Short and (bitter?) sweet

Don't read too much (if anything) into this, anybody. But it came spilling out this morning (no editing, no nothing), and it takes care of today's entry before I have to work the track meet tonight, so that's good.

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die,
And where you invest your love, you invest your life.

- Awake My Soul, Mumford & Sons

Pros and Cons

The lists, like the fears,
grow uncontrollably.

Stomach sinks, tears fall,
but the head and the heart
know what must be done.

April 7th, 2011

Cop-out #1

Well, it's day 6... and I'm going to have to use one of my cheats already. At least this time it was due to a happy evening full of awesome food and exceedingly awesome company. So now it's getting late and nothing is finished (including my grading... that can wait), but I got an excellent recommendation for filling today's space.

It's a Mary Oliver poem that sounds far more depressing than it is - after a couple of reads, it actually becomes quite empowering and even relevant to some of the bigger life questions I've been contemplating recently. I hope you enjoy it, too.



When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.



http://www.panhala.net/Archive/When_Death_Comes.html

Stoplight

Another crazy day, another short and previously finished poem. This one came out last fall, sitting across the street from a stoplight as I struggled to balance my new responsibilities as a teacher with midterm responsibilities as a grad student (a pursuit I swear I have only temporarily put on hold). I still can't say I've found my center of gravity exactly, but it does feel good to look back and say "well, at least I don't have to deal with feeling like THAT anymore."


I envy the simplicity of life as a traffic light.
If someone fucks up on your watch, it’s their own fault, not yours.
Smugly laugh and carry on with your day, counting down to nothing.
No responsibilities, just green, yellow, red, repeat.

October 10, 2010

It's the little things...

Crazy day at work... I don't want to get into it. But it means I brought a lot of work home tonight, so today's poem has to be short, sweet, and already finished. This idea and half a line had been sitting idle in my notebook since around this time last year but had never developed, so the other day I set it free by turning it into a haiku.

Basically, I'm a big dork. Duh. And when I dorkily worked at the library, I would oftentimes have to take big carts of books upstairs and put them away. This required using an elevator. By myself. And what does a dork like me do in an elevator on her own? Crank up the iPod and DANCE.


Elevator dance -
book truck will never tell, but
makes a poor partner.

April 1st, 2011

Country Mouse and City Mouse

The third picture could have taken me in many different directions; remembering my past as a child of the Dakotas, or speaking about being drawn back to my Kansas roots, or some combination of the two. But when I sat down to really look at this picture, I couldn't help but feel like the farmer was experiencing a moment of blissful freedom - and that was certainly something I could relate to.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, A. and I made the decision that I should keep my apartment in Lawrence for another year. Many of my friends and co-workers have stared at me, wide-eyed, insisting that this is a huge mistake, and do I really want to keep making this ridiculous drive, and I could be so much closer to work and to A. ... but sitting here in the quiet of a warm and windy spring morning with windows open wide, I know I made the right choice. Although my second home is in midtown KC, Sunday mornings there never smell this amazing or feel this peaceful. Maybe I should just show the naysayers this poem.


Metropolitan Claustrophobia

You have taught me to appreciate
being wrapped, not only in your arms,
but in the busy, noisy rhythm
of your beloved city.

I see, now, how a place so tightly packed
can also be open and loving,
and that sounds of happiness
can drown out the sirens.

But like a northern Dixie Chick,
I need my wide open spaces

where, eating breakfast,
all you can hear is the wind
and the crunch of granola.

I breathe easier
when my left elbow hangs out the window
(far more naturally than yours)
and my bass beats loudly –
not to impress, but because
I assume no one else will hear.

I am from the city, too,
but in my city, I could always see the sky,
smell the earth, and hear the changes of the weather.
Open prairie is an undeniable part of me, even now.
So though it pains me each time I leave you,
nothing beats the freedom of coming home.

April 3rd, 2011

A night at the K

I chose the second picture in an effort to reach some of my sports-obsessed boys, and sure enough - there were happy exclamations and looks of relief on many faces in my 5th hour, which I regularly compare to a frat house. (19 boys and 6 girls, right before lunch. There is a lot of discussion centered on food, action movies, and Call of Duty. Heaven help me.) There was also a lot of eye rolling from those who initially saw no way to relate to the picture, but I encouraged them to think about what else could be going on in the stadium or to write about how they DON'T like sports. I thought that I, too, might struggle with this one since I don't particularly care for baseball, until I remembered...

Last summer, I moved. Goodbye craphole student ghetto apartment, hello palace on the west side. (I'm very happy to report that I signed an extension on my lease last weekend, so the palace and I will have another year together and I'm guaranteed another TWO summers in Lawrence!) Obviously, I was going to need some help moving, so my dad drove down to assist with the heavy lifting. It's a long drive, so he stayed for several days and there was the obvious obligation to spend some of that time with the grandparents as well. So Grandma hooked us all up with cheap Price Chopper tickets to see the Royals because Grandpa wanted to show off the new renovations at the K (as if he had done them himself or something...).

It was mid-July, and I had only been dating A. for a little over a month at this point. But being the patient, open-minded good sport he is, he was completely willing to come along for the crazy ride that is an evening with my relatives. So Grandma Price Choppered an extra ticket, and we all had a great night watching the Royals do their thing (lose). It was buck night AND fireworks night, and the peoplewatching was truly excellent. It's a special memory for me because it was one of the first (of many) times that A. and I discovered our ability to make ANYTHING fun when we're in it together (ask me about our UFC fights experience sometime). So, I'm happy to remember a bit of that evening in a poem.

Anticipation

Players perch on the edge of their collective seat,
expectantly eyeing the pitcher
whose back is turned to the runner
sneaking onto third.
High above, where noses are meant to bleed,
we lean back and laugh at our surroundings
as my hand sneaks into yours,
hidden from less sharp yet equally expectant eyes.

April 2nd, 2011

National Poetry Month

Alright, folks. Now is as good a time as any to jump back on the poetry horse. It's the first day of April, so in addition to being a day where students try to put rubber mice on my desk and electrocute me with "broken" pens, it is the first day of National Poetry Month. It has also been one year (minus a few days) since I first started this blog and one year (plus a few days) since a good friend pushed me back into the poetry pool. This year, another good friend has challenged herself to write a poem every day this month, and I think I'm going to crash that party and attempt to do the same.

Looking through my notebook, there are lots of ideas and half-poems I could finish if I gave them the time and attention, so that's a good place to start. If my crazy life overwhelms me again, I am at least going to fall back on posting a new (to me) poem I like on here each day so that I'm reading more. I may live to regret these words 30 days from now.

Here's a start: Today was scheduled to be a Writer's Workshop day in my classroom, so I made today's topic poetry. I told the kids about National Poetry Month, told them my personal goal of a poem every day, and read a few poems out loud. Then, we (yes, WE this time; I got to write too!) wrote three poems, each based on a picture. I told them to start with something easy like an acrostic poem if they didn't think of themselves as much of a poet, but many of them went above and beyond with free verse, limericks, haiku, etc. That's characteristic of this group (which has been wonderful for me as a first-year teacher), but it's still refreshing whenever it happens. Overall, today was a resounding success, so if nothing else, I can fill this weekend's slots with these three quick poems.

The first picture:

The first poem:

Crabby

Speckled carpet beneath my toes
doesn't stick like wet sand.
A feeble lamp is no replacement
for an absent sun,
and the smell in here
is far from fresh sea salt.
Freely wandering the patch of beach
on my whiteboard...
I envy the crab.

April 1st, 2011