poetry game

Pick 5-6 words or phrases from the box and create a poem with them.

 Up and Away, by EBR

Rising Up and Away 

into the blue

 falling

but with plenty of time to gather the colors 

and hug the warmth

Dear Mr. Tomorrow (English Comp)

Mr. Tomorrow

14s 200w                      

City of Dreams, USA

Dear Mr. Tomorrow,

I am writing to you with concern.  I am concerned that we will never be together.   Please allow me to elaborate, life is like a box of chocolates... umm no it’s more like a merry-go-round.  As soon as you get close to what you want it disappears around the corner and when you see it again you are never any closer than when you started.

Even if we were to meet it would only be in something as fragile as a dream. All we would have time for is a faint smile and then you would be gone around the corner again.

 

With that being said I have come to a conclusion that all we have is today.  

See you tomorrow.

Sincerely,

Beach

solid stones

Beach and I have been talking.  Between all the action the conversation has turned to families & parenting styles. Maybe not what you expected but there is a very good reason.  Through all the big chaos she has been watching the small details. Those little things that make each family different from the next. We've been talking about what she is seeing and how she feels about it.

Beach has a very limited autobiographical memory. I have a theory as to why that is. She comes from a long line of story tellers. We rely heavily on our minds to vividly capture moments so we can draw from them later. She lives so in the moment she hasn't develop an effective system for long term memories to flow back & forth as easily. I would also guess that much of Beach's early life was spent inside a visual haze & she had a hard time creating the clues she needed to recall events.

The point is she's had to ask a lot of question about her babyhood: comparing her world to the world of others. Reading the outcomes. She is finding that she likes the way our family does things. And even the things she doesn't love she is finding value in. Most of all she keeps returning to the security we have given her.

I am a huge believer in the need for stability & predictability in a child's life. Which fyi doesn't mean stagnant or boring. We are not a boring family! Sure, life is not always predictable but predictability in parenting/family encompasses a wide range of practicalities.    

Of course it starts with the iron work of stability all the stuff listed in the pamphlet your pediatrician gave you at your child's first well check. Morning & bedtime rituals easing transitions & lowering stress. Punctuality to avoid the dreaded rushing and all it's negative effects and the forgotten favorite sweaters/toys/blankets/books. Family time, boundaries, communication, rules, etc. But there is so much more to the equation.    

Like my own mother, I put a high priority on providing my children with those small comforts that become the emotional landscape of their childhood. Comforts that serve to remind them that they are always important & cared for: securely & predictably. 

I understand the need for the washing & rewashing (& rewashing) of the favorite shirt so they can wear it EVERY day. For silly notes on napkins & small surprises left on a child's pillow for no reason whatsoever. I get the need to cut a sandwich the correct way, even if the correct way is different for each child seated at the table. I know why the pink bath towel is not the one packed to go swimming with friends but is the one most used for bath time. 

I don't do all of this because I want my kids to love me so much that they will never leave home. No, in fact it is almost the opposite. I want them to be brave, adventurous, wild, & even reckless. I know when my children feel secure they are more willing to take risks, to make mistakes, to follow their passions, & to live a life of grand adventures. 

Sure I want to protect them. Trust me I am a very anxious person! I want them to be safe and live long lives and nothing to ever go wrong. But a long time ago as a very, very young parent folding laundry & watching the aftermath of the bombing of the Oklahoma Federal Building I made a decision that became the backbone of my parenting. What I want most for my child is I want them to LIVE. My job: as safely as possible, to help set them free.

To raise her I walked away from a career in medicine before I even had a chance to prove what a difference I could have made in that other world. Even on my hardest days I don't regret that decision. I let that role go by in exchange for making sure that my own child had the best foundation I could possibly offer her. I am predictably her mother- and that matters.

It takes a village but first they need to know the path beneath them is solid. 

This morning Beach came in from the field singing a song she's been composing, "You are the moon and I am the waves. If you hold on to me I can let go..."

Today she is 11. Tomorrow she will be 12. 

a 20 minute school day, poetry jars

Wednesdays are a day Beach tends to spend with my parents. They pick her up in the morning, spoil her rotten all day, do a few projects or chores, and then they drop her off at gym for practice.  It gives me a whole day to myself!  We call it Grandma Julie day.  BUT I like to get a tiny bit of school in before she goes (the guilt factor). Usually we read or do math but this morning we did poetry from the poetry jars.     

Poetry Jars

chain reaction of a king, EBR

When I miss home I walk myself to the very back of my yard. There lays a field teeming with broken snail shells and golden grass of mystery. 

I stare at the only disturbance in my field- a stump. Just tall enough to tee the very tip tops of it. I stand on it with great power. Then I look down and think of things I will never understand. 

I hear a rustle in my field and I call out, "Who goes there?" Knowing it was my dog. 

He looks up at me as drool drops from his tongue. He reminds me of a bear, big and black and fierce. But fuzzy on the inside and out. 



I hear another noise. I see my dad walking into my field. I open my mouth to say, "Who goes there?" And he says, "Before you talk I have to tell you something." Doesn't he know that no one interrupts the king? 

I was looking back at all the conversations that had started this way. 

This is how he told me my hamster died; this is how he told me I had to moved schools; this is how he told me my tarantula got out; this is how he told me my brother broke my crossbow.

 


I was trying to change the subject. I regretted this conversation. 

"It was I who broke the vase!" I proclaim standing up tall on the stump looking up to the sky. My subjects beaming with pride at my 'truthfulness-es'. 

He stands shaking his head in a smile, "I was just trying to tell you I am going to the store. And your brother is in charge."

I drop to my knees with fists stabbing the air, "No!"- I wanted to be in charge, after all aren't I the King?

 E. Beach Ries 8/26/15

Chain Reaction of a King was composed without the aid of paper or pen  It was created completely in the author's head in a single attempt and recited from memory for transcription and preservation.

E. Beach Ries is an 11 year old, Level 8 competitive gymnast with a significant visual disability. She has a deep passion for animals, a contagious brightness, and enjoys an incurable sense of curiosity.