gemstone quiz

This morning I did a gemstone quiz. Here's the result:

Your Gemstone Says...

You are stable, strong, and full of life. You are an inspiring person. People turn to you first for leadership and advice. You are able to gently help people get to where they need to be. And while you aren't afraid to lead when necessary, you are never heartless or bossy.

The Gemstone Test

Now this is all very well and good, but I'm not sure people I know would agree with the part that says I'm not bossy. :-)

30 poems in 30 days award

Because I (along with hundreds of other people)
wrote a poem a day in April ~ thirty poems in thirty days ~
I (along with those other hundreds of people)
got this award from PoeticAsides :-)

mother's day

Yesterday, after reading an article about how the deck is stacked against mothers in America, I followed a link to a website called Moms Rising which in turn led me to assorted information about motherhood, parenting, health care, gender inequality and other issues, and of course that pesky little problem of women not being paid as much as men for doing the same kind of work and feminist backlash in general. One would think that we had gotten past that by now, but noooooo....

Anyway, then I started thinking about Mother's Day and eventually my brain cells started contemplating some famous and not-so-famous mothers who have made a difference, like Mother Jones and Mothers Against War and Mothers Against the Draft and even the Mothers of Invention, who of course weren't mothers at all, but what the heck? So anyway, that's how I spent my Mother's Day, after chatting with my kids and my mom on the phone, and taking some pictures of irises in the garden. Hope your day was as informative and entertaining as mine was. If not, take a couple of minutes to watch this Mother's Day video on YouTube... it will invoke fond memories in anyone with siblings. :-)

poetry wednesday: weather

The PoeticAsides Poem-A-Day-Challenge was so successful that Robert Lee Brewer, the blogger in charge, is continuing the project with Poetry Wednesdays. Every Wednesday there will be a prompt. This week's prompt was to write a poem about weather. Well, I like to blame the weather for lots of things: bad hair days, over-active students, etc. The picture shows my favorite kind of weather. :-)

Excuses

Any change of weather
can be blamed for a host of ills:
hair standing on end,
skin dry and flaky,
Kindergartners acting as though
they have never before
been inside a classroom.

lovin' it

I am totally loving my garden today.

For me, spring is finally in place when the iris begin to bloom. It all revolves around the iris.

Here is the front of my house today. A picture really can't do it justice; pictures never do. Even if they are worth a thousand words. :-)

a poem a day: the last one

The prompt for the last poem in the Poem a Day Challenge:
write a poem about endings. 'Nuf said....

End of the School Year

The calendar stretches
from September to June,
July and August belonging
to some alternate universe.

At the dawn of May, it begins to end:
children once cautious have become
demanding, impatient,
knowing somehow even at six,
that they have accomplished
something momentous
and are ready to move on.

They have learned to make it
all the way across the monkey bars,
can walk edge of the playground wall
without falling, are willing
to share snacks and crayons.

They write goodbye notes
to their teachers, to their friends,
adorned with asymmetrical hearts
filled with “I love you XOXO.”

three before the end

Wow. Only one poem left to write for the Poem A Day Challenge. I can't even begin to imagine what the last prompt will be, considering the prompt for April 28 was to write a sestina. A sestina? Hmm.... I've never written a sestina in my life... until now. Considering that most of my poems are of the minimalist variety, this was quite a project: a highly structured, seven stanza poem, six lines to most of the stanzas, with a set pattern of words used at the ends of each line. I managed to get it done in record time. And it almost even makes sense! And then that prompt was followed by the prompt to write a poem about exercise. Exercise? Ha. I exercise only slightly more often than I write sestinas. :-) Here are the poems for days 29, 28, and 27:

April 29: a poem about exercise

Exercise

‘Tis an exercise in futility
for me to consider exercise
anything more than tedious
not to mention tiring.
My exercise of choice
is the writing of a poem
the solving of a puzzle
or the carrying of a heavy book
to the couch.


April 28: sestina ~ seven stanzas, six lines in the first six stanzas, three lines in the seventh stanza, using only six words at the ends of the lines, following a set pattern of these words at the end of each line. Click here to read more about writing a sestina. My attempt:


Before Spring

In reverie I’m able to gather
my thoughts into one circle
turning on itself like a line
of adults wanting to be children
one more time before
winter turns again to spring.

My thoughts of spring
when the urge to gather
roses and irises even before
they bloom in the garden circle
remind me of impatient children
unable to hold themselves in line.

And it is a fine line
that draws itself toward spring
when I remember my own children
who brought me bouquets, gathered
with ribbon, blue and red circles
of grosgrain they’d found before

I put away my needlework, before
I gave up and fell into line,
hugging the precious circle
of my self until I could spring
away in silence to gather
precious memories for my children.

Because it is those children
who taught me to put others before
my self, who showed me how to gather
moments that would create a solid line
that held fast from summer to spring
bringing the closing of the circle.

Once they began to create circles
of their own, no longer children,
I knew that by spring
I could be half way gone before
I needed to pay out a line
we all could separately gather.

And we gathered into a circle,
I lined up with my children,
And we made peace before spring.


April 27: one-half of a two person conversation

Circularity

It doesn’t really matter ...
What I mean is ...
Yes, that’s true, but ...
Well, that’s your opinion.

Yes I understand ...
but I disagree with you.

It doesn’t mean I don’t get it
It just means I don’t agree.

What ever gave you that idea?

That’s absurd.
I never said that.

Fine.

day 26: overweight

The Poem A Day Challenge marches on and I'm amazed that I am keeping up with it. Sort of. Today's prompt is to write a poem with the title of "I'm so over (___)." After spending a good part of the day running all kinds of "over" words through my brain, this is where I ended up, probably because I ate way to much at Gold Nugget Days, a yearly event in our town which celebrates the finding of a 54 pound gold nugget during the California Gold Rush.

I’m so overweight

according to the charts
at the doctor’s office and Weight Watchers,
although I’ve read that Marilyn Monroe
wore a size 14.
Just like me.
I can’t help but wonder,
if I put on one of those girly dresses
the kind with a tight waist and a full skirt,
and then stood on top of an air vent,
if my picture could become famous.

day 25: kindergarten teacher

The prompt for April 25 in the Poem A Day Challenge is to write an "occupational poem" so here's my take on teaching Kindergarten, along with some nifty Kindergarten artwork:



Not Always Thankless

The Kindergarten teacher misses the warning
on a child’s changing face
just before he flicks a paintbrush
loaded with paint at the wall, at the floor,
on the little girl with pink sparkly shoes.

After school she gets a workout
scrubbing paint off the floor
in the sudden absence
of children’s voices, each one
wanting her now, needing her,
pulling on her sleeve, her pants,
the tail of her untucked shirt,
asking for help, needing a pencil,
wanting a snack, a drink,
needing to go to the bathroom,
to the playground, to throw up.

In silence she can take the time
to enjoy the smaller moments:
the lighting up of young eyes
when a friend says “You are really smart!”
or “Do you want some of my snack?”
Now she can look more carefully
at the art work, the writings,
and remember the feel of little hands
seeking hers on the playground.

day 24: mary at six

April 24's prompt for the Poem A Day Challenge was to use a photograph as a prompt for a poem. I cheated by using an already-written poem rather than writing a new one, but it's a recent poem, so maybe it's only partly cheating, and I had this very picture in mind when I wrote the poem in the first place. I have to admit that I really have little clue how old Mary is in this photo (she's the one on the right) but six sounds good to me.



Mary

At six years old
her wide dark eyes stare out
from a grainy black and white.
In her young life
she has already known
the uncertainty
of being whisked from home
the clatter of a non-stop train
the delivery into hope of sanctuary
holding her mother’s hand.

day 22 and 23: a poem a day

April 23's Poem A Day Challenge prompt was to write a poem about getting older:

Within sight of the age
when my grandmother died,
I consider each new ache
carefully
wondering:
is it temporary
or will I soon be using it
as a sign that winter is imminent.


April 22:
In honor of Earth Day, the prompt was to write a nature poem. Considering that I, along with a great number of other people, including my mother, have been watching the nesting of two Peregrine Falcons on the roof of City Hall in San Jose, California, and considering that four eyases decided to hatch on Earth Day, I decided to honor the falcons. They are on the *other* side of this building, on the roof:


Urban Peregrines

A pair of falcons takes turns
sitting on their four eggs
on the roof of a high rise,
their nesting habits are visible to the world
via web cam. Every change of the guard,
every body reposition is coo’ed over
by humans living vicariously, hovering
over laptops and in work stations.
Pigeon delivery reports are emailed
by the hour. When the eyases hatch,
all hell breaks loose on the email list.

day 21: a poem a day

The prompt today in the Poem A Day Challenge is to use a snippet of an overheard conversation. Since I teach Kindergarten, I overhear a lot of comments between little people which one would seldom hear coming from adults. One thing all teachers of little people hear with regularity is the dreaded....

You’re Not My Friend Anymore

The good morning song
is interrupted by fatal words
proclaiming the dissolution
of friendship between
one five year old and another.
In Kindergarten, solidarity
is a tenuous proposition
hinging on simple acts:
the reclaiming of an offered toy
a decline to share fruit roll ups
or the choice to sit next to
someone else.

seven together

Today I am posting seven poems from the Poem A Day Challenge. One would think it wouldn't take too much of an effort to post one each day, but somehow that doesn't seem to be happening. I have no explanation. Anyway, here are seven poems in reverse order. I should note that I did cheat on one day: April 16th's poem is an old one.


April 20: a love poem

I refuse to write
a capital L love poem;
it's just not in me.


April 19: a memory about me that I don’t remember

They tell me I used to have a dog
a black and white cocker spaniel mix
although I don't remember.
I do remember the doghouse
and the way it closed around me
when I went inside, the hair on the blanket
and the dusty smell of canine fur.
But the dog? I neither remember
the dog nor his disappearance
though I'm told he was killed
by ground glass fed to him by a burglar.


April 18: use the line,
“There is no connection”

No Connection

But for the weekly calls
on Sunday mornings
there is no connection
between this generation
and the last
and this connection
is barely enough to satisfy
the mother’s knowing
that it is the daughter’s role
to make the call, and
the daughter’s knowing
that her mother time
will be the same.


April 17: poem in third person

Immigrant

She comes to America
a debt paid to her brother’s friend
lands at Ellis Island
crosses gates and turnstiles
rides the train three thousand miles
to California to marry.
She spends the next twenty years
bringing twelve siblings
across the ocean
one by one.


April 16: poem with a surprise ending

Noelle

It is because I think I am invincible,
impervious to the mundane
trials that overtake the ordinary,
because I declare in late night musings,
wined and incensed, that I am able
to direct every note,

that I am humbled by the sudden
realization that even I can be
overpowered by random whims of
the sarcoma god, who makes its plan
to kidnap my companion.

She comforts me, as the dying will,
with strict obedience to daily ritual:
her lazy stretch in the first triangle
of morning sun on the carpet,
under the wooden rocker.


April 15: an insult poem or a poem about taxes

In 2005

Dick Cheney’s taxes
came in at a rate of
five and seven tenths percent,
after his bill was lowered by
one million
ninety-three thousand
nine-hundred thirty seven
dollars.

So?

Gotta love those tax cuts.


April 14: how (something) behaves

How the Trees Behave

They are my coccoon, my cave
in the mountains, my shade,
my dark and light.
They swing wildly in windstorms
drop pine needles on the roof
remind me with their whistlings
that they are almost human,
almost family. Almost.
In summer they’re the coolness
in my eyes and on my bare arms;
in winter their branches
catch snowflakes one by one,
until they are draped in white
like first communion dresses
or wedding cake frosting.

three days' poems

The Poem A Day Challenge marches on..... and I have had two of my poems highlighted by the blog owner who's running this thing. The two are "Always a Mom" and "Kindergartner"... both of which I particularly like. Here are the three for the last three days:

April 13: respond to a song

When I’m 64

I must remember to remind
my children not to let me
wear white anklets and plastic shoes
not to mention a flowered muu-muu
even when no one is at home.


April 12: “I’m sorry” poem

“Sorry” has a double edge
for, truth be told, we make
our choices consciously
for good or bad. Still,
no atonement can undo the way
I turned your life inside out
in order to live my own,
nor would I have been able
to do differently.


April 11: something interesting to me
or something usually overlooked

Seedling

In autumn the acorns
fall from black oaks
some are squirreled away
to undisclosed locations
others roll down the driveway
into the street
most find their way into
crevices and accidental furrows
randomly scattered in the yard
we push them into soft dirt
on our way to the woodpile
stacking our heat for winter
when it rains, they settle slightly
into concave beds and then
in spring the tiny shoots emerge
probe upward and then down
into the soggy soil
until they are strong enough
to raise the acorns off the ground
to begin the year's new seedlings.

two days' poems

I'm a day behind on the Poem A Day Challenge. I got hung up on the prompt for day 9, which was to choose a word and write about it. It took me forever to choose a word. Yeeks. So going backward, here are the poems for days 9 and 10:

April 10: write about a place



Waddell Creek Beach

At dawn the ocean
gray begins to lighten
its drumbeat of waves
light on sand
meant only for walking.
The slow slap of water
awakens the memory
of your eyes as you sat
on a log that seemed
so out of place.
I see you clearly
even two decades later.


April 9: write about a word

Word

The problem
with writing a poem about one word
is finding just the right word
because not any word will do.
It must be a word that sings
or creaks or seeks to evoke
an emotion deep in the gut,
a word that tickles in the throat
or hums with sweet nostalgia.
It can't be just an ordinary word
plucked haphazardly from anywhere
because a poem is better than that.

day 8: a poem a day

Today's prompt for the Poem A Day Challenge was to respond to one of two paintings. I chose this one -- "The Little Deer" by Frida Kahlo:



The Little Deer

Arrows to the heart
do not distract this she deer;
she prances away

on a new journey:
her grand metamorphosis
from beast to artist.

a poem a day ~ the first seven

In honor of April being National Poetry Month, I am participating in the Poem A Day Challenge at the PoeticAsides blog site. Every day there's a writing prompt and the deal is that you're supposed to write a poem on the fly using the prompt. So far I have been keeping up, and it's already Day 7. First I thought I would post my poems here, but I'm not that sure I can get my act together enough to post every day. So what I"ll do is give it a go, and post my poems here when I think about it. Here they are, in reverse order:

April 7: a rambling poem

Just this morning, early,
earlier than the sun,
when my mind started to wake up,
I began to think again about being laid off
about where we would get the money
to pay the bills
to buy gasoline
to go to the movies
to have a taco at Taco Bell
and why they call them pink slips
when they are not pink.
And then because it’s Monday
I began to think about these little boys
at school, the ones whose parents are in jail
the ones who apparently know more than we think
but just ain’t tellin’. I wondered
what in the world will become of them
if they continue to resist even such things
as listening to a story, and then asking myself
whether I could relax if both
my parents were in jail.


April 6: chronicle of a day’s events turned into a poem

Nothing ever happens to me
especially on Sunday.
On Sunday after I fetch the paper
out of the gutter
my day is pretty ordinary.
It is my day to sit outside
in the garden and read
maybe catch up on emails
avoid the streets
Other than the cats
strewing litter all over
the bathroom floor,
nothing happens to me on Sunday.


April 5: worry poem

Always a Mom

They’ve been grown
and on their own
for nearly a decade.
From two hundred miles away
I wonder whether they’re
eating right, sleeping well,
getting designated drivers
on party nights.
On the phone I ask
do they have enough money,
are their jobs going well,
have they been to
the dentist lately?
I imagine they roll their eyes
the way I did at thirty
at the same questions.


April 4: thank you or tribute

Mom and Dad

They deserve a daughter
half again at least
as good as me,
not one who forgets to call on Sundays.
Knowing this, I should tell them so.

Yet all these years they have given
only love, and loved me
unconditionally.


April 3: haiku

one gnarled oak tree branch
hangs over the garden walk
a squirrel's playground


April 2: put yourself in someone or something else’s skin

Kindergartener

Every day we have to
say I plejallejens and then
sing yankeedoodle.
Our teacher makes us sit
on the hard floor
but she gets to sit
on a fluffy chair with
rolly wheels.
She tells us to write
when we want to draw.
Then we count to a hundred
and it takes so so long.


April 1: a first

April First

On April first the last
of the redbuds bloom.
I drive down the mountain
distracted by purple
on both sides of the road.

let it snow

The first year we moved into our house, it snowed for a couple of days and we wandered the neighborhood buried to the ankles in snow that obliterated all street edges and property boundaries. Each year since then, it seems we get less and less snow. The temperature hovers just enough above 32 degrees to keep us from getting a decent accumulation. All we get these days is wimpy snow-semi-storms that last long enough to give us about an inch, which manages to make the trees look beautiful and sparkly, but seems to be immediately followed by rain that takes everything away before you can get a pot of soup on the stove and start a jigsaw puzzle. Still, it's beautiful while it lasts, and everywhere I look there are possibilities for post cards, like this:



Too bad it lasts less than a day after the rain starts. Too bad we can't get to at least 31 degrees for a while, for long enough to give us at least a few days to enjoy the scenery. And I can't help but wonder whether this is just a series of warmer winters or if it's a permanent shift, giving us less and less snow every year until we get to a point where it's just a memory.

one more makes five

We recently acquired a fifth cat,
increasing our cat to human ratio to frightening proportions.
Don't they look innocent?

ravioli time

Other families might carve pumpkins or go to harvest festivals or search for just the right turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, but in our family when November rolls around we make homemade ravioli -- but not the kind where you crank out enough for dinner from a little pasta-making machine. We work in the thousands.

It's all in the hands.



We are siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandchildren, and an ever-changing array of visitors, working in an assembly line Henry Ford could never have envisioned, moving from table to table kneading, rolling, spreading, pressing, cutting, flouring, and packing into boxes anywhere between 3,000 and 6,000 ravioli at a time. Only those who have graduated to rolling status are allowed to roll the large sheets of dough onto which the spinach/beef filling must be spread with a precise thickness that becomes a yearly topic of conversation or argument, depending on one's perspective and level of involvement.

Eight year olds work alongside eighty year olds, the latter passing the magic touch onto the former.

And it's all in the hands.