Nostalgia

My chest feels

Like someone is

Standing

On it

Pressure bearing down,

And with

Red angry eyes.

 

My chest feels

Like this because

My brain

Is reeling with

Negative nostalgia

Thinking back to

College years

Not with rose colored glasses

But with glasses

Broken and bent,

Dirty and dark.

 

I feel like I can

See clearly

Though the lenses

Are smudged,

Like I’m seeing

Those

Years

Accurately for the first time,

Like I had one eye closed

And only just now

Opened

The other one.

 

Those are not

My friends.

 

Those

Were

Acquaintances,

 

And among them

A few

Friendships

I’ve allowed to sink,

But wish to

Reclaim

From the infernal, swirling sea.

 

Then maybe

This demon

Would step right

Off

Of me.

Advertisements

Eyes on the back of my head!

When I was in preschool,

My teachers, they’d tape

Eyes to the back of our heads

As a reward for sleeping.

 

Creeping around they would

Tape green, blue, brown, purple…

Eyes to our hair, and I wanted them.

But I had miles to go before I’d sleep.

 

Me, I’d jump around on the makeshift cots,

Grabbing another girl’s hand,

Pulling her into my four-year-old freedom.

Tip, tap, tip, tap. THE TEACHER’S COMING BACK.

To our beds, to pretend we’re sleeping.

 

Quiet, breathe, in, out,

She steps

About

The room.

 

Blinking, blinking,

Eyes, they close,

The blanket, warm

Upon my nose.

I had miles to go before I’d sleep,

But now,

I think,

I might.

 

I awake,

Eyes blinking,

A mile wide.

My hands jerk

Back

To the back

Of my head.

 

I feel!

Paper!

Tape!

Just above

The nape of my neck!

 

I had miles to go before I’d sleep,

And now–

Mine to keep–

I have earned!

Eyes!

On the back of my head!

Hairs

A twizzler, half-eaten, sitting on a chair

Is better than finding a pile of hair.

 

Strange things my students do–

Oh, do I have stories for you.

 

I once had a student, Michael M.,

Who questioned all students, asking ‘em,

 

“Can I have just one of your hairs?”

For him, each peer plucked out one of theirs.

 

Curly and straight, blonde and brown:

The hairs in his hand caused me to frown.

 

“Michael, this is weird,” I said,

“Taking hairs from your peers’ heads…”

 

He looked at me like a deer in the headlights.

Then he threw them away to avoid any fights.

Hands by Sarah Kay (Day 15)

One of my favorite poets of all time is Sarah Kay. She opened up the world of poetry for me AND my students, so to her I am eternally grateful. Following is a link to a recording of me performing Sarah Kay’s poem “Hands.”

Click here to hear!

This poem was recorded using Adobe Voice, a free app for Apple products. I highly recommend using it for a variety of projects in K-12 schools as it’s very easy to use!

IMG_20131115_213021

Love,

Ochwoman

April is National Poetry Month! For the month, I’ll be posting an original poem each day. Today’s poem is spoken aloud, featuring my favorite poet, Sarah Kay. Feel free to send me your poems, and I may feature them on my blog!

Join the #PoemADay challenge on Twitter!

How Much Time? (Day 14)

How much time
Has passed
As I stare Past the window
Looking for you,
For you?

How much time
Has passed
When I finally come to,
Not looking for you
But for me?

IMG_20131115_213021

Love,

Ochwoman

April is National Poetry Month! For the month, I’ll be posting an original poem each day. Today’s poem is two stanzas, focusing mostly on repetition to reveal a revelation. Feel free to send me your poems, and I may feature them on my blog!

Join the #PoemADay challenge on Twitter!