J: A Jar of Fireflies

by Angela Felsted

Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com

precisely when night fingers
brush the ankles of the cherry tree

precisely when a freckled
bullfrog starts its croon
up at the moon

precisely when the screams
of children fade into the pliant mud
when splashing rocks
peruse the river bottom made of pebble dots

the shadow of breath of dusk
exhales across the gilded ground
a silver cloud sent heaven bound
aches for mother, father sun,
tries to run

on red-striped wings
past the ring of phantom sky
above a canopy of trees
where star buds nest in humid leaves

their summer
wishes touch my hand
kisses trapped by molten sand

lit up glass
etched secrets in the withered grass

Source: Poetry Pact volume 1. Eds. Angela Felsted and Richard Merrill. Fairfax, VA: Jazzy Press, 2011.


This soundscape piece takes us to that magical twilight hour of summertime when the night comes alive. Felsted is a friend of mine from a poetry critique group whose work I enjoy very much, not only because she creates such evocative images, but also because of her sense of play. There's a little rhyme, but not too much; there's a little bouncy lilt, just enough. My favorite image of the piece is "star buds nest in humid leaves" and how it juxtaposes the celestial and horticultural to speak of the insect world.

What lines or images strike you?

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Shh...it's a secret blog hop

Welcome to the next stop on the "Shh...it's a secret" blog hop. Participants can share a story about a secret pact they have made, a friend they are close to, or a close knit group that has helped them through hard times.

The Pub Pact (or the Anti-Saloon League gets some sense)

Welcome back to Warwickshire, long-lost cousin!

I’d been dreaming of going to England since the day Mom read me the story of Lucy Pevensie hiding in a wardrobe and landing in Narnia. Not only was England magical, but also, according to my Dad, our ancestral home. Though my Webster ancestor left Warwickshire for Connecticut in the 1600s, I was certain that going back would feel like arriving home. It would be a struggle to get there, of course. As the youngest of five, I knew college alone would be financially difficult for my family, and studying abroad? That would be above and beyond—something I’d have to make happen for myself. For seven years I worked a string of terrible jobs, from Avon lady to foam-head carnival character to janitor to discount store cashier. My college study abroad experience, I believed, would be my Cinderella-at-the-ball experience.

What a starry-eyed kid I was.

My college friends who’d spent a semester abroad before me gave me lists of things you couldn’t buy there (back in the pre-Internet era). I loaded up on Reese’s cups, a giant jar of Jiff and some favorite toiletries and considered myself ready.

I hadn’t prepared at all for the possibility that culture clashes would be deeper than a British dislike of peanut butter. My rudest awakening was discovering the program I’d joined, run by a consortium of Christian colleges, would be plopping us into a secular school—one with a culture built around pub crawling.

Social lubricant or demon drink?

I was old enough to drink in the US and well above legal age in Britain. But having grown up in a teetotaler household and spending 3.5 years on a dry campus, I found the idea of binge drinking a bit scary. And as hard as I’d worked to get to the land of castles, cathedrals and magic wardrobes, pub crawls weren’t high on my list of great ways to spend your time and money in England. This left me at total loss of how to not die of loneliness while my classmates went off to get wasted most nights of the week.

Fortunately, I wasn’t quite so alone. I soon discovered that about half of the other American students in our group of 18 weren’t that keen to binge drink. We quickly banded together to make the most of our time abroad actually traveling beyond the strip of pubs near campus. We shared the task of researching hostels and bus schedules, and had some great daytrips and weekends away together.

Early on, it became clear we all took our faith pretty seriously. Soon we were debating American Christianity’s taboo on drinking and whether it’s actually Biblical. Back home, there didn’t seem to be much room for debate on the topic, so it was really refreshing to re-examine my upbringing in light of another culture and try to find some middle ground between total abstinence and total debauchery. Visiting pubs to try local craft brews with a plate of bangers and mash or shepherd’s pie became as much part of the group’s identity as trying a variety of church services and praying together.

While my naïveté took a serious beating during that semester, my study-abroad buddies helped me not just survive, but change, grow and thrive.

image credits:  castles.org; realbeer.com
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The "Shh...it's a secret" blog hop is in honor of the recent release of Poetry Pact volume 1. Blog hop host Angela Felsted is offering awesome prizes to those who participate in the hop and/or help promote the anthology. Click HERE to find out more.

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