Poetry Friday

I subscribe to American Life in Poetry, and it's helped me discover some wonderful poets.  This week's poem was "Veil" by Todd Davis.  It was the first time I'd read anything by Mr. Davis.   I enjoyed "Veil" and wanted learn more about the poet.  His website includes several sample poems including the title poem for his collection Some Heaven. I was very touched by the emotion and spirituality of his poems.

Veil


In this low place between mountains
fog settles with the dark of evening.
Every year it takes some of those
we love—a car full of teenagers
on the way home from a dance, or
a father on his way to the paper mill,
nightshift the only opening.

-Todd Davis, all rights reserved
You can read the rest of the poem here.

Some Heaven



The rabbit’s head is caught
between the slats of the fence,
and in its struggle it has turned
so the hind legs nearly touch
the nose—neck broken, lungs failing.
My boys ask me to do something
but see no mercy in my plan.

-Todd Davis, all rights reserved

You can read the rest of the poem here. This link will take you to Todd Davis' homepage. 

POETRY FRIDAY

Bullying has been in the news a lot lately. Most of us have been bullied. Bullying isn’t new, but it seems to be increasing in intensity.

For the past two years, our school has participated in an anti-bullying program. Through role-playing activities, students and teachers are taught about the effects of bullying and how they can help stop it. Kids are still being bullied, but we've seen an increase in reporting it by the victims and by kids who witness it. When bullying is reported, all the kids that were involved (the bully, the target, bystanders, etc.) receive counseling. We are working hard to make our school a safe place for all kids.

Over the years, I've known many kids who have been the victims of bullying. It's a heartbreaking part of my job. Last night, I couldn't sleep so I wrote this poem. My hope is to work on it some more so when my students read it, they'll see that they can take an active role in stopping a bully. Wonderful readers, your suggestions are much appreciated.


Jamie

Some guys at school
make fun of Jamie
because he’s overweight.
Guys who used to be his friend
before Billy came to our school
and decided he didn’t like Jamie.

Now they call him ugly names
make faces at him
laugh when he walks by—
“ Oink” at him in the hall.

Jamie is always alone,
sits alone, works alone,
eats lunch alone.
Everyone stays away—
too afraid to be his friend.

I stay away too- afraid.
But Jamie is nice to me.
He offered to help when
I didn’t understand fractions.
He gave me a pencil when
I lost mine.

I feel sorry for him
but I don’t know what to do,
so I do nothing—

I’m afraid
if I speak up
they will pick on me too.
I’m afraid I’ll be called a snitch
I’m afraid I’ll end up alone—
just like Jamie.

Then tonight
I heard on TV
about a kid like Jamie
who ended his life
because he couldn’t take
being bullied
any longer.

I thought about Jamie
the way his eyes always
look so sad
The way he always
looks so scared.

And I decided
tomorrow
I’m telling
somebody.

Best Books: First Dog's White House Christmas

First Dog is back, and he is ready to celebrate Christmas. I hadn’t planned on blogging today,  but when this adorable picture book arrived on my doorstep, I had to tell you about it. This is the second First Dog book written by father-daughter team J Patrick Lewis and Beth Zappitello. It is not a collection of poems, but since one of our most beloved poets wrote it, I thought it deserved a spot on Poetry Friday.

It all starts when First Dog invites his friends from around the world to celebrate Christmas at the White House. He asks each of them to share a Christmas tradition from their country. Through the  warmth and humor of First Dog, readers learn some pretty cool facts about this special holiday. For instance, did you know that in Germany, they hang a glass pickle on the tree and the first child to find it gets an extra present? I can’t wait to hear my students’ reactions when I read them this book in December. It will fit perfectly with the essay they write about their own family traditions.

Another thing I love about this book is that readers learn about a breed of dog from each country. The descriptions of the dogs along with Tim Bowers’ gorgeous illustrations reveal each canine's personality and had me laughing out loud. Just picture this lovable character, “The visitor from Italy, the Neapolitan Mastiff, had a face that looked like a map of the Alps— without the snow.” He really is very cute.

This book was so much fun to read, I hope more First Dog books will follow. Thanks Pat and Beth for a book my grand-daughter is sure to love for years to come.

POETRY FRIDAY: North Star

Saturday is the last day of my challenge to write a poem a day during the month of July.  It's been a learning experience, both difficult and fun.  My goal was to have at least thirty poems I could continue to revise and polish during the school year.  I ended up with about twenty.  Some days I went back to revise the poem from the previous day and never got around to writing a new one. Even though I didn't meet my goal, I feel good about the experience, and I'm glad stuck with it.

This week I worked on writing poems that tell a story.

North Star



The summer our parents got divorced, my
brother and I were sent to the country
to stay with Grandma. I was eight, Jim was
ten— not knowing then how our lives would change—
we were wishing for something permanent.


Grandma knew
what we needed.


Every evening after supper
she led us to the backyard to watch
stars snuggle into the folds of night.


Tracing constellations
she explained
They change with the seasons,
but some things stay—
constant.


She taught us how to follow the Big
Dipper to the North Star— with a promise
it would be there when we need
to find our way home.


While Mom and Dad were splitting
a house of furniture and dishes—
Grandma kept Jim and me nestled
in the constant compass
of her love —

POETRY FRIDAY: Miss Myrtle's Table

Miss Myrtle's Table


Every Saturday
Mom and I clean
Miss Myrtle’s house.


I like cleaning the dining room best,
it’s toasty warm in winter,
cool as a peppermint stick in summer.
The smell of cinnamon buns baking floats
from the kitchen.

And three tall windows let sunshine tiptoe
across the room all morning long.


I glide the dust mop over the hardwood floor
sweeping it around and around the big
chocolate brown table that stands
in the center of the room surrounded
by twelve matching chairs.


The table is covered with lace
like a hundred tiny snowflakes
carefully stitched together.

Cradled on top—
a dozen crystal candy dishes
each filled with sweet treasures:
lemon drops, caramel creams
butterscotch, bonbons, and lollipops.


I circle the table polishing it
watching wrappers sparkle like jewels.
I look over the candies carefully
imagining the liquid of lemon,
the crunch of peanut brittle,
the creaminess of chocolate kisses.


But I don’t touch them
because I know it’s not polite—

At the end of the day
Miss Myrtle pays Mom
and offers me the pick of the table.

It’s so hard to choose.

When I finally do,
I unwrap the candy
and place it on my tongue
holding it there
allowing it to melt
slowly
hoping
all the sweetness
will last.

When I was a little girl, we lived next door to my great-aunt.  She had big family dinners every Sunday, and there was always the most delicious smells coming from her oven.  Her house was filled with beautiful furniture, an organ, a piano (things I'd never seen in any one's house.) The thing that amazed me the most was a huge table with beautiful candy dishes filled with every type of candy your could imagine.  It looked so magical in the sunlight. 

More than forty years have passed since I last saw that table, and yet I still remember the excitement of choosing any candy I wanted.  Sometimes, she would give me a bag of candy to take home. I felt rich as I shared my bounty with my brother and sisters.  Even the bellyache was worth it!

To enjoy more poetry fun, head on over to Language, Literacy, Love for today's Poetry Friday Roundup!

POETRY FRIDAY: Poems about Objects

Do you have an object that you never or hardly ever use, but you keep it because it reminds you of someone or someplace special? When I look around my house, I see all sorts of things that I don't use, but I could never part with them.  For instance, there's the mantle clock my mother gave me that hasn’t worked in years, a tarnished necklace from my first boyfriend (almost 40 yrs.ago), a baby spoon bent from getting stuck in the disposal, movie ticket stubs, a cocktail umbrella from a night out, and  a stuffed bunny my 12 yr. old cat played with when he was a kitten. Some people would see these items as junk, but to me they are all treasures. I keep them because they hold memories, and looking at them keeps a special time in my life alive. This week I wrote poems about objects.  I had a hard time coming up with the "so what" endings I was aiming for, but I decided to share two of them anyway. I welcome your suggestions.
                                          

Dad's Corvette

Every Saturday
Dad waxes his Corvette
until it shines
Candy apple red


But he hardly ever drives it anymore
with its engine that rattles and roars
so loud you can hear it
two streets away
(so embarrassing).


When Dad asks
if I want to go for a ride
I just roll my eyes
and shake my head
NO!

This morning when
I asked Mom why he keeps
that good-for-nothing car
she said it’s not just a car,
for Dad, it’s about memories


Memories
of their first date
and how they got soaked
in a sudden spring shower
before Dad put the top up


Memories
of me age three
sitting behind the wheel
pretending to drive


Memories
of going to car shows
with Grandpa
the year before he died


Now I understand
It’s like my collection of postcards—
they help me remember
all the places I’ve been


So next time Dad asks
if I want to go for a ride
I won’t roll my eyes
or shake my head—
I’ll  just smile and say
YES!

                                                                      
Grandma's Teacup


Grandma’s favorite teacup
sits on the kitchen shelf
she gave it to me to remember
our tea parties—
       the two of us sipping
       cinnamon apple tea
       eating oatmeal raisin cookies
       and playing card games


But every year that passes
I remember less and less
So now and then
I take her teacup down
and make cinnamon apple tea
just the way she showed me
and all the sweet memories
of Grandma
float back
with every sip

The Poetry Friday Roundup is at my juicy little universe.











                                                              

POETRY FRIDAY: My Poetry Month So Far...

This week I did a lot of playing with poetry exercises and forms. I didn’t put much time into revising because my goal was just to have fun and get some rough drafts down.

One exercise I tried came from Charles Ghigna’s Father Goose blog. The idea is to write metaphors for a poem. This would be an excellent activity for introducing the concept of metaphor to students. You can check out the details of the exercise here.

I wrote four little "poems" comparing a poem to all sorts of things such as a skateboard, a comet, and a kitten. I wrote this one after looking at a picture of my grand-daughter, Evie.

A poem is a baby
Smiling up at you
Full of surprise and wonder
Discovering something new

Another picture of Evie inspired this little poem.

Swimsuit Edition

Those models in that magazine
They think they’re pretty cute—
But they haven’t seen me yet
In my brand new bathing suit

I also worked on some tanka.

Left Out


Boys shooting baskets
laughter bounces through the air
I sit on the porch
watching them and wondering

Why won't they ask me to play?


Waiting

Maggie’s father left
in the middle of the night
without a good-bye—
It’s been over a year now
she still waits for his return.


No letter, no calls
she believes he once loved her—
Did he change his mind
wanting his freedom instead
of a daughter who still waits.


A special thank you to Amy (The Poem Farm), her encouraging words were much appreciated this week!

Carol's Corner is our host for Poetry Friday this week.