Join the Chalk-a-bration over at Teaching Young Writers
This post combines three ideas/connections to three blog sites. The Thanku poem was started by the Teaching Authors who encouraged us to write thank you haiku about teachers who have influenced us. Chalk-a-bration is a monthly round up that Betsy Hubbard hosts at Teaching Young Writers. And the Celebration Saturday round up is hosted by Ruth Ayres at Discover. Play. Build.
Last Friday before we broke for a week off, my students wrote their Thanku poems in chalk. I wrote, too, and was pleased with the sticky thanku I wrote for my mom. I’m hoping she will read this and make me pancakes this morning.
I celebrate that Brooklyn’s flying and thanking me for her wings. How awesome!
Tyler celebrates the sunshine in his life, his mother. His grandma makes pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse.
I love you, Mom, for more than just your pancakes, but your pancakes are the best!
I am having a hard time putting into words this feeling. This good, fulfilled feeling after a successful Fall Poetry Night. I think magic happens when a poem is read aloud, the words shared become everyone’s words. Your life becomes theirs, and theirs yours. We become a community.
On Saturday, I hosted our state poet laureate, Ava Leavell Haymon. (See a previous post here featuring her poetry.) She came into town in time to have paella downtown at the second annual Spanish Festival. Ava laughs at her new title. She said it has a certain amount of celebrity to it, but in the same way a rare boa constrictor might; Everyone comes to see what it is.
I don’t think that was the case for our audience Saturday night. I had been getting messages on Facebook from a variety of people who wanted to read. I wouldn’t dare say no to anyone who has the courage to read his own poetry aloud. So we had 4 featured authors and 5 readers in open mic. Good thing the food truck man was coming, and a number of friends had brought treats.
Ava took notes as each poet read, and she made a point of speaking to each one with specific comments about their writing. What a gift! When she read her own poetry, she instructed us as well on the forms of her poems. The teacher in her is natural. All weekend we shared stories of teaching poetry. I look forward to trying some of her ideas with my students. (And sharing them here.)
Ava reading at A&E Gallery.
I entertained an angel this weekend, an angel who taught me about opening my ears and my heart to all poets. Ava was still smiling Sunday morning. She told me after all of the traveling and many activities of her new position, the energy of Saturday night had rejuvenated her. I felt she did the same for me and for all who attended and participated in the Fall Poetry Night.
Ruth Ayres is gathering Saturday Celebration posts on her blog. Click the image above to visit.
Early in October, I had an author visit my gifted classroom. Chere’ Coen wrote the book Haunted Lafayette. When she was talking to the students about ghost stories, she mentioned Jefferson Island, and the students did not know anything about a location just down the road. Rip Van Winkle Gardens located on Jefferson Island is a land of beauty while also a place of historical and geological significance. I decided to remedy their lack of knowledge by planning a field trip.
The weather in November can be iffy. On Tuesday and Wednesday of this week, we had a cold front and temperatures dipped while the wind blew hard. All that went away Friday, and the sky opened to the sun. Temperatures rose to a comfortable 75 degrees. The heavens were shining on our day.
I invited some other teachers along, so we gathered 32 area gifted kids from second through sixth grade. They watched a video and learned about the actor Joseph Jefferson for whom the island was named. They learned about the salt dome disaster of 1980 when an oil drill punctured the salt dome causing a whirlpool that closed the salt mine and caused damage to acres of land. The owner’s home fell into the lake leaving only the chimney visible today.
A huge gong hangs from an old oak tree.
Lake Peigneur with chimney
We toured the historical mansion, and took a nature walk along the trails through the lush and beautiful gardens. Even before I told them they could, the students started collecting items from nature. They couldn’t help themselves. They picked up peacock feathers, moss, flowers, bamboo sticks, pinecones, etc. I gave them ziplock bags to hold their collection.
After collecting, I gave the students a Private Eye loupe magnifying glass. The exercise went like this: Look at your chosen object through the loupe and ask the question, “What does it look like? What else? What else?” In this manner, students were able to build a metaphor poem. This exercise worked well for my youngest writers. Here are a few.
A little lagniappe (South Louisiana for something extra) occurred when the owner saw me and asked how the day was going. I introduced myself and explained how the students did not know the stories of Jefferson Island. He brought me into the gift shop and handed me a DVD and a book. When I introduced him to two of our students, he told them some of the ghost stories. What a thrill for these kids and for me! Today I celebrate the success of our field trip, the learning, observing, writing, and friendships!
Most students in the middle grades know the name Lemony Snicket, so when I introduced his article from Poetry magazine, they were primed to listen. In this article, Lemony Snicket introduced adult poetry to children. He says, “Poetry is like a curvy slide in a playground — an odd object, available to the public — and, as I keep explaining to my local police force, everyone should be able to use it, not just those of a certain age.”
We read aloud the whole article. My instructions for writing were simple, “Steal a line that you like and write from there.”
The poem I wrote is a Cento, in which I took a line from each of the poems in the article.
An open door says, “Come in.”
The room I entered was a dream of this room.
I’m in the house.
I’m still here?
There is no need for you to come and visit me.
You are food. You are here for me to eat.
There will never be enough.
Nothing anyone could do to stop it coming.
The next obvious question:
“Does anyone want to be my sack of potatoes?”
Think of a big pink horse.
There are monsters everywhere.
What is it the sign of?
It is what it is.
That’s Poetry to me.
Thank you, I have enjoyed imagining all this.
Some student samples:
If I would be walking
down the road that
you told me to imagine,
would it be full of gumdrops,
and rainbows covered
in sprinkles and chocolate
fudge on a marshmallow
cloud that tastes like
strawberry icing or maybe
chocolate ice cream on the
hottest day of the year,
or would the road be
full of dark nights, but no stars
and gravestones, with lost kids,
and a grey, lonely path with
cracks in the middle
that can swallow
me up in one bite, with
eyes looking at me in
every direction?
If I would be walking
down the road you told
me to imagine,
which road would I be walking?
If I would be walking
the road you told me
to imagine, would my road
include you?
–Brooklyn
Electric green and red tears
reflected like rainbows over water in the daylight
right before rain
a warning of good fortune
telling us it’s okay
–Kendall
Stir Up
Notice
These are the first words I wrote in my journal in the Festival of Words poetry workshop with Naomi Shihab Nye on Saturday. I was star-struck… for about 5 minutes. Because Naomi is probably one of the warmest, most welcoming, poetry presenters I have ever seen. She makes everyone feel like they belong there. Even the man who had to step out to take a phone call. She spoke to him with concern and said, “Step out any time you need to. I understand.” And the woman who attended without registering. She pulled up a chair right next to her. “You are no intruder. You are a poet.”
The most wonderful welcome was for my former student, Kaylie. I got special permission from Naomi to bring Kaylie to the workshop. Everyone else there was my age or older, but that did not intimidate Kaylie. She shared like the confident poet that she is. She even read her award winning poem from the LA Writes anthology. Our hearts were full. Can you tell from our picture?
Kaylie and me with Naomi. Love her!
Inscription to Kaylie from Naomi Shihab Nye
Here are a few quotes from the wisdom of Naomi Shihab Nye:
I’ve kicked the word busy out of my vocabulary. I am embracing the word befriend.
When was the last time you really listened to your heart?
What old story are you telling yourself that keeps you from being free?
An artist is doing the art.
Each thing gives us something else.
What have you lost? What have you found?
You are an amazing poet.
with gratitude for your voice.
Kaylie wrote this poem in response to the first writing prompt, “What old story are you telling yourself that keeps you from being free?”
Free:
I am free.
I have never been bound by the chains of life,
Never been shackled or held in one place.
My pen is allowed to scribble across the page,
And I never restrain it.
I don’t take the time to think about my past,
I only think about bettering the future.
Held aloft on shimmering wings of gossamer,
My head floating through the clouds,
My heart thumps in a song.
As long as I write, my spirit will live eternally.
I will hide my innocence and curiosity inside of bubbles that float behind me,
Keeping this freedom inside of me flowing forever.
–Kaylie B., all rights reserved
See more Poetry Friday with Diane Mayr at Random Noodling
Ava Leavell Haymon, Louisiana Poet Laureate
“Somewhere, out beyond ideas
of wrongdoing and right-doing,
there is a field.
I will meet you there.” –Rumi
Thus is the epigraph that opens Ava Leavell Haymon’s latest work of poetry, Eldest Daughter. Ava is the most recently appointed Louisiana Poet Laureate, and she is coming to New Iberia next weekend to a Fall Poetry Night. (Fist-arm pump) Yes! If you met Ava, the thing you would remember about her is her laugh, and she laughs often.
Ava’s poetry is masterly crafted, yet easily accessible. Lemony Snicket selected one of Ava’s poems, The Witch has Told You a Story, to feature in his article, All Good Slides Are Slipperyfor Poetry Magazine. Mr. Snicket says that “poetry is like a curvy slide in a playground — an odd object, available to the public — and, as I keep explaining to my local police force, everyone should be able to use it, not just those of a certain age.” I shared this article with my students this week. We wrote our own poems by stealing a line from one or more of the poems in the article. This was a great activity and produced some funny poems. Stay tuned.
Ava has given me permission to share two of her poems with you. This first is from the collection Why the House is Made of Gingerbread. I love this collection. Who would have thought that the classic Hansel and Gretel would have yielded such moving and thoughtful poetry?
THE WITCH HAS TOLD YOU A STORY
You are food, she said.
You are here for me to eat.
Fatten up, and I will
like you better. Your brother will
be first. You must wait your turn.
You must feed him yourself.
You must learn to do it. Take him
eggs with yellow sauce, and muffins,
butter leaking out the crooked break
in the sides. Fried meats
later in the morning and sweets
in a heady parade from the oven.
His vigilance, an ice pick of hunger
pricking his sides, will melt
in the unctuous cream fillings.
He will forget. He will thank you
for it. His little finger stuck every day
through the cracks in the bars
will grow sleek and round,
his hollow face swell
like the moon. He will stop dreaming
the fear in the woods without food.
He will lean toward the mouth
of the oven, the door
that yawns wide every afternoon
to better and better smells.
–Ava Leavell Haymon, all rights reserved
The second poem comes from Ava’s latest work Eldest Daughter. I haven’t read them all yet, but the ones I have are so full! Full of childhood fears, sensibilities, and humor. LSU Press says “she combines the sensory and the spiritual in wild verbal fireworks.” And to hear her read them, you see the fireworks glow in her eyes. She is a delight, and I can’t wait to introduce her to my town.
THE CHILD BORN
with a caul
the child who eats the skin that forms on scalded milk
the child who bites cuticles instead of fingernails
the child who sucks her hair at night
the child who sings in her sleep
the child who does not mind the squeak of blackboard chalk
the child who swallowed a blue bead
the child who will not throw up
the child who refuses to listen
the child with the gristle knob at the arch of her ribs
the child who knows where the matches are
the child who looks too long at her father
the child who likes to spit
the child who looks in the eyes of the dog
the child who sits for hours
the child who sometimes laughs when she’s by herself
the child whose cold hands
the child who eats clay
the child who can look cross-eyed
the child who starts fires
the child who hides in a chinaberry tree
the child who listens
the child who grows quieter and quieter
the child who can be trusted with knives and scissors
the child who never reaches under her bed
the child who goes where no one is
the child who cuts things out
the child who hums little songs no one can recognize
Ava Leavell Haymon, all rights reserved
Fall Poetry Night will be Saturday, November 16th at 6:00 PM at A&E Gallery. Other poets reading will be Mickey Delcambre, Suzi Thornton, Diane Moore, and Margaret Gibson Simon.
Ava reading from Eldest Daughter on YouTube (This one is for adults only despite what Lemony Snicket may say.):
Join the Chalk-a-bration over at Teaching Young Writers
I love joining Betsy’s monthly Chalkabration at the end of each month. This week my students reminded me! We had a class visitor. Kaylie, who is now a middle school student, had a fall break, so she came to visit. The kids were excited to write with her again and to have her join our Chalkabration. With the theme of Halloween, ideas flowed quickly, and we were off to decorate the sidewalk with our spooky poems.
Fellow blogger, Ruth Ayres starts up her Celebration Saturday round-up today. Click on the image above to find other writers celebrating today.
Excitement is in the air at A&E Gallery for the Fall into the Arts Artwalk tonight. Above is a picture of gallery owner, Paul Schexnayder on the right, showing my father, John Gibson, on the left where he will be displaying Dad’s art for tonight.
Dad brought 8 pieces to show, a few to sell, and some prints. I am excited to introduce him and his art to my friends here in New Iberia. We will be signing and selling our collaborative book Illuminate. My brother, Hunter Gibson, completed the companion CD, and it is absolutely beautiful. My nieces added in their voices on the recording. This whole project touches me deeply. I hope others will feel all the love that has gone into the book, the love of art, poetry, music, and family. A true thing to celebrate!
This morning instead of going to exercise, I am icing my ankle. Yes, I overdid it. My body is screaming at me. But I think it was worth it.
This was a great weekend for lovers of Cajun and Zydeco music. In nearby Lafayette, Festival Acadiens was held in Girard Park. The festival is full of traditional Louisiana music and all free!
Jeff and I danced Friday night to our favorite band, Geno Delafose and the French Rockin Boogie. Again, on Saturday afternoon, we headed out to the Festival Acadiens. Cory Ledet was jammin’ his accordian. We took a few rounds on the dance floor, a patch of sprayed down dirt in Girard Park. I have been a longtime fan of Michael Doucet and Beau Soliel, so we could not resist waltzing and jitterbugging when he came on stage. Michael is a master on the fiddle. He plays fast. My feet couldn’t help but move.
Downtown New Iberia skyline with Gumbo Cook-off tents.
Sunday morning was the annual Gumbo Cook-off in New Iberia. Downtown filled with the scent of roux. Geno gets around and here he was in our own town playing at 9 AM. We skipped church to go zydeco dancing. I think God was smiling. A local photographer caught us and made us famous in the Daily Iberian.
A picture of our picture in the Daily Iberian.
My daughter said we looked like a young couple in the picture. My husband said, “That’s the point.” Of course, tell that to my ankle. The irony was apparent when I received the Poem-a-Day email featuring Jane Hirshfield’s poem:
Skeleton
by Jane Hirshfield
My skeleton,
you who once ached
with your own growing larger
are now,
each year
imperceptibly smaller,
lighter,
absorbed by your own
concentration.
When I danced,
you danced.
When you broke,
I.
See more here.
I am excited that Ruth Ayres is starting a new blog round-up for Saturdays on her blog Discover. Play. Build. Follow the button below and link up your Celebration post this Saturday.
Ever since I discovered the website, Wonderopolis, I have wanted to find a way to use it with my gifted students. On Tuesday, I saw the widget for the Wonderopolis link on Amy Rudd’s site. It caught my eye. The wonder of the day was the Great Barrier Reef. I got lost in the video swimming along the reef. I decided to make Wednesday into Wonderopolis Wednesday. I showed the Wonder of the Day and the video and asked my students to use at least 3 of the Wonder Words in their writing. I always write alongside them.
In walks my principal for a “walk-through evaluation.” We were finishing up the quiet writing time and getting ready to share. My normally vivacious class clammed up. No one wanted to share. What was I to do? I shared my own attempt at a rhyming poem with this disclosure, “I’m trying to write a rhyming poem and you know how hard this is for me.” When I read aloud, one student suddenly became an expert on rhyming poetry. He explained to me how I had to not only rhyme, but I had to have a consistent beat to each line. My students chimed in to help me write my poem. We continued revising the next morning. I think in the end we created a pretty good poem. But I must credit my students for their guidance.
By the way, my principal thought it was awesome that I had them critiquing me. She thought it was a little “teacher act.” But I explained, “No, I really needed the help. I’m terrible at rhyming.”
Living Treasure: The Great Barrier Reef
Discover our ocean friend.
Twenty thousand years to no end.
Golden-tailed hope rises on the wind.
Coral flowers sway with the tide.
Sea turtles, stingrays gracefully glide.
Among the lacy red, a mollusk will hide.
White-fingered anemone hug dancing fish.
Swimming, swaying, a rainbow swish.
A beauty, a wonder, a diver’s lifelong wish.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 