August Poetry Postcards 2017

August Poetry Postcards 2017

This year I've used a book of postcards that I found in a box of my mother's things. She passed away seven years ago and there are some papers I've still not had a chance to read through. I can't simply chuck them without knowing what they are, and believe I gave this little treasure book to her many years ago. We shared a love of dolls and these types of pictures. 

I imagine this being a small tribute to my parents and decided to write each postcard, as inspired, about my childhood. These words were given no forethought; I sometimes used the illustration for inspiration, or memories flowed onto the thin cardboard and flew off to their destinations around the world. There has been some slight editing. 

Hurricane Harvey happened in the midst of this so there are some contributions there and randomly placed. 

These are the works of fifteen excellent English illustrators; all images reproduced from The Blue Lantern Studio. 

The title of the book is first and then the artist’s name and birth and death dates. These cards were so old that many dates of death aren’t recorded here since they were still alive at the time.

      From The Rosie Posie Book 
      by Anne Anderson (1874-1930)

My mother could not stand 

the idea of 

“sleeping in,” 

for herself 

or anyone else. She dragged me,

literally, 

out of my bed on Saturday mornings

so I could get my chores done 

in time for my cartoons 

to come on TV. As an adult, 

she would phone me, and when I’d answer at 7 am, she would say 

“ARE YOU STILL IN BED?” 

To be able to sleep in 

was always 

a lifetime goal. I wish 

she could call me now 

and 

wake me up in the mornings. 

I still here.

I still want to sleep in.

From The Little Busy Bee Book 

by Anne Anderson(1874-1930) 

I was my mother’s 

little butterfly. A least – until 

I could walk, or 

perhaps run, which soon followed. Then 

I became more my mother’s 

little bulldog 

and she had to keep me on a leash.  

I would run away 

given the slightest opportunity. I spent my life 

trying to please her and I was overjoyed

when I knew I’d made the grade. 

For the most part, I was a disappointment.

I kept trying. 

As did she.

      

From The All Sorts of Stories Book 1911 

by H.J. Ford (1860 – 1941) 

Sometimes I had creepy dreams. 

So sleeping wasn’t always what I did at night. 

As a child, my ordinary day was filled with schemes; 

And how I might get those ideas to ignite. 

Bedtime I kept my thoughts alive, on fire; 

Warding off the darkness that lurked in my mind. 

Though it was rest my body desperately desired, 

That wasn’t how my psyche was designed. 

The boogeyman slept under my small corner bed; 

A ghost in the closet who hid in the day; 

The monsters that grew out of my head. 

It took 60 years to make them go away.

From The Orange Fairy Book 1906 
by H.J. Ford 

I collected an odd assortment of friends as a child.

My parents embraced them, every one.

Some were “brains” like me and some were completely wild.

Judgment wasn’t allowed in my home. Childhood was meant to be fun.

It wasn’t until Grade 7 when a somewhat clingy girl was exiled.

It seemed there was evidence incontrovertible

That made my mother uncomfortable with what appeared to be

Bed bugs.......

it seemed had most likely caused the red spots on the girls face

And though she was liked, 

the insects didn’t belong 

IN OUR PLACE.

          From The Story of the Rebellious Dolls c 1910 

by E. Stuart Hardy (Born 1870) 

Uncle Howard came to stay with my mother and father, (this was long before I was born) 

in their apartment on Boren Avenue. It was a one bedroom 

and there was little space for 

three people, two of them being honeymooners.... 

And my mother was a fastidious woman. 

Hard on her to accept this giant of a man who had been injured in the war that was still raging 

all over the world. 

“But he’s my uncle,” my father pleaded, yet reluctantly let the veteran leave. 

I grew up hearing about CRAZY UNCLE HOWARD, but my father loved him. 

I never forgot that.

From The Twilight of the Gods 1911 
by Arthur Rackham 

When my cousin would 

come to stay with us, 

she flirted with all the boys in the 

neighborhood. I didn’t get it. I was 9 

when she was 12 and boys 

were not a priority 

in my life. She was 

cool. 

I was a “little sister” and my older brother, 

who was her age, had more 

in common with her, so 

typically 

I was ignored. She almost married

one of those boys and there 

were things that happened that I didn’t 

know about but 

really – I didn’t care. I found them to be 

just as annoying as 

they found me.

From The Stories of the Three Baby Bears Told c 1910 
by E. Stuart Hardy (Born 1870)

One time when I was about 6, we were huckleberry picking up in an area that was wooded but had natural meadows. My grandma, who never wore pants her entire life, had her skirt tied between her knees. Her two daughters (my mother and my aunt) were picking in a group and we children were down the hill. There were others picking, too; Betty was there, my mother’s best friend. I remember as if it was yesterday when they came tearing down the hill, their legs like cartoons, scissoring the air, my grandma holding hands between her girls, leaping. We thought it was bees but it was a bear.

From House Fairies 1925 

by Margaret W. Tarrant (1888 – 1959) 

I had my suspicions about 

the tooth fairy. 

I lost my first tooth while 

on vacation in S. Dakota. It was 

a hot July morning and 

I was hungry and wanted to bite 

into my large piece of toast, oozing 

with white butter, 

dripping with blood red jam. 

I was fussy and acting 

like a 6 year old. 

My mother’s cousin Inga 

turned me to her and asked 

to have a look in my mouth. She had dry flour 

on her fingertips; 

it was all a plan. She grabbed 

my tooth and yanked. 

Gone! 

I cried and 

she laughed and

I laughed, too. 

The tooth fairy found me halfway across the nation.

From The Child’s Book of Verse 1918 
by Margaret W. Tarrant (1888 – 1959) 

I said my “Now I lay me
 down to sleep” prayers
every night and always ended
with “God bless” – a long list of
people. Whoever heard
my prayers before tucking me in,
kissing me goodnight and
turning out the light, would
inevitably cut me short as I blessed the
pastor, his wife and children,
all the neighbors,
my father’s friends,
the car,
the kitty-kat,
dog,
the president.
I often lay awake far too long, staring out the window,
blessing the moon and the stars;
blades of grass;
my father’s garden
and the breakfast I would eat in the morning.

From Mrs. Mary Blaze 1885 

by Randolph Caldecott (1846 – 1886) 

I taught myself how to read.
My brother brought home his books, tossed them, and I picked them up.
I was 4; and he was 7, but only in 1^st Grade, since he was held back for two years in Kindergarten.
I poured over the illustrations of Dick, Jane, and Sally; Spot, the dog; Puff, the cat; and Tim, the teddy bear (I had a particular fondness for Tim.) I would sit on the linoleum floor in our kitchen, while my mother prepared dinner.
I never learned to read phonetically.
SHOES
was the first word I was able to memorize, relate to, and READ!
After that, they came in a flood and I graduated out of primers before I entered school.
I loved the library from a young age.
On the other hand, I was insanely bored in school and hated it,
my entire life.

From Jackanapes 1883 

by Randolph Caldecott (1846 - 1886) 

I was bullied. It began in kindergarten when big boys got to ride the trikes at recess and I never got a turn.
I never did get a turn. All year. By high school I had developed a personality that was molded by a decade of being made to feel inferior.
I wasn’t stupid. It turned out I had a very high IQ and
I considered suicide when the entire 7^th grade found this out. I was mortified that something must have been innately wrong with me that could never be fixed.
I was smashed up against my locker by one girl who threatened to kill me.

From The Adventures of Borbee and the Wisp 1905 
by Florence K Upton (1873 – 1922)

 From the time I was about 2 
or 3 years old, I had 
a constant companion. My parents 
tolerated the presence 
of Timmy, 
my Imaginary Friend (now referred to as IF in the field of psychology). 
I went everywhere with Timmy. Sometimes 
I led and other times I followed. 
Timmy had a place at the table during meals, 
my parents sometimes sat on him, 
and once my father slammed Timmy’s hand in the car door, of which 
I became hysterical. “Jesus Christ,” 
my father said and opened the door 
to let Timmy in and grumbled that 
he needed to keep up. My parents were 
ordinary people. What made them 
so open-minded is a mystery. As an adult 
I asked my mother and 
she made it very clear 
that as a parent one must choose their battles, 
lest they lose all the time.

From The Vege-Man’s Revenge 1897 

by Florence K Upton (1873 – 1922) 

Daddy always had a garden. 

I never appreciated it 

until I asked him 

to come till and plant my first real garden 

with me.  I loved 

to be with him 

in his garden as a child, and 

would roll around in the 

dust and dirt 

between the rows, 

while he weeded and hoed. 

I picked peas while they were too young, 

pulled up baby carrots and 

washed them with the hose, 

eating their sweet earthy youth 

before it was ready. Sweet peas 

were strung at the end of each row 

and my father would pick a small bouquet 

and have me take them in to my mom, 

where she would put them 

in water and their fragrance 

filled our small kitchen.

From The Story of Snips c 1910 

by Anqusine MacGregor (1905 - )

School was dreadful.
I was always in trouble
and so often confused
as to the reason why.
My mother was exasperated.
My father was apathetic.
My teachers beat me.
I took swats in the principal’s office,
holding my skirt up so Mr. O’Dell
could smack my panties with his paddle.
I cried
and snot ran down my face
with nothing to clean it up with.
I ran home and was
marched back to school.

I want to go back and
find that little girl and
hold her in my arms and
not let any more hurt her.

From Nonsense Nonsense! 

1902 by Charles Robinson (1870 – 1939)  

I learned my first swear word from David T.
I went home saying FFFFF
and thought
it was something people
would find amusing.

David T
used to come to my house
and we’d paint our nails
and
wear my mother’s hats.
For some people it was confusing.

In 1964,
David T, my friend,
was found hanging
in his grandfather’s garage.
He could no longer
face the world.
He was 17 and
he was dead.

I still mourn
the loss of David T,
who was relentlessly teased
by people I have not forgotten.
I truly understood his pitiful dread.

From Marigold Garden 1885 
by Kate Greenaway (1846 – 1901) 

I adored my mother.
She was beautiful.
I loved to go to Nordstrom with her
while she shopped for shoes.
(They sold only shoes then; I think the store was on 4^th or 5^th Avenue).)
They would bring her a standard ashtray
and place it in front of her. She would
tap out a cigarette and the clerk lit it for her,
as she pointed to the different styles of shoes
she’d like to try on.
Her favorites were De Liso heels.
The boxes would pile up
and be scattered everywhere.
Until her death at 89,
my mother kept her shoes in original boxes;
dozens and dozens and dozens of them.

From The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle 1905 

Beatrix Potter (1866 -1943)

I thought I would grow up and be famous and rich,
as all children do. For quite some time
I imagined Hayley Mills was a friend of mine
and we wrote letters to one another. I,
of course,
wrote all the letters
and pretended they were send from England
and Disneyland
and NY. For a long time
I kept this secret imaginary relationship
to myself but then,
one day,
so convinced it was real,
I blurted it out in a boastful moment. I already
considered myself special enough to do so.
It was a big mistake.

From Rumbo Rhymes 1911
by Walter Crane (1845 – 1915) 

I went through a very short period of time when I refused to eat meat.
I considered animals sentient beings (and I do believe they are)
but it so vexed my mother that she could not get me to eat.
I didn’t go about it properly because in the early 60’s there were few
who thought that carnivores were unacceptable and vile.
My father advised me to study Darwin and the Food Chain
and do my best to eat my mother’s cooking because
I was stuck with it for awhile. He told me I could
make those kinds of decisions s an adult.

From Undine 1909 

by Arthur Rackham (1867 – 1939)

I had no fear as a child and I didn’t know it was wrong for others to touch. Alarm was a feeling I became familiar with but somehow, somehow I blocked fear. My boldness was often my downfall. I was afraid of all the wrong things. Shame is a terrible thing for a child to bear and so hiding becomes the remedy. Disguise. Diversion. Distraction. If you don’t think about it yourself, then perhaps no one will know. No one will guess and you can keep the charade going for years. And years. And years.

From Flora’s Feast A Masque of Flowers 1889 
by Walter Crane (1845 – 1915)

Once I began reading,
the stream of consciousness began
with a vengeance. My parents read,
so a library was available
once I’d moved on
from Nancy Drew and the Bobbsey twins.
Two books stand out in my mind
as making as impression that was
indelible and undeniable.
“OF HUMAN BONDAGE”
by Somerset Maugham
took me on a thrilling ride
and opened my eyes
and ears
to HUMANITY.
Even though
“Captain Horatio Hornblower”
didn’t have quite the impact,
it did have lots of lessons and
was an easy read. My mother hesitated
allowing me to read this book at 13
due to the “N” word but I overlooked that
and it was a few more years
before I grasped the
depth and the hollowness
of this word.

From The Tale of Peter Rabbit 1901 

by Beatrix Potter (1866 – 1943)

I was never a big fan of
Beatrix Potter as a child.
I loved the illustrations
but the stories all seemed
 silly.
Yet,
Peter always held me
in his naughty thrall and
I was intrigued by
his boldness. His sisters,
on the other hand, were wimps
and probably didn’t have nearly
as much fun as Peter. As a child
I was probably a
mix of both – a very typical kid – nice
and troublesome. I know for certain
there were people
who thought I was an angel, and
others who considered me a
hellish little brat who
should be neither seen nor heard.
I named my first born Peter.
He is a Gemini;
born in June –
complete split of personality,
depending on company.

From The April Baby’s Book of Tunes 1900 

by Kate Greenaway (1846 – 1901)

When I was born in the small town 

of Enumclaw, Washington, the hospital 

was new and I was the 2^nd baby born there. 

My grandfather came to the hospital and 

handed my mother a bouquet of 

September flowers, dahlias and roses, 

through an open window. A nurse took them a

nd told him he couldn’t come in with his cigar. 

He came in anyway, through the front door, 

which was just around the corner from the window. 

It was a small hospital. 

A nurse put the flowers in water 

and scolded him. 

He laughed and told her, in his Danish accent 

that she was a good woman. 

That was when I was born. 

My favorite photo of 

my grandpa and me is me on his knee, 

me holding my little African skinned doll, 

AmosSandra.

From The Black Cat Book 
by Charles Robinson (1870 – 1937)

The first cat I had in my life was
“Mittens” – we fondly called
her “Mitts” and she loved
my dad, even though she was
my cat.
I’m sure she loved my mother
equally,
as that was more often than
not, the hand that fed her.
I was 4 years old when we went to
John and Tess Howells’ farm
and I got to pick out this
tiny wee kitten,
out in the barn, from a couple of litters. All black,
she had 4 white feet.
She was too little yet to be weaned
so I didn’t get her until we came back from a trip to
Montana and S. Dakota.
I can still see her running to me
that day.
I picked her up and cuddled her
as I would for many years to come.
She lived until I was
22 years old.

This is not a postcard from the series.

29 August 2017 
2^nd Day of Houston’s Hurricane Harvey.

Perhaps we shouldn’t have built all these levies and dams on Mother Earth. Maybe all this concrete that holds up streams of exhaust-spewing automobiles will someday collapse. Boom. Down. Gone. We have reconfigured the surface of our planet and now she is reacting. Dead dinosaurs providing compounds for greenhouses gas with the aid of combustion and mechanics.. We have created dustbowls and floods and melting glaciers and the extinction of hoards of animals. What will stop us?

From The Three Little Pigs 

by Frank Adams  (Active 1903 – 1944)

There was one neighbor we all disliked. Even my dad didn’t like her too much, though he was always kind to her. Mrs. Baum was not a happy person, my dad  told us and her husband was a jerk.  I think it was “First-Class Jerk.” But we could not help ourselves and she was the one whose doorbell we always rang and then ran away. She looked like an old pig to me but I got in a LOT of trouble for saying that. I remember once feeling bad for her when she came out on her porch and stood with her hands on her hips. We didn’t really have a reason to hate her.

26 From Peggy and Joan by Honor C. Appleton (1879 – 1951)

I watched my mother painstakingly hang wallpaper in my bedroom. I was about 4 years old. I recall the colorful little people holding hands and the darling little blue and pink cottages. I wasn’t sure why she was doing this and I guess most kids don’t really care what a room looks like, as long as they’re fed, loved, and get to eat popcorn with their dad and watch TV. Those were the things that mattered to me so when the babysitter let me have crayons at naptime and I colored all over the walls, I never really knew what all the fuss was about. My mother’s anger at the babysitter was beyond my comprehension.

From Josephine Goes Shopping 1926 
by Honor C. Appleton (1879 – 1951)

I had a happy childhood, as far as childhoods go.
I hated school and was taunted and bullied
 all the way from kindergarten until 12^th grade.
But I had lovely times, too.
I had a great collection of dolls that I played with
 until I was probably 13 years old. I wrote poetry
and little stories, which my parents encouraged.
I was a terror on my bike and rode for miles.
I adored Brownies and Girl Scouts and my Dad
helped me earn a lot of my badges.
I performed and sang and danced.
I loved music and was surrounded by it.
I was a voracious reader and loved the library.
I enjoyed skiing and swimming and was allowed to go into the city (Seattle) when I was quite young.
I’m grateful for it all.

From Bobbity Flop 1912 

by Augustine MacGregor (1905 -)

My mother had an idea of what a little girl should look like and it was largely based on her favorite little girl.
Shirley Temple.
Besides ballet and dance classes, held above the bakery, where all I would think of was donuts and maple bars, my mother molded me by styling my hair.
Her first permanent solution was applied to my tender scalp when I was still sleeping in a baby crib. Curls. Galore. Until they fell out the next day and my mother claimed "it didn't take."
I believe I was one year old at the time.
My hair was tortured through the years until I took control of it myself and didn’t cut it from the age of 14 until I was about 25.

From the Pelican Chorus 

by L. Leslie Brooke (1862 – 1940)

I was a great singer. 

I always loved “I’m a little Teapot” best 

and my mother had me perform it 

for all who were 

willing to listen. 

By 3, I had a repertoire of songs, 

a couple in Danish, 

which I proudly belted out. 

The passion for singing never went away 

and although I was forced to play piano, 

I don’t regret that, and 

wish my mother had made me 

stick with it instead of 

taking up guitar. I was never really 

good at that but 

I faked it well enough to 

ave people tell me 

I was a great singer.

30 From Johnny Crow’s New Garden 1935 
by L. Leslie Brooke (1862 – 1940)

In the midst of our Poetry Fest was Harvey. This is my offering to Trilla in Houston:

Trilla, I received your card today and hope you are safe. I’m so sorry for what has happened to your beautiful city. I’m not even sure you’ll get this card. I certainly hope you do. The good that has come from this flood, this horrible frightening devastation, is the community coming together and most people recognizing we are all one people, we must know it is okay to lean on another and be pleased to carry our sisters and brothers on our backs. My hope for Houston comes to you, with healing and love.