Our Host
Glenda is an NBCT with an MA in English literature. She taught English and speech 38 years and worked as an adjunct instructor for Idaho State University and the College of Southern Idaho before retiring in August 2019. As part of the NEA Better Lesson Master Teacher Project, Glenda developed a full-year curriculum for teaching seniors, which is free on the Better Lesson website. Glenda blogs at https://evolvingenglishteacher.blogspot.com/?m=1
Inspiration
We often ask children what they want to be when they grow up and as children thought about the “to be” we’d choose as adults, but how often do we consider what we don’t want to be?
This is the question Christian Wiman answers in “I Don’t Want to Be a Spice Store,” but the poem also considers what the speaker wants to be and the why to being and not being. Of course, the poem explores deeper insights into how we live our lives and how we use our time. It also offers a subtle critique of inclusion and exclusion.
Whyman begins with a declaration:
I don’t want to be a spice store.
I don’t want to carry handcrafted Marseille soap,
or tsampa and yak butter,
or nine thousand varieties of wine.
………
I want to be the one store that’s open all night
and has nothing but necessities.
Something to get a fire going
and something to put one out.
………..
I want to hum just a little with my own emptiness
at 4 a.m. To have little bells above my door.
To have a door.
The complete text of “I Don’t Want to Be a Spice Store” is available online via The New Yorker, March 25, 2019. It’s part of Wyman’s National Book Award nominated collection Survival is a Style.
Process
- For today’s inspiration, think about what you don’t want to be in contrast with what you want to be.
- After selecting these, try making a list of the essential qualities of each, exploring your reasons for selection, and ordering your ideas.
- Now, compose a poem beginning with “I don’t want to be” or a variation of those words. Let’s eschew formula while staying true to the poem’s central point of exploration.
Glenda’s Poem
I Don’t Want to Be an Iceberg
I don’t want to be an iceberg, a
Danger warning for weary sailors, travelers
Who steer clear of my frozen visage.
I don’t want to be like the
Thing that sank the unsinkable ship.
I don’t want to be an iceberg with
Little above the surface,
Much hiding below where the
World can’t know, can’t see the real me.
I don’t want to be translated into
Memes hiding secret cliched identities.
I want to be a glacier
Spreading my crystal, changing colored
Flesh across the poles,
Uniting continents,
Shielding microbial organisms
Safely below earth’s tundra,
Sheltering the land and her people.
I want to see travelers gazing in awe
Across feathery fields where I spread my
Shimmering wings to form
Earth’s glacial, celestial angel.
Compose here and with students
Offering students lines they can incorporate into their own poems can jumpstart the writing process. I like the way Whyman’s poem looks simple but conveys complicated ideas about belonging and inclusion, important ideas in our world.
In the classroom consider dividing the class into two groups, the “I don’t want to be” group and the “I want to be” group and create a choral reading.
Another teaching idea is to have students pair up and select things to be and not to be with each alternating reasons why and characteristics of the thing. For example, one student could choose not to be a baseball while the other chooses to be a bat or a baseball field. This will work for all sports.
A third option is to have the class engage in a whole-class composing activity. I see this working well via Zoom and Google Meet as well as via a shared Google doc.
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.
Glenda!
When you wrote ” I don’t want to be an iceberg with Little above the surface, Much hiding below where the
World can’t know, can’t see the real me.” I felt this because every day I battle from showing my true identity or hiding some of it to accommodate my environment. this has encouraged me to be more of myself and push boundaries.
Glenda,
I read todays prompt and my first thought was my Bop poem really fit this prompt as well. I read this prompt three times today trying to find the right words. I was about to give up, but I just starting with a list of what I didn’t want to be and then a list of what I wanted to be just like the process advices. Wow, the poem wrote itself from there. Thank you for sharing this with us today.
I don’t want to be forgotten…
I don’t want to be forgotten, like the toys of childhood
Or the friend who moved away, never to be heard from again
I don’t want to be forgotten, like the assignments left unfinished
Or the boy who too me on my second date whose name I don’t know now
I don’t want to be forgotten, like knock off Tupperware at a potluck
Or the cottage cheese fruit salad that was in the bowl
I don’t want to be forgotten like the teachers who just go through the motions not connecting with students
Or the half of my family that cut me out of their lives when I was young
I want to be remembered like the cherished doll that gets lovingly packed away until I have a child to share it with
Or like the best friend from first grade that I still have coffee dates with
I want to be remembered like my favorite final, the compare and contrast essay on Romeo and Juliet and West Side Story
Or like the boy who took me to see Goonies on my first date, yes I still know his name
I want to be remembered like the fine China that belonged to my grandmother, my mom still uses it for small family dinners
Or like Monica’s birthday cake, the one all my kids ask for on their birthdays
I want to be remembered for connecting with students, even the ones who keep trying to push me away
Or like those who have chosen to be my family and still are all these years later.
DeAnna ? this poem hit me in the feels. You are so brilliant at zooming in on particular moments. You give depth to your claims that are relatable, yet unique. Thank you for sharing this poem today.
I’ll also be honest and say that this line made me chuckle:
“yes I still know his name”
Rachelle,
I’m glad that line made you chuckle. I wrote that then went up and add thede line
because I honestly don’t remember it. 🙁 They can’t all be the first or the last.
DeAnna,
I’m so glad the process worked for you and that you write a poem that really tugs on my heartstrings. These lines have me sobbing:
Being forgotten is a real fear in retirement. There’s a part of me that wants time to stand still, and that part about family. Well, I wouldn’t recognize anyone from my mother’s side if my life depended on it. But my favorite aunt is from my stepmother’s side of the family. Your poem gets to the heart of so many of life’s complications.
Glenda,
Yes, families can be tricky. I have learned the best family is the one you make for yourself. I know that family isn’t just about sharing the same blood. I am very grateful to those who have chosen to be apart of my family when they didn’t have to.
I love this poem. I had fun reading this, some stories you’ve told me, others were new. Do not worry, DeAnna, you will not be forgotten, I know this for certain.
?????
This was gorgeous! All of those details. You did a masterful job of using commonplace to access universal memories/incidents, make me think of my own similar experiences, and, as a result, like Rachelle, said, it “hit me in the feels” completely! Beautiful!
Wow! There’s so much here to think about. Each line is a memory that can be fleshed out in a new piece of writing. Thanks for sharing.
Glenda, this is a wonderful prompt. As I finished my poem, I began to think of the many other directions I could have gone with the delicious invitation to consider what I DON’T want. Thank you for guiding me to Christian Wiman’s brilliant poem and inviting me in (through the back door of What I Don’t Want) to consider what I do want. I’m eager to see what my students do with this.
Allison,
I hope your students love the prompt. I’d love to see the poems they compose. ?
I don’t want to be a yellow legal pad.
I don’t want to be the surface
on which thought-filled people press ideas.
The yellow page absorbs the pressure of
urgent pens
digging two, three pages deep:
indententations of intentions.
I don’t want to be the
receptacle.
I don’t want to be the canvas
underneath the Starry Night.
I don’t want to be the
oil pan catching the dripping muck
beneath the chassis.
Allison,
I have that vision of legal pads. I’d not thought about them as you’ve described. Yet now I’m thinking about all these containers w/ ideas sitting in them. And although you don’t say what you want to be, the vision is in the implied antithesis of a canvas, an oil pan, and an indented legal pad. You’ve helped me redirect some long-buried memories.
Allison,
I enjoyed your piece.
This hit home to me. Feeling the urgent pressures of the world digging in two or three layers deep.
Allison, not only do I like what you have written. But I like what you have not written here. If you don’t want to be the canvas under Starry Night, does that mean you want to be the painting itself? The creator?
It’s hard to “do the verb” when you are the writing pad.
Thanks for sharing this. It sparked introspection from me, and I do appreciate that!
Allison,
I love that you left so much air in your version of Wiman’s poem. You allow the reader to imagine what you want to be – the idea itself? the vision and inspiration in paint? the igniting spark that transports us?
//d
don’t want to be someone who says no
I don’t want to be someone who says no
shutting down opportunities for myself or others
I want to be someone who says yes
so that new experiences are explored,
and others are supported.
When my daughter wants me to join her on a holiday,
I don’t want to put work before her.
When a colleague wants help power washing ChromeBooks,
I want to be remembered standing at the table typing commands
repeatedly so that the task is completed.
When a friend wants someone to walk with,
I want to find the time that works.
And somedays it’s just time for me.
Thirty minutes for a podcast to distract me from my day,
or to kneel in my garden clearing weeds from just one bed,
or a chance to get back to the story sketched on the pages.
I don’t want to be someone who says no.
Jamie, your poem invigorates me. I worked with a colleague in years past whose go-to response was NO. He had a position of some authority in our district, and it took me a while to understand (and circumvent) his immediate negative responses.
I, too, don’t want to be someone who says no.
Let’s try the improv bible: Yes…And…!
Jamie,
This poem is so motivating. I love thinking about making time and space for all the people you list and more. I echo Allison’s improv suggestion as “yes, and” opens and invites. When I was coaching debate back in the 90s, my children asked me why I spent so much time with other people’s kids and not w/ them. I was working 12 hours a day trying to resurrect a dead program my job depended on. I quit coaching at the end of that year. I didn’t want my kids remembering me as someone who didn’t have time for them.
Finding the balance in between saying yes to those around me and saying yes to time for me. I need to work on that the most. I find I’m saying yes to everyone but me or just to me, there has to be a middle ground.
Jamie, the line about not putting work before other things really spoke to me. I struggle with this all the time. I think I’m getting better, but I still have so much work to do around this! Thanks for sharing.
I don’t want to be a present, fastidiously wrapped
ribbons curled to perfection,
corners crisp and tight,
too perfect to be opened
I want to be wrapped simply
in worn comics,
in acrylic hand prints,
thumbprints and stickers,
a mosaic of primary colors splashing joy
I want to be the wrapping
that elicits a grandmother’s sigh,
wrapping that is kept close to the heart,
pressed into an album, remembered…
Tammi,
This poem embodies a gift. There’s something a bit inauthentic about both packages and people wrapped up too perfectly. “a mosaic of primary colors splashing joy” is a beautiful image. I love color and being surrounded by it.
Your first two stanzas are so clearly represented. I try to imagine the wrapping that elicits a grandmother’s sigh. A lovely sentiment that elicits a feeling more than an image.
Tammi, I hear your call for simple, but beautiful things. Thank you for sharing that.
Tammi,
I love the poem you have written. I can tell that you wish to be seen as unique and you don’t want to be like everyone else. That was very well written in your poem. I loved it.
I don’t want to be a book
full of stories of regret,
tales of what didn’t happen,
opportunities wasted.
If only I would have.
I don’t want to be a book
that has never been opened.
Thrust aside among the obscure
and the unknown,
and the “what-was-that”?
Looked at as an afterthought,
but only to get it out of the way.
No browsers here today.
I don’t want to be a book
full of withered pages,
unexplored emotions,
a life half-lived.
I don’t want to be a book
that no one has read.
With a dusty cover
and no pictures.
I want to be a best seller.
An award winner.
Prominently displayed on a coffee table
or a bookshelf.
On someone’s lap
and to-read list.
Read and devoured.
Talked about and shared.
Lauded and coveted.
I want to be THAT book.
Elisa,
I love thinking about what kind of book I don’t want to be and appreciate your leaving the genre wide open. Only a book read and loved will do. “I want to be THAT book,” too!
Ah, Glenda! I had not even thought about genre when I sat down to write this poem, but now I will. Thanks for putting that seed of an idea in my mind.
Elisa, I hear your cry to be HEARD in this poem. You’ve expressed a core human need (to be heard, valued) beautifully. Thank you.
Thank you for your comment, Allison. We gain so much when we are heard and valued, but it seems like we need to redefine what that looks like. At least, I know I do!
Glenda, I love this prompt. It really makes me think hard. And, your poem is a great mentor text! Thank you so much.
Thank you, Linda. I wanted to offer a prompt accessible to students in hopes it would lesson the load a tiny bit for teachers.
—Glenda
I don’t want to be a dictionary
with an answer for every puzzle
and words for every occasion.
I don’t want to be the one who
always says the right thing
and knows the most apt response.
I don’t want to be a list of words
that describe how others see me
and yet struggle to truly be heard.
I don’t want to define myself
with the expectations of others
and modify my form to fit.
I don’t want to try to communicate
with those who refuse to listen
and find fault with my word choices.
I want to celebrate the beauty
of language’s ability to imagine
the unbelievable and miraculous.
I want to revel in the precision of
words that express emotions, logic,
and the indefinable space between.
I want to show new eyes the worlds
between the pages that offer
escape, knowledge, and insight.
I want to learn new ways of writing,
speaking, and expressing with words
that are no longer misunderstood.
I want words to color the world with
compassion, acceptance, and
a new interpretation of right.
Cara, this poem prompted me to reflect on myself as a teacher and how I encourage students to view learning, reading and writing. I don’t want to know the answers; I want to explore the spaces between. Thanks for providing some words for this concept:
“I want to revel in the precision of
words that express emotions, logic,
and the indefinable space between”
Cara, Thank you for your poem. I loved your transition in tone from “I Don’t want” to “I Want.” Your wants are so relevant and so needed. It makes me want to yell out loud to those who won’t listen.
Cara,
This would be a wonderful poem to share with students and listen to how they reflect on the philosophy of language herein. Like Rachelle, your poem gives me pause and an invitation to think about both compassion and violence in English. I’m here for this “new interpretation of right.” There’s power in being a teacher who acknowledges still being on a learning journey where language is concerned. Wonderful poem.
I love this poem! I wish I had thought of Dictionary! I love how you want to reinterpret language.
Cara — Your poem really reminded me of the important connections that teachers forge with students. I love these beautiful lines: “I want words to color the world with/compassion, acceptance, and/a new interpretation of right.”
Cara,
This quote sounds like you!
However I half expected to read you wanted to be a “word eating dinosaur.” ???
Well, that would be a thesaurus, not a dictionary. 😉
Yes, you have grilled that into me. ??
I don’t want to be a hypocRite.
One folks don’t bElieve not one bit.
I don’t want to be unreLiable, I don’t know why.
I just know I must try.
I wAnt to one on whom folks can rely.
I want to be dependaBle,
Not necessarily Inexpendable
Be someone foLks can trust
To do what I must
To get the job donE,
Even if it’s not fun.
Anna! I so appreciate who you are! Love all the end rhyme with vowel sounds singing us through your verse!
Anna,
I know you to be all these things you desire. I appreciate your authenticity, your reliability, and that you are the antithesis of hypocrite. Love the acrostic form here.
Anna, you are true to your word, a woman of integrity and faithfulness. I admire you for those qualities and more!
oh, so fun to read this one with it’s unexpected capitalization….and so true!
Anna – I love the rhythm of your poem and your embedded acrostic.
I love this prompt but found it a bit challenging. I was tempted to abandon it but didn’t. Here’s to a rough first draft.
Connection
i don’t wanna be no Cell phone
even if it’s smart.
don’t nobody need such a long memory
Or to contain so many voices.
don’t Nobody really live there anyway
don’t No one really listen
nah – me, i’d rather be the Ethereal
analog air overflowing with sound waves
from you to me and back again
Concerts of ideas & emotions
playing just for us
To bring us closer together
I don’t wanna be no cell phone
even (maybe especially) if it means i Only get the
here and Now of you.
Chea,
Your poem captures the impersonal characteristics of cell phones and reminds me of the shared experience of analog phones. I’m old enough to remember party lines. I’m glad you did not abandon your poem. It makes me think.
The dialect suggests we should take seriously what we do take so seriously. Fun and thoughtful poem.
Chea — Glad you didn’t abandon this one. I really loved it. You really captured the disconnect that we experience today even though we are so connected with our cell phones. Love the lines: ” i’d rather be the Ethereal/analog air overflowing with sound waves/from you to me and back again.”
I really appreciate the levels of language in this poem and the way they come in at different times. I especially notice how the cell phone gets the dialect, the here and now, and the conversation is ethereal, a concert of togetherness. I am really glad you shared this draft – it makes me want to play with language in this way.
I don’t want to be water
singular and simple
bland to the pallet
perhaps essential
but being poisoned by greed
I don’t want to be water
it passes me by with
nothing more than a glare
serving a purpose
other than me
I don’t want to be water
taken advantage of
taken for granted
lonely in despair
I don’t want to be water
crying out for help
being lied to, mistreated
with no one to listen
I want to be wine
full-bodied
with textures and notes
that sing through the air
I want to be wine
given attention
being showed gratitude
handled with care
I want to be wine
made to last
adored and welcomed
with each gracious sip
I want to be wine!
Linda – I fully believe in my heart that you are wine! 🙂 I really loved the way you made the I want to be/I don’t want to be lines into a refrain. It felt like a mantra, making me believe that if you speak it enough it will come into being. Seeing you’re from MI gave it an extra oomph because of the connection to Flint and how all people deserve clean water and to be treated like fine wine. Thanks so much for sharing!
Linda,
Indeed, water is “poisoned by greed.” What if we treated water the way we treat wine and considered it an investment, something worth caring for. I love the ecological ethic in your poem.
Love this! While it makes me want to care for our water more, it was a new take on water – no one wants to be taken for granted, but “adored and welcomed.”
Linda, reading your poem was like being the water into ?–maybe appropriate for this Easter weekend. I read this as a guide for how to be treated, loved. I am about to share wine with friends this evening and will toast you and your poem “with each gracious sip” and also take note to give attention, handle with care, adore!
Water is definitely playing second fiddle to the wine in this poem. Who wouldn’t want to be the wine you describe. I want to be that too. Wonderful poem.
Linda — I love the juxtaposition between water and wine. The awareness you bring to the treatment of water is moving. The world should treat the water with more care, just as we should treat ourselves with more care.
I don’t want to be a period –
Saying, “Listen to me.”
“No, you listen to me.”
“I am right.”
“You are wrong.”
“Goodbye.”
Periods mean disconnection.
Endings.
Closure.
No, I’d rather be a semi colon –
Saying, “This is what I think;
I’d love to hear what you have to say.”
“Vanilla is not my favorite; however, I do enjoy a scoop with pie.”
“It’s time to go; I’ll be back soon.”
Like them, I’d be continuous;
thoughtful;
forgiving.
Rachel – I really loved your punctuation metaphors and how powerfully they convey the literal and figurative meaning assigned to each. It’s interesting to me that you ended with a period. I kind of expected a semi colon to signify that even this idea and this poem could go on, but that disruption made me think about how forgiveness is the end and from there we can all start fresh. Brilliant.
Rachel,
You are so right about the finality of periods:
and the openness of semicolons. Very clever poem.
Rachel! This is clever on so many levels. As a teacher, I will borrow this to invite students to become intimate with som punctuation mark with all its connotation and the many ways it controls, invites, resists, subverts. An you use quotations to show the meaning and implications using all the markers. Love th semicolon in all its forms and think I might want to be that or a dash.
Rachel, you are so right that periods are too final! Unless they come in 3’s. We should always be given the opportunity for continuality; freedom, voice, choice…
Wow! I really, really love this! What a fantastic way to show students proper usage of these two punctuation marks. Can I borrow this poem?
I love the life you give punctuation. I’ve often thought of periods as endings, separations. But never thought about the semi colon as the connecting mark. I like to use them in my writing; sometimes I think to show my students how they work. Never thought about the distinction your poem brings up.
Thank you for this prompt because I learned more about myself in the process ?
I don’t want to be a red rose
the one you place in a vase
and ogle over for a few days
before petals wilt
and pollute your dining room.
Even so, you wait to throw me
out until I am too repulsive,
dry and dead and decomposing,
to keep around.
I want to be a wild rose
the one you stumble upon
in a prairie because you
honored your curiosity.
The moment of discovering me
captivates your awe
today, tomorrow, and for years.
I am resilient and make space for myself
in woods, and ditches, and hillsides.
Butterflies, birds, bees, and beetles
all benefit from my presence,
which is why you leave me here,
far away from any vase, and
plant me in a poem instead.
Rachelle, thanks for this! I really liked the wildness in your poem and the beauty in that “moment of discov[ery].” There really is something to letting the wild rose grow in our minds (through the lines of your poem) rather than slowly wilting, and dying, in the vase.
Rachelle,
I love the contrast in roses. The afterlife of all vased flowers is a mess. It’s a sad finish to what was beautiful. I want to climb a mountain trail and find wild roses.. WOW to this last line:
In a poem a rose blooms forever. Lovely poem.
Rachelle,
I love this. It is meditative and insightful and beautiful. I, like you, am a sucker for alliteration and love your “Butterflies, birds, bees, and beetles / all benefit from my presence,” near the end as well as your “dry and dead and decomposing” in the first stanza. Wonderful imagery, tone and message. Thank you for sharing.
Rachelle, your transformation of a rose from décor to life baring was brilliant. Thank you for sharing. There is something so simple and beautiful in the wild that we find. In nature, the solitude, and happiness does it define.
Is there a better ending line to a poem like that? I don’t think so. This was so delightful and I really appreciate the contrast between the rose in the vase to the one out in the wild. It was beautiful and you captured that so well.
Was my favorite!
Your poem makes me want to be a wild rose, too. A surprise in a spot someone might notice. Growing without the dependency upon conscious pruning. Thanks for sharing the distinction.
Rachelle,
Sadly I too leave to beautiful rose ? or other cut flowers ? in the vase way too long. I love this poem, because I enjoy smelling the wild flowers.
The alliteration of dry, dead, and decomposing is fabulous.
Glenda, thank you for hosting today and for sharing this lovely poem with us. I always appreciate your word choices and you have not disappointed again with your word choices and word placements in your poem today. My poem today is a bit more light-hearted.
“Nature doesn’t want to play”
I don’t want to be your art project
stuck to glue, glittered, bedazzled
in fall; let me float to where
I will compost or where
my seeds continue my cycle
leaf me alone
I don’t want to be your art project
painted, possible googly eyes
used as a paperweight or
placed for others to seek me
I’ve been forming longer than you
don’t rock my boat
I don’t want to be your art project
whittled, poked, prodded
sealed in with a final coat
collecting dust on a wall
or punched into mud on a trail
I refuse to stick around
Stefani, I love the word play here! Each final line of the stanza is especially fun to read because it was like a puzzle for me. Your descriptions made it an attainable game to figure out what natural element you were talking about before we got to the punch line. Thank you for this!
Stefani,
Thank you for bringing the humor today. I have to tell you: I just made a pebble art picture a week ago and wrote a blog post about it. Several in this group read that post and saw a photo of it. Ha! I’m sure nature prefers to stay in nature, but we humans like to bring the outside in, sometimes more than we actually want to commune w/ nature. I love everything about your poem, but I’m still hanging my pebble art on the wall!
Stefani, your poems suggests to me that we should not assign students to write, but to do! That’s why “service” projects can be so beneficial, when we not only ask to students to consider a problem, not just offer solutions, but actually to DO something!
Glenda, you nailed it when you said I would like this prompt. I love it! Thank you!
I don’t want to be coffee.
I don’t want to be the bitter cup
gulped down each morning on the way out the door,
always in a rush, never slowing down,
never allowed to linger
in the evening as the sun sets.
I don’t want to cause jitters when I’m present
or headaches when I’m gone.
I don’t want you to talk of giving me up
or worry that I’m not good for you.
I want to be tea, sipped and savoured over time.
I want to be the slow minutes steeping on a quiet morning,
poured into a warm round teapot
and covered with a cozy.
Taken with milk or lemon, never both,
I want to bring you calm alertness in the morning,
a pause in the afternoon and mellow comfort
before sleep.
Amanda, I really like the complete shift in tone from coffee to tea. There certainly is a different vibe when one chooses to drink one or the other. Thanks for capturing that into a poem ?
Amanda,
There is something in this coffee rush vs. the slow experience of drinking tea. We attended a tea ceremony in China, and I found the experience so comforting. Your final image is beautiful in its longing:
I think I need a cup of tea now. I have a special cup for this experience. Lovely poem.
As an addicted coffee drinker, this makes me want to abandon my habit and luxuriate in the tea- life! I love the lines “poured into a warm round teapot and covered with a cozy” – the syntax and sounds are soothing.
Ah! An ode to my tea loving heart! I love a hot cup of tea just about any time of day and loved your contrast between coffee and it’s gentler cousin. Now, off to steep a cuppa!
I Want to Be Me
I don’t want to be you
and your version of right
smiling silently
head down in deference
to what is and what was.
I don’t want to be quiet
speaking in hushed tones
never upsetting
and knowing my place
in this hierarchy of life.
I want to be me
with all the fire
and fury of one
angry with the state
ready to fight
for others.
(Thanks, Glenda, for a wonderful prompt. I need to do this with students!)
Melanie – what a powerful poem! I get a sense of your desire to stand up for others and to say uncomfortable truths. We need people who are willing to speak up, and thanks for sharing this inspiration!
Thanks, Emily. I’ve been mulling with the “uncomfortable truths” that you pointed out and making the connection with the discomfort of antiracist work – there seems to be a disconnect between the experience of discomfort and the knowledge or acceptance of this “truth”.
Melanie,
I keep rereading your first two lines…”I don’t want to be your version of right!” Yes, this builds the fire of your poem immediately. Thank you for sharing today!
Melanie,
I’m glad you’re here raising your voice and channeling “all the fire and fury.” We need more of this.
Oh this is wonderfully fiery! I so appreciate your acknowledging what is expected and then defiantly proclaiming that you won’t accommodate, you will stand up and fight. Such a powerful message!
Your words have so much power! I love: “smiling silently” and “with all the fire and fury of one… ready to fight.”
I admire the ferocity of this poem – from the opening lines “I don’t want to be you/
and your version of right” to the final stanza “I want to be me/ with all the fire/ and fury” – I feel your defiance and I honour it.
Glenda,
What a fantastic inspiration. I love it and love how you provided multiple applications in the classroom. What a true educator you are.
Your poem is one that brings envy to the surface . . . why couldn’t I think of such a rich topic filled with so many details deepening the metaphor. I especially like these lines:
“I don’t want to be translated into
Memes hiding secret cliched identities. ”
My poem won’t mean much to people that don’t like in my small town, but it pays homage to a locally-owned cafe that is such a treasure!
Local Vibe
I don’t want to be Starbucks
with its grande caramel macchiato
and
its packaged pastries
with their shrink-wrapped
preservatives and artificial twang.
Thousands of shops across
the country
filled with people and their laptops
and their earbuds and noise-cancelling airpods
blocking out the world around them,
absorbed in their work, their screens.
I want to be Midwest Cafe
with its spiced mate
one size only
and
its wide assortment of muffins
homemade at 4:00 in the morning
by local hands
with local ingredients.
Maybe a hundred devotees
stopping each morning,
chatting with the earthy employees
Landy and Cory and Micheal and Todd
who have evolved over time
into friends.
Booths and table dotted with pairs, trios, groups
eating, drinking, and chatting . . .
no electronics clogging up the vibe.
14,650 Starbucks nationwide
seemingly ubiquitous
One Midwest Cafe
and the only one
for me.
~Susan Ahlbrand
3 April 2021
Susan – I live on an island of 1200 souls, and I totally connected with this! I felt the homeyness and comfort of the Midwest Cafe. I smelled those muffins with their unique flavors, and thought of my own Landy and Cory and Michael and Todd. I didn’t realize how much I missed the folks ready with breakfast during quarantine. While sometimes I long for the anonymity of the city Starbucks, thanks for helping me appreciate the unique connections and treats in a local spot. You brought forth what really matters – simplicity, honesty, connection. The poem is a warm hug. Thanks for sharing!
Susan, I love your topic and what I think could be a great advert for any local company (how can you get this out there?). I look forward to the days where coffee shops are as open as they were for working, writing, and socializing. Thank you for sharing today.
Susan,
I have never understood the appeal of Starbucks. I much prefer the home-town coffee shops and their unique flavors. You’ve captured the homogeneous and impersonal nature of Starbucks. Every detail is spot on. Naming the proprietors of Midwest Cafe offers a stark contrast to Starbucks. Love this poem.
I Don’t Want To Be
I don’t want to be a restaurant
with its brick and mortar
and its stationary confinement
I don’t want to be one way
in and one way out
waiting for people to find me
I want to be a food truck
with its wheels and motor
and its free spirit
I want to be on the move;
going where the people are
to share what’s inside me
This is an extended metaphor that I had not considered and it works so perfectly with “its stationary confinement” . This is such a lovely image of a food truck as a “free spirit”.
Donnetta, this is lovely! I love the metaphors, and it made me think of things in a totally unique way! The food truck feels so free and helpful! What a lovely metaphor for yourself. Thanks for this great poem!
Donnetta,
This is so original and fun. I love the final lines:
I need more food trucks in my life!
Donetta, I like how you use the food truck as an image of a free spirit. I enjoyed reading this. Let the good times roll!
Donetta, These are the lines that speak to me
I want to be a food truck
with its wheels and motor
and its free spirit
You remind us that being a “free spirit” has obligations to do what we are free to do…to help others.
Thanks for the reminder.
Donnetta, how adorable is this! I am in such awe today at the choices our fellow writers here have made for today’s prompt. I absolutely agree with you! Let’s live as food trucks and enjoy what we find! So fun! I love it!
This is a perfect ending! Even though it’s the food truck’s perspective, after the pandemic, I feel this way 100%!
????????
I have a secret love for food trucks and so I was delighted to read your poem and connect with it. My favorite part of food trucks is how much they rely on the community and feel like a more unique piece of someone. I didn’t think someone could make restaurants unappealing, but you managed to do that because you made them feel so stark vs the welcoming aspect of food trucks. Thanks for sharing this Donnetta
Glenda, thank you for this excellent prompt and your wonderful mentor poem. I loved the iceberg vs glacier dichotomy you’ve created, one that is splintered and destructive (and meme-ified) while the other is vast and uniting and protective. So cool!
___________________________
I am not a business
memorandum nor some
Interoffice Correspondence
not a cargo manifest
nor a set of directions,
an instructional manual
nor a grocery list.
I am not a tweet nor
a fortune in some
cookie. I am not
the note scrawled
on the Post-It stuck
to the edge of my
desk: April 10th Cap
& Gowns.
Truth be told, I am
more a stage direction
than a call sheet, more
a set up than a punchline.
I find that there’s too
much pressure in those
“big lines” in those
Yippee-ki-yay, Mr. Falcon
lines (let alone their
penchant for being
misconstrued, misremembered
and/or miswritten.)
I don’t need
to be or not to be,
but rather
who’s there?
(that’s the first line
of the play, the line
that establishes
one of the central
themes.)
I see myself as more
of a poem, I think,
any form or style,
want or wherewithal,
with the minor
exception of a
limerick
or possibly a
villanelle
(I have had it
with these monkey
fighting rules for
these Monday to
Friday poems.)
Scott — You sure do have a strong voice in this poem… I can just feel that “I’m more than the sum of my parts” kind of litany. In particular, I loved
and
You are, Scott, indeed a poem…layers of meaning…white spaces that are full of what rattles around inside Scott that some might not see, but that hold quite a lot … and a delight to the senses.
I really loved your poem. Thank you, Susie
Scott,
I like this rebellious poet not wanting to adhere to strict forms such as a limerick or a villanelle. I’m thinking about the forms in “these Monday to Friday poems” that manifest themselves in post-it-notes and fail to realize “who’s there.” What would the stage be w/out the players? And thank you for this unique interpretation of the prompt. I love it.
Scott, there’s so many lines here to love – that entire second stanza, “I don’t need to be or not to be” (my favorite), the idea of being any form of a poem (except a limerick – ha!). You’ve made me think villainously about that villanelle.
Turn Up the Bass
By Nancy White
I don’t want to be a trumpet
Loud and brassy
Sometimes wailing
Screaming, screeching,
Sometimes staccato
Like jabbing exclamation points
Piercing the silence,
Waking the dead
Wandering around searching for its root
Strutting, marching, tooting just to hear its own toot.
I’d much rather be the jazz bass
Thumping beat
In the pocket, smooth
Foundation of groove
Punch in the gut
Bottom end thud
Supporter of all musical shapes above
Solid pulse
Of a beating heart,
Pumper of blood to strong legs and planted feet
Firm and unwavering,
Holding it tight and bringing it all together,
I always turn up the bass.
Nancy,
It’s the beat of the bass that gives cadence to our movements, so while I love the trumpet, I can’t live without that bass beat! I wish I understood music better so I can think deeper about all its implications in terms of being and not being.
Nancy, the combination of images and challenges in your poem give it extra strength.
The image of a jazz bass, yes (I played the bass in high school). But, also the bass line sets the beat, is the foundation, and thus your poem challenges us both to “turn up our voices” and hold things in line, but also keep things going. WOW!
Nancy, this sounds like the poem of a musician. Though, I’m not, I learned from and appreciated all the wonderful images and phrases, especially to describe the bass. (Even non-musicians are aware of the brassy trumpet “tooting just to hear its own toot” But you, the jazz bass–“foundation of groove” “beating heart” “Supporter of all musical shapes above” and “firm and unwavering”–what a beautiful description of a life of purpose.
Glenda, what a rich prompt and poem you have inspired us with. I had never before given so much thought to the differences in these two ice formations. You have shown the glacier’s beautiful jobs–uniting continents, shielding organisms, and this magical beautiful line: “Earth’s glacial, celestial angel. ” Thank you for the ideas for teaching too.
I have a page of notes today about what I want to be and not to be. That in itself was a rich exercise. Though, it wasn’t until I read this article called “Why Is Jesus Still Wounded After His Resurrection?” that I knew what I wanted to be today.
I Don’t Want to Be a Porcelain Bowl
I don’t want to be a
bowl of porcelain–
pale, translucent
and fully fragile.
I don’t want to be displayed
shamelessly on a
shelf in the shadows,
perfect but untried.
Smooth and without character.
I want to be a Kintsugi bowl,
flawed and fully fractured,
but gold-veined–
beautiful in my brokenness.
Scars and wounds do not
imply defect, but they
are the rich
integration of wounds
and suffering, and
rising empathy.
Even the author of
the Resurrection
unabashedly chose to
rise with
His scars on.
I love this metaphor of the broken bowl with the gold vein. It reminds me of Leonard Cohen’s line about that’s where the light comes through, which connects to your last few lines. Great Easter connection! I connected with the line “integration of wounds / and suffered, / and rising empathy.” I love that idea of turning pain into empathy – it heals us all. Thanks for your poem!
Denise,
That final image is powerful:
It makes me think how fortunate we all are not to be discarded because we have cracks and flaws. Others can have the porcelain. I’ll be a Kintsugi bowl, too. Love this metaphor.
Lovely Easter poem, Denise! Absolutely love these lines:
I learned something new – Kintsugi bowl, flawed and fractured – these are gorgeous! Beautiful metaphor, especially in this season. Happy Easter!
Beautifully broken. He showed his scars to the doubting Thomas. I want to be like that. Unashamed and unafraid. I love: “the rich
integration of wounds
and suffering, and
rising empathy.”
Yes! And I love: “smooth without character.”
There are so many porcelain bowls in the world. Give me the Kintsugi every time.
This was wonderful. That final comparison of the Kintsugi bowl to Christ? Wow.
Thank you for this prompt. I love the inviting image you create in your poem of a glacier.
The source of my poem is an article, “Find your Marigold: the One Essential Rule for New Teachers” published on August 29, 2013 in Cult of Pedagogy (https://www.cultofpedagogy.com/marigolds/)
Walnuts are nutritious.
They add flavor. They add flair
Walnuts are delicious.
With most anything they pair.
But the walnut tree is vicious
And its neighbor will disdain.
Its effect is quite pernicious
To all in its demesne.
Now, marigolds are flowers.
Gardeners plant them every year.
But they have subtle powers.
They protect those who are near.
A walnut tree may wave
Hello to all who pass its way.
But marigolds their strength will save
To freely give away.
I don’t want to be the walnut tree.
I don’t want to be its neighbor.
I want to be a marigold free
Or in a marigold’s favor.
Katrina, you have given such richer meaning to being a “Walnut” and a “Marigold”. Thank you for sharing.
Katrina,
This is a spectacular interpretation of the prompt. Thank you for eschewing formula. I remember reading the Cult of Pedagogy article long ago but also think about the short story “Marigolds.” This little flower has such strength and appears so delicate. I love what that tells us about how we should be. Walnuts are also messy trees. They are a ton of work, but marigolds grow and offer beauty w/ little maintenance. Really wonderful poem.
Katrina, you have chosen some two great growing things to compare in your poem. I never understood it, but when I moved to the Midwest and started gardening, my mentors taught me to plant marigolds among my tomatoes. I love your images of the selfless and beautiful marigolds, like in…
I Believe John Donne
Three hundred ninety-seven years ago
Donne laid it out;
I don’t want to be a taker
full of hot air
that fills my own sails
to navigate life
as if I floated my own boat;
I don’t want to be
an island.
I want to be the Kalahari Sociable Weaverbird,
the Philitairus socius, a sparrow weaver,
lacing, plaiting a colossal nest
that shelters, protects hundreds of pairs
and generations of weaver feathered family.
No isolated aeries in the mountains,
pretending I control the continent
and all the airwaves,
I’d knit your big green ideas,
her artistic lemon eye,
his rhythmic rainbow songs,
their novel mechanics
into a safe haven,
and we would fly in an alliance of feathers
that celebrate every wing
in undulations
of harmonic murmuration.
by Susie Morice, April 3, 2021©
I’d knit your big green ideas,
her artistic lemon eye,
his rhythmic rainbow songs,
their novel mechanics
into a safe haven,
and we would fly in an alliance of feathers
that celebrate every wing
in undulations
of harmonic murmuration.
This is so gorgeous!! You are this weaver, Susie. I love the color imagery in this, that bright vision of the world and that optimism comes shining through. The bird imagery of building nests, homes, and harmonic songs builds the image of who you want to be – and who you really are! This is a keeper. Hugs.
Susie,
I can’t count the many times I’ve referenced Donne’s “no man is an island unto himself” over the years. I love the way you push back against the rugged individual myth with bird imagery. The lessons nature offers, which I see in David’s poem, too, are our most important. I think my favorite image is in these lines: “lacing, plaiting a colossal nest
that shelters, protects hundreds of pairs
and generations of weaver feathered family.”
A robin built a nest in the wreath on my front door a few years ago, and I long for a repeat because I need these birds and all they do to make life better. Beautiful poem.
Susie, this is so good! John Donne and the beautiful and breathtaking image of “harmonic murmuration[s]” in the same poem? Great! Your celebration of (interconnected) self in this poem speaks to and for this whole community of poets here on Ethical ELA: your wonderful poems and comments to me and others here allow us to “fly in an alliance of feathers / that celebrate every wing.” So, thank you!
Susie, I am seeing this colorful dance with Donne – the hues of happiness flitting and flying, airborne, soaring! Vivid imagery with a definite pulse of unity!
Susie, Susie, Susie, only YOU would make me love a poem related to your feathered friends! It’s beautiful, colorful, and honestly takes me right into the sky with you.
The love in these lines feels divine:
You are such a gem!
?
I love this, Susie, lacing and layering, a bit of this and that, creating a nest as you collect the beauty from each and every one. Such a beautiful word picture that shows care, integration, involvement, and inclusion. So full of life and live!
Susie, you’ve used some of my favorite words – aerie, undulation, murmuration – in such a beautiful way. I love the idea of the plaited nest laced for protection, especially contrasted against Donne’s island.
Gorgeous!
“I’d knit your big green ideas,
her artistic lemon eye,
his rhythmic rainbow songs,
their novel mechanics
into a safe haven,
and we would fly in an alliance of feathers
that celebrate every wing
in undulations
of harmonic murmuration.”
Wow!
Glenda – your poem was just chock-full of gorgeous metaphors that made me think of Iceland, and made me think about how we want to be in this world. I want to be a glacier, too! Thank you for this awesome prompt! I can see lots of ways to use your classroom tips. I’ve been thinking about the “teacher ideal” a lot, and the burnout that is so common right now, so I went literal instead of with metaphors today.
I don’t want to be fiction
I don’t want to be Ms. Honey
Beloved doormat
Quietly, sweetly, suffering a bully
or teaching kindergarten, God bless her.
I don’t want to be Ms. Crabapple
Sighing audibly at each question
Dreaming of love letters
Not caring if Ralphie eats his dissection worm.
I don’t want to be that teacher-movie-white-lady-savior-amalgam
Teaches Bob Dylan and rap
Sells bras on the side
Going to work sick because “they need me!”
Ignores her husband passive-agressively making pasta for her
Until he’s gone.
I want to take a moment
to enjoy Becca’s video that made her think of Harriet Tubman.
I want to give last year’s chemistry quiz –
whoopsie daisy!
I want to make scavenger hunts
Because it’s simple learning and joy.
Then, I want to go home
Before the sun sets
Stretch my calves
Enough energy to bounce
to music in the kitchen as I make
sausages, rice, and salad.
Laugh at Schitt’s Creek with B
‘Til I fall asleep on the couch.
I want to be in it for the long haul,
But I can’t wear myself down
Making myself into a myth.
Emily Cohn
2021
Emily, I love this! The fictional teachers (I laughed over Ms. Crabapple not caring if Ralphie eats his dissection worm – oh, my!) along with that movie version set up the real and the reality. I love the scavenger hunts for the simple learning and joy, and especially that ending. Emily the non-myth (as opposed to Emily Dickinson – the Myth).
Emily, this is great! I really enjoyed it! There is so much truth in this. The media depicts teachers as either great (having awe-inspiring experiences every. single. class. period) or terrible (doing the worst things ever), and I realize it’s the “drama” of it, but it really does a rather insidious disservice to the profession (and to ourselves). We do “wear [ourselves] down / Making [ourselves] into a myth.” The struggle is very real. Thanks for this!
Emily — This hits so many chords of honesty! Love it! This title itself is a Bam! kind of launch that really sets the poem in motion. The Dylan stanza was just so spot-on… that martyr, supermomwomanteacher myth…geez. I can just see you “bounce to music in the kitchen” (that was me this morning…Ha!), and the punch in the end “Making myself into a myth.” You really have taken charge of this prompt and crafted a terrific poem. Fun with Ralphie and damn-straight with the reality of what we don’t want to be: fiction. Cool! Thanks! Susie
Emily,
You can’t see me, but I’m giving this poem a standing ovation. Can I just say how much I loathe the teacher hero movies. They make me gag. They’re so reductive of all that’s important in a teacher’s life. You nailed the myth and the reality. Bravo. These last lines echo as a battle cry:
When I retired I made that choice because I was tired, too tired to go on. I hope all here make it for the long haul.
Emily, too often teaching profession is mistaken with pure vocation and an apostolate. I always fought that point of view and you nailed the complaint of that perspective in this poem. Thanks for let think about this!
Jimena
I don’t want to be the sun,
Always in the center of attention,
Possibly providing the one source of warmth
To a planet full of people who have no love,
Cursing the days that I come close
While I burn their skin,
Yet mourning for their loss
When clouds obscure their sight.
I don’t want to be the sun,
With constant pressure to be what the people need,
Never having a moment of rest.
I want to be the moon,
Standing as a beacon of possibility,
Encouraging those who near me to reach further
Because they never know what they might find.
While the sun’s rays are harsh, I soften them
And light up the cold dark Earth below.
The reflection of comfort with none of the abrasion
capturing mankind as they go to bed.
I want to be the moon,
Signaling a sleepy comfort and
Mindfulness that all things are possible.
“While the sun’s rays are harsh, I soften them” is just a beautiful line… brings to mind a powerful, yet gentle soul. I love the idea of helping others be comfortable, of being a reflective person that doesn’t cause harm as a sun might. This world definitely needs a balance of this, and I love your take on your place in this. In not wanted to be the sun, I get a feeling for a desire not to be the cause of drama – ” Cursing the days that I come close / While I burn their skin, / Yet mourning for their loss / When clouds obscure their sight.” Beautiful!
Noah,
The moon really is a symbol of possibility. Your poem takes me back to Neil Armstrong’s “one giant step for mankind” remarks on the first moon landing. That gave my generation such a vision of what’s possible. I also love thinking about the moon’s romanticism, the way it offers a glimmer of light in the darkest moments. This poem is a spectacular interpretation of the prompt.
Noah, so right. Someone’s gotta be one who invites us to rest, take time to reflect, remain mindful that “all things are possible”… when we have some rest.
I don’t want to be the
“I’m fine”
you answer thoughtlessly,
the cliché reply you give to
everyone,
the fake-smiled phrase,
accepted by the one who asked
but who doesn’t really care.
I don’t want to be the
response that falls flat,
landing in nobody’s heart
and everyone’s deaf ears.
I want to be the
“I’m terrible”
or the
“I’m too good to be true”
you think nobody wants to hear,
unprepared to receive;
yet a welcome revelation,
a truth untold,
a vulnerability ready to loosen.
I want to be
what makes you pause,
what makes you want more,
what makes you curious.
Britt, thank you for voicing something so true. I love this line, “landing in nobody’s heart.” We paste on those smiles and give the acceptable and accepted replies. Those last three lines are beautiful.
Britt — I really like the truth in this poem. We all fall into that trap of “i’m fine” and your poem elevates that hope at the end …to be “what makes you pause…want more…curious.” Yeah! Thank you. Susie
Britt,
I love the authenticity in your poem. Indeed, the “I’m fine” has no meaning.
Over the years I’ve found myself frustrated by the “How are you” question, especially from those I perceived as not really wanting to know. These final lines are like overflowing containers: “ I want to be
what makes you pause,
what makes you want more,
what makes you curious.” That’s such a worthwhile desire.
I Don’t Want To Be
I’ve missed the last two days, much to my regret. I tried, but my mind was elsewhere, and poems began, but did not end. My husband had a lung resection on Wednesday, and my life has been pretty full of medical issues and angst. The good news is that he is home and recovering. All will be well. But my poetry efforts will be spotty…
I don’t want to be my mother,
Choosing sweatshirts with animals,
pastel colors and double knit pants
with elastic waists.
I don’t want to be my mother,
eroded by dementia,
sitting in a chair,
staring out a picture window
at the world outside,
not part of that world
anymore.
Let me grow old with grace,
but under protest.
Let me stay in the world,
Wearing my old zippered jeans.
Let me stomp when stomping is required.
Let me carry my sharp edges with me,
Let me go out, not with a whimper,
But a bang of victory.
Please.
Let me not be my mother.
GJSands 4/3/21
The line breaks in the first stanza are exceptionally powerful. Short, punchy, and heartbreaking in every line. Thank you for sharing.
Gayle,
A couple days ago I told my husband to watch what I try to buy and not let me buy the things you’ve described here. I’ve felt myself slipping, which I blame on my pandemic wardrobe. I giggled at these opening images in your poem, but boy did that shift in
These lines give the “I don’t want to be my mother” repetition an unexpected meaning. Very powerful. And I hope your husband’s recovery is quick. Blessings to you.
Oh, Gayle, I feel the sadness and that desperate plea at the end. You move quickly from the lightness of fashion choices that age us to the erosion of dementia. It makes me wonder if the animal sweatshirts bring comfort. I hope you go out with a bang of victory. I hope we all do! Glad to see you here today.
Gayle — Oh you said so much here…. indeed, you want life on your own terms… and not “eroding in dementia”… This is so real and so tough. I feel deeply for you as you paint that image of “staring out a picture window” … the irony of that “picture.” The art of it is lost. Such a poignant image. May you always have your “edges,” my friend! Your poems certainly point to that… keep writing these beautiful pieces! Hugs, Susie
Gayle, this is so touching, both tender and poignant. I love the line “Let me stay in the world” not only for its simplicity but also its profundity for what dementia can do to a person (and her family). I hope your husband’s recovery continues to go well!
Gayle, I’m so sorry to hear about your husband’s medical issues – but so glad that he is on the mend. I hope he heals completely and easily. Your poem – oh my! I feel this same way; my mother died so slowly, fully not knowing, with dementia – yes, a whimper. Love your “let me” ideas …especially, “Let me grow old with grace,
but under protest” and “Let me carry my sharp edges with me” – yes, yes, yes! Me, too!
How heartbreaking and honest! I believe you’ll go out with “a bang of victory” because it’s what you are determined to do. Claiming it!
But I do really wonder if we will get away with zippered jeans!! ?
Hugs, Gayle!
Glenda,
Thanks for sharing Wiman’s great poem. I agree that this would a fun writing assignment for students at many levels, a very accessible prompt. As I looked out the window by my kitchen table and writing desk, the pin oak to my right and the silver maple to my left told me where to go with this…
When I Grow Up
I don’t want to be a silver maple or pin oak,
trees that grow handsomely, spreading their branches
into the sky, proudly soaring above the commoners,
distributing their winged seeds in the spring
or showering folks with their tiny nuts in the fall.
I don’t even want to be the lowly toadstool or modest
mushroom that pops up at the base of those trees,
although I do like the ring of chanterelle, and
there’s much to be said for the craggy delicious morel.
No, I’d rather be a strand in the fungal network
occasionally revealing itself as mushroom
but mostly operating beneath the surface
deep in the soil among the roots
a fungal web of communication,
of sharing and mutual support,
without which the trees would falter.
I want to be part of a team of hyphal heroes
who break down toxins in the soil,
who decompose disposable diapers,
happy to do the dirty work,
anonymous and unsung.
David, I LOVE this metaphor! I also admire the helpful nature of mycelium and this poem shows us something about your desire to be of use in the world, to help do the dirty work. I love the “hyphal heroes” metaphor, and the turn your poem took – everyone wants to be a tree, but you looked deeper to see what really nourished that greatness. So cool, so beautiful!
David,
I’m right there w/ you in these lines:
Someone has to “decompose disposable diapers” and I’m that behind the scenes person. I do love trees, however, and planted three crimson spiraling oaks on the side yard 22 years ago when we built our home, so I love thinking about the trees you’re seeing through your window.
Glenda, your poem gives me so many rich images to behold. I love that you chose something in nature as opposed to something more personal. I decided to go personal because this “safe return to the classroom” is haunting me.
I Don’t Want To Be a Double-Masked Teacher in a Classroom on April 19th
I don’t want to be a double-masked teacher
In a classroom on April 19th
Who teaches from a chair
Behind a plastic shield
Showing “Cohort A” how to multiply decimals
And compose persuasive text
Through an old projector emitting heat and blurred images
I don’t want to be a double-masked teacher
In a classroom on April 19th
Who peers into 10 pairs of eyes
Probing for emotions and explanations
Listening to finger taps on germy keyboards
And grumbles from empty tummies needing food
Because breakfast isn’t served at school
I want to be a maskless teacher
In my home on April 19th
Who teaches from a chair
In front of her laptop’s camera
Into a Zoom screen with an inspirational virtual background
Who demonstrates, models, and facilitates learning
On a digital whiteboard where everyone collaborates
I want to be a maskless teacher
In my home on April 19th
Who sees 23 pairs eyes and smiles
Acknowledging joy and sadness
Listening to breakout room discussions about Black Lives Matter
And chat questions asking “What page are we on?”
Because sometimes Zoom loses connection
But I never do.
©Stacey L. Joy, April 3, 2021
Stacey, I am right there with you. I feel every fiber of those first two stanzas. Your last lines, “because sometimes Zoom loses connection, but I never do” says it all about the love teachers have for their students. And the lengths we go to find them, meet them.
Stacey—you are spot on!! I am observing student teachers in a hybrid environment—and it is so difficult. You are right—as a teacher who cares and loves her students, you are better off connecting with them in the way you have developed, not sharing your attention between in-person and virtual students.
April 19th—I feel your pain.
Gayle, it’s ridiculous. What’s really bizarre is we have in-person for 3 hours then we have a lunch break and then do virtual students for 3 hours in the afternoon. We don’t have the simultaneous teaching headache, but the idea of doing the same thing twice in one day is mind boggling. I just wish the so-called leaders would’ve waited and just launched in-person for the new school year IF IT IS SAFE! The lack of prep and unclear information being shared add to our angst. Thanks Gayle. Praying for your husband to heal completely and for you to be in a state of peace and balance.
Stacey – you get right to the heart of the dilemma of what’s REALLY best for kids in this poem. Holding in the balance the fear, the sacrifices of food being served, of losing that feeling of community and feeling regimented, sacrificing tools we know work. I love theme of eyes that goes throughout your poem, and the theme of really seeing kids. It’s beautiful and your kids sure are lucky to have a caring teacher!
Stacey,
The argument in this poem is so powerful. You flipped the issue on the “open schools” maniacs who have no clue what they’re talking about or doing. I hope students can see your smile behind the double mask. And that image of two masks is powerful. It gets to the binary argument about reopening buildings. Those last lines are everything:
Your students are so very lucky to have you guiding their learning and loving them no matter the circumstances. Powerful poem, my friend.
Gosh, Stacey — I feel for you as a teacher who has made such an impact on students’ lives, facing the policies of “cohorts” and screens and in-person vs zoom… oh man. May the days of “maskless” be soon. Your teacher voice is a powerhouse here! Love that. Susie
Stacey, in my country, Argentina, we teachers have the same problem. I really understand. I love these final lines:
Jimena.
Stacey, that final line is true and relevant – zoom loses connection but I never do! This barrier of masks has both protected and distanced us – your words speak truth and bring hope today. Yes, those masks are difficult to accept but impossible to discard. Ready for a brighter day when we can all be together again for real.
Yep. I’m totally with you! I haven’t been in my classroom in over a year and while “sometimes Zoom loses [the] connection…I never do.” As I write this comment, my state is leading the nation in COVID cases per capita, yet we still are allowing something like 50% capacity for restaurants and bars, and we’re still scheduled to administer the SAT in two weeks. Really?! Yep. So, just like you, I’ll be back in my classroom, double masked, on the 19th. And I’m nervous about it, too. Thank you for writing and sharing this, Stacey!
Oh my, Scott, I am just now realizing you are in Michigan. If any state should NOT be sending people back to campus, it’s yours. I’m so sorry. Please stay safe. Maybe it won’t last long and everyone will be back at home. I was told not to expect this to work out well. We shall see.
Glenda I can’t wait to share this poem/prompt idea with my students and see what they generate! What a fantastic opportunity and avenue for exploring possibilities in our lives. I have always loved how sometimes it’s about defining or saying what you are NOT as opposed to what you are. Sometimes it’s easier to name what we DON’T want to be than to figure out who we actually are. Thank you for sharing this — I found your rendition of the prompt absolutely beautiful — especially your description of the glacier.
On Being Like a Book
by Erica Johnson
I don’t want to be the closed book
the one you promised a friend
eventually
you’ll get around to.
I don’t want to be the unread page
everyone lies about reading
but has never peered beyond the cover
a title with no substance, meaningless.
I don’t want to sit —
forgotten and dusty
on the edge of a nightstand —
waiting around to share my knowledge.
I want my ink to smudge,
my edges and cover worn down by love,
as time and again you turn to me.
I want to be the comfort you curl
around when it’s dreary and dark
a companion ready for you.
You can’t put me down,
pages unfurled at 2 in the morning
I want to be an open book.
YES! The open book is loved and read, appreciated and valued. Unfurl those pages and fold down the corners! Be that comfort…
I love your line “The one you promised a friend.” We are all so busy in our own lives that we always put things off. I know that I am. The sharing of a book/song/movie can often be a very intimate thing, which our own hectic schedules prevent us from getting to. You conclude with “pages unfurled at 2 in the morning” which I believe is just an excellent reminder to slow down and make time for those around us, for the things we love, and the experiences we are missing.
Erica, I really enjoy how you took the open book metaphor for a ride, and then to another level! I hadn’t considered the closed book metaphor, and all the reasons we don’t read books. You had me thinking about books in a new light, and I got a sense of your desire to connect, share, and be a “comfort” and “companion” to your people. I love this so much!
Erica,
Now I feel guilty about my piles of dusty, unfinished books. Your poem may be the motivation I need to treat these books with more tenderness and give them the time they deserve. I love every image, especially this one:
Wonderful poem.
I love the open book imaginary! And these lines make me sad thinking all the books I left unread:
I think like you, that it’s a great prompt (we call it “consigna de escritura”) for the class.
Jimena.
Erica, I love the closed book open book metaphor and imagery. This is a great poem.
Good Saturday morning, Glenda! Excited to write with you and engage with your prompt today. I love this prompt because I find it easy to think about the “I don’t want to be” more than what I want to be. Your strategy and suggestions for use in the classroom really sound fun! Thank you.
These lines are magical and breathtaking:
Thank you, my friend! ?
Glenda, I loved this prompt! It is fascinating how much is revealed about the writer through the simple contrast of “I want to be” and “I don’t want to be.” You, the intrepid traveler, of course you would want ” to see travelers gazing in awe,” and that you would be “Uniting continents.” Thank you for this poem! Although it would be challenging to put your classroom ideas into practice during my retirement, I love the idea of creating a choral reading, contrasting the wants and don’t wants. Maybe, just maybe, there will be a post-COVID dinner party where adults could brainstorm poetically together . . . I can dream.
I don’t want to be
a mountain
aloof in the distance
separate and strong
set apart
I don’t want to be taken for granted
often met with a quick glance and largely ignored
as people hurry by in their cars on the winding roads below
I don’t want to live without real intimacy
I especially don’t want to be
a formidable strong cold rock of a mountain
of exceptional height
say, an Everest, Denali, Kilimanjaro
where the goal is to conquer me
where I feel the constant probe of fingers and
shoes and hooks and ropes
assailing me
I don’t want people to try to scale me
and possibly meet their death
finding me treacherous
I want to be
the sloping loamy surrounds of the Isle of Skye
the deep green red brown heathery moss
stretching and inviting
one wonders where I begin and end
a beautiful soft mass
kissed by lochs and waterfalls
connecting
nurturing
people, plants, and wildlife
flocking basking living together
magical and welcoming
Oh, Maureen, we were supposed to be on the Isle of Skye last summer, and again this summer, and I’m so hoping for next summer. Your words pull me in, nestle me on soft masses and loamy, heathery mosses. As beautiful as mountains are, you bring out the beauty of the worn land.
Maureen,
Your poem has me thinking about mountains in so many ways. I see mountains every day. They are an integral part of my life, but this image of scaling the highest peaks and what that does to a mountain resonates w/ me:
I see the mountain as a metaphor for how women experience life so often. I’ve been planning that trip to Scotland for a couple years snd long to visit the Isle of Skye. I know it will be cathartic as you have painted it w/ your words. Beautiful poem.
Maureen — I’m all in on the “loamy surrounds”…a gorgeous contrast to the “scale-[able]” peaks. I think my favorite lines are
Just reading this I could picture the welcoming and wonderous imagery of the “sloping loamy” surroundings as contrasted with the mountains. I especially enjoy how you doubled-down on what you don’t want to be by elaborating on the even colder, more distant mountains and the harshness you associate with it. Thank you for sharing this.
Wow! This was a thought-evoking prompt. I might come back to this with a different object; however, my mind went quickly to notebooks.
I don’t want to be
an empty notebook
with blank white-lined
pages with nothing
in between,
forgotten for
the newest technology,
something faster, flashier, easier –
left behind, forgotten, unworthy.
I want to be a
notebook someone fills
with thoughtful ideas,
sharing emotions and
secrets deep inside,
a place in which
time is savored, even craved,
etching memories that
will never fade
from my pages.
Oh, what a wonderful image of I don’t want/I want . . . I love my writer’s notebooks . . . Loved these lines,
especially:
Heather, I love that we are of similar mind this morning. I have so many notebooks. And several waiting to be filled. I’m reminded, too, of the school notebooks, purchased at August sales and stacked in the closet just waiting for my kids to fill them. They have moved to technology now. So many waiting.
Heather,
I love the contrast in notebooks and thinking about and feeling guilty about my many half-filled notebooks. I love the hug offered in the second stanza and the way you present a notebook as a friend who keeps our secrets.
Heather, I almost wrote this poem. I love what you did with this idea.
Oh my gosh! I almost wrote about empty notebook pages too. We just all find notebooks so precious don’t we? I really enjoyed what you did with all of this and hope you can fill the pages as you so wish.
Wow, this was a challenge for me. The following is just a working draft and describes my latest frustrations as a guitarist struggling to create something novel and wishing I was a better visual artist. Any feedback is welcomed!
I Don’t Want to Be A Guitar String.
Of all things to be,
I don’t want to be a guitar string!
Why not a paint brush
Or pencil or pen?
Hell, I’d even rather be chalk…
Anything else
Besides a guitar string
Oh, the tension…
Stress…
To create…
Press me! and push me!
Bend me! and pull me!
TWIST those AWFUL screams
From my sinew
I see you are plugged in
But can you find another outlet?
I don’t want to be a guitar string
Because I am going to snap
And our creation
Becomes distorted
And feedbacks into silence
Eric, this is a wonderful poem about creative struggles – that familiar frustration and blocking that applies to all the arts, not just guitar playing. My sons play guitar, and I know this angst
Your lighthearted take here was incredibly refreshing. Not to mention, the metaphor around the guitar string is unique. Wonderful poem.
Eric,
I thought about the poem “The Guitarist Tunes Up” as I reread and thought about your poem and that uncooperative string, like an unrequited love. The second stanza hones in on the speakers frustrations. As Maureen notes, the creative process is a struggle so often as we try to bend a medium to our will. As one lacking artistic capabilities, I feel your pain. And I really like what you’ve offered us today.
I really like how you have the string talk – since, of course, its purpose is to create music. In this poem, the string *screams*:
and it is completely effective. I also notice how the end is silence, but a distorted silence that only hints at rest.
Eric- Sounds like this could also be the first draft of song you might play on your guitar. I appreciate your play with the words in this metaphoric twist. Thank you for sharing today.
Glenda, I love the teaching idea you’ve provided. What fun to create a choral poem with students! Sensational! Your prompt is so fun. I wanted to end my poem with “I just don’t want to be me!” but I refrained. Your poem is gorgeous; I love the image at the end of the shimmering wings spreading “to form/Earth’s glacial, celestial angel.” Thank you so much for your supporting comments, your brilliant craft, and especially for being a generous and thoughtful friend. Barb
The Answer to a Prayer
I don’t want to be swamp scum
Stagnant rotting waste
Teeming with infection
I want to be a tranquil sea
A cooling balm; a relaxing invitation
Beneath a blazing sun
I don’t want to be an abandoned farm
Weathered, collapsed; debt-ridden
Choking with overgrown weeds, mangling rusted machinery
I want to be a field of daisies
Smiling brightly, buzzing with bees
A sweet honey delight; a golden treasure
I don’t want to be a pile of manure
Rank, ripe; grossly uninviting
Swarming with ghoulish black flies
I want to be the smell of fresh cut hay
A back road adventure
The scathingly brilliant idea
I don’t want to be the rejection letter
Nor the poisoned pen writing
Sarcastic biting remarks, rife with hurt
I want to be the right word
The warm hug, the one who heals,
A contagious belly laugh, full of love
I don’t want to be the silence
Of a dark tomb—
A dreadful fate waiting to wound
I want to be a lilac breeze
A tantalizing tease
The answer to a prayer
Barb Edler
3 April 2021
Your words create such vivid contrasting pictures and smells. There is so much to savor here. All of the stanzas speak to me in different ways. Right now, though, I really want to be the tranquil sea.
Barb, pairing the don’t wants and the wants one after the next, marks vivid contrasts. I found myself tensing and relaxing with each stanza. I loved the lines, “I want to be the right word, the warm hug, the one who heals…” And lilacs are my favorite.
Barb, this is a terrific volley of don’t want/want – such vivid imagery, beautiful phrasing – even the ‘down side’ is gorgeous:
Your poem really could be spoken word, I think – I can ‘hear’ it . . . absolutely love the idea of being “A tantalizing tease.”
Bar,
Your images are strong and visceral. No, I don’t want to be manure, swamp scum, an abandoned farm, or a poison pen. Ew! Yet we need these contrasts to fully appreciate what follows:
I’m so grateful for this reminder and for your presence her and for you friendship and collegiality. Poetry helps us be “the right word.” Love this.
Love the pairing and the contrasts.especially the last lines—“a lilac breeze/a tantalizing tease/the answer to a prayer”. Exactly
So many interesting contrasts in this poem! I appreciated your use of imagery – lots of smells and sounds! I especially liked the field of daisies
and the
Lovely
Barb — You daisy you! I love the lyrical bounce of this poem…the back and forth of it. Each of the images are indeed so sensory…on both sides of the fulcrum. You hit on some many things that I love: “lilac breeze” (nothin’ sweeter); “waiting to wound” (feels so evil); “be the right word” (I wish this every time I sit before the blank page); the “rejection letter” (those damned fiends!); “fresh cut hay” (I almost weep if I smell alfalfa); “ghoulish black flies (nasty!); and I think my favorite are the images of the abandoned farm… where I grew up WAS an abandoned farm and the rusty machinery in the sheds and the “weathered” boards and overgrown weeds. Oh man, you brought me right back to Warren County… powerful images! Your poem was a lilac breeze for me. Thank you! Susie
Hi Barb,
I can hardly decide what to share that I love most because it’s a gorgeous poem in its entirety. The ending leaves my soul completely soothed:
The right word, an answer to a prayer – Barb, you are these and more! I like the fresh hay and daisies – these are all things that bring warm smiles. This has a lot of warm fuzzy happiness!
Hi, Glenda!!
I really love your poem. It makes me think and feel a lot about my self in the world in these circumstances.
And inspired this poem, thanks for still encourage my writing!
I don’t want to be a muppet
torn by my threads
to do something I don’t want.
I do not want to be a container
full of hatred of others.
I don´t want to be a weather vane
swinging like the wind
from one side to the other.
I want to be plenty,
firm, true to myself
and alone if
you don’t want that for me.
Jimena Dib
Jimena, I love the imagery in your poem – the muppet forced to act, the swinging weather vane. And what a powerful way to end – “alone if you don’t want that for me.” Mighty powerful ending!
Jimena, I love the imagery of your poem, the muppet, the weather vane and the container full of hate. All were so easy to visualize and effectively express the emotions of your poem! Your end is perfect! Yes, be alone, rather than be untrue to yourself! Such a powerful message! Thanks for sharing!
Hola, Jimena!
The three images—muppet, container, weather vane—-remind me how often many shift allegiances, how politicians change their minds based on who controls them. These are wonderful things not to want to be. Of course the muppet reminds me of Pinocchio! Being “plenty” is what we should all want. I love how this evokes acceptance of oneself. Thank you for writing with me today. I love your poem and hope to see you often this month.
—Glenda
Jimena, this closing is SO strong and powerful:
Yes, yes, yes!!
Jimena, I like your “true to myself / and alone if…” lines. You have chosen three powerful images, metaphors for being tossed and turned by others. Independence beautifully told in your words and images.
Glenda, I love your iceberg poem. I love, especially, your final, graceful image:
“Across feathery fields where I spread my
Shimmering wings to form
Earth’s glacial, celestial angel. ”
Since I still have to write a “I don’t want to be” poem today, I’ll share my “bop” poem that yesterday’s prompt asked for:
March
(Inspired by David Henderson)
He said: The Problem:
Jurors get nervous
when they see
Big, Black men on drugs.
They’ll sympathize, then,
with a Cop.
Strategy: Humanize George Floyd.
He said: The Problem:
Prosecutors get the chance
(eventually)
to assassinate
his character:
The Big Black Man on drugs.
While defense rests on
weeping ex-girlfriend; weeping firewoman; weeping child.
Strategy: Humanize George Floyd.
Strategy: Humanize.
A man is a mentor
A devil
A deliverer
An addict
An angel.
Wendy, you’ve taken something that becomes complicated by our judicial system and pared it down. This format of “He said: The Problem” followed by the refrain “Strategy: Humanize George Floyd” nails it. I was drawn to the power of the word “assassinate” used for character and the numerous victims – all weeping.
Wendy,
I thought about writing about the trial yesterday, but I would not have offered such a brilliant approach as you’ve given us. I echo Jennifer’s comments. I’ve watched much of the trial and see this strategy working. I do hope the system works for the victim this time. Hearing Minneapolis police officers’ honest testimony is such a paradigm shift.
Former prosecutor David Henderson spoke yesterday on the Today show, which spurred me to read more about George; it broke my heart to discover what an inspiration he was to his community, while at the same time battling his addiction.
Wendy, wow, this is such a powerful poem. I love how you used the refrain and the conflicting messages we as an audience receive. Brilliant!
Whew, Wendy! I know yesterday I got thinking about the catharsis embedded in all personal writing but that particularly comes out when working through the argument of Weaver’s Bop form. This is an excellent example of that. And as Jennifer just notes, the use of the word “assassinate” in the middle section does some incredible work. Mind blown.
Wendy—I, too, have been watching the prosecution paint a picture for the jury. Your assessment, and your poem, show the humanity and the strength. Wonderful.
Wendy, this is a powerful poem about the trial, with its problems and strategy. devil or deliverer, addict or angel. Nice use of alliteration to show all the things being teased out through the questioning. I wish trials didn’t have to such a game; the murder of George Floyd was filmed, every long minute of it. Well written.
Wendy, wow, this is a powerful poem. I keep having to remind myself while watching the trial that George Floyd is not on trial. It’s sad how the system is designed to convict Black even when white is on trial. I pray for a just and fair decision when this is all said and done.
You used the form beautifully with your own flavor!
?
Stacey, agree 100% about the system being designed to convict Black even when white is on trial. Also praying for justice. <3
Glenda, thank you for this inspiration today and the many ways to make this accessible for students. I loved the contrast you found between glacier and berg, imaged in the frozen visage and feathery fields! Beautiful.
I don’t want to be
a typed word
spilling from fingers
in furious motion
an attempt to fill space
dissipating into
digital ether
nebulous
temporary
deletable with
one press
I want to be
handwritten
thoughtfully formed
nestled between lines
driven deep
staining pages
In inky blacks
and ground walnut
the color of gathered twigs
fading like antique linens
and vintage photos
on old paper
What a beautiful contrast, Jennifer. I often think of words “dissipating into digital ether.” I’m so glad you love the written word so much. You’ve really communicated the beauty of a hand written note. Live it!
Jennifer,
I love the permanence of handwritten pages you bring to your poem, especially in this day when handwriting is almost archaic and anachronistic for some. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what happens to digitized writing and photos when someone dies, so these images burrow into my mu d:
I need to write more by hand, if only to copy what I’ve typed. Wonderful poem.
Jennifer, I so feel you: I want to be handwritten, too! Your poem provided a beautiful window into seeing this way. Loved the visual imagery of “inky blacks and ground walnut” and “the color of gathered twigs.” I, too, want to “fade like antique linens and vintage photos on old paper.” Gorgeous.
Jennifer, What a gorgeous poem.! I absolutely love the metaphor-to be “nestled between lines” and “fading like antique linens/ and vintage photos/on old paper.” Yes, I love the permanence of written words rather than being the word that dissipates into the “ether”. Sensational poem!
I feel so cozy reading these lines. I love, love this poem – I, too, want to be handwritten! Excellent creativity here.
That inky black in handwriting just pulls me in – an actual human hand connected to the words spilling g out. Undeletable, delectable!
I love this poem. I am moving away from computers to notebooks and handwriting. I feel like my words have life in these books. They feel more “thoughtful, nestled, driven deep.” I am those words so much more than anything I type.
I have so many letters written by my grandfather and grandmother. The handwriting tells as much as the words. What will our “digital ether” words carry for our grandchildren—if they can even find them. I may need to write more letters with my hand, rather then my keyboard…
Good heavens, Jennifer, what perfect word choices…images that SOOOO speak to me! The thoughtfulness of the handwritten really is quite something. There’s a poignant nostalgia in the colors and textures (linens, ground walnut, old paper. I LOVED the lines
Masterful! Thank you! Susie
Jennifer, oh my goodness!!! I’m soaking these lines up the way the paper soaks up the ink:
Totally in love with your poem!
Jennifer, I so love the image (and sounds) of your last stanza, especially “the color of gathered twigs / fading like antique linens / and vintage photos / on old paper.” Just perfect!
Thanks for sharing your poem, Glenda. This prompt and poem also reminds me of “Identity” by Julio Noboa Polanco in which the speaker would rather be a weed than a pretty flower. I love so many lines in your poem like “uniting continents” and the metaphor of a “glacial angel”. It’s lovely. You’re spot on with the different iceberg descriptions as well, like the memes! Yes.
I Don’t Want to be Expensive. I Want to be Free.
I don’t want to be
reincarnated
into carbon
transformed
with heat and
pressure
dug up
cut up
carved
for the liking
of others
not the battered
hands that
made me
to be displayed
in a perfect
turquoise box
with a bow
sitting on a shelf
nowhere to go
except a finger.
I don’t want to
be worth money
you can’t buy me.
Please do not
turn me into
a shiny,
expensive thing
I don’t want to be.
Reincarnate me
as something free
kicked around
by children’s feet
as long as it
makes them smile,
a reminder to stay
young for a while.
I want to be held
by willing hands
maybe painted
with a message
that says:
“u found me”
and picked up
by someone
in need.
Angie, this is spectacular! At first I was thinking, “Well, I want to be an expensive thing!” but you’ve flipped my thinking with your incredibly precise words. There is such joy in your last stanza. I honestly think this is the best poem you’ve shared with us.
🙂 <3
Angie, I’m in love with your words, the idea of this. The contrast between being “dug up, cut up, carved” and “held by willing hands” is just beautiful. And “you can’t buy me” – the strength of that, the owning of self. Love it.
Angie,
Thank you for reminding us of “Identity.” I wonder if it inspired Wyman’s poem. I love the physical appearance of your poem and the way it eschews ornamentation. Yes!
There’s a service ethic in your poem. It’s my favorite part, this idea of freedom in service to children. Isn’t that the essence of a teaching life?
Angie, love it!! And I can so relate. My favorite image: ” something free/kicked around /by children’s feet/as long as it/ makes them smile.”
Angie, I love, love, love your poem! Your images are striking and accessible. I love want you want to be compared to what you don’t want to be. Absolutely love the idea of being found with the words “u found me”. Such a glorious idea! Thanks so much for sharing this beautiful poem!
The FREEDOM in this poem! I absolutely loved reading this – you capture childhood so well.
I don’t want to
be worth money
you can’t buy me. (My favorite lines), but then you kept going with so many more favorite lines. “As long as it makes them smile”… you made me smile!
Good morning! Kim’s comment about dinner decisions sparked my creativity today. What a great prompt and terrific teaching ideas, Glenda. Thank you!
I don’t want to be
the salad, forcing
your mandibles to work so hard
for each stinkin’ calorie
I don’t want to be
what you waste your time on
while waiting for the good stuff
I don’t want to be
food that other food eats
I don’t want to be good for you
I want to be
chocolate cake, tempting
you from across the room
with my shiny ganache
I want to be
mouth-watering and self-indulgent
I want to be
your first thought when you sit at the table
and your last thought as you
gently push the empty plate away, satisfied
I want to be
decadent
Oh, Mo! I’m seeing you from across the room and gravitating your way! The richness found in that second stanza – tempting, self-indulgent. Decadent! I laughed at not wanting to be “foods that other food eats.” That first stanza just feels like work.
Mo,
Your poem makes me want to eat the whole cake! I’m so hungry thinking about it. “I want to be decadent” is priceless. I love the way the poem taps into the power of women. I might have to bake a cake today.
Mo, I love this idea of looking for the food I would marry. Not waste my time on, not empty, not a placeholder while waiting for something better to come along, not what’s good for me, not second level consumption. But what I would love – what is decadent and luscious. Yes, this is all about relationship. Love. Passionate love!!! May we all find our chocolate cake with ganache and not settle for salad.
Literally? Delicious! I love this comparison, and even though I’m not a chocolate cake fan, I am right now! 🙂
Mo, Yes, I want to be this too….just sinfully tasteful. I love the imagery of the chocolate cake with shiny ganache! The tactile sensory appeal is striking throughout this poem. I could physically feel the teeth chewing away at the vegetables. I absolutely loved the idea of being “mouth-watering and self-indulgent”! Terrific poem!
Mo,
I love the playfulness of this poem.
The tonal shift of “each stinkin’ calorie.”
The hilarity of “I don’t want to be/ food that other food eats.”
The wordplay and imagery of “my shiny ganache.”
And the contrarian attitude of the entire poem –
I don’t wanna be effing healthy, “I want to be/ decadent.”
//d
Mo—you have ALWAYS been chocolate cake! Love this poem. I, too would like to be decadent. (And I never have loved salad all tha much!)
I really love this poem. The last two lines,
really got me. Yes! I want to be decadent. I also like the contrast between the first stanza’s
and the second stanza’s
Just so dang true.
Mo — This is just dandy! You made me laugh out loud. The “food the other food eats” is priceless! LOL! Since I’m dieting at the moment, this just hammered me…I felt ever bite of this poem. I want the chocolate cake…decadent… I want that! Great contrast in this poem! You made it totally fun! PS. I LOVED your prompt yesterday, but a string of holy-toledos got in my way yesterday. Your poem and prompt and the whole thought of doggies sent my mind ready to write, but… Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to the page. Susie
Oh how I love this poem! I am sure this would be the best model for me to use with my 5th graders, those finicky little eaters who hate all things healthy or green. I’m asking for permission to share if you don’t mind. Thanks so much for this treat! We should all live to be decadent!
❤️
Mo, I loved the line (and literally lol-ed at) “I don’t want to be / food that other food eats.” So good! Thanks for this!
Glenda, I just love your poem. Such very strong images between the iceberg and such beautiful imagery with the glacier. The shift is perfect between the two. This shift is what I keep coming back to every time I re-read your poem. The lines, “I don’t want to be translated into/ Memes hiding secret cliched identities./ I want to be a glacier/ Spreading my crystal, changing colored/ Flesh across the poles,” WOW! I can just see you transformed into these two objects and wanting to be seen in a new way. I just love it. Thanks so much for sharing this with us today.
Glenda, I just love your poem. Such very strong images between the iceberg and such beautiful imagery with the glacier. The shift is perfect between the two. This shift is what I keep coming back to every time I re-read your poem. The lines, “I don’t want to be translated into/ Memes hiding secret cliched identities./ I want to be a glacier/ Spreading my crystal, changing colored/ Flesh across the poles,” WOW! I can just see you transformed into these two objects and wanting to be seen in a new way. I just love it. Thanks so much for sharing this with us today. I absolutely love the parallel between “to be” and “not to be.” Isn’t that the question? HA! I had so many ideas, but went with the one that just spilled out. Must be a reason for that, right?
I don’t want to be a Band Aid
I don’t want to be a band-aid
a cover to conceal.
I don’t want to be dressed in Paw Patrol print,
or Disney princess tapestry
an adhesive with a gauze pad in the center
just waiting for its next dance
with antiseptic
and blood.
I want to be the cut
the bloodied abrasion
visible to all
in the open air
let me breathe
a red gash on the arm
or a small scrape on the knee
something to look at
something to see.
Jenny, I just love how you wear your abrasion proudly! Wouldn’t this world be something if we could all be so bold as to let our flaws show freely? I adore the phrase “Disney princess tapestry.”
It will be interesting to see all the different things people come up with. I love that you’ve taken something that is seen as a negative and brought to light some positive aspects of a wound. I really like your last two lines and the visibility.
Jenny,
There’s a line in “Julius Caesar” that popped into my mind as I read this gorgeous poem: “Their wounds like opened [sic] mouths…” I think Antony is speaking about Caesar’s wounds bearing witness, which, of course, what your poem does. It an amazing subtext so relevant in our world. These lines command we do more than offer temporary fixes to our deep national wounds:
Love it.
Jenny, the wear and tear of life as an identity to be embraced rings throughout your latter half. It reminds me that life works in the same way. We spend the first half trying to conceal and pretty up and spend our second half comfortable in our wear, showing the gashes and abrasions of our journey.
Jenny, your choice of band aid or cut is so riveting! I have never thought about how the cut feels being covered up but wanting to come from
Behind the curtain to be seen. I love these kids’ Band Aids with decor
I don’t want to be dressed in Paw Patrol print,
or Disney princess tapestry
an adhesive with a gauze pad in the center
just waiting for its next dance
with antiseptic
and blood
Jenny, wow! I love your idea. The physical presence of something most people do not want to see…bloody abrasions, etc. Your end is powerful and your poem is delivered so beautifully. I have gained a new perspective with wounds after reading this. I am really captured by the end…”something to look at/something to see.” Yes! In my old age, I feel more and more invisible, and I love this idea of I need to breathe, be present and recognized, and the “I’m in your face!” tone you share. Brilliant!
I love this idea. I think it is important for people to be proud of their imperfections, failures, falls. I find that the older I get the more I am that “bloodied abrasion visible to all.”
Jenny, this is pure fun! I love the boldness and the power of…
How did you even think of this? I love it.
??????
Oh, I love this too! I want to be authentic, the real thing, not covered up. A gaping wound means so much more (and can DO so much more to others) than a bandaid. So clever 🙂
Glenda, I love your prompts! This was such fun today. It reminds me of dinner decisions when
We don’t know what we want but we all know exactly what we don’t want. Your iceberg poem
Is deep – and I laughed that you don’t want to be what sank the unsinkable! Thank you for hosting us today.
Workaholic
I don’t want to be a workaholic
No beaches or playgrounds to frolic
To work all day and then all night
No plans “for sure” – a bunch of “might”
I don’t want to live in meetings
“Live to work” is self-defeating
To budgetize and strategize?
My dreams are seen through different eyes!
I don’t want to give up mealtime
Working straight through what-is-real time
Working lunches aren’t for me,
I savor slowly, sip my tea
I don’t want to write reports
and action plans of different sorts
I don’t want to pitch proposals
Constantly at teams’ disposals
I don’t want to dress in suits
Analyze causes down to roots
Don’t give a rip about market trends
Do those matter without friends?
Don’t confine me to four walls
A desk and chair for conference calls
Don’t make me give evaluations
Stay home from family vacations
I don’t want work to be my life
My husband needs a tuned-in wife
My children need a mom who’s there
Whose job is not her only care
My dogs would miss my evening lap
Where else would they curl up and nap?
I don’t want to be a workaholic
I need moments pure bucolic!
KIm, first off, your comment about dinner choices inspired my poem today, so thanks for that! What wonderful rhythm and rhyme you have in this poem. I really like “budgetize and strategize.” I also smiled broadly as I read your poem, sipping my morning tea. I hope you find time to relax soon, friend!
This is fun to read as a break from my never ending to do list HAHAHA *crying*. I’m focusing on your 13th and 14th stanzas because I’m not a wife or mom yet, but I might be some day and this will be important because not taking work home is not easy for me. Thank you.
Kim,
I love the way you’ve interpreted the prompt and written a couplet poem. It’s perfect. I love the visual balance and the myriad contrasts between work and home. The rhyme lifts the poem into a cadence that’s life-affirming. Of course it’s all about the fur babies!
Kim, no plans for sure, a bunch of “might” – I can’t help but be reminded that working constantly fills our lives with what might have been and what might be, while taking us out of the present – the dog-filled laps and slowly savored teas. I love the form of your poem today, the gently nudged and simple reminders.
Kim, your poem is delightful. I love your ability to share a serious behavior and show why it isn’t beneficial through such a graceful turn of words that create an easy flow. The rhythm and rhyme seem so effortless. I am in awe! I can so relate to your poem. I do want to be present for my husband and family, not pulled away by a job that’s too demanding. Outstanding poem!
Your poem may become my mantra. These lines spoke to me deeply, ” I don’t want work to be my life/my husband needs a tuned-in wife/My children need a mom who’s there/Whose job is not her only care.”
Kim,
As someone who struggles writing in rhyme, I have the greatest admiration for poems that seem to naturally, organically accomplish that. The rhyme of “workaholic” & “frolic” & “bucolic” sets up the entire argument or tension of the poem. And an ear that can get from “strategize” to “different eyes” is a finely tuned one. Brava!
//d
Kim — I sense that you had a bunch of fun writing this poem! It speaks LOUDLY! Amen, sista! I loved the rhythmics of the poem. I especially felt your voice in “budgeting and strategize”… no joke! Strong voice, Kim! Well done! Thanks, Susie
Kim, this poem is what heaven must be like. Right? How can we have this life of bliss? I want it. I want it now! Thank you for sharing an ideal and POSSIBLE life, just wondering when it will come to pass. I love: