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Fallen Oak

June 19, 2012 by margaretsmn

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Ever since this old oak fell more than a week ago, I knew it had a poem to give me. I have learned and continue to learn to wait for writing. First, I walked down to the empty lot where it lay and took pictures. I played with Instagram for the one here. Then I sat with a favorite poet, Mary Oliver. Mary doesn’t fail me. I felt like we were writing side by side. I opened her book, Red Bird, to the poem Night Herons, and one line jumped off the page, “what do we know/ except that death/ is so everywhere and so entire–” Using her form of four lines per stanza and borrowing this line, I wrote a poem about the tree.

An oak tree
fell in the night
while we were sleeping,
unknowing.

Its body broken
by invisible flames,
trunk separated
from leaves, from life.

Happy resurrection fern
clings, even as
clouds form
rain again.

This keeper of stories,
survivor of hurricanes,
fell in a summer storm,
just tired, I guess.

That was the end of growing
as we know it, yet
what do we know
except that death

is so everywhere and so entire–
culling and clearing,
sometimes taking
an old friend.

One strike, one boom,
and the lot fills up
with sprawling branches.
How long

will we walk by
and watch the decomposing?
How long until the chainsaw
destroys?

Until then, I will stay
pray to this sacred sculpture
and to its sculptor:
Rise and sow again.

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life, Writing | Tagged , , , | 14 Comments »

On the Lake

June 12, 2012 by margaretsmn

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I spent the weekend on New Castle Lake with my parents. I never get tired of this place. Every night the sun set is new and beautiful. There is a great blue heron that hangs out on the peer fishing and guarding. Canada Geese, an unwelcome invasion, litter the far side of the lake while a mother duck swims by with her brood of five in a perfect line behind her. This place is inspiration for relaxing, reading, sleeping, and writing.

Because I was at home for a book signing at Jackson’s landmark independent bookstore Lemuria, conversation often turned to writing.

At lunch on Sunday, my father offered this wisdom, “When you don’t know what to write, WRITE.”

Mom echoed that Hemingway said there is no such thing as writer’s block.

Minka, their friend and priest, said, “I sometimes have to write, ‘Stay, Minka.'”

We all value the time and commitment writing takes.

At church, I was asked by a former high school classmate, “What possessed you to write a book?” I had to laugh out loud at the question. As though to be a writer one must be possessed.

I am possessed by a love of language.
I am possessed by the belief that a teacher of writing should be a writer.
I am possessed by the story, the poem, the words that want to be written.
So, yes, I guess I am possessed.

The great blue heron guards this lake
standing on wrought-iron legs firm and tall
while his blue-grey wings fan the breeze.

Mother mallard leads her paddling through
the canal, picking at the grassy border,
feeding class for the day.

At sunset, I fish with my brother.
His casts are smooth and long,
Mine awkward and clumsy.

Cast on this side
Don’t release your thumb until you swing,
Fishing class on the dockside.

In the distance, a boat anchored with a father and son
creates a silhouette on the horizon.
We cast and draw in silence.

It has taken this long life to learn
fishing is not about catching fish.

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life, Writing | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments »

Poetic Walk

June 7, 2012 by margaretsmn

On my early morning walk today, I was alone. My cell phone came along to track my mileage and pace, but it ended up recording my poem. Later when I checked the text, I discovered some funny misinterpretations. “High in the sky” became “Pie-in-the-sky.” “Workday” became “birthday.” The words didn’t really work with the poem I was trying to speak-write, but I had to smile at the idiosyncrasies of language.
After I worked on it, the poem became a grossblank, 12 lines with 12 syllables.

If you want to study the skeletons of frogs,
take a walk after the storm when the sun comes up.
Listen to the mockingbird song, high-pitched grating
like fingernails on the chalkboard. I walk the path
of the fallen limbs and clustered puddles of leaves.
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 a storm, resurrection fern fluffs up and becomes a green blanket on the live oaks.

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Delicious Research

June 5, 2012 by margaretsmn

Here I go on another writing adventure with teacher bloggers. Today’s prompt was to write about a place, then go there and add details from what you experience. What was suppose to be a quick writing exercise took me all afternoon. I wrote about The Goat Lady’s Farm in St. Martinville.

On the way there, I stopped by the Farmers’ Market downtown, visited with a few people I knew, and bought a bunch of veggies: eggplant, snap beans, tomatoes, bell pepper, and cucumber. All for $6, such a bargain.

I traveled about 15 minutes down Highway 31 to Belle Ecorce Farms. I can never remember the name, so I just call it The Goat Lady’s Farm. I think I like taking field trips for writing. Here is my short piece:

Nestled down a gravel road off the Main Highway is a farm of sorts, an exotic farm, not the usual run of the mill pig, cow, and sheep farm. A South Louisiana farm down by the Bayou Teche, the goat lady’s farm where goats gather on an old tire to rest in the shade. A visitor is greeted by the Amazon Parrot who calls out, “Hello” with his head cocked upside down. The crown of yellow shines above his lime green feathers. “Hello,” I answer. He gurgles out something that sounds like, “Whatcha’ doin?”

Wanda Barras, the owner and head caretaker, shouts to a couple walking from the barn with a small goat, “If you have any more questions, just call me.” She turns to me as I write under the canopy of draping oak trees, “I’ll be right with you.”

I sit a while longer listening to the background sound of the country music and the trickle of a nearby fountain. In this small piece of heaven, Wanda makes God’s goat cheese, smooth as silk. She flavors it with herbs that grow in pots near her little shop. I’m thinking I may have to come back for some more research on another day. Wanda tells me, “Next time, bring some friends and we can pull out the table cloth and have a picnic.”

Posted in Slice of Life, Writing | Tagged , , | 2 Comments »

Morning Song

June 1, 2012 by margaretsmn

I get a weekly writing prompt from Poets and Writers called The Time is Now.  This week’s nonfiction prompt was as follows:  “In Bird by Bird (Pantheon, 1994), Anne Lamott’s classic instructional treatise on writing and life, the author writes: “Writing a first draft is very much like watching a Polaroid develop. You can’t–and, in fact, you’re not supposed to–know exactly what the picture is going to look like until it has finished developing.” Keeping this in mind, write the beginnings of an essay whose direction and ending you don’t yet know. Start small, focusing closely on a single place, person, or incident, without thinking ahead. Then keep going: Allow the writing tell the story, and see what develops.”

This morning was a beautiful summer morning.  After walking my dog, I sat on the back deck eating my breakfast and drinking coffee.  A cardinal hopped into a nearby tree and starting singing loudly.  I wrote as I listened.

The red bird calls
from the crape myrtle branch
while the cat prowls,
Tee who, tee who, tee
who, who, who, who

He flutters higher into the cypress tree.
The cat jumps in, crouches
in the valley of trunk and branch.
The cardinal call is echoed across the water–
a conversation for soul mates
staccato notes in harmony
with the rising song of cicadas

As the breeze blows, the wind chime
joins the tune. I am the audience only
writing alone while
June rises with the sun
dancing with patterns on the bayou.
Cerulean sky domes the shapes of trees,
a horizon to this landscape.

Thich Nhat Hanh tells me to be mindful of the moment,
to tune in to my breath, in and out.
This moment of mindfulness
full of sounds, the cardinal and his mate,
makes me wonder
of the Almighty Hand
who created my world and guides my breath.
How am I so privileged to be here?
I hear this song so clearly;
I feel the breeze so softly,
an embrace from God,
my everlasting mother.

 

Audio of Morning Song

Posted in Poetry, Writing | Tagged , , | 2 Comments »

Liza Minnelli

May 29, 2012 by margaretsmn

Liza Minnelli is our new kitten.  She was an impulsive acquisition.  Actually, she was forced upon me by some colleagues.  On the last day of school, I went by the Special Ed office to drop off a requisition form, and, in that weakened-end-of-the-year-I-have-time-to-raise-a-kitten state, I was given a tiny kitten.  “Here, she’s yours.  Her name is Liza Minnelli.”  Two theater teachers named her.  She’s a tuxedo kitten, black with a white nose, collar, and paws.  Five weeks old and feisty, Liza is afraid of nothing.

Liza fits perfectly in the palm of your hand, like a teacup.

Every good rescue has a story.  I took off so quickly ( If I had hung around, maybe I would’ve changed my mind.) that I failed to get the whole story.  That night I messaged one of the teachers for the story.  This is what she wrote:

 A stray momma cat had a litter of four kittens near her apartment. The area is very prone to flooding and a few weeks ago, very shortly after the kittens were born, they got several days of heavy rain and thunderstorms. The mom was mostly set up at the base of a tree with the kittens, but as the flood waters started to rise, the mom took the kittens in her mouth one by one and carried them up into the tree and spent several days nested around the kittens like a bird to protect them from the thunderstorm. The kittens spent most of their early life in the tree until they began to crawl, and every once and a while a kitten would fall out of the tree. The mom would jump down, get the kitten in her mouth and climb a fence post (the kind of post you see on a barbed wire fence) then she would make a daring 4-foot leap with kitten in her mouth, into the tree. The mom continued to do this until the storms had passed. I just thought it was so crazy that the momma cat had the instinct to protect her babies, and would surround them like a momma bird would, all the while clinging to a tree for protection. “

What a great rescue story!  Now, Liza is in the loving arms of one of my daughters.  She has taken a trip to New Orleans and been introduced to dogs and children.  So far, she is a sweetheart, doing all her business in the litter box and sleeping through the night in a kitty carrier.   I haven’t regretted the impulse yet. Save a life; Make a friend.

Dixie, my daughters’ roommate’s dog, is gentle with Liza.

Liza is tolerant of child transports.

Posted in Slice of Life | Tagged , , | 12 Comments »

Altered Books

May 25, 2012 by margaretsmn

Seriously,
What do you want to do?
Today.
Be ridiculous.
Just try.
Write my own story.

I took a workshop this year on creating altered books. The process is fairly simple but a little time consuming. You take a discarded, old book. Tear out pages, glue together some of the pages to add thickness, and prepare the surface with gesso. I started mine at the workshop and then left it on the shelf to come back to later. I found some old discarded books for my students and introduced the idea. I offered them this option when they were doing poetry projects near the end of the year. A few of my students took this option and spent the time to create their poetry books. I decided to save them for next year, so they can add to them.

As I was cleaning my classroom this week with no more gifted services for my students, I pulled out my altered book. I decided to use it to gather the poems I had written alongside my students during the year. I would gesso a page, then work on something else, come back and paint the page, then glue on the printed poem. What fun to add a little interest to these last boring, chore-filled days. Students came in and out to talk, play on the computer, or join me in painting. A satisfying, creative end to the school year.

Cloud Watching Haiku
Cloud mountains float by
Making storybook pictures
Sun a background glow.
Glowing moon crescent
Above the grandmother oak
Through the branches winks.
Wink at the window,
Flicker of lightning startles.
Spring storm showers come.

Posted in Poetry, Teaching, Writing | 2 Comments »

The Big Weekend

May 22, 2012 by margaretsmn

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Summer break was dubbed as “The Big Weekend” by my husband many years ago.  Yes, he was and is jealous of this break in routine, time-to-hang-out-and-do-nothing time of year.  I look forward to the summer slowed-down pace.  I can wake up a little later, drink my coffee a little slower, and stay in grubby clothes all day long.  But after a few days, this gets old.  So I am making a mental to-do list.

1. Lunch with a friend.  What a luxury!  I usually eat lunch in a rush in the teachers’ lounge or on the road from one school to another.  I never have the time to have a leisurely lunch with a friend.  I have some dates set already and relish in the idea of catching up with a few long losts.

2. Get organized:  Realistically, this will probably not happen, but I always put it on my list hoping that at least a little more organization will come my way.

3.  My “book tour”: This is another one of my husband’s tongue-in-cheek expressions, but I do have a few book signings scheduled and hope to schedule more.

4. Writing:  Many students and friends have asked me if Blessen will have a sequel.  I bought a book “The 90 Day Novel” by Alan Watt.  Why not give it a shot?  One thing that Blessen has taught me is to not be afraid to write.  It took me a long time to learn this.  I now have the courage that I longed for all my life.  I am feeling like a Nike athlete…”Just do it.”

5. Exercise: I’ve bought new walking shoes and sports socks.  I am ready for daily walking with Charlie and whoever may want to join us.  I am committing to 7 AM.

6. Teaching:  Two writing camps and an art camp will give me three weeks with kids.  I miss my students so much when we are out of school.  The camps are hard work and lots of fun.  There are still openings in all camps if you are interested.

7. Family:  I want to relish this time with my youngest daughter who will be leaving in September for graduate school in Chicago.  We have planned a family trip to Chicago at the end of June.  I’ve never been.  People tell me it’s a great city.

8.  Reading and Renewing:  One of the reasons God created summer break was for us teachers to remember why we became teachers.  I want to do some recreational reading, but I will also read a few professional books to renew my practice and to remember why I teach.

Happy Summer!

Posted in Blessen, Slice of Life, Writing | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments »

Skinny Odes

May 15, 2012 by margaretsmn

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In my classroom, things are winding down to the last day, and we are only on P in our journey through the ABCs of poetry.   Yesterday, we wrote skinny odes for the letter O.  The skinny ode lesson I used was from a master poetry teacher, the late Sandford Lyne.  Sandy was so good at front loading, getting us ready to write.  I often rush through this step.  But on Monday, I decided to take the full ride, no short cuts.  So I read a few Pablo Neruda odes along with some other models Sandy had given us.  Then I led a full brainstorm exercise.  The questions asked about everything from shape to taste with many other questions in between, 16 in all.  The kids grumbled about all the questions, but they worked.  We writers had plenty of ideas for writing our skinny odes. The trick when writing skinny odes is to fold the paper hotdog style down the center and not to write over the line.  This keeps your lines short or skinny.   I will feature my ode and one of my students, a third grade gifted writer.

Ode to a Student

O, how you look
with curiosity
at the pages
of your book,
studying, learning,
making crevices in your brain.
How can I reach in?
Will you listen to me?
Enter my room in
wonder, ready
to create, think,
question, answer,
be yourself.

Can we walk together?
Forge ahead,
make new inventions,
new ideas,
write new stories?
Together, not as parent
and child, but coach
and team.
Shout the cheer!
The world is ready
to hear you.
Be kind.
Discover horizons.
Make known
your potential.
Be the best
you can be!

Ode to a Canvas
by Kylon

White rectangle,
my hands stretch over it.
I stroke it with a dry brush,
light strokes
testing myself,
testing my painting skills.
Paint finally collides
creating sprouts of orange and red.
The rectangle’s blanketed now.
Paint everywhere,
a season on material.
Coats and layers,
swirls of yellow
leaves fly back and forth,
a fall masterpiece.

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments »

A Gray and Green Day

May 10, 2012 by margaretsmn

A friend, mentor, fellow blogger, Diane Moore resides half the year in Sewanee, Tennessee.  I don’t think she has quite embraced the gray landscape of Gothic architecture and mountain mists.  Today, her blog came to me while I was looking out on our warm green landscape and feeling tired.  I loved her words and composed a found grossblank.  Found because these are her words.  Grossblank because there are 12 lines of 12 syllables.  Here’s to the contrasts of colors in our lives:

A Gray and Green Day

For Diane Moore

This neutral color of gray pervades The Mountain
This morning.  Gentle rain, iron-colored sky mists.
Pearl, charcoal, silver, gunmetal replace old gray–
Pessimistic hue no more uplifting than fog.
Color dignified by Gothic architecture.

To be creative, stare at green life, lighten up.
Walk in the woods; Alleviate anxiety.
Sacred shades of green and blue signify a new
Paradise of painted oceans, spirits lifted.

Poetry in emerald peace, trees leafing out.
Grass drinking dew, mint fragrant in spring memory.
Even the sky is the color of my opera.

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