Friday, April 30, 2010

Poem: True Myths Never Die


Anthropologic Study of True Myths

Not by mere myth
or legend were we begun
as one language, one people, one poem
set within one ancestral
home.

Sciences which
unearth, discover, decipher, reveal
each tightly woven basket thread, uncover
ancient artifact accounts inspired
by common origin;

Relics from time when life began
intentional, a spoken Word; when Existence breathed
both soul & wisdom into the mud-face of man;
beauty animated, perfection fashioned by
One Triune Maker.

In Truth, we were
thoughtfully placed for fair
nurture, endless growth within His Holy East;
His delight, a garden named
Eden.

Story lines run true, noetic
narratives; deep rooted & repetitive
universal themes planted more central than cellular
core or mere atomic structure, true tales
strewn as seedstock;

Foundations cast   
further than each field of stars;
spirit inspired thought, flung far within
the reaches of expanding Wisdom;
spread throughout this vast
& Sacred universe.

Because they carry
the germ of Truth within,
these stories can
never die.

3 May 1999
Rockdale County, Georgia

Matushka Elizabeth Perdomo

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Short Story: The Flint Knife



The Flint Knife
by
Jordan Romain (Grade 8)



CRASH!

The sound of clattering stone reverberated through the pristine halls of the musem. Sirens sounded.

“Wow, Mattie! You clumsy fool. You just broke the Badarian flint knife!”

Mattie’s wide eyes looked down at the knife. Terror made her stutter.

“I… I didn’t mean to. I tripped. Honest.”

Ms. Russell came rushing to where the girls were standing over the stone knife.

“What’s going on here?”

“Mattie broke the flint knife,” Rachel yelled, accusingly. She relished causing trouble for Mattie, her enemy.

Ms. Russell’s brow furrowed. “Is this true, Mattie?”

“Yes, Maam. I’m sooo sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Mattie’s going to jail! Mattie’s going to jail!”

“Stop that, Rachel.”

The sirens finally subsided. Security guards flowed into the room, moving toward Maddie. As they cleared the area, the museum curator rushed in. He was a skinny, pale man with thick glasses.

“What happened to the Badarian knife? Oh, my goodness! Do you realize that this knife is 5000 years old?”

He was so upset that he appeared to be about to faint.

Mattie began to cry. She knew the artifact was important. Her teacher had explained to the class before they left school that they would be seeing the knife that Zipporah, Moses’ wife, used to circumcise their first-born son. It had to be valuable! Thank goodness it didn’t break.

What Mattie didn’t know, however, would change her life forever.

A ruby had dislodged from the knife’s hilt and had fallen into her shoulder bag. Even as the class was boarding the bus to return to school, the ruby was starting to glow.

Mattie sat in the front of the bus and as Rachel passed she sneered and said, “Nice going today, Mattie. You’re such a clutz.”

Mattie felt like sinking through the floor. She held her shoulder bag close to her chest and she felt something warm radiating against her. She opened the bag and looked inside. What she saw almost made her shout, but she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself today. She would explore the glowing object when she was home.

When Mattie arrived home, she rushed upstairs to her bedroom and locked the door behind her. She dumped the contents of her handbag onto her bed. There on top of her mirror and lip gloss was a strange red object, glowing like an ember. She stared at it nervously. She wondered where it could have come from.

She finally stretched out her hand and touched the ruby. It was hot and she quickly pulled back her hand. Her curiosity was mixed with fear. What could this be?

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Her mother called, “Mattie, are you okay?”

Mattie tossed her pillow over the clutter from her handbag and turned toward the door.

“I’m fine, Mom. I’ll be down soon.”

“Okay, but please hurry because I need you to set the table.”

Mattie grabbed the ruby and hid it under her bed. Then she went downstairs and set the table, her mind pondering the mysterious appearance of the object.

During dinner she was unusually quiet which raised questions from her parents about her day. Mattie reluctantly told her parents what had happened at the museum; how she had tripped and knocked over a display case, spilling a 3000 B.C. flint knife onto the floor. She didn’t mention the ruby.

Mattie’s mother was horrified and her nostrils flared. Mattie knew she was about to get a major lecture, but her father stepped in and said, “It was an accident, dear. Accidents happen!”

Mattie’s eyes began to tear. It had been a very emotional day.

“May I be excused, please?”

Her father nodded and Mattie quietly slipped out of her seat and rushed upstairs.

That night as she sat up in her bed, she held the mysterious red object … she was sure it was a ruby… between her palms with her knees drawn up. Now it was strangely cool and calming. She drifted off to sleep. And she dreamt of the flowing Nile with stone shrines along the riverbanks. She saw a stranger in long multicolored robe. He was talking to a man and a woman in a strange language. They handed him the ruby that she had found that day in her handbag. The ruler took the stone and placed it in a flint knife.

He handed them the knife and said, “Keep this for the circumcision of the son who is to come. The ruby gives prophesy and the knife brings pain.”

Then the two men and the woman disappeared. The knife and ruby vanished also. The sky became gray and stormy. A booming voice from heaven said, “Mattie, now you know of things to come… the power of the knife and of the ruby. Guard the ruby as one of my holy prophets.”

Mattie awoke and sat up in her bed. It was a dream, or was it? She looked down at the ruby and an invisible hand began to chisel: Prophet of the Most High.

Mattie’s eyes grew wide and she sighed deeply. This was more than she could handle. This was scary. She picked up the ruby and held it close, wondering where she could hide it. How would she ever be able to keep it from falling into the wrong hands?

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

A Pantoum

Windbound

I am a bound bird.
Wind weaves my way,
I sing the lover's song.
I am a bird bound.

Wind weaves my way,
Quick, strong, silent wind.
I am a bound bird
Carried far away.

Quick, strong, silent wind
No longer the navigator,
Carried far away.
I grow weary.

No longer the navigator,
I sing the lover's song.
I grow weary;
I am bound bird.

--Lydia Emeric

Monday, April 26, 2010

Spring Haiku

John Nichols has been busy observing Spring and reflecting on Spring's meaning.  Here are six of a set of haiku sent to me from my former student.  Enjoy!

I

The first warm drop falls.
Rain brings refreshing showers:
Man, unfit for peace.

II
Spring breeds luscious growth.
Fawns grow strong and become stags.
My love for her swells.


III

Flowers are lovely,
Blossoms give a sweet fragrance.
Man is no flower.


IV

Young stags court madly:
Man’s love, a thing corrupted,
Turns swiftly to lust.


V

Spring waxes mighty!
But soon it shall no doubt wane:
Man’s lies are the same.


VI

Blossomed, Spring has left:
A lover has left his bed,
Crushed her tender heart.


VII
Spring breeds luscious growth.
Fawns grow strong and become stags.
My love for her swells.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Hold Fast to Good Things

Here is a good poem, produced by three middle school girls who attempted to paint a picture of Spring with words.


Unfailing Spring

Unfailing youth of Spring
Holds fast to all things good.
A fevered glimpse of peaceful blooms:
Sun-drenched blossoms,
Plants and every green blade
Dance and brag in the breeze.

--Savannah Baker, Lydia Emeric and Jordan Romain





Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Describing the Seasons

My writing students are working on showing the seasons rather than telling about the seasons.  It is a difficult distinction for beginning writers.  This student shows a picture of autumn to the reader by carefully selecting words.

Autumn

Air is crisp and cool.
Umbrellas twirl in the rain.
Tree leaves, multicolored, spin down to earth in the wind.
Under shelter of warm foliage, squirrels scamper.
Mice gather for the advent of winter flurries.
Nuts are scattered beneath tall trees.

-- Courtney Rupp, Grade 6

Monday, April 12, 2010

What Easter is About

The following poem was crafted by two of my students working together.  Sometimes group writing produces good work, and I consider this to be worthy of publication.


Genesis 3:15

Unnatural laws push us
to remember how things were.
Our gloom brings back the Treasonable Trick.
Yet the peace foreseen
is inevitable,
wondrous.

- Dior Hartje and Courtney Rupp