April 2023 – Authors Take Action #ClimatePoemProject

I’m participating in the Authors Take Action #ClimatePoemProject. You can find links to climate poetry prompts from your favorite children’s authors, poets, and Poetry Friday bloggers right here. 🡠

Today, we’re going to write an invitation poem about something in nature.

Here is an invitation that Mary Oliver wrote asking her readers to take time to enjoy the goldfinches:

“Invitation” by Mary Oliver

Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy

and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,
to see who can sing
the highest note,
or the lowest,

Read the rest of Mary’s poem here.

Choose something in nature. It can be outside (a favorite tree, an insect, an animal) or inside (a plant, a spider, a fly, a pet). Take a moment to really see it and be grateful for it. Then we’ll use part of Mary Oliver’s poem to get us started.

My poem

“The Ants”

Oh do you have time out of your busy and very important day
for the ants, the black ants in their colony
that have come up foraging for food
in a dart-dashing, run-rushing hurry

 

Your turn – You can copy the following and finish your poem:

Oh do you have time out of your busy and very important day
for the
that have
in

 

If you’re doing the #ClimatePoemProject with a group, be sure to share or post your rough draft, read other people’s poems, and cheer for their efforts. Or leave your poem here, in the comments.

Denise Krebs is an educator and writer who lives in the Mojave Desert in California, where she enjoys ants, quail, road runners, rabbits and squirrels in her yard. She has written poems with students from Kindergarten through adults. She is also the co-author of The Genius Hour Guidebook. She likes to hike, crochet, read, cook, bake, write, and play with her grandson.

 

Dreaming for N & L

It’s been 57 years since my father died too young. I remember Thomas today by thinking of his children and their future fullness, which right now may seem impossible.

when a father dies too young
our world stops and trembles
emptiness around and among
when a father dies too young
our favorites left unsung
but life’s fullness reassembles
when a father dies too young
our world stops and trembles

Poetry Friday – For Milo and Jane

Thank you Tanita S. Davis at {fiction, instead of lies} for hosting the Poetry Friday community today. Read her post about the seed of hope a garden can bring even during these tough times, her developing process of writing poetry and their changes, and a poetry challenge for the end of March.

I tried a haiku in Spanish today, written about my dear baby’s baby, who has been visiting us this week, but will be leaving Friday:

Ay, mi nieto
precioso, hoy no quiero
decirte adiós

Oh, my precious
grandson, Today I don’t want
to tell you goodbye

~Denise Krebs

I read a poem this week by Kate Rushin: “Meditations on Generations.” The first stanza reminded me of my sweet grandson (as well as so many other babies and toddlers I have loved over my lifetime).

However, Kate Rushin’s poem goes on, after this stanza, to describe something so deplorable that I can’t quit thinking of Jane. I find myself grieving for her and “all of the girls and women who were bought, sold, lost, forced, coerced, confused, misnamed…” Because of Rushin’s matter-of-fact language, piercing questions, and rich details, I will keep thinking about Jane long after today. What a world we live in, what a history we have! We must not neglect to talk about it and teach it to the next generation. Read the rest of “Meditations on Generations” poem here.

February Open Write Poetry

Fables, Fairy Tales, Folktales–Oh, My! with Stacey Joy

All dressed up
And no one knows
The foolishness inside.
Interim wisdom shows

But once mouth opens
And words tumble out
The ass is revealed
Stupidity, now no doubt
 
Inspiration from: The Ass in the Lion’s Skin and a proverb:
Even fools are thought wise when they keep silent;
with their mouths shut, they seem intelligent.
Proverbs 17:28

 

Me, Too with Britt Decker

I’m sure I’m not the only one who

  • chooses the front row at conferences
  • raises my hand to be the needed volunteer
  • does a double take when seeing a sunset
  • cleans my plate at every meal
  • doesn’t drink coffee or alcohol (that makes me the permanent designated driver)
  • can be interrupted and switch gears automatically
  • edits anything and everything I read or see
  • can listen to one thing while reading another
  • thinks some people talk too much
  • lives life as a young person in an old body

 

Lift and Line and Make it Golden with Stacey Joy

I loved reading Giovanni’s “Kidnap” poem–those last lines where kid and nap are separated is fun. James Weldon Johnson is a favorite; he lifts my spirit, even with this line I chose, “God of our silent tears” from James Weldon Johnson’s “Lift Every Voice and Sing”

God, are you there? It’s me, Denise
of endless hope, but thinking
our world teeters on the brink. Do not be
silent. Please, come and change our
tears into joyous laughter.

Another golden shovel is from Jimmy Carter’s “Considering the Void”: “an infinity of suns”

an earth of time brings an
infinity of stories–pleas
of possibility,
suns of soul

 

Written on a Shirt with Britt Decker

Why does this sweatshirt say Alcaraz?
It’s Alcatraz Island–the prison,
you know, in San Francisco bay.
Oh, I thought of Albert Alcaraz,
grade six, my first crush.
Nope.
Ok, that’s fine. I’ll take it.

 

Etheree with Stacey Joy

Run,
Children,
Sense and know–
Wild and loathed things,
Turn to the sun and
Dance on the rainswept days,
Someday you’ll see those who have
No voice, they’ll need someone, and you’ll
Remember your loves, all your years of
Tending the fragile; you will be the one.

Inspired by Nicolette Sowder’s poem “Wilder Bond

Poetry Friday – All Three Homes

Today the Poetry Friday roundup is hosted by Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference.

Last week, I enjoyed reading Ruth Bowen Hersey’s poem “Snow Moon.” She speaks of viewing the Snow Moon, knowing that her grown children were seeing the same moon many time zones away from her place in Uganda. In case you missed it, you can read her poem here. Her poem inspired mine today.

All Three Homes

Three homes far away
My two grown daughters
Living well
Building their families
In Minneapolis
In Seattle
And us in southern California

We miss the privilege of proximity
No Stop-by-for-coffee-s
No Can-you-help-me-this-afternoon-s

But some days we inhabit a small world,

Like when we all fear for and pray for
Syria and Türkiye,
Ukraine,
Palestine and
East Palestine, Ohio.

Or when we all see the same Snow Moon in February.

Or, like today, when we all have snow
At three homes far away.

 

To close, here is a sweet poem by Naomi Shihab Nye, “Famous”:

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

Read the whole poem here.

 

Poetry Friday – Without Poetry

Molly at Nix the Comfort Zone is rounding up the Poetry Friday posts this week. Enjoy her lovely poem about winter trees. Thank you, Molly.

It’s been five months to the day since my blog has been around here. Time flies, and I’ve missed you all and, I’ve missed poetry in my life. So here’s to poetry, and I hope I’m back.

This week I read, for the first time, Audre Lorde’s essay, “Poetry is Not a Luxury.” It is a good antiracist piece to read for Black History Month, and beyond. You can find the short piece here in PDF form. Here are some quotes that spoke to me today.

For women, then, poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest external horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives.

Right now, I could name at least ten ideas I would have once found intolerable or incomprehensible and frightening, except as they came after dreams and poems.

Poetry is not only dream or vision, it is the skeleton architecture of our lives.

The white fathers told us, I think therefore I am; and the black mothers in each of us–the poet–whispers in our dreams, I feel therefore I can be free.

Our poems formulate the implications of ourselves, what we feel within and dare make real (or bring action into accordance with), our fears, our hopes, our most cherished terrors.

~by Andre Lorde from “Sister Outsider: essays and speeches” page 36. Published by Crossing Press, 1985.

On Being Without Poetry

My poetry was paralyzed
So news events hit oversized
Royal family code vaporized
November’s red wave unrealized
Classified docs getting analyzed
House decorum animalized
Severe earthquake terrorized
Twitter execs scrutinized
UFO blastings authorized
Inane inquisitions formalized
Truth and impartiality despised
Reasonable reckoning pulverized
Justice and morality compromised

Too much news without poetry
Thoughts emphasized
Feelings minimized

But now the poetic truth
Realized
Crystallized

News is more bearable
After
Dreams
And poems

~By Denise Krebs
12 February 2023

Even though most poetry has been absent, I did enjoy a tiny taste over the past few months. If you haven’t already, you might want to follow these sweet tastes of poetry shared at poetryisnotaluxury:

 

View this profile on Instagram

 

@poetryisnotaluxury • Instagram photos and videos

You can follow another account to learn more about Audre Lorde and how, even in death, she continues to bring people together in community. The Audre Lorde Project

 

View this profile on Instagram

 

Audre Lorde Project (@audrelordeproject) • Instagram photos and videos

 

Open Write “Do You Remember?” 21st of September 2022

Today is the 21st of September. The prompt is “Do You Remember?” with Susan Ahlbrand. Do check it out, and see all the forms she has pointed us to.

And take a moment to listen to Earth, Wind, and Fire singing “September.”

I thought of the 21st of June and wrote a nonet about the birth of my grandson.

Remember the first day of summer?
Just two drove to the hospital
Your dad stayed home with Covid
Breathe, push, rest, repeat. You
arrived, perfectly
untroubled by
viruses,
Babe at
peace

A Slice of Hope

20 September 2022 TwoWritingTeachers.org

This week it is time for Ethical ELA’s Open Write. It’s a five-day poetry writing bonanza. There are always great prompts, classroom-ready for you to glean from. Please join us today and tomorrow, if you are so inclined.  Visit here, all are welcome.

Today’s prompt was “This But Not That” by Susan Ahlbrand. I wrote about Hope, as I often do, like here and here.

Hope
(After some literary friends)

Hope is a thing with feathers
But not a broken-winged bird that cannot fly
Hope is not a feathered frenzy
Dropped in a pot of boiling water

Hope is a tree of life
Taller and fuller; yes, taller than we ever dreamed possible
Not a stunted, stingy, small-minded shrub

Hope is a smile from the depths of cold December
Not filled with regrets—
Not a sea of stories, excuses to drown in

Hope is good and honest and worth the wait
Hope is not a white-washed façade called good

Hope is a shelter of rest and safety
Not a storm without a Captain

Hope is dark night with a sky full of stars
Hope is not bright daylight (when the same stars
are there but unknowable)

Hope is improbable beautiful,
Afraid of nothing
Like a bird that sings and never stops at all

They called to Hope, “This could
have been about anything,
but it’s about hope”

Now there’s a glimmer
A hint of hope


In order of appearance above…

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
― Emily Dickinson

Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.
–Langston Hughes

(…of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
e.e.cummings

Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering ‘it will be happier’
–Alfred Lord Tennyson

All human wisdom is contained in these words, ‘Wait and Hope.’
–Alexandre Dumas

You will be secure, because there is hope; you will look about you and take your rest in safety.
–Job 11:18

Only in the darkness can you see the stars.
–Martin Luther King

I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings.”
–Mary Oliver

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
― Emily Dickinson