Thank you to our generous Open Write hosts for taking such good care of our hearts and minds this month!
Donnetta Norris is a 2nd grade teacher in Arlington, TX. She is an active member of Alpha Delta Kappa: International Honorary Organization for Women Educators. She hosts Time To Write writing workshops with TeachWrite, LLC. She has written as a guest blogger for Teach Better Team, and occasionally updates her personal blogs, TeacherReaderWriter, and Writing Is A Journey. Some of her poems have been published in Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance: An Oral History of COVID-19 in Poems by Dr. Sarah J. Donovan and in 90 Ways of Community by Sarah J Donovan, Mo Daley, Maureen Young Ingram.
Inspiration
If you have a Five Below in your area, and if you are anything like me, you cannot walk into that store without coming out of that store with something. For me, most of the time, I walk out with some kind of book. Several years ago, I purchased a book called Write The Poem, published by Piccadilly, Inc. (www.piccadillyinc.com). I always have the best of intentions when I buy books. I had intended to use this book to jump start my poem-writing habit. But as it stands, my book has been used to hold a space on a bookshelf, most of the pages blank. But, I digress.
At the top of each page, there is a topic word in which to write a poem about. In the margin of each page, you will find a list of associated words that can be used for inspiration and/or in your poem.
Process
Using one of the following topics below from the book, write a poem and challenge yourself to include all of the associated words or as many as you can. – (bold type your topic and associated words). Feel free to choose your own topic and generate a list of associated words, as well. As always, you can completely abandon this process and just write. I look forward to seeing all the different ways this process is applied as I read and comment on your wonderful poems.
| Write a Poem About… | Word Associations |
| Sharing | Support, Cooperation, Ration, Teamwork, Collaboration, Sacrifice, Charity, Generosity |
| A Choice | Marriage, Path, Challenge, Alternative, Dilemma, Passion vs. Logic, Popular, Ballot |
| Inspiration | Whimsy, Insight, Elation, Fervor, Delight, Talent, Fancy, Revelation |
| Poetry | Verse, Rhyme, Stanza, Composition, Muse, Rhythm, Lyric, Epic |
Donnetta’s Poem
Blessings – (Gifts, Grace, Thanks, Benediction, Luck, Boon. Bestow, Bounty)
Waking up each day to the bounty of His love;
Knowing no harm formed against me will prosper.
Giving thanks for family, protection and provision;
Worrying not about what’s to come.
Accepting that life may be a struggle; hard even, but
Believing in the One who gifts me life.
Finding contentment in what is NOW, while
Grieving the death of what used to be.
Being blessed as He works all things out for good;
Being a blessing with faith in His amazing grace.
(Originally written 7/18/2020 / Revised 9/29/2024)
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to 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. For suggestions on how to comment with care. See this graphic.
Donetta, your poem was inspirational today and a beacon of hope in these uncertain times. This week, my wife’s grandmother passed—she was an extraordinary woman. I looked for words associated with “matriarch” in an online generator and I was shocked at the predominance of negativity. I was able to find some positive words and I hope this poem captures the spirit of Mama.
Our Matriarch
The speeches were over,
the best man,
the maid of honor,
brothers of the bride,
mother of the bride,
had all said their piece
when mama—the bride’s
grandmother, for the unfamiliar,
arose, stepped to the microphone
and declared, “I’m the matriarch,
and I have something to say.”
When you’ve flown across seas,
and weathered generations of storms,
when you are matron, mama, other mama,
adopted grandmother of a townful of children, open arms and open heart,
dignitary, widow, keeper of the family,
you can say what you want, when you want,
and so she spoke. She was a moment
personified.
And now we memorialize this singular figure,
passing into the arms of her loved ones
who await her in a better place,
passing in her sleep, dignified,
peaceful, on her terms, alone.
Very much alive in the lessons she
embodied—
be bold
be beautiful
be peerless
be strong
be compassion
be grace
be love
be yourself
be unforgettable.
Dave, thank you for this Ode for who “adopted a townful” and “keeper of the family” and open arms that this poem lifts up. So sorry for your loss and grateful to know this matriarch.
Sarah
Donnetta, thanks for a great prompt. I’m going to have to revisit it.
Morning’s promise was
destroyed -Floridian
menace is to blame
Donetta, thank you for your prompt. You sound incredibly busy. I enjoyed the word bank and tried my best to create a metaphor for poetry.
Sunrise, Poetry in Motion
tangerine sky
flirts and cajoles
like a naughty girl—
begs to be cherished
in a stanza or two
sashaying in peachy rhythm
her curves seduce
a cozy couplet, or better yet—
an epic verse
following a clever rhyme scheme
she is my muse
a whimsical composition
quietly slipping away
at the break of day
to craft her own lyrics
Barb Edler
21 October 2024
Nice way you lulled in colors from yesterday and metaphors today. Your choice of sashaying alludes to the dance theme, earlier in this cycle! How well you blend the ideas into such a well crafted piece!
Barb, your extended metaphor for poetry is incredibly rich. I love the entire poem, but the first stanza stole my heart. The image of “tangerine sky” that “flirts and cajoles” sounds tempting and beautiful. Amazing!
Barb,
This put a smile on my face. Lovely images. This poem “sashaying” is a bit of a tease, a tart in my thinking, which is a wonderful thing for both women and poems to be. I just love this happy poem. Your muse is gifted.
Barb, your verbs are strong and your imagery is stronger! I love the way you have personified the evening sun with this dance kind of like a burlesque or something. I like the quietly slipping away to craft her own lyrics – – a bit of mystery even as the poem ends, to keep wondering about. So fun! It kind of makes me think of the movie Little Miss Sunshine.
Barb, this poem flirts and flits and had me smiling from the first line to the last. Such great phrases—“curves seduce a cozy couplet” and a “whimsical composition”. Love it!
Barb, you made me smile with this naught girl simile and peachy rhythm. Sensual. Embodied. And yes “to craft her own lyrics.” Love this poem.
I love your sassy seductive muse! 🩷
Today is the first day I’ve had time to read others’ poems in addition to writing. I appreciate all the hosts and their prompts this month. I’ve written every day and shared via IG and FB stories, but if I can’t find time to comment,I don’t post here.
emotional support poem
these days as earth tilts &
i feel this topsy-turvy country
leaning into 1930s fascism
as right-side up feels
upside
down
as the MUSE evades
my pen & composition-cacophony replaces rhyme
& rhythm 🎶
as each stanza verse
resonates like a failed
lyric of epic magnitude
as all my poems
lounge in iPhone
notes in virtual space
& i acknowledge
what i can & cannot
control
i write an
emotional support poem
for myself
Glenda Funk
10-23-24
Glenda, I missed you and your poems in this space. I like your idea of writing an emotional support poem, especially now, when we are within a couple weeks of elections, and it’s nerve wrecking. I like the use of ampersand and music notes image with a low-case “i”–to me, they signal the immediate urgency and need for that “self-support.”
Oh, Glenda, your ending sort of surprised me, but I love how writing poetry can provide its own sense of comfort. Your language is striking and cleverly phrased. I especially enjoyed
“as right-side up feels
upside
down
as the MUSE evades”
and
“my pen & composition-cacophony replaces rhyme
& rhythm 🎶
as each stanza verse
resonates like a failed
lyric of epic magnitude”
Such an impressive poem through and through. I am so happy this did not stay lounging on your iPhone and you could share it here today. Your poetry chops are magnificent!
Glenda, the emotional support poem is a new term I love. I know it’s not a new thing, but the new term is inspiring.
Glenda,
Seriously, we do need emotional support poems these days. So much cacophony. I’m glad to have had your poem to read tonight.
Oh, love this poem and the spacing, caps, purple notes, & the & that binds can and cannot. I definitely think you have a future poem prompt here ” an emotional support poem for myself,” which also ends up comforting the reader.
Sarah
Glenda,
I deeply appreciate an emotional support poem like this. It helps to know I’m not alone in this “today-turvy” place we call America.
🤗
Take care and protect your emotional wellness.
Donnetta, thank you for hosting today! I like the idea of providing a topic and word associations. I used to ask my students to write based on the vocabulary words we studied through a week or two, including each word at least once. Your poem has many words of wisdom, and I am clinging to these lines today:
“Finding contentment in what is NOW, while
Grieving the death of what used to be.”
Here is my poem about choices.
A Choice for Every Hour
A marriage of passion and logic,
The heart takes a path or turns back—
Each crossroad brings the head to check.
Do I follow the popular track,
Or challenge the norm with a whim?
On Life’s ballot, alternatives compete.
A dilemma can make moments scary,
Life is not always a kind fairy
Making a choice may cost a stack.
From marriage vows to picking fence,
From breakfast oats or buttered toast,
Each choice builds life’s merging flow.
But not all choices need to boast—
Some are simple, like socks today,
Just smile and choose what suits you most.
Leilya,
Your opening line is a paradox, a truth about a life we build w/ that one, our person, our soulmate. Still, we make those choices and do our best to make the best one, as your last line eloquently states.
Leilya, I love the way you move from something rather serious to your closing stanza which is delightfully fun and humorous. I love how you shared the difficulty of choosing the right partner because any joint union can be difficult and full of pitfalls. The idea of following a “popular track” is provocative. Thanks for sharing your clever poetry today!
Leila,
That opening juxtaposition opens up really interesting questions and I love your resolution of choices being like socks!
Hi Donnetta, your poem is one to read everyday. I appreciate being reminded of the goodness of God, especially in times such as these. The news has me believing the world is bat sh#t crazy! Thanks for hosting us today and for your love offering.
You’ve given me a perfect opportunity to try something different. Thank you! I wanted to write a pantoum (hard for me), so I used a generator after I chose my initial word and associations.
I chose autumn: harvest, pumpkin, spice, apple, sweaters
Autumn
Crisp air with autumn’s breeze
A harvest moon lights up the skies
Pumpkin scented candles flicker
Spiced coffee and sweet apple pies
A harvest moon lights up the skies
Sweaters hug us through the chill
Spiced coffee and sweet apple pies
Enchanting shades of nature’s will
Sweaters hug us through the chill
Time indoors to relax and read
Enchanting shades of nature’s will
Hold one another, all we need
Time indoors to relax and read
Crisp air with autumn’s breeze
Hold one another, all we need
Pumpkin scented candles flicker
©Stacey L. Joy, 10/23/24
Big shout-outs to our hosts this month! I’ve loved writing even through my illness. I look forward to November, our last Open Write of the year! 😫
Stacey,
Thanks for this field trip to fall. Starting to wonder if itms ever going to come to my neck of the woods. Still in the 90s this week.
Great job tackling a challenging form. Your pantoum flows so well.
This lines made me feel immersed in the coziness of fall despite the summer heat of my reality:
Stacey, what a warm, cozy poem you created today. I thought writing about autumn too, but then changed my mind. Your poem is gorgeous. Love the repeating lines in your pantoum:
“Pumpkin scented candles flicker
Spiced coffee and sweet apple pies”
🍁🍂☕☕🕯️🕯️🥧🍎
Stacy, you made writing a pantoum look easy. I love your word choice.
Stacey,
I love autumn best of all the seasons, and your poem does a beautiful job of naming all the things about this season that are my faves. I just wish the season didn’t pass so quickly.
Wow, Stacey, your pantoum is absolutely delicious! I do think writing pantoums are challenging but I do love them and try often to write them. I do struggle with writing lines that need to be repeated. Your poem today is inspiring because its lines are inviting and flow effortlessly from one sensory image to the next. I want to be in this place with pumpkin scented candles, curled up reading in a favorite sweater while knowing that an apple pie and spiced coffee are waiting for me to devour them. So glad I was here today to read your poem! Thank you and I hope you’re on the mend. Sending healing vibes your way!
Donnetta,
Thank you for setting us up to succeed in our poetry writing today. I love your poem and I’m going to print it out and have it next to my bed.
I went with the phrase “shared experiences.” I visited a word associations website and the bold-faced words are what it generated and I worked in.
Glue
the bonding agent
of shared experiences
is glue
Super Glue.™
be it within a
family
neighborhood
team
class–
any group whatsoever–
when we navigate
the highs and lows
the struggles
the victories and traumas
together,
tethers form.
tethers formed
from my heart to yours
because we did so much
together.
it was childhood . . .
snacks and TV,
swingsets and bikes,
carefree,
full of play,
a little mischief.
tethers formed
from my heart to yours
because we shared spaces.
it was adolescence . . .
the ‘hood,
our house,
school,
mopeds,
cars
ballgames,
parties,
beds.
from innocent
to not-so-much.
tethers formed
from my heart to yours
because we matured together.
it was college. . .
letters,
phone calls,
road trips,
tailgates,
then
new towns,
new jobs,
right on into
independence.
tethers frayed
between my heart and yours
because we grew apart.
it was life . . .
spreading our wings,
meeting new people,
seeing each other less,
finding new love,
falling out of touch,
right on into
separation.
tethers pull
between my heart and yours
because those shared experiences
for decades were and
are glue
Super Glue™.
it is life . . .
seeing you again
makes me wonder
who you are now,
makes me miss
who you were then,
makes me regret
growing apart.
glue
Super Glue™
~Susan Ahlbrand
23 October 2024
Susan, I love all the moments when “tethers formed” and, even when you grew apart, you had that bond of “shared experiences.” The form, flow, diction—everythong works to deliver your message. Super Glue indeed!
Susan, I love the repetition of tether and how you used it to show how they are formed, as well fall apart. Your poem is beautiful and sad all at the same time.
Susan, I am deeply moved by your poem. I feel the emotions that ride like a wave through this poem. Your poem’s structure adds to the emotional appeal and the regret of growing apart. Great details to show what life was like with this special person. Powerful poem!
Susan, I’ll echo Donetta’s comment—I love the repetition of “tethers” that, well, ties your poem together. This is a wonderful exposition of growing up and growing apart from someone who means the world to you.
In Defense of Poetry
Or at least the “Billy Collins” type of poetry
that pulls up a chair at the kitchen table
and lays down a verse, not bothering
with rhyme or any particular rhythm
other than that of natural speech.
There’s an accessibility to Billy poetry
that I don’t find in some poets that I could name–
except Billy warned us that poems
should have just one character,
and if it’s a grandparent,
he’s going to stop reading,
so I won’t mention them here–
but those poems are like a hedge maze
zigging and zagging their way
across the back yard and leaving me
exhausted and confused.
One unnamed Drunken Boat critic
made the case that Billy Collins
is a very bad poet; he mused
that Billy Collins is to poetry
“what George W. Bush is
to the art of extemporaneous speech,”
and now that I’ve broken the Billy rule
by mentioning George W. Bush,
I may as well end by addressing
this sadly self-important “authority”:
Billy’s wife Suzannah
had better never read this commentary.
She could take you.
It would be epic.
Lynn, well done! Thank you for taking umbrage with this critic, Mr……I’ve already forgotten his name, lol. I read every word of his review — which I hadn’t seen before your poem — and I was left with a single thought, it’s fitting that the website’s backdrop was green because his envy was, indeed, showing. What a “sadly self-important ‘authority'” is spot-on! Thank you for this!
Lynn, your poem defending Billy Collins poetry is worth praising. I, took, looked up that P.S. with his green backdrop and mean words. I am wondering who he is; I haven’t heard his name before. “Drunken Boat” would make for a reasonable nickname for such a critic. Love your poem’s finale! Thank you.
Female marsupials
have marsupiums
(or pouches)
where their young
(called joeys)
reside and develop.
Kangaroo words
(like nesting dolls)
have their own joeys
that act as synonyms:
see the frail ruin
and urge the rain
(observe the fragile destruction
and encourage the precipitation)
spot the evil male
liar who believes
his own charm
(splotch the devilish masculine
plagiarist who believes
his own charisma).
Hidden poems within poems
that seem to be about
either the climate or politics.
Maybe I’ll just go back
to poems with regular
old words, you know,
ones without other
ones hidden in them.
_______________________
“A kangaroo word is ‘a word that contains its own synonym, with the letters to spell that synonym already placed in the correct order.’ Take, for example, a word like rambunctious. It contains its synonym raucous (RAmbUnCtiOUS).” Source
__________________________________________________
Thank you, Donnetta, for your mentor poem and today’s prompt! I had fun! I realize that I must’ve been thinking about kangaroo’s since Sarah’s poem, “Dust,” (with her line, “From one hoodie’s kangaroo / belly, a claw pulls a package”) when I started thinking about your prompt and I stumbled upon “kangaroo words,” which I had never heard of before, so I tried to make a poem with some of the ones I found. (For those curious, here’s an interesting source about these “words within words”: source )
Thank you about teaching me about kangaroo’s words, Scott! I knew about the synonymous words nestling within bigger words from my previous life, but didn’t know a term for them.
This is fabulous, Scott! I love how you teach us while WOWing us with your craft.
Donnetta, you’re sending us off with another great prompt. This is particularly great for today because a team of us is finishing our manuscript for poetry writing the content areas. That’s what inspired this poem.
Inspiration: Whimsy, Insight, Elation, Fervor, Delight, Talent, Fancy, Revelation
What a propitious day for this poem prompt
After writing all week about all sorts of things
Here’s another one to give our words wings.
The insight gained from writing poems
Also comes from reading them
The fervor and delight all come into sight
Watching our students’ elation at seeing
What knowledge their poems reveal
What a revelation.
Seeing the fervor, talent, and delight
When others get it right.
Some get so excited they start the fancy dance
We have to say, “Sit down, please,
This is not the time to prance.”
But their enthusiasm does not ease.
“Why not, Teach? Didn’t you tell us to reach
Reach inside and bring it out
No whimsey, flimsy for me today!
I did it! Now I gotta shout!”
What a delight! What can we teachers say?
When students respond to our prompts this way?
Anna, your poem has brought me so much joy. I can’t stop smiling. Isn’t it great when our students get it and get excited about it?
Anna, how great it is to think about writing poetry as giving “our words wings.” I am cheering for these students with you. Thank you for the image as well; it helps create the mood too.
Ahhhhh, Anna, yes, it is pure joy when our students our elated and wanting to share their own words. Words that have taken wing. Such a clever poem full of insight and fun!
James
A classic retelling focus
How he’s treated is atrocious
Smart but can’t let no one notice
They can’t know us; they can’t know us
A man of eloquent diction
trying to live with conviction
bound to constant submission
This ain’t fiction; this ain’t fiction
Angie, I was wondering if I am supposed to know James and this is a literary allusion but then let it go to think of meeting James foenthe first time and the “constant” and the “bound”. The “they” and “this” are pronouns of such mystery trusting me to assign meaning, which I love puzzling out.
Sarah
Your poem of James caught my attention because my daughter and her smart, genius level friends are neurodivergent. They do not want to be seen but live with much conviction knowing it is hard for others to understand them.
Angie, this reads so beautifully, with its flowing beats, repeated phrases, and rhymes. I feel like the brilliant, well-spoken James is trying to be published and having no luck. I know there’s more to the story – so intriguing!
Ah, now I know – fiction reinvented – will need to read this acclaimed novel.
Angie,
I read Percival Everett’s James this summer. Brilliant. And heartbreaking.
I like how you captured the books truths, especially
Love how you end with a mix of James’ wisdom and Jim’s dialect:
Angie, what a powerful message – a reminder that sometimes culture and expectation can have an impact on what we see as skewed perception rather than truth.
Hi Donnetta,
I decided to write my poem about Christmas
Driving in the car with my family
Heading to the light show
Putting on the 3D as we drive down the road
Driving home filled with joy
The next morning my dad starts a fire
We start to decorate the Christmas tree
Alternating red then silver ornaments
Wrapped in my blanket I gaze at the tree
It’s Christmas Eve
My mom and I set the table before we leave for church
After church we have Fondue
We sit on the couch while we eat dessert and watch a christmas movie
It’s Christmas morning
We take turn opening our stockings
We eat Christmas breakfast
It’s time to open the presents under the tree
Once they are all open everyone takes their Christmas nap
We finish off the day at the movie theatre
So many similarities with my childhood Christmases! Except movies was for Thanksgiving hehe. Thanks for bringing me back to a time I’ll probably never love again ❤️
Movies were a Thanksgiving tradition for us as well! One we continued with our kids as well. Back in the Stone Age, The Wizard of Oz was on Thanksgiving night, so we all watched that.We also did Christmas Eve church, but no fondue!
Mara,
You have me yearning for the season and all it means for teachers in particular. For some reason, the only word I can see is “nap.” Ha!
Sarah
Mara, I’m not sure if this a Christmas tradition, but it sounds beautiful…Fondue, dessert and movies…yes to it all.
Mara, I’m feeling the traditions and aching for the days when Mom was here to make them happen – – for us it was clam chowder or crab stew for Christmas Eve. Those memories are so readily relived and so far gone all at once.
Thanks, Donnetta. Today I have packed up my car and I am really gonna do this. Your prompt was perfect.
Camping
I approached the patch of dirt
and a few bushes.
and wondered if I had made the right choice,
camping without a motor home and only a tent.
A campsite of debris and scavenging squirrels.
With a little swipe of the broom
I was ready to picnic
in this wilderness.
I didn’t expect to be bushwalking,
trekking through the wilderness
but somehow
it gave me peace
to be outdoors,
adventuring
with a few other boondockers.
The campfire aglow
keeping me warm
while melting my marshmallows
to put between grahams and chocolate.
I climbed into my sleeping bag
and realized I really was vacationing.
Susan!! Now I need to go camping. It’s been wayyy too long
Susan,
What fun is this poem of camping with boondockers. I waited for the shift not knowing how it would turn out and what a relief to discover vacationing. Fantastic.
Sarah
Susan, I am so glad you are on vacation. It sounds like you made the right choice.
Susan, you almost make me want to try this kind of vacation! The peace you describe sounds inviting, but not sleeping in a bag!
I’ll walk with you, share marshmallows around the campfire, then head back to a comfy mattress in a modest motel!
Thanks for the temptation. But…I resisted…this time. 🙂
Susan, wow, you’ve captured an adventurous experience in your poem. I love how you develop this narrative, and your choice of words are delightful. I especially enjoyed “bushwalking, trekking, and boondockers.” However, my favorite part is your end and thinking about the extra special deliciousness of smores. What a yummy, fun poem!
Hi Donnetta,
Here is my interpretation of the prompt. I chose write using my own word list on feeling unmotivated.
The alarm goes off,
I startle awake,
It’s dark outside.
The clock says 5 AM.
An apathetic hand smacks the clock,
And I don’t want to get up.
I groan and sigh into the dark
I grimace, then drag my body,
stiff and sore,
out of the bed.
I really don’t want to get up.
Exhaustion lines my face,
My movements slow and lazy.
I sit at the edge of my bed,
Yawning, eyes closed, sleepy.
I just plain don’t want to get up.
Leah, you did a great poem for not wanting to get up. I like the apathetic hand smacking the clock. Alarm clocks scare me to death if they wake me. Hope you can have a powerful Wednesday fully awake.
Leah- I loved the words that you picked to describe feeling unmotivated. I know that I can relate to those words when I feel unmotivated and I think you did a great job capturing that within your poem.
Leah, I hear ya! I felt much the same today. We had PD the last two days (longest days ever) and it felt like we’d already worked the whole week. Apathetic is such a great word. I could even see the hand of the clock reaching out to smack your apathetic self!
Leah,
Oh, you capture that repetitive self-talk that is confession and wishing and resistance and submission all at once. Glad you got up to write this poem.
Sarah
Leah, same! Five is early! And it doesn’t help in winter when it seems like I leave for work in the dark and return in the dark, like some kind of sci-fi, subterranean mole person, lol. “I sit at the edge of my bed, / Yawning, eyes closed, sleepy.” I’ve been there. Was there this morning, in fact, lol. Thanks for crafting and sharing today!
Leah, you and I are kindred spirits. Getting out of bed has become a real chore lately. Most days, “I just plain don’t want to get up” either.
Leah, every day I find myself smacking that snooze button too, and I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who even gets up exhausted some days. I think it’s why I seem to savor weekends so much. I’m so glad you wrote this to remind me that we all feel this way at times.
Donnetta, thank you for the rich faith you shared in your poem. There are so many sweet images–“worrying not about what’s to come” and “amazing grace” for two of them. Thanks for the challenge of a word list. I got a text message from a niece today asking for advice about reaching out to her grandparents. I wrote a short word list from her message.
When anger over
the pandemic and
who one is voting for
breaks relationships,
is reconciliation
possible to believe
in? May I suggest
grandparents against
granddaughter is wrong?
Leaves me wondering.
The younger will
be the wiser here
and reach out.
Denise,
I like how you gently shine a light on the schism of our country and how it impacts us on a familial level.
Here’s hoping
and show us a better way.
i believe they will.
Thanks for sharing and I hope things go well for your niece and her grandparents.
I love the variety of association words which you chose. The juxtaposition of anger and reconciliation causes the reader to think deeply about the challenge presented.
Denise, the “finding” of words from your niece in composing a poem of relationship and mending feels right. The divide created between people who should be close feels overwhelming. I’m so glad she had you to reach out to as a source to guide and navigate these murky times. I appreciate the simplicity but truth in just those bolded, found words. They are powerful in their simplicity. Especially with the last two – reach out.
Denise,
This poem was a great representation of how one decision can divide family members. The words you used painted a picture of what your niece, and lots of other people, are going through.
Interesting inspiration, Denise. I will never understand how politics break relationships. It’s so dumb to me. Life goes on. I like what you say about the younger here.
Denise,
I am puzzling how the family tree thinking about naming grandparents and how that offers a little anonymity or possibility of different branches, different factions and where the niece and the speaker sit on these limbs. She must be so grateful to have your patient ear to listen, for you to read the text that I infer was typed with exasperated, frustrated hand wringing. If I gathered this all correctly.
Great found poem!
Sarah
Denise… as an American citizen, while I believe one should surely exercise one’s right to vote, I detest what the political scene and climate have done to us. Or what we’ve allowed it to do to us. It’s eviscerating, tearing down to the very bones and heart of our families. It IS wrong! And while we think the future is bleak (it may well be) – here you give hope, depicting the younger generation trying to reach out. And I do hope for healing, on so many levels.
H, Denise! As sad as it sounds, I know quite a few people whose relationships are ruined by politics and war. “Grandparents against a granddaughter” sounds so wrong. I am wondering about chances of repairing and restoring bonds after such a fall out. Thank you for making me think.
Denise, it saddens me that families are cursing over politics. Your niece is very wise to seek advice. She is lucky to have you to guide her.
Feuding not cursing 😆
Denise,
Your poem touches a chord with me. Next to undermining our democracy, what he has done to create division among friends and family is the worst.
Denise, your poem speaks to me on a very personal level as I feel like relationships are imploding all over the place due to the current political and global climate. The anger between parties is frightening. I am just as at fault as I do not wish to maintain some friendships because of what I see them post. Your poem has me wondering if the relationship will mend. Very heavy poem! Thank you for sharing such a powerful and insightful poem today.
Oh, my goodness! I was just having a conversation with a friend today about how politics this year, this election, seems to be breaking families and friends more than ever in history. I thought it was just me, but maybe others are seeing this too. Thank you for illuminating the truth and shining a light on the challenge to keep families together.
Donnetta,
Thank you for hosting and starting our day off with your poem of gratitude. There is so much power and wisdom in these lines:
Thanks to everyone who hosted, wrote, shared, commented and connected this week. So grateful for this writing community. See y’all next month!
I used ChatGpt to generate a list of words related to biking.
Missing you
I keep slipping a gear
and not just pedaling uphill
still I pump my tires
loosely grip my handlebars
and set off
leaning into the streaks
of downhill orange
riding for the blue
of peace
finding the green
of my balance
Sharon, look at this sweet poem about “Missing you” through the lens of biking. I like the hope as you lean into, ride and find; and the colors to describe peace and balance are a lovely addition.
Oh, Sharon! I can relate to this so much. In fact, I’m not even sure the gears still function. I love the hope in your poem, the determination, the don’t give up – the “still” pumping tires and leaning in despite… Wonderful.
Sharon,
I share a love of biking, so this poem was so enjoyable to read! I love your last two stanzas, especially. The implementation of colors to describe the feelings which arise from going on a bike ride makes the poem both memorable and full of imagery.
Thanks for the motivation to go ride my bike. I played around with chatgpt a bit after reading your process. It was okay. I also love the color and movement in this.
Sharon, I adore the lyrical phrasing of “riding for the peace of blue” and “finding the green of my balance.” I feel like I know exactly what these mean, without ever having thought to strung the words together in that beautiful way before. The title really pulls – begs for the story behind the need to find peace and balance. Kudos for using ChatGPT for inspiration…it has helped me rewrite a school improvement plan! That was finding some green balance to me, for sure!
Sharon, the movement in your poem is visceral. I love how you incorporated color throughout this. Your title had me from the beginning and I adored “finding the green” and Leaning into the streaks/of downhill orange”. Wow! Thank you!
Donnetta, I am struck by these lines this morning: “Finding contentment in what is NOW, while/Grieving the death of what used to be.” Such a struggle. But when we surround ourselves with the blessings of life, which you have beautifully done in your poem, we can only feel gratitude and notice them more. My mind went in a… somewhat, different direction today.
A World Gone Under
I am somehow reminded
of the mad hatteries spewed
in a moment of calculated
sanity toward the Red-ness
that comprises Underland
as I consider things that begin
with the letter D
Doofus
Dunce
Dumbass
Don… Oooold
Indeed, I could go on
Dimwit
for the words just seem
to appear on the tongue
Dolt
writing themselves
from thought to being
Dipshit
as easily as
Walzing in Wonderland
Oh, Jennifer, I started at mad hatteries and couldn’t stop on the roll of laughter. It rhymes with bad batteries, which I just discovered my key fob has and I have cursed it all week – and, as I discovered this morning, my husband brought the box of new CR2016s in since you can’t order just one, and I just opened the brand new box. A new hope, a week filled with less silent swearing in parking lots and my own garage……I’m opening the box of new energy and I’m reading your poem again through the day.
“A world gone under”, “mad hatteries”, “Waltzing in Wonderland” all conjure up the absurdity of the moment we are living in. Your D words speak for themselves. Brava, Jennifer!
I enjoyed reading your interpretation! The use of only words that begin with D for association words is very interesting. I especially like the line “Don.. Oooold” I can hear the vocalization of that word so clearly as I read it !
I gotta say you nailed this, Jennifer – how about another D- word: Dystopian. Underland, Wonderland… mad hatteries and Walzing… just amazingly crafted!
Jennifer! “My mind went in a… somewhat, different direction today.” Lol, and I’m so glad it did! This deranged, detached, despicable…etc….etc….etc…is such a stark contrast to “Walzing in Wonderland”! Thanks for this!
Jennifer, I laughed throughout your poem. Thank you!
Donnetta, wow! Your word association poem did something – it sparked a mood of gratitude and deep contentment with blessings. You prove that we CAN change our mindset by choosing our words and thoughts just as we do for poetry writing. You have a flair for generating ideas, and your prompt gave me one as I was wondering about a way to have two prompts stretched out across months hold hands. Your word association poem today can live on throughout October and into November and plant seeds of inspiration for our November gatherings as well. Each host this month has offered such inspiring prompts that we can continue to use to blend and write new poems in different ways until we come back together in November. You inspired me to take what is on my mind – a writing retreat – and think of where I would have it (Hogwart’s Banquet Hall) and to begin imagining it all using your strategy of word association and a little rhyme just for the cauldron ingredients. I’m already making more word associations!
An Invitation
save the date: November 16
you may choose to arrive by stretch limousine
we’ll be gathering in style for a writer’s retreat
whether castle or cabin or on your own street
we’ll spend the day writing in fantasy places
day one: a packing list poem ~ what’s in our suitcases?
so gather your words ~ select them with flair
I’ll be the door greeter to welcome you there!
you’ll need your location and writing utensil
something to wear, and perhaps a spare pencil
we’ll all need a critter (think Hogwarts style)
and a snack to share to write all the while
then let’s bring one more thing – a gift for the group
something to make us all laugh, cry, or hoot
what’ll it be? oh, I can’t wait to see ~
here’s a basket of tickets – take one – they’re free!
let’s keep Donnetta’s theme words sparking and growing
return in November ~ let’s keep writing ongoing!
Well, Kim, isn’t this fun? I’m going to continue this word association fun! See you next November 16. (Actually, I get to see you a bit before that.) Nice rhymes that give your poem a lot of fun and flair.
Gah! We need to plan this (you’ve already written our invitation!). We just need a location and date (Hogwarts might be a little difficult to get to, as much as I’d love it). But I’m thinking the Witches’ Paddle you wrote of yesterday would make a magical place to start (Fran and I are already in!). This was such fun. And exactly what I needed to pull my thoughts away from all else. Thank you! Thank you!
I am ready for any any adventure with you two! Your presence alone would make it magical for me 🙂
Kim,
Your work has a distinct, personal tone to it. It was very enjoyable to read, and I felt the excitement in your voice as I read. Your use of questions and exclamatory statements adds to the tone and message of the poem in such a meaningful way!
Kim,
This poem was great! It was such a fun read, it made me feel like I was invited to this and I am so excited to attend. I loved all the rhyming that was in your poem. Great Job!
Hopefully I can attend! Thanks for this amazing invitation 🎉
Count me in, my friend! I will have my Hogwarts robe ready (I actually have one) and maybe a fresh coat of Lincoln Park After Dark! My critter will hopefully be a puppy, but if not, a bird. Your rhyme works like a charm. How well you capture and convey the atmosphere of this writing community. It’s magical. Transformative. Yes, as writers let us keep growing – together!
Kim. I love the idea of an invitation. I also love the rhyme.
Kim, your foreword note was inspiring in itself, and now to have read your poem, I am thinking about how fun it would be to receive this special invitation. Love the idea of a fantasy place and a packing list poem. Sharing our words and our emotions is truly a joy. Thanks for your closing inspirational line! You rock!
Donnetta, this is a perfect way to end the Open Write. Every line of your blessings-poem resonates deeply with me. I, too, give thanks every single day, for the many gifts, sustenance, and and almost incomprehensible grace of God. So much more to say on that…but I must tell you that my writing took a wild direction this morning. For some reason, of late, the word “shard” has been in my mind. I decided it is a favorite word – why, I do not know. The sound of it is lovely; the connotation, not so much. Today, with your prompt, it came to mind at once. It drowned out any other word. I thought I’d try an acrostic, Shard would not have it: too confining, it said. Instead it conjured images, memories..this, said Shard, is what you will write. So here I bring a prose poem as an offering, with apologies for its length…it is the poem that wanted to be written this day, and I thank you for ushering it into existence with your invitation. Blessings to you-
Shards
I shall tell you the story of a train and some trees, but first I must mention the glass bottle I found buried in the earth of my grandfather’s boyhood farm, long after he and his generation were gone. A little antique medicine bottle once etched with words, now eroded. All that remains is the image of a root on the bottle front. What could it mean? What elixir once filled this clear glass, badly cracked, but intact? Did my great-grandmother toss it on the trash heap, perhaps, when her efforts to nurse her toddler daughter through diphtheria failed? My parents almost named me for that child. Now. Let me work from the bottle toward the train and the trees… I brought this rare glass-treasure home to show my boys and my parents, who’d come to visit. My oldest wanted to hold the bottle. I let him. He dropped it. A chunk of cracked glass popped out. For a moment, so did a piece of my heart. Lightning-fast, I scolded him…my mother intervened. He didn’t mean to, she said. Look at his face. You’ve cut him to the quick. She said this. The woman who would accrue so much debt that my father would have to borrow thousands against the house where I grew up, with one payment to go on a thirty-year mortgage. The woman who would blow his life savings and sell the house in less than a year after his sudden death. The woman who asked for my social security number “to be a beneficiary” (I refused to give it). The woman who chose lottery tickets over her grandchildren’s supper, after which I would never see her again—was she the “train,” you ask? I do not know. I can only say that when I was a child, sleeping at my grandparents’ house, I once dreamed of a train wreck. Not the actual impact but the aftermath. Destruction so complete that all I could find were scattered teeth. My parents’ teeth. The only thing left of them. Premonition? Prophecy? I was only a child, dreaming…but look, here come those trees, on a long car ride with my father and mother to a holiday family gathering. A real event, not a dream. Bitter cold outside, thick ice coating an orchard, just as the sun reached its height. The little trees glittered as if strung with countless diamonds, popping sparks of red, green, and blue fire every which way as we passed. I had not known before that the world could hold such beauty, such blazing glory. It would be many years before I’d think about the weight of the ice possibly breaking those fruit trees, or even killing them…all I know for certain is that horrors come after us to break us, that we all are and shall be broken in some way; even so, wonders beyond our imagining also await, if we keep on going, looking for the refracted light emanating as diamond-sparks from the very shards, wherein we shall find, and take, our strength.
Well, now I am wiping away tears and thinking back over so much I saw as diamonds on trees and the aftermath of all that (literally) glittered in a jewelry box, stolen as you remember, and now glitters and sparkles in new and recovered ways – – yes, yes, that is where we find and take our strength. Fran, you have a gift. A really rare one, and it brings to mind the question I had the other night when I held a book talk on Words That Mend. A lady asked if I had a favorite poem. I had to think long about it, and she saw my face pondering – so she rephrased it and asked, “Where do your best poems come from?” And I knew instantly. From the places of pain. From those crevices I’d rather see long buried, but I dig them up like artifacts and brush away the dirt and tell their stories. And that is why the medicine bottle had me from the start – – the word shard works – those fragments of broken things can sparkle, and you sure did that here!
Fran,
I love your structure and choice of a prose poem. You begin, simply, gathering us for a story, setting forth some symbols:
You share an intriguing find and draw us further into the story with questions. Then you weave together stories and dreams, immediate epiphanies and wisdom gained later. And you end with such poetic wisdom.
Thank you especially for
and
Both your wisdom and your crafting of your prose poem are impressive.
Fran, I am reminded of kintsugi and how parts of a whole can be made whole again by adding and emphasizing the golden mending that brings something back together. Each shard you describe is both beautiful and aching. The way this comes together, from the jaggedness of the word shard to the “you’ve cut him to the quick” to the scattering and sparks and breaking that fires us into something stronger and more beautiful. The form feels dreamlike, the word association does too. Wow!
Oh, Fran, you are a master of taking everyday objects–a train, trees, a broken bottle, and a favorite word, then weaving them all together into this magic. I’m so glad you listened to “Shard” this morning and wrote this. The section about your mother is palpable.
Wow Fran. This makes me want to go back and reread a poem I think you wrote back in April referencing your mother if I’m not mistaken. Although I’m sure you have written many others. I cannot focus on a single part, everything is beautiful but that part about your mother was super powerful. And I do like how the beginning starts off like the beginning of a novel.
Bravo, Fran! I think shards will be on my mind for awhile.
In the middle of October, after everything
a wedding, a funeral, a drive, a walk
plans, dreams, disbelief, October remained
a month among past
futures. It is almost
a year. A list of strangled promises
through the calendar grid I filled.
Among the busy and private dates
of a life, lived imperfect
in the days of October,
I wonder of November
across the boxed days
and fallen leaves. Doubtful yet grateful
to the shared moments with you, lived
and written, and created together.
How can I at once yearn
for wind to loosen leaves and
wish for time to stop.
I thought of calendars and made my own word associations.
Sarah, strangled promises resonates with me so much I can feel it in my core. Your poem today with all the boxed days as a stunning and sobering visual of what’s in a day, a week, a month, a year, a life – sends shudders through my being as I hear the familiar music of this song that I, too, can sing in on to this somber Poe-ish sad country song where I keep listening for the strains of Idina Menzel in a defying gravity, defying time sort of way. I strangely and eerily understand the yearning for the loosening of leaves and time to stop – – an absolute masterpiece in your words today, and I shall return to this again and again, my friend! Safety in your travels today.
Sarah, I feel those boxed days, falling away like leaves in this autumn of life. They flee faster than I can count. I snapped a photo of my neighbor’s maple trees yesterday when I left for work. They were just beautiful. When I ran home for lunch, a third had already fallen. I’m grateful I stopped to snap an image, capturing what once was before it was lost. I yearn for loosening winds and stopping clocks too. Beautiful poem.
So many powerful images: “A list of strangled promises” and “a life, lived imperfect” and that last stanza asks a rich question, Sarah. Lots of self-awareness and wisdom here.
Sarah,
Thank you for our submission. From reading your work, I reflect on how there is a beauty, yet hardship, in the day to day of a busy life. It is hard to cope with the reality of time passing all too quickly.
The connection to fall is wonderfully woven throughout the work, too.
I played around with Octoberish words after reading your poem but wasn’t loving it. I agree with many phrases people have pointed out here. I also like the phrase “past futures”. Makes me think.
Sarah, your poem has evoked so many feelings in me. I think of the joys through the year but also the sadness and loneliness of losing a loved one. The passage of time is in the vision of the falling leaves. I am grateful to see them fall but then I wish (like you) that time would stop.
Sarah, your lines are as poignant to me as falling leaves themselves. I feel they convey both the fluidity and constraints of time. Time is such a curious thing, bound as we are to calendars and clocks, straddled between past and future…boxed days, strangled promises…wishing for time to stop, yes, for now is a memory come too soon.