Andy Schoenborn is an award-winning author and high school English teacher in Michigan at Mt. Pleasant Public Schools. He focuses his work on progressive literacy methods including student-centered critical thinking, digital collaboration, and professional development. He is a past-president of the Michigan Council of Teachers of English, Vice President for the Michigan Reading Association, and teacher consultant for the Chippewa River Writing Project. His first book, co-authored with Dr. Troy Hicks, Creating Confident Writers was published in 2020. Follow him on Twitter @aschoenborn.
Inspiration
One year and one month ago today teachers entered into the unknown. On March 13th, 2020, many of us evacuated our classrooms, said goodbye to our students, and shut our classroom doors as we learned to shelter in place during a global pandemic.
Before I left, I looked around my classroom library and tucked Mary Oliver’s Devotions, Ross Gay’s Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude, and John Warner’s The Writer’s Practice under my arm. I turned off the lights and closed my classroom door.
At that moment, I chose to take poetry and a professional book as I headed home. Words, and the comfort I find in them, are what I decided to take.
Over the ensuing year, many more things were taken; however, they were much more than books. Sports were taken from students. Social events, like the prom, were taken. Graduation was taken. Birthdays were taken. Conferences were taken. Family get-togethers were taken. And, in some cases too close to the heart, lives were taken.
Reflecting on these ideas through writing can offer hope and healing.
Today I wonder if we might write in verse about what we take and what is taken.
Process
Though you need not focus on the pandemic, what we take and what is taken can be used to craft two stanzas (or more) in verse that juxtaposes these ideas. In my example, I am choosing a subject that brings me joy. You might want to look back at joyful moments as well.
As you write try, to include the words “take” and “taken.” I have bolded my words to make them easy to see, but I encourage you to slip them in among your beautiful words. What meaning might you craft as you explore what you “take” and what is “taken.”
Andy’s Poem
“Fickle Flights of Memory”
In the high blue sky of summer
my daughter, age two,
ran through the verdant green
grasses of Lowell Park.
She sprinted to the white flowers of clover
and snatched one by the stem
in her plump fist. Raising it to the sky
she shouted, “Look Dad! A wish!
I have wishes!”
Instead of running to her
I reached for my phone
to take pictures
just as she blew a kiss
to the tiny white petals.
Wishes.
She had them and so did I.
She’ll never tell me hers –
she’s not supposed to.
But, at that moment,
I wished to capture this image
Before my memory might
be taken away.
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.
As I take take the chance to live,
It is taken by me.
I am striving to be someone you can come to
when you are feeling lost or confused.
But where do I go when I feel this way?
I am taking notes and learning as much as I can.
As I am taken by this course laid out before me,
I begin to wonder where I will actually end up.
Am I capable of being that person?
Or am I just on a path that leads to the unknown?
I hope that I fulfil my plans.
I hope I take the path that chose me.
I wasn’t sure where this poem was going to take me, but I am happy I took the chance. Thank you for the opportunity to write about canal I found the other day on a walk. It was the “road less taken” that inspired me to make the connection.
Flowing water terrifies me.
Whether it’s a raging river or an ominous ocean,
the sea reminds me that I am a small
and that is how I am meant to be.
This gentle canal, though, seems to be inviting me
to walk alongside it, like an old friend,
to chase the setting sun. So, I
take the uncharted path through
a grove of trees.
We don’t say anything, out loud, while we
journey together, but I follow her lead. Sometimes,
I throw in a stick or a leaf and I watch them being taken
far, far, away from me.
Yet, she is gentle.
And guides me safely back to
Where I need to be.
Though she is small, I know what
she has the potential to be —
and, perhaps, she could see the same in me.
Rachelle,
I like what you have written here. Listening to where your poem wants to go instead of forcing it where you want it to go, is fun. I want to take a walk along this calm canal.
The journey you take us on in this poem is really lovely. Letting your inner child out on solitary walks is a beautiful image.
Virgil and Vulcan are the primate equivalent of rock stars.
The internet allows me to see them see each other through a see-through barrier.
From my YouTube perch, Vulcan seems very proud of his name.
Virgil, a disembodied voice tells us, has a sealed jar of hazelnuts.
Vulcan, propitiously named, has a rock.
Upwards of 300,000 humans have watched the drama unfold.
Virgil takes the rock Vulcan has tossed through an opening.
We are taken aback as Virgil not only unseals the jar
But shares the treasure within.
What any of this means is beyond me, and I am glad.
source video: https://youtu.be/2BYJf2xSONc
Thank you, Andy, for this creative prompt! It was fun to use a certain word(s) repeatedly in a poem. I can think of various ways to use this prompt with students!
Coffee
I take the filter off the shelf
It takes five minutes brewing
I take a measure of myself
While coffee grounds are stewing.
I’ve taken time while waking up
I’ve taken morning lathers
I’ve taken stock then filled my cup
Now take on all that matters.
I enjoyed your poem about coffee ☕
That five minutes waiting for it to brew seems like much longer.
The simple and most beloved things in life! ☕️
I love this poem! Coffee is definitely a very important factor when it comes to taking on all the things that matters to us!
Allison – You picked the perfect day for this lyrical poem… I skipped coffee today and was a bead off the whole day. Your poem resonates! “… take on all that matters” ices the cake! Perfect brew, my friend! Susie
Take / Taken
I take chances as a writer,
I would have never taken a year ago.
I take ideas and put them out into the world,
Hoping they won’t be taken out of context.
I take creativity seriously, in a playful sort of way.
Never should it be taken for granted.
I take chances with my writing.
Some risks are meant to be taken.
Donetta – a testament to writing that surely resonates with all of us. The final line delivers: “must be taken.” Indeed! Susie
After my first day back with students in over a year, I needed to focus on the positive today.
Take/Taken Tankas
There is much to be
said about letting go of
things that cannot be
changed, we must remember that
to take a moment is the
choice of strength, not of weakness.
What is taken from
us, doesn’t have to shatter
our vision, instead
it’s an opportunity
to find a new path forward
with inspired certainty.
Whether we fuss and
fight or take a step back to
brace for oncoming
inevitability,
there is always a way through
to find true satisfaction.
Take a breath, slowly,
inhaling the fragrant scent
of euphoria
earned through determination,
discipline, devotion, and
dogged belief in oneself.
Cara,
Great poem.
I could have used these wise words yesterday, but they still help me today.
DeAnna, your comment helps me feel connected in this community.
I should have waited until after writing my poem to read this because this is the poem I want my poem to be. how clever to use tankas (wish I had thought of that myself). Thinking about the things I cannot change and working with what I’ve got ❤️
During our February 2020 Open Write, Allison Berryhill taught us about the Apology Poem inspired by William Carlos Williams’s This Is Just to Say form. Go back to her prompt here to see more. http://www.ethicalela.com/february-day-3-5-apology-poem/ I didn’t follow the syllable rules that Williams suggests.
This is Not an Apology Poem
This is just to say
I took Chapstick without paying for it when I was 9
It took at least a month for me to find a secure hiding place for it
Deep down between the seat cushions of my mother’s Buick
Surely the police wouldn’t find it there.
This is just to say
I took my friend’s bullying and agreed to put gum in a classmate’s hair
It took months to grow it out and a lifetime to be forgotten
Somewhere in the corner of my room I prayed for forgiveness
Hoping that God would find grace to give to me and her.
This is just to say
I took advantage of the unborn’s “being” inside my teenage womb
The doctor took permission to scrape my sacred space clean
As if the unborn’s energy hadn’t already taken root with mine
Debating if women really have a say so with bodies and beings
This is just to say
I took my time this past year and extended myself grace
I took almost 300 nature pictures on my quarantine walks
I took long looks at WHO matters and WHAT doesn’t
I took the lemons of 2020 and made cookies, cakes, and cocktails!
©Stacey L. Joy, April 13, 2021
Stacey, I love how you honestly reveal so much of yourself in the poem and how you show your pain and regret. I can see you praying in the corner of your room. I also liked how you showed how you have spent this last year making the most of the pandemic, especially examining “WHO” and “What”…not always such an easy thing to process. I had to laugh that you ended with “cocktails”…yes, that sounds wonderful! Would love to see some of your photos. Thanks for sharing such a poignant and powerful poem!
Thanks Barb, I appreciate your response. Are you on Facebook or Instagram? I usually post the pictures of my walks there.
❣️
Yes, facebook. Ill try to friend you. Thanks!
Stacey – This is a marvelous poem. The “This is just to say” structure works perfectly with your voice. While the gravity of each of these revealing moments is different, they lay out the reality of a very lived life… not easy, often tumultuous. Each of these contributes to a depth of character that learned how to process 2020 with grace. I love that ending. I love the innocence of the swiped Chapstick and the teen experience of “scraped womb”… all is a piece of navigation a life that gives us the terrific person who is Stacey today. We all are a bundle of mess of one sort or another. I love you, I love your honesty, dear friend… and all your flower pictures! ❤️ Susie
Love, love, love you! I am a work in progress…learning to be transparent while not fearing judgment. I spent the majority of my life prior to a few years ago in an assortment of masks. I believe I just returned one for another. Eventually I’ll be mask-free. ?
Stacey, this was just lovely and brought tears to my eyes with its powerful and confessional nature. Loved it.
Yet another brilliant Stacey Joy poem! The use of “This is just to say” to start each stanza works so well. You unburden some big stuff; it surely feels cathartic! The last line . . . perfection!
I want to honor your honesty–a hard thing to do in any genre. I feel the growth and determination that permeates a life well and thoroughly lived. Thank you for sharing. <3
Oh, Stacey, WCW had no idea what his poem would eventually unleash! I love love love how you blended the “take/taken” prompt with the apology prompt and came up with a poem that I felt as if I grew inside your skin. Oh, what we have taken. Oh, what has been take from us. Oh, so many apologies–and grace granted. Sending love, friend.
I’ve come back to read your poem three times already. Thank you for your honesty and vulnerability and raw self. You are amazing <3
Thank you, Andy, for this inspiration! I adored seeing the photo of your sweet two year old daughter; I love her conviction,
I tried to wrangle this narrative poem into two parts, taken and take – it refused to confine itself. I need to revisit, think on it some more, perhaps try a more structured form. For now, here goes –
Tossed
it begins with taken
years and years ago,
I went white water rafting with friends,
the Gauley River in West Virginia
we were total novices, up for the dare
young and fearless
there was instantaneous
wild
the raft whirling, twirling in the current,
the tumult of rapid-fire waves,
cold water spray up in my face and hair
paddling as strong and quickly as I could
all of us working together,
caught up in this thrilling unknown
hard bumps, landings as the raft
would rise up and slam down,
hearing a blur of loud commands,
must-dos from the guide,
when
suddenly
I was lifted
up
out
into
water
rocks
cold
alone
taken
that’s how it felt to leave teaching
this year of pandemic
I had been planning to downshift
to part-time work
May 2020
I dared to take
one last peek at email
at the end of yet another exhausting teaching day
this new reality of distance learning
two months into this treacherous pandemic
only to read:
“Let’s congratulate Maureen on her retirement”
Yes, I was tossed overboard
in the tumult of trying to respond
to this wild unknown of COVID
the budget for my new position was slashed
fear eliminates creative thinking
What does it take
to see
yourself
differently?
Simply this –
when what you had
is taken
Holy crap, Maureen, this is a juggernaut of a jolt! The parallel to the rafting… thrown into the rapid, wild water IS what happened with your career! Omg, I’m just floored that this is what happened! Dang! TAKEN becomes RIPPED FROM YOUR THROAT! Geez. Your poem hits so hard. You chose the perfect metaphor. I’m just blown away and think this poem ought to have a wider audience. Teachers have been so marginalized and , frankly, abused in this pandemic. Makes me want to scream. I appreciate your poem more than you know. Susie
Wow, Maureen. You’ve juxtaposed these two seemingly unrelated events together beautifully. My breath caught at the single word lines in the rafting stanza, but the real gut punch came in the next one. I’m so sorry this happened to you. Sometimes I get tired of hearing about all the grace and empathy we need to give students when I see teachers not being extended the same courtesy. I’m just appalled that this happened.
Maureen, what a punch in the gut. I feel your pain here. I love how you share this frightful white water rafting to this unexpected announcement; how both felt like a toss into frigid waters full of stone. I can’t help agree with your line “fear eliminates creative thinking”. Very powerful poem, and I hope this year is better than the end of last year. Hugs!
Wow. I thought the climax (or sort of “anti-climax?”) was the “downshifting” — until you “downshifted” even more with the surprising rest of the poem. I’m so sorry! I loved the white water rafting part, especially; so vivid…and so true when you compared it to how last year felt.
Maureen,
A winning narrative poem. This line demanded I pause and highlight it even before I finished the poem: “fear eliminates creative thinking.”
I want to read your next poem (or essay, or memoir) about how you are moving forward when “what you had is taken.”
Maureen,
This is another excellent metaphor. Being thrown out of the raft is a frighten experience, but I know the trauma of having been taken out of the classroom is infinitely more horrifying. Even if a budget cut was the reason. You should have had the option to go full time one more year. You really honed in on the prompt w/ this painful experience.
Thank you for the prompt, Andy. It was the perfect way to celebrate the last period of my day. My kids are awesome!!!
Under the Hovercam,
four sixth grade students
take turns sharing
their drawings
of the word commotion.
Each one is a different
take on the word –
a car crash,
dogs barking,
students falling in the hallway,
a heated argument,
soldiers attacking.
They are so excited
they go back
to their desks
to sketch more commotion,
stating, “This is so much fun!”
I am so taken
by their enthusiasm
I take a tissue
to catch the tears
welling up in my eyes!
Heather, this is a beautiful poem about take and taken! You have captured your students’ joy of learning – and what an engaging ask:
It’s clear you adore your students – what a gift for them!
Heather, I was so happy to read your poem after struggling to connect with students on Zoom today. Thanks for reminding me of better days. Loved your take on the prompt!
Isn’t it wonderful to have that spiked interest in your students!!! That is the best thing about teaching. I got attracted to your poem about commotion and a car crash thinking it was going to end up sad. Years ago, we had a commotion outside our church that involved a car crash and hurt students. Glad your poem is so fun and positive about teaching art!
[Andy — Your kiddo sure is a cutie pie. Susie]
Take/Taken
It’s so accidental, really,
that English is my first language;
could’ve been born to speak and write
in Lao or Latvian,
Arabic or Aleut,
Saramaccan or Swahili;
instead, here I am toying
with take and taken.
English, loaded with nuance,
duplications, innuendo, and dimension…
is all right here in my lap,
ripe for the play, the tinkering.
I take it for granted,
take liberties,
as I speak and write
in this language,
but mostly, I’m quite taken
by every word in the OED,
every synonym in Roget’s,
every grammatical structure in Chicago Style.
So, as I goof around
with take and taken,
I tickle my synapses
to connect idea to idea
until suppertime,
when I post and part,
having taken quite enough
of your time.
by Susie Morice, April 13, 2021©
I love your play with words, Susie. I wish I could goof around more with words and ideas. I am still learning thanks to this group. I never knew about Chicago Style. I will research more.
Love how you approached this inspiration, Susie! I often think about how accidental it is that English is my first language . . . I totally loved these lines:
Susie, English does allow us to play much more than other languages (French is very limited, for example). There’s an interesting balance to this poem. Your first use of take as a verb, followed quickly by the participle, happens midway through the piece, with the italicized pair happening about 1/4 and 3/4 of the way through. And there’s a playfulness at both the beginning and ending. I love that last section!
Fun, fun, fun! I struggled with the prompt today. I wanted to do something with idioms, but I just couldn’t find a direction. You’ve done it so much better than I could have, Susie. Your list of languages made me smile, as I’ve never heard of Saramaccan. I’m about to ask my translator son if he has!
Susie, I love the light tone of your poem. Your sense of humor rings through in this piece. I love how you show that you are a lover of words and that playing with language is delightfully fun. Very clever poem! Loved it!
So dang clever, as usual, Susie!
I LOVE this! An ode to words for word-nerds! My favorite lines:
Beautiful and fun!
Susie, a gift your writing gives every single time is OPPORTUNITY! I marvel at how a prompt gives you an opportunity to teach, entertain, and share so much of YOU!
Take all the time you want! I’ll be here waiting and eager to read.
❤️
Susie,
I’m taken w/ this playful exploration of “take” and its interactions. I have a friend who teaches in Tulsa who tells her students, “Learning English is super fun.” Your poem proves her point. I marvel at this hybrid language we love, and I’m quite fond of those books you mention.
TAKE ONE
White-
takes freedom for granted,
unearned yet worn like a prize.
Black and Brown-
taken by the neck,
no option to join the race.
TAKE TWO
White-
take a seat wherever you please,
make the rules as you go.
Black and Brown-
taken by the chain,
treated like one who has no brain.
TAKE THREE
White-
take the coddling
with entitlement.
Black and Brown-
taken from mother’s arms
without repercussion.
TAKEN
White-
takes.
Black and Brown-
taken.
Britt this take and taken binary has me thinking so deeply about active and passive and the pervasive systemic structural forces in our world. I am struck by your all caps, by your hyphen — the break, the remainder of what is beyond words. Enough. And I have been reading YA novels by amazing BIPoC authors who create spaces to disrupt these structures in speculative and magical futurisms. I want more of that.
Peace,
Sarah
Britt — This offers such important discourse… that horrible realities of what has and continues to happen to black and brown…and our Asian friends… it is just the horror of a power system controlled entirely by white systems that exclude and punish. I so appreciate your “Take[s]” and know that it is a step in the direction of change. Thank heavens. Susie
Britt,
As a white woman who happens to be the mother of five beautiful mixed race children, this hit home. Sadly my children are never “white” enough for some or “brown” enough for others. I worry my son’s sarcasm, so much like my own, will one day get him “taken”…
This is so powerful! The format is striking, and I see a snapshot with each one.
Whoa. This is truly powerful. The difference between take and taken – much more than one simple letter. This description of white supremacy is spot on:
“unearned yet worn like a prize.”
Oooooweeeeee. Enough said. I’m sitting here, shaking my head.
??????
This is very, very good. A powerful choice of form and the ending, boiling down Take One, Two and Three down to simply “takes” and “taken”.
A Dark, Take and Taken
“Muuuuaaaahhhh!”
That sound will never leave my mind,
Click, click,
front and back,
both are locked,
you take away the keys,
the cords dangle from their bases,
no way to call.
You installed fear.
Slime
Filth
Scum
A Mistake
you called me,
I was only nine?!
How could you muddy my mind?
“Muuuuaaaahhhh!”
I wish that sound would go away.
Can there be love
when hate radiates?
You may have taken with you twisted joy,
but the torture lived with you
dear brother.
I mourned.
I grieved.
I will not follow.
I
forgive
you.
Linda,
I will respond to the speaker of this poem because I do not want to assume. So to the speaker, to the voice here that grieved, I am sorry for what was taken by the brother and for the fear. The repeated sound is haunting and infuriated with the taunt. The poem surprised me in the end with forgiveness. I have been thinking about this word, this concept. Here there is a “giving” to what was “taken.” But the speaker makes clear “I will not follow.” Powerful.
Sarah
Wow. So much raw emotion here, thank you for sharing. Your last three lines are simply beautiful.
This is dark, Linda, yes, and yet it ends with such a gift of grace – forgiveness. Those three words brought me right into a more empathic place for your brother, who clearly tormented you. These words describe the plight of a bully, I think:
Andy, thank you for sharing this wonderful prompt and the photo of your daughter. So precious! I was inspired by your method to look at some photos and to use the words take and taken which led me to write this poem.
July 2019, Family Photo
Everyone’s crammed on the couch
In Shane and Megan’s home in Colorado
Grandpa proudly smiling in the middle
Happy for this rare moment
Everyone together
Smiling
I take the photo
Afterwards I realize I’m
Reflected in the golden framed glass
Smiling—capturing the moment
Of this happy family time
I give it to everyone
Except to you—
Taken too soon; forever
Missing
Barb Edler
13 April 2021
Barb,
I am sorry for your loss. I am wondering who else was in the picture or if this person was not there, if they were missing long before but in a different way. I think I have been reading too much poetry because I am reading “into” everything today. The word “missing” is haunting to me on that line all alone. But what is so precious here is…”Reflected in the golden framed glass” — the speaker is there, the reflection lingers.
Sarah
Sarah, I thought about revealing more about who was missing and even mentioning it in my note. I struggled today just to write a poem, but I loved the prompt, and when I saw this photo, I knew I had to try to write about it. It was the first family photo taken about 8 months after my son passed. I will always look at this photo and know it was one of the “firsts” after the loss of my son. Grandpa is my husband in the poem, but I know someone might believe he is the one who passed. I never like to have my photo taken so I’m generally the one who takes the photos, and I did not realize I was in the picture until I looked at it later.
Barb – I sure am sorry for the loss, for having your lived one “Taken too son.” The reflection that takes you off guard amidst such a loving family moment is a truly jolting hurt. I’m sending a healing hug. Susie
Oh, Barb! What a play on the word taken, that last stanza – I am so sorry. How beautiful though that you are reflected in the glass in the photo, a gathering together, one last time, captured for the ages. This is a sad and beautiful poem.
Barb, this is beautiful. For your image to be reflected in the picture you are taking is awesome! (It seems sometimes that we moms are always the ones taking the pics and therefore seldom seen). But now that I see that the one taken too soon is your son, my heart aches for you.
They Said it Would Only be Seven Feet Taken
Seven feet of space taken from the classroom
Seven feet hidden behind a false wall
Seven feet taken to meet fire code
Seven feet for one year they said
Desk, tables and chairs taken
Not returned by September
In building learning was take
Not returned by October
Teaching space not needed
Stack the boxes in the corner
Return desk, tables and chairs
Just stack them, no one is in building
Shove that unused rolling cart in too
Store cleaning supplies for quick access
Whole classroom taken
Due to construction this room is now storage
Whole classroom taken
You’ll need to find someplace else to work
Whole class taken away
Read 180 will not be offered this quarter
Whole class taken away
SK Online will need to be in Library
Classroom taken
Classes taken
Comfort taken
Feeling of belonging taken…
DeAnna, this sounds way too familiar. Our classrooms used to feel like home and now they feel like empty storage closets. You’ve nicely summed up the sadness of the times!
DeAnna, I hear your voice and your despair and frustration. I suffered through a time of renovation, and it is not fun. “You’ll need to find someplace else to work” sounds just like some administrator’s cold voice who doesn’t give a darn about where you will go or how you will teach. Ugh! Your final stanza radiates with emotion!
I hope things improve soon!
Yup. You nailed it. There is only so much that can be taken from us before we break. I’m there, I feel you.
And you told me you wrote this in the hallway — all the way across the room that was taken. I share this sense of yearning for my space, but I know I came out lucky this year. I am so fortunate to know you and to have poetry to understand you better ❤️ Enjoy your evening!
Give and Take
By Mo Daley 4-13-21
I’m so tired of Zoom
I’m so tired of trying to convince those
Not in the know
That Zoom fatigue is real
That there is no give and take in this kind of teaching
It’s just give and give
No one wants to take any more
Maybe they are too tired to take
What little I have left to give
Only six weeks more to go—
What will it take to make it?
Oh Mo,
I feel your poem in my soul.
Even my husband doesn’t understand it. My daughter does, as she Will be Zooming until the end of the school year. I hope you get to go back in person with students soon. Today I my first day with students.
Mo, I feel this despair, the need for the year to end. Zoom is fine for one on one meetings, but trying to connect to students in this fashion is frustration times 10. Loved your line “The Zoom fatigue is real”! Hang in there!
“I’m so tired of trying to convince those/not in the know.” I feel the same way about this statement and everything else you write in this poem. I just had my last remote Monday. We do all in after our break, but I will be streaming two students into a live class. It is hard, but we CAN do hard things.
Mo- Your ache to move past this world of Zoom teaching is so honest here. I feel for you. The “fatigue” is real. I hear your frustration in the lines
Sending strength and resolve your way! Susie
Brainstorming “take” phrases somehow lead me here… sorry to add such a sad poem to the mix!
Auschwitz
Take a shower
they told them—
Take a break from the cold
you are filthy
won’t it feel nice
to be clean—
Take off your clothes
leave them here
you won’t need them
stand close together—
Take your last
breath
We’ll take care
of your bodies.
Rachel,
Wow! So deep and dark, but sadly so true.
Rachel, your poem shares the reality and the horror of the holocaust. Your last line is incredibly chilling followed by “Take you last/breath”. I love how you used the word “take” so effectively. Excellent poem!
I am just starting to read Number the Stars with my students. I gasped at the first line and chills went up and down my spine as I read the rest.
Rachel,
Unfortunately, so much was taken at Auschwitz and you capture it well.
So sad.
Rachel, such a haunting poem that depicts a reality that was faced. Your line
is gasping to read.
I too wrote a poem on the down side. There is so much hardship in “take.”. I appreciate your words of intensity in this tragic happening.
Take and Taken
Yesterday, I read “A Long Walk to Water” to my students over Zoom,
through glitches and
l a g s
we connected,
s o m e h o w,
through a story of courage and resilience
I hope my students will take away words that inspire.
Today, I take a brisk morning walk, SK
I
R
T
to the other side of street.
Provide a w i d e berth when neighbors approach &
hope my move will be taken as kindness.
Yesterday, my daughter lamented the loss of her college experience,
the long year
stuck
at home with mom and dad and younger sister.
Taking classes online has left her feeling cheated.
Now, I observe as she takes newspaper- wrapped dishes
and last boxes of miscellaneous
household items to her mini.
I hope she will look back fondly at our forced family time together:
our many coffee breaks, our circuitous strolls through
parks, the transforming forest — emerald, amber-hued, shorn by cold frost,
dipped in ice crystals, budding green gems — a reflection of our souls.
I hope she will look back fondly at our forced family time together:
binge-watching on NetFlix, blaring music and off-key singing,
our laughter and long car drives to nowhere …
Hope that she will take joyous memories with her to her new apartment.
Covid has taken much but it has not broken us.
Tammi, I love your straight-forward and honest narrative. Absolutely loved the beauty of these lines:
Love the end of your poem! Not breaking during this stressful time of isolation! Gorgeous poem!
Ooooh I LOVE your last line. “Covid has taken much but it has not broken us.” So powerful. I think your daughter will look back fondly on this time 🙂 It has been rough, but I think we’ve all learned things we’ll treasure forever. I also love your creative spacing in the first half of the poem! Thank you!
“parks, the transforming forest — emerald, amber-hued, shorn by cold frost,
dipped in ice crystals, budding green gems — a reflection of our souls.”
This is gorgeous! Your daughter is lucky to have this time, and I’m sure she’ll recognize it!
Tammi, thank you for sharing about how your daughter has “lamented the loss of her college experience.”
I really thought this whole parenting thing was supposed to get easier as time went by. But knowing your child is struggling with social isolation when they are away from home at college has been about the most difficult thing I have experienced as a parent.
Your poem helped me to know that we are not alone in this.
Happy Tuesday, Andy! I so love your daughter and your poem for her. She’s an angel. This captures what we do these days which is such a stark difference from many years ago:
I love the transition to wishes and never wanting to lose the image of that special moment.
?Thank you for today’s prompt and inspiration. Hope to write something by mid-day. Lots going on with students today.
I’m excited to see what you write, Stacey, and completely understand. I loved your Shadow Poem prompt and adapted it for my students at the beginning of the month. Hope you are well!
Take/Taken
With her sharp words
she takes my pride.
“Quit trying to help!”
she beseeches.
I realize.
Humiliated,
I am taking her privacy.
“I am your mom!”
yelled in reply.
Opportunity,
mother’s do take
to give advice,
to nurture, and love
a child taken from their trunk.
My inquiries
taking her space.
Our lives intertwined.
Probes take away
self reliance,
personal stories.
My wonder taking her secrets.
Questions take us
down the wrong path
towards separation –
not attachment,
fusion or trust.
I’d best take her hand
warmly in mine with forgiving.
Susan — The arguing in the first two stanzas hit close to home. Both as a father with a daughter and as a son with a mother. My favorite lines are “I’d best take her hand / warmly in mine with forgiving. ” Sage advice.
Susan — You have so captured the plight of motherhood. It is always a challenge to strike the balance between interest and desire to be apart of our children’s live and being overbearing, especially as they grow older. Love these last lines “I’d best take her hand/warmly in mine with forgiving.”
Susan – This is such a complicated interaction. Tryouts no to be connected and not finding the balance on that tightrope. I hear the frustration and the worry. Taking “her hand” seems a good loving step. Thank you for sharing such a personal worry. Susie
Hands Too Full to Be Taken
Such a glorious day for a walk–
blossoming tulips peek along
the promenade to help us
count our steps together,
I pop a bud for my hair.
It’s not too hot, so I take your
hand loosely, welcoming
a breeze between our
palm embrace.
Alongside the path’s pond,
a turtle peeks its head–
an injured eye in need of
mending, so I wade in
for a turtle rescue,
offering my bud
as a bandage.
Further along, in the ditch
rests an abandoned hula hoop
faded pale pink from the
long winter. How about
a twirl?
I count 3 contraction joints
between us, wondering who
thought to draw lines
in concrete. My neck holds
the hula, my hand
the tulip-budded turtle.
I pick up the pace, but
can’t reach your hand.
As we make the turn toward home,
a lawn sign has lost its footing.
“HOA dues” won’t let us pass.
I lay Turtle inside Hula.
Help me find a rock.
Only you step over
the sign, palm waiting
for mine. I see all
I let take me from we
in hands too full to be taken.
Sarah — There are so many cool images in this poem. I especially love the way these elements all come together with the pink hula hoop around your neck and the tulip bud as a bandage. The movement through this piece really kept me in the moment with you on your journey.
Sarah, this is wonderfully crafted! At the start, I was happily following along with the speaker, enjoying the “glorious” day and the many trophies she finds along the way — tulips, turtle, hula hoop — until that sudden and abrupt revelation at the end “I see all / I let take me from we / in hands too full to be taken.” And, of course, after a few rereads, I realize this wasn’t sudden or abrupt at all (at least for the reader — not, so, of course of course for the speaker). So well done! From the title to the “not too hot” to take hands “loosely” to the “offering” of the bud for the turtle (as opposed to the “taking” of the hand — which even “welcom[es] / a breeze between” the “palm[s’] embrace”) to the counting of circles “between” them and the fact she “can’t reach” the hand to the final realization — which in retrospect isn’t abrupt at all. So good! Thank you!
Thank you, sir. This poem is my pledge to be more present with my family and leave the hula hoop projects for another day.
Sarah – The beauty of the walk and hands tethering is touching. The kindness of the turtle rescue, the noticing of the buds, the hula hoop bringing a circle into journey … these build a sense of loving whimsy until the end. This
is so reflective and it brings real meaning to the two of you. I hear you talking to yourself about those busy full hands… a grounding moment in a journey that needs this very moment. You are a special sort of soul, Sarah.
Susie
Sarah, I need to take a que from you. Put it all down to spend more time with my family. I almost feel like they are victims to all my undertakings. Your imagery is delightful, with an ending that feels like a sense of guilt. Thank you for sharing your pledge.
Andy thank you for your prompt and the snapshot (both literal and figurative) of this cool moment with your daughter. It’s a moment you will (and have already begun to) cherish.
___________________________
I want to take
a minute
a pause
a breath,
want to take
a break
a hike
a load off,
want to take
a shot
a raincheck
a stab at it.
I want to take
heart
take heed
take five.
I want to take
it slow
take it to my grave,
and I know I can
take it or leave it,
but I, desperately, want
to take the bull by
the horns,
but I realize you can’t
take it with you
because you have to
take the good with
the bad.
Scott, what a fun play on the word “take.” I intended to “take: that direction today but it didn’t come together, and I’m so glad as you have done it better than I would have. You fall into the many phrases naturally. I love the use of take it or leave it and take the bull by the horns.
Scott — I loved the rhythm of this poem and the momentum that you created. These lines resonated with me:
I want to take
a minute
a pause
a breath,
Scott,
I like this poem about what we want to take but knowing we one can’t take it with us and that sadly we also have to take the good with the bad. Today I need to just remember to take a moment to breath.
Scott, I was right there with you today. Kind of a wistful tone, and I loved the rhythm and multiple use of “take”. Thanks for reflecting my thoughts today, and I hope you get to take a hike soon.
Great job using all of these “take” expressions. In the beginning, it felt a bit like meditation. Such a fun poem.
Scott — I live the fun in this wordplay! Totally my kind of tickle. Bravo!! It just screams Punster of the Year Award somewhere in your life. Susie
Scott, take is such a powerful word. A need to be had. You have carried that feeling well through your poem, and the irony to the meaning of take
enforces the weakness behind take.
Andy, thank you for this interesting prompt. Besides that cookie my husband gave me today, I also took a page full of ideas of things I take. Prompts for later, a lot of them. Thank you for sharing the lovely poem about your daughter. I love what you said about Wishes that you and she made on that beautiful summer day.
Here’s my take on the prompt today.
Yes, I would like a chocolate-coated,
dated-filled cookie, thank you.
Maamouls–a Ramadan gift from
my husband’s co-worker.
I take the wrapper off
and bite into the buttery crumbles.
I take another.
How about some chocolate-covered hazelnuts?
And these gifts of Turkish delight and pasta flora?
The pounds I lost last year
are staging a comeback.
The year has taken a toll.
Awww! You’re making me want dessert!!!! (Even though I’ve already had some!) *cry* haha. Just kidding. Trying to diet is hard. I love your take on the prompt. I need to STOP ordering *take* out! 🙂
Denise– Wow! Love the sensory details! I can taste those desserts. I think I am putting on pounds just reading your poem.
Denise – Mmmm-mmm! This is fun! Now I must go scrounge up a piece of chocolate. Uh-oh! Susie
There was a Great British Bake-Off where the bakers absolutely murdered some maamouls… this makes them sound delicious again, as I’m sure they’re meant to be! Yum! I love the “buttery crumbles” and the tempting treats of Ramadan. Thanks for this treat, and I agree, the year has taken a toll.
Bryan,
Your poem is so beautiful. I love the repetition of
And the story you tell about her is so sad and lovely. I’m sure it is a gift that will be beautifully received.
Andy! I wish that one day too can share this beautiful moment with my child and capture a moment where they are at one with nature.
LIFE
Keep on living to your hearts fullest desire
take risks, be free, but don’t ever wonder
life has no meaning, but that shouldn’t stop your fire
be brave, be kind, you will always outshine
LIFE
You are young until your old
cold until your hot
sad until your happy
and mean until your nice
so life is more than an unquestionable span of the unpredictable
for it is the essence of our journey to a new destination so just live
LIFE
Tarshana,
So enjoyed your poem for its uplifting call to LIFE. I especially like how your last full line can be read “just live” and/or, continuing into the final line “just live/LIFE”– beautiful.
Sarah
Tarshana, I like the challenge to take a risk. I tried brainstorming all the taking I do, but I forgot about taking risks. It is a good word you give today to your readers. I like all the LIFEs sandwiching your poem and coming in the middle as well.
10:56am
It’s 10:56am
And I’m taking my time
Out for a mid-morning drink
We both deserve a break
Time, especially, has had a rough
Year or so
The Sun was so shy this morning
It looked so uncomfortable with its shine
It felt naked in the April sky
My time orders a second round
Or is it a third?
We’re losing track
My time asks,
“Is this really all you can think of?
Is this the best you can do?
You made me
Lose my
Luster
And I am
A luscious
Illusion.”
There are several images here I love: shy sun, personification of sun chastising us watchers. Poor 2020. It’s gonna have a rough history to overcame. Time is cruel to time. Your poem forced us to slow down and take our time, which is a very good thing.
Alex,
I am thinking the same as Glenda here with the personification of time yet it still being a common noun rather than proper. It is “my time” like “my dog” rather than “Time — I know you know common and proper, but really, this struck me, strikes me. We all have a “my time” and I wonder my “my time” would say to me about how I have been using, maybe abusing it. Gosh– good stuff, Alex.
Sarah
Andy,
Your daughter is adorable. Love the way you’ve captured this moment. I suspect you’ll always remember it.
Staycation Vacation
We had plans to
quench our wanderlust in
Iceland’s Blue Lagoon,
roam Singapore’s lush
gardens, discover Vietnam’s
post-war resurrection. Like
Alaska’s infamous bridge
to nowhere, travel taken,
each destination forsaken,
forced to reinvent and
reimagine wanderlust, we
took day trips to City of
Rocks, traversed Massacre
Rocks, hiked Sun Valley’s
golden trails, & explored
Idaho’s hidden gems.
We packed our travel
plans into maybe later
adventure dreams
filed in our mind’s
future.
—Glenda Funk
I definitely need to write a poem like this. Many trips “taken” (away). And many trips were taken in their place. I got to see more of Bangladesh that I wouldn’t have otherwise. Some silver linings, always. I love the comparison of failed plans with the bridge to nowhere, and I really love the hopeful (however uncertain) end:
Glenda,
I really hope to see pictures flooding your social media feed soon. I loved seeing your adventures abroad but also appreciate seeing more of Idaho! You have been a great tour guide.
Sarah
Glenda, I feel your loss as a year without travel feels much like the stop motion special I watched at Christmas as a kid. Hopefully, you discovered the beauty in your own backyard kind of thing. I know we’ve done some things here that we would have been our “maybe later’s” – I love the idea of adventures dreams filed.
Glenda, I love the specific places you share that you had planned to go, and how even though you could not travel to those places at this time, that you filed them away. But what I most admire is how you traveled to the places you could. Your wanderlust soul and determination to make the best of things is strikingly evident. Loved it! I hope you will get to roam abroad soon!
Glenda – This really has clobbered your big plans, but you are, indeed, a resilient woman… and Ideeho is a gorgeous place. Good for you! Hugs, Susie
Hi Andy. Great inspiration for today. This forced me to reflect back on a time in my life when I poured myself into work and made it a priority over personal relationships and where that leaves me today.
I have stopped
Stuck
Sitting in traffic
So I take a moment
I take a breath
I am forced
To take a look
At what has been taken
Until this moment
I have known only of what
I have given
But as I take a look
I was mistaken
My sacrifice
Was my indulgence
My give
Was my take
So…
I am forced
To take a look
At what has been taken
(ha… “poetic” justice)
I am left
With what I have
Given
Great poem, Eric!! I like your last stanza especially. The quick laughter for “poetic” justice is a nice touch! I can definitely relate to the reflective nature of your words.
“My give/Was my take” – a great line that expresses your battle with balancing time.
I love these lines. Beautiful reflection.
Eric, though playfully-written, you have dived into a serious topic.
and
So many of us have relationship affected by similar work/relationship balancing attempts. Thank you for this poem.
Oh the vision given to you while waiting in traffic! Profound! I think the good thing about this pandemic has forced us to look around and appreciate what we have taken.
“When it comes to chocolate, always take two,”
she said,
smiling mischievously
as she chose her favorites
from the open box of See’s Candy
being passed around the room.
We laughed
and still laugh
as we eat chocolate
and remember this moment
with 88-year-old Caryl
shortly before she was taken from us.
You bring Caryl to life in this poem. Sorry for your loss, Nancy. Thanks for sharing this poem about her advice and your memories.
I’m so sorry for your loss; you’ve written this take/taken beautifully. Such a tender poem.
Nancy,
This is a lovely memory. Your story takes me to a childhood memory. I love when that happens. These are my favorite moments to take from this space. Thank you.
Nancy, this is wonderful! Such a vivid snapshot of Caryl. I love that she still brings you such joy when you think of her chocolate advice (which, by the by, thanks for because I’m going to start invoking her advice, too!)
Nancy, I had such a joyful memory reading your poem today of my dear great aunt with the See’s candy box. She and Caryl would have gotten along famously! I’m sure we always took at least two at Aunt Thelma’s house. Thank you for the memory, and your sweet poem. To me, these lines show how special she was:
So sweet and so sad, Nancy; I am going to treasure Caryl’s advice and take two from now on. I will think of this scene with her mischievous smile and the laughter, the box being passed… and remember once more how moments and people are to be savored. What a joyful tribute and loving remembrance. Thank you for this poignant reminder!
I enjoyed reading this lovely snapshot of a poem, Andy. Reading about your daughter in the fields and making wishes was definitely a moment to take and treasure. When I read your prompt, I was reminded of the Open Write a few months back asking writers to take their words for a walk. I decided to try that again now:
Taking A Walk With Fear
My Fear and I went walking.
I feel Fear, cold and clammy,
“Take my lead,” Fear whispers, but
I know to follow Fear nowhere.
“I won’t be taken away, Fear.”
“It won’t be easy,” Fear said.
I know my Fear means well.
I hold Fear by my hand,
“Oh Fear, don’t worry about me.”
Fear and I walked as friends.
Love this conversation with you and fear! Such an important way of looking at fear, as a friend, instead of FEARING fear…itself, so definitely the best ending ever: “Fear and I walked as friends”.
Omgosh friend, YES. This is a brilliant poem, and I love this idea. I want to play with this form soon! Thanks for sharing 🙂
Erica,
I hope Anna reads this poem. It’s A-MA-ZING! And a lovely tribute to Anna and her prompt. I love the dialogue here, the way you treat fear as well-meaning, the way you embrace fear and make it a friend rather than something that debilitated. Wonderful poem.
Thanks, Glenda. I agree, this is another poetic way to take a word for a walk, literally. The swing back and fourth between the literal and the figurative is what makes reading and writing poetry so much fun!
Oh, Erica, what a wonderful relationship to have with Fear.
I love that you take the lead.
Erica, as others have said, when someone remembers a prompt and finds it a useful way to express themselves, we are honored. Then, when someone uses that pattern so effectively, we are green that they have such golden lines that we want to take them for a walk!
Your reminder that once we acknowledge our fear, we can handle them, walking along as friends. We no longer worry so much, but “wonder” how this is gonna work out!
Fascinating exploration of the negative and positive effects of fear! The last lines were so unexpected – that is something to think about, walking with fear “as friends.” I am imagining the greatest gothic illustrations for this poem! Seriously!
Andy, thanks for starting us off with the play on words that made most of us read twice before we saw you were being nice!
Taking for Granted What We’ve Taken
Taken for granted in my teen years,
“If you marry the man of your dreams
Joy would flow through your life like streams”,
Unprepared me for the streams of tears.
It’s taken these fifty years
To learn it’s more blessed to give,
To give, and not just receive.
To generously give, we must live
By faith, Yes, God’s Word I believe.
We don’t always see that just taking
We’ll be burdened by weight and start shaking
So today, I’ve taken the time to think
That if I only take, I’ll just stink,
Sweating from the load of hoarding.
But, in giving freely, like skateboarding,
I’ll be free to fly and enjoy the life
With the man to whom I’m committed as wife.
“That if I only take, I’ll just sink” – words of wisdom right there! Very important message in this poem, Anna. Awww what a lovely picture! 🙂
Thanks, Angie.
I love the picture you included- what a beautiful tribute to your marriage and partner. Abundant blessings to you!
Thanks, Britt. (Sarah added it for me.)
Oh, my goodness! The photo is so special. You don’t seem old enough to have known anyone for 50 years! Yes, marriage truly is a giving along with the taking! Thanks, Anna!
See, Denise and Britt also are distracted by a handsome face.!! 🙂 This photo was taken for our Golden Anniversary. We met the summer between our freshman and sophmore years in college. We lived in different states and were committed to graduating before getting married. We married two weeks after I graduated!
our memories:
when they’re gone,
we’re gone.
Thank you for sharing your daughter’s brilliance with us.
Ain’t this the truth. I am reminded of my grandmother who was mentally gone a long time before she was physically gone.
Memito, this poem reminded me of family and friends who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease and dementia. Nothing we could do “brought” back what was taken. It was difficult for us to accept the truth of your poem.
This prompt is wonderful, Andy. Thank you. Your poem is absolutely beautiful of your daughter and wishes. I love this especially: “Wishes. / She had them and so did I./She’ll never tell me hers –/she’s not supposed to.” <3 You have inspired me and also after reading Susan's poem I knew where I wanted to take this.
Memories That Never Were
Before every move, I have to think
about what I will take to a new place.
I’ve done this fifteen times,
but this time is different.
This time I can only think about
what I cannot take.
Possessions don’t matter.
I’ve never met my sixth graders.
I see them on camera from time to time.
I take screenshots.
But I will never get to take pictures of them
all of us
grouped together
side by side
in pink and yellow punjabis and sarees
for Pohela Boishakh
I didn’t even teach my now seventh graders
in person for one year.
Less than a year wasn’t enough.
I snapped a photo of us on Halloween
we all pretended to be cool ghosts
and laughed uncontrollably under
bed sheets and sunglasses, while
pretending to be in the secondary well
for the annual costume contest.
#gmeetscreenshotsarethenewclassmemories
I never hugged my now eighth graders,
who I met as sixth graders, for the last time.
We will forever be missing a last group photo
taken in our classroom.
I don’t get the memory of a tangible goodbye;
I am left with only something digital.
I will not get to take memories of meeting my sixth graders in real life.
I will not get to take memories of reuniting with my seventh graders in real life.
I will not get to take memories of hugging my eighth graders for the last time in real life.
These memories never were.
Oh, Angie, such loss here, taken from all. I keep thinking how I’ve never really seen some of these kids unmasked, in person. And you’ve written of my feelings so much better than I’ve been able to express them. I love the 7th grade stanza the most, likely since that’s my grade, but the fun of the laughter under ghost sheets is tangible (or hearable). And that last line! Phew!
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1RawUD3uowctUmZt1fDVbqdiYbgGAgDPL/view?usp=sharing
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1pEi5CbdH2ZdmyD-TMrCho1c5KITO7kID/view?usp=sharing
🙂
Love the photos, Angie!
Oh, Angie, waaaa! You have laid out the details, and to see the timeline so starkly here just makes me more sad…
I learned something new about Bangali New Year. I love the details in this:
This is a poignant picture of what you cannot take. No snapshots of times together. I have so many of those photos in my classroom.
Memories taken… this is the most chilling of concepts…for memories connect to moments and living, and “aliveness” and togetherness, then this: “I am left with something digital.” Such a haunting lament for the loss of actual human contact. It is irreplaceable. The standing shoulder-to-shoulder – belonging, identity; the hugs, love and consolation… welp, robots will never replace a real live present teacher. Can I just say. It’s a dynamic that can’t be recreated and you have so captured how diminished we all were in these remote endeavors. Again I say – so haunting, Angie, the ghostliness of it all.
Thank you for pointing out the ghostliness of it all – didn’t quite make that connection when I decided to write us dressing up as ghosts and there is something to be added there. On to edit more… 🙂
Andy, thank you for finding a beautiful moment to take away from this last year and sharing it with us. I love the idea of tiny, white petal wishes and your photos are such a sweet backdrop and memory. I’m not even sure how I ended up with this poem. I was playing with the myriad versions of “take” (one’s breath away, to the grave) – did you know that tok is the past tense of take in Old Norse and that tick tock is an onomatopoeia of a clock and if you tiktok something, you blatantly rip it off or take it? Anywho…
Take a Look
The year was 2020
and everything was finally taken.
It wasn’t only taken from the United States
but it was taken every which way –
our walks
our high roads
our plunges
our attendance
our time.
It was tragic all right
but people couldn’t do much about it.
We could breathe, if it was just ourselves.
We looked so tired – kind of wore out,
We were right back to the dark ages.
Society had fallen apart
(with plots to overthrow the government).
Our earth
had been quaked.
When we could finally open our eyes again,
a living, breathing world
filled them.
Last of all,
we removed our masks.
We whirled, swiveled, flounced, and spun
until we forgot
until it became mixed up in our minds.
We forget sad things. We always do.
Say it again.
We forget sad things. We always do.
*with many nods to Kurt Vonnegut
AHH! Yes! Harrison Bergeron FTW! What an awesome poem. I got goosebumps reading the end:
Excuse me while I go re-read that story. It’s been a few years.
Jennifer,
I’m echoing Angie ‘a thoughts. I love the set-up in the first line, and the ending is perfect:
I was thinking yesterday how distant my memories of those first days in March 2020 seem even now. A toast to forgetting sad things.
Jennifer, this is so good! I’m with Angie and Glenda (and undoubtedly many others), I love the Vonnegut here! So clever and so (depressingly) true of “us”: “until we forgot / until it became mixed up in our minds. / We forget sad things. We always do.” Thank you for this! (Oh, and I loved the “tiktok” info in your intro, too!)
I was recently talking with a friend about how many people in my town are acting as if the virus is already gone. I believe it may get mixed into our minds and almost become a parenthesis in our lives, a moment that is somehow missing.
First – I love your introduction; I chase many a thread through many a rabbit-hole sometimes when I write, (one thing leads to another) so this is a great reassurance re: process! I sometimes don’t know how I end up with a thing, either. Your lines ring with so much truth – “our earth had been quaked” – I love that one. For another, I think about forgetting sad things, as in, before the sadness becomes too big a weight for us to sustain; a body can’t carry that for long…(do let us remember wisdom!). How well you have captured the taking, Jennifer. So much taken.
Jennifer – This is beautifully crafted. The realities. Whoof. The sense of this as a cycle is there… the trajectory of 2020… and now this whole year later. Will we forget the sad things? Geez, I hope so. Live this poem. Susie
Andy, I love your sweet poem about your daughter. The memory you captured of wishes will last forever. Feeling somewhat insecure in my response today, I drew an outline of my hand on my blank notebook page which led me to write a little ditty rhyme for my grandchildren.
Take these fingers, let them be
Touching your life tenderly.
Fold them round your tiny hand;
Take them walking through the sand.
Hold my thumbkin, snug and tight,
Safely tuck you in for night.
Margaret, this is touching. I can see the hands folded together, the tenderness in this moment. This needs to be a bedtime “prayer” – that gentle send-off for the night. It evokes comfort and love.
Margaret, this is sweet! You should make it into a print to hang on their wall.
I love the use of “thumbkin.”
This is so, so precious, Margaret. “Touching your life tenderly”, so soft and moving.
Margaret, this is so sweet and so tender. Such safe and comforting images and thoughts for a little one to hold on to before falling asleep. I bet you’re the best grandma!
Incredibly tender and precious! I am imagining my mom with her first grandchild (my toddler son), and just how gentle she is with him. Their relationship is one of my favorites to witness. Thank you for sharing this sweetness and joy.
Margaret, this couplet form is just perfect for the two of you – the rhymes are sweet, and the feeling of security in the folding of the hand and the tucking in, holding Thumbkin snug and tight – along with the freedom of letting fingers be, walking through the sand, strikes such a balance of touching a grandchild’s life and keeping her safe while providing the space to become her own person. That thumbkin is just the right touch to make me want to curl up and feel comforted back in my toddler days. We need more of this in our world.
Precious memories, how they linger!
And if they don’t, they are revived in beautiful poems like yours. My favorite,
“Hold my thumbkin, snug and tight,
Safety tuck you in for the night!”
Precious!!
So full of love, Margaret. I find myself humming it to a lullaby tune.
Andy, you take us back to the moments frozen in time – trying to accept the reality of a world that sent us all home. Your photograph of your little girl making a wish in a time of innocence, unfamiliar with the state of the nation and the world, is one of great hope. Making wishes – precious! Thank you for hosting us today, and as a side note, that table in your book that tells what readers and writers do with mentor texts has helped me help more teachers better than any other page in the whole history of mentor text books.
March 2020
I clenched my shawl
tightly
at my breast
my fingers
grasping the fringe
frayed threads
hanging
on the edge
taking deep breaths
winnowing what remained
from all that was ripped away
Kim, this image of the frayed threads that we grasp as we hang on the edge – wow! That just says it all about this last year. I love your use of winnowing here, especially as it fights against “all that was ripped away” We really clutched tightly, still do. Powerful.
The consonance in these lines adds such impact to the meaning. I can feel the torment.
errr I mean alliteration…
Kim, such a powerful image of hanging on for dear life, the frayed threads, the ripping. Could be a metaphor for many different things, but my mind pictured someone who had barely survived a bombing. Maybe because I often feel bombarded by so much change during this pandemic.
Kim,
I see you so clearly in your poem and have an image of that shawl. It’s a gorgeous metaphor for how we tried to hold on and reimagine life and our traditions this past year.
The imagery in this poem is so strong and I especially loved how the line “winnowing what remained” — I was not familiar with that word and yet because of the description I could imagine what it meant and could feel the worry.
Beginning with the word “clenched” and ending with the word “away” is an emotional journey.
That shawl, symbol of warmth, security, familiarity … even a symbol for life itself (I had a dream about that once…). How we clung to what we could, even as our fingers felt the very fabric of life fraying. “Winnowing” – perfect – the sudden blowing away of what doesn’t matter, to find what does. So very visual and powerful, Kim. Your lines echo the aching and loss.
Kim – So so clear an emotional jarring. “The fringe frayed threads”… indeed. “Winnowing” is the killer word here. Whoof. Thank you, Susie
Just lovely, Andy, these moments to hold onto and treasure, for time goes so fast. Children themselves are living wishes …
So, I am giving this a shot with a double etheree. Thank you for the inspiration, the moment to reflect on “take” and “taken”-
New
morning
brimming with
yet unwritten
possibility
asking nothing of me
only offering itself
for the things I shall make of it
once the ribbon of light releases
this present day; what shall I take of it?
This present day, what I shall take of it?
Maybe just isolated fragments
to hold in pockets of silence
little treasures worth saving
moments of loving like
the ones yesterday
has not taken
away from
you and
me.
Fran – I really like your choice of structure here! A double etheree visually embraces a gathering and giving of powerful words. Thank you for sharing today.
Fran, you’ve given us beautiful imagery today – ribbon of light, mornings of unwritten possibility. I want the pockets of silence – so worth saving. (I can’t help but also see the rise and fall of covid curves in the shape of your double etheree.)
I love every part of this poem. I cannot pick a favorite. I am in love with how certain forms work so well with the poem that has been chosen. I see you have taken the opportunity to create something definitely “worth saving” <3
Fran, I love how your poem looks, visually. The structure adds to the meaning. The tapered ending that narrows things down to “you and” “me” emphasizes the importance of each unique individual to take the “fragments” and “ribbon of light” each day. I love this!
I was not familiar with this form of poetry, but I like how you used it to reflect and work with the words take/taken. Some of my favorite lines are “once the ribbon of light releases” and the description in the second part about taking moments and gathering them in your pocket like little treasures. I think we forget to appreciate small moments like that, and I think your poem does a good job of reminding us to take the time to do so.
Fran, this shape of a butterfly/kite in the double etheree gives wings to your words – – ribbon of light releasing, choice to take the day where we can take it – – those isolated fragments held in silence, moments of loving, are pure golden. You always get the words and feelings just right.
Andy, what a great inspiration! And I love your sweet poem and the sweeter picture!
Leave and Take
When I retire,
what will I take with me?
Will I take . . .
the classroom library FULL of young adult novels
I read and wanted the kids to?
the professional library of books FULL of
strategies and methodology
to improve my teaching?
the countless examples f student-created
projects dating back to 1988?
the notes and cards and trinkets gifted to me
by students, parents, and co-workers over the years?
a mega external hard drive of all the digital files . . . tests,
quizzes, worksheets, Docs, Slides, etc?
the eight filing cabinet drawers full of
purple mimeograph masters, hard copies of items,
things typed with an actual typewriter?
I’m sure I will tote out quite a few boxes
of “stuff” to take up even more space in our garage.
But more importantly, I will take
countless memories
of thousands of young faces
many who have grown to be
my doctors, my lawyer,
my dentist, my massage therapist,
my car salesman, my plumber,
my auto technician, my banker,
my Subway sandwich master,
my pastor, my chiropractor,
my photographer, and so many other
key roles in my small-town life.
Some have even grown to be
my dear friends, my treasured co-workers,
my kids’ teachers and coaches,
my dying father’s CNAs,
my future undertaker.
I will take a lifetime of memories that I hold dear to my heart.
But most of all, I will take ME . . . the me that
is inseparable from the non-school-teacher me.
I am formed as who I am by the almost 4000
young adults who shared their ideas, their hearts, their souls
with me, constantly changing and shifting my thoughts,
my feelings, my worldview.
With a nod to ee and Tennyson, I will carry their hearts in my heart
because I am a part of all that I have met.
~Susan Ahlbrand
13 April 2021
Susan – in a profession that can feel as though all we do is give you’ve reminded me that what we take from our experience in the classroom shapes us as much as we aim to shape our students.
Thank you for sharing!
Susan, your wondering is our wondering. What will we take, what has been taken from us? As you note, teachers are inseparable from our craft – it becomes our lives. I love the nod to ee – one of my favorites, and I love that you use it here.
Susan, I’m tearing up here. I relate to the small-town students filling up the town roles, and the list has variety and faces and hearts behind it. Love the juxtaposition of the stuff you’ll take versus the real stuff. The nod to ee and Tennyson at the end really clinched it. I wish you lots of happy days in retirement, what an incredible impact you’ve had, clearly!
Susan, you have inspired me fully with this poem. It makes me think many things. How teaching has changed me, how I was one of those students who taught with their teachers, how I hope to one day teach with some of my students. I wonder if that will ever, ever happen living the kind of life I live. I absolutely love how you have ended this by saying “I am a part of all that I have met.” Thank you.
Susan, as a newly retired teacher I love hearing these words. I was just thinking about the ways in which so many students’ lives have shaped mine. And coworkers, too. Every staff member I encountered including the sweet lady who cleaned my office each day, all impacted me in some way and caused me to grow and love more. Thanks for this lovely poem!
Susan, this line stands out to me so boldly:
my Subway sandwich master,
because many of my former students work there, and we always have conversation about life when I go in to get lunch. The ways we continue relationships with students to see them out into the world and continue to be interested in them says something about our love of teaching students and not teaching curriculum. I’m so glad you shared this today.