During the month of March, I successfully completed the Slice of Life Story Challenge. At the end of the month my writing life was feeling energized, and I committed myself to the Poem a Day challenge where as the title indicates, I would write a poem each day for the month of April. I made it eight days!
In the interest of my love of poetry writing, I had to stop. To me, poetry is like a fine meal; it takes time to prepare and time to enjoy. My poems were becoming more like fast food than fine dining. If this were an episode of Chopped, I would be the first chef going home.
Sometimes goals have to be re-evaluated, and plans need to be changed. That’s OK. I had to repeating this to myself, because I felt like I was letting someone down by not continuing to write a poem every day. Who was I letting down? My millions of followers? Myself? I write almost every day even when I do not publish a blog post. I don’t know why that isn’t enough. Why am I feeling like I failed?
Over the weekend I spoke with my daughter and was telling her my tale of woe. She suggested that I might be putting to much on my “to do” list and that my expectations were too ambitious. She really got me thinking.
Goals should be realistic and attainable or else you are setting yourself up for failure. While wanting to write a poem a day and admiring my circle of writing friends who do, is a nice thought, I know that realistically I can’t do it for a couple of reasons. First, this school year is just so demanding, and some days I don’t get to write until way past the time of coherent thinking. Secondly, poems don’t come quiet as freely to me as prose. I need to spend more time on a poem before I feel ready to share.
So I decided that I am going to feel satisfied that I wrote a poem for the first eight days of April and let it go at that. Hopefully I will write a post a few more before the end of the month, but if not; that’s ok too.
How about you? Are you being kind, patient, generous, and accepting of yourself? Are you cutting yourself a break? If not, you should. It is refreshing!
Today we had a middle school club period; I moderate the Poetry Workshop. Our focus today was on color poems. First the students did a quick write about their favorite color, and then I shared Hailstones and Halibut Bones by Mary O’Neill. If you don’t know this book, you must check it out. It is a beautifully written and illustrated collection of color poems. Below is my quick draft that I wrote while the kids were writing their color poems.
Purple is royal and regal and proud. It can be muted, or it can be loud.
In the kitchen purple can be small or big Eggplants and onions; cabbage and fig
Purple is hyacinths, verbena, and aster. It’s also in sunsets over the pasture.
If you’re Prince, you see purple in the rain. If you’re clumsy, you see it after the pain.
Purple has many names; here are some: amethyst, lavender, magenta, and plum.
Today’s poem is a triolet. “A triolet has 13th century French roots linked to the rondeau or “round” poem. It is an eight line poem.
A (first line) B (second line) a (rhymes with first line) A (repeat first line) a (rhymes with first line) b (rhymes with second line) A (repeat first line) B (repeat second line) (Writer’s Digest)
Here is my draft of a triolet.
The stairs are always cruel to me my Mt. Everest for sure one at a time, knee by knee The stairs are always cruel to me I hate that others have to see that climbing stairs has become a chore The stairs are always cruel to me my Mt. Everest for sure.
Sunday was the day! On Sunday, we gathered at my son’s house to celebrate Easter. All of the kids and grandkids were there, and my husband had the day off. The weather was perfect fo the egg hunt, and the grandkids loved it.
Sunday was the day! Three of six adults are completely vaccinated while the other three get shot two this week. It had been over a year since we all were in the same room together. Even though we still were wearing masks and the visit wasn’t long with the entire family, it was wonderful! There were hugs for the first time in over a year!
Sunday was the day! I cannot even describe the feeling I had as I hugged my children and grandchildren. I wouldn’t say we were an overly affectionate family, but there are definitely kisses and hugs when we enter and leave each others’ company.
Sunday was the day! I felt hopeful for the first time in a long time.
Today’s poem is a Cinquain. “Inspired by tanka, the cinquain is comprised of 2 syllables in the first line, 4 in the second line, 6 in the third, 8 in the fourth, and 2 in the fifth. Plus, poets have the freedom to add or subtract one syllable from each line.” (Writer’s Digest)
This is my draft of a cinquian.
Tuesday feels like Monday first day back after break the countdown to the end of school begins.
During the month of April, I have challenged myself to write a poem each day as a way to participate in National Poetry Month. Today’s poem is a TANKA.Tanka poetry refers to a Japanese 31-syllable poem, traditionally written as a single, unbroken line. The word “tanka” translates to “short song.” Here is my version.
Kind acts are alive
Shopping at the Dollar Store
Someone held the door
Conversations in aisles
A car stopped to let me cross.
Some days gettting around is not as easy as others, and those small acts of kindness really mean a lot. Not only did a young woman hold the door for me, she was was like a perky store greeter asking me how I was. A couple of people in the store struck up short conversations about items they were looking at. Even with masks and social distancing, and people searching for last minute items, there was kindness. It was a cane day for me, so heading back to my car I stood on the sidewalk waiting for a good time to cross over to my parking spot when a driver in an SUV stopped and let me cross and didn’t creep up as I was crossing. I felt unhurried, and that was another kind act that made a difference in my day. It was certainly a reminder to be kind: it isn’t that hard and could change a person’s day.
A house is made with walls and beams; a home is made with love and dreams.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Where is home? Home is where you are, my love.
Where our kids and grandkids gather To laugh and play and eat
Where we worry and make decisions – easy and hard
Where you listen to how my day was and I listen to yours.
Where we lift each other up and support each other’s dreams
Where we compare our aches and pains and fall asleep watching TV
Home is where I long to be whenever I am away from you
To celebrate National Poetry Month, I have challenged myself to write a poem each day for the month of April. My plan is to write using the theme “small moments,” but I will honor wherever my writing takes me. The writing is really in the driver’s sear.
Today is one of my favorite days of the year – Opening Day! I learned the game of baseball by watching my dad coach my brothers Little League teams during a time when girls were not permitted to play organized sports. After the games there would be talk of the games, and I listened. I was proud to know the rules of the game, the positions, and the plays. Those baseball memories started a love affair with baseball that continues today.
The crack of the bat brings me back
to the flagstone patio, where we listened to Phillies’ home games
on the transistor radio broadcasted from Connie Mack Stadium.
Richie Ashburn, Byron Saam, Harry Kalas,
their voices were the voices of a simpler time.
So many of my fondest memories are wrapped up in the sights and sounds of baseball. BASEBALL = LOVE