Untitled
Somehow
when a lion goes to sleep,
I think of wild.
When the lion cub bends
down to drink from the dangerous
river,
when the king lion roars his
thunderous
“I am the boss” roar,
I think of wild.
When the crickets cricket
while we sleep,
and a car starts its engine,
I think of wild.
When a new baby is born,
I think of a new kind of wild
coming into the world.
-By Renee Lee
Age 10, Lane County Oregon
PARTNER POEM
A Meeting
She steps into the dark swamp
where the long wait ends.
The secret slippery package
drops to the weeds.
She leans her long neck and tongues it
between breaths slack with exhaustion
and after awhile it rises and becomes a creature
like her, but much smaller.
So now there are two. And they walk together
like a dream under the trees.
In early June, at the edge of a field
thick with pink and yellow flowers
I meet them.
I can only stare.
She is the most beautiful woman
I have ever seen.
Her child leaps among the flowers,
the blue of the sky falls over me
like silk, the flowers burn, and I want
to live my life all over again, to begin again,
to be utterly
wild.
-By Mary Oliver
ASK THE POEMS: Untitled and A Meeting
1. If you began again, utterly wild, what would you be?
2. Wild can be very loud, and wild can be very quiet. What are the loudest wildnesses? What are the most quiet? Which do you think are the most awesome?
3. Can you find a secret wild in an ordinary place, say, your house? The library? Your classroom? A box of crayons? Wild where people usually think there isn’t any…?
See Details
|
