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
Tracie McCormick holds master’s degrees in English and school leadership and teaches ELA and social studies in Oak Forest, IL. Her one word this year is ATTEMPT, so she is enjoying new methods of personal and professional growth, which is what led her to ethicalela.com. Follow her on Twitter at @TracieMcTeacher.
The Inspiration
I stumbled across this style of poetry in a recent SCOPE issue. In this form, you borrow part of one poem and use it as the starting point for a whole new poem. (We love this form. See past Ethical ELA Golden Shovel posts here, here, here, and here for more verse love.)
Step #1 Find a line that you like from a poem. (You can also choose a few lines or even a whole short poem.) This is called the “striking line.”
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
Step #2 Write the striking line down the right side of your page, one word per line. Remove any punctuation or capitalization.
twinkle
twinkle
little
star
Step #3 Use the words from the striking line as the last words in the lines of your new poem.
Dog Star
In Maggie’s brown eyes I notice a twinkle
as she begins to bark. There is no twinkle
in my eyes. This barking is more than a little
jarring. But still I throw the squeaky sheep; in this show, Maggie is the star.
To write her poem “Truth,” Nikki Grimes used the golden shovel form.
(Grimes used poetic license and put blossoms and above on their own lines.)
Process
I enjoy listening to music by James Taylor. His song “Close Your Eyes” never ceases to elicit tears from me regardless of how many times I hear it. In April of this year, I unexpectedly lost my sweet 36-year old brother Brian. As this Open Write community knows, writing can be cathartic, so I decided to face my grief in this poem. Though Brian lived a beautiful life, he was pressed by developmental delays and physical challenges. I used Taylor’s lines, “So close your eyes, You can close your eyes, it’s alright” as my striking lines since it comforts me to imagine Brian living unbridled by these burdens.
So what poem or song do you enjoy, never tire of, can count on to elicit an emotional response? Within that text, what line jumps out at you, STRIKES you? Begin there. Trust the Golden Shovel poetic process. See what flows from your mind, your heart. For me, it was cathartic. For you, I hope it is whatever it is meant to be.
Tracie’s Poem
An Unimaginable Life
By Tracie McCormick 7/8/21
The doctor said there was nothing more he could do, so
Our time together in this physical world came to a close.
It was an absolute honor to be your
sister, to see the world through your pure eyes,
eyes that saw only the good in all people. You
demonstrated how much better life can
be when it’s approached with childlike joy. I am struggling to close
the option of making more memories with you. Your
presence made every moment better. Your innocent brown eyes.
Your constant smile. Your full laugh. Your sweet gentleness. Your uninhibited existence. It’s
just unimaginable to imagine a life without you. It’s just not alright.
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.
Golden Shovel from Nikki Giovanni’s poem, But Some of Us Stayed published in Make Me Rain – 2020
Striking Line: “when we find that song that gives us strength to go on”
Where did the time go when
Little Fingers and Little Toes would say we
need you to help us find
our way – until the day that
they don’t. They compose their own song
and beat their own drum to music that
sounds somewhat similar, but not quite the same. Life gives
us moments to enjoy and trials to endure; showing us
glimpses of the future while giving us the strength
to release, to let loose, to surrender, to
the inevitable. Little Fingers and Little Toes have to go
their own way, and we have carry on.
Donnetta, your poem is beautiful. I resonate with your poem because our oldest recently moved across the country. I love your word choice of “Little Fingers and Little Toes” and your technique of capitalizing them makes them universal. I also love how you refer to “Little Fingers and Little Toes in the beginning as a young child saying, “help us find our way,” then how you use the same words again to contrast “have to go their own way.” Your line “life gives us moments to enjoy and trials to endure; showing us glimpses of the future while giving us the strength to release, to let loose, to surrender, to the inevitable,” are the perfect words in the perfect place in your poem. I imagine your poem has been cathartic for you as it has been for me. Thank you for sharing your gift. You have helped me.
I love that you decided to capitalize Little Fingers and Little Toes. Just wonderful.
Yesterday we hiked in a rain deluge.
Summer Rain Day
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?—Mary Oliver
The weather app predicted rain, but I tell
you a little rain forest water can’t hurt me
or you, so we’ll do what
we need to do, which is
all that’s possible when sky splits and it
releases a deluge on you
and me and our plan
flows like an untamed river to
downstream waterfalls to do
what nature will with
the smallness of our desires and your
body and mine arch as one
cascading sheet of wild,
wet water bends our will and
our heads to nature’s precious
purpose to give the unseen rainforest life.
“The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/poet-laureate/poet-laureate-projects/poetry-180/all-poems/item/poetry-180-133/the-summer-day/
Oooweeee I love this! There’s a sensual vibe, and a wild ride kind of feeling flowing through this poem. I’m enjoying the pictures you’ve posted but this poem takes them to a whole new level! Have fun, Glenda! You sure deserve it!
???
Glenda—you sexy thing! This poem has such sensuality and the words flow exactly as I imagine that storm did. I am glad I “stopped in” this morning—what a lovely way to start my day!
“flows like an untamed river to
downstream waterfalls to do
what nature will with
the smallness of our desires and your
body and mine arch as one
cascading sheet of wild,
wet water bends our will and
our heads to nature’s precious
purpose to give the unseen rainforest life.”
definitely needs a R rating at the minimum. wish I could write like this…
I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve headed out after checking the weather app, only to be met by something that wasn’t on the radar! Or hadn’t “updated” in time to warn us. I love the idea of that kind of stubbornness, “a little rain forest water can’t hurt me / or you.” And then being met with nature’s own stubbornness in doing what IT needs to do! At the same time there is a bit of “uh-oh” in this experience, I never sense a great danger or any kind of anger or resentment. That’s refreshing. To take nature – and truly harmless nature – in stride and end on a kind of appreciation. Hearts to Mary Oliver as well. Great line and an apt response!
Oh, Glenda, what a marvelous, magical experience you had! I love this. These lines, I love how they describe the bounty of nature unraveling our best-laid plans –
To being dry and cozy and reflecting through poetry on such an experience! Enjoy your travels!
Glenda, wow! Your poem is magical, sensual, and beautiful. Your striking line works perfectly here and in it’s implication. I love how your poem builds tension like a story. I love your poem especially this line “our plan flows like an untamed river to downstream waterfalls.”
My Golden Shovel is built on the striking line from Marge Piercy’s beautiful poem “To Be of Use.” As I helped my husband (and others) move his octogenarian aunt to her new home, I watched a three-year-old helper take pleasure in lifting the boxes. Don’t we all want to be of use?
“The people I love best jump into work head first.”
Why didn’t they just hire the
moving van? Instead, the people
enlisted ten relatives, including my husband. I
came along to help because I love
him, but it was not the best
thought-out plan. Still, I determined to jump
in, brace against the plow, throw myself into
the pleasure of a day’s hard work.
And as we packed box after box, my head
cleared: sweat is good when putting others first.
Allison, what a great message and truth about serving others. I think we should definitely take our cues more often than not from three-year-olds.
Allison.
That last line says everything we need to know about being of use. I suspect tbr love you feel for others emirates from their jumping head first into work.
Can energy be sturdy? That’s what I feel here.
“Still, I determined to jump
in, brace against the plow, throw myself into
the pleasure of a day’s hard work.
And as we packed box after box, my head
cleared: sweat is good when putting others first.”
Sweat is good when putting others first.—a truis I will remember…
What a beautiful mantra to live by –
Thanks for sharing the image of the sweet three year old helping! They are insightful little beings, showing us what to do.
Allison, aren’t children wonderful always teaching us? Perfect ending “sweat is good when putting others first.” Such a good one for us to remember. Thank you.
Tracie, thank you for introducing the terminology “striking line.” It makes the Golden Shovel form more user friendly.
Prone to ask why,
As we so often do,
We are a doubt-driven people.
Look straight ahead. Keep
In your lane. Avoid asking
Too many questions. To
Deviate may cause you to see
A mystery of God’s
Making, revealing God’s identity.
No need to ask for papers.
(based on Mary Oliver’s “I Wake Close to Morning”)
I really like this, Katrina. “Doubt-driven people” seems like a terrific descriptor. Your last line is just wonderful.
“No need to ask for papers.” Your list of instructions has a great rhythm to it— those short bursts of words convey the rules!
I like the truth in that if one deviate’s then one might see a mystery of God’s making. Yes, Katrina, we need to deviate more often.
Katrina, I love the way answer fully the striking line question in your poem. I love this: “To deviate may cause you to see a mystery of God’s making” I too noticed “striking line” for the first time.
I love these words so much:
Thanks, Tracie, for an opportunity to write a golden shovel. I’ve been on my way back to Oregon (from Iowa) which is an awesome opportunity for adventure and reflection. In one of the towns we drove through, there was a protest/rally on the side of the street regarding issues that I have opposite views to. It made me want to go and argue, but I remembered this quote. Although this poem itself isn’t polished (or even that good haha!), it was a powerful reflection for me.
Quote: When they go low, we go high.
I hate to admit this but when,
in my younger years, they
(the higher caste kids in school) would go
and touch a classmate and pass along “germs” from this low
status boy in a game called B.O. Truthfully we
(my group of middle-class friends) participated too. If I could go
back to this time, I’d tell myself the importance of going high.
Rachelle (I will never again read your name without thinking of your name poem…)—I can think back to a number of times I wish I had “gone night”. A thought provoking poem for these times—and those in the past.
Rachelle,
My mom always was telling us to take the high road. When we’re young it is so hard to not just take the easier way, but like you say, “If I could go / back to this time, I’d tell myself the importance of going high.” This poem is deceptive, it really hits hard. Great job!
Rachelle, I feel like so many of us were so young and stupid. We had no idea about the impact of our actions or words, did we? Yet your lovely poem shows us that things stay with us for so long. My takeaway here is how much you have grown as a person. I hope I have, too!
Rachelle, I love you. This is (as you are, poem after poem) raw and honest. I was so mean (in a mob) to a fifth-grade classmate. Your poem was a haunting mirror for me. I especially appreciated your employment of “caste”–what else is it?!
Keep writing, friend. I hang on your every word.
Rachelle, enjoy that journey back to Oregon. I love road trips. It’s something I’ve missed living on a small island. Your use of the word “high” in your poem and striking line have opposite meanings, which is clear and demonstrates, as so much of life does, God’s upside down kingdom of influence and greatness.
Tracie, I am so deeply sorry for your loss. Your brother’s spirit lives on in your poem. Thanks for sharing your moving tribute to him and for today’s prompt. I decided to choose a line from Steppenwolf.
Nature’s Child
breezy days like
kaleidoscope whorls, a
psychedelic crush of fun, true
to ourselves and nature’s
glorious green child,
time was ours; we
wasted no boundaries; were
free to breathe; born
racing from parents born
in war to strict routine; to
be silent—we were free to be
unseen; wickedly wild
spirits, flying peace signs, we
blazed fire-power; I can
remember how easy the climb
past artifice; rules—oblivious, so
incredibly reckless; high
longing for those days—I
know I never
wanna grow old; wanna
know how to die
Barb Edler
19 July 2021
I love to sing along with this Steppenwolf song! It is a wonderful source for your golden shovel poem. I love all the 60s allusions – the flying peace signs, psychedelic, kaleidoscope whorls, no boundaries. These words are especially poignant to me,
born
racing from parents born
in war to strict routine
You’ve captured the ‘feel’ of our/this generation…
and, wow, what an insightful open-ended ‘beg’ of a question at the end –
wanna
know how to die
Fantastic, Barb!
Barb — Aah, Steppenwolf…wild thang! I can just see Hopper, Fonda, and Nicholson … AND YOU ripping’ across the Badlands on choppers! Love it! You ‘easy rider” you! I just love that you selected this song, these lines. The ending line, though, brings it home to deep question …how do we die? Oh wow. Your descriptive lines of the young versus the parent generation…vastly different from our own. I love thinking about you as this “nature’s child.” Peace signs…time was ours…aahhh yes. I just let out a big ol’ long sigh. Great poem that really resonated for me. Thank you. Susie
We of a ‘certain age” recognize that rush of freedom and power you so beautifully shared…
time was ours; we
wasted no boundaries; were
free to breathe; born
racing from parents born
in war to strict routine; to
be silent—we were free to be
unseen; wickedly wild
what a glorious time of freedom and possibility it was. And now, here we are, facing the latter days of our world and our selves…
Barb, your poem is so clever. For me it feels especially earthy and wild. Rock on!
Again and again your poems startle me with their dead-on honesty an imagery. Thank you, friend.
Barb,
I love your inspiration. Your poem feels both like a questioning of the wild child and a celebration of it. Is there an answer to this wanting “to know how to die”? You have me thinking.
Thanks for this opportunity, Tracie. Today I wrote a Golden Shovel in honor of my good friend who passed away way too young from Multiple Myeloma. John was the life of the party. He loved to sing and perform to his favorite song, “Wagon Wheel.” The opening line from Charles Simic’s poem, “The Ballad of the Wheel” spoke to me. “So that’s what it’s like to be a wheel.”
For John
By Mo Daley 7-18-21
I can’t shake the image of your once laughing eyes, then so
wide with fear, “I have cancer, so that’s
that.” Wait! What?
“I’ll try everything. Anything. Stem cell transplants, but it’s
fast acting. And I’m in pain—like
serious pain.” We did what you wanted, no needed us to.
We stood by you, with you, near you, next to you, around you, and let you be.
We let you go gently into that good night, a
treasured friend who rolled over us like a wagon wheel.
Holy cow, Mo… what a tragic loss. The short lines each hit like a punch…so fitting for the rapid, cruel loss. I’m so sorry for this hurt, this loss. Loving hugs, Susie
Oh, Mo, I am so sorry you lost such a wonderful and treasured friend. I, too, love the song “Wagon Wheel”! I so enjoyed the way you worked that into your poem and Dylan’s poem. Hugs!
Oh, Mo, I am so sorry for your loss! This poem shares how painful this is for you. I have dear ones that love to sing to Wagon Wheel – so, I can almost see your friend with my own eyes! This line is especially touching:
We stood by you, with you, near you, next to you, around you, and let you be.
Oh, Mo. what beauty, what loss, what universal truths we share today. So that’s that…
Tracie,
Thank you so much for bringing the Golden Shovel back into our practice. It has unlimited application, so I appreciate revisiting it. I spent WAY too much time obsessing over what line to choose as my golden shovel.
As for your poem . . . what a beautiful tribute to your brother Brian! You focused in on the joyful things about him to hold onto.
For my golden shovel, I chose a line from the song Sunscreen by Ira Wolf. Here is a link to the song in case you haven’t heard it. It is a good one. Haunting in a way.
Finding the Light in the Grey
Searching and groping through the crevices to find the light,
Trying to avoid always looking down and instead seeking the sun, looking up.
Wishing that I wouldn’t let the
Neverending worries cast a shadow over the joy with too much focusing on the dark.
Traveling down the middle, afraid to take a side–
Hoping not to upset either extreme of
the pendulum’s swing or the grey of my
own confused, uncertain, wavering, see-both-sides-of-everything head.
~Susan Ahlbrand
19 July 2021
Susan, hmmmm, I really love how you show your perspective as though you are rock climbing which is perfect since the political stage is precarious and rocky. Love the active word choice throughout “searching”, “groping”, “wavering”…great stuff here! Your final words say it all!
I love the line you chose, with its juxtaposition of light and dark, and how you mold it so beautifully to grey…love the last words especially,
the grey of my
own confused, uncertain, wavering, see-both-sides-of-everything head.
Susan, I love the back and forth in this poem. You really do a nice job of showing what we want versus what we have.
Well of course I had to go and listen to the song and bawl my eyes out over that video! Gees! I can absolutely see that being my husband! : ) We ‘joke’ about who will go first and what that will be like for the one left. It’s a harsh reality. I love your adaptation of the words into your own meaningful work. This line in particular, “the grey of my / own confused…” because isn’t that the truth? Though such confusions rather than absolutes are perhaps a stronger sign of critical thinking when it comes to complex situations with no “answers.” Alas, recognizing, though, that we can get muddled n “Neverending worries” and indeed need to balance in more ‘sun seeking’ and ‘looking up.’ A good lesson in these lines.
Tracie, my apologies, I neglected to add that I am sorry for your loss. Your poem about your sweet brother left me in tears both happy and sad when I read it this morning. I stepped away for a few hours and came back to post and forgot to comment about your poem. I loved this even though it hurt. Thinking of how important it is to make memories TODAY with our loved ones especially:
Thankful that your darling brother is in eternal peace without suffering. ?
Tracie, your poem is so beautiful; I am so sorry for your loss. James Taylor’s words are so soft and prayerful here, the perfect accompaniment to every line of your gorgeous poem.
I love this little poem of Lucille Clifton’s, blessing of the boats:
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that
I used my favorite lines within for my golden shovel poem…had no idea I was going to write a love poem today!!
these words will tumble out as they may
as I try to write about you
I wonder, did I really believe in us at that first kiss?
or is this simply how a cloud recalls the
wind?
You were the soaking rain after years of drought, then
turn, turn, turn
it was and is now always us now and forever from
dawn ’til dusk and dusk ’til dawn and it
is certain and I am certain and we are certain
that
this was no tempest, it
was always in the stars and always will
be love
you’re
everything to me and I love you to the moon and back
A beautiful love poem it is! I have been in love with the same man for over fifty years. I believe it was always in the stars and for us it was the first kiss that told us. Thanks for reminding me.
Oh. This is so lovely. It was always in the stars…
Maureen, what an incredibly gorgeous loving poem! I especially enjoyed “this was no tempest, it/was always in the stars and always will/be love”….hmmmmmm…someone is very lucky!
Maureen! You romantic dawg you! 🙂 I totally enjoyed the “tumble” of love words. I loved the phrase “how a cloud recalls the/wind”… mmm. And I love Lucille Clifton’s poem as well. It is fun that a poem takes you into a deep, abiding love…a POEM does that…you did that. Sweet. Thank you. Susie
Maureen,
This is a beautiful tribute to your love. I love the repetition of “turn.” It makes me think of the Birds song snd Ecclesiastics.
No One
Is
Talking
About
How
the Word
Is
Passed
in The
Anthropocene;
This Fault,
An Easy
Alibi,
I
Say
can
and
Must
change
with
Planning
Powerful
Instruction.
_________________________
Thank you for this prompt today, Tracie! I’m so sorry for your loss. Your poem is a beautiful remembrance of your brother. Thank you.
In terms of your prompt, I think I sidestepped the Golden Shovel a bit and leaned toward a found, book-spine poetry thing. Lol. Aside from the added words — can change — all of these words are from the titles or subtitles of books that I’ve recently read (or reread as the case may be) this summer break.
No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood
How the Word Is Passed: A Reckoning with the History of Slavery Across America by Clint Smith
The Anthropocene Reviewed: Essays on a Human-Centered Planet by John Green
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
They Say / I Say: The Moves That Matter in Academic Writing with Readings by Gerald Graff, Cathy Birkenstein, and Russel Durst
“A” Is for Alibi by Sue Grafton
An Easy Death by Charlaine Harris
Planning Powerful Instruction, Grades 6-12: 7 Must-Make Moves to Transform How We Teach — and How Students Learn by Jeffrey D. Wilhelm, Rachel Bear, and Adam Fachler
Scott, I love how you found this poem. I had to look up anthropocene before I responded which added a whole new level of understanding for me. I was especially enamored by “This Fault,
An Easy
Alibi,”
I’ve read so many of the books on your list, and enjoy Wilhelm’s books, although I am going to have to check on the one you listed.
Hi Tracie!
So excited about today’s prompt and thank you for such an adorable poem using Twinkle, twinkle little star! It would be a great choice to teach my 5th graders how to write Golden Shovel poems. I am a big fan of Nikki Grimes and Golden Shovel poems. Today, I chose a line from Love From the Vortex, a book of poems by Yolanda Sealey-Ruiz. The poem I chose was “A Moment of Remembering What Liberation Feels Like” and I used this line for my poem: Who besides me can love you deeply.
I wrote a Golden Shovel and the second stanza is the reverse Golden Shovel with the words at the start instead of the end.
Self-Love (A silent conversation with my mom in Heaven)
I spoke to the mirror: “Whoa, who
are you becoming besides
an old, foldy, splotchy me?”
Wondering how my face once taut can
sink into itself yet still want love
and respect and care. You
said beauty lives in aging ever so deeply.
Who do I remind me of
Besides you, my grandmother and aunts?
Me! I am all of you and me, and I
can embrace the gifts of time and
love all that I become as
you would want for me, to love myself
deeply.
©Stacey L. Joy, July 19, 2021
Stacey, this is so precious!! I love the two stanzas, the mirroring of the lines – ending and beginning with the golden shovel words. There is no way these words describe you-
an old, foldy, splotchy me?
but they cracked me up, and just rolled off my tongue. Loved hearing that line aloud! I treasure this line, such reverence and love for all the dear women before you:
Me! I am all of you and me, and I
What a fantastic poem! Thank you!
I concur with Maureen as see your poem as a double tribute to your Mom for the woman you’ve become and to you, the clever poet who demonstrates a cool way to use the GOLDEN SHOVEL idea, flipping the words from end to the beginning in the second stanza. I think I’ll add this option when I use this poetic form in workshops.
Thanks for sharing the loving and making us love you even more.
Stacey, your silent conversation is wholly relatable. Love the focus on self love, and I adore “love all that I become as
you would want for me, to love myself
deeply. “
Brilliant and moving poem, and full of words of wisdom. Personally struggling with self love so thanks for sharing this today.
Oh, Stacey! I can always tell when a poem hits me in the all the feels because I get almost envious that it’s so good and that it captures more than I ever could. The genius way you set this up is so dang powerful–having the golden shovel end and then start. It naturally lends itself to seeing things from two sides.
I love the whole thing, but these lines stick out:
I love the way you mirror the mirror. In particular, “Who do I remind me of
Besides you” so beautifully reveals the mirror in which you see your mother in yourself.
One of my favorites is Blake’s “Tyger, Tyger.” I tried to use one of his lines to express part of the process of creating art.
Critique
Today is a beginning of I don’t know what
will happen to one not immortal
What can I make by using my hand
or
see and compose by using my eye
to create as if God, do I dare
and then to think so good as to honor and frame
only to compare to yours, to his, to hers and thy
creation. Yes, I am fearful
of a judgement without balance or symmetry.
Susan,
I love this! I admit that seeing you were using “Tyger, Tyger” I was hesitant–I know the poem and the language is, well, not exactly modern, but you knocked it out of the park! You both honor the tone of the original and create something entirely new. Your last line is wonderful:
“… Yes, I am fearful
of a judgement without balance or symmetry.”
Thank you for sharing!
Susan, what a cool line to weave into your poem about the creative process!! This line captures where I always seem to be at the beginning “Today is a beginning of I don’t know what”; I am spellbound by the line “to create as if God, do I dare” …
Yes, you SHOULD dare!!
Love this prompt, and love your poem. I’m anticipating my first trip to see my parents since COVID began, and when I heard Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World, I cried and knew I had to use it as my Golden Shovel. My dad, who loves this song, and embarrassingly busts out his Satchmo impression at the drop of a hat, was diagnosed this year with Parkinson’s.
I think to myself, what a wonderful world
After a year and a diagnoses since I
last saw you in person, it’s hard to think
about what it means to
not see a photo, but be there myself –
Nervous imagining what
shape you’ll be in – a
skinner, slower, brittler version of the wonderful
father, writer, savorer of the interior world.
Emily,
Thank you for sharing this moment and poem with us. I am sorry to hear of the Parkinson diagnosis. Your words hold onto the “interior world” that will always be wonderful in this way of father, writer, savorer. The dashes are especially poignant here.
Sarah
What a wonderful poem, wonderful song, wonderful words. The slower, brittle version… I hope the interior world sustains him…
Oh, Emily, I am so sorry that your dad is facing Parkinson’s. This moment of getting to see him in person, getting to feel that parental love with hugs and kisses…that is priceless. He’s is going to feel that wonderful world the minute you walk through the door…and so will you. I can just hear Louis A singing this iconic, touching song, and I will be thinking of your dad singing it in the living room. I crave your moment…any moment when I could be again in the presence of my mama and know her “interior world” better. Sending you hugs. When will you made the trek? Susie
Thanks, Susie!! Next month- I will send you a message when I’m back in MO!
Emily, my heart goes out to you and I hope that your visit surprises you with nothing but wonders and awe! I’m sure they’ll be so happy to spend time with you. Your poem is heart-felt and all the emotions you’re feeling come through. I love that song too and I believe you will experience a wonderful new world with your family.
?
Such a tender line this is – “skinner, slower, brittler version of the wonderful” – I hope you find your father in pretty good stead, all things considered. What an emotional reunion it will be! My own father passed from Parkinson’s during this pandemic – but, rest assured, he lived with the disease for many many years beforehand. May it be so for you, as well! Happy homecoming!!
Tracie, your poem is so profound. I am so very sorry for your loss. The poem is a beautiful tribute to your brother. Virtual hugs!
I love Golden Shovel poems! Thank you for the opportunity to use lines from one of my absolute favorite poems.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas
Years pass and no matter what you do
the time disappears into the nether. It is not
an unexpected result, but we do not go
through life hoping for a smooth and gentle
journey. Plans are made, written into
our minds with all the determination that
we can muster, but for all the good
that does us, for always, always the night
will come and doubts, dreads and detours rage
about our minds. There is no benefit to the rage,
for it will win in the end. We must not work against
the challenges, but with them, finessing the
angles, finding the new path past the dying
cries of disquiet in our heads. What can we make of
our own difficulties? Let it be something new that the
world has never seen. Bring yourself to light!
I’m learning the hard way that there is no benefit to rage. We must move forward through our challenges. Great use of this line!
Cara,
How beautiful that your poem is in literal and figurative conversation with Thomas as the words infuse this message of contrast as you write “finding the new path past” posing questions of what can :”make of/our own difficulties”? These are profound questions for me to ponder today and a call to imagine something “never seen.” Wow!
Sarah
Boom. Strong and potent. Bring yourself to the light!
I like the idea of “finessing the angles” of our challenges, and the inspiration to find newness and light in them!! I love how your poem echoes the theme of the beautifully chosen words. Thanks for sharing this lovely poem! You really incorporated the words so smoothly.
Oh, Cara, this hits me where I most needed it!
This past school year taught me how to trust in the midst of the hardest struggles! Your poem was meant for me to read and savor today. It’s a gift I appreciate and need!
This is such a thought-provoking poem! Love how you explore living. These words really resonated, “we do not go
through life hoping for a smooth and gentle
journey. “
Oh Cara, I do love the message of this poem. Reading it encouraged me. Especially not working against the challenges, but with them. These were needed word, thank you!
Cara, I can totally hear your voice through this poem. I started to notice that when I read your poem, I picture myself listening to you reading the poem. You, in this image are the teacher, bestowing wisdom upon me 🙂 This poem, like your other ones, taught me something. Thank you for writing today!
I am, in essence, a rule follower. So here is a REAL Golden Shovel poem…
In my little town
I grew up believing
God keeps his eye on us all
Paul Simon
The Class of 71, together again
We drew together, aging friends, fifty years behind us, in
our old dance pavilion by the lake—the one where we were young once, my
eye drawn to today’s slower, sedate dance—swirls of conversation, little
confidences, merging, drifting as we revisited who we once were in our small town.
As in the past, the lake drew some to its shore, to breathe in our former lives. I
inhaled memories, exhaled the joy of reunion. We grew up
here, some remaining, some fleeing small town reins, but always believing
we would return again, to reacquaint our innocence. God
knows, we have lost most of our innocence in this world of loss, of strife,
of growing older. Yet something or someone keeps
a small piece of simplicity in reserve, hidden away, a gift from the past, his
(or her) beacon to those of us who return to the nest. In the blink of an eye,
our respite was over. We said farewell, restored, until the next time.
Blessings on us all.
Gayle – what a lovely perspective on a gathering, or re-gathering here. I particularly liked the idea of a new, slower dance of conversation, and I also liked the reflection of the moment as reserving a piece of simplicity and innocence. You painted the picture so beautifully in a beginning, middle, and end! Well done!
Gayle, I love this: “We said farewell, restored, until the next time.” What a beautiful ode to reunions!
Gayle,
This beautiful poem could be on the program of all class reunions. You capture the essence of getting back together after many years and even the golden shovel is appropriate and fits in so seamlessly. (There is a dance pavilion by a lake in our town, too, so that part hits especially true to me.)
Tracie, thank you for today’s prompt and for your moving poem about your brother. Yes, the loss of a close loved one is unimaginable. You have poured out your love in this poem and shown us the beautiful qualities of your brother that you will treasure forever. Thank you for this. I love this song, too. What a perfect way to remember your brother by tying these memories to these lyrics.
Moonlight Memory
By Nancy White
“You know the night’s magic seems to whisper and hush”. —from Van Morrison “Moondance”
The waves were breaking softly that night on the beach when you said, “I love you”
and I said, “I know.”
And all the
day’s and night’s
longing became a moment of magic
that was almost surreal—it seems
I will never forget how it felt in your arms and to
hear the full moon’s whisper
to be still and
the receding seawater over the pebbles that said, “Hush.”
Nancy—you have created another beautiful song from one of my favorites…. “When you said “I love you” and I said “I know”. Beauty.
Wow, what a peaceful, magical moment you create with sounds and feelings washing over. Love the “receding seawater over the pebbles that said, “Hush””
I love this song, I love your tender love poem! I especially love that last line,
the receding seawater over the pebbles that said, “Hush.”
Tracie, after I got done wiping my eyes, then wiping a bit more, I reflected on the beauty of your love and your poem. Then I started my own, but misremembered the instructions, so I made another form, I guess… I was going to re-do it, but…
I recently visited by cousin, my best friend since I was 3 and she was 2, fading away from us with brain cancer. I had not seen her for a year, and I did not know who she was until she spoke. As I sat talking to her, Paul Simon’s “Old Friends” floated in the back of my mind.
Old Friends (Simon and Garfunkel)
Old friends, old friends
Sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes of the old friends
Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends
Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy
Old friends, memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears
Old Friends (a tarnished golden shovel?)
We have loved each other for 67 years, as cousins, but more important, friends…
I arrived the year before, awaiting your arrival. And now, our book…ends.
We hopscotched, sang songs, played cards on the grass.
We grew together, you and I, and kept each other on our toes
And I did not recognize you, my friend.
Until I heard your voice.
We knew boys and married men.
And now you approach your sunset.
Leaving me behind, the lonely branch of our loving tree
Today,
our paths diverge, so quietly.
Will we make it together to seventy?
My friend, our memories brush the same years…
And now begins our farewell, I fear.
I say goodbye, my dear.
Godspeed, my friend.
July 19, 2021
Oh, Gayle — geez, I’m here blubbering this loss and recognizing the “lonely branch of our loving tree.” You’ve written this with words that truly do justice to the years, the time, the tethered affection, and the heartbreaking loss. “…path diverge, so quietly…” captures so viscerally the reality of how the love of a lifelong friend slips through our fingers. I particularly felt the “old men/lost in their overcoats”… how we physically diminish as the overcoat might sit there on the bench without anyone inside. Beautiful language here. Poignant. I need another box of tissues… you let me walk right into the moment. Thank you for sharing this. Susie
Gayle, this is really beautiful.
“Leaving me behind, the lonely branch of our loving tree
Today,
our paths diverge, so quietly.” – this is heartbreaking and also resonates so strongly. Thanks for sharing, and lots of love to you and your cousin. She sounds like a wonderful companion.
Oh Gayle! Two poems today! This one – wow. Okay, you improvised on the golden shovel (you are an artist, isn’t this your right?) – I am heartbroken for you, and awed by your words. This is so sad and tender. These lines, especially, move me to tears –
And now you approach your sunset.
Leaving me behind, the lonely branch of our loving tree
Oh, Gayle . . . you created BOTH of these beauties today? Incredible. First of all, I absolutely LOVE this Simon and Garfunkel song. Tugs at the heartstrings. And what you have done with it . . . wow. The whole thing just makes me weepy, but the way you divide bookend is genius.
Oh, Gayle, I’m so sorry for your cousin’s brain cancer and that your long time friendship has to end. This line makes me cry:
“I arrived the year before, awaiting your arrival. And now, our book…ends.”
It has been a while since I wrote a Golden Shovel. I am enjoying playing with these different forms. Tracie, thank you for sharing your poem and love for your brother. I, too, used a line from a song that always moves me to tears as it is one my daughter performed a solo to while competing in dance. It is Adele’s “Make Feel My Love.” I keep hearing it. Perhaps it is a sign. My mom just gave me my grandmother’s ring, and I knew I wanted to write about it. I used the line “to make you feel my love.”
The Ring
The wide gold band with intricate swirls was made to
represent your family. A diamond and pink tourmaline make
the circle of love complete. Grandma, you
wore this on your swollen finger, and now I feel
honored to wear this on my
finger, which is now wrapped in your love.
Heather,
To others, it is a ring. To you it is Family. Love. Honor.
Your word choices (band, swirls, circle, complete, wrapped) support the circle shape of a ring and the circle shape of a family and the circle shape of passing on heirlooms.
Side note: I have a daughter who danced as well. There is no forgetting the imagery of our daughters performing in that art form. Those songs will always rewind us to those images, those moments.
Heather, you’ve captured all the feelings I have about my grandmother’s ring (I just started wearing it too). A ring evokes that circle of love that wraps around you as you nod to at the end as well as in the swirls of the band. Beautiful!
That is so beautiful, Heather. There is so much significance in this poem. There is so much felt history in wearing your grandmother’s ring. The line “wrapped in your love” makes me feel the strong sense of your grandmother’s presence. I love you you tied all these emotions to Adele’s stirring song.
heather—this is so…strong and loving and whole in its circle. I feel honored to read this…
Love this line from Adele! Really beautiful to see it within your poem about this precious heirloom. This line is especially lovely to me:
the circle of love complete. Grandma, you
I’ve been playing with calligraphy pens/styles using this quote, so I decided to use it for a golden shovel. I have no idea where the subject matter came from. It’s been almost 23 years since I had chemotherapy.
Chemotherapy
The needle slides easily into your vein and you TRUST
the nurse, the oncologist, THE
chemist who invented this MAGIC
concoction OF
whatever it takes to start over NEW,
to walk away from endings towards BEGINNINGS.
Mary Lee, this is the ultimate trust and faith in tomorrow – – to having new eyes and a new lease on life, to appreciating every moment and taking nothing for granted. I love your golden line, and I love the break between the old and the new.
Wow, Mary Lee — Trust the magic indeed! There’s real power in these lines…clear voice and belief in the “chemist”… you bet! Very calligraphy worthy!!! Susie
Mary Lee,
”I have no idea where this subject matter came from.” Isn’t it amazing what surfaces when we write?
”Whatever it takes to start over new” captures the desperate hope that cancer evokes.
I am so elated that it has been 23 years for you, Mary Lee!
It is amazing where a line of writing will take us. This is such a powerful connection and poem. Magic, yes. There is such hope here.
Wow. Powerful and succinct and hopeful, all in one bundle. Beginnings, indeed.
Mary, you may have written this poem for someone here who needs it today but you didn’t know that in advance. Sometimes our struggles come and go but our stories of strength and survival stay forever and are meant to be shared. I’m grateful you have been free of chemo for 23 years! That’s a huge blessing!
Thank God for helping us to “trust the magic of new beginnings,” no matter how they look at the onset.
?
The line I selected is from Mary Oliver’s poem, “The Sunflowers.”
No, they will not come.
In the night air the train rumbles with
regularity from across the valley, but not me.
My reasons, feelings, principals criss-cross circle back into
themselves and anchor me here. Go back inside the
house. Carry the food into the kitchen. (the fields
though bare, are full of
possibility). And on the table, in the vase, leave the sunflowers.
Emily, the anchoring of belonging is strong here in this poem – the changes can happen, but the essentials of life – food and flowers – stay the same. Mary Oliver is a favorite! And she would smile and wink on what you have done with her line!
If you could see me, Emily, you’d see my mouth agape at the end of your poem. “leave the sunflowers” allows so many interpretations, which is the best gift to give your readers..
Emily, I love how you’ve taken this image from Mary Oliver and made it an image of your own. I sense being grounded, strength in uncertainty, and a positive spirit. Just beautiful!
Ooh. Ooh. There is a huge, powerful story inside that last line. “And on the table, in the vase, leave the sunflowers.” Wow.
Emily,
This is a a sparse story that paints a picture. I see an Andrew Wyeth painting in my mind–you’ve created such wonderful visuals that it is just seen. Lovely, the last line is perfect, so wistful and full of suggestion.
Lovely, poem Emily. I feel Kansas in this poem. Your writing always intrigues me, and I just itch to know more because it is so good! I also believe you, Cara, and I will have to have a Mary Oliver fan club sometime, haha! 🙂 Thank you for writing this today!
Tracie, seeing you with the guitar and reading your poem about your brother encouraged me to write this poem as a tribute to our youngest son, Robert whose birthday is this month.
I
KNOW
WHY
THE
CAGED
BIRD
SINGS
Many mornings, when my husband opens the bedroom blinds, I
Wonder if the sky will glow blue or will it be grim and grey. I know
If I can see it, I’m blessed. But our son will not see it. Why?
Because he died. Yes, I cried and often I tried to hold on, but the
Grief enraged and some days made me feel en-caged.
But, then that flowery finch flies by. That glorious yellow bird!
Though Bob’s now gone, his spirit’s on wings. Knowing that, my heart just sings!
Tracie and you both have written such dear and touching poems this morning. I love that you brought us Maya A’s lovely line with the spirit of your beloved one. Thank you, Anna. Susie
I agree with Susie. Your poem and Tracie’s pair well, and what Tracie said is true about the comfort, healing, and catharsis that comes from writing poetry. Thank you both for sharing your hearts.
Anna, the hope in the yellow bird – – life that flutters on breezes beyond what we know here at this moment and the promise of seeing our loved ones again – – is strong in your poem! What a beautiful line to choose!
Anna,
Oh, where to begin with my response…
”Wonder if the sky will glow blue or it will be grim and grey” is exactly the gamble every day when you are grieving. You don’t know when you start the day which way it will go. How you will feel.
“I know if I can see it, I’m blessed” is what others want to tell you when you’re grieving. As if reminding you of the gift that you have that your deceased loved one no longer has makes it better.
Your shift at the end to look for the hopeful finch to serve as a reminder that Robert’s spirit is still living on in this world is a noble choice. A choice that is influencing me in my healing.
Again, poetry has powers that are unimaginable. I am grateful, Anna, that you choose to face an emotionally turbulent experience in an effort to connect with and help heal me.
Peace
This is a beautiful tribute to your son and words that provide hope to others. Thank you for sharing.
Anna—and again, the tears. What is it about Golden Shovel that touches our deepest parts? “Grief enraged and some days made me feel en-caged.” Oof. And then that golden bird…
I can’t imagine this kind of loss. I’m glad the yellow bird brings hope and peace.
Beautiful tribute! I think there’s a collection of poems on healing/grieving coming! You have captured the fluctuations of grieving through your poem. Thankful that now you have this gift to share:
Blessings, my friend!
Anna, bless you for sharing such a loving poem. Grief is debilitating and the uplifting emotion you share at the end is empowering. Tears!
Anna,
A beautiful tribute to your son. Your way of being able to see “his spirit’s on wings” helps me to look at loss differently.
ATT: A$$HATS’ TERMINAL TURPITUDE
Bills weighted with fees, more fees, higher fees, I CALL;
discounts expired, no more available, IS
there a reward to sticking with ATT, BEING
loyal? More channels dropped, my BP just RECORDED
another spike; stuck now with HSN, paid advertising FOR
televangelists, Swamp People… they call this programming QUALITY?
WiFi crawling in a web of snails, I wait with PURPOSE;
“the next available agent will be with you
in…(pause) one minute”;
I mumble, swearing this will be the final CALL;
mechanical voices, “go to the website”… there IS
no “loyalty department” on website! I’m BEING
tested here with infernal Musak looping, RECORDED
with humans not in mind, FOR
who waits this long to hear a human voice of compassion, QUALITY?
For any sane, aging woman, time lost on hold speaks evil PURPOSE!
“the next available agent will be with you
in…(pause) one minute”;
I’ve begun to talk back to Mr. Muzak — does he hear my CALL? —
hoping in the cellars of ATT just maybe there IS
some human BEING
who cares that I now have two hours & four minutes RECORDED
on their wait log FOR
an ATT minion left with any shred of service QUALITY
while I hope to reduce my damned bill: my whole morning’s PURPOSE,
“the next available agent will be with you
in…(pause) one minute.”
[Click.]
by Susie Morice, July 19, 2021©
So, so clever, Susie! The frustration and aggravation wound up in your stanzas (only to be interrupted by the briefest of hopes as “the next available agent” who won’t be with you in a minute sounds). I gave up on ATT long ago (used to joke that we were going to move just to get rid of them as they were the only option at our last house). And that final click. So good.
This is wonderful – talking back to Mr. Musak made me smile, and the frustration of a lack of a rational, compassionate human being is so spot on. All of the tricks to “amuse” and distract us while we’re trying to do a simple task is wild. And trying to cancel or sort out a bill? Forget it! Love the commentary on our system, and what exactly we’re paying for. Emotional resonance – yes!!
As I am reading your poem, I can hear my poor husband on the phone “discussing” a matter with the vet. Yesterday it was the insurance agent. The day before, it was a debit card service. The day before that was a delivery person. Tomorrow it will be someone else. It is never ending and infuriating and as Emily Cohn implied below…not rational nor compassionate!
Your kind ”For any sane, aging woman, time lost on hold speaks evil purpose!” truly puts it into perspective. The system is not okay. There is only so much time, and time spent on this nonsense is wasted!
Click indeed!
Susie, your poem so vividly personifies the frustration that most of us are learning to cope with during this second year of sequestration. Though we no longer may be required to say home, we end up being at home “on the phone,” awaiting a human to answer.
My eldest son worked for a while as the rep for a music tech company. I can “feel” both ends. Because I sometimes envision someone like him, on the other end, working from home or in a room full of others on the phone, I try to be more patient. The boarding school where he taught shut down, so my son was working as an online rep until….
Still…the frustration and wonder. Where’s the QUALITY?
Bravo, Susie!! The inimitable hell of on-hold misery! I will store this somewhere for my next “please hold” with that horrendous music. And I will think of you!
Susie, this is so funny! You’ve captured the frustration so well in this. And the “looping” “infernal” Muzak is, indeed, the worst! Pro Tip: if you’re just a little louder and, perhaps, a bit more vehement with your “mumble, swearing” — I’m talking full on shout-cursing a blue streak — you’ll get a live person on the line in no time…at least, I’ve…er…heard…that that…could help…
Dang! I am so frustrated for you! I don’t think customer service can get any worse, but your poem assures me it does. 2 hours and 4 minutes? Do they realize how many poems you could’ve written? Jeesh!
Now, as for how you crafted a Golden Shovel from something I NEVER would’ve thought to use is a reminder of just who Stupendous Susie is! And you didn’t just do one stanza! Wow, you’re something else, my friend! My favorite line:
Maybe try selecting another option other than billing and see if they’ll take you faster then maybe they’ll redirect you to the right line quickly. Sometimes I do that and say, “Oh this is tech support? I chose billing and this is where they directed my call.” LOL!
Love and hugs and don’t let those minions spike that BP!
Oh, Susie, gosh darn it! I’ve been there too many times to count and you brilliantly show the frustration of being left on hold for far too long. I had to laugh at the [Click.] at the end, but it also highlights the furious feelings of wasting precious time trying to resolve an issue. Ugh! Hope your day got better! Hugs, friend!
Susie, you are the master! I love this repetition of the same striking line – the tone and inner talk back to Mr. Muzak remind me of being on the brink of insanity like in the Cask of Amontillado – brick by brick…until the click!
The writing holds so much truth of inner thought as we wait….and wait…and then realize that the agent is not going to be with us shortly and there is going to be no “quality” purpose in our talk whatsoever when the voice on the other end answers in one minute and the best thing we can do is hang up. High five!!! I love this!
Susie,
I feel your pain. I recently had a wait time of over 20 hours w/ Delta. Fortunately, they call back! Your poem voices so much of my frustration in dealing w/ “customer unservice”
Oh, my gosh, Tracie! I would like you to know I’ve been having fun falling down a rabbit hole for almost three hours. LOL. I got up early to write…like 5 am and went to the prompt. The first thing to do…pick a favorite. I never have A/one/ just a favorite ANYTHING. So, one google search led to another and another and….three hours with the cat on my lap and me tapping away. It was wonderful. Thank you for that…AND today’s prompt.
Today’s Poem Wakes
early
cradling clouds like morning
singing
with a joy of first bird’s first song
Linda,
The simplicity of your poem echoes the sheer joy bursting from the heart of the singing bird. There are mornings like this when I sit and listen. One afternoon about a month ago, I heard a screech and saw a fluttering of feathers around the corner of the house. I thought a bird had hit the porch screen and stunned himself. Upon further inspection, I found a hawk had caught a small bird, as another bird sat on a fence and watched the hawk feasting on its loved bird…. I wondered: mother teaching baby to fly? spouse on a lunch date? And I wonder reading this now – – was the surviving bird’s song silenced for a time, or was the joy there despite the horror? You’ve made me think with this one.
Linda, you have turned minimal words into art. And I can see you throughout this – waking early, savoring the morning (is there anything more beautiful than your phrasing for “cradling clouds like morning”), the tapping as the singing. It’s a true live in the moment piece.
HA! Knowing you, your three hours resulted in notebook nuggets that will find their way into many poems in the future!
I am stealing your expression “notebook nuggets” for sure!
The early bird gets the ‘worm’, right Linda? I love picturing you this morning working through this prompt in the stillness of your home with that the birds as your muses!
Sidenote, I am ALWAYS the annoying person who can never play the game of “what is your favorite ______.”
Linda, the simple words are simply beautiful! Thanks for reminding us that even amidst the clouds, the birds sing. Maybe we should, too! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallaaaay lu jaaaah!
Hey, what can I say? This is what your poem evoked from me today! 🙂
I wish I’d written that! So simple, so joyful, so lovely.
Love this for its simplicity and joy. “cradling clouds like morning” is a great line!
WOw, Linda! So beautiful. Today’s Poem…I recognize that. I love the three-hour adventure you were able to have. Thank you, Summer! Your poem is delicious.
For me, the Golden Shovel form is a way to honor a line of poetry that I love, to put it into the light and turn it around to find something new. Your prompt is great to use with kids, so easily accessible “Twinkle, Twinkle”. I am so sorry for the loss of your brother. Your first line is gut wrenching, “The doctor said there was nothing more he could do…”
I wrote an Ars Poetica with a line from J. D. McClatchy “Love is the quality of attention we pay to things.”
Casting a Poem
for Mary Lee
“Love is the quality of attention we pay to things.” J. D. McClatchy
Capturing your Love
in a poem is
impossible: casting the
line of quality,
lines worthy of
attention
ripple as we
bargain with a word here, word there, and pay
homage to
mundane things.
Margaret, that word bargaining, such a writer’s chore, however much we love it. It frequently feels impossible. But it is in that process that we show our love as you so beautifully show us.
from impossible to bargaining….love the action in this. Great golden shovel!
Margaret, I am captivated with your chosen line and the way you crafted your own thoughts around it. It certainly makes me consider the irony of how those I love most often get the least of me when I come in from a tiring work day – – and the importance of finding the time to give quality attention……what a lovely way to rearrange my thinking on ways to do exactly this to love more and deepen the quality!
I love the words “rippling” as “we bargain with a word here, word there” – it speaks to how difficult it is to communicate that feeling of love, but also continues the movement you created in this dynamic poem – capturing, casting, rippling, bargaining – I really enjoyed this!
Hey! I recognize this poem!! (Do you have enough Ars Poetica for a collection yet?) 🙂
I cheated somewhat by posting this poem I already sent to you, but it was one of those mornings.
Margaret,
Thank you for acknowledging my pain. I appreciate your empathy.
Oof! This one is speaking to me. I may overuse the word “love”. Even when I am responding to these poems, I hear myself saying it over and over. My God, woman. Get a grip. Find a new word.
But, should I?
Are there really any such things as “mundane things”?
This is a fun one to ruminate over!
The homage to mundane things… i need to store that phrase away for future thoughts…
Margaret, such a beautiful image of fishing and a gift for Mary Lee. My favorite for what poems can do is “pay / homage to / mundane things.
Thank you so much, Tracie, for investing in us as writers today. I do love the golden shovel form! I am so sorry about your sister. Your golden shovel line seems to offer hope in the midst of something that is painful and overwhelming. My heart goes out to you as you grieve your loss!
I took four lines from yesterday’s poets (Margaret Simon, Jennifer Jowett, Allison Berryhill, and Susie Morice) to arrange them vertically and wrote a quadruple today. I have a link to a previous time I attempted this as well, with directions on how I like to vary the golden shovel form:
https://youtu.be/XEKR5pYlLl0
The Golden Rule Witching Wand
you giggled from morning sun to stars at twilight
could our connecting heart threads make us wish for more soul tickling?
trust the heart, once we know one’s worrisome shadows!
me? I have lost fear over circumstances I stretched
to summits, walked unscathed far away and shall long
keep laughter from becoming tears. Will I allow the
a in (a) (one) (me) (I) to lead the change? the optimistic
thing about kinship stitchery is it likeness to golden rule witching
alive to truth, we toss aside the madness and wave the healing wand
Holy Smokes! I just watched your video…what a crazy fun challenge! Thanks for introducing it to me and how cool that you have a super short instruction video. It’s simple but makes me want to try all the challenges. Wow!
I am in love with “the optimistic thing about stitchery is (it’s) likeness to golden rule witching”
OK, I now have a new game to play! Woot!
Holy cow, Kim! You went wild here…and I love it. Honored that you borrowed words and did so much with these images. I love the strong voice in this…(“I stretched/ to summits…” and “lead the change”…(high 5ing right now) … the sense of control and open heart. Whoo! Love “kinship stitchery.” Your poem has an air of almost dancing…that feels good! Thank you. Susie
Just…wow. You really set the bar high, but like Linda, I’m up for the challenge and can’t wait to try doubles, triples, and quadruples. Avis Harley does these with acrostics. Time to play!
Kim,
Thank you for your kind words.
Wow! To forgive is divine or something like that?
What a liberating gift to yourself “to toss aside the madness and wave the healing wand”!
If only it were that easy, or is it?
Kim, You make the words dance today. I love the idea of soul tickling – if only we were constantly immersed in that magical idea. It’s delightful to find pieces of me (words) scattered in your words. “Kinship stitchery” is just yummy!
Wowza! What an honor to have a line chosen and then how you’ve brilliantly woven them into this new quilt of a poem. Kinship stitchery, golden rule witching, healing wand. Love this!
Kim, I love your take on the “Golden Shovel” poem. I love how you used other writer’s poetry from yesterday. My favorite line is “could our connecting heart threads make us wish for more soul tickling? ” because it reminds me of this wonderful group of writers, making connections and virtually supporting each other through the poetry and experiences shared. Outstanding poem! Thank you for sharing your youtube video, too! Awesome!
Kim,
To echo those who have responded before me, HOLY SMOKES! That video . . .
You are a wonderful teacher and an incredible poet.
Wow, Kim! I’m so glad I came back. That is amazing. Congrats on this quadruple golden shovel. That is quite a feat!
There are so many beautiful lines, fur I really like these today:
So many great possibilities with this prompt, Tracie – no wonder it’s such a favorite! I like your sample instructions using Twinkle Twinkle – accessible. And your own poem resonates with me, having just lost a colleague/friend this past week. Oddly enough, I had been obsessing on Yusuf / Cat Steven’s song “Oh Very Young.” I find now that songs I used to mindlessly sing at the top of my lungs as a youth have meanings I never fully understood, or just understood differently. How wonderful to be able to explore and appreciate them over time. Still fun to sing out loud (but as you note, not so easy to do without crying sometimes).
The older we grow the more loss and
sorrow we must suffer. It is the
scourge of heredity and health that goodbye
becomes our burden & each makes
us more aware of our own time left, the
preciousness of each breath, each journey
each friendship. The more beautiful, the harder
it is to let go, to cherishing memories, & celebrating still.
Denise, I am struck by how you bring emphasis to simple words (still – and the celebration of that, for example). “Goodbye becomes our burden” – wow, what a thought and what a weight. And such truth in “the more beautiful, the harder it is to let go.” Thank you for these words.
A wonderful golden shovel. “goodbye becomes our burden” Ooof. I’m really feeling that lately. But, I’m also feeling the celebration too. It’s that intense bitter sweet. Thank you.
Denise, this packs a punch today and goes straight to my heart. Over the Memorial Day weekend, my hairdresser died suddenly of cardiac arrest that may have stemmed from knee surgery. She was two years older than I, and had a husband, two married sons with spouses, and three grandchildren – plus a dog that was her pride and joy. Her death was a powerful reminder to seize the day, and I find that right here in your words today:
& each makes
us more aware of our own time left
I also hear it in Denise’s poem – – the preparation for life beyond this one, and knowing that when we leave those we love, they carry on knowing that they will see us again! Thank you for this beautiful reminder to love every breath.
Boy, these poems today are bringing out a lot of emotions in me. “The preciousness of each breath, each journey” seems to be in my thoughts as I spend time with aging family, with my children starting out on their own lives, and friends who are struggling with illness. I am working hard to live in the moment and grasp opportunities to spend time with loved ones.
Denise,
I am so sorry about your loss. I wish you well as you grieve and heal.
Deep respect for your word choices since they elect such strong reactions for me.: scourge, goodbye, burden, preciousness, journey, cherishing…
”The more beautiful, the harder it is to let go, to cherishing memories, & celebrating still.”
This line reiterates my newfound pride in the human spirit. Despite knowing how much pain love and life will bring, we still love and live.
Denise—yes and yeas and yes. Still…
Thank you, Denise. The poem is beautiful and really expresses the feeling I have had this week. We have said goodbye to a cousin (COVID) and was talking to her mother about this sorrow. One that grows as we get older and see more, yet we also grow stronger. I agree that goodbye becomes the burden and makes us more aware of our own journey.
Tracie, your words moved me greatly.This particularly resonated with me – “I am struggling to close the option of making more memories with you.” And that last line (oh,). You have filled my heart and my sight with your brother. What a way to honor him.
Finding Meteors
It all begins with one word: the
Which starts every beginning
The heavens, the earth, the waters: our soundtrack
Threading through the chambers of our heart: all for
I becoming we, my becoming our
Thinking this would last ’til the last
Where meteors and raindrops join: our meeting
(Golden Shovel line from Margaret Rhee’s The Year Before I Left for Mars)
Jennifer — I just read this poem on the Poets.org website this morning…kindred spirits here! Love that! I love a “soundtrack/threading through the chambers of our heart”… that’s beautiful! The whole poem is elegant! Woooo! Thank you. Susie
Jennifer, Thank you for your kind words.
What a simple observation that rings so powerfully true. “It all begins with one word: the”!
There is nothing simple about “I becoming we, my becoming our”. Having just celebrated my 28- year wedding anniversary, I have been reflecting on this! LOL
”Thinking this would last ‘til the last” is still the dream, though!
Touchingly composed!
Such a lovely ode to relationship. “I becoming we becoming our.”
Jennifer, such beautiful language you have chosen. And your punctuation is spot on and helpful. I love the image of meteors and raindrops meeting. The emphasis on the word “the” is thought-provoking.
This line is truly lovely:
“I becoming we, my becoming our”
the drone was once a scrap of metal (“the drone” by Clint Smith)
innovation imagines the
new ways of doing maybe drone
-ing on & on rethinking what was
absent, broken, in need once
something forgotten, inert–a
fragment resting in fissure, a scrap
of refuse, reused in new hands of
hate, it is no longer just metal
That last line — which maybe somewhat or not somewhat inadvertently connects ‘hate’ to ‘metal’ — resonates with me as reader.
Kevin
Wow, Sarah! I did not know the originating poem, and it’s a doozy. I could see using that poem as a mentor poem for that good ol’ standard “Write from the perspective of an inanimate object,” and expanding that to technology. Your Golden Shovel retains some of the sentiment of that originating work. I was awed by the line break “drone -ing” – which is both brilliant and playful in the sense that it feels longer having been broken over the line, creating its own unique onomatopoeia.
Sarah, as I spend summer finding as many creative spaces as possible, this reminds me that fragments and scraps are not always turned into objects of peace and love. I so wish we could find ways to celebrate out of love. Powerful piece here today.
oh, my goodness…that punch at the end. In just a few words you’ve taken me on a journey and I feel the heaviness of it in that last word.
Sarah, the beauty of refuse reimagined and repurposed, renewed in its life – – that’s beautiful imagery, and I love the Clint Smith line! I’m reading Counting Descent as part of Penny’s summer book club (slowly, and savoring it!).
Ooo, Sarah, there is a lot going on in this poem. The transformations of one thing to another at first sounds marvelous, inventive… and then, “in new hands of/hate…” it turns into wickedness. It is such a lesson in unintended consequences…oooo. Powerful piece here! And you did this so early and in so few words. Dang…I keep thinking how important it is to measure words more carefully…yet, I still keep falling into the “wordy” pit. I love that your poems remind me to measure carefully. Thank you. Susie
What’s that expression? See a need, fill a need?
Unfortunately, human need is not always kind.
How clever of you to ponder this concept for today’s prompt! It’s got me looking at all objects differently.
Thank you, Tracie. What a beautiful poem you wrote about Brian. It was lovely and he sounds so special. This thought especially touched me today: “I am struggling to close
the option of making more memories with you.” I’ve been spending time listening to James Taylor since I read your prompt, and I chose my striking line from the same song. “You can sing the song when I’m gone.”
My sweet daughters, you
have grown into beautiful women who can
join God to sing
justice over the
brokenness. Singing a new song
to fight injustice for Earth and her children. When
you are old and have left the world better, I’m
going to smile from the long gone.
struck by this:
… to sing
justice over the
brokenness …
Kevin
Me, too. Justice over the brokenness is profound.
Denise, your words bring together mothers fighting injustice for their own children while teaching their children to sing “a new song to fight injustice” and the cycle of strength and hope that offers. I love this line: “I’m going to smile from the long gone.” Beautiful imagery!
“from the long gone” is beautiful and a great title for something in your future!
Denise, this is exactly how I imagine the angels singing in heaven right at this moment:
who can
join God to sing
justice over the
brokenness.
That’s beautiful….a harmonic choir singing the accords of justice and love!
Denise,
Sound like you have daughters who will be making change. I love it! You go, girls!
I also have a daughter who prioritizes social justice. Though it makes me proud, it also makes me afraid. She has encountered pressures from all ages groups to stifle her thoughts in several ugly and painful forms.
“When you are old, and have left the world better, I’m going to smile from the long gone”. I believe I will feel this way about her crusades in the future which helps me survive today.
—to smile from the long gone. What a wonderful, peaceful line. Thank you1
Listening to your blue notes, embedded –
on the record, for this record –
I’m spinning vinyl, turning on tabletop needles,
your voice, accompaniment, is always singing in
ink, sound and paint,
for when your ghost notes glide across on
ear, I remember to riff across paper
— with line taken from Jazz Fan Looks Back by Jayne Cortez https://poets.org/poem/jazz-fan-looks-back
Kevin,
The first line brought me back to my home town, Chicago, and this great jazz club The Blue Note.This is a beautiful imagining of jazz in the “ink, sound and paint” as “ghost notes glide…across paper.” So many vivid images here that make alive the riff of jazz.
Peace,
Sarah
I was definitely referencing Blue Note and blue notes and beyond … Appreciate the comments.
Kevin
Kevin I love every word of your poem. I especially love, “your voice, accompaniment is always singing in ink, sound and paint. I love the way you are able to connect painting a picture through the magic of voice, sound, painting a picture, or writing [a poem]. So well done!
Thank you, Judi.
I was working on rhythm, too, but not sure I got the syncopated beat I was hoping for in all the lines …
Kevin
Love “ghost notes” and how they help the writer write.
Kevin,
I love the ghost notes and the concept that “your voice, accompaniment, is always singing in
ink”
I’ve always thought I think best in ink…..maybe that’s my answer to why I can’t actually sing is that I’m supposed to do it ONLY in ink :).
Kevin — this is a sensory bonanza. The striking line is rich to start with and then you give it even more depth…I can feel that needle in the vinyl, mining the sounds. And the “riff across paper” is so auditory and tactile at the same time. Mmm. This musicality and the visual “paint”… oh man, wonderful. Thank you. Susie
Artist supporting artists!
I am convinced we are what we eat. We are what we read. But no doubt, we are what we hear too!
”for when your ghost notes glide across on ear, I remember to riff across paper” reminds me that we never know to whom we will serve as a muse and that art can live on forever.
Kevin—I can hear the music in the background… I remember to riff across paper. Wow.
Kevin, I love the musicality you bring to your poetry. I always learn something new from you. I love so much this:
“your voice, accompaniment, is always singing in / ink, sound and paint”