Tuesday, November 7, 2023

Some See Red Over The Color Red


By Charles Osgood
The custom has been for schoolteachers to correct student papers in red, to point out mistakes with red pencil or red ink. But In many schools now, we're told teachers are being told not to mark papers with red ink because red upsets the children. Red is too stressful too "in your face." Joseph Foriska, the principal of Thaddeus Stevens Elementary School in Pittsburgh, for example has instructed his teachers to grade with colors featuring more ''pleasant feeling tones." so that their instructional messages do not come across and derogatory or demeaning.
In many schools today it's said
teachers should not grade in red.
Red is too negative they say.
In the context of today
with too much student stress resulting
to them red seems downright insulting.
And we don't want their feelings hurt
with red as in a "red alert"
"High risk of terrorist attack."
The kids might be taken aback.
What color then should teachers use?
Purple is now what many choose
or blue. Some educators think
Turquoise, Fuchsia, sky blue, pink.
Almost anything instead
of that old nasty color red.
Red ink now means losing money,
a prospect no one thinks is funny.
They say it has nothing to do
with politics, red states or blue.
But some, I'm sure, will now suspect
that what's politically correct
has some political content,
though they deny that's what is meant.
But simply to remove the dread.
They say some people have of red.
Do you recall when it was said
in the cold war “Better dead than red?
Roses are red, violets are blue
I don't fear roses though, do you?”

Monday, October 30, 2023

The Summer Day


By Mary Oliver


Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down --
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

Monday, October 23, 2023

EACH OF US HAS A NAME

Each of us has a name
given by God
and given by our parents

Each of us has a name
given by our stature and our smile
and given by what we wear

Each of us has a name
given by the mountains
and given by our walls

Each of us has a name
given by the stars
and given by our neighbors

Each of us has a name
given by our sins
and given by our longing

Each of us has a name
given by our enemies
and given by our love

Each of us has a name
given by our celebrations
and given by our work

Each of us has a name
given by the seasons
and given by our blindness

Each of us has a name
given by the sea
and given by
our death.

© Translation: 2004, Marcia Lee Falk
From: The Spectacular Difference

The Arrow and the Song

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

PS - Honored and humbled that a dear friend said this sounded like I wrote it!

Sunday, July 16, 2023

 https://twitter.com/brian_bilston/status/1566693130996514817

From Blossoms

BY LI-YOUNG LEE

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward   
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into   
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

Monday, July 3, 2023

The Toucan

by Shel Silverstein

Tell me who can
Catch a toucan?
Lou can.

Just how few can
Ride the toucan?
Two can.

What kind of goo can
Stick you to the toucan?
Glue can.

Who can write some
More about the toucan?
You can!

Tuesday, June 20, 2023

Mother To Son

By Langston Hughes

Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

Saturday, May 27, 2023

This Be The Verse

BY PHILIP LARKIN

They  %#@! you up, your mum and dad.   

    They may not mean to, but they do.   
They fill you with the faults they had
    And add some extra, just for you.

But they were %#@ed up in their turn
    By fools in old-style hats and coats,   
Who half the time were soppy-stern
    And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
    And don’t have any kids yourself.

Wednesday, May 10, 2023

YOU TOOK THE LAST BUS HOME

By Brian Bilston

you took
the last bus home

i still don’t know
how you got it through the door

but you’re always doing amazing stuff

like the time
when you caught that train

Monday, March 13, 2023

13 Very Short Ones By Billy Collins (From his Musical Tables)


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Trouble was not
his middle name.
-----------------------------------------

Reflections On An Amish Childhood
I was a little square
in a round hat.
------------------------------------------
Adolescence
The gulf widened between my parents and me
but that doesn't mean they lived on a houseboat.
-----------------------------------------
Another Hotel
Unlike the breakfast menu
I have no desire to be hung outside before 3AM
------------------------------------------
Corridor
I've grown old.
Now my own name
rings a bell.
--------------------------------------------
Elegy
I have turned over
all 52 cards
on the kitchen table.
Still, I think
you must be hiding
somewhere in the deck.
--------------------------------------------
Carbon Dating
He tried it once
as a last resort
but most of the women
were a million years old
---------------------------------------
3 A.M.
Only my hand
is asleep,
but it’s a start.
---------------------------------------
Flaubert
As he looked for the right word,
several wrong words
appeared in his window.
-------------------------------------
Dog
When she runs in her sleep,
eyelids twitching,
legs churning sideways on the floor,
I wonder if she's chasing a squirrel
or being chased
by an angry farmer waving a rake.
----------------------------------------------
Morning Walk
The dog stops often
to sniff the poems of others
before reciting her own.
-------------------------------------------
The Exception
Whoever said there's a poem
lurking in the darkness of every pencil
was not thinking of this one.
----------------------------------------------
Children
There’s a movie out
titled Children
I don’t know what it’s about
but I like the voice
on the radio
when it says:
“Children now playing everywhere.”

Sunday, February 26, 2023

I am bravery.
I am courage.
I am valor.
I am daring.
I am holding a thesaurus.

- Demitri Martin

Thursday, February 23, 2023

You’re probably expecting something dramatic,
Something ecstatic, something traumatic
To cry out your tears until you can’t no more.
Thing is, my life’s kinda a bore:

I’m as normal as anyone could be,
I have good friends, and a good family,
With two legs, and I use them to stand,
Five fingers on each of my hands,

Want to hear about my life plans?
Of course you don’t.
That’s the curse of being happy:
No one knows a thing about me;

After hearing this, would you want to stay?
There’s more interesting people not so far away,
Broken kids you think you can fix,
And heroes you worship, add that to the mix;

And once you have this big, giant pit,
Where do all the normal people fit?
I know, I’m being ungrateful,
I don’t mean to sound so hateful;

It’s just, when everyone tells you you’re special,
what do you do when you’re not?
There’s a moment in your favorite book
Where the troubled girl takes a look

At me and wishes she had my life,
Free of troubles, free of strife,
Then she carries on and it never comes up again:
The normal girl gets forgotten

'Cause you’re not the main character, you’re the life she longed for
A what-if and nothing more,
Your fate was sealed long ago,
So know your place and keep your head low.

Next time you see a normal girl, don’t walk away;
Make her feel special for just one day,
Because we want our own stories, but try as we might,
Normal girls just don’t get the spotlight."

 - Adira Rose Koffsky - of blessed memory

Saturday, January 7, 2023

THE BLUES by William Matthews

What did I think, a storm clutching a clarinet
and boarding a downtown bus, headed for lessons?
I had pieces to learn by heart, but at twelve

you think the heart and memory are different.
"'It's a poor sort of memory that only works
backwards,' the Queen remarked." Alice in Wonderland.

Although I knew the way music can fill a room,
even with loneliness, which is of course a kind
of company. I could swelter through an August

afternoon -- torpor rising from the river -- and listen
to Stan Getz and J. J. Johnson braid variations
on "My Funny Valentine" and feel there in the room

with me the force and weight of what I couldn't
say. What's an emotion anyhow?
Lassitude and sweat lay all about me

like a stubble field, it was so hot and listless,
but I was quick and furtive as a fox
who has his thirty-miles-a-day metabolism

to burn off as ordinary business.
I had about me, after all, the bare eloquence
of the becalmed, the plain speech of the leafless

tree. I had the cunning of my body and a few
bars -- they were enough -- of music. Looking back,
it almost seems as though I could remember --

but this can't be; how could I bear it? --
the future toward which I'd clatter
with that boy tied like a bell around my throat,

a brave man and a coward both,
to break and break my metronomic heart
and just enough to learn to love the blues.

(Discovered via Billy Collins reading it on his Facebook Live Show)