Monday, May 4, 2015

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Next Tuesday we will deliver the children's books!  

Scribble:  Misty (Ms. D)
     "Zeena and the Marshmallows"    Find a copy here: Zeena and the Marshmallows (1).doc

Next time: Lindsey M.

Writing for Mother's Day

Mother's Day Gifts of Poetry or Prose
for mother or for someone else.

Why Gifts of Writing?

  • They last.
  • They’re personalized and more personal than most other gifts.
  • They show more thought:  the writer spent a special kind of time and made a special kind of effort.
  • They show a writer’s love better than anything.
  • You can make your mother, father, or granny cry.

Your project:
If it is below average, you will receive nothing, nada, zilch.
If it is average, you will receive 75%.
If it is above average, you will receive 85%.
If it is absolutely outstanding, you will receive 100%.

Today, plan, write, and revise.
Next time, finish up so it is ready to give.

Your project could be
a long poem
a collection of short poems
a memoir
a short story
a story or poem with photos
"newspaper" article
What else?

Looking at three types of poems.
Sample Poems for Tritinas and .docx


   A Tritina About Snow        by PeytonJ. 
   White flakes of snow
   Sprinkle down and fall
   On the fluffy ice, which is cold.

   Every step I take it gets colder and colder.
   Everywhere I look I see my favorite thing, snow.
   I look up at the sky and watch the white ice fall.

   I run inside on the warm couch, and fall.
   I watch the moms and dads and their kids play in the cold, 
   I even observe the screaming kids that fall in the snow.

   As I fall asleep that night the only thing on my mind is cold and snow.

A Thirteen (or any number of) Ways of Looking at. . . . . Poem
Scroll down to examples:

Seven Ways of Looking at a Piano
Alicia Y.I.
In a cold silent room
the only thing that can be heard
is the light dancing notes of a piano.

Inexperienced hands
pound on its black and white keys
the monster screams.

A mass of somber people cloaked in black
sit silently in the hard pews of a church.
The piano is playing the final goodbye.

Happiness and kindness
nurture my soul.
Happiness, kindness and the piano
nurture my soul.

On the piano,
black and white together make harmony.
Why can't that be so for us?

So beautiful is the perfect song
of the piano,
that even the angel choir in heaven
stops to listen.

At the sight of the piano,
my heart quakes with fear.
One day closer
to the night of the recital.

From Ode to Scissors -- Neruda

(looking like
birds, or
you are as polished as a knight’s
shining armor.

Two long and treacherous
crossed and bound together
for all time,
tiny rivers
joined :
thus was born a creature for cutting,
a fish that swims among billowing linens,
a bird that flies
   (There are more stanzas here.) 
Now, I’ll cut this ode short
with the scissors
of good sense,
so that it won’t be too long or too short,
so that it
fit in your pocket
smoothed and folded
a pair
of scissors.

Some Samples of Gifts of Poetry, though they are for various family members: 

Walk to the Mail
   -- Siobhan Anderson

You say I have to come with you,
to journey across many fences
and lawns,
to go and retrieve the mail.
With a sign I step outside,
only to find myself in knee-high snow.
You take my mittened hand in yours
as we enter the small forest
and lightly jump the fence.

We pass a garden
covered with snow twinkling in the sun.
You tell me all the things that could grow here:
forget-me-nots, baby's breath, sweet peas.
I pray that spring will come soon.

We reach the mailbox
and unload the bills, letters, and postcards.
Then, slowly, we trudge back home.

But before we reach our door,
I glance back.
Leaning across the horizon, I see us,
shadow by shadow,
footprint by footprint in the blank snow,
father by daughter. 

Dinnertime Adagio  by Anne Atwell-McLeod

Three people
a warm oak table.

All day
their thoughts
to different tunes
a mask
of India ink
spreads over the white house.

they congregate
to eat the meal
that brings them

Their voices
rise up
in the candlelight.

Their conversation
surrounds them.
back and forth.
And the tune
becomes a symphony.

When the music dies
the warm oak table
is cleared.
The three people
go their

separate ways,
and the
of tonight's talk
to take their places
in the musical mosaic
of our dinnertime conversations.

A Sort of Almost Tritina for Nat by Hallie Herz
When you came home from school,
all we wanted to do was wrestle,
Like little animals, we nipped and clawed. . .

and animals we were.
When Mom sent us downstairs, you pinched me
until I cried Uncle! (with my fingers crossed) then jumped up again to

Bruised and battered, we eventually tired of wrestling.
Panting like wild animals,
you sported toothmarks, I a giant bruise.

This line is supposed to be the enjoy, but instead I'm going to use it to
tell you I miss you so much when you're gone and you're the best
brother in the entire world and I love you a lot.

If you have extra time, and need to wait, quietly read or work on writing something else.

Mother's Day jokes:

Another Time:  Clothing

No comments: