It's Been a While

Visit Carol, at Carol's Corner, where she is hosting the Poetry Friday roundup!

I have been absent from Poetry Friday for a while now. I think I got a little overwhelmed by my writing life and poetry took a back seat for a bit. This past weekend I had the pleasure and opportunity to go to NCTE! I saw some of my poetry friends and I felt inspired. In between sessions I scribbled little poems down to look at later. I even gave one as a gift to someone at the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life dinner.
Here are a couple of the poems I worked on in my little moments in between.

As flocks of sun rise
I am caught in the flicker
of this moment
when the rays rise interrupted
by strobes of birds
the sun wraps its wings
around the day.



Cherry blossom sprinkles
scattered round my feet
window panes of sunlight
dancing rays, they peek
at my little footsteps
dragging through the scent
kicking up the fragrance
and moments I have spent
looking through the window
gazing at a scene
of cherry blossom petals
and draping reds and pinks.

Favorites From a Facebook Collaborative Poetry Project

Michelle at Today's Little Ditty has the roundup!

I recently began putting a line or two in my status on Facebook. From there my Facebook friends leave comments creating the remaining lines. It has been fun to watch these poems progress and grow. It has also brought some who don't usually write poetry to join in with a line. It's less intimidating to generate a line but can be tricky when the poem is in flux.

Here are some offerings from the project:

The hurricane, a thief
leaves the grass
spiked and colorless.
Sand, driven into the weathered boards.
Wind whips about
funneling and twisting back into the dark eye
of a wrinkled face
of a hopelessly insecure little round man.
Rushing water unleashes gas tanks to bounce and bob down the river
tearing century old covered bridges to shreds.
Fear and rage keep me tethered
tying me to the inner vortex.
As if the hurricane-thief thought,
I will take everything and leave you grass.
Spiked colorless grass.


Tea Biscuit Memories

As my honey dipped spoon stirs my tea
the aroma of biscuits fills the air.
I hear my grandmother's steps cross to the oven.
"Almost ready," she calls.
The smell fills her kitchen.
My stomach growls in anticipation
as they emerge
golden hued and inviting.
Her house coat is tattered and worn,
much like her skin it shows the age and wear.
Every wrinkle is a story to be heard.
She takes a long drag on her Lucky Strikes cigarette,
pulls on the red flowered oven mitt and opens the oven door.
Each artisan creation kneaded with love unconditional
aroma and aesthetic needed to create a memory.
As I waken, I feel blessed for the visit
and can still smell the faint aroma of her floating in the air.
I gaze at the curtains that once were hers.
Hear her laughter and wise words.
She lives in my heart.
We pour green tea in fancy cups, in her honor.
We call ourselves, Cassies's Girls.

Facebook Collaborative Poetry Project April 1-6

I started a project on Facebook that I didn't originally know would take off. However, it has and I have to share the poems here. They have been fantastic, original and inspiring. Here are the first six poems created by my Facebook friends and I.
**Keep in mind these are in their organic form, as they came in. :)

April 1^st

My heart is breathing words,
spilling onto the page without thought.
I write a lot of words, that only make sense to me.
Onto the page.
Words of unspoken love and hope,
Words of compassion and peace,
Words scrawled 
Across the page, from the heart .
That lift effortlessly
Into the azure sky
Melting the frost
Of a long winter
That kiss the ground
And bloom the flowers
That bud the trees
And ruffle my hair
The words are mine alone, yet they speak to others
We form a bond with every verse. 
We change the world with every word.
Making in each word as if it were the last.
Beautiful words that touch the souls of stars that shine brightly

April 2^nd

I listen 
Intent on writing
Only the words 
Not to be forgotten
like the tear drops
on my windowpane 
washed away by time,
leaving only an 
invisible streak scar
I whisper the names
of trinkets stored under
the cover of an old notebook.
A yellow pansy, a cartoon from the New Yorker
sent by a college suitor, a black and white photo
of a girl I once knew well. In bursts I remember.
Scramble from my pen,
Take up residence in my notebook,
Waiting to be
Refined.
And again in bursts, the kids come home, slamming the door open, yelling, "What's for dinner, Mom? I'm starving!"

April 3^rd

My thoughts lit by fire
I search in the ash

Desperate to find 
What I know is now lost
I look to the sky
the clouds full of dust

I’m mesmerized by flames that glistens toward the stars

as the sky explodes with brilliance

and fills my soul with the stars

My mind rumbles 

Memories burning to be set free

Restrained only by the sanguine regrets of choices not made

And our struggle to accept our missed opportunities while building new dreams

I push at the dust,

watch it dance in the air.

Swirling through time,

I search for reason and rhyme.

How I wish I could sparkle as the flame I once was,

that my layers of colors would be somehow understood.

By no one but me

Dance in my head,
Eager to find their way into the world. 
They hover and smolder
They crackle and swirl
The flame is lit
New ideas explode!

April 4^th

Hunting doubted dreams, 
I tiptoe with my net
quiet like a mouse, 
slipping through the dark
Stalking my prey,
ready to pounce
To be a spider with webbed fingers, 
but then my dreams be burdened with chances of rain
or a sudden burst of light letting my secret slip away
Standing silent I put down my net and listen

April 5^th

Mingling limbs, entangle the night

The moon rests upon their branches.

Swaying gently in the wind

Stretching to reach the worlds above

Stars gaze down in adoration

love

Gazing up at the sky above

The whispers heard by only a few

Yet many knew their name

They float just out of reach

Silver moonlight surrounds them

Reach, Reach....They are yours.

April 6^th

Weathered memories

plucked by fingers frail

Like the string of a bow that now sits unused

Past celebrations play like movie reels in the mind.

emotions tumble in swiftly changing

Tears once shed in joy, now fall in sorrow.

But still, hope resides in the pages of this book bound by time

and chapters not yet ventured

With every ending bringing a new beginning

Every beginning bringing new memories, seasoned until weathered again

It's a salt and pepper life, with a dash of paprika.

A splash of wine, some lemon zest, the scent of joy, and a sweet caress.

Slip to the back of the mind to be retrieved in the dawn of a new day

Straight From the Heart

Poetry Friday is hosted by Tricia from  The Miss Rumphius Effect.

I went into some classes this week to teach a poetry lesson. I asked students, "What is a poem?" The answers varied across the grade levels.
"They rhyme."
"There are poems about dogs."
"They are like a song."
"It's a little story."
But the most touching answer for me was when a first grader said, "Something you write from your heart."

All these students understood some element of poetry, but this student understands it deeper. He realizes that these little stories about dogs, the rhymes, the little nuggets that poets pull from stories come from our hearts. It was as though he took those words straight from my mouth as I find myself always writing poetry from my heart. I'm sure you will agree.

Today is Chalk-A-Bration at my other blog, Teaching Young Writers. You can get a peek at the lesson I taught and the poems students chalked from their hearts about what it is like "being them."

Here is my chalk poem for the day as I sit on yet another snow day in Michigan.

My thinking drips

like an ice cold slick.

I grab at drops

too quick as they slip.

Away from my tips

my fingers, they grip.

This chalk in my hand

my words finally land.

A Michigan Inspired Poetry Friday

Poetry Friday is here. I am delighted to share poetry with my PF friends and celebrate my state. It is the first Friday of the newest of years, 2014. I hope you enjoyed a spirit filled New Year's Eve and an even better beginning on New Year's Day. Celebrate Michigan with me as I take you on a tiny tour.

For Christmas I received the book, POETRY IN MICHIGAN IN POETRY, edited by William Olsen and Jack Ridl. It is a beautiful book of poems and artwork. The first poem is so striking to me I had to include it here today as I celebrate the way I see my home, Michigan.

At Burt Lake
           Tom Andrews

To disappear into the right words
and to be their meanings. . .

October dusk.
Pink scraps of clouds, a plum-colored sky.
The sycamore tree spills a few leaves.
The cold focuses like a lens. . .

Now night falls, its hair
caught in the lake's eye.

Read the rest here.

This poem speaks to me in a way I cannot describe any better than Andrews describes it here. The language of Michigan's beauty is a wonder and happens to you. Michigan is speaking. When you enter a forest in Michigan, the trees happen to you. When you gaze on the waters, they happen to you. When you trod on the trails and climb the ladderous roots of trees, they happen to you. It is the world in my eye and it happens to me. I see the poetry in Michigan at every turn. Everyone takes the views and interprets them for themselves. You take it in and it fills you like a dried up well overflowing with words, images, sounds...it happens. When you smell a coneflowered field it never ends. It happens to you. Close your eyes, breathe in and let it happen.


We recently had an ice storm in Michigan. I was further north when the ice began to accumulate on every surface available including power lines surrounding my home. Many were left without power on Christmas and forced to wrap presents by candlelight. I was fortunate and did not come home to frozen pipes or the sounds of generators in my neighborhood. Instead I saw twinkling ice that appeared to preserve moments. The sleds in neighboring yards glued to front hills. The teetering tree branches and downed trees in our woods. The branch littered yard and splintered wood. Bushes held still with layers of lacquered ice glistening.

This photo was taken by a friend and I thought it went perfectly with my poem below. Forgive me for the poem's shape. It just felt right, like a melting icicle into a mirror of a melting icicle. Sometimes a poem happens the way it is suppose to. I won't question it, too much.

Photo by Mistelle Hollister

Ice

Listening. I hear the ice trickle

spirit of the glittering veil

the sparkle and clink

as the melt is

welcomed

by snow.

Pine

cones

encapsulated

moments preserved

until thaw, a quenching

drip for a deer’s tongue as

he sips refreshment of winter.

I had hoped to go snowshoeing in December but following the ice we had warmer temperatures making it impossible. I would have to settle for a walk in my boots. However, in my fantasy of snowshoeing through the woods of pine and birch, this is how I imagined it. Not a true diamante poem, but again, it felt right.

I’m

floating on

powdery trail’s

fresh fallen snow

with my eyes casting up

I see skyscraping branches paint

brushing the clouds of puffy white snow

that clatter together in a forest song

I sing along in a hum of nature

as flakes melt on my

tongue tasting

flurries of

life

Spring cannot come too soon when you've entered a March snow storm. However, the melting, though slushy below, is beautiful above as branches are finally relieved of their weight.

Springing back

branches bounce

as the forgotten sun

sprinkles its light

onto the brown

bringing greens and hues of pink

in the sky on morning's

daybreak,

back to work.

Summer sunsets in Michigan are perhaps the most beautiful sight on a Michigan lake. Here is an old poem revisited from a summer sunset on an evening in July. 

Photo by Betsy Hubbard

Lake Michigan

A blinding glare

paints squints and smiles.

The sunlit waves

and sand for miles.

Estates of 

Dukes and Yorks abound.

Then washed away,

the sun goes down.

Orange and pink

strokes of bliss.

Soothing sprays 

of happiness.

Beauty 

stares into my eyes.

My toes sink in,

my paradise.

If you have ever taken a color tour in Michigan you know that every hue is present. Crayola couldn't come up with a name for every color that Michigan provides. It is truly a breath taking sight to drive over a hill revealing a colorful bed below.

Fire like colors,

breezes that blow

confetti of 

fall, 

down

to my toe

I hope I was able to transport you through each season of Michigan. I am so proud to live here and take in all the scenes as they happen to me.

Enjoy more poetry offerings as I round-up the day's poems below.

Here we go!
Robyn, at Life on the Deckle Edge is in with a poem about "Home" from a new/old treasure, a hefty and original 1888 book from a friend. 
Buffy's Blog joins in with a spidery moonlight poem she recently had published in Spider Magazine! 
Myra from Gathering Books continues to feature poet, Nerisa Guevara. The poem Tremors will have you trembling at forgotten memories of lost love. 
Violet Nesdoly brings us a New Year's Resolution gone bad. I'm sure you can relate!
Julie Larios from The Drift Record has broken her new year's resolution already and posted a poem by Hailey Leiithauser, winner of this year's Emily Dickinson First Book Award. 
Greg Pincus gives us a preview of his year ahead at Gottabook.
Charles Ghigna shares a poem called Moon Tree over at the Bald Ego. 
Jone from Check it Out share the diverse selection of poets nominated for the CYBILS.
Tabatha Yeatts joins in from The Opposite of Indifference with a winter poetry swap. 
Michelle Heidenrich Barnes welcomes in the new year with a lofty goals and a poem by Tabatha Yeatts from the Winter Poem Swap on Today's Little Ditty. 
Liana shares her thoughts about the new year at Commas Have Wings.
Amy takes us back in time with her poem and a few announcements! Go visit her on The Poem Farm.
Jeff at NC Teacher Stuff joins us with a Robert Frost poem about a seeking a sunset bird in winter. 
Reading to the Core comes with a poem from the Irish poet, Eavan Boland. Be sure to visit This Moment. 
Laura Purdie Salas jumps in with an orchestra of winter noise on this cold Poetry Friday. 
Linda at Write Time shares a birthday poem and her outlook on a new year!
Linda at Teacherdance shares a beautiful poem by Edith Sodergran. 
Becky at Tapestry of Words shares an antonym diamante poem and shares a bit about her secret love for January.
Mrs. Nosal of Read For Your Life brings us a poem about a Snow Day by Billy Collins. 
You will appreciate the humor in Mary Lee's post at A Year of Reading. She shares a series of Agnes comics on writing poetry. 
Margaret Simon from Reflections on the Teche shares a poem about egrets in Mississippi. 
Steven Withrow from Crackles of Speech takes us on a Morning Walk after a fresh snow fall. 
Irene Latham shares her One Little Word of 2014 at Live Your Poem. 
Ruth at There's No Such Thing As A God-Forsaken Town shares a poem about God's garden. 
Diane Mayr brings us three offerings today: A post card exchange at Random Noodling A poem for a snow day at Kurious Kitty And last, a haiku quote at KK's Kwotes. 
Cathy from Merely Day By Day joins in with a poem about the mighty evergreen who in any other season might get lost among the trees. Mrs. Bennett shares a snow day celebration with Billy Collins at Used Books in Class. 
Tara at A Teaching Life brings us a poem that celebrates the silence of snow. Anastasia Suen shares a haiku in celebration of the CYBILS at Poet! Poet!
Bridget Magee shares a loose tooth poem at Wee Words for Wee Ones.
This week at Slayground we get a dose of Mary Oliver. Love her. 

Keri from Keri Recommends brings us a story of her grandmother and a song they shared for a brief moment on a recent visit. 
Mainely Write brings us a Static Cat full of alliteration. 
Robin from Teaching Tomorrow's Leaders comes with a OLW post and shines brightly. 
Joy from Poetry for Kids Joy is joining us with a poem about opening doors.
Kelly comes to us with a poem celebrating football season! Check her out at Writing and Ruminating. 
Dia Calhoun joins in with a poem from her book Eva of the Farm.