Poetry Friday

Thoughts

Thoughts rest your wings;
Here is a hollowof silence,
a nest of stillness, in
which to hatch your dreams.
-Joan Walsh Anglund

(This poem is nestled betwee two large black and white photos of my girls as babies as they were sleeping. My husband took them and we thought they were precious. I found the poem and put it up in a frame with them. I LOVE this poem, it speaks of peace and rest, all that sleeping should be.)

Here is the much anticipated poem about three that I promised in my last post. Look around, do you see things of three?

Magical Three
by Sarah Amick

The wheels on my red, antique, metal tricycle
My mother's jars of brown sugar, sugar, and flour;
Formally the number of grandparents I had,
My childhood friendships were always a trio;
The age of my itchy, itchy, chicken pox,
My grandfather's number of granddaughters,
Mother, Father, Daughter- my family growing up
3 x 10 = the year my parents divorced;
the number of times I've been pregnant,
year three, the year we had a baby...

The Little Details

I'm reading "Reading With Meaning" by Debbie Miller currently and she says, "I begin by paying attention to the little things." Later on she says, "Showing children we care about them and love being their teacher is an important first message. And at the same time, I'm modeling how you go about creating lasting friendships." I think that I do a pretty good job of this but I have decided that on my nightly walks that I will begin to pay attention to the little things in my neighborhood, just some added summer practice! Here is what I saw this evening:
1. Neighbors like to plant things in groups of three. (I have a poem brewing about this one)
2. One neighbor put a bird house up near the roofline of their house. Is this to detract or attract?
3. Red-winged black birds have two different sounds they make. One is very nice and song like and the other is very high pitched and not very nice.
4. People all over my neighborhood have planted a lot of Hastas.
5. Children love when their fathers go outside and play with them. It's a different kind of look kids get when they have a father that "hangs" with them.

I hope to grow in my community building skills so that they grow, like weeds!

GREED

Greed: To have a strong desire for...

We have read two really great texts, Tough Boris (author?) and How I Became A Pirate by David Shannon. I thought it was only appropriate because I always tell my students my favorite phoneme sound is -ar. Like the pirate, they never forget. Anyway, we read these books and we made a text to text connection. We discussed words like stowaway, rowing, we also discussed the illiteracy with pirates. Then we happened upon the phrase, "pirates are greedy." We figured it out using the context clues and the illustrations. We made text-self connections regarding greed. And then, in a moment one of my students said, "Mrs. Amick you want us to be greedy." I was caught off guard. I asked my students, because now several of them were shaking their heads, what are you talking about?
One of my girls said, "you want us to be greedy about learning!" They know this about me. This is my deepest darkest secret for them. I can never say enough words that could get through to them that knowledge is power. Mostly when I try to express this with words it just feels like lecturing so I have given that up. My example has led them to this conclusion. They have used their schema to infer this information from my text. Gosh, I am so proud of them. We have really worked hard on building a community of trust. Today was one of those "Yahoooooo" moments when your heart swells with pride.
I am so fascinated by kids. There is nothing so enthralling as children can be.
Be greedy with your learning.

8 Things to Do this summer MEME

I was challenged to set some goals for myself for the summer. I don't really want to set goals I want to play. So I am making my goals playful!
1. I want to be the one in my group that reads the most. I will read anything that I get my hands on at the library. Just realize that I am very competitive!
2. I want to write more poetry this summer. I think that I will have lots that flows out of me. (Note: Ingrid, I am changing lots to abundance!)
3. I want to go swimming with my girls this summer. Floating, splashing, smelling the sunscreen, that is me.
4. I will spend one entire week combing the beach looking for treasures that the ocean beholds. I know, it is a tough goal but someone needs to be in charge of that. Scott, my husband, is getting to take his first summer vacation since Sydni was born. Won't that be so special. We are pumped!!!!!!!
5. I want to stay up late and blog, blog, blog.
6. I will take the dog for a walk daily. We will trek our three miles with our smiles on our faces. We will come home and tell sweet stories about the bullfrogs: Joe and Earl. (The girls love those stories.)
7. I will attend the All Write conference and learn so much from my other professional friends. It will be spiritual I think.
8. I will remember to spend the days enjoying the small giggles, and bright eyes that awaken in my home every morning. I will cherish sweet words like mama, mommy, and is it still summer break?
Breathe it all in and enjoy the summer. We have all worked very hard.

I Remember...

Ruth Ayers from http://inspiringreaderswriters.blogspot.com had her first guest blogger, Penny Kittle. Ruth and Penny gave a challenge to write something starting with the two words, "I remember." This is a Graves challenge as well. Here it goes:

I remember a cold, January, pre-evening storm that left the streets of Fort Wayne slick, icy, and treacherous. I remember standing up in the front seat of my mother's green, 1970's Oldsmobile. This car was not built for comfort. It had leather seats that in the summer made your legs stick like sticky glue. It had hard parts that gave it an industrial feel. It was never soft, or inviting. In my memory I remember hearing her words, "Sarah, you need to stay in your seatbelt. The roads are dangerous, you could get hurt." As we drive down the street we follow a semi truck that is lost and driving at a snail's pace through a residential neighborhood. I know now that he is not supposed to be driving on this piece of road.

Up ahead I can see boys, around 8 and 10. One is wearing a blue snowsuit and a bright, red, knit hat. They have spent their snowday off of school sledding, building snowforts, and having snowball fights. They are tired of the day and have exhausted all that they are allowed to do. Now they have turned to the things they are not supposed to do. This action of throwing snowballs at drivers passing by is very dangerous. They know they are not supposed to do this because after each throw they resume a hiding place so as not to be caught. Even though they know this could bring them trouble they still embark upon the activity because they are bored and they are curious about what could happen. As the semi truck in front of us stomps on his brakes my mother is still beckoning for me to sit down, and buckle up. She does not see the truck stop.

All that I remember is the steel, unbending, T on the back bumper of the truck as we slam into its back end. When my eyes open to the conscious world I am no longer in my former standing position. Now I am crammed under the front seat but in the back of the car. I can hear my mother, is she crying? What is she saying? Is that my name? "Mommy?!" Was that my voice? Did I scream it out like that? I slowly untwist my legs that are mangled under the seat and lift myself over and slide up close to my mother. Why is she just laying there, and why is she bleeding?

Fear slides up my throat as I hear, and see, the sirens flash. There are strangers poking and prodding me. Where are they taking my mother? They are asking me all sorts of questions. What is your name? Where do you live? How old are you? Does anything hurt? I cannot answer. I am not allowed to talk them. Besides, the fear has gripped me into silence. Look at all the lights on the top of the ambulance. Am I riding in an ambulance? These are the incoherent thoughts that race through my little, 5 year old, mind.

Somebody please call my father, my mother is hurt.

A Poem for my first born

I wrote a poem about "The One Who Calls Me Mama" My oldest daughter has been waiting for her poem. She is a very complex kid who keeps things hidden and must trust others before exposing herself to them. Here is her poem:

My Firstborn

by Sarah Amick

Has taught me the meaning of trust

Is a loyal friend who only wants to be loved

Hates having asthma, being allergic to cats,

and wearing socks;

Is sensitive to other's feelings, being hurt,

and her little sister;

Loves all things bicycles, scooters,

and rollerskates

We struggled with life as she drew her first breath;

capture the world through her

large, bright, blue eyes

Holds onto her treasures, things that have hurt her,

and my heart filled with love...

friday poetry...

I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Want less" How profound these two words. Here is the poem:

want less...

by Sarah Amick

I want less

to be satisfied with the dawning of each new day

want less

to live content with small means

less

capture the joy of a single moment

less I want

feel the release

want less...