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This long Labor Day weekend was just the time I needed to clean out. Usually it’s a summer chore, but this summer I traveled quite a bit, so I put it off. In a month, my daughter is getting married. We are hosting the rehearsal dinner at our house. I want things to look nice.
Obviously, no one will be looking in my drawers, but I’ll know they are neat and organized.
Cleaning out also leads to memories. I found this Thanku poem written by Kylon when he was in third grade. I think he’s in 8th grade this year.
I was thinking about the little gems and memories today when I wrote poetry with my students. We were discussing Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem Valentine for Ernest Mann and how poems can hide.
Note: Kylon wrote this poem, but Kieran was the boy who cried on the last day of school. Both were gifts in their own way.
Poems Hide
Sometimes when you aren’t even looking, you find them,
tucked into the junk drawer, sticking out,
saying, “Here I am; Read me aloud!”
That’s where I found this poem.
I was looking for something else,
a roll of tape maybe,
but what I found was this gift
from that last day of school
when you cried into your mother’s lap
because you would never be in third grade again
with me,
with Mr. Pants, the class guinea pig,
or with that desk
that had become your sacred space.
Things change, Kieran,
but memories live on,
Like poems
in the junk drawer.
Poetry Friday round-up with Kimberley at Written Reflections
Inspired by Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem How Long Peace Takes from 19 Varieties of Gazelle, my students and I wrote our own How Long poems. The repeated line “As long as” followed by images works well to inspire poetry. I wrote one about healing. I am slowly recovering from my tailbone injury. The bayou seems to appear often in my poems and as I am recovering, I have watched the bayou every day. Such a peaceful place to heal.
Peak through the old cypress to the brown bayou.
How Long Healing Takes
As long as reflections of tall trees on a winding bayou.
As long as the slow mowing of a field of grass.
As long as the the thread of soft yarn
winds its way into a baby’s blanket.
As long as the body insists
on being separate and human.
As long as instinct is ignored
and we just talk louder to each other.
As long as the cat
finds a box in the closet,
comfort in cardboard.
She hides all day invisible.
As long as the flowers in the vase
smile their peachy-orange smile
and say stay,
rest,
be well.
–Margaret Simon
And now for a few students’s poems.
How Long Patience Takes
As long as you rise at dawn
As long as the sun rises above
to shine upon us
As long as the teapot sings
a steamy song
As long as long as you make a wish
at 11:11
As long as you blow out you candles
on your special day
As long as you have
patience
As long as you leave at dusk
–Emily, 5th grade
How Long Creativity Takes
As long as you’re reading
with a smile on your face
so deep in your book
you can’t hear anything
As long as you’re drawing
letting the pencil control you
light and dark lines
here and there
As long as you’re brainstorming
with ideas flowing out left and right
shouting them out like you don’t care
while you peacefully think of some more
As long as you’re writing
with a pen in your hand
as you think of a story
and poem at the same time
As long as you let your imagination flow
making dreams a reality
and never losing hope
and letting your mind run wild
As long as you never stop believing
believe in the impossible
step out your comfort zone
and live a creative life
Poetry Prompt
This week, listen to a poem new to you–by a contemporary poet or a bygone poet–and jot down the words, phrases, and images that are most striking or memorable to you. Then write your own poem inspired by this list of words. How do you transform someone else’s poetic intuition and choices into a work that demonstrates your personal idiosyncrasies and specific aesthetic sense?
The word Listen caught my attention in this prompt. How does listening change your perspective? Reading and collecting words is easy. Would listening work as well?
One of my favorite poets is Naomi Shihab Nye. I’ve had the privilege of seeing her live and meeting her in a workshop setting. But this is a new school year, and I hadn’t brought her voice into the room yet. I selected a video from the Dodge Poetry Festival, one I had actually attended, so I could tell the kids, “I was there!” If you haven’t heard this poem, it is hilarious and much more so from the actual voice of Naomi Shihab Nye. She wrote things her 2-3 year-old-son actually said.
I instructed my students to collect words while they listened. Some lists were long. Others had nothing. So I asked the ones who wrote to share their words. “If you don’t have any words, you can steal these.”
I love this kind of writing prompt because you never know where the words will take you. A few of the students wrote their own random poems, a list of nonsensical sentences. This was OK with me because the intent of the experience was to hear poetry and play with language. We don’t play enough with words. Poetry is playing. You can read all of the poems on this padlet.
I want to share a few here also. My poem is written for that student who constantly sings aloud in the classroom. You know the ones who have a beat to their step.
Music leaps into her ears
down to her toes.
Tap, tap!
Her feet gallop across the floor.
Bit-a-bit-bit!
Notes fill the cup,
spill over her lips
like dictionaries for songs.
I would miss her singing.
I would miss her jumping feet.
I would miss loving her.
–Margaret Simon
Erin is only in 4th grade. When I read her poem, which she wrote covering two white boards, I told her she had the wisdom of a 65 year old. I also told her that she created a question/ answer form in her poem.
What is love?
Love is when you want a person to be your Valentine
so bad you want to gallop away with them.
What is love like?
Love is like a swing.
It can bring you up
or take you down.
Is love hard?
Love is like a peanut,
hard on the outside
but sweet on the inside.
What can love do to you?
Love can make you talk gibberish.
Love can make you dance the night away to soulful music.
What can love feel like?
Love can feel hard like a pecan cookie
or be soft like an ooey, gooey chocolate chip cookie.
What can love make you feel like?
Love can make you feel
like you are close by your
Valentine when you are truly
one thousand miles apart.
Love can be the best
or worst thing in the world.
–Erin, 4th grade
Emily is also one who is wise beyond her years. She picked up on Naomi’s opening when she said that we are all born poets, just some of us keep it up.
Life
It is hard being a person
But, living is a gift that is given,
and all metal was liquid first,
and all people have to find their way to be.
Everyone is born with poetry,
but not all people stick with it.
You know when you find your thing
when you have music in your legs
and jazz in your toes.
Michelle is hosting today at Today’s Little Ditty!
Poets are some of my favorite people. I want to be one, so sometimes I try on their clothes. I shared this confession with my students. One of my poet-heroes, Laura Shovan, tried on Naomi Shihab Nye’s list poem, Words in my Pillow, that you can find in Georgia Heard’s collection Falling Down the Page. I shared Naomi’s poem as well as Laura’s with my students.
My students are smart kids who are really stubborn about wanting to break the mold, but I told them, “This is the form we are trying on today.” When the third student asked about breaking the form, I turned to them and said, “What did I say?”
“We are trying this one on today!” Sometimes when you try on another poet’s form, it is confining and doesn’t fit at all. Not this one. I was surprised at how well this poem fit.
Words in my Bathroom
I keep words in my bathroom,
Words that keep me clean.
SOAP
TOWEL
SHAMPOO
No one sees them
Until I put them on,
But I know they’re there.
BATHROBE
FACE CREAM
BODY WASH
HAND SOAP
LEFTOVER CLOTHING
TOILET PAPER
TOILET is in there.
BATHTUB is in there.
The words wish they were something else
When I’m not looking.
This TOWEL and that RACK
like being together.
CANDLES brighten up my bathroom
TOILET yells NO
in my bathroom.
My friends the words
know better than I do
what makes me feel good.
–Tobie
Words under the Couch Cushions
I keep words under the couch cushions.
Words that make me cool.
HANDSOME
BLACK
STYLISH
No one sees them until
I put them on.
But I know what’s in there.
REMOTE
TOYS
PAPER
FEATHERS
WHITE SOCK is in there.
GOOGLY EYES are in there.
The words make a PUPPET
when I am not looking.
TISSUE
GUM
CARD
My friends the words know how to fluff a cushion
better than I do.
But I love them.
–Jacob
Words in my Closet
There are words in my closet that say “you’re chic!”
OLD NAVY
GAP
JUSTICE
“No one sees them until I put them on, but I know what’s in there–”
SILK
SPARKELS
POLKA-DOTS
RHINESTONES
“DENIM”
FLOWERS
SHOES are in there.
EXTRA LACES are in there.
The words choose my outfits.
I’m just not around when they do.
This SHIRT those SHORTS Already pieced together.
NEON colors brighten up my closet.
LSU shirts shout “GO TIGERS” in my closet.
My friends the words
know me the best.
–Emily
Words in my Journal
I keep words in my journal.
Words that dance from
my thoughts to the page.
BUZZY
PATIENCE
BOUQUETS
No one sees them
like LOVE LETTERS I hide in a box,
but I know what’s in there.
PURPLE
SKY
VICTORY
UMBRELLA
STARLINGS flit in there.
Even DILLY-DALLY trots a page.
The words make poems together
when I’m not looking.
LAKE
MAZE
WONDER
RUSH
My friends the words know better than I do
how to sing songs.
–Margaret Simon
This form fit reluctant poets as well as confident ones. Laura Shovan is posting student poems, too, from a writer in residence program. Check them out here.
My students have been working on book talks this week. Some of them wrote poems about their books. Tyler reviewed Eye of the Storm by Kate Messner. He wrote the following poem as an acrostic with the word storm. One student’s response, “I like how you included the theme in your poem.”
Saving lives from disaster
Taking risks
Only to see a surprising face
Revenge is never the answer
More and more problems appearing
–Tyler
Kielan reviewed Naomi Shihab Nye’s poetry book A Maze Me. Kielan said she selected the background and theme of her Animoto because it reflected the dreamy tone of the poem “Necklace.” This is the kind of poem that stays with you. “Can Monday be a porch?”
Find more poetry at the Poetry Friday Roundup hosted by Karen Edmisten.
Creative Commons, flickr, by photosteve101
Toady is my husband’s birthday. Exactly one week from Valentine’s Day. Last week I posted a love poem. This week I am contemplating the table he made for our family meals. This poem is after Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “The Comfort of Wood.”
Wishes on Wood
For Jeff
after Naomi Shihab Nye The Comfort of Wood
I come to this table hungry
I come empty as a vase
waiting for the scent of blossoms.
I come with no plan;
time stops.
I listen for the birds to return.
He built this table
of soft blonde maple.
If you ask, he’ll show you the joints.
The table centers the room,
colored chairs I painted with spray;
the green one could use a fresh coat.
Now I am learning the strength
of this wood, like a family,
holds all our whispered wishes.
Stir Up
Notice
These are the first words I wrote in my journal in the Festival of Words poetry workshop with Naomi Shihab Nye on Saturday. I was star-struck… for about 5 minutes. Because Naomi is probably one of the warmest, most welcoming, poetry presenters I have ever seen. She makes everyone feel like they belong there. Even the man who had to step out to take a phone call. She spoke to him with concern and said, “Step out any time you need to. I understand.” And the woman who attended without registering. She pulled up a chair right next to her. “You are no intruder. You are a poet.”
The most wonderful welcome was for my former student, Kaylie. I got special permission from Naomi to bring Kaylie to the workshop. Everyone else there was my age or older, but that did not intimidate Kaylie. She shared like the confident poet that she is. She even read her award winning poem from the LA Writes anthology. Our hearts were full. Can you tell from our picture?
Kaylie and me with Naomi. Love her!
Inscription to Kaylie from Naomi Shihab Nye
Here are a few quotes from the wisdom of Naomi Shihab Nye:
I’ve kicked the word busy out of my vocabulary. I am embracing the word befriend.
When was the last time you really listened to your heart?
What old story are you telling yourself that keeps you from being free?
An artist is doing the art.
Each thing gives us something else.
What have you lost? What have you found?
You are an amazing poet.
with gratitude for your voice.
Kaylie wrote this poem in response to the first writing prompt, “What old story are you telling yourself that keeps you from being free?”
Free:
I am free.
I have never been bound by the chains of life,
Never been shackled or held in one place.
My pen is allowed to scribble across the page,
And I never restrain it.
I don’t take the time to think about my past,
I only think about bettering the future.
Held aloft on shimmering wings of gossamer,
My head floating through the clouds,
My heart thumps in a song.
As long as I write, my spirit will live eternally.
I will hide my innocence and curiosity inside of bubbles that float behind me,
Keeping this freedom inside of me flowing forever.
–Kaylie B., all rights reserved
See more Poetry Friday with Linda at Teacher Dance.
The Festival of Words is around the corner (next weekend!). Naomi Shihab Nye is coming to the small town of Grand Coteau, Louisiana to be a part of this great celebration of poetry. Naomi is a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets, and she is coming to see us and share poetry with us. I have signed up for her workshop next Saturday and have gotten special permission to bring a student with me.
The Festival of Words was organized six years ago by a small group who believed that Poetry is for Everybody. With drive-by poetry and open air readings, the festival brings the power of poetry to the streets.
The Festival also holds a student writing contest. The contest is open to 6th-12th graders. The highest level I teach is 6th grade. My student, Brooklyn, entered her poem about sugarcane and placed FIRST in the Jr. High Division. I have been teaching Brooklyn since she was in 4th grade, and it delights me to see her writing develop to contest-winning level. I am so proud of her. Her winning poem is here:
I’m home
A green line of cane,
above the tan dirt,
under the bright blue
Louisiana sky.
Colorful, like a
shining rainbow after
a harsh rain,
like a path full of
roses and daisies.
There is a hushing noise,
made by the stalks slowly
and gently rubbing together,
hush, hush, hush.
With the touch of the angel’s wing
so delicate and free, reassuring
you that anything is possible.
Always giving off the soft,
welcoming, harmless,
I’m home feeling.
I’m home,
I’m home,
I’m home.
Brooklyn, all rights reserved
From the Festival of Words Kickstarter Site on Why it Matters: “Writing poems and stories gives people of all ages a positive means to communicate, share, and respect each other’s words and individuality. • Creative writing raises student literacy levels • Creative writing teaches problem-solving, analysis, and creative thinking • Students who participate in the arts are more likely to excel academically and professionally.”
A few days ago, I celebrated my 31st wedding anniversary. Why does this seem so hard to believe? I heard you all gasp! On this day, Amy from The Poem Farm posted a link to Famous, a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye, on Facebook. Naomi (I feel we will be friends one day and will be on a first name basis) is a favorite of mine. My husband, however, has never heard of her. This is not surprising because he doesn’t really read poetry, so he is not familiar with any famous poets. But he likes to talk about being famous. It is one of those “familial phrases.”
Let me explain. We live in a small town, so it is not that uncommon for one of us to be in the paper every once in a while. That doesn’t mean we’re famous, but when you see your name in print or see your picture in the newspaper, you feel famous. The phrase around our house is “you are famous” if any part of you is mentioned in the Daily Iberian.
When I read Naomi’s poem, I was compelled to send it to my husband. Maybe because it was our anniversary. Maybe I was flirting. But he actually read it and sent a message back to me. He wrote, “You are famous to me.”
Now I hope you are sighing “Aw!”
The river is famous to the fish.
The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.
The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.
The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.
The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.
The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.
This is the bumper sticker on my car. When is the world going to get the message?
I didn’t think I would post today because Monday was a long day with school, an after school appointment, then a funeral. But I am feeling that I must respond. The funeral I attended was a joyous celebration of a life. As the bagpipes played when we exited the chapel, I hugged a student I taught 30 years ago, now a beautiful woman with two precious children. Her father suffered a long time with Parkinson’s. He is healed now, and we embraced to share the warmth of his legacy, his love. Why would anyone do harm on a day like today? Or on any day, for that matter? I just don’t get it.
I read Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem, Kindness. I’ve decided this poem will be in my pocket on Poem in your Pocket Day on April 18th.
I have collected words from Naomi, from Anne Lammott, and from a conversation at the funeral. This collection is my message to the terrorists, the ones who do harm, live in fear and create fear. Let us practice kindness. Let us answer with kindness. It is the only answer that makes any sense.
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
you must cry real tears,
taste them as they fall,
let them baptize you, wash you clean.
We are all cracked and broken.
That is how the light gets in,
the light shining in the darkness.
In the dark room, we hold God’s hand.
Here we are helped,
drawn up out of the depths
to know love.
And when we know this love,
we can live in love
and practice kindness.
It is only kindness that makes sense anymore.
Do no harm.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 