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
There are a few types of ode poems. The ode form I followed is that of the Latin lyric poet Horace because his style is a bit less structured and therefore is more intimate and reflective. Considering the subject of my ode, I also liked the Horatian ode’s intention to create a calm and contemplative tone, meant to bring peace. Horatian odes have more than one stanza, usually between three and five, and all of the stanzas follow the same rhyme structure and meter.
Process
An ode is used to celebrate someone or something. What does our generation do when we want to celebrate someone or something? We tell the world about it by posting it on Instagram, of course! To find my ode subject, I scrolled through the feeds of those I follow on Instagram. One of these people happens to be Joanna Gaines. While perusing her posts, I saw a pic she posted of Tom Hanks starring as Mr. Rogers back in November of 2019 to promote the movie made about his life.
https://www.instagram.com/p/B5FtH_pllt3/?igshid=1fgu3y9ppz7wx
It made me instantly recognize that if anyone deserved an ode, it was Mr.Rogers!
Tracie’s Poem
Ode to Mr. Rogers
Mr. Rogers, you saw our youth as more than just kids
who should remain seen and not heard.
You encouraged them to speak
while you listened and learned.
Mr. Rogers, you saw our diversity as more than just traits
that shame and divide.
You encouraged us to celebrate
while you showcased them with pride.
Mr. Rogers, you saw our disasters as more than just causes
of trauma.
You encouraged helpers
to foster benevolent karma.
Mr. Rogers, you saw our feelings as more than just weakness
requiring suppression.
You encouraged us to face them
through appropriate expression.
Mr. Rogers, you saw civic contributions as more than just
a dreaded responsibility.
You encouraged us to serve others
making this a place we want to be.
Your Turn
Scroll through Instagram. What jumps out at you? Choose a subject that excites you. Is there a person, place, thing, or event that you think is just wonderful and about which you have positive things to say?
Odes can take a different direction too. You might think it would be fun and challenging to write an ode about something on Instagram that you see that you don’t like, or even hate!
Either way, think about how your subject makes you feel and jot down some adjectives. Think about what makes it special or unique. What is your personal connection to the subject? How has the subject impacted you? What are some descriptive words you can use? What are some specific qualities of your subject?
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.
Ode to TeachWrite
You welcome all the writers
who show up to the page.
You inspire growth and confidence
in writers at any stage.
You keep us all united;
a strong community.
You challenge us to reach set goals;
make composing the priority.
You carved out an open forum
for those who want to scribe.
You publish what we have to say
and fill our hearts with pride.
You empower teacher-writers
to build upon their craft.
Transforming writing teachers
into masters in their class.
An Ode to A Circle of Friends
You bring laughter above all
A reason I cherish you.
You are there for me
when I fall.
You bring precious knowledge above all
Another reason I cherish you
You have a solution to almost everything
I can’t imagine Monday thru Friday without you in the hall.
You still don’t know everything about me
I cherish you and shut you out.
You give me choice, and I still have your love
I know that for eternity.
I crave your attention
I cherish your attention
You make me blush,
while making you happy is an absolute win.
You are fun, brilliant, and generous
I cherish your levels of imagination.
You have my friendship for life,
hopefully the next mile stone and soon, will be a together vacation.
Thara, your coworkers/friends are an amazing group. I love that you cherish them for their precious knowledge, because we can all learn from each other every day. I often think about the people I know who don’t know all of me. How can they? Your cherishing and shutting out is a great explanation of that. I guess we all like to keep something of ourselves private. Lovely!
As we ponder and plan a move to Texas, which will probably entail living closer to human neighbors, I’m thinking about how much I will miss living in the country away from town, traffic, and my current non-human neighbors. We have a long porch across the front of our house, which frequently gets more use than our living room. Imagine a cool breeze in summer, a fire in a chiminea when it’s cool, no houses visible, comfy furniture with lots of pillows (which greatly annoy the hubs, but they’re so cute).
Ode to my Porch
Porch, my love,
You give me so much.
Mornings you start my day.
Coffee in hand,
Book by my side,
My neighbor, Mockingbird, acting a fool in his tower across the road.
You are my happy place.
Porch, my dearest,
You’re always there for me.
Throughout the day you beckon.
Extension cord through the window,
Computer on lap,
Zoom meeting on my screen,
My other friend, Lunch, meets me there when it can.
You are our happy place.
Porch, my darling,
Always dependable you are.
Evenings you call to me.
Gin and tonic in hand,
Faithful dog by my side,
My neighbors, deer and turkey, enjoy supper in the field.
Noisy owl and coyote, make sure they’re not left out.
You’ll always be my happy place.
Amy, I adore your use of personification and terms of endearment. A special location that fuels such comfort truly is more than just a place! Beautiful description! I hope you can find a similar source of happiness in Texas.
Ode to Brigette
By: Emily Yamasaki
Brigette, our homes sit neatly
nestled side by side
Morning waves and candid
conversations over your pink rose bushes
Brigette, living alone and fifty
or so years my senior
These days I think of you often
and wonder if you are okay or lonely
Brigette, I see your
pink buds are withering and
You are trapped in your home
minutes feel like hours
Brigette, today I found your
homemade sign in the middle of the street
“PLEASE WEAR A MASK”
Tomorrow, you’ll find your sign
taped securely to my mailbox
Heart wrenching but with a strong underscoring of love and humanity. This imagery is vividly detailed, “Morning waves and candid / conversations over your pink rose bushes.” Expresses character, setting and tone. And then those same roses bring in the shift. Chilling.
I’m a fan of repetition- in music, in poetry, in prose. I think it create a sense of organization and structure for me, something I strive for and need, but that is difficult for me to make happen. This poem and Traci’s poem both repeat a name at the beginning of each stanza, which helps keep me focused and brings my attention back around to the subject. The circular feeling works for me!
I agree about the use of repetition, Amy!
“Brigette, living alone” really got to me! I have been thinking about people who are experiencing this shelter-in-place all alone. It must be quite different than my situation of enjoying these special unexpected moments with my young adult daughters. Your poem had me in tears from start to finish!
I am (again) writing about joy. My work in another writing group is focused on joy, so I am combing the work I’m doing there with the guidance and forms Tracie and Mo are providing! Heck, I might write about joy all week! (Plus, who doesn’t want to write an Ode to Joy?)
ODE TO JOY
The woe hangs heavy on my stiffened heart
Each day compounds the weight of loss and fear
My plans for school, for life, now torn apart
I cower from the doubtful next frontier
My sight grows narrow, focus blurs to naught
I read, re-read, re-read the news again.
My shrunken world: I run, I read, I write.
Yet in these days, reduced to barest thought,
I look for Joy, against this bare terrain,
And find her there, obscured, yet still in sight.
If e’er I needed Joy, ‘tis now the time.
And needed, Joy is cherished all the more.
She makes me gasp, then satisfies my rhyme,
Reminding me of what I came here for:
I need the wrinkles on the baby’s feet
I need the minor chord and major lift
I need the shock of vibrant metaphor
The joy of tired muscles on cool sheets
The joy of salty skin against my kiss
Oh, Joy, refill my parchéd reservoir.
Allison, what strikes me first is the movement in your poem. I feel like Joy creeps up on you. I love that she is there, just obscured. It’s a great reminder to look closely and deeply at our surroundings. The reminders of what you are here for are beautiful and precious. Thank you for this late night treat!
Okay, so to start an ode to joy with “The woe” took me totally by surprise. I was like, “Wait! This is supposed to be about joy!” But this line really says it all, “And needed, Joy is cherished all the more.” As the reader, just as the situation in the poem, I had to come to ‘need’ joy. By the time I hit the joyful imagery, I was so appreciative! And none of it cliche, but truly endearing joyful moments. Is that a reference to Leonard Cohen?
Yes! Hallelujah! You heard it 🙂
Allison, I have so many takeaways from your dazzling poem about Joy!
“If e’er I needed Joy, ‘tis now the time.” I want to grow in my writing, and I am reminded by you to employ this technique of contractions…lyrical sounding and effective!
“Joy” Capitalizing the J in Joy emphasizes the profound impact Joy and the lack thereof can have on us.
“My shrunken world: I run, I read, I write.” I feel a sense of community reading this line because I too feel like each day is repetitive filled with the same activities over and and over and over again! Choosing the descriptor “shrunken” is spot on!
What an incredibly inventive twist on the ode! How fun to scroll through instagram looking for topics. I generated quite a few! My students would love doing this!
I absolutely love everything about the ode to Mr. Rogers.
This Is Us
Oh, This Is Us, how you climb
into my heart and soul each week.
Though your time-hopping can confuse me,
the genius way plotlines converge
is so dang entertaining.
Often, I can be seen on the couch
sitting in near fetal position,
the words spoken
and moments unfolding
hit close to home.
I feel like I need a therapy session
after each viewing.
Maybe each episode IS
a therapy session.
Oh, This Is Us, your four seasons
of giving us the Pearsons–the family
we love and admire
and pity and resent–
have made network TV worth
watching again.
I spend hours reliving your brilliance,
reading blogs and checking the
Twitter feed of the main actors.
I rehash things with at least four
different people, looking for new
insight or confirmation or
commiseration.
Oh, This Is Us, damn Covid better not
keep you out of the studio very long.
New episodes are anticipated and needed.
We miss our fix.
We need our fix.
Covid has taken so much.
I hope you avoid its effects.
I guess re-runs will have to do.
~Susan Ahlbrand
19 July 2020
Susan, yes! Who doesn’t love This Is Us? Such a great show. I love that you chose to write an ode to the show. I love visualizing you in near fetal position on the couch. All of this is us!!
Brilliant!
Susan when I watched the first episode I was so confused! I’m glad I stick with it though. You’ve captured the ups and downs of the show perfectly. Fun fact- the girl who plays Deja is a former student of mine ?
Susan, I absolutely agree with this being a GREAT poetry writing experience for students! Actually, I’m preparing a PD session for secondary teachers on using mentor text for writing instruction, and I think I’ll include this. It would be so cool to summarize historical events or people, characters in books, songs, movies- anything.
I really appreciate how you chose to link covid in your ode since it evokes such strong emotion right now (that’s a huge understatement, I know). I don’t watch much TV, but so many people rave about this show, it sounds like my next binge. Love the creativity in this.
Susan, we would be such terrific friends! I agree that my students will love this challenge to use Instagram as inspiration for a poem! Can’t wait to give it a whirl!
Plus…
I enjoyed the topic of your Ode. Yes, this pandemic is tragic, filled with suffering and loss to say the least, so it seems insensitive and shallow to complain about the lack of quality televised programming; HOWEVER, it creates a sense of community to have that distraction to watch and share with one another. If ever we need a time for our guilty pleasures it is now, and how awful when those are taken away from us along with everything else! I habe also been mourning my shows!
Therefore…
This entire stanza struck a chord with me…
“Oh, This Is Us, damn Covid better not
keep you out of the studio very long.
New episodes are anticipated and needed.
We miss our fix.
We need our fix.
Covid has taken so much.
I hope you avoid its effects.
I guess re-runs will have to do.”
ode to my home
at first glance you look like any ranch home
limestone clad, long narrow windows
approaching the front door
there’s the surprise of an elm growing through
the front porch roof
many falls ago the roof was pounded
by a limb from that elm
leaving an insurance payment
along with a story
it’s hard to notice your sounds during the day
when we’re running around, living inside
but at night or early morning
the sound of squirrels racing across the roof
or the sigh of the AC before it belts out cold air
remind us we are home
I remember the first visit
one summer afternoon, not terribly impressive
in style, more room than we’d known til then
but it was the back porch with a leftover glider
where we sat and began to imagine our life
thirty years later surrounded by memories and artifacts
sequestered here these last four months
I feel lucky, a Zoom window I call my own,
shared with children and partners, dogs and a cat
this house I call home
Jamie, what a sweet ode to your home! The last stanza is my favorite. Time goes by so quickly, but your Zoom window brings everything into the present. Your home sounds perfect!
This poem is absolutely rich with layers, each stanza compacts at least a story or two. This line so struck me, “but it was the back porch with a leftover glider” because I love those old gliders, and that it was leftover is charming. Anyone who has chosen a new home knows that feeling when you decided it was the right place. That is a beautiful captured moment. I sense more of a prose poem style in this writing that allows more of the deeper background stories to reveal themselves
Knowing you live in Austin, I can picture your stone-clad outside. My dear cousin had a similar house in a wonderful older neighborhood there.
I loved the part where you talked about the first time you saw your current home. We had the same experience. Our house was HIDEOUS when we first saw it. He slammed the door on the whole idea (literally and figuratively), but I immediately had a vision of what it could, and would, be. A couple of months later we looked again and he relented. After 13 years, it’s still a work in progress, but it looks amazing and feels like us. I’m glad you and your family had a similar experience.
Jamie, this line, “but it was the back porch with a leftover glider
where we sat and began to imagine our life” makes me so happy because it indicates you made the purchase of your house with your heart rather than your head, which is why over the 30 years it has became a home!
Ode to a South Georgia A/C
You bestow Your righteous power–
a modern marvel,
akin to alchemy, a glamour–
on our unworthy flesh.
I revere Your essence,
yet curse cold toes and goosebumps (blasphemy!).
I take for granted Your omnipresence,
doubt Your eternal fidelity.
A penitent, I wear the humid hairshirt,
sitting in the boiling heat while
legs stick to fabric–a sweaty worship–
begging for Your forgiveness and glorious return.
Hark! A soft whisper from the vent!
A rush of coolness and relief!
I pledge myself, invoke a renewed covenant.
I sing Your praises on high!
Betsy, your serious tone and the format make this poem hysterical! I love that you’ve capitalized You and Your. The alliteration is wonderful. Your poem makes me want to stand up and shout AMEN!
This is hilarious! Love it! Growing up in Texas and Oklahoma I learned to hate the humidity and value the AC at an early age. I’m betting in south Georgia you have even more humidity for more of the year than we do here. The first and last stanza made me laugh out loud as I sat under my ceiling fan listening to the glorious sound of the AC running and cold air wooshing through the nearby vent. Bravo and keep chillin’. May your AC repair service never receive a distress call from your residence!
Betsy, I so enjoy the contrast between the two forms of body temps! So funny and understandable!
“Hark! A soft whisper from the vent!” This is a perfect way to represent the excitement felt over much needed relief when experiencing, “the humid hair shirt, sitting in the boiling heat while legs stick to fabric”!
Today has been a little hectic, so I took some liberties with the form of the ode. I’m calling it a free verse ode.
Oh, Eastern Bluebird!
Your royal blue head and feathers are striking
Next to your rusty breast.
You flit swiftly from branch to branch,
Tree to tree,
Always encouraging me to walk on.
Where would I be without you
Lo, these past four months?
You, who have decided to play hide-and-seek with me,
Have motivated me to leave the safety of my shelter
And experience the beauty of your woods
While contemplating the wonders of nature.
You have never failed to lift my spirits
As you teach your adorable speckled fledglings
To soar with giddiness.
Tomorrow, I will install a house for you
At my home, hoping I can be
Part of your Bluebird Trail.
Mo, by elevating this bluebird through your ode, you made me think of how important nature is to me during this hardest time. Your imagery (blue head against rusty chest) and language (flit, safety of my shelter, speckled fledglings) give your poem depth. I loved reading this and thinking about how a bluebird is pulling you through this time.
Mo, you have as usual inspired me to do yet another thing with my life…become a birder!
I love that you praise birds because they…
motivated me to leave the safety of my shelter
And experience the beauty of your woods
While contemplating the wonders of nature.
and that you want such joy that you plan to…
install a house for you
At my home, hoping I can be
Part of your Bluebird Trail.
I have done the same!
Ode to the Gospel
You give me direction
When I am lost
I find comfort in
Your Way
Your Truth
Your Life
You guide me
Through the storms
This life cannot explain
Despite countless
Episodes of disbeliefs
Ungratefulness and shame
I often wonder
What life would be like
Had I not known you
But I cannot imagine
A life without your principles
Directing me back to you
The prodigal daughter
I often call myself
For my thoughts
Often stray
On my own
Contrary ways
Forgiving as you are
Will grace ever run out
For this adulterous heart
Lingers in lustful thoughts
Mingling with the enemy
Entangled in his web
Cries
of hope and desperation
Directs me back to you
The comfort of knowing
That your promises
Are true
You died
for my transgressions
My sins
you have erased
This lukewarm soul
surrenders
To your embrace.
Melissa, your love for the gospels comes through so clearly and strongly. I also appreciate the honesty and humanity you have shown in your poem. The description of your lukewarm soul surrendering is lovely.
Oh, wow, Melissa.
I love the bravery you show in this poem as you celebrate what the gospels mean to you without shying away from doubt. These are lines that hit me with their language and/or power:
Despite countless
Episodes of disbeliefs
Ungratefulness and shame
For my thoughts
Often stray
On my own
Contrary ways
This lukewarm soul
surrenders
“Lukewarm soul” is a wonderful for its sensory pull as well as its play on Luke. I really enjoyed what you did with this.
Allison
Melissa, you reminded me about the power of picking the precise choice of word to represent the exact emotion of the narrator and to evoke the exact emotion from the reader.
Whoah! These discomforting words…
1.Ungratefulness and shame
2.prodigal daughter
3.adulterous heart
4.Lingers in lustful thoughts
5.Mingling with the enemy
6.Entangled in his web
And then Gospel swoops in and provides you the most warm and forgiving hug ever with these words…
1.comfort
2.promises
3.true
4.lukewarm
5.surrenders
6.embrace.
sigh…
“ode to the unknown”
who knows what the elusive future holds beyond this numbered sphere circulating in a never ending rotational pull.
these makeshift shelters set on crooked foundations offer false security comforting not the weak and infirm with their promised protection.
your dubitable mysteries taunt us with ambiguity
our provisional lives depend on your opaque language and the doublespeak of freedoms muttered through slapdash lips
neowise in retrograde rotates 250 million miles from earth, its counterintuitive arc splits its tail to touch Ursa Major while the improvident accept what their naked eyes see and scoff at the invisible threats to their comfort and choice
their wanton rejection of truths—dependent on their feckless faith—cries for revelation, a seeing of the substance of unseen things.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, your ode to the unknown is all so real right now in this moment, but “the doublespeak of freedoms muttered through slapdash lips” is what grabs me and shakes me to the core. Yes, every single day. The gaslighting and doublespeak seemed so Orwellian about 3 and a half years ago, and yet today they are the reality. Rejection of truths is the norm. We’re so fogged we have no idea which end is up anymore. Lord, help us!
Oh, shoot, I just wrote a whole response and his “respond” at the end instead of “submit” and it nuked it. Dang! I’ll try to recap my thoughts….
The voice of anger at the mess we are in is really strong in your piece. I, too, feel this same anger at the “rejection of truths…feckless faith,” and the wicked doublespeak that just doesn’t seem to let up. It is amazing that “the improvident accept” the comet and fall ignorant to the “invisible threats to their comfort and choice.” The hubris of that just makes me crazy.
Everything about your piece resonates with my own fury. Stay strong! Hugs, Susie
I love the tone…the sound of a prophet, astrologer, wise person. Those unseen things, that feckless faith. Woe unto all. You create such voice in this.
Glenda, your frustration and anger about our elusive future comes through loud and clear. You have so many strong images in this piece, from “these makeshift shelters set on crooked foundations,” to “opaque language,” to “slapdash lips.” There is so much to think about these days. I’m glad you were able to express these thoughts so eloquently.
Glenda, this is masterful. I admire how you have blended scientific terminology (which I didn’t necessarily understand, but got the drift!) with a direct conversational voice.
When I read “your dubitable mysteries taunt us with ambiguity” I thought the “you” was a god/God/gods. Your subsequent lines seem to demand an answer “our provisional lives depend on your opaque language and the doublespeak of freedoms muttered through slapdash lips” while also addressing the current misinformation campaign.
Throughout the poem, you frame religious platitudes against science. This is a powerful juxtaposition.
Lots of WOW sent your way!
Allison
Whoa, Glenda – your ode is dark, mysterious, and filled with disturbing truths…your words have perfectly captured the times we are living in. Eerie phrasing of “makeshift shelters on crooked foundations,” “wanton rejection of truths,” “provisional lives depend on your opaque language and the doublespeak of freedoms” …makes me want to get back into bed, under my covers. Thank you for your powerful words! Yes, I cry for revelation!
Glenda, I feel zero comfort from your poem…I am not supposed to. How could I? How could any of us? We are educators. We are accustomed to controlling and organizing our environments. This “unknown” is as you so vividly capture…
elusive
never ending
crooked
false
weak
counterintuitive
feckless
and is filled with nothing but…
doublespeak
threats
rejection
and just continues to…
taunt
You nailed it!
Ode to 2019
Last summer was
Weddings and newborns
Adirondack adventures and
Bachelor parties
Last summer was
Sweating on shady Adirondack mini-golf courses
Her new husband’s teary eyes after kissing her so sweetly
Arguing drunk socialist politics in townie bars like a true Bernie Bro (2:30am)
Walking through the morning tourist traffic
Still in our khakis, ties, colorful bridesmaid’s dresses
To get so many scrambled eggs and potatoes
And the coffee
Last summer was
Sweating with the dudes in the backseat of a truck
Your eyes red from a late night before at the strip club
Well on the way to wasted at the first rural Rochester brewery (10:30am)
Walking through crowds of college kids to incoherently order a…pizza?
Still scared of my own voice slurring through the gutter of a bowling alley lane
Eating so many scrambled eggs and potatoes (and refried beans and cheddar cheese and salsa and sour cream)
And the coffee
Last summer was
Sweating with the baby lying on the living room floor
His eyes blue and wandering aimlessly (or with incredible intention and attention)
Only waking up once during the nights! (3:30am)
Walking with his squishy new body nestled to our chests
Still wondering who he will be and what he will do
To laugh endlessly at a ceiling fan
And the coffee
All your wonderful details really resonant with me and make me long for 2019. Some of my favorite lines: “Arguing drunk socialist politics” and “Well on the way to wasted” . I really appreciated the progression of this poem from the young and free spirited to an adult with responsibility of a child (I remember that awakening) and your refrain “and the coffee” really says it all.
Alex,
I so appreciate all the details. Not sure who said it, but the more specific we can be as writers, the more people can relate, connect. The repetition of sweating is so corporeal, the presence of the body in places with people, but the sweat became quite sweet in those last lines with your babe, “nestled” and “to laugh endlessly at a ceiling fan.”
Peace,
Sarah
“And the coffee”. You don’t need anything other than that! Great ode to a great summer…
Alex, thank you for sharing this poem. It feels like a slice of something so special that you are sharing with us. The last few lines about the fan and the coffee – what a view.
I agree with Gayle Sands, you don’t need much more than “and the coffee”.
Your poem had me tearing up big time! (You just never know how your written word will impact a reader!)
It made me contemplate…how many powerful moments of our lives are experienced with the simultaneous experience of coffee.
What a powerful beverage…in so many ways!
I responded to a picture of a very curvy mountain road I saw on Instagram. Thank you all for sharing your poems! I’ve enjoyed reading them.
Ode to a Camper Van
Sprinter Van, thank you for carrying us to
Martian sheep-studded fields
Water thundering from green cliffs
Diamond ice-studded beaches
Vanishing frozen rivers
You contained our sprawl
A stove to make eggs
A curtain to change pants
In breezy parking lots
You showed us we could live in tight quarters
Without huffing squabbles
To fix tea and pull out bags
We bend around each other
You carried us deep into mountains
Around needle sharp curves
Over impossible crags
Knuckles white, edgy nerves
You played the Icelandic cover
of Bowie’s Under Pressure
Until we entered the elfin valley.
You kept us safe, so we could arrive in awe.
I love the story you tell here—and would love to have been on that trip! And the last stanza is perfect!!
Emily — You have taken us so vividly on your journey. It feels like taking a vacation that I really crave. Right from the “Martian sheep-studded fields,” I was wandering with you to the “elfin valley.” I got the feelings of my visits to Yorkshire, England with the green and the sheep…the other-worldly senses. The “elfin” and “impossible crags” made me think of New Zealand, where my friends wandered in a camper van. That “white knuckle” is what stops me in my tracks…I am soooo paralyzed by heights and drop-off roads. I admire the ease (even with the white knuckles) that you convey in the poems movement. Glad to see you writing here! Whoohoo! Thanks for sharing your ode! Susie
Ha! We keep saying “Places…. we miss…. PLACES.” Thanks for the kind words!
Oh, Emily,
I love this stanza:
The daily life in this moving space alongside others.
Sarah
love this! the martian sheep fields are such a great start. I am with you! And, I know that white knuckle, breath-holding round the curve feel as well. A nice trip in one ode.
Emily, thank you for sharing your poem with us and letting us take the journey with you to “Martian sheep-studded fields” and “Diamond ice-studded beaches.” Your use of imagery and detail captured the visceral feelings and indelible moments of your humble camper van (an honorable subject for sure).
From one camper to another…I love this Ode, and I get it!
There is just no way to experience as rich a travel experience unless you camp.
What’s a little discomfort and improvising to experience that “awe” when you arrive?
Ode to the Road
Pennzoil 10 minute oil change center
Buy sell or trade consignment welcome
Bridge may ice in cold weather
Cast your cares upon him
No tolerance
Four new signature flavors
Entering Cherokee Nation
Move over or slow down
Our future is now
U-turn strictly prohibited
Don’t hit highway workers
Landmark Funeral and Cremation Services
We recycle cars appliances and all metals
Exact change required
Strictly enforced
Keep right except to pass
Sensations Gentlemen’s Club
DDS Denture + Implant Solutions
Deliver built or assemble on sight
Stay alert please
Adopt-a-Highway next 2 miles
I Don’t Care Bar & Grill
Powered by natural gas
Jake’s Fireworks open to the public
Unless permitted
Katrina, thanks for the chuckle! You are really making me want to hit the road with eyes wide open to see what I can see. I love the eclectic assortment of signs you’ve collected. I never would have thought of this as a topic for an ode! Very creative.
Mo, we were on the way home from a weekend outing. I thought of writing about clouds or about their shadows. Then, it occurred to me to start jotting down the very words I was seeing. I’m sure this is not novel to me. Now I want to try it with my students.
Sounds like a terrific prompt!
I will be using this with my students and giving you the credit, Katrina!
I love this Ethical ELA community!
Katrina—this is wonderful. I moved into the passenger’s seat for the ride!
Gayle, after a while, it was like putting a puzzle together.
Katrina, what a creative approach to an ode! This is fabulous – – Exact Change Only seems to be moving from the toll roads to the registers these days. Nice drive!
Well, it stretches the limits of “ode,” but it was fun.
Ode Schmode
Katrina!!!! I love this poem!
My daughters and I play a game when we are in the car. We read signs we see out loud in different voices to reflect the font, both size and style. It makes us laugh raucously! Your poem had me doing the same.
Ode to a Worm
I wonder at the worm so tiny
that grows into something so light.
Hatching from a light blue marble
into a thing that takes flight.
Resilient while crawling on green weeds.
Chewing and eating while clinging.
Everyday growing without care or needs.
Climbing back up when falling.
A beautiful critter with antennas wiggling
but change in a short time coming.
No more worms on my milkweed crawling.
Gone to hang on high leaves jiggling.
A new form evolves in a very short time.
From an grey cocoon emerges
a shape with wings. Oh colors sublime!
Unfolding, a monarch surges.
I hope the future is bright for your resilient worm and that they come to no harm.
I love your theme of embracing change!
Susan,
At last the worm gets its ode — so important, right? Love this:
Thank you for the perspective and the double consonants in that first line there.
Sarah
Your poem somehow reminds me of the unpleasant pandemic. However, it also encourages hope.
“From an grey cocoon emerges
a shape with wings. Oh colors sublime!” So simple yet so miraculous, from the dullness to spectacular beauty. I hope we all emerge like this after being in our cocoons of shelter.
Susan,
My younger daughter and I have created a butterfly garden in our backyard this summer, so your poem caught my attention immediately!
Your line, “A new form evolves in a very short time” certainly captures the magic of a butterfly. It’s what brings us to discover “No more worms on my milkweed crawling” so many times throughout the day. It is why she and I dance like fools up and down when we spot “Oh colors sublime!” fluttering amidst the plants we have chosen so carefully.
Thank you for your ode, which captures such a special experience I am having with my daughter!
Ode to Music Festivals
Now I’m listening to Marc Rebillet live stream
And Glen Hansard and Richard Thompson and Norah Jones.
It isn’t the same as a live show, know what I mean?
All I want to do is dance to Widespread or the Stones
Bass pounding, bodies pulsing, under the stars.
Summer means music and people and dancing
Cold beer and blankets in the grass and overpriced barbecue
Cool evening breezes and synthesizers trancing
Huge electric screens provide a stageside view
Bass pounding, bodies pulsing, under the stars.
Musicians and actors and technicians need release
They need to engage and energize
We need to spin and clap, feel harmony and peace
Without the encores and applause, something inside us dies
Bass pounding, bodies pulsing, under the stars.
Someday the crowds will again gather to hear the guitars play
To feel the warm sun’s rays dip behind the rainbow of stage lights
Happy feet will jive and shuffle under hips that sway
And the energy will lift us to immeasurable heights
Bass pounding, bodies pulsing, under the stars.
Shaun, I can hear the beat of the music in this poem. Your repetition of “bass pounding, bodies pulsing, under the stars” makes me feel like I am at an outdoor concert. Thank you.
Shaun, your poem has a lovely rhythm to it. The refrain is terrific. I was thinking about writing my ode about missing live music, and funnily enough, Glen Hansard was one of the names on my list! I’ve enjoyed some of the shows he’s done online in recent months, but it’s not the same as a live show, is it. One day. Sigh.
Shaun, I loved your Ode.
When you wrote how “summer means music and people dancing” it reminded me of concerts I’ve attended.
I love the lines, ” cool evening breezes” and ” musicians, actors, and technicians need release” because I know “artsy” people are feeling “penned in” right now. I love the hope of ” someday the crowds will gather again”
thanks for this !
Shaun,
I can’t overstate how much I relate to this and how much I miss live music; real live music, ’cause the livestreams are great, but it doesn’t quite cut it, does it?
Oh, gosh…. this makes me miss “real” summer. Sob. Each line rings true. There’s something so sensual about live music under the stars. Sigh.
Your poem is very rhythmic. It speaks of anticipated festivities and reminds us that there is so much life has to offer.
Shaun,
I wait all winter long for the summer music festivals! There is nothing like dining and drinking al fresco while escaping small talk because collectively friends are lost in the blaring music! To discover this year-long awaited reward was not to be was torture.
“Summer means music and people and dancing”
Must be why it just doesn’t feel like summer.
“Without the encores and applause, something inside us dies”
Yes.
“Someday the crowds will again gather to hear the guitars play”
I hope so.
Ode to my Pen
Not all pens are equal to the task
of what my brain of them is asked
But oh, my pen, beloved by me
Has its own personality
Some days she flows, a stream of fun
Pure diamonds sparkling in the sun
lifting my spirits with her joyful refrain
giving me solace through the pain
Other times she demands some wine
Pushing me deep within my mind
To pull out ghosts long locked away
letting the spirits have their say
When she is stubborn and silence falls
When words are locked within the walls
The time is not right for their release
She keeps the key but not the peace
Oh fickle, my pen, my beloved pen
where did you go, where are you when
I’ve need to use your fluid’s grace
to fill that blank and aching space
My pen will decide when the time is right
to put my words into their flight
Until that time, I patiently wait
For my pen, once again, my soul to sate.
This is so much more than a poem about a pen. The pen definitely decides “when the time is right.” There have been times during this pandemic that my pen has refused to work with my foggy brain.
Judi, I love how your pen controls you! This is a fabulous ode to the writing process. Your rhymes are excellent. I’m really curious if you write mostly with a pen or on the computer.
I absolutely love this poem. There is inspiration in each line.
I love that she is female and so connected to you that she requires wine – a true appendage, the rhyme is subtle yet brings a smile
Judi,
I love assigning blame to your pen but also acknowledging its remarkable skill!
This may be my favorite line. I adore the honesty plus it is so unexpected yet true! “Other times she demands some wine”
[Tracy and Mo, thank you again for another prompt and guidance on our poetic journey today. Susie]
[Note: H. G. Welles’ The Invisible Man came to mind as I pondered this villain.]
ODE TO CHIGGERS
Surreptitious criminal!
Let me acquaint you:
this bewitching, silent, cutthroat butcher —
no defense to measure.
When I wander in the woods,
–he chose the loneliest paths and those most over-shadowed by trees and banks–
to the backyard where pines and oaks rub elbows,
when the thermometer tickles ninety
and summer storms come and go in late afternoon,
as clouds wring themselves out in minutes,
my body heats and radiates
in its curves and sweaty zones,
humming pheromonal invitations to unseen guests
with questionable manners.
Never knocking at the door,
chiggers clutch and clench their arachnid claws,
into my warmest quiet corners,
under my belt, between my toes,
and unabashedly in my unmentionables!
Stealth bombers of all pests, Trombiculidae,
have a war chest of advantage over my sorry eye.
Like H.G. Welles’ Griffin
you never knew what hit ya,
invisible, microscopic marauders,
with all impunity,
there and gone.
Piercing claws I cannot see,
tear at my skin, injecting me
with their enzymatic hemlock,
a curse of itch ensues.
The next day I retrace my steps
determine where I erred;
but hit and run, a chigger’s penchant,
no witness to the crime.
Cloak-and-dagger li’l bastards,
they never do the time.
by Susie Morice©
I kept finding favorite lines with fancy words—but the interruption of “ you never knew what hit ya,” is by far my favorite! YOur imagery is sublime—but that line made it real!!
I love your pines and oaks rubbing elbows. This poem reminds me of “Chigger Heaven” by Carter Revard. His chiggers were in “the bluestem meadow full of flowers” probably in Osage County, OK.
Susie,
This brings back some unpleasant memories. Are chiggers a uniquely Missouri pest? I feel like scratching all my parts after reading. These invisible vermin really speak to me in this moment. Love everything about this ode. Favorite line: “ humming pheromonal invitations to unseen guests.”
—Glenda
Glenda — I’ve inflicted itchiness…oh dear. LOL! Read the chigger note below that I wrote on Kim’s response space.
Susie,
Your verse is so on point! What a sincere and honest look at chiggers. I love this part the best:
my body heats and radiates
in its curves and sweaty zones,
humming pheromonal invitations to unseen guests
with questionable manners.
Never knocking at the door,
chiggers clutch and clench their arachnid claws,
into my warmest quiet corners,
We use clear nail polish the minute we know they’ve burrowed, but it still doesn’t stop the itch!
We made the mistake of picnicking in the woods one time – – and NEVER again. Oh, this brings back the memories. I’d have never thought to write an ode to chiggers – you did this so cleverly.
I’m laughing…chiggers have ruined many an afterglow from picnics and jaunts in the trees and fields. What surprised me when I did some research after I bought my present house two years ago (the whole backyard is chigger-land) is that they tear your skin and inject an enzyme that eats skin cells and it’s the blasted enzyme that stays under your skin that causes the itch, while the little buggers fall off and are gone. They are actually a mite and in the arachnid family! That’s so sneaky and rotten! Grrrrr. They are the bane of Missouri for sure and apparently they appear all through the South as well– wherever it’s hot and humid. What I don’t know is if the critters called “no-see-ums” in the South are the same thing…I’m thinking they are yet another variety of evil. My chigger bites stay with me for 7-14 days of holy-mackerel itching. Egads! We ALWAYS used fingernail polish…I think mostly it was just something to keep little kids’ minds off the itch, as the mite was actually long gone. We also dotted our bodies with mercurichrome (sp?) and methiolate (sp?) on every bite till we looked like we had smallpox! LOL! I wish I could figure out how to bottle ’em up and send ’em to the White House. 🙂
Thanks for your kind words! Susie
Bwahahahahaha! I’m not sure you meant to make me laugh. But, you did. Oh, I hate those little bugs and they get me every summer now. Those lil bastards, indeed! I need to share this with a friend of mine. Well done. Take a bow.
Oh my gosh, Susie, this is frightening. I’ve never experienced chiggers but I definitely will add them to my list of fears with birds and vomit. I don’t even want to think too long on the details because most certainly that’ll be tonight’s dream. I’ll say this. For someone who has had them in their unmentionables, you sure have a great sense of humor through it all. Yikes!! And your comments on the other posts below are even more frightening! ?
Susie,
Poetry has made me feel so many things throughout my life, but I cannot recall it making me feel such terror as this poem of yours did!
The novel The Invisible Man is a scary concept; vulnerability is a threat women especially know all too well when we are alone.
This line of yours,
“When I wander in the woods,
–he chose the loneliest paths and those most over-shadowed by trees and banks–”
hit me pretty hard. I feel that,
“my body heats and radiates
in its curves and sweaty zones,
humming pheromonal invitations to unseen guests
with questionable manners.”
when I am walking on paths, and it is frightening!
I am shivering still from reading your carefully chosen words!
(And thank you for teaching me some new vocab BTW!)
Ode to Music
Only through you
am I able to reveal my true feelings
To you, I escape
To you, I run in despair
To you, I run for solace
To you, I run for joy
To you, I run for energy
To you, I run for hope
You have always been there
Always ready for me
Embracing me
Comforting me
Welcoming me
Every step of the way
With you, there is no need to pretend
With you, I am free
You are my refuge
You rescue me from my thoughts
You stop me from going crazy
You are my hero
You are my savior
You are my best friend
You speak to my soul
And I always listen
In you, I find peace
In you, I find hope
Monica — I so appreciate this ode, as music means SOOOOO much to me as well. You have captured many of the very feelings that I have about how music takes us to another place… “stop form going crazy.” Especially now in Covid land. I like that we share this bond. Thank you, Susie
Monica—there is a flow and a peace to this.
The repetitions strengthen it and anchor your feelings. Beautiful!
I particularly enjoyed the line “You speak to me soul /and I always listen”. Love the idea of exchange – you’re not just consuming but in conversation. I can relate!
Monica, you took the feelings and thoughts right from my soul. Your words, “you’re my hero, savior, and best friend… always listen find peace and hope” all really moved me because music is often running through my heart. Thanks for this Ode!
Monica, this is love!!! I completely agree with every emotion you share about music.
I also appreciate the form and free flow of this poem. Odes frighten me and yours brings me peace, just like music!
Thank you!
Monica, your poem is breathing life into me! It makes me smile and want to plug into my favorite songs. Thank you for this beautifully crafted poem that pays tribute in such a simple, yet deep way.
Monica,
Music has such power, and you captured it so perfectly in your Ode!
This is by far my favorite line, “With you, there is no need to pretend”.
My sentiments exactly!
Ode to My Refrigerator
Ah, Refrigerator—I must confess that we took you for granted.
You always just sat there, your organization lamented.
A prosaic oblong, a servant, to be used and ignored.
And then you left us, without a word.
No warning.
(well, perhaps we should have noted your warming)
Alas, we were left
bereft.
We had not valued your chilly personality,
your icy attitude.
We did not show our gratitude
until you said adieu to your life of servitude.
(To put it bluntly, we were screwed.)
Outside, the temperature soared, while inside,
chests filled with ice
did not suffice.
Frantically, we tried
to replace you, searching far and wide.
We buried our pride.
(At Home Depot)
And we mourned your absence.
We did not appreciate you when you were here,
my dear.
But we have learned our lesson.
Here stands my confession…
Having ice.
Is very nice.
The back story—About a month ago, our refrigerator died. Because the parts come from China, delivery of a new one took More than ten days. When it FINALLY arrived, it did not fit through the door. It took another two weeks for a replacement, (carefully measured). We lived out of two dormitory refrigerators for almost a month. Hence, my ode to refrigeration…
I feel your pain, Gayle. My house flooded in Harvey in 2017, and I had to live without so many things we take for granted, although interestingly enough, the fridge actually survived. I love your use of parentheses, and the ending is too cute.
AHAHAHA! Gayle, you made me laugh out loud. I know the pain. My fridge crapped out two days before Thanksgiving a couple years ago. Oh man… what a fiasco, trying to replace it in speedy time. I really felt for you when the fridge did not fit through the door. Oh dear. You poor thing. I loved the personifications… “chilly personality” LOL! and “left without a word”… fun. And burying your pride a the HD. LOL! Yup, “ice is nice.” Thanks for the light-hearted ode today! Susie
The words (To put it bluntly, we were screwed) made me laugh out loud. I have had that happen before. Your words really touched home. Then there’s the “chilly personality and icy attitude.” So funny because it is true! Did you mention the puddles left on the floor? Love this.
I love the ending, “Having ice./Is very nice.” We recently experienced something similar, when the compressor thingy went out on our fridge. (Hope you didn’t buy a Samsung).
That is what died after four years!!!!
Gayle, what a treat this was and sort of a sign that I need to give my old fridge some hugs! The time may come sooner for me than later.
I love how human your fridge becomes in your poem. My favorite lines:
“We had not valued your chilly personality,
your icy attitude.
We did not show our gratitude
until you said adieu to your life of servitude.”
Time for me to go show some gratitude! Lovely poem Gayle!
Gayle,
What a nightmare. I did not wait on the fridge to die completely before replacing it. I’ve seen too many lose hundreds of dollars in food from doing that. We do take our appliances for granted, and I take my husband’s ability to repair ours for granted. I hope the new fridge lasts at least 30 years.
During the quarantine you were in this dilemma?
“(To put it bluntly, we were screwed.)” You weren’t kidding when you wrote this!
My family has been eating 24-hours a day it seems, so this explains why “Alas, we were left
bereft.”
I picture you polishing your new fridge and speaking to it oh-so-lovingly on the daily now because you have learned your lesson.
Ode to the Moon
I am her child
Adorned in silver rings
She rules my world
Such mystery she brings
Always changing
Never the same
Ethereal magic
Can never be tamed
She rules the night,
my emotions, the tide
I’m ever mindful
To keep her by my side
She lies in darkness
Surrounded by stars
Shining brightly
To hide her scars
Meteors have hit her
Men stepped upon her
The sun has outshone her
But none will deter her
I share her power
I’m a changeling too
Few can truly see me
Can you?
That last stanza is beautiful. I love it.
Wow, Sharon! What a connection you have to the moon! I love the sense mystery and strength Your poem evokes. I really like, “The sun has outshone her But none will deter her.”
Ooohhhh Sharon, yes, I see you!
Those lines are like the anthem any woman should own.
The beauty of your poem also lies in the brevity yet clarity in each line.
I love the sun but your poem makes me feel some kinda way about the moon. I need to give the moon so much more love.
Gorgeous ode!
Tracie,
This was probably the most challenging prompt I’ve written to in a long time. I really loved your Ode to Mr. Rogers and admired how flawlessly it flows. I chose not to grapple with the traditional ode forms, so I turned to my “friend in my head” Kwame Alexander and used his poem (Ode to My Hair) for my mentor text. I think I need one of you experts to teach a lesson on writing odes. Sarah, have you considered creating yet another thing to do and have online writing sessions for teacher/writer/poet fans? I would definitely sign up!
Ode to Teaching and Learning Online
If teaching online
Could enrich young minds
I’d front line it
If Zoom morning meetings
Could beat in-person greetings
I’d co-sign it
If novel studies in G-Suite
Could light mind fires like Hot Seat
I’d design it
If blurry faces in gallery view
Could bring joy and love like hugs do
I’d refine it.
If “3 Quick Tips” in weekly office hours
Could beat a teacher’s superpowers
I’d enshrine it.
If I’m forced into remote teaching
Could mean there’s no one I’m reaching?
I’d decline it!!!
But if our lives aren’t worth saving
And the virus continues its graving
Retirment. Maybe I’ll find it.
©Stacey L. Joy
This is fabulous! I love the powerful third line, with your rhyming actions, “I’d cosign/ enshrine/ decline it” – so fun! Yes, this is an ode to teaching and learning online! There’s perhaps potential good and so much possibility for damage (“Could mean there’s no one I’m reaching”) and so much anxiety, to boot. I hear your willingness to try, and the fear of having to return too early – “But if our lives aren’t worth saving/And the virus continues its graving” Thank you for this! It certainly doesn’t read like you found the writing to be hard – it has such a lyrical flow.
So well said!!! I especially feel these lines: “But if our lives aren’t worth saving And the virus continues its graving
Retirement. Maybe I’ll find it.” Take care and hang in there!
I love this Ode to Teaching as it expresses the feelings of commitment and these times using technology. You reached me with the “blurry faces in gallery view.” I got a laugh because my daughter has said the same thing to me that you state in your last stanza.
I could’ve not described it any better. This is superb, Stacey! Could I share it with my friends?
Thank you and of course!
You have such a way with words, Stacey! I want to hear you read this one out loud. My favorite stanza in this poem:
If “3 Quick Tips” in weekly office hours
Could beat a teacher’s superpowers
I’d enshrine it
I hope you share this with your principal!
Sharon, I agree that I would love to hear Stacey read it out loud as well. It’s so smooth.
Oh gosh, Stacey — This is brilliant. Again… send it to NCTE! The short 3rd lines in each stanza is a perfect rhythm and punch of meaning. This is a poem that ought to be in our OKU collection (though I know it’s not April…it is so right for the COVID oral history collection! The real kicker is this: “But if our lives aren’t worth saving/And the virus continues its graving” — OUCH…terrific lines that delivered at the end really whack the reader! Great poem! Thank you! Susie
Stacey—this is glorious!! Your have the flavor of Alexander and the soul of a teacher here. The punch of the third line was perfect every time. Love this!
Whoa – love the cosign/enshrine/decline rhyme and the twist at the end. You really captured the longing I think so many of us have for the reality of teaching.
Stacey, as USUAL your Ode was awesome. The last lines spoke to me of course! The part, though, that truly grabbed my heart was “If blurry faces in gallery view could bring joy and love like hugs do..” because I’m already not looking forward to beginning the year virtually though I understand it. You make me think of soul vs. brain
Thanks for this!
Stacey,
So many “ifs,” but as you know there’s no guarantee retirement will keep the virus at bay. ?
We all know in-person teaching is best, but when the choice is literally life or death we must choose second best.
—Glenda
Most definitely not to retire to avoid the virus, only to avoid passing it to others. Take care and He’s got you!
You’ve written lots of wonderful poems, but this one was crafted to perfection! I love the whole dang thing.
I’m flat jealous. ?
Stacey! I feel like this poem needs to be belted out loud from the roof of my school! Especially after CA governor’s statement on Friday..
I hope we’ll all still have each other come fall. I’m gonna need solidarity!
Stacey,
I am far from being a poetry expert. I am learning about writing right along side you. Trust me!
I LOVED how your poem to me read like Gwendolyn Brooks’s “We Real Cool” poem. That’s the slow, jazz-style voice I was using to read your words, and then I came to the last stanza.
“But if our lives aren’t worth saving
And the virus continues its graving
Retirement. Maybe I’ll find it.”
And my voice changed.
What a powerful closing that really does capture our life-and-death fears of returning to school.
Tracie,
I love your choice in topic for your poem. Mr. Rogers truly was an inspirational figure. Your ode to conveys hope and peace.
An Ode to Gen Z
Gen Z, you are a tribe of fierce fighters,
who shed light on injustice in the world
warriors for equality and love
with you hope for better future is unfurled
Gen Z, you are the digital natives
who will use tech to topple oppression
bring awareness to a clouded world
through compassion leave lasting impressions
Gen Z, you are the voice our world needs
battle corporations for health safety
for clean water and gun regulations
brave paladins of our world daily
Tammi, I have so much faith in this next generation to bring about much needed change. I’m hoping that with your fight and the willingness of so many from previous generations, true change will happen soon. There are so many powerful word choices here ( fierce, shed, love, unfurled, topple…) to deliver your message!
I might quibble with the term “digital natives” but love your last line:
brave paladins of our world daily
yeah!
Kevin
Glad you liked reading an Ode to Mr. Rogers. I miss him so much!
I have a Gen Z daughter who is fearless, which is so in contrast to me! But I am learning from her!
She is willing to be one to
“shed light on injustice in the world”
despite judgements from those who have not found their brave voices quite yet.
She is one that
“will use tech to topple oppression”
I love your use of the word “clouded” in the line, “bring awareness to a clouded world” as it leaves just enough wiggle room for readers to interpret various meanings.
Mr. Harry Potter –I followed the ode format as much as possible.
You were just a simple idea
a way for JK to assert herself
“a woman couldn’t write this”
so she lied and said she was “himself”
who would have known her
vocabulary-filled fabulous book
would inspire my daughter
to insist I have a look.
I thought “Oh, its a boy Cinderella”
until I read and was hooked.
Her phenomenal narratives turned into a series
which led to movies
which led to actors and productions
which led to book release parties
which led to Halloween costumes
which led to books being banned
which led to increased popularity
which led to podcasts and audiobooks
all of which led to my HP addiction.
Seana, your gradual move to addiction is a fun read. I did not know she lied behind “himself” – I love your placement/use of himself here. And I never thought of Harry as a boy Cinderella before now. I greatly appreciate having that layer added to my thoughts on the series. Thanks for sharing this today!
I have always been amazed that all of the characters in the wizarding world along with their intertwining lives sprung into existence from the mind of one person.
Seana, wonderful ode to your addiction. I am one of the few who never fell into the H.P. books or movies, but I sure was proud to see a woman achieve such success while hiding behind J.K.
Your poem is fun and I almost want to give book one a try.
Seana,
Is there anything better than when we learn from our own children? So cool that your daughter is the one responsible for turning you on to the world of HP!
Your repetitive use of the word “which” supports just how contagious HP is, generation after generation!
ODE TO A PREACHING TEACHER
Dr. Washington was the first person
I knew who had earned a PhD.
So, you ask, what’s that to me?
Well, it’s not about me, but what he helped me see.
He didn’t walk around with his nose in the air
Expecting folks to stand and give him their chair.
He didn’t speak in polysyllabic words,
Hoping we’d be impressed with his degree and how he was dressed.
He was gentle and kind with a brilliant mind.
New knowledge he helped us to find.
He was not just a teacher, but also a preacher
And he taught us to question why.
“Don’t accept all you hear from me.
Explore for yourself and you will see.
What you learn yourself is yours to share.
But, when you share what you learn and you may have to bear
Jealousy, spite, and scornful words that bite.
But trust what you learn and keep on learning.
You may earn yourself a degree or even a PhD like me.
But neither will really matter if you get distracted by chatter.
Dr, Washington. PhD. After all these years,
I still see you up there, perhaps even liking this rhyme.
You bring joy through my tears.
You inspire me to keep reaching.
You’re a preacher who still is teaching
Your lessons resound after all this time.
Anna – what a beautiful tribute. Dr. Washington sounds like the epitome of a humble but inspirational teacher. These lines “He didn’t speak in polysyllabic words/Hoping we’d be impressed with his degree and how he was dressed” paint such a vivid picture of his character. He truly sounds like a wonderful teacher.
I hope we all meet — every day — people like this:
He was gentle and kind with a brilliant mind
Wonderful poem .. perfect way to use the ode for memory and appreciation
Kevin
Love this tribute. “He didn’t walk around with his nose in the air expecting folks to stand and give him their chair.” I wish I could have met this brilliant, yet humble man of faith.
“He was gentle and kind with a brilliant mind” reminded me of my grandfather. Wonderful tribute.
Anna,
When truly intelligent people conduct themselves like this…
“He didn’t walk around with his nose in the air
Expecting folks to stand and give him their chair.”
they deserve next-level respect! I love that you acknowledged this in your Ode!
Knowing and doing better comes with a price. You captured this risk perfectly in the following lines.
“What you learn yourself is yours to share.
But, when you share what you learn and you may have to bear
Jealousy, spite, and scornful words that bite.”
Ode to The Beatles
To the fab four who unknowingly shaped my life
With shaggy hair and a groovy beat you charmed me
Your humor and wit were entwined with all your songs
You broke ground with profound originality.
John, a bit cynical, snarky yet whimsical.
Paul, so adorable, sentimental, clowning.
George, mostly serious, dark horse, mysterious.
Ringo like a sad-eyed puppy, steady, frowning.
All four as one creating Liverpool genius
Across the world singing, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”,
Crazy for you then and still after all these years
I can say The Beatles are my number one band!
Nancy, what a lovely tribute to the fab four. I like that stanza in the middle where each one is described. The line about George sounds very lyrical. I’m enjoying reading that whole stanza aloud.
Nancy – I love the way your poem flows, like music. I have developed an appreciation for the “Fab Four” because my 13 year old loves them (she’s a bit of an old soul). I feel like you have really captured the essence of the group in this poem!
Well, Nancy — I so agree… your thoughts on the Fab 4 are exactly my own… those 4 lines that sum each of the boys up…funny how we have the same images/asssessments. You do justice to the impact of the Beatles on our lives. Cool! Thanks, Susie
You are so correct about how this fab four shaped our lives. I love your personality descriptions. So visual, exact and flowing.
Nancy,
What a terrific idea to pay tribute to The Beatles!
I especially enjoyed the line, “Across the world singing, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”, as it really depicts how this group took the WORLD by storm!
Ode to Motivation
Oh, my sweet Motivation,
you are my sun,
my everything,
truly, life-giving.
When you are around me,
I am giddy,
capable and creative,
strong, stimulated, and unstoppable.
This thing we have between us is BEAUTIFUL!
Yes, I feel embraced, enveloped, enriched by you.
I know you through and through.
I know you are mine,
all mine.
There’s something difficult I want to talk about.
I don’t understand why,
sometimes,
you leave me.
Do you know that I feel so empty
when you are gone?
I don’t even understand!
Why have you gone?!
I always search for you.
Sometimes I can see you are simply
playing with me,
hiding,
and I lure you back.
Most often, though,
you are truly gone.
Days without you are
long and sad,
a wallowing,
a soak in nothingness.
I no longer want for anything.
Not even you.
Why do you leave me?
Where do you go?
I have a right to know!
Oh, Motivation,
you are fickle, coy, elusive!
If we had been honest with one another before you left,
what would you have shared?
What do I not know about you?
Why do you toy with me this way?
Why do you feel the need to leave me?
Enough.
I can see this isn’t a good time to talk.
Let’s not think about your future absence.
Let’s have fun together now.
Love you, Motivation!
Oh, Maureen,
Brava! My goodness. That is a winner of an ode to Motivation. I think I have a very similar relationship with Motivation.
This was a particularly good insight when Motivation has left us:
Just wow!
Beautiful! This is exactly how I feel about hope.
Maureen, what a funny ode to motivation. I smiled as I read it because it’s so relatable. I love the thought of trying to lure her/him back!
Maureen,
I feel every word of your ode. It took me all day to write mine. My mind is asked. Favorite lines:
—Glenda
I can explain this dilemma perfectly. When our dear friend, Motivation, is absent from one of our lives it has obviously gone for a visit with the other. Lately at my house Motivation has been sleeping on my couch (which isn’t real comfortable), so I’m going to assume it’s been with you. While I really love having motivation here with me, I certainly don’t wish to deprive you of its company. Does our dear friend, Motivation, have a twin, a cousin, a clone? That way Motivation can be with both of us!
Maureen,
I just knew there would be a transition like this at some point because we all know the story about motivation,
“There’s something difficult I want to talk about.
I don’t understand why,
sometimes,
you leave me.”
And then this stanza…let’s just not worry about what might happen. Instead, let’s just enjoy motivation when it’s here!
“Enough.
I can see this isn’t a good time to talk.
Let’s not think about your future absence.
Let’s have fun together now.”
You capture this conflicted relationship in such a relatable manner!
Tracie, Thanks for reminding me of Mr. Rogers and the gift he was to all the world. I loved “Mr. Rogers, you saw our youth as more than just kids
who should remain seen and not heard.
You encouraged them to speak
while you listened and learned.” He was such a kind and gentle soul. He knew how to listen to and value everyone he encountered. I want to be more like him.
Nancy I agree that, “He was such a kind and gentle soul. He knew how to listen to and value everyone he encountered.” I too strive to be more like him. : )
Ode to John Lewis
John Lewis, What a man! Tough as nails!
A gentle hand! Kind and future focused!
You passed on the baton
for generations to come!
John Lewis, life of service, seeker of change,
connector with others, a true patriot!
You reached across the aisle, the “Conscious of Congress”
Bravely fighting for our nation and its people!
John Lewis, Rule to live by…Love thy neighbor!
COURAGE! HOPE! FAITH! to infinity!
You loved life, doing what was right!
With convictions of respect and dignity!
John Lewis, Beaten on “Bloody Sunday”, ignited to serve
A legacy, a HERO!
You stood up by sitting down!
and shouted by marching silently!
John Lewis, A line struck from his speech in the 60’s
“Whose side is the Government on?”
Your question is still good today!
Thank you John Lewis for representing the people!
Susan Sanderson © 2020
Wonderful tribute! I liked “John Lewis, A line struck from his speech in the 60’s
“Whose side is the Government on?”
Your question is still good today!”
I didn’t know about this! He was ahead of his time. His wisdom will be missed.
John Lewis – what a great man he was, he is. Such a role model for all of us. I love your phrasing, “You stood up by sitting down/shouted by marching silently.” I love all the exclamation points you use – I can almost hear John Lewis’ effusive, expressive voice, preaching!
Susan, I have enjoyed the beautiful poems about John Lewis this weekend. What a hero and steadfast patriot. This was my favorite part:
Look at those exclamation marks! It’s really all we can do to emphasize the power in his gentle and so effective choices and life. How did he remain hopeful and have faith throughout the decades? He was a giant.
Susan — Here on this Sunday after losing John Lewis, it just felt good to read the good lines about just a good man. My favorites are “stood up by sitting down?/and shouted by marching silently!” That captures the strength and the sense of steady, quiet duty, come hell or high water. Thanks, Susan! Susie
“Whose side is the Government on?”
May we never stop asking!
Susan, I felt my motivation to be active because of the line, “COURAGE! HOPE! FAITH! to infinity!”
So powerful!
Looking at my friend’s Instagram posts going back a few months, a lot of photos were taken of them in their home space, commenting on confinement and the shift between appreciation for a safe home space and the resentment of loss of movement. I attempted quatrains with unique rhyming couplets in each, L1 and L2 of each in iambic tetrameter and L3 and L4 in each in iambic trimeter.
Ode to Confined Space
Surrounding me in daily life,
This space requites each act of strife:
She listens. She takes notes.
She knows my life by rote.
Since Covid I first held her dear,
Though now I just want out of here.
Change of pace, a reset,
Wrap my arms in protest.
I will remain firm in this place;
It is by far the safest space.
Still I long, still I reach
for what this all will teach.
First of all, Denise, I really admire your commitment to the form! The personification of the house is terrific. I feel like my house gets me, just like you communicated in the first stanza. The change in mood on the second stanza is perfectly relatable. And the resolution- well, we all know this is how it has to be.
Denise, your words “still I long, still I reach for what this all will teach” is what I keep asking myself. We are on the edge of a new living. What will it be? Your poem resonates because I was so busy before and longed for the quiet space. Now my wishes have come true and I reach out for a change. Thanks for your words.
I hear a clear ‘ode to love’ in these two lines, “She listens. She takes notes/She knows my life by rote.” Beautiful words about our confined spaces! Yes, I, too, am staying firm in my place…though I just want out of here!!
Wow, Denise, you certainly do understand meter. This is beautiful, and I’m learning again from watching you!
These are my favorite lines and ones I can most relate to. I don’t even want to exert my personal freedoms and go out.
Take care!
Still I long, still I reach
for what this all will teach.
Gosh. Same here. Nicely put.
Kevin
Denise — You surely said what I’m thinking. Your poem give testament to the time passing (rote, pace, remain) and the desire to make this all different (reset, still I reach/for what this all will teach). I, too, wonder what will come of this…so much is so in disruption and Covid freezes us in place…while our minds are screaming. Thank you for this shared feeling. Susie
Denise, this time of confinement has really taken its toll. I now find myself having a hard time going to sleep, if I have to go anywhere the next morning. I know returning to school will be a transition like no other too. This too shall pass!
I know that same sleeplessness – thank you for saying so. It’s sad to hear, but also a comfort that it’s not just me.
Yes, Denise, yes!
This line,
“Since Covid I first held her dear,
Though now I just want out of here.”
Ode from a Book Jacket
I will cover your story
across the chest, and I will cover your story
across the back, and I will cover your story
with matte and gloss,
with faces and places.
I will cover your story
across the spine, and I will cover your story
over the edge, and I will cover your story
with curiosity and praise,
with portrait and portrayal.
I entice eyes inside.
Maybe just another pretty face until
they fall into your words until
I slide in their hands until
my covering is cast
like a throw blanket
to the foot of the bed.
They hold you naked in hands–
you, bare, for fingers to turn,
exposing white space,
marking ink strokes ,
upon their hearts.
I will cover you again
(if I am not swept
under the bed
forgotten with lost socks.)
@Sarah J. Donovan, 2020
Such a creative and interesting POV! I loved the parenthetical declaration “(I will cover you again
(if I am not swept
under the bed
forgotten with lost socks.)”. It made me smile because it had a bit of snark to it! And the truth of being forgotten – like that missing sock.
Oooh, the personification of the warm book jacket saying with such conviction: “I will cover your story” is sensuous and delightful. Those first two stanzas really draw us in and we are hooked. Of course, the fate of the jacket is fun and sweet and such an affirmation of what we all experience with ours. Lovely!
Love the repetition of “and I will cover your story” … so alluring! Yes, book jackets really are! I got such a big smile from these lines, “Maybe just another pretty face until
they fall into your words until
I slide in their hands until
my covering is cast”
I certainly have never quite figured out what to do with book jackets, once I’ve gotten immersed in the good read!
Loved this.
I will cover your story
I paused at the first line, this playful use of cover and story, and then just loved how the book became the source of your ode inspiration.
Kevin
I like your book jacket. At least it is not one of those that gives away the innermost secrets of the story inside. A very respectable book jacket, indeed.
Sarah, I love your playfulness and patterning of Dr. Seuss! Your poem also reminds prospective authors of the power of imagery when designing book covers. So, let me get back to work with the authors I’m coaching. May I share your poem with them. They may take me more seriously if they see how you “honor” the cover as much as the innards! Thanks.
Thanks, Anna. I had fun writing this.
Sarah, so much style in this! I love the repetition at the start, where the relationship is not quite as evolved, but then the gradual move to a more intimate relationship with the nakedness and the white space. And then the humor of the reality – getting swept under the bed and forgotten. I love how the ode is FROM the book jacket. Unique writing from an unexpected perspective.
I love the perspective of the book jacket to the book down to the cover swept under the bed who must know my partner, the first two stanzas have the rhythm of Dr. Seuss and then the shift in the 3rd stanza takes you to your purpose as a book jacket though maintaining the book jacket perspective, hopefully not discarded – fun to read and linger thinking on
There is no denying that experiencing a book begins with the book jacket, but the magic really happens inside, which you capture beautifully in this line.
“Maybe just another pretty face until
they fall into your words”
Oh, Tracie, it was delightful to read about our friend, Mr. Rogers, today. I love the pattern you used of “Mr. Rogers, you saw our…” He was someone special who saw things differently than a lot of others, saw with the eyes of his heart, I reckon. I pray for more people who can follow his example.
Boy, Mo and Tracie, you have been challenging me this weekend. I always try to do the prompts, and these two days have been no exception. However, they are a challenge. I definitely need to learn about meter. I have no idea! I thought I was using your same rhyme pattern, but then realized I used ABAC, which when I searched to see if it was legit, I learned it is common in ballads. (I learn so much from you all every time I come to this page. Thanks to all of you, my teacher-poet-mentors.)
Ode to Ginger Spice Cookies
Oh, ginger spice, you bring joy to life
Your honest and prodigious flavors yearn
To share their beauty and reduce strife
Thank you for your irresistible warmth.
Oh, ginger spice, your flavors dance on my tongue
Sweet, salty, biting hot and spicy
Your flavors blend so fine, but remain unsung
Rivulets of deliciousness flowing within.
Oh, ginger spice, how to describe your color?
brownish-red, bronze, chestnut, copper–
Those are not quite right–they seem a little duller
That’s why you have your own exclusive eponym.
Oh, ginger spice, you are covered with cracks
and crevices, dipped in sugar and teeming with
reasons to overindulge. My healthy eating slacks
As I enjoy one, two, three, four, five, six…
I enjoyed reading your intro (your honesty about the challenge of these prompts: DITTO!), and then I laughed out loud just at the title of your poem! The repetition works well here (“Oh, ginger spice” reminds me of “O, Captain! My Captain!”), and is so playful, yet serious – because ginger spice are not to be taken lightly! This had me salivating (“Rivulets of deliciousness”) – and I think I need to go make cookies now!
…..ten, twelve, (there goes one dozen, so let’s keep going…), Denise, this makes me think of fall…..the ginger spice and the overindulging. It’s a beautiful way to celebrate something so simple yet so packed with rich flavor and feelings of comfort. Delicious poetry!
Well, yum! I’m now craving these cookies! I love your use of eponym here and all the wonderful tastes – sweet, salty, biting, hot, spicy. But it’s the visual at the end that does it for me – the cracks and crevices dipped in sugar. How delightful!
Ooh! Denise I have to have a cookie now. Those words of yours made my mouth drool “Oh ginger spice you bring joy to life” with flavors dancing on my tongue. Very descriptive. Yum!
I forgot how much I like a good ginger snap cookie until I read your poem. Such fantastic images – I could see and taste them – but I then had to add another item to my grocery list.
Your words make me feel like I am right there with you. Can I have a cookie?
Let me try this. Virtual cookies for everyone. I woke up having dreamt of ginger cookies, so I baked these this morning.
Enough for everyone…
Denise, I am learning about writing just like you; there is always so much to learn!
What a fantastic idea to create an Ode to such a delicious dessert!
“Rivulets of deliciousness”-a spot on description of the cracks!
“teeming with reasons to overindulge”-perfectly reminds me of how I justify enjoying sweet treats
“As I enjoy one, two, three, four, five, six…”-reassurance I am not the only overindulger here
P.S. I love that this Ode inspired you to bake. The photo made my mouth water!
Tracie,
We are so happy to have you with us and to share this great ode to Mr. Rogers. I often wonder if my affinity for cardigans came from watching him drape his shoulder in a cotton like a blanket when we arrived “home.” His gestures were so comforting, not the sort of aggressive moves I witnessed in my youth. I tried to channel his calm — still do. I wonder what other gestures or ways of being I absorbed during those times.
Peace,
Sarah
Sarah, thanks for the warm welcome!
OMG! My mind is blown! I have a closet filled with cardigans in every color. I cannot get enough of them. I didn’t put two and two together until your observation! I get why I collect these “blankets” of cotton comfort now!
I wish this generation had a Mr. Rogers like we did.
Tracie and Mo, thank you for hosting us with your inspiring prompts this month. Your mentor poem about Mr. Rogers was delightful – what a great role model! Your poem inspired me to try some rhyme scheme like I admired in your writing, so I sought it through coupled first lines along with some repetition. I was looking for a perfect way to preserve my girls’ getaway weekend, so this became my topic. I always love the way travel heightens my awareness of our surroundings and wish my regular places brought this much observation and appreciation packed into each moment.
Ode to the Girls’ Getaway
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW PEAKS –
Blood Mountain, where Appalachian Trail hikers fling
worn victory boots across tree branches
at Neel Gap, creating a celebration canopy
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW CREEKS –
Wolf Creek, where the tranquil trickle of water
braves the rock rapids by our picnic table, laden with an
eclectic assortment of shared QuikTrip snacks
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW BYWAYS –
roller coaster hairpin turns, where scenic panoramas
resplendent with art shapes in the earth and clouds
invite us to spy fire-breathing dragons and Indian maidens
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW HIGHWAYS –
connecting veins that turn a Honda CR-V into a whitewater
adventure down back roads to Three Sisters Vineyards
where we stop, admire, and savor the taste of the hillside
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW LODGES –
Lily Creek, a hobbit-style European cove
with rounded latched doorways and log ceilings,
rustically absent of all toilet paper, soap, and wi-fi
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW STODGES –
lobster ravioli at Grapevines, where splitting an entrée
and uncorking a bottle – clinking cheers! –
with sisters is always on the menu
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW SHOPS –
stores with spinning sticker displays, perfect
for my planner, proclaiming my travels
like so many bumper-stickered hippie vans of the 1970s
…..and…….
new boots, a $29.99 clearance steal
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW CHAIRS –
plush perches for pajama’ed pals,
where we sit sipping sparkling sangria
and sharing aloud from our current books:
our adhesive
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW TOWN SQUARES –
places of ghostly wonder about historic brick sidewalks and
buildings, of delectable discovery in hidden cafes where
absolutely! we’ll have dessert, too!
Girls’ getaway, you take me to NEW TREEHOUSES –
where a carelessly flung donut during early
morning writing brings fears of bears and
shivery scares at the rustle of leaves beneath
Girls’ getaway, you bring me home to NEW ME HOUSES –
ironic twists of strong friendship trips
where I discover that in building my sisters,
I build me
Oh, Kim,
I was just thinking about this — a girls getaway. Thank you for bringing me/us along with you in this ode. I love this stanza — kind of decadent:
Peace,
Sarah
That was so much fun to read! Oh, I miss getting away. I miss planning a getaway. I miss my girlfriends! But, I felt like I got to go on a trip with this poem. My friends laughing and giggling the whole way with me. My favorite is new creeks. We used to go camping (before kids)and be up to our knees in stream and under the waterfalls having a blast. And, oh….the bottle of blue Curacao would get lower and lower. Good memories! Thanks for the trip.
“Girls’ getaway, you bring me home to NEW ME HOUSES –
ironic twists of strong friendship trips
where I discover that in building my sisters,
I build me”
My favorite part! It resonates with me! Oh how I long for a girls’ getaway and the wonderful effect from it!
Thanks for taking me along on your adventures in your Ode!
That was a perfect way to capture your girls’ getaway. What a treasure!
This stanza was my favorite:
I feel like I’m there seeing it with you.
KIM, KIM, KIM — This is beautiful. I’m tripping right along with you and loving the girls, the sisters, the connections. Priceless stuff, these ventures…taking time, noticing details. And the bits of rhythm and rhyme really work! Some of my favorite pieces: “taste of the hillside” (perfect for a winery!; “sharing aloud from our current books: our adhesive”; and OF COURSE, that killa ending: “in building my sisters, I build me” — YES! I love the girl power in this…strength in voice! Love it! Thank you for reminding me how precious all my varied Sistas are! Susie
Wow! I need to up my Girls’ Getaway experiences big time, Kim!
My favorite method of you and the ladies bonding is this one,
“sharing aloud from our current books:
our adhesive”
Books definitely bond us with one another!
P.S. I am pleased to hear you share my appreciation for Mr. Rogers!
Ode to the Teacher I Once Was
Teacher, the remnants are still there
Sharpened pencils, their black tips crisp
Open armed planners waiting, bare
First day lessons built
The get-to-know-you blueprint
Rolled open for nine months of construction
Creator of
Ground floor plots
Word papered lobbies
Hardcover rooms
Page pathways
Thought elevators
You are buried now
Under layers of Earthquakian directives
Rubble heaps of public opinion
Trash piles of re-opening plans
A collapsed heap
The weight of rebuilding too much to lift
Four months ago the nation saw your high rise
With penthouse views
Now you’re a third world country
Barely worthy of a second glance
A hired au pair
Expendable for a MAGA economy
I hate the truth in this. There’s just more evidence every day. I too have a think for those perfectly sharpened pencils! And, notebooks….new, clean notebooks. I’m powerless against a stack of them. lol
I’m praying that our nation works to preserve teachers for our future.
Woah, Jennifer. This line “The weight of rebuilding too much to lift.” and then the title “Once Was” — oh, this is really hitting me as I think about how we are all having to reimagine what we were and are becoming, and I wonder, really wonder if this is needed in some ways as a way of uncovering the inequality in the architecture of schooling and uncovering the art that is teaching, the art that is so under- understood in America. What will come of it all?
Sarah
My college education head told us that there would be no change to the education system unless something catastrophic like a war occurred. I never imagined it truly happening, but here we are. We need to take advantage of this opportunity to re-create our ed system (I keep suggesting this in my world), but I think the upper ups are too focused on getting it back to what it was and the worker bees are too stressed by the back and forth of what we’ll be doing to move forward in any direction whatsoever.
Jennifer, this verse:
You are buried now
Under layers of Earthquakian directives
Rubble heaps of public opinion
Trash piles of re-opening plans
A collapsed heap
The weight of rebuilding too much to lift
so true, so real, so now……so sad! I love your dances with words – black tips crisp, word papered lobbies…..there is beauty of language in the sadness of truth.
That same stanza hit me hard, too
Kevin
There’s so much feeling here – in the first two stanzas the memories of your teacher self, the one you once were – the third stanza is rich with images many of us who are currently teachers may relate to – in late March and earlier this month we began with one set of plans only to discover they were being changed, scrapped due to the changes at the state level and the final stanza states all that we have been watching, maybe hating to articulate, but unfortunately know to be true – raw
Jennifer, this ending:
says too much, sadly. Thank you for sharing. Hang in there.
I was in tears as I read this, Jennifer. And that last stanza! That says it all.
Your ode speaks volumes about how most of us feel. We were held high as heroes and now we have become the victims of an angry society. This stanza describes how deeply suffocated and abused we feel:
Powerful words.
Geez, Jennifer, you really slam-dunked this one. It is such a disaster, what is happening now….how in “four months” we’ve spiraled into this abyss. “A hired au pair” just makes me so so broken about how cruel all this is. And for what?! I am sending hugs and hoping that tomorrow is better than today. Can we move the election to tomorrow? Thank you for your honesty and candid heart. Susie
Jennifer, they have not “buried you” as these lines suggest,
You are buried now
Under layers of Earthquakian directives
Rubble heaps of public opinion
Trash piles of re-opening plans
A collapsed heap
The weight of rebuilding too much to lift
They’ve just sent you underground to regroup. You’re going to come out howling!
Your poetic license to create your own words gives you poem extra poignancy “Earthquakian”! If the words you need to express yourself clearly do not exist already, create it your own! This is a free country, right! 🙂
I almost wrote my poem today about back-to-school supplies (or the lack thereof)…I wanted to rummage through the Target dollar section for new supplies and trinkets, but the thought of it made me sad.
This line hit me in the gut: “You are buried now/Under layers of Earthquakian directives.” This whole stanza, really. Your use of the extended metaphor of disaster and aftermath–“rubble heaps” and “trash piles” and “collapsed heap”–articulates so clearly this mess we are all in. (My district’s re-opening plan makes me think of a tsunami wave approaching…one we know is coming and growing bigger each day…and all we have to protect ourselves is a few blow-up swimmies and a kiddie float.)
Thank you for sharing your poem with us today. It was a cathartic read.
Jennifer, you go girl! This so perfectly captures the public’s view of teachers during the Pandemic.
I have been struggling to describe how I have been feeling these days, and you nailed it. It feels heavy, like I am buried. This stanza is a peek into my mind, my heart these days.
“You are buried now
Under layers of Earthquakian directives
Rubble heaps of public opinion
Trash piles of re-opening plans
A collapsed heap
The weight of rebuilding too much to lift”
Tracie, thank you for your ode to Mr. Rogers. I am thrilled that we are celebrating him, his life and legacy to all of us in many ways as of late. Gosh, he remains so much of what we need. And, your last stanza nails it for me. I’m an old Social Studies teacher turned librarian and I shudder at the crisis of civics in our nation right now.
James
The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials. ~Confucius*
Today we celebrate you
18 rotations around our sun
survival of unknown depths
before we met
the waiting
waiting
waiting to hear, “you are matched”
“你是匹配的”
to a son
brother
cousin
grandchild
friend
A someday man for your family
for our world.
Such a celebration
should be out about town
with fine food and music, games.
To keep you safe
preserve you, son
In a pandemic
keeping us locked tight
I cannot give you a world of celebration.
Instead, the universe gifts Neowise to you.
A galaxy gem on fire
the trial of falling
falling
falling near our sun
not breaking apart
but shining for you
for us
until leaving our solar system
sky mapping a road known only to it
–Me waving and cheering
as long as tail lights glow.
*James came into our family by way of adoption from China. The quote above is the beginning of his baby book.
Oh, my, Linda. This is incredibly moving, and when I saw this — “你是匹配的” — I wondered how the shapes, the strokes of ink are capable of different shapes and meaning. I love that. So many unfamiliar word to me that I love — Neowise, a roadknown, gemon fire, cherringas, astail. And I love the idea of “fallingnear” as one.
Peace,
Sarah
oh, there are oooops-es. I had a terrible time formatting this morning. I think that this website doesn’t allow a copy & paste without making sure it’s not a spammer. But, I did a “test” message and then edited THAT to get my poem in the window. By that time, I was tired of fussing with it…which led to words running together.
Linda, so many lines/words are resonating with me this morning (18 rotations around our sun, a galaxy gem, skymapping a road – skymapping is beautiful!!). I can only imagine how James must feel knowing your immense feelings for him, which spans from that beginning baby book quote all the way until the tail lights glow in the distance. Wonderful!
Linda, these words that celebrate James and offer such appreciation for him and all that he adds to your lives – and you to his – are words that bring boulder-sized pulsing heartbeats to the life you share with him. What a cherished way to celebrate his birthday!
Linda,
A big happy birthday to James! I hope he had a great day. All the astronomy imagery is beautiful in your poem–
“A galaxy gem on fire” is a nice connection to his quote and I picture the gem becoming more polished and radiant.
I love the image of the comet “mapping a road” – wonderful metaphor for life’s, and your son’s, journey.
How cleverly you allow the solar imagery to shine throughout your poem. Your words “Today we celebrate you/
18 rotations around our sun” reminds me of the characters in TENDER MORSELS by Margo Lanagan. They measure their age in summers that have passed. What a meaningful tribute to your son as his tail lights will soon be seen leaving home.
Linda, what a beautiful tribute! I am struck by the final two images…the juxtaposition of the galactic “until leaving our solar system/sky mapping a road known only to it” and the terrestrial “Me waving and cheering/as long as tail lights glow.” Best wishes to James! Thank you for sharing your poem with us.
First of all, Linda, I am so pleased to hear you share my affection for Mr. Rogers and his ideals!
This who adopt are heroes. You already gave your son the best gift 18 years ago, so no guilt over the lack of celebration during the quarantine.
I appreciate the inclusion of a language other than English used in your poem; it brings such authenticity!
“你是匹配的”
I can feel your angst as a mom-to-be in these lines,
the waiting
waiting
waiting to hear, “you are matched”
Happy “18 rotations around our sun” to you and your son!
Ode to an Empty School Hallway
Hallway, I still remember you
as you left me, as I left you,
all bustle and chatter, and
dropped books and erasers,
my door opening into shared space
on the lost Friday afternoon
Oh, Hallway, how much silence
you have swallowed, since
then, since March, when the last of
the metal doors slammed shut;
there’s something close to sound
still reverberating
They tell me they’ve adorned you
with arrows, directions, paths,
signs for our feet to follow,
movement we must take,
and in my mind, at times,
we’re all masked wanderers now,
anxious passengers
on a train with walls barren of art
Hallway, someday, you will shout
again, and I promise to stand
at the end, like a fly on the telescope,
yelling one thing but holding the other;
my heart remembers
Kevin, this is beautiful and says so much of what I felt when I was allowed back into my building for a few hours to “clean up and out” from the past school year. I kept thinking, “If these halls could talk.” I’ve seen all sorts of things related to school on social media to make things “better” somehow. A N95 mask for each day, a button with your full face on it so students know what I look like, a new shiny learning platform that go virtual on a dime. All of it lacks the humanity of our school halls living and breathing with the life of our students, our future. Thank you for putting into words what your heart remembers. It’s beautiful.
Oh, Kevin,
I am rocked by this image:
Adorning the walls not with student work — stories, art, images — but ideas to regulate and sort bodies.
I am glad that your heart remembers the sound of dropped books — lets hold on to that.
Sarah
Kevin, yours is a true gift of taking us to places with your words – your pictures, your images, your feelings. I like this part best:
we’re all masked wanderers now,
anxious passengers
on a train with walls barren of art
What a world we now share. I cringe at the thought of the artlessness.
Kevin, your beautiful image of the empty hallway is palpable. These are my favorite lines:
I also love how your heart will remember, even when we are back to “normal.”
Your poem foreshadows what many schools will look like when they reopen – such a painful image. The anxious feeling comes through strongly in your poem.
Kevin,
Your poem takes me back to March 13th when students and teachers excitedly headed out thinking we had been gifted just one extra week of spring break. Little did we know…
“we’re all masked wanderers now,
anxious passengers
on a train”
Dang! These lines express just how I feel about the return to school. I am so worried about making those very important personal connections with students while masked.