Monday, July 26, 2010
Old Wooden Rocker
Old Wooden Rocker
There’s an old wooden rocker, golden honey in color
lovingly assembled by the hands of my father.
Smooth, rounded edges greet my touch as I trace
the arm where tiny fingers once rested.
Each nick, each scratch, each flaw in the wood
tell stories of comfort and of pleasure,
of children reading softly and of giggling laughter
years of rocking with dolls and with sisters.
The drawer beneath holds a secret hiding place
for dozens of trinkets and treasures –
Christmas ornaments and bracelets of beads
hidden…sometimes ‘til months later.
I hear melodies sung by children in years past
while they sat gently rocking in this chair.
Tunes of “Twenty Froggies” and “Twinkle Little Star”
warm my soul like a breath of summer air.
As I gaze upon this most cherished possession
I’m reminded of the meaningful bond
that joins my family together: mother, daughter, sister, father
Like the spindles holding tightly to this chair.
by Megan Cuellar
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Peaches
Today in class we were talking about poems with a fruit theme. I remembered how much I loved this poem about peaches. Enjoy!
Peaches
A mouthful of language to swallow:
A mouthful of language to swallow:
stretches of beach, sweet clinches,
breaches in walls, bleached branches;
britches hauled over haunches;
hunched leeches, wrenched teachers.
What English can do: ransack
the warmth that chuckles beneath
fuzzed surfaces, smooth velvet
richness, splashy juices.
I beseech you, peach,
clench me into the sweetness
of your reaches.
-Peter Davison
breaches in walls, bleached branches;
britches hauled over haunches;
hunched leeches, wrenched teachers.
What English can do: ransack
the warmth that chuckles beneath
fuzzed surfaces, smooth velvet
richness, splashy juices.
I beseech you, peach,
clench me into the sweetness
of your reaches.
-Peter Davison
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Sunnyside, Washington
Sunnyside, Washington
I always like summer best.
You can eat corn right off the cob
from Mom & Dad’s garden
and ruby-red cherries
and juicy watermelon that runs down your chin
and blackened hotdogs
at backyard barbeques
and roast golden marshmallows that you eat in layers
at the fire pit
and run through the sprinklers
and play card games (like Phase Ten and Golf)
not only when you are 8 years old
but always.
by Megan Cuellar
Audrey's "I Am From"
I am from
I am from glass milk bottles,
From Nestles Flavor Sticks and five cent candy bars.
I am from the view of Mt. Rainier in the picture window
At 7443 South 128th Street,
with hardwood floors my father carefully laid
and covered with wall -to-wall carpet.
I am from the blueberry bushes transplanted from their Kent orchard home,
the cedar tree carefully smuggled in a paper sack as a seedling from Mt. Rainier National Park
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I’m from summer vacations at the Frank L. Motel in Grayland and busy bees,
from Al and Rita,
I’m from cleaning on Saturdays and visiting grandparents after church on Sundays,
and from playing Bean Bag Toss at picnics.
I’m from “You love to tease and he loves to fight!” and “No!”,
and Moon River.
I’m from chicken barbecued on the rotisserie until crispy done.
I’m from Seattle and Germany
Shoo Fly Pie and clam fritters made from just dug razor clams,
From my grandfather Poppy’s prank of teaching me to plant lollipop sticks
and waking up to find new ones grown.
I’m from my grandmother’s scar on her neck
from where her goiter was removed.
I treasure my mother’s white satin wedding dress with the long train, dad’s army uniform, and my yellow little chickadee recital costume.
Digging deeper there is an afghan of colorful squares crocheted by my grandmother, Mimi, and a wedding quilt, hand stitched and filled with wool from the neighbor’s sheep.
There are baby dresses of the type that needed to be ironed and wool shorts with suspenders,
all tucked in the warm wood cedar chest in the basement bedroom and in my heart.
By Audrey White
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
NIWP Welcomes a New Director
The Northwest Inland Writing Project welcomes Emily Duvall as our new director. Emily is an assistant professor in Curriculum and Instruction and Neuroscience at the Coeur d'Alene campus of the University of Idaho. As Emily transitions into the position we sadly say good-bye to Rodney McConnell as he leaves Moscow. Thank you Rodney for your wisdom, vision, and humor. We will miss you.
Top Ten Important Things I've Learned About Revision
- Revision occurs throughout the writing process, not just at the end.
- Revision is not just changing a few words; it is an opportunity to change the big picture.
- One reason to revise is to add vivid details so that the reader can "see" what's happening.
- It can be very helpful to conference with peers and teachers during the revision process.
- When revising, it's a good idea to look for long, boring passages that can be shrunk down to a sentence or two without losing anything (shrink a century).
- It is also important to look for important moments in the writing that need to be emphasized more and add description (explode a moment).
- Good revision requires deep thinking.
- Knowing that you are going to revise allows you to get a first draft down on paper quickly, without worrying that it won't be perfect.
- Revision is not a tedious, boring process. Instead, it is fun because you can see the improvement in the work.
- One part of revision is moving words around, rearranging them like furniture. by Cheryl Forster
I Am From
I AM FROM …
I am from old fickle vehicles,
From good intentions and boxed cereal,
I am from the high mountains of Arizona,
Small bedrooms and remodeled sawdust,
I am from the small dirt roads,
Divided by large gray boulders that wore holes in our backsides,
I am from the smell of warm needles from pines
Whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from snowy Christmas holidays,
And sleeping relatives on the floor,
From frozen water and septic pipes,
And my dad reminding brave visitors that the shovel and tissue are propped by the front door.
I’m from endless card games and a two-channeled television
And from 150 assorted cheap cookies in a bag.
I am from instant milk and “steaks are for adults,”
And children’s bedtimes that are actually for parents who need time alone, together.
I am from long flannel nightgowns and big roaring fires,
I am from the lofty Hualapai Mountains,
The native land of the Tall Pine People, high in the Arizona air,
From endless summers of finding secret caves and tiger-striped kittens born in insulation boxes, of scraped knees and Bactine,
Of sleeping outside, long hikes of exploration, and dogs and cats following along,
And faith from the parents who always knew we’d come back tired.
by Shannon Henry
I am from old fickle vehicles,
From good intentions and boxed cereal,
I am from the high mountains of Arizona,
Small bedrooms and remodeled sawdust,
I am from the small dirt roads,
Divided by large gray boulders that wore holes in our backsides,
I am from the smell of warm needles from pines
Whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from snowy Christmas holidays,
And sleeping relatives on the floor,
From frozen water and septic pipes,
And my dad reminding brave visitors that the shovel and tissue are propped by the front door.
I’m from endless card games and a two-channeled television
And from 150 assorted cheap cookies in a bag.
I am from instant milk and “steaks are for adults,”
And children’s bedtimes that are actually for parents who need time alone, together.
I am from long flannel nightgowns and big roaring fires,
I am from the lofty Hualapai Mountains,
The native land of the Tall Pine People, high in the Arizona air,
From endless summers of finding secret caves and tiger-striped kittens born in insulation boxes, of scraped knees and Bactine,
Of sleeping outside, long hikes of exploration, and dogs and cats following along,
And faith from the parents who always knew we’d come back tired.
by Shannon Henry
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