At heart,
a pencil is
solid graphite. 
But how to keep hands clean
and words clear?

Wood pulped from trees
can protect the smudgeable core.
But,
splinters are real.

Next comes paint.
A bright sunny yellow
will help coax ideas
out the of the most stubborn minds.

And, a hexagonal shape
Makes grip easy.

But what about mistakes?
A small eraser
affixed to the top
eliminates worry
and encourages
risks.

Never underestimate
the power of the pencil.

*inspired by Project Zero’s Creative Hunt thinking routine.

It begins as a blank page,
an unfilled space,
a book of possibilities.

Between the covers
of my bullet journal
I catalogue to dos,
make lists,
doodle and
dream.

How could a digital diary
or calendar
ever compete?

A simple beehive
containing seven letters,
with the center one a necessity.

How many words can I create?

The New York Times
offers the perfect challenge
for a puzzler
like me.

But many a night,
I stay up way past bedtime
to discover enough words
to crown me a genius.

If only life
were like the Spelling Bee…
my genius would shine through
any situation
if only I could find
the right combination
of words
ideas
emotions
solutions.

*inspired by a mentor text (Six Minutes, Twenty-six Seconds) in Linda Rief’s wonderful The Quickwrite Handbook.

Daffodils raise their lemon yellow heads
to bask in the sun.
Cherry blossoms awaken
ahead of schedule.

But where was the snow?

No buds had to push up through
a winter blanket
or fend off icicles
hanging on branches.

No snow days,
school delays,
or winter wonderland walks.

Don’t get me wrong…
spring is my favorite season.

But,
the joy of blooming days
is not quite as sweet
without the memory
of snow-kissed winter nights.

In first grade,
my teacher brought in
an incubator with seven eggs.

Should any of the eggs
hatch,
the first students to bring in
permission slips
got to take home
a real, live bird.

We watched
and waited,
watched
and waited.

Finally,
one egg cracked.
Then,
another egg splintered.

One fluffy yellow chick
the color of butter
emerged.
A downy white chick
followed.

Nina Miller and I
were first
with signed slips.

Thus,
a few short days later
the sweet yellow fledgling
came home to roost.

My startled father
held his tongue
as my wild, generous mother
build a cozy, warm
nesting box.

What a lucky child
was I!

Time
drips so
slowly for
students waiting,
planning, day dreaming,
bursting at the seams to
flow out the front school door like
the churning, bubbling water of
a rushing stream whose dam has broken,
leaving behind scattered bits of debris.



*This etheree poem was inspired by the brilliant Ms. Chiu Booka Writes

Afternoon showers
keep pups indoors,
stretched out
on a blue-patterned rug.

A lazy feeling
coats the late afternoon hours
as the wet afternoon
shifts to evening.

Bounty for the grass,
gardens,
trees,
the rain
brings a welcome stillness
at the day’s end.

Today I had the chance
to be a student again.

The afternoon’s
professional development
spotlighted
a topic of interest,
and the instructor
plotted an engaging lesson.

I walked in confident,
but walked out uncertain.

My table group
missed a direction,
fell behind,
and never truly caught up.
The 45 minute session
dictated a rapid pace.

Did we spend too long
on the first discussion question?
Probably.
The conversation was interesting
and not nearly long enough.

The idea sort was terrific
but we left a critical piece
in the envelope
so struggled to make sense.

We, strong students all,
live in a world
that packs too much
into too little
time.

My most valuable lesson today:
slow it down,
check often,
and offer grace.

On any given school day,
my students arrive with
the first rays of sun.

Bleary-eyed and sleep starved
but open to the day,
these teens shuffle
to lockers.

The day may start with math,
science,
world geography,
notes on a piano
or words in an essay.
Regardless of the class,
promise still shimmers
at the edges.

By the last class,
brains arrived stuffed
egos a bit bruised
but
my students
still arrive
with kind smiles
and willing hearts.
They amaze me.

Running late,
I hurry out the door,
two small dogs in tow.

Winter
has not loosened its grip,
so I bundle up against the dark & cold.

Almost immediately,
a low grumble
escapes Georgia’s mouth
as she spies something ahead
I cannot yet see.
When her brother joins in,
a flash of pale tan fur
emerges from a house’s shadow —
a deer,
munching on grass and flowers.

But,
my noisy duo scares not one,
not two…
but six deer
out of the neighbor’s yard.

The small herd
stops momentarily –
just ahead of us –
to look our way.

My troop watches
as each deer passes
below the bright spot
of the corner street lamp.

Suddenly,
the world seems bigger,
less ordinary.
The day ahead
holds a new kind
of promise.