Category: Poetry

If Pets Wrote Poems

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

written by Susan Johnston Taylor and illustrated by Sandie Sonke

Ok, I absolutely loved this book. Poetry isn’t a genre I normally gravitate towards, even though I admire poets greatly…I could never write a great poem; however, Susan Johnston Taylor has approached poetry in such a unique and entertaining way that I couldn’t help but be charmed.

This book will, without a doubt, ignite curiosity about various authors through the perspective of their pets.

This children’s poetry book features poems written by pets. For example, Flush, Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s cocker spaniel, writes “To Elizabeth, My Person” in the style of Browning’s “To Flush, My Dog.” Naturally, students will want to find Browning’s poem to read more about Flush.

In another poem , apparently, Jack Kerouac owned a Persian Cat named Tyke. Tyke writes a poem called “One Mouse,” modelled after Kerouac’s “One Flower.” Did I look up “One Flower”? Yes, I did. 

And then there is my favourite, a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe’s Cat named Catterina, named “The Raven” written in the style of, yes, you guessed it, “The Raven”. Love, love, loved it. 

In my opinion, this book would be a wonderful addition to any classroom, from the earliest grades up to grade twelve. Featuring poems about the pets of their poets, it offers a unique and engaging way to inspire a love for poetry.

This book will be published in March 2026 —put it in your cart now for a wonderful surprise in the spring.

Thank you to Gnome Road Publishing and Netgalley for the copy.

Poetry is Not a Luxury

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

So, I like poetry, but I don’t gravitate to it. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t really exposed to a lot of it growing up, not even in High School. The closest I came to appreciating poetry was through song lyrics, which, of course, are poems in and of themselves. Actually, it was my High School students who helped make me appreciate contemporary poems. Most of my students LOVED poetry, and then I felt like I was short-changing them because I didn’t have a lot of “go-to” poetry books for them to read. I wish I had this anthology. Poetry is Not a Luxury possesses a plethora of poetry from poets, both alive and dead, of various cultures. Handily enough, the anthology is organised around seasons, starting with Summer, Autumn, Winter and then Spring.

I thought I’d share my favourite from each season: Summer: Summer Idea by Kate Baer

Autumn: Passage by Victoria Chang

Winter: (I have 2) Watching My Friend Pretend Her Heart Is Not Breaking by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer and Perfect Song by Heather Christie

Spring: (2 here as well) I need a Poem by Kyla Jameison and Miracles by Brenda Shaugnessy

This anthology is a perfect addition to any junior or senior high classroom. Naturally, some poems will be more suitable for specific grades. 

A beautiful anthology with thematically relevant themes that make poetry accessible to those of us who aren’t inclined to read verse. 

If you are interested in the anthology, you can find some of the poems @PoetryIsNotaLuxury on Instagram.

Thank you to Atria Press and Netgalley for the Copy.

The River Has Roots

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

by Amal El-Mohtar

“There was a time when grammar was wild-when it shifted shapes and unleashed new forms out of old. Grammar like gramarye, like grimoire. What is magic but a change in the word…but that is the nature of grammar-it is always tense, like an instrument, aching for release, longing to transform present into past into future into will. (pg. 1-3)

The Hawthorn sisters, Esther and Ysabel, live in the small village of Thistleford located on the edge of “the beautiful county of Acadia, the beautiful land- the land beyond; antiquity”  in other words, the beautiful land of Faerie. The sisters have 2  jobs: the first is to weave beautiful willow baskets, and the second most important is to sing to the willows. You see, “when they sang together, you could feel grammar in the air”. Ester, the eldest, is being pursued by the bachelor Mr. Pollard, who “always had the beseeching expression of a whining dog; his hand, bafflingly, were always somehow both cold and moist”…needless to say, Esther is in no way interested. Instead, her heart belongs to Rin (a beautiful nonbinary character). Rin is Fae; Rin is beautiful, loving, brave, and adoring. However, Ester is in a dilemma; although she loves Rin, she vows to never break the bond she has with her sister Ysabel. She loves her sister beyond life itself, and their bond is intricately woven together, not just because they are sisters but because of the magical bond created by the grammar when they sing.

When a violent incident occurs and tragedy strikes, Esther has to choose between living in the world of Faerie with her love and staying in human form or living in the land of humans in the form of a swan. Will the bond between the sisters survive the conflict that ensues? 

This novel is a treasure trove for literary analysis. Its symbols, including the river Liss, the Willows, Mr Pollard, and the land of Faerie, are rich and complex, offering ample material for exploration. The novel’s prose, too, is a delight, best savored when read slowly and contemplatively, much like a piece of poetic verse.

This novel is also beautifully published, interspersed with what looks like linocut artwork by artist Kathleen Neeley, enchanting and folkloric.

If you loved How To Lose the Time War, co-written by El-Mohtar you love this novel.

The Pertinacity of a Dandelion

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

I want the pertinacity of a Dandelion.

I do

It’s true.

I want to, when cut down by sharp blades of insensitivity and criticism,

be able to duck my head and avoid the fatal stroke

and instead

pop my head back up

in spite.

I want to look bright and obvious

an in-your-face “look at me”

all sunny disposition and obnoxious cheeriness.

I want to have deep stubborn roots

that grow

reaching places that are cramped and stifling

lifting me up

breaking through stone.

And

when I’m old

I want to bring laughter and amusement

my grey head of fluff

blown

little story seeds

dancing in the wind.

To String Near Misses (an attempt at poetry)

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

“…the chances we failed to seize, the moments of happiness we allowed to drift away. Today it seems to me that my whole life was nothing but a string of those small near misses: a race whose result we know beforehand but in which we fail to bet on the winner.” Jean-Dominique Bauby, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: A Memoir of Life in Death

To banish the “near misses”

To be aware of the gifts revealed to us

no matter how tiny

To ignore superfluous detail –

the bullshit and posturing,

the maneuvering and manipulating.

To see what is truly a divine moment

and just “be”

in each breath,

in each heartbeat.

To reach out and embrace everything you already have,

even if it’s not quite what you’ve expected

but better, if perceived through the same eyes,

but a different lens.

To turn the “string of near misses”

into a necklace of precious gems

Moments transformed into memories.

Word Problems poem by Ian Williams

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Word Problems poems by Ian Williams

I was really apprehensive about responding to poetry. I don’t read a lot of poetry, I’m not sure why. I guess it’s because  I don’t feel “qualified” to talk about it. That being said, one of my 2021 reading goals is to read more poetry and therefore my first choice this year had been Ian Williams Word Problem Poems.

Williams juxtaposes serious topics such as racial discrimination and mental illness against elementary school math problems and language arts “rules”. This approach leads me, as an educator, to reflect upon what is integral to my teaching;  that I should be spending more time discussing timely and impactful societal issues rather than solving for x or making sure students use proper subject-verb agreement. 

Williams’s poems offer an intimate view into the mind of a black man. Free -verse, creative and experimental, and intimidating (honestly I don’t even know what words to use to describe my response) but tremendously thought-provoking. 

Always one for experimentalism and creativity, I really enjoyed and appreciated deliberate choice in format and typography for each poem. The shapes, in and of themselves, lead to another level of interpretation of the meaning of the poem.

So, if you’re tentative about adding poetry to your reading list “Word Problems” will be an engaging addition.

Reflecting on 2020 and setting goals for 2021

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Welcome, 2021!

Last week I reflected on my year of reading. The titles, the genres, the authors. Around March last year, I had to take the reality of my “COVID mindset” and my inability to focus into consideration and set a milestone much lower than I usually do at 50 books. As an English teacher and book blogger, this felt like a failure. This year, however, I am confident I can air higher than 50 soooooo I’m thinking 60?

So, what have I learned about myself as a reader?

  • I read more non-fiction (yay one of the goals I DID meet)
  • General fiction made up the bulk of my titles (mostly mystery and fantasy)
  • I included graphic novels.
  • A handful of audiobooks made my list (mostly non-fiction)

Favourites?

fiction-  Mexican Gothic (review to come) by Silvia Moreno Garcia

non-fiction- The Heart and Other Monsters by Rose Anderson

audible- Catch and Kill by Ronan Farrow

YA- Legendborn by Tracy Deonon

Graphic novel: Long Way Down based on the novel by Jason Reynolds artist Danica Novgorodoff 

Fantasy: The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo(review to come) 

Reading goals for 2021

  • 60 titles
  • Increase Science fiction and poetry. 

I need your help, my fellow book addicts, please send me titles of your favourite Science fiction reads and poetry books (preferably contemporary!!!

What was your favourite read of 2020? What are your goals for 2021

Happy reading!

“Time Heals What Reason Cannot

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Time heals what reason cannot. ~Seneca 

It’s interesting

how much difference a day can make.

I am continually amazed at how,

over the course of a measly twelve hours

a person can go from being mired in the deepest darkest pit of disappointment

to walking on sunshine.

This change cannot merely

be a matter of perspective.

Maybe it’s the alignment of stars?

or a shower of meteors?

or

the pull of the earths gravity with the passing of night into day?

“Time” has to play a part.

True, the passing of time wrecks havoc

but

it also creates miracles.

Time is not the erasing of memories,

but the blurring

and sanding

and softening the harshness

some memories can bring.

Patience is the key to living the cliché “this too shall pass”.

Because it does.

In the meantime you just need to remember

to breathe.

And wait with hope.

A Person Upon Which to Perch

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Friend (noun) a person upon which to perch


At times
it seems sincerity is difficult to come by
because
for the most part,

most of us are afraid to be judged for who we are.
So we tweak and change what we say
and what we do
so we will be accepted rather than be alone.

And besides,
we don’t want anyone to know we are crazy. Especially if we’re young. (Thankfully we eventually reach an age where we can wear “crazy” like an accessory)

To have friendships that have withstood the test of time.
where I can “think aloud” and have someone listen.

friends can make sense of my nonsense
or
if they can’t
gently point me at any over-analyzing
or second-guessing
or insecurity

and

either give me a hug

or

kick me in the ass.

It’s a relief to not have to wear a mask
that restrains and suffocates the genuineness of self.

I imagine if no such friends would exist

we’d all be birds
with no place to perch.

Flying around and around
exhausted
from trying to keep aloft of our truth.

To Frustratingly Flail About With My Words

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Some days

I believe I can be as articulate as the greatest of ancient Greek orators.

Sitting, surrounded by youth.

Using extended metaphor to enlighten.

Persuasive and entertaining with my words. Arguing a point that possesses a foregone conclusion just to uproot it 

and shake it free of narrow-mindedness. Then transplant it elsewhere.

Entertaining with anecdotes that seem outrageous yet familiar

to a captive audience.

Making others emotionally invest in the story being told.

Relating to the characters.

Relating to the storyteller.

Relating to me.

But then

there are those who don’t listen 

unless 

they, themselves, are the protagonist,

and it is their story being told. 

Because everything that is not about them

bores them. 

And they opt out that story even if it is not theirs 

and could be woven into their existence and used for strength.

Other days 

a big, thick, murky fog

clouds my brain,

and I’m distracted by trivialities or fatigue.

I try to cut through to get to the point that I know exists

just beyond the murkiness. 

Immediate but unreachable.

Like the sun behind the clouds.

And I frustratingly flail about with my words. 

“You know the thingy that what’s his face used for the whachmacallit? You know, the thingamabob?”

Plodding slowly towards a conclusion

that isn’t all that substantial 

let alone scintillating.

And I wonder

how the day determines creativity.

What alignment of stars

or perfect thickness of the ozone layer

 is needed for me to be bright and sharp

and compelling? 

Or if the gods could merely flip a coin,

and decide, 

“today’s the day” 

to make a change. 

Or 

“today’s the day” 

to take a nap.

At this moment, 

I write. 

But it’s a tough slog through the haziness 

of a mind that doesn’t cooperate.

So what is there to do 

but to write 

about how difficult it is

to write today. 

Memory as Metaphor

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Memory is a funny thing.
Multi-metaphorical.


It’s like a tiny alligator. Lurking in shallow water leisurely swimming by moving its tail. You wade tentatively in life, feeling warmth and security. Going further out and away. When suddenly it grabs your ankle in its sharp pointy teeth reminding you it’s there. And then leaving little pointed pricks in your skin.
Prickly, pint points of blood. Distracting reminders.


Or it’s like a shroud that falls over you when you’re going about your business, in the middle of routine. And suddenly a smell or a taste or an image will act the trigger release of a safety catch. Letting drop a black and suffocating shroud. That settles on you for an hour, or a day, or sometimes a week.
Until you’re distracted by an occurrence or
a conversation or
a making-of another memory that will not take its place but rather act as a distraction. Strong enough to put shreds in that shroud.


At times it is like a Tuesday bruise on your knee on Thursday. Not as sore and tender to the touch as the day you received it, but now dark and purple and prominent when you lift your pant leg to view it. Only to cover it up again. Then have it glare at you in the face when you’re in the tub, knees popping up through the bubbles reminding you that you fell.
A small injustice or failure.


And every once in awhile it’s like a little spot of sunshine that moves about a room. You have to consciously see it. Move towards it. Plant yourself in it so that you can have it warm you. If even for a little while.
Like a cat.
Until it’s time to move on and out of the sunshine
and back into the momentum of life.
Only to experience new alligators, shrouds, bruises
and blessed patches of sunshine.