Monday, November 07, 2011

Monday Poetry Stretch - Commemorate

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.


  1. The Best Celebration of All

    Let 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

  2. Beautiful, Jane. I'm just chiming in to say HAPPY FIFTH BLOGGY ANNIVERSARY! Thanks for all you do, Tricia!

  3. Hi Tricia! We share a blogoversary! Sunday was the fifth birthday of my library blog, Kurious Kitty's Kurio Kabinet!

    I'll work on a celebratory poem and be back later.

  4. When I was born I was told I clapped my hands
    When 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

  5. Jane, I like your moon very much!



    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

  6. 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.

    2:27 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

  7. 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.

    Charles, great poem to share with kids and to inspire one of their own in that style. Heidi, 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
    into my

  8. Ode to Feet

    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

  9. Heidi--I love the juxtaposition of Mesopotamian gods and kindergartners. Both worth celebrating.

    John--Powerful and bittersweet. Thank you.

    Julie--Yes! The things we take for granted, right?

    Everyone, what a good week!

  10. 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:

    Ode 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

  11. Hi Tricia,
    I'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