Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Slice of Life’ Category

Quiet Morning

As usual, I am up early on Christmas morning. I woke up with the storm and now I am listening to the rain and cuddling with Charlie, my schnoodle who is afraid of storms. Soon the hustle and bustle of opening gifts and eating dinner with family will interrupt this silence. We need both, silence and noise.

Last night at the Christmas Eve service, we had quiet prayer and joyous hymns. I love singing at Christmas time because I know all the words and all the alto parts. Having all three girls home makes the house loud and busy. I love this, too.

But the quiet is where I find God. This early morning Christmas, I pray for the families of Sandy Hook victims. May they find peace. I remember those who are absent from our own family. And I pray that this day will fill our hearts with enough love to block out all the evil in this world.

I have given myself a writing challenge this season. My father has been creating a Christmas card each year for the last 9 years. I have the collection on display. I am attempting to write a poem for each one. Inside each card, he wrote a biblical message. I use this message as an epigraph.

John Gibson, 2008

John Gibson, 2008

Out of Egypt

“Out of Egypt I have called my Son.”

Out of
the cool dark night
in the midst
of old tales,
myths of Egypt,
land of Kings,
I hear His voice–
a whisper–Go.
Take my Son,
Embrace hope.
Go.

–Margaret Simon, all rights reserved

Read other Slice of Life writers at The Two Writing Teachers

Read other Slice of Life writers at The Two Writing Teachers

Read Full Post »

Names

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life


I hear their names.
My heart aches,
Tears form.
Tears of fear
or cleansing, prayerful,
hope-filled streams?
I cannot bear to look
at the smiling faces
at the ball park,
on a swing-set,
with the family on the beach.
They are the kids next door,
the little boy at the grocery store,
my very own students.
They are us, and we are them.
Our lives are forever changed.
Now I will lock my classroom door.
I will teach my students to stand
against the wall,
be still and quiet,
in lock down.
No words.
No reasons.
The names–remain.

Read Full Post »

The prairie inspires artists and writers.

The prairie inspires artists and writers.


Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

This weekend I was invited to read at a festival in Arnaudville, a small town about 40 miles north of New Iberia. The drive to Arnaudville along Highway 31 follows the curving Bayou Teche. Years ago, I drove this same highway to a fiction writing workshop. It was in this workshop that I wrote the first chapter of Blessen. The workshop took place in NuNu’s, an arts collective with a performance area and a cafe in the back. The building sat on a high ridge near the bayou. A few years ago, the place burned. Now Nunu’s is housed down the highway in a large old lumber company building. Walking into the place, you step back in time on long leaf pine floors and high ceilings. You look out onto endless rice fields. I felt a sentimental connection to this birthplace of my first novel. And it was here that I connected with new friends who write.

Clare Martin organized the event in conjunction with the Fire and Water Festival “Le Feu et l’Eae.” (All festivals in South Louisiana have French names.) She titled the readings, “Words of Fire, Words of Water.” I felt privileged to be among the readers. Clare read from her recent book of poetry, Eating the Heart First. I felt an immediate connection to this woman who has turned her grief into beautiful poetry. Talking to her after the reading, I shared something about not expecting to sell many books that day. (I sold 6! A good day!) Her response was so encouraging.

Each success no matter how small in practice of what I love is a lightning strike against the dark.

I loved this! Another woman-writer-friend, Chere’ Coen, (See her blog post about the event.) gave me a Gris Gris bag for courage. And guess what symbol it had on it? A lightning bolt! More synchronicity.

The gris gris bag for courage with Clare's book of poetry, my prizes from Words of Fire, Words of Water.

The gris gris bag for courage with Clare’s book of poetry, my prizes from Words of Fire, Words of Water.

Traveling home from the lovely day in Arnaudville, (not to mention, after a delicious catfish po-boy, hazelnut latte, and double-chocolate cake ball) I felt full. I was full of the spirit that brings us life and creativity and art.

2012-12-01 13.48.09

This poem by Clare L. Martin moved me to tears:

ICE TO WATER

The hospital room is cool.
There are moths in your breath.

Circled in ice, you’re enwrapped in white fire.
Coffee-colored urine drains in a bag.

I swab your lips with lemon glycerin.
Your pulse beeps loss. I buzz a nurse out of the void.

I cannot watch you die.
The doctor scowls at my cowardliness.

Stunted from birth, plucked too early—
You were wingless.

It took me years to believe it wasn’t my fault
you despaired in an infant’s life.

I choose blue for the burial
like the thunderhead in your eyes.

The undertaker powders the fine
hairs of your face, seals you in secret.

First published in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Reprinted by permission from the author

Read Full Post »

Thanku

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

Last week, Thanksgiving week, I was introduced to the “thanku,” a haiku thank you poem. Today, I introduced the idea to my students. Since I teach gifted kids, I had to give them a challenge. Since haiku originally was a style of poetry that not only used a set syllable pattern (5,7,5), but also used the theme of nature, I asked them to include a metaphorical use of nature. And, of course, I modeled with my own poem. This one I wrote for a friend.

Sunflowers open
to see the world around us
like your heart to mine.

Some of my students took on the challenge. Most of them chose to write to teachers. It was sweet watching them type up their poems, find just the right graphic, and print them out to give to their favorite teachers. At the very end of the day, Kylon slipped me this little gift of a thanku. My heart melted.

The seed of a rose
You sprout your knowledge like roots
We share our petals.

Link to Teaching Authors two weeks of thanks

Read Full Post »

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

On the Two Writing Teachers blog this morning, I found these quotes:

“Walk through life like a writer.” –Lucy Calkins
“Tell the truth about your life and what’s really going on.” –Georgia Heard
“We know the truth of ordinary life events. Everything doesn’t end with ‘happily ever after’.” –Georgia Heard

I needed to hear all three. My ankle hurts. In our family when you complain like this, we call you (me) the “Bo-bo queen.” Something about annoying pain of an integral body part has made me thus. I am grateful for my new doctor-friend who fixed me up yesterday with an ankle brace and some powerful anti-inflammatory drugs. But I struggled with a blog post for this Tuesday slice because I didn’t want to whine, but I was unable to come up with something to write about. And then, this morning I read the wise words from Georgia Heard, “Tell the truth about your life and what’s really going on.” So I’m here letting you know that my ankle hurts.

But also, I am thankful.

Teens from St. Barnabas youth group gave out candy-filled mugs in holiday wrap.

Every Tuesday morning I serve at our church’s outreach mission, Solomon House. This morning was filled with joy. Teens from a youth group showed up with bins full of mugs wrapped in holiday wrapping to give out to the clients. The clients lined up all along the sidewalk. Each of them greeted me with kindness. What do I have to complain about? Nothing. The truth is there are many hurting people out there. They heart in mind, body, and spirit. I can look them in the eye with true love and gratefulness.

Another slicer, Linda B. at Teacher Dance, introduced me to the thanku movement led by Teaching Authors. A thanku is a haiku of thanks. Here is my attempt to capture the morning:

Many hands spread joy
Many hands give thanks for you
Walk your path in peace,
knowing this.

Link to Teaching Authors two weeks of thanks

Read Full Post »

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

This was my first year to participate in the Festival of Words in Grand Coteau. Grand Coteau is a small historical town about 35 miles north of New Iberia. This summer I met and chatted with Patrice Melnick, author of a new memoir Po-boy Contraband and owner of an artisan shop, Casa Azul. In late September, she hosted a reading and book signing for me. We made a connection, and she invited me to come back for the Festival of Words. I loved the feel of her place, artsy and comfortable, and the feel of the town with the main street lined with Cajun cottages.

The Festival of Words began with an awards ceremony on Thursday evening for the winners of the writing contest. I was privileged to have a student winner, so I picked her up after school, and we drove the hour to the Sunset library, just west of Grand Coteau. She commented that she loved the name of the town “Sunset.” At the awards ceremony, I introduced my student to two state poets laureate, Darrell Bourque and Julie Kane.

My student poetry winner meets the current state poet laureate, Julie Kane.

Following the open mic when students read, we enjoyed two performance poets, Bonny McDonald and Chancelier “Xero” Skidmore. Here is a video I took of Bonny’s performance of “To A natural in E flat.”

On Saturday, I ventured back to Grand Coteau and the Festival of Words. I attended a fiction writing workshop with Randall Kenan. The workshop was small and intimate and we wrote and talked and wrote and talked, the best kind of workshop to me. In the afternoon, I attended Julie Kane’s poetry workshop. Again it was a small group. She talked to us about forms and had us try out combining a praise poem with using the same first word in each line. We brainstormed ideas for mundane things to write about. We wrote about fingernail clippers, mosquitoes, and a volume knob. I wrote about grass. I was actually satisfied with the result.

For today I will step lightly
For your tenderness
For the light of sun upon your greenliness
For tickling my belly
For wriggling between my toes
For your fresh sweet scent
For the settled earth you draw strength from
For your canvas of wildflowers
For clover crowns
For hiding rolly-pollies, fleas, and snakes
For grass.

I wish I had stayed for more readings, but the day was growing long, and my mind weary, but I’ll be back next year.

Students from area high schools did drive-by poetry. Here a student reads aloud a poem by Julie Kane to Julie Kane. She delighted in hearing her own poems performed by these talented students.

Read Full Post »

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

Students perch near the water for inspiration.

Our team of 6 elementary gifted teachers took the 6th graders from our parish (district) on a field trip to Rip Van Winkle Gardens on Jefferson Island. If you live around here, you know that Jefferson Island is not a true island. It is one of 5 land masses that rise up out of the South Louisiana marshes. Jefferson Island was once the home of Joseph Jefferson and holds a beautiful antebellum home with acres of tropical gardens.

Reflections on Lake Peigneur

The purpose of our field trip was to introduce our students to a natural place where water is integral to its survival. We will be working with these students once a month for the school year on a project of their choice about water. At Jefferson Island, we learned some history, discussed questions, and enjoyed the beauty around us.

I led the students in a writing exercise from Georgia Heard’s book Awakening the Heart. The pre-writing exercise asks students to use an image. (In this case, the images were all around us.) There are 6 rooms, or divisions on the paper. Each room serves a purpose, such as “describe the image,” “what sounds do you hear,” or “describe the light.” Each room leads the writer to a deeper understanding of the image and often leads to a creative poem. We sent the students off to different areas of choice with a teacher. Teachers wrote, too.

Sharing time

Out at Jefferson Island, among the oaks, bamboo, and palmettos, we became a community of writers and explorers. We set the tone for the project yet to come and generally had a grand time.

Bamboo Poem
by Dustyn

Tall, arching, stalks of bamboo,

Bright and beautiful skies of blue,

Huge structures where flowers bloom,

Trees towering over you,

It relaxes me to feel the bamboo, so smooth,

And I’ll bet you’ll feel the same way too.

Writing in the bamboo forest

Rip Van Winkle Gardens
by Rhyan

We are in a mysterious land,

An enchanted garden,

Where the butterflies roam,

and the dock hangs over the lake.

The lake is screaming “I am a wonderful lake and I shall not be destroyed.”

But now it is silent.

The only sounds are rustling leaves and chirping birds.

Wait, what was that?

Are those the loud blades of a propeller?

Does this man know he is destroying nature?

Eventually this wonderful land will be gone.

Read Full Post »

In Louisiana, we call a little something extra “lagniappe.” Well, Saturday was just that kind of day, lagniappe. With a little nip in the air, I set out on a morning dog walk. I took my phone with me. Not sure why, except that I was going out alone, and so I chose to clip it to my waistline. I hadn’t gotten far. In fact, Charlie was sniffing and marking the front yard when I heard a strange sound. At first I thought my neighbor was pressure washing her house. However, it sounded more like air and the sound wasn’t steady. It came in bursts with long breaks in between. Then I looked up. Above me was a huge hot-air balloon. I started jogging to catch a good shot if it. I took multiple pictures of this beautiful rainbow balloon floating in the crystal blue sky. What a thrill! As I continued my walk and the balloon drifted out of sight, I approached total strangers out in their yards or walking their own dogs, “Did you see the balloon? Look, I took pictures of it.” I felt like I was spreading good news.

When I got home, I told my husband and showed him the pictures. He said, “You should send the pictures to the newspaper.” I downloaded them, posted one on Facebook, and sent two to the local paper. And sure enough in the Sunday paper, there was my snapshot on page A9 complete with a byline and everything.

What is it that a hot-air balloon offers to us? Uplifting hope? Memories of favorite movies and books? I personally think of The Wizard of Oz and The Twenty-one Balloons, both stories of hope and resurrection.

Sunday morning at choir practice, I was hoping we would sing a new anthem we have been working on, and my soprano friend turned to me and said, “I think your head is still up in that hot-air balloon.”

I would like my head to stay up in the clouds a little longer. Whenever you are feeling down, just look up. Who knows what you might see!

Looking up!

Read Full Post »

Advice

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

That undeniable feeling of defeat I haven’t been able
to tell anyone about, not in words anyway

despite hearing the advice of my daughter
who studies this kind of thing;

She warns me of the dangers of depression:
don’t let this go on for too long

I can feel it pulse like my eyelids under my fingers
which average 10 blinks a minute varying quite

a bit based on the individual,
and things like medication and nervous disorders.

So am I normal? I listened to the weatherman’s advice.
I trusted the image of storm clouds.

Trust your inner self, says Oprah,
in this month’s O magazine advertising 101 best pieces of advice—

ever! The right words at the right time
will direct my path.

Not today–today the path

is covered in acorns that pop when I step on them.
Pop! Pop! Something satisfying in the act of

stepping on this winter squirrel snack. Hear me
stomping, making rhythm by destroying.

Bake the Best Chocolate Chip Cookie

or How to Have a Conversation: Things I need to know

to be the perfect O-mag reader, but what about
this day when I can’t focus on the words? My eyes

flutter while I hold back the tears.
I am imperfect and annoyed that this is so.

First, get a drink. Seriously, she says that, get a drink.
Something to hold on to when all else fails.

Read Full Post »

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

This summer I participated in the Teachers Write virtual writing camp made possible by author Kate Messner. She had many guest authors teaching and posting writing prompts. From one of the posts, I learned about the young adult character generator. Earlier this year, I introduced this tool to my students. They loved it, and much writing has been inspired by it.

Using kidblogs, my students are working on stories that develop their characters. I am pleased with how motivating this activity has been. One of my students, Matthew, was a reluctant second grade writer, usually satisfied with a few sentences. When asked to elaborate or incorporate figurative language, he would say, “I like it the way it is.”

Now a third grader, Matthew’s writing has taken off in the first few weeks of school. He wrote his whole story in his journal, posted it on kidblogs, pasted it onto paper, drew illustrations, and painted a cover for his book. I don’t know if a summer’s worth a maturity or the young adult character generator was the impetus, but this year Matthew is a writer.

Chapter 1 The Curse
It was a normal Tuesday morning at Denver Catholic High, or was it? Aiden was walking to gym, twitching as usual. Then out of nowhere, it started getting dark, really dark. Then, a giant ghost came out of the dark and said, “Da school curse is a spreading.”

Suddenly, Aiden’s friends came outside as zombies! “What happened?” said Aiden’s still human friend, Jenna.
“I… I don’t know,” said Aiden, frozen. for once in his life. He’s feeling a feeling he has never felt before, fear. He was so afraid, he couldn’t move. He could barely speak and refused to look away from the ghost or even blink.

Chapter 2 The Adventure

“Da only way to stop it is to get da gem of legend,” The ghost said in a country voice.
“What gem?” asked Aiden.

“Here, take da map.”said the ghost.

Aiden read the map and said, “Jenna, we’re going to the beach.”

“OK,” said Jenna.

“I’ll drive,” said the ghost.

“What?” said Jenna and Aiden.

They headed to the beach. As Aiden got out of the car, he said, “Hey, I’m not twitching!” He was happy, but then the ghost pushed them in a cave. They put on headlamps and started walking.

“OK,” said Aiden nervously. His head suddenly jerked to his shoulder, twitching again. ”We, uh, go that way?”

They stopped at a pool of…lava! Only a few rocks to jump on.

“Well, let’s get moving,” said Aiden.

They hopped across, rock to rock. Finally, they got to the other side. They walked until they stopped at the end of the cave.

“Look!” shouted Aiden. The gem was standing on top of a cone-shaped rock structure at the end of the cave.

“It’s beautiful!” cried Jenna, leaning back. The gem was a glowing baby blue color in the shape of a diamond.

Swiftly, Aiden grabbed the gem, “Got it!” He held the gem over his head in triumph. Then he heard a loud caw caw!

Aiden looked up and saw a blue-gray falcon swoop in toward him. Before he could draw the gem out of the bird’s reach, the bird quickly grabbed the gem with its talons.

“There goes all our hard work,” said Aiden. Of course, he was right. They had worked so hard.

They went after the bird. They hopped across the rocks. Aiden found a light, sharp stick and threw it at the bird, but before the stick could hit it, the falcon flew down and accidentally dropped the gem.

“Thanks,” said Jenna.

Chapter 3: Lifting the Curse

“Well, let’s get going!” said Aiden. ”It’s been a great day. I stopped twitching, we got the gem, we lost the gem and got it back. Now, we can lift the curse!”

So, they were off. They went back to school.

Chapter 4: Curse Gone

Aiden and Jenna lifted the curse by saying, “I here-by lift the curse of the Hex, and I shall face anything next! I will not say ‘no’ or ‘I’m afraid’ I’ll face anything, alive or slayed!”

But before the magic could work, a half moth half cat flew toward the gem. Aiden’s allergic to cats and hates moths.

“No!” Aiden yelled, then kicked the creature hard. Whack! The creature fainted in pain.

The curse was lifted! They had done it! Aiden said in triumph, “We did it, guys!”

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »