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Tale of a Mother’s Day Puppy

Tale of a Mother’s Day Puppy

by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

            May 11 of 1980 was Mother’s Day:  on that Sunday of forty-two years ago, a buff-colored Cocker Spaniel was one puppy of the litter born on a farm in Shirkieville, Indiana.  The farm was near the farmland of former Indiana Senator Birch E. Bayh.  Upon returning to Indiana after four years of teaching in Ohio, I found that I could not remain dogless:  my seventeen-and-a-half-year-old Toy Manchester/Chihuahua Prince had passed away on March 20.  So, on June 20, 1980, I happily welcomed Chico–one of the Mother’s Day puppies–into my life.  What a picture-perfect puppy!  He was beautiful both as a pup and mature dog.  The photogenic Chico, true to his breed, was very affectionate and liked to pose for my camera.  I think I took and have more photos of Chico than of any of my dogs.  He was my only pet dog who I registered with the American Kennel Club (AKC); thus, I gave him four names–Chico Gabriel Massa Rainbow–so that I could be certain that no other AKC dog was registered with this name.  What was really important was not his having AKC papers, but was his having a place in my heart and in my many fond dog memories.

            My standard American Cocker Spaniel had the thickest hair of any of my dogs.  Often I thought that scientists should study the growth of hair on this breed of Spaniel.  Although Chico periodically went to a groomer for a summer cut, I thoroughly enjoyed grooming him; and he loved daily groomings.  When I trimmed his hair or when I removed cockle burrs from his impressive coat, he was always very still and patient.  Chico quickly learned the command “Turn” so that I could groom the opposite side of him.  The one command which truly challenged him and the rest of us was “No bark.”  For whatever reasons, Chico was a barker.  (Thankfully, he was my only dog with barking issues.)  Despite many attempts of numerous varieties to curb his barking habit when a new person or persons arrived, he persisted with his barking.  Only old age curbed his unnecessary barking duties. 

            Please do not ask me why; but one Christmas season, I purchased as a gift the “Clap Hands” device for turning a light on and off merely by clapping one’s hands.  Well, this gadget not only worked by clapping hands, but also by Chico’s barks.  With each of his repeated barks, the lamp turned on and off, on and off, on and off.  Somewhat disappointed, I had to return the “Clap Hands” device to the store.

            During holiday seasons, we had to be very careful to avoid saying “Christmas tree.”  Chico, who associated the word “treat” with receiving one of his dog biscuits, became excited with anticipation each time he heard someone say “Christmas tree” because my positive-thinking pet interpreted “tree” for “treat.”  I am always amazed at what good listeners dogs are.  Like most people, Chico ate a few extra treats around Christmastime.

            Another seasonal memory of Chico is associated with hot summer days.  When he was still young ,  he enjoyed swimming and also being atop a towel-covered float while I was right beside him.  Of course, I have photos of this water dog’s aquatic escapades.

            Eventually, due to my diminishing vision, I had to give up running with Chico on leash; however, he still enjoyed running within a fenced area.  His favorite toy with which to play outside was an empty Cool Whip container.  Fetching or  scooting the plastic bowl around the yard and flipping it into the air provided him with good exercise and entertainment.

            Another funny habit of Chico’s was his carrying into the house one of the white rocks from our driveway.  At times, he would leave the rock on the carpeted stairs of the landing that went to the family room.  Actually, with my then diminishing vision, the white rocks that were more tones of gray had little contrast with the tones of brown carpeting.  When I stepped on one of Chico’s “pet rocks,” I just picked it up and threw it back outside onto the driveway.  However, one day when the lighting conditions must have been just right, I spotted what I determined was another “pet rock” of my Cocker Spaniel.  When I bent over to pick up what I thought was another “pet rock,” the alleged “pet rock” jumped up to let me know that it was not a rock, but a very alive toad! 

            Eventually, I realized that Chico and I did not need any more pet rocks nor pet toads.  When Chico was five, I decided that what both he and I needed was another dog.  After much reading and searching, I was delighted to find that a litter of Cavalier King Charles Spaniels were soon to be ready for new homes.  While I will not tell my cherished Chelsea’s story here, I will share a few points of my Cavalier’s life in regard to Chico. 

            Although everyone thought that thirty-pound Chico would never accept and get along with the two-pound puppy, I was determined that the two would become good buddies.  Despite my failure with teaching Chico to limit his barking, I was thankfully quite successful with introducing the two Spaniels very slowly to each other.  With gradual and supervised interactions, the mature dog and puppy did become best of friends.  Much to our surprise, my cinnamon and white Cavalier, who matured at 16 pounds, definitely became the “alpha” dog.  Fortunately, Chico was quite content to let the new little princess have her way at all times.  In our family room, the beige swivel chair, which had often been Chico’s perch to look out the window, became Chelsea’s chair.  Chico was quite happy with the much larger dark green rocking chair which was too high off the floor for Chelsea to have much interest.  Sometimes, when Chico was lying on the floor beside the beige chair, Chelsea jumped off the chair and over Chico with one long jump.  Her buddy never moved.  Frequently, I wondered if Chelsea was from a line of circus dogs because she enjoyed using Chico as a hurdle for her jumping tricks.  Chico just lay perfectly still and looked at her with that “There she goes again” expression.  How tolerant my older dog was of my younger dog! 

            Whenever I gave treats to my two Spaniels, Chico always took the treat from the left hand, and Chelsea took the dog biscuit from my right hand.  Luckily, I did not really have to teach this behavior:  Chico and Chelsea were just pleasant creatures of habit.  Although a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel is considered a lap dog and not a herding dog, she definitely had a herding tendency.  When I, with dog biscuit in each hand, called both dogs to come inside, if Chico did not immediately obey, Chelsea circled back and truly herded Chico to the door.  Her instinct was that all should obey “Mama.”  I loved observing the interesting and playful interactions between my two Spaniels.

            Like my third Leader Dog Zoe, Chelsea passed away at much too young an age.  After her sudden loss, Chico would go outside in the fenced area, but promptly just would sit in the middle of the yard.  He only sat and did not want to move or play.  After this behavior persisted for several days, I worried that he, too, was not well.  With a thorough check for my Cocker at the veterinary clinic (with even X-rays of Chico’s back), the veterinarian concluded that Chico was healthy for his age, but was mourning the loss of his best buddy Chelsea.  Thus, together Chico and I mourned the loss of our dear, sweet Chelsea. 

            Weeks later, Chico, with much encouragement and patience, returned to running and playing; and I applied for my first Leader Dog.  1989 ended on a stronger and more hopeful note; then, 1990 blossomed into a new stage in my life.  Chico was the beloved Spaniel who was at my side during some of the most outstanding transitional periods in my life.  Thus, the memories of my photos of Chico have been running through my mind over the past few days and especially on this eleventh day of May.

NOTE:  If you missed my special post for Mother’s Day, continue reading past the closing of this post to find my blog post from May 8.

With thanks for reading this WORDWALK post,

Alice and Leader Dog Willow

May 11, 2022, Wednesday

Happy Mother’s Day!

NOTE:  On this Mother’s Day of 2022, whether you are being celebrated, celebrating with others, and/or remembering others on this special day–I wish you a sunny and wonderful day.  In this WORDWALK post, I am sharing with you a new poem which I wrote about my mother during National Poetry Month.  Studies indicate that our best sense of remembering is through our sense of smell; certainly, this poem brought forth some of those olfactory memories for me.  Instead of recalling the fragrance of Evening in Paris cologne (trademark), I was remembering aromas of grapes and cake.

* * *

Mother’s Homemade Grape Jelly

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

When my parents married in 1942,

my mother–surprisingly for a woman of her generation–

did not know how to cook nor bake.

My father taught her and taught her well.

My mother must have been a quick learner in the kitchen

because this business woman, whose favorite season was “Tax Season,”

became a great cook and excellent baker.

(Yes, her father had been a professional baker

of Italian bread and breadsticks.)

I recall the sweet fragrance of grapes–

either from my paternal grandfather’s grape arbor

or from my maternal grandmother and uncle’s grocery store.

Quickly and efficiently, my mother made grape jelly;

then, she sealed each tasty jar of sweetness

with paraffin–a scientific wonder to me as it cooled and hardened.

In my younger days,

I did not care for butter nor peanut butter:

I just put my mother’s grape jelly

on thick slices of Italian bread or–

Wonder of wonders–

Toasted Wonder bread.

Most special to me

was when Mother made a long, thin sponge cake.

After the cake was baked,

my mother magically spread grape jelly atop the soft cake

and then rolled up the delightful treat into a dessert log

of swirling sponge cake and jelly.

She topped the jelly roll with sifted powdered sugar

and placed it on a magenta tray,

designed with yellow roses.

The combined fragrance of cake and grape jelly,

the texture of the spongey cake and moist jelly,

the swirling slice of yellow and purple

craft a sensory picture in my memory

that reflects a photo of my mother’s

sweet gift of baking

for those whom she loved.

* * *

                In loving memory of and with great gratitude to my mother–Mary Massa (November 25, 1914-July 3, 2001)–I dedicate this blog post and poem.

* * *

Happy Mother’s Day wishes to my Aunt Kathy, my sister, my nieces, my cousins, my friends, and my WORDWALK readers!

Blessings to all! 

Alice and Leader Dog Willow

May 8, 2022, Sunday

Season of Poetry

NOTE:  Although we are now into an unusually cool and wet month of May, I am sharing with you a poem which I wrote at the tail end of National Poetry Month–late last Wednesday night (April 27). 

Season of Poetry

Poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

I went looking for a poem

and found one midst the sweet peas climbing over the east fence.

I went looking for a poem

and found one in the row of zucchini

growing in my father’s garden.

I went looking for a poem

and found one on the front porch swing.

I went looking for a poem

and found one atop the gob pile

as I took in the panoramic view of our small Hoosier hometown.

Now, where should I transplant these poems?

Should I plant this poem

in this plastic container on my cement porch?

Should I transplant this poem

in my city garden?

Should I transplant this poem

in the rock area behind my townhouse?

Maybe, I should translate this poem

from rural hometown to city residence

in words that are foreign to me.

No, I will transplant these poems

in my heart and in my magical memory

to carry them to their next destination.

I will plant these poems

into an old-fashioned runner desk’s inkwell

filled with teardrops

that will nourish each word into a poetic blossom

whose petals will eventually

fall onto pages as

velbety, unpublished verse.

* * *

Wishing you many poems to plant during this season of poetry,

Alice and Leader Dog Willow

May 4, 2022, Wednesday

Season of Prom Memories

Season of Prom Memories

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

At the far side of the large closet,

on a plastic hanger is still

the yellow prom dress–

purchased alone at her favorite shop

on Wabash Avenue in Terre Haute, Indiana.

In 1967, on the rack at The Lisbon Shop

were very few prom dresses in size 3, petite.

Luckily, one seemed perfect:

pale yellow with a boat neckline

trimmed with tiny embroidered flowers,

sleeveless, Empire waist,

mock trail off the back shoulders,

full-length, lemon Chiffon over taffeta.

The long white gloves and white heels are lost,

but the pastel yellow prom dress

drapes over the hanger like

a cascade of memories.

“Whispers of the Orient”

was the theme of the prom

at the Aragon Ballroom,

on the north edge of Clinton, Indiana.

The date did not have enough money to rent a tuxedo,

so he wore a nice blue-gray suit–no matter!

A corsage of three bright yellow roses

with white ribbons and lace

were pressed between the pages of a thick dictionary

and were kept for a long time–but no more.

Most people would bring to life prom memories

through photos in an old album;

but once in a blue Moon,

one who cannot see photos

touches the memories

of a saved yellow prom dress

on a plastic hanger,

at the far side of a large closet

reserved for recollections.

* * *

Happy memories to all during these final days of National Poetry Month!

Alice and Leader Dog Willow

April 27, 2022, Wednesday

Memory Streams for National Poetry Month

Memory Streams

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

In the woods behind our Blanford home,

a little stream flowed between the lowest point where two hills met.

at whichever Indiana season,

the woods beckoned us to enjoy the wonders of Mother Nature.

At times, we walked along the stream;

at times, we jumped over the unnamed stream.

Other times, the stream’s bed was dry.

After all of these decades later,

I do wonder if the stream still flows,

if the trees have grown so densely

that walking paths are encumbered and unwise,

is that little wood still a friendly,

picturesque place to absorb and appreciate nature?

Behind my paternal grandparents’ home,

chicken area, shanty, barns, and fields

was also a wood and little stream.

These hills were noticeably higher

and were great spots for sledding

down to a frozen stream.

Once in fairer weather, we ran through this woods,

jumped over the stream,

and hiked up the far hill

to be eye witnesses to the boxcars–

filled with grain and other unknown commodities–

that had derailed.

on Trail 3 at Turkey Run State Park,

we walked along the stream,

an offshoot of Sugar Creek,

until we arrived at the famous ladders

which family members and I climbed to arrive at a higher point

on the trail classified “rugged”

during those years before

my guide dogs led me

independently

through natural wonders

and over the memory streams of life.

* * *

Best wishes for the remainder of National Poetry Month!

Poetically yours,

Alice and the PAWet Laureate Willow

April 20, 2022, Wednesday

Kite Tales–A Poem of Faith for Easter

Kite Tales

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Like a child holds onto a thin, delicate kite string,

I hold onto faith.

At times, I watch the wind snatch my kite

and take my old kite of paper and fine wood aloft

swiftly into a Heavenly atmosphere.

What a glorious sight–

that kite, my faith suspended against a Hoosier sky,

then drifting, drifting, flying, flying–

While I still hold onto the thin, delicate string.

Then, I look up and see the kite’s tail

writing cursive notes on the blue tableau.

Each scrap of material

with which I formed a knot

marks a point when my faith was tested.

I on the Earth;

kite tail on the azure sphere:

I gaze at the fifth knot from the top

and recall ”Peach,”–

yes, that is what her grandchildren called her–

but I called her Mrs. W.

One day, when I was fretting, worrying my best

about something I now cannot even recall,

Mrs. W., to whom I taught braille,

asked me as only she could,

“Girl, where’s your faith?”

Throughout the decades since our braille lessons

In her farmhouse with her husband and their little dog,

I have heard echo in my head her words:

“Girl, where’s your faith?”

Now, I know:

My faith is the paper kite

flying above the field

in my Indiana hometown.

The ball of string unwinds

to a great and growing length

As I still hold on, hold on.

* * *

Best wishes for a sunny and happy Easter!

Alice and Leader Dog Willow

April 16, 2022, Saturday evening

Happy National Poetry Month!

NOTE:  Due to three rounds of company for the first time since pre-COVID and due to my being extremely busy with planning and coordinating activities for National Poetry Month, I have regrettably missed two weeks of posting on my WORDWALK blog.  I hope to return to my regular postings on WORDWALK with the following poem (written on April 9) and more to come during this wonderful National Poetry Month of April.  Best wishes for enjoying the reading and writing of poetry throughout National Poetry Month!

* * *

A Transplanted Wisconsinite’s IF

Poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

If the winter were not so long and longer,

if winters here were not so severe,

if second softer winter did not come instead of glorious spring,

if–on the ninth of April–the stiff north wind did not blow the (fake) fur-trimmed hood off my down coat,

if we had a magnificent Hoosier spring,

if summers and autumns were longer,

if winters were shorter,

if some family members lived in this state,

if my friends were not growing older,

if a friend did not have cancer,

if I were young again–really young again,

if miracles came true for more than a few,

if my garden could be planted before the first of June,

if that guardian angel would stay in my pocket …

this Hoosier-at-heart could really like Wisconsin

for more than its Milwaukee sidewalks

which I have memorized

while my cherished guide dogs

have been and are at my side–

no matter where I am planted.

* * *

Poetically yours,

Alice and the PAW-et Laureate Willow

April 11, 2022, Monday

At the Curb of Joy and Wonder

NOTE:  On each St. Patrick’s Day, I recall my finalizing my packing for my first of four trips to Leader Dog School.  Thirty-two years ago, on March 18, I flew to Detroit  where I was met at the airport terminal by a trainer from Leader Dogs for the Blind.  After two days of preliminary lectures and training, I received my first of four Leader Dogs at 1:11 p.m., on March 21.  Amazingly, Leader Dog Keller immediately began bonding with me.  What a Golden Retriever!  What a dramatic new stage in my life at age thirty-nine! 

After working with Leader Dog Keller and my trainer at the practice court on March 22, 1990, Keller and I –along with the other students, guide dogs, and trainers (now called Guide-dog Mobility Instructors, GDMIs)–went by Leader Dog School buses to the Leader Dog Building in downtown Rochester, Michigan, on March 23. 

                When my turn came for a training session with Tom Hill, my 54-pound Golden was ready to roll.  With bubbling excitement, I exited the building with my hand on her harness and with her leash properly positioned.  Doing as I was instructed after we found the grass line at the end of the sidewalk, I told my young guide dog, “Keller, left.”  Having turned left successfully, I must have been beaming as we briskly walked down the sidewalk to Fourth Street.  Then, the moment happened–the unforgettable moment happened.  So, on this past Monday when I was pondering my 32nd anniversary of working with Leader Dogs, the following poem quickly came to my mind to take a word snapshot of the precious moment from 1990.

At the Curb of Joy and Wonder

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Oh, the joy and wonder

of my first walk with my first guide dog!

Oh, the thrill when that little Golden

magically stopped at that first curb–

yes, when we had real curbs–

that Leader Dog took my breath away

and simultaneously breathed new life,

restorative life into me.

At that first curb,

at that first step of a sparkling new life,

I smiled at a Michigan March sky,

let joyful tears flow from my eyes,

and gave thanks

for Leader Dog Keller

and all who made her gift to me

possible.

I have held this harness

of joy and wonder:

I have held this gratitude

for thirty-two years.

I have grown older,

my four Leader Dogs grew older;

but the gratitude never grows old.

Most gratefully,

the joy and wonder vivaciously

greet me at the dawn of each new day;

for joy and wonder, thankfully,

never grow old.

(written on March 21, 2022, Monday)

Wishing all of my WORDWALK readers the joy and wonder of spring,

Alice and Leader Dog Willow

Posting on March 23, 2022, Wednesday

When We Think of Time Passages

When We Think of Time Passages

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Please do not tell me

when five o’clock comes today.

The pendulum on my grandfather clock–

the one with the commemorative plate noting 1942,

the year when my parents were married–

stands tall in the corner by the big window.

All day, the pendulum gracefully, rhythmically

moves back and forth,

back and forth

to remind me of

the passage of time–

six years since my third Leader Dog Zoe

was at my side, was at my touch.

As I hear of the refugees carrying

their pet dogs and cats

to measured safety in a different land,

my heart breaks again

for all that these millions of individuals endure.

What is the hour they await?

The pendulum swings back and forth,

back and forth.

I think of my Zoe’s

last hours, last minutes,

her beautiful heart

that literally broke–

the irony of such a disease

to take her away from me so unbelievably quickly.

Yet, quickly–how quickly the refugees had to leave their deeply beloved homeland

and loved ones…

My heart goes out to the Ukrainians

who (like my friends and I) are blind,

who have other disabilities–

to all of them who seek a peaceful heart,

once again a peaceful homeland.

What will the passage of time

bring to these

strong and courageous people?

On this day that will be bookmarked

in history,

two presidents spoke;

one Congress stood in ovation.

There was asking;

there was measured giving.

There was hope

of once again living

in peace.

With this nearly unbelievable backdrop

on the world stage,

I–watching the pendulum

swing back and forth,

back and forth–

mark the passage of time

in memories

and pray at the altar of sunflowers

for peace, dear friends,

for peace please.

March 16, 2022, Wednesday

How to Write a Pi Poem for 3/14/22

How to Create a Pi Poem

for Pi Day (March 14)

by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

                To mark Pi Day–March 14 (3/14) of 2022, I am sharing with you a little early a new sample pi poem (also called a “piem”), as well as the instructions so that you may write your own pi poem for Pi Day on Monday.  For the past several years on WORDWALK, I have posted similar blog posts which have been among my most visited WORDWALK posts–evidently due to students, teachers, and/or budding writers finding my directions for creating a piem.  If you enjoy word games–playing with words–you should give this poetic form a try. 

                My math teachers and professors would be quite surprised to know that I am still working with the mathematical pi (the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter).  Of course, I am using pi for crafting a pi poem; and soon, you will also be using the mathematical pi to write your own pi poem.

                On April 25, 2014, on a WUWM-FM radio broadcast of the program Lake Effect, I heard a poet mention this format for writing a poem.  I was inspired and wanted to take on the challenge of crafting a pi poem.  Simply, for each line one wishes to write, the poet incorporates the number of syllables according to each numeral of pi.  Thus, the first line of a piem contains three syllables while the second poetic line has only one syllable; the third line is a count of four syllables, and the fourth line includes one syllable.  (While I prefer to count syllables, some poets count words per poetic line to create a piem.)  If you choose to take on such a poetic challenge, you may make the pi poem as short or as long as you like.

                For a pi poem, only the number of syllables per line is important; the rhyming pattern or lack of a rhyme scheme is the writer’s choice.  Dividing the piem into stanzas is also the decision of the poet (or “piemist”). 

With 34 lines, the following new pi poem has syllables for each line based upon this portion of the mathematical pi:  3.1415926535897932384626433832795028.

To further assist you with the goal of creating your own pi poem, after the first presentation of my sample pi poem, the piem will be repeated with a numeral accompanying each line:  the numeral at the onset of each line indicates the number of syllables in that poetic line.  Therefore, the second presentation of my pi poem lets you know how I did follow the numerals of the mathematical pi to create my piem.  The third part of this “how-to” article includes an important guideline which you can copy and paste into your new document.  By using the syllabic guideline at the end of this article, you will find writing a pi poem very easy.

* * *

NOTE:  On March 21, I will celebrate thirty-two years since I received my first Leader Dog–Keller, “The Stellar Keller,” my Golden Retriever.  

My Quartet of Leader Dogs

pi poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Thirty-two

years,

four sweet blessings–

let’s

applaud, celebrate

Willow, Zoe, Heather, and Keller–

guide dogs

who facilitated

smiles, hopes, dreams, wishes

as we walked

through life challenges.

My four Leader Dogs–a quartet

of quintessential memories, gifts

that forever give to me

a bright world of possibilities.

Different–

each guide,

so distinct

from my other amazing guides,

yet you will know

why my beating, happy  

heart has

four chambers marked with paws.

My gratitude

for each one,

for each love,

each devoted guide dog, glistens

in my soul.

You think

I walk only with one guide;

no–I’m proudly led by four guide dogs.

All that each taught me

endures

with me wherever we all go.

* * * *

PART 2:  Below you will find the same piem repeated with only the addition of a number in brackets at the onset of each poetic line.  The numeral within the brackets indicates the number of syllables which the line contains.  If you read only the numerals directly down the left side of the page (or screen), you will read the numbers of mathematical pi.  The thirty-second numeral is zero.  When you are crafting a pi poem and arrive at the thirty-second poetic line, you have the following choices to deal with the zero:

A.  Skip the zero, and proceed to the next numeral which is 2.

b.  Create the ending of your pi poem with line thirty-one or earlier.

c.  Create a stanza break at the point of the occurrence of the zero.

d.  Create a poetic line of ten syllables.

In my sample piem, I chose to skip the “0” and went on to the numeral “2” of pi to craft a two-syllable line for my piem.

* * * * *

My Quartet of Leader Dogs

pi poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

[3]  Thirty-two

[1]  years,

[4]  four sweet blessings–

[1]  let’s

[5]  applaud, celebrate

[9]  Willow, Zoe, Heather, and Keller–

[2]guide dogs

[6]  who facilitated

[5]  smiles, hopes, dreams, wishes

[3]  as we walked

[5]  through life challenges.

[8]  My four Leader Dogs–a quartet

[9]  of quintessential memories, gifts

[7]  that forever give to me

[9]  a bright world of possibilities.

[3]  Different–

[2]  each guide,

[3]  so distinct

[8]  from my other amazing guides,

[4]  yet you will know

[6]  why my beating, happy 

[2]  heart has

[6]  four chambers marked with paws.

[4]  My gratitude

[3]  for each one,

[3]  for each love,

[8]each devoted guide dog, glistens

[3]  in my soul.

[2]  You think

[7]  I walk only with one guide;

[9]  no–I’m proudly led by four guide dogs.

[5]  All that each taught me

[2]  endures

[8]  with me wherever we all go.

** ** **

PART 3:  Guidelines for a 19-line (or less) Pi Poem

DIRECTIONS:  Before you begin writing your pi poem, copy and paste into your new document the following syllabic guideline pattern for a piem of nineteen lines or less.  (If you wish to create a longer pi poem, just refer to the mathematical pi.)  Craft the desired number of poetic lines of a pi poem by writing a poetic line on each of the following lines, each of which begins with a number in brackets to indicate the number of syllables you should write for that particular poetic line.  After you have written your desired number of lines according to the syllabic pattern, delete the numerals and brackets at the onset of each poetic line.  After selecting all of your document, use the “center” feature so that each line will be centered to appear better on the page or screen as a pi poem.  Remember to title your pi poem, and then polish  and proofread your piem!

[3] 

[1] 

[4] 

[1] 

[5] 

[9] 

[2] 

[6] 

[5] 

[3] 

[5] 

[8] 

[9] 

[7] 

[9] 

[3] 

[2] 

[3] 

[8] 

NOTE:  If you have any questions about writing a pi poem, please e-mail me at:

alicejmassa@gmail.com

Enjoy creating a pi poem!  Happy Pi Day!

Alice and Leader Dog Willow

March 9, 2022, Wednesday