Written by: Cherie Black
A robust breeze lifts the pages
of my book. My fingers
hug the paper tighter, keeping
words readable. Voices - interjections -
from little people
excited about the grassy hill
and from big people
about "what they deserve"
blend with words from Amos,
he who creates the wind declares
to man what is his thought.
The warm sun balances
occasionally brisk air and I lie
back, close my eyes and rest.
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Untitled
By Cherie Black
The feathers of her hat
curled perfectly. Most stared;
others would reach
as if to touch
smile and return their hand to their sides.
No one
wore such extravagance
anymore. They hated
caring for it - all the special
instructions. It was
a headache and old
fashioned. Once
the quality of such hats
with intricate beads
exotic lace and delicate feathers
(like the one she donned)
was considered worth the time
and effort. Now
such hats were relics
used
only in performances.
But not for her.
She'd resisted the urge to conform
and proudly
carried her hat. She hoped
it would inspire
and remind onlookers
about beauty.
The world could benefit
from the shade of brims
and mystery
of covered heads.
of covered heads.
Monday, May 2, 2011
"Choose your next line" Poem ~ For Dianna
Hello, Di.
Happy birthday! So you've selected my blog. Wonderful! The next line of your poem is:
As you grow, a desire to learn radiates
from your core.
To add your next line, text me or visit Jason's facebook page.
Happy birthday! So you've selected my blog. Wonderful! The next line of your poem is:
As you grow, a desire to learn radiates
from your core.
To add your next line, text me or visit Jason's facebook page.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Kap Makes a Friend
Written by: Cherie Black
Here I am, the first day of third grade. I couldn't wait to step on the bus this morning. The summer was boring. My sister Deidre's sixteenth birthday was just before school began, and though I made her a kite, she wanted to shop at the mall with her friends. She thanked me for the present but said she'd outgrown kite flying. Outgrown kite flying? Who does that?
When I invited my brother, Paul, whose three years older than me, to join me in our backyard, he said he'd rather play the Legend of Zelda. I didn't get it. What is so fascinating about purchasing more shoes when you already have all you need or slaying a pretend flower monster when you could watch a kite catch wind and rise to a height that could bruise your fingers as you hold on tight to the spool? In any case, I spent that day with the chickadees. As they flew past my diamond-shaped wind-catcher, I determined that I would make friends this year at school. Sure it was a new school, but that didn't scare me.
Today though didn't quite turn out as I'd planned. My first attempt at making friends was when I talked to a girl named Jennifer who I sat next to on the bus. She responded to all my questions with one word answers. "Do you watch Loony Toons?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"Do you have a favorite food?" I asked.
"Nope," she said.
"Aren't Barbies silly?" I asked. At which point, she glared and crossed her arms. "Nope," she said. After that I chose to study the plastic back of the chair in front of me.
During story-time, we were paired with another student to read Frog and Toad Are Friends. The stories were boring - who cares about lost buttons or waking up from a winter sleep? So I suggested to Justin, my reading buddy, that we make up our own stories, ones about Frog and Toad saving the world from falling stars, but he said, "Toads are too small to save the earth from a star. Let's just read the story."
"But animals don't lose buttons!" I protested, as he pulled the book up closer to his face and ignored me.
My last attempt to make friends was at lunch. Mom had included a chocolate chip granola bar with my usual peanut butter and blueberry jelly sandwich, and I decided I would sacrifice this granola bar for friendship. I sat next to Elizabeth (I remembered her name from when the teacher called on her to ask what three plus five is to which responded, "The same as it was last year."). When I offered her my bar, I said "I'm not too hungry today. Would you like it?"
Unfortunately, when she opened the wrapper and saw the chocolate chips, she started screaming. "I'M ALLERGIC TO CHOCOLATE, I'M ALLERGIC TO CHOCOLATE. GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY!"
So here I am, sitting in one of three wooden chairs, waiting outside the principal's office as he speaks with Mom. I didn't realize that making friends was so difficult. As I overhear Mr. Foote listing which foods are acceptable for me to bring to school, I notice a daddy long legs creeping its away across the wall. I have a funny feeling that if I mention it to the secretary Mrs. Wells, she'll drop the pen she's scribbling with and try to squash the daddy long legs with the back of her shoe. I don't want to be the cause of that. If I can't make friends with my brother or sister or schoolmates, at the very least I can be a friend to daddy long legs.
A "Psst" to the right of me breaks my train of thought. I'm pretty sure she's a fourth-grader. I'd seen her at recess jumping rope with two other girls and had liked the way she'd greet some of the students who passed by. I didn't see any of the third-graders doing that.
"They're poisonous, right?" she whispers.
Ah, she'd seen daddy long legs too. "I think so," I say. "But my dad says they can't bite humans 'cause their fangs are too short to get into the skin." I pause for a second and then ask, "Why are you here?"
She turns her head to show me a bunch of hair, held together by something white. "Nick squeezed a glue bottle too hard and it was pointed at the back of my head. He didn't mean to, but he's clumsy. I don't know why his mother doesn't buy him glue sticks. Maybe the school will ban glue bottles. Anyway, when it got in my hair, he tried to wipe it out and it made things worse. I'm waiting for my dad to pick me up. How about you?"
"I gave Elizabeth chocolate and she's allergic."
"Did you do it on purpose?" she asks.
"No," I reply. "What's your name?"
"Amanda. And yours?"
"Natalie, but my family calls me Kap."
"Why do they do that?"
"Well, my middle name is Kaptiva. Dad chose it. He said I 'captivated him' the moment I was born."
"That's cool. My friends call me Mandy, but I don't like it."
"Why not?"
She puckers her lips and then says, "I don't know exactly. Maybe it's because it sounds like 'candy'? And it's not very grown up either."
"What would you like to be called?" I ask.
"I've always liked the name Kirsten. That's the name of my American Girl doll that my Aunt Rose gave me when I was five. She's Swedish and she and her family lives on a farm..."
"You like American Girl dolls?" I interrupt excitedly.
"Oh, yes. She is my favorite. I have all of the books."
"I have Samantha. I like all the mystery ones."
For the next ten minutes, Amanda and I name the outfits and furniture we each have and neither of us see our parents come in until they are calling our names. We wave goodbye and promise to trade American Girl books tomorrow.
When I return home, my sister is studying at the kitchen table, saying "Ugh. Homework on the first day of school," while Paul shrieks after defeating the boss monster. I smile as I walk upstairs to my bedroom. Finally, I think, I know someone who enjoys cool things.
Here I am, the first day of third grade. I couldn't wait to step on the bus this morning. The summer was boring. My sister Deidre's sixteenth birthday was just before school began, and though I made her a kite, she wanted to shop at the mall with her friends. She thanked me for the present but said she'd outgrown kite flying. Outgrown kite flying? Who does that?
When I invited my brother, Paul, whose three years older than me, to join me in our backyard, he said he'd rather play the Legend of Zelda. I didn't get it. What is so fascinating about purchasing more shoes when you already have all you need or slaying a pretend flower monster when you could watch a kite catch wind and rise to a height that could bruise your fingers as you hold on tight to the spool? In any case, I spent that day with the chickadees. As they flew past my diamond-shaped wind-catcher, I determined that I would make friends this year at school. Sure it was a new school, but that didn't scare me.
Today though didn't quite turn out as I'd planned. My first attempt at making friends was when I talked to a girl named Jennifer who I sat next to on the bus. She responded to all my questions with one word answers. "Do you watch Loony Toons?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"Do you have a favorite food?" I asked.
"Nope," she said.
"Aren't Barbies silly?" I asked. At which point, she glared and crossed her arms. "Nope," she said. After that I chose to study the plastic back of the chair in front of me.
During story-time, we were paired with another student to read Frog and Toad Are Friends. The stories were boring - who cares about lost buttons or waking up from a winter sleep? So I suggested to Justin, my reading buddy, that we make up our own stories, ones about Frog and Toad saving the world from falling stars, but he said, "Toads are too small to save the earth from a star. Let's just read the story."
"But animals don't lose buttons!" I protested, as he pulled the book up closer to his face and ignored me.
My last attempt to make friends was at lunch. Mom had included a chocolate chip granola bar with my usual peanut butter and blueberry jelly sandwich, and I decided I would sacrifice this granola bar for friendship. I sat next to Elizabeth (I remembered her name from when the teacher called on her to ask what three plus five is to which responded, "The same as it was last year."). When I offered her my bar, I said "I'm not too hungry today. Would you like it?"
Unfortunately, when she opened the wrapper and saw the chocolate chips, she started screaming. "I'M ALLERGIC TO CHOCOLATE, I'M ALLERGIC TO CHOCOLATE. GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY!"
So here I am, sitting in one of three wooden chairs, waiting outside the principal's office as he speaks with Mom. I didn't realize that making friends was so difficult. As I overhear Mr. Foote listing which foods are acceptable for me to bring to school, I notice a daddy long legs creeping its away across the wall. I have a funny feeling that if I mention it to the secretary Mrs. Wells, she'll drop the pen she's scribbling with and try to squash the daddy long legs with the back of her shoe. I don't want to be the cause of that. If I can't make friends with my brother or sister or schoolmates, at the very least I can be a friend to daddy long legs.
A "Psst" to the right of me breaks my train of thought. I'm pretty sure she's a fourth-grader. I'd seen her at recess jumping rope with two other girls and had liked the way she'd greet some of the students who passed by. I didn't see any of the third-graders doing that.
"They're poisonous, right?" she whispers.
Ah, she'd seen daddy long legs too. "I think so," I say. "But my dad says they can't bite humans 'cause their fangs are too short to get into the skin." I pause for a second and then ask, "Why are you here?"
She turns her head to show me a bunch of hair, held together by something white. "Nick squeezed a glue bottle too hard and it was pointed at the back of my head. He didn't mean to, but he's clumsy. I don't know why his mother doesn't buy him glue sticks. Maybe the school will ban glue bottles. Anyway, when it got in my hair, he tried to wipe it out and it made things worse. I'm waiting for my dad to pick me up. How about you?"
"I gave Elizabeth chocolate and she's allergic."
"Did you do it on purpose?" she asks.
"No," I reply. "What's your name?"
"Amanda. And yours?"
"Natalie, but my family calls me Kap."
"Why do they do that?"
"Well, my middle name is Kaptiva. Dad chose it. He said I 'captivated him' the moment I was born."
"That's cool. My friends call me Mandy, but I don't like it."
"Why not?"
She puckers her lips and then says, "I don't know exactly. Maybe it's because it sounds like 'candy'? And it's not very grown up either."
"What would you like to be called?" I ask.
"I've always liked the name Kirsten. That's the name of my American Girl doll that my Aunt Rose gave me when I was five. She's Swedish and she and her family lives on a farm..."
"You like American Girl dolls?" I interrupt excitedly.
"Oh, yes. She is my favorite. I have all of the books."
"I have Samantha. I like all the mystery ones."
For the next ten minutes, Amanda and I name the outfits and furniture we each have and neither of us see our parents come in until they are calling our names. We wave goodbye and promise to trade American Girl books tomorrow.
When I return home, my sister is studying at the kitchen table, saying "Ugh. Homework on the first day of school," while Paul shrieks after defeating the boss monster. I smile as I walk upstairs to my bedroom. Finally, I think, I know someone who enjoys cool things.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Last Dance
Written by: Cherie Black
I wasn't scared when you
gently placed your hands
on my hips. As a matter
of fact, I felt this thrill,
this fascination, wondering
how much of my body you'd pull
toward yours. And when you stopped
as my back brushed your chest,
a part of me wanted to sink
into the small crevice
that remained between our thighs.
I'd never felt so bold, and musing
on it now, I realize you made me
comfortable by waiting for me
to reach for your hands first.
I wasn't scared when you
gently placed your hands
on my hips. As a matter
of fact, I felt this thrill,
this fascination, wondering
how much of my body you'd pull
toward yours. And when you stopped
as my back brushed your chest,
a part of me wanted to sink
into the small crevice
that remained between our thighs.
I'd never felt so bold, and musing
on it now, I realize you made me
comfortable by waiting for me
to reach for your hands first.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Untitled (A Found Poem)
By: Cherie Black
The Zen thing is to maintain
a stud style, gently
each day. Nothing nice
and civilized but platinum,
ready to brake (to a halt)
when the occasion calls for it.
Some have tried to rotate
and serve the people
with a security blanket or toy,
but the result has always
been disturbing, like sharing
the same underwear.
So I say break away
from your favorite brand
of teething, strap
conventional fashion in the rear
seat and propel yourself
with a jolt to the nicely shaped,
strangely abstracted, strong tea
of special advantages.
Don’t be quick, eager
and rowdy, putting up road blocks;
instead, decelerate the frazzled
and stressed and accelerate
the important details. Granted,
this is a dubious honor, but it is
the best way for attaining
a fine friend.
The Zen thing is to maintain
a stud style, gently
each day. Nothing nice
and civilized but platinum,
ready to brake (to a halt)
when the occasion calls for it.
Some have tried to rotate
and serve the people
with a security blanket or toy,
but the result has always
been disturbing, like sharing
the same underwear.
So I say break away
from your favorite brand
of teething, strap
conventional fashion in the rear
seat and propel yourself
with a jolt to the nicely shaped,
strangely abstracted, strong tea
of special advantages.
Don’t be quick, eager
and rowdy, putting up road blocks;
instead, decelerate the frazzled
and stressed and accelerate
the important details. Granted,
this is a dubious honor, but it is
the best way for attaining
a fine friend.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Incomprehensible
Written by: Cherie Black
I take these strings
and wrap them around
tall buildings so they
won't fall. Does this
make me a hero? No.
But, for what it's worth,
I can sleep at night
instead of lying
awake
wondering
if the wind
will blow everything
to the ground.
I take these strings
and wrap them around
tall buildings so they
won't fall. Does this
make me a hero? No.
But, for what it's worth,
I can sleep at night
instead of lying
awake
wondering
if the wind
will blow everything
to the ground.
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