Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry
Poetry of the People
Everyone is invited to our next event.
We are easy to find, and you will enjoy the good company of words and people and nature and dogs and words and . . . oh yeah….a little bit of poetry. Continue reading “Treasure Time: Everyone Invited!”
Come out to the museum this Saturday from 6-9 p.m. and experience the . . . Altar of Alliteration! Did you say that in your head with thunderclaps in the background? You should. Treasure Time is Sep. 14: We are going to have a poem treasure hunt, refreshments, museum tours, and creating of much poetic energy and stuff. Please come if you like poetry. Please come if you don’t (I will alter that with my altar).
The commonly-confused word lesson you just got is free of charge.
Pick a jar from the altar. Each jar includes 5 items that begin with the same letter. Compose a poem or something with all 5 words in it. Display it for others to experience. You have alliterated, my friend. Continue reading “Altar of Alliteration”
The Treasure Time Poetry Contest has extended its deadline to September 10, Tuesday, 2013. Email me your entry! For more information, go to THIS PAGE.
If you have problems with the entry form, just email the poem to me, and I will get back to you with particulars.
ROMPOETRY@GMAIL.COM
Poem Treasure Hunt Day is coming up this weekend . . . . . September 14, 6-9 p.m. Please come out!
I used to ride my bicycle all over the place when I was a kid. We grew up on bicycles. When we lived down on Snake Creek, we routinely rode any bike that we could get working down to the Dip (creek named for the yellow warning sign in front of it). I’ll never forget the Christmas the four of us kids were led outside by our parents to see a row of shiny new bikes waiting for us: bright green things with tassels on the handgrips, bone-white banana seats, and plastic wicker-like baskets with blue and pink flowers on them. Continue reading “Biking Toward Poetry”
I just read the great poet Pablo Neruda’s description of a lifelong inspiration in his poetry. He was playing in the lot behind his house when he found a hole in the fence:
“I looked through the hole and saw a landscape like that behind our house, uncared for, and wild. I moved back a few steps, because I sensed vaguely that something was about to happen. All of a sudden a hand appeared—a tiny hand of a boy about my own age. By the time I came close again, the hand was gone, and in its place there was a marvelous white toy sheep.
“The sheep’s wool was faded. Its wheels had escaped. All of this only made it more authentic. I had never seen such a wonderful sheep. I looked back through the hole but the boy had disappeared. I went in the house and brought out a treasure of my own: a pine cone, opened, full of odor and resin, which I adored. I set it down in the same spot and went off with the sheep.
“I never saw either the hand or the boy again.” Continue reading “From Those Unknown to Us”
He cracked his skateboard in half doing a slide yesterday.
Though it didn’t work, “It was cool” and it made him grin.
Today he stalks the street, angling the lawnmower
Ahead of him, searching for quick cash to buy
Another deck, a more expensive one, righteous
With amped weight capacity, one that won’t snap
In two on a slide. I have maybe sixty-seven cents
In my purse, though yesterday I charged two pairs
Of boots at Penney’s. He stops a block away Continue reading “Skateboard Blues”
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry 