Time July 20, 2018
Angel Ortega
"Time
is on
your side" they say
but can
time be my friend
when
unlike a friend,
he passes by me, over me, through me
and leaves
me longing
for that me
I was two minutes ago when you
on the radio
used your melodious voice
to tell me time
was on my side;
time
is not a friend
time is what you say it is
what you dont tell em when
looking at my watch you ask
me to tell you
the time.
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
Mandy Tirrell
Two years ago, I started to write in front of my students. Not poised in a chair with my journal and pen, but right up on the whiteboard for all to see. Admittedly, it was, and still is, intimidating. After all, I’m an English teacher; I’m not supposed to make mistakes in my writing, but boy do I! I drop letters from words. I scribble out entire lines of writing. I misspell. I neglect punctuation, and when in a hurry, I even screw up homophones (my secrets are out). I worried that I was sacrificing credibility and my students’ respect for me. Ultimately, I decided it was more important for them to experience the imperfect, sometimes painful, process of writing.
When I began, my only intention was to show students that writing is messy. It does not come easily to most people. Students often assume that teachers are gifted, that they have the ability to command their discipline like gods and goddesses. I don’t believe it is possible to know everything about anything; additionally, I strongly believe that the act of creating is even more imperfect and ambiguous than many of the tasks we assign to our students. We all begin with "Shitty First Drafts."
As I continued to write daily on the great wide open, I realized something else was happening. Students began to include references to my “board writing” in their author’s notes and reflections about their own writing. They mentioned my errors, my scribbles, my weaknesses, my on-the-fly edits, and they also alluded to the pieces of my writing that they thought were beautiful. I quickly realized that the act of writing on a stage (though not as a sage), is a great equalizer.
The following are poems and/or poem fragments I wrote in response to poetry prompts. They all started on the board in front of my students. I revisited and revised them here at the Institute.
Two years ago, I started to write in front of my students. Not poised in a chair with my journal and pen, but right up on the whiteboard for all to see. Admittedly, it was, and still is, intimidating. After all, I’m an English teacher; I’m not supposed to make mistakes in my writing, but boy do I! I drop letters from words. I scribble out entire lines of writing. I misspell. I neglect punctuation, and when in a hurry, I even screw up homophones (my secrets are out). I worried that I was sacrificing credibility and my students’ respect for me. Ultimately, I decided it was more important for them to experience the imperfect, sometimes painful, process of writing.
When I began, my only intention was to show students that writing is messy. It does not come easily to most people. Students often assume that teachers are gifted, that they have the ability to command their discipline like gods and goddesses. I don’t believe it is possible to know everything about anything; additionally, I strongly believe that the act of creating is even more imperfect and ambiguous than many of the tasks we assign to our students. We all begin with "Shitty First Drafts."
As I continued to write daily on the great wide open, I realized something else was happening. Students began to include references to my “board writing” in their author’s notes and reflections about their own writing. They mentioned my errors, my scribbles, my weaknesses, my on-the-fly edits, and they also alluded to the pieces of my writing that they thought were beautiful. I quickly realized that the act of writing on a stage (though not as a sage), is a great equalizer.
The following are poems and/or poem fragments I wrote in response to poetry prompts. They all started on the board in front of my students. I revisited and revised them here at the Institute.
Orchard Bearing ( this prompt explored mixing a place you’ve heard of, but have never been to, and 4
random words)
An apple in her hand,
Extended to the sky.
She rubs her fingers
Over and over
The roundness,
Revealing a shine.
A shudder resounds
In her belly.
A sudden connection
To life,
To time,
To cycles.
From her hand,
The apple
Falls
To
Field.
Breaking with the storm
In her belly,
Swollen.
A weighted life waiting,
Dropping
With
Each
Wave.
Thunder sounds.
The Orchard fades.
Apples echo
On the ground,
Announcing their ripe readiness.
Awkward Silence on the Bleachers (prompt relating to football during homecoming)
The lines marked the ground predictably.
Geometric signals,
Calculable.
But the sky held our purpose.
The stark blue assaulted our eyes,
As we willed the plastic dragon to stay afloat.
As long as it drifted, tethered to the child,
We didn’t have to talk.
It bobbed, ducked, and weaved
Its own conversation in the sky,
And the wind carried the words away.
Seeds of Secrets (Four random words prompt and enjambment challenge)
A live giant oak canopied
A shadow like a castle
Over the house perched
At the end of the street
Acorns fell like avocados
All around with spheres
For secrets heavily resounding
On the ground at their feet
Rooted in the unknown
Of a rescinding life
Beyond the shadow of the
Oak and the secrets of seeds
Thoughts on Borders by Kara Gilson
Thoughts on Borders
Kara Gilson
Today’s visiting author - Matthew Cheney -
Got the wheels of my brain turning
Quite a bit.
Ideas and subjects came up that I wasn’t
Quite anticipating:
Spinning tales of truth with imaginative fiction,
Forcing our imaginations to work,
What a man with sewn on pig parts would look like,
just to name a few.
But, one thing is still spinning around,
still lingering in my thoughts.
Borders.
What do borders do?
Are they supposed to keep us safe?
Keep us from wandering? Trap us?
Are they supposed to compartmentalize us?
Divide us? Control us? Rule us?
Are they there to help us, or to harm us?
Keep us in line?
Are borders, like rules, made to be broken?
What borders are we afraid to cross?
What borders are worth keeping?
What borders are we ready to obliterate?
I can’t help but connect the struggle of borders with the crisis at our country’s border;
What exactly are we trying to teach our children?
I think it’s time to turn the page over and
Attempt to write the other way.
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
Bicknell’s Thrush By Isis M. Féliz J.
Bicknell’s Thrush
I am here looking into
an abyss, hoping to find a bird that comes from my country. It is an irony of life to have to cross the
Atlantic Ocean to find my fellow Dominican.
When I look at him, I see his eyes, tired from so long a journey, and at
the same time waiting to be one with us.
Perhaps he can recognize us, perhaps he knew how to look beyond our
gaze, past our heavy clothing, and our hopes, to see that we belong to his
country. Perhaps this is the reason he
decided to appear in our path.
What can be said of
those who with so much concern, care for a Dominican bird and at the same time
for us? What can I do so other
Dominicans will see the transcendence of caring for our species? My voice alone will not be enough, but I can
be the one who tells others what I learned through this project.
Ten years ago, I
wasn’t aware of the importance of the Bicknell’s thrush, yet it was already
recognized in a distant country. Today I
am sitting on a bench hoping to find the answers to the questions the great
scientists are raising for me and trying to understand how a bird so small can
mean so much to so many people.
By Isis M. Féliz
Jiménez
Welcome to Week 4 of the Summer Institute! by Claudia Dery
Monday, July 16
Welcome to Week 4 of the Summer Institute! by Claudia Dery
“Good Morning! Meg says cheerfully
to the assembled group,
trying to get back into the routine.
“It is a good morning.
I can feel it.
It’s Week 4!”
She then moves around the room inviting us to choose a card,
like a magician about to do a magic trick.
But this card will have another fellow’s name on it
and will be like a “Secret Santa” (Yay, I love Secret Santa!)
Then, our mission:
“You will observe this person during the week,
unobtrusively,
noticing what they say, how they interact with the group.
And then on Thursday morning we will all write a tribute to our secret person”.
OK, name drawn,
mission accepted!
Next is our writing prompt from Randy..a poetry challenge!
Something called “Garbage Poetry”,
a form that he describes as “playing with words, with some constraints,”
(constraints being random rules that we choose?)
After we were done calling out ideas
we have our challenge::
A poem that contains
the name of a planet
one rhyming couplet
either an alliteration or an onomatopoeia
one word that is not in English
AND the words “joshing”, “zebra” and “moon”.
“You have 6 minutes..go!”
My poem, inspired by the Hey Diddle Diddle nursery rhyme (“the cow jumps over the moon”), and includes a French zebra attempting to soar over Saturn
is not destined to be a classic,
but woke my brain up for the day and reminded me once again
that writing can be playful, creative and challenging (in a good way!)
And with that, we were off into Week 4 of our Institute!
Monday, July 16, 2018
Poem a Day
Poem a Day
Rachel Hunton
It has been so long since I truly felt like a student. Though I am always learning whether it be
on the job, from my students, or through professional development, nothing compares to sitting
face to face with peers who share your interests and passions and are ready to question the world
with you!
on the job, from my students, or through professional development, nothing compares to sitting
face to face with peers who share your interests and passions and are ready to question the world
with you!
When you are a student, it is ok to have more questions than answers. It’s not easy to feel like
his throughout the school year. Teachers are supposed to have all the answers, right?! These
past four weeks have emboldened me to try new things and share these things with my peers.
The level of vulnerability they have shown has created such an open and trusting atmosphere.
An atmosphere that is essential to risk-taking and growth.
his throughout the school year. Teachers are supposed to have all the answers, right?! These
past four weeks have emboldened me to try new things and share these things with my peers.
The level of vulnerability they have shown has created such an open and trusting atmosphere.
An atmosphere that is essential to risk-taking and growth.
In this mindset, I was inspired by guest author, Liz Ahl, to try my hand at some poetry.
I used to write poetry in high school, but haven’t had the opportunity or inspiration since.
Liz lit that flame, as I connected so deeply to the themes in her work. I started a “Poem a Day”
collection as a challenge that turned into some pieces I really liked! Then once I had a few,
I was forced to think about the themes that tied them together, what order I could put them in,
how I could revise some to make them fit the “collection.” I look forward to continuing
this endeavor and would like to share two poems with you!
I used to write poetry in high school, but haven’t had the opportunity or inspiration since.
Liz lit that flame, as I connected so deeply to the themes in her work. I started a “Poem a Day”
collection as a challenge that turned into some pieces I really liked! Then once I had a few,
I was forced to think about the themes that tied them together, what order I could put them in,
how I could revise some to make them fit the “collection.” I look forward to continuing
this endeavor and would like to share two poems with you!
Longing, Yet Not
A new life comprised of the ones they
left behind.
Earnest yet haphazardly assembled.
Held together by that chance of
returning, one day, to a place I never left.
Bandages worn and tired.
Strengthening in their resolve not to.
They’ll never go back.
And I am left.
In between.
I thought I’d gladly cross those thresholds they exited.
Their backwards glances not just glancing. Staring, lingering.
Longing, yet not.
I longed. Longed for belonging.
How could I put down roots here when they could not?
But they brought me here.
Here brought me to you.
With you I’ll stay.
Still longing, yet not.
Our Ways
You go yours and I go mine.
Mine;
calculate and prepare.
Yours;
meander and relish.
I wish some of mine were yours and some of yours were mine.
But we can’t change.
Even exchange.
We go our separate, then return in the evening.
Never fully understanding the day the other has left behind.
Yet, truly understanding how our ways marked them.
In our ways, we take comfort.
In our ways, we know each other.
We love each other for our ways.
Thursday, July 12, 2018
Relaxing Exercises to Help You Write! by Carolina Sosa
Some people easily shut down themselves by following relaxing exercises instructions. To some others the mere fact of closing theirs eyes means more space and opportunity is provided for more and more different thoughts that come to knock their brain door or just climb up and get in through a forgotten open window. I definitely belong to this last group.
-Close you’re eyes. Breath deeply… Inhale deeply… Exhale… Concentrate in your breathing and deeply inhale… Slowly exhale... Let’s do it one more time… Now, let’s go to to that special moment. -I was told.
-Really? -My questioning voice replied.
-Ok. I will try my best, -I answered to me.
So, I closed my eyes and that memory immediately came as obediently as a good dog runs to his owner's call.
-Go away! -I harshly almost yelled.
-Ok, it seems is gone. Let’s try again. Let’s go to this special moment. – I tried to remind myself.
-Did you really chose not to think about me? -I heard again that whisper getting stronger with each word. I mentally opened my eyes and acidly said:
-You again? Please, I'm not going to uncover that already sealed hole. Of course you won’t steal my attention now! I am trying to bring a unique and special moment to my mind. So please, just let me finish my thought (or in this case, start it) and then maybe we´ll have time to share our past.
This seemed to work.
Back to my special moment I tried to take my whole spirit to that place. I forced my brain to remember every single detail. I looked around that place. I tried to see me there. I also try to see it through my eyes there…
-Why don´t we just finish our conversation and then you could pretend you really went to that special moment and write about it? -He asked bringing me back again with any effort at all.
-It seems I won’t get rid of you. -I resignedly answered. -Yes, let’s remember that.
Why are my thoughts always distracting me? Why all of them want to have the main role in one wiriting at the same time? Why is that uncontrollable obsession of showing up as much as they can getting more and more annoying? Sometimes this endless battle gets me so stressed. Whenever I come with an idea for a topic I decide to write about, all of a sudden, my thoughts start pressing me, intimidating me, and I have to admit, sometimes, silencing me.
So don’t try to help me with relaxing exercises. That doesn't really work. They don’t have enough power to shut up my thoughts. But of course, you could try them! Good Luck!!!
-Close you’re eyes. Breath deeply… Inhale deeply… Exhale… Concentrate in your breathing and deeply inhale… Slowly exhale... Let’s do it one more time… Now, let’s go to to that special moment. -I was told.
-Really? -My questioning voice replied.
-Ok. I will try my best, -I answered to me.
So, I closed my eyes and that memory immediately came as obediently as a good dog runs to his owner's call.
-Go away! -I harshly almost yelled.
-Ok, it seems is gone. Let’s try again. Let’s go to this special moment. – I tried to remind myself.
-Did you really chose not to think about me? -I heard again that whisper getting stronger with each word. I mentally opened my eyes and acidly said:
-You again? Please, I'm not going to uncover that already sealed hole. Of course you won’t steal my attention now! I am trying to bring a unique and special moment to my mind. So please, just let me finish my thought (or in this case, start it) and then maybe we´ll have time to share our past.
This seemed to work.
Back to my special moment I tried to take my whole spirit to that place. I forced my brain to remember every single detail. I looked around that place. I tried to see me there. I also try to see it through my eyes there…
-Why don´t we just finish our conversation and then you could pretend you really went to that special moment and write about it? -He asked bringing me back again with any effort at all.
-It seems I won’t get rid of you. -I resignedly answered. -Yes, let’s remember that.
Why are my thoughts always distracting me? Why all of them want to have the main role in one wiriting at the same time? Why is that uncontrollable obsession of showing up as much as they can getting more and more annoying? Sometimes this endless battle gets me so stressed. Whenever I come with an idea for a topic I decide to write about, all of a sudden, my thoughts start pressing me, intimidating me, and I have to admit, sometimes, silencing me.
So don’t try to help me with relaxing exercises. That doesn't really work. They don’t have enough power to shut up my thoughts. But of course, you could try them! Good Luck!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)