Author Archives: sara holbrook

About sara holbrook

Poet/Author/Educator

April 9, 2017

Spring! Waltzing through Poetry Month

Spring! A poem

April 13, 2016

Letter to the IRS

Seems like the right week for a reprise of this little ditty (as I once again file an extension).

Letter to the IRS

Every year I promise myself and the government that I
will not file an extension.

That I will be a good citizen and get my taxes in on
time.

Every year, I make the same promise. Every year, I file the same extension.

Dear IRS,

I had every intention . . .

I was bent to the task,

pen to the paper,

face to face with those forms –

And then sang a summons, such sweet invitation,

Algerian finger chimes, fairies, ethereal pipes.

A daydream come to dance,

holding warm cups of wonder to pour on my head.

“Not now,” I said.

Bills piled in baskets, receipts on
the floor.

I never take calls when the bottom
line’s dead at the door.

I implored that dream —

Come, take my hand, dance me, not lightly, sure palm at my
back.

Let’s stomp the lights black and blue, bop bip be do,

swing song some slow notes, swollen long low notes,

hold along oh notes, slowly with me.

But after I scour the mail
for what’s been bought where

for how much and how many.

After all dues and
subscriptions are entered, recorded with salaries, commissions.

After I’ve checked each
check’s balancing act, please –

Blow bliss down my back till I rise and arch into the soft
kiss of maybe.

Whisper my ears,

run your hands down my sides

till I reach for the moon.
Soon.

As soon as I stack and arrange last
year’s leftover dust,

gather the details the daily dog
scattered beside of his bowl.

Counting in columns, red and black
slaloms down dry paper crinkles,

straighten the wrinkled statistics,
specifically –

Closer, come closer, sweet, delicate breath on my face

help me erase all this data,

after I cross

this desert of detail –

douse me with moisture,

corsage me, delight

Not till
I’m finished

then –

take me lavender dancing, scarves in the wind

Hold me with honey, all the law will allow.

Move me. Moonbeam
me. Fudge sauce, whip cream me.

Dance along dream me.

Hold me.

Not now?

Sincerely

October 4, 2015

From the Park Bench Book Release

“Tony?”

“Sara, how you doing?”

A complex question. I was sitting in a nice
house with no job, two kids, and I’d just received the bad news that my former
husband was also unemployed so there would be no more health insurance or child
support coming. I’d just sat my stunned self on the sofa when the phone rang.
Tony Moore was a partner at the second largest law firm in the world, one of two African American lawyers working there at the time, and he didn’t want to hear all that, so I said, “Fine.”

“We (Jones Day) have been doing some pro bono
for CMHA (housing authority) and their new director Claire Freeman needs some
PR help. Would you be available?”

It was 1991, I had just started visiting
schools with my new self-published poetry books and this was the phone call
that would change my life. You don’t
have to be schizophrenic to work all day in the hood and in impoverished
schools and come home at night to your hot tub, but it certainly helps. I
started hearing voices, lots of them.

From the Park Bench is a book of poems in
multiple voices that has been 25 years in the writing. I don’t have much
explanation for myself about that, just that over the years, through conversations
with kids, teachers, CMHA residents and co-workers – I took a lot of
notes.

There is never one side to any story, and
what I have learned is there are rarely only two sides to a story.

This afternoon I will be signing and
introducing From the Park Bench, published by Red Giant Press from 4-6PM at Guide
to Kulcher Bookstore, 5900 Detroit, Cleveland, OH. Joining me will be Michael Salinger who
will be signing the paperback release of his book for teens, Well Defined,
Vocabulary in Rhyme (also Red Giant).

August 28, 2015

Bridging into Fall

I just sent a finished (I think) manuscript off to my editor, I accomplished my first 30 mile bike ride, and had our first school visit of the year at Chardon Middle School, right in our back yard. The leaves are feeling crackly, the temperature is dropping and evening is crowding the daylight hours.

I am embarrassed that I have taken such a long to visit this blog. My excuses are long and take me from Vietnam, to Hong Kong, to Nansha China, Canberra, Australia, Houston, Columbia, SC, Missouri (twice). And then I just needed some downtime. Healthy eating, bike riding, friend chatting, downtime. I mean, I really needed it.

Oh, and I needed to finish my new book. Very exciting. The Enemy, a middle grade novel set in 1954 in Detroit. Themes are bullying, immigration, post traumatic stress (even though that term didn’t exist back then) and women’s issues. Oh, and the cold war and book banning. I am so excited about this book (Calkins Creek) and the incredible direction I’ve received from my editor Carolyn Yoder.

Next week we are off to visit Ruamrudee International School, Bangkok, Thailand. Looking forward to meeting new friends and writing with the students and teachers there.

February 12, 2015

A Valentine’s Day Story

Okay, his name was not Jim, but other than that, the following poem is a true story. Hard to imagine any boy wouldn’t have gone for those bangs and too young for braces buck teeth. I wore extra petticoats because I wanted hips like Annette Funicello, but instead I was shaped more like Pinocchio. The only thing missing in this picture are the black cats’ eye glasses that I needed to see the blackboard at school. Irresistible.

So, in the old days kids didn’t have to bring valentines to the entire class. It was possible for one girl (Bernadette Sehi) to get 35 valentines and the girl sitting next to her (B.O.Ploe) to get none. It was a day filled with high anxiety and kids consoling themselves by overdosing on little candy hearts. I suppose I was kind in the middle in the whole “who got the most valentines” contest. I don’t remember, really. But I remember a boy who was not named Jim who crumpled my valentine in his pocket and laughed with his friends (at me?). It wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me, and you’ll be glad to know, I did not injure myself or others despite the murderous, vengeful thoughts going through my head at the moment I tried to capture in the poem. But 50 years later, I still remember.

On Valentine’s Day, be nice.

VALENTINE

I
gave Jim a valentine.

He
stuffed it in his shirt,

then
stood there in the hallway

with
his jerko friends and smirked.

I
must be dumber than a doorknob,

but
I thought I’d take a chance.

Now,
my foot is itching in my shoe,

it
wants to kick his pants.

My
hands are searching

for
a hiding place.

They
want to choke his throat.

He
thinks that I’m some joke.

One
day I hope he feels

what
burned is all about,

and
he will learn too late

that
love’s too fine to be crumped out.

January 29, 2015

Backwards Day All Year Long

Dan Ferri

Some poems visit you at sunset. Some haunt you in the wee hours with Jabberwocky logic because, let’s face it, anything seems logical at 3AM. There are poems you reach for when a friend dies, when a marriage implodes, when gratitude washes away pain.

Dan Ferri’s poem, Backwards Day, follows me down school hallways behind 7th graders hiding their faces in hoodies. It stands with me as I watch the kid who can’t hold a pencil and whose school won’t let him use a keyboard try to make a joke out of it. It sits on my knee in a kindergarten class while everyone else is sitting on the carpet. This poem is for those who would rather cartwheel than walk, draw instead of formulate equations, those who write, know how to harmonize, and problem solve.

Holidays, snow days, and low grade fevers should never happen on the weekend. This Saturday is Backwards day, and because of that, I was afraid it would be overlooked this year.

You know what this list is? It’s a list of what proficiency tests do NOT measure. I found it in a book by Gerald Bracey, On the Death of Childhood and the Destruction of Public Schools (Heinemann 2003, in case you are looking for some light reading).

As we head into testing season (I know this because of schools that call asking for a visit “after the tests”) I’m thinking maybe Backwards Day shouldn’t be only an annual event like the 100th day of school or Dr. Seuss’ birthday, but a holiday that we celebrate all year long.

Dan is a seasoned middle school teacher transplanted from Chicago to Canberra, Australia, and as such he knows schools, holidays, and isn’t afraid to call out puppypoop when he sees it. Reprinted here with permission.

Backwards Day

Sometimes at school we have
a special day

We call it backwards day

Everyone wears their clothes
backwards

Or wears colors that clash

I have a modest proposal

Forget your silly backwards
hats and tee shirts

Forget this stripes and
checks together puppypoop

Let’s get serious

Let’s really shake school up

In math class, for homework

Describe the associative,
distributive, and

Commutative properties

In dance

Choreograph it, dance it,
show your work

Points off for clumsiness

In Social Studies, for
homework

Prepare two Civil War
marching songs, one North one South

Sing in four-part harmony,
show your emotion

Points off for flat notes

In English, for homework

Carve a sculpture that
expresses Hester Prynne’s solitary courage

The cowardice of her lover

The beauty and strangeness
of her child

In Science, for homework,

Bring in a broken toaster,
doorknob, or wind-up toy

Fix it

You get extra credit for
using the leftover parts to make something new

Points off for reading the
directions

On the S.A.T.

Every one of the questions

Will be in haiku

You get two scores

One in whistling, and one in
Legos

No calculators

Let’s take a stroll down the
hall

Let’s see who is in the
learning disabilities classroom now

Will you look at all those
guys with pocket protectors

Sweating, slouching, and
acting out

Hey, no one cares that you can
divide fractions backwards in

your head buddy

You will stay right here and
practice interpretive dance steps till

you get it right

Will you look at all those
perfect spellers with bad attitudes

Look at those grammar
wizards with rhythm deficit disorder

What good is spelling gonna
do you

If you can’t carry a tune

Toss a lariat

Or juggle?

You are going to stay right
here and do the things that you can’t

Over and over, and again,
and again

Until you get them right,

Or until you give up

Quit school

And get a job

As a spell checker

At the A&P

~Daniel Ferri

January 2, 2015

Taking it to the Next Level

A wise philosopher (Cher?) once said that “everyday’s a new audition.” That’s a lot of pressure!

And no time is that more evident than January 1, when we resolve something or other starting with the new year.

In the writing and the reading, poetry gives me pause. To others I may appear motionless, but the truth is, I’m just tuning my voice.

Watch out, 2015.

December 5, 2014

From the Park Bench (it’s coming!)

“When
we reject the single story, when we realize that there is never a single story about
any place, we regain a kind of paradise.”

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

OMG, it’s coming.

The publisher (Red Giant Press) said the hard copy proof is in the mail.

This manuscript has stretched and grown over 20 years. From my time as Public Information Officer at the Cuyahoga Metropolitan Housing Authority through an uncountable number of school visits and conversations with folks, I have taken a lot of notes. A whole lot of notes.

There is never just one side to any story, there are always at least two and usually many more. A fact we have seen playing out on our televisions over these past months (and years). I don’t pretend to have answers to the misunderstandings, I have just listened to the stories.

So has evolved these short poetic dialogues, two voices looking at the same subject from diverse viewpoints. Democracy, politicking, mother instinct, privatization, welfare, and getting schooled are among the topics.

For those who read my children’s books, I thank you heartily, but advise that this is not the book for you. This is a book for adults, and hopefully high school students.

For those who have heard my adult poetry, you will hear a familiar line here and there. I have not borrowed from those poems, rather those poems borrowed from this manuscript, the mother-ship, that has been festering on my hard drive for years, gnawing at me. As I recently observed to an audience at YALSA, you don’t have to be crazy to write poetry, but it does help if you hear voices.

I have never been so excited to go looking for typos.

November 24, 2014

Why Do You Write Sad Poems?

Why do you write sad poems?

Defensive answer: I don’t ONLY write sad poems. Did you see the one about how happiness comes hopping? Or the one about saying gross things at the dinner table? Funny stuff. Seriously funny. Not sad. Not sad at all.

Self-conscious answer: Oh, no. That didn’t make YOU sad, did it? I’m so sorry. It’s just that. . . no, seriously, I’m really really sorry.

Have had a lot of years to think about it answer: It makes me feel better. Seriously.

No Way

In a swirl of nothing
Saturday
lay
inhaling hours
of in between.
What mood is this?
Lost? Collapsed?
Left out? Just tired?
Leftover scraps
of expectation
now outgrown.
Of disappointments
overblown.
Speech bubbles
of stifled screams.
Drifting clouds.
Unticketed dreams.

Writing a poem is a way to tuck sad feelings in, kiss them on the forehead, and turn the klieg lights out on them.

November 8, 2014

Pasir Ridge International School: “Eyes twinkling in sunshine”

What’s weird, conducts electricity, and is a good citizen?

The poets of Pasir Ridge International School in Balikpapan,
Indonesia, of course!

Balikpapan is a strange sounding place populated by friendly and familiar faces. Who could forget a mascot such as the one above? I even recognized some of the faces in the assembly. Taller bodies, bigger feet, but the same
smiles. Michael and I were here 2 years
ago and were pleased as papayas to be back in this special learning place.

Pictured here is the reading space a middle school classroom, complete with pillows and plenty of books and space in which to stretch the mind and the legs.

In Theresa Marriott’s 3/4 grade classroom, we tried our hands at personification and then performed close surgery on our drafts to pare them into more precise poetry. During our second visit with her classroom we wrote definition poems about electricity where I learned that a circuit has to be closed and cannot be polka dots.

This year there are both a K-1 and 1-2 splits at PRIS. We were lucky enough to spend two full hours
with each class — two full hours with beginning writers is an incredible opportunity for us as we are generally limited to one 30 or 40 minute writing session with this age group at a school. Sometimes all we get is a drive-by where we share a few poems and then are hustled off. But being a small school has some definite advantages, with class sizes of about 10, we had time to get serious about writing and get a little goofy afterwards.

In each class we introduced writing lessons from our book High Impact Writing Clinics that had originally been conceived for students in grades four and up. But as this is a writing school, the kids were quick to engage as we first co-constructed poems, creating our own mentor text, and then wrote independently. We wrote about feeling weird (why not?) and talked about how important a conclusion is in our writing.

Weird

eyes rolling

arms slapping

body shaking

skin purpling

brain bubbling

feet wiggling

ears flapping

The best part is

I’m drooling on my desk

Weird 2

Eyes blinking

Mouth talking

Feet stomping

Arms shaking

Head wiggling

Body spinning

Knees skipping

Ears shaking

Lips growling

The best part is making a
silly face.

After this writing adventure, we brainstormed what it means to be a good citizen, first co-constructing the bare bones of a poem using a refrain and then going back to add in vibrant details before taking our clip boards and writing on our own.

Special thanks to Principal Seamus Marriott for the invitation, the opportunities, and the yummy meals.