So, I Couldn't Wait Until April...I'm Marching Into Poetics with 4th Graders Today

For several weeks, my Fairfield University students have been teaching fiction and non-fiction lessons with their 4th grade service-learning buddies. It's been tricky with online shenanigans, but we've already met more than I anticipated we would, and Leigh Savoie is a phenomenal teacher to work with. Overall, however, it's been rather phenomenal. I am amazed at what we are accomplishing. 

There was a snafu in the dates between Fairfield's Easter break and their spring break (we have the Monday after Easter off, and they don't), so I'm stepping in today with a kick-off to poetry month, by playing a condensed, shortened a wee-more whimsical rendition of the Magic Box poem game. Tapping Shel Silverstein, we're going to come out of our 'Shels' some. So, here are two silly poems that came forward with the game-play last night as I started putting the presentation together. 

Coming Untied This Spring

Students are like knotted shoelaces, 

always waiting to become undone…

they’re like stars that stumble studiously 

(looking for stability), while stinking 

to fist-fight with velcro, 

making music like mellow jello, 

(and I’m gobbledygook, afishhook fellow, 

cooked in a symphonic buffet 

of buffalo wings and popcorn,

always ready for a new look,

for a reason, to be written in his book

of happiness)(such silliness)

as spring-loving peepers,

giggle with song birds 

in jolly hysterics…

just like the neighborhood children

playing on their swing sets 

sing with their mother’s cellphones. 

A Cesar Word Salad for Batalla

I’m a maniac on Mondays,

smacking my lips at the magical moon, 

writing watermelon poetry, this frog,

turning the frown upside down

before I floss my teeth…

…just a few grape kool-aid lines 

from a pollywog looking for malarky 

beneath the musical mushrooms,

where a smile is made

for a happy heart. 

See, I need to jog words onto the page

(cuz this hog ate all the french fries)

& clogged the screen with greasy rage.

I know. I know. 

They’d rather have a cheeseburger.

Hold the pickles, though. 

They’re sizzling and frying

in the alphabet prison of learning,

& melting of ideas with Fairfield U.

These Batalla students.