I went off script with a double dactyl prompt today and veered into politics. Sadly, it’s never far from mind. Happily, double dactyls are a fun challenge. (If you’re interested in learning about the parameters of the form, you can click here.)
Vomitous gromitous President Donald Trump thrives on autocracy, bombast and lies.
Resist, Americans! He is the ultimate anticoagulant– bleeding us dry!
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at her blog, My Juicy Little Universe. In addition to hosting, she’ll be adding her line to this year’s Progressive Poem.
The alarm trills with bird song at 4:15 am. I can’t say I spring out of bed, but I’m somewhat closer to grin than groan. Today, I’m going to welcome the day at the marsh. I’m in happy anticipation of seeing egrets and herons, glossy ibis and who knows what else. I’ve been feeling the pull of the marsh for weeks now, but rainy (and snowy) and busy weekends have kept me away. Even as I rub the sleep away from my eyes, I feel my spirits lifting.
The sun rises well before 6 am these days, and the marsh is about 45 minutes away. It’s in the 30s now, but headed up toward 60 later. I’m uncertain what to wear, but eventually opt for layers, and dress hurriedly. I pour my coffee in a to-go cup, detour to tuck a hand warmer in my coat pocket, and grab my camera. Before too much time has passed, I’m in the car, driving southward. The moon glows overhead, an oddly shaped egg bright in the sky. Soon dawn will chase the dark away over the horizon.
Yesterday I mentioned to Kurt that my shoulders have been living up by my ears these days. No matter how often I consciously relax them, the unrelenting tension of these days pulls them up again. Even now, at the beginning of break, driving to where I want to go, I realize my shoulders are taut with tension. Consciously I pull them down, breathe. I remind myself that my most pressing decision right now is where I will go after the marsh. Will I also go to the beach? Will I take myself out to breakfast? It’s early for warblers, but I could visit some likely spots. The morning is lightening around me and options abound. I settle my shoulders lower, loosen my grip on the steering wheel, and drive toward the new day.
Later I find a surprise message at the bottom of my coffee cup:
It feels like the perfect way to end my morning, and the perfect message to keep in mind as I unwrap the gift of this week.
Every April the Portland Museum of Art dazzles spring-craving senses with “Art in Bloom”. They invite local florists to interpret works of art with floral designs. Each arrangement has a placard that lists the inspiring art work and includes a written statement from the florist. There’s also a list of materials used to create the piece: flowers, vines, bark, stone, etc. Ekphrastic floral design!
This past Friday afternoon while a solo violinist played in the background, I wandered through the museum with my friend and one of my daughters. I had debated attending, as doing anything on a Friday night feels challenging to me. After making plans a couple of weeks ago, I’d been looking forward to the event, but I’d also second guessed myself time and again. And again! The lure of an early evening at home is always strong. Still, I’d made it!
We meandered along with no particular plan, following the flow of our random footsteps, enjoying each piece as we came upon it. As we walked along, sometimes tendrils of scent would beckon us forward, and sometimes it was a splash of color. The hum of other voices filled the galleries, along with the sweet strains of music from the violinist.
As we approached each piece, we’d examine it, trying to figure out from shape, color, materials, etc. what piece of art work inspired it. Sometimes it was quite obvious, and at other times it was tricky to determine. One piece was inspired by a brooch! It felt sort of like a treasure hunt, and I found myself stepping faster as I approached each gallery, wondering what we’d find there.
To be honest, even without special exhibits, museums can overwhelm me. There’s so much to see and absorb! Sometimes I began to wander through a bit superficially, floating on the sea of sensory input, enjoying myself, but not fully connecting with each piece. Sometimes I found myself distracted by watching the people, or listening in to snippets of conversation. As we moved along, at one point I overheard a woman exclaim:
“No, stop! Don’t educate me. I don’t want to be educated!”
I had to laugh, but I could actually relate to that sentiment. It was tempting to immerse myself in the pool of creative energy around me and simply revel in the energy and buzz of color, scent, sound, shape, etc.
At one point, though, my daughter drew my attention to the artist’s statement for the sculpture below, The Dead Pearl Diver. Reading about the florist’s process drew me in to study the duo more carefully, and it quickly became one of my favorites. The florist talked about how they were drawn to the white marble and wanted to focus on playing with texture in this piece, rather than color– “…each flower gives the eye another dimension to look through.” They deliberately chose smooth larger blossoms to evoke the draped limbs of the pearl diver, and rougher petalled flowers to evoke the stone upon which he lies. The more I looked, the more I appreciated the nuance of this pairing.
Here are a few more pairings for you to enjoy.
There were 20 pieces overall, scattered throughout the museum, and we’re pretty sure we saw all of them. It was a wonderful chance to escape the chilly April weather (more snow was forecast for Saturday morning!) and enjoy a hint of spring. The evening was a feast for the senses and an immersion in creativity. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, and I’m so glad I went!
My class tends to walk in casual straight line. I know they’re supposed to be super straight, (I see a few (or at least one) intense judgy looks). The problem is that I always think of a Georgia Heard poem I once read. The poem, titled Straight Line, begins like this: All the kindergarteners walk to recess and back in a perfectly straight line no words between them. They must stifle their small voices, their laughter, they must stop the little skip in their walk, they must not dance or hop or run or exclaim. They must line up at the water fountain straight, and in perfect form, like the brick wall behind them...
See what I mean? Ever since reading that poem, I’ve cared a little less about how straight my classroom line is. I more suggest a straight line than require one. I mean it’s a goal, because it’s technically a school expectation, but it’s not one I’m too fussed about. I do want the kids to be quiet, because there’s other learning going on around them, but I don’t require military precision in our formation.
Unfortunately, lately we have become a large, amorphous mass, taking up more than our fair amount of hallway space. Reminders haven’t been working. It was time to straighten up our act, so to speak.
So, as we headed out to recess one day last week, I reminded the class that our goal was to walk out to recess in a single file today and to be quiet while doing so. We lined up in the room, and after another reminder, we headed out of the room and into the hallway. The class was doing pretty well. I gave them a thumbs up. One student edged out of line.
“Get back in line, G.” shouted N, another one of my students, who consistently vies for my job. It was not even 10 am and this was the 178th time he’d redirected classmates. Or was it the 179th? It should be noted that he doesn’t mind attempting to redirect me, too, if he thinks I’ve gotten out of line.
I pushed repeat on my regular refrain, “N, you’re responsible for you.” Then in a bid to change things up and maybe add a bit of humor to the mix, added, “That’s my job. That’s why they pay me every two weeks.”
Several of the students looked up at me quizzically. Especially O. He opened his mouth to speak, but I put a finger to my lips as a silent reminder. We kept moving forward, down the hallway and around the corner. Our line was looking pretty good, and it was quiet, too!
“Wait!” O. suddenly burst out, a few steps later, apparently unable to do so any longer. “Do you pay to come here or do they pay you?”
I stopped in my tracks and looked down at him. My brain struggled to make sense of what he’d just said. Clearly, I needed to clarify. “O., are you asking if I pay to come to school and teach or if I get paid?”
O. looked at me earnestly and nodded. A few kids near him nodded, too.
After a speechless moment or two, I asked, “Well, what do you think?”
There was a pause and then C. spoke up. “I think you pay,” he said. A few other students nodded in agreement.
Replay that speechless moment or two.
“Well,” I finally said, as I started to move forward again, “This is my job, and most people get paid to do their jobs, right?”
“Yeah,” O. said somewhat doubtfully, “But you had to pay to apply, right?”
“No, actually I didn’t.”
They looked at me like they didn’t believe me, or like I was the confused one. We’d already clearly lost the battle on a silent walk, and to be honest, I’d contributed to the conversation as much as they had. As I gathered up my spinning thoughts (Are they that confused or do they think they’re that cute?), we continued moving forward.
We were out the door to recess before I could clear my head enough to determine if our line was straight or not. I’m pretty sure we were in a clump again, my straight line ambitions blown to the wind.
This all reminded me of an anecdote my colleague shared last year. She was drinking an iced coffee at recess duty. One of her second grade students approached. “What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s an iced coffee,” she answered. “I picked it up on the way to work.”
“Oh,” he said. Then, after a brief pause, he asked politely, “So, where do you work?”
This month Margaret Simon set our challenge. She invited us to write a shadorma, “a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively.” It’s a fun form to play around with, and I’m sure I’ll be revisiting it.
Illuminated Manuscript
Distant trees inscribe the full moon Their branches cast shadows as mysterious to me as hieroglyphics
March 2025 SOLC–Day 31 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
I just finished reading “The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year” by Margaret Renkl. It’s been my companion for weeks and weeks now. It was my “breakfast book”–the one I read every day before school while I’m eating my cereal. Knowing I could turn to Margaret Renkl’s eloquent words each morning was a gift, and I turned the last page with thanks and sorrow. I will miss it.
Finishing Renkl’s book on the last day of the challenge feels particularly appropriate, as participating in the challenge has been a gift as well. This has been a year when being a part of a supportive community has felt more necessary than ever. At times, it’s been like putting on an oxygen mask. I know I can come here and breathe.
This was my eleventh year participating, and I always have such mixed feelings when the month ends. To be honest, first there’s a rush of relief. Oh, no slice to ponder over today! But then there’s regret–I wish I’d read more, commented more, had time to linger and learn. Each post I’ve read has enriched me in some way or another. Sometimes it’s a turn of phrase, or a new perspective. Sometimes it’s a shared feeling or a new connection. And I know, even as I celebrate its end, that I will miss it, too.
As I read “The Comfort of Crows”, I highlighted and underlined along the way. Sometimes I simply wrote “Yes! This whole chapter!” (It really is fabulous, and I can’t recommend it highly enough.) Renkl ends her book with these words: “I am far from feeling any confidence in the future, but when I look at the busy tableau before me, something flutters inside — something that feels just a little bit like hope.”
Obviously, she was not referring to writing in the Slice of Life Challenge, but those words sum it up for me quite nicely. Looking at this tablueau–at all of you, at all of us, sharing our lives, our highs, our lows, our dreams and our sorrows in this community– is, ultimately, hopeful. In a time of division and schism, we’ve opted to take the time to make connections. Right now, that truly is priceless.
Margaret Renkl also wrote, “If you never close your thumb around your fingers, you will make of your hand a sanctuary. You will make of your hand safe passage to the world.” Her reference was the natural world, but it occurs to me, that as we type or write with pen or pencil, our hands are cupped or open. There are no fists here.
So, thanks to all of you for building this community and a heartfelt thanks to TWT for the opportunity to do so. It’s been a privilege to write alongside all of you this month. I hope I’ll see you on some upcoming Tuesdays (although maybe not tomorrow! lol). Be well and thank you.
March 2025 SOLC–Day 30 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
The first drop, the one that started the whole thing, was a slice.
Earlier this month Mary Lee Hahn wrote about a book, The Little Hummingbird. Based on her recommendation, I ordered it for my classroom. When it arrived, I texted her and here’s what happened next (read left column and then right):
Then, late one afternoon, after conferring with the art teacher and gathering supplies, I settled down on the rug, book in hand, students gathered around me, and started reading. They were rapt.
After I closed the book, talk bubbled up.
“I liked that,” one kid volunteered.
“It’s kinda like a cliffhanger,” J said, a bit disgruntled by the ending. “I kinda want to write the author and ask him to write another one.” She frowned.
“It’s not gonna work,” said V., referring to the hummingbird’s actions.
“Well, maybe if the other animals see the hummingbird getting water, they will, too, and then it will make a difference,” H. volunteered.
“Maybe the author can write a series,” J. persisted. “I don’t like cliffhangers.”
M. added her two cents, “I think it’s saying that you should just always do what you can do.”
“Well, there was a lot of emotion,” another student said, “and that made me interested in it.”
After our conversation died off, I explained that, inspired by the book, Mary Lee had made some prints and she had sent some to us so that we could paint them. The kids cheered. I showed them the prints and pointed out the small words under the design, “Every drop counts.”
They were practically delirious with excitement.
“What!? We get to paint!”
Soon enough painting was underway, and the room was a hum of happy voices and activity. It reminded me, painfully, how rarely I incorporate art or any type of extension activity into the classroom. I get so caught up in the demands of the curriculum, that there’s no bandwidth left to plan and organize these type of enriching activities. This one only happened because Mary Lee dropped it neatly into my lap. I was simultaneously delighted by the interactions and activity around me, and slightly depressed.
The principal happened to be in my room later that afternoon, and saw all the prints drying. He asked about it and I gave him the Cliff Notes version. “These are great!” he said. I agreed and said something about how I wish we could do more things like this.
The next day he stopped back to touch base about a student before heading into a meeting. He gestured to the prints. “There isn’t time to talk about it now, but I want to circle back to what you said about not having time to do these kinds of things,” he said. “They really are important in elementary education, and I’d like to talk about what’s getting in the way. Let’s have a conversation about this later.”
We’ll see what happens, but I love that it all started with a slice.
Thanks again, Mary Lee, for so generously sharing your recommendation and your creativity.
March 2025 SOLC–Day 29 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
I like winter, really I do, but I’ve been having to remind myself of that lately. I haven’t been too convincing either, so this weekend’s Winter Weather Advisory was uninvited and unwelcome. Sort of like when someone announces they’re stopping by your house to visit. There’s no graceful way to bow out. No escape. Ready or not, here they come! (This, of course, is a purely hypothetical example.)
So, I grumbled and complained more than once on Friday, along with most of my colleagues (except for one, who offered to send me happy photos of her skiing with her family. I declined). But as I left work, chatting with a different colleague, she made a good point. She noted that it was probably one of the last weekends of enforced down time –which is one of my favorite things about winter. Any pressing yard work that had been uncovered during the recent thaw would just have to wait, she said. That thought stuck.
This morning, when I woke up around 4 am, I knew I couldn’t go out and about sunrise-wandering, so I rolled over and fell back asleep. At 5 am, I did it again. And then again at 5:30. Ultimately, I finally slid out of bed around 6 am (crazy late for me!) and meandered downstairs to start the day.
In my pre-storm grumpiness, I’d forgotten that the birds always make a showing at the feeders during snowstorms: During spring-ish snow storms, there’s even a wider variety of visitors. By the time I’d had a couple of cups of coffee and filled the feeders, the birds were out in full force in a constant flutter and flash outside the windows. There were juncos, nuthatches, titmice, mourning doves, cardinals, my beloved Carolina wren, blue jays, house finches, goldfinches, chickadees, and downy woodpeckers. There were fox sparrows, song sparrows and other sparrows I can’t even begin to identify. (My husband and I call them LBJs, or little brown jobs.) Then a flock of red-winged blackbirds flew in, and a few starlings came by as well. Oh! The male and female bluebirds kept stopping by, too. Every time I started to get something done (like writing a slice!), the avian show enticed me away from productivity and into presence.
Here are a few photos from this morning. Most of them were taken through the windows. The birds don’t love it when I linger outside, and, for some reason, my husband doesn’t love it when I open the windows in winter to take pictures. Go figure! (I try to wait until he leaves the room, but he’s been annoyingly present this morning. lol )
All in all, It’s been a lovely, leisurely morning. Sometimes, I guess, uninvited guests (of any variety) can turn out to be exactly what you need. The show is still going on here, and my attention keeps getting pulled outside. What was that? What was that? What was that? lol Soon I’ll make some lunch and brew up a cappuccino, and then I’ll settle in with a book. I’m sure the birds will continue to entertain me throughout the day.
March 2025 SOLC–Day 28 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
After practically sleepwalking through yesterday (sleepless from 2 am on), I woke feeling refreshed and upbeat this morning. Woot! It’s Friday!!!
It’s been a doozy of a week! Several times I’ve almost used the 6 word memoir format for my posts–something along the lines of :
Conference week. Moving slower every day.
(Or some other grim alternatives that came to mind, but I hesitated to share here due to concerns with who might be reading my blog and what might skirt into the personally identifiable information zone. It’s such a balancing act of creation and curation, isn’t it?)
But it’s Friday now, and no matter that next week is already looking equally challenging (rescheduled conferences from our snowstorm last Monday, several after school meetings, etc.), I’m excited for the weekend. I’m yearning to get down to the marsh or the beach for some sunrise wandering, photography and general rejuvenation. The past few weekends it’s either been dicey driving (ice, snow), free-falling feels-like temps with howling winds, or just an overwhelming volume of work. I am so ready to get out there!
I pick up my phone and see the headline, “Accumulating snow in Maine Saturday with more wintry mix behind it…”
What!? Oh, no! My spirits fall. I try to rally. Well, maybe the snow will arrive later in the day and I can still get out in the morning?
I click on the link and scan the forecast rapidly. My spirits sink. Ugh…
Clearly I need to recalibrate my weekend plans. Sigh…
March 2025 SOLC–Day 27 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
This post also serves as a Poetry Friday piece today. If you’re interested in checking out what’s on offer poetically, Marcie Flinchum Atkins is hosting the Roundup at her blog.
I’m a big fan of words and I’m especially delighted by collective nouns. Collective nouns for birds always tickle my fancy. I know that there’s a parliament of owls, a charm of goldfinches and a murder of crows. Then I discovered this winter that a group of titmice is called a banditry. How cool is that?
Just now I googled a group of butterflies. It can be called a swarm, or ….are you ready? …a kaleidoscope! Ah-mazing! I love that so much!
It’s 100% fun to make up your own collective nouns though, and I highly recommend it. I will warn you though–it’s addictive! How about a gift of bluebirds? A cacophany of students? Or a plague of houseguests? Oh! Maybe a hemorrhoid of houseguests? lol See what I mean!? Collective nouns can also express some deep and darker emotions. How about these: a complicity of judges? a cesspool of Senators? a hypocrisy of evangelists? an abdication of Republicans?
As I’ve been jotting down ideas, I thought it might be fun to write some small poems with created collective nouns. I have inadvertently gone with a flower theme. Maybe it’s my yearning for the arrival of spring? Anyway, they might not all work, but it’s been fun playing!
from drab winter debris a chorus of crocuses rises and sings
Nix the comfort zone 