Sara Holbrook author/poet/educator
July 1, 2008
Fill your hatwith waterdump it on your head,watch the sunsetfall in bed.Kick the horseto make it go,hike and sing,explore and showoff your painted shirt,and decorate one of Sophie’s gourds, eat mac and cheese,gather tadpoles,rocksgeez110 degreesis really hot! How ’bout a swim?Do your ears hang low?Can you see Saturn?How far are we from Mexico?
Road
June 28, 2008
What I want to do is blog about what a fab time I had at Granny Camp and visit with the Ohio Writing Project at Miami U (very cool), but first a bit of Grumpy business. I have been on hold with my email server for a total of 80 minutes today — after
June 25, 2008
So far we have visited the Desert Museum and the Colossal Cave. We’ve gone horseback riding and written in our journals. We’ve sung camp songs and given ourselves desert names (Ben’s is coyote, mine is fish hook). Why fish hook? That’s a kind of cactus and it seemed appropriate since we all got stuck trying
June 21, 2008
Ben arrives for Granny Camp. Next stop, Tucson.We’d like to thank our sponsors: Kid provided by Kelly & Brian WeistTransportation provided by Continental airlines.Good weather provided by Mother Nature.Headline and photos provided by Salinger.
June 21, 2008
Back in the day, when Scottie was two, he knew how to grip the bat, address the T, smack the ball, drop the bat and run in a circle. He had the game down. Granted, there were some nuances to learn, a batter’s glove, cleats and hat to acquire, but he evidenced a deep understanding
June 16, 2008
Dreams take the day’s events, twist and bend, turn and tumble with hopes, dreads, obsessions and skinny-eyed suspicions. Presto! Out comes a distortion, not really real, but a temporary living space, sometimes more memorable than the day itself.
Almost anything seems possible at 3AM, almost any dread seems probable. And if floundering around in possible
June 9, 2008
When the suitcases come down from the attic, when the bike comes out of the garage, when one of us goes searching for car keys or a water bottle, we meet for an exchange of lips. Just in case the plane goes down, the kid texting on his cell doesn’t see the cyclist, the car
June 5, 2008
There are no words.
So many notes, books, poems all offered with genuine, hopeless chagrin: There are no words . . . Still we seek to find them. In many ways we are recrafted by each death – how we place our feet on the floor the morning after on foreign carpet fibers and confront
June 3, 2008
Screen staring is not writing. It is not research. It is reading every news report you do and mostly do not need to know (cute animal videos, a cure for graduation blues, the size of Angelina’s bump) and then re-reading them. It occasionally involves scrabble or other time sucking games, definitely involves graphics, shopping for
June 1, 2008
The haiku poetspeaks sincerely into the mike,holds heart in clenched fist
The Haiku emceeinvites the poets to bowfrom waist in respect
Each greeting is met
with reverberating gong
as the poets bow.
The audience issilent as the fallen snow.Words glisten. Applause!
