It’s been a while since I updated my blog.  The last few days I’ve been reading a lot of blogs about poetry or discussing with others online about poetry, so I thought I’d share.  I’m a poet, with a few published poems under my belt, but … I struggle with the concept of poems for kids.  I’m constantly reading picture book poetry anthologies in my attempt as a teacher to find poems that kids can relate to during the month of April (National Poetry Month), when I share one poem every day with the kids during morning announcements.

I’m always on the lookout for a good love poem to share annually in my Valentine’s Day tradition (which has grown and grown over the years) where I share a few poems by others and one of my own (via email or Facebook).  It never ceases to amaze me how many people say they don’t like poems “but I like these” or “but I love your’s” when I share those.

Poetry is a passion of mine, but I tend to not share it with everyone all the time (and certainly not the poems I write either).  Because there is a barrier when it comes to poetry.  It is seen as only for a select few and usually academics at that.  So when I read one of my favorite blogs today (albeit a little late) and I was delighted by both the author and the writing challenge, I decided it was high time I do share here.

This is a poem for adults (in my mind), but it could easily be accessible by kids.  Though it isn’t something I think my 1st graders would like to read, mind you.  BUT they could.  And since I didn’t follow the 5 line rule (the poet in me always rebels against form–I can’t help it!), I won’t share it with the padlet.  Is it still an “ode” if it’s not 5 lines?  I don’t know.  And perhaps this is my fear (my constant inner critic) of sharing with others cropping up yet again, which is why I’ve never shared on the padlet (though i’ve read and loved many of the posts at this blog quietly on the sidelines).

BUT I’m determined to share here, with the few followers I have.  Enjoy it if you want.  It’s a rough first draft, but here it is nonetheless.

Ode to Dirty Socks

Twisted inside out

like a hermit crab inside a shell,

your socks wait in the basket

for me to discover them:

rough cotton that expels tiny puffs

of sweaty foot ash

when I grapple with them

to prepare the wash.

Why are there so many?

This is the price of love

and surely it is better

than the empty basket

I used to keep.