Poetry Friday: Planet Poetry

Hello, Writerly Friends. I'm going all scientific this week.

Last Saturday, Resident Teen #1 spent the day at a robotics competition. 

Hey, all you robots. Roll your wheels
over to Jama's Alphabet Soup for
the Poetry Friday roundup.

I stayed to watch the robot action while my husband took Resident Teen #2 to the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. They were performing selections from Holst's "The Planets." It was a geeky kind of day.

Here is "Pluto" from Holst's "The Planets."



This week, the staff of Little Patuxent Review and I have been reading submissions for the journal's upcoming Science issue. As we went over final choices during lunch yesterday, guest editor Lalita Noronha and I couldn't contain our glee. (Read Lalita's poem "The Sea.")

The short stories, essays and poems we received for the issue are an amazing integration of science and literature -- more often than not using science as a way to understand human experience.

Today, I'm sharing two poems from Poetry 180, a project Billy Collins began when he was U.S. Poet Laureate. Both of today's poems use science to explore the way children think, and how that differs from adult logic and adult limitations.

Forgotten Planet

Doug Dorph

I ask my daughter to name the planets.
"Venus ...Mars ...and Plunis!" she says.
When I was six or seven my father
woke me in the middle of the night.
We went down to the playground and lay
on our backs on the concrete looking up
for the meteors the tv said would shower.

I don't remember any meteors. I remember
my back pressed to the planet Earth,
my father's bulk like gravity next to me,
the occasional rumble from his throat,
the apartment buildings dark-windowed,
the sky close enough to poke with my finger.

Now, knowledge erodes wonder.

Read the rest at Poetry 180. 

As you know, poor Pluto has been downgraded from 9th planet to dwarf planet -- a change that happened while  my youngest was in elementary school. How quickly our understanding of the universe can shift!

From NASA

Cartoon Physics, part 1

Nick Flynn

Children under, say, ten, shouldn't know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies

swallowed by galaxies, whole

solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning

the rules of cartoon animation,

that if a man draws a door on a rock
only he can pass through it.
Anyone else who tries

will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds
should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,
ships going down -- earthbound, tangible

disasters, arenas

where they can be heroes.

Read the rest of the poem at Poetry 180.

Studying Calvin & Hobbes in Statistical Mechanics!

Enjoy your Poetry Friday, everyone! Here's a little science and poetry set to music to send you off into your day...

Poetry Friday -- Did I Miss Anything?

My kids are finally back in school. We've survived late night anxiety attacks, first-day jitters and a band class snafu. I've finally got some reliable time for writing and SCBWI chores.

I have to admit, I get nostalgic for school this time of year. It's been years since I was a classroom teacher. There's nothing like taking in a classroom full of hopeful faces for the first time.

If you're back in the classroom, Poetry 180 is a great resource for upper middle and high school teachers. Billy Collins' project when he was U.S. Poet Laureate, the site features a poem for each day of the high school year.

I loved this selection (#13), because it's in the teacher's point of view. You've gotta love the hyperbole.

Did I Miss Anything?

Tom Wayman

Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here

we sat with our hands folded on our desks

in silence, for the full two hours

Everything. I gave an exam worth

40 percent of the grade for this term

and assigned some reading due today

on which I’m about to hand out a quiz

worth 50 percent

Nothing. None of the content of this course

has value or meaning

Take as many days off as you like:

any activities we undertake as a class

I assure you will not matter either to you or me

and are without purpose

Everything. A few minutes after we began last time

a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel

or other heavenly being appeared

and revealed to us what each woman or man must do

to attain divine wisdom in this life and

the hereafter

This is the last time the class will meet

before we disperse to bring the good news to all people

on earth.

Nothing. When you are not present

how could something significant occur?

(Secretly, don't we all want to believe that's true). Read the rest of the poem at Poetry 180.

Today's Poetry Friday host is Kelly Herold at Crossover. Kelly's also updating the hosting schedule at Big A, little a. (Think about volunteering to host -- it's fun).

Hope you're having a great Back to School, the kids are happy with the teachers and all you teachers are happy with your kids!