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
Today, we’re raising up voice while considering how people are recognized. To really explore this pairing, we must push toward brutal honesty, explore that which might be dismissed. We must become the voice.
Process
Using Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “A Palestinian Might Say” as a launching point, play around with the idea of what you recognize individually. Build from this singular recognition by adding details that provoke others to see it too. Push into the setting, its life, letting the voice build upon itself in a cumulative catalog, allowing the reader to see from the inside.
A Palestinian Might Say (Naomi Shihab Nye)
What?
You don’t feel at home in your country,
almost overnight?
All the simple things
you cared about,
maybe took for granted. . .
you feel
insulted, invisible?
Almost as if you’re not there?
But you’re there.
Where before you mingled freely. . .
appreciated people who weren’t
just like you. . .
divisions grow stronger.
That’s what “chosen” and “unchosen” will do.
(Just keep your eyes on your houses and gardens.
Keep your eyes on that tree in bloom.)
Yes, a wall. Ours came later but. . .
who talks about how sad the land looks,
marked by a massive wall?
That’s not a normal shadow.
It’s something else looming over your lives.
Jennifer’s Poem
Depression Might Say (Jennifer Guyor-Jowett)
Not a word
as I arrive
with my stealthy ability
to invade and settle in,
dropping by without warning
without even a knock on your door.
One minute you are doing your thing
and the next my shadow
hangs over you,
clinging to your edges,
visible to others
but not quite clear enough
for a full identification
until you’re in the midst of me.
And by then it’s too late.
I’ve already gotten a good hold,
a parasite attaching myself
in an insidious attempt
to extend my own life
and wipe out that of my host.
This is when you hear me
as I whisper
from the depths…
You have no option to climb out.
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.
Giving Voice – I wrote this in response to going out on a necessary errand yesterday and I couldn’t believe all the people who were out and about! I’m sure that this is what is in the voices of those who MUST go to work during this time. Sorry for the late post again.
A Healthcare worker might say…
We are trying
Really trying
To do the best we can.
Can you do your part?
Can you heed the warnings?
Can you understand that
Although we don’t want to alarm you,
You must listen and self-quarantine.
If only you could work on the front lines
Like us
You would have a better understanding.
We are in this together and
We need your help.
When everything except non-essentials is shutting down…
Now, do you see?
It is serious, we are trying to save lives.
Not necessarily your life –
But the life of someone a little more fragile than you.
Is the errand you need to run really necessary?
Can you at least give it a second thought
Before you rush out the door?
And… can you get this message out?
We need your help!
Great voice given here! I was thinking this very same thing this morning. We all need to ask ourselves these questions. “Is the errand you need to run really necessary?” That is a HUGE one! So many people are ignoring the ENORMITY of this crisis. I also love the call to action at the end, “Can you get this message out?” Yes! Let’s do just that! Get it out! Nice job!
Thank you! That was the point of this… let’s get the word out! You’ve given me an idea to post this on Facebook!
What my television might say
Ignore me please
you are good at that
tell me again
why you bought me
I hang on this wall
with nowhere to go
no place to explore
because you refuse to
turn me on
you have me in captivity
how I long to be free
maybe
you bought me
to watch you
because that is all I do
I was made to enslave you
to take away your free will
to poison your mind
come on
don’t you know there are many places we can travel together
All the movies and shows I can introduce to you
how can you just sit there
and do everything else
but pick up that remote
Melissa,
Great poem ! It speaks to me because I’m a tv watcher at times. Of course I loved the lines ” i was made to enslave you… poison your mind.” Thanks for the reminder not to let that happen.
Oh, that tempting voice! And the invitation to come on in and join me. You’ve captured that so well! Thanks for sharing this, especially as we will find ourselves facing the temptation more these next couple of weeks.
Jennifer,
Thank you for these delicious prompts! Tonight’s poem gave me a chance to process some passing thoughts I’d had recently about a student. Writing poetry is a form of prayer: it invites me to ponder, with full head and heart, a situation or –in this case–and individual.
Your poem personifying depression was powerful. I loved the fact that the first thing depression says is: not a word.
I loved this phrase: “clinging to your edges”–so relatable. Have you read William Styron’s “Darkness Visible”? I felt you were channeling him.
Thank you for guiding us with poems through this surreal week.
Allison
“Writing poetry is a form of prayer.” ❤️ I’m writing that in my notebook, Allison.
Thank you, Allison. I will check out Stryon’s poem and I love the idea of poetry as prayer. This gives me something new to think about as we head into a poetry unit soon (virtually).
“Darkness Visible” is a short memoir. 🙂
Yes! Love this! I’ve been writing a lot this week thanks to Jennifer’s invitation, and it is truly healing, just like prayer. Definitely adopting more writing/journaling daily as it is definitely the kind of prayer that works best for me. We find answers in prayer. The writing allows us to remember the questions and the feelings that accompanied. Prayer creates that connection between what we are really needing and what comes out of that need.
Kylie Might Say
What?
You don’t have the funds for
Sephora’s Natasha Denona
Eye Shadow Color Palette 28?
Free shipping.
You feeling sad about that?
Like you won’t find pretty
unless you spend $200?
Oh yeah.
But I’m Horatio Alger’s descendant
make that his matriarch.
I am dipping this Walmart Maybelline
raven feather
into the ink.
I am sweeping upward
with my steady hand.
My sagacious feline eyes
see at 15
lessons you may never learn:
I will claw my way there
I will scratch your eyes out
Allison,
The string female voice in your poem makes me want to cheer. “Like you won’t find pretty
unless you spend $200?” pushes the cosmetic industry’s mythology to the sidelines. I’m cheering this voice saying she’s Horatio Alger’s matriarch.
I love the line about Horatio Alger-being his matriarch is FAR superior! I can almost see the look you are giving Sephora girl! The tone is just right—tough and smart! My heroine!
I’m still trying to get my head around the idea that there’s a $200 eye palette! Both you and Kim are bringing the side-eye today, and I’m enjoying it (and your sagacious feline eyes too).
This is great! Love the strong voice here. So many think they need to spend GOBS of money to find beauty. The closing lines are especially powerful. Love the connection between the raven feather and the ink. I also think the “sagacious feline eyes” remind us of when we were teenage girls feeling the need to mimic the girl on the cover of our Seventeen magazine. Yet feeling the need to “claw my way there” was always present. I hope that makes sense. Wonderful writing! Thanks!
A Headache Might Say
What?
You know I like to arrive
just before a rainstorm,
so you know you need
your umbrella.
What?
I am the not so gentle reminder
that you really shouldn’t clench
your teeth so much.
What?
You know if you just turn off
the continuous newscasts,
I may just go away for awhile.
What?
Can’t you get the hint?
When you worry, you scrunch up
your forehead. That’s your fault,
Not mine!
Yes.
You know what I like –
A cup of tea,
A warm compress,
A tip back in the recliner.
If you treat yourself right,
I may just disappear.
All of those soothing remedies at the end sound just about perfect right now. And cause me to wonder why we don’t always treat ourselves right. I like that the personified headache is giving you nudges (umbrellas for rainstorms, shutting off newscasts) along with the less gentle reminders about clenching teeth, just like a frequent companion might do!
I love how that abominable headache keeps smartmouthing WHAT? like a sassy teenager! Your “scrunch up your forehead,” “clench” and “contentious newscasts” were full of SOUNDS, reminding me of Saturday’s prompt! Maybe Saturday’s exercise is making me more aware of sounds in poetry…
Rita,
We know the source of that headache that seems to be saying “take a chill pill,” and relax in that recliner. I certainly need that message.
Great poem. Thanks for reminding me that grabbing Motrin shouldn’t be the #1 choice.
Jennifer,
Thank you for these wonderful prompts this week. I love your Palestinian poem, especially the end:
Yes, a wall. Ours came later but. . .
who talks about how sad the land looks,
marked by a massive wall?
That’s not a normal shadow.
It’s something else looming over your lives.
It’s hard to feel the looming shadows when we feel so safe in our country, and then – just like that – we begin to feel the shadow to a very small degree compared to so many others, but it gives us a taste of uncertainty that many live with every single day. Profoundly affecting – and a cry for all of humanity!
Kim,
I love when you and I are on the same wavelength. I told my husband this afternoon we’re not an empathetic nation, and this virus is forcing us to learn the hard way the suffering of others.
I feel the need for a poem with less angst than my first one today. A balance is called for.
The one positive thing about our situation now is that I have cleared out my email backlog. I sense some unease in its core…
My Email Might Say
What the heck!?
Once I was strong (like ox!!), with a thousand unread, perhaps
superfluous messages.
Today I am a shadowy figure of my former self.
A shrinking prodigy, feeling weaker by the day.
What’s going on?
Some sort of retreat or something?
Are you Swedish funeral cleaning my backlog?
Is there something you’re trying to tell me?
Let me go back and read through our conversations this week.
There was that overdue Kohl’s bill—was that the final straw?
I’ve tried to be helpful—all those hints about distance learning
I’ll try not to interfere with your rest from now on.
And I’ll stop repeating myself again and again and again
With repeated pleas for attention.
I’ll change. I promise. Don’t unsubscribe me now.
Come on.
We’ve built such a long everlasting relationship.
Don’t cut me off in my prime…
Haha! Love this! My email will never go through this feeling since it’s always bloated and expanding. I might have to force it to become a shadowy figure of its former self!
I can relate. I had over 30,000 emails in my one account. Now I am down to a mere 2900! “Today I am a shadowy figure of my former self. A shrinking prodigy, feeling weaker by the day.” These are my favorite lines. I can almost put a pouty mouth on your email. 🙁
Gayle,
Come on over and purge my email! It’s a gluttonous mess. I love the way your email’s voice seems to be dying out toward the end. You’ve slain the beast!
HAHAHA! This is great! My email needs to say this! I’m using your poem as a call to action! Time to “unsubscribe”, “and clean the mess. I especially found humor in the lines “Are you Swedish funeral cleaning my backlog? and “Don’t cut me off in my prime…” I love the nature of it all. That the email is clinging on for life. Just begging for another chance. Great entry!
Warning. This may be as difficult to read as it was for me to write, but I learned a few years ago that giving voice to this empowers me and releases me from its grip. Written in a stream of consciousness flow.
A Rapist’s Mind
By Stacey Joy
(In loving memory of who I was before being raped but in celebration of who I am today)
I had been watching you Days before I came inside I knew when you were home When you left and returned with brown bags When you and your sister laughed Right next to the kitchen window And when you struggled to put your key in the door But your boyfriend was home so he opened it fast It was hot outside that night
July 2 you wore a short blue dress and high heels and I hated that you looked so young Aren’t you in your twenties You ate Burger King and left the bag on top of the trash in the dumpster You were not careful because I was right there but you did not see me
July 3 my legs and hands were shaking It was time to settle this I had my mask to cover my face I knew what I wanted and I couldn’t stop my mind from racing I hated you and I didn’t even know you It infuriated me that you were there Living and breathing and sleeping You were home but I didn’t know for sure about your sister and her big muscular boyfriend I felt myself spinning out of control and I didn’t care I would deal with him or them if I had to
I paced the driveway smoking a cigarette but not remembering to breathe Was everyone in the building already in bed sleeping Or would someone drive up and catch me I was standing below the window Palms sweating and heart thundering blood into my ears so loud I couldn’t hear anything Your living room was quiet and I knew you were already in your bedroom because I watched you hours ago
I climbed up and pulled the screen off the open window and slipped inside It was warm and dark and noiseless like church at night Your sister’s bedroom door was closed so I knew she was in there I needed to be quiet and make sure you didn’t make a sound My mask was on and I could barely see My shadow eclipsed the doorknob
I slowly opened your creakless door and saw you on your stomach in a sweet sleep until I snatched you by your hair and choked you and you started screaming so I covered your mouth and pulled your night shirt over your head and tied it so you couldn’t see me then I punched your face and told you if you made any more noise I would kill you and I turned you over forcing your legs apart and tried to stuff my flacid cold penis into you as I snatched your gold chain off your neck and smashed my fists into your covered face
I laid down hard on your tender body hoping my erection would come so I could hurt you deep inside Then you whispered in my ear, “That feels good, do it more and harder, yeah come on give it to me…” Are you sick woman You are a nasty foul person to ask me to do this How dare you talk softly and kindly to me
I left you tied up without your face exposed I couldn’t look at you ever again I left you without your necklace that held the cartouche your father gave you and without your high school class ring and without any sense of security or safety
I left you broken on the outside
Stacey— my hope for you is that the writing released some of the pain. I note that you broken on the outside, not the inside. May your inner strength continue to grow, and carry you through.
Thank you. Broken on the outside was the physical breaks he left on my body, but I am more than a conqueror and I’ve been able to share this story for about 5 years. It happened 38 years ago and took more than 30 to share with courage.
Share this! Your courage will ENcourage another and another…Connection is where we find healing. I admit it was tough to read, but how will we ever empower women if we do not speak up. Here’s to you for your endurance and perseverance.
Stacey, thank you for being so strong as to share in this space. Writing can be cathartic. The fact that it took so long for you to be able to write about this should stand as a testament as to the impact rape has on a person. You have carried this with you for so long. I am so glad you are able to write in celebration of who you are today and I want to hug both the person you were before and who you are now. Please know how much you mean to all of us.
Thank you Jennifer! Hugs!
Stacey,
Oh, the bravery it takes for you to share this. The details are very hard to read but very powerful. I hope that as you wrote and as you hit the Submit comment button that you felt some healing. Writing sure can be one of the best forms of therapy.
The last two stanzas are especially powerful.
I’m so sorry you experienced this, but you sure emerged a strong woman!
Stacey,
I am so sorry for your pain. I’m so thankful that you are okay and are still here to make a difference in the lives of others that you do every day. I’m also thankful for your last line – – he may have left you broken on the outside, but he sure didn’t break your spirit. And that’s a message that all women need to hear. Blessings to you for having the courage to share with us today!
Wow! Stacy Joy you are a very strong woman. Broken on the outside shows that except for the material things that were taken from you, you remain unbroken on the inside, and thats what matters most. You are a woman to be admired.
Stacey,
Holy Cow! Girl, I did not see that dialogue you spoke coming. What presence of mind that took to steal a rapist’s power. You are a strong, mighty, phenomenal woman. I am in awe of your strength. When I was in college my best friend was raped behind a quick trip in Kansas City. That evil man gave her crabs. And your story reminded me of my friend Rosie’s story. I think that broke her. And have you read “Know My Name”? It’s so powerful. You kept writing through this horrible reality. Your words make you and all of us stronger.
I left you broken on the outside.
Stacey, your writing demanded my full attention. I read it earlier today, but I knew I needed to read it again once I had no distractions.
Thank you for sharing this writing. I can’t speak for others, but it has really touched me today. Your bravery – you wrote that it took you thirty years to feel the courage to tell your story – is simply breathtaking. It’s the kind of bravery that not only holds you, but holds up other women around you.
You are a warrior.
Stacey, Stacey………..I’m so sorry for what you went through. You are brave and loving to share this with us. You told a story even though it was upsetting to know this happened to you. Thank you for your honesty and your willingness to help other women. Bravo!!
I have no words. I’m shaking.
I love you.
Stacey,
I am so sorry. And I feel such gratitude to you for allowing us to bear witness to your life in this way, that you trusted us with this dimension of your being in a voice that must have been excruciating to utter and yet empowering. Did you feel lower in the writing of this? In awe of you and your strength. Love you!
Sarah
My heart and adrenaline were out of control. Kinda scared me at first then I realized I was in FLIGHT mode. ?
What a Former Lover Might Say
You were toooo much for me
I didn’t want a wife at 22 years old!!
I just wanted someone to f***
for about six months
you were too clingy
you mentioned children then started
talking about houses and neighborhoods.
When I mentioned moving to Brazil for
three months, you were trying to go with me
I didn’t want responsibility
I just wanted a clean girl, a warm body
and an arm piece.
What My Breasts Might say
Your mom told you to wear a bra
daily but NOOOOOO
you thought YOU KNEW everything.
I could have told you that I have
my OWN agenda but as you
know, I don’t have lips.
I have to rely on doctors and
older women to speak my truth.
When you were in your twenties
elasticity and muscle mass were
in abundance but once you
decided to have your daughters
MY priority was feeding them and
providing natural nourishment to
keep them alive and protected.
Once you turned forty, I decided
it was time to begin
my slow southern journey.
I let go of a portion
of the muscles and all I cared about
was keeping cancer away.
A brassiere would have helped us sit up longer
and you should have slept in sports bras.
That female doctor told you that
but I know you and your husband
preferred it “clothes free” sometimes.
Now that your fifties are here,
I notice you seems upset that we’re
not perky and we don’t just sit up and
salute like we used to.
We’re OLDER now
and we’re in a race to see which one
can get to your knees first.
Oh, I am laughing at this line “we’re in a race to see which one can get to your knees first!” Isn’t that the truth! I’m wondering where I’m at with this since the sports bra sleeping situation is a new one for me. Thank you for adding some levity here. I appreciated your first poem too (the two can stand on their own, I think).
Yes! I’m laughing at the scolding, and at the race taking place! Great topic, and I love “slow southern journey”. Thanks for the laugh!
LOL but not laughing at you or them. One of the funniest images is the “slow southern journey” because it’s so gradual. One day up, next day down.
The former lover. Your hubby? Seems he may have come to his senses and stuck around because he knew you were a good woman. Honest and bold.
Thanks Stacey.
No, not hubby but the brother of your heavenly BFF. Also a combo of two diff formers.
The slow southern journey and the race to your knees……I’m laughing. So, so true. I came home from school today and put on my pajamas immediately to warm up – – and I’m sitting here thinking I should consider going back to put on that sports bra………..
nah. Why spoil a good girlie race?
Hi Seana,
Thank you for your very real yet humorous poem. “What my Breast Might Say”. It surely is the truth about the changes our bodies go through as a woman. Indeed it is a slow journey and one that requires a strong mind to accept.
Seana,
? I am laughing at what your breasts might say. Mine are right there w/ you! I was the last to get a training bra in my class but the first to read DD. This is so funny:
“Once you turned forty, I decided
it was time to begin
my slow southern journey.“ But the final lines are a laugh out loud treat:
“We’re OLDER now
and we’re in a race to see which one
can get to your knees first.”
I’m still laughing. I tell people I’ll never be alone because my boobs lie down beside me. I also say I need a bra so I don’t trip over my boobs. And let me tell you what tge f-ing jumping jacks do to my face and my bladder. Gotta laugh at aging, yes?
A race to the knees!!
The second poem blew me away with laughter. I’m still giggling to myself as I type! Thank you for your poem – it brings such a comedic voice to the breasts and now that I’m a new mom I can definitely relate to that specific part of your writing.
What Grief Might Say
At last
you’re here. We’ve been waiting.
All the distractions
you waded in
to avoid us washing over you.
Books of verse,
chapters of prose,
writing us into the tide.
You feel
insulated by words, don’t you?
Almost as if you lost nothing.
But we’re here.
Where before your body posed
listening to our past,
witnessing our pain,
feeling our frustrations with the world.
well, you knew, didn’t you?
You were absorbing us all along.
You carry us, our past.
A lot to bear for a child,
but it has always been your gift–
to hold stories.
And now your body is here
wading words.
Yes, yours. Yours but also Ours
no longer looming but shining
in every utterance.
Isn’t it so true the number of distractions we can give ourselves to avoid what we don’t want to consider? I love the lines “It’s always been your gift – to hold stories.” And there’s such beauty in what follows – the body wading words. Wading words. I can see it. I can feel it.
No longer looming, but shining. The admittance of grief is a step that releases the pain . Beautiful. Wading words.
Sarah, the inevitability of grief is real and alive, and I love these lines that show it:
You feel
insulated by words, don’t you?
Almost as if you lost nothing.
But we’re here.
And then: You were absorbing us all along.
And then, the end: no longer looming but shining in every utterance.
I see the avoidance of grief in a family member, who has been spinning wheels and going through depression for years now. You are so right that it takes reckoning and moving through the stages of grief.
Sarah,
Yes, grief is always awaiting us, but the words, the stories, the holding of these hold power over grief, or at least the power to transform it. Love this image:
“Books of verse,
chapters of prose,
writing us into the tide.”
I wish I’d processed my griefs through words more after my father died long ago. The thing about the stories we hold is it’s never too late.
An automobile might say (Ruth Reneau)
Despite my constant warnings
You choose not to listen
To my echoing cries
Insted you willfully hasten
To your daily routine
And the nerve to return at evening
With you usual facy and demanding
Not caring of my plight
Even if it affects your flight
Until I refuse to move further
Then some sense you gather
In the midst of heavy traffic
You act as if I work magic
Oh no! I cant help you now
It is out of my hands somehow
Ruth,
So good to “see” you here with us on this Monday. This personification of your car is so powerful. I often look at the empty gas tank on my car and see it as a metaphor for my body. Here “I refuse to move further” just shows how our objects take on our frustrations with the world. There is this sarcasm in the end “oh no!I can’t help you now” that makes me smile!
Peace,
Sarah
This makes me wonder what else we ignore, despite the “constant warnings” – far too much, I’m sure. I’ve often felt that “Oh, no! I can’t help you now” phrase popping into my head. And even though I want to say it’s out of my hands, somehow it never really is. Thanks for giving us the car’s perspective today!
Oh, if it were up to me to take care of my car this would be exactly what it would say to me! Luckily my husband keeps car running like a champ. “Then some sense you gather” – it is as if the car is mocking you! Love it.
Ruth,
I want to tell the car, “Preach”! The poor thing needs some TLC. For that I delegate my husband. Favorite line: “Not caring of my plight
Even if it affects your flight.” I haven’t had to worry about car problems since 1994, but I remember my 1975 Ford Pinto’s master cylinder going out, necessitating I give it a shove and pop the clutch while pushing it to get it to start. Memories!
Glenda,
You are so right! You made me laugh too
I feel like my car has said this to me so many times, yet I’m still not listening! Thank you so much for this poem. I especially like “the nerve to return at evening” and “you act as if I work magic”. I just imagine the disapproving looks the headlights are giving us as we demand more from these poor cars!
Ma says
What are you going to cook tonight for your husband?
It’s good! You lost your postpartum weight
For your mother in law – smile more, talk less
I can show you
What it takes to be a
Good wife, good mother
Cook. Clean. Please. Repeat.
Marriage for love?
That’s for fools
Let’s talk resources,
Money, pride, class
Let me tell you
The game of life is
A game of chutes and social ladders
I’m going to teach you
Don’t worry
For I, too, am a
Good wife, good mother
Teaching my daughter
The way
I hear you say,
“This is not my way. I’m American.”
Tsk tsk tsk
You always did talk too much
Your blood, which I gave you,
Is Taiwanese- through and through
So
What are you going to cook tonight?
Love the complete circle here. Your mother did her best, and so will you. Your last lines say it all—your blood, which I gave you, is Taiwanese through and through. So-what are you going to cook tonight? Perfection. (And I can HEAR the tsk, tsk,tsk)
Love the play on the “game of life” followed by “game of chutes and social ladders” – with the added word social bringing so much more emphasis to your message. You bring voice to the struggle between generations and cultures and societal expectations. Thanks so much for sharing this today.
Emily, another amazing piece! I hear Langston Hughes “I, Too, Am America…” in (I, too, am a Good wife…”) and that you are! The validation we need then finally give up is stronger than our heart’s desires to simply be good people. I love it. I love how you moved from your mother to yourself and your daughter and back to your mom. Circles of life, love, and blood.
Emily,
I love all the references to games: Life, Chutes and Ladders. Indeed, so much of our interactions with other women, especially in-laws and, for me, sisters is this passive-aggressive game. We are all navigating our role and position but some of us can see this more clearly than others. I love how you show what a poet’s lens can do for helping us understand complex relationships!
Peace,
Sarah
Emily,
You sure capture generational differences and in your case cultural differences. And, then you root it in such a simple statement about a rudimentary task . . . dinner.
Emily,
This reminds me of The Joy Luck Club. I can tell you for my generation American mothers gave the same advice, if not verbally than in more passive-aggressive ways. This is a wonderful allusion and metaphor: “The game of life is
A game of chutes and social ladders.”
What an Introvert, Faking It for Her Husband, Would Say
I’m not going!
Why should I want to
eat a formal dinner with
a tableful of self-showcasers
I don’t even know?
Round tables of 12, you say?
Okay, fine.
If it means your job, then I’ll dig out
my black dress and pumps.
Ignore my cussing.
Those sequined evening gowns
are breathtaking –
simply stunning!
How stirring you dropped
a cool mil to
impress people you barely know.
And those stylish updos,
perfectly coiffed.
Let me savor all the
glittery berry shades
of fake nails at this table.
Ignore my squinting as your
glitz and bling blind me.
And those matching designer evening bags
and stilettos!
I should be so envious of all of you,
with my leather backpack, book,
Moleskine journal, and fountain pen.
You are clearly all first-place trophy wives
of the year.
No one comes close to
competing with you.
Ignore my fumbling to touch
my book
for oxygen.
Really, Evelyn?
Five minutes in and already
gossiping ?
I don’t know your
frienemies,
but I’m sure that while all
their husbands are cheating
and they seem to be so hurt,
you might should shut up –
or, find a caring friend
who’ll slap you some sense.
You might jinx yourself.
Ignore me while I inspect the
craftsmanship of this sterling relish fork!
Oh, Victoria!
You don’t say!
Your son is expecting again?
And they just moved into their
mansion in Vail?
Where he’s the Pediatrician
of the year for the country?
And your beautiful grandchildren
are in the finest private schools?
Wait – don’t tell me – they’re all
on Headmaster’s Honor Roll?!
Those little geniuses!
Hahahahaha, you think
they get it from you?
Ignore me while I scroll to a picture
of my ill-behaved Schnauzer.
What, Gloria?
A brand new Rolls Royce?
I’m so sorry your heart is
hurting because
they were two shades of gray off
from your heart’s desire.
Maybe next year.
Ignore me while I kick my husband under
the table and lock glaring eyes on him.
Indeed, Elizabeth. I’d heard you mention
that your daughter is THE decorating queen
and is dressing department store windows
in New York City as a side job
while she awaits word on her lead role
in a movie. You say she even
came in with her design team
and redid your house?
There is no way that you can imagine how
honored I feel to be sitting at the table
with one who holds the title of the most
elegantly decorated home in the world.
Ignore me while I sneak a few sentences
of my next chapter….
Those pictures of your anniversary cruise
to Italy are totally gorgeous, Pandora!
No way!! You mean you actually threw a coin in the
world-famous Trevi Fountain?
AND saw the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?
I’m sure no one in this ballroom has ever
visited Italy in the winning way that you have.
Your moments outshine all of ours –
hands down!
Ignore me while I look at my phone screen
to see my husband and me smiling in Rome
before I go home,
choke him,
and nonchalantly finish my book.
How admirable, Lovey, that you
and Thurston
donated 10 million dollars
this week to help
those who are starving
and can’t afford
gala gowns and cruises!
Those destitute souls,
know-nothings who
cannot even take care
of themselves. And you.
Look at you, head tilted
at lost-in-deep-thought angle,
swept away,
fingering the petals of the centerpiece
as you crown yourself THE BEST EVER
in your daydream.
Ignore me while I write my annual
check to support public broadcasting.
I am truly thrilled to have met you all!
What? Christmas cards?!
Oh, believe me – I’ll be looking forward to the
Blessings of the season that you’ll sincerely
wish for me
as you share
all the successful accomplishments
of your year.
Ignore me while I jot key words
about tonight
so I can write a poem
for the 5-Day Writing Challenge
about why I’m glad to be
an officially diagnosed introvert.
-Kim Johnson
Cue admiring laughter!!! I love the acerbic view, and the conversations are amazing. Kim, can I be your new best friend?!?
Snaps! Claps! Applause! How I feel in public fancy places.
OH goodness, Kim . . . this is so dang funny! I love it! I laughed outloud when Lovey and Thurston surfaced.
You have so many wonderful details that make these women come to life!
And yet another reason you and are I friends at heart. Not only an introvert here, who will do anything to get out of these events, but finding the humor in your side-eyed witnessing which becomes fodder for writing just pulls the similarities all together. I laughed to myself throughout this piece, but most especially over Thurston and Lovey, because, why wouldn’t they be in there? Thanks for bringing this to us today.
Well, Kim, I can tell you really got into this one. A great opportunity to navigate all the conversations in this shared space that you had to hold onto, hold in as the flurry of performances went on all around you. So lovely to see how you were crafting the poem all along. Isn’t it so cool how the more we write, the more we see poetry in all things. Thank you for your candid capturing of the round tables of 12 — I also be you looked gorgeous.
Sarah
I keep rereading this and admiring these dreadful women over and over. Thanks!
Kim,
As I started reading and reached the line “touch / my book / for oxygen.” I was cheering and embracing my inner hillbilly. By the time I finished reading all I wanted to do was sit at the peasant table w/ you and talk about that book. What a treat you gave us at the end of each stanza as you returned to pen, paper, book, these instruments of power, these implements that give us words to write poems about unpleasant evenings w/ rich snobs. Love it!
Audience and Purpose
Who are you to say I can’t talk like this?
Do you understand what I’m saying?
Do you understand what I mean?
So what if I code-shift and code-blend?
Am I talking to you?
Do you understand what I’m saying?
Do you understand what I mean?
Why are you condemning my accent?
I speak several languages and dialects.
Can’t you? Are you just jealous?
Oh!!!!
So you do understand what I’m saying!
So you do understand what I mean!
Mission accomplished!
That’s the goal of communication, isn’t it?
Thanks for bringing the reality of voice to us in your piece. Too often, we are only comfortable in what is assimilated, and we don’t celebrate what makes us ourselves. Showing that to us is a needed reminder. You really hit that home with the last line, “That’s the goal of communication.”
Anna,
Thank you for all the questions-not questions in this powerful poem leading into a lesson in communication. “Do you understand…” repeated is just the right amount of power and irony given the myth of “standard” and the truth of “standardized” language. Brilliant.
Peace,
Sarah
Anna,
Your repeating lines – Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you understand what I mean? prove the point of getting readers to think about understanding what you’re saying and what you mean. And then the end – – the goal! That’s very clever!
A Runner Might Say
by Morgan Padilla
Click. Beep. Step. Crunch
Another mile on my legs
Another minute of this pain
Dull and aching, sometimes sharp and cruel
Each step lengthens my stride.
What’s that I see? in the dimness of the morning light
Another runner in my sight
He too runs and aches for home
He too yearns for the end of this ground
Each step lengthens his stride.
Morgan, I like your poem and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the first stanza because the runner is persisting; maybe it’s the tension building in the second stanza with another runner catching up! Thanks for making me think about what comes next.
Running is a love/hate for me, with mostly a hate so I felt every bit of your words. They make me wonder why runners do it, why they ache and yearn for an end. But the repetition of “each step lengthens my stride” reminds us of the why.
Morgan,
First, so good to have you here with us this month! Second, you now have me motivated to put on my sneakers and head out doors (because our gym is closed for the foreseeable future). I just love the “ground” in the second to last line. It is something we need and resist in every step, and then this added runner in the final stanza has me curious. Running as a solo endeavor while at once alongside another.
Peace,
Sarah
What My Students Are Saying With Three Weeks Away From School
What? What’s that you say?
No school for three weeks?
Yes!
I can sleep, Facetime, hang out with my friends
I can’t believe how lucky we are!
But wait….
What is this about Google Classroom?
I have to do work…
Where am I going to eat?
There will be lunch and breakfast drop offs?
Who will know if I’m okay or not?
You gave me a way to text you
What about prom?
What about graduation?
We don’t know
Wait and see
Hopefully this will be over soon and we can be back together.
Trisha,
What seems like a fun situation on the surface is in actuality so much different than our snow days of the late 70s.
There are so many unanswered questions and many of our youth have not dealt with waiting for much.
Yes! All of this! When I touched base with my students this morning, many of them said they were bored and wanted to be at school. I think this is going to be very eye-opening for them as they find themselves not having a choice on something they take for granted. I know I’m feeling very much the same way – that initial sense of freedom followed by the responsibilities.
Perfectly voiced! I can only imagine what secondary students like yours are doing and thinking. My 4th graders were just wondering what they would be doing all day at home. LOL. I told them all their regular online assignments will be there, and they can read, write, spend time reviewing. We shall see.
Love your poem.
Yes, Trisha. I feel a little guilty for having secretly wished for a snow day so I could stay home and read. But then – – now that I think of having a good deal of reading time or even having to see friends/family/myself deal with sickness, it gets real. Surreal. So many unanswered questions – just as those in your poem. You make us think. The reality sets in in this poem.
Your poem has really captured the mood of these crazy times. It also sheds light on just how insulated our students have become. Maybe there is a silver lining in the lessons we will all learn. “Hopefully this will be over soon and we can be back together.” This is my hope too.
Well, I tried to embrace other topics, but our currently reality just kept bubbling up.
A teacher mom might say (during COVID 19 shutdown)
Things I did so naturally
a few days ago
make me take pause . . .
touching my nose, my mouth, my eyes.
turning doorknobs,
pushing/pulling doors open in public places
walking through a store grabbing whatever I wanted
Now it’s needs not wants that are the focus
and even needs can’t impose their will.
As cheated as we feel about missed experiences,
As confined as we feel about being encouraged to hunker down at home,
At the root of those emotions and the fear that hangs over them like a drape,
we know these changes are vital.
Or, at least with each passing hour,
we are sobered by reality.
We needed to slow down
We needed to quit cramming our calendars with activities
We needed to stop pushing our students to learn more, more, more
and to move beyond things they were developmentally prepared for.
We needed to bring God, Faith, church, community, fellowship, concern for others
back into the center of self.
We needed to be reminded that home is a haven,
that we don’t need to go, go, go all the time.
We needed to cherish our country and our wondrous sites
and not constantly yearn to travel abroad
I hope to never again take for granted
hugging my loved ones
shaking hands at the sign of peace
dipping my finger into the holy water font
perching in bleachers watching high school kids compete their asses off
welcoming my son home after baseball practice
following my favorite teams on ESPN
browsing through a store picking up wanted items
standing in front of a class of captive yet captivated students
Seasons have been cancelled
Graduations
Weddings
Funerals
First Communions
Retreats
Birthday parties
Family vacations
All of the things that
reflect our freedoms,
show our love
celebrate our achievements.
Our circles have shrunk
and will continue to shrink
like Laura Ingalls
in a cabin the woods
just family
and self
and thoughts
We have to embrace
this drastic shift
play board games
play cards
read books
watch movies
enjoy home-cooking
knit
cross-stitch
work jigsaw puzzles
In a time of social distancing,
we have the chance to connect
to grow more intimate.
Oh, the irony . . .
distancing draws us closer.
Susan, Your poem so clearly demonstrates how writing reflects the times. Years later, when future generations are reading your published poetry and see these lines, they have a better sense of life in the Spring of 2020
In a time of social distancing,
we have the chance to connect
to grow more intimate.
Oh, the irony . . .
distancing draws us closer.
Oh, the irony…
distancing draws us closer.
Therein lies the truth. I’ve been telling my students as they checked in today that this breather will be good for them, to find something that makes them happy, that they love, and do it. Your poem celebrates all of those options (board games, and books). I love the reference to LIW as she shrinks to thoughts within the cabin in the woods.
Susan,
So much about this I love and agree with, and will you teach me to knit? I’ll have time soon. Right now I’m knitting words on pages—virtual and real. I do feel badly for seniors, especially those competing in academic activities like speech and debate. They get so little attention. Yes, the irony of social distancing is forging deeper connections. This I see happening, but I do need to travel abroad. I really do, and I think our country is better when we visit and learn about other places and cultures. I don’t have family where I live. I live in a culturally segregated place I could not have understood prior to moving here. Lastly, I’ve been going a lot of thinking about the online learning push I’m seeing amidst school closures and wonder: Who are educators doing all this for? Students of themselves?
I was deciding whether to go bleak or ironic and humorous… whew! Bleak took over real quick!! Here it is—your morning dose of depressing verse…
Heroin Would Say
Let me start early, with subtlety
I will take a small, skinny redhead with two “perfect”
Sisters, and a quick wit with no filter.
Throw in a depressed father—too many hours
of soulless work and a 90 minute commute
A mom subbing full time with evening classes
To become a “real” teacher.
Disparate groups of kids in a rough school
The rougher end beckoning.
The shiny end, a rebuff.
I will throw in a frisson of
“Boys are like that” and
“Redheads are just difficult.”
That should stir it up.
Oh, yes, a cup of rejection and
A large dash of bullying.
All these are easy to find laying around.
Toss them in. Let it simmer.
A little boyish experimentation
will move it along. I’ll find the sweet spot.
Don’t worry about that. I am that good.
I thrive on teenage excess, and since
It is teeming already
Let it boil for a few years.
Oh, yes, there will be attempts to
Evict me. Discussions and consequences,
Arguments and tears. Drug tests.
Outpatient placement that fails.
Desperation.
This is fun. I love it when the phone rings
with an unfamiliar number.
And the perfect sisters or teacher-mother
Or still-depressed father flinch, then answer.
Wondering if this is the call that starts funeral plans.
Wondering if it might be better for the shoe to drop,
Finally. Get the inevitable over with.
And then they shoo the renegade thought away, horrified.
The pain I cause. I glory in those calls.
I get bored sometimes. Take a break.
Play with another toy, another boy. Another girl.
Allow hope to rise. What fun it is
To smash my boot into the rainbow once again.
There is no pot of gold there, fools.
My grasp is iron.
For now, I will take a vacation. A hiatus, so to speak.
I have toyed with you long enough. I am bored
With the redhead. He’s losing his hair, anyway.
Teenage excess is replaced with the need to pay bills,
get to work. So dull. So everyday.
But you never know when I’ll stop in again.
And if you’re becoming Complacent, I might,
just for amusement’s sake, stir the pot one more time.
See you later,
alligator
Gayle,
Your images and language sure pull us into this life. If this is autobiographical, let me say that I am so sorry for what you have dealt with.
You take on the voice of heroin so well. I typically try to pull lines that really resonate with me in order to give specific feedback, but its the entirety of this that has so much power.
Gayle, the clarity and truth of your poem bring tears to my eyes. When I read the news and learn about people around the country “hooked” on legal and illegal drugs, I recognize the “voice” in your poem. I realize we must remain vigilant for ourselves and those we know and love. But, we also must refrain from judging, because the clarion call of drugs may be too compelling for some to deny.
But you never know when I’ll stop in again.
And if you’re becoming Complacent, I might,
just for amusement’s sake, stir the pot one more time.
See you later,
alligator
Wow! Seeing heroin as a playful menacer makes him all the more menacing. These words spoke to me – “What fun it is to smash my. boot into the rainbow once again. There is no pot of gold there, fools. My grasp is iron.” The shift of fools to the end is so impactful. And then that ending, when he might just decide to play again by stirring that pot again? Your last two lines work perfectly.
Gayle,
your poem resonates with me. One of the most comforting things about this group is that we all know what each other has encountered along the way, and the scars we or our family or friends bear become a way of reaching out to others and sharing words of comfort. As the mother of a reforming drug addict, I completely related to the phone calls and all the times I wondered if this was “it.” It’s grueling and exhausting, and I’m so sorry that we both understand the language of heroin and what it would say. Thank you for having the courage to share.
It really is a “coven” of empathy here. And I hear your word “reforming”. Never reformed… thanks for the support.
Gayle,
This is both painful and honest. It is exactly the voice of addiction, no respect or of people. I have an ache in my heart after reading. I never thought we’d see heroin as the drug of choice after the 60s and early 70s. I read early YA in junior high that addressed heroin addiction. Scared the bejesus out of me. “The pain I cause. I glory in those calls.” is my favorite in its brutal candor.
Jennifer Guyor-Jowett , I enjoyed your poem. I, too, suffer from depression. I keep it hidden as the stigma attached to it is overwhelming. “You have no option to climb out,” could be my life motto.
Awww, Laura. I hear you.
What An American Might Say
YOU!
You brought this here!
You did this!
Your way of live caused
This disease.
All the needed items
That keep me afloat
The necessities of day to day…
It’s your fault this happened!
Bu, I will be kind.
Our world has changed.
We truly are interdependent,
We need each other.
Let me help.
I will shop, share, smile
For other who need.
No better and no less,
I will support folks
This is what a human will say.
– Laura Douglas
– March 16. 2020
PS. I just want y’all to know I spelled my name wrong when I signed up?!!!! LOL. I swear it’s WIGGINS. Such a “Laura” thing to do. 🙂
Haha! I’m sure we’ve all done this. And I’m betting someone might be able to fix it if you want (Sarah?). The kindness you end the poem with is so important. We must be there for one another if we are to be human. Your last line says it all.
got it…an easy change
Thanks! Lol. I was just gonna learn to love with it, but thank you.
Lauren, thanks for the reminder of who we can and should be, always, and especially now.
But, I will be kind.
Our world has changed.
We truly are interdependent,
We need each other.
Laura,
You’re so right with the American perspective. We are quick to want to throw blame. Your line “Our world has changed” is so true. Just like that, we are living in a different age. I particularly love how you move from what an American would say to what a human would say. In all of this, our humanity is what matters – not our nationality, not our race, not our gender. We are humans, and we are all in this together!
Credibility Might Say (Jolie Hicks)
All of your life
You strive
with a hand full of dreams
and a heart full of drive
to capture me by the tail,
achieving degrees and giving your time
without mastering my elusive name.
One mispronunciation
and like a shattered mirror
the reflection of my fame
fragments your efforts.
Will they ever look at you
the way they look at me?
The he said, she said scheme
entertains the masses, but
You’re the only one that gets played.
Until your last breath escapes you,
keep climbing your way
over the wall of invisibility.
One good deed,
One truth revealed,
They will see.
If not you,
then me.
One mispronunciation…. what a masterful truth. Credibility is so fragile, and so valued. Great insights here, and thank you for the hope at the end!
Such an interesting voice to explore and you’ve done it so well! Like Gayle, I see the power in the line “one mispronunciation.” And I really appreciate that “wall of invisibility” we continue to try to climb over. My favorites – “They will see. If not you, then me.”
Jolie,
I am so intrigued by the “you” and the “me” and how the “you” is “the only one that gets played” and keeps having to climb “your way/over the wall of invisibility.” I can’t tell you how much this resonates with me navigating what it means to be seen, if it matters by whom, and what I am climbing toward. Powerful. Thank you. (Sorry, I made this about me –I tend to do that when I read.)
Peace,
Sarah
“The Three-Toed Sloth Might Say…”
Excuse me while
I yawn and
Settle in. Join me.
Prop up your feet
Close your eyes
Rest a while, stay silent.
What’s your hurry?
You’ve nowhere to go.
Take your time
No need to rush
To get things done.
Blend in like moss
On a tree. Be the bark.
Cling to your nest
Scurry not like
Bees and ants.
Hang upside down
Like a meditative yogi
Look at the sky
Let stillness Sooth
Your shattered psyche.
Extend Shivasana.
A little introspection
Quiets the mind,
Calms the soul.
Slip into sweet sleep.
No schedule needed.
You’re on sloth time now, so
Cuddle in a cozy comforter.
Take a long nap.
Doesn’t that feel better?
*yawn* Goodnight, Clock Watcher.
Sweet dreams, Grasshopper.
—Glenda Funk
*This month I’m also writing a blog post each day as part of the Two Writing Teachers annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Today I wrote about the three-toed sloth as my mentor in retirement. It seemed a natural fit to reframe that post as a poem for today’s prompt. If so inclined, you can read the post at http://evolvingenglishteacher.blogspot.com
So I’m going to be channeling my inner three-toed sloth today. Do I have one? I’m not sure but that meditative yogi needs to be with me. I love the line “Be the bark.” I’m not sure how you are handling your sloth attempts while also doing the blog posting! The pacing of your poem slowed me down today too. It made me wallow in the little moments, blending in like moss, cuddling into comforters. Wishing you a wonderful day, Grasshopper!
Glenda,
I love this! Our local zoo has acquired a sloth this year. I’m pretty sure this is what she will be thinking.
I am currently home with Flu B. I totally get becoming the bark. My new mantra. Love all of this, but that line…
“You’re on sloth time now…..” I love that! This topic was so unexpected – I laughed when I saw your title. I needed that laugh, too. I especially enjoy, “A little introspection quiets the mind, calms the soul.” That deep reflection is what grounds us and gives us some direction sometimes. You are a busy lady this month with all of the writing you are doing.
What Imposter Syndrome Might Say
No words at first–
Helpless with mirthless laughter
You? Of all people,
You? What makes you think
you have the ability
the knowledge
the intelligence
the courage
the
right
to do it?
They will laugh at you,
just like I’m laughing at you.
They won’t take you seriously…
You?
You are an imposter–
just pretending,
acting like you know
what you’re doing.
Just give it up;
crawl back in your hole
and hide your foolishness.
Wow, Julie. You’ve really captured thoughts I’ve had. The fear of being laughed at is no small thing. You are brave to put a voice to this.
Julie, I relate to your lines, “You? What makes you think/ you have the ability/ the knowledge/ the intelligence/ the courage” because I feel this often. Often times, I have to force myself to remember that I DO know, and I AM intelligent.
Julie, what a common feeling! You have eloquently captured the “mirthless laughter,” accusing me of having the “right.” Your declarative statements, imploring me to “give it up” and to “crawl back in [my] hole” to “hide [my] foolishness” is an action I have had to fight against for most of my life. Wow! I love it when verse successfully highlights a strained reality. Bravo!
Right!?! This is spot on. That fear. That hesitation. That voice whispering and cutting down confidence. Making us feel less than. You’ve captured its energy (“mirthless laughter”), its domination (“I’m laughing at you”), its ability to defeat (“crawl back in your hole”). Thank you for bringing it to us and throwing it right back where it belongs.
Perfect. The mirthless laughter is what we all hear. At 66, I am still waiting for them to realize their mistake in trusting me to do my job. But isn’t that what makes us try even harder? Use the laughter against them!
Jennifer, so true. It sneaks up on you! “ dropping by without warning
without even a knock on your door.” Yep! It’s sometimes the slightest trigger that says, “Come on in!” I liked the lines above the parasite destroying the host. Depression is so much like a virus, right?
Thank you. This piece was a challenge for me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to give it voice.
I felt the same. And then the poem spewed out without my consent. I think our extra time at home is bringing up some wounds. Love this challenge, despite the tears…
Jennifer—two amazing poems. Yours is brutally honest. I think we have all been there. The section from “one minute you’re doing your thing to “by then it’s too late” parses (is that the word?) the onset perfectly. Now my decision —lighthearted or deep-felt on mine? Hmmm.
Thanks, Gayle. It’s quite hard to be brutally honest, or even slightly so, sometimes.
I’m Here
By Nancy White
I’m here
Notice me
I have something to say
I hate being told,”Shh!”
Then, ignored,
I go off to play by myself
Quietly, alone, let you all carry on
Again and again
“Not now, your mother has a headache!” he always said.
I go outside and run, climb trees
Quietly, alone, I run on rooftops barefoot (knowing they wouldn’t like me up there- ha!)
I’m here!
I yell as I burst through the door
No one turns or says hello
So slowly I go out alone
I’ll find anything/anyone to listen
(I’m smart and funny if you’d give me a chance.)
I’m here
I cried and a young man began to listen as I strummed my guitar
And he taught me to sing
I thought I was finally free
Until I realized he was using me
As I was using him
I’m here
I whispered in the wind
And along came you, my closest friend
You heard me before I even spoke
You loved, you listened,
And I found myself poured out,
A broken pipe gushing all day, all night.
I’m here
And you felt my presence.
I’m here
And it’s been 40 years
Of being here and I’m heard,
A voice valued, and known
I’m here
Without saying a word.
Oh, wow! My mind traveled in so many directions as I read this, beginning with where we all are right now. But that quickly shifted as I saw the loss of the child’s voice as she grew older and continued attempts to be heard. A voice which became softer and softer, whispering in the wind. Women are often not heard (and we want them to be). I love that you have shown us the strength you found. Without having to say a word. This is beautifully done!
Indeed, you are “a voice valued, and known.” Thanks for sharing your piece. How emotional and moving! Each stanza builds on the next, demonstrating your desire to be seen, to be heard. Beautifully articulated and crafted, your poem’s theme is similar to mine, yet I love the stages you present within the stanzas. Yes! Yes! Yes!
Nancy, I think most women relate to your ideas. “I thought I was finally free/ Until I realized he was using me/ As I was using him,” is my favorite line.
Beautiful. We all hope that someone answers to “I’m here!” The silence is deafening. And then one person hears. That’s all it takes. Thank heavens.
Nancy, I love your message about being heard. I’m so glad you found your space where you are heard and valued. I’m also grateful for the message of the importance of listening to our students. We may be the only ears who hear many of them. Thank you for sharing.
Jennifer,
This is a wonderful prompt. Love the mentor poem and its posing of questions, but your poem is exceptional. Comparing depression to a parasite seeing our bodies as host is brilliant and so perfect given this moment in time.
I’ve felt out of sorts during this month’s challenge. I think it’s because I’m doing three writing challenges at once (March Slice of Life and #100dsysofnotebooking are the others) during this five-day period and needed to finish my prompts for hosting in April. Even for someone home all the time it has been a lot to handle.
Awww, Glenda, I hear you. The added weight of uncertainty makes this even more of a challenge. I wondered how that would affect this month’s writing. (I remember feeling this way in my college writing class during 9/11) Please pop in as you can. You are an important voice in our experience here. Sending warm hugs.
Glenda, you are always so committed to improving the practice of writing – yours and ours, too. The world feels tilted when we are out of sorts. It’ll right itself, but writing won’t write itself. Keep writing!
Good morning –
I’ve missed Susie Morice here the past two days, so I reached out to her this morning. She is in the thick of tending lots of people in her life who are dealing with Covid-19. She sends cyber hugs (elbow bumps) to all of you!
Please let her know we are thinking of her and wishing everyone she is tending the best. We all miss her.
I’ve missed Susie, too. I told my husband yesterday Susie is the glue in our cyber community. No doubt she is got many in her Missouri community, too.
Good morning and thank you for letting us know. I felt her absence and didn’t know if someone would let us know. GIVE HER MY CYBER HUGS!
Susie, if you’re watching, we miss you! Good luck and may things settle in soon.
Thank you for letting us know. Susie’s absences has been noticed and her presence missed. Please pass along my wishes to her that things level out.
I’ve missed Susie also – it is definitely not the same without her. Hugs from all of us.
COVID might say…
You raise me up
I’m not here to stop protests
Nor start riots
My intention isn’t to disrupt politics
Start oil wars
Or increase divisiveness
You shared me before you knew
When you were staring
At that black screen
Living your own life
Forgetting what community means
That soft white paper won’t save you
As it’s a privilege many,
Many around the world survive without
That water bottle won’t protect you
Hoarding won’t rescue you
Let my invasion release your ego
Your interconnectedness isn’t viral
Nor solely virtual
Take a pause and engage
Behind your walls to protect
Those whose eye contact you ignored
I could go on
For days, weeks, years
I was already here…
But I will stop now and
let you settle in your new normal
Stefani,
So powerful. I love how you said the “soft white paper won’t save you!” The hoarding is killing me. This poem speaks volumes of what is happening today! Well said. I’m in awe of you!
Let my invasion release your ego
…to protect those whose eye contact you ignored
Let you settle in your new normal
These are the phrases that will stick with me as these next days and weeks play out. Thank you for bringing this perspective this morning. It’s the smallest and the mightiest that bring the most change.
Stefani,
I love the quiet power in this poem. It’s quite the contrast to the irrational fear we see among the rushing hoarders, whom I fear infinitely more than the virus. Favorite line:
“ Take a pause and engage
Behind your walls to protect
Those whose eye contact you ignored”
I wish this were the reaction of all, yet instead we see a rise in xenophobia toward Chinese people. Last night I scrolled through photos from our trip to China this time last year and thought about these drastic changes we’re witnessing.
Stefani,
“That soft white paper won’t save you” rings in my head as I think of the completely empty paper aisle in the grocery store yesterday.
Stefani,
The ending is jolting…..a new normal. While nothing is good about what we are experiencing, I think you remind us of the obvious need to reconnect with those we love and actually have some time to pause and “protect those whose eye contact you ignored.” And we are all guilty of rushing out into our daily lives and busy schedules – – now we are forced to stop and reconsider. Thank you for the power of words to make us think from the perspective of C.
Jennifer…I was blown away by ‘A Palestinian Might Say and almost recovered when I read Depression Might Say. Wow! You nailed the feeling, the capture and trap of it. Well done….WELL DONE. That line, “And then it’s too late” is it. Right there. Wow.
I started a poem about a serious word…and then switched…AND THEN the poem wanted to rhyme on me. I’m not great at beat. If I write a poem with beat, I usually share only after many drafts. You’ll see that this is a FIRST draft of a poem that started out free verse but then wanted a beat and me to work it out. I’ll get back to it later and have fun tapping my fingers next to my keyboard. I love writing early in the morning. Thanks (Sarah?) for having the prompts out early.
Spring might say
it’s been a while
Where’ve you been?
I’ve been walking miles
on Appalachian Trails
All those places
Mr. Appleseed wandered in
Newborn fawn
And Mr.Redbud
said to say, Hey
A Pre-K class of peepers
Followed Mrs. Jonquil
out for extra recess today.
A cold sky above
warms to Mama Sun
Orion’s out of arrows
his night hunting done
Crescent Moon’s bucket
is tipped up tonight
she’ll plant stars
when conditions are right.
Come on out
Leave your jacket inside
Flowering Pear
is playing bride
covered in petals
she stands alone
waiting for church to fill
peeking out at her groom.
I know your cozy
in your sweater and slippers
I only come once a year
for a hollar not a whisper
I’m asking for a dance
once around the floor
before summer comes
calling us to the shore.
Linda,
I am listening to geese, sparrows, and blue jays as I read your poem and type this. I love how you encompass a variety of elements that tie into spring, particularly “leave your jacket inside.” This line provides that shift that unceremoniously provides a visual in the changes of our four seasons.
Thank you for adding your vulnerabilities about submitting your first draft. I know I feel the same and believe many others do, but that is the point of this, right? Maybe we could all start an editing group, after the challenges? Sarah, you up for organizing this?;)
Linda,
Your poem is beautiful, so light and full of life. I love the last stanza
“ I know your cozy
in your sweater and slippers
I only come once a year
for a hollar not a whisper
I’m asking for a dance
once around the floor
before summer comes
calling us to the shore.“
I’m ready to dance with spring! Your play with words is like a dance in itself. Beautiful!
The words speak to us as they will. If they want a beat, we have to let them have their way! And I’m so glad you did. I want this spring. I need it! The use of personification works perfectly. I especially love the lines “A Pre-K class of peepers followed Mrs. Jonquil out for extra recess today.” It’s delightful. It needs to be a picture book. I’ll say yes when Spring asks me to dance!
Linda,
Wonderful details here calling us to notice nature. I think lots of folks will pay a little extra attention this year given our locked-in realities. Reading “Mr. Appleseed” reminded me of a Michael Pollen book, the one where he traces the history of the Apple, tulip, cannabis, and the potato. I like the rhyme in your poem. It’s playful and full of life, like nature’s heartbeat guiding us through the trail.
Oh, I needed this. A pre-k class of peepers. It warms my soul. The visuals, the freshness. Everything about this is spring. Thank you!
Linda, this is a sweet beckoning of spring, and I’m so glad we are getting some warmer weather our way. I particularly love these lines:
Flowering Pear
is playing bride
covered in petals
she stands alone
waiting for church to fill
peeking out at her groom.
That personification and imagery is strong here! Lovely! Spring brides will appear soon.
Jennifer, your poem speaks the truth of depression.
You painted the perfect picture when you said
“ Not a word
as I arrive
with my stealthy ability
to invade and settle in,
dropping by without warning
without even a knock on your door.”
That is so true. We don’t invite depression in. It comes on its own to plague us. Beautifully written. This is only my third day here. I’m so inspired by you and the others. Thank you for sharing your hearts with me.
Christian, Welcome!
Jennifer,
Your last line “you have no option to climb out” is so disheartening. I wanted there to be hope at the end but the truth remained. Thank you for sharing this poem and for the prompt today.
We are so glad you are here! Thank YOU for sharing your words with us.
Jennifer,
What a wonderful inspiration. We all have so much to say. I’m going to MAKE myself stay away from writing about the pandemic even though that’s consuming my thoughts.
As for your poem . . . you nailed it. There are a few parts that really stick out . . . “dropping by without warning
without even a knock on your door.” If that ain’t the truth.
And “visible to others
but not quite clear enough
for a full identification”
I think the products of this prompt will be very eye-opening. I can’t wait to read them. Or, to write mine.
Thank you, Susan. This piece was written before we were in the midst of our current situation, and even as I opened my computer a few moments ago, I wondered about changing it, fearing that it would be too dark, and that it would only add to the pall shrouding us. I am also looking forward to seeing through every writer today.
Fear might say…
This virus is bigger than you are. You can’t beat it. It’s going to swallow you and all you love into its grasp and not let go. It’s going to crush the very parts that make your world as you know it. You must react now. Don’t think. Don’t ponder. It’s time to take action.
Run to the store,
Get all that you can.
Stay in your home and don’t leave. Don’t visit with those in need.
This is the end.
BUT remember GOD says
This virus didn’t sneak up on me. I am bigger than any sickness, any disease.
I know it’s hard living in fear. Please know I’m hear.
I built the earth and the sea. I made you. I designed each intricate part of you. From the cells to the tissues, to the organs, to the organ systems to create the beautiful organism that you are. I know how you work. I made you in my image. Don’t let the fear around you set in your own heart. Know that in my hands you are safe. My child please rest In the peace that only I can give you. Fear not child, I am with you.
Writing is a release for stressors that we face. You have certainly given voice to everything we are feeling right now. It’s hard not to let that fear take over, especially in the reality of what’s been happening. Giving the contrasting voice (to God) as you did, allows a balance to occur, a breather to happen, a resting place to be found.
Christian, I love this. The anxiety of these days has been pretty intense. I love the solidness of God in this poem as a foil to the anxiety…even bigger than the anxiety. These words/phrases have me nodding yes.
“didn’t sneak up on me
built the earth and sea
in my hands you are safe
I am with you”
Linda,
With all the chaos around us, I don’t know how I could face it without his hope!!!!
Christian,
I wrote of a similar theme–it is quite an eery time. I like how you used two voices to this poem, they work well together and could be applied to many circumstances. My favorite line is, “It’s going to….as you know it””–this is very powerful. Thank you for sharing this poem.
Christian,
You’ve captured the personification of the virus perfectly in your first half. “Swallow,” and “crush” are perfect words here. The list of things fear tells us to do appropriately clips along at such a rapid pace, which is exactly the reaction of so many.
You use the shift technique so effectively in this poem today, Christian. This is just the sort of thing that is often difficult for students to see – the use of shift – and your perspectives from Fear and from God are so easy to distinguish. Plus, you take a very real emotion and give calm. I love the way you blend your Science content into this as well. I love the ending. Words we all need for today – and everyday, but especially today.
I absolutely love the contrast between good and evil in this! I am a Christian and what you speak is so well said and the absolute truth! A silver lining of this virus is that we can all reflect and find what is most important to many of us – our faith! Thank you for having the courage to share and write about these truths.