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 August Open Write Host
Judi Opager works at a Middle School in Torrance, California. Her first love is her students. She is a contributing member to The Poetry Society of America. Like most poets, she discovered her writing talent at an early age, heralding the woes of Arithmetic in her 1960 fourth grade class. She credits her poetry for keeping her sane in some fairly insane times. She has an ongoing discussion with her followers on https://www.facebook.com/doorwaystothefuture, and has begun her own poetry website at: https://www.judiopager.com/
Inspiration
Our inspiration comes from challenging perspectives we face every day. It’s not always easy to get into the ‘skin’ of another person (even a younger YOU), but it is always an awakening. My inspiration came from wanting to understand what was going through my mother’s eyes when she left the family.
We are writing a narrative poem about a completely different perspective using the first person narrative. What do you see, what do you learn . . . take your brain out, shift it 45 degrees, reinsert it, and write.
Process
The process is simple:
- Take your brain out, rotate it, and reinsert
- Put yourself into the skin of another (even a younger YOU)
- Write your narrative poem in the first person
Judi’s Poem
Through the Eyes of Her Mother
I remember
laying on the olive green carpet, feeling the pattern beneath my cheek
Listening to The Beatles on the phonograph.
I remember
“Hey Jude”, and how the words washed over me like a scalding hot shower,
“Take a sad song and make it better”.
I remember
Revolution, “Don’t you know it’s gonna be all right”
calming me in my destruction.
I remember
my daughter coming in and asking if I’m all right,
wanting to scream “NO”, I’m not all right – I’m trapped!”
I remember
my mind was fractured into pieces;
what has been, what is now, what needs to be
I remember
thinking how this would affect my five kids,
but they were better off without a Mom who was broken.
I remember
how desperately I needed space to think,
feeling like I was in a cage with no door, like my skin was too tight.
I remember
that I had already made my decision to leave
and was mourning the loss.
I remember
the flickering hope of freedom
Entrancing, enticing, inevitable, lighting up my soul.
I remember
the moment I shed my skin
standing raw and new.
I remember
moving into the new future
with my old blue suitcase.
I remember
the confusion on my children’s faces
as I quietly shut the door after myself.
Judi Opager
May 16, 2021
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.
Judi, thank you for this prompt today! I had many directions I wanted to take it, but when I sat down to write I realized all that I had in me this evening is a haiku. It rained for the first time in ages, so the word petrichor (which I learned from this group!) came to mind. I had to incorporate it!
dry and dormant lawn
yellowed spears prepare for war
embrace petrichor
I love haiku, and that is spot-on. I gasped at the end of that second line, it’s such a powerful image. And thank you – since now I have also learned what petrichor is! We are in “monsoon” season here in Michigan, air so thick with humidity we wear it like a wet sweater. I’m happy for you to have finally received the rain! Embrace indeed!
Hi Rachelle – Your image of yellowed spears is a good one, I think – it certainly matches my lawn right now! I’m glad you got some rain too!
Judi, thank you so much for your mentor poem. I also read your poem about your mom from your perspective on your blog. They are a lovely pair of poems together. Your empathy shows strength and maturity and your forgiveness.
I thought all day yesterday about perspectives I could take. Some were painful, and I didn’t have time to spend with them or even feel I could have enough empathy to try. Now here I am at the eleventh hour. I was at a workshop last night with participants from many different countries, occasionally someone would mention the difficulty in participating in English (not their first language) Someone said when he gets nervous he forgets all his vocabularies. I thought of my own struggling ELL students. How easy it is for me to forget those who are still learning. It’s one of the reasons I am studying on Duolingo now. As a student of Spanish, this is often how I hear the Spanish stories and podcasts I’ve been listening to. So, here’s to my amazing fifth graders who too often have had to listen to my lessons like this.
Gibberish
“OK, class, babble, babble, time to mishmash
pencil and new notebook page balderdash
writing blather yesterday story big splash
“Does anyone remember chitter chatter
Problem prattle tree claptrap matter
Dribble characters skitter scatter?
Hmmm?”
What is she talking about?
Did she ask a question?
Do I know the answer?
I hope she doesn’t call on me.
Oh, good, she didn’t ask me.
Here she goes again.
“Jabberwocky, wockyjabber
Gobbledyturkey? drivel, nonsense
Prattle, drivel, garble, garbage? gabble
Mumbo Jumbo, jumbo mumbo”
“Oh, I hope recess is coming soon.”
Wow! I love this poem! You made the pace quick, the rhythm fun, but the tension real. We have much in common, and another thing is that I try to listen to podcasts in Spanish as well…. it sounds a lot like this poem because I have to imagine what goes between the words I recognize. It takes so much work to translate! Thanks for this!
Hilarious, Denise! And heartfelt. That’s a great perspective piece. I love the rhyming rhythms, but also were it breaks away from smooth to clunky – just like language would sound to an unfamiliar ear. Funny, too, as I get to that glassy-eyed point in my meetings this week, I’ve had exactly that same thought: What is she talking about? Did she ask a question? Do I know the answer? – that had me LOL in the early morning here in Michigan!
Hi Denise, I’m late responding but this was a great morning read! I was caught between laughing and wanting to cry. I feel like this is how most of my students sound when trying to speak loudly through their masks. It’s also how I sound to all of them, I’m sure, with all my vocab and themes, operations and scenes! A hot mess!
Love that you chose this perspective. I’ll be more sensitive today to my scholars’ needs. LOL.
Brilliant and hilarious opening!
Thank you again, Judi. I didn’t get to write at lunch as I had hoped, but I did take some time to list some possible perspectives. I decided to push into darkness and shame to give them freedom to talk to me. Perhaps my perspective won’t need to be named in advance.
No Shame
You discovered when you were a child
That fluttery feeling flowing
Like love too large to contain
Someone taught you to fear me
Like I was maggots or fire or failure
But you touched me in pages of books
I caressed your thighs like evening air
And brushed your breasts before breakfast
Then kissed each finger with wanting
Until you found me
Waiting down there
©Stacey L. Joy, August 25, 2021
Oh my goodness, Stacie. This is so erotic and yet so true about puberty and full of feeling for becoming a woman. I love it – especially the third stanza.
Stacey, wow, just wow! What a lovely perspective to take. Your word choice–caressed, brushed, “kissed each finger”–so sensual and rich.
Powerful imagery at both ends of a spectrum of shame and humility (maggots, fire, failure) to love and joyful reunion. The delicacy of such intimate gestures: caressed, brushed, kissed – and all the ‘sss/shh’ sounds in there are scintillating. This is definitely a ‘go big or go home’ poem!
Judi, This was a fabulous (challenging!) prompt. Your poem, taking on your mother’s perspective, was a powerful gift of empathy.
I decided to write from my husband’s perspective. Twice in the past week or so he’s asked (told?) me to stop leaving my socks on the counter.
Through my husband’s eyes
Why does she put her dirty socks
on the kitchen counter?
And why now,
37 years into this
marriage of ice and fire,
has her habit come
gurgling to the top of our
slow-bubbling cauldron
of contentions?
Why does she drive over the garden hose?
Why leave it snaked across the lane in the first place?
Why scatter peanut shells on the desk?
Why let the gas tank run dry?
For god’s sake, could she
for once
just
listen–
let me talk–
without spewing
solve-it-now pablum?
Wheest, woman!
….
Does anyone know what marriage is?
Am I as unknowable to her
as she is to me?
Is our shared unknowing
our undoing
or the
unremitting tug for understanding
that pulls us again to each other?
Come to me, woman.
We will melt.
We will burn.
Allyson – This is priceless!! The litany of questions is so doggone real… from the little stuff to the monstrous chasms. The “ice and fire” of it is exactly the elemental level of reality. I feel this poem to my bones. “The unremitting tug for understanding” is powerful. Wowza poem! Hugs, Susie
Allison,
When I read your introduction, I thought that I could write about my husband. Then I laughed after reading your poem and thought better of it, for you have written for me, as well, and said it so much more beautifully than I could have. I realize I may have a lot in common with you, as I look at my makeshift desk on the dining room table (since March 2020)–the desk that keeps encroaching on our eating space. I think my husband can relate.
Those habits
“gurgling to the top of our
slow-bubbling cauldron
of contentions” are relatable. Wow. Well said.
I’ve read all your poems this week, Allison, and I love to be here in this space with you! Your writing always fascinates me, and I love the use of questions in this piece. My partner actually has a habit of leaving his dirty socks around the house too (never on the counters, though hehe) 🙂
This is getting old fast
You need me
You need me
You need me
Until you forget about me
I get a few hours of peace
Until you realize again how much you need me
Do you even know where to find me?
Let me give you a clue—
Check the back corner of the classroom
I’m there
Alone
Waiting to recharge you
Again
By Mo Daley 8/25/21
Okay, I’m reading this again.
Is this the perspective on a computer charger?!?
Your coffee cup?
Your PHONE?
Enquiring minds want to know!
I’m teaching mostly 6th grade this year. One full week in and the charger situation is out of control! To compound the issue, most of our students were without power last night. We had to resort to paper and pencil today!
I meant to say I loved the ambiguity and smiling guesses your poem invited!
I can totally relate! Yesterday, 5 of mine came with devices on 1%! I scrambled for chargers and thought to myself, how will I survive this year?
Great choice today, Mo. I need to recharge my phone otherwise I will sleep in well past 5 a.m. tomorrow. ?
Great perspective, Mo. Wow. Lack of power to charge devices would definitely send us back to paper and pencil, which thankfully will always be true. Good luck!
I love a piece of wonderful writing that paints such a vivid picture in my mind and questions that I need answers to! “Until you forget about me I get a few hours of peace until you realize again how much you need me” – kept me guessing! Then I read your response below and found out it was your charger! What a great poem on the perspective of an inanimate object – I love your poems, Mo – always read them with great joy.
Damselfly’s Ode to the Human
I have steadied
Diaphanous wings.
Like a miniature pencil,
My body draws
A parallel line
Above the leaf
My dainty tarsi
Barely touch.
In my eyes
You are a
Multitude of one.
I always love the word diaphanous. I really like the multitude of one- a great ending!
Oh WOW! This poem is a dainty delight–indeed an ODE!
“Like a miniature pencil’
draws
line
Look at how “effortlessly”(??) you built on the pencil-sketch imagery to capture this insect.
I’m delighted by the way you used the multitudinous eyes to generate that final thought:
“In my eyes
You are a
Multitude of one”
BRAVO!
Katrina, what a mentor text of finding another’s perspective. Wow. I love this so much. The short lines help too. I like “miniature pencil” and, of course, “multitude of one” is perfection.
Judi, I stepped away from writing today because I’ve been maudlin all month. But, when a friend called and asked that I review a book to discuss with her tutee next week, the words for this poem flowed.
Watching and Waiting
“Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board”
My eyes close as I watch as the ship come toward
Me and my motha
I am talla, so, yes she’s shorta
‘But I respect her just like I oughta
Waitin’ for the big Navy ship to dock
It’s due soon, accordin’ to the clock.
Wishin’ all will be well
Those big waves won’t swell
And tip the Navy ship ova
We’ve been waitin’ for weeks on end
Hardly a night we don’t spend
Just looking at pitcha’s and recallin’
What we’d plan to send
Next time we wrote instead of callin’
We cain’t call him no mo’; my brotha’s a sailor at sea
A Navy sailor sailin’ ‘round the Cape
The Cape of Good Hope on a ship’
We cain’t wait to see my brotha’
In his crisp white sailor suit
Waving his hands, smiling his smile,
An’ standin’ straight n’ tall to boot.
Ah, there he is! Bob is back!
Bob has really come home!
“That’s Bob isn’t it?” Mom, I ask.
That’s him standing in the back.”
But it ain’t! Bob’s ain’t there!
He no longer on sea or earth.
My hope is just a wish. I’m just lookin’ to look.
Just like Zora said, in the opening lines of her book,
Their Eyes are Watching God
Bob will no longer on this solid sod trod.
So, I bow my head and nod.
*Most of this group knows our Bob, a sailor, no longer lives. The news of Afghanistan and that it was this month in 2006 that Bob was found dead in his apartment in Sasebo, Japan, all make my heart go out to mothers and families watching the news. Our eyes are watching God and wondering, “Why?”
Such a loving poem, Anna. We know that pain never goes away. I love how you recall ZNH’s words here. Powerful poem.
Oh my, Anna. Sending my love and prayers for you to be comforted in times like this. Thank you for sharing when I know it’s hard.
Snug thought you might like a glimpse into his routine. Most of you know Snug’s our shnoodle rescue. Puck is also a rescue dog, and Hero is our tuxedo cat.
Walk Wait Walk
It’s 9:00 a.m. Still I wait.
I’ve licked the lotion from mom’s legs &
let dad feed me ham.
He thinks I don’t know about the
pink pill tucked inside my morning porky.
The clock ticks past 9:15.
Time to bark, growl, jump, & scratch.
I must show these lazy humans
we have a schedule to keep.
I must chew the grass & water the weeds.
Why does mom leave & command, “stay”?
I can jump into the car. I wait for dad to lift me.
He lets me drive on his lap & puts Puck in back.
I look for mom & spy her across the asphalt lot.
She sees my perky ears & leaping legs.
We play a game of tag &
Race across grassy greens until
I decide to squat. Sometimes mom
lets dad scoop. Sometimes I leave
enough for both to have a turn.
After our run, we eat a jerky treat &
take a nap. I take sleep close to mom
as she sits on the couch drinking coffee &
eating yogurt. She offers Hero a taste.
I lick the lid before dozing off to dream.
We’ll do it all again this afternoon.
I’m living my best life.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, I just adore your fur family and this poem makes me want to be there to see the fun!
Love that you “let” dad scoop! Lmao! Hilarious and definitely how Snug sees it. Too cute! I think I want to be Snug!
Snug as I wrote this poem.
Such a sweet poem, and what a wonderful life he is living! Great details in your poem to show how wonderful it is!
I could just eat him up! I’d scoop him up in my arms and hug that Snug.
Awwwww! Come on!
Susie
Glenda, I love your babies! Oh, what a blessed life they have – – a family who loves them and cares for their needs. And spoils them rotten every day. I love the visual image of you sitting on the couch with coffee and yogurt and letting them have a taste. Oh, the love of our dogs!
I simply adore that this is his schedule – “I must chew the grass & water the weeds.” What a sweetie, Glenda!!
I love this, Glenda! I have a “Snug” in chihuahua form, named “Chico!” His narrative would be much lazier, though! Wonderful poem–favorite line, “I decide to squat….” 🙂
LOL, Glenda. “Sometimes mom / lets dad scoop. Sometimes I leave / enough for both to have a turn.” And I love the line: “I’m living my best life.” (Great picture of Snug, too!)
<3 <3 <3 these lines:
“He thinks I don’t know about the
pink pill tucked inside my morning porky. ”
“I must chew the grass & water the weeds.”
“Sometimes I leave
enough for both to have a turn.”
Glenda – The energy of doggy days is amazingly effective in this zoom-zoom doggy perspective. I love it. You want to loan this li’l booger to me?! Aww, come on! Hugs, Susie
Oh, Glenda! I love this. Snug is living his best life. It sounds like Mom and Dad are too. I laughed so many times while reading this, especially:
Judi — your poem is heart-wrenching. These lines really stuck with me
“my mind was fractured into pieces;/ what has been, what is now, what needs to be” — as it really shows how depression affects everyone involved. I can truly relate as someone close to me suffers from depression.
My perspective poem today stems from my frustration at climate change deniers and the lack of stewardship so many have for our world. This is the world pissed off!
I Burn
and glacial fortresses sink
beneath tepid polyethylene imbued
waters, slick with oil
tides bulge and swell,
earth cracks and blisters
plates move, the earth trembles
cancer bubbles under skin
seeps into tissue and organs
the world convulses
and
I weep tears of acid
I rage tsunamis and earthquakes
I rage famine and floods
I wield Zeus’s lightning and strike!
Oh, how I burn and burn!
Tammi, your title is perfect! I love the separation of “and”…then the personification of our world and the final “Oh, how I burn and burn!” Such a powerful poem showing the very scary reality of our world. Sensational!
Tammi,
I share your righteous indignation. As a westerner who is forced to breath the smoky air, and who follows the tragic fire news and drought catastrophes, I feel the visceral anger in your poem. I love the way the title becomes a part of the poem. Every image is powerful.
I have a nearly 7 year old Goldendoodle who is convinced each time that I leave the house that I will never return. This is for her. <3
Maté
She kissed my head and ruffled my ear as she left.
I know she always says she will come back,
but this could be the first time she doesn’t.
I think I’ll get a dirty sock out of my brother’s room.
It always makes me feel better to smell him.
If she’s gone long enough, I might need two.
Geez, it feels like she’s been gone years,
but it’s still light outside like it was when she left.
Oh man, I just know I’ll be alone forever.
Wait!!! Is that the garage door?? It can’t be!!!
It is!! She’s back!! OMG! I can’t believe it!
It has been at least a year, maybe twelve!!
I am so excited that I can’t control myself–
I have to run around the couch ten times and
up and down the hall at least four times!
She’s calling me over–kissing my head!
Oh man! I am so overwhelmed that I can’t
stop whimpering and wiggling. I love my person!
Cara,
I can just picture Maté getting so excited when you return. As my little guy is the same way. Such a fun piece. Thanks for sharing.
Cara — This really made me smile. I could totally see your Golden waiting so expectantly for your return. I don’t have a dog now, but I remember those moments from my childhood when we would come home to our retriever. She was always so excited she’d pee.
I love this, it’s very sweet! I especially like the 2nd to last stanza about being so excited. I think you’ve done a great job capturing Mate’s voice!
Cara, this was so fun to read and I hope it was fun to write too!! I love the careful detail to syntax and sentence structure—Maté’s is much different than your own!
[Judi — Your prompt and your poem were really rich today. I went in so many directions this morning when I first sat to write. But I had to move away from how fraught those early writings became. This is a prompt and your poem are reminders of how important writing poetry really is. I went with a lighter topic today…saving those tough ones for later on.]
RUBY IS REDHOT AND READY
“What’s with
all the buzz-humming?”
you ask!
Nectar! That’s what!
Rocket fuel!
Look, this “flower” is empty!
And this “flower” is empty!
All four of these spigots are bone dry!
Get with it!
You might be bigger,
You might think you’re Queen of the Organisms,
but I’m resilient,
iridescent,
green to go,
and besides,
I kinda
trust you
and your birdie ways!
But you’ve been remiss! The tap is empty
and it’s been hanging dry
for days —
you, on your big-species vacay,
I, here,
readying for The Trek;
how am I
to build my wee jets
into the turbines that will take me south,
4000 miles south,
all the way
to Panama,
or maybe this year
to the West Indies?
So, mix it up, my friend,
get that fuel sugared up
back out here
to the trough.
I’m thirsty,
ready!
Time to fuel up,
take to the runway:
this weekend:
departure!
I’m off!
ZZZZZT-zzzzzT-ZZZZT!
by Susie Morice, August 25, 2021©
Susie, I love the hummingbird and the jet perspective – those engines ready to fuel up and take to the runway to fly south, and the onomatopoeia at the end with the sound. It’s lovely – – a beautiful farewell to summer and preparing for the cooler temps. This gets my heart ready for the coming winds of change.
Susi — I love the energy of this poem! It feels like a vibration, just like a hummingbird. My mother used to love watching the hummingbirds at her feeder. I think it made her feel alive!
Susie, oh, what a delightful poem. I love all of the sound effects. Loved “get that fuel sugared up” and the end is priceless. Love it!
Susie,
How could you go on a “big species vacay” and not have someone at the ready to refill the hummingbird feeder? I’m simply outraged for those colorful birds! ? I guess that bird gave you a buzzing flyby.
App on my phone
She presses my face
Waking me yet again
What is this, the third time this morning
What can she be looking for
Will she find it
Two quick clicks to where it can be found
Not there yet
She logs out and shuts me down
How long until she wakes me again??
This is such a thought provoking poem. The line “she logs out and shuts me down again” really tugs at the heart. Nicely done!
I just love your wonderful “painting” using your words! It made me laugh out loud, “How long until she wakes me again??” Brilliant!
DeAnna,
This is so appropriate (since I know what you’re doing). Your poem has a tension to it that perfectly fits the situation. Nicely done.
Oh my – – that perspective of a digital device is compelling. The “smart” of it is found with “not there yet,” but yet it knows……WOW!
DeAnna – This is so relevant in today’s digital society. That need to be on our phones, clicking and searching is so addictive. I felt that here in your poem and I loved the way you flipped the perspective to that of the device being awakened all the time.
Whoa!! Super cool perspective! I’m writing from my phone, but now it feels like I’m tickling it instead of typing ? It makes me wonder what the narrator was looking for
This has been a wonderful five days, with such great prompts! Thank you Jennifer, Tammi, and Judy!!
Judy, what a heart wrenching poem – and what an experience to have as a young girl, one that would stay with you all your life. The repetition of “I remember” is particularly haunting, I think.
I went quite a bit lighter – I am tending to my neighbor’s cat while they are on vacation; it’s been a very hectic time at my neighbor’s house due to many construction delays with a new addition they are building; I wondered what this must be like for their cat.
Being Purr-fectly Honest
If I’m being purr-fectly honest
I heard the key in the lock
I heard your footsteps
I heard your little feline say
“Where is the cat, Nana?”
If I’m being purr-fectly honest
meeting your grandchild
was not on my list of to do’s.
I’m too busy hiding from the world.
It is none of your business
which small space I am hiding in.
Do you have ANY idea
how long it has taken these workers
to build this new addition?
Every single day for months now,
there’s someone new coming in,
disturbing my peace.
Do you have ANY idea
how inconvenienced I have been?
The hammering!
The sawing!
The drilling!
The level of disarray I have to negotiate on a daily basis!
My litter box has been moved three times.
And now you tell me that
my owners have the AUDACITY
to leave me for a WEEK?!
So, get over it.
I didn’t come out strutting
I didn’t purrrr
I didn’t rub around your legs.
You will live.
Thanks for cleaning the litter box, though…
oh, and the water…
and the fresh food, of course.
Judi, I see I misspelled your name! So sorry!! (So rude of me)
OMG how funny! Loved your perspective from your kitty’s point of view – wish I’d thought of it! I can’t even pick out just one thing – they are all so clever! “And now you tell me that my owners have the AUDACITY to leave me for a WEEK?!” Each stanza builds on the previous one!
Maureen — this is so purr-fectly cat-like. I love the repetition of purr-fectly and the stand-off nature of this cat is spot on. Such a fun poem.
Maureen,
My cat could have written this poem. She hides all day long! We have more home improvement projects going on here. I don’t even see her going out to the garage to use the box! You’ve really captured the cat tone!
LOL, I just love it. My cat happens to love all people and anyone at any time so she never hides. I wish she would, especially when someone is in the house trying to work! Once a plumber came and my little Tootsie laid next to his legs while he was under the sink! CRAZY!
You nailed cat mentality! ?
What a sweet poem and how good of you to wonder about the cat’s feelings. I love that she said,
Very clever story you have told here, Maureen.
I had a dream
last night that
I tried to use
the word
“inchoate”
in a poem.
I wrote it there
on the paper,
and instantly
it was attacked
by other words,
swarmed really,
overtook like
ants on a piece
of cornbread.
When the other
words, the hungry
ones, retreated,
moving back in
place, the word
was gone.
I tried again,
this time with
the word
“insouciant,”
again the words
attacked, again
they fed, again
the word
was gone.
I awoke with
the troubling
thought that
poems must
be fed,
and they like
some words
more than others.
Scott — I really like the idea that “poems must/be fed/and they like/some words, more than others.” Of course! What a fun poem. Wrestling with words…LOL! Yes! So fun to bring to life that poem’s life…the attacking of words…so fitting, so right! Cool! Thank you. Susie
What a refreshing and clever perspective! I can just see the words being attacked! I hadn’t thought of anything so smart!!! “I awoke with the troubling thought that poems must be fed, and they like some words more than others.” TRUTH !!!
As always I love your stream of consciousness approach and writing from the poem’s perspective was brilliant! It is so appropriate that this poem is going to be very particular about the word choices. So much fun!
Scott, you are so clever as always!
Judi, your poem breaks my heart. Thank you for this prompt today to help us explore the thoughts and feelings of others. Thanks to all the hosts this week. It’s been so challenging, mostly fun, yet heart wrenching at times. Thanks to all for your heartfelt poems that moved me.
Yesterday my grandson got to go out a bit further than usual in the ocean waves. He was having a blast with his dad. His mom and I got a little nervous. Though Dad was super confident and probably all would have been fine, Mom was the voice of reason. I had to agree—play it safe in the ocean and err on the side of caution!
Adventure in the Waves
By Nancy White
“It’s the best day of my life!”
I yell as the cold ocean wave slaps my back
It takes my breath away
And I scream with surprise.
Daddy holds my arms and swings me around
as the next wave gets my hair soaked.
“More! More! Let’s go further out!”
I’m feeling brave as long as Dad’s beside me;
I’m getting used to this!
I’m strong!
And I can hold my breath! Whee!
Mom shouts, “Come in closer to shore!”
Dad and I listen as Mommy gives us a lecture.
She worries sometimes. She said,
“Those waves were big and strong enough
to maybe even knock down Daddy.”
Oh, man! And we were having so much fun!
When I’m six I’ll be bigger and stronger
And I’ll show them all I can swim on my own.
Such a precious moment to document with a poem! Love this, Nancy. There is so much beautiful truth in this line, “I’m feeling brave as long as Dad’s beside me” – lovely!
Love your poem, Nancy! Grandkids are such a joy, and it is so much fun to watch them growing.
Nancy,
This is image of your grandson splashing in the waves with his father is priceless. It really makes me smile. I can hear him thinking “When I’m six I’ll be bigger and stronger”.
Great insight to your five year old’s mind and feelings. I bet he is really looking forward to being six.
Ah, the inspiration and liberation of youth! Perfectly rendered! Fave line: “I’m feeling brave as long as Dad’s beside me”
Sorry that this is day five. It has been great! Thank you Jennifer and Tammi, as well as Judi.
This was a really hard prompt for me today. My brain and emotions did not want to delve too deeply in these memories. Yet, I really want to thank Judi for this push to get me thinking about being in another’s skin.
Seekers
I am confused, devastated and helpless.
I speak Miskito and few understand me.
I stand on cold cement and lean on the concrete walls
waiting now
after I have travelled over two thousand miles.
I am exhausted and dirty.
I would love a shower and a clean comb.
My shredded shoes are falling off my feet.
My children were taken away from me
after we crossed the river.
I ache in longing to know where they are.
I have been detained in a Federal Prison
just for wanting to care of myself and my family.
I am a refugee in a sanctuary church
praying for the barriers in my mind
and in others to be undone.
I bring wisdom from the ancients that taught me
that God provides enough for all if we don’t waste it.
I have that knowledge and talent to share.
Let me meet you and be your friend.
Bravo, Susan, for taking on the perspective of refugees, and their extraordinary journeys, how very, very hard it must be. I am moved by the simplicity of this need “I would love a shower and a clean comb.” – imagine! Such long painful journeys and the most basic human needs unmet. So painful to think about, and yet an image we should all have.
Beautiful perspective shifter. I hope we are are stirred to do what we can to help refugees. Your poem drives home the unimaginable loneliness, helplessness, and yet undying persistence of these precious people.
Susan — That last stanza, Wow! It really tugged at my heart, especially the last line: “Let me meet you and be your friend”. My heart goes out to all those refugees seeking to save their families.
Susan, you’re as facile with words are you are with paint. While I imagine you’re writing about the work hour church does supporting immigrants crossing the border, the eyes of my heart see the immigrants leaving Afghanistan. You’re words paint such vivid emotional pictures, they make me weepy.
I wrote down about 10 potential topics. What a way to gain insight and empathy into others.
Simply
I simply can’t believe . . .
my dad, my beacon, my comfort is gone
53 is too young to leave
damn cancer
what will Mom do? Bob? the high school?
I simply can’t believe
Dick’s dad is dying
not five months after Daddy
damn cancer
I can’t imagine Genevieve without him
I simply can’t believe
the prince of our country has been gunned down
with his beautiful in pink by his side
we campaigned for him
he was our hope, the country’s hope.
I simply can’t believe
Bob has an aneurysm
an athletic 32, a doctor, the picture of health.
the surgery to correct leads to a stroke, paralysis
our family/neighbors/social life . . . gone
I simply can’t believe
the doctor heard a murmur
at only 30, in for a catheterization I go.
a faulty mitral valve . . . how?
off to St. Vincent’s for a replacement
I simply can’t believe
over the span of two years
so many core parts of my life have shattered
people and security and health
life is really a vapor
I simply can’t believe
I can’t possibly handle these four kids
this pressure-filled life
the neediness of Mother
the tragedy of Bob’s life
I simply can’t.
~Susan Ahlbrand
25 August 2021
It didn’t hold the formatting as I wanted, so it’s not as effective, but I hope you can get the gist of what I tried to reveal.
Susan,
Even without holding to the formatting as you say, this poem clearly conveys your message. Thank you for sharing. I would agree 53 is way too young.
Susan — The repeating, the disbelief, the layering of one loss atop another…I certainly feel the “I simply can’t.” “Life is really a vapor”… poof! The movement the lines in the poem seem to pulse like the air that is taken in gasps…”pressure-filled” indeed. Nothing about this is “simple.” Susie
Once again, I raised monarchs this year, so they once again end up in my poetry here. I really do talk to them just like this, and I have often wondered if they know my voice once they become monarchs visiting my garden.
She is the face on the other side
of the white mesh crib
Daily looking in saying
Hello babies! How are you today?
In her sing-songy gush of air
pushing through our space
We pretty much ignore her
munching and sleeping and pooping
throughout the day and evening
skooching from one leaf to the next
growing, molting, growing, molting
until we get to the point she calls us
Big Fatties, smiling gleefully
One by one, the others disappear
climbing upward to their final stage
When my time comes
she congratulates me
as I hang like a J
shuddering my final molt
my world goes dark for a long sleep
Murky-eyed, I emerge into the light
She is there, joyfully greeting me
Hello Monarch! Hello my darling!
Look how beautiful you are!
I am slow to crawl and discover
two giant wings I open and close
open and close until I can control their speed
Suddenly, the white mesh disappears
and I see clear blue skies
I climb to the opening and with a frenzied burst
flap and flap and flap up and away
Have a wonderful life! she calls
I am lifted into a current of wind
up and up and up
When I become better at
directing all these moving parts
I return to the garden
where I find her sitting
I swoop by, pause on a hyssop
flap Hello!
she replies
Hello Monarch! So good to see you!
Welcome home!
Denise, I love this! I, too, raise monarchs but not behind a mesh. I have numerous milkweed plants and they just come and let me watch the process unfold usually ending their last stage hanging from my fence. This year, though, there were not as many monarchs. I think because of our drought. I miss them!
Ah, Denise – We were on the same vibes today. I live the monarchs, and I REALLY love that you are there readying them for their transition! Wonderful conversation, this poem. Lovely! Susie
Thank you for this prompt! So many interesting way to take it, but I decided to write from the perspective of my teenage self.
Snohomish Valley Walk and Talks
I talk well,
with myself especially.
Out into the valley I’ll go,
the red-winged black-birds
clutching canary grass stems
Don’t seem to mind the babble.
I can be rather witty and insightful.
I explain to myself the why
of choices I’ll make.
I jog this path too sometimes,
but the bobbing up and down
prevents real discussion.
The drainage ditch my path follows
runs with decision out to the middle –
or near enough – for perspective,
and the distant manure sprinklers
don’t bother me much.
I’m deciding what’s real of me, and what isn’t,
what I like, and what is, frankly, inconvenient.
We create images, you see,
well, I do, anyway.
Patch-work of characters and people I’ve liked,
crafted with my convincing rhetoric.
Stitches are water tight because
otherwise –
I’ll cut the crap just for a moment,
And tell you, frankly, I’m scared.
The best part of these walk and talks
are the mountains of course.
The cascades ring this valley,
their jagged tips like peaks
of a confused crown.
In the morning when the sun rises from behind
the peaks are clear and sharp enough to bring blood.
In the evening though, the sun falls across the valley.
The softening blues and purples blend
ambiguously, tantalizingly into one another.
Emily,
Thank you for sharing today. Great work as always. My favorite lines today:
“The softening blues and purples blend
ambiguously, tantalizingly into one another.”
Emily,
This is just a lovely window into the questioning minds of your (our) youth. We spend so much time trying to figure out how to just be–and you captured this really well. 🙂
Holy smokes, Emily. I love this poem! I can definitely see myself in it, especially with this thought “We create images, you see,
well, I do, anyway.
Patch-work of characters and people I’ve liked,”
Thank you for this lovely piece. The image of the mountain peaks and a confused crown really sticks with me.
Putting on the perspective of your own mother must have been a challenging exercise for you. I can feel such a sense of distress (with a strong desire for freedom) in her decision to leave. I borrowed the “I remember” form and wrote in the perspective of a child whose grandfather died of COVID-19.
I remember
that silly picture of me at three–
sassy stance pointing at the person
behind the camera.
I remember
the rainbow shorts I wore–
how I felt their magic
dancing on my tip-toes.
I remember
his laughter at the things I said–
“kulala” for koala
and “pasghetti” spaghetti.
I remember
sliding into his arms held wide–
how he tossed me up to the sky
and down into his strong hug.
I thought
he’d always be there–
to catch me, to laugh with me
to be my Pappy.
Margaret,
The quoted pronounced words here amplify the voice of the young speaker, and the image of trust in the toss and hug grip my heart as I read these lines. But that last word “Pappy” is so intimate, especially with the infinitive phrase “to be my” — that is, indeed, infinite in the grief.
Peace,
Sarah
“I thought he’d always be there” is that profound shift that sobers us as we realize our own misconceptions of childhood and how invincible we feel about ourselves and those we love. Your memories are beautiful – – and keep him here in your heart, to catch you and laugh with you – your Pappy.
A beautiful tribute to your Pappy. I am touched by your memory of the magic coming from your rainbow shorts and dancing to your toes. I often try to recapture this magic but it sure is hard to do now!
So poignant. Margaret. I am thinking how many children might be thinking these very thoughts…
Hello Judy,
Thank you for today’s prompt and for your beautiful, raw, and intensely emotional poem for us to follow as a mentor. My best friend’s mom left her and her sis when they were 12 and 14 years old. We never understood how she could have left. Your poem is an answer to the questions I’ve always had about why a mom might leave her children. I’m looking forward to time to write today, hopefully I can do it during my lunch break.
Powerful:
the moment I shed my skin
standing raw and new.
Damn autocorrect, sorry, JUDI.
Judi – your heartrending lines wrench the soul and set it free at the same time, from this perspective. I am in awe of your poem and your bravery. The metaphor of skin, the confusion on the children’s faces – searing and haunting. That old blue suit case is now an indelible image in my brain.
I feel very presumptive about the poem I wrote this morning, like I shouldn’t try to put words in the mouth of someone whose story I don’t know…but this lady and her little dog living on the streets of a beautiful city in the mountains are another indelible image for me. I mean it as tribute, capturing the moment she spoke to me. Side note: during the pandemic, shelters aren’t always a safe option.
For three days now I seen you crossing
at my corner here
sometimes with shopping bags.
On vacation, I’ll bet
just like most a these folks
pushing their dogs
around on the sidewalks
in strollers.
Have you ever.
You seen me and my own little dog.
I know you did.
I seen you look then look away.
Not going to guess if that’s on account
of shame or embarrassment or anything else.
You just need to know I seen you.
Every day for three days.
On the first evening when it was raining
and me and Raspberry was scrooched
back into the doorway here
staying dry.
Seen you in the sunshine the next morning
and all day yesterday, roaming downtown.
-oh, thanks hon. Y’all over at the ice cream shop
are good to me. So good on a hot day. This tiny paper cup
is just the right size for Raspberry. Like Baby Bear’s bed.
Wonder where you’re staying? Where you’re from?
Just now heard you asking where to find water and one of my friends
(we check on each other,
sometimes one will stay here with me at my corner
cause it’s safer
plus someone to talk to)
-one of my friends told you go in the ice cream shop,
if you ask, they’ll give you free ice water.
He didn’t know you meant a bottled water.
I did.
I see you smiling down at my sweet Raspberry
curled up here in my lap watching the world
pass by.
Three days now and
I want you to know I see you.
-Good morning.
-Her name is Raspberry. She’s a girl.
-Thank you. She IS sweet and so good.
-I am G—.
-Thanks for stopping.
-God bless.
These lines stood out for me — great use of perspective, Fran:
“Three days now and
I want you to know I see you.”
Kevin
Fran, wow! What I love about this is being seen. That’s something that I’ve been saying to my students when I catch them doing something really special. I’ll say, “I see you,” and smile. The other unseen in this poem is compassion. We need to see it and each other more. I want to read this in a book with illustrations. So loving and meaningful.
“Seen you in the sunshine the next morning
and all day yesterday, roaming downtown.”
??????
I remember a blog post you wrote about this encounter. It’s one of those stories that will come up again and again for you as you grapple with it. The repetition of see and seen examines the importance of just being seen.
Fran,
I have the same reservation here — of stepping into another’s voice and perspective. Indeed, it is an exercise in understanding when we cannot ask for their story, when they are not in this space to write their own poem. And yet, it is the work of storytellers, right?, to develop dialogue, create scenes that engaged readers cognitively and affectively. I just think about how to do this ethically and how we can support our students in doing the same.
Here, you so tenderly take us through the scene with vivid images, engaging our senses in ice cream shop, hot day, ice water and Raspberry curled up on a lap. I think by not using quotes but rather dashes and parentheses to indicate speech/thought is a gesture of a composite scene of interpretation rather than precise words.
So appreciate your care here.
Fran, I think I remember you writing about this lady and her dog before – and I know I remember that ice cream shop – maybe here, maybe on the Slice site. This tells me that it really resonates with you to see her there in that doorway, feeling the need to be seen, the need to connect with someone. I’m taken by the image of her and her dog in the doorway, trying to stay dry. I like that you used the regional dialect to show us something about this woman – a needing heart to be seen, a giving heart to this dog whose needs she is meeting. Such beautiful description of the place and the heart.
Fran,
I read your haunting poem this morning and have thought about it often today. The tone humanizes those often dehumanized by those of us w/ privilege. Of course we’re seen. Beautiful poem.
Oh, Fran, the line that killed me was
“Like Baby Bear’s bed.” (too small, not right)
You invested the heart-space to experience the (imagined) life of another person. I was then invited to live that perspective. Thank you.
Judi, thank you for hosting us today and for encouraging us to see some of life’s tough choices through the eyes of another. That’s a tough thing to do, but it opens our eyes – and it has helped me forgive others when I tried to see things from their angle. You are a model of strength and acceptance!
Color My World
I sit at their feet
a warm foot bath
speaking my own language
they rarely understand,
coloring their world
in shades of their choosing
giving my full attention
to every detail.
We exchange few words,
mostly gestures.
They put on their shoes
open the door
and walk away-
leave for weeks-
but they’ll return
when the color fades
when life chips and
peels the artwork
on their flaking canvas.
Great ending!
“… when life chips and
peels the artwork
on their flaking canvas”
Kevin
A poem of love and dedication – such clear images, the warm foot bath to the shoes, and the returning with fading color, chips, peeling, flaking – seems to me the true and unique artistry of being Mom. <3 So beautiful, Kim.
Kim,
I enjoyed your poem today. My favorite lines
“when the color fades
when life chips”
“when the color fades
when life chips and
peels the artwork
on their flaking canvas.” Wow! Life chips. I wonder, too, how people who are in service to others feel about us. Love? Hate? Indifference?
Kim, this perspective makes me wonder about privilege and about those I’ve taken for granted at times. I think of so many service workers and all they do for so little pay, no time off, and no benefits. Not to mention, there is the weariness and aching joints, the sense of monotony that must come for those dear folks at the end of the day. Thanks for this. So thought provoking.
Kim – I hear wisdom in these observations. Watching [them] go and return. I love the focus on feet and shoes and walking away… good crafting there! And I agree with Kevin at those last lines. Lovely. Susie
Kim,
There’s a humility and service we rarely acknowledge in this washing of feet. “Pedicure” circumvents the true act of service. Your diction is so good. I also love the lines Kevin mentions, but the word that stands out most to me is “disappear.”
If only he’d let me
keep looking
for peepers
and for frogs
instead of home,
I’d stay, carefully
peeking under
dead rotten logs
but no, it’s time,
he tells me,
it’s time for us
to go
I wave goodbye
to the woods
and the stories
I’ll never know
(this had me in the mind of one of my sons, from years back)
Kevin
Kevin, that’s a beautiful ending – waving to all the stories a child will
never know because they had to leave the woods. Tugs at the heart!
Kevin…how this catches at the heart! I imagine my oldest speaking of the trauma of not being allowed to have a skateboard while growing up, alas. Beautifully done.
I love “peepers”! I hear others use that, but it wasn’t something I grew up with. The opening line is so pleaful, a missed chance, “if only.” Eve that is a powerful prompt for writers, to start a memory poem with ‘if only.’ And then closing with “stories / I’ll never know” echoes the consequence of the ‘if only.’ Sweet to take your son’s perspective on something that could seem so fleeting and ‘meaningless’ to an adult.
The wonderings of a child…You captured them in this small moment poem.
This is lovely, Kevin. The “he” shades the relationship of the “us,” making me think just a little bit about the speaker carrying some of the stories of the woods in the “us.” I love this tender moment with the “wave goodbye” and am left melancholy in the “never.”
And thank you for the italicized parenthetical at the end…”my sons” made my eyes tear up.
I love this perspective from a child’s mind. Having to tear a child away from something they are engaged in is hard. I feel my grandson’s disappointment every time we have to leave him. I wonder how he felt yesterday when he had to come home from the beach after a wonderful morning of play. And like a child, I feel sad when I say goodbye to him, to think of the things I’ll miss out on. Love your poem.
Judi,
I love this challenge, and I love how you even offered the different perspective to be a younger us. How therapeutic that could be! As for your poem . . . wow. The details you add sure help the reader SEE it, but your words help the reader FEEL it. This had to be tough to write.
I look forward to this if I can do it without needing my therapist. Maybe I should go for light and fun. 🙂
I was thinking the same thing, Susan!