Tag Archives: poem

A Taste of Normal- Haiku Style!

It is happening!
Seussical the Musical
will be on Friday!

More than two years since
our last performance with a
real, live audience!

How did they do it?
in four weeks, in the middle
of a pandemic?!?

The set is ready,
the songs rehearsed til perfect,
all lines memorized

Colorful costumes
coupled with peppy dance moves
make for happy kids

A taste of normal
is exactly what we need.
The show must go on!

Two Years Ago

Two Years Ago

Two years ago, I was well into lockdown and figuring out this thing called online learning.
Two years later, I move around freely and get to be in person at school.

Two years ago, I was living in Jakarta, Indonesia, finishing up my third year.
Two years later, I’m living in Jeju, South Korea, finishing up my second year.

Two years ago, I did all my shopping online and had everything delivered.
Two years later, I pop down to the shops to pick up what I want.

Two years ago, I didn’t own any masks and the idea of wearing one was completely foreign.
Two years later, I have a basket full of colorful cloth masks and mask straps near the door, match them to my outfits, and can’t imagine leaving the house without one.

Two years ago, I was perfecting my banana bread baking skills.
Two years later, I can’t remember the last time I baked banana bread.

Two years ago, the airports were eerily empty.
Two years later, the airports are bustling again.

Two years ago, I was terrified of catching Covid.
Two years later, I’ve had Covid and luckily it wasn’t that bad.

Two years ago, I spent all my time alone.
Two years later, I can be social again.

Two years ago, I never used the words quarantine, PCR test, or travel restrictions.
Two years later, they are part of my everyday vocabulary.

Two years ago, I thought everything would go back to normal soon.
Two years later, I’m not even sure what normal is anymore.

Two years ago, Covid was all people talked about.
Two years later, Covid is all people talk about.

Signs of Stress

Signs of Stress

the nearly overflowing laundry basket
dishes waiting to be washed, multiplying each day
dark circles and incessant yawning
clothes, barely worn, precariously piled on the dresser
delivery and take out replace home-cooked meals
tabs hold slices waiting to be read
candy wrappers strewn across my desk at school
venting to a friend on our longer than usual walk
papers and books scattered, out of place
energy waning, patience growing thin
the cracks are starting to show

Leaving Me Vulnerable

leaving me vulnerable

mean-spirited people

wielding their words like swords

cutting down others with every slash

my mood, once buoyed,

sinks whenever they’re around

accusatory phrases abound,

the blame game their main game

the attacks come out of nowhere

unprofessional and unwarranted remarks

leave me unaware of what I did wrong

(did I do something wrong?)

walking on eggshells,

avoiding at all costs

the saying goes,

don’t take criticism

from someone you wouldn’t take advice from,

yet the constant criticism and

hurtful words hurled at me

leaves me feeling vulnerable

questioning

unsure

even though I wouldn’t go to them for advice

why do I allow someone else

to have that much

power

over me?

am I too

sensitive?

I don’t think so.

The Last Paragraphs of My Biography

Have you ever been inspired to write something from a book you’re reading? Well, I’m reading The Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo (which is great by the way!) and in it, Xiomara’s teacher gives her a few writing assignments that we, as readers, get to see. In the book, Xiomara (the poet) writes the rough draft as a poem, saying the truth, but ends up turning in an essay that is more in line with what she thinks is acceptable. Assignment number two, which was to write the last paragraphs of your biography, caught my attention. With a mixture of excitement and fear, it made me wonder…what would they say about me, about the life I’ve lived? I mean, really, What would they say?

Here’s Xiomara’s rough draft of her assignment:

And here’s her final draft:

Here goes…my rough draft of the Last Paragraphs of My Biography:

Jennifer loved with her whole heart and
treated her friends like family.
While she never married or had children of her own,
she developed strong relationships with her nieces and nephew,
and they came to visit her often,
wherever she happened to be.

During her lifetime, she lived
on six continents, traveling to the
far reaches of the world, in search of
adventure and understanding.
Her dream of someday living in Paris
came true. She spent her days wandering,
writing, and wondering. (Oh, and eating lots of croissants!)

She didn’t always get it right,
and she made lots of mistakes,
some she’d rather not share,
but one thing remained the same,
she always learned from her mistakes
and tried to do better the next time.

Despite all of her fear and worry and doubt
that she wouldn’t be good enough,
she finally authored and published a book
and then another and another.
Jennifer was also a sought-after
speaker and workshop leader,
sharing her passion for writing and the PYP.

Jennifer may be remembered
as many things: a friend,
an educator, a writer, a sister,
an aunt, a daughter, a reader,
a traveler,

but most importantly,
she should be remembered
as always following her passions,
standing up for what she believed in,
and for loving with her whole heart.

I think I’ll save the final draft for another slice. 😉

Frustration

frustration’s a funny thing

it starts off small

barely noticeable

like a tickle in the back of your throat

after a while

it chips away

at the positive exterior

poking its way into your life

making itself known

calling out to be tended to

to be noticed

until you can no longer

ignore it

then what was once a tickle

is a full blown cough

unable to be disregarded

once it’s there

in your face

you’ve got to deal with it

one way or another

you can cry

or pout

or shout

or discuss

or retreat

or take action

it’s up to you

but it must be dealt with

this frustration that’s

built up inside of you

Feeling it today

uncertainty breeds fear
the unknown
makes you question
what’s the right thing
to do

when you’re not given
accurate information
or it’s being withheld
anxiety sets in

should i stay
or go
what would keep me
safe

over two weeks of
isolation
no end in sight
loneliness
a new way of life

the need
for human contact
growing stronger each day
all i need is
a hug

More Days Like This

Today was a perfect day. I need more days like this.

A Perfect Day

Morning slicing
No rush
Sunny and breezy
The wind in my hair
Ninety minutes of stretching and kneading
Melting into a Thai massage induced coma
A short walk through the familiar neighborhood
My favorite Penang curry by the lake
A bit too spicy this time,
But still delicious
Quick stop for some Thai snacks
Before heading to the pool
Water the perfect temperature for lounging
And catching up with not one,
But two friends
Sunkissed, heading back as the sun set
Showered and in our pj’s
Pizza, laughs, and Netflix
The perfect end to
A perfect day

Stress Relief

It’s that time of the year where the stress has built up. It’s been almost 12 weeks since we came back from Christmas break, and we are all in need of a holiday. After school, I was frustrated. My typical response to frustration or a stressful day would be to come home, stew about it, veg out on the couch watching Netflix and eating junk food, feeling sorry for myself. But today I chose a different response. I chose to honor my commitment to the gym despite feeling cruddy.

Stress Relief

grumpiness started
to make itself at home
the chocolate chip cookie
doing little
to stave off the feeling of frustration
dreams of the couch
coming to my rescue
played in my head

but I have an appointment
do I cancel? or do I go?
begrudgingly i went
convinced I’d do my thirty minutes
and leave

the beat started off slow
then sped up
motivating me to row
faster than normal
picking up speed
with each passing minute

endorphins taking over
the stress started to thaw
my training session
over too fast
but i was ready
for more