August 2017 archive

Poetry Friday: Cracking Rocks

Several things came together to contribute to this week’s poem. Like many of us, I am still thinking about the events in Charlottesville and searching for the best way to respond to the hatred that seems to be rising again. (On the hopeful side, there is an even stronger response rising with it that says, No, we will not let hate rule our communities.) On my walks, I am fascinated by the unlikely places I find plants growing–out of a rocky cliff, within cracks in the asphalt, between concrete slabs on a doorway. Wherever these plants put roots down, they begin the process of breaking down our solid creation back into soil.

Then I read this blog post from a friend of mine: Between a Rock and … a Violet? Even though she is on sabbatical in England and Scotland, I was amazed at the similar paths our thoughts were taking. Finally, I turned to another poem for inspiration: Unfolding Bud by Naoshi Koriyana. I enjoyed teaching this poem and offering it as a mentor text for my middle school students. I hoped I could use it as well to capture my wandering thoughts. Here’s what happened:

Cracking Rocks

I am amazed
by green shoots
poking up
through cracks
in concrete and asphalt,
taking root
and reaching for the sun
against all odds.

I hope
that acts of kindness
can break
through the cracks
in the walls of fear,
anger and hatred
we build between us.

I want
to be surprised
by love
taking root,
stretching
toward each other
against all odds.

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Jone has the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Check It Out. This week she introduces a brand new Poetry Friday Power Pack book. It’s time to get Pet Crazy. Stop by and see what poetry morsels are offered this week. 

Poetry Friday: Welcome to the Roundup

Welcome to the Poetry Friday Roundup! I have been looking forward to hosting for the first time. I’ve collecting poetry morsels to share like this discussion of Poetry in Politics from the New York Times or Vision and Verse–a compilation of photography and poetry, also from the the New York Times. But once again the events of our country have intruded on most of my waking thoughts and even my dreams.

I turned to poetry this past week to help me process the events of last weekend in Charlottesville, where it seemed that hatred and bigotry are poised to make a comeback. While I knew that white supremacist groups and their ideology of fear and terror and oppression have never completely gone away, I didn’t think I would see the day when they marched openly and brazenly through the streets.

I looked for my collection of poems This Place I Know: Poems of Comfort (collected by Georgia Heart for children in lower Manhattan after 9-11), but it seems I’ve given my copy away–hopefully to someone who needed the comfort offered in its poetry.

I knew I wanted to write as well as read poetry, but I couldn’t begin to find the words. So I started with someone else’s words. I was looking for a structure to help me give voice to my outrage and offer healing from the violence and hatred.

First I turned to a news story in our local paper. Instead of writing a found poem as I’ve done before, I tried writing a blackout poem. (Thank you, Christie, for sharing your experiences with blackout poetry last week. Click on her post to find out more.) Here is my first poem:

Still looking for poems of comfort, I turned to What Have You Lost? Naomi Shihab Nye collected these poems, all on the theme of loss. Since our country lost much over the weekend, I thought some of these would resonate. I was still struggling to give words to my thoughts and hoped I would find a mentor text to use as a model. I did find such a poem with “On the Suicide of a Young Boy I Did Not Know” by Jennifer Weinblatt. The poem begins

What do I do with this grief
that is not mine, this story
that is not a story but a real
life abruptly gone? What do I do…

You can read the rest of the poem here.

I connected with the sense of questioning, of not knowing what to do. Here s what I wrote in response.

On the Rise of Hatred I Do Not Understand

What do I do with this hatred
that is not mine, this story
that is not a dystopian nightmare
but the real history we are living now?
What do I do with the acrid smoke
streaming from blazing tiki torches
held against a dark sky, swatiskas
unfurling on Nazi flags,
chants echoing hate passed down
year to year like worn-out clothes
passed down child to child?
Hate filled-slogans explode
as bodies flinch under pummeling fists
and a car plows into people.
What can I do to stem the flood
of hatred rising, swirling
through our communities?
Meeting hatred and violence with even righteous
anger fuels the conflagration hotter, higher.
Turning away in silence
implies consent I refuse to give.
My faith tells me to speak out
in love, but how do you love
someone who chooses hate?

It is a small step, one of several I have taken this week, along with attending a rally on Sunday, speaking out in conversations with friends and family. I will keep taking steps until such hatred and bigotry is no more. If you are looking for ways to speak out and take steps against white supremacy, I found the steps in this toolkit to be helpful: A Five-Step Toolkit for Dealing with White Supremacists in the Age of Trump.

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Poetry Friday: Lost Slippers

A couple of weeks ago, Linda at A Word Edgewise offered a first line swap when she hosted Poetry Friday. The post included a smorgasbord of intriguing first lines and inspirational images too prompt writing. All were free for the taking–in exchange for a first line left behind.

Since my life is currently being overwhelmed by produce from our too–large garden (No matter what my husband says, 50 tomato plants is too many!), I grabbed the line “Mother Nature lost her slippers…” I knew just where she had lost them–under the sprawling vines of tomatoes, cucumbers, melons, squash…and maybe a few weeds.

Lost Slippers

Mother Nature lost her slippers
somewhere in the garden
where plants are growing wild
before the ground begins to harden.

Cucumber and melon vines grab
her ankles while tomatoes sprawl
Zucchini and yellow squash grow
and grow and grow until the Fall.

Maybe once the harvest’s done
and frost has nipped the leaves–
maybe then she’ll find her slippers
perched atop the sheaves.

Each Friday, I am excited to take part in Poetry Friday, where writers share their love of all things poetry. Margaret has the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Reflections on the Teche. This week she is hosting a first line swap that shares lots of inspiration! Take a line, leave a line–as many as you like. Stop by and see what poetry morsels are offered this week.