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Archive for the ‘Poetry Friday’ Category

Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for March Slice of Life Challenge.

Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for March Slice of Life Challenge.

Poetry Friday round-up with Robyn Hood Black.

Poetry Friday round-up with Robyn Hood Black.

Writing is like praying, because you stop all other activities, descend into silence, and listen patiently to the depths of your soul, waiting for true words to come. When they do, you thank God because you know the words are a gift, and you write them down as honestly and cleanly as you can.

– Helen Prejean C.S.J.

Broken Pottery by Sweet Tea

Broken Pottery by Sweet Tea

Broken
shards of unwanted
clay, rock, soil
litter the ground.

There, unharmed, her hidden heart–
once protected by
earth mother, soft and dark,
now bravely

open like the flowers
in an abandoned field,
reaching for light.

–Margaret Simon

When you open yourself to the world, it will reveal itself to you.  I opened two different emails.  The first from Laura Shovan.  She sent me the Sister Helen Prejean quote.  A gift of a gift.
The second was Tabatha Yeatts’ blog post here.  This image of the broken pottery grabbed me, and I opened the note on my computer and composed this poem.  I know it comes from my heart that aches for a child whose home is not as it should be.  Yet she is exactly who she should be, open and kind and full of joy.  This broken pot.  Her full heart.  My attention.

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Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for March Slice of Life Challenge.

Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for March Slice of Life Challenge.

When Wonder Wednesday comes around on a Slice of Life Challenge Day, we write in a slightly more personal way about what we wonder about.  My students scan the internet for information sometimes having a hard time committing to a subject.  And as they sit side by side, ideas spread across the room and before I know it, I have 3 or 4 kids gathered around a computer screen watching a video about ghosts.

Later when I check blog posts, I find that not only do their interests spread, their writing decisions do, too.  Wonder poems have been cropping up on Wednesdays.  I am afraid to tell my students how much this pleases me.  I think maybe I should leave well enough alone.

Tara Smith posted this quote on Facebook: “The fact is that kids learn to make good decisions by making good decisions, not by following directions.” Alfie Kohn

As my students write daily on their blogs, they are making more and more decisions about their writing without me.  I read and see so much development, so many craft moves, and so much care to write well.   I also see them becoming aware of the pleasures of writing for writing’s sake.  They are pleased with themselves.

Lani shared with me her Wonder SOL, “Look at my poem!  I rhymed and I didn’t even know it.”

I Believe

There is the world

where the dead

are still alive

and they

spy

on the living.

Maybe one day

everyone will

have a

belief that this

is true

that ghosts

can haunt you

and they indeed

say BOO!

Lani, 4th grade

Lynzee sat close to Lani and wrote about ghost towns.  She created a poem, too.

Montana Ghost Town

Deserted,

No one to be seen or heard,

You suddenly think,

“Ghost Town.”

 You run,

And run,

And run until you get home

Then you think,

“Home, Sweet, Home.”
Your parents then say,

“Where were you?”

You say,

“Just playing.”

–Lynzee, 1st grade

Emily perused some pictures from a local newspaper photo contest.  I cut out the photos, mounted them on colored paper, and left them on the table for inspiration.  She didn’t realize that she was writing a mask poem until I told her.  Don’t you love when a student just naturally has a gift for writing a poem?  What a pleasure to see this one appear in her Slice.

Photo by Kim Bayard.

Photo by Kim Bayard.

I walk across a gravel road with my 3 little cubs,

We search for  berries and  fruits to eat, but we can not find them,

From behind some type of yellow shelter emerges a little child,

With hair of blonde and eyes of blue,

We run for a bit, but stop,

She approaches with berries of blue,

With even amounts for each,

I thank the young  girl with a friendly rub at her knees,

She laughs and runs  back  home,

She won’t understand how grateful I am for feeding my children and me.

–Emily, 5th grade

Poetry Friday round-up with Irene Latham at Live your Poem

Poetry Friday round-up with Irene Latham at Live your Poem

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Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for March Slice of Life Challenge.

Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for March Slice of Life Challenge.

Julie's horse Abbie

Julie’s horse Abbie


I am not a horse person. Every day I drive down a country highway to my school. In fall I watched the swaying sugarcane. Now the fields are bare, and my attention turns to the pastures with horses. In one of these pastures there are three mares and two foals. They gather around the hay bale together.

I am reading The War that Saved my Life and riding alongside Ada on her pony, Butter.

I am writing a verse novel and decided I want my MC to go horseback riding. Having little experience with horses, I turned to my friend and writing critique partner, Julie Burchstead. Julie lives in Vermont, and she has horses. Here is a link to a poem she wrote about building the barn.

Her expertise will make its way into my WIP, but in the meantime, I played with her words and created a found poem.

In the Saddle
a found poem from an email from Julie Burchstead

Feel and smell leather reins.
The horse is warm.
Western saddles creak like leather shoes.
Even through the saddle,
you can sense their mood and their power.
You are on horse time, a different time all unto itself.
Your body falls into rhythm
of the horse’s movement
like being rocked.
Their bodies warm as their muscles warm,
sweat has a rich friendly scent-like hay and summer.

Find your center-like a dancer-a yoga practitioner-
Sit deep and tall.

I miss the days
galloping down the beach,
hair streaming, bareback,
the rhythm of hoofbeats,
the splash of water,
the connection you have
with a powerful living animal.

There is something healing
about a horse,
this huge animal
that trusts us.

Julie riding Abbie. She and Abbie have been together for 15 years.

Julie riding Abbie. She and Abbie have been together for 15 years.

Poetry Friday round-up  with Linda Baie at Teacher Dance.

Poetry Friday round-up with Linda Baie at Teacher Dance.

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Poetry Friday round-up with Liz Steinglass.

Poetry Friday round-up with Liz Steinglass.

Kim Douillard who blogs at Thinking Through my Lens hosts a photo challenge each week. The theme this week is “One Tree.” Armed with my new camera, I decided to create a photo poem about the Grandmother Oak who stands in my backyard.

Mr. Jim tells me this oak is more than 200 years old.
Her name is Grandmother.
Yes, my tree has a name.
Her name defines her
as strong and old and able to bear
the weight of the whole world
as gently as she would hold
a small child
or a cardinal’s nest.

She holds the weight of the world as gently as she holds a cardinal's nest.


She holds the weight of the world as gently as she holds a cardinal’s nest.

A rope swing waits
swinging in the soft breeze
remembering the children
taking turns to ride
and lean back to view the sky,
squealing delight,
making Grandmother smile.

Rope swing

Rope swing

 

Branches as wide as she is tall
twist and reach across
the yard, a place of shade
protection form the harsh sun
or the whipping wind
of hurricanes; she’s seen a few.
She knows when to shed and when to hold.
She knows how far to bend before she’ll break.
She knows.

branches wide and open

branches wide and open

When I look up, the smallest branches
spread a canopy of tiny leaves
high and open to the blue
of sky, clusters of brothers
and sisters, a playground for squirrels,
a nesting place for Mr. Jay and his mate.

Branches high and small open to the blue of sky.

Branches high and small
open to the blue of sky.

Grandmother Oak holds her jewels
of resurrection fern and Spanish moss
like modest ornaments.
As a grandparent would, her home
is clean and fresh,
waiting and wanting
for you to stop by
and have a cup of tea.
–Margaret Simon

For Celebration Saturday, I offer this celebration of Grandmother Oak.

Discover. Play. Build.

Ruth Ayres invites us the celebrate each week. Click over to her site Discover. Play. Build. to read more celebrations.

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Poetry Friday round-up  with Donna at Mainly Write

Poetry Friday round-up with Donna at Mainly Write

Live oak reaches out

Where does a poem come from?
From play with words?
Intention of language?
Simply throwing confetti to the wind?

A poem takes shape
whether I am present or not.
Some days the muse is mine.
Others I merely stroke the fire
waiting for the flame to ignite.

William Stafford said I should kneel
in the deep earth and dig.*

I kneel.
I pray.
I sing.
Then I open my notebook,
lay my pen against soft paper,
and wriggle these fingers.

A gift is given.
I will not let go.
–Margaret Simon

I’ve been thinking about where poems come from and whether the joy is in the process or in the product. I don’t know the answer. But I enjoy asking the question.

Kevin Hodgson sent out postcards. I got one and added my given word on the padlet he created. In this instance, the process was the fun. The sending and receiving of postcards in the real mailbox was exciting. None of us are really quite sure what the product means, but we all agree it’s cool.

* “Successful people cannot find poems; for you must kneel down and explore for them.”
–William Stafford.

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Poetry Friday round-up with Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect

Poetry Friday round-up with Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect

Antarctica

C,lick to order

 

The lovely Irene Latham shared her newest book of poems with me and my students.  We had a great time traveling to Antarctica this week.  We started in the glossary.  Where else would you start?  We learned new words like adept, baleen whale, and crèches.  My students made notes in their journals.

We read aloud a sampling of poems, such as “When the Sun Shines on Antarctica” and “Beware the Brinicle!”  Oh, how they hate brinicles, ever since they learned that “this frozen lightning rod…entombs all it touches.”

In the back of this amazing book there is a listing of websites to visit.  We visited Discovering Antarctica.  This site is full of videos, amazing images, and fun activities.  I asked my students to do three activities.  They jumped right in and were riveted.

To culminate the week, we looked back at Irene’s poems and talked about craft moves.  There was onomatopoeia in”Gentoo Penguin Jumps In.”  I showed how Irene played with the way the word appeared on the page (dive actually dives down the page).  We talked about rhyme and short lines, metaphor, simile, and personification.

Then they took a turn at writing their own Antarctic poems.  Thanks, Irene, for leading us on this adventurous discovery.

Antarctica page spread

(My kids love disgusting things like a bird that vomits while flying in the air.)

Southern Giant Petrel at the Seashore

Petrel
doesn’t do
sandcastles
or suntans–
he’s more
like a flying
trash can.

His belly
is where all
the garbage
goes:
his beak
is the lid
that never
stays closed.

Careful,
don’t come
too near–
or Petrel
will spew
a rotten brew
all over you.

–Irene Latham (used with permission from the author)

Now for student poems.

Antarctica Poem

Freezing water
cold temperatures
Emperor Penguins
Penguin chicks
The sound of silence
Being broken by sounds

Grah!!

Killer Whales eating
Penguins feasting
Petrel barfing
On its predators
Antarctic Galore!

by Andrew, 3rd grade

Adelie Penguins

Little gray balls
beaks with all.

Black and white tuxedos,
important yellow shoes,
they’re businessmen.

White and black gowns,
little golden slippers,
stylish as can be.

–Lynzee, 1st grade

Who am I?

Who am I?
Who am I?

The killer of krill
I eat thousands, in every meal.

My teeth are two plastic plates.
I sing a song to attract my mate.

My bestie is the barnacle.
He’s been here since he fledged.

You guessed it!
You guessed it!

I am the baleen whale.
Now I will end this poem
with the flip of my tail.

–Emily, 5th grade

 

I have been participating in Laura Shovan’s February writing challenge.  We are writing to images of found objects. Today, our poems are posted by Matt at Radio, Rhythm, and Rhyme.  

 

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Poetry Friday round-up with Catherine at Reading to the Core

Poetry Friday round-up with Catherine at Reading to the Core

 

 

Discover. Play. Build.

Ruth Ayres invites us the celebrate each week. Click over to her site Discover. Play. Build. to read more celebrations.

Over at Today’s Little Ditty, Michelle has posted the wrap-up of nothing poems from this month’s ditty challenge posted by Douglas Florian. I have a poem in the collection.

I challenged my students by sharing Diane Mayr’s nothing poem. She used anaphora, a repeated line, “Nothing, but…” This prompt generated a lot of thought. I was excited by the results.

Today, I have a dual post: I celebrate the nothing poems my students created and add them to the Poetry Friday Ditty collection. The digital images were created on Canva.

Love this nature nothing poem from Andrew, 3rd grade.

Love this nature nothing poem from Andrew, 3rd grade.

Lynzee loves the songs of nightingales, 1st grade.

Lynzee loves the songs of nightingales, 1st grade.

Nothing by Kaiden

Nothing poem by Kaiden, 5th grade

Nothing poem by Kaiden, 5th grade

Kielan’s poem is about a classmate, Erin.

Nothing but rainbow narwhals

Nothing but rainbow butterfly unicorn kittens

Nothing but unicorns

Nothing but love

Nothing but a helpful heart

Nothing but imagination

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Poetry Friday round-up  with Tara at A Teaching Life.

Poetry Friday round-up with Tara at A Teaching Life.

Over at Holly Mueller’s blog, Reading, Teaching, Learning, a group of us are writing about the spiritual aspects of our OLWs. Last week, we wrote about the word Believe. Irene Latham’s creed poem inspired me. I posted it on my kidblog site and asked my students to reflect on the meaning and to respond with their own beliefs. Today I am sharing Irene’s poem and my students’ responses.

I Could Say I Believe in the Ocean

But what I mean is,
I believe in water:
leagues wide
and miles deep,
still-cool-cold on one shore,
warm-salty on the other.

I believe in clownfish
and anemone,
riotous coral reef
and cruising grouper,

octopuses origami-ing
themselves into
castaway bottles
and now-you-see-em-
now-you-don’t krill
diving into
the mouths of whales.

I believe in turquoise
and teal, cobalt
and blacker-than-black.
In shipwrecks
and tsunamis
and deep-sea
luminescence.

I believe in a world
with enough anything
for everyone
where I am a boat
floating quiet
as a moon jellyfish,

weaving between sharks
and icebergs,
allowing the current
to carry me
wherever it will.
– Irene Latham

Student response poems:

I believe in life,

A world where nature blooms beautifully on the ground,

Where the sun is the light bulb of Earth,

Where animals are in love,

And a world where people are all treated equally no matter how different. –Kielan (6th grade)

I believe in unicorns,

dancing through the skies,

I believe in magic,

right before my eyes,

I believe in mermaids,

swimming through the seas. — Lynzee (1st grade)

And this response from Vannisa prompted me to look up the word sonder. I found an interesting YouTube video.

“I believe that you can’t judge a person when you first meet them, or barely know them. Every person you interact with or even just pass by, has a story and memories of their life that you know nothing about. I think it’s an interesting concept to think about. The word for this, which I think isn’t an actual word, is sonder. Some people live by quotes, but I think that sonder is a great word to live by. –Vannisa (6th grade)”

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Join the Poetry Friday round-up with Keri at Keri Recommends

Join the Poetry Friday round-up with Keri at Keri Recommends

Last week Michelle Barnes interviewed Douglas Florian who challenged poets to write a poem about nothing.  On Saturday, I had a bunch of nothing much going on and I read a poem by Barbara Crooker that was about nothing and the joy of a day when nothing goes wrong.  I stole a line and off I went.

with a borrowed line from Barbara Crooker, “Ordinary Life” in The Woman in this Poem selected by Georgia Heard.

This was a day when nothing happened.

I swept the floor.
Leaves piled with swirly
dust–not many left on trees

this winter day, but the sun
shone through a break in the clouds
making my gathering glisten.

I stopped to switch laundry
pulled long sleeves from the dryer.
Soft warmth brushed my cheek.

View from my kitchen window, by Margaret Simon

View from my kitchen window, by Margaret Simon

The dryer hummed a rhythm.
Time enough for another cup of coffee,
another deep breath of nothing happening.

I promised God to be present.
He said, “It’s all in the way you look at things.”
So I swept

words into a small pile
on a page
where nothing much was happening.

–Margaret Simon

 

 

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Poetry Friday round-up  with Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference

Poetry Friday round-up with Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference

 

This week my students and I wrote about our one little word choices.  I encouraged them to select an image and create a Canva.  I’ll write more about this process on DigiLit Sunday this weekend.  Please consider joining the round-up.  This week we are sharing about OLW in the classroom.

My newest student, a gifted first grader, wrote this profound poem about the idea of selecting a OLW.

A word is like a leaf,

So fragile,

Everyone chooses a word,

At the beginning of the year,

Little do they know,

Their word is a leaf.

–Lynzee, 1st grade

This student selected the word “Astonish” which is quite a big word for her age, but she wrote a personal acrostic that helped me understand her choice.

Astonish (1)

 

My OLW is Present.  My student Vannisa helped me write this poem as I was showing how Canva works.

One Little Word

By Margaret Simon (with help from Vannisa)

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