Susan Ahlbrand had been teaching 8th grade English/language arts for 32 years in the small southern Indiana town of Jasper. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, writing, listening to music, and spending time with her husband and four kids.
Inspiration
Famous folk singer Joni Mitchell wrote the song “Both Sides, Now” when she was 21. The wisdom and insight into life seemed rare for someone of her age. It discusses three elements from her experience–clouds, love, and life–and how her thoughts about each one change over time. I have always loved this song, but, thanks to my favorite TV show, This Is Us, I was reminded of its power. Here is an excerpt of the lyrics:
Rows and flows of angel hair
Joni Mitchell
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I looked at clouds that way
But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way
I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s cloud’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all
Moons and Junes and ferris wheels
Please watch/listen to this video of the audio version (the album cover art is a self-portrait by Joni, by the way):
Process
Write your own version of “Both Sides, Now.” Strive to find three “things” you see differently now than what you used to. Address each one in its own set of stanzas. The power of her song is the specific images she uses to relate her feelings about clouds, love, and life. Mitchell’s rhyme is a driving force for the song, but you can certainly break away from using rhyme if you choose. Anything goes! Just let your inspiration take you.
Mentor Poem
This poem was written by one of my 8th grade students when we did this very assignment in a discussion board format much like this. There were so many diverse and wonderful poems created about all sorts of things, but this one resonated with the students the most. One of the options was for the students to write in the perspective of the character we were reading about at the time; quite a few chose that option. It was a creative way for them to show understanding of the text.
School . . . always so exhausting, so useless, so fruitless.
Always wishing to be home. Why can’t I learn online?
School. I never knew how important it is.
School . . . always so helpful, so engaging, so meaningful. Always wishing for good grades. Why couldn’t I have seen its significance sooner?
School.
My family . . . always so bothersome, so picky, so annoying.
Always telling me what to do. Why must they always bother me?
My family. I never knew how important they are.
My family . . . always so caring, so compassionate, so loving. Always got my back.
Why didn’t I know how blessed I am?
My family.
Myself . . . always so useless, so repulsive, so disappointing.
Always getting in people’s way. Why can’t I be like others?
Myself. I never knew how important I am.
Myself . . . always so positive, so empathetic, so loved. Always wanting to help others. Why didn’t I see that I am more?
Myself.
Write
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 didn’t forget this prompt from last April. It was the first thing I thought of when my husband came in this morning singing “Both Sides Now.” He had just listened to a 60s playlist and reminded me just how many things were the same now as they were in the 60s. I came back to this prompt today. Thanks, Susan!
Be cute and quiet, Dad’s anger will cease
Go outside, don’t stir up trouble, please
We called peace where there was no peace
I looked at peace that way
But now, “No justice, no peace,” I know
The arc is bending slowly, though
Let justice roll down and freedom flow
I’ve looked at peace from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
Peace’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know peace at all
Husband and wife, the man’s in charge
He brings home the bacon, his power’s large
Patriarchy’s rules discharged
I looked at marriage that way
But now he weds he or she marries she
Marriage is an act of love, I see
It’s not just my experience for love to be
I’ve looked at marriage from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
Marriage’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know marriage at all
God said it, I believe it, that settles it.
Deny the times you’ve been in the pit.
No questions asked, fake it with grit.
I looked at faith that way
But now I have a faith that stays
God’s with me even when I sway
I have the amount I need just for today
I’ve looked at faith from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s faith’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know faith at all
Saturdays seem so carefree.
Sleeping in is fine with me.
Breakfast is a big affair,
As we from the week repair.
Saturdays can make me blue.
There’s so much catching up to do.
Without routine, I feel so free,
But just what do I do with me?
Sundays start the week off right.
With scripture, songs, and candlelight.
Lunch is just the two of us.
We take a nap without a fuss.
Sundays mean the week’s begun.
It’s time to bid farewell to fun.
The stress of planning for the week
Begins to show in how I speak.
Mondays to work we return.
It’s my joy to help students learn.
I greet each young face at the door.
They say hello but not much more.
Mondays take all of my strength.
They double other days in length.
If things go wrong, as oft’ they will.
At least it’s only hours ‘til
Tuesday.
Katrina,
I am so sorry that I am just now seeing this. I circled back to see some of the comments about my student’s poem that I used as a mentor poem, and I noticed two new poems that I hadn’t seen. This is wonderful! I love how days of the week can be viewed so differently. You did a great job with altering syntax to get the rhyme you needed.
I just love this!
*I realized this morning that I forgot to click submit : (
The youngest of seven
Growing up in a storm
She was taught so many life lessons
She grew up believing those lessons
that hard work always pays off
that education leads to success
that mental illness was all in her head
that it was something to hide
that honesty was the best policy
that being alone was sad
that she was everyone else’s hope
that she had to achieve what they could not
and yet that she was never enough
Now, five decades later
Life has shown her that not all those lessons were true
You see, she worked hard and still does…
It has not paid off
She has a master’s degree . . .but not success
She no longer hides her depression
She owns it, it is part of who she’s become
She’s alone but not lonely
She enjoys the peace it brings
She has her own goals and no longer
tries to live up to other people’s expectations
It’s her life and she’s in charge
She’s free to be whoever she wants to be.
* I
Monica,
I’m sorry that I failed to see this until now. I’m soooo glad that I happened to circle back and see a few poems that I missed.
I love how this shows both sides of a person as they discover self-acceptance.
Both Sides, Now
Coffee was always a grown-ups drink
Hot, dark, and bitter
Only tolerable when mixed with twenty
Lumps of sugar and a quarter cup of cream
Coffee is now a dietary staple
Hot, black, and soothing
Proteins and collagen peptides
Give it superpowers
Naps are the worst when you are 5 years old
You want to play all day
Naps are the best when you are an adult
I wish I had the stamina of that 5 year old
Donnetta,
Coffee and naps are essential as we get older. Both of them give our body a kick and a pick me up. My favorite lines are “Only tolerable when mixed with twenty/Lumps of sugar and a quarter cup of cream”, because that exactly how I saw coffee as a child.
Donnetta,
Coffee and naps . . . definitely two things that we change our perspective about with age. Your description of the “mature” view is spot on!
This was the first day that I couldn’t even devote 20 minutes to my poem, so I composed a haiku on my way to school. I’m coming back to this prompt, though. It’s a good one. Thanks, Susan. I can see why the mentor poem touched so many of your middle schoolers. It includes three areas of truth we can all relate to.
Oh, Denise—. The haiku and that photo just really hammers the grim of this. Stay safe!!! Susie
Denise,
I think you captured the essence of the prompt w/ this haiku. Love the photo accompanying it. “Layers of litter” is wonderful alliteration. Being exposed to more litter has a sinister subtext. Love this. Thank you.
—Glenda
Denise,
I appreciate the fact that you took the time to create even on a busy day.
And what you created…is so very telling, especially with the included picture.
Dang! This is power with a punch kind of poem! I’m glad you took the time to share it. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this. The photo speaks as much as your words. I’ve been so disgusted with the masks and gloves being discarded in the streets, parking lots, curbs, everywhere!
Thank you!
What a paradox you show in your writing. Greet and expose – wow, what a perfect selection of words.
Thank you, Susan, for this wonderful prompt! I chose to write about running because, well, there are definitely TWO SIDES! I used Joni Mitchell’s rhythm, rhyme, and syntax as much as I could: so much fun!
Running
Pain and drain of energy
And weight of body’s lethargy
The headwinds pounding westerly
I looked at runs that way
I’ve also run to hope and heal
To know the solace that is real
And afterwards endorphins feel
I welcome runs today
I’ve looked at running’s cons and pros
Its ups and downs, its highs and lows
The motivation comes and goes
A two-edged sword this runner knows.
Allison,
Thank you so much for adding your flair to this prompt! My husband and I were just talking today how much of a struggle it is to get yourself to run and the first quarter mile is a trudge, but then you get invigorated and feel great! You capture that so well with this.
I really like the balance and antithesis in these lines:
“I’ve looked at running’s cons and pros
Its ups and downs, its highs and lows
The motivation comes and goes.”
Oh, Allison, I sang along with the whole stanza! Beautiful. Not only is the language rich and full of meaning, the rhythm and rhyme just make it more beautiful.
Allison— I was here singing along and thinking what a dandy verse to get me out there on the trail. The turn of phase in each line is super. I loved..”lethargy/…headwinds pounding westerly “ – I could feel that. And the “endorphins feel” – yes! The reality of the “cons…lows…goes” seems to have won the race for me, as I’ve taken to my bike to preserve my knees. I appreciate your getting these wonderful poem up each evening..I know you have a full house and really long days. Hugs, Susie
They are aging so rapidly
One year seems like five
They are focusing inward
On minutia
My patience is tested
As their worldview shrinks
It’s so difficult not to become frustrated
With the constant stream of nonsense
And frivolity
But I have to remind myself
That they gave birth
To the man I love
My life partner
Father of my children
World’s best grandfather
And they need love, understanding, and support
As they enter this new phase of life
Mo,
I love the honesty in this poem. It’s so hard to deal with the aging and the grouchiness and such..
My favorite lines:
“My patience is tested
As their worldview shrinks”
MO – I love how your poem is like a personal conversation. The difficult relationship that came with the choice that adds a friction also adds a depth of human understanding. People are such complex collections of elements. I so respect the honesty that sees both sides and understands it all takes moments of stepping back to see where the love is. You’re a good soul, Mo. Thanks. Susie
Mo, this is one of those poems that needs to be handed out to everyone who is in the position to care for elders. You have the honesty and the courage that we all need to embrace and understand. Really appreciate the end because it really is a “new phase of life” and one day we may be in that same phase.
This is beautiful and I’m glad I didn’t miss it.
Your description of loved ones resonates with me. The precision of your description “they are focusing inward on minutia” is exactly how I remember my mom in the last year and a half of her life. I love how you remind yourself to have patience with some of the most important people in your life, whose every ounce of being is now required to make it from day to day.
Roller coasters scared me.
The loud clankclankclankclankclank
As they crawl upward,
the freefall chaos of metal wheels screeching
and people screaming
caused my stomach to ache.
I looked at roller coasters that way.
Roller coasters are exhilarating.
I love the kind that take off like an F16 on an aircraft carrier,
catapulted through loops and twists
That press into your very soul.
I’ve looked at roller coasters both ways now.
Mushrooms. Yuk. Couldn’t stand them as a child;
slimy, dirtlike, unappealing in every way.
I looked at mushrooms that way.
Now give me the juicy charred Portabella burger,
or the buttons stuffed with crab and garlic.
Don’t forget the Shiitake stir-fried with shrimp and ginger.
I’ve looked at mushrooms both ways now.
What smells like feet? Parmesan cheese!
Couldn’t get my fork past my nose with that stuff on top.
I looked at Parmesan cheese that way.
Grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, or a crisp Pecorino Romano,
shaved into bite-sized curls with Prosciutto or pasta –
I salivate just thinking about it!
I’ve looked at Parmesan cheese both ways now.
Shaun, your poem really made me smile. You reminded me of my oldest son who refused to entertain the idea of mayonnaise as a child, but now has the most adventurous palate and is quite a cook! I appreciate your positive spin on aging.
Oh, this was so much fun!
catapulted through loops and twists
That press into your very soul.
Now give me the juicy charred Portabella burger,
or the buttons stuffed with crab and garlic
Couldn’t get my fork past my nose
Line after line was a treat!
Shaun,
You hit on things that many people have a love/hate relationship with. And you really nail the two sides giving great details of the specific things that tend to turn people off and also appeal to them.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts on this prompt!
Shaun,
Your three topics here–roller coasters, mushrooms and Parmesan cheese–just show what can be done with a prompt. You have given me hope that I can write one like this too! So clever and fun. I’m hungry now, so your foodie descriptions here are my favorites:
Well done!
Shaun – All three of these hit right at home for me…I love mushrooms and get the early aversions. I had a friend who used to say Parmesan smelled like socks, so this just got me giggling. I was no fan of the cheese either till I discovered the yum of P-Reggiano. Now, bring it on and the pecorino! But I’m going to use your poem and really take that rollercoaster exhilaration to heart, because they scare the sweet bejeezuz out of me still. Love your triple threat here! Cool! Susie
Both Sides, Now
As a child I watched crime shows
and I thought to myself
how could someone do something like that?
That person is a monster
and they deserve the worst
I watched as the courts would sentence these people
and it seemed like justice had been done
As a senior I watched as my cousin’s name was plastered all over the news
and I thought to myself these people don’t know her
How could they condemn a stranger?
She isn’t a monster
The worst has happened
and she doesn’t deserve this
I watched this girl laugh and play growing up
and this isn’t just
As a 21 year old I watch her coming out from a room,
dressed in orange with “INMATE” on her back
and I thought to myself
This was never how it was supposed to be,
but this is the new normal and that’s how it is
Things happen in this life and we have to make peace with them
I watched as my cousin laughed and I held her hand
and I gave her a hug and told her I would see her soon
Your words, “it seemed like justice had been done,” are emblematic of all our feelings as we watch from our armchairs. Then, crime became personalized for you – I am SO sorry…and your words are so honest, “she doesn’t deserve this…,” “This was never how it was supposed to be.” I am struck by your words, “I watched as my cousin laughed” and I hope this speaks to her internal strength, her personal conviction. I hope that you do see her soon, and that she has a blessed life of freedom.
Thank you for sharing this poem. It’s crazy how we can see things so differently once they get up close and personal to us. Your last stanza especially is so beautiful – I love: “This was never how it was supposed to be, / but this is the new normal and that’s how it is / Things happen in this life and we have to make peace with them.” Such a feeling of acceptance and peace.
Naydeen, your poem is a beautiful reminder that we don’t know everything. It’s so easy to judge people based on what we watch on tv or read in the newspaper. Thanks for reminding me that we need to be gentle with our judgements.
This poem is achingly beautiful. There is also a powerful message here: “She is not a monster.” You gave me a lot to reflect on tonight. Thank you.
Naydeen,
I’m so sorry that you have experience such hard times.
What an honest look at a very difficult thing in life. We sure can change our perspective when our lives are touched more closely by situations.
Naydeen,
i like the way your poem traces the life from childhood to young adulthood, when how we see the world shifts from black and white, to more nuanced, to whatever it is our life has influenced us to believe. Sorry for the hardship, but I love that you still end this poem with such a hopeful and loving tone.
two sides
two sides of the candy counter
Our neighbor, Mr. Brooks, owned the five and dime
where Bill and I anticipated the invitation
to walk behind the counter for a handful of candy of our choice.
One day we visited and he was not around.
Bill and I walked behind the counter, reached into the bin
and took a handful of candy of our choice.
Upon discovering our hands filled with candy
our mother demanded we apologize to Mr. Brooks.
another side of Mrs. Caverly
Mrs. Caverly moved me from the back of the room
to the front row center desk,
and her ruler came down on that desk and broke.
Many years later my mother told me
Mrs. Caverly said to me, “I think Jamie is afraid of me.”
To which my mother replied, “Is that what you want?”
One day
a child grows up and experiences her parent
not as the one in control, or the one who knows,
but the one who requires her time and attention.
Guiding her through the grocery store,
reading the ballot to her the last time she voted,
holding her hand not knowing what else to do.
Jamie,
I can see how the child experiences have shaped them as an adult. She has looked to adults for guidance and sometimes it helps her. I can also see how adults take notice of the effect they have on children, for example you wrote “Mrs. Caverly said to me, “I think Jamie is afraid of me.”
To which my mother replied, “Is that what you want?””. Thank you for sharing.
I love the insights you share in this poem! We often see just one side of a person – but there is so much more. And it can tell us a lot about them and a lot about OURSELVES to see that other side. Your last stanza is especially emotional (I love: “experiences her parent / not as the one in control, or the one who knows / but the one who requires” )
Jamie—what a strong and wonderful woman your mother was/is. The pictures you give us are sharp and loving. That makes the third stanza even more heartbreaking.
Jamie,
Your powerful poems certainly reflects the evolving relationship we have with our parents. It’s so hard to navigate.
For some reason these lines hit me like a guy punch:
“ reading the ballot to her the last time she voted,”
Thank you for adding your poem to this strand!
I don’t know if it was intentional, but I like the way your mother weaves her way through your poem. It is so true that poetry makes us know we are not alone. Thank you.
Susan, this is such a great prompt. I hope you are in touch with that eighth grader to let them know how much we appreciate their words and poetry today. I sure do! I struggled with this prompt a bit. I couldn’t think of anything “good enough” which I have learned is a sure way to not write. I have learned to push through…write whatever comes good, bad, terrible, whatever! So, I gave myself permission to be sloppy with my copy today! Ha.
I Don’t want to go upstairs
or climb into my bed
I don’t want to close my eyes
or call it quiet time instead
Of what it really is —
A nap!
Suspension of playtime
Banishment from fun
Someday when I’m grown
I won’t take naps for anyone
Now, I’m grown
my children are grown
my dog, cat and fish are old
After lunch my eyes get heavy
before the workday is done
Maybe I’ll just close my eyes
just a minute maybe two
Imagine my safe, soft bed
for a quiet, sleep filled
interlude.
Or what it really is
a nap.
zzzzzzzzzz
Your poem made me laugh! This is so real. I hated naps as a kid, but I definitely treasure them now. I love how you take us on the journey with you in the poem – almost lulling us to sleep with you at the end as the lines get shorter and it ends in the zzzzzz’s. Thanks for sharing!
Naps are the best! I l love your image of the bed as a safe place. That’s how I’ve been feeling a lot recently. Wishing you the best rest!
I. Love. Naps. This poem made me laugh, because those minutes, maybe two are so real.
Linda,
Thank you for persevering and adding your genius to the strand. I will certainly tell my student of the praise she received on this discussion board. It will surely embolden her as a writer.
I love your poem. It’s funny how naps carry with them a sort of shame as we age. You learn to embrace that they are needed and wanted respites.
And to end with zzzzzzz is perfect.
Hindsight Insight
“People cannot be trusted” was my mantra for, oh, so many years
They had to be kept at arms distance to alleviate heartaches and tears.
Keeping a close watch on all that I hold dear.
But, now, I love my fellow man/woman
And work, every day, the best I can
To do my part to make a world not full of fear.
As a child I went to Sunday School and
Learned to obey the Golden Rule
Tried hard to live up to expectations all my days.
Now, on shabbat day to church I go
Learning things I did not know
Truths about what the Bible actually, says.
Life was so hard and full of woe
To whom I could turn I did not know
Because Jesus, surely, was not my friend.
Now life is joyous and love is grand
Forgetting transgressions and forgiving man
As Yeshuah taught when he walked the earth and died to take away my sin.
Donna, your poem shows a beautiful journey into adulthood. Thanks for trying to make this world a better place.
Donna,
What a beautiful poem about your growth as a person. We are all on a journey, aren’t we?
I really like your title and the rhyme scheme works!
Thanks for taking the time to join in.
I have always loved that Joni Mitchell song; I haven’t been able to get it out of my head all day.
What a tough poetry challenge this was! Here goes:
Monsters and bogeyman,
Ghosts hiding in the walls,
They’re awake while you sleep,
Don’t disturb them at all,
You stay in your bed
Pull your covers up tight,
Beware of the dark
In the middle of the night,
But now I see so much in dark,
Dreams, ideas, prayers, and books
When I wake in the middle,
It’s time for another look,
No reason to fear this
Instead take paper and pen
Write what I am thinking
Go back to sleep again.
I think and wonder about the night
I probably should know more,
What of stars, moon, owls,
and bats, to name only four?
No clutter and polished wood,
Sheets tightly made on beds
Mom kneels in prayer, curtains drawn
Dad’s working in the shed,
Follow the rules, no protest,
Be sure to do all my chores,
Then find my shoes and jacket,
Leave the cold and head outdoors.
But then I made my own home,
Wanting another way,
The one rule: no silent treatment
We’ve honored to this day
Three boys, messy rooms,
We laughed, sometimes we cried
All feelings were welcome
Home was a place we tried.
I think and wonder about home,
the touch of theirs on mine,
What changes might we make,
If we went back in time?
One man and one woman,
Holy marriage is the way,
Children need this structure,
Everyone would say.
Sheltered life limits the view,
Seems to shape children’s minds,
But I don’t think there’s any stop
To curious, over time.
Whether books, study, or travel,
I began to question it,
So many families
That this shell didn’t fit
Teaching showed me even more,
Each family is unique
Together has so many ways
There is no one technique.
Whatever I think and wonder
About families, is just guess.
Isn’t it an illusion
To think we know what’s best?
I think and wonder about the night
I probably should know more,
What of stars, moon, owls,
and bats, to name only four?
Maureen, these are my favorite lines. There is something so childlike here, so specific. So many times we outgrow our family’s shell. I am glad you have found a shell that fits…
Maureen,
I love the way your poem moves from a child-like, fairy-tale frame to reimagine how we think about families. I wonder about this question often: “What changes might we make, / If we went back in time?” As you described your life w/ your husband and boys and the one rule, “no silent treatment,” I thought about how a childhood impacts the homes we make and how important talk is in our relationships. I love both the question and implied statement in the last line: “Isn’t it an illusion / To think we know what’s best?” Lovely poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Maureen,
When I get the song “Both Sides, Now” in my head, it plays on repeat, and I struggle to clear it out. That’s what let me to developing the prompt for class…I knew I had to do something with it.
Your poem moves. It just moves. From simpler childhood things like fearing the dark to big ideas of learning not to force your original ideas about family onto others. I love the movement.
Your rhyme really works, adding a natural and fluid rhythm.
My favorite lines are these:
“ Isn’t it an illusion
To think we know what’s best?”
So profound.
Hi Susan,
Your inspiration and mentor poem today made my writing a fun challenge. I loved the lyrics too. I’ve always been one for falling in love with lyrics without even having heard the song. I love what your student did with this poem. The introspection and self-analysis are beautiful yet painfully real.
My poem is modeling the rhyme pattern of the lyrics as well as I could without being cheesy. LOL.
Both Sides of the Story
By Stacey L. Joy, ©April 18, 2020
Happy families and my clingy wedding dress
Mommie and Daddy getting along, no stress
Fresh flowers, golden rings, and love no less
Forever in bliss, I looked at marriage that way
But fairy tale dreams never came true
Disrespect and lies stained purity to blue
I didn’t know better, yeah I was foolish too
But half of all marriages fail
On the other side of the plot I am free
From stinky stupid stuff he’d say and do to me
An unmarried woman with her soul in tact
Fully loved and trusted without a paper contract
Oh, Stacey, this is great! The before and after of a happily ever after.
Aren’t you just glad you’re on the other side and able to see things more clearly?
My favorite lines are
“On the other side of the plot I am free
From stinky stupid stuff he’d say and do to me”
I love reading your poetry and I was going to be disappointed if I didn’t see an output from you based on my challenge. Isn’t it funny how we judge ourselves in their weirdest ways?
Thank you Susan. I was stuck for a while and then stepped away. When I came back I decided to let the lyrics give me direction. I’m glad I didn’t disappoint! Love being here with you. ?
There is such a difference between our young child’s view of marriage and that of the adult reality! I love your line, “on the other side of the plot I am free,” as if the whole ‘illusion’ from earlier was just some crafted theater performance. So true!
Amen, kiddo! Upward, onward…everything about your writing suggests a wonderful, strong, independent and admirable person. Live and learn…and keep living!
Stacey — Your strength here is powerful…”on the other side” you are “in tact/fully loved and trusted” and I love that. Those imaged of “Mommie and Daddy” are so sweet… even if fairy tale images don’t play out in our own lives in the same way, they somehow laid a strong foundation in you as a loving woman who deserves being “fully loved and trusted.” I sure wish, though, that hard times had not been so damned hard. Thanks for sharing this intimate poem with us. Susie
I love the second stanza. As an adult I found it relieving to realize that fairy tales were just that.
I love your your tale of happily ever after. The rhyme scheme is perfect and the pace of the poem is really fitting to the tale being told. In the first stanza it seems slow and peaceful, “no stress.” Then the second stanza picks up and there is grit to it: “Disrespect and lies stained purity to blue.” Love that line! It says sooooo much in just a few words. Then the end slows down again, and I’m satisfied knowing that you finally have your happily ever after! Bravo!
This is so empowering! I love that you are fulfilled without the paper contract!
The Truth I’ve Been Told
Poverty, an effect of one’s own doing
or lack of doing because
hard work always
bears the fruit of success.
That unshaven homeless guy
at the stoplight,
threadbare clothes,
Holding an empty soup can,
a sign — Please Help —
would surely waste my money
on a long pull of whiskey,
a hit of something …
Don’t look, keep driving!
Sheltered
my middle class bubble,
sweet suburban island,
yearly family vacations, and
all expenses paid private
college education
The truth
I believed
Not truth
for the sullen
blue-eyed,
ten year old boy,
came to school yesterday
without breakfast
went home
to emptiness
His truth
I wonder if the fire-breathing
dragons he draws
— angry scales, fangs dripping red —
are his real monsters.
Not truth
for the lanky
eleven year old girl,
surrogate mom,
always gazing out the window,
pulling patches of long brown hair,
her homeworks incomplete
because she babysits her siblings
every
single
night
Her truth
I wonder if the songs she hums
comfort her in the still night.
The truth
I’ve learned
Beautiful description of how our perspective expands as we grow – and, especially, as empathic teachers. “I wonder if the songs she hums/comfort her in the still night” – so poignant…and a perhaps a connection to the mentor text, Joni Mitchell’s song? Loved this.
Tammi — These truths are humbling… seeing the movement from “don’t look” to looking into the truth of a “blue-eyed/ten-year old boy” and seeing the reality of his hunger and “emptiness.” The image of the girl gazing out the window humming…. oh man, thank heavens you are a teacher! Seeing the realities and learning these “truths” is a step forward in a world that way too often just looks away. I so appreciate this poem…the heart of it is loving and caring. Thank you! Susie
Tammi,
Your poem explores privilege and empathy in strong ways. I love how you have crafted beautiful word combinations and strong imagery while keeping the “truth” front and center. Wow. Thank you.
OMG this is absolutely amazing! Tammi, you are punching me in the gut with this one. Truth poems always hit me hard. I truly appreciate your truths in this one.
My heart aches for the children you’ve shared in your poem. Equally, my heart aches when those of us who have it easier have to learn the “truth” in order to live with compassion.
Beautiful piece! Glad I didn’t miss it.
Wow, Tammi, this is powerful. Aren’t you thankful you learned those truths?
I am grateful that you took the time to write in reaction to this prompt.
The stanza that gut-punched me was this one:
“Sheltered
my middle class bubble,
sweet suburban island,
yearly family vacations, and
all expenses paid private
college education
The truth
I believed”
“Saturday spring cleaning”
I’ve looked at baseboards from both sides now
From food-stuck crusted to
a clear improvement–
although who painted these walls??
And still somehow it’s a sparkling fresh coat of paint I recall.
I’ve looked at kitchen floors from both sides now
From water-marked and dog-smeared
to (well, honestly, is it worth the effort?–
these floors still look like the same faux dark wood floors
from thirty minutes ago only) damp with soap and not drool.
And still somehow it’s gleaming reflective surfaces I recall.
I’ve looked at dishes from both sides now
From breakfast-greased and food-caked
to dripping dry on the rack.
And still somehow it’s stacks and stacks in the cabinets I recall.
I really don’t know cleanliness at all.
Mops and rags and cleaning rinses.
I feel your pain. It seems like the work is never done. Love the humor you have infused throughout this poem. “From water-marked and dog smeared …” & “I really don’t know cleanliness at all” — made me laugh.
Laura — You live at my house!!! The dog drooled floors…oh yes. You made me chuckle all the way through. I hear the high pitch of Joni Mitchell through the lines. I like yours better than Joni’s — LOL! Fun poem! Thanks, Susie
Wonderful derivation on the original song! Looking at cleaning from both sides – “I really don’t know cleanliness at all.” Loved this!
this was fun to read – I’d like to say a little bit of me except you have three clean areas – I only managed two and no poem written – mom
Laura,
Thank you for taking the time to add to this poem prompt. I love how you describe frustrations that so many of us share.
The line that sticks out to me the most:
“ And still somehow it’s gleaming reflective surfaces I recall.”
Differently Now
I was energized,
capitalized,
ready to roll;
I used to slam
the pedal to the metal,
blow through my days
like they were pages ripped off the calendar
and tossed into the vortex of
get there fast,
fill every slot in the plan book,
over schedule
every day,
collapse into my Friday nights
like they were rubber bubbles
vaulting me into Saturdays
that evaporated
into Sunday blues,
pausing my promises,
and do it all again.
Till poetry,
like unfolding origami birds
revealing the marvel of their bones,
held me in place to see the shadows
push long across the yard,
notice the direction of the breeze
and how it would please the hairs on my arm,
hear the whispers and hums,
purrs and thrums,
feel the molten burn of boiling sugar
separate the layers of my skin,
the sting of sweat in my eyes,
smell the hot broomed tar in August
dripping from the flat roof down the alley,
chronicle the odyssey of chartreuse to shamrock,
mint to moss,
and trust voices in my words.
by Susie Morice©
I definitely want to be in the second half of your poem but feel stuck in the first half (present situation aside). Those over-scheduled days are mine and your description of Friday evaporating into Sunday blues is exact. But the beautiful imagery created through your similes and metaphors of the second half! You are a master at this. Poetry like unfolding origami birds, revealing the marvel of their bones (I want to put that on the walls of my classroom next year! May I?) Every bit of that last stanza is lovely.
I love the way you crafted this. I feel the movement and frenzied rush of the first part of your poem, and I ease into the second half as the pace slows down. Your poems makes me want to savor the poetry, the words, the moment. So beautiful. Thank you!
Susie,
Another masterful piece of writing. Your first stanza causes me to reflect on times when I lived like that. I love the meaning and the sound of
“Friday nights
like they were rubber bubbles
vaulting me into Saturdays”
Rubber bubbles . . . really? It’s perfect. How does a brain think of these things?
And, I agree with Jennifer that your second stanza is just perfection. The metaphors, especially the one about origami, are wow. Let’s market that and mass produce it for classrooms!
I think my favorite lines are
“chronicle the odyssey of chartreuse to shamrock,
mint to moss,
and trust voices in my words.”
From chartreuse to shamrock . . . sounds great and it creates a perfect image.
Love thinking of poetry as a balm, adding such beauty to one’s life. Living “to collapse into my Friday nights,” is no way to live…love the imagery of your second stanza, “revealing the marvel of their bones,” “how it would please the hairs on my arm,” so many gorgeous words. Thank you!
Susie,
As I read the first verse I thought about my own rapid-paced life. I too would once “blow through my days / like they were pages ripped off the calendar / and tossed into the vortex of /get there fast…” Everything was a race, a hurry to get things done as that old Brooks and Dunn song says. But it did not occur to me that one reason I’m slower, less hurried now is poetry. I still don’t know, but I do know I’m less rushed, more contemplative about words. Every word of that second stanza has purpose. No wasted syllables or images. Poetry is “unfolding origami.” The beauty in that image is glorious. I love that last line: “trust voices in my words.” I start each day looking at our prompt, thinking I can’t write a poem to that. Yet something happens. Words happen. I’m often surprised, sometimes shocked what those words direct my hands to write. Thank you for articulating all this. I think I had an epiphany.
—Glenda
I love the way the second stanza becomes more freeing and uncomplicated. This poem expresses exactly how this 30-day exercise in poetry writing helps me “hear the whispers and hums, purrs and thrums” of life around me.
I raced through the first stanza with your words. And then slowed to savor your second stanza. Poetry is a salve and a soother…
Oh, my. I shouldn’t be surprised: your poems always delight me. But this one pleased the hair on my arms! Goosebumps!
THIS: “blow through my days
like they were pages ripped off the calendar”
and THIS:
“like unfolding origami birds
revealing the marvel of their bones”
I love how you are able to translate experience into metaphor.
“feel the molten burn of boiling sugar
separate the layers of my skin”
Keep trusting those voices in your words!
<3,
Allison
A laundry mat on wheels
One side clean, the other side dirty
An hour to school and an hour
Back to mom’s. Forty-five minutes
To my bed and fifteen to dad’s.
I no longer live my life this way.
The learning curve has taken awhile,
But I do not need to hoard sweatshirts
In my floorboard. I take my wallet in
When I get home. I don’t leave
My life in the car.
I no longer live that way.
I called it home for most of my life.
A white brick building turned cream
From years of red-dirt dust. Velvety
Red carpets, a nursery, a hallway with
A kitchen, three rooms for study, and
A children’s place at the back.
I had, at one point, begged for
My own, but when I finally moved
Out, I left it there, in the bedroom
Of a girl that once spent her Sunday’s
At service and her Wednesday’s at group.
I don’t want my bible anymore.
I was always a water baby. Maddie
Tells me this is because I am a
Gemini but let’s be honest, I just love
The feeling of the creek rushing over
Me. I love the campgrounds, the
Fire roasted jalapeno hot dogs, and
The overwhelming smell of sunscreen.
We went on our own trip a few years
Back. I realized it wasn’t the
Place that I loved so much,
But the people. And the people
Aren’t the same anymore. Some got
Divorces, and some got sober, some
Had some kids and others left because
They didn’t. I was too young to
Realize then that the creek was more
Than a creek.
Abigail!
Thank you for joining in today and writing based on this prompt.
As I read your first stanza, I was transported in time to my years right after college when I finally realized that I should care for my car like an adult. The sign of a great piece of writing is when the reader can appreciate where the writer is coming from but also tap into their own memories. I definitely did that with your poem.
Your second stanza leaves me full of questions.
And your third stanza makes me think that we often yearn for things from our pasts that we really can’t recapture. But, we can always look back and appreciate.
I really like how you break your lines uniquely.
Great job!
Love the way you reminisce throughout this piece and the way this whole piece is a metaphor for life. Your last sentences, “I was too young to/Realize then that the creek was more/than a creek” was really powerful and beautiful!
A nuisance, a necessary corruption
so tempting, but also a destruction
a little was always too much
couldn’t escape without a big fuss
two servings equaled days of guilt
and threatened to ruin my build:
this was my relationship with food.
But now we’ve come to terms a bit
and I only rarely restrict
myself from butter on bread
or the french fries I dread
and though I still might choose grapes
over milkshakes—
I’m trying to make food my friend.
A constant reassurance
I’d stand on its surface
and steal a quick glance
at the number that pranced
through my mind all day
a stamp of my worth: my weight.
I needed the scale this way.
I’ve slowly weaned myself
away from the lure it held
and the object I once loved
and relied upon is now shoved
under the bed, to collect dust
and remember how it lost my trust—
I scale my own worth now.
Confused and weak
always worthy of critique
never good enough
didn’t know much stuff
compressed
powerless.
I saw myself this way.
And I still do, some days
but I guess I deserve some praise
for conquering my fears
and letting go of the gears
I’d so rigidly twisted
life’s better when I’m not so tightfisted—
I’m here. I’m okay.
That first stanza captivated me from the beginning to the end. It takes an immense amount of will-power to change the relationships you have with things that must exist in your life, like food. Also — that rhyme scheme! I didn’t even realize it the first time I read the poem, but it’s wonderful! It makes the poem flow with such a rhythmic way. You did a great job carrying it all the way through! Thanks for sharing 🙂
Rachel,
Thank you for joining today and rising to the challenge I presented. You really did a great job of writing to this prompt. It’s so hard to take a hard look at our perceptions and you sure have.
I especially appreciate these lines:
“but I guess I deserve some praise
for conquering my fears
and letting go of the gears
I’d so rigidly twisted
life’s better when I’m not so tightfisted—
I’m here. I’m okay.”
The choices twisted and tightfisted really work.
I’m glad you feel liberated from food’s (and the scale’s) hold on you!
Rachel, this poem made me feel warm on the inside while reading it. It’s so hard to remind ourselves that we should be kind to our bodies. I love how honest each line is, especially when you say “And I still do, some days.” The message overall was honest but optimistic and I really enjoyed it!
Susan, thank you for sharing this inspiration and prompt today! I know this song from the movie Love, Actually. Playing it now as I write. A beautiful way to start the day. Thank you!
Screams and tears caked our cheeks
And bickering over nothing
The only child is so blessed
I looked at my sisters that way
But now no distance can make
us feel distant at all
Blood is thick
So we’ve learned only with time
Hours and hours of planning
And only to result in disaster
Nightmares about the classroom
I looked at teaching that way
But now there’s no untangling
the “teacher” from my identity
One in the same
Running through my veins to my heart and mind
Whitest of blank pages blind me
And a nasty 6 point rubric
a little too eager to point out the flaws
I looked at writing that way
But now broken through the blocks
Composing for no one but me
Words are power
Freedom, it tastes so sweet
I envy how you were able to write your stanzas without too many lines. I struggled as I wrote my piece to condense, but you did a great job! The stories in each stanza are clear: the siblings, the teacher, and writing. They’re also super relatable, and the middle stanza stood out to me. The last line of your poem — “freedom, it tastes so sweet” — I loved; it seems to finalize not only the final stanza, but each stanza and the poem as a whole. Thanks for sharing 🙂
Emily, the teacher in you is embedded. I love this part best:
And a nasty 6 point rubric
a little too eager to point out the flaws…
I looked at writing that way
Composing for no one but me
Oh, the joy of just writing. Spilling thoughts onto paper, playing with words, rearranging. I wish all of our students could experience what we experience here in this space.
Emily,
Thank you for taking the time to respond to my quirky prompt that rose out of my love for this song.
You certainly chose three “things” core to your (and my) identity to investigate. How thankful we should be when we gain “new eyes” with which to see things.
The lines that resonate the most with me are these:
“But now there’s no untangling
the “teacher” from my identity
One in the same
Running through my veins to my heart and mind”
I feel the same way about my identity.
Keep writing for you because it truly works!
Emily — You really handled this so well…the 3 examinations are each rich. I especially loved the teacher identity with “no untangling…. running through my veins…” Yes! A teacher indeed! And I love that. And the writing stanza…I am in synch with the “nasty…rubric” — geez, I loathed the overuse of those and do not miss them one iota now that I’m retired. Freedom! Yea! Thank you, Susie
Politicians
Marble figures on pedestals
In three-piece suits with clean haircuts
Who give heartfelt addresses live
So young, I thought that it took guts
But now I see no man in charge
Is pure as snow or strong as steal
Not one deserves idolatry
Not one deserves to take the wheel.
Poverty
Taught that choices made you poor
Taught that handouts weren’t allowed
Wondered how most ended up
As hungry faces in the crowd
Now I see each cardboard sign
Each sleeping bag, each unwashed face
Is victim to a selfish world
That grants so little love or grace.
Success
A wide balcony to survey
The things I own, the things I want
The things I buy with dollar signs
So I can fling them ‘round and flaunt
But things are not the true metric
To gauge how people live their life
All one needs is joy and love
And peace to feel they’re free from strife.
This was a wonderful reminder to question what we grow up thinking, and I really love that you took these big broad topics that are ingrained into our everyday lives. It reminds me to question things. Also, you did a phenomenal job with that rhyme scheme — ABCB! Even with how you broke the stanzas into their own little poems, the rhyme scheme really keeps the poem together and in one whole piece. Thanks for sharing 🙂
Ann,
Thanks for joining in and adding your thought-provoking poem into the strand. You certainly chose three very mis-perceived things to explore. It’s it satisfying when we can get on the other side and see things more clearly, more realistically?
It’s hard to pick out my favorite part, but I landed on:
“Now I see each cardboard sign
Each sleeping bag, each unwashed face
Is victim to a selfish world
That grants so little love or grace.”
Ann — You soooo captured my sense of politicians to kick off this trio The marble to the surely-lost-his-marbles! LOL! Indeed, “no one in charge” at an unparalleled time when intelligent leadership is what we need. In the middle stanza, I loved the growth in perspective to reckon with the realities of a “selfish world.” “Things are not the true metric” is so on-target with success. Quite a satisfying triple decker! Thank you, Susie
Ann,
It is amazing how different we see things as children compared to adulthood. I loved your poverty section, we learn that life sometimes take you down a wrong path and we have to make due with what we have. Thank you for sharing!
Susan,
I love Joni Mitchell’s song “Both Sides Now.” Your student has done a wonderful job. The repetition and parallelism is very effective.
I decided to take a little different approach and write about one thing from three periods of life. I have so much more to say about my uncomfortable coexistence with my breasts, but this is a start.
“Boobs: A Life“
All the girls wore
Training bras while
My concave crescents
Shadowed and shallow
Hid at the back of the line
Flat,
Unnoticed
Quiet
Longing to
Burst and force
Their way to the surface
The way Donna’s gorging
Breasts erupted
Past her blouse buttons
Into peaked frontal poses.
Men’s eyes periscope
Down my shirt
Undeterred by
Turtlenecks
Thick sweaters
Stop signs
Words
These protrusions
Define me:
Mother
Nurse
Lover
Object
Always object,
My life map,
Partners incorporated
Subterfuges I cannot tame.
Monopolies of attention.
No antitrust laws
Can dismantle.
Acquiescence. Acceptance.
Options cashed in.
Crossing the continental divide
I peer into the glass
Past a receding, forming
Generational abyss.
Gravitational forces pull
Blue veined waterfalls
Toward a watery
Birth gulley.
Mounds cut,
Stretched,
Pulled,
Cascade and
Plunge until finally
Resting,
Lounging by my side
Sagging into
Restful bliss,
My bosom buddies and me.
—Glenda Funk
Oh, my goodness….all the emotions show up in this poem….humor, sadness, resignation. All wonderful. I’m reading poems first today because I am stumped for a starting place. What a great poem to begin with. Never would have I considered boobs!
I’m laughing at parts of this (the fact that you have so much more to say about this uncomfortable coexistance, the title, Donna’s gorging breasts). It’s interesting that so much of who we are is defined by them (our worth, objectification, our titles – mother, nurse, lover). That last stanza is gorgeously, visually worded.
Glenda,
Such a powerful poem. I think every woman has a similar relationship with at least one body part, so this really resonated with me personally. “Object, Always object” is a particular line that stood out to me no matter how painful it may seem. Thank you for being so honest and for sharing!
Glenda . . .
Your brain is such a thing of wonder. The things you pull up and create beauty out of truly amaze me. Many women can really relate to the different-decades relationship with our boobs. Your last stanza is filled with such great description. My favorite:
“Gravitational forces pull
Blue veined waterfalls
Toward a watery
Birth gulley.”
Your word use is masterful.
Thank you for honoring this challenge so expertly!
Glenda, as always you have our minds thinking – and I love today’s consideration of boobs! I still think about “training bra” days and how I felt so grown up to wear one. Ugh! What was I thinking?
The quarantine does have its perks 🙂 though – – just a few days ago, my oldest daughter in Tennessee texted: “My life has recently been explained by no bra, no makeup, and socks with Birkenstocks.” I’m one proud mama!
I look at these lines and these are my favorites:
Plunge until finally
Resting,
Lounging by my side
Sagging into
Restful bliss,
My bosom buddies and me.
I’m so there with you, Glenda. My “girls” and I hang out that way a lot to. Thank you for the chuckles today as we consider this aspect of our womanhood……
Glenda — You are a stitch… “Boobs” … you don’t pull any punches from the title on down, and I love that honesty. Each of the images are so accurately painted… “the continental divide (LOL!)… “gravitational forces”… (it has astounded me over the years)… The ending, though, is my favorite… “lounging by my side/sagging into/restful bliss/my bosom buddies and me.” Hilarious! This is soooo witty and fun… and painfully realistic. Way to go, my friend! Susie
What a great idea, to consider one topic from three time periods – and breasts! Yay! I mean, boobs. Loved this! One more thing that connects you and I, Glenda – our early years and breast development. This was me: “Flat, unnoticed, quiet.” I feel your pain, I was definitely the last to develop in this way. I agree that the bulk of our life, our breasts are function: “mother/nurse/lover”; I like the succinctness of “These protrusions/define me.” Thank goodness, you end on such a happy note! Yes, this is the silver lining of invisibility – “sagging into/restful bliss” 😉 Loved this, Glenda!
Wow! Glenda, I believe every woman can identify something of herself in your poem whether busty or not. The journey from teen insecurity through motherhood is one that I can also relate to also.
“My bosom buddies and me” — such a great last line. Thank you for sharing.
Work:
I love my job, but I don’t really feel like going in today.
I have morning classes and evening classes and homework in between.
I don’t have the time. The kids will fight with each other and the Pre-K boys will draw all over the gym floors,
I will have to call more than a handful of parents about their children’s behavior today.
I miss my job more than anything right now.
I miss hugs from tiny people and somehow losing a game of basketball with a group of elementary schoolers,
I miss drawing with chalk outside on the playground with my students and my coworkers,
I miss hand-drawn pictures filled with misspellings and scribbles, but made with more love than any artist in the world
I miss all of the laughter and chaos that filled the walls of Skyline Elementary.
Friends:
I’m too tired to go out with my friends tonight.
I’ll hangout tomorrow.
Something someone said annoyed me and I don’t really feeling like being forgiving right now.
Finding an excuse because I would rather just relax tonight.
Can we move coffee to next week?
I’ll pass tonight.
Maybe, another time.
The joy I feel being with my friends can never be replicated through a screen,
Holding hands as we jump in the pool for the first swim of the summer,
Road-tripping to Houston or Austin together blaring bad 90’s music and passing around a bag of pretzels,
Hugging my friends and laughing together and sharing some chips and queso together are sorely missed.
I wish I had hugged each of my friends a little longer, stayed out a little later, and forgave a little quicker because friendships are so important.
School:
I can’t believe it’s already 9 am again.
Time for class.
I don’t feel very prepared for this exam.
Group work…Again?
How many absences can I have again this semester?
Should I skip?
The unexpected friendships and alliances that blossom from a mutual dread of a class,
Late nights spent at Edmon Low Library “studying” with friends over scattered flashcards,
Laughs with your professors over office hours, unwelcome tears flowing from having absolutely no idea how to navigate Livetext or decode, “The Faerie Queene,”
Strategically planning your day so you get your homework done in the morning, while still being able to make it to the weeknight basketball game at night.
Learning things you’re so passionate about so you can go on and teach your own students soon,
All of the things that make college and school so special.
All taken away before we could even grasp how lucky we were to have had it all.
Kaitlin, thank you for sharing your writing with us today. I am in love with the second stanza in your writing about friends. Prior to our current pandemic, I was always finding reasons to cancel or to stay home. But the truth is, I really do miss my friends and the special relationships we make.
Kaitlin,
Thank you for joining today and accepting this challenge. You met it well. I think this poem will make for a nice keepsake to remind you of these days.
I love the poem as a whole. It truly seems to capture the things that are important to you.
My favorite line is this:
“The joy I feel being with my friends can never be replicated through a screen,”
While we are so fortunate in today’s world (and even more so during this pandemic) to have technologies that allow us to see each other and communicate virtually, it truly doesn’t replace face-to-face contact.
Kaitlin,
I really loved reading this poem. It is so accurate and I totally understand and relate to it all. “I wish I had hugged each of my friends a little longer, stayed out a little later, and forgave a little quicker” wow! I love that line. It is so true. Let’s use this time to reflect on what we will do differently once this is all over! Thank you for sharing!
School is boring
I hate waking up for it
I wish I did not need it
I wish I had it
I miss it
Family… is nice but I need a break
Why do they call me all the time
It is too much, I’m an adult now
I’m an adult who needs his family
I miss my parents and siblings
I am going to call more
Happiness is just a word
Something people desperately try to capture
It feels like it is constantly just out of grasp
It feels amazing
It is something that I try to capture
It is more than just a word
Kole,
I enjoy how concisely you capture your “before and after” feelings about school, family, and happiness. Often, it seems that we gain a new perspective about something during challenging times. In that respect, I think many of us feel an odd sense of gratitude for these times.
I love how your feelings pivoted in these lines:
“It is too much, I’m an adult now
I’m an adult who needs his family”
Let’s hope we all hold on to these new perspectives!
We all are tossing the word distance around these days…but the distance in the poem gives perspective. Well done.
Kole, the first and final lines of the last stanza really hit home. I love the simplicity of your poem and the way you described “happiness”.
Kole,
I love the simple truths that are present in every single line. It’s so very relatable. I especially can relate to the first line of the second stanza, “Family…is nice but I need a break.” A lot of us are possibly feeling this way right now! Yet, there are also days during this quarantine that we totally feel the flip side of it too. Thanks for sharing with us all today.
Then and Now
Hands journey slowly
As I watch them snail their way
Along the path
Mr. Bates babbled about math
Doodled hearts and markered words
Graced my Lisa Frank planner
When will this end?
How long till it’s over?
Clockwise
I realize
Slow snail hands were
my best friend in disguise
Hours to live special moments
Minutes to snuggle my kids
Seconds to stare at them, sleeping
Wouldn’t it be sublime
To rediscover that lost time?
It washes over you
in flushed cheeks and sweaty palms
Feeling swept off my feet
Flash a quick smile
Tuck hair behind the ear
Flirtatious moments
So innocent,
Turned into walking
Down the aisle
Crayoned images hanging on the fridge
Kisses on boo boos
I love you toos.
Words on hundreds of pages
That make no sense
Speak of prophecies, miracles
The air filled with incense
Go through the motions
Recite the prayers
Sit , stand, sit again.
Someone to listen,
That loves me no matter what
Words that mean everything
Promises of hope
-Jenny Sykes
Hi Jennifer,
So captivated from the start, the journey of hands
“watch them snail their way
Along the path…
Doodled hearts and markered words…”
Happy to bring in my mind because it’s a memory I’ve long forgotten.
This made me warm and fuzzy inside:
“Kisses on boo boos
I love you toos.”
Such a sweet image and reflection of love.
Thank you for this morning’s peaceful poem. Trusting in “Promises of hope” today and always.
I absolutely love “crayoned images hanging on the fridge, kisses on boo boos” and the contrast in this from the lines before. I also love that your hand imagery returned in this piece in “hands journey slowly” and “slow snail hands.” I can picture your doodles during math – ha!
So Much Work
I can still see my grandmother
Evening after evening, the overhead lamp
shining on her silver hair as she graded papers.
Thirty seven years, from a one room schoolhouse in 1920
to teaching me in her fourth grade classroom in 1967.
It seemed like so much work. She loved all its facets—
Her students, her co-workers, the work itself—it was her life.
I would never work that hard, I thought at 20.
I would rise higher than that.
I can still see myself, dressed in power suits and high heels
Toes pinched and feminism radiating,
proud to have entered into a man’s world as an equal.
Expensive lunches, liquor-flavored evenings,
I’ll have my person call your person…
At 30, I had risen higher, but
it seemed like so much work. I never really loved it.
I can still see myself at thirty-three—married, three children under three
A new life as a stay-at-home-mother. Diapering, cooking, reading
“If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” and “Good Night Moon” over and over.
And over. Cooking healthy wholesome meals from scratch,
fretting about fevers and tantrums…
An isolated netherworld I wasn’t sure I belonged in, but didn’t want to leave.
It seemed like so much work. It was so much work. It was my heart.
I can still see myself, going back to college alongside my children.
Forty years old. Substituting days, grad school at night to learn
how to be a “real” teacher. Meals coming from a can or the freezer,
guilt and exhaustion for my nightly dessert. It was so much work.
I see myself at sixty-six.
Evening after evening has been spent grading papers
at ballgames and auctions and meetings and times when I would rather
have been doing anything else.
I chose my grandmother’s world, after all,
never her equal, but just as in love with all that world has given me.
Spare daughters and sons, joy and aggravation, laughter and tears.
There never was another place for me to be. There is no “higher” than this.
There is so much work. My grandmother was right, as always…
(Side note—this is bittersweet for me. I made the decision this week to retire before we go back to school in September. Each of my other decisions has led to a better next thing. I am anxious to see what my next “so much work” will be.)
Oh, Gayle. Spare daughters and sons. What a thoughtful, heart-felt description of our school children. You walk us through these images of your life, sharing the strength that carried you through in such a compelling way. Beginning with your grandmother and ending with her cinches it beautifully. I feel every bit of this. The decision making is always the hardest part. I’m so glad you recognize how each decision has led to the better next. (Edited to add that powerful women are always right.)
Gayle, first and foremost, CONGRATULATIONS!! Huge decision and I don’t blame you. I have a few years to go and I’ve been wondering if online learning becomes the new norm, will it be worthwhile to stick it out.
Enjoy this next phase, surely it will lead to a “better next thing” because you’ve already decided it and claimed it.
Your poem is a beautiful story of your life in the work force while also weaving in pieces of you, the heart of you. Many lines captivated me but these were a few of my faves:
*Expensive lunches, liquor-flavored evenings,
I’ll have my person call your person…
*An isolated netherworld I wasn’t sure I belonged in, but didn’t want to leave.
*guilt and exhaustion for my nightly dessert.
*just as in love with all that world has given me.
In love with your journey and proud that it came back around to your grandmother’s work!
Hi Gayle, although I am only twenty and have not yet started my teaching experience my grandmother was also a teacher and I feel like I learned so much from her as well! Reading your poem made me so excited to teach and I’m so inspired by your story to go back to school later in life.
Thank you so much for sharing.
Gayle. Oh, Gayle. What a special memoir you have crafted. I feel like I just saw a series of very vivid snapshots of your life.
Congrats and best wishes on your retirement, but it surely is bittersweet I am sure. As I have reached “the age” where retirement is possible, I am so ambivalent about it. To have made that decision–especially during these times–could not have been easy.
Now, about the poem . . . it’s the poem in its entirety that I love, but some chunks that stick out:
“guilt and exhaustion for my nightly dessert. ”
“Toes pinched and feminism radiating,”
“fretting about fevers and tantrums…
An isolated netherworld I wasn’t sure I belonged in, but didn’t want to leave.”
“Spare daughters and sons,”
“There never was another place for me to be. There is no “higher” than this.”
The whole repeated idea of “so much work” in various roles in your life . . . perfect.
There is no doubt you will find the perfect place for your new work.
Gayle,
As I read I thought about looking back on one’s life as an out-of-body experience. It’s a strange feeling. I think about my step-grandmother’s domesticity. She was married at 15, something I could never imagine. She cooked and crocheted and was the one who helped me when I got my period in seventh grade English. I thought about life’s paradoxes when I read “An isolated netherworld I wasn’t sure I belonged in, but didn’t want to leave.” That line captures so much about being a mother. I went straight into teaching after college. I was barely four years older than my students when I started. The job is exhausting, and it’s that tiredness I succumbed to when I retired last August after 38 years. I feel a bit guilty about my life on pause right now. But it is okay to take time and delay that “so much work” after a life of working so much.
—Glenda
Gayle, congratulations on the retirement! I think it’s cool that your grandmother taught in a one room schoolhouse! And then taught YOU! You clearly learned from the best, and each stage of life has brought new beginnings for you. This next chapter will be one that allows you to enjoy life without all the deadlines! And from what I hear from others who’ve retired, you’ll wonder how you ever had the time to work!
Gayle — What a glorious testament to a lifetime of hard work at the toughest job ever. Congratulations on the hard work and on the “bittersweet” decision. I certainly get that. The descriptions of “spare daughters and sons” really rang true …the kids become family. Your grandmother would surely be so proud. Again, thank you for your hard work and congratulations! Susie
You told such a thoughtful, reflective story here! The story of your career, your passion. I can’t believe the similarities to my own life – I, too, worked corporate, until children and the desire to teach; I became a teacher at 40, too…and I, too, am leaving full-time teaching at the end of this school year. What a strange school year to leave on, yes? Such great words – “never her equal, but just as in love with all that world has given me.”
“There is no ‘higher’ than this.”
Best wishes! There is, without a doubt, more good stuff to come!!
Susan, thank you for the Joni inspiration, I adapted her lyrics and played with rhyme. I hope it’s not too, well, playful. This amount of rhyming really needs accompaniment to set the right tone — Susie Morice?
Sands of Time
city blocks and ramps of streets
lanes of paths welcome bare feet
and powder blankets for miles of heat
i look at sand that way
but now winter powders cover dredge
winds of cinder and ashes spread
so many things I would have said
but sand got in my way
i’ve walked the sands toward dreams
cut my toes on hidden glass schemes
it’s sand’s forgiveness that I seek
the hourglass of time, a rhythmic beat
and soft landings on an oceanfront beach
Sarah,
Too playful? Not a chance! And I would love to hear this set to Susie’s playing. I think your lines have the perfect rhythm to match Joni’s. I may get your lines stuck in my heard instead of Joni’s.
My mind goes back to when I first became a part of all of this and you were still in Chicago playing sand volleyball. But, there is such metaphor to your lines, and I’m especially drawn to these:
“i’ve walked the sands toward dreams
cut my toes on hidden glass schemes”
You nailed it, Sarah!
I sang the song for you—it is beautiful!
Soft landings on an oceanfront beach…
Keeping the sand as the thread throughout this strengthens the piece. I, too, could hear your words to the song. I love how your imagery shifts with the sand, especially when if wanders toward dreams and the cuts on hidden glass schemes. You and I both gravitated to ashes and hourglasses today. My favorite – it’s sands forgiveness that I seek and finding those soft landings.
This is great! And, what I needed to get an idea. I love the rhyme. Love hourglass of time, rhythmic beat, soft landings on an oceanfront beach. It seems you really had the song in your head…or at least the beat of it when you wrote.
Sarah,
I love the myriad images of sand: “powder blankets,” sands in an hourglass, sand shifting and blowing so as to obstruct vision. These are all beautiful. I have an image of sand dunes and the way they shift and reconstruct the landscape as I read your poem. I lived close to sand dunes during my Arizona years and now recall their beauty, danger, and manipulation of our perspectives. Thank you.
—Glenda
Sarah, I was mindfully singing this to the tune, and it fits the melody. I love it all, but this resonates with me most: I’ve walked the sands toward dreams, cut my toes on hidden glass schemes.” How many times have we been on our pathway groove and gotten derailed? Beautiful perspective on the sands!
Sarah — I’m singing right along with your “Sands of Time” — they rhythm is so clear and I love the rhyme. I particularly love “powder blankets for miles of heat” and “sand got in my way” and “cut my toes on hidden glass schemes”… Lovely sand images. So much fun! Thank you! Susie
A line I love – “cut my toes on hidden glass schemes” – reminds me of my love-hate relationship with beaches. I love the juxtaposition to “winter powders” that also reminds me of a childhood love and the shoveling-the-walks-adult dislike.
Susan, thank you for bringing us the beauty and simple complexity in Joni Mitchell’s words this morning, as well as the thoughts from your student. I love her line, “Why didn’t I see that I am more?” This prompt reminded me of the rhythm of poetry, so I chose to recapture the song’s deliberate rhythm today. Perhaps it emulates Joni too much but it gave me a brief escape from the present.
Life and Time and Days
Morning dew on petals found
A leaf adrift on air unbound
Waves and sand and tides go round
Our life felt once this way
But now life only walks on by
A march as solemn as a sigh.
This world, a place to occupy
But do I want to stay?
Children’s blocks, a brush of hands.
A gentle knock in lifetime’s span
Open-ended, much still planned
Our time felt once this way
But now time rushes, sprints, a dash
Jack and Jill both gone in ash
Dissipating in a flash
No longer child’s play.
Hourglass sand and coffee drips
A one-horsed dray and long road trips
Around the world on steamer ships
Our days felt once this way
But now our days have all been tread
And death waits calmly steps ahead
In the forever silence of the dead
Our days just slipped away.
Jennifer,
Wow and wow and wow. Each of these I read this morning just pack such a punch. Each so different. I actually love the rhythm of Joni’s lyrics so much that imitating it is what I am drawn to as well. After I heard this again on This Is Us, I became fascinated and listened to it over and over and over. The meaning is powerful but it’s the sound that captivates me. And, you have used that to a very effective end with your poem
In some ways, your poem stumps me, making me wonder if I truly understand it. It has that kind of depth.
I am especially captured by these lines:
“But now time rushes, sprints, a dash
Jack and Jill both gone in ash
Dissipating in a flash
No longer child’s play.”
Thank you for creating such a beautiful poem.
Jennifer—my goodness. You captured it all, and maintained the song throughout. Your middle stanza was glorious. Thank you!
Jennifer,
I wrote about time too, so I can definitely relate to the last stanza as I pondered this topic a lot this morning. The imagery and sensory of “Hourglass sand and coffee drips” brings such a calm, slowed moment of peace. Then we are thrown into reality “death waits calmly steps ahead”…”Our days just slipped away.” WOW! So powerful.
Jennifer,
I love how we were both drawn to time and that “ash” made it into both of our verses today.
The initial imagery of petals, leaves, and waves offers movement leading into child’s play until the ash signals a swift change in the tone, the fragility of it all leading into the final stanza of death and impermanence.
Makes me sad but also makes me want to embrace the day with my loves. Thank you.
Sarah
Jennifer, your poem captured my mind this morning. These lines
“Jack and Jill both gone in ash
Dissipating in a flash
No longer child’s play.”
are still ringing in my ears after I had to read them out loud. I love the way your word choice sits in each line. Beautifully written and brings so much emotion with each stanza.
Jennifer,
I love rewriting the lyrics so that you can now sing your poem to Joni Mitchell’s time. The song is so open to that reimagining. I think you’ve done a spectacular job capturing the shifting time continuum. I particularly love the personification of death in the line “And death waits calmly steps ahead.” I also love the rhyme and rhythm throughout. Thank you.
—Glenda
Jennifer, I sang it as I read it (silently of course) – – and I love the feeling of movement through time from childhood to adulthood and the daily grind as we forge ahead to what awaits on the other side. This is beautiful! I cannot pick a favorite line!
Jennifer — WOW! This is downright beautiful! And so well crafted…each line is rhythmic and screams for me to sing. Your phrasings are so lovely: “a leaf adrift on air unbound” and “our life walks on by…solemn as a sigh … this world a place to occupy” – sooo good. “One-horse dray and long road trips/around the world on steamer ships” — I love the slow-down of these images as well as the rhyme. The closing of the end…the time running out… “our days have all been tread/and death wait calmly steps ahead/…forever silence of the dead..” Gee whiz…solemn.. but beautiful! Marvelous poem! Thank you! Susie
Jennifer,
Your rhyme and rhythm and structure are great. I love the repetition in the turnaround lines, “But now”… And I really like each of the stanzas’ haunting last lines.
Susan, thank you for the beautiful inspiration today. That song is more meaningful today than I ever remember it being! I love the way your student wrote – – “I never knew how important I am.” Powerful stuff there to realize already in 8th grade! Thank you for stretching us and helping us grow as writers.
And now Abideth These Three……
Faith
once a vocabulary word
a question
a word heard in church
now the substance of things hoped for
prayers of grounded belief
assurance of ultimate destination
Hope
once a too-high expectation that
skewed all the outcomes
a setup for a letdown
now the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
the promise that tomorrow will arrive
on full-feathered wings
Love
once a phony “marriage” of betrayal
a joke vault of secrets
a wasteland of landmines
now four spirited grandchildren
three resilent children
two rescue dog sons
and a second-chance sacrificing soulmate I cherish
…..and the Greatest of These is Love
(inspirations from the Bible, Emily Dickinson, Emanuel Carnevali)
Oh, Kim . . . this is positively beautiful and just what I pictured when I developed this inspiration. You very succinctly and with perfect description show what these three foundations were to you and what they became once you truly experienced them rather than just knew them as a concept. I can’t imagine a more perfect topic. And, I love the references to Dickinson . . . they fit perfectly.
I’m so sorry for your phony love experience but look at what emerged from it.
And the Greatest of These IS Love.
Thank you for fulfilling this “prompt” in such an ideal way.
This poem shows the growth we have throughout our lives. We begin with memorized ideas, words that turn into beliefs, fully fledged, much like the hope for tomorrows you describe so beautifully arriving “on full-feathered wings.” Both faith and hope are wrapped around your “second-chance sacrificing soulmate,” pulling all three into one. Love!
Kim—I have re-read this three times now. Your third stanza—a joke vault of secrets, a wasteland of land mines, and all the joy at the end. Perfection.
Kim,
The counting in the final stanza here works to quantify but also resists measurement in the the adjectives of spirited, resilient, rescue, and second-chance. So moving!
Sarah
Kim,
I am certain that the “Preacher’s Kid” learned well because look at what you’ve written today! It’s love from beginning to end. Without it, none of this would be yours to tell.
Faith being a vocabulary word really grabs me because I recall Sunday School vocabulary lessons more than I recall actual stories of the Bible. Guess the word-nerd in me always prevailed.
My favorite line in Hope is of course the Emily Dickinson inspiration:
now the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
(One of my favorite Jacqueline Woodson books to read aloud to my students is called Feathers. She, too, uses Emily in her intro.)
The last stanza is heavier than the whole poem and that’s brilliant! So much to savor because of our similar experiences in this:
once a phony “marriage” of betrayal
a joke vault of secrets
a wasteland of landmines
But look what you’ve got now! Grandchildren, children, dogs, and a “second-chance sacrificing soulmate” who I am certain would stop trains and planes for you! Blessings, Kim!
?
Kim, this is wonderful! All the connections in this poem connect me to it too. That final line, perfection. Bravo!
Kim,
I love the way your poem resonates w/ I Corinthians 13. It reminds me of the opening of “The Poisonwood Bible.” Love the then/now structure of each verse, and especially the nod to Emily Dickinson in the second one. Thank you.
—Glenda
Kim — I so appreciate how you take these three whoppers and do justice to them. You move faith from something a bit empty to that which grounds you — that’s big stuff. Hope being a bird that perches with full-feathered wings for tomorrow — that is a lovely metaphor… I like the sense of a bird soaring as hope. And I am so glad for you to have put the “phony” love behind you and now have the history of grandchildren and children and dogs and a soulmate — WINNER! You are a winner, my friend! Thank you for bringing all three of these into my Saturday night! Susie
B-Sides
She was annoying and little
She had a squeaky voice
Like a mouse
He was fat and wore baggy clothes
He had a stupid name
And his mom was gay
I made fun of her t-shirt
Because it had a mouse butt on the back
I made fun of him for everything
Because he kept trying to be friends
I didn’t have anything nice to say
Because I hadn’t learned to be nice
I want to go back and shake that awful hate out of me
But all I can do is go forward
Try to forgive me
Hope I didn’t cause too much harm
You were beautiful and kind
And you loved me
That was good enough for a first love
We just walked and walked
Through the college town streets
Listening to music and talking about movies
Then you started to cry
And you cried and cried
All the time
Then you started to yell
And you yelled and yelled
All the time
Then I started to think
Something is wrong
With you
And years later, we both have babies
Born a month or two apart
I look at you smile holding your son
And I realize it wasn’t you
It was just us
(Both a little crazy…)
I looked out into the small crowd
Huddling to the back walls of the bar
While I stood drunk and bumbling on stage
Quite certain that everyone hated my songs
And singing with reflective spite
Then ordering another PBR
Getting the complimentary feedback I desperately needed
Hearing so many “That was amazing”s
And “I love your lyrics”s
With a genuine enthusiasm?
This was the life for me
This was what I would do forever
SPOILER ALERT:
It wasn’t
And years later, I was at a show
For a touring singer/songwriter
We stood outside with the smokers
And he grabbed something from his car
And seeing that old beat up Honda Civic
With all of his worldly possessions
That required a minimum of 3 good tips to fill up the tank
So he could make it to the next show across the state in Brooklyn
Well, seeing that
I guess the choices I made
Didn’t seem so terrible
Wow, Alex. The title is PERFECT since clearly music is such an important part of your fiber.
I know I’m going to re-visit this a few times to get more and more layers of meaning. I love the specific details that you pulled up from the recesses of your memory . . . PBR, Honda Civic.
These lines are haunting me:
“I didn’t have anything nice to say
Because I hadn’t learned to be nice
I want to go back and shake that awful hate out of me
But all I can do is go forward
Try to forgive me
Hope I didn’t cause too much harm”
Some lovely stories from this prompt. Totally understand the first stanza, unfortunately. The second stanza may be my favorite because I’ve been somewhere there as well. “Then I started to think something is wrong with you…” yep. Thanks for sharing some beautiful thoughts and lines.
There’s perfection in your title. So much of life is the B side, the underbelly so to speak, that remains invisible. You bring us that underside here and we can connect. To the words we have said, the connections that may have been, the life we might have lived. I hope I haven’t caused too much harm as well. Thank you for this.
Hi Alex,
I felt like I was watching a movie with your poem. It’s lyrical yet it drew me in like a novel or script. I adored the honesty of this:
“He was fat and wore baggy clothes
He had a stupid name
And his mom was gay”
And the raw truth that we all have inside to recognize and despise:
“I want to go back and shake that awful hate out of me”
Loved that there was belief in love, but of course saddened by the turn of events. Very real, love it. Both of you “a little crazy” YES, aren’t we all.
Beautiful ending as well. Acceptance of self and others. ?
Alex,
I love the title of the poem and the life possibilities implied in the idea of plying the B-Side of a record. The “what could have been” resonate. The first verse speaks to me as I recall my generational ignorance in the 1970s until New Year’s Eve 1977 a friend came out to me. That personalization began my own shift in perspective. Years later that friend and I caught up w/ one another on FB, but I still think about my learned hatefulness. My favorite lines are “I didn’t have anything nice to say / Because I hadn’t learned to be nice / I want to go back and shake that awful hate out / of me.”
—Glenda
I love the way that three different aspects of the speaker’s life are represented as B-Sides, and they are looking back, presumably from the A-Side of things. The first stanza is so powerful – “Hope I didn’t cause too much harm” – so easy to identify with.