Living Life Twice

Recently I wrote about the research of Donald Graves in relation to entrenching dependency among student writers. Today I want to highlight another aspect of the work Don Graves conducted in the 70’s. Graves asked a group of seven year olds, ‘What do you think a good writer needs to do in order to write well?’ He documented their general responses thus: To be neat Space letters Spell good Know words Have a good title Have a good ending Write a lot                                                                                                                                           The response...

I conclude my ‘Spring Into Verse Challenge’ with an autobiographical poem. -An example of narrative poetry. I had lots of fun with line breaks, white space and repetition in this poem based on a life shaping event. Ah, life's lessons are great fodder for the poet. The Last Dierdre She was my shining light My immediate hope My heart leaping inspiration Yet, something didn't look quite right with this girl. I think it was her chocolate brown desert boots The ones she wore with blue school tunic which retreated from her kneecaps. The gum she chewed and twisted round her finger Passion beat fashion ......easily I dismissed this miscalculation In the interest of flirtation - For my heart's sake I liked her smile I liked her walk, So confident. So easy. The way her friends followed her Back and forth Back and forth . Across the asphalt. She was Aphrodite in D.B's .- She was Mother Duck. Her name w...

As a boy, I was always collecting things. One person's trash is another's treasure. I kept my treasures in tins, jars and boxes and periodically took them out to gaze upon them.  Some of them had functional application, but mostly they were questionable acquisitions. Elastic bands, bits of string, marbles, nuts, bolts, cards, stickers, nondescript objects and the like. A kid thing perhaps... Black Stone It was a smooth black stone And I found it at Eildon It felt cool and slippery in my hand I held it up Gazing at it for a time Before placing it in my  pocket And smiling to myself At my find  My new treasure Instant pleasure At home I kept it in a wooden box And took it out From time to time Just to look at it And feel its wonderful smoothness Over the years that stone shrank in my hand But continued to be there In my moments of deep thought Its coolness a marvel My smooth black stone Eventually disappeared Without ...

Our sense of smell is a wondrous thing. It can alert us to a sublime perfumed delight as well as those acute odors that are best avoided. Today, it is smells that inspires my poetry. I intend to raise a stink... SANDRA'S LUNCH Just what lurks in Sandra's lunch? Munch and crunch! Munch and crunch! Just what lurks in Sandra 's lunch, Do you want to know? I think I have certain hunch Just what lurks in Sandra 's lunch I think I have a certain hunch Do you want to know? Well, yesterday was curried egg Curried egg Curried egg Yesterday was curried egg The day before salami The things you find in Sandra's lunch Are enough to drive you barmy ! One day, her lunch I tell you true Was something green and runny too ....Something green and runny Now that isn't very funny! But of all the sights and smells that lurk in Sandra's putrid lunch What she's brought to school today... Now that really packs a punc...

In the world of books for children, educators are showing a growing desire to acquire non fiction texts that are both informative and engaging. They are seeking out books that possess a strong voice and arouse curiosity in the mind of the young reader. I too, seek out such books. It remains an ongoing quest. Experience tells me that most of the titles, I have acquired that meet this criteria have come from my work with fellow educators. Book shops rarely carry such texts. They generally push an over supply of fiction, ranging from good quality to highly questionable and a small sample of non fiction titles. The non fiction titles on offer tend to fit a more traditional style of presentation. Unfortunately, many of these titles tend to be, dare I say it, uninspiring. At other times the titles on offer present a broad focus on science and nature topics, possibly in the hope that some of the facts they throw at the reader will rub off. These are not the books I’m looking for ...

I was digging out more Donald Graves gold yesterday as I continued reading, ' Children Want To Write, Ed Penny Kittle &Thomas Newkirk.' Don wrote that:  'Writing develops courage. Writers leave the anonymity shelter and offer to scrutiny their interior language, feelings and thought.' He likened the writer to a person with their skin off.  I am continually imploring writers of all ages to be brave and meet the challenge head on... This morning I came across this poem, that connects to the theme of becoming brave and fearless writers. I share it today in the spirit of removing the cloak of anonymity and displaying a measure of courage. Risky Words I sit at my desk some mornings Confronted by slips of paper Scribbled lists And a head full of loosely connected thoughts Fragments of a dream perhaps I link them tenuously in my morning mind Sorting them Before writing… I must remain courageous I must a risk taker be And write to the ed...

Today's poem features the prolific use of idiom. A bit of fun, A touch of nonsense and a dash of idiocy. The weather outside is wild and windy in my part of the world today. In my head, it's even wilder. Let's go have some word fun... CAT’S GOT MY TONGUE- That  IDIOM  Cat! Woke up yesterday feeling under the weather And noticed that the cat had my tongue We didn’t see eye to eye on that at all                               I chased the cat all over the house But the way I was feeling I couldn’t catch a cold I didn’t want to fly off the handle And end up on a slow boat to China So I decided to lay down the law to that crazy cat But because it had my tongue I had to hold my horses By now I was on pins and needles And slowly going bananas But because I wasn’t born yesterday I was determined not to put my head in the sand So instead I put my nose to the grindsto...

As far back as 1976 the legendary Donald Graves was writing and railing against what he called the ‘Writing Welfare System’ that makes student writers dependent on their teachers. Graves strongly opposed teaching of writing where the teacher controlled all phases of the process and consequently controlled the writer’s voice. It concerned him that student writers felt an implied pressure to make their voices the same as their teachers. All authority for the writing rested with the teacher. In such circumstances Graves observed, the student writer relies entirely on the teacher’s decisions regarding: The need to write When to write What to write To whom they should write How to write How the writing should be judged   Graves noted that teachers were seldom aware when they were encouraging thinking that closely matched their own. They were unwittingly extinguishing divergent thinking and originality. In such circumstances the student writer has no reason to i...

Today I find myself returning to a list poem. When writing this poem I recall asking student writers about some of the recurring messages they received from adults. Their feedback helped me develop, 'Parent Tapes.' Most of us can instantly recall those messages that were on high rotation in our heads. In my case, some of them remain... 'Put things back where you found them.' Parent Tapes I can hear them everywhere I go In my head Lying in bed At the park At night, in the dark Visiting friends Making amends… Parent tapes Looping around in my brain On high rotation Loud and clear Clear and loud Messages from Mum Ditties from Dad I hear them Over and over Stand up straight Don’t be late Wait your turn Don’t speak with your mouth full Be kind to animals Show respect Finish what you start                             ...

Today's poem was inspired by observation of another person. It's important to choose a subject you know well.  In this case my best friend, my dear wife, Vicki.  Sit still for a moment and observe carefully and a picture will emerge. A picture capable of translation into words...  Visions Splendid I have watched you Walking the shoreline The water calm at your feet Your favorite hat of the moment Silhouetted by a descending sun. And I have watched you Reading on a couch Curled up and content in another world I have watched you Gardening among your favorite roses Nurturing and encouraging new life I have heard you singing Only because you want to and to hell with original lyrics Any time, any place. And I have seen Sparkling eyes that greet small discoveries With an enthusiasm that inspires greater deeds I have watched you skip along the street Because the sky is blue Or the warm sun has touched your face ...

There is no set formula for writing free verse poems. What you say and how you say it may fall easily into place one day, but the next time it may prove to be a challenge. Today's poem came to me walking on Union Street in Brooklyn during our first year living and working in New York City. I tried to capture the moment, the scene.   CHICKEN BONES AND DEAD UMBRELLAS Walking on Union Street It's a wet, wild, windswept day The sidewalk- Shiny and slippery The last of the golden fall leaves Lie plastered to the sidewalk A squelchy carpet For me to trudge over In my sturdy leather boots Amid the leaves I spot chicken bones And a dead umbrella. Alan j Wright

Spring brings with it a certain volatility when it comes to the weather. This spring has been quite diverse in its appearance thus far. Four season in one day is an appropriate label for what we are currently experiencing.  The weather is something we are all good at talking about, while our impact is negligible. Today's poem seems fitting given that the last few days have delivered steady spring rain and today the sun is shining and our collective hearts are singing in praise of a sunny Sunday.  Watching The Storm I watch the storm clouds gather As I sit here in my room The sky is full of waterbags And dark and inky gloom I see a zap of lightning Scratch the distant sky And heavy droopy water droplets Begin to change the dry And now the storm is overhead The thunder makes me shiver But the flowers whisper- thankyou For the rain the clouds deliver. Alan j Wright