Why I Write Bad Poetry

Last night I went to our first high school football game out in middle-of-nowhere Tennessee.  I didn’t go home before the game and then I didn’t get back until close to 9, even though I left right after half time.  I have a hard time watching high school football that’s not in Texas, but they tried hard and the cheerleaders were super cute.  :)

All that to say, I don’t have a real update for you today.  I’m busy.  I work a lot.  Coffee is the nectar of the gods.  My dog is cute.

I do, however, have a poem for you.  This week my students are doing a project where they have to write a 4-stanza poem about their family, personality, interests, and future, and then create a coat of arms that corresponds to the poem.  This project is shamelessly stolen from my high school English teacher, Mrs. Palmer.

There was some confusion about what exactly I meant by four stanzas, as well as what exactly a poem should look like, so I wrote an example for them.  Late at night.  Very quickly.  In which I called my Mexican brother-in-law “salsa”.  It’s not a great poem, but since I don’t have anything else, here it is in all its glory:

New York City, New York country
Met and united in a land of snow.
Russian and French, Polish and German,
Jew and Lutheran became Christ-followers.
They were fruitful and multiplied.
The next generation a study in opposites:
I went east to Tennessee,
She got married and added some salsa
To our family melting pot.

A friend to any who are willing
Always seeking a deeper connection
Even when I’ve been hurt before.
A giver to others who are wanting
Sometimes wishing I could say no
But never quite knowing how.
A teacher to learners who will listen
Forever trying to make sense of the world
With those who yearn to understand.

Hundreds of worlds
Bound in cloth and paper and cardboard
Waiting to be opened, savored, experienced.
Hundreds of worlds
Etched on discs, transmitted through light and color
Taking me someplace I have only imagined.
Hundreds of worlds
Hidden in chords and notes and melodies
Sending me back to other days and times.

Where do I go from here?
Have I not “arrived”?
I did the work, I met my goals
Where do I go from here?
What will I face ahead?
Staying here, moving there
Where do I go from here?
Does He not have a plan?
I will follow, I will seek.

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1 Comment

  1. Dad

     /  August 24, 2011

    As you know, I’m not a big poetry fan, but I don’t think it’s bad at all!


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