Some poetry tries to capture a single moment, the smallest moment, that feels somehow bigger than the time it takes to happen. Have you experienced a moment like that before.
I saw a young deer standing
Among the languid ferns.
Suddenly he ran–
And his going was absolute
Like the shattering of icicles
In the wind.
by Hildegarde Flanner
I love that poetry can be written about ANYTHING. Choose something you like–maybe something you are passionate about–focus on the details of an aspect of it, and write your observations and feelings.
What activity is this poet thinking about?
He waltzes into the lane,
‘cross the free-throw line,
fakes a drive, pivots,
floats from the asphalt turf
in an arc of black light,
and sinks two into the chains.
One on one he fakes
down the main, passes
into the free lane
and hits the chains.
A sniff in the fallen air–
he stuffs it through the chains
riding high:
“traveling” someone calls–
and he laughs, stepping
to a silent beat, gliding
as he sinks two into the chains.
by Michael S. Harper
He never actually names the subject activity, but he uses very specific words that invoke a particular activity. You probably know immediately what he’s talking about… why is that? How does the poet make you think of this activity? Is it just the words he uses, or is there more to how he is describing the activity? Can you write something that has the same effect?
Are you going out for walks in your neighbourhood? Do you add anything to your walks to make them interesting? Next time, try being a Twinkletoes…
When the sun
Shines through the leaves of the apple-tree,
When the sun
Makes shadows of the leaves of the apple-tree,
Then I pass
On the grass
From one leaf to another,
From one leaf to its brother
Tip-toe, tip-toe!
Here I go!
by A. A. Milne
The sun has gone behind the clouds today and I’m seeking a bit of coziness. Shel Silverstein to the rescue! Even if you don’t have a tree house (or even a backyard), you can still create a cozy nook for reading, writing, drawing snoozing, and being peaceful. Climb on into your spot and read or listen to some poetry!
A tree house, a free house
A secret you and me house,
A high up in the leafy branches
Cozy as can be house.
A street house, a neat house,
Be sure to wipe your feet house
Is not my kind of house at all–
Let’s go live in a tree house.
by Shel Silverstein
These poems are all about nature–weather in particular. I find these three poems very good at creating imagery. I would love to see different illustrations of these pieces. If you send me your drawings, I will post them on the blog later on.
White sheep, white sheep
On a blue hill,
When the wind stops
You all stand still.
When the wind blows
You walk away slow
White sheep, white sheep,
Where do you go?
by Christina Rossetti
Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night.
And I love the rain.
by Langston Hughes
If sunlight fell like snowflakes,
gleaming yellow and so bright,
we cold build a sunman,
we could have a sunball fight,
we could watch the sunflakes
drifting in the sky.
We could go sleighing
in the middle of July
through sundrifts and sunbanks,
we could ride a sunmobile,
and we could touch sunflakes–
I wonder how they’d feel.
by Frank Asch
All three of these poets are well known. Christina Rossetti and Langston Hughes are famous poets. Christina Rossetti lived in England from 1830-1894 and Langston Hughes lived in the United States from 1902-1967. Frank Asch is a well-known American author of picture books. He was born in 1946 and is still alive and writing books.
I have written already this month about some of the ways poetry and music work together. Here is a way that you can start to experiment with performance and musicality, without having to worry about coming up with the words yourself.
Find a book in your house that you already know pretty well. You can practice speaking the words in a confident and constant rhythm on your own. Once you can keep up a steady beat, go find a backup track on youtube or soundcloud and try performing your text to the beat!
I definitely want to hear what you come up with. You can post it to your class team or email me (cbrogan AT vsb.bc.ca)
*Don’t forget to credit the people who originally created the words and beats you choose to use. You can see the credit given if you look below the video on the youtube page.
Today is the day we are really getting into our online teaching and learning at Quilchena. It’s going to be unlike any school any of us have ever done. Some parts will be hard. Other parts will be joyful. We are here together and will be together until the end.
The mind dances
when the body lets it
And when the body cannot
the mind dances within
But sometimes they move together
and together sway
and fly together
and dance and sing
And then it is indeed
on enchanting thing
Today let’s share part of a very long poem that was written a loooong time ago.
Walt Whitman was an American Poet who lived in the 19th century. He was born May 31, 1819 and died March 26, 1892.
People consider Leaves of Grass is finest work, and a important piece of literature from this period in American history. He worked on it his entire life: it was first published in 1855 and he revised and added to it over six subsequent editions, the last being published only a few months before his death.
The words of the true poems give you more than poems,
They give you to form for yourself poems, religions, politics, war,
peace, behavior, histories, essays, daily life, and every thing else,
They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes,
They do not seek beauty, they are sought,
Forever touching them or close upon them follows beauty, longing,
fain, love-sick.
They prepare for death, yet are they not the finish, but rather the outset,
They bring none to his or her terminus or to be content and full,
Whom they take they take into space to behold the birth of stars, to
learn one of the meanings,
To launch off with absolute faith, to sweep through the ceaseless
rings and never be quiet again.
Is this how poetry comes to you? I love reading how writers describe the act of writing.
It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light.
by Gary Snyder
I have a book called Book Speak: poems about books by Laura Purdie Salas, illustrated by Josée Biasaillon. I met the author once upon a time and got the book signed!
Here are a few of my favourites:
If a tree falls in the forest
with no ear to hear its fall,
does it make a crackling thunder
or descend in silent sprawl?
If a book remains unopened
and no reader turns its page,
does it still embrace a story
or trap words inside a cage?
Describe you desires and they become mine.
I‘m a treasure box where feelings can shine.
All thinkers need pages where dreams can take flight.
Reveal all.
Your secrets, one entry per night.
I swallow up dragons and
cannons and
wars.
I don’t fear old mansions
with slow, creaking
doors.
I quite like the dark–
murky midnight’s no
threat.
The one thing I fear
is the feeling of–
wet!
When puddles attack me or
raindrops are
springkled,
they leave me quite soggy–
they turn me all
wrinkled!