Taking Flight with the Red-Headed Partner in Crime This Afternoon in Pensacola (well, Via ZOOM)

Twice in one week I get to do one of my favorite workshops, this time for Susan's crew at the Emerald Coast Writing Project. I can't wait to play with the teachers, be silly, and to do the workshop I always do on the first day of poetry with middle and high school kids. 

Yesterday, during Project Citizen, I was impressed by some of the poems that arrived from Monday's workshop - it's one of the reasons I like leading the poetic task so much. 

This time, Frog is inviting The Pelican to the Magic Box and bringing all her coastal emeralds with her.

I also love doing this particular workshop because it gives me a different opportunity to compose something for a different audience and from my magic box, I got two pages of words which led me to write a letter to my partner-in-crime and friend! 

Dear Pelican,

You told me emeralds arrive on the hot days of summer,

as teachers dance to the beat of a Floridian drummer,

& plummet to Peg Leg Pete’s for smoked, yellow fish dip,

tripping & whipping & dripping in plump-thumping slumber

where minty-fresh, lime-lined drinks waltz in a tumbler,

before foods of five nations…Yup, Frog has your number,

He listens to your chords at the Cantina, you’re quite the strummer

of songs for scrumptious school days (the scary, screwed-up screenplays) 

of writing, doodling, thinking, blinking, screeching & all that teaching,

of scattered possibilities….all that preaching,

while practicing, imagining, making & creating, 

apprenticing, wondering, yelling…who here isn’t procrastinating?

while dreaming of plump pillows at night. Ah, Pelican, take flight.

I see how the Ruby-rusted redhead writes about peanut butter and books,

lookin’ like Lil’ orphan Annie bouncing upon the waves, how she looks

all carrot-topped like poppies, with flaming ember, red markers, and more,

all freckle-faced & fruitiness, blood-nutted,…tssh, Pelican for sure.

“For fuck’s sake, Frog,”  she writes, I’ve got 30 million years of history,

& I’m a goober (a boober with tremendous cleavage mystery?

Have you read this book, that book, or the one I’ve been meaning to read…

You doin’ alright? I so love you. I’ll dive-bomb for anything you need.

This water looks lovely, & I’m hungry…It’s a nice night for a flight….

Hey, frog…fly on down here…let’s try to make everything all-right.”

And I know the moon has its phases, the sun rises and it sets,

coastlines go through phases (Basil Hayden as good as it gets),

Hope is a blue angel vibrating through an evening sky,

FaceTime, children’s books, gifts in the mail, oh, how we try

to support teachers teaching teachers, with sand between our toes, 

gulf-coast breezes, hurricane creatures, knowing what the shark already knows.

Our poetry, our stories, blue water to refresh our souls…

offering seeds for the notebooks — that’s how a possibility grows.

Yes, the Emeralds are your teachers who are with you on the hot days of summer,

& like you, they dance to the beat of the Floridian drummer,

& plummet to Peg Leg Pete’s for smoked, yellow fish dip,

tripping & whipping & dripping from their plump-thumping slumber

for minty-fresh, lime-lined drinks where they can chill with a tumbler,

before the foods of five nations…Yup, Frog has the number, 

as he listens to your red-headed chords at the Cantina, quite the strummer,

leading the hearts with your song…

This, Pelican, is your network, your project, and together…

you’re so, so strong.

Love ya, 

Frog