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.
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
Music is the language of the spirit. It opens the secret of life bringing peace, abolishing strife.
Our world has come to an awkward cadence. Poco a poco an invisible virtuoso has taken hold.
We are sheltering a-cappella – one or two or a family without our daily accompaniments.
We long for a melody in this new atonal reality with its ostinato of rising cases and death tolls.
The daily recitative of politicians and medical professionals has become an eerie refrain to a mournful dirge.
We lament in unison for those whose requiems are postponed and hope for an accelerando in recoveries of the stricken.
This poem was inspired by a prompt by Stacey L. Joy on ethicalela.com. They are posting a prompt each day for the month of April in celebration of National Poetry Month. The challenge was to use musical terms in a poem.
Baseball was, is, and always will be to me the best game in the world.
It usually one of my favorite days of the year, but today I am lamenting the postponement of Opening Day of Major League Baseball. My slice is an homage to “Casey at the Bat” with one little “borrowed” line.
The outlook isn’t brilliant for the Phllies nine today. The players had to all stay home; no baseball could they play. First basketball, then hockey stopped, now baseball’s done the same. A sickly silence fell upon the lovers of the game.
No Joe Girardi, Bryce, or Rhys, no “Jetpack” Kingery No cracking bats, no slapping gloves, no baseball game to see. Citizen’s Bank Park is shuttered and now a testing site For the nasty coronavirus that’s changing everything in its sight.
Opening Day will have to wait till later on this year. A few more weeks or maybe months before we get to cheer. But oh the cheers will be so loud on that terrific day Cause that’s the day that we will know corona’s gone away.
So missing baseball is just a minor inconvenience in the scope of what is going on in the US and around the world right now, but it is definitely one of my favorite outlets. It always reminds me of when I was young and the Phillies home games were not televised (yes I know I am old). We would listen to the play-by-play on the radio and cheer as if we were at Connie Mack Stadium or early on at Veterans’ Stadium. Those were idyllic days.
I long for those days even more as we make our way through these uncharted waters, but I am hopeful that it won’ be long before I am hearing those two simple words – “Play ball.”