a poem instead

i have wanted to capture with words some of what we experienced in northfield. nothing has come to me yet. this is where writing can be both frustrating and fun, predictably unpredictable.
thanks to my mom, however, tonight was full of the subject of writing because we watched Inkheart (i, for the first time) and followed it with readings from silverstein's Falling Up.

by the time i got home it was past midnight and i had drunk tea with caffeine. i knew if i went to bed i'd be back out in no time, because the bug was itching me to write. i came to the computer to catch up on correspondence first, and that's where inspiration came. not regarding our fabulous 10 days with the 24-7 prayer family, it's a poem more about days long ago, to some extent. here i credit shel's poetic style and, undoubtedly, the oh-so-lovely randomness of a friend. thanks, bailey.

here's my latest, at this latest hour.

omnibus poem

my school was so special
it drew from all over
families who treasured
a place of high caliber
that is, a place with
morale where a dad or a
mom could be sure
that their daughter
or son was safe from
the lure of lewd words
and a bully as pal
the grip of worldly teachings
and some new-fangled preaching

but i'll save that subject
for another debate
let's talk about how i
became second-rate
see, my school had buses
don't know how few or
more, just know that i
rarely stepped foot in their doors
my house it was tiny
(donned tarpaper forever!)
for years we hardly had
two coins to rub together
but it wasn't this that
caused my dissension
it was that my house sat
outside jurisdiction

doomed to carpool
every day, every year
every grade i attended -
all thirteen, i do fear -
this put me in a class
of a different kind
i wasn't a "bussy"
the elite in my mind
elite because everyone
else got to ride on
the bus that was greener
than on the carside
see what my school taught
so special they say
it drove me to envy
and label, not pray
not memorize stories of
saints long ago
just painted a picture
of the world we all know
where this one is in
that one is out
those have no value
these have the clout
oh! how did i get here
debating again
what was good or was bad
about my institution
i guess it goes back
to the one thing i've
found - no matter where
you are schooled or in
what home you dwell
or who your friends are
come heaven or hell -
everyone's got certain
voices within and particular
ways we are wound

i thank Goodness my school
didn't break me or make
me, the car didn't kill me
the bus doesn't wield me
there is much more hidden
deeply inside that's to
credit for both
my purity and pride
- c. l. atkinson