Inspiration
In my life time, I have had loves, friends, and habits that became (or always were) toxic. Sometimes I had the gumption to end it, and sometimes “it” ended me. So today, I invite you to write a break-up poem.
Process
This break-up poem may be a break up with sweetie, but it could be about breaking up with a bad habit. Your break up poem might be sad, but it can also be an ode or a celebration of your time “together.”
- Think about the relationships that you have had with people (loves, friends, colleagues, barber);
- ponder the relationships you have had with activities or sports that you loved but can no longer do or even ones you despise;
- consider the places you did or do regularly visit (hardware store, coffee shop, dog groomer); and
- inventory foods, habits, routines that you want to end.
One technique is to use apostrophe (not the punctuation mark) to talk to the object/subject directly. Give this a go, or poem in another direction entirely. We welcome any poem today and are so glad you are with us. Enter your poem in the comment section below.
Sarah’s Poem
There was a time
when I was far from home,
and I needed your comfort
during the long drives to work
and lonely lunches,
for I knew no one,
and no one knew me.
But you, you were familiar —
a bit of home
that I could carry with me–
You, with your bright, red twists,
you, with your fat-free, eat-as-much-as-you-want,
one pound packaging,
you, with your chewy, cherry luster.
Alas, you became my addiction,
an escape from my homesickness.
I did, quite literally, carry you in my waistline,
but your packaging sealed me off, an invisible wall
between me and my new world.
I had to quit you cold, (vegan) turkey.
Now, some time has passed,
and I have returned home
to my friends and family.
I still have long drives
and eat lunch alone- though I am not lonely.
Sometimes I wonder if you and I,
if we, can give it another go,
but, alas, dear Twizzlers,
your twists no longer have that luster.
I find comfort in words — comfort here, in this poem.
Vacation Thoughts
If I saw you
would I know?
Would you still
Be smoking and reading
Your horoscope?
Do you wake up
With a prosperity spell?
For you, prosperity means
A night out,
Vodka and a joint
Cheesecake at three am
A moment that passes too quickly
I’ve tried to break up with you
For three decades
But for every homeless person I pass
I wonder
Mom, is that you?
Thank you so much for contributing to our community. You final line is heart-wrenching, unexpected. I hear you and understand as I have had a difficult break-up with my own mother.
Kim,
We met when I took the leap,
the LEAP for Ghana.
You were there to help
make arrangements,
calm the newbies down,
and just guide us.
And you did it with such grace,
such aplomb.
You made it look easy
but it couldn’t have been.
When the children in the village
saw your beautiful blond flip,
your infectious smile that was more genuine
than anything I had ever seen,
they ran to you,
showering you with love.
It wasn’t the Twizzlers you gave them,
but YOU.
They knew how much you loved them
even though they didn’t always understand your words,
they knew.
We knew.
Today we heard you left us.
An untimely goodbye.
Ripped away too soon from those you love
and who love you.
50!
My heart is breaking
even though I’ve only known you for months
What about your husband?
Your two daughters?
I can’t even imagine their sorrow.
They must know the love you’ve shared
the love you’ve spread
the children you’ve taught
the friends you made
the lives you’ve altered
the lives you’ve inspired.
They must feel the love
you’ve spread around the world.
I will miss you, friend.
Weary Middle Aged Teacher
Don’t remember much about being
young and free.
Now it’s teaching, teaching, teaching.
Students coming, students going.
Parents coming, parents going.
Teachers coming, teachers going.
Paperwork mounting, mounting, mounting.
Administration pushing, pushing, pushing.
Working overtime, undertime, out of time.
Little time for friends. Little time for me. Little time for family.
I ask myself, where am I in all this busyness?
Then, it happens: I see myself in the smile of a thoughtful student bringing me a special drawing just for me, saying I’m the best a teacher can be!
The above poem was written by Lori Leon
Lori, thank you for sharing this beautiful reflection on teaching. I can completely relate to the constant “pushing” as if there is no limit, and then you use repetition of “little time” to illuminate the impact on our self care, but those last lines are what keeps us going, from where we draw that last bit of energy to push.
Lori,
I really like all of your “ing” words. They make me feel how we are all being propelled forward on a daily basis. I also like your wordplay within so may of the lines. Nicely done!
Drawing the Line
The hardest part for me was drawing the line;
what was too much, too far, too disturbing, too heartless?
My own set of addictive behaviors,
kept letting her back in,
kept messaging:
once more,
yes,
just look the other way,
you can handle this,
let her back in,
it’s your sibling, after all,
you can’t divorce your own blood…
until you must.
Till my own wellbeing
mattered more
than manipulations,
judgments,
her mental illness,
those perverse threats.
My signals were mixed for years until
I reined in my need to keep us intact,
opting for peace of mind and the reality
that I could draw the line,
define family any way I saw fit.
by Susie Morice
Susie, So much of this poem resonates with me as I have ten siblings, and mental illness runs in the family. The lines “My signals were mixed for years until/I reined in my need to keep us intact,/opting for peach of mind and the reality that I could draw the line” are so validating, and I know how hard it must have been to “define family” for yourself. I had to go to therapy for that — where was your poem three years ago.? Thank you. Glad to know you now and to have the perspective to read your verse.
“…until you must.” Yes. This poem is courageous and your decision to protect your sanity is courageous.
The Purge
A day for purging
Eliminating needless clutter.
If it’s not useful–
If it is not loved–
It must go–
Right?
Into the shoebox
Goes the desire to control.
Worry fits nicely in this corner.
The voice of self doubt?
Muffle it in tissue.
The need to compare —
folded, smoothed,
tucked away.
On goes the lid
Under the bed to the far back,
The box is pushed.
Perhaps this box
will be discovered
a year–or ten–from now.
And realizing no sense of emptiness,
It will be hauled to the curb,
Without a second thought.
Gail,
This is so powerful and inspiring to put everything in its place, a place it now belongs that will serve you better: “Worry fits nicely in this corner.” Such a lovely rhythm of progress working toward “realizing no sense of emptiness.” I think it should be a poem taped to a mirror to revisit when that “voice of self doubt” gets too loud!
Gail,
The self doubt (right?) in your poem is so relatable. It would so nice if we could pack it in a box and shove it into a corner!
This one was tough, Sarah. Writing about a lost friendship revived the memory, yes, but also rekindled to pain. Thanks a lot!!!! Well, this demonstrates the power of writing poetry. Thinking about this one makes me think about how much I value what still remains.
We once were good friends
What went wrong?
It was a lie!
It made me cry
When you said we’d couldn’t be friends.
Who told the lie?
I wonder why
you believed the lie.
I wonder, too,
If you, too, cry
When you recall
We once were friends.
Dear, dear friends
For, oh so long.
Why let a lie
Make it all go wrong?
Anna, I so appreciate your willingness to “go there” with this poem — speaking to the friendship, the friend may stir pain and may just assuage it, remind you that you have new friends — like us?
I wanted to comment on this poem, but I wasn’t exactly sure what to say. I try not to read others’ comments before posting mine, but Sarah hit the nail on the head. We are your friends. I think this group is one of the best thing that has happened to me professionally, if I could just write in a timely fashion (see Gail’s poem above- SELF DOUBT!). Nice work.
“Respond with Love”
She said, “I’ve become so
damaged that when
someone wants to
give me what I deserve
I have no idea
how to respond.”
Respond with love.
In all that you do that is the only response.
Be passionate.
Be curious.
Be courageous.
Do all with love in your heart.
Let love be the light that shines through the fog of uncertainty.
Be the hope for others
when they feel they have no hope left.
She said, “You were funny today.”
I apologized for all the days I wasn’t
“Be the hope for others when they feel they have no hope left.” How inspiring and uplifting for all of us! It’s like the penny jar – have one, give one. Need one, take one. Hope is the same way!
Andy — Such good advice! Not easy to do, but certainly what works so well. “be the light…be the hope.” My friend uses the phrase “assume good will,” and I swear by that; though I find it hard to do too much of the time. Your ending line is my favorite. The capacity to apologize is a monumentally good characteristic… you are, indeed, a good soul. Susie
Your last two lines blew me away.
I couldn’t get it together the other day when we poet pretenders were prompted to write about emotions like grief and hurt. Too close to the bone, still. I’ve always preferred flippant and, please, clever.
So wouldn’t you think today’s topic Brea-kin—gu—p… would be a natural for me? The end of any relationship can be funny in the right light. But today I’m playing catch up. This is a rewrite of some prose I entered in a writing contest. Didn’t win.
Mom died in about four minutes.
A hundred fifty-five pounds worth of surprise birthday parties,
Sixty-one years worth of dentists and piano and
April Fools jokes that didn’t fool anybody,
Five feet seven inches of dogs and cats and parakeets and turtles,
A head full of brown-haired library books and blue-eyed
Sunday school and allowance and pierced ears and
Elbows askew
And a startled little cry of recognition at what was happening to her,
All came crashing to the kitchen floor.
Myocardial Infarction.
Those are the words typed on her death certificate. And
Secondary to Prolonged Ischemia,
Just to make things crystal clear.
I read the reasons much later than I heard her fall.
Jackie — I love the ways in which you measure the memories of your mother. So clever. So loving. The piece ends with a terrific punch, “Just to make things crystal clear. / I read the reasons much later than I heard her fall.” Indeed. Thank you for sharing.
Your poem puts perspective on my own mother’s death. Hers with Parkinson’s and daily suffering and dementia over seven years with moments of realizing what what’s happening and then yours – sudden and unexpected and all in four minutes. Even death and loss has its upsides and downs no matter which way that it comes – despite being always an unwelcome intrusion in our lives. Thank you for sharing this beautiful and touching tribute to your mother. I love the way you measure what she meant to you in do many ways – time, weight, height. Creative!
Jackie,
One of the reasons I have invited different poet-author-teachers to post inspirations for five-ish days at a time is to offer us some different ways of thinking about poems and writing. I tend to linger in self-knowledge; Travis was nudging us toward experiences that stir us emotionally, Anna (next week) will ask us to stretch in other ways. Always. Always, write what you wish and need — no rules here, and I say the same to my students. All that said, I so appreciate your poem today, sharing your mom’s story of death and life. You count pounds and years and jokes while, at the same time, showing that her life defied measurement and lives on in you, in this poem. And that last line, “I read the reasons much later than I heard her fall,” has me reading and re-reading this (and remembering when my father fell). Much gratitude.
Jackie — I actually needed this poem. That sudden slam to the floor … I could hear that, feel that. All those important efforts from your mom, that you have tallied up here, feel so incredibly valuable… all those mom duties/gifts. This sure rings familiar, way too familiar. Still spooks me that we are close to that same age now. Tough thing to write about, but this did fine justice. Susie
Yesterday was your birthday
I sent you a message
But it didn’t feel the same
We were so close so fast
But not for long
It felt sudden and real
But a part of me wondered how long it would last
I hadn’t had a friend so close and so fast
It was default
Every moment together
Spending time with your family
Watching your dog
We shared everything
Clothes
Secrets
Nannying jobs
Boys
You hurt me a little
You hurt her a lot
I feel healed and wonder if it could be better again
But for her I hesitant
I ripped off the band-aid and didn’t look back
Today I wonder
What would’ve been
Michelle — I have felt this way in relationships more times than I care to remember. Perhaps it’s foolish, but I like to think people come into our lives for a reason and leave for a reason, however painful it may be. Certainly, the “ripped off Band-Aid” stings, but underneath there is healing. Thank you for sharing.
Michelle, thank you for this poem! It seems that friends are a lot like weeds sometimes- the fast ones don’t develop good root systems that the cultivated ones do. Thank you for opening this wound for a reminder we all need!
I finally got some inspiration for yesterday’s poem about the things we carry. I was running the Atlanta Women’s 5k today and thought about my feet carrying me.
Pounding Pavement
Feet
that pound early morning pavement
carry eyes
that see more beauty
than feet that don’t.
-Kim Johnson
Kim, I am sure you rocked that 5K today with those powerful feet!
“Gray”
Silvery fiber I spy at 23. This lone
Unicorn horn unique, solitary, single
Strand. I pluck you from my pate.
Bid you farewell, goodbye, adios.
Still, like toenail fungus you
Persist, spinning your fishing line
Threads through my brown
Cascading locks. Fouled like Belinda’s in
Pope’s Mock epic. A tangle of coarse rebar
Anchors in follicles once dark, mysterious.
My draped, folded covering Stolen by a jealous
Angler. Devoured like Santiago’s
Elusive catch in silvery, shark-infested water.
Cut off, removed, imploded brunette
Blanket. To you I bid adieu, adieu, and adieu. Shady thief, time’s crony
Gray accomplice, that hair squatter
Now lives where you once dwelt.
*I found my first gray hair my first year teaching. A few years ago I gave up on coloring and surrendered to silver. It was not an easy decision.
Thank you for sharing! I love the line “Anchors in follicles once dark, mysterious” because it captures the confusion of this new change in hair color.
Glenda — My favorite lines are “spinning your fishing line / Threads through my brown / Cascading locks” because the imagery is perfect. When the grays come to visit they do so by threading themselves in unexpected ways. Thank you for sharing.
Silvery fiber I spy – shady thief, time’s crony – I love the sound of vowel combinations in the language throughout your poem! If my hair silvered as beautifully as yours has In your picture it would be an easy decision to stop the coloring madness – but I am not as blessed!
Glenda, First, you are beautiful, and I have been admiring your shade since we “met,” especially because your smile sparkles with your shimmering gray. Such vivid imagery in “Elusive catch in silvery, shark-infested water.”
Glenda — This sure made me smile. Those grey hairs sneak in and suddenly, holy cow! I like the references to fishing line… Santiago’s elusive catch. Gray as an accomplice, that hair squatter. Fun to think of hair being something we tended to so carefully over the years, and yet we have little control over any of that. Your hair looks great, by the way! Susie
I can relate to the allure of Twizzlers! My favorite line — “your twists no longer have that luster”. Best of luck with your break up!
There was a time
when I was far from home,
and I needed your comfort
during the long drives to work
and lonely lunches,
for I knew no one,
and no one knew me.
But you, you were familiar —
a bit of home
that I could carry with me–
You, with your bright, red twists,
you, with your fat-free, eat-as-much-as-you-want,
one pound packaging,
you, with your chewy, cherry luster.
Alas, you became my addiction,
an escape from my homesickness.
I did, quite literally, carry you in my waistline,
but your packaging sealed me off, an invisible wall
between me and my new world.
I had to quit you cold, (vegan) turkey.
Now, some time has passed,
and I have returned home
to my friends and family.
I still have long drives
and eat lunch alone- though I am not lonely.
Sometimes I wonder if you and I,
if we, can give it another go,
but, alas, dear Twizzlers,
your twists no longer have that luster.
I find comfort in words — comfort here, in this poem.
Apostrophe is a good approach to writing an ode. I’m happy to say I’ve never had a Twizzler habit. Fun images: “invisible wall” and quitting “cold (vegan) turkey.”
Sarah, we have even more in common than I thought — as I have a past with Twizzlers, too. So much that for years my children gave me packages of it as gifts. It’s a sad part of my history. You have such a lovely way with words. I especially felt these lines today: “I did, quite literally, carry you in my waistline,
but your packaging sealed me off, an invisible wall
between me and my new world.
I had to quit you cold, (vegan) turkey.” Perhaps because I am still pondering the things I carry from yesterday’s prompt.
I love the set-up as I assumed it would’ve been a break-up with a person until I read ” I did quite literally, carry you in my waistline”. This break-up may have been as difficult as with a person!
“Your twists no longer have that luster” is such a great line. I’ve often wondered if things of the past would hold the same appeal years later- then I bump into someone or hear about something or taste something I once craved and realize that things lose charm! Your way of saying it here is pleasing to the ear.
Sarah — This was such a giggle. My good buddy brings a bag of Twizzlers on all of our trips…what an addictive bag of red yum they are. Ha! I really loved that breaking the habit types of phrasings that made it sound like a powerful drug (quit cold turkey [ha ha to the vegan insert] … needed your comfort ). For me, it would now be a question of what would I replace it with! Yikes! Fun on a Saturday afternoon! Thanks, Susie
❤️your twizzler Break-up poem. Since today is me late brother, Elgie Harris’, birthday I’ll try to write about losing him. Elgie would’ve turned 57 today. RIP
Regina,
I am so sorry for your loss. 57, so young. I would love to meet him through your verse today.