A Holiday Gift of Poetry

Here is a gift of poetry as a small thank you to my readers. Wishing you all a happy holiday season. Don't forget to read more poetry; it illuminates our lives.

Toward a Winter Solstice

by Timothy Steele (published on the web site poets.org)

Although the roof is just a story high,

It dizzies me a little to look down.

I lariat-twirl the cord of Christmas lights

And cast it to the weeping birch’s crown;

A dowel into which I’ve screwed a hook

Enables me to reach, lift, drape, and twine

The cord among the boughs so that the bulbs

Will accent the tree’s elegant design.

Friends, passing home from work or shopping, pause

And call up commendations or critiques.

I make adjustments. Though a potpourri

Of Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Jews, and Sikhs,

We all are conscious of the time of year;

We all enjoy its colorful displays

And keep some festival that mitigates

The dwindling warmth and compass of the days.

Some say that L.A. doesn’t suit the Yule,

But UPS vans now like magi make

Their present-laden rounds, while fallen leaves

Are gaily resurrected in their wake;                                            

The desert lifts a full moon from the east

And issues a dry Santa Ana breeze,

And valets at chic restaurants will soon

Be tending flocks of cars and SUVs.

And as the neighborhoods sink into dusk

The fan palms scattered all across town stand

More calmly prominent, and this place seems

A vast oasis in the Holy Land.

This house might be a caravansary,

The tree a kind of cordial fountainhead

Of welcome, looped and decked with necklaces

And centuries of green, yellow, blue, and red.

Some wonder if the star of Bethlehem

Occurred when Jupiter and Saturn crossed;

It’s comforting to look up from this roof

And feel that, while all changes, nothing’s lost,

To recollect that in antiquity

The winter solstice fell in Capricorn

And that, in the Orion Nebula,

From swirling gas, new stars are being born.

Messiah (Christmas Portions)

by Mark Doty  from Sweet Machine: Poems. Copyright © 1998 by Mark Doty. 

   A little heat caught
in gleaming rags,
in shrouds of veil,
   torn and sun-shot swaddlings:

   over the Methodist roof,
two clouds propose a Zion
of their own, blazing
   (colors of tarnish on copper)

   against the steely close
of a coastal afternoon, December,
while under the steeple
   the Choral Society

   prepares to perform
Messiah,pouring, in their best
blacks and whites, onto the raked stage.
   Not steep, really,

   but from here,
the first pew, they're a looming
cloudbank of familiar angels:
   that neighbor who

   fights operatically
with her girlfriend, for one,
and the friendly bearded clerk
   from the post office

   --tenor trapped
in the body of a baritone? Altos
from the A&P, soprano
   from the T-shirt shop:

   today they're all poise,
costume and purpose
conveying the right note
   of distance and formality.

   Silence in the hall,
anticipatory, as if we're all
about to open a gift we're not sure
   we'll like;

   how could they
compete with sunset's burnished
oratorio? Thoughts which vanish,
   when the violins begin.

   Who'd have thought
they'd be so good? Every valley,
proclaims the solo tenor,
   (a sleek blonde

   I've seen somewhere before
-- the liquor store?) shall be exalted,
and in his handsome mouth the word
   is lifted and opened

   into more syllables
than we could count, central ah
dilated in a baroque melisma,
   liquefied; the pour

   of voice seems
to makethe unplaned landscape
the text predicts the Lord
   will heighten and tame.

   This music
demonstrates what it claims:
glory shall be revealed. If art's
   acceptable evidence,

   mustn't what lies
behind the world be at least
as beautiful as the human voice?
   The tenors lack confidence,

   and the soloists,
half of them anyway, don't
have the strength to found
   the mighty kingdoms

   these passages propose
-- but the chorus, all together,
equals my burning clouds,
   and seems itself to burn,

   commingled powers
deeded to a larger, centering claim.
These aren't anyone we know;
   choiring dissolves

   familiarity in an up-
pouring rush which will not
rest, will not, for a moment,
   be still.

   Aren't we enlarged
by the scale of what we're able
to desire? Everything,
   the choir insists,

   might flame;
inside these wrappings
burns another, brighter life,
   quickened, now,

   by song: hear how
it cascades, in overlapping,
lapidary waves of praise? Still time.
   Still time to change.

And finally, here is one for all the school children and anyone who has taught them. Not exactly a holiday poem, but fit for the season. This is from my book of children's poetry, There's a Giant in My Classroom and Other Poems from Around School.

First Flakes
by Russ Walsh

Teacher’s saying something,

What it is I wouldn't know,

‘Cause I just looked out the window

And saw some flakes of snow.

I turn to Tommy Mason

And I tap him on the knee.

“It’s snowing out,” I whisper,

And he looks outside to see.

Tommy tells Cassandra;

Cassie fills in Jill and Jim.

Jim calls to Bobby Wallace;

Jill points to Paul and Tim.

Paul informs Matt Miller,

And Matt reports to Jane.

Tim says he is worried

That the snow will turn to rain.

Matt clues in his table,

And Jane breaks the news to Lynn.

Lynn pokes the ribs of Horace,

Who wakes up with a grin.

Ann asks, “How much will we get?”

Mike says, “I hope a lot!”

May cries, “Twenty inches

Is the most we ever got!”

Now everyone is talking

As we gaze upon the snow.

So why the teacher yelled at me,

I really wouldn’t know.

Read to Me, Daddy

Here is a little gift for Father's Day. With all the controversy over standards, teacher evaluations and standardized tests, one thing remains incontrovertibly true: children whose parents read to them have a leg up on literacy learning.

I wrote this poem nearly thirty years ago, while on my way to a conference to speak on the topic of A Fathers' Influence on Children's Literacy Development. It, too, remains true today.

I hope you enjoy.

Read to Me, Daddy 

Read to me, Daddy

Of far away places

Where elephants reign

And turtles win races.

Read to me, Daddy

And we’ll leave on a flight

To Jupiter! Mars!

And home in one night.

Read to me, Daddy

And fill up my head

With fanciful pictures

‘Fore I go to bed.

Read to me, Daddy

Of wishes come true.

Read to me, Daddy

Then I’ll read to you.

                       Russ Walsh

There's a Giant in My Classroom is Published!

I am pleased to announce that my new book of poetry, There's a Giant in My Classroom and other poems from around school, has just been published by Infinity Press. The book is a collection of sometimes funny, sometimes silly, sometimes serious and often disgusting poems aimed at children ages 6 to 12 and the adults who know them. The poems were inspired by the real children I got to know while teaching in schools in Pennsylvania and New Jersey. In the book readers will meet the bouncy Becky, who loves to hop down hallways, brainiac Marty, who always has the answer, and the kid who has the messiest desk in the history of messy desks. Anyone who has ever eaten in a school cafeteria will be able to relate to the poem, "On Friday We Get Pizza." The book is available from amazon.com and from buybooksontheweb.com. If you visit my previous post on "The Test" you can sample one of the poems from the book. I hope you enjoy.

The Test

I know that many of you are in the process of giving standardized tests to the students. To lighten things up a bit, here is a poem that will appear in my new book which will be out in about a month. The title of the book will be There's a Giant in My Classroom and other poems from around school. I hope you enjoy this.

The Test

Today we take The Test.

I sit up straight in bed.

I’m trying not to be nervous,

But my body shakes with dread.

Today we take The Test.

You know the one I mean.

Where you fill in all those bubbles,

‘Cause they’re scored by a machine.

Today we take The Test.

Mom’s trying not to harass me.

She says, “Just do your best!”

She means, “Please don’t embarrass me!”

Today we take The Test.

We do it every year.

Number 2 pencils in hand,

And tongues all thick with fear.

At nine we start The Test.

Choices A, B, C or D.

A,C and D all look right,

So the answer is probably B.

Time is running out on The Test.

Now I’m really getting tense.

I’ve answered two hundred questions,

But only six made sense!

And now we turn in The Test.

And sigh with great relief.

It will be another year

Before we repeat all this grief.

Snack Attack Published

My new book, Snack Attack and Other Poems for Developing Fluency, has been published. The book has been 15 years in the making. I finally gathered 20 of my silly fluency poems into a book and self-published it through Infinity Press. This book is aimed at teachers of students in grades K- 3. It contains 20 humorous poems that support readers in the development of fluency, sight vocabulary and spelling. Each poem is accompanied by a Teacher's Guide with recommended discussion questions, word cards for children to use in word sorts, a word making activity and a cloze version of the poem. A suggested instructional sequence is provided to help teachers use the poems effectively in developing important reading abilities.

It is a real kick for me to finally put these poems together in a book. Two of the pictures were drawn by my talented granddaughter, Kaitlyn.