Since the 1950s, people have been writing personal essays into the radio show on National Public Radio titled, This I Believe. In class you've been asked to write one of these essays and encouraged to submit it to the radio show for publication. For this post, please post the belief statement that you have chosen to write about.
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Finding where poetry hides is much like a treasure hunt...or at least it can be. Poetry hides in the "things" that remind us about what is close to our heart. For instance, maybe it hides in the radio and can be found when a certain song plays or in an old pair of running shoes, telling stories of the miles that have been run. Wherever this may be, it is important to find the places that your poetry hides. Take some time to search your house, family, and life. Look for the specifics and in as many things, places, occasions, and people you can. Poems hide in our everyday experiences so draw from this. You should be able to use your senses to find poetry.
For this week's blog, list at least 5 places where poetry hides, for you. Read through and comment on other comments. This may become a place for you to begin your next great poem! One student’s list of where poetry hides: in pages of unused journals, too pretty to write in in the trinket box of treasures in the collage of photographs on the refrigerator door in our family conversations tucked in dust jackets of old picture books in my ring collection in the one-on-one basketball played with my dad in that first dive into a swimming pool in the tangle of shoes under my desk in the old collar of my dog who died in the moments of comfortable silence when people read in the morning silence when I first wake squeezed between the books lining my overfull bookshelves in popping popcorn in the vase of flowers on the kitchen table in the dusty feather boa that frames my mirror under the lid of the wicker laundry basket, always askew in my collection of boxes, each housing a story in the way my mom cooks dinnerin my old running shoes in the post-Halloween candy wrappers strewn across the floor in my blankie, which I once took everywhere in the pink lamp that sends rose-colored light into the hallway in the loving, playful eyes of my Golden Retriever -Nanci Atwell
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