out of sync

is how I seem to be this shortest fall ever, with NCTE climbing in over parent conferences, with winter sweeping into mid-November, with December jingling in early with Hanukkah on its heels, with the hottest, the wettest, the driest, the coldest ever.

In rebending a few crucial spines of myself, I'm off the clock, off-kilter, out of step, outta sight and out of mind and hardly ever sure what I want to be doing with my time.

So now it's Saturday evening and I find I did want to post for Poetry Friday, although early on Friday instead of composing my post I was doing something else poetic and secret.  Maybe it's not too late.  Maybe it's never too late.

It's definitely not too late to reconnect with a former student.  Tyler hasn't been gone long; he's in 3rd grade now and I had him last year. I got the most welcome email from his mom, sharing this, "proudly described as his first rhyming poem."

I love this for so many reasons.  This poem is Tyler through and through, the Tyler I knew, short and  full of power!  But also, the craft: the tantalizing switch-up of "hunters taking wing" and "rulers of the air" for the title, the collective voice, the mythic feel of the language with the ring of a pledge, a shift in the rhythm at the end lest it become too sing-song and lose its gravity.

And of course I love the evidence that the work and play we did with poetry continues to hold a place in Tyler's world, which is definitely not all due to his year with me in 2nd grade--his mom is a high school English teacher AND the literary magazine sponsor.  But it does feel good that Tyler would want to reach back and share this with me.

And here I am, a day and half late, sharing it with you, Poetry Friday.  Thanks to all who steadfastly make this community happen and do their part to keep it going. Even when any of us step out for a time, we are always welcomed back.  And thanks to Carol at Carol's Corner, for hosting this week!

poetry friday the 14th

not that I would ever carve a tree...

Welcome one and all!  I suspect we may be a small group this week--last summer flings and all--but I also know that many of us Poetry Friday faithfuls are educators who are beginning to gear up for a new year.  This should be true for me too, but I'm holding on tooth-and-nail to "empty" summer days during which I decide what and when!  Here's a NoNotYet poem to fit that feeling....

No! Not Yet

Bare still feeting, not done yet;

peach still sweeting, not done yet!

Fan still ceiling, not done yet;

rod still reeling, not done yet!

Button snoozing,

Bug bites oozing,

Ball still foozing--

No! not yet…

Cone still snowing, not done yet;

kart still going, not done yet!

Corn still cobbing, not done yet;

odd still jobbing, not done yet.

Summer camping,

skateboard ramping,

swimsuit damping--

No! not yet…

Board still diving, not done yet;

bees still hiving, not done yet.

Beach still waving, not done yet;

Heart still braving, not done yet.

Rock band forming,

early warming,

thunder storming--

No! not yet…

Burn still sunning, not done yet;

Nerf still gunning, not done yet!

Fair still wheeling, not done yet;

bases stealing, not done yet!

Firepit smoking,

knock-knock joking,

cousin poking--

No! not yet…

Cards still warring, not done yet;

night still starring, not done yet.

Fireworks booming, not done yet;

Moon still blooming, not done yet!

It can’t be over--

                   No, not yet!

(My summer

homework’s

     not 

            done

                      yet.)


-Heidi Mordhorst 2015
  all rights reserved

Where are you in the wheel of the year?  Clicking slowly and deliciously up-up-up to the first day of school, ready to ride that roller coaster, or noticing already the drawing in of the evening light, the scatter of yellow leaves on the still-green lawn?  Or perhaps you are good at being smack in the middle of the moment...your post should give us a clue!

Thanks for joining in this week, the last week of the Summer Poem Swap--I look forward to sharing the riches I received next Friday.  Now then, click below to leave your link for all to follow!

An InLinkz Link-up

don't believe me just swatch

This week at The Miss Rumphius Effect Tricia asked us to write a "timeline" poem.  I thought it was the ideal moment to write about some old watches I was dispatching during this my Summer of Declutter.  I'll say no more since I'm having a devil of a time with formatting today, except that our Poetry Friday host is none other than my local friend Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference. 

don't believe me just swatch

1

NYC 1986

sidewalk knockoff

of subway art

radiant, baby, in black and red

Thanks, Keith

 

2

London 94 and love is all around

on a Sunday I buy a new watch,

wear it to some weddings

but no one we know needs a funeral

we’re lucky

3

timetumbler 1996 flung

downunderbetween

weightless in the air over oceans

repatriated, do I come out

more polished?

 

4

Caterpillar Classroom 2001

sewing machine runs in fits and starts

patches of orangecoralpink & one red heart

4-year-olds keep me in stitches:

Mother’s Day quilt for my wrist

-Heidi Mordhorst 2015

 all rights reserved

photos from Swatch website

almost

It's Day 73 of kindergarten and in some ways our large paper calendar grid and all the ways we mark it are routine--and yet for many 5-year-olds, time and its rate of passing remain mysterious.  Yesterday Eliana was the Afternoon Leader, whose job it is to write the date, continue the pattern, and add a straw and a penny and a dot on the ten-frame to count the days of school.

I have the holidays matter-of-factly marked on the calendar but am politely declining to engage in any conversations about Santa, etc.  Just as for most of October and Halloween, I keep remarking that it's still a lot of days until Winter Break--it's not "almost Christmas yet in Room 166," and we don't have an elf on the shelf.  But next week we'll start our Gingerbread Man work and I won't be able to hold it off any longer! 

At dismissal as she waited to be picked up, Eli considered the calendar and said, with a question in her voice, "My sister says it's almost Christmas."

Almost

My sister says
it's almost Christmas,
almost, nearly,
close to here.

What is almost?
All those boxes
full and empty--
is it near?

Today is 12.
There's 25.
We have an elf
up on the shelf.

He is watching.
I am waiting--
watching too,
just like the elf.

Almost, nearly,
close to now?
I have to wait,
I know--

but how?

HM 2014
all rights reserved

**************
The roundup today is with my new friend Paul at These Four Corners.  Welcome to the hosting gig, Paul! 

passing the poetime

Last night a little party convened here in Boston.  At the table were Mary Lee Hahn of A Year of Reading, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater of The Poem Farm, Laura Purdie Salas, Carrie Finison of Story Patch, and Janet Fagal.  Later we had visits from Franki Sibberson, Tara Smith of A Teaching Life and Linda Baie of TeacherDance. The conversation was both broad and delightedly poetricentric.


One thing that came up was Amy's inability to keep a watch running, and her tendency to interfere with other technology.  We laughed about the strangeness of that phenomenon and remarked how (as Daisy would say) "that's a thing"--we all had heard of people who have those sort of troubles with cell phones and alarm clocks and streetlights.

This morning I went and read about EMFs--electromagnetic fields--and about our own bioelectromagnetism.  I found my way to a fascinating discussion with the flavor of quackery which I nonetheless found to be a compelling argument for increasing animal dis-ease, including our own human panoply of illnesses.  This is an area also where science intersects with earthcentric spirituality: read here for more views of our human "energy body."

But for now, all we need to know is that some people have a problem with

Killing Time

I plug it in but
nothing happens.
Lights dim and die
when I pass by.

I press the button;
nothing happens.
Clocks stop and sigh
when I pass by.

I wind my watch;
replace the batteries.
Again they die.
I don't know why.

I specialize
in killing time.

HM 2013 draft


You can productively kill a little more time enjoying the posts over at Write. Sketch. Repeat. with Katya today.  Welcome back, Katya!

the dishwasher of my mind

This is going to be one of those posts where I attempt to connect and convey quite a few overlapping ideas; luckily all teachers in Maryland have the day off in case they want to attend the state NEA convention, so I have some extra time today.  I'll be spending it with you all on Poetry Friday and in the Garage, but getting a late start, because sometimes a girl just has to sleep in.

Yesterday I heard this fascinating piece on NPR about new research regarding the role of sleep in animals, including humans.  Why we need to sleep is a question that has puzzled scientists, because in terms of the survival of any species, sleep is costly--way too many opportunities for an individual's entire genome to be snapped up off the face of the earth in the dark of night.

It's beginning to look like the function of sleep is to shut down other processes of the brain so that it can be flushed--literally flushed--by an influx of cerebral spinal fluid that washes away the toxic waste proteins accumulated during a day of learning, thinking, problem-solving, remembering.  In fact, brains that don't have an efficient sleeptime plumbing system to remove proteins like amyloid-beta are brains which have neurodegenerative disease like Alzheimer's.

This question of sleep is on my mind too, because as in many school districts, we've been having a push to Start School Later, especially for adolescents, whose sleep cycles shift with the onset of puberty.  When a kid's melatonin (the sleepy hormone) doesn't kick in until 11pm or midnight, and then she has to get up at 5:50am to catch a bus to high school that starts at 7:25, a kid is routinely missing out on 3-4 hours of the sleep time that allows her brain to perform that essential cleansing process.  Here's some info on what other effects this ritual abuse of our young people can have on them and on the rest of us, courtesy of the national organization Start School Later.

Here in Montgomery County, MD, a surprising thing recently happened--the newish Superintendent of Schools read all the findings of our SSL Work Group and recommended that we actually move towards doing it!  Start time for high school would be pushed back to 8:15 and middle school would stay roughly the same at 7:45. Elementary schools would start at 8:45, as now, but have the school day extended by 30 minutes to allow the staggered triple school bus runs that we currently depend on.  I have high hopes that we can work this out over the next year--it's a win-win and a good step towards better aligning the  schedules and calendars of working families and schools.

But, you may ask, where is the poetry in all this?  Well, on Wednesday I spent 3.5 hours in chair reviewing and planning the entire kindergarten curriculum for Marking Period 2 at high speed.  By the end my head was spinning and I thought, "This is what our kiddos feel like every day!" We have a highly compressed kindergarten day in which we attempt teach a huge mass of concepts, skills and indicators without sufficient time to balance it all with a relaxed lunch, sufficient recess, or indoor creative play. At the end of our meeting, our Staff Development Teacher acknowledged that we had been "jambarded" by information, and a poem was seeded.  (Thanks for the great word, Joelle Thompson!)

The last thing you need to know is that this year our school serves universal breakfast in the classroom, which is a great thing with a lot of unintended consequences for instructional time and also tabletop cleanliness.

************************
The dishwasher of my mind


Happy happy Tuesday
I've been up since 6 o'clock
the password at the door is like
this is how we walk in line
(does my name contain a b?
what to choose for lunch?)
after breakfast and announcements
(read the job chart, pledge allegiance,
total rainfall and respect)

the plates
in my brain
are already
jambarded
with
"whole grain" cinnamon buns
sticky bombs of how-to-do-it
protein packs of need-to-know
jammy wraps of chant-it-fast
but

morning meeting, hello greeting
(say the rhyme sit down stand up)
plans and practice sounds and spelling
Quiet Reading all four steps and why
why do we quiet-read?
(shaky egg the Teacher Table
reading groups fly in and out)
she won't know unless I read it
date it draw it what's my center?
now clean up

the bowls
in my brain
are filled to
overflowing
with
maple syrup-flavored pancakes
fudgy sauce of mix-and-fix
fatty folder-fill-it worksheets
spicy soup of story time
and

now it's time for lunch.
It's loud.

I need a chance to wash my dishes,
rinse and scrub and scour my brain,
clean off all the dried-on layers,
greasy gunk of what I learned,
sizzled residue of thinking.

Can't I lay my head inside a
shiny box with glowing buttons,
start the cycle,
take a nap?


~Heidi Mordhorst
    draft 2013

*******************************
The Poetry Friday round-up today is with Cathy at Merely Day by Day.  I see her Teachers Writing badge, and I'm glad to have the chance to be one!

out of time

I don't really have a post today, and it's not about poetry.  I've been reading, you see, and watching, and there's only so much time in a person's last month of the school year.

A while back I read  A Wrinkle in Time to Duncan (which turns out not to be such a great read-aloud, but we made it work; any thoughts on that assertion?); then we did Percy Jackson 4 (my favorite so far) and most recently we read, quite slowly, When You Reach Me. 

Simultaneously, and after working to get into it for some weeks, I was reading The Time Traveller's Wife, which has been Daisy's favorite book since the middle of 7th grade.  (We'll go back some time to how I felt when I realized that my barely 13 yo was reading and rereading this adult work of fiction; it felt the same as when I realized she had watched six seasons of "How I Met Your Mother" before I even knew that show existed. Oy.)  Alongside THAT, I've been watching "HIMYM" with Daisy, which is essentially a time-travel experience, and the modern "Doctor Who" with Duncan.

So I have no poetry post today, only a report about how I can't stop thinking about diamond chips on a gold ring and the broccoli patch, Aunt Beast and the Laughing Man and Henry, and whether Rebecca Stead and Audrey Niffenegger have ever exchanged emails, and what it is exactly that Daisy is learning about the art of narrative from Ted (and I hope NOTHING from Barney), and how this whole two-Marcuses or two-Henrys-in-the-same-place-in-time is a slippery concept for me in the same way that subtraction is really slippery for some kindergarteners (including the 5-year-old me).

In the meantime I do have an OIK poem brewing, about the kangaroo's porch...but Calef Brown has probably already written it.

Enjoy Poetry Friday with Jama today!