back to England. She wrote poems, books, and plays, and was what we would call a porto-feminist, in that she advocated for women's rights and women's sexual freedom.

"Poor She-Spye"

"Astrea"*, or the widow Behn,
was hired by King Charles II to spy
On William Scot, who meant to try
To overthrow the Crown (again).
She sailed to Flanders, found Will Scot,
Reported Dutch plans to attack
England's prize fleet, then traveled back.
Her warnings were dismissed as rot
Until the Dutch formed a blockade,
But it was by her pen her fame was made.

*Astrea was one of Behn's code-names.

She later wrote that she was "forced to write for Bread and not ashamed to owne it." And Virginia Woolfe wrote of her in A Room of One's Own: “All women together ought to let flowers fall upon the tomb of Aphra Behn, for it was she who earned them the right to speak their minds.”


To get to the rest of today's Poetry Friday posts, please visit my poetry sister, Tricia, over at The Miss Rumpius Effect by clicking the box below:

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A limerick to start June

This month, Tanita challenged us to write limericks about the birds and the bees, however we interpreted it. Owing to my being away this entire week at an art workshop in St. Petersburg, Florida, I only managed to write one (though I was supposed to write three). So without further ado, here it is:

When talk turns to birds and to bees,
some people get weak at the knees.
They giggle and squawk
They’d rather not talk
of sex or venereal disease.


A response to One Art

Elizabeth Bishop's "One Art" is among the best of villanelles. "The art of losing isn't hard to master," it begins. Tricia Stohr-Hunt selected the poem as our jumping-off space this month, and, though I got to it late, I am here, with my poem that uses a single line-- the second line--of the poem inside it.

I didn't write a villanelle, or even stick to form poetry. It's free verse, and I really wanted to cut a word out of the line I chose (the word "the"), but I kept the original words in their original order.

Here's the first stanza of Bishop's "One Art".

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Look for that middle line inside my poem about a shopping dream:

The Salesgirl Was Impeccable
by Kelly Ramsdell

I dreamed a shopping space
improbably large
Only dresses, displayed here
and there on racks widely
spaced atop wax-gleamed
concrete floors.

So many things seemed
filled with the intent
to win attention that
few could succeed.
Pink tea dresses on a
single rack, blue on another.
A black gown with a split skirt.
A dove-grey wrap I wish I owned.

The vast space between
displays should have
announced the shop a dream,
that and the salesgirl,
who was impeccable in a
streamlined 40's suit
and victory roll.

Such luxury of space
is not allowed in real life, although
the sameness of offerings
rang true, except one dress
constructed of ochre straps—
not mesh, not lace,
as much cage as garment—
brittle and unforgiving
in its beauty.

You can find my poetry sisters' posts by clicking the links below.

And, of course, it's Poetry Friday. You can find the host and all the other posts by clicking the box.

Tanita "places, and names, and where it was you meant"

Sara "I lost two cities, lovely ones, and vaster"

Liz "some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent"

Tricia, "The practice losing farther, losing faster"

Laura "Lose something every day, accept the fluster"

The rest of the Poetry Friday posts at the Poem Farm can be found by clicking the box below:

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Last month, we all wrote sonnets. Well, everyone in the poetry sisters except me wrote curtal sonnets, a form invented (or at least made popular) by Gerard Manley Hopkins. This month, we are each writing a tanka in response to somebody else's sonnet. I have been known to refer to a tanka as "a haiku pulling a trailer", but I've also discussed it far more thoroughly. Here's an introduction to tanka, another post describing the construction of tanka, and one about how the parts of a tanka relate to one another. And for fun, "a little tanka feminism".

Tanita Davis is responding to my sonnet about Kismet, the not-so-mighty huntress, and I am responding to Sara Lewis Holmes's curtal sonnet about Gerard Manley Hopkins, which you can read below:

Hopkins foxed sonnets to 3/4 spare
     wire-whipped stresses til they wailed
         half-tocked feral hymns from sprung clocks

Elbowing joy as birdsong from air,
      priested, pressed hard, he failed
          at 44, a life, curtailed and boxed

Yet, cold-call his poems, and he swells,
      as slugger’s bandied cauliflower ear; rung,
          you clangor, near strangled, on far-hailed
Words; carrion cry unlocked, he wells
                            blood to tongue.

Here is my response to Sara's poem, which is more about my feelings than anything else:

feral bird-song clocks—
imagery drives me cuckoo
cauliflower words
tiny white flower clusters
tasty morsels for the tongue

Here's where you can find the other poems:

Tanita, responding to me

Sara, responding to Liz

Liz, responding to Tricia

Tricia, responding to Laura

Laura, responding to Tanita

The rest of the Poetry Friday posts can be found by clicking the box below:

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