Our #OpenWrite Hosts
Mo Daley and Tracie McCormick have been friends since they both taught at the same Oak Forest, IL middle school in 1995. Mo holds master’s degrees in English and reading specialist and works as a middle school reading specialist in Homewood, IL. She keeps busy with reading and writing, her ever-expanding family, and love of Little Free Libraries. Follow her on Twitter at @ofdaleys. Tracie 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.
Inspiration
The ghazal is a Persian poem that is a chain of between 5-15 couplets which can be read as independent poems with a refrain of 1-3 words that repeat. In the traditional form, the word before the refrain would rhyme in each following couplet.The refrain is repeated in the second line of each couplet. Each couplet should be about the same length. Topics often include loss,religion, longing, or romantic love. You can find examples at Poets.org .
Process
The ghazal has so many poetic constraints. Push yourself to see which or how many you would like to try today. Pick and choose the aspects that appeal to you today.
Mo’s Poem
A walk in the park, watching for birds,
Reveling in the laughter, the play, again.
My eyes watering as the early morning sun
Fills my heart with the promise of a new day, again.
The inviting aroma of warm banana bread calling
More! you plead, and Please give me more, you say, again.
My full heart skipping a beat, or maybe even two,
As you snuggle me, book like a bouquet, again.
I know the solitude is necessary, yet unbearable,
Yet all I think is I want to see you without delay, again.
Your Turn
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
An Oral History: COVID-19 Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance
Did you write poetry during the first days of COVID-19 school closings? Would you like to be interview for our oral history project? Click here to learn more.
We eagerly prepare for you in April,
after talking about you often throughout the winter
You bring us hope, delight, and leave us amazed
Warm thoughts that keep us going throughout the winter
Once you arrived, an uninvited guest was already here
We never imagined this guest’s arrival throughout the winter
But still, the time is now to enjoy your presence
One can only hope you will visit throughout the winter
Reality kicks in, you are there when least expected
Where do you go, and what do you do throughout the winter?
You are still learning, you are still building
Building a home, building your trust in us, throughout the winter
Your hues fasten my focal point
Your grace keeps me mesmerized throughout the winter
You will continue to visit, you will continue to enjoy
the gifts I shower you with, do not forget througout the winter
Do not forget, do not doubt, I am your home
do not forget throughout the winter.
Pandemic days drone on each
Nearing the sameness of the one before as loneliness crept in
“The numbers” increase exponentially
Here (not there) because masks, social distancing, controversy crept in
The everyday tasks take mental capacity
Nothing is spontaneous, “Do you have your mask?” is the question that crept in
Online school, Zoom to meet your grandchild
Shortages, COVID drive-up testing…common language that crept in
Denial about the disparities of people who are
Impacted the most as demand for reopening crept in
How many lives? What will it take? Have you done your part?
Are you listening? The thoughts that crept in
Pandemic days drone on.
Mo and Tracie,
I love pushing my thoughts against the constraints of structured poems, so I am gobbling up your prompts! I was not familiar with the ghazal form, so I did some reading before I tried mine tonight. According to Poetryfoundation.org, the final couplet often includes a proper noun, usually the author’s. (That’s why my name shows up at the end!) Thank you for stimulating my poet brain this week!
Ghazal 2020
The teacher I once was is lost I fear;
She cannot pay the heavy cost I fear.
As swirling storm of COVID rages on,
Her ship of schools is tempest-tossed I fear.
And weighted by the millstone ’round her neck
She’s drowning in the unknown wash I fear.
Her name once signaled learning, books, and joy,
But now on silent tomb embossed I fear.
Ms. Berryhill now curls against the wind–
The discontent of winter frost she fears.
Allison, I feel your fear deep in my bones. I am not this online teacher. I don’t do it well. Am a wreck at who I will be in August. For some reason your poem reminds me of Jamie Cullum’s “Lost at Sea.” It’s a beautiful song.
Alison, I too had read about ghazals and noticed that sweet touch of using the poet’s name in the last stanza. I didn’t try it, but I’m not surprised that you did. From the title of your poem to the concern about what winter will bring, this poem is chilling and powerful.
Oh, my! You continue to be one of my favorite poets, and “Ghazal 2020” is the most recent example of why. Thank you for expressing these deep thoughts and putting them into our hearts, as your readers.
Oh, MO, when you are doing what you love with someone you love, you never want it to end!
You made me FEEL this so many times especially in this line,”My full heart skipping a beat, or maybe even two,”
Love You Forever
The orchid unfurls its petals, white clouds with glinting drops of sun
a sweet reminder of you today, love you forever
The song “Unforgettable” — no truer words to describe you who bore me
I strain to hear your voice rippling my way, love you forever
Azure blue sky greets blue-green lake and white sails are miniscule kites in the sky
I imagine your soul free sailing in the cool lake spray, love you forever
A warm summer rain with muted beat, I catch you dancing between droplets,
palms up to the sky, rain kissing your face under rainbow rays, love you forever
In the expanse of night, I search for streaks of light burning through the sky
I scout for signs of you everyday, love you forever
and you made me cry. “ I imagine your soul free sailing in the cool lake spray, love you forever”— one of the beautiful heart-felt images in this poem. Wow
Such beautiful images for a beautiful soul! This is deeply moving.
Oh, Tamara, your poem’s concluding line, “I scout for signs of you everyday, love you forever” just crushed me!
The silver heirloom bracelet with its perfidious clasp
Silently and unseen slips away, gone forever.
Two friends, opposing checkers on a checkerboard
Moving further apart in the midst of play, gone forever.
Nonsense words like “apotay” from him who was a toddler
Seems like only yesterday, gone forever.
A kindred spirit whose deeds or misdeeds kept me up at night
Only to die at a sadistic author’s say, gone forever.
Time spent writing, erasing, writing, scratching out, typing, deleting
A few words in verse. What is a ghazal, anyway? Gone forever.
Katrina, you really seemed to relish the melancholy aspect of the ghazal, right up to the end when you really made me smile. That perfidious clasp is my favorite image.
Katrina — I love the way you capture the bitter-sweet moments of life. Love the image of the “silver heirloom bracelet with its perfidious clasp”.
I needed the smile at the end! So many wonderfully melancholy couplets, then a zinger! Thanks for that!
Great refrain….and, you did it! Wow. I love the image of the silver heirloom bracelet.
Katrina,
These lines made me feel such kinship with you. All readers know this experience!
“A kindred spirit whose deeds or misdeeds kept me up at night
Only to die at a sadistic author’s say, gone forever.”
Who I Am
I am succinct
That’s what they say
That’s just who I am
I’m quirky too
I like to play
That’s just who I am
An introvert through and through
Please don’t extend your stay
That’s just who I am
It’s easy for me to compromise
When I get my way
That’s just who I am
I really hate to be ignored
So answer soon; don’t delay
That’s just who I am
I can also be lots of fun
But only on a good day
That’s just who I am
Now you know a bit about me
It’s time to go away
That’s just who I am
Thanks for the insight on who you are, Sharon! I love that it’s easy for you to compromise when you get your way. I suspect my husband would say the same thing about me. I also like your short, succinct lines.
I ‘m an introvert through and through/please don’t extend your stay –this made me laugh out loud. I am married to an introvert and he would say the same thing. Love the authenticity of this poem. It was fun to read and to get to know you.
“An introvert through and through
Please don’t extend your stay
That’s just who I am”
Hahahahahah! Relatable!
You make no apologies. “That’s just who I am”.
Love it!
Breathe
The words hung burning between us — felt them seethe —
they pulsed, yet mute; I could not breathe.
The air grows thick, like frayed, wearied wool around the drain;
nights run into days run into nights, yet here I live and breathe.
The finch needs not reminders to take flight, to lift wings,
as if a lesson — no need to prompt “remember to breathe.”
All my years are guided by examples, showing me how
to be, to notice, to feel, to live the stories that we breathe.
News pumps from every media orifice, spewing
a gushing mucous, coating the walls. Just breathe.
A wild orchid in northern bogs lives underground, protected for years
till she safely pushes up and through, lifting her tender head to breathe.
by Susie Morice©
“frayed, wearied wool around the drain”—best (depressing) line.
But may we all keep just that little bit of wild orchid in the bog, waiting to emerge again. I cannot wait to breathe…
So many thoughts about breathing and freedom these days. I love the connections to nature and “no need to prompt “remember to breath””. We all want to survive, and when it feels threatened, that reminder to breathe is so needed. Thanks for sharing this!
I’m so glad you chose to end this poem with such a beautiful image, Susie. It was a relief because the heaviness of your words actually made me hold my breath as I read. You have really created a sense of atmosphere in this poem.
Inhaling this poem, exhaling gratefully to say, “You are a breath of fresh air!”
The end is a necessary reminder but it’s stated in a way that feels like a hug from nature.
“A wild orchid in northern bogs lives underground, protected for years
till she safely pushes up and through, lifting her tender head to breathe.”
What a wonderful poem, one to keep for times such as these.
Thank you Susie?
I love the refrain in your poem . The reminder to “breathe” is so relevant today. Your final stanza leaves us with a sense of hope as the orchid pushes to the surface. I love this image. It really touches me as I have an orchid in my window which blooms every year and reminds me of my mother.
such beautiful, incredible imagery in this poem….the words burning between us, stories we breathe, that wild orchid waiting until it’s safe. All wows.
Susie, your poem highlights how humans manage to complicate everything!
Finches and orchids don’t do this!
The finch needs not reminders to take flight, to lift wings,
as if a lesson — no need to prompt “remember to breathe.”
A wild orchid in northern bogs lives underground, protected for years
till she safely pushes up and through, lifting her tender head to breathe.
More Gentle
I beat myself up for not being flexible, skipped stretches,
A click in my vertebrae as I bend. I should be more gentle.
A moth zips around, I start swinging my pajama pants to stop it from landing on my effing face while I effing sleep EW EW
EW! I could be more gentle.
A friend relates her daughter’s first heartbreak
I’m impressed – he could not have been more gentle.
I lose patience on the phone with Mom as she repeats
All the stories. I want to be more gentle.
That kid will slump in their seat and snarl –
This SUCKS! We must be more gentle
It’s somewhere inside of me (of us)
To be more gentle.
Emily — Your poem reads gently… that gentle reminder to be gentle. That feels so right…almost a wistful tone…like someone is whispering “be gentle, be gentle, be gentle.” Quite beautiful! I laughed at the moth…and even the moth is a gentle image. Not the thrashing at it, but the moth is. LOL! I am going to try to take your poem to heart…I need a good dose of learning to be more gentle. The good thing, it seems, is that the older I get the more this matters, this business of becoming more gentle. Thank you for a lovely poem! Susie
I, too, want to be more gentle. Your phrasing and your words are calming—and I laughed out loud at the moth and the effing face while you effing sleep!!! The contrast is real—the desired and the realities. LOVED this!!!
Emily, you captured and made the poetic form work to your words’ advantage. Each of the couplets is perfect on its own, and they work beautifully together.
This is lovely, Emily. Every bit of it. I adore the tenderness you show when Mom repeats stories. Obviously, the moth stanza is my favorite. PJ pants swirling in the air- now that’s poetry!
Emily, your poem gives me a sense of grace while also reminding me to be more gentle. The repeating stories from your mom, that’s what I’m experiencing with my aunt. My mom did it too and I could tell her, but my aunt, a whole different situation. LOL. I love the moth and the pajama pants. It’s quite a funny visual.
Thank you for sharing something of your that I definitely need. ♥️
Love the theme of this poem. It is a great reminder that even when we are at our wits end, we need to be more gentle. Love the image of the moth by the way. Laughed out loud with that one.
Emily,
I have heard people use the word “grace” to describe the elusive characteristic you are chasing.
I think I prefer you labeling it “gentle” instead.
I appreciate that you have chosen to open your poem with the desire to be gentle on yourself. Extending it to others must start with you, right?
I draw scribbled self portraits to start my day
It doesn’t look too much like my face, but hey, it’s a start!
I stare at the cursor blinking on my laptop screen
I don’t know if I’ll keep this first uppercase, but hey, it’s a start!
It’s been one week since I even thought about work
Took me three whole hours to find my place, but hey, it’s a start!
Writing emails and poems with extraneous thoughts
Now there are so many words to erase, but hey, it’s a start!
Now where did I save those darn lesson plans?
Spending time on steps I shouldn’t need to retrace, but hey, it’s a start!
Love your refrain… very relatable and optimistic. Sounds like good self-talk.
Alex!
Will you consider adding your voice to our oral history project?http://www.ethicalela.com/oral-history-project/
Sarah
Alex — These little admonitions are priceless. I was laughing all the way through as every one of them struck a chord. That universality (losing lesson plans, fumbling around with words in poems, staring at the cursor (HA!), thinking long before every taking one step in the act of doing….sooooo real! I am also smitten by the idea that you are sketching your own face! WHOA! That is downright radical! I love that… I want to see that! This was fun! Thanks, Susie
Alex, your refrain seems to give you and us, the readers, permission to give ourselves a break. Many of us need that reminder lately! Your last line is my favorite. Too often we are retracing our steps when we shouldn’t have to.
I was just watching a Kelly Gallagher video in which he discussed the value of just starting. Sometimes a start is a cause for celebration.
Alex,
Dang! You captured how scattered I have felt since March!
Acknowledging the problem is the first step, right??
“hey, it’s a start!”
Black Skin
Standing in the mirror where age confronts memory
Beauty hides deep within the stories of my skin
Sunscreens and night creams slathered with care
Melanin needs help to protect a woman’s brown skin
Finding shades of caramel without greens and yellows
In makeup never mixed for the depth of Black skin
Shea butter and coconut oil line her shelves
Natural soothing salves bear the moisture of Mama’s skin
Draped in hip-hugging dresses and snugging pants
Captivate eyes in the rhythm of sisters’ skin
Paintings on my wall call my ancestors in
Dripping their blue-black and coal-black African skin
Tender caresses to calm our silent grieving
Born from the resilience inside beaten skin
Pure cotton sheets cradle my worn tired soul
Where I sleep and remember God is
the skin I’m in.
©Stacey L. Joy, July 20, 2020
Fantastic! So many concrete images to latch on to. Thank you for sharing your perspective through this poem!
Stacey – your last lines are a beautiful wrap-up to the poem. I like how you mix concrete images with abstract ideas like “Shea butter and coconut oil line her shelves / Natural soothing salves beat the moisture of Mama’s skin”. There’s a lot going on in here – gorgeous.
That last line! “Where I sleep and remember God is the skin I’m in.” It made me shiver. (in a good way!)
This is beautiful! The repetitive ‘s’ sounds are soothing and soulful. Your use of consonance begs this to be read aloud.
Oh, my friend, Stacey Joy. You have made the ghazal serve your words, the form wears your subject of skin in such a way that makes me see and feel and hold dear our skin, the skin we are born with, that wears us, that we wear. I love this image of paintings dripping and silent grieving when it is beaten. So appreciate this perspective — I will be kinder to my skin (which is itchy all the time lately).
Sarah
Beautiful. So many images, so much to think about. Love the ending…
WHOA, Stacey, this is gorgeous…absolutely gorgeous! This is ready for the New Yorker. Seriously, send it! The mirror at the start is powerful… that deep look… seeing where “age confronts memory” — oh man, don’t I know it! The images of black skin and the biology and artistry in colors of bringing that beautiful skin to a place that feels as rich as it actually is…that’s heavy-duty poetry there! I love this:
So much story lies in these lines… seeing ourselves in our ancestors images on the wall… they “call” – YES!
And you saved this punchline for the end:
YES! What a beautiful poem! Seriously, Stacey, you are going to send this to The New Yorker! Say that out loud… “Yes, Susie, I will send this to the New Yorker.” We are avid and devoted ELA teacher poets but this deserves an even wider audience!
Hi Stacey. I appreciate how you start and end with yourself, but explore a whole world of people in between. Your images are perfect. Your opening line is killer- it made me LOL!
Also, I think you need to send this to Sharon G Flake. Something tells me she’s love it!
I didn’t see what Mo noticed…that you “start and end with yourself, but explore a whole world of people in between” the first time I read this, Stacey, but yes, it is perfect!
I was thinking about Sharon Flake as well!
Bravo! From first to last line I am falling into the imagery and the color and care and worry and fatigue. Such beautifully worded description of not just skin but how it feels to be in it. I hope you share this with young people. I know some that would just love this.
I mean…how good is this line, people?
“our silent grieving Born from the resilience inside beaten skin”
SO good, Stacey!
Making Space
When my mind is cluttered – I clean, organize
My hands making space in the physical world
Each space cleared removes an internal cobweb
Each action re-brands, making space, retaking
Idle hands, devils make play and bring the dark
My heart stands, making space to immerse light
Cobwebs within and without each grow anew
Until psyche demands making space to heal
When chaos has been soul-scorching enough
Barren lands make space for new grown serenity
Val, excellent work changing the form to suit your purposes. The flow is wonderful. I’ve always thought myself a procrastinator when I clean or organize rather than doing what I “should” be doing. You’ve given me another way to look at it- making space in the physical world and removing internal cobwebs. Thank you for that!
Val, I too am passing time by finding projects. My husband gets nervous when he sees me scrolling Pinterest for ideas!
Each space cleared removes an internal cobweb
Each action re-brands, making space, retaking
You perfectly capture how we are losing control of so many aspects of our lives that our desire to improve our physical space is increasing. At least that is something we can take charge of!
Mo, your poem is delightful. It gave me warm fuzzies and Lord knows I needed that today. I love the last line because it sums up what quarantine has created for all of us, DELAY! “Yet, all I think is I want to see you without delay, again.” Such a sweet treat to read today! Thanks so much. ?
Mundane Things
It is not the isolation that kills me.
It is the mundane things.
They bore me day after day.
I’m numbed by mundane things.
Starting my day is a dreadful chore.
It’s the beginning of mundane things.
Cooking, cleaning, exercising, repeat.
Slowly killing me, these mundane things.
“Find a hobby,” you say. “You’ll be content.”
It too becomes another mundane thing.
Is this what life is all about?
Daily reliving these mundane things?
Please tell me there is more, more than
these soul-sucking mundane things!
Bravo! It is those “mundane things” that are killer. And many days, that is all there is!
Groundhog Day. You have beautifully expressed the thoughts I have been harboring.
Oh goodness, yes! I always feel this pull during the summer, but this year it is so much more intense without many of my usual diversions (and feeling stalled in planning for fall until last week, when our building plan was set).
Monica, You’ve beautifully captured what so many of us have been thinking and feeling lately. Your word choice is so good- I love “numbed by mundane” and “soul-sucking” in particular.
Monica, I am pretty content with being a homebody for the most part, and I don’t require much flash nor excitement
BUT
even I am growing scared as I watch days pass by. Life is short. Living in this “mundane” manner is taking up a very large chunk of our already limited amount of time on this planet.
“Is this what life is all about?
Daily reliving these mundane things?
Please tell me there is more, more than
these soul-sucking mundane things!”
It is getting scary, and you really captured my fear in this poem.
Hold My Hand
Silent in youth we sit, you hold my hand,
while whispering, “Please stay true, hold my hand.”
Years blundering by, our love ebbs and flows;
we swim through the deepest blue – hold my hand.
Sun rises and sets, saplings grow to shade,
beneath you rest, reach up to hold my hand.
Our bodies and minds take to faltering;
This aging, what we can do? Hold my hand.
My Love it’s been a lifetime together,
now sagging and slow, let go – hold my hand.
Oh, Denise. Tears. Your life in review, so beautifully given. And the last stanza. Hold my hand…
Physical touch is the touchstone so many are denied in their last years right now, but the most important foundation as well. Beautifully written. Thank you.
Denise,
The form fits so well with your elegy here — leading into the final lines “My Love it’s been a lifetime together,
now sagging and slow, let go – hold my hand.”
I am moved,
Sarah
So, so beautiful!
Denise, this is chilling and beautiful at the same time. I love it!
This is unforgettable:
Beautiful.
Holding hands takes on so many purpose throughout the course of a relationship. What a fascinating subject to explore, Denise!
Denise, this is beautiful. Your poem touched me where I live. My husband and I are 60, firmly in autumn if not winter, and my parents (living with us during COVID) are turning 90 and 91 this month. In the evening my parents sit side-by-side to watch whatever mild NETFLIX documentary I can find…and they hold hands.
Four months in, the mounds of data begin to
Mirror the depths of my murky emotions–I’m pissed.
What if this timeline hadn’t been selected?
But instead we had: The one where the virus doesn’t exist.
The one where Michelle Obama is our president.
The one where healthcare goes even beyond that which preexists.
The one where science overpowers business.
The one where July’s biggest news is Jada’s tryst.
The one where ‘essential workers’ are treated as both.
Well, nevertheless, we persist.
I know. My brain is still trapped somewhere between accepting this new reality and being so angry about what we have lost – literally and in so many other ways. There are a number of political issues you face directly in these what-ifs – and some which shouldn’t be political at all, but are. Truly speaks to the tenor of our nation right now. And a tenor I hope will change. Hope we will change.
I feel this in my bones, Laura. I go from anger to sadness, back and forth, all day, every day. My favorite line is “…Michelle Obama is our president.” That line makes me smile.
My response was similar to Sharon’s. The ups and downs…oh, what times we are in. That final line though – our guiding light…persist!
Laura! I stood up and said “hell, yes” to this line “Mirror the depths of my murky emotions–I’m pissed.”
Love your use of italics to help us imagine if!
Sarah
Laura — Your voice is LOUD and clear here, and it resonates with me all the way down the line. Oh, if only! I would march into fire to have Michelle sitting in the White House! The line “where ‘essential workers’ are treated as both.” is terrific… indeed! And persist! YES! This is a poem that gets me all riled up…that’s your voice coming through! Way to go! Thanks, Susie
Murky emotions indeed! So many murky thing recently. Your imagined world is fabulous. I love your humor with Jada’s tryst!
Laura, so many of us can embrace this alternative timeline. From Michelle being president, science, Jada, healthcare, essential workers…you are clearing up the murky waters with your dreams! Yes, we will persist.
Oooooo, Laura, I have been right here with you on this one…several times over!
Four months in, the mounds of data begin to
Mirror the depths of my murky emotions–I’m pissed.
nice work kiddo! like your what if this timeline hadn’t been selected mirrors the lack of control we feel – followed by all the other possibilities – do we persist because these other options call to us?
Hugs
The last day of school was stolen from us.
No sigh of relief, no wave to the bus.
I couldn’t hug them.
I taught from afar, a world in between.
No real connection, naught but a screen.
I couldn’t hug them.
No farewell ceremony to close with.
Worse for them than for me, I suppose, but
I didn’t hug them.
Gone to high school; all the months we had spent
dissolved, so many lessons unsent.
I can’t hug them goodbye.
Hunkered in our houses, away from those we know.
Scurrying through stores, get in, get food, then GO!
If I see a friend, I wave, because
I shouldn’t hug them.
My friends stay in touch with emails and such.
Better than nothing, but I so need their touch.
I want to hug them.
My daughter lives only two hours away.
Our phone conversations happen every day, but
I haven’t hugged her.
I talk to my mom on the phone every week.
As her mind fades, it’s my presence she seeks, yet
I can’t hug her.
On a walk in town, a student appeared.
“I’ve missed you”, she cried, arms out, running near
I set aside my fear…
And I hugged her.
G>J. Sands July 2020
Oh wow. This has such a build up. The change in repetition is creative and speaks to each of the different situations, but all boiling down to the same – NO HUG. As I approached that final stanza, I could feel myself almost recoiling in fear at the sight of a student running toward the speaker – and I am ALL for distancing – but I am SO HAPPY there is a HUG in here! I don’t know if that happened in real life, but I would not fault anyone who was so in need of that contact. It’s the risks we are willing to take – our own comfort levels. The poem brought me to that comfort level.
It did happen. And i loved it.
So emotional, Gayle! I was tearing up, but then there was a happy ending! I needed that happy ending.
Gayle — Wow! These last lines:
My heart,
Sarah
Gayle — Oh gosh, I know this feeling waaaaay too well. And at the end, humanity just took hold and stepped on the virus’ neck. But SCARY! The loss of human touch… you captured a part of this world that is haunting and pummeling me on a daily basis… I so so sosososososososo miss human touch. 🙁 Alas. Thank you for such a loving poem. Susie
Is it wrong that I’m glad you broke the rules, Gayle? My husband and I were just talking about not having hugged our children in so long. The only other person we’ve hugged in the last 4 months is our grandson, and that’s because he’s irresistible. Even though our boys are grown men, it still hurts not to hug them. I’m thinking I’ll break that rule soon.
Gone to high school; all the months we had spent
dissolved, so many lessons unsent.
I can’t hug them goodbye.
Gayle, I can NOT believe the adverse effect this situation has had on me as an eighth-grade teacher!
Repetition
Life’s moments can be dull.
Never a lull, a cup full of repetition.
Daybreak comes and I awake
to a time of ambition yet repetition.
Breakfast, then a walk.
People pass. There’s talk and repetition.
After a cookie, to rest the soul
a nap mid-day. Yesterday, too – repetition.
A few phone calls to make.
Some bills to pay. Lots to say – repetition.
Dinner to cook. What spices to choose?
The taste is the same. Can’t lose for repetition.
Doors closed. Tucked safely in bed.
I long for a new day, ahead without repetition.
Susan—you express all of our lives right now! I think, as teachers, we are used to every day being different—whether bad or good. And now, it is just…repetition. YOu nailed it!
Susan, I usually write before reading people’s poems, and when I read your first couplet, I smiled. We chose the same topic. I do love how you ended yours in a more hopeful tone.
Yes, it’s getting to us! Must do things to break it up. Writing poems helps! ?
I love the similar themes so many of us have chosen today. It’s such a treat to see how differently we all express ourselves. We must be kindred spirits. I need that cookie (or two) also.
Somehow it is so comforting to know how many of us are feeling this same way though.
Yes, “I long for a new day, ahead without repetition,” but I do wonder once life resumes as it used to be, how long it will be before I long for days of repetition again?
Her heart gives out
death takes his mother
they move in with family
and still he rises
innocent dad is mistaken
for a criminal
is killed by authorities
and still he rises
he’s orphaned by 13
sits through a trial
police give him thousands
to sooth his soul
to ease their guilt
it doesn’t help
and still he rises
relatives vie to become
his guardian
they mean well and give love
and still he rises
he attends college
marries, has children
survives normal adult
endeavors
buys a house,
loses a job, friends and
family pass
he matures, finds faith,
loves his in-laws
always wakes up
and STILL he rises daily.
And Still I Rise is a poem written by Maya Angelou
Seana, What an encouraging ghazal! I do hope you share both your poem and Maya Angelou’s examples of ways to pattern styles and honor the struggles and successes of others.
Though you did not include the name of a specific person, most readers can imagine someone they’ve heard about or read about who would be pleased to know that others know their struggles and respect their efforts after multiple “chances”. You show that second chances may not be enough. But, that’s okay. Offer another!
Such a life’s journey recounted in each of these lines. This line and its placement was the stunner for me, “survives normal adult / endeavors.” There’s an underlying resiliency, but also something that says “I am human, just living a human life” in that line. I feel a sense of question when I read “they mean well and give love.” It’s a commentary that says to me – still not how it should have gone. The idea of “normal” is one that ran through my thinking once I hit that line (normal adult). What is “normal” in this life of this character? In this community? In this society? The poem makes me question that.
Seana,
I am aching with the tension you create throughout this poem between the trauma caused by human beings and institutions and the resilience of this young person. While so amazing – that he still rises daily –he should not have had to endure. I am reading this as recognition that recovery is not an event, that trauma is never over — your verse here is a call to action.
Thank you — so powerful!
Sarah
Seana, your poem is so tragic and so hopeful at the same time. How did you do that? Your sparse language somehow makes even the common experiences milestones. Lovely.
Seana, standing and snapping over here!!!! Wow. You went in on this one. I feel as if he’s someone I know and my heart breaks but I stopped because I knew he would rise. Bravo my friend!!
Surviving childhood trauma and still being able to say,
he attends college
marries, has children
survives normal adult
endeavors
buys a house,
loses a job, friends and
family pass
he matures, finds faith,
loves his in-laws
always wakes up
and STILL he rises daily.
makes this man is admirable!
And he is a reminder that it can be done.
But his story warrants the question, why does it have to happen to begin with?
Thanks for the thought-provoking words, Seana.
It Always Seems Impossible…
Wanting to try new things and step outside your comfort zone.
It always seems impossible until it’s done.
Setting lofty goals to reach new heights.
It always seems impossible until it’s done.
Fear tries to stop you; maybe you will fail.
It always seems impossible until it’s done.
Taking a chance; maybe it will turn out right.
It always seems impossible until it’s done.
Confidence growing; you’re not giving up now.
It always seems impossible until it’s done.
Victory! Success! You can do hard things.
It always seems impossible until it’s done.
~It always seems impossible until it’s done.~ Quote by Nelson Mandela
Such words of encouragement! I need to hear that now. It is difficult to get motivated during the stay at home isolation. The words “Confidence growing: you’re not giving up now” says it for me.
Donnetta, this is reminding my of Brene Brown’s FFT (flipping* first times). Despite all of the bad, these last few months have forced/afforded us with time and circumstances to accomplish the seemingly impossible. What an uplifting poem!
*censored 🙂
Your ghazal is so inspiring. It is exactly what I needed today as I consider making a few changes in my life.
Donnetta —
These lines–
–make me think of poetry. All these poems here — they didn’t exist in this form yesterday. Sure, they may have been waiting for us in our subconscious, but we had to decide to come to this space to bring it alive.
Sarah
I love how this carries the reader through the arc of new experiences! I could feel my heart engaging from the first line, and my smile grew as I read this. Thank you!
Donetta, I feel like you’re telling me I have no more excuses- I need to get it done! I love your poem and would love to share it with my students if you’d allow it.
You cleverly wove your own thoughts with Nelson Mandela’s!
I used the word ATTEMPT this year to dictate my decisions. Your poem, therefore, has such a personal connection fro me.
“Wanting to try new things and step outside your comfort zone.
It always seems impossible until it’s done.”
For sure!
Garden Truths
Restoration of the garden while enduring heat so stark
Wallowing in dirt’s coolness and the illuminating dark
Loam, clay, mud, silt, sand, there are so many types of soil
Microscopic life within the illuminating dark
Uprooting noxious weeds hiding deep within
Growing fiercely during the illuminating dark
Weeds can halt erosion, some flowers a nuisance spread,
It’s not just one or the other, declares the illuminating dark
What we have is fragile, tender, strong, and possible,
We hold life between our fingers in the illuminating dark.
Maureen, your poem could be both a literal and metaphoric description of what many are experiencing and doing during this pandemic. Some of us are participating in written and oral conversations that are unearthing long-held beliefs, teachings, and policies that we are learning may be the cause of some of the social unrest that is spawning the protests and the responses to the pandemic.
Others are tending the new insight we’re gaining and new friendships we’re making knowing that both need tender care to grown and become productive agents for positive change. We each hope we’re planting new seeds of truth that will feed the minds of those with whom we interact in ways that show compassion, respect, and forgiveness whether or not either is extended to us.
Thanks for the beauty of your poem and the challenge of your message.
Maureen,
This is so beautiful, so full of layered meaning. I love this
And then the idea of holding life between our fingers — being careful not to strangle it like the noxious weeds.
Sarah
Oh my science teacher soul is made so happy by stanza 2…
Gardens are such a rich place for reflection. You captured your thoughts using beautiful words and images.
What a perfect oxymoron to write about! I read your poem as a call to harken back to simpler times. Interacting with nature has been a lifeline for me during the pandemic. I think friends sometimes tire of me talking about flowers, birds, or trails, but those things are helping me find peace. Thank you for your beautiful words.
Maureen, the layered meaning of these lines,
“What we have is fragile, tender, strong, and possible,
We hold life between our fingers in the illuminating dark.”
is intense! So much to contemplate! So discussable!
On Taking Time for Myself
Thoughts pile up like junk mail on the table
I’m buried in a mountain of tedious to-do’s and you reach me–
Peace, be still.
Wait–there’s more, still tons more on my chore list!
I’m driven, no possessed, by the things I’ve left undone and you teach me–
Peace, be still.
Breathe! Inhale! I stop and pour my coffee,
All cares fly out the window and I know all will be well and You beseech me-
Peace, be still.
I needed this poem today. It resonates with how I have been feeling lately. I needed to be reminded…Peace, be still. God is in complete control. Thank you for sharing and touching my soul.
???
I can’t get past that junk-mail image! That is SO MY LIFE RIGHT NOW! And, yes, participating here takes priority over that big chore list! The “Peace, be still” line is so well placed as a response to the internal chatter of the speaker here. I was especially struck by the exclamation points with the words “Breathe” and “Inhale.” Those are often mantra words and used to elicit calm – here, it’s a command. Do it! Followed up by coffee – adding a little caffeine fuel to the fire seems a bit humorous. But it’s the truth! Our daily struggle to do do do AND be at peace. Yes. Pour another cup of coffee for me too!
☕️ Thanks, Denise! (Taking a sip.)
I’m trying to figure out exactly what made this resonate for me…I think it is the urgency of the longer passages and the anxiety it raises in me, then those three words, “peace, be still”. They stop the flutter. Wonderful…
Nancy — I am so there with you, alongside this mountain that keeps growing. Thank you for the reminder to breathe.
Sarah
Nancy, your psalms speak to me. Just today I was making the last of the summer appointments, considering finances, planning for uncertainty, etc. Thank you for the breath you helped me to catch in your words, “Peace, be still.”
If I could replace your coffee with my tea this poem would be perfect, LOL! Junk mail and tedious to-dos are wonderful images. I have been trying to find time to meditate, and boy does it help!
Remember the line in the movie When Harry Met Sally?
A customer sees (and hears) a VERY satisfied Sally and announces, “‘ll have what she’s having!”
Is it your coffee that is reaching, teaching, and beseeching you and thereby granting you “Peace” and the ability to “be still”?
Because if it is, I need to switch and have some of the coffee you are drinking!
LOL
Also, your word choice here is spot on, “I’m driven, no possessed, by the things I’ve left undone”.
We awakened yesterday with thunderstorms scraping at our windows like the raindrops were trying to escape the fury of the winds. The sights and the sounds reminding me of childhood days, standing at the windows wondering whether the lightning would strike us and when we could get out to play. Did you grow up with this refrain?
Rain, rain go away.
Come again some other day.
Thunder, thunder scruffy loud
You stomp around like you so proud
The lightening comes to show the way
Like you some star in some big play!
Rain, rain go away.
Come again some other day.
No matter what our Mamas say
We just want to get out and play.
We know we need the rain to grow
Fruits and vegetables that help us grow.
We know we need to grow and learn
Our Mamas dictums we dare not spurn
But today we just want to play
So will you just go away?
Rain, rain go away.
Come again some other day.
Ok, Please, please rain
Please go away
Ain’t you sick of this refrain?
Such a playful refrain – rain, rain, go away; yes, a memory from childhood. Strange how some of us are getting too much rain, others not enough – extremes. Loved the line “Our Mamas dictums we dare not spurn.” Thank you for this!
I definitely grew up with that refrain! And I laughed out loud at the end line. There’s a fine balance in here between voices – adult and child as well as formal and informal: “Our Mama’s dictums we dare not spurn” juxtaposed with “But today we just want to play” is an example of both of those. Quite complex for a riff on a childhood rhyme. The repetition of some (“Like you some star in some big play!) also works well to convey attitude/tone. Mind you, no thunder and lightening would hold us in as kids – we’d be out there playing in it!
Love this! My mom used to say it to me (we had MANY rainy days!), and I passed it on to my kids. And your voice in this poem is superb. I can hear the stomp!
It started raining as I was reading your poem, Anna. I don’t like the rain anymore, not after flooding in 2017. Now the rain scares me, so I’m trying to feel your bravery as you talk back to the storm:
Thunder, thunder scruffy loud
You stomp around like you so proud
The lightening comes to show the way
Like you some star in some big play!
I want to feel brave like that.
Anna, the rhyme adds whimsy but the rain is a metaphor for the storms that that persist, that won’t go away. I share your wish, your plea!
Sarah
Sarah, your response reminds us that poems can be symbolic, or metaphorical. In our current dual set of storms: the social unrest and protests, and the COVID-19 pandemic could be perceived as storms, too.
Again, I thank you so much for nurturing this group. Reflecting on poems about something basic as the rain, we see can give rise to traumatic experiences with literal rain as Sharon mentions, or metaphorical rain as you do. Still, the writing together helps us cope with whatever storms we may be enduring!
Anna, you can’t possibly know how special your poem is to me today! I’ve been blessed to have my 2.5 year old grandson the last few days. He was born prematurely and a little late on some of his “benchmarks.” We had such a rainy day Sunday, so I sang the old rhyme to him here and there throughout the day. All of a sudden he started singing it back to me. He took my breath away. Your poem hit me like a lightening bolt!
“Thunder, thunder scruffy loud
You stomp around like you so proud
The lightening comes to show the way
Like you some star in some big play!”
This just struck me as so funny! I’m seeing you as a little girl with your other little girl friends, hands on your hips, telling the thunder and lightning to just calm down and stop acting like they are all that!
Hahahahahaha!!!
Two other things struck me about this poem.
1. “Our Mamas dictums we dare not spurn” is a throwback to a time when kids did not even imagine disrespecting their mothers.
And
2.”But today we just want to play” is a throwback to a time when kids actually longed to play outside!
I often write myself into corners
A place of shelter, a safety nook
A quiet spot to observe the world
A Chauvet cave, my embryo nook
Without the world observing me
A tiny babirusa in a shadowed nook
My life plot red stamped within word walls
Each letter a barricade to this protected nook
Love the repetition of nook and all the ways you described it…fascinated by your inclusion of ‘tiny babirusa’! Love the image of writing into corners – and how rich this ends up being!
I love your first line, “I often write myself into corners.” It could have so many different interpretations. I imagine your nook is safe and comforting, a space for just you and your notebook.
Writing into corners… is that a good thing, or a negative? Interesting concept. So many questions—babirusa, the red stamp. Your last line lets me out of the box—a barricade to this protected nook. I’ll join you there.
You had me at “place of shelter, a safety nook.” Yes, writing opens worlds for us and our readers, but I treasure it for its coziness. (Pardon me, if that is not what you meant here).
Writing into corners, all the reds in this poem, so much to love! This is a cheeky poem, Jennifer. Why do I feel like your personality is oozing out of this poem?
A quiet spot to observe the world
Without the world observing me
The ultimate scenario!
“Room”
At night we face lonely separation
You stand in the hall as I lie in this room
It’s for your own safety and my recovery
We’re not like those old married couples who need their own room
I notice the faint whirl of your bipap from my guest quarters
You hear my coughs and run from our room
The memory of you close to me makes this space a vacuous void
Night blankets our sorrows and shadows the fear in each room
I press my body against a pillow, an ice pack, the cat and
Imagine your hand cupped across my breast in this quarantine room
Another night I might decide to roll or move across this demilitarized space
Your outstretched arm caressing the air where you’ve made room
—Glenda Funk
Oh wow. I can feel this poem. The whirl if the bi-pap, the coughing. Sorrows and shadows. Caressing the air. This is all so deeply moving and intimate. Thank you.
Glenda, this is so sad and beautiful. I can feel your pain…these words, in particular, resonated for me – “Night blankets our sorrows and shadows the fear in each room.” I shivered, upon reading that line. What a tender image, “You hear my coughs and run from our room.” Thank you for sharing this.
Glenda, I love the title of your poem, even though now it seems like there isn’t room for fellowship with your love. Your poem is rich and full of love. I pray for a short time away in different rooms.
Glenda, you continue to amaze me as you do what you said you would do and that is practicing your strength and grace. Although your poem weighs heavily on my heart, your grace and strength still shine through.
This is strength:
I press my body against a pillow, an ice pack, the cat and
Imagine your hand cupped across my breast in this quarantine room
And it’s beautiful. Take care Glenda. Thank you for sharing these intimate and vulnerable moments.
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Glenda, Your husband is suffering, too, and you express this love with your stark poem of living together, separately with this awful virus. My prayers are with you that you recover well and will soon be in his loving, caressing arms.
Glenda,
Thank you for sharing your strength and vulnerability through these devastating yet beautiful images. The love between you and your husband is palpable in your words. I hope that your recovery is swift and that you and your family find peace through it all. <3
Glenda—sending you all the strength I have to spare. Your poem, as always, is beautiful and shares your experience as no one else can. Recover quickly so that you can get back in bed with that wonderful husband…
Oh, Glenda. Guest quarters. This has whole new meaning now, and I image the quarters or corners people have moved to to protect loved ones. This reassurance here, “We’re not like those old married couples who need their own room” and the intimacy here, “Imagine your hand cupped across my breast in this quarantine room” is so beautiful and tender — that you can find the caressing air in this time is a gift.
Sarah
Dear Glenda — Well, damn, I’m here, tears rolling down my face. You have made room for me to feel the robbery of this evil virus in your loving home. Separation is powerful in its capacity to hurt and ache. The whole poem reaches…it feels like arms outstretched to close the gap and bring two loving people together. This is beautiful and brutal at the same time. May this pass quickly, may it roll away as readily as it rolled in. Thank you for finding the strength to write today. Susie
Glenda, I’m so sorry you have to be quarantined and spend time alone right now. The sickness is bad enough, but the separation from those we love can seem unbearable. There’s such healing in the security of presence. I pray you will be well soon. Your title is perfect for all the spaces I sense in this verse – physical, emotional, and relative.
Oh, Glenda! Old folks got it going on! Fun fact- Mr. Daley and I won The Newlywed Game on a cruise a couple of years ago. We’ll be married 34 years next month. The youngins congratulated us for the rest of the week. It was nothing. Like your love for your husband. Natural. Real. Soon you’ll be together again ?
“We’re not like those old married couples who need their own room”
This makes your separation far worse!
My hope is that you two are reunited very soon, unencumbered by symptoms of physical suffering.
Ghazal: Out Loud
Shame duct-taped childhood syllables never uttered out loud.
Let them out, the secrets you keep, out–out loud.
At last, the stirring now agitates the tape.
“I can hold on until” but you must breathe out loud.
At night, you hear the creak within stairs, his haunting.
In the morn, his trash rattles bottles for neighbors out loud.
“You and the three are better off without me,”
his eyes never met yours but they say abandon out loud.
He was young then, so were you– to be Protector of Penelope,
Shepherd of Kin, herding wounds never to speak out loud.
Weeping Heart now floods seams of a taped mouth, Shame
rises in the Man you have become, bursting to confess out loud.
Your sons are loved. They will not think less of you, your wounds
umbrella-ed their hearts, fortified their bodies so they could live out loud.
Lean now on your staff to lighten this load you carry, remove
Shame’s tape to utter just a few syllables of Truth at a time out loud.
We will not abandon you, brother.
Oh, Sarah, thank you for this healing and hopeful poem. I pray your brother will let it out. Will he read your poem? This is my very favorite part:
Your brother’s wounds umbrella-ed and fortified his sons “so they could live out loud.” Oh, my, oh my! So powerful and amazing. I love the last line too, that you are, collectively, with him. Peace.
Powerful and profound. The image of the tape over the mouth, shame’s tape, is gut wrenching. I hope this is a poem toward healing.
Sarah, I am completely in this poem, seeing your brother, the tape, feeling the shame, the weight of the secrets, confessions bursting, his sons, their strength, his staff, and his truth. I have been listening to Brené Brown’s podcast and whenever she talks about shame, I find myself thinking I need to dig deeper into my own.
Your poem hugs me and I pray that your brother gets the same hug back. You are a masterful poet!
I was seized with your first line—“shame duct taped”—and you never let me go. “herding wounds never to speak aloud”. The hope in the end, the assurance that “They will not think less of you”. This is a gift to us, and to your brother…
Sarah — The images of brother are very real to me. This is exceptional…the duct taping of shame. What our brothers carry is heartbreaking…by brother carried many of the burdens in your images. “They will not think less of you…” if only… The love professed here is so rich. The idea of hushing and being “out loud” is so strong…that juxtaposition of sound that mutes us, keeps secrets, and then dares us to open and speak out…boy, human beings are a mess of complicated curses. You really capture that. Terrific poem that the ghazal delivers well… way to go! Thank you for sharing such an intimate part of your life. Susie
oh, my….such emotion. I am cheering on the last line. Thank goodness that there is hope. Thank goodness.
Sarah, you and I have so much in common! So many siblings, growing up Catholic in Chicagoland, but most importantly, a brother who we love but was hard to reach. This one got me. I need to write about Brian soon. He was amazing. He was my heart. And now here come the tears…
Oh, how helpless you must feel watching your brother on his painful journey!
I hope he hears you when you say,
“Lean now on your staff to lighten this load you carry, remove
Shame’s tape to utter just a few syllables of Truth at a time out loud.
We will not abandon you, brother.”
Mo, love your poem! I read it, I smile, and I am transported to being with my granddaughter for some sweet fun during these long days of pandemic. Thank you for beautiful image to start my day! Now…let me wrestle with a ghazal 😉
Mo, first of all, thank you for your mentor poem. After reading about the ghazal, I was confused, but then I was able to see your apt model. Thank you for simple, yet profound slice of your life. My favorite is snuggling with your “book like a bouquet”–such a lovely image. And the refrain of “again” is so timely. I like how you challenged: “Push yourself to see which or how many you would like to try today.” I did! I’m not sure I executed very many of the constraints, but I liked the stated permission to pick and choose–it gave me confidence! I also thoroughly enjoyed reading so many beautiful ghazels at poets.org. I have other things on my mind today, and I am going to a Bible study on this passage tonight, so I wrote a ghazel about II Kings 4:1-7.
The Jar of Oil
My husband is dead, now what?
My sons will be sold to pay my debt–(the jar of oil?)
Elisha help me, please? What should I do?
What do you have? Nothing, but the jar of oil.
Go borrow jars from all the neighbors
And with them put the jar of oil.
Get a stack, a bunch, a mess, a heap,
Get a pack, a bevy, a load, a lot–the jar of oil.
Then fill them up. Fill them up?
Using what? The jar of oil.
So she and her sons went into her home
Nestled in, the doors were shut–the jar of oil.
When all the jars were entirely full
the gift of the copious cascade cut–the jar of oil.
Elisha simply directed, Go sell the oil.
Pay your debt, live from the glut–the jar of oil.
Denise,
Every month I continue to appreciate the multitude of directions the writing prompts take all of us. I love “the copious cascade cut” line and your use of italics. Thank you for sharing.
I absolutely LOVE how you have taken this Bible story and turn it into this poem. I smiled the entire time I read it. One, because I know the story. Two, because it reminds me, as another poem did, God is in control…Listen, obey, and have faith. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Rewriting a Bible story as a poem is a challenge you have executed well. The repetition of jar of oil carries the weight of the decision. And now I’m noticing how brilliantly you used rhyme. I hope you share this with your Bible study group.
Denise, how clever to write verse on Bible verses! I love the concept of rewriting in different forms. This is a beautiful message for today – a reminder that when we feel we have nothing left, God can fill our oil jars and provide an abundance. His specialty is filling to abundance what is empty. What a great time to be reminded of this miracle.
Thank you, Kim. Using your comment and Alison’s reminder that ghazal’s sometimes use the poet’s name in the last stanza made me find a final couple for my poem:
God’s specialty is filling to abundance what is empty.
In 2020 Denise was empty to her gut–the jar of oil.
Denise, you’ve done an amazing job of transferring a bible verse into a poem. I think the ghazal firm boils the verse down to its essence. Well done!
Denise, you captured precisely why I am enjoying being a part of this community of writers in this one admission of yours, “I liked the stated permission to pick and choose–it gave me confidence!” I concur!
So clever that you used this poem as a chance to deepening your understanding of II Kings 4:1-7 for your Bible study group!
“Elisha help me, please? What should I do?”
It is brave to ask for help, and I appreciated this reminder at the start of your poem.
Mo and Tracie, today of all days I needed this writing space – and thank you for the inspiring prompt today. Today is that day for me that you mention at the end of your verse – I will be seeing people again. Yes, I’ve seen them since, on Zoom and briefly face to face….but today I’m back on contract for the new school year, in a new position, in a different building, working with a different blend of friends and colleagues. So the Ghazal is the perfect form for a repetitive phrase and the thoughts of the future in education.
since March 13th, we’ve stayed home: Covid 19
four months and one week later – today – I’m going back!
today begins a new chapter: 2020
new challenges and opportunities I seek – I’m going back!
we’ll mask up and sanitize all the way to ‘21
cautiously distance and crowdsurvey peek – I’m going back!
will outings be safer in 2022?
surely by then we’ll be past the peak – I’m going back!
my 5-year grant term will close in ‘23
I stand boldly with literacy, cheek to cheek – I’m going back!
Kim, your attitude is so inspiring! You’re refrain sounds like a mantra to me. I’m still trepidatious at the thought of going back in four weeks. Best of luck in your new position!
Good luck. That exclamation point at the end of your lines says it all, I think.
Kevin
Kim, I appreciate your optimistic outlook! Very much needed first thing on a Monday morning!
Kim,
Thank you for sharing this. Usually after summer break the new year brings excitement, not so much caution. It is great you have a positive attitude to further support those all around you. Good luck going back!
I feel your enthusiasm for a fresh start, a little trepidation. Good luck on the new endeavor!
Yes!!! We’re going back! Things will get better. Keep living, keep dreaming, keep achieving! You are an inspiration.
I see what you did here, Kim, numbering each couplet. Clever, as always. Every detail in your work is always careful and deliberate. Standing cheek to cheek with literacy is safe! All the best for everyone’s safety and well-being.
Your poem works so well around your refrain, “I’m going back!” with such enthusiasm. I wish I had an ounce of it. I am resistant to going back, too unsure of how it will work. I’m encouraged by your forward thinking. We will not be like this forever.
Kim, I love your cheerfulness in “I’m going back!” So many teachers are dreading this move to the classroom. You are bold to face it smiling. I can feel your dedication and commitment. Thank you.
Kim—YOU’re going back!!!! Best of luck—let your optimism and enthusiasm spread throughout your new school!
I like the way you juxtapose hope against uncertainty here! Thank you for the encouragement. Best wishes.
“I’m going back” feels like the pep talk we as educators need to play on repeat to gear up for whatever next month has in store for us.
Best wishes, Kim!
Emotions stain my soul with every new headline
Stay back, look away, moment for a moratorium on media
Feelings of dissent while skewed, manipulated numbers
Poke, scratch at my corneas, time for a respite with media
Tickles of disgust as binary disputes control digital streams
Jaw tenses, palms sweat, released for a hiatus from media
Actions turn to accomplice for the people, of the people
Mindful mess toward purpose, deferred consumption of media
So, so true, Stefani. Your second and third stanzas really speak to me. The poking and scratching at your corneas is chilling. And the tickles of disgust perfectly capture my reaction to so many social media posts lately. Your poem is terrific.
released for a hiatus from media
need more of this (all of us need more of this)
🙂
Kevin
Your line “jaw tenses, palms seat, released for a hiatus from media” made me think about our body’s reaction to stress and shame, and how you described it really resonated with me. The feeling in the eyes after “doom scrolling” in the second stanza is so relatable – just wanting to rub the crazy out of one’s eyes!
Stefani, yes, we all need respite, release, moratorium, hiatus from media. “Mindful mess toward purpose” is how we are living our lives these days. Thank you!
Stefani, I love the visceral reactions you share here, “scratch my cornea, jaw tenses, palms sweat.” They perfectly convey the “emotions” at the center of the verse.
“Emotions stain my soul with every new headline”
This one line depicts the impact social media and news in general can have on me, can have on all of us.
Well worded, Stefani!
Dear Fellow Poets:
If you read my poem for Day 1, Saturday, this note is for you. If you did not read the poem, you’ll likely want to scroll past this note.
In my poem I wrote:
“My prayer now to survive this obscene
Virus invader with no vaccine
Its noxious cells my body spanned”
Several of you asked about the meaning of these lines. I’ve reached out to a few w/ whom I have connected on social media to confirm what you suspect: Yes, I have Covid-19. I was tested a week ago and received the results Friday. I have not made my test results public but will in time. I’m just not ready to do that yet. I live in a state in denial and am not capable of handing local folks’ responses to my diagnosis.
Please do not feel obligated to say anything. As a person who never knows what to say or do in these situations, I understand. I’m trying to write the poems, but must admit I’m struggling to stay engaged. For that I apologize.
—Glenda
Glenda – If I’ve learned anything from this forum in the last sixteen months, and I’ve learned with depth and breadth, it is that we are a community that has bonded and hears each other’s voice, feels each other’s experience through the words they write and the words they don’t write in the lines they share. Any and every word you write here matter to me, as you battle through this. When you do and when you don’t write, I will be listening with love. Susie
Glenda, thank you for confiding in us. Our prayers are with you, you with such a big heart and cast-iron resolve. We will look forward to anything you choose to write this week, and to your healthy full return in the future. Rest well and heal!
Thinking of you in poem and prayer …
Kevin
Glenda, I’m so sorry. Thank you for letting us know in your way. It’s an honor to carry this knowledge with you. There is meaning in silence too. You are in my thoughts.
Glenda,
Sending you prayers, thoughts, and good vibes as you heal and move forward.
Glenda, I can’t tell you how much I was hoping that I had misinterpreted your lines. Please, please take care of yourself. We will be here for you. Sending prayers and virtual hugs across the miles. ❤️
Glenda, I am so honored to share this space with you. Your words have moved me throughout the months we’ve written together, just as they do above. I am sending you love, prayers, healing thoughts, and hugs. There is great strength in this community. May you carry that strength with your own as we move forward with you.
I am new to this forum, but I feel a great reciprocal love and kindness among my fellow teacher/writers here. Glenda, you are a part of this. We are your community too. Thank you for sharing. Weather this as well as you can. Stay with us as best you can. We are here. HUGE HUG
Glenda, your poem stood out to me today in its rawness and humanity. I commend you for coming forward to us about your diagnosis. I don’t know if you’re the praying type, but I will be praying for your healing and strength as you face this illness. ?
Glenda, I am so sorry to read this. I haven’t written to the prompts this month because I am sick. I’m not sure if it’s Covid yet. (my doctor thinks not), but these are such scary uncertain times. It is a struggle to stay engaged. Thanks for letting us into your circle. Be well soon. And don’t ever think of yourself as a number. You matter.
Margaret, praying for you to be well and up to normal routines soon! Take care. ?
Margaret,
Have you been tested? It’s the only way to know whether or not you have the virus. Praying for you.
Margaret — I just read your message, and I am sending you big support and sincere hope that this is not Covid. As Glenda noted, the testing well help you throw off the worry I hope…I so hope that it is not this nasty virus…or any other rotten ailment for that matter. We are with you. Write when you can and rest and get strong. Susie
Glenda, standing in the gap, praying and believing that this too shall pass. You are more than a conqueror. Please do whatever you need to do to best take care of YOU. You are loved and appreciated.
Glenda—my thoughts are with you. I wondered—and now we know. Thank you for sharing—and take what healing power each and every one of us is sending your way. If our thoughts could be a cure, you would be out of bed tomorrow! Take care, my dear.
Glenda, I have so enjoyed your spirit over these months of quarantine. I am sorry to hear this. Please know you are in my thoughts.
Glenda, I wondered about that verse Saturday but didn’t want to ask. I’m so sorry that you are having to endure this virus and pray that you will get well quickly. Yes, ours is a community of support – not just for writing, but for caring deeply about each other. Please don’t apologize for not writing – – there are times we write and times we read, and times we come to this space just to breathe and know that we are going to be okay. I’m holding you tight in my thoughts and prayers.
“My prayer now to survive this obscene
Virus invader with no vaccine
Its noxious cells my body spanned”
I assumed these lines were hypothetical, meaning you were hoping to avoid contracting the virus all together. I did not realize you have it.
I am wishing you well and praying that you will be enjoying retirement as “you planned” in no time!
Pareidolia
Power switch conductor brings me ’round,
I’m awake again, midnight listening in surround sound
to music from the window fan, such noise
in the soft signal of deep summer, around sound
like faint music, and if this were the wire,
the Net, the stream, the dream, what found sound
would you be, in the night, with me
as my mind’s making melody, unbound sound
Ok, first thanks for teaching me a new word before 6:30 in the morning. I love how you’ve tinkered with your refrain I think it gives your poem a dreamlike quality, which fits nicely. I also feel like I’m getting a glimpse into your mind as you drift off to sleep. Well done!
Kevin,
I love the phrase: “my mind’s making melody” as it wraps up your thoughts and connections to sound.
You write with such a musical sound! Love the rhyming words at the end.
Kevin, I love how the word sound resounds around musical sound in your poem. Even with the fan sound. Great choice of repeated word.
You capture so well the feeling of being awake at night. The sounds, the coolness of the fan, the technology around as one is half awake and alone with dreams and the mind making melody.
Kevin,
I’m glad to have a word for the visual distortion/perception/creativity I find in the clouds. I hadn’t thought of it applying to sound, too. Thank you for a great new vocabulary word. Your writing is beautiful today, and I love your rhyming refrains.
Kevin, I wonder who the ” you” is in this line “would you be, in the night, with me
as my mind’s making melody, unbound sound”.
If you’re simply asking who else is struggling to fall and to stay asleep at night, I AM! And I am getting pretty sick of it! I can relate all too well to your line, “I’m awake again, midnight listening in surround sound”.