A Child’s Education And A Poem For Fall

Malachi and Sonora enjoying a cool fall day.
Malachi and Sonora enjoying a cool fall day.

Our two kids have enjoyed the opportunity to be home schooled these past two years.  My wife does a fantastic job and while our homeschooling looks very little like a traditional classroom, the kids are having fun learning.

One of the great things about home schooling is the ability to identify our kids passions, dreams and strengths and then spend more time focusing on them.  There are no bells telling them it is time to move on if they are in the middle of a project or are caught up in the heart of a chapter of a good book.

Malachi is all about story.  He loves stories – both reading them and writing them.  His love for writing has tumbled over into poetry as well.

Poetry is such a great outlet for beginning writers – it’s shorter, grammar matters less and it’s fun.

Today Malachi wrote a poem and I thought I’d share it.  As the leaves begin to fall and the temperatures drop, he naturally chose to write about fall.  Enjoy.

——————–

Leaves

will fall one by one

surely now fall

has come.

Grass will die

and flowers fade.

Green to brown and

crumple down.

The golden corn

swept away.

Winter comes

around the bend.

————

October 2013

Parker Wagons at Harvest

Filling up the Parker Wagons

The Parker’s metal

sides bulge

like fat pigs

gorged on grain.

The tractor strains

a mighty heave,

wagons ease from soft

end rows.

A dusty country

road welcomes

this swaying

train,

a tractor and two wagons –

green wagons,

green tractor

like spring,

like hope.

Toward home

the tractor goes,

to the auger,

to the bin,

to the thought just

months away

of the planting once

again.

——————

October 2013

Box Cars in Waiting

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Do they tire of ceaseless sitting,

of knowing their created purpose –

hauling loads –

yet remaining unused, unmoved,

unhitched from the engine that will move them?

Have they seen the schedule,

the timetable of upcoming action?

And do they know – in their waiting –

the calling that awaits?

Waiting without knowing –

a most difficult task.

4/22/2013

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Friday Poems: Technology

We have been in the process of moving into our new home in Freeman, South Dakota and in that process have unpacked countless boxes and bags, some of which were packed over five years ago.  It has led to more than a few interesting discoveries, one of which was a yellow piece of legal paper with a poem scribbled on it.

I believe I wrote it sometime between 2002 and 2004 while we were living in the Twin Cities.  I find it interesting as it reflects my long-standing and nuanced distrust of technology and innovation.  It is the tension I still live in and in fact, live in now more than ever as I work to craft a business based on technology and the innovation that has given us the world-wide web in all of its fullness.

– – – – – – – – – –

It has come

    to save us from

the mundane tasks 

    of paper and pen.

 

Instead of letters 

    of time and of thought,

emails are sent

    and emails are caught.

 

Instead of visits

    within sight of a friend,

chat rooms entice us

    to a life of pretend.

 

Life will be better

    is the thought of the day

as technology and innovation chase us

    into the grave.

Friday Poems: We Sit Together

My son and I back in 2006. He was two.

We sit together, you and I

Beneath a moon lit sky,

The stars above

Behold us here,

Grace in celestial eyes.

You are two, I thirty more,

Both travel toward death’s door,

My hope for you

Is nothing less

Than Christ’s eternal shore.

The sky is dark, the night is long,

All heaven sings her song,

The earth is warm,

Our time is sweet,

Enjoy this gentle calm.

And now we go, our sleep to find,

The day has been too kind,

A gentle sun,

The placid breeze,

Recollections of the mind.

Good night my son,

Good night.

October 5, 2006

Friday Poems: Grey Swept Sky

Grey swept skys in Istanbul, Turkey.

Grey swept sky

carries a lonely day

up the steps 

to my backyard.

 

Clouds come by,

breaking up, coming

again, breaking once more,

then returning with rain.

 

Lonely day leans with a sigh,

kisses my cheek,

says goodbye–

leaves me with empty remnants

of a once clear day and

of a life gone awry. 

——-

Written sometime in the spring of 2004 in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Friday Poems: Out My Window

I wrote this poem as an English teacher at Freeman Academy.  The freshman that year are now juniors in college.

—–

Out my window, rain beats the cottonwood tree from above.

It bows – but it always bows now – and so while it looks as if it is taking a beating,

it is rather enduring as it has for years upon end.

Perhaps when it was young, like my students,

it bowed under the weight of rain, the strength of wind.

Perhaps the year it was planted,

a grandmother of one of my freshmen was a freshmen herself,

was supple and springing and of course,

weak.

And perhaps that grandmother, now bent and bowing is beat on by the rain of life,

but unaffected, strong and resolute.

Perhaps my freshman can watch her and learn to be strong and resolute themselves.

—-

September  2006