Tuesday Slice/ Verselove: A poem found in my inbox

 

Today's Slice also doubles as a poem for ethicalela.com 's Verselove,

an April poetry writing opportunity for educators.

Dr. Amy Vetter has prompted us by using text at hand to create a found poem.

My lines come from my email inbox this morning.

What I need and should know, from my email inbox

Your weekly progress

Brand new music.

If you’re a bird, I’m a bird

Two types of heartbreaks.

Lingering showers

Warmer days ahead

Are you in need of some Vitamin Sea?

Hurry!

Better sleep is finally here!

Easy overnight breakfast!

50% off books–

Chris, it’s time to make the move.

All members

Need to course correct.

A Note from the Universe

The (real) definition of success

Gratefulness.

Tuesday Slice/ Verselove: How to be a butterfly

 

Today's Slice also doubles as a poem for ethicalela.com 's Verselove,

an April poetry writing opportunity for educators.

Sheri Vasinda's prompt is a "how to be" poem, a la Barry Lane,

on an informational topic--a wonderful way to write across the curriculum!

Since I am "midwifing monarchs" on my back patio, facts were easy to come by.

How to Be a Monarch Butterfly

Feel your striated egg

at the base of a milkweed leaf

start to strain as you grow.

Bust out, eat that egg shell

then get to work eating that leaf

Don’t leave that plant–

unless you eat it all,

and move to its sister.

When your skin gets too tight,

molt–and eat that, too.

Do that several times

for a few weeks,

until you feel

the urge to change.

Now you can leave the plant

search for a place to hang out.

Make a little white knot of silk

attach your back end to it

slowly lower yourself, head-down

and arch that back until you make a J.

Relax for a few hours, until….

You feel something inside about to burst.

Skin splitting, wriggle it up and off.

Twirl and wiggle, twirl and wiggle

until that silken cord is strong

and your new green chrysalis

begins to contract, harden

displaying beautiful golden spots.

Hang out, until you feel (again!)

the urge to bust out,

the green now transparent

your dots on display.

Head first, into the world

holding on tight to that empty husk

pumping fluid into those magnificent wings.

And when they are full, and you are ready,

fly off to feed, find a mate and a milkweed plant

and lay some beautiful, tiny, striated eggs.

Verselove, Day 14: Espadrille wedges

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Andy Schoenborn invites us to write a paragraph about shoes, 

then find the poem that tumbles from the paragraph.

 

Shoes

My aunt bought me my first pair of heels.  It was the summer of '81, and my brother and I were in her care in Los Angeles until our parents followed our move from the Army base in Stuttgart to the one in El Paso. I was barely coming into my own; she nudged me forward with my requests for Sun-In, a cute bikini, and those heels--if you could call them that.  Espadrille wedges, more like, with a cap toe and buckled straps.  The heel was about two inches, if I recall properly, straw-colored because I wasn't one for brights.  I wore them with sundresses, shorts, those flared jeans I could finally fit into, my body stretching skyward and taking the pre-pubescent pudge with it.  I felt six feet tall in those shoes, like I could finally be seen as a whole person, the one developing curves and not just breaking them in class.

Those Heels

My aunt

bought me 

my first

pair of heels,

in the summer

of '81.

I imagine her

thumbing her nose

at her brother, my father,

still in Stuttgart

as he and my mother

packed up our belongings

to move us to El Paso.

I was barely 

coming into my own

that season.

In Los Angeles, I

lounged by my aunt's pool

in the bikini she bought me

Sun-In crisping my hair.

She insisted on the shoes, too.

Espadrille wedges

cap-toed

buckle-strapped

straw-colored

(I wasn't bold enough

for brights, just yet).

I wore them with

sundresses

shorts

those flared jeans

I could finally fit into,

body stretching skyward

taking pre-pubescent pudge with it.

Those extra two inches

made me feel six feet tall

like I could finally be seen

as a whole person

the one developing curves

not just breaking them in class.

Verselove, Day 13: Joy and liberation, five lines at a time

 

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Stacey L. Joy introduced us to Gogyohka, a free-form five line poem.

Joy and Liberation

My joy is wrapped in simpler packages these days

Found in the quiet of predawn

The birds at the feeder

The caterpillars' mysterious metamorphosis

My body moving as I’d like it to.

There are shackles that still bind these days

Bad habits that have to be broken

Gloomy, insecure thinking

Guilt from having too much

Guilt from not doing enough.

Liberation is found in meaningful discourse

Looking for the helpers

Pants that still fit

Folks pointing the way out

Love that doesn’t quit.

Tuesday Slice: It isn't over, a COVID diary

Today's Slice also doubles as a poem for ethicalela.com 's Verselove,

an April poetry writing opportunity for educators.

Susie Morice asked us to respond to news of our choice.

Dueling headlines

The “AP Morning Wire” arrives at 0601 sharp
Neat columns of
Headlines and openers to the left
Photos to the right

Third story down
“China closes Guangzhou
to most arrivals
as outbreak spreads”
the words
“major surge”
jump out at me

Sixth story down
“With COVID mission over,
Pentagon plans
for next pandemic”
the article describes
exhausted nurses
overflowing ICUs
as memories
as if COVID is a thing
of the past

as if the story
three sections up
or my own
child’s recovery
doesn’t exist

right now.

Verselove, Day 11: Quirky

 

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Kim Johnson invites us to explore something quirky today.

(I know a library

is supposed to be

quiet, but)

“Students,

push in your

chairs

gather up your

books

and if you line up with

hallway expectations

in place,

I’ll play

the “30-Second

Dance Party”

(ever see a

librarian

bust a dance move

behind the

circ desk?)

Verselove, Day 10: Ruminate

 

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Margaret Simon's prompt is a "definito", a poem explaining the definition of a word, and ending with it.

Ruminate

The thought repeats

over and over, in my head

like a cow, chewing its cud

over and over

(does it ever swallow?)

considering the problem

from different angles

sometimes just letting it

lie there, tiptoeing around it

peeking as it teases

it won’t let me walk away

and so I am left to ruminate.

Verselove, Day 9: Birds are so smart

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Dixie Keyes prompts us with bird poems today.

On schooldays

I am up before dawn

before birdsong

dressed for work, I

scoop up birdseed

carry it outside,

around the house

to the feeder hanging

from our children’s old

playscape

Rarely do they visit

before I leave for work.

On weekends

I sleep in a bit

fill the feeder just

as the sun fully rounds

the horizon

and watch, from

the kitchen window,

the morning feast.

A cardinal pair

mourning doves

European starlings

and the raucous bluejays

(I bang the window

to scare away

marauding squirrels)

chickadees

house finches

Bewick’s wrens

and my favorites,

the little tufted titmouse.

Sometimes

I can sit on my patio

and they will visit

mere feet away

having learned that

I mean them no harm–

Soul-filling, that trust.

 

Verselove, Day 8: Tell me without telling me

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Scott McCloskey has prompted us to write a

"tell me without telling me" poem.

It feels, sounds odd

to say that I’ve lived

in one place

for over thirty-five years

when the first twenty-one

were spent here, there

everywhere

Dual birth certificate in hand

father sometimes gone for months

a brother born after a war

a shot record longer than most

First id card at ten

frozen in place at the sound of taps

cadence outside my window

at oh six hundred

In my house, Capodimonte flowers

and parquetry pictures of hillsides

prints of the Eiffel tower

a geisha doll in a glass box

a nutcracker that says

“Made in Western Germany”

Hummels bought from the source

My home is a museum

my friends spread out across the globe

a spark of wanderlust

still throbs in my heart

I cried when I relinquished my

last id card

handing it over to the man

in the office at the gate.

[Tell me you’re a military BRAT without telling me you’re a military BRAT]

Spiritual Journey Thursday: I bind myself

 

This month, Karen has given us the prompt; what do we bind ourselves to, in this journey of Spirit?  You can read her post here.

To bind oneself to someone, something implies a conscious action, a decision to connect, a reason for that attachment.  It is a one-sided undertaking, when you think about it; whatever it is you are binding yourself to may or may not even be aware, or capable of awareness...it is a decision that is yours, and yours alone.

Karen's prompt immediately made me think of personal values.  Discerning one's values and aligning actions to them have been topics in several books I'm reading for personal growth.  The process is both enlightening and humbling, as I catch myself several times a day acting in ways that truly do not align with what I profess to be my values.  Fortunately (or not), those foibles only impact myself directly.  For example--I say that I value health of body and mind, but my eating and sleeping habits do not support my binding to that value.

Perhaps it is time I focus on binding myself to a Power that is greater than my weak will.

"Today I gird myself

with threefold power,

invocation of the Trinity,

belief in the threeness,

profession of the oneness,

in union with the Creator."

--St Patrick's Breastplate

Verselove, Day 6: A story in six lines

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Mo Daley has given us a cherita to write--

a poem in three stanzas, with 1, 2, 3 lines each.

Now and then, gift tags resurface

Written in my mother’s graceful loops

My husband’s block print, my children’s scrawl

The gifts long forgotten, or used, or stored

But the tags bear the sentiment, tied with heartstrings

Written in defiance of mortality and inevitable change.

Tuesday Slice: Battle of the bulge, again

 

I'm doubling up today--using my Verselove poem prompted by ethicalela.com  as my Slice.

Denise gives us these rules for today:

4 syllables in each line

4 lines in each stanza

4 stanzas

Refrain repeated four times in lines 1, 2, 3, 4 of stanzas 1, 2, 3, 4. 

Bonus: Try writing a title in four syllables

Growing Waistline

My pants--too tight

Too many sweets

Too much eating

Without thinking

I eat when stressed

My pants--too tight

I eat when happy

Emotions fed

The first step done

I am aware

My pants--too tight

Action needed

I know what works

Write it all down

(Inconsistent)...

My pants--too tight.

I refuse to buy bigger pants.

Verselove, Day 4: Borrowed lines

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Jennifer Guyor Jowett invites us to take a seed from another poem 

and create our own burrow.

Old friends appear

to urge me on

Not people, but

Methods

Memories

Motivation

We keep thinking that

we need to reinvent

the wheel

But sometimes the old

is just as good as the new

Catch that pendulum

when it swings back to you

It worked for you once;

chances are, it will again.

Verselove, Day 3: Stolen theme

 

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Today's prompt is:  lift a line, a sentiment, a theme from another author's poem.

I am stealing a theme from Gae Polisner's poem "Renovation", as well as 

Allison Berryhill's "There Goes".

It's only stuff

my head knows that

my head knows that

these memories are just mine

these memories are just mine

no one else will care when I'm gone

no one else will care when I'm gone

instead, they'll be annoyed

instead, they'll be annoyed, because

it's only stuff

and they'll be left to deal with it.

Verselove, Day 2: What I can't forget, part one

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Today's prompt is:  core memories, based on a mentor poem by Maria Geisbrecht.

What I can't forget, the early years

a recurring childhood dream (nightmare?)

    sitting on the edge of a bottomless pit, legs dangling

    in the backyard of a red brick house

my parents calling me "Tina"

   and the chorus line of a 45 rpm 

   "Tina, the ballerina, the belle of gay Paree"

the feel of a mini dachshund sleeping 

    in the curve of my legs, undercover

    snoring and refusing to let me roll over

the tree that grew sideways in the scrubby forest

    secluded, a place to share secrets

    and the freedom we had to explore

the feeling of being the odd one out

    always the new girl

    always knowing we'd move again

wearing polyester pants

    when everyone else was wearing jeans

    and being shoved against a locker for breaking the curve

my hair turning orange from Sun-In

    getting my first contacts

    that first kiss, ever--I was worthy?

my mother, masterful negotiator

    as my father and I fought before leaving

    his tears as my mother drove me to college.

 

Verselove, Day 1: Rabbit

 

Teacher-writers at ethicalela are sponsoring a month of poetry writing.

All educators can join in, too, at this link!

Today's prompt is:  write an acrostic poem.

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit

April pops up like a hare in the grass, kicking March aside

Bringing a sense of urgency to each school day

Beyond the normally controlled chaos

Instructor anxiety begins to build, closer and closer to

Testing week.

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit

April sniffs the air like a nervous bunny, cute 

But on edge, counting calendar days

Budgets must be spent and data must be entered

In a race to the finish

That is still months away.

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit

April will hop by more quickly than we'd like

Bringing May's immutable demands and deadlines

Bursting with pride or bemoaning lost opportunities

It happens every year, different students, different challenges, yet

The ending never really seems to change.

Image from Shutterstock.