Visiting the Past

Moving from one house to another prompts a flurry of decluttering and reorganizing.  As I continue to organize my new home office, I am unpacking and revisiting archived writing projects from school, work, or otherwise, spanning decades of writing pursuit.

I found an example of my third grade poetry skills. I received an A+ for the assignment, marked in black felt-tip ink that has now soaked through the yellowed notebook paper. I remember vividly being accused of being the teacher’s pet in Miss Allen’s classroom, a drama that brought the teacher to tears one morning in front of the class.  Miss Allen was a wonderful educator, creating a fun atmosphere for all of her students so that learning seemed more like play and exploration.

 

Like a caring mother,
the twinkling stars
watch over their sleeping children.
Do stars ever sleep?

*~*~*

Vividly,
Fleetly,
Aimlessly,
The lightningslices
the ebony night.
Bolt!

*~*~*

The seamstress
cuts the pattern,
threads the needle,
sews the fabric.
Clothing!
How soft new clothes feel!

*~*~*

Leaves
float, flitter, fall
from the trees,
on the wind
to the forest floor.
A golden Autumn.

*~*~*

The unstudied student
hears the teacher,
turns over his test,
fumbles his answers,
stares at the clock.
STRESS!
How stupid not to study!

 

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