In the books

***For class tomorrow (Thursday), please bring 3 books (or something to represent them) that have mattered to you for whatever reason and be prepared to briefly share them with the class.  

Please have all work connected to DREAMS posted by the end of class Thursday to receive credit so we can move on to a new theme (BOOKS/TEXT).

Poem inspired by "Caged Bird"

"The caged bird sings of freedom." ~Maya Angelou

In a New Post on your own blog by the end of class on Thursday, please share a poem of at least 10 lines inspired by Maya Angelou's "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings."  You might use the prompts I shared in class as a start.  Include an image and give your post/poem a creative title of your own making.  

Here are the prompts I shared in class if you need one of these to get started:

I know why...

I know...

I don't know why...

Birds...

Being caged...

Freedom...

Singing...

I sing of...

Flying...

Flying away from..

Something else you thought of as you listened to Maya's Master Class video

Caged Bird

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom. 

Dream Marks on My Pillow

Create a New Post on your blog and include some new writing connected to the drawing of a pillow we sketched and discussed in class on Wednesday.  You might include some poetry (maybe your haiku?), but also post a longer bit of prose.  Try for about 200 words at least on this one.  You can copy and paste the image from here, and if you'd like to, you can leave a comment on this post.  I've included some writing I did below.

Dream Marks on My Pillow by Ana Lancu

Last night before bed, I stepped out onto the front porch while Booker T. raced with a predatory growl towards the woods behind our house.  I waited for him to return, a triumphant skip in his step telling me all was safe and sound thanks to him, and from there on the front steps I noticed there was no moon out, or at least not one I could see.  A few stars dotted the sky but the yard was darker than usual and my big black dog crept back up beside me almost camouflaged.

I had been thinking of her off and on all day--my sweet Nanny who left us in June--and another round of loss swept through me there...no moonlight only made me miss her more. I scratched Booker's ears and cried, soft so that no one would hear, as if anyone was listening at that time of night.

I'll never be a little girl again.
I'll never see her shrug her shoulders
the way she always did.
I'll never see her handwriting on a
letter in my mailbox.
I'll never see her listening with interest
to my little boy's chatter the way she
always delighted in whatever I had to say.
I'll never see her again.

Ryan let Macauley sleep with us--a real treat on a school night--and with puffy eyes I slipped into the tiny sliver of our king size bed left for me, my son's now long legs tucked in close to mine and my big black dog in a ball at my feet, my husband miles of blankets and pillows away. Our room was dark and warm and I read only a few pages of my book before I floated into sleep.

And then, she was there...standing on my front walk, reaching out to me with a piece of paper in her hand.  He was there, too, a few feet behind her and to the side in dark blue jeans and the striped shirt he had on in their only picture with Macauley when he was a baby.  I grabbed her and squeezed her and cried for her to stay.  She just stood there and let me, still holding the paper.

I blinked and turned to see the numbers on the clock pushing me to start another day. I stared at the ceiling, making myself remember seeing her, knowing how dreams come and go if you don't commit them to long-term memory...like so many days I spent with her or spent not with her...they just slip away.

I could have cried in the car this evening when I told Ryan on the way to dinner. He said maybe it was a sign but he didn't say of what.  If I cry for her again tonight, will she be there on my front steps when I close my eyes?


Knowing I miss her,
will she reappear tonight 
when I close my eyes?

This song reminds me of what I wrote...