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Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

empty tree, sky

Meditation on Empty

In that gentle space above his left eyebrow,
I focus on the emptiness,
how emptiness is not empty.

I fill my empty cup with ginger-mint tea.
Cut yellow roses for the empty vase.
Invite friends to fill the empty table.

My hand opens, then closes slightly
holding your pinky finger, tiny and delicate.
I’ll rock you until this pain subsides.

We sit together like lotus, open hands
to the Abba Father, breathe the warm
body scents that fill the empty room.
–Margaret Simon, all rights reserved

yellow roses
I brought yellow roses to the writing retreat because I looked up colors of roses and their meanings, and yellow roses are for friendship and new beginnings. Then among writing friends, I polished this poem and read it for our sharing time. I’m not sure if you need to know what the poem means. It will mean what you need at the moment. For me, it’s about friends and opening myself up to being filled every day.

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life!

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life!

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Another and another…
This week my students and I wrote word association poems after a movement exercise I learned from Bonny McDonald. See the post about that activity here.

I found it interesting (and so did they) where their original word led them. I wanted to make word clouds with them but am having some technical difficulty.

apple

Apple
A fruit
Has cousins
like banana,
orange and
pear
which bloom
in Spring
with cousins
like Fall,
Winter and
Summer
Fall has
red, yellow
orange and
brown leaves
falling everywhere
Winter has
ice and
is cold
Summer is
hot and
dry with
people swimming
at the
beach with
sand flying
everywhere
people surfing
and having
fun all
from the
word apple.
by Tyler

Brooklyn chose a word that she didn’t like.

Storm
rain
thunder
lightning

Storm
crash
loud
dark
scary

Storm
cold
wet
shelter

Storm
watch
alone
together

Storm
afraid
lose

Storm
don’t
continue
won’t
stop

Storm

Join the Poetry Friday Round up at Keri Recommends.  Happy Birthday to Keri!

Join the Poetry Friday Round up at Keri Recommends. Happy Birthday to Keri!

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Crows on the Playground

See more Poetry Friday with Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge.

See more Poetry Friday with Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge.

Photo from Wikimedia Commons. Click on image for link to original image.

Photo from Wikimedia Commons. Click on image for link to original image.

One early morning this week when I sat down at my desk, I became aware of a murder of crows on the playground outside my window, so I wrote a poem about it. Poetry is everywhere.

A flock of crows in the school yard
perched on the basketball goal,
side by side on the swing set,
cluttering the picnic table.

Like children who will come out later,
they chatter, peck, and flit.
Tag, you’re it. Hide-and-seek,
Treasure hunt.

Some are flying alone.

Some are gathered together.
Crows on the playground.
–Margaret Simon, all rights reserved

A Poetry Friday friend, Donna Smith, posted this video in response to my crow poem. Funny and clever, a crow snowboarding.

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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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Discover. Play. Build.

Join in the fun of celebrating on Saturday, a blog round-up at Discover. Play. Build.

Beginning with Monday, this was a great week for poetry writing success. Using the field trip notes from last Friday, Monday’s quest was to complete and revise our poems and post them on the class kidblog. One of my newest students had success with this poem:

My dangling trumpet flower

is like a golden trumpet,

big yellow bell,

and a fluffy bridal gown.

My dangling trumpet flower

is a hummingbird’s favorite snack

with the most delicious flavor

of a big slice of cake.

And the student comment, “I like this poem very much. I like that you made it very specific and beautiful. I also like that you put similes and metaphors in your poem.” Both students are fourth graders who are just stretching out their writers’ wings.

On Wednesday, I used a new lesson I adapted from a conversation I had with Ava Haymon, Louisiana poet laureate. The structure of repetition worked well. I posted a few on my blog for Poetry Friday and got this email from their teacher, “I shared your blog with the sixth graders today. Jack and Ethan were beaming when they saw their poems. THANK YOU so much for giving them that feeling. The vice principal wants them to read the poems during the announcements next week.” Celebration, indeed!

Mayor Hilda Curry talks with our 6th grade students about their service project.

Mayor Hilda Curry talks with our 6th grade students about their service project.

On Friday, three of my students and I led the school in a Walk for St. Jude. A teacher’s child lost her life to cancer last month, and the response to do something to honor Kamryn was amazing! Students could purchase a t-shirt, a button, and a color page of a star along with the donation for the walk. I’m not sure how much we raised in dollars yet, but we raised awareness and felt pride in giving back to St. Jude. Before the walk, the skies were dark and cloudy; however, just in time, our angel Kamryn swept the clouds away to show us the sun.

Kamryn's best friend Amanda was interviewed by the newspaper.

Kamryn’s best friend Amanda was interviewed by the newspaper.

The button and Kamryn's picture on my t-shirt.

The button and Kamryn’s picture on my t-shirt.

The official St. Jude Give Thanks Walk is today. You can still donate to support my walk on my page.

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What We See

make a life quote

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life


15 Lines

an interesting exercise to try when you have writer’s block

I didn’t know what to write about for my Tuesday Slice of Life Challenge, so I went back to an exercise from Poets and Writers The Time is Now to collect 15 lines in a day and write from those lines.

Here are some lines I collected:

I write to honor childhood and extend dignity to children. —Caroline Starr Rose

The more unlikely the guest, the more likely it is that we are entertaining Jesus himself. —Bishop Jake Owensby

A great day to do nothing. —Carol Rice

The way you see people is the way you treat them, and the way you treat them is what they become. –Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Everything we carry, even the smallest thing, has weight. —Clare Martin

Love the one you hold. —Mumford and Sons

We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give. —Winston Churchill

 

 

These lines spoke to me and this poem emerged, still rough, but it seems to be wanting to tell me something…

The way you see me is who I become.
I am the unlikely guest who stands
with feet crossed. My toenails are orange.
I wear a cross on my wrist
and another on my neck, in amethyst.

Am I the angel you will entertain today?

I cannot lift you without holding you,
holding some of what weighs you down.
Maybe if we interlock our hands,
intertwine our fingers, the load
will be easier to bear.

–Margaret Simon, all rights reserved

A new writing challenge by way of Teaching Authors: Write Fifteen Minutes a Day on Laurie Halse Anderson’s blog. Join me? Can you write 15 minutes today? Set a timer and just go for it.

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

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

My students welcomed Friday by chalking up some poetry. The principal stopped by and said, “How fun!” Then she asked if we would do it again for grandparents’ day.  A great way to welcome the long weekend. Sorry my pictures aren’t clearer.  Any advice on taking pictures of chalk art?

20130830-183716.jpg

A colorful rainbow,
pretty spiral like it’s spinning,
sugar filled gummie land,
a wonderful site to see.
by Tyler

 

20130830-183733.jpg

Hip, hip hooray! Today is Friday. Happy in my heart the weekend's about to start. Margaret Simon

Hip, hip hooray!
Today is Friday.
Happy in my heart
the weekend’s about to start.
Margaret Simon

20130830-183807.jpg

 

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Poetry Friday is hosted this week at Jama's Alphabet Soup.

Poetry Friday is hosted this week at Jama’s Alphabet Soup.

The end of the school year is always bittersweet. This year was especially so. One of my students finished sixth grade which means she is moving on to middle school. We have been together since she was in third grade. I love all my students, but sometimes one comes along who connects a little deeper. We become more than teacher and student. Kaylie is one of those students. Kaylie loves what I love. We shared books and favorite authors. We became writing partners. She read and commented on my writing as much as I did hers.

Kaylie’s mother wrote me a note saying that Kaylie was crying about leaving. She told Kaylie that I was like a mother bird that has prepared her birds to fly. It was time for her to fly. Kaylie stopped crying and said, “That was a great metaphor, Mom.”

I am so grateful for this special relationship. Kaylie wrote a poem for me. She put it in a book she made on Snapfish including pictures of us through the years. (Yes, I cried.) I wrote a response to her using her form. I put it into an accordion book, also with pictures. Call and response, so to speak. These poems are very personal, so I hesitated printing them here. But sometimes the deeply personal touches a universal theme.

What if
By Kaylie
What if you asked me-
just wondering-
If you wanted me to write
about our four years together?
What if you wanted me
to put that into a poem
Like the one you’re reading now?
Would I write about peanut butter,
nonsense talking sticking in my mouth
like the real stuff?
Or, that dreaded summer reading?
Would I tell you that I hated that?
Would I remember Daisy and Poncho,
the most beautiful spider story
I have ever heard?
Hmm…let me think…
I would definitely have to mention
all that writing: stories, poetry,
every letter, every word from my pen
inspired by you.
I would try not to talk about the tears
that shed when I left, though.
No.
I will only think of what you showed me,
and how I will use it in my life.
If you told me to write a poem about all of that,
just to remind you of me now and then,
I think this poem
would do just that.

By Kaylie

What if?
What if you wanted me to write a poem
about our four years together?
Four years, really? Hard to believe.
No wonder you are so much a part of my life.

I know you. You know me.
Greater than a teacher and student,
yet not a mother and daughter.
(Even though I caught myself sometimes calling you my daughter.)
My poem would have to say how
teaching you was easy, fun, delightful.
I watched you blossom from a tiny, shy seed
to a dancing flower singing,

“Anything you can do, I can do better.”

And yes, you can. You can be
whatever you want to be.
Be who you are.

You are a writing teacher’s dream,
but more than that…
You trusted me with your heart,
your mind, your creativity.

If you wanted me to write a poem about our time together,
I would write through tears,
wipe them away
and say
You are ready
to fly,
sweet bird.
Your wings will
soar!
–Margaret Simon, all rights reserved

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Slice of Life Tuesday

Slice of Life Tuesday

In this wonderful world of blogging, I discover new and exciting writers. This weekend on a visit to Barnes and Noble, I picked up a copy of Gone Fishing by Tamera Will Wissinger. This is the kind of book I wish I had written. Gone Fishing is a verse novel, but not only that; it teaches different poetry forms and literary devices along the way, an elementary writing teacher’s dream text. I also enjoy Tamera’s posts on Poetry Friday at her blog, The Writer’s Whimsey. I used this book to introduce the ode by reading “For the Love of Harold, Best of the Worms.” The illustrations by Matthew Cordell are adorable, too.

Gone-Fishing-212x300

From Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at Poem Farm, I am inspired to sketch into poetry. Amy is a much better sketcher than I, but I reminded my students that it’s not about the product, it’s about the thinking time when you are sketching.

And the last source of inspiration for writing odes came from the master himself, Pablo Neruda. I splurged and bought a hard bound copy of Odes to Common Things. I read aloud a number of his odes. From “Ode to a pair of socks:”

    My feet were
    two woolen
    fish
    in those outrageous socks,
    two gangly,
    navy-blue sharks
    impaled
    on a golden thread,
    two giant blackbirds,
    two cannons:
    thus
    were my feet
    honored
    by
    those
    heavenly
    socks.

My students loved hearing the rambling praise of something so ordinary. They laughed and called out,”How can he write all that about a pair of socks!”

So, inspired by Tamera, Amy, and Pablo, we sketched and wrote odes. I finally found a way to write about my ankle. I had tendonitis from November to April. I am now able to dance again and go on long walks, so I give praise to my ankle.

foot sketch 2

I never thought before
about the importance of an ankle
joint until pain came,
swelling, annoying,
limping, awkward
twisted shift in stride.
Turning talocrural-
articulation
where foot and leg unite,
back and forth fulcrum
functioning fine until
it didn’t.
My ankle wanted to be noticed,
announcing its presence
to gain some appreciation
in my world.
Here I am, said ankle to me,
the most complicated,
intricate joint
in your entire body,
thank me, why don’t you?
See how I dorsiflex
and articulate,
turn the a, b, c,
but can you make it to Z, hah!
Not without me!

Oh, gentle joint,
I love how you roll,
how you stretch and adjust;
you are a fine friend.
I will carry you tenderly,
massage you regularly,
soak you in Epsom salt,
and praise you
when I walk,
dance,
jiggidy-jig.
You are mine forever.
We are going places,
you and me.

To read some of students’ odes, go to our Slice of Life kidblog site.

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Slice of Life Challenge Day 11

Slice of Life Challenge Day 11

A few weeks ago I ran in to an old friend at an art show. She was showing a new body of work. We talked, and I told her of my love of writing ekphrastic poetry. On Saturday, she sent me by email a number of her paintings. Here is my experiment with the first.

Inner Faces by Cathy Mills

Inner Faces by Cathy Mills

Inner Faces

If only I could see you in double,
inside and out,
transformed
like the wings of a butterfly
opening, welcoming,
letting me in.

If only you could know my desire
to be your only mother,
the one who loves you most,
maybe you would honor me
with your presence
and let me in.

If only our lives were connected
by a strong abdomen
we could share more than a name,
a recognition of two faces
mirrored and aware,
letting me in.

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