J ANUARY 24
After tremendous tugging
at my broken brain
I finally dug up a metaphor.
Itâs about the kitten
(who now has a name:
Skitter McKitter
because thatâs what she does
skitter here
skitter there
skitter every-every-where).
Ready? For the metaphor?
THE BLACK KITTEN
The black kitten
is a poet
LÂ Â EÂ Â AÂ Â PÂ Â IÂ Â NÂ Â G
from
line
             to
                           line
sometimes runningrapidly
sometimes s o o t h i n g   s l o w l y
here and there
up
         and
                     down
d
       o                                       UP
            w                           UP
                   n             UP
                         and
in a silent steady rhythm
exploring
          all
                   the
                            tiny
     pieces
                   of
                            the
                                     world.
J ANUARY 31
Well, no
donât
put it on the board
because now that I read it again
it doesnât make sense.
I know what I was
trying
to say
But I didnât get it right.
The kitten
is
a poet
itâs something I
feel
but I canât get it into words.
A good poet would be able
to paint, with words,
things that you can feel
but donât know how to say.
Itâs sort of like when
my mother
puts one hand on my back
and one hand on my chest
to
hear
me laughing
or to
feel
me laughing
because
then she understands
what my laughing
sounds like and feels like.
She can see me laugh
and she can sign the word for
laugh
but she cannot hear the laugh.
Yesterday, she put one hand
on Skitterâs back
and one hand on her stomach
so she could
hear
the purr.
I cannot explain a purr
just like I cannot explain
why the kitten is a poet
but
she
is
And I cannot explain
how my mother paints
words
with
           her
                    hands
but
she
does
And I cannot explain
howâ
when we paint words
with each otherâ
I hear sounds
but I do not know
if she hears anythingâ
any strange or amazing
or good or terrible
or sparkling or fizzing
sound
at
all.
F EBRUARY 7
So much depends upon
making words
without
sounds
F EBRUARY 11
MY YELLOW CHAIR
by Jack
Description
This is a concrete poem, where words are used to create a poem that takes the shape of its subject. This poems looks like a chair and the author has outlined in pencil the shape of the overstuffed chair. The text reads:
low chair yellow chair yellow chair yello
yellow chair yellow chair yellow chair yello
squishy soft squishy soft squishy soft squish
squishy soft little hole squishy soft squishy
squishy soft little hole squishy soft squishy
rounded squish squish