Report Writing

I am writing reports for the students in my class at school. I am not writing poetry while I do this.

Day 13/100

A Himalayan Pathway

I have walked a Himalayan pathway

In the dark, scared, with a long way to go.

noises barks howls.

Alone

Hungry

Cold

Tired

Been inside the inner room of the sacred

tower

awed

impressed

fascinated

Slept on the floors of lonely hillside farmhouses

and under the stars

Met the king.

I can do this.

Andrew Thompson.

12/100

I flew home to Nelson at 5:00pm, after a two day work trip to Wellington. I have some good ideas for some poems and will work on writing later tonight. First I will reconnect with my family!

Andrew Thompson

Day 9/100

"Setting-the-world-to-rights" session today. We got close. (Sorry everyone, I know you'll be disappointed that we didn't make it!) Also, forgot to set a date for the next session. Now wonder what will happen if no one remembers to do this ever again.
 ?
Any answers?
Anyone?

We did figure out that politics has no place in education (sorry politicians, I guess this may come as a bit of a shock to you.) To be able to have a useful part in education, first a person would need to spend a few weeks in a classroom (no, many classrooms, reading with groups of children, talking to them about their counting, art, ideas, lost shoes, no food, "they're mean to me!", sticker charts and the rest), listen to what people (teachers (yes teachers are people (and often parents) too)) say and be prepared to change your mind. And say "OK, I'm wrong."

If you want the above in plain language, then the current NZ model of National Standards is 19th Century thinking in the 21st century.

The education minister has set a higher arbitrary standard for the country. Fine, but it is based on what her government want for the economy since 2008, not on what 5 thousand years of educators have learnt about children and the learning of children.

The best two things to come out of the discussion was firstly a viewing of Gever Tulley  speaking on TEDtalks about his 'Tinkering School'. And secondly an idea of a poem came floating by...

Say it Plain

Say it plain.

Use only a few words.

Dr.Suess used 50

and made a world wide

bestseller.

Say it plain.

or be a Star Belly Sneetch

forever.

Say it plain.

Speak it true.

From the heart.

These National Standards

won't work;

The concept is flawed

not the teachers.

Say it plain.

Teachers are people.

People are flawed.

Teachers are wrong and right

as often as other people.

(Not politicians though.)

Say it plain.

50 % "below" (or worse)

no-one "at"

and 50 % above (How far above?).

Say it plain.

No better recipe for mediocrity.

Say it plain.

Andrew Thompson

Day 9/100

Finding the hour. That is the tough part. Quiet now...(There is a new poem sneaking about here somewhere)... That poem would be about mental toughness. The kind of toughness that an athlete would need, or a climber, or a hunter, a gardener, or ballerina. Mental note to self. "Write a poem about that stuff soon." ! Good, now publish tonight's poem and I will have to find the new poem and capture it for another time.

Yes, anything can be a poem, so choosing material is not hard. Once you begin and publish and people read what you write that worry about "Is it ok?" becomes very small compared to the toughest part of poetry writing...Finding the hour. Well, I'm a sort of part time, moonlighting kind of a poet, maybe when I use some of these internet poetry links and read real poetry from real poets I will begin to see my own failings (as a poet I mean) and may develop higher level poet skills.

Anyway, mental ramblings aside, tonight's promised poem contains references to "The World" and "the Environment" and beauty... stuff like that. So, be warned! This poem could go feral!

The bush clad hills

The bush clad hills

have a shape so familiar,

I know them like my own body,

maybe better.

The trees are garments,

they cover,

in places like a burkah,

and in others like ill-fitting hand-me-downs,

some places have been stripped and appear

like grimy field workers on a hot summer day,

or beachgoers in their swimsuits, all skin and sunburn.

The green on these hills is not Bluegrass, emerald or lime,

it is the smokey green bush mix of Manuka and Rimu.

It contrasts wildly with the plantation green of Pinus Radiata.

The hills have no say in their garb

they simply wear it.

but I am not just a person of just this place.

I am aware that each place has its own covering.

The rainforest, the tundra, prairie and grasslands.

Dusty, bare lone-treed places

still have to get up each morning

and present themselves to the universe, not easy.

Gaia,

The world.

She.

Beauty.

Papatuenuku.

In all forms,

day and night,

made ready

or caught unawares.

Beautiful.

The bush clad hills remind me.

Andrew Thompson

Flash of thought.

As I pushed "Publish Post" just then I saw the little sign out of the corner of my eye on screen that suggested sharing what you've read. I've just finished "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. I found it quite absorbing, and depressing (or is it opressive?). A warning for us all.

Day 8/100

Coming up in the next few days will be a poem about The world, or the environment, or beauty or some similar all combining theme. I'm staring at my notes, choosing where to go with this poem. It will take me to my next post (tomorrow) before anything comes together at all.

Whew!

My weekends are packed full with sport for the three boys, family time, gardening, house stuff.

Where did the hours go?

Thinking about poems is easy. Making myself write ideas, or editing a poem, is way harder.

Rain on Friday night stopped some games on Saturday. My team played, we lost 1-3 to Mapua.

So, here is a poem about me, about football and about poetry.

Spin Doctor

I am my own spin doctor,

silk thread winds and

my cocoon develops, encasing me.

It is soft, warm & silent,

protective even,

at first.

I blink and the cocoon becomes a house

and my family grows,

requiring cleaning and maintainence,

time to feed and care.

Nappies, paint, crumbs, stains.

I leave for work and return.

Put off fun, enjoyment

and become

that flat guy...

but, grasping the nettle

I don boots, a Wakefield strip

and take the field

as a metamorphized

Poetry Guy!

Andrew Thompson

Show Day

Where I come from, there is a park.

The horses race there.

Once a year the Show is on.

Farm animals,

agricultural machinery displays,

baking, sewing, best vegetables!

Axemen chopping like the Energizer Bunny.

A man on the loudspeaker explains the next event

happening in front of the main stand.

Hot dogs, blue sky, baking heat.

Crowds of people moving about.

A boy walking by with candyfloss

transports me to my past;

Candyfloss used to be whipped before your eyes,

in a rotating, sugar spinning, drum.

The pink web was collected with a stick and presented in a paper bag.

I dislike the uniform, plastic bagged, mass produced

stuff he has.

The side shows though!

Win.

Toss.

Throw.

Lose.

Shoot.

Take home a giant teddy bear.

The rides too!

Chair-o-plane for the little ones.

Ghost train.

or the Roller Coaster.

Some days the ups and the downs,

the swirling, sweeping curves and the lurches,

the slow grinding trip to the top followed by the

stomach heaving, screaming G force decents

take my mind back there too.

Andrew Thompson

Friday; day 5/100

This week I have enjoyed the process of writing.

The thinking, the arrival of thoughts and ideas about what to write. The realisation that many of the thoughts, thought pictures and thought movies that I have can become written words that can be transformed into clearer (sometimes) writing that I can label poetry.

Also that they only have to be good enough for me. Folk look at them (view counter tells me) but only two comments yet, both from local people whom I already know . So if I'm satisfied with them, that will be enough.

Next poem in an hour or so.

Day 4/100

I got myself up early this morning to write.

I have more than enough stuff pouring onto the pages of my notebook.

It is the trying to organise and rewrite and refine (Well, well another poem about diamonds just popped into my brain. (Look out for it in days to come.)) that takes me time. TIME!!!!

A funeral to attend today. A tangi, so tragic and so sad. What a lovely family to suffer such a loss. That is why death was featuring in the poem yesterday.

Today I have a poem I wrote 4 months ago. That was my first. I've always loved words. Someone challenged me then to write one. This week I am challenged to write more and publish them...

"Share and be damned" the messenger said...

Shroud

Cruising along on the bay,

eyes on a distant mark.

My ship under full sail.

A storm blows up aft, unseen.

Grey cloud decends,

A shroud enfolds me.

The wind whips through

the rigging.

Furling the sails

Waves crash about,

their peaks and troughs an attack.

I am overwhelmed

take cover

avoid the sting of salt spray

I run for shelter

seeking calm

cocoon myself

peek out

check for safety

keeping a weather eye.

Andrew Thompson

15/4/10

Ligar Bay

First Kiss

A kiss

caresses a curve.

A tinge of pink blush spreads

over the cheeks

of Kahurangi, shadowed blue.

Cosy up sheltering mountains.

Morning arrives in the Bay.

With that first kiss of light,

colour creeps into the dawn

sky and lightens my world.

I move towards the curve of the horizon.

I gladly seek out this new day.

It will mean conversation,

something I struggle with at the best of times,

but 7:00 AM?

I do

speak,

and the words are heard by the world for the first time

I speak of death

And Hades

Dragging us all,

on our own Roller Coaster ride of life,

down to cross the river Styx

and be with Persephone.

So,where is the treasure then?

Hades is the mythical Greek god of treasure, after all

…as well as the darkness.

We are…all of us …the treasure.

So, live.

Kiss.

Understand.

Tihe Mauri Ora.

Andrew Thompson

Today is day 3/100.

This has been a day of conversation, and a day where I have been telling as many people (colleagues) as I could that I am writing poetry. I have been asked if I was in fact writing poetry. I enjoyed being able to say "Yes, I have!"

Last night my hour included writing about possible themes. These include humanity, peace, death, grief and leaving a mark.

Today the conversations included, a roller-coaster as a metaphor for my life, the underworld, cross cultural experiences.

Back to writing soon.

Day 1 of 100 Poetry

Here then is yesterday's post, copied from the other blog.

MONDAY, AUGUST 9, 2010

Day 1 of 100 Poetry

First day in the 100 Day Challenge

I plan to write poetry online.

This is the first day. Each day should have one hour of my work on poems.

This may not be evident online.

This is simply a way of publishing the results.

However, today is the first day, so I will add what I have from today.

TIME

I don't have time.

Do you?

100 hours.

Follow your passion.

...

I'll write poetry.

For 100 hours.

That is a Challenge.

"I don't have time"

Isn't time a human construct?

Maybe we all view it differently.

Does any of us truly understand it?

"I don't have time" to understand it.

Do you?

"Time flies when you're having fun"

They say.

What of those moments when time... just ...drags .....by

Can't do it now?

Then "Make Time!"

Time made.

It flew by,

extra things learnt along the way.

I'm hoping you are making time too!

$25000 poem.

I have time...

now!

Do it!

I did.

Andrew Thompson

Poetry.

My plan is to spend an hour each day writing poetry.

I'll do this for 100 days (as of Yesterday).

After that I have no plan yet.

I began the 100 hour challenge yesterday.

I'll put that poem on this blog.

I don't plan to do a poem a day or any other such commitment, just to write/think poetry for the hour.

Andrew