RAE’S READS

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This year (2025) finds me with 53 years of teaching “under my belt.” I have taught all levels from pre-K “(library lady” or “book lady”–volunteer) to juniors, seniors, and graduate students enrolled in my Advanced Writing class at the university where I have just completed 34 years. My first paying teaching job was junior high, and I spent 13 years with ages 12-13, the “difficult years.” I had some of the “funnest” experiences with this age group. When I was no longer the “young, fun teacher,” I taught in an elementary school setting before sixth graders went on to junior high, teaching language arts blocs, an assignment that was a “dream-fit” for me. After completing graduate school in my 40s, I went on to community college, then university teaching. This past fall I accepted a part-time teaching job at Apogee Gulf Coast Schools in its first year at the Alvin campus. After my Better Half died n 2022, I achieved a lifelong dream: opening a bookstore of my own, Rae’s Reads. A year later, I sold the house we had lived in for 47 years and moved into the bookstore. My goal is to circulate and repurpose books. Just as teaching is “in my blood,” so is a passion for reading, writing, libraries, and everything bookish. This blog will be open to anyone who loves books, promotes literacy and wants to “come out and play.”

  • HAVE YOU READ A POEM TODAY?

  • SATURDAY MORNINGS FOR KIDS

    Just as Saturday mornings TV broadcasting used to focus on kids, this blog does the same, recommending books for kids, their parents and grandparents, their teachers, and those who read to them.

    Today’s delightful book is

    A funny book with excellent life lessons

    The narrator, a young boy thinks Mrs. McWee, who lives down the hall in his apartment building, is a witch. But, he’s “not so sure.” He thinks she has ESP, but “he’s not so sure.” He thinks many things and uses scant evidence to back up what he thinks, but his mom has a logical explanation for it all.

    Halloween comes, and the boy goes trick-or-treating at Mrs. Mc Wee’s to find something he is sure of. You’ll never guess what it is!

    Schwartz, the illustrator, uses black and white drawings spiked with Halloween orange to provide a treat for young and old alike. Enough repetition and rhythm are built in to help the youngest readers read along. It’s fun for all any time of the year.

  • Parody is the imitation of the style of another work, writer or genre, which relies on deliberate exaggeration to achieve comic or satirical effect. .

    One of my favorite types of poetry is the parody. It is easy to write and often very funny. Here is a parody over an American phenomenon :

    “Stopping By Starbucks on a Snowy Evening”

    “(with apologies to Robert Frost)

    Whose beans these are I think I know.

    They’re ground to brew and packed to go.

    No one will see me stopping here.

    To warm my gut with mugs of Joe.

    The head barista’s feeling queer

    From many shots of black liqueur.

    She’s had much more than she can take

    Of serving scones and coffee cake.

    She gives her mocha hair a shake

    To tell me there is no mistake.

    The only other sound’s the sweep

    Of credit cards and change she makes.

    Her latte’s lovely, dark and deep,

    But I have lines to rhyme, then break.

    And miles to go before I wake,

    And miles to go before I wake.”

    (Paul Fisher)

    Celebrate National Poetry Month in April.

  • Ferris Wheel

    More Poetry (from a blogger friend)

    Rishika Jain's avatarThe Ethereal Unicorn

    Are you human, Tris? Being up this high doesn’t scare you at all?

    Tobias Eaton, Divergent

    In the beginning it seems like a long climb
    Where would you be if not all your stars seem to align?
    Doubts run wild, and so does imagination
    The thought of soaring freely fuels your passion.

    You’re up in the sky
    It feels like you’re motionless, yet you fly
    The world’s all yours
    But you’re scared of a downfall.

    That high, that fading weariness
    When you’ve made it to the top with baby steps
    You see phosphenes after a dreamy break
    You’re miles from gloomy dusk and heartache.

    The wind blows and the trees rustle
    Somewhere in the darkness, joy and hope tickle
    You feel on top of the universe
    Nothing can stop you from rising, not even the evilest curse.

    You do it all for that high
    The purpose that fuels your passion

    View original post 220 more words

  • MR. FLOOD’S LAST RESORT by Jess Kid: A Review

    Started and finished in the same week…couldn’t put it down!

    I read this book in two days–just kept turning pages to figure out the mystery at the center of the plot.

    We first meet Maud Drennan, who works for a caretaker/housekeeper company, as she is tackling Mr. Flood’s falling-down, stuffed-to-the-gills house. Cathal Flood, her employer, is a belligerent curmudgeon, hoarder who is trying to outsmart his unctuous son, Gabriel Flood. Gabriel wants to put his father in a “home” where he can receive full-time attention. Instead, Cathal hires Maud to save his “estate,” Bridlemere. Maud has psychic abilities (She sees and communicates with Saints.), and she takes no nonsense from Mr. Flood. Throughout the novel, there are flashbacks to when Maud was a child when her sister “disappeared,” a mystery within a mystery.

    This is a story of family love and dysfunction. In an action-packed ending, Maude shows her true colors. The ending is not totally happy, but it is satisfactory, and it hints at the possiblity of a sequel.

    A secondary character must be mentioned. Renata, a drag queen and Maude’s best friend/worst enemy encourages Maude to investigate what has happened to Mrs. Flood, suspecting Cathal of the worst possible crime. What these two cohorts ferret out and act on adds hilarity and suspense at the same time.

    All in all, this novel is entertaining and a darned good read.

  • NATIONAL POETRY MONTH, Day 9

    To celebrate today, I’m featuring a poem I have always loved and have shared with students on many levels.

    “Swift Things Are Beautiful”

    “Swift things are beautiful:

    Swallows and deer,

    And lightning that falls

    Bright-veined and clear,

    Rivers and meteors,

    Wind in the wheat,

    The strong-withered horse,

    The swift runner’s feet.

    And slow things are beautiful:

    The closing of day,

    The pause of the wave

    That curves downward to spray,

    The ember that crumbles,

    The opening flower,

    And the ox that moves on

    In the quest of power.”

    ELIZABETH COATSWORTH

    We would go on to use this poem as a model, writing poems about tiny things, large things, dull things, shiny things. This is a good “starter” for constructing a poem.

  • LIBRARY HAUL

    Thanks for the image to Carla from Carla Loves Books.

    April 4-10 is National Library Week.

    This past week, I made a pick up of reserved books on hold at the Alvin Library.

    Two non-fiction books to help with my 2021 goal to read more non-fiction, and two Books about Books. That should keep me busy for a while.

    S

  • “RUSHING AND GOING ABOUT”

    Rae Longest's avatarLiteracy and Me

    IN HONOR OF NATIONAL POETRY MONTH, HERE IS A POEM THAT ALWAYS REMINDS ME OF WHAT MATTERS.

    “I read

    In a book

    Where a man called Christ

    Went about doing good.

    It is very discouraging

    To me

    That I am so easily

    Satisfied

    With just going about.”

    (Author Unknown)

    View original post

  • TUESDAY TEASER

    In honor of National Poetry Month,

    This year,2021, marks the 25th year April has been celebrated as National Poetry Month.

    my Tuesday Teaser comes from a great book of poetry,

    Funny, funny poems

    This is a parody from Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”

    “Two Roads”

    “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I

    I took the one less traveled by…

    Since then I’ve been completely lost.

    Thanks for nothing, Robert Frost!”

  • NATIONAL POETRY MONTH CELEBRATES ITS 25TH YEAR

    Today I received my newsletter from The Academy of American Poets in the mail. Some of the more interesting points were as follows:

    “Twenty-five years ago in April of 1996, it was Academy of American Poets members who provided the initial seed money for us to announce and carry out National Poetry Month for the first time…

    Over the years, our annual celebration of poets and poetry has been recognized in The New York Times, USA Today, Time, The Washington Post, People magazine , and thousands of other publications…

    …the month of April has become by far the most important time of year for the release of new poetry…and sales of poetry by recognized authors and new poets alike [increase].

    …events numbering in the hundreds of thousands have taken place–no exaggeration–at libraries, community centers, places of worship, at parks, town squares…all aimed at bringing poetry into the lives of local citizens and fostering a greater appreciation for beloved poets of the past as well as today’s new voices.”

    The organization sent me a National Poetry Month poster, and they will be sending weekly lesson plans to 35,000 teachers nationwide. Other online programs, readings, and celebrations will be held as well.

    I plan to celebrate National Poetry month with a poetry contest in my Advanced Writing class and to personally read a new poem each day of the month. Let me share today’s with you. This is from Margaret Atwood’s Dearly, her latest collection of poems:

    “Ghost Cat”

    “Cats suffer from dementia too. Did you know that?

    Ours did. Not the black one, smart enough

    to be neurotic and evade the vet.

    The other one, the furrier’s muff, the piece of fluff.

    She’d writhe around on the sidewalk

    for chance pedestrians , whisker

    their trousers, though not enough when she started losing

    what might have been her mind. She’d prowl the night

    kitchen, taking a bite

    from a tomato, a ripe peach there,

    a crumpet, a softening pear.

    Is this what I’m supposed to eat?

    Guess not, but where?

    Then up the stairs she’d come, moth-footed,

    owl-eyed, wailing

    like a tiny, fuzzy steam train: Ar-woo! Ar-woo!

    So witless and erased. O who?

    Clawing at the bedroom door

    shut tight against her. Let me in,

    enclose me, tell me who I was.

    No good. No purring. No contentment, Out

    into the darkened dining room,

    then in, then out forlorn.

    And when I go that way, grow fur, start howling,

    scratch at your airwaves:

    no matter who I claim I am

    or how I love you,

    turn the key. Bar the window.”

    Margaret Atwood’s voice is a strong one in her poems. Often her “messages” or thoughts are not what we expect, but she is always unique, a voice to be heard. Thanks to my friend, Mary Allen, who gave me a signed copy of this 2020 collection of Atwood poems. I hope to read the entire collection this month to celebrate National Poetry Month, 2021.