Welcome to day 1 of the October open write for educators! We are so glad you are here. Read the inspiration, process, and mentor poem below, and then scroll to the bottom to compose your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets.
Inspiration
An anagram is a word or phrase formed by rearranging the letters of a different word or phrase, typically using all the original letters exactly once. For example, the word anagram itself can be rearranged into nag a ram, also the word binary into brainy and the word adobe into abode.
Invite students to create anagrams using letters in their given names. Aim for a list of-10-15 words.
Process
Now use those words in a poem about a character or event in the text you’ve studied this term, a real person or event in the news, or a concept you’ve recently taught in science, math, history, or the arts.
Create a mentor poem by creating an anagram poem using words comprised of the letters in your given or married names. Include an example of three or four literary or poetic devices. For ease in viewing, please alphabetize the anagrams created from your names.
Anna Jamar Small Roseboro. Words found are listed. Words used are in bold print.
| base | lace | moose | rose |
| bass | loose | more | smell |
| bore | lose | near | soar |
| brass | mall | nose | some |
| bro | man | roam | |
| jam | mar | room | smear |
| jar | moon | sneer |
I’m writing about Luti, the main character in the classical novel THE STREET by Ann Petry, a writer from the post-Harlem Renaissance, called the Black Renaissance.
Anna’s Poem
Luti cleans the brass in the room
Allowing her mind to roam
Knowing she’d better not sass the boss
Or she’d be out on her tuckus.
She arranges the roses in a bud vase
Jam-ming to the sounds of the bass
Soaring in her mind as she recalls the loose lace
On the Missus’ dress that tickled her face.
Walking into the office of the Man
She frowns at the moose head over the mantle
And sneers through her nose at the smell.
She mustn’t complain; she’ll lose her job
And that would mean back to hell
The hell of the home with her Dad
And her son, Bubb, would be mad.
Her reputation she dares not mar
She dares not stop for a drink at the bar
So, she walks straight home and up to her room
To chill, to unwind, and let loose
The storms of the day she’d been battling since noon.
She stands at the window, looks down on the street
Resting from the day; she’s really still beat.
With tears so near, she just grabs a beer
Makes Bubb a supper of bread and jam.
Luti says, “Wham! I’ll just be who I am!”
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.
Our Host
Anna J. Small Roseboro, a National Board Certified Teacher has over four decades of experience in public, private schools and colleges, mentoring early career educators, facilitating leadership institutes, in five states. She has served a director of summer programs and chair of her English department, published six textbooks based on these experiences, and was awarded Distinguished Service Awards by the California Association of Teachers of English and the National Council of Teachers of English. Her poetry appears in several issues of FINE LINES: An Anthology of Poetry and Prose (2015-2020); was in her own publication EXPERIENCE POEMS AND PICTURES: Poetry that Paints/Pictures that Speak (2019) and will be featured in CENTERED IN CHRIST, a devotional coming out this Fall. Her new textbook PLANNING WITH PURPOSE: A Handbook for New College Teachers published by Rowman and Littlefield also is due out this Fall.
TEACHING LITTLE WRITERS
Teaching little writers to focus ON a SEED
NOT TO write about everything
ONE small moment IS all you NEED
Teaching little writers who STARE AT the page
They have SO few experiences
AT this particular age
Writing can be difficult; for many IT’S a STRAIN
TO remember all the details
Most of which were NOT RETAINED
Teaching little writers to write and NOT RESIST
My littles must DENOTE their thoughts
I’m afraid I must INSIST
Thanks for the reminder that our students are “little writers” who often feel the strain. I’m actually just taking a break from grading. Your poem is encouraging me to breathe for a minute!
Jude the Obscure
By Mo Daley 10-17-21
Poor Jude was a sorry lad
Always wanting what he couldn’t have
His future stolen by a tart who led him frivolously to the dale–
So, an honest woman was made of Arabella
Although he wanted to be a Christminster scholar,
Jude worked day after day with the loamy clay
Then along came Sue, his perfect match/cousin
Who offered redemption as long as convention
Was thrown to the wind, along with their current marriages
Their happily-ever-after more of a
Happily-never-after when a morose and desperate mind
Robbed the lovers of their family
Who, without delay, return to their lamed, lawful spouses
In a pathetic attempt to set things right with the universe
And live their final days madly, in a hellish stupor
I deserve a medal in tragedy for surviving this tome
Harvest 2021
All is harvest
on the farm.
Loyal noises
of bin fan
combine
CB static
demand attention.
Layer on layer,
each generation
apologizes
to the fathers
to the sons
but too late:
So sorry
sorry
sorry.
The work
thinks about the farm
forgets about the
fathers
and the sons.
—————
(ALLISON LAURA BERRYHILL anagrams)
all
ball
barb
berry
boil
Braille
bull
hail
hall
hill
layer
lens
lorry
loyal
no
noise
sail
soil
son
sorry
yarn
you
your
yours
Allison, wow. There are layers of stories here left unspoken. What a poem full of the busyness of harvest, and the sadness of generations involved in it.
Allison – In so few words you once again deliver a wallop in this poem. Those last 5 lines are powerful. I had not thought of it that way, and you opened my eyes to the reality of the harvest and the brutally hard work. Thank you! Susie
What a beautiful and honest glimpse into farm life. Thank you!
Funny how I saw myself relaxing with the prompt and writing with a sense of ease, then the day hit and I found myself writing in between activities and errands. It’s hard to forgive myself sometimes when I don’t devote the right kind of love and time to my writing. So I’m being forgiving and sharing what I was able to write. I know it’s one I’ll need to come back to and give it the love it deserves.
I wrote about a character named Paul in Mildred D. Taylor’s phenomenal novel The Land. It’s one of those novels that my students say, “nooo, let’s keep reading!” when it’s time to pause for the day.
I used my full name (Stacey Lorinn Johnson Joy) and an anagram generator to help. Bold words are from my list.
The Land
Paul, son of his enslaver
And his enslaved mother
The last born of rosy hued skin
Into a nasty life of toil
Lover of horses and justice
Attempts his escape from the south
To seek freedom and joy
But finds himself crying
On a train going deeper
Into Mississippi’s post-slavery stench
Mrs. Crenshaw, a kind soul
Helped him hide and stay safe
Until he was ready to join
Mitchell, his best friend, in
Search of land to call his own
One morning he awakened to
God’s bluest skies and greenest meadow
That enchanted his heart like a sonnet
This was the land where he’d
bury his best friend and
Wed sweet Caroline at last.
©Stacey L. Joy, October 16, 2021
Your poem makes me want to read the book! Thank you, Stacey, for finding a way to be here with us tonight. You are always a gift in this space.
Stacy – This is a super stimulus to read the book. You’ve given us a book talk that really works… from the “rosy hued skin” to the train into “Mississippi stench.” That impossible “toil.” It’s been a long time since I read a Mildred Taylor novel… it’s time I did that again! Thank you for reminding me how much my kids loved her stories. Susie
I read it years ago during a summer vacation and couldn’t put it down. It’s one of the 3 my scholars read and love by Mildred D. Taylor.
The Land
Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry
Let the Circle Be Unbroken
Winners every year!
Thanks Susie! I’ve missed you! I am going back now to read your poem, a day late.
Stacey, thank you for coming back and sharing your poem. What a great summary of The Land. I think this is a great mentor poem for your scholars to write one about their own book. Interesting that the names Crenshaw and Caroline were found in your name. 🙂
That second stanza, wow, and these lines:
“On a train going deeper
Into Mississippi’s post-slavery stench”
Well done.
Hi Denise, thanks! I forgot to “unbold” the “w” in Crenshaw. I only get away with Crensha ?but I do get to keep Caroline.
Anna — Thank you for this challenging prompt. I picked a recent YA read We Are Liars by e. lockhart.
I anagramed Tamara Rose Belko.
Candace Sinclair seeks to break
an elusive past
a clouded memory
her migraines do not abate
an indelible mark of pain,
What of Candace will remain?
A solitary rose, left by Gat, for her?
Not for her?
Gat.
Where is Gat? Where are the cousins?
Where are the liars?
Memories remote, out of reach
Love lost and found
Real? Not real? Lies abound.
Mystery shrouds her youth
A broken mind bars her from truth
her truth,
buried deep underneath
the curling bark of the Clairmont tree
a swing
a room full of liars
granddad’s inheritance lies near
drunken aunts preen for King Lear
One sip, two sips, of
red, red, wine
Tremors of her mind
The house melts in
searing heat, in blistering fire
She seeks to remember
burning embers
Seeks her once upon a time
remembers
she is the maestro
she is the reaper
on their private island
of remorse
I am so impressed! I read “We Are Liars” last year and loved how your poem brought be back into the book. I am impressed with maestro, embers, and remose! What cool words, woven in with dexterity! BRAVO!
Tammi, so many interesting words have told the story here. I haven’t read this book, but I definitely want to now. “melts in searing heat”, “remember burning embers”, maestro, remorse, tremors…Well done!
Wow! Your poem echos the tone and mood of the novel. I just love how you’ve created such a feeling of suspense.
Great prompt, Anna! I am teaching Twelfth Night for the first time, so it was fun diving into a scene to understand all of its nuances better. Because it is Shakespeare, I decided to go for a sonnet-esque approach (I also want to make Allison Berryhill smile today)
Act IV Scene ii of Twelfth Night
Olivia, my heart aches for thee, I plea
There has never been a man so abused!
To this cell Toby has banished me
I am totally and utterly wrongly accused.
Imagine me, Malvolio, in this place.
O Father in heaven, this can’t be my real fate!
Lady Olivia asked me to put a smile on my face
and wrote in the note: “Some are born great”
Stuck in this cellar. It is dark as hell,
the preacher, however, did say
it is dark as ignorance as well.
Toby, you put me here and you shall pay!
Someday, you’ll see, I’ll marry your niece
and you shall never again be at peace.
Rachelle,
Nicely done. You have done a wonderful job with Twelfth Night.
Not sure why, but that line struck me as funny. (Not that it was meant to be funny.)
Rachelle,
How fitting that you wrote a sonnet for a Shakespearean play. “Imagine me, Malvolio, in this place” — this line made me smile at how perfectly you have captured Malvolio’s personality.
Rachelle,
So apt a form for a tribute to the Bard himself! I love it! And kudos for taking on a sonnet, you rocked it.
Oh, Rachelle! YES! You made me GRIN out loud!
I am tickled on so many levels! I taught “Twelfth Night” during summer school years ago, then took kids to see it performed in Omaha’s Shakespeare on the Green!
You took this prompt into the stratosphere, using anagrams (preacher! aches! plea!) to such clever effect!
I hope you had even half as much fun writing this as I had reading it!
So nicely done Rachelle! The rhyme scheme is well done, and the Shakespeare phrases you’ve used are great!
Thank you for this prompt, Anna! I loved your example poem, too. I have never tried anything like this before, and I had a lot of fun with it.
I used my full name: Madison Kayla Sheldrake Jones. I wrote about Frankenstein, a favorite classic of mine which I have thought a lot about recently with the season. Words I found from my name are in bold.
A maddened son,
Made with passion but no love.
An empty shell in need of care.
His soul wandered aimlessly;
Who am I? Who made me?
Where am I supposed to go?
Questions never to be answered,
For there are no loved ones near.
Our Creature rose ready to soar,
But was left to fall; alone.
We learned monsters are made, not born,
Too late.
Right up my alley! One of my favorite characters. I like what we have learned and what you have written about this creature so sad, alone and not loved.
Madison, you did a great job here. I love the use of rhetorical questions in your piece.
Madison —
Great choice of classics. I haven’t read it a long time but your poem makes me want to read it again.
These lines are so powerful and hold so much truth: “We learned monsters are made, not born,/Too late.”
Madison, thank you for writing and sharing this! I really enjoyed your point-of-view shifts, leading up to your excellent ending: “We learned monsters are made, not born, / Too late.”
Outstanding! I was a huge fan of Frankenstein, thanks to my stepdad! This works beautifully!
Madison, I like the way you change the speaker in this poem from omniscient narrator (as I took it) to Frankenstein, Dr Frankenstein – I’d like to try doing this myself sometime!
Anna, this is a delightful challenge that is just beyond my reach today. I will return to this prompt on a calmer day…thank you so much for stretching me! I fell short of writing about a book/character or person – such a great idea of a poetry lesson for students of all ages.
Using my full name – Maureen Young Ingram – I found the following anagrams (in bold), with lots of help from wordmaker.info.
Re: Anagrams
Anagrams are on the menu.
What do you mean
use my name
or mere parts of it?
Oh, ma! Oh, me! Oh, er…
This is a no go.
I’m sorry for my groaning
and moaning.
My brain is manure
as I manage a ream of chores,
a long day of grimy work.
How to unarm? soften? submit?
to the bliss of writing poetry?
How to arrange a marriage of
genuine, artful words with
meager time?
Perhaps if I rename myself
I’d be near a poem?
Would time help me reman
or simply make me feel
crankier and meaner?
I have nary a clue.
It goes against my grain,
I’d rue the day, in fact,
I’d be in mourning,
to miss
an open write
so this minor effort
I humbly submit.
I love that you have narrated your writing process writing the poem within the poem. Amazing use of vivid words and verbs! I particularly like your shorter bursts of thought in exclamations and questions. Your voice comes through so strongly in those parts.
Oh, and thanks for mentioning your use of wordmaker.info. I’ll definitely be checking out that resource!
Thanks, Madison! True credit about wordmaker goes to Denise Krebs hahaha – I read her post below before I wrote my poem after reading her suggestion….
Maureen, this is great! I am jealous that you have “ing” in your name! Although you didn’t write about a character/book, I think this turned out excellently (and like you had fun with it!)
Maureen,
This line — “Perhaps if I rename myself/I’d be near a poem?” is fantastic!
Our names really our poetry.
Your choice to respond this way is one of the reasons for the success of this group. You do your thing and tell us why. We say, great, but never goodbye. We wanna see what you do next, even if you don’t write about the text! 🙂
Haha! This is so funny, Maureen. Good for you. On my busiest days I too say,
“I’d be in mourning,
to miss
an open write”
So I’m so glad you didn’t miss! What a slew of words you had at your disposal for this effort, (not minor)–Arrange a marriage! genuine, meager, groaning and moaning. Wow. Perfectly executed.
Maureen- You nailed this. The whole piem is the very conversation I had with myself early this morning. Today was I grueling physical work day for me, and I had no clue how I’d crank out a meaningful poem. You were brilliant here.
my favorite lines:
This made me laugh… what an honest poem you gave us today! Thank you! Susie
Small Wonder
Revisiting Barbara Kingsolver’s essay, Small Wonder. Shared with my students 20 years after 9/11.
As our troops returned from Afghanistan in August
Regret not victory led our thoughts.
From the first day of our bombing campaign in Afghanistan
Remorse not revenge settled into our bellies.
On that day Kingsolver read the story of the child and the bear.
While a place in many of us, may have been able to know retaliation.
Where is humanity?
In the story of the bear of Lorena Province.
Kingsolver reminds us we need new bear stories.
And to plant seeds as an act of faith.
Using the letters in my full name, Margaret Jamie Goldberg Langley. Found words are bolded.
What a profound poem with anagrams! “Where is humanity?” really reverberates for me.
I love these ideas that you’ve left us with–of needing new bear stories and to plant seeds. The emotion in this is so palpable! A very heartfelt and moving response.
Jamie —
“Where is humanity” — such a poignant question then and now.
I have not read this essay,but I want to read the inspiration behind your moving words.
Jamie, great inspiration for this poem. I like that you revisited this lesson and added your thinking and insights, showing you considered your lesson this long after it. I think this would be a perfect mentor poem for your students for writing their own anagram poem.
Yes, “we need new bear stories” and “to plant seeds as an act of faith” Well done.
Jaime – This is poignant and inspiring. I haven’t read this Kingsolver piece, and now I must. I so appreciate the plea for humanity. Thank you. Susie
So much to love in this poem. The gentle hope of planting seeds as an act of faith brings us back to focus on the “new bear stories”.
Anagrams
Trashy Goop
and Clop Horny
were said
to have used
these
in the 4th
century;
later,
Balloon Smith
(or if you prefer
Anthill Bosom)
was appointed
by Louis XIII
as a Royal
Anagrammatist,
and later still,
Gale Oil and
Yes Hung
would conceal
their research data,
performing
linguistic
camouflage,
a map maker’s
Paper Town
of scientific
discovery,
to lose their
findings,
secrets
on an
astronomical
level.
______________________
Trashy Goop — No, not Gwyneth Paltrow. Pythagoras, he of the famous Theorem, who, incidentally, I’ve read, also had a “wellness and lifestyle” company and sold candles that smelled like Gwyneth Paltrow’s private parts.
Clop Horny — Greek Poet Lycophron
Balloon Smith — Thomas Billon
Anthill Bosom — Also Thomas Billon
Gale Oil — Galileo
Yes Hung — Huygens
So, so clever, Scott! Thank you for sharing the anagram puzzle solutions. I adore Clop Horny!!
Very fascinating use of this prompt! I love that you put anagrams within a poem about anagrams. The short nature of the lines separate and bunch your ideas in really interesting ways.
Scott — This is wonderful! I’ll admit. I had to read it more than once before it all clicked for me, but it really made me smile when the puzzle pieces.Very clever!
Scott,
Your poem is hilarious and clever! It’s so cool how the story of anagrams and “a map maker’s Paper Town of scientific discovery” are connected to real people – even Paltrow’s candles – HA!
I am currently teaching Fools Crow by James Welch to my World Literature classes. I have taught it for years and absolutely love it–and my students are loving it this year, too.
Anagramming my name on word.tips online produced 897 words. Yikes! Thank you for the challenging and fun prompt!
Fools Crow
Once a young man with no merit,
he found a way to rectify this by being
a rare and fair man, humble to the bone.
Loyal to his band, his mate, and fit to lead.
His actions create an array of accomplishments
that reframe everyone’s view of him.
First, in the horse raid rife with many an error and rift,
he met and exceeded expectations, a firm force
of calm in the face of fear and terror.
Then, after Yellow Kidney went missing, he met
the challenge of providing care for his teary family,
quietly hunting for meat, only once looking her in the eye.
Then, the once fierce warrior returns, only fit
to sit and watch, no fingers, his family left to cry
for the man who can no longer act as their protector.
No one would marry Red Paint, since they would
also be wed to Yellow Kidney, but White Man’s Dog
met the challenge, his soul afire with coy love.
An army of braves sought revenge, riding down on
the foe who caused Yellow Kidney to roar in pain
when Fast Horse, irate and foolish, yelled and ran.
White Man’s Dog became Fools Crow, now a respected
man learning the art of medicine in an era that may
soon be no more, though his dreams try to lead him.
Bands of people, not meant to be farmers, not able to
match an armory sent from a fort to lie and tame the
spirit of a people who aren’t able to reform or capitulate.
Find the icy truth of history in a story of a man, not a rioter or
erratic fool, but a man of his people, wanting to live
in peace, in a year that forces turned on a whole race.
Cara,
Nicely done. You have captured Fools Crow well. My favorite stanza follows. Thank you for bringing the novel into my life.
White Man’s Dog became Fools Crow, now a respected
man learning the art of medicine in an era that may
soon be no more, though his dreams try to lead him.
WOW! I have to read this book now! Can I also say that I am jealous you got to play with words that have Ys and Ts in them? My name only came up with about 480 words!
Well now I want to read this book. Several phrases of yours I particularly like – firm force of calm, soul afire with coy live, a rare and fair man. Nicely done Cara!
Love Stories
By: Emily Yamasaki
Sit with me
Sail with no aim
Only time
Lay with me
Same beat
One tale
I used my maiden name – Emily Tsai
Inspired by love stories!
I want to put a heart emoji here! (Don’t know how – hahaha) This is sweet and lovely, Emily. “Sail with no aim” – ahhhh
LOL ???I had the same reaction! If you have a Mac just use Command/Control/Space and the emoji keyboard pops up. One of the best keyboard shortcuts ever!
I love how small but timeless this poem is. It creates an emotion I don’t quite know how to describe, and I think that’s an element of love stories that this models really well!
Yes, as Madison said your poem has a timeless feel to it. “Same beat one tale” -I love this line!
Emily, gorgeous, loving, sweetheart of a poem! Here are all the emojis that Maureen wanted to share. I concur!
??❤️??❤️
Full disclosure, I did NOT write about the book I have been working on with students. Sorry, I just could not write a poem about a podiatrist, a worm farmer, and a motocross racer. ???
I chose to anagram Sandra “Sandy” Olsson from Grease. My husband suggested her. ❤❤
Ode to Summer Love
They ran out of the waves holding hands
Kicking up warm dry sand
Laughing and enjoying their last day together
Both knowing they would soon part
She would head back to her old life and he to his
What would she say to Danny?
Hope to see you soon?
Goodbye?
I love you?
Summer love is fun but not forever
No, summer love just doesn’t last…
DeAnna,
But isn’t there just so much potential in podiatrists, worm farmers, and motocross racers? Kidding. I feel you. I like how you echo the song from the movie in your last stanza:
Summer love is fun but not forever
No, summer love just doesn’t last…
You captured not only the characters well but the theme too! It makes me want to watch this tonight!! To echo Cara echoing the song, I really thought those last two lines were phenomenally chosen.
DeAnna you make me laugh about Messy Jobs! Your poem achingly captured the sweetness and longing of a summer love. Well done!
As soon as I finished reading your poem, the song was stuck in my head! I love your poetic take on this classic. Thanks for sharing!
Anna,
I appreciate the basic form of the anagram. For whatever reason, it was easy to ease into writing this format for me today. I love the image and sounds of the “loose lace” – so much sassiness in her effort to behave herself. Wonderful example!
Anna, this was a challenging but fun prompt. Thank you for the inspiration. I wrote my poem about Lale from Heather Morris’s The Tattooist of Auschwitz.
The bolded words came from my full name.
In the darkest of times,
in a place ruled by hate,
Lale, the tattooist of Aschwitz, found his mate.
Surrounded by death,
doing all they could to escape harm,
in hidden spaces, they fell into each other’s arms.
If not for Lale’s trading Jews’ stolen jewels
for medicine, food, and chocolate for her,
Gita surely would have died there.
Their love and desire to live
finally allowed them to escape and create a home
and memorialize their story of hope in a tome.
Heather,
The Holocaust is not an easy subject. You have done a wonderful job. Thank you for sharing today.
Heather, your book sounds fascinating. I haven’t heard of this book, but your poem makes me want to read it. That first stanza really sets the tone.
“In the darkest of times,
in a place ruled by hate,”
Wow.
NOTE: This book was not written by me. It was written by another Heather Morris.
Ann, what a great way to generate a word palette. I first used the name of a character I want to write about, Nahadoth from NK Jemison’s The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms.Then I use my own first and middle name. So many words I did not use, but they gave way to this thinking I’m still in the midst of–from reading The Inheritance Trilogy, from this summer. One of my past students continues to suggest titles into one of his favorite genres. Anyways…
Nahadoth,
your darkness like glass holds
a reflection I grapple to see
don’t want to bear the reminder
of hell, empty shell, dismay
so I turn away
it’s easier to sell you as the evil,
antagonist to our hero and
the comfortable way I have
of thinking/not thinking about life
but Jemison held your existence
to both sun and abyss and the spaces
in between with undue power
and undue suffering dominated
by a race selling light as a good
a commodity of hegemony
worshipping what’s “right”
creating laws, slaying those who disagree
And I begin to be willing to see
shards of my own losses and gains
from such a world
I like that you formatted this like a letter. I wish I would have read this before I wrote mine!
I really enjoyed making anagrams! Thank you for this fun prompt!
Ode to Elizabeth Proctor
A redo?
But no
The record will show
That diva
Bewildered him
Or dare I say
Bewitched him
As the miles increase
It’s not the lies
I recall, it’s only
That I’m sad.
But now irreversibly
We enter our crucible
The ore will burn
And what will remain?
Emily,
Wow!!!
What a fun poem. I like what you did with the Crucible you had to work with. How fitting that it happens to be October as well.
When asked where I am from I typically say, “Salem, but not the cool one.”
Emily,
Ah, the Crucible! You did a wonderful job honoring poor Elizabeth. Your word choice and tone echo the play really nicely.
I love the poem of Elizabeth Proctor. Particularly your word choice of diva – a modern word for an old story. I also love your end with a question. What does the story tell us, each time it unfolds.
You always amaze me, Emily, with your powerful and efficient word choices. An interesting fact about me is that one of my ancestors, Susannah (North) Martin was one of the women tried as a witch and killed in Salem.
Thank you, Anna. Thank you for introducing me to Luti with your poem. The hopelessness of feeling this always makes me sad: “She mustn’t complain; she’ll lose her job /
And that would mean back to hell”
What a challenge you gave us. There were 587 words that wordmaker.info found in my name (Denise Reed Krebs) for my poem about Cora, the main character in The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead.
Cora redressed as Bessie
wasn’t able to kiss freedom
on her underground rides.
She resided in sirens
of berserk oppression,
misery and evil her forced drink.
Cora’s chosen kindred died,
Desires denied,
Seeker of choice,
Risker of hell,
Her end.
The powerful
sneered and reeked
of the monstrous beds they made,
Serene skies their lie.
Stand beside Cora’s memory,
America’s dressed in this history.
May a keen sense of ownership
indeed send us to our knees
to repent, rise, and render hope
for a new day.
Denise, I did not think to use wordmaker. That is, indeed, a large number of words to play with. Your last stanza will stick with me. I will “stand beside Cora’s memory…to repent, rise, and render hope for a new day.”
Cora is one of my favorite literary characters. I love your final stanza. America’s dressed in this history – sad, but honest. And the final sentence – keen sense of ownership . . . send us to our knees . . . On a beautiful fall afternoon hope we can imagine a new day.
Denise – thank you for mentioning wordmaker! It really helped me with my poem. I loved this book; you have captured the essence of Cora…these lines in particular resonate with me:
Cora’s chosen kindred died,
Desires denied,
Seeker of choice,
Risker of hell,
Her end.
Denise – – How perfect… I’m just getting ready to read Harlem Shuffle by Whitehead. You’ve got my juices flowing with the images of Cora. I’m so impressed by the way the anagram business could pull forth such a dandy poem. My favorite is the idea of “kiss[ing] freedom.” And “Serene skies their lie.” Oooo! So effective! Cool! Thank you. Susie
Denise!!! Standing and clapping!!!! ????????
We have taken to watching movie series in the evenings since COVID-19 began. We’ve seen every Star Wars and last week we watched all the Twilight. We had even begun saying things like, “Edward would never say such a thing.” And now we are watching all the Bonds. Last night, we watched Casino Royale, so here we go…
James Bond: same, jam, jem, no, nod, don, bone, son, same, done, moan, eon, man, mob, demon, send, mend, bend
Fleming’s first 007 novel
Casino Royale-1953,
made it to the screen-2006 with
Craig as Bond, the original
iterated man. Lean, taciturn, less
sex-obsessed, able to be
wounded in body, in soul no
preference in drink,
a shake, a stir– same.
Able to love in tropical sands
resigns as the double O
with a send while gondola-ing
in Venice. Spylife done for love.
In 1953/2006 there were no gadgets.
Well, maybe one, a portable defib.
Old fashion poison maims in this one–
no torturous lasers or crocs
Ok, a knotted rope damages his, ehem,
manhood, but he is on the mend
with his love in no time.
In this Bond, we care about the man
about his love interest because the love
like every scene looks real, not
fantastical. No sci-fi detachment, no
need to suspend disbelief (I sleep
during action sequences made post production).
What I loved, though, loved in this one was
the long scenes of eyes. Eyes.
Time to gaze and study the tells
that make espionage intrigue-ing.
Sarah, I cracked up at all the shows you are watching. Of course, after last night’s movie, you had to write this poem! I learned a lot. I haven’t seen many 007 movies. The rope damages section (ehem) is clever and well done. Lots of smiles in this poem.
Sarah, I too have taken to Netflix in the evening. I almost wrote about Jane, the Virgin. Your poem has piqued my interest in this particular Bond. I enjoy your play with words throughout (like “that make espionage intrigue-ing”) along with the treasures your find in this version of Bond. Well done!
Sarah, this was fun! I loved your analysis of Craig’s Bond. Your second stanza had me wincing from the memory of THAT scene, and I realize that I’ll need to rewatch the film and take note of all the “eyes.” Thanks!
Sarah,
Your poem reads so smoothly, like a well-written review. I love the last stanza about how eyes are important. The sounds: eyes, gaze, tells, espionage…all bring the image to life and takes me back to a different style of filmmaking. Well done!
Good morning/afternoon Anna,
Thank you for this new challenge in your prompt today. I’m loving the idea of using anagrams from our names as the starting point.
Your poem made me want to read the book. If it’s any better than your poem, it must be a best-seller!
Something about this stanza resonated with me, probably because it’s how I felt yesterday when I finished working.
Beautiful poem and prompt. Thank you, my friend! Let’s see what comes of my names today.
?Stacey
Stacey, I took some liberties with the poem writing what I thought she would do in her situation. I often ask student write their own scene about a book we’ve read together, but keep the characterization or setting the same as in the book. You should see the scenes written about The Christmas Carol: Tens Years Later!
“On the Move” [Created using anagrams from Mark Twain & Sam Clemmons]
I aim to squeeze the juice out of life, like grandma squeezes lemons.
Now, not later!
Mark my words. Remember my name.
I will soar with the eagles and swim with the whales,
making a slant through the ink-black sea.
If you see me sauntering down the lane,
stop and bend my ear.
I earn my keep by spinning yarns.
I’m no saint, but when the day starts to fade, and moonlight wanes,
I’ll craft a tale of courage and resolve,
of humans only trying to do their best with what they have to win the game of life.
Shaun,
This is so fun and playful filled with biographical details that intrigue me. And taking up the first person perspective is brilliant “I earn my keep by spinning yarns” — such a great saying, this “yarns” for stories. I want to say that this week for sure.
Peace,
Sarah
Shaun, you sound like Mark Twain here with “bend my ear”, “spinning yarns” and “craft a tale” along with others. Well done. Your poem makes me want to read some Twain.
Shaun — I really liked the sense of movement here. Words that just kept me “on the move”… Sauntering…. spinning…squeeze…soar. And, of course, I’m in love with the idea of story…yarns. Susie
What a nice surprise to see you providing our inspiration today. I always look forward to your writing and ideas. I must be in a rebellious mood today as I came up with this odd poem based on my name. Of course one must remember that I grew up on the beach.
Susan Osborn
suns sans bassoons unbans unbars
bun bra bro burns ass barons snubs buss bus bran born rubs nabs
Gidget
This South Cal girl born under the sun
lying on the beach sans her clothes
no, she won’t burn.
People walk by.
She feels their snubs
and rubs on the lotion.
Gidget unbars the rules
and lets her ass show.
The “bros” nab their boards.
They are barons of the beach
and she’ll join in
after grabbing the bra and bottom
of a small bikini
to cover herself.
Susan,
I love this poem and want to be Gidget. I wish I could go sans clothes and “unbar the rules” only to later catch a wave with the “bros.” This is pure joy, and I think the bolded words add a neat textual feature.
Peace,
Sarah
Susan, So many fun memories in your poem… especially of “lotion” in a time before sun screen and the perils of wearing a bikini. I especially love the deeper meaning in lettering “her ass show.” At least I think it’s deeper, as she snubs the rules and allows herself the same joy as her “bros.”
Your poem made me smile. I admire Gidget and wish I could be as bold.
Susan — You gave me such a Gidget giggle here. Wooo! Sassy! Susie
Anna, thank you for hosting today and what a great prompt. I love how it has the potential to connect the student to the characters. And what a great text to demonstrate this with.
I decided to use a website that helped with anagram generating for: Stefani Boutelier. Wow, some great words came out of that generator so I tried to tie some of them together. Some are a bit of a push but it was a challenge nevertheless. The bold words are the anagrams:
Life is a play on words
a tutorial, a game
bridging to a fertile
liberation of lit-eracy
to orient ourselves
on a resilient or nefarious
path of discovery
choosing to flirt
with phrases that infuriate
us, but are feasible
the stanzas of our lives
we write will not refute
the text at the end, in our
obituaries
Oh, Stefanie! I love seeing all the language that emerged from your name. I wish I saw your post before writing mine because my brain was really taxed trying to make all the words on my own.
Okay, so your words! Wow, and this beautiful “flirt/ with phrases that infuriate” and then the “text at the end, in our/obituaries” what a stunning shift that really gives me space to linger in thought and appreciation of words.
Peace,
Sarah
Stefani, what a great open: “Life is a play on words” a theme you weave throughout. Today i will carry your words “a resilient or nefarious path of discovery” and “the stanzas of our lives” as I contemplate the literacy of my own life. Well done!
Stefani, how clever, using a site for generating anagrams – wow, indeed! I love that first line, “life is a play on words” and the idea of “fertile liberation of lit-eracy” (lit having a number of meanings). How true, that haunting acknowledgement – in the end, we cannot refute what is written in our obits. Just captivating.
Stefani, I loved these moments: “Life is a play on words,” “a game / bridging to a fertile / liberation of lit-eracy,” and “the stanzas of our lives.” Very cool! Thank you for sharing this!
Stefani! Brilliant poem!! You nailed it!
This was a lot of fun — like an unboxing of my name with meanings I had never considered before. I could also see this activity being combined with other activities related to name meanings/stories. Thanks for sharing it. I used my full name and I will bold the words that came out of the anagram process — though I also allude to the name meanings from baby name books.
A Story Worthy of Me
My name contains a chronicle:
the ruler, the victory, the son
all ways to claim choice for myself.
I ache for adventure,
for dreams made real,
only to hole up in safety.
Pulling back against the tide of fear,
my name cannot reconcile
with the timid nature of my youth.
Now I understand why
the sea calls my name
despite being encircled by land.
It is time to drive forward,
like the rain: a force both
reassuring and powerful.
You will not ignore me,
my name contains a chronicle
and I choose to be the victorious queen.
Erica,
This does in deed add a beautiful dimension to the sorts of assignments that we ask students to do about their name and name origins. I love thinking about the letters here an how they come from and contribute to knew ways of knowing. Each stanza brings a new discovery from the sea to the rain, but I think I may love the final line the most with “victorious queen.” Indeed.
Erica, the choice of circles in your writing (encircled) along with the circling back to the beginning (chronicle) and the shift from son to victorious Queen is powerful. There are so many stanzas I love and it was hard to pick a favorite, but I love the idea of the sea calling your name.
Anna, I always look forward to your inspirations! Your rhyme schemes are so rhythmic and beautiful every time – and that last line carries a strong message for all of us! Wham!
I decided to take snippets of the Haikus I’ve written this week during my fall break travels and combine each day into a character’s journal (I am the “character”) as a primary source document. This is a wonderful classroom idea.
Thank you for investing in us as writers today!
Kimberly Haynes Johnson
Salem, home, shore, Bearskin, one, sea, joy, sail, shore, air, early, on, skim, Amie’s, Ann, she, rose, line, makes
Day 1 Rockport Walk
early morning walk
in Rockport, Massachusetts
streets of Bearskin Neck
waves crash on sea wall
breakfasting gulls skim the shore
sunrise fish morsels
lobster fisherman
revving up Amie’s engine
moored at Tuna Wharf
coastal New England
autumn splendor holds such charms
travelers revel
Day 2 – Salem Tour
Uber to Salem
Witch Museum, history
witch hunts still exist
Day 3 – Sea glass Search
sunrise sea glass search
surfside, seeking shattered shards
seaside souvenirs
Day 4 – Whales, Music
Cape Ann Whale Watching
gentle giants of the sea
Oh, look! Thar she blows!
tribal drums, cello
hand-carved rosewood balafon
electric guitar
bluegrass, funk, rock-fused
traditional African
unexpected joy!
Day 5 – Freedom Trail
City View trolley
much too tired to walk the line
where it all began
travel is fun, but
coming home is part of what
makes the adventure!
Good morning Kim,
Thank you for sharing your travels this way. I adore the haiku form here and your details make me remember my own experience in some of these places. Do you write haikus daily or was that just during your travels?
Kim, your words are traveling through one of my most favorite areas today and I am glad for this journey with you. You’ve offered such beautiful sensory details in the crashing waves, the revving of lobsterman boats, and skimming gulls. Coming home is wonderful but wanderlust calls (as do your words).
Wow! The haiku works so well to describe your vacation by each day. I am not familiar with the east coast but this makes me want to go and visit Cape Ann and Cape Cod. Must be lovely.
I love haiku! I loved reading the series of your adventures so close to my own home. It reminds me of all that MA has to offer. I love sea glass and want to go on that advenure after reading your poem.
Kim – Wow! Who would have thought so much could explode from the letters of your name. And you took me to Rockport and the coastal waters…it’s been years since I’ve been there, and I loved these memories…the “sea glass” and the “lobster fisherman” especially.
Then, the music just really felt so good:
Wonderful poem! Susie
Kim – this is micro creative nonfiction, spun as beautifully as the sea glass itself. The journal entry days are like tiny chapter titles, all so ethereal. Day 3 is my personal favorite, followed by the whales – and I must pay close attention for layers of meaning are embedded (“witch hunts still exist”). Your haiku are always compelling and masterfully rendered – and the list of words from your name, pure enchantment. It delights me that we share “sea”!
I loved traveling with you through your haikus!
Thank you for sharing your adventure with us.
Anna, thank you for this marvelous challenge today. We play with anagrams in 7th grade and adding this inspiration will give them more to explore. Your words bring Luti to life and make me want to read more about her.
I used anagrams of my name (Jennifer Guyor) in bold throughout this poem today.
Banned
Traveling life as a
Journeying Ref,
a mediator of language
written and spoken,
a sharer of words
thoughtful and broken,
urging readers to
Join Genre Fury,
witnessing the
Genre Info Jury,
hearing people spout
Of Genre Injury
in cyclical protests
Rerun: Feign Joy
Jen, the way you took those last four bold lines and worked them with the word genre in 3 of them is masterful, and that last line – the cyclical protests and feigning joy had me chuckling! You really hit a home run with this one today!
I really enjoyed the lines “a mediator of language” and the juxtaposition of “written and spoken” with “thoughtful and broken.” Our words, our language can be so powerful in both writing and spoken aloud and I thought this captured that idea beautifully.
Good morning Jen,
I appreciate your line “mediator of language” because it brings light to all of us, as communicators, that is ultimately our goal–to mediate our language use for sense-making. I also love how you’ve used rhyme and repetition with your anagram words. Thank you for sharing today.
Wow, Jen, what a challenge. This is amazing how you created a poem with your whole name anagrams. You have made it fun and meaningful. I might go back and look at my name in anagrams, but they are things like Seedbed Sneer Irk and Birdseeds Keener. 🙂
Aah, Jen – You had fun with this challenge. I really like the craziness of the “Genre Info Jury… and Injury”… isn’t that just something?! “Cyclical protests” indeed… always so much abuse of words “broken”… you left me with that strong sense that we need your “Journeying Ref” to keep that brouhaha in check when those who throw words around have little to no understanding of just what they mean. Perfect title! Thank you! Susie
Jen, see my response to Stacey. I took some liberties by creating my own “scenes” about Luti, based on the characterization of Ann Petry.
Fabulous anagram play, Jen – your amazing phrases remind me of chapters in The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. Beyond the deftly crafted anagrams, your poem carries such an important message (I note your excellent title and how you made it do some of the work).
Gracious, Anna – what a fascinating challenge! I am in awe of all the pieces that come together here in this vibrant poem about a vibrant character, Luti. She lives and shines in your lines. I am especially enamored with pieces of your name being mixed throughout the verse … for isn’t that essentially what poets do, infuse pieces of self into the work?
This week I taught a series of poetry-writing lessons in fourth grade: “What inspires poets” and metaphor. That’s my springboard here, along with just my given name, Frances (if used my entire name I might never finish… ). Here’s the list of words (this was SUCH fun to discover): fen, fear, sear, near, scare, scarf, are, fare, can, scan, sane, sea, far, fern, face, faces. I also worked in the meaning of my name: “Free.” Thank you for this incredible inspiration.
Walking the Poet-Mind
The poet-mind
is a fen
an accumulation
of organic matter
layer upon layer
always composing
and decomposing
a place not exactly
earth
nor sea
but a hybrid
of each
nurtured by
seeping groundwater
of sensory experience
emotion
life itself
where anything
falling in
like a fern-leaf frond
can sear itself,
indelibly imprinted
indefinitely preserved
The poet-mind
faces itself
without fear
much as one stands
to scan horizons
far
and near
without
within
at the very edge
of earth
and sea
and self
yet while carving
space
to be
who you are
a place
where
if you ran free
with all your might
infinitely
you could never
reach the end
of words
forever swirling, flapping
like a multicolored scarf
in the wind
They’re not meant
to scare you,
words
they are yours
they are here
so you can stay
sane
—listen, Poet
can you not hear
that whispering
across your fog-riddled fen
where the will-o-wisp glows,
wearing your own face:
fare-thee-well
fare-thee-well
—how it echoes
how it echoes
the poet knows
Fran, I fell into this immediately with the first lines “The poet mind is a fen” (fen is a gorgeous word) and it carried me throughout but has me locked into utter enamorment with your address “–listen, Poet” and all that follows. It’s magical. It sings. It speaks to my heart. It will echo to infinity. “The poet knows.”
You had me at the crossing of worlds and kept me throughout – I had an Amen section going the whole time, especially here
life itself
where anything
falling in
like a fern-leaf frond
can sear itself,
indelibly imprinted
indefinitely preserved
the fern and the scarf and the word preserves we swirl continuously are all captured here in your poem today! I adore that you brought in a will-o-wisp too, glowing and keeping the flame of Poetry love alive and lighting the way forward…..lovely, just charming and lovely!
Wow Fran, the “poet mind” and the poet as your audience is so powerful. Having students write from or to the “poet mind” would be a great activity in a classroom too. Thank you for sharing this today.
Fran — I was taken by the poet mind…walking that mind. And the descriptors for that are really rich…loved “fen” and the “layers of organic matter” — of course!
And the images of space…horizon and edges and the scarf in the wind…love that. The echo and repetition. Wonderful poem! Thank you. Susie
Fran, it’s always a delight to see how teachers of students in different grades can see ways to adapt the myriad prompts we are offered in this OPEN WRITE group. Thanks for sharing yours.
[I used my name SUSANMORICE to share a sense of the book Apeirogon that I recently finished reading.]
APEIROGON
[Colum McCann tells us an apeirogon is “a shape with an accountably infinite number of sides.”]
The stories told by Rami, an Israeli, and Bassam Aramin, a Palestinian, are true.
Two men, nearly broken,
like shards of a glass crucible
scattered on hard stone,
lives splintered —
how to become
whole again?
Daughters slaughtered
in a useless morass
of violence over senseless borders
that dissect families
bearing crosses
of vengeance —
nothing solved.
Mourn instead
the losses
of those most dear,
little girls,
candy in hand,
school books spilled
in the street with the blood
of innocence.
Only sharing common stories
of love and loss,
telling and retelling can reshape
understanding, mend;
hands reaching
across the screams,
through the barbed wire,
summon a new manner
of living side by side
in peace,
occupied not by might
and a fight to own the sand,
but by each other’s truths.
by Susie Morice, October 16, 2021©
Susie, this is beautiful and heart-breaking at the same time. I will carry the image of the little girls with candy in hand and spilled school books with me for some time today. This is a “wowza” of a poem (love when you describe other writing this way).
Susie – stunning, striking – that hisssss of repeated “s” throughout represents the evil of the slaughter, the senselessness, so many of your specific word choices for these images of hatred, horror, and mourning. I was glad to see that ray of light, hope, breaking through in the final lines – and I especially love that it comes from sharing stories, from laying down arms to reaching out hands. So beautifully done.
Susie, the truths in your poem
are mighty and the message is strong! I love this verse for presenting the way to move on – not fighting to own the sand! Wow!
Only sharing common stories
of love and loss,
telling and retelling can reshape
understanding, mend;
hands reaching
across the screams,
through the barbed wire,
summon a new manner
of living side by side
in peace,
occupied not by might
and a fight to own the sand,
but by each other’s truths.
Susie, what a rich poem you have crafted here from the sad awful true stories of Rami and Bassam. Wow. Peace to them, and yes might all of Israel be occupied “by each other’s truths.” Thank you for writing.
Susie, I am completely enthralled by this poem. I feel the emotions and see the two men and their suffering/healing like I’m watching a movie. This is a very moving piece!
The exercise of using a new lexicon of words is challenging, like a puzzle. Thanks for stimulating my early morning brain. My words are in bold.
I see me
in this moment
like an immigrant
across a river
paddling for solid ground.
The map to myself
grows old around the edges
fading lines to home.
Who begins again at this age?
I am the ringmaster,
the magician, conjuring
a stream-line
back to you.
Margaret, the fluidity of your poem, against your description of writing ✍️ t like a puzzle (something less fluid to me) makes this all the more beautiful. The second stanza is grounding, the question asked resonating.
There’s so much I love about this poem, Margaret – the reflection, the sense of paddling, THIS: “The map to myself grows old around the edges” … and I grasp those last lines as writing being your mooring. To which I can relate, all of it.
This is beautiful, Margaret. I felt the immigrant’s struggles in the stream and you, the magician, sending out a helping hand.
I love how this poem opens and immediately you are outside of yourself. I like the question posed in the middle and the celebration of yourself at the end. Overall I just love this poem and what you did with the words that came from your name!
Margaret, wowza. This is so beautiful. I love “like an immigrant across a river paddling for solid ground.” You had quite a collection of words that came from your name. Lovely.
I love the geography throughout your poem. And I like the agency you assume in the final stanza as ringmaster. Seemingly simple, yet provocative.
Hi Margaret,
Outstanding opening! You took me right in. I love this.
I loved flowing along with your poem. The effortless, natural rhythm is so beautiful. Thanks for sharing this with us.