Just Spring is over… Share your favorite poem with me!

For those who don’t know, April is National Poetry Month. This year I’ve celebrated by teaching some amazing kids about poetry. It’s been fun, rewarding and, at times, truly amazing.

But I digress. Last week we wound up our study with a look at concrete poetry, which gave me the opportunity to share e.e. cummings’s haunting “[In Just-]“. I’ve always loved this poem and read it regularly to see what else I can discover about it. I remember the first time a teacher displayed this poem on the overhead projector and I was so puzzled by it. I was just getting used to poetry that looked like poetry and here was this crazy mishmash of unrhymed, strangely patterned words.

And yet, it’s the poem I come back to most often when I think about poetry. And it’s the poem I think of when the world is mud-luscious and starting to warm up and the flowers aren’t blooming yet but you know they will… Just spring.

Perhaps the world does us an injustice by making just spring so short a time. It’s over here now, ending with the brief month of April. The first flowers are past their bloom, the mosquitoes are beginning to bite. Summer and pool time and the beach and lazy days are coming. We’re all looking forward to it, but we’ll miss those first days of spring.

Next year when March and April come around, though, I look forward to again listening for the far and wee whistle of the little lame balloon man. And in the meantime, I’ll watch for the seeds I planted this April to sprout and grow.Image What’s your favorite poem? Share it with me in the comments!

An odd ode to coffee, my true love

I’m tired. I’ll be honest, I’ve been staying up far too late this summer, mainly because–for the most part anyway–I can get away with it. Slower starts in the mornings are okay when you don’t have to rush the children to school. But I’m relying too much on my old friend and true love to get me through the mornings.

Coffee.

No matter how you drink it, if you’re addicted to it, you know what love is. I like mine with a packet of Splenda and a dab of plain Coffee Mate. Smooth, creamy and woodsy.

I recently had a friend tell me she no longer drank caffeine. She’s probably healthier than me, and I’m sure her teeth are whiter, but all I could think was…

No coffee?

A writer’s world revolves around coffee. I myself have no less than two cups in the morning and sometimes a cup in the afternoon. It’s a ritual steeped in superstition as much as need for caffeine. And unfortunately, my addiction is complete. I need my coffee. In fact, I was so moved by my need for the earthy tasting brown liquid, I wrote a little poem for it this morning.

And it goes like this:

I may need a cup of coffee this morn.
One cup should do it. Just one is all.
I may need more than one cup of coffee.
Up too late. It’s a writer’s life. One more.
I may need more than two cups of coffee today.
Not even noon and I’m dragging. Another please.
Three cups of coffee and I’m buzzing.
Tired and buzzing and not able to blink.
I think I need…where’s the bathroom?

Tune in tomorrow when I express my addiction to wine in song…or not.