I am ready for a Democratic candidate

Just one I can stand behind

with a button, a t-shirt, a bumper sticker

and my hope for the future.

I entered the political process with JFK’s

youth, vision, and charisma

and as we get closer to a candidate

I am shaking with hope for change.

Can Barack deliver the vision he

confidently offers?

I hope so!

Last day for this  week of poetry writing.  How great it’s been for me to step up to the invitation from Stacey and the fantastic community she’s created with her teacher buddy.  It’s exciting to be here in this web 2.0 exploring with blogosphere pioneers.  I didn’t think I was up to this challenge, but the clicking and deleting got me something published each day and I can return and revise at my leisure and pleasure.

Thanks again, Stacey!

Bonnie

Matzo Balls for Passover

Tuvia has mastered the art of chicken soup

I compliment his creation with

light and fluffy matzo balls

Inspired by my Jewish cuisine sage,

Freide who swears by the Manishevitz brand

and just a spritz of plain seltzer for lightness.

I remember when my mom tried her hand

at matzo balls

She was my inspiration for all things of the mind

but the kitchen was not her territory.

When my brothers and I were old enough

she gave us the cooks tour

and let us try our hand at weekend meals.

It worked for everyone.

But one Passover we urged her to try

matzo balls.

She bought a package and made an effort to

follow the directions

But in the home stretch

she grew impatient.

She couldn’t trust the process

and instead of waiting for the mixture to set

she took charge and

added more matzo meal to the batter.

LEAD WEIGHT BALLS!

We tried to support her,

but one by one,

our dog skipper had them all to chew and leave under the table.

I am not my mother’s daughter in the kitchen, thank God!

Day 6 of a week and I’m here

Clicking and deleting,

Clicking and deleting!

What more is there to say?

Dinner in New York City

Out-of-body-experiences

Student teachers in challenging schools,

Okay, there we go!

Challenging schools.

Both of my student teachers

are spending Placement 2

with a more diverse student body

and feeling the culture shock.

I walked their new halls with them

remembering my own teaching career.

Split in half,

I too experienced culture shock

as I moved in the opposite direction:

from diversity

to more a homogeneous community.

It was hard to adjust to the sea of whitebread

But gradually

Kids were kids

And  high stakes tests couldn’t devastate  learning

and when the new sea,

became my sea

the challenges continued to keep me on my toes.

This one is a work in progress, like one that I read on Stacie’s blog. Feels like this is a piece that needs to be exploded. I wonder where?

Any suggestions?

Funny, how I keep writing about the same things. Do we all do that?

I am back again to the power of the movies after experiencing two very powerful Israeli films on Saturday night that move their focus from more event driven movies to the characters.

It was easier to get inside the work of a father and son first (My Father, My Lord). I left the war piece (Beaufort) aside, but it’s burning holes in my fingertips, demanding its justice so,  here goes:

In the final days of occupation in Lebanon

The group of young Israeli soldiers guarding Beaufort Castle

dream for their lives

as they wait for debating officials back home

to make their exit legal.

But while they remain guarding the fortress,

the danger continues,

Not from active warfare but from

mines planted in the road,

from rockets habitually fired at exposed guards on their watch

No battles, just the waiting, just the routine, just the comradere

And nothing much happens.

The young soldiers are bored and restless,

We are bored and restless

As we get to know the soldiers in front of us.

And then the first young solider is killed trying to dismantle the bomb in the road,

and then another is killed by a missle hit

as the sun rises just as he finishes his final duty watch.

More soldiers are wounded

And as they fall, so do we…

We are with them when we least expect it.

Here’s my first solo effort at a Hypertext Poem written at 7 am after an email from Kevin, to get me started.

Click the link below and let me know what happens if you can.

http://hypertextopia.com/library/read/362

No Teacher Today

Bonnie

Morning Pleasures in the Modern Age

I live for the sunrise

and the promise a rich cup of coffee

For the fantasy of a long relaxed moment

merging nature with what I carry out on my deck.

Network in right hand,

housed in my 10 oz wireless white Macbook:

I casually carry

my Twitter universe,

Nancy, Karen & Marla on Instant Message,

Stacy’s poetry challenge community,

Videos to edit for my latest digital project,

Emails to answer,

HVWP documents to compose,

A hypertexted collaboration with Kevin and Donna to reflect on

In my left hand:

my Kindle is filled with 10 books to choose from for reading

and of course, that hot cup of coffee is balanced unsteadily under my chin.

Have I forgotten something?

Have we moved too far away from simpler days?

Inspired by the movie,  My Father, My Lord

He follows you, jumping into your footsteps.

The flock around you looks to him with sweet envy.

He tries to stay centered inside your world of prayer

But the wind blows, the birds cry and he moves to the sun.

You remain wrapped away and you don’t see him.

Finally, away at the sea, you try to relax and be father and son

But you are called away and you leave him to himself.

He is too small and too curious to fear the raw power of nature

And it comes too fast and you are locked away and don’t see him.

He is gone.

You remain wrapped away, sealed and alone with your god.

For Denis

Monday on the calendar held a spot for Denis:

Yogis at 3.

At 31, with new specks of gray in his hair I can still unearth the Denis at 16.

Now a speech pathologist

working with physically and emotionally disturbed kids,

I remember how we danced through his junior year of high school

His class of characters tested my teacher’s mettle,

And Denis at the helm

spared with me whenever he took the floor.

I practiced gentle restraint,

often leading him out at the door.

But one day, as we began The Glass Menagerie,

Denis remained rooted in his seat,

insisting that he could be Tom Wingfield.

The Denis I had come to humor, forced me down another path,

And our dance together began in that moment.