30 for 30 2018 Let's Do It.

So, April is National Poetry Month. One challenge that is blowing up my Twitter - my Twitter feed is populated by teachers, poets, and students, among other positive people - is the 30 for 30 Challenge . This has nothing to do with ESPN, but everything to do with writing. I will be challenging my Creative Writing Class when we return to school tomorrow to attempt this challenge. Since it is up to me model what we do, I am going to follow the lead of author Jason Reynolds, whose novel in verse Long Way Down is a must-read, and Sarah Kay, whose style and sincerity serves as an example for so many of our students; I am attempting the 30 for 30 Challenge. I plan to add each day's attempt to this post.  They may be rough, and they may be flimsy at times, but I will try my best. You have to get your hands dirty to grow a garden, so maybe these will be a few seeds that can grow.  Or perhaps it will all be manure.  Either way, it will be mine.

April 5

(#wtwrites prompt: What is your favorite monster’s self-care routine?)

“A Creature’s Dilemma”

Why wash this face

When none shall see it

But as a mask that haunts the night?

Why scrub these hands

When none reach for them

But as claws that carry them fright?

Why bend these lips

When none shall kiss them

But shrink from their whispered breath?

Why hold to this clean soul

When they’ve already damned it

And scream for my torturous death?

April 4

(#wtwrites prompt "What is something from your childhood that you lost, but still remember?")

Brownie

Eyes that never shed a tear

Nor turned downward in disappointment.

A smile that seemed stitched as

A permanent reminder that kids,

They should be happy.

A back that seemed to be purposely made

To serve as a pillow,

No matter how heavy the head.

And ears, hanging limply,

But forever at the ready to listen.

No one was ever so loyal,

So steadfast and true,

As he was,

My constant companion,

Until tossed one day away,

Or pushed back in the shadows.

April 3

“Wounds”

Surrounding me, silent, are loved ones with wounds -

Some hardened to scars, some fresh and raw -

That no one sees at a glance,

But that inflict just as much

Pain

As a spear in one’s side

Or nails through one’s palms,

Wishing only for some salve -

A healing hand,

Warm heart,

Kind word,

Gentle smile -

To embrace them in

Healing hope.

April 2

One day, words

that spin like steel balls in a Pinball Game,

Bouncing plunger to bumper to flipper

Setting off flashes and clangings

That seem unending

Driving every other thought into the darkness

And shadows,

Will roll gently from my mouth or spill smoothly from my pen.

But not today.
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April 1

Easter morning,

But the stone was still here,

Sitting heavy in hearts,

Under the gray cast of the cold dawn,

Heavy clouds hanging low,

And bitter cold, not crisp, piercing,

Screamed, sending those seeking solace

To seek shelter.

Then,

As the day called for its close,

The sun peeked through,

Sending slants of celestial substance,

Taking the day

Behind the gray that blocked our view,

Reminding us so subtly

Of what seems to simple:

It was always there,

Waiting for us to remember

It is not about the clouds or the stone,

But always about the sun.