Our #OpenWrite Host
Emily lives in San Diego, California where she teaches at San Diego Global Vision Academy. She serves as a teacher leader at her site, creating and presenting professional development for the teaching team. Emily is also a fellow and teacher consultant with the San Diego Area Writing Project under the National Writing Project. As a teacher consultant, she is honored to work with a diverse teacher and student population across San Diego. Emily believes in teachers teaching teachers and strives to perpetuate that model. She spends her free time with her husband, 1 year old son, and rescue dog.
Inspiration
Career success. A recurring dream. What others think of me. Perfectionism. A baby’s nap schedule. Paying bills. Tests.
There are some things that yield my attention over and over again. No matter how I may try to look away, my mind’s eye will continue to seek it.
Today’s poem is meant to be a container. A container to hold these images or ideas or feelings that play and replay, filling your mind with echoes – a worry box for your thoughts.
Process
A pantoum poem – first found in the 15th century from Malaysian literature – is a math inspired, pattern poem. Each stanza will have four lines. Lines 2 and 4 from each stanza will be repeated in the next stanza in lines 1 and 3. Feel free to vary your repeated lines by tweaking certain words or word order. The first and last line of the pantoum is the same (or almost the same) line.
Perhaps today’s writing will prove to be a sigh of relief as you release and leave some of your worries on the page.
Make a list of recurring thoughts or feelings you have time and time again. Choose one to put in your pantoum container today.
Emily’s Poem
Certain
By: Emily Yamasaki
Young faces stare at me
Mirror, mirror
Do they hear the slight tremble in my voice
I ask a thousand times
Mirror, mirror
I sit alone to ponder
I ask a thousand more times
I think of all the changes I’d make
I sit alone and wonder
Do I really belong here?
I think of so many changes I’d make
Practice doesn’t always make perfect
Do they think I belong here?
I want to feel certain but
Practice never makes perfect
How many more years?
I want to feel certain
Even with the slight tremble in my voice
When I smile and say, “practice makes perfect” to
The young faces staring at me
Your Turn
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.
An Oral History: COVID-19 Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance
Did you write poetry during the first days of COVID-19 school closings? Would you like to be interview for our oral history project? Click here to learn more.
Eleven Months
So much uncertainty,
Anxiety flares.
I keep stomping it down,
Still a flame I can’t quite put out
Anxiety flares,
Only one year left.
A flame I can’t quite put out.
What will this year look like?
Only one year left.
I tell myself I’ll get to go.
What will this year look like?
Will the hope come to pass, or will I be stuck here?
I tell myself I’ll get to go,
Back to my schools, back to my teachers
And on to a new adventure, back to my native land.
So much uncertainty.
I’m not exactly certain of the backstory here, but it makes me think it could be retirement (one more year to go) or it could be the one-year pause some of us are on because we cannot be face-to-face with students in the classroom. I like these kinds of uncertainties in interpretations that allow readers to bring their own meaning to the poem.
I agree with you Denisse. I think it can be based on perspective or current situations.
Emptying Nest
Tomorrow I go back to my life
He is on his own
Life moves on like the miles crawling beneath my tires
Time is a the enemy of comfort
He is on his own
This is how life is supposed to be
Time is the enemy of comfort
But I don’t like it
This is how life is supposed to be
Changes, growth, no longer cleaving to childhood folly
But I don’t like it
I foolishly grip the wisp of now
Changes, growth, not longer cleaving to childhood folly
You travel the road we mapped for you all along
I foolishly grips the wisp of now
You unabashedly reach for what is next
But I don’t like it
But I also do
Oh, Michael, you said it all in those last two lines: “But I don’t like it / But I also do” That is the pride and joy we feel in the successful release. He will soar and succeed as he is no “longer cleaving to childhood folly.” Lovely launching poem.
Michael – Your pantomime flow really reflects the strength in the lines you’ve orchestrated f or the repetition. Each repeat build the sense of wanting to freeze time and hold on to keep your loved one safe. This tone of quiet parental loving feel so real. The realization that “we planned for you all along” is right there and it gives the sensation, indeed, of letting that little bird fly. Quite touching! Thank you for sharing this piece of your heart. I like it. Susie
Michael – There is a rhythm and flow to your poem that “moves [your readers] on like the miles crawling beneath [our] tires.” Change, especially when it comes to our children, is hard. There is a release happening for you both as you each “foolishly grip the wisp of now.” I love that line! Well done.
This is so relatable for any of us who have children (now adults) who are are heading off into the world. My youngest is beginning his first year of college (on campus) and my middle son is starting his senior year virtually, but living off-campus. I certainly do want them to reach unabashedly for what is next (love the word unabashedly!!!). One difference is that I like every bit of it. My sons and I had an unusual situation when they were in school due to a particularly wretched divorce, and as they grow into men our relationships have strengthened to a degree I never anticipated. I hope the model of a strong work-ethic and a solid, loving marriage my husband (their step-dad) have helped them as a map, giving them an example of those values in their own lives. Sorry about the ramble, but the theme of your poem, particularly the last stanza really spoke to me. Thanks.
Hits home. Thank you for sharing this poem with us!
I love your last four lines. They capture a moment that sounds like a dance.
Four months ago my husband lost his job. It is hard for someone who worked since 12.
Unexpected Phone Call
Wook’s manager called in the morning:
“You don’t work for us anymore.”
How it felt to deliver the news
The manager didn’t say.
“You don’t work for us anymore.”
What should Wook do now?
The manager didn’t say.
Wook didn’t ask.
What should Wook do now?
Turning 60 in a couple of months.
Wook didn’t ask
Who will hire anyone that old?
Turning 60 in a couple of months.
No more running late, safety meetings and trainings.
Who will hire anyone that old?
The manager called in the morning.
That last line has such a finality to it that leaves the reader with such a feeling of unease, which also radiates throughout your poem. It feels real and raw. Thanks for sharing this. I hope things feel less uneasy for you soon.
Leilya, peace to you and Wook. Wow, working since age 12 and now still waiting for the next chapter. And there will be. We will need people like him when we put this world back together on the other side of covid. The repetition of some of your lines are so powerful, including the didn’t say and didn’t ask lines. Oh, my goodness, I felt like I was there hearing the curt conversation. Then the repeated first line at the end. First I got hope, but then remembered the finality of it and the pain of getting the call that morning that ended his career just like that.
Leilya — the structure of this poem matches the spiraling (unraveling?) uncertainty. The lines “What should Wook do now?” and “Who will hire anyone that old?” add to the pressures he surely feels. I hope there.is a silver lining. Perhaps in this line, “No more running late, safety meetings and trainings.”
This just hurts my heart. To sum up Wook’s situation (and yours) into a poem with this few words is truly more powerful than a prose format would be. I’m still a few years from 60, but 60 now is NOT what 60 used to be! I hope that what is a horrible situation now turns out to be a turning point and that Wooks finds something new and fulfilling in life that might not have happened otherwise. Your use of 2 questions is powerful, honing in on what is probably the first thoughts you both had. It’s certainly what I would be thinking is my spouse or I were in the same position.
Whew! This was hard, Emily. Thank you for the challenge.
“Breaking the Cycle”
The last time
she bought me a pair of shoes
I said I would never wear them.
Two years later, I didn’t want to take them off.
She bought me a pair of shoes,
reminding me of my dad.
Two years later, I didn’t want to take them off
And, yet, we both knew it was time for a change.
Reminding me of my dad,
the mirror reflected a memory of him.
We both knew it was time for a change:
I promised I would never be like him.
The mirror reflected a memory of him
and I saw what my children see.
I promised I would never be like him, so
I removed the shoes my wife bought me.
I saw what my children see
when they say, “You’re just like grandpa” and
I removed the shoes she bought me
for the last time.
Andy, the imagery of the shoes connected to the memory of dad is really powerful. Connecting that to the image your children see adds and even deeper and really poignant significance. I love the flow, rhythm you created. It has such a natural flow. It moves really nicely, which really adds to the how simple and deep it is at the same time.
I want to share this link to an article that speaks well to my point about reimagining our new school year.
https://chicagounheard.org/blog/what-if-we-radically-reimagined-the-new-school-year/
Reimagine?
Stop telling me to reimagine
What if I never imagined the way we once lived
Imaginations are meant to be beautiful
The old normal reeked a stench unimaginable
What if I never imagined the way we once lived
Because I deserve respect and protection
The old normal reeked a stench unimaginable
Black women left vulnerable and unseen
Because I deserve respect and protection
I stand tall on broken shoulders of fallen Sheroes
Black women left vulnerable and unseen
Who forged bold paths on bloody feet and prayers
I stand tall shoulder to shoulder with courageous Sheroes
Sister Toni, Sister Angela, Sister Patrice
Who forged bold paths on bloody feet and prayers
Would never want us to go back
Sister Toni, Sister Angela, Sister Patrice
Wanted freedom, justice, and Black Joy
They would never want us to go back
Stop telling me to reimagine, and try imagining love.
©Stacey L. Joy
Love the strength and force of this poem. It made me think about “what is I never imagined the way we once lived” and I realized what a progressive and wonderful idea that is! So many heroes have gone before and we must continue our way forward with love and an open-heart.
Stacey – This really wallops the reality that the old ways were pretty crummy for a bunch of reasons.
These lines:
I love, love, love the “sheroes” and the vivid imagery of “bloody feet” (that’s really good) that walked those brutal miles before and with you.
I, too, want us to march forward and scrape away the nasty infections from the past and “try imagining love.” Powerful voice! ✊?✊?✊?Susie
Yes. Yes. YES. This poem feels meant to be read aloud.
Hi Emily,
I am enjoying your prompts and poetry so much! I know you’re no newbie, but it’s funny how every year we feel the same jitters and worries that we did in year 1. This year’s launch is especially worrisome. But these lines are the ones I’m sure all of us can hold as true: “Do they hear the slight tremble in my voice/I ask a thousand times. Nailed it!
❤️
PD week started on Monday! Thinking of you!
Emily,
Another wonderful inspiration and another fantastic mentor poem.
Two sides
Every topic has two sides
and the fulcrum point keeps getting challenged
Extreme thoughts, extreme beliefs, extreme words
What ever happened to the grey?
The fulcrum point keeps getting challenged
The farther people move away from middle.
What ever happened to the grey?
Listening to both sides and finding common ground
The farther people move away from the middle
the more myopic their vision becomes
Listening to both sides and finding common ground
Growing more and more impossible
The more myopic their vision becomes
Seeing someone else’s point of view
Grows more and more impossible
Division overpowers unity at every turn.
Seeing someone else’s point of view
Requires openmindedness and an awareness of the greater good
Instead, division overpowers unity at every turn
Broadening the chasm between you and me.
Openmindedness and an awareness of the greater good
Seems rarer and rarer these days
Broad chasms between you and me.
Social media the largest culprit
Rarer and rarer these days
Do people engage in civil discourse
Social media is the largest culprit
Every face has two sides.
~Susan Ahlbrand
16 August 2020
A Dim Sliver of Hope
I don’t know if I can do it
But what choice do I have?
Thoughts, thick like fog
I can’t see my way though
What choice do I have?
Try to find the light of certainty
Push my way through
Follow that dim sliver of hope
Try to find that light of certainty
The weight of uncertainty makes me weak
Follow the dim sliver of hope
I think I can do it
The 2020 Yearbook
Empty boxes on the page ladder
Like a grimace, missing teeth
A year renounced
Blank spreads
I grimace, clenching teeth
Considering so many
Blank spreads
Abandoned in March
Consider the many
Reasons I refused
When abandoned in March
To finish the book
The reasons I refused
Without students
To finish the goddamn book
Have left empty boxes on the page ladder.
Yessss! This is so on point! The beginning description is perfect, a grimace missing teeth!
But of course by the end, I was all in because those emotions are so raw and real. The last stanza, a clear summation of many teachers’ end of school year!
Thank you Allison. You always bring it home.
Oh, Allison – Indeed! You have hammered the haunting image of the “grimace, missing teeth” as the work froze in place still dits on your plate. What a bite — with your “clenching teeth”! The image of “the empty boxes” is so effective…empty…that’s a powerful word. The sense of what is missing is heavy and rotten. The “2020 Yearbook” is a literal image for a much deeper emptiness that comes with the time lost and the pages and pages of images blurred into a collage of time and faces lost. Your pantoum repetitions really worked perfectly for this…no easy task! I love the “I refused”…the wisdom of that, the strength of that. Terrific pantoum! Thank you for capturing another very real piece of 2020 for teachers. Susie
Emily — Your poem really spoke to me. I have similar fears. I feel teachers have the weight of the world resting on our shoulders right now.
A note about my poem: Recently I read through old letters from former students and parents. They were letters I received at the end of the year, and since I used to loop with my 7/8 graders I had developed close relationships with them and parents. In reading these letters, I realized how worried I am about losing connections with students if I am not with them in person. The quotes are taken from my students and their parents.
The Choice I Make
The choice I make, leaves me feeling empty and cowardly
But my body is broken
And I’m left to wonder if I will hear, “Thank you for sitting through many, many rough drafts”?
I wonder if I will hear, “Mrs. Belko. I love her” …
But my body is broken
Will my students feel my wish to forge connections?
Will I hear “Mrs. Belko. I love her”?
I yearn to hear “She brought out the best from my STEM kid in LA”
Will my students feel my wish to forge connections?
Can I uncover their personalities through a web based conferencing tool?
I yearn to hear “She brought out the best from my STEM kid in LA”
When I reach out through Zoom, will I still touch their hearts and minds?
Can I uncover their personalities through a web based conferencing tool?
Will my smile still brighten a student’s day? Or will it be frozen, emotionless, stop animation?
When I reach out through Zoom, will I still touch their hearts and minds?
“I have days when I could not do anything, until I saw you smile” a student once told me.
Will my smile still brighten a student’s day? Or will it be frozen, emotionless, stop animation?
Will I still hear, “Thank you for inspiring, caring and guiding …” ?
“I have days when I could not do anything, until I saw you smile ” a student once told me.
And so the choice I make leaves me feeling empty and cowardly
Tamara,
This is awesome! So many of us wonder what our effect will be through the screen. They call it DISTANT learning, don’t they? What a gift you have in those notes. Many teachers spend an entire career without ever even getting one of those and you have a treasure trove!
Tamara, what a powerhouse it is to repeat that first line at the end. I am really seeing it in the poems today. Your description of the faces on “a web based conferencing tool” as “frozen, emotionless, stop animation” is spot on. Will we be able to connect online? Good question, but it does feel like an empty and cowardly choice to make. But do what is best for you and your family. This too will pass and you will be be back with them in person before too long.
Ritual
the empty cauldron waits
under a waning moon
it’s time to release the past
to make room for the new
under a waning moon
I say goodbye to the anxiety that distorts my dreams
to make room for serenity and growth
I write my fears on sheets of paper
I say goodbye to the self-doubt that pokes holes in my intuition
and imagine a life where I take deep breaths and fill my soul with the wisdom of the ancestors
I write my doubts on sheets of paper
and offer them to the flames that blaze in the cauldron
I imagine a life where I can slowly exhale and feel the comfort of my precious soul
as I watch my troubles float away in the smoky breeze
only ashes remain
in the empty cauldron
Sharon,
The imagery of the moon, , ashes, and cauldron along with ancestors and flames give me such a sense of conjuring and spells that convince me that the doubts on the sheets of paper have cast a spell that comforts your “precious soul” — so powerful.
Sarah
Sharon, round about the cauldron go-
I feel overtones of Macbeth.
Your ritual, either figurative or literal, works for me. The burning is purifying. The ashes float away.
Lovely.
Emily’s poem hits at my core right now – as if walking into the classroom each fall didn’t shake my nerves enough, going fully online is whole new territory of self-doubt for me! And as much as I could fill a page on that, my true daily concerns are with the final group of monarchs I’m raising. So far, I’ve raised and released twenty. These final ones will most likely be migrators to Mexico, and as “easy” as they are to take care of, they occupy much of my daily thoughts and concerns. A beautiful distraction.
Raising Monarchs II
“Hello larvae! How are you today?”
I ask my staging instars
every morning I check in
amazed by this complexity of nature
I ask my staging instars
“Do you have enough milkweed to eat?”
amazed by this complexity of nature
they eat & poop, grow & molt
“Do you have enough milkweed to eat?”
All my effort is to keep them alive
they eat & poop, grow & molt
maturing along to J-hook & pupae
All my effort is to keep them alive
every morning I check in
When each chrysalis breaks open I say
“Hello Monarch! How are you today?”
Denise, Loved your writing!. Your words, “they eat, poop, grow, and molt” almost reminds me of infants. I loved that visual. It reminded me of when I taught Kindergarten and had butterflies. Thanks for your entry.
Denise, thanks so much for sharing the poem describing what it’s like to be an educator in these times…so very different than ever before.
Whether parents mention it or not, they, too, appreciate the care you’re giving your young ones as expressed so beautifully in your closing lines,
“Hello, Monarch! How are you today?”
I love this, Denise! It feels like hope and optimism.
Denise — that title “raising monarchs” is gorgeous! I read this on the literal and figurative level replacing your monarch with my own.
Peace,
Sarah
This is fantastic! What a great topic for a pantoum
Denise — I love this poem. When my son was little, I used to read him a picture book about a Monarch Flying to Mexico. He would pretend he was a butterfly flying to Mexico, and together we would recite the words from the book, “I got to go, I got to go, I got to go to Mexico!” The silly things we do when we are playing with our children. This poem brought back some beautiful memories for me. Thank you.
Gift Tags
by Jennifer Guyor Jowett
In the months leading up to December 25th,
our futures were written,
under the tags of tightly wrapped gifts,
hidden in shorthand notes.
These written futures,
with each letter precisely shaped
to form short, handmade notes,
boxed the forgotten.
Because precisely shaping
what already was
and reminding herself of what was inside
was my mother’s way.
We were much older when we realized
we could discover what already was inside
each box because my mother’s way of
ensuring fairness was gifted under the tag.
This brings back a fond memory, Jennifer. My grandmother who was adored by many remembered all of us at Christmas. She would shop all year and write our names on the boxes before she even wrapped them and put tags on them. I got a kick out of seeing our names on the boxes. After she passed away at age 96 the family was cleaning out her belongings and found quite a few of these boxes with our names already on them and waiting for Christmas.
What a special gift that would be to receive something she had picked out for you.
My mother wrote her Christmas lists in shorthand! It used to drive me crazy because I couldn’t read it. I’d forgotten about that until your poem. I loved the phrase “these written futures”. So many layers of meaning!
Jennifer,
I so appreciate your wisdom and console here in remind me of what is possible in “we could discover what already was inside” — the phrase “what was inside” resonates a bit differently in each repetition. The past tense is weighing on my heart here.
Peace,
Sarah
Jennifer — Christmas is such a magical time, especially for children. Your poem has captured the joy of the holiday and the love of a parent who makes each gift special.
My Midnight Wonderings…….
My daughters need soulmates
will they find love?
They’re gorgeous educated young adults
Is Mr. Wonderful out there?
Is love looking for them?
They want what they grew up watching
A superhero similar to their dad
If only they knew how much work it is, but that’s a different worry.
I want someone to have their back
A man with a righteous heart and beautiful soul
someone who will respect, support, love, and pamper them
A man who’s worth all the time and energy that we put into relationships.
I want grandchildren one day, Brown babies to read with
They need men who love them more than my daughters love them
They need partners who will admire them, work with them, and grow old with them
Are there phenomenal partners out there searching for my daughters?
Seana, boy, oh boy, do I hope your daughters find this (I’m pulling for them as well now)! Your beauty of your family is evident in every stanza. With their father showing them what to look for, I’m confident they will find that perfect partner. Thanks for giving me hope that there are wonderful daughters looking (as I have sons!).
I love this—a man with a righteous heart and beautiful soul. How lucky your girls are to have the example of love to look for!
Seana, this is such a beautiful wish for your daughters, and for me it was very bittersweet to read. Part of me was in awe witnessing the loving remarks of a mother, and the other half of me was feeling the pain of never having received motherly love like this. This really touched me.
Seana — love this! As a mother of two daughters I can relate. Your last stanza is so powerful especially, “They need men who love them more than my daughters love them” — this was just Wow! Made me really stop and think. Thank you for this beautiful poem.
Please Don’t Make Me Ask
I don’t understand the problem for you.
To mask or not to mask-
Protecting the lives of loved ones so true,
I shouldn’t have to ask.
To mask or not to mask-
Treating each other the way we would want,
I shouldn’t need to ask.
Unlike the genie with one wish to grant
Treating each other the way we all want,
I will assure my class.
Unlike the genie with one wish to grant,
No one will get a pass.
Will you protect my class?
Returning to school fulfills a firm dream.
You will not get a pass.
For this dream to work, we must be a team!
Returning to school fulfills all their dreams.
Please put on your mask.
For this dream to work, we will be a team!
Please don’t make me ask.
Jolie that’s a poem every teacher, student, parent and administrator should read! I like the positivity of “For this dream to work, we must be a team!” I think that is definitely something that has been lost in all of the politicking. The last line, though, “Please don’t make me ask.” speaks both to how common sense this all is and how wearying it is to (indeed) have to ask.
Oh Jolie, I enjoyed your poem immensely. You’re so right, we shouldn’t have to ask. I enjoyed the lines, ” treating each other the way we all want….protecting the lives of loved ones so true.” Thanks for speaking my truth too.
Jolie, I feel for you and others who now are among our “front line” works, essential to the success of the country. Please know that we understand the “worry” that others don’t seem to understand that wearing masks is a sign of compassion, not submission.
Thank you for doing your part to help care for our students and others with whom you come in contact.
Such a simple thing to do to potentially save someone’s life. I hope you print this out, frame it, and hang it in your classroom.
Truth! Your request really gets to the heart of our nation’s situation. If only we had worked together sooner, teachers everywhere would be so much safer. I love the ending: please don’t make me ask.
Oh wow, YES, this is such a spot-on and simple request…that, indeed, you shouldn’t even have to ask! I soooo want that team and for you all to be safe. This reopening is going to require extraordinary caring and love, unlike anything we’ve ever experienced. Sending a team hug…masked up and safe. Susie
Thanks for the new poetry form and prompt, Emily! I have written this for the new teachers coming to teach at my school in Dhaka, coming from all over.
Expats Living in Third World Country
It’s not the end of the world
I say this in my head a lot
I try to put myself in other shoes
And that is what makes me worry.
I say this in my head a lot:
I am pretty well-off.
This is what makes me worry:
Have I done enough?
I think I’m pretty well-off,
Others have it pretty tough,
I’ll never feel like I’ve done enough
It’s my responsibility to help.
It might feel pretty tough
As you venture to a new place.
We’re all here to help you settle
Into just another middle of the world.
Angie, thanks for giving us a glimpse of this struggle of finding our place (and recognizing what that place is) in the world. Having insight into how others live really makes you wonder about what is necessary and how much we take. I’m sure the new teachers will be so glad to have you there to welcome them and settle them into your middle of the world.
Angie, I love how the form of this poem fits your need to repeat phrases (done enough) “in your head a lot.”
I especially liked the final line: another MIDDLE of the world! Each place is its own center.
A Window of Time
A window of time from six until noon
full of immediate chores.
Making beds, laundry, dishes, cleaning and emptying trash
always the same day after day – boring.
Full of immediate chores
that need to be done right away.
Always the same day after day – boring.
Work before fun, they say.
They need to be done right away.
Work in the morning but play after noon.
Work before fun, they say.
After lunch I can rest.
Work in the morning but play after noon
which ends the window of work.
After lunch I can rest
with a sigh of relief after chores are done.
Work in the morning but play after noon.
Making beds, laundry, dishes, cleaning and emptying trash.
After lunch I can rest from
the window of time from six until noon.
Susan, I love that your productivity allows you to have that bit of escape in the afternoon. But boy, is it a lot of work to get there! Your use of window (of time) allows us to get a peek inside at everything you’re doing.
This one hits home for me Susan! I have a regular morning routine that I try to protect from meetings and appointments, not only because it needs to get done, but because of the sense of satisfaction it gives me. Lots of cleaning in there! “A sigh of relief” is the truth of it – but does the rest really come for those of the “busy” among us? We always find ways to fill our time!
Doing It the Hard Way
How do I choke down all the mistakes,
bad choices,
that empty bucket of spent chances;
how will I quench my parched voices?
Bad choices,
when fingers on hot coals blister and weep,
how will I quench my parched voices
that insist I keep walking upright through sleep?
Like fingers on hot coals blister and weep
tears that fossilize bones to stone,
histories retell stories, to fit the finder —
remembering, always a jagged edge to hone.
Tears fossilize bones to stone,
tumbling through my years and wily ways,
remembering, always a jagged edge to hone,
piled high in the molten crucible of my recollections, a glaze.
I tumbled through my years and wily ways,
all those other lives and worn roads,
piled high with molten recollections, a glaze
over “the hard way” of Daddy’s scolds.
All those other lives and worn roads
like liquid metal down the soft flesh of my thigh,
searing Daddy’s “you always have to do it the hard way,”
and I choke down all the mistakes.
by Susie Morice©
You have incredible imagery in this poem, Susie. I can feel everything and do not want to. “Like fingers on hot coals blister and weep
tears that fossilize bones to stone,” Wonderful line. Thanks for sharing this meaningful poem.
Agree. “Tears that fossilize bones to stone” was another line that seared me.
Oh my goodness, Susie, this poem is electric. The physicality of this poem is impressive. I feel the burn of Daddy’s words “like liquid metal down the soft flesh of my thigh”. Wow! How often I have understood the lessons learned the hard way. I absolutely love the way your lines build on the “hardness” of learning and I can’t quit thinking of how the hard edges are honed. Stunning poem!
Wow—the hard way of Daddy’s scolds… so many amazing phrases here—molten recollections., that empty bucket of spent chances (I own that same bucket, by the way!), choke down all the mistakes… those are th every things that have made you who you are today, I believe. I am the sum of my (many) mistakes!
“That empty bucket of spent chances.”
Oh wow. Your imagery is stunning and painful, peaking here: “like liquid metal down the soft flesh of my thigh.”
Susie, you captured the universality of “bad choices” by those of us who couldn’t take an easy path. Your repetition of “Daddy” tells me that woven into your story is a struggle against parent expectations?
I feel the heat of this poem.
At least, that’s what Twitter told me
as I browse the feed
looking for Hyperdocs or Google Slide
hacks to make my teaching easier.
I browse to feed,
but sometimes I cough and
hack which makes my life harder,
these rabbit holes turned to lions’ dens.
Yet, sometimes, I can laugh and
jest, learning something new,
this lion’s den turned to bestiary
because it taught me something I didn’t know.
Gesturing toward something new,
I learned that lions are “mortally terrified of chickens,”*
which is something I didn’t know was true
(at least that’s what Twitter told me).**
*@AmaritudineD. “Medieval beliefs about animals were truly wild. I remember one 14th (?) century bestiary trying to describe lions: apparently they’re born dead, but their fathers breathe life into them after three days. Also, it turns out they’re mortally terrified of chickens.” Twitter, 14 Aug. 2020, 6:34 a.m., twitter.com/AmaritudineD/status/1294220782512427008.
** Pantoums are hard. Lol.
Pantoums are HARD!?!? Umm you nailed this. I love your line changeups “browse the feed / browse to feed”, “hacks to make teaching easier/ hack which makes my life harder HAHAHA wonderful. Buuut the best is “jest, learning” and “gesturing” – brilliant. Well done. I feel ya.
Scott — Pantoum’s ARE hard! I agree. But what wonderful mind candy. Your taking Twitter “facts” is fun to think about and how quickly “rabbit holes turned to lions’ dens” — the play on that is terrific as it becomes real lion lore. Maybe the lions are afraid they’ll choke on chicken bones as they snarf ’em down in one big ol’ bite. LOL! It’s be fun to think of this poem as a classroom challenge to write about ancient lore laid down as undeniable fact! Could have some fun with that. And you pantoum-ability is quite impressive! Well done! Susie
Your planning methods seem to be similar to mine! There is a rabbit hole i have not strolled into while looking for planning ideas! Loved the whimsy of the factoids at the end!
Thank you, Emily, I just love the pantoum.
Once more I greet you at the door
I see your eyes as they explore
The posters, pictures, quotes, and rules
So many teachers post in schools
I see your eyes as they explore
Your desk and the surrounding floor
So many teachers post in schools
The most successful writing tools
Your desk and the surrounding floor
Have not seen you for months and more
The most successful writing tools
Are much more valuable than jewels
Have not seen you for months and more
Once more I greet you at the door
Are much more valuable than jewels
The posters, pictures, quotes, and rules
Katrina — I enjoyed they rhyming that you chose. I made it fun to read aloud. The images of kids staking out their turf in the classroom is downright nostalgic…those anxious moments when it is all so new to the kids. I felt in your voice the heartfelt sense of missing the kids in the repeated “have not seen you for months and more.” What a mess of a world we have right now. Hang in there. Thanks for sharing you love of school and teaching in your words. Susie
Katrina, this poem is so precious. The end says it all: “Once more I greet you at the door/Are much more valuable than jewels/The posters, pictures, quotes, and rules” Wishing you a safe school year!
A beautiful welcome for your lucky students. That first moment isn’t he door is so telling for students, isn’t it? And they ARE worth so much more than the rules…
Katrina, your poem won my heart today! I could just see you (me, or any other teacher) standing by the door and being excited to meet students and look into their eyes! It reminds me how much I missed my students. The skillful rhyming makes the poem flow smooth and enjoyable. Thank you!
What Time Is It?
It is time to go or just make room so others can grow?
Show they have the passion that has kept me here so long.
Maybe I can stay and accompany others on the way?
Will I know the time? Will I know the day?
To show they have the passion that has kept me here so long
They need space inside the place. Will I have leaving grace?
Will I know the time? Will I know the day?
To collect my stuff and step aside. Should I leave and stay outside?
They need space inside the place
Space to develop their own ideas and so will I have the grace
To collect my stuff, step aside, leave the place and go outside?
Or will I stay right here and share in this glorious place.
They call me, “The Nudge” so they may not begrudge
The fact I don’t leave in a rush. Soon, they may say, with a blush,
“Now you can go your way. We are here to stay.
Thanks so much. And, yes, we’ll stay in touch.”
It is time to go or just make room so others can grow?
Anna,
Such a powerful, philosophical, existential question of time here. I love how you are navigating it with space and place as similar but very different concepts of growth. What a gift for others to have you alongside them, sharing place while offering space, a voice and way to thrive. And I see a little bit of a dance or art in your verse — that it is a delicate dance of knowing when to step in and when to step to the side. So wise.
Peace,
Sarah
Anna — I hear the internal arguments that you are having with yourself. “Is it time” is on the minds of a whole lot of teachers I know. It isn’t easy. I know Glenda wrote about it over this past year too. Teachers stay teachers whether school is the site of the deed…you’ll always have that Anna at the ready. The repeated lines really work…smooth! I love the idea that you are “the Nudge” — ha! Happy Sunday! It’s 12:26 in Mountain Time, 1:26 Central. LOL! Susie
Anna, I love this. “ They need space inside the place /
Space to develop their own ideas and so will I have the grace / To collect my stuff, step aside, leave the place and go outside?”
I am confident you have the grace. It shines through in your writing. Gently, the Lord lets us know when it’s time to let the others grow. And where he closes doors he also opens windows! Your spirit forever soars!
Nancy, I’ll be alert for the windows, too. Thanks for the encouragement.
Anna—I think, knowing you through your poetry, that you give others space and place to grow when you are present! I have a feeling that those new, passionate teachers will rely on your knowledge. This reminds me of the thinking I had before Covid made my decision for me. Stay—you will know when the time is ripe for the next stage!
Forgotten. Forsaken.
Replaced. Displaced.
Letters returned, unopened–
rejected, worthless, out of place.
Replaced. Displaced.
Body incapable, mind dimming–
rejected as worthless, out of place
in a world that needs words to swim.
Body incapable, mind dimming–
letters held close darken
in a world that needs words to swim,
drowning a heart already weakened.
Letters held close darken,
afloat in a body and mind stricken,
drowning a heart already weakened.
Forgotten. Forsaken.
Oh, my. What a stark and sad tone…which really works as it got a reaction out of me. What a worry to lose one’s mind or to watch someone losing it and worry that the same will happen in one’s future. The repeated lines are like slaps. They make the poem work.
This is a beautiful poem, Sarah. My favorite line is “in a world that needs words to swim”. I feel that and I can feel the pain in “letters returned”, like being left on read these days, ignored… thanks for sharing.
Sarah — This poem aches right out loud. The punch of single words, immediately take me to the dark places. “a heart already weakened” carries that tone of hurting… “mind dimming”…I think the slowness in the letting go of this once rich “container” (to use Emily’s prompt) is really a hit of sadness. Your pantoum really delivers a sense of profound loss…. “Forgotten. Forsaken.” The one word with a period structure has that finality in it. Quite a poem, my friend! Susie
Forgotten. Forsaken. Such a sad combination of words. It is so hard to watch someone you love become incapable with mind dimming. Pouring this sorrow into a beautiful package of a poem.
Sarah, what a moving and emotional poem. The line “drowning a heart already weakened” is so filled with a sense of desolation and defeat. “Forgotten. Forsaken.” are also such strong parallel words that close this poem so powerfully. I can relate to the pain shared here with your line “rejected as worthless, out of place”. I hope things turn around soon and you feel loving arms and acceptance!
Whew. A poem of so much loss. “Drowning a heart already weakened”. I hear my mother struggle to retrieve words that once were right there, and my heart aches for her. You have encapsulated that reality here.
Worry
I’m really not a worrier
Though things crop up
At night
That nag at me beyond reason.
Those things crop up
And fill my head with dread
They nag at me beyond reason
And leave me restless lying in my bed.
They fill my head with dread
As I worry how much longer
And leave me restless lying in my bed
Wondering if those words will be repeated.
As I worry how much longer
Minutes tick by
And I wonder if those words will be repeated,
Wish they could just be laid to rest.
The minutes continue to tick by
While I wait for sleep
Wish the words would just be laid to rest.
Am I really not a worrier?
Jamie,
The night has a hold on me as well. I have never been so restless as in recent months. Love the line “Wish the words would be laid to rest.” And then the last line in an answer/response to the first — “Am I really not a worrier?” And not I am thinking about the word worry and wondering if we conflate that meaning with something else — what do we call the words that won’t stop whispering?
Sarah
You gather up the power of the pantoum in your poem, which reveals the vicious cycle of worry and sleeplessness.
Jamie, I really like, as Sarah said, the first line’s resolve turning into a question at the end. “I’m not a worrier, right??” It seems the speaker is trying to convince herself by the end. Good!
You nailed it, Jamie! Many of us are tormented at night by things that crop up at night in our heads and rob of us sleep. Thanks for letting me know that I am not alone in this.
Hi, Jamie. I can sooo relate to this poem. Specifically, I have experienced “the minutes continue to tick by /
While I wait for sleep.” We all like to believe that we aren’t worriers, and then, we find ourselves “restless.” You painted an accurate picture, especially right before the school year begins. Thanks!
Jaime, I feel like you’re in my head and you’ve written many of my thoughts. I appreciate how you painted a clear picture of what can go on in our heads between midnight to 6am. Thanks for this!
In Moments of Self Doubt
By Nancy White
My life plays back on an 8mm reel
Did I make a difference?
Flickering and faded
These old films play and I wonder
Did I make a difference?
Will all those cherished faces remember?
These old films play and I ponder
This fact: love is eternal
Will all the treasured children remember
That there was this one quirky teacher?
The truth is: love is eternal
Its ripple effect knows no bounds
And there was this one quirky teacher—me,
Who cared and didn’t give up!
That ripple effect knows no bounds
It’s exponential, love to the nth power
I cared and didn’t give up!
The movie is still playing
It’s exponential, love to the nth power
My love plays on forever on the 8mm reel.
I promise you—they remember. Nancy. This poem is so lovely—we all want to make a difference, don’t we? and the fact that you treasured them means that they WILL remember. They know—and it matters. Peace this Sunday morning…
Nancy, thank you for your lovely and hope-filled poem. I think it is a nice book end to Emily’s poem today. They remember, as Gayle said. I love these lines:
The use of the 8mm movie as a vehicle for remembering in your poem is great too.
Just beautiful, Nancy. Denise’s favorite lines are my favorite lines, too. Sometimes it’s astonishing how much they remember, isn’t it?
Nancy,
I so appreciate this question of “did I make a difference” and am wondering when or how we learned that in order to matter or to have lived a good life that there can be any other answer than “yes”! In our existence, we make a difference in this places, spaces we are being. Alas, we need to know, don’t we — we need to see the evidence, and the metaphor of the 8mm is just perfect here. Love that last line, “My love plays on forever on the 8mm reel.”
Sarah
How clever to cycle your questions through the reel of the film. Wow, this is just pure genius. Do we ever stop wondering if we made/are making a difference.
Hooray for that one quirky teacher! And, I know that they remember. I love your determination to care and not give up. Great repeating line.
I love these words and how they describe an educator’s passion: “It’s exponential, love to the nth power.” I also appreciate the line, which describes how you cared, “and didn’t give up!” We will never give up! Despite masks, pandemics, virtual learning, we will never give up and continue to love! Thanks for sharing.
Sunday Morning
Old dog belly up
Dozing, drifting.
Greyed muzzle, eyes drifting shut.
Not so bad, this day.
Dozing, drifting.
Sunday mornings full of slow
Not so bad, you know…
News and coffee, belly-scratch the dozing dog.
Sunday mornings start slow
Open to whatever may come
Coffee cup emptied, news digested, dog dozing
Plans? Who knows?
Open to what may come…
Life changes and we move on.
Plans? Who knows?
Stumble into options; they always appear.
Life changed and we moved through.
We are lucky, aren’t we?
Stumbled options brought us here—
Accidentally happy…
We were lucky, after all.
Who knew who we would be now?
Accidentally happy…
Our path has led us here.
Who knew we would be us, today?
Quiet Sunday mornings together…
Our path has led us here.
Old dog dozing, belly up…
Gayle Sands
August 16, 2020
Gayle, Open to what may come….stumbled options brought us here, accidentally happy….words of peace and acceptance that life really is better with the simple joys of coffee, slow mornings, the love of a dog. I’m reading Gladys Taber’s writing about Stillmeadow and her life with her Cocker Spaniels. This reminds me so much of something she would have written about. If I can ever get close to capturing an essence of Taber, I will rejoice. You’ve done it today, and I’m hugging you for it, my friend.
Gayle, I am thinking with Kim this morning as I am hovering on the “what may come” part — I so appreciate being in this moment with you.
Sarah
I like how you used the pantoum to revisit images framed by your thoughts. The images add a lightness to your words.
This poem makes me smile. I have an old dog too…and I love giving her time on weekends. It’s nice to have time! School starts soon. So, it will evaporate for me. But, for now, my pup is getting some lovin’ too. Fun pantoum.
Gayle, I really enjoyed the quiet reflection here! Sunday mornings with a dozing dog and empty coffee cups are the best times to “navel gaze” (as you give rubbies and belly-scratches).
Gayle — The old dog images (belly up) just made me love this piece. The comfort in these peaceful repetitions really work.
These lines really made me feel peace:
Here’s to lots more “quiet Sunday mornings together”! Thanks, Susie
The old dog dozing, belly up sets us up for this wonderful poem about the possibilities of a day. Sundays are perfect for lazing about, drinking extra cups of coffee, and digesting the news. Accidentally happy! Don’t you just love it when you realize, “Hey, this is all I ever really wanted.” Happy Sunday!
Gayle, I love the laid back feel of this. The realization that life is good comes through the small things, “ Quiet Sunday mornings together… / Our path has led us here. / Old dog dozing, belly up…”. Suddenly it can hit you, I’m lucky, I’m content. My husband and I lost our son 6 years ago. We are doing so well considering. We are lucky and blessed to still be together. Grief like this can often tear marriages apart. Thankful for God’s grace. To quote Hamilton, “ Look around, look around…how lucky we are to be alive right now.”
Nancy—I am so sorry. There were many years when I thought we might lose our son to drugs. I don’t know if our marriage would have survived the stress. Your Hamilton quote is perfect. I am working on looking for the positives in this time!
Wow, Emily, your prompts have been revealing and healing to me this week. Thank you. I love the title of your poem “Certain,” yet you aren’t. Isn’t that the way it is? You tell them practice makes perfect, even when you don’t believe. And that’s what faith is about, I guess. Thank you, Emily. Your poem brought a poem to my mind today. In fact, I had to write two because each day I have a battle over my thoughts. I can get lost in the bad news, or I can retain hope and God-ness in my life. Today, I needed two containers to hold the battling thoughts within me. Inspiration came from a quote by St. Ignatius. “In the case of those who are making progress from good to better, the good angel touches the soul gently, lightly, sweetly, as a drop of water enters a sponge, while the evil spirit touches it sharply, with noise and disturbance, like a drop of water falling on a rock.” and from Psalm 36:5-6.
Everyday Thoughts, Part 1
Everyday thoughts
Screamers of doom
What will it be today?
Explosions at port
Screamers of doom
Racist rants of rancor
Explosions of violent virus
Disrupting, disturbing, distressing
Racists ranting revulsion
Water slapping a rock, violent
Disrupting, disturbing, distressing
Confusing, jarring, upsetting
Water slamming the rock
What will it be today?
Confusing, jarring, upsetting
Everyday thoughts
Everyday Thoughts, Part 2
Everyday thoughts
Justice like an ocean
What will it be today?
Love as limitless as the skies
Justice like an ocean
Grace, faith, hope and
Love as vast as the heavens
Joy, peace, and patience
Grace, faith, hope and love
Water soaking into a sponge
Joy, peace, and patience
Unfolding, permeating, spreading
Water saturating a sponge
What will it be today?
Unfolding, permeating, spreading
Everyday thoughts
Denise, the everyday thoughts of part one are calmed and tempered by part 2. You show us that our thoughts have tremendous power over how we see the chaos of the world. Perspective is everything! I needed this reminder of the fruits of the spirit today and the encouragement to focus on them and not the disasters of the world. Your words are a blanket of comfort.
Denise—your poem(s) reflect so much of what I am feeling these days. Rage at the wrongs, and trying to find that love we need. Every. Single. Day. Water saturating a sponge—love this image. Thank you for these paired reflections.
Denise — thank you so much for taking care of your heart with this second part but also taking care of our hearts. In the first part, I was so with you as I began to name the other anxiety, pressing tension that I am seeing with new eyes and understanding. I am so angry about the injustice but realize it is insufficient. But the second part reminds me of grace and joy — to look for that and see it, too. Thank you.
Sarah
What a wonderful container for these thoughts. There’s so much to hold right now. Set it down for a while…that’s what this poem tells me to do.
Denise, I love your poems as partners, two containers, panniers. One contaminates (or gets lost in) the other. Here’s hoping you can pack up that first container, set it in the garage, and immerse yourself in the second!
Emily, thanks for offering an opportunity to share our worries. I love how you shared a nervousness I think most educators can relate to. Two weeks ago I broke my ankle in 3 places and my tibia. One week later a derecho storm devastated my hometown. It’s likely you did not hear much about it on the national news, but the devastation has been overwhelming. My poem is an attempt to share my frustration of both events.
Misstep
One misstep and I’m on the ground
Now literally wholly paralyzed
An epic failure all around
As derecho winds fiercely pulverized
Now literally wholly paralyzed
No energy, no internet, no ice
As derecho winds fiercely pulverized
Families in desperate straits think twice
No energy, no internet, no ice
Doctors cannot answer the panicked calls
Families in desperate straits think twice
When the world collapses, stutters, and stalls
Doctors cannot answer the panicked calls
Families deranged with grief abound
When the world collapses, stutters, and stalls
One misstep and I’m still on the ground
Barb Edler
August 16, 2020
Barb, oh, my. You did need to write this poem today. I’m so sorry to hear about your two devastating events of this week. Oh, may you be able to find at least a measure of peace by leaving them here in this pantoum. All the best for getting to the other side.
and
both say so much about the situation. You have really shared your heart and frustration here. Peace to you.
Barb—what a metaphor!! Your poem mates these two disasters (personal and the derecho) with such strength and pain. I hope you are recovering, and that your community is, as well.
Barb — I am so worried for you and your loves. There is not forgiveness here from nature if all it takes is one misstep. Gosh, we are reminded of the power of Mother Nature to disrupt, reminding us that any understanding of control or safety is fiction. Please be careful.
Sarah
Perfect poem for today…and the tone and feel is so, “uh oh.” I’m sorry to see the details…but you have arranged them with the repeating lines so well. I hope you are actually ok and everyone around you is recovering from this storm.
Wow! This poem really shows the pain and destruction going on all around in plentitude. We are helpless as our world and out bodies collapse, stutter and stall. Thanks for sharing these emotions of frustration and helplessness that are so human.
Barb, I’m with Susan on this! What a wonderful (and terrible!) line, “When the world collapses, stutters, and stalls.” I’m sorry you’re living through these new “troubles” on top of everything else that is “going on” in our collapsed world!
Holy cow, Barb! This poem is a whammer hammer… “Literally wholly paralyzed” is frightening. The voice of panic and “families deranged with grief” is unnerving. Are you okay? The seeming simplicity of a “misstep” turning into hellacious derecho winds is halting and scary. Great combination! I just drove through Iowa this week…my cousins were without power from Monday morning till Thursday afternoon…and it was so doggone hot! I hope to heavens that you are alright…that you are recovering. Sending a big hug, Susie
Susie, thank you. I am doing the best that I can and have a lot of friends bring food to help my husband with meals. The most frustrating thing is not being very mobile and unable to help my family members, some who still do not have power. I’m off my pain meds so I am progressing. Thanks again!
Oh Wow! Barb, you have experienced extreme pain and devastating loss, but you have nailed the pantoum form with rhyme, too! That storm was amazing. I can’t believe how it just came in so quickly and flattened so much land. Prayers for the state of Iowa and for your healing.
Barb, this is almost unbelievable, and I’m sure you wish it hadn’t happened. I pray that you are healing and safe. Your poem shouts of the pain and turmoil from your fall and the derecho winds. Praying for all of you. My favorite lines are at the end becuase it pulled all of what happened before into those two powerful lines:
“When the world collapses, stutters, and stalls
One misstep and I’m still on the ground”
??Stacey
Oh Barb, just today I told my husband I did not have the emotional space to think about the derecho (we were spared here in western Iowa). Even as I said it, I felt calloused, shriveled in my empathy by my narrowing focus as I prepare to return to school.
I am so sorry. And the ankle!
Your poem told me to water my shriveling heart.
Thank you.
Allison
Emily, I had these same feelings even when I was well into teaching. I often thought these same thoughts:
“ I sit alone and wonder /. Do I really belong here? /
I think of so many changes I’d make / Practice doesn’t always make perfect”
There was a constant yearning to do things better. Sometimes you feel stuck. And the wondering about belonging. I often felt isolated. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one.
A Booklover’s Lament
Mo Daley 8/16/20
I wake each morn to a cup of tea
Stretch, great the new day happily
The bookshelf stares at me ominously
“Choose me! Choose me!” the volumes holler
Stretch, greet the new day anxiously
What to read? What to read?
“Read me! Read me!” the books demand
If only King Solomon were here to help with Sophie’s Choice!
How can I choose? How can I choose
When there are multitudes rated 4+ stars on Goodreads?
Song of Solomon? Sophie’s World?
There is simply not enough time
Why worry about 4+ stars on Goodreads?
The tomes beckon me lovingly
There is simply plenty of time
To savor each read lusciously
Mo, I adore your final line “To savor each read lusciously”. I think this poem speaks volumes for all of us who love books!
Speaks volumes…I see what you did there, Barb!
Mo, what a sweet topic in your poem today. A problem we can all relate to. I love the final stanza and the hope-filled ending. No need to fret or become paralyzed with non-reading. “There is simply plenty of time / To savor each read lusciously” is beautiful–even we our schedules don’t always make it fully true. 🙂
Mo—my stack grows—the books I feel I should read, the books I will read eventually, and the ones I am “wasting” time reading! I feel your pain, and I am grateful for the reminder that there is plentyy of time to read “lusciously”. (But, wait—there will only be MORE books then!!)
Mo – this is so wonderful. I love the anthropomorphizing of the books as friends, guests tea drinking companions in this space. You cannot go wrong in choosing one or the other — they will not be jealous but wait their turn. Love the last line “to savor each read lusciously”!
Sarah
I hope you are reading right now and enjoying a story. Love the reference to Solomon and Sophie’s choice. And then, there’s the choosing! Ai yi yi….it’s difficult some days. What a fun stress to contain in this poem.
Mo, the personification of the books to beckon readers is a beautiful idea – I like the idea that they are trapped shut and calling out to be loved. Oh, the decisions when books call our names.
I laughed about your anxiety over what to read and the personification of your books. My friend likes to say, “So many books. So little time.” I like that you end hopeful that there is plenty of time.
Mo, I definitely agree, savor each read lusciously! I felt connected to your easy morning and then that “holler” from the books waiting to be chosen. Marvelous visual.
What did you read today? Who won? ?
I’m on a state award committee for middle grade readers, so today I’m finishing up Dragon Pearl by Yoon Ha Lee. ?
Emily, I love the idea of putting worries into the container of a poem. I can relate to your worries as a young teacher wondering if your children will do as you do or do as you say. The two have to match. I didn’t comment yesterday, but I loved your poem. My middle daughter pens up all of those feelings from growing up as the second daughter. Unfortunately we still make the distinction between her and her sister with “she was such a difficult child.” I need to get rid of that mantra because she has grown into a wonderful adult who is successful in her career and as a wife and mother.
For some reason a line from a hymn wanted to be in my poem today.
Immortal, invisible God only wise
I wonder if I am enough.
Worries hover on the horizon–
Push them away with Namaste.
I wonder if I am enough
Love to make this work.
Push them away…namaste.
Instagram wisdom: “Give yourself Love.”
Will Love make this work
when all day long I repeat,
Instagram tells me “Give yourself Love.”
Wrap worries in a paper ball…discard.
When all day long I repeat
Immortal, invisible God only wise.
Worries wrapped in verse flow away–
Namaste.
Margaret, what a lovely way to start this Sunday morning! I love the reminder to push negativity away with namaste. “Give yourself love” is something we can’t hear enough, especially lately. Thank you!
Margaret, It would be wonderful to wrap worries in a paper ball and discard…if only it were so easy. Your line: “Immortal, invisible God only wise” is such a commanding one here, and I so appreciate how you connected the writing process we are enjoying to release the worries. Your poem reads as a prayer for me. Beautiful!
Margaret, you raised the bar to the TIP TOP today with this one. You stole my heart and had me Singing (quietly- I’m on a lake today and sound carries and my singing could scare some folks)….I absolutely love
The way you blended a hymn line and especially this particular hymn. I’m singing still…amd hearing reassurance that whether we are enough to each other, God lives us every one…..
TO all life Thou givest, to both great and small;
In all life Thou livest, the true life of all;
We blossom and flourish as leaves on the tree,
And wither and perish, but nought changeth Thee
Well done, friend!
My favorite line—wrap worries in a paper ball—discard. If only I could! Than you for this peaceful poem.
Wow, Margaret — that line “I wonder if I am enough” — indeed, that was where I began with my poem this morning, but it went elsewhere. I so appreciate that you help me see that the “worries wrapped in verse flow away” after we have given in to the writing of that verse. During the writing, I feel pain, but I feel relief after hitting submit. Namaste! So wise.
Sarah
Oh, I love it when a bit of hymn sticks with me for a while. This is fun with the repetition of namaste…pushing worries away over and over to achieve namaste. Super writing.
Emily, I need to find a clearance sale to buy more of these worry boxes. What therapy! Thank you.
The words you chose to convey anxiety in your poem….Ask, tremble, alone, belong, changes, staring….great worry words! I’m there with you! I took the Enneagram test this week and I have plenty of troubles of my own now.
Enneagram Pantoum
Enneagram Type One? Hmmm….. maybe.
I took the free test.
A rule follower who wants things done correctly? Me? A 98% Perfectionist pie slice?
I took the free truity.com personality test.
I’m 97% Type 5, Investigator?
A preacher’s kid who “follows rules”??
I “seek knowledge” and am “more comfortable with #DATA than people?”
97% that AND 94% The Achiever?
98, 97, 94? This pie seems skewed.
I want “to be successful, admired,” and I’m
“conscious of my public image?”
Is it sinful if I’m more comfortable with data than
with people?
The glass pastorium has me nauseated
with the public image thing, plus Pantoums
prove I’m not a One
I’m a tormented breed of a 1, 5, 3.
What am I least of? 47% Type 2, The Giver?
No, no, no. I tithe. I just give in other ways.
I’m a tormented breed and I’m selfish?
Exactly how is a rule follower who wants to do things correctly selfish?
No, no, no. They have me all wrong.
Hmmm…maybe?
I love this so much, Kim! I think anyone who has ever taken one of those tests can relate to the roller coaster of responding, “Oh, yes! They nailed it!” to “Wait, what?” to “This isn’t me at all!” My favorite part is how the pie seems skewed. This is great!
I was thinking the same thing, Mo! I so appreciate how you invited us into the talk-back of this experience, Kim.
Sarah
Kim—this is wonderful!! I shamefacedly take all of these tests, and I am never sure whether I want them to be right! Your last stanza nails it—tormented breed, selfish, rule follower, correctly selfish (the best!)—I guess we are all of those things!!!! (And I need to check our pastoring—whatever that is. Have you hit the “Four Tendencies” quiz yet?)
It’s like an exercise in anxiety…reading the results of your test through your eyes. This is really well done. The worry about things that can’t be controlled…and the perception…spot on! You made this prompt fun.
Kim, I have done some study of the Enneagram and one of the characteristics of Type 1 is the very denial you have here in your poem. Ha! Pegged you too close to comfort. My husband is a one and I am a two. My One wing has grown stronger with our 38 years. I have claimed the number 2 even though I am no longer a needy manipulative friend. The thing that has helped me is the daily Ennea Thought of the Day that you can sign up for at Enneagram Institute. Just pick one of your numbers and see if the thoughts apply to you. There really is some wisdom there. I hope you will embrace your perfectionism and see ways it can lead you to be more of the person you wish to be.
Margaret, I am going to check that out! I need all the wisdom I can get! Thanks for sharing this!
It’s fine in my humble opinion because these days the data shows we need to stay away from people! I love your assessment results mixed in with your observations of self and world around you. I am such a curious one right now, wondering if all your results are actually mine. Very interesting.
Thank you for this poem and peek into your mind.
Emily, thank you for today’s prompt and your beautiful response. Oh, that worry of a new teacher. Gosh, I wish I could erase it for those that struggle with it. New teachers are often better than they realize because of the relationships they make and the mentoring they provide. My 10th grade English teacher was a hero….because she was young and she seemed more like the students in her enthusiasm. I love how you chose a mirror and a pantoum as container for these worries. It’s a really beautiful poem. My poem is on the other end of the spectrum. LOL.
Lab Results
Is my heart OK?
How long have I been anemic?
Blood pressure high again
“Old age ain’t no place for sissies!”
How long have I been anemic?
Pale and tired, nap after lunch
“Old age ain’t no place for sissies!”
Sunshine the best vitamin
Pale and tired, nap after lunch
I dream of running when a girl
Sunshine the best vitamin
Dandelions woven into wreaths
I dream of running when a girl
Out and into the backyard
Dandelions woven into wreaths
Grass stained feet all summer
Out and into the backyard
Was journey and destination
Grass stained feet all summer
Is my heart OK?
The woven threads of your heart and the dream of childhood (“Grass stained feet all summer”) is a lovely poetic quilt.
Kevin
Ohhh the carefree days of summer. What a contrast to the worries of getting older. I loved “dandelions woven into wreaths” and “grass stained feet”. This brought back so many memories. I was always barefoot as a child and playing with flowers was one way we passed the time. I find now that I’m 64, I find the simple pleasures of youth to be what brings me life. To rediscover my inner child as I play with my grandson is wonderful.
I hope your heart is OK. So many concerns for health these days. I love how your poem leads us back to the carefree childhood days of dandelion wreaths and running in the grass.
Linda, I enjoy how you look at where you are now and look back longingly at your childhood. The last stanza is my favorite- beautiful and simple imagery. I hope you are healthy!
Linda, wow, what a powerful poem. The beauty of a summer free to run contrasting with the real fear of lab results and your heart health is riveting. Your last line says it all! I agree getting old is not for sissies, but I hope you will find a way to enjoy the sun, run, and heal so you can enjoy many years to come!
Linda, I see you – green grass, barefooted you, a flower wreath on your head and an airy,
Free spirited white dress blowing in the wind with the aroma of Gain, dandelions, fresh cut grass and earthy loams, sunshine in concentric rays surrounding you! Gorgeous. Makes me want to weave a flower wreath today.
Linda—I hope the results bode well for you. My husband is rowing your boat as we speak. Grass stained feet, dandelion crowns. If only we could go back and taste those moments for the first time again…with the appreciation we could give them now.
Your title “Lab Results” first grabbed me because I spent three days waiting for my recent lab test. There seems to be more and more of these as we age. I too need a nap every afternoon and dream of running outside in the grass. Your words really ring true with me because every little ache or pain I have makes me worry that I have the worst health imaginable.
Don’t Stop With the BeBop
Grease the cork; wet the reed –
– don’t stop with the bebop –
as your fingers touch the keys
forget it all for the sake of the tune
Don’t ever stop with the bebop
Go on and let the needle drop
forgetting it all for the muse
as the flatted fifths hop
Go ahead as the needle’s dropping
on the old vinyl grooves,
the flatted fifth keeps hopping
with the corner street blues
The old vinyl, in its groove,
with static of skipping time
and old corner street blues,
syncopated rhythm and rhyme
The static of skipped time
white noise shouting out
syncopated rhythmic rhyme:
Don’t stop with the bebop
Love this. Makes me wanna dance. “Grease the cork; wet the reed” “forgetting it all for the muse” —oh yes! And the “flatted fifths” adding some blues. Ahh pure joy.
I love “Don’t stop with the bebop.” Your poem reads with a rhythm of the blues. Music is in your veins.
Oh, your sounds, Kevin! I couldn’t help but move as I read your poem. The word choice and rhythm are spot on. Well done!
I hear this – loud and clear, foot tapping,
Finger snapping fun. Images of a New Orleans blues band come forth, their herking and jerking and bending and blending rhythm and beat. This is a
Great way to begin the day, Kevin!
Kevin—love this! The rhythm pulled me in and I just rode along with the music!!
Kevin,
I love, love this subject and deeply needed it. This is what I appreciate about this writing space– the range, the perspective. I am in awe of the music you create and the music knowledge in every beat of this poem — “don’t stop the bebop.”
Sarah
Oh, the sound of this out loud IS music. Wonderful rhythm and details of bebop. I can hear clarinet in my head.
Kevin, I really enjoyed this! Your “syncopated rhythm and rhyme” kept me moving through the piece, from “bebop” and “drop” to “tune” and “muse” to “grooves” and “blues.” This was music to my ears!