Welcome to day 5 of the October open write for educators and the National Day On Writing and #WhyIWrite!
We are so glad you are here. A very special thank you to Anna J. Small Roseboro, Cara, and Andy Schoenborn for inspiring our writing and taking such good care of our hearts and minds! See you back here November 20-24 with Margaret, Linda, and Maureen!
Inspiration
Teacher-writers often embrace a “handle with care” mantra for their students when they enter the classroom for the first time. When students enter my creative writing classroom the question I ask on the first day is “why creative writing?” Some students say the obvious, “I love to write.” Other students are shy and say, “I don’t know.” A few students are bold and say, “I hate to write. They just put me here.” Isabel was one of these students. I’ll admit it was hard to hear, however, I said, “I’m sorry. You know, sometimes things happen for a reason. Stick around and see what you think. No blame. No shame. No judgement.” She didn’t react too much.
Over the ensuing weeks we wrote; we shared; we conferenced, and we focused on the positives in our writing.
By the end of the trimester, Isabel shared a piece with us that brought unprompted snaps by students across the room.
The inspiration for today comes from what Isabel shared with us and I encourage you to embrace your “why” just as she had in her own words:
Process
Think about who or what inspires you when you find yourself in a place you did not want to be. How might you open up to a situation where it seems like you will struggle? Is it possible? Ask yourself “why” and let the answers reveal themselves to you.
Using Isabel’s poem as a model, consider writing a poem that builds to a four line stanza before it shifts to a power statement, in this case, “I write for myself.” Lean on repetition for effect as the stanzas build, then shift into how your “why” transforms into meaningful results.
Andy’s Poem
Why I Teach
In the absence of a spark,
I teach.
When I’ve learned from others
and am inspired to add my voice,
I teach.
When students feel the system
requires them to abandon their
interests, voice, and themselves,
I teach.
I teach to grow.
To help others unveil what already resides inside of them.
To bring curiosity, inquiry, and joy back to life,
and to experience learning like it was
meant to be.
Freeing ourselves from bureaucracy,
celebrating our shared growth,
and letting go.
That feeling of accomplishment
when students see themselves differently than before,
and, even if they didn’t, you remember what it is to learn.
Because I will always
be a student, and find
a reason to teach
again.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Our Host
Andy Schoenborn is an award-winning author and high school English teacher in Michigan at Clare Public Schools. He focuses his work on progressive literacy methods including student-centered critical thinking, digital collaboration, and professional development. He is a past-president of the Michigan Council of Teachers of English, Vice President for the Michigan Reading Association, 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.
I knit
I have been knitting for thirteen years
Started as a way to get some needed me time
Turned into a way to relax, de-stress
And give gifts of love
DeAnna,
Short and sweet. And very much appreciated by the (this!) recipients of your creations.
An ode to knitting ❤️ I definitely needed some de-stress time after today’s long day!
Today was a 12 hour day of grading, in-service and parent conferences. So, brain dead as I am, my poem is rough and a little (I hope) sassy. I love being a teacher, just not on days like today.
For lack of a better choice,
I teach.
I have taught for nearly
three decades
and I can’t think of a
better vocation.
I teach for myself.
I revel in literature and
playing with words.
To bring the same joy
to students is all that I ask–
is it too unreasonable?
Selfishly, I can dance about
and talk about the deliciousness
and musicality of phrases.
There is nothing that feeds my soul
more than a teenager
who gets angry with me over
a plot that impassions them
for all the right reasons.
Because I have no other
saleable skills,
I might as well
keep teaching.
I love the sassy tone! I don’t think it’s unreasonable to hope students find the same joy in writing and reading as we do ?
Cara, LOL. Same. 100 percent. Like you, I’m nearly 30 years “in,” and I’m like, yeah, this is still the best job ever. I get to read cool literature and talk about it with others. You mean I get paid for this?! I can just picture my “first day” at a new job (because I can’t imagine myself not working, not teaching)….um, ok, so I know I’m supposed to clear off this pallet or whatever, but when do we get to talk about Act three of Hamlet? (In this imagined new job, I pulled from (one) of my earlier temp positions from high school — unloading pallets at the Meijer warehouse. Needless to say, I wasn’t very good at it.)
Cara,
I have seen that dance of joy you speak of. You are an excellent teacher who loves all her students, even the difficul ones. Wonderful poem.
Thank you to all our hosts this month! I have enjoyed coming to the (web)page each day to write with you all.
My Journals (based off our model poem from yesterday!)
My journals
are mirrors:
reflecting the
past,
presenting the
now,
imagining the
future.
Lovely. Yes the journals serve quite a purpose.
Rachelle,
Once again you have shown me the beauty in a short poem! I really need to learn that art. Love it.
Rachelle,
Great little poem. So proud of you for finding time to write after such a long day.
Rachelle, I love seeing the world through your journals in this short and sweet poem. Lovely! I’m just rereading it thinking of the mirror image. It seems perfect to describe your journals, and in fact, I see that image of two mirrors reflecting into each other to infinity, a reflection of the past imagining another future.
Rachelle, thanks for coming back to read my poem. Enjoy reflecting the past in your Grandma’s special pumpkin bread this weekend.
Why I Try
In the absence of skill,
I try.
In the face of failure,
I try.
In spite, to spite
I try.
Magnetic laughter
tugs me
toward the iron try.
Gentle comments
ease jangly skitters:
I try.
Kindred
back-of-the-packers
try with me.
I try
to win small victories
for my mirrored audience of one.
I try
to knead stiff dough
into a wafer
to melt on my tongue.
I try
is bigger than
I can.
I love this because it shows such a strong will in the face of jitters and skitters. It takes determination. I get a sacred feeing of the wafer on the tongue of a soul taking courage from a higher being.
I love the images you bring up, Allison. The stanza “kindred / back-of-the-packers / try with me.” Images of running a 5k for a Trojan cross country fundraiser come to mind. You trotted right on past me with the advice to slow down, but never quit.
Oh, you sweet person! I’d forgotten that! “Slow down but don’t quit” is the advice my daughter gave to me when I started running almost 20 years ago. It’s good advice as a metaphor as well! Thank you <3
Allison, I love this! It reminds me of that Beckett quote: “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” (And I especially liked your 4th stanza’s “magnetic,” “tugs,” and “iron” image.) Thank you for writing and sharing this!
Allison,
This is brilliant. A poem of mantras to keep going. My favorite line: I try / to win small victories / for my mirrored audience of one.
So much truth there. Thank you, Allison. It reminds me of the power of yet.
Aiilson – sharpening the lens on each of these victories of trying over the smaller “I can,” brings me connection. That might seem a mere nuance, but it’s huge and make such a difference. Were it not for “try[ing] in the absence of skill,” I’d be a lost puppy… it takes such grit!?? I love “small victories/for my mirrored audience of one.” In fact, that’s my daily struggle…one foot in front of the other. Maybe my favorite is the wafer on the tongue…that sense of peace, communion with something that rises inside yourself… that’s really potent. Thank you for a poem that reinforces my already strong sense of a dear friend out there in Iowa. You are a model of one strong woman. “See you here again in November!” Susie
Allison, I’m late responding. I love a poem focused around trying. So much to be said for our efforts. I love it. I’m imagining it may be fun to ask students to write a “I try” poem that shows all the things they’ve tried and not necessarily have failed or succeeded, but to honor the tries!
I love this idea, Stacey. I like the mental shift of placing TRY as the goal. It’s a little trick that allows me to “win” even when I technically fail!
A WAR ON SILENCE
Why I write
poetry
is born
from the pang
of deprivation.
“Don’t speak
unless spoken to,”
my father’s code,
silenced each of us
in strangled ways.
Yet, a head full
of words and much to say,
a will to release
muffled ideas,
finds a path,
like water to a crevice,
it pools downstream
in crystal lakes cradled
by scabrous mountains.
A fire
to create,
rearrange, rethink,
reflect,
requires
words spilled
onto the white space,
chiseled into art
from the cold stone
of my imaginings.
I write
poetry
to salve the stab
of silence,
set free a voice
that verifies my
breathing.
by Susie Morice, October 20, 2021©
Susie, I am thankful that you have a strong will to be heard. These last lines
I write
poetry
to salve the stab
of silence,
set free a voice
say so much about your spirit and resilience. I count among my blessings that I am one who gets to hear your voice. You have much to say, and I always look forward to listening!
It’s hard to imagine you silenced, Susie we are all so happy you have found your voice and that you’ve decided to share it with us. Like water to a crevice.
Susie, I love how you opened this poem with the real experience of being silenced as a child. I also had a father who used his will to silence and when questioned on a variety of things would often just refuse to answer as though he didn’t hear the question. You share the power of words so effectively in your poem. The words are on fire, creating, spilling, and chiseling new wonderful creations. “to salve the stab/of silence” rocks my world is such a physical and emotional way. Love the final words….yes, writing verifies our very breath. So glad to hear your words as they are moving, often humorous, and illuminating! Bless you for sharing your craft in this space! Hugs to you, Susie!
Oh WOW. This is striking. Poetry is brief–only the strongest words survive. I feel like poetry is the perfect form for slashing out against the shroud of “be silent.” This gives me so much to think about.
Susie — this poem is powerful from the start. I kept copying lines so I could paste them in my comment as my favorite. It’s hard to choose one when you have so many powerful ones. You had me from the first stanza. Thank you for writing
Susie, this is so good! Your third stanza is everything!
“Yet, a head full
of words and much to say,
a will to release
muffled ideas,
finds a path,
like water to a crevice,
it pools downstream
in crystal lakes cradled
by scabrous mountains.
I’m so glad (and so appreciative) for this “releas[ing]” of your voice. You are such a wonderful mentor through your poems and comments. Thank you!
Susie, I just love this. A song to my soul! You capture the balm that poetry is to a poet.
Oh, Susie, your poem takes my breath away for a moment, and then reminds me that it gives you (as well as your readers) freedom to breathe and have a voice. Wow! This is gorgeous, and that stanza about the muffled ideas becoming a crystal clear lake is everything. I praise God you could not be silenced.
Oh, how grateful I am that you are a writer whose voice is set free! I love your voice every single time you share it.
Here’s a laugh. I imagine that every parent who attempted to silence their children’s voices will hear nothing but their children’s voices once they’ve passed on.
The last stanza, as everyone else stated before me, is ?!
?
My oh my, it’s been a busy day! This one needs so me more work but you get the meaning. Thank you for this prompt.
Why I Write
I write because my forefathers wrote of coming to Kentucky in carts 1837,
the civil war, the log cabin and making soap.
I write because my father and mother daily wrote each other for two years.
I write because I read those letters and am transported
to another time that would have been lost.
I write to preserve and continue a legacy.
I write because i want to pass on my stories
just as they did.
I write to preserve that history and teach my children to endure.
I write because words fill that creative urge to express that can’t be filled visually.
I write because the words express what I can’t say in conversation.
I write because I know I will find someone to listen.
I write to tell the joy of living and praise God.
I write to understand things past, present and future.
I write like baking cookies and sharing the tastes even though I don’t know how the cookie crumbles.
Susan — I really appreciate the history in this poem. That you are following a tradition of history and creativity…dang, that’s really quite something! Thank you. Susie
Susan, My parents had an epistolary courtship, so your parents’ letter writing hit home for me! Writing mattered! I enjoyed your final line blurring baking and sharing our words: how our cookies crumble!
Ode to Odor
By Mo Daley 10/20/21
Why do I stop and smell the roses?
Sniff my infant grandson’s freshly bathed scalp?
Swirl the Pinot and inhale?
Try to detect the coconut in the sunscreen?
Look at the ocean and try to feel the aroma around me?
Suss out the scent of freshly mown grass?
You’d think after nine years of not smelling a thing,
I’d get with the program
But I cling to the glimmer of hope,
That one day,
I may even smell a skunk
“Sniff my infant grandson’s freshly bathed scalp” – oh my, is there anything better? I’m so sorry that you don’t have the sense of smell!
Hey, Mo — First, I LOVE the title! I can’t imagine that 10 years ago you could smell, and now for nine years you cannot. Oh my word! This is such a huge loss. Your poem lists such sensitive absences…oh wow…my heart…no, my nose goes out to you with true affection. Susie
I’m blown away by all the long o sounds in your ode, Mo, these aromas and odors and coconuts and mown and hope, roses and Pinot. They work so pleasingly to create a fine bouquet of sounds! You are always so clever in your writing – I’m always looking for a fun spin when you share, and you sure delivered today! Love it!
Oh, MO! Your poem transported me through such vibrant olfactory images! When I got to the end and realized you were missing the scents, my heart sank (sunk?). Even a skunk…
Im so sorry to know that you can’t smell at all. That is regretful. Your poem made me realize another wonderful thing that I take for granted.
I never thought of myself as a writer. It was not until COVID hit that I actually took a risk and joined a writing group. I can honestly say that writing was my lifeboat during the pandemic. Thank you for the inspiration, Andy. It is always important to stop and think about our why.
I write
to exhale the negative
and inhale
hope.
I write
to process my heart
and share
love.
I write
to play with words,
my first and forever
friends.
I write
to celebrate life
and memorialize
moments.
I write
because I have
something to
say.
Heather, I love the image of processing your heart. What a beautiful way to express yourself. We are so glad to have you in this group!
I love the idea of writing as “inhaling hope” – gorgeous!
Words as our friends – I never thought of them that way, but what a neat truth. And I think as we get older, they like to play hide and go seek with us!
As soon as I read this prompt, I started searching through my notebook, because I thought I had already written about why I write. Apparently, I had not. However, what I did find was a piece I had written (prose) that answered the question, “What Is the Story Only You Can Tell?” I instantly realized that being the only one who can tell my story is why I write.
I write, because
only I can tell the story of
being born to a 15 year old
who had planned to put me up for adoption
(according to the stories told),
but at the command of Big Mama (my great-grandmother),
decided to take me home to be raised with her in my grandparent’s house.
I write, because
only I can tell the story of
wearing braces on my legs,
being bow-legged and pigeon-toed
(according to the stories told),
and banging those braces on the rails of my crib every morning.
(If I was up, er’body needed to be up.)
I write, because
only I can tell the story of
being raised wondering who my dad was,
being told story after story of he was,
all the while already knowing him
as my uncle’s best friend,
but not as my father.
I write, because
only I can tell the story of
looking for love in all the wrong places
from an early age; trying to fill a
dad-sized hole in my heart.
I write, because
only I can tell the story of
having low self-esteem rooted in a dark complexion,
feeling ugly, and having short, kinky hair,
especially when the light-skinned, pretty cousins with long hair
constantly reminded me I wasn’t one of the beautiful ones.
I write, because
only I can tell the story of
finally being okay with me,
accepting myself,
but not until I was in my 30s.
I write, because
only I can tell the story of
wishing I had made different (better) choices
that considered my child before myself.
I write, because
only I can tell the story of
becoming a writer in my late 40s;
accepting the title…I. Am. A. Writer!
I write, because
only I can tell the story of
how good God has been in my life,
how much I hope I bring him honor and glory
in this life he has given me.
I write, because
only I can the the story.
Donnetta, this is a powerful poem. We all have a story to tell. I would love to use this as a model for my own story.
Donetta, this is so powerful and revelatory. I really admire your honesty. Like Heather, I will use this as a model for my own poem about my story. Thank you!
Such a strong, repeated phrase – “I write, because only I can tell the story” – and you have a remarkable story to share. I am moved by the image of your grandmother insisting your mother raise you, and she “decided to take me home.” This is so sad and beautiful!
Donnetta — Oh, and only you tell it with such a powerful voice! This is a marvelous poem and a very complicated set of stories, each one more poignant than the last. This poem could easily launch a poetry collection of your life. You are, indeed, a writer! And we are all the luckier to have you share that with us. Thank you! Susie
What an inspiring final line! This is a great way to motivate students and value their unique perspectives on issues and events!
I Write to Breathe
I am the tattered balloon
Caught in the branches
Of a bare limbed tree
I write to fly freely again
I am a rotted corpse
Weighed down with cement blocks
At the bottom of a cold sea
I write to bear witness of the truth denied
I am a keening wind
Soulless and bereft
Chilling the darkened cemetery
I write to seek solace from the crypt
I am the dark of midnight
Shadowy mysteries
Ghoulish pale faces
I write to rise into the light
I am the spring breeze
A crisp lemony sky
Warming a smiling lavender field
I write to celebrate its beauty
I am the lost treasure
Gleaming with fortune
Overladen with ancient gold
I write to unearth its priceless gems
I write to free my soul
To face the ugly truth
To cauterize wounds
To celebrate and discover a world full of sound
Barb Edler
20 October 2021
Barb, this is chillingly lovely! I wasn’t sure what to expect after the first 2 stanzas and then I was taken in and enjoying the ride.
Thank you for this gift of poetry today!
Barb, I love how you descriptive language in your “I am…” lines, and then explain how writing changes that situation. This is a beautifully-written poem.
Barb, the opening lines of each stanza are filled with such extraordinary metaphors; it is so both disturbing and illuminating to imagine being both “rotting corpse” and “spring breeze.” This shows the wild passages of mind and soul…the varied reasons to write.
Barb: this poem is utterly captivating. So vivid, both dark and bright, deliciously creepy, then in turn, aching, lonely, and stunning – each image can stand on its own, but then I began thinking in metaphor with “I write to breathe” and was captivated, and haunted, all over again. Your phrasing is so lovely throughout – keening wind, souless and bereft … a crisp lemony sky…glorious stuff!
Oh, Barb — You have so many emotions in this poem. The hurt in lines with “bottom of a cold sea” and “seek solace from the crypt”…these are some very dark moments. And you then yield to the “lemony sky” and “lavender field,” which is like the air exhaling from that lost balloon at the start. I am so so so glad that you write…it does “cauterize wounds” and “free” you. So glad you are here! Hugs, Susie
Barb, I’m so glad you write –
and the way you explain the whys speaks to me on such a personal level – to cauterize wounds,
free the soul, face the ugly truth. And celebrate our world. I count you a fortunate writer to know these truths about your whys and be able to use them to improve not only yourself but the lives of others through your empowering messages!
Wow, this looks like it could be a mentor poem for others. You have me thinking of all the beauty and horror, the pains and sorrows, the riches of this world, and your writing through it all. Thank you.
Andy, thank you for today’s inspiration! Isabel’s summation of why she writes is really beautiful:
Because there will always be
a void to fill and
a reason to write
again
This is fabulous – what a gift her writing voice is!
You, too, shared a precious poem – I have no doubt you are a rockstar teacher to your students. I am impressed with the final emphasis on “I will always be a student” – yes!
I fixated on your prompt “when you find yourself in a place you did not want to be” and found myself thinking about how much I ‘cry-talk’ these days (and I really don’t like it at all)…I get choked up in the midst of storytelling, conversations. This thinking led to this poem:
Tears Flow
when I gather with you
bearing memories
tears flow
sometimes
even while laughing
smiling
tears flow
when I open to the tender
to the grief
to the loss
tears flow
a familiar tilt of the head
the wrinkle of a brow
a flash of another
tears flow
sometimes
when the clouds part unexpectedly
and the sun peeks through
tears flow
my tears soothe me
in the furthest reaches of
my heart
my tears
flow towards
a reliving
of then
because the older I become
the more I have loved
and the more I notice
the shadows ebb
because I will
always feel deeply
tears flow
I can understand this so well. Sometimes there are no words, just tears. And they can come from joy or beauty or come from grief. I like
in the furthest reaches of
my heart
Nothing, only tears can bring the exact kind of comfort we need.
I have found myself crying so much more these last couple of years. I have never considered myself emotional, but…
“tears flow” these days.
Thank you for sharing, and letting me know I’m not the only one.
I can relate. Tears flow often and for many reasons for me lately. I don’t stop them. I let them flow “because the older I become the more I have loved.”
Maureen — This is very moving…tears are a powerful release…they comes at the strangest times it seems. You capture the importance of letting ourselves “feel deeply.” I so appreciate that. Susie
Maureen, your poem speaks volumes. I feel these tears and am crying now. Hugs!
Oh, this explains it so well…”the older I become the more I have loved.” I am often surprised by my tears that tell me how deeply I feel about something.
Oh, what a sweet poem explaining all the lovely reasons for your flowing tears. I am not much of a crier, so I love reading your poem. Especially the “the older I become / the more I have loved” – I can understand this feeling so well.
Why I Write
By: Emily Yamasaki
To
release
understand
To
learn
debate
To
illuminate
curse
To
strengthen
hide
To
face
capture
To
fight
connect
To
Be
and to make sense of the world
I write
Emily, I love the juxtaposition throughout your poem. The active words show the power of writing, and the end shares exactly how I feel because it seems more difficult each day to make sense of things. Powerful poem!
Your poem, at a glance, seems like there isn’t much, but you pack a punch with the action words you use.
My favorite lines,
“To
Be
and to make sense of the world
I write”
I, too, write for the same reasons! I love the form your chose. You really know how to use words that carry weight!
Thankful that you are a writer who writes!
When palms ache,
I write.
When eyes dry & strain,
I write.
When bum goes numb,
I write.
But when my heart
beat slows
and when breaths
between strokes
stretch,
I stop.
Body reclined,
I exhale.
Eyes shut,
I cry.
Hand folded,
I wait
for my words
to flourish in my rest,
to untangle in my dreams,
to repair aches, and
to fortify my heart
so that
I
can
write
again.
Oh, Sarah, this brought tears to my eyes. I feel it all, but these words got me the most.
“for my words
to flourish in my rest,
to untangle in my dreams,
to repair aches, and
to fortify my heart”
Sarah — Just the dimension of where we are in our lives and moments when writing comes to “untangle” us is huge. This is a remarkably tender and intimate poem. Vulnerable. I am so glad that you write! Thank you. Susie
Sarah, I can relate to the moment you share of waiting for the words to come. Love all the action words that show the process and the times you continue to write, but I especially adored the final section “to untangle in my dreams,/to repair aches, and/to fortify my heart”. Yes, the perfect description! Terrific poem!
This is a great prompt, Andy! Thank you. That student example is amazing, and such a powerful experience. I had a great time writing this, I appreciate the chance to reflect on what writing means to me and what it has done for my life.
When life spirals out of control
I write.
When I don’t understand
What’s happening around me
I write.
When I want to share something
Of myself with someone I love
Or even a stranger
I write.
I write to find connection.
I write to give myself
Courage in the
Face of whatever life
Has to throw at me.
I write to express my love
And joy, pain and
Sorrow, always knowing
There is hope for tomorrow.
I write to put something of
Myself in the world and
Carve out a place for me
And others who are lost.
I write…
I write…
I write.
And I’ll never stop.
Madison,
Every line is … wonderful. I love the rhythm a form gives a poem. The line break creates such anticipation and just the right about of time to breathe, and each time, it is before and for “I write.”
And of all you gorgeous lines, this one seems to me the common thread among many of our poems today: “I write to find connection.”
I feel such a connection in this “I write” and appreciate the opportunity to bear witness to your reasons.
Thank you.
Sarah
This is lovely, Madison. I feel so similarly about writing – especially “I write to give myself courage…”
Oh, Madison, so heartfelt and beautiful. I love the passion you have used to share why you write. So many “I write…” lines cement the the fact that you will never stop. My favorite might be…
Thank you for putting something of yourself here today, and inviting me to do the same.
Thank you, Anna, Cara, and Andy for great prompts this month!
Why I Paint
By Nancy White
In the absence of words
I paint.
When I’m all alone
And there’s too much inside
I can let it all go
I paint to pray
In colors and shapes,
Lines that flow
Wherever I let them roam
I lay down a piece of my soul
With precision or a splash
With drips and intentional clash
I paint to play,
To get away
Yet, connect with something deeper
Than myself
Oh, Nancy,
I love this line, “I paint to pray.” You stopped by eyes here for me to linger in the space above and below. The ritual and purpose you find in it is so beautiful, and I see the word “connect” which is in Madison’s poem above yours. The ways we nurture connection (and not necessarily with people) is so moving — and your connection to “something deeper/than myself” captures so much of my thinking about “why” – -all the whys.
Peace,
Sarah
Nancy, what a gift your painting is, especially when “there’s too much inside/
I can let it all go”
Nancy — I hope that you’ll ask Sarah to post some of your paintings…I want to see those “splash[es]/with drips and intentional clash.” Susie
Why I Travel
When the walls of my small town close in
and I’m finding it hard to breathe,
I travel.
When the echo chamber grows too loud
and the voices all sound the same,
I travel.
I travel to witness the planet’s diversity
To hear songs sung in languages I’ll never own.
To glimpse cultures, traditions, and food preparation
unheard of in the corner I call home.
I travel to know where I stand.
By walking the earth’s sacred paths
I understand where my people have been.
By tasting the gifts of other’s harvests
I come to know bounty, and riches,
and see famine, and fear.
I travel to dance to music unknown,
to fumble with languages that twist on my tongue,
to know all I don’t know, all I never can,
and humbly accept
there’s more to this world
than can ever fully be grasped.
When I travel I question
all I once held as true.
I marvel at differences, in landforms and faces,
in customs and dress.
And yet as I travel I learn this thing is true:
As diverse as we are,
we are still more alike,
more the same where it matters.
I travel to learn all this and then one thing more:
I travel to find me.
Katighe,
Your first stanza made me stop and think.
The “hard to breathe” part resonates with me, and then this connects with your last line, too “to find me.” I wonder if when we find it hard to breathe is it because we’ve lost some part of ourselves that needs reclaiming. There is something so powerful in finding ourselves in places and beings in “music unknown.”
Peace,
Sarah
Oh, wow! Love this! Especially the juxtaposition of this line “I travel to know where I stand.” Fabulous.
Katighe, I am the same way. You put into words exactly how I feel about travel. I love this line:
and the voices all sound the same,
Something in me craves diversity and change. I need to know and experience beyond what’s always the same. Travel helps satisfy that curiosity and need to expand myself. In the pandemic I’ve done some virtual tours and they have been a nice substitute, though not the same as getting out there and experiencing. I hope we can both enjoy more travels in the future!
Katighe– Your travel is one crucial tool for sorting out the world. Your whole poem reminds me of Joseph Rosendo on PBS…he always points out that travel shakes off prejudice and opens up our minds. Love it. Susie
PERFECT!
Wow, what a rich poem you have crafted today. I hope it will be published for an even broader audience. There are so many rich images and experiences of why you travel, and why all of those who are privileged to do so, should as well. “walking the earth’s sacred paths” “dance to music unknown” and “hear songs sung in languages I’ll never own” Oh my goodness! This is so beautiful.
Andy, I love this prompt. Isabel’s poem reminds me, a teacher who has recently left the classroom, of all that I loved about teaching students to find their voices. Thank you, and Isabel, for sharing this.
Well, Andy, this is my week for taking the poetic license of creating my own words! Thanks for the prompt that elicited as poem that is doing just what it says.
Unwinding, Unwielding, Exploring
I write to unwind
To see what’s really on my mind.
Thankfully, we’re not fined
When we write to unwind.
I write to unwield
To see how I feel
About topics I see in the news.
Writing helps to unconfuse
I write to explore
About feelings so hard to ignore
Writing opens the door.
And feelings and thoughts out pour
And sometimes just litter the floor!
Writing is sometimes confessing
Acknowledging the daily blessing
It can clear us up and stop the messing
Stand us up and start us addressing
To unwind, to unwield, to explore.
To get us up from the groove and out the move
Yes, all of this and more is in store
It’s not just a chore when we write!
Anna, yes, I feel like my journal is full of those thoughts that “just litter the floor!” And yet, your poem points out that ultimate truth — it is in writing we understand ourselves, and “unconfuse” the madness out there. Perfectly said, and in rhyme too!
This is exactly how I feel. This reminds me of Beck the artist, who stated ” you cant write if you cant relate!” 🙂
Anna, I really like the idea of “Writing helps to unconfuse” – yes, yes, it is so good this way.
Anna — You have a lot of truth in these lines. Writing is a powerhouse of tools for our well being! Thank you. Susie
Andy, thank you for this prompt today and yesterday’s too. Today, I was able to sit at my desk in the classroom bright and early and let my words flow. I honored the voices inside, the spirits that led, and the poem that wanted to be written at the start of this glorious day.
Your student’s poem is one to treasure forever! I hope she knows what an impact it has on all of us. Thank her, please, if you have access to her.
My poem is comprised of 8 Zappai poems, a form I love! (I decided that the word “shouldn’t” will count as two syllables even though the dictionary said one?. Didn’t feel like writing “should I not.”)
I Write
My ancestors wrote
In secret hiding places
So why shouldn’t I?
My ancestors wrote
When no one allowed them to
So why shouldn’t I?
My ancestors wrote
Books, poetry, newspapers
So why shouldn’t I?
My ancestors wrote
Journals, diaries, and songs
So why shouldn’t I?
Maya Angelou
Wrote to give voice to her pain
Shouldn’t I write too?
Phillis Wheatley wrote
And published her poetry
Shouldn’t I publish?
Ms. Giovanni’s
Words protested for our rights
How dare I not write!
I write to give voice
To spirits inside that wait
For me to listen.
©Stacey L. Joy, October 20, 2021
I love all of these questions you ask at the end of each stanza. They show your experience but also gave me a chance to reflect on those ideas myself. Your voice is so clear, and your final stanza is incredibly powerful. I love seeing your journey through time and learning from people who have inspired you
Love the history and shout out to the ancestors! I, too, know why the caged bird sings… er… um…writes.:-)
Whoa, Stacey,
I love this journey of naming, reflection, and rhetorical questions that shift to exclamation in “How dare I not write!” And then the final stanza is so beautiful:
That writing is listening —
Peace,
Sarah
Such powerful reasoning!! Yes, yes, why shouldn’t I? Love love “How dare I not write!” and the idea of “to spirits inside that wait/For me to listen” – this last gave me chills, in a really good way.
Stacey, Ooohhh…love the way you weave all of these incredible women writers into your piece and then end with “I write to give voice/To spirits inside that wait/For me to listen”….absolutely jaw-dropping end! Kudos!
Stacey! You write also ’cause I’m out here listening, and I love what you write. The generations of writing because our ancestors paved that road is powerful stuff. I love that. I particularly love the Nikki G verse that shouts “How dare I not write!” I think she’d shout that very thing! You keep that voice a hollerin’! Hugs, Susie
THE BRAY OR BRAYLEN?
Why don’t donkeys try?
No one told them they could fly.
Standing in fields of rye,
Surrounded by swarms of flies,
No one blinks an eye,
Each to their own, pass the donkey by.
Did you hear the donkey sigh?
Multiple times while chewing stale rye.
Did anyone ask why?
This would take too much time, why?
Prideful horses stand on hills, high.
Donkey’s pain of circumstance is nigh,
As his vocal cords crush the crystal sky,
All hear, and all deny,
To find out why donkeys don’t try?
Now what if I,
Asked you to replace and apply,
Donkey with student and try
To accept them all, be their number one ally.
-Boxer
Boxer, you’re always so clever in how you write with strong rhyme and message. I love the shift at the end as we consider the whys from our students’ perspectives! These lines stopped me in my tracks:
As his vocal cords crush the crystal sky,
All hear, and all deny,
To find out why donkeys don’t try?
Now what if I,
Asked you to replace and apply,
Donkey with student and try
To accept them all, be their number one ally.
Well done, friend. And this is why you were named the system wide teacher of the year for your district! You are truly their number one ally!
Thank you –
Why I Write?
I don’t.
Or at least I’m not
today.
You see, my muse
locked the door
and flipped the sign
to closed
(turning off the
humming neon
before she left).
So, apparently
there’s no more
room at the inn.
She’s taking
a pause
a break
a knee,
some kinda
hiatus
or siesta,
if you will
or even if
you won’t.
I got nothing.
I’m as blocked
as the Suez
Canal, a container
ship of thoughts
and ideas that
won’t make it
to port.
(See? I’ve
only got lame
and clichéd
figurative
language to
rely on.)
So, I’ll just
wait around
until we’re
open for
business
again
maybe
tomorrow or
the day after,
but don’t
hold your
breath.
Oh, my goodness! What fun, Scott. I love that your muse is a she, and it appears she didn’t take the day off after all.
Scott, you always bring a smile to
my face. Your writing is so heartfelt and I can hear your voice with style as I hear you talking this.
This is terrific. Such a playful way to describe that awful feeling of being at a loss for words and staring at the blank page. You proved the advice, though — just get going, and the words will come, as your words surely did!
Scott, I love how you can take a prompt and twist it into a delightful repartee. Your wit as always is beyond delightful. Loved the way you opened and then closed your poem. Thanks for your sharing you wonderful, incredible gift with words!
The muse has done this to me also, Scott – and it is SO disappointing! Here I am showing up for the writing – and where is it?? Yet it will sometimes show when were not expecting it…love the wit and the Suez Canal analogy of a container ship of thoughts and ideas that won’t make it to port – priceless! And, alas, often too true.
Scott, you are such a pistol! I love this. The “closed sign”…ahahaha! No such thing as a closed sign you that coconut of yours. I loved the “neon humming”…perfect detail. I’ll “see” ya next month! Thank you for WRITING today! 🙂 Susie
Andy, this prompt is a treat. I love the priorities you share about teaching. You are the kind of teacher I want all the young people to have. Lifting up voices of others and a teacher who loves to learn. Tha
When I read Isabel’s, yours, and Fran’s poem about three of my favorite things–writing, teaching and praying–I wondered how I could even say anything more than you three already did. Then I read Judy’s and Kim’s and see that each person can tell why they write and it will be different.
So I am going to keep this prompt for another day and write my own version of Why I Write, and maybe the others too. In the meantime, I wrote this…
Why I Bake
So I can enjoy the
smell of chocolate chip cookies
lingering in my home, I bake.
When I crave to eat
rhubarb crisp
with ice cream, I bake.
When I want to tear my hands
into a warm crusty loaf
of sourdough, I bake.
I bake for myself.
I bake for others, too,
so I can spread out
the fat and happiness.
I bake to reach back
across generations.
I bake warm, flaky biscuits using
Grandpa Sockwell Leodore Hamilton’s recipe,
biscuits that can’t hold all the
honey and butter dripping off them.
I bake Aunt Thelma’s corn bread
and Grandma’s foolproof pie crust.
And I bake into the future
to create the best peanut butter brownie
for your wedding and
vegan carrot cake muffins
for yours.
I bake for you.
Denise, I’m just spellbound by your words that span time and generation and need and want and reason. This section was where I just felt the shivers of love
When I want to tear my hands
into a warm crusty loaf
of sourdough, I bake.
I bake for myself.
I bake for others, too,
so I can spread out
the fat and happiness.
I bake to reach back
across generations.
this is beautiful. I kept thinking that every reason you bake could also be a reason you write. It’s so creative!
Your poem makes me both hungry and itching to get back into the kitchen. I love the way your poem twists and turns through time — present, to past, to future. Wonderful.
This is so fun! It made me want to find a fresh pastry to munch on. I love your final line, and how your poem captures what baking does for you and what it does for others. Wonderful
Denise, I love your poem. I’d love to be in your kitchen even more! Sweetest of poems! Loved it!
Denise, I’m dying to try Grandpa Sockwell Leodore Hamilton’s biscuits – the description has me drooling! Love this “reaching back across generations” – recipes do exactly that; they tie us to people and times past. It is clear that you bake like you write – with great love.
Denise — You demon you… now I’m all hungry and want to go mix up a loaf of homemade rye bread (one of my favorite baking tasks). This is so SENSORY… “tear [your] hands into the warm crusty loaf”! Ooo!
The sense of time elapsing… love that. Maybe I’ll just go make some biscuits. Thank you. Susie
Denise, I was just about to tuck myself into bed when I realized I hastily haven’t read any of your poems this month ? but I got back on the computer to read this one. What a delight! I bought all the ingredients to bake my grandma’s pumpkin bread recipe this weekend—reaching back across generations ❤️
Why I Wite
I write so I may enter my room
in my head and my soul
where I am free to unburden
myself,
free to examine
things and ideas under the
microscope of intelligence
and imagination
I write often because my
self demands it of me – often
taking me by the throat,
saying, “Write me”
I write because I am safe in
my mental writing room.
I am safe to examine the sillies
that inhabit the corners of my room,
and the little seeds I planted
awhile ago,
and I am safe to reflect on the
elephant in the room if need be.
I write because the urge is
often overwhelming –
And in my room I am safe
with my ideas and thoughts
Judi Opager
October 20, 2020
Judi, I love the idea of writing safely in your “mental writing room.” I love how you extended this metaphor to consider the sillies, the planted seeds and even the elephants, as needed. Really nice #WhyIWrite post today.
Judi, the self taking you by the throat made me chuckle! I love this visual feeling! This is so real to have a safe space that I feel here in your words –
I am safe to examine the sillies
that inhabit the corners of my room,
and the little seeds I planted
awhile ago,
and I am safe to reflect on the
elephant in the room if need be.
oh, the possibilities! And you seize them so beautifully!
Wow, this is awesome. I’m obsessed with the lines, “my/self demands it of me – often/taking me by the throat.” You captured so many aspects of the writing process, this was very relatable to read but also such a clear window to your unique experience. Thank you for sharing
I believe writing does demand to be written! The repetition of “safe” is so significant (even if writing does take you by the throat). It speaks to a need embedded deep within us. Striking poem!
Judi — Every bit of this poem rings with the truth of a writer…It just absolutely resonates with me line for line. Maybe my favorite lines:
I love the whole idea of your writing room…the place in your mind when you lay pencil to paper/fingers to keyboard. Thank you. Susie
Andy, you bring tears of joy today in the story of Isabel. I can hear those unprompted snaps across the room. What a beautiful pivot in her life – becoming a writer because a teacher dropped the reins and let her define her inner writer. That’s powerful! I love your last lines – the best teachers are forever learners! Thank you for your amazing prompts this week and for helping us celebrate the National Day on Writing!
#whyiwrite!
Why I wake early: to write
Why I write: so that caged birds can sing, so the things I carry belong
to water my late mother’s garden, to travel with Charley, to be alone together with my thoughts, to create a more confident writer, to shed tears over a hatchet
I write to celebrate all creatures great and small, little women and little men, the soul of an octopus, wild geese and blue horses
I write for reverent devotions, for beloved dog songs, for breaking rules of the dance and quenching the thirst of a thousand mornings upstream
I write because it matters ~
because that is what I choose to do with my one wild and precious life
not because there is ink in my pen
Holy smokes, Kim! Not only are Andy’s prompt and the glorious poem by his “reluctant” student as well as his own brilliant poem incredible, but you, Kim, have risen to write early this morning because something enormous and magnificent needed to find the white space of my own morning. You have, indeed, “quench[ed] the thirst of a thousand morning upstream.” I could dissect your poem line for line to point out what is marvelous, but I’d just be saying what I’ve said over and over… you are a poet, your words throb through the veins of poets and spill the oxygen that poets breathe. And again this morning, I am grateful. Susie
Kim, how beautiful this is. So many beautiful allusions that you have knitted together in this fine piece. (I have you to thank that I now recognize some of the Mary Oliver titles.) Yes, it does matter that you are writing, and I’m so thankful you are up early today doing so. Beautiful.
Kim, absolutely gorgeous poem. I love the specific details you share to show who you are and what you do. The allusions perfectly reflect the writer and reader you are. I adored the “breaking rules of the dance and quenching the thirst of a/ thousand mornings upstream” Your final lines are perfectly played and made me smile a happy grin. Fantastic poem!
Kim – oh how loved the discovery of so many literary references here (Angelou, Alcott, Paulsen, either Herriot or Coleridge or both, Sy Montgomery – ! I have Soul of an Octopus on the bookcase by my bed alongside several Oliver volumes and I love love love octopus symbolism). I love waking early to write, like you – so much reveling here in every line of words and writers and writing and choosing to do so with one’s “wild and precious life” – wherever you are, my friend, is abundant energy and light, which pours forth here even in your verse. How much do love this? Let me count the ways…
Andy: Your verse is a song of advocacy and I especially love the emphasis on always being a student. I feel like your poem should be shared, hung on walls by teachers’ tables, maybe even on laptops as screensavers…it is incredibly moving. A vital reminder. The mentor text on “why I write” resonates deeply with me also. Thank you for all of this inspiration.
Why I Pray
In the absence of peace,
I pray.
When my mind cannot fathom
or even form questions,
I pray.
When I am weary
of injustice, of sifting truth and lies,
when my inner well has run dry,
I pray.
I pray for power beyond my own.
To overcome the red-hot dagger of fury,
that I should not wield it,
thereby scarring others
and myself.
To knit words of healing instead,
one by one,
like snowflakes falling
to form a blanket of blessing,
a holy hush.
Freeing myself by forgiving
myself as well as others,
feeling the weight drop away.
That quickening sense of awe,
for even if I cannot call
fire from Heaven (thankfully),
I can move mountains of ice
in my own heart.
Because, as long as I live,
I will battle need and fear,
trusting that love conquers all
-its beating wings in my heart,
forever my reason
to pray
again.
Fran, reading your writing is like ascending a mountain – every time I think,”“there’s the summit,” you take us a step higher with an even more amazing view. You inspire me to really reflect hard on myself right here:
To overcome the red-hot dagger of fury,
that I should not wield it,
thereby scarring others
and myself.
To knit words of healing instead,
one by one,
like snowflakes falling
to form a blanket of blessing,
a holy hush.
that holy hush is what we all need more of today. And you have me seeking it!
Fran, I have read this three times, and I’ll probably read it some more. You are inspiring me to pray. There are so many wonderful images (“move mountains of ice” “battle need and fear”, love’s “beating wings in my heart” Thank you for this today!
Fran, wow, this is such a powerful, moving poem. The repetition of the word pray is especially effective, and I feel the emotions pouring out in this poem. I can relate to the power of fury, the need to reign it in, and to forgive. Every line of your poem is a new image and emotion to savor. It is like the beat of your heart, thrumming to melt the ice, to trust and conquer. Outstanding poem!