Poetry Friday - Proud Parent Edition

Both of my children have been represented in their school district's writer's magazine this year. So in honor of Poetry Friday, which I know I missed last week (oops), I present the following:

Cowgirl
by Katie (3rd grade)

I just saw
a cow-poking,
yodeling,
wailing girl
in stylish cowboots
running to lasso
a whild horse and miss.
She lassoed a cactus instead.

And, although it is not a poem:

My Magic Pencil
by Stephen (Kindergarten)

I write with my pencil. It is a magic pencil. I do not have to write the story because the pencil writes it for me.

Here are some other Poetry Friday contributors: A Chair, A Fireplace and a Tea Cozy, A Fuse #8 Production, Big A little a, Blog from the Windowsill, Book Buds, Bookshelves of Doom, Here in the Bonny Glen, Jen Robinson's Book Page, Once Upon a Time there was a Girl Who wanted to Write, Scholar's Blog, Chicken Spaghetti and Little Willow.

All the Colors in the Sky

My grandfather was an amateur artist. This doesn't mean he wasn't good at being an artist - he was - it just means it's not how he made his living.

He once taught me how to paint. Now, just to set the record straight: I am not an artist, I can not draw (okay, I can do daisies and funny looking rabbits). But what he taught me was more important than how to draw.

He taught me how to see all the colors in the sky.

I had my oil paints, and I was going to paint the sky. Blue. That's what color a sky is. With fluffy white clouds. But he stayed my hand. He said "Look again, the sky is not just blue. The clouds are not just white."

And I looked again. And he was right.

And now, whenever I look at the sky, and notice the various colorings that make up the sky and the clouds I think of my grandfather.

He taught me something much more valuable than how to draw. He taught me how to notice things.

Thanks grandpa.

Send Us Your Spirit

On this eve of Pentecost, I had a small revelation. At Mass tonight, the priest mentioned that wind and fire were symbols associated with the Holy Spirit.

And I thought of the pillar of fire that guided the Israelis out of Egypt. God was in the fire then. He was leading them.

But on Pentecost, a flame was visible over the apostle's heads. God was no longer simply in front of them, leading them. He was there, within them, in the guise of the Holy Spirit.

What a wonderful gift God gave us when he allowed the Spirit to dwell among us!

Poetry Friday - Birthday Edition

How Old Are You?
by H.S. Fritsch

Age is a quality of mind.
If you have left your dreams behind,
If hope is cold,
If you no longer look ahead,
If your ambitions' fires are dead --
Then you are old.

But if from life you take the best,
And if in life you keep the jest,
If love you hold;
No matter how the years go by,
No matter how the birthdays fly--
You are not old.

So, I may be 40 today, but I'm not old!

Other Poetry Friday contributions: Kelly at Big A little a offers us a crooked little nursery rhyme, The Scholar's Blog offers a sea-faring theme, we get a little Shel Silverstein from A Fuse #8 Production, Blog from the Windowsill reviews two poetry books, Bookshelves of Doom brings on the Jabberwocky, Melissa at Here in the Bonny Glen offers up some Seamus Heaney and Jen at Jen Robinson's Book Page treats us to a poem by Emily of New Moon.

Edited to add: Once upon a time there was a girl who wanted to write, Chicken Spaghetti, Book Buds, and Farm School.