Pencil Sharpener
Twisting and turning,
spinning and whirling,
throwing off heaps
of wrap-around skirts
with sun-colored trim at the hem.
Catching and keeping,
hiding and peeking,
saving the shavings
that nobody wants
in this little white box in my desk.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015
Hidden Book
Sometimes
when the teacher’s talking,
I can’t quite hear
what she’s saying
over the whispering
coming from my desk.
I try to ignore the murmurs
and listen to the lesson
but the voices refuse
to quiet down,
so I slip
their vessel
out of my desk
and slide silently
from this world
into theirs.
Of course I never did this. And I wouldn’t want any of you to do it. I’m just imagining this might happen, to someone.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015
Like a soldier it waits
to be called to duty,
even lying down
at attention,
its spine straight and stiff,
its uniform, pressed
and ready for action,
numbers in order,
ticks marked
at precise intervals.
It knows that you
with your untrained hands
can’t do this alone.
You need help.
Find it, call it up
from its dark drawer.
Order it
to assist you.
Everything in/on my desk is suddenly alive!
Happy Poetry Friday! Laura Purdie Salas has the round-up and another in her series of 30 Poetry Tips for Teachers.
Liz
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015
Tape
A strange chameleon
sits on my desk
staring at me
with its giant eye,
its transparent skin
camouflaged against the clutter,
against any terrain.
It sits, waiting
for something to come along
and then the rigid reptile
does nothing.
Doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t budge.
I have to pull its sticky tongue
to get it to unfurl.
I snap the end
across its small sharp teeth
and fix it
to our prey.
It’s a strange chameleon
that sits and stares
and never eats
and doesn’t care.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015
Permission Slip
If I forget
and leave it
in my desk
where it gets smooshed
by my spelling book
and pushed
to the back
in a crumpled ball
I can’t see
when someone tells me
to look
and I never remember
to take it home
will I still
have to go?
My little guy is on a school trip. I miss him. I think he would have done this, if he’d thought it would have worked. My oldest would have done this too, when he was younger. Field trips can be scary. You have no idea what it’s going to be like when you get there. I guess that’s one reason you have to go.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015
Paper Clip
What creature died and left behind this silver spiral of bone?
What insect is this with lopsided wings that fold inside each other?
What climbing vine grows and twines in this limping oblong curve?
Who can resist the finger appeal of this twisted bit of wire?
I’m sure someone with more tech savvy could have done a better job with this, but I had to rely on my old friends scissors and glue. Scissors wants a poem too.
Liz
Box of Markers
I have a box of markers.
I use them all the time—
to draw a fleet of fire trucks,
a daffodil, a lime,
a mesmerizing tiger,
a purple plum, a tree,
but not another summer sky
above a glassy sea.
I have a box of markers,
but one of them is gone.
I wonder where it went to.
I wonder what it’s drawn.
I remember last year thinking I should have started my poem-a-day project a few days early so I could work ahead. This year, I’m thinking the exact same thing.
More tomorrow, I hope.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015.
Hidden
Under
the pencils
and papers
and markers
and scissors
and notebooks
and workbooks
and rulers
and erasers
and glue sticks
and paperclips
lies a single
silver-foiled
egg.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015
Glue
I glued my fingers.
I glued my nose.
I glued my desk.
I glued my clothes.
I glued my glasses.
I glued my hair.
I glued my pants
to the seat of my chair.
But even with
a bottle of glue,
I can’t fix a heart
that’s torn in two.
My husband just said you’re not going to write about school supplies all month are you? I guess at some point I might need to open the bottom drawer of my desk (duh, duh, duh, DUH!). Amy VanDerwater says she keeps jelly beans in her desk. Maybe I’ll write about those.
Happy Saturday,
Liz
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015
The Eraser
The eraser’s nature is deeply forgiving.
When you bellow and clobber your innocent desk,
the eraser feels neither surprised nor upset.
The eraser expects, even lives for, mistakes.
Hunkering down, it nuzzles them away,
like an old Labrador at the end of the day.
The eraser eagerly gives what it can—
turning to dust in the palm of your hand,
so that you may discover another chance.
I hope everyone is enjoying the surfeit of creativity around the kidlitosphere this month. It’s only Day 3 of National Poetry Month, and I’m already exhausted by all the writing and reading and exploring. If you’re still hungry, Jama always has more treats. Head over to her Alphabet Soup for the full menu of events and today’s special–peach danish. Amy is hosting this week’s stellar (forgive me) Poetry Friday party at The Poem Farm. She is playing a poetic name-that-tune game this month, so head on over to give it a try and contemplate her poem about the stars.
© all rights reserved, Elizabeth Steinglass, 2015
Snowfog is the perfect word and this poem is just all-around...December 27, 2020 - 8:50 am by Liz Garton Scanlon
So beautiful, Liz. Love the haiku and the sense of peace...December 26, 2020 - 11:36 am by Michelle Barnes
Beautiful, Liz, in every way.December 26, 2020 - 10:14 am by Laura Purdie Salas
This year I have wished for some blending of the before...December 26, 2020 - 8:37 am by Linda Baie