.
Howdy, Campers ~ and
happy Poetry Friday!
(Two poems and the PF link are below)
---> John S! <---
(This is not a picture of John, but I'll bet he's this excited)
I'm honored to be writing the last
TeachingAuthors post of our 10th year. We'll return refreshed and ready to entertain, educate and inspire you on January 10, 2020.
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I wanted to end this year with a note of
hope.
Or two.
I scrolled through old poems tagged with the word
hope--there are lots!
Then I cold-bloodedly killed off all but two...and can't decide which to post. So here are two to send you into the new year with hearts full of hope. Which do you prefer?
IN KAUAI
by April Halprin Wayland
July 27, 2018
I'm fourteen
the sand is neon hot
I run into the sea
letting its waves drink me
I swim as if I'm in our school's pool
burying my face in its warm water
savoring that strange grey light the concrete walls cast
reveling in its chlorine smell
but I'm in Kauai, Hawaii, salt in my eyes, salt in the air
there are fish below, but I don't have a snorkel or mask
so I swim and swim and swim—
there are no concrete walls here
and oof! I bump into a snorkeling man and his daughter
we laugh and he takes off his gear, "Here—you've got to see
this"
as if it were the most natural thing
as if we were long-time friends
so I do—I put my mouth on the bite tab
even though we've never met—
and slip on the mask to see
what I knew was there
what I didn't know
was how much kindness
was swimming
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ALMOST 10 PM
by April Halprin Wayland
August 19, 2010
My brain is sinking into the first chapter of a really great
book.
I’m on top of the bed leaning against four fat pillows
wearing my seriously soft socks
as always.
Gary's reading The Economist on the little couch
head back against the square cushion he’s positioned just
right
feet on the opposite arm of the couch
as always.
Eli is upside down, back legs against the couch
front legs straight up in the air, paws flopped
eyes closed, breathing deeply
as always.
The balcony door nearest the couch
is open
letting in a loose tangle of African daisies
and this just-right August night.
I turn a page.
Something makes me look up.
Elsie
pokes her head in the bedroom door.
Her green eyes narrow.
She studies the dog for a minute.
Then she slinks blackly along the edge of the room
towards our bed.
I wave my arm frantically over my head,
finally catch Gary's eye,
mouth, “ELSIE!”
and point.
Elsie is evading a predator.
She relaxes as she slips past the bed
which will block Eli's view if he wakes,
then takes a cat-light leap, landing next to my thigh.
By the time I turn on the ten’ clock news
(which wakes Eli)
Elsie is warm on my stomach.
Eli trots over.
She offers her head to him for a lick.
For several licks.
She leans further forward,
purring.
His tail wags furiously.
He puts his paw on her
and cocks his head.
Her ears flatten.
Elsie's purr goes guttural, dark, deep.
Eli sits down.
Then he yawns (I am so bored).
Chews an itch by his tail. Lies down.
Maybe there is hope
for peace
in the Middle East
after all.
Elsie & Eli the first day they met, 2010
Eli romancing Elsie when they were young
poems (c) 2019 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.
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From all of us at TeachingAuthors ~
may you have moments of peace
this holiday season
and may we all find hope
in the new year.
posted with a little help from Eli by April Halprin Wayland