These days, more than ever, I’m following Mary Oliver’s advice and actively looking to be astonished and stand in wonder. The opportunities are there if you “pay attention”, and I need the counterbalance. So, I’m actively tuning myself to the joy channel, trying to notice and linger in such moments–this morning’s moonlight streaming through a frosty window…the daily sunrise…mist rising from the river as I cross the bridge on a frigid morning…the laughter of children reveling in the new fallen snow at recess…the steady warmth of the wood stove’s heat on my back as I write…so many small moments of wonder! And here was another one:
Taking the trash out on a January morning
I step outside into bitter cold into clear, clean air and a glow in the west The moon hides below the tops of snow-sugared pines and casts a diffuse light heavenward
In the east the sun rises in purples and reds smudged with charcoal clouds a canvas for the stark elegance of winter trees
After hoisting the trash into the bin I turn carefully on the ice coated driveway west to east, moon to sun and then again east to west, sun to moon
Somehow January has flown by. I just realized that I haven’t managed to show up for Poetry Friday more than once. Yikes! That’s a trend I intend to break, so I’m showing up a day late to the gathering.
I love when Pádraig Ó Tuama reminds me to try out a pantoum (here). His formula always yields interesting results. He says to write 8 lines, number them and put them into this order: 1,2,3,4 2,5,4,6 5,7,6,8 7,3,8,1. Then he says, “As lines repeat, feel free to punk them up a bit.” So here’s my pantoum-ish poem:
New Year’s Day
I forgot to watch for the first bird I watch the snow fall instead The trees shiver, draped in winter white and we have eight blue birds at the feeder
I watch the snow fall Even inside, the air by the windows is cold While blue birds come and go from the feeder my pen stumbles and starts
The air by the windows remains cold As the moon descends, the sun peeks over the horizon My pen stumbles and starts The stack of firewood is getting low
The moon has disappeared: the sun peeks over the horizon The trees are graceful, draped in winter white The stack of firewood is getting low I forgot to watch for the first bird
This month our Inklings challenge came from Catherine Flynn. She invited us to write a poem beginning with either “This is January” or “January.” My thoughts immediately turned to John Updike’s poem “January” and it’s first stanza, which eloquently sums up what our days are like during a Maine winter:
The days are short, The sun a spark, Hung thin between The dark and dark.
Inspired by this poem, I first tried writing some rhyming verses, but that fizzled out pretty quickly. Then, when I woke early on New Year’s Day, it was snowing. It was unexpected and oh, so lovely.
January
begins with the slow hush of snowfall dark skies brighten with lacy flakes tracing their earthbound migration
I’m hoping for many tranquil, peaceful moments for us all during this coming year.
Catherine is hosting the Poetry Friday Roundup this week at her blog, Reading to the Core, and you can read her response to the prompt there. If you want to see what the other Inklings did with this challenge, click on the links below.
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Tricia at her blog, The Miss Rumphius Effect. She’s sharing the Poetry Sisters’ most recent challenge, writing poems of peace, light or hope. By chance, my post fits right in with this challenge–a happy coincidence! Here’s my image poem to end the year. Something to ponder.
Duality
The light that kindles ice to sparkling heart is also the catalyst for its inevitable melting
I start every day with Wordle. It’s a guaranteed morning pleasure…and an occasional frustration. I extend the pleasure each morning by gathering up my guesses and trying to create poems from them. It’s a low-stakes and fun way to generate some poetry in my notebook. I find the combination of words can force me to make interesting and surprising connections I would never have considered otherwise. Here are a couple of recent efforts.
Wordle guesses: alter, spell, whelk, wield
To alter your world
emerge from the hypnotic spell of the in-and-out tide of the banal.
Spiral your shell into gorgeous intricacy, like a whelk wielding basic elements to create complex beauty.
Thoughts of the bunny hop led me back to happy childhood memories and a bit of a rabbit hole (ha!) on the internet. Enjoy!
This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Linda Mitchell at her blog, A Word Edgewise. She’s sharing a delightfully creative December mash-up! Be sure to check it out!
This month Heidi had our Inklings’ challenge and she invited us to “address an item of our clothing.” I debated about an ode to socks, as I am quite a fan, but swiftly opted toward more intimate apparel.
I played around with a variety of forms, trying to do justice to slips and half-slips.
How about a little terse verse? What do you call a slip with a bit of spandex? a hip grip
Ugh…that is not inspiring!
Maybe a limerick?
There once was a woman who tried with a whisper of fabric to hide any clinging or bulging that could be divulging her truest form to the outside.
That one sounded more like a girdle than a slip…which reminded me of my grandmother unfolding herself from the car after a long ride from New Jersey to Pennsylvania, bemoaning the pressure of her girdle. “You’ll see what it’s like someday,” she said to me. Despite her dire prediction, I never did… and she never witnessed them becoming an outer rather than inner garment in popular culture. But I digress…
Next, I played around with a Zeno for a while. Those one syllable requirements are tricky!
Half Slip
Hidden, provocative or prim, all anti-cling, silken glide. Whispered slither, fabrics slide. Modest so it’s seldom spied.
Finally, I remembered that Margaret Simon had shared a prompt from Joyce Sidman: address an inanimate object and give it a compliment, ask a question, and express a wish. The final few lines of that Zeno had me thinking…
To My Half-Slip
How easily you arbitrate between fabrics, settling disputes about chafing and cling. Cultural change pushed you toward becoming a fashion anachronism. How have you persevered, doing your job behind the scenes as a diligent defender of modesty, enhancer of graceful drape, and a transformer of transparent to opaque? You’re a hidden workhorse disguised as a whisper of silk! And though perhaps it’s ungracious of me, I do have one request– I truly wish you could resist the urge to give in, let go, and slip and show below my hem.
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Irene Latham at her blog, Live Your Poem, and offers more links to all sorts of poetry goodness. Be sure to stop by and check it out!
It’s been a school year. All 55 days of it. I keep telling myself I’m growing as a teacher. I’m learning a lot. I tell myself that on repeat. (There’s some other looping self-talk going on, too, but I’m not going to share that right now.)
Trying to be proactive, I’ve been adding things to my weeknight schedule, deliberately creating some time out of the vortex of school. I noticed an upcoming event at the Portland Museum of Art and planned to attend, registering for a free one hour ekphrastic poetry class.
I called my daughter, Lydia, and asked if she wanted to meet for dinner and go to the museum beforehand. My husband opted to join us, and I looked forward to the event all week. A little breathing room.
Then I had one of the worst teaching days of my life. Enough said. I was desperate to escape into an evening out; however, by the end of that “terrible, horrible, no good very bad day”, I had no bandwidth for participating in a class. None. The idea of listening to someone talk about, well, anything, and then putting myself out there with some strangers was, in that moment, horrifying. It wasn’t an option.
So, after dinner, we walked over to the museum. I touched base with the volunteer at the desk to free up my space in the class in case someone else wanted to join. I, then, breathed a huge sigh of relief.
While Kurt wandered, Lydia and I decided to check out the erasure poetry center set up in the museum’s Great Hall. They had supplied printed pages and pencils. We reached through the crowded area to the materials, randomly selecting a page each, then settled in to create our poems. Here’s what I came up with:
When A Country Discards Empathy
no hint of human empty still and silent distance visible dissolving fidelity
A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to spend time with my sister and most of her family. They were meeting up in Boston and we spontaneously decided to join them. We had such a lovely time. Our group went out for a delicious Indian dinner and there was a moment, a small one, overseen, that has stuck with me.
Even though we didn’t say grace before our meal
At the end of the table at the restaurant my nieces, adults now, smile and chat.
My sister glances at them then turns to her husband with a warm smile containing a world of pregnancies, late nights, worries and wonders. So many shared experiences. He returns her smile.
The girls tilt back their heads, and their laughter spills, golden, into the night air. Rising like a blessing.
It’s day 41 of the school year (Who’s counting? lol), and I’m still adjusting to the back-in-school pace. Taking pictures helps me escape from the whirlwind, and calms and centers me. Mostly I’m photographing on the weekends, but sometimes, like with the double rainbow, a photo moment steals into the work week. Sometimes, in a lovely added benefit, the photos themselves serve as a springboard into poems. The first one was inspired by Georgia Heard’s prompt, “If the wind painted the sky, what colors would it choose?”
After a lashing tumult of rain and hail Wind offers Sky an apology
I was delighted to have a chance to share Laura Purdie Salas’s upcoming “Flurry, Float and Fly! The Story of a Snowstorm” with my second grade students recently. As Maine residents, we’re all well-versed in snow, so would they be the perfect audience for a snowy book or a snow-jaded lot?
As we settled in to read, the book quickly grabbed their attention. It is a gorgeous match between words and images. The rhyming was so well-crafted, that it took them a while to notice it, and they were delighted when they did. It really is masterfully done! Here’s the jet stream described oh-so-efficiently and oh-so-poetically: “From the north, a polar freeze…
from the south, a humid breeze…
All winds advance. The mix and dance. “
The kids oohed and aahed over several of the spreads, including this one:
illustration by Chiara Fedele
“The words go down, down, down….Just like snow!” one student gushed. On another spread, they loved how Laura spaced her words across the page and greatly admired her use of ellipses ( a favorite second grade form of punctuation!). On other pages students noticed how Laura used larger font and capitals to make words pop out. By the end of the book, my students were chanting along with the refrain, “flurry, float and fly.”
As we discussed the book, they asked me to turn back to this next page again and again. It captures the magic of early morning snow and the arrangement of words and those lovely ellipses invite you to linger…to slow down and just take it all in.
As a bonus, there are several pages of back matter to dig into. In them, the science of snow is beautifully and clearly articulated, with explanations of the jet stream and snowflake formation and well-chosen illustrations. We didn’t have a chance to dig into these pages yet, but I’m already thinking how I will use them to model some powerful non-fiction reading and thinking.
Most of all, my students fell into the wonder of the book and its snowstorm. As Laura noted, “I know that science underpins its beauty, but it’s still magic, falling silently, gracefully, from the sky.” My students agreed, and there wasn’t a jaded one among them! Laura’s words and Chiara’s illustrations wove a spell of a beautiful snowfall on a very warm fall day. My active semi-chaotic class was lulled by Laura and Chiara’s collaboration into a temporarily peaceful state.
Perhaps I’ll read it again tomorrow!
Note: It’s due for release on November 11th, so you will also have the chance to enjoy it soon!
An additional side note: If you haven’t ever had a chance to read Laura’s book, Finding Family: The Duckling Raised by Loons, I highly recommend that you do! Published in 2023, it’s already become a a must read in my classroom. Kids are fascinated by the story and it sparks some wonderful discussions about family.