something to purchase

this is beautiful. i just know it.

everything is so busy

awp is here. almost. this means a lot of work.

but. i had wits today and we made list poems:

flower list

ocean flowers
school flowers
cooking flowers
boat flowers
time flowers
polar bear flowers

rabbits!

sketchy bunnies

wits

i'm doing wits again this year--

which means more great poems:

Ode to Mexico

Mexico smells like
hay. I can hear the
horses eating. The food
in Mexico tastes like home.
It’s really good. I feel
happy when I ride
my horse Angel.
It sounds like
sheep talking.

Katherine, 3rd grade


Ode to My Bike

My bike is stupid. It is a waffle.
My bike is a fat man.
My bike is the scream.
My bike is a glow in the
dark fish.

Adeli, 3rd grade


This is Just to Say

I’m sorry I took
the eraser.

I erased
the eraser.

And gave it back
but it was nothing.

Gilly, 3rd grade

cixous

"the pathfinder is that unknown thing that is, at the same time, the most known thing: that black spot in the distance amid the murky maelstrom of the blizzard toward which, as [tsvetaeva] says so beautifully, 'poets will walk without thinking as if walking home.'"

"the mysteries we need are those that have been lost: these only resurface as something reopens."

hc, the school of dreams

and this, which is my favorite thing to look at right now:

in the world today
there is
no world so attached as i am
to worlds.

from j. ceravolo, note from st. francis

sunday

this is what it looked like from my bedroom window a few days ago

here is what it looks like today

it was a nice sunday. i went to two parks.

i'm reading some fairy tales for selah's fairy tale class and macbeth for a shakespeare seminar and helene cixous for a workshop. and the new octopus, with song reviews that make you go out of your head! oh, and seth landman's chapbook, the wild hawk the sea, which is incredible. here is a poem so you can feel how this is true:

coffin

there is nothing. there is your city.
right there, the streets out of sight.
call me a little, pausing funeral; hats off
to the feet set going, the chief element of landscape.
there is nothing. there is the roasted river
when i go, a hand on the universal shoulder
in the face of invisible surveillance, secret dogs,
unaccountable influences. there is nothing
in not ignoring it. what is good? my curiosity
sways on an island with sounds. things with seas.
quick and still with wild, inmost, endless,
grand disguises. i am here exactly on this
stage, and there is nothing looming
in the world like snow on the hill in the air.

snow, please snow day, snow

seabear

i like this seabear video now.

and part of this poem by joseph ceravolo:

tell us where o eat to stop and eat.
the diner is never gonna come.
the forest things are passing.
i did drink my milk
like a mother of wolves.
wolves on the desert
of ice cold love, of
fireproof breasts and the breast
i took like snow.
following me
i love you
and i fall beyond
and i eat you like a
bow and arrow withering in the
         desert.