April Showers

Some days, I must admit, I really wonder what I'm doing in an elementary/middle school. These children are just not my favorite age group. I don't have any experience (outside of raising my own son) with kids THIS young. Perhaps I made a mistake taking this gig. Even if it's only a long-term sub assignment. Maybe it's the wrong placement for me.

Yesterday, my little students groaned in protest about April Poetry Month. "You haven't taught us anything but poetry since you've been here." This particular class only comes to me once a week. Many of our meeting times have been cancelled due to very important Dance Performances and Choir Performances. Understandably... these performances are assessed. My once a week pop up creative writing class is only a chance for elementary students to float in my writing world. Much like an elective of sorts.

However, I felt dismayed. Certainly we haven't JUST written poetry? In fact, we haven't. We began writing letters. We moved to writing words to create our Writer's Toolbox. Those words can be used in any form of writing. Not just poetry. But, I persevered. Actually, I had to smirk. I wonder if this teacher has a copy of "Love that Dog" for me to give him? That would be the perfect book for this grumbly non-poetry writing kid.

And then, in the space of time during my very quiet, isolated lunch, my door opened. A tiny little dancer entered the room. "Ms. Beck? I wrote my Poem for My Pocket, but I don't understand it. Could you explain it to me?" I opened her folded pocket to find in careful little cursive writing one of the most beautiful poems I have ever read. A poem I had never even seen before. What delight.

After that lovely moment of poetry analysis she conluded, "And you know those poems you showed us yesterday? Well, I had never heard poetry like that before and you know what? It inspired me to write my very own poem... the first poem I've ever written. I wrote it last night."

At that moment, it started pouring. Both the spring shower outside my window and within my heart. After the little tiny dancer left my room, I cried.

Perhaps I am in the right place.

Poem In Your Pocket

In order to prepare for April Poetry Month, this week I asked fourth and fifth graders to research poetryfoundation.org to find "their" poem. Their task? To read, read, read poems until ONE magical poem jumps from the page and inserts itself into their pockets. What's worse? No copy/paste onto a word document to print... GASP! They had to write the poem exactly the way the poem appears on the page. That's right, folks. Write in in colored pencils or markers onto lined paper or index cards provided for the occassion.  And even more? To read a little background information on that poet. Learn about that poet. Love that poem.

Groans of agony. Torturous task. Horrible teacher. Read? Write? Is she mad? Mean? Why?

And then, this strange thing happened. A quiet settled over the room. Students immersed in words. Ahh! The big moment! That poem. That one poem that sings. Hits them in their solar plexus. That poem they just can't live without.

To see the delight in their eyes when they ended the class bell, inserting their poems into their pockets or slid into their boots or tucked under their hair ribbons. Little people's hands waving multi-colored, hand-written poems. "Look, Ms. Beck. Look at MY poem. My Poem in my Pocket!"

April is just going to be a great month.