Morning in Different Ways

I like mornings. Mostly. Today I came across something I'd written Oldest, Middle, and Youngest were Big Guy, Little Girl, and Baby, and I started thinking of morning in different ways.

Starting

waking, stretching, yawning, washing,

dressing, eating, brushing, cleaning,

rousing, changing, feeding, singing,

driving, walking, opening, planning,

prepping, waiting, smiling, greeting,

Starting

I though, if I can think about mornings with verbs, why not nouns? Are they different for weekends and workdays?

Morning                                                Morning

Pillows and blankets                             Pillows and blankets

Alarm and light                                     Slippers and robe

shower and brush                                  Whispers and lamp

clothes and shoes                                   Coffee and cookies

coffee and toast                                      Sofa and book

Morning                                                 Morning

Hmm...maybe morning is a person....with a split personality?

Morning calls softly on voices of birds,

its coffee-scented breeze pulling you to your feet.

It breathes deeply as the first rays of sun

touch your face, welcoming you to 

a new day.

OR

Morning screams suddenly with a shrill voice,

vaulting you abruptly from dreams to reality and bed to floor.

It pours glaring lights into unready eyes

and laughs at weak protests over

a new day.

Maybe I should try irony--after all, I'm composing poems about morning as the sun sets through the windows by the sofa.

Sun Play Here and There

April sun in Indiana is thin
and plays hide and seek with flat gray skies,
but mostly chooses hide.

April sun in South Carolina is loud
and calls for you to come play in warm breezes,
but also sits in calm corners.

MIdnight Memory

       Midnight Memory

The rhythmic squeak of the rocking chair

slices through the silence

of the sleeping house.

Shadows from the streetlights

sketch hazy pictures

on the walls,

and a small warm body

drapes over my shoulder

like a blanket

tucked under my chin.

Really There is no other choice

Some not-quite-as-random-as-they-seem facts:

• Once the SOLSC was over, I knew I wanted to keep slicing on Tuesdays
• I have an old notebook and a tattered folder with some bits and pieces of old writing
• Last night, the BONS were together--eating, laughing, telling stories, and sharing writing
• The BONS know there is poetry hidden here and there in the notebook and folder
• It's Poetry Month

So really, there is no other choice. I'm feeling nudged (pushed, pulled, encouraged, called--you pick) to pull out a couple of the poems and put them here. Where you can see them. 

To the BONS: I'm holding you all personally responsible for this!

This one was first written in spring of 2003, though it's about a fall tradition.

Round the bend

at the top of the hill,

smoke curls over the barn

where family history is made.

Cars standing,

head toward the wind

like cattle shoulder to shoulder

in the pasture.

Familiar faces

appear distorted,

like looking into an old mirror;

it happened so quickly.

Approaching slowly,

reconnecting with nods

and picking up

year-old conversations.

Rich tradition

sticks across generations;

through change, much stays the same

as the family story goes on.

We Can Just Keep Going and Going

As I was trying to think of how best to reflect at the end of my first SOLSC, I realized that my first graders had summed up much of what I was feeling. While I learned a lot about myself as a writer and the importance of belonging to a community of writers, bits of doorway conversation best reveal my thoughts.

This morning, as my kids came into the classroom, giving hugs, jostling past each other and filling me in on their lives during the 17 hours since I had last seen them, N. squeezed me tight and said, "Mrs. M.--we did it! We passed the challenge!" Her face was lit up and she bounced up and down with excitement and an obvious sense of pride.

A. overheard and wandered over, shoulders slumped, his brown eyes thoughtful. "But it's kind of sad too, right?" he said, "that it's all over."

J. barely looked up as he moved past A. to get to the coat hooks. "We can still slice though! There are new books (we had slice booklets) and we can just keep going and going."

A. followed J. to his desk, and seeing a new blank book just for slices, hurried away to his own desk. He sat down, tossed a smile my way, and began to dig through his desk for a pencil.

My Son Is Appealing to the Slicing Community

On this last night of the challenge, my oldest son--the one who first read my "iPoetry" last night--has asked me to throw out an appeal to the slicing community. Before I explain, can I just make an observation?

If slicing had not become such a huge part of my life over the past month, he would not be asking.
If I had not come to see myself more as a writer over the past month, I would not have shared my new writing habit with my family.
If my family had not come to see me as someone who writes daily and to become interested in my writing, my son would never have asked me to do this.

So for all that, thank you. Now back to the appeal.

Oldest wants money to replace a broken xBox game--so that he can rejoin his online community. Just now he followed me to the sofa and stared at me thoughtfully as I opened the computer to write my slice.
"How much would you pay me if I do your iPod poem idea only made it really, really challenging?"

"Huh?"

"Like, if I did say, a 2 page ballad using only song titles. How much would that be worth? Would you pay me?"

"Are you kidding? Pay you? And a ballad? I mean, a ballad has certain rules--like the rhythms and rhyme and stuff. And it has to tell a story. What about a multi-stanza poem instead--one that tells a story (oh my gosh, he's sucking me in already....can you feel the pull of a desperate adolescent?). A ballad--too hard. The rules are you can only use song title on your own iPod. No other words."

"No, no...I mean a real challenge. I can do it."

We debate for a few minutes, going back and forth about whether he could go add a bunch of stuff to his iPod before starting and could he include his Pandora favorites, which are technically on his iPod. I have to admit that part of me wants to say yes simply because this is a kid who generally resists writing and will tell you he's not good at it--but don't believe him. He actually can write well, especially in the sarcastic humor genre (are you surprised?).

"I don't know....."  I look to my computer screen.

"Ask them," he says, gesturing to my computer.

So, slicers, here it is.
Should I, as a parent and teacher, be willing to pay my son if he does indeed produce a multi-stanza poem or a ballad composed entirely of titles from his iPod playlist (he's leaning over my shoulder, whispering to you, "yes, you should.....")? Oh, and he wants to remind you that he has provided me with material more than once this month (see previous posts).

And know that he's only asking because this challenge has caused not just me, but my family to see me as a writer, and to value this community. We all see this as part of our lives now...like it or not, you've become part of us.

Let the Music Move You

I am sitting (alone!) in our local coffee shop, mocha at my side (hey, it's the week before spring break), computer on my lap, plugged into my iPod (currently Jason Mraz I'm Yours).  For me, this is definitely a treat, and I am enjoying every minute.

The iPod has inspired me--I got to wondering if there was a poem or two hiding among the titles on my playlists. when the idea first occurred to me, I thought it would be a quick little exercise. I whipped out my small notebook and pencil and started scrolling through my playlists....and now, 4 scribbled pages later, I'm thinking that there's more material here than I realized. So what you get is some random playing with this idea. My rule was that I could use only complete song titles (there has to be some element of challenge!). Enjoy!

S.O.S.

Broken sorrow,
Livin' on the edge, cryin';
Dream on--back in the saddle;
I will survive, I won't back down;
Make it mine if it kills me.
I have found a home.
The name of the game--
The winner takes it all.

(Cool--this is working! And it is SO fun!)


   The Long and Winding Road
More than a feeling--sweet emotion.
Sitting on top of the world learning to fly;
Free fallin' eight days a week.
Come together lucky, that's the way I like it.
If you don't know me by now,
what it takes--more more more
time, love and luck.
Simply complicated,
knowing me, knowing you.
I have found me a home.

(Wow--you have got to try this! Seriously!)

  Life in the Fast Lane
Bank of bad habits--
Ain't no rest for the wicked
for cryin' out loud.
Girls just wanna have fun,
rocking all the way--
anything goes.
That's the way I like it.

(That's all for now, but I've gotta say that I have more--this is only the tip of the iceberg. Go check your iPod--what poetry is waiting for you?)