Many interesting people with wonderful ideas and theories attended the conference.  Inspiring.

You can visit the American Literature Association online.  (check out the links)

Has anyone read the novel?

Beaufort Art Association, Friday, August 26, 2011

if Hurricane Irene stays out to sea!

The art of Joan Templer

on St. Helena Island, August 5th & 6th (Friday & Saturday, 7-10 p.m.)

Blue Mandala

Jackie Markham & Stan Boyd

Sophisticated Flute & Piano

About Blue Mandala

About Foolish Frog Restaurant

In celebration of National Poetry Month (April), the writers of the Otram Slabess Writers Group will read the work of a variety of poets as well as their original writing.

This Poetry Reading, graciously hosted by gallery owners, Georgia and Lyalls Phillips at Charles Street Gallery, (914 Charles Street) will also include an open mic.  This stimulating afternoon under the Live Oaks and Spanish Moss in the lovely garden of the Charles Street Gallery will take place on Saturday, April 30 at 4 p.m.

The Otram Slabess group currently consists of Warren Slesinger, Quitman Marshall, Teresa Bruce, Steve Johnson, Karen Peluso, and myself–Jacquelyn Markham.  The group takes its name from a 13th-century Persian poet who believed poetry could cause ‘great effects in the order of the world.’ Each poet will contribute a cherished poem or two from the wide world of acknowledged masters and original work.”

Everyone is invited as it is free and open to the public.

experts say it is better to add rather than subtract

add walking thirty minutes a day

add herb tea (rather than quit beer or wine)

add water (rather than quit the cocktail)

add inspiration (less soul deadening work)

add reading (less TV)

more poetry (not only in April)

more recognition of women (not only in March)

more noting of Black history (not only in February)

more cultural exchange

more learning of languages

more planting of trees (not only on Arbor Day)

more taking care of the earth (not only on Earth Day)

more gardens, more vegetables

more sharing wealth

more slowing down

more time with friends

more talking to each other

more gentle words and compassion for self

more understanding of children, of parents, of neighbors

more peace on earth everyday

good will to all

Jacquelyn Markham

I remember once my sister jumped from a high dive–

top board of a three story platform of wood,

at an Alabama park with a great cavern of a dance hall

unknown names painted on stars across the walls,

a silver ball suspendend from the ceiling

would have scattered light–had there been any.

My sister’s feet sprung from the highest board

pointed to split the clay stained river below,

then turned, pirouetted in the sky as if with wings

flew to the second story landing with a light thud.

She righted the lithe body, stepped down the ladder,

slid into the murky water.  Blonde head bobbing,

she dog paddled to shallows.  On the bank our mother

concealed a gasp, stuffed plates, forks, and spoons

into the bottom of the picnic basket,

calling an end to the day.

Jacquelyn Markham

When love-lies-bleeding blooms

and the love affair is over,

puppy love, first love, young love, rekindled love,

and winter love leave one lovesick

and lovelorn with a love child.

When there is no going back to lovers’  lane,

love letters crumble with forgotten love locks

love knots untangle and love birds fly away,

then try love potion, love spells, love shrines to Eros,

Venus, Aphrodite, and Oshun.

Even Feng Shui might invite love arrows.

If not, tatoo Tennyson’s affirmation on your mind:

“’tis better to have loved and lost,

than never to have loved at all.”

Jacquelyn

After School

Like fury

Jose’s small feet propel

the bike pedals.

Like fury

tires turn

skid the dark street.

English spins away.

Like fury

Jose’s  Spanish words

fly out to the Spring night.

Jacquelyn Markham

Birdbath

Crimson, up to neck in shallows

wind gusts and constant visitation

sloshed clear fullness to low leaf water–still

enough to flap in, flick the wings,

a momentary haven

Cooper Hawk forgotten bliss.

Haven’t I known such moments when

predators for a time fly away?

Jacquelyn

Here’s the Poem a Day (PAD) website with prompts:

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/

This is what I finished up with today–simply out of time! The text of the poem is part of the montage/collage.

The Torch

for Susan B. Anthony (b. February 15, 1820)

Last night in a dream I gripped a rail

in the torch of the Statue of Liberty.

Wind blew wildly, and the structure swayed, seesawing survival.

Finally, the torch ripped from its base

hurled me into space.

When I stopped I stood in the cold.

New York, 1854.

Snow drifts in wind, stings my face, barricades horses, carriages.

Locomotives swoosh still into snow.

I front the storm, petitition in hand,

knock on one more door of ice.

Opens, slams shut.

Numb knuckles tap another–no answer though voices within.

Then, from a window, a bright yellow light sparkles the snow.

A woman unlatches the door, scratches her name on the list,

presses a lantern in my hand.

That night I slept in that lamp’s glow.

I awoke in the midst of my life.

Detroit, 1977.

I march in April’s cold rain,

raise fists, green banners high.

I remember the light and the woman.

Montgomery, 1975.

We open our daily lives,

write resolutions for our daughters,

defy crowds of jeers.

I remember the light and the woman.

Florida Capitol, 1982.

We hear the Senate’s “no”

and sing in morning sun,

fill the rotunda.

Today I wake free.

Work, save, spend,

live alone–or not

choose motherhood–or not

learn–teach–write

I remember the light and the woman.

Last night I flew in a torch over the world.

Jacquelyn Markham

All 20th century photographs by Jacquelyn Markham except the one of the artist, taken by Dennis Markham in 1981.