Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Honoring our Elders

“Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, 

but they have never failed to imitate them.” 
― James Baldwin

“Treasure the wisdom of old age.
Learn from elder people and be wise.” 
― Lailah Gifty Akita

MC Amy Kietzman and Attendees at Honoring our Neighborhood Elders 
on April 11, 2015.  I cannot find a news story!!  
HERE is the link to Amy's well-annotated Facebook pictures. 

Midweek Motif ~ 

Honoring our Elders

On a West Philadelphia website called Honoring Our Neighborhood Elders, I found this explanation of an event that is now in its third year:  

We are a diverse and vibrant neighborhood. Our cycle of life needs to be fully celebrated, especially this generation of elders who are not connected to the internet and social media. Their stories need to be heard, their skills passed on, their accomplishments acknowledged and valued. Various neighborhood congregations, civic organizations and groups are coming together to do just that, to celebrate who we are by celebrating our elders.

Wonderful, right? Her volunteers interviewed each honoree and introduced them with parts of their life stories. 

Your Challenge: Choose an Elder to honor in a poem.  Make us feel we know her, him or they.

My Grandparents’ Generation

by Faith Shearin

They are taking so many things with them:

their sewing machines and fine china,

their ability to fold a newspaper

with one hand and swat a fly.

They are taking their rotary telephones,

and fat televisions, and knitting needles,

their cast iron frying pans, and Tupperware.

They are packing away the picnics . . . . 

(Read the rest HERE at The Writer's Almanac.)

excerpt from Indians Never Say Good-bye

BY LEANNE HOWE

. . . . 

When my mother and grandmother went to town, Ain’t Sally took me for a walk around her place. The farm had belonged to her relatives. We went down to the dry gorge and she pointed out all kinds of roots and trees. She asked me if I knew about the plants of the pasture. I said yes. I thought I was lying.
     As we walked farther from the house, I remember a hot gusty wind picked up her voice like dust tendrils on bedrock and blew it away from me. I ran to catch the sound. I found Ain’t Sally sitting on a granite rock.
     —Ala Tek. Indian girl.
     —Come and see, on our land, the four winds of the old days will blow through our hair.
     Then she tugged at my black braids.
     —Come and visit the Snakes, Ala Tek.
     —When I was your age they blew across this place like red dust devils on flat neutral plains.
     —Can you see them.
     —Do you hear the Snake People calling us?

. . . . 

(Read the rest HERE at The Poetry Foundation.)

Digging

BY SEAMUS HEANEY

Between my finger and my thumb  

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   

My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   

Bends low, comes up twenty years away   

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   

Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

To scatter new potatoes that we picked,

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   

Just like his old man.

. . . . 

(Read the rest HERE at the Poetry Foundation)

For those who are new to Poets United:  Please share only new and original work.  Post your poem on your site and then link it here. Please leave a greeting and then visit and comment on our poems. 

Next week you are in for a treat! 

Our next Midweek Motif ~ Waves  is by 

Sumana Roy who has joined the Poets United team.  

Show up to give Sumana a huge welcome!

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