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My poem today captures a moment that my 15-year-old mentions often: "Remember that time that Becca and I got inside the sofa?" They were about 8.
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This seems like a good time to offer this link to a really great article on risky play that said daughter was assigned for a 10th grade English class project on, of all things, parenting and childhood. I missed this when it came out, but along with Last Child in the Woods, it's alarming and inspiring.
Where are you all crouching today?
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Diane starts us off today with a poem that she discovered nicely commemorates National Puppy Day:
Upon First Meeting
Two-year-old child.
Ten-month-old puppy.
The child crouches to look
into wide, open canine eyes.
Their bodies mirror curiosity,
excitement, and, a touch of fear.
Both tremble slightly, then,
unable to contain themselves
they tumble forward to catch
each other in sloppy kisses
and unadulterated delight.
--Diane Mayr
I'm beginning to sense a collection, or even a story in verse something like Everett Anderson's Goodbye, developing for Charles. Here's his poem for today:
CROUCHING BROTHER, SQUIGGLY SISTER
Crouching over the pearly
coated bassinet,
Gazing at my wiggly,
squiggly sister
Chirping in delight as
I play peek-a-boo
While Mom, relaxing in
her recliner, smiles
For the first time
since Grandpa’s funeral.
(c) Charles Waters 2015 all rights reserved.
Donna's crouch is hidden in the grass in this acrostic:
Cat in the grass
Ready to pounce
On whatever it's looking at
Under that leaf
Catching it is
Half the fun, twitching is the other.
©Donna JT Smith, 2015
Joy came by with two small poems today, including one for Harry Houdini's birthday:
May Day Parade
Crouching down
My daddy puts me
On his shoulders.
*********
Holding his breath
Crouched inside a box
Harry Houdini
Works his way out.
--Joy Acey
Mary Lee turned to baseball for today's poem:
TIME STOPS
That moment when the pitcher waits,
catcher crouches at home plate,
silence settles like a weight...
...all breaths are held,
no ball propelled,
no cheers are yelled...
...and then beneath the wide blue sky,
the pitch is flung, the ball glides by,
and time, again, begins to fly.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015
That's a home run if you ask me! Next up to bat is Kate, with a whole 'nother reason to crouch near a couch:
Birthday
Shh! Now hurry!
Come and crouch
here behind the flowered couch.
Listen, giggle—
shh again!
Eight of us,
now nine, now ten.
Super quiet
(one more giggle),
nice and quiet
(one last wiggle).
Key in the door
and voices in the hall.
(Shh now truly,
quiet all).
We look into
each other’s smiling eyes,
then all jump up
and yell “Surprise!”
—Kate Coombs, 2015
I agree with Carol that "crouching invites curiosity"...which always lead to adventures. See you tomorrow when our adventure includes snatCHing!
This one had me stumped at first until a photograph prompted me to write about a memory. "Remembering" at
ReplyDeletehttp://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2015/03/remebering.html.
I was just a little girl
when I heard the stories-
naval exploits
in the Philippines.
He was barely a young man,
not old enough to graduate
from high school,
but the call to fight was
a passionate one.
He lied about his age,
told his mother,
and left his home
to join the Navy.
His mission in the Philippines
was filled with horrors,
too difficult to explain,
but he came home.
A long sword in a case,
trinkets, a photograph,
and stories about the island
came home with him.
The story I heard was
about soldiers in the navy
with little food to eat,
crouched over with pains
from disease-racked bodies.
I imagined what kind of
sounds broke the silence
during his time at sea,
away from home.
I wanted to hear more,
but I was just a little girl.
The sword remained
as an untouchable.
I favored the trinkets
given to my grandmother,
but they were not mine.
It was the photograph
that remained with me-
a remembrance of
a young man who wanted
to fight for his country.
He may have crouched
in fear in the Philippines,
but he would not
tell that story.
I asked for more,
but I was too young
to hear those stories.
I had to be content
with studying history
to uncover the stories
that were left untold
and collecting
artifacts to
build rich stories
of my own.
CVarsalona (c) 2015
I continue to work small.
ReplyDeleteMay Day Parade
Crouching down
My daddy puts me
On his shoulders.
And since March 24 is Houdini's birthday--
ReplyDeleteHolding his breath
Crouched inside a box
Harry Houdini
Works his way out.
Here's an NPR TED Radio Hour show that goes with that article:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.npr.org/programs/ted-radio-hour/335287595/growing-up?showDate=2014-08-01
I turned to baseball for today's poem:
TIME STOPS
That moment when the pitcher waits,
catcher crouches at home plate,
silence settles like a weight...
...all breaths are held,
no ball propelled,
no cheers are yelled...
...and then beneath the wide blue sky,
the pitch is flung, the ball glides by,
and time, again, begins to fly.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015
http://www.maryleehahn.com/2015/03/crouch.html
Birthday
ReplyDeleteShh! Now hurry!
Come and crouch
here behind the flowered couch.
Listen, giggle—
shh again!
Eight of us,
now nine, now ten.
Super quiet
(one more giggle),
nice and quiet
(one last wiggle).
Key in the door
and voices in the hall.
(Shh now truly,
quiet all).
We look into
each other’s smiling eyes,
then all jump up
and yell “Surprise!”
—Kate Coombs, 2015
These are all so different, so good! Kate, did you know (or just guess?) that I was writing about a couch?
ReplyDeleteCrouching invites curiosity and adventures. Thanks for sharing these today.
ReplyDelete