Poem of the (last) Week

It's not like I haven't been writing, but Sunday night I was slaving away at a stack of papers and last night I feel asleep at about eight because Sunday night I was slaving away at a stack of papers. This morning, when I tried to post the poem of the week before school, I accidentally wrote todays poem. I don't know that I've ever written a poem at 6:30 am before. Ever.

I can't wait until Sunday. It's only two days into the week and I already have a pair of killer poems. I'll probably post both.

Anyhoo. Here's a little something to get you in the mood for Thursday:

Pity the Poor Girl
Began, February 7, 2008
Finished February 9, 2008

Pity the poor girl
whose lover won’t write poetry.
It proves a paucity of spirit,
a paltry appreciation of pulchritude,
and a potentially impotent spine.

Pity the poor girl
who’s never had her back rubbed,
her feet massaged, who’s never been
awoken in the middle of the night
by the heat of an adoring stare.
All women deserve such devotion.

And pity the poor girl
who settles for such thin gruel
and calls it a feast, who molds such
scraps together and calls it art, who
dresses this stick figure in rags and
calls him a man.

Pity the poor girl
who clings to such frail
emotion and calls it love.

That'll Lighten the Mood

So, I'm dressed and ready to go to the funeral of the father of one of my students, and I am greeted thusly by my charming and tactful daughter:

"You don't look like Daddy. What are you doing in that ridiculous costume?"

Thanks for the pick me up, kiddo. It's going to be a looooong day.

Pollyanna

Despite the fact that the sun shone today, it's been a gray, grey week. And though Christie and I try to keep the blog light, I woke up this morning determined to post a blog about everything that happened this week to bring me down.

Then.

So I decided that it might not be the best idea to post a downer post because, I have to admit it, I'm pretty damn lucky. So instead I'm going to post five things that make everything okay:

1) The bulbs are beginning to sprout. They're poking their deep green stems up, just a bit. It's like they're peeking out of the ground, making sure it's okay to come out and be beautiful.
2) The blueberries are beginning to bud. My mouth will be watering every time I walk past them from now until June.
3) Last weekend, I received an e-mail sent at 2:18 am from a student who was so excited about the paper she was writing that she just had to tell someone. If that doesn't fill your heart with hope for the future of America, I don't know what will.
4) I had doughnuts for breakfast today. Helen Bernhard, I will always have a soft spot in my heart (and around my waistline) for you.
5) Wrigley left a phone message on my work voice mail that she had seen bright yellow birds that we had never seen before and a starling at our birdfeeder. She called back moments later to report that the yellow bird was a golden crowned sparrow. I'm not sure if this captures the quality of her voice, but she sounded about as excited as an 18 year old sending an e-mail at 2:18 am.

And, since I've always been bad at counting:

6) I have friends that I love enough to be saddened by their sadness; they have friends that love them enough to be saddened by their sadness, and friends who will do anything we can to help, even if it's something as dumb and simple as posting an overly optimistic blog post.

What Will Happen to the Other Five?

Days in the Month of January: 31
Poems Written: 20
Poems Worth a Damn: 9
Poems Posted: 4

Coming up .... drum roll, please ... February! How exciting.

Thanks for the Memorknees
January 30, 2008

Allow me to introduce my right knee:
he’s been a good knee, sturdy and kind.
He’s served me well: kicked me through
lap after lap of breaststroke and crawl,
haplessly leapt at an ex-friend’s groin,
bent low for a sweet, clumsy proposal.

But he’s growing tired now, or waning
tired, I should say. He complains a bit
at night, creaks like a stubborn hinge,
balks at the beginning of a hike. What
am I to do with him? He’s not a symptom,
sign, or symbol – neither problem nor solution.

He’s just a knee, hard working and a bit
worn down. I’ll give him ice, give him heat,
take the stairs one step at a time instead of two.
I’ll write a poem in his honor, and hope to be
remembered so fondly when I give in.

Never Ceases to Amaze

I have a friend (Hi Alice!) who just can't stop gushing about how amazing her son Eli is (please don't stop). He's learning new words and new tricks and performing death defying acts of cuteness on a daily basis. I remember Wrig when she was that little, and I remember how shocked I was to discover that my genes managed, in part, to produce a miniature genius.

Now, if you are a regular reader of this irregular blog, you might be under the impression that I'm a good dad. And, when edited for the blogosphere, I can make fatherhood look pretty effortless. But there are times, perhaps times when the blog is feeling neglected, that fatherhood is actually quite a bit of work. There are times when I am living with a plain old kid, and not a miniature genius at all.

This blog entry is not about one of those times.

This blog entry is about how even the totally ordinary things kids do are simply amazing. My child is by no means a Master Builder of legos, but I can't help but smile when I come home to a lego flying house. My child is by no means the next Picasso - by which I mean her drawings look a lot like Picasso's - but how can you look at a picture of a three-headed lion with a crab-servant on its tail eating a shark and not beam with pride? My child is by no means an extrovert, but she can now go ice skating and a) not give herself a concussion, contusion, or fracture of any variety and b) make two new friends in less than an hour. My child is by no means an athlete, but did I mention she can ice skate?

There was a time when Wrigley couldn't even walk. A time when her only word was dog. A time when every new quirk was an utter joy and surprise. And now, as then, she never ceases to amaze me.

Poem of the Week

It feels like it's been a reeeeeeally long week. Not sure why. I've been kicking around a non-poem post, but I never got around to it. Who knows? Maybe this week.

It was a pretty good week on the poem front - three possible candidates for the Poem of the Week. One is an early possibility for Christie's birthday poem, so it will have to stay underground until April.

That leaves me with ...

Same Old Moon
January 23, 2008

At precisely 5:32 am,
Pacific Standard Time,
the ripening moon ripened,
bloomed in full.

Precisely one hour later,
as I drive to work amidst
the shooting stars of taillights
and turn signals,

she has already begun her wane,
her uppermost rim
softly flattened
like a bruised fruit
or yesterday’s dream.

But even as she withers,
even as the spin of sun and earth
chip away at her perfection,
we both rest easy, fully aware she has
just begun to ripen.

New Widget

I am keeping my book list online this year so you'll see the books I finish as I finish them in the right toolbar. Enjoy.

Congrats!

In a mere 385 days, Christie has officially completed Project 364. Check her out on our flickr site!

It only took her on 5.7% beyond the alloted time to finish her task, whereas it took me an extra 17 months (!?!?) to complete my first Nanowrimo. Clearly, Christie is the efficiency expert in the family (however, if you're reading this, you already knew that).

Way to go, love! Enjoy a year of no-pressure photography!