| CARVIEW |
A blog about children's writing and connecting with poets again.
As I walk around the yard,
challenging myself
to one more lap,
to keep going,
to reach my goal,
I remind myself
that there is no time table.
There are no rules.
And if I walk
slowly
I will still
get where I was going.
The pressure I put
on myself
isn’t necessary.
So I listen to the birds,
laugh at the zoomy dog
and keep moving
one foot
in front of the other
on this unusually warm
January thaw.
Listen
In the quiet of the morning
somewhere between awake and imagination
i pull the covers over my head
and listen.
Gone are the headlines
and the commentary,
the emotional response
ripped from my body
as justification
that I care.
In the quiet of the morning
I listen
to my heart beat.
To words that bubble up from somewhere
deep within my soul
and know that If I take it slow
I will survive,
and we will all get by
this Alice in Wonderland nightmare
together.
Today I was reading on a blog, “the new year always brings new hope”. And for me, this has most often been true. But this year doesn’t feel that way. I am tired of all the politics, facing each new issue with resignation and disgust, while still wanting to somehow save the world. I see friends and families facing difficult situations, not ones that are easy to fix, but ones that require time and consideration and above all compromise as they aren’t going to get better. I need my new year’s hope.
Reading poetry blogs help. Hearing how others see the new year as a new beginning is softening my exterior. And reading about how some poets choose “one little word” to focus on during the year, helps me to look inside for my focus word.
So, for the month of January at least, my “one little word” is going to be listen. Not to everyone and everything, but to myself. To remember to hear my own thoughts, rather than just respond to everything around me. To slow down my ideas, and to be in the moment more often. My earworm today is:
“Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy”
Listen
Listen to the silence.
Listen to the wind.
Listen to your heartbeat
Let the quiet in.
Listen to the wordsongs
that tumble in your soul.
Listen to your quiet mind.
Let go of your control.
Happy New Year everyone. Today’s Poetry Friday is with Catherine at Reading to the Core where she shares a poem for January. Be sure to stop by..
I got caught up in the whirlwind of Christmas, and didn’t get any further on this month’s daily poetry prompts. But today I wanted to take a moment to think about Poetry Friday, and maybe write a new poem. One prompt did stand out to me.
Write about a line of poetry you want to carry into the new year.
Well I’ve been carrying a phrase around with me for a year already. Every once in a while I think about this line and I’m still enamored of it. So today, I thought I’d approach it again, and see how friendly it would be. The line is, dust on a spider’s web.
The lists are finished,
crossed off and completed.
Presents are wrapped
and stacked under the tree.
Cookies are baked,
and hidden away from temptation.
Only then, when the mind grows
still
like dust on a spider’s web
can we truly understand
the peace of the season
filling our hearts
with love
and giving us hope
for the new year.
Dec. 3rd: Write 5 small things you are grateful for
2. My retirement (for allowing me time to do the things I love)
3. My love of writing. (which brings me great joy to both do, and in my reading)
4. Kids. (grandchildren, nieces, friends and students. Kids bring my heart light)
5. Poetry (capturing a moment in time, perfectly)
Hmm….those don’t seem very small. In fact, they fill my soul completely. Let me try again.
Dec. 2nd: Write about a time when someone showed you kindness
It Takes a Village
I wanted to find an old picture
from a group on facebook,
but no matter how hard I looked
no matter how detailed the search
my hands remained empty.
So finally,
I asked the group.
“Does anyone know where
I can find this artwork?”
( I think her name is Maura.)
(I agree, it starts with an M.)
(I saw someone reference her on Youtube.)
(She was at this festival in England.)
( I just bought an ornament from her.)
Within minutes, I had an address.
Within an hour, she was emailing me
herself,
asking what I needed.
Sometimes, all it takes
is a village.
and the bravery to reach out a hand
for help.
Dec. 1st: Notice one delight today and write it down.
Zoomies
I no longer have that urge
for zoomies,
running at full speed
as fast as possible.
Sheer joy.
Children and dogs do.
Whether to expend excess energy
in being alive,
being outside
or being inside a moment
of delight,
they zoom.
My joy
is more quiet,
watching fall leaves shiver
as they flip from light to dark
sailing slowly
downward,
qullting the November grass
before snowfall.
I may not run any more
but zoomies
bring joy to my heart.
Both the slow ones
and the fast ones.
Matt, from Radio, Rhythm and Rhyme wrote about having his students write freely by taking a famous poem and rewriting it in their own words, or changing the words based on how they were feeling. It got me thinking of my favorite poems, and playing along with their rhythms. One of my favorite authors is William Carlos Williams. His poems can easily become earworms, they are so short and pithy. This is one of my favorites.
This Is Just To Say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.
——————————–
So, I’ve played with this to create this little ditty. My own little earworm for a rainy Saturday of poetry.
————————
I heard you
singing to the radio
cranked up so high
that the cat
left the empty room
though you probably
thought
you were in tune
forgive me
for closing the door
you weren’t
This week’s poetry Friday is at https://janicescully.com/
I was browsing through a folder named “random writing”, and enjoying poems I’ve written that have never made it into any public work. Someday I’ll pull them together and try again. For now, I”m sharing a poem from a WWII story, though it could be any war. It’s often as hard back home as it is on the front.
SINCE YOU’VE BEEN GONE
On days when we are especially lonely,
we take down
the large glass bowl, the one
Heidi isn’t allowed to touch,
and lay it upside down
in the center of the table.
Mom unfolds her best lace handkerchief
and caresses the bowl
as if it were Papa’s bald head
until it is so shiny
we can see our faces
warped and exaggerated
on its surface.
“Let’s talk to Papa,” she says.
We stare into the bowl,
past our strange convoluted faces
past reflections of clouds playing tag
across the kitchen window,
past flowers and leaves
carved in low relief.
We stare deep-
into the very core of the glass
until its white surface turns to snow
and we can see Papa
waving to his girls
from the war’s front.
dianemdavis
Inspired by, This photo wants to be a poem.
—————-
’Twas chilly when the mystic forms
would wander through the neighborhood,
a flashlight holding up the night
to beg for candied goods.
Beware All Hallow’s Eve, my friend!
With wolves that bite, and skeletons!
Beware the Frankenstein and run
from evil masks of death!
A young one dressed as knight of old,
and with his shiny sword in hand,
approached the porch, emotions bold
and shouted, “Trick or Treat”!
And as he stood there patiently
a monster came, with eyes of flame
and cracked the door, intent to see
who beckoned at his home.
Just one, not two ! the monster broods,
Don’t take another Snicker snack.
But still the knight, without a fight
emptied the bowl into his pack.
“And have you filled your candy sack?
Come to my arms, you scheming boy!
Oh wondrous night! Oh sugary delight!
A chocolate night of joy..
Beware All Hallow’s Eve, my friend!
With wolves that bite, and skeletons!
Beware the Frankenstein and run
from evil masks of death!
Starting Again in Poetry