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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

One of the workshops I developed for the teaching artist program is “Dancing with a Paintbrush.” One school in town, Pesson Elementary, booked me for four Tuesdays. This week the counselor told me that I would be working with the toughest class in the school. Since I’ve done the workshop multiple times now, I have a pretty good handle on the process. I decided to trust the flow even with these “tough” students.

Maybe it was the threats of “no dance for you” or maybe it was the nature of poetry, art, and music, but these kids were amazing!

I added a new song to the selection, “Vivaldi-Spring” by Black Violin. This is a rocked-out version of the classical piece. I enjoyed watching the kids’ reactions. They literally started dancing in their chairs. But they stayed quiet, honoring the “sacred space” for painting.

One of my favorite things in the whole world is the sound of a classroom of students writing.

5th graders writing poems about their paintings

The teachers themselves were amazed at the engagement of their students. I wanted to shout, “See what the arts can do for your students!”

One of the teachers understood. She painted with them and wrote her own poem. She shyly shared her own writing. She told me, “I used to write poetry all the time.” I hope she will be inspired to keep writing, and keep writing with her students.

Triangles

As pointed
as the lines
as truthful
as the sky
as creative
as squares
as promising
as circles
more than truths less
than lies
they’re everywhere
but in your mind, tell
a truth not
a lie like
the circles
in the sky.
(student poem)

Tuff Primary Colors
As the colors went up
More came down
As the color made a
Primary color they formed a tower
Of power
More dots, more movement
More of everything
Like an alliance
To form a masterpiece
(student poem)

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Yesterday for my teaching artist program I was sent to Gueydan, pronounced gay-dahn, 46 miles west of me in New Iberia. I was so excited to be doing my very first Chalk-a-bration workshop. I was also nervous because I would be working with little kids, K, 1, and 2.

The population of Gueydan is around 1,100. Everybody knows everybody. I was surprised to find that I did not see a black face. In one pre-k class, I counted 8 of the 14 children had blue eyes, and 2 of them were red heads. I didn’t ask the question, “Where are your black people?” But I was struck by it.

My husband conjectures that perhaps it’s a town where there was, historically, no slave labor. Today it is predominantly farmers who live there. Rice and crawfish are their major industries. It is also known as the Duck Capital. There’s an annual duck festival. (Louisiana towns each have a signature festival.)

My first group of kiddos were kindergarten. They were a trip! talkative, little focus, but absolutely adorable.

For the second group, second grade, I was better prepared, and they were more responsive. They actually knew about the seasons!

I read a poem from these three books, Firefly July, Poems for Every Season, and Ten-Second Rainshowers. We talked about words and senses. What do you see in spring?

The poem was a simple form:

Spring is ________
I see _________
I hear ________
I feel _________

Spring is __________
I taste __________
I smell _________
Spring is _________

Spring is beautiful
I hear birds chirping
I see butterflies
I feel happy

When I left the school, I went to the only real restaurant in town, Cafe Veiller. I was the only customer in the place, so I struck up a conversation with the owners. They told me a little bit about the town. They were friendly and happy people who plan to buy a house in the area. They said many of the people who live there are retired because the cost of living is so much lower than other areas.

I enjoyed my adventure to Gueydan, a friendly and happy place.

Rice mill on the Main Street in Gueydan, LA.

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

On Friday, I taught a writing workshop around my book Were You There? A Biography of Emma Wakefield Paillet. (Click the link to find out more about the book.) I had sent out a few feelers with people I knew to get gigs around Black History Month. I was excited and a little daunted to teach a senior AP class at Ascension High School. But the kids were great! They were engaged from the start and had limited experience with poetry.

The found poem form is a wonderful form to use with students new to poetry. They have the words in front of them. It takes some higher level thinking to synthesize the words into a new text, a poem.

We were using the text of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s speech at Selma at the conclusion of the Selma to Montgomery march in 1965. Four of the students shared their poems with me.

Untitled
by Martha O.

Our divided masses began awakening,
began uniting

to meet this threat, to follow the roots

today the state of the American dream will be transformed

Let us march
Let us march
Let us march on in honor, in struggle
and in faith

Transform dark yesterdays into
bright tomorrows

As I Stood on a Stage

By Rorie W.

As I stood on a stage,
all I can see is people.
Blacks and whites,
some young, some old.
Some shoot me angry glares with snarling lips,
some look as if I hold their fate in my hands.

As I look out into the mass,
I am filled with emotions plenty.
Fear and anger, but most importantly hope.

I hope for the day of unity, the day of peace
so, when I stand on the stage,
I don’t see only Black, only white,

All I can see is people.

The Right to Vote
By Luke H.

They revised the doctrine of white supremacy
laws of the South made it a crime to come together as equals.
That’s what happened when the South threatened to unite.
We are on the move now.
Ghettos?
Let us march!
Social and economic depression?
Let us marchLet!
Ballot boxes?
Let us march!
Until brotherhood becomes more than a meaningless word.
Let us march!

Let Us March
by Cameron A.

I want to tell the city of Selma
We are on the move now
Let us continue our triumphant march
to the realization of the American dream.

Let us march on segregated housing.
Let us march on poverty.
Let us march on ballot boxes.

We are still in for a season of suffering
in many counties of Alabama,
many areas of Mississippi,
many areas of Louisiana.

We must come to see that the end we seek
is a society at peace with itself.

That will be the day of man as man.

Please leave a comment to encourage these students.

Gator mascot greeted me at the entrance to the school. Yikes!

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

This morning I taught three third grade classes for the Teaching Artist Program with the Acadiana Center for the Arts. In my retirement, I found a way to teach and have fun. This is it!

The students were filled with joy and freedom while painting with watercolors. I played music to inspire their color choices. Some created abstract designs while others painted subjects they knew and loved.

After two music and painting sessions, they wrote a poem about their favorite painting.

Just look at their faces! I told them that I am happiest with a room full of kids writing.

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Poetry Friday is gathered today by Tabatha Yeats at The Opposite of Indifference.

Last week I had the privilege of leading a writing workshop for a class of ninth grade girls at the Academy of Sacred Heart in Grand Coteau, Louisiana. The school is located near a pasture of horses and grove of live oaks trees. The drive itself felt sacred even though I was nervous. I have years of experience teaching elementary kids, high school is a horse of a different color. But once I got started and looked into the sweet, kind, and welcoming faces of these girls and their teacher, I felt relaxed and calm.

Using my book Were You There? A Biography of Emma Wakefield Paillet, I told portions of Emma’s story and presented a few poems. We discussed poetic elements.

I felt like found poetry would be an accessible form to share because it is less intimidating than a blank page. What was so exciting for me was each girl wrote a unique poem with a different voice even though the text was the same.

It was Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday, so I pulled a speech that was not as well known as the “I Have a Dream” speech. We read “How Long? Not Long” from the end of the Selma march.

Today I am sharing four of the students’ poems that they gave me permission to publish.

We Will See
by Alana

We will see
We the free-loving people
will one day see the victory
rested over their dead bodies
and where is our dignity?
where is our humanity?
when will we see?
how long?
not long
we will one day see
that will be the day of man as man
and we will all be free
We will see


Electrify our hearts for the understanding of friendship
by Zelie

When the powerful understanding
of friendship itself comes into our lives,
and the universe wants to see us
wounded,
When society fears to live in the truth
of the dim unknown,
and when we may no longer have that passionate star that shines before us,
Let us become electrified by the majestic
face of friendship
and the confrontation of good
and evil.
Face the danger.
Look it in the eye
and keep marching on because,
though we are tired,
our souls and hearts are rested.


We Have Walked
by Anna

We have walked
through desolate valleys
across trying hills.

We have walked
on meandering highways
and on rocky byways.

We have walked.

“Well, aren’t you tired?”

We have walked
and our feet are tired.

We have walked
but our souls are rested.

We have walked.

Man as Man
by Kaylyn

My dear friends,
who have assembled here
from all over the world,

our bodies are tired

but as I stand before you
we can say,
our feet are tired,
but our souls are rested.

They told us we wouldn’t get here.

Out of this struggle,
a new idea,
more powerful than guns
was born.

It witnessed the whole community of Negroes
facing terror
and heroic courage
but, without the vote,
it was dignity
without strength.

Every race
good
and evil
generated the massive power
to turn the whole nation
to a new course.

We must come to see
not of the white man,
not of the black man,

man
as
man.






Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Getty images

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Once again, Georgia Heard’s newsletter delivers a wealth of prompts for writing. On Sundays I tutor a young writer. She is such a delight. This week she was eating cherries from her own cherry tree. I knew we had to include this in her poem, so I turned to Georgia’s poem “What the Trees Know.”

When writing poetry from the heart, you must turn to what you know. Amoret knows cherry trees. As I wrote beside her, I wrote about cypress trees. What tree would you write about?

I am pleased to share Amoret’s poem today. Her writing fills me with poetic-teacher joy. She has few inhibitions about putting words to paper and was happy for me to share her poem.

What Does the Cherry Tree Know?

A cherry tree knows how
To dance in the wind freely
And joyfully. The cherry tree knows
How to drink from its
Roots. To us, how it drinks
May seem fast, but to the tree
It’s like a walk in the 
Park. The cherry tree
Gets showered by a hose
Rarely, but mostly the
Rain. When we say “Oh no,
It’s a-raining!” cherries are 
Showering and drinking.

By Amoret, 9 years old

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

This month I am following Georgia Heard’s calendar of prompts for small poems. I am posting daily on Instagram. But this poem response “A List of Last Times” was a little long for that platform.

As the end of the school year and my retirement approaches, I am experiencing many lasts. Some are easy to let go off, some are harder.

Last List for Closing Out the School Year

Complete SLT “student learning target”
Last essays:
read,
evaluate,
give feedback.

Last lesson plans:
standard noted
opening
student work
closing
Submit for review.

Last Field Trip forms:
list students
collect money
get check from the office.

Last hallway walk
(How many steps have I taken on this hall?)
my own safe space
books, books, books
student voices echo
a full nest empty (fledglings flown.)

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

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Heidi Mordhorst is hosting Poetry Friday at My Juicy Little Universe and she also has the next line for the Kidlit Progressive Poem.

This week we are back from Easter break and in the depths of standardized testing, so it has become an opportunity for me to start the daunting task of cleaning out my classroom for retirement. I’ve been looking through old files and deciding what to keep and what to trash. Most of it is trash, but I look at it anyway. There are some things that are hard to throw away. It’s hitting me hard, I must say. So for two of the poem prompts at Ethical ELA, I wrote about this process. Writing is the way I can let go of some of the pent up feelings. (I don’t want to show them to my students.)

Larin Wade gave the prompt on Wednesday. Ironically she is a first year teacher. She asked us to write about seasons using the etheree form (consists of ten lines of increasing syllable count: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. 10)

Time
reflects
a long life
of commitment
not only to teach
but to nurture children
hold them with loving kindness
allow a safe space for growing.
Retire is a bold, yet daunting word.
One door closes. Will another open?

On Friday, Ashley challenged us with double dactyls. To see the rules (guidelines) for this poem, go to her post here.

Higgledy-piggledy
Filefuls of gibberish
Fill up her trash bin with
Piles of old news

Secretly covering
Years of her mothering
Spilling soft mutterings
long overdue.

And now back to the task at hand. Happy Friday! Four Fridays to go!

I made this collage years ago in a paper workshop.

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

On Fridays, I usually post a poem for my students to read and discuss. This week we looked at Billy Collins’s poem Today. This has been a favorite of mine for a long time. When I looked back on my blog, I found a poem I wrote after Today in 2011. (See the post here.) My students were shocked by this because none of them were even born at that time.

Today begins with a wonderful line for getting into a poem, “If ever there were a spring day so perfect,” As the poem continues with two lined stanzas, there is no end punctuation until the last line, “today is just that kind of day.” The whole poem is one sentence. I love how this works to make the poem sound more urgent and energized.

I invited my students to use these lines to create their own poems about a perfect day.

Spring 2025
after Billy Collins 

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so full of bird song

that it made you want to join
with your own singing

and open your whole mouth
to the world of nature,

a day when dew drops cool grass,
and the garden roses popping

with red reflect the sun, so much light
that you feel like breathing,

releasing the grief you’ve held in
and cry real tears at the beauty

of it all, walk with light
pink and orange rising before

you, welcoming you with open arms
of rose and green and sky.

Today is that kind of day. 

Margaret Simon, draft

As we head into spring, Avalyn and some other students are still dreaming about the amazing snow we had this winter. She asked if she could write about a winter day. “Of course, it’s your poem.”

If there were a winter day so perfect
so cold with icy air

Could I pretend to hunt ghosts
while drinking a warm cup of hot chocolate

Could I put on layers of clothes
and roll in the snow

Could I sit in my warm bed
watching TV and “being productive”

Could I play outside bands
performing plays

Could I read a book
my best days

Dreaming of presents can you imagine?
Well you can because today is that day.

Avalyn, 5th grade

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

If you are a blogger and would like to add a line during National Poetry Month to our Kidlit Progressive Poem, please make a comment or send me an email with a date choice and a link to your blog. Everyone is welcome to play!

The early morning school playground was covered in a sheet of fog. Avalyn and I went outside to write. This is something she often requests. There is an old oak with a picnic table in a just right spot for writing in our notebooks. I wrote about my surroundings, observations of the morning.

The fog hovers over the playground.
I hear echoes of a church bell chime.
Traffic moves beyond
carrying the day-workers.
Birds call to mates
as spring slowly wakes
sprouting on this weary morning.

Form can give us a container for our words. I looked up the triolet form. I labeled my paper with the number of lines and the rhyme scheme. The poem changed shape while still holding the mood.


Fog hovers on soft spring air,
tip-toes as a church bell chimes.
Work day traffic moves on everywhere.
Fog hovers on soft spring air.
Breeze tickles my face with hair.
Morning wakes right on time.
Fog hovers on soft spring air,
tip-toes as a church bell chimes. 

(Margaret Simon, draft)

I used these two drafts to discuss revision with my students at the next school in the afternoon. I suggested they go back to a poem and revise it.

Max who is a humble poet will rarely share his poems out loud, so I asked his permission to share his revision here. He wrote it on Fanschool, and you can leave comments specifically for him there.

“Insects buzzing all around,

Bugs are feeding on the ground,

For there is no need for them to hurry,

So why should they need to worry?”

March 25th, 2025: I absolutely despise the quality of this poem. REVISE!

Insects hover in the air,

Gracefully, glide without care.

Spot a flower, beautifully white.

Harvesting energy, basking in the sunlight.

Insects, bugs, air and the ground.

Moving, flying, all around.

To hurry is not a worry, for them.

Unless by something, they’re found.

Then Scurry!

I would add something else, but this is just about it.
(Max, 6th grade)

How do you approach revision? Is it hard for you? I think students don’t usually like to revise. They like to write and move on to the next thing. Honestly until I read Max’s post, I thought the class didn’t think much of my little revision lesson. Modeling our own writing process with our students makes us vulnerable, but in the long run, shares how we all are in this together, writing side by side.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Marcie.

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