Inspiration
Reflect on your greatest struggle, however you define it. Tell the story of how you overcame or are overcoming it. Consider how enduring the struggle has changed you — perhaps, for the better. A few questions to help you move through the the process.
- What was a problem that changed who you were, how you acted, and how you saw the world?
- When you overcame that problem, was there a struggle to do that too?
- When you changed for the better, was the problem still a part of you?
- Did it leave a permanent indent on your outlook of life?
- Did it help you see (the world/your life) clearer?
Form Suggestion
Try to write your poem in couplets today. A couplet is a poem made up of two-line stanzas with the final word of each line rhyming.
To meet, to know, to love–and then to part,
Is the sad tale of many a human heart.
–Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- Notice how the two lines rhyme in this couplet?
- Notice how both lines have a similar number of syllables?
This is called meter, which gives the poem rhythm. This is a site that can help you with rhyming.
Sarah’s Poem
“Public Speaking”
Most days it is a struggle to be
part of a world that is all about me.
This is not to say that I am not self-absorbed.
I am always worried, not worthy of being adored.
but for people to listen to what I have to say,
they need to know my words, face, and ways,
and, for me, that is a struggle.
I want students to have a voice
in what they read and write, a choice.
I want them to create –not fill in
worksheets that restrict, ideas dim.
I want them to collaborate without screens,
to look into one another’s eyes and being.
The struggle is not in here but out there.
How do I help them everywhere?
For that, I have to go into real, virtual worlds,
show my face, use my voice, publish words
worried no one will care, or worse, will judge
what I say, how I speak and not budge.
To overcome, I think,
“It’s not about me
but the literacy lives of teens.”
Then, speaking out gets easier.
Post your writing any time today. If the prompt does not work for you today, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Below are some suggestions for commenting with care. Oh, and a note about edits: The comment feature of this blog (and many blogs) does not permit edits. Since we are writing in short bursts, we all are understanding (and even welcome) the typos that remind us we are human.
I know sadness, sorrows, struggles and leaving
How do I stay above while floating?
I sat there dressed in starchy white,
wondered why I wasn’t alright.
Here, in a place I longed to be
“Belonging” just passed over me.
Surrounded by others like me and yet,
There was something I could never forget.
These people seemed so perfect then,
and I wondered what might have been
If I had lived my life like theirs,
Then would I too be free of cares?
Just as my thoughts turned to regret,
I felt something I won’t forget:
A wall that blocked the path to doubt
And shut unworthy feelings out.
For I have no less right to be
Included, Peaceful, and happy.
What will I myself become?
Strong and hopeful, second to none.
Looking back I see my shadow-self,
Who kept her worries on a shelf.
Out of reach for all but me,
Lonely, though with company.
Those doubts were not at once erased,
But rather, over time, embraced.
With eyes adjusted to the light,
I see others who face that fight.
So remember, Warrior Queen,
That all have struggles gone unseen.
ELIZA – The beauty of your poem, indeed, is a light. Those doubting moments when we look at what seems “so perfect,” are almost never perfect in reality. I think our capacity to mythologize that perfection is interesting — lots of “starchy white” sensations. When you hesitate and “shut unworthy feelings out,” I am most taken by your poem, as the voice gets so confident and “second to none.” You’ve shared a complex being here, and it is surely one we can recognize. The rhyming couplets are delightful in carrying the poem gracefully. I read it again out loud and really like the meter. Thanks for posting this piece of Eliza! Susie
So remember, Warrior Queen,
That all have struggles gone unseen. Those words are so very true. Your cadence flows so smoothly, and the rhythm is wonderful. I love the last two lines. I may recite these to myself as the day goes on!
UCLA Writing Project 2011
With a new marbled notebook and purple flair pen
I would unmute my muse’s voice again
Surrounded by teachers who love to write
We’d compose together and find our light
I chose to face my deepest fears
Some I’d kept hidden for too many years
Wondering if I could reveal it all
Or if writers’ block would be my wall
I started with Malibu Barbie, that bitch
Who made me believe I could be rich
And blonde and tanned and skinny and pretty
My hair was kinky and I looked shitty
Then cancer found its way on my stage
While tears bled ink on the page
I birthed words that once knotted my noose
Never expecting my spirit would come loose
Until that poem I titled RAPE
Would leave every mouth and heart agape
Cocked to speak and release the shame
I am not my tragedy, shout my name.
Wow, Stacey. I love the way you took us on your journey of empowerment. You started so sweet and nice and compliant, but then came Malibu Barbie. Your last two stanzas are so raw and powerful, like I imagine you are. Is it wrong that I kind of want to hang out with you?
Mo, I apologize for not responding to your comment. This post fell on my birthday so I didn’t get a chance to go back and savor the love. Thank you for that last sentence/question, it made me feel like a badass! Lol! ❤️
Wow. The move from Barbie to reality was a beautifully managed shock. Strong words, well said. I admire your strength.
Stacey – You’ve released some strong vibes here. So many struggles all the way through, and yet the strength in your voice is undeniable. Words like “noose” and “Cocked” and “I am not…” let loose a powerhouse of a woman ….and “shout my name” nails that. You have been through such stop-in-your-tracks hurts. I ache here for you. Yet, I’m really standing strong with you as well, as that understanding that you are not defined by your “tragedy” and instead are still shouting. You have, indeed, “unmated the muse.” Thanks for sharing such an intimate vulnerability. I really respect what you’ve shared. Thank you, Susie
Stacey,
I appreciate the honesty woven in the words of your poem because I think it makes it accessible to your readers. I thought of my own personal experience as well as Laurie Halse Anderson when I read the portion “shout my name” at the end because of her book Shout. I also appreciate the end of the first stanza where you state, “Surrounded by teachers who love to write / We’d compose together and find our light”. I found myself in many a creative writing class whilst in college. Some of those relationships formed over vulnerability in writing are the strongest relationships I have to this day.
Stacey,
You hooked me w/ the tribute to writing and then took me deep into why writing matters so much when we face violence and heartache. The alliteration and consonance in “unmute my muse’s voices” suggests both murmur and the struggle to find words (thinking of a baby’s first uttering here.) Even having face cancer and rape, you manage a hopeful tone in the poem. Strong work.
Stacey, your poem is a model
Example of finding voice in writing and how powerful it can be for healing – for healing not just the one who wrote but the ones who have been there. You courageously show how marketing deceives young minds and how cancer is cruel, and how rape leaves scars – but how the human spirit triumphs over all that would attempt to stifle it. We need a group book of this topic today! Folks need to read what you’ve written. And I need an entire month of struggle poems. My favorite part of your poem was the humor of Barbie but I love the end the best – the message is empowering.
Stacey, the “words that once knotted my noose” might be my favorite line–but there are many here, including “unmuting my muse’s voice” and “tears bled ink.” The final stanza, with mouths (and hearts! agape, ready to shout your name, is a hallelujah chorus! I’m so glad you write.
I couldn’t settle on my greatest struggle, so I wrote about one I’ve lived with and think I’ve grown beyond.
My photo shows a freak: one eye
is smaller than the other guy.
A front tooth jagged, broken chip
My smile too big–with horse’s lip.
My forehead narrow, cheeks are flat
my toes point outward; thighs are fat.
One breast is shrunken, one is gone.
A warrior of the Amazon.
My skin is splotchy, veins are big,
My hair looks like Liz Warren’s wig.
The struggle has been letting go
of self-critique and bruised ego.
But years are balm and smooth my mind
And to myself I’m now more kind.
My little eye? It’s just a wink!
I own my smile with lipstick pink.
My face is honest and its mine.
It’s good enough and suits me fine.
My feet and thighs can run the race
My skin has held my bones in place.
The hair? It’s hair! The nose? It smells!
My breasts (now breast) have served me well.
My beating heart within me swells.
I love this body nonpareil.
Allison, what a beautiful ode to your perfect body! Your poem made me wince and laugh. I particularly love the image of your skin holding your bones in place. I’m going to try to appreciate my skin for doing that very same thing!
Allison – This is such a tribute to the person that I’ve come to know through our poetry. You are quite beautiful. I smile to think how hard you are being on yourself, yet I totally get the “bruised ego” and the “self-critique” and all those comparing words — “smaller,” “too big” … all those not-quite-enough measures that others don’t even see. I LOVE the recognition in the last part that “suits me fine” and “served me well” and “nonpareil.” My favorite line in the poem is “My skin has held my bones in place.” What a terrific image that is. Sometimes I think of all the parts that a body juggles, the one that others feel as well as see is the smile…and somehow I just always think of you as a woman with a wonderful smile. Plus, you pulled off the couplets, which I totally think is fun to read! Thanks for sharing this very honest and open poem. Susie
Allison,
I loved this poem because it tells the time-old struggle individuals have with their bodies. I love the resolution towards the end, as well. “My face is honest and it’s mine / It’s good enough and suits me fine” this line resonated with me because at the end of the day all we have is who we are and the body that carries our essence through this world. I think this poem does a good job highlighting insecurities present and the response to that call.
Allison,
I’m right there w/ you: learning to love my strong body despite the flaws I focused on so long. I adore the way you reversed perspective in the last half of the poem. I see only beauty in you. And “nonpareil” is a swell word. ?
Oh boy! This was a tough one to write. I think it’s a good start, but I definitely want to look at it again later.
The Brainiac
There was a time not so very long ago
That I wasn’t myself, not close to Mo
You see, I’d become tired of getting so sick
From nasty sinus infections I couldn’t lick
The doctor said it would be a breeze-
After surgery I’d barely sneeze
My septum was straightened and a polyp removed
But soon I knew my breathing had not improved
Headaches, lethargy, and general malaise
Left me in a fog languidly lounging on the chaise
The doc said my recovery would take some time,
But my husband knew I was not close to my prime
For two solid weeks I did nothing but moan and groan
Eventually the doc realized he cut my ethmoid bone
My husband’s fears he then confirms
My cerebrum is swarming with germs
I don’t remember much of the ambulance ride
I only wanted the pain to subside
The neurosurgeon talked of infection he had to drain
Looked me in the eye and said he needed to drill into my brain
When I woke up the next day, I was very confused
Didn’t know why I couldn’t move and was bruised
Weeks in ICU left me fragile and frail
My memories lost behind a foggy veil
Once home I tried so hard to be me
I had no idea how difficult it would be
I felt like a child learning to think and talk
Becoming exhausted when trying to walk
Months and months and months went by
I couldn’t have made such progress without my guy
He dragged me to therapy when I didn’t want to go
And encouraged my progress, even when S L O W
My friends and family were there with support
I thank them all that my life was not cut short
Holy Mackerel, Mo! You have been on a freight train full of TNT! Geez! I marvel at the sequence of bad news that landed on you. A doctor’s error! I don’t even know what an “ethmoid bone” is (I’m going to look it up in a bit), but leaving you with infection, neurosurgeons, brain swelling, weeks in ICU — to know that you were so changed and suddenly “fragile and frail…foggy — well, all that was tough stuff. Overwhelming. And the relearning. I admire your connection to a loved one and a broader support “family” that were there for you –that was pivotal. I’m glad you shared this, as it was surely not easy to rethink these brutal days. You are here and strong and writing with us — what a woman! Thank you, Susie
Mo,
Thank you for sharing your piece. Health struggles are so difficult sometimes. I think it’s safe to say most of us have watched a loved one experience some sort of life-threatening illness where it took them months (years!) to recover. I especially appreciated the lines “My friends and family were there with support / I thank them all that my life was not cut short” and I think this line stuck out to me because there’s something about being surrounded by the people you love who love you that makes the healing and recovery process possible. This line really helped me visualize it.
Mo,
OMG! You hit upon one of my worst fears: having a doctor do more harm than good. I’m so sorry you went through this health crisis. I do hope you did not allow the surgeon who batched the first surgery do the second one. There are moments in the poem when the line length reinforces and replicates your struggle. For example: “ He dragged me to therapy when I didn’t want to go /
And encouraged my progress, even when S L O W.” Such moments reinforce the long struggle. I do hope you are fully recovered now.
when i was ten
my best friend spent a month of being eleven
in a coma
after being struck on his motorbike
by a drunk driver
he was life flighted to another island
and after he slept
he was taught to breathe on his own
taught to eat
taught to walk
taught to speak
again
when i was ten
my best friend spent a month of being eleven
in a coma
i cried each day when i thought of him
and held my phone close to my chest
every moment i spent at home and in school
hoping for the good news that he had woken up
— he did
when i was ten
my best friend spent a month of being eleven
in a coma
i learned about life
and how it should be lived
and how it should be protected
and how it should be held tightly to my chest
when i was ten
my best friend spent a month of being eleven
in a coma
he has never been the same again
and neither have i
Kekai, your use of repetition and intentional pause after the word again is masterful. Oh, if we could all have learned as much about life at 10 as you did…..thank you for sharing this extraordinary experience that forever shaped you – and your friend.
Kekai,
The first line and repetition that Kim notes is stunning. I love that it signals you are going to tell a story. The lower case i signals to me an innocence and even a sense that the past is, at once, now, which supports your ending about how he nor you have ever been the same again. I so appreciate you introducing him with his trauma and resilience to us. We bear witness through your verse.
Sarah
The repetition is almost haunting. I definitely get the sense that this event was life changing for both of you. What a lesson to learn at the tender age of 10! What a moving poem.
Oh wow, Kekai, this is powerful. Clutching the phone to your chest, repeated as holding life tightly to your chest, is such a strong reverberation. You have transformed a child’s aching struggle into a lovely poem–which I think is why we need poetry: to turn the pain of living into a note of music.
My daughter’s best friend died suddenly of E. coli when she was eleven. This poem brings back those days vividly. Just as you learned the value of life, we also learned that there is no assurance of safety. We have never been the same, either. Beautifully said, Kekai.
Kekai,
The repetition of “ when i was ten /
my best friend spent a month of being eleven” suggests a rite of passage m, one that forever changed your life. I grew up having been taught ten is the age of accountability, so the story of your friend and the impact of that experience on you resonates w/ me.
I share this struggle with the permission of my daughter, who shares her story with others regularly as part of her work with Celebrate Recovery.
Trenches and Summits
A world of drugs – of heroin and meth
Led my firstborn child down a dark road of death
Her journey began with the birth of her son
Her sleepy glazed smiles fooled everyone
We saw a proud mother adoring her child
Not knowing she had painkillers stockpiled
Doctors whose orders seem helpful and kind
Can be the start of a helpless decline
Addiction abducted with needling claws
The kind that gives mothers a new prayerful cause
But as walls kept on crumbling and tearing her down
Her family kept praying that she would be found
And God heard our prayers –
She landed in jail.
Her once healthy body was sallow and frail
“I’m ready,” she said. “I want to get well.”
“We know,” we assured her, “you’ve marched straight through hell.”
And what’s happened since then is a miracle still
An addict recovering and seeking God’s will
She now works with others to steer and to guide To help those who need one like her by their side
The thing about trenches so treacherous and bleak
Is that they become summits that others will seek.
Kim,
First of all I am grateful to read that your daughter is in recovery and helping others on the journey. It’s healing to be able to share and better yet, to make pain become poetry. I love the end:
The thing about trenches so treacherous and bleak
Is that they become summits that others will seek
Always needing this reminder that my trench is someone else’s summit. And my summit is someone else’s trench.
Kim,
Thank you for introducing us to your daughter and for the privilege of bearing witness to her recovery and yours — the “trenches” that led to the “summits.”
Sarah
Kim, I loved your closing lines as you brought the trenches and summits together. My heart is with you and your daughter tonight. Thank you both for this story of struggle and hope.
Kim,
My admiration for you and your bravery has grown ten-fold. Thank your daughter for being brave, too. Your poem is beautifully crafted, but it’s the honesty and trust in us your readers that means most to me. Favorite lines: “ The thing about trenches so treacherous and bleak /
Is that they become summits that others will seek.”
[I had to give up on the couplets this time.]
TOUGHEN UP
Mama cautioned me years ago to toughen up —
Find a way to steel yourself;
life is a bumpy ride;
some mean people and times out there.
Sure, I knew what those words meant,
yet not
how to layer those calluses,
dust that heart off my sleeve,
speak my piece,
oil my feathers and stay afloat
in life’s eddy
with its pulsing undertow.
I practiced my “no”
and heard it fall to a whisper. Or did I merely think it?
Instead, just beneath my skin is a part of Mama
that I loved the most —
her soft quiet,
her gentle amusement,
her crosswords and scrabbling,
how she still holds my hand
at the street corners of my life.
–Susie Morice
Susie, I love this soft spoken facade of steel magnolias. The strength is in the calm assurance. I love the peacefulness of Scrabble and crosswords but also the idea that these puzzles and games are fragmented pieces that when put together make sense out of pieces that don’t otherwise make sense. Like a mother and daughter.
Susie,
I can visualize the end like I am there with you. I, too, believe my mom is with me “holding my hands at the street corners of my life.” They never leave us. Isn’t it amazing that we find ourselves doing puzzles and playing the same games they played. I figure it is God’s way of reminding us we are one.
Love your poem and the memories it evoked for me and for you too.
Susie — Ooh, this word “steel”! This word was in Glenda’s poem today, too. “Steel yourself.” I feel like I have lived in this motto my whole life. “I practiced my ‘no’/and heard it fall to a whisper/ Or did I merely think it?” Whoa! You have me thinking about the calluses and if my Mama is beneath my skin or sitting beneath them. But the ending has me reading your Mama a different way (as I project my own mother into this verse). YOu Mama “soft quiet,/gentle amusement” and how she “holds my hand.” Your Mama was looking out for you, reassure you. She believed in you!
I love the image at the end—your mom holding your hand at the street corners of life. Your toughness is there—it is evident in your words and your message.
Susie,
I wish I knew your mama. I do know what it’s like not to know how to “dust that heart off my sleeve.” Also, love the undertow metaphor.
Susie —
“how she still holds my hand / at the street corners of my life.” How beautiful! I absolutely love how this poem encapsulates the complexity of the mother daughter relationship, even a good, positive one.
Gym Class
Being “the brain” was fine
Most of the time
Until the time came for gym
And my confidence dimmed
To nothingness.
I became…less.
With dread, I wound down cold, gray cement
Steps to the lockers, a lament
Of dread growing as I sank into the tomb,
The girl’s locker room.
I gazed with envy at the girls who could catch and throw
And hurdle or tumble or go
Toward the basket with hope of success.
A confidence in self I would never possess.
I look back at those feelings, the pain
Of NOT-able, of failing again
And again on the court of “I can’t”
When in your heart, you want
To just blend in
Not even to win.
I look back at those days
And ruefully smile. I have changed in so many ways.
I take risks today that I never would have dared
I know now that the others didn’t care
As much as I believed.
What a relief.
I laugh with others as I stumble
And fumble
While my body learns new patterns and moves
Mistakes are what it takes to improve.
Power is found in taking the risk
Of pushing beyond the task,
stretching yourself to the new
And creating a stronger you.
Comment: I teach struggling readers and writers. I share this story with them (not in verse) when they are discouraged. We celebrate “excellent mistakes” because they show that they are trying. The risks they take in my class enable them to stretch their intellectual abilities, just as I stretch my physical abilities. (At sixty, I took my first tap lesson. I can now put forth a respectable paradiddle on command!)
By the way—this was tough! Coup let’s force you to approach writing in a more structured way than I usually do. Thanks for the writing stretch!
Good for you, Gayle! This is truly a poem of strength and can-do! It even “taps” with a rhythm — cool! That you selected the girls’ locker room is really on target– it is the pit of mean! The place that makes kids shudder! I particularly loved “…the court of I-can’t'” in that athletic vein. You’ve so got it together in this one. Then, when I read the Comment at the end… how wonderful! You are making such a difference! Share this poem with your kids! Thank you! Susie
Powerful stuff. Love the imagery of the stairs leading down…..it takes me with you, and I can relate.
Me too! Those stairs!
Gayle,
Thank you for sharing your vers and your comment. Your students are so fortunate to have you on their side. I love these lines:
Power is found in taking the risk
Of pushing beyond the task,
stretching yourself to the new
And creating a stronger you.
Thank you!
Gayle,
Your gym experience is just like mine. Yes, the locker room is a tomb. I love how you end the poem w/ this reminder:
“Power is found in taking the risk
Of pushing beyond the task,
stretching yourself to the new
And creating a stronger you.”
With age I’ve learned to take more risks. Bravo for you taking tap.
This was a tough one, but this group has been open to reading and listening to the challenges we face in this country. So, here’s my poem of contrasts for today. (With four rap beats per line; don’t worry about the feet and the poem will read quite neat.)
WHY?
What makes a person of a superior race?
Is it just the melanin that shows in her face?
Why in our country is there still such a fight?
When one shows up white, things are all right?
What is the issue for those born female?
Why is it an issue, if you weren’t born male?
Over the years, I’ve fought some fears.
I’ve learned it’s no use to give in to tears.
I am who I am and you are who you are.
God made us all; together we’ll go far.
But we must work together in order to succeed.
Working all together, that is what we need.
My skin is black and yours is brown or white.
Working as equals, yes, that can make right.
Being tense because of melanin, that has got to cease.
We’re sisters and brothers; let’s persist on to peace.
After all, we’re all just dust; we’ll all end up as sod.
Let’s just celebrate each other as creations of our God.
Anna — This deserves a big AMEN! Your message is strong and I love it. I reread it out loud and loved it even more. That strong voice of reason makes me feel so hopeful, which the discouraging biases continue to rip at our country and around the globe. We need more poems with your voice! Thank you! Susie
Thanks for the affirmation, Susie. What we need, too, is more groups like the one developing here through the Ethical ELA community Sarah is nurturing. As we read the poems we’ve shared, we learn how we each have issues/challenges that, with the compassion of our group members, we feel free to admit. We know that admission is the first step towards recovery. We also are learning that others care. That, too, leads to healing. We’re learning, first hand, that writing can lead to healing.
So….thank you Sarah, for inviting us to take off our masks and just write!
I agree with Susie – a huge AMEN and a hallelujah, too, that we are each uniquely who we are. We’ve come a long way, but we still have a long way to go in our country on issues like racism. Thank you for speaking out on this important issue and reminding us that we all play a vital role in valuing our collective voice.
Anna! I love, love this and wish I could hear you read it. You are so wise and strong and beautiful in your words and actions and authenticity.
Sarah
Meet me online and I’ll read it to you! It took a while to structure the words to maintain 4 beats per line also rhyme, but that’s what Glenda said is true about writing poetry. So, here are her lines that guide my work.
Even a poem with words in the air
Takes time to compose, a pause to compare.
Anna,
Amen! I love that meme showing a bunch of skeletons w/ each labeled a different ethnicity. They all look the same! I appreciate your strength and generosity in nurturing young teachers. The first four lines are my favorite ones.
Anna —
I love the line “being tense because of melanin, that has got to cease.” It echos the great words of Albert Murray and other Harlem Renaissance writers. Thank you for writing this and sharing too.
I’m sure I’ll have many “why didn’t I think of that” moments when I read this community’s poems later today. The topic of my poem really is a struggle I face daily.
“Procrastination“
Why do today what I can do tomorrow?
Forget the idea delay may bring sorrow.
“Wait” is not a four letter word in that sense.
Taking time keeps us in a state of suspense.
To delay breaks not one Cardinal rule.
It’s not an assignment one need do for school.
I’ll plan to plan what I planned for today.
A last minute task still offers a way.
A schedule deserves one, two, maybe three
Adjustments in time, a change we can see.
Tomorrow is only a clock spin or two
Away with a chance to try something new.
Even a poem with words in the air
Takes time to compose, a pause to compare.
Time out in the action allows a deep breath.
A moment to think won’t result in our death.
I’ll go ahead and I’ll do what I like.
Procrastination never goes on strike.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda! I was smiling all the way through because of your whimsical meter and last line: “procrastination never goes on strike.” I am all for “taking time” and value the “wait” although much of the world or rather teaching culture thinks equates the wait and adjustments with the procrastination (as a negative connotation). You have me pondering this…
Glenda—loves the whimsy in the poem. It sort of danced along as I read. I am a true procrastinator, so I relate to the couplets in all ways!!
Glenda, as a member of a group of educators, I often find “truisms” in our work, statements that remind us to remember our students. Today, your lines
Even a poem with words in the air
Takes time to compose, a pause to compare.
remind us to build in time for students to think, to write, to give and receive feedback, and revise before we collect to grade/and or assess their work. Thanks for the lyrical reminder that writing takes time.
Glenda — Holy cow, I’m just chuckling away at this dandy poem. “I’ll plan to plan what I planned…” — priceless. You have absolutely captured the plague of procrastination that I battle all the time. I really admire that you did the couplets and accomplished such a fun rhythm. I couldn’t manage that today. Maybe it’s the snow dumping on STL right now! HA! Susie
My favorite lines: I’ll plan to plan what I planned for today.
A last minute task still offers a way
Oh, how I pray for those “easy outs” of a ball from left field to divert my day sometimes. I’m
So there with you.
I love the line “Procrastination never goes on strike” because of its poignant truth and beautiful conclusion. What a fun poem!
This is a daily struggle against the clock, both in preparing and teaching (not to mention everything in between). Lately I’ve found myself in a rut of doing just enough to stay afloat, instead of thinking of each day as “a change to try something new.” I have plenty of lists of things to try when I have time or when I feel more confident or comfortable, all of which take time, so I just need to decide to spend it. It’s only a day at a time.
Ah, Sarah – this is a challenge prompt to be sure. It necessitates my facing the demons. Oh my. I will work on this. I liked your mentor poem as it so clearly hits the buttons that have worried so many of us as teachers. And even as just friends and family… glued to the screens… oh geez…preferring screens to living, touchable faces. And how do we shift culture? You’ve cycled to what I really believe is important…that finding voice and honoring all those voices, inviting voices to the conversation…in some ways it’s so easy, but in so many ways it gets harder all the time. You’ve posed very real struggle here. Susie
Sarah,
You’ve given us a tough prompt, which at first I thought would necessitate some self-disclosure and laying bare a tender part of myself, which IS one of my struggles. Oh, the irony. But reading your poem has given me a couple of ideas. Now to choose between competing options.
Public speaking is something I’ve struggled w/ too. I love the interior thoughts in your poem, particularly the irony in lines 3-4, the contrast between being “self-absorbed” and “adored.” I love the stanza about helping students find their voices and how you must also give voice to your words for that to happen. ❤️
Sarah and all, I was late getting in last night, but have responded to a bunch of yesterday’s poems on Day 1’s postings. Susie
“Failing Expectations”
I find myself torn between expectations
Stumbling and tripping as I build my foundations.
Where do the blocks go,
How should I ever know?
A constant struggle to follow the line
And give good directions at the same time
I don’t need you to know I laid this foundation
I don’t need you to know I chose this location
I started here
With no fear
Because I was doing what needed to be done
Without thinking, I was present as the only one
I looked behind me to see the past constructions
I demanded everyone knew and ’twas my destruction
Tripping and stumbling over my own feet
Feeling pressure from expectations I may never meet
How do I tackle these phantom compositions
How do I get them to believe in our missions?
I’ve learned that my boots must come to the ground
Without participation there is no leadership to be found
You can’t always live up to your own demands
You have to march to your own beat or create your own band
Only when I found comfort in the crowd
Did I give myself permission, did I feel allowed.
I can make mistakes from the back
I can feel super human when I’m on the right track
I can encourage, demand, lend a helping hand
Without being afraid of my fallibility because of where I stand
I find myself torn between expectations
But catching my balance as I go back to my foundations
Kindra,
This is so powerful — an anthem. I love when you make that shift in the second to last paragraph with “I’ve learned..” to offer reflection and discovery. The power does not falter in sharing what you’ve learned; in fact, the possibility is inspiring: “I can make…I can feel..I can encourage…” Thank you for sharing this moving poem with us today!
I LOVE the line “I can make mistakes from the back”—I believe that you can also lead from the back. You obviously believe this, too. We all have a purpose, no matter where we are in the crowd.
Kindra, your poem strikes a chord with me. The lines
How do I tackle these phantom compositions
How do I get them to believe in our missions?
Sums it up for me. It’s knowing others have expectations of us, but don’t seem patient about listening to our sense of mission that can be so frustrating. Thanks for articulating this enigma so succinctly.
Of course, your victorious closing gives us hope. It’s our foundations that keep us strong.
Kindra — Yes, these are very real struggles. In sense the intensity of your battle with this…”give myself permission” and “phantom compositions” (every English teacher knows this one!) and “constant struggle to follow the line.” I like in the end a sense that you can catch your balance. Stay strong! Thanks for your hard work! Susie
Kinda,
The philosophical “conversation” embedded in your poem is wonderful. I sense the struggle you speak about in competing values. That line about participation being necessary for leadership to happen is pure gold. Well done!