prickly pear bloom in an emerald sea
suddenly I hear
“the sound of one hand clapping”
prickly pear bloom in an emerald sea
suddenly I hear
“the sound of one hand clapping”
It started around 4. I was awakened by the sound of soft, rather indescribable thuds against my bedrooms windows. Half asleep, at first I thought it was rain, opened my eyes, saw stars staring at me. Floating in and out of sleep, my mind puzzled as the thuds increased making it impossible to return to comfortable sleep. Finally, awake, I swung my feet around from under the covers, pushed sandals on, walked to the French doors, and turned on the outside light. Horrified, I watched thousands of dark brown, one inch moths flying around, hitting the windows, dropping to the patio floor, rising again, over and over. I shut off the light, went back to bed, drifted into a troubled slumber, and experienced one of those ludicrous dreams only half remembered–people I know and do not know all mixed together in impossible situations. At 5:19, I gave up on any hopes of sleep, climbed out of bed again, and began the early morning ritual of preparing to go to work.
When I arrived at work, a note lay on my desk from yesterday’s substitute teacher. It indicated that all classes but one, the last one, behaved ok and completed the assigned work. However, it specifically stated that a number of the males in the last class took papers from previous classes and copied them, never even opening the book to attempt pretending to read the assigned story. Did they think he would not notice? Did they think at all? Were they like the moths, flying mindlessly, not caring about the outcome?
When that class arrived, I read them the note. Some denied it, some said nothing. The females, absent on a field trip, were blamed for “ratting us out”. It seemed they did not realize this was a sort of confession. How any of them think I will not know about their transgressions mystifies me. Repeatedly this year, I caught them plagiarizing, lying, and various other forms of cheating, not everyone of course but sometimes half. I find it increasingly disturbing how many students find this sort of behavior acceptable. What do their parents teach them? Where do they get that “wrong” behavior is fine as long as you do not get caught? Do they even think it is wrong? Most admit it is thankfully, but why keep engaging in wrong behavior? Somehow I keep hoping they will learn from these experiences, but other times I really wonder. What can I do to help them realize just how wrong cheating is, how it is a form of stealing? In the end, perhaps, I can only hope that the life lesson mentioned in the words of one student solves the problem: “Karma’s a bitch.”
On the edge of an abyss
hair wind ruffled
look to Orion and dream.
Shades of grey, white, charcoal
tumble, swirl, curl,
orange lightning zig zags from
sky to ground
thunder growls, deep voiced
threatening.
Suddenly, the sound of silence
suspended, waiting.
See beginning note. I turn off the computer when a lightning storm arrives.
Last night I planned to reblog this, my very first blog post from over three years ago. However, a big lightning and hail storm arrived; I turned off my computer. I did not want a lightning strike to ruin it. Lightning struck my house twice in the six and one-half years I have lived here; once it destroyed my TV.
Abraham Lincoln said we choose–or do not choose–happiness. When I was twenty something, I chose happiness, not the sappy, syrupy, cheery, but the deeper joy of cherishing the small, the unique, the everyday, smiling with sunsets, the song of the mockingbird in the spring, my horses running free, the nearly invisible bobcat climbing the canyon wall, the taste of fine coffee at the first wakeful moments in the morning, cooking for friends, taking a “property walk” with my grandson, laughing with the teenagers I teach. I am driven to do…
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Life sometimes graces you with lovely surprises, the unexpected sunrise, flowers in unusual places, the rarely seen bobcat climbing the canyon wall. Today, tired, bag full of papers to grade, I entered my house, smelling a puzzling sweetness. The stage manger of Les Miserable lived with me two weeks. She left a bottle of red wine, a heartfelt note, and a bouquet, snowy lilies, golden roses, blue bells. Lillie scent pervades the room. I walk in beauty. 
For those of you who liked the previously reblogged post on Slovenia.
Our Slovenia travel chapter started with its beautiful capital city and the smallest capital in Europe – Ljubljana (“lyoob-lyAH-nah”). Interestingly Ljubljana is a city that does not have any world-famous monuments or attractions or a long or short list of to do’s. But it has many things to see and do and the best way to discover its secrets is via our favorite way – ditch the map and walk around aimlessly on foot.
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This business of committing to posting a poem a day during National Poetry Month is not so very easy. Yesterday I totally forgot and tonight I am nearly too tired to think of anything at all profound and clever. However, a commitment is a serious endeavor, I will put my fatigued brain in gear, and something of use to someone will hopefully result. Now that I puzzle over this, the solution is to write a poem about those things to which I am committed:
Commitments
Make a difference in this world.
Enjoy ordinary moments.
Hang in there for the long haul.
Express joy and courage to
be the best possible self.
Make a difference in this world.
Dance to the sound of silence.
Learn something new and
meaningful every day.
Meditate, practice yoga.
Cherish friends and family.
Make a difference in this world.
Today, one day late, I discovered this project for National Poetry Month and decided to commit to it by experimenting. It requires writing a poem daily either on your own or following “instructions”. Today’s directions included finding a nearby book, going to page 29, picking twenty words, and using them to write a poem:
crazy think
goofy people
worried together
leave bear
smudges on the glass
bloody floor
huge knives
packed sorrow on
a plastic table
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