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My effort to respond creatively to the news of the world continues; you can read about how Mary Lee started it all here. You're invited to scroll down to the previous week's minimalist commentaries --and of course, you're invited to join in. It wasn't clear to me at first, but the tiny discipline of having to craft a response rather than just banging the steering wheel and yelling has been empowering.
And from yesterday:
12.8
gold star winks out
leaving a long bright trail
greatness in orbit
Joining in this project are all the brave women below; I hope they will pardon me when, during the week, all I can manage is to Like their Tweeted haiku. It's good to work alongside you all!
Mary Lee Hahn at Poetrepository
Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche
Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
Buffy Silverman at Buffy's Blog
Jone Rush MacCulloch at DeoWriter
Diane Mayr, posted on Thursdays at Random Noodling
Julie Johnson at Raising Readers and Writers
Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core
Carol Varsalona at Beyond LiteracyLink
Carol Wilcox at Carol's Corner
Our hostess with the postest is Jone at Check It Out. She reminds us that haiku fits nicely on a postcard. And now, in other news...
I was delighted to join
Jacqueline Jules,
Marty Rhodes Figley and
Laura Murray on Dec. 1st for a holiday book launch at One More Page in Arlington, VA (what a delightful place). Here we are, festive and fierce with a bunch of fun books for holiday giving and receiving. Each book you see earns its place on the bookshelf, but if I may reveal all my biases:
every home with children needs a copy of One Minute till Bedtime!
To help celebrate the release of this beautiful book, contributor Jackie Hoskings has organized a blog tour! Please join the poets as we share a one-minute poem that didn't quite make it into the book. Dig Me
I open
at the end of your stick--
little dent in the dirt
I open
wider, deeper, darker—
a hole that might
shout out
the round echoes
of a grand canyon
or whisper
the small secrets of
the soil
©Heidi Mordhorst
By: Heidi Mordhorst,
on 10/28/2016
Blog:
my juicy little universe
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This is the hour of
Kenn Nesbitt! Our former Children's Poet Laureate has worked for more than two years with over 130 poets to produce one of the loveliest anthologies of poetry I've ever held in my hands. (As a contributor, I have already had this pleasure though the book release is not until November 1.) I think one of the big appeals of
One Minute Till Bedtime is that it feels distinctly old-fashioned.
The heft of the book, the feel of the dust jacket and the paper inside (smooth but not slick) contribute to this initial sensation. The hand-chalked title and cover illustration glow forth from a deep purple background.
Christoph Niemann's robust drawings build the feeling--they appear simple and straightforward but they carry (like good
writing for children) layers of imagination and emotion. And the poems inside, not all of which are sleepy or soft by any means, are
cozy nonetheless--they speak to the experiences that children have at home, in their early close relationships with people, objects and the creatures of the natural world. There's no flash, no high-tech, no gloss--just outstanding design and sensitive curation.
In a time of--would you agree with me?--global unrest, when anyone who is paying attention to the Big Picture must carry a sense of unease, this book is somehow comforting and reassuring. It confirms that the fundamental, ritual experience of going to bed with a story, poem or song shared in the voice of a beloved caregiver is alive and well.
So it's fitting that when Kenn was invited to an
interview over at Michelle Heidenrich Barnes's blog, he offered this challenge:
Write a poem for your mother. Write it for your mother and give it to her. It can be any kind of poem you like, as long as it’s especially for her. In my opinion, a poem is the best gift you can ever give someone. It doesn’t cost you anything but a little thought and time, and yet it will be treasured forever.
And fittingly enough, I have just such a gift poem in my archives! I posted it to the Ditty of the Month Club Padlet and now I share it with you here--a poem about precisely that experience I described above, of being rhymed and rhythmed, thrilled and calmed each morning, noon and night by the voice of my mother, Lila (nee Zingerline) Mordhorst.
A History of Your Voice
Mothers’ Day 2011
this little piggy stayed home
for so long we were
together all the time
together all alone
together all among
open the doors and see all the people
four gray geese in a flock
for so long you listened to every word I
began to say
forgot to say
dared to say
wire briar limber lock
we parted disintegrated
re membered recombined
apple seed and apple thorn
for so long now we are
winding threads
dropping threads
picking up threads
sit and sing by a spring
there were two old Indians crossing the Mississippi
ripping a seam here and there
putting right sides together
stitching further rivers
would you like to hear the rest?
© Heidi Mordhorst
The round-up for this Poetry Friday is with Linda at
TeacherDance. May you hear today in your travels the voice of someone who spoke to you with love at bedtime--and may we seek that for every child.
There's a gentle battle going on at our house...
I Defend a Habitually Rash Action to My Teenager
Yes, daughter, I let the cat out again.
It’s late summer and the world is
steaming with sunshine,
streaming with cloud and blossom
and voluptuous voles.
He is not wise but filled with the beastly miracle of himself,
filled with the urge to be out,
to make his foolish way.
(You know how he comes back after
two minutes or two days, stands at the threshold,
leans in, steps back, leans in,
then turns and bolts away?)
Yes, daughter, I know there are dangers
out there—sly foxes, cars that run so
silently we don’t hear them coming,
other cats who are not kind.
But I have no right to keep him in, happy
as he is in his carpeted climber, curled
in any of his many cozy corners, thrilled
as he is by his kibble.
He knows his instincts.
Disaster may await. Yes, daughter,
there might be sadness.
I slide the door open, and trust.
©Heidi Mordhorst 2016
I can only imagine what it will be like next year, when daughter is 18...
Our Poetry Friday round-up is with Julieann at
To Read To Write To Be, where her small commitment to GO AHEAD with poetry in the first days of school has inspired me!
 |
| draft (c) Heidi Mordhorst 2016 |
3 is the magic number,
bulging with possibilities.
One thing leads to another
and then another.
Beginning middle end.
3 has eyes to see and ears to hear.
3 purses its lips and
blows a kiss to the future.
Promise of wishes fulfilled.
********************
That's a less-than-one-minute poem that COULD have been (but isn't) in the forthcoming anthology
ONE MINUTE TILL BEDTIME, edited by Children's Poet Laureate Kenn Nesbitt. Instead a different tiny poem by me is included, along with many more "60-second poems to send you off to sleep."
I just love the cover illustration by Christoph Niemann, and I can't wait to see what other poems by our Poetry Friday friends are included. It comes out November 1 from Little Brown, just in time for winter gift-giving!
The Poetry Friday round-up is with Margaret at
Reflections on the Teche.
Ahhh....a snowy morning, a hot cup o' joe, and no school! Thanks, George & Abe!
I have the honor today of helping out my friend and Maryland neighbor with her annual February Write-Along Challenge. (Laura's kind of busy right now, with her NEW BOOK* set to come out in April.) This project goes by many names, and I'll let
Laura herself explain it thoroughly at her new blog, but the short version is:
one interesting prompt per day in February = one new poem per participant per day
Laura is very careful to let everyone know that perfect attendance is not a requirement for participation, although some do challenge themselves to that discipline. I'm in the other camp,
joining in when I can, but since today's prompt is the Found Object photo that I provided, I'll be working on my draft along with rounding up the responses of others today.
And let's be frank, shall we? Although each of us blasting out a poem a day may enjoy a blazing moment of transcendent poetic glory here and there, it will be a very rare poem shared that doesn't need some time to percolate and another few rounds of review and revision. Most of our responses are very definitely
drafts. But as I noted earlier, there is something liberating about just Going For It--conceiving a poem, typing it, cutting and pasting it and clicking to put it out there, all in under an hour. This practice exercises all kinds of muscles other than actual composition, doesn't it!?
Now, let's go find some transcendent poetic glory.
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Vanilla splashes
Flowery fingerprints
Cookie dough everywhere
Spoonful of chocolate chips
Magic baking on trays
The best part of all
Slurping leftover
Batter off fingers
From the mixing bowl
We're Grandma's
Little bakers
~ Jessica Bigi
*****************************************
*Laura's new book is
The Last Fifth Grade of Emerson Elementary and it's due out from Wendy Lamb Books on April 12. The book is enjoying a thrilling amount of pre-publicity, so pre-order now to make sure it's in your hands as soon as possible!
May your Valentine's Day be loaded with everything lovely, just like this baked potato...
which is the Found Object for Day 14 of Laura Shovan's February Poetry Challenge.
Loaded Language
"Does this potato come with any toppings?"
"Lady, that's a loaded question."
"Whoa, that baked potato must be loaded!
Look at his white stretch limo!"
"Get a load of Baked Potato--
she thinks she's so fancy in her cream-colored coat,
butter pat hat and her chives-and-cheese
statement necklace."
"Baked Potato's been down at Benny's Bar & Grill all night."
"Yep, he'll be heading home loaded again..."
© Heidi Mordhorst 2016The photo is by Diane Mayr, I believe, and I was torn--should I treat the potato as the Found Object, the poster, or strange, seemingly pointless object taped to the front of the poster? As you can see I picked none of those and chose the LANGUAGE as the object instead.
Due to a curious solution to the problem of too many snow days, our school year ended at 12:30 on Monday. We finished everything important on Friday, and I had hoped just a little that maybe no one would come on Monday--but they did, and we found lots of nice ways to fill that last few hours (including giving everyone one last chance to count to 100, an assessment I had forgotten to squeeze in--just as well they all came!).
And then they were gone.
Sometimes a meager harvest
The last half day--
walls stripped, treasure bags packed,
Jim Joe jumped one last time;
gifts given and received,
farewell hugs ceremoniously
hugged, fast and earnest,
because we'd run out of time again
one last time.
Now the room is hollow, dead--
nothing living but the teacher and
a single valiant sugar snap vine,
three feet high and climbing
a string up the Weather Window.
On the one vine, at the top, hangs
a single beautifully formed,
pleasingly plump green pod.
Teacher steps out of her sandals
onto a low chair and up onto
the radiator, plucks the fat pod
full of peas she forgot to share
and eats it, all by herself--
one last sweet crunchy mouthful
swallowed alone in the classroom
on the last half day.
HM 2015all rights reserved***********************
Mary Lee herself is rounding up remotely at
A Year of Reading today. Go get yourself some farmyard fun and lots of poetry goodness from around the Kidlitosphere!
 |
| simulated daughter on closed course |
If the Motor Vehicle Administration had been open on January 1, my little April Fool would have been there at 8am sharp to get her learner's permit. As it was, she had to wait until she was 15 years 9 months and 1 day old. Driving practice has been going well since January 2nd--short jaunts on neighborhood roads two or three times a week with one or the other parent.
But Memorial Day Weekend is traditionally one for family outings. Ours took us around the DC metro area beltway--famous for requiring nerves of steel when it's flowing smoothly and the patience of Job the other 495% of the time.
ROOKIE PASSENGER
While 16 drives
12 tells me he has
super-vision--
he can see the holes
in spinning hub caps
at 60 MPH
and what does SPF stand for?
16 holds steady,
only a few wobbles within her lane.
Nearly 50 is coaching her
and I--51--I'm wobbling
a little too in the backseat,
letting go, holding nothing
but a slippery pink glitter gel pen
she doesn't use anymore.
HM 2015
all rights reserved
The Poetry Friday round-up today is at
Reflections on the Teche with Margaret, who must be celebrating the end of another satisfying year of teaching. Cruise on over and enjoy the poetry scenery!
The delightfully ambitious Michelle at Today's Little Ditty is our Poetry Friday host today, and she has offered two challenges that I'm about to tackle. First is Nikki Grimes's wordplay challenge which concludes the fascinating interview she gave Michelle last week:
"When I talk about wordplay, I'm talking about studying a word from top to bottom, and inside out, considering every aspect of the word: What it looks like, sounds like, feels like. What it does, how it's used, etc. The idea is to bring all of your senses into the act. The poem you create may end up being complex and sophisticated, or very simple."Second is the
Five for Friday challenge periodically set by Michelle, which is an exercise in minimalism, a ditty of five words only (although I note that many poets endow theirs with expository titles, a practice which I wholly condone).
So--for Nikki's challenge I do not choose the word "bell" or "lemon" (done that one!), "blanket," "leaf" or "sun," as I might usually. Instead the news lately takes me to "bullet" and I'm a little afraid of it, but here's my Draftless Luck* effort. The title is both expository and five words long, if you allow me a hyphenated word, so that's my Five for Friday, too.
Thank you, Michelle; thank you, Nikki; and thank you, Poetry Friday people, for reading the raw and unpolished with interest and respect. We do each other a great favor in that.
May I also point you to this
quote from George Eliot and
this recording by Elvis Costello?
*With apologies to Erica Jong, this refers to my time-challenged technique of writing a poem right now, once, with the revision allowed by one hour, publishing it on the blog as though it were finished--and hoping for the best.
I'm tossing out an old pitch today, a poem from
Pumpkin Butterfly that 's just full of those -CHs I love so muCH. Without further ado (and with deep longing for more of the hint of warmth that we got in Bethesda today)....
Cherry Very
Be sneaky, be cheeky
Pinch from the kitchen
The reddest, the roundest there are
A bowl full of cherries
a bowl of the very
most cherriest bombs by far
Backbone straight
Step up to the plate
Puff up your chest and lungs
Swallow the fruit
Ready to shoot
Put the pit in the groove of your tongue
One more tip:
Round your lips
To launch it without a hitch
Don’t get tense
Aim for the fence
Wind up like you’re fixing to pitch
Now blast it hard
Across the yard
Kissing that missile goodbye
It’s over the fence!
It’s out of the park!
It’s a letloose cherryjuice
noschool slobberdrool
spitwhistle summerfun home run!
HM 2009
all rights reserved
************************
And what
cherry pits are you spittin' I mean pitCHing at us today? I heard a rumor that we might have some kids' work coming our way today....CHampion!
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In case you're just joining us, I and several intrepid poets (including you!) are writing 20 new poems this month in the Forward...MarCH Poetry CHallenge. I've selected 20 verbs ending in -CH (the list is here) and today's word is "smooCH". I guess I was in the mood for birthday kisses....
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This one is a double challenge--it's crossposted over at the Monday Poetry Stretch with Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect, where the CHarge is to write an ottava rima.
Birthday Ottava Rima
The day approaches like a kiss,
a smooch from the universe.
"Welcome, honeybunch! Follow your bliss!
Look what’s in your purse:
shiny swatch of that and this
Book of Blessing, chapter and verse,
penny and pebble and pocketwatch
for candy, hypnosis and hopscotch.“
The day begins each year like a kiss,
a smooch from the universe.
“Forward, honeybunch! Follow your bliss!
There's nothing to do but immerse
yourself in this life. Nothing's amiss--
or at least it could always be worse."
Bewitched by blessing, I follow a hunch:
I invite the whole world over for lunch.
HM 2015
all rights reserved
Who's smooching who today? Leave your poem in the comments or send me an email!
It's March 4th and we march forth with today's word, "twitCH." Which twitch are you writing about today?
A Knotty Problem
When she’s learning to tie her shoes,
crossing and
looping and
wrapping the laces,
the slightest twitch
of a nervous thumb
can cause a beginner to lose
her places!
HM 2015
all rights reserved
Leave your poem in the comments, or send me an email by clicking the link at right.
As announced on Friday, I'm embarking tomorrow on a birthday month poetry challenge inspired by fellow Piscean Laura Shovan's February Poetry Projects (if you haven't, check out three years' worth
here,
here and
here).
I got to thinking about the word "MARCH" and all the other great words that end in -CH. I realized that I have a particular fondness for words that end in -ch; they show up in my poems again and again.
So I'll be stretCHing myself to post five -CH poems weekly throughout March. I'm allowed one previously published per week, but most will be brand-new.
Please join me in this CHallenge, poetry friends! If you can't write with me every day, maybe you'll share your one or two per week, or your five-in-a-row, or your favorite poem by another author including the -CH word of the day....I welcome your participation, however you choose to do it!
I'll post my poem each evening, and you can send me yours by email or by leaving it in the comments for that post. I'll round up as we go and on Sunday mornings, and at the end of the month there will be a PRIZE for the "StretCHiest MarCHer" who contributes the most poems!
To get us started, here's a poem from my first book,
Squeeze: Poems from a Juicy Universe (2005). I'm hoping this will encourage the crocuses that I know are out there straining against two layers of frozen snow!
Launch
Crocuses are rocketing
inch by inch
out of the crumbled earth
the yellows aim for the sun
the purples push toward deep space
and inside
little astronauts in orange suits
cock their ruffled helmets
toward spring
Heidi Mordhorstall rights reservedAnd here is the collection of -CH words, one muscular verb for eaCH weekday of MarCH, that I'll be using to enriCH my little patCH of the Kidlitosphere with as muCH poetry as I can. It should be a cinCh, but if I find I'm parCHed of poems and miss a day, then ouCH--but I'll reaCH in and try again. Don't believe me? Just watCH!
Forward...MarCH CHallenge: Dates and Words
2 march
3 stretch
4 twitch
5 punch
6 fetch
9 preach
10 sketch
11 smooch
12 pitch
13 arch
16 inch
17 lurch
18 botch
19 lunch
20 hatch
23 clutch
24 crouch
25 snatch
26 perch
27 quench
I've been wanting to celebrate with Laura Shovan this month and not quite getting there, so our 2-hour "cold delay" (???) this morning seemed like a great opportunity to catch up and write in response to a couple of Laura's Sound Poem Project.
Sadly, my internet seems to be freezing in the pipes along with everything else, and I can't follow the sound links Laura has posted (and I have no idea what's going on with the formatting)...but I can listen to my house waking up and to the crazy creatures outside who don't appear to know that we are setting record low temperatures here in the DC area. It's currently 7* with a wind chill of...
Nine Below Zero
below below
the frozen mark
there's whish and sweep
of wind, and hark--
below below
the frozen sky
snow-winged birds
let fly their cry
below below
the frozen branches
blubbered squirrels
announce their antics
below below
the frozen ground
the bursting bulbs
murmur a sound
of sleeping green,
of hushed persistence...
below our listening:
spring's existence
HM 2015
all rights reserved
**********************
Well, that insta-poem turned into less sound and more my desperate hope of winter's end! Please join Linda--and Laura--over at TeacherDance for today's round-up.
I'm just ruminating over my last three poems, where I got going on a set of
Spoon,
Knife and
Fork. Atypically for me, all three are rhymed, similarly metered, and all share a basic 4-line stanza. I could keep going like this for a while, I guess, picking kitchen items and writing each its little ditty (see all the "Deeper Wisdom" poems featured at
Today's Little Ditty, of which "What Does the Knife Know?" is one).
But would that make a readable collection, a saleable collection? When I started typing this, I was planning for the answer to be "NO; that would be a little boring and samey and in a way unchallenging for both writer and reader," and then I was going to contrast that with any collection of "traditional" haiku, which would be therefore by its very nature boring and samey and unchallenging, and then I was going to wonder why haiku collections don't seem that way.
And then as I entered that second paragraph, I got walloped upside the head by
Jack on one side and
Shel on the other, and
A.A. Milne appeared to wag his clever ghostly finger in my face, reminding me how many, many classic poems and entire volumes of poetry for children are rhymed and metered and kind of about the same things (although not usually kitchen items).
Now I'm wondering what it is that makes me want a new shape, a new rhythm, a new challenge each time I begin a poem. I never cook the same recipe or meal the same way twice, and at school I'm forever devising new greetings, new center activities, new routines (and creating a lot of work for myself). While
I craved novelty as a kid, I understand that for many students, sticking with one thing for longer is what's needed for competent mastery, and that too much "new" can be stressful.
Well, it seems that in the spirit of my
OLW for 2015, I'm revising my 2nd-paragraph thinking. I still think it's important for young writers to learn that poetry is not all rhythm and rhyme, and that for most beginning writers those things are hard to pull off and probably best avoided. But golly, when 2/3 of a class of kindergarteners need to be TAUGHT to hear rhyme instead of having grown it into their bodies, and in the knowledge that I am not a beginning writer myself and quite enjoy the challenge of hewing to a rhymed and metered form, perhaps Spoon, Knife and Fork are suggesting a less varied--but no less tasty--diet of poetry for now.
Revision (with apologies to A.A. Milne)
Heidi Heidi
Mordhorst Mordhorst:
As teacher and poet she
Took great
Care to seek freedom,
Craving the novelty.
Heidi Heidi
Said to herself,
"Self," she said, said she:
"You must never get
stuck at the end of the town
called Free-Verse Poetry."
HM 2015all rights reservedToday's Little Roundup is with Paul at
These 4 Corners. Hope to see you there!
Tine After Tine
tuning fork for matching pitch
long-handled fork to scratch an itch
fork in the road to force a decision
(fork not as good as knife for incision)
garden fork for hard-packed soil
forklift spares your back the toil
bicycle fork suspends your wheels
favorite fork: the one at meals
HM 2015all rights reserved
Illness precluded a Friday post, but a visit to the doctor (combined with 72 hours forced rest) has led to a slight improvement and a Saturday post. In response to the
Ditty of the Month Club challenge hosted by Michelle Heidenrich Barnes and inspired by Joyce Sidman's work in
Winter Bees, I offer the following. Like
Liz Steinglass, I opted to explore the wisdom of an everyday object rather than of nature, and I took a little liberty with the form as well.
What Does the Knife Know?
What does the knife know?
Red tautness of tomato's skin.
Onion's shallot's garlic's kin.
Juicy slick of vitamin.
Jolt of pit or stone within.
What does the knife know?
Tender coarseness of the crumb.
Whack of steel on boarden drum.
Whorl and loop don't armor thumb.
Better bleeding cut than numb.
Heidi Mordhorst 2015
all rights reserved I have only just realized that knife goes with spoon. I guess a fork poem is on its way...and is anyone else having trouble, as they read these deeper wisdom poems, screening out repeated mental blarings of "What does the fox say?"
I liked
Amy's idea and Hope's spoon so much last Friday
that it carried me
like a weebling egg
to this:
Scoop
scoop of my heart
in a crude wooden spoon
scoop of my heart
soured and soon there
will be nothing left
no sweetness or cream
bowl will be empty
empty will dream of
scoops of white foam
spoonfuls of fizz
filling my heartbowl
where yearning is
HM 2015all rights reservedGo live at
Live Your Poem today with Irene and the rest of the Poetry Friday crowd. How I miss you all between Fridays!
My spouse hails from Manchester, England (
"England, across the Atlantic Sea, and I'm a genius genius") and all her parents are language and literature specialists. It's become a tradition for me to receive from them gifts of poets less well known on these shores, and this Yuletide I received
Paper Aeroplane by Simon Armitage.
The back cover of this
Selected Poems 1989-2014 says he's "the first poet of serious artistic intent since Philip Larkin to have achieved popularity," and yet I'm guessing that once again few of us know his work, since mysteriously so little seems to cross the pond. I knew him only as a novelist, and finding out that he's published a ton of poetry collections makes me feel a little ignorant. Here's
Simon at the Poetry Foundation, and here's a poem from his new book.
A Glory | Simon Armitage
Right here you made an angel of yourself,
free-fallng backwards into last night's snow,
indenting a straight, neat, cruicified shape,
then flapping your arms, one stroke, a great bird,
to leave the impression of wings. It worked.
Then you found your feet, sprang clear of the print
and the angel remained: fixed, countersunk,
open wide, hosting the whole the sky.
Losing sleep because of it, I backtrack
to the place, out of earshot of the streets,
above the fetch and reach of the town.
The scene of the crime. Five-eights of the moon.
On ground where snow has given up the ghost
it lies on its own, spread-eagled, embossed,
commending itself, star of its own cause.
Priceless thing--the facelesss hood of the head,
grass poking out through the scored spine, the wings
on the turn, becoming feathered, clipped.
Cattle would trample roughshod over it,
hikers might come with pebbles for the eyes,
a choice of fruit for the nose and the lips;
somebody's boy might try it on for size,
might lie down in its shroud, might suit, might fit. Angel,
from under the shade and shelter of trees
I keep watch, wait for the dawn to take you
raise you, imperceptibly, by degrees.
Now, no kidding--I hadn't spent much time with Simon yet--so I just opened my new 232-page volume randomly and found this poem. But, with snow on the ground here and this poem in my own
Pumpkin Butterfly, why would I look any further?
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Frozen Angels | Heidi Mordhorst
We line up and hold hands
knees locked,
then let go
Falling blindly, keen to feel
the crunch as we break the
perfect snow
Arms drag and legs plow
high and open
shut and low
Doing slowly jumping jacks
flat on our backs in
heavy snow
We sit up and bend knees
balance out
on booted toes
Stepping deeply, keen to see
the shapes we made in
crumpled snow
There they are: our angels frozen
on their backs
in a row
Where the cheerful field should lie
an angel graveyard
in the snow.
Enjoy the Poetry Friday Roundup today at
The Opposite of Indifference with my my friend and local neighbor Tabatha.
I thought I had picked out One Word for the year. Standing around the flickering candles of the Yule tree last evening (secretly beaming because the children have memorized all the words of our 12-day Yuletide ritual), my One Word seemed obvious: LIGHT. There was my trademark quick decision, done and dusted. (This is how I found myself married the first time.)
LIGHT is a lovely word, especially powerful at this dark time of year, with many meanings in several parts of speech, and it seemed to capture the direction I need to keep going in: a lighter grip, a lighter touch, a light heart and as much light as possible shining into my pupils (puntended).
By bedtime, though, I'd stepped back into a more practical place and realized that LIGHT was perhaps not as active a word as I need--and it certainly wasn't so pertinent to my writing life, which is where I need to put particular attention. And I thought about how a lighter grip, how an infusion of light into the work, are what's required for good revision, whether of writing or of hasty decisions. Other requirements for revision include patience, resting and flexibility--all areas where I could grow generally, and where my writing could benefit from less product and more persistence. And so--in the very spirit of revision--I changed my One Word to REVISE.
Just to make sure I was on the right track, I Googled the word and found a definition which includes LIGHT--two for the price of one!
re·vise rəˈvīz/ verb1.
reconsider and alter (something) in the light of further evidence.
I shared this decision with my spouse, who noodled alongside me, wondering about
revision, envision and several other word choices, while I listened to myself do what I always do: "Just stop with the possibilities-- I've made my choice and I'm sticking with it! No time to consider anything else! Got to get on with it!" The irony is exquisite... and I reserve the right to change my mind about my One Word should the light of further evidence require it.
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One Word 2015
held and holding tight:
getting a grip
becomes a vice
time and again re-vise:
letting the light
in more than twice
HM 2015all rights reserved *******************
The Poetry Friday Round-up is with Tricia at
The Miss Rumphius Effect. Happy New Year--and New Words--to all!
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It's Day 73 of kindergarten and in some ways our large paper calendar grid and all the ways we mark it are routine--and yet for many 5-year-olds, time and its rate of passing remain mysterious. Yesterday Eliana was the Afternoon Leader, whose job it is to write the date, continue the pattern, and add a straw and a penny and a dot on the ten-frame to count the days of school.
I have the holidays matter-of-factly marked on the calendar but am politely declining to engage in any conversations about Santa, etc. Just as for most of October and Halloween, I keep remarking that it's still a lot of days until Winter Break--it's not "almost Christmas yet in Room 166," and we don't have an elf on the shelf. But next week we'll start our Gingerbread Man work and I won't be able to hold it off any longer!
At dismissal as she waited to be picked up, Eli considered the calendar and said with a question in her voice, "My sister says it's almost Christmas."
Almost
My sister says
it's almost Christmas,
almost, nearly,
close to here.
What is almost?
All those boxes
full and empty--
is it near?
Today is 12.
There's 25.
We have an elf
up on the shelf.
He is watching.
I am waiting--
watching too,
just like the elf.
Almost, nearly,
close to now?
I have to wait,
I know--
but how?
HM 2014
all rights reserved
**************
The roundup today is with my new friend Paul at These Four Corners. Welcome to the hosting gig, Paul!
Once again I have participated in a round of SPARK, which randomly matches artists and writers who exchange inspiration pieces and then produce response pieces over a ten-day period. I always look forward to the challenge and to "meeting" a fellow artiste, and I've found that many of them are writers as well as painters or photographers or sculptors. Some people just gotta express themselves!
This time I was working from two inspirations, really. Recently my dear friend Charles Waters sent me perhaps the best compliment I will ever receive. Charles wrote that he liked my poems in The Poetry Friday Anthology (nice enough in itself!) and then, "I do believe if e.e. cummings and Emily Dickinson had a baby it would be you."
Oh my. If ever there was a compliment worth living up to, that's it. I even began to hope it might somehow actually be true (no offense to my actual earthly parents), and I went and double-checked birth and death dates to see if Emily and Edward might ever have met. (No. Emily died eight years before e.e. was born.) Still, I was wearing Charles's lovely speculation on my head like a crown (that's how good it made me feel) when I received this photo from Jules Rolfe, and so my response poem is all metaphysical and punctuated.
We Be
the grass is Always bluer—
the sky is Always greener—
the view of (Always) what’s to come
is better: finer: cleaner
@round the bend begins #the end—
We cannot hope to see her—
We set our sights, We claim our right
and many hopes to Be her—
Be all, end all #god and fate—
is she sky or grass or sand?
@round the bend We find the Light
if only Loose it from our hand
~Heidi Mordhorst 2012
Many thanks to Jules for her wonderful Nebraska landscape and to Charles for his generous challenge!
The Round-Up today is with Jama at Jama's Alphabet Soup--always a tasty smorgasbord of treats. And next week I'll be your host right here; if you're planning to participate in my Solstice-themed edition of Poetry Friday, feel free to send me your links as early as you like!
This afternoon the Mighty Minnows and I spent a lot of time considering our five senses, and there was a fantastic unexpected development when we closed our eyes and used our noses to smell the aromatic Mr. Sketch marker I grabbed. It happened to be light green, which smells like mint. Bertrand thought it was toothpaste, Karina thought it smelled like bubblegum, and Janie surprised me by naming it peppermint right away (or maybe not, since her family is Thai).
As we discussed minty things, I realized that I could walk them right out into our lovelier-all-the-time school courtyard where parent volunteers have planted a Sensory Garden full of herbs. We danced to High Five's "Five Senses" song and then we lined up and went--the real deal, only two minutes away! (Go Outdoor Education Committee.)
Cora had suggested basil when I asked if anyone knew what plant those minty smells and flavors came from, so first we all sniffed a leaf of basil. I was happy to find a great clump of flowering mint, so that everyone (all 16--am I lucky, or what?) could have a sprig to crush and sniff and nibble and take home. On the way back to the classroom we became the Minty Minnows instead of the Mighty Minnows. : )
Later, after the bus riders departed, the rest of us were singing requests--classics like "Twinkle Twinkle" and of course "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." Tonya had already taught us the sign language version of The Itsy Bitsy Spider, so I wasn't too surprised when Suzee made this announcement:
"I can sing the Alphabet Song in silent language."
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Listen with Your Eyes
Secret clutched in a closed fist:
If you wait one pinky moment
Letting sounds slide towards your thumb,
Eventually they perch like birds on a fence,
Nesting two together on a quiet egg
Till the egg cracks and a beak of song breaks through
The Poetry Friday Anthology:
Poems for the School Year
with Connections to the Common Core
compiled by Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong
This supremely practical anthology, which will be available in both soft-cover book and e-book versions, is the latest feat of magic worked by that Daring Duo of Poetry, Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong.
It contains 218 new poems by 75 of the best poets now writing for children, but unlike other quality anthologies of literary poetry, this one is organized with the busy classroom teacher in mind (and I should know). In other words, it's the best of educational and literary publishing all rolled into one lively package!
It includes 36 poems for each grade level K-5, which is one for each week of a standard 180-day school year. Even better, the poems have been organized according to broad themes that repeat for each grade level, so that in Week 1, all grade levels enjoy a "School" poem, in Week 18 every kid K-5 gets a "Human Body" poem, and in Week 29 there are poems about...poetry! There are heartfelt and serious poems under themes like "A Kinder Place" and "Families," and hootingly playful poems under "Stuff We Love" and "Nonsense." By the end of the school year, when kids have had lots of poetry experience, the themes are related to poetic devices such as "Metaphor and Simile" and "Personification," addressed at accessible levels.
For the few teachers who are truly poetry-phobic, this anthology is a gift. It says, "Take a few minutes just one day a week to make poetry your focus...we'll help you do it right, do it in community, and enjoy all the rewards!" To support the less confident, each poem comes with 5 quick tips for sharing, teaching, enjoying:
*a hook for introducing the poem,
*a developmentally appropriate way for students to join in reading and speaking the poem,
*ideas for discussion and teachable moments,
*and finally, a connection to another poem in the anthology or another poetry book to explore.
Of course, many more teachers will be doing as I'll do, dipping in here and there to select poems not by week but by theme, and looking beyond my own grade level to find other gems that I'll bring into our curriculum through content connections, writing and performance. I'll be highlighting some of my favorites in coming posts, and you can bet that those of us contributors who also participate in Poetry Friday in the Kidlitosphere will be sharing more tips and tricks and on their blogs, too!
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Festive and fierce and fun! Yay for the book launch and for your empowerment and all these wonderful haiku making their way into the world! xo
I agree, Heidi, it's been a positive experience for me too, this long bright trail of #haikuforhealing. Would you add me to your list please? Michelle Heidenrich Barnes at Today's Little Ditty http://michellehbarnes.blogspot.com/ Thanks!
Such a delight read all these healing haiku. Love the holiday photo. One Minute Till Bedtime is on my Christmas list. Perhaps Santa will bring it to me. :-)
Oops!!! I copied the list from YOUR blog, deleted myself...and forgot to add you! Sorry, Michelle!
Considering your day's writing, it feels as if the haiku in December can be a diary of sorts. That 'gold star' will last for a long time. Thanks, Heidi.
I am SO enjoying working along side you all. It's fun and it helps me grow the discipline I need. I don't always have time to do more than click a "like". Wonderful post....and thank goodness your steering wheel can live to turn a few more days ;)
Yes, I'm with you on not having enough time to do much more than my own writing and the "likes." But at least when folks put their haiku out on Twitter, we have an easy way to see them!
(Sorry about the "denial." Their loss...)
I look forward each week to all the #haikuforhealing fun! It's quite an amazing group of PF friends who have joined in.
I love the reframing of rejection to denial. And I agree, it is their loss.