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Archive for the ‘Wordsworth the Poet’ Category

Merry Christmas, Boys and Girls.

I have three presents for you today.

The first is a present you can unwrap all year round. This is a gift that goes on and on each time you have a conversation with a friend or being with a friend without saying a single word because it seems the right thing to do. This is your act of kindness you show to others, even strangers,  day after day.

The second is a gift you carry all the time with you and no matter how many times you open it, it’s always new. This gift makes you feel cozy and warm and yet, you don’t wear it. It’s not made of wool or fur but this will keep you warmer than being in front of a fireplace.

What kind of gift is this? You ask.

This is the gift of your imagination and all the things that come from it.

Things that no one has ever seen like talking cats, flying frogs or surfers riding waves to another planet. You can imagine whatever you want to be and the bigger your imagination, the more you can become. All things become possible with imagination.

The third gift is one that is bigger than all the gifts in the world. You can put into this gift, all the things  you receive today and you will still have room for more. You can’t find this gift in any store. And once you get this gift, it keeps coming again and again and each time you share it, you keep getting more and more.

This is story telling. Stories for all the Christmases and for every day of your life. Someone once used her imagination and wrote this story about me called Wordsworth the Poet and here I am today, with you.

Enjoy the magical wonder of your world with kindness, imagination  and keep telling your stories.

Wordsworth, the Poet.

4 WordsworthBooks

December , 2019

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Thank you, Cameron, Lex and Cooper for your review of my Wordsworth books.

Folks, the three brothers Cameron and Lex are 13 and Cooper is 21 months. They each received a letter of thanks from Wordsworth and me, mailed in three separate envelopes.

I plan to read their letters to the lecture I’m giving this month on Wordsworth and children’s literature in my effort to show the difference between children’s books and literature. What makes it literature? These boys know.

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(My  advice column for caregivers called Dear Frances that appears monthly in the Hawaii Herald was written by Wordsworth, my little mouse poet this month.)

 

June 2019 Dear Frances,

Dear Readers,

Frances is away from her desk, giving lectures and book talks in Hawaii so I volunteered to do the column. I’m Wordsworth the mouse poet from four of her children’s books. At  first she was skeptical until I reminded her that  in all of my  books, I resolve human problems through poetry just like her. So please stay and read my column.

I’m still dancing the waltz after Patrick Toal, Director of the Alzheimer’s Association in Hawaii made me a mascot. My job is to visit schools and libraries to teach our younger generation about memory loss and how to live with our elders with compassion, dignity and respect.

We already visited libraries in Kohala and Hilo and will be flying to Maui and Molokai soon. If you want us to visit you, please call your Alzheimer’s Office or get in touch with Frances.  I would like to visit schools.

Frances and I did some work with students from Kindergarten to Middle School in Honolulu and will share some of their poems.

But first, let me brag a bit. I was in the Merrie Monarch parade in Hilo. I think I saw some of you waving to me. At first I felt a bit insulted when children began to shout Chucky Cheese at me. Luckily, Patrick Toal,  showed them my name and for the rest of the parade, I heard “Wordsworth! Wordsworth!”  What a relief.  Have you had someone call you by the wrong name?  Not good.  Hey Frances, have you ever been in a parade?

Here, I’m dancing with waltz as I did with Grandma in my book.

 

WW dancing 2

 

The children we visited are wonderful. They draw pictures, write poems,  play games and talk story about their grand or great – grand parents. They are preserving so many good memories. Some of the children are confused about the changes that happen after their grand or great-grandparents get dementia. That’s where I come in and show them what is really happening. Once they understand what dementia does to our brains, they are less confused and fearful. But you know all about this and why it’s important that we don’t isolate children from our loved  ones no matter what stages of dementia are at hand.  If they are given  truthful information, they are able to handle ailments and changes.  And you’ll be surprised how aware they are of our elders.

I like the story of a young mother who said her two pre-school children are like me and are teaching her how to be a better caregiver. After they heard my Wordsworth Dances the Waltz, they told their mother, “Why do you talk so mean to grandma?” Wow. Their mother said she respected her children and they have become her teachers. She told them, “You are like Wordsworth, keep reminding me when I talk mean.”

Another mother shared how her two young grandsons taught her how to hang loose and laugh instead of getting so stressed out. When their grandpa wore his pants inside out, their grandma began to get stressed and upset because it meant more work for her. Before she could change her husband’s pants, she heard her grandsons and husband laughing. Her grandsons had told Grandpa, “Hey Grandpa, you made new fashion.” And they all laughed and let Grandpa wear his new inside out pants.

Sometimes, our young children know exactly what to say and do so we need to leave them alone and let them become our teachers.

Here are some poems written by  6th  and 3rd graders when Frances was their teacher. I left their names out to protect their privacy. Please note how aging, dying and death claim their thoughts a lot and how poetry helps to express them. Too often we try to be silent in these areas, thinking we need to protect our children but listen to them here. Except for the last poem, they were written by sixth graders.

Grandma

 

Grandma is a beautiful name.

I know she didn’t go to hell.

I know she went to heaven.

My grandma, a humming bird on a branch.

 

***

 

My Grandfather

 

I don’t know why God wants to take him someday.

He’s not old, he’s not young.

But he’s been good to me.

Please God, don’t let him die.

 

I don’t know why

We are born

If  we are going to die.

 

 

***

 

Aging

 

An old woman sits by the fire.

Quietly she drapes her old tattered shawl

Across her shoulders.

A drop of rain lands on her cheek,

Like a tear.

 

An old tired work horse

Limps to the barn.

Then a young excited horse

Trots to the plow.

Soon he, too, will limp.

***

 

My Grandmother

 

While I think of my grandmother

Lying dead in a coffin

Under the ground,

I feel a tear drop on my arm.

Why did she have to die?

I love her.

I didn’t even get to say

Good-bye.

 

 

***

 

My Grandmother

 

My grandmother is like

A stale piece of bread,

I feel sorry for her

Now that she’s almost dead.

 

As she limps down the dark road,

She looks wrinkled and so old.

I wish my grandma was young again,

Like a freshly baked loaf of bread.

 

 

***

( When Geof wrote this, he shocked himself and put his head down on his desk and kept saying, “Miss Kakugawa, Miss Kakugawa, this is so bad. Oh, this is so bad. I said my grandma’s like a loaf of stale bread. I can’t believe I said this.” After Frances  read the poem, and  told him, “This is beautiful. This is what poets do, using metaphors as you did  with the loaf of bread,.” he was pleased to know he had written a good poem and allowed it to be published.)
****

Photographs

 

bring back memories

more and more each time.

if they are of grandpa

I look at them and cry.

I see his light blue coffin

going

down

into

the

ground.

 

 

***

 

Old Bird

 

The old bird sits there

Ready and willing to die,

Weeping with its last song.

 

***

This last poem was written by a third grader:

Memory

 

Oh, sadness comes to me.

I feel like a puzzle being apart

Into a hundred pieces.

Sadness of a memory

That I don’t have.

I don’t have the memory

Of my grandfather.

He was gone

Before my mother was born.

I wonder…

 

If he were here,

Would he take me out

To From the Heart

And buy me erasers?

Would we talk together

And have a good time?

I wonder what name

I would call him.

 

 

3rd grade

 

***

 

This was enjoyable, doing the column for Frances.  You can send me comments and questions through Frances or directly to me.

 

I have my own email address: wordsworth@bookshawaii.net

You can also check me out at my own FaceBook. https://www.facebook.com/WordsworthThePoet/

Maybe if you fill my mailbox with letters and questions, this column will be called Dear Wordsworth. Oh, oh, hope Frances doesn’t read this.

By the way, do you know how she sent me from Sacramento to Hawaii? In a Fed EX box!  My head was all squished. I hope after all this work I’m doing for her, my trips to Maui and Molokai will be on first class. Maybe you can suggest this to her?

Aloha, readers.

Wordsworth the Poet

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Please drop by to say hello, Oahu friends.

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bull

 

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To Wordsworth the Poet fans, please check him out at his own FB page. He’s complaining that no one goes there much. In today’s post, he is complaining how he was not flown first class from Sacramento to Honolulu to Hilo. He also explains how he was created. He’s getting pretty verbal, now that he’s so well-sought by his fans in Hawaii. Do you know Maui has now invited him over to visit their schools to teach them about Alzheimer’s and memory loss?  No, I was not invited.

https://www.facebook.com/WordsworthThePoet?fref=ts

 

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Seven year old Kollin was given my Wordsworth the Poet book and according to his mother, he kept rereading the book. You see, Kollin has Wordsworth inside him, too, because he wants to be an artist someday. Not a fiction artist, he said, but a non-fiction one where he will draw nature. One day his uncles took him shopping with “Buy anything you want.” Kollin chose a tablet and a box of crayons. His uncles told his mother, “Hey, something wrong with your son, we expected to buy him all kinds of electronic games but he only chose this paper and crayons.”

 

This is his book report on Wordsworth the Poet: He used a pumpkin to reproduce Wordsworth.

No wonder Kollin feels so connected to Wordsworth. I have offered to visit his class as Share and Tell and perhaps help release the little poets inside each child.

A generation ago, Kollin’s uncle had the same dream but his immigrant Hmong parents told him this is not why they came to America…he needs to let go his artist dreams and get a real job and he did.

4 WordsworthBooks

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