Branches 1: Paws and Claws

Branch 1: A Muse Amused...
As I had mentioned, it has been a long time since I have finished a draft of poetry--five months in fact.  I finished a three month old partial sestina draft yesterday and joined a writing group that met today.  Below is the exercise piece I wrote for our group prompt.  The prompt was to write about your totem animal.  If you comment, you should let us know what yours is...

Below the group written practice piece is the main crux of this blog, my sestina Vernacular Harmony.
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Paws and Claws

Palmed skin pads push heavy paces
And I pulse press hard into rain heavy pavement.

French Quarter fallen water washes
Most things well away, but weary and worn souls
Soak the streets with their oil.
Urban unjust jungle of well liquor
And jazz rifters.

Ears pack pressed back
Into fur and pretty padded feet press flex
In depth with each step.

I stop placement on pause
Refresh my whiskers with a closed claw.
I roll my rangled head and
depthly ascend up roof chutes broken
Branch to broken branch and
Plant press on limb end in leaves, breathe once,
And jump...and jump...and jump....and

Land running roughly
Ranged ragged roof to
Ranged ragged roof
Find a fresh shuttered window to rest and
Let rumble an unsilent grumble
Through my sweat-ridden chest.

This is my jungle
Crouched knees on a rooftop in rumble
Signal to sign this ubran serengeti
They are blessed.
They are mine.

-cid galicia  7/1/13

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What is a Sestina?

Form[edit]

Graphical representation of the algorithm for ordering the end-words in a sestina

Although the sestina has been subject to many revisions throughout its development there remain several features that define the form. The sestina is composed of six stanzas of six lines (sixains), followed by a stanza of three lines (atercet).^[4][23] There is no rhyme within the stanzas;^[24] instead the sestina is structured through a recurrent pattern of the words that end each line,^[4] a technique known as "lexical repetition".^[25]

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Vernacular Harmony

You walk yourself up the stairs in steps of hard vernacular

And there sounds are split into a seven-set harmony.

Balcony bound dress slack suits walk in dialogue

And the buckle bound tenders bounce tongues.

What would like to drink boss?  A smokey smile and a glance.

And each sipping soul plants roots of self and stands.

The hidden place is where to place the foot and stand.

A man walks through swamp song jazz that sags with vernacular.

Watch him pass chance to chance and glance to glance.

He stands against the mood in harmony.

The tracks trace paths through skirts and shirts and tongue

Brushing lip and lip and lip in dialogue.

The swamp hop fog in dialogue

Where the water-chalked gator-man drops needles in record stands.

Lips sip the corners of conversations and kiss cocktail tongues.

And dance-dippers these body-shift thinkers shag their swag in vernacular.

And I watch as the song takes swigs and shifts hips in harmony

From balcony man to dancing hands and liquor stands in glance.

The moon moves the mood with its balcony eye glance.

Wormwood words distill the ice cube curves of the evening’s dialogue.

They let loose and their eyes are used to taste the moving harmony.

The ceiling softly shakes them. The stairs softly grate them, whether they sit or stand.

The speaking is unspoken in the movement of the music’s vernacular.

Shoes lick the floors sweeping in swamp song with toes and heels and tongue.

And I can trace that she is out of place by the stillness in her tongue.

She is slant to the rhythm on entry, so I soften her with a glance.

Give her chance to find faith in the swampy evening shades of vernacular.

I give her soil to shift a sweet sink and be--with me in dialogue

How you doin love?  Let me get you a drink.  You just breathe there and stand.

Here love. A whiskey ginger.  We relax in harmony.

That’s all we do, in harmony, is stand still in glance.

Don’t need to always move tongues to share swamp-song dialogue.

Just plant your jungle jazz feet, stand in heat, and be vernacular.

-cid galicia 6/30/13

Questions to answer if you'd like...

1.Is the poem clear or is it too foggy?

2. Are there any stanzas, lines, words that do not match or just do not work?

3. Is the poem, any stanzas, lines or words trying to do to much--making it too clogged?

4. Format: I would rather all stanzas have a similar measure throughout the poem,

any thought on how to measure back some of the longer lines?

5. Any other thoughts you had and would like to share.

thank you.

Grow Different: Brances 1 & 3

I have not written in ages.  I have been struggling with time and a great many things.  Briefly this poem reflects my habitual weakness of running circles when unsure and my ever-quest of balancing myself with the feminine: through relationships past and present.

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Roots of Lament

-thankful regards and inspiration to Kristen, Adrian, and My Love.

Relentless roots grip deep, yet leaves still fall.

Leaf canopy circles arch and descend without end.

Turn water, turn ice, turn wind; still all turns thaw.

First break the self; then break the earth, its’ jaws.

Pull out the yoke of age in hope of amends.

Relentless roots grip deep, yet leaves still fall.

Thrust past the crust and then through magma gnaw.

Each body burned, well spent, in trade of repents.

Turn water, turn ice, turn win; still all turns thaw.

Wedge tooth of toe to break each bone of shawl.

The face then reached unclear through haze of blends.

Relentless roots grip deep, yet leaves still fall.

Brush apart and wash the lips of thou who called

Turn not back to the wake, gaze not on passed limbs lent.

Turn water, turn ice, turn win; still all turns thaw.

It is the woe of man who stands so tall.

It is the woe of man you could not circumvent

Relentless roots grip deep, yet leaves still fall.

Turn water, turn ice, turn win; still all turns thaw.

Branch 2 and 3: Jet Planes and such...

Macklemore is a new, to me, rapper that I have been feeling strongly pulled to: he is the soundtrack to this blog entry.  Right now, my favorite song of his is Irish Celebration.   

He has been described as a socially conscious rapper, with many of his songs addressing issues surrounding consumerism, race, and drug addiction.

He also has one sibling, a brother, who is an English teacher.  We, English Teachers, support kids to find their-selves, their identity, and their voice.  Being a lover of hip-hop, poetry, and voice I love, and am in love with, a girl who is an elementary music teacher.  We are different people, with different voices, from different families, with different experiences and yet we have a strong connection in the stance of loving the youth and giving them the ability to express themselves.  We will do each other much good and I am happy.  It is my own celebration, but I encourage you to listen to his.

 

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Branch 3:  Life-Relived...For a Time

      Sitting in the living room of my girlfriend's parent's house.  I have just watched a community city firework display.  I am in a good sense of spirit.  I decide to not stress, worry, or over-think these things and events that currently are making me happy:

-a holiday of patriotism

-time with my family

-time with my girlfriend's family

-vacation.

I am using this blog for many purposes.  It is a place to share, a place to organize myself, and a place to know that I am chronologically saving my experiences.   

Branch 2:  An End to Summer School

Summer School has ended.  This year, as readers know, has been very challenging.  Summer school was a remediation course for students who did not pass their standardized test.  I hope and pray for those kids of  mine and I hope they know they are loved and are connected to an adult willing to play a positive roll in their life.  Unfortunately it is time for me to move to a different part of the map on the adventure of life.  I have always highly judged the leaving of teachers from students and a school after only one year: however with my school being shut down and connections having been made, I will move myself along to new grounds.

     

I will be teaching Freshman ELA Composition this year at a New Orleans new high school.  The administration seems good and willing to provide what it is I am looking for:

-community

-teamwork 

-support.

I will be working with friends and seemingly quality people and I am very excited.  I have two weeks before PD starts. 

Branch 3: Where I Have Been:

My sister was married on Saturday.  Good seeming man, beautiful vineyard wedding, old family reconnected.  It was good to see everyone and chill with my brother again. 

 I brought my girlfriend home for the first time.  It solidified a symbolic moment of realness, of roots, of connection, of sharing and revealing.  And as I am writing this she sleeps on my lap.  She had the choice and offered option to go to bed; "You do your thing," she said.  This is why I love her.  I do not know what will happen; I know to things:  there is hopeful-promise and there is love.

                                         Mackelmore and I wish you all Good Night.

Branches 2 & 3: Work and/or Happiness

Work..... Happiness.....

Humorous, Work Hard Play Hard 

                                                by Wiz Khalifa randomly cued up just now.  Perhaps not so randomly?  

I have mentioned before, that it has been a long and difficult year of traveling life's path; that it has come to a good and hopeful promising future.  I was additionally hoping; I would have a little more down-time, before my recalibration needed to powerfully impact its next start.  I have gone, and will go, from:  

summer school to

                               having to move to

                                                              sister's wedding to

                                                                                               girl's mom's birthday to

                            

                             a one week break that

                                                                    is not really a break to

                                                                                                         4 weeks of PD for coming year to

                                                                  The beginning of another school year.

Damn, that is a lot.  Not impossible, not bad, good even, but certainly a massive majority of task, work, and accomplishment.   I did forget to mention that I do have a 7 book reading list, 1 movie, and full season of a television show that is due before PD--but details details.  I have so much I need to do.  Tasks among tasks among lists among the need to organize.  I am going to be aloft for a time and

I really need to find a way to keep writing my poetry and 

spoken word and 

work on my chapbook.  Ok, break is over.  Time to head home, organize some information reference material, do some work and 

maybe chill and

                         I miss you.

         

Branch 1: People are Poetry

Natasha Trethewey was placed as our countries Poet Laureate earlier this month.  She begins her position's responsibilities come September.
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The following poem reminds me of a similar experience.

Her Reading of Monument

Monument

Natasha Trethewey

Today the ants are busy
beside my front steps, weaving
in and out of the hill they’re building.
I watch them emerge and—

like everything I’ve forgotten—disappear
into the subterranean, a world
made by displacement. In the cemetery
last June, I circled, lost—

weeds and grass grown up all around—
the landscape blurred and waving.
At my mother’s grave, ants streamed in
and out like arteries, a tiny hill rising

above her untended plot. Bit by bit,
red dirt piled up, spread
like a rash on the grass; I watched a long time
the ants’ determined work,

how they brought up soil
of which she will be part,
and placed it before me. Believe me when I say
I’ve tried not to begrudge them

their industry, this reminder of what
I haven’t done. Even now,
the mound is a blister on my heart,
a red and humming swarm.

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Accomplishments:
-Pulitzer Prize in Poetry in 2006 for Native Guard
-Poet Laureate of Mississippi
-Poetry Chair of Emory University
-Writer-in-Residence  at Hollins University.
-A.B. in English at University of Georgia
-M.A. in English/Creative Writing from Hollins University
-She will be the first poet laureate to take residency in Washington D.C.

Her Poetry
-adaptations of free verse and formal structure
-reoccurring themes:
     -racial legacies of America
     -synch of her story and stories in history

Branch 2: Ends and Beginnings

Branch 2: Ends and Beginnings

And now I find myself, once again moving.  But this time, in that move, staying in a city I am learning to love, connecting tp a woman with a shared love we are growing, and pulling my last two locational and cultural years of teaching to pour into a new charter school Organization whose founding last few years have placed it as one of the top performing in the city.  An email was sent today connecting all the members of our future team for next year with bios of us each.  Here is my call to arms, written by my future principal for next year teaching High School Freshmen English to the youth of the city of New Orleans:



Cid Galicia, Mr. G., is a founding ELA teacher and leader of the Chico St. Advisory. Cid has been teaching writing for a few years now, while also sharpening his poetry, rap skills, and swing dance skills. Swing dance!  Cid’s humor and desire to understand what motivates his scholars was on full display throughout the process – as was his curiosity about all things teaching. 

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As a teacher, I have found myself self traveling ever couple of years.  This has occurred for many reasons; though, over all, I suppose only two:

Personal Profile
The, Professional, State of Education

Personally, it has been the character of self and self-characters that have kept me afoot.  Here is my Professional Teaching Timeline up to my current state:

-graduated college
-picked up a "completing the school year" gig for a teacher on maternity leave.
-then moved to a major city for a girl, dancing, and a more "city life"
-taught after school programs:
                                               -the job market though larger was still difficult
                                               -this allowed for free time
                                               -developing my DJ and Dance experience
                                               -allowed for travel and writing

-transitioned to full time and co-teaching positions which allowed for more professional development, but still personal adventure.
-took a year off and moved back to my college town doing painting and light construction
                                                -it seems I have only taught for highly struggling youth
                                                                  -money
                                                                  -family
                                                                  -violence
                                                                  -etc
-i am an extremest.  all of my sword-like characteristics are very double edged.  I find it difficult to maintain a personal life, when having a professional teaching life.  after the above mentioned years, i felt as though i
 had two choices: keep pushing myself to work and lose my desire to teach or take a temporary break and heal myself so I could continue to do what I love and find meaningful- teach.
-moved again after the aforementioned year to the full time job I found.
-left after two years.  it was a small town, away from people and life, education in California as far as
 curriculum and teacher presence in the classroom was concerned, was pushing me away.
-also, i had broken up with a woman i was still in love with
-distance from the person and being pushed from Cali, combined with the call for teachers in New Orleans
 post Katrina.
-also in conjunction with  the music, dance, and social connections caused; my move once again
- three years is the longest i have ever taught in one city, though each year teaching here I have changed to a different school with a different role.
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Travel back to the top and reread my opening paragraph for the end of this passage.              

Branch 1: "Summer Time and the Livin is Easy..."

Listen to this while reading.


Dear Forest-Walkers,

Welcome to the summer time of my life in this, the year of, 2012.  It has been a long time since I have blogged.  If you are reading this, thank you.  I find happiness in having my voice heard and I will work on posting at least once a week thought out the summer.  If this is your first time traveling the forest with me, refer to my first post for the Branching definitions of my written expressions. As for this entry...

Branch 1: The Muses

Euterpe, I thank you.
Calliope, I thank you.
Erato, I thank you.

As some of my friends may know, I tend to constantly battle in some sense or an other with the feminine.  And though I do this, I know that it is the women in my life who have assisted in healthfully sustaining myself.  You are all my muses and I thank you.

It is hard to keep my poetry voice spoken and written throughout the school year. As many teachers know, your personal pleasures outside of educating the youth must be abandoned--or so it can be felt.  It has been a long time since I have written poetry, blogs, or anything else aside from a Facebook post.  I have said a few times recently that my muses abandon me during the year, because I do not listen to them.  As they should. Why would they give to a mortal who does not answer in thankfulness or expression?  But they have not abandoned me.  They have keep watch upon me and I know I am a loved conduit for their access to the mortal plain.  For I have written one poem a day for the last three days.  Neither of us has abandoned each the other.  I will place snippets of those three pieces and explanations of them. I will try to provide links and you can email me for completed version of each of what I have up to this point.  I definitely appreciate critique, thoughts, feelings and reactions to my pieces.  I hope you enjoy and please leave me a comment both here and on my Facebook page. 

Sincerely,

                       Cid Galicia

Thursday June 7th
Title:                    Sieve and Sand
Poem Type:         Free Verse
Draft:                  Second Draft
Theme:                Duality of Self
Symbols:             English Grammar: Antecedents, Pronouns, Semi-Colons, and Correlative Conjunctions
Link:                   Facebook Note
Excerpt:

Sieve and Sand
                -Fahrenheit 451 “The Sieve and the Sand”
                 Ray Bradbury

time
elicits pathways of thought;
ideas cascade as water
down the mind wall,
pools into focus channels,
 and assorts.
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Thursday June 8th
Title:                    Human Capital
Poem Type:         Spoken Word
Draft:                   Second Draft
Theme:                State of Education
Symbols:            
Link:                   Facebook Note #2
Excerpt:


You see he doesn’t hear the staff room chat visits
Where the old-school teachers and the new-young TFA kids often self inquizit
In questions that is
Where their silent minds
In silent voices say
                               Do I still even like being a teacher today?
You see for me, my mind’s display
Is purely made of         E.         L.         A.    (ELA)
Synapses to synapses an expository essay:
Brainstorm       10 points
Rough Draft     20 points
Peer Edit          30 points

What’s the points of the points?
Where do they point, to?
Because my teacher’s dad once said:
            That education used to be a humanity
            But now, it’s a business instead
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Thursday June 8th
Title:                    The Raven and the Jay

Poem Type:         Ballad (without a repeated refrain as of yet)
Draft:                   First Draft

Theme:                Internal Moral Struggle

Symbols:             Raven-Hellish     Jay-Heavenly
Link:                
Excerpt:

Heaven and Hell

You see Heaven and Hell, they always quell
As all opposing separate nations.
They both have trees and birds and leaves
And would other visit, but there are hesitations there are questions.

What happens there? What are their words?
How do they sound? What do they say?
So they sent their birds to hear the other’s words
Hell the Raven and Heaven its Jay

Through one the night and other the day,
They traveled light and dark.
And when they passed the other’s track
The lights changed in each traveler’s arch.