Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. Margaret has been an elementary school teacher for 32 years, most recently gifted ELA. She renewed her National Board Certification in 2019. Her first book of children’s poetry, Bayou Song: Creative Explorations of the South Louisiana Landscape, was published by UL Press in 2018. Margaret writes a blog regularly at http://reflectionsontheteche.com.
Inspiration
Jericho Brown is a native to Louisiana, my home state. His latest book, The Tradition, won the 2020 Pulitzer for Poetry. This poem first appeared on Teach this Poem from Poets.org.
The water is one thing, and one thing for miles.
The water is one thing, making this bridge
Built over the water another. Walk it
Early, walk it back when the day goes dim, everyone
Rising just to find a way toward rest again.
We work, start on one side of the day
Like a planet’s only sun, our eyes straight
Until the flame sinks. The flame sinks. Thank God
I’m different. I’ve figured and counted. I’m not crossing
To cross back. I’m set
On something vast. It reaches
Long as the sea. I’m more than a conqueror, bigger
Than bravery. I don’t march. I’m the one who leaps.
From The Tradition. Copyright © 2019 by Jericho Brown.
Process
Write a poem about forging your own destiny. Are you a marcher or a leaper? Use an echo line, anaphora, as in Jericho Brown’s poem. My poem is a conversation poem with Jericho, responding to his poem.
Margaret’s poem
We have crossed the line,
that imaginary space between
you and me, a wall covered in vines.
Tearing at the weeds, I find a flower–
morning glory. Help us, Jericho, to see
the flower in the weeds, the flame
inside a rainbow, crossing over
barriers to a place
where we can all leap together.
© Margaret Simon
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.
The words
Answer if you hear the words under the words.*
Answer if the words you hear are true.
Days go by with acid spit on words.
Words spoken for the sake of an argument.
You say, so I’ll say.
Days go by and I hear wincing with each response.
Sometimes forming a comeback, sometimes putting my head down.
And last night I answered, answered and stepped away.
Not willing to engage I’d spoken.
This morning I woke to a question, easy to answer.
An answer without a comeback.
A morning walk met by a gentle downpour.
The words had been heard,
the words under the words.
The Danger of Equilibrium
Measured steps across life’s tundra
Keeps me safe from failure
Keeps me safe from success
Each controlled, infinitesimal step brings me closer
to mundanity, closer to equilibrium which obscures
living and ushers stasis
There’s comfort in the mundane, until the fabric of normalcy is torn
and life, now precarious, I grasp
I rise to live in the moment,
I rise to taunt failure
I rise to realize success
I rise to leap instead of hide
Tammi, Your poem is such a powerful reminder of how trying to stay safe does not necessarily mean we will find success or joy. The shift in your poem is truly a triumph of your self-will and determination! I love that you end with “I rise to leap instead of hide” Enjoy the ride!
I love the vocabulary here, the specific word choices that have us balancing/teetering on the edge of decisions.
Kevin
Sunday Morning Church of the Long Run
I genuflect to tighten the laces
breathe in the spirit of dawn
I offer the body
the blood
pumping as my heartbeat
raises to sing praises
to the gravel
dust to dust
beneath my soul
The Iowa sky stretches to infinity
pulling me into
the universe
where I am full
and fed by all
that is
Good
Amen
Allison, wow, what a gorgeous poem! The religious connotations throughout are striking. If I’m reading this correctly, you’re taking a long Sunday morning run which requires spirit, resolution, and stamina just as our personal faith often requires. Your lines: “I offer the body
the blood
pumping as my heartbeat
raises to sing praises
to the gravel
dust to dust
beneath my soul” resonate so beautifully; just like a well-loved hymn. I truly love the positive power of your poem. Very uplifting!
Today on NPR I heard (someone) talking about ritual and spiritual intentionality in daily experiences. I immediately thought of running, and how Missy Springsteen-Haupt (ICTE colleague and brilliant, wonderful person) has said long Sunday runs=worship. I tried to gather that together here. I love this week’s promps!
prompts Grrrrr.
Love this line:
“breathe in the spirit of dawn”
Kevin
Allison – I love the sense of spirituality that you bring with this beautiful experience. The “church” of it just zinged through me, as I just finished a love song that I titled “You Are My Church,” which could’ve been a sort of homage to your poem. Finding that transformative experience that feels like church is a remarkable thing. I envision you out there in the Iowa blue sky, “genuflecting” a worthy stretch at the start of a run that opens you and prepares you for the day. I love “gravel and dust beneath my soul” with “Iowa sky” above you, completing a full circle ⭕️ You are, indeed, in the church of heart ❤️. Beautiful! I love that your poem came with a surprising connection this morning… our writing community here is its own sort of church for me. Thank you, Susie
I attend the Church of the Buckskin Horse on Sunday mornings. Your description of the sky Iowa sky pulling you into infinity and being “fed by all that is good” is right on the money for me too.
People have different ways of getting to that feeling. Maybe more people at this moment in time need to embrace that idea and remember their own way to do that, be it organized or not. Filling ourselves with all that is good might help us all overflow that goodness and understand other points of view even if they’re different from our own. Run on, Sister!
Leap or March?
LEAP…
Build your plane on the way down.
It’s a great quote.
Unless
you don’t know how to build a plane.
Then you will hope you have
a parachute built by a marcher.
Must I choose?
Can’t I do both in my one life?
I have leapt many times—
Some leaps have been spectacularly bad;
some spectacularly interesting…
(Sometimes both in the same leap…)
I loved leaping.
Leaps thrill; adrenaline flows,
scenes sharpen.
Drama is enticing, after all.
Youth is full of leaps.
Youth does not look past the leap
to its consequences.
But we need to march, as well—
to build the muscles of persistence,
love quietly, understand the need for hope,
learn how to wait our turn,
let others go before us.
We need to value the quiet moments and
appreciate subtle joy.
And then, when the time is right
and you are ready,
go ahead.
Do it.
L
E
A
P
just one more time
Build the plane
on the way down…
Gayle Sands
June 2020
Margaret—another challenging prompt, and an intimidatingly beautiful mentor poem. Thank you! (
Gayle — I love the balance you strike with this poem between marching and leaping. There is a right time for both of these actions and I think you really conveyed that powerfully here.
I love these lines beautiful lines:
“But we need to march, as well—
to build the muscles of persistence,
love quietly, understand the need for hope …”
I LOVE “a parachute built by a marcher”! I am the leaper, my husband the marcher. His parachutes save me again and again.
This too: “to build the muscles of persistence…
learn how to wait our turn.” SO GOOD.
Gayle, what an amazing poem. I love its structure and the message you share about loving and the need for hope, etc. I so agree that we “We need to value the quiet moments and
appreciate subtle joy.” Truly beautiful piece!
Gayle,
What a thoughtful, self-aware poem of marching and leaping. Nice tie-in to the beginning with your last thoughts:
“Do it!
L
E
A
P
Just one more time
Build the plane
on the way down…”
I love the ellipsis at the end. We will wait to hear about your latest leap. I’m so glad you figured out the problem you were having with the editing because you really powerfully used the spaces on this one!
Hahaha! I didn’t manage to figure out how to write LEAP like you did though. 😉
If I have learned one thing from our experiments with verse, it’s that writing poetry can take me to a place in my thoughts I never knew existed. Here is an example.
The largest mammal in North America
Survived without our help.
The largest mammal in North America
Perished at our weaponed hand.
The largest mammal in North America
Endures our gawking curiosity.
The largest mammal in North America
Is the poster animal of patience.
But when the bison has had enough,
It charges!
I like the turn at the end…the whole read through I was wondering…what IS the largest mammal in North America?
Wow, Katrina. I love your comment “our experiments with verse…can take me to a place in my thoughts I never knew existed.” So very true! Thank you for sharing.
The repetition of “the largest mammal in North America” kept reminding me of the impact of Manifest Destiny, especially on the indigenous people, flora and fauna of North America, as well as capitalism and over-consumption. This poem is a metaphor for global climate disruption and injustice.
Powerful.
Writing is a gathering.
A gathering of thoughts that breathe life;
That live, that live on notebook pages and the pages of our hearts.
Writing is the overflow.
The overflow of everything that we are;
That exists, that exists in our present, past and future.
Writing is intentional.
An intentional act of being present in the moment;
That being, that being aware and alive – seeing, hearing, feeling, living.
Writing is growing.
Growing beyond oneself and into one’s thoughts;
That pondering, that pondering of our thoughts that are gathered.
Writing is….that refrain is very effective. I love all the beautiful verbs in this piece. Sometimes, I ask students to just find the doing words. I love to do that too.
A gathering, an overflow, intentional, growing… writing is all of these. Beautiful!
You have captured the essence of writing so perfectly and beautifully here. The repetition works really well here.
Donnetta, beautiful images of what writing is. I can’t even choose my favorite image. I do love how you began and ended with the gathering of thoughts. Gorgeous.
This is also the second day in a row that I have added your poem to my list of mentor texts to try to write my own. Thank you for the inspiration.
To cross back
To return
To reclaim
To retread
and tread again
the grassy knoll down
to dirt
everyone ignoring the concrete
sidewalk in favor
of the shortest,
most direct way.
I can follow others
without being lost
in the stampede.
My footprint is my own
marked in the dust.
And there is always
the invitation of the pristine pasture
or the promise of the paved path.
It doesn’t matter.
Just as long as you put
your foot forward
and then another…
and then another…
Retreading
Reclaiming
Returning to what is most true
to you.
These lines really spoke to me:
“I can follow others
without being lost
in the stampede.
My footprint is my own
marked in the dust”
It is so easy for us to get lost in the stampede but so important to remember to make our own marks in the world. What a powerful message!
[Note: I strayed quite a bit from “marcher or leaper,” but this one is what it is. Susie]
A PAUSER
So much at stake —
my gain in one moment,
never the same as your gain in your moment –
we did not start in the same place.
Lose in one instance,
not the same as losing in another;
your loss and my loss,
identical on paper, a seeming balanced equation,
black and white as a tax return,
yet vastly different in what happens next.
Poor family who errs and rich family who errs –
disparate stories of resilience.
So much at stake,
I measure and re-measure,
hunting new paths to my bounce-back,
our journeys zig and zag.
Frog on a lily pad and frog in a bucket of cold tar,
both know all about hopping,
but their leaps are, well, you see…
both survive but measure with a different rule.
So much at stake,
I am a pauser.
Prodded by a moment or a friend,
or a ghost,
I observe, examine, measure
what is there and what is not there.
Spontaneity?
Spent that gene over seventy years
barreling down that highway.
Fifty-three years behind the wheel,
probably clocking over a million miles on that rubber,
driving like a maniac to jump in with both feet
to do
and go
and try —
never a rider.
Always the driver.
Years that came with tolls
that could’ve been less costly
had I bothered to use my mirrors.
Dad used to say, “Drive defensively.
Be on the lookout. Always use your mirrors
comin’ and goin’.”
I heeded a bit, but not much.
Even a glance in the rearview could’ve saved me
tears
and whole lotta reckoning.
So much at stake
under Covid Law,
I am a woman on pause,
a pauser,
trying to think through,
map a course.
Not glamorous,
just Dad’s advice finally settling on me
like errant genetic dust.
by Susie Morice©
Susie—so much to love here. We have walked the same impulsive paths, I think. Love these lines—
“Always the driver.
Years that came with tolls
that could’ve been less costly
had I bothered to use my mirrors.”
Those darned mirrors. I think we are all pausing right now…
Susie,
I heat in your poem the anxiety of the moment, that inability to go, our shared forced pause and the sense of loss we experience from stolen time. I sense that inequality in the “all things being the same moment.” I think you know how important hitting the road is to me, but I prefer riding and not driving. My vision has always been poor. I have my share of tickets, however, resulting in my rush to reach the destination. It took me a long time to understand the inequities among POC and white people on the poverty scale. As you say, “the effect is not the same.” Wonderful poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Susie,
I love these lines “I am a woman on pause/a pauser”. I can totally relate as I feel I have lived many years of my life on pause. I really appreciate the way you have captured lives complexities by showing how most of us move between spontaneity “always the driver” and the observer. Thanks for sharing!
Margaret, thank you for your always challenging and meaningful challenges. I enjoyed reading Jericho’s poem today and thinking about marching and leaping. It was hard for me to get my head around the prompt for my own poem, though, and it was my last day of school, so I haven’t been in a good mood today, too.
I like the morning glory in your poem, and how you ask Jericho to help us see the flower in the weeds. Beautiful, and it seems like a shout-out to Jericho for the many times he references plants and flowers in his poems. The flame inside a rainbow is an awesome image too. Your poem has inspired my poem today.
Leaping Into the Story
The story is with us, with us for a lifetime.
The story is within us, much beyond
Our lifetimes. Story passed on to our heirs. Little or
Much property doesn’t matter, but generation after generation
All become heirs of our beliefs–
Tenets of toxicity,
Positions of poison,
Cesspools of say-sos.
Let justice roll down like water.
Righteousness like an endless stream.
The story of humanity makes
Us alive to Truth. Will we listen to the Truth?
Will we make amends? Hear the story.
Tell the story. Tell
The Truth.
March for Truth, which will set
Us free, so we can
Leap into a changed storyline.
This is powerful. I love the idea of inheritance and that beautiful line, “Let justice roll down like water.” recalls the words in that voice we remember so well.
“All become heirs of our beliefs–
Tenets of toxicity,
Positions of poison,
Cesspools of say-sos.”
Wow—some serious, pithy truth here!!
And the last—I hope we can leap into a changed storyline—soon…
Very powerful words. I wonder if we ever will “Leap into a changed storyline”.
Denise, I love the optimism in this poem. You’re encouraging us all to take the leap! Let’s hold hands!
Thank you for the Jericho Brown mentor text and your stunning model!
My heart longs to march.
My eyes well with tears of joy and rage
as I watch marches–
in cities
in villages
in neighborhoods–
on screens, on tv, on book pages.
No Justice! No Peace!
Women’s rights are human rights!
Si, se puede!
Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love.
My heart longs to protest.
My throat burns with those unsung anthems:
We shall overcome…
This land is made for me and you…
The revolution will not be televised…
This is America.
My heart longs to act.
My body aches at the site
of fists clenched and arms raised;
of bottoms on bus seats, restaurant floors, and hot pavement;
of linked arms and defiant chins;
of triumphant kisses.
My heart knows
the language, the rhythm, the struggle, the tune
to strike
to occupy
to resist
to fight.
Now, all I have to do is leap.
Betsy — The honest sense of being on the verge of action is so real as you almost cant the rhythms of the protests that matter so darned much. I feel the urgency and the hesitancy. My favorite lines are the images I see and feel with this:
And the ending just rings out! I feel so much strength in your poem… you are strong!
I really appreciate the message of your poem tonight. Susie
Betsy, I love how you bring in the words from all these different protests — I feel that it speaks to how a lot of these groups have similar goals and desires at the heart of each of them. I also enjoy your repetition of prepositions “in” “of” “to” which I just realize moves it from distance/space (in) to actions (to). Great poem!
Betsy—your truth glows here! Our hearts know—but it is hard to make that leap, isn’t it?
These lines are so strong—
“of bottoms on bus seats, restaurant floors, and hot pavement;
of linked arms and defiant chins;
of triumphant kisses.”
Moonshine
It’s the leapers that get the attention
in this extroverted
look-at-me
Kim-Kardashian-world we live in
But what if I’m a marcher?
The one who shows up every day
The one who tries to do her best
The one who listens when you need an ear
The one who always has a Band-Aid
or a piece of gum
or a safety pin
in that oversized bag you like to make fun of
We often praise the mighty sun
while we forget to notice the soulful moon
OOOOooo, Sharon — I LOVE this. Really do love it. The contrast of sun and moon (“soulful moon” indeed!) is powerful. Your voice really blares in these lines! I especially like the “…extroverted/look-at-me/Kim-Kardashian-world…” That’s just wonderful! You are “moonshine” for sure — both elixir and a “soulful” light! Cool! Thank you, Susie
Sharon—your close is amazing—the mighty sun, and the soulful moon. We do need to pay more attention to the moon, I think. (And that oversized bag you like to make fun of is such a poignant, real detail)
Sharon, wow, you are right on target here. The people behind the scenes who persistently work to create a difference without shouting “look at me” are often not given the credit they so deserve. The ending lines “We often praise the mighty sun
while we forget to notice the soulful moon” are truly beautiful!
If Only . . .
My “If Only Tree” is always there,
Always there to comfort me
Always waiting to intimidate and challenge me
If only I had more money, I would feel safer
If only I had a nicer place to live
If only I had an understanding boyfriend
If only . . . .
I would be happy
Always comforting me with its challenges
Always comforting me with its reasoning why I am unhappy
My “If Only Tree” stands next to my doorway
Silently shouting so loud for me to leap,
And still I choose to march . . . one challenge at a time
If only
March on and tackle each challenge
But then what
All my “If Only’s” are gone
And I am left with profound sadness
No longer have reasons . . . . If only
Judi, your poem breaks my heart as I read it. I can strongly relate to the “if onlys” of life. The sadness shared at the end is so incredibly poignant. I’m left contemplating about how we can emotionally move past our hangups so that we can continue to persevere and to find joy in ourselves and our lives whether we are leaping or marching. Of course, that is easily said but not so easy to accomplish. Thanks for sharing such a deep and thought-provoking poem!
Judi,
Isn’t if funny how the way we see ourselves is so different from the way others see us? I see you as a leaper, my friend. You are braver and mire daring than you think. You inspire me.
Judi,
Wow! What self-awareness and vulnerability in your poem. I think we can all relate to that insidious “If Only Tree” harassing our goals and dreams.
I have read so many different interpretations for march and leap in today’s poems. I guess that makes the prompt even more powerful.
My favorite lines of your poem:
P.S. I liked reading Monica’s comment. Carry on, friend!
Message to all writers here: I am reading all of your poems and wishing I could comment on each one, but I fell yesterday and hurt my right arm. Typing with only my left hand is challenging. Just know I am touched and delighted by all the wonderful responses today.
I hope you heal soon!
Margaret, I hope it heals very quickly. You have poems and blog posts to write! Take care, our friend.
Beyblade
He was an eight year old
Beyblade, yes, he was,
when I first met him.
Do you know this spinning toy?
Very popular with his peers,
tough on teachers,
hard on the outside,
something mysterious within –
wound tightly, tighter, tighter, then
EXPLODE!
My preschool room was
a calming space he visited
every now and again
through the years.
He would mold clay or sand,
banter with the children, and
I would wonder
how often
is he free
to be
a little boy?
Who is holding him tightly and loving him dearly?
Year in, year out,
he continued
hard on the outside,
something mysterious within.
Today,
just eight years later,
all of 16 years young,
our Beyblade is arrested,
charged as an adult.
Frederick Douglas said it would be easier
to build strong children than to repair broken men,
yet we have failed him,
this child,
with still undiscovered mystery within.
Maureen—I have known my share of Beyblades. They break your heart, don’t they? This child—with still undiscovered mystery within—lost to the system.
Maureen,
This poem is heartbreaking. Every time I hear that ugly man in the WH call a young man a vile name I think: “this is some mama’s baby. Have some respect.” A child is not born awaiting arrest. Yes, we have failed multiple generations. What a gut punch you’ve given us today.
—Glenda
The few details you share create such a powerful image and story. I love your choices – spinning toy, mysterious within, hard on the outside, . . . mysterious within, arrested, charged as an adult to Frederick Douglas – it’s clear you’ve thought a lot about him
Marcher or Leaper??
I think of myself as both but when I was younger, I tended to be a
follower/marcher behind folks- mainly immature friends. and my wonderful dominating mother.
Once I went to college and heard my own thoughts, I realized
I could be a leaper and a thinker.
When I got married, I learned I HAD to be the marcher if I wanted things
“done right” and being a mother and teacher, I now know I have to be both.
Oh, I love, “I could be a leaper and a thinker”…there’s that expression, ‘think before you leap,’ but both at once sounds like progress and change. “I HAD to be the marcher” – so true; it is all things at once.
I love how you realize both of these qualities at different times in your life.
Margaret, what a wonderful writing prompt and challenge. I so long for that world where we can leap together. I feel as thought I got a bit off track with my poem, but as I have leaped into most things in life, I have often rued my impulsiveness. When I think of life in general, I think of all the bad decisions that can shatter our confidence, change our pace or even eradicate a world we thought we knew.
Blessed Be Our Bad Decisions
If only bad decisions
Were blessings in disguise
To be truly blessed
By tragedy; unexpected catastrophes
Covid-19 or cancer and simply were
Revered and divine
If only bad decisions were
The greatest blessings
As tender as a christening
Or a kiss on a newborn’s furrowed brow
To create a kinder, gentler
new blessed world
If only bad decisions
Were as blessed
As angel wings
Showering our fervent prayers
With miracles never witnessed before
That blessed the ties that bind
If only bad decisions
Were breathtakingly beautiful
Like cotton candy clouds
Drifting by on a rainbow sky
Blessing the ugly and mundane
Birthing dreams of hope and empathy
If only bad decisions
And angry thoughtless words
Were easily revised; blessedly forgiven
To be altered into shrines
Or as easy to erase as the tears
Blessing this old cheek of mine
Barb Edler
June 23, 2020
Yessss! Barb I love your poem. I, too, seek an alternate way to see and be and it guided my poem this morning. Really love the choice of being blessed by bad decisions.
This resonated deeply with me:
If only bad decisions
Were breathtakingly beautiful
Like cotton candy clouds
Drifting by on a rainbow sky
What a wonderful world this could be. Thank you!
“To be altered into shrines” – such a play on ‘altar’…so many beautiful words of faith and hope here, ‘blessedly forgiven,’ ‘angel wings, ‘fervent prayers’. To live is to make mistakes, to make bad decisions – your poem points towards the beauty of learning from these.
The true beauty of your poem is the perspective! It took my brain out, shifted it 90 degrees, then put it back in! What an amazing piece of writing!
Barb — Boy, you sure captured thoughts I was having today. All those “if onlys…” are haunting. I love the repetitions…each one reminding us how we might think better thoughts, try harder to comfort others. Those “bad decisions” sure do wreak havoc on us. My favorite lines are in your last stanza “angry thoughtless words…revised…altered into shrines…blessing this old cheek of mine.” The sentiment is so kind and loving. Thank you! Susie
Oh, Barb—this is absolutely wonderful. I have a long list of “if onlies”. And none of them are as easy to erase as the tears… Wow.
Oh, WOW. That line: “Erase the tears, Blessing this old cheek of mine” is a killer. I love the entire concept here: revisiting bad decisions and not giving them the easy (weak) pass of “everything happens for a reason.” Instead you face bad decisions head on. This is a brave and powerful poem. This is why I love and turn to poetry to make sense of the world. Thank you.
What a thought-provoking prompt. I am definitely not a leaper thus why I am struggling so mightily during these times of extreme opinions.
A Reservoir of Opinions
A stream of water surges
then trickles
then comes to a virtual standstill.
Sometimes stagnant,
the surface covered with
a translucent cloud of gunk.
Often, beneath the surface
there are currents and vortexes
of energy
trying to move
and wanting to move
but limited due to
the depth.
Seldom is the water crystal clear
where you can see the bottom
and observe the aquatic life
swimming and frolicking.
Sand and silt and sediment get churned up
making the water murky.
Grey.
Water is seldom pristine
and sometimes it is toxic.
but often it’s just there.
Moderate.
Neutral.
Holding unlimited potential force
and life.
~Susan Ahlbrand
23 June 2020
Susan,
Water is so often touted as the elixir of life, yet you point out how that is not always true. I like the consideration of “translucent cloud of gunk.” Thank you for this today!
Susan, I so enjoy the many ways you describe water throughout this poem. Based on your title, I see it as a metaphor, and how our opinions can be toxic, muddied or actually have “unlimited potential force and life”. Brilliant!
Susan — Water… it is a totally fascinating thing… and you took me on a journey with it… The whole idea of a “reservoir of opinions” is surely an apt way of thinking about all those blathering voices out there. That murky water, the depth making such a difference… (very crafty metaphor work!)… I loved thinking about the images of water and what lies beneath surfaces… what holds “unlimited potential force/and life.” Thank you! Susie
Margaret: Jericho’s poetry is a song of celebration, of vision, of clear purpose – I come away feeling stronger and immediately re-immerse for another invigorating draft of it. Your words in response – the plea for his help in seeing hidden beauty and crossing barriers – is a call for unity. It’s a stream that flows through both.
I lifted a line (“I’m the one who leaps”) from Jericho to recapture a life-changing story from long ago.
Thank you both for your lyrical gifts.
I’m the One Who Leaps
I’m the one who leaps
not from here to there
but within.
I’m the one who leaps
not like the farm boy standing rooted
to the old front porch
listening to hounds on the hunt.
Baying, fever pitch, nearing, nearing
when in the clearing
bursts the fawn from the brush.
White spots still visible
here and there
on the body running, running
right toward the farm boy standing rooted
to the old front porch.
No time to think
No turning back
Hounds closing in
-the fawn cries, that final sound
a creature makes when it knows
it’s reached the end.
The boy stands rooted.
No time to think
he just does it
he just opens his arms.
No time to think
The fawn just sees,
sees and leaps …
The farm boy
who caught the fawn
on the old front porch
became a preacher
standing rooted
in the Word of God.
Be the one who leaps,
he told us children,
into the Father’s open arms.
You cannot save yourselves.
I sat rooted to the pew
hearing the hounds on the hunt,
seeing the fawn
and those open arms.
I’m the one who leaps
not from here to there
but within.
Wow Fran, I love the metaphorical language you’ve used here. The “leaping within” is stimulating a lot of thoughts for me–it’s lovely.
Thank you for this today.
Fran, what a glorious poem. I love the freedom of leaping into the Father’s arms for His saving grace. Beautiful and encouraging poem for me today. We can leap over and over! Thank you for sharing your poem.
Fran, your poem is amazing! I love the action and the repetition of “nearing, nearing” and “running, running”. The sermon is illuminated through the clear narrative of your poem. But the part I truly love is the end where you reveal your leap of faith within. What a beautiful end!
Oh, how beautiful, Fran! I can see the boy and the fawn so vividly. What an incredible image of how they come together! Such rich symbolism.
I love love love your opening and closing lines
“I’m the one who leaps
not from here to there
but within.” It pulls me in immediately and makes me want to know what you are leaping into. So it’s especially great that you immediately follow that statement with such a vivid story about the farm boy. Not to mention you do a great job of capturing that uncertainty and terror the deer must have felt as it fled. I really enjoyed this Fran
Wow. Just wow. I watched the movie you wrote for us. Thank you!
To take a leap
You must not fear
You must face judgement
You must believe
You must persist
To take a leap
Opinions must not matter
Judgement must not count
You must believe
You must persist
To take a leap
You must not aim to please
You must be strong
You must believe
You mus persist
To take a leap
You must accept change
You must accept loss
You must believe
You must persist
To take a leap
You must break the chains
You must break the cycle
You must believe
You must persist
To take a leap
You must fight
You must break free
You must believe
You must persist
Break free
Believe
Persist
Become a leaper
Monica, you used the repeated words and phrases so powerfully here – and that final summation stanza says it all: Break free, believe, persist. I am thinking how the cycles and chains that must be broken are sometimes those within us – the hardest ones of all. Thank you for your rousing words.
Monica, I love the powerful message of your poem. I agree making change means breaking free, being persistent, and breaking the chains that keep us from being a leaper. I think teenage readers would have a very rich discussion after reading your poem.
Wow, Monica, what a powerful poem — what a great map you have created in my mind — raw truth — raw vision. Excellence!
I should print this poem out and hang it on my mirror, Monica! Truly words to live by. “You must believe. You must persist.”
Monica,
this could be made into a motivational poster! Such a powerful message and great use of snapshots!
Meeting the Edge
By: Emily Yamasaki
Today I eye the horizon
And let this life
carry and nudge
me to the line
until I’m forced
to jump
I’d like to believe
that one day
I’ll see the edge coming
and leap
heart first
feet before the edge
Smiling
all the way down
Emily: Your poem has me reflecting on the brevity of life, and many things “the edge” might represent; I have a sense of hope and desire for a life well-lived and love that dared to give itself freely. Such peace in your final lines, smiling all the way down.
Emily,
I love the idea of leaping heart first, it adds a spin to the initial darkness in the first stanza. Thank you for sharing this today.
Emily, the progression of your poem is brilliantly crafted. You capture the idea of leaping without fear so well…I often desire to leap unafraid and to be the one “Smiling all the way down.” Another incredible poem to cherish.
I hear so much mindfulness and beauty, being present, in the words “Today I eye the horizon/And let this life/carry and nudge”…with this meditation, you are able to leap. Love the image of “leap/heart first/feet before the edge – Smiling/all the way down” – words of faith, I think!
You really put this into perspective through your analogy of approaching/being on the edge.
Emily! We wrote along a similar vein–the idea of being forced to jump and requiring the nudge. I get comfortable, or I get comfortable even when I am uncomfortable because at least it is stable, but your second stanza “I’d like to believe that one day I’ll see the edge coming and leap heart first” was just perfect. I want to be that person who just takes a running leap and then flies and smiles at it. For now, I’m the person strapped to a parachute, crying about it. Thank you for your poem!
(This one is a really long one [I am sorry] and I don’t know how to make it shorter or if I really want to [Sorry about that too])
Forging Destiny
Forging something means making it
and I’ve always been good at making plans.
Each step was a brick I molded into shape,
laid down cobble by cobble on a road
to my dreams.
“That’s not how it works,” is what I hear
when I finally notice that all the bricks
are boxes–gifts– wrapped in paper
and bows like it’s Christmas.
Instead of a road, I’ve been building
a wall.
“The best part about Christmas is giving
rather than receiving or keeping,”
and some of the boxes, bursting full,
go out into the world.
Some are left under a tree (not for me).
Some are tossed in the trash, unopened,
but a whole heaping ton
go into the closet
to molder.
The few I get now, I shake, I rattle, I wonder,
curious at what I get to keep.
They aren’t what I thought I put in the box,
and I feel a little tricked, duped, swindled,
cheated at what I find within.
I question if maybe mine got mixed up
with someone else’s.
Some say that God laughs
when His children make plans,
but I have found He’s a better Father than that.
He lets you cry a little,
but there’s the reminder that what
we need is more important than what
we want.
So I forget how to build,
and I stop making plans. Instead, I tie
my future to cliffs and learn to move
from spire to spire like hop-scotch.
I don’t think it counts as leaping
when you get shoved.
The first one is the worst–
terrifying, thrilling, stumbling–landing,
(think more tears and less joy)
the fear clinging long after the flying is done.
But when I landed, I found new presents
to open and to give away,
so finding a new spire to perch on
becomes something other than fear
but not quiet adventure.
I don’t think it counts as leaping
so much as hopping
when I cling tight to a hand that
seems to do all the heavy lifting.
I’ve gotten really good at hopping
(and being dragged).
Sometimes I am a rock
(a burden always to carry
but one often lifted)
skipping across a surface of water.
Sometimes, I have to stay on the same
solitary mountaintop for long enough
I learn to sit and rest.
Sometimes, I’ve even comfortable enough
to clean out the closet.
I find the gifts at the top,
(I shake, I rattle, and I toss).
Some I fling over the cliff into an abyss,
Some I throw to other spires, and
Some go back into the closet, put away
to molder some more.
I’ve been on this spire a long time,
and I’m finally ready to leap,
find the next peak above the clouds
waiting nearer the horizon.
Instead, a nudge points me not in front
but to the side.
A present is shoved into my
(gobsmacked, terrified, disbelieving) hands.
I’ve thrown it out a dozen times, but
like a bad bowling ball, I always manage to find it
at the top of the closet again.
The paper is damaged, the bow ragged–
I stomped on it the last time
I drop-kicked it off the cliff.
“It’s time,” is said with assurance and excitement.
But I don’t know how to open this,
and I don’t know if I want to anymore.
You see, I packed away a dress once
and I let it go. I don’t know if it still fits,
and I wasn’t made for white.
Instead, the dress is blue
but instead of a veil, I get a hammer and nails.
The dress is perfect, but I have never felt
more inadequate or unlovely as I do in it now.
“Perfect!” is the only response I get.
“The spire you’re headed toward needs a bridge.”
I see it, far out in the distance, clearly
big enough for two,
but I have forgotten how to build…anything,
and I am not a carpenter.
“That’s okay. I am. Just trust me.
Now, you need to something to build with.”
I wonder where the wood will come from,
but there is my closet, waiting to be
reshaped, transformed, laid bare.
And all those extra gifts, some dusty some damaged
will finally be used or tossed out.
I look again, and on the other side
of where I am going
someone is building a bridge.
I can barely see his face, but the dress settles
against my skin, and I find just enough hope
at the bottom of my gift box
to pick up a measuring tape.
For the first time, I finally leap.
Andrea: There’s so much beauty here! And so much truth, about thinking we’re proudly building something good and realizing it wasn’t what we thought we were building at all (like a wall instead of a road). Disillusionment with self – not others – what a key to getting back on the right track. Realizing interdependence, and dependence on one another – ion God – even more so. My favorite lines of all:
Some say that God laughs
when His children make plans,
but I have found He’s a better Father than that.
He lets you cry a little,
but there’s the reminder that what
we need is more important than what
we want.
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing your heart.
Andrea,
I appreciate the inherent struggle in this allegory you’ve gifted us today. None of us were made for white, true? But that’s the beauty of the gift I think you’re writing about. It’s undeserved and often undervalued by the recipient. As a lover of allegory, I’m curious whether you’ve read “The Singer” by Calvin Miller. It’s a retelling of the crucifixion story. There are actually three books: “The Singer,” “The Song,” and “The Finale.” They’ve been around since the late ‘70s, but I think you can still find copies online. Lovely poem.
—Glenda
Glenda, How amazing that you saw this struggle with salvation! I have to be honest, that wasnt what I was thinking about at the end, but upon reading it from that perspective, I was pleasantly surprised that it was there. The truth is I have spent many years being asked why I am not married or dating (students, their parents, colleagues, my mother) and I always comment on the depth of the gene pool in my home community (and never really stumbled upon someone I felt I could spend the rest of my life with, never been moved like that). So I have spent a lot of years (I am in my mid 30s) kind of laying that idea/dream to rest and building a life as a strong independent female, and lo! That has managed to change in just the last few months and I am struggling with that a little. It has been a long time since I have imagine my self or my role as a potential wife, so I have been dragging my feet and trying desperately to cling to God. Which is not unlike when I struggled with my faith in my early 20s. Thank you for helping me see something I was missing.
I have not read those pieces, but they are all on their way thanks to Amazon!
“I don’t think it counts as leaping
when you get shoved.”
What a beautiful line.
Thank you for sharing your experiences through the leap/march metaphor. Lovely and moving.
Andrea, Wow! I do see the connection between our poems on this prompt. These words touched me
Rearview Mirror
Sometimes we don’t realize we’ve leapt
until we notice the past in
the rearview mirror.
Sometimes we don’t realize the leaps
as they happen but we notice in
the rearview mirror.
Sometimes we need to stop and reflect
on the leaps we’ve made somewhere other than
the rearview mirror.
Look in a full-length mirror, take a selfie, realize you’re
leaping right now and will continue to do so other than
the rearview mirror.
I love this idea of noticing during rather than after. “Take a selfie” is a fun image and an excellent way to capture a moment in the now as opposed to in the past.
You last stanza is a call to action for me. It reminds me to focus on what I am doing now instead of looking back at the past with regret. It reminds me of how important it is to be fully present. Thank you for that.
I love this! I love how reflective it is on our practices of making choices and our reflections on them. We don’t notice we’ve made a big choice until it is over, maybe not even noticing a choice at all. We need to look actively (the mirror and the selfie) rather than retroactively. Great thoughts!
Last weekend I attended a Zoom webinar, and the theme was courage. Each participant was supposed to think of a time she felt courageous. I couldn’t think of anything. What I realized is that I could only see my courage in hindsight because in moments that I was courageous, I was too nervous to recognize it at the time. Thank you for this wonderful poem that validates my experience and that also reminds me to see my courage now, not later.
Sharon, I absolutely feel the same way. I don’t feel often courageous in the moment, but when I look back at some the most painful events in my life and realize that I did get through it. My Mom and husband have given me a lot of food for thought on this over the last 15 years (that’s when life fell apart). Their support makes me want to be that support for someone else when I get the chance.
Wow, you call the reader to reflect on reflecting!
PRC — I think we shared some similar thoughts today. I, too, recognized those mirrors…I love that every now and then when this community writes on a prompt, a bridging chord is struck. I particularly like the lines “…we don’t realize the leaps/as they happen but we notice/in the rearview mirror.” Thanks for sharing your poem today. Susie
I really like the way you tied in the rear view mirror. It works.
The Privilege to Be
What if we attack hatred
With the same fire that we attack love?
No one policing the thickness of
Our manes and braids,
Crowns of grandma’s love
And great-grandpa’s strength.
They wouldn’t murder the souls of
Children whose parents cross borders to
Cater to people who never look at them.
What if…
No one shamed who married whom
No one denied us the right to breathe
No one had to be hashtagged
And body-bagged.
What if we attack hatred
Not because it’s trending or
Caught on camera, but because
Everyone should have the privilege
To be loved
To be safe
To be seen
To be.
© Stacey L. Joy
@What if” indeed. Each line strengthens that opening “What if we attack hatred
With the same fire that we attack love?” I simply don’t get the refusal to listen to people in pain, the insistence they care more about stuff than they do about bodies. Stacey, I want to stand by you and shield you from that pain. Love every line, every word of this poem. So much truth in such a short space. Sending hugs. Thank you.
—Glenda
Such a relevant poem, Stacey. The “what ifs” show us that it should not be a problem; it’s simple really, and yet some of us make it so difficult.
So powerful, Stacey! “No one had to be hashtagged and body-bagged.” You capture the sad reality of life today but offer a glimmer of hope. What if? I yearn for that day.
Stacey, I really wish there was one of those heart buttons here.
Stacey — You have called out the “What ifs…” so well here. It seems like such a simple wish, and here we are in this messed up godawful place. The beauty of ancestors … the “manes and braids/crowns of grandma’s love” (beautiful). The reality of
people who don’t see…”who never look at them..” — that is so blasted true. This whole notion of invisibility could be another whole volume of poetry. Why do haters not see that? Also lines that really grab me are these:
denied us the right to breathe
No one had to be hashtagged
And body-bagged.
As you always do, my friend, you raise your voice through your images and the hammer that pounds the table in this poem. I always find myself almost shouting lines in your poems as I read them aloud. Watty Boy is coming to know you well. LOL! Hugs, Susie
I have revisited this poem so many times already. I don’t have one part to pull out because I love it all. Thank you for being an inspiration to me, always.
“A Question”
A question begs an answer // Insists on a response // Pushes the one asked to know // Deserves more than appeal to tradition // A question begs an answer //
A question bends a knee toward justice // Seeks truths unaccepting of old ways // Forges a route through paths uncleared // Interrogates what has been and might be // A question bends a knee //
A question cross-examines claims // Bears witness to falsehoods // Records memories the stenographer omits //Rejects *go along to get along* platitudes // A question cross-examines claims //
Without questions Stasis reigns //Stagnation like the Dead Sea halts //Forward motion and a people regress //Coagulation in a nation’s citizens breaks equipoise // Without questions Stasis reigns //
Brook the ones who question // Acquiesce to the inquiry of youth // Without their why we die // Without their why we lie shattered // Crumbling monuments echoing our collective shame
—Glenda Funk
Daaaaaang! Phenomenal poem, phenomenal poet, phenomenal woman you are!
The formatting, repetition, word choices, all of it blows me away.
Glenda, thank you! It’s all so much to take in but I’ll leave this as my favorite line:
“Crumbling monuments echoing our collective shame”
❤️
Glenda, your use of the double slashes gives a sound effect of a sword slicing air between each thought, and I love it. What an effective use of sight to create sound for the reader! The message is amazing, timely, and clear. You are a wizard with words, my friend!
Glenda,
Every time I read your poems, I am at awe. You are such a talented writer and your poems always speak to me. This line, “Rejects *go along to get along* platitudes,” reminded me to keep speaking up even when people do not want to listen. We need to keep rejecting those platitudes and we need to keep speaking up until they listen.
Glenda, the power of your words is incredible as the images you’ve created in this poem. I feel as though I’m gasping for air by the end of it. “Crumbling monuments echoing our collective shame” Wow! Brilliant phrase! Your poem is definitely not stagnant and I believe it has the force to create a better tomorrow.
The strength of questions – wow! I feel like I am constantly saying “this is powerful.” It is! This poem is what our education system should be like, teaching questions and questioning. I like to read poems aloud, and the next to last stanza with “Stasis” and “Stagnation” and “Coagulation” and “equipoise” is AWESOME aloud! Thank you for this, Glenda!
Wow! Powerful! I also like your use of slashes. “A Question” is great work!
One of my favorite quotes from the children’s book, Agatha Featherbed, written by Carmen Agra Deedy is
“Everything comes from something
Nothing comes from nothing
Just like paper comes from trees
Glass comes from sand
An answer comes from a question
All you have to do is ask”
Thank you for asking and examining A Question!!!
Glenda — This is a doozy. It reads like an oral chant…those blasts that create a cadence. I love all the power words you have here…they give volume to your voice, and I love that. Power verbs (insists, pushes, begs, reigns, brook, acquiesce, echoing). And words that sort of stick in the craw (stagnation, coagulation, bends a knee toward justice [right on!], platitudes). The call to us in the last stanza pushes us to engage and act. And tonight on the news the misguided squatter in the White House (I’m being terribly polite here) is signing an executive order to give prison time (10 years) for anyone “crumbling monuments echoing our collective/shame.” He has no shame…racist demon. Okay, this is not the place… sorry. But I LOVE your poem…it got me going here. Thanks, Susie
Glenda,
I keep reading your poems, and I am in continual awe of your pieces. The second stanza especially hit with “A question bends a knee toward justice//Seeks truths unaccepting of old ways//Forges a route through paths uncleared,” and I immediately thought about 1 Corinthians 13, about Love being patient, kind, and never failing. I think love is a question and an answer just as much as it is action. When we give love–unconditionally, sacrificially, and with devotion–we do ask those questions and seek justice, find answers, speak truth. I think love allows life and movement and healing. Understanding that I don’t have to know your story (but should want to so that I can honor you or mourn with you) or see your place in society (but still being caring and honoring of that) because you exist and therefore you matter–your existence makes you worthy of love. I tell my students that my ability to love them has nothing to do with them and everything to do with my ability to find an unconditional well of love to nurture them generously and sacrificially. Love is not earned; it is a gift that is given without asking for anything in return.
I think love looks like questions right now, but I also think it looks like people giving honest answers and reflecting on old practices with the desire to think critically and reject what is harmful. James says that faith without works is dead, but this is just as true as (or paraphrased equally with) love without action is empty. –Andrea
Andrea,
It’s interesting that you mention two bible passages in your response as this poem grew out of a conversation w/ my sister’s granddaughter. My sister is a Trumper, so that creates difficulty in our relationship. Last night the granddaughter pressed me about my reasons for saying Trump is not a Christian, and I shared w/ her the passage in James about knowing a believer by the fruits they produce.
“-isms to ponder”
Life framed by feminism?
Consider the whiteness of it all
Intersections of genders and race-izm
Fertility of an ally
Supremacy of feminism
Pushed down, sexed out
Vaginas mold consumerism
Plague of equality or equity
Corporate feminism
Step back to lead away from
Gendered colonialism
Hashtags for education
Liberate dominators of this organ-izm
Remove race-based nepotism
Stop perpetuating class sexism
Reframe your feminism
“Community Organizers”
Where do the fireflies go
when the dark skies
extinguish stars,
when tyrannical winds
rattle mighty crowns
and branches reach
for the ground
to save their leaves?
Where do the fireflies go?
They speak the language of light
synchronizing flashes
to defend, to warn, to attract,
thriving where they were born
at the margins of ponds and streams
near standing water,
shallow depressions
in forests and fields.
Where do the fireflies go?
They’re feasting on worms, grubs,
slugs, and snails,
immobilizing their prey
with toxic schemes
sucking out the entrails
to fortify their kin.
Where do the fireflies go?
They are planning a revolt to strike
down street lamps and porch lights that filter
their radiance, to shatter the glass jars that suffocate
their wings, to plant flowers full of pollen and nectar
to fill summer dusk with
synchronizing flashes of hope
when the winds subside.
Sarah, this is lovely. I just love how you’ve anthropomorphized the fireflies. My favorite part is the last stanza. The idea of the fireflies plotting and planning makes me giggle. I know that your poem can be read as a social commentary, but for some reason I can’t help picturing it as a David Wiesner book! Fabulous!
I love this, Sarah! I think I want to be a firefly in my next life and join those who strike and revolt! I’ll pass on sucking out the entrails ? This is my favorite:
to fill summer dusk with
synchronizing flashes of hope
when the winds subside.
Sarah, I find your poem so brilliant and moving. The language is powerful, action-driven, and ignites like the fireflies in your poem. I love the answer to your question at the end “To fill summer dusk with/synchronizing flashes of hope/when the winds subside” Absolutely breathtaking imagery throughout this…I especially enjoyed “immobilizing their prey/with toxic schemes/sucking out the entrails/to fortify their kin.” Kudos!
I love this. I remember doing something terrible as a child – stealing the fireflies light to wear as a ring.
Wow, Sarah! This is so artistic! The repetition of “where do the fireflies go?” really works beautifully. I love the images of “speak the language of light/synchronizing flashes” and the whole idea of “community organizers. Aah… lovely idea! I love that at first reading I was floating around at dusk with the fireflies of my youth in the country…with the mason jar. And with a second reading, I saw the whole “community organizer” idea… dang, girl, you are really quite something! Wow! This is quite a dandy poem! I want them to “fill summer dusk with/synchronizing flashes of hope/when the winds subside.” Yes! Thank you, Susie
Genius! The extended metaphor works so well. We are at the drive-in and as fireflies hover, I am looking at them with new eyes.
Sarah, your poem reminds me of reader response theory that says we get out a text what we bring to it. Due to our current social and political climate, I read your poem as a metaphor or allegory! Are the fireflies our unexpected protest leaders, forced to shine in the darkness, inspired, fed and fueled by what they are learning about systemic injustices?
I love how you’ve taken this familiar image – followed it through natural spaces with word choice that takes it beyond the literal. You begin with a question and then answer it. Staying within the natural world til the last stanza where you seem to say more.
Such a sweet little girl, isn’t she?
She does the right thing, the expected thing
she always says please, thank you, and may I.
Please, thank you, and may I
put that little girl in the past?
I’m tired of marching on day-to-day
ever cheerful, always giving it my all.
Giving it my all is exhausting
when I’m told what I must do.
I want to grab that little girl by the ear
and march her right into the future
and show her who she will be.
She will be bold and fearless,
a force to be reckoned with.
A force to be reckoned with because she knows what she wants
and she goes for it.
Want to sit on the couch all day and eat chocolate?
Want to move to France for a year or two?
Want to hike in the Andes with strangers?
Want to build a library in Africa?
Want to write poetry in the summer mornings?
Do it.
I will help this little girl leap into her future
where she does what she wants
not worrying if she has to say please, thank you, or may I.
Oh, Mo, I love this little girl — and you. For all you do big (a library in Africa) and not so small (eating chocolate).
Good morning Mo,
This poem could be every woman’s poem who lives with regrets for living such careful little girl lives. These lines shout to us, SELF-CARE!
Thank you for the reminder because honestly giving it my all sucks, most of the time.
Your anaphoras are perfect! The flow, the questioning, and then “grab that little girl by the ear” give me the feeling that whatever she wants to do, she can and must do.
Love it, Mo!
Wow! You need to turn this into a picture book so that every little girl can become a leaper and break the societal chain of submission, of conformity. This is a powerful poem. Thank you for sharing it. I’m going to print it and give it to my daughter.
Oh, Mo, I want to read your poem to my little girl self. Oh, my, how powerful! My list of Want to’s would be different, but otherwise, the poem would be perfect for me. I love these lines and the repetition here:
I needed to hear that as a girl.
Mo, I love your writing. “Not worrying if she has to say please, thank you, or may I.” I love that line. The brevity of your poem speaks to how powerful the lines are.
Margaret,
The first line “we have crossed the line” has layers of meaning for me, maybe us, in today’s context. In so many ways, we have crossed the line in assault but also now to make change, and the only way is to cross lines so that we can heal. I love this direct address to Jericho, a pleading almost for help. I love that you, maybe we all, turn to poets for answers. What can a poem do that policies, briefs, and speeches cannot!
Thank you for your inspiration, Margaret.
Sarah
Margaret, using Jericho Brown as inspiration was just what we needed today! Your poem having a conversation with him and asking him to help see the morning glory and the fire in the rainbow – what a message for a world that could be better if we could all stop and see the beauty in the mess, if even for a moment. I needed the reminder that there are things to see – silver linings in every cloud. Thank you for hosting us this week!
Work and Peace
What is destiny on a farm?
A farm full of life-
full of vegetables and herbs,
of chickens and goats,
of pigs and dogs,
of people who
rise with the roosters and
leap into life
to mow fields
to mend fences
to tend gardens
to milk goats
to bake bread
to make soap
to feed flocks
to heave hay to herds
to clean coops
and call it a day
and sip iced tea with fresh mint sprigs
in the swing on the back porch
and give thanks for the beauty of it all
and shower to cool down sweat-drenched bodies
and rinse the day’s dirt down the drain
and bring in the wind-dried sheets that smell
fresh like sunshine and breeze
that bring clean, deep sleep
to people who say blessings over farm-to-table meals,
who work hard
drive slowly
live intentionally
as one with the land
at peace within
Destiny IS the farm!
Kim, you really make me want to live on a farm! Your words seem to invoke a simple life that so many of us long for. You’ve highlighted the routines in a way that really make me long for a life of such meaningful simplicity. Well done!
First, I am so pleased to see the spacing here in the poem. I have been so frustrated with the comment feature on my site, that I am just thrilled it can do something right with this beautiful use of whitespace in your poem — wow. The movement of the line to the margin and then indented once and then one more time at the end to slow my eye with “drive slowly/live intentionally/as one with the land/at peace within” you really move my eyes, heart, and speech as you show me how I can experience your poem.
Peace,
Sarah
Thank you for capturing a day on your farm–the work and the reward–and sharing it with us! I am struck by the list of details–so much to do!–and the senses they invoke: your mint tea, the cooling shower, “the wind-dried sheets that smell/ fresh like sunshine and breeze/that bring clean, deep sleep.”
OH MAN, Kim — I want to drive to GA and sit on your back porch swing! This brings all the parts of farm that I loved so much… BEAUTIFUL! The meaningful busy-ness of the day and then “call it a day…the tea!!… the swing!!…rinse the day’s dirt down the drain…and those sheets dried on the line… I love the “people who…” each of those descriptors at the end made me just LOVE you and yours who what we want this country to be…hard working, intentional, as one with the land, and peaceful. If there is a feel good poem today, THIS IS IT! I think I’ll go play the piano now. I feel great. Thank you, Susie
Kim,
I love this celebration of farm life. This poem should be a picture book. As I read I thought about how lovely it would be to have your farm poems collected in a chapbook. Have you considered doing this?
—Glenda
Margaret, you’re mentoring and inspiring me again. I only recently learned of Jericho and The Tradition, and it’s on my list of summer reading books. Now I want to move it to the top. Thank you for a brilliant response layered with images and metaphors. It’s almost like a prayer landed in the poem too. A pleading with Jericho, a cry to God.
Beautiful plea:
Thank you. Today I believe the writer in me will need two cups of coffee and quiet meditation to flow into the poem that awaits.
Cool Fool
Me? Play the cello?
Won’t I look like a geek
Lugging it home
So I can practice each week?
In Motown, Blacks usually join the choir.
In Motown, Blacks are expected to sing.
Should I sing in the glee club
Or make cello my thing?
Me? Play the cello?
They give free lessons in school.
Would taking lessons for cello break the rule?
Would doing something different make me look cool?
Me? Play the cello?
Sitting with legs spread really looks funny
So what if it does. Don’t laugh at me, Cuz.
It’s my choice, not yours. Don’t forget that, Honey!
Yes! I’ll play the cello
And I’ll also sing!
Who says I’m limited to only one thing?
So, I played the cello
It wasn’t real cool being different. But,
It was my choice. I made it and stood out like a fool
Lugging that instrument to and from school.
I am applauding from here. Be you! Be you! Be you! I hope you will share this with young people. I love that the cello was something different AND familiar as someone with music in their soul. This is a beautiful piece.
I love learning about you in this way, Anna! I think you are real cool, and I imagine you were/are quite stunning standing tall beside the cello.
I’m giggling, Sarah. Standing on the city bus with a cello! We didn’t have school buses in that Detroit neighborhood. 🙂
Anna, I love your uniqueness and your steadfast decision to be all the you you can be and not be pressured be anyone else to do something different. When people break the molds of predictability or expectation, I think it creates a strength and firm resolve of self. I love your rhyme scheme and your questions. Especially: Who says I’m limited to only one thing? This is a great poem to share with students who can’t decide what they want to do or feel pressure to do what their parents want them to do. There is so much YOU in this poem, Anna, and I love that!
One of the things I most love about this group is how different we are, yet also so alike in many ways. I don’t read anyone else’s poem until I’ve written mine. Anna, I’m thrilled that you and I both chose to write to our younger selves, urging the young girls to be true to who they are. I feel as if I could hear you say, “It’s my choice, not yours. Don’t forget that, Honey!”
Do you still play the cello?
Thanks,Mo. I switched to bass fiddle because I couldn’t keep up with other cellists who could afford private lessons. There were a limited number of seats in our orchestra for cellists, and I didn’t make it! I do continue to sing, though!
Good morning Anna,
I adore this poem for so many reasons. Starting with the title I instantly fell in love. Reminds me of Gwendolyn Brooks and then after finishing the poem it has even more meaning because you “stood out like a fool” but you made it and it was your CHOICE and that’s COOL!
My mom was a cellist and as a child I always wondered how that was possible. Oh to have had one opportunity to see her play. I love how you didn’t back down or talk yourself out of it. Clearly you could have chosen against it. Being different always wins in my book of childhood options.
Love your poem and your beautiful, cool different self! ?
Anna, such a picture you put into my head with these thoughts:
In Motown, Blacks usually,,, and are expected…
and the lugging of the giant instrument to and from school. I can just see it.
Love the use of question marks in the first four stanzas and then the move to the exclamation mark in the fifth when you committed. The final stanza was a nice past tense wrap up.
~Denise
P.S. I actually played the cello for one year in elementary school. It was the first year we could join the orchestra, grade 5, I think. The room was so filled with people who wanted to play the violin, that we were told everyone would not make it. To avoid ‘try-outs’, I guess, my two friends and I moved to the cello because they told us there were enough of them for everyone who wanted to play. It didn’t catch on for me, but I always enjoyed watching the boy who they seated me next to (in order to help me) become a stand-out cellist throughout high school.
You say it can’t be done…
Leaps of Faith
Sail west in uncharted waters
Move west in a covered wagon
Cross an ocean for religious freedom
Cross the Rio for a better life
Run away to escape north to freedom
Escape north from violence and poverty in caravans of hope
Fight for our right to vote
Vote to exercise our right
Take that seat on the bus ’cause her feet are weary
Take that seat in the street to unite against wrong
March across that bridge for equal rights
Marches of thousands in silence speaks volumes
Organize those field hands cause they need a voice
Organize a Go Fund Me to bury a murdered friend
Take a knee against police brutality
Watch a knee take the last breath of a man
Pass on using that straw
But continue to pass on our perseverance, courage
resilience and strength
Instill kindness and compassion!
Instill humility, gratitude and grace!
End the injustice of world hunger!
End the pandemic of injustice!
Susan, This poem needs to be out in the world. I hope you will find a way to publish it. The repeated words are similar to what Jericho Brown does in his invented form, the duplex. So effective here. The knee stanza got to me.
Bravo Susan! Standing ovation over here in Los Angeles! I agree with Margaret, submissions to anywhere and everywhere for publication, at the very least post it on all social media platforms.
I love that it begins with leaps of faith yet so much is about literally marching forward for change. My favorite lines but oh so painful:
Incredible poem and thank you for marching and writing!
Susan,
That line — “organize a Go Fund Me to bury a murdered friend.” Wow! This just strikes me as at once too practical and common and grotesque. All the exclamation points at the end show outrage and the need for change that is so past due.
Sarah
Susan, I echo what everyone has said about this – – and encourage you to find a larger stream of readership for this one. It says so much, and it says it in a tone that speaks of urgency. I love your Jerichoish traits with the echoing words.
Beautiful, powerful, and empowering! Another strong poem that must be shared with the world. Your poem fills me with courage to go out and become a leaper 🙂
Susan, I am captivated by your form, your use of the duplex. The repetition and contrast (“pass on using that straw/but continue to pass on our perseverance,” “take a knee…watch a knee,” “Fight for our right to vote/Vote to exercise our right”) creates an echo in the poem, a conversation with our past and our present…does that make sense? I can’t quite describe what I see and feel when I read the poem without sounding trite or cliche. Your piece makes me think about the past and ponder our current situation–how far have we come? are we doomed to repeat our mistakes? can we make a difference?–but ultimately I feel the pull of the future, the hope of your emphatic ending: “Instill kindness and compassion!…End the pandemic of injustice!” Thank you for sharing your poem with us!
AMEN, Susan! This is a mantra…and I LOVE it. You are a powerhouse, neighbor! Love you and love your poem. Susie
Susan, I hope you publish this more widely! It’s a testimony, history lesson, and battle cry all in one! The paradoxes you use show the power of faith…they said it couldn’t be done. Oh yeah??? My favorite. Spinet marches speak volumes! Peaceful protest are powerful! So is your poetry!
Susan,
Bravo! What a fantastic list of things others said could not be done yet were. The lines that resonate most w/ me are “Take a knee against police brutality / Watch a knee take the last breath of a man.” Powerful poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
First, Margaret, your poem response in conversation with Jericho Brown is spectacular. I think poems in conversation are my new favorite.
My responses to yesterday’s prompt never did show up. I’m not sure what happened. So, Today, I will be copying my response before hitting send!
I have no idea where this draft came from…except that I don’t find myself a marcher OR a leaper. As usual, I’m somewhere in the middle…which reminded me of Lot’s wife.
I am afraid
I am Lot’s wife
I have left everything behind
what God has commanded
I cannot help
my love for what’s past
my home
my neighbors
gathering at the well
drawing water to wash
newborns rubbed with salt
bodies for burial
and now they burn
I look back
and now they burn
bodies for burial
newborns rubbed with salt
drawing water
gathering at the well
my neighbors
my home
my love for what’s past
I cannot help
what God has commanded
I have left everything behind
I am Lot’s wife
I am afraid
I am so jealous of your ability to write a reverso. This one caught me without warning. It works so well. Maybe you could do a series of them based on Bible stories? The newborns rubbed with salt stands out to me.
Linda (and all),
I am so sorry for your frustration about posting responses yesterday. I have been working with the comment developer on the coding end to complain about this update to our platform — the good news is that we have a formatting feature and can insert images, but bad news is the glitches as lack of editing. I am working on it! Apologies.
Peace,
Sarah
No problem! You can’t shake me. This monthly writing is a favorite of mine. Glad things are showing up today/
Linda! “Newborns rubbed with salt/bodies for burial” — my heart is aching here. And then the burn with the repetition of my love, my home, my neighbors, more aching. The last line feels so welcomed right now. Just the simple sentence. “I am afraid” and all throughout with no punctuation –so moving.
Thank you.
Sarah
Linda,
What a powerful story of Lot’s wife. That middle line “I look back” and then having to live through all of it again. “I am Lot’s wife / I am afraid”
Wow! It has given me pause today.
I’ll be the first
to admit, my feet
don’t leap like
they should;
but they’ve marched
when they could
my feet’ve paused,
on pavement,
when they rally
against injustice
paused at the brink
but not one step
beyond
they’ve stood, to shout,
and broken rules, no doubt,
caused us to wonder
and worry at the progress
not yet coming about
I wonder, at times,
if my feet don’t come
equipped with my mind
That first stanza is perfect. I am drawn to the “middle” the indecision, the gray area, the wonder stage. You take to rhyme so naturally it seems. Well done.
Thanks, Linda. That first phrasing came suddenly so I went with it. (following the feetsteps)
Kevin
I really like your poem! I am grateful your feet have marched when they could! I appreciate the pause and the worry! I really like your last line, “wonder”!!!
I had trouble with the rhythm of the last stanza — still not sure it works. The idea is there but the cadence feels off from the rest of the poem (confused feet?)
Kevin
“they’ve stood to shout,/ and broken rules, no doubt” I love how you’ve taken the prompt question for a run.
Ha!
Kevin, I love your poem because it’s refreshing to read about a person who doubts the power of their feet to do what their mind says. I can take this so many different ways and in various examples. My feet wouldn’t move me out of a rotten relationship until almost 30 years of abuse. But my feet moved too soon when my mind said wait in a work situation. Today, we have to value the actions and inactions because neither have power without agreement from our minds.
Sorry, I don’t know why I had to go so far with it, but your poem marched all into my mind.
Loved this:
I’m glad it connected, even if in a different way.
“Today, we have to value the actions and inactions because neither have power without agreement from our minds.” — Agreed.
Kevin
I like the focus on the feet. Does it start with our feet? Are they more than vehicles for moving us forward. You give them agency.
Feet as propelled emotion …. and agents of our thoughts. Thanks for the comment.
Kevin