on your mark, get set, WRITE......

robynm ↓

Sat, Jan 29 2011, 9:45 pm

Hello ladies and fellow writes,

It's been too quiet lately. So I figured I would suggest a new topic.

I've definitely been enjoying what you have already contributed and can't wait to read more.

Robyn 8)

REFLECTION

Blue skies
one step forward
not looking back
freshly cut grass

Yellow sunflower
one more step forward
not looking back
chirping birds

Cool breeze
a step forward
not looking back
splashing ocean waves

Early morning dew
one step forward
not looking back
glaring sun rays

step by step
not looking back

↑ the world's best mom ↓

Sun, Jan 30 2011, 6:14 am

Snowy Day Reflections

I am gazing out the window
At a park all full of snow.
Snow and people,
Who have no school.
People are building,
Creating,
Creating many amazing things.
I see snowmen,
Igloos,
Snow people sitting on the park benches.
I am amazed.
A family is taking pictures,
They are posing inside their own homemade igloo.

A while later
I look out again.
I am filled with disappointment.
The family’s igloo is gone.
Reduced to a heap of snow.
The snow people are not there,
No longer enjoying their rest
On our snowy park bench.
The remains of
Another igloo
That had never made it to completion
Was being used for a snowball fight.
A boy and a lady,
Breaking the unfinished igloo
So they can throw the pieces at each other.

The only thing that lasted was a humongous,
Giant,
Enormous snowman.
After spending hours building it,
Its creators brought down a bucket of water.
They poured the water over their snowman,
Turning it to ice.
Now no one can break it,
Nobody can erase this amazing work of art.

So this is what life is all about.
We all work hard.
We strive to create.
We try make a lasting imprint on this world.
But an hour later,
The world forgets.
There is no sign left.
No sign of all we’ve done.
It’s all messed up,
Being used for someone else’s snowball fight.

Unless we do something really big,
We do our best to change the world.
Then, if we look into the future,
And we exercise caution and care
So that nobody should forget,
No one should erase our memory from this earth,
Only then do we stand a chance,
A chance to change this world
In a way that will last
Forevermore.

↑ the world's best mom ↓

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 10:32 am

More Snowy Day reflections

I wake up and the first thing I see is snow. The branches outside the window are covered in many inches of white fluff. It is beautiful, I think to myself. I would love to paint that scene. There’s something about the contrast of the dark brown branches and pure white snow that just begs to be painted.

I get out of bed, but relax in my pajamas. After all, the kids have no school today, due to the snowstorm. My daughter takes out her crayons and asks, “Do you want to color with me?”

My first reaction that I have better things to do than color. But then I remember the scene outside the window, and I answer, “Sure, I’ll color with you.” I want to try to draw the snowy trees, since paint is too messy.

I sit on the floor next to my daughter, and we each begin to draw. I make the branches of the tree, and I begin to wonder how I’ll go about drawing white snow on my white paper. Suddenly, a hand comes from nowhere. It is a cute little hand, with a crayon grasped in its chubby fingers. Oh no, I gasp. My toddler is about to scribble on my picture! And I sit there, frozen, as the crayon touches the paper and my little boy scribbles with delight. Green scribbles appear all around my carefully drawn branches. My tree is magically transformed. Now it is spring in my picture. Green leaves are all over my tree. Instead of getting frustrated that my son ruined my picture, I smile and give him a hug. After all, his tree is even prettier than mine could have been. My tree was dead and cold, while his is budding with life.

↑ robynm ↓

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 11:23 am

the world's best mom wrote:

LOVE!! LOVE!!!

cuties' mom ↓

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 12:11 pm

Nighttime musings
I sit in my kids' room and slowly start saying Shema. My 2-year-old fills in the last syllable of each word while my 4-year-old goes ahead at breathtaking speed. As he starts singing hamalach, I stop trying to keep up with him and wonder how this could be the same child who couldn't even say the brachos when lighting his menorah. I think back to our long journey to get him to talk.
Both of my kids get therapy. My 4-year-old started at 15 months. At the time, his speech therapist was mainly concerned about feeding. Like many kids with severe apraxia, my son didn't know how to bite, chew and swallow food. As his weight decreased,my concerns increased. Finally, at 19 months, we hit a milestone as he ate a graham cracker, his first non pureed food. Once we got eating settled, his therapist started working on language, and my little boy sat silently and watched. Seeing he wasn't responding, the therapist tried using sign language. But my little boy has global apraxia and couldn't imitate signs. Prompts were tried for a long time without success. His sensory defensiveness didn't allow him to tolerate a hand on his face. The therapist struck gold when she started using PECS. She commented that it is a bit unusual for a 2-year-old but my determined little boy needed to communicate and it worked. At two and a half, a miracle occured as some words started coming out of my usually silent kid. His expressive vocabulary kept increasing and at three-years-old, he had age appropriate language that nobody besides me could understand. At that point, the speech therapist started working on articulation. For 8 months, we focused on the p sound before graduating to b and m and eventually n and t. But repeating words was always hard especially with brachos as he didn't understand the hebrew words. I watched him silently light his menorah each night of Chanuka and wondered if he will be able to lain the haftorah at his bar mitzvah.
And then, the miracle happened. I stopped having to translate my son's phone conversations as people were able to understand what he said. He started singing with his Uncle Moishy cds and attempting to make brachos. And now here I am, just listening while he says shema by himself.
"Retz," my 2-year-old said proudly, determined to have the last word and bringing me back to the present. I tucked my boys in and watch the son start to rise after a long dark night.

amother ↓

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 1:58 pm

Disclaimer! I do not claim under any circumstances to be a writer, nor do I know much about animal habits. Nor am I re-reading to make changes.

The leader howls, alerting his pack to the presence of a victim.
He looks again, focuses, his red eyes gleaming, white fangs bared. His ears twitch. The sound comes again. An innocent little bleeeat.
The pack draws closer, circling. Saliva dripping down their jaws. AAH. A tasty little morsel to whet their insatiable appetites. Their prey, innocent as to the nasties awaiting in the big wide world gives another bleat, "I'm lost, and cold" she says. "But this place is so beautiful. The full moon, shining on the pure white snow. Dark tree shapes, silhouetted on the same beautiful whiteness", and lies down to rest. They pack has surrounded her. They draw in. They pounce (or whatever it's called when wolves do this)!! No time for her to realise that in the big wide world her innocent little bleat is a call for her death. She tries to explain. It just gets worse. She longs to escape, leave this ugly place forever! Never never to return. She loses hope, weakly trying to fight back. Suddenly a shot rings out! A member of the pack is wounded. Another shot, another falls. They are up again, the pack turns to the newcomer. They seek the blunderpuss, but each time they get close, another is wounded. Finally they slink off, nursing their wounds, already awaiting the next innocent little bleat....
The blunderpuss holder draws near to the quivering little victim. Talks gently to her. Convinces her to stay. Teaches her how to ignore the wolves initial jibes, to keep quiet and not 'feel', and how to use a blunderpuss, in the event of a time a bleat is a necessity. The victim is thankful. She slowly stops trembling and again starts to notice all the beauties of this wonderful place called Imamother.

mummiedearest ↓

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 4:29 pm

the world's best mom wrote:

nice thought. understandable, eloquent. one thing-- watch your tenses. otherwise, very nice.

↑ mummiedearest ↓

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 4:30 pm

robynm wrote:

WOW the worlds best mom!! what a way to reflect on the snow and take it to a deeper level.

mine is supposed to be confusing. its supposed to be a reflection of confusion. using the motivating beauty to move forward but still stuck somehow....

I didn't see confusion or "stuckness" at all. I saw the intake of beauty while moving forward. I suppose you could say that specifying one step at a time indicates hesitance, but the meter of the poem didn't give that impression. it sounded quite optimistic, actually.

↑ mummiedearest ↓

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 4:40 pm

reflections

the mirror me stares back. I'm certain it's the mirror me. it looks just like me. I think it does, anyway. I don't spend much time in front of the mirror these days. I turn around, change my skirt. nah. that's not really me. that's some high-falutin' flatbush gal. change the skirt back. hmm... should I put on some makeup today? I don't really like to. it's such a pain to take off at the end of the day. it makes me look prettier, but I think I'm pretty enough without. I'll save it for one of my flatbush gal days. or a day when I'm really grumpy. nothing like painting my face to cheer me up. okay, so I'll stick with selection number one.

the mirror me stares back and smiles. nothing like a worn denim skirt and a comfy t-shirt. a pre-tied bandana finishes the outfit. no socks for me, I like to feel the cool floor with my bare feet. I wear my engagement and wedding rings by force of habit. nothing I'm wearing will make me feel like someone else. I smile at the mirror me. today is going to be fine.

Last edited by mummiedearest on Mon, Jan 31 2011, 6:23 pm; edited 1 time in total

↑ robynm

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 5:16 pm

mummiedearest wrote:

robynm wrote:

thanks mummiedearest!!! that was actually what I was trying to portray... this was my attempt at writing something positive Bounce

↑ mummiedearest

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 5:34 pm

robynm wrote:

mummiedearest wrote:

robynm wrote:

thanks mummiedearest!!! that was actually what I was trying to portray... this was my attempt at writing something positive Bounce

well, then, good job.

sandyb

Mon, Jan 31 2011, 6:20 pm

Walking home from school,
I lug a pile of books,
The jaunty smile and twinkling eyes,
Are just some lying looks.

The volumes of words,
That I am hauling home,
Sits heavy on my hands,
And even heavier on my brain.

I sit and pore over the pages,
learn,
study,
memorize,
review,
Willing my brain to absorb it all.

So my evening turns into night,
All the while glued to my books
I beg my mind to understand
And plead with my brain to comprehend.

The sun that rises every morning,
Found me in my chair from yesterday,
Where I dozed off in a flood of tears,
Praying for a result that will realize my effort.

I hand in my test,
Filled with trepidation,
Hoping just once,
To get appreciation.

As the teacher handed the paper back,
I felt a stab of utter rejection,
A glaring F in angry red pen
What happened to marks being a reflection??

I wrote this poem right now thinking of a tenth grade student of mine. I only found out by chance that she actually works hard for school. (I knew she had some learning issues, but I thought she gave up on school by now.) It bothers me terribly how unsuccessful she must feel all the time, and also knowing that I can never fully understand her.

(I do not write angry red F's though.)

,