Welcome to day 1 of the November open write for educators! We are so glad you are here. Read the inspiration, process, and mentor poem below, and then scroll to the bottom to compose your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets.
Inspiration
A Nocturne is simply a poem written at night. I am aware of the early darkness in November as we near the solstice. Li-Young Lee contemplates a sound he hears in the night. “Tonight something bows but does not bend.” Darkness can be frightening or calming. What thoughts do you have as you are settling in for sleep? What sounds do you hear?
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43014/nocturne-56d221aedde65
Process
A brainstorm list works well to mine the mind for a poem. Make two lists of up to 10 things. List all the things that come up for you in your night mind. Then list sounds, scents, and other imagery at night. My Nocturne is simply my process from night mind to sleep. Your poem may take any shape or form. Write freely for ten minutes and see what appears on the page.
Margaret’s Poem
Nocturne
Night darkens earlier now. The scritch-scratch
of cat claws on the screen-door, a howling mew echoes
over this night as my nightingale⸺a barred owl
hoots high note to low note call for the world
to sleep.
Coated in lavender, my skin relaxes like butter
melting in a warm skillet. I slump under thin, fraying
cotton sheets. My feet squirm for the warm spot
left by the inside cat. She’s nocturnal.
Not me.
I turn off the lamp letting the last words I read
drift into dream. My ears are the last to sleep.
They hear every sound amplified in darkness–
the creak of the floor as Fancy-cat wanders room to room.
A wild mind.
My shoulder settles into the pillow that’s formed
to my shape. I become still and fill the space
made just right for me, waiting
for the last song of windchimes
to ring.
© Margaret Simon
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Our Host
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. With a masters degree in gifted education and National Boards certification in early literacy, Margaret teaches gifted students in Iberia Parish. Her first book of children’s poetry, Bayou Song: Creative Explorations of the South Louisiana Landscape was published in 2018 by UL Press. Margaret writes a blog regularly at http://reflectionsontheteche.com..
it comes at night
not long after I swallow my pill
you know the pill
the one that is supposed to keep it away
up the milligrams
on 50, on 75, on 100 mg
but it comes at night
change my prescription
a period of adjustment
side effects may include: migraines, nausea, fluctuating weight
but it comes at night
you know the pill
a deterrent, perhaps
but not a cure
Night Dreams
Swept into my cocoon of blankets
Neatly settled next to my husband’s warm body
My brain ticks ticks ticks away as I strive
To turn my daydreams
Into those of the night
The furnace kicks on
Disrupting the cold air settled around the apartment
My joints creak as I shift
And my husband’s snores make an apnea-ed rhythm
That lull the stars in close
Enough to hear my nighttime audiobook
And they wait with me until the end of the chapter
Just to reset the sleep timer again and again
Until finally
I droop into a slumber.
When It’s To Turn In
When it’s time to turn in,
it’s time for the gentle, vibratory hum of Oral-B –
a must to keep the cavity creeps at bay.
When it’s time to turn in,
it’s time for pill popping;
peach and square, white and round, red and tiny –
a must to treat and control all that ails me.
When it’s time to turn in,
it’s time for gooey, gummy OTC sleep aids –
three musts to help me enter the land of slumber
though I can never seem to stay there.
When it’s time to turn in,
it’s time for the final rubs for my soft, fluffy pooch,
tender whispers of “I love you”, “Night night”, and “Go lay down!” –
a must to convince the pup that play time is over.
Oh I love this familiar routine! The repetitions of the musts and their uses create a nice rhythm for each stanza and the routine.
“Oh,” I think,
as I leave my night class.
It used to be sunsets.
Not now.
Somehow, it feels lonelier
than before.
The moon
reaches through clouds.
The street lamps are shining
through clouds
of my own breath.
A type of art imitating life.
The porch light
shines like a beacon,
calling me home.
The glow
makes the dark less lonely.
My place.
Lovely, Emma! I know this exact feeling/experience, as I’m sure many of us do as a result of the time change. Why does that first ‘walk into darkness’ feel like such a shock? You captured that transition well. I especially enjoyed this repetition that took the reader in a different direction with the second “through clouds”: The moon / reaches through clouds. / The street lamps are shining / through clouds / of my own breath.” Brilliant!
I love that the porch light is a beacon for your return home. The early darkness is a shock. It feels lonelier.
I like how the presence of darkness is made clear through your mentions of light sources. Sunsets, the moon, streetlamps, and porchlights all give light, but their presence here just emphasizes the sudden darkness of returning to Standard time.
Tonight
It’s not quite dark yet
I can see the sun sinking behind the clouds
and lights beginning to come on inside the houses
There is a chill in the air
I hug myself and head towards the closet
to get a warm sweater
socks now inside my shoes
I will venture out into the dark
to have dinner with a friend
sitting in a warm colorful
Mexican restaurant
eating spicy food
warming our bellies
as well as our hearts
There will be music and laughter
before i return to a dark and quiet house
surrounded by cold mist in the air
obscuring the stars
while the moon
sends a strange glow
trying without success to poke through
the dark clouds
I love the contrasting imagery between the liveliness of the restaurant and the quietness of home. They are both beautiful places to be, but they feel different and refreshing in different ways. Thank you for sharing 🙂
Reading yours, Susan, right after reading Emma’s, I’m loving this repetition of “through” the “clouds” in each of yours. I laughed out loud at “socks now inside my shoes.” I get it! Ditto Emma’s comment on the juxtaposition of the two scenes. I can see wanting to curl up into each of those settings; the duality of human nature, I suppose.
Susan — This just feels so real, so what I’ve watched on so many nights. I like, in particular, that the moon has a will…the moon sends and tríes. Lovely. Susie
There is a melancholy to this poem even with the bright spot with a friend. The moon and its strange glow makes the night feel ominous and sad.
I love the juxtaposition between warmth and cold here. The sweater and socks take you to the restaurant with friends and warm food, whereas it’s cold and misty outside. The moon’s light/possible warmness can’t penetrate the cold of the night, but the memories of the music and laughter can.
The sun is setting on the horizon in the early evening
Such as
The sun is setting on my time in my beloved college town
The darkness rejected by the street lights
The exhaustion rejected by the determination to move forward
The weekday loneliness rejected by gatherings of loved ones I preparing myself to only visit on special occasions
There’s comfort in completing a long-awaited goal such as graduation
Like the comfort in finally resting after early rising for the day
As I restlessly fight with my comforter and pillows
As I restlessly worry about upcoming assignments
As I restlessly scroll through my phone, knowing it is not helping me sleep
As I restlessly think about what comes next
As I rest, sleep lulling my eyes closed and readying me for the next day
As I rest, finally, after five long years, and can finally be present
In slow, comfortable evenings with my partner
In reading for pleasure again
In the long drive between school and home
In laying in bed after a long day, watching the sun setting on the horizon in the early evening
Hi Lizzy, I really like the determination in this poem and exhaustion rejected, It seems to pay off because your ending shows contentment after your goal is reached.
So many fun words at play here, Lizzy, despite the gravity of the experience. OMGosh did this ever drag me back to “those days” of being that student. My fave was all the “rejections,” since that is so often associated with negativity and loss. Only here, the rejections are replaced by something seemingly better, brighter. I love that concept. And the ultimate “replacement” at the close, that transition to the other side of graduation. Ah, yes, what an incredible “regaining” of time in our lives we enjoyed. If only we could be students without all the stress, right?
This poem with effective repetition takes us from busy-ness to rest. Comfort in completing tasks and taking a much needed rest.
Sheets rustle softly
as I steal from the night to extend my day,
trying to rescue a few minutes of peace,
to exist for a few minutes as myself alone.
Then come the soft footsteps down the hallway,
a brief illumination and the click of the bathroom door.
Somewhere below me the furnace hums
and the dishwasher drums a drowsy beat.
Beside me my love snores softly.
The cat rumbles behind my knees.
Then the flush, the running water and the light again.
From the doorway, now, the whisper, “‘night, Mom, I love you” and the footfalls shuffle away.
I close my book and sleep.
Amanda,
So good to see you here. Your poem evokes such a peaceful contentment in the quiet night imagery and that final “good night, mom. I love you.” I’m lying in bed as I read this and listening to the night sounds in my home, knowing you’re in your home as we share the universe and are connected by a night sky.
Aw, Amanda, we are so blessed to have someone whisper “night, Mom, I love you” at the end of each day. My daughter calls me every night to say the same.
Sound is clearly the star of this poem, Amanda. Love it. These are all such mundane details of our lives, but such critical elements of our “life support system,” including the humans with whom we share our lives. The end line – OMG. Dual meaning: Literally, the speaker is reading a book in bed and after this exchange, simply closes it to go to sleep, but also, figuratively there could be no book in the speaker’s hands, but rather ending that day’s “chapter” of life. Brilliant!
Such a comforting good night poem to all the specific things that make your house a home.
Walking home
To the left,
green blue spruce
to the right,
strong white arms of birch
above,
three
bright
planets
piercing an arc
above a full golden moon
Emily,
I love the geography, the lines connecting spruce to birch to planets. This short poem makes the universe feel smaller and more intimately connected.
Emily- you master the snapshot in this poem… my sense of walking home with you is quite real. The arms of that birch are my favorite … or maybe it’s the sense that this is a walk that’s protective, in that the moon holds the crowning position : overhead and lighting the way. Hugs, Susie
What a simple but wonderfully tight form, Emily. I like the idea of this as a prompt – to look left, look right, look above, look below. That’s a fantastic way to have us see the world and also create a unique perspective of it. This reminds me of the book, The Art of Noticing, which gives some similar ideas on how to see the world around us. Lovely!
Such a sweet poem with lovely imagery of a full golden moon.
Thank you, Margaret, for this prompt! I don’t normally play around with nighttime/dark imagery, so this was a (good) challenge for me. I had a lot of fun wordsmithing this and would love to come back to it to tighten it up!
Night Stroll
Darkness swiftly blankets
sidewalk. Her tentacles
cloak cracked concrete.
Quickened heartbeat, loud
exhales–breath transfiguring to
fog, like a ghost, in the dim
light of a solitary
streetlamp.
Though nightfall dresses
Earth, fear is left
naked.
Rachelle,
My mind immediately went to the feelings I get when I walk my dog alone at night (which I don’t do often for the reasons in your poem). You wonderfully capture the imagination’s playground that the dark creates.
Rachelle,
This is a wonderful poem. This actually make me think of my old early morning walks. Beautiful imagery.
I loved this image of night as both a “dresser” of earth, but also hiding these eerie images of dark tentacles and cracked concrete.
The naked fear at the end was a surprise. I should have expected it with “quickened heartbeat” and the ghost of fog. Strong imagery.
Margaret, Thank you for this wonderful prompt. I loved reading the wide approaches our community took in response! I will use this prompt with my students.
Margaret, Thanks for your wonderful prompt and poem. I was completely pulled into the scene, the motions and images. I especially enjoyed the format and the end “…waiting
for the last song of windchimes
to ring.” Beautiful!
Night Moves
A full moon hides behind
a gauzy veil;
behind its murky haze
a bright star shimmers
illuminating the river with
a silky ribbon of diamonds that
winks at the coal train
as it slowly rumbles by
Barb Edler
20 November 2021
So pretty! I love the combination of moon, star, and river. That is perfection to me.
Barb,
Again you are my <3 poet. Your title pulled me in with the Bob Seger vibes. You are a master of imagery:
“a silky ribbon of diamonds that
winks at the coal train
as it slowly rumbles by”
Barb, “a gauzy veil” will now forever be what I see when I look at a full moon behind clouds/fog. Thank you for writing this poem today.
I love the silky ribbon of diamonds… beautiful imagery throughout.
Barb,
The image of “gauzy veil” is evocative of Emily Dickinson’s gossamer veil. It’s so beautiful. I feel as though I’m in a riverbank alone commiserating w/ nature as I read your poem. Gorgeous.
Hi Barb! You have the same moon that I am seeing tonight, one hiding behind a gauzy veil and murky haze. Sharing this makes me feel very connected. Sorry, I don’t have the bright stars tonight or a shimmering river. How beautiful that must be!
Barb – I’m there in your backyard with this poem… sensory rich… I love that. From the title .. a favorite song for me…it grabbed me from the git-go! The “silky ribbon of diamonds” is so precise as it does justice for the night river in moonlight as clouds move to let that light pierce the surface of the river. Happy Thanksgiving, my friend! Susie
Love this image poem, like a painting, it draws me in.
Routine at Night
At the bathroom sink
I brush and rinse
Press a warm blue cloth to my face
Then pull my shirt over my head
Reach back to unclasp the bra
Loosening my left breast to gravity.
My right hand cups the warm skin-toned bulb that
Serves as a stand-in for the right breast,
removed 16 years ago.
My fingers trace the S curve on my chest
marking two lives:
Before and after.
Before
did not know the lesson of
After:
Feel each day
Like a warm bulb in the hand.
Allison, wow. Your poem is powerful and revealing. Your honest voice and striking imagery carries a incredible punch. “My fingers trace the S curve on my chest” was particularly poignant. The repetition of “before” and “after” create a strident chord that echoes. Beautiful, powerful, mesmerizing, and masterful. Your strength radiates through this poem!
Allison, your writing always pulls me in. In my English 12 class, we reading and discussing “The Things They Carried” and this poem reveals so much about what you physically carry, the scar of what you have carried, and lessons you carry as part of your daily routine. Thank you for writing this today.
<3
This was an unexpected reminder to be grateful. The last stanza was especially resonant.
Allison,
This is so powerful and beautiful and tender. I’m going in for a mammogram Monday, and your amazing poem makes what normally feel invasive now feel intimate and beautiful. Love that final image/metaphor.
Glenda — thank you for this response to Allison’s poem… I think I will ask Allison if I might print her poem as a reminder when I get lax about my mammograms.
Allison – Might I print your poem, of course, giving credit with your name?
Oh of course, of course, friend!
Allison – This is poignant and carries the power of such a strong woman. Part of what moves me here is the steady voice, the power of the mirror which delivers that strong image that looks straight into that mirror…you are standing, doing what we do as we march into the night… we brush our teeth and wash our face and see both past and present in the S that marks all our lives. There’s no looking away, no pretending, no mythology. You are one helluva a writer, one helluva beautiful woman. Thank you for this intimate poem. It is a sort primer for me in how it reminds me to live with strength and stand strong. Hugs, Susie
Allison, I’m late but I’m grateful to have spent this morning with your poem and you. This poem reflects the SHERO that you are! I have lost a lot of loved ones to cancer so I have a special compassion for the survivors like you. I know the value of learning from the before/after and your poem teaches it in a way that only you can do. Thank you.
Mammogram time awaits and as always, when the technician says, “this may be uncomfortable…” I always respond, “it’s much less uncomfortable than chemo or surgery so let’s do this!” My cousin who underwent double mastectomy and eventually succumbed because the cancer metastacized, told me that every mammogram I ever get is a blessing to enjoy. I will never forget.
Love, wellness, and strength continued to be sent your way, Allison!
❤️??
Thank you for the contemplative prompt.
The best intentions are always the start.
To bed by 10:30 and the house all quiet.
No matter how desperate for sleep I feel,
the thoughts begin as soon as the light is out.
Shouldn’t I have spent more time grading,
planning, connecting with kids, focusing on
all of the ways that I can counter the ill effects
of the last eighteen months on my students?
Or maybe my brain decides this is the time
to consider what I could be doing better for my
own son–still struggling with recovery from an
academic “year” that was like no other.
If I toss and turn, my dog decides I must be
ready and willing to keep my hand moving
over her soft fluff–stilling for even a moment
starts the nudging and nose blotting prompts.
So I focus on my breathing, just like I should
in meditation, or mindfulness, or just living.
Slowly, sometimes, it works, and I drift off,
but usually I just keep falling back to awake.
Cara, I can so relate to your second stanza, endlessly tweaking the lesson plans past my bedtime, thinking maybe this change here or that change there will help “fix” what we’ve all been through. I think, I, too, need to use the advice in your last stanza and “focus on my breathing.” Thanks for this!
“I just keep falling back to awake.” Yes. This. Again and again.
This is so real to me: “If I toss and turn, my dog decides I must be
ready and willing to keep my hand moving
over her soft fluff–stilling for even a moment
starts the nudging and nose blotting prompts.”
And, your last line is truth…so much truth!
Cara,
I LOVE the “falling back to awake” at the end of your poem. I wish for you what I find myself wishing again and again for my own children and loved ones: assurance you are enough, more than enough. Channel the love so many feel for you. Rest. <3
Cara, I can definitely relate to this poem. You captured the restlessness of interrupted sleep in your last line. Letting go of all the worries and daily drain kind often feel impossible. Loved “in meditation, or mindfulness, or just living”….yes!
Cara, it seems others have also been as profoundly “shook” (as the kids say) by your last line as I was. “Falling back to awake” is the best way to word the frustrating phenomenon. The whole last stanza is so relatable that it felt like you’ve been in my head as I’ve attempted to drift into sleep.
On a side note, I read you’re supposed to picture yourself going on a familiar walk to fall asleep. This has worked very well for me 🙂
Cara,
My mind often wonders to the worst case scenario often, as you are aware. So falling asleep with a lot going on makes it hard for me. I LOVE ? your line “falling back awake.”
Night Thief
By Mo Daley 11/20/21
I used to love the nights
I loved getting home from work and preparing a meal
Tidying up the house before
Sitting on the couch and chatting with my husband
Maybe taking a few minutes to light a fire
Definitely enjoying a glass or two of Pinot
Oftentimes with a charcuterie plate for two
With the dogs fighting for the best lap, which is always mine
And unwinding
But now, I hate the nights
I order in or grab burgers on the way home
Shove the clean laundry aside so I can sit on the couch
Pour a glass of wine, flip through the insipid tv shows
And fall asleep before I can finish my glass
My husband nudges me gently, beckoning me to bed
And in my haze, I know
That this bone-deep exhaustion has stolen my night again
It has unwound me
Oh, I know this tired so well. Why do we allow for it? I’m wishing you rest…sweet rest. This poem really gets me.
Oh, Mo, this is such a real unveiling of the intense pressures you’re experiencing. The image of just pushing the laundry aside so you can claim a spot and then yielding to the physical exhaustion. Geez. So vivid. I am sending you healing vibes. Susie
Mo,
This speaks SO much truth. I, too, wonder how I used to have mostly relaxing evenings. The changes happened both so subtly and yet so quickly I was none the wiser until it was too late. We are indeed “unwound.”
Mo, I know (from therapy) that my go-to emotion is anger, but that is what I felt as I read your poem. I’m angry that you (we!) have lost what was once precious to deep-bone (deep-heart) exhaustion. I am unwound with you. Hugs.
Mo, you’ve definitely painted a clear picture of how night once was and how it has changed. I can feel “this bone-deep exhaustion”. My heart aches with your final line. Love how you ended both stanzas with a form of unwind.
Good morning, Mo, and sorry for the late response. Your poem speaks to me! I don’t even believe how the nights just dump on me sometimes. It’s that new level of exhaustion that has me down like a wet rag!
Hopefully the Fall Break will give us the needed relaxation we deserve so we can both enjoy the second glass of vino!
??
Thank you, Margaret. I’m so happy to be back this month with everyone!
Nothing Broken Here
I am not a night person
I say, though I lie wide awake
in bed nearly every 3am
split sleep it’s called
or broken sleep
apparently at one time
it was our evolutionary notch
people would rise to
eat, read, walk about town
have parlor conversation
but now we find this
aberrant behavior surely
leads to an early demise
of the mind or longevity
pharmacy shelves are lined
with pretty little promises
of ‘a good night’s rest’
I am fine, thank you
I often rise to have
the whole quiet house to myself
where I can sit unbothered
and write and read and draw
slurp spicy ramen noodles
sip a cup of chamomile tea
until drowsiness deja vu
and I climb the stairs
back into darkness
back under the covers
back to sleep
back to my second life
nothing broken here
I find this idea fascinating, Denise. I sometimes go through phases like this, but then I go back to my normal sleep habits. I do love the image of having the house to yourself to do whatever you want. I love the early mornings for that in my house. I also love the idea of the second life and how you’ve embraced it.
Denise – In the new Colson Whitehead novel Harlem Shuffle, he describes in the middle section of the book the world of “dorvay”… it is , indeed, what you are describing! I soooo get this night identity… what we experience indeed is a serious “thing”! I love that your poem emerged just as I finished that novel. Thank you. Susie
Denise,
Wow. Just wow. You capture the feelings of broken sleep so well. My mom has long suffered from insomnia–often being awake for hours in the night. I fear that someday I will be like her in this, hopefully not before I am retired like her and able to sleep when I can and need to.
Denise, I love how your poem helped me see aspects of my own life more clearly. I use an afternoon nap (sleep! must be an hour or more!) as my re-start for my “second day.” I applaud you for embracing your mid-night window to savor spicy ramen noodles!
I will use you as a role model for accepting individual life rhythms. Bravo!
Denise, I absolutely love this poem. I, too, am the 3 a.m. mind-wandering woman! Thanks for shedding some light on this and for being the one to pen the poem to speak it so eloquently!
Perfect!!
I went out to
check on our Christmas lights.
We went with the larger bulbs
this time – just green and red,
traditional.
But the buttery moon loomed
over our house,
right over our house,
upping the ante.
We will have to go bigger
next year.
Hi Katrina. I love how you’ve personified that buttery moon. And I like how she’s gotten under your skin and pushed you a little bit. This is a sweet poem.
Oh, Katrina, I loved the “buttery moon” line, but then GRINNED at the “go bigger” ending! This was treat to read!
Katrina, I love the contrast between the attempt to create the Christmas spirit and contrasting it with nature. Love “the buttery moon loomed” and your final lines were especially delightful. Thanks for the smile!
Katrina,
Lovely reminder nature is so much more powerful than all our human-made baubles.
Oh this is funny! Competition with moon. Love it!
Each night my mind plays the greatest hits
a montage of images I’ve accidentally
woven into a routine planted firmly
in my countdown to sleep.
The longest and loudest image
is one that stretches out as wide as I want it to.
Usually though, I’m somewhere in the mountains
sitting in a loft with a brilliant winter
falling outside a floor to ceiling window.
I’m curled in blankets, a dog- sometimes two-
snoring comfortably at my side.
Piles of books,
a treasure trove of snacks,
and an espresso I once had
at a coffee shop in Portland
become my focal point.
The day I had
is someone else’s life.
Tonight I will fall into this place,
this world I’ve been creating every
night for thousands of nights
until sleep comes.
Lauren, what a beautifully woven tapestry of images you’ve created! Your poem makes me feel like I am about to get hugged to sleep!
Lauren,
I want to craft my own sleep-countdown montage! This is a beautiful idea/poem. The “espresso I once had at a coffee shop in Portland” reminds me of the lemon ice I ate 45 years ago and have been craving ever since.
Thank you for nudging me backward with your lovely imagery.
This felt gentle to read. Your word choice and imagery are marvelous. Thank you 🙂
11/20/2021
Do you admire it or fear it?
the tension
that weighs between
the darkness and the back of your eyes
is equal parts of
Power
and
Mystery
you will raise your brow
to try to see
the shadows, lines, any clue
to provide you a spatial map
but our human eye
is no match to the
black night that
overwhelms us so easily
next time
lean into it
let the onyx carry you away
Oh, Emily,
Love the call to “lean into it” so that the onyx can do some of the work like “carry” us and offer us a “map.”
Peace,
Sarah
Emily, I love your invitation to “lean into it.” Clumsy by day, I have always had a pretty good sense of things in the dark. I love your invitation.
The very opening line of your poem, Emily, puts the reader in a state of duality, which you then follow throughout. Either/Or. This/That. Light/Dark. Power/Mystery. I love the subtlety of this line, “you will raise your brow” – I visualized that as I read it – someone pulling that one brow up, as though it can give them extra insight. The black night and the darkness of this poem makes me think of depression and other mental/emotional struggles someone might experience. On my “down days,” I did indeed learn to “lean into it” rather than fight it. Accepting both ends of the spectrum that make us whole.
Thank you for the opportunity and encouragement to write and share.
Night is so
lo
o
ong,
dragged out by a 5 p.m. start time
What? I just returned from work
How can it already be NIGHT?!
Okay, so it’s dark, no big deal
There’s dinner to create and consume,
a few random chores to do
And then what?
It’s only 6:30 p.m.; there’s so much time left
My husband’s game shows fill the void for him but hold little appeal
I’ll just clean up here, work on a project there
Almost 8, just another hour before I can ascend the stairs to my room
(Important Personal Revelation: Falling asleep before 9:30 leads to a 4 a.m. wakeup time — completely unacceptable!)
I can push through … find a show, make some tea, desperately avoid eating an evening snack
AT LAST!
Tucked into my bed with a good book, reading glasses and my comfy PJ’s
I settle in and relax
You are getting sleepy,
very sleepy
Drifting off…
My husband nudges my shoulder to alert me to my alarm clock
6 a.m.?!
Where did the night go?
Thank you for sharing, Heidi! I especially loved your line about your husband being able to fill the void with his game shows. My own husband fills the gap between dinner and bed with video games and his favorite shows. I have yet to find a routine that eases my anxious thoughts, but I’m glad he has his!
Oh, this is perfect, Heidi. Love the spacing of the “o’s” here, and then the nudge at the end. Isn’t so true that we drift off just as it is time to rise.
Sarah
Heidi, this is real, it’s fun, and I’m glad you wrote with us today!
Bravo! I don’t bypass my evening snacks and I always fall asleep before 9! Lol! I’m proud of you.
?
Heidi,
There is so much I love here! The allusion the the fact that it is pitch black at 5:00 and yet we still have hours after that before we can reasonably go to bed. Argh! And then the idea that if you go to bed too early you’ll wake up stupidly early in return. Sigh. Sleep is more complicated than it should be. You captured the dance beautifully.
I love your tone and voice! This poem has personality, and it was such a fun read. Thank you! 🙂
NOCTURNE
Night as a father,
the glory days of my father nights
surround James Taylor, Carl Yastrzemski,
two sons, and a daughter.
Opening an older door
in the older home of new divorce,
keeping a lodestar focus,
In the lyrics of “Sweet Baby James.”
I hack through a melody from my knees,
kneeling by my daughter’s bed,
my sons looking over from bunk beds
as the doggies retire.
Standing I ask,
“Who is Daddy’s favorite player?”
My children butcher the name I learned as a boy,
weaving a wholeness in laughter.
Closing an older door,
I lock in the memory and turn off the hallway light,
wondering if they have a ride back from campus,
checking my phone for their texts.
“weaving a wholeness in laughter” This is a lovely line, Rex.
Rex— This has an ache to it. The verbs are so well chosen to deliver that ache. The sense of reflection, of watching over, of closing doors of time…. a true parent’s poem … for all, even those who never parented but certainly carried that sense just the same. Thank you. Susie
Rex, you’ve created a vivid picture of your life with your children. Love how you weaved your favorite music in this poem. The routines here are like their own melody. Glad to see you sharing your craft with us today:)
Thank you for sharing this poem. It holds a tenderness to it.
Thank you, Margaret for this beautiful prompt! I went a slightly different direction than I originally imagined…a dear soul confided to me about their depression, how quickly it sets in; I was reminded of a night storm …
Abruptly night
I close the shade
on the soft autumn day
a gift of a day
a joy of a day
only to hear
whirling wild wind
beat against the window
clamoring to get in
sending something skittering
Abruptly night
I open the shade
peer into the tempest void
searching
what is this stormy presence?
why didn’t I see it coming?
where are the stars?
finding only
clouds thick and eerie
oh moon, oh moon,
I long for you
Abruptly night
I like the repetition of “abruptly night” and how you go from closing the shade on the day and opening it to see the night, which is often opposite to how we approach day/night.
Oooweee! I love these lines and the alliteration:
Beautiful and chilling!?⛈
Maureen,
The personification in the first stanza is powerful. I love the duality you capture in night beating in snd the self-doubt evident in questioning yourself. It’s true that no matter how we strive to keep the night out, that’s not always possible.
Margaret, hello! Thank you for this beautiful poem and prompt. As a cat lover, I really adored the warm spot left just for you! Too sweet.
I went into a different space with the prompt. I have mixed feelings about darkness and night because of the terrors that have haunted Black people for hundreds of years after nightfall. So I decided to stay there, and honor the cries of Black mothers who’ve lost their children to brutality.
Night Is Not Beautiful For The Victims
Night
Throws its weighted blankets
Smothering
Black mothers’ cries
Because Ahmaud Arbery was just
Out for a jog
Because Trayvon Martin was
Walking home from the store
Because Sandra Bland was wrongfully
Arrested
Because Breonna Taylor was quietly
Sleeping at home
Because Daunte Wright was
Trying to get back in his car
Because Andre HIll was
Holding a cell phone
Because Rayshard Brooks was
Sleeping in his car
Because Daniel Prude was
Mentally ill, needing help
Because George Floyd was
Unable to breathe
Because Atatiana Jefferson was
Standing by her window
Because Stephon Clark was
Visiting his grandmother
Because Alton Sterling was
Selling CDs and DVDs
Because Freddie Gray was
Taken away in a police van
Because Mike Brown was
Walking with his friend
Night is not beautiful
For the victims
© Stacey L. Joy, 11/20/21
Thank you, Stacey. Sometimes all I can do is say their names. What a powerful poem. What a weighty topic. What a grief that comes with night.
Stacey, thank you for sharing this poem; to read their names, I am reminded how many, many more you might have included here. It is so painfully true –
Your format has an impactful rhythm. I can feel it like the ringing of a death toll. Very powerful.
Stacey! ¡Verdad! The litany is powerful, punching wallops of truth into our nights. You went to an important place with this poem, and I love you for it. That voice…be it mother or sister, your voice matters…this poem matters! ????????? Hugs, Susie
Stacey,
This is such an important poem and reminder of history snd the long line of names stretched across the years, people who had permanent night foisted upon them because of their beautiful black bodies, something white folk like me will never fully understand. We rely on words like those here to remind us, to pierce our hearts the way those mothers’ tears pierce the night. Sending you lots of love.
I am afraid to read the lines. I have privilege to be able to “look away” if I choose to. This is a privilege I understand that I may hold, but others do not. I’ll be reading each line again. Pausing to hold space for there beautiful names and beautiful lives. Thank you for this.
Some nights
these are the
thoughts I
think before
drifting off
to sleep:
would our skin
really be about
14 pounds and
roughly the size
of a bowling ball
if stripped off our
bodies, as I
noted in some
book years ago?
Followed by the thought
that spooky season aside,
we have got to stop
watching scary movies
before bedtime.
Tonight’s fare, The Friday
the 13th Nightmare on Elm
Street Texas Chainsaw
Massacre on Halloween
must have played its
part in these nocturnal
inquiries.
As silence (of the lambs)
descends, I know there
is a craft to this, a sixth
sense, if you will, a bit
of child’s play to being
able to just drop off into
sleep to — Dylan Thomas
be damned — just go
gentle into that good
night, but I can’t
figure it, can’t palaver
with the Sandman,
can’t greet Death’s
Second Self with a firm
handshake — COVID
restrictions and
whatnot — before
drinking deep of the Lethe
Wharf and tumbling
headfirst into a softly
sighing slumber.
Look I don’t begrudge anyone
who can effortlessly fall
asleep, turn off the thinking
machine with a flick of
the finger as easily as
a light switch, I just want
to know where the hell are
all the effing sheep I’m
supposed to be counting?
And, more importantly,
why would you make a
bowling ball out of skin?
That just seems like a
terrible idea.
This is frightening! And exactly why I don’t watch scary movies – though, if I did, I would do so on a sunny mid-day. Thank you for this! I particularly like this phrasing, regarding those lucky enough to fall asleep easily:
I laughed out loud at the effing sheep! I feel you. Also, the last stanza — why do our minds go to these places?!
Scott – Again, I’m chuckling and feeling the admonition here… those totally irritating “I can sleep at the drop of a hat” and “I can sleep through anything” braggarts. They have no skin in the game. Ha! Thanks! Susie
Scott, I don’t know which I admire more, your weaving of titles from the world’s scariest shows into your writing or your return to 14 pounds of skin. Love it!
Elusive Sleep
Despite deep darkness
sometimes
sweet slumber is elusive
somnolence transient
a weary body taunts me
fatigue should be enough
to render my nervous system inert
should be sufficient to usher
suspended consciousness
should bring sleep
should …
yet,
vibrations of soft tissues
of nose, mouth and throat cause
whistles and snorts
and other wheezing eruptions
from my slumbering husband
who has drifted off with audio book
playing …
yet,
oak floors bend to daughter’s midnight pacing
and outside, droning planes slice through a sleeping city
a train whistle, except it is not a whistle;
it is a howl — Why do they call it a whistle?
yet,
only a howl audible to those whose
slumber is elusive
only a howl to those who have not
succumbed to sweet sleep
despite deep darkness
Love this meditation on elusive slumber…you have captured so many sounds and sensations…the wheezing, snorts, whistles, drones, howls…it speaks to how alert we sometimes end up being, as we struggle to sleep. I particularly like the way these “somnolence transient” looks and sounds together.
I like the stanzas broken by the “yet” as far as cadence goes. It sorta gives me the feeling of the moments you would jump from bed.
Tammi – I sure feel the restlessness here. Whistles, howls, soft tissue.
To those who think our president is a devil:
When you lie down at night,
you know those moments you try
to get comfortable to go to sleep?
But you notice that achy wrist
and the indigestion from tonight’s dessert,
and maybe your knee’s acting up again,
At those times, do you ever have doubts
and feel ashamed
about worshipping that former
“perfect physical specimen”?
Do you ever wonder
if maybe this one,
who admits to reflux and isn’t ashamed
to have a colonoscopy
is really more legitimate.
Denise,
Truth! I love the message of honesty in your poem. Admitting one is human builds trust and in my opinion earns my respect.
Denise! BOOM! Mic drop!??
Denise, I chuckled at “do you ever have doubts
and feel ashamed
about worshipping that former
“perfect physical specimen”?” Love the biting tone and the way you lead into that question. I so needed the levity. And somehow I missed the colonoscopy criticism. I’m thanking baby Jesus for that!
glenda
I do not wonder…I hope that the other is never seen or heard from again. His minions are enough to deal with.
I often wonder, “do you ever have doubts”…I just don’t know that this polarized environment is allowing for doubts. Loved your final words so much:
maybe this one,
who admits to reflux and isn’t ashamed
to have a colonoscopy
is really more legitimate.
Amén, sista! You get right down to it. This really works for me. Thank you, Susie
??? I am smiling ear to ear. I love the direct and matter-of-fact tone of your poem. Brilliant!
shhhhh…
I used to tip-toe around it
if I was just as quiet
avoiding the moon-inspired
shadows, loitering behind corners
would be a possibility
if I ran the dark hall to the
fluorescent-lit bathroom
I wouldn’t have to greet it
it would leave soon enough
yet, now I stride with confidence
into its arms, the silence
is receptive and calming
the celestial glints only
join it to show off its beauty
It brings me a contemplative time
of rejuvenation and resetting
and I welcome it
Stefani,
I love the way our poems offer a multivoicedness of night with this shared imagery yet bring us into intimate spaces of another’s life. Love this “tip-toe” and the the “if I ran” and then “now I stride” toward the welcome. Lovely.
Sarah
Isn’t this the truth? I used to avoid it too! And, now silence is indeed welcome. Beautifully written.
Stefani, this is so peace-filled and lovely. I like the way it starts, for it helped me to read it quietly and contemplatively. Then a second time, and I sat quietly with it. Beautiful.
Stefani,
I love the story that is told her. It feels so nostalgic and relatable because I feel we all have been afraid of the dark at one time in our lives. It is interesting how one’s perspective of night time changes as we age. Love this: “avoiding the moon-inspired shadows”
I like how you capture your maturation process within the same darkness, and how you breath life into the night.
Exhausted
I snuggle into soft linen sheets
Under puffy down
Cozy into my cocoon
I am soooo tired. Sleep
Take me now.
Hands on chest and belly
Breath rises and falls
Rises and falls
Dryer drone
Grooms perfection into seventeen-year old’s golden locks
Interrupts intended reverie
My feet wisp back and forth seeking cool spaces
Student faces flash
Did I give them enough time on that assignment?
Gradebook pages appear like specters
Maybe I should meet with him at lunch?
Screens, desks, masks and faces blur together.
Did that lesson go well enough? Do I need to reteach?
Are we moving too fast? Do we need to slow down?
How much time is left this quarter? And those standards…
I toss onto my side, resnuggle.
Let it go. I choose sleep. Breathe.
In and out. In and out. In and out.
Click. Thump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
Different dryer tumbles daughter’s hoodies
Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
Interjects staccato into the legato of my breath symphony.
With three college apps submitted, she has
Seven more to go. Maybe I should write to that physics
Teacher. No, she would be furious. Remember, to complete
The FAFSA this weekend, and then the CSS Profile,
And then…
I flip sides
fluff the pillow
reconfigure the sheets
Recozy, recommit to
Sleep. I choose sleep.
I need sleep. What if I don’t sleep.
Breathing.
Inhale exhale inhale exhale
My face is really squished against this pillow.
More wrinkles. I don’t want to aid the sag.
I roll onto my back
Add the eyebag.
Breathe.
Inhale. One, two, three, four
Below, the cat kicks over a kitchen chair.
Exhale. One, two, three, four…
Karen, this makes me think of the meme that states how women’s brains are like 3,000+ opened tabs on a computer:) I love your line: “Interjects staccato into the legato of my breath symphony,” it adds an extra melody to the flow of your words. Thank you for sharing today.
Oh, Karen, the italics show in form how these intrusions add weight to our minds and make the breathing so challenging, and this method of breathing is precisely how I try to fight Night to allow me to sleep.
Sarah
Karen, wow, you have captured those conversations of ourselves with ourselves. Like Sarah said, I love the use of italics. I have those conversations too, 4 o’clock in the morning questions, I call them, (or whatever time I’m awake). Questions like you asked, often about work:
I’m glad the breathing helps, and it seems sleeps wins at the end of your Nocturn.
Karen,
I am right there with you. I have so much trouble shutting down at night. Always so much to worry about between students and our own children. It never ends.
Last night I bundled up and sat outside by the fire and watched the sky and contemplated the day’s events.
Shadowlands
moon dips behind clouds
or is it
clouds float past moon
sometimes i do not know
this sky language
its mysteries untranslatable
the way
shadows obscure justice
or is it
justice hides behind shadows
so i watch
fire bowl flames flicker
forked tongues beaming
artificial night light
or is this
just another gaslit life
a metaphorical promise
the way shadows land
—Glenda Funk
Wow — I love this poem, the contrasting images, the confusion and doubt behind such beautiful words. Yes, this is how it feels right now.
Truth! Contemplating the sky is one of my favorite things. I race to capture sunrise and always seek moonset. I love “sky language/ it’s mysteries untranslatable”. And the way you use “or is it” to move between perspectives is powerful. I am rereading your piece, pondering these heavy truths.
Glenda,
I love the ambivalence here in the “or is it” and “sometimes I do not know” and then the way the shadows embody this for “so I watch” and then “or is this/just” leading to what feels like an answer when the “shadows land.” Love this contemplation.
Sarah
Wow, Glenda, I was thinking a nocturnal poem of darkness hiding justice would be in order today, and you have done it. “forked tongues beaming” and “just another gaslit life” are so telling and sad.
I am “amening” yours today, and still thinking of my nighttime poem. Thank you for the inspiration and for speaking truth.
Glenda —
What an appropriate metaphor for our world today. Your powerful images “forked tongues beaming artificial night light or is this just another gaslit life” really speak truth.
“this sky language” is a wonderful image. The shadows are so threatening. You’ve captured this time.
Beautiful and painful, Glenda, capturing the raw news of yesterday. Absolutely love this:
justice hides behind shadows
so i watch
fire bowl flames flicker
Glenda— Your play with “shadow lands”… love that. And “sky language “… ooo yeah! It’s the last 3 lines that really kick butt… “gaslit life”… oh yeah… what great word choices. You are rockin’ here! Hugs, Susie
Glenda, I love your vulnerability here, “sometimes i do not know this sky language.” Somehow through our language, we can “capture” nature though.
Glenda, wow, what a brilliant poem! “Sky language” “forked tongues beaming” and “shadows obscure justice” all share such a delicious images and provocative musings. I love how you play with the shadows here. Your last line was the perfect finish! Gorgeous!
Margaret, I love this prompt! The line, “my skin relaxes like butter
melting in a warm skillet” is so rich and unexpected.
Perseids
The alarm goes off
3:00 am on the dot
Dragging sleeping bodies
out of cozy night nests
Not much sound–our
words have not yet awakened.
Pile into the car, a jumble
of bodies and blankets
Drowse and drive out
to the dark and lonely country road
Gauge the night sky and
position ourselves just so,
adjusting blankets and pillows
for the perfect view
Then we wait, drowsing
and murmuring softly
Then suddenly,
they appear, blazing
across the sky
Nature’s own fireworks
We make more wishes
than we can count
Later retelling the story
to each other over biscuits
and gravy at the
Copper Kitchen
Julie, thank you for sharing today. the imagery of “nature’s own fireworks” is illuminating. The excitement of waking in the middle of the night for something special indeed.
Julie — I love the nostalgic tone and the way your word choices — “dragging, drowse, murmuring, lonely” — evoke a sleepy and comfortable feeling of family.
Oh, wow! I want to do this. What a great catch of this moment.
Julie — I love the idea of words awakening.
I lay within darkness
(its fingers brushing my skin)
An absence of sound
(heavy, dense)
Pulses within my ears
Thoughts leak away
(seeping softly)
Leaving behind
(dream-sieve collected)
Tangible remnants
Jennifer, the use of the parentheses gives a cocooning feel, like shutting out the world and blanketing in for the journey into sleep. Those thoughts leaking away are really the drawing force for me – when I can shut down the thoughts, that’s when my sleep boat sets sail. Beautiful and so creative with your punctuation.
Jennifer– Beautiful images! I especially like the way you have personified darkness “its fingers brushing my skin” and “thoughts leak away”
What a great approach, Jennifer. I read it through then went back and read just the key lines without reading the parenthetical remarks. It’s lovely without them, but then reading it again with them, the lush layer they add becomes all the more evident. I had also struggled in my poem as to how to describe that thumping in my ears when I am awake in the middle of the night and there is LITERALLY no sound! You captured that!
Darkness falls quickly
Corn plant blooms open, sends out
heavy perfume scents
Kathleen,
I am always drawn to this form
for such powerful simplicity, as you so eloquently prove here – such beauty in the simple! Living in rural Georgia, I can smell
the corn plant scents on the night wind.
Kathleen, beautiful nighttime haiku. I miss the corn plant scents.
Kathleen —
This haiku works beautifully! Love the image of “corn plant blooms open”.
Kathleen,
I love those night scents you capture in words. Lovely.
With dusk’s light faded,
Duke’s orchestra
makes its way to this tiny stage,
an ambient array
of interlocking pieces,
a nocturne which begins
on muted starlight horns,
then tumbles into riff,
the saxophones shout out
to each other, in tandem,
and then the night flips,
the crescendo of city shuffle,
each street, a syncopated beat,
the listening heart sings with joy,
with daylight in relief
(written while listening to Duke Ellington’s Harlem Nocturne
— Kevin
Love it! I’m attending a Duck Ellington performance today at the Kennedy Center and this vibes perfectly.
Kevin, what a creative way to write – to the music of the night! The opening where the orchestra makes
its way onto the tiny stage and starts in a lower tone before giving us that big sound makes me think of my little Bose wifi
speaker just like this tiny stage. You don’t expect such performance from the small,
unassuming stage/speaker and then BOOM! The crescendo of unbelievably surprising music erupts and pleases!
Kevin, the use of music to inspire any verse writing is a great classroom practice too. Thank you for your musical words and for sharing today.
Oh, Kevin, I was hoping you’d be here with a musical turn of phrase!!! And here you are handing us the smooth sounds of Ellington! How cool is that!! Hearing the horns come in .., the poem reads like a riff. I love that. I just finished reading Harlem Shuffle by Colson Whitehead, and your poem could easily have melted right into the shuffle. Marvelous! Thanks, Susie
I’m read Harlem Shuffle right now
🙂
Cool! We should write about the dorvay!
I know … that was fascinating (because, that’s many of my nights — but not planning a con … doing lesson plans in my head)
🙁
Kevin
[Margaret…great prompt…and I really love the mentor poema from Li-Young Lee and the “I’m right there with ya” of your mentor poem.]
Water Planet
Some nights come on like silent rains,
slipping from east to western sky,
overtaking the power of El Sol,
pushing his punishing heat
over the edge and forgotten
for never long enough;
on the horizon,
like an approaching visitor,
Venus reminds us of the constants;
she arrives and invites her friends
to the night fiesta —
lion and lyre and bear and bull,
swan and serpent and scorpion —
pulled to us through the cosmos;
we sway in a slo-mo ballet;
then come the waters,
La Agua,
through the brume,
twixt the in-betweens,
spreading her mantilla
over the soft tresses
of the earth,
reminding us we are liquid
crown to toe,
cell to cell,
kiss to kiss.
by Susie Morice, November 20, 2021©
I want to fall into this poem again and again. The last few lines so evocative and sensual. Yes, cell to cell, kiss to kiss.
A Masterpiece! Not a single spare word – each one so beautifully placed, “Venus reminds us of the constants; she arrives and invites her friends to the night fiesta – ” “lion and lyre and bear and bull, swan and serpent and scorpion – pulled to us through the cosmos; we sway in a slo-mo ballet;” – just beautiful!
Ooh.
Love this: “we sway in a slo-mo ballet”
Kevin
Susie, that pushing of the sun over the edge made me chuckle – thinking of Venus and all of the friends coming out for the exclusive party and shoving El
Sol right off the cliff! This makes me think of the enjoyment I find with my Star Chart app, gazing up and looking at all of the stars with a better knowledge of the constellations and all
of these partygoers you so vividly personify.
Susie, absolutely one of my favorites from your brilliant collection of responses to powerful prompts! I am all over this, the water, being liquid! Truly breathtaking and soul-soothing!
??Stacey
I love the cadence of the first line!
Susie, holy moly, this is such an incredible poem, rich with movement, imagery, and lush emotions. The way you create so many connections from the sunset to the constellations to the “soft tresses/of the earth” are masterful and magical. HmmmmHmmmmHmmmmm….I’m in awe! Brilliant!
Susie,
I love every image in your poem and the way it captures all the universe. So much happens at night while we rest. The second stanza w/ the playful constellations joining a party is lots of fun. I miss those night rains in the midwest,
First Love
Gently, gently down the shade
Against the harsh glare of the day
Walking along the sidewalk
Going nowhere in particular
Under the beautiful silence of evening
Mindless to the distance, just step after step
we discuss events, beliefs, and God
As only 16 and 17 years old can
The cool breeze of night comes up and
Thoughts turn to romance
Shyly he grabs my hand
And we feel more complete
Night has descended and the
Stars come out just for us
Looking up at the majesty above
In awe and wonder
Our heads come down and
Our lips touch for the first time
Oh glorious nighttime meant for love
And a moment that will last forever
Oh that first love, first kiss. I am right there with you walking.
Judi, the electric feeling if young love in a first kiss under the blanket of nighttime is a home run here! That feeling of completeness just in a simple holding of hands – the belonging and knowing that all is right in the world when love warms our hearts is felt in your poem today. I see silhouettes of that forever moment!
What a beautiful poetic moment … love.
Kevin
This poem speaks to so many of us, of a shared and yet entirely unique experience.
That rustling of cotton on flesh when
the body resists sleep agitates. Something
the fabric won’t cover, pulls through limbs
twists in creases. A raucous taunt, then
silent, still, just until the moon wins,
parading the form from bed to
pace chill planks draped in Earth’s
satellite. Tonight, something stirs
that should rest. Something labors
that should recess.
Into Night’s arms, she floats
the roaring sheet. Watching cotton
waves dance with Wind, her body
subsides to muted boards.
A crescent waiting for Sleep.
You captured the restlessness and the frustration of waiting for sleep to come.
Sarah, this restless feeling resonates deeply with me. I love these lines
especially: “Tonight, something stirs
that should rest. Something labors
that should recess.” The “something” that remains undefined, unspecified is so mysterious and yet so understood and relatable here. These are those moments we feel so alone in sleeplessness – yet to know that someone else experiences the same undefined somethings gives us a connection to know we are not alone! You bring reassurance!
oooooh yes. That uncovered part that wants just a layer of warmth and protection can keep me from smooth sleep. I never put it into words before. But, you just did!
Sarah, I’ve been in those sheets before and you paint a mental picture of the agitations of falling asleep so perfectly. I love the use of the sheet as your central theme – it’s taught me something new, so I thank you! “Tonight, something stirs that should rest. Something labors that should recess.” I love it!!! Your final verse is just brilliant!
Gaw. The insomniac poet … that’s me, many nights. (or how I read your piece, Sarah)
Kevin
Sarah! Are you peeping in my window? I should not have been awake at 5:15 a.m. as this is the start of Fall Break. But the restlessness of pre-dawn haunted me! Your poem captures all of my anguish whenever I know sleep is far away.
Perfection!
Sarah,
I feel every word in this poem. You’ve described several of my nights this week. When insomnia squats in my mind and body at night my skin aches and cannot tolerate anything touching it. I hope you sleep well, my friend.
The Loss of Light
The loss of light in the twilight sky seems sad, a bit.
Looking at one side of the sky, its light lingers
in the top branches of trees as if they were on fire,
fighting for precious moments.
The other side of the sky calls me, and I turn
to see a wave of deep blue like a movie
about the depths of the ocean.
The light is lost there, but I lose myself
in the heavy pull of azure into blackness.
The twinkles–the bioluminescence– of early evening stars
wraps around my entire universe.
–DIxie K. Keyes
Dixie – I really like the couplet at the end (well, I enjoyed the whole thing), but something about the image of stars wrapping around your entire universe, and the thought of it as bioluminescence – that they are living, breathing, moving, was just so cozy. It reminded me of a blanket. There is beautiful language throughout, and I can picture the fading of light into night. Thanks for this beautiful poem!
Dixie, I’m feeling this love of twilight and it is reminding me of the mystical feelings of the edge of night. The twinkles of the stars are just lovely – it reminds me of the way I felt as I got up to see the lunar eclipse and meteor shower a couple of nights ago. There is just nothing like the night for feeling that power of the universe. I always feel blessed to live in the country without street lights, where the black of night makes sky viewing so stunning. Your words are beautiful!
“The light is lost there, but I lose myself” How we feel loss more at night. And the hope in the stars.
Lovely. I cannot tell you why, but I imagined a soldier on a field looking up to the sky finding beauty above the fray.
“bioluminescence” has to be one of my fav words (and scientific concepts)
Kevin
Dixie,
I love the in-between-ness throughout your poem, this shifting in light but also in the speaker’s ambivalence “a bit” and “I turn” and in the twinkles. Thank you.
Sarah
Oh, the beauty of this makes me speechless. Your title drew me in thinking I would be reading about our shortened days. Your gorgeous description is such a pleasant surprise. Thank you!
Margaret, this detail is a beauty: “my feet squirm for the warm spot left by the inside cat. She’s nocturnal.” This mundane action is elevated by its relatability (I search for cool spots) and simplicity and the nocturnal nature of the cat inside the topic of your poem. Thank you for making us aware of one of the most perfect times of day.
Oh, Margaret, I love this dreamy and peace-filled poem. “Call for the world to sleep,” “relaxes like butter,” and “a wild mind” are some of my favorite phrases. And I have that same pillow that finds my shoulder and seems to fit perfectly.
I’ll look forward to starting my poem soon, as dusk is approaching here on the far side of the Atlantic.
Margaret, you’ve given me a new term fir my sleepless night poems. I was calling them my 2 a.m. hot flash poems, but nocturn poems sound so much more classical! Your example had me relating to the warm spot – “my feet squirm for the warm spot left by the inside cat.” Yes! My dogs do that too! So I wrote my poem – a series of Haikus – last night, having no idea we would be writing nocturn poems today – I had a rough go with my Covid booster yesterday and suffered through most of the night unable to sleep deeply. Thank you for Investing in us as writers today!
Covid Booster Blues
heat lightning against
a nighttime sky ~ random bolts
jagged energy
Covid booster shot
flared the same effect on me-
muscle lightning storms
sore left arm like a
petrified tangerine lump
hornet sting of pain
ice pick scraping skull
like a dentist drills a tooth
eye socket headache
trembling Jello ring
fetal position shivers
fire poker iceberg
warm-socked feet, blankets
tucked tight holding this body
weathering this storm
Oh, Kim! You and I are kindred spirits once again. I had my booster last weekend and experienced all of this. The specifics (Fire poker iceberg and ice pick scraping skull especially). I wish you a fast recovery and congrats on the extra protection too!
Kim,
This storm is utterly terrifying. I am so sorry you are feeling it. And yet, you words are so beautiful, and I am grateful for this space to sit alongside you. I wish I could offer more comfort other than to say this image — “muscle lightning storms”– is stunning.
Hugs,
Sarah
Oh my gosh, Kim. You po thang! I now count myself incredibly lucky…my booster came with no reaction at all except a tiny injection site soreness for about a half a day. Oh, I am sending you and the vibes for better nights ahead. Your details are terrífic…making me wince and cringe.
Oh, my! Talk about sensory images…yes! I got my booster a week ago. I really didn’t want that pain, that jolt but being in a public school surrounded by sick kids, colleagues, and anti-vaxxers is scarier by far. I feel like I’m weathering the storm right with you.
I’m sorry you had such a bad reaction but it lead to some powerful haiku. I experienced that hornet sting pain and swelling. I hope you feel better soon.
Yowza … what specific words you chose here ….
Kevin
Yes! “Trembling jello ring, fetal position shivers” … and the comparison to a storm — the details in this poem evoke the experience so well.
First and foremost, I’m praying that your storm of side effects calms today. I have dreaded the booster and will get mine when I can be able to take a day off without using my vacation time. Lol. I can’t be sick when I’m supposed to be on break, right? Anyway I love Haiku and you gave me a real ride like being caught in the eye of your storm.
Get well, my friend!??
What a great exploration of the booster and a night storm, and everything else. Ice pick scraping skull has me bothered, and appreciative.
Kim, your details are so vivid! That “ice pick…eye socket headache” feeling is the worst! I hope you’re on the mend soon! (And, tbh, I’m more than a little jealous that you can still write so well even while in so much discomfort. Lol.)
Good Morning Writers. How is everyone doing? My school year can be described in one word, INTENSE. I am always chasing my tail this year and I do not like that feeling. I want to blame it on something…the kids, pandemic, time away at conferences (which were great–but then to catch up), aging. But, maybe there is no blame.
What I love about Margaret’s poem is how specific each detail is to her…but so universal to all of us. that cat that wants in, the lavender lotion, those beautiful wind chimes.
This week is #folktale week. I’ve been trying to write to folk/fairytale prompts:
River
When you are a river in a fairy tale,
all the normal rules apply–
three somethings, maybe
big, or bad or beautiful
run to you,
jump in…hide.
In the time of Once Upon
a river knows
who the real prince
or princess is,
that the moon
holds magic
for fox, feline
and mouse who
help a fair maid
win back what’s lost
but really belongs to her.
And, when it’s time
to close the book
on a chapter, story, or day
a river knows
to speak low
and slow
to those heavy eyelids
closing,
drifting
off to sleep.
Linda, I’m standing next to you, with you, as you during this school year. Simultaneously dragging balls and chain while never grabbing what’s ahead. Your poem is exquisitely beautiful (I follow artists this folktale week but didn’t know there was a writing group too – want to know details on how to find that!!). I love the tripling you created throughout your poem (run, jump, hide) and the magic you crafted by letting the river be the central character. I needed this whimsy this morning! ❤️
Linda,
INTENSE is really the perfect word, and that is why, I think, I was brought to tears in these lines:
I wonder about how to close my days so they do not haunt my dreams. I wonder how to close chapters that are no longer serving my heart and mind. I want to be a river. I want to know.
Love this and so appreciate you,
Sarah
Wow! Linda, this is really dando…the folktale elements are blended so darned smoothly that I’m quite struck by them. You whipped this baby out before 8 a.m.! I sure hope your “chasing your tail” subsides and you get a breather this coming week! I particularly love the river images …the slow…low…heavy eyelids…closing (great auditory word choices!). Thank you! Susie
Linda, the beauty and tranquility of this omnisciently-knowing River are like a healing balm – I can feel and hear the sensory calm of this flowing water! Your idea to take the perspective of a river In a fairy tale is captivating to me – the threes, the time of Once Upon, and the familiar friends of childhood seem all nestled in this forest with a river, rooted in their familiar roles is deeply comforting. I’m mesmerized here and want to jump in.
Wow and WOW. I love your poem! “In the time of Once Upon a river knows who the real prince or princess is, that the moon holds magic” And your ending – so powerful – I love it
“A river knows
to speak low
and slow
to those heavy eyelids
closing,
drifting
off to sleep.”
I love how you’ve entered this poem with the line “When you are a river in a fairy tale”, expresses such longing. Let the story lead you into dreams.
Standing and clapping over here! ????????
I don’t know if you listen to sleep stories on any apps like Calm or Headspace but your poem sounds like it should be read aloud in my ear at bedtime. How gorgeous!
??This is a keeper!