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Posts Tagged ‘Betsy Hubbard’

Thanku. Chalk-a-bration. Celebration

Posted in Celebration Saturday, Poetry, tagged , , , , , on November 30, 2013| 5 Comments »

Discover. Play. Build.
Join the Chalk-a-bration over at Teaching Young Writers

Join the Chalk-a-bration over at Teaching Young Writers

This post combines three ideas/connections to three blog sites. The Thanku poem was started by the Teaching Authors who encouraged us to write thank you haiku about teachers who have influenced us. Chalk-a-bration is a monthly round up that Betsy Hubbard hosts at Teaching Young Writers. And the Celebration Saturday round up is hosted by Ruth Ayres at Discover. Play. Build.

Last Friday before we broke for a week off, my students wrote their Thanku poems in chalk. I wrote, too, and was pleased with the sticky thanku I wrote for my mom. I’m hoping she will read this and make me pancakes this morning.

I celebrate that Brooklyn's flying and thanking me for her wings. How awesome!

I celebrate that Brooklyn’s flying and thanking me for her wings. How awesome!

Tyler celebrates the sunshine in his life, his mother. His grandma makes pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse.

Tyler celebrates the sunshine in his life, his mother. His grandma makes pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse.

I love you, Mom, for more than just your pancakes, but your pancakes are the best!

I love you, Mom, for more than just your pancakes, but your pancakes are the best!

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Thanksgiving Day

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged , , , on November 29, 2013| 12 Comments »

See more Poetry Friday at Carol's Corner.

See more Poetry Friday at Carol’s Corner.

Bradford pear tree

Yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, Betsy Hubbard of Two Writing Teachers asked us to take a moment to be still and write a poem. I actually wrote this poem by speaking into my phone on the way to Walgreens to get some decongestant. (My sinuses do not like the cold.) While I was shopping, a young woman, girl actually, asked if she could help me find something. Then she commented that I smelled. “It’s not a bad smell.” I had carried the roasting turkey smell with me. Anything can make its way into a poem.

Thanksgiving Day

Fire orange blazes from the tops of the trees
announcing the season’s change,
so I drive to my parents’ home by the lake
through the woods, tall pines, draping oaks.

Mama puts the turkey on early in the morning
while I still lounge in pajamas.
That Thanksgiving smell fills the air,
a scent I cannot emulate,
a scent I hold here

in my clothes, in my hair, my heart.
My mind does not wander to times before;
I do not miss the sound of children.
No, I am just here with this now,

This turkey roasting, the warmth of the fire,
this place where I am always loved.

–Margaret Simon

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