Part #1
NYC
(First Piece)- Poetry
This was one of the very first pieces I chose to write. It came from an early poetry activity where we wrote words associated with pictures. The photograph I selected was of a city. It may or may not have been New York City, but that was the first thought that came to my mind. I was trying to capture the striking features the city had to offer, the instant emotions and memories it elicits. I didn’t want to put too much or I felt it would ruin the simplicity of the piece. I learned to use word association from a main topic, and then description from each of the associations. I know I like this poem, because every time I read it I get a chill remembering the components I described.
One Day
(Second Piece)- Prose
This is a work in progress that I will continue to tweak. I especially want to talk with my parents to sort out more of the details of the event. My mother has been going through cancer diagnosis, however, so I’ve decided to wait until later. If there was ever a story inside of me waiting to be told, this was it. I’ve revised twice and really tried to incorporate word choice with each revision and will continue to do so. While writing the piece I learned about point of view. I’ve also been tweaking dialogue as I go, because this is foreign territory for me. I used Kris Turner’s technique of writing a sequenced list and selecting another starting point. I incorporated flashback, something my students work on in fifth grade, so I really feel the piece is a compilation of several techniques. When people talk about why they write, I hear so many different reasons. My reason for writing this was two-fold. It is a story that I don’t want to be forgotten because it truly changed us and shaped the rest of our lives (especially in the sense that we discovered faith in Christ- a truly life-altering event). I also love the idea that I could share the story someday with others. It is encouraging to me every time I think of it, and I’d love for it to encourage others as well.
Courage
(Third Piece)- Poetry
In this piece I used Dawn’s strategy of taking an emotive noun and writing a poem to go with it. I incorporated tactile nouns to symbolize the word courage. I made a list of words and images that came to mind when I thought of the word courage. I selected the word courage because of a sight I saw the day before. When I was driving home from the UWP I saw flags lined all the way down the road. Patriotism and courage go hand in hand in my mind, and this is the reason I selected courage.
SCCTE Conference Proposal
(Fourth Piece)- Professional
This is a conference proposal based on the demonstration I used for the Upstate Writing Project. I was trying to grab the attention of the reader while communicating the purpose of the demonstration. I wrote the proposal based on a model/example written by another person. Modeling is a powerful technique that creates instant understanding in the person writing the piece.
Connections Among Pieces
Prewriting was the common thread that strung throughout my writing this summer. I’ve come a long way since my high school and even college days of putting pen to paper without prior thought. I really learned the value of matching a prewriting technique to the mode of writing/genre. I found that the ideas my prewriting elicited could be much more poignant when paired.
Three Writing Craft Techniques
The three writing craft techniques I found most helpful were utilized in the writing pieces above:
Emotive Nouns- This strategy resulted in my courage poem. Dawn challenged us to take one of these nouns and write a poem based on concrete word associations were made from this. I selected courage and had a lot of images that came to mind. I think this would be a great way to challenge my students to write with imagery.
Starting in the Middle- This technique was presented by Kris. We made a list of the sequence of events we wanted to share and picked a starting point other than the beginning. I thought this was a great way to pick the most interesting point, resulting in a good hook, while being able to tell the rest of the story through flashbacks and other techniques.
Photograph Inspiration- This strategy was presented by Dawn as well. She had several photographs that we could select from to be our topic. We then created a list of words that fit with our senses, but still fit with the photograph. We ended up with a great group of ideas covering all of the senses. This resulted in a vivid poem.
Part #2
NYC
(First Piece)- Poetry
Link to Final Piece
Link to Original Piece and Comments
In this piece I made some changes to the stanza breaks. One of the comments related to one of my comments about seeing my aunt perform on Broadway. I moved the stanza break so the line about Broadway was joined with the phrase about my aunt. I thought this would create the connection, and help the reader see that I had a very personal connection to NYC as well. Jane Gardner was the one on the E-anthology that made the recommendation. I tried not to change other features of the poem since many of the other comments about the imagery were supportive.
One Day
(Second Piece)- Prose
* Link to Final Piece
* Link to First Draft and Comments
* Link to Second Draft and Comments
This piece was my passion during the UWP Summer Institute and will continue to be my passion. There is a lot more that I would like to do, but I feel that the piece has come a long way with the revisions I’ve made. The majority of the changes we adding content later in the piece. I made the changes that individuals on the E-anthology recommended. The first time I submitted the piece, I took Wendy Warren’s suggestion about adding content to clarify the role of myself with the role of the other people in the story. I did some tweaking, which helped to clarify this. I also worked one on one with members from my writing group to tweak the introduction. I was worried about the amount of information I was trying to share, while maintaining the flow. We tweaked the scene where the surgeon sees Julie and vice-versa.
I added content to the piece after seeing this feedback and made several changes to syntax. When I resubmitted it I got some additional, and very helpful feedback…Tracy Butler helped my see some of the lines were I had omitted a word or two. I really appreciated Mike Rush’s comments about the line, “I mean, she hadn’t needed God before.” It belayed my role as the narrator before I wanted the reader to know. That is really something I wanted to capture, so I was very grateful to Mike.
Courage
(Third Piece)- Poetry
* Link to Final Piece
* Link to Original Piece and Comments
This was yet another poem where I struggles with how much to include, and how to fit the pieces together. Cathy Murphy suggested I add in some of my explanation concerning why I chose the piece, flag day etc… which I did. I also took Claudia Swisher’s suggestion about the imagery. I actually had this in my rough, rough draft before I ever submitted the piece. I went back to that draft and pasted in some of the ideas I had originally.
SCCTE Conference Proposal
(Fourth Piece)- Professional
* Link to Final Piece
* Link to Original Piece and Comments
The major change to this piece came from suggestions about the hook. I was trying to use a question to grab my reader, and both Brian Slusher, and Claudia Swisher picked up on the same thing. I chose to take Brian’s suggestions about rephrasing the question and the following line to… "How do you motivate your students to write across the curriculum? Simple: Cross-Curricular Comic Strips!" To get in the cartooning angle, I suggest you add to the final lines of each "Before you know it, unmotivated students will be writing (and drawing) across the curriculum." Their comments were especially helpful because the hook was the most important component of the piece.
Part #3
Three Things to Remember
Humor- When reading through the blogs of other people I am struck by the humor many writers are able to weave into their stories. The humor is mixed, some of it is situational, some of it is dry (as in some people think it is funny and others mix the point completely), and some of it is overt and blatant. I enjoyed seeing the humor of Laurie and Angie, as well as hearing them read their pieces out loud. This gave me a voice in my own head when I read some of their other pieces. I also enjoyed seeing humor woven into so many types and genres of writing; poetry, prose, and even professional pieces. This is something I want to remember and incorporate into my writing in the future. I think this is important to remember because humor breaks up serious writing and gives it life. I think a good writer should be able to incorporate and balance this.
Prewriting- Through the blogs of our UWP writers I was able to see the impact of prewriting on good writing. I enjoyed seeing how people took the same prewriting strategy and created such beautiful, but different pieces. I looked at Angie’s piece with the photograph of the woman and compared the differences to my own. Prewriting can be so powerful in eliciting ideas and creativity.
Writing, Writing, and More Writing- This may seem ridiculous, but I loved seeing how much everyone wrote. Just like reading, the more you write the better a writer you become. I could see the breadth of styles as well when I looked at everyone. You can’t just want to be a better writer; you have to do something about it. I think we all wanted to develop our writing skills, just one of the many reasons we all joined the UWP Summer Institute. I loved reading everyone’s reflections and seeing what they learned because we are all going through the same experience.
Classmate Inspiration
Laurie- I learned a lot from the voice and word choice Laurie used in her writing. I loved phrases like, “She was my inspiration make it up the mountain.” In her piece Making Carl proud. Laurie always had a way of capturing the thoughts that were in my mind as well, she does a great job of capturing real feelings on paper.
Erica- I loved Erica’s piece Typical Me. She got your attention with a great hook. “Oh God, how am I going to do this?” It made you want to keep reading, and surprised you when she put a twist into the story. She puts you right into her stories with initial lines like… “Here we were again, set off the annual Sander’s family Christmas.”
Kris- What vivid description! I knew when Kris got up to share that I’d have an image instantly and that she’d find the perfect word or phrase to capture a moment. “Tina and her sixteen year old daughter Chloe crooned along with latest hit as they drove away from their lives in Asheville, North Carolina towards their new one in Jefferson, Georgia.” Words like crooned and concepts like driving away from your life really grabbed my attention. My favorite pieces from Kris were probably her poems, such as Despair. The last line, which she has shaded in a different color on her blog, really gets you. “We are the poster children of society’s failures.” I love the concept she selected and went with here. The title alone is vivid.
Cheers to a great summer of writing!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
One Day
http://www.writingproject.org/cs/ea/view/dt/17359#responses
(First Draft with Comments and Suggestions)
http://www.writingproject.org/cs/ea/view/dt/19137#responses
(Second Draft with Comments and Suggestions)
* This is still a work in progress...
The austere hospital surroundings smothered her. Despite the warm September day outside, she was cold. The room was large, but the fear and shock made her feel small as they weighed heavily on her heart. She sat in the waiting room chair, and waiting was precisely what she did. The room seemed so foreign, but ironically she spent nearly every day in this hospital. In fact, she spent nearly every day in this Emergency Room. She was a nurse here, an RN whose days were filled with emergency after emergency. This was different, however, this time it was her husband. Minutes seemed like hours, until finally the surgeon emerged from the swinging double doors just past triage. She knew this surgeon. On any other day they were professionals respecting one another’s opinions. Here she was waiting for his expert advice. She caught a glimpse of his face as he walked through the crowded waiting room. Her heart dropped as she looked at the hopeless façade it bore. She’d seen that look before; the “how do I tell the family that their loved one has no hope” look. But, there was hope, after all, Bruce had made it this far.
Just minutes before, she’d been in the front seat of the ambulance with Bruce. Terrifying was the word for the catastrophic trip. She’d barely convinced the crew to let her ride in the ambulance at all. She’d had to suffer through the frantic comments of the EMTs each time his breathing halted. She sat helplessly as the Detroit traffic stalled in front of her, no one moving. GET OUT OF THE WAY her mind screamed as cars pulled in front of the vehicle with clearly blazing lights and sirens. Didn’t they know that her husband was dying just a few feet away from where they were, from where she was? Didn’t they know… Everything went from bad to worse when new flashing lights appeared in front of her. This time the lights were not those of an ambulance, but rather a train signal.
“This can’t be happening!” she said, more to herself than anyone else. The ambulance slowed and finally stopped at the railroad tracks. Seconds later she heard frantic words.
“His heart’s stopped.”
“Start CPR.”
The EMTs went to work. They knew what to do and managed to revive Bruce, at least long enough for them to arrive beneath the ER overhang. She knew that making it to the hospital was half the battle. Here he would get the medical attention he needed, medical care that could save his life. She snapped back to reality realizing that the surgeon had made the connection between the name on the chart, Bruce Naylor, and her name, Julie Naylor. He looked up, immediately spotting her, just a few paces away. She met his gaze, and found him speechless. She struggled to stand because, one week overdue with their baby girl. This was to be their third child, a delight, a joy. In fact she should be in the hospital, she thought, but not for this. She should be here, with Bruce at her side having their third child, but she wasn’t.
“Julie, I…I …the trauma Bruce sustained is severe. He has internal bleeding around the brain. The only option is a craniotomy to alleviate the build-up of blood just beneath the skull.” As the surgeon’s eyes went to her swollen abdomen and back to her eyes a realization dawned on her. This was a change in plans, he hadn’t even been planning to do the surgery.
“It won’t work though. You know that the chances are slim that he’ll even survive the surgery. If he does, he’ll be in a vegetative state. He won’t be able to walk, or talk, basic skills will be beyond his grasp.”
She looked at him and gave one reply.
“Thank-you.”
The clock on the wall read 2 am. Hours had passed since the surgery began. Here she was in the bathroom, collapsed on the floor. After all, where can privacy be found in a hospital? Her thoughts raced, fears and concerns pummeled their way through her mind. She knew that Becky and Jeff, their two other children, were safe. They were with neighbors. They hadn’t seen the accident that afternoon. In fact, right now they were probably sound asleep. The three of them had been in the yard waiting for the ice cream truck to arrive on their suburban neighborhood street. The two children had thought it strange when the man and woman had pulled up to the curb in their minute yellow Honda, rather than the ice cream truck. It didn’t take long to put the pieces together as the man began to talk in whispers.
“Bicycle…tall man…head injury…side of the road.”
Darkness and silence encompassed her. Faith was not her thing. She hadn’t needed God before.
The bathroom door cracked and a sliver of light came into the dimly lit space. A black habit clad woman appeared in full view. Her face was gentle. Julie looked at her, a sob leaving her throat as she fought back more tears. She hadn’t cried before, but now, she was on her own. Family was on their way, but not here yet. The nun knelt down to meet Julie’s eyes.
“Would you like to pray?”
Pause.
“I don’t know how to pray.” There was a brief silence as Julie contemplated the fact that she had given little or no time to God in her 30 odd years of life. In fact she hadn’t been in a church since she was a child.
“I’ll help you,” the nun replied.
The nun prayed, and prayed. It came so naturally, with meaning and empathy.
Julie began to think about the events of the day. Details started to flicker before her eyes, reminding her of everything that had transpired. Just that morning someone had been passing out pamphlets in their neighborhood, a peculiar sight to behold. She’d barely glanced at the pamphlet. She’d seen enough to tell her how outlandish the piece was. It told of three men and their near death experiences. She’d dismissed the pamphlet with little thought. After all, she was a medical profession, and knew better than to think that people survive such traumatic incidences. Who get’s struck by lightening and recovers fully?
On the other hand, that was the whole point. The pamphlet had said that miracles of that nature could only come from God. In her grief she began to trust in more than herself. For the first time she had faith in God. She prayed fervently that this would be her miracle.
“It is a miracle.”
Could those words literally be coming from the surgeon’s mouth? Could a surgeon really say those exact words? Her thoughts went back to the early minutes of the morning, to the nun, to the brochure, to her family, and to her sudden faith.
“Your husband should not have lived, Julie.”
She contemplated the reality of what was happening; of what the surgeon was saying. He explained the logistics of the craniotomy, and the steps that would need to be taken from here to aid in recovery (still maintaining that partial recovery was optimistic). Her husband was alive, her deepest wish. What now, what would he be like? How would they make it?
Bruce was an engineer, a man of remarkable intelligence. His 170 IQ was only a small indication of his greater potential. He was a quick thinker, a sharp professional, his six-six frame made him an outstanding athlete, and he was focused on success. She made her way to the Intensive Care Unit with hurried steps, as hurried as her fatigued pregnant body would take her.
There he was…tubes and cords everywhere. He was barely cognizant of his surroundings due to the medication. Would he even know her, would she know him? His head had been shaved. A crescent shaped scar was the reminder of just how traumatic brain surgery was. She sat beside him on the bed, and held his hand. Her words were barely perceptible to those nearby. She spoke his name, and for a brief moment his eyes opened. There eyes spoke in the way soul mates’ eyes do. Hope remained.
The pains of labor had waited. They’d waited just long enough for her to meet the surgeon face to face the day before, they’d waited for prayer with the nun, and faith to be found, they waited until she could see him, but they would wait no longer. Julie was admitted to the hospital, herself, later that evening. She gave birth to a baby girl, Ashley. Julie’s mother and father arrived the next day. Grandparents once more, the Brochus were eager to see baby Ashley, and console Julie. They made comments about beautiful baby Ashley, but few comments were made regarding Bruce. It was as if they were afraid to verbalize the fears both they and Julie held. The discussions they shared that day were focused, as the three of them had always been. Julie was their only child, keeping her even closer to their hearts, if that was possible. What now, was the discussion they held? The Brochus would stay at Julie’s home and watch after their other two grandchildren, at least for the meantime. They knew that everyone had a role to play in this crisis. All three knew that tomorrow would be a difficult day. Tomorrow Bruce’s family would arrive. The struggles each of them had already faced would be repeated, but this time through the eyes of a mother, and siblings.
No mother should have to see their child in such a state. Dorothy coped with her emotions when she saw her son for the first time. She’d faced struggles like this before. She herself had survived cancer while raising four children and earning a college degree. Dorothy stayed by his side whenever possible, and she was there when her other children, Bruce’s siblings arrived the following day. Nancy’s mouth gaped when she saw her two brothers, overtaken with grief. They literally passed out. It was too much for them. This was their big brother, the eldest of four. Greg and Mike hadn’t been prepared for what they’d seen, they were overwhelmed. Nancy, on the other hand, was like their mother, stoic to the end. On the other hand, is anyone ever prepared for such a situation? Bruce’s siblings and mother stayed for two weeks with Julie. They rotated shifts to be there every waking moment. Each day brought good news as tubes were taken out, and Bruce’s body began to function again on its own.
Family surrounded Julie for the first few weeks following the accident. Neighbors helped with cleaning, and yard work; with babysitting, and driving. A local church had been especially helpful with these tasks. Life had seemed manageable with the amazing support, but this October day would be the real test. It was down to Julie and the kids at home. Julie’s parents continued to come and go helping when they could. How would Bruce’s homecoming work?
“I’m nervous about Becky and Jeff’s reaction.” Julie said to her father, Joseph. “They haven’t seen him yet, Dad, and I’m worried that it will be too much. His appearance is so different, much less his low level of functioning.”
“Help them get ready. Make it a big deal, something special. I’ll drive Bruce home. You can stay with the kids and help them prepare for Bruce to get here. It’s going to be alright, Julie”
Julie did her best to prepare for Bruce’s homecoming. Becky, age four, and Jeff, age eight, were puzzled by the comings and goings of the day, but willingly did what they could for “dad’s” arrival. To them it was as if he had been away on an extensive business trip, a common occurrence in the months prior to the accident. Jeff and Becky colored a welcome sign, of which even Picasso would have been proud. Bold purple outlined the letters, with elaborate yellow stars, crimson flowers, and orange basketballs within each letter. The colors mirrored the changing season just outside their kitchen window on the serene crisp day. The children poured their hearts into the poster, finally ready to display the work of art.
“Becky, Let’s hang it in the dining room. Dad will see it right when he walks in the door.”
“No, no, outside. Let’s hang it outside so he sees it right when he pulls in the driveway.”
“How on earth, can we do that?” Jeff replied gruffly with a slight roll of his eyes.
“Let’s put it on the garage door. We could use string to dangle it from the lights on each side of the garage.”
Becky and Jeff went to work hanging the sign, while Julie intently cleaned and straightened the house with an oblivious baby Ashley taking a nap.
Minutes and hours passed quickly with the anticipation of Bruce’s arrival. The family stepped outside into the chilled fall air just in time for Joseph’s apple red Chrysler to pull into the driveway. It was an unusual sight, Bruce’s large frame in the passenger seat with a much smaller Joseph beside him. Julie held baby Ashley tightly with excitement coursing through her limbs. For better or worse her family was together again. Joseph got out of the car and helped a silent Bruce from the vehicle. Jeff and Becky went excitedly to their father for hugs.
“Dad, dad, look at the sign we made!” Becky shouted with her brown pigtails bouncing in unison to the movement of her feet. She grabbed his leg, and held on with gusto.
Jeff exchanged smiles with his father followed by a quick hug, their quite respect shared, not through words, but more a mutual understanding of one another. Still a child, Jeff had been the man of the house for nearly two months. He understood the situation much better than he let on. Both children knew that something had changed. They certainly noticed the crescent scar on his shaved head, and the sling for his dislocated shoulder. It wasn’t the physical changes, however, that puzzled them about their father. Grandpa Joseph helped Bruce through the door, with Julie right behind. The children missed her glassy eyes, and the tear that trickled past her smile. Bruce didn’t say much. It was as if he were in a fog. The whole family sat down in the cozy family room, fireplace blazing. It occurred to Julie that this was truly a new family, both inside and out. Mixed emotions flickered through her mind. Her smile signaled the relief and joy that they’d made it this far, and the tear betrayed the lingering concerns about the path that lay ahead. How could she bring this family together? How could she reconcile the faith she had with the faith her family lacked? Faith was exactly what they’d need in the weeks, months, and years to come.
One month later, Julie walked back into the family room. That day she found Becky and Bruce side-by-side tying their shoes. This was not the first time she’d discovered her daughter teaching Bruce the skills she’d learned in preschool. Previously they had worked on colors, shapes, and numbers. That was where Jeff took over. He would read books with his father, gradually rebuilding the skills he had lost. It was amazing to see the therapy continue outside of rehabilitation. The hospital had helped Bruce with physical therapy, but cognitive skills were a separate matter. Day by day they were coming back, despite the doctor’s prediction that Bruce would remain in a vegetative state. His recovery had been remarkable, but his frustration grew rather than decreased. Bruce struggled to reconcile what he used to do, with what he could no longer do. He could not return to work yet, but somehow Julie thought that he would, eventually. Time continued to pass. Christmas came and went, along with Valentine’s Day and Easter. Each day was a small step toward full recovery.
It was just after Easter, when Jeff found Becky arguing with two boys twice her size. One of the boys, the neighborhood bully, went by the name Damon Justice. What a name…Damon was sitting on a dirt bike, but made the effort to reach down and grab a handful of gravel from the street curb. He took the handful and flung it into Becky’s eyes. She gasped.
“Oh no,” Jeff mumbled to himself, quickening his step toward the scene.
“Your Dad is a retard!” Damon’s words stung.
“Is not!” Jeff shouted stepping in between Becky and the two bullies before she had a chance to do anything.
“Is too!” snickered Damon’s fellow bully. “He’s so stupid, not even the dumby home could help him.”
That was it. Jeff scooted past Becky, whose fists were clenched rubber band tight, and laid his own fist into Justin’s chin. Justin reeled back in shock, absently watching Jeff as he grabbed Becky and walked down the street.
Jeff’s head was held high, and Becky’s was furrowed into his shoulder.
“Dad, isn’t a retard. Don’t they understand that he got hurt? Don’t they get it? He’s not a retard is he Jeff?”
Jeff looked into her eyes, broken with hurt.
“No, they don’t understand, and probably never will.”
Jeff and Becky came into the kitchen and sat down next to Julie. She could tell by the looks on their faces that something was wrong. Jeff was straight lipped, and Becky had her classic furtive pout with squinted eyes.
They never told their mother about the events that transpired. There was just an unspoken understanding that they would look out for each other. Damon Justice taught them a lesson that day; ignorance is not bliss, and compassion is worth a thousand words.
Warm days returned to the Naylor household as summer arrived. By that July Bruce made a 95 percent recovery and had been cleared to return to work. His excitement at this fact was hardly belayed by his calm demeanor. His mind would be sharpened by the tasks of his profession, and he’d be able to support his family once again.
It was almost as if the family had been given a gift during that year, the gift of time. Nearly every moment had been spent together. Bruce and Julie rediscovered their love for one another. Jeff and Becky had helped their mother unceasingly, and regularly entertained baby Ashley, who was the epitome of “good”.
In Julie’s mind the time had come for a major step in their lives. A household decision was made to do something they had never done before, attend church. Almost one year from the date of the accident, the Naylor family walked into a building with mahogany wood and stained glass. It was the opening of a figurative door for each of them. On that Sunday, and the days to follow the rest of the family discovered what Julie had found in a moment of desperation, faith in Christ.
Ahead of them lay a path changed forever by the events of one day. The scope of their lives changed irrevocably, the scope of my life changed. You see I was four when my father nearly died. I watched with the eyes of a child as he recovered both inwardly and outwardly. I learned devotion from my brother’s example, and took to heart my mother’s unwavering strength as she faced the unknown. Like the rest of my family, I still live with the principles of faith she discovered in a dimly lit hospital bathroom.
Every moment during that year of recovery was a lesson in life. Lessons that helped us cope in later years with cancer, death, and tragedy; but, also lessons that helped us savor the sweetness of happier times and peaceful moments. Sometimes I wonder what our lives would be like if the accident hadn’t occurred. I came to the conclusion that “everything happens for a reason.” To this day I smile when I hear that phrase. I smile because I agree!
(First Draft with Comments and Suggestions)
http://www.writingproject.org/cs/ea/view/dt/19137#responses
(Second Draft with Comments and Suggestions)
* This is still a work in progress...
The austere hospital surroundings smothered her. Despite the warm September day outside, she was cold. The room was large, but the fear and shock made her feel small as they weighed heavily on her heart. She sat in the waiting room chair, and waiting was precisely what she did. The room seemed so foreign, but ironically she spent nearly every day in this hospital. In fact, she spent nearly every day in this Emergency Room. She was a nurse here, an RN whose days were filled with emergency after emergency. This was different, however, this time it was her husband. Minutes seemed like hours, until finally the surgeon emerged from the swinging double doors just past triage. She knew this surgeon. On any other day they were professionals respecting one another’s opinions. Here she was waiting for his expert advice. She caught a glimpse of his face as he walked through the crowded waiting room. Her heart dropped as she looked at the hopeless façade it bore. She’d seen that look before; the “how do I tell the family that their loved one has no hope” look. But, there was hope, after all, Bruce had made it this far.
Just minutes before, she’d been in the front seat of the ambulance with Bruce. Terrifying was the word for the catastrophic trip. She’d barely convinced the crew to let her ride in the ambulance at all. She’d had to suffer through the frantic comments of the EMTs each time his breathing halted. She sat helplessly as the Detroit traffic stalled in front of her, no one moving. GET OUT OF THE WAY her mind screamed as cars pulled in front of the vehicle with clearly blazing lights and sirens. Didn’t they know that her husband was dying just a few feet away from where they were, from where she was? Didn’t they know… Everything went from bad to worse when new flashing lights appeared in front of her. This time the lights were not those of an ambulance, but rather a train signal.
“This can’t be happening!” she said, more to herself than anyone else. The ambulance slowed and finally stopped at the railroad tracks. Seconds later she heard frantic words.
“His heart’s stopped.”
“Start CPR.”
The EMTs went to work. They knew what to do and managed to revive Bruce, at least long enough for them to arrive beneath the ER overhang. She knew that making it to the hospital was half the battle. Here he would get the medical attention he needed, medical care that could save his life. She snapped back to reality realizing that the surgeon had made the connection between the name on the chart, Bruce Naylor, and her name, Julie Naylor. He looked up, immediately spotting her, just a few paces away. She met his gaze, and found him speechless. She struggled to stand because, one week overdue with their baby girl. This was to be their third child, a delight, a joy. In fact she should be in the hospital, she thought, but not for this. She should be here, with Bruce at her side having their third child, but she wasn’t.
“Julie, I…I …the trauma Bruce sustained is severe. He has internal bleeding around the brain. The only option is a craniotomy to alleviate the build-up of blood just beneath the skull.” As the surgeon’s eyes went to her swollen abdomen and back to her eyes a realization dawned on her. This was a change in plans, he hadn’t even been planning to do the surgery.
“It won’t work though. You know that the chances are slim that he’ll even survive the surgery. If he does, he’ll be in a vegetative state. He won’t be able to walk, or talk, basic skills will be beyond his grasp.”
She looked at him and gave one reply.
“Thank-you.”
The clock on the wall read 2 am. Hours had passed since the surgery began. Here she was in the bathroom, collapsed on the floor. After all, where can privacy be found in a hospital? Her thoughts raced, fears and concerns pummeled their way through her mind. She knew that Becky and Jeff, their two other children, were safe. They were with neighbors. They hadn’t seen the accident that afternoon. In fact, right now they were probably sound asleep. The three of them had been in the yard waiting for the ice cream truck to arrive on their suburban neighborhood street. The two children had thought it strange when the man and woman had pulled up to the curb in their minute yellow Honda, rather than the ice cream truck. It didn’t take long to put the pieces together as the man began to talk in whispers.
“Bicycle…tall man…head injury…side of the road.”
Darkness and silence encompassed her. Faith was not her thing. She hadn’t needed God before.
The bathroom door cracked and a sliver of light came into the dimly lit space. A black habit clad woman appeared in full view. Her face was gentle. Julie looked at her, a sob leaving her throat as she fought back more tears. She hadn’t cried before, but now, she was on her own. Family was on their way, but not here yet. The nun knelt down to meet Julie’s eyes.
“Would you like to pray?”
Pause.
“I don’t know how to pray.” There was a brief silence as Julie contemplated the fact that she had given little or no time to God in her 30 odd years of life. In fact she hadn’t been in a church since she was a child.
“I’ll help you,” the nun replied.
The nun prayed, and prayed. It came so naturally, with meaning and empathy.
Julie began to think about the events of the day. Details started to flicker before her eyes, reminding her of everything that had transpired. Just that morning someone had been passing out pamphlets in their neighborhood, a peculiar sight to behold. She’d barely glanced at the pamphlet. She’d seen enough to tell her how outlandish the piece was. It told of three men and their near death experiences. She’d dismissed the pamphlet with little thought. After all, she was a medical profession, and knew better than to think that people survive such traumatic incidences. Who get’s struck by lightening and recovers fully?
On the other hand, that was the whole point. The pamphlet had said that miracles of that nature could only come from God. In her grief she began to trust in more than herself. For the first time she had faith in God. She prayed fervently that this would be her miracle.
“It is a miracle.”
Could those words literally be coming from the surgeon’s mouth? Could a surgeon really say those exact words? Her thoughts went back to the early minutes of the morning, to the nun, to the brochure, to her family, and to her sudden faith.
“Your husband should not have lived, Julie.”
She contemplated the reality of what was happening; of what the surgeon was saying. He explained the logistics of the craniotomy, and the steps that would need to be taken from here to aid in recovery (still maintaining that partial recovery was optimistic). Her husband was alive, her deepest wish. What now, what would he be like? How would they make it?
Bruce was an engineer, a man of remarkable intelligence. His 170 IQ was only a small indication of his greater potential. He was a quick thinker, a sharp professional, his six-six frame made him an outstanding athlete, and he was focused on success. She made her way to the Intensive Care Unit with hurried steps, as hurried as her fatigued pregnant body would take her.
There he was…tubes and cords everywhere. He was barely cognizant of his surroundings due to the medication. Would he even know her, would she know him? His head had been shaved. A crescent shaped scar was the reminder of just how traumatic brain surgery was. She sat beside him on the bed, and held his hand. Her words were barely perceptible to those nearby. She spoke his name, and for a brief moment his eyes opened. There eyes spoke in the way soul mates’ eyes do. Hope remained.
The pains of labor had waited. They’d waited just long enough for her to meet the surgeon face to face the day before, they’d waited for prayer with the nun, and faith to be found, they waited until she could see him, but they would wait no longer. Julie was admitted to the hospital, herself, later that evening. She gave birth to a baby girl, Ashley. Julie’s mother and father arrived the next day. Grandparents once more, the Brochus were eager to see baby Ashley, and console Julie. They made comments about beautiful baby Ashley, but few comments were made regarding Bruce. It was as if they were afraid to verbalize the fears both they and Julie held. The discussions they shared that day were focused, as the three of them had always been. Julie was their only child, keeping her even closer to their hearts, if that was possible. What now, was the discussion they held? The Brochus would stay at Julie’s home and watch after their other two grandchildren, at least for the meantime. They knew that everyone had a role to play in this crisis. All three knew that tomorrow would be a difficult day. Tomorrow Bruce’s family would arrive. The struggles each of them had already faced would be repeated, but this time through the eyes of a mother, and siblings.
No mother should have to see their child in such a state. Dorothy coped with her emotions when she saw her son for the first time. She’d faced struggles like this before. She herself had survived cancer while raising four children and earning a college degree. Dorothy stayed by his side whenever possible, and she was there when her other children, Bruce’s siblings arrived the following day. Nancy’s mouth gaped when she saw her two brothers, overtaken with grief. They literally passed out. It was too much for them. This was their big brother, the eldest of four. Greg and Mike hadn’t been prepared for what they’d seen, they were overwhelmed. Nancy, on the other hand, was like their mother, stoic to the end. On the other hand, is anyone ever prepared for such a situation? Bruce’s siblings and mother stayed for two weeks with Julie. They rotated shifts to be there every waking moment. Each day brought good news as tubes were taken out, and Bruce’s body began to function again on its own.
Family surrounded Julie for the first few weeks following the accident. Neighbors helped with cleaning, and yard work; with babysitting, and driving. A local church had been especially helpful with these tasks. Life had seemed manageable with the amazing support, but this October day would be the real test. It was down to Julie and the kids at home. Julie’s parents continued to come and go helping when they could. How would Bruce’s homecoming work?
“I’m nervous about Becky and Jeff’s reaction.” Julie said to her father, Joseph. “They haven’t seen him yet, Dad, and I’m worried that it will be too much. His appearance is so different, much less his low level of functioning.”
“Help them get ready. Make it a big deal, something special. I’ll drive Bruce home. You can stay with the kids and help them prepare for Bruce to get here. It’s going to be alright, Julie”
Julie did her best to prepare for Bruce’s homecoming. Becky, age four, and Jeff, age eight, were puzzled by the comings and goings of the day, but willingly did what they could for “dad’s” arrival. To them it was as if he had been away on an extensive business trip, a common occurrence in the months prior to the accident. Jeff and Becky colored a welcome sign, of which even Picasso would have been proud. Bold purple outlined the letters, with elaborate yellow stars, crimson flowers, and orange basketballs within each letter. The colors mirrored the changing season just outside their kitchen window on the serene crisp day. The children poured their hearts into the poster, finally ready to display the work of art.
“Becky, Let’s hang it in the dining room. Dad will see it right when he walks in the door.”
“No, no, outside. Let’s hang it outside so he sees it right when he pulls in the driveway.”
“How on earth, can we do that?” Jeff replied gruffly with a slight roll of his eyes.
“Let’s put it on the garage door. We could use string to dangle it from the lights on each side of the garage.”
Becky and Jeff went to work hanging the sign, while Julie intently cleaned and straightened the house with an oblivious baby Ashley taking a nap.
Minutes and hours passed quickly with the anticipation of Bruce’s arrival. The family stepped outside into the chilled fall air just in time for Joseph’s apple red Chrysler to pull into the driveway. It was an unusual sight, Bruce’s large frame in the passenger seat with a much smaller Joseph beside him. Julie held baby Ashley tightly with excitement coursing through her limbs. For better or worse her family was together again. Joseph got out of the car and helped a silent Bruce from the vehicle. Jeff and Becky went excitedly to their father for hugs.
“Dad, dad, look at the sign we made!” Becky shouted with her brown pigtails bouncing in unison to the movement of her feet. She grabbed his leg, and held on with gusto.
Jeff exchanged smiles with his father followed by a quick hug, their quite respect shared, not through words, but more a mutual understanding of one another. Still a child, Jeff had been the man of the house for nearly two months. He understood the situation much better than he let on. Both children knew that something had changed. They certainly noticed the crescent scar on his shaved head, and the sling for his dislocated shoulder. It wasn’t the physical changes, however, that puzzled them about their father. Grandpa Joseph helped Bruce through the door, with Julie right behind. The children missed her glassy eyes, and the tear that trickled past her smile. Bruce didn’t say much. It was as if he were in a fog. The whole family sat down in the cozy family room, fireplace blazing. It occurred to Julie that this was truly a new family, both inside and out. Mixed emotions flickered through her mind. Her smile signaled the relief and joy that they’d made it this far, and the tear betrayed the lingering concerns about the path that lay ahead. How could she bring this family together? How could she reconcile the faith she had with the faith her family lacked? Faith was exactly what they’d need in the weeks, months, and years to come.
One month later, Julie walked back into the family room. That day she found Becky and Bruce side-by-side tying their shoes. This was not the first time she’d discovered her daughter teaching Bruce the skills she’d learned in preschool. Previously they had worked on colors, shapes, and numbers. That was where Jeff took over. He would read books with his father, gradually rebuilding the skills he had lost. It was amazing to see the therapy continue outside of rehabilitation. The hospital had helped Bruce with physical therapy, but cognitive skills were a separate matter. Day by day they were coming back, despite the doctor’s prediction that Bruce would remain in a vegetative state. His recovery had been remarkable, but his frustration grew rather than decreased. Bruce struggled to reconcile what he used to do, with what he could no longer do. He could not return to work yet, but somehow Julie thought that he would, eventually. Time continued to pass. Christmas came and went, along with Valentine’s Day and Easter. Each day was a small step toward full recovery.
It was just after Easter, when Jeff found Becky arguing with two boys twice her size. One of the boys, the neighborhood bully, went by the name Damon Justice. What a name…Damon was sitting on a dirt bike, but made the effort to reach down and grab a handful of gravel from the street curb. He took the handful and flung it into Becky’s eyes. She gasped.
“Oh no,” Jeff mumbled to himself, quickening his step toward the scene.
“Your Dad is a retard!” Damon’s words stung.
“Is not!” Jeff shouted stepping in between Becky and the two bullies before she had a chance to do anything.
“Is too!” snickered Damon’s fellow bully. “He’s so stupid, not even the dumby home could help him.”
That was it. Jeff scooted past Becky, whose fists were clenched rubber band tight, and laid his own fist into Justin’s chin. Justin reeled back in shock, absently watching Jeff as he grabbed Becky and walked down the street.
Jeff’s head was held high, and Becky’s was furrowed into his shoulder.
“Dad, isn’t a retard. Don’t they understand that he got hurt? Don’t they get it? He’s not a retard is he Jeff?”
Jeff looked into her eyes, broken with hurt.
“No, they don’t understand, and probably never will.”
Jeff and Becky came into the kitchen and sat down next to Julie. She could tell by the looks on their faces that something was wrong. Jeff was straight lipped, and Becky had her classic furtive pout with squinted eyes.
They never told their mother about the events that transpired. There was just an unspoken understanding that they would look out for each other. Damon Justice taught them a lesson that day; ignorance is not bliss, and compassion is worth a thousand words.
Warm days returned to the Naylor household as summer arrived. By that July Bruce made a 95 percent recovery and had been cleared to return to work. His excitement at this fact was hardly belayed by his calm demeanor. His mind would be sharpened by the tasks of his profession, and he’d be able to support his family once again.
It was almost as if the family had been given a gift during that year, the gift of time. Nearly every moment had been spent together. Bruce and Julie rediscovered their love for one another. Jeff and Becky had helped their mother unceasingly, and regularly entertained baby Ashley, who was the epitome of “good”.
In Julie’s mind the time had come for a major step in their lives. A household decision was made to do something they had never done before, attend church. Almost one year from the date of the accident, the Naylor family walked into a building with mahogany wood and stained glass. It was the opening of a figurative door for each of them. On that Sunday, and the days to follow the rest of the family discovered what Julie had found in a moment of desperation, faith in Christ.
Ahead of them lay a path changed forever by the events of one day. The scope of their lives changed irrevocably, the scope of my life changed. You see I was four when my father nearly died. I watched with the eyes of a child as he recovered both inwardly and outwardly. I learned devotion from my brother’s example, and took to heart my mother’s unwavering strength as she faced the unknown. Like the rest of my family, I still live with the principles of faith she discovered in a dimly lit hospital bathroom.
Every moment during that year of recovery was a lesson in life. Lessons that helped us cope in later years with cancer, death, and tragedy; but, also lessons that helped us savor the sweetness of happier times and peaceful moments. Sometimes I wonder what our lives would be like if the accident hadn’t occurred. I came to the conclusion that “everything happens for a reason.” To this day I smile when I hear that phrase. I smile because I agree!
Monday, June 25, 2007
Take Me Out to the Ocean
(sung to the tune of Take Me Out to the Ballgame)
Take me out to the ocean
Take me out to the sea
Walk down the sand dunes create by wind
Head past the shore to the ocean shelf
And its
Swim, swim swim
Past the mid-ocean ridge
Volcanoes in the pacific
Watch _ out _ for molten rock
...in the deep blue sea
Take me out to the ocean
Take me out to the sea
Walk down the sand dunes create by wind
Head past the shore to the ocean shelf
And its
Swim, swim swim
Past the mid-ocean ridge
Volcanoes in the pacific
Watch _ out _ for molten rock
...in the deep blue sea
SCCTE Conference Proposal
(link to original piece and constructive criticism)
SCCTE 2008: Teaching and Creating South Carolina Writers
Program Proposal for Teachers
DUE October 1, 2007
Name of Lead Presenter: R. Smith
(Include other presenters in the program description below.)
Email: @
Program Proposal for Teachers
DUE October 1, 2007
Name of Lead Presenter: R. Smith
(Include other presenters in the program description below.)
Email: @
Phone: (xxx) xxx-xxxx
School Affiliation: Bell’s Crossing Elementary School
Describe your proposal in 250 words or less. Please remember your presentation will be scheduled for 45 minutes on Friday, January 25, 2008.
"How do you motivate your students to write across the curriculum? Simple: Cross-Curricular Comic Strips!" In this demonstration educators will discover a strategy that integrates content (such as social studies or science), reading, technology, art, and writing. Participants will begin by looking at the prevalent role of comic strips in their students’ lives. They will then take this popular mode of writing and connect it to the classroom as well as curricular goals. The foundation for this great writing strategy is made using student brainstorming samples from Kidspiration and Inspiration. Difficult writing concepts, such as dialogue and onomatopoeia come to life as students develop characters and plot in their very own comic strips. Participants will have a chance to walk through this strategy from beginning to end, while completing their own sample for classroom use. Participants will also take home a handout to serve as a guide for implementing Cross-Curricular Comic Strips. Within the handout they will find ideas for adapting and modifying this strategy to fit in any classroom. "Before you know it, unmotivated students will be writing (and drawing) across the curriculum."
Audience: X Elementary ___ High School ____ Middle School ___ General
Equipment required:
If you need a laptop or projector, please bring your own. Due to high rates for rental equipment, we are unable to provide this equipment.
_________ Overhead Projector
X Screen
_________ TV/VCR/DVD
_________ Other (please explain)
School Affiliation: Bell’s Crossing Elementary School
Describe your proposal in 250 words or less. Please remember your presentation will be scheduled for 45 minutes on Friday, January 25, 2008.
"How do you motivate your students to write across the curriculum? Simple: Cross-Curricular Comic Strips!" In this demonstration educators will discover a strategy that integrates content (such as social studies or science), reading, technology, art, and writing. Participants will begin by looking at the prevalent role of comic strips in their students’ lives. They will then take this popular mode of writing and connect it to the classroom as well as curricular goals. The foundation for this great writing strategy is made using student brainstorming samples from Kidspiration and Inspiration. Difficult writing concepts, such as dialogue and onomatopoeia come to life as students develop characters and plot in their very own comic strips. Participants will have a chance to walk through this strategy from beginning to end, while completing their own sample for classroom use. Participants will also take home a handout to serve as a guide for implementing Cross-Curricular Comic Strips. Within the handout they will find ideas for adapting and modifying this strategy to fit in any classroom. "Before you know it, unmotivated students will be writing (and drawing) across the curriculum."
Audience: X Elementary ___ High School ____ Middle School ___ General
Equipment required:
If you need a laptop or projector, please bring your own. Due to high rates for rental equipment, we are unable to provide this equipment.
_________ Overhead Projector
X Screen
_________ TV/VCR/DVD
_________ Other (please explain)
Courage
(link to original piece and comments)
Courage steps forward
When all else fails
It glistens in the sun
Of instantaneous decisions
Courage is a line of flags
Red, white, and blue
Memorials to soldiers, forefathers
Perhaps even you
Courage is innate, shrouded
It searches for unlikely candidates
Grieving widows
Meeting tomorrow head-on
Courage is riddled
Throughout eternity
Judged and determined
By an historian’s pen
When all else fails
It glistens in the sun
Of instantaneous decisions
Courage is a line of flags
Red, white, and blue
Memorials to soldiers, forefathers
Perhaps even you
Courage is innate, shrouded
It searches for unlikely candidates
Grieving widows
Meeting tomorrow head-on
Courage is riddled
Throughout eternity
Judged and determined
By an historian’s pen
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Connemara
Friday, June 8th the Upstate Writing Project embarked on a journey to Flat Rock, North Carolina. After an hour-long drive we arrived. Our group of eager students, unsure of what to expect, gathered in a cozy park like setting, surrounded by nature. We began our day with a writing opportunity. I immediately observed my surroundings, and in turn wondered what my surroundings thought of me….
Carl Sandburg’s Home (10:00am)-
Ouch, another group coming through. Person after person, they come to observe me, and yet they really want to know about Carl. They want to know where he lived, what he did, and how he thought. Luckily for them, I’ve preserved everything exactly as it was the day he left. Look here, another one of those purple shirts. She seems particularly interested in the books and magazines Carl read. She should check out the TIME magazine with Buzz Aldrin on the cover. I remember that like it was yesterday, but I bet she doesn’t, she looks too young. Over here, come see Carl’s organizational system. Look at her chuckle; she must get a kick out of his cardboard boxes just as much as did. Can you believe this man wrote two Pulitzer Prize winning pieces? She’s talking about Illinois, sounds like she relates to Carl’s upbringing in a small mid-western town. I guess the tour is over. I’ll bet I gave her a pretty good impression of what Carl was really like.
Picnic Tables (12:30)-
Wow, they’re hungry!
Quaint Bridge on Walking Trail (1:30)-
Another purple shirt…these people must have something in common. Wait a minute this one looks like she’s stopping. What, she doesn’t want to walk across me to get to the other side? It’s not like a have troll beneath my planks asking three questions. Oh, I see. She has a pencil and notebook. She must be a writer. In fact, I’m just sure of it. She’s all by herself looking for a place to stop. I personally would recommend the rock by the creek. Smart girl, she’ll get a good view of the lake and beautiful scenery. Why does she keep looking at me? Oh, I get it. Perhaps she’ll capture the beauty of my spindles, the purpose of my existence. I wonder if she noticed the patina only age could bring. Wait a minute…it looks like she’s sketching. Why would a writer sketch? I bet she wants to capture my beauty as inspiration for revising and editing her work down the road. Done already…it’s only been an hour and a half. Farwell purple-shirted writer!
Bird Beside Upstate Writing Project Sharing Circle (3:30)-
What beautiful poetry, what inspirational prose, this group is utterly delightful. There words are peaceful and reflective. Surely even Carl would be proud of these visitors here at Connemara. CRACK. Why do they look worried? Why are they stopping? SPLISH…SPLASH. Wait, it’s only a little rain. Stay a little longer. Share your stories, for this is truly writer’s place. Goodbye Upstate Writer’s Project, until we meet again next year.
We departed from Carl Sandburg’s home in the midst of a summer shower, actually, it was more like a down-pour. We found inspiration from the man himself, and his surroundings. We were each able to emulate Carl’s writing, even if for a brief moment. What a great man…what an inspiring trip!
Carl Sandburg’s Home (10:00am)-
Ouch, another group coming through. Person after person, they come to observe me, and yet they really want to know about Carl. They want to know where he lived, what he did, and how he thought. Luckily for them, I’ve preserved everything exactly as it was the day he left. Look here, another one of those purple shirts. She seems particularly interested in the books and magazines Carl read. She should check out the TIME magazine with Buzz Aldrin on the cover. I remember that like it was yesterday, but I bet she doesn’t, she looks too young. Over here, come see Carl’s organizational system. Look at her chuckle; she must get a kick out of his cardboard boxes just as much as did. Can you believe this man wrote two Pulitzer Prize winning pieces? She’s talking about Illinois, sounds like she relates to Carl’s upbringing in a small mid-western town. I guess the tour is over. I’ll bet I gave her a pretty good impression of what Carl was really like.
Picnic Tables (12:30)-
Wow, they’re hungry!
Quaint Bridge on Walking Trail (1:30)-
Another purple shirt…these people must have something in common. Wait a minute this one looks like she’s stopping. What, she doesn’t want to walk across me to get to the other side? It’s not like a have troll beneath my planks asking three questions. Oh, I see. She has a pencil and notebook. She must be a writer. In fact, I’m just sure of it. She’s all by herself looking for a place to stop. I personally would recommend the rock by the creek. Smart girl, she’ll get a good view of the lake and beautiful scenery. Why does she keep looking at me? Oh, I get it. Perhaps she’ll capture the beauty of my spindles, the purpose of my existence. I wonder if she noticed the patina only age could bring. Wait a minute…it looks like she’s sketching. Why would a writer sketch? I bet she wants to capture my beauty as inspiration for revising and editing her work down the road. Done already…it’s only been an hour and a half. Farwell purple-shirted writer!
Bird Beside Upstate Writing Project Sharing Circle (3:30)-
What beautiful poetry, what inspirational prose, this group is utterly delightful. There words are peaceful and reflective. Surely even Carl would be proud of these visitors here at Connemara. CRACK. Why do they look worried? Why are they stopping? SPLISH…SPLASH. Wait, it’s only a little rain. Stay a little longer. Share your stories, for this is truly writer’s place. Goodbye Upstate Writer’s Project, until we meet again next year.
We departed from Carl Sandburg’s home in the midst of a summer shower, actually, it was more like a down-pour. We found inspiration from the man himself, and his surroundings. We were each able to emulate Carl’s writing, even if for a brief moment. What a great man…what an inspiring trip!
NYC
http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=dcrxnvkr_0g8b5ww
Lights, brightly shining, inspiring, and evoking awe
Jazz, pouring from the soul of a saxophonist
He gathers a crowd to his street side theater
Lights, brightly shining, inspiring, and evoking awe
Jazz, pouring from the soul of a saxophonist
He gathers a crowd to his street side theater
Broadway, larger than life
Aunt Virginia sings, she soars, and she performs
Her moment on the stage forever a childhood memory
Spirit, the determination of a town not held down
Ordinary people doing extraordinary things
Heroes in unlikely places
Ordinary people doing extraordinary things
Heroes in unlikely places
Clouds
This is a "found" poem based on a book...
Clouds dance and go on
Every kind moves in its own way
Awake, rise from the land
Quiet steady, up from the ocean
Near the mountains, lift and bend
Bubble up, years worn away
Flowing across the land
Alone they dance as far as the eye can see
They do not last forever
Year after year, pile up beneath the stars
Their slow dance goes on, endless beauty
A brief moment in the vast history of the universe
Clouds dance and go on
Every kind moves in its own way
Awake, rise from the land
Quiet steady, up from the ocean
Near the mountains, lift and bend
Bubble up, years worn away
Flowing across the land
Alone they dance as far as the eye can see
They do not last forever
Year after year, pile up beneath the stars
Their slow dance goes on, endless beauty
A brief moment in the vast history of the universe
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
