Today’s writing inspiration comes from Linda Mitchell. Linda is a family girl, Teacher Librarian and poet. She taught in western New York State apple country, outskirts of Athens, Greece and now serves as a Teacher Librarian in Northern Virginia. Linda is a prompt hound who loves a challenge to write in new and interesting ways. She blogs weekly at A Word Edgewise for Kidlitosphere’s Poetry Friday.
Inspiration
This prompt originated from watching #sharingournotebooks video #50 by teaching author-poet Amy Ludwig Vanderwater.
Lists! I know you have them…they may be three words or pages long, a series of to do items, groceries, clothing sizes? What about lists of words that you hear or love these days?
Process
Peruse your notebook(s) for a list. Zero in on one word to “write long” about as suggested by The Poem Farm, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater in Lift a Word #sharingournotebooks #50. (http://www.poemfarm.amylv.com/) Note, Linda’s poem remained a list. But, that’s OK. It’s the idea of looking at lists that is the true prompt.
My poem stems from this list written in purple ink in one of her used-up notebooks:
Linda’s Poem
Write
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.
Courage:
Ride- Texas is gone, I need to trust Scout
Sweat- feeling better in body will translate to mind
Stop- competing. I’m a member of the team. I have my own set of skills.
Fear- let it go. People are not focused on me. They have other things to think about.
Control- listen to the voice. Listen to what it tells me. It’s usually right.
My List is a list of words created from the word Equality
Everyone – Everyone matters
Quality – Quality of life
Understanding – We must get to know each other
Affection – All it takes is a little love
Listening – Hear each other’s stories
Inquiring – Search out answers for understanding
Trusting – A basis for getting along
Yielding – Watch the fruits of your efforts grow
The last line is the best line (and full of hope)
Kevin
I love acrostics! I connected with so many things. Everyone matters- I’m working to being less judgmental in general throughout all aspects of my life. I also need to embrace the thought that I matter too.
This flows into hearing each other stores. How do we do this in daily life? It’s a little easier with students as part of relationship building. Or I should say there are more opportunities.
Window,
If you feel SAD,
Drowning in the Dark,
Just raise your head,
and you will absolutely get the mark,
See the window and beyond,
you must let your eyes hack,
The sky and everything around,
you will maybe go back,
but to run away ahead,
the Sun shines work,
the life will be colorful of Yellow green red.
The line “Drowning in the Dark” really resonated with me. With all the craziness that has been 2020 so far, there are many, many people that have experienced that feeling at some point. Drowning is something that is out of your control, just like so much happening now in the world.
I love how “See the window and beyond” and “letting your eyes hack, the sky and everything beyond” expresses a feeling of hope in spite of the darkness. We need that in so many ways right now! Hack that sky, baby and find a way to move forward out of the darkness even if it’s unconventional.
That’s kind from you dear,
you pushed me to write more about such kind of feelings.
This is my first time to participate in this group. I was watching the live streaming of sunrise and sunset from Stonehenge for the summer solstice today (well, yesterday because it’s after midnight) as I drew some Tarot and oracle cards. I took words from the cards to write my poem.
Queen of Swords
Light-hearted giggles are absent now
The trickster is on the prowl
It’s time to retreat
To rest
To heal
To listen to Wolf’s lonesome howl
Spirit is whispering, seeking you out
Calling you by name
It’s time to believe
To release
To transform
Your life is not the same
It’s time to draw your sword, my Queen
And leave your hermit’s lair
It’s time to breathe
To gather your strength
and acknowledge the gifts
That have always been right there
Welcome Sharon! I came back to yesterday’s posts to see what I missed and I’m glad I read your poem, your first contribution to this wonderful supportive community of writers. The power and encouragement from your poem speak to me. I love “It’s time to believe/To release/To transform” because all I continue to feel during this double pandemic is we are not in control!! Yes, it’s time to release and let change happen. Love your poem and I hope you’ll stick around. Such a cool group of people!
Welcome aboard, Sharon! I love how you worked within a subtle rhyme scheme. This “fits” a poem about patterns in nature. I know nothing about tarot cards, but I want to be the Queen with the sword, gathering my strength, leaving my lair, using my power.
THANK you for this word-rich poem!
So cool how you used the visual moment for inspiration and this line:
“The trickster is on the prowl”
That line caught my attention and drew me in
Kevin
My child
Little one
Beautiful girl
Sweet smile
Precious moments
No terrible twos
Happy and cute
Joy in your eyes
Life changes
Abandonment follows
The joy in your eyes
Is no longer
It’s you and me
A better life
A happy life
A successful life
I want so much
for you
You grow and thrive
I see you
Your strength
Your determination
Your sweetness
Your peace
Your self control
I admire
It’s you and me
It has always been
only you and me
You lean on me
You count on me
To protect you
To care for you
I love you
You love me
I see your innocence
I see your insecurities
I look at you
I see the result
Of my efforts
Of my flaws
I look at you
And see where
I succeeded
I look at you
And see where
I failed
I look at you
I wish
I had been better
I wish
I knew better
I wish
I had done better
I look at you
I see the past
Repeat itself
Monica Schwafaty
Wow, Monica! Happy I came back to see what I missed last night. This poem could easily be about me and my daughter (and probably any mom and daughter). Funny how we recall how easy the early years were, then see all of their successes and somehow our failures pop in. I know the feeling all too well. You and I and all mothers do the best we can. I’m sure your daughter knows how much you’ve done for her. You are to be applauded. Thank you for sharing your poem and your mom/daughter relationship with us.
“I see the result
Of my efforts
Of my flaws”
Here is what every parent thinks at some time (or more times than we can admit)
Kevin
Quick musings about eight words found in my notebook
Looking back my eyes wander pages for a word to grab. Little else inhabits the decision.
First landing on the word, ruffles which pushes off my tongue – I can almost imagine the sound of the word, the movement of my lips creating a ruffle in the air.
On to patron – a funny word – a patron of the arts, how else might I use it, a restaurant patron though it has been sometime now.
And skitters – I remember writing this word as I watched an anole skitter across one of the broad cast iron leaves outside my window, or maybe it was the bark on the elm tree. Like ruffles, a fun word to say, the way your tongue pushes against your teeth as you shape it.
Anole – captured on another page, always just outside my window. If not written everyday certainly encountered daily this time of year.
Concrete – there were years before I knew the difference between concrete and cement. If you’re not sure – cement sticks things together.
Puzzle pieces – a useful word when you’re building a metaphor though it’s rare when the comparison has such defined edges.
Sabbath – today though less distinguishable from other days right now. Still there are some rituals which identify it as the sabbath.
And community where I have returned on this sabbath in June to write, share, read and grow.
So today’s captured words reflect the time in which they were written. I wonder how common that is. Sound and time and random bits.
Finding notebook words and then pulling them into a poem is a beautiful challenge, full of connections and wonderings, and your final observation of a poem as “Sound and time and random bits” is as good a definition of what poetry is as any I’ve found.
Kevin
Skitters…love it!
I love new words! Something uncommon, unused. How I wish I still had a classroom to use this with students!
Unckecked
Go to bed by 10.
Did I?
Wiil do
But
There are books to read
Movies to watch
Pillowfights with kids being tucked in
Facebook post to comment on
Video calls to made
Long talks in the night
Dishes to do, counters to clean
Milk to boil for the yougurt to be made
poetry to write
and connection to be made.
How about if I go to bed at eleven instead?
Can I stay till twelve?
Your poem resonated with me. Your list is so similar to mine.
Ah
Yes
The night’s schedule coming loose at the threads with other obligations and still: making time to write.
🙂
Kevin
We need to keep in mind all of this in the morning when we have that “I should have gone to bed earlier” thought. In the long run of life, we’re not going to look back and think that we should have spent more time sleeping. That’s why humankind discovered coffee isn’t it?
Got word that I’ll be teaching a new grade level this fall. 6th Grade Math and Science. My lifted word – Ratio.
Ratios
By: Emily Yamasaki
Ratios
A relationship between two quantities
For every bedtime routine,
There are three books read
For every fifteen minutes of play,
There are ten joyful giggles
For every three stroller walks,
There are eight neighbors to wave at
For every black baby to be murdered,
There is every broken mama
Wow, Emily. Here I was sitting, smiling, and enjoying your sweet poem, then POW! Your ending was so unexpected, but it’s so important. The choice of the word “murdered” was the right one. Those broken mamas are strong images to end with.
Oh WOW. I did not see this coming. You knocked me flat. THANK YOU.
Wow! The last couplet caught me off guard. The turn your poem takes in the end is shocking. Talk about mic drop. Love it.
Emily – What a guy punch! Those innocent, beautiful images are slapped to smithereens with those last two lines. Heartbreaking reality. Thank you for the power in these wake-up lines. Susie
Emily!!!! Your poem. Mic drop. I don’t have words.
Last line … the abrupt shift in tone is very effective
Kevin
PS — hey from another sixth grade teacher
Showers
The warm water hits your face
Everything rises to the top, spilling over to be set free.
The steady stream of water
Mixes with the care of life carried for far too long.
Behind the shower curtain
A safe haven to release all your worries.
A flood of emotions crest
Rising to the surface; unable to recede.
Letting it flow feels good.
Necessary. Required. Therapeutic.
Then, the curtain is drawn open to reality.
After the warm water washes what ails you down the drain.
Donnetta, The safe haven of a shower is one I truly understand. The lines “A flood of emotions crest/Rising to the surface; unable to recede” captures the sense of emotional release so well. I sense the cold reality at the end. The structure of your poem carries the movement and the moment so well!
Ten Things My Dad Can (Still) Do
“So live, that when thy summons comes…”
This is so sweet, Allison. You are so fortunate to have your parents with you right now. I love the simplicity of your statements, which really mean so much more. Your dad sounds like an amazing person!
Not sure why #3 appeals so much. Feels so very human. And loving.
Explaining why you shouldn’t have led that card – oh, how I love this! The teaching of strategy and imparting of tactic transfers to more than cards! Perfect way to end – a strategic line. This hand didn’t matter how you led because the finish was a winner!
Allison, I can hear the love you have for your father in this poem. I love the way you show his personality through the carefully chosen details. What a wonderful tribute to appears to be a very loving and brilliant soul!
short lines describe the man – specific enough to paint a picture
This is oh so powerful, Allison. I especially love the two lines “Explain why I shouldn’t have led that card” and “Listen to the whole of a person.”
Aren’t dads simply special?
Allison – These acts are each so descriptive of your father. Wonderful and so right for my reading this morning. Your dad reads like my dad did. I chuckled at the explaining why you shouldn’t have led that card. LOL! And the touching image of holding your mom’s hand. Very dear. My dad used to come up behind my mom doing dishes at the sink and wrap his arms around her and kiss her dark brown hair, and she would giggle with an “Oh Charles!” It made me giggle too.
A nice tribute to your dad. Your love and pride shine through.
Oh, this is wonderful. What a affirmation. I hope you share this with him. The best line for me is “Listen to the whole of the person” Wow. What a Dad.
Linda, thank you for sharing this prompt, and thank you for introducing us (me anyway) to Amy Ludwig VanDerwater. I love the video, her notebook, and the ideas she shares on her website. Thank you.
Thanks for a great prompt, Linda. I’m posting late because, well, I think the reason will be clear in my list poem!
Feeding a Family: Father’s Day Menu 2020 for Steve, Mo, Mike, Alex, Sean, Amy, Nathan, and Packy
APPETIZER- ROASTED ASPARAGUS CROSTINI
The baguette conjures images of our once-in-a-lifetime French sortie
The ricotta and pesto harmonize like all of us, into a comfortable mix
The asparagus will give the boys something to giggle about, once digested
SIDES- FRESH PEACH SALAD, SUMMER PASTA SALAD, and COUSCOUS SALAD WITH TOMATOES AND MINT
The sweetest peaches balance the arugula, showing our children that life is
all about the give-and-take
The pasta will offer that beautiful starchy satisfaction
that can only be achieved when red, yellow, orange, and green veggies
are paired with Feta and balsamic dressing
Couscous, brought to us from the other side of the world,
reminds us to be open to people, places, and ideas unlike our own
Our garden-fresh tomatoes and mint help us to be grateful for what we have
MAIN COURSE- GRILLED CHICKEN BREASTS and BRATS FROM FAIRBURY
The chicken is a favorite of the girls,
while the brats, ordered special from Central Illinois,
will give the boys a chance to flex their grilling muscles
as they try to one-up each other like they used to
while playing basketball in the driveway
DESSERT- TRIPLE LEMON COOKIES and PINEAPPLE UPSIDE DOWN CAKE
Lemon cookies are made with love for the heathens who don’t like chocolate
and will provide a pop of summer flavor
And the pineapple upside cake is an infrequently baked yet always desired treat
for the man who made this beautiful, loving family possible
A family analysis, all in one. Please, may I come next time?
Mo, I love how your menu exudes the love and intentionality of your food prep. I hope you had half as much fun writing this as I did reading it! Your details help me see, know, and love “your people.” Enjoy!
P.S. Favorite part was “Couscous, brought to us from the other side of the world,
reminds us to be open to people, places, and ideas unlike our own”
Mo, thank you for inviting us to your table. It was nice to meet your family, and you prepared such wonderful dishes. A truly delicious poem.
Oh my goodness! I am tired just reading this because it sounds like you’re a chef in a restaurant! My oh my, my family wouldn’t eat if all this were up to me. I’m just in total awe.
This poem is a fun sensory dance, like music should be playing as its spoken. I adore food poems because of the love we give when we cook and the beautiful memories that last lifetimes. I’m sure “The man who made this beautiful, loving family possible” will feel alllllll this love!
My favorite lines:
Couscous, brought to us from the other side of the world,
reminds us to be open to people, places, and ideas unlike our own
These lines are so clever. In a sweet and nostalgic poem, you make a statement that is so relevant today. Unexpected, but very intentional.
OMG, now I’m starved! Gotta go eat breakfast! This is really terrific! Susie
Thank you for this prompt. I make a lot of to-do lists, but this one hit differently today, and I have spent a lot of time with it.
Line Numbers
My grandfather
Used to tell me about
The poems
He had to memorize for school–
So many hundred lines
Each year
And years after
He was in school
He shared those with me
From memory
With love
1. “He looked me through and through”
He learned
in his mother’s lap
And taught me from his.
I knew this poem
Before I knew how
To read–
The best kind of heirloom
He could have given
Me and anyone
Who comes after
2. “Ride, boldly ride”
Were lines I could
Chant from my bicycle shaped
Horse
Pretend cowgirl riding
alongside
John wayne
As he saved Eldorado
A windswept field
Of golden wheat all around me
A man in a ginner’s cap
And overalls watching from
The real world and
Beneath
An apple tree
3. “Nevermore”
Was recited
In the strange
And macabre meter
That Poe penned
From across the kitchen table
That will be mine someday
Too soon
As cards were
Shuffled and dealt
Dozens of times
In an effort to teach me to play
And cheat at
Poker
4. “So live”
Were the words of wisdom
I hear even now
As he shared his favorite poem
Of all time
With me
That the lesson of death
Is life
Lived well
5. “Not with a bang, but a whimper”
Is the only poem
I brought back to him,
His head tipped back,
Eyes closed
Hands in soft repose
(Only the lines of
Oxygen distort this
Perfect peace)
As he feels it
Somewhere
Deep within
And says he would have
memorized that
If he’d have read it sooner
6. “We can be and be better”
I learned After–
Long after–
But I feel it in that place
In my soul
That is him
And his
And think of all the
Good that is in me
That he planted there
With his farmers heart
And his poet words
And I
Still sob
When I think about how
many poems
I never knew
If he knew,
My heart in my hands
Moved to that place
He too must have found
That was quiet and at peace
With humanity
And God,
And how many
I have written him
That he will never read
(Poems referenced:
I met a little elf man once by Mrs. Russel Vaugh
Eldorado by Edgar Allan Poe
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
Thanatopsis by william Cullen Bryant
The Hollow Man by T.S. Eliot
When Great Trees Fall by Maya Angelou)
So my line breaks didnt go in…
Neither did mine. This is beautiful…. my grandfather taught me “Hiawatha”. I know how you feel about him…
What a wonderful gift your grandfather gave you, Andrea. I especially like section 5, “Not with a bang, but a whimper.” I felt your grandfather’s age and love of language there. Nicely done.
Andrea! I wrote my poem tonight before I read yours, but we BOTH wrote about men (your grandfather, my father) reciting “Thanatopsis.”
The way you have combined remembered snippets with bold imagery (the girl on the bike, the farmer’s heart) works beautifully for me.
I carry many memorized lines with me, but your poem makes me want to add more. Lovely.
Andrea,
Thanks for reminding me of my Grandpa and how awesome he was.
Like yours, he shared love of reading with me.
He is no more but is always with me.
Best wishes.
Purviben
Holy cow, this is beautiful. I am envying you for having such a grandpa! I love the whole of it, but this part . . .
“And think of all the
Good that is in me
That he planted there
With his farmers heart
And his poet words”
Just wow.
Poetry Notes
A poem buds
Gently unfurling golden
Wiggling word petals
Buzzing busily within
A honeycomb maze
Trying to tame
It blazes fire-red
Roses; dusky wild
Tenacious tiger lilies
Freely floating away
Lingering in a
Perfumed breeze –fluttering
Enigma; fragile as
A beautiful butterfly
Impossible to satisfy
Barb Edler
June 20, 2020
Barb,
The alliteration is lovely here with such movement in the words as the poem emerges lingering, fluttering. What also struck me here is the use of the semicolon midline. I love the semicolon for its symbolism of connection and a resistance to breaking while offering each clause enough independence.
Peace,
Sarah
Barb,
I love the gorgeous flower imagery in your poem and the metaphor of a poem blooming. Some times a poem is an enigma. The mystery of nature and poetry leaves me breathless some times. “Wiggling word petals” is my favorite phrase. Thank you.
—Glenda
Barb, such beautiful images you were able to create while playing with the sounds of the words! WIggling word petals and tenacious tiger lilies are perfect! I especially enjoyed your ending lines.
Barb,
I love the metaphor for how a poem is experienced. I feel the beauty and the energy of the moment–It is electric and suspended beautifully. You capture it so effortlessly. I am captured by the line “Trying to tame/it blazes fire-red”; because a poem experienced can set fire to so many parts of us, but poetry is so carefully crafted to burn with intention.
Thank you for sharing this; it is beautiful.
Hello, my dear Iowa poet friend! I’m so happy to find this sumptuous poem here tonight! This morning I read “Nothing Gold Can Stay” with my parents (who are quarantining in my basement) and we talked about the first line: “Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold”
As your poem budded GOLDEN, I felt Frost’s influence, then “heard” his alliteration blossom through your words as well!
Frost + Edler = a good poetry day!
Lovely!
your living imagery so nice from stanza to stanza sharing a different way to look at a poem – different moments – your images linger
Lift a Word
The Word is Fence
“Good fences make good neighbors,”
Said not the speaker
But the neighbor in
“Mending Wall.”
Frost’s speaker wonders,
“Why do they make good neighbors?”
It was he who called the neighbor
To the task of mending wall
Stone by stone.
Yet in the very doing of it
He wonders whether
The first wall builder asked
Himself what it was he was
“Walling in or walling out.”
“Something there is
That doesn’t love a wall,”
He thinks but does not
Share with his unenlightened
Neighbor mending wall
As his father
Mended wall
Stone by stone.
“Good fences make good neighbors,”
Said not the speaker
But the neighbor in
“Mending Wall.”
Katrina, your poem is crafted so cleverly. The play of words is so intricate and thought-provoking. The progress of the poem to its very end is sheer perfection!
Katrina,
I just love how you use this poem to interrogate a saying, to do inquiry into all the actors.
Sarah
Katrina, I love how it makes me think. I had to read it twice to “get it.”
Katrina, I have notice this about “Mending Wall” also. I love how you took me through your thinking, allowing me to dip into your thinking as well as Frost’s. Lovely.
This poem started from brainstorming list of struggles ELL newcomers face in school.
English Language Learner
Systemic racism
Deficit discourse
Expected assimilation
An ELL must marched to the beat.
Only English allowed
Did you forget?
This is how “we” do it.
The ELL must march to the beat.
Rules and policy
Devalued tongue
Two different, separate worlds
The ELL will march to the beat.
Alienation and apathy
Silent acculturation
Forget the past
ELL: I don’t like this beat.
Jolie, your poem carries a powerful punch. I love how you share your ELL students’ barriers and perspective. You need to share this poem with your colleagues. The end is so telling!
Jolie, you hit the nail on the head with this one. I like the way you captured the struggle….
Excellent poem!
Wow, the truth of this hits hard. I think it’s the repetition and the single syllable of “beat” that gives the poem a driving feeling. I don’t like the beat either. Let’s change it.
YES! The rules hurt, don’t they?
As a teacher, I read these words very carefully, multiple time actually. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing this poem. I found myself keeping a marching beat while I read your lines. I hope to revisit this poem again as I prepare for the new school year.
Jolie,
As English is my third language, I feel kinship with the ELLs who do not want to be told about which beat is the best for them.
Thanks for noticing and writing about it.
Best wishes.
Purviben
Your poem really resonated with me, Jolie, because I also teach ESOL. It’s heartbreaking sometimes. “Two different, separate worlds” If only we could see the beauty in each other and learn from each other.
Pearlie Marie-this started as a list but turned into a well-deserved tribute in love.
Born in Fort Worth
death and apathy
took her parents.
Family took her in,
her humble heart
endured.
Left Texas and
attended Tuskegee with
plans to become a
nurse like every other
Negro girl in the 1950s.
ran out of money after
3 years so her brother
drove her to CA to start over
again.
Decided to become an
Elementary teacher
Found love, married and
gave birth to a daughter.
Joined a church and found
her voice, sistah-friends,
true love, meditation and
her inner strength. She
stood up, stepped out, and
earned her MA.
She divorced, excelled in teaching
mentored others, embraced make-up,
perfume, colors, and gorgeous clothes/shoes.
She traveled to 5 continents,
took risks in love, had her heart
broken a few times
yet was strongly loved also.
She witnessed both granddaughters
come into the world.
At 60 years old, she moved from 11 yr. olds
to 5 yr. olds and parceled out
hugs and held hands daily.
She loved her daughter and son-in-love
fiercely and was generous with her gifts
and her love.
10+ years ago she earned her wings
yet her influences are still felt daily.
She entered the world
June 20, 1936.
Seana — This is such a beautiful history of a strong, wonderful woman. That she faced down so many barriers (death and apathy) and all the different turns that are such honest parts of life and still lives through your poem is quite something. Such a lovely telling, right down to the perfume and “earned her wings”… just very touching. Thank you. It makes me miss my mama. Susie
Seana, this is an incredible tribute. Everyone should have such a positive, loving, enduring influence in their life. I so appreciate the “she did…” girl power in your poem. An incredible list poem! Thank you for sharing a bit of her with us.
I love her journey. She “ran out of money” and had “to start over again,” which led her to the teaching profession. I love the image of her parceling “out hugs and” holding “hands daily.” She sounds magnificent. I can imagine that “her influences are still felt” by AND through the ones she left behind. Beautiful. Thanks for sharing.
This is beautiful! Oh my, I feel as if I have just met someone so resilient, so full of love, so intelligent and persevering. Wow! What a special turn of phrase, “daughter and son-in-love” – these words illustrate how big her heart was! What a testimony to this beautiful woman that “her influences are still felt daily.” Thank you for sharing this!
I don’t know about anyone else, but the last line took my breath away in a surprising and good way. What a beautiful way to honor your mother.
Seana, what a beautiful tribute! I love the specific details that share your mother’s beauty, struggles, and love. (I guess I am assuming this is your mother:)) I especially enjoyed the line “She loved her daughter and son-in-love”. Thanks for sharing such a poignant poem!
Yes she was my mother. Thanks
Seana,
Thank you for this tribute. What I noticed was how the first part was born, left, decided, joined, and then you included the pronoun in the second half with “she” traveled, witnessed, loved, entered. This second half shows such intention, agency, knowing who she is and the lives she nurtured. Lovely/
Sarah
Sean,
I love this tribute to your loved one. How special she sounds, and how blessed you are to have been loved by her. I love your lines “drove her to Ca to start over/again,” especially that line break. It creates such a moment of tone and tension of how much she had to overcome, endure, and how much disappointment and fear she must have experienced and yet it speaks so much of her resilience and ability to find and make hope on her own life. It seems like such a turning point in your piece and in her life–she didnt become what she planned, but she became something more. I love that.
Thank you for sharing her with us.
–Andrea
Apparently my phone likes to autocorrect things that are not incorrect. You name is not Sean; it is Seana. I do apologize for that.
thats alright. thanks for your kind words.
Seana, my sistah-friend, your Mom is smiling on you from heaven. We already know she’s beaming with pride too because of the extraordinary educator you are.
The beginning left my mouth open (death and apathy/took her parents) and then you weaved a beautiful story of survival and resilience, one that doesn’t surprise me at all. Truly a gift from God.
Love you!?
Thanks Stacey. I’m looking forward to reading your brilliance this week. Enjoy
What a beautiful, touching tribute, Seana. I’ve read it a couple of times and teared up each time. You can feel the love, both hers and yours. I’m also from Texas, and this seems especially poignant a day after Juneteenth.
Thanks Sharon. Yes she taught me about Juneteenth too since it was a day before her birthday.
This was the center of your poem for me:
“yet was strongly loved also”
I hope we all are.
Kevin
I’ve been working my way through “The Racial Healing Handbook,” which has heightened my awareness on my own racial identity and white privilege. That’s the inspiration for my list poem.
“ Privilege: A Fragment”
Born a color
Opaque
Unaware
Antithesis of care
Sheltered in
A gossamer shroud
Historic
Systemic
Single story
Flat spatial plane
Myopic
Monosyllabic
Cocoon cover
Mythological American narrative
Unexceptional exceptionalism
Oblivious
Who, me?
We. White. Privilege.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda — You sure captured some true power words of white privilege…. the ones that really nailed it for me were
“flat … myopic…unexceptional exceptionalism…monosyllabic…cocoon…shroud.” We have so much action to take and work to do. That the conversation is finally so big and bold is a godsend. This gives me so much hope. Thank you! Susie
Wow. I know when I see your name I am in for thoughtful work…and you do not disappoint. Some of these descriptions really get me too. That mythological American narrative…it’s hurt so many people. It’s so time to be honest. Unaware, though…that is the sharpest word in the poem for me. And, to it, I say, no more.
Powerful. I’m caught up in that ‘single story/flat spatial plane’ [love this wording!] – how oblivious I have been to so much, the limited perspective my own schooling and learning. I believe this may be the most essential change that must happen – schools teaching Black history, schools teaching students to demand other perspectives. “Unaware/Antithesis of care” – oh that gives me chills, it is so true. I do not yet have my copy of The Racial Healing Handbook, but I look forward to exploring it in the days to come.
Glenda,
So good to be alongside you again in this space. Hugs. “Gossamer shroud” and “cocoon cover” show that the work you are doing is deep, stirring your being for now as you study, reflect, and listen.
Sarah
Glenda, I am always so impressed at how well you convey the pulse of current events in our world through your poetry, and this one is no exception. “Cocoon cover” and “oblivious” are both words that convey stark images and emotions for me. I’ve been reflecting a great deal about white privilege during the past few weeks, and have been made aware of some racism my students have experienced that I would have never guessed had occurred. I will have to check out the book you mentioned. Thanks for sharing such a thought-provoking poem.
Glenda,
Thanks for your honesty and self awareness. Beautiful use of words and descriptions. i loved it.
Glenda,
I just finished Stamped, so this hit hard for me in places already made soft by that. I think the line “mythological American narrative” is very powerful and makes me twice as reflective. I have been contemplating on how history has been written and rewritten and how much is distorted and silenced. I keep wondering how I can help my students as a person and educator so that they are more informed and more compassionate and how I want to be better for them, and I think doing as you have done–not just acknowledging but truly owning and calling out all the ways I have benefitted from a system that was built as a narrative to further that narrative–is the first step. Thank you for your bravery and your honesty.–Andrea
My friend who’s in the trenches with us every single time, thank you! Your poem reflects the power inside you because it’s only the weak who don’t see their “unexceptional exceptionalism” and privilege. You are strong and I love that about you.
“Historic/Systemic/Single story” such dangerously raw descriptions of white privilege.
Bravo, my friend! Bravo!
Wow, Glenda! Thank you for sharing this piece of vulnerable writing with us today. I’ll be taking these lines with me to bed tonight:
Single story
Flat spatial plane
Lists
My grandmother lived by her lists:
Christmas lists, grocery lists, to-do lists
Lists of travel expenses
Lists of celebrations
Lists of births
Lists of deaths.
My grandmother had unwritten lists:
Old hurts
Harsh thoughts
Gifts given
Debts owed
Resentments
Losses
I inherited those lists
The written and the unwritten.
They are a burden—
So much is carried in those lists.
I am throwing them away.
Burning them up.
They were my burden for so many years, but no more.
But I wonder…
What lists have I passed on to my children?
What will THEY need to burn?
Lists carry power.
Be careful what you list.
Gayle — I LOVE the whole idea of “written and unwritten” lists. Yes, those unwritten demons that we pass on to our kids… you so effectively captured that “burden” and hammered it with a strong voice in “no more” and “what will they burn?” I like the architecture of this poem… the typical lists of your gram and then the creepy lists that mess with our peace of mind. Good stuff! Thank you, Susie
oooh, that last line…such a great ending. Very much like “be careful what you wish for” but list instead. It’s a nice surprise but also a wise admonishment. I had a friend that used to say often, “it ends with this generation.” I always liked her determination when she said that.
Gayle, I find myself wondering when those unwritten lists of your grandmother came pouring out…how did they reveal themselves? Isn’t it sad the invisible weight we carry? I love this thinking about written and unwritten lists. Such strong advice in conclusion: Be careful what you list.
Gayle,
I was struggling with this idea today, the idea of lists, but I didn’t understand until I read your poem — the written and unwritten lists. I have been avoiding lists for some time, which I thought was a sign that I was in the moment, but it may be my unwillingness to imagine or to but in writing my wishes. Maybe there is fear there. You’ve given me much to ponder, my friend — sorry that I made this about me. I appreciate you.
Sarah
Lists were hard for me. This was my second attempt. I found a list that Grandma had made of Christmas gifts over the years, 1966- 1999. And I thought about the other lists that drove her. May her lists Rest In Peace. I am throwing all my lists into the trash. No more lists. What a gift this writing is… wow.
Wow, Gayle, this does so much more than what a list poem usually does for me. The way you mixed grandmother’s written lists with unwritten lists and then carried it into something that felt like genetic traits really captivated me.
But the thrills are all over the place as you bring me to the throwing away of these “burdens” and burning them up. Wonderful imagery because we all have so many things we need to burn up forever, things we sometimes don’t even realize have been given to us from many generations past.
I love this.
Our traits are both genetic and nurtured. I came from a long line of list makers. I choose to be otherwise. ( written after 2 glasses of wine!)
I love how this poem turned introspective and cautionary. “Lists carry power. Be careful what you list.”
I love how the types of lists were passed down – so much said in few words – I wonder how you came to the step to throw them away.
Gayle, your poem made me think about generational trauma. We can inherit the good, but we also get the bad. “They are a burden – So much is carried in those lists.” And sometimes we don’t even realize they are within us. Powerful poem!
List
I’m starting to list,
in the tub of my lists,
lean, tilt, and ponder a pattern
or a hear a bell
or feel an itch
to pitch what one collection of words,
hawked in a poem,
might mean
in the random
junk drawer of my mind;
list a bit over the fulcrum
in a pivot the poem capsizes,
scattering bits in a kaleidoscope of notions
that tumble in the tunnel of my intent,
looking for light,
for patterns of ways
to convey something that matters,
like breathing
and connecting with other sharp shards
to make a better whole.
by Susie Morice©
Ah, Susie, this is a clever commentary on lists, which we do make “to make a better whole.” I’m also pondering what “a collection of words” does, how these words “convey something that matters” in this chaotic world where words—single and collected—feel devoid of meaning. I love thinking about lists as lists. Thank you for this insightful, original approach to the prompt.
—Glenda
I would love to pair this poem with an illustrator…it’s so visual all those lists piling up until they tip. The ” junk drawer of my mind” is such a great idea. I have been making collage art in these pandemic days. I love the idea of illustrating this poem….maybe I should do it! Anyway, your visual descriptions really wow me. What sharp shards do I have around that I can use? Hmmmmmm.
Susie, I really enjoyed reading your poem…trying to find the right words is so often a struggle. Your last stanza is so powerful. I especially liked “Looking for light, for patterns of ways/to convey something that matters”. Our words can be “sharp shards,” and I often feel as though I’m trying to make a connection through my poetry which your poem certainly did!
Indeed, dear Susie, I often wonder what a poem or “one collection of words” might mean once it becomes and then takes shape and then exists in this space.
Sarah
Here you go, making me think “Susie, how did you craft such beauty in poetry?”
“scattering bits in a kaleidoscope of notions
that tumble in the tunnel of my intent,”
Ahhhh it’s oxygen, it’s light, it’s the magic of your writing.
Thrilled to be back here with you, my friend!
Lean, tilt, and ponder… what a delicious cluster of words…
Good Saturday morning Linda! I love list poems but you’ve given me something new to try by pulling my poem from other words within lists I’ve written. I really enjoyed your poem. The idea of a price list is so clever. I can almost imagine each cost a poem on its own. I especially love
I find myself searching for hellos from heaven, honesty and strength everyday. Beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing The Poem Farm and Amy’s resources. Wow, I have a new inspiring writer to follow.
My poem comes from notes I’ve been writing as I’ve read various books and information online.
Me and My Black Life
© Stacey L. Joy, June 20, 2020
Stacey — The power in your voice here is strong and so needed. It truly does feel like a celebration of “Black Joy.” (dandy phrasing) Each of the acts within the list are critical: “disrupt texts that violate…” and “highlight abolitionist teaching strategies” and “mask anger” … and now when masking layers so many underlying meanings, all of which are so real. Your voice is powerful. The lines that really hit hard for me are these:
It is so helpful to feel your list and to honor and respect those realities. I stand with you, my friend and love your poem. Thank you, Susie
Oh, Stacey, thank you for your poem. I thank you for writing it. I am There are so many things on this list that I don’t even realize you have to do as a black person. “Adjust to make you more comfortable” and “choose a gentler phrase” I’m sorry it’s been like this, and I’m sorry I haven’t spent my whole life fighting it, but I have committed to spending the rest of my life unlearning and relearning. There are so many ways that you have to fight anti-black racism and you don’t get a choice. “Disrupt texts that violate me and my students” Your list is humbling and exposing.
This passage is so revealing and powerful…
Celebrate Black Joy
Pray for my son because he shows his feelings
Pray for my daughter because she doesn’t
Laugh and cry because I’m here
Thank you for sharing with me today.
Stacy,
This poem touches me. It touches me in ways that make me want to do more. I hope the sea-change I feel is as real as it seems. I cannot imagine going “back” to any kind of way things were before Ahmaud Arbry and George Floyd. I also cannot imagine continuing to be seen as a black woman today. Seen with and holding and saying and doing and praying all the things in your sincere list poem including remembering to be joyful–because it’s a lot. It’s so much. I still get things weird and uncomfortable and awkward–maybe even in this response. But, I appreciate your words as an invitation to stand with you in the work. I appreciate you sharing your notes as a poem with all of us today.
Stacey, every line of this sends my mind into overdrive, stretching to understand how we whites can be so ugly and cruel, stretching to imagine ways to instigate real change in how we treat and love one another. You begin with a ‘softball,’ – “adjust to make you more comfortable,” – ah, this is old-fashioned patriarchy speaking to all women, right? No, the list is much more extensive than that, an honest rendering of so many abusive behaviors that are woven into your daily existence. It is so heavy. I do love the power in “Disrupt texts that violate me and my students” and “Highlight abolitionist teaching strategies.” Thank you for holding shining a bright light on the acute burdens of our racist society.
Stacey,
So good to be with you again in this way. Thank you for your movement and allowing us to bear witness to the search, close, wipe, carry, disrupt, stand, highlight, console, call, celebrate, pray, pray, laugh, add. I welcome you at the center. I will move over and listen.
Sarah
Stacey— this has been a tough week ( month?) for me—recognizing and dealing with the white privilege I have been privy to. How lucky I have been, without knowing. Thank you. I pray for children and for my privileged children… thank you…
Pure delight to find the prompt for June OpenWrite in my email! Thank you!! Linda, I love how your poem offers beautiful meanings/connections to so many of nature’s treasures, and especially enjoy the juxtaposition of “wren feathers, safe hearth” – magical!
My poem is from a list of words my 20-month old granddaughter is starting to say:
Love you
well, layoo,
bubbles,
well, buhb.
step up
well, sepah.
Precious you,
so true,
not quite two
years old,
trying
two syllables
two words
together
to talk
to the world.
Layoo!
I can hear the two-year old voice with so much love and life. Your list captures so much of a mother’s heart.
Oh, what a loving capture of your grand daughter at this stage of her life. Wouldn’t it be great if all of us had such a loving Grandma to write us a poem like this? “Precious you…is the title! I just know it.” Please make this her birthday card this year. It’s so personal and lovely.
I can almost hear the “precious” little one, trying out her new language and enjoying the celebrations! This piece will surely be a nostalgic reminder of this season in her life. I appreciate your crafty alliteration, reinforcing her “two-ness.” Thanks!
Maureen,
There’s a poem I taught in AP Lit about a child learning to speak. I can see the name but not spell it. ? It is unusual. I’ll find an share ASAP! Your poem takes me to that place of innocence, and I am thinking about the inclusive language your grandchild will learn from you. Love the invented words: layoo, buhb, sepah. These make me think about how our world needs new ways of speaking. ❤️ Thank you.
—Glenda
So beautiful! I wish we could all hear her sweet voice. What a beautiful thing – speaking words. Thank you for sharing this!
Linda — Thank you for this prompt. You have so many beautiful images in “Wishing Well Price List”. I especially loved the line: “Eyelash and one long held breath”. This image really speaks to me as it reminds me of my son when he was a toddler.
A Dust of Snow
A Dust of Snow in May — Nuclear fallout to the soul
the air we breathe burns a petri dish of death
Blurred lines our cloud vision — absconds all reason
and blood stains the pavement carmine
Innocent lives trampled and lost
With viscosity, animus spills
An apocalypse of masked neighbors — crave touch,
seek a dopamine rush of spirits in a muddied sea of people
Will we all tumble into the abyss?
Tammi, your poem is riveting with its painful images. You chose so many strong action words that convey shock, horror – fallout, burns, absconds, stains, trampled, spills, crave, tumble. I think your poem is an extraordinary call to action, a loud shout: ‘enough is enough’! Thank you for this!
Wow–what incredible images. It’s like looking at an abstract painting…those stains of carmine and masked neighbors craving touch. Haunting. Great writing.
I Miss It
But sometimes I wake with a list,
imagine myself inside that life again–
write sticky note apology to A,
transcribe Sarah Kay,
find cash for social committee dues.
Street lights surrendering to Sun.
Amber light blinds the drive
as I listen to public radio and rethink
everything.
And when I begin to believe I haven’t left,
the rest comes back. Our classroom.
Stories climbing the walls like vines.
Words floated, kept, pressed on pages.
Bodies in solitude and community to agitate and console.
It’s impossible not to want
to walk into that room with my list.
Sarah, I hear such a beautiful testimony to teaching…love the lines, “Amber light blinds the drive/as I listen to public radio and rethink/everything.” This is the beauty of our classrooms, how they fill us, churn us, complete us. It is a tribute to reflection, “And when I begin to believe I haven’t left,/the rest comes back.” – such a magical thought!
A haunting, longing list for how things were, in school, when we never thought things were simple – they only are now by comparison. How clear your images are, Sarah, in this poignant poem-story of remembering. “Listening to public radio, rethinking everything” – truth – it is hard to imagine what the return will be like. We shall all return changed. And changing… but always “bodies in solitude and community to agitate and console” (I hope for more of the consolation part) and always, always stories that need to be told, pressed on pages as on hearts.
Stories climbing the walls like vines…bodies…to agitate and console. What beautiful images. I understand your desire to walk back into that room.
Oh, I miss it too! This poem makes me miss that life…that I took for granted so much. Listening to NPR on the way to work, my to-do list, the little details that evaporated with the pandemic. Wonderful snapshot of what was. I definitely feel nostalgic.
Sarah,
I feel your poem deeply, for I, too, “miss it,” sometimes. Yet I know that room is no longer the room where I made my lists, as you jotted yours. I love the climbing vine image w/ all those stories climbing and reaching. So beautiful. Thank you.
—Glenda
Linda,
Thank you for your prompt and poem. I enjoyed watching the Lift a Word video example of Amy’s. It was thought-provoking to read all the wishes. My favorite was the five smooth stones, weapons to fight giants. I like the way you worded it because we have more giants to fight than Goliath. My word found me today as we got bad news at our hospital just a few hours ago. It was the first Covid death of a beloved staff member and church leader. It was good to come here today. Thank you again.
Denise
Doctor Solomon
Servant of God and humanity
Older with underlying conditions
Did not stop his work
Urgent care physician
Contracted Covid-19
We prayed
to your grandchildren
Again and again
But today you died
Rest in peace, dear Dr. Solomon,
Today you are with Jesus in Paradise.
So sorry for your loss. Dr. Solomon is a true hero. May his soul rest in peace with “Jesus in Paradise”.
Denise, Such tragedy. My deepest condolences. Thank you for introducing us to Dr. Solomon so that his good work lives on in this way. I am imagining all the lives lost to COVID-19 and the absences, the holes left in communities across the world. Hugs.
Denise, so very sorry for your loss. What a testimony to a giving, caring person, a life well-lived – “Doctor Solomon, Servant of God and humanity” I like how you spelled out “Doctor” in this opening line – giving it such weight and honor – and then concluded with the abbreviation “Dr.”, helping me to feel as if he was someone I was very acquainted with, too (and I am, thanks to your beautiful writing!).
Denise, my heart aches at your tribute to Dr. Solomon and his sacrifice.It is a poem-portrait of a true “good and faithful servant” as well as real love – of his for others, of family, of a faith community and the ties that bind, forever. Prayers for you all on his passing.
Denise — Your loss is laid here with such a loving touch. I am so sorry. The loss for you and the loss for Dr. Solomon’s family clearly hurts us all… so so sorry. Thank you for letting us know a bit of this caring person. Susie
Oh, no! I’m sorry. What a way to honor this person that made healing others their life’s work. I hope that you can share this with his family. I’m just beside myself with frustration at the people in our nation working against good health. I’m sorry Dr. Solomon got caught up in the tragedy of it. This poem is important because of its specifics. In 100 years…imagine someone reading it for understanding.
Dearest Denise, my heart broke while reading your poem. To God be the glory, Dr. Solomon has eternal peace. Your poem is a loving tribute to him.
He’s smiling in your heart of memories.
❤️
I am so sorry for your loss. My heart completely breaks reading this. Blessings of peace to you and his family.
Thank you for those warm thoughts and your support on a really hard day. I thought I would share this article about Dr. Solomon in case anyone happens back here. https://www.newsofbahrain.com/bahrain/64304.html
Linda,
The title is precious. Sometimes I start reading without looking at the title — trying to do more of that — your poem reads differently with and without the title. WIthout, it feels like things you found, but with, it feels like things you selected, knowing their worth. I want that “room sized mural with a portal.”
So wonderful.
Thank you for hosting us today.
Sarah
My Parents
70s football player and cheerleader
high school sweethearts
best friends
puffy lace wedding dress
starter house on Florence Ave
laughing while you’re fighting
figuring it out as you go
black mustache
Farrah Fawcett hair
sunset beach walks
sunrise ski runs
road trips
lake trips
just because trips
ironing his shirts
eating her burnt brownies
laughing at his jokes
filling up her car
foot rubs
back scratches
secret butt slaps in the kitchen
winks across the room
hope
losing jobs
losing parents
peace
daughter moving overseas
son following
faith
lump
chemo
radiation
no hair
no sleep
7 years
deathbed prayer
thanking God for
a lifetime of
irreplaceable
heart-wrenching
unabashed
make me gag sometimes
perfect-for-each-other
wanting for nothing
deserving of everything
til-death-did-you-part
crazy
love
Amber,
Your parents love for each other exudes from this beautiful poem. What a wonderful tribute to them and their love!
Amber,
this is a beautiful and touching snapshot of the happiness and joy of life, its realities, and its heartaches and heartbreaks. Cancer sucks and steals like a thief in the night, but memories and love get us through the grief. Beautiful expressions!
Amber,
What an amazing poem about your parents. It’s a beautiful list of memories, artifacts, beautiful life experiences of crazy love. I can picture them with your physical descriptions at the beginning too, especially the black mustache and Farrah Fawcett hair. (My 80’s husband and I can relate.) There are so many beautiful feelings and images — “heart wrenching / unabashed / make me gag sometimes / perfect-for-each-other” etc.
~Denise
Amber, your poem spoke to me in so many ways. It reminds me of my marriage, of my parents. You evoked wonderings in my heart. WOW! Very powerful.. Keep it up please. thank you!
Linda,
I love this prompt and your poem. Random yet unity exists. I loved how you remind us of the various sources of “wishing well” and introduce me to some I never had been exposed to.
Saturday Morning Quiet
Sandwiched between leisure
and what I want to do
is a list of what I have to do.
Mornings are my time
out of bed before my body
really wants to be
so that I can squeeze
the solitude and quiet
I crave.
Read
Seek
See
Watch
Get inspired
Get annoyed
Get discouraged
Get encouraged
The screens and pages
draw me in.
The to-do list
persistently taps
on my shoulder and whispers,
“Get me done.”
1) Call Delta
punch through codes
sit and wait
sit and wait
sit and wait
2) Order dress for family pic
color required: white
who looks good in white
once middle age hits?
3) Go to Merkley’s (mask on)
pick up filets and ribeyes
for Father’s Day
celebrating one of the best but
missing THE best.
4) Go to store (mask on)
sweet potatoes
lettuce
tomatoes
baguette
I turn my attention from the list
and glance at the clock
An hour remains of my morning
before I become everyone else’s.
Hold on, to-do list,
I’m sitting with me a bit longer.
~Susan Ahlbrand
20 June 2020
The line, “An hour remains of my morning / before I become everyone else’s” really drove home how important that solitude. And I definitely connected with it. Thank you for sharing this with us!
Susan,
So good to be with you again!.
I love these lines:
From the line above, the morning body “craves” these two things — one or the other is not sufficient, and I so get that. Solitude can be loud, and quiet can be crowded.
So cool,
Sarah
Susan,
I love the rhythm of these lines, and I enjoyed the progression of this poem from squeezing in solitude to running around to sitting with yourself for a bit longer. You have really captured life and how it is so hard to strike a balance between what needs to be done for others and what we need to do for ourselves.
Read
Seek
See
Watch
Get inspired
Get annoyed
Get discouraged
Get encouraged
“I’m sitting with me a bit longer.” What a powerful way to end – relishing each breath, each moment of solitude. The calm before the chaos.
Susan—this is so real. I love the early morning hours, in between “I want to do” and “I have to do”. Your list of the day is wonderful—who DOES look good in white??!! YOur close is perfect—Hold on, to-do list.I’m sitting with me a bit longer. Yes.
Susan — I could just feel your need for that solitude. You do terrific justice to the tug of the “to-do list.” I LOVED that you decided “I’m sitting with me a bit longer.” Ahhhh. For many years I’ve also cherished Saturday morning quiet… it is a tiny sliver of time that heals. Your poem felt healing when I first read it this morning. Thank you for that! Susie
Oh, my. No words are true-er than, “before I become everyone else’s.” I love my mornings of older teens/early twenties kids and a husband that likes to sleep in. I have a good hour or sometimes two to write and think and just be. This list could be mine. It’s so familiar. I don’t know who looks good in white after middle age. But, pics of families in white and kaki at the beach always look nice and tidy. It would be fun to see a response to this prompt every few years to see if/how it changes. Hmmmmm might have to work that into my wip.
I’m in awe of your Wishing-Well Price List poem, Linda; I feel I want to turn it over and over in my mind for a while, like a meditation. I am hard-put to pick a favorite line or thought, but “eyelash and one long held breath” is especially evocative to me – pulls hard on the heartstrings.
As for my list … weeelllll …
The first thing I turned to in my scrawly notebook idea-keeper was a list of rhyming words based on the phrase “learning decay.” I heard an educator use it recently, expressing concern for children returning to school in the fall after having been out of school for five months (or longer). That idea has been sitting dormant … so now I attempt to make something of that list. What would help prevent “learning decay” for kids? For ANYONE? What are we doing right this very minute, on this blog? Here goes …
Learning decay?
No, not today.
Strive to allay.
Invite play:
a word ballet,
a thought bouquet.
True soul portray,
not self-betray.
Notebook away,
the cost defray –
Recoup the day.
-Thank you for this intriguing challenge!
Fran,
I love how you kept the end rhyme consistent throughout. That long a sound has hope in itself as I say the words aloud. Words like “soul” and “self” after lines of “play” and “ballet” offer a contrast to the decay, which is so needed.
Peace,
Sarah
Fran,
I love the rhyme and rhythm of this poem. I’m especially drawn to these lines:
“Invite play:
a word ballet,
a thought bouquet”
These really rang true for me. I hope that we are able to help our students catch up in the fall too.
Fran,
That is some rhyming. I would love to hear you read this aloud. It sounds like a spoken word poem. Yes, no learning decay for us! Not today. Here we are owning our learning and avoiding decay. So many lovely images and you have nailed it, your poem shows many ways to prevent learning decay. Some of my favorite lines: “true soul portray” “notebook away” (I’m reading that one as a verb ‘to notebook’) and “recoup the day.”
Wonderful rhyme! Now that’s a challenge. Good for you. I agree 100% with invite play. Play is learning. I’m so glad I got to play as a kid…outdoors, in the creek, in the back field, in the trees, on frozen ponds, at cousin’s house. I learned so much. You have a great list that stirred up good memories for me.
Linda, I cheered when I saw your prompt today. I love a list! Your wishing well penny – the hello from Heaven, is a beautiful touch. My heart skips a beat when I find one. I like the way you added a phrase of clarity for each item. I have been preparing food this week, so I went straight to the coffee can that has replaced my sink disposal as it gathers our food scraps on the Johnson Funny Farm.
In a Summer Farmhouse Sink
the scrap container coffee can awaits
its daily commute to compost, brimming with
strawberry hulls
cucumber peels
bell pepper seeds
tomato top-slices
buttered peach bread crumbs
slathered with local honey
coffee grounds
spent egg shells
olive, mint green, tinted blue, brown
celery leaves
carrot tops
severed pulpy peach pits
boiled egg crumbles
bacon bits
mayonnaise globs
floor-dropped chicken chunks
that survived the dogs
cantaloupe rinds
potato shavings
fleshy peach skins
squeezed lemon remnants
sunflower stems
scissored chives
withered blueberries
not wasted
ripe with promise and purpose
Kim, I have always wanted to do compost. I love how each item in your list brings a scent to mind as well as a breath of summer freshness.
Lovely images and sensations – imparting hope that there is indeed promise and purpose, that nothing is wasted.I am reminded of Grandma’s scrap container – using everything to its fullest.
The words spent, globs, survived the dogs, slathered jumped out to me. What a vibrant list! Such thoughtful descriptors.
I adore this, Kim. This poem is the epitome of why I love this group! I have never experienced a farm house sink or composting, but I want to be in a place with sunflowers and chives and lemon…all of that sounds wonderful. I am imagining the before — as whole- and this after in the coffee can — and then later — in the earth. Love it.
Sarah
Love the images in this poem, Kim! I got a good laugh from “floor-dropped chicken chunks/
that survived the dogs”. The ending was perfect and satisfying — “not wasted/ ripe with promise and purpose”.
The Johnson Funny Farm. Ha!
I know that all this is food scraps for compost…but somehow, as I read your list, it just sounds delicious. I do have a crazy love for mayonnaise–I respect the precision of a measurement of glob. Isn’t it amazing how all those food bits can make such good dirt? I composted for my garden one year and the dirt was amazing. Do you ever have anything sprout and grow from your compost?
Linda, I watched Amy with Thomas on my lap. I love spending time with her. her voice is so encouraging and sweet, like a hug. Your poem of good luck reminds me of a book by Cynthia Lord. I think it’s TouchBlue that begins each chapter with a good luck wish. Your poem is like looking into a treasure box of things we save.
When I opened my notebook, a receipt was marking my clean page.
For the Little Ones
Shorts
Shirt
Gown–> NB
white silky soft
edged with pink stitching
to welcome
a sister
now growing
day by day
a girl to embrace
a girl to bless
a girl to love
What speaks to life more than baby clothes – so quickly outgrown, alas. Every word here is a stitch of love, Margaret, pure and deep. Welcoming, indeed – and quietly rejoicing.
What a sweet found idea today. You lifted a poem right from your notebook on this receipt. Your poem feels so newborn soft, like the baby clothes. “white silky soft / edged in pink stitching” The powerful, yet soft words “welcome” “growing” “sister”, the lowercase and no punctuation. It’s all perfect.
How beautiful it is that something as utilitarian as a receipt can evoke such a tender reflection. The receipt is an artifact of sorts that will always remind the finder of the birth of a child.
Awwwwww. How wonderful that even the receipts tucked into your notebook are full of promise. I love that NB. How lucky this little one is to be loved and blessed already. She’s also so fortunate to have a poet Grandmother…I wonder what poems she will write someday?
The cadence here is just perfect … from the listy list to the poetic list to the ending on “love”
Kevin
Shopping List
Milk
(remembering sneaking
into the barn on my friend’s family farm
and the cows eyeing us with worry,
as we scaled to the top to watch the lightning
strike the hills beyond)
Bread
(how lazy we were, on that first field trip ever
to the factory where the Wonder Bread was made,
the smell of dough and sweetness, and the sample bag
of crust and inside devoured within minutes on the
way home, each of us racing the other to the end)
Cheese
(my great-grandmother, carefully and methodically
slicing the block while her immigrant brogue danced in my ears
of Ireland, of where we came from, the cheese lifted from plate
to cracker, with tea cup, dancing, me listening but only later
remembering)
Pasta
(the lucky days of invitation to my friend’s house on pasta night,
such loud raucous passing of plates and bowls and silverware, the smell
of the sauce from all-day cooking, a slow simmering and bread dipped
into it, dripping red, absorbing time, barely whispering thanks before
the meal is gone)
Kevin, I love how you took this prompt to a place of memory about each item on your list.
Thanks, Margaret — I wasn’t sure as I was writing if it would work as a prose poem or not. It still has its tangles.
Kevin
Love how your list evokes such rich, varied memories … vivid images and sensations … for just a second, I see the lightning in the distance, smell the bread, hear the Irish brogue, taste the gratitude … so beautiful.
I appreciate the comment on imagery, Fran. It was a guiding element for each piece of the shopping list.
Kevin
I enjoy how varied the memories are even though they all center around food. Each one takes me to a place completely different but the voice in the poem really unites all of them.
That’s helpful — voice is key here, and I wasn’t sure if it was consistent across the list or stories
Kevin
Kevin,
What a great list of memory-bringing food. Those are such basic foods. I wonder how each person’s own memories of milk, bread, cheese, and pasta might start a poem. I’m writing it down on my list of ideas for the future. But, your poem today helps me go back with you to those moments. You have captured them with few words, but rich imagery and detail. I love the Wonder Bread field trip the most. I got to go on the trip vicariously.
~Denise
That trip to the bread factory is still vibrant in memory, which I find strange but interesting
Kevin
This is the best meal…a meal of memory. You know? My grandmother used to take my mom, aunt, my sister and my cousins to the Wonder Bread store…maybe it was an outlet? Not sure. I was pretty young. But, we’d load up on bread and the place smelled so good. I haven’t had that memory in a long, long time. I love these snippets. Have you ever written a haibun? This reminds me very much of that form.
Meal of Memory is cool theme.
I think I have explored haibun poems but can’t remember now.
Kevin