Poetry Stretch Results - Back to School

The challenge this week was to write a poem about school. Here are the results.

Jane Yolen left this poem in the comments.

Physics

My friend teaches physics,
writes his lesson plan to Led Zeppelin,
his tests to the Rolling Stones.
What next—finals to Cream?
I cannot write even so small a piece
as a single poem
with rock standards blaring away,
or I want to get up and dance.
There has to be a physics answer,
something to do with lights,
with optics, with the speed of sound.

© Jane Yolen

Julie Larios of The Drift Record left this poem in the comments.

Pencil Box

I put four bits on the counter
and the box was mine.
Six yellow pencils fit there
side by side, I was perfectly addled,
I was a goner – even before I knew
the alphabet, I knew its cedar perfume –

I flew over the high-humped bridge
painted on the top, over the willow,
the m-stroke for a bird, everything
was suggestion then, before
the putting on of too fine a point.
People expected me to come

to my senses, save the change
in my burning pockets, after all
the box was wooden, cheap
Chinatown, but half a dollar
went a long way
toward heaven when heaven was closer.

Francesca of Making It Up left this poem in the comments.

January 1 always confounds me.
New year? Why? There is no hinge,
No turning, no change.
Selfish Janus, playing both sides.
Those arbitrary, arrogant Romans might
be satisfied but I know better.

The year begins now.
Summer browns and wilts and finally
Surrenders its might.
We shake it off like a dog does a bath,
drops spattering the sidewalk
landing all around, the dog already running.

This is how it begins.
Three fresh pencils in a case.
An impatient marble notebook.
New shoes. Packed lunch.
Kettle-drum heart.
And a thousand snail trails like silver arrows
Pointing the way from summer
To school.

Diane Mayr of Random Noodling left this senryu in the comments.

nearly sixty
still thinking the year
runs september to june

Amy Ludwig WanDerwater left this poem in the comments.

Please Bring:

One guinea pig
A poem each day
Books about oceans
Time just to play
Laughter
Patience
A listening ear

(I made a supply list
for teacher this year.)

Tiel Aisha Ansari of Knocking From Inside is sharing two poems, Higher Text and Balloons.

Jane Yolen came back to share an old favorite of hers.

Crayons: A Rainbow Poem

This box contains the wash of blue sky,
spikes of green spring,
a circle of yellow sun,
triangle flames of orange and red.

It has the lime caterpillar inching on a brown branch,
the shadow black in the center of a grove of trees.

It holds my pink
and your chocolate
and her burnt sienna
and his ivory skin.

In it are all the colors of the world.

All
the
colors
of
the
world.

© Jane Yolen, all rights reserved

Elaine Magliaro of Wild Rose Reader revisits her days in Catholic school with A Back to School Poem.

Harriet of spynotes shares a rhyming back to school poem.

Kate Coombs of Book Aunt left this poem in the comment.

Sack Lunch

Turkey sandwich on whole wheat,
not Wonder Bread to make
into perfect white pills.
The lettuce isn't crunchy,
it's dark green like algae,
an actual leaf.
My apple won't shine—
Mom took the shine off,
she calls it wax. My carrots
aren't orange bullets,
they're pick-up sticks cut
from skinny fern-top roots.
When I begged for dessert,
she said, "That's the apple."
No chips in a foil bag
with screaming letters
and a neon cheetah,
no goopy-hearted Twinkie
hugged by sweet yellow cake.
"Healthy food tastes better,"
Mom told me. But I ask,
I ask and I ask.
No one wants to trade.

Linda of The Write Time left this poem in the comments.

Last Year’s Sneakers

Lie on the bedroom floor
their smooth white skin
scuffed by time—
neon tangerine laces
now pale apricot
once unyielding
now weak and worn

Last year’s sneakers
lie on the bedroom floor
watching
their replacements
unboxed, laced up
ready to run

Last year’s sneakers
lie on the bedroom floor
tongues hanging out
nothing to prove
ready to rest

Andi of a wrung sponge shares a poem for her son.

I've been working on a number of poems. Here's a quick fib.

Fall
spells
again
summer’s end
with sharpened pencils
poised to write vacation tell-alls

It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.