The Best Part Was the Reading

Yesterday was the Gallery Crawl. I mentioned it 2 posts ago (so I’m not going to link to it – just scroll down, silly!). Brief reminder, I spent February turning 1st, 2nd, and 3rd graders into published poets. Yesterday was the Big Event at the school, where we showcased our project. It was inspiring to be there and see the young poets lead their parents and friends to our table, search the display for their own poem and their favorites written by their friends, and then watch their families react to their work. It was evident that they were proud of what they’d done, which made me feel proud. One of the parents said that her daughter had been talking about the project and calling herself a poet all month. I didn’t stop smiling for 90 minutes (more really, but that’s how long the Crawl was). And as wonderful as that was, that wasn’t even the best part of the day. Of the whole experience, really!

That happened earlier, during the school day. I spent an hour with this fantastic group of kids, doing a POETRY READING! It was wonderful to hear the poems read by the authors (or the authors’ friends, in some cases). It made the whole experience, all the time and work and feelings of inadequacy on my part, that much more worth it.

Someone needs to remind me more often how rewarding volunteering is…

Sooo? Whatcha Been Doin’?

Well, I’ll tell ya…

I got a job and I love my job, but it keeps me busy and so I haven’t been blogging. Or writing much, really, except for journaling when I think of it.

I’ve been reading. Currently I’m reading Runaway, a collection of short stories by Alice Munro, which I am loving. I had veered off my preferred sunlit and wildflower-lined path of short-story writing to spend some time in the murky swampland of poetry and am hopeful that reading stories will start the story cogs running again. So far, so good. I have this idea…

I did get a couple of worthwhile poems out of my detour. I’ve never been able to say that before!

Oh, and this:

The girls’ school has a sort of “gallery crawl” every spring. Guest artists spend the month of February working with a class on some sort of project to be showcased in March at the crawl (in the rooms and halls of the school). I spent February turning a classroom full of 1st, 2nd, and 3rd graders into published poets. It was a lot of fun (I am REALLY glad it’s almost over). This could be what inspired my longing for prose again…

If I can stay off Facebook – well, cut back on my FB time (can’t abandon my WWF friends and everyone needs to see photos of Pete and Lulu doing awesome Pete and Lulu stuff), maybe I can trade it for blogging again. I’ve missed it.

How about you? What have you been up to?

Now to go get my readers back…

Here’s a Poem

The Old Piano

Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut. *
Dust swirls up from the broad slat floor.
It dances in streaks of dim sunlight
From clouded windows, twirling toward
The upright in the shadowy back corner,
Pulling me toward the upright in the back corner.

The keys are covered by the mahogany lid.
I write “PIANO” with my finger in the dust
Then erase it with my palm and regret it.
I wipe the grime from my palm onto my blue jeans,
Leaving a gray-tan streak, and uncover the keys.

Everyone plays middle-C; I choose A.
The hammer strikes the old string,
Which rings, twangs, groans, plunks.
The note pulses in my ears, through the piano,
Vibrating the other A strings,
Through the room, swirling with the dust.
I add C# but then play C instead.

I look around for a bench, a stool, a chair.
I see a 3-legged stool that should have 4.

My fingers find the notes I know in my head.
The honky-tonk tone of the neglected strings
Dissolves as the music surrounds me, fills the room.

I wish I could say that the music makes the dust clear
And the sun shine brighter through the windows.

When it’s finished, the last chord rings
Until it is muted, swallowed by the gloom.
I close the cover on the keys,
Letting it thud shut.


* The first 2 lines are from "Church Going," from The Less Deceived by Philip Larkin (Marvell Press, 1955)

Up To My Ears

Busy as a
Bee, I have got
A full plate of
To-do's to do.

OMG, Mom! Go away!

Don't try to hide it.
We all know you're
That crazy lady who
Sits in the hallway
Outside children's choir practice
With tears in her eyes.
And whispers, "They're so good!"
To anyone nearby,
Despite the mortification
Of the 9 year-old
Mini-clone
Of your husband
Inside.

Just You Wait

You think I forgot
But I did not.
Next week, I'll be hot
And post a lot
Of poems to get caught
Up.

It's Spring Break for my girls and the house is all caddywhompus because HG is painting the great room and his parents were here for 3 days and I've fallen behind, but I've been thinking about you every day!

No Monsters Allowed

The monsters formally asked,
When the bigger little girl came along,
Requested an all access pass
To scare her all night long.

As her mother, of course I said, "No."
I banned them all from our home.
I told them that they had to go,
Spectre, beastie, and gnome.

When her imagination started to play
And kept her awake full of fear,
I was able to truthfully say
Not a single monster was near.

And because I'm the mom, it was true
No monster ever could stay,
And when we had sweetie number 2
The monsters still had to obey.

Oh, sure, they begged for reprieve,
For me to repeal the harsh rules.
I stuck to my guns. They must leave!
So long all you demons and ghouls!

Try it, when your babes feel a scare
And things go bump in the night.
Tell the monsters to get out of there.
Mom says NO to the fright.

-------

'Strue. 'Tworks. Our house is a monster-free zone.

Lo siento por mi español

"Se escapó dos veces."
Seriously.
Two times.
They were out.
We caught them
And put them in your yard,
And they got out again,
Just so I would have to
Figure out how to say,
"Your dogs are in our yard,"
In Spanish.
Sus perros desafíeme.

mediocrity

I am a little bit good
At a lot of things
But at nothing am I a pro.
I can do a little of this
And a little of that
But expertly? Probably, no.
Because of this trait
Of knowing a little
People are often impressed.
They are struck by the fact
I know something they don't
And don't wonder if I am the best.
It'd be nice, I do think,
To have some expertise
In even one occupation.
If I knew A to Z
About just one thing
I'd be deserving of their ovation.
But no. It's not so.
I have to confess
I have no special mastery.
I'm a little big good
At numerous things
Without great proficiency.


---------------

Oh my! I actually worked hard on that one. It's terrible, but I wrote it!

I feel important

Oh that this feeling will last
Beyond this day,
Beyond these moments,
And not fade tomorrow
In a haze of indifference
And spiteful words
And hopelessness.

Spring

Fluorescent green
Hot pink
Bright white.
Nature's trying on
Bathing suits.

Almost Tomorrow

nearly eleven
it is almost tomorrow
where did thursday go?

Haiku-ish

Butterflies and bees
Swarm the yellow-black spider
And its zig-zag web

Interconnected

by Thich Nhat Hahn in The Heart of Understanding

In [one of the Buddhist sutras] there is a very short passage on how the world has come to be. It is very simple, very easy to understand, and yet very deep: “this is, because that is. This is not, because that is not. This is like this, because that is like that.” . . .

We are not separate. We are inextricably interrelated.

--------------------

Likeminded

The difficulty, he says,
If you're going to be inclusive,
Is that you have to include everyone,
Even the one who says
'You're wrong and stupid and
I hate you for it.'

The ideal, she responds,
Is that the one who says,
'I hate you,' would desire
To coexist with you
Anyway, would understand
That we are all connected.

They nod in silent lament
For the Other
Who just doesn't get it.

Fourth Day of Poetry

April the fourth
Fails to bring forth
(i.e. to the fore)
The much hoped for
Poem four.

Seems a little early to out of poetry, huh? I am today, though. On the other hand, I wrote a children's story this afternoon. It didn't rhyme or I'd share it...

NPM Day 3

Last night, the Grandpa proposed an interesting communal poetry idea to me. I'm in. I'll tell you more about it when I know more in case you want in too. Plus, also. that will get the Grandpa back online!

---------------

Energy expended
on endless envisioning
is exhausting.

------------

That's not my NPM poem. I'm just saying.

NPM is below. Remember: NPM isn't about polished poetry...

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Spring Shower

She's getting soaked to the bone by
Fat, refreshing sundrops, and

Splashing in puddles of light
Shimmering through
Fluorescent green leaflace.

An umbrella would be simply
Useless on a stormy day like today.

Poetic Lulu

Part of my definition of poetry is using unexpected words to create a novel image for someone. My brilliant Lulu is very good at this. Like the other day, in the car, when she was talking about how her friend J had worn a tie when the Primary classes had their little concert a couple of months ago. She said, "He looked very... romantic." Not a word I would have chosen. Definitely an image I appreciated.

---------------

At this time
Bel is experiencing
Creative
Diffidence...

To Start Us Off

National Poetry Month again.
A poem a day.
Are you in?

Starting today,
Let's celebrate verse.
Here's my challenge:
Could your poems be worse

Than mine?
Mine rhyme,
Maybe rise and fall
With rhythm,
But sometimes that's all...

-----------------

Hi! It's National Poetry Month again. This seems to happen every year around this time... I am going to honor it the same way I have for the past few years, by posting a poem a day (here are some links: 2008, 2009, 2010). Chances are slim that any of them will be very good, but that's not the point. The time for good poetry is later, after the revising, after April. Now is the time for writing. Wanna join me?

Septembermom over @ My Voice, My View has said she'll participate (Yay, Kel!!). Let me know if you're in, too, and I'll post a link to your blog so we can all share.

Stay tuned...

April Is National Poetry Month

Hey! Tomorrow is April. I'll be here all month with my half-hearted first drafts: a poem a day for NPM. Tell your friends and write with me. Are you in?

1 Yr to a Writing Life - Chapter 2

Click here for Chapter 1.


When I was in the 4th grade, I spilled spaghetti off my lunch tray into the milk cooler at school. I remembered this while reading Bird by Bird and had already started to write about it when I read Chapter 2 of that book with the really long title that I'm not going to type because I don't feel like making sure I get it right (so click the link above). Turns out Chapter 2 (month 2) is all about the personal essay. Taking a memory and writing it down and then fleshing it out and then finding the poetry in it. Oh, there is so much poetry in a story about a 9 year-old girl who has just made what seems like the biggest dumb mistake of her whole life! At that moment, I truly believed that I couldn't possibly ever do anything more embarrassing than spill my lunch. To be 9 again...

Now it's March, and time for Chapter 3. Hopefully you won't have to wait until April to read about that!

Oh, speaking of April: April is National Poetry Month, remember? Who's posting a poem-a-day with me? They don't have to be good (mine rarely are!); it's just for fun. And to celebrate NPM! If you're joining me, we should do the whole linkylinktoeachothersblogs thing so let me know!