Dear Desk
What do you do on Sundays?
Do you miss me?
Do you miss the busy clatter of our class?
Do you wish I was there
scooting in, scooting out,
my knees tickling you
under your chin?
Or do you spend your Sundays listening
to the humming night-sounds
of school,
remembering the years
you lived in the woods
a friend of sky
and birds?
A poem of address to the desk. What would you want to say to your desk?
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015
Far Away Friends
When I see the stars,
you see the sun,
but we both remember
our long days of fun.
When I see the sun,
you see the stars,
but distance can’t end
a friendship like ours.
I may live here,
and you may live there,
but we will be friends
no matter the where.
I’m stepping away from my desk for a moment. A friend asked me for a poem for her son because his best friend is moving to Shanghai. I couldn’t easily find one (suggestions welcome!) so I wrote this for them.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015
The Bathtub Sea
A sailboat slips across the sea
over the waves to the Island of Knee.
A submarine dives down below,
to skim the reef at Sunken Toe.
A hole opens up. The boats circle round,
until at last they run aground.
For more Poetry Friday visit Heidi at My Juicy Little Universe.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2015, all rights reserved.
Recycled Rocket
A pasta box,
a yogurt cup,
a bit of help
to tape them up,
a twisty tie,
a plastic spoon–
a rocket racing
to the moon!
Welcome, welcome one and all to today’s Poetry Friday celebration! It’s great to see you. I’m looking forward to savoring what everyone’s brought to share.
It’s now officially February, my least favorite month of the year. Winter is old and boring now. I want spring! We need something to do to pass the dark, cold hours until the crocuses bloom. It seems that every year around this time, we adopt some kind of art project. Last year we made a enough rainbow loom bracelets to cover our arms up to our shoulders. The year before that we made hundreds of pipe cleaner people and then houses and towns for our pipe cleaner people to live in. What project will we take up this year? Building with recycled materials is always fun. How are you whiling away the winter hours? Other than writing poetry, of course!
For more Poetry Friday fun, please leave your link below and visit all the Poetry Friday posts.
Liz
A Pumpkin’s Plea
I sit on the stoop,
meditating and waiting.
I don’t know who I am
or which way I’m facing.
I hope you’ll come soon
with a sharp silver blade
to hacksaw my head
and muck out my brain.
I’m desperate for eyes
like sad gaping moons
or slightly tipped triangles
threatening doom.
I crave a bright smile
and maybe some teeth—
a couple that dangle
or a set to mince meat.
A nose might make sense,
centered and friendly,
though a smooth empty space
looks disturbing and deadly.
Come, bring your knife.
Don’t make me wait!
I’m scared that you’ll leave me
without any face.
Last year I wrote a poem about my strong desire not to carve my pumpkin. My pumpkin was so perfect, I couldn’t imagine changing it. This year as I sat down to write my annual Halloween poem, I wondered about my pumpkin’s point of view. I suddenly worried: what if my pumpkin had really wanted to be carved?!
© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2014
Note to the Teacher
Dear Miss Sinclair,
I’m sorry
I made that loud farting noise
after you’d told me
to stop
three times already.
I’m sorry
I fell out of my chair
and everyone laughed
so hard
that Louis and Elijah
fell out of their chairs too.
I’m sorry
everyone stopped listening
to you
explain about our new
spelling words.
It’s just that I suck
at spelling
and I don’t understand why
an O makes
so many sounds.
This summer we realized that one of our kids has dyslexia. We just couldn’t understand why our bright boy was so stressed about school. Now we know. We didn’t realize he has dyslexia because he reads. That’s one of many common myths about dyslexia. Once we heard the news I started studying. I quickly realized our son had many common signs of dyslexia–shockingly poor spelling, a terrible time with handwriting, writing far below his abilities, and low self-esteem. If I’d known a little more, I could have saved our boy from years of feeling badly about himself. So today I want to share this poem, and I want to share this link to a list of a wide variety of symptoms. Please take a look. It’s worth knowing the signs.
For more Poetry Friday, visit Cathy at Merely Day by Day.
Collecting Rocks
One rock—plop.
Two rocks—plop.
I pick them up.
I let them drop.
More and more.
I can’t stop!
I fill my bucket
to the top.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved
eating the tree
before decorating it—
holiday traditions
sweet greenery—
wreaths welcome
to the tongue
decorated reindeer—
Rudolph’s nose
goes first
buttons
missing jackets—
gingerbread kids
ornaments
never meant for the tree
iced baubles
These haiku were inspired by Robyn Hood Black’s wonderful haiku series, “We Haiku Here,” and Laura’s delicious post at Author Amok last Friday in honor of National Cookie Day!
For more Poetry Friday, visit Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference.
Happy Holidays!
© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2013, all rights reserved.
I saw this pumpkin at the grocery store and I had to have it. It called to me. So I bought it and brought it home and stood it on the stoop. I heard myself think, “But I don’t want to carve it. I like it like this.” Then I heard myself think, “There’s a poem there.”
Here it is:
My Pumpkin
I don’t want to carve my pumpkin.
I don’t want to give it a grin.
I like my pumpkin like it is.
I like its smooth orange skin.
I like that it’s a little tall.
I like its hollow thump.
I like its tiny tree-trunk stem.
I like its warty bump.
Of all the pumpkins in the pile,
this one said “Pick me!”
I don’t want to carve my pumpkin.
I want to let it be.
I’m still thinking about the last line. Do kids say “Let it be?” Do they know what it means?
For more Poetry Friday, visit Amy at The Poem Farm.
(c) 2013, Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved
Betsy at Teaching Young Writers has us celebrating poetry and sidewalk chalk at the end of every month. My daughter and I decided to join the fun this last Saturday of August. Here’s my daughter’s poem:
Chalk decorations
covering the sidewalk
with colorful dreams
Here’s mine:
What gets you to stop and look?
A red light?
A starry night?
A poem left on the sidewalk?
But here’s my favorite thing about putting my poem on the sidewalk. When my youngest son read it, he said, “Everything.”
Happy Saturday. Happy Chalk-a-bration.
For more visit Betsy at Teaching Young Writers.
(c) Elizabeth Steinglass, 2013, all rights reserved.
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