Our #OpenWrite Host
Andy Schoenborn is an award-winning author and high school English teacher in Michigan at Mt. Pleasant Public Schools. He focuses his work on progressive literacy methods including student-centered critical thinking, digital collaboration, and professional development. He is a co-facilitator of the monthly #TeachWrite Facebook slow chat, past-president of the Michigan Council of Teachers of English, and teacher consultant for the Chippewa River Writing Project. His first book, co-authored with Dr. Troy Hicks, Creating Confident Writers was published in 2020. Follow him on Twitter @aschoenborn.
Inspiration
Living a balanced life is challenging for many of us. It is easy to become distracted when there are multiple pulls on our attention. For me, and perhaps you too, the tugs I choose to pay attention to sometimes cause me to take for granted the relationships that I hold the closest to my heart. In one case, I began to recognize that my ambitions for career, writing, and education caused me to repeatedly say to my son: “Not right now, I’m busy. We’ll have fun later.” My son, Dean, will be a junior in high school this year and I see a lot of me in him. As I’ve aged I have also begun to notice a lot of my father in myself, especially when it comes to the time he had for me. It was time to break the refrains of “maybe later,” so last week we threw caution to the wind and ventured forth on a father-son road trip that was nothing short of epic.
Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience with work/life balance. When passions compete it can be hard to choose where to spend your time. For today, I invite you to join me in creating (or reminiscing upon) a plan to reconnect, reprioritize, or reinvest in a relationship of your choice.
Process
Though you may not need it for this invitation to write, sentence stems help get my mind in gear for writing. Feel free to begin your poem with, “If I could spend the day with you, we would…,” and see where your writing takes you. Plan a day using specific locations, activities, and observations.
Andy’s Poem
“If I Could Spend the day with You”
If I could spend the day with you, we would
hop in the Jeep, and
head for the north country –
Michigan’s Upper Peninsula –
whose wide arms greet us as
the Mighty Mac emerges
on the horizon.
You would tell me
you’ve brought your notebook,
just as I have, and
we would rest by the white-capped waves
of the Straits of Mackinaw
to capture the view in words
that no photo could expose.
For the first time ever, you
would ask if you could drive. Your
sixteen-year-old nerves relaxing
as the wind tousles your hair and
I would relish the view
from the passenger seat,
window down,
open-palmed hand
riding currents of air, with
you behind the wheel –
smiling.
Riding shotgun,
I chose the music. Today we
would listen to albums in full.
Metallica’s heavy thrum in tune
with the gritty road beneath the wheels.
You would surprise me by saying,
“Hey, dad, why don’t we golf?” You
have never had an interest, but today
we would personify Carpe Diem. I would
surprise you, “Hey, Dean, do you want
to hunt ghosts?” I never had an interest but,
on this day, when the moon hangs full
above the remnants of an abandoned town,
we would seek the ghosts of Fayette
each hoping, silently in our hearts,
to banish the ghosts that haunt
my past when I said, “Not now;”
“I’m busy;” or “Sometime.”
If I could spend the day with you, we would
make our own rules, hoping against hope
that when I am old, you too might
own a Jeep, and the courage to say,
“Hey, dad, hop in! Let’s go!”
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
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If I could spend the day with you, we would
sleep in till noon,
turn the music all the way up and
dance around the house being goofy
We’d watch movies all day
And play board games
And just enjoy the simple things in life
Not worrying about jobs or school
Just you and me
If I could spend the day with you, we’d
stay up all night talking about our greatest fears
Talk about our deepest secrets
And share our worlds with each other
But for now, I’m counting the minutes
Until I get to spend the day with you,
and all my wishes come true
Me and you side by side
Me and you against the world
Again, better late than never…
If I could spend the day with you,
We would start out with
Misshapen homemade waffles
Heavy-laden with syrup.
Then as my hands lathered
The plates, the air would fill
With stray soap bubbles and
The sound of wooden block on wooden block
From the nearby room as
Your fortress takes form.
Bent over like a jackknife,
Pull by pull, I would pare the
Flower bed down to purple peonies
To the screech of the swing
That lurches you closer
And closer to the sky.
In the afternoon
We would find some rest.
The telling and retelling of
A familiar tale would
Take hold and
Hush you off to sleep.
Legs tucked under a tiny tray,
You would eat a very predictable meal
In front of a TVLand production,
It’s campy tunes making you laugh
And me too.
I would walk old Ben around
The track while you lead
The playground in
Exploits punctuated by
Victorious shouts.
You would not want to go home.
At home, you would
Not want to leave the bath.
The dinosaurs and tugboats
Would come to your aid and
Win you an extra ten minutes.
Finally, your still damp hair
Would rest upon the pillow,
As the Bob the Builder on your
Chest rose and fell with
Each breath.
And I would breathe it all in.
A Whole Day
By: Emily Yamasaki
If I could spend the day with you
We’d sleep in until nine
Roll out of bed
Leave it undone
Coffee #1
We’d sit in the big cushion
Right next to the window
Sunlight sending
Leaf shadows dancing
Coffee #2
No meals, but only
Our favorite snacks
To enjoy whenever we want
An extra slice of
coffee cake
The day filled with nothing
But is everything
And before bed
We stand in the mirror
I smile, she smiles too
Wow, what a day that would be. A whole day of nothing could be very healing, Emily. I wonder if you will get the chance to try it!? I love the lines:
No wonder you both smile. Beautifully pared down yet rich poem.
I totally agree with you, Denise. A day like this can be very healing! I also loved the lines you shared in the comment.
Good morning Emily,
I would gladly be there with you! Oh, how I long for a time such as this one in your poem. My favorite part that gave my tired face a smile:
Glorious picture in my head! Thank you! ?
missed you this summer
but will see you in a couple of months.
When I’ll peer into your room in early morn,
hope the sound of the coffee grinder interrupts your sleep.
So you’ll join me for a cup before the house wakes
to talk about all those things we’ve missed catching up about before
we hurry off to the responsibilities of our day.
later we’ll find ourselves in the kitchen
wine glasses in hand, Mom which pan
should I – oh that one is fine
chopping and stirring
let me get in there for a second
mac and cheese, roasted brussels
a salad with all of our favorite flavors
the colors of the dish
supper’s done
wine glasses in hand
legs folded up into our chairs
so much more to say
thank goodness for national elections to call you home
Jamie, thank you for this sweet glimpse of your mom’s visit. Just a few short months now. I love the meal you create together. Mac and cheese was my mom’s all-time favorite food–another reason for it to be a special comfort food for me. Roasted brussels and the salad with all your favorite flavors is lovely. “the colors of the dish” made me pause to picture all these yummy foods on your dishes and you enjoying the meal with family. I’m curious about why the national elections calling her home. Lovely poem, Jamie.
“So you’ll join me for a cup before the house wakes”
Something about this line really resonates (he says, as he sips his morning coffee)
Kevin
Friends Awaiting
When I get to spend the day with, because, the truth is–
we have never met.
never stood in the same room,
never locked hands in convivial greeting,
never lifted a drink together in spirited camaraderie,
I will revel in that day,
in that moment,
in that long-anticipated test of the Damon and Pythiasness of us.
This new world of connectivity,
of clicks and likes,
of posts and shares,
where strangers,
friends of friends of friends,
kindred dreamers,
ethereal thinkers,
through serendipity and dumb luck
traverse the vapid and vacuous,
escape the banal and boorish
to become friends who just haven’t met.
When I get to spend the day with you,
when I get to hear the timber and tone of your voice–
unencumbered, unfiltered by the limits of texts and technology,
I will revel in that sound,
in that moment
in that long-anticipated taste of words and welcome.
This is how people meet,
how they are brought together
across miles,
across years,
across experiences
where, sometimes,
when fate and fortune combine,
friendship,
true and deep,
rich and real
forms.
When I get to spend the day with you,
when I get to know the you I already know you are–
kind, compassionate, creative, witty, loving, and strong,
I will revel in our friendship,
in our bond,
in that long-anticipated moment to greet my friend.
Michael, how is it you’ve made me feel sad and hopeful at the same time? Your second stanza really spoke to me. Virtual friends, friends of friends, they’re still my friends, right? Ritual everything seems to blur lines, and you’ve captured that beautifully.
THANK YOU, Michael, for giving beautiful words to something I have experienced–even right here on the #OpenWrite space. Some of my online people are. indeed, FRIENDS. We will likely never meet face-to-face.
Your idea here is profound, and your expression lovely.
Thank you.
where strangers,
friends of friends of friends,
kindred dreamers,
ethereal thinkers,
through serendipity and dumb luck
traverse the vapid and vacuous,
escape the banal and boorish
to become friends who just haven’t met.
“to become friends who just haven’t met”
This is perfect phrasing, capturing the idea of how online connections might spill over into offline friendships.
Kevin
Rewind to Sunday Afternoon
Kayaking on the farm pond is
one of those things I told myself all summer
I would do.
But then it’s August and I wonder
(aloud)
where the kayak even is.
He says it’s in the shed,
with his playboat–which has a crack–
but takes on pond scum only slowly.
So why not?
Within minutes, we’re loading the boats into the pickup
Then unloading them onto the pond.
And the lab is swimming alongside us
but pond growth is late-summer thick,
tangling his paws.
You worry she’ll tire out
so you lug her onto the front of the playboat
which of course doesn’t work
And then son and dog and boat are
upsidedown
in green pond scum
And the sunshine laughs
and splashes against our happy chaos.
Allison—what a lovely disaster of an afternoon! A great story, all around, and the ending cinches it. “And the sunshine laughs and splashes against our happy chaos”. I wish I had been there!
“And then son and dog and boat”–love the movement here. This poem feels like summer, feels, like fun, feels like love. Those last two lines bring the poem to such a delightful close.
I can honestly say I never thought I’d read a poem that contains the phrase “pond scum” twice, and that would make me smile so broadly. Thank you!
Ha! I noticed that myself, considered ammending…then hell, left it at double pond scum!
this sounds glorious and familiar – I used to have a dog that followed me down stream as I tubed a creek – she’d jump on and off the tube sometimes running along the shore – the sunshine laughs and splashes against our happy chaos clearly shows all that really matters
Awww, Allison – This is just a beautiful moment… fun, goofy, and totally what oughta be happenin’ on a hot August day. It just felt like a party…. though “upsidedown/ in green pond scum.” LOL! Such a barrel of monkeys. I wish I’d been there! My first chuckle was “where the kayak even is.” HA! Hugs, Susie
Nice twist here … the sudden movement into the poem
“And then son and dog and boat are
upsidedown
in green pond scum”
Kevin
Daddy Daughter Time
If I could spend the day with you Dad,
we would go to The Coffee Company and eat biscuits
with boysenberry jelly.
We would reminisce about trips to Solvang to eat nasty
split pea soup (your favorite) and
Knott’s Berry Farm to eat fried chicken and biscuits (our favorites).
If I could spend the day with you Dad,
I would have you go to school with me.
You could watch me teach my 5th graders and
see the you in me as I teach them about college, careers,
vocational school, non violence, and staying away from
“bad-as* friends who don’t mean well,” as you
stated a million times to me.
We would compare me teaching in LA in 2019 (pre-Covid) versus
you teaching upper grades in LA in the late 1960s.
If I could spend a day with you Dad, I would introduce you to
my 5 closest girlfriends (you met a few) and you’d hear our secrets
and see how we love, support, and nurture each other,
while also talking dirty sometimes.
It would remind you of your childhood friends and how
all of you left St. Louis and moved to LA. How you met 4 times a year to
laugh, talk dirty and reminisce about how things have changed.
If I could spend another day with you Dad, I would drive and make
you sit in the dreaded passenger’s seat and we would listen to old
school music and smooth jazz on the radio like we used to do
when I was a teenager.
Seana, I see the similarities in our poems! I love the memories of boysenberry jam and the trips to Solvang and Knott’s Berry Farm. The parallels between your lives are lovely. Your memories are precious.
Seana, I’m in love with you and your dad! Such fun! You already know how much I would want to be there with you at The Coffee Company! Just in love with all of this. Makes me wish I had a dad like yours.
Hugs my friend! Wishing you a smooth virtual start back to school!
Seana, I am moved by how quickly and deeply I was pulled into your experience. Thank you for this beautiful expression.
This poem has me in tears. Beautiful images of you and your dad. I love the passenger seat line – made me smile!
This –>
“You could watch me teach my 5th graders and
see the you in me as I teach them …”
Lovely and evocative
Kevin
Thank you for a prompt, Andy! Your poem is such an inspiration.
If I Could Go Back
If I could go back to that day,
I’d take you on a ride
Along the village and the field,
Along the old trail.
If I could go back to that day,
I’d make a picnic on the grass
With food you loved,
With memories we shared.
If I could go back to that day,
I’d listen to your stories.
I’d watch you play on a guitar,
And we’d be free of worries.
If I could go back to that day,
I wouldn’t let you go
To a new house on the corner
That burst into the flames…
If I could go back to that day,
You would be still with me.
Wow, Leilya. I didn’t see that coming. I thought this was just a sweet poem about wishing we had done things differently. Then your penultimate stanza- so powerful. It makes me think about so many seemingly simple things we do that may or may not be so simple.
Thank you for your comment, Mo! I didn’t see it coming myself – still grieving after so many years.
I wasn’t expecting this and it hit me hard!
You took me in with you from the start because something sweet happens when we take a ride with someone we love. This is a loving tribute and the ending took me out. I would love to know more. The house, the fire, I’m sure it’s another poem in and of itself.
Thank you for your lovely words!
Thank you, Stacey! I was 27 when my first husband tragically died after he walked into that house. I saw the flames, the explosion, and the entire house raise up 15-20 feet and fall flat. I still wake up thinking it was just a nightmare. I miss him so much even after 26 years.
Yes, the ending “took me out.”
Wow! The way you inserted the house of flames after reading about the wonderful, fond memories gave me a jolt and I felt the sudden lost and fury you must have felt. I am sorry you have lost this friend.
Thank you, Susan! He was my first love, first husband, the father of my girls. It still hurts.
Leilya, Your poem is both wrenching and beautiful. May I use it as a mentor poem with my students?
“If I could go back—” works powerfully here. I feel your regret and longing. Thank you for writing your pain.
Leilya, the repetition of “If” emphasizes a longing permeating your poem. I just arrived to comment and fear I’ll sense sadness as I read the poems for today. The tragedy of fire and the imminent destruction of moments contributes to the longing. I sense the desire in your words.
Leilya, oh, my dear, Thank you for sharing this poem about your first love, first husband, and father of your daughters. Oh, my. I am sure this prompt put him right into your heart, as he is always there. I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for this poem that tells your story so eloquently, succinctly and longingly. Peace and blessings to you.
Andy, today’s prompt reminds me of the Harry Chaplin song “Cats in the Cradle.” It was popular when I was a teen and is a song I’ve thought about often over the years. Life is full of what ifs. Yet we know human nature means we rarely do things differently. The trip w/ your son sounds lovely. The dialogue offers insight into your relationship, and the narrative reminds me of moments w/ my children and their questioning my work commitments.
“Again”
Glenda Funk
Replay, rewind, repeat
As though our lives offer a
Rerun option
We wish and hope
To take a mulligan
On life’s double bogey.
Redo, Replicate, reconstruct
A moment past, as
Prologue to present regrets
Push the pencil into an
Unspooled cassette tape
Twist, turn, twiddle
Glossy ribbons
Crackle, crinkle, crumble
Into dusty relics
Without refrain
I love all your “res,” Glenda! I love your cassette reference, though some of my coworkers wouldn’t understand it. Dusty relics without refrain makes me sad.
I’m glad you wrote today. Hope you are better each day!
Love your poem, Glenda! It is sharp, and the words are precise and powerful. I like how you employed alliteration/consonance in the first and third stanzas to emphasize all the “re”-actions.
Glenda—I thought of the same thing—Cat’s Cradle. That song always makes me tear up—just as your poem did. “As though our lives offered a rerun option… don’t we wish?! Hope you are recovering, my dear!
Hey there, Glenda — Glad to see you here this evening. The lines have a sense of melancholy… time that tries to capture “a moment past” and the wish for a mulligan… oh yes, I could sure use that! The image of an “unspooled cassette tape” feels like a walk back in time that I certainly did…pencil and all. “Dusty relics”… yes. Makes me wonder what the relics are today. It will surely be the laptop I’m pecking and my drippy coffeemaker. Hugs to you, Susie
Oh Glenda, I’m so glad you made it here today to write your poem, “Again.” The metaphor of trying to fix the cassette tape is genius because so what if we can fix that dusty relic, it’s already past. We can’t rerun or redo. Wow, your poem has strength and authority. It makes me want to live better today.
This last stanza was so lovely I read it aloud to hear it …
“Glossy ribbons
Crackle, crinkle, crumble
Into dusty relics
Without refrain”
Kevin
I don’t know where this poem came from because I just let it flow. I don’t have vivid memories of my paternal grandmother, even though we spent the night with her almost every weekend. She lived to be 102 so there was ample time to get to know her. For some reason, I don’t feel like I paid any attention to the details of who she was. I wish I could ask some questions or even replay some of the years when we were with her regularly.
Who Were You Back Then?
If I could spend a day with you, Mammaw
I would start by asking if we could face each other
Look eye to eye
So I would be able to study your face
Know if your lashes were straight like dashes
Or bent like commas
I would want to see if your teeth lined up
Or if a few hid behind the others
I would watch the way your pulse
Gently pushed the loose skin on your neck
And I would ask you if you love me
You would not be allowed to look away
You had to face me and say
“Not as much as I should have.”
If I could spend the night with you, Mammaw
I would not protest bath time
I would wipe the floor nice and dry
So you could walk without worry
I know you probably wouldn’t want to read to me
But I would show you how well I read
And all those big words I understood
I would even let you fall asleep to my bedtime story
Then I would whisper in your ear
“Mammaw, I love you as much as God.”
Stacey—your last lines broke my heart. This entire poem is filled with so much longing and love.
So, now I need to just let poems flow, because this is wonderful! I so love the attention to detail, which would somehow let you get closer to or Lear more about your Mammaw. Oh, the loose skin on her neck!
your details of memory are there with your wishes – wipe the floor dry, your examination of her face – lashes straight like dashes, if your teeth lined up – I like to look at pictures of my maternal grandmother to see the glimpses of me in her eyes or hair – your poem brought back memories of time spent with my grandmother
Oh, Stacey, this is so tender. I am truly moved by the “whisper in your ear.” It was fascinating to think of you two face-to-face and your careful eye that look at those lashes…Beautiful word choices … “like dashes or bent like commas.” That face-to-face insistence is so strong… you’d want that close scrutiny… I really like that. Showing off your “big words” is precious in the face of Mammaw whose too tired to be reading to you. I like the strength of that. And it doesn’t surprise me, as even in this dear, imagined episode, that you still have that strong voice. You are in charge here, and I like that.
Just as an aside, I only had one grandparent; they others having passed. And the one I did have was a pretty crabby, self-absorbed old lady. I admire that you have a grandma that you didn’t really know but you still WANT to know. Sweet! Glad to be enjoying your poem tonight. Thanks, Susie
Stacey, you are a gem and this poem is doing its work for so many grand/daughter and grandma/mother pairs today. I read it thinking of my own mother, instead of grandmother. I love how you travel between little girl Stacey and nurturing mammaw Stacey yourself. There are so many lines that make me halt in my tracks, but here are a few…
I did notice you used just two periods in your poem, at very key places. Just wow! Thank you, Stacey.
Wow. Right from the start. Wow.
“So I would be able to study your face
Know if your lashes were straight like dashes
Or bent like commas …”
That’s a writer writing a poem ….
Kevin
Dad
by Mo Daley 8/18/20
If I could spend the day with you,
I would try not to pepper you with questions, like
Why?
Why did it have to happen?
Why did you have to leave us so soon?
Or even
How?
How did it feel to know your own blood was
turning against you,
attacking your own body?
How did you learn to savor those last
months?
Days?
Hours?
I promise not to ask those questions,
But rather,
soak in the life advice you never got to give me.
I’d show you how I have grown into myself.
I kind of think you’d like me
I know you’d love me.
I’d show you pictures of your progeny
and their progeny,
and one more generation still!
And I’d let you know that you showed all of us
what it means to die in grace
and with grace.
I’d tell you that I never really thought you had left me.
Mo,
I can relate on so many levels. I have a gazillion questions for my loved ones who’ve passed away. But for what? So much more fun would it be to enjoy their presence! My favorite lines:
Beautiful and loving feelings in your poem.
Oh MO, your poem spoke to me and reminds me of mine. You and I were Daddy’s girls I see. You are so eloquent and you went right to the heart of being a daughter who misses her father. The lines, ” how did it feel when your own blood was turning against you?” and then “you showed us what it means to die in grace and with grace…” truly demonstrated his struggle but also the beauty of his passing. WOW!
Bravo Mo!!!
Mo-more tears here. I have some of the same questions for my dad. And this line— How did you learn to savor those last
months?. I don’t think my father even had that…
Oh what wonderful words of appreciation for one that is wiser and has shown us the way before leaving us. I too have wished I had asked many questions of my father who showed me how to die in grace. I often wish he was here to enjoy his grandchildren and his namesake that he has never met. I needed to ask more questions before he was gone.
Mo, this is so touching. I feel the love here. So lucky to have that kind of “grace” in your connection with your dad. I love that you reach for the advice and are willing to forego all the why and how of the loss. There is such wisdom in that. Your dad sounds so good…and your connection precious. Thanks for sharing such a heartfelt poem. Susie
Mo, my heart in breaking from the love and loss in your poem. It feels so personal given my own father’s death when I was 16. Like you I’ve thought about the things I’d show and tell my father. Touching poem.
Wow wow wow. Thank you for sharing this poem with us. I also have so many questions for those I have lost and I imagine conversations with them.
I Long For Those Childish Days
By Erica Johnson
If I could spend the day with you, we would
banish discourse and doubt
embrace abandon and regress
to childish delights.
The morning sun could peek through trees,
scattered sunlight on the dash
as we stop for donuts and coffee —
popping glazed holes along the way.
We would stop by the nearest park,
a race for swings or slides.
Or maybe the public pool,
Why dip your toes when you can cannonball
without a care?
I stand at the edge regardless
wondering when anxiety usurped frivolity
for me.
If I could spend the day with you, we would
remember that these moments are fleeting.
A gentle nudge and we can be off again.
We would slurp our Icees,
paid with coins gathered along the way,
and delivered to the counter of the nearest gas station.
And if the day were truly ours the darkening sky
would only serve as an open invitation
to open skies, to tilt your head back
and taste the dying lights
of stars galaxies away.
But burning just for us all the same.
Erica, your poem evokes such beautiful childhood memories! My favorite image is the cannonball- it made me smile out loud! I like how your narrator seems to be looking back end experiencing childhood while still keeping an adult’s perspective.
Powerful in language and memory-soaked words. These two lines hooked me, “banish discourse and doubt / embrace abandon and regress” – it’s such educated “adult” language but speaks to the whole concept of “regressing” and leaving that adultness for all the childhood memories that will follow. So many detailed images in here made me smile, but this especially, “popping glazed holes along the way.” This is beautiful “to open skies, to tilt your head back / and taste the dying lights / of stars galaxies away.” Tasting stars is an incredible concept I would never have thought of!
A Moment in Heaven
By Nancy White
If I could spend the day with you
We’d start with cooking breakfast—
The smell of bacon and “Tear-Apart Eggs” fills our kitchen
and we sip our coffees and joke around,
karate-kicking each other with serious ninja faces.
Our stomachs full, we load up all our beach stuff and head a half an hour west, where the blue-green surf beckons.
Our boards under our arms, we trudge through the sand,
then push off into the shallow whitewater with a whoosh and start to paddle.
(Apparently I have boundless energy in this perfect world)
So effortlessly we catch some waves of epic size and shape.
I see you speeding by me in a curl,
your hand softly slices through the water as you turn your head and give me a goofy grin.
Now tired and toasty from the sun, it’s time to rest.
Burritos and margaritas are calling
So we sit under the palapas and order, making sure to say, “No cheese.”
We munch our chips with chipotle salsa and sip Hornitos margaritas (on the rocks with salt and lime)
We just pass the time and talk about the things you want to do.
You’re excited about a new adventure, helping others is what you want to do.
Something in the medical field, you say.
(I love it when your face lights up that way.)
We head back to the shore
And it’s 4th of July!
(Apparently it’s legal to shoot skyrockets—so we do!)
You’re like a little kid again,
hyper, having fun, laughing, lighting rockets.
I marvel at your long strides as you run and together we watch the sky erupt, fireworks bursting over the water,
their pops and crackles a sweet symphony.
It’s time to go home.
“Goodnight, Mom,” you say as you hold me in a big bear hug.
“I’ll see you soon,”
My heart is overflowing with happiness.
My life is full and it’s so good.
I really related to all the food imagery/references — most of my happiest days are tied to particular foods/meals as well. I liked that and felt like I was joining you for these delightful times.
What a perfect day you’ve described, Nancy! It’s so easy to see why your heart is full at the end.
Nancy, this very beautiful. Especially beautiful because I know who you are spending your time with in this poem. I could really see “your hand softly slices through the water as you turn your head and give me a goofy grin.” I can picture this so well in my memory too. Then there are the words that describe a person so unique in wanting “no cheese!” What fun times!
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
But actually I do.
“I got my sanity back.”
But I felt I’d never lost it.
These are the things I say
when people ask me how I like
teaching instead of being
An Administrator
The truth is: I loved the work
I just hated the person it made me
while I was doing it
How many times I
rolled my eyes at “those faculty”
and went off on a colleague
sitting right next to me
I’m not sorry for my choice
to be Division Chair but
If I could go back
I wouldn’t do it all over again
Because there is no way to say no
There is no way to separate
your life from the job
not for people who truly care
Stepping back into the classroom
seeing the faces of the humans
I had made so many decisions about
thinking I knew what was best
I’ve been asked to re-consider
take on “leadership roles”
I won’t; I never want to be
that person again
I am grateful it is a part of me
That I didn’t know better
That it led me here
But never, never, never, never
No re-dos.
This was unexpected and wonderful! What you learned—and the change you made—says so much about your strength. I love your last stanza—never, never, never never—no re-dos. The lessons we learn about ourselves—too many remain in spite of their unhappiness with who they are. Kudos for the poem and your decisions.
Wow, Denise, thank you for your powerful reflection and honesty here. “I never want to be that person again.” Wow. I’m so glad you were able to step back into the classroom “seeing the faces of the humans I had made so many decisions about.” So compelling for all of us to consider our actions and words, even when we think we are doing what’s right. Thank you for the challenge.
Thank you for this poem. It certainly brings so many things for me to think about in my own career. I especially loved all the spoken lines in your poem.
Andy–you almost beat me on this one! I was intimidated by the topic, and by the beauty of your memory/wish. But…
If I Could…
If I could spend the day with you again
I would take us back to a time when
hope didn’t feel like foolishness.
When opinions didn’t risk hatred.
When the world felt clean and fresh.
We climbed through Mr. Leet’s fence,
taking care not to touch the electric wires,
walked up through green meadows to a pond
that felt like ours, though it was not.
That day, it was ours.
Cross-legged, listening to the nothing that was around us,
with ribbits and peeps and the ba-rung of the bullfrog.
Quiet splashes told us there were other creatures there as well.
We opened our books, you and I, needing no discussion.
The sun blushed our cheeks.
The breeze stirred riplets in the water and our hair,
and we read about places far away in place and time,
so unlike our careful lives.
People and things we could only imagine.
Worlds we wanted to know for ourselves someday.
We cannot go back to that time of innocence.
It is too far gone, too far away.
The world has changed, and so have we.
We know too much to return
and in truth, the world was not as we knew it, even then…
Oh, how I would like to spend that day with you again.
Just one more time–to visit
our so-careful lives, yet to be written out
and our hopes for a world that would not be there for us.
It was a good day…
GJSands
August 18, 2020
Gayle — I am so happy to hear you stuck with it. Emily’s wonderful prompts and the words they produced intimidated me often early in the week. I simply love the imagery of this stanza:
“We opened our books, you and I, needing no discussion.
The sun blushed our cheeks.
The breeze stirred riplets in the water and our hair,
and we read about places far away in place and time,
so unlike our careful lives.”
It reminds me of summertime peace on my Grandmother’s farm. Thank you.
I love how you harken back to simpler times. I think that’s something so many of us are longing for right now. Your animal sounds made me smile so broadly. I feel like that’s what my childhood was all about!
Gayle, I felt the idealism and innocence in your words, and they lifted a heavy weight from my heart. Of course you are right: our seemingly innocent youth wasn’t the pastoral ideal you’ve painted w/ green images of field and pond. Thus, you don’t let us malinger in the past but force us to return to now and face reality. But for a moment, all was perfect and edenic.
Gayle,
I too had a really hard time with today’s prompt. I didn’t know if it was because of too many regrets and relationships I have neglected over the years or why, but as I read the poems today, I am drawn in to my relationships. I keep thinking of other poems to write. When I read your first stanza, I thought of another sister, older than me, and I wept wanting to do this:
I wanted to go back when we sat and she taught me to read from the book Put Me in the Zoo and painted my fingernails. Maybe I’ll write that poem someday.
Your description of sitting cross-legged, reading about worlds far away, with the animal chorus behind you put so many lovely images in my head. Bless you and this relationship. Thank you.
[Stephen Hawking taught us about “Hawking Radiation,” the phenomenon of shrinking black holes by losing energy.]
Hawking Radiation
What if …
Mama and I could rack up our seven tiles
for one more game of kitchen Scrabble
on the yellow Formica table,
mining the too-used Webster’s Unabridged to claim the triple,
while she worked through another boiling cup
of instant Yuban,
that smelled so good,
but really was semi-digestible kerosene;
and set aside my non-stop jabber?
Would I …
think to ask her to walk up the old gravel road
one more time,
to share her heart
about her 52-year marriage
to a rollercoaster man;
to unfold how she came to stand having five kids,
a cow, two dogs, a barn cat, a goat, who knows how many chickens,
no plumbing,
no transportation,
limited options?
Would I …
set myself aside,
listen carefully
to what was on the edges
of what she said,
the white spaces of her years…
what she left out
of the audible, visible chronicle of her days,
the moments scratched out,
rearranged to Tinker-Toy the backbone
of her life?
Would I …
recognize the messy choices
she left behind
and probe for the dreams
that kept her afloat
in the face of bruises
and her hushed voice;
and see the difference
between options and trap,
between duty
and love?
Would …
the game last long enough
to triple-tie up the loose ends
of what I wish I knew;
to spell out the stories
that might mend a heart,
the chasm of loss;
to feel the thermal radiation
that would diminish
the black hole
of missing Mama?
by Susie Morice©
From Scrabble to outer space – this is quite a journey for the reader. Who among us doesn’t know that Scrabble game and worn-out dictionary? That’s the grabber. From the concrete game, to the pathway, to subtle clues about the dark sides of relationships and the generational impact of those “choices” adults (must) make. I love the “triple-tie up the loose ends” – bringing the reader back around to the beginning, and then, whoosh – into the cosmos. From a microscope to a telescope. And oddly, though there is a sense of emptiness in the metaphor of the black hole, the speaker seems to understand all that she seeks; has answers to it all. There is no mystery. She gets it.
Susie–THIS is the poem I wanted to write, but could not reach. All the things I should have asked. Would the game last long enough? Would I have stopped long enough to ask, and to listen to her answers? Sadly, I don’t know if I would have…
Would I …
set myself aside,
listen carefully
to what was on the edges
of what she said…
I am in tears as I realize what I chose not to do… Susie, you are amazing!
I am sitting here blown away because this is the poem I, too, wanted to write. I often wonder the exact same things about my mother. Now I’m stuck in a loop of wondering what my kids might be thinking about me! Your poem is so wonderful, Susie. Thank you for sharing it!
Susie — The repetition of “Would I” and the truly beautiful stanzas that followed created a brilliant experience for readers. The questions without answers, the reflection of suppostions, and connection to “the black hole / of missing Mama?” made for a magnificent poem. Thank you!
Susie, I am awe-struck again by your beautiful poetry. You share so much here while cleverly tying it with a game of scrabble. The end is so haunting “the black hole/of missing Mama?” Wow! I ache for your loss. Clearly your mother had a lot on her plate, and the “chasm of loss” is so great. Thanks again for sharing such an emotional and powerful poem! You rock!
Susie,
The images of you and your sweet mama playing Scrabble, her drinking Yuban and you asking about listening closer
to what was on the edges
of what she said,
…..Is a precious moment in time that brings her strong presence roaring back! This is divine.
Susie,
I love the way you e structured your poem, first w/ “what if” possibility in a game of Scrabble w/ its puzzle of finding the words hidden in those tiles, then w/ posing questions, “Would I…” This is what I struggled facing w/ the prompt: the knowledge we likely wouldn’t do much differently. You capture this, too, in mama’s “white spaces.”
We know we leave much out, questions unanswered, maybe because we don’t hear or see.
Susie,
Thank you for explaining the Hawking Radiation. It speaks volumes of this sweet Scrabble game and hopes to shrink that black hole. There are so many moments here, moments of laughter (semi-digestible kerosene and your non-stop jabber) and tears (Would the game last long enough, the white spaces of her years…what she left out and so many more, Susie). Thank you for sharing your heart. I hope this was a healing poem for you to write. It was good and helpful for me to read today as I think about my own mom and her choices.
The Meeting Place
It’s been quite awhile since you moved away
and I miss you.
I look forward to the day when
I can kiss you and give you a hug.
You choose the place and I’ll pack up my car
and meet you on the road.
It could be a long forgotten place
like a ghost town such as Bodie or Calico.
You choose the place.
It could be high on a trail leading through the forest.
(I hope this time you don’t forget the permit.)
We’ll camp by a lake and tell stories
of the past and the future,
of marriages and boyfriends good and bad.
Tell stories of outrageous students
and new teaching strategies.
Describe our doctor visits
and the aches and pains in our bodies.
Then the sun will begin to set
and out will come the mosquitoes
swarming and biting like never before.
We will have to end our talks
and will giggle about how funny we must look
as we duck into our sleeping bags
zipping up with only our noses out to breathe.
With the next day’s sunrise we will put on the coffee
and work out the kinks that set in as we slept.
We’ll see who has the most red spots
and share the anti-itching cream.
Now glad that bugs have gone
we will moan about our lack of sleep
and the noises we heard during the night.
Then we’ll pack up our gear
and head down the mountain or across the flatland
back to our cars
and happy to find out the bears or thieves have left them alone.
Now, sadly, we must say goodbye.
and go back to our busy lives.
But this time I am content
and I know you are now nearby.
We will soon meet again
and this time I will get to choose the place –
the one without mosquitos.
Susan — The comfort of this poem is quite amazing. It makes me feel warm and all cozy…a really beautiful imagining of connection…the two lives together in the wilderness. Just so sweet. The cocoon image of you both in sleeping bags with noses poked out… makes me giggle. Great image! And I like that the mosquitoes were sort of a game changer… this was utopian until those little buggers showed up “swarming and biting.” Ha! Yes, choose the place “…without mosquitoes”! And those “kinks that set up…” — that is the toughest part of camping sometimes! A delightful poem! Thanks, Susie
Susan–I love the comfort and hope for future meetings with an old friend. RAther than focusing on the past, you anticipate the joy of future. and the humor at the end made me smile. Thank you!
Thank you Andy and Emily for the prompts these past four days. They have gotten my mind a whirling which is just what I need. I look forward to each day of the challenge. Thanks!
My pleasure, Susan. I agree it’s the writing shake up I didn’t know I needed. Thank you for writing with us! =)
Who’s Family?
Relating to the family has been pretty hard
We’ve lived in five states, so it’s often a card
That reconnects us with a friend
We swore to be true to, to the end.
My children are grown and much on their own.
They’ll always be mine, so I hope they don’t mine
That I still call them kids when talking about them.
Our family is strong, with each is his own limb.
Our family roots go back two hundred years!
We are among those bought and sold here as slaves
We are among those who intermarried with natives
We’re mixed; we’re strong, and been here so long
That we are American through and through
For all we know, we may be related to you!
Some dear neighbors became like a sister and brother
Co-workers like siblings, teasing and envious of one another.
So, in this sequestering at home, when we no longer can roam
Much further than our fingers will take us,
We call on the phone, we meet on the screen.
Family and friends tell us what they mean
“We love you,” they say, and, “We miss you, too.
We’ll gather again when sequestering is through!”
Anna — I delighted in the playfulness of this in some of the lines. I LOVE the part ….
I love the idea of being in your family! That’d be such a plus! And as always, the play with rhyme gives the poem a certain lift and lightness this afternoon. Thank you! Susie
Anna–love this, love the effortless rhymes, but reeally love this line: Our family is strong, with each is his own limb. It says so much about who you are and who you are a part of.
Andy,
Thank you for your thoughtful prompt. Your poem about your day with Dean is beautiful. It sounded so fun, and it’s never too late! This part was bittersweet:
I was struggling with the prompt for myself, but coming back and reading some of the others’ poems I was reminded about the interesting things I do with my sister when I’m at her house, and I missed seeing her this summer.
If I could spend the day with you, we would work hard. While we worked we would recall stories about mama dogs having puppies, the noises on Aunt Josephine’s farm, and sneaking candy.
We would start at dawn and drive to the end of the road where no one lives to feed the coyotes the freezer-burned turkey you’ve had since before Mom died.
We would paint a wall or two, upholster that old chair on the back porch, and haul the dinosaur of a ringer washing machine to the Ranch House for decor.
While we worked, we would drink iced tea all afternoon until our back teeth floated, but we wouldn’t stop to eat any lunch.
We would climb Abel’s Mountain and I’d hold them while you wired the wings on the pterodactyl sculpture you are building.
When evening finally came, we would come inside and you would throw together some incredible, decadent and unhealthy dinner like nachos with extra cheese and avocado slices. We’d dip them into the salsa you whipped up last night at midnight.
Then we would watch the Democratic National Convention. Afterwards, we’d go outside and lie under the stars, watching for remnants of the Perseid Meteor Shower.
Tomorrow we would do it again, same song, different verse.
LOL at this line: “you would throw together some incredible, decadent and unhealthy dinner like nachos with extra cheese and avocado slices. We’d dip them into the salsa you whipped up last night at midnight.” Sounds healthy to me! This is a sweet collection of what-ifs so firmly set in reality, they are real as I read them. I like the listing – each one of these seems to have its own story that could be developed and explored on its own, but for now, it’s a richly woven expression of a wonderful relationship.
OK–first of all, the pterodactyl picture adds a whole new layer to the poem! So glad you provided it. Then, this line: “We would start at dawn and drive to the end of the road where no one lives to feed the coyotes the freezer-burned turkey you’ve had since before Mom died.” This sentence is an entire story in itself! I am jealous of you and your sister…
Oh Andy, I am so happy to know much you cherish your time with your son. Hold on to these moments in your heart. These are the things that matter. This poem speaks of a bond and a love that lasts forever. I especially love:
“Your sixteen-year-old nerves relaxing / as the wind tousles your hair and / I would relish the view / from the passenger seat, / window down,/ open-palmed hand / riding currents of air, with / you behind the wheel – / smiling.”
I’m going to try to write one of these later today about out son who passed away 6 years ago at age 28. I’m going to try. Will need lots of Kleenex. ?
Good morning Andy! Such a lovely way to share your son and your “re”-lationship with us. I love the imagery and emotions that come from this imagined experience. I adore this:
Nothing would please any of us writer parents more than to have our children wish to capture the view in words! Gorgeous!
Although I have no brain band width today just like yesterday, I am about to write and will post soon. Apologies for missing yesterday, it was dreadful at school in meetings. ?
Thank you, Andy for giving me the prompt I needed. I’m so sad that I’m missing my friend’s wedding today.
Wedding Day
If I could spend the day with you
I would see you
marry your best friend,
your Matt
I would pay attention to the details of your smile
and the way his eyes lock
with yours the first time he sees you
in your dress
If I could spend the day with you
I would hear you
say I do and know you mean it with all of your heart
I would pay attention to the sound of your voice as you speak your vows
and the way your laughter bubbles up and out from love and nervousness
If I could spend the day with you
I would hold on to each moment and tuck them neatly into the pocket of my memory for safe keeping
I would feel my heart beat
and think about how blessed I am to be alive in the mountain air on your wedding day
On this day I am here
breathing in the cool air of a Michigan morning
wishing I was there with you
and hoping that this day is everything you dream it to be
everything you deserve ❤️
Stacy, I’m sorry you’re missing your friend’s wedding today. If it’s any consolation — and I’m sure it’s probably not — I really enjoyed your poem about this, which means your friend might like it, too…I don’t know 🙂 I’m unqualified to speak on your friend’s behalf. All I can say is that I really felt the longing in your poem, and I really liked the figurative language of “hold on to each moment and tuck them neatly into the pocket of my memory for safe keeping.”
“I would hold on to each moment and tuck them neatly into the pocket of my memory for safe keeping”. What beauty there is here. Teh detail you provide for us tells me that you ARE there, spiritually. Lucky them
Stacy, so sorry you are missing the wedding! But…glad you have friends with whom you’d like to share who are thoughtful enough to know why you’re not attending.
I think considering what we’re missing now is almost as tough and recalling what we used to have.
Whichever way we look at it relating with family and friends inspiring powerful poetry…as you’ve shown in the lines
I would hear you
say I do and know you mean it with all of your heart
I would pay attention to the sound of your voice as you speak your vows
and the way your laughter bubbles up and out from love and nervousness
What more can one ask of a friend that to be heard and paid attention? Hang tough. You’ll see one another again and share the day you wrote this poem!
Oh, my…such joy tucked into the missing of this moment that must also be sad. This poem needs to be delivered. Please! I love how you know this friend so well you describe the intimate details of the giggle and the eyes catching each other. Beautiful.
Remember?
Apparently Allen Ginsberg
is not a guy you want
to share a pizza
with.
Sure, he’s seen the
best minds of
his generation
stark naked and
screaming,
but when it comes
to the last
piece of pie,
he won’t even
ask;
he’ll just take it.
Rude,
is what Heather
told me,
way back in college,
on the ground floor
of Pray-Harrold,
about this guy, who
was just coming out
of the elevator, as if
in slow motion,
a small academic entourage
surrounding him, as they
walked toward the lecture
room where he
was giving a reading.
Heather (my future wife) pointed
to him and said, him,
that’s the guy,
and I was,
like, uh,
that’s Allen Ginsberg.
Now, this story,
this recollection,
is (probably) mostly made
up. I remember we were
on Eastern’s campus, but
was it Pray-Harrold?
Yes, yes, I think it was. But
were we on the ground floor
or were we in the east stairwell
(the one with the constantly
and consistently sticky hand
rails). Did we notice him
come out of the elevators —
the middle one always slow
to disgorge its passengers, the
doors would stutter stop half-way
through opening as if changing
their minds — or was he at the vending
machines, fishing change from a front
pocket, and dropping
some on the floor only to have it
roll under the machine, him
sighing (I won’t say howling), a great,
aggrieved sound issuing forth.
So, there’s the rub.
I don’t want to relive this memory,
actually be there in the moment,
some weird Avengers Endgame
where Captain America fights
himself (and yes, I could have
used Back to the Future as
a reference but that would have
made me Marty McFly). It seems
like that would just get tiring,
evading myself and my
future wife, skulking around
campus — I can even imagine
the scene where I have to jump
into the bushes (the ones on the
side of the ROTC building) to
avoid nearly being seen. It
would, of course, be muddy
and I would have cut myself
on the unforgiving branches
of the hedges. Not fun.
I’ll just leave the past in
the past, thank you very much,
and imagine these moments
with my mind’s eye, tweaking
whatever I need, whenever
I need. So you see, the next
time I recount this story
it may be Charles Simic
who wouldn’t share
the last piece of lemon
meringue pie,
as the soft peaks
catch a glimmer of the
October sunlight
as it plays through
the broken and
dusty slats of the
faculty lounge’s
Venetian blinds.
Scott,
I smiled and say some “huhs” as I moved my eyes across and down your lines, as my finger guided my mouse to scroll, scroll. The pace was lovely with the brief lines. There is something about not being able to see it as a whole. The first smile was here:
“but when it comes
to the last
piece of pie,
he won’t even
ask;
he’ll just take it.”
And then you came back to the image of a pie (though a different kind of pie) here:
“it may be Charles Simic
who wouldn’t share
the last piece of lemon
meringue pie,”
And I both wanted that piece of pie but was also conscious that I wouldn’t want to be “that” person who wouldn’t share. I’d share, I’d share.
Peace,
Sarah
Scott — Dang! You are really good! This had me in stitches. At first, I was “Whoa-baby! Ginsberg!?” Hooked me right off. And then, just started to laugh at the whole poetic dialog you’re having here… but the finesse of planting those graphic details (the elevator disgorging…the front pocket coins rolling under the vending machine…the Back to the Future references) …just a bowl of mixed nuts that I loved. And the best part was bringing it all to this:
Way way fun! I’m anxious to read what you post next! Thanks, Susie
Ok, Scott. You win. Your attention to detail makes me envious, even as it makes me smile. This small image–(the one with the constantly
and consistently sticky handrails).–says so much, and then you follow it up with so many more, and then you admit that you might be lying to us!!!! Bravo!
Scott. you got me! I thought you were recalling “facts”, not the fact that you don’t want to recall!
What fun to keep reading as you pulled my leg! Again, you make reading poetry fun!
Thanks!
I loved where you took this idea – my dad actually spent an evening chatting up Allen Ginsburg – the thought of the two of them together still makes me smile – your words create a fun adventure or remember one – and resolved with Simic – nice memories or created ones – a ramble
Andy, your poem is a precious gift. I love this prompt so much. My mind is working through it, and I will get it down on paper later today. Thank you.
Thanks for the prompt Andy. I love your story about your son. I especially love the hopefulness in the last stanza and thinking about how the future will be. Lovely.
A Long Term Relationship
I spent a lot of time with you
On the rooftop
of my adolescent home.
You listened to everything I had to say
It was easy to tell you things
I didn’t even have to speak.
Our relationship formed
We created a rhythm, a flow
As beautiful and deep as the sun sets into the sea
And rises again.
Thoughts made tangible.
I spent a lot of time with you
During school.
I loved your creative side,
You loved mine.
Teachers loved our relationship,
The things we made.
But many people called me crazy for loving you
They still do.
I spent a lot of time with you
in college.
We created even more things together,
but many I’ve lost, I’m sorry,
And I know you don’t have them.
Many times I think about all those lost thoughts.
On a flash drive somewhere.
I wonder where it is, who has read what we made,
What they thought.
I wonder if anyone has kept any notes.
If it makes them smile
Like the ones other people made with you
That I still have.
They make me smile.
I even lost you somewhere along the way.
I started trying to teach other people
to love you.
It’s a funny thing
Like teaching someone to breathe.
How can you not?
Is it something that can be taught?
It was just inherent for me.
Sometimes I feel like I’m doing you a disservice
I haven’t spent enough time with you since college.
This past April, I decided to change that.
I spent time with you every day and maybe that will help
me be able to show people everything you can be
A warm spot on a favorite beach
A way to remember everything.
I am reflecting on my actions
in order to say “Do as I do, not as I say”
So they might cherish you:
A compass when lost
A puzzle when bored
A laugh when sad
A friend when lonely
When no one else wants to listen
or you just don’t want to talk.
I’m spending a lot of time with you
You’re much more than I ever knew.
Angie, you had me at the first lines on the rooftop and then in the other places, the places you carried “you” and the reciprocal relationship — that you did not just take, but that you created something together, but also that you were not dependent.
Sarah
Angie, I am so captivated by your poem. I had to read it through again and ponder about the subject. I’m thinking your speaking about a journal or something along that line. The tender tone throughout shows how important the subject is. I like how you show the relationship you’ve established from the beginning to now.
Angie, I, too, enjoyed experiences the places and moments described and wondered if was a friend…then…maybe more than a friend….then…maybe not a human friend….then, what does it matter, the times were good!
Thanks for the memories you shared and those you inspired!
What a love letter…please deliver this. It is so special
If we could spend a day together
It would involve a river,
sunshine,
kayaks and laughter.
This time I’d remember not to forget
sloppy river hats,
shoes that aren’t flip flops,
how many bungees we took last time.
Together, we would float,
swim,
filling our little chunk of the Guadelupe
with laughter and splashing.
I cherish every moment of every day we spend together.
The four people I love most in the world
on the river,
at the lake,
or just sitting outside after a long, hot day on the water
enjoying the evening.
Together.
“River, sunshine, kayaks and laughter” – Sounds perfect. I like your repetition of laughter, river, and together. The most important things.
Amy,
I so needed this sense of place and joy in my reading live. Thank you. And I love this word “cherish” in being together. So beautiful in “filling our little chunk of the Guadelupe/with laughter and splashing.” I want to splash!
Peace,
Sarah
I just love the word “together” in the first line and in the last. It is so hopeful and unifying. Everything seems to be better together, especially the time spent with the people you “love most int he world.” Thank you for such an uplifting poem.
Sounds like heaven to me! “Together, we would float, /
swim, / filling our little chunk of the Guadelupe
with laughter and splashing.” I love this image and the joy it brings.
These are the lines that resonate most with me:
This time I’d remember not to forget
sloppy river hats,
shoes that aren’t flip flops,
how many bungees we took last time.
My husband and I are forever saying we’re the worst travelers in the world because we never remember from one trip to the next what we needed more of or need to not forget. This must be a universal! And I totally get “sloppy river hats” and “shoes that aren’t flip flops.” I wonder if you meant “floppy” hats – but at the same time, I love “sloppy” because it’s the same idea and more personalized. And heading out to the river with only flip-flops is a huge no-no. Riverfolk know this.
A lot of geographical cues in this piece, which I appreciate. It’s the way we can armchair travel with you!
I think I like the small facts most–the flip=flops and the floppy hats and the bungee cords–they anchor the love that flows through this.
“If I Could Spend the Day with You”
If I could spend the day with you, we would
Sip Rooibus tea
from Disney decorated mugs,
Eat cucumber sandwiches
with our pinky fingers lifted high
in honor of our womanhood.
You would smile
And dream of our next adventure-
Pop Century, Wilderness Lodge, or
Oddly Old Key West,
Arranging and rearranging
‘til your strategy
Emptied out its scheme.
For the one-hundredth time, you
Would ask if you could eat at Via Napoli. Your
Near-eighteen-year-old self imagining
The delectable, aromatic cuisine and
I would gently (and routinely),
Heart wishing and hoping,
Tell you, “Of course!”
In nostalgic remembrance,
I checked on hotel availability today.
We glance at the screen,
Astonished gaze, hopeful faith,
Finding one or two possibilities.
You would immediately respond by saying,
“Please, mom, today’s our day!” You
Never let your hope relent, and “this” day
Would prove no different. I would
Surprise you, “Why Not? Let’s throw
Caution to the wind?” My planner personality
Would never consider this spontaneity, but
On this day, when the sparkling eyes of my child
Playfully prompts my momma’s heart,
We wonder why wilderness lodge
Lures and dares us to dream of a day,
A moment in time where we refuse to
Repeat history, replaying the same sad tune,
“Not now,” “We can’t,” “What about work?”
If I could spend a day with you, we would
Eat turkey legs, Mickey ice cream bars,
Walk 20 miles in the 90-degree heat,
Laughing while Memory Maker
Snaps the significance
Before I’m too busy, too worried,
Or too tired.
Jolie, I love the last three lines of this poem most. Ah, it sucks to be too busy, worried and tired but that does happen 🙁 I’m not a super huge fan of Disney World/Land but all my friends are and I like your references there and can understand the joy. Thanks for sharing.
I love how this prompt has moved us to muse about taking a “wild hair” vacation, throwing caution to the wind. Your specific details build a scene I can imagine and hope you get to do soon.
Jolie, oh my, the details. I feel like I am coming to know you as a writer. You have a gift for precise details and images in the sense of space that you bring to this poem. I can make a movie with the Disney decorated mugs and cucumber sandwiches. And then you have such perspective and reflection in the dialogue you weave into this verse. So lovely.
Sarah
So many memories reviewed and planned here.
We wonder why wilderness lodge
Lures and dares us to dream of a day,
A moment in time where we refuse to
Repeat history, replaying the same sad tune,
“Not now,” “We can’t,” “What about work?”
I have had too many of those conversations–we need laughter and the Memory Maker more than we know, don’t we?
As a fellow Disney fan you really made me miss my trips to the park with my own family! As a planner, I especially related to the line “Arranging and rearranging
‘til your strategy
Emptied out its scheme.” because I like the set up/imagery of moving things around until everything clicks and the plan is made clear.
Such love and delight in these details. What a lucky kid…and mom. I hope you can do all of this someday!
Andy, the end of your poem is priceless! I can relate to the guilt of spending too much time on the job.
Road Trip with Eddy
If we could take a road trip today
we would wind
through Turner Canyon
dine in Estes Park
camp in the mountain
and fish until dark
Under the starry moonlight
we’d listen to you sing
bathe you in love
christen you with happy tears
And our family chain of love
would tether you here, dear—
Forever
Barb Edler
August 18, 2020
As a dedicated road-tripper myself, your poem resonated with me. Some of my best memories are the road trips I’ve been on with my husband, sons, or all of us together. The mountains, the canyons, the love of the outdoors- my family and I love the same things as yours.. We’re both lucky to have that road trip love. I’ve learned from experience that those road trips get better as time goes by and your kids become adults, even though they may be fewer and more far between. I hope many more opportunities are are ahead for your family pursuing adventures on the road. Thanks for sharing the love.
Love that ending “tether you here, dear–forever.” Yes, being together enjoying the outdoors. I feel the longing.
Barb,
“christen you with happy tears” — this is lovely. And then “would tether you here, dear” sounds so beautiful in the vowel sounds, like the ee is holding onto the chain of love.
Peace,
Sarah
Aww, Barb, this is so sweet! And who wouldn’t want to be on that trip!? Dandy! Estes! Yes…so lovely…though I haven’t been there in years. I’m guessing it is still gorgeous. Fishing…aaaahhh…I’m hooked! 🙂 Thanks, Susie
Barb, this is a pink pearl in your palm today – an exquisite moment in time that cannot be erased. Camping, fishing, singing, spending time together dining. Gorgeous images and sweet memories!
Such a pretty, sparkling poem…the moonlight, the bath of love, the chain of love. This poem feels like a charm bracelet. I love it.
You’ve done it again, Andy. What a perfect prompt! I love thinking of you and your son with the music blaring and wind in your hair throwing cares away and just having fun. I was stirred to think about how my husband and I have not been dancing since March 13th. For the last 10 years we have taken lessons and gone dancing to Cajun and Zydeco practically every Saturday night. Without dancing, our relationship has lost a spark that nothing else can replace.
Where did Saturday Night Go?
If we could have another Saturday night,
you’d check the band schedule;
I’d put on make-up and a swirly dress.
You’d ask, “Boots?”
I’d say, “Of course.”
If we could have Saturday night again,
we’d drive in silence through cane fields
and moss-covered oaks to Breaux Bridge–
La Poussiere “where the dust flies,”
park in our usual spot across the highway.
I’d bury my purse under the seat.
You’d wonder about the crowd.
If we could find Saturday night,
Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys
echo “Lovers’ Waltz.
Our waltz begins
in the parking lot.
Margaret, what an achingly beautiful poem! I’m sorry to read that you have not been able to go dancing since he shut down. The details you share are so easy to visualize…burying your purse under the seat, and your husband worrying about the crowd. Your ending stanza is so divine and loving. I can just imagine seeing you both unable to wait to get inside to dance. Praying that you soon will have the opportunity to be in each other’s arms to enjoy this special waltz!
Hi, Margaret. What a powerful poem! My heart is filled with emotion from the repeated phrase, “If we could have Saturday night again.” This reminder to “cease the Saturday” hits home. The Lovers’ Waltz, the moment in time is special. You “bury [your] purse under the seat” and cause me to reminisce of all the times I’ve done the very same thing. Thanks for sharing your intimate memory.
Margaret, I really love the little touches that speak to the truth of this experience: the question of the boots, the “moss-covered oaks,” and the burying your “purse under the seat.” These all help paint the picture for me. Thanks!
Oh, Margaret, I am so moved by this. So much resonates with me. My partner and I lived in a city over a year ago — we’d walk to dinner, have long, long talks, take a detour home to enjoy the evening air. And now we live in a rural space, no corner store, Italian restaurant, live music. Sure we make dinner but we sit in front of the TV now instead of talking. Sorry to make it about me…I just feel this longing for finding “Saturday night..” and wonder about “our waltz.” You capture so beautifully what happens in the public, community spaces where we are out in the world with our loves, where we are using/dressing our bodies in ways that are just not the same when we are at home.
Let the waltz begin soon and safely!
Peace,
Sarah
Margaret,
Wow, so lovely and poignant. This feels like a movie to me:
I love the “Boots?” and answer: “Of course.” Rituals surrounding this time that made the night even more special. May we get to the place where you can once again waltz and find that lovely spark.
Margaret, the beauty in this yearning for another Saturday night is burning and real. The parking lot wondering…hiding your purse…..and starting the dance in the parking lot before you ever get in leads me to believe that the dance is really in the heart and not tied to a place. You dance through life!
Good morning, Andy, and thank you once again for this spectacular prompt that reminds me so much of Harry Chapin‘s “Cats in the Cradle” and the messages in that song. You inspire us to think about the reversal of roles and time between parent and child. That is a powerful reminder of good stewardship and investment of our time. I want to ride in that Jeep!
Your prompt sparked connections between the book that I am currently reading and a choral response, so I am taking that form today and using letters exchanged between Barbara Webster and Gladys Taber in 1953 from their farms as I converse with these late authors. Confession: I think I have a writer’s crush on Gladys Taber.
Gladys, from Stillmeadow (Connecticut, 1953): “Do you ever have a moment that is absolutely exquisite? Such moments are rare. They are like holding a pink pearl in your palm. Happiness, I think, is being able to live these moments when they come.”
Kim, from the Funny Farm (Georgia, 2020): The pink pearl, for me, is a cold winter’s morning: a toasty fire, a cozy blanket, a charming book, and my two rescues dozing in my lap.
Barbara, from Sugar Bridge (Pennsylvania, 1953): “Sometimes I think that if I had a whole new life to lead, I’d like nothing so much as to be a really good gardener.”
Kim, from the Funny Farm (Georgia, 2020): I’d be the female Henry David Thoreau, carving out three years to live in a cabin by the lake in a sparsely-furnished space but a rich supply of paper and ink.
Gladys, from Stillmeadow (Connecticut, 1953): “Yes, it takes living to find out what values life has. Most of us, as we grow older, gentle the wild ponies of our heart. Then you find, on the lower pastures, the small flowers that are there and you know the richness of small busy tasks of ordinary living.”
Kim, from the Funny Farm (Georgia, 2020): I’m looking forward to Friday when I will lead a group of sixth graders to write letters to nursing home residents in Warm Springs, Georgia who can’t have visitors during this pandemic – young, wild ponies bringing forgotten and unexpected surprises of handwritten letters to the mailboxes of much older horses – like flowers in that lower pasture.
Kim, I love this conversation between then and now. Are the quotes from the writers direct quotes? Holding that pink palm in your hand, you’ve captured the three voices. What a lovely exercise to try. It would make a great writing prompt for students.
Kim, I so enjoy using literature I know to create a new text. This conversation is so revealing of each character. The ending lines are so moving and I especially adore the final phrase “like flowers in that lower pasture”…Truly beautiful poem. I do not know these authors so I’m going to have to check them out. Thanks!
So creative Kim! Female Thoreau – that’s who I wanna be too, especially in this current world where social distancing is appropriate.
Kim, I loved this device of the dialogue between you three! I also really enjoyed the metaphors throughout: “the pink pearl” and the “young, wild ponies.” And thanks for the confession! I’ll need to add Gladys Taber to my ever-growing TBR list.
So great, Kim. I love your use of form and font to bring Kim, Gladys, and Barbara together.
Sarah
Kim, this is so delightful. I can’t help but think Gladys and Barbara would enjoy this too if they could spend a day with you. I love the image of your sixth grad young, wild ponies writing letters to the older horses. Like flowers indeed!
Oh, Kim — You took this is a marvelous direction. I LOVE IT! I can see you being Henry DT. And I can see you with that cozy blanket and the doggies. And to cap it with your students writing those lovely letters…those wild ponies… the “flowers” are just perfect. I’d reverse this in one way… instead of your being like HDT, I think the old boy would’ve benefitted in being Kim Johnson! 🙂 I’m smiling just to think it so. Thanks, Susie
What a great response to Andy’s prompt. Conversations. Yes. Thank you for sharing yours. Thank you for supporting sixth graders writing to people in a nursing home. This gives me some hope and joy. Beautiful words. I’ll go to the Funny Farm any day!
oooooh. What a great prompt! I love your day with your son. Real or imagined it has heart, specific detail and universal emotion. Well done. That Metallica playing over the gritty roads. I could hear it. Feel lit. Such a great capture of a moment.
I played with the pantoum form again. Still searching for a title for this draft…I have to run and start my day.
If I could spend any day with you
We’d be at the kitchen table
Coffee for me. Tea for you
Nothing would escape our chatter
We’d be at the kitchen table
Planning our day—shopping first
Nothing would escape our chatter
Coffee for me. Tea for you
Planning our day—shopping first
We’d drop by Eastern Market
Coffee for me. Tea for you
Purchased bundles in both arms
We’d drop by Eastern Market
Mooning over crafts and antiques
Purchased bundles in both arms
Cider, spices, candles, scent the air
Mooning over crafts and antiques
We’d walk the city streets
cider, spices, candles, scent the air
Snapping photos of everything
We’d walk the city streets
sidewalks leading us by blocks
Snapping photos of everything
we become part of the hum
Sidewalks leading us by blocks
we talk and walk, seeing, noticing
We become part of the hum
If I could spend any day with you
Linda,
Every sense is tantalized by your incredible descriptive words. What a way to spend a day – beautiful! Bundles of packages in your arms, candles scenting the air. Coffee and tea seal the deal for a great day!
The Pantoum form worked well here. The echo of your lines twirl me around a day with your daughter. Can I come along? I’ll join you with coffee.
Linda, I love how you returned to the pantoum format here. I ache at the end of this poem for you. The repetition of what you would do throughout the day works so effectively and adds that emotion of cherishing every moment of this special day.
Linda, I love the days where we can “become part of the hum” with our children or loved ones, “snapping photos of everything.” I love the mooning over shared pleasures, “crafts and boutiques.” Each detail highlights your differences and similarities, your awareness of likes and dislikes. These moments are what makes our relationships so unique and so needed. The familiarity of the kitchen table creates a feeling of nostalgia for me. Thanks for sharing.
I love seeing other poetry forms used in new prompts. Well done using pantoum.
Hey, Linda — You get extra credit…you pantoum’d this beauty, and it really works. (if I can make pantoum a verb…ha!) We both started with the kitchen today! Great minds… LOL! Your day described here is utterly uplifting! Just what I needed this afternoon! Thank you! Susie
Back Yard Whiffle Ball
Now we see it
only when we look to
remember what
the world has reclaimed:
covered the batter’s box
stomped out in dirt
by anxious little feet;
reclaimed first base line where
the deck meets the step
and the touch keeps you safe;
hidden the crooked second base
bag – a shirt a sock a hat –
always kicked in a run
deep into outfield;
anchored an immovable third base,
where you watched your feet
on a corner of concrete;
absorbed back
the faded picket fence
of home-run glory
The field filled itself in,
grass over path and pitcher’s mound,
as time is apt to do to us all,
but still, we remember
when we look to see it,
that this place was joy
This is wonderful…what memories. Going back to familiar haunts pulls up such emotion. I have a place I go at “home” that my favorite ghosts haunt. This reminds me very much of that place. It’s a place full of love…not scary at all. Just memories and lots of love.
Kevin, pulling back the layers of grass – to grasses of long ago- is a captivating concept. Funny how time brings back a landscape so you can see a then and now version. I love the feeling of the touch keeping the runner safe. These childhood baseball memories are precious!
Kevin, what a beautiful tribute to a beloved baseball field. The details are so clear and the warmth of remembrance radiates throughout this entire poem. I’m deeply touched recalling my own childhood baseball field.
“that this place was joy” what a great last line. Wonderful imagery throughout. I can see everything. Thank you.
Man, I can so relate to this “found” whiffle ball field. I had these all over my childhood, including in the street, where the manhole cover was second base, Bill’s rear brake light was first (if he was home), etc. Such great memories. I love that you can still see it in your memory. The last line says it all “that this place was joy” So wonderful and great memories today!