It's that time of year again in Room 166...and perhaps this year the hard-won miracle is a bit more poignant.
our connection to these mealworms is anything but
tenuous.
their stage is our stage: child.
we take them from the dark, fearless, though daily we
molest them.
their aim is our aim: grow.
we watch them wriggle out of old skins, wild with
effort.
their change is our change: tough.
then we find them waxen white and frozen on their bran,
pupae.
their wait is our wait: long.
[dedicated to my kindergarten team]
The Poetry Friday round-up is at The Miss Rumphius Effect with the lovely Tricia, down in my hometown of Richmond, VA. See you there all weekend!
One of the reasons I like my UU congregation is that hardly a week goes by without a poem as part of the Sunday morning service--a poem read, typically, by a skilled orator. I grew up in Lutheran churches also led by a skilled orator--my dad--but beyond the poetry of the scriptures, I can't recall a time when a contemporary poem was shared in church.
During all those years growing up Lutheran, a plain-looking magazine printed on newsprint was a fixture in our house: The Christian Century. What I didn't know was that my dad's favorite professional publication published a lot of contemporary poetry (and I think, in those days, that he didn't give a lot of attention to the poems either). Now I am subscribed to this now glossier, very interesting, well-written magazine, thanks to Dad, and the poetry alone is well worth the time.
Here's a little allium-scented sample from the CC website.
Peeling the onion | Luci Shaw
There’s not much I don’t know about you—
yellow, red, sweet—grubbed up roots and all.
Essential for a vigorous cuisine, alerting
the sense—the crackle of your paper brown outer
skin, your translucent inner sheaths like
vegetable undergarments, your pungent heat
rising from sharp steel and cutting board
to my blurred eyes, your precise circles against
the wood, before the sizzle in the buttered pan.
Reluctant to relinquish our intimacy
your sharp essence clings to my fingers, like
a reputation. Hours later, in the dark, you season
the air around my hands, I’ll stud you with
stars of cloves to bury in the belly of the bird
before roasting. Or nestle your pearls
with a stalk of mint among the green peas....
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Read the rest here, trying not to get distracted by Shrek, and peel back the layers of Poetry Friday by visiting Tara at A Teaching Life.
I'm a little wrung-out from a heavy-duty start to the year...today I think I'll just pop by as many of my favorite blogs as I can for the virtual equivalent of a reviving cup of tea--if that's okay with you all.
We now resume our regularly scheduled programming...Happy New Year, everyone!
Update from Room 166:
On January 2 I repeated a most successful lightbulb idea from last year. Having read a number of books by Leo Lionni, we enjoyed Tillie and the Wall, in which Tillie, the youngest and most curious mouse living near a seemingly boundless wall, wonders what's on the other side. After several tries, she hits on the idea of digging under it. She tunnels along and emerges on the other side to find not the fantastical plants and animals she imagined, but regular mice just like herself. All the same they're delighted to meet her and there is celebration with flags and confetti and a party.
We talked about the old year and the new year, and how the new year is new but very much the same as the old--and then we "tunneled" under all the tables from 2013 to 2014, cheering and greeting each other as we emerged on the not-so-different other side. It's always delightful to celebrate.
On January 6 I opened up my raggedy, yellowed, dogeared big book of Chicken Soup with Rice for the 25th time and took yet another class of children on a foolish and fanciful trip around the year. Of course we have to sing it, and just in case there is anyone who does not know Carole King's Really Rosie (a scripted, animated and most importantly scored conglomeration of Maurice Sendak's Nutshell Library), here is the video we've been watching and moving to on all these days of indoor recess. Most satisfactory kindergarten poetry, don't you agree?
I tell you once, I tell you twice,
all seasons of the year are nice
for eating chicken soup
eating chicken soup
eating chicken soup with rice!
(chicken soup, chicken soup with ri-ice)
Update from my own personal Writer's Workshop:
With critical help from members of the Poets' Garage (especially Liz Steinglass) and the generous Laura Shovan, I have finally completed a WIP that has been underway for more than five years! It's a good feeling to have that done, and it was a great luxury to spend hours and hours pulling it together, especially those spent in Seaford, England at The Well Cottage.
No, this is not a gorgeous, charming and comfortable B&B offering writers' retreats--but it could be. It's the new home of my mother-in-law and her partner, and they hosted us for Christmas AND provided poet support services that you couldn't pay enough for elsewhere. I'm very grateful.
Please slip and slide on over to Mainely Write with Donna for this week's Poetry Friday round-up.
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!
Tomorrow I'll be posting from a hotbed of poetic action, but for now, a poem that my daughter has deemed her favorite of all time:
(love song, with two goldfish) | Grace Chua
(He's a drifter, always floating around her,
has nowhere else to go. He wishes she would sing, not much, just the
scales; or take some notice, give him the fish eye.)
(Bounded by
round walls she makes fish eyes and kissy lips at him, darts behind
pebbles, swallows his charms hook, line and sinker)
(He's bowled over.
He would take her to the ocean, they could count the waves. There, in
the submarine silence, they would share their deepest secrets. Dive for
pearls like stars.)
this one is 78 months old
speaks three languages
comes from globetrotting scientists
this one is 63 months old
counts as high as 4 in one language
is learning how to look at a book
quiz: in what area
are both "fully ready"?
the only answer we need to know:
"The Arts: Expression and Representation"
13. The Classics
At the end, covered in oobleck,
King Derwin sobs,
"I'm sorry! It is all my fault!"
For dramatic effect and multilingual comprehensibility,
I beat my breast and wail, "Mea culpa!"
They get it.
14. faith
you just know the wind is there--
watch it stir the trees
you just believe the water's there--
watch it leave the leaves
wind and water
air and vapor
science is a faith
15. we interrupt this program
nibble from an editor?
priorities, girl!
mypoperday bows out
Daisy hit 12,000 words on Wednesday and continues her quest to write 50,000 words in a month. Speed challenges seem to helping her--she races against a friend for 5 or 10 minutes (not that she's competitive at all). I just don't think that strategy is going to work for me, even if there were another poet who wanted to race me...
6. Live Rock Show
I found a little rock
white with fuzzy green
I'm going to leave it out
in the rain so it can grow
(did you know
my brother is 14 and
my dad is 23 and
my mom is 13?
and I weigh 51 and
my little sister's catching up
and she weighs 62)
Some rocks are very small
but also rocks are big
or even huge like cars
I'm going to give it water
and watch my rock grow
7. Watercolor Cinquain
why would
I put this paint
on the paper when I can
dip and dunk and swish it in the
water?
8. Swimmy Does Math
This greedy tuna is
Greater Than.
See its ziggity zaggety teeth
waiting to chomp that big fat nine.
This hungry tuna is
Less Than.
See its beady greedy eye
searching for the juicy round eight.
Look at skinny little one.
He gets away!
HM 2013 drafts
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The roundup today is with Diane at Random Noodling. Yee-ha!
