Poetry (or at least Verse) from the heart

When emotions run high, even the non-poets among us sometimes turn to verse. In that context, I share the following bit of doggerel:

October 16, 2008

Past eleven – day is done
Red Sox can’t score even one.
What an ending to the season
Has the Curse returned? we reason.

All this feels just too familiar.
Tampa’s champagne’s getting chillier.
Fenway faithful’ve started leaving.
Diehards stay, but clearly grieving.

Wait – Pedroia comes alive
Papi hits a trademark drive
J.D.’s homer shrinks the gap
Wake up, Pa, no time to nap!

Just past midnight, cheers arise
“Sox live on!” the Nation cries.
Coco says a silent prayer
Joined by Sox fans everywhere.

Off to bed, the night is short
Stay tuned for the next report!

Other Sox fans are more consistently poetic than I am:

http://www.morningsonmaplestreet.com/redsoxpoems.html


http://www.hobermansredsoxpoems.com/

http://www.redsoxdiehard.com/story/

Enjoy! And get some sleep.

--Sally

Note: This week's Poetry Friday Round-Up is hosted by Becky's Book Reviews.

Dreams, Goals, and Deadlines

Several weeks ago, I wrote about a journal that I keep. It is not the usual kind of diary. Instead of summaries of the day's events or collections of story ideas, I write down words from books or magazines that inspire me. When I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed or un-creative, I pull out my journal and peruse the pages. The journal connects me with other writers (always a good thing) and sometimes helps me solve the immediate dilemna

One of the problems beginning writers face is the lack of recognition. It's sort of like housework. What's the point if nobody's going to notice? If you clean and decorate your home for guests, you feel gratified when you can share a comfortable space with the people visiting.

Writers want to share their work. Too many beginners aren't sure how to do that. Perhaps it's because new writers don't feel competent or worthy. Perhaps they just don't understand that they're in charge of their own writing destiny.

I first began to sell my work because of suggestion from my husband. He told me to make a business plan. The question I should ask myself , he said, was "How much can I expect to make as a writer this year?" I had never thought of setting a monetary goal for myself. I instead thought I should submit work and hope to be paid. As a business owner, he showed me the folly of this way of thinking. Nobody opens a restaurant or a tire store or a dry cleaning establishment and "hopes" to be reimbursed! So, why do so many writers "hope" to sell their work or see it in print?

His suggestion changed the way I thought of my writing and my goals for myself as a writer. As a result, I made goals which forced me to be more vigilante and organized about submitting my work. I began to look for ways to get assignments. I began...to get paid!

From my journal, here's another version this suggestion from an article by Kelly James-Enger, The Writer March, 2005, pp. 43-44 called "Break Out of Your Box:"

"...Even if you don't write full time, you may discover writing for a lifetime means discovering that ther's no finish line. You never hit the mark, and think, 'That's it--the end of the road.' You re-create yourself and your career along the way.

That may mean writing in a new genre, covering differnt topics, teaching or switching forms--say , writing books instead of magazine articles.

If you've reached the point in your career when writing is starting to feel like a drag, it may be time to set long term goals Even if you're newer to writing it never hurts to have some kind of plan for the future. Consider, for example, what parts of writing you find most--and least--satisfying. Imagine your perfect 'dream life' as a writer. What kinds of projects would be working on? How does that differ from how you're spending your time today?"

So, go ahead. Dream, then set a goal, and give yourself a deadline for accomplishing that goal. Your writing will improve, I guarantee it.

Poetry Friday--Thanks for the Memories

Last Friday, Muriel asked if teachers have time to let children memorize poems. I'm guessing, probably not. What a shame. I understand that today's students face a slew of curriculum requirements, and today's teachers barely have time to cover those mandated requirements. That doesn't make it any less a shame.

I'm glad that I teach preschool. Reciting simple rhymes and singing songs are expected parts of the curriculum. What many people don't know, is that little children are capable of so much more. My students have happily memorized Robert Frost's Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening and Emily Dickinson's A Bird Came Down the Walk. A few years ago, a mother of one of my kindergarten students told me she was moved to tears when she realized that her 5-year old was softly reciting Stopping By Woods to himself as they drove through a light snow. I bet that poem will still be with him when he's an old man.

Mur got me thinking about poems I've been carrying around for decades. Many of them came from Sister Genevieve St. Joseph. Barberries is one. (I tried unsuccessfully to search out the author.) A Bird Came Down the Walk by Emily Dickinson is another. I'd have to say my favorite, however, is a snippet of a much larger work. It's the first twelve lines of The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer.

Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(so priketh hem nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages ...

I had to memorize it for an English class my sophomore year in college. I spent hours in the language lab, gigantic headphones gripping my skull, trying to nail the pronunciation. There were probably 50 of us enrolled in the class. Guess who was the only person the professor randomly picked to recite. I achieved the pinnacle of panic when I heard my name called, which was really very silly because I nailed it. I owned Geoffrey Chaucer that day. Still do.

Today's Poetry Friday Round-Up host is Picture Book of the Day.

The Power of the Picture Book

I consider 3, 4 and 5-year old children to be "my people." I've spent thousands of hours observing and interacting with them in my classroom at the Hogarth School these last 29 years. They are a source of endless fun, fascination and inspiration for my writing. In fact, the lines between my teaching life and my writing life are so blurred as to be almost nonexistent. My teaching informs my writing, and my writing informs my teaching.

Today was a great day for this teaching writer. It was the first Show-and-Tell day of the school year. Here at Hogarth we call it "Sharing Day," and I'm always curious to see what comes through the door, especially the books. Each month, I can count on at least one or two books being in the treasure trove.

Today 3-year old Arthur brought in one of those search-for-the-hidden pictures books in the Where's Waldo vein, except it tied in with the Disney movie Cars. 4-year old Hayden brought in When I'm Big by Sam McBratney, which I read to the class. They liked it just fine, but were more interested in finding pictures of Lightning McQueen in the Cars book. (How do you compete with Disney and the mass merchandising of Cars?)

The thing that really caught my eye was a globe. Mounted in a highly polished stainless steel (I think) base, the different countries were fashioned from mother-of-pearl, jade, and God knows what other kinds of stone. It was fantastic. One of a kind. I asked Brady, the 3-year old who brought it in, to tell us about it. He immediately spun the globe and found South Korea. "That's where I was born!" He searched out another spot and planted his little 3-year old finger. "That's New Zealand!" I'm not sure what special meaning New Zealand holds for him, but I hope to find out. Another 3-year old, Dev, had shared a dohl drum from India, so we searched out India on the beautiful globe.

I asked Brady if he'd like to tell us anything else before we moved onto the picture John was going to share, and he immediately gave the globe a final spin. Without even having to hunt for it, he jabbed his finger onto Spain. "This is where Ferdinand lives!"

I was flabbergasted. Ferdinand! One of my favorite picture book characters of all time! The fact that this barely 3-year old boy could find Ferdinand's home on the globe speaks to the power of the picture book. (And the power of involved, loving parents.) This little guy connected so strongly with Munro Leaf's classic story of peace and the strength of the individual, that when he was learning about important places in the world, he wanted to learn where Ferdinand lives.

I'll be reading The Story of Ferdinand to my students tomorrow. I can't wait. I really need to thank Brady.

Poetry Friday--Do Teachers Today Have Time ...

to let children memorize poems? Probably not. My days as a classroom teacher are not that far away but I know my curriculum was pretty well monitored. I remember filling out forms that showed exactly how many minutes I planned to have my students learning math, social studies, science, etc.

Sister Jeanne, my third grade teacher at Saint Jean Baptiste School, believed children should memorize and perform poetry. I must have been a bit of a ham, because I remember volunteering to stand at the front of the class and recite. Sister's desk was set on a wooden platform. We were allowed to stand on the edge of the platform and speak--good facial expressions, hand gestures, and expressive voices were a requirement.

Of course, Sister Jeanne did not have to deal with all the interruptions that today's teachers must take into account. We did not have school picture day, lice checks, school nurses monitoring ing our weight, or intercoms interrupting with announcements (yeah, I'm THAT old...). Our school did not have music, gym, or art classes. We just went to class and learned stuff.

Kids today have so much more to learn than we did. It's no wonder that memorizing poetry had to go by the wayside. Still, all these years later, I cannot wake on the first day of October without reciting the title of this particular poem. So, Sister Jeanne, this one's for you:

October's Bright Blue Weather

by Helen Hunt Jackson

O suns and skies and clouds of June,

And flowers of June together,

Ye cannot rival for one hour

October's bright blue weather.

When loud the bumblebee makes haste,

Belated, thriftless vagrant,

And Golden Rod is dying fast,

And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When Gentians roll their fringes tight,

To save them for the morning,

And chestnuts fall from satin burrs

Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie

In piles like jewels shining,

And redder still on old stone walls

Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things

Their white-winged seeds are sowing,

And in the fields, still green and fair,

Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks,

In idle golden freighting,

Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush

Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts

By twos and twos together,

And count like misers, hour by hour,

Octobers' bright blue weather.

O suns and skies and flowers of June,

Count all your boasts together,

Love loveth best of all the year

October's bright blue weather.

This week's Poetry Friday Round-Up is hosted by Two Writing Teachers. Lots of good poetry to check out!