Nothing Like Being Challenged on Day 10 of #VerseLove with a lil' Quirkiness. Always Fun to See What Results on a Blank Page and a Prompt

It is very impressive to see writer after writer, teacher after teacher, delivering quirky poems as prompted this morning on EthicalELA's #VerseLove. The poem about a rubber ducky squeaking tour guide won me over and so I began to think of the intricacies and quirks of my own life - well, the ones I chose to explore for a poem (at least)(and when you only give yourself a few minutes every morning to play.

I kept a Quirky Blog in 2009 and always have loved the word...so yesterday another poem was born.

 Confessions

     ~b.r.crandall

I sleep with Mary Elizabeth

(her name said with  a Vincent Price voice.)

and I’m afraid to give her away -

head severed from body…

arms, legs, and eyes 

all dolled up in 

the butcher paper

she came in.

Friends

give the

best gifts.

It’s probably why 

I kept toenail clippings

to commence

a high school graduation

for any child who had 

abnormal foot fears - 

a little wilder than Gene,

and more gob-stopped than Veruca.

I learned as a boy 

to swat flies dead

and to store them

like twisted raisins

& balled-up black string

in the mouths of ceramic frogs - 

the one anatomically

breasted and ding-donged

if placed upon their backs

(who wouldn’t want a rose garden

sculpted from Feen-a-Mint gum?). 

It’s okay to be the apple

that didn’t roll farm 

from grandmother’s willow tree.

So, when they place 

a Danish wiener 

under your pillow,

you get postage

and mail it to their home…

a nice welcome mat

upon their return.

Who isn’t drawn 

to the roller skaters 

with butterfly wings —-

the masked, caped crusaders

who twirl armpit hairs

as they dance 

all alone 

at prom

with a 

book?

Words. Words. Words. What Is a Word You Can Poeticall Define and Make Recognizable to Younger Readers so They Expand Their Vocabulary? Apricate

I don't think I've ever seen the word apricate in my reading or heard it spoken, but when I came across it yesterday in the #VerseLove challenge, I said this is the word I want to explore and play with, and so I did.  I don't know about you, but I'm in need of sunshine, warmth, friendship, and vitamin D.

I know apricots. Love them. I also know how much I've always enjoyed a good snake warming itself on a summer rock. I've also been a fan of butterflies lyming on pebbles whenever I've kayaked or canoed. We need the sun, and we benefit from it's warmth when we can get it.

It's a Monday, where cold temperatures match the blue skies of April, and when I step outside I'm like, "Oooh, I thought it would be a little warmer out than it actually is."  So, apricate, was my word and I admit I've never heard of it until the prompt came my way. So, I made a note to myself. It makes total sense.

                    Note to Self 

(academic advice for April)

~b.r.crandall

Adjust the silly-bus. Prioritize. Meditate.

Reevaluate meaning for your life. (You tend to underestimate).

Perpetuate what you preach (what you want to validate). 

Inhale, Crandall. Breathe. Don’t stay inside to hyperventilate.

(Nothing should ever be due). (Leave the house). 

Navigate, luminate, & appreciate.

Be peach, nectarine, plum, apricot,

snake, turtle, lizard, and butterfly.

Find the star, light, sun, flare, and shine.

Puddle-up, bathe, lounge and lyme,

Adjust your schedule. Be you. Go marinate.

Bask in the the rays. Be toast. Let the rays saturate. 

Captivate purpose, Frog: Apricate. Apricate. Apricate.

For the Birds. I Suppose We All Have a Poem or Two Inspired by Our Feathered Friends. They're Part of the Story

Prompt 9 of #VerseLove. This one for the birds. Think about the ways the feathered ones have been with you in your world and write a poem to....In retrospect, I have more bird stories than I took the time to write yesterday, but it is interesting how they are present, almost like pets, in the way we live our lives. I was even thinking about how Grandma Vera had a caged bird and at the end of her life, she started wearing her hair and make up so she looked exactly like that bird....orange blush on the cheeks and tufted hair at the top.  

And yes, I do keep a file of birds that have taken their lives upon the windows of southern Connecticut. The flicker was mine...all the others were Pam's. "Bryan, there's another dead bird on my patio. Can you come take care of it?"

My pleasure.

Birds of a Feather

    ~b.r. crandall

It goes back to Lois,

sitting on her back porch

listening to frogs

and naming the wonders

(before she became

a cardinal to remind us

we’ll never know).

“Don’t be a Jay, Crandall.”

Blue feathers bully cats.

She moved in one summer,

Lois’s sister, after a house sold

and the ocean wasn’t ready yet.

“Do you have a woodpecker?”

she asked. I wake up in slow motion 

and responded with snark,

“No. It’s flesh like every other fellas.”

I did have woodpeckers, though,

northern flickers feasting

fiendishly on lush larvae -

carpenter bees laboring and lumber-jacking 

into rotted wood frames.

     First came the buzz-nuggets,

     then came their regurgitation.

It didn’t take long for peckers to follow, 

     drilling my home into swiss cheese 

(caviar, I suppose).

and I buried 

one who fancied himself Narcissus.

He wouldn’t leave my bay window alone.

I’ve also taught chickadees, 

ducks and spread ecological literacy

with black-capped herons 

along creeks  where bears once ate yucca.

I’ve picked blueberries

with cedar waxwings, 

and cursed at Danish magpies

& chickens who were 

as stubborn 

as their sun that

never sets.

She was my

witness

when Eagle

found his nest.

and we pray 

to Lois,

whenever we host burials

on her patio

while listening to frogs

and naming wonders

along the Long Island Sound.

The 

eye

of

the

sparrow

is

my 

alarm

clock.

We

can 

only 

hope 

for 

white

cranes

&s andpipers.

Tell Me You're XXXX, Without Telling Me You're XXXX. Couldn't Help But Put My Nosy Neighbor Hat On While Writing From My Front Porch

I loved this #VERSELOVE challenge. Simply write about who or what you are without writing who or what you are....it's all in the description. It took me a wee-bit, but then the normal a.m. routine of kids going to school, mom's walking, and people leaving for work simply allowed me to write what I see (and speculate) every day. 

It feels so good to return to the front porch where it's warm again and I can drink coffee, think, write, observe, and wonder who all these people are and what they're about. I'm not sure Karal likes the return...although she loves my shoulders to sleep on as she, too, keeps an eye on the neighborhood.

From the Way I See It

~b.r.crandall

He’s outgrown his pants,

this blonde, middle-school

pixie-stick boy 

wearing coke-bottled glasses,

running to and from bells,

from the hefty-cinch-sak bullies

who nip and claw

at his ankles - 

the ones always exposed

as the waters run high.

At the pink house,

behind the neglect of kudzu and rot,

I’m pretty sure 

he’s widowed now,

alone, and confused.

His car leaves for long hours, 

and sometimes

raccoons leave the 2nd floor

window, the one where

garbage bags replace glass panes,

and carpenter bees

have gutted 

panels.

I can’t help chirping circus music

as she walks by, this mini-Pinscher 

of a woman in Reeboks, 

who windmills  her arms

as if she always needs to pee.

I see they’re selling now.

Probably Covid - too much for them,

their anxious home of toddlers,

Gulf War, I’m guessing, PTSD -

the American flags.

A smile has been replaced with nerves,

paranoia, Uber eats, & 

Amazon diapers.

Their boy plays outside, sometimes,

unlocking an imagination with rubber boots

and wiffleball bats. I’m amazed by 

how quickly he becomes a dinosaur

before his papa asks, Weh yuh den Pon?

after a day of delivering mail.

Several women in Kente cloth

scurry to Godzilla to bring him back inside.

Her littlest duckling 

is a quacking brat, 

one that squawks squeamishly 

as they waddle along

the sidewalk,

following the older duck 

who skips with a doll.

Mama needs

more Vodka for that one - 

that’s for sure..

Chodź mi pomóc! 

Chodź mi pomóc!

she screams from 

her home of pierogis,

Gołąbk, and 

Placki Ziemniaczane,

Mój mąż upad!

Mój mąż upad!

The son and

his partner

only visit when 

they can - 

too much real-estate

in a big apple

to sell.

He might be 16,

but they bought him a Mustang, anyway,

and no one is sure where his 

mother is. Grandpa’s bark 

outdoes all the other 

neighborhood dogs.

And the birds,

those fucking birds

are having 

sex again —

only the few

get morning worms.

Rip-Pride, Summer '16. Now, that was a Poetic Challenge. Grateful for Day 7 of #VerseLove and Missing @AbuBility, @LBility, Our Berry Girl

The challenge was take a song and rewrite it with its same rhythm, syllables, and beats. Chris Goering plays country music, so prompted us with a piece of his own. He wrote, however, about his ancestors migrating from the Czech Republic and Russia, making me think of the boys and theme song from 2016. It was what we played whenever we could, so when Rhiannon came to visit, it just added another voice to the silliness of Mt. Pleasant. I cannot hear the song without thinking of that summer: Chitunga, Abu, Lossine, and Rhiannon, all at crossroads in their life, but still young on their journeys (albeit it, more transitional for Rhiannon). Every day that summer we barbecued, played corn hold, went to the beach, and laughed. It was a summer of laughter and in retrospect, I realize it is unlikely to ever happen again. 

And so, I rifted on the song we sang all summer but changed the lyrics to fit us.

Rip-Pride: Summer, 2016

They were here for beaches and this Frog.

    I was proud of mentoring

and guiding explorations

All these kids just living dreams…

     …a forever history, so it seems.

Hmm, hm hmmm, hm. Hmm hm hmmm hm

And they all grow up….

Dolphin, swimming with us on the ocean, 

diving ahead of our moon light.

I want such joy & hope again.

We are love always singing that good song I think the hearts reappear, Cuz

     we’re gonna sing the words, right?

There are moments when we feel alive.

The kids decide to summer well 

and drive to live the pond life.

These captains, making fun of Frog,

and she’s been laughing,

warrior girl, she is.

Hmm, hm hmmm, hm. Hmm hm hmmm hm

And they all grow up…

Dolphin, swimming on the blue ocean, 

diving ahead of the moon light.

She just wants some Burger King.

Eagle love, when we’re singing this good song,

And I know my heart reappears, Cuz 

we’re gonna sing as we do…

We just wanna, we just wanna go,

for another, for another day…

We just have to, we just have to grow…

We must love it, We must love it - 

there’s no other way.

I swear we’re destined for this scene

Lossine’s love of Michelle Pfeiffer 

            as he sips caffeine.

Dolphin, swimming down by the blue sea 

diving ahead of the moon light.

We want to live this life again.

Abu’s glue when we’re singing that good song

     And I think our hearts reappear, Cuz

we’re gonna sing the words right…

Oh, Dolphin, swimming in that blue ocean, 

      diving ahead of this moon light.

          We want to live this life again

We are love,

    when we’re singing this ol’ song,

     I know our hearts reappear, Cuz

        we’re gonna sing like we do…

Oh, Dolphin, swimming by the blue ocean, 

diving ahead of the moonlight.

    We want to live this life again

We are love, when we’re singing our true song

I think hearts reappear, Cuz

we’re gonna live as we do…

know our hearts reappear, Cuz

      we’re gonna love as we do…

                      ~brcrandall

Life Socks, Sometimes. Loved Writing My First Cherita with a Prompt from Mo Daley on #VerseLove. This is Why I Love April

When I woke up yesterday morning and saw the prompt I thought, cool. I like a challenge that cause brevity in my brain, only because I'm so excessive. The Cherita: 1 line, followed by two lines, followed by three lines, all with an intention to tell a story. I am missing a flaming sock and a fox sock. Somewhere in my house there must be the same pair (maybe in sheets or in a sleeve I haven't put my arm through in a while). 

Anyway, I'm frustrated at the world, and choosing little things to bring me joy each day. Mismatched socks it was.

I sketched the poem in my head, but waited until returning from Harding High School to put it to page, when I returned to my office by 11. And I said, "Crandall, LEAVE. Go, Home." But I ended up working until 4 p.m., only to come home, walk the dog, and work until 11 p.m. It's all good thought, because while you read this, I'll be working on my next assignment. 

  Life Socks, Sometimes

    ~brcrandall

Perhaps she flew to Texas like Pink Floyd,

and is nested away in some drawer,

behind oodles of Hanes Underwear.

The madness of April is drizzle,

and she left me standing on one foot - 

Why not add foxy to the fly?

Not a Bad Challenge...at Least Not as Challenging as the Next 24 Hours. I Now Understand the Warner-Bros Cartoon Toothpick Eyelids Thing

Yesterday, I awoke to a 4x4 poem with simple instructions...4, 4-line stanzas, 4 syllables per line, with the first line flowing to the 2nd line, flowing to 3rd line, flowing to 4th as the stanzas cascade down. Cool. Knowing that I'm out in schools Tuesday/Wednesday, and also teach courses, I was thankful to a poetic task that was brief, crisp, and easy to tackle. 

Last night, I did an activity on Tik-Tok with my graduate students and it was a 50/50 exercise. 50% were like this is beyond dumb, why do people gravitate to this site and 50% were like, "This is awesome. I love wasting my time away on mindless stupidity." 

Older students didn't get it, and I said, "Well, our generation currently pays for 1,000s of channels on a television that is mindless, too.I don' think tv-watching via cable is relevant either. 

I seriously have not been able to see which way I'm coming or which way I'm going, but I'm thankful to have space after classes and meetings today, to at least be able to breathe.

                        Academy

   ~brcrandall

Evidently,

I inhabit

bureaucracy

reluctantly,

as carnivals

evidently

administrate

effortlessly.

Hi, Sysiphus.

The bolder. The hill 

evidently

(repeatedly)

inhibits me

excessively.

Gordian knot?

Evidently.

Click Bait. Yesterday's Prompt was Great and I Rifted on 'Click Here for the PD Tracker' to Write an Original Poem

As noted, I simply love #VerseLove sponsored by EthicalELA and love having a new prompt offered every morning. Yesterday, the task was to steal a line from another's post, and I simply took the 'click here' offered as professional development and rifted a short poem. I sort of like the idea of falling into a rabbit hole as one is reading a poem and the links are live and take you into a layer that is part of the poetic layer that unfolds. I have to say that the last two links get me in the heart, mind, body, and soul every time. So fun to play with language every morning before I kick off the day.

Click Bait
    ~brcrandall

Click here for the PD tracker
if you’d like PD credits.
(proof-reading is good -
changed it from ED edits,
        and avoided projectile dysfunctions
        early on a Monday morning).

Click here if you have a thing for daisies,
yellow umbrellas for April showers,
and Cat Stevens is on your mind.

Click here for a Madonna lip smacker
(if you enjoy hubris on your falafel,
lipstick on your waffle,
& a lil’ baffle for today’s awful).

Click here for documented Covid-head -
one year where we lived at home sometimes in fear,
& worked on ZOOM in our underwear

Click here for weathering heights,
on weather the whether be hot
or weather the whether be cold,
it’s weather or not you’re in the know…
as forecasts are always gold.

Click here if you are a dad, and got jokes,
but seem to be running out of material.

Click here for rhyme, rhythm and joy
hosted monthly by yours truly, Frog Boy,
because athletes deserve poetry, too.

Click here for a vanishing act,
    the fact for looking at stars,
        it must be nice to disappear…
            to float into a mist
                with a lady on your arm
                    looking for a kiss.

Click here to end this poem (with bliss).

Heading into Day 4 of #VerseLove, But Had Fun Yesterday Playing with the Prompt of Stealing Words from Other Poets

If you are participating in #VerseLove, you learn that writers and teachers from across the nation are posting and offering feedback to one another's writing on a daily basis. Each day, a new prompt arrives and yesterday's prompt simply acknowledged the importance of reading others and, on occasion, taking a line or two to inspire your own writing. That's what I did, all while thinking about Chitunga's new apartment 6T...I told him while moving him in, "you're bringing 6-T back, them other boys don't know how to act" and laughed. I had no idea it would turn into a game-play poem. All the bolded lines were stolen from other writers and their poems in the first 3 days. 

Next Up, Sixty

b.r. crandall

Apt. 6-T,

10 years 60,

Scott M 

(M. Scott) 

Fitzgerald writes,

“Like Sexy, 

but you know,

with poetry”

The kid is moved.

I moved the kid.

The kid is moving.

The kid moves me.

tree apples don’t fall

  fall apple on trees

           not far at all

  apples 

              all from trees

Charged-up with changes,

mid-twenties changeling,

     chimichurri, chimichunga,

     no, ma’am, pronounced Chitunga…

(he’s bringing 6-T back,

them other boys don’t know

how to act)

seventeen holes spackled

in 6th-floor sexiness

sandpapered sassiness, 

star-spangled happiness

Seventeen holes in the wall
deflated, depleted, a chewed up ball
Nowhere to run and nobody to call! 

a Boxer boxes boxes,

& boxes are moving, 

y’all.

Bedford Ford Bed

Northill North Hill 

hilly north, forth build

billy forth, birth bill.

and don we now our gae apparel

blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah

brushing and flossing,
and waxing string 

through fallopian tubes

and teeth - 

so that’s where 

my Irish Spring soap 

went.

Down 12, Up six,

Up 12, Down six,

Tarhills

Duke puke

moving day

rebuke

final four

6-T door

U-haul, the ball,

invisible gods,

standing tall,

elevator contact high

new apartment

muscle fry

book boxes, 

boxed books,

box of books, 

new nook,

hello, Henry…

have you met Harvey?

Harvey, sir…

this is Henry.

chicken panini with pesto

     and toasted mozzarella,

          panini mozarella, 

  I’m not chicken, 

      I’m toast. 

Apt. 6-T,

in 10 years I’ll 60

and I’ll still be sexy, 

You Know, 

but with Poetry.

(I’m bringing 6-T back,

them other boys don’t know

how to act)

and yes, I’ve just been poemed.

It's a Turning Point, I Believe, When the Home Nest is Semi-Settled, and You Help The Next Generation Settle into Their Own...A Step Up

I was up and out of the house before 8 a.m. yesterday morning, knowing that I really wanted to come home for final four match-ups, but an overly busy kid needed help transitioning to apartment number 2, this time an abode all his own...he's still renting, but definitely a step in the right direction.

It's amazing to see someone else accumulate so much stuff (like I have) and realize his home is building as mine once did. My kitchen set in Kentucky came from my grandmother Vera's in Sherburne, and I handed it over to Chitunga when he moved out a year and a half ago. Carrying it into the U-Haul, and seeing it in his new space simply reminds me of the quickness of it all, and how it all flows together. He's in a single now, good kitchen, great bedroom, better bathroom, and pretty amazing closet space. A new table cloth, some placemats. The kid is stepping up.

We accomplished a lot in 9 hours and last night he spent the night in his new digs all by himself. The apartment is in a great location and his complex is nice, including a gym which will be an additional bonus. He is working excessively hard and deserves all he's been able to set up for himself. 

And about his books. I'm proud. His library is growing, and what I've always loved about him is the fact that he's always pursuing news ways of knowing, ideas, and perspectives on this world. Now, I shouldn't say anything about the box of books that I tried to take out of the U-Haul by myself and the fact that I've already had two hernia surgeries. Ouch. I definitely felt that...so much that I had to ice my groin for hours afterwards.

It was a great day, post colonoscopy, and beyond a year of injuries. Happiness comes from the hard work of those you love most. 

A proud day, indeed. 

And It's Good to Know I'm Waking Up On a Saturday with Only One Scheduled Plan of Action - Let's Move

I returned from procedures yesterday, walked Karal 5 miles, and never collapsed as I thought I would. Instead, I participated in First Friday Authors, listened to Ann E. Burg, and watched college hoops. I am waking up today knowing I have to help Chitungabring items to his new apartment, and as far as I know that is only a morning task. 

I am WIPED out. That prep really does do ya in.

Oh, I guess the other highlight was stopping to pick up a sandwich on the way home. I chowed it down.

Then there was #VerseLove. It was very exciting to read the 320 poems/responses that came in after EthicalELA had be offer day one of National Poetry Month. The site, Facebook, and Twitter were alive with language, playfulness, and wit. I loved it.

And with another week as it was, the insane train has come through my house: laundry piles, dog toys, mail, books, recyclables. I am amazed at what week of life-chaos can do to tables, chairs, floors, and furniture.

Enjoy the games today. Or the weather. Or good food. Or family today.

Just enjoy this Saturday.

This is No Joke. Some Things Are Too True to Make Up. I Never Asked to Believe, But Always Knew This Day Was Coming. The Abduction.

In high school, I sat down and read Whitley Strieber's Communion because I was assigned to do a research paper. I wanted to learn more about aliens and I wished to convince my teacher that they really do exist. I know...I know...parents are all about banning books these days and keeping knowledge and insight from young people, which is a terrible shame, but back then if a kid had a question they were allowed to learn. There are things in life that are inevitable: taxes, nose hair, and eventually colonoscopies.

As a young researcher, I was horrified by reading Communion, questioning if it could be true. Do people really experience abductions? What is it about alien creatures and their probing? Why would they do that? Why do they insert their instruments like they do? 

I was horrified, and it wasn't until my 30s when I learned that probing is a way of life for proctologists. This, of course, I'm able to write after 17 bottles of water that accompanied the last 17 hours of contemplating Niagara Falls, the chocolate waterfall in Willy Wonka's factor, and the dangers of soft-serve ice cream. I will never be ever to hear the rumblings of an approaching or departing thunderstorm again. Those sounds were within me, and I had no idea these parts of my body could make such a rumble.

So, if you happened to look towards Mt. Pleasant in the last 24 hours, it was likely you saw the spaceship hovering around my house. Cassandra has been telling me that an abduction was coming, and I guess it will occur around 11:30 a.m. this morning. E.T. phone home. And I don't know a Cassandra. I just know people tend not to believe her.

This is the foolish part. 

It's the first day of Ramadan (yes, Abu & Lossine, I know I'm supposed to keep it clean)(I actually am...very clean....very, very, very clean)(you have no idea how clean I've become since 5 pm last night)(let this be your warning....some day...some day). 

But it's also National Poetry month and I was invited to be the opening act for EthicaELA's #VerseLove. For the next 31 days, writers and teachers from across the nation are offered morning prompts to create a poem or two, or three, or 31. I got to debut this year's kick-off and now my job is to be available to writers who share their work from the prompt I gae, which I will be able to do until Marvin the Martian comes with his Uber (Leo). 

I'm also starving, but that's another story. I can't wait for lunch after the pick up (Pam)

I am also recalling tales my mother and Aunt Jackie used to tell us about UFOs that hovered over Hamilton, New York. I am thinking of my friend Rachel, as well, who I met in London, and always knew she, like me, would experience an alien abduction one day (if we only knew....if we only knew). Finally, I am thinking of Charlie...who at age 50 is the one who advised me, "One day, they'll come for you, too." I was horrified, just as much as when my father went for his (which didn't go well...I'm still confused about the story...he passed out in a bathroom or something).

No, I promise not to write a poem about today (although I could) (with selfies I shot of my facial expressions that I made from the loo last night) (all in preparation of the abduction). Instead, I'll ingest more clear liquid, watch the minute hand of the clock until I have to stop, check out poets as they come at April as they do on #VerseLove, and accept any and all prayers that this too shall pass. 

All kidding aside.