10 December 2024

December Revelation

 

I was not able to take a picture because I was driving, but allow me a moment to try and paint one:

 As Sariah and I headed out in this morning, a puffy blanket of rainbow sherbet stretched across the sky to the east. Directly above the sky was clear and light gray—just another Tuesday waiting for the sun to emerge from behind the orange and raspberry comforter. To the west, a darker smattering of gray clouds stretched across a bluish backdrop, a promise of cold to come.


We headed east, directly toward the only light part of the sky. I grumbled internally at the prospect of sun glare, a real problem depending on what time we get out of the house each morning. Before we had left the house 200 yards behind, the light suddenly dimmed, leaving the entire sky ambivalent shades of gray. A couple of rogue snowflakes skirted across the windshield before blowing away to join their co-conspirators, who were already taunting other motorists.I resigned myself to a cold, blustery Midwestern December day, when I Suddenly spotted a vertical rainbow column to the north. I rubbed my eyes at the stoplight to see if my eyes were being ornery, but, no, there was an actual stripe of many colors extending from the ground up into the sky, almost clear and pale blue now, with the clouds blowing eastward.


The randomization of the Apple Play brought up the haunting opening chords of the “Top Gun Anthem” as the light turned green and we headed east again. We drove without conversation, both of us tired and not quite ready to face the day. With uncanny timing, as we crested the highest hill on our daily commute, the guitar riff screeched its climax, the clouds opened, and the sun blazed its crepuscular rays through gaps of the remaining cottony wisps, color-soaking everything in a brilliant, burning orange. God definitely know show to make an entrance! ...or at least He knows how to remind me of His goodness. And even though by the time the song ended, the sun had disappeared again and the swirling snow had picked up, ushering us along the cold pavement, my gray attitude toward the day and the weather, and the drudgery of going to work had dissipated. He touched my life for a moment, letting me know He was still there.

 

23 April 2024

Another Call to Keep Writing Thanks to Nikki Giovanni

I love listening to Nikki Giovanni tell her story about her poem "A Bench (for Toni Morrison)." Today, as I read this poem to inspire my students to scribble a few words, it kicked my butt back into gear to write. After each of my failures to sustain a consistent writing habit, I inevitably receive a call to repentance. "A Bench" was mine today. (Poem all the way at the end of the post.)

Each time I pick up my pen from where and when I last dropped it, I tend to scratch out a few paragraphs (like these), often teeming with self-deprecating chastisement, and then I set a goal or two (usually one), and then I start anew in my quest to be a more consistent writer. As you now witness, my pitiful public penance is now penned (vomit-inducing alliteration very much intended this evening), and I get to move forward. However, this time I am not making any grand promises I know I will not be able to keep. I know that my professorial and ecclesiastical responsibilities reduce my personal time, but I do want to write more frequently. I now teach the Teaching Writing for Secondary English Teachers course at my university, and I know that I need to lead by example. I know that only writing produces text.

So here is my conundrum: I can squeeze in small chunks of time, but I need to be smart about where I direct my writing efforts. I have a few thoughts, but would genuinely appreciate some feedback from my teeny audience. (That's y'all.) Where should I direct my efforts?

Option A: random personal narratives and thoughts (as previously expressed on this blog and other random locations).

Option B: focus on more important life-defining moments in my personal history.

Option C: finish up the scraps of poetry I have been drafting over the past several years (or at least some of them).

Option D: look to write something professionally (teacher-practitioner style).

Option E: just write curriculum.

Option F: none of the above.

Let me know what you think, and I'll take Ms. Giovanni's advice. (Poem posted below.)

“A Bench” (for Toni Morrison)

benches aren’t just pieces of furniture

sure

we find them at rest stops where birds have stopped over

and truck drivers have pulled aside

to smoke a cigarette

(no matter how bad they are for you)

and yes

in fabulous museums we find

benches decorated sometimes

with gold or bronze

and the faces of the famous

sometimes we even find benches

among the poor

which are simply logs put across the other

or sometimes just bricks

piled and put deeply enough into the earth

to stabilize those who need comfort

 

but benches are actually

a metaphor

they are friends we call on sad days

they are two old ladies who bring

Duck Eggs when your Grandmother passes

 

they are a friend’s mother

who makes a quilt when she hears

you have lung cancer

and mostly they are the voice

on the other end of the phone

who says “Write”

when you are so sad at losing your mother

“Write” when you don’t know where to go

“Write” when the only person who can read you

is on a Cross

“Write”

because it is your job

“Write”

 

---Nikki Giovanni

 

 


18 April 2024

2024's Edition of Poem in Your Pocket!

 Yes, I know it's been an entire year since I've published on this blog. Thanks for reminding me. To quote my friend Forrest, "That's all I got to say about that."


Now for the poem:

This year I decided to go with U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limon's poem "The Quiet Machine." 

“The Quiet Machine”

I’m learning so many different ways to be quiet. There’s how I stand

in the lawn, that’s one way. There’s also how I stand in the field

across from the street, that’s another way because I’m farther from

people and therefore more likely to be alone. There’s how I don’t

answer the phone, and how I sometimes like to lie down on the

floor in the kitchen and pretend I’m not home when people knock.

There’s daytime silent when I stare, and a nighttime silent when I

do things. There’s shower silent and bath silent and California silent

and Kentucky silent and car silent and then there’s the silence that

comes back, a million times bigger than me, sneaks into my bones

and wails and wails and wails until I can’t be quiet anymore. That’s

how this machine works.


If you haven't noticed before, I kind of like silence. If you do, too, or are at least curious, check this link to a post from almost a decade ago regarding my thoughts on silence


If you want to know more about Poem in Your Pocket Day works, here are the instructions:

1. Find a copy of your favorite poem...or one that tickles you fancy today...or one that actually fits in your pocket. Finding in on your phone is okay, but it's always more human if you have transcribed it yourself and fold it up and put it in your pocket.

2. Carry your chosen poem around all day, and share it with people. Don't forget to share with me!

3. Soak in the awesomeness that is poetry!

4. Check my Instagram (@joeaveragewriter) or Facebook for the video of this year's poem!

If you want even more fun, check out the poem in your pocket label on the right-hand side of this blog. Who knows? You might find something else of worth.

I think I'll post a little writing every so often...some polished...some rough. And I welcome any comments or criticisms or cupcakes you care to throw my way.