Today’s writing inspiration comes from Kimberly Johnson, Ed.D. She is a literacy coach and media specialist in a public school in rural Georgia. She enjoys writing as a guest blogger for www.writerswhocare.com and counts down the days between monthly 5-Day Writing Challenges. She is the author of Father, Forgive Me: Confessions of a Southern Baptist Preacher’s Kid. Follow her on Twitter at @kimjohnson66.
Inspiration
Jericho Brown recently won the Pulitzer Prize for his poetry collection The Tradition, in which he invented a new style called a Duplex. The Duplex blends the musicality and structure of the ghazal, the sonnet, and the blues. You can read a couple of Brown’s poems here:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2019/04/invention
Process
Raise a glass to the Literary Avant-Garde by writing a Duplex today on any topic of your choice. I chose my favorite line from my favorite Eagles song to help me get started. The duplex starts with a couplet of two distinct lines. The second line is repeated and a new line is added, and then the format is repeated until there are seven couplets of nine to eleven syllables in each line. Each new couplet’s first line ends with the final word in the preceding line, and the final word is the last word of the first line.
Kim’s Poem
Write
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
I have been a woman that had to be strong. I went through a horrible le divorce and was left alone with no friends. Thank God for the family I have!
Duplex
inspired by “To Be of Use” by Marge Piercy
I cup my hands beneath the faucet
The pitcher cries for water to carry
The pitcher cries for water to carry;
I wonder how to be of use today.
My idle hands must be of use today.
My world has shrunken to its barest need
I do without; so much I do not need
The bony hours rattle with the wait
Between one nonessential action and the next
So much of matter doesn’t matter now
To be of use is where I’ll start for now
I cup my hands beneath the faucet.
Allison, this is raw, honest, and beautiful at the same time. I love how I’m completely connected with wanting to be of use today, doing without, and knowing “so much of matter doesn’t matter now.” You capture it all so well, then the last line with a simple cup of hands beneath the faucet, beomes useful. I love it.
Allison,
Your poem this evening captures the thought with which I begin each day: “I wonder how to be of use today.” Back in early March I vowed to do something for someone every day. I wanted to turn my eyes outward rather than focus in my own life. Being of use may be the most important part of being human. Love the word play in “So much of matter doesn’t matter now.” Thank you.
—Glenda
Allison, you have given us a snapshot of life here. Trying to be of use, to be the pitcher to hold the life-giving water. Some of my favorites are “bony hours rattle with the wait” (wow!) and “my world has shrunken to its barest need” and
We have to constantly weigh the risks and rewards of these nonessential actions. You have captured this chapter beautifully.
Thanks,
Denise
Allison,
I love the sounds in “the bony hours rattle with the wait” – the simultaneous movement and stillness really drew me in.
It really made me think of the word “nonessential” as that has been a point of contention these days.
Driving With the Loud Music
It starts as escape, a day time drive
A longing to drown in throbbing music
Like the tide, stress ebbs in throbbing music
Jangled nerves soothed in the balm of sound
Succumbing to alternative sound
Pursue the subversive vibrations
Self medicate through inner ear vibrations
It starts as escape, a day time drive
Tammy,
I feel the pulse of the music all the way through your poem–throbbing, vibrations. I appreciate how the loud alternative sound brings the calm. Your final line is immensely satisfying: At last clarity in edgy sensation. Wow.
Tammi, what craft and beauty in the way you describe your escape into music. There are some really powerful words chosen and great lines. Here is one that I really liked and reread several times. Lines 2 and 3 flow together nicely. “A longing to drown in throbbing music / Like the tide, stress ebbs in throbbing music” So many lovely phrases “balm of sound” “subversive vibrations” “self medicate.” And, as always in this form today, I am enjoying reading the first and last lines. When the last line is repeated, it’s like a summary and a double gift. “It starts as escape, a day time drive.” Though I would not appreciate that drive like you would, your poem has definitely helped me appreciate your love for loud music in the car! ~Denise
I love the sound of “pursue the subversive vibrations” – it reminded me of my teen years driving down the road with the music blasting and the windows down just living in the moment.
I have such respect for Jerico Brown’s duplex form and the process by which he created it. I’ve been thinking about the duplex several months since first encountering it. For me an important component of the duplex is the incongruity Brown describes adding in line 4. I tried to approach the form with than in mind and by thinking about both disrupting the sonnet form and asking myself questions about its content in our world. I pulled up some of my poems to see if I could build a duplex from my lines as Brown did his. That didn’t work, but I didn’t want to use a line from another, so I opted for allusions instead.
“Generation Gap”
The best minds of this generation live in isolation.
They languish undisturbed, their minds on reserve.
Fine wines on reserve languish undisturbed.
In the ‘70s Hillbilly teens drank Strawberry Hill.
They played Spin the Bottle with Strawberry Hill
Rolled dice like time spins into the future.
The great world spins into time’s future shock.
Waning years demand a reckoning.
Reckon the world ends with a whimper.
A lone dog whimpers in a quiet corner.
On quiet balconies all whimper alone.
In their homes they zoom through virtual rooms.
I see fear in the eyes of a dying administration.
The best minds of this generation wait in isolation.
–Glenda Funk
Glenda, your poem gives me the feels. All of them. How things have changed! Thanks for putting so much thought into your poem today and always!
Glenda — I love your lines “Fine wines on reserve languish undisturbed” & “The best minds of this generation wait in isolation” I think this really captures the difference in the generations and how disconnected young people have become has they hide in their “virtual rooms”. The ability to communicate and express ideas is lost when young minds are afraid to interact with one another.
Glenda, I loved how you used the basics of the duplex but turned it into something all your own by pulling pieces of previous lines into new meanings (such as reckoning/reckon and spin/spins and whimper…). This poem bursts with my own ’70s memories. Pairing the antics of teens with the alienation on “quiet balconies” is an effective contrast. Bam!
Glenda, these lines give me hope for the future:
My girls and their spouses are zooming through the virtual rooms now, in isolation. At least one of them has been told to keep working from home. The company’s lease is expiring, and they will not renew, opting to have all employees work from home. I look forward to the next generation picking up the pieces and shaping the world into a cleaner, greener, and more peaceful and just world. That’s what I learned from your poem today. Thank you for the inspiration. And great job trying to do it like Jericho Brown with arranging different lines into a new. The thought of that is so far beyond my comfort level (YET). You are always teaching me that there is another step and challenge to take.
word play
And what am I writing about tonight?
Blackness lies quiet beyond my window.
The words on the page lie quiet tonight.
I sit listening to the cat leaning down.
The cat leaning down eyes my fingers,
as they wait to find the next idea.
The weight of an idea leaves a mark
on my memory nodding the rhythm
of evening’s sigh, Nodding the rhythm
of words lost in my head. Stray marks cross
and sing out to words lost in night’s quiet.
As fingers whisper to an empty room.
In an empty room sits a woman.
What am I writing about tonight?
Jamie— a perfect poem to read before sleep. There is a peacefulness to this… this part, “ The weight of an idea leaves a mark/on my memory nodding the rhythm/of evening’s sigh—made me sigh with you. Thank you!
I love the rhythm of this poem. It feels like a lullaby and I love the personification “of evening’s sigh, Nodding the rhythm of words lost in my head. Stray marks cross …”
Wow! This is the kind of poem that just makes me smile throughout because of the language and imagery. I’m also finding several writings this week that break my “I hate” rules. Like, “I hate poems about writing poems.” Ha! You had me at “Blackness lies quiet beyond my window.” I almost couldn’t read this fast enough! “listening to the cat leaning down.” Another stunner. And by the time I hit “nodding the rhythm,” I was actually feeling the rhythm of this poem. How can so much silence create so much sensory ‘noise’ in writing? By the time I read the last line, I gasped out loud. It’s one of THOSE kinds of poems where I just have to make a noise of appreciation when I finish reading. And then read it again! Thank you!
I Am Not Content
Donnetta Norris 5-17-2020
I am not content
with what has become the same old, same old.
The same old day…day after day
the routine and the mundane of now.
The mundane of life, or the lack-there-of, of quarantine times
keeping me stuck and unmoved, sheltered in place
Sheltered in a state of mind of inescapable feelings
pressed down so it doesn’t feel real
It doesn’t feel real to not connect with
those who made life pleasant and meaningful
I miss my Scholars and I miss my School
I am not content
I am particularly drawn to: “Sheltered in a state of mind of inescapable feelings” – I am feeling things so intensely these days, and yet I am so stuck. “I miss my Scholars and I miss my School/I am not content.” I so relate! Thank you for giving voice to the very real and very frustrating feelings of this pandemic.
I can totally relate. I often feel exactly the same — that feeling of discontent is not fun.
Your lines “The mundane of life, or the lack-there-of, of quarantine times/keeping me stuck and unmoved, sheltered in place” really hit home.
Donnetta,
This is one relatable poem. I can feel each line of it, but today I just want to comment on this middle section. When I read it aloud, it goes on and on, like our quarantine days. From the short and concise beginning and end–this part in the middle, week after week after week after week, we muddle through. Your poem gave me that sense of muddling through the middle of these seemingly never-ending weeks.
Great work here.
Batting a wasp: I should intervene
Or perhaps terse paws know what to do:
Or perhaps terse pause knows what to do:
Not asking to be filled but “let”
the life is not in point but game, so “let”
against a pan one creature’s torment
Lax to rise once by a hand’s heel in torment
the softest stuff comes only with time
is another nature’s step in time
And not seeing is not not knowing
The best kinds of seeing are not knowing
but waiting on the rise
I know what I won’t do: I will let the wasp rise
Batting a wasp: I should intervene
Love these lines: The best kinds of seeing are not knowing/but waiting on the rise. You’ve really captured nature and nature’s creatures beautifully here.
These were the jump lines for me: “the softest stuff comes only with time // is another nature’s step in time.” Things and stuff are two of my “banned words,” but this is a perfect example of where stuff works. It just sounds like the most perfect word. So much sense-of-nature in this poem; capturing abstractions rather than concrete imagery is so challenging, but I feel these concepts rather than see them. Success.
I am so enjoying how we have each taken the spirit of the prompt and played with it in our own special ways. What talented and thoughtful writers we have in this group! Sarah and Kim, thanks for making this such a productive space!
Mustangs
And just like that, life came to a halt
Everything changed, the entire world stopped
Everything changed, the entire world stopped
A milestone was taken away, disrupted
A pandemic, your dreams- disrupted
Graduation? Picnic? Prom? Canceled
And even with everything canceled
You show up and you do not give up
Because you, Mustangs, never give up
You adapt. You rise. You fight. You overcome
Young adults with so much to overcome
You struggle. You carry on. You inspire.
The world is here for you to inspire
Class of 2020, it has been an honor.
Monica, I sure hope you share this with your students. It’s a wonderful tribute to their spirits. I’m sure they would love to know that you understand their struggles.
Monica, this is a beautiful tribute to the Class of 2020 – and to those who had to postpone or cancel weddings or other major life events. My heart goes out to all of them for their hard work without the ceremony – and I praise their resilience and power to overcome the disappointments.
I love how this poem starts out as if all is lost, but ends with the grit, tenacity, and perseverance of a Mustang. Great poem.
This poem made me smile in recognition and delight. You capture much of what I’m feeling about my seniors right now. I am amazed at their ability to keep learning, and, as you say, to struggle, to carry on & to inspire. Thanks for writing for your students. I’m thinking I should go write for mine!
Bud to Blossom
Time is to life as bud is to blossom,
with possible wither or grow.
Is it possible to grow while withering?
Her gentle kiss, while I read, told me so.
Her gentle kiss, while I read, made me glow.
This toddler seeks only our love and laughter.
This toddler knows only our love and laughter,
though we feel loss, walls, and isolation.
Through our loss, walls, and isolation,
this sense that time has been stolen from us.
While we know that time has been stolen,
she’s outside, picking flowers in the grass.
Outside, holding flowers from grass, I know
time is to life as bud is to blossom.
Wither or grow—as adults, we see that both are possible, and cannot be stopped. My favorite lines?
“While we know that time has been stolen,
she’s outside, picking flowers in the grass.”
Those lines, that contrast, says it all…
Maureen, the sounds in your poem are so soothing. I think you’ve really shown us that our current situation can be thought of in so many ways. The toddler’s perspective is so refreshing. The enduring love is just precious in your poem.
Maureen, this is a sweet sentiment about missing those young family members we love to watch grow – and knowing all the while exactly what they are doing, though we are not there to share the moments. “She’s outside, picking flowers in the grass,” is rich in imagery, and the analogy that begins and ends your poem is precious.
Maureen,
Your duplex is gorgeous. I love the analogy that begins and ends your poem. The question in line four makes us think about how growth depends on death. Yet it’s so hard to be separated from a granddaughter. There’s a sad contrast in your watching to her growing among the flowers. Yet I know you’re comforted by her innocence in the midst of the isolation. Beautiful poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Inspired by the message at church today (online!) and also thinking about single women friends of mine who are living alone at this time.
Hebrews 10:25 (excerpted)
Let us not give up meeting together
as some are in the habit of doing.
We get stuck in the habit of doing
surviving, trying, desiring more.
Desiring more, contentment eludes
while beauty surrounds us unnoticed.
Masked smiles, masked lives slip by unnoticed
Deepening pain and isolation.
Who can survive in isolation?
Thoughts spin, work consumes, becomes lonely
Becoming lonely we need to reach out
Recognize the common thread woven through
Woven through our hearts need connection
Let us not give up meeting together.
This line is lovely: “Recognize the common thread woven through”
I think many of us trying to find the things that hold us together …
Kevin
Julie, such a lovely sentiment! My favorite line is, “while beauty surrounds us unnoticed.” I’ve been feeling that way a lot lately.
Julie, I love that a sermon inspired your writing today. Inspiration comes from so many different moments, and I love the line about the masked smiles and masked lives slipping by unnoticed. It reminds me to work for eye contact more – – I’m an introvert, so I don’t do this naturally with folks I don’t know, but it sure is an important part of life now to make an effort to notice others.
I love this poem so much. It speaks so much to how I feel. Some days are so hard. “Let us not give up meeting together.”
I will build you a castle one day
On a shore in a far-away land.
We will make our own fairy tale land
To rule it will be your delight.
My apron you’ll don with delight
As you learn to make gingerbread boys.
You’ll find you like rule-breaking boys
Or girls who your passion will share.
Through tears your first breakup you’ll share
Or you’ll slam doors and say, “No big deal.”
Through sports, band, or gaming you’ll deal
With the stress of succeeding in life.
No, you haven’t yet entered my life.
But I’ll be your grandma one day.
Katrina,
I loved the surprise at the end… your name will soon become “Grandma” or “Grammy”, or some such form of Grandmother! I loved the little movie you made of the relationship you want to build in this fairy tale land with your grandchild. May it be all you hope for.
Katrina, this is so sweet. I too, liked the surprise ending. I was thinking it was a mother talking to her son right up until the last stanza. I love the rule-breaking boys!
Katrina, the idea of writing a letter to a future grandchild is exciting – – the times ahead of baking cookies, reading fairytales, and sharing the joys of watching them grow! You’ll be a wonderful and loving grandma!
Kim, thank you for introducing me to a new poetic style and poet! I found this to be challenging but a fun way to play with the form.
On the Bright Side!
Always try to look at the glass half full!
Put a smile on your face, “fake it til you make it!”
“Fake it til you make it!” Dont’ give up!
Bawling, pleading, screaming, “Suck it up buttercup!”
“Suck it up buttercup!” Tomorrow is a new day!
Lollipops and gumdrops, Cliches pass away
Cliches pass away, but in our “New Normal” are also replaced,
With “Uncharted waters” “Unprecedented times” and “All in this together!”
“All in this together” Where are you now?
Keeping on the sunnyside? Looking for the bright side of town?
Of town…Sheltered in place, safely working from home
Longing for the days when we weren’t alone.
Alone…Protecting our love ones and those we don’t know
A Simple request, Keep your distance! My friend and foe
My friend and foe…Look on the bright side!
“Shine like a diamond!” Smile behind your mask! Look for the glass half full!
The twining of phrases in this format is so interesting, how a phrase or echo of a line winds back to the next line, like a Mobius Strip of sort … I liked your “simple request” phrase at the heart of the poem
Kevin
Susan,
I chuckled out loud as I read all the sayings and idioms and cliches you incorporated so easily into your poem today, yet underlying the jokes is the serious side. This lurks behind your words in the reality of how we see each other both as “friend” and “foe”. I hope that will not be a remnant when this is all over!
All the cliches, woven together into a succinct commentary on life today. Love this!
Susan, one thing that has definitely made it easier to accept being at home is what you say in the line, “protecting our loved ones and those we don’t know.” The sacrifice somehow becomes so much easier when we feel we are protecting others. Thank you for the strong positive messages today.
This prompt sent me down such an extraordinary rabbit hole, today! I am still playing with my poem. I thought it best to go ahead and comment…to tell you how much I loved your poem…and Jericho Brown’s writings, especially his words about his creative process and how he came to create the “Duplex.” What brilliant words you embedded, with “Strong women know what to do about life,” a resounding message! Thank you!
Kim, thank you for sharing this style of poetry. I really enjoyed reading your poem as well as Jericho Brown’s work. His comments are fascinating. The imagery of your poem is outstanding, and the message at the end was fantastic. I especially liked the line “Like a beetle-weakened pine tree, it fell”. I must admit, I struggled writing my poem today. It took a different direction than I started with, and I will most likely continue revising, but I had to just end it so I could enjoy reading everyone else’s work today.
Barb, this was indeed a challenging form – it took me three attempts to write a duplex. I started with the topic of a humanities class, moved to wine-is-not-the-answer-but-it-helps-you-forget-the-question, and ended up with better life post-divorce! I definitely felt the challenge as well, so I understand the perseverance part :). Thank you!
Heavenly Flight
Mother’s angelic face smiled at me today;
Her warm embrace called my soul to fly away.
A magical tune sashays my heart away,
Gliding me along a heavenly raceway.
Where a joyful jukebox lights up the raceway;
Revealing star-studded wraiths dancing risque.
Two-stepping rendezvous–sexy and risque!
Wanton lovers join feathers to “Drift Away”
Blue shoes and blueberry hills shimmy away
As I boogied my best with angels today.
Barb Edler
May 17, 2020
Barb,
I smiled so much when I read these lines:
Each line of this is beautiful poetry! To begin with “mother’s angelic face,” and weave in “joyful jukebox lights up the raceway,” “wanton lovers join feathers…,” and “blue shoes and blueberry hills…” – ah, what a musical journey you have given us. So lovely!
I hear the songs … the music … the melodies …
Kevin
Barb, I love your allusions dancing (“two-stepping” and “boogied”). I like the color of sky or night you create through your allusions to “blue (suede?) shoes” and “blueberry hills.” I like the magic of your poem.
(With inspiration from Sharon Van Etten’s “Seventeen.”)
With more to lose, many possibilities–
I used to be seventeen and bored.
Fourteen years later and I can’t find boredom.
The “to” lists of dos, reads, makes is endless.
Perpetually busy adults
Succumb to house arrest like our teenage selves.
Grounded in our homes we balance rest and yield.
We play the same game but with new rules.
Same board, same pieces, but is it the same goal?
When the yardstick snaps, how do we measure?
The unquantified life is worth living.
A reprieve from the arbitrary rat race.
A teenage tenet; a minor’s motto:
With so much to lose, seize possibilities.
Laura, your poem demonstrates the power of images to create memorable messages. The lines
“When the yardstick snaps, how do we measure?” is the one that strikes me as we, during this pandemic, realize that the criteria we had used to measure importance or value now are useless.
Thanks for giving us a fresh way to express this different perspective.
Laura,
To me, the heart of your poem is in this couplet, “The unquantified life is worth living/A reprieve from the arbitrary rat race.” It is a different perspective and one that reminds us of what really matters. Busy is not always goo. Most of the times it is an escape.
Laura,
I read this a few times just letting it wash over me with the shifts and paradoxes:
This flip in the “to” lists from “to do” lists was smart, and slowed my reading to gather more meaning.
Sarah
Laura—were we mind-melding? Our poems should be set side by side for analysis. :-). So many commonalities! Loved your last line—with so much to lose, seize possibilities. Good advice!
I loved that song! You have created a beautiful poem from its influence…funny to think of age 17 compared to now. “We play the same game but with new rules.” Love it!
Laura,
This is incredible. I think I will come back to it a few times and ponder it more.
My favorite lines:
“Fourteen years later and I can’t find boredom.
The “to” lists of dos, reads, makes is endless.”
An Unspoken Answer
I never smoked cigarettes,
but I watched you draw in that devious elixir,
I watched you draw in that elixir
like it was an unspoken answer —
it fixed you for a moment with an unspoken answer,
an odd wind rose for a map that might have freed you,
a map that might’ve loosed us away from you —
I measured where that greyed ribbon swirl had been,
where that swirl so deep inside you had been
hiding all those years of doing without,
hiding all quiet draws held in, the doing without;
I watched the quiet, the silence of you,
and watching the quiet, measured silence of you,
I never smoked cigarettes.
by Susie Morice©
Susie,
As a former smoker, I can say that this couplet, “it fixed you for a moment with an unspoken answer/an odd wind rose for a map that might have freed you,” powerfully captures the reason why most people smoke. I know that is why I did and in times of stress, I sometimes wish I had a cigarette around.
Susie, your poem gave me a head rush. Honestly. The progress of your poem is hypnotic as the smoke and silence. The end is such an outstanding statement to close with. I really felt drawn by the line “I watched the quiet, the silence of you”…a tension, I believe, is created throughout the poem. Loved it!
Woah, woah, Susie!
These lines stunned me, slowed my reading and held me like the smoke wafting until the book end line — “I never smoked cigarettes.”
Sarah
Susie—as a former smoker (I LOVED it), I relaxed into the greyed ribbon swirl. I began smoking because it forced me to sit until the cigarette was finished, rather than continuing to bustle. It has been 37 years since I quit, and my fingers still assume position when I am in a bar. That said, I was dreaming along with you, Ana then your last line brought me up short and made me go back to read for the hidden meaning in the lines. Nicely done, my dear!
WOW! You may have never smoked but you clearly have been observant! “Breathtaking job!”
Susie,
You certainly have woven lines together effectively . . . the repeated words propel the story forward so well.
I love the “devious elixir” and “where that swirl so deep inside you had been.”
What a fascinating thought . . . that the grey smoke has been other places with the smoker.
This poem is rich in mystery. I immediately assumed the smoker was your mom. Then on a second reading, I thought, maybe, it was your dad. Gradually, you shared with us the mystery surrounding “the smoker” through lines like “I watched the quiet, the silence of you.” I love a poem that plants an image in my mind and leaves me with so many questions.
Dannnng Susie!! I smoked cigarettes because I longed to be like my mom but I never could have seen it this way. Wow, you continue to baffle and inspire my brain and heart. How do you do it?
“I watched the quiet, the silence of you,
and watching the quiet, measured silence of you…” This is literally pulling me in like an addiction.
Clapping and snapping!!?
I’ve been studying your words – caught up in – quiet draws held in – the way you insert words into the repeated phrase breaks the reader’s expectation, creating an air of mystery
Susie,
A flood of thoughts rushed through my mind as I read your duplex. I watched my mom smoke, and a favorite photo is of my dad w/ a cigarette hanging from his mouth and a toolbox in his right hand. He quit in 1963 because he didn’t want my brother to smoke and he worried about his example to his favorite child. I also thought about Billy Collins’s “The Last Cigarette.” A ribbon of cigarette smoke as a map is an unexpected image. Love it. It does seem as though smokers draw in a lung full of nicotine before responding. I wish I’d noticed that sooner. I love the incongruity of ideas in your poem, the way smoking effected your responses to the way it influenced you not to smoke.
Dear friends… I am so taken by the positive responses to this poem. Kim really put a tough one before us with this challenge. Yes, watching my mom smoking (my dad a ravenous smoker as well) gave me years of lessons… it weakened my mom’s heart and she died of a sudden heart attack when she was a year older than I am now.. Mom hated that she smoked, but it took her somewhere else…those long drafts… it lifted her away. We lived in such dire circumstance out in the middle of nowhere…she there trapped with five kids. She hated that she smoked and didn’t want any of us to ever take up the habit, but she could not sever that habit herself, though she tried. My dad brought cigarettes home to her. She was a very quiet, strong woman, who was, indeed, trapped by cigarettes, the farm where my dad planted us sight-unseen (while he drove back and forth to the city to work), not being able to drive, no plumbing, and we five kids. I spent a whole lot of time watching my mom. Loving her to bits, to ashes. Thank you dear ones so much… y’all keep me writing! Susie
Kim — Again, you’ve pushed me with Jericho Brown’s duplex. I have his book sitting here next to me (thanks to your recommendation a couple weeks ago…or was that Jennifer or Sarah (there goes yesterday’s prompt on remembering…LOL!). Your poem is so beautifully crafted to convey the “first one” vs “happier places” – that we know too well. Really thought the nature images of trees weakened and the Jenga tower… aah, so true! And I LOVE that “strong women” prevail. You bet! Thanks so much for the challenging prompt. This was hard. Susie
Wow, Kim! This is such a thought-provoking poem form. I have written about three since this morning, and I have some fodder for future topics too. I love the line in yours “But falls help plant firmer feet on the ground.” It has great rhythm and a depth that I love.
The one I chose to post is inspired from a quote in Glennon Doyle’s new book Untamed.
“It’s not the cruel criticism from folks who hate us that scares us away from our Knowing; it’s the quiet concern of those who love us.”
Quiet Concern
“It’s the quiet concern of those who love us”
That can put a lid on our dreams, ourselves
We dream trying to carve out our best self.
who we are and who we want to be.
But who we are is under layers of fear
that we won’t be who others want us to be
Why do we worry about what others want
we are the ones who live in our skin
Our skin can betray us in so many ways
Pink-tinged shame or faded bruises under sleeves
Shame and bruises caused from outside forces
It’s the inside that we live with every day.
I want to live with an inside that I love
Yet feel comfortable among the us.
Susan, your lines cause me to pause and consider what we can’t see that may be signs of deep pain.
Pink-tinged shame or faded bruises under sleeves
Shame and bruises caused from outside forces
(I recall the “cutting” dear students have done to deal with pain, so as to be not be seen as in pain.)
Wow!!!
Susan, the opening two lines of your poem are so thought-provoking. I often have to tell myself to “stop!” the inner voice picking away. “Our skin can betray us….Shame and bruises…” these two stanzas reveal so much or our inner selves, the struggles and pain we hid and that can be revealed in sometimes embarrassing ways. I too want “to live with an inside that I love”….such a perfect message. Thanks for sharing.
The opening couplet is so thought-provoking – others’ very best wishes for us, yet somewhat of a shackle…I love the words “I want to live with an inside that I love.” Is there anything more for any of us? Thank you for this.
Wow, Susan! When I attempted some paths with the Duplex form today, I played with the topic of acceptance of self and others, something that’s been burdening my heart lately. I couldn’t get it to come out. Now, I am glad I let it go. You have written this so brilliantly and seemingly with ease that it shows me what I wanted to read today. I absolutely love it.
The last two lines are exactly what I desire and what I need to read and feel:
“I want to live with an inside that I love
Yet feel comfortable among the us.”
Bravo Susan!
Susan,
You’ve spoken a sad truth in those first two lines:
“It’s the quiet concern of those who love us”
That can put a lid on our dreams, ourselves”
I wish I’d pushed against this even more than I did as a kid. Good job reaching to the tough topic in the lines about “shame and bruises.” These are haunting lines but important truths to acknowledge. Thank you.
—Glenda
Thank you, Kim! This was challenging, but fun. I had a couple of good lines rattling around my brain this morning, but then I read Renee Watson’s Some Places More Than Others. The line, “I have people to love,” really jumped out at me, so I used that as a starting point.
Inspired by Renee Watson’s Some Places More Than Others
I have people to love-yeah, I do
I don’t have time for spite or hate
I don’t have time for spite or hate
So many miracles all around
Grace, wisdom, are here, just look around
At time they can be so hard to see
Homelessness so common to see
Crushing poverty batters our hearts
Born to hold empathy in our hearts
So what, exactly are we to do?
Is it so important what you do?
The answers are inside already
The question is, are we all ready?
I have people to love, yeah, I do!
OOOoo, Mo — I really like this. You pose those questions that badger us, and the repetitions of the duplex really send forward the conundrums of those questions. I like the “I don’t have time for spite or hate.” You’re good! Finding “grace” is such a good message. I going to count this as my meditation for today. I really appreciate that voice. Thank you, Susie
Mo, I love the positive tone of your poem. It also has such a beautiful rhythm! The first and last lines perfectly frame your thought-provoking poem. I love the line “The answers are inside already”. Such a great read! Thanks for sharing!
Mo, dear Mo! This widsom in your questions moves me:
We know, right? We know what to do and yet it feel insufficient. Still, the last line of love says it all.
Sarah
Hi Mo, this poem resonates with me because it speaks to the peace that our lives CAN have, if only we allow it. I love this…
“I don’t have time for spite or hate
So many miracles all around”
Such an easy way to live. Looking for miracles all around, being in a place of grace.
I need to read this every morning. Thank you!
How to stick it to us, KIM!! I was totally intimidated by Brown’s poem, then yours, then all of the others that I read because I was completely blocked. so here it is… One of my co-teachers always refers to “productive struggle” as a goal in life. This certainly qualified!!
Choose Carefully
Each step commits you to the one that follows.
I did not know that at seventeen.
I did not know at seventeen how
my choices set my options in the game.
Each step forward moves you up one space
from who you were, until you are not the same…
Not ever the same; for there is no about-face
on the gameboard, reversals not permitted.
Reversals are not permitted. Roll your dice.
The paths that lay before you are restricted
by the ones you walked before. The paths behind
become your memories, and no more. The price
for choices is dear, my dear. Choose carefully,
for each step commits to the one that follows.
I did not know that at seventeen.
Well, Gayle — This is just dandy! It is a beautifully written piece. The rhymes work to emphasize the images. I particularly liked “roll the dice” and “price. And indeed, “there is no about-face”… such a solid message at 17…or any age. Your poem sent me thinking about the choices that lay before me when I was 17… I wish I’d had your poem… would I have taken heed. Hmmm. Thank you! Susie
Gayle,
I’m seeing a lot of similarities in where we were writing from today! I love your line: “The paths behind become your memories, and no more.” I also enjoyed your riff on Brown’s form 🙂
Gayle, oh, to know what we know now when we were 17! “The price for choices is dear, my dear.” Yes, each step does commit us to the ones that follow. This is prophetic in retrospect, and a nugget of gold for those who are young enough to heed its advice EARLY in the game!
To say creating the Duplex poem is not easy is an understatement. Thanks Kim & Sarah for challenging me to learn something new. Ethical ELA community, thanks for your support and beautiful poems. What can I write? Shall I give up? Nah! here is my offering.
Our love makes four walls a home.
We make traditions that are our own.
Memories, actions, reflections – traditions- our own:
Kids jumping on trampolines and blowing on dandelions.
Amaze blowing inward not on the dandelions.
Dandelions scattering, flying, making her laugh.
Dandelions scattering, flying & that crescendo of tinkling laugh,
tinkles spreading, reaching us, settling deep in our heart.
Though years have passed, the memory still swells my heart
That smile, that laugh, that joy, of an innocent child.
No need to fancy toys or a big bouncy cart for a joyful child,
The Child makes own world. Do choose to enter & make memories.
It does not take much to make a precious memories.
Just our child, some dandelion, a moment and Our Love.
Purviben—the dandelion flowing through your poem adds lightness and peace.
and isn’t that what memories should bring us—light, joy, and peace? Beautiful memory, and beautiful poem.
Yesterday, Buddy (the) Bandit was trying to get some dandelions. He is facinated by it blowing on it. Its fun watching him. It also reminded me the kids blowing on them and jumping on trampoline.
Purviben, I love the line “Amaze blowing inward not on the dandelions.” I picture the years that have passed as the dandelion petals dispersing in the wind.
Laura,
what was facinating to me was that she was sucking the breath in rather than blowing on it. I guess 2 year olds think differently, ya?
Trampolines and dandelions. Everything about those two things is the essence of this poem. I love it because here I am stressing about how to make sure my little one stays entertained and happy and engaged and educated over the coming summer months, and all I need are dandelions and a trampoline…and that final word!
Amber,
You are going to have a blst over the summer. I suggest get two or more mini trampolines so they can jump from one to other 🙂
My sister and I had 5 houses in between us. Our kiddos had fun playsets/ swingsets as gymnastic devices, hanging off the cloteslines and making fort, drawing outdoors and just being kids.
Lot of hands free time and fenced backyard in small time sure helps kids contained.
Wish you and your little ones (and big ones ) an awesome summer.
your words create a physical sensation – so much movement, large and small – some sounds and a variety of visual images, like a brief film clip – lovely
There is something with dandelions and kids.
all my friends’ itty Bitties love blowing on them and running after the scattering stars. It is joy just to see them running, laughing and being kids.
“Amaze blowing inward not on the dandelions” is such a brilliant turn of phrase that reminds us of the pure joys of childhood. I like your encouragement to us to “choose to enter & make memories.”
I can still see her. With my eyes open. years have pased but the memories is still fresh. Is it what is called love?
Thanks everyone for your kind comments.
Amaze is my Mother’s day gift. She just completed foorst year of pre-architecture program. I can still see her, the tiny one blowing inward raather than outward on Dandelions and wondering, trying to catch the little starts and giggling.
Re: Trampoline – we had multiple small trampolines. All four of our kids – 2 of mine and 2 of my sister’s- used to jumpfrom one to another. Think of 4 toddlers jumping, sometimes doubling and tripling on mini trampolines. How I wish we could have bottled up that giggles. The 2ndoldest tyke just graduated high school . How time flies.
As soon as I heard that Jericho Brown won the Pulitzer, I ordered the book, The Tradition. His poetry has come across my radar quite a bit lately. I am drawn to the duplex form and want to write one. I had saved the instructions in a Google doc. There’s an art to the circling of the lines that intrigues. Kim, your poem is a wonderful mentor text for the form. Thanks for this prompt.
What a challenge! I have The Tradition on my Kindle, so now I’ll have to read it. Clicking through the links on the Poetry Foundation page was really fascinating.
I decided to just write it through and put it here. A first draft and I got a bit of inspiration from your first line, Kim. My husband and I are due to move back to the US at the end of December. We aren’t always sure what the future holds, so I guess that’s on my mind today.
Kim, your poem is telling and rich and makes me want to know that strong woman more. My favorite–“firm feet forge new paths to happier places.”
Ok, here goes…My Duplex poem (even though I totally forgot about that duplex part Brown described)
What if we never make it back home?
Will the sky remain blue and the sea tranquil?
The sky will be blue and the sea tranquil.
And the hope in our souls will not be lost.
Hope and love and joy will not be lost.
Even if one of us gets sick and dies?
No, even if one or both get sick and die.
The flowers would flourish, birds will call
Remember the blossoms and birds will call
They won’t be susceptible to viruses
Our cells can be infected with viruses
Might Covid give our nation’s soul a cleansing?
Maybe, but I need my own soul’s cleansing.
It may be a deep journey to get back home.
Wow.
When you say…. even one of us get sick and die, you capture the trepidation, the worry and general anxiety across the world. The cleansing of the soul, the pause, the new normal has come across beautifully in your poem.
Wishing you all the best for a fruitful journey and many more years of sharing your joy with the world
Purviben
@Trivediziemba
Your poem resonates with the longing to return as well as the fear of what may come. Your ending, “Maybe, but I need my soul’d own cleansing” expresses your resolve to make it through whatever happens.
Denise—your questions pierced my heart—the longing, the anxiety—and then your replies comforted me. My favorite lines—
The sky will be blue and the sea tranquil.
And the hope in our souls will not be lost.
We all wish that the hope in our souls will not be lost. I’m so glad to get to know you here in our small poetry world…
Denise — I’d say you nailed this duplex beautifully. I like how your couplets work so well as units. Like a call and response. The hopefulness of this is lovely. “flower would flourish, birds will call” and the reality of COVID having its limits…despite that cruelties that bombard the news and our lives. I appreciate that hope a TON! Thank you. Susie
Denise,
I think you captured some important components of the duplex: the new meaning in the first and 14th lines for one, and the connections from lime to line. I love that you wrote about COVID-19 as a cleansing and as a separation from home. Our approaches are not so dissimilar. Well done. Thank you.
—Glenda
Thank you for this new challenge! I set a timer and sat down, complete with anxiety. Done and done!
The writing challenge of a new style
What if I choke and cannot write
If I choke and cannot write
Will I be a failure in my own eyes
In my own eyes, I am a poet
With all the foibles that comes with
The foibles that comes with being a poet
Include possible failure every time I pick up a pen
Every time I pick up a pen, I am open to anxiety
Anxiety in the form of what if’s
What if I cannot write the damn poem
What if I choke and cannot write
…and then you did! (write, that is…) I think your poem spoke the anxiety each one of us felt as we approached this tricky prompt. Bravo for putting it out so perfectly!
Judi, you’ve somehow managed to capture anxiety and humor in the same poem. I love the line, “In my own eyes, I am a poet.” Maybe because it’s so relatable! You are making me think of all the things I am in my own eyes!
Judi,
You could not have described my struggle any better, especially today. I love Kim’s poem and the prompt but doubted I could do it justice. I’ve been processing it all day and your words captured my feelings so well, especially the line, “What if I choke and cannot write.” You are so talented my friend.
a fun personal monologue – the writer’s struggle – though the form provides a lyric to your struggle
My tribute to Yosemite’s Clouds Rest.
Clouds Rest
By: Emily Yamasaki
Mountains are calling, it starts a whisper
a siren’s call, even city folk can’t ignore
a siren’s call, even us city folk won’t ignore
it fills your ears, your chest, your gut, your heart
like a shiny thread, tugging on the strings in your heart
you march dutifully upward, rising
only your breath can be heard, heat rising
sweat beads up, calves lock up, eyes turned up
pushing onward to the peak – up, up, up
it starts a whisper, mountains are calling
Good morning Emily,
Oh what a glorious picture this poem paints for me. If I could be there, I would take it all in and listen. This is such a beautiful piece honoring Yosemite! “It starts a whisper, mountains are calling.” Wondrous!
I so admire those of you who crafted a poem that flows so naturally from start to finish, all while circling back to that first line. I appreciate that you reversed the order of that first line in the last as well. Yosemite is one of the most majestic places I have been. It appears you did the climb (admire you for that!) and that you felt the majesty too.
I love the metaphors you use – they are so emotional! Your poem resonates with the Duplex style!! Loved it!
Emily, how nice. I went straight to images to see Clouds Rest because I had not heard of that before. When I saw the beautiful images, your poem was even better. “like a shiny thread, tugging on the strings in your heart / you march dutifully upward, rising.” I like the sirens calling the city who can’t, won’t ignore the call. The first and last lines are powerful and effective. This is a lovely tribute to a special place for you.
Emily, what a beautiful ode to the mountains. I love your imagery of the siren’s call and the shiny thread–I can feel the pull.
Ooh boy – trying for the first time & this one’s a doozy. I took the advice to set a time and accept “good enough” – and then I found that I really enjoyed it. I immediately thought of the regular gatherings my friends and I had pre-covid19 and then I was off…
Friends
What I miss the most is our unbridled laughter
at the absurdity of our lives.
The absurdity of our lives
defined by roles: mom, wife, employee
Defined by roles: mom, wife, employee
when together we were much more us than them
Together, we were much more us than them:
Building, destroying, knitting, cursing, crying.
Building, destroying, knitting, cursing, crying
we were authentic, unfettered, loud.
We were authentic, unfettered, loud
talking truth, taking up space together.
Talking truth, we took up space together.
What I miss the most is our unbridled laughter.
Amanda, I really enjoyed your poem! It is very relatable! Oh how I too miss the “unbridled laughter” and the time we share taking “up space together” with our friends. Thank you! Susan
Wow and Wow! You nailed it! Such beautiful thoughts and emotions you pulled out of me . . . . thank you!
Susan, I can see why you enjoyed writing this. Hopefully you will share it somehow with these authentic and special friends. What I’m seeing after reading only a few of these poems is how much I love the repetition of the first line at the end. It just brought your room full of friends, loud and unfettered, “us” to a complete circle of unbridled laughter. I feel like I’m in the room with you all, for this moment. Beautiful.
Oh, yes, Amanda!! “ Together, we were much more us than them:” is so real. I finally got together with one of my dear friends after these months of isolation, and the laughter, and loudness, and honesty restored my soul. Your poem captures all of that joy and that comfort.
Amanda — You hammered this one! Well done! It reads so smoothly, and I just wanted to go out and hug buddies… well… from a distance, of course. The power of the friends is really strong — powerful voice! “building, destroying, knitting, cursing, crying” and “unfettered, loud” and “unbridled laughter.” Yea! Really terrific sense of can-do and strength! Thank you! Susie
Amanda,
I’m late to the party today, so I hope you circle back around. I’m glad to see you back. I love your celebration of friendship. Love learning you knit. I think that surprised me. Love the “so much more ya than them” and the unity it celebrates. Thank you.
—Glenda
Happy Sunday, Kim. Thank you for a real writing challenge this morning. I enjoyed reading more about Duplex and Jericho Brown. Your poem resonates with me because of my own path/journey that finally led me to “happier places/where smiles and laughter flood those places…” I always appreciate reading about struggle that ends with victory. Lord knows we all need to be victorious after the “falls” in life. Beautiful!
Another reason I love this community of writers and teachers is that I ALWAYS learn something new. Thus, I need more practice on this form, but it was fun to work with it anyway. To get my poem started, I borrowed the line (Color of a rash, symptoms of sickness) from Jericho’s Duplex: Cento.
Symptoms of Sickness
By Stacey L. Joy, © May 17, 2020
Color of a rash, a symptom of sickness
Earth’s rotting heart cries for healing and love
Praying human pause brings healing and love
Masks hide smiles and warmth in plastic gloves
Did God want us hidden for earth’s healing?
While squeezing hatred out, the pus from our cores?
While squeezing hatred out of bigots and fools
We scratch and bleed and shed salty tears
God draws near, listens and collects our tears
Giving us quiet time, alone and safe
Quiet time to write, create, begin anew
A renaissance for body, soul, and mind
Body, soul, and mind stop mourning the past
Color of a rash, a symptom of sickness
Wow, Stacey. I know that this was a challenging form but you make it look seamless in its uncovering and disrupting of symptoms.
These lines are beautiful to utter but also offer imagery of the hands from prayer moving into the very tactile object of gloves that cover.
Hugs,
Sarah
“Did God want us hidden for earth’s healing?
While squeezing hatred out, the pus from our cores?”
Stacy—Holy Moley! Those two lines punched me in the gut. What an apt description of the ugliness that is our country today. Let’s just hope that your conclusion to the poem is part of our reality going forward…
Stacey, I’m so glad you enjoyed creating with this new form! It took me several attempts to find a topic and poem that I could share. I LOVE the way you used a line from Jericho Brown as a borrowed line for inspiration. It is beautiful, and so timely with all that we are experiencing in the world right now.
When I read your poem I thought, “Ooh! That’s my favorite line,” but then I kept reading. Then I thought the same thing again, and again, and again. So powerful, girl!
Stacey,
I love your duplex and the way it acknowledges the sicknesses in our country but also offers beauty and healing in writing. Thank you.
—Glenda
Kim, thank you for introducing me to a new poet and poetic style! It was a fun way to experiment and modify the sonnet form.
You poem is so powerful – I love how the fall transforms to, “firm feet forge new paths to happier places “!
Misnomer
Did you know that French horns are from Germany?
Sometimes we call things by the wrong name.
Sometimes our labels impose the wrong name.
Benign or malignant, labels matter.
Shooting stars are meteors – flaming matter.
You can’t dial a wrong number on an iPhone.
A young writer looked up from her iPhone
And calmly said, “This is a word salad.”
Who doesn’t like a fresh crunchy salad
with ingredients that complement the whole?
What makes a Waldorf salad whole?
It’s the apples and walnuts and celery, right?
You may not like it; that’s your right.
Sometimes we call things by the wrong name.
Shaun,
So, so clever. I love how you upend what seem to be paradoxes but only because we haven’t given thought to how labels cover rather than disrupt common sense notions — texture, partiality, the naming, just the way we conceptualize. So good!
Sarah
Shaun, your misnomer poem made me smile. I love these lines
The poem speaks to so much more than the meteors, the horns, the iphones, the Waldorf salads – all without even naming it. Thank you for sharing this!
Shaun,
I am bowled over 🙂 I am scratching my head to get around the duplex poem and you made it seem so accessible, enjoyable and easy to devour. Yes we call things by wrong name – just as French Fries is an American cuisine and Gangi , the great river, is pronounced Ganga all across the India.
Best wishes.
Purviben
@TrivediZiemba
Shaun—I have gone back and reread this three times now. you flow from one misnomer to the next with such ease that I had to separate them in order to appreciate each one on its own.benign or malignant, labels matter. ain’t that the truth! Loved this poem!
Shaun, I love the idea of a word salad! What a compelling way to think about the misnomers and why we call things what we call them. I love the line, “You may not like it; that’s your right.” I’m shouting Amen to so much about that line (and I do happen to like Waldorf salad).
Shaun,
Very clever duplex. Love the title. Love the way you flip “This is word salad” to the question, “Who doesn’t like a fresh, crunchy salad.” That line makes me embrace all the confusion language often poses. Fantastic duplex. Thank you.
—Glenda
Kim, the ghazal is a new one. Thanks for expanding our understanding of what a poem can be. Here’s mine for today.
What’s the Cost?
We write poems of friendships we have lost.
Now we see and count the cost.
Did we value them as we should?
Spending time with them when we could?
When the phone rang that last time,
Did we answer or keep searching for rhyme?
We wrote because we had a deadline,
Ignoring them did not seem that unkind.
Did we listen to the sound,
but didn’t put the pen down?
“My friends understand”, we say, but do they?
They know our passion. It’s just our way.
It’s just our way of coping with life
It’s just our way of dealing with strife.
The strife that cuts through like a knife,
Severing bonds between husband and wife.
Now we see as we count the cost
Mourning in poems the friends we have lost.
Anna,
Your beautiful poem raises a good concern. Are we listening and replying to our loved ones? In this rapid response, social media time, the easy accessibility has made us blasse about recognizing the fragile threads of relationships. Rather than the anticipation of talking to loved ones, we can pick up a phone, text a message or video chat easily. BUT are we present? Are we not checking mails and browsing rather than connecting, 100% ?
Thanks for the reminder to stop, pause and connect.
Best wishes.
Purviben
@TrivediZiemba
“Mourning in poems the friends we have lost.” That gives me serious pause. How often are we so busy with our work and our lives and our writing that we forget the ones we write about>. Food for thought, Anna. Food for thought…
Anna, I am so guilty of not putting the pen down…… I am guilty of hearing the sound but not listening, not responding. Thank you for this message today!
My partner has worked every day in a factory-warehouse since COVID-19 began, and he has planted a few Nelly Stevens near our home. I wanted to spend some time today thinking about his hands.
Dirt under nails is a communion.
It reveals a bond in its darkness.
Intimacy in residue darkness
hands embrace past traces of ash.
Uncovering the forgotten, sifting sable ash,
counting lost elements and buried parts,
labor uncovers rubble, fractured parts,
blistered palms splay roots, gouge gravel.
Gentle lather coats knuckles, jars loose gravel
like a river nudges a pebble from its bed.
Like a river nudges a pebble from its bed,
earth intimacy resists, residue remains
to tell the story of working hands.
Dirt under nails is a communion.
The first two lines here are incredibly evocative for me. My grandfather worked a “dirty” job (his words!) till the end of his life & prided himself on the dirt embedded under his nails and in the creases of his hands. My grandmother made him scrub clean for church, but sometimes the dirt stayed. Your first two lines took me right back to those moments.
I also appreciated the phrase “jars loose gravel” which I read multiple times – I love that “loose” can be read with “jars loose” or “loose gravel” – it felt to me like the line reflected the movement of the gravel.
“Dirt under nails is a communion” is. a provocative line. I want to know more about these hands and what important work they do. I think of how working in the dirt gives us a connection to our Mother Earth.
My favorite lines: “ labor uncovers rubble, fractured parts,/blistered palms splay roots, gouge gravel.” The words, ending with that alliteration, settled in me. Dirt under the nails is really a communion—one I had never considered before…
Wow, you have turned manual labor into a sermon. So many gorgeous phrases and powerful word choice. I love this switch from the blisters and story of the hard work. The switch to the gentle quiet of cleaning up after a job well done:
Thank you, Sarah, for modeling how such a simple topic can become a sermon to your readers.
Concrete Smiles
Smiles are a gesture of acceptance and love
Until one covers hypocrisy and hate
Hypocrisy and hate become red concrete
Placing blame on violent dead victims
Blaming victims who are no longer living
Satisfies the big shots in tuxedos
Tuxedos never see shoes hanging on clothes lines
Guarding corners of boxed in concrete lives
Watchful blue jays shield danger within those lines
As their walls conceal the privilege without
Privileged walls hide hateful hypocrisy while
Smiles are a gesture of acceptance and love
It’s not what I want yet, but thanks go to Donte Collins, Angie Thomas, and Ralph Ellison.
Laura,
I am draw in by the paradox of “concrete smiles” and then the imagery of “Tuxedos never see shoes hanging on clothes lines” and “watchful blue jays” invite me to really think about perspective and the stories in corners and beyond walls.
Sarah
Laura—Your symbolism is spot on. The concrete walls and the contrast to the tuxedos that don’t see the shoes on the line. The juxtaposition is wonderful.
Laura,
The title, then the opening lines are so startlingly poetic as you encapsulate the phonies we’ve been and the phoniness we’ve experienced.
Smiles are a gesture of acceptance and love
Until one covers hypocrisy and hate
Of course, your poem rips off the masks and challenges us to be more honest. Just what we need in these times…feeling compassion from others so we can be honest about our feelings, and experiencing the respect of others so we can honestly express ourselves to them.
Thanks for the double dose: information and inspiration.
Oh, Laura! “Tuxedos never see shoes hanging on clothes lines” steals my heart and takes my breath…..”guarding corners of boxed in concrete lives.” Wow! The concrete smile- – a new way of thinking about hate and hypocrisy. This form, the Duplex, is magic in your fingers.
Laura, thank you for sharing. Your words are powerful and important, difficult yes, but we must speak about these concrete fortresses and who gets protection. Hypocrisy, privilege. Thank you for speaking up.
I like your end note: “It’s not what I want yet…” tells us you are going to keep working on it.
oooooooh, Kim this was a toughie….but I love tough challenges! Sincerely, I do. What I appreciate in your poem is that it came from a beloved song. And, I like that image of strong women knowing what to do.
I used a quote from President Obama’s address to 2020 graduates last night.
and,
I went there. Sorry guys. This might be triggering. I feel better for having written it.
The Duplex We Live in
alive to one another’s struggles
standing for one another’s rights.
Standing for one another’s rights
being hope bringing warrior love
Parade in celebration – with love
brave, covered smiling faces
A sack of groceries for faces
of brothers, sisters in our midst
of this sickness looming amidst
men murdered jogging alone
women murdered not alone
but in a mistaken home at night
stateless children for a thousand nights
is not who we are it isn’t right
Linda,
You have me thinking about the collective “we” pronoun here and the way this word asks us to think about positions as perpetrator, bystander, and victim– ways that we are implicated in action and inaction, knowing and ignorance.
Sarah
The line “stateless children for a thousand nights” makes my mind spin off in all different directions, as if the poem grows larger rather than smaller near the end. I also appreciate how you use this form to delve into this important thinking. The duplex form seems to lead to that, I think.
Linda, go there! I love this poem and the inspiration. The comparison of the start “alive to one another’s struggles
standing for one another’s rights.” and the end “is not who we are it isn’t right” really brings your poem’s message to center stage. Thank you for sharing this.
This is a powerful poem. It reads with a conviction and anger that I think many of us feel these days. It isn’t right.
Bravo, Linda! I am so glad that you “went there.” Such powerful lines – “of this sickness looming amidst/men murdered jogging alone/women murdered not alone/but in a mistaken home at night.” We are in a world of pain. Thank you for these beautiful words.
Kim, there’s something about struggling with a new concept that forces us to dig deep. Today’s Duplex poem does exactly that. I pushed into Jericho’s background behind the form, thereby discovering the line to begin my own and borrowed from him (the trouble of a wall between us) and the concept of the couplets being a house with two addresses. And so I began. Your duplex deepens with each reading (maybe two readings are required in a duplex). We understand that jenga game so much more and the beetle weakened tree and the nuances found there in that second reading. I love that your piece courses into hope and that there is so much truth in those last two lines.
The Trouble of a Wall Between Us
Yesterday, I have lived in two addresses
while dwelling in one house with you.
While dwelling in one house with you,
we built sugar-bagged bunkers and spoken walls.
Carefully arranged photos looked on from those walls,
each room, kitchen, bedroom, its own battle zone.
We travelled rooms, entered separate time zones:
mountain-specific spaces key-locked by time.
Memories of our once-upon-a-time,
the fairytales now grown, graying, and wrinkled,
the stories we told wandered and wrinkled,
the forgotten lies now steam-pressed til gone.
Today we traverse one passage long gone
from yesterday. I have lived in two addresses.
Jennifer,
I find myself reading and re-reading this poem wanting more, wanting to hear the poems that are in the white spaces between the stanzas — isn’t that what poetry does, make space for what is not said.
The imagery and sound in these lines is gorgeous and moving with color and texture and weight.
Sarah
Jennifer, your poem is so intriguing and thought-provoking. The actions and details cause me to reflect on how we can build invisible walls but also create walls through our everyday things. I especially enjoyed “the stories we told wandered and wrinkled, the forgotten lies now steam-pressed til gone”…wow! Your poem is so richly layered with action and sharp images. I am so impressed with your creative genius.
Jennifer, how insightful! There are so many ways of interpreting this, but it resonates with me having been a stranger in my own home for so many years with “the donor.” Those separate time zones under the same roof are so real. “Memories of our once-upon–time, the fairytales now grown, graying, and wrinkled,” is a beautiful and compelling truth. Thank you for sharing this today. I love how this form worked so seamlessly for you.
Kim, I LOVE that you used Jericho Brown’s style for inspiration! Love, love, love this! We studied him and his writing in AP Literature this year.
That makes me happy to know! I would love to see if he has any upcoming readings in Atlanta. I look forward to reading more of his work.
My lines are from “That’s the Way the World Goes Round” by John Prine.
It’s half an inch of water and you think
You’re gonna drown, that’s the way the world goes ’round.
You’re gonna drown, that’s the way the world goes ’round;
Take one last breath, one last look at those you love.
Hold that last breath, cling to that vision of love.
Even the most pious among us will swear.
Piety faltering under god, we swear,
And find ways to nest among mortals.
Hidden among these nesting mortals,
We commit to nothing except scolding.
Our commitments bloom into scolding,
Raging against one another’s fears.
We ravage against one another’s fears.
It’s half an inch of water and you think.
D, each of your lines builds naturally into the next. I never felt as if one line jarred us as readers away from the narrative you created. I love the line “and find ways to nest among mortals.” Nest brings so much with it (homes, and shelter, and hunkering down, brief busyness). You lead us from your first line and leave us to our own thoughts with the last.
Whoa, D! These lines:
I am just awe of the flower imagery here that is becoming and taking shape leading into the last line “half an inch of water” — it has such volume and economy.
Peace,
Sarah
D. Hill, I love the way each line just flows so beautifully and easily to the next. Reading the poem out loud is natural and each line sits so well on the tongue. These lines spoke so loudly to me
And the clear imagery of a half an inch of water just so awesomely begins and ends your piece.
some words can’t be found to be spoken
i know it feels this world, broken
i see this world, it merely seems broken
and a duplex like this, mere poetic token
but poems like these are not tokens
they’re like canapés or cakes, broken open
breaking open for us to dig inside, hard and oaken
like words, bound tight, but barely spoken
This is some tight rhyme! The fluidity of the lines… I despise lower case I, but love it here – it makes perfect sense and leaves the connectedness of letter to word to concept uninterrupted. There is a trickery to this line, “and a duplex like this, mere poetic token” which at first had me thinking the poet is mocking the form, but then immediately reverses on that thought with the following line. The line “they’re like canapés or cakes, broken open” is a stunner because of the use of “broken open,” which sounds hard, with such soft objects as food. Lovely choice.
I wondered about the lower case, too, and went back and forth, and can’t quite explain why it felt right as it was … the rhyming was fun, but challenging
Kevin
So I read this, and immediately thought whoa! I can’t write today. I felt intimidated by both this form and the strength of your piece: its tight construction, the unforced rhymes, the beauty of the un-token poem as a canape to be broken open and the cycling back to the first line, which happens naturally. Well done!
Oh, I hope you kept writing … but thank you for the kind words.
Kevin
Kevin,
I so enjoy knowing that people are up early crafting poems, thinking about Jericho and the Drake.
Your poem is just lovely, and the imagery of cakes not perfect with frosting or fancy like the cable reality TV shows but broken open and welcoming us to “dig inside.”
Peace,
Sarah
Thank you. The early morning hours are my writing moments …
Kevin
Kevin, it is good to see you in this space, with your musical poem today. I want to hear you read this aloud, a spoken word poem. I like the image of breaking poems open, hard and oaken. We have to dig for the treasures in words barely spoken. Beautiful thoughts in your early morning verse.