Love Is…

Love tastes like freshly whipped cream

Love smells like my husband’s cologne

Love feels like cotton candy

Loves sounds like a symphony

Love looks like a sleeping child

Today I will be introducing a poetry unit to my students.  I always like to start with a simple poem to ensure success.  And of course, since love is in the air with tomorrow being the day for lovers, I thought I’d use love as the topic for this 5 Senses poem to model for my classes.

What is love to you?  In the comment section, try your hand at this simple poem following the specified 5 Senses format!

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Make Up

What is your favorite cosmetics to use? I would have to say mascara.  I’ve used Maybeline’s Great Lash for years.  The eyes indeed are the widows to the soul, and you sure can hang some nice window treatments with mascara!

I also like it because when I want to stop myself from crying (especially in a public setting), I’ll put on a few extra coats. I use this trick to curb my tears by visualing how ridiculous I’d look with black rings around my eyes!

I even wrote a poem about it:

I Cry

Mascara keeps my tears away
When problems can’t be kept at bay
Or when the world overwhelms me again
And the pain just doesn’t seem to end
Mascara is the trick I use
If I don’t want to look like a raccoon!

What Kind of Poem Is Appropriate?

I had the pleasure of meeting poet Jimmy Baca at the NCTE in San Antonio.  I was looking forward to hearing him speak because I love his work. 

I want to share with you all a poem that cuts me to the very core every time I read it.  This poem in particular is from his book Healing Earthquakes, and was written about the death of his brother. 

 It is  poignantly beautiful.  The intense love that he felt for his brother is perfectly palpable with every word he so carefully chose.  Here is a brief excerpt that I can really identify with:

…But your dying

made a rush of silver knives

explode through my soul,

cutting every tendon that controls my body

and in a huge surge of volcanic emotion

I want to fall on the ground and scream

at the injustice—

my heart completely shatters its composure

a fierce rumbling of pain drives a stake

from the center of my heart outward

and every flower bleeds tears at dawn,

leaves droop with green sadness,

the sand howls up in dust devils

dancing its death step

and I want to stop the world from spinning,

freeze the earth’s axis with my cold grip

and cry your life back,

change the way your life had been,

place my hands in your soul

like a potter at the wheel

and make a beautiful vase of your soul

and fill it with fruit and flowers and candies

and armfuls of brimming-over love

at the hour of your death

I crush the clock fate carries,

and sadness walks in me like rain

across the desert,

carving gullies of grief,

cutting the land with deep gouges

where in the bottom I live

never seeing sunrise again

never seeing

top-land life,

in the gullet of this grief I roam

like a mad elk seeking exit.

and finding none,

only more curves, more turns,

caught in the maddening maze of why you had to die…

Estrangements

I found this telling poem written by William Pitt Root in a book called I Feel a Little Jumpy Around You.

A man and his wife are estranged.

They have a child

they love.

The child returns from a visit

with the father

carrying a sack of candy

the mother sees and takes

and throws away.

The child cries, the mother cries,

the father, if he knew,

would cry.

The father knows.

His wife has told him

of that illness, often.

How the hands chill,

the eyes glaze.

But the father loves the child

and the child loves the father.

Neither has a full knowledge of love

and there are things

to be put in love’s place.

So the child cries, the mother cries,

and the father, if he knew,

would cry.

Decade

Today Nicholas is turning double digits–as he likes to say! To commemorate this day I have written a poem.

Decade

In a decade you have managed to kindle the fires of my heart. 

My sweet tart

 

The inception of your life was a sacred moment and I am most thankful

 

For I am blessed by your kindness, your intelligence, your zest for life

 

Sweet, funny, charismatic, compassionate

 

Gifted

 

A talented artist, reader of tomes, awesome scholar, climber of trees, and everything in between

From child to tween

Your interests are varied—tae kwon do kicks to student counsel

 

So opinionated about current events

If it depended on you Obama would be president

 

You are for

All things STAR Wars

 

The Lego King

And Builder of many things

Especially dreams                                                                                       

 

The world is your canvas

No stone is left unturned

By your unbridled curiosity

Not even stitches could stop you from pursuing adventure

 

Our nightly devotionals are a highlight

After reading, a kiss, a tuck –in, and a flip of the nightlight

 

You truly make my heart melt

 

A “son” that shines brighter than all others

 

I feel lucky that I was chosen to be your mother

 

You represent the best of me and dad

 

a beautiful smiling soul

 

First my darling baby boy

 

Now my ten-year-old joy

 

How proud you must be

 

Of all you have accomplished

 

In just one decade.

Word Therapy

                     I love poetry.  There is something about poetry that makes me feel free.  I write when I am happy, sad, excited, confused—virtually anytime.  I don’t have to have a rhyme or reason (pun intended!) to write.  I thought to share this love with Eliza as a way to channel her stress.  During our last visit she confided in me that she had been up all night crying.  I really didn’t know what to say, but I did empathize with her.  As a mother I know it has to be agonizing for her to be separated from her children.  

On the drive home I brainstormed ways that I could help alleviate her stress.  Poetry seemed like a good answer.  On occasion I have sent her poems for encouragement and she seemed to enjoy those.  During Christmas I even wrote one for her on behalf of the children.  I figured that writing poetry was a healthy, tranquil method of reducing stress.  And it is something that does not require much investment to begin.   Also, Eliza had recently shared with me that English was her favorite subject.  So I wrote Eliza a letter to pitch the idea and she loved it. 

  Yesterday I mailed her a “poetry starter kit.”  She had expressed an interest in reading some of my work,  so I obliged  and sent her 11 poems that I had written.   I also sent a list of 10 different poetry genres along with instructions for each. 

As I mentioned in my last post Opening Up, Where I Come From, was the most personal poem I sent.  This poem gives a lot of insight about how and why I am who I am.  It highlights the events and experiences that have shaped me.  Of course I debated whether to send it along with the rest.  But Rhonda convinced me that I should.  I realized that I have to let my inhibitions go for the sake of balance.  After all, it does take two to have a relationship of any kind—good or bad.

I invite you readers to try your hand at writing your own version of Where I Come From.  I would love to see them appearing on your blogs!  If you share yours, I’ll share mine!  For more information, go to:

http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html

Opening Up

             I am a very private individual.  I keep most of my thoughts close to my heart.  I am hypersensitive regarding most things.  I care deeply for others.  I don’t like to work on teams, believing that I can get the job done better on my own.  I could accurately be described as a loner, preferring my own company to that of others.  It feels safer this way.  

            It is not easy for me to open myself up to others.  Yet I know it is necessary in order to fortify relationships.  I am still hesitant to tell Eliza too much about me.  I don’t want to give her any future ammunition.  I want to be okay if the tides do happen to turn. I know that it is necessary for us to communicate, however, she does not have to confide in me the way that she has been.  This shows a little growth on her part.  She could keep things strictly about Ethan and Evan.  And this used to be the way it was. 

            But in her most recent letter she wrote I really appreciate you sharing with me how Evan is feeling.  I expect him to be angry with me.  I actually expect all of my boys to be angry with me-I don’t blame them.  I mean, look where I am… I’ve made some bad choices in life and I feel I have truly learned from my mistakes. When people are at the mercy of others, they will say and do anything to get comfort.  Does she really mean what she says?  Only time will tell the story of El…

            Truthfully, I don’t know if I’m brave enough to expose my “weak” spots to her.  But yesterday I took a tiny step in that direction.  I sent her eleven poems from a collection of poetry that I am creating called  Dark Days.  One poem in particular revealed a lot about me, entitled Where I Come From.  Keep reading because I plan to write a post regarding how she and I even got on the subject of poetry.  Stay tuned… 

Anne Bradstreet’s “The Flesh and The Spirit”

Be still, thou unregenerate part,
Disturb no more my settled heart,
For I have vowed (and so will do)
Thee as a foe still to pursue,
And combat with thee will and must
Until I see thee laid in th’ dust.
Sister we are, yea twins we be,
Yet deadly feud ‘twixt thee and me,
For from one father are we not.
Thou by old Adam wast begot,
But my arise is from above,
Whence my dear father I do love.
Thou speak’st me fair but hat’st me sore.
Thy flatt’ring shews I’ll trust no more.
How oft thy slave hast thou me made
When I believed what thou hast said
And never had more cause of woe
Than when I did what thou bad’st do.
I’ll stop mine ears at these thy charms
And count them for my deadly harms.
Thy sinful pleasures I do hate,
Thy riches are to me no bait.
Thine honours do, nor will I love,
For my ambition lies above.

Everyday I fight temptation to do what I know is right…I don’t always win!!!