Welcome to Day 2 of the October Open Write. If you have written with us before, welcome back. If you are joining us for the first time, you are in the kind, capable hands of today’s host, so just read the prompt below and then, when you are ready, write in the comment section below. We do ask that if you write, in the spirit of reciprocity, you respond to three or more writers. To learn more about the Open Write, click here.
Anna J. Small Roseboro, a longtime member of our Open Write Group, is a National Board-Certified Teacher with over four decades of experience teaching in public and private schools, mentoring early career educators, and facilitating leadership institutes. She was awarded Distinguished Service Awards by the California Association of Teachers of English (2009), the National Council of Teachers of English (2016), and the Michigan Council of Teachers of English (2021). It is clear from recently printed books that Anna has used her time in sequestration to write and publish. Her poems appeared in RHYME and RHYTHM: Poems for Student Athletes, an anthology featuring our Open Write poets, and in manuscripts she has self-published, including RAINBOW REMINDERS: What the Colors Tell Us (2022) (with Nancy White, one of Open Write poets who also is an artist); CINDY AND SANDY Learn About Elephants (2022) and her recent novel, TWO, ONE…NOW THREE: How Can That Be? (2022)
Inspiration
It seems a common experience to live between two worlds. For some people, it is a narrow passage between two cultures, two age groups, or two genders. For others, it’s a more metaphorical, mental experience in a cramped space between theological or political ideologies.
Today, let’s write about existing in such a narrow space.
Process
See sample poems at this link, https://rb.gy/ibwwml.
Then in a poem of 16-20 lines, recreate for us an experience, observation, or of someone you’ve read about who lives in two worlds.
Write in first person as a person who feels cramped in a hallway between worlds.
Choose your own poetry pattern, but aim to include words for their sound to evoke the way the narrator of the poem feels.
Anna’s Poem
Neither Hollow Nor Hallow
Life’s hall is neither hollow nor hallow.
It’s creepy in here. I sometimes feel callow.
Tight, tense, and taut. I must do what I aught
But I don’t know which way to go
Oh! At the end the hallway there’s a glow.
I look for insight and confidence to know for sure
If my motives are right and my heart is pure
There are doors on the left and doors on the right
I hope opening a door will shed some light
I want to support the right side
But don’t really want to ride
With those who buy the whole bundle
Who don’t think but accept through a funnel
All that is promoted and all that they claim
But never want to take the blame.
Along the way, I may wallow
But will be careful not to swallow
What seems to be wrong, even if in a song.
And I’m thankful for you friends all along.
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.
Anna, I’m late this week, but this week’s prompts were so good that I promised myself I’d do all of them, even if they were late. Today, I presented your prompt as an option to my Creative Writing class, consisting of 10th-12th graders. I haven’t looked at their poems yet, but a random quote from a CW student today spurred me to write about living between the worlds of passionate writers and apathetic seniors, lol. Many lines in the poem are pulled from overheard random wonderfulness in CW class. 🙂
Between Clifford and the Uncanny Valley
I have lived between two worlds:
Between serious Serial
and light writers.
Between “Anyone? Anyone?”
and “I’m going to sue to the ocean.”
Between students gazing into air, drool pendant on chins
and dedicated ruminations on loneliness,
intelligence.
Between marginal attention
and forgotten cheese.
Between strained silence
and passionate debate
(The latter win the day, every time.)
Indigo sky pulls me
Toward the four-gabled farmhouse
1880’s peeling white
home of my husband’s mother, 93.
With a sigh
I exhale the Donkey,
pink Venus and her fist,
a rainbow flag.
I set down my
deconstructed faith, non-faith
soft breath
of Chardonnay.
I am now thin enough
to slip through the
tight crack:
leaving
my life to enter hers.
I wasn’t sure where this was going at first – with exhaling the Donkey. I thought I’d missed some new fad! But, alas, no. I get this all too well! Props to you for 1. Being able to do this IRL and 2. Capturing the transition between these bisected worlds so well. I AM this poem in so many relationships.
Thank you for hearing me, Denise. I agree: the Donkey exhalation is a bit rough on the reader! I do love my mother-in-law, and I believe she loves (parts of) me.
Allison, your words feel heavy here even though you are so thin you “slip through the/tight crack:” I admire how you show the division between beliefs, but put those aside to navigate your mother-in-law’s world. I also love how you capture striking images in this poem through sensory details: the “pink Venus” “rainbow flag” “soft breath/of Chardonnay,” and I especially enjoyed the “indigo sky”. Powerful, moving poem! Brilliant!
Allison,
The image of being “thin enough to slip through the tight crack” is so poignant. The generational differences can be so challenging among family members. Your poem resonates in so many ways.
Oh, wow, Allison. Such a powerful way to express the way we “exhale” and “set aside” parts of self to enter others’ lives.
Thank you, Anna, for another day of poetrying, as Allison put it in her poem yesterday. I enjoyed reading your poem this morning and all during my busy day I considered all the narrow places I live. I used to live in the narrow place between political parties–I’ve always been an independent. Warning: I’m writing about politics below. I may have got the idea when I read your line: “I want to support the right side.”
Peering down the hallway
at dozens of doors
lining both the left and right sides
so many of them bolted shut now
Once I oscillated back and forth
choosing the best possibility
regardless of affiliation
I valued nonpartisanship
Doors I used to seriously consider
are now permanently closed for me
The hallway has gotten so wide
absolutely cavernous really
I find myself on the left side
interested only in those doors
for democracy is under attack
our republic is at stake
Elections and peaceful transfer
of power are foundational
Other issues can wait
We need a blue tsunami
Denise, I appreciate what you have expressed here so much. This stanza is spot on:
Doors I used to seriously consider
are now permanently closed for me
The hallway has gotten so wide
absolutely cavernous really
Cavernous divide, locked doors–demanding a key that can be purchased by selling: soul.
Denise, I feel the weight of the political world through your words. I’m fearful, too, of losing democracy. I’m completely baffled by today’s divisive world where hate seems to be the popular wave. I sure hope we have a blue tsunami. Love how you develop the metaphor of the hallway and closed doors. Powerful poem! Thank you!
The idea of living between 2 worlds really resonates. Especially in a blended biracial family, this is a constant reality. The poem I put together is written from the perspective of my youngest son who navigates this in-between space with grace and confidence. Any identity issues that he has most often manifest in his relationship to his hair, which he wishes was more typically Black presenting, but instead is a lush, wavy Beatles-esque hairstyle. Hair is such a personal and politically charged representation of identity, so it’s no surprise that he is fixated on that as he negotiates his space. Anyways, the poem below represents some of the moments that Ishy has shared with me and his mom in his journey.
Walking with my hall pass to Ms. McNeil’s class,
I hear these words flash like a rapier’s slash,
“Ayy, white boy!” and a look like “whatcha gonna do?”
I tell him “Shut up! I’m just as black as you!”
All I want is curls like my brother, his twists are bouncy and tight,
My hair is kinda straight and wavy, and it keeps me up at night,
My identity is drowning in those waves, I feel like those locks hold the key,
Even if they could curl more like mom’s, it’d feel more like the real me.
And when I was at my cousin Jack’s house, he said my skin’s almost as pale as his,
And my aunt and grandma laughed, and it felt like I got punched in the ribs.
And I didn’t cry ’til I got home, so they probably don’t even know what they did,
But I told daddy that night that being Black isn’t about the color of my skin.
That night I dreamt about curls to frame my face and secure my place,
But even with these waves, my identity won’t be erased,
And when mom dropped me off at school and some fool asked, “Is that your real mom?”
I said, “yeah, dummy, where do you think my black comes from?”
Dave, this is a wonderful poem that expresses the dilemma faced by a biracial child. All young teens are very worried about their looks and the search for identity resonates with us all.
Dave, When I read,
“All I want is curls like my brother, his twists are bouncy and tight,
My hair is kinda straight and wavy, and it keeps me up at night,
My identity is drowning in those waves, I feel like those locks hold the key,
Even if they could curl more like mom’s, it’d feel more like the real me.”
I was reminded of the world in which bi-racial children live. The symbolism of hair comes through really clearly, also shares more of their experiences of ‘living in two worlds’. This shows how as an educator, whenever possible, I can try to step in the shoes of bi-racial students.
Oh Dave, this is heartbreaking and beautiful. Thank you for helping Ishy’s voice and experiences here. I love the question he DEMANDS in the closing line. “My Black.”
Anna, thank you for the opportunity to reflect on living between two worlds. The rhyming in your poem made it a delight to read, and the content made me feel reflective.
I began teaching seven years ago, and I realized recently I’ve been kind of caged into that identity. This year, I’m seeking to try new things and make time for myself. It’s challenging!
Behind this door, the unrealistic expectations,
the around-the-clock hours, the toxic
positivity all caught up with me.
It’s time to set perfectionism free.
So I am stopping time;
I’m leaving behind the routines
and habits that hold me back.
It’s time to turn the handle;
unleash who I am meant to be
I have been clawing to get into
this hallway, lined with artwork,
windows, and light for
seven years. It is the bridge
between who I am now,
and who I am supposed
to be. Now, in this hallway,
I have distance and clarity.
Going into a new door is
an opportunity to grow
into myself,
a multifaceted woman,
who has been neglected.
Rachelle,
YES!! Yes, yes! It is so easy to fall into the abyss of perfectionism and not see another way. I am so proud of you for attempting to open the door and see the larger picture. I love the story-telling feel of your poem, it is a perfect tone.
Ohhh, this is good! I love that you see yourself “going into a new door” for all the opportunities you so deserve!
Take all the leaps of faith! You only live once!
Yes Rachelle I loved your poem and can definitely relate to it. I think the older you get the more you’ll let go and let your true self emerge through that new door. I love that you’re aware a multifaceted woman it underneath waiting to appear. Don’t worry you’ll see her soon.
The toxic positivity and the performative nature of teaching–the “hallway, lined with artwork” really resonates. As well as the feeling of neglect. This is such a relatable poem!
You GO, Rachelle!
I think you (and I) are lucky that teaching fits and feeds a big part of our identities. But it CAN swallow the other parts. I’m looking forward to your art and light in the coming months!
clawing to get into
this hallway, lined with artwork,
windows, and light
Inside the Studio
She sits by her easel
ideas abound
creativity flowing
but no one around.
That could be a sad song
yet a possible win
a quiet place
to espress what’s within.
The word whiizzes by
so many, so busy
doing mundane chores
fast, repetitive and dizzy.
No one peers to see her creation
of color and perception
of the heaven above.
no one gets to see her workings of love.
There is no outlet.
No way to send it about.
How about a courier to
take the paintings out?
To break away from this studio
into a space very large
with lots of walls and light
and a manager in charge.
That would showcase
her work now hidden behind
gates of concrete and brick
and the walls of her mind.
That would do the trick.
Wow, Susan. Thank you for this gift, today. The dichotomy between sharing or keeping in inspiration is something worth exploring, which you did beautifully! Thank you so much for sharing this, seriously. I keep reading it over and over.
Thank you Susan, this is a delightful piece that got me thinking about craving, acceptance and aspiring to be noticed. You still share this glimmer of positivity in these lines,
“That could be a sad song
yet a possible win”.
This captures quite a dream that could become reality – ! And also breaks into the stereotype of the artist as quietly brooding away and wanting to be left alone. Here, the artist is seeking that outlet, wanting to share with the world. Wanting to be seen. Oh, the irony of it being one way or the other. The mind of the artist and this perpetual struggle – nicely captured here, Susan.
Living Between Two Worlds
This is for all of my students who, if they could, would live in the world of fantasy, anime, television plots, movies, celebrities or a novel series instead of the real world. I didn’t quite follow the directions, but this is where my mind went.
Sometimes it is just easier
to disappear into fiction–
life is challenging and
there are things simply ignored
in favor of fantasy worlds,
imaginary “ships,” and escape.
Some focus on a celebrity
who embodies a dream
of a life unattainable to most,
but safely away from now.
There are those who have
difficulty relating to others
in any way that doesn’t pertain
to their preferred universe.
How do you make the real
world as enticing as the
fanciful world of make believe?
I sometimes wish I were drawn to more “fantastical” stories instead of the realistic. Your poem has given me something to think about. I like the thought of flipping things around.
Thank you Cara for putting into your poem how so many of us with a creative spirit live. It is necessary to have those two worlds. Not that it is easier but it is the way to make sense of life and embody the dream.
Cara, I really like the concept of this poem. I’ve been using books to “escape” recently, but not quite this level of fanaticism. Your question at the end is one worth diving into (it reminds me of all the students I have to regretfully ask to put their books away during class).
Cara, I enjoyed your choice of ‘living in two worlds’. There are benefits to that escapism as long as we recognise and accept our reality.
Living Between Two Worlds
I want to cut the electronic umbilical cord that starves and steals,
Demanding attention and time.
I want to lie in a mountain meadow, calmed by the trickle of a mountain stream,
Fragrant milkweed and pine filling my lungs.
I want to forget the passwords and secret codes that verify my identity;
Let me introduce myself with a firm handshake and a smile.
In the beginning, the symbols and codes were magical,
An emerging world of zeros and ones
unleashed power only limited by the imagination,
But at what cost? How can one survive without their digital identity?
I’m willing to try it for a day:
Wake up to my own circadian rhythm,
Drive to work with the hum of tires pressing asphalt and pistons firing,
Greet my students, face-to-face, never glancing away to scan a screen,
Account for missing students using pen and paper, no data entry for me.
We will open books and turn the pages, portals to ancient worlds,
Where people look at each other, eye-to-eye,
And forget time.
Shaun, you are asking $100,000 question!
“But at what cost? How can one survive without their digital identity?”
Nuff said!
I love this idea of trying for one day to go without digital…what would that look and feel like? This image of being in nature is just beautiful –
Shaun, I love this poem! I understand all the sentiments you’ve expressed and often long for those same things.
What a wonderful world this would be! But I know I wouldn’t last for long without wanting to reconnect my “electronic umbilical cord.”
To imagine this is beautiful and welcoming!
forget the passwords and secret codes that verify my identity;
Let me introduce myself with a firm handshake
hum of tires pressing asphalt and pistons firing,
look at each other, eye-to-eye,
And forget time
Shaun,
I adore your poem. It was hard not to copy every line as I looked for those that sparked for me.
I’m intrigued and inspired by the challenge you are giving yourself. Not saying I’m going to START it yet, but it deserves some of that contemplative pre-start time you wrote about so well yesterday!
Anna, are you reading my thoughts? Do you know my struggles right now? Because you are knocking on my door! Thank you for this insight: “I look for insight and confidence to know for sure
If my motives are right and my heart is pure
There are doors on the left and doors on the right
I hope opening a door will shed some light”
And interesting enough, I went to church today and my pastor was talking about how windows of opportunity don’t stay open long. This applies to doors as well. Thank you for sharing this and calming my mind. Today’s prompt was definitely a much needed outlet today!
Here’s my poem:
The World Where I Exist vs. the World I Want to Live
Seeing is believing, because no one wouldn’t
if they didn’t see you do it.
Drowning in tasks taken on
because I’m bored.
Not knowing the toll it’s taking on my sanity.
“I appreciate all that you do.” They say.
“Thank you.” She says.
“Good job Jess!” He says.
“Thank you Boo.” She says.
“You’re doing an amazing job!” They say.
What about “How are you feeling?”
That’s what I want to hear!
“What can I do for you?”
Is relief to my soul.
Actions speak louder!
Where requests are optional and questions ignored,
Being invisible is a blessing,
But a curse to want to be heard.
I’m done holding up the world. Leave me,
Unbothered
Jessica, your poem is asking a critical question”
What about “How are you feeling?”
That’s what I want to hear!
“What can I do for you?”
So often we give energy to thanking people for what they’re doing, but not taking into consideration what it costs them in time, energy, emotions, and often money, to do what they do.
Keep us informed on how things go when you put into practice your closing lines,
I’m done holding up the world. Leave me,
Unbothered
No kidding. Your “reports” may be the lesson we need to learn.
Thank you Anna. And I will!
I feel such tension in these lines, I feel the pull between two extremes. This line “But a curse to want to be heard. ” – that is really intense. I think there is opportunity in your opening stanza –
Perhaps it is time to dream up a task YOU want to do, so that you turn to this in your boredom.
Such great insight Maureen, thank you! And I totally agree: it’s time to start doing what I want to do! Yes, MY boredem I can handle, lol!
Wow!!! Powerful poem, Jessica! The ending rings of Jemele Hill’s podcast “Unbothered” so if you have never listened to it, give it a try.
Take care of yourself. Relieve your soul. Rest!
Oh, thank you Stacey! I really need to invest my time into podcasts. I tend to find myself losing attention when I listen to things, but I will definitely give this a try! Thank you! And…thank you! Much-needed words of encouragement!
I understand, and I was the same way before the pandemic. I would also suggest Jill Scott’s podcast and her most recent episode featured Tricia Hershey who wrote the new book called Rest is Resistance. If you’re familiar with the Nap Ministry on social media, that’s her, you must listen. I can’t wait to read the book.
here is the link to Jill Scott’s podcast episode.
Uncle Willie-I can share this true story since he has passed on.
I’ve got an amazing cultured wife
in a phenomenal house in
a rich suburb of Los Angeles
and forty miles away
I’ve got a mistress in Compton
that I’ve known forty years.
In one world, I’m a church member, doting
husband, brother, uncle, righteous friend
and honorable employee enjoying this carefully
crafted life I dreamed of and wanted
Yet when the need arises
to see my woman
on the other side of town, I concoct elaborate
stories and sneak out of the house
so I can disappear for hours at a time
and do “what grown folks do” and let my hair down
and release the “Texas scoundrel” I keep hidden.
I lived this life and keep this secret for thirty years
sneaking down that hallway, driving all those miles
enjoying all those stolen moments, dancing, laughing
eating, drinking, singing, playing cards, etc.
until the day the mistress passed on from sickness
and I was forced to keep all those tears to myself.
Wow…
Seana, this is on target! I’ve heard so many stories (even in my own family) about those church going fellas who need a taste of the world. That “Texas Scoundrel” is not so hidden if there’s a mistress who’s seen it. It’s interesting how in your first stanza, the “amazing cultured wife” is contrasted against “the mistress from Compton”. Quite opposites, yet it makes me wonder where his happiness truly lies. Living the dream of fulfilling a fantasy. Thank you for sharing this.
I want to bring Uncle Willie back and interview him – what was he thinking? Was he ever honest with either love? What a secretive life. Such a great way to capture his story, through this poem. What a poignant last line, this image of having to cry all alone.
My mother (his sister) was his confidant and I found out about all of this one summer when I was home from college. Thankfully I was old enough not to be judgemental about it and we witnessed his grief.
What an ending! I never thought about the fact that if a loved one is kept secret and then gone you have no support and have to hide those tears. That is a tragic end.
OOoooooooooohhhhh man! This punched me hard in the heart and stomach. Having lived through the betrayal and pain of my cheating ex-husband, I just felt sick reading this. However, I had a conversation a few years ago with an elder in my family, and learned that so many of my relatives have stories like this. Makes me sad.
I hope your uncle passed with a peaceful heart and that your aunt is not left here suffering in grief.
You nailed this! I’m still mad!
Seana,
Your poem captures the way people rationalize their choices and how they resolve the internal struggle to live different lives. The last line is such a powerful image “forced to keep all those tears to myself” – even after making questionable choices, still a human. Beautiful poem!
back from college
crossing the threshold
to home
the hallway narrowed
the walls closed in
the alarms sounded
and I knew
to become two
sheer performance me
hidden thinking questioning me
yes some sort of a split
within
Ah, that return from college is something that can never be forgotten. Those walks closing in!
Maureen, somewhere between college and home that split happens – I never understood what people meant when they said, “you can’t go back home.” Then I understood – things change and we change. It’s just not the same. You show it here.
Maureen, you have captured that idea so well–everything was smaller and you had become larger. It’s painful that the two couldn’t remain one. So powerful.
Possibility
By Mo Daley 10/16/22
I am of two minds lately—
There are good days when everything feels right
It just clicks
I’m where I’m supposed to be
And children are inspired
I’m inspired
And even if it isn’t easy, it’s meant to be
But there are plenty of other days, too, when it’s a struggle
To get out of bed
To fight the fatigue
To show up smiling at yet another pointless meeting
And I don’t know if what I’ve said or done will have an effect
I guess it’s the mere possibility
That brings me back to work each day
I believe you just defined hope – “the mere possibility.” I love that. I am sad for your struggle, and so glad you are keeping the hope. May there be many more days where “it just clicks.”
Mo, sometimes our most inspiring rewards are delayed. I always wonder did I make a difference, and then I see former students a few years later. Yep! It’s the mere possibility that you care, in spite of all things negative, is why you show up each day. Hugs!
Your last two lines are so hopeful! Yes, it is the possibilities that keep us going.
Mo, you have brought together your two minds perfectly. I love the uplifting first stanza. “it’s meant to be” and then the exhaustion oozes out of the second stanza. I like the power in the ending–even the “mere possibility” brings you back. Dedication!
Anna–AS always, you challenge our thinking and provide a delightful poem. I admire your ability to rhyme with ease!
Caducity:
The infirmity that typically comes with old age
The quality of being transient, temporary, brief or fleeting
She exists.
She,
who loved me and
smothered me and
bothered me.
Is gone,
but she lives,
in a mockery of life.
She does not die.
A horrible joke
that refuses
to reach its punchline.
My sister
texts me pictures of a woman
in a wheelchair or in a bed
whom I would not know.
She has become just
another old woman–
any old woman you might meet–
Wax-skinned,
thinned to her essential parts,
her mind gone astray.
My sister
is that kind lady
who brings her McDonald’s milkshakes every week.
She likes McDonald’s shakes.
That woman seems very nice,
even if she does have a lot of tattoos.
I am a voice on the phone,
asking her questions she cannot answer,
telling her about grandchildren
she no longer recalls.
She does not know
that she is–finally–a great-grandmother.
She would like to know that,
but it comes too late for her to enjoy.
So many things are lost
in the stopover
between life and death.
GJ Sands
10-16-22
Gayle, your heart wrenching poem shares the sadness of losing someone in a different way whether its alzheimers or some kind of dementia, brain injury, etc. It is a life between worlds and full of pain for the ones who recognize and feel the loss. Hugs, Barb
Gayle, it’s a powerful poem that evokes such empathy using assonance as you have in the lines
She,
who loved me and
smothered me and
bothered me.
Is gone,
but she lives,
in a mockery of life.
The variety of ways we say the vowel “o” demonstrates the different ways you recreate the relationship this narrator has with a family member who no longer remembers the narrator.
Sad to read, but glad to know you continue to pass along “the news” even though she is in a “stopover between life and death”. You can trust that your love makes her feel good … when she remembers.
Gayle,
you truly capture that in-between when we haven’t lost them to death but we’ve lost them to dementia or something similar.
So much of this hits a raw nerve, but these lines pack a big punch:
Gayle, this is gut-wrenching. You display the two spaces with incredible depth and understanding, all while retaining the beauty and dignity of those involved. I find myself imagining I am a part of this, one of the characters, any of them, and how I know it will come and realize I’ve avoided thinking too much on it. And yet here it is. In all it’s painful, powerful, beautiful reality. Thank you for sharing. Hugs to all of you.
This is gut-wrenching truth for so many of our dear elderly –
I know this hurts, Gayle. What an insightful poem you have shared!
The stopover between life and death, and the milkshake – because sweet is the last taste we can sense. Wow, just wow! You take us right to that reality of the space between two worlds.
Gayle, I’m in agreement with everyone else: this is so powerful and heartbreaking! Your ending is so true, too. “So many things are lost / in the stopover / between life and death.” I’m sorry for this (but, also, thank you for writing and sharing it).
This and That
Deliver the drawl I decipher
To all who hear and remember
The words put together so gallantly
Each with a spread so effortlessly
Sheds beauty on so many,
English expressions that polish and shine
Enable me to speak and share
In the world that needs us informed
I turn and deliver in another
Shared twang with my locals
I spread a different tone and tune
When we all appreciate the message
Here in this familiar space I stand
My local words dropped with zeal
Just because they were my first
And all around me sound the same
Juliette,
Wow, how amazing that these quatrains emerged so beautifully today! I love this exploration of time and place. From “this familiar space I stand” and the “local words” to this “world that needs us informed.”
So much to ponder.
Sarah
I adore that you focused on language! I know well that feeling of lapsing into slang and “shared twang” – love the line “My local words dropped with zeal,” and the comparison to that more formal “English expressions that polish and shine.” It’s interesting to think about how we moderate our voice /language, depending on who is listening.
Juliette—shared twang with my locals— a wonderful phrase! Going home means reverting to who we are in all the ways.
Happy Sunday to all!
Thanks for this prompt, Anna and your mentor text. You’ll see from my poem that I am dealing with an ineffective adminstrator. It’s AWFUL, but perhaps it’ll change. It was challenging to write from her point of view, but it was helpful. I feel like I have a little more compassion, not much, for all that goes on from the top.
Comparison’s Corridor
It’s my second year
To lead and ignite
To create and build
But I’m slipping
Backwards into fear
Parents are talking
To question and weigh
To demand and plead
But I’m running away
From all the balking
Systems require an organized mind
To launch and watch
To debrief and assess
But I run from order
No goals defined
The principal before me
Managed and sustained
Designed and maintained
But I don’t work like that
It’s not what I strive to be
©Stacey L. Joy, October 16, 2022
Oh, Stacey. How insightful that you found a potential source of the fray in “fear” and how it can be such a powerful force of “slipping/Backwards” that then leads to a running “from” and turning away from what really needs to be done. I sure hope this admin draws on the wisdom and experience from the faculty for guidance.
Peace,
Sarah
Thanks so much, Sarah. Unfortunately, she doesn’t listen nor take advice but claims “my door is always open” so it’s a waste of time. The district placed her even though she wasn’t the person our selection committee chose. I believe it was intentional sabotage. ?
Stacey, your willingness to “walk a ways” in your new administrator’s shoes demonstrates the power of doing that. I can imagine how much more empathetic you will be now that you sense the challenge and frustration she probably is feeling. The fact that you chose this “role” suggests that you already feel the challenge of resenting and resisting her leadership style. Hang in there and be the light. Your kindness may be all that is keeping her “sane”./
Thanks for showing the power of writing in the voice of another “character” or person.
Stacey,
I’m sure it was super insightful—and frustrating—to take on her point of view. Leaders sure make a difference either positively or negatively. The balance of infinitives really show what they admin is trying to do.
Stacey, you say what so many of us feel so truthfully here.The changing face of education leaves us reluctant to take risks, forces us to step back and evaluate with great forethought everything we do before we do it. It seems so robotic at times, and yet here we are – feeling the fear, wishing we could be ourselves and teach to the teachable moments that are fewer and further between.
Hi Kim,
My principal is awful and I tried to put my pen to paper and share her point of view (from my eyes). I don’t know if that was clear or if I misunderstood your comment “feeling the fear…” She’s the one in fear. I am fearless in my work place, and I teach with everything I’ve got no matter how piss poor my admin is. LOL!
Anna, what a gem of a poem for a beautiful Sunday morning. My son is embarking on change in his career and took a leap of faith recently. This stanza resonated with me:’
Beautiful image of hope that nourishes my faith!
it’s more
worlds I mean
then two
of course
we are the
multiverse
iterations upon
iterations
of ourselves
spread out
across both
time and
space
but if you’d
like to stay
with hallways
and doors
I’d say we
are labyrinthian
in design
in the house of
Me
there are many
many
rooms
_______________________________________
Anna, thank you, again, for such a thought-provoking prompt! (Liminal spaces can, indeed, be cramped, confusing, and scary! Your speaker illustrated that quite clearly and vividly in your mentor poem!)
“In the house of me…” I love this thought. We are all unique and labyrinthian.
Yep. The multiverse. Oh, the endless possibilities within that space (my head hurts!). You continue to play with the continuum through the labyrinth. I feel like most of life is within that wandering and seeking and occasional finding. Mmm hmmm.
Scott,
Always love the way my eyes and mind move across and down in your columned verse. This one certainly offers a contrast to the labyrinthian way of the world and the “many/rooms.” I so appreciate this invitation, with Anna’s, to ponder liminal spaces. Indeed, seems more true to say we are more often liminal that sitting neatly on or in one space entirely.
Peace,
Sarah
Scott, your closing stanza also summarizes our group. We have much in common, and that is one of the aspects we share. “In the house of/Me/there are many/many/rooms.
And, thanks to Sarah J. Donovan hosting this platform, we see the many/many/rooms our college have inside of them.
Your insightful poetry is so enlightening. Thanks for sharing it here.
Scott,
You never fail to lead me to looking at things from a unique perspective. We ARE truly the multiverse,
I positively love
Scott-
“I’d say we
are labyrinthian
in design”
how true is that!
Scott,
I love the comparison to a labyrinth where we can sense both having a sense of direction and of being stuck in a dead end. Your last stanza reminds me of how we would describe scoring student essays using the old AP rubric (1-9) – “There are many rooms in the house of___” to show the variety and creativity that we all have.
The Junior High Years
The years of in between
are tough for my teen;
the ages of twelve to fourteen
find me rooting, for my teen.
I’m caught in the loop,
jumping through parenting hoops.
How much freedom do I give?
When do I pull in the reigns?
I’m rooting for my teen
to find her way and make new friends;
I’m rooting for my teen
to remember she’s still a kid.
©Jennifer Kowaczek October 2022
Thank you, Anna, for this fun prompt. I immediately thought of my role as a mom to a junior high daughter. These years truly are tough and as parents we need to balance our parenting—giving independence with guidance.
I’ve been a middle school librarian for 23 years and over the last several years I’ve watched these 12-14 year olds try to be so grown up too soon. I thought I had it all figured out, but now that my daughter is in this season — I’m still figuring it out.
My poem is still a work in progress, but I’m happy with where it’s going. I want to add a few more stanzas and end with my current stanza three.
Jennifer, ahhh, I can feel the difficult balancing act between wanting to pull the reigns and providing the opportunity for a child to figure things out on their own. The desire to protect so they are not hurt so that they become the beautiful individual you know they already have become. Your poem flows effortlessly and the rhyme scheme adds that special touch. I was especially moved by your final stanza. Yes, the navigating to find new friends and to just be a kid. That’s a tough one. Gorgeous poem!
Oi! That’s a good one, Jennifer. I work with first-year college students, and I definitely see them on this same cusp as they navigate new life experiences. I appreciate seeing the parent point of view and the struggle this clearly creates that you can only “watch” and hope for the best after all those years of instilling lessons to prepare for this very experience. I also love that end line – because we do indeed grow away from our childhood far too early these days. Preserving that, hoping your child can stretch it out, is a real concern and hope.
Being of a singular mind
in a singular space
complicates the world
for black and white,
right and wrong,
yes and no,
are constantly confuzzled
and fuzzled,
the colors
tinted,
variegated,
embued.
black dyeing and dying.
White staining and staning.
Right is only right when
on the right side
and wrong the same
if we are of a singular mind.
Yes, I see
no
I see yes
in a world of
complex complexions.
Oh, Jennifer…you captured this so beautifully and so cleverly! The word play boosts the meaning of your poem so much more. It seems we see the world through similar lenses. While I love so much of this, I’m grabbing as my favorite:
Jennifer, I love the vocabulary of your poem. Very nicely done.
Jennifer, I love this! I especially like the fact that you used “confuzzled / and fuzzled.” And there is such power in these two lines: “black dyeing and dying, / White staining and staning.” Thank you for this!
Jennifer, today your poem so powerfully combines a number of poetic devices to convey your message of complex complexions. From homophones to made-up words, one would think you are Shakespeare reborn!
Lines that strike me, today, are those with made-up words and the homophones in these:
yes and no,
are constantly confuzzled
and fuzzled,
the colors
tinted,
variegated,
embued.
black dyeing and dying.
It would be interesting to share this stanza in a class studying Latin prefixes and onomatopoeia. What a time they would have if you also asked them to create their own original words! Thanks for the lesson and the idea for a lesson.
Jennifer
”Right is only right when
on the right side
and wrong the same
if we are of a singular mind.”
Your words and phrases were beautifully confusing! But it seems like that is who we are these day!
Anna, a lovely prompt, poem and Sunday morning reflection rolled into one! Thank you! The line that spoke to me was buy the whole bundle/accept through a funnel. Feels I’ve always lived my life between two worlds which awakened today’s poem:
A good man, he was, that was agreed by all,
even me, even during those squinty-eyed,
sneaky, stretching truth out-of-bounds
turbulent pre-teen years.
How far is the bus stop? someone asked.
A rosary and a half, he answered.
Stopping in churches. Praying for peace.
Not a hawk, A good man who thinks
we are doing good,
I almost had the guts to say, but never did.
My stretch. His pull.
Still the space
was narrow,
the air,
scant,
too scant sometimes
for both to breathe,
the hippie and the saint.
Hanging in the village window,
among flower-powered peace signs,
and make love, not war posters,
was an effigy of Nixon,
knife in head, face dripping blood.
Where’s the peace in that,
I wondered,
and the walls inched closer.
Ann,
what a picture you paint with your words of being raised by someone fundamentally different from you and someone so good but in a way completely conflicting. Absolutely love these lines:
So this poem is nagging me. I think the last line should really be “and the walls widen” cause that’s what really happens when we change perspective. Ok off to enjoy this beautiful day!
While reading your poem and the responses to it, Ann, we see one of the issues of existing in the hallways of life.
The lines that Susan excerpted ring with me, too. The fact that your closing lines say point out the walls inched closer makes we want to agree with you saying those lines should say “and the walls widen”. Both are true. Sometimes the walls inch closer because other issues arise that we may not be ready for face.
We saw this over the past couple of years as members of our teacher group who “claimed to be non-racist” realized how much they had taken for granted “white privilege”. It was during those two years in the book studies we shared in virtual settings, that some expressed walls inching closer, then widening and they recognized how their attitude could change if they let it. Wow! Your poem is opening up thoughts for me today, too.
What a wonderful prompt, Anna. So many possibilities here, but I was drawn to a particular childhood memory. Never plan on these poems, which is what is so fun here!
Back When
tick tick tick
cold dark morning
I slip out of bed
wrap in a blanket
go huddle against
the hallway radiator
tick tick tick
press bone thin arms
between cast iron sections
hold them there
until they burn hot
then turn
press my legs in next
tick tick tick
quiet stillness behind
closed doors
where sleeps the future
of each child
lives thrusting forward
tick tick tick
to love and joy
pain and sorrow
education and friends
careers and families
options and opportunities
decisions and consequences
tick tick tick
but for now
drift back to sleep
press into the warmth
of time before
memory
Denise, the sound of the ticking (of the radiator, time, checking off lists) is evocative, as is the idea of “time before memory.” This poem soothes, despite the cold morning. It finds its warmth in the images and drifting.
“Where sleeps the future of each child.” What an amazing phrase. One which will stay in my thoughts.
Once again, I find if I sit a minute more with the prompt and allow the pen to write, I find something in my soul to write. Thanks for this intriguing prompt. My youngest daughter is pregnant and I am loving watching her become a mother. Such an amazing journey.
The Sidewalk is Covered in Chalk
Publish yourself to the mantra of mother.
Kiss the wound to make it better.
Sit criss-cross to make a lap.
Line the walk with sidewalk chalk.
Cross over when the time comes.
Leave a kiss on her forehead.
Look with empathetic eyes.
Do not speak of your longing
to feel movement in your belly,
to feel aching in your breast.
Remember the hard days.
Channel wise, silent sage.
Assure the girl that she knows
all she needs to know
to be a mother.
Margaret, I read this entire poem choked-up, with chills…every line spoke to me. To be a mother…just beautiful!
Margaret,
You gorgeous verse sure strikes a nerve. One of my potential “two worlds” topic was being in that space between raising kids and being a grandma. So, your words hit hard. I worry how I will be as a grandmother. I raised our kids with basically no support as my mother had already passed. Will I still unselfishly offer steady support in spite of not having any? Hmmm.
I love these lines and the depth and honesty:
Well done description for becoming a mother. Thank you for sharing.
Margaret, per usual, this is so good! I so admire your economy of language and your deft ability to craft your lines. “Line the walk with sidewalk chalk” is such a cool sounding line!
Anna,
Once again you offer us so much food for thought. I knew I had written about my two worlds a couple of times previously so I went back and found an unfinished poem inspired by Andrew Moore’s Celebrate and Lament Open Write. I finished it.
Grey
I celebrate freedom of speech.
I lament when it’s used irresponsibly
and anonymously.
I embrace the right to bear arms.
I lament when those weapons are used
to take innocent lives.
I celebrate a woman’s right to choose.
I lament the loss of a life gone unlived.
I celebrate individuality
I lament the loss of societal norms
I celebrate that love is love
I lament the erosion of the traditional family
I celebrate freedom of religion
I lament the fading disappearance of faith
I celebrate Ellis Island and Emma Lazarus
I lament lives so desperate being smuggled across
the border is the only way to a life.
I live in the grey
Not because it’s easy and I won’t take a stand
but each “side” holds truth…
I empathize with most.
Navigating life in the grey
is simple because I don’t take a stand.
it’s complex because I don’t take a stand.
The pendulum swings and swings and swings
I prefer the equilibrium point
Until forces put it in motion again.
~Susan Ahlbrand
16 October 2022
Susan, your poem speaks my truth.
Thank you for sharing with us this morning.
So much truth spoken here, Susan, so why IS it so difficult for “sides” to see one another, and sometimes, even for ourselves to find peace in between? I often go back in my thinking to Carl Rogers and believe in the simple notion that there is indeed a bridge between us. That people or minds that take “sides” do indeed have shared values, shared concerns, and with the right kind of dialogue, we could find ourselves working much better together. If our leaders can help us to bridge that gap, then perhaps it is time for much more grassroots, much more community, and much more coming together on our own. It is indeed both simple and complex, but I have to think – always worth trying.
Susan. Whew! You have nailed this! I live in the gray— never completely right, or sure. Never totally wrong— and worried about that, too. Your words. So strong.
Susan, I love that you bring the voice of both sides here – yes, there is gray. It isn’t just black and white with every issue. Sometimes we all need to look closely and seek to understand. You capture this so nicely!
If this is right,
let all the students write
in their hand’s script
breaking from text-ing.
If this is good,
resisting mechanized ways
of craft will reveal
an intimacy with self
and maybe the world.
And yet what is right
And what is good
Is not the same for all.
A scribing hand may feel pain
uable to connect with the brain.
Holding a pen may feel strange
when the voice is the storyteller.
Can he be a writer if he cannot make letters with his hands?
I say yes.
Listen, he is writing now.
Oh, my…I hope this gets into a classroom…pronto! This is how it feels when finally, things are working. Bravo!
Truth, Sarah! There are many ways of being a writer and accepting all of those ways is a journey in itself. (On a side note, I am unable to post this morning. A message that says “awaiting for approval” keeps showing up)
Just checked the site. For some reason, it went to spam but should be published now. Thanks for letting me know.
Thank you! Hopefully it doesn’t post for every time I tried to get it to!
Sarah,
You often bring ideas to ponder about our students and our practices. We have been talking a lot about “writing” with pen/pencil and paper or a keyboard. The kids’ insights vary and are very specific and personal.
I love these lines:
Standing and clapping for your poem and you!!!
I attended a writing workshop a couple of weeks ago with the phenomenal human, Cornelius Minor. I asked him how he felt about writing drafts with pen/paper and drafting with devices. He agrees with you and says students need to write SOME WHERE!
This is a tangent. 5th graders write well with pen/paper and get easily distracted on devices. I’ve decided to do both when drafting and brainstorming, I can’t stand to watch them spend 15 minutes in a Google search rabbit hole when they’re supposed to be composing. It’s tough.
?
I get it. The first 5 minutes of class is tech free notebook time however they need to use it (drawing, lists), but when we are taking a piece of writing out of the notebook through a process toward publication, I welcome devices and tech support.
Sarah, powerful poem. I love how this addresses an individual writer’s needs. The end causes goosebumps. Thank you!
Sarah, I’m nodding yes! I’ve always stressed to students that as much as they love to talk, they should love to write. All they need is a cell phone to capture their audio stories if they don’t know where to start. This makes me happy that you say the same – talking can also become writing!
What a great topic, Sarah. I like the tension between the different ways to write, even with the voice. Beautiful. “I say yes.” Me too.
Anna, what a provocative prompt. My poem is trying to capture the feelings of rejection that causes division. Thank you for your time with us today.
Rejected, Belittled, Silenced
must be nice
to be a
lucky one─free
to roam, celebrated
and not alone─
this heartless tomb
lined with razorblades
slices scarred skin,
blood splatters systematic
violence, ageism, rape;
toxic air suffocates,
strangles untold truths─
my friends, ha,
fled long ago
I don’t blame
them, why punish
oneself with shameless
pricks of derision;
cold silences shouting,
YOU DON’T BELONG
Barb Edler
16 October 2022
This poem stabs my heart, the heartache of abandonment, the sadness of imprisonment.
Barb,
This is just so raw, in the imagery but also the punctuation throughout. All the commas and semicolons with little stabs within. And then the all caps. So much flowing through and out in this poem. Did it feel good to write?
Peace,
Sarah
So many young people I encounter harbor these thoughts and feelings. It’s sad to me. I often just don’t know how to help. The feeling of helplessness is strong for me as the reader.
Barb, you bravely capture truth today – the reality of rejection, betrayal, living outside the realm of acceptance by cruel people. It saddens my heart that anyone can be so cruel, and that others suffer for these actions.
Your messaging in this poem is so powerful, but what really grabs me is how beautiful this poem SOUNDS. There is so much internal rhyming and alliteration, consonance, and assonance that the reader tumbles through this poem and absorbs your meaning along hte way.
Anna, your opening lines are beautiful, haunting. I’m drawn to the narrowness of life as a hallway. What a way to set a tone!
Being of a singular mind
in a singular space
complicates the world
for black and white,
right and wrong,
yes and no,
are constantly confuzzled
and fuzzled,
the colors
tinted,
variegated,
embued.
black dyeing and dying.
White staining and staning.
Right is only right when
on the right side
and wrong the same
if we are of a singular mind.
Yes, I see
no
I see yes
in a world of
complex complexions.
So sorry this posted several times! The site was acting funky.
Thank you for another thought-provoking prompt! Your poem contains all kinds of truths about navigating life’s hallways. I went a bit more light hearted this time! (Although this guy is seriously getting on my nerves…)
Cricket in the Basement
Wall at my back,
furnace above.
From this narrow concrete crack
I chirp –
a relentless task –
my lonely autumn song.
Mary Lee, as much as I love the sound of crickets, they grate. What a perfect choice for being in two worlds. A lonely autumn song indeed!
Mary Lee, wow, I think you’ve captured a cricket perfectly in this poem. I love the specific details that create such a singular image and I love the format, especially the “I chirp-” followed by “a relentless task-” as though even the cricket gets tired of all its chirping. Brillian poem!
I think of the children’s book Cricket in Times Square. “My lonely autumn song” is a satisfying ending. I hope he finds his way outside soon.
Oh, that’s wonderful…and going on right now in my garage. Perfect capture of two worlds. And, I love that sound.
I love this and will never think of a basement cricket — or a lonely task, the same way!
Mary Lee, that crack between the furnace above, basement below and the sound of chirping a lonely song – it’s powerful, and sound provided the sensory awareness of reality bringing the space between the worlds together!
Anna, this space in between is certainly real. Your last line of your poem says it all – – it’s how I feel about this group, thankful for the friendship along this journey of discovery. Thank you for hosting us today and for investing in us as writers.
Layers
real and virtual
worlds collide ~ dressed from waist up
bottoms optional
HA! I love this. So very timely…still.
Kim, I love living in that world. If Covid gave us any plus, it was this. Perhaps we need to take it and run with it into the real world, creating a whole new shift of dressing post-pandemic!
Kim, I am intrigued by your poem. Love the title and your last line is so perfect. Outstanding haiku!
Kim,
As you know, I struggle being concise and wide in my word choice. My poetry tends to flow from heart and brain with little thought of revising down and looking for economy.
You, on the other hand, say so much in so few words with this haiku. Bravo!
Yes, Kim!! I never thought I would miss dressing from the waist up for work!
Outstanding!
YES! a concise and so very true!!
LOL. Teaching “through” a screen was tough, but, oh, how I loved the commute. (And there was never a line for the restroom either!) Thanks for this, Kim!
My boxer-shorts button down virtual teaching person approves of this message!
Anna, your opening lines, “Life’s hall is neither hollow nor hallow/It’s creepy in here…” are beautiful, haunting. I am drawn to this idea of existing in a narrow passageway throughout life. What a way to set a tone!
Being of a singular mind
in a singular space
complicates the world
for black and white,
right and wrong,
yes and no,
are constantly confuzzled
and fuzzled,
the colors
tinted,
variegated,
embued.
black dyeing and dying.
White staining and staning.
Right is only right when
on the right side
and wrong the same
if we are of a singular mind.
Yes, I see
no
I see yes
in a world of
complex complexions.
Standing and clapping!!!!!
Yesss!
?? ?? ??
Wow, Jennifer. What I enjoy every month is seeing such a wide variety of interpretations on the prompts. I in no way would have come up with something like this in my little brain, but it is so spot-on. How we rely upon and must have a variety of hues and tones and temperatures in our lives, but at the same time, so stupidly and stubbornly reject these, thus rejecting the lives and experiences of others. I read so much about why our lizard brains do this to us, and how we need to do the hard work of combating this mentality – we can evolve. Though it is difficult to see this as a possibility at times. Poetry is a way. This poem is a way. Thank you!
applause, applause! So true, and you say it so it’s understood. I love fuzzled and confuzzled. Your word choice and message are timely and so true!
I love the juxtaposition of singularity and complexity in this. The wordplay that you invoke is dizzying and reflects the complexity of the moment.
Jennifer, powerful! Thank you for this two sides poem. I love “I see yes”
Good Morning Anna and Poets,
I wasn’t able to get to Ethical ELA until late evening, yesterday. Thank you, Anna for the wonderful prompt. I have it tucked away to catch up on. And, there are plenty of wonderful mentor text responses to enjoy! Lately, I’ve been playing with the triolet form as you see below. I also work in a school with a high immigrant population. Just about all my students have a foot in two worlds.
I walk out of this school door
English and pizza for lunch behind me
into the world of my parent’s lore
I walk out of this school door
fenugreek and rose petal absorb
any American growth of me
I walk out of this school door
English and pizza lunch behind me
Linda, as one who has lived in the space between work and helping parents and having a home that needed attention too, the line English and pizza for lunch behind me resonates strongly with the shifting of gears, the passing of meals, the clock as a governess of the next item on the agenda for the day. Having a foot in two worlds is challenging at best, and you show the reality of it in your words today.
You and your triolets! This one is perfect. Here is a must-read article that mirrors your poem. It’s by a friend — a brilliant ELL teacher/coach with whom I had the privilege to work: https://www.teachingcoachinglife.com/home/2022/10/14/the-power-amp-weight-of-our-choice-words
Linda, the repetition of “I walk out of this school door” echoes like a difficult truth that’s hard to swallow. Powerful poem! I’ve been working for the past two years with a variety of international students, working hard to make language and learning easy to access. Any suggestions are welcome. Thanks for sharing your incredible poem!
This poem has a tone of loneliness to it. I imagine this student who is navigating two worlds and how confusing it must be.
Powerful poem, Linda! I felt the punch immediately from the opening:
I believe those two lines are a poem by themselves. You must share this with your students.
?