#npm25

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National Poetry Month is ongoing. I somehow missed Poem In Your Pocket Day, which had been on April 10, 2025. Last week, I finished reading "And Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou. I'll see what other poetry I may read next. -- ssw15

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NPR updated a bit their March 2020 post for National Poetry Month 2025. These are great tips that have helped me appreciate poetry and re-sharing accordingly. -- ssw15

I may have shared this link previously, but I'll have to check that at a later time. Presenting: the NPR link to the Life Kit podcast episode about How to Get Into Poetry, from March 30, 2020 - back in the dark days of the COVID-19 pandemic, when we were seeking the arts for solace. NPR's post for this episode has been updated as of April 19, 2024, in time for National Poetry Month, summing up 5 great tips on how to read poetry - including "To read poetry like a poet, don't worry about 'getting it.'"

It's a good post to read, and still a good listen, even if we're past the pandemic but we still need the arts because we're living in crazy times. -- ssw15

Per NPR's Andrew Limbong:

Don't approach poetry like it's school.

Don't worry about "getting it."

Read it out loud.

Visualize the poem.

Read a lot of poetry.

[sswslitinmotion]

Re-sharing as National Poetry Month 2025 closes. Keep reading. -- ssw15

Well, National Poetry Month 2024 is drawing to a close. But, we can always keep reading poetry. Check out this post "Never Read Poetry? Here's Where to Begin" by Chris M. Arnone, Book Riot, date line April 12, 2024. Arnone does a nice overview of where to begin with reading poetry, and has links to guides, including his own guides, over at Book Riot. Worth checking out. Keep reading! -- ssw15

[sswslitinmotion]

Reblogging for the end of National Poetry Month 2025. -- ssw15

National Poetry Month Continues: A Favorite

Since I’m not violating copyright law (Dickinson now in public domain), this has to be one of my favorite poems, simply for being morbid and full of imagery:

BECAUSE I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,

And I had put away

My labor, and my leisure too,

For his civility.

We passed the school where children played

At wrestling in a ring;

We passed the fields of gazing grain,

We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed

A swelling of the ground;

The roof was scarcely visible,

The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’t is centuries; but each

Feels shorter than the day

I first surmised the horses’ heads

Were toward eternity. — Emily Dickinson.