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
In The Right Words at the Right Time by Marlo Thomas, celebrities and famous personalities share their stories about how prophetic words delivered at pivotal moments helped shape the course of their future. For example, Shaquille O’Neal’s mother’s guiding words to him were, “Later doesn’t always come to everybody.”
Process
Consider the people whose words were your guiding lights in direction and decision making. How did they help you make an important decision or to see things from a more clarifying perspective?
Challenge: Raise a Glass to the Literary Avant-Garde by writing a “Right Words at the Right Time” verse.
Kim’s Poem
The Greatest Gift
Saturday, December 22, 1984
the letter arrived
dated
Wednesday, December 19, 1984
from 13-year-old
Tolliver,
whose world was as dark
as his skin.
“Hi, Kimberly,
This is your friend,
Tolliver.”
Tolliver
from Camp Leo for the Blind,
where I’d been a counselor that summer.
Tolliver
who lived in the inner-city
with a disabled mother
and a recently deceased father
and 4 sighted brothers and sisters.
Tolliver
who had tucked a one dollar bill
inside the letter, wishing me
a Merry Christmas
as I read his gut-punching news
through blinding tears,
Christmas tree lights twinkling
across the room,
the merriment of music losing.
“What do I do with this?” I asked Dad,
a minister
with all the right answers
in 1984.
“Let me think,” he said,
taking the envelope.
Sunday, December 23, 1984
from the Pulpit:
Sermon – The Greatest Gifts of Christmas,
closing story
“Hi, Kimberly,
This is your friend
Tolliver,”
Dad read,
sharing snippets
of passages to
eyes filling with tears,
sniffles echoing.
He turned to me
with his answer:
“You keep it.
It’s the greatest gift you’ve
ever gotten
because it came
from deep within the heart
of the giver
when it was
all
he had to give.”
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.
Long crazy day and a very late post. See you all in June!
When I Don’t Listen
Stacey L. Joy, ©May 20, 2020
Anna and I
Sat across from each other
Sisterfriends
Summer lunch date
Time to catch up
Check in
Laugh
Listen
Talk
“I don’t know if I can take it anymore.”
Furrowed brow
And face focused
On me
Because my words
Tumbled out unplanned
“You don’t have to take it.
You can make it without him.
Girl, don’t you know who you are?
As soon as you realize your strength
You will be fine.”
She sipped
Slowly swallowed
And stared into my eyes
The same way my mother did
28 years prior
when she pleaded,
“You are from different sides of the track.
You won’t be able to grow together.
Why do you want to marry someone
Who doesn’t have goals like you?”
I didn’t listen
I made careless heart decisions
In spite of what I knew
I’ve never done what people expected
It took 29 years and 11 months
To realize my strength
And end it.
My mother and Anna were right.
And I knew it long ago.
Stacey, your mom and Anna know you through and through, and they know your ambition – your dreams, your drive, your determination. I’m so glad you listened. I look around this farm at so many trees standing in the shadows of other trees, not growing to their full potential because of the restricting trees. When we thin the bigger trees, the smaller ones are able to stretch skyward and grow and thrive. I’m so glad you have room to do the same now.
I love these two lines: “Girl, don’t you know who you are?” Which cuts right to the quick of the speaker’s denial, which this friend has witnessed, and this friend knows who the speaker is and is pushing the limits with this question. And “As soon as you realize your strength” again because it’s the girlfriend who knows the speaker’s strength, validates its existence, and, like the mentor, simply points it out to the speaker with the word “realize.” What a powerful word choice.
Stacey — You make so clear the power of those words “Girl, don’t you know who you are…realize your strength…” and the reality of what we a ready to hear. Those word seeds planted, though, are spilled out of love and caring — that part you heard, you knew. Not that we can always act on what we know until we finally do. I thank heavens for a close friend who had similar words with me back when I couldn’t really hear them. They stayed with me in a totally invisible way that helped me to the other side, in what seems the same kind of way that you waded through. Dang, it is amazingly hard to “realize…strength,” but you did and all of us around you in your shared poetic words hear that strong voice every time we open the screen to read your poems. The intimacy of the conversation between you and Anna was especially poignant… in short, seemingly simple lines, you laid down a gigantic friendship…the power of words. Amazing. My favorite lines:
That image just really moved me. When I read this poem and think about the video of you dancing and chanting in your classroom, I just see all that strength and love working its magic. You really are quite something! Just love you, girl. Susie
Wiping tears. Thank you, sweet friend!
Thanks for a wonderful week of writing, Kim!
One of those days that begged for a haiku:
Your words of wisdom
Not constructed from letters
But instead by choices.
Laura, a Haiku is so simply perfect here – – the act of showing and not just telling wisdom is a wonderful role model in a mentor and guide! Beautiful.
This could be a reminder on your desk
Haiku are the simplest looking form on the planet, but so difficult to get just right. This one looks the simple form but hits hard. Just right! What works so well is “words,” “letters” and “constructed,” “choice” – all of which speak to the rhetorical form of writing. But the key word that overarches is “wisdom” and the “instead” which points to choices being made – wisely. Sweet haiku!
my father
I was lucky enough to have two parents –
two devoted parents.
Growing up my parents assumed two
distinctive roles.
My father taught me to drive.
My father helped me write papers in high school,
write my college essays,
write my first resume.
Basically any task which involved patience.
Yea, he pressed his right hand into the dashboard
when he wished I pressed the brake with my foot.
And when he helped me with my writing he’d say,
“Jamie, write it the way you would say it.”
Words that still ring in my ears when I struggle moving
words around in a sentence.
As we sat at the kitchen table days before I would be leaving
to move to D.C. after graduating from college;
he helping me craft my first resume,
and he shared, “you’ll never be hired for a job you can’t do.”
I think of that still. A boost to my confidence before an interview.
When my daughters apply for a job, and I’m coaching them for the interview,
I share those words.
Have you ever been hired for a job you can’t do?
So sweet. Lovely words from him and you.
Jamie, your dad gave you the gift of style and voice in your writing. I wish more students knew to “write it like you would say it,” and what a great reminder for teachers as we read our students’ writing: hear it like they would say it. It’s funny how we hear Eeyore in some of our students, and in others we hear Eloise in the Plaza Hotel. From lack of tone to tone that can hardly be contained on the page – – sheer sass in some and lethargic apathy in others. What great advice he gave you! You were blessed with a father who shaped and molded a strong daughter.
OMgosh. I know that “hand on the dashboard”! That was my dad! The relationship descriptions here provide me with a clear sense of the father’s personality. There is a kindness, a nurturing, but also a firmness necessary in mentoring. And what a great sentiment – you’ll never be hired for a job you can’t do – it’s both encouraging and grounding. I am definitely going to be borrowing those words to share with my students!
Thank you Kim for a wonderful week of writing! It has been very inspirational and a huge, necessary distraction to the official last week of school. The Greatest Gift reminds me of some of the gifts I have received from students over the years, each a treasure!
Susan, aren’t we blessed to not only have students who are treasures but also to have this group of supportive friends who always build us up and inspire us right when we need it most? I always find myself counting the days down to the next Open Write and the euphoria it brings each month.
This is from the words of my father…
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this!
What is this?
Coronavirus? Covid 19?
I tell ya… I was born in 1931…
You say you have never seen anything like this!
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this!
Back in the day I had to wear handy down clothes
I was the only boy so sometimes I wore my sister’s dresses
Relatives came to stay with us because they lost their homes and needed food
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this!
Back in the day I got Polio
Had to repeat the second grade
My playmate died from Polio we got it the same day
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this!
Back in the day I was about to graduate from high school
My momma was in the the garden and had a stroke
She never woke up, then she passed
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this!
Back in the day I was excited to marry my high school sweetheart
The one that lost her mom to TB when she was 18 months old
Then I got the notice about my draft
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this!
Back in the day I served in the Korean War
When in the middle of the night I was bombed in my barracks
I also got Malaria
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this!
There may have been lots of hills and valleys in my life
Overall I have so much to be grateful for
Now we are here, huddled in our home and counting our blessings!
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this!
Susan, I can see your father and hear his voice in this piece. This is terrific! He has seen a lot of life and felt the times of despair – – and yet, I look around and look back over my lifetime and can’t agree with him more. Perfect words to preserve in the time of Covid!
Oh my gosh, Susan, this is brilliant1 The repetition of your father’s words is powerful here, delivering the reality that he has indeed seen something like this! And there have been lots of “like this” in the lives of those who came before us. The bread lines, the rationing, the death toll of the Dust Bowl. While Covid is, indeed, a horror that rattles me everyday, I know how lucky I am. And your poem rings so loud and clear the respect for what your dad’s words made evident. Seriously, I LOVE this poem. I want to share it with some friends of mine… if that’s okay. I’m glad I came back the morning to read the late posts. Hugs, Susie
Hi Kim,
This week of writing with you has been so much fun and challenging too. I’m disappointed in my schedule for writing this week though, finding myself consumed in zoom, students’ work, meetings, and end of school business. I don’t like writing late mainly because my brain is on 15% and also because if I haven’t had time to read poems and comment, I feel like such a jerk.
Your poem today touched a place in my heart that I don’t think has been touched before. I can’t imagine how that must’ve felt to receive that letter, and I totally get it that you’d ask your all-knowing father what to do. Wow. My favorite line:
Honored to be writing along with you this week. Thanks for all the great prompts! Now I hope to write before my eyes glaze over.
Stacey, your poem today was fabulous – my 100% brain can’t do what yours can do on 15%! I understand your frustration – – I have been back at work this week and have felt limited in my ability to comment as fully as I would like to comment. Thank goodness for this group – – the kinship and fellowship we share in this safe space is a salve for the soul.
Professor Hubner’s Words
I was a mess
watching The Young and the Restless when I should
have been in class
playing pinball when
I should have been studying
eating my roommate’s pizza
and lying about it
not reading the chapter
and lying about it
self-loathing and self-destructing
losing and lost
The pit
was
dark.
Dr. Hubner
ran purple mimeographed
copies of my essay
then read it aloud
as my classmates
scratched
in the margins.
I remember
where I was sitting,
the smell of the polished
oak floors,
light filtering in from the northern windows,
when I realized
what she was saying:
my writing
had worked.
Her words
found me
and gave me a
handhold
I clung tight
and began
the climb
up and out
toward
the
light.
Allison — Beautiful poem. I love your last stanza: “Her words/found me/and gave me a/handhold…” I can totally relate to that feeling of recognition when a teacher/mentor sees something in you that you didn’t see in yourself.
Allison, I love reading your story as it feels so close to mine. One professor, Dr. McKim, had the special sauce and turned my severe lack of motivation into highest drive I may have ever known. I especially connect to the third stanza because of the specific details you associate with this life-changing moment.
Allison, I love the way you capture the moment with raw honesty of confessions (we scheduled classes around General Hospital – – we’d take an 8:00 a.m. class just to be able to be back in the dorm at 3:00!) and then bring us to the sensory details of light and smell and feeling – – climbing mountains! You are a master of sharing the moment and reaching to a place and pulling out something we can all identify with. Oh, those days…….eating stolen pizza and not reading chapters….. 🙂
Allison — Amen, for Professor Hubner! Holy moley… what a pivotal moment in your life. It is hard to reconcile the crazy Allison “mess”… as all your writing, both poems and responses, are soooooo outstanding….of course, that is the point here, Prof H’s words that day were your fulcrum and you shifted the balance. This is so wonderful a poem of transformation and acknowledgement. Boy, I wanna hug Prof. H and you both! When your poem shifts to the details of the smell of the “polished oak floors…” you drive home the impact… this was a moment that stopped you in your tracks (you wild thang)… that detailed sensory infusion is perfect. Wonderful poem… I’m betting this could be a poem to share with your student — whomever he or she might be in a given term — who is on the edge and needs to see what can make the difference… learned words from a teacher who used her words to tip the precarious balance of options. Cool! Susie
Turning on heel out the door, my mother:
“Be sweet”
(As if we were often..bitter? salty? sour?)
And caught in a skirmish of words, her mother:
“Don’t be ugly”
(Because kindness, gentleness is what is beautiful)
This feels so authentic. Love the voice and succinctness of this poem.
Hi Sarah 🙂
I love your use of punctuation! I’ve read through a few times and it seems that these two comments could be made one after or another, or both throughout time (my guess for the reality), but I like the way that both comments and responses are in conversation–lovely juxtaposition!
sounds like a seed for our inquiry – I like your response to sweet – the broader view of beauty
The Right Words
Nan-nan used to say,
“Keep your pants up and your dress down.”
Granddaddy used to say,
“If you can read, you can do anything.”
Mama used to say,
“Nothing beats a fail but a try.”
Nan-nan’s words were used to encourage me
to keep my virtue.
I can’t say I always did, but I’m married now. So…
Granddaddy’s words were used to remind me
I have no excuses as long as I can read.
I use this philosophy on my Scholars, too.
Mama’s words were used to teach me to
overcome fear…
(fear of rejection, fear of failing, fear of being told NO!)
I remind myself of these words often.
I’m a little bolder, a bit braver when
I remember what Mama used to say.
Oh, I love Mama’s words the best. I love the ring of this – “Nothing beats a fail but a try.” Beautiful guidance! Nan-Nan’s words made me giggle. I teach preschoolers and find myself saying the same thing…but I suspect that was not her meaning! Granddaddy – his words are just plain and simple: wise. So true, if we can read, we can do anything. I can’t help but hear the love in all these words…which is pretty magical.
Donnetta,
I love the variety that the three pieces of advice provide! Your poem blends humor and wisdom is such a satisfying way!
Donnetta,
I love all this advice, and I love that you didn’t always take NaN-nan’s advice. My grandma told me, “If you got it, flaunt it.” Your Mama is a wise woman. Thank you.
—Glenda
I really enjoyed the structure of this poem with the words of advice and then what they meant to you, but I love your Mama’s words best: “Nothing beats a fail but a try.” So true. Good words to live by!
simple lessons still ring true today while reflecting another time and those who spoke the words
Kim,
What an absolutely beautiful poem. it is so touching and your dad’s answer so powerful. Thank you for today’s prompt and for sharing your talent with us these last five days. I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
I’m sure many people have shared
what they thought were the right words with me.
But-
What does it say about me if I cannot remember any of them?
Do I not care?
Was I not listening?
Have I been arrogant, the know-it-all?
Have I never needed the right words? – I doubt that
What are the right words anyway?
Are they prophetic and life-changing?
Are they thought-provoking and insightful?
Are they inspiring and motivating?
Are they salvation, regret, lessons learned?
Are they just recycled overused words, cliches?
As hard as I try,
I cannot remember anyone sharing the right words with me
It feels wrong and ungrateful
And it frustrates me
But I cannot make something up
I cannot deceive
Maybe it’s not only about the right words
Maybe
It’s about the moment
It’s about the person
It’s about the actions
It’s about the compassion
It’s about the admiration
It’s about being ready
Or maybe, who knows?
I’m just getting old
and the right words
escape me
Monica, thank you for this honesty! I, too, struggled to think of “right words” and wondered if I’d failed to HEAR what wise people were saying to me! (I settled on a memory, but the exact words escape me.)
I love what you moved to in this stanza:
Maybe it’s not only about the right words
Maybe
It’s about the moment
It’s about the person
It’s about the actions
It’s about the compassion
It’s about the admiration
It’s about being ready.
The anaphora builds to the “being ready” line that says something important about receptivity.
Thank you.
Monica,
You are not alone. I could only recall one piece of advice this morning, so that’s the one I wrote about. Donnetta’s poem prompted a memory of other words. It occurs to me that the right words must be accompanied by either repetition or action to anchor themselves in our memories, and C as your poem suggests, circumstances matter. Tomorrow may bring a flood of memories and words. For now I love that you took the direction of not recalling words. Wish I’d thought of that. It’s a clever approach. Thank you.
—Glenda
Monica — You nailed the thoughts that I rattled through yesterday as I was trying to write this piece. So many words and factors shifted my moments at just the right time (and some not). Your poem really speaks to me.
These:
These are so real…these questions are, indeed, what I was feeling… and the last question here haunted me… recycled overused words … I wonder if words that came to me from well-intentioned hit me this way when I was struggling… I don’t have the answers, except that I words matter and we each keep cobbling them together for valid answers that help us each day. I love the authenticity of your poem! Thank you, Susie
I hate the advice that
condescends my being–
imposes notions of
existence that diminish
what brings me joy:
the suggestions that
disparage the solitude
I seek, invitations be-
littling my preference
to cast my body as
a statue in a room, let
loose abstraction, traipse in
transfixtion. Perceived cata-
tonia conjures reverie for me.
Anything to the the contrary
fails to inspire. I hate
advice that knocks my
being.
Sarah, your poem carries such power. I especially love “I hate advice that knocks my being”. I often feel that some advice is better ignored and especially when it is disparaging so that we feel utterly bewildered, insulted and “transfixed” etc. Kudos!
Damn
I read this without seeing the writer’s name because I’m on my phone in a parking lot. Lol. I had the feeling this was written by a famous poet who decided to join our community today. I scrolled back up to see who it was. Damn! Sarah!!!!! I was correct! Some famous poet you are!
I don’t know how to explain what your poem did to me. I’m still stuck in the splendor of being in a community with a famous poet.
Ohhh and now I’m feeling all badassery for experimenting with the standout quote and it worked! ????
You are cracking me up, Stacey! Love the badassery.
I love the way this line rolls off my tongue –
“Perceived cata-
tonia conjures reverie for me.”
I love that you broke catatonia into two parts –
which to me, alludes to the two very different positions about YOUR solitude. I capitalized “your” because, my goodness, this is your way – it should never be up for discussion, it should not be subject to advice. I am deeply offended for you! “I hate advice that knocks my being.” So agree!!
I appreciate so much how you used this prompt to explore the anti- side of advice.
I heard in this poem a reserved or introverted person’s frustration with a world that demands certain behaviors/responses in public settings.
I especially liked the feel of this:
Sarah,
I’ve returned to your poem several times this evening and marvel at the imagery in these lines:
As someone uncomfortable in social situations where I don’t know others, and as someone who forced-trained myself into extroversion, I appreciate your poem. It echoes ideas in Susan Cain’s “Quiet.” Lovely verse. Thank you.
—Glenda
your words act as a response to the prompt – I always laugh when I’m the student who can’t or doesn’t want to follow the prompt and try to remember that when I have a student who asks, Ms Langley, can I . . .
Kim, thanks for sharing your wonderful poem today. It reminded me of a moment with a former student. Although my poem is not at all poetic, it is something I was happy to share. I love Henry David Thoreau’s adage: “There is no remedy for love but to love more.”
Heidi
Years ago
You came to speak with me
Maybe after school
Or perhaps during a quiet moment between classes
I remember seeing
The purple hickey on your neck
I remember being worried about your recent absences
A new occurrence
Years ago you came to share
That your friend was gay
You wanted my reaction
I just said, “Well, that’s okay, isn’t it?”
I did not know
You were gay or
Perhaps looking
For acceptance
When you officially came out
Your dad was furious; kicked you out
Eventually he found his way
To love and accept you back to the family fold
Years later
When you married your partner
We danced together at your reception and
I was happy
For that one moment
In the quiet classroom
I said the right words and
It made all the difference
Barb Edler
May 20, 2020
Barb! Bravo! Bravo for being the compassionate, loving human being that your student deserved and for crafting this poem that conveys such a special gift!
Barb,
What are the right words? We never really know until later, but always, always compassion wins. I was thrilled to see the narrative go beyond that first moment into years of friendship. Indeed, our students grow up. We are not just teaching them that year or that day but for all the days that follow.
Peace,
Sarah
Oh, Barb — This is such a good story of making an enormous difference with sheer, gentle understanding and kindness. Good for you! You were there at a crucial time, certainly. And how lovely to see it through to the dance floor of the wedding. Sweet. There very much “poetic” in this. Thank you for being there for this kiddo. Susie
This is a beautiful example of right words, right time. I bet it was enormously comforting and reassuring for Heidi, to have you calmly reply, to take her question in stride, “Well, that’s okay, isn’t it?” This reaction was a real contrast to her experience at home. Sometimes it’s our little, ordinary responses that make all the difference.
SO MUCH to love about this, Barb! Please know that your story, told in brevity and careful word choice, is poetic in the very sense of the word.
I love this story and the way you told it. <3
Thank God for teachers like you, Barb!
Your poem speaks to the realities of today and so many people don’t realize how much comes upon us that could potentially BUILD or DESTROY a student in one sitting. I’m so happy your student came to you and that you had “the right words.” Not everyone does.
?❤️??
Kim—as Day 5 comes to a close, thank you for these prompts. it has been a wonderful week of poetry!
Rose Quartz
Words —
my rose quartz —
mined from Mama,
from Dad,
books and bards,
a litany of voices;
never just one pearl lone in an oyster;
so many words
tumbled around me,
oft’ craggy and jagged
‘til fumbled and whorled as an agate,
washing up on tidal sands
of my pivotal choices,
catching glimmers from the sun,
rolling off my tongue;
from all the right words,
left words,
spun words,
the gems —
cornerstones —
like sparkled light through a prism,
set a path through the questions,
all the unknown,
to wee bits of wisdom.
by Susie Morice©
Such a swirly poem! Love the references to the riches you have mined, and especially the phrase from all the right words, left words… so many meanings there!
Susie,
I so appreciate all the dimension and movement you give to words, how they take different shape and form as you move along your path:
The edges round out and glimmer as you move through the poem toward “sparkled light through a prism.” Love that imagery.
Peace,
Sarah
Susie, my mother had a rock at home that I think was rose quartz. Right away I could visualize this, and I loved the connections to it such as “like sparkled light through a prism”. As I read your poem, I see so many rich connections to the love and support of your parents…what a wonderful gift, and such a wonderful poem! “wee bits of wisdom” are truly gems!
Susie, Poem after poem, I revel in your attention to the sounds of words. Take this:
Your poem oozes appreciation of words. As I read it a second time, I find new combinations that delight me:
and all the stone/rock/path imagery.
Bravo, friend. Your words were the right words for me tonight!
Susie,
I just read Monica’s poem about not being able to recall words, so it’s only fitting to read your poem celebrating the myriad words you’ve collected from the prism of words rather than choosing only one. I wish I’d kept a journal of all the things others have said to me that I now want to recall. I’m always awed by your poems, and these words will sit w/ me a while:
Lovely imagery. I’m so grateful for your words. Thank you.
—Glenda
It’s so not about us
When Carey is late
For the fourth time
In a week to first hour,
Because he
functions as the parent in his house
And escorts his younger
Siblings to school,
It’s so not about us
When Taylor is unnerved
By the clapping used
To call class to attention,
Because she
Lives on her own
And works
Two jobs to support herself.
It’s so not about us
When S.T. repeats “Deez Nuts”
For the third time
In 15 minutes,
Because he
Needs the laughter of his peers
And an amount of courage to deal with
Step-dad again tonight.
It’s so not about us
When Jaycie skips class
To hook up
With her boyfriend AGAIN,
Because she
Misses the small town
And even more
The friends she left behind.
It’s so not about us.
(I was inspired to write this poem using the quote “It’s so not about us,” after reading “View from the Trenches: Veteran educator Dr. Ebony Johnson On the state of Tulsa’s public schools”, which appeared in Tulsa People on February 18, 2015. Thank you Dr. Johnson).
Can you hear me cheering?! You are so very right—it is not about us. If only every teacher could understand that simple fact. There are so many factors we don’t understand.
Katrina, I love how you show your love and understanding of your students in this poem. I so agree “Its’ so not about us.”
Katrina,
This should be on the desk of every teacher everywhere. You hit on a broad range of situations that help remind us that “it’s so not about us.”
katrina — I love the layered stories and the clarity of “it’s so not about us.” Such wisdom here. Understanding kids is a remarkable gift. Each of the kids is lucky to have you as a teacher. Thank you for that complex work and the strength it takes to navigate all the stories, as I’m sure this is just the tip of the iceberg. Susie
Wow, Katrina. You KNOW kids. I loved this stanza especially:
The class-disrupters are often the easiest to dismiss as “jerks” without acknowledging that their behavior is its own cry for help.
This poem made me think and feel, and that’s what I want from a poem!
She told me many months later
how she knew I was her friend.
She could trace it back to one moment in time.
I was dumbfounded.
What could she possibly mean?
She spoke of her weariness
when her mother-in-law died-
the countless hours on her feet at the wake,
the need to be the face of the family at such a trying time.
She told me how happy she was to see me at the funeral home.
She appreciated the condolence call from a coworker.
But then she said, “You took your coat off.
In that moment, I knew you were there for me as a friend.”
An inconsequential act on my part
meant the world to her in her hour of need.
I had no idea at the time.
Now whenever I can I tell people to take their coats off.
Mo—wow. Such a small act that carried so much meaning. It meant that you weren’t there to “pay and go”; you were there for her. I have never considered that, but I will from now on.
Mo, I so love this poem. I especially like how your narrative flows to the final closing line, and how it shares that your friend could literally trace when she knew you were her friend. I agree that somehow the commonplace actions we commit may mean something far much more to the people around us. Thanks for sharing such a poignant poem!
We are often unaware of the impact we are having on another (good or bad). Your poem makes me hope I am present and mindful of my behavior and actions. I hope what I do touches people. Thank you so much for this.
Mo – The subtlety of this action… the tiny thing of taking off a coat being such a statement is so poignant. You have captured the nuance of a moment that could so easily have been different… and you made all the difference. What a beautiful moment and gesture of kindness and friendship. I love this. Thank you, Susie
Feeling the prick of tears here. Taking the coat off is a beautiful metaphor. I want to remember it–and do it. Thank you.
Mo,
My heart feels every best of this gorgeous poem. I love the narrative so much. So often we don’t know how a seemingly small gesture can impact someone. I will carry the words “she” spoke and do my best to live up to them. Thank you for this gorgeous poem.
—Glenda
Kim — your poem brought tears to my eyes, especially the final stanza: “You keep it./It’s the greatest gift you’ve ever gotten/because it came/from deep within the heart/of the giver/when it was/all/he had to give.” Your father’s words are so powerful. So much truth!
“Free”
Then
At first the right word wasn’t the right word,
it tasted like betrayal
“Free” was artificial, abstract, dissonant
Free
the word grieving people hear
when ailing loved ones leave this world
words we hear and don’t — can’t accept
Yet, these words I repeated
when I kissed my mother’s ashen cheek
for the last time
the mantra I uttered with my final goodbye
before committing her body to fire
the words I wept but didn’t believe
Now
Free is abstraction I
feel and know as I reflect
upon my mother’s last years
bound to a broken body
Now
Free is abstraction I embrace
as I reminisce upon my mother’s
stolen voice and her last silent words,
“I miss talking to you…”
Now
Free is action not abstraction
it is my mother’s spirit in the sunrise
and sunset
it is her beautiful soul pirouetting upon stars
her voice singing with nightingales
Free is rebirth into the universe of souls
Now
Free is the right word,
it just took some time
to be the right time
Free is letting go
until our souls meet again
Tammi, this is a profound and lovely rendering of your experience. I appreciate how you opened with
You immediately pulled me in: I wanted to understand.
Your use of single-word beginnings to each stanza worked for me, like stamps of progression: Then, Free, Yet, Now, Now, Now, Free!
Peace be with you as you move through this loss. Thank you for this gift of a poem.
Kim, the combination of Tolliver’s action and your father’s reaction make this such a beautiful tableau. Your dad took what seemed like something sad, as portrayed in your melodic words, “the merriment of music losing,” and made it a thing of joy for you to remember forever.
Kim, your poem today is breathtakingly beautiful – what a precious student, Tolliver. I feel lucky to have met him. What glorious words from your father! Thank you for these fabulous five days of writing. I have truly enjoyed!
Not Built Like That
Dad heard my muffled cries
in the middle of the night, and
squeezed in next to me,
on the bottom bunk,
to hear what was wrong.
He responded with conviction and comfort,
“Oh, hon, that will never happen to you,
you aren’t built like that.”
I knew instantly, he was right.
This one miserable month,
when I was twelve years old,
I witnessed both
my mother and her mother
break with reality.
Hallucinations,
delusions,
mania,
full-on psychotic madness,
followed by
911,
ambulance,
hospitalization,
sedation.
By day, I was strong.
In the middle of the night,
as the frightening images replayed,
I crumbled.
I knew,
I was next.
Grandmother,
mother,
daughter.
Only daughter, me.
Yes, I was next.
I knew.
I had solved an enormous,
terrifying puzzle
in the middle of the night, and
Dad convinced me
my solution was wrong.
The dots did not connect.
Consoled, I went back to sleep, and
this sweet reassurance lasted
years and years,
until I was a parent myself, and
I realized,
with both understanding and appreciation,
Dad couldn’t possibly have known
I wasn’t built like that.
Right words, right time.
Maureen,
Your fathers words are both salve and saving grace. He gave you words to live by when he said,
I love your poem so much and am thinking about all I’ve learned about and from you in poetry. Beautiful. Thank you.
—Glenda
Ah, Maureen, what a wise father. Those were the right words at the right time. Wow. I’m so glad that he said them. Beautiful poem to express such a powerful moment. You have painted a wonderful picture with your words. Even in his own pain, your father was a rock for you.
Maureen, your poem is a powerful reminder that we never know the impact our words may have. Your poem took me into the terror of your young-self at the possibilities you saw for your future and I felt the comfort and strength breathed into that child by the right words at the right time. Thank you for sharing.
Maureen—your poem gave me chills. How often do we reassure someone with what we can only hope is true? Your father gave you exactly the right words at the right time. I wonder what would have happened to you had he not chosen those words? He gave you truth to hang on to.
Maureen, how sweet and sensitive that your dad squeezed in to hear what was wrong and give comfort to you – – and all the while worrying about your mother as well. He was in touch with the women in his world and bringing reassurance of his love to you. Those are some of the best words that we as women can hear when we are examining situations and develop fear. “You aren’t built like that.” What a blessing of words!
Maureen — this moment is so intense. You have brought me into this moment and I empathize with adolescent you.
Your words about solving the puzzle and your father convincing you the dots didn’t connect was beautiful.
I’m glad your father had the right words for you.
Maureen . . .
Holy cow, this is incredible. Your dad’s words were precisely the right words at the right time. He may not have known, but he was willing it to be true with his wise words.
The detail is so powerful. It pulls so many emotions from me. I’m fretting right now about the times I’ve been in a crucial situation with one of our kids . . . did I say something wise?
“You aren’t built like that.” What powerful and reassuring words from a father who didn’t want his little girl to worry. That is love. I love the way you wrote this poem. I was immediately drawn in.
Maureen — What a powerful gift your dad gave you, breaking the cycle that was weighing in your mind. He knew that fear. Wow! What a precious moment he gave you. The image of his pulling into the bottom bunk with you is so dear. I wish I had a moment like that with my dad. You were a lucky 12 year old… and a lucky woman today. And using “right words, right time” at the end was perfect! Thank you, Susie
Maureen, this is incredibly moving and uplifting. I especially connected to these lines: “with both understanding and appreciation,/Dad couldn’t possibly have known/I wasn’t built like that.” As English teachers, of course, we know the power of words (even if only hope or faith holds those words up), but it’s always a good reminder! Thanks for sharing.
Kim,
Thank you so much for hosting these five days. You certainly offered us five diverse prompts that were inspiring and thought-provoking. Each suggested a form or topic, yet they encouraged freedom and individuality. All five challenged me yet enabled me to succeed. I definitely will put all of them into practice next school year. I very much enjoyed each of your mentor poems, but this last one was so very powerful! What a kid Tolliver was!
I struggled to write this one. I knew I was going into a topic that is private and I don’t talk about freely. I knew what right words/right time I wanted to use, but I kept trying to tell too much of the backstory. It truly needed to be narrative. Instead, I chopped (a tough thing for me) and landed on less. Less is more! Yay, me!!
Feeding the Monster
With good intentions,
people would say:
“Oh, it’ll be okay”
“Have you tried yoga?”
“You’ve got nothing to be worried about”
None of those kernels of advice
helped me
while in the throes of a panic attack.
Some pointers like
“Just breathe”
“Mind over matter”
“Think happy thoughts”
actually grated on my nerves
and seemed to make matters worse.
Those who leaned toward
tough love would say:
“You can’t control things”
“You have so much to be thankful for”
“Suck it up, buttercup”
They clearly had never been
seized by anxiety.
It wasn’t until I heard:
“Feel it; don’t fight it”
that things started to ease.
Allowing that buzzing hum
to work through my body,
and letting the adrenaline
ease its way out
were keys to managing
the monster of anxiety.
Fighting it didn’t help.
Pretending it didn’t exist made it worse.
“Feel it; don’t fight it”
helped my body learn how
to let the throbs of anxiety
work their way
through and out,
for staying trapped
inside is what it wanted.
“Feel it; don’t fight it.”
~Susan Ahlbrand
20 May 2020
Susan, there is extraordinary insight in those words, “feel it, don’t fight it.” I have been working on this all my life, I believe. I really appreciate your title, “feeding the monster” – because all those ‘solutions’ and ‘suggestions’ are to no avail, they only make things worse. I like the foreshadowing sense of the “scary” monster that you reveal with these lines “for staying trapped/inside is what it wanted.” Thank you for this!
Susan, what good advice you received. This is helpful, as I have certainly been guilty of given my daughter some of the bad advice you heard. “Feeding the Monster” is a powerful metaphor. Perhaps the bad advice is what fed the monster, and feeling it and letting it work itself out starved it of its power.
Thank you for sharing your poem.
Your poem shows precisely how what sounds like “the right words” to others can be so off target when aimed in our direction. I use a mental metaphor for “feel it, don’t fight it.” I imagine a huge wave washing over me. Somehow though, it doesn’t suck me in, it just comes and then it goes.
Susan—feel it, don’t fight it…how I wish I had that advice for a student last year. If we have never experienced an anxiety attack, it is so hard to help someone who is in the throes of one. And your poem expresses those throes vividly. Next time, I will be able to help someone deal with the monster differently.
Susan, what helpful words for times of anxiety! My mother suffered from this terribly, and my youngest daughter does as well. Panic attacks seize at the most unlikely times. It reminds me of my days teaching on Hilton Head Island. All of our third graders were taught to swim as part of the PE program, and used the recreational center pool across the street. As part of their lessons, they are taught what to do if ever caught in a rip current in the ocean. They are told to hold their breath and not to fight or swim against the rip current but to let it take them and then it will throw them out where they can then manage to surface and swim back to shore with some energy left to do it. If they fight it, they will surely drown – – their best hope is to “go with the flow.” One of my students in fifth grade remembered this, and it saved his life. On the news interview as a survivor, he credited that advice given in those swim lessons. What works in the rip current works for anxiety, too, I see. I’ll bet those words work in many instances. Thank you for sharing this today. I’m mentally filing these words so I know what to say to my daughter next time…….
Susan — I can totally relate. While I do not have panic attacks, I have spent years fighting insomnia from worry.
But the final piece of advice is amazing “Feel it; don’t fight it”. Now those are the right words!
Susan,
Your poem gives us an extraordinary revelation. Those tender words,
mean everything you needed to validate the very real feelings with which you struggled. I’m going to remember these words and use them. Thank you for sharing them w/ us so we too can avoid the platitudes when those in our orbit need support and validation rather than fixing.
—Glenda
Belonging
By: Emily Yamasaki
Sometimes
schools hit all the wrong places
riddled with fraud
selfishness
greed
students as numbers
teachers as trash
It’s enough to bring
hot tears of anger
squeezed out and dripping with
frustration
grief
until you break
Interview after interview
their questions reveal
more than
my answers
ever could
At the gate
shaking hands
“However this goes,
I want you to know that
you
belong
in
the
classroom.”
I let her gift, her words
soak into my skin
Sometimes
schools hit all the right places
brimming with care
justice
love
students as brilliant
teachers as leaders
Emily—those words were a gift. And your poem is a gift, as well…
Emily, I love the realization in “their questions reveal/more than/my answers” – and it sounds like you have found an idea teaching environment! What more can we ask, “students as brilliant/teachers as leaders” ? Fabulous. I also love thinking about schools FILLED with teachers who believe in their souls that they belong in the classroom…so great.
Oh, yes. What a great way to end your poem. At first, the image is sad and hopeless, but then the right words spoken at the right time. “You belong in the classroom” soaking into your skin. Such a beautiful image. Yes, there are schools like the one at the end of your poem, the kind we all long to be part of. Bless you!
Emily, the reassurance of belonging is a beautiful expression. This is lovely – – and I’m so glad you shared these words and their impact on you!
Emily — This is beautiful. There is so much truth in your words. Today I had my last Zoom meeting with my students and when it was over I cried because I miss my students so much and realize how much our students truly need us and how much I need them as well. I especially relate to “However this goes,/I want you to know that/you/belong/in/the/classroom.”
I have a mug that says, “Teaching is my superpower” I truly believe we have superpowers!
Wow….so true! The questions reveal a lot. And, to get that affirmation of where you belong. That’s beautiful. A wonderful poem that rings true.
Emily – I LOVE this poem! The ugly sides of school at the start sets a very real stage that you turn on its head with the reassuring words
Wonderful… truly the right words! And school is transformed with teachers like you .. “brimming with care/justice/love/students as brilliant/teachers as leaders.” AMEN! Wonderful poem that hits this teacher soundly with an appreciative heart. Susie
Kim, I am in love with this poem. I’ve returned to it several times already and cannot let go of these lines…
I am in awe of how you made this poem burst with love and sadness and gratitude. Thank you for sharing it with us! All the prompts have been awesome this month, and you ended the challenge with this beautiful gem.
Thank you, Emily! I am enjoying all of the right words at the right time verses today. It’s amazing how just in those moments when we hear words like “you belong in the classroom,” or “feel it, don’t fight it,” or “keep it, it’s the best gift you’ve ever gotten…” can be heard years later ringing in our hearts – – reminding us of those important lessons and messages we’ve received along the way – – and, perhaps even more importantly, reminding us that our own words have the power to have an unforgettable impact on others.
Kim, what a beautiful story about Tolliver’s gift of the heart. I wonder where he is now and if you ever tried to find him and tell him how much his gift meant to you? It’s wonderful that you kept the dollar and letter, testament to the importance of the gift. This part here where his father had recently died, and he sent you this gift…
I felt the music go out of the room when I read that. Your poem was a gift today, and a perfect mentor text for what you asked us to write. The right words for me came in a sermon on the Sunday evening before my high school graduation. Just the right time I needed them.
“Congratulations, life will get tougher!”
Title of fear at my high school
Baccalaureate service
Already worried for the future
Defeat, anger, discontent, failure
What did my future hold?
I was unprepared for college
I was unprepared for work
I was unmotivated, yet scared
In church for the first time in years
I left that night still afraid
But this “tougher” sermon
Went out the door with me
Somehow gave me a future
God found me in my angst
And placed me in peace
Oh, I love those last two lines, “God found me in my angst/And placed me in peace.” This sermon sounds honest and forthright, rather than superficial and formulaic. I hear your conviction and determination with the lines beginning with repeating “I was un-” Thank you for this!
Denise,
These moments of tuning in and really listening for the messages in places like sermons, baccalaureates, conversations with friends…..they really come back to us and ring so true even years later. I love your concluding lines in this! God has this way of finding us in angst and giving us peace, doesn’t he? I’m so thankful for the peace you felt as you stepped out into the world.
Denise,
I wish I’d heard those words upon my college graduation. They are so true. I wasn’t prepared for that. College is supposed to make life easier, right? Thank you.
—Glenda
Kim, thank you for these five days and for your wonderful poem. The sentiment reminds me of The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry. Here’s my attempt:
The right words at the right time
Always a life line.
If we’re open to receive.
Deanna,
I love that last line that adds the condition of advice and guidance: “if we’re open to receive.” I think about when I want to be open and what those conditions are.
Peace,
Sarah
Deanna—the big “if”. How often do we miss out because we are not ready?
Deanna,
Thanks for reminding, affirming, __ the necessity of accepting the right words and making them at right time.
Best wishes.
Purviben
Deanna, I love the sheer power in the brevity of this verse. Always….if. As they say about life lines and everything else: a lot of what we see depends on what we’re looking for! (Except it doesn’t work when shopping, that’s the exception. We see everything ELSE when we’re shopping for the thing we’re looking for.)
perfect…that’s something I want on a sticky note on my computer!
Be Kind
Never suppress a generous thought
If you are complemented
Say thank you
Leave a place better than you found it
To be responsible and trustworthy
Is more important than popularity
Know who you are
Be true to who you are
Believe that most people
Most of the time
Are doing their best
Treat each person you meet
As though they are going through
A very difficult trial right now
And more than half of the time
You’ll be right
Live with gratitude
Always be open to learning – you don’t know everything
The words I grew up on
are woven through the fiber of my being
are the lens through which I see
are the map that guides me
Debbie,
“Be kind” says so much, and the totality if you’re poem delineates this phrase beautifully. I really like the way you took so many words of wisdom and put them in poem form. ❤️ Thank you.
—Glenda
Debbie,
Love how this poem is like a list of aphorism collected from experience, an unraveling of the thread that were “woven through the fiber of your being.”
Thank you,
Sarah
That list is a good prescription for life. And your last stanza makes that list even more potent—the lens and the map…perfect.
Debbie, I can relate to your poem so much. I also grew up with the same kind of wise words. It’s funny that when it came time to write, I couldn’t remember anything specific, but when I read your poem, they came flooding back. Thank you.
“A Horse to Ride Out On”
Middle school—
A mass of contradictions,
a jumble of emotions.
A time of growth
Change
Anger
Discovery
Joy.
Loss.
For too many students,
a time of struggle:
Adult responsibility
without maturity,
Emotions
without understanding
Discoveries
without explanations
Fears
without a safe place to hide
Sadness
with no shoulder to cry on.
For too many students, anger
is the only option they know,
the only way out of their swamp.
The only thing they have
is their pride.
“Always leave a man a horse to ride out on”,
was given to me in my first year of teaching.
I have employed these words
over and over—reminding myself
that we all need a way out
of whatever corner we are boxed into.
We do not know what they bring with them.
We do not know what they go home to.
We do not know who they will become.
But if we give them a horse to ride out on,
A way to save face,
a way out of THIS problem, today…
They will ride back in to try again.
And then, we can teach them.
May 2020
A good one, Gayle.
Remembering that we all have our pride and if we can take and use this advice, we all will have more success in a variety of social settings…not just in the middle school classroom.
Thanks for passing along this word of advice.
Gayle, such truth here. I love the image of the horse to ride out on and all the layers that brings. Kids need a way out of the box they tend to build/shelter in or adults tend to build/secure them in. You’ve certainly captured that mass of turmoil that the middle school student is!
Gayle, what an amazing piece of writing! You drew me in big time! I loved,
Adult responsibility
without maturity,
Emotions
without understanding
Discoveries
without explanations
Fears
without a safe place to hide
Sadness
with no shoulder to cry on.
It made me cringe with the emotions I remembered, but the wisdom of “Always leave a man a horse to ride out on”, I will now carry with me the rest of my life. Thank you so much for sharing!
Gayle,
I love the title and then that you resist explaining this right away, taking us through the narrative a bit until you arrive at the advice and how you have held on to it but not the horse that you leave just in case a student needs to ride out. This is so true — giving people a way out and a path back in. Love it.
Sarah
Gayle, this poem is amazing. I would love to share it with my colleagues at the start of the school year. What a beautiful reminder about grace. I hope that teachers also remember to give themselves a horse to ride out on too. Thank you so much for sharing this with all of us.
Share away!! I am honored.
Bravo for the insight and caring behind these words,
You know middle schoolers so well! I know your students are lucky to have you with them “on their horse rides” 😉
And so, JoAnne advised me,
when you decide to have a pity party,
make sure the volume on the stereo is on mute
after you plug in headphones.
If you don’t, when you crank that puppy up to 10,
you will blast your neighbor’s ears out
And they will hear you singing, at the top of your lungs,
“MEMORY, ALL ALONE IN THE MOONLIGHT”
And you will not hear the pounding on your door
“I CAN DREAM OF THE OLD DAYS; LIFE WAS BEAUTIFUL THEN.”
As you gulp down your Rum-and-Tab,
tears running down your face,
mixing with the mascara leaving black spider trails on your cheeks.
“I REMEMBER, THE TIME I KNEW WHAT HAPPINESS WAS.””
And they will call the manager who will also pound on your door, to no avail.
He will let himself in with the passkey, and there you are,
buck naked, sitting in front of the blasting stereo
with headphones on, a toddy in your swaying hand, and your tears,
Having a wonderful pity party!
“LET THE MEMORY LIVE AGAIN.”
Judi Opager
May 20, 2020
Judi, I love the sense of sass in your poem and the interspersed song fragments which I had to sing along with :).
Oh. My. Judi! This is just what I need to hear today and to hold onto tight,
I was always taught not to complain or to wallow, but sometimes I want to because I want to sit in that space but not have it witnessed, which is different than your meaning here, but that is what is resonating with me today. Thank you.
Sarah
What a splendid poem. I love the pity party and stereo line. I have always been taught to keep my pity parties to myself – and what wonderful parties they could be! Though I’ve never been interrupted…
Judi—I chuckled as I read this—what a wonderful story, developed beautifully, and what stellar advice!! A cautionary tale if I have ever heard one!
Judi,
I love the advice,
I grew up among a lot of complainers, and it took me more time than I care to admit to learn no one wants to hear me whine. I echo Sarah’s comment. Sometimes we do need a good cry followed by giving ourselves a talking to. That’s different than wallowing in the muck of self-pity. I also love the lyrics from “Phantom of the Opera” you weave into the poem. The hyperbole in the cause/effect scenario is on point: not much good comes from public pity parties. I’m reminded of the man who tried to get social networking to take his side against the Costco worker and ended up the object of ridicule on Twitter yesterday. Wonderful poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Aside from the fact that I now have Babs on mental auto-repeat, your poem made me laugh. I especially like the “black spider trails” metaphor. So clever.
“my first feminist”
on his deathbed my father
gave me two pieces of advice,
the north star & compass
guiding a sixteen year old girl
into her sixties:
“never put up with crap from men.”
implement a no tolerance policy for the
verbal abusers
rapists
malingerers
sticky finger fondlers
pedophiles
prepubescent man-child
patriarchal figureheads
alcohol-addled boys
“never be financially dependent on a man.”
eschew
men who put women in a corner,
men who grab women by their southern regions,
men who launch ad hominem
attacks on women from
power pedestals,
men who lie, cheat, steal
the souls of women,
men who use women as ornamentation,
men who diminish women’s voices,
men who deny women autonomy.
for over forty years i’ve
shared this advice with
family
friends
colleagues
students
bosses
all who will hear
even now words from
my first feminist
echo from his grave.
his words map my life.
perhaps that is why i will
never accept that current pos.
—glenda funk
*my father died 9/27/1975. i was sixteen at the time of his death. he was 39 and had been blind almost five years.
Speak it Glenda! I wholeheartedly concur with your father-feminist’s wisdom and your sharing of this advice. What an impactful man. How lucky you were to have him. I love him for that! And hugs to you for losing him at such an early age (for both of you). The message underlying the poem to the pre-pube in power is loud and clear. And should be shouted from the rooftops!
Glenda, what a blessing to have received and accepted this advice from your dear departed Dad! Having learned this early has sustained you in ways that few other pieces of advice could. The less “crap” we accept, the less with stink. When we stink less, we’re able to think and be perceived as thoughtful. Hang tight, my friend. Your Dad has given you a “horse to ride on”. (See Glenda’s poem for today. 🙂 )
Glenda, your poem has such a powerful cadence to it underlying the power of your passion for what you are expressing. I love that your first feminist was your father. Definitely the right words for the right time.
Glenda,
Your poem is perhaps more poignant because the post-script says your father was blind. There is this sense that he could see quite clearly that you needed to hear this perhaps from what he had seen, perhaps from what he could then see because of who you were becoming. But this “from his grave” and this “map my life” and this poem resonating in this space reveals how the “never” means it is something you must continue to sustain. I am wondering at the layers of meaning in the word “financially.”
Peace,
Sarah
Glenda—what power here, made even more potent by your post-script.
What a gift from your father’s deathbed! Precisely the right words. I have no doubt they influenced you deeply!! He would be so proud and admiring of you, wouldn’t he?! What a gift to have your first feminist be your father…that was def not true for me, but I had other gifts from him. Love this line so much, “his words map my life.” Thank you so much, Glenda! I admire you so much!!
UGH – you got me in the gut!! Cuts through all the bullshit and haze surrounding us and gets to the point – brilliantly, I might add! “never accept that current pos” !!!
Holy cow, Glenda — Your dad was a hero! And you are a force… apple and the tree, for sure! I so love the strength in your voice with every single line. My dad wanted me to be strong, but he sure didn’t have those magic words that your dad did. What a man! Your dad was really so ahead of his time. You are truly a POWERHOUSE! Love this! Susie
The First and Only
Being the first and only
Really puts one to the test
After hours on display
One longs to get home, to chill, and to rest.
Being the first and only
Makes one wonder if this is the best.
To be daily under the spotlight
Exposed like this, will I ever pass the test?
With such visibility, how many students can one reach?
With such pondering pressure, can one successfully teach?
With helicopter parents circling and on my case
Questioning my teaching ability mainly because of my race.
With skeptical students wondering
Can she teach with skin so brown?
She’s not even from our town!
When she speaks how funny she sounds.
Being the one and only
Can drain one oh so dry.
But having supportive peers
Makes one willing to stay and try.
“Your students come to us with such open minds.
How are you able to teach them writing of so many different kinds?”
Being the one and only
After so many years, overcoming those fears,
Shedding new tears because of those cheers
When the speech team you’d begun show state trophies they’ve won.
When teens who have a voice return to take your course by choice.
They even send their siblings who arrive with quirky quibbling.
“She’s hard but fair, you’ll learn so much that you won’t even care.
Yes, she’s the first and only Brown teacher I ever had.
Just wait. You’ll be glad. You’ll see. She’s really not so bad.”
Anna, love this! It’s so reaffirming when those students come back. That phrase, “she’s hard but fair, you’ll learn so much that you won’t even care” proves your work has made an impact. And that praise is so powerful. It shows the learning that happens. Well done, teacher and writer!
Anna, what a wonderful poem. I can really feel the back-and-forth pull between the difficulties of being the “one and only” and the triumphs of being the “one and only.” Thank you for sharing.
Anna—the first and only—a double whammy that most of us have never had to deal with. A precarious position, and being always on display—I can’t imagine. The ending is so affirming—showing the strength you have as a teacher under challenging circumstance. “She’s really not so bad…”
Wonderful poem, Anna — Kids are doggone lucky to have had you as their teacher! The repetition of “Being the one and only” is so effective is carrying the weight of that reality… our culture has been really brutal on anyone of color. That you had that on your shoulders on top of all the tons of stuff that young teachers have had to endure is just the pits. And yet, your poem is a lift… a rising up poem…laying “those fears” away. Love your poem! Thank you, Susie
Love your poem! You may be their “first and only” but “When teens who have a voice return to take your course by choice.” This says a lot about what a special teacher/person you are! Great job!
This reminds me of several stories kn the bible. The greatest gift is the one with the most heart behind it.
As a mom of three
I always see
Flowers rocks and leaves from the tree
They may not look like much to most but to me they are precious gifts from the heart of my three.
I’m so not a poet but I attempted it lol!
Jessica, I love your poem. I remember getting stick, rock, leaf, and flower gifts from my kids, and they were truly so precious to me. The kids and the gifts lol!
Jessica, it is in the smallest gifts that we see the genuine love. Those flowers (often dandelions), rocks, and leaves are true gifts and you have captured that idea here. Thanks for bringing those to us as well today!
Jessica,
There’s poetry in those gifts of leaves and flowers. You are a poet.
—Glenda
Jessica,
As a mom, your poem resonates with me and takes me back to days when my little one used to shower me with his made, found and remade giftss. Thanks.
Purviben
Beautiful words from a mama. Children are the most precious gifts.
Kim, stop making me cry!
This is beautiful. I like that is captures both you and Tolliver as youngsters. You both need the guidance of others. This is beautiful. And your dad’s message that Sunday. This was the greatest thing that child could give you. It’s worth so much more than $1.
I can’t imagine anyone can read “The Greatest Gift” without crying. Just that title is a whole prompt in itself! But the genuine appreciation of a child portrayed in that gesture – that dollar bill – is indeed a keeper. I’m opting for prose poem today. These are words a student spoke to me twenty years ago.
“I’m never gonna love English!” he shouted at me after I berated him for the umpteenth time about his shoddy work. My thought caught in my throat. My shoulders relaxed. Our heated exchange with a few choice words would become legendary. Other students and teachers heard us all the way down the hall. “I don’t want you to love it,” I conceded. “I just want you to pass.” In that space between us I swallowed all the speeches about how I knew he could do better how he was perfectly capable how he was gifted how he took for granted what others struggled to achieve. The air was clear. His shoulders relaxed. His eyes met mine. “Oh,” he said. “I can do that.”
Denise, wow! What a learning experience for both of you. You write this for everyone who has ever gotten into an exchange with a student. The honesty in these lines reveals so much of the learning happening here. :
Wow. How to take the wind out of an argument!! A perfect conclusion—“oh, I can do that.” You both won!
Denise,
What a gift to that student of taking the burden off him. To steal a line from Gayle Sands, You sure leave him a horse and a saddle to ride on. That is what real teachers do, ya?
Purviben
Kim,
Your poem is beautiful, and it feels so personal given my own father’s blindness. We visited him when he was attending the Arkansas School for the Blind in Little Rock and learning to use his cane, read Braille, type, and live as a blind man. Yet your poem reminds me those we see as differently abled often have more insight than most others. I love your father’s words: “keep it. / It’s the greatest gift you’ve ever gotten.” I hear echoes of Christ’s words in your father’s words. Thank you.
—Glenda
Liar
Small, round, plastic.
The size of a pea.
With each inhale
it disappeared
only to reappear
at the exhale.
Briefly.
Hardly time enough
to get a grip,
to take hold
Whose kid does this?
Not mine!
Kids will make a liar
out of you every time.
This advice,
written by my MIL,
part of a baby shower game,
a collection of wisdom words,
marched into my brain
with all the intrusion
of a nighttime knock at the door,
a house fire,
a Solicitor’s phone call,
a dog puking before dawn.
It shouted at me
from deep inside
the glass jar of
long-term memory
stored on a dusty shelf
shoved behind the box
of
My kid would never
and
Who would let them
and
Only parents who…
That tiny green pea-sized plastic
who-even-knows-where-it-came-from
and why-did-he-stick-it-in-his-nose
made a liar out of me.
Jennifer,
We’ve all been there. I suspect lots of parents have been experiencing this during their quarantine time. I love the image of the little pea holding so much wisdom. I love the humor and the pathos in this poem. The list beginning w/ “This advice” heightens the tension and made me anticipate more the denouement. Great poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Oh motherhood :)…. such a perfect little time capsule in your poem. I particularly liked the image behind
Don’t mind me, I’m just going to go ahead and take a mental photograph of this poem and file it away in my brain for when my son grows up. I love everything about this poem. I have no idea what is in store for me, but I guess I better buckle up!
Excellent! We all are sure what we will do until we are in the midst of parenthood (and teacherhood!). I certainly ate some of my words as my children grew up, and I often think that I am a better teacher because of my mistakes at both!
Jennifer, During this sequestering at home time, many parents are seeing that the teachers were telling the truth about the child and not the child about the teacher! I had a parent tell me this week, now that she has been supervising her son’s schoolwork for nearly a month….”Now I understand!” I could only smile, shake my head and say Hmmmm.. (Good thing we were not on ZOOM…she would have seen the smirk and nod that followed.)
Thanks for sharing this memory as a parent that reminds us to remember this as teachers.
Sarah, feel free to delete this. I tried to get both the indent and italics on the same line in my poem, which didn’t work, and posts can’t be deleted?!?
What do you mean “delete”? The poem is beautiful, and it looks like you were able to get these lines both indented and italicized:
If you want to post another with different formatting, I can delete one if you wish, but sometimes what we did not intend will still resonate.
Sarah
I mean the post that says “feel free to delete.” Once I used the codes and they didn’t work, I couldn’t delete that post and it wouldn’t allow me to fix it. I ended up with a blank post that kept reverting back to the messed up poem. So I had to type something there, hence the “Sarah, feel free…” This thread is what can go! So sorry!
(Smiles.) Sometimes clever coding is fun and helps us communicate in form and text feature more precisely, and sometime it is better to have fewer options:) Hugs. I think I will keep this thread because others likely have had this sort of encounter:)
Fair enough! Thank you.
Sarah,
I’m “afeared” of the coding symbols. Very “afeared.” I need a YouTube tutorial. Maybe next month.
—glenda
Yes, yes, yes. It’s a fingers-crossed situation and then there’s no going back!
I don’t even try… 🙂
Kim, what a beautiful way to begin the morning! My heart warmed with every line of your poem straight through to the very end. The image of the letter and the dollar tops it off. This has been an incredible week of writing. The nudging into new territory, the challenge of thinking in new ways, the invitation of your own words/poems and welcoming of attempts. Thank you for guiding us through this week and every writing challenge!
Thank you, Jennifer! I have enjoyed all of the poems and their messages and beauty this week. This group is such a gift! Whether we are hosting or writing or reading or commenting – – the roles and interaction shape us as writers and as people. I feel so blessed!
Good Morning, Kim! Thank you for an incredible five day journey of writing. I feel like these five days are a master class — and I’m really struck by the beauty of so many poems in community from all of us who don’t know each other, but do. That dollar in the photo…that poem…the use of the letter in a sermon. It’s beautiful and part of the world I want to live in and share with all. Thank you so much for sharing Tolliver with us today.
One of the best things a master teacher ever told me as I was arguing (constructively, I thought) a point: “trust the process.”
every sunrise…trust
each blossom born anew the
only true process
Linda,
“Trust the process” is such good advice and so hard at times. I appreciate this reminder now more than ever. Thank you.
—Glenda
Never accept what
they tell you
she told me
or maybe
she didn’t
tell me but only
showed me
the way forward
towards resistance,
a mother’s message
to a son still resonating
decades after
she told me
or didn’t
Kevin, your poem answered such an important question that I had this week. Funny how we find answers in just one word sometimes. I love the beauty of this poem and the impact of your mother’s guidance – – showing you the way forward towards resistance. I wavered with that word a little this week. Resistance. I am making Blockhead poetry blocks from an idea shared by a Facebook friend. Magazine words are cut and then glued onto Jenga blocks, creating a kinesthetic experience for students as they move the words around to create poetry. As I created a set for a teacer of a sixth grade class, I wondered if I should include the word resistance, which fit perfectly and colorfully on the block. With so many word choices, would they even know what that means? In the end, I did – I included it! What better time to learn and grapple with that idea than as one begins middle school? Your poem not only shares YOUR right words at the right time, but it also answered a right word at a right time for me. Thank you – – this is beautiful!
This is wonderful. Her advice, and more important, her example. Your insert—or maybe she didn’t tell me—delighted me. You learned well….
Kevin,
When I read the prompt this morning I could only immediately recall one piece of advice. Why is that? Maybe it’s because what someone shows matters more than the words they tell. I get this in your poem. “Never accept what they tell you” leaves me wondering, “Who is they?” Yet the ambiguity here has a subtext that I suspect comes from the example your mom set for you over many years. Lovely tribute. Thank you.
—Glenda
Kim – Each of your prompts this week have been just so excellent, a balance of open-ended, inspirational, and challenging. But your mentor poems have touched my heart deeply, this one maybe the most. Beautiful and delivered in tightly spun lines that narrated a stunning story. Tears are washing down my face. Thank you for guiding us these 5 magical days. Susie
Thank you so much, Susie! I, too, always look forward to the magic and power and calming spirit of our group – I count the days in between our writing times! On Monday, I returned to work as we collect all of the textbooks and get them checked back in – fragmented waves of classroom books, locker books, books that were at home with students. It helps to think of the books celebrating a homecoming and loving being back together the same way we feel about this group – – it makes work easier especially as I know I won’t have time to sneak a peek at the poems until I arrive back home. So much to look forward to at the end of this day in the writing that will be born while I work. I love every minute of our time together here!
I couldn’t agree more, Susie. This poem….this is the kind of poem that comes inside to live in you.