51 Poets on Being Imperfect ~ Middle School Poems

Howdy Campers ~ and happy Poetry Month 2022, Poetry Friday and April Fools Day! (my poem and the link to Poetry Friday are below) 

Carmela and I are excited to announce that our poems have been included in the poetry anthology, IMPERFECT II: Poems About Perspective: an anthology for middle schoolers, edited by the wonderful Tabatha Yeatts (History House Publishers, April 2022)

IMPERFECT II features poems by:
Robert Schechter * William Peery * Laura Mucha * Lisa Varchol Perron * Buffy Silverman * Heidi Mordhorst * Mary Lee Hahn * Mia Perron * Myrna Foster * Laura Purdie Salas * Tricia Torrible * April Halprin Wayland * Christy Mihaly * Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer * Diana Murray * Rebecca Gardyn Levington * Rochelle Burgess * Liz Garton Scanlon * Linda Kulp Trout * Alan J. Wright * François Villon * Michelle Heidenrich Barnes * Linda Mitchell * Alana DeVito * Elisabeth Norton * Carmela Martino * Molly Hogan * Michelle Schaub * Laura Shovan * Catherine Flynn * Carl Sandburg * Abby Wooldridge * Sydney Dunlap * Marzieh Abbas * Donna JT Smith * Paul Laurence Dunbar * Suzy Levinson * Helen Kemp Zax * Kathleen McKinley Harris * Margaret Simon * Ella Wheeler Wilcox * Ruth Bowen Hersey * Diane Mayr * Mizuta Masahide * Michelle Kogan * Charles Ghigna * Jone Rush MacCulloch * Richard Schiffman * Tabatha Yeatts * Robyn Fohouo * Isaac Leib Perez

Look for Carmela's poem in this book, Backyard Dandelions, in her May 20, 2022 post.

Here's one of my poems in this collection: 

FINGERPRINT  by April Halprin Wayland 

There’s a tiger in my fingerprint.

And fret and tire and ping.

And maybe also ripening:

ignite and fire and ring.

 

On grey days there’s no tiger,

just pine, inept, infringe.

I cannot roar with pen or print

there’s only grief and only rip

 

But maybe also...

tiger grit.

poem (c) 2022 by April Halprin Wayland, from IMPERFECT II: Poems About Perspective ~ an anthology for middle schoolers, edited by Tabatha Yeatts (History House Publishers 2022)
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This is an In One Word poem, a form I invented. (Does one really "invent" poetic forms?)

The word I repeat a lot to myself lately is “fingerprint”...which to me means that no one can say what I need to do to get through the hard times, to right a wrong; no one can tell me how to create or live my life. The hard work is this: I need to discover my own fingerprint. 

This applies to how many potato chips are okay and how many are too many, as well as who do I want to hang out with? Where do I want to put my energies? And what time do I need to go to bed tonight? (I'll probably to ignore my own advice on that one...)

I wish someone I trusted, someone I looked up to had taken me aside in the crowded hallway of Lincoln Middle School, looked me in the eyes, and helped me understand that there is no perfect way to live your life. 

The question for each of us is: what's your fingerprint?

And one more thing: Sylvia Vardell's blog highlights Pomelo Books' newest anthology--this time for younger kiddos--THINGS WE EAT, which features full-color photos of foods in alphabetical order accompanied by a poem. JUST published, it's already a ⭐️A Children's Book Council Hot Off the Press Selection⭐️!

Here's mine in this beautifully presented collection:

Thank you, Heidi, at my juicy little universe for hosting PF this week!

posted with lots of love and a little bit of brain fog by April Halprin Wayland

Dear Insufferable Teen Me,

   I've had so much fun reading the Letters to My Younger Self of my fellow Teaching Authors.  Some TA's I know well, and some I have never met in person.  Every single post has resonated with me in some way, and allowed me to know them a little better.  Go back and check out Jo Ann's, Esther's, Carla's, and April's posts.  You might find a little of you there.

      Now it's time to talk to someone I haven't thought about in a long while, 16-year-old me.  I don't like her because she was cocky, insufferable and over confident as a writer.  She once told a Pulitzer Prize winning author that she never revised anything, "because I get it right the first time."

      See what I mean?

      Hello, Rodman (as you are known, back in the day).

This is Your Future Self speaking, and I have some bad news for you. You do not win the 1976 Pulitzer Prize as you predicted in the class prophecy. As bad as you are in math, I am sure you didn't realize that you would be a college senior in 1976. Saul Bellow wins. He gets interviewed by Johnny Carson instead of you.

Here's even worse news.

There is no Story Fairy.  You know her, first cousin to the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and Santa Claus.

13-year-old me

Right now, you think that Story Fairy waves her Magic Story Wand (sound effect: harp strings) sparkly story dust showers you and ta da! a story, appears, full-blown in your head.  A couple of hours later, you are ready to mail it off to the latest writing contest.

And you always win those contests.   Local, regional, national, you win them all. You are editor of your school paper. You write a weekly school column for the local paper for four years,  without breaking a sweat. Writing is easy. It's the one thing you know you can do. Even though it is not considered a real asset in your teen world (like cheerleading and looking like Christie Brinkley), Writer is a far better label than Nerd or Girl Without Boyfriend.

You eventually become an adult (even though you don't really want to) and something terrible happens.  Story Fairy deserts you.  You write as fluently as ever, sailing along on your little blue typewriter when bang!  You hit a wall. You don't know what happens next. The main character just sits there, staring at you, refusing to move or talk. Hey, Fairy.  Where are you?  There must be something wrong with me.  Maybe I'm not a real writer after all.  And you quit writing.

But you can't stop. You keep journals.  You go on writing and hitting walls.  Sometimes a kind editor will scrawl a sentence on the form rejection letters you receive. You write very well, but this isn't really a story. No one ever explains why it's not a real story. And you keep writing.  For many, many years. All alone.

Then one day, through a set of Magical Circumstances, you find yourself in an MFA Writing Program.  You discover there are lots of other people just like you, who write all the time, never get published and don't know why.  You go to lectures, work with real writers and talk to your new writer friends.  Eventually you learn (you are a very slow learner) that there is no Writer Fairy.

Stories don't just happen.  They come in dribs and drabs.  A character chatters in a corner of your brain.  You remember family stories.  Music will paint a mental setting, like a stage without actors. You go back to the journals you've kept since third grade and discover story treasures there.

In other words, writing takes a long time. Right now, a long time means two days, only because you are a slow and terrible typist. You discover it takes months and years to turn those dribs and drabs into a story. You will stop and start, write and rewrite. A little voice in your head tells you when something is not quite right.  You write some more. (This is different from that other voice that says Who do you think you're kidding?  You're not a writer!  You tell that voice to shut up and go away.)

There is no bibbety bobbety boo to writing. It takes the three P's--patience, persistence and perspiration. It means writing something--even a journal entry--every day you possibly can. (In years to come, you will read that Stephen King writes every day except Christmas.  You learn that most people are not Stephen King.)

Still there, Rodman?  Still awake?  Here comes the good news.  You never give up, you read and write and learn from others and when you are really old (like forty), you start writing real stories that other people (editors) like and publish.  You will still get rejection letters (sometimes they come in something called an e-mail that hasn't been invented yet, so don't worry about it) but you keep on writing.  Because it's a compulsion.

Because you are a real writer. You always were.

Love, Future You, Mary Ann Rodman, published author.

P.S.  No, you don't marry Robert Redford or ever look like Christie Brinkley, but you do OK.

Future you and your mom, at a signing for your first book, My Best Friend

Posted by Mary Ann Rodman

3 Words To The Wise To New Writers

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Howdy, Campers--Happy Poetry Friday! The link is at the bottom of the page, right below my poem.

Our topic this round is Dear Younger Me. JoAnn started us off by encouraging her younger self not only to carry around notebooks...but to actually go back and mine them for ideas. Esther lovingly reassures her younger self--as she has encouraged me and countless others. Carla talks to her past self when she decided to write what would become her first nonfiction book.

I love this topic. We seem to be universally hard on ourselves. I am constantly giving myself tickets for the things I haven't accomplished...

Are you intimidated by the police in your head?
Have you considered the possibility that you haven't done anything wrong?

So here's what I'd tell my younger self...the one embarking on a voyage to the Children's Book Writers Planet:

Dear Enthusiastic, Younger, Much-Prettier-Than-You-Realize-Right-Now Me,

~ Trust your gut. I know, I know. Your mother kept saying this and you looked at her cross-eyed.

What in the heck does that MEAN?

Well--it means yes, take those classes, read children's literature, find a critique group, attend conferences, read how-to books...

...but give yourself the silence in which to discover that still, small voice within. She's there, I promise. But she whispers. The crazy clutter of our culture makes is hard to locate her (and Honey, it's only going to get worse, believe me. Buckle your seat belt.) 

She knows when that marvelous critique group is sending your story in the wrong direction, when the business advice you just heard from the podium does not fit your work habits or your style or your something-else.

Trust her. Wander with her. She usually doesn't take the well-traveled path.

~ Be patient. Ha ha--that's a good one, right? When you're still in your twenties, your very smart husband will say."Y'know...I think we'll both reach our peak in our 50s and 60s."  HA! He can't be right, can he?

Um...yup.

~ Keep creating content.  That is, keep writing books. Because one day you could look up after visiting 19 gazillion schools, and you'll not only be exhausted to the bone...but your books will begin going out of print. ACK!

So yes, accept invitations to do school visits and teach workshops, because you love teaching.  But be careful not to let them take over your writing time like some big blobby thing.

It's so tempting, isn't it? Your ego is definitely well-fed by those second graders who think you're the Queen of England.

from Morguefile.com

That's all, Kiddo. You'll do fine.

Oh--one more thing: slow down when you read your beautiful kid bedtime stories. I know, I know: you want to get to your work, but trust me...take a breath, take your time, and soak in the pleasure of reading to your kid.

Love,
me

P.S: I know you're not going to take any of this advice. And that's okay, too.

TO MY TEEN SELF
by April Halprin Wayland

Michael is lying.
Michael is lying.
I know that you're flying on wings of romance.
His teeth gleam, he loves you--well, at least at first glance.
But Michael is caught in the web he is weaving
Michael is out the door.
Michael is leaving.
Michael is lying.
Michael is lying.
Oh, dear.
It's coming:
the Niagara of crying.

poem and drawing (c) 2015 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.

Thanks to my friend Robyn Hood Black for hosting today!

posted by April Halprin Wayland with the help of that still, small voice within.

Dear Totally Clueless Nonfiction Author Me

In this series of posts, my fellow TeachingAuthors and I are writing letters to our earlier selves a la Dear Teen Me.  As I’ve thought about what to write, it is clear to me that the contents of such a letter would vary greatly depending on the phase of life I considered.   A letter to my teen self would be very different from a letter to my newlywed self, or to my busy young mother self, or my empty nester self, or my newly-divorced-after-being-married-my-whole-adult-life self.

So the best approach for this assignment is to write a letter to the young woman I was years ago that decided to write a nonfiction book.  I had no idea what I was doing.  I had no idea where to start doing it.  And I had no idea how to finish doing it.   

But that didn't stop me.  

And I succeeded. 

So a letter to myself back then as I began what would become a long journey would go something like this:

Dear Carla,

You might not know what you are doing right now, but you will figure it out as you go. 

Trust your instincts as a researcher and as a storyteller. 

Think outside the box. 

Be fearless.

Don’t expect so much of yourself. 

From Your future self.

As I read back over this letter, I realize things haven’t changed all that much after all.  I still need to remember these things today.   

So maybe this is a letter to my past self, my present self, and my future self. 

Carla Killough McClafferty

Book cover of my first nonfiction book for young readers.
THE HEAD BONE'S CONNECTED TO THE NECK BONE: THE WEIRD, WACKY AND WONDERFUL X-RAY.
Published by FSG.

See the Dear Me letters of JoAnn Early Macken and Esther Hershenhorn. 

Dear DEAR Teen Me

As JoAnn shared in her Friday post, in this current series my fellow Teaching Authors and I are writing to our younger selves, inspired by the authors’ letters of the Dear Teen Me project.

At first, this letter-writing idea grabbed me.  For years I’ve tasked my writers to pen all sorts of letters – to their future selves to envision their journeys, to their characters to learn their stories more fully, to the author of the book that made them a Reader, to the author whose writing changed their lives.  I also believe in writing Thank You notes, in haiku or not. 

But then Second Thoughts took center stage, overwhelming me and holding me back.

Hmmmm….

Let’s see….

I could say….

No way!

So I considered sharing Jake Wizner’s new Stenhouse book WORTH WRITING ABOUT – EXPLORING MEMOIR WITH ADOLESCENTS.

Or Carolyn Mackler’s September-released Harper Teen YA novel INFINITE IN BETWEEN, in which “five ninth graders write letters to their future selves, promising to reunite on graduation day and read them together.”

Or even reviewing DEAR TEEN ME which gathered over 70 letters noted YA authors wrote their teenaged selves.

And then I saw my badge from my 50^th High School Reunion (!) and I knew just what I wanted to tell that Earnest, Smiling, Tenacious, Hopeful, Enthusiastic and Resourceful about-to-enter-college voted “Likely to Succeed” Teacher-Writer Wannabe – the one (I've since surprisingly learned) her fellow classmates viewed as confident, even though she knew “Self-UNassured” was the more appropriate and telling S and that her metaphorical non-stop paddling feet beneath the water’s surface belied the appearance of smooth and happy sailing.

I wanted to riff on borrowed words from Dennis Palumbo’s WRITING FROM THE INSIDE OUT to tell her what I've spent a lifetime learning.  Palumbo wants the writer to know, “…you  - everything you are, all your feelings, hopes and dreads, fears and fantasies – you are enough.”

Here’s my variation and Dear Teen Me letter.

Dear Teen Me:

As your Life unfolds, no matter the circumstance and the verb 
you choose/need/desire to undertake - to love, befriend, embrace
or honor, achieve, create, realize or become, confront, rebound,
overcome, triumph, I absolutely assure you:
you are MORE than enough!”

Really and truly. 

XOXO

Esther Chairnoff Hershenhorn

Dear Younger Me

I only recently discovered the Dear Teen Me site, where young adult authors post encouraging, honest, heartfelt letters to their teenage selves. For this series of posts, we Teaching Authors are writing to our younger selves, inspired by those letters.

When our kids were still small, I started writing for children—poetry and picture books, fiction and nonfiction. I carried a pocket notebook around to keep track of ideas. The notebooks piled up in my desk drawer until I dumped them all into a box that I’ve been slowly weeding out.

Here’s what I’d say to that young mother:

Remember the notebooks! Yes, you carry one around most of the time. You’re always jotting down a favorite word or a quick observation or something funny one of the kids said. From time to time—especially when you’re stuck—stop and see what treasures you’ve gathered. Ideas and stories and poems are in there! Go back and find them!

The same thing with pictures. Look through them once in awhile. Remember the silly, wonderful, brave things you did. In another unsorted box, I just found this one of me and our (little!) boys on a camping trip. Priceless, right?

More weeding ahead!

Charlotte S. is the winner of our latest Book Giveaway, the autographed copy of Write a Poem Step by Step. Congratulations, Charlotte! Your book is on its way!

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is at Poetry for Children. 

Enjoy!

JoAnn Early Macken