A special thanks to Travis Crowder for inspiring us with verse days six through eleven. The poems crafted and shared here show the power of poetry to notice, remember, heal, and nurture community.
Inspiration
A Space of Meaning. I love the outdoors, as do many people. It is a space that grips me and gives me “all the feels.”
Process
Find a space–the outdoors, a room, etc–that gives you “the feels.” Use that space, the the things you notice, to capture your reactions. Let the things you see lead your thinking. And just let the poem form.
Travis’s Poem
In Dolores Park, San Francisco
Verdant landscape merges with hope,
Life and experience adorn the hillside I sit on.
Calming words float through the space,
And happiness dances in my periphery.
Hatred appears absent, and unwelcome feeling.
A memory swirls close to consciousness,
Turning,
Brewing.
I hope the people here realize how lucky they are,
And my heart longs to tell them. The rhythm
Of longing is hopeful.
I wonder when I will return to this beautiful space,
Where hope blends with accepted and always.
And is swollen with possibility.
Travis Crowder, M.Ed., is a middle school English/Language Arts teacher at
East Alexander Middle School in Hiddenite, NC. He has taught for ten years and has experience in both middle and high school levels. He currently teaches 7th grade ELA and social studies, and works with the gifted and talented students in his school. He and Todd Nesloney co-authored Sparks in the Dark: Lessons, Ideas, and Strategies to Illuminate the Reading and Writing Lives in All of Us.
A SPACE OF MEANING
“Squoze” was always a
Term of endearment in
Our family, redolent of
Warm and powerful hugs with
A smooch thrown in for good measure.
Matronly aunts and grizzled uncles,
Cousins, even sibs who maybe hadn’t seen
One another in a month of Sundays,
Did it and said it, unabashed.
They delivered, amen.
But today this word I’ve used all my life
Lost its sweetness for me, lost its humor and fun,
Because of a major airline
Who squoze my twenty inch rump into a
Sixteen inch seat for five hours.
I need a hug.
Jackie! You po thang! I’m sending all the “squire” you can choke down. I feel your pain. Susie
Darn autocorrect…”squose”.
Oh no! But also, oh yes to the clever narrative your wove from family “endearment” “unabashed” to abandoning the “squoze” for a regular ol’ hug.
Moments on My Serengeti
Watty Boy and I wandered in and around my nine white pine
gentle soldiers, mustered in a line
up on the north edge, that bounder my Serengeti;
particularly vocal today,
they bent and swayed,
their supple limbs
brushing their soft needles,
limb against limb and against my cheek and across Watty’s old bones,
letting the breeze whisper:
something was coming
later on when the too-warm shifted to a fitting April chill.
In the meantime, the soldiers swung their low skirts
against the needled ground,
as if rhythmic surf on sand,
reminding me to stand still and Watty to lie at my feet,
listen to the cadence,
recognize the scree-scree-scree presage of the soon-nesting kestrel —
preening high in the oak, the overstory giant
overlord
of my backyard and Stoner’s Corner;
straining, I caught her straight-line plummet
to the field mouse that never saw her coming.
And as is the way in heartland April,
we wended back down the hill as
the breeze flexed its muscle
and skies descended in a low grey
giving way to muffled rumbles and cold rain
ablutions, clean intentions
for tomorrow.
by Susie Morice
Susie, I see the brilliance of your poem: The kestrel soaring toward the mouse as an image paralleling the descending clouds. Springtime on the prairie.
Susie — I couldn’t reconcile your pine soldiers with their low skirts until I remembered the terracotta army figures in China. I love the way your words send me thinking in different directions! And those of us lucky enough to have seen your backyard can attest that your Serengeti is perfectly described here. “…clean intentions for tomorrow”. That’s lovely.
In my house
is a magical room
Morning light shines
softly on burnished wood floor
A Narnia lamp
watches over
French library table
And my wingback leather chair
waits for me.
Floor to ceiling,
four walls.
I contemplate choices
What will I select?
Mystery?
Fantasy?
Poetry or prose?
My coffee cup
warms my hands
as I delight
in my indecision.
A reading room–how wonderful! You really showed the comfort and peace that room offers. I welcome time to curl up with a good book, and it’s always exciting to choose something new.
Oh, Melinda, I love this poem and the magical space with the Narnia lamp! I was to be there also delighting in indecision. Thank you.
The mystery of the room at the beginning of the poem hooked me, and the specificity with which you describe the furnishings creates a vivid image of your home library in my mind. Now I want to peruse your books.
Melinda — I feel your ownership of this space, the comfort of the chair that waits for you. The place where you can be undecided and comfortable with that “indecision.” Lovely. Susie
Baltimore Outdoor Art Park
Chilling on this bench
Hearing kids at play
Wondering what life is like
When the sun goes down
At the end of the day.
Feeling the breeze cooling off the sun
Gazing at artwork the kids have done
Wondering what they think
Of us old out-of-towners
Writing about their painting.
Wow! Look at that hot pink!
Watching them play
Hearing joyful screeches
Riders on wheeled scooters
In cool cotton tee-shirt and holes in their breeches.
Teen searching on her cell phone.
Hey, that’s different ring tone.
How peaceful it’s has been
What a joy to be here you, my new friend.
Chilling in the park, watching kids play.
Time to go home. It’s the end of the day.
Anna, I love these lines “Riders on wheeled scooters/In cool cotton tee-shirt and holes in their breeches” because the images are so vivid, capturing movement and texture of the scene!
there’s something peacefully intoxicating about pedestrian poetry, whether the poet is in motion or the subject. ever wonder how people might feel about being our unwitting muses?
HOME
She welcomes me
When I’m tired of the world,
To come in and take off the day
And to settle, with a deep sigh,
into her comforts.
Gail — I can almost hear you exhale that long sigh and lean into your home. Susie
Wonderful personification of home as a comforting woman.
went into the unfinished notebook for this one. my notes activated mostly vivid memories, but many paid the toll of time. i think i resurrected the feeling and intent.
The Point (1980)
Afternoon heat reflected off the
pavement,
rippling currents of
vapor blurred the horizon. Everything
living played dead
laid defeated
under burden of heavy air.
I stood
alone
on the blistering blacktop, doubts
swarming through my mind, while
sweat flowed from every pore in
my body precipitated by no more
exertion than the blinking of an eye. I had no
refuge, barren highway behind and
ahead of me, swamp on either side,
I stood
alone.
I stood
alone
and wondered,
“what’s next.”
“What’s next,” the
question I pondered
weeks ago when I decided
bussing tables, getting high, and
writing bad poetry was not as
stimulating as it sounds. The decaying
little town in western New York,
my home,
offered no solution to my
growing
restlessness.
I sold my stuff,
put the ten-dollar bill in my shoe,
the bag of change in my bedroll, and
hit the road. For I am an explorer,
I decided, and
the unknown is
my destination.
Got lucky outside of Memphis
caught a ride, with a man who barely spoke
two words
the entire time,
straight through to the south end of Jackson.
The air conditioning in the solemn man’s
car was a blessing at the time, but it only
amplified the weight of the stifling heat and
humidity of the south Mississippi afternoon.
I stepped out of that car
outside of Jackson,
my luck melted away with
my spirit. The few
cars that traveled I-55 that day
passed me by;
I was invisible.
I walked for mile after sticky mile
collapsing into myself with each step. Somehow
I raised my head, despite the
ever-increasing gravity, and was
greeted with a pleasant and cruel mirage.
Ahead was
Terry, Mississippi,
ahead was
my destiny,
ahead–i would
make decisions,
ahead was
one of those significant points
where an instant
determines the future. Where
there are three options:
continue on the same path,
change paths, or
turn back.
This was going to be one of those
yin-yang kind of days where
light and
dark are one, where
things are defined
by their opposites. Where the
same hand that strikes;
caresses.
The future is determined by
decisions;
decisions
made at significant points.
The course can be changed, but
never the decision.
A car pulled over; broke my reverie
“Where ya headin’?” the driver asked
“Forward,” I replied.
steve,
Thank you for taking me on this cross country journey alongside you. The repetition of “alone” felt so stationary, stagnant in the early lines with a lonely alone, and then the repetition of “ahead” literally moves you from that place toward aloneness that is much less lonely.
No fair! I wanted to know whether you went back to NY, stayed in Mississippi, or headed to another destination. I was mesmerized and reminiscent as I read, and like Sarah, I felt the loneliness and need to get away as I read. I always think of George in “Winesburg, Ohio” when I think about a young person’s desire to leave their hometown.
two months on the road across to l.a. where i stayed for 10 tears, then returned to ny until now. i’ve started writing a series of short stories based on my experiences (some explicitly, some loosely). i hope someday to put together a cohesive anthology.
steve, thanks for responding to my comment. I’m retiring at the end of the school year, and I’m having my own should I stay or should I go struggle. I started working on a teaching memoir last fall. I’ve had some bizarre experiences.
Steve — I so enjoyed the youthfulness of this poem. The sense of just taking off and discovering is such a freeing experience. I particularly like the lines “yin-yang kind of days where dark and light are one…” Those defining opposites are a trove of interesting fodder for mining. And a good ender…. heading forward. Yes! Fun to read. Susie
On an inferno day,
we began construction:
a deck for our barren backyard.
Concrete was poured.
Lumber positioned.
Nails driven in place.
And out of nothing
became something.
It’s amazing what we can accomplish with
a little sweat and sweet tea.
“A little sweat and sweet tea” sounds so Southern! Your backyard would be a great place to unwind!
Where do you live, Tiffany? Are you able to use this deck now that spring has arrive — to enjoy some of that sweet tea?
I live in Illinois, so we get to use the deck on days the weather cooperates. Luckily, sweet tea is divine no matter the weather.
I can see this deck under construction, the tangible something from nothing, much like building a poem from words. I can taste the sweet tea, an absolute requirement.
Sunrise, Sunset
Sunrise, 1991
I back into the last spot
of the parking lot
a football field away
in case my car needs a jump.
I use a flashlight to illuminate
the textbook because
my dome light flickers
in and out when on.
Sunrise Comp so
I can keep my
lunch shifts.
Sunset, 2019
I pull into the first spot
of the faculty lot
a few steps away,
am always running late.
I use a cell to check-in
with students because
my office hours tick
away in virtual space.
Sunset Comp so
I can remind my
self from where
and how I became–
am becoming.
*I teach college comp in the same building where I took that class nearly 30 years ago.
cyclical, the day itself. yet still traveling through time and space. wonderfully represented. i really like this one.
Sarah — I really enjoyed that you’ve mapped a bit of history here. Being in a place for so long and finding the same person fitting at both ends of the timeline… I like that. Susie
I love how you used the same space over time to represent your growth and the line “and becoming” to represent the continuing nature of growth. What a journey!
“Rainmiller Road”
—for my grandfather
There’s a place that I know
Near old Rainmiller Road
Where forests greet the day
Bursting canopied shade
And chickens crow each morn
As sunrise blows its horn
Where grandpa cut firewood
And giant oaks once stood
Erect against the sky
And robins sang nearby
‘Midst peaceful forest groves
Grandchildren played in droves
Fireflies lit summer night
Gold glowing insect sight
I still go there sometimes
A respite of my mind
Reminder of my youth
Xanadu of childhood.
I love the imagery of your poem! I hope you discovered writing as you wrote 🙂
Oh, the fireflies and the forests and summer nights. You share your memory of your grandfather’s Rainmiller Road so poignantly. I can see the grandchildren playing in droves – – a time when kids really did play and were actively involved in what play really was – I love “seeing” your poem and not seeing any devices anywhere. This was the good life!
Glenda, I so enjoy resting in these lines: “Where forests greet the day/Bursting canopied shade.”
nothing like well-developed couplets. vivid imagery that takes us through the day
Your poem reminded me of my grandparents’ farm, especially the lines about the forest groves and the fireflies lighting the summer nights. Those were some of the best days, weren’t they?
Glenda — The ring of Rainmiller Road is good stuff. The sensory details are so reminiscent of this meaningful place…. so much so that “I still go there sometimes” for “respite.” Very fitting. Susie
On my patio awaits a garden–
terra-cotta pots sit in various
shapes and sizes,
large and wide
deep and shallow,
filled with soil,
nourished in anticipation
of their role
as home
to tender seedlings.
I tend this garden gently
as the wind chime sings
its melody
of
Hope.
Your poem evokes lovely Edenic images in my mind. I can see the myriad terra-cotta pots in my mind and the “tender seedlings” sprouting. The poem gives me a sense of peace.?
Gardens are special places. This one makes me think I should try tending one again, but every time I try, death becomes my plants. Growth mindset…
Thank you for sharing. I loved reading your thinking.
“nourished in anticipation of their role as home to tender seedlings” made me think of a baby forming in a womb. I love the carefree feeling of your poem, with words like “gentle” and “wind chime sings its melody.” It makes me grateful that school will soon be out for the summer and we can all be outdoors more often to enjoy nature. But first, testing…..
Amy, I want to be in your garden right now instead of the computer lab at the community college, but I am there in spirit because of these lines: “I tend this garden gently/as the wind chime sings/its melody/of/Hope.” Love and need “Hope,”
I can’t be outdoors today, unfortunately, but I can be in my imagination….in a coffee shop…with a million different new flavor options.
Cheers! Here’s my poem for today:
Coffee Creamer Dreamers
Starbucks debut coffee creamers
Mugs of hope for java drinkers
Thin Mint Cookie
Rocky Road
Fireside S’mores, a’la mode
Whoville Pudding
Crème Brulee
Chocolate Mousse
Fruit Parfait
Whipped Cream Pastry
Cinnabon
Banana Nut Muffin
Cupcake Fun
Baked Alaska
French Beignet
Banana Split
Ice Cream Sundae
Witty Comebacks Guaranteed
Pain-Free Childbirth, yes indeed
Apple Dumpling
Pumpkin Roll
Blackberry Cobbler
Donut Hole
Bananas Foster
Tapioca
Baklava
Triple Mocha
Sopapilla
Tiered Spumoni
Tiramisu
Ice Cream Coney
Marshmallow Crème
Root Beer Float
Whoopie Pie
Buttercream Boat
Apple Crisp
Mint Oreo
Turkish Delight
Cookie Dough
Key Lime Margaritaville
Twenty Million Dollar Bill
Lady Fingers
Almond Joy
Dark Molasses
Gingerbread Boy
Nutmegged Eggnog
Wedding Cake
Caramel Turtle
Coconut Flake
Honey Fig Flan
Chocolate Frog
Stuckeys Crusted Pecan Log
Happy Marriage
Peaceful Home
Visit London, Paris, Rome
Almond Toffee
Irish Cream
Amaretto
Kahlua Dream
Blonde Brownie
Maple Fudge
Hershey’s Kisses
Sugar Sludge
Hot Cocoa
Hazelnut
Whiskey Truffle
Glazed Doughnut
Cadbury Crème Egg
Pecan Pie
Peanut Brittle
Warm Buckeye
Egg Custard
Buttered Rum
Mudslide Milkshake
Cookie Crumb
Butter Beer
Nirvana Zen
Weight Loss Magic
Peace Within
Butterfinger
Lucky Charms
Sweet Cream Bliss of Dairy Farms
Sugarplum
Candied Pear
Anything you want in there
Dreams inside your coffee cup
Drink them down and perk right up!
-Kim Johnson
?Your list is delectable. I love the rhyme and the musicality in your poem. The last couplet is a fitting conclusion to coffee cup promises.
So, so many choices and all so decadent. Loved the pace of this poem taking us through the “dreams.”
Kim — What a totally rockin’ fun poem! I just loved that rhythm of it, the rhymes… it carried a tempo right down to the last line. The whole notion of a cup of coffee and Starbucks holding so much poetic fun is just dandy. Love it! Susie
Place des Vosges, Paris
A perfect park
In the middle of a beautiful neighborhood
Surrounded by an old palace
The green grass is perfectly manicured
As are the artistic hedges
The birds chirp
The children play
People sit and eat and read
And watch
The spring days are beautiful
The sun shines so brightly
The window for wearing sunglasses has arrived
I love to sit and watch
The families who picnic
The high schoolers who lunch
The models who pose
People living amongst the perfection
The city is so beautiful
The park, a hidden gem
I wish I could go back
To tell myself to observe every blade of grass
Watch every dripping ice cream cone
Sit and read on every green bench
The perfect park won’t always be a block away
I long for the park and the city
And the me I was there
What an idyllic place you’ve painted w/ words. Your last two lines speak truth: place does often define and mold us.
Word painting, indeed. The colors are exquisite!
What a beautiful rendering of your visual memory! I’ve never been to Paris, but I’ll be taking a group of students there in June and will look for this park. I’ll be observing “every blade of grass” and watching for those ice cream cones and models and reminding myself that I’d better enjoy it while I’m there – – because there will almost always be an ocean between us. Thank you for your memory that has become my vision.
Michelle — How fun! I sat in this very park many years ago and had so many of the same sensual reactions. Just reading your poem brought me back to the families and the kids playing so sweetly. The sense of how special this place was/is comes through so clearly as we pine for it here and “the me I was there.” Aah, so so real. Thanks for taking me back to this park. Susie
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I teach mornings at a junior high and afternoons at a community college. I am determined to go outside at some point to let the outdoors tell me a poem, but it may not be until later. Also, it was 27 degrees in Chicagoland at 5am and should be in the 60s by this afternoon — ah, springtime in the Midwest.
Stillwater, Oklahoma will be quite the culture shock after life in Chicago. BTW, Oklahoma State is my brother’s alma mater, as well as his wife’s and daughter’s.
Indeed, which has a lot to do with my decision. I want to feel that “outsider” experience and learn how to check assumptions that come all too naturally in my current surroundings. In this “one precious life,” I have lots to learn.