A weekend with a horrific shooting at a local synagogue and today’s unexpected downpour created a feeling of gray that seemed to seep through the bones into the soul.
On the second to the last day of National Poetry Month, here is my poem for the day.
Searching for Blue
Some days feel like
crawling through a tunnel of gray
sides pushing in
restricting each breath
breathe in, breathe out
I search for a crack
a break in the tunnel
a space where light
brightening the sky
where streaks of blue open paths
to hope and possibility
Though it’s still April, we’re already dealing with what will soon become May gray. It’s that pervasive marine layer that characterizes spring and early summer here in Southern CA. But we really can’t complain. The weather is mild and the ocean always welcomes.
Today I noticed the royal terns hanging out on the beach. Before I knew what they were, I called them Groucho Marx seagulls. They have big dark eyebrows and a bright orange beak. Distinctive, distinguished, comical.
Today poem is a Haiku…short and sweet.
Groucho Marx eyebrows
atop orange beak and white wings
shore birds entertain
Still leaning on paint chips, I realized I had left mine in the classroom. After my walk, with yellow on my mind, I stopped by the home improvement store nearby and picked up a few paint chips.
Our local beaches are not known for their floral beauty, but I was struck by the abundance of native flowers at a beach a bit north of where I usually walk.
Feasting on Yellow
I feast my eyes on
sprinkled with turmeric
So many yellows
shards of sunshine
sprinkled across fields
dancing on my taste buds
I sip on spring’s energy
in my belly
I leave craving summer
Between practicing for our state tests, our minimum day, and too many other demands, we didn’t have time for any sustained poetry writing in class today. Here’s a couple of student poems from earlier in the week.
Rose Colored Glasses
I have my rose colored glasses on,
the grass is always greener.
I am going to the foggy harbor,
it’s a long drive so I need to take a taxi.
I still have my rose colored glasses on,
I will never take them off.
Poetry is like a rocket
blasting you off to a new world
and new vocabulary
plus new techniques
The fun thing is
your rocket never runs out of fuel
just keep exploring
in the galaxy of words