Spectrum 2

More student poems using one or more of these forms: Golden Shovel, Found, or Inner Voice

Swirling Light

Oscillating, gliding, spinning

Isabella takes it slow

Her smile sends out a beam

of acceptance, love of life, of

glitter and swirling light.

She is warm sky,

blinking mirror,

an illuminating lighthouse.

Lesley Surprises

Lesley surprises when we discover

she has a creative brilliance; it's

evident when she come out of the shadow

she maintains around herself, and

takes the chance on breaking the silence.

Maddenly Elusive

Seth, oh Seth, can be maddenly

contrary, knows the game, elusive

and hard to pin down, yet

he baits the teachers endlessly,

so to doubt him is tempting...

but truly unnecessary.

 Winding Stream

In the morning it's like

any other day, the school her world,

and the day hers to cruise.

This, of course, is well before

I see her in class, bright smile, the

sunshine to any rain

which may have come before;

Skylar is a winding stream of wonderful.

Silver Sun

Morning arrives, and J'myah, too

Sun in her eyes, her smile

Turns to the focus, always with us

Silver friendships surround her

On her way to see dreams come true

Pointed toward that which matters most.

 Classic Hero

Ash is a mirror, and on

most mornings you'll wake 

feeling not particularly heroic,

but willing to glisten.

Easy listening, well-mannered, subdued grin

Fierce attention to dirt one might possess.

You are classical, Santiago,

blue crystals ground-fine

fresh, newly-heard harmonies. 

Playground

To Ayden the world is a playground.

He has no time to ask hard questions,

like whether intellligence exists.

What's the point when activity awaits?

Sagas rising and falling to the orbs of jump ropes,

grasping monkey bars

the mighty hero of recess

victorious on imagined battlefields.

Directions

Found poem for Jayla

Start climbing

the going gets steep

find the agreeable rock to sit on

see the light pouring down

breaking into shapes and tones

hear nothing but birdsong

the voices and light

enter your body;

recite their stories.

the earth will hold you

spring water flows

shadows of clouds

take the vast outside into yourself

I will walk with you

until you walk ahead and not turn back.

*

 Inspirations

"Silk City" by Major Jackson

"The Old Tradition" by David Whyte

"Maddenly Elusive, Yet Endlessly Tempting" by Major Jackson

"Urban Renewal XIV" by Major Jackson

"Easter Morning in Wales" by David Whyte

"Urban Renewal XVI" by Major Jackson

"Urban Renewal XVII" by Major Jackson

"Directions" by Billy Collins

Signature

This is the other poem that came out of January O'Neill's workshop at The Sanibel Island Writer's Conference.

 We were to write in description of something we found outside.

Wrapped in double metal strips
a polished twisted arrow-shaped
               piece of wood

lifting,
swirling,
leaping

"Flame in Flames"

charred section, 
              black burn-out 

sharp edges pierce the sky

It's a flame,
      a dancer,
       a mother twisted in grief

It rises from an X-shaped base
as if to say
"Here marks the spot
  we sign our names."

Acrostics I

Sometimes a word is enough.

That is what I found when I read an Emily Dickinson poem on November 5th, which added to the dimensions of this project: I began to write acrostics.

The following poems are based on one word that reminded me of a student.  I have not forsaken the other forms -- still using them as well. As of today, I have completed 46 poems for my 126 reading students.  Enjoy.

COMPASS

Crossing the threshold to her True North

Olivia charts her course carefully

Moored in confidence, creativity, and caring

Purposeful and always, always thinking

Accurate compass within, never failing

She knows well her motivation

She has perfect navigation.

WHISPER

Whisper, no rush

Her sly smile

Indeflatable, instinctive

She is Ny'Asiah

Persevering and practical

Everyday miracle

Respecter of all.

BRANCHES

Believing in himself

Reaching beyond the mundane

Approaching the unknown

Not a twig, but a bough

Carrying the seed forward

Hastening his young life

Etching beyond his peers

Safe in this place. Daniel.

RIPPLES

Racing against himself
Insane, infecting smile
Passion, gusto, zest
Pep, spirit, zeal
Leaving nothing to chance
Energy radiating
Spitfire of youth -- Jerron

CURVING

Crafty and careful creation
Unrelenting with her ideas
Raising her voice, Tori has
Verve, vision, and the
Intention to bring
Newness to any situation
Guaranteeing her place in the world.

PUZZLE

Prefers to be on the basketball court
Upward bound in all she does
Zen in her composure, Dah'zyre is a
Zephyr, a gentle breeze
Loyal to those around her
Effortless in approach.

BEDROCK

Blake is solid
Eternal cornerstone
Dependable, layered
Resiliant, strong
Open-eyed, open-hearted
Controlled, content
Keeper of cool.

ORBIT

Onrush of energy
Resisting category
Besting anybody
Isaiah is a revolution
Trekking his own path


***

Word inspirations from the following poems:
"Wild Nights--Wild Nights" by Emily Dickenson
"Equality" by Maya Angelou
"Selling Out" by Major Jackson
"Hoops" by Major Jackson
"Tan-Y-Garth" by David Whyte
"Consolation" by Billy Collins
"Quarry in Seward County" by Twyla M. Hansen
"Moose" by Major Jackson

Reflections on SIWC 2018

Wow.  Busy weekend and then a busy week.

I have so many things floating around in my head from the conference, and I thought I'd begin to organize them a bit by reflecting here on my blog.  My first thought is to say that I feel this conference gave me some real tools I can use for a long time to come, and lots of creative ideas, some I've implemented already. As I process through these practices, I will have more to say.

I wandered into a poetry workshop when I meant to go to fiction, and got two good poems out of it. Well, one I've finished; one that still needs to be looked at.  I'm quite happy with both of them.

One thing I can say about this conference is that in three different workshops the presenters had us working collaboratively to create something: a story outline, a poem, and a song.  That was tons of fun, and something I can transfer to my own teaching immediately.

The first day, the first workshop was poetry with Major Jackson. He played a piece of music and asked us to write one line of a poem, which we subsequently read out loud. Then we had to give our line to someone else.  A young man named Clay (high-schooler from Seacrest in Naples) had the line "Music is a form of expression."  I had written "Light - radiance - signature."  I felt my line matched his, so I was on my way to exchange with him, when another girl gave me hers, and I felt obligated to give her mine.  Two minutes later, Clay walked up to me and gave me his -- so I wrote mine down for him.

We then studied a form called Epistolary, or letter poem.  We were then given instructions to write a letter poem and make sure we incorporate the line we were given. The letter could be to anyone. I chose to write mine to Clay.

Letter to Clay

Dear Clay

We have no memories together

To fall back on, besides you handing me

Your line “Music is a form of expression,”

So all I can do is share my memories.

I have come to realize the expression

Of music stems from the land, mountains, rivers,

And cities, of our country, which is how the blues were

Born in the Mississippi Delta and why Hip-Hop

Came out of Brooklyn, Grunge in Seattle,

Country and Bluegrass from the mountains

And the hills and the people who settled there.

Jimmie Rodgers, the great American music pioneer,

Took the sound of the trains from his small town

Of Meridian and made music, and several miles

Away Howlin’ Wolf used the same sound with his voice.

They say write what you know, and that goes for all

Expression, music included, and these cannot be

Separated. Dylan took lines from an English Ballad

To write “Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall,” and when I fell

In love with the Beatles singing “Roll Over Beethoven”

I was really falling in love with Chuck Berry. It was many

Years before I knew Elvis singing “Hound Dog”

Was borrowed from Big Mama Thornton, who sung it

With much more soul, gusto, and passion. We borrow

These expressions and make them ours, and that is

The way it works. We express in a way that others can hear,

And that is the path to being respected and accepted. I don’t know

If you play music, Clay, but I encourage you to seek the root

Of all things you love, to walk the land, touch the earth,

Wade the rivers and deltas where these sounds emerged.

I’m sorry it took me so long to figure this out. American music

Forms are an expression of the history of our country.

This, I believe, is the soul of musical expression.

Signed, mandolin-playing Helen

Dockery Farms in Sunflower, Mississippi: Birthplace of the Blues

Grant Park

I received a prompt from January O'Neill in her poetry workshop to write from a photo on my phone.  I combined it with the monostich form I learned in Major Jackson's workshop: a poem all in one sentence, but syntactically correct.  Here is what I've put together.

Grant Park

The blueberry sky as a background

for slighting clouds, and I’m wearing

my orange heather Sanibel Island

Writers Conference shirt and stone-colored

jeans, hands on my hips, wide shot,

red bricks in the foreground, and behind

me a wrought-iron fence, grass, water,

and Buckingham Fountain rising up

framed by the buildings of South Michigan

Avenue, Chicago, Illinois, water cascading

from the circular stone structure, majestic

tower of water straight above my head,

a dragon spitting a stream to my right,

a fuzzy triangle of water to my left,

sunglasses on, head cocked, it’s a bright

June day, one of the best of the year,

and after my friend Amy takes this photo

of me and the fountain and the city we

find a shady spot to sit and let the breezes

of Lake Michigan wash over us, and we

think about the history of this place fifty years

ago when generations and politics collided,

a rising of resistance and rebellion,

but there is no rage here today, no police

or protestors, just two women in peace

with the sky, the water, the wind.

 

Spectrum

Seven more poems for my students. The first few are Golden Shovel poems, the rest are Found Poems

Sacred Center

Even if he could,

Yahir would not fly past any

of the hard parts. Centered in place,

knowing what will be,

he gives more and more,

because books and words are sacred.

Sometimes a Window

Although he doesn't want to be found,

Gregory is a young man that

conceals his deeply held hunger

for something more; deflecting is

a much easier way --

no responsibility then.

But sometimes...a window.

Sometimes...a way to enter.

Match Grace

Listening winds

you, Adriana

leap, float, run

cool springs embraced

match grace

neither feather nor fan

drifted and tossed.

But power. Oh, power.

Gentle Motion

Are you still there, Yesenia?

I listen for a sound

You are rhythm circles in the

classroom, a voice

curving and low

like the gentle motion

of the western wind

like the purple flowers

growing near the road.

Ode to Tamira

She's a comma and a period,
Present perfect.
Plain-speaking, smart-talking,
somewhat querulous.
She's a metaphor juking,
a noun zipping,
waiting to jump the curb.

Kristina Is

Wind. Rain.

Faint path through the field.

Sharp edge.

Still image.

Light defined by dark.

A single ray from the clouds.

Ke'aisha Keeping

She's a music box waiting to be wound.

She's a canoe gliding through the afternoon.

She's a hum of bees in the garden.

She's a walk to top of the hill.

She's memory rushing over like water.

She's a future yet to be imagined.

Sun Gold

Sun-gold hair

Eyes of a songbird

Lightness of a butterfly

Tillman is

the spirit of the seasons,

the good of the world,

a flowing bounty of love.

***

Poetry Resources:

"Communion" by Twyla M. Hansen

"I had been Hungry, all the Years..." by Emily Dickinson

"Love Letters" by Maya Angelou

"Are You Still There?" by Joy Harjo

"Ode to American English" by Barbara Hamby

"Hartshead" by David Whyte

Nostalgia" by Billy Collins

"Trying to Pray" by Twyla M. Hansen