Famous people are sick and dying. Yesterday we learned of the passing of Adam Schlesinger from Fountains of Wayne. I love that band. He was 52 years old. That makes me sad and anxious. So, among the new coronavirus developments is this understanding that you don’t have to be old to be especially vulnerable. TheContinue reading “A Journal of the Plague Year: #15”
Tag Archives: National Poetry Writing Month
A Journal of the Plague Year: #14
Today, was the third day “back to work” as a Distance Learning Public School English Teacher and the second day of National Poetry Month, April, 2020. My contact with students thus far, remotely, has been minimal. Our district has given us three days to prepare the rollout of some supplemental learning resources for our students,Continue reading “A Journal of the Plague Year: #14”
A Journal of the Plague Year: #13
Today is April 1 of the year of our pandemic, 2020, but it is also the first day of National Poetry Month, during which, over the past six years, I have celebrated by writing a poem every day for an entire month. This will be year seven in a poetry writing streak. To the bestContinue reading “A Journal of the Plague Year: #13”
#349: Bad Checker
I walked through the express checkout, up to 12 items, with a jug of milk, a carton of orange juice, some lunch meat, and some chicken thighs for the grill. Four items. The checker, he was a bad checker. He didn’t greet me, he didn’t ask me how I was, he didn’t smile, he didn’tContinue reading “#349: Bad Checker”
#348: On the Last Day of National Poetry Month, the American English Teacher Writes Several Minimalist Poems About Things He Finds in the Staff Lounge
Coffee Made a single cup; fuel needed after waking at 4 in the morning. Vinegar There’s a bottle of balsamic on the table, waiting to be drizzled over someone’s leftovers for lunch. 100 Hits Here’s a copy of Billboard’s Hottest Hot 100 Hits, a gift to the staff lounge from an intern of mine fromContinue reading “#348: On the Last Day of National Poetry Month, the American English Teacher Writes Several Minimalist Poems About Things He Finds in the Staff Lounge”
#347: A Prose Poem Meditation on the Penultimate Day of National Poetry Month by the American English Teacher in His Potentially Penultimate Professional Year, Ending in a Rhyming Couplet
The natives are restless, the 9th graders are rowdy, won’t stop talking, interrupt almost every teacher phrase with chatter, and because my intern has the class, I am completely unruffled. It’s the penultimate day of National Poetry Month and this is my penultimate poem in prose in the April of my potentially penultimate school yearContinue reading “#347: A Prose Poem Meditation on the Penultimate Day of National Poetry Month by the American English Teacher in His Potentially Penultimate Professional Year, Ending in a Rhyming Couplet”
#346: I Drove Through the Desert and Back Over a Mountain to Get Home
I drove for three hours, through the desert and back over a mountain, to get home. Listening to XTC the whole way, I felt every twenty minutes or so tears of gratitude welling up, which I staved off, because I was driving at sixty-five miles per hour and singing along to every single song, neitherContinue reading “#346: I Drove Through the Desert and Back Over a Mountain to Get Home”
#345: According to This Map
I have lived for a long time now in the country of Autumn, ruminating in the mountains near the capital city of Change, trying to see my way back into Summer. I know I’m going to hike my way through Somewhere on my way over the Plains of Solitude, and I may have to takeContinue reading “#345: According to This Map”
#344: I Drove Over the Mountain to Get Here
I drove over the mountain to get here. I drove over Mount Hood. I drove over the mountain into the desert. Eventually, I ended up close to three other mountains, the ones we call The Sisters. I drove over the mountain to get here. This is the place where I will try to help peopleContinue reading “#344: I Drove Over the Mountain to Get Here”
#343: The Steampunks of Spring
The Steampunks of Spring Two octopuses sit on the window sill sporting their top hats and flight goggles, little works of art made mostly from recycled odds and ends, scrap leather, gears, watch parts, wheels, lucite grapes, steel wire, old jewelry, junk. Behind them, through the glass, Spring arrives. The oaks are alive with squawking crows andContinue reading “#343: The Steampunks of Spring”
michael jarmer 