poetry

Walking Two Ways

One Way

Phone in pocket,

Eyes scan horizon,

Birds chirp,

Check the time.

Slower steps to start, momentum grows,

Until . . .

A curious mind pauses,

What’s that?

What’s new?

Stop!

Snap photo.

Repeat.

Check time, how long have I walked?

Reset body posture.

Moving along, photos preserve thoughts.

Check the time, long enough.

Back home, birds still chirping.

Another Way

Phone in pocket,

Earbuds in place,

Return a phone call.

Watch for fellow walkers

While listening and responding.

Unconsciously moving forward,

Up a hill,

Down a hill,

Around a bend.

Call ends.

I am home

Wondering,

What did I miss today?

Do you have a story to share?

Thoughts of a Reader

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It’s just a book.

Stop thinking about it.

I can’t. 

It’s not real.

But it feels real.

Don’t dwell on it.

I can’t help it.

I can’t stop thinking about 

Citra,

Rowan,

and all the Scythes.

You need to read something else.

This is troubling you.

I need to know what happens!

Arghhhh! The third book doesn’t come out until 2019!

I read the premise of the book. I didn’t think it was the book for me. The story line sounded morbid, so I don’t know what possessed me to request it from the library. I thought I’d read a little and discover it wasn’t my cup of tea, so I could abandon it. That didn’t happen. I continued to read, I needed to find out what happened.  I consumed that book in a few days. The book is Scythes by Neal Shusterman. Hungry for more I returned to the library to find I was fourth in line for requesting Thunderhead. Impatiently I waited for other readers to finish. Now I have it. This book will be finished soon. The characters will have to live in my memory until The Toll is published in 2019.

What’s Going On?

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Since April is the month of poetry, I will try to create a poem to share my slice.

March 31,

I leave my link,

from my computer.

It does not appear!

I leave a comment

on a WordPress blog,

It does not appear.

I leave a comment

on a Blogspot post,

It appears.

What’s going on?

 

On my iPad,

I leave my link,

again,

and again.

It does not appear.

What is going on?

New plan,

use library’s computer.

Check for my link.

Yes, it’s there!

Leave a comment,

It doesn’t appear!

Email said link was in spam.

Now comments are marked as spam.

What’s going on?

Akismet can’t explain

What’s going on,

But they can fix it.

Thank you Akismet.

Did I rile the spam folder with my post?

 

 

 

Wrapped to Go

Sheets stripped from bed.

Flat sheet, fitted sheet, pillowcase.

Individually placed in washer.

Spin cycle twists.

Wet sheets

Shaken to untangled,

Tossed into dryer.

Roll, flip, turn

Over

And

Over.

Cycle chimes,

“Ready to go!”

Not so neatly packaged,

Wrapped to go.

At least it’s dry.

 

Noodles or Zoodles?

Noodles
I want them.
I need them.
I love them.
I’ve got to have them.

Noodles, tasty noodles:

Spaghetti,

Fettuccini,

Pappardelli,

Bucatini,

Angel hair.

They say they are carbs,

They say you shouldn’t eat them.

But . . .
I want them.
I need them.
I love them.
I’ve got to have them.

Zoodles to the rescue!

Zucchinis spiralized

Creates a healthier alternative.

Zoodles, tasty zoodles.
I want them.
I need them.
I love them.
I’ve got to have them.
And no guilt attached!

Earrings! by Judith Viorst inspired the format for this poem.

Once There Was . . .

Once there was a new house with a lush green carpet in the backyard.

Soft blades tickled bare feet.

As the years passed,  trees grew and grew.

Shadow fingers caressed the green carpet.

However that carpet longed for the sun not the shade.

Over time, many blades gave up the fight.

New seedlings sprouted, but they too, yearned for sunshine.

Bare patches appeared, lush no longer.

Shadows won this battle.

A man worked all winter to extend the landscape bed.

The withered sparse grass removed.

A mountain of rock arrived to erase the bare patches.

Shadows claim victory over the grass,.

Only time will tell who is the victor:  man or shadows.

 

 

Every December

Every December

My kitchen fills with sweet scents

of sandbakkel* cookies.

(*pronounced like sun buckle)

Reindeer prance across

the lid of my box of tins,

tiny, fluted tins.

 

 

Butter softening,

Tins sorted into three lines

To rotate baking.

 

 

 

Old Mix Master from

Grandmother begins mixing.

First, softened butter.

 

 

Sugar is added.

Flour addition thickens dough,

use muscles to stir.

 

 

 

Thumbs push and press dough.

Bake until golden brown, cool.

Will cookies crumble?

 

 

Unfortunately,

Some cookies shatter when pressed.

Who will eat those? Me!

 

 

Sandbakkels to share,

Sandbakkels to enjoy with

my morning coffee.

 

 

Every December,

these Norwegian cookies keep

traditions alive.

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Come With Me

Come with me,

Explore

joys of spring.

Observe the new green announcing, “Hey world, I’m back and growing strong!”

Discover powerful plants pushing through to greet the sun.

Notice a bridal bouquet, colors pop!

Spot one plant “walks” up the fence, through the slats searching for the sunny side.

Bzzz, humm, bzzz

Confirms fuzzy, buzzy bees explore the holly blossoms.

Come with me,

 Enjoy spring sights!

Be sure to visit Two Writing Teachers for more slices of life.

 

Day 29: Spine Poetry

Yesterday, Ramona shared a few writing quotes. My favorite one is, “Catch emerging words and begin to guide them into form, or not.” Susan Branch.

Here are some emerging words guided into the form of a spine poem. Thanks, Ramona!

The secret project

in the best interest of students,

59 reasons to write

a river of words,

wondrous words.

Write like this.

Write beside them,

writing toward home.

I received several new professional books last week. As I contemplated which one I would read first, I had an inkling of a spine poem tickling my brain. I added a few titles that were already on my shelf to create the above poem.

Getting teachers inspired to teach writing is a secret project that love to tackle. Often times many are resistant, but eventually they come around and end up say, “This is my favorite thing to teach.” or “Writing is my class’s favorite subject.” Then I smile because I knew it would happen.