Today we welcome author Aida Salazar to #verselove2019, our celebration of all that poetry can do for our hearts and minds this National Poetry Month. Aida Salazar is a writer, arts advocate, and homeschooling mother whose writings explore issues of identity and social justice. She grew up in Southeast Los Angeles where she spent many days sitting in little puddles of water on cement believing she was in the ocean. Her forthcoming debut middle grade novels in verse, THE MOON WITHIN, and THE LAND OF THE CRANES, and her debut picture book, JOVITA WORE PANTS, will be published by Arthur A. Levine Books / Scholastic in Spring 2019, Spring 2020 and Fall 2020 respectively. Her story, By the Light of the Moon, was adapted into a ballet production by choreographer, Isabelle Sjahsam, and artist, Roberto Miguel, for the Sonoma Conservatory of Dance and premiered in April 2016. It is the first Xicana-themed ballet in history.
Inspiration
Look to the sky to find inspiration for your poem today. We all live on a beautiful spinning rock in this expansive universe. Think of stars you do or do not see from your home. Think of the other celestial bodies – the moon, the sun, the planets, galaxies, black holes. Meditate on your or our relationship to them. How do they affect you in your daily life? Do you notice them? Do you feel them? How do you feel them? Do they teach you anything?
In The Moon Within, 11-year-old dancer, Celi Rivera believes that the moon is a dancer too because “Luna” sends moonbeams whose specks dance when they come in through her window.
Process
Now write a free verse poem that explores the relationship to that celestial body through the use of metaphors or similes. Good metaphors and similes deepen meaning and ignite the imagination. Also play with where you place the words on the page. How you break the line. Make the words perform a feeling or a reflection. Have fun!
Aida’s Poem from The Moon Within
Sometimes when I need a dose of reality, I look up to the stars.
From my eyes, each is just a spec on a black canvas
But I know that many are planets or galaxies far larger than my own.
In reality, I am the spec on their canvas.
The stars are something we know are always there
And yet, we forget to notice them.
Just like the beauty of our own planet.
We lose sight of every spec of magnificence on Earth’s canvas.
Everything around me is not a black hole,
My life is my own universe with stars and comets and planets.
Everything flowing through the cosmos in unison.
The sun
C R E E P S
Up over the horizon
It’s rays
Make me squint, ever so slightly
As I watch the fog dance across the open field
The fog this morning is a prima ballerina
Who stays on the stage
Waiting for the applause to die
Before she exits, stage
Left
When she finally disappears,
I see them
Five deer
Eyes as brown as cocoa beans
Looking skyward
In thanks
To the sun
For another day
Ah! I see that my formatting didn’t transfer over. Oh well. It looks a little different on the page.
The formatting on wordpress is amazing! So clever.
i wrote one from the perspective of the universe looking back at the earth.
Humanity
A Nuclear furnace
Alone,
among countless billions
indifferently radiates in an
ocean of nothingness, as the
bio-electric colony
blinks: Infinitesimal in time.
Steve-“infinitesimal in time” reminds me of the awesome size of the universe and how insignificant we are as a collective and, even more so, as individuals. It’s humbling. I like the idea of the universe observing us as we observe it. Great perspective.
Alone,
among countless billions
Clever way to show the aloneness! I like this!
I feel so alone now!
April 27, 2019
Dakota Straight-Line
Undulating I-90 across South Dakota carries midday wind
that whirls grasses like scarves
until magnificent cuts of erosion
sweep the prairie into buttes and
the Coteau de Missouri.
On cruise control at westbound get-there speeds,
Mitchell and White Lake fading in the rearview,
sunny behind me,
I face the wraith,
South Dakota thunderheads roiling.
Get-there
jolts
to get-out, but
it’s middle Dakota prairie
grassland, lonesome hawks, coyotes, prairie dogs,
a ribbon of semi-trucks, Harleys, and
me.
No place to hide,
I barrel on,
pavement not curving away from the slate grey
cumulonimbus,
hemmed with vertical rays of punishing rain.
Simon’s “Graceland,” in all his radio poetry
keeps a tempo I love and lyrics I know by heart,
yet,
I know even better
that straight-line approaches.
The end-line of sun
suddenly yields, marking impenetrable rain,
wipers swiping furiously,
my last glimpse of topography:
the V patch of green between an exit ramp to nowhere and the shoulder.
I flash-calculate distances between the semi ahead
and the semi behind.
As if a spontaneous combustion of blindness,
the grey turns to sheer nothing –
white out, a perfect term.
In a beeline trajectory off the pavement,
around the exit sign,
and up what I hope is green enough to hold me off-road,
in a corner that does not exist,
I brace,
chest heaving in adrenaline panic,
filling the Honda with
“holy sh*#, ohmyg#!*, ohmyg#!*, ohmyg#!*,”
I drown all the grace in the land.
Ninety blind seconds later,
out of range of the 18-wheels behind me,
the pummeling rain passes over,
like pulling back a curtain,
leaving only a raw exposed
aftermath:
an eastbound tanker jackknife akimbo and exploding in flames,
rain be damned; trucks askew on the shoulders,
in the median,
rocking against the gusts;
Harleys cowering up against the fences
as far from the interstate as they could motor.
Finally exhaling, pulling the gear into drive,
accelerator foot quaking,
I roll slowly up the remainder of the green and onto the exit ramp,
down the other side,
sending South Dakota behind me,
and I
to find the sun.
by Susie Morice
Susie, your poem brings back memories of those punishing midwestern deluges. Many a time I’ve pulled to the roadside during a whiteout when sky and earth seem to switch places. I can see that gray road stretching on forever and “pavement not curving away from the slate grey
cumulonimbus,” with the sun receding. And I remember through your poem that white-knuckle fear and cursing. There’s simply nothing like surviving a midwestern thunderstorm. Wonderful poem.
“Whirls grasses like scarves”—you are so gifted. I swim in your words and feel transported. Thank you.
Such a vivid description! I could picture the South Dakota landscape with thunderheads building. The poem begins in a relaxed manner and then really accelerates at the end. It was fun to read!
Totality
Sun and moon tiptoe
toward each other,
across the blue.
The moon’s shadow,
the umbra,
from the west.
The sun,
from the east
on a predetermined path.
Easing closer
Inch by inch
Until the moon’s shadow,
a veil,
Begins to gradually
Cast itself
Over the brilliant orb.
As the veil covers,
It reveals jewels–
Bailey’s beads
A diamond ring
Darkness descends – a corona
The air feels cool.
Time is immobile.
Then a diamond ring
Bailey’s beads
The veil casually falls away
as if nothing remarkable
just occurred.
Love the celestial dance!
I can read this part in context of space or beer and it is equally as satisfying and true:
Darkness descends – a corona
The air feels cool.
Time is immobile.
Remarkable!
Gail, the idea of a “predetermined path” brings order to the universe that often feels chaotic. And then there’s the paradox: “time is immobile.” Most amazing here is how remarkable the “as if nothing remarkable / just occurred” is. How spectacular to put into a poem the simple brilliance of the universe. Lovely poem.
Gail — Oooo, I love the “Bailey’s beads”… how exquisite an image! The sense of majesty countered by the “as if nothing remarkable just occurred” is a terrific sense of universal order. The moon’s shadow…umbra. MMM-mmm. Yummy. This was really so lovely to read. Thanks, Susie
The veil casually falls away/as if nothing remarkable/just occurred. i love the concept of the indifferent universe.
I always wondered why Pluto, the planet is no longer considered a member of that Celestial Gang. So, after doing a little research (https://www.loc.gov/rr/scitech/mysteries/pluto.html), I wrote
POOR, POOR PLUTO
Poor, poor Pluto.
He used to be a planet.
But when then Big Guys came
They said, “He hasn’t done his job.”
Then Pluto began to sob.
“Just because I didn’t do my work,
I get kicked out of the family?
Just because I didn’t do my thang,
You will kick me out of the gang?
“Don’t I get a second chance?
Can’t I have a second chance?”
“Not till you clear your area, Pluto.
Clear your ‘*neighboring region of other objects.’”
“But they’re my friends. I like them near.
They’re good to me when you’re not here.”
“No, Pluto. You’re out! Don’t sob!
We gave you a chance.
You didn’t do your job.
You didn’t do your thang.
You can’t be a member
Of the Planet Gang.”
Poor, poor Pluto.
Ah, poor Pluto. Wasn’t he some kind of poser pretending to get his planetary groove on? Sounds like he’s having quite the pity party now, poor thang? Fun dialogue, Anna. I like the rhyme in “sob/job” and in “thang/game,” too.
This is such a delightful personification of Pluto – getting kicked out of the circle because he didn’t do his job. Like Will Ferrell in Elf. I’m loving poor Pluto!
Anna, when I read your post on my phone, I can see the picture! Indeed, Pluto looks so lonely, kicked out of the family. I think this metaphor can be used in the classroom, too. I am not thinking of al the Plutos I’ve met over the years.i want to welcome them back to the family.
very entertaining. almost sounds like a nursery rhyme, except not as gruesome.
Anna–Thank you for clarifying this for me in such an enjoyable way. I was never sure exactly what happened to “poor, poor Pluto”, but it so creative to tell about the falling out from his perspective.
ONE WITH THE CRAB
Cancer the Crab: a sign of water – blue water
Island girl born peaceful and tranquilly crabby
Dim constellation in a quiet corner of the universe
She’s an oyster
Requires a telescope to see all his stars
Keeps her layers hidden, too
He boasts a beehive cluster of stars
Rich honey blocked by bees
Northern Donkey and Southern Donkey Stars at his heart
Explain the blue donkey at hers
Asellus Borealis and Asellus Australis
She’s Double-Stubborn, too
Origin of nativity pictures – donkeys behind a manger
She’s behind that manger as well
“Blind Stars” predict poor eyesight
Bumps into walls, but prophetic like Teiresias
“Stubborn donkeys” see what others cannot see in the path –
protect others as they resist
She perceives what others don’t
His Superearth a “diamond world”
She’s the strongest stuff on Earth
-Kim Johnson
Kim, I like the use of couplets here to show the similarities between the male and female. I learned a lot of new words and name reading your poem. “Tranquilly crabby” is nice juxtaposition and makes me wonder about the manifestation of these contrasting ideas. The nature metaphors—oyster, bees—add to the richness of this complicated verse. Well done.
My favorite lines “born peaceful and tranquilly crabby” set up the duality most of us exhibit.
Kim — This poem was particularly fun as I learned a bunch of new stuff… it gives real character to the constellations. Blind stars… poor eyesight… stubborn, protective, strong…. Gee, this is loaded. My favorite bit is “tranquilly crabby.” And “see what others cannot see.” I like that. Susie
Can’t think of a title I like, but I thought about Walt Whitman’s poem “The Learned Astronomer” and asked Google about black holes. Years ago I taught a unit called “Reading the Skies” (not my title but curriculum I developed) and space exploration was the policy debate topic in 1989-90. Still, I know little about astronomy.
“Unnamed Stars”
Look to the stars in the sky.
See more than the Milky Way.
More than Orion, Cassiopeia, those
Popular constellations every child knows.
Notice the way the sky opens to each star,
Some recede, hide, play peek-a-boo and
Wink at earth as we gaze through a
Telescope and marvel at their glow.
Stars sit in the silent night sky the way a
Kid slinks into his seat, pulls a hoodie up and over
Hides deep in that gravitational black hole
Filled with AirPod generated matter.
They’re
Awaiting the learned astronomer to close
Charts & graphs & books & step into the unknown.
Look into the veiled heavens, peer at
Stars yet unnamed, unnoticed until
You looked and saw beyond dim, cloudy specks.
Notice not darkness-filled nothingness
Rent by gravitational pull. Here the
North Star’s prodigy sits ready to open
Portals into unknown universes,
Passageways to touch the future.
Glenda,
Thank you for this lesson in verse and the new way of seeing. I love the lines:
They’re
Awaiting the learned astronomer to close
Charts & graphs & books & step into the unknown.
Look into the veiled heavens, peer at
Stars yet unnamed, unnoticed until
You looked and saw beyond dim, cloudy specks.
“They’re” all by itself, alone waiting — is just a powerful use of line breaks and white space. And then the way you personify, anthropomorphize, juxtapose the skies alongside the astronomer — beautiful. But I think my favorite line is “pulls a hoodie up and over.”
These lines:
Stars sit in the silent night sky the way a
Kid slinks into his seat, pulls a hoodie up and over
Hides deep in that gravitational black hole
Filled with AirPod generated matter.
I love the AirPod generated matter ! Your poem sparks vivid imagery!
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if students saw our classrooms this way?
North Star’s prodigy sits ready to open
Portals into unknown universes,
Passageways to touch the future.
Fresh imagery is inspiring and challenging.
Glenda — You’ve woven some good parallels with the stars and the students…those unnamed players trying to be invisible and inviting us to notice… look beyond the obvious Orions. The “veiled heavens” are a neat way of thinking about the night sky… looking at what is not readily evident and then seeing. A very hopeful poem! Thanks, Susie
Moonrise.
Moonset.
Moon moves around Earth
every month,
spinning like a toy top,
rotating on its axis,
following a similar path
across Sky as Sun.
Sun’s light bounces off Moon–
waxing gibbous,
waxing crescent,
waning gibbous,
waning crescent.
Moon moves away from Sun–
shifts crescent to some,
New Moon to others,
Sun’s shine bouncing off Earth
back to Moon in shadow,
draping its light,
veiling Moon until
Moon decides to rise
later than the day before,
joining Sun in rhythm.
Moonrise.
Sunset.
Moon’s full body illuminated
until she starts to fade again
in her last quarter,
turning back to crescent,
fading away,
until she
disappears to rest
for three days
emerging once again —
New Moon.
Moonset.
Moonrise.
* I took this opportunity to learn more about our moon and the moon in our family’s life that is in her last stage. Thank you for this inspiration, Aida.
My favorite part of your poem, Sarah, is the simile “spinning like a top.” I also like the rapid pace of the poem, which the short lines give it. With the return to “ New Moon / Moonset / Moonrise” you’ve given the poem circularity the way the moon cycles around the earth. So clever and fun to read.
This was a learning experience for me, too, Sarah. I love the end of your poem because it reminds me that even the moon needs rest! Then she’s new – like us!
– until she
disappears to rest
for three days
emerging once again —
New Moon.
Moonset.
Moonrise.
Isn’t it interesting the way these poetry prompts have challenged us to dig deeper and explore topics we may not have taken time to understand if not so challenged. Thanks all of you.
Sarah — Aah, the rhythm of the cosmos is so effective here with the repetitions and the counting of phases and days. And I like that you’ve given the moon a “she” is a nice touch for such a beautiful and storied orb. At the start I was taken by the sense of movement that might seem almost crazy (a top) but really is paced and cyclically lovely. Neat poem! I appreciate your research! 🙂 Susie