Our Host
Jennifer Guyor Jowett has taught English and Literature for 30 years to 7th and 8th grade students in the mitten state. She is a frequent 5 Day Open Write participant and host, a contributor to the BlinkYA blog, and a member of #booksojourn.
Inspiration: Wire Sculpture Writing
Both wire sculptures and blind contour drawings inspired me to think about writing in a new way. A way of taking readers along a path from start to finish, with one idea leading to the next. While this pathway might wind around and cross itself (much like the wire sculpture) and the finish is a surprise, the reader still arrives at a cohesive end.
When doing a blind contour drawing, the artist never lifts the pen from the page and the eye remains on the subject, not the art, while the work is in progress. There’s both risk and trust in that experience. But the end result is organic, natural.
Poets have played with the way letters, words, and ideas move and transform and bring into being. I’m reminded of Atwood’s This is a Photograph of Me as well as Cummings’s r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-g-r, both poems that lead the reader’s eye as an image emerges.
You may find further inspiration here.
Blind Contour Drawing (skip to the two min. mark): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sADUGO0e_D0
Atwood: https://poets.org/poem/photograph-me
Cummings: https://poets.org/poem/r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-g-r
Wire Sculpture
Process
Today, trust the pathway of your words. Find a starting point and let the words take you where they want. You might find yourself meandering, stopping here and there to absorb, or moving quickly until you reach a finish. You might play with extensive enjambment to keep the eye moving continuously. Or you might try something else entirely. Your journey is yours to explore.
Jennifer’s Poem
Things In Threes
Three black crows
(ebony dark)
cross a
gray-washed sky
(a sullen day)
wing-smudging movement
against barren branches
(finger-stretched to the sky)
spots of snow
speck the air
things in threes
harbingers
twisted fates
seek to know
(past
present
future)
no more
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
I love the challenge, I loved the video… I’m not sure I love my poem yet, but I will put it here because well, every day can’t be our best, yes?
What makes us love a puzzle?
The rush of dopamine reward that
comes with getting it right after
That blank moment, when
your head goes
quiet.
All is
still.
Then BAM!
Rush of
connections lights up the
brain like a casino marquee or pinball
Machine – oh yeah! I got it! Dingdingding!
Jigsaw Crossword Sudoku
Cryptograms Anagrams Jumbles
Rubick’s Cube Assembly Disassembly
Word Search Rebus Spot the Difference
What rabbit hole will we fall down?
What new world do we expect at the other side of the puzzle?
Staving off dementia (just five minutes a day) or
A scavenger hunt to beautiful secret places or
Passing time at the doctor’s office or
An escape into symmetrical squares
Making order from chaos?
Not honoring their doubts
An obedient child
Never wild
Begged to be schooled
Never one to do, what she wants to.
Somewhere in my teens I grew
To my parents, a quarrelsome, defiant point of view.
Aspired to cross the oceans blue
To America for graduate school to pursue.
Girls can’t be safe, outside of parents’ purview
Unless she has a husband, never mind she is just twenty-two!
In Berkeley, I was told you can be what you want to
Even a brown girl with big starry eyes, can dream one day
to be a researcher, a professional, or a professor someday.
Worked hard, very hard, or at least I thought,
For I’ve been given a chance, a really long shot.
But told that I may never be a researcher sought
There must be more than just the grades, I thought.
Despite how hard I fought…
Hiding my feminine brownness was like adding a nought .
Perhaps they are right, went my train of thought…
Why else would I not see someone like me in doctoral gown?
Oh don’t be sad, said my loved ones around
You can be happy, rich, and successful without a doctoral gown- hands down.
Look at the valley of silicon and sand
A dreamland of success, prestige and wealth
For those that are committed to technology at hand.
Yes, but my mind wandered…
Where did I lose the defiance in my view?
I really care about children and leukemia
And I can build risk models that I learned in academia.
But can you blame them if they did not trust
The models I built that needed their process to adjust.
I don’t look like them, or speak like them
The assumptions in my models are hard to trust.
I found my kind, the brown variety,
Who spoke bad English with no anxiety.
The friends at home and those at work
Looked and spoke like they belong to the same network.
No apologies for being a vegetarian during team lunch
Who clairvoyantly knew that salad wasn’t a good munch.
This must be beautiful- to feel like you belong
Without having to rehearse your lines so I don’t say something wrong.
To work with the bunch where I hoped I belonged,
I got another graduate degree, not the Ph.D. I longed.
A business degree, hoping to correct the wronged.
A Mom twice over, a wife and an employee,
‘you can’t get promoted if you leave at 5’, would annoy me.
Benevolent prejudice, paternalism, and sexism:
Belonging, I understood, with deep skepticism.
A misfit perhaps, have always been
A toxicologist, but not the wet-lab kind
A technologist, but not an engineer’s mind
An entrepreneur, who venture capital declined
An educator, living the adjunct grind
A researcher, without the terminal degree- unrefined.
Seeking belonging, but always unaligned.
Perhaps down in my subconscious mind
the fringes appeal more than the straight jacket kind?
The fringes feed concern for mistakes,
Suspended between two or more contradictory states.
An indecision between belief and non-belief
Hiding, somewhere, is a fictitious fig leaf?
Belonging requires suspending the lunatic fringe
To honor and reflect the collective doubt.
But that is harder to live, day in and day out
Easier it seems to simply not honor their doubts?
———-
April is National Minority Health Month, and writing this poem was cathartic. Hoping this resonates so we don’t feel so alone!
Anita, there is both strength and courage in your poem and it sits alongside the hope you thread throughout. It reads as a narrative and I followed along, wanting to know what happened. Thank you for sharing such a cathartic piece with us during National Minority Health Month and for giving us another reason to feel together.
Thank you for your kind words.
This is so poignant, so honest, so courageous – and written with beautiful attention to rhyming. The hidden weight revealed in this, just one example, “Hiding my feminine brownness was like adding a nought .” Thank you for the shout out to National Minority Health Month – I didn’t know, it is good to know. These lines – ouch:
This overwhelming sense that you cannot have it all, simply by virtue of being a minority? This is utterly painful.
Maureen- Those were some of the lines that I wrestled with more. I appreciate the kind encouragement. Thank you!
Good late night to you all and early morning here in Bahrain. Thank you for this challenge, Jennifer. I thought of it throughout the day, but didn’t have time because of what happened in my poem. I love the imagery of the crows in your poem, smudging, specking and spotting the landscape.
Carrot cake:
the recipe of
anniversaries,
births, weddings,
baptisms of
Shredded carrots
freckling the kitchen
So many fluorescent flecks
threatening to spoil the
surprise
Z
O
O
M
into the meeting at 6:50 p.m.
Bahrain time,
8:50 a.m. Pacific,
for this
pandemic party
Carrot cakes
stealthily baked
with love
in tiny
aluminum pans
delivered to
participants
to celebrate
the anniversary of
the birth of my beloved–
this man,
so good
and kind
and passionate–
with carrot caky goodness
———–
I tried a drawing too without lifting my pencil as I fell asleep last night! https://drive.google.com/file/d/1lSaXJ7fA8apEez3Np6NCzqaXShAz29Ux/view?usp=sharing
Denise,
I feel the love in this poem as I sit w/ my “carrot cake” boy in Hawaii. I’m a little weepy and feeling all the feels. I live the symbolism of the cake and that you planned such a marvelous celebration. ❤️
Denise, what a perfect reason to wait to write. Your choice of words like freckling surprise and mimic the idea of the celebration (carrot cake is a favorite so ending with those last three words is perfectly delicious). Thanks for sharing that drawing and providing both a word visual and a blind visual.
What a sweet tradition! I love your description of your sweet husband, “with carrot caky goodness.” Adorable!
This is absolutely lovely Denise!!! Love your drawing too. Happy Birthday Denise’s man! 🙂
Love this:
I’m always amazed how different locations inspire me to write differently. I’m currently in my backyard, soaking up the sun. Thanks for this forgiving prompt today, I had fun going with the flow.
Wire Structure Poem
Children splash
into a pool
on the other side
of the wooden
fence.
I can’t see it but
I can feel it.
The shock and urgency and
fear and relief. The
refreshing swig of oxygen
before submerging and
depriving yourself of
the thing you need to
live.
I can feel the
apprehensive desire.
“Mommy please will you
jump in before me?” I’d always
plea.
I can feel the
bravery. Even though
I still have to plug my
nose before
shallow diving.
Children splash
into a pool
on the other side
of the wooden
fence.
I can’t see it but
I can feel it.
Rachelle,
I like where your poem went. Enjoy the sounds of kids splashing about. I can just hear the giggles, the splashing, and the pleading.
Rachelle, your poem really evokes a sense of childhood wonder. I was always so envious of neighbors with pools when I was little. You paint such a beautiful scene, you really had me smiling.
Rachelle, listening in on this moment of play and how it carried you back to the memories you had at the pool with your mother makes for an interesting poem that showcases how our memories are recalled through even just one sense – the sounds of splashing. I like how this wove from present to past and back to present again.
Rachelle,
The vicarious journey into your neighbor’s backyard that segued into memories of you in pools was seamless and a fun escape. This journey is perfectly framed by the repeating “I can’t see it but / I can feel it.” Thank you for a fun journey.
I wrote a skinny dinner for my wire sculpture poem.
Submerged
Ocean
Swim
Connect
Within
Surface
Break
Reef
Wake
Island
Time
Life
Sublime
Exhale
Prevail
—Glenda Funk
What a perfect vacation poem, Glenda. Your choice of form cuts right to the important stuff. Love the rhyme and rhythm. Enjoy!
Glenda, the minimalism of words and simplicity of shape are exactly what’s needed for a vacation. Loving that final couplet. Wish I were there!
This is a treasure of a poem, celebrating your truly ‘sublime’ trip – love the word sublime, and so happy for you that you are living it out!
the lab lies
between
their rustling forms
she is
doused in their
mingled breath;
she smells
the single
point on the number line
when sleep
becomes
wake
she inhales
the bouquet of
pandiculation:
flexed toes
and yawning axillae
pockets
of odor
puff forth
as muscles
creak
as eyelids
groin
and ear
release apocrine scent
her nose
knows
all smells
are good
Gorgeous, Allison! Love the topic.And your language! I definitely learned some new words (who knew that pandiculation had a name attached to it?!). I especially loved this (how do our pets know this? but they do!):
she smells
the single
point on the number line
when sleep
becomes
wake
Allison, oh, how I miss our lab who used to sleep on the bed! Our struggle to not move (so as not to have to get up too early) became a struggle not to move (so as to avoid disturbing her and the gentle growls that followed as she got older). What a perfect moment you’ve shared today.
Allison,
As a word nerd myself, I have to say, kudos! I learned a couple of new ones! I love this–it so reminds me of my dog, who is my bed buddy, stretching in the morning before we snuggle. And indeed, to a dog, “her nose / knows / all smells / are good.” Love it!
Thank you for sharing the poems and the video. I would like to try to do a blind contour. I think the wire sculpture depicts the way my brain thinks about things. I wrote about a topic that is and will continue to preoccupy my mind. I am hoping writing helps me deal with it.
Leaving
Rory left Stars Hollow
on Gilmore Girls
last night
and my mind is reeling about
leaving.
Tuesday morning,
three of the four of our family unit
will leave for Wisconsin,
Ashley’s future four year
(I can barely write)
home.
I hate leaving Cam behind,
for I still think he belongs
with us in all we do.
Four days later,
we three will return –
Home.
I wish I could STOP
my mind
from thinking about
four months from now
when we will return
to Wisconsin to drop
her off to stay.
Right now,
I CAN’T bear
the thought of
leaving her.
I don’t think
I can do it,
but I will leave her,
I will cry,
I will,
I will,
I will
never be the same.
Heather, I really enjoy how your poem plays out like a stream of conscious narrative. The end is so poignant. The repetition of “I will” is effective and haunting. I know that feeling of changes coming and knowing life will be permanently altered. Awesome poem!
Heather, the starting point of Rory and how it led to thoughts about leaving and the impact your daughter’s leaving will have on all of you, but most especially you, worked so well to give us the picture as your brain processed through it. I don’t yet have a child who’s left home but I can feel the immense impact it has, especially in that repetition of “i will.”
Heather, you had me at Gilmore Girls! Such a bittersweet piece–it touched my heart.
Heather, I feel the heart tug in your poem. Yes, keep writing through this.
“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.” – WS
Morning Musings
By Mo Daley 4-18-21
sparrow upon sparrow upon sparrow
house finches proudly showing off their red shoulders
jerky cowbirds crowding in
and those red winged blackbirds sound pretty at first,
but come on— enough is enough already
here come the jays letting everyone know who’s boss
the pair of downy woodpeckers arrive
I’ve always wondered if they are sibs or a couple
and before I can continue to wonder
that question is answered for me—
congratulations to the happy couple
as I watch the morning’s escapades in my yard,
I hope today will be the day the orioles arrive
Mo, I’m content to watch the birds come to your yard, imagining the arrival of each as you give us glimpses of their personality. I love “sparrow upon sparrow upon sparrow” – they’re everywhere! We had a towhee at the feeder the other day (haven’t seen one in awhile) and would love to see more orioles! Thank you for allowing us to sit “together” with you and your morning visitors.
I am literally looking out the window every day for our towhee! He should arrive any day now.
Mo,
I, like you, love watching the birds come into my yard each year. We have hummingbirds year round, but others migrate for the winter and are coming back now. You beautifully capture the joys of watching the coming and goings in your yard–who needs a screen when you have birds?
Mo, yes, the orioles are everything in my neighborhood. We all work very hard to have the food they love so they do not fly away. I love the repetition at the opening of your poem because, yeah, there are sparrows everywhere, and they are so plain. The red wing blackbirds are annoying especially if you’re walking past a nest. I so enjoyed your poem because it was like a photograph of the birds I also watch. Plus, bluejays do think they are the bosses! Wonderful poem!
I absolutely LOVE the orioles arriving at the end. This wire-sculpture form worked well in this as bird upon bird arrives at the party! Your poem doubles as an ode to spring 🙂
Mo,
Your home sounds like a bird sanctuary. How lovely to have an aviary in your yard! I love the vision of all the birds singing in a choir. This is such a wonderful way to envision the wire sculpture form.
College day
This vivid memory seems as if it happened yesterday
I woke up to see my sister’s things packed away
I cried and begged her to stay!
It was never a day when we were away from each other
From school to sports, to fun, you have never seen one without the other
until that fateful day when the school took her away because it was her
college day
I cried and I pleaded please don’t go, for if you leave ill be alone and I won’t glow
we cried and we laughed as we said our final goodbyes
for I felt my smile turn into a frown
because my best friend was going away
all because this was her
college day!
Tarshana, as the oldest child in the family, I never realized the impact this had on my siblings, especially my brother who was 9 years younger. It wasn’t until I had my own kids that I saw the hole that appeared when my older one would leave. You capture that so well here. I can see the closeness between the two of you!
I wrote about the same topic. College day means different things to all involved. Your words do provide a vivid picture of your feelings.
This is a picture
of my dad
at my wedding.
Laugh lines carve his
handsome face.
Glee lights his eyes.
He holds my mom.
She
is content,
smiles serenely,
proud to be
on his arm.
The boy
and the girl
swim
to the surface
with fine, light strokes
before twisting
to dive back into
troubled, turbid
depths.
Wendy, what a poem. It sure allows us to travel to a destination and further with you. I can envision them happy in that moment, seeing them recall their own experiences and pull forth the younger them, before returning to those troubled depths. The backdrop of the wedding adds so much to that depth.
I love the picture you create in the beginning. I am drawn in further and want more when you introduce the boy and the girl.
Wendy, the image of your parents is striking. When your poem turns, I felt a physical tug. I love the ambiguity of “fine light strokes” (swimming strokes and faint pen lines) as we see the boy and girl before their descent. This was moving.
I adored this prompt, Jennifer, and felt inspired by the poems you shared, and the surprise of each. I set about trying to poetically ‘draw’ – draw with words – the contours of a creek (where I am hiking today) … and I wound up someplace completely unexpected. I’m not at all sure that I followed your wonderful challenge – but I had fun!
In the Contours of the Creek
sit and look
hidden deep in the corner
by the rushing creek
those steadfast solitary stones
comfortably wedged
weighting, waiting, for what?
there are so many soft green pine needles
others ground to a fine brown grain
by some organic pestle
and these commingle with
wet worn waning leaves
creating a giving ground
sit and look
within and rising up
are several charcoal brown trees
resplendent with weeping feathery green branches
seemingly bowing to the water
others, gray and lined, stand tall with
miscellaneous spindly branches
poking out every which way,
perhaps pointing – look!
each tree deeply textured,
leathered really,
fortified, protective, strong
sit and look
one leans on others, needing to be held,
unable to support itself anymore
several others have given up entirely
their long bodies fallen over the creek,
laying down face down
to what have they surrendered?
what is the source of their giving way?
do trees hurt
when they fall in the forest?
these standing trees, are they
entreating us to see, to bear witness?
sit and look
the caregiver rhododendrons
with their long waxy leaf touch
and the soft green blankets
of their dear cousins moss
keep vigil at the creek bed
lending quiet and respect
bending, reaching, covering, weaving, tending
offering courage to the depleted
paying respect to the fallen
reminding us to soothe one another
with a loving embrace
a woods in mourning
Maureen, you have taken us along the contours of the creek in your journey today (and you did this beautifully!). I feel a kindred spirit with trees but have never imagined those that collapse across the creek bed in the way you describe, and I was so moved by their giving up, as well as those who supported the ones that needed to be held. This was a spiritual and visual journey. Thank you.
Beautiful poem. Your refrain “sit and look” really resonated with me today. Thank you for sharing.
Maureen,
You have really captured a vivid picture of the trees along the creek. I was sitting there picturing each tree–fallen and standing and wondering, like you, what happened. I love these lines:
as they remind us of the cycle of life and how, with patience, how the fallen will return to the living.
Maureen, your poem is so thought-provoking. I love how you paint of picture of this landscape through the words that create color, shapes, and movement. The last line is incredibly moving. My favorite part is
Such important lesson to remember. Nature is an especially enduring teacher. Gorgeous poem! Thank you!
Maureen,
You’ve painted a gorgeous picture of the forest, the fallen trees, the rhododendrons tending the trees. My eye is drawn to this question:
I think the answer is “yes.” Have you read “The Hidden Lives of Trees”?
Thank you for the wonderful resources. This is a challenging prompt.
We colored Easter eggs
We dyed them shades
Of violets and raspberries
And daffodils and robin’s egg.
They made a vibrant
Centerpiece on the sugary
Sweet green Easter grass
Between the ham and sweet potatoes.
They gleefully promised
Springtime and hope
And resurrection.
Monday between classes,
We cracked them open and
Ate them with salt at our desks.
I love how you share of the exquisite beauty of these eggs, this time of resurrection, and their ultimate transformation to an ordinary munch on the Monday afterwards – such a fabulous ending, “Ate them with salt at our desks.” Delicious poem!
Katrina, the colors of those eggs – violets and raspberries and daffodils and robin’s egg – what a wonderful way to invoke spring and resurrection. This calls to mind simpler times, childhood celebrations and the delight in the egg, without all the trappings in that simple act of eating them with salt.
Katrina, that ending! *Thud.*: Here’s reality, right? Loved this poem. The imagery preceding the “egg-cracking” was great: loved this:
Of violets and raspberries
And daffodils and robin’s egg.
There are so many pictures created by your words. I love the chronological structure, which features the different functions of the eggs – entertainment, decoration, symbolism, and then nourishment.
Jennifer, this is such a rich prompt, with various things to help inspire us. I really loved your mentor poem as I love the concept of threes.
I actually couldn’t create anything from today’s inspiration. I hope to circle back to it. An experience with our son was weighing on my mind, so I went with it.
From Field to Stage
Last night,
thanks to Facebook Live,
we
watched our college
son
on stage
dancing and acting
during his Greek Sing
performance.
Two years ago,
a high school
athlete
hyper-aware of what
would keep him in
Cool Kid Camp,
he would have never
put himself out there
like that.
We were so proud
of him in that moment . . .
as proud as we were
when the second baseman
version of him turned double plays
or hit a screamer to right
scoring in a run
or advanced a runner by a
perfectly-placed bunt.
Being on stage with thousands
watching
really isn’t much different than sports . . .
a group working together
practicing daily for weeks
to perfect the product.
the pressure of the moment
pushing adrenaline through
your body.
the outcome earning prizes
and recognition.
The 20-year-old
has morphed into someone
so darn different
than what the
18-year-old was.
But common strands exist . . .
Pride
Work ethic
Teamwork
Willingness to fail
A desire to positively represent his school
Bonding with guys over an experience
Watching your kid
change and evolve
is
pretty cool.
~Susan Ahlbrand
18 April 2021
Susan, watching YOUR kid change and evolve through your words is pretty cool too. It’s amazing what they grow into becoming. I love the connections you make between sports and arts and audience. It really is the individual who brings out the best. Thanks for sharing this today.
I’m so happy for you, Susan! And your son! My goodness, this change of interests/focus:
underscores, exemplifies EXACTLY what college should do for kids – and what kids should try to get from college, in my opinion…to stretch themselves in all new ways! How exciting for him and you!!
Susan, what a beautiful tribute! Loved it.
How wonderful, Susan – I get a sense of your son’s joy through this performance, which is a thing worth a mountain of gold to a parent. So is that list of characteristics – all of great importance but “willingness to fail” strikes me as particularly valuable, an essential life skill that takes a person so far, in learning so much. Congrats, Mom – well-done parenting performance!
Susan,
I feel this one so deeply. My 18 year old son, nearly 19, is moving out this summer and I know that he is going to learn and change and adapt in ways that I won’t always know the cause of. You capture that so well in your poem. We do what we can as parents, but the goal is always to raise capable humans who will continue to grow and develop with confidence. Good job, mom!
Remembering
the day I woke up with a welcome
pain in my back and
blood on the toilet paper
the park I paced, pausing
every three minutes to hug
a tree and breathe
the ice your father held
to my back while I gritted
my teeth and counted
the screams from the room
nextdoor and the loving kindness
I tried to send their way
the bag that came in clutch
when the pain got so intense
my stomach couldn’t keep it in
the nurse who held my hand
while I groaned, trying
my hardest to reach you
the oxygen mask and apple
juice that supplied me with
strength to keep pushing
the mirror that granted
my first glimpse of your
beautiful head, crowning
the sensation of your legs
wiggling free, so strong
and full of life
the warmth
the relief
the love
Rachel, I appreciate the series of three lines for each stanza and how they give us just enough imagery to glimpse the coming into being of your child and you as mother. This line struck me, “trying my hardest to reach you.” It shows the yearning for a connection that deepens with this miracle.
Rachel,
What a beautiful keepsake of the birth of your child. Your lines are economical and filled with images that capture the experience so well.
There is so much beauty in how you build this story, through a series of three line stanzas. Ridiculously, I didn’t think new baby for that first stanza, I was filled with fear that something really terrible was happening! Ha! I guess I’m showing my old age. I caught on, and re-read, and totally loved this poem. These lines, oh my:
I will never forget this sensation either – so extraordinary, to birth a baby! Beautiful!! This is a lovely treasure for your child to have.
Rachel, this was such a beautiful recounting of the birth process! Great tactile imagery.
Jennifer, thank you so much for today’s prompt. I love the focus on the gray of the landscape with black crow. Your end is so powerful and moving. I feel a somber weight in the last two words “no more.” On a side note, I had a student who loved to create wire sculptures so I appreciate the links.
Voyeur
Wading through
An ocean of green
Sinfully soaked in
Early morning dew
Delicate caresses
Slowly unfurl
Counting silk
Seeking hot spots
Where like sea stars
They reproduce without touching
Bewitched by their
Silent seduction beneath
A slice of sunlight
Piercing the gloom
Barb Edler
18 April 2021
So, Barb, I wasn’t expecting where this poem took me, though the title should have given me some hint. By the third and fifth line, I was “wait a minuting” and returning to re-read. Your use of sensual language along with that title of the observer of nature complicates and simplifies, all at once. This creates an interesting tension that is amplified by the seduction beneath the sunlight piercing the gloom.
This poem seduces! I love these lines:
I love how you make the natural workings of the sun so alluring!
Barb – so many alluring lines – while I was preparing to avert my eyes (in case!), I was also drawn by the repetition of the “s” sound throughout. Although you don’t mention trees, I see them, and the dew, and the slice of sunlight, and flowers waking to the day in a little woodland glade…”sinfully soaked” is especially intriguing, as is “counting silk.”
Fran, thanks for your thoughtful comments. I’m actually in a corn field in this poem. I used to work as a contract inspector during the summer. I would go through huge fields of corn to see if it was time to detassel which was based on the silk count. The hotter the count, the closer it was time to have the tassels pulled.
A few days of beautiful weather have me reveling in being outside in the sunshine.
Walking
Planes, trains, and automobiles.
Bicycles, skateboards, and feet.
Horses, buggies, and boats.
Of all of the ways to move about the world,
I think that I like walking the most.
Whether it is with my dog,
Taking a speed walk through neighborhoods and wilds,
Or leisurely walking along a row of shops on vacation,
Walking is the most wonderful mode of transportation.
From a plane, the clouds can be seen up close,
Birds fly by barely acknowledged,
And the patchwork view of the earth is quite enchanting,
But I prefer the up close view of things.
In a car, speed and efficiency are key.
If you need to get somewhere quickly,
But it isn’t too far away, a car is the way to go.
And truthfully, I have both wonderful and horrible memories
Of car trips from when I was riding in my dad’s 1940 Ford
To the three times I drove the width of the United States.
However, driving a car is like skimming a book,
The basic outline of the world is there,
But none of the individual words can be read.
In a window of a shop, there are beautiful things
That can’t be seen from far away.
On my walks from home, I see the wetlands morph
From wet to dry and back again, the ducks, geese, frogs,
Nutria, beavers, and snakes, adapting to the changing
Conditions like the falling leaves and blossoming weeds.
For me, give me a good pair of walking shoes and set me free.
Cara, what a beautiful poem. I enjoyed how you showed why walking is best. Your last line was particularly revealing.
. Wonderful!
Cara,
Wonderful ode to walking. Walking is a fun way to see the world.
Cara, I have found that I have come to relish walks more than ever. I love how you’ve compared them to other forms of transportation, how “driving a car is like skimming a book… none of the individual words can be read.” What a beautiful truth to notice.
Cara, way cool poem! I like the exploration of your theme and the different facets you journey into. I like that I can follow your “train” or thought ?
Hi Jennifer, thanks for your prompt today. I had fun letting my mind wander while writing this little poem.
Wander
I think of
you
fondly
the laughter
together
the smiles and
glimpses
the gentle
touches
I think of
your shine and
scent
those moments are
those moments
we all
deserve
to carry us
through
Eric, I like how your poem shares how the subject is important to you. It has shine and scent, and it carries you when you need to be carried. Excellent poem!
Eric, I’m glad you embraced the idea of wandering (it’s such a sensory word). I feel as if I’ve wandered through moments of your relationship. The significance of having one that carries you through shines in this piece – that’s something to be held onto!
This is beautiful. It feels warm, like sunshine. I love the last stanza and the way you used breaks to keep my eyes moving down and pausing at the right moments.
En Plein Air
By Nancy White
Following the curve
The line pulls my eye
I blink and lose my place
That’s ok start again I say
And my pen glides slowly
Hypnotically it follows my eyes
To a new leaf to trace
A new wrinkle and shadow space
Every sound
From the wind
To the children’s voices
To the feel of the sun on my skin
Pours into my paper
Connection
And breath
The moment is now
And here I let it flow
The ink dries
And begs for color
I brush water on my page
The air begins to dry it
Dip tip of brush in green
Let it kiss the water
See blooms of spring
Spreading with a little help
Some lines drip, that’s nice
Some look like they need more
And I layer in the living breathing colors
Of the rose pink orange and gold
Add some sage and blue
Till my soul is satisfied
Linda, what a wonderful poem full of color and action. The creative touches of an artist’s hand shines through this entire piece. I loved your ending and the lines:
Gorgeous!
Ooo, Nancy, I can just see you doing this… it’s so fluid… figuratively and literally! I love making the drawing wet and letting the brush “kiss the water” and then “bloom.” It feels so sennnnssssorrrry! And I love the title!!! Well done!! Susie
Nancy, I love the artist’s process that unfolds throughout your poem. How every experience, including the surrounding sounds, becomes a part of the finished piece. I can see you layering in living breathing colors until your soul is satisfied. Just beautiful!
It is a lovely time of year to be painting outdoors (at least in my neck of the woods, and I assume, yours!). Your poem is full of refreshing airiness – from the breathing to the children’s voices to the sun on your skin. I especially love dipping the brush in green to “let it kiss the water.” All those colors, layers, soul satisfied – pure tranquility.
Hi Jennifer,
I love your poem and also a fan of “Things in Threes.” You have challenged me today and I ran with it instead of focusing on the demands facing me with some students returning to campus this coming week. You know the distractions can sometimes be so helpful. I was on the verge of panic but chose to focus back on what interrupted my sleep last night. Dreaming about a teacher in my school who always seems to have everything together, you know that one right? LOL. Anyway, I wrote 7 Zappai poems to share my thinking.
Thirty-eight Days
Mint green shirt with dots
Mrs. M was in my dreams
Plan book laced in pink
Bragging she’s all set
Ready for students to come
Classroom neat and clean
Awake! Fast forward!
Lesson planning and clothing
Lunch meals to prepare
Commute and traffic
Can’t pee or poop on demand
Squeezed tummy in jeans
Do I need a coat
Will the technology work
Should I teach with gloves
Will my mask slip down
I can’t keep touching my face
Will the vaccine work
Thirty-eight more days
To Zoom and teach my scholars
Hurray, summer break!
©Stacey L. Joy, April 18, 2021
Stacey, I can so relate to the teacher you’ve described. I’ve never been there…ever. Your anxious thoughts and questions are easy to relate to. Teaching has become even more exhausting, worrying about how to be approachable without being infectious. Love this poem. Good luck tomorrow!
Stacey – All too real, this dream and the subsequent worries. It makes my heart race still today to see the Mrs. Ms out there inciting nightmares. Yet, your worries are not mythical… WILL the vax work, will all the efforts to protect everyone actually fall into place? Your poem delivers egg very bit of that anxiety.
Now, go relax, take a walk, and click some flower pictures!!
You will have an amazing day tomorrow and all week. Summer is at your elbow.
Susie
I’ve been hearing a lot of anticipation from teachers now starting to teach in person and with zoom at the same time. Your questions are so universal to teachers. Just thirty eight more days. Why start doing this now? Let’s just wait until the Fall. So many issues…traffic, lunches, masks, sanitizing equipment, and then the big question of how to safely share bathrooms with all the teachers during a short break. I wish you the best in this!
Right! I remember when I first started teaching, someone said teachers have the worst bladders because they go too long without using the restroom. Well, I can’t hold it all day but this situation ahead of me makes me not want to have my coffee or water all day. That is a recipe for disaster though, so I’ll pray it all works out. And how about this, we have to text the principal when a student needs to use the restroom during class time because they can’t go alone. An adult will come to supervise the walk to and fro and bring the child back to class. What a waste! That won’t last long. Every educator knows that when one says I have to go to the bathroom, they all suddenly have to go. LOL can’t wait to report on these coming weeks.
Stacey, I don’t think it’s ever possible to be fully prepared for teaching a group of living individuals who have their own minds! This sounds like one of those dreams that explode during the transition time of back to school. I relate to all the worries – your words are so vivid. I hope the returning students bring you the joy that can be found in the classroom. 38 day – the magical number!
That “Plan book laced in pink” is the stuff of nightmares! I will keep you in my thoughts this week, as you face some students returning to campus. You have captured the anxiety, the worries of this time. Well, teachers have always worried about returning – but this pandemic has increased the tension exponentially:
Teachers rock! Wishing you the very best!!
Inspired an inspiring work, Bryan. It reminds me of Guillaime Apollinaire’s visual poem “Il Pleut” (it’s raining).
//david
Watching Waiting Watching
Watching
Squirrels cavorting out in the yard
Geese fighting for territory, scrabbling hard.
Robins sit straight, guarding their tree spot
Ants scrambling even though it’s not yet hot.
Bumblebees banging against the screen.
All looking strong but not being mean.
The sun forcing the clouds aside
Enticing me to go out for a ride.
But having the stay inside,
“I want out!”
I shout,
But quietly,
Out of respect for the dead.
The ones who have died
Can’t get outside.
At least I have a choice.
Though my eyes are moist,
I’ll stay inside at least a few more days
Waiting
And jealously watching how nature in its myriad ways
Shows that life goes on!
Anna, your poem brings up that idea that we are, in fact, the caged creatures and nature is just observing us – I used to think that when the deer came to the feeder and would watch us through the windows. It’s so much more true now, especially as they celebrate a return to life in warmth while we remain separated. Thank you for your words today, for the reminder that life will go on.
That is a wonderful poem, Anna. You always manage to have a meaningful message and make things rhyme. Such talent. I got a chuckle with “I shout, but quietly, our of respect for the dead.”
Anna, you show the dilemma of wanting to be outside but needing to wait so effectively here. Loved the focus on all the movement in nature. Your final message is poignant! Yes, life does go on, and often without us.
Well, Jennifer, this was fun. The Atwood poem is a knock-out. I recently read an Ellen Bass poem, “How to Apologize,” that works this way too. It’s from the 3/15 New Yorker, if anyone’s curious. This first draft took me 15 minutes at the most. Letting the mind wander, seeing where it goes.
Contour Drawing
I’ll be seeing my eldest son in a half
Hour on screen he’s at the western edge of
This continent while i’m in its middle his name
Is sierra soleil which gives you a hint when
He was born and where (at home via mid
Wife in his mother’s bedroom) when he
Started school he wanted to use my last
Name i’m not his biological father but many
People say they can’t tell the difference
Between us when we answer the phone by
The time he graduated from school he was
Using his birth name and still does he’s married
To a lovely woman who came to America from
Taiwan when she was very young we haven’t
Been together for two years but i’m planning
To drive across the continent this summer over
The mountains and into the sun
David, Atwood’s poem elicits great discussion amongst students (once they get over the alarm of what emerges). This meandering you do of the contour drawing of your son and the journey from where you/we begin to see him to the end twists and turns in a fascinating way. I love that ending – driving over the mountains and into the sun.
David, your poem is such a beautiful testament to your relationship with your son. I enjoyed how you revealed so much about both of you. The joy in the last line bounces off the page. Safe travels for when this day arrives!
David Duer, your poems relates both the joys of having children, biological or not, and the frustration of not being able to be with our children, biological or not, but most importantly the love we can have for children, biological or not.
Thanks for sharing.
Such beautiful writing!! I love the enjambment and lack of punctuation, which really gave your poem a rambling, wire sculpture feel. I hope your video call was great – and your visit this summer even greater!
Jennifer, Thank you for this prompt! I started from a remembered snip-it of conversation that I had with my wife in the early stages of our “courtship,” and it bloomed from there.
____________________________________
I would bring for you
a bouquet of words,
floral smelling, wrapped
in green tissue paper,
the stems cut on the diagonal
and tied together.
These words I would
have planted long
ago, buried deep
in the earth of my
mind, plentiful
soil and rich loam.
They would have sprouted
from our lives and experiences,
bloomed from our time
at the arboretum,
the botanical garden,
where I pointed to a plant
and quite inappropriately
said, “look, it’s a condom tree.”
Not knowing then that
this carnivorous plant
itself sprung from the
soil of Homer’s mind —
the Nepenthes —
from his Odyssey, a plant
that means “without grief”
that “quells all sorrow with
forgetfulness.”
And I realize now, Poe’s
verse about Nevermore, about
respite and nepenthe,
and how this pitcher plant,
these Monkey Cups — said
because monkeys would be
seen drinking rainwater
from their bulbous bodies —
could wind up plastered
on the cover of issue 82
of the Victorian Carnivorous
Plant Society Journal.
At that point in time, our two
Kingdoms — plant and animal —
intertwined and began to root,
and I would be tempted to say
let us drink deep of the
Nepenthes to forget future
sorrows and petty heartache,
to forget my future foibles
and insensitivities,
but I wouldn’t want to do
that then because we are
who we are because of who
we were
and besides,
it would have been gross
touching and drinking
from that plant back then,
putting our lips
to the rim of its curled
lip.
No. These words,
this bouquet, was like
the lilacs you would steal
for your mom,
plucked from under
the hanging trellises of night.
They are midnight blooming
words, nocturnal words —
a whole poem’s worth —
as a garland of Evening
Primrose or Moon Flowers
or Night Gladiolus (except
maybe not them because
they can cause skin irritation
and allergic reactions).
So, instead of then,
I think of now,
and water my poems
and pluck my verse
like a linguistic
horticulturist, a botanist
of words, to create a
garden maze of thoughts
and ideas to trap
you with my vegetable love
and have the maiden continue
to fall in love
with the landscaping
Minotaur.
Scott, you had me at “bouquet of words” – LOL. But honestly, the entirety of that first stanza is a gift. The arrangement of the words (prep phrase in front of direct object) softens and invites, gentles and nestles. I love the midnight blooming words, the watering of poems and plucking of verses and all of the references you make throughout. This is truly a bouquet.
Scott – Your poem reads like a flowering vine…structured on the strong trellis of words well chosen., a “bouquet” indeed. There’s precision (cut on the diagonal … the rim of its curled lip…Moon Flowers) and yet wandering curls of wisteria-like flourish (Plant Society Journal… Monkey Cups…Poe…garden maze of thoughts…). Such a lovely love poem… your wife, a lucky love. Keep up the gardening! And tap that Nepenthe any time you need it! Beautiful journey here! Susie
Bryan, here’s my response that I tweeted!
I am in total awe, love this! The colors, the set up, & the poem inside, just breathtaking! This is the kind of creation that I would begin and find myself 5 hours later still having fun, forgetting the duties of the day! Do you have a YouTube channel teaching this?
I would love to learn this strategy!
This poem started in my mind as a love letter from a pencil to planner, but along the way it made more sense from it to be from the planner to the pencil. However as I got to the end, I knew it was a come back to me letter, so I went back through my poem to make sure that is where it really went.
From a Planner to a Pencil
My crisp blank white pages feel lonely and lifeless without you, my friends said you wouldn’t last, that you’ll fade over time, and that I should search for a more permanent partner. I’m willing to take that risk, nothing gives me the same feeling as when your sharp point starts to dull from use. How that crisp sharp line starts to blur and spread. The softness I feel from your dull tip outweighs the scuffing when you have to cancel plans. Just brush away those unwanted commitments and add back in the fun. Please come back, help me fill up my days, that pen meant nothing to me…
DeAnna, what a clever approach to this prompt. The yearning you feel is conveyed clearly and with the interaction between pencil, journal, and pen, especially in those last lines. Your return to the words (to make sure that’s where they really went) is a part of your journey today, and I’m very glad you took it.
DeAnna,
Wasn’t this fun? It felt liberating to just let the mind go and the words flow. Your poem (I’ll call it a prose poem although that matters little) works so well. I love how you wrote your way into a meaningful place.
//david
What fun! Sounds like fantasy, but it’s real for many of us. It would be interesting to “hear” the conversation between the pen and the keyboard! 🙂
Anna,
That could be a fun poem to write.
DeAnna,
Your prose poem nicely captures the lure of a blank page, the potentiality there before the pencil marks the paper. Nice!
DeAnna, this poem is really fun, yet so SERIOUS! I like how you let the poem decide what it wanted to be. The word play is really fun. Maybe this could be a series — is there a response from the pencil?? Haha!
Bryan, you have crafted a true poetry picture today, and it looks like rollicking fun. The pairing of graphic art and word art invites us into the play, pulling our eyes and minds along the lines and into your thoughts. I’m hearing the chickadee (we have named them cheeseburger birds for their requesting call) and following the word journey of “Come what May, May I have…” AND trying not to delve too deeply into “crisp air, don’t care, working…” image. Haha! So. Much. Fun!
I love the last few prompts but haven’t been able to respond. Today I go camping and knew I would have to get this done as the first thing this morning. Thank you for the inspiration!
Three gulps
A big gulp
warm mouth
hot tea
now
cup down
planning
today’s camping
Cup up
another gulp
warm mouth
warm tea
now
a pause
cup down
what’s next?
Start selecting
gear
food
clothes
tent
a pause
Tomorrow?
cup up
a small swallow
cold tea
cold mouth
cold feet
cup down
Susan, you capture my experience with camping so well Everything seems exciting and like an adventure and I’m hot on the trail of making it happen, but ultimately, I end up letting the idea cool off. Or, in the limited times I’ve gone, it’s been a Goldilocks experience – either too hot, too cold, and rarely just right. I hope your experience is just right!
In fun, Susan, I use the title of an earlier poem I did write this week, “Why Bother?” What so good about cold tea, cold mouth, cold feet” that you pack up and go out camping? I can’t say that I know because I’ve never gone camping where I’ve slept outside. So, what’s the attraction? Really? Gonna write a poem about that?
Good idea for me, Anna to write a poem about the good of camping. I was taken camping by my parents at an early age. Dad loved it. He got a jeep and off we would go where there were no roads, exploring. There were many trips to Baja where we would spend the night in our sleeping bags along the road. If fact, my honeymoon was a camping trip across the USA! Then there is all the backpacking I have done. Lots of memories to tap into. Sunrise and climbing out of the sack is one of the best!
Susan,
It’s interesing how using extremely short lines encourages us (both writers and readers) to slow down and attend to each word – even more than we might normally. This reads like a tea ceremony (in preparation to go camping). Enjoy the camping part.
//david
Susan, you’ve captured the mood of getting ready for a camping trip. Three gulps. Even the word gulp suggests a desire to take it all in, to experience the now and the future. I’m feeling excited wondering what you’ll encounter on your trip.
The things in threes as a harbinger is a belief that has been passed down in our Southern culture. I’ve used it often and my artist friend uses it in his art. There is something so comforting in threes. I love the use of the parenthesis in your poem. Not a craft move I usually make, so I gave it a shot today. Thanks.
I subscribe to an Enneathought of the Day from the Enneagram Institute. Today’s email was an affirmation. I used the affirmation (underlined) to write this wire sculpture poem, a process that works for my random mind on this early Sunday morning.
I now affirm
(as in repeat, write, say over & over)
gratitude
grace from deep inside
the spirit of myself
behind my eyes
hidden in the dark
gratitudeforall
sitting with thankfulness
holding this knowledge
with staying power
health of the mind
All that others
(as in my husband, his mother, my daughters,
grandchildren–always gratitude for grandchildren.)
have given me bestowed their love
in sweet eyes, sugar kisses, drool on my shoulder.
Yes, Lord, today
I am sitting
with gratitude
soaking in grace
Living with Love
so easy, it’s hard.
Margaret, these moments of sweet eyes, sugar kisses, drool on shoulder, given by others as a way of bestowing love celebrates the simplicity of living. And loving. This affirmation and the words you surround it with are a gentling into the day. There’s much to reflect upon in those last two lines, as a meditation offers.
So incredibly tender; such joy you have in giving and receiving love.
I didn’t know there was an enneagram type subscription, but that is awesome. I love learning more about enneagrams!
Margaret, this is a prayer! I sense the deep wanting to stay in a place of gratitude while also balancing life. The end brings me to your truth and that’s beautiful to see.
I don’t know what to write today, so I’m starting with enjoying your poem!
?
Stacey,
Thanks for your response. I had a busy day with family yesterday and was feeling like today I had to catch up on all the things I hadn’t gotten done. When I sat with the words, I realized that I had forgotten to be truly grateful for family time. It is often the very thing we take for granted that is what we value, also. I hope to find your writing here today.
Margaret, I feel this prayer of gratitude and affirmation of life – yours with those around you. I cannot tell you how much I adore this line: “soaking in grace.”
Jennifer – I am sort of blown away by this challenge and the poetic offerings of Atwood and cummings (have loved his poems all my life, but to replicate them -!!). I am enchanted by your “things in threes,” knowing that three is such a symbolic number having to do with completion, perfection…and yes, harbingers. Yours is such a clean poem of sensory images, literal and figurative – especially love “wing-smudged movement.” All come together and set a contemplative, mourning tone.
I do not have such sensory images today. I am not even sure what I think of this poem. I considered calling it “Family Frame,” “Structure of a Family,” “Family Diagram,” or simply “The Children”. Anyway, this is what I’ve got…
Double Helix, Pulled Apart
separated
by walls we didn’t make
shattered
by hearts we didn’t break
scattered
by choices we didn’t take
yet eternally connected
by blood we cannot take
away
by cords we cannot break
away
by history we cannot make
aright
scattered
shattered
separated
perhaps united in silent ache
today
that
love will find a way
“united in silent ache” hits me hard. Your poem takes on a form even by way of the wire-sculpture of it. Family dynamics are complicated, “double helix, pulled apart”.
Fran,
How do you work your magic? This is exactly what fragmented and torn families need today – this is powerful. Scattered, separated, shattered…… still connected. Beautiful and so so so true!
Fran – I love the title. The structured really does present the sense of “pulled apart” and the wordplay… the repetitions “scattered” give a feel of shattered. Finally, “United in ache”… well the whole tone resonated with me … I know these feelings well.
Way to go! Susie
Fran, even with a topic so torn, you manage to find beauty. The image of the double helix pulled apart and all of the didn’t (a contraction – putting together) and cannot words ending with the hope that the silent ache can unite to find a way. I appreciate the form here – the unraveling of “separated, shattered, scattered” and the re-raveling of those words backing back in at the end.
Fran – this is a beautiful poem from head to toe here. The title itself suggests either a breaking off or new life. The “yet eternally connected by cords we cannot break away/ by history we cannot make aright” is just gorgeous. The image of a family as connected by cords, blood, history… just beautiful in its vulnerability and hope at the end.
You had me at “double helix pulled apart”. I felt the tearing, the scattering. You left me with the hope: “perhaps love will find a way.” I love this poem. Thanks for sharing it.
Fran, your poem is so poignant. I feel this silent ache. So many things seem to change the landscape of our family connections and often without our ability to control. I was completely moved by your final stanza….yes, I sure hope, “love will find a way”. Beautiful poem!
Fran,
This is phenomenal. Not only do you aptly capture the essence of a “split” family, the way you set up the poem is pure genius. I always envy people who can get things across economically. You say so much in so few words. Bravo!
Hi Jennifer! Such a creative prompt today. I decided to try the “blind, continuous contour line drawing” and took it from there. Ooo “gray-washed sky” I can see it too much! A lot of good description and I love Atwood’s poem.
I Tried to Draw a Picture Today
Notification:
Ethical ELA 18/30 Wire Sculpture Writing Poem
in the middle of my too
l
o
o
o
n
g
to-do list,
I open a thirteenth tab
and read the prompt:
“risk”
“trust”
“organic”
“natural”
then I open a video in a fourteenth tab
and I skip to two minutes,
watch this woman work,
and I am skeptical –
draw this picture
not lifting the pen or
looking at the page? –
she suggests starting
with the eyes and I try
but don’t make it very far
so then I start
with the head.
One has
shapely eyes
and a
l
o
o
o
n
g
nose,
and a cone head with
some kind of square frown and
she’s eating an ice cream cone
with no ice cream and no mouth.
The other has an inflated head,
but sorrowful holes for eyes
and a line for nose
that goes straight —
to her scribbled mouth above
a pointy chin and
one
strand of hair
on only the left side,
the right strand of hair
ended up next to her
too straight —- nose.
I realise the
“cohesive end”
despite the flaws
was my attempt
to let go of control
with open eyes,
head exercised,
and “the finish” was
“a surprise.”
Here are my drawings: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1HwkPWwSfEaGBHJydlbqwt6eYdjUlUMNZ/view?usp=sharing
Angie, cool pictures! And I love the poem that came from them, as well as the way it traced your process with a stream-of-consciousness form. Very smooth, engaging, playful, and inviting!
OK, Angie, I’m so glad you wrote and shared the pictures. Wonderful! I think they have a feel of a Picasso light drawing. (I learned about those here recently!) I love your stream of writing describing the pictures you drew, your quotations from Jennifer, and then the cohesive end you made happen! Brilliant!
Angie, this is the part I keep going back to:
she’s eating an ice cream cone
with no ice cream and no mouth.
There is such determination and such humor in these lines – I can actually sense your plan and the part that maybe didn’t come together to show what the picture you were drawing meant to show. You even changed and started with the head after you didn’t think your eye origins were working. I love your step by step honesty and that you were willing to share the process of your thinking with us!
Angie – I love that you laid the whole process out there… the loooooong walk along the loooong nose and walked it to the web link to your drawings! Terrific! The surprise really is there! Wow!
This was the part that struck me most:
Literally, fun! LOL!! Susie
Angie, letting go of that control (oh, how I struggle) allows for the surprise, just as your words do. And the drawings (which are perfectly imperfect and delightful). The pairing of the words and images make friendly companions. I think of the weight of “she’s eating an ice cream cone with no ice cream and no mouth.” These words pull Atwood’s photograph forward and offer opportunities for discussion.
Angie – Kudos to you for trying it out and sharing the experience with us – I love the meditation at the end “despite the flaws was my attempt to let go of control with open eyes, head exercised” – such wise insight and such well-drawn (hehe) imagery in your poem itself!
I enjoyed the drawing with your words. How long spelled down expresses the word so well. Thanks for sharing this process via a poem.
Oh, I love the pictures you drew! Such a neat artistic pairing. Love how you spell long in your poem too.
Angie,
I love what you did today . . . your drawings are fun!
I really enjoyed these lines:
It shows that no matter how busy we are, we value this space so much that we make time for it. And, by the way, I currently have 26 tabs open. 🙂
Jennifer,
This is such a fun prompt to just let the words scatter and flow and come back together. Thank you for hosting us today. Your lines
twisted fates
Seek to know
Inspired me to write a poem after some wordplay flow – I started with the word that came to mind (fairy lights in our camper) and the theme of types of lights came forth like your things in threes. Then your line inspired me to think about the things we don’t know. That was how my thinking took to its channeling this morning. Thank you again for inspiring us!
Part 1: wire sculpture – Let words flow
fairy lights
twinkle lights
Christmas lights
fireflies
candlelight
starlight
moonlight
nightlight
sunlight
daylight
lighthouse
lightbulb
spotlight
backlight
strobe light
traffic light
landscape light
heart light
highlight
floodlight
morning light
guiding light
twilight
evening light
headlight
tail light
flashlight
lantern light
Part 2: write using inspiration from Jennifer
Lighthearted Night Conductor
When the world sleeps
the forest playground
bursts into a spontaneous light show
spectacularly choreographed
to the orchestrated throngs of
trilling frogs and chirping crickets
twinkling starlight
flitting fairies
dancing fireflies
all flash on cue,
great great great grandfather oak’s
night-cloaked branches
conducting
a dot-to-dot blueprint
of lighthearted spirits at play
his face unable to hide his
full-moon laughter
I love how the moon comes into the light show at the end….that laughter of wonder and delight. I can hear it!
I love the musical elements in your poem. Yes, I can hear and see and feel and all! So much life! I love the energy especially in these lines:
Kim, I love the kinetic imagery: your poem bursts with life and movement. Also love the surprise of a seemingly empty playground bursting into life at night–and I thought that your word list was a poem, itself!
Kim – You’ve illuminated your whole process here, and I love that journey. What you did with the lights is a flash of genius! The play of different lights and time “cue[ing]” the production… the oak as “conductor” … creates the continuous movements like those “fairies” “flitting.” Magical!! Isn’t is something how this inventive prompt has ignited such interesting images. Your title is just right! I loved this! Thank you for lighting up the day… and the night! Susie
Kim, this idea of a forest playground erupting while the world sleeps is magical. I wish we looked to nature more often for the spectacular displays she offers and choreographs. You pull the night conductor back in with the full-moon laughter leading that dot to dot blueprint. Such wonderful imagery!
Kim – what a playful exploration of light – it made me think about all the light we take for granted around us, and then your second poem made me think about the joy and coziness of night time. This made me think about The Phantom Tollbooth and the conductor who plays the sunrise and sunset. I love the “great great great grandfather’s oak night-cloaked branches conducting.” Wow, thanks so much for this awesome exploration!
This is so wonderful in its magic. Thank you. The vision of the world sleeping while all this light and dancing is happening is something we all need to NOT miss.
Light and the play with light left me feeling lighthearted and curious about the light of night when the magic happens. Love this.
Kim – an amazing bank of magical words that led you to a magical Night Conductor – pure enchantment, all the way. I see the night illuminated by a host of little lights (“dot-to-dot blueprint”) and feel the LIGHTheartedness of the forest spirits… really I just want to be there, watching in awe <3
ooooh! What an interesting prompt to get my mind working this morning. I love that wire art and the idea of keeping the pencil on the paper of a sketch. Jennifer, your crows in all their defined blackness and then, no more. Really good stuff. I want to be in your class and write like this with you.
I’m playing with pantoum stanzas this morning. I love how a form forces me to be creative within its limits. This is a first stanza of a longer piece.
Once in a Vineyard
Written innocently enough
alluring turn of word
superfluous syllables dried, sloughed
to my dream deferred
Linda, your title is intriguing – it makes me want to know more. I love the “written innocently enough” as it opens the piece with so many possibilities (along with where you left us with the deferred dream). Yours are very much an alluring turn of words.
Oooo a tease!! Yes, we want more! I love playing with pantoum too. I’m intrigued by the description of words and syllables and the “dream deferred”.
Linda, me too! Jennifer’s class would be a fun place to be! This Pantoum is even rhyming – I love this beginning. It makes me think of an idea to give the first four lines of a Pantoum to students and ask them to finish the following stanzas and then read them all to show the different poetry pathways a particular poem took through different pens. I want more of this dream deferred in the vineyard! And yet, I think of all the writing journeys I take that seem like they are going to have the finish of fine aged wine and I don’t come back to them but start on something else. I really like all the thinking and possibilities you invite with only an amazingly intriguing first stanza!
Linda, I too, love how a form forces me to be creative limits. Makes me concentrate on certain particulars. What an alluring start of a pantoum! I would love to see where this goes. So musical.
[Jennifer — When i started this, I was surely blind as to where it was going, but it was so much fun to write…the playing with flow from the contour drawing inspiration was really a neat prompt! Thank you for this. Susie]
The Origami of Sunday Morning
In silence, mostly…
warmer air rushing through the vents…
the room seems like,
well, a room,
no big deal, the blank page where I start
my days from the big red chair,
now rubbed smooth on the arms
from years
of my elbows
and ever-triggering fingers,
holding on a bit more;
from this spot with the light angling
above my right shoulder,
my morning unfolds
the newspapers at my feet,
in my lap, strewn about
so I can see the headlines
and decide what not to read,
the news so ugly,
no matter the source;
I look up,
my image from the mirror
above the piano stares back,
a reminder of where my fingers can still go
for tones that somehow crease
the days when Watty Boy sat at my feet
feeling sound vibrations through the oak floor
and the keys let my fingers slide
from note to note in Pachelbel’s Canon D,
my go-to piece and Watty’s favorite —
methinks he still counts my errors,
always cornered in the same complex measures,
but doesn’t mind,
because I keep trying —
until I return to the red chair
by way of the coffee pot,
cup in hand and the smell of cinnamon
in my brew,
that potent spice guaranteeing me,
so they say,
another day
on the planet
taking shape.
by Susie Morice, April 18, 2021©
Susie, being able to see this glimpse into your space as the day begins, takes shape, unwinds, unfolds (like origami) is like sitting down with a friend. It’s a gentle nudge into your day. It’s a reminder of what was and is. Your words create a document poem, a snapshot of the writer. I’m glad to meet you in this new way.
Lovely—this is a slice of life. Do you do the Slice of Life writing? I do not. But, this reminded me very much of that. I love the return to the chair by way of the coffee pot. That crazy brew has become a lifeline for so many of us in the morning!
Linda, I was thinking the same – a slice!
Besides when you say “well, a room” (voice!) this is when your poem struck me:
the description, such wonderful description of like something we take (or I would take) for granted. I realized you were following your movements (I’m slow sometimes) in a single, continuous way and that is the exact interpretation of this prompt. So, so smart and lovely, and mmmm cinnamon coffeee <3
Susie, I was doing just fine until Watty Boy reached into my chest and gave my heart a big squeeze. This is beautiful – moments with the passage of time from the worn chair to the strewn papers – and li adore this part:
, strewn about
so I can see the headlines
and decide what not to read,
Canon in D – beautiful way to start the day. Love your music, Susie!
Susie, I love the introspection and reflection in this! The tone is so somber and tender. I so love Watty Boy “feeling sound vibrations” of you playing and “count[ing]” your “errors” but not “mind[ing]” because you “keep trying.” You honor him with this beautiful memory. (And, hey, thanks for sharing it with us, too!)
Susie, wow, what a gorgeous poem. I love how this poem takes shape as it opens to its close. I feel the vibrations of the moment, the past, and the future. The images are clear and striking, and I can imagine Watty Boy’s presence in this scene. Even though the news is so grim, I feel a sense of hope at the end. Loved your lines:
Sensational poem, Susie!
Susie,
What a wonderful look into your life. I absolutely LOVE your title and this part stuck out at me the most:
I am in love with that red chair! What inspiration it has witnessed through the years! I love how you wove the chair throughout this poem, and magically let us glimpse how your precious day begins. Fabulous, Susie!
Susie – I love all these rich images of your Sunday morning, and the title; I note the “blank page where I start” and the unfolding and the crease and “where my fingers can still go” and the end, “taking shape” – masterfully tied to “origami.” I have enjoyed reading this several times over. I love cinnamon and Canon in D and although I didn’t know Watty Boy, or even what he looks like…I love him, too.