Gradeschool's Large Windows

Gradeschool's Large Windows by Thomas Lux weren't built to let the sunlight in. They were large to let the germs out. When polio, which sounds like the first dactyl of a jump rope song, was on the rage, you did not swim in public waters. The awful thing was an iron lung. We lined up in our underwear to get the shot. Some kids fainted, we all were stung. My cousin Speed sat in a vat of ice cubes until his scarlet fever waned, but from then on his heart was not the same. My friend's girlfriend was murdered in a hayfield by two guys from Springfield. Linda got a bad thing in her blood. Everybody's grandmother died. Three times, I believe, Bobby shot his mother. Rat poison took a beloved local bowler. A famous singer sent condolences. In the large second floor corner room of my 4th grade class the windows were open. Snow, in fat, well-fed flakes floats in where they and the chalk-motes meet. And the white rat powder, too, sifts down into a box of oatmeal on the shelf below.

____

I have no idea what this poem "means," but it has some well-spun imagery that I love, and makes me think. Which is enough for a reason to post, in my opinion. I welcome your comments and thoughts on this poem...

~Ally

worth reposting (from May, 2009)

Poetry as Insurgent Art [I am signaling you through the flames]
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

I am signaling you through the flames.
The North Pole is not where it used to be.
Manifest Destiny is no longer manifest.
Civilization self-destructs.
Nemesis is knocking at the door.
What are poets for, in such an age?
What is the use of poetry?
The state of the world calls out for poetry to save it.
If you would be a poet, create works capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times, even if this meaning sounds apocalyptic.
You are Whitman, you are Poe, you are Mark Twain, you are Emily Dickinson and Edna St. Vincent Millay, you are Neruda and Mayakovsky and Pasolini, you are an American or a non-American, you can conquer the conquerors with words....

Half Mile Down

Half Mile Down
by Michael Ryan


My sick heart and my sick soul
I'd gladly fasten in a bag
and drop into an ocean-hole
to float in darkness as a rag.

Would it learn to make its light?
Maybe in a million years.
A million years of constant night
in which it can't stop its fears

flaring their nightmare tentacles
and bioluminescent eyes
as cold and sharp as icicles
under moonless, starless skies:

medusae, spookfish, cephalopods,
jellies with no eyes or brains,
lethal and beautiful as gods,
locked in endless predation chains.

How seamless then the world would seem,
which life on earth never did,
the living water like a dream
crowded with prowling vampire squid

that want only to stay alive
among other monsters innocent
of all but the pure drive to survive
without self-judgment.

this one's for you, Mom (and i love it too)

Sea Fever
by John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

**Happy One Year Old Birthday, Miss Lucinda Grace!**

(all photos by Scott Snyder except for this bottom one, by me)

I love you more than words can say. You have changed everything - our whole worlds! You are the sweetest and best thing that has ever happened to me. You are gonna take this world by storm!

Love always and forever ~

Mama

xxxxoooo

SWDB: This Thursday in June

The Simple Woman's Daybook

June 14, 2012
Outside My Window...the sun is shining through the leafy trees. It is summertime in New Hampshire.

I am thankful for...my darling daughter Lucy, who is growing in leaps and bounds, faster than I can keep up with her, and who is stretching my heart every day. She is easy to love, easy to marvel at, easy to forgive. Lucinda will turn one in a few short weeks. How is that even possible?

I am thinking...about how to reconstruct the pieces of my life that have fallen into disarray. I read on a bumper sticker this week, "The problems we face cannot be fixed by the minds that created them." This is not good news, if it's true!

From the kitchen...Lucinda can see the back yard during her baths in the kitchen sink. She has decided to love her baths again, for which I am endlessly thankful, as they are so fun again. She has two rubber duckies who join her, and another yellow plastic toy that pours water out. She sits in that "tub" next to the huge pile of dishes stacked in the dish drainer and is just every bit a part of our every day life. Reminds me of my baths in the sink with my cousin at Bass Lake as a kid.

I am creating...a Thank You project for me and the husband to do on a daily basis, as we are both feeling underappreciated and undercherished at the moment. gotta remedy that. [hmm, I am going to leave that answer in there from April...as I never did it and we are still feeling this way. goal: complete this project.]

I am reading... absolutely nothing right now. Who has time to read? I am a mother who gets no sleep! OK, well I am occasionally reading from "If the Buddha Married," which is a very good and insightful book but kind of aggravates me because the Buddha WAS married when he up and left his wife and child for his spiritual quest and never came back (as far as I know). So it's a little hard to take marriage advice from that guy...

I am hoping... to see the mother bear again in our yard. I guess I shouldn't be hoping for that, but I long to see her and feel her presence and I find myself looking for her both day and night. "Am I not with you, I who am your mother?" ~ Virgin of Guadalupe

I am hearing...messages in the stars lately. The Big Dipper and The Summer Triangle have been quite comforting.

I am wearing...the one pair of shoes I could afford this year, b/c I bought them with a gift card of Scott's from Christmas. Am not loving the extreme limitations of this half-an-income thing. It is harder and more trying than I thought.

Around the house...progress is being made, one tiny corner at a time. We have never had such a hard time unpacking or settling into a house, but then again, we never had a baby before (together). Scott's mom is coming to visit soon, so that mere fact will likely jump start the mad cleaning and organizing into gear. 

I am going...to attend a yoga in the park event next Saturday (hopefully) in Henniker. The thought of doing group yoga, outside, is very appealing. I have been trying to start meditating again, and doing yoga on a regular basis. I need some serious centering and balancing right now.

One of my favorite things...is going back to bed on weekend mornings, because my husband is great about taking over with Babykins so I can catch up on a little sleep. She is up several times a night these days, and we are failing miserably according to the sleep training methods, but such is what it is and we love her and this will not last forever. But crawling into bed and pulling the blankets over my head while I know the two of them are fine and having fun is sweet, sweet bliss. Thank you, Scott.

A few plans for the rest of the week...are visiting with two dear friends in Vermont this weekend who are needing some love and laughter these days. And celebrating Father's Day in whatever manner Daddy sees fit.

Here is picture thought I am sharing...

 Lucy in Mama's hat from when she was a baby. photo by Scott Snyder.

 

Lucy playing in the sandbox at her wonderful baby sitter's house this summer. photo by Jenn Dennis.

I've been missing my Dad terribly lately. Needing him. I love this picture, waving from the bottom of the world's largest pyramid in Mexico (I was on my way to the top)...

feels like he is still waving from where he is now.

 

Dad in Mexico, on a wonderful trip with us the year he died. Love you.

View other entries at The Simple Woman's Daybook. And write your own!

~Ally

I love this so much today:

"Awake to stiffness, awake to ease. Awake to boundless joy, awake to the deep well of sorrow. Awake to fear, awake to spaciousness. Just awakeness; this is your home."

~ Margaret Fletcher, amazing and insightful teacher at White Mountain Sangha