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Tag: poetry

Stretching

Published on February 27, 2024 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

When my granddaughters (ages 5 and 3) visit, we draw and paint. I keep a small table well-stocked and ‘at the ready,’ with a variety of markers, colored pencils, and drawing paper. Painting together is a little bit more of a production – we do this at the craft table in my basement, near to the utility sink for rinsing all those brushes and wiping up messes. 

We go through a lot of paper. Paper, paper, paper, we simply cannot have enough paper around here. I am always looking for ways to make it stretch. I am a scavenger, on the lookout for ‘extras’ – scrap paper at the back side of cards, or cutting blank sections of business mail and other papers, and tearing out the pages at the end of old notebooks and notepads. We like to draw and paint on cardboard boxes, too. A real favorite has been the large rolls of ‘painter’s paper,’ leftover from our home remodeling. We can cover tables with this and draw to our heart’s content. 

Just the other day, my poetry writing with Ethical ELA led to a wonderful way to stretch my paper supplies. An inspiration by Amber Harrison introduced me to a fanciful new world: ‘zines.’ I don’t know that I have ever heard of this word before, and I went down a real rabbit hole learning more about these.

The biggest thrill for my granddaughters and their drawing: one sheet of paper can be folded into eight rectangles, and with one simple cut, a small book is created. Yes!! I had to show this to the girls!! As I imagined, they were delighted – busily working on these small pages, creating their own books. They created smaller designs due to the more limited space, and they began to think about their art as storytelling. Wonderful! 

I created my first zine as the girls worked on theirs. What whimsical books these can be! I am reminded of the limits and focus of writing into a specific poetry form – I am whittling my thoughts to fit a particular framework. For this first zine, I wrote some silly wordplay we repeat often around here, whenever I can’t remember the word for something…might as well laugh about it. Here’s what my zine layout looks like, unfolded:

Here is my zine ‘poetry’ in a more straightforward fashion – 

Whatsis? 
by Nana, AKA Maureen

What’s this called again?
That’s a something-or-other.
A thingamajig.

What did you say?
A doohickey.

What’s a doohickey? 
A whatchamacallit. 
A gubbins.

What?!
A gizmo.
A thingamabob. 
A widget.

A doodad. 
A thingy.
A so-and-so.

Say what?!

Leave it be, so be it, 
I don’t know

The girls laughed when I read this little book to them, capturing our family joke. I am going to play around with this zine idea some more. Next up, I’m creating a zine of healing thoughts to share with a friend who is having surgery next week – just to let her know I am thinking of her. 

It is always good to be stretched in new ways – and always good to stretch my paper supplies, too!

See you Friday, at the 17th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!

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Words Matter?

Published on February 13, 2024 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

The Super Bowl party is a fun tradition with friends, yet it makes me feel trapped. It is challenging to walk out early. I found a nook in the back of the room, surrounded by the lesser fans. I whispered to one that I’d rather be home in bed reading a book. Of course, the game went into overtime. Oh no..I was fried. Finally, the game ended and the celebratory hoopla began. I got up to collect our dishes, pack up our things. 

“Wow! Isn’t that graffiti gorgeous?” 

I looked back at the television and agreed – “Yes! Look at the colors!” 

“I don’t know when I have seen so much pretty graffiti”, she continued.

“It is so thick, just amazing,” I agreed, joking, “They are celebrating that the game has finally ended.”

We looked at each other, puzzled. A glimmer of reality:

Hello.

The word is not graffiti.

What was the word?

malapropism – the mistaken use of a word in place of a similar-sounding one

lethologica – the inability to remember a particular word or name

This was a whole new level of my elusive language skills, my inability to recall a word. Now I am in cahoots with someone else on the use of the wrong word? Oh my! Let’s call this a case of  “magnanimous malapropism” or “legendary lethologica.” 

Imagine a world where all of us of a certain age are replacing nouns and verbs with new ones, and all of us get along fabulously, enjoying the new tangents these displacements take us.

Here’s to a world where we hold each other with tenderness and joy. 

P.S. Yes, I know the word was ‘confetti.‘ We figured it out before we had our coats on, leaving the party. 

 I have been giggling ever since, and wrote a humorous poem to celebrate the verbal confusion.

I’ve got a poem here about graffiti

oh my! look! such gorgeous graffiti!
toss in the air! celebrate! so dreamy!
jubilant sparkly paper sleeting 
wait
not so 
it ain’t that neaty
fibrous 
      colorful 
             scrappy 
                     streaming
noodly 
        wiggly 
                 shredded 
                           chippies
this word 
eludes 
confounds
perplexy
what the heck is wild paper spaghetti?
macaroni 
         bucatini 
                linguine 
                         rotini 
                               ziti
how did my mind get so cobwebby
I am feeling a wee bit sweaty
you know - scribbly dithery unsteady
ah! sparkly lively flashy confetti

this poem is squirmy springy seedy
stretching me in new ways, sweetie
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A Poem A Day

Published on January 9, 2024 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

Last week, I shared that my one little word for 2024 is ‘hold.’ Nine days into this new year, I am having fun writing one ‘summative’ poem a day, some aspect of the day that I want to hold onto – or that I am so preoccupied by, it has a hold on me. (I’d prefer all my ‘holds’ to be uplifting, but let’s be real – life isn’t that way.)

Basically, this is poetry as daily reflection. My poetry is weak/easy, mostly ‘free’ writing with no specific forms being used…I am not feeling especially proud of the writing itself. However, I am excited by how the writing settles me, allowing me to pause for a bit and review my day. It has been a nice intention for the new year – to stop and think about what I want to remember about each day. 

I have lots of questions for myself, beyond whether I’ll be able to write a poem a day. I’m wondering if there will be patterns to what I’m writing about, if I’ll revisit the same topics over and over again. I wonder if my poetry writing will improve, especially if I try to write into new and different forms of poetry. I wonder if I’ll feel ‘called’ to edit, rewrite, or rethink certain poems. 

For now, I’m just exploring. Here’s today’s poem – from babysitting three-year-old Bird, my granddaughter. 

she tucks herself in now

she never wants me to tarry
at naptime
insists I leave
and she unwinds
readies for bed
all by herself

she is growing up too quickly

later
I slip in
to witness
her stir from her nap

she is snuggling
under a blanket 

and laying right next to her
its small head poking out
is a plush small giraffe
nestled under its own little blanket

so dear

did she sing
did she coo
did she hold
the giraffe
before its nap?
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On Moving On

Published on December 19, 2023 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

It’s not easy to move in December. 

I suppose 
the month
doesn’t matter so much. 

It’s just not easy to move.
It is not easy to move 
from your home of 30-plus years 
where you raised your kids 
acquired, stored, and forgot about 
infinite treasures
filling every inch of space. 

No, this kind of move is not easy. 
It’s not easy to move 
to a new home 
several states away
planning 
what you want to put on a truck
what you’ll need in the days (weeks?) 
in-between 
being in one place and next
waiting for your stuff to arrive.

No, it’s not easy. 
It is not easy to do this 
alone 
all by yourself. 

Which is why 
I went to help.
I just returned 
from a very hard and successful week 
at my college bestie’s
‘old house’
where we worked non-stop

sorting packing wrapping boxing 
taping lifting loading re-doing 
squishing counting rushing 
tossing donating keeping 
In a few more days 
she will have a new home 
here in Maryland 

she will live 
not only 
closer to me 
but to 
her daughter 
her sister and 
other family. 

It is a wonderful move - 
and not easy!
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What’s My Subject

Published on October 3, 2023 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

Years back, when I was part of a ‘new minister search committee’ for my church, someone opined – 

“All ministers have basically five great sermons - 
everything they preach falls into those five themes.”

This thinking stuck with me, leaving me wondering – is that true for my writing, as well? Do I just go round and round, talking over and over about the same thing? 

I have enjoyed Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life for many years, where I hone in on some experience from the previous week. As an early childhood teacher, there have been many slices about young children, and now that I am retired, my focus is often my grandchildren. I frequently write about my family, especially time spent with my husband and our travels. I enjoy writing about nature.

I strive to write about something unexpected that has happened, perhaps something as simple as an interaction with a stranger. Overall, I think these personal narratives do fall into five basic themes – 

capturing a moment in the present
how things change over time
looking at things from a different perspective
how to be in community with others
how grief works

and I suppose there is sometimes a 6th, which is a big messy conglomeration of all of the above.

What is the catalyst for this rumination of mine? 
My oldest grandchild is turning 5 this month. 
How in the world have five years gone by?

Now, I am looking through the past five years of my writing and trying to create a memory book – the poems and essays that I have written about this dear child. I’m not sure if this memory book is for her or me, lol. 

I am just amazed at the passage of time. 

What are your top five topics or themes of writing?

I’ll close with a short poem of this week’s surprise – an unexpected day with our soon-to-be- five-year-old granddaughter, because she was sick.

unwell

tiny feet are wedged against my hip
pinning me to this corner of the couch
she sleeps in a folded z 
holding my hand tightly

the inconsistent rap of her breath
an intermittent low moan 
dark shadowed eyes and sweaty locks of hair
poor sweet miserable one

how many hours of my life have been
intertwined with a sick child
watching the chest move up down
wondering if their symptoms are 
worsening

time 
stands

absolutely

s t i l l

until they are up and running again


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Unsettled

Published on September 5, 2023 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!
Expect the Unexpected

My friend shared how 
a week after her parent’s burial
they left the door unlocked and
this stranger
walked into their home
without knocking
an elderly woman
dressed in fleece despite the heat advisory
she walked in circles in their living room
passionately sharing a rambling story
a best friend 
a locked car
a game of hide and seek

My friend recognized her
as a neighbor from several blocks away
and they walked the confused soul 
back to her own home

I thought to myself - of course this happened, 
of course, of course, of course
It is the first days 
surrounding the death of a loved one
‘the season’ 

When my own father died 
three years ago
I experienced a heightened awareness of life
noticing a preponderance of 
unexpected sights and situations
The world opened in new ways
everything askew
fractures, all around 
mystery, awe, surprise, confusion, wonder

It’s as if you are living within
wild, unsettled lyrics of a Bob Dylan song
replete with unforeseen doorways, 
mirrors, silver canes, false eyelashes
you’re starin’ at butterflies
(the italicized are fragments of
Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts)

these are first days of a ‘newdeath’
a transcendent time
a way of being, much like first days of a ‘newborn’

this tender while 
when the world becomes very different

the thin veil of curtain 
of the great unknown
is pulled aside 

yes, you feel

beginning with 
the hush when you enter the home
the whispered voices and loving caresses
dear ones gathering 
bringing food and flowers
moving softly, with great care

tears flow as you live
this raw edgy beauty

witnessing great loss 

       you pause and sob at wet mangled treasures from a stray cat
a death shrine amongst the flowers 
and then again
at a young child’s scraped knee 
needing
to wipe away pain

       you see the hummingbird float across the yard 
sense its sweet tremor

       you feel familiar foreboding 
throughout your body
when a friend tells how her loved one
broken and disoriented by dementia
undressed in front of a grandchild

	you urgently call for help
when you turn the corner downtown
and find the stranger 
slumped over
passed out
knowing
we are all connected

       you follow the wisps of clouds across the blue moon
believing in more

       you lay in bed and hear again
each stroke of the fumbling shovel
knowing love pours from dirt not held

       and when you sit alone
you cradle a cup of hot tea 
and listen 

how soft the ordinary 
how all is fragile
how every moment in time
tingles

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How Community Works

Published on August 8, 2023 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

I’ve been thinking wistfully about the preschool classroom, remembering how children learned to listen to one another. 

Why is my mind on preschool? 

My heart is heavy from an acrimonious meeting with adults. Those who spoke first essentially determined the agenda. The most emphatic discussion was about whether Robert’s Rules were being followed. People were silenced in the interest of rule-following. So much good community feeling was whittled away, as folks tripped over small procedural details. A few people spoke up over and over and over again; the quiet folks stayed mute; everyone was exhausted by the meeting’s end. 

Dare I say, this was a church meeting? 

Just ugly.

Now, our congregation is working on healing. 

Add my voice to the chorus of voices who say that Robert’s Rules are not very equitable. (Here’s one, if you’re interested.)

Preschoolers learn ‘coming together’ means listening to varied perspectives. We need to participate with open minds…and extend grace to one another.

deciding together

preschool circle time
all of us together

teacher as mediator
traffic light
safety patrol
guide

alongside

tears laughter 
squeals shrieks
wiggles jumps
ups 
d
o
w
n
s 
nonstop 	unpredictable 	
movement

someone
can’t sit still
another squirrels away
there’s a twosome chatting
 rolling playing with each other
oh, and you!
so frustrated you weren’t called first
oops! someone needs to go to the bathroom
worst,
they already did

oh my
how am I to introduce
the ‘big idea’ of the day?

how will we
make decisions
together?

this is how the year begins 
this is the teaching

three year olds
learning how 

to be together

and always
at some imprecise point 
after circling up several times in a day
every single school day
this learning 
suddenly

falls 
into 
place

there is magic 
our community working together

(hopefully, the calendar says October, not June)
 
why do the children know
why do the children show
why do the children sow
community

better than adults?

they
greet one another
look at one another
give space to one another
take turns talking
wait their turn
moderate one’s voice 
listen to and consider ideas of others
build on a friend’s ideas
make decisions together 

they trust community 
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Acadia Travels

Published on July 18, 2023 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

I’ve just returned from a wonderful family vacation in Acadia, Maine. I missed the ‘Slice of Life’ last week for the first time in months, due to spotty wifi and unending fun. How to describe the many sweet moments and gorgeous scenery? Let me share a few photos and tales.

We explored from sandy beaches to rocky cliffs. Throughout the park, there were wild blueberries on the rocky edges of paths. Most were still a bit green for picking, but we snacked on a ripe few. There were historic cairns as guides along the trails. We had lots of animal sightings – frogs, turtles, deer, crabs, sea urchins, and more. On our first walk, just as my son and I were passing by a marshy area, a barred owl took flight not ten feet from us – magnificent! 

Deep in the woods, I stopped from time to time to listen to the delightful chatter of new-to-me birds (thank you, Merlin app, for helping me identify these precious sounds!) – red-eyed vireo, dark-eyed junco, black-capped chickadee, golden-crown kinglet, and a variety of warblers with adorable names – black-throated green warbler, yellow-rumped warbler, magnolia warbler. I heard these birds so frequently, I began to recognize their calls. 

Early morning at Cadillac Mountain, our views were obscured by mist and fog. It was exquisite, all the same – and made for somewhat cooler hiking. We hiked along Dorr Mountain trail and enjoyed more visibility as the morning progressed.

Look closely, and you can see my granddaughter Frog standing on an outcropping. I remain awed by her prowess on the challenging rock scrambles of this and other hikes – she is only four and half years old, and moves with courage, flexibility, and desire. She was amazing! I, on the other hand, have returned home with new fitness goals for myself, in hopes of being stronger for next summer’s family hiking trip. I became so fatigued on this hike, I could only climb up higher on rocks by using my two hands to lift my leg up. Oh my! 

Tony loved the hikes where you reach the summit and partake in these extraordinary panoramas. I was thrilled by these, too, but the Acadia tidal pools nourished my soul. We had planned our visits with low tide, allowing us to see the beautiful diversity of these fragile regions. The beaches filled with rounded rocks in brown, orange, red, yellow – these were absolutely exquisite. 

I am filled with many special memories from this beautiful national park. Let me close with a poem I wrote yesterday, for Ethical ELA’s OpenWrite…a ‘venn diagram’ poem about the different parts of Acadia that Tony & I loved, and the overlap between the two.

Acadia

he treasured the vistas
panoramic views from mountaintops
sweaty exertion of climbing
weaving paths negotiating roots scrambling rocks  
our hiking chatter grunts laughter
tide pools mesmerized me
close intimate looking and tiny finds
slow steady careful stepping
so many lives both strong and fragile 
waves rippling rocks
invigorating
all our senses, tingling
immersed in precious wonder
being in nature
together
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Georgia On My Mind

Published on June 27, 2023 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

We’ve been in Georgia for the past week, for the annual reunion of my husband’s family. He is one of 13 children, with only four still living, and this leads to quite the crowd. There are spouses, children, grandchildren, and even a few great grandchildren for the oldest siblings. The reunion was on Saturday, but we made a week of it, visiting with different family members and friends for longer meet ups. It is a wonderful tradition to start our summer.

Driving back today, I looked through photos and reflected on conversations…it led to a bit of a poem. I need to work on this still, but here’s my slice of life…

Georgia On My Mind

the June reunion takes us back
over many miles and memories

a steady rain as we drive
seems to echo the mind’s machinations
whispering yet insisting,
saturating

all the cooking from the heart
butter peas, crowder peas, green beans
cornbread, mac-n-cheese
okra and dressing
(made just like Mimi always did)
pies, pound cake, chocolate delight
so many family favorites 
be sure to have a bite of everything

thirty-five years of showing up
has worn down 
the suspicion of me, 
the one raised ‘east coast, Catholic,’
yet it lingers askance
like framing on old weathered barns 

maybe I’m one of those little stone houses
staying put
strong and steady 

in their midst yet on the periphery
I love it here

dear ones open up to me
sharing confidences
the buttered biscuit on the side
taking all the juices in

now I’m remembering all the kudzu 
creating funny monsters against the Georgian blue
or is it simply keeping secrets
saying, no, not now, no light on this
keep quiet about that

let me think on this
maybe I’ll share more later

simply remember
the chortle of the littles
as they ran and laughed
together

family is precious
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Talking Points

Published on May 16, 2023 
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

When we are out and about, here’s what I notice –

the bearded irises are still pretty even when lounging on the lawn,
the begonia blossoms into tiny angels, and 
I'm so happy the peonies bloomed after the rains came through.


She offers me an entirely different take on the world. What does she notice?

She discovers it on cars. 
It is also popular on the lawn’s edge.
She’s been appalled to find it lurking on the front steps. 
Sometimes she stops in the middle of the street to bear witness. 
As if this wasn’t enough, in recent days, it has begun appearing on the windows at the back of our house. 

Have you guessed her obsession? 

Animal droppings. 
Especially - bird poop. Aviary guano. Foul of fowl. 

This spring has dovetailed (ooh, there’s a pun!) with toilet-training and she is riveted. Yes, this is the number one topic of my darling grandchild. (I nicknamed her ‘Bird’ - so, I suppose I should have predicted this grimy interest.) 

She has laser focus for every sighting. On our neighborhood walks, she gasps with alarm, needing to pause and inspect. She demands that every soiled area be cleaned up, immediately - and has been less than impressed when I refuse to do so, steering her away from the find. 

The rule ‘out of sight, out of mind’ does not apply. Each of these moments is treasured in her mind, and shared as the primary gossip of the day. 

What did you do, today, hon? 
There was bird poop on the window!

Who knew the world could be full of such mystery and wonder? 


I offer a simple poem, to remember this developmental stage of hers.

window washing

the gutters 
at back of house
are a favorite stop
for winged loiterers

heralding
foul of fowls
up, in, around

all to her delight
each discovery
so exciting

Nana! Gotta clean!

and so
spray and towel in hand
windows flipped open
I scour scrub rub  
sparkle shine
polishing away streaks

and she 
is right at my side
inspecting