April is Poetry Month
Poems, like humor, provide a different way of looking at something familiar and seeing different possibilities. Writing poems allows us to examine that familiar something from all different angles, sometimes putting it in perspective, sometimes putting it farther away, and sometimes letting us laugh at ourselves. It’s not easy to share our writing with others—makes us vulnerable, open to possible criticism or perceived rebuffs, but writing, especially poetry, opens doors to connections we might not have known existed.
So, because it is Poetry Month, because I can’t ask someone to take a risk I am unwilling to take, and because we all have poems somewhere inside us, I will share two poems I wrote. My hope is you will share your poems with someone and encourage the poets in all of us to emerge.
Platforms for soft butter crowned with cinnamon sugar,
Fractured into pieces, moistened by sips of colorless tea,
Disintegrated in cellophane slips emerging from deep, dark purse places,
Stacks of squares,
Tucked in snack size plastic bags and partnered with airplane barf bags.
Crumbled in tomato soup,
Drizzled with butter on a holiday casserole.
Salty, bland, comforting
My Mother’s Jewelry
When I wear my mother’s ring,
The one with antique silverwork and sparkling diamonds,
Bequeathed to her from one who had no daughter,
That resounds with a saga of those who came before,
I detect my mother’s energy.
When I wear my mother’s bracelet,
The one that was fashioned out of sterling silver,
Marked by its creator, inlaid with ancient turquoise stones,
Set in a pattern that is unique and familiar,
I sense my mother’s verve.
When I wear my mother’s pendant,
The one my dad chose for her,
Encircled in a silver curve, a single diamond on a fragile chain,
Once lost and recovered,
I feel my mother’s quintessence.
When I wear my mother’s jewelry,
Rings and pendants, bracelets and necklaces,
Silver and gold, turquoise and diamond,
Each piece sustaining a lifetime of experiences,
I discern past and present, mother and daughter.
But I with no daughter wonder,
Who will wear my jewelry some day?
L. V. Neiman
And, if you need a little help unleashing your inner poet, check out our latest product on Teachers Pay Teachers: Poetry for the Classroom as well as the other resources listed below.