National Poetry Month: April 8, 2015

Today is the eighth day of the  NaPoWriMo challenge, and that is truly what it is for me today.  Here it is Wednesday of the first week back after my Spring Break, and tonight I have to go to a school board meeting. I've stayed up too late every night since I got back from my vacation, so I am already tired and cranky.  
Obviously these are not the ideal conditions to write a poem, so at the moment I feel myself dried up. However, when in doubt haiku can come to the rescue! I'm still writing one a day (462 so far since 1/1/14) so this will be my poem of the day:

Day 8:

milky way streaking

through star dotted sky swept clean

then the moon rises

National Poetry Month: April 7, 2015

NaPoWriMo Prompt: So today, I challenge you to write about money! It could be about not having enough, having too much (a nice kind of problem to have), the smell, or feel, or sensory aspects of money. It could also just be a poem about how we decide what has value or worth.

Day 7

Money

At home she sees kids on the street everyday,

but here in Paris, with the Eiffel Tower

shining over her shoulder,

she can’t watch them sitting, hands outstretched.

She asks for a euro, thinking perhaps, it equals a quarter.

I don’t tell her it’s more than a dollar.

 “Tonight is too cold for someone to sleep hungry,” she says,

and I am filled with the light of her

as she bends, dark hair swooping over her face,

dropping the coin into his waiting palm.

National Poetry Month: April 6, 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 6: Today’s prompt springs from the form known as the aubade. These are morning poems, about dawn and daybreak. Many aubades take the form of lovers’ morning farewells, but . . . today is Monday. So why not try a particularly Mondayish aubade…

Monday Aubade

Four of us to get to school, four bowls of cereal or scrambled eggs,

Mom from table to stove, from one need to the next.

Dad long gone, having drunk his coffee and climbed into his truck

driving off into pre-dawn darkness.

Monday when beds stripped of weekend lay empty,

school books gathered and sneakers lost, then found.

Dawn peered over the trees across the farm field,

birds chattered in the oak outside the kitchen window.

Four squabbles, milk spilled on the plastic tablecloth,

dog under our feet searching for scraps.

My mother’s face grim-set.

Soon the fat yellow bus would arrive for my brother and me,

soon my sisters would make their way to school down the street.

Soon the house would fall hushed except for clicking

of doggy nails across the kitchen floor.

Now I wonder what my mother did.

Would she sit and watch the day come awake,

just sit with coffee cup nested in her hands?

Completely still,  gazing out at her garden before she shook herself out

and cleared the plates to set in soapy water.

National Poetry Month: April 5, 2015

Today's NaPoWriMo Prompt: Find an Emily Dickinson poem - preferably one you've never previously read  - and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it!

Gulp! Who am I to tamper with the great Emily's words? I didn't follow the directions completely...

Day 5: 

Before I got my eye put out – (336)

by Emily Dickinson

Before I got my eye put out –

I liked as well to see

As other creatures, that have eyes –

And know no other way –

But were it told to me, Today,

That I might have the Sky

For mine, I tell you that my Heart

Would split, for size of me –

The Meadows – mine –

The Mountains – mine –

All Forests – Stintless stars –

As much of noon, as I could take –

Between my finite eyes –

The Motions of the Dipping Birds –

The Morning’s Amber Road –

For mine – to look at when I liked,

The news would strike me dead –

So safer – guess – with just my soul

Upon the window pane

Where other creatures put their eyes –

Incautious – of the Sun –

Dear Emily #33

the sun

comes up

fueling morning’s

amber road

it is mine

to look at when

I like

it is mine

to share

with dipping birds

or other

creatures
mountains 
meadows
forests
are mine

the sky
of stintless stars

has split
my heart in two

National Poetry Month: April 4, 2015

Today's Prompt from NaPoWriMo: So today, I challenge you to write a "loveless" love poem...and if you're not in the mood for love? Well, the flip-side of the love poem - the break-up poem...If that's more your speed at present, try writing one of those, but again, avoid thunder, rain, and lines beginning with a plaintive "why"? Try to write a poem that expresses the feeling of love or lovelorn-ness without the traditional trappings you associate with the subject matter.

Day 4:

Goodbye

I bent to pick up the socks,

black skins dropped where he had sat.

Anger burrowed into me unexpected, and I knew.

Here was nothing left to hold or caress.

My hands like strangers dropped

those limp scraps right back onto the floor.

National Poetry Month: April 3, 2015

Today's writing prompt from Kelli Russell Agodon: Write a poem that has only five syllables in each line. Give the poem a long title. This one sounded fun since I've been writing haiku everyday for over a year now. I can spot a five syllable line anywhere.

Day 3:

I Listen to My Friend Make Breakfast While I Wake Up

outside I hear sounds

dishes and footsteps

I know soon coffee

will be brewed because

that is what we do

each morning as we

begin again we

drink and eat give food

to our bodies yes

cereal is now

poured into a bowl

and I imagine

milk after even

though I can’t hear that

each day we build our

selves back into what

we were until night

sleep took us before

we sank deep to float

in what we don’t know

with such trust that we

would return to light

National Poetry Month: April 2, 2015

Today's poem comes via a writing prompt from Kelli Russell Agodon:  Grab the closest book. Go to page 29. Write down 20 words that catch your eye. Use 7 of the words in a poem. For extra credit, have 4 of them appear at the end of a line.
I grabbed Rebecca Solnit's A Field Guide to Getting Lost.  The words I chose were: blue, edges, depths, spectrum, shallow, scattered, touch, horizon, go, ranges
Day 2:

there
 
beyond computers
and Facebook
grocery shopping
grunt of everyday
beyond the mundane
want of I
lie the blue edges
of the horizon
 
if we go there
where rocks range
scattered above shallow
waves slapping sand
perhaps then we can
touch what we have
always been
meant to find

National Poetry Month: April 1, 2015

It's that time again: National Poetry Month which means I'll be participating in NaPoWriMo once again. Last year I posted a haiku on my blog every day in April. This year I'm determined to post different types of poems each day. 

And if any of you want to write a poem to me, I'll post your work as well. 

So taking courage in hand (who in her right mind would post poems when they are newborn?), here goes.

 

Day 1:

Washing Dishes

White shards shattered,

scattered over the tile floor.

The plate flew past his head,

like in a movie

she had once watched,

like she had often imagined.

How it started doesn’t matter.

A bird trapped in her cage,

approval the worm she craved.

Not his half hidden glance

as he turned away,

derision written in the curve of his lips.

As she wiped that plate dry,

warm from its bath,

porcelain smooth,

this time her hand

knew the reply

she had never dared.

 

Learning from Anne Frank's Tree

Leaving the classroom to become a coach for English/Language Arts teachers has left me in a bit of a quandary. I'm still a poet who loves to travel, but am I still a teacher?  Not having papers to grade or report cards or parent conferences anymore has made me more than a little guilty when I talk to my teacher friends. Coaching teachers isn't easy but  facing a class of 30 8th graders is much, much more difficult.  So, am I still a teacher? For the last few months I've wondered if I should continue this blog or change its title. Somehow I wasn't sure I had anything more to say here.

Then I found something I wanted to share.

One of the duties of my new position is writing curriculum that aligns with the Common Core State Standards. I know there is much debate about the new standards, but to me one of the most hopeful aspects of the new English/Language Arts standards is a renewed focus on the meaning of individual pieces of literature. In the former California State Standards, instruction centered around comprehension skills that were then tested with multiple choice questions. Trying to understand the author's real message was often lost. While writing this new curriculum, I've had to dig into texts in a way I have not done since I studied literature in college. It's been exciting.

The other day, while writing about and researching The Diary of Anne Frank, I came across an online project I had never heard of before:  Anne Frank Tree: An Interactive Monument. It has been a long time since I read Anne Frank's diary, and I had forgotten how important the chestnut tree outside her window was to her. She mentioned it over and over. I also didn't know that the actual tree had become diseased and was blown down by high winds on August 23, 2010. However, people had found a way to commemorate both Anne and her tree.

This interactive project is sponsored by Anne Frank House. Individuals can create a message about Anne and how her work inspired or affected them. This message is typed on a "leaf " that joins other messages to create a digital tree as a monument to Anne Frank's memory. As of today 709, 222 people have participated. I thought this would be a wonderful way for students to respond to Anne's story.

The actress Emma Thompson was invited to place the first leaf when the project was unveiled. In the video of her speech introducing the Anne Frank Tree Monument , she shared some interesting insights about Anne and her importance to us all:

Listening to her made me realize that this didn't have to just be for young students. I decided to place my own leaf containing the haiku I had written about Anne. And that haiku led to another one:

immersed in Anne Frank's baby leaves budding

story I still cry for all frothy yellow in sunlight

her lost future words soon they will glow green

I also learned about The Sapling Project. When it became obvious that Anne's tree could not be saved, The Anne Frank House began gathering chestnuts from the tree. These chestnuts were germinated, and the seedlings sent to various organizations around the world. The American Anne Frank Center in New York received 11 saplings that were distributed to places throughout the United States. One sapling was given to Sonoma State University not far from where I live. That tree became a part of the University's Holocaust and Genocide Program. Since discovering this, I plan to visit the tree soon.

Emma Thompson said that Anne Frank's "would haves are our real possibilities." I believe Anne would have liked that phrase. For myself, I think reading Anne's words again has made me see that teaching and writing is not only about making my own possibilities come true but also helping others as well.  

If you have never read Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, I urge you to do so. If you have already been touched by her story as I have, perhaps you will write a message on a leaf. 

Happy New Year!

According to history.com, "Civilizations around the world have been celebrating the start of each new year for at least four millennia. The earliest recorded festivities in honor of a new year’s arrival date back some 4,000 years to ancient Babylon." That's a long time.

Just what is it that makes human beings feel the need to celebrate cycles, reflect on our past and wonder about our future? I guess it is one of the things that makes us humans. Since I am not a philosopher, psychologist or minister, I'll leave the whys to someone else. Suffice to say that today I have joined the millions of us around the world who feel the need to do a little reckoning of our lives on this day.

Today my inbox has been filled with blogs from others doing just what I am doing right now. And the problem is that all our musings and reflections are of little use to anyone except ourselves. With the burgeoning of blogs and online sharing of every sort, we often reveal too much too many times. I don't want to fall into that category so I'll just say this:

It's been a strange year for me. I changed jobs after 23 years, and am no longer a classroom teacher. I didn't use my passport once, the first time in over a decade that I didn't travel somewhere internationally. And there have been other strangenesses that are too personal to reveal here.

While much of the year has left me shaken, there is one accomplishment of which I am particularly proud: my daily haiku writing. Over the past 365 days, I have written 365 haiku. I will admit I missed three days (one of them was my birthday for which I can be forgiven), but did make up for those by doing double haiku afterwards. Most of my hundreds of haiku were just plain horrible as far as poetry goes, but some I think actually can be called poems.

Along the way I have had the deep pleasure of being involved in an online Facebook community of fellow haiku writers, most of whom I have never met in person. Even so, I have learned so much about these wonderful people through their haiku. Along the way we have become writing buddies, "liking" and responding to each other's work. It has been a joyous experience. 

So to ring out the old year and welcome the new, what better way than with a haiku? It may not be one of my best but it's the last of 2014.

                          day scrubbed shiny clean

                          sunlight streaming through windows 

                          new year's eve wishes 

Thankfulness on the day before Thanksgiving 11/26/14

Yesterday was another hard day. I was so hopeful as I took my early morning walk through the neighborhood taking photographs of trees. And then the rest of the day happened. That's just what it's like right now.

But yesterday I was thankful, at least for a little while, for the trees. I think they just could be the best thing about Portland. Not the food trucks or the wine or beer. It has to be the trees. So today I am thankful for these trees on an almost sunny day.

under a milky 

sky trees stand serene remind

me to stop look breathe 

Today I can be thankful... 11/24/14

Yesterday I tried to be thankful. I really did. But I couldn't make myself feel it at all. I wasn't thankful for the sunny morning or the afternoon deluge that left the streets flooded. I wasn't thankful for eating lunch with my teenage niece or dinner with my family. Nothing worked yesterday.

So this morning, I tried again. Here in Portland, it's a crisp Autumn morning - perfect for taking a walk under tall, yellow-leafed trees, sloshing through piles of wet leaves. Growing up, was my favorite season in the midwest. It is a something I have always missed since moving to California. Here in Portland, I get to experience that beauty again. 

Today I am thankful for those trees and for my two legs that could walk me under them.

Autumn leaves gilded

sun-struck I walk through masses

breath puffs before me

Today I am thankful for... Saturday November 22, 2014

Today in Portland the rain has stopped and there is a hint of blue sky over the roof tops -- at least for now. Sitting in this little condo that I bought with my sister and brother-in-law, I have a few moments to myself before going off to take my mother to see my father. His condition is improving, and he will be moved out of the hospital today. So many things to be thankful for right this moment.

after rain and wind

blue sky morning peeps over

roof tops and bare trees

this small place I build

myself pen paper coffee

hot in a green mug 

Friday November 21, 2014

 I had planned to spend my Thanksgiving holiday with a friend in Calistoga, walking and talking, tasting wine, maybe even having a mud bath for the first time. However, Life (at this time it seems appropriate to give her a capital letter) got in the way. So instead of hanging out and relaxing, I'm sitting in the airport on my way to Portland. My 87-year old father is in the hospital, and I need to go help my mother. 

However, after my initial self-pity and grumbling, I've decided to think of this as an opportunity to stop every day to reflect on something I can thankful for. After all, I'm sitting here at SFO surrounded by travelers going off for their own Thanksgiving holidays. I will get to see my family. That's a good thing.

It's been over a month since I posted to this blog, so this time between security screening and boarding gives me time to reflect. And I realized how this small moment has given me something.

So here is the first of my haiku to celebrate this Thanksgiving week:

sunrise over air-

port flying alone gives time

to write into day

Won't you stop at least once during this busy day and notice the goodness around you?

Once Again Teachers Blamed

To Time Magazine

teachers blamed again
low pay no respect too much
work with no support

journalists use us
to sell magazines to whip
up feeding frenzy

too bad they didn’t think
no teachers no people who
can read magazines

http://www.aflcio.org/Blog/Other-News/Time-Magazine-Attacks-Teachers

Time magazine is about to use its cover to blame teachers for every problem in America's schools. On Monday, Nov. 3, this cover will be in every supermarket checkout line and newsstand across the country—and it's already online.

There are serious challenges facing our schools—tell Time that blaming teachers won't solve anything.

TIME: Apologize to teachers

action.aft.org

Time magazine is about to use its cover to blame teachers for the problems in America’s schools. On Monday, Nov. 3, this cover will be in every supermarket checkout line and newsstand across the country—and it’s already online.

Take action! Sign the petition telling Time to apologize to American teachers: http://action.aft.org/c/44/p/dia/action3/common/public/?action_KEY=9270

Real Rain Today!

This morning I didn't really want to get up at 5:40 a.m. I was so cranky until I heard the sound of real rain pounding the roof. I was inspired to write today's haiku even before I had a sip of my tea!

oh sound of water

hitting waves real rain pouring

to quench our deep thirst

Earthquake Haiku 8/24/14 3:20 a.m.

Today's haiku was inspired by the 6.0 earthquake that struck this morning at 3:20 a.m. 

shaken awake I

rode along lost solid ground
in earth's rock and roll

Happy Anniversary! 365 Days of Writing Practice

One year ago, I sat in the Albuquerque Airport with my good friend and writing buddy, Barbara Ann Yoder waiting for our flights back to the Bay Area.  We had just finished our second A Room of Her Own Foundation's Writing Retreat, still riding high on the glory of the past week.  We had spent our time among 100 writer women:  writing and talking about writing, reading and listening to others read, reveling in the gorgeous high desert scenery of Ghost Ranch, New Mexico.  How could we keep this all alive when we re-entered our daily lives?

I'd been here before; after the 2011 AROHO retreat I had sat with  Tania Pryputniewicz, another AROHO friend, trying to make a writing plan.  Back then I still thought I could get myself to write after teaching all day. So that year my plan included locking myself in my room when I returned from work each day. I thought I now had enough fortitude to do this.  After all, I've struggled to write after work for years, sometimes successful but mostly not. Could I do it this time? What I worried about came true: the mental and emotional drain of teaching still won out. No amount of "you should", "you can do it" and "you want to this" self-pep talks could make a real difference. Yes, I wrote more consistently after that first retreat, but not every day. 

And now a year later I sat facing the same problem. I couldn't - and didn't want - to quit my job. I still felt too overwhelmed to write every day after work. What was left for me to try?  Oh, yes - the dreaded early morning wake up call.  

I have always hated the idea of getting up early to write, having resisted the idea that I would ever, ever, ever willingly get up before the sun rose each day. But on August 18, 2013, I made a desperate decision to do just that:  I would get up a half hour earlier each morning to write before going to work.  I was terrified that I couldn't keep it up, but I promised both Barbara and myself that I would at least give it a try.

The next day, August 19, 2013, the alarm rang at 5:45 a.m., and I jerked myself out of bed to sit in

my chair with my notebook.  Since school didn't start until the next day, this was my practice run.  I survived.  I wrote and it felt good.  Now I just had to keep it up. 

That was one year ago today. I have gotten up early every single day since then and written.  365 days in a row. The first time in my writing career that not even a cold or late night celebration have kept me from writing. I have even set my alarm for 4 a.m. to write before catching an early morning flight.  

To commemorate this momentous anniversary, I did a little accounting. During the last year I have filled eight notebooks and am half way through a ninth one.   I have used countless pens. To assuage my guilt at adding all those used carcasses to landfill, I found a new type made from recycled soda bottles. Out of all those notebook pages, most, of course, are just filled with gobbledygook that will never see the light of day.  I remind myself that's not the point.

Today summer vacation ended, and I returned to my full-time job for the school year. This morning the alarm rang at 5:40 a.m., and I wrote for a half hour before getting in the shower. And tomorrow I'll do it again.


What works for you? I'd love to hear.

Sir Paul at The Stick!

Last night I got to see Paul McCartney perform live for the first time.  The last concert The Beatles gave was at Candlestick Park on August 29, 1966.  Now the old, windy and cold Candlestick Park is soon to be demolished.  What better way to celebrate its passing than a concert with Sir Paul?

McCartney is 72 years old and still an amazing musician.  The band was wonderful as well as the video and fireworks.  Just as the three hour concert was ending, the moon rose up over the stadium to join the flickering of myriad cell phones waved in the air by mostly aging baby boomers like myself.  

So of course yesterday's haiku commemorates this event:

Paul McCartney played
Candlestick's last moonlit song
we sang all the words

An American Institution: The Highway Rest Area

What can beat the All-American road trip? And what would road trippers do without rest areas along the way?

Nothing like a picnic lunch under the canopy of summer trees.