Poetry Out Loud and In Motion: Trees

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Have you ever memorized a poem?
Have you ever read a poem aloud?

It seems old-fashioned, perhaps, and maybe a bit daunting, to do either of these things — not to mention both. But it can be wonderful if you give it a try.

A dear friend of mine introduced me to the practice of memorizing and reciting poems while walking. I regularly hike in the city and state parks around Austin, so the idea of “Poetry in Motion” greatly appealed to me.

I chose a short rhyming piece for my first poem, one that celebrates the natural world. As I began to learn it on a Saturday hike at Pedernales Falls, I concentrated on remembering the stanzas one by one, and found myself thinking more and more about the word choices and the sentence structure — and really appreciating how the poet put it all together.

Because it’s an oft-quoted poem, I had been familiar wtih the first two lines (as some of you might be as well) but didn’t know the rest of it. Now I know it quite well and love every line, though my favorite is “who intimately lives with rain.”

So perfect and provocative. As poetry should be.

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TREES

by Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

“Trees” was originally published in Trees and Other Poems. Joyce Kilmer. New York: George H. Doran Company, 1914.

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Giving Credit (a re-post)

(Note: This post is reblogged from the past. Yeah, well, I’m kinda busy. Tax season and all that…)

It’s almost Tax Day.

And as usual, in spite of my oh-so honest intentions to get my butt in gear and get my forms in on time, I will confess that I’m filing an extension.
Again.

I do have a perfectly good excuse, however — actually, make that two perfectly good excuses: my daughters.

See, I’ve been busy cooking and cleaning and shuttling them to school and shopping and sleepovers and afterschool stuff… Oh yeah, and then there’s that job I’ve been working to pay for many of the aforementioned activities.

I’m not complaining, though. It’s what parents do. And my girls are the light of my life, and so very, very worth everything I do for them.

But on Tax Day, I get a bit more appreciative of how much they mean to me.

This year, it’s around $2,000.

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Giving Credit

They truly are annoying when they whine or when they fight,
when complaining about homework or a shoe that won’t tie right;
plus, they’re noisy and they’re stinky and they cost a lot to feed,
and it seems there’s always some new toy they really, REALLY need.

They keep us from our sleep and leave us stretched from all the stress;
they muddy up the floors and leave their rooms a massive mess;
they dismiss and disobey us and then question all our knowledge;
they rebel and they revolt and then they leave or flee to college.

Yet though they test and tax us, we’re still glad for our kids’ births,
And today I have to say that I do realize their worth;
So even if they misbehave, for once I just won’t sweat it,
‘Cause I’m thankful for and so adore my beautiful tax credits.

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©2012 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz

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It’s Instrumental

My younger daughter enters middle school next year. She’s a small girl with a big personality. She’s been feeling a little sensitive about her size compared to her classmates’, who are all undergoing major growth spurts – especially the girls. But I feel confident she’ll fit right in. She’s a pistol.

When she went for an orientation at her new school last week, she spent part of the evening choosing an instrument to learn in band class.  Her older sister plays the flute, and there was an assumption that she’d do the same. It was the first instrument the middle school music teacher handed her. She positioned her lips over the mouthpiece and blew a pretty good first note. The teacher looked pleased.

Next came the clarinet. She did okay, but her arms looked awkward grasping the long body. She wasn’t a fan, and neither was I.

The teacher bypassed the trombone (far too big for her to handle) and picked up a trumpet. I’d almost told the teacher not to bother, we’ll go for flute, thanks, see you in the fall.

But when she picked it up and put her lips to the mouthpiece, something remarkable happened. She blew a big, strong, long and brassy note that sounded to the heavens. Her dad, the teacher and I were still for a moment. Then the teacher asked her to try again. She blew another clear note, even longer and stronger.

And so, come fall, my little girl will be making some big noise as she heralds the arrival of the school year with her new instrument.

Heaven help us.

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It’s Instrumental

I thought that a flute
With its trills and toots
Might fill her room
With its silvery tunes.

Or a clarinet
Half a jazz duet
With its licorice voice
Might be her choice.

Or she’d try a sax
Mellow to the max
The bend in its bell
Letting sweet notes swell.

Maybe she’d come home
With a xylophone
Sounding soft and clear
And so nice to hear.

But with typical sass
She chose the brass:
A trumpet to blare
bravely through the air.

Now she’s eager to play
Practicing night and day
I give praise and cheers
And then — plug my ears.

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©2011 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz