Day One 6th Grade Poetry

      We started our poetry unit today. As you can imagine, this was not joyous news for all. I could tell as they began their warm-up that the battle was beginning. How will I help them find that poetry is not all Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost and that I just might have a few poems they won't detest hidden up my sleeve? Don't get me wrong, I love those poets but not all kids do. So to start us off, I asked them to write in their journals any and all feelings they have about poetry. I gave them a few leading questions to consider. What do you like about the poetry you have studied other years in school? What didn't you like? Were there poems you loved? Were there poets you recalled enjoying. After writing for about 10 minutes we shared some responses. But before I asked the students to share, I shared what I had written at the same time they wrote. I have 5 sections so I wrote 4 times today. I'd like to share my thoughts first on poetry.

#1. I always dreaded poetry. I took a creative writing class one time in college and when we had to write poems I was terrified. The poems I wrote were TERRIBLE. Since becoming a teacher, I have found many poems that I love. I have met some poets too whom I respect immensely.
     A few summers ago I took a writing class over the summer called, Teachers Write. As a result of one of the writing prompts in that class, I actually wrote a poem I don't hate!
     Lesson to be learned from this? Keep trying! Keep Exploring! If you haven't found poems you like yet you haven't read enough! Let's do this together!

#2. I think it's interesting to see all the poetic devices poets use in their poems to make them come alive with imagery. Similes and metaphors, personification and alliteration, irony and symbolism to name a few. I think that poets may just be the most talented writers because they are able to convey so much meaning in so few words.
     The poem I wrote when I took that summer class started out as an essay about what you could see in your back yard after taking 100 steps.

By the time I was done with that poem after hundreds of changes, it turned out to be a poem about missing my parents and lost opportunities to spend time with them. That was nothing like what I had started out to write. That poem took over and wrote itself in spite of my bumbling attempts.
     Lesson to be gained here? Trying something new or unfamiliar can result in something really great or surprising if you give it half a chance!

#3.  Of all the different genres in literature, poetry is seldom my first choice. It's not usually my second or my third. So I may be more like my poetry phobic students than different. However, I have begun to appreciate poetry and poets more and more over time.
     Someone who was surprisingly skillful at poetry was my dad.

George was a strong, cheerful, hard worker who grew up on a hundred acre farm with eleven siblings. He left school at 8th grade to work the farm and eventually left to fight in WWII. Not an academic sort but so very wise about all things, we often were treated to rhyming couplets that he would compose mostly on scraps of paper, opened envelopes, or on yellow legal pads. Those bits of writing usually were to inform family about where he was headed that day, errands he was running or just to tell my mom he would be back soon to see his beautiful gal.
      Many times I have tried to emulate my dad and his carefree rhyming notes. NOPE. Can't do it. Wish I had thought at some point to ask him how in the world he did it so easily.
     Lesson learned here? Anyone can be a poet and it could very well be someone you would least expect.

#4. At the Rochester Children's Book Festival over the years I have met several notable authors. A few are poets and I have begun purchasing their books to use in my classroom. Nikki Grimes

is a well known poet whom I have met several times as she is a regular at the event. I now have four of her books. The poem, "First Day," that we read at the beginning of the year is from her  book called, Words With Wings.
     When I chatted with her this year, she urged me to check out her newest  book, One Last Word,

because of the new poetic form she used to create it. When I looked confused at her explanation, she grabbed her book and pointed to one of the poems to show me what she meant. The form is called Golden Shovel. As she explained it I became so excited because I couldn't wait to try it and see if I could do it. I also couldn't wait to show it to my colleague, Andrea Page and my students.
     Lesson learned here? New ideas for writing pop up all of the time. Be ready to snatch that idea and run away with it.

Those were the examples I shared with my students. Many of them struggle with focusing in on the journal prompt. They need to see many, many models of how you can just begin to write and the page seems to fill itself. Many were willing to share bits and pieces of their own writing after I had shared some of mine. There was less sharing than we normally get but maybe that will pick up as we move through this unit. Poetry is a slippery mountain we climb together one step at a time. Day one-- done in the land of 6th grade poetry.

Just Take 100 Steps

  Teacher's Write  7.2.16

          For the past three summers I have signed up to be part of the Teacher's Write  summer online writing community. Each year I have created some pieces of writing that I had no idea were inside of me. All credit goes to the wonderful guest authors who provide the encouragement and ideas for the creativity to happen. 

          This past week the prompt was to take 100 steps and simply write about what you see. I did that, stepping down off my back deck and walking to the corner of my back yard. I jotted some notes into a tiny notebook -- that had been part of the first day's writing about using notebooks all the time to capture important moments you may use later in your writing. I discovered that notebook was too darn small that day but, nonetheless, used it to record what I saw. Initially, I was doubtful. All I saw was my backyard. Then I started to look a bit more closely. I started to really see what was there. So I jotted down some notes

and decided to just trust the process. Once I was done, I returned to my computer to type up what I had just seen in my 100 steps. I ended up with the following passage.

Step #1: Write a paragraph about something you feel strongly either positively or negatively about.

100 steps took me to the northwest corner of my backyard. I looked around wondering what I might find to write about. It is a very typical suburban yard but as I stood there I began to really see. Along the hedgerow is a line of mature cherry trees that my family has picked for years. For the lawn mower driver the trees provide a juicy snack on a sweaty-hot, summer day. Today they are droopy with fruit seemingly waiting arms outstretched for that next sampler. Among the cherry trees is a silver maple interloper holding a double-decker tree house built painstakingly years ago by a tag team of boys.

The raggedy board ladder tacked onto the trunk has gaps and tips this way and that but remains for the next courageous climber to give it a try. In the northeastern corner are weathered tree trunk stools ringing the cement brick fire pit stacked high with crispy, dry brush ready for the matches, s\’mores, and song. Closer to the house is the silver and black trampoline, a few poles needing to be attached before jumpers can safely begin bouncing. The trampoline shadows the garden plot waiting for its plants. Just past the blueberry bushes, next to the raspberry plants is the grape arbor

with the determined leaves creeping steadily over the top and back down to the ground under which the grapes will appear in a few months. Looking out past our yard to the north is a smart, tidy cemetery.

My parents\’ gravestone marker looks back at me from its corner plot by the American flag reminding me I should drop by for a visit. If you have time. 100 steps to the north brings me to thoughts of happier times and sadder times, of faces I haven\’t seen in so long. George and Nancy. 100 steps

 I shared it with my colleague, Andrea Page (soon to published author -- yea!!!  Sioux CodeTalkers of WWII). She, as always, was very supportive and encouraging. I remarked to her that it seemed more like a poem than anything else and she suggested I work on it to make it a poem much like I teach my students to do. I chuckled because she sometimes knows me better than I do.I model a method of poem writing after a Nancy Atwell conference I attended many years ago. My "poetry haters" generally find some comfort in it. I ask them if they think they can write a paragraph which they, of course, (sensing this is a trick) reply yes to. There is much more to it but basically they choose a topic to write a paragraph about and then I show them how to turn that paragraph into a poem. So that is what I did.

Step # 2: Write each sentence as a line of prose.

Along the hedgerow is a line of mature cherry trees that my family has picked for years.

For the lawn mower driver the trees provide a juicy snack on a sweaty-hot, summer day.

Today they are droopy with fruit seemingly waiting arms outstretched for that next sampler.

Among the cherry trees is a silver maple interloper holding a double-decker tree house built painstakingly years ago by a tag team of boys.

The raggedy board ladder tacked onto the trunk has gaps and tips this way and that but remains for the next courageous climber to give it a try

In the northeastern corner are weathered tree trunk stools ringing the cement brick fire pit stacked high with crispy, dry brush ready for the matches, s\’mores, and song

Closer to the house is the silver and black trampoline, a few poles needing to be attached before jumpers can safely begin bouncing.

The trampoline shadows the garden plot waiting for its plants.

Just past the blueberry bushes, next to the raspberry plants is the grape arbor with the determined leaves creeping steadily over the top and back down to the ground under which the grapes will appear in a few months

Looking out past our yard to the north is a smart, tidy cemetery

My parents\’ gravestone marker looks back at me from its corner plot by the American flag reminding me I should drop by for a visit

If you have time.

100 steps to the north brings me to thoughts of happier times and sadder times, of faces I haven\’t seen in so long.

George and Nancy

100 steps

Step #3: Cross out, remove any unnecessary words. Rearrange phrases. Add sensory details. Make it look like a poem. Use mentor poetry books for ideas!

100 Steps

"If you have time"

mature cherry tree hedgerow

 juicy snacks  on sweaty-hot, days for the lawn mower driver

to snag on the way by

droopy fruity outstretched arms for that next sampler

"When you have time"

Among the cherry trees a silver maple interloper

double-decker tree house

built painstakingly by a tag team of boys.

raggedy board ladder tacked onto the trunk

gapped and tippy

this way and that

for the next courageous climber to try

"Sometime"

weathered tree trunk stools

ring the cement brick fire pit

stacked high with crispy, dry brush

ready for the matches, s’mores, song

"If you have time"

shimmery silver black trampoline poles

needing to be attached

before jumpers may bounce

"When you have time"

shadowy still garden plot

waits plants

weedy, prickly ,patient

"Sometime soon"

blueberry bushes blooming

raspberry plants ripening

grape arbor's

determined leaves creeping steadily

over the top and back down

September grapes

"If you have time."

north- a smart, tidy cemetery

American flag waving

My parents’ gravestone marker

looks back

reminding me

I should drop by for a visit

"Make  time."

100 steps to

 happier times

sadder times                       

faces I haven’t seen in so long

voices I strain to hear

George and Nancy

100 steps

"If you have time."

Step #4: Revise, Revise, Revise! Here is my final draft. I hope you like it.

100 Steps by Gretchen Breon

If you have time

mature cherry tree hedgerow

sweaty-hot days' juicy snacks

"Oh,never mind those worms-they won't hurt ya!"

to snag on the way by

"Friends share, you know."

droopy, fruity outstretched arms

Anytime

a silver maple interloper

double-decker tree house

raggedy scrap board ladder tacked onto the trunk

big gaps and tippy this way and that

"Yes, I do believe you might see to the lake!"

for the next courageous climbers

Sometime

weathered tree trunk stools ring the cement brick fire pit

"Big fires-sit back, small fires-sit close!"

stacked high with crispy, dry brush

ready for the matches, s’mores,

guitars and ukulele songs off key loud

If you have time

shimmery silver black trampoline poles

needing to be attached

"Sure that's safe?"

before jumpers may bounce

When you have time

shadowy still garden plot

weedy, prickly, patient

waits plants

"Did you get the onions in yet?"

tomatoes for sauce, zucchini for bread

Sometime soon

blueberry bushes blooming

raspberry plants ripening

"Need some jam jars?"

grape arbor's

determined leaves creeping steadily

over the top and back down

September grapes

If you have time

north- a smart, tidy cemetery

so quiet

American flag waving

their gravestone marker looks back

reminding me

I should drop by for a visit

Make  time

100 steps to

faces I haven’t seen in so long

"Hey, High Riga, stop by

when you get a chance"

Voices I strain to hear again

"Hey, give us a call

when you get a sec"

Take the time

Thanks for taking a peek. 

         

Let's Keep Our Stories

This whole blogging thing has me a bit intimidated. I return each summer vacation to my blog filled with hope and ambition that I will blog, blog, blog my heart out. I even bought a book on my kindle all about how to blog and have people want to read it. Haven't read that book in a while. So the problem is in that book it detailed all the things you must add to your blog posts in order to attract readers. I guess that is not really why I want to write. Yes, it would be nice for someone to read one of my posts and comment. That has happened once or twice. It is a rather nice feeling but the comments I have received have been from friends and family who know me. I feel like those don't count. They know I am an English teacher. They likely know I can write. Hard to imagine being a good teacher without being able to write.

No, the reason I want to write is because I love the way the page looks as it fills up with my words. I like to see my thoughts looking back at me from the computer screen. I want to tell the stories that I share every day in my classroom -- I want to write them down before I forget them.

Many years ago I worked in a couple of different nursing homes. I was an Activities Director. It was a challenging yet rewarding job but, ultimately, one that sent me back to school to become a teacher. But when I was employed at the nursing homes I met some of the most unique individuals. I was sure that someday I would write a book and tell the stories of the ladies and gentlemen that I had met. There were some strong characters to be sure. And some were sweet.. and some were .... well, just plain ornery. But the stories I could tell..... 

I do remember one story that I have told to my classes often. This year I mentioned that one of our pets at home is a goldfish. The kind you win at the carnival. I explained to my class that we had one of those that was over 5 years old! They seemed unimpressed but I pushed on to tell them that those fish typically live only a few days because they are bait fish intended to be fed to other fish. It is usually just a big sad story a few days after winning them as the ritual flushing occurs.

For the nursing home residents, throughout the year we would plan some big events that had themes. One time we planned a Bridal Fashion show and I and many of the other workers wore our own wedding gowns to the delight of the residents. Another big event was our Senior Prom. The residents really looked forward to the dancing, the music, and of course, the unique decorations we managed to pull off.

 For one special event we had an ocean theme. As we brainstormed decorations, the activities staff agreed we could place fishbowls on each dining table for a centerpiece. We would buy the inexpensive carnival fish to put in each bowl. The residents were amazed to see the tiny goldfish swimming around as dinner was served. The fishbowls were a colossal hit. The residents could not stop talking about those fishbowls.

After the event, we gathered up all the glass fishbowls onto a gray serving cart and rolled it back into the Activities/Bingo room. All the fish were moved into a large fish tank found in the craft closet. We didn't give them another thought until the next day when residents began arriving for  bingo. A few of the more vocal residents pointed out quickly that several fish were floating on the top. Bad luck for them, we guessed! They were plucked out and flushed posthaste.

A few hours later, residents gathered again in the Activities room for cards. It wasn't long before we were being notified of more fatalities in the fish tank. Not wanting to dwell on the sad topi, we again quickly removed the goners. The residents remained cheerful noting how much fun it had been to see them on the dining tables.

By the next day, there were many dead fish floating on the top of the tank. We all did our best to  remove them before anymore residents saw them! This was starting to get depressing! Day after day we scooped out the dead ones and before long, in spite of having purchased hundred of goldfish, there was only one left. This fish was hardy. He was the sole survivor. None of us could figure out why it was still alive but it was. Even the residents noticed. One of the maintenance men eventually asked us if he could have the fish for his apartment. We quickly agreed not wanting to have to share the gruesome tale with the residents when the final flush was needed. He named that fish Rocky.

I don't know how long that fish lived. I guess my story sort of stinks without knowing that but like our own fish, it wasn't supposed to happen at all. We really look at our fish with wonder. How is it still alive? No idea. But that will to live is something to think about.  It seems to be a powerful force. Maybe the residents took some solace in the fact that, in spite of all the others, at least one had managed to hang in there.

Those are the kinds of stories I don't want to lose. There were really special residents like Martie, who always had a white neck brace collar on, and my little piano player, Edna with the squeaky high voice and the slow, slow, shuffle, shuffle walk and Michael, who was the unofficial mayor of the home.

If we don't write down the stories, we lose them. I really am going to try harder to remember more of them. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. For now.

Don't Go, July.

Dear July,
     The other day I noticed how close we are to the end of your stay. Boy, the time has just flown by! It's hard to believe that our time together has come to a close and in a few days you will be gone. I am imploring you not to go.  I have to admit, I have just begun to really enjoy you. Just this week I have started to truly feel the magic of your days.I stopped checking the clock to see if I was late. I baked cookies!  I began poking through the books I have been meaning to read, finished one last last night. I noticed, really noticed, the beautiful blue and pink sunsets that have marked the last few evening's end. I even started to walk regularly, been meaning to do that for many months--not sure what you did that got me there!  July, you are a quite wonderful month.
     I have penciled in this final week as our time together to bond, relax, and really feel the power of your presence. I am in no way ready for you to leave and be followed by August. August is just not my favorite. With August comes those back breaking days of setting up my classroom combined with shopping trips for the school supplies.

     So much effort to create just the perfect environment. So much money spent on supplies that will no doubt be gone by January. In August, I begin to have the dreaded "teacher nightmares." That is never restful sleep; I wake up panicked by the situation I was clearly not prepared for in the dream. Can't find my classroom, late for the school day, unprepared to teach, missing my shoes....after twenty years of teaching, you would think they would stop. None of this makes me feel happy or relaxed.
     In addition, August means cramming in any last minute appointments that should have been taken care of in July. August means coming to terms with all the great plans and ideas I had for the summer that didn't and, now certainly, won't happen. That just makes me feel bad. August is filled with judgement for time and opportunities wasted. Bossy and judgmental, who needs that? Not me.
Finally, August is often called by teachers, "one big long Sunday night." A huge reminder that school is starting and our restful time is gone.
      So, July, you are soooo my favorite. Please stay? I really need you.

Please stop "helping" us. Please.

I am so involved lately in advocating for what is right and just for the field of education. Everywhere you look are self proclaimed experts so eager to join the conversation about how to fix our profession. How wonderful that so many feel so empowered to offer their expertise to our leaders. How is it even possible to imagine so much good will? Or is it. Are all the "helpers" really helping? Does the teaching profession need all to succeed? I wonder.

I saw a post recently on FB showing a new concept: a public data wall where students names are posted near the benchmark they have achieved. So the entire class would be aware that "Norissa" was at the lowest indicator for that particular marker. This was obviously a suggestion from a "helper" as a way to encourage those slackers to catch up with the rest of the class.

Imagine that. I wonder if the same "helper" would like a wall for teachers? We could post names of teachers whose test scores were lowest and that would surely help them see how they had to catch up to the others. Yes. This is how our profession is currently viewed. As if we are in so desperate need of help that any, yes, any new idea would be better than what we are currently doing.

How.Dare.You.

Right now. Step away from my profession. Stop offering your feeble suggestions since in doing so you are making it abundantly clear that I have no idea how to help myself. Then as you disengage yourself from my career, might you consider that whomever you have been listening to about the terrible downward spiral of education might actually be lying? Yes. They are lying to you.

My school is not failing. Schools do not fail. Systems fail to provide what children need. That is what is happening. Pockets of need are showing up all over the country demanding attention. Many children go to school everyday to escape from pretty bad situations at home. Many children go to school each day to have a nourishing breakfast and lunch. Many children each day must travel through terribly dangerous neighborhoods simply to get to school. Teachers see this day in and day out and this, this is what the helpers should be looking at.

Could I ever so gently suggest that the "helpers" look at those pockets of need? Can you agree to take those well intended suggestions and put them toward solving the real problem of poverty? Can you find a way to give needy children new clothing? Can you find a way to put a replacement refrigerator in the home where the family is using coolers to keep food fresh? Can you find a way to help a child have a happy birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving? Can you help a teenager find a part time job? Can you get some childcare so students are staying home from school to babysit their siblings? Can you help to fill the shelves at the food cupboard? Can you work on a Habitat House? Can you volunteer to read in an elementary school? Are you really interested in HELPING?

If, instead, you are content to offer up ridiculous unproven notions that you are certain will fix those schools then really, just, stop.

We Have Got This. Thanks for your concern. We Have Got This.

Teachers have all the answers within us. We constantly monitor and adjust within our classrooms. This is how we work. Our work is never, and I mean, really, NEVER done. And we pack up at the end of every long day anyways knowing it will be right there for us the next day. Maybe the "helpers" saw this and interpreted it meant we really wanted them to help us. No. We knew from day one that we had chosen a challenging field to work in. We knew from day one it would not be easy and it isn't.

So, once again, let me make this brutally clear. WE HAVE GOT THIS. Nothing to see here, folks. Please, Please, Please go find those glaring pockets of need in your communities and help them. They truly do need your wisdom and good intentions. And by that, I mean your money. Find an organization whose mission is to really help the children and donate your time and money to them. And, you know what will ultimately happen? You really will help the children.

The field of education is not stronger as a result of all the reformer nonsense and lies. Yes, lies. It comes right back to that. What you have been told is simply not true. Look into it and you will see I am right.
 

"Patience ....."

This is always a hard time of year for me. Living in Rochester does not make it any easier. It's gloomy, it's cold, and there is no respite in sight. My dad, a wise farmer, once encouraged me to remember that "once you get through February, spring is right around the corner!"

Always loved his optimism with nearly all situations. I loved how he could smile and shake things off with a gentle shrug of his worn, tired shoulders. I can still see him, in response to one of my complaints about winter, breathe in with a small tug of his lips to one side of his face. He would reach up and adjust his cap (usually a Yankee cap) slightly off center and look me straight in the eye. The message he would always deliver was patience, that "good things are coming our way" and he would finish it up with "just you wait and see."

I think of him often now as my profession is being threatened on all sides. I wonder if his answer would remain the same. George never shied from pointing out a conspiracy theory, though usually that came up when discussing his beloved Buffalo Bills. I do think he would be sad that each individual teacher is being told that an entire year's worth of work is only worthy if the score on a 3 day long painful test is high enough. He likely would not even be able to understand the convoluted method of determining the score for the student much less the score for a teacher. (Administrators can't even fully explain it.)

I know, for sure, he was proud of me becoming a teacher. I know, for sure, he believed  every day I went into my classroom I was going to try to make a difference in each of my student's lives. I know, for sure, he knew I wasn't afraid of being evaluated; I had shown him many of my early evaluations just to help him understand my professional life.

George would surely scowl at the suggestion that I was only interested in protecting my pension and the fact that Governor Cuomo would say that about teachers would not sit right with him. Nor would he find it the least bit amusing that the hard work in our evaluation process was to be called "Baloney" by our Governor Cuomo.

I am reminded of a time when I saw him get politically active. Many years ago, Rochester was hit by an historic Ice Storm. It was severe and power was off for many customers for weeks. My parents, George and Nancy, were one of those households whose power remained off for more than 14 days. They were in their 70's at the time. Their frustration became clear when they placed a large sign in their yard and started marking off the # of days without power as houses around them all had their power turned back on already. They were spending time in their garage where the wood burning stove kept them toasty warm. They kept a generator going to prevent their basement from flooding and alternated plugging it in there and then the refrigerator and so on.

 But their biggest concern through this entire frustrating event in their lives was for the neighbors across the street, in their 80's, who also had been overlooked by the power company. George and Nancy were furious that no one was looking out for the elderly couple across the street!

When interviewed by a local news station that had seen their sign, he likened it to his experiences in WWII where the fight was much more serious. He simply couldn't believe the treatment he and his neighbors were receiving by the local power authority who was not able to even answer all the phone calls they were getting and seemed indifferent to their plight.

George had simply decided enough was enough. His patience was gone and it was time to "bring in the big guns, by golly!" It was not long after the news report that George and Nancy and the "elderly" neighbors had their power restored. It really was the sign that did the trick. It was an old political sign of his nephew, Dale Rath, who had run for office some years before. The irony was not lost on the rest of us who had tried, in vain, to call for them, had tried, in vain, to get them to come stay with us, who had tried, in vain, to problem solve this situation. It was the gentle, wise farmer who took the "bull by the horns" and solved the dilemma.

I am pretty sure that George would agree that it is time for teachers to start bringing out the "big guns." I wish I knew what that meant for our profession. I know, for sure, all teachers need to get involved in educating everyone we can about the hurtful, destructive policies being applied to education. I know, for sure, teachers cannot do this alone. I know, for sure, if our profession is being attacked, so too are administrators and superintendents and it is time for all leaders to respectfully share how devastating the testing has been for the children and the teachers. I know it is time to notify all the lawmakers to make sure they really understand the ramifications of the various policies they will be voting on.

So, I don't have a big sign to stick in my lawn but when I say, "It's On," I mean it. George would want me to speak up for the kids just like he spoke up for his elderly neighbors. I will contact legislators, news sources, anyone who will listen. They cannot ignore us forever just like the power company finally had to help out George and Nancy. Here is where the advice my dad gave will make the most sense. I will be patient, I will persevere, I will not stop until the situation changes. I will expect our leaders to find their senses and finally, finally do what is right for the children. By golly.