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Remembering William Anders

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New York World's Fair, Harper's BazaarMartin MunkácsiDate: 1938Style: Art Nouveau (Modern)Genre: photo

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"How fragile it is, the world – I almost wrote the word but caught myself. Either one could be erased."

~Maggie Smith

My writing is all over 2023
No, my writing is 2023.

Each sidewalk block a sentence starting with I
a loopy slanted letter Mrs. Farruggia taught
me in third grade.

What is adulthood but practice writing
messages in journals for years?

This 1938 Harper’s Bazaar photograph

was from a time when the world

could have spun in either direction.

The model warns that the last step into
darkness is filled with light in block letters.
Keep walking, eyes ahead, in a straight line.

Along the sidewalk, I’m stepping over cracks
as I’ve already fallen into the future.

I tap away at my keyboard creating
enough world for us to hold onto

for a little while still in the light.

Linda Mitchell
January 4, 2024

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Photographer Jerome Davis is a favorite of mine. He shared this photo on his facebook feed this past week.

Jerome Davis. Facebook 1/7/24.
https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=1110568989898940&set=pcb.1110569019898937

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Eppendorf. Hamburg, Germany. December '23

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In this world, this ocean, this now,

we glide, we swim side by side.

Turning this-a-way, that-a-way

in tune with each other, in tune

with a current that leads us to

thanks for good food and safe harbor
in this world, this ocean, this now.

Linda Mitchell
1/26/24

A kwansaba contains seven lines with no more than seven words in each line, and each word is less than seven letters.

https://www.culturalfront.org/2010/03/kwansaba.html#:~:text=A%20Kwansaba%20is%20a%2049,is%20less%20than%20seven%20letters.

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It’s a world of laughter
A World of Tears

My cryin’ baby of a world
It’s a world of hopes
And a world of fears

I’ve left behind today–

There’s so much that we share
That it’s time we’re aware

I would na mither it for…

…It’s a small world after all
It’s a small world after all

For all the red jew’ls of Cathay!

There is just one moon
And one golden sun

For I am breasted to the moors
And a smile means
Friendship to ev’ryone

And skirted for the sea–

Though the mountains divide
And the oceans are wide

That cryin’ baby of a World,

It’s a small world after all

It shan’t come bother’in me!

It’s a small world after all

I will not even stop to find
It’s a small world after all
What ye’re a-cryin’ for–

It’s a small world after all
A-wailin’ and a-scrapin’

It’s a small world after all
And a callin’ it “War.”

It’s a small world after all.

It’s a Small World Lyrics by Richard & Roger Sherman. 1960
World Lullaby by Frances Shaw 1919

It’s a Small World Lyrics by Richard & Roger Sherman. 1960
World Lullaby by Frances Shaw 1919

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The people grew weary of war

and the sadness of war

and all its destruction

when someone said,

Now let’s play peace.

And the people

rusty at peace-play

slowly put down their phones

and their pride

They picked up dice

letter tiles, pawns

decks of cards--

dusted them off and dealt

Until every person

In World’s every corner

had a new hand

placing pairs on the table

taking new cards from the deck

taking turns

Talking about the next play

Talking about their days

Giggling as they played,

forgetting who

won the last round

anyway.

Linda Mitchell

2/9/24

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If left unguarded this world would be

colorless, dark, and dangerous

no life, no heat, no pink, no green

If left unguarded this world would be

a place for dragons to walk among us

dancing, roaring, tossing beads

If left unguarded this world would be

colorless dark and dangerous

Linda Mitchell

2/16/24

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World was feeling cranky
after a long week
of turning round
and round
fast but not fast enough
to escape
the snarling
heat of self-absorption
of the beings
in charge
of this generation.
Noise!
There was so much noise.
Satellites hovered
like mosquitos
in summer, hungry
for a little more blood
a little more signal
to keep the

noisy people satisfied.
World longed for a time
when a comet
hurtling through an icy
galactic distance was all
anyone could
think about.
Maybe next week
next year, next millennia
would be a little calmer.
Maybe World could catch
a break.
The world could only hope.

Linda Mitchell

2/23/24

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1920's Chevrolet Ad and Grey Figure by Willie Baumeister. 1921/1922

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1921 Woman

This new era of independence
sees me in any driver’s seat.

I don’t need your approval.
Easy shift. Easy steer.

A figure in steel
and red lipstick.
Watch me,

world!

Linda Mitchell
3/1/24

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Painting by Lisa Zador as seen on Jama's Alphabet Soup.

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spring opens the door

april is a rabbit’s world

soft ears, pink noses

Linda Mitchell

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It’s a spring break world of sleeping in

after staying up way too late

traveling far to see close

family -- live yellow
sunshine memories
‘neath redbud trees
a spring break

world is
supreme

Linda Mitchell

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On the road.
The waking world
and me
singing with the birds
and the rising sun.

Ahead.

a bright light.

Construction lamp?
Emergency?

Trouble on the tracks?

Approach.

No construction, no lamp

Just a triangular street sign
reflecting the sun
Yield.

Linda Mitchell

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Catherine Flynn’s Poem from 2022
Blended with a Nursery Rhyme

In the before times,
when the world still fed on dreams,
I had a little nut tree,

forests filled with

hazel, hawthorn,

oak and ash

Nothing would it bear,

spread across the land,

sharing their gifts with all.

But a silver nutmeg

But dark clouds of greed

Descended on the forest.

and a golden pear.

The timeless rhythms of

hazel, hawthorn,

oak and ash

The King of Spain’s daughter

were drowned out the the

thwack, thwack, thwack,

Of the axe.

came to visit me

The forest thinned

and wept.

all for the sake of

And the world forgot

my little nut tree.

How to dream.

Her dress was made of crimson

The forest remembers

jet black was her hair

Those dreams.

She asked for my nutmeg

They whisper to us

On the wind

and my golden pear

Of hazel, hawthorn,

Oak and ash.

I had a little nut tree
and a golden pear

Be still.

Listen.

They’re waiting for you.

there.

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A Trinet

This earth

our world

whirls faster than we can think
of ways to spin down slower
to lower

blood pressure

a measure

Linda Mitchell

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A cell is to the world
as a brick in a wall
sized for Colossus
so mighty but also small

Linda Mitchell

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The World is Caught in a Screen

--hand-held and palm-sized

everywhere these days. It allures

with urgency to hide and seek, run

and fight, to

best those other players hiding
behind other screens everywhere.

It’s an exclusive masked hunt
of perfect anonymity.

It must be our own adrenaline
that we’re addicted to.

A pounding rush rich with killing,
scoring points for a leaderboard,

a glowing dominance and chest
thumping pride that supersedes

any other need to sleep,
eat, love or live an analog life

in real time.

Linda Mitchell

5/24/24

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I’m weeping for the world again

For all the children we’ve lost

wasted cities burned and barren
I’m weeping for the world again
coded swords defeated our pens

None of us can afford this cost
I’m weeping for the world again
for all the children we’ve lost

Linda Mitchell

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Family members
sit in a front row
of the audience
as our youngest,
our whole world,
takes the stage.

We close eyes,
bow our heads
and clasp hands,
listen harder
than we ever have
as judges annunciate
words of this year’s Bee.

Armistice

Ceasefire

Disarm
Hostage-release

P E A C E

Truce

Withdrawal

Linda Mitchell

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Today’s Poem

A roman candle

in shiny red
and gold paper,

waiting for sundown
killing time
until fireflies

and slow-roasted marshmallows
over long burning coals.
.
A call from the back porch,

No swimming a half-hour after s’mores

when roman candle
will backflip into night
splashing sky sparkles
at Moon and stars

for all the world
a Fourth of July.

Linda Mitchell

7/5/24 draft

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'Hanging Dragonfly' lamp by Tiffany. Chicago Institute of Art 2024

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World

A round

rolling marble

in a solar system we know best
–even if it wobbles
teetering back and forth

between hot cocoa

and iced-tea.

World collects
stories and bits of wisdom
for her memoirs
like that time
we got stuck
between earth and sea

The cloudy streak of white
in the center of the marble

the only place she’s found
upon which to write.

Linda Mitchell--draft

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What is the world
to you and me
beyond this tree,
oxygen it creates
air we breathe
in the shade
of its leafy canopy
where we
sit quiet and read
or think
of infinite somethings
our world could be.

Linda Mitchell
7/15/24 draft

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Summer

A simmering world of
dragonfly darts,
lily pads,
a heron we named Gladys standing
one statuesque foot raised
in the weeds,
eye focused

waiting the length of Cicada’s whine
until below the surface
of the pond
fat, lazy carp swish
through warmer June waters
raising lips to bless the sun.
She doesn’t mind our bikes

riding around
and around the pond
hot wheels
surfing heat waves

popsicle drip tattoos
stamped to the underside of our wrists
admission to summer.

Linda Mitchell. Draft 2. Aug. 2

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Night sky,
opens like an oyster.

We see specks,
grit from our work-a-day world,

glittering stars.

Linda Mitchell. Draft

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8/16/24 from Laura Purdie Salas' clunker

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8/16/24 from Laura Purdie Salas' clunker

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Night sky,
opens like an oyster.

We find grit
from our work-a-day world,

glittering like stars.

Linda Mitchell. draft

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8/25/24 Sparked by Karen's Eastlund's comment with Koosier poem: "So This is Nebraska" 

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8/25/24 Sparked by Karen's Eastlund's comment with Koosier poem: "So This is Nebraska" 

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Wave

Glorious in red and gold
defined a little bit by lingering underbellies
of purple, blue, and gray clouds,

the sun breaks

my world wide open
yolk running in all directions

before toast pops up,

my first coffee slurp

and my sit-bones settling
onto the deck’s top step.
I’m here reveling in the light,

waiting for someone
to wave to.

I'm writing this to remember summer.
When I’m back in school,
monitoring nodding hoods

over glowing cell phones
not yet woke to the notion
that any of us only have
so many sunrises –
seasons, chances
to wave to each other
alive with the joy
of another sunrise.

Linda Mitchell. Draft 8/25s

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9/5/24 Sparked by Marci's offered clunker

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9/5/24 Sparked by Marci's offered clunker

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World —From Marci’s Clunker

World is a round

rolling marble word

in a solar system we know best
–even if it wobbles
teetering back and forth

between summer,

winter,

hot cocoa and iced-tea.

World collects
stories and bits of wisdom
for her memoirs
like that time
we got stuck
between earth and sea

The cloudy streak of white
in the center of the marble

the only place she’s found
upon which to write.

Linda Mitchell. draft

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How do I write a poem for the world?

There are so many beautiful

and broken bits.

I don’t know how to

bring them together

tie the wonderful

to the wrong,

make sense of the perpetual
balancing between the two.

Innocents die, as do forests
and species of animals.
Minerals are scraped

from mines and oceans.

We’ve filled our atmosphere
with exhaust and the fumes
from so much anger.

Surely, the world means to care

just as soon as it
can recover.

It can recover

can’t it?

Linda Mitchell. Draft

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World called me close

asked me to slow down,

close my eyes and listen

for just a few minutes.
I did this small thing
World asked asked of me.
I waited patiently
to learn what World
had to tell me--
what it wanted

what it needed.
Cars on the highway
rushed, rushed, rushed,
Cell phones beeped
all around
Footsteps clicked and scuffed.
World surrounded me
filled in my listening space

with silvery solitude
and whispered, this
this

this.

Linda Mitchell. Draft

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Dear World,

I just want you to know
I’m here
I might not be able
to do much more
then stand with you,
bear witness to today

name the things

that aren’t OK,
and cheer for those

who celebrate
tears running down

my face.

I just want you to know
I hear you
groaning in the night

putting up a fight to breathe
praying things will
work out right.

I'm here

right here

still.

Linda Mitchell. Draft

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haiku

this hopeful world where
flowers love the feel of rain
while reaching for sun

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It’s a 24k day.
Sky catching leaves

escaping the jeweler’s crucible.

No ring, or medal

more brilliantly crafted.

Test it, taste it.

Leave teeth marks.

Show the world it’s real.

Linda Mitchell--draft

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Dear October,

Thank you, tenth month

for this brief intermission

your brisk atmosphere,

brilliant leaf swirls,

beneath this world’s sun

a giant disco ball

of Autumn’s dance party.

I promise to return

to everyday life–taking care
cleaning up,

preparing for winter
after the very next slow song.
I’ll make my way home
by midnight
humming tunes
played by your harvest moon
swinging my shoes
by my fingertips
letting the cool
mists of fall soothe

the soles of my summer feet.

Thank you, for it all dear October,
tenth month of this year.

Linda Mitchell. Draft

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Jack-o-lantern World

Grinning, frowning, sneering, cheering

It’s a jack-o-lantern world tonight

ghosts and goblins now appearing

Grinning, frowning, sneering, cheering

Witches cackling, werewolves leering

It’s enough to give all souls a fright!

Grinning, frowning, sneering, cheering

It’s a jack-o-lantern world tonight.

Linda Mitchell. draft

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Clouds

Laid out like sky vertebrae

A backbone for our world
of water and white – vapor and ice.

Delicate and susceptible

to a changeable season.

Linda Mitchell. draft

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A Trinet

Our world.

Our rules.

You can play because you know.

Someone first yells out, Let’s go!

Ready now?

Bicycles roll.

Let’s go!

Linda Mitchell. draft

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November was golden

Election world on fire

Too frightful looking back
on forward telling liars

Linda Mitchell. draft

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"This planet a world" Maria Popova

Who could have thought this

moment would come? Our beloved planet

too warm and too sick to be a

inhabitable world.

Linda Mitchell. draft

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December

Delivered box

Open it up

A light-up globe

from my father

Round blues and golds

A surprise gift

I plug it in

Flip on the switch

All the nations

All the oceans

All these places

My kitchen glows

He wanted to

give me some light

and a whole world

as nourishment

Linda Mitchell Dec. 24

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Wintering

If all the poems were of summer

there would be

no wintering blankets

of hush

piled high this season.

No red cardinal hearts

beating against snow

giving grief a rest

in spaces of joy.

If all the poems were of summer

there would be

no rush of shivery piney boughs

or cups of cocoa to sip

after coming in from the cold.

If all the poems were of summer

you would have less reason to return,

from a big busy world

home safe and sound

as smoke from our chimney

climbs as high and as blue

as December stars.

Linda Mitchell--draft 12/24

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JOY to the World

JOY to the world, all the boys and girls
those secure in strong brick houses,

our brothers rebuilding sticks

sisters sweeping up straw

Joy to you brother

and sister too

Joy to you

and you,

too.

Linda Mitchell -- draft

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The world of twenty twenty-four

once held all possibility for good

yet, here we are again at war

The world of twenty twenty-four

cannot possibly endure any more

conflict in any neighborhood

The world of twenty twenty-four

once held all possibility for good

Linda Mitchell--draft