Welcome to the November Open Write! If you have written with us before, welcome back. If you are joining us for the first time, you are in the kind, capable hands of today’s host, so just read prompt below and then, when you are ready, write in the comment section below. We do ask that if you write that, in the spirit of reciprocity, you respond to three or more writers. Also, check out our “store” to retrieve your complimentary copies of our new books: https://www.ethicalela.com/store/
Our Host
Kim Johnson lives on a farm and is the District Literacy Specialist for Pike County Schools in Zebulon, Georgia. She is the author of Father, Forgive Me: Confessions of a Southern Baptist Preacher’s Kid (Tate Publishing, 2012); and a contributing author of Words that Mend: The Transformative Power of Writing Poetry for Teachers, Students, and Community Wellbeing (Seela Books, 2024) and two other books written with EthicalELA writers. She blogs daily at www.kimhaynesjohnson.com.
Inspiration
Whenever I see an invitation to a writing retreat, I want to pack a suitcase and go. A fantasy writers’ retreat offers a magical way for us to begin this week as we write in our community, especially as we all envision the different places we’d go. Take a moment to close your eyes and dream. Would your location be the stately banquet hall at Hogwarts? a log cabin in the woods? a treehouse? Narnia? What would you wear? What writing utensils would you bring? What companion pet would accompany you? What snacks or gifts for others would you pack?
Process
List poems are often a fan favorite form because of their appeal to the most random of writers as well as the most organized. They can be a simple bulleted or numbered list, or they can take other forms to include rhyme and rhythm.
Make a list of the following plans you’d make for your ideal writers’ retreat:
- Location, with how you’ll arrive
- What you’ll wear
- Your favorite writing utensil
- Your critter companion
- Snacks you’d bring to share with the group
- A gift that you would bring to give to others
Then, choose any form of poetry you’d like. Need some ideas for which forms you like best? Check here. Write your poem, and come join the party! And since it’s NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), your poem could serve as the prelude to your novel!
We’re so glad you’re here.
Kim’s Poem
Invitation to a Fantasy Writing Retreat
Location: I’m arriving by Oz-twisting Yellow Brick Road
to this heavy oak castle door with just one armload
Clothes: wearing overalls under my farm-writing cape
my magical cloak of virtual escape
with shimmery amber-hued dragonfly wings
and chicken-foot bracelets and beetle-leg rings
just a suitcase, you see, for this week here together
with all of my writing pals ~ birds of a feather
Utensil: and speaking of feathers, I’ve brought my quill pen
plucked fresh from the wing of a feisty owl hen
Snacks: I’ve sugar-spun cauldron-cooked crinkles for snacks
shaved-off burnt spikes of roast-dragon backs
Critter Companion: made easier by Razor, my pink crocodile
whom I walk on a bling leash in true Funny Farm* style
Group Gift: and one more thing: I’ve brought a group gift ~
truth glasses for all, to see things others miss
*the name of our rural Georgia farm is the Johnson Funny Farm
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human, and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. For suggestions on how to comment with care.
Location: Lakehouse Cabin
Wearing: Anything comfy like sweats
Utensil: Writech Pens
Snack: Isagenix Snack Bites
Critter Companion: Princeton-Poopoo
Group Gift: Writer’s Basket filled with stickers, washi tape, pens, and a notebook
Thank you so much for hosting today’s open write Kim!
When reading your example, I thought of one of my happy places, which is what I have written about below.
Location: A rusty old cabin, in “good ol’ Gladwin, on a freshwater lake, and under the hot sun, that’s letting us bake. On the boat we ride all day long and listen to my favorite summer songs.
Wearing: A baggy old tee shirt and some worn in jean shorts. Underneath is a bathing suit that is half dry, but mostly damp. My shoes are lost, probably inside because this is the place where they are not needed to stride. My hair is up in a bun that is messy, and my skin on my face is sun kissed.
Utensil: I have my favorite light blue pen that I used when I would journal out on the dock in the sun. It strokes the pages in my old notebook like liquid with its smooth tip. It lets me write what comes straight off my lip.
Snacks: The pretzels I eat are salty and sweet. When I’m in my favorite place I eat them all day even if it may pay one day. I love to snack on them on the boat and feed them to the fish because they float. This way I see the fish come to snack, since they all travel in a pack.
Critter Companion: My number one companion is my dog named Brody. He comes up north with me to the cabin and likes to play in the lake. Brody is one to bath in the sun until the day is done. His hair I golden and shines while he naps under the old tree’s vines. I love my dog very much and I hope when we are up north, he plays with me a bunch!
Group Gift: My gift to you is my rhymes. It is quite hard to think of them sometimes. 🙂
I am late to the party with my poem – a simple triolet …
wander through the autumn trees
pampered retreat in the forest
caring hosts meet every need
wander through the autumn trees
write and rest and walk and see
so many birds in happy chorus
wander through the autumn trees
pampered retreat in the forest
This sounds just perfect to me, Maureen! I especially love the birds in happy chorus.
I teleport into my tiny home refuge:
Not burdened by carting all I hold dear
Scared I might not find what I need when I’m there
The energy of the small front porch vibrates through my body as I step up the stairs
And I know this is it.
A dog bed for Ollie
A cozy chair and a table for coffee
Say, “Come sit a while and just breathe.”
The golden glow from within beckons through the glass paned door
The lavender and cedarwood envelope me and tell me I’m home.
The window that frames the writing desk and plush pink chair promise to keep me tethered to the real world
While I work to bring my inner world out
The charcuterie boards are ready to go with nibbles of goodness to feed also my soul
The coffee bar promises macchiatos to fuel my exorcism
As I finally tap in
and let it all out
My fountain pens and journals lie ready
My sketchbook and pencils beg me to play
No internet. No distractions. No powers of procrastination.
I have a story to tell. Maybe that will be my gift?
I love ‘Come sit a while and just breathe.” and “No internet. No distractions. No powers of procrastination. ” – this is a glorious retreat.
I love that your story is your gift, Amy. Your images are fantastic and make your cozy retreat so easy to picture.
Kim. Thanks for the invitation to let my imagination run free- this was so fun to turn over in my mind all day! I love your snacks description, especially the roasted dragon! Sounds fun! I also loved your group gift that turned out to be perfect!
Writer’s Intergalactic Retreat
Location: Night pagodas, with colorful, light tapestries billowing softly, letting the moons’ light illuminate your pages.
Wearing: softest space travel sweatpants and hoodie
Utensil: satisfyingly stout stem of jemweed, whose gel like juices flow with your ideas
Snacks: tart, yellow starberry jam on toast awaken each sense, but don’t eat too much jam, or you’ll shake like you’ve been drinking Earth Coffee.
Critter companion: an orange slime mold named Glerki sighs from the mosslike vegetation beside you, wondering if their love, a purple slime mold called Cloxe, is also gazing at the moons.
Group Gift: a crystal clear view of Earth, zooming in on spots where people are healing what others have ripped apart.
Emily, I’m all for this “Writer’s Intergalactic Retreat”! The “softest space travel sweatpants and hoodie” and “tart, yellow starberry jam on toast” sound great! And I love the gift: “a crystal clear view of Earth, zooming in on spots where people are healing what others have ripped apart.” Thanks for this!
Emily, this sounds gorgeous – “Night pagodas, with colorful, light tapestries billowing softly”…and those yummy tarts! I want to attend this retreat.
Emily, of course you nees those space travel sweatpants and hoodie! And your critter companions intrigue me- almost like they need a story of their own.
Location: I’m walking the gravel road that will someday crush my ashes into our shared love of rural.
Wearing: soft pajamas, a stunning dress or generic running wear. I contain multitudes.
Writing: it all counts, deliberate keyboards or scratches on cell walls. Write.
Critter? No. Maybe a bat.
I offer you a banquet of self. Yours or mine. Dig in.
My gift? A slice of my hurting heart.
Alison- your last line was powerful, and definitely a gift to writers. I also love the sensory images in your location- I can hear the gravel crunch
I got a shiver at that opening image, “walking the gravel road that will someday crush my ashes “
How essential writing is for one’s hurting heart, I believe.
And Then We Wrote
By Mo Daley 11/16/24
The wood paneling of the
grand, open room
welcomes us like an embrace
as we gaze out the windows
onto the rolling Tuscan hillside
I saunter confidently into the room
in my favorite olive colored
travel loungers and semi-impeccably clean Nikes
only to find the resident Birman
attempt to snoozle in my lap
unsympathetic to my allergic sneezes
We munch on olives, arancini, and crostini
and we write together
satisfied
knowing that our presence
together
is a gift
Mo, I wanna come tooooooo!!! Oh, this sounds like everything every writer deserves.
❤️
I’m in! You’ve provided a landscape with lots of beauty and comfort to be creative in, and we seem quite well fed! I love the community bit at the end- reminds me of this space,’and it’s so true
Mo, I really like the imagery that you used throughout the entire poem. It almost made me feel like I was with you. Thank you sharing this poem!
Thanks for hosting, Kim.
I like the idea of an imaginary writer’s retreat. Might revisit this prompt as I ended up zigging instead if zagging.
Grateful for our online writing retreat.
Once
Once
when I was young
so young
that my grandparents
were still alive
I shed my shoes
waded into the cold water
of the brook
behind their house
I sat on the large, flat rock
that hadn’t yet been moved
to the river
by a flood
when the county
installed a too small culvert
I watched the water flow
and I wrote of the future
instead of the past
I love your private writer’s retreat, Sharon. Your title and first stanza really give this poem a fantastical feel. You have paintes such a simple and clear picture for us, but I can tell this place is so special to you. I just adore your last stanza.
I love the story here, and the end could be a haiku all by itself!
Kim, it’s inspiring that your classify Truth” as a gift. As we reflect on the kind of classroom environment we strives to cultivate its soil in which telling the truth can be nurtured. Where our students feel safe telling the truth, even when they know e educators are legally responsible for reporting concerns about our learners’ safety.
Kim, thank you for this prompt. I really had fun writing with it and it took me back to my place in WV, nestled among the mountains and hollers.
I followed your plan a bit, but in my own style. 🙂
A West Virginia Writers Retreat
I emerged from the woods onto the mountain top.
Southern West Virginia,
Distant and remote,
While the sun loses its grip on the light.
Setting up my tent, among friends.
Sweaters, wool socks, jeans, a pair of hiking boots,
Unloaded from the backpack.
On top of my sleeping bag and pillow.
In a small pouch, packed with odd work items,
Like post-it notes and white out,
A variety of colorful fine tipped pens drop to the ground,
Along with several sharpened #2 pencils.
A quiet meow at the tent door,
Followed by a pounce onto the pile of clothing,
And purrs as Winks settled in for a nap,
His black fur rising and falling with each breath.
I had made some gingerbread,
Full of spices, a warm smell,
A savory bite, sticky with syrup,
Cut into squares for later.
I am made some slips of paper,
To hand out to the others,
To write our dreams on,
And then burn them as they are cast out to the sky.
Mona,
Love the last stanza, especially this image — “To write our dreams on,/And then burn them as they are cast out to the sky.”
Mona,
thanks for the delicious gingerbread and thre slips of paper for our dreams. It’s beautiful to see their sparks “cast[ing] out into sky. “
Kim — Thank you for your prompt. I love the way the elements of farm life “wearing overalls” meet the magical “I’ve sugar-spun cauldron-cooked crinkles.”
I decided to go with a pile poem today.
A Pile of Nourishing Things
Retreating
trekking to the peak
Gorham Mountain, Acadia Park
a coastal view of Frenchman Bay
ocean lapping and crashing against rocky cliffs
an infinite blue sky and whispers of wind, caressing skin
bird and squirrel friends chittering in Disney Snow White – fashion
singing their stories for us to decipher, swooping & dipping into wonder
writing inspired by golden hues of nature, connected to wondrous writing family
bold blue ink strikes crisp journal pages, stories spiraling, sharing words, sipping coffee
nibbling on sweet cookie treats. A writing retreat is a soul nourishing darn good thing.
Oh, Tammi, that last line is a perfect closing to this pile poem: “soul nourishing darn good thing.” Oh, yes, indeed.
Sarah
Tammi, I was immediately taken away to Acadia, where one of my best friends lives (in Southwest Harbor). And the visual energy. I love how so many of the poems are centered around the outdoors. Thank you!
Tammi,
Thank you for bringing us to
Love this line also:
and this one too:
What a treat
this invitation
to meet and greet
I’d bring along some
rhyme to pass away
the time, some verse
both loquacious
and terse
I’d come just as I am
wearing pajama pants
a t-shirt carrying armloads
of dactyls of poetry
and a suitcase of iambs
I’d bring my Moleskine
notebook and a couple
of pens, the ones that
caress the page, their lines
both subtle and supple
in fact, I’d bring extra
to give away, everybody
could use a new pen
at the ready for when
they have something to say.
_____________________________________________________
Thanks, Kim, for starting us off on the exact right foot this month! And I love the “shaved-off burnt spikes of roast-dragon backs” as a snack and the “truth glasses” as a gift. For my offering today, I just have to say, rhyming is hard, lol.
Scott — Loved the image in this stanza —
“I’d come just as I am
wearing pajama pants
a t-shirt carrying armloads
of dactyls of poetry
and a suitcase of iambs”
It is imperative to be comfortable writing poetry!
Scott,
Of course, come as you are in “pajama pants” and with the “Moleskin/notebook” and the “at the ready for when/they have something to say.” I read the “they” as the pens and bodies.
Sarah
So wonderful, Scott.
Isn’t the right pen the best? You capture it perfectly . . .
Ooh, I love the generosity and ease of this, and I am always up for a new pen or to gush about a new pen or to research and buy a new pen… Unpacking all the poetry you bring to this retreat would be the real gift. Thank you.
So much fun, Kim! Thanks for inviting us all to play.
I am showing up
unprepared
just writing a list
of thought from
this aging curly head.
I am showing up
on a Saturday
my fingers clicking
on black laptop keys,
the sun shining
for just a couple
of hours more.
I am showing up
with winter ion the horizon
and the holidays
and family time
that makes me feel
oh so lonely.
I am showing up
because maybe this year
i will be meditative,
serene, reflective,
and at peace
having just shown up.
Joanne, we’re glad you showed up here. Your poem reminds us of the ways we can “get out” by going “in”, ways that nature, holidays, and time with friends can inspires oems like this one, to be meditative, serene” (I don’t know about that one. 🙂 ) and “reflective” and perhaps eventually at “peace”.
Joanne, that repeated line of showing up is powerful. The act of being there, of keeping presence – this is the best gift we can give ourselves and others is the connection and mattering. I like your thinking of being meditative, serene, reflective and at peace from showing up without all the energy that planning and preparing take. I love your approach at simplifying to get more out of the experience.
Joanne,
These last lines–
I am showing up
because maybe this year
i will be meditative,
serene, reflective,
and at peace
having just shown up.
were a great reminder that showing up is half the battle!
Hi Joanne,
You give me hope in knowing that showing up is sometimes all we can give. I love the self-acceptance in it all.
Thank you! 😊
Joanne,
I love your refrain of
Thank you for the reminder of the power of showing up to dispel loneliness, ours and others, and as a path to peace.
Peace.
Coffee Dream Stand
Seven limbs,
reaching morning brim.
As I perk on my perch,
dark cedar nestled in birch.
Awake, I await,
With tarsal gland bait,
For the legend to walk by,
Grounded, evergreen high.
My refuge away from the world,
Pinecone- Pecan swirls,
Scampering squirrels,
Dogwood flowered twirls.
Flickers of fawns,
Finches darting at dawn,
as I sit all alone,
I spot his rack, gleaming bone.
I pull my bow,
his pelt a golden glow.
Release my arrow,
but awaken to the song of a sparrow.
For I had dosed in my tree,
dreamed,
of the legend and me.
Awoke in a place,
With a
Caramel cup of grace.
Boxer, now you know I was pulling for the buck to get away. I’m all for that legend to stay a dream. As always, I love your rhyme scheme and whimsy of pinecone-pecan swirls and dogwood flowered twirls. You bring us the surprise ending today where it was a dream – but I’m glad the caramel cup of grace was real. That’s just a great way to start the morning.
Boxer,
I love all the vivid images “Flickers of fawns”, ” Finches darting at dawn” and the way you built the suspense with the release of the arrow.
Kim, thank you for hosting with such a fun prompt!
I took inspiration from the rhyme in your poem to create mine!
Away to the great lakes
Is where I will go for a well deserved break.
Just a ways from home
I will drive so I have time to roam.
It is nearing winter and the Michigan cold
I will need to dress in layers, so I’ve been told.
All the peace and quiet with the beautiful sights
Help make my sparkly pen write through the night.
All my favorite sweet and salty snacks,
Especially some good chocolate, will be packed.
My friend’s dog will be my escort,
All for the extra warmth and support.
For the rest of the writers,
A matching pj set to feel cozier and lighter.
KC, as a Michigander, I have often hoped we would have a writing retreat here. Somewhere along the lake (Michigan), north in the woods, friends, dogs, pencils/pens at the ready. You’ve captured that dream so clearly.
KC, the pajamas are lovely as a gift for writers. Your poem makes me wish I had a cozier pair than the pair I’m wearing mid-day on this Saturday, this lazy day at home with dogs, writing, reading, shaking off the non-stop hurry of the week as the clock slows down for 48 hours. The Great Lakes hold a lot of appeal for a writing retreat. I’d love to visit there someday and find the stones everyone loves to find. We’ll keep our fingers crossed. Hey, pass that chocolate this way!
KC,
I live close to another great lake, Lake Erie, and I also enjoy “All the peace and quiet with the beautiful sights” — there is just something about spending time near water that is so relaxing.
Yes, KC! “A matching pj set to feel cozier and lighter” is a great gift! Pjs are my “uniform” when I write, typically. And you haven’t been lied to, “the Michigan cold” does, usually, mean “dress in layers.” Thanks for writing and sharing this!
K.C.
This retreat sounds delightful, and the rhyme has the ebb and flow of waves hitting the shore. It’s very soothing and rhythmic.
KC, I like how your poem captures the joy of anticipation and the peace that comes from taking a break to recharge. I enjoy how the theme of it is a gentle reminder of the importance of taking time for oneself.
Hi Kim,
My friend, what a sweet way to bring us together for November. You chose a perfect prompt and your poem makes me want to travel with you right now! I love that this gets to be a fantasy retreat. I wrote with fantasy in mind but more of a deep dream or hope for something I long for to come true.
“Write, Re-flect, Re-treat”
Beach chairs
blankets and towels
coolers filled with water,
fruit and sandwiches
for “Write, Re-flect, Re-treat”
in Camps Bay Beach, Cape Town
Writers in swimwear,
shorts and cozy clothes
letting our skin breathe
letting the sun kiss us
Some recline, sit or stroll
while I choose to enjoy the shore
ask the bubbles and waves
to be my muse
InkJoy pens and journals
capture moments and memories
in poetry or prose
At noon, we gather
for meditation
breathing slows
welcoming peace
before sharing precious gifts
of words on pages
spoken to one another
©Stacey L. Joy, 11/16/24
Yes! We need this! Please make this happen. I especially am drawn to that final stanza, the slow breathing and peace, the sharing of gifts, the spoken words. One day…
Stacey, sharing words – the precious gifts of words on pages spoken to one another – – that’s the best gift of all! I would love to be right there on that beach in a warm spot, free of deadlines and stress. What a wonderful place for a writing retreat. Right in the sun, as the bubbles and waves are the muses that bring the ideas! I love this and hope we can make it happen sometime.
Stacey,
I feel the same about water
“ask the bubbles and waves
to be my muse” — it truly can be an inspiration! Love your retreat!
Stacey,
This is lovely and so relevant to what I worked on all day today. I’d love to have some beach time, and how cool to name the exact type of pen you use! Bravo,
Scene of Abundances
~ from “If I Were to Meet” by Grace Nichols
If I were to meet the shade
of my self writing
with fingers resting on keys
and bottomless sips of ideas
beside a river echoing raindrops
of voices past and future
gathering for their turn
in her verse two stories
above cafes in Amsterdam,
I would say this was her self;
this was where she freed
swallowed words, pressed hurt
like a shading of hints
revealed in ink and space–
this is her cozy uninterrupted
scene of abundance.
Oh, how I love this, Sarah. The words linger and run simultaneously, creating a soothing feeling, like that of wrapping into a blanket on a cold and rainy day. But more than that, it feels effortless, the words pulling me further along as one line strings into the next. Beautiful!
Sarah, I long to enjoy a space as freeing as this! So many serene images dance through your poem.
Lovely!
Sarah, I am drawn to an image of a poet writing “with fingers resting on keys //
and bottomless sips of ideas”–it is inspiring, and I want to follow this poet.
I like what you have done here tracing “my self” to “her self.”
Thank you!
Sarah, the play of space and time are dancing here in your verse, and my mind brings images of a young girl in a small space there, writing in her diary – and time transcending the ages to show the power of writing, of words, then and today. I love the cozy scene of abundance you show us.
I love the mentor text you used to get into this poem. How she frees her swallowed words, and claims her self. Thanks for taking us on retreat each month.
You are always able to take prompts to such amazing places, Sarah. I love this poem, especially these lines:
Sarah,
I love the line “bottomless sips of ideas.” It reminds me of Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Big Magic.”
Kim,
Thanks for hosting today. Your writing retreat is a magical place, perfect for escaping all we long to leave behind. I don’t think Boo Radley will like being upstaged by a crocodile, however! I like the idea of truth glasses. They remind me of how some choose not to see.
compose
there’s no better writing
retreat than my bed
where i lounge & think
in natty blue satin threads
here with my iPhone
i peck out each verse
i nosh inspiration
and each idea nurse
Stanley tucks in next to me
he’s happy to wait here quietly
until the poem’s complete &
wrapped in Canva, a word feast
Glenda Funk
11-16-24
Glenda,
I love this scene of retreat with all the things and beings within reach and “wrapped” and nourished with the “word feast.”
Sarah
Glenda, I have to agree with you! My bed has been home to me writing many papers, and the line about your satin sheets just makes me want to go cozy up!
Glenda, what an ideal spot to be spinning words. Like Stanley, you’ve nestled us in alongside you. (I have two dogs tucked next to me as I type so I know the comfort of this). We need a big old lodge/cottage somewhere with enough rooms for all the writers and their dog companions.
Glenda, writing retreat in bed sounds cozy, especially with Stanley who “tucks in next to” you. Isn’t it amazing how patient our pets are waiting or us to complete what we are doing? I could never be a pet–I am so impatient! Love your ending when “the poem is complete & wrapped in Canva, a word feast.”
Glenda, this is a delicious treat and re-treat! I am in love with the final stanzas as we are both Canva lovers! I feel like I’m there in your cozy space.
Glenda, ah ~ you remind us that the perfect retreat is right where we are, and the excitement and magic live right within us. The satin sheets of the bed and a dog to snuggle in is just a dreamy, comforting wave of coziness and peacefulness. Where would we be without Stanley and Boo Radley, our boys who warm us and love us. As I type, Boo is right here in the chair beside me, snoozing on my feet curled up next to me. I love your word feast.
Glenda,
I started writing about my favorite place to write . . . on our couch. I love how personal this is.
Glenda, I can picture you in your “natty blue satin threads” Fun rhymes throughout. I love the phrase “a word feast”
Glenda, I really enjoyed reading your post. Your poem has such a warm, inviting tone and really celebrates the comfort and creativity that can blossom in the most personal of spaces. It’s a charming, relatable portrayal of the creative process in its most cozy and personal form.
Hello, Kim. You offered us fantasy, I wrote realism … mostly. What fun!
For those unfamiliar with the NWP (that’s the National Writing Project)
Writing on a Stone Throne
Overlooking the college campus,
Sitting up there on top.
Responding to prompt presenters’ present
Each morning of this teachers’ workshop.
We get to take our own personal bent.
Choice thrills our hearts, and we want to bop!
This five-week program of the NWP
Helped us to see
How freeing and powerful
Writing can be.
After a rousing lunch of Mexican cuisine
We’d separate to reflect and write,e
Belching sometimes, not impolite
Because we are now alone
Totally in charge of our stories.
Sitting erect on our own stone throne.
We get to choose our own topics,
Only constrained by the genre of the day.
We could tell our stories in our own voices,
Cause we each now have choices,
To say what we want in our own special way.
What could be more invigorating
Knowing our team would be waiting
To hear what we wrote and maybe even vote
That our writing be read to the reassembled group?
They may even give us a cheer with warm roaring whoop!
Anna, what a lovely tribute and reflection of NWP. Each stanza captures the care in a respectful and dignity-forward professional learning experience with nourishment from food and from peers. Beautiful.
Sarah
Anna, I love the choice and voice your poem brings. All of the stanzas are lovely, but this one particularly resonates with me:
We get to choose our own topics,
Only constrained by the genre of the day.
We could tell our stories in our own voices,
Cause we each now have choices,
To say what we want in our own special way.
This reminds me that the beauty of the stories is in the telling and the perspectives – the writing in your own voice brings the authenticity and connection in powerful ways. What a wonderful way to write!
Hi Anna,
I visualized every image and felt all the feels of being a participant at NWP.
I adore these lines because it speaks to the importance of valuing students’ stories:
This is a gift! Thank you!
Good Morning, Kim, and thank you for hosting today! What a great prompt to begin November Open Writes. I absolutely adore your poem, your magic with words, the quill pen from the “owl hen,” and “truth glasses,” which we all need, at least at some point.
When I read the prompt early this morning, I immediately imagined two characters – Mary Claus and Mary Poppins. I went with the latter.
A Magic of Writing with Mary Poppins
She floated down with a twirl and a bow,
An umbrella and coat in the soft winds that blow,
To a valley surrounded by magic trees
Whispering secrets from close and overseas.
Her boots clicked lightly on paths woven with care,
Her scarf fluttered brightly in the enchanted air,
And her elegant hat, adorned with azure flowers,
To bounce in tune with birds’ happy hours.
In her hand was a quill, of the finest design,
It was ready to write, then revise and refine
Spilling stories of magic inspired by tales
Overheard or experienced on various trails
Mary’s little buddy, a squirrel with a grin,
Wore tiny glasses, its tail twitched with whim.
It scurried around and looked quite respectful
Offering tiny tea cakes—simply delightful.
To all of the writers, Mary brought a gift,
A nice little gesture, not rare, but sweet,
A notebook inscribed: “Your words are complete”
With a sprinkle of stardust to help them begin.
Leilya, the squirrel with glasses offering tiny tea cakes has my heart – – where in the world did he come from?? I want to see this tea party in a picture book and a movie. The gift is breathtaking – – an inscribed notebook sprinkled with stardust. Now I’m just thinking about all the magical parts I’ve read today and how these all play together to make a big writer’s retreat so absolutely enchanting for all of us. As I’m reading this morning, my heart is full of wonder and hope with all that you and others bring to our passionate gathering.
Leilya, mThis is whimsical and delightful. Good job w/ the rhyme and fairytale aesthetic. The imagery of NP floating and inspiring is perfect. Love it.
This is lovely and so enchanting. As soon as I read the title, I could hear the songs from “Mary Poppins” in my head. And what wonderful descriptions of the details that take place at your retreat. ❤️
Leilya, such a beauty. The rhyming and meter are fun. I always enjoying reading this kind of poem aloud. My favorite stanza is the one where “In her hand was a quill…” such a powerful thought because we know the power of the pen.
It’s certainly a fantasy of mine to go off on a writing retreat like this! I had fun listing out my ideal writer’s retreat and then composed a poem using the link you posted — I was drawn to the Chueh-chu Poems. According to the website it means “sonnet cut short” which spoke to my love of sonnets but also my desire that such an event would NOT be cut short — but we all know it would probably end FAR SOONER than I would like:
When We Write Together by Erica J
When we write together we will be
somewhere on a mountain or at sea
side by side. A flair of rainbow pens
adorn our patio, sipping tea —
when we write together in person,
not squared away on screen, there must be
a night where we all join for dinner:
fellowship of writers include me!
Erica, the rainbow of shared flair pens and tea on a patio in person truly pop of taste and color and company. I like your clever use of “squared away on a screen,” too, because you bring a different thinking about being squared away. Yes to the dinner – in our fellowship of writers! There is nothing like a shared meal around a round table.
Oh, Erica, I would love to join you on such a retreat by the mountain or at sea. I have never been at the writing retreats far away; our department has organized a few, but we are usually in someone’s backyard grilling or doing a seafood boil (Louisiana)–not too much writing going on honestly )).
Erica, I appreciate your line “not squared away on screen,” times have heavily changed and the underlying importance of interaction said without being stated is incredible.
Yes, yes, yes! Erica, you’ve reminded me of the warm welcomes and connections I experienced at NCTE in 2022 and some of us here at Ethical ELA finally spent time together in person. This is what we all need at least once in a lifetime.
Hi, Kim. What a treat to read your descriptive words this morning. I long to accompany you…to hide beneath that amber-hued clock, to savor the crinkled snacks and borrow your quill pen so I can scribbled the highlights of our trip. Wonderful words!
Wish I had more time, but you prompted me to craft a start…
Off to the Land of Truth I go.
What I’ll discover I do not know.
The sky will be clear and so will my head,
and only words of truth will be said
or written, as the case may be.
Only words we can trust in this land by the sea.
Rita, a magical beginning of a journey rich in the feel of journeying and togetherness in truth. And no better place than a land by the sea. As I have read this morning, there is so much of nature coming through – the sea, the wind, the rain, the forest and trees, snow, sky, land, and the imagery of setting, of place, is creating such stunning visual imagination that I’m feeling there in the poems of others. It makes me think of the York commercial awhile back – “Get the Sensation!” – and every poem I bite into, I feel that rush of presence.
Rita, I take to heart each word from your poem today because they all resonate with me–clear heads, clear words, truth, and words, we can trust. Thank you!
Rita,
I want to go and write truths “in the land by the sea.” That’s such a lovely idea.
Dear Kim: This prompt is a truly magical invitation! I can so see you wearing your farm overalls under your shimmery amber wing-patterned cloak… for let’s face it: Making the magic is hard work! I am chuckling aloud at the talisman-like chicken-foot bracelets and beetle-leg wings, again a convergence of your rural reality with the ream of fantasy. A quill pen from a hen – of course!! I was so expecting a dog as your companion that the appearing of Razor, your pink crocodile, threw me into a place I had never been before. New and bright and strange and wonderful… ah, but poetry is our passport to such places, again and again. What a marvelous way to to begin the day! I hope you don’t mind if my poem is a story vs. a list… it is the shape it took as soon as I started, and, as one line states: I don’t have a choice, do I, in this following? Thank you so much for such incredibly rich inspiration-
A Fantasy Writer’s Retreat
I have heard it said
that there is no ordinary,
only the extraordinary
if one just pays enough attention…
and so it comes to pass
as I am sweeping off my porch
one crisp autumn morning
that I stop to consider
the blue-black crow
sitting on my sidewalk.
Just sitting
with a big green stone
in its beak.
I am being summoned
somehow.
I walk down the steps.
The crow drops the stone.
It rolls to my feet.
I pick it up.
It’s curiously warm, almost hot
to the touch.
The stone speaks, without words:
Follow me.
“What?” I say aloud,
looking back to the crow.
It is not there.
In its place
sits a majestic
gray-white
wolf.
The wolf rises
and trots round the corner of the house
(I don’t have a choice, do I,
in this following?)
to the patch of woods beyond
the backyard fence.
Here stands a dappled gray mare
wearing a ruby-studded bridle
and silver saddle
with a long emerald cloak draped over it.
The mare nods and snorts, paws the ground.
Common sense, really:
I don the cloak, put my foot in the golden stirrup
and mount the horse.
The woods thicken, closing in around us.
A blast of cold air flaps my hair, my cloak…
I pull the hood up over my head
as all goes dark.
But the horse is walking,
the bridle bits clinking like wind chimes.
My eyes adjust.
There’s snow on the ground
and the wolf, leading the way.
The woods grow thin again
as the moon comes out from behind the clouds
casting the crow’s shadow
on the crystal-simmering blanket of white…
where just ahead sits a small house,
seemingly made of glass,
ablaze with golden light.
Here the wolf stops at the left portal
and the crow to the right,
landing atop an old brass letter-box.
I dismount.
The crow flaps its wings.
I offer it the green stone.
Its beak brushes my hand in acceptance
and with a silken rustling
it is gone.
I open the letter-box
to find a lone scroll of parchment
tied with red satin ribbon.
Only one thing to do…
I slide off the ribbon.
The parchment unfurls
in my hands.
It bears a single question
in antiquated calligraphy:
What victuals
do you require
after your journey?
“Something hot to drink,” say I,
shivering despite my thick emerald cloak.
“Something salty and something sweet…”
The wolf throws back its gorgeous head
and howls at the moon.
It runs back to the woods.
In its place,
a gold-wrapped box
with a white velvet bow.
I pick up the gift – not heavy at all–
and reach for the icy brass doorknob…
the door opens at my touch.
I enter the house.
I’m in a cozy room
with huge red plush sofas
and a fire popping in the grate
and a scarred farm table
with three muslin-skirted chairs
(where is the fourth?).
I place the box on the table
to untie the velvet bow…
at every seat appears
a steaming chalice of cloved cider
cinnamon sticks leaning
against the rims
and big crackle-glass bowls
of salt-encrusted caramel pyramids
and veiny-white plates
of warm spice-dusted pumpkin bread,
sliced thick.
—Where am I to sit?
Just then I notice the recessed area
bay window-walls
from ceiling to floor
where stands a wingback chair,
plush green
with matching ottoman
bearing a big red book.
Beside the chair,
a small round marble-topped table
with a chalice
and plate heaped
with the victuals.
Behind this, snow flies like diamonds
against the glass walls
through which I can see the silhouette
of a great heron flying
so slowly, impossibly, across the moon
and three small deer peering inside,
twitching their black noses,
their great, sweet eyes reflecting firelight…
I pick up the chalice
stir with the cinnamon stick
sip the cider.
Warmth flows upward to my brain,
down to my toes.
My fingers tingle.
I sit in the chair
and take the book
from the ottoman.
Its pages are blank.
An empty book,
save for sharpened holographic pencil
tucked in the middle.
I suspect the pencil will never wear down
in this place where magic
is crackling like the fire in the grate.
I write my first word: Now
—and there’s sudden sound,
a soft ticking from
the ancient clock on the mantel
(why hadn’t I noticed it before),
very like the beating of a heart…
Dare I go to stop those little hands
from their movements?
I do.
The fire freezes, its sparks suspended in air
as are the snow crystals beyond the window.
The steam of my cider is an immovable cloud
even as I take another sip
yet it leaves moist warmth on my lip.
I do not know if and when any others will arrive
but if and when they do
they shall have Time
as I do
Now.
Fran, so many words here in response, but it boils down to this one word: spellbinding. Your writing is rich and captivating, and I can see the emerald robe with the hood you once described before, the one that makes you feel Celtic. The interplay of the animals and birds, the richness of description of the scrolled parchment, along with the elements of snow and fire are divine. This is reminiscent of your favorite Narnia, only more real as you leave from your porch. You’ve made turning an ordinary corner of a house an extraordinary corner of what awaits in the magical world of wonder and anticipation. I think you have begun your very own modern-day Lewis, or perhaps what happens to a great-granddaughter when Narnia falls into the wrong hands but the magic still happens into the future. Thank you for stopping time for us!
Fran, Your imagination is on fire. I so enjoyed journeying along with you and admire the way you paid attention to the animals and objects that lead the way. This is a remarkable poem, a tribute to your imagination and an inspiration for me. Thanks for sharing!
Fran, what a journey – from “the blue-black crow” to “a majestic gray-white
wolf,” to “a dappled gray mare,” you draw me into the magic of your storytelling. I am ready to follow you through the thickness of the dark and the snow to that “small house,” where mystery happens. I don\t even know if any other others arrive at some point, but you are THERE and NOW, and you have TIME. It seems to be your happy place. Thank you for such rich and fairy-like imagery!
I love this, Fran! So vivid, lush and beautiful. And the voice of your speaker comes through so well — “Common sense, really” — that makes this fantasy poem so real and so inviting. And I love the stopping of time through the act of writing (with your — undoubtedly, Ticonderoga — holographic never-dulling pencil! I’m here for all of this!
Now. Such a simple message in your tale that I could not stop reading. Where were we going? And how we landed right where we began…now. It reminds me that if I don’t take the time given to me now, it will be lost forever, to treasure this precious moment.
Kim, thanks for stirring my imagination this morning with your fantasy retreat. Today I am typing my draft rather than handwriting. My journal page is my imagination. Thanks for the invitation.
Years ago I would regularly attend a writing marathon in the summer in New Orleans. One year I went with two close writing friends who have since passed away. I yearn for those days again.
As the trolly stops at Le Richelieu Hotel,
I step out like Cinderella
entering the ball
with all my hopes and dreams–
a backpack of flair pens and a notebook.
Smiling friends, old and new, greet me
at the door, open a bottle of wine,
and we toast to our bard who offers
a few words. “Be the writer you were meant to be.”
My pen flows as water in a rainstorm,
clouding the pages and clearing my mind.
You listen to me read
and say, “Thank you for sharing.”
No expectations of brilliance
or a published book. Just the act
of being a writer
sitting with other writers
grateful and generous and
quietly lifting my glass slipper.
Love this line: “Be the writer you were meant to be.” That is a diamond, Margaret. The warmth of writer-fellowship is palpable in and so rich in every line – speaking to the vital nature of community. Your last line, especially, is poetic perfection! I savor that imagery.
Margaret, the entrance to the hotel is magical in and of itself, and the glass slipper raised at the end brings the circular feel to regal and relaxed act of writing for the sheer pleasure. I love that you preface the former writing gatherings and thrilled that they can come back to be in this space despite their passing – they live on in memory, in the words on the page, and we know them because you include them in our kindred spirit of writers – – who never really leave us. I love that the pen flows as water in a rainstorm, clouding the pages and clearing your mind. That really has my movie in my head thinking not only of the image but of the sound as well – the comforting sound of rain as writers do what they do best – – the best sound for being the writer you were meant to be! And yes, the grateful and generous hearts of writers remind us of all the reasons we long to gather and spend time writing and sharing. Thank you for the rich feeling of togetherness. It must be a lot what heaven will be like.
This is a short poem that is long on meaning and memory. You capture the comfort and support you felt and make me long to participate in something like this. Love the fantasy embedded in the last line. Let’s toast using our glass slippers!
I love the allusion and connections to the fairy tale that this experience must have been for you! I also appreciated the blending of reality with the fantasy. What better way to capture this prompt?
Margaret,
I love these lines: “just the act of being a writer,” and “No expectations of …a published book.” Those words speak to my writer’s soul.
My favorite line has to be “clouding the pages and clearing my mind.” It so perfectly captures the relief and feeling of activities that can take you away from reality and recenter your focus from all the outside stressors of life.
This is pure acceptance…lovely. This is how you make other writers feel.
Kim, thank you! Wow. What a topic. What a poem. I’m just thinking about those snacks you are bringing and I’m in awe with the crafting (and the imagery). I don’t have time to tell all I will bring, but I need this myself today.
For the writers’ retreat,
we’ll transport to The Shire
Fertile, quiet, beloved,
but conflict’s on the horizon
The gift of prophecy for this hour
We shall all write truth to power
Denise, I need this too. What a beautiful spot you’ve offered, along with a focus of our efforts. Hugs.
Denise, your poem absolutely sings – how lyrical:
The gift of prophecy for this hour
We shall all write truth to power
-it reminds me why it’s so important to help young ones learn to write, to share their thoughts, to find their voices.
Denise, The Shire feels like a hygge heaven, a shield from the brewing storm – the prophecy we seek in these times of uncertainty as we write truth to power. That is a captivating thought – – writing truth to power – – and I’m mesmerized with the word fertile, too, as a way to bring just the right elements to grow our minds and our thoughts into the shields and swords of the sharp-edged truths we’ll write. We all seek the comfort you describe here, the safety from the raging conflict outside.
Denise,
Power of the pen! That’s the takeaway I get from your poem. We must “write truth to power.”
Hi, Denise, I like the choice of The Shire. The gift is a must:
“The gift of prophecy for this hour
We shall all write truth to power”
It has a universal, timeless appeal.
‘Truth to power’ That’s what I’m talking about! Yes, ma’am. Take me to the shire.
Denise, I love this so much. The idea of having the gift of prophecy is such a balm because I am so worried about what’s to come. Thank you for the reminder, that regardless of the conflicts on the horizon, writing together is powerful and truth will prevail. I want to believe that is true.
Kim, thank you for your inspiring Funny Farm. What a great way to start my Saturday – and get my pen flowing! Someday I will go to a writers retreat!
I retreat to the mountains
To meet with some dear friends
Some I’ve only met online
Yet we are joined by the pen
in our sanctuary in the woods
to craft a poem or two.
I arrive with a small tote
of comfy-cozy wear
and warm weather gear to venture
through the woods
looking for birds and words
Of course there’s room for my favorite pen and colorful markers and a new journal bought especially for these days
I’ll share my homemade butterballs,
a recipe of my moms,
with everyone there
and sip warm cups of peppermint tea
each afternoon
bringing forth comforting thoughts
of the loved ones who live on
in my memories,
But I’ll pull back that thin veil
and see them once again
in my stories and poems
Christine, invite me, please. I totally want to eat butterballs and sip tea. Writing is optional. I feel that when we go on such an intimate retreat, we carry the people we meet with us forever.
Christine, “sanctuary” is one of my favorite words, and I believe woods are sanctuary. Finding birds and words…oh yes, this is my kind of retreat! How often do I “pull back the thin veil” by writing, to see my loved ones again? Just beautiful.
Christine, what I hear echoing so richly through your words is that with writing, we can bring back those who have departed the physical space and share the space of memory, of love, of forever in our minds and hearts. What a real and magical place to be able to pull back the thin veil that separates our realms and be able to share the joy, the togetherness, the hopes – through writing of memory that lives on. I can taste those butterballs and the peppermint tea, and the new journal just for the purpose of a time of writing is really like Christmas morning in the heart of a writer. Beautiful!
You pull me right into the perfect writer’s retreat…a place that offers friendship, food and a beautiful place to birth new words and reflect on old memories. I love the idea of “pulling back that thin veil” — Isn’t that what we always do when we write about the past? Thanks for sharing and put me on the list when you make this a reality, Christine.
This sounds like such a perfect retreat! I want to enjoy your butterballs! I love the idea of pulling back that thin veil and visiting with those who have gone. Keeping them alive through writing is key!
I want in on this retreat!
Oh, Kim . . . what a wonderful prompt for us this morning. With the NCTE Boston trip approaching (and my complete paralysis at the thought of traveling alone), I am so sad by not being there. So, I started thinking about not only my own individual writing process/retreat, but all of us being in the same place. And I’m often wondering how Asheville, I city I visited last fall and fell in love with, is recovering from the devastation of the hurricane. I tried to combine all of these ideas. Don’t know if I succeeded, but just writing this makes me miss people I have never met!
I to We
Event: Fantasy Writing Retreat
Location: pre-Helene Asheville
Agenda
Day One
Morning.
At the Grove Park Inn
I sit around the ten-foot-high fireplace
on an old comfy couch
flanked by rocking chairs.
I am wrapped in the warmth
and welcoming of this old place
that has seen so much.
A journal with a floral cover
roosts on my lap,
open with possibility
waiting for the purple flair tip marker to
create its magic.
Ambient noise of crackles and
voices easily absorbed in
the cavernous room
offer inspiration not
distraction.
A mug of warm coffee
sits at my side adding to
the snug peacefulness
of the place.
I feel at home
among strangers
and the quiet bustle.
And begin to write.
Midday.
I journey out to the porch
and overlook the Blue Ridge
with mist hovering.
A glass of cab sav
sitting beside me,
I transition to laptop
and peck away revising
ideas from the morning.
I alternate focusing on the screen
and staring out at the panoramic
splendor surrounding me.
Evening,
We meet up
at the Vanderbilt Terrace
with string lights and candles
adding a magical touch
to an already enchanting place.
The energy adds even more vibe
as many of us meet face-to-face
for the first time.
We hug and cluster and chat
and relish in sharing physical space.
Eye contact and reassuring touches
and heart connects
cement the bonds made
over the miles and
through years of digital sharing.
No writing shared
just space and camaraderie.
Together finally.
We eat, we drink,
we are certainly merry
under the twinkling lights
now joined by stars,
all of us enveloped by mountains
and magic.
Day Two
Morning.
With fatigue rimming our eyes
we gather in an indoor conference space,
walls of windows partitioning us
from the outside wonder.
At round tables,
we sit as our leader, our muse,
talks from a makeshift stage,
she our guiding star.
She reflects on our journey
and speaks from her heart,
a heart as huge as this room.
She tells of all we are,
our differences,
our experiences,
our struggles,
our growth.
We are Open
We Write.
We share.
We are together
for the first time
yet timelessly.
~Susan Ahlbrand
16 November 2024
Susan, you’ve crafted the perfect getaway, one that I want to be immersed in. All of the togetherness, the we-ness, the what-we-experience-here-ness (but in person) throughout your poem makes me long for a chance to do actually do this. One day…
I too visited Asheville a few years ago and pray they are making strides to recover. I would certainly want to head there to a writing retreat and can picture your scene so well! That you for taking me along
Sign me up, Susan. Your agenda sounds wonderful, just what I need to get away. I’m so sad about Asheville. We visited a few years ago with our family and retreated in a huge house at the top of a mountain. I wonder about it. Is it still there? Thanks for writing about my perfect writing retreat. I wonder if we could build it and make our dreams come true.
Susan, “pre-Helen” Asheville really is an enchanting place, and I love it well. I feel as if I am right there with you seeing these beautiful vistas – and appreciating the timelessness you evoke.
-Helene*
Susan, I’m right there with you, friend. I have pulled down my Grove Park Inn mug recently as I, too, keep the people of Asheville close in thought and remember the morning I sat outside the room of F. Scott Fitzgerald, hoping his spirit would take over my pen. (I heard they’d cancelled this year’s Gingerbread competition, and I think I felt tears welling up, as I always look forward to those pictures and winning houses). I like the way you took the journey of the day and then wove in the journey of the writing group at the end, ending on the word timelessly. You bring us all in to this amazing spot, those majestic fireplaces and rocking chairs right there in the midst of the mountains. What a beautiful way to begin the morning. And perhaps your magic will come true – – I can’t think of a better real-life place for a writing retreat than your setting!
Ooh, I love your agenda. The idea of a journal roosting in your lap really resonates. I think midday is a good time for a glass of cab sav, and I love the feeling of camaraderie created for our evening- yes, I just invited myself; I hope that’s okay. I would love to hear your muse.
Kim! I love this! How much fun you can have with multiple versions of this idea. Thank you.
Good morning, Tammy, the sheer creativity and amazing craft of this group of writers is why I always look forward to the rosebud of ideas that spark from one single prompt. I enjoyed your photograph today on your blog – – it could be the way to arrive here at the writer’s retreat – – with food we’ve long wanted to cook but haven’t. Thanks for reading!
oooooh, how fun! Your yellow brick road and crocodile are absolutely inviting. I want to join you–and I can by way of this poem. I love it! Thank you for creating such a great opening to this month’s open write.
I wrote and wrote and wrote. lol. So, I’m giving you a snippet of a much longer draft. It got more fantastical as I wrote which was fun and energizing. That’s the best part about writing is the energy it gives me.
I’ve brought my sketchbook
and pencils
to the center
of the circle of hemlocks.
In daytime, I counted thirteen
trees in a circle
and imagine them as witches
holding hands, swaying
murmuring a spell.
Most people are afraid
of the witches
They steer clear,
walk around
as they whistle or hold a cross
on a necklace chain.
I am not afraid.
Someday, I will be
one of this circle.
I will sway and murmur
My spells will keep
the circle tight–
protective for girls
like me who sketch
and paint for all the hours
of daylight given.
Rain is a rinse jar.
Wind a blending brush…
I adore the tree circle here and the spells. Thank you for sharing
Linda, we are gathering… I love the protective circle for girls and the no fear approach. There’s power in your poem. I want to read the rest. Especially as you left us with rain and wind as such lovely tools. Brava!
And I can smell those hemlocks filling the air with such a sweet perfume! Ahhh – what an Ed ape for me today
Oops – escape…
Ooo, Linda, I want to read the whole poem! I want to go into this fantasy and be witchlike creating with rain and wind.
The elements of nature here are magical, Linda – but of course, because they really are. I have a true story about being brushed by a witch’s hair when I was a child but I will save it for another day – I just want to say how much I love your imagery, the sense of protection for artistry and (girl) artists, rain as a rinse jar and wind as a blending brush, and, perhaps above all, the line “I am not afraid.”
Linda, so much to love. Of course, the ending is fantastic, the way the picture paints with rain and wind. The circle of trees, the swaying and chanting in the togetherness of the group ~ I love that you bring the tight circle of protection for girls to be who they are. The Crucible changed my thinking about who the evil ones really are. Not the witches, but the ones who would throw stones or crush others like Giles Corey with them, even in these modern-day witch-hunts. My sister in law makes tinctures and salves from honey and plants, and she’s started showing me how to do this. She says that some in her family jokingly refer to this as her witchcraft, but recently as I was attending the Nativity Tour at the Biblical History Center an hour from where we live, I came upon a large wall poster of all the biblical ways of healing through plants and their medicinal properties. I keep pulling it up on my camera and looking at the parallels – – the healing herbs and plants, there for us as comfort measures, and the miracles that happened that some through another lens would see as magic and deem it all evil. Your poem makes me think of all the ways we need to shift the lens to see things from other perspectives. I love what you have done here!
I really appreciate the way the poem ends, bringing the reader to the center of the circle with you. I also love how the magic of the setting is captured in the writing of this poem. Thank you for sharing this!
Kim, I want to be the first to join you on the Oz-twisting road. Right away, I sense the magic that will lead us to one another. And oh, what a gift truth glasses would be. Thank you for this fun prompt. I can’t wait to see where we all go. I have Macbeth on my mind as we are in the midst of Shakespeare. I bring you the opening lines of Act 1 sc 1…
Where shall we all meet to write
In mountains, beaches, or wooded site
When the seeds of time have come
When the plot structure has been won
That will be when our tale can be spun
So much to complete
At this retreat
There to meet my own muse
I come with friends
Shadow calls
Soon
Light is dark and dark is light
We shall write both day and night…
What fun and rhythmic rhyme. And, Macbeth as a mentor text? Yes, please. “plot structure has been won,” huzzah! “meet my own muse” oh–I want that. And those last two lines are a great close that include an invitation…count me in.
I say we meet in any and all of these places, Jennifer! The rhythms roll like a charm, as does the Shakespearean way with words, turning them round like mirrors:
Light is dark and dark is light
We shall write both day and night…
My kinda retreat.
Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer ~ what better to begin our day than the Bard’s words coming through loud and clear through your own? And the ending line to spark that cerebral energy and bask in the sheer magic of creative writing. This makes me wonder about the students adding verses to what you have started here – to create a Macbeth writing retreat of students. Such powerful possibilities and comforts here at work spinning tales and growing the seeds of time. I just love the way you wove this!
Jennifer,
I love the voice of this speaker with the word “shall we meet” and the invitations to collaborate and imagine together the place and the time. The image of “Shadow calls” calls to mind the physical and liminal spaces of craft.
Sarah
Jennifer, I can feel the Shakespeare vibes. I love all the choices for the retreat–the exact location can be many places, but wherever and whenever “the seeds of time have come” it is a perfect place where “we shall write both day and night” Funny, today I also used a verson of “We shall write…” Lovely poem.