The Moon Is Our Hope - The Day One Magic Box Poem From The Activity We Kick Off With This Morning @writingproject @cwpfairfield

I have been doing the 'Magic Box' activity with students for almost two decades. It's an exercise that gets students playing with language and putting ideas together in random ways. Every time I do this activity, I play around with my own ten words and walk myself through all the steps to get the language moving. The result for Day One of this week's Young Adult Literacy Lab for Poets with Attallah Sheppard and Gina Forberg is

The Moon Is Our Hope

Sometimes it’s a bummer, 

the way summer makes us dumber 

    without having a coffeehouse for our souls.

We write to grow and tumble, 

in this intellectual triathlon, we rumble,

 with word-play, although it may crumble,

 or melt like ice-cream from our sweat…

How much do you want to bet

 we’ll need a dictionary, a library 

(some Pictionary with a strawberry)

while we work our way to this Friday

as plumbers who unclog brains?

Oh, as Gina explains, “It’s crackerjacks

 and sea scallops, 

cotton candy, a writer’s palate,

especially with sips of wine.”

Thumper hops, and blubber bops, 

we writers, take whatever drops

to sprinkle upon the page.

“Poetry,” she says out loud, “is good for any age. 

Together, friends, let’s contemplate and rage”

The moon is the hope,

the mother to the madness, 

who is mesmerized by Pandora’s box - 

she is a fox with the potential for

 friendship and memories. 

She is a maniac

who is moved by angels, 

meandering with lawn gnomes 

through the gardens of a good book,

and, like a rainbow, she 

makes us magnificent like a nap. 

The Diva has her magic rings,

and like Alisha Keys she sings, 

and brings us possibility, its supremes,

in the wishful ways such music brings

passionate pianos and a 

one-woman show,

the miracles, the monologues, 

& the ways the voice will grow,

from bursting forth - the renaissance - 

all of us are destined to explode

in the melodic, theatrical dreams 

upon the BET Harlem road

granting us to know,

what’s civil and right

while the symphony marches within us.

This is the voice of CWP - 

it’s you & us, both you & me,

who serendipitously skip 

along the shoreline…

It’s the poet who must design the miracles

along the Sound.

Yes, it’s summer vacation, 

but the creations abound and

 fly with the magical birds - 

your words - those brain turds -

coasting along the waterfront 

            of your soul, ya’ know? 

as you doodle your world 

and find the sand-songs dunes 

that trickle along the beach…

and for this reason we must reach

       and say: 

u gotta write for what’s right 

& fight with all u’r might 

to insight incite 

and to ignite a spotlight 

to put yourself in the limelight 

outright & forthright,

a’ight?

because there is no other way.

A Night on the Beach in July with a Full Moon is a Pleasant Saturday Night To Spend, Indeed

There is nothing better than a spur-of-the-moment, impromptu picnic to watch the World Cup, followed by a super moon over the water.

Last night, Leo, Bev, Shirley, Pam, Sharon and I drove down to the sound to capture the full moon in its entirety. After a week of non-stop preparation and planning, it was nice to take an afternoon and evening off for sports, friendship, barbecue and tequila.

I learned something new, too - gluten free brownies made with gluten free black beans makes zero sense to the palate. As much as I wanted to love them, they still tasted like dirt. Sorry Chef Sharon, I know you meant well in catering to Bev and Leo's new diet, but the brownies didn't quite do the sweet-tooth thing.

The July air, though, cool after a hot day, was a perfect time for digging our toes in the sand with the stolen flamingos. Everyone deserves an evening like the one we had last night.

Here's to relaxing every once in a while.

And the CWP-Fairfield Director Finally Exhales, Only To Inhale ThatThere's Another Five Weeks Still To Go @Cwpfairfield @ryanpcolwell

Yesterday, CWP-Fairfield hosted its first "prom" to celebrate the weeklong work of writers in our Novel and young(er) writers' lab. We also continued forth with the second week of the teacher institute. The goal of 'prom' was for students to debut their new writing in a celebration for parents and guardians. The older kids chose a book reading that premiered their book covers, tag lines, and first chapters. The young(er) kids opted to script the afternoon for their guests. They performed fractured fairytales and read to their families many pieces from their writers' notebooks. The above video was an interlude from their re-storying of Jack and the Beanstalk, with a dance number to "Hit the Road Jack."

Dr. Ryan Colwell and his graduate students, Tom and Shannon, must be extremely proud of what they accomplished with these young composers in merely five days. As parents left the debut they stated again and again, "This needs to be a much longer writing institute. This was fabulous for my kid."

As Ryan said, "We merely tried to put the fun back into composing processes."

I will forever be amazed by the creativity, cleverness, and passion of young people when given the freedom to write and encouragement to share imaginations with others. It was a superb week.

With that noted, I'm also thankful to Ellen Israel, my administrative assistant, for helping to manage and sustain a truly top notch summer lab experience for all that we're hosting this summer. 

It's 1979 - a poem crafted from the Jack Powers ISI workshop 2014 @cwpfairfield @fairfield @writingproject #CLMOOC

For the last four years, Joel Barlowe high school teacher, CWP-Fairfield fellow, and Connecticut poet, Jack Powers, has worked with our teachers and youth to highlight the importance of reading as writers. His demonstration is a guaranteed success, and after his 90 minutes everyone in the room has three new poems to work with. He amazes me, however, because his talents are out of this world yet he never reads his own stuff. I asked him today why this was and he said, "I've got my thing going. Nothing makes me happier than helping others to get their thing going."

As part of his workshop he uses a poem called "Homestead Park" (author?) as a model of beginning with a date and capturing a time from our youth. He works with teachers to discuss ideas from the poem that can be use (e.g., memories, childhood, a moment), but also asks his audience to make writerly noticings of structure, language, syntax, and word choice. He encourages teachers to syncopate with the base of the poem and to do their own thing from there. Here's my draft:

                      Loch Lebanon

It's 1979. My grandfather
sits at the bar with a camel
between missing fingers
and watches his wife rest
purple feet.  We want
to go swimming in
the lake where the motor
boats pull skiers like kites
and make Saturn's rings
that roll to the shore.
Because I am 7,
I notice his plaid shorts
covering pale legs with
only a few hairs and that
his glasses are thick like
the eyes of a grasshopper.
He inhales smoke and
exhales a punchline
of a dirty joke told to
my mother who
folds beach towels and
laughs. The sky is blue
with pink hints of Maude
and I think about the pigs
he's killed with butcher
knives before he waved
good bye and headed home.
Because I am only seven
the memories aren's so complex.
My sisters have short hair
and poppy-seed freckles.
They straddle the arms of my
grandmother's chair and rest
their heads on her shoulders.
My dad fishes for bullheads
on the dock and drinks
Milwaukee's Best where
it's quiet and he can be alone.
In my head, the universe belongs
to me. Yet, today, the weekend,
belongs to all of us
feeling so alive.

From The Plain White Table - a Newtown/Sandy Hook Publication of Community Writing @writingproject @cwpfairfield @fairfieldu

This is a story that makes me proud.

This is a story that tells a powerful tale - that is, some of the best work in our universe takes very little financial investment to help giant dreams possible. Such dreams, however, takes dedication, commitment and excellence of a committed group to bring forth such a wonderful culmination to a vision. Lucky for me, I was in a position to support this possibility.

Yesterday, poet Carol Ann Davis, Dr. Elizabeth Boquet, Lea Attanasio and Newtown/Sandy Hook parents and youth premiered their 2nd round of poetry in a collection called From The Plain White Table. They hosted the Newtown last night and although a sudden storm quickly pushed us indoors, we were greeted by a rainbow at the end of the performance that symbolically represented what everyone was feeling. The kids, the parents, the organizers, and the community were simply amazing. The joy they brought to my heart and soul cannot be measured.

Lucky for me and the 15 teachers in our summer ISI, too, Carol Ann and Beth worked with us on collaborative poetry during their teacher demonstration and workshop. They emphasized the importance of community when writing and the power of language when voices our joined together. Their teaching was wonderfully fluid and effective. All of us in attendance became proud of the poems we created - the catch was, not a one of us could claim single authorship. Instead, we co-authored amazing work as a group...the point of the presentation.

I'm absolutely in love with the colors they chose for this collection and it reminds me of summer, auroras, and watermelon. In truth, the cover is a fading fence and a growing pine tree (which Carol Ann says is a metaphor from the development she's seen in her community, Newtown, over the last year).

CWP-Fairfield and I remain proud to help publish In The Yellowy Green Phase of Spring. I am humbled by my colleagues and their hard work in bringing From the Plain White Table to this event. The writing from pre-middle school kids and those who support them was inspiring -  teachers and their community looking to the power of language to make sense of a sometimes senseless world.

Wow! This is a true collaboration and my hats are off to these two women for making it happen. Fairfield University and the National Writing Project should know that this is who we are together!

Twisted Upstate: An Imaginative Script For The Parental Units in Clay, New York. Kreativitet and Kuumba.

This week, teachers at the summer institute are playing with how creativity interacts with writing expectations we offer in school. We're exploring fiction, poetry, and script writing. Last night's storms in CNY incited the possibilities of a 10-Minute Script when I learned there were tornado warnings issued in Syracuse. I couldn't help but think of Butch and Sue on Amalfi Drive, especially in a house without a basement. Hmmm. What would this conversation sound like?

Setting: The home where I grew up. 
The Characters: Butch - my father, Sue - my mother.

Twisted Upstate

Sue: (Yelling from upstairs) Butch.

Butch: (Yelling from downstairs). What?

Sue: Are you watching the television?

Butch: What?

Sue: Are you watching the television? We're under a tornado warning?

Butch: What?

Sue: (grabbing a pack of True Blues). Ouch. Jesus Christ. There's a god-damn tornado coming.

Butch: (coming to the bottom of the stairs) What do you want?

Sue: (stepping down the steps). Oif. Ooh. Ouch. A tornado. There's a tornado coming.

Butch: Torpedo. Torpedo. What the hell are you talking about?

Sue: God damn you Butch, I said, "tornado." Like Bryan used to get in Kentucky.

Butch: Bryan doesn't live in Kentucky. He lives in Connecticut.

Sue: No, here. In Syracuse It was just on the news. We need to take shelter.

Butch: Well, it's Tuesday. I'm going to Chubbies.

Sue: Not in this weather, you're not. We need to stay in the bathroom.

Butch: No we don't. I need to go to Chubbies.

Sue: You son of a bitch, Butch. We need to go into the closet. 

Butch: You ain't getting in there, Sue. Where's the phone?

Sue: It's in your hand.

Butch: Oh. (He grabs his keys).

Sue: You're not going to Chubbies.

Butch: It's Tuesday.

Sue: For crying out loud, Butch, get in the closet.

Butch: With all your coats?

Sue: Yes, with all my coats, and your bowling balls, and the boots you never throw away. (she grabs

        the phone from Butch).

Butch: Who you calling?

Sue: Cynde.

Butch: Who?

Sue: Cynde.

Butch: Who?

Sue: Cynde.

Butch: Why?

Sue: There's a tornado coming.

Butch: What do you mean there's a torpedo coming?

Sue: Tornado.

Butch: I'm grabbing a beer first. (he ignores the closet that Sue enters)

Sue: Do what you want. I'm going in the closet. (lights a True Blue and dials the phone). (pause)

Butch: Who you calling? (he opens a beer)

Sue: Cynde.

Butch: Who?

Sue: CYNDE!

Butch: Why you calling her? She coming to Chubbies with us?

Sue: Why isn't she answering....Cynde, Oh, good you answered. Did you watch Days yet?

Butch: Jesus Christ.

Sue: Yes. Yes. We're in the downstairs closet.

Butch: (yelling). Your mother thinks torpedoes are coming.

Sue: Tornados, you idiot. Are you in the basement? Where's Nikki?

Butch: I have to use the bathroom.

Sue: Butch, there's a tornado.

Butch: (pushing her out of the way). There's no god damn torpedo. I have to use the bathroom.

Sue: I swear to god I'm going to kill him. Okay. Okay. I'm glad you're okay. Okay. I will let you go.  

      (inhales, exhales. dials the phone again). Hey, it's me. Did you watch Days today? It's really good.

      Do you have the boys in the basement? It's heading to Manlius.....oh, he's in the bathroom. Dave 

      at work? No, he's in the bathroom hiding from tornadoes.

Butch: (returning) Who you talking to now? 

Sue: Casey.

Butch: Who?

Sue: Casey.

Butch: Who?

Sue: CASEY!

Butch: Is she coming to Chubbies?

Sue: Jesus Christ, Butch. She's in the basement hiding from the tornado.

Butch: There's no god damn torpedo. I'm going to Chubbies. You coming?

Sue: Only if you buy me a White Russian. I need a White Russian.

(suddenly the house shakes and debris flies around. A twister enters from offstage and picks them up. They twirl in the air and whirl around in the winds, looking down on Cherry Heights and waving to the Carolis and Perras - Butch yells, "We're going to Chubbies." Sue shouts, "Steph, did you see Days today?")

lights out.

The 4th Stanza: Poetic Thoughts Added to the 40for40 Thoughts - a Tremendous First Day @CWPFairfield @FairfieldU @writingproject

Yesterday, after doing workshops with the young novelist lab and the young(er) writers' lab, I was invited to do a 2-hour workshop with NEH that resulted from a 2013-2014 NWP High Needs Grant. Fairfield University is proud host of the Duke Ellington workshop that was sponsored by the National Endowment for the Humanities. Dr. Laura Nash heard me raving about @kwamealexander and his book Acoustic Rooster and His Barnyard Band and asked me if I could present to the teachers on the yearlong professional development that resulted from the funding.

Towards the end of the presentation, a woman from New York City raised her hand and shared, "This was awesome. This is the sort of work we used to do at my school all the time with the support from the New York City Writing Project. There needs to be more opportunities for such work." She reported that it's been tough to maintain the integrity of what they were able to do when there was more support from Washington. (I thought to myself, what a small world...here I am at an NEH gathering, and a teacher fellow is in attendance).

This initiated a conversation amongst the veteran teachers - PROFESSIONALS - and how all the great PD they receive is always sideswiped by the powers that be. The woman from NYC then said, "The National Writing Project works because teachers teaching teachers works." Everyone was sold on the mission and all called for a return to sanity in the United States where teachers could be trusted again, supported, and given resources to do what they were trained to do.

The 25 teachers I worked with yesterday are supposed to be on summer vacation. Are they? No. Like the NWP teachers I work with, and others who work with teachers across the nation during the non-academic calendar, they are committed to doing whatever it takes to make their schools better and to close achievement gaps in the U.S.

The fault is not the teachers. The fault is the policies being mandated on the teachers.

Yesterday, I heard more stories that are not being heard. I was thankful that Dr. Yohuru Williams, who was also in attendance, and his continued advocacy for those who work with American youth.

And I continue to thank the National Writing Project and applaud them for featuring our stories this month in celebration of their 40th anniversary. In fact, I was completely honored to have a post yesterday. The poem below didn't make the final cut for the blog due to my excessive nature as a writer. For this reason, I post the 4th stanza here.

President Obama once had Henry Louis Gates and a police officer over for a beer. Here's what I'd like to suggest: Arne and Barak, how about a pint or two with me in Connecticut? Or Elyse Eidman-Aadahl in California. There's a much needed conversation about how to best support teachers in the United States. I'm thankful for the SEED work the last few years and my recommendation is: let's build off the model that works.

iv.

(A Poem)

N otebooks. Writers’ notebooks

a nd the seed-rich soil of ideas, those hooks,

t he sketches and doodles of prose, those looks,

i ntellectual tomfoolerly from the nooks

o f readers, thinkers, artists and word-crooks,

n it-picking imagination (some of us rooks

a dvancing our teaching). We are the pedagogical cooks

l earning to laugh and laughing to learn with love. Shucks:

W hy did the fungi leave the party? Because there wasn’t mush-

r oom! Why was the tomato red? Because

i t saw the salad dressing! Why should you never fly with Peter Pan?

t hat’s easy. You’ll never, never land! Why did the scientist

i nstall a knocker on his door? To win the

n o-bell prize! What did the stamp say to the envelope? Stick with me. We’ll

g o places! A writer knows how to laugh.

P ick up your room! Brush your teeth! Take out the trash!

r each for the stars! Shoot for the moon! Crandall, you’re being an a@@!

o rganize these files! Sweep the floor! Go mow the lawn!

j ust stop picking on your sister: You’re the devil’s spawn!

e at your broccoli! Make your bed! Put your toys away!

c lean the dishes! Pick up the poop! You grew up in Clay (and

t hese are the words your Mommy & Daddy would say).

4 0 years ago, James Gray had an idea. 1974.

0 of us knew what his project would do, but we’d explore, &

t oday with its mission for writing, the core invests in 200 sites. Through it, wow,

h ow the work delights!

A braham Lincoln said, “The best way to predict the future is to create it.”

(n ational writing project folks don’t await it, they display it.)

n elson mandela wrote, “Education

i s the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”

(v oila! this is how NWP twirls, whirls, and swirls)

e. e. cummings penned, “It takes courage to grow up and become who you

r eally are.” (Fellows read as writers and, with books, they explore).

s onia sanchez admitted, “I write to keep in contact with our

a ncestors and to spread truth to people.” (We stand tall

r each deep, and leap over the scholastic steeple).

y es, we are NWP and it is through writing we set students free…