Balmy day
they said.
I shiver in my sweater, wondering
if the air in my classroom is actually warm.
Outside, clouds climb the mountain
I wish I were in front of a fire,
clutching a cup of cocoa,
wrapped in a blanket and your arms.
.
.
.
(Let’s hope spring will come soon. I am weary of winter weather).
Plugged.
Beats stop.
He drops.
Brain dies.
One heart broken
So many hearts grieve.
A Valentine’s Day massacre of our joy.
.
.
RIP Rob
barriers to the outside
secrets
distance
privacy
safety
at a cost of claustrophobia
these walls close in
while we huddle
masking our smiles
nervous
hidden thoughts.
Another demo pantoum poem written with my Creative Writing students today. This one demonstrates the power of this form, as small shifts can alter or intensify meaning. The kids weren’t in the mood to write at the beginning, but by the second stanza they were laughing and engaged as we looked for rhymes that worked.
I don’t want to write a poem today
I’m too tired to use my brain
The thought fills me with dismay
Poems make me insane
I’m too tired to use my brain
My mind is feeling foggy
Poems make me insane
My eyes are getting soggy
My mind is feeling foggy
Can I just return to bed?
My eyes are getting soggy
My heart is filled with dread
I’ll just return to bed
I’m much too tired to think
My heart is filled with dread
My life is on the brink
I’m much too tired to think
If my feelings are uncaged
My life is on the brink
The words won’t fill the page
When my feelings are uncaged
all the thoughts bring me dismay
Words will over-fill the page
I can’t write a poem today
There is your name
on the attendance list.
Absent: excused
Parents called in.
Today my class is learning about the PANTOUM poetry form, while in the US, protesters have broken into congress amid riots, so here’s our demo pantoum.
Throw me a line
What’s going on?
I need a sign
Sanity’s gone
What’s going on?
There’s all this shouting
Sanity’s gone
The laws they’re flouting
There’s all this shouting
Is there any hope?
The laws they’re flouting
This filth needs some soap
Is there any hope?
My heart is afraid
This filth needs some soap
A nation’s betrayed
My heart is afraid.
Will the people declare
Their nation’s betrayed?
Does anyone care?
Will the people declare
this is the sign?
Will anyone care
to throw us a line?
creating ourselves means choosing
if I want to be a person whose home is full of original art
I must begin by buying supporting artists
if I want to be a person who is confident enough to wear red lipstick
I must put the lipstick on my lips.
If I want to be a person who dances in the rain
I must head outside during the storm.
Whatever I desire
I must dare.
Someone has to care enough
to do the grunt work.
Haul up the tree
Heave. Grunt.
Whip up the shortbread.
Beat. Grunt.
Dig out the toboggans, drive to the hill.
Wheeee! Grunt.
Cook the turkey. Shop. Wrap the presents.
Grunt
Grunt
Grunt.
Some years the off-stage magicians are silent,
but this year you can hear us
grunt.
Those best laid plans
family coming from afar
creating traditions, warm hearts,
remembering those lost this year.
Everything is ready here, gifts piled up
waiting for wrapping.
Public health says stay home.
We must be lonely holiday islands.
There’s no time for parcels to arrive by the
assigned festive day
amid the mail delivery crisis.
No one to gather around our table.
So everything will be different.
We must make something new, a Zoom festivity?
Re-thinking that nativity when a stable had to do,
just like for the Holy Family, things don’t always go
according to
our best laid plans.
I am awoken (What now?!)
by roaring outside
rasping, growling, rushing creature.
Oh, damn, I think, as I return to sleep.
The plow.
