Well, I had thought I could trudge through the snow and show up for the scheduled meeting last Saturday, but the flakes looked so cold and sharp, and my house was so cozy …. I called the whole thing off, giving you all a Snow Day. Unfortunately, Melissa Varnvas didn’t read her e-mail, nor did new member Tom (last name could be Bennett?). They did some poetry anyway, which is very good!
The next meeting is scheduled for Feb. 18, and Mary Miceli is on the hook for a program about allegory. Remember, too, that the Naomi Cherkofsky Memorial Poetry Contest deadline is coming right up …. March 1. Did you send the info to friends and to friends of friends? Please help publicize it (see info under Contests on this blog).
I am sharing a Billy Collins poem called, not very surprisingly given the topic of this post, Snow Day.
Snow Day
Billy Collins
Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows
….
the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried, the post office lost
under the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,
the world fallen under this falling.
…
In a while I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch,
sending a cold shower down on us both.
…
But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,
as glad as anyone to hear the news
…
that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,
the Ding-Dong School, closed,
the All Aboard Children’s School, closed,
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with — some will be delighted to hear —
…
the Toadstool School, the Little School,
Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School,
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and — clap your hands — the Peanuts Play School.
…
So this is where the children hide all day.
These are the nests where they letter and draw,
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.
…
And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.
………………………………………………………….
I’m also sharing a Shel Silverstein poem, since much of my rambling e-mail giving you all a Snow Day had to do with the exultant joy of children when they were given a snow day, and even though this poem, Sick, isn’t about snow, it is about the joy of play! By the way, I am also going to link to Melissa Varnavas’s wonderful blog Reflections on Mackerel Cove, which is in Beverly. I leave the rest to you.
| Sick | ||
| by Shel Silverstein | ||
| “I cannot go to school today,”Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps, A gash, a rash and purple bumps. My mouth is wet, my throat is dry, I’m going blind in my right eye. My tonsils are as big as rocks, I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox And there’s one more–that’s seventeen, And don’t you think my face looks green? My leg is cut–my eyes are blue– It might be instamatic flu. I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke, I’m sure that my left leg is broke– My hip hurts when I move my chin, My belly button’s caving in, My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained, My ‘pendix pains each time it rains. My nose is cold, my toes are numb. I have a sliver in my thumb. My neck is stiff, my voice is weak, I hardly whisper when I speak. My tongue is filling up my mouth, I think my hair is falling out. My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight, My temperature is one-o-eight. My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear, There is a hole inside my ear. I have a hangnail, and my heart is–what? What’s that? What’s that you say? You say today is. . .Saturday? G’bye, I’m going out to play!” |
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