Alexis Ennis is a 6th grade technology teacher who calls herself a “bookdragon” because of her voracious appetite to read and hoard all the books. She is the co-creator of a YouTube channel that showcases kidlit authors and illustrators –Legit KidLit. She also talks books on her website and YouTube channel. Poetry is her preferred style of writing and she aspires to soon be published. You can follow her on Twitter and Instagram @mrs_bookdragon.
Inspiration
The Broadway show, Hamilton, came to my area recently and I was able to attend a show. Everytime I hear this music, my love of history is immediately reignited. I initially wanted to be a history teacher in the hopes that I could teach what really happened in history and bring history to life in an engaging way. I have always loved history-from my early love, American Girl books and Out of the Dust, to my job shadowing at a local museum. When I went to college, my eyes were opened to the history that I was not taught, or that was brushed over so quickly that its importance was lost to me. My eyes were opened and my heart yearned to bring that awareness and love to the youth. Although I currently teach computers and technology, my love of showing students the truth and my hope to inspire a love of learning is still strong.
All that to say, let’s bring history alive through poetry!
If you need inspiration or have yet to listen to Hamilton, put this soundtrack on repeat and get inspired. I promise you will.
Process
Bring us to the “Room Where it Happens” and research a historical figure that you can bring to life in a poem. The poem can be short or long, rhyming or non. Have fun with it and bonus points if you can bring to life a figure that has been hidden from the pages for too long.
Mentor Poem-Alexander Hamilton by Lin-Manuel Miranda
Alexander Hamilton.
My name is Alexander Hamilton.
And there’s a million things I haven’t done.
But just you wait, just you, wait.
When he was 10, his father split
Full of it, debt-ridden
Two years later, see Alex and his mother, bed-ridden
Half-dead, sittin’ in their own sick, the scent thick
And Alex got better but his mother went quick
Moved in with a cousin, the cousin committed suicide
Left him with nothin’ but ruined pride
Somethin’ new inside
A voice saying Alex, you gotta fend for yourself
He started retreatin’ and readin’ every treatise on the shelf
There would’ve been nothin’ left to do
For someone less astute
He would’ve been dead and destitute
Without a cent of restitution
Started workin’, clerkin’ for his late mother’s landlord
Tradin’ sugar cane and rum and other things he can’t afford
Scannin’ for every book he can get his hands on
Plannin’ for the future, see him now as he stands on
The bow of a ship headed for a new land
In New York you can be a new man In New York (New York) Just you wait.
Alexis’ Poem
Yuri Kochiyama
Yuri Kochiyama.
Say her name.
Yuri Kochiyama.
World War II.
Father detained- POW
Died in the hospital
Family uprooted
Flung from California (too coastal)
To Arkansas (land-locked and secure)Relocation center, Internment camp, Concentration camp
Where her eyes were opened and her voice bloomed.
Fast-forward to 1960s
Harlem, New York
Fighting for civil rights
Human rights
For all humans
All citizens
(Not just the white citizens)
Joined the Young Lords
and Harlem Community for Self Defense.
Founder of Asian Americans for Action
Then aligned to Malcolm X
Fought side by side
And was by his side
As he lay on his side
When he said goodbye.
Time moved forward and so did she.
With Puerto Ricans at the Statue of Liberty
Fighting for independence in 1977
And for reparations for Japanese Americans in the 1980s.
A woman who fought for rights for all
A bridge for humanity
Say her name.
Yuri Kochiyama.
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.
Thank you for this lovely prompt, Alexis! And for encouraging us to look for people who may or may not have been at the table throughout history.
Packhorse Librarians
FDR thought rural people deserved
to have books too
so through the New Deal and WPA
women took to horse back
to make it so.
They rode in frozen creek beds and
hiked on foot
miles into mountains when
roads were impassible
or their horses/mules couldn’t make
the journey.
Schools, post offices, churches all
became libraries.
Old worn books became new
in their deft hands.
They served over 50,000 families
and 155 public schools.
My mountain people loved Mark Twain and
Robinson Crusoe
They loved the books and the librarians who
brought them.
No doubt they didn’t sit at the table
when FDR ordered the end of the WPA
and the horse-ridin’ librarians.
But by 1946 motorized book mobiles
were on the move and
books
were once again coming to the mountains.
The tradition’s still going strong.
In 2014, Kentucky’s public libraries
had 75 bookmobiles –
the largest the nation –
to bring
books and
literacy and
wonder
to the land of my kin.
My office and heart are full of books
and being at the table or not
I thank FDR for the WPA
and the women who took up the
reigns
who braved the terrain
to bring
stories and hope
and joy
to the mountains and
to the people.
A student recommended me to read Beneath A Scarlet Sky by Mark Sullivan. I’m only 12 chapters in, but felt the desire to write about the main character. He is a hero in my opinion.
Pino —
seventeen, faithful;
hiking, leading, saving;
Beneath a Scarlet Sky—
Lella
This week a student taught me (and us as a class) who this person was. I was disappointed to only now be learning of him and grateful for the student who shared his impact.
“Carter Woodson”
Current state legislature
Attempts to
Return us
To an
Era in which ignorance
Reigned supremacist.
Without him, the championing
Of America’s Black History doesn’t
Occur and, we
Don’t empower through the
“Scientific study”
Of the
“Neglected aspects” of American history.
Laura, you aren’t alone. I hadn’t heard of Mr. Woodson either. His history was interesting to learn. Thank you, and thank your student!
Thank you for sharing Carter Woodson’s story with us. We learn so much from our students.
Not a comment on the poem as much as a book recommendation here. Deborah Hopkinson has a wonderful picture book, Carter Reads the Newspaper. Don Tate provides the illustrations. The end papers of this book present a number of figures from the past and the present that help to patch some of the holes in our awareness. I learned a lot from this book. These texts in thirty-two page format can do so much for us and our readers at all grade and reading levels.
Laura — Yes, I agree wholeheartedly with Mo, I’m grateful to you and your student for bringing Carter Woodson into my radar. I love your lines:
It blows me away that we have to keep fighting to counter those who remain steadfast in their narrow, miserable little views. But fight we will, no matter how long it takes. Keep writing poems like these! Thank you! Susie
Hi Laura,
Thankful for your student and for your poem. There’s a great deal of incredible work that you might want to read by Woodson especially The Miseducation of the Negro. I have Fugitive Pedagogy on my TBR list. Because I have always taught in a predominantly Black school, our students have always learned about him because he’s known as the Father of Negro History Week. This poem pays great respect and honor to him, thank you!
I hope we can all continue to learn more hidden histories and teach our students the same.
💙
Alexis, your prompt today is phenomenal. You made us learn through each poem we read, beginning with your poem about Yuri Kochiyama. I have not heard her name before, but now know and want to read more about her. From my friends and colleagues, I have learned many new names worth of knowing today.
After thinking about several famous historic figures, I decided to choose someone who I did not know before today.
Not Royal but Royall
The rumour has it
she once saw
President John Quincy Adams
taking his skinny dip
in Potomac River.
She didn’t think twice
taking his clothes hostage
until he consented
to give her an interview.
Anne Royall,
the first female reporter,
to interview all presidents
from George Washington
to Abraham Lincoln,
a congressman
at the time.
The first American
newspaper woman
started her own newspaper
at the age of 62,
sticking out as a sore thumb
for fearless criticism
of corruption and
government disfunction.
Her legacy enriched
this country with
ten volumes of travel books,
one novel, and two newspapers,
whose combined span
lasted for over 30 years.
Strong, independent,
determined, and passionate,
Anne Royall deserves
an honourable place
in history.
Anne Royall (1769 – 1854) https://www.womenhistoryblog.com/2012/12/anne-royall.html
Thank you for introducing us to Royall! If I ever have to teach early American Lit again, she’ll be added to the syllabus! What a perfect opening stanza to introduce us to her 🙂
I loved learning about Anne, Leilya. I wish she were my friend. Thank you for showing us how amazing she was!
Leilya,
I remember this clothes stealing anecdote. I think it may be in the John Adams miniseries, but O could not remember the female reporter’s name. Talk about crushing the glass ceiling. Love these anecdotes and spectacular title.
Leilya — You’ve brought me another name I have to remember. Those strong women who recognized the importance of reporting the real stories behind our country. Hats off! Thank you. Susie
Alexis,
This is a fantastic prompt and I really appreciate your poem. I knew so little about Yuri Kochiyama and your poem was so informative and powerful. The refrain of “say her name” pulls her into the present context. And you sent me on a research mission to do my googles and find out more about her, which is something that I believe a good poem or song about an historical figure will do!
I was going to try and use this opportunity to work on a song about Harriet Tubman on the twenty dollar bill, but the day hijacked that plan. Instead, I humbly offer a sonnet about one my favorite historical figures, Ida B. Wells-Barnett.
The Crusader
for Ida B Wells
Born in bondage, she wrought freedom in typeface,
At 4′ 11″–she was towering,
Casting long shadows, taking too much space,
“I dare you”, she’d say to grown men cowering.
Trying to toss her from a white’s only coach,
She kicked and bit before ceding her seat,
Upon her rights, be warned, do not encroach,
Shed innocent blood, then she’d see that you’d bleed,
She’d publish as Lola and owned her own press,
Purging racism in the flames of truth,
Her calls for justice they’d never suppress,
When mobs burned her office, she stayed resolute,
On lynching and suffrage, her voice was feared,
Whilst history’s turned away, she must be revered.
Dave, you speak of an unsung hero that I do not know, What courage Ida must have had! I can picture saying “I dare you!” with clenched teeth. Sadly, we have had so many innocent persecuted.
Dave, I too thought about Harriet Tubman this morning, and then about Harriet Jacobs, and Indira Gandhi, and Malala Yousafi, but stopped at a newfound progressive figure. Ida Wells-Barnett certainly deserves some space here, and your sonnet represents her strength and resolve. I love your introduction:
“At 4′ 11″–she was towering,
Casting long shadows, taking too much space,
“I dare you”, she’d say to grown men cowering.”
The rhythm and rhyme help to emphasize Ida’s active nature.
Dave! You chose another one of my favorite sheros! Ida was FIERCE! I’ll never forget when one of my students learned about her being threatened and the burning of her office and they were so impressed that she never backed down. Your poem speaks to her courage and determination and I’m sure she’s proud of your work! This is the same fight today and that’s why we teach about people like Ida B!
I’ve been nature-focused this month, exploring the outdoors and wanting to help others see how much we have to lose when we don’t take the time to learn and care for our precious resources. So I took this prompt in a bit of a different directions and made the local Torrey Pine tree my historical figure–inspired by a hike at the Torrey Pines State Reserve today. I used an etheree-ish form (couldn’t quite make the syllable count work–so broke the rule, knowingly).
Torrey Pine Trees
Trees
local
Torrey pines
rare beautiful
yet devastated
beetles climate changes drought
atmospheric rivers poured
rain and more rain to start healing
Will they rebound? Can we preserve them?
celebrate appreciate protect our trees
Blog post with photo and more context: https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2023/04/23/15354/
Thanks for teaching me about the precious Torrey Pine. I’m sure you’ve read The Overstory?—your poem took me back to those stories.
Kim, I love how you adapted the prompt for your purpose today. I picture your Torrey pine as a beautiful, strong woman.
Torres Pine Tree can very well be a historic figure. Hope we can preserve these trees, and their strength will help. Thank you for sharing your concerns.
My “wise” iPad corrected Torrey to Torres. ))
Kim — Torrey Pines… I’d heard of them, but didn’t even know there was a Reserve in CA dedicated to them. Trees are our dearest grandmothers…making them prime history material. May the climate change let them survive! And with your poem that helps to protect them. Susie
American Model
She was scandelous,
famous and nude.
Beauty brought success
and she is viewed
by thousands.
We all know her
yet we don’t know her name
but we have seen
her perfect body risen to fame,
sculpted and raised
on the front of buildings.
San Francisco, New York praised.
This world famous model
of the Guilded Age
captivated a nation
when she was put on stage.
The greatest monuments
hold her perfect form
a life of glamour, passion
but a tragic ending, not the norm.
First American movie star
naked to appear
with a drapery so sheer
never hiding perfection
and causing introspection.
You have walked by her
as she stands
atop buildings in New York
and sits outside
where she is eyed
at the Brooklyn Museum
and the Manhattan Bridge
in gold, bronze and stone
her body is shown.
Alone and depressed
mother locked her up.
An insane asylum, the place
where she remained for sixty years
and forgotten without a trace.
Few shed tears
when death filled her cup
took her beautiful body
to an unmarked grave
how shoddy!
She is on fountains,
bridges and churches,
the Capitol of Washington State
Now that you know
she was a person of weight
A person you can’t forget
Please don’t fret
Her name is Audrey Munson.
Alex, thanks. I need to work more on this story. Enjoyed the research.
Susan, the exploitation of Audrey and others is maddening. Thank you for sharing her story here today!
Susan, how heartbreaking this is. Thank you for telling us about her. Sixty years in a facility “forgotten without a trace” 🙁
Susan, I didn’t know about Audrey Munson, but your poem is sending me for some more reading. What a sad story. Thank you for sharing.
Susan — A fascinating bit of history. It makes me wonder about lots of sculpted figures I’ve seen atop building… never knowing who those gowned women were. Your poem reminds me to pay closer attention. Audrey Munson… another name for my list. Susie
Alexis,
I love any prompt that takes us cross-curricular and calls for some research, or trips down rabbit holes.
I had a lengthy list of people that I wanted to write about as I am a history lover. Somehow while researching a hippie protester, I came across the story of MLB player Curt Flood, who played for my beloved Cardinals. I had very minimal understanding of what he did, so down the rabbit hole I went.
A Flood of Injustice
Born in a time of unfairness
Raised wanting improved civil rights
His color was always a factor
But he left his mark due to a different fight
Drafted by the Reds then traded to the Cards
He was property and not really a man
So the money-grubbing owners decided
To do what would draw in more fans.
Not wanting to leave Baseball Heaven
He wanted voice over where he was sent
to be traded to the City of Brotherly Love
He would not give assent.
A lawyer he consulted
To help him fight his fight
Having no power over his future
In no way seemed to be right.
Bucking the Establishment was not advised
The attorney said he’d be black-balled
But when told he could help the future
He wanted to move ahead without stall.
The issue was called the reserve clause
The rights of a player were retained
After the end of the contract
With the franchise the control remained.
Even though the contract was fulfilled
The player was theirs for life
It didn’t make sense to Curt
He was ready to cause a lot of strife.
By doing so, he got hate mail
And even some death threats
Like many others in labor protests
His basic rights had not been met.
A Black man coming of age in the 60s
It was a dream being paid to play a game
Three times making all-star
he even made it to the Cardinal Hall of Fame
Seven Gold Gloves and two World Series rings
And many seasons leading in hits
He left his mark on the game itself
But he’s remembered for giving the owners fits
Flood’s pursuit was indeed pivotal
He didn’t buy that the teams weren’t anti-trust
Labor relations between players and owners
Would no longer be so unjust.
His career killed, his life fell apart
He kicked around Spain
Drank and smoked and carried on
He died at 59 of cancer, in a lot of pain
Before he went off to heaven
The players’ union was prepared to strike
He gave them a rousing pep talk.
Motivating old and young players alike.
His legacy is solid.
He fought for the great good
We might not remember his on field prowess
But we remember the MAN named Curt Flood.
~Susan Ahlbrand
23 April 2023
His epitaph: “Baseball didn’t change Curt Flood. Curt Flood changed baseball.
He fought the good fight.”
Susan, I love the variety of history we are learning today and how important it is to recognize all who have made history and brought us forward. Thank you for sharing.
Susan,
This is an amazing retrospective poem about the player who really ushered in the modern era of baseball where players have more autonomy. The poem itself is fascinating but your journey to your subject matter is just as fascinating! Thank you for your poem!
Susan,
As a life-long Cardinals fan, I remember both Curt Flood’s on field skills and the Supreme Court case that preserved the reserve clause in baseball and denied all professional athletes free agency. It was a major news story at the time. (1972, I think) My dad pitched a fit about it and forecasted the death of baseball. Of course, that didn’t happen. BTW, Flood was traded to Philly and wanted to return to St. Louis but couldn’t because of the reserve clause. I think it’s important to remember the reserve clause applied to all players regardless of race.
I’m sure you remember details; I was just going on the research I did, which explained the St. Louis to Philly trade. Here is the main article that I used with tidbits coming from the dreaded wikipedia!
I was working on this off and on throughout the day as we navigated life visiting our son for his birthday. I wanted to post and was worried that I left out or messed up key details. I know the reserve clause and free agency confuses people and I’m not sure I helped. :-=(
Holy Moses — I LOVED LOVED LOVED Curt Flood. He was one of my all-time faves as a teenager in St. Louis. I cheered him on at many a Cardinals game, sitting in the free seats with my “straight – A” student tickets (LOL!)… even back then, I couldn’t afford to go to the games any other way. He was so fast! Curt Flood and Lou Brock (the famous Brock-a-brella was a staple in my odd-ball collection of teen detritus) were my favorites back in the day. I’m aflush in memories. 🙂 Thank you, Susie
I had the coolest Lou Brock shirt that I wish I still had . . . it said Lou, Lou, Lou Brock’s Base Burglars.
The coolest!
I am just a few credits away from having a history minor, so I love to read histories and historical fiction. The story of this man popped up a week or so ago in an online group I follow, so he came to mind when I read this prompt.
Thomas Barnardo
Born in 1845 Dublin,
he wasn’t expected to live.
His sister kidnapped him from
the wet nurse caring for him
when she found that he was
in deplorable conditions.
He was a staid, religious boy
who rarely smiled
and though he wanted to
study medicine,
he found his calling as a missionary
hoping to go to China.
But a young boy named Jim Jarvis
opened his eyes to the number
of homeless children,
especially boys, in London.
Instead of traveling to China,
he turned his life into a mission
of saving these boys,
and later girls, too.
Though he was not a healthy man
for nearly his entire life,
he dedicated his every waking moment
to tracking down,
educating, helping, feeding,
training them in trades,
and caring for the homeless
children of England.
He quite literally
worked himself to death,
dying of a heart attack at 60.
At the time of his death,
it was estimated he’d saved
60,000 children–
many of whom lined
the streets of London
for his funeral.
His homes are still
operating today.
I learned so much from this poem, Cara. I line that you included his important choice and the influence of Jim Jarvis. It goes to show how any one decision, or person, can change countless peoples’ lives.
Cara, thank you for introducing me to Thomas. I find it fascinating that he saved so many children and I think living to 60 in his generation was probably beyond the expectation so many more lives were saved!
Thanks for sharing Thomas Bernardo with me. What a saint he was!
You say his homes are still operating today. Do they have a name?
They’re still known as Barnardo’s. They are a major charity in England. 🙂
I’m learning so much today! I never heard of Thomas Barnardo, but you tell an awe-inspiring story in your poem. The fact that he saved 60,000 children is mind-blowing.
Cara—I had never heard of his man. 60,000 children saved. Amazing story! Thank you!
Thanks to Georgia Heard for this amazing title. I took it from her fabulous book, How They Croaked: The Awful Ends of the Awfully Famous
You Glow, Girl!
By Mo Daley 4/23/23
Ah, Marie! When did you know?
When you were a devoted scholar
forgetting to eat
and wearing all your clothes to stay warm,
did you know then?
When you donned a navy gown for your wedding
so you could continue to wear it in the lab,
did you know then?
When you separated the pitchblende
and isolated the uranium,
did you know then?
When Pierre was too ill
to pick up your joint Nobel Prize,
Did you know then?
When Pierre, at the age of 46,
stumbled into the street,
likely in a brain fog,
and fell in front of the horse drawn carriage,
did you know then?
When you discovered your first element,
your second element,
were awarded your second Nobel Prize,
did you know then?
When, Marie,
did you know
that your life would be devoted to science
and no one would ever want to be
in the room where it happened
again?
Love the repletion of “did you know”! This was great.
Mo, what a lovely tribute Marie Pasteur. She’s another woman who did her thing in the shadow, but soon outshined him!
Thank You for the amazing poem and history lesson. I didn’t know about all of her accomplishments. 2 Nobel Prizes, wow!
Alexis, thank you for hosting us today. I appreciate the interdisciplinary goal of this prompt.
Attempt for Amna Al Haddad
Amna lifted barriers
women who weight-ed generations
to heave oppression
misogyny, citing religion
unapproved athletic clothing
Amna didn’t bomb out
she hooked it, snatched it
attention at the worlds
Your first two lines are great attention grabbers!
Stefani,
I love that you chose a contemporary woman. Superb play on words: “weight-ed generations”
Love the double meaning in “hooked it, snatched it” to capture the zeitgeist of her achievement and incorporate the sport terminology.
Stefani, I should have known you’d one of the poets to introduce me to someone new! Thanks from bringing his courageous woman to the front where we can see her standing proudly have continued despite the limitations from so many venues!
Stefani, I wish I had read the room of your poem, because you left clues “lifted” and “weight-ed” to help us figure out who Anna is. Thank you for introducing us!
LOVE the “weighted” word play!
Stefani,
This is such a concise, rich poem! I really love those last 2 lines. And the concept of “heaving” oppression. You do so much work in this little poem.
Hello Alexis,
I have always loved the intersection of ELA and history. Your poem about Kochiyama is very interesting. I love the crossed out euphemisms for what actually were “concentration” camps. I truly believe that poetry is the key to immortality, and that people we have lost are reborn through our writing. I chose one of my favorite writers for inspiration.
Desert Solitaire
The room where it happened:
Slickrock desert, red dust,
Burnt cliffs, vast canyons, and pinyon pines.
Edward Abbey,
Defender of the spires and buttes,
Meandering washes,
Gives voice to Hayduke and likeminded saboteurs,
Who pour corn syrup into excavator engines,
Vowing to resist much and obey little.
Earth first!
Echoing the bleak, thin-textured music of the desert,
Apartness, otherness, strangeness,
A-tonal, cruel, inhuman,
Agonized and deeply still.
I am glad you enjoyed the prompt! I agree on writing and immortality. Here’s to us at preserving and immortalizing.
THE CLICK OF DOROTHEA LANGE’S LENS
Just as poets render truth
in carefully chosen words
that lay reality
at the feet of the reader,
so did Dorothea Lange
through the click of her lens,
the stark black and white
of poverty,
broken promises,
loss.
Beauty flushes forth
in the crimson rose
set against a muted canvas,
(snap!)
but how do you convey
the truth of a mother
whose child she cannot feed;
how do you capture
the humanity
in men who lost identity
and gained a place in the bread line?
Polio might have halted Ms. Lange,
but she picked up a camera at 17,
navigated a man’s world,
and let her lens click the stories,
the histories of a country
with mud on its face,
and lies in its pockets.
Books and poems
get burned
and banned,
and the honesty of Lange’s photographs
of Japanese Americans’
banishment to internment camps,
stains on the fabric
of California, to be sure,
but also scars on Utah, Wyoming,
Arkansas, Arizona, Colorado,
and the skin of the politicos
enforcing this atrocity,
were likewise censored, muted —
too honest a testimony?
Occluded, buried out of sight
in the National Archives
for nearly 30 years,
these photos
outlived their commission,
outlived wars,
outlived Dorothea Lange,
outlived the lame excuses
that Americans
can’t handle the truth.
They live to document
our lack of decency,
promise and integrity,
and give us
reason
to write for truth,
photograph for truth,
stand up
for
truth.
Click!
by Susie Morice, April 23, 2023©
Susie, I have always been in awe of Dorothea Lange’s photography. I appreciate how you weave here story in your poem to highlight how impactful her photographs were. “They live to document/our lack of decency, promise and integrity”…WOW! I love how you emphasized how her photographs even outlived her but changed our understanding of history and how many Americans suffered during her time. Incredibly powerful poem!
I have a book about Dorothea that I just loved and you reminded me I want to read more!
Susie,
Dorthea Lang might be the most important woman to pick up a camera. There’s brutal honesty in her photos, even though she posed many. Even as photography has lost its impact in recent years, Lang’s images have not. These questions followed by your answers are ones I’d love to pose to students:
“how do you convey
the truth of a mother
whose child she cannot feed;
how do you capture
the humanity
in men who lost identity
and gained a place in the bread line?”
And these last lines are our clarion call to action: How can we look at images of atrocities and not speak up?
“give us
reason
to write for truth,
photograph for truth,
stand up
for
truth.”
Fantastic poem.
Susie–I love this poem and the work of Dorothea Lange. I love the repetition of the word outlived–and that her photos continue “to render the truth” she documented with the click of her camera.
Susie,
This is so well done! It is such a wonderful tribute to Dorothea Lange. I really appreciate these lines:
Wow! You had me reading because I love the photos of Dorthea Lange. The “click of the lens” is great to “outlive the lame excuses that American can’t handle the truth.” We must be grateful to have her photographs of America.
Susie,
I love her photography and your poem about her! She stood up for truth with images that couldn’t be denied. Wonderful! Thank you for sharing.
Wow, Susie! I’m so glad I came back for one more visit tonight before I went to bed. Your tribute is wonderful! These lines—these photos
outlived their commission,
outlived wars,
outlived Dorothea Lange,
outlived the lame excuses
that Americans
can’t handle the truth.
….and then the final Click! Loved this!
Oh, how I have always loved Dorothea Lange’s photography! My students learn about her during our study of Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry as they see impacts the Depression Era had on sharecroppers and formerly enslaved people. Your poem honors Dorothea Lang, surely she’s proud! I’m so grateful her photographs “outlived the lame excuses that Americans can’t handle the truth.”
Powerhouse of an ending, Susie! 🔥💥🔥💥🔥💥🔥💥
I really like this prompt. I love history. I decided early this morning who I’d write about, but I struggled with how to write my poem today. Also, I’m a big fan of Hamilton, the musical. Excellent mentor text. Love the use of the strike through to show changes in language.
Votes for ^ Women
Black
HQB didn’t merit a sidebar
or
even a footnote
or
a *see also*
or
*additional reading*
in the american pageant textbook
circa whenever
might as well shake the etch-a-sketch
let
sand
smooth
surfaces
who needs to learn a
black suffragette’s fight?
votes
for
women
they tear that history
down
south of the mason-dixon
line
she tore
down a
plan to
install a
mammy
statue in
washington d. c.
shake the
etch-a-sketch
erase that
writing
blot out
confederate
mythology
true
tell the ^ history
Chapter Questions: Answer the following in complete sentences:
of
these homespun heroines?
in
the american pageant?
CORRECT ANSWERS:
Hallie Quinn Brown
Hallie Quinn Brown
—Glenda Funk
April 23, 2023
*Brown wrote a book called HOMESPUN HEROINES about other black women fighting for equality.
Source:
How Black Suffragists Fought for the Right to Vote and a Modicum of Respect | The National Endowment for the Humanities
Glenda, I love the questions you ask at the end of your poem. Who is writing the history should be an essential question. I like the repetition to answer those questions. Your etch-a-sketch imagery is fantastic. Outstanding poem. It should be published in the front of a history book for an opening discussion.
Wowza! Glenda — you hammered this one beautifully! Just BOOM, got that voice of your right on the paper. I love the inserted words! The sense of “tearing down” and the formatting of the poem really fits just great. And that voice of yours… “confederate mythology”… indeed! I’m tellin’ ya, the whole mess of the yay-hoos like the miserable lot here in Missouri who are too afraid of the truth to let our schools teach the truth is going to bite ’em in the arse before this fight is over. Your poem … SHARE IT far and wide, my friend. Make ’em “uncomfortable” with the truth. Yes! Love, Susie
Oh, Glenda, you make magic and learning happen in your poems. I’m off reading about Hallie Quinn Brown and The American Pageant History book. I love the Q&A format and the carets adding words:
Excellent poem!
There are so many fantastic lines and pieces in this writing! I absolutely loved all of it-but especially your ending, and the title with the insert of Black, and all of your word and line play!
Wow Glenda, I’m learning so much today about all of these phenomenal people. I loved learning that she tore down a “mammy statue.” I loved your etch-a sketch analogy too. Thanks and terrific job !
Glenda,
Thank you for the education. I love the references to etch-a-sketch.
Alexis, as a collector of forgotten stories and people, I love this prompt, and I loved learning about Yuri Kochiyama. I knew the name but very little about her. What I liked most of all was your claiming her name and the truth of “internment camps”. I love that her “eyes were opened and her voice bloomed.” For myself, I have been trying to tell the story of John Peter Zenger (his trial greatly influenced our thoughts on Freedom of Speech) and your mentor poem was a challenge to try hip-hop. Unfortunately Lin-Manuel I am not, so it will be back to the drawing board…but below you’ll find proof of my efforts. Thanks for this wonderful prompt.
Winter so cold
rivers turned to ice
and the shivering birds
froze in flight.
John Peter asks, how will we get by?
Do your best, tell the truth
and God will provide.
Invaders in the homeland,
nothing left to eat,
time to move again,
searching for peace.
Good-bye small brick church.
good-bye village streams,
John Peter and his family
are following their dreams.
They board a crowded
wooden ship,
they cross the choppy sea—
John Peter and his family
just want to be free.
Rats gnaw and scrabble,
there’s a sickness from the sway—
so much dying, so much crying
and so few left to pray.
A family of five becomes
a family of four—
John Peter and his mother,
his sister,
and his brother
arrive bereft upon the shore.
How will we get by?
Do your best, tell the truth,
God will provide.
Eight long years a printer’s apprentice,
but a new wife and a new shop proves momentous.
Alas, the Governor’s a bully
dressed in royal tails.
Careful what you print or you’ll rot in jail!
Stick to printing sermons,
JP tells himself,
holy books and math books
that sit upon a shelf.
And yet, without a voice,
he thinks, how can I be free?
This is now my home,
and this time I won’t flee!
COLONISTS READ AND LEARN
The governor doesn’t tell the truth
and claims gold he does not earn.
HONEST PRINTER ARRESTED!
Ten long months in a cold dark cell,
sneaking notes through a jailhouse door—
ten long months his wife, Anna,
inks and prints them all.
PRINTER BROUGHT TO COURT
DEFENDED BY ANDREW HAMILTON
Power is like a river,
the famous lawyer posed,
Beneficial within its bounds,
treacherous when it overflows.
Yes it is agains the law
to chide the ruler
and disturb the peace,
but dear jurors,
what choice have we
when the ruler lies and cheats?
Without liberty to speak the truth,
how can we be free?
HOOZAH! HOOZAH! JURY AGREES
HONEST PRINTER FINALLY FREE!
Our liberty itself will be suppressed
without true freedom of the press!
Ann! Lin-Manuel, move over! This is every bit as rhythmic and potent as the raps of Hamilton! Well, it competes! I loved the whole darn thing. The rhymes and rhythmics were spot-on and witty. Totally, wonderful piece of history and art! Susie
Agree with Susie-you nailed this! It’s powerful and reads so wonderfully. Your bolded lines are brilliant.
Alexis, thank you for this wonderful prompt. I did not write a historical poem, but I wrote the poem I needed to write today. Thank you!
Dear students,
Welcome to room 131, the room where it happens.
When you are absent, I miss you.
I prepare your work, so that it will be ready for you when you return.
I have lesson plans ready each day. I create assignments
And copy them or post them for you.
I read ahead and cue up audio books to just the right spot.
I incorporate relevant, and I think interesting, articles and videos.
I explain things like commas and conflict and characters,
Flat and round and static and dynamic.
I email you and sometimes your parents, if you need to step it up.
When you need help, I work with you. (This is my favorite part).
If you need a reference for NHS or for a summer camp or for a job,
I write it for you.
I try to keep the classroom neat and tidy,
We have a large classroom library
And tasteful decorations.
Like you, I have a life outside of school.
I have a husband and a dog,
And enjoy spending quality time at home.
An hour’s walk with Millie does me wonders.
A nice meal with my husband and
A Netflix show or two are relaxing.
I have two boys who are grown but still need
A mom to listen to them, offer support,
And celebrate their accomplishments.
I have aunts who helped raise me,
They will not be around forever, so
Visits with them are precious.
I have get-togethers with in-laws and friends.
I go to concerts and college football games
And fund-raising activities.
I am active in my church and
In my community.
I write poetry and practice
My German skills.
Oh, and I have a house to keep up with
Flowers in the spring,
Repairs to be made,
Clothes to be washed
Dishes to be put away.
On top of all of that is grading.
Please, be patient when it takes
Me a while to grade your 250 word
Essay. Remember, if all of you complete your work,
That is over 33,250 words to read,
Evaluate, and assign a number to.
On top of all of this is my own mental health.
You have never heard me yell at you
Or use inappropriate language or throw
A hissy fit.
Believe me, sometimes I want to.
Here’s how you can help me help you.
Please, use school-appropriate language,
An inside voice, your manners.
Please pick up after yourself, wipe your feet,
Clean up your mess.
Please, do your own work, try your best,
And make yourself proud.
Your learning, your grade, your success
Is SO not about me,
But all of us working together sure makes it easier.
Always love a good letter to students, this was lovely. Great writing!
Katrina,
I love this, Bravo 👏🏾 👏🏾Thank you for explaining our lives to our students so eloquently, precisely, and with respect. You’ve insired me to write my own letter soon to my students. I love that you made it about them then gave equal time to yourself.
I would like
to thank you
armadillo
or chipmunk
or dolphin
dinosaur
or elephant
or koala
thank you
slow loris
or Kraken
or jackalope
what I’m
trying to say
is thank you
nameless
Google engineer
who decided
ten years ago
to give us
Anonymous
Animals
as avatars
when working
with others
on a shared doc
the article
didn’t have
your actual
name
so, again,
I’ll just say
thank you
liger
or lemur
or wombat
chupacabra
or alligator
or coyote
dingo
or camel
or grizzly
(you get
the idea)
_______________________________________________
Alexis, thank you for having us delve into history today! I really enjoyed your mentor poem about Yuri Kochiyama. The strikethrough in the line “Relocation center, Internment camp, Concentration camp” and the flow of the lines “Fought side by side / And was by his side / As he lay on his side / When he said goodbye” were my favorite moments!
My personal preference is the chupacabra. But jackalopes are also ice…
…ice—or nice…
Scott,
This is great! It reminds me of taking attendance during quarantine. “Thanks for the great comment, Thumbnail of Kanye!” “Big Bird, you have a question?” The chat room where it happened!
The chat room where it happened!
hahaha this poem is everything. I loved it! My students are always so freaked out if they see one of these anonymous animals.
Aaaa! This is genius, Scott! I thought about the person whose idea that was once or twice, but never about devoting a poem to this human being. Thank you for making me smile.
I celebrate Dorothy Cotton
Who cannot be forgotten
During her brave life
She was considered MLK Jr.’s other wife
A part of the SCLC
She wanted liberation and people free
Her high school teacher, Rosa Gray
Taught Dorothy to speak up and say
Speaking what was on her mind
Strong elocutioner, also kind
Righteous warrior, pioneer
Courageous lady without fear
Director of Student Activities at Cornell
Giving speeches, she would tell
A major force in civil rights
She walked the talk and fought the fights
She sang gospel, had a beautiful voice
In this medium she did rejoice
After her passing at eighty-eight
People in Ithaca did create
A Chorus called Dorothy Cotton Jubilee
Spiritual singing for all to see
Jennifer, your poem does a magnificent job of showing Dorothy Cotton’s legacy. I love the adjectives you use to describe her, and what she wanted to accomplish. Loved “She walked the talk and fought the fights”. Wonderful poem!
Loved this! You did a great job at honoring her and bringing her story forward.
Thank you for introducing me to Dorothy Cotton. Why is she considered MLK’s other wife? Was she a mistress? You did a great job with the rhymes and telling her story. A tribute!
Alexis, thank you for this opportunity. It was a challenge for me and stretched me. Your poem on Yuri Kochiyama fired up some synapse paths that haven’t been used in a while. The refrain of “Say her name” emphasizes her importance in history. The mention of Puerto Ricans at the Statue of Liberty in 1977 reminded me of the poet Julia de Burgos and her tragic ending.
To Julia de Burgos
Born in 1914.
Oldest of 13.
University graduate at 19.
Married at 20.
Separated at 23.
When she divorced,
she took back her
maiden name:
Julia de Burgos
meaning,
Julia of myself.
She then forged
her own route.
Poetisa puertorriqueña,
Puerto Rican Nationalist,
fierce women’s advocate,
recognizable activist,
ethereal nihilist,
self-proclaimed Rocinante,
el río grande de loíza dreamer,
unmistakable starburst.
In 1954, upon foreign
Spanish Harlem streets,
la poetisa collapsed
and was buried
on Hart’s Island,
unidentified.
Rachelle,
“la poetisa” sounds and looks beautiful in this poem, sending the message “of myself” in every utterance of Burgos. And what fantastic phrase “unmistakable starburst” identified in this verse if not on Hart’s Island. Thank you.
Sarah
Rachelle! I got chills reading this poem, first when I read “Julia de Burgos/meaning, Julia of myself.” and then when I read the last stanza, and found out she was buried “on Hart’s Island, unidentified.” I’m off now to learn more about her. Thank you for this gift of a poem!
Oh wow! This definitely makes me want to learn more about Julia. Your ending was heartbreaking.
Rachelle,
I hear the kids talking about her poetry, but I haven’t read much myself or heard her history. Thank you for exposing me to reasoning why her poetry is as dark as it is. Her end reminds me a bit of Zora Neale Hurston’s–fabulously talented, but before her time, so forgotten late in life. Hurston was also buried in an unmarked grave until Alice Walker found it and marked it many years later.
I’m imagining a conversation between Booker T. Washington and myself..….
I’ve noticed the tall mahogany-colored man walking around
the campus many times. Someone told me it was the founder
of the school, Booker T. Washington. I googled his picture on my
phone and realized it was him! Today I decided to
slow down and approach him to inquire about his history.
“I was born a slave in Virginia, then the war between the
states finally ended, Lincoln did his thing and we were freed.”
“What made you come down here to Alabama?” I asked.
“Well, I heard I could come down here and get my reparations,
my 40 acres and a mule. I met dozens of former slaves and
most of them didn’t know how to farm, grow food, care for
livestock, read, write, heal people or animals, care for children,
build structures or recognize the need for education.”
“So,” he continued, ” after leaving Hampton University in Virginia,
my Alma Mater, I came here and founded Tuskegee Normal and
Industrial Institute with a teaspoon of money.”
“Was it challenging to recruit teachers?”, I asked as we
passed a miniature pond on campus. Three other
students saw us chatting and decided to join our walk
along the luscious emerald grass near the Engineering Buildings.
“No”, he continued, “the teachers were happy to receive pennies a
day AND be able to educate students in their area of expertise.
I created a family type of community where teachers
were also students at times.We accepted young people as long as
they were 16 years old and Colored.”
“How did you get these buildings built?” one of the students asked.
“We learned how to make bricks, how to temper the clay and dirt
and let them dry for days. Then we built the school, a brick
at a time. It took a few years to create the foundational
buildings and recruit excellent instructors, but I did it.”
“What are you most proud of?” I asked him.
“When I founded Tuskegee, on July 4, 1881, I had 100
acres of plain farmland. Now my school sits on 5,000
acres with more than 100 buildings. I never could have
imagined that. I’ve advised a few Presidents about
the fate of Colored folks and had a few public conversations
with WEB DuBois. You’ve probably heard about that. Alright students,
I have to leave you now. It’s time for my weekly meeting with
Mr. George Washington Carver at his museum over there. ”
He pointed to the Carver Museum that sits near the university entrance.
“Thank you Sir for chatting with us,” we all said.
He turned, waved and walked away.
Seana,
The structure of this poem is brilliant, and thank you for the image, too.
This line in particular struck me: “acres of plain farmland. Now my school sits on 5,000″. And then I am also thinking about the charter school trying to take over land at Stacey’s school. Makes me wonder what kind of words BTW would have for them.
And great closure with this line: “He turned, waved and walked away.” Love the alliteration.
Sarah
Thank you Sarah!
Seana, Booker T. Washington is here! Wow, you’ve written a phenomenal experience. I think you and Denise should use your poems as introductions/motivational lesson launchers on BTW and Dr. Carver.
Your lines about teacher recruitment are powerful because look at what we are dealing with today. What does it take today to recruit and nurture and KEEP teachers?
Thank you for this beautiful journey!
Thank you Stacey ! Today it takes a great deal more, as you know to keep and nurture teachers. Thanks for the encouragement. Can’t wait to read yours.
Seana, oh, my goodness. I love this so much, especially after the poem I wrote today.
Oh, how our nation could be different if this would have happened: “Well, I heard I could come down here and get my reparations,
my 40 acres and a mule.”
What a phrase: “with a teaspoon of money” Amazing storytelling here, Seana.
Thanks Denise. I thoroughly enjoyed your poem too. We shared some incredible history today.
Love the conversational style!
Thank You !
Seana,
I didn’t have a chance to get to your poem yesterday, but thank you for taking us on a walk with Booker T Washington! The narrative is so good and sounds so natural! I had a good laugh about the “Public conversations with WEB DuBois”!
Thanks Dave. As you know, those conversations were legendary.
Thank you, Alexis, for today’s inspiration. I teaching a workshop with early childhood teachers on ‘engineering with recyclables’ and came across this fabulous picture book, The World Is Not a Rectangle: A Portrait of Architect Zaha Hadid” by Jeanette Winter. I am fascinated by Zaha Hadid’s extraordinary designs, and how she broke many barriers – and dispensed with many ‘norms’ of architecture. The title of my poem is a quote by Zaha Hadid.
“my work is not with the accepted box”
make way in history for Zaha Hadid
architect, artist, female, Iraqi
who refused to stop for patriarchy
pursued her vision relentlessly
“the world is not a rectangle” to see,
and she designed as nature deemed
exploring lines of sky and sea
creating buildings with fluidity
others insisted there were boundaries
but she simply gave these no heed
a strong wind will blow dunes freely
and, to feast on sun, so bends a tree
flowing with resolve and creativity
eyes upon nature, she built her dreams
Love this, Maureen!
Maureen, I like how the couplets lend themselves to Zaha Hadid’s story. I am glad I know her story and her philosophy, “the world is not a rectangle” to see, / and she designed as nature deemed” will continue to inspire any who encounter this poem!
Maureen,
You created quite the song for Hadid in these couples. Such musicality within the structures like the architecture of her work. I love these lines:
others insisted there were boundaries
but she simply gave these no heed
Your words, Hadid’s life will fortify me this week!
Sarah
Maureen, it’s an act of liberation when a woman pursues her dreams, despite the culture telling her otherwise. I’m so glad she does what she enjoys doing without hesitation or suppression.
Maureen,
Love, love, love your poem today. The title is perfection. I echo Brian’s comment, but I also love these lines:
“the world is not a rectangle” to see,
and she designed as nature deemed”
My favorite architectural styles are those that fit into the landscape naturally. Now I need to research Hadid.
Oh, my goodness, I just did an image search for Zaha Hadid buildings. Amazing! You have captured them with your words:
How neat that she has made building art not following the “accepted rectangle” Brave!
Wow, Maureen, I love learning about Zaha Hadid in your poem which flows like a beautiful poem. One so deserving of all Hadid created. I love how you use a quote from her to shape the title. Your second to last stanza is stunning: “a strong wind will blow dunes freely
and, to feast on sun, so bends a tree” Fantastic poem!
Maureen, thank your for bringing light to the beautiful buildings of Zaha Hadid through the your flowing couplets like:
“a strong wind will blow dunes freely
and, to feast on sun, so bends a tree”
Hi Alexis,
I am a fan of Yuri Kochiyama and my 5th graders first learn about her in 4th grade when they read The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I love that I teach in a school where we intentionally center the truth and bring the untold stories to light. I love these lines:
I went down a rabbit hole because I wanted to write about so many people. Thus, my poem doesn’t have the flow I wanted and reads more like a school announcement. Ugggh. I might work on it another day but for now, it’s what I offer.
Truth Seekers
Mother of desegregation and homeschooling
Elizabeth Thorn Scott Flood
Opened her home to teach
Her Black son and other Black,
Native American, and Asian students too
1854 Sacramento, California
Courageous women impacted history
Writer, teacher, activist for women’s rights
Anna Julia Haywood Cooper
Published in 1892
A Voice from the South by a Black Woman of the South
Fourth African American woman to earn a Doctorate of Philosophy
1924 Paris, France
Courageous geniuses impacted history
Pioneer of the civil rights movement
Claudette Colvin
Nine months before Rosa
Refused to give up her seat
15 year-old dark skinned activist arrested
1955 Montgomery, Alabama
Waited 40 years to tell her story
Courageous girls impacted history
History, a kaleidoscope of humanity
america, the truth steadily seeks the light
ⓒStacey L. Joy, 4/23/23
Stacey, thank you for giving us three small windows of learning! I love knowing the names of these amazing women, their powerful actions. “the truth steadily seeks the light” – yes!
Stacey, although this poem doesn’t “sound” the way you want it to, the message is loud and clear (and I wouldn’t know any difference if you hadn’t mentioned it in your opening). I like the way you carefully tie these stories together with “america, the truth steadily seeks the light” which evokes such beautiful imagery. The “arc of injustice is long” indeed, so thanks for sharing about these truth seekers and shining that light.
Stacey,
I can see and hear Flood, Cooper, and Colvin in you and your teacher-friend-activist marching for a more just education, for your school property, for your students, for teachers. Courageous women-girls, indeed. Thank you for offering this poem as a witness to what is possible.
Peace,
Sarah
Stacey,
Im on a mission to learn today, and your poem has increased my knowledge. Love the title and all these dates. Beautiful line:
“History, a kaleidoscope of humanity”
Stacey, I love the historical details of each of these women you celebrate in your amazing poem. Your ending reference to “a kaleidoscope of humanity” is powerful, and I sure hope America is steadily seeking the truth. Lately, our world seems a bit turned upside down. I love your title! Fantastic poem!
Stacey… YES, more incredible women that I needed to know about. I so appreciate the histories of these women. After today is all finished, I think there will be a mountain of new reading I have to do to learn more about all these folks. At awards shows, the celebrities always manage to make the comment that they “stand on the shoulder of…” Well, here you have it… women have ALWAYS been the powerhouses of change and protest, and voices that needed to be heard. Thank you for an important poem illuminating truth. Hugs, Susie
Stacey, what a great school announcement! I want to learn more about all three, and maybe you’ll work on it someday and have a whole book of truth seeker poems. This last line gives me hope because I know it’s true. More people will seek the light than put it under a bushel:
Pro-War Propaganda Pantoum
the first story televised blamed the Taliban
exploiting his death to aid the war drive
the true story hidden was Ranger friendly fire
a nation stealing courage in soldier caricature
exploiting his death to aid the war drive
posthumous Silver Star pinned on coffin
a nation stealing courage in soldier caricature
ashes of fact scatter his burned military journal
posthumous Silver Star pinned on coffin
the first story televised blamed the Taliban
ashes of fact scatter his burned military journal
the true story hidden was Ranger friendly fire
https://www.zinnedproject.org/news/tdih/football-star-pat-tillman-killed-in-afghanistan/
“a nation stealing courage in soldier caricature”, “ashes of fact scatter[ed]”.. So much truth in so few words..
“a nation stealing courage in soldier caricature” – ugh! I remember this story. It is very depressing how truth was manipulated here; thank you for this spotlight.
Sarah,
I remember this story and the mythology used to martyr Tillman and justify an unjust war. I really like the Pantoum form here to emphasize the anti-war ideas. I never supported the war and took a lot of flak for that in the early 2000s.
“ashes of fact scatter his burned military journal” gives testimony to the power of writing. Recently I’ve seen Tillman resurrected on social media where once again lies about his legacy echo, particularly about the LGBTQI community.
OH my gosh! This is a real kicker of a poem, Sarah. Whoof! The repetition of the “caricature” line is so on-point. Propaganda is that repeated line of baloney, and you have used that to throw it right back in the face of the “blamers/exploiters.” Fine, fine poem! “Ashes of fact..” oooo, yeah! Such a sad and terrible story. Hugs, Susie
Sarah, wow, I remember this story in real time. Thank you for reminding us of this propaganda. This is so heartbreaking:
Sarah, your pantoum is a perfect vehicle to share the truth behind Pat Tillman’s story. It’s amazing how events can be skewed to manipulate a nation. Loved your word choices throughout your poem such as “nation stealing courage in soldier caricature/exploiting his death to aid the war drive”. I’m sure we lost more men to friendly fire than will ever be revealed. Powerful poem!
Sarah, thank you for this powerfully written pantoum. The structure of the poem illustrates the multi-layered tragedy of this event. Thank you for sharing hard truth.
Thank you, Alexis! I learned so much! My granddaughter was named Valentina when she was born last September. At the time her mother mentioned that the first woman in space was named Valentina, so I used this poem prompt to learn more about her!
I used Lin-Manuel Miranda’s song as my mentor text, and I can say with assurance I am not a rap writer! Still, it was fun!
Valentina Tereshkova
My name is Valentina TereshkovaAnd at twenty-six I flew in space
All by myself, by my, self.
Before she flew, she worked the line
Textile mill, buying time–bright as a thousand kilowatt
Joined up to be a Cosmonaut
Circling the globe forty-eight ways in three days
Youngest woman, only one to solo blaze
Major General, engineer, flight instructor, Communist
member of the Areo Club and parachutist
socialism apologist
started school at age of ten, at 17 she finished up
recruited when the race to space was heating up dreaming up
ways to win the next go-round, searched and found
400 women, sized just right for spaceship tight
58 made the first cut, then 23 and guess what?
The final five were trained for flight
Valentina Tereshkova
Valentina TereshkovaOn June 16 in ‘63
On Vostok 6 made history.
Allison–such skillful rhyming and beat in this poem. Wonderful! I had never heard this story before.-what a namesake!
Hi,Alison,you reminded me of growing up in the Soviet Union, where Valentina Tereshkova’s name was known to each school student, and all the girls dreamed to grow up like her. Thank you for this generous tribute to the first woman cosmonaut.
I truly enjoy the Lin-Manuel Miranda vibe of your poetry – and I am fascinated that this astronaut was first working in a textile mill. That is – wow – quite a transition, I think.
Allison,
Great choice to use first person here. Feels so intimate, a proclamation, too in that opening stanza.
And then this structure of before, then, and after — the story of what’s possible and a story of opportunity.
Thanks for tell us Valentina’s story.
Peace,
Sarah
Well, Allison, you may have another career ahead of you… history rapper… well, okay…. LOL! I loved it and said it out loud to verify that is just plain fun. And I really loved that you know more to share with the grand baby when she’s ready for her spot in history to be rapped out in song. 🙂 Makes me smile to think of you doing this…perhaps sing it while playing the accordion on the unicycle! Now, there’s a show! Sell tickets! Hugs, Susie
Allison, wow, I have learned so much by reading your poem, and what a fun one to read. i love the sounds you’ve created and the details you’ve shared. I love how you reach your final celebratory end! Marvelous poem!
Alexis, thank you for sharing Lin-Manuel Miranda’s “Alexander Hamilton” as a mentor. Wow. This prompt would have so much traction in so many subjects. I love it. Thank you for introducing me to Yuri Kochiyama. And I love that you said to say her name. I just said it to my husband and we talked about her, as he hadn’t heard of her before either. Thank you. The rhythm clips along in your poem, steady, strong and effective, like in:
Hello Alexis, Today I’m repurposing a poem written during VERSELOVE a few years ago when we were asked to imagine having a conversation with a poet from the past and write about it. I wrote about Phillis Wheatley, and enslaved young lady, who you know was taken to court because Bostonians thought she was publishing “classic” poetry written by some else. She had learned Greek and Latin sitting in on lessons with her enslaver’s family. They questioned her in the languages, and she could answer them!
BTW, I’ll be “performing” this poem at our Kent County Poetry Slam this week! So, it’s fresh in my mind.
This is the advice I “heard in the room” as Phillis was awaiting the judgment or verdict after the trial.
Phillis Wheatley Told Me
When they challenge your intellect,
Girl, fight back!
When they said, “You didn’t write that?”
I said, “Really! What does it lack?”
They shouted right back.
“It’s because you’re black.
Blacks can’t write like that!”
“Oh yeah!” I said.
(Maybe not just like that.)
“Watch my smoke
You better stay woke
‘Cause I’m not through
With you — or with you!”
I kept on writing, as I hope you do, too.
They’ll believe when they see
Your intellect shine through,
That melanin is only a color of skin,
Not indicative at all of what you can do.
So, just keep on writing.
And when you’re through,
They’ll have to acknowledge
What you truly did do!
When they challenge your intellect,
Girl, fight back!
When they said, “You didn’t write that?”
I said, “Really! What does it lack?”
From the first stanza, I feel the energy of her intellect–and yours.. Inspiring story–I would love to hear you read it!
So much strength and joy in these lines!! Go, Phillis! Best wishes in your poetry slam – know it will be just awesome!
Oh Maureen, I’m not a competitor but one of the judges. They ask us judges to do a warm-up to help the student relax before the competition begins!
Anna, Phillis is beyond proud right now! I’m sure she was with you as you composed this incredible poem!
💜We will keep writing!!!
Anna — I love how strong your voice is in this poem. I love Phillis Wheatley…and liked thinking about her through each line. “Watch my smoke” made me smile especially. 🙂 Yes, “keep on writing.” [Fist pump] Susie
Anna, what a great person to teach us about today. I love this stanza:
Wow, Alexis, I have been on a history adventure! I was reading about one of my favorite people, definitely my favorite artist/scientist/teacher, George Washington Carver. This morning, I also saw a tweet by Stacey Joy about the amazing 1619 Freedom School in Iowa. I used to be a proud member of Iowa’s education system, but lately changes there are making me sad. However, where there vision, there is always hope. (Is anyone else doing the 2-Day Poetry Contest? This will be my entry for that too.)
——————————–
George Washington Carver Comes Back to Iowa in 2023
Headline: Carver Comes Back
Waterloo-Cedar Falls Courier: George Washington Carver, scientist, botanist, inventor, artist, and educator of the early twentieth century, time traveled to Waterloo, Iowa, where today he visited the 1619 Freedom School and the George Washington Carver Academy. Later he will travel to Indianola and Ames.
He didn’t remember learning the gravity of 1619,
but he knew McGuffey readers
and slates and slavery.
Today’s children have a place to learn,
learn the truth about human enslavement.
And those colors on the murals—
so bold, so brisk, so bright!
The art teacher showed him acrylic paints;
He longed to clasp and squeeze each tube.
The first middle grade STEM magnet school
in Iowa had his name out front.
Dozens of brown and black-skinned children
greeted him, not like when he was in school
in Missouri and Kansas, and even here in Iowa.
He closed his eyes and rubbed them,
the phosphenes fireworked behind his eyes,
deep recesses of memory appeared.
“Where there is no vision, there is no hope.”
he read over the doorway
of a science room at Simpson College,
where he saw his name on a plaque
(and a building.) And so many students!
Students set about to quiz the professor
on life and learnings in the late 19th century.
Differences between then and now
kept materializing, they seemed to him
as wide as the distance between
the abyssalpelagic depths of the Mariana Trench
and the intergalactic reaches to infinity and beyond.
Ah, but the squirrels gadding about on the grounds
of Iowa State’s campus made him smile, they were the same.
What really brought him here? What science?
What magic had to transpire to concatenate this syzygy?
In any case, maybe tomorrow
he’ll Uber over to Diamond Grove,
where he grew up with Moses and Susan.
He heard about a National Monument there.
Then he’d go on to Tuskegee, Alabama,
and spend time in the farm classrooms
with students and catch up on history.
What a marvelous ride of imagination here, Denise! Wouldn’t he be stunned to see all the places named after him? I love all the scientific wonder you weave into your lines –
Denise, what a powerful poem and journey with Dr. Carver! I am grateful that the Tweet inspired you. Your poem is so rich with history and science that I can imagine it being used in an intro to learning more about Dr.Carver.
Love the language!
Thank you for honoring Dr. Carver! 🖤
Denise,
There are a lot of syllables in these well-crafted lines that have me reading aloud and consulting the dictionary for further edification:
the abyssalpelagic depths of the Mariana Trench
and the intergalactic reaches to infinity and beyond.
Ah, but the squirrels gadding about on the grounds
of Iowa State’s campus made him smile, they were the same.
I just love the contrast between intergalactic and squirrels, then the grounding of it all on campus. Nice!
Sarah
Denise,
Have you visited the George Washington Carver monument in Diamond, Missouri? It’s a few miles from where an aunt and uncle lived when I was a kid, and I liked to ride my bike along the country roads there. There’s a lovely nature path at the monument. It winds through the woods.
I love these lines in your poem that emphasize various distances:
“Differences between then and now
kept materializing, they seemed to him
as wide as the distance between
the abyssalpelagic depths of the Mariana Trench
and the intergalactic reaches to infinity and beyond.”
I had fun reading your poem and recalling the GWC monument.
I have not been to Diamond, Missouri, though I should have. It seemed when we were getting to Missouri from Iowa, we only went as far as Kansas City and St. Louis. Now it’s even farther away, but I would love to see the National Monument in his honor.
Denise, you’ve captured so much of George Washington Carver’s life in your poem. I appreciate how you use a bit of magic to have this whole event occur. Governor Reynolds is our biggest problem with education right now. It is very sad to see the way things have shifted in the last few years in Iowa. Carver had a lot on his plate when he taught at Tuskegee, but I marvel at how much he was able to accomplish during his lifetime. I almost wrote about him today, too, so I was so happy to see you’ve captured his legacy in your poem and in such a creative way!
Denise, thanks so much for “highlighting” this dear man. My family is from this area of Tuskegee and multiple family members have served in various roles at Tuskegee Institute, now University. My second cousin was a Dean of the Tuskegee Chapel, there after serving in multiple roles at Anderson University. And not surprisingly, GWC’s biography is one I alluded to in my poem earlier this week. Wow! This group amazes me by the ways our “lives” intersect through our poetry.
Anna, now I’m going back to find that poem. What a cool legacy your family has in Tuskegee.
Denise, you and I had like minds today. Thanks for taking us on this futuristic journey with this brilliant scientist. I love the idea that present-day students got to sit with him and ask questions/learn/listen/absorb. Brilliant !!
Alexis, thank you for this prompt (I think). I have Hamilton in my head now, and I went down the rabbit hole searching for specific Charlie Parker information. But, really, I can see myself using this with my students in so many ways. Thanks!
Charlie Parker
Charlie Parker played Bebop
Musical genius – the top
Turned the world of jazz around
Effects still are felt and found
Off-beat accents and syncopation
Addicted to drugs and libation
Practiced up to 15 hours a day
Goodness could that “Yardbird” really play
Self-taught genius – innovator
An alto sax motivator
Played beats against the metric grain
His innovations still remain
Charlie lived hard and played hard too
At thirty-four his life was through
Moment to moment in excess
Yet he wrote a new jazz Lexus
Charlie Parker played Bebop
Musical genius – the top
Turned the world of jazz around
Effects still are felt and found
Beautiful! I love Charlie Parker – Chris Raschka has a wonderful story book with this very title, “Charlie Parker played Bebop”…I particularly like your honest line, “Charlie lived hard and played hard too”
Rita,
You played this one well with the meter, nurturing musicality throughout. Loved this stanza’s rhythm in particular with the rhyme scheme:
Charlie Parker played Bebop
Musical genius – the top
Turned the world of jazz around
Effects still are felt and found
And thanks for the video!
Peace,
Sarah
Rita, I love the musicality of your poem and all you’ve captured about Charlie Parker’s talent and problems. It’s amazing to read about how much musicians accomplished during their lifetime especially when they often faced incredible adversities and racist behaviors as they performed and traveled. Very effective form today, too, to share his story. Thanks for the YouTube link:) Powerful poem!
Rita, thank you for sharing this bopping poem with us. I love the repetition of the first and last stanzas, very fitting. It was good to read again at the end. I am enjoying listening to Charlie Parker now. How sad that he had such a short lifetime for his art. Great rhythm and rhyme–perfect form for your subject.
Alexis, I love your poem and how your delete line adds so much insight about the truth of the Japanese internment camps. I like how you have her name said at the end of your poem. This is such a great prompt for students. Thank you for sharing your amazing poem.
Alexis, thanks for hosting today and for this offer to dig into history. My subject was born in Pennsylvania but moved to Iowa in 1942 at the age of 16. He graduated from law school at the age of 58. His legend is well known in Muscatine, Iowa, but not so much elsewhere. There were a lot of other details I wanted to add, but I decided to focus on a nonet today.
Alexander Clark, Advocate for All
Alexander’s fight: drop the word white
sued local school board when his niece
couldn’t enter town’s high school
won a supreme court rule
Iowa’s black men
vote: children learn—
Alex Clark’s
fight for
rights
Barb Edler
23 April 2023
Barb, thank you for sharing the background information about Alexander Clark. I loved your poem and its format. Your words have inspired me to search for more information about Alexander and learn about a man I just met today.
Barb–we so often don’t hear about the “small” victories–which are not at all small. Alex Clark deserves our attention–thank you!
Your nonet has just enough to whet my appetite for more, more, more on his incredible advocacy – wow: “Alexander’s fight: drop the word white” Fantastic, Barb!
Barb,
Thanks for this Alexander Clark nonet! You created lovely music in these lines as you teach us a bit about your home state’s “fight for/rights” while still holding onto the incensed tone of injustice. We are still crying out for “vote: children learn” today!
Sarah
Barb,
Thank you for teaching me about another unsung hero! You taught a ton in only 9 lines! You’re incredible.
Barb, I love the form! His fight is worthy ~ to belong to the human race is all we need to know to enjoy the rights that all should have. I love what you’ve done here in bringing a local historical figure to the forefront.
Barb,
I love what Clark did and appreciate learning this history. My favorite thing about your poem is the form, the descending lines growing shorter as though to direct my attention to the removal of “white” from the Iowa constitution. Brilliant craft move!
Barb, thank you for introducing us to Alex Clark. I love that he got so much done within his lifetime, and you have captured a lot in so few lines. It invited me to do more research. I like the message here in these lines:
Happy Sunday, Alexis (but I can’t say that out loud, otherwise she will ask me if I want to order a book from Audible). I love today’s challenge, because too often we divorce poetry from the beauty of content areas: history, science, math, health, art, gym. Poems bring it all together. I loved what you did with these lines.
This morning I’m thinking about Reuben & Prudence Crandall, their stories recently discovered in a book penned by Elizabeth Alexander and Marilyn Nelson. It’s been a year of ancestry-work.
Singing Off Key
~b.r. crandall
For me, it’s the cats –
the way they were dismembered and thrown
at beautiful girls learning to sound-out letters:
the long tails, whiskered heads, and little fog feet…
the K, K, K they draped across the desks & fences –
the heart of your sister’s school.
I’m not one to carry a tune, though
(although I sing in the shower).
There’s no ballpark anthem for me.
I don’t have the genetics to belch
like Roseanne at a bar of gun enthusiasts.
Besides, Whitney sang it better,
and they no longer drinking Bud, anyway…
they’re too focused on
making America great again.
For me, it’s Sojourner Truth…
the questions Douglass had for the 4th of July.
And I find the genealogy curious, Reuben,
wondering about your jail cell —
if you wrote letters prudently
while tuberculosis made you cough
(before you found a way to Jamaica
for its sun and you last breath)
.
It’s easy for me to see now
why many swam towards British ships
in search of liberty and freedom
as he penned that poem
gleaming with twilight,
red glare, & injustice.
Oh, yes. I can see
15 stars & stripes
draped around the 1836 gag rules
(his lock-him-up mobs
unleashed to make you
a pendulum swinging
by his rope)
Those bombs should have burst
over the homes he built
exploiting human flesh –
But he lost the trial
And the flag
is still here.
As our the names.
Oof. Bryan. This was terrific. Those last lines were just a gut punch. What a beautiful poem!
Love what you did with the prompt! The lines you chose as ones you liked are also my favorite. I like playing with words but also, the tone of those words and how we used them in history to downplay what the US government did to the Japanese.
Bryan, your poem is brilliant. I love how much you are able to capture of today’s tumultuous society and of history’s injustices. Your words are sharp and vividly portray the horror so many people experienced from unleashed mobs and “a pendulum swinging” to the bombs and “exploiting human flesh”. Gosh, this is so rife and heavy, but incredibly honest and necessary to know. I hope you’re able to inspire your students with this poem.
“gleaming with twilight,
red glare, & injustice.”
Wow–the poem is so full of images and of history. I was pulled through to the end, and came to that abrupt and sobering stop. Wow.
Bryan,
Thank you for offering a few stanzas from your ancestry work, allowing us to bear witness to a few scenes of the past with the context of the present. You are pulling the thread through masterfully here, and I think the “for me” as a repeating phrase leading to the “our” pronoun at the end offers such intimacy with the reader.
Thank you,
Sarah
Ooooh, I love when song lyrics are weaved into a history lesson the world needs to learn! So much to take in and marinate on because this nation is still in search of justice! Thank you, Bryan.
❤️🔥
Alexis — This is a powerful and important prompt…important in giving us a chance to see and feel a bit of history through a poem that splays out the truth left untold in the history books. I LOVED your poem about Yuri Kochiyama. Poetry is an amazing vehicle for truth, for voices muted by circumstance, politics, blindness, and systems of power. Yea for you! Susie
Thank you! I do love untold history.
Alexis, this was a blast to write!! As someone who loves to rhyme, emulating the inimitable Lin-Manuel was both intimidating and liberating! Loved your tribute to Yuri Kochiyama, and have to admit that your “say her name” line inspired me to do the same:
Abolition Redux
Two hands clasped for
Eternity, capturing the essence of Humility –
Edmonia Lewis captured,
Enraptured by the Hands of this man
And his bride in new lands – Ann
was her name, and she came from down South.
Down in the mouth about
the sins of her father – he robbed from humanity
dignity: slaveholder by trade, born and made
by society around him. Ann soon found
herself renouncing, announcing her new life:
Now a wife, bound for life to Gerrit – she moved Upstate
(New York, of course) had a date
with destiny: Wife and bride, her
new Role with pride she embraced: faced
with the challenge of abolition, they found missin’
Harriet Russell (nee Sims): gifted to Ann as a child.
Ann self-styled
Freedom ally, tasked Gerrit with finding, freeing
Harriet.
Deed was done. Harriet – daughters, sons
brought north by Gerrit
(In his own carriage) – this marriage
of two like-minded folks stoked
fire in others around them who found them,
gone to ground in Gerrit’s estate to await
the date
to make a break to Canada. Douglass, Grimke,
Stanton, Truth, Weld, Anthony – all gathered round
his table, wrote him letters.
And now, Harriet’s progeny,
Modern-day abolitionist prodigies:
Jimmy Corpin, Max Smith
live on in Peterboro, NY, promote camaraderie,
And live up to her name, her fame (honor Gerrit, just the same):
Abolition Hall of Fame their game –
So let’s hear it for those two who take up the mantle,
Candles in these ill winds, lighting flames of freedom:
Say their names, say their names:
Jimmy and Max. Harriet. Anna and Gerrit. Edmonia.
P. S. Here is the beautiful sculpture Edmonia crafted of Gerrit and Ann’s hands
You nailed this poem! The rhythm is amazing.
Wendy, I can clearly hear your poet’s voice singing out in your poem. I love how you weave the events in your poem, and close with the vivid imagery of “lighting flames of freedom”. Powerful poem!
Wendy–the cadence in this poem, and the rhyming–both seemingly effortless, but perfect for these people and what they accomplished. We march through history and against injustice with them. I love the line before “say their names”–“Candles in these ill winds, lighting flames of freedom”.
Wendy, I am learning so much about historical figures today, and I love that you included a sculpture of the hands of those your poem is about. How touching and how real this makes your lines of poetry today. When art and writing are there together, it makes it all the more meaningful.
Alexis— what a wonderful prompt. I cannot wait to learn and learn and learn today! Your poem taught me about someone I had never heard of. Especially effective was the accurate renaming of the “relocation center”. I have always been fascinated by the story of the Night Witches. This gave me an opportunity to read more about these incredibly tough women.
In the Sky Where It Happened
Nachthexen
Night Witches. Say our name.
That’s what the Nazis called us.
We were the 588th Night Bomber Regiment of the Soviet Union.
We skirred over their camps in the dark,
nearly brushing the ground,
searching for glimmers of life—
a cigarette glow, a leftover ember—
We dropped death into their midst,
and flew away in our brooms.
We robbed them of sleep and arrogance.
We risked our lives to save our country.
We were the Night Witches.
Young—most of us were 17 to 24–and bold.
Hand- picked by Colonel Marina Raskova—
Trained in record time and sent aloft.
A Soviet afterthought in every way,
Dressed in hand-me-down men’s uniforms.
Of course they didn’t fit.
We stuffed our size 42 boots with torn bedclothes.
Our planes were 1920’s crop dusters.
Plywood and canvas. Flying coffins.
Open cockpits, two of us back to front.
An open invitation to frostbite in Soviet winter.
No parachutes, radios, radar, or guns for defense.
Those were luxuries. Too much weight for the plane.
A loaded pistol in the pocket, one bullet always kept in reserve
for ourselves in case of capture was our extravagance.
Two bombs, one per wing.
We traveled in groups of two or three, those in front as bait
for German spotlights, dropping a flare on the target.
Deadly witches in the moonlight.
The last witch cut her engines
and glided through the dark in an almost noiseless “whoosh”
of canvas through the sky,
dropped her bombs, and throttled the engine back to life.
A witch’s broom sweeping through the sky.
And then we did it again and again.
Eight or ten or more times every night.
By day, we were viewed as “little girls” by the men.
In the night, we were fearless. In the night, we were feared.
We were 400 over time, lost only 32.
We drew flowers on the sides of our planes.
We used our navigation pencils as eyeliner during the day.
We sewed underwear from our flares’ silk parachutes.
23,000 missions, 3000 tons of bombs, 26,000 incendiary shells.
23 of us were awarded the “highest honor, “Hero of the Soviet Union”.
We did not fly in the celebration parade flyover.
Our planes were too slow.
The Night Witches.
Say our name.
Gayle Sands
04/23/23
For a wonderful novel about the Night Witches, read The Huntress, by Kate Quinn.
https://www.history.com/news/meet-the-night-witches-the-daring-female-pilots-who-bombed-nazis-by-night
Gayle, this is an incredible story (I’d never heard of them!), and your poem had me absolutely riveted: as the kids say, #mood. What a picture you painted! I can’t wait to follow up on their story and will definitely read The Huntress!
This is the first poem I have read today after I turned on my computer. What a wonder! I never knew about these Night Witches and will order the book to read. Thanks for a good start to my morning with your poetry.
Gayle — I was riveted to your poem. What an amazing image of these girls and the power they took to the skies. Fabulous bit of important history, women’s history. My mind went to town with the “witches broom” image…that night sky that transformed “little girls” into warriors, fearless warriors! Wowza! Terrific poem! Thank you for sharing this piece of history I knew nothing about! Susie
Your poem is so great! I also am really excited to learn about so much untold history today. I especially liked your “in the sky where it happened” as well as “flying coffins”. Good writing!
What I absolutely love, Gayle, is the education one receives while reading your poem,
The details that fly within the poem that are both rhythmic and educational.
This is masterful, Gayle! I want to say I first heard of them in the book Code Name Verity, but I may be misremembering that. You crafted one mighty poem here, with the thread of witchery throughout. Little girls by day and feared in the night (there’s incredible suggestion there). I love every bit of this. So, so good!
I must read this novel. I have never heard of these women, Gayle – wow! Thank you for this poem today; what extraordinary bravery they possessed. I cannot even imagine how they fought through their fear at this –
Gayle, fascinating! There is a YA book about the Night Witches that I saw at a Scholastic Book Fair, and now I want to read it. I wasn’t sure what the book was, but there was an airplane on the front, so now I know it’s one to read. Thank you for sharing this poem today. I love all the things I’m learning about history.
Oh Alexis! I love this prompt. Everyone’s poems are so wonderful. I’m learning so much. This would be a great activity for students. I chose Ruth Asawa because I just read a picture book about her and did some research about her for our school’s Women’s History Challenge, which I created.
A Line Can go Anywhere
Ruth Asawa – artist, activist,
One of seven Children,
Born of Japanese immigrants,
Interned in California
During World War II,
Then sent to Arkansas
For relocation,
Father arrested and
Sent to New Mexico,
She did not see her dad
For six years,
Her youngest sister, Nancy
Was kept in Japan
Until the war ended.
Ruth held no animosity,
No regrets,
She made sorrow into art,
Attended Black Mountain College,
Student of Albers and Fuller.
Experimented with wire,
Twisted metal like it’s straw,
Wove wire into baskets
That hung from the ceiling –
Geometric, biomorphic, abstract.
Made wire forms interlock,
expand, and contract
with a single strand,
because, as she explained,
“A line can go anywhere.”
A line is a straight path
on a plane that extends forever
in both directions
with no endpoints.
A line is free.
Joanne: This was fantastic! I loved this line:
“She made sorrow into art,”
I loved learning about Ruth! Thank you!
Joanne — I just saw a documentary piece about Black Mountain College and I love that Ruth Asawa ended up with that place as her art refuge. Your poem does a gorgeous job of celebrating how “a line can go anywhere”… the freedom of it… marvelous! I didn’t know about Ruth A, and now I feel, again this morning, that these poems today are all going to be very important for us to read and savor. So much history coming to life today with the details that need telling. Thank you. Susie
“A line is free” -love it! I am going to have research more about Ruth. Thanks for sharing!
“She made sorrow into art”. What a statement. But “a line can go anywhere”–would that we could all be so forgiving in our move beyond hurt and into life.
Joanne, I love themes of freedom and overcoming…here they flourish in tribute to Asawa, her overcoming the internment camp and “making sorrow into art.” Your building up to her own observation about lines and ending with “a line is free” is beautiful artistry and craftsmanship in itself.
Joanne, I love that you noted she made sorrow into art – the best kind of writing, art, photography, music seems to all come from some place that moves us. This poem makes us think about this today.
Alexis, you’ve captured Miranda’s rhythm in your poem about Kochiyama white it sings her song. There’s a complexity and simplicity, both, in your incredible prompt that transfers into the poem too. Thank you for inspiring us today. I’ve been reading about Langston Hughes for another project and dashed off some notes for today’s prompt.
Symphony Notes: A Dashery of Langston Hughes
crossing the Mississippi
bridging pain and possibility
connecting slavery to ancestry
a lyrical masterpiece
riffs, be-bops, and skipped beats
ear to concrete equalities
white captain grandfather
descendent of a slave trader
declared himself not black but brown(er)
cook, laundry hand, busboy
from writing he lived on his own, solely
an innovator of jazz poetry
Jennifer, oh my word! Langston! I love him! He defined a style, an era, a genre. He broke out of the mold and became, and led others to become. I love his first sentence of Thank you, Ma’am….and think of it often: She was a large woman with a large purse that had everything in it but hammer and nails. What I love most is the way he took the persona of the older black woman and put tough young man up against her and showed how tough young man lost that fight right quicklike. She had everything he needed to fix him right there in her purse and in her heart, tougher than those nails she didn’t have in there because the tough was all mixed up in the love in her heart. And I love Kevin’s poem this morning, too – – it echoes what I believe Langston Hughes knew. A woman can fix what is broken – a broken woman who emerges stronger like a healed bone can do miraculous things. Your second line – bridging pain and possibility – says things I love about Langston. He saw the possibility in the broken places. He knew the respect of the older woman of his culture. I know that respect, too. When I was a young preacher’s kid, a family in our church paid for a black lady to come in and help my mother with some cooking and watching us unruly kids so my mother could have a couple of mornings to do preacher’s wife things. O’Neilia was the sweetest caretaker. Until she wasn’t. She could get us to mind better than our own mother could. She’d lost a son in a shooting in a bar, she lived in a rough part of town, and she’d cried all the tears she was ever going to cry. The best thing my parents ever did for me and my brother was giving us a caretaker of a different race. I have respect for older black women that I hold for no one else, all because of those early days. And when I read Langston Hughes, I feel one with him because I, too, need someone with a large purse smacking me in the back of the head with it from time to time, still. Thank you for writing this today.
Kim — Your story added to Jennifer’s Langston Hughes poem made for marvelous reading this morning. I loved O’Neilia in your life and the “big purse”… we all need a big purse I’m thinking. Thanks for adding your story to this post. Hugs, Susie
Jennifer, I loved your end rhymes and near rhymes! Great beat in this poem, word choice ands imagery that just burst with life. Loved the tercets. Beautiful job!
You captured Langston so beautifully! I love your poetry style and voice that came out. Also, thanks for your kind words! I had a lot of fun writing this prompt and poem.
Jennifer — It might be a “dashery” but it’s also packed with important pieces of history. I LOVED “ear to concrete equalities” –smokin’ line! And that LHughes “declared himself not black but brown(er)” is a great line. The poem in its tercets pays homage to the rhythm and musicality of “an innovator of jazz poetry.” I love Langston Hughes…heck, we ALL love Langston Hughes. We are poets, after all! Thank you. Susie
I love Langston Hughes–and I love your telling of his life! Not black but brown(er)–I have always loved his poetry–i should have learned more about his background. Thanks for filling us in!
Jennifer, your lines for Langston have their own music – and that title is wonderful! Love these lines so much: “bridging pain and possibility” and “ear to concrete equalities.” Hughes wrote some of my favorite lines ever, in “Dreams”:
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
I have this up in my room at school, in a shape poem of a bird.
Alexis, thank you for the tremendous inspiration this morning! Manuel’s music is now n my head – I’ll be walking to the beat of it all day – and your own poem honoring Yuri Kochiyama sings its own magnificent song of power and overcoming. I love this history challenge and might have toyed with it all day but my mind landed here, so here goes…and what a great and glorious way to bring history to life for students.
Exposé
Little girl
called Pink
did you ever think
you had a future and a hope
of being tied with rope
while people smiled
minds gone wild
well now, Pink, you were
your daddy’s thirteenth child
no money, honey
to finish school
just get married, Girl
that’s the rule
little girl
called Pink
not a believer
society’s a deceiver
you’re gonna prove it
try and remove it
the stigma
the enigma
oh, gonna give a fig, yuh
for they ain’t all crazy
in the gaslight hazy
Women’s Lunatic Asylum
where by and by some
dark truth comes to light
sleeping on an oilcloth at night
it lines coffins for the dead
what coldly lines your bed
sleeplessness turns your head to lead
here, eat your stale black bread
just pick out the spider
no need to try to hide her
or swallow her
just toss her to the side
never hearing how she cried
it ain’t allowed
from six to eight
sitting on a wooden bench
I said sit up straight,
wench
if you weren’t insane to begin with
you will be to end with
knowing that you’re beaten
counting spiders you have eaten
ah, Pink
dip your pen in ink
and write write write
be the light
bust wide the night
get it right
give them a hope
not tied with rope
beyond the walls
be the fly
fly fly fly
Elizabeth Jane Cochran
Nellie Bly
This is…wow. I will have to read more about her because I know nothing. Amazing what a poetry prompt can do. I really wow’d at “if you weren’t insane to begin with / you will be to end with” and the last stanza especially “give them a hope / not tied with rope” compared with the beginning. Thank you for teaching me about Nellie through your poem! 🙂
Whew! You have the rhythm of the beat here in a gut pounding way. I knew a bit about Bly (students have chosen her for Wax Museum) but you bring us the horror of the details. The poem reads with a deft hand at providing an “offness.” These lines: “for they ain’t all crazy in the gaslight hazy” really hit home and the whole section about the oilcloth lining – phew! I need to reacquaint myself with how she got out.
Nellie would have loved this poem, Fran! It is feisty and fierce just like your subject. I have to go back now and read more about her. She was the first woman reporter during World War I. She was an inventor and industrialist. She died at 57. You’ve gotten me to do a quick read. Now, I have to delve deeper. Thank you.
Fran, I’m going to read more about Nellie because of your poem. Another fascinating female today, and I love those fascinating ones whose stories I can’t seem to put down. What I am loving in your style here and in recent days is the rhyme scheme spoken word-style full of regional dialect and so much spunk and sass it can hardly be contained, yet it’s in the backdrop of the you you you we all know, your reflective ways of thinking of things and bringing them to light in new ways. This is just a compelling figure with a story to tell ~ and when your voice tells that story, it’s one I want to hear more of. Love it!
WOW.
sleeping on an oilcloth at night
it lines coffins for the dead
what coldly lines your bed”
“sleeping on an oilcloth at night
it lines coffins for the dead
what coldly lines your bed”
And that last stanza!
You’ve completely sold me on reading more about Nellie Bly– what would you recommend as the best biography/book?
This poem just got more and more enthralling as the lines went! I don’t know anything about your subject, but that’s the point right? I’m going to go research now.
Well, holy cow, Fran … I LOVE this …it raps right along …the musicality of the poem bears oral reading multiple times! I love that! I had no idea about Nellie Bly being called Pink… you offer so many details that bring her to life… just terrific. There’s a song by John Mellencamp called “Cuttin’ Heads” that immediately came to mind as it tells a story with a very similar beat to your poem… Listen to it and then you’ll get a sense of how your poem just hammers out in a musical slam-dunk. Thank you for such a terrific poem this morning! Susie
Well, Fran, I can see the muses are in your coffee! This is a poem that wrote you (it’s obvious), but it came from your fingertips. Wow. The rhyme works and you pique the curiosities of the reader. I also love the way you used spacing to make meaning with the verse.
Applause for this. You’ve brought me to a rabbit hole where I’m reading more and more about Nellie Bly. Woot Woot.
Fran–I always thought of Nelly Bly almost as a caricature of the enterprising female journalist. But this poem, with its rhyme and rhythm and specificity (that oilcloth…) has brought her to life. She will be on my list of summer reading, for sure!
Fran, I love Nellie Bly and I love your poem! Dark truth comes to light, sleeping on an oilcloth at night…knowing you’re beaten, counting spiders you’ve eaten… WOW! you’ve done such a a great job capturing her spirit…
Fran,
This is such a phenomenal poem! Bly’s undercover investigative work was groundbreaking. I love the lines “write write write / be the light / bust wide the night” – and by doing so, expose the horrible treatment of the mentally ill. Great job!
Alexis, thank you for this cross curricular prompt!! Love Hamilton and your poem. Obviously, I probably loved the strikeout most. I watched a documentary a while ago about the Black Panthers and more recently Judas and the Black Messiah so I wrote about Fred Hampton. The title is a rewording of one of his quotes.
Living, Struggling, Dying For the People
Born: August 30, 1948
and should still be alive
Name: Fred Hampton
Friend of Emmett Till
Whose death spurred your just mindset
Chairman of the Black Panther Party
Founder of the Rainbow Coalition
A party of inclusion
You didn’t kill, you created:
An Integrated swimming pool
A Breakfast program
A Health clinic
An American activist
But your America killed you
Land of the
freetargeted and deadDate: December 4, 1969
Time: 4:30am
The room where it happened?
Your own bedroom
2337 W. Monroe St.
Next to your fiancé Akua Njeri and unborn son sleeping
More than 90 shots to the building
2 to the head
“Good and dead”“a major hit to our Black community…humanity in general” your son said.You said: “If you’re asked to make a commitment at the age of twenty and you say I don’t want to make that commitment only because of the simple reason that I’m too young to die, I wanna live a little bit longer—what you did is, you’re dead already.”
You were only 21, still a kid
But
a threateducated, eloquent, accomplished, ethical, passionate, COMMITTED.What a shame
More than a shame
But not in vain
Today you’d only be 75
and able to see
the continuation of your legacy:
Black Panther Party Cubs
Led by your son
He’s still alive
As you should be.
RIP
Sources:
https://www.history.com/news/black-panther-fred-hampton-killing
https://www.oprahdaily.com/entertainment/tv-movies/a35470106/where-is-fred-hampton-jr-now/
https://everydaypower.com/fred-hampton-quotes/
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Fred-Hampton
This. This is how we tackle tough subjects in poetry. We lay out the facts with enough room to consider them…space to know without having to look away. This is wonderful work. I love your sources. You’ve read Kekla Magoon’s book? It feels like you have…not because I recognize words from it but because it has the feel of that strength. Keep going with these poems, please.I/we need them!
I actually have not, Linda. Thank you for the recommendation – will definitely check them out.
Judas and the Black Messiah was an amazing movie, and I learned much about him from there, and now even more, from your poem. The cross-outs say a lot here.
Kevin
Angie, what a tribute to this man. These words hold true (maybe even more so) today:
But your America killed you
Land of the
freetargeted and deadI love how you worked the room where it happened into your poem. And offering us what he didn’t kill but created spins the focus on what can be. Beautiful work!
What a powerful gut punch tribute to Fred this morning. I love your style with the strikeouts, and if EVER there were a line in a poem that I absolutely take off my hat to, it’s this one:
But your America killed you
Land of the
freetargeted and deadWhoa, girl, you preach this with truth laced with all hellfire and brimstone this morning! Keep it up!
Thanks for the positive comments everyone. Already have so many edits, the main one being to take out the whole his death not being in vain part because this stuff still happens. On a relook I thought about these statements nowadays about sleeping, running, most recently mistaking/knocking, just existing while black being considered “crimes” which was what he was doing. Maybe if the government hadn’t murdered him, these wouldn’t be things people die because of anymore. Maybe. The work never stops.
Angie, powerful use of those crossed-out lines here, just like Alexis’s use of them — great subject, and a terrific poem!
Holy moly this was great! I love how you have the dates and times and your use of strikeouts is…striking. 😅 great work!
Angie — This is a powerhouse of a poem. The voice is so strong in its knowledge of the wrongness of losing this amazing man to the narrow-minded, hypocritical horrors of this country. As in Alexis’ mentor poem, I want us to keep saying his name, Fred Hampton… Let’s say it over and over again. A life that “should be” lived every day right here with us. The details of the murder…right next to his wife and unborn child…omg… just brutal and horrible… details that needed telling! I’m very moved, rocked by your poem! Well done! Susie
Angie–your deletions strengthen an already amazing poem–I paused and replaced with each one.It seems so long ago, yet he would be my husband’s age, had he lived. I’m glad you have revived his life for me.
Alexis! This kind of poetry is right up my alley. I love combining research with poem-ing. It is the best kind of writing. The details in your poem above light up all the cells of my brain. I want to know more about this person! I want young people today to know that they aren’t alone in wanting what seems like impossible change and that resilence, patience and determined action are not mutually exclusive. Rock ON in your poems. I am off to crack open that folder of historical poems I’ve got buried in my laptop. I feel ready to keep writing this morning.
I hope you have a wonderful morning of writing!
Good morning, Alexis, and what a fascinating inspiration you bring us today! I’m now inspired to learn more about Yuri. Your prompt will bring out all the best in what to read next, so I’m sure I’ll have a couple of biographies in the Amazon cart by day’s end. Thank you for hosting us today! As a preacher’s kid (we seem to have a reputation to live down to, and I’ve always done my best to keep the trouble going), I was a reader drawn to the troublemakers like Queenie Peavy by Robert Burch in children’s literature and Alice Roosevelt in biographies. So that favorite interview question about whom I’d bring back if I could go to lunch with anyone? Yeah, mine was always Alice Roosevelt, with footnotes about how she and I would have surely landed in jail together, cellmates somewhere for some crazy idea we hatched. She had her own eye color named for her (and the US Navy uses this color named for her on its insignia). So much more to tell about her, but here’s the seed-starter packet:
Eyes of Alice Gray
not under MY roof
her father TR told her
of smoking her cigs
she puffed on the roof
her snake Emily Spinach
there too, in her purse
no Taft supporter~
a murrain on him! she raged
blue eyes her namesake
what a character!
completely out of control
she fascinates me!
come sit by me if
you don’t have something nice to
say about someone!
born on the day her
mom died upstairs, grandma down
under the same roof
Mama died in birth,
Alice Roosevelt Longworth
lived in those shadows
For Alice Roosevelt Longworth
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/from-a-white-house-wedding-to-a-pet-snake-alice-roosevelts-escapades-captivated-america-180981139/
Update: I tried to write from memory, but fact checked afterward – Alice became motherless and grandmotherless two days following her birth (Valentine’s Day), not the day of, and it may have been her birth that hastened death from Bright’s Disease but not complications of childbirth exclusively. Grandma died of Typhoid fever.
Oh, I knew a little about Alice Roosevelt, but I didn’t know all you revealed. Just wonderful. Another women I have to read about! She wrote a memoir – Crowded Hours. It is not in print now, but I will have to search for it!
I cannot tell you how much I LOVE this. Alice Roosevelt was such a fascinating, wounded and, tough chick! She fascinates me and has my sympathy all at the same time. Her quotes sit perfectly in your stanzas. The use of “shadows” is perfect.
Oh, I learned so much from this! Love your comment about how you’d prob land in jail together and her snake’s name reminds me of your pets’ names hehe 🙂 Thanks, Kim!
I knew very little of her until your poem, and the link, and I thank you. She sounds like quite a spirit storm spilling into the world.
Kevin
Thank you, Kim! You taught me quite a bit this morning. I heard about Alice before but your poem and the link sent me to look for more. Love the second stanza that provides an initial glimpse into her character.
Kim, I must read more about her now! What a fascinating person. She overcame so much sadness (“Mama died in birth… lived in those shadows) and yet retained joy and fun (purse snake with the name Emily Spinach) – what a character! Every detail gives us more.
What a fascinating figure — and that snake detail! LOL! Loved your choice of tercets that painted these small anecdotes about her in such a memorable, imagistic way! Great poem, Kim!
This is fantastic! I did not know any of this and will now be researching Alice!
Kim–I have always been fascinated by Alice–a rebel in all ways, and so true to herself. But I always admired her from a distance, as a historical figure. This poem brings her to life. Wow.
Kim – she’s an incredibly colorful and fascinating person. A snake named Emily Spinach – imagine! That just begs to be in a poem. The shadows young Alice lived with re: your last line were immense; I recall Burns’s documentary about the Roosevelts (I think that’s it) with TR’s response to the dual deaths, unable even to speak of his wife again for grief or to call the baby Alice, it being her mothers name (“Baby Lee” instead). Fascinating fact about the color and the Navy! Another masterful haiku story that flows from you so perfectly.
Kim — I love this woman and the strong voices you both have. I’m so grateful for the “good trouble” makers of the world. Glad you were among them. I love the varied ways I can read the title, right off the bat. That her mama died in childbirth…oh, the shadows indeed. Maybe we all need a few shadows to bring out our snake filled purses. Wonderful poem! Susie
Kim,
Id probably be sitting in that jail w/ you. I chuckled at this line because some people don’t merit kind comments. Giving Orangey the side-eye here.
“come sit by me if
you don’t have something nice to
say about someone!”
I really like the short lines and fun anecdotes you’ve shared about Alice.
She is Truth,
spoken in the old stone
church in Akron, Ohio,
reminding this audience
of men and women, both,
that hardship has followed her,
and hope, too, and the last thing
she needs is for a man to carry her
body over a muddy rain ditch or lifted
into horse carriages, and that if the world’s
been turned all upside down, ain’t it a woman
who’s the one best suited to turn it all back, right
for Sojourner Truth
https://www.nps.gov/articles/sojourner-truth.htm
(Sojourner Truth lived for a few years in a village in my city, and her statue is a reminder of her presence here)
Kevin
Kevin, thank you for those words ~ ain’t it a woman who’s the one best suited to turn it all back, right. So true of Sojourner Truth. She had heart and passion for the TRUTH. What a legacy! And what a gift to be able to walk in her footsteps of the place where she lived.
Love this! Hardship and hope together in this poem…work well. You’ve captured her sass in those last couple of lines.
The first line of this is amazing, as is the form and the flow and the power – “the last thing she needs is for a man to carry her”. Excellent tribute to Sojourner!
Kevin, she is the first one who came to my mind when I read this morning’s prompt. I love your opening lines introducing: “She is Truth / spoken in the old stone/ church in Akron, Ohio.” The progression of your poem builds a strong case in favor of a strong woman capable of turning the world back to right.
I’m glad we found ourselves on a common wavelength, Leilya
LOVE! Beautiful pile poem, Kevin. I’d love to see this statue in person. There is also a great one of her in Northampton, Massachusetts near the David Ruggles Center for History and Education.
I enjoyed this poem a lot and love the shape of it. Great writing!
Kevin — This is beautifully executed. The voice gets stronger and stronger from “Truth” to the words cascading to the final line. I LOVE the final lines…LOVE them. Important history, important to feel your strong voice. Susie
Kevin, I love how this poem reads in step-like fashion, descending toward your final line. I’m applauding the original way you set your words to page.
I love the way that ‘both’ and ‘hope’ create a rhythmic pattern within the center of your poem, too.
I have taught “Ain’t I a Woman” and have always admired her. Your phrase– hardship and hope–I think all strong women (and men) need both in their lives if they are going to do big things. Great poem for a great woman!
Perfect opening line and build to that mighty ending line – everything flows in this tribute to the mighty woman who chose this name, Truth, and who preached it as she fought for what’s right.