Jennifer Guyor-Jowett is our host for the March 5-day writing challenge. Jennifer has taught English and Literature for over 30 years to 7th and 8th graders, contributes to the BlinkYA blog, and writes Educator Guides for MG and YA titles. She has written with fellow teachers at Aquinas College as a Summer Writing facilitator and occasionally co-hosts #MGBookChat. Follow her on Twitter @jenjowett .
Inspiration
Once again, we turn to Michelle Burke for inspiration. Today, we will rethink the way we interact with our world. Synesthesia is the result of sensory pathways in the brain stimulating other pathways. Imagine what it’s like to taste sound or smell color, for example. Let’s think in ways unexpected by using color to connect to other senses besides sight.
Process
Choose a color and answer these questions:
- What scent is this color?
- What is this color’s taste?
- What texture is this color?
Select a very different color and answer these questions:
- What place is this color?
- What is this color’s mood?
- What memory is this color?
By switching in the middle, you might gain a turn (volta) in your writing.
Craft a poem incorporating some of your answers. Rearrange the words if you wish.
(This site allows you to explore a wide range of colors: https://www.sherwin-williams.com/architects-specifiers-designers/color/find-and-explore-colors/paint-colors-by-family#/active/color-wall/section/sherwin-williams-colors/family/)
Jennifer’s Poem
Circadian Curl (Jennifer Guyor-Jowett)
A froth of sea spray
reaches its fingers inland
before withdrawing,
waves curling like fiddle ferns
ready to unfurl
upon the spring
and summer haven
of my memories/desires?
We live in this life,
of come and go,
the rhythms circadian, relentless.
Our thoughts splayed and contracting,
digging the skies; trawling the seas.
Our desires surging and emptying,
the thread spools of our existence
The crisp energy – sudden
The lounging – languid
Passion and flirtation combine,
a primal painting
before the tinge of first blush,
berries – Coral and June.
We rise like marine geysers
only to fall back to earth,
creating our own
circadian curl.
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.
I’m WAY behind, but here goes:
Spa-
Drops of water fall upon me
Cool and refreshing tingles
Encapsulate my body.
Minty and cool aroma enters my nostrils
A sense of calm becomes present
Muscles try to relax
A touch
Warm palms press against the pain
Eyes close-fire enters
Pushing away the week’s stresses,
Undoing the knots of yesterday.
The warm sensation goes on an expedition.
Traveling to new areas
Helping the body relax and feel calm.
The mind drifts
Beginning to dream
A chime in the distance
Peace is found
Session complete
This is the perfect piece to soothe away everything that has been happening! I love your word choices (encapsulate, drift, chime). You draw us in with the drops of water and take us with you all the way to finding peace at the end. Great last line too!
Missed yesterday’s writing! So I’m adding it now.
Forgiving seafoam
Sometimes to a fault
Salt on my lips, smiling
Ocean waves crashing
Each time giving benefit of the doubt
She’s just so bubbly, heart pillowy
Line in the sand, crossed
Gleaming, shiny black
A shine only heat can create
Fiery flames in a cave
People cower, but they can’t look away
Lava spews from her lips
Bleeding, defending
Winning
Ohhh this is sparkling and shining! I see the waves crashing, the line in the sand, fiery flames… Love the ending “bleeding defending, winning” because it says we aren’t more powerful than mother nature!
So happy you posted, better late than never!
Love your piece! 🙂 You used great descriptive language. Images from Moana kept coming to my mind as I read. I love the line, “People cower, but they can’t look away.” Very nice. Thanks for sharing.
BLUE DAYS
Diving in, smooth liquid blue lights my way to the edge
of the pool, chlorine sneezes snag my nostrils…
Rising up, deep breath fills my lungs and lifts me to the steps.
Looking up, birds soar in the sky — a cloudless blue day.
Tiptoe-ing across hot coal concrete, sinking in to the spa.
Swimming on blue summer days.
I love how you’ve linked swimming to the birds soaring. And that hot coal concrete- don’t we all know that?
YES! We have all burned our feet at one time or another, I’m sure!
It’s been so interesting to see all the different uses of blue today. You have managed to capture the color as we immerse ourselves with you inside of it. Chlorine-sneezes are the perfect explanation for that sensation. And that hot coal concrete – yikes! It brings back all the scurrying across sand and concrete. Thanks for joining us!
OOH, scurrying! Yes!
Jennifer,
Hi, friend, good to see you. I feel like a dolphin under water swimming through the water to the pool’s edge. Love “hot coal concrete.” That image brings back memories. Let’s hope we have those “blue summer days” this year.
I’m hoping! This weekend, we had heavy snow, ice, sleet, and rain. It was windy, sunny, and overcast. All in two days!
Ahhhh….summer days…
Jennifer, this is beautiful. I love the image of “chlorine sneezes snag my nostrils…”. What a great line! Something about this poem gave me a sense of calm, and it reminded me to just BREATHE! I really needed that. Thanks.
Haiku in Two Shades
Verdant
Between cracks of frost
Earth exhales a breath of spring
Sunshine on my tongue
Lilac
Tucked inside a secret
Hopeful as butterfly wings
I was 10 years old
Oh, Allison. I was reading this just fore sleep. I will have pleasant dreams based on “tucked inside a secret/hopeful as butterfly wings/I was ten years old.” There is something there that touches a part of my soul.
I love the thought of sunshine on my tongue. Summer will be here soon!
Such beautiful imagery here – “the cracks of frost”, and “tucked inside a secret” are tiny sketches of perfection. I love the line “sunshine on my tongue.” (and I wish I had written it!)
Hi Allison,
I’m so happy I looked back at yesterday’s posts. This would have been sadly missed. I want this on my mirror. A beautiful reminder of earth’s gifts, much like you, a gift to us! Thank you for such a tender loving poem.
Love your take on the Haiku! This took me back to my own childhood and the Lilac bushes that lined the perimeter of our yard. The mystery in the line “Tucked inside a secret” is very intriguing, and I love “sunshine on my tongue”. So Great!
Hi you,
I see you showed up again
Racing down my face
Whatever happened to droplets?
Today, I can’t see you though
You have blended with the rain
But you two have something in common
You pour and pour and pour
I cannot do anything about it
today I saw you in another form
I stared in that river
You are no longer transparent
You are bitter
somewhat salty
Now you choose droplets
When I want you to pour
So I can be over with you
Melissa,
Standing and clapping over here!
You are bitter
somewhat salty
Now you choose droplets
When I want you to pour
So I can be over with you
Brilliant reprimand of what many women call private summers.
Ah, Melissa, I love the tears-rain melding in this.
Melissa,
I enjoyed your poem. I loved the lines, ” I cannot do anything about it” That speaks to me because grief is like that sometimes. “Racing down my face” excellent word choices! I can relate to the feeling of wanting the tears to be finished.
So many ways to think about your poem. I’m imagining that you are addressing the color and the many ways it appears to us – in deluges, rivers, droplets. But I suspect there’s loss hidden in these waters. I very much like the direct address you give as you begin with a greeting and end with a farewell (perhaps) or maybe another invitation? There’s so much to ponder here.
Thanks everyone for your kind words.
YES! This is terrific! I’m not sure if it was your intention to give readers an image of uncontrollable crying, but that is where I’m at with it. Yesterday was a super difficult day for me, and your poem reminds me of the overwhelming feeling I was having. When you just want to burst, but nothing comes out! The line, “I cannot do anything about it” was like a slap to the forehead. Thanks! I needed it. Your writing has inspired me to “be over with you” so I’m moving on. Today is a new day, new season, and I’ll make the best of it.
Escape your burdens
By Christian Pitts Callahan
The ocean speaks to me as I walk upon the white sand so pure, so clean, so full of mystery.
Who has walked upon its back? What burdens did they bare? Did they find solace there?
Then my thoughts return to the ocean, so blue and pristine. It looks endless as I stare into the horizon. It roars as it rolls in, bringing discarded shells of animals that call it home. They, too, share the love of the ocean with me, My home away from home.
Who comes to the beach to escape their reality? Seeking a place in the world where stress can be forgotten and peace can linger for more than a second, a minute, an hour or a day. The sound of the waves so melodious to my ears. Crying out to me. Letting me know I’m not alone. Letting me know I’m loved. Letting me know I’ve been blessed with another day.
If you are like me searching for colors of escape, let your path lead you to the ocean. The pure white sand will cover your feet with protection from the scorching sun as you seek refuge. . The ocean will wrap its loving arms around you in a cool, wet, blue embrace. As the tide rolls in let it grab your burdens like a bird’s talons grabs it’s prey. And as the tide rolls back, let it pull the heaviness off your back, taking it to the realms of darkness way below, never to be seen again.
Christian, I hear your poem like a travel advertisement. You make the ocean sound so inviting and relaxing. I love how it seems like a two-way relationship between the ocean and you.
Thanks Mo. it all honesty, the ocean is my escape. I come all the time. I feel so blessed and stressed free when I leave
I, too, love the ocean’s speech. The ocean on the surface is beautiful and adventuresome, yet below the surface, it’s mysterious and wild. Thanks for sharing!
That’s beautiful! I love how you personified the beach with the walk on its back and asked questions – who has…?and personified the waves crying out – and gave the ocean a cool wet embrace! My favorite line is the last one – pulling the burdens away in that undercurrent back to sea! We can all use that right now for sure. This is a beautiful poem and such a cathartic process for our group right now – teachers who have now got new burdens and the coming days of uncertainty. The beach is pretty certain and wonderfully healing! I’m so glad you are writing with us! welcome to the group!
My favorite lines:
“in a cool, wet, blue embrace”
and
“let it pull the heaviness off your back”
Your poem gives such physicality to the ocean’s shore. Really nice.
Christian,
your poem is trying to lure me to the ocean. I agree with another comment that it is a perfect advertisement and reminder of how cathartic the ocean can be. Phenomenal job!
Hi Christian,
“Who comes to the beach to escape their reality? Seeking a place in the world where stress can be forgotten and peace can linger for more than a second” These lines speak to my inner longing to escape from my reality from time to time. Every now and then we need that spark of hope that turns our darkness into light.
When I think of the ocean, it’s always of the sounds of the surf, the movements, the seagulls. I love that you begin with it speaking to you and that it’s your “home away from home” that deposits discarded homes of animals. I also enjoy the escape that the beach brings. Your piece allows me to sample that today. Thank you.
I’m not really so morose, just tired today!
The funk of despair
washes o’er me, awaiting
a prickle of hope
I can SO relate! No, that’s just perfect for today! The funk of despair
The funk of despair, so perfect for today.
Mo,
You’ve said so much here in three short lines. I am happy to see you end w/ “hope.” I do share the exhaustion and the feel of despair washing over me. I’ve been feeling a little useless so texted my former principal and offered my help if my old school needs it this next week before spring break. I’m sure the normal sub shortage will be even more pronounced next week. I’m not officially on the sub list.
How generous of you! Our schools are closed for the next three weeks. Some of us are going in tomorrow to work on enrichment lessons. We don’t have much guidance yet. Everyone seems to have to figure it out as we go.
While I was writing poetry tonight the governor of our state recommended all schools close for four weeks…waiting to hear the plan from our admin. Here we go…
Ah! I wrote haiku today too! I needed simplicity, brevity, clarity.
Here’s to that prickle of hope! Cheers!
You will love one of our last prompts, Mo! I am feeling these feels also, caught between despair and hope.
I struggled getting my mind around today’s prompt. *sigh* Anyway, this is it. ?
“Escape“
Black beach
Black diamond
Earth’s
Miracles surround
Black toothed
Black lung
Uncured disease
No miracles we’ve found
White light
Shines above a
Surgeon’s
Scalpel’s cut. These
Rocky shores a
Last resort
Retort on
Final ground
—Glenda Funk
*In the last line I struggled choosing between “final” and “funeral.”
I struggle with my words too (there’s still a word I was deciding between that remains in my example today that I must have forgotten to take out – shhh, don’t tell!). I like final in that last stanza – it hints at the funeral ground without calling it such. And final feels more organic, more connected to the beach in some way. Funeral would have done the same but with a different nuance, and both would have been impactful. You’ve pulled the colors away from each other with the same severity that the situation demands. There’s power and strength in that.
I like final…the ambiguousness of it lets the reader determine meaning as it relates to them. Black and white–gosh, no pressure there! That’s a tough combination to bring together. But, look how the “no miracles…connects to surgeon’s scalpel’s cut.” Really well done. And, in very few words. I love spare poetry the best. The fewer the words that can get the image right, the better!
Glenda,
What a story you tell in very compact lines. I love the balance of black and white/positive and negative.
Glenda, I struggled with this one too. I was hoping I wasn’t going to get a message that I had exceeded the maximum edits.
I like your black and white colors – the repetition of color is a great contrast to the white light! I like final at the end!
I love the look at black and white. I think “final” is a good word. “Funeral” is so sad.
Glenda, I understand the struggle. Yesterday’s was my challenge.
Your poem was excellent and I enjoyed every word. Its so sad but I like the comparison between the black and the white/sick lung and funeral.
Crimson and Azure
Somedays I’m red and feeling sassy
my face lights up, my words come out clearly
and I’m feeling the spicy beauty within myself.
In my mind, I hear Earth, Wind, and Fire singing and
am at the top of a bright shiny rollercoaster.
I can simply look at the faces when my students enter
and see tangerine, canary, coal, or sooty.
The sweetness of my rich chocolate can sense their mood
and I’m aware that mommy fussed at them
and took their phone away
or daddy gave them their allowance.
I know they’re excited about the upcoming
pop quiz or they’re reciting their multiples because they know
the magenta in me is going to give them
one challenging question
and one that’s as easy as pie
that’s what scarlet can mean-sweetness and humility.
Other days, I’m as blue as I can be.
On those days, I’m tranquil and am enjoying
the smooth jazz that’s playing in my head
I notice the melancholy faces as they enter
and I give them space to feel themselves
and wait for them to approach me if needed.
The reserved sapphire in me remembers when I was
struggling, when geometry meant
gray, embarrassment, and fear.
On navy days, I hear the saxophone music
and am confidently thrilled as I remember
that I’m there to teach, mold, and pass out
my wisdom.
Oh, Seana! I love the way you read the students’ lives by shades and hues, and then you own your own, too. Navy and sax. Sapphire and struggle. We are shades and hue, too. So human. Love this painting-poem.
Greeting students in colors! I’d ask if you could imagine how beautiful that would be but you already have done that for us. And I love the picture created. I love the tangerines and canaries and coals and sootys (sooties?). Isn’t it amazing that we can see the moods of each of our students within that initial greeting. Oddly enough, my son just switched to a jazz piece for our dinner music as I’m finishing the second stanza of your poem and the blues and grays are carrying me through. Gray as embarrassment and fear – such a novel way to picture this color – I’m so glad you gave that to us today.
This is wonderful! It makes me wonder what color I put out on the days when I warn my middle schoolers not to be “the next one”. What color is irritated? Maybe dark orange? Love this, andsomething I will be storing for future reflection…
The magenta in me…I like that! I am hearing Earth, Wind and Fire and enjoying the colors and flavors you chose – that tangerine and chocolate are great uses for color and smells!
Seana!
This is fabulous!! I love the various colors that capture the various sides of you.
When does your book come out? Wow. Who could’ve imagined using colors to see our moods and our students simultaneously? YOU! I am in love with this.
“tangerine, canary, coal, or sooty.” Some of mine fit right into these shades!
You have such a clear voice and I look forward to reading your poems each day. What’s so interesting is how you may be tranquil and blue and you await them, giving “them space to feel themselves…” Only a real teaching veteran knows how to do that!
Beautiful piece Seana.?
Terrific scene of your interactions with your students. The color represents and interesting push and pull, guiding your decisions or your nostalgia. So cool
I struggled to get started on this, maybe because I’m home with the (non-corona) flu. As I looked at the pictures from my daughter’s Indian fusion wedding this December, the colors in the pictures began to simmer for me. This is my rather hasty result…
Weddings
Lutheran weddings are sober affairs.
Alabaster bridal hues punctuated with something somewhat brighter—
Grenadine, for late summer, Kilkenny green for winter,
Cayenne for fall. Reflections of the season, appropriate and stable.
Beautiful, but without risk.
When you leave, you smile and say what a lovely wedding, because it was.
Lovely.
An Indian wedding glows from within and shines without.
Exploding in fuschias and emerald greens,
sounding like paprika and curry and drums and shouts and dancing
stop-sign red.
Movement is quicksilver, sparkling and flowing,
never stopping to rest. It is filled with decisive yellow calls and exuberant pink gestures, joy erupts like fireworks—tomato, amethyst, periwinkle, cobalt, magenta, fandango, dandelion, tiger.
The crowd swirls like incense, filled with spices and laughter,
rhythm rowdy and raucous-red, movement sensuous and foolish, scattered with shiny jewels swaying in the evening light.
When it is over, there is little to say.
Just go home and shake off all the colors, layer by gleaming layer.
I’d have no idea you struggled to get started or wrote this hastily, Gayle. There is beauty in both of these weddings. Your use of specific colors, though while stable, still add layers and depth. Cayenne, Kilkenny, Grenadine – so rich. And then you explode into the Indian wedding, allowing us to visualize the glow. I want to experience the sound of paprika and curry. The glimpse you give to us makes us want more!
Gayle,
This is rich and full of contrasting details that really help paint a picture.
I love “rhythm rowdy and raucous-red.”
This is lovely, Gayle. Your Indian wedding imagery is spectacular!
I enjoyed the colorful journey!. Fabulous poem and it sounds as though the wedding was amazing and a visual feast.
Sometimes you can taste a color.
Today I taste lilac – the color, the flower,
The springtime walk from school to home,
After a fresh rain, overstepping lost earthworms,
Stooping to take a closer look at the vibrant
Greens and browns on the snail’s shell.
Thank God I can’t taste the snail, but honestly,
I’m curious. What does it taste like? Needs garlic and butter,
So I hear.
But that’s not what I want to taste right now.
Right now,
lilac floats in a humid mass,
Fills my nostrils, makes me forget
The self-conscious hours of seventh grade,
The smell of old books in the school library,
The smell of tomato soup and industrial sheet pans of grilled cheese
That signal lunchtime.
I’m going back outside to the lilacs,
To the quiet moments that mute the self-doubt and uncertainty.
There will always be lilacs in the spring.
I love love love your closing. The self conscious hours of seventh grade, old books, tomato soup… you’ve encapsulated what that smells and feels like in a few careful words. And I also love the whimsical insertion of the curiosity about the snail’s taste! This was a treat!
Lilacs are my absolute favorite flower. Their scent blocks every other sense out and you captured that idea in the mass that fills you and makes your forget everything else about your day – except the lilacs. You had me as soon as you began by tasting them. I walked with you home, amid the fresh rain and lost earthworms (I’d never considered them lost before but I will now). Thank you for recapturing spring for me today!
Shaun, a few years back I lost my sense of smell. Sometimes I really miss it. Your poem made me wish I could smell those lilacs one more time! Beautiful.
I’m so ready for spring! Lilacs smell so strong, yet beautiful. Thanks for sharing.
Shaun,
i enjoyed your poem It invoked memories from elementary school. I liked the line about “old books in the school library an tomato soup and grilled cheese.” Thanks for the walk down memory lane.
Gosh, Jennifer, this was work. I went to mass this morning so purple was on my mind. Then I decided to go with two colors who in different ways define who I am. I enjoyed trying to taste and smell and feel the colors. Great inspiration.
Shades of Identity
Green . . .
nature’s hue
its richness is everywhere
nostalgic and renewing
a perfect combination of
tranquil, smooth blue and
fresh, tart yellow.
Green . . .
the color of my upbringing
outside among the grass and trees
contrasting the dry, dusty roads and paths
infinite shades of lush leafy puffs
the minty lime minutes of memories
waft to my nose and commingle in my mouth
Green . . .
ancestors from the Emerald Isle
school colors worn boldly
uniforms pulsating with pride
spirit wear emblazoned with kelly
accented with pure white and orange
verdant tassels of achievement dripping with identity
Gold . . .
sign of royalty
warm and somber
yet bright and cheerful
some brown, some yellow
melded into a deep mustard of passion
Gold . . .
the color of the second act
adulthood, parenthood
bursts of glittery magic
dull and matte yet
smeared with an indelible swatch
of wisdom
Gold . . .
waves of musk and sand
wind their way and swirl
around my heart and mind
the splendor of an amber flame
dips and divots of dimension
reflecting stability yet a shimmer
of glamour
a complex chiaroscuro created
for all to admire and emulate
Equal parts green and gold . . .
A green-eyed monster emerges
A golden child prevails
“Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.”
**With thanks to Robert Frost and Johnny and PonyBoy.
I just finished teaching The Outsiders before we finished the week (thank heavens—a horrible book to leave hanging for our time off) , so this really struck home. Your imagery for the colors is wonderful, and the last stanza is amazing. A green eyed monster emerges, a golden child prevails. Beautiful.
I would normally be drawn to green, a nature color, one that soothes and feels alive, while gold wouldn’t be a favorite. But I loved those stanzas best. the “deep mustard of passion” and all the gold of the second act. The “green-eyed monster” emerging while a “golden child prevails” is especially effective. (I front-loaded the more challenging pieces thinking we would be on a weekend – they get more simple as we move through the 5 days when we might be working too.)
Thank you for today’s prompt, Jennifer. This one has taken me quite some time, probably because I kept changing colors and trying to make two different colors work in the poem. Then I decided to stop being so rigid and unyielding and let myself just flow with the color that wanted to remain. Blue.
Breathe Baby, Breathe
by Stacey Joy
The obstinate child
Reeking strong will at three years old
Refusing to swim on demand
Deciding the precise moment
I would dive in
Enveloped in Aqua-Sphere bubbles
Intoxicating yet reviving
Eyes opened for a first-time view
Of the world from underwater
Dockside Blue
Until my little lungs longed for air
Emerge…Inhale…Exhale…
Inhale
Summertime’s June Day Blues
When morning sunlight slips through slits
In the window
And upon my bedroom walls
Illuminating the passage of time
No more swimming pool or Mommie
Just sepia memories on old sticky pages
Exhale
Awakening to a new day
Overjoyed for a life well lived
For people who come and go
For love and laughter and tears
For redemption and healing
For hope
For joy
Stacey Joy, this took me to so many interesting places – summertime swimming, lazy summer mornings, the old photo album bringing us back to the present. The colors floated through every scene. Great poem!
Well, from one obstinate child to another, I can totally understand trying to make two colors work for the longest time. I’m so glad you let yourself go with blue. Your use of colors – Aqua-Sphere bubbles and underwater Dockside Blue is soothing and vivid at the same time. I am especially drawn to your Inhale stanza – the softness of sunlight slipping and the illumination of time passing on walls, the loss of Mommie and the remaining sepia memories – just beautiful!
Stacey,
I also struggled a long time w/ today’s prompt. Your poem makes me feel as though I’m reading a memory I wrote. I have a stubborn baby, too, who timed these moments when mama dived in perfectly. Some of my favorite images: “acquaint sphere bubbles,” “dockside blue,” and “sepia memories.” This last one I’m stealing for a project I’m working on for my stubborn one.
I look forward to finding your poetry here. I like how you write about relationship. The phrase Dockside blue. Oooooh, I like that — the sound, the color. It’s pretty. And the longing of the sepia images. Nice. And, ending on the word, joy. Beautiful.
Stacey,
I always enjoy your poems so much!
I love the anaphora with FOR that you end with. Such power.
Stacey, I love the parts-inhale and exhale. My favorite part was the June reminder of mothers. Sepia memories, ahhhhh yes I remember. Thanks for this!
I, too, spent some time on the Sherwin-Williams site, so when I read “Dockside Blue” I had to go check it out! Then found Aqua-Sphere and June Day– You do such lovely, creative work with the prompts! It would be fun to bring in physical paint swatches for kids to use in writing to this prompt.
March 15, 2020
Tempting summer comes
On crispy, fresh breezes
Sugary like lemonade
Smooth, satiny, mellow
Envious autumn slithers
With thick sturdy brambles
Prickly like thorns
Quick, sharp, bittersweet
Calming winter smooths
Under the frozen trodden soil
Gently like blankets
Protective, soothing, warm
Bouncing spring sneaks
Toward the reborn sun
Hopefully like a promise
Earnest, sincere, true
– Laura Douglas
What a beautiful painting I see with your poem! I wish I were an artist who could paint this poem. I absolutely adore the seasonal transitions, “Tempting summer comes/Envious autumn slithers/calming winter smooths/Bouncing spring sneaks…” You couldn’t have done that any better and oh how I wish my brain would do this more often.
My favorite stanza is the last because it’s where we are, sneaking toward the reborn sun.
Lovely!
This seasonal travel is beautiful, a soothing balm for a day when we anticipate warmer weather and sunshine and connecting to nature. Your stanza structure which is repeated throughout is calming. I especially like the simile lines and these were my favorites: “sugary like lemonade” and “prickly like thorns.” I am tempted to pull out some of the colors of these seasons and spend time with them today.
“Prickly like thorns, quick, sharp, bittersweet” —you really captured the feel of autumn there. The change in mood from stanza to stanza is spot on. You have caught the seasons with your words. Thank you.
Ah, so much to love in each of your seasons! The personification of feelings associates with each season as in envious autumn and all the rest are fun ways of thinking about how each has its time and makes me wonder if the seasons get tired and are ready to hand the reins to the following teammate season. Or eager to take them and have the spotlight. That frozen trodden soil preserves the footprints of the trodders and makes me think about the late fall hikers and dogs whose footprints remain there under the snow. I love them all, but you know I love those winter days reading by the fire! Beautiful and deep
Writing!
Sunday Mornings
by Morgan Padilla
I inhale the candle I always light
What am I listening to?
Summer nights, boys’ sweatshirts
And no adults in sight
I place my feet in my slippers
What am I seeing?
Two soft bunnies, envelop my toes
And purr with happy nippers
A cup of chocolate, warm in hand
What am I smelling?
Wet pavement, sweetness
And an open book fanned
Aww…I love the sweetness and simplicity of your Sunday morning. Beautiful.
Hi Morgan,
I love your poem! There is a sweet innocence that comes through so nicely and I think it made it even better because you kept it short. I love a poem that speaks to me and doesn’t have to go on forever. LOL. What I really enjoyed too were your 3 questions. Clever!
This was my favorite visual:
What am I smelling?
Wet pavement, sweetness
And an open book fanned
As I sit outside and the pavement is just drying and my book is waiting for me to hold it open.
This sounds like the perfect Sunday morning! I love the “purr with happy nippers” line. I really appreciate how you looked at each item in a new way. I imagined that you were listening to summer nights and boys’ sweatshirts, for example, and smelling the open book fanned. This caused me to look at these items with fresh eyes as well. Thanks for sharing this sweet perfection today.
Jennifer, what an image and deep thought this stanza evokes in me:
We live in this life,
of come and go,
the rhythms circadian, relentless.
Our thoughts splayed and contracting,
digging the skies; trawling the seas.
Our desires surging and emptying,
the thread spools of our existence
Something about your poem makes me want to open up, release, and cleanse. I’m needing these reminders of circadian rhythms, how our lives are lived. I’m going to sit with this one for a while today. Thank you.
Sunday Dinner
The bronze aroma of dinner taps me on the shoulder
Saying, “Snitch a snack before you set the table.”
The windows in the sideboard glare and smolder,
Yellow lighting, “Just wait. “Be patient! You are able!”
Old Uncle Kenny is here for dinner.
His voracious hunger swirls from the living room
Snarling redly, “He will be the winner
He’ll grab the biggest piece of meat.”
My stomach snarls greenly, “ Girl, you better eat!”
But, I hear a gentle voice swimming pinkly in my ear
“Serve guests first. Be generous., my dear.
Uncle Ken comes every year. Do not fear.
We always have enough, even when he’s here.”
“Yes, but meat that is left is tough.”
“Tough will nourish you today
Give first and you will be blessed
Serve guests first, that’s the way.
You’ll be nourished, eating the rest.
“Yes, ma’am!” I reply, then greenly snitch a snack,
And get back to work with red guilt on my back.
“Snitch a snack before you set the table.” – love this line because this voice calls to me like a Siren!
Ohhhhh yessss!! I am loving this for so many reasons. I don’t know where you got “snitch a snack” from but it’s reminding me of a jumprope rhyme or something dear and near to my childhood. I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT! Next, I am learning so much here about what else a writer can do with colors. Who would’ve thought to say, “I hear a gentle voice swimming pinkly in my ear,” then “And get back to work with red guilt on my back.” Wow, this is poetic perfection!
Last, that Uncle Ken. I can’t believe how accurate this description is of probably everyone’s Uncle Somebody who comes to eat and takes that biggest piece of meat. Adorable.
So happy you “snitched a snack” and went on with your day!
Yes! I used to snitch a snack before dinner too. I love the action you gave to the colors – hunger swirling, snarling redly and the envious response snarling in green. The use of red and green again at the end is so effective (oh, that red guilt!). This really caused me to see the colors as characters within the piece. And they brought so much more than I could have imagined. Thanks for giving us a new way to consider how to use color today!
You had me at “the bronze aroma of dinner “ and owned me for the rest of the poem! And the red guilt on my back brought is home. What a great poem!
Anna,
The start is so inviting and powerful. “The bronze aroma of dinner taps me on the shoulder.” Love that.
You masterfully paint this narrative of the tug of war within yourself. Is snitching a snack a sin? I hope not. Your “bronze aroma of dinner” tantalized my taste buds for sure, especially its personified tap. The imagery is perfection.
Language of Life
“Bon Appetit,” life’s maitre d invites
A sharp flavor blended with
principled
Profundity, which crafts
A savory spectacle—a Cienna Sweetness
“Jambo,” the savanna’s horizon invites
A novice wayfarer faced with
unfamiliar
Fauna, which invades
The hideaway hut—a dun deal
“De Nada,” the tio’s warm embrace invites
An interested constituent enamored with the presidential
Palace, which empowers
The domesticated doyenne—a pink plaza
“Zài jiàn,” the collective call invites
A small-town westerner cultivated with
isolated
Ideas, all of which collapses
The warring wall—a yellow Yangtze
Bon Appetit—enjoy your meal
Cienna—a red wine
Jambo—hello
De Nada—of nothing “You’re welcome”
Zài jiàn-good bye
Thank you for inviting us into the language of each color. The Cienna Sweetness a delightful surprise at the end of that stanza, the novice wayfarer finding Fauna, the warm embrace of tia along with the Palace and pink, the warring wall collapsing with Yangtze yellow. I loved the feeling the colors evoked along with your imagery.
What fun to learn a mnemonic for these terms we hear and now can recall a little better with the colors you’ve attached to each. Wish there were a way to learn to say the words correctly, too. Even if I don’t “know” a person’s home or heart language, I like to be able to greet them properly.
Thankfully, most of the polylinguists I encounter are patient and take the time to teach me in the moment.
Thanks for the closing stanza as a glossary. Isn’t it fun to work with poetry that allows for such poetic license?
Jolie,
Wow. I feel like I have just been on a worldly tour with you. So many images painting a picture of places. Your language is filled with sounds devices that make this sing.
B/W
Scentless ripples changing every moment
Nuanced white, generic or a translation of umami
Uneven concrete, it shadows the peripheral
Juxtapose, opposing emotions in a state of confusion
Undefined shades, constantly fused or fighting
Power drives a force, random responses yield to peace
Caviar black, genericness of night, hidden moods
Inner solace to combat the external elements
Stefani,
I love saying the word “umami.” The word “concrete” bring this image of color and texture along this sense of umami, which defies easy defining. And then, caviar black — the shape and texture of “night, hidden moods” is just brilliant. There is an extravagance there.
Peace,
Sarah
There is strength in titling this B/W – it causes us to look at the colors in a new way, a starker way, in the juxtaposing way. It pulls us away from the visual of color while providing us a stronger contrast. And then you lead with “scentless ripples,” adding to that starkness, while you bring them together through the “constantly fused or fighting.” I love the depth of “Caviar black” – thanks for sharing this!
Denim Blue
By Nancy White
I woke up surrounded by denim blue,
The smell of earth and dogs and rain on its way
Wasn’t it just yesterday when I was barefoot
Playing in the street at dusk?
I could smell dinner time comfort, chicken pot pie
And beef stew as I ran home so hungry,
Wearing denim blue.
And look at me, the teenager
In frayed smooth jeans at the beach at night
With a boy I liked to kiss
The heavens were made of this
And they were shaped to myself —
I was over the moon In bliss
Covered in the blanket of blue.
Then a few years later, with my one and only
Under an inky desert sky we lay,
The stars of the Milky Way a misty spray
Illuminating my soul with longing
For that deep dark blue to stay
Deep in my soul forever.
Nancy,
I connect to your line, “I could smell dinner time comfort.” It immediately made me think of my Oma’s food and made me hungry. I also like how you’ve interwoven shades blue throughout this poem.
Nancy,
I love a first person poem. I always wonder if the writer is the speaker or if the writer is creating this imagined voice for the poem….”me, the teenager…” and later “with my one and only” — the denim blue , the inky desert sky, the deep dark blue. Love how all this moves to a home in “my soul forever.” Beautiful.
Sarah
What an immersive experience for Denim Blue (my favorite, along with Midnight Blue, in the whole Crayola Box). You brought me in with the “smell of earth and dogs and rain on its way” – I wanted to be there, I AM there! I love that you thread the color throughout each stanza. Your use of shape in “shaped to myself” suggests a lot. I am drawn to the words “misty spray illuminating my soul with longing” – they long to be read again and again. Thank you for sharing with us today.
The song “Forever in Blue Jeans” is humming in my heart as I read these lines:
The stars of the Milky Way a misty spray
Illuminating my soul with longing
For that deep dark blue to stay
Deep in my soul forever.
I love how you use jeans to tie moments of your life together on a timeline! Magnificent – and a carefree simplistic feeling that we all crave.
Welcome, Nancy! Delighted to see you here. Am I surprised that this prompt tempted the artist in you to use color so nimbly! I can see one of your paintings in shades of blue, too.
I love this journey of life in your poem! The blue remains even as you change. Perfect!
I love this poem Nancy! I appreciate poems that take us back in the past of the poet’s life. Helps remind us of special times sometimes forgotten.
This is tender and familiar:
“And look at me, the teenager
In frayed smooth jeans at the beach at night
With a boy I liked to kiss
The heavens were made of this”
Don’t I wish for the heavens of long ago!
Then this made me sit with it and feel it and accept it:
“Illuminating my soul with longing
For that deep dark blue to stay
Deep in my soul forever.”
Wonderful!
I like the progression of this poem as the writer connects the blue of young self, teen self and older self. I’ve never thought to do this. I might use this as a mentor text. There is a history in this poem.
Jennifer,
I just love all the movement in your poem, and I wonder if you were near water when you wrote this. I think we lose sight of the ebb and flow of life. “We live in this life,/of come and go,/the rhythms circadian, relentless.” Even when we want to slow or control the rhythms, we can’t, and this resisting is what can lead to pain. That word “relentless”! So powerful.
Peace,
Sarah
Lansing is as far from water for the state of Michigan as you can be (and I’m a water-baby). We are biding time and returning to the lakes as much as we can. These words were written entirely from paint swatches. But we are born from water and I yearn for that rhythm!
Jennifer,
Thank you for this prompt today. I love your use of froth and primal, I found myself rereading those lines.
What/who do you work with at Aquinas? I am in the SOE
Yay! I love to find fellow Aquinas friends. I have former students now attending (one is also becoming a teacher). I am working in Lansing now, and I believe the summer writing program has not run in quite awhile. I would love to see something similar start back up. Also feeling the loss of Calvin’s Youth Writing Festival (both from a presenter’s and a teacher-who-sent-student’s POV).
Color Breathing 4-7-8*
Jacaranda rests between Danube and Regale Blue.
As I breathe in, two, three, four,
I am bathed in hues of blue.
Flecks of Danube flow through plexus,
drifting to limbs along sanguine stream.
I hold Regale Blue, five, six, seven.
Serape sits between Amber Wave and Adventure Orange.
As I exhale, one, two, three,
a golden glow wraps tender aches,
Amber’s blissful wave radiates in curves,
Serape tickles vertebral chords.
I hold joy and release pain
in my breath –eight–
and begin again.
*Breath in for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight.
https://city.milwaukee.gov/ImageLibrary/User/jkamme/EAP/Info-Library/MentalHealth_5QuickStressReduc.pdf
Color breathing! This makes me think of veins carrying blue blood back to the heart:
Flecks of Danube flow through plexus,
drifting to limbs along sanguine stream.
The exhalation bringing healing blood to places of soreness, tiredness, or pain – reviving them. LOVE the tickling vertebral chords.
And the colors – bring back memories of that big box of Crayola crayons, the deluxe one that everyone else had but that I didn’t. The kind with the sharpener built into the box.
I never thought of breathing in color…….Technicolor respiration! Only your creative brain…….
Oh! This piece transported me right back to my relaxation breathing and yoga class. The words are timed just to the point of I can keep inhaling without being at the breaking point of needing to release that breath. I love the double play of Serape – as the color and as the blanket wrapping us in coziness. Thank you for bringing us a moment of stress release today. I needed the radiating waves of Amber and the sanguine stream of Danube. Ahhhh…..
Sarah,
This poem worked as a breathing tool just from reading it. I love: tickles vertebral chords–I imagine it applying to so many color facets. It is important for us to all take a pause and breath during this time.
I stumbled upon Color Breathing while searching for “colors that relate to breathing” as I was writing this morning. Wow, this is serendipitous to say the least.
Sarah, do you practice Color Breathing regularly? It reminds me of when my mom had radiation after chemo and she was extremely claustrophobic. Her therapist told her to close her eyes and imagine being bathed in the color yellow to heal her from the inside out. It worked. A woman who couldn’t even drive through tunnels or go in underground parking was able to ride elevators and have her head closed in a machine for radiation from a brain tumor.
Clearly, your poem is deeply meaningful to me. I need to learn to practice color breathing and I’ll do more research today since that’s where I’m being directed.
I want to bathe in hues of blue, hold Regale Blue, and accept the golden glow that wraps my body!
Thank you!
I learned color breathing in therapy. It healed the places in my body where I carried emotional trauma. I am glad it assuaged your mother’s pain.
I was breathing with you as I read the poem. I may never breathe without color again!
I like the counting up against the gradations of blue, the cool. Then, the contrasting golden colors come in with warmth. This is such a blend of yoga, color theory and poetry. Spectacular!
Sarah,
To mix colors with breathing is genius. Breath work has become key for me and I have shared it with students. I love this line:
“A golden glow wraps tender aches,”
Polished Tarnish
glittery flickers and glimmers
of 1970s festivities, memories
of Miriam’s simmering skillets,
scents of Christmas dinner deliciousness,
mothering me: metallic fillings
of bitten aluminum foil, agitating
through-the-roof tooth nerves!
bidding forgiveness, then
tinkly and ringly tintinnabulation
such merriment foretells
of silvery and harmonistic bells, bells, bells
shimmer disappears, silver tarnishes
constipated cumulonimbus thunderheads –
threatening vistas, tinting windows
of diminished consciousness, disturbing
my mother’s pallor as she
relinquished this world –
the glitzy glamour girl
of the 1950s,
spirit withering,
dimming, sinking in 2016, sprinting
into the swirling, twirling
Starry, Starry Night
re-enter the shimmer
visions of her inspiration
silly mirages?
optic illusions?
mistaken apparitions?
NO. miraculocirrus Miriam –
audible, visible, omniscient,
present!
-Kim Johnson
Ok. Wow! This piece is awash in imagery. I love the line “sprinting into the swirling, twirling Starry, Starry Night” – I want to live in that space (though on the second read through I see the different intention). You have me looking up words today (miraculocirrus) – so perfect following the Starry Starry Night. Cumulonimbus is one of my favorite cloud words. I’d never thought of them as being constipated before but I can see it, along with the mother’s pallor while she relinquished worlds. Each subsequent reading I had of this took me further into that world.
Kim,
Your punctuation really stands out to me in this poem. I am reading your words that are full of “m,” bringing Miriam present, and symbolic markings of question, dash, comma, and then the exclamation!
silly mirages?
optic illusions?
mistaken apparitions?
NO. miraculocirrus Miriam –
audible, visible, omniscient,
present!
Moving,
Sarah
Wow. The lines “dimming, sinking in 2016, sprinting
into the swirling, twirling
Starry, Starry Night” grabbed my heart as I thought of my own mom’s decline into dementia. Love the word “miraculocirrus”. Perfect to describe the strong sense of presence I often get of my mom and others who’ve gone on before.
Kim, your mom (and Poe – bells, bells, bells) would be so proud of you! I’m glad you have chosen to remember her and not her illness. Beautiful! My favorite parts are “glitzy glamour girl” and “bitten aluminum foil, agitating. through-the-roof tooth nerves!” because who hasn’t bitten into foil and tried for days to get the taste out! 🙂
Kim,
Your poem is full of sensory details and punctuation adding to the impact of the imagery. This one stands out: “metallic fillings
of bitten aluminum foil, agitating
through-the-roof tooth nerves!”
I notice other moments when contradictions pierce words and images, beginning w/ the paradoxical title, “Polish Tarnish.” I’ve read several times to find the parallels between a youthful mother who like the silver dims w/ age, w/ the passing of time but still shines brightly in memory. Your poem captures these complications and paradoxes.
light, light and more light is everywhere in this poem….gold and silver and the very idea of the 70s. It feels very alive and full of life. Miriam must have been the coolest! Such a difficult thing to read that middle stanza of her diminished and leaving this world. What a tremendous complement….to be so much light to someone. I hope she knew, or knows now.
At each flower, you announce, “Pink!”
Sometimes, you are correct, and
Sometimes, you are nearly correct.
Each announcement at a cluster
Of amaryllis, a strand of tea roses,
Brings me back to fleece blankets,
Linen swaddles, cotton onesies,
Each an announcement of your arrival.
At school the other day, your teacher
Flipped plastic cards: a ripe orange,
A fluffed cloud, a dangling monkey.
At each one, you announced, “Black!”
Smiling all baby teeth, hoping for
A clap punctuated with “Good job!”
Your teacher chuckled, and said,
“Today, everything is black!”
At home, the ladder to the attic
Announces an unknown blackhole.
Each shade of pink, folded, wrapped in
Plastic, ready to be stored for a maybe.
Each a memory we remember with
Monochrome filters on a screen.
I imagine your left-hand swiping,
At photos, ink-stained, like mine.
Jordan,
You rocked my world this morning with these lines:
At home, the ladder to the attic
Announces an unknown blackhole.
Each shade of pink, folded, wrapped in
Plastic, ready to be stored for a maybe.
What a courageous and heartstopping poem. Thank you for giving us a glimpse of happy memories fused with grief and pain – and the reminder that we all need: life can change in an instant. I want to put my arms around you and bring that blanket and hug you and meditate with you on the full hope of the maybe.
Jordan,
I felt your every word! Beautiful memories wrapped in a loss so great. How you were able to take me from pink to black engrossed me with a heart ache. Your last stanza of the black hole of the attic, taking the pink upstairs. I could feel your hope rising. Your faith so strong. I love you girl. I wish I could give you a hug.
You brought us from celebration of life to loss in one heart-wrenching moment, an oh-no, that can’t be moment. You brought these two colors together in that final stanza, the one that I’m still struggling not to cry over, the unknown blackhole with folded pinks. I am imagining the movement through photos right along with you. So many hugs to you today.
Jordan,
“Ready to be stored for a maybe”
That brought me to sentimental tears. That time from the pink to the “hoping for a clap…” just flies, and you’ve captured that perfectly here.
Well done!
“ At home, the ladder to the attic
Announces an unknown blackhole.
Each shade of pink, folded, wrapped in
Plastic, ready to be stored for a maybe.” The hopefulness and then the grief. Too much to bear. I want you to know you are not alone. I had a mentally ill son who is now gone. My heart cries for both of us. Hugs.
Oh, my goodness….such phrases that lead us to the writer’s memories. The tea roses got me…and fleece blankets and announcement of arrival. Those fingers at the end. What complete circle your poem creates. That black hole, that maybe….wow. Such an emotional landscape here.
Tracing My Love for Orange
I’m at Baskin Robbins
With Grandma and Grandpa
This is our reward for doing the things that must be done
My order never changes
As the employee scoops out
Orange deliciousness
And hands me the cutest, tiniest hot pink spoon
This is the taste of happiness
Of sandwiching myself between
The two people
Who never stop caring for others, for me
The two people who show me
Partnership
And devotion.
And even though the sherbet is cold
This memory— this moment— is not.
What a wonderful celebration of orange, Heather! I want to be there with you at Baskin Robbins, wedged between these favorite people. This brings back fond memories of my childhood and the love I had for my grandparents, too. You show us the ordinariness of the event (“my order never changes”) as well as the details that make it extraordinary (“hot pink spoon”). Your use of sandwich as a verb along with the taste of ice cream works so well. And that contradiction at the end (cold sherbet against the warm memory) leaves us with everything that is perfect in this moment. Thank you for sharing!
Heather, what a beautiful testament to the way that grandparents and the memories they make with us never fade. I love the song “The Song Remembers When,” but it sounds like Baskin Robbins Orange Sherbet remembers when, too. And that’s an orange sherbet song you get to sing every day. You are blessed with precious memories.
I can relate with this poem so much. My grandmother died eight years ago and my grandfather has dementia. When I smell a certain smell or see a certain object, I am sandwiched between their love once again. I have read your poem three times with tears rolling down my cheeks. You touched my inner soul.
Those small acts of kindness and togetherness in life make the most meaningful memories. The cold orange sherbet will stay with you always as an instant reminder of the love your grandparents had for you. I hope I’m giving such memories to my grandson.
What a loving memory swathed in orange. Your lines
This is the taste of happiness
Of sandwiching myself between
The two people
Who never stop caring for others, for me
The two people who show me
Partnership
And devotion.
pull it together for me.
Beautiful poem about sherbet and memories. I, too, had a favorite Baskin Robbins order that never changed, Daiquiri Ice. I’ve loved it since I was young.
Holy cow! That was me! That sherbet and spoon, grandparents (but they always sat across from each other), parallel universes! What a special moment. I love the cold/alive juxtaposition at the end.
What love in this poem. There are phrases that how it good it is! deliciousness,
cutest, tiniest hot pink spoon
taste of happiness
partnership
devotion
I can picture a very happy kid with her Grands. Great poem!
ooooh, Jennifer. Love that play with circadian rhythms and the colors of. So many of my favorite colors ring true in your poem. Sea foam and coral are a lovely combination. My wedding colors were peach and green…more like sea foam and pastel peach. Love that! My poem is below.
The photos we didn’t select
for the memory boards
at your wake grew
grew into a pile
I never did slip back
Into proper places
of the photo albums.
You before the call to smile
trench coat open
in the doorway of the shed
one foot in
the other mid-air
next to forsythia
waving Spring in for a landing.
That photo pushed up —
through the unremarkable pile
a crocus in melted snow
purple anticipated grief
waxy leaves of hindsight
I could not decode
before today.
I don’t know if you wrote about your grandparents, but I wrote about mine— and your poem here conjures so many memories for me. I love the way you recreated the photo with words so that I can see the person at the door of the shed.
Most of all, I love the crocus metaphor. Beautiful work here.
Linda, this is beautifully crafted! I can relate to photos that don’t quite return home, much like the person for whom the memory boards were intended – I’m so sorry for your loss. You allow us to see that person so clearly in your second stanza, in the in-between place at the doorway, which represents so perfectly the transition from here to there (I caught that on my second reading). “Spring” works hard to offer possibilities (the forsythia waving the season, the movement of the person between in and out, the introduction to the season that follows). And then you follow with your final stanza and the movement of the photo as a part of rebirth. I could re-read this many times and find so much more. (I gathered the loss was of your husband but I might only be feeling that because of your wedding photo intro – many hugs to you)
I really liked the contrast of the photos to the crocus. I imagined black and white photos, and the last stanza brought this burst of color to my mind. This is lovely to read through.
Linda, what a lovely snapshot of later-realized foreshadowing. Those waxy leaves of hindsight, purple anticipated grief – crocus in melted snow! Perfect ways of showing what was not seen at the time, and the future it contextualized. This is divine and haunting. Your use of synesthesia in this verse today awakens our senses!
This is a beautiful poem. I can relate to looking for pictures for a wake of the one I love. Finding that one picture that speaks volumes to me of love, happiness, and now sweet sorrow. You are a beautiful writer.
Linda,
It’s fitting to create a metaphor comparing the photo to a crocus. They’re both perennials, budding and stroking our memories only occasionally. Lovely poem I connect to given my pile of unorganized photos.