To the student at St. Francis Prep

To a student at St. Francis Prep


When I asked you what your hobbies were, you replied,

"I'm learning to write with my left hand."

A few of the other students laughed.

I thought it was maybe the best hobby I'd heard of yet.

What happens, I wondered, when you take
the other half of yourself, the weaker half,
and focus your attention there?

To a student at St. Francis Prep

When I asked you what your hobbies were, you replied,

"I'm learning to write with my left hand."

A few of the other students laughed.

I thought it was maybe the best hobby I'd heard of yet.

What happens, I wondered, when you take

the other half of yourself, the weaker half,

and focus your attention there.

We so often neglect our left sides.

The word sinister comes from

the latin and means "on the left side."

What would your left hand be

if it was held in equal regard to your right?

That was sophomore year.

Now I have you as a senior

and I asked you if you had ever learned

to write with your left hand?

You said, nah, you gave that up.

You looked sad and tired.

It made me feel sad and tired too.

I remembered all of your spark back then.

I wanted you to get your ambition back.

I wanted to go back in time and shout encouragement

loud enough to drown out the other students' laughter.

When you gave up learning to write left-handed

what did you lose?

parenthetics

 I'm just pausing long enough

to write this poem down. 

(If I paused for any longer

I would be a clown.)

interior7

he did enough

splayed out in front of me, in staccato rhythm 

each; in  a different color, psringing like looneytunes signs.

he did enough he did enough he  did enough

like John Milton once had did

when he considered how his light was spent

he did enough

no no no

my conscious ego is budding in

you still haven't gotten the world to sing together in harmony

that's possible

you have a year and a day left to do that

to do enough

he did enough then will be engraved on your tombstone

by hand, in the old chisel style

you also have time to learn that craft

if you weren't such a wuss

he did enough

now you're just taunting me

but it was that visual i my mind that got me talking to you

because who else gets it popped at them in color

he did enough

he did enough

it's the apotheosis of permissiveness. 

it's all your pile ons pistoned

\all your pistons firing

seven levels of sympathy

and you are retaliating with Styles

new departure--

love you

/)dam I)eGraff

Hummer of a day

Every year I have the students pick
an Emily Dickinson poem I haven't read before
(pick a number between 886 and 1784)
and then we try to solve the riddle together.

Today there were some good ones.

The first one was this:

Only a Shrine, but Mine—
I made the Taper shine—
Madonna dim, to whom all Feet may come,
Regard a Nun—

Thou knowest every Woe—
Needless to tell thee—so—
But can'st thou do
The Grace next to it—heal?
That looks a harder skill to us—
Still—just as easy, if it be thy Will
To thee—Grant me—
Thou knowest, though, so Why tell thee?

The poem lead to a terrific conversation.
Among many other things, we talked about
the way the first stanza uses the M.
"Madonna dim, to whom all Feet may come."
We talked about how the M is
a special sound, sacred to some.
It's a baby's first word, "maaa maaa,"
the lips pressed together to mimic nursing,
a sign for hunger, lips pointing toward mother,
and thus a baby names her
in its desire for sustenance.
Milk. MMMMMM. Yum.

We talked about all those other M words
like om and home and poem
and alm and balm and calm.

Then in the following period,
the random poem the class chose
featured the same rhyme and so
we talked about M some more.

The poem:

Spring comes on the World—
I sight the Aprils—
Hueless to me until thou come
As, till the Bee
Blossoms stand negative,
Touched to Conditions
By a Hum.

Come and Hum. Why is Hum capitalized
one student wondered. Why indeed!
It's all about that Hum.

Do you feel it when Spring comes?
How about with the arrival of love?

I came home humming.

Poem Just For You

A Poem Just For tired friend

A cicada climbs a sycamore

once only every seven years or so

to sing for the moon.

So slip underground awhile 

and then when you are good 

and ready come out and sing

"High on a Rocky Ledge."

The years are time

for the soul's gestation

like a long hibernation

that sweetens the tune.

The moon can wait.

summer song

Here’s hoping that the widest boat 

that can travel around your moat

Will pick up a cool one or two

And bring it around the river with you

The river that goes around and around

The Castle that nobody can go in.

It’s like Kafka wrote

In the novel where he choked

Just like he always did

When the noose got tight

And the feet slid

Under his own avalanche

Of known and unknown

A frozen tome full of loam

To stop the beer barrel’s lonely foam

Alexander the great and old Caeser too

Now they are just stopping the wind from coming through

Oooooh

Here’s wishing you a light

On the darkest night

To ease your way from the fray

Here’s hoping that the water

Is at the perfect temperature

And pressure

Here’s hoping that the alarm clock

Has a snooze button 

That you can push

Because you had a late late night

Because you were up push push push

Pushing the hands

Around the clock of hens

Corralling them on

To get a whole pile

Of eggs to make

The biggest omelette

In the world

For all the hungry little children of the world

For all the hungry little children of the world

So many hungry children of the world

Gotta be the Dalalami salami special

The biggest omelette in the world

Gotta be Desmond Tutu certified

Harry Belafonte on the side

A whole bin 

Of Bob Dylan

Eep a doo doo doo

Rat-a-tat-a touille and a little Babalouis 

Is it good for babalouis?

Ba ba ba ba babalouis?

Here’s wishing you a cinderella

Made for a yella fella

Calm playground down in Roo Bar Bay

In the very merry month of May

Schools almost out just another month

Then you got a little chance 

Run and play in the summer days

For just a couple of months come what may

Here’s hoping that the summer’s long

And feels great with a big big song

To fill your days

You need a summer song

Yeah you need a summer song

You need to sing a summer song

All summer long

Here’s hoping you are the woman of the year

Here’s hoping you’re the girl with all the power

Here’s hoping you’re the wonderful one

That your looking for

You’re looking for yourself, hon.

Here’s hoping that you feel a

Shine shimmering

All the ding dong day long

Sha la la

Ding dong ding dong

All day long

Grasslands

Remember Lisa Simpson's

turn as an Irish demon

Pink pantsuit

black T

Black diamond-studded shoes

amid a black sea of maestros

The New York Philharmonic symphony

Remember as she beams

her wailing banshee scream

straight at you, screams

until you turn around

and let the music take you

home to moonbeam

laying in a bed

of violins

crying 

with 

such 

pure

ambature,

The banshee becalmed

3rd act 

She is dancing with a piccolo

Now she's descending sevens

in a burlesque show

Now Harlem shuffles

into a whirling dizzy revery

A funeral march heard in the distance

ascends to a pop!

Elegance of the conductor