We all are made of
We all feel
There are a million things that we aren’t.
There are a million and one things that we are.
When we look at comparisons,
holding ourselves up to
or someone we think should be our mirror,
we always look at the one thing that makes us different.
By doing so, we either
negate the other person
because we believe our difference is more important,
or we negate ourselves
because we believe our difference makes us somehow deficient.
we should be looking
at the one thing that makes each of us unique.
and celebrating the miracle of improbability
that created it.
It’s all in the connotation of things.
The way we see things in either:
lightness or darkness.
love or hate.
lament or celebration.
We all try to dim
our fellow stars,
but it doesn’t have to be this way.
This post initially appear on Miss Ross’s Blog via my school district.
Featured Image: Pixabay – “Stars” by skeeze (CC0 Public Domain)
If you called me a procrastinator, I would say guilty as charged. Most of the time I am distracted by lines of poetry and prose that I compose while I’m washing the dishes, cooking dinner, grading essays, lesson planning, and a multitude of activities where I’d rather be doing something else. Tonight that activity is packing. In all reality, I know I should’ve already packed for the trip, but I at least made a checklist of what I wanted to take so I’m not completely behind schedule.
The sheer excitement I feel pulsating through my veins is the same excitement I would feel climbing into bed on Christmas evening. The excitement that no matter how tight you squeeze your eyes shut hoping to fall asleep you can’t. At least not until that sweet exhaustion anticipation has caught up with you and you drift off, a small smile still playing at the corners of your lips. However, the nap after opening presents is the soundest, most peaceful rest of the year. That will be me tomorrow about 6pm as we take off from Chicago O’Hare on an eight hour flight to Amsterdam.
For now, it’s the night before Amsterdam, and I am letting visions of tulips dance in my head:
‘Twas the night before Amsterdam, when all through the house
I was frantically searching for the perfect blouse.
The luggage stood empty; the clothes were not there.
I has to de-fuzz them as they were covered in corgi hair.
Final arrangements were made, itineraries were reread
When all I wanted was to sleep in my bed.
The hotel and “must see’s” were checked on the map.
A forte for planning would ensure no mishap.
When all of a sudden I squealed with laughter.
This anxious excitement was all procrastination blabber.
Tomorrow the adventure starts; it’s sure to be blissful.
But if I don’t get some sleep it will be more like abysmal!
So, I leave these words with you before I settle down for the night-
“Happy to travels to all, and to all a good flight!”
This post initially appeared at Miss Ross’s Blog via my school district.
Featured Image: Pixabay – “Flight” by ThePixelman (CC0 Public Domain)
Their heads are bowed
in suspended animation
or it could be silent prayer.
There’s a good chance
it’s a little of both.
Bodies hunch over,
shoulders thrust forward,
shielding their fragile flame
from the storm of data disaggregation.
An uncomfortable silence
stretches on into the abyss of
“Thou shalt not write outside the box”
and flecks of pink eraser.
All this a mockery
to the life of individuality,
the promise of self exploration,
that previously filled the halls.
My students –
knowing and yet not knowing.
A horrible amalgamation of
imposed requirement and Schrodinger.
These momentary glimpses
at the normalizing of standardization
and erasure of student identity
makes me want to rip down the sheets of paper
I used to blanket their work on the walls
and throw a ticker-tape parade
with the shredded test books
as we celebrate a return to creativity.
Featured Image: Pixabay – “Desks” by macco0514 (CC0 Public Domain)
I went on a nature walk with my creative writing students a few weeks ago. A week of lazy afternoon suns had warmed up the little bit of winter we received here in Texas, and Spring was vividly pulsing through the air. The Texas mountain laurel had just put on their blooms, and the smell of grape kool-aid made me light-headed as we walked the trail behind our school.
We had begun to study haikus, and it seemed the perfect day to experience the birth that nature gives to writing. After our brief repose, we came back and wrote haikus about things we noticed the world was saying to us. It has been almost a month since then, and our work with haikus has undoubtedly improved. Here are a couple I wrote on that first day:
what are you doing here, sir?
Your flowers sleep still.
Breathing quiet life
like frozen pond lilies do –
Silence calls to me.
This new antiseptic aesthetic
has erased the trappings
of what it means to be human,
slandering the gamut
of emotions and experiences
which define our very existence.
I thought I knew what I wanted to write about when my fingers flew over the keys and the words above poured forth. Sitting here, now 15 minutes later, there are no other words bubbling up. Truthfully, it wouldn’t matter if the words that came next moved the mountainous foundations of the hardest hearts. They would be empty because I am deflated.
This is how I feel – antiseptic. Stripped bare of all the fierceness of my human frailty. That in a society that spends its good names in service of some “money knows best” dais of superiority, there is no room left to feel anything else. It just hurts too damn much. The words, at least for today, are in short supply.
In response to Daily Prompt: Aesthetic
Featured Image: Pixabay – “Depression” by Unsplash (CC0 Public Domain)
when this final book is done,
I’ll slip it back on the shelf.
A light shifting of dust
will plume into the air
as they settle,
knowing this arduous task is complete,
will settle back on the divan
like the soft shake
of memories from books past.
There is a contented understanding
this moment will come to pass,
and I welcome it
with the knowing smile
of an old friend.
In response to Daily Prompt: Someday
Featured Image: Pixabay – “Someday” by voltamax (CC0 Public Domain)
Life is made up of fleeting moments
like the click, click, click
of a slide show switching
from one frame to the next.
Catch them and hold onto them.
But not too tightly!
Be more like a child –
peeking between thumbs
of their cupped hands
at the blink, blink, blink
of a lightning bug
before the light goes out forever.