A got a letter this fall at school informing me of a poetry contest that my students were invited to enter. I recently got a letter informing me that one of my 6th graders has been selected to be published in the book of all the best poems from the contest! I don't think I can quite describe the feeling of having one of my students (my students!) published.. heck, I'm not even published. So, here is the poem, enjoy!
Love
My dove in the clefts of the rock
In the hiding places on the mountainside,
Show me your face,
Let me hear your voice,
For your voice is sweet,
And your face is lovely.
Each time he yelled about his spirit,
A part of his soul came out of him
And it was so painful.
It felt like a bird was eating
A little part of his heart every night.
When I see a smile as beautiful as yours,
I can go to space
And bring you every single star
Just to see a smile on your face.
And our love was so beautiful
That we can invent images of it.
Addendum August, 2008.
I am outraged. I was at a wedding and I heard the first stanza of this poem being read as one of the readings. It is Song of Solomon 2:14. The other 2 stanzas are original, but now I must figure out what to do about this. No wonder he wasn't very excited when I told him he was going to be published! He knew what he had done. I will see him in one week, now I must think about how to handle this situation. Argh...
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
February 1, 2008
January 8, 2008
Smooth Jazz
Jazz Fantasia by Carl Sandburg
Drum on your drums, batter on your banjoes,
sob on the long cool winding saxophones.
Go to it, O jazzmen.
Sling your knuckles on the bottoms of the happy
tin pans, let your trombones ooze, and go husha-
husha-hush with the slippery sand-paper.
Moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops,
moan soft like you wanted somebody terrible, cry like a
racing car slipping away from a motorcycle cop,
bang-bang! you jazzmen, bang altogether drums, traps,
banjoes, horns, tin cans -- make two people fight on the
top of a stairway and scratch each other's eyes in a
clinch tumbling down the stairs.
Can the rough stuff... now a Mississippi steamboat
pushes up the night river with a hoo-hoo-hoo-oo... and
the green lanterns calling to the high softs stars... a red
moon rides on the humps of the low river hills.. go to it,
O jazzmen.
Drum on your drums, batter on your banjoes,
sob on the long cool winding saxophones.
Go to it, O jazzmen.
Sling your knuckles on the bottoms of the happy
tin pans, let your trombones ooze, and go husha-
husha-hush with the slippery sand-paper.
Moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops,
moan soft like you wanted somebody terrible, cry like a
racing car slipping away from a motorcycle cop,
bang-bang! you jazzmen, bang altogether drums, traps,
banjoes, horns, tin cans -- make two people fight on the
top of a stairway and scratch each other's eyes in a
clinch tumbling down the stairs.
Can the rough stuff... now a Mississippi steamboat
pushes up the night river with a hoo-hoo-hoo-oo... and
the green lanterns calling to the high softs stars... a red
moon rides on the humps of the low river hills.. go to it,
O jazzmen.
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