Today my students were introduced to odes. We began with the picture book, Ode to an Onion: Pablo Neruda and His Muse by Alexandria Giardino. The book shows Neruda finding inspiration in an ordinary onion from his garden.
After reading and discussing the book and thinking about the ways ordinary things are often overlooked and under appreciated, my students and I headed out to the school garden in search of the ordinary, knowing we would return to the classroom to write after snapping a few photos.
While Neruda’s original Ode to an Onion was a bit intimidating–it is a LONG poem for 8 and 9 year olds–they were excited to elevate the ordinary subjects they identified. We had poems about a roly poly, a stump, ice plant, a bucket, pea pods, a pine cone, and so much more. My own featured dandelions.
Today was my first day back with my full class, full day, now on a 5-day a week schedule. I’ve challenged them (and myself) to writing a poem-a-day during the month of April. Today I started by reading them Little Black Crow by Chris Rascka–a picture book written entirely of questions. And we revisited the poem Yellow Weed by Lilian Moore–a question poem. Then we set off to write our own question poems.
I love writing with my students–and I love when they make no hesitation before beginning to write. And better yet, when after 7 minutes, I asked who would like to share their question poem–more than half the class shot their hands into the air! What fun to hear their question poems and the variety of topics they picked to write about. And they were not surprised at all to hear than I chose to write my question poem about snowy egrets.
So here is my poem:
Snowy Egret
Feathery friend, what brings you to the beach today?
Is it the tasty orange shrimp in the low tide soup?
Feathery friend, do those bright yellow feet
bring critters near as you stomp and stir?
Are they a beacon shining bright in the salty sea grass?
When you spread your delicate white wings
do you feel like a plane
or a kite lofted into the gentle sea breeze?
Feathery friend, what do you think when you see
my eye pressed to my camera lens?
Am I intruder or a familiar-faced friend?
Feathery friend, where do you go when you leave the beach?
Sometimes a photo holds a story–or wants to be a poem. This one that I took over the weekend keeps speaking to me. I’m not sure yet whether this is the story or poem it wants to be…but maybe it is a start.
Today was one of those gloomy, gray days. There wasn’t quite rain, but the air was saturated and left a fine mist of droplets on everything…including me. A busy work day left me leaning on a short form for today’s poetry: Haiku (with some literary license).
Inspired by this blog post, I had my students write a slice of life poem this morning. They had plenty of fodder, coming off our spring break. And while they wrote, I wrote too. Here is my slice of life poem.
Today I decided to use Georgia Heard’s 6-room poetry strategy as preparation for writing my poem. This is something I have used with great success with students in the past, but hadn’t thought about it in a while. I happened upon this beautiful yellow bird (apparently some kind of an oriole) who posed for me while I was exploring along La Jolla Cove this morning, and knew I wanted to try to capture something of that experience for today’s poem.
Here’s my poetic effort for today:
Yellow Bird
Waves crash, swoosh, hush in the distance
background music
ambiance, Sunday’s soundtrack
A flash of yellow
banana
lemon
Tuscan sun
in the local brush
wild mustard waving
nasturtiums covering
and you
regal in your bright brilliance
trimmed with black epaulettes
Waves crash, swoosh, hush
steel gray skies and seas
a monochromatic backdrop
for your golden brightness
my eyes drink in your honeyed sweetness
sunshine on a cloudy day
Is that tiny hummingbird on a nearby branch your friend?
I have a love/hate relationship with LA freeways. They are constantly unpredictable, predictably overcrowded, unnecessarily complicated, outdated and constantly under construction…and they connect me to my children and grandchildren.
Maybe this poem begins to capture some of those contradictions.