Day 8 Poetry Project

I hadn't heard this before today but love the idea of living your DASH!!

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end

He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

Make Every Moment Matter – Live Your Dash

Day 7 Poetry Project

Expectation lives
 on the other side
of disappointment

the rootedness
of conflict
and dispute

Subtly entering
your neighborhood
and quickly become
the most popular people
on the street

And before
you even know it
they have moved in
are couch slouching
feet firmly  poised
on the coffee table
demanding libations
and snacks

And you wonder...
just how
THAT happened
without  noticing
even one footfall
         one entrance
           one invitation

And you wonder
just what it will take
to get them to leave
this
time.

Poetry Project Day 6: Kitchen Window Wondering

This morning I sit in my warm cozy kitchen looking out on what appears to be a gorgeous day, but the whipping of the wind and the shaking of the windows tells me otherwise.  And so I attempt to sketch what I see...because part of poetry is learning to see with new eyes...but as you can see I am no artist. And I wonder...what allows some to see with such great perspective and others, like me to struggle so?
And as I sketch anger stomps around me threatening to take over my peaceful place of noticing, like an annoying toddler that keeps pulling and tugging on your arm while you are one the phone.  And so the day reflects what is happening both inside and out as the blowing angry winds keeping spring at bay for yet another day.

Day 5 Poetry Project

Slice of Night

 A slice of night
dangling in the sky
Bluebird sky
a glorious sky

So much so
that even the
moon
lingers
into the day

to be a part
of the sol party
that nobody
should
miss

I wrote this about the sliver of the moon that was still out while we were skiing.  I attempted to capture it in pictures, but it seems to have disappeared in the downloading process.

Day 4 Poetry Project: Bluebird Day

I spent this day on the glorious slopes of Mount Sunapee in New Hampshire.  It was THE most perfect day of skiing EVER!!  I went with my sister Lisa and found myself wishing I had a pen as lines and phrases danced through my head in awe of the perfect beauty around me.  And then she said it is the perfect  Bluebird Day....

Bluebird Day

It's a bluebird day she says

A what?

A bluebird day at the mountain
you know, not a cloud in the sky kind
of perfect bluebird day?

nope she replies, never
heard that before as she
tucks it away it quickly
becomes one of her favorite
new phrases

And then they are off
for yet another bluebird day
at
the Mountain.

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My sister's response to this post!  Love it!!


The thing for me about poetry
is that I think it should rhyme
not occasionally or once in a blue moon
but absolutely all of the time

I like poetry that has a rhythm
a cadence, a spring in its step
so that while you are reading it slowly
it puts a bounce in your step

The bluebird sky was amazing
the skiing as flawless as the sky
the waning moon in the distance
was winking one bleary eye

For it was the same moon that kept me
awake for hours in bed
the pull of that moon was fantastic
I felt a bit over my head

So I'm not sorry that it has faded
and merged into the magnificent blue
Because if it had kept me up one more night
I would have been following you!

Day 3 Poetry Project

Noticings...I find myself noticing the small things around me simply because I am intentionally thinking about writing and more specifically about lines of poetry.  Here is what came to me after a walk in the woods...

Woods Walking

the hard slippery path
       of winter's lingering
spotted and speckled with
       patches of soft spring

pussy willows purposefully
       pushing
out
saying hello to the
          mud-stained puppies
and people passing by

I long to pick the pussy willows
        bring spring into my home
forcing away
         the long winter's remnants

throw open the windows
        come in! the outside
inside and out!

Day 2 of Poetry Project

Today, I begin feeling the need to apologize to you, my personal blog, which has been completely abandoned since I started my blog on education.  Compartmentalizing my life in terms of me and  my passion for learning and teaching was a hard one, but at the same time it was very freeing.  I love my blog on education, http://conversationeducation.wordpress.com/,  (check it out!) because it is a place where I play out my fantasy of being a weekly  columnist: something that I have always wanted to be.  That said it is so great to be back here and just thinking...and being just me, the person.

And so today's poem is from a new children's book of poetry by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, Forest Has a Song.  You can find it here:  http://www.amylv.com/p/forest-has-song.html.  It is a fabulous collection of poetry, especially to use with kids.  Her poem, invitation, reminds me of one of my all time favorite poems, A New Day.

Invitation

Today
I heard
a pinecone fall.
I smell
a spicy breeze.
I see
Forest
wildly waving
rows of
friendly trees.

I’m here.
Come visit.
Please?

–Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, all rights reserved

A New Day

                      by Tomasen

silence

stillness
the world's eyes opening
squinting
     stretching before
                    my
                        eyes
the sacred yawn of morn
brings a solitude
             of newness
hope, renewal and life

the woods
       my magical forest
with twinkling eyes
                        winking
surrounding me
as we usher in the
day as
one

Funny how reading someone else's poetry can bring you back to your own.  And now I am off to my magical forest to take Ruby Roo for her daily walk.  I wonder what I might see today!!

A Poem A Day Project

April 1, 1013

I begin this project with a poem by Mary Oliver as it is exactly what I would like to do for the month of April...to slow down, to notice, and to appreciate all this is around me.  There are SO many poetry projects happening this month that after I searched through the blogs I love I was a bit overwhelmed.  Many are combining poetry with art and images.  And I get all excited and think I want to do that too!  But in an effort to simplify I have allowed myself to do what comes organically each and every day.  And so on this first day...Mary Oliver makes me think about what I want to do with this one wild and precious life.  Part of what I want to do is to cultivate that artistic side of myself that is hidden underneath all of the daily tasks and lists of things to do!

So here goes...

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

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