Yesterday this little blog was 5 years old. I suppose I would throw more of a celebration if I was more productive than I have been in the last year and a half. A lot of the meaty, nonfiction stuff is appearing on the blog I now write with my students. Miss Rumphius, save for poetry, has been sadly neglected. Neglected and all, I'm still thinking about celebrations and commemorations. This Friday is Veteran's Day. Thanksgiving is around the corner. My dog just turned 14. There are lots of things we can celebrate and remember, from the grand to the small. What would you like to remember?
Let's write about that this week. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll share the results later this week.
The Best Celebration of All
ReplyDeleteLet us celebrate the moon,
not that cold circlet,
old diadem, all but unreachable
save for a NASA few,
but the new moon rising,
once a month, on time,
as if to remind us that joy,
fullness, accomplishment,
are all within our reach.
That rebirth, regeneration,
not just a myth, but true.
I'd like to say that of myself.
And you?
©2011 Jane Yolen All rights reserved
Beautiful, Jane. I'm just chiming in to say HAPPY FIFTH BLOGGY ANNIVERSARY! Thanks for all you do, Tricia!
ReplyDeleteHi Tricia! We share a blogoversary! Sunday was the fifth birthday of my library blog, Kurious Kitty's Kurio Kabinet!
ReplyDeleteI'll work on a celebratory poem and be back later.
When I was born I was told I clapped my hands
ReplyDeleteWhen I was 2 I loved smacking pots and pans
When I was 4 I ventured on a horsey ride
When I was 6 my Grandpa Jeremiah died
When I was 8 I got my first basketball
When I was 10 I was over 6 feet tall!
When I was 12 I received my first kiss
Growing up is something I'm glad I didn't miss.
(c) Charles Waters 2011 all rights reserved
Jane, I like your moon very much!
ReplyDelete***************
Snow
Let us celebrate snow,
its brightness, its chill tongue,
the way it both crunches
like leaves and squeaks
like styrofoam when stepped on,
the way it makes
its plaster of paris promise
to preserve your footprints
along with those of a doe
and a small cold-fluffed bird.
And how it is fluffy,
like the bird, but only
to the eye. It is wet,
and its flakes surprise—
they are so much smaller
than the lace ones you cut
from white paper in school. Snow
frosts the earth cake, hides
trash cans and cars,
drapes trees in eyelet,
decorating this worn house
for a bridal shower.
Snow blooms like fields
of white flowers. Tomorrow
it will be gray, and the next day,
it may be gone. But today,
let us celebrate snow.
--Kate Coombs, 2011, all rights reserved
The meaning of the moon, the multifacets of snow ("its plaster of paris promise"), the milestones of growing up--all most worthy! Here's a commemoration of the best time of my classroom day.
ReplyDelete2:27 pm
Each afternoon at this moment
if I could
I would kneel facing Mesopotamia,
touch my forehead to the clay soil
and honor the broad-shouldered,
tip-toeing gods of writing.
Instead at this moment
because I must
I bend facing Kindergartenia,
touch my hand to the fresh toil
and honor the tender-voiced,
heart-shouting words of writers.
Heidi Mordhorst 2011
all rights reserved
Jane and Kate, all your poems of late have been celebratory, singing praises and speaking of gratitude. I wish I could find that perspective deep down in myself. I keep reading your pieces as a means of getting there. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteCharles, great poem to share with kids and to inspire one of their own in that style. Heidi, Kindergatenia...love that.
Today, my daughter's twelfth birthday, I find myself remembering her sixth birthday.
November eighth, I called on her sixth birthday.
I was lying down on the sofa in the dark,
with the phone resting just over my ear,
listening to the excitement in her voice,
amazed at the way each word formed
and poured through the speaker,
into my head, one after another,
like water slowly pouring
from a vessel,
like morphine
dripping
into my
blood.
Ode to Feet
ReplyDeleteFlipping
flopping
on the floor
are two sweet feet
that I adore.
They run me here,
they run me there,
they run me
almost everywhere.
And though
they’re mostly
’neath my chair—
I thank you, feet,
for being there!
@ julie krantz 2011, all rights reserved
Heidi--I love the juxtaposition of Mesopotamian gods and kindergartners. Both worth celebrating.
ReplyDeleteJohn--Powerful and bittersweet. Thank you.
Julie--Yes! The things we take for granted, right?
Everyone, what a good week!
Congratulations, Tricia, on your five years. We are glad you're here! I've enjoyed all the other offerings this week, and though mine is late, I present you with:
ReplyDeleteOde to My Bed
I celebrate
my cozy bed
whose pillow plumps
beneath my head
greets me nightly
with open arms
luring me in through
billowy charms
quietly rests while
I relish my book
never chatters
or gives me the look
and when I reach to
switch off the light
my bed stays with me
throughout the night.
© Carol Weis 11/11/11
all rights reserved
Hi Tricia,
ReplyDeleteI'm new to your wonderful blog, and late with my poem of celebration/commemoration, but while picking up branches at a friend's house after the Halloween snowstorm, I pocketed a little "souvenir" which I just this morning opened and in so doing, discovered something to celebrate...Here's a poem I just wrote to express that joyful discovery:
Celebrate the Sycamore
What’s at the core
of a Sycamore?
In case you might wonder,
just look down or under,
beneath the leaves,
below the trees.
Then without a doubt,
you’ll jump, you’ll shout,
as you pick up the pod
with the stem sticking out.
“A mace weapon!” you’ll muse--
“It’s like the gladiators would use.”
Yet, the answer lies within.
Here is how you’ll begin.
This isn’t easy to do,
so get a grownup to help you.
Prop the pod, and then cut a slice,
not just once, maybe twice,
right into the skin.
Then watch yourself grin.
As the knife hits the center,
a magic world you’ll both enter,
and you’ll see what’s in store
‘round the seed pod’s hard core!
Now, with a pry and a lift,
what appears is a gift.
Does it not seem odd
that there in a single pod
sit gazillions of seeds
about to be freed?
Each one’s dressed in “fur”
like an oddly shaped burr,
allowing it to sail
like a tiny flying tail.
Just look at them all!
It’s a sight to enthrall!
“Why so many? Why is this so?”
you’ll both want to know.
Well, that’s how nature ensures
that life will endure.
With those millions of seeds,
new born trees are guaranteed.
So let’s celebrate continuation
of this youngest generation!
And now you’ll wonder no more
about the core of a Sycamore!
--Andrea Tovar
11/12/2011 All rights reserved