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%.
Schedule:
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.

Poem Forms for Mothers' Day.docx

Sample Poems for Tritinas and .docx


Tritina:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/171056

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: http://iws.punahou.edu/user/bschauble/ct/13ways.htm

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. II. Inexperienced hands pound on its black and white keys the monster screams. III. A mass of somber people cloaked in black sit silently in the hard pews of a church. The piano is playing the final goodbye. IV. Happiness and kindness nurture my soul. Happiness, kindness and the piano nurture my soul. V. On the piano, black and white together make harmony. Why can't that be so for us? VI. So beautiful is the perfect song of the piano, that even the angel choir in heaven stops to listen. VII. At the sight of the piano, my heart quakes with fear. One day closer to the night of the recital. http://iws.punahou.edu/user/bschauble/ct/13ways.htm

Odes
Find excerpts from several of Neruda's Odes here:
  https://vishytheknight.wordpress.com/2011/06/09/book-review-no-16-odes-to-common-things-by-pablo-neruda/ 

From Ode to Scissors -- Neruda Prodigious scissors (looking like birds, or fish), you are as polished as a knight’s shining armor. Two long and treacherous knives crossed and bound together for all time, two tiny rivers joined : thus was born a creature for cutting, a fish that swims among billowing linens, a bird that flies through barbershops.    (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 will fit in your pocket smoothed and folded like 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 encircle a warm oak table. All day their thoughts dance to different tunes until a mask of India ink spreads over the white house. Then they congregate to eat the meal that brings them together. Their voices rise up and dance to one tune in the candlelight. Their conversation surrounds them. Voices bounce 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 shards of tonight's talk rise 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  wrestle. 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:  http://boyslife.org/features/29557/20-funny-mothers-day-jokes/

Another Time:  Clothing