Reflections on the Teche

Dare to be Different

January 8, 2013 by margaretsmn

Read other Slice of Life writers at The Two Writing Teachers

Yesterday was our first day back at school for 2013. Rather than making resolutions, I asked my students to pick One Little Word for the New Year. So we brainstormed possible words, words like responsibility, joy, integrity, courage, brave, bold, etc. Some students even wrote a poem about their word choice.

Brooklyn is a fifth grade student. She is quietly inspiring to all who know her. She is the school’s choice for Student of the Year and will soon compete for the district. Brooklyn is the younger sister of an amazing athlete. Her brother, Bryce, has won National Championships. Brooklyn, however, does not feel she is in his shadow. Instead, she is doing whatever she can to help Bryce reach his goal of being an Olympic athlete.

Recently on a regular weekly language workbook page, Brooklyn was asked to write a paragraph about a unique person. Here is her paragraph:

One of the many unique people I know is my brother. He is disabled. He has a type of Cerebral Palsy. It only affects his lower body. Even though he has this disability, it doesn’t stop him from doing whatever he puts his head to. My brother, Bryce, does different sports. Bryce does track, field, and power lifting. He even has 7 national records. My brother is truly unique.

Brooklyn is unselfishly devoted to her brother. She has created a Facebook page for him as he continues to train. Team Bryce

Brooklyn wrote with conviction when she decided that her word for 2013 would be “different.” Brooklyn knows that supporting her brother, being the wind beneath his wings, makes her stronger, makes her shine, makes her different.

I will be different.
I will be outstanding.
I will be the one.
I will be shining.
I will be decorative.
I will be different.

I will be known.
I will be independent.
I will be capable.
I will be courageous.
I will be caring.
I will be different.

I will be giving.
I will be helpful.
I will be faithful.
I will be clever.
I will be me.
She who stands out
and is the only me.
I will be different.

Posted in Teaching | Tagged cerebral palsy, paralympics, Team Bryce | 9 Comments »

Dance of the Trees

January 4, 2013 by margaretsmn

Artwork by John Gibson, 2011

When I was growing up, I would watch my father draw. He loves to draw trees. And somehow, he sees more about trees than I see. I think an artist must see more than we see. He makes the trees come alive on the page.

As I work on my poetry project about my father’s art, I remember growing up in Mississippi on the banks of Purple Creek, playing in the woods, building forts and pretending to live in the wild frontier like Laura Ingalls Wilder. I remember hiking with a friend and choosing “our” own tree.

So I was thinking all these things, trees in art, growing up in Mississippi, and working on the craft of poetry when I came across a blues poem by Etheridge Knight that inspired a rhythm in me.

A Poem for Myself
I was born in Mississippi;
I walked barefooted thru the mud.
Born black in Mississippi,
walked barefoot through the mud…

This is my favorite poem that I have written so far. Sometimes you work on a poem over and over, and sometimes they just come. This one came, and I am grateful to my Creator for giving it to me.

Dance of the Trees
—Look at trees, think of God who comes to bring love.
I watch you watching trees.
I watch you watching those trees
outside your window in the loft.
If you could walk on the roof,
If you could walk out on that roof and touch them,
You could feel their hearts beating,
their hearts beating out the rhythm of the wind.
I watch you drawing the trees.
I watch you drawing those trees
in perfect chiaroscuro, shading just so
Just so they come alive and dance.
The trees dance in the moonlight
when you draw them.
When you draw them, God’s hand moves.
God’s hand is moving.

Matt is hosting Poetry Friday today.

Posted in Poetry Friday | Tagged blues, Christmas cards, John Gibson, poetry | 10 Comments »

Old Year, New Year

January 1, 2013 by margaretsmn

Sunset at Lake Martin, photographed by Leon Henry.

My pipe is out, my glass is dry;
My fire is almost ashes too;
But once again, before you go,
And I prepare to meet the New:
Old Year! a parting word that’s true,
For we’ve been comrades, you and I —
I thank God for each day of you;
There! bless you now! Old Year, good-bye!
–Robert William Service, The Passing of the Year

I thank God for each day of 2012. But today, I say hello to 2013.

Last night as I was drifting off to sleep with the pop, bang, boom of our neighbor’s fireworks, I was thinking about the night creatures. What do they think about this silly human tradition of setting fire to the sky at night?

Where do the owls go
when you set the sky on fire
with your loud, booming works?
Drowning out the who of my nighttime friend,
you celebrate intolerably, sending flares,
screaming as if chased by a bee.
This noise just can’t be right.
Where did the owls go tonight?

Read other Slice of Life writers at The Two Writing Teachers

Over at Two Writing Teachers, New Year’s Day Slices of Life are being collected. We have been challenged not to set New Year’s resolutions, but to select One Little Word to live by this year. This has been a challenge for me because it’s not really a word that I want, but an attitude. I want to value my work, whatever that work may be. I want to see it as significant to the greater good. But I want to be gentle with myself at the same time. So this year, my one little word is acceptance.

In William Zinsser’s book On Writing Well, he speaks of the audience for your writing: “It is a fundamental question with a fundamental answer; you are writing for yourself. Entertain yourself. You are who you are, so relax and say what you want to say.” So, to whoever is reading today, I am here on Jan. 1, 2013 to declare a new attitude. Acceptance!

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life | Tagged New Year, One Little Word | 8 Comments »

2012 in review

December 30, 2012 by margaretsmn

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 4,500 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 8 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

Posted in Blogging | Tagged review | Leave a Comment »

Listen

December 28, 2012 by margaretsmn

Carol is hosting Poetry Friday today. Check it out.

Art work by John Gibson, 2006

Last week on Poetry Friday, Laura Purdi Salas wrote a triolet about icicles. Her poem inspired me to try the triolet form. I am working on writing poems to my father’s Christmas cards. Here is a triolet for his 2006 card. The epigraph is his greeting inside the card.

Listen

Listen for the music of angels

Songs of heaven come to you
in mourning tunes of doves.
An angel plays her trumpet; true
Songs of heaven come to you.
From towers, hear a cathedral tune
echo like a hymn one loves.
Songs of heaven come to you
in mourning tunes of doves.

—Margaret Simon, all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry Friday | Tagged Christmas cards, John Gibson, poetry | 4 Comments »

Quiet Morning

December 25, 2012 by margaretsmn

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

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

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life | Tagged Christmas, John Gibson, poetry | 9 Comments »

A Light in the Darkness

December 21, 2012 by margaretsmn

Heidi is hosting today.

Artwork by John Gibson, 2012

“Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.”

The light
circles
like a ripple in calm water.

Brighter
than morning sun,
this evening star beams

Illuminating
dust particles to dance
around his little head.

He nurses,
content and strong,
pulling my heart.

Posted in Poetry, Poetry Friday | Tagged Christmas, John Gibson, Mary, poetry | 4 Comments »

Names

December 18, 2012 by margaretsmn

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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.

Posted in Slice of Life, Teaching | Tagged names, poetry, Sandy Hook | 8 Comments »

There’s a Certain Slant of Light

December 14, 2012 by margaretsmn

Join Jama at Alphabet Soup for more of Poetry Friday.

At this time of year, the days grow shorter, the weather cooler. In a recent e-newsletter from Poets.org, I found a lesson plan designed for 9th-12th graders about exploring darkness and light through poetry. I teach gifted elementary kids, so I adapted the plan somewhat to fit my level of students. But I kept Emily Dickinson’s poem There’s a Certain Slant of Light. The poem is presented on Poem Flow in which a few words appear on the screen and fade out to the next lines. This technology added interest to the lesson. My students didn’t quite “get” the message of the poem, but they learned about the sound of poetry. We talked about some of our “wonder” words, like heft, affliction, and oppression.

Before presenting the Dickinson poem, I turned off the lights and we wrote words and phrases that we thought of in the dark. Then they chose words they wanted to “steal” from Emily Dickinson. Then we wrote. Each time we write, we share. We have a class Kidblog site, so they post to it. Since I travel between two schools, this allows my students to read and comment on writing from another school’s gifted class.

Some of our poems were coming out pretty spooky and dark. OK, I know I set that up with turning out the lights and reading There’s a Certain Slant of Light, but I challenged myself to write a happy poem. I was pleased with my poem that the students helped me title “Silhouettes.”

Silhouettes

We turn out the lights
Behind sheets, our hands
Make shapes–a story,
a dance,
a play–
No audience
No stage
No flashing lights
Just my brother and me
on a winter afternoon.

Margaret Simon, all rights reserved

One of my students wrote a short piece with a repeating line, so when I conferred with him, I taught him about the Pantoum form in which the second and fourth line becomes the first and third of the next stanza. This is his revised poem:

Winter (A Pantoum)
This is darkness, the black, blurry time of the year.
It blinds me in sadness.
Its dull appearance gives me the blues.
This is darkness, the black, blurry time of the year.

Darkness blinds me in sadness.
Cobwebs surround me.
This is darkness, the black, blurry time of the year.
Shadows everywhere.

Cobwebs surround me.
Tiny bits of light make creepy reflections on the floor.
Shadows everywhere.
This is darkness.
–Matthew

I have a new student who is a third grader. I have gently drawn her into our writing circle. She is shy, yet confident. When she wrote the following poem, it had 3 rhyming lines, but no others, so I talked to her about making a decision in her revision. She could keep the rhyming lines, but since we expect the poem to rhyme, she would need to make some of the other lines rhyme. She decided not to keep the rhyming words and went to the thesaurus to revise. I think she is quickly getting the hang of writing workshop. Here is her revision:

Winter Glory

The winter woods can be glowing

even though you are afraid.

The bright sun shines from behind.

The cold dark woods are sometimes gloomy.

The squirrels are scurrying for the last nut.

I am blinded by the beauty.

–Vannisa

Photo by Clare L. Martin
Vannisa’s inspiration came from this photograph.

Posted in Poetry, Teaching | Tagged Emily Dickinson, Poets.org, winter poems | 1 Comment »

Poetry Master Class: Making a Quilt

December 11, 2012 by margaretsmn

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As a fundraiser for the Festival of Words, Darrell Bourque, former Louisiana state poet laureate, offered a master class. I submitted 3 poems and was accepted. Twelve poets gathered in Darrell’s home on Saturday afternoon. His house is set in a grove of bamboo. To get to the house, you walk through a shaded garden, enter a beautiful courtyard then into his art-filled home. I immediately relaxed and felt welcome.

Once the others arrived, Darrell quickly began teaching. I’ve known Darrell for more than 15 years. I’ve taken a number of workshops with him, but this was different. While I missed the interchange of ideas of the workshop style, I adjusted to just listening. His knowledge did not intimidate me as I expected. Instead, I understood. I followed. I wrote notes. I was a student and a poet.

He started off by telling us that there are no mistakes. He compared writing a poem to making a quilt. You get all the pieces laid out, and then you can move them around until a new pattern emerges. He challenged us to look for a pattern.

He took each person’s heart out, held it up to the light, and shaped it into something more beautiful, more glowing.

In an email to us all on Sunday, Darrell wrote this verse about this group of poets:

Brushing a child’s hair,
sitting by a powerful river,
taking a lunch break and really listening while being at work,
seeing angels,
standing next to sleeping Gypsies,
traveling toward the beloved,
salvaging the essential after rupture,
letting footsteps become prayers,
searching for traiteurs and medicine men,
sewing a new seam,
visiting monasteries,
standing in the presence of natural wonder
or grieving for a lost child—
these are all common experiences which you made extraordinary by your making them a part of your most essential human experiences. I thank you heartily and I wish you all continued good luck.

To show the results of Darrell’s shaping, I am posting one of my poems in both versions. He found the pattern of commands to make my poem-quilt clearer, stronger, and just plain better.

After the Storm (version 1)
If you want to study the skeletons of frogs,
take a walk after the storm when the sun comes up.
Listen to mockingbirds sing, high-pitched, discordant.
Walk the path of fallen limbs, clustered leaf-puddles.
We are washed yet still unclean. New day sun breaks
deepening the green, solid, and strong earth. Red spots
glitter after I glance at the spotlight. God’s eyes
peak through the ghost of a waning moon. Wren gathers
twigs for nesting, flutters off like a thief with goods.
No need for imagination here; all life breathes.
The beat of my footsteps become my prayer.

After the Storm (Darrell’s reshaping)
Study the skeletons of frogs.
Take a walk in the light after the storm.
Listen to mockingbirds in discordant songs.
See the sun deepening the green earth.
Glance at the sun; see the red spots glitter.
Peak through the ghost of a waning moon.
Gather twigs for nesting; become the wren.
Flutter off like a thief with his stolen goods.
Imagine nothing; all life breathes.
Let my footsteps become prayers.