Givers of the worldthis one’s for youand all you do And how you givehands unfurledgifts to the world Priceless giftsyour patience and timeyour rhythm your rhyme Often unnoticedvolunteer hours…hourssteadfast superpowers Ready to serveyou notice the needClothe, help, feed Givers of the worldyou have needs, toowho gives to you?
Grocery cart grinding, squealing, stuttering(because somehow I always choose the onewith the bad wheel),I’m thrilled to see a checkout lanewith no waiting!Not self-checkout…a real lane with cashier, bagger, and conveyor belt-a small miracle.Shrieking round the end cap of protein barsand potato chip bags,securing my placein line(first place!),I realize with sinking heartI’ve forgotten the Diet Spriteand…
(with first words borrowed from Eve Merriam’s “How to Eat a Poem”) don’t worry that it might be sour; it willbite first the spot where the lenticels gatherpick those spots, dark or light; they soak up air and sunmay that bite fill you with more than apple, mayit fill you with air and sun and tree…
A lone pine stands sentinelover our backyard,towering above the young arborvitaewho cluster, childlike, beside him,watching his long limbs createshadow puppetson the sloping rock wall.Years ago, two smaller pinesstood alongside,branches overlapping,arms slung over shoulders,grown so closethey hummed the same tunewhen night breezes blew.swish whoosh whoosh swishThen, without warning,high winds felled his brothers.Left as sole survivor,his roots tangled…
Fern rescued the runt,spent hours in Zuckerman’s barn…Wilbur’s friend, and mine. Beezus and HenryRamona, too. Oh to liveon Klickitat Street! Sweet Anne with an E…Can characters be kindredspirits? Yes, they can!
(Quotes are from https://www.unitebooks.com/book-gardens/louisville-growing-readers) There is a garden growingin a desertin my state(known for bourbon and bluegrass,the Run for the Roses) it’s a book gardengrowing where oncethere were too few books,a book desert in fact,where would-be readerswere parchedbut now they can findrefreshment in their own homes; quench their thirst for stories“878,000 books were distributed9,508 families participated”an oasisspringing…
“Hi!Grammar’shere!” Big smileThree pearly teetharms up cuddle holdsing play clap giggle rollbaba blankie board book yawnlullaby nap time teddy bearstretch kick reach hug Grammar’s snuggle bug stroller walk dogs bark flowers park swingback home baby spoon peek a boo sippy cup teething ring chewscoot wriggle giggle crawlblocks build tower fall Dad’s home! “Love you!”My sweet Blairwaves byebye.
A golden hinge poem using a line from Michael Rosen’s untitled poem that appears in his introduction to the children’s poetry anthology Home. This is the home that knows you by heart.Is this house the reason you love stories and art?The home of your childhood, home of your song,home of your memory, your home for so longthat it seems…
Mrs. Shackelford was my first-grade teacher in 1976. Small and quick, with tidy cotton wrap skirts and eyelet blouses, she ushered us lovingly, but efficiently, from station to station: math, phonics, science, geography. She told us she had two toddlers at home, and when she was absent (presumably for them), her mother, Mrs. Willoughby (a…
Papaw said I was an artist. He was sure of it. Back when he worked back-breaking days installing pumps and tanks, Standard Oil Company gave him a calendar for Christmas. Above each month’s days, a nature photograph. One, in particular, was a favorite… a buck leaping over a branch, evergreens in the foreground, fall coloring…