[stylist] For Donna, You, me and Abigail, and a poem

[Jackie Williams]

Donna,
Thank you so much for your comments on my poem. I think you were the only
one to read it.
Also, though I just commented on the one poem of Abigail's in her writing
group, I thought the others were really apt to the characters. I do not
agree that the most "bad" poems are written in high school. Perhaps from a
technical aspect, but I believe they excel is honesty, originality, and in
some ways they are like a rose bud that with time and nourishment will bloom
into a unique rose.
I also want to know about your book, what reading level has been assigned to
it.
As you know, I was a teacher of children with special needs most of my life,
with a concentration in learning disabilities in the later years. I have
many ideas for  introducing books and stories in the elementary level if you
are interested. With my principalship and supervision accreditation, I
introduced a program to our school which was copied in many of the other
elementary schools.
I do not think it is adaptable to junior high or secondary levels. Please
let me know before I go into detail.


-----Original Message-----
From: Applebutter Hill [mailto:applebutterhill at gmail.com] 
Sent: Monday, August 04, 2014 3:14 PM
To: 'Jackie Williams'; 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: RE: [stylist] For Donna, Your, me and Abegail, a poem

Hi Jackie,
Thanks for sharing this. I appreciate your efforts on behalf of the planet.
We can't get so caught up in our own problems to the exclusion of the very
thing which gives us all life.

I got the info for my poem on the green turtles from Discover magazine --
still on cassette tape at that time. It was quite an exercise to get into
the heads of each of the characters in the Writers' Roundtable class and
write a poem unique to them. As everyone on this list knows, poetry is far
from my strong suit, and it is nice to hear that you were so into the
characters that you forgot that I was the one writing their poems. Perhaps,
part of my method was that as a poet, I'm pretty much stuck in high school.
Billy Collins says that we all have a hundred (I think) bad poems in them,
and high school is the perfect place to get them out.

Congratulations on the award. You seem to be doing very well with your
competitions.
Donna

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Jackie
Williams via stylist
Sent: Monday, August 04, 2014 10:32 AM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: [stylist] For Donna, Your, me and Abagail, a poem

Donna, for you and a posting for all.
On page 141 of your book, Abagail reads a poem she has written about sea
turtles. I get so much into your characters, I forget you have written this
poem. Since one of my second places was about green sea turtles, I wanted to
send it to you all.
It is free verse, no particular form so I can copy and paste it. If I am not
as active in all matters for the blind as I should be, I consider our earth
in a much more dire condition than many of us are, and an inordinate amount
of my time goes toward drawing attention to many details of what is
happening. This is my first paid award in this category, Save Our Earth, in
the NFSPS annual contest.

34. Save Our Earth Award                            Jacqueline Williams

1431 W. 7th Pl.

Mesa, AZ  85201

jackieleepoet at cox.net

AZ State Poetry Society
NFSPS 2014, Second Place out of 141 entries

Saga of a Green Sea Turtle

After mating off the shore of her natal beach, she aims for the dry sand of
the upper shore.
Easy prey, she drags her lumbering
two hundred pounds over a far reach,
with flippers, digs a pit. A hundred eggs she'll lay.

Her instinctual goal fulfilled, she returns to mate again, create another
clutch to be delivered to the shore once more.
Two months pass slowly in the Costa Rican sun.
When temporary egg tooths grow
to break open tough shells, they score.

With group strength, they escape the thick dome of a beach home. A few make
safety through the crabs, coyotes, and night birds.
When ocean holds the one-ounce survivors, the tiger sharks will comb the
waters well before they reach the deep, pull them down.

Those left give themselves up to the great swirls of cold Atlantic waters.
The gulf stream sweeps up the coast-crosses to warm European shores.
Her sisters, brothers die off, prey to shark and man.
Fishing net spurs death. Graveyards-plastic debris- clog lungs, guts of
turtles man ignores.

For journey home, a guidance system we infer.
Perhaps thirty, she mates off shore, drags herself to dig once more. If she
should pause to slumber, a poacher will make soup of her, or use her
carapace and plastron for ornamental toys.

If allowed by green sea turtle gods, she will continue.
No thought of danger will deter the mission.
She will lay her eggs-almost as if she is in a trance.


Jackie Lee

Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz

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