Big hair
Shades of hazel
Mocha
Not Dirt
and Sand
Ringlets
Garland
Not string
or static
Plush
Halo
Pulled by thick winds
Scattered
Texture to the tips
Bushes with berries
and flowers that glisten
Ends boing
Roots kink
Bobble snaps
from the mud
I help save the canoes
quietly nervous, afraid,
my feet squish through the mud.
Mom still remembers her Camp friends,
will I?
Scrambled
Cooked over a campfire
Made only with water
Brownies
I was ready to go. Maybe.
A vibrant headband
Short, sandy brown hair
I was tiny
I am about to experience what my family had been praising
for years
following in the footsteps of two generations
beginning an excursion full of mystery
Trail
maybe they are just here for history’s sake
are the canoes ever all used at once?
I wonder…
I wondered, at the time
about the people behind the names
on the canoes
future generations may wonder about
this photo album, guest book
years worth of history
due to the feet of small children
the earth is unable to sprout grass
the canoes sit, wait
in the mud.
the canoes appear
shiny and new
yet the camp is old, really old
they meet the crumbling stone wall
the ones farthest from my tiny toes
lean against one another.
glistening orange stripes
wide aluminum canoes
________________________________________________
For this exercise, I adapted my unit poem:
wide aluminum canoes
with glistening orange stripes
lean against one another.
the ones farthest from my tiny toes
meet the crumbling stone wall
the camp is old, really old
yet the canoes appear
shiny and new
display the names of accomplished leaders
in the mud,
they sit, wait
the earth unable to sprout grass
due to the feet of small children
years worth of history,
a photo album, a guest book
future generations may wonder about
the people behind the names
on the canoes.
I wondered, at the time
I wonder now
if the canoes are ever all used at once
or if they are just here for history’s sake
trail:
an excursion full of mystery
following in the footsteps of two generations
I am about to experience what my family had been praising
for years
I was tiny.
short, sandy brown hair
a vibrant headband
I was ready to go. Maybe.
brownies
made only with water
cooked over a campfire
scrambled
the routes, tents, new lifelong friendships
Mom still remembers her Camp friends,
will I?
my feet squish in the mud.
quietly nervous, afraid, but
I help save the canoes
from the mud
Original Poem:
The Hamster Wheel
I wake up and instantly try to go back. The light is too bright & the sun hurts my sleepy blue eyes. I force myself to leave the solace of my house. Get in the car. Pick up the groceries. Observe the morning commute. People, like ants in a colony. On the sidewalk, driving their cars, the occasional retiree, free from the chains of unfulfilling work. But what is my purpose? It has to be more than this. Life has to be more than this. I get back in my beat-down twenty-four year old car making yet another seemingly expensive new noise. Tik-tik-tik. Like me, it will soon explode. Like me, nobody knows when. Like me, nobody knows why. Nobody knows.
Ballad Form: The Hamster Wheel
I wake up and want to go back to bed.
I do not want to leave my solace to greet people everywhere.
I greet this day with nothing but dread.
My life has become a never ending hamster wheel that has me in a snare.
Trees.
Lost.
Patient.
Night.
Vastness.
Something.
In.
The.
Echoes.
Air.
Breathes.
You,
Breathe.
Spotlight.
Darkness.
Holding.
Holding.
Dust.
Darkness.
You.
Dust.
Darkness.
You.
Get.
Up.
I.
Lost.
Either.
Way.
So,
Get.
Up.
Only.
This.
Darkness.
Dust.
You.
Cinquain on Basquiat
A face
Gnashing its teeth
Frankensteinian thing
Catharsis of confrontation
Say it
Conversion:
F
L
O
A
T
I
N
G
along.
begging to be known
but just can’t seem to
escape the fog
this isn’t somewhere i can navigate anymore
turn left here
turn right here
continue straight along the path
stay on the route
continue along the route
proceed to the route
where am i?
howling through the wind
too many guiding lines
none meant for me
which is my path?
will people ever know me again?
Original:
Floating along
Begging to be known
But can’t seem to
Escape the fog.
This isn’t somewhere
I can navigate anymore
Where am i?
Howling through the wind
Too many guiding lines
None meant for me
Which is my path?
Will people ever know me again?
How To Prepare for: April O
h
There might be
n
o
w
a
y.
April.
original haiku
How to prepare for
April April April Oh
There might be no way
Conversion Poem:
Open your eyes and take hold of the wheel
Turn left or right
1. If you turned left pay the fee—
To enter the underwater highway,
Submerge yourself in the infinite blue
Look left or right
a. If you looked left listen—
To the ring of the bell above the door
Savor the break from the traffic
Delight in the submarine diner
Continue forward
b. If you looked right knock—
On the door of your childhood home
Yearn for the days spent in this clamshell home
Treasure your parents’ embrace
Continue forward
2. If you turned right release your parachute—
To join the traffic of the sky-high railway,
Plummet alongside your fellow passengers
Look left or right
a. If you looked left turn—
To talk to the commuter beside you
Listen to their tales and make them your own
Decide on where to land in the ground rapidly approaching
Continue forward
b. If you looked right rest—
To gather your energy for the journey ahead
Lay your head on the clouds around you
Awake after just a moment
Continue forward
3. If you continued forward—
Or if you never turned
Or if you never looked
Direct your gaze downward
a. If you directed your gaze downward
Face the end of infinity—
At which point a hungry whale will meet you
And swallow you whole
b. If you failed to follow these directions
Or failed to make a choice
Read 3a
Original Poem:
The underwater highway
Is endless, infinite
The toll to enter,
A mighty fee
Diners in the shape of submarines
Homes in the inners of shells
Will dot your journey
As you move toward eternity
At the end of infinity
Is a hungry whale
Who will swallow you whole
If you don’t feed him clams
speak ——-what
to ————lands
open——- exsist
tongue——- in
they’re——- the
on————- mouths
————–of
pools ———- our
in ————–muses
blood ———-histories
teeth ————etched
in —————– teeth
etched ———— blood
histories ———–in
muses ————–
are ——————pools
of ——————–on
mouths ————-their
their —————–tongue
exists —————open to
lands —————-speak
original:
what lands exist
in the mouths of our muses
histories etched in
teeth
blood in a pool on their tongue
open to speak
speak what
to lands
open exsist
tongue in
they’re the
on mouths
of
pools our
in muses
blood histories
teeth etched
in teeth
etched blood
histories in
muses
are pools
of on
mouths their
their tongue
exists open to
lands speak
original:
what lands exist
in the mouths of our muses
histories etched in
teeth
blood in a pool on their tongue
open to speak
Conversion Poem: Concrete Jail [Sunshine Freedom]
haze [light] creeps across the pavement [ocean]
is this a wall [sunset] or a moat [sunrise]?
gray [orange] cages me in [embraces me] from all sides
resist the fight or flight [accept the warmth and salt]
it’s just a road [beginning]
Original Poem: Concrete Jail
haze creeps across the road
is this a wall or an moat?
gray cages me in from all sides
resist the fight or flight
it’s just a road
darling fool
d
at twilight
r
l
I can proMise
n e
g r
c
u
and Mars
y
s
t
all will be alright in
r c
l r
intangible as vows
g w
h n
t
o
u
r
with constellations
e
let’s just dance
v
e
as fools
adapted from a sonnet for last week, Darlings and Fools:
At twilight, darling, would you sit with me
Upon a rooftop right under the stars?
So high that you could reach for Mercury
And with that grasping hand you’d capture Mars?
If I can promise you the skies will clear,
That all suggestion of this rain will fade,
That all will be alright when I am near,
Then would you dance with me till we’re unmade
By slanted starlight falling on our brows?
We’d be such fools to crown ourselves with light–
Intangible, like heavy blade-sworn vows
Of kneeling knight to queen, like distant night,
A constellation made for memory.
Oh, darling, would you be a fool with me?
Meditations at a Crossroads (original)
Love seeds from a pumpkin.
Symmetric stems and sinuous shoulders.
Made reaching. Desire for hurt for hunger
Children spread as fish on the waves,
Breath on the breeze.
Luminous father who salts the earth
For blackberry pods to burst in the mouth
Of mine
Meditations at a Crossroads: A Series of Haiku
The pumpkin doesn’t
Stop at one way, but slides down
itself to seed love
It reaches for the
Parts of itself that are its
Child. Infinity.
That is caught by fish
Who are caught by wind, and were
Thrown back into earth
By a gentle hand
Covered in salt and juice and
Love for the many
Big hair
Shades of hazel
Mocha
Not Dirt
and Sand
Ringlets
Garland
Not string
or static
Plush
Halo
Pulled by thick winds
Scattered
Texture to the tips
Bushes with berries
and flowers that glisten
Ends boing
Roots kink
Bobble snaps
from the mud
I help save the canoes
quietly nervous, afraid,
my feet squish through the mud.
Mom still remembers her Camp friends,
will I?
Scrambled
Cooked over a campfire
Made only with water
Brownies
I was ready to go. Maybe.
A vibrant headband
Short, sandy brown hair
I was tiny
I am about to experience what my family had been praising
for years
following in the footsteps of two generations
beginning an excursion full of mystery
Trail
maybe they are just here for history’s sake
are the canoes ever all used at once?
I wonder…
I wondered, at the time
about the people behind the names
on the canoes
future generations may wonder about
this photo album, guest book
years worth of history
due to the feet of small children
the earth is unable to sprout grass
the canoes sit, wait
in the mud.
the canoes appear
shiny and new
yet the camp is old, really old
they meet the crumbling stone wall
the ones farthest from my tiny toes
lean against one another.
glistening orange stripes
wide aluminum canoes
________________________________________________
For this exercise, I adapted my unit poem:
wide aluminum canoes
with glistening orange stripes
lean against one another.
the ones farthest from my tiny toes
meet the crumbling stone wall
the camp is old, really old
yet the canoes appear
shiny and new
display the names of accomplished leaders
in the mud,
they sit, wait
the earth unable to sprout grass
due to the feet of small children
years worth of history,
a photo album, a guest book
future generations may wonder about
the people behind the names
on the canoes.
I wondered, at the time
I wonder now
if the canoes are ever all used at once
or if they are just here for history’s sake
trail:
an excursion full of mystery
following in the footsteps of two generations
I am about to experience what my family had been praising
for years
I was tiny.
short, sandy brown hair
a vibrant headband
I was ready to go. Maybe.
brownies
made only with water
cooked over a campfire
scrambled
the routes, tents, new lifelong friendships
Mom still remembers her Camp friends,
will I?
my feet squish in the mud.
quietly nervous, afraid, but
I help save the canoes
from the mud
Original Poem:
The Hamster Wheel
I wake up and instantly try to go back. The light is too bright & the sun hurts my sleepy blue eyes. I force myself to leave the solace of my house. Get in the car. Pick up the groceries. Observe the morning commute. People, like ants in a colony. On the sidewalk, driving their cars, the occasional retiree, free from the chains of unfulfilling work. But what is my purpose? It has to be more than this. Life has to be more than this. I get back in my beat-down twenty-four year old car making yet another seemingly expensive new noise. Tik-tik-tik. Like me, it will soon explode. Like me, nobody knows when. Like me, nobody knows why. Nobody knows.
Ballad Form: The Hamster Wheel
I wake up and want to go back to bed.
I do not want to leave my solace to greet people everywhere.
I greet this day with nothing but dread.
My life has become a never ending hamster wheel that has me in a snare.
Trees.
Lost.
Patient.
Night.
Vastness.
Something.
In.
The.
Echoes.
Air.
Breathes.
You,
Breathe.
Spotlight.
Darkness.
Holding.
Holding.
Dust.
Darkness.
You.
Dust.
Darkness.
You.
Get.
Up.
I.
Lost.
Either.
Way.
So,
Get.
Up.
Only.
This.
Darkness.
Dust.
You.
Cinquain on Basquiat
A face
Gnashing its teeth
Frankensteinian thing
Catharsis of confrontation
Say it
Conversion:
F
L
O
A
T
I
N
G
along.
begging to be known
but just can’t seem to
escape the fog
this isn’t somewhere i can navigate anymore
turn left here
turn right here
continue straight along the path
stay on the route
continue along the route
proceed to the route
where am i?
howling through the wind
too many guiding lines
none meant for me
which is my path?
will people ever know me again?
Original:
Floating along
Begging to be known
But can’t seem to
Escape the fog.
This isn’t somewhere
I can navigate anymore
Where am i?
Howling through the wind
Too many guiding lines
None meant for me
Which is my path?
Will people ever know me again?
How To Prepare for: April O
h
There might be
n
o
w
a
y.
April.
original haiku
How to prepare for
April April April Oh
There might be no way
Conversion Poem:
Open your eyes and take hold of the wheel
Turn left or right
1. If you turned left pay the fee—
To enter the underwater highway,
Submerge yourself in the infinite blue
Look left or right
a. If you looked left listen—
To the ring of the bell above the door
Savor the break from the traffic
Delight in the submarine diner
Continue forward
b. If you looked right knock—
On the door of your childhood home
Yearn for the days spent in this clamshell home
Treasure your parents’ embrace
Continue forward
2. If you turned right release your parachute—
To join the traffic of the sky-high railway,
Plummet alongside your fellow passengers
Look left or right
a. If you looked left turn—
To talk to the commuter beside you
Listen to their tales and make them your own
Decide on where to land in the ground rapidly approaching
Continue forward
b. If you looked right rest—
To gather your energy for the journey ahead
Lay your head on the clouds around you
Awake after just a moment
Continue forward
3. If you continued forward—
Or if you never turned
Or if you never looked
Direct your gaze downward
a. If you directed your gaze downward
Face the end of infinity—
At which point a hungry whale will meet you
And swallow you whole
b. If you failed to follow these directions
Or failed to make a choice
Read 3a
Original Poem:
The underwater highway
Is endless, infinite
The toll to enter,
A mighty fee
Diners in the shape of submarines
Homes in the inners of shells
Will dot your journey
As you move toward eternity
At the end of infinity
Is a hungry whale
Who will swallow you whole
If you don’t feed him clams
speak ——-what
to ————lands
open——- exsist
tongue——- in
they’re——- the
on————- mouths
————–of
pools ———- our
in ————–muses
blood ———-histories
teeth ————etched
in —————– teeth
etched ———— blood
histories ———–in
muses ————–
are ——————pools
of ——————–on
mouths ————-their
their —————–tongue
exists —————open to
lands —————-speak
original:
what lands exist
in the mouths of our muses
histories etched in
teeth
blood in a pool on their tongue
open to speak
speak what
to lands
open exsist
tongue in
they’re the
on mouths
of
pools our
in muses
blood histories
teeth etched
in teeth
etched blood
histories in
muses
are pools
of on
mouths their
their tongue
exists open to
lands speak
original:
what lands exist
in the mouths of our muses
histories etched in
teeth
blood in a pool on their tongue
open to speak
Conversion Poem: Concrete Jail [Sunshine Freedom]
haze [light] creeps across the pavement [ocean]
is this a wall [sunset] or a moat [sunrise]?
gray [orange] cages me in [embraces me] from all sides
resist the fight or flight [accept the warmth and salt]
it’s just a road [beginning]
Original Poem: Concrete Jail
haze creeps across the road
is this a wall or an moat?
gray cages me in from all sides
resist the fight or flight
it’s just a road
darling fool
d
at twilight
r
l
I can proMise
n e
g r
c
u
and Mars
y
s
t
all will be alright in
r c
l r
intangible as vows
g w
h n
t
o
u
r
with constellations
e
let’s just dance
v
e
as fools
adapted from a sonnet for last week, Darlings and Fools:
At twilight, darling, would you sit with me
Upon a rooftop right under the stars?
So high that you could reach for Mercury
And with that grasping hand you’d capture Mars?
If I can promise you the skies will clear,
That all suggestion of this rain will fade,
That all will be alright when I am near,
Then would you dance with me till we’re unmade
By slanted starlight falling on our brows?
We’d be such fools to crown ourselves with light–
Intangible, like heavy blade-sworn vows
Of kneeling knight to queen, like distant night,
A constellation made for memory.
Oh, darling, would you be a fool with me?
Meditations at a Crossroads (original)
Love seeds from a pumpkin.
Symmetric stems and sinuous shoulders.
Made reaching. Desire for hurt for hunger
Children spread as fish on the waves,
Breath on the breeze.
Luminous father who salts the earth
For blackberry pods to burst in the mouth
Of mine
Meditations at a Crossroads: A Series of Haiku
The pumpkin doesn’t
Stop at one way, but slides down
itself to seed love
It reaches for the
Parts of itself that are its
Child. Infinity.
That is caught by fish
Who are caught by wind, and were
Thrown back into earth
By a gentle hand
Covered in salt and juice and
Love for the many