tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1084574475796190316.post7075737409308796464..comments2024-03-29T00:51:16.923-04:00Comments on my juicy little universe: forward...crouCH!Heidi Mordhorsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16496427007514895950noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1084574475796190316.post-78706585290380439802015-03-24T17:31:29.962-04:002015-03-24T17:31:29.962-04:00Crouching invites curiosity and adventures. Thank...Crouching invites curiosity and adventures. Thanks for sharing these today. Margaret Simonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04434866104385187658noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1084574475796190316.post-26257870777516182022015-03-24T16:42:42.690-04:002015-03-24T16:42:42.690-04:00These are all so different, so good! Kate, did yo...These are all so different, so good! Kate, did you know (or just guess?) that I was writing about a couch?Heidi Mordhorsthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09902158336083356337noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1084574475796190316.post-69103814678498281492015-03-24T08:54:11.506-04:002015-03-24T08:54:11.506-04:00Birthday
Shh! Now hurry!
Come and crouch
here beh...Birthday<br /><br />Shh! Now hurry!<br />Come and crouch<br />here behind the flowered couch.<br />Listen, giggle—<br />shh again!<br />Eight of us,<br />now nine, now ten.<br />Super quiet<br />(one more giggle),<br />nice and quiet<br />(one last wiggle).<br />Key in the door<br />and voices in the hall.<br />(Shh now truly,<br />quiet all).<br />We look into<br />each other’s smiling eyes,<br />then all jump up<br />and yell “Surprise!”<br /><br />—Kate Coombs, 2015KateCoombshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05584944601221466789noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1084574475796190316.post-34517262178046092132015-03-24T06:54:48.041-04:002015-03-24T06:54:48.041-04:00Here's an NPR TED Radio Hour show that goes wi...Here's an NPR TED Radio Hour show that goes with that article:<br />http://www.npr.org/programs/ted-radio-hour/335287595/growing-up?showDate=2014-08-01<br /><br />I turned to baseball for today's poem:<br /><br />TIME STOPS<br /><br />That moment when the pitcher waits,<br />catcher crouches at home plate,<br />silence settles like a weight...<br /><br />...all breaths are held,<br />no ball propelled,<br />no cheers are yelled...<br /><br />...and then beneath the wide blue sky,<br />the pitch is flung, the ball glides by,<br />and time, again, begins to fly.<br /><br /><br />©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015<br /><br />http://www.maryleehahn.com/2015/03/crouch.html<br />Mary Leehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09078793537148794310noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1084574475796190316.post-50052004451720574472015-03-24T05:52:42.318-04:002015-03-24T05:52:42.318-04:00And since March 24 is Houdini's birthday--
Ho...And since March 24 is Houdini's birthday--<br /><br />Holding his breath<br />Crouched inside a box<br />Harry Houdini<br />Works his way out.Joyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01825251724115541708noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1084574475796190316.post-9799819529394992432015-03-24T05:42:28.015-04:002015-03-24T05:42:28.015-04:00I continue to work small.
May Day Parade
Crouchin...I continue to work small.<br /><br />May Day Parade<br />Crouching down<br />My daddy puts me<br />On his shoulders.Joyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01825251724115541708noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1084574475796190316.post-74904449909485699202015-03-24T00:21:40.453-04:002015-03-24T00:21:40.453-04:00This one had me stumped at first until a photograp...This one had me stumped at first until a photograph prompted me to write about a memory. "Remembering" at<br />http://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2015/03/remebering.html.<br /><br />I was just a little girl<br />when I heard the stories-<br />naval exploits<br />in the Philippines.<br />He was barely a young man,<br />not old enough to graduate<br />from high school,<br />but the call to fight was<br />a passionate one.<br />He lied about his age,<br />told his mother,<br />and left his home <br />to join the Navy.<br /><br /> <br />His mission in the Philippines<br />was filled with horrors,<br />too difficult to explain,<br />but he came home.<br />A long sword in a case,<br />trinkets, a photograph,<br />and stories about the island<br />came home with him. <br /><br /><br />The story I heard was<br />about soldiers in the navy <br />with little food to eat,<br />crouched over with pains<br />from disease-racked bodies.<br />I imagined what kind of<br />sounds broke the silence<br />during his time at sea,<br />away from home.<br /><br />I wanted to hear more,<br />but I was just a little girl.<br />The sword remained <br />as an untouchable.<br />I favored the trinkets <br />given to my grandmother,<br />but they were not mine.<br />It was the photograph<br />that remained with me-<br />a remembrance of <br />a young man who wanted<br />to fight for his country.<br /><br />He may have crouched<br />in fear in the Philippines,<br />but he would not <br />tell that story.<br />I asked for more,<br />but I was too young <br />to hear those stories.<br />I had to be content<br />with studying history<br />to uncover the stories<br />that were left untold<br />and collecting <br />artifacts to <br />build rich stories<br />of my own. <br /><br />CVarsalona (c) 2015 <br />Carol Varsalonahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02589714711155938528noreply@blogger.com