Thank you: A big hooray to everyone who has been/is participating! I love looking through your poems each day, even though I haven't commented on them. It's so great that you're sharing. Thanks a hundred times!
Prompt: Think of the kids you knew in your first grade (or second, third...it all depends on what kind of memory you have) class and write something about one of them. Kudos to you if you even remember names.
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Add your short poem to the comments (there's really no deadline). Find out why this blog was started and what it's all about.
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2007
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December
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December
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7 comments:
Billy Norris
Sit down
Be quiet
Your voice is coarse
Sit still
Don't breathe
Your lack of cleanliness
Is making me ill
Stop chasing the girls
Out in the halls
Screaming and giggling
You straighten their curls
Mrs. Hubbard notices too
She shutters and sighs
At the sight of you
Out of your seat
Again
Time for the jump rope
To tighten you in
Not enough
I've got the perfect creation
A refrigerator box
I'll cut it
And custom
And tailor it
To ensure that it has a perfect fit
Over your desk
With you inside
I am horrified
But silent and petrified
Is this what happens to young boys
With wonders
And spunk
And sillies inside
I understand you
Billy Norris
I understand you
And now
I'm on your side
Before I knew
what competition
was, I knew I wanted to
best you. I wanted to win,
and run home to regale
my family with stories
of my conquests,
the details of
your defeat.
But, you, Lucy,
with hair ribbons
matching your dress
—hair cutely curled,
dress with pink butterflies—
your hand in the air,
answer on the tip of
your tongue. You
never gave me
a chance!
Yes, before I knew
what competition was,
I knew jealousy, and it
came wrapped in
pink butterflies.
Even a five year old knows
when someone isn't
right.
Not wrong like biting
the line leader or snipping
hair.
Not wrong like dancing
on the sand table or snorting
milk.
Not wrong singing
screaming screaching scowling
sick.
Wrong lays his head on the table.
and doesn't sing along "new shoes"
even when I sport shiny slippers.
Wrong sometimes sleeps
in the corner during dress-up and
I can stick a girl-crown on him but
its not fun because when he wakes up he just sets it on the alphabet carpet and not even on
a good letter.
Not Z or Q or W.
Something like o o o
Love Affair
I fell in love with Raymond
in fourth grade;
even though he was shorter than me;
even though his hand was sweaty
when I had to hold it during dance time;
even though he yelled rude things
out of the school bus window,
"Hey, I see your underpants;"
even though he and his pals
sassed the teacher.
Joe Allen sent me a note,
"Raymond likes you, do you like him?"
"Yes," I wrote back and drew a little heart.
Then he teased and chased me
at recess; gave me his translucent,
pale green, marble taw.
Our only actual contact was
a playful push or nudge;
the only acknowledgment
that he cared, an "I love you,"
scrawled on the back of a valentine.
Then one day I saw him
push Nancy's head down at the fountain;
saw her twirl up looking pleased;
and he chased her to the playground
instead of me. Quick as that,
I knew that it was over and awash
with unfamiliar grief,
I went to find my friends.
You guys are superb! I was thinking I'd just go to sleep now because I'm tired and because I remembered something my husband said to me this morning when he saw the comments on this blog: "Oh, look. You've got all these people doing your dirty work for you. You don't even need to write poems anymore." But maybe I'll post something tomorrow.
Oh Deborah--I want to know more. and Alise--With two Billy's of my own, I'm on his side too.
These are fantastic. Thanks for sharing everyone!
Mrs. Decoria: Description
Kindergarten teacher extraordinaire
Complete with merry guitar
And a proficiency at playing it
Despite half a ring finger on her left hand
She was already wrinkled &
Her short wavy bob—
Salt and pepper
Above a polyester blazer, navy blue
I remember recess most of all
Sitting on the windy curb
Securely at her side
Watching the kissing tag drama ensue
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