Our World Word by Word
Learning from Anne Frank's Tree
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 greenI 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!
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
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
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
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
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.
There are serious challenges facing our schools—tell Time that blaming teachers won't solve anything.
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
in earth's rock and roll
Happy Anniversary! 365 Days of Writing Practice
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.
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.
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!
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.
Discovering Ourselves: Memories of Making a Blog Mask
How delighted I was when a notice from my friend and AROHO
alum Martha Andrews Donovan popped into my email inbox announcing a post for her
blog, MarthaAndrews Donovan: One Writer's Excavation. Reading this post, I felt a real burst of
pride. After all, I had been there when
the seeds for that blog were planted.
At the 2013 A Room ofHer Own Foundation’s summer writing retreat, Martha and I participated in Tania Pryputniewicz’s small group titled “Transformative Blogging”. The focus of the group was the creation of a
mask that could be a physical representation of what our blogging persona would
be or become. Along with making a mask,
we wrote about what we wanted from blogging, what our writing focus would be,
what the mask might reveal – or not reveal - about ourselves.
Thanks to Tania I had been blogging since the 2011
AROHO retreat and had already taken another blogging class she taught, so I didn’t
really expect any new insights about my writing. I just wanted to make a mask and have
fun. As the participants paired up, I found myself with
Martha. Although we had met in 2011, we
hadn’t really gotten to know each other.
Deciding to make masks together felt a bit risky.
We started with me. I
lay down on my yoga mat, and Martha began putting the plaster strips on my face. It was very cool and wet. We had read in the instructions that the
person putting on the plaster should talk to the “plasteree“ during the drying process, so before we started I asked Martha to tell me stories about her mother’s
life. Since my mouth was covered in
plaster, I couldn’t interrupt her or jump in with my own stories. All I could do was make murmuring noises to
show I was listening and feeling fine. It was wonderful
listening to Martha’s calm, soothing voice tell stories of her India-born mother
and missionary family. I could picture
that world of India and missionaries, of a New England family so unlike my own. She made me want to meet those women and ask them
about their experiences.
Then when my mask was done, Martha decided I should plaster
her foot instead of her face. It was
such an intimate experience making that foot mask. I’m not sure I had ever touched a relative
stranger’s foot before. I loved the feel of the plaster as I smoothed it with
my fingers, how delicate my movements had to be to keep from bunching up the
strips. It was almost meditative to dip
the strip in water, lay it and then smooth it until no seams showed. It was almost like caressing her foot. I felt I was giving her something, helping to
uncover a part of her in some way.
Dipping and smoothing, dipping and smoothing.
I didn’t want to stop.
.
Afterwards, when I first saw my mask I was disappointed. It didn’t look like a face at all; rather it
was rough and mummy-like. Martha
apologized and asked if I wanted to change it, but I decided keep its original
form. Perhaps its roughness could tell
me something. And as I began to paint it, that coarse texture became something other than a face, it became part of the landscape around me. The blue New Mexico sky, the clouds that rose over the desert each day, Pedernal Mountain. I surprised myself with that painting – because I had painted a place, not a person. I realized it all made sense because it is places that that so often are important to my writing and to me. Finding my place, describing places I go, building the world one word at a time as I describe where I have been or where I am right now.
My mask is not a face, but a landscape. And Martha’s mask isn’t a face either, but a
foot. A foot to embody the journey
she is on, trying to find the way along her path. When it came for her to decorate this mask, she
covered her foot with the most amazing assortment of beads, feathers and scraps
of paper with inspirational quotes. It is ornate and intricate. And as I read her blog post about photographs
of people unknown to her, or small objects found buried, I realized that her
foot mask, rather odd and not quite the usual thing, was like one of
those enigmatic objects that so fascinate her.
This mask could represent her impetus to uncover mysteries left by others. Because by writing about those mysteries,
Martha tries to stand in the world of those unknown people for just a while.
And so those masks we made last summer really do reveal our
deepest motivations for writing, what our blogs would be, have turned out to
be. In her blog, Martha uses a Telugu
proverb she learned from her mother: “By digging and digging the truth is discovered.”
Isn’t
that what all writers are trying to do?
Digging down to find the truth about themselves and the world around them? Even though I didn’t believe it at the time,
making those masks was an important step in that digging process for Martha and me.
Postcards from Sea Ranch: Two Haiku
roses lavender
yarrow calla lilies poised
make this week’s house home
ocean mist rising
bluejays over sea grass call
cast for morning tide
Saying Goodbye to Room 31
In any case, when August comes, instead of standing at the door to Room 31 to greet a fresh bunch of middle schools students, I'll start my new job as a district English Coach working with teachers to help them with their own students.
Saying goodbye to this dusty old classroom with peeling window paint and rickety furniture older than my career is bittersweet. Being teacher has been so much a part of my identity for so many years that I'm nervous about who I will be and become. I'm like one of my eighth graders going off to high school.
And of course all this uncertainty has come out in writing. Here are some haikus about how it feels to end this part of my life:
twenty-three years one
classroom time to close the door
step into unknown
Steinbeck: teaching great
art melding mind and spirit
what will stir me now?
eight more days to teach
asked my friend what will I be
poet she replied
paper folders books
paper folders books all packed
now to say goodbye
Farewell to Poet Mother Maya
“Poetry put starch in my backbone.” — Maya Angelou
Years ago I was privileged to hear Maya Angelou speak before a large audience of teachers. This statement that she made about the importance of poetry has stayed with me. In fact I’ve had a poster with these words in my classroom ever since.
This morning I woke up thinking about this statement. Then I heard that Maya had died this very day. I like to think she visited me as she went on her journey. So like so many other writers around our country, I felt compelled to write about her. How she would love to read all the poems written in her name.
Mother Maya passed
in dreams today reminding
me stand up stand tall
Northern California Haiku
This weekend I got to spend some quiet time on the edge of the Pacific Ocean in Northern Sonoma County. No cell phone or wifi, just waves and whales, stars and moon - but of course I still wrote my daily haiku!
5/9/14
waves crash below cliffs
hot tub bubbles as week's cares
offered up to moon
5/10/14
pelicans take flight
whales northbound on day's bright now
begin our own yes
5/11/14
Happy Mother's Day
nose up flippers down
mama seals and babies rock
sea wave nursery
5/9/14waves crash below cliffs
hot tub bubbles as week's cares
offered up to moon
5/10/14
pelicans take flight
whales northbound on day's bright now
begin our own yes
5/11/14
Happy Mother's Day
nose up flippers down
mama seals and babies rock
sea wave nursery
My Writing Process Blog Tour
I
was quite excited when my good friend Ruth Thompson
asked me to participate in the "My Writing Process" Blog Tour.
I met Ruth three years ago at my first AROHO
(A Room of Her Own) summer writing retreat at Ghost Ranch. Since that
time we have become fast friends, close enough to risk bunking together at the
2013 retreat.
Since
the beginning of this blog tour, I have had a wonderful time reading the wide
range of writers' answers to these four questions, especially those of Ruth
and other AROHO sisters, Esther
Cohen, Tania
Pryputniewicz and Marlene Samuels.
What a joy to read each person’s responses and learn more about her. It is an honor to join their ranks.
What
are you working on right now?
As
always, I'm just trying to lay words down on paper. At the moment I'm
working on poems for a memoir. I've been interested in writing a memoir for
years. It's always been one of my favorite genres but I had never thought
of tackling one until I took a class that focused on writing what I think of as
a hybrid memoir - one composed of poems as well as short vignettes and prose
poems. I've done some research on this and found the term "lyrical
memoir" so maybe that's what I can call it. It had never occurred to
me that so many of my poems could be thought of as memoir until starting this
project, but when I look at them it makes a lot of sense. I've just
started on this idea, so it feels very young and fragile, but I'm excited by
the prospect of nursing this baby along. It gives me an
"assignment" - which is something I enjoy. I guess it's the
teacher in me. Also, putting it down in black and white – coming out as it were - makes this work seem more
real. Having announced to the world that I'm doing this means I have to
keep going!
How
does my work differ from others of its genre?
What
a question! I like to just write what comes to me and see what
happens. I’ve never spent a lot of time reflecting on my work in that
way, I think because it would open up all my insecurities and let out that big,
bad self-critic. But if I must answer
this, then I would say most obviously my work differs from others because it is
mine, because it is written in my voice, from my perspective of the
world. No one else can view the world with my eyes.
My
writing has been called simple, clear and gritty. What I think this means
is that I use simple language to create poems people can understand. I
think the gritty means I'm not afraid to put down on paper even my most
unflattering thoughts and feelings. And I do think this makes my work
different. I don't want to hide behind elaborate metaphor or
imagery. I want people to understand what I write, to be able to connect
with it. I want to say plainly what I have to say using simple words in
the most poetic way I can. For years I agonized over how simple my language is,
but then someone sent me this poem by William Stafford:
THINKING
ABOUT BEING CALLED SIMPLE BY A CRITIC
I wanted the plums, but I waited.
The sun went down.
The fire
went out. With no lights on
I waited. From the night again—
those words: how stupid I was.
And I closed my eyes to listen.
The words all sank down, deep
and rich. I felt their truth
and began to live them. They were mine
to enjoy. Who but a friend
could give so sternly what the sky
feels for everyone but few learn to
cherish? In the dark with the truth
I began the sentence of my life
and found it so simple there was no way
back into qualifying my thoughts
with irony or anything like that.
I went to the fridge and opened it—
sure enough the light was on.
I reached in and got the plums.
went out. With no lights on
I waited. From the night again—
those words: how stupid I was.
And I closed my eyes to listen.
The words all sank down, deep
and rich. I felt their truth
and began to live them. They were mine
to enjoy. Who but a friend
could give so sternly what the sky
feels for everyone but few learn to
cherish? In the dark with the truth
I began the sentence of my life
and found it so simple there was no way
back into qualifying my thoughts
with irony or anything like that.
I went to the fridge and opened it—
sure enough the light was on.
I reached in and got the plums.
It's
become my mantra so whenever I feel insecure about my simplicity, I bring this
to mind.
Another
aspect that defines my work is a sense of place. I believe my nomadic
early childhood created a need for me to experience deeply whatever place I am,
to observe everything around me to keep the memory safe when it came time to
leave. So much of my work is about place, whether it about places of my
childhood or my travels. That's another thing, travel - I am a passionate
traveler and always find something to inspire my writing when I am shaken loose
from my everyday life to go experience somewhere new.
Why
do I write what I do?
Why
do any of us write what we do? Because we have to! I write the words that
come to me, sometimes in the night, sometimes as I am walking under wide trees
or sailing for the first time. Sometimes the words come on a bus in
Turkey or Thailand. They come when I am cooking with my mother or
watching my niece cut flowers. I write what I write because the world is
so beautiful and so terrible that I have to put into words what I see and hear,
taste and touch. I write because of the ache of love or sadness, the joy
of a bird's nest outside my door or grief over a friend's death. I write
because the words come demanding I put them to paper.
How
does my writing process work?
For
years I feared I had no writing process! I felt like I was just stumbling
along and every once and a while a poem would spring out of me rather like
Athena from Zeus' forehead! Of
course that wasn't really true, but I had so much trouble finding a way to meld
writing and my other working life together that I spent a great deal of time
struggling. Being a teacher means talking and giving and draining myself
each and every day. While this can be rewarding, it isn't very conducive
to coming home and gathering thoughts to put on paper.
So
last year I finally gave in and realized if I was ever going to get any
serious, sustained writing done, I would have to overcome my resistance to
getting up early. And since last August I've done that (257 days and
counting). Every morning I get up and perform a little ritual to get me
started. Then I sit down in my chair with a thermos of tea and
begin. I use this time to purge the happenings of the previous day,
writing longhand in my journal for as long as it takes for something
"writerly" to come up. I make lists of ideas to work on over
the weekend when I have more free time to concentrate. I dog-ear journal
pages that seem promising. Sometimes I start working on those ideas right
away; sometimes I let them stew for a while. At the end of each journal,
I go back through and record any of the ideas still unrealized into a small
notebook full of idea “seeds” (a term I got from Tania Pryputniewicz).
Sometimes those seeds sit unplanted for months or years.
I
am a big fan of writing to prompts and exercises. Somehow being given a
subject to write on shakes my mind free. I know many people find
exercises scary or boring or confining but I love them. Maybe that's also
why I love to travel so much. Every day on the road is like one big
writing exercise offering up ideas for my pen.
And now it's time to pass the baton to three more talented writers.
The
first person on my list is Lisa Lutwyche. I met Lisa at the AROHO retreat in 201l and then
again in 2013. She is not only a talented writer but also a wonderful
artist and teacher. I have one of her watercolors hanging over my writing
desk. It is of Chimney Rock in Ghost
Ranch, and offers me inspiration everyday.
Lisa
received her MFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College (in Vermont) in
2013. She is an Adjunct Professor of English at Cecil College in North
East, MD, and is also an instructor in the Fine and Performing Arts department
at Cecil. Poet, playwright, essayist and novelist (at work on two books),
her work has been widely published in the US and in the UK. Her
publications include Mad Poets Review, Image and Word, Poppy Fields, Piano
Press, Pitkin Review, Falklands War Poetry, Minerva
Rising, the cancer poetry project 2, and Fiction Vortex. She
was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2000. Lisa has taught
writing workshops at AROHO (A Room of Her Own Foundation, a bi-annual,
selective, women's writing retreat at Ghost Ranch in the mountains of New
Mexico) in 2011 and in 2013. She was the recipient of the 2013 AROHO
“Shakespeare’s Sister” Fellowship for a one-act play, and has had two short
plays produced in Philadelphia. Lisa’s one-act play, A State of Being,
will be produced in Philadelphia in July.
Lisa
has been teaching creative writing (and art) at community arts centers for over
twenty years. She has a BFA in Studio Art, a BA in Art History (from
Youngstown State University in Ohio); she attended University of the Arts and
Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, and she spent 28 years in architecture
and design.
A
professional artist, Lisa's work has appeared in magazines and galleries for
decades; her artwork will appear on the cover of Undoing Winter, a
chapbook (Finishing Line Press) by good friend Shannon Connor Winward. Lisa
blogs at logophiliaclisa.
Another AROHO sister is Pamela Helberg. Pam and I met for the first time last summer
at Ghost Ranch. Her incredible humor and
positive presence was so invigorating. I
wish I could write with as much verve as she does.
She received her MA in Creative Writing from Western
Washington University where she studied under award-winning novelist Laura
Kalpakian. She founded and operated Fremont Place Books in Seattle and taught
English composition for many years at Whatcom Community College. Mostly
recently she worked in IT before quitting to go back to school for her master's
degree in Mental Health Counseling. Her essay “Body Language” appears in Beyond
Belief: The Secret Lives of Women in Extreme Religions, Seal Press,
2013. The mother of two grown daughters, Pam is currently working on her
memoir about lesbian parenting in the 1990s and lives with her wife, Nancy, in
Bellingham, Washington. She blogs regularly at pamelahelberg.com, most recently as part of the A to Z Challenge.
And last but not least on my list is someone who I have never
met in person! Juliana Lightle is an "cyber-friend" who I met while taking a online blogging course taught by Tania Pryputniewicz through Story Circle Network. Even though we haven’t met face to face, I
have enjoyed reading Juliana’s wonderful blog.
I hope someday to have the opportunity to actually sit down to one of
the wonderful meals she is always describing!
Raised on a family farm in Northwestern Missouri, Juliana became
a singer, college administrator, corporate manager, racehorse breeder and
trainer, management consultant, educator and author. Her first poem was
published in a statewide anthology when she was in high school. She holds
a Ph.D. in counseling from The Ohio State University and an M.A. in high
education administration and B.A in English from the University of Rhode
Island. She currently writes, teaches, sings, and raises horses in the
Panhandle of Texas.
She is a member of the board of the Story Circle Network, a
group dedicated to women telling their stories.
Juliana blogs at writingontherim.
Day 30: Haiku Continues While Saying Goodbye to Poetry Month 2014
National Poetry Month has been more of an adventure than I had expected. I took up the challenge of posting a poem every day for 30 days to prove to myself that I have the writing discipline to follow through. After having proclaimed my intentions to my entire online community, I had many, many witnesses to watch my progress.
Of course already having pledged to write a haiku every day in 2014 helped. My haiku practice was already in place, but before April those poems had been posted only in a private Facebook group. For the month of April, I had to find the courage to send my little haiku out into the big, bad online world. And I admit at first I was very nervous. After all, it's difficult enough to write a poem every day, much less a good one. Sending out any poem, the good, the bad and the downright uninspired seemed like a huge risk.
But the response from readers has been more positive than I could have imagined. I've gained more followers on Twitter and have had some of my haiku re-tweeted to spread them even further. That amazed me. In a workshop I attended about creating an online presence as a poet, the director of Poet's House in New York advised tweeting lines of poetry. He was so right. There are actually people out there who are looking for poetry online. I just had to give them what they wanted.
I even have some readers who want me to continue posting my daily haiku for them. The encouragement and readership I've gained makes me feel the need to keep sharing - perhaps just less often. I have cringed when posting poems that I didn't think were worthy, so from now on I'll just share the highlights of my weekly practice. And keep the others to myself. But I promise that I will write a haiku every day for the rest of the year. I'm up to 119 with only 246 to go.
And so on this last day in April, the 30th day of haiku postings, I bid National Poetry Month 2014 adieu with one more springtime haiku:
flocks of hoodies swoopmiddle school hallways winging true for June's promise
Day 29 National Poetry Month
turn east to face dawn
birds sing tree-ward morning songs
pull sun from night's bed