Last call for grass…poem

Hi everyone,

You know, of course, that tomorrow it will be too late to post your contribution to Word of the Month Poetry Challenge for May? Right? Robin, I know you have a poem about ready. Kim? Sometimes you come in at the wire? I thought someone would write about the joys/anguish of mowing the yard (I thought I would) or moles or armadillos or the different kinds of grasses or the grasses tall enough to hide a hunting tiger or what’s below the grass or any number of other possibilities. Here’s a sample of the what’s-below-the-grass variety. It comes from THE DIRT BOOK.

At the Root of Things


Scraggly twisted clusters
creep
thirstily, 
dig
deep,
branch out
in crooked slants,
mine water
for their plants.

Silently
they do their work
mole
down
through earthy murk,
form anchors,
tangle there,
give plants strength
to sway
in air.


(c) 2021 David L. Harrison, from THE DIRT BOOK

Thank You, a poem to those who have served

Hi everyone,

Last year TIM RASINSKI asked me for a poem he could post on his blog in honor of those who have served our country. He posted my poem again this year at https://www.facebook.com/timothy.rasinski/posts/pfbid0NDrviW3pwzgch1Vct1sbajgExsXGDEpcXtbEBoSSPQCCX2q7ausDAkJfYihBSKivl

My thanks to Tim for asking and my gratitude to all those men and women for whom this poem is dedicated.

Thank You

I don’t know you,
but I know who you are.
You are my hero.

You were someone’s son,
daughter, husband, wife,
someone’s mommy, someone’s daddy…
and then one day
                              
                              you were called away,
left your life behind, left
all you loved, all you meant to do, to be.

I see you at a concert.
You stand, when asked, to be identified.
Until that moment I didn’t know,
you are my hero.

I stand before a memorial,
try to imagine the names as real people,
as alive as I am now,
facing impossible odds
that turned them into

                                    names etched
into a burnished stone wall.

I rub my fingers across the letters.
I can never know them,
but I know who they are.
They are my heroes.

© 2021 by David L. Harrison

Planning an article and a video

Hi everyone,

This has been a pleasant week. Nothing very exciting, just easy days and some good words. Today I’ll have the pleasure of a zoom-meeting with TIM RASINSKI, MARY JO FRESCH, and LAURA ROBB. We’ll be deciding how to write an article for fall’s edition of California Reader and shoot a video for the California (virtual) Reading Association Conference in October.

Thank you, Nathan Papes, Springfield News-Leader, for the swell picture.

I wish you all a good weekend.

The Boy with a Drum is marching still

Hi everyone,

Yesterday was the last day of school for kids in a Colorado school where my friend SU HUTCHENS teaches. As a fun activity and to burn a little energy, Su had her 4th grade students make some props and costumes and perform the first book I ever had published, THE BOY WITH A DRUM (1969).

When the actors were rehearsed and in their places, Su called at the appointed time. SANDY and I sat on a sofa in the living room and the show began. We laughed and applauded and marveled at the ingenuity of teacher and flock as the familiar story came to life on the tiny screen on my phone.

Su and Dan Hutchens, great friends

The story ends with these words: “And if they haven’t stopped marching, they’ll be marching still.” I think those kids, lucky enough to have a wonderful teacher, are going to be marching still, all the way to a bright future.

I have a delightful picture of Su’s beautiful class, but I won’t post it. I don’t have permission to show the kids, plus with today’s great sadness across the nation, protecting our children and their teachers is much on our minds.