This Poet does a little Painting

Yesterday marked the end of my Painting with Words poetry class. I was sad to see them disperse, but encourage by all the parents who thanked me so enthusiastically for investing into their children. One little girl gave me a jar of strawberry preserves from their garden and I was delighted to receive it. I watched her each week as she carefully arranged inside her folder all the post-it note reviews I would write for her poems. She took the writing process seriously, thought long and hard about her words and assembled them neatly on paper. She was truly a delight and I will remember her sweetness with each bite of strawberry preserves. (Okay, so I'm gushing a little...)

Lacking my students poems to share, I've decided to post a couple of my own that I wrote during the class.

"Color"
There's something about orange that borders on obnoxious
But that I find attractive all the same.
That bright, almost glaring quality that boldly forces itself
Into one's line of sight.
Maybe I admire orange
For being so willing to declare its presence,
While I timidly wait on the outskirts of conversation.


"Movement"
I often find myself plunging into things
Before I know exactly what I'm getting into.
It's as if all I know to do is charge
and catapult
and stampede.
I had once hoped that I, with age,
would learn grace;
That I could learn to glide, maybe,
or meander
or pad
or step.
But, no, it seems that age has not tempered me
Only flung me into the next misadventure.
But I suppose I am not made for those gentle journeys,
Too antsy and fidgety for anything less than the roller coaster ride I'm on.