Give me the long view
the endless space,
let my bones gleam white
beneath a desert willow
where a diamondback seeks shade.
Let me walk through red rock, climb to eternity,
stretch arms into the azure, crystalline air,
laugh out loud.
Give me the long view,
let me laugh out loud,
look down the Kaibab
Plateau into eternity.
Let me sing songs to emptiness,
to stark, open, free,
dance in sun, moonlight,
laugh out loud.
Give me the long view.
Three poems follow:
Nature
Nature is
a beautiful place
so start
kicking that
can all over
the place
we will
we will
rock
you
Ethan Singletary
As I am laying at home
I hear a loud thunderous noise
The sound startled me out of my seat
I looked out the window
There was a giant funnel
I heard the tornado siren
As the trees were coming out of ground
I run downstairs to take cover
The storm was ruling the land, but
I was safe from the natural catastrophe.
Makenna Byrd
The Grip
As the wind blows and the storm flows through this
Desolate wasteland
As you wonder the numbing thunder puts you at peace
As the wind whips and the storm grips the desolate ground
As it whirls and twirls bringing wreckage
to the sky
Someone brings a tractor to clean up
this decay
For this storm may bring sorrow but all through
the hollow the great sorrow is met with a great
peace
As the family sifts among the rubble and
finds on this trouble at least they are in
one piece
Corbin McKinney
As we drove along the Amalfi Coast, the guide told us the mythological story of the Sirens. My daughter took a photo out the window of the Sirens’ islands.
Later I wrote this poem remembering the travails of Odysseus.
The melodious Sirens’ song
lured Odysseus
begging to be untied from
the mast.
Even the roaring sea’s
voice whispered in
comparison.
They sang honeyed
love songs to starving
sailors, longing for a woman’s
touch, a kiss, ecstasy.
With knife claws, they
ripped them asunder,
crunching bones, blood
erupting.
Satiated, they sang,
eternal, etherial, deceptive.
Several days later at a shop in Sorrento, while my daughter was looking for a medusa cameo, the owner, a cameo artist, brought out Siren cameos. He insisted the Siren’s have been terribly misunderstood. I wanted clarification but unfortunately other customers appeared and I remain mystified.
Sometimes a teacher’s work seems to never end and, honestly, it keeps me from posting here as often as I might like. At the same time, it provides me with endless joy and entertainment. The last couple of days brought lots of laughter.
I teach 8th – junior English and Spanish 1 and 2. This past Friday, Spanish 1 class became the site for lots of laughter. We were practicing translating sentences from English to Spanish. To date they have learned to say what they like, sentences about the weather, write about time, and to use the two “to be” verbs used in Spanish among other things. Somehow in the process of describing a person using a variety of adjectives they have been taught, one of the students blurted out, ” I think old people are ugly.” I said, “So you think I am ugly?” This caused a minor uproar with laughter and indignation. In an attempt to make the situation better, he continued, “No, I mean people over 60.” I repeated, “So you think I am ugly?” By this time everyone was laughing, including me, protesting his attitude. He started to try to wriggle out of that one when I pointed out that it might be better if he kept quiet. He started to say something about wrinkles but that got shut down by the other students.
Just before all this, his younger brother came into the classroom. He is the student who wrote a page-long poem about my hair last year. He said to his brother, “What is wrong with you? She is beautiful.” Then walked out of the room.
By this time everyone was laughing and talking except the student who made the original remark about old people and a few were shouting at him about his awful attitude. By the way, in case you do not know, the word for ugly in Spanish is feo or fea, depending on whether you are describing a male or female.
This weekend I read 50 or so book reports. One of them included this statement in response to the question, “What did you learn from this book?” “I learned it is sometimes fun to be bad.” The student was referring to the book, “Tom Sawyer.”
I have no clue how to respond to that remark.
Last year I joined Now Read This, the online bookclub sponsored by PBS and The New York Times. Why did I join? To expand my exposure to books I might not otherwise read, to learn, to explore, to interact with others reading the same books.
I rarely read fantasy or science fiction. This summer has become an exception. The June choice, The Fifth Season by Jemisin, won the Hugo in 2016. The other two books in the trilogy won in 2017 and 2018. I wanted to know what happened to the characters so I read them all. The spine says Fantasy. I think they are more science fiction. Even people who claimed they did not like either fantasy or science fiction became like me and read them all. This series tells a futuristic tale extremely applicable to events, both social and political, in the world today, how prejudice kills both overtly and covertly, how fear of those who are different affect everyone, what it costs to live in a world where certain attitudes exist.
It took me two days to finish the July title even with chores, touchup house painting, all the things teachers attempt to do during summer break. Although I had previously read at least three books by Luis Alberto Urrea, I had not read this one, The House of Broken Angels about a family who lives back and forth across the border–San Diego and Tijuana. It is a tragic-comedy about the endurance, hopes, dreams, cooking, living of several generations. His non-fiction book, The Devil’s Highway, is a must read for those who want to understand what occurs along the US-Mexico borderlands.
In the midst of all this, I went back and reread Ursula LeGuin’s The Left Hand of Darkness. Wow, no wonder it caused a stir when it was published in the 1960s: a whole country where everyone switches back and forth between male and female and those who cannot do this are considered perverts. Additionally, the main character is described as having very dark brown skin and those who do not behave exactly as they should or politically protest are sent off to a stark camp where they work in excessive cold and eventually die.
Then I read an article about Toni Morrison and authors who do not write for people based on a certain audience, e.g. black, white. They write about what they know, what they feel, for a different purpose. One book listed was Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi, a fantasy, all of which takes place in what we now think of as Nigeria. It has not one single white character in it. I kept thinking, wow. I read a lot of literature from Africa, Middle East, and Latin America. Most of the time, for better or worse, characters from other cultures show up, usually European and usually for the worse. Not in this one. If you go to a book store looking for it, look in Young Adult. Jemisin’s can be found in Adult Science Fiction/Fantasy. When I mentioned to someone I could not tell why some are categorized one way and some another, I was told there is less graphic sex in YA. Really? I cannot tell the difference.
Next on my list? I annually act as a judge in a literary contest. Three novels arrived in yesterday’s mail. Guess I need to get busy.
Recently, my students read a poem where the eggs in a carton expressed terror at being removed by human hands and a Pablo Neruda poem about his socks–hand made, blue wool with a golden thread running through them. Their assignment was to also write a 20 line poem about something ordinary which they love or appreciate. One student wrote about my hair.
The instructions: write a poem about a pet or wild animal you love. Most of the students wrote about their dogs. Six more students requested I publish their dog poems. Here are three:
Kimba
my name is Kimba
I am really fun
but be very careful I like cinnamon buns
I run and I play
I sleep everyday
I ride in the car
but not very far
I really hate cats
They remind me of rats
I need to lose weight
So I can relate
back to when I was tiny
I thought I was so mighty
Author: Kayla Stephens
Sadie Mae
Sadie Mae is the best
Whatever she does, she makes a mess
She loves to play with all
especially her favorite ball
Sophie is her best friend
but their energy never ends
In the open pastures she runs wild
which gives her a big smile
In the middle of the bed she sprawls
sometimes you will see her crawl
Author: Jake Kenedy
Baps
My name is Baps. Milana
loves me I sleep on her
head so she can’t see
When Milana gets up I
have to get off When I
roll over I fall off
Milano needs me so does
Finley But beware of the
bird because he is my enemy
Be very careful we don’t get along
don’t put us together or he will
be gone.
Author: Milana Evers
Another student submitted a pond poem today:
The Pond
cold, still water
moss covering the surface
catfish swimming around the banks
frogs croaking like an old car horn
This is my pond.
Author: Harris Albracht
The following poem makes me laugh every time I read it:
Roger the Rabbit was an interesting rabbit
who had a eating habit
orange sour skittles were his favorite
He always savored it
He was white with black spots
And he slept lots
Rodger lived in a tree hosue
He was quiet as a mouse
Rodger is gone now
Thanks to the owl
He will be missed
But I am not very pissed
R.I.P. Rodger the Rabbit
Author: Jess Merrell
This past week in my sophomore English class, the students read poems by Amy Lowell and William Carlos Williams. I gave them the assignment to write about either a pond or a wheelbarrow. At first, they thought I had lost my mind. However, several decided they would like their poems published on this blog. The following are three poems the students asked me to publish:
The Pond
The frogs croak
quietly in the night
waiting for food
to come by.
The water shimmers
in the moonlight
like a lighthouse
to the ocean.
When you think of
the pond,
think of the beautiful
creatures that live
in it.
Author: Ali Matthews
Pond
Sittin in a pond,
watching the frogs jump by,
the fish sing
bloop! bloop!! bloop!!
Author: Skylee Isham
The Wheelbarrow
Behind my fence
sits a green wheel barrow.
It has been used many times,
but still looks brand new.
The wheelbarrow has sat through
all sorts of weather, and it
still works like a charm.
Author: Taylor Shugart
I heard this poem by Max Coots recited on Sunday and saved it to share today.
Let us give thanks:
For generous friends…with hearts…and smiles as bright as their blossoms;
For feisty friends as tart as apples;
For continuous friends, who, like scallions and cucumbers, keep reminding us we’ve had them;
For crotchety friends, as sour as rhubarb and as indestructible;
For handsome friends, who are as gorgeous as eggplants and as elegant as a row of corn, and the others, plain as potatoes and as good for you;
For funny friends, who are a silly as Brussel spouts and as amusing as Jerusalem artichokes, and serious friends, as complex as cauliflowers and as intricate as onions;
For friends as unpretentious as cabbages, as subtle as summer squash, as persistent as parsley, as delightful as dill, as endless as zucchini, and who, like parsnips, can be counted on to see you throughout the winter;
For old friends, who wind around us like tendrils and hold us, despite our blights, wilts, and witherings;
And, finally, for those friends now gone, like gardens past that have been harvested, and who fed us in their times that we might have life hereafter.
For all these we give thanks.
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