Day #30: Final Poem!

Let's wind up our month of poetry writing with a poem about...

our month of poetry writing!

Consider an epistolary poem (letter form) writing to any of the following:

• your fellow poets
• your poems
• your notebook
• your heart
• your muse
• the chair you sit in when you write
• your inner critic

Mine is a sonnet that I wrote at the end of daily poetry writing last April. My intended audience was the people who wrote with me on Ethical ELA. As you'll see, I was inspired to bring the joy and learning of daily poetry writing to my students--which is how this 2021 project was born! Thank you for joining me this month. Write on!

From April one to thirty, close of day
I wrote a verse according to the plan.
“Just do the verb to be the noun,” they say–
I think, I think, I think, I think I can.
The Little Engine could, and so could I.
With fuel of gentle comments for my words
My willingness to share was magnified.
I chugged and chugged because my thoughts were heard.
How can I recreate what happened here?
How can this vision turn into a plan?
How can I help my students face their fear?
My LIttle Engine chugs: “I think I can.”
I think, I think, I think, therefore I am.
This Little Engline celebrates: iamb.

Day #29: If Walls Could Speak

You may have heard the expression "if walls could speak..." 

Today we will give voice to an object we love: 
What would your baseball glove say?
What would your old stuffed elephant say?
What would your fishing pole say?

First, think of several objects you cherish. Try to come up with five before choosing one to write about. (I chose the small black accordion I keep in the classroom.) 

Now, take on the persona of your object. Give it a voice! What would it say? Try to reveal the essence of the object through your word choice and the story you tell!

Black Ballerini

I was born in Italy
late 1940s
birthed with 5000 siblings
by quasi-artisans.

Shipped to America,
I landed between the hands
of a lazy child who
tried (not very)
to draw music from my
heaving (if small)
bellows.

Then:
the years on a shelf
were at first
relief–
then punishment
as must crept into mildew.

My joints grew tight
my wax grew soft
then hard and bitter.

Who knew I had life left
to give?

It was an EBay listing
coupled with New Year’s Eve optimism
landing me
between the pressing palms
of
(???)
an English teacher?

She adored me
yes.
But adoration does not
play an accordion.

I accepted fate:
I might not play music, but
I was at least uncloseted.

And then
–years later–
again at New Year’s Eve
she resolved
to play a song
with both hands.

We did it,
she and I.

I am now the classroom accordion.
Here in Room #408
I demand center stage.

Each week
I celebrate
Happy Birthday
–both hands–
for
blushing
smiling
students
while celebrating
my own
rebirth.

Day #28: The Connoisseur

 Have you heard of a connoisseur? Here is a definition from Merriam-Webster:

What are you an expert in? Begin today by brainstorming the little things you do well. Do you make the perfect grilled-cheese sandwich? Can you fold a fitted-sheet with dexterity?

Spend two minutes thinking of things you are adept at. Here is my list:

• #IowaSky (I try to notice the subtle differences each time I look up; I often post photos to twitter with this hashtag)
• Gravel runs (I've spent hundreds of hours running the same gravel roads)
• lines of memorized poems run in my head (they pop in unexpectedly)
• Macaroni salad (my signature dish)
• finding 4-leaf clovers (I'm really good at this!)

After you brainstorm, select one to explore in a poem. Remember how images and metaphors help readers experience your poem richly.

Here is mine:

My mind works like a
a top-loading Maytag
thoughts sudsing
in the wash cycle:
a tune from the radio
and pick up the rug at Servicemaster
rubbing up against
where did I put the chapstick
and Colin’s birthday is Wednesday.

Like so many beige towels and
gray t-shirts
impressions
churn to the top
then work their way
under again
with flashes of poems
–a red sock!–
startling my day.

Day #27: Who Do You Want to Become?

Yesterday's prompt asked you to write in a sequence: yesterday, today, tomorrow.

Today's prompt is another way to look at the future.

Who is the YOU you want to become?

What are they like? Can you reach for metaphors that can capture the self you want to be in your future? Is it a rocketship? a smooth pond? Mardi Gras beads?

I suggest making a list of aspects of yourself you'd like to foster. Can you come up with 10? Then create a metaphor for each (or as many as you can).

From there, select one metaphor for a deep dive, or a few to link together. 

------------------------

At 61, I think for the most part I have "become" the me I wanted to become. As I considered this prompt, I thought about how I'd like people to remember me after I die. This is the poem I wrote:

You know when
you’re digging through a drawer
looking for a AA battery
or a birthday candle
or a safety pin?

and your fingers
rub across
a salmoned tenpenny coin
from a trip to Ireland years ago?

In that moment
you see
the hedged roads
sheep grazing
hear the lilt
of memory
tinkling?

I don’t know what I can still become.

Perhaps my dear ones,
as their
fingers of thought
touch the
heft of battery
brief candle
pinprick
or smooth coin,
will think on me.

I will have become a memory;
may it be an Irish road.

Day #26: Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

The challenge for this poem is to write in the past, present and future.

Think of "who you were" in the past.

Who are you now?

Who do you see yourself to be in the future?

Or focus on a specific aspect of yourself: how you used to play piano; how you play now; how you visualize your playing in the future.

I wrote my poem on Sunday and used yesterday/today/tomorrow literally as I wrote about April 24, 25, and 26th.

Yesterday
the washer quit
my brow was knit

the supper burned
my joke was spurned

my notes were flat
I smelled a rat

Today
I ran the trail
and answered mail

the sun was out
ate brussels sprout

I called my dad
felt not half bad

Tomorrow
I’ll greet each kid
ask what they did

read Shakespeare puns
and call my sons

before bedtime
I’ll write a rhyme

-----------------------

You may choose to write in rhyme, haiku, free verse, skinny poem, nonet, or any form that appeals to you!

Day #25: Snapshot Poem

Today's prompt is a photo. What photo? That's up to you!

You might choose an image off your phone, or one in a photo album. 

Maybe you'd like to browse through photos of icebergs or scuba diving and find one that captures your interest.

Then choose one of the two following approaches:

1) Try to describe as vividly as you can the image you see. Remember, as a poet you can use comparisons and metaphors as well as sensory detail to give your reader a strong experience while reading.

2) Write a poem that tells the story BEHIND the photo. What happened before the image was clicked? or what happened after? In telling a story, you are writing what is called a narrative poem.

I'm not sure if you will have success uploading your image in the comments. If it doesn't work, send me the image in an email and I can post it as the owner of the site.

Here is my poem:

Are the
bubbles
her family’s
blessings
descending

or
her
limpid
laughter
rising

My daughter Eloise and her husband John
April 19, 2019

Day #24: A Poem For...

Today you will write a poem about a person in your life.

The mentor text is titled "Abuelito Who."

Abuelito means grandpa. Notice how the poet uses anaphora by repeating

Abuelito who...

who...

who...

who...

with each "who" followed by a vivid description of the grandpa.

After you read Sandra Cisneros' poem, read mine. I wrote about a friend who died about six years ago.

As you write your own poem, think of vivid ways you can SHOW who your person is. Show your readers images of the person's actions or surroundings to help us see/smell/experience the person you are writing about.

---------------------------

Mentor Text: “Abuelito Who” by Sandra Cisneros

Abuelito who throws coins like rain
and asks who loves him
who is dough and feathers
who is a watch and glass of water
whose hair is made of fur
is too sad to come downstairs today
who tells me in Spanish you are my diamond
who tells me in English you are my sky
whose little eyes are string
can’t come out to play
sleeps in his little room all night and day
who used to laugh like the letter k
is sick
is a doorknob tied to a sour stick
is tired shut the door
doesn’t live here anymore
is hiding underneath the bed
who talks to me inside my head
is blankets and spoons and big brown shoes
who snores up and down up and down up and down again
is the rain on the room that falls like coins
asking who loves him
who loves him who?

-------------------------------

Judy Who

Judy who cackled like firecrackers
in the halls during class,
drawing wrath from teachers
demanding silence bell to bell:
no laughter
should compete
with lectures drear.

Judy who counseled
our most fragile and volatile
students toward
something resembling
warmth,
resembling survival.

Judy who after her divorce
built a country home with
a long driveway
and a 10-foot chicken sculpture
in the yard.
In the house, a suit of armor
and a porcelain phrenology head
she brought home from New Orleans
as her Delta carry-on.

Judy whose coral nails
and heavy Danish silver
defined her style:
sparkling eyes
great hair
faint breath of whiskey
under quality perfume.

Judy who tagged me
as a friend,
hosted raucous parties
culminating in hysterics
as we took turns shooting pumpkins
in her garden
with her varmint .22

Judy, Judy
who late on that blizardly February night
too drunk to be driving
made it home
but missed the driveway.
Stuck in a drift
she hoofed the hundred yards
toward her steel chicken
and what the previous fall had been
the pumpkin patch.

Judy who
did not survive
the trek
to warmth of hearth
whose body was was found
next morning
by her brother who
lived a mile across the section
and raised chickens for Campbell’s Soup.

Judy who
radiated warmth
died in
alcohol’s frozen embrace.