Poetry Friday: Thanku



When I was in high school, I was not a fan of poetry.  The poems we read in English class were complicated and no matter how hard I tried, I never got them.  We spent endless hours analyzing hidden meanings that remained hidden to me even after the teacher explained them to us.  To me, poetry was meant only for the intellectual elite who could comprehend it.

After my first son was born, I decided to earn my degree and become a teacher.  I majored in English and loved reading the assigned short stories, but once again the poems seemed distant and unappealing. 

Then one day while browsing the children's section in a local bookstore, I came across The Dream Keeper and Other Poems by Langston Hughes. Being a lifelong dreamer, the title appealed to me. The introduction written by Lee Bennett Hopkins inspired me to read on.  I turned to "Dreams" and like magic, I fell in love with those eight gorgeous lines.

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

(Read the rest of the poem here.)

 I read that poem again and again until it became part of me.  It was the poem that changed my life and led me to discover a passion for poetry.

Now I start the school year by reading "Dreams" to my students. I even have a poster of it hanging in the front of my classroom where students see it every day. I want them to carry it in their hearts the way I have. So when I decided to join with Teaching Authors and write a thanku, I chose the two poets who led me to believe in the possibilities of  poetry.


Thanku Langston and Lee

poetry changed me
with words of friendship, dreams, love—
so simple, so true

Thank you for stopping by! Today's Poetry Friday is hosted by Mary Lee at A Year of Reading.

Poetry Friday: Where Ideas Come From

Tonight, I'm in the middle of grading a huge stack of eighth grade essays, but I wanted to take a minute to share an interview and video of poet/author Sandra Cisneros explaining how a real life experience inspired her to write her latest book Have You Seen Marie? 

You can read more about the book and about Sandra Cisneros on her website, and you can read her one of her poems "Good Hotdogs" here.

Be sure to visit our Poetry Friday host, Ed,  at Think Kid, Think! for great poetry and book reviews.

Poetry Friday: In the Path of the Storm

We had two days off school during the hurricane. There were reports that our area would experience a lot of damage and power outages. We had two days of howling wind and heavy rain. A lot of trees came down, and there was some flooding, but no major damage to our house or neighborhood. Tonight we're counting our blessings and sending prayers to the folks in places like New Jersey and New York who suffered the worst of the storm.

On Monday and Tuesday, I spent a lot of time watching coverage of the storm. The comments made by the politicians and newscasters from their first warnings to their descriptions of the damage really stuck with me. I sat with my notebook and started jotting their words down.  Today, I'm sharing a found poem I put together from some of those comments.

 

 

 

        In the Path of the Storm

 

We learn lessons from every storm.

Please heed the warnings—

The worst is yet to come

It's time to hunker down

The damage will be

significant.

In the path of the storm,

there's nothing we can do

but ride it out the best we can.

When people think it's safe—

it can be the most

dangerous

The clouds have not yet parted

with another night of darkness

it's tough to see the sun

recovery will be slow—

we are tough

resiliant

 

It will never be the same

but we will rebuild.

We will not quit—

We learn lessons

from every

storm.

  

Donna at Mainely Write is our lovely hostess for this week's Poetry Friday. Hug your family tight and have a great weekend!  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Poetry Friday: Home

I can hardly believe it's been over three months since my last post. Even though I haven't participated, I've been enjoying all the great poems, book reviews, and interviews on the Poetry Friday blogs. I've missed being part of the fun.  Today I'm jumping back in so I can reconnect with with other poetry lovers.

There have been some big changes in my life lately. One of the biggest changes is that we moved.  We loved our old house, but it took a lot of time and money to maintain.  It's just the two of us now so we decided to downsize to a much smaller house.  Each week our excitement grew as we watched our dream home become a reality. We moved just two days before school started, and we worked like crazy to get unpacked and settled.  Now, eight weeks later, the furniture is arranged, pictures are hung, and life is getting back to normal. Everything looks really nice.

 So why doesn't it feel like home? Change has always been hard for me, and I've  had to make a lot of changes since we moved.  But, there seemed to be something missing, and I couldn't figure it out. So I turned to poetry for help. I pulled three collections from my bookshelf and spent a few evenings curled up on the sofa reading poems that reminded me any place can be "home."

The more I read, the more I realized that the reason it doesn't feel like home here is because this house is still empty. There are no memories to fill it up.  It's memories and traditions not rooms full of pretty furniture that make a house a home. My very sweet daughter-in-law sensed what I've been feeling and emailed me the other day with some ideas for our family Christmas gathering and new traditions we can start this year. And, right this very minute, my husband is working in the basement turning it into a perfect playground for memories with a family room, guest room, and a playroom for my grandchildren. So I'm feeling better because soon our new house will be brimming with memories.  It won't just be our house,  it will be our home.

Moving is hard, and it can be especially stressful on children. I found a lot hope and comfort in the following three collections.  The first is Home: A Journey Through America. Thomas Locker's breathtaking paintings compliment glorious poems by some of my favorite poets including: Jane Yolen, Eloise Greenfield, and Joseph Bruchac.

 

The godfather of poetry, Lee Bennett Hopkins,  brings us Home to Me: Poems Across America. Stehpne Alcorn's brillant illustrations accompany poems by many popular poets including: Janet Wong, Tony Johnston, Alice Schertle, and Ann Whitford Paul.  This book more than any other reminds me that home is the people and places we carry in our hearts.





Moving Day by Ralph Fletcher ( I've been a fan of his poetry since I heard him read from his first collection Water Planet way back in 1994) is filled with heartfelt poems children and adults can relate to.  One of my favorite poems from the collection starts like this:

         Empty

With the furniture gone
our house feels different.

The rooms are echoey.
The walls are blank

except for lighter squares
where our family pictures hung.


The rest of the poem goes on to describe how although the house now feels really big,  there was "enough love/ to fill all these empty rooms."  Ralph captured just the way I felt as I looked around an old house one last time before we closed the door.  You can read more "home" poems by other poets here.

Speaking of home, Poetry Friday is home to all who love poetry. Be sure to visit this week's hostess,
Linda at TeacherDance for more poetry joy!

Poetry Friday

One of the best things about subscribing to online poetry magazines is that I wake up every morning to poems in my inbox!  I always look forward to discovering poets who are new to me. This week, The Writer's Almanac published "The Fence Painter" by Richard Jones.  I liked the poem a lot and decided to search the archives and internet to read more of his poems. I realized that althougth I hadn't recognized the poet's name, I had indeed read and enjoyed his work. Today I'm sharing one of my favorite poems by Richard Jones from his collection The Blessing.

Why do poets write?


My wife, a psychiatrist, sleeps
through my reading and writing in bed,
the half-whispered lines,
manuscripts piled between us,

You can read or listen to the rest of the poem here, and read more Richard Jones' poems here.
Enjoy more poetry gems over at A Teaching Life.

Poetry Friday: Old Friends

One of the best things about summer vacation is having time to visit with old friends. Last night, I was looking through some boxes of books and came acorss The Bat Poet by Randall Jarrell.  The Bat Poet is one of the friends I turn to when I need to be reminded to be myself.

I love this story.  Every time I read it, I see connections I hadn't noticed before.  The main character is a little brown bat who struggles through inner conflict trying to find his voice. At first, he imitates the mockingbird, who he admires for her songs, but he soon realizes that imitation is not answer. When he finally decides to express himself in a way that only he can, he begins to discover his own true self.

 I've been spending a lot of time this summer trying to find my writing voice. I read writers I admire and try to learn from them.  Like the little bat, I often tend to compare myself to others who are more talented and successful.  And, at times I even try to imitate them which is always a disaster because I

A Father's Day Poem for My Sons

Your Dad
-for Chris and Tim

My greatest joy has been
watching the two of you grow
from little boys to men
I admire and respect.

I’d like to take credit
for the men you've become,
but there's someone who
deserves it more.

Your dad—
worked twelve-hour days
six days a week
at a job he didn’t love,
but it paid the bills.

Every night he'd come home tired and dirty,
ask us about our day,
then take a quick shower
while I started dinner.

Within minutes
I'd see him playing
with his two small sons
racing Match-box cars
across the living room floor.

Dinner was always laced with laughter.
Your dad would get it going
telling some funny story about work or
poking gentle fun at one of us.
We laughed more than we chewed.

Sundays, he was behind the wheel
taking us on long drives--
back country roads to get homemade ice cream,
through the mountains to see autumn trees, or just
cruising through neighborhoods to see Christmas lights.

Your dad--
coached your Little League games,
helped with scout meetings,
and cheered you on
at karate competitions.

When you graduated from high school
college, grad school—
He was there.
He may not have said it, but
he was so proud of you.

Your dad--
taught you to drive,
helped you get your first car,
made your friends feel welcome,
and danced at your wedding.

He couldn’t buy you
everything he wanted to. 
So he gave you
everything he had.

It's no wonder
you turned out so well, and
I should have told you long ago
how thankful I am
he's your dad.


“You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes, even if it's just in your own eyes.” ― Walter M. Schirra, Sr.