Poem in your pocket day!

        Today was National Poem in your Pocket day... and I gave my students an extra credit opportunity: pick a poem (I got half-page copies from poets.org/pocket) and read it to friends, family, and anyone else who would listen.
        I had poems in my pockets, too.  Boy, was I glad I wore jeans today!  Five pockets (including the little coin pocket) and each one with a poem.  One of John Donne's Holy Sonnets  filled my front right pocket. In my left-hand pocket rested a famous poem by Shakespeare.  My back right pocket kept one of my favorites by Emily Dickinson.  My tiny coin pocket held a funny one by Shel Silverstein.  Last, but not least, my back left pocket kept this classic Walt Whitman poem safe.
         Tomorrow isn't poem in your pocket day... but it still is part of National Poetry month (April), so why don't you find a poem that speaks to your sensibilities and carry it with you?

So I had to write a poem about twins...

Bellwork for today's Creative Writing was about twins... and, being a twin, felt the need to write a poem about it.  I don't have to answer the prompts I give my students, but even more than usual, this time I couldn't help myself.  I decided to go the "spatial" route instead of trying to make a rhyme about twinness.  Is that a word... if not, it should be.  So, here is my poem which I dedicate to my older (by two minutes) sister Heather.

     She will not know
 what loneliness is. She
Came
From
 The same exact place

    Just two minutes later

          And

           Thus

         S h e

 Must share. But what

     Else can she do?

Does she really want to

Forever be looking at a

Mirror

Image

When

She’s

W it h

T h e

O n e

Who  shares  her  face,

Her voice, and her DNA?

       Sisters.  Identical,

   Yet uniquely individual.

D o

They

Wear the same clothes?

     Get the same haircut?

           O r

Does

        Each

 Live the life she wants?

     Go her own way?

“To  thine own self  be true,”

Wrote the Bard, but he also

 Wrote

  A  lot

  About

  Twins,

  Maybe

 ‘Cause

 He had

 A pair

 Of ‘em

So maybe  she  can be true

To her ownself while at the

Same

Time

Being true to the

Strange fact that

Another

H A S

Been

Charged with the same duty:

Love your sister as yourself.

Therefore the second,

Not to merely copy the first,

Lives her own life so

That she can uphold

The real    honor of being

Part of a matched set of

Girls          who

Share more

Than  just the

Same    birthday;

They                share a life

Split--  not diminished.

Pour Me Out...

             Can it really be Easter this weekend? Already? Okay, it hasn't really sneaked up on me since I have a calendar and all.  However, despite the calendar, I admit to being thrown slightly off by the fact that I just put out the St. Patty's decorations and haven't had any time to really enjoy them, and now it's time to put away the green and shamrocks and get out the brightly colored eggs, etc...  (Of course, if I go by the length of time I "enjoyed" Christmas decorations--I still have my singing Sinatra ornament out--I have a disproportionate expectation about holiday decoration viewing time.)

              So, since I know that time flies faster than I want it to, I have to make a conscious effort to slow down to experience Holy Week.  The start of this special week, yesterday, was lovely because I was able to spend time with family (as this year Palm Sunday fell on my mother's birthday) all day after church.  But the day started at church with a small fellowship of believers (it was snowing, and the weather may have kept people from getting out).  

            The pastor taking up the collection referenced Jesus getting His feet cleansed by the woman (Mary) who gave of herself--her tears and hair to dry--and her resources--the Nard she poured out over his feet.  He encouraged us to do the same--to give our service and resources to the Lord.  His homily reminded me of this poem I wrote several years ago. This Holy Monday I remind myself that I must allow Christ to do some redecorating in my heart even while I must pour myself out as an act of reverential worship.

The Offering

Pour me out like Nard

Onto Your feet, Oh Lord!

Break my selfish heart

And pour me out for

You.

Shatter this clay jar, my God.

Let the slivers of porcelain

Prick my fingers

As I tremble before

You.

Kneeling humbly at Your feet,

Let me pour the thick, syrupy oil—

Through bloody fingers—

As an anointing and

Preparing service for

You.

Your alabaster skin will shatter.

Your essence, like Holy Oil,

Will pour from your Jar

Like pure Nard

As a Saving balm for

me.