POETRY FRIDAY

Some random yellow lab puppies I found on the internet

My National Poetry month series was "Dog Days," in which I wrote thirty poems, all about dogs. At the end of the month, I announced that soon, sometime in the next month or so, I will become a puppy mom for Canine Partners of the Rockies. The yellow lab I will be raising was born in California, and will be coming to Colorado sometime after May 22nd. I'm excited and more than a little nervous, I haven't had a puppy in my life for about ten years, and this will be a very special puppy, that will take lots of extra time and energy. I came across the Linda Pastan poem, which seems perfect for the occasion.


"The New Dog"

Into the gravity of my life,
the serious ceremonies
of polish and paper
and pen, has come

this manic animal
whose innocent disruptions
make nonsense
of my old simplicities--

as if I needed him
to prove again that after
all the careful planning,
anything can happen.

Linda Pastan

Jama Rattigan is hosting Poetry Friday today. Stop over there and read two delicious Spring poems.

POETRY FRIDAY

I am a wannabe artist. That is to say, I think a lot about doing art, but rarely get around to doing much. Every once in a while, I stumble across a book that makes me think a little harder. That's what happened last week. I had gone to an independent children's bookstore in my area to pick up a professional book. Of course I wandered back to the poetry section to see what might be new and interesting. I came across Sallie Wolf's THE ROBIN MAKES A LAUGHING SOUND: A BIRDER'S JOURNAL. I thought it was a new book, then discovered after I brought it home that it was actually published in 2010. So I guess it's an old, but new to me book. 

In an author's note at the beginning of the book, Wolf says that she started watching birds in seventh grade, when a seventh grade teacher introduced them to Roger Tory Peterson's A Field Guide to the Birds of Eastern and Central North America. Her class actually set up a bird watching/banding station on the roof of her school, and she has been watching and journaling about birds ever since. About that same time, Wolf also began keeping journals; and her journalling process is described in another author's note in the back of the book. 

THE ROBIN MAKES A LAUGHING SOUND is organized by seasons. Each season begins with a handwritten list of birds Wolf has seen, as well as several water color sketches. 

The list pages are followed by journal entries or lists that are growing into poems, and finally, finished poems. Some are haiku, others are free verse, a few rhyme. 

"The Robin Makes a Laughing Sound"

The robin makes a laughing sound,

It makes me stop and look around

to see just what the robin sees--

fresh new leaves on twigs of trees,

a strong, high branch on which to rest,

a safe, dry ledge to hold its nest.

The robin makes a laughing sound,

I always stop to look around.

Sallie Wolf

I love the idea of keeping a journal that includes words, and pictures, and water color sketches. I wonder what my middle school kids, or the art teacher might do with it. Maybe someday I will even try it myself. 

Mary Lee is hosting Poetry Friday at Year of Reading today. 

POETRY FRIDAY

Kindness (or lack thereof) has been a theme in my life recently. My teenagers can be, and often are, mean, the kind of mean that makes you feel like someone socked you in the stomach, hard. My fourth graders, no matter how much I try to teach them otherwise, can be really, really unkind. And I'm in the middle of a job hunt, for the third school year in a row…

Last weekend, I read WONDER by R.J. Palacio. If you have not read it, run, don't walk to the closest bookstore and buy it, then carve out a few hours to hunker down and read, because you won't be able to put it down. And then I read Mary Lee's post on Empathy. Then somehow, that same day, I wandered over to Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's Poem Farm, and found a lovely poem about kindness, which I shared with my fourth graders that day. Amy shared the link to "Kindness" by Naomi Shihab Nye. Nye has been one of my favorite poets for a long time, but I didn't know this poem…

"Kindness"

Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.…

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

Jone is hosting POETRY FRIDAY at CHECK IT OUT.

POETRY FRIDAY- THE VOICES IN MY HEAD

I have been living with voices all week long. First, I have been living with Tom Newkirk. Tom was one of my favorite professors during my graduate studies at the University of New Hampshire. He is one of those people who has the rare ability to think deeply and offer brilliant insights on a new topic every year. One year he will be thinking and writing about first grade writers, the next year he's thinking about teaching English effectively at the college level, and then the year after that it's boys and literacy. A couple of months ago, Tom released his newest book, THE ART OF SLOW READING. In the early pages of the book, Tom offers these words:

(Slow reading) has to do with the relationship we have with what we read, with the quality of attention we bring to our reading, with the investment we are willing to make. It is based on the belief that good writing is never consumed, never fully understood, and that though we often read for the efficient extraction of information, this extraction is not the most meaningful or pleasurable reading we do. Slow reading repays even repeated readings and speaks to us in new ways with each engagement..." (p. 2)

There is usually an ebb and flow to slow reading, times when we are immersed in the narrative flow, and times when we pause to reflect or reread or just savor the moment…Although I am convinced that slow reading is essential for real comprehension, it is also clearly crucial to the deep pleasure we take in reading and the power of reading to change us. As John Miedma eloquently puts it: "By opening yourself to a book in this way, you invite ideas and feelings that enrich and expand your interiority. Reading is the making of a deeper self." (3)

Tom devotes a good chunk of the book to six practices that he believes help readers to delve deeply into texts. One of those practices has to do with poetry. Specifically, memorizing poetry. Tom talks about how poetry works its way deeply into our hearts and then surfaces when we need it most.

I read lots and lots of poetry with kids. They memorize some poems because we read them over and over and over again, but I don't usually specifically ask kids to memorize poetry. After reading Newkirk, I'm thinking I might choose a few poems that I love, e.g. Langston Hughes, "Mother to Son" and ask my students to memorize them. I think a poem like "Mother to Son" could become a life song for my students, and when life got hard, they could draw on it for strength and sustenance.

One of the reasons I have been thinking about Newkirk's work is because I have had a poem dancing in my head and my heart all week. It's Eve Merriam's, "A Lazy Thought." I'm posting the poem in its entirety because it's all over the web.

A Lazy Thought

By Eve Merriam

There go the grownups
To the office,
To the store.
Subway rush,
Traffic crush;
Hurry, scurry,
Worry, flurry.

No wonder
Grown ups
Don’t grow up
Any more.
It takes a lot
Of slow
To grow.

The last three lines of this poem, "It takes a lot of slow to grow" have been echoing in my head all week long. We are about four weeks from state testing. This is the time of year when the "Power Standards" hanging next to my desk seem to glow like a neon sign. And the things I have not yet taught (partly because they are in Unit 11 in the math book and we are only finishing unit 7, which, according to the pacing charts is exactly where we are supposed to be) seem to greatly outweigh the things I have. And I feel like that scene in the old CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY movie, when they are all on the boat in the dark, and the boat is moving faster and faster and faster, and everyone is screaming and hanging on for dear life. And I have to fight the temptation to teach faster, faster, faster, and remind myself again and again and again, "It takes a lot of slow to grow…"

I have to remember it takes a lot of slow to grow every time I teach math. You see, the math book devotes about three days to this topic. My kids truly have mastered long division, but it took two and half weeks for some of them. Days of reminding kids that they weren't allowed to say, "I don't get this," but that they could say, "I don't get this YET." Days of practicing with me, with a para, with other students. Days of moving from "Huh"" to "No, hon, put that number in the quotient," to "You are almost there, what's the remainder" to "Yes, I know you love long division, but we can't do it every single day." And now we have got it. And every time one more kid crossed over the bridge, we all clapped and cheered. But on the inside, I was mentally counting the days until testing, thinking about area and perimeter and percents and polygons and acute and obtuse angles. And I have to stop, breathe deeply, and remind myself, "It takes a lot of slow to grow…"

And it's the time of year I have to breathe deeply every time I teach reading. We are working on themes right now, and the genre we are explore is folk tales and fables. Yesterday I chose a fable called "The Crow and the Pitcher." And I thought we were going to talk about themes like perseverance and problem solving. And instead I ended up explaining to the class what a crow was, and drawing a picture of a pitcher on the board. And I wonder how these nine and ten year olds, who would much rather hunt for the pigeon in Mo Willems' on the end pages of Mo Willems' latest book, are ever going to cite evidence for a theme in a work of literature.

And it's also the time when I have to remember to breathe deeply every time a child shows me a piece of writing. "Look, Ms. W., I used dialogue, just like you showed us!"And I look, and sure enough, there is dialogue, but it's that kind of overused dialogue that goes three pages and doesn't say anything.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"Me too."

"What are you doing?"

On and on and on…

Or in another extreme, the dialogue does say something, but the punctuation is totally wrong. And the child is so, so, so proud of herself for having tried something new, something I have suggested that writers do. And I'm thinking, "Oh my gosh, we only have four weeks and this has to be totally perfect, or else she'll get dinged on the test." And then I need to breathe deeply, and say to myself, "Relax, honor the intentions, celebrate the baby steps, and remember, it takes a lot of slow to grow…"

This time of year is hard for me because it's about perfection and mastery and high standards. And I totally believe in perfection and mastery and high standards. But the problem is, between the starting point and perfection, there is a lot of messiness, a lot of partially formed thinking, a lot of approximation. It really does take a lot of "slow to grow."

And so, this week, I am thankful for the poetry. I am thankful for words I have memorized, the words that have worked their way deep into my heart, and are sitting there, waiting to remind me what I believe about teaching, and maybe about living…

Poetry Friday

Life is bittersweet right now.

Last night, at my son's basketball game, a parent commented,

"Do you know why some species eat their young?

It's so they won't have to deal with teenagers."

And to some degree,

living with my sixteen and eighteen-year-olds

is a lot like that.

Irritating.

Exasperating.

Exhausting.

And yet, at the same time,

I grieve this growing.

Going.

Moving away.

Son #1 got a letter of intent yesterday.

And the idea of sending him

To live in an apartment

At a junior college

One thousand miles away

Seems absolutely

unimaginable.

And I think of all the stories read

Jerseys washed

Texts exchanged

(Where are you? Call me. Be careful. Love you)

And I cannot believe

that this sweet time

Is almost gone.

**********

"Winter Sundays"

Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early

and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

…What did I know, what did I know

of love’s austere and lonely offices?

Read the rest of the poem here.

Poetry Friday is at "Hey, Jim Hill!"

POETRY FRIDAY

I interrupt my regular Poetry Friday posts to do a little shameless advertising. Each year, an uber-dedicated team of people from my district publishes an anthology of student poems from around the district. The team is led by a fourth grade teacher, Steve Replogle. This year's version, DREAMS AND DIRECTIONS, came out about a month ago.

DREAMS AND DIRECTIONS contains over 200 poems written by students in grades K-5. Previous volumes have been organized thematically, this year's poems are grouped by the areas in the city. Poems are illustrated by secondary students from the district's Career Education Center.

An added feature-- the book has two indexes. The first, as one might expect, is alphabetical by title, but the second is organized by poetic form or tool-- haiku, humor, onomatopoeia, similes, surprise endings, etc. Perhaps only a teacher who has frantically searched for a poem with an extended metaphor five minutes before her students arrived can appreciate this feature, but I thought it was way cool!

Here are a few sample poems from the anthology…

"The Heart"

Robert, Kindergarten, Fairview Elementary

The heart is big

The heart is bigger

than an elephant.

"How"

Tazi, Stedman Elementary School

How?

How what?

How do?

How do what?

How do you?

How do you what?

How do you know?

How do you know what?

How do you know when?

How do you know when what?

How do you know when the stars will far?

'I Want A World'

--Hamza, 4th grade, McMeen Elementary School

I want a world
with peace and no war
so no loved ones have to die
I want a world
with fresh breathable air
and no crazy wildfires
I want a world
with no terrorist dictators
making bad choices
I want a world
where everyone
has food, shelter, and clothes
I want a world
where everyone gets a good education
and a great job
I want a world
where everyone's dreams
come true.

The website for DREAMS AND DIRECTIONS, as well as the three previous volumes of poetry, is here.

You can purchase DREAMS AND DIRECTIONS at my favorite local independent bookseller, THE TATTERED COVER.

Elaine Magliaro is hosting POETRY FRIDAY at WILD ROSE READER.

POETRY FRIDAY

Savor.

That's my word for 2012.

Savor the last few months with my almost 18-year-old

before he heads out into the world.

And with his brother, our resident

16-year-old expert (on everything!).

Savor the days with my

23 ten-year-old treasures.

Just savor.

DEAR HOT DOG, by Mordecai Gerstein is a perfect book, then, for 2012. I discovered the book when I was serving as a First Round Cybils judge. DEAR HOT DOG was selected as a finalist in our category, and fellow judge and Poetry Friday participant, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, from The Poem Farm, wrote a beautiful synopsis for the CYBILS website:

Full of gratitude, this collection renews a reader’s appreciation for the stuff we touch and use each day, stuff that just might have feelings of its own. From morning through evening, Gerstein speaks to and about humble things, elevating them through observation and questions. We come to see that autumn leaves are really wearing Halloween costumes and hear a toothbrush “gargling your little song.” A cup “puts a handle” on liquids and a hot dog is “snug as a puppy in your bready bun. For the first time, we wonder where light goes in the darkness.

By celebrating daily objects, this delightful tribute offers readers of all ages a way to see our own lives – with whimsy, wonder, and thankfulness for the small stuff of our own lives.

Here is the title poem:

HOT DOG

Dear hot dog,

snug as a puppy

in your bread bun,

I love you.

I squeeze the sunny

mustard

up and down

your ticklish tummy,

and cover you up

with relish and a blanket

of crimson ketchup.

You are so fragrant,

plump, and steamy.

I could

eat

you

up.

Mordecai Gerstein

(In the book it's really printed in two columns, the first ten lines on the left hand side, the last ten on the right, but I can't figure out how to make blogspot do that, my apologies to Mr. Gerstein).

I will be pairing this book with another favorite "savoring" book, dear world, by Takayo Noda.

Poetry Friday is at A Teaching Life. Thanks for hosting, Tara!

Savor the day!

POETRY FRIDAY

As a little girl, one of my favorite parts of summer was going to the bookmobile at the parking lot of the Albertson's Grocery Store (I know, a total book nerd thing to admit!). Every Monday afternoon, Mrs. Holly, who was as wide as the aisle of the beloved book van, would welcome us to paradise, my memories are much like those that I found in this photograph of this Brooklyn bookmobile. Mrs. Holly knew my name, knew my tastes as a reader, and would set aside books she thought I would like. I would check out as many as she'd let me take, and sometimes sneak a few extras on my sisters' cards, then I'd head home, set for the week.

Earlier this week I discovered "The Bookmobile" by Linda Sutphen in an article on the Choice Literacy website.

"Bookmobile"

by Joyce Sutphen

…Even when it arrives, I have to wait.

The librarian is busy, getting out

the inky pad and the lined cards.

I pace back and forth in the line,

hungry for the fresh bread of the page,

because I need something that will tell me

what I am…

Read the rest of the poem here.

Read an interview of Joyce Sutphen, Poet Laureate of Minnesota, here.

The article where I first read the poem is a "must read" for teachers, librarians, and anyone who cares about kids and literacy. You can find it on the CHOICE LITERACY website, which is one of my favorite sources for professional learning.

And here is the Vicki Vinton's blog, where the piece originally appeared.

Poetry Friday is at Teaching Authors.

POETRY FRIDAY- A FEW FOUND POEMS

This week, I am unpacking a few of the boxes of books, that have been in the corner of my bedroom for about three months. Unfortunately, unpacking books, for me, often involves more reading than unpacking, and that is pretty much what has happened this time. Ran across Anne LaMott's PLAN B: FURTHER THOUGHTS ON FAITH, which I loved the first time. LaMott's brand of Christianity is about as shiny, and pious, and squeaky clean as mine, which is to say it's none of those things, at all. Anyway, I decided to make found poems…

"Through this Craziness"

"How are we

going to get through

this craziness?"

I asked Father Tom.

There was

silence.

For a moment.

Left foot,

right foot,

left foot,

breathe.

I don't know

who can lead us away

from the craziness

and barbarity.

But I know

that in the desert

you stay out

of the blistering sun.

You go out

during the early morning

and in the cool

of the evening.

You seek

oasis

shade

safety

refreshment.

In the desert

you stay out

of the blistering sun.

************

"Saying Goodbye"

After the loss of her dog, Sadie:

It still hurts

sometimes,

to have lost Sadie.

She was like

the floating garlands

sculptor Andy Goldsworthy

made in the documentary

Rivers and Tides:

yellow and red and green leaves,

connected to one another with thorns,

floating away

in the current

swirling

drifting back

toward the shore

getting cornered

in eddies,

drifting free again.

All along

you know

that they will disperse

once they are out

of your vision,

but they will never be gone entirely

because you saw them.

****************

"Bulbs"

Planting bulbs

always sounds

like a romantic and fun thing to do

but it never is.

The earth is rocky

and full of roots,

it's clay.

It seems doomed

and polluted

yet you dig little holes

for ugly

shrivelled bulbs,

throw in a handful of poppy seeds,

and cover everything over,

and you know

you'll never see them again--

it's death

and clay

and shrivel.

Your hands

are nicked

from the rocks

your nails

are black

with the soil.

December and January

are so grim…

Yet in spring

daffodils

and poppies

are waiting

in the wings.

POETRY FRIDAY is at Julie Larios' THE DRIFT RECORD.

POETRY FRIDAY

I'm a first round judge for the CYBILS poetry category. For the past six weeks, I've been reading and rereading about thirty poetry books that have been published in the last year. One of those books is REQUIEM: POEMS OF THE TEREZIN GHETTO by Paul Janezcko. In an afterword, Janezcko gives readers background about Terezin, a concentration camp, located on the banks of the Ohre River.

(Terezin) became home for the Jewish intellectuals and artists of Prague. As a result, it became a prison in which the arts were tolerated, then encouraged, as a Nazi propaganda tool. Classical music and opera were commonplace, despite the horrors and cruelty of captivity. Lectures were delivered in attics and basements of the barracks. Most of these activities were allowed by the Nazis, who saw these artistic events as proof that they were treating the Jews humanely and allowing their culture to flourish. The reality of the situation was, of course, quite the opposite. Musicians who performed beautifully one night were packed into cattle cars the next, transported to the gas chambers.

Each of the 35 poems in the book is told by different fictional character, either a prisoner or German guard. The poems, sparse and haunting, illustrated by actual pencil sketches and watercolors from inmates, help me to remember and care. They would be perfect for a middle or high school social studies unit on the Holocaust.

"Wilfred Becker/34507"

When Otto's number was called,

Eva wept.

She would go with him.

Insisted.

They would have one more night

together.

She traded half a loaf of bread

for two hours

in a kumbal with a curtain.

Otto asked if I would play

my violin.

"I would be honored, my friend."

"Can you play Johann Strauss?"

I smiled. "I am German, am I not?"

So it was on that frigid night

I played waltzes for them.

"The Blue Danube"

"Where the Lemons Bloom"

"Youthful Dreams"

All played softly

notes like stars.

When they pulled back the curtain

and nodded to me,

I bowed

and played a final waltz.

- Paul Janezcko

Poetry Friday is at Dori Reads

POETRY FRIDAY

Welcome! Come in! Poetry Friday is here today. Sorry to be slow putting up the initial post-- I had power cord issues yesterday and had to make a quick run to the Apple store last night after my son's basketball game! Thank heaven for extended holiday shopping hours!

Thought long and hard about what to do for POETRY FRIDAY today. Everyone is always so amazing and clever and brilliant and um, well, poetic. Sometimes I am some of those things, but sometimes, (maybe most of the time), I am well, um, I guess the best word to describe me is um, maybe I should just say ordinary…Finally decided I would not worry about being clever or wonderful this week, I would just be my plain old ordinary unpoetic self and put up links to a few poems I have loved this week.

First, there's a poem about perseverance. I'm the mom of two teenage boys, and they are great guys, but sometimes, well, sometimes, you just gotta persevere. This is an old poem, but I just found it this week. I loved it and am going to share it with my fourth graders today. We have been talking about perseverance all year, and I think they will enjoy this as a companion to Langston Hughes' "Mother to Son," which is one of their favorites.

"Keep a-going"

When it looks like all is up,
Keep a-goin'!
Drain the sweetness from the cup,
Keep a-goin'!
See the wild birds on the wing,
Hear the bells that sweetly ring,
When you feel like sighin', sing --
Keep a-goin'!

**************

Next, there's a poem for teachers. Kate Messner is a middle school teacher AND an author (you really need to know MARTY MCGUIRE, THE BRILLIANT FALL OF GIANNA Z, and her newest OVER AND UNDER THE SNOW). A while back she wrote a poem that I loved. I read it, then kind of forgot about it, then another friend posted it on Facebook this week.

Revolution for the Tested

Write.

But don’t write what they tell you to.
Don’t write formulaic paragraphs
Counting sentences as you go
Three-four-five-Done.
Put your pencil down.

Don’t write to fill in lines.
For a weary scorer earning minimum wage
Handing out points for main ideas
Supported by examples
From the carefully selected text.

Write for yourself.
Write because until you do,
You will never understand
What it is you mean to say
Or who you want to be.
Write because it makes you whole.

Kate Messner

Read the rest of the poem at Kate's website.

And finally, after a crazy week, here is a poem I found just yesterday at one of my favorite websites, "Your Daily Poem."

.

"Oo Ee Oo Ah Ah"

…I'd need to remember

how silliness

saves the world

at least some of the time

ting ting walla walla bing bang

Mary Ann Hurt

Read the rest of this poem at Your Daily Poem.

May you have a day full of ting ting walla wall bing bang!

Poetry Friday will be kind of um, intermittent-- i'll post the early folks before I head off to school (I teach fourth grade), then will have to do another big post after work tonight…

BIRDS OF A FEATHER-JANE YOLEN

Don Graves, my all-time favorite most important teacher ever, always said that poets and scientists have a lot in common, because both force us look at the world so closely, and through whole different eyes. I think of Don's comments often, and I was definitely thinking about them this week as I was reading Jane Yolen's book, BIRDS OF A FEATHER.

The book opens with a foreword by Dr. Donald Kroodsma, who says, "As an ornithologist obsessed with the details in the daily lives of birds, I know these eagles and chickadees and kingfishers…But after absorbing the poems and photographs here, I'll never see these birds again in the same way…"

BIRDS OF A FEATHER is a collection of 14 different two-page spreads, each about a different kind of bird, written by Jane and illustrated with Jason Stemple's gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous, nature photography. Some of the poems, like "Haiku for a Cool Kingfisher" are playful. Listen:

Hey, girl, fish lover,

Sitting on the dead gray tree,

Love the blue mohawk.

Or how about Yolen's play on words in "Terns Galore"

"At the seaside, terns galore,

One tern, one tern, one tern more.

I tern. You tern…"

In each poem, Yolen captures the spirit of that particular bird. I love this description of from"Rufous-Sided Towhee."

"As if the painter had run out

Of ordinary brown,

Mixing what little was left

With a bit of orange…"

Each two-page spread also contains an inset box with interesting facts about that bird. Did you know, for instance, that "a black-capped chickadee is a hoarder that hides sides and other foods, each in a different place, and that days and weeks later the chickadee can remember all of these hiding places? Or that a "kingfisher kills or stuns a larger fish by thwacking it against a tree branch or perch?"

And did I mention that each two-page spread has an absolutely magnificent closeup photograph of that bird. The light and shadows and details and lines had me looking and looking and looking again. I'd love to hang the photos on this book in my living room!

Can't wait to share this one with my fourth graders- First, they will flove Yolen's poetry. Secondly, BIRDS will teach kids not only about the different species, but also about how to observe like scientists. Also, they will learn much about the writing of poetry. And then there is the whole realm of art and photography…

POETRY FRIDAY today is at Heidi Mordhort's my juicy little universe

The foreword

POETRY FRIDAY

"To Failure"

Philip Larkin

You do not come dramatically, with dragons

That rear up with my life between their paws

And dash me butchered down beside the wagons,

The horses panicking; nor as a clause

Clearly set out to warn what can be lost,

What out-of-pocket charges must be borne,

Expenses met; nor as a draughty ghost

That’s seen, some mornings, running down a lawn.

Read the rest of the poem here.

Poetry Friday is at JAMA'S ALPHABET SOUP.

POETRY FRIDAY

As much as I hate to admit it, I am a football mama. From the end of July until November, the sport pretty much consumes our lives. And while I don't like, at all, thinking about concussions, altered body parts, etc., I love watching my boys' passion and energy on the field. I love watching my two captains grasp arms and stride to the center of the field for the coin toss. Love watching #26's strength and speed as he twists down the field and and breaks for the end zone. Love watching this guy, who wouldn't put two sentences together in a conversation in the classroom, talk to reporters in post game interviews. Love his (slightly damp) stinky post game hugs. And I love watching #15, my quarterback, as he throws the ball all the way down the field. Love watching him as he scrambles and takes risks and tries the moves he worked all summer to perfect. Love watching my junior mentor the freshman quarterback on the sidelines.

It's hard to find good football poems (in fact, after years of searching, I would venture to say there are very few). This one showed up on "YOUR DAILY POEM" a week or two ago. I'm not sure if it's actually about football, in fact I think it's probably about soccer, but it captures the spirit of football, and it's in the public domain, and it gives me a chance to share a picture of my two gorgeous guys (also their older brother and nephew) …

"Football Season"

Author Unknown

O wild kaleidoscopic panorama of jaculatory arms and legs.
The twisting, twining, turning, tussling, throwing, thrusting, throttling, tugging, thumping, the tightening thews.
The tearing of tangled trousers, the jut of giant calves protuberant.
The wriggleness, the wormlike, snaky movement and life of it;
The insertion of strong men in the mud, the wallowing, the stamping with thick shoes;
The rowdyism, and élan, the slugging and scraping, the cowboy Homeric ferocity.
(Ah, well kicked, red legs! Hit her up, you muddy little hero, you!)
The bleeding noses, the shins, the knuckles abraded:
That’s the way to make men! Go it, you border ruffians, I like ye.

POETRY FRIDAY is at GREAT KID BOOKS.

POETRY FRIDAY- A FUNERAL IN THE BATHROOM- KALLI DAKOS

As a teacher, I have long marveled at bathroom issues. Schools that make teachers take group bathroom breaks. Schools that don't allow group bathroom breaks. Kids that want to go every five minutes. Kids that wait until the last possible second and then have to run all the way down the hall. Kids that ask to of and don't come back until you send a search party. Kids that can make their own private water parks in five minutes or less. Kids that create art galleries or anatomy lessons on bathroom walls with a single half-broken red crayon…

And now children's poet Kalli Dakos has written an entire book of bathroom poems!

Some of the poems are silly…

"Meet Me in the Bathroom"

Meet me in the bathroom,

right at two o'clock.

You leave your class,

I'll leave mine

we'll have a chance to talk…"

"Trapped in the Bathroom"

I'm trapped in the bathroom.

What rotten luck!

Right at recess,

with a door that is stuck…"

"The Bathroom Dance"

We

do

the

wiggle

jiggle

do-si-doh……

cross our legs,

hold our pants,

we all know,

the Bathroom Dance!"

Some of the poems are serious…

"Laughing Machine"

Jarrod says my nose

is big enough for two heads,

so I go to the bathroom

to check…"

"There Should be a Place Kids Can Go"

There should be a place

kids can go

when life has dealt

another blow…"

I think these are all poems that kids are going to love! Can't wait to share them with my fourth graders at our Poetry Friday meeting this morning.

Poetry Friday is at Anastasia Suen's Picture Book of the Day.

POETRY FRIDAY

Moving In

My computer was in the shop, so I've been away from blogging for a couple of weeks. Next week I'm starting school, (officially anyway), back in my own classroom after many years of central administration, school administration, and literacy coaching. I'm excited to be back doing what I love most, but also very nervous. Not sure I even remember what to do the first day…

I have decided that this poem will be my "theme song" for the year.

God Says Yes To Me

Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is…

Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

READ THE MIDDLE OF THE POEM AT POETRY 180.

Libby is hosting POETRY FRIDAY at A YEAR OF LITERACY COACHING.

POETRY FRIDAY

For more than a decade, I have been a literacy coach, assistant principal, or district curriculum specialist. This year, I will be teaching fourth grade. I'm really excited about having my own classroom, but also more than a little nervous. Do I still remember how to set up a classroom? Can I keep track of all of the details teachers have to remember? Do I still know how to teach math?

Poetry Friday is one ritual I know we are going to have. I have lots of great poetry books (not to mention files and files and files of loose poetry!) but I'm always on the lookout for more. This week at Tattered Cover (Denver's independent bookstore), I found a book that's new to me.

WEIRD? ME TOO! LET'S BE FRIENDS is a collection of poems about friendship. There are poems about making friends, sharing ice cream, fighting, and making up. There are lots of poems for two voices and even one for four. And on many of the pages, Sara has kind of a "conversation" with kids, leaving a line or two of suggestion about a poem they might want to try.

The poem I chose for today is not the most "kid-dish" poem in the book. It's probably not even the first one I would share with kids. I just loved this poem because it kind of captures what some folks have done for me in this time of transition.

Walking On

the Boundaries of Change

Sara Holbrook

Day by day

a tightrope,

walking on the boundaries

of change.

One step--

firm, familiar.

The next step--

shaky, strange.

Some friends will

mock or push each step.

Some friends

knock your confidence.

Real friends

form a net.

Elaine, at Wild Rose Reader, is hosting Poetry Friday today.