I missed you last week, but I was putting the finishing touches on a grant application, one that came in at 1.8 million dollars. Think about that for a minute. That's a lot of money. Just a few days before finishing this application, I heard the President speak at UR. The numbers he tossed around were in the trillions. Even with my knowledge of math, those are numbers that are hard to understand.
While I was thinking about these big numbers, I was also working on some lessons in nanotechnology. So, I've been thinking about extremes, from very large to very small in the last week. Size can be relative though, because things that seemed enormous when I was a child often appear much smaller today.
As I ruminate on the big and the small, let's write about magnitude and scale. Anything on the continuum is fair game. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.
I've worked and reworked this poem, which touches on the scale of things, and I'll leave it here, as is, for today:
ReplyDeleteI Am the Seed
I am the seed only earthworms have seen
Through the sensitive cells in their skin.
I want to be grass, and I want to be green.
But ending outright is no way to begin
For a seed, or a worm, or a man:
One owns up to a loss, and earns any win.
I am the shell that entraps as it can,
And it must—that's the path that it's on.
I am the gulf that no girders will span.
I am also escapist—I’m here, then I’m gone—
From the shell, from the cell, I will run.
I am the sleeper who rises at dawn
To greet and exalt inexhaustible sun
For its labors—a matchless machine,
That once it starts up, is never outdone.
I am the seed, and I weave what I mean.
I want to be grass, and I want to be green.
©2011 Steven Withrow, all rights reserved
Forgot to mention: The poem above is my variation on terza rima.
ReplyDeleteAlso, I invite you all to join Poetry Advocates for Children & Young Adults, a new grass-roots, not-for-profit organization dedicated to promoting poetry for every age group:
http://poetryadvocates.wordpress.com/
Third time! Blogger keeps eating my comments and won't let me Post them! Enjoyed your seed poem, Steven.
ReplyDeleteThe Loudest Quiet
The screen door bangs shut behind me, and then
it is quiet
I call out "Pebbles!" but
it is quiet
I listen for nails on floor
It is quiet
The house is wrong
It is too quiet
--Laura Purdie Salas, all rights reserved
Nice, Laura. I love the openness of this -- the refrain and the spaces between stanzas create a kind of echo chamber. The words "Pebbles!" and "nails" and "wrong" are arresting.
ReplyDeleteWith much gratitude and respect for the Lacks family:
ReplyDeleteCELLS
They took us from her
when she was dying
sliced us from
the growth
that brewed inside
then divvied us up
dropping us into
skinny glass tubes
they shipped around the world
went and made us look like floozies
coloring our hair with fluorescent dyes
pink blue green and stuck us under
microscopes for all to see
makin' up highfalutin stories
even accusing us a contaminatin' others
while we sat around in these petri plates
waitin' to be all cultured up
trying to say it's for the good of humankind
but ain't we a human
born from a Mamma who
never quite knew what was
going down or
how she would
go about
changing
the world.
© Carol Weis 2011 all rights reserved
Thanks for sharing this, Carol. I like the bouncing, almost rollicking rhythm this has in spots. A surprising, but great, subject for a poem!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Steven. Of course, I'm reading THE IMMORTAL LIFE OF HENRIETTA LACKS, which is having a deep impact on me, and as soon as I saw this challenge, the words started squirming inside my head.
ReplyDeleteA little late, but here's my response:
ReplyDeleteDefine Your Terms
Nice work, Greg! You pack a lot of energy into a few words.
ReplyDeletelater still...
ReplyDeleteHow many?
How many
rainstorms
does it take
to widen
puddles
into lakes?
And just
how hot
must deserts
get
before their cacti
start
to sweat?
How long?
How long
does
a flower
last
before it
starts
to wither?
And
how long
must
a
snakelet grow
before it
starts
to slither?
Hi, All--I'm new to this site, so not quite sure how things work. But here are my thoughts on this week's poems...
ReplyDeleteSteven--this is (so far) my favorite of your poems! Very rhythmic, very lyrical.
Laura--nice to see you here (have come across your name on many other sites). Enjoyed your poem about Pebbles--it's the truth, ain't it--too quiet IS wrong!
Carol--very nice poem. Reminds me to finish Henrietta L. Incredible story... loved your take on it, especially the last line.
Greg--hello, Greg. I've visited your site before, and am glad to finally 'meet' you. Love your puddle poem--short and sweet!
Thanks, Julie, for the sinuous, sensuous poem -- and for the nice comment!
ReplyDelete