Today’s Verselove prompt comes from Denise. She encouraged us to borrow some rhyming words to craft a poem of our choice.
Rhyme is one of those techniques I mostly stay far away from. Rhythm, yes. Word play? I’m in. But rhyme challenges me–it feels too forced or too trite or just too obvious.
But in the spirit of trying and working to craft something meaningful, I turned to Emily Dickinson and her very well known poem, “Hope” is the Thing with Feathers and borrowed some rhyming words–as well as using her title as inspiration on the slant for my title.
An afternoon at the Monterey Bay Aquarium under the influence of the sea–both inside the aquarium and outside in the wilds of the magnificent Monterey Bay provided the content: jellies, the giant Pacific octopus, the grumpy looking moray eel to name just a few.
This week has been packed to the gills, overflowing with meetings, a flight to SFO on Wednesday (after leaving a meeting early) for a conference on Thursday, another flight home late Thursday for a full day of teaching on Friday and then capped this morning with the 17th annual San Diego Area Writing Project (SDAWP) Spring Conference.
As you might imagine, I was not excited that I needed to be up early this morning and on the road before 7am to be present at the university, helping with set up and preparation. Today’s hiccup was catering not showing up! (What! No coffee for teachers who are up early navigating UCSD parking for our half-day conference?). After several calls we were assured that coffee and pastries would arrive–not when expected, but before it would have been too late.
And as always happens when I am in the presence of writing project teachers, I forgot how much I didn’t want to get up, how much I would have loved a morning with a leisurely start, and was immediately engaged and stimulated by presentations and conversations…and just seeing colleagues who are brilliant and caring and always looking after what is best for their students.
Sessions like Writing for Change: Empowering Student Advocacy Through Project-Based Learning, Academic Writing with Heart: Centering Student Voice, and Hope Starter Kit: Writing Our Way to Resilience (to name only a few) offered inspiration, intellectual stimulation, ideas for classroom implementation, and an opportunity for writing. It also offered an escape from all that feels wrong right now.
As part of my hope kit writing, I had to figure out who (someone real or imagined, still living or long dead) to address a problem I was grappling with–the idea that each of us could tap our inner wisdom through this letter writing/response (inspired by the book Ask Baba Yaga: Otherworldly Advice for Everyday Troubles by Taisia Kitaiskaia). I decided that I would channel my cat, Phil, who died quite a few years ago, but who my husband is convinced still hangs around the house. Here’s my letter and response:
Dear Phil,
How do I manage the guilt of not doing enough to take action in light of all of the chaos and destruction in our current government?
Distraught Citizen
Dear Distraught Citizen,
Screech and roar and scratch…and even pretend to mark the walls and furniture with the scent of your body and beliefs in your spaces. Don’t let your perceived inaction silence you. Rub your scent subtly, weaving in and out of the pant legs of those who are near. Find pockets of comfort, places where the rumble of your inner motor can vibrate, offering moments of relief and contentment for you and others as well. In addition to comforting one another, find the small cracks for action, even if they seem to be big enough for only the tiniest grains of sand.
Phil
Channeling Phil reminds me (and maybe you too) that action can manifest in many different ways. I will keep seeking out all the small spaces where I can make a difference. You likely won’t find me on the picket line or the telephone bank, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care or won’t take actions to right the wrongs that are happening. Thanks to my colleague Stacey for the inspiration and to Phil for the advice.
I’ve been writing poetry every day this week. I’ve written with my students, on Zoom calls with my National Writing Project colleagues, and in response to poetry shared on our San Diego Area Writing Project SDAWPoetry padlet.
I try to keep my poetry on the lighter side for sharing with my students, but find myself wallowing in the fear and uncertainty of pandemic living in the spaces where adults are writing. My energy lags at the end of the week, the crush of video conferences building throughout the week, the lack of time for thoughtful lesson planning looking me in the eye as the weekend beckons, and all my other responsibilities slipping and sliding as I keep juggling the balls, trying to keep them all in play.
I’ve discovered that a quick walk down the street is now a necessity, an escape from the never-ending screen time and a welcome break from the hard, wooden kitchen chair that has become my home office/classroom/work space. I’m starting to recognize my neighbors now that I spend so much time at home!
On today’s second jaunt down the hill, we noticed a sign…a sign that provoked a very different poem than the one I had contemplated first thing this morning.
The morning prompt, after some 4×4 breathing, was to take this line for a walk: It is possible that things will not get better…
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.
Thinking Through My Lens 