And so it came to pass
that the little blue eggs
in the perfect wee nest
atop the grapevine wreath
hanging on my front door
while it is yet winter
hatched.
My early brood of house finch nestlings, a day or two old.
It’s possible some were hatching during Sunday’s snow.
*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the monthlong Slice of Life Story Challenge
How now, brown cow
in the front yard
around the bend
moo to you, too
my bovine friend
Today I have the pleasure of hosting the final day of the June Open Write at Ethical ELA.
I shared syllabic verse:
My youngest son is a musician. When he was four or five he’d stand at a whiteboard easel making tally marks as he listened to cassettes of his favorite songs. When I asked what he was doing, he replied: “Counting the syllables.”
He meant beats.
Like heartbeats, rhythms of life surround us. Let us listen and take note. Moments and words count…down to the last syllable. Last year I attended a workshop led by a poet who said: “Experiment with the rhythms of your voice. Find a syllable count that’s natural for you.”
Perhaps there’s a line of unwritten poetry playing in your mind, waiting for its moment. Now’s the time. Count the syllables. Maybe it’s five, eight, or iambic pentameter. Or simply begin by crafting a line that relates to something important to you (listen for it in the beatings of your heart) and count the syllables.
Once you know the count, try writing the remainder of your lines with the same number of syllables. See where the beats take you.
Maybe play with more sound by incorporating internal rhyme, alliteration, and so on.
My poem, sparked by the words of a teacher during a memorable job interview, came out in lines of five syllables.
All in for the Kids
In the interview
the candidate said
we don’t get credit
for all we’ve endured
on behalf of kids
in these past two years
and apologized
for the sudden tears
surfacing from depths
immeasurable
a soul subjected
to intense pressure
somehow withstanding
high temperatures
beyond description
the weight of the world
in every teardrop
salt-worth far beyond
the rarest diamond
culminating crown
of love resounding
courage rebounding
in five wondrous words:
“I still want to teach”
*******
As the day progresses, I am savoring the poetry being posted over on Ethical ELA.
Every bit of it counts. In the end, I think that’s the poet’s job…showing just how much.
Every moment
every heartbeat
every today
all tomorrows
count forever
In the interview
the candidate said
we don’t get credit
for all we’ve endured
on behalf of kids
in these past two years
and apologized
for the sudden tears
every one of which
surfaces from depths
immeasurable
a soul subjected
to intense pressure
somehow withstanding
high temperatures
beyond describing
the weight of the world
in every teardrop
salt-worth far beyond
the rarest diamond
culminating crown
of love resounding
courage rebounding
in five wondrous words:
“I still want to teach”
Finch eggs in a nest
on my front door wreath
captivated me
to such a degree
that I failed to see
what was happening
outside the back door:
a bright flash of blue
disappearing in
the little bird church
-bluebird occupants
brought Easter eggs, too.
On my back deck, Easter afternoon: a male bluebird is either bringing food to his mate or helping to feed babies. He entered and exited multiple times; once I was sure he was flying off with a bright blue piece of eggshell. These are the first-ever occupants of the little bird church, which has just been sitting on the deck as decor. I’ve seen the female as well. So hoping to get photos of bluebird babies soon (I need a better camera…this was taken with my phone through the kitchen window and screen).
My soul rejoices in this proliferation of feathered life, that songbirds have chosen my home for their own.
How lovely is your dwelling place,
O Lord of hosts!
My soul longs, yes, faints
for the courts of the Lord;
my heart and flesh sing for joy
to the living God.
Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may lay her young,
at your altars, O Lord of hosts,
my King and my God.
Psalm 84: 1-3
lit bits and pieces 