Anna J. Small Roseboro is a wife and mother, poet and writing coach, and National Board Certified Teacher with over forty years of experience as a educator in public, parochial, and private schools in five states. She has taught English and Speech to students in middle school, high school, and Literacy in the Content Areas and Curriculum Design to students in college, She now is directing her attention to online ministries, coaching new writers, and mentoring NBCT candidates with the National Board for Professional Teaching Standards.
She has self-published books in various genres. Rowman Littlefield Education has published eight of Anna’s textbooks for teachers. Anna has been an active member of this writing community for a number of years and eagerly joins the conversations each month. Poems she has written in OPEN WRITE have been published in multiple publications, including BRIDGE THE DISTANCE: An Oral History of COVID-19 in Poems (2020) and RHYME & RHYTHM: Poems for Student Athletes (2021) Her most recent book is a novel, TWO, ONE…NOW THREE: How Can That Be? Check them out!
Inspiration
One reason we celebrate VERSELOVE in April is that William Shakespeare, the Bard, was born in this month. This is not the only birth month for clever poets. Look at you. Other well-known poets were born in the same month as you.
You know that students are intrigued when invited to write Golden Shovel poems because they get to choose the poet, the line or phrase, the style, and often the topic about which to write. Our prompt today offers our writers the same choices.
Process
So, today let’s mine for a line to craft at Golden Shovel poem extracted and quoted from a poem written by a poet who was born the same month as you. If April is your month, go ahead and mine a line from the Bard.
- Choose a poet like you because you were born in the same month. For easy access, consider one of these sites:
- https://www.bornglorious.com/united_states/birthday/?pd=today
- https://junebirthdaysofpoets.wordpress.com/ (substitute your birth month in the URL>
- Choose a poem by that poet. Select a line or phrase you find innovative, evocative, or just clever.
- Use that line or phrase in your own poem on a topic of your choice in at least one of these ways.
- as a refrain at least three times in your poem
- as the first line in a pantoum poem.
- as the first or last word in lines of your poem so that reading from first to last line, we see those quoted words in the order they appeared in the model poem of the poet like you.
- as inspiration for your poem.
Please cite as an opening or closing comment, the poet and poem as well as the chosen line or phrase. AND…if time permits, insert a picture or graphic that expands our understanding of your poet, your chosen lines, phrase, or the theme or message of your own poem.
My poem is drawn from “Truce” by Paul Muldoon, who was born on my birthday, June 20th. During the Battle of the Bulge, a German family brokered a truce between American and German troops who had become lost in the forest in 1944. The Battle of the Bulge was interrupted by a little-known truce deep in the Ardennes Forest. (https://www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/truce/_) My chosen lines, “No one seems sure of what to do/ All stop when one stops” to challenge us to be independent thinkers.
Anna’s Poem
What to Do
“No one seems sure of what to do
All stop when one stops”
How I wish this were true
Follow the leader is a game to play
When no lives are on the line
All stopping or starting is fine
Nowadays it’s hard to tell
When the news is seldom true
Just as we do it, we find out
The real reason for the loud shout
No one seems sure of what to do
Let’s follow the Golden Rule
If all stop and they stop doing something wrong
It’s okay to follow along
If they stop doing what is right,
Then is the time to keep going
We can be sure of what to do
Even when all stop when one stops
As Amanda Gorman said in her poem
We must be the light
The light that warms the heart
The light that reveals the wrong
When all others stop, it’s okay to start
No need to go along with the throng
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.
Margaret Danner and I share the same birthday, January 12. She composed a poem called The Convert from which I composed my poem. I used her line…”But, I find myself still framing word structures”.
But, what does love have to do with it?
I would like to think, everything. To
find one’s self in love with self is everything. I see
myself, and I am everything. To be
still, quiet, and authentically me is
framing what I allow to be meaningful. There’s not one
word I’d choose to describe what is possible for me. The
structures and constructs of who I am is everything.
Donnetta, I love this so much! Self-love, care, and acceptance are the ingredients for deep peace.
Untitled
Ice on the sidewalk,
in the middle of April is
the very least pleasant gift.
River of thought
begins to flow,
to accept that spring will
move in slowly,
Anna, thank you for inviting us to explore poets from our birthday month. On poets.org, I found a poet who shares my birthday (April 10) — Norman Dubie, 1945.
I’ve never heard of Norman but that’s what this is about, right?
The poem I chose is February: the Boy Braughel simply because my daughter’s birthday is in February. The line I used is “Ice in the river begins to move”. My poem needs work, I got a very late start today, but I’m glad to share. It’s been a few days.
This is beautiful and apt, Jennifer! Needs no more work than to be read and enjoyed! I love that you meshed your birthdays together in this practice (and I hate when I have to miss days here, too!). The Dubie poem is also lovely – and I didn’t know him either, so nice to meet all of you here! We are enjoying nearly 80-degree weather today, and expect snow in a couple of days, so your poem made me frown and then relinquish into a smile. We can’t control any of this, right? So we do our best to appreciate it!
Jennifer, thank you for this! (I’m with Denise, here, I’m living the 80-degree life today, but “the word on the streets” is that by this weekend, we may have ice and snow!) “[S]pring will / move in slowly” … hopefully soon!
I’ve always been proud to share a birth month with Dr. Seuss! So here’s an imitation of Dr. Seuss’s “Too Many Daves,” about a funky tree in my yard that, if you use your imagination, could have come straight from a Dr. Seuss book.
Did I ever tell you that my little tree
Grew twenty-three (hundred) blooms and she made them all pink?
And often I wonder why, when they were made,
She didn’t form one of them a deep shade of jade
And one of them maize. And one of them citrine.
And one of them laurel. And one aquamarine.
And one of them pewter. And one of them zaffre.
And one of them puce. And one of them azure.
Another one ochre. Another one sepia.
Another one quinacridone magenta.
And one of them skobeloff. And one obsidian.
One sang de boeuf. And one persimmon.
And one of them wenge. And one of them fulvous.
And one razzmatazz. Another one glaucous.
And one of them heliotrope.
And one of them gamboge.
And one of them pseudoisochromatic.
But she didn’t do it. ‘Guess pink is pragmatic.
Rachel what a fun poem! Thank you for the playfulness and including the photo of your tree!
This made me laugh out loud this morning, Rachel. I adore that little tree for offering so much of itself as best it knows how. I am stunned by all the color names! I’ve been learning more as I get more into art, but they are more like the Crayola names. Color names are so creative and beautiful worlds onto themselves. I would like to learn all of these by name and by sight! So fun!
Rachel, this was fabulous! Love all of the whimsical color in here!
Thanks Anna for the invitation to be inspired by a poet we share a birth month with…but instead, I happened upon a poem by a wonderful SDAWP colleague poet that stopped me in my tracks. I highly recommend reading Everything Needs Fixing by Karla Cordero. There are so many lines that I loved…but I picked this line to inspire my (very short) poem tonight: …but what I’m certain of, is still,. the uncertainty of which tools repair the aging dog, the wilting snake plant, the crow’s feet under my eyes…
The busiest of days pushed me toward the shortest of poetry formats. I chose 17 syllables–a Haiku–to respond. (And I do know that my response doesn’t begin to live up to the words Karla offers!)
Fix This
seeking solutions
as the world turns, life happens
where is the tool kit?
I think the question in your haiku is one many of us are asking! Hoping you can find your “tool kit.”
Well that is indeed a lovely lovely mentor poem, Kim. The metaphors are unique, but the underlying storyline – so beautifully wrought. I like your haiku ‘response’ or companion poem. I think there is so much right now that needs a tool kit that doesn’t exist. You know the saying, “If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.” – ? Lately, I think the word is ‘depressed’ instead of angry. Not enough glue and duct tape in the world some days. (And THAT’S what chocolate and poetry are for!) Glad to see you squeezed this in – I appreciate it!
Anna, thank you for this prompt today that both took my mind off of the stresses and provided an outlet all at once.
Excerpt from “The Dictators” by Pablo Neruda
The snout filled with silence and slime
And vendetta was born.
The sibilant tail swished back and forth
Clouding dust, ricocheting pebbles
The atmosphere smoldered with fear.
What a descriptive expansion on those lines. You picked some awesome words: sibilant, ricocheting, smoldered. I can see it all – awesome images.
Laura – Neruda! Yum! I just LOVE the image of this wicked creature! Fearsome dragon… “vendetta”.. absolutely marvelous, every word you chose! You could use this as the opening of a novel!
Hot stuff! Susie
Anna, I wanted to write first thing this morning but school is schoolin’ me to pieces! Thank you for offering options and of course I chose the Golden Shovel. I loved these lines in your poem:
I chose a famous person instead of a famous poet. Leonarda diCaprio was born the same day I was born, 11/11. I chose this 11-word quote of his for my golden shovel. “I need somebody to brinb me back to who I am.”
Move, Mountain, Move!
Faith is that thing with feathers but I
ain’t into birds. I need
mountain-moving faith, like somebody
who harnesses power to
build, cultivate, and bring
unexpected blessings like July rain to me
courageous and unwavering like the back
bone of God. Mighty enough to
deliver me from who
or what ain’t meant for me. I
live in faith as audacious as who I am.
©Stacey L. Joy, April 12, 2023
*snaps* Stacey! I love your attitude and similes here. What a force!
Oh, Stacey, what faith that is! “as audacious as who I am.” Beautiful. And this passage about blessings:
Wow! Beautiful image too of moving that mountain.
Stacey, I hope you have time to read the poem later about “JOY.”
WOW! What a powerful poem and picture! Audacious is the right word for the kind of faith we’ll need to stand true, strong and long!
Thanks, for the reminder in this powerful poem and picture
Beautiful!! My favorite line is: “courageous and unwavering like the back / bone of God.” Also your awesome TITLE and the first two lines – “I ain’t into birds.” Made me laugh! I can just feel the soul in this poem. Along with the yearning. I’m there too.
Stacey – You’ve done it again… bold, strong words… that voice! “Back/bone of God”… boom! “Cultivate” … “courageous “.. pow! “Audacious “ and “unwavering “… bam! Bang! You have a “mountain-moving” rumble inside you, and I love when it blasts through a poem. Love it, love you, Susie
Happy to share the month of June with Lucille Clifton. I used her first stanza of “blessing the boats” as a refrains
blessing
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
lean into the wind
feel the cool air against your face
inhale the salty scent
and smile as you exhale
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
what lies beyond the face of fear
are places to explore
and find the center
for which you have been exploring
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
and there I hope that you find rest
Jamie, the images and sounds you’ve written are just lovely. There is a lilting in the words that make me feel that tide.
I needed to read this tonight. The fourth stanza and it’s invitation to explore beyond fear is a good nugget to hold onto.
Jaime – I was drawn to the idea of the tide pulling you “beyond the face of fear.” That tension lies right there at that point… fear… holding your breath… then the exhale to a better place. Lovely idea. “The tip of understanding “… those “on the cusp” kinds of moments. Marvelous.
Jamie, I’m late responding. Wow, the repeated lines are riveting!
The loving care comes through like a mom watching her teen move into adulthood. Then when I read it again, I feel it can even be self-talk during times of fear and doubt.
💜
Thank you, Jamie!
I was delighted to learn I share a birthday month with Robert Frost. My chosen line is from “Fire and Ice.”
“Some say the world will end in fire”
When the world is burning in hate,
we feel the flames burning our hearts,
extinguishing hope.
But some days,
after the burn,
life breaks through ashen smoke
Fire poppies crawl across charred soil
creating a new landscape of hope
And perhaps they are joined
by the proverbial Phoenix rising to a new sun
“Some say the world will end in fire”
I hope they are wrong.
Thank you for your poem, Tammy! I, too, hope “they are wrong.” I like how amidst all the hate the world carries, you find hope and foresee the better future in an image of “Phoenix rising to a new sun.” My favorite line is “life breaks through ashen smoke.”
Tammi, I could really feel your first stanza and the hopelessness in it. I love how you turned it around in the second stanza. I hope we are at the breaking through stage.
Tammi, I like the hope amidst destruction in lines like “Fire poppies crawl across charred soil.” Like you, “I hope they are wrong.”
Tammi, I’m late responding. This is golden!
Let’s hope we survive the burning of our world or create a better one. Thank you for this love offering.
Thank you, Ana, for the opportunity to learn about a new poet. I loved the premise of your poem and the line you pulled. It certainly does challenge us to be independent thinkers: “all stops when one stops” but conversely, do what’s right when it’s time to do what’s right. Thanks for sharing!
I have limited time today, but the poet Steven Sandy was born on the same day as me. He’s a midwest poet, so we share similar roots in that respect! This line is from his poem: Post Card, Moss Garden. My golden shovel line is: You see distances / closely.
You tell me that you
see the glass half-full, and that
distances are not scary if you look
closely! Chunk them up bit by bit.
Rachelle, love this compact little poem — as an optimist, I can totally relate to its sentiments.
Rachelle,
Sometimes having a limited amount of time to write brings out the best. Your poem stays true to the golden shovel you use. ❤️
Rachelle,
In these tight and concise lines you capture one of my personal mottos–getting one thing under control at a time–chunking! A necessary piece of life advice in four lines. Nice!
Rachelle, sorry for being late on responding. I needed this advice today because I sense a ton of requirements on my list and not enough time.
I will remember this:
Thank you!
This was a fun prompt and you helped me to discover a poet I hadn’t heard of before. 🙂
Adrienne Rich is the only poet who shares my birthday. Here is the blurb from Google since I think I kind of scored on getting a kick-ass woman poet.
Adrienne Cecile Rich was an American poet, essayist and feminist. She was called “one of the most widely read and influential poets of the second half of the 20th century”, and was credited with bringing “the oppression of women and lesbians to the forefront of poetic discourse”.
The Golden Shovel is from Rich’s “Cartographies of Silence.”
A pause, a look, a
conversation that needs to happen
begins only when unspoken agreement
with both parties falls into
a place of understanding, though, a
lie can still slide through a crack from one side.
and then the power of trust between
each exchange of words, each
speaker’s choice of phrasing,
of the looks that are passed to
the other, is tested, is given the
so-called faith test to see if the
common denominator is love, surety in
language’s ability to express what one
feels and still connect with
the soul of another. Misspeaking is an
ice-floe of poorly chosen words and tone
split from the intended meaning.
Cara, nice elaboration on Rich’s word with your own poem. This was a strong line to use as a shovel and she sounds like a poet I need to read more of! I loved your line: “so-called faith test to see if the / common denominator is love”
Rachelle! I love Adrienne Rich, and I loved these beautiful lines in your poem where you nailed truth so precisely:
“and then the power of trust between
each exchange of words, each
speaker’s choice of phrasing,
of the looks that are passed to
the other, is tested, is given the
so-called faith test to see if the
common denominator is love,”
How many times have I witnessed this!
Haha — I meant to say Cara, not Rachelle — sorry, Cara!!
Cara,
You have done your golden shovel text justice with this poignant poem. I will need to read more of this strong woman’s poetry.
Cara,
Thank you for introducing me to Adrienne Rich. I’d never heard of her but plan to read some of her poems. I really like the way you used her sentence in your poem to convey how words need to be chosen carefully. Especially liked this line: “a/ lie can still slide through a crack from one side.”
Thank you, Anna, for this fun prompt. Here it goes…
Let us not be Melancholy
(a Tribute to Edward Lear)
Give me a poem that we can sing,
Some people might call it a verse.
Please don’t let it be too long
Nor let it be too terse.
Please, serve the lines with a side of smile,
For dessert, a laugh or two.
If Ogden Nash is not around,
Edward Lear will certainly do.
We can eat our mince and our slices of quince,
But I don’t have a runcible spoon.
Then we’ll clasp hands somewhere where there’s sand
Why not dance in the light of the moon?
How fun and reflective of Edward Lear’s essence! Wikipedia says he’s known for his “literary nonsense in poetry and prose”, so I think the last stanza here really captures that, haha! I love the nonsensical images! “Why not dance in the light of the moon?”
Katrina,
I loved the lighted heartedness of your poem. Very Ogden Nash-like! I also learned a new word for spork. Had no idea they were actually called runcibles.
Yes, Katrina. Let’s dance in the light of the moon! Your poem inspires us to do just that!
Anna, thanks for the fun prompt! Loved your poem. I wrote about my husband, a consummate fisherman whom I find it difficult to write about sometimes, sharing the prosaics of the day-to-day as we do. Your prompt helped me to look deeper. I was pleased to discover that Elizabeth Bishop, author of one of my favorite poems, “The Fish” is also a Pisces, like me, which makes this poem even more fitting. 🙂
The Fish
I suspected why we were there,
Caught together as we were, like fish in
A net – chasing our dreams,
Tremendous with youth and forward-looking:
Fish out of water, but now promised
And bound together,
Held fast by warm nights,
Him snuggled behind me,
Beside me, on the beaten couch in
The apartment he rented –our life-
Boat on which only the two of us existed,
Half drugged with happiness. And, now,
Out here in the wild, our temporary home
Of canvas and tent poles,
Water and chocolate and hot dogs thick
With relish to sustain us –
My heart suspected –so, when he
Hooked me into a walk, my heart beat
Fast, and I knew I’d hooked him.
In a patch of woods,
A deer antler sat in a
Corner – he knelt on one
Of his knees and said
His piece, and my
Mouth could barely keep from smiling.
Wendy,
“The Fish” by Bishop is one of my favorite poems! I love the divergence from the original poem to yours–it is an engaging (teehee!) story that pulled me through. I love these lines:
Wendy,
I love the way you wove your husband’s love of fishing into a metaphor of your love and being hooked by him. Beautiful poem. Love the ending: he knelt on one/Of his knees and said/His piece, and my/ Mouth could barely keep from smiling.
“What we see, we see
and seeing is changing”
Adrienne Rich from the poem “Planetarium”
Seeing
Today is a day full of what
we will do when we
open our eyes and look and see
so fresh a beginning for us that we
widen our view, look and see
the shoots of green and
the birds chirping. By seeing
we know what life is
and how it is changing.
Thank you, Anna. I am sorry I am so late in posting today.
I love how you embedded the words of Adrienne Rich into your poem. I love the idea that seeing is changing. Pointing to shoots and birds in your space and seeing “how it is changing.”
This is lovely, Susan. I think we wrote about similar themes today!
“widen our view, look and see…” I love the beautiful message of your poem!
Thanks so very much to all who posted poems and all who plan to do so, as well as to all who posted comments. Your participation at any level is what makes this group so great … even when we’re celebrating ourselves!
If there is a theme in today’s responses, it’s that your prompt sent people down a rabbit hole! Thank you for doing so!
Thank you, Anna, for the push to try a golden shovel as I don’t think I have written one before. It was fun to find a poet with the same birthday month. I chose Ted Kooser because I have been reading some of his poetry from Marshmallow Clouds. I chose this line “It’s safe to tell secrets to the stars” and wrote about telling secrets.
It’s okay; I promise not to tell
safe is your secret with me
to tell or not to
tell – that is the query, as
secrets have a life of their own, and
to let them out into
the universe is a colossal step, but we
stars collect and protect at our core
Heather, isn’t it good to know that our secrets are safe with the stars. Thanks for the reminder.
Heather this is an appropriate Golden Shovel because I see the reference to Shakespeare there as well with “to tell or not to tell…” and stars.
This is beautiful, Heather. As a child, I had two stars that I was convinced were each of my grandfathers. I spend many a night confiding in them. Thank you for bringing that memory to the surface.
Loved this, Heather! <3
How fun to use his words in your golden shovel. I love the idea of telling secrets to the stars. I think we all take a moment from time to time to do that. And I love how you end your poem: “the universe is a colossal step, but we/stars collect and protect at our core.” Those are words I think I will be pondering.
The amazing Rita Dove and I share August birthdays.
From “Dawn Revisited” by Rita Dove
“The whole sky is yours to write on, blown open to a blank page”
The Blown Open Sky
By Mo Daley 4-12-23
Tomorrow is not promised, but if the
good Lord granted you a whole
day with no regrets, what would your sky
look like? Is
the thought causing anxiety, or is yours
an invitation to
dream, to hug, to live, to write?
Would you wish for the day to go on and on,
or would you wish for it to have blown
your expectations right out of the water? Open
your eyes because the power to
live your desired life is a
gift you have been given- a tabula rasa- a blank
slate. What will you write on your page?
“a day with no regrets”
What a thought! And, yes, I think it would bring about anxiety.
You sure worked the golden shovel to perfection, Mo.
I recall some teaching from Pema Chodron about seeing thoughts as clouds in the sky that simply pass through and leave a shimmer in their wake. Oh, how I do long for that blanks sky – and no regrets would cause me zero anxiety! I sometimes imagine what it must be like to be a person who feels none! And yet, isn’t this indeed the blank slate we are handed each and every morning? Who puts those regrets there but ourselves? The anxiety? How can we just not write them into our sky? That last line reminds me of ‘what will you do with your one wild and precious life’ – each page a precious page. Thank you, Mo. I needed this to meditate on this morning!
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I have never written a Golden Shovel poem before so this was a new form for me. I was very interested to see which poets were born in September. As I was scrolling through the list, one of my favorite poets showed up, Mary Oliver. I stopped right there! Not only do we share our birthday month, but also a love of nature and poetry. Reading her books, led me to try writing my own poems and trying out other poets. I was also excited to know that our birthdays are only 4 days apart- hers Sept. 10th and mine Sept. 14.
My line comes from Mary Oliver’s poem, ” Don’t Hesitate”. The line I selected is ” Joy is not made to be a crumb.” If you have never read it, I suggest looking it up. It matches with the way things are going in our world right now.
Joy sneaks up on you, it
is appearing out of thin air
not making you aware of the delight
made especially to touch your soul
to set your heart dancing
be open and ready to devour
a sweet morsel of life, a
crumb can be so satisfying.
Your poem is delightful! I especially love the last two lines. Reminds us to savor even the smallest of joys. 💜
Lucky you, sharing a birth month with Mary Oliver! She’s one of my favorites, too. I love the line “made especially to touch your soul” – joy does touch our soul, I think! Nicely done.
The duality in this poem is striking! The personification makes it so powerful and endearing as well.
cmhutter, (I’m teasing, sorta’) Are you talking about Stacey Joy, our group member and often one who writes clever and challenging prompts? Yes, it’s the sneaky Joy that makes life so joyous. Thanks for sharing your poem and for giving me a place to tease our Stacey.
Ah, and I hope joy is always more than a crumb. I am ready to devour joy!
It’s so unfortunate that we have been so accustomed to excess that we no longer allow a crumb to “be so satisfying and “a sweet morsel of life.”
So much wisdom here.
Oh, that Mary Oliver poem! My heart! And I love your response to it — especially your last sentiment. <3
As a Mary Oliver fan, I love the turn your poem takes, “a crumb can be so satisfying.”
[While country singer/songwriter Miranda Lambert isn’t in any kind of league with “the bard,” I play and sing several of her songs. She collaborated on “Bluebird” with Luke Dick and Natalie Hemby.] Borrowed lines: I’ll keep a light on in my soul / Keep a bluebird in my heart.
BLUEBIRD IN MY HEART
I’ve got squirrels in my noodle.
hummers in my craw,
stubborn donkeys in my gitty-up,
and toucans in my jaw.
On nights when I’m not sleeping,
owls stare through my eyes,
‘possums raid the fridge,
and if I reach for ice cream,
froggies in my throat will croak,
“You know that that’s not wise.”
Before the dawn I lie awake,
mockin’birds gossip in my head,
raccoon feet scoot to the john,
my inner bear grumbles, “Git on back to bed,”
while chameleon keeps me here and gone.
And when I’m at my very best,
with poems, laughter on my tongue,
I howl and caterwaul until all that was unsung
finds the sweet spot for my life’s long chord
tightly tucked between my lungs —
I keep a bluebird in my heart,
I’m a menagerie after all.
by Susie Morice, April 12, 2023©
Susie! The rhyme here is the song. I can see you strumming your guitar and singing this tune with a wink and a smile in between lyric exhales. You had me smiling and then chuckling here:
froggies in my throat will croak,
“You know that that’s not wise.”
Love the images of animals within the speaker, surfacing in the night through windows and holes of the the body!
Sarah
Susie,
This poem is pure delight. I love every critter and know the world would be a far better place if we all sang the song of bluebirds, listened to the bear’s growl, hooted w/ the owl, and squirreled around gathering nuts. Like Sarah, I want to hear your guitar and your voice raised in song to these verses. And if you’re up to making a video, I’ll be watching and tapping and singing along. You bring such joy and kindness to this space. ❤️ and 🤗 to you and all the wild things hanging out w/ ypu.
Delightful! I adore how many animals you wove into this song/poem – and these lines are my favorite,
Such a hopeful, happy image of a heart!
Susie, What fun to read your poem about the various ways that birds and beasts express the YOU that you YOU, a menagerie! Aren’t we all! Maybe a different combination, at different times, for different reasons, but few of us can express our intersectionality with such verve in verse!
Susie, this poem (is it a song? sure seems like it) is fantastic! I feel like you need to head to Nashville. Boy, I can relate to:
“and if I reach for ice cream,
froggies in my throat will croak,
“You know that that’s not wise.””
Susie, I was smiling from the first stanza! Wow, so sweet this menagerie within. “raccoon feet scoot to the john / my inner bear grumbles, ‘Git on back to bed'” sounds like me!
I love the image of the bluebird in the last stanza. The rhyming is spot on, fun and so very effective.
Susie, your poem made me smile and gave such a needed break from all the seriousness of my being. Thank you for smooth flowing rhythm, rhyme, and playful descriptions. This is such a treat!
Susie, I did a late evening check-back and am so grateful to have discovered your poem (I miss seeing you in the mornings!). You never fail to make me smile. I love how you led up to those borrowed lines, which could have been placed anywhere but land so perfectly as the finale to the entire menagerie. My absolute favorite stanza is the first – what a hoot (howl, hee-haw) of a group. 🙂
Susie, I can just hear your voice singing from this page. I love all the natural word images and I can feel that late night urge to eat some ice cream. Love the shifting sense of action, and your end is sensational. I adore: “I keep a bluebird in my heart,
I’m a menagerie after all.”
Fantastic poem! I’d love to hear you read this aloud.
At first I was elated,
over-the-moon
ecstatic, you could say,
(now, I know that
it’s not a contest
or anything,
but if it were,
October would
totally have this
in the bag.
I mean, come on,
we have Ryan
Reynolds; we have
Hillary Clinton and
Kevin Klein and Julia
Roberts. We have
one half of the guys that
wrote Good Will Hunting.
We have Paul Simon
and Sting, Eminem and
Snoop Dogg. We even
have Jim Halpert
from The Office.
Look, I’m not even
mentioning the fact
that we also have
Virgil and Pinsky
and Levertov and
Coleridge, Plath and
Rimbaud and Keats
and not to mention
not to mention
e.e. cummings in all
of his grammatically
challenged glory.
So, we, sons and
daughters of
October, have this,
no cap, without a
shadow of a doubt,
on lock.)
and I thought the
only thing left to do
was sop up all the
tears from our
“competition” until
I realized that my
poetic nemesis
is also in this month.
I could give you
thirteen ways of
looking at this
situation; I could
tell you a witty
anecdote
about how
he became
(quite unbeknownst
to him) my
poetic nemesis,
but I won’t.
I’ll just tell you that
he is no Emperor
of Ice-Cream or
any other delicious
frozen dessert
(at best he’s an
Archduke of Sorbet)
and I’ll offer up
my simple solution:
from this time forth,
by special decree,
Wallace Stevens’s
birthday shall be
celebrated on
September 32nd.
____________________________________________________________________
Anna, thank you for this fun prompt! I enjoyed seeing all the folks who share an October birth month with me, and then, for some reason, lol, I stoked the flames of my totally-imaginary-and-completely-one-sided Beef with Wallace Stevens.
Scott, I think your note is almost as much fun as your poem to read! That is a prompt itself– right? Make up a nemesis and stoke the flames!
Sarah
Ooo, yes, Sarah… great idea! And thank you, Scott! Susie
Oh my GOsh… you have me howling here. HAHAHAHAHA! You are just a stitch! Not to mention that you have all these hotshots on your birthday. I had almost no one on my birthday. I finally resorted to songwriters born on my bday. I laughed boldly out loud at 13 ways… blackbird schmackbird…. hahahaha. You are so darned funny… September 32…. hahaha. Witty and funny! Way to go, Scott! Susie
You got me laughing!
Really funny to imagine you choosing a nemesis without him knowing – and changing his birthdate, to boot!
“The Archduke of Sorbet” killed me! That said, that’s quite a month!
Scott,
Without fail, I always read your poems multiple times to soak up more of your wit and wisdom. This is so well done . . .
My husband is an October birthday. I can’t believe he didn’t make your list but at least he isn’t your nemesis.
Haha! This was great, and now I’m dying to know more about the Wallace Stevens “beef”!
Scott,
Your writing voice is so distinctive and wonderfully tongue in cheek. I’m sure Wallace Stevens is snarling at you in his grave, but I do love his “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.” Sorry!
Scott, fun, fun, fun! At first reading through the celebrities, I thought maybe there was a dearth of poets, but no, there are also a lot of those! Your thrill in feeling like you were winning the “competition” last so long that we knew there was going to be a but…or an…until…
Like Wendy, I’d love to hear more about how he became your poetic nemesis.
I LOVE THIS Anna! What better way to have students really CONNECT with poetry than through a poet who shares their birthday or birth month? Sweet idea! I appreciate your words – and accepting that following may not always be the right course of action. (AMEN!) I’m going freeform today with what first came to mind. I share my birthday with Theodore Roethke, whose childhood home – now preserved as a museum – is one city over and a place I have enjoyed spending time for various events. I’m sure we all know My Papa’s Waltz – !
Happy Birthday Theodore
I stood in that kitchen
worn wooden floorboards
creaked beneath my feet
my friend grabbed my hand
and we twirled about
the tiny room bumping
against the table and stove
we laughed to imagine
pans sliding from
that one precarious shelf
clattering against
mother’s frowning countenance
he loved you, we decided
panting to catch our breath
though your momma was right
to be ruffled
that kitchen is much too small
for drunken waltzing
Great line “clattering against mother’s frowning countenance”.
The joy you expressed could serve as a travelers guide to why we all should visit this home. You leave me pondering this little place and the story behind the “he loved you”
Thanks, Ashley. The poem can be read as either a positive or negative interaction with the father figure. Always an interesting one to explore with students, especially those who live with alcoholism or other addictions in their relationships with loved ones.
I love your personal connection to Theodore Roethke, and how you weave a tale about dancing in his tiny kitchen. Great fun!
Denise, your sensory imagery helped to bring the waltzing around, the bumping and banging. Wow!
Denise, what a beautiful poem pair here. “My Papa’s Waltz” and your sweet reenactment of it. You have a sweet connection with Theodore, and I can picture you and your friend dancing together in that small kitchen. “he loved you” is a precious part of the poem.
Oh, Denise, this is one of my FAVORITE poems to both read and teach! It spurs such great discussion in class. I love your poem and this line, especially:
“he loved you, we decided”
Just the use of the verb “decided” was so perfect and gave this sentiment so much.
Hi, Anna! Thank you for being a wonderful host today. I love the prompt and your mentor poem, especially the lines that are full of wisdom:
“If all stop and they stop doing something wrong
It’s okay to follow along
If they stop doing what is right,
Then is the time to keep going”
Your rhymes strengthen the melody and message as always.
There are many great poets born in my birthday month. Among them, Robert Lowell, Jr. , Richard Wilbur, James Merrill, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Taras Shevchenko, Wilfred Owen, John Updike, and Robert Frost, to name a few. Because my heart aches for my Motherland, I chose a line from Taras Shevchenko, the Great Kobzar, as we call him back home. These lines are from his lyric poem “The Sun is Setting, the Mountains Get Dark.”
And with my heart I rush forth
To a dark tiny orchard to Ukraine
–Taras Shevchenko, 1847.
And it’s my dream, recurring
With steady pattern—each time I close
My eyes, and open my
Heart to listen to what
I want more than anything: I yearn to
Rush to my childhood home
Forth to a street where I grew up,
To Mom’s garden full of fragrant marigolds,
A wooden bench under the old mulberry tree.
Dark days have come to my land, but
Tiny hope grows bigger as I see the cherry
Orchard is blooming by the house
In my country of sunflowers—
Ukraine will ever be.
Leilya,
I love your poem, especially the nature imagery: the garden, the marigolds, the mulberry tree, the land, the cherry blossoms blooming. I hate what Putin is doing to Ukraine, and I hate politicians who get in the way of helping Ukraine. For me the sunflower will forever serve as a reminder of your homeland. May peace come soon.
Thank you, Glenda! For the past fourteen months, I check news the first thing in the morning and last thing before I go to bed, each day hoping for a miracle.
This poem is beautiful…so full of nature’s imagery. Favorite lines – “Tiny hope grows bigger as I see the cherry orchard is blooming by the house- in my country of sunflowers.”
Leilya,
This is a stunning poem! These last five lines,
are so full of beauty and optimism. I teach several students who have recently come from Ukraine, and I wish for them every day to be able to see peace and to be able to safely travel back to their family and friends.
Absolutely beautiful poem; I feel your dream, hope alongside you for this to come true, that you might rush to your childhood home. I love this imagining, within the dream –
Leilya Pitre, our heart goes out to you and others whose homeland is being terrorized by war! How sad! But, our hearts also feels glad that you’ve joined our group, are sharing your heart and the ways the memories of nature revive you during these trying times. You’re in our prayers.
Oh this is so bittersweet! I love the hope and the beauty described of your county of sunflowers. I am sure you want more than anything to be back in your childhood home. A beautiful tribute.
Leilya, thank you for sharing this treasure with us today. I could see your childhood home, with the marigolds and the “wooden bench under the old mulberry tree.” Then the switch to “Dark days have come…”
May peace come soon to you and your “country of sunflowers–Ukraine will ever be.” Indeed!
Leilya,
I love that this pome began with “And” — it just gave it such a great “en medias res” feel. The imagery is so wonderful, and the sentiments so heartfelt and yearning. Lovely and thank you for sharing it.
I was born in October and chose Sylvia Plath who was born on October 27, 1932. I chose her poem “April 18” because that was the date of my parent’s wedding anniversary. While reading the poem the line “a future was lost yesterday” hit me like a brick. Yesterday a local 11-year-old was at the center of the news for a most devastating reason.
Gone Too Soon
Morning routine
Check the township FB page
Police activity on Privet Rd.
A future was lost yesterday
A boy found dead
by his father –
only 11 years old
A future was lost yesterday
Mom’s car was missing
found partway in the ocean
in Cape May, NJ
A future was lost yesterday
Searching for the mom
found hours later
in Wildwood Crest, NJ
A future was lost yesterday
Mom charged with
the strangulation death
of Matthew – age 11
A future was lost yesterday
Oh, My! De\eAnna, this is so heartbreaking, and I am crying right now reading your poem. I can never understand a person killing their own child, in fact, any person killing another one. But a child… an innocent life… never!
So sorry, Rita! I am reading all the poems, and just realized that I named you DeAnna, but was so stricken by the poem that misspelled even the wrong name.
So sorry that such a young life is gone. Your repetition of the line “a future was lost yesterday” emphasizes how much of a tragedy this is.
This is terrifying and heartbreaking; that poor child, to be killed by his mother this way. Beyond tragic. The repetition of the Sylvia Plath line “A future was lost yesterday” lends such ominous weight to your poem.
Oh Rita. Our hearts go out to you, not just because of the personal connection a current situation, but that it was so easy to find some many other examples of lost futures! May the fond memories of the families sustain them in the weeks to come. AND, please God, may our legislators FINALLY use their power to write binding laws that can curb such instruments of sorrow.
What a tragedy! Your golden line refrain certainly fits perfectly to capture the loss.
Hey Anna. I thought I’d spend a good amount of time looking for someone to write ‘with’ but a name jumped out from the list instantly – Kahlil Gibran. Here goes:
I am often generous and freely give
More love than that which your
Hands can hold. And when our hearts
Beat in close company, I feel but
Lost in this sea of you and not
Even an iota of myself, because I lose it all into
The void of your need for attention. Each
Little piece of me is shrouded in the other’s
Darkness and I can’t help but succumb to your keeping.
Oh, Saba, this is incredible and so true: “I feel but/Lost in this sea of you and not/Even an iota of myself”!
Sarah
This is amazing and beautiful. “because I lose it all into
The void of your need for attention.” Oh my, how can we stop doing this?
Saba, your poem is so beautiful and full of love. Thank you for writing and sharing it with us today. I love the lines:
“And when our hearts
Beat in close company, I feel but
Lost in this sea of you and not
Even an iota of myself.”
This is a true love and not everyone is lucky to experience this powerful feeling.
Saba,
As Sarah says, this is so true, and I fear it’s more true for women than for men. How many have I known who “succumb” to a man’s “keeping”? And why do so many women do that?
This last section made me shudder,
The idea of losing oneself in another’s darkness hits very close to home.
I love Kahlil Gibran! What a beautiful line to choose for your golden shovel. Your poem is aching, touching on the mystery of love….these lines in particular,
Saba, your comment about finding someone familiar so quickly is what makes this assignment so poignant. Students, with less experience than many of us in this group, also will find a poet they know or a poet they learn about as they search for one born in their month.
I also appreciate the “advice” in the golden lines you chose for your poem. Thanks for sharing both your personal experience and your personal poem.
Saba,
This sounds so effortless. Your golden shovel just flows so smoothly. I love your content, especially
I love your golden shovel poem. I feel the words you built a level of commitment to Gibran’s words that he did not hint at. And reading it a second time, I still think commitment.
Anna,
This was a fun prompt. I was not able to find a poet born on my actual birthday, story of my life. There are a bunch of poets born in January, Poe and Carroll both, but I just couldn’t find a poem I wanted to use. So I turned to RAP, Rhythm And Poetry, artist who were born in January.
Kid Cudi – January 30 “Day ‘N’ Night”
I toss and turn, I keep stressing my mind, mind
I am wanting a change, so I
Toss applications and resumes around
And interview over and over, until I
Turn to my family for advice, how can
I make myself stand out??
Keep calm, stay true to who you are they say
Stressing won’t help
My heart is no longer in the game
Mind knows the right job will come
Mind tells me again, the right job will come
DeAnna, I’m a January baby too and had a bit of a tough time choosing between Poe, Caroll, Byron and Gibran – but Gibran was a clear winner.
Good luck with the job search – and your mind is right, the right job will come.
De Anna, I understand your worries. Hope everything works out and you find your place. I wish our minds win most of the time, but hearts appear to be ruling.Keep repeating it: “Mind tells me again, the right job will come.”
Wise advice from your family- stay true to yourself. Your mind is correct- the right job will come. I enjoyed the repetition of the mind, mind for the last two lines.
DeAnna, wishing you luck in your search! The repetition in the last two lines is really powerful, and insightful. I like how it mirrors the structure that Kid Cudi uses in the lyric too!
DeAnna, thanks for persevering and finding a poet whose “words” inspired you to write today. In fact, this freedom and flexibility is one of the features of VERSELOVE and OPENWRITE that keeps many of us coming back. And, demonstrates a feature we should include in our teaching as often as possible. FREEDOM TO CHOOSE as long as you show that you’ve learned what I’ve tried to teach! So there! Take care. 🙂
Love this golden shovel; I think this line underscores how overwhelmed you are feeling – “My heart is no longer in the game”
DeAnna,
What a perfect line for the turmoil in your mind right now. Have faith, my friend, I know your time to shine is coming! You use that line perfectly.
Wow! It’s like that line was written for you! Everything just flowed so smoothly in your poem. I love your family’s advice “Keep calm, stay true to who you are”. Thank you for sharing!
Anna, this was a mini-research project for me! Loved this prompt. I chose Muriel Rukeyser, born Dec. 13, 1913; died Feb. 12, 1980. She is a ‘spokespoet,’ using her poetry as political activism; additionally, she mentored female poets like Alice Walker, Adrienne Rich, Anne Sexton, others).
I wrote a golden shovel, starting each line with the words from the first two lines from her poem entitled
“Poem (I lived in the first century of world wars),”
The whole poem can be found here –
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47657/poem-i-lived-in-the-first-century-of-world-wars
I find it hard to imagine that anyone
lived in a more precarious time than we, a time
in which basic freedoms are being taken away,
the concept of truth is no longer certain, and ‘me
first’ of politicians and the wealthy guides all our imaginations this
century despite the horrors of climate change of war of the displaced
of gun violence of racism of autocracy of pervasive hate throughout our
world against women, sexual and gender – nonconforming minorities, these
wars are man-made wars, erupting everywhere, annihilating all
Most of today has been spent learning of Muriel Rukeyser, how
mornings evenings every day, always, she wrote poems of hope
I am awed by her political activism, how she
would use her writing as a tool for freedom
believing in a better world for all, writing
more about the marginalized, the minimized, the misunderstood,
orbiting atrocities of this earlier century, a time that more or
less echoes the horrors we are living through now. Isn’t it
insane how we keep repeating history?
Maureen,
Despite the cataloging of atrocities, you give us hope by honoring a female, poet activist. It seems to me our learning about poets like Muriel Rukeyser gives us a map gif using our words. Then you take us back to the now and the circular world that once again leads us to the insanity of “how we keep repeating history.”
Maureen, I concur with Glenda and appreciate your “introducing” me to this poet.
The sad/glad/sad lines, of course, are
believing in a better world for all, writing
more about the marginalized, the minimized, the misunderstood,
orbiting atrocities of this earlier century, a time that more or
less echoes the horrors we are living through now.
We’ve been through it and will get through it!
Thanks for the reminder!
Yes, that is insane. You realize just how strong the system of white male supremacy is when people purposely repeat it. Thank you for your poem, Maureen. Here are a couple of really powerful things you did here. I like how you don’t use commas here, it just adds to the atrociousness of it:
And this phrase is potent:
So The Notorious B.I.G. and I share a birthday. I read some of his lyrics today and found a line for my golden shovel that I think teachers can relate to in “Everyday Struggle.”
i’m surfin’ GIFs to enlivin’ slides, a desperate plea for engagement
livin‘ for light in their eyes, a knowing smile, maybe joyful exhale
every tick of the ancient analog clock, a heart beat of possibility
day of two-steppin’ peer review, of renegading gallery walks
like this century’s Mr. Keating waxing poetic on desk tops
a fancy handshake is beyond my purview, so I wave awkwardly
hustle to whisper a request for words, wait for their poems to dance.
Sarah,
Notorious B.I.G. and you served up a spot on poem expressing the zeitgeist of this teaching year. And even though I’m not in my own classroom, I see the hollow eyes too often, and I hear the stories from teachers about how hard this year is, how difficult this teaching life has become. When even our inner Mr. Keating and all those other movie teacher heroes are “livin’ every day like a hustle” what are mere mortals to do?
Sarah,
You’ve done Biggy proud with your poem today. I too chose a rapper to snag a lyric from for my golden shovel.
I wish I could inspire as Mr. Keating did! Surfin’ GIFs – I do that too, and memes! I’ve even started referring to trending reels!
Love how you imitate The Notorious B.I.G. in today’s poem, Sarah! It appears to be easy for you. Every teacher can related to these lines:
“i’m surfin’ GIFs to enlivin’ slides, a desperate plea for engagement
livin‘ for light in their eyes, a knowing smile, maybe joyful exhale”
I believe you see some of their poems dance.
I love the hustle! The super cool thing in this is the internal near rhyme that makes the poem really sing. I hear slides and eyes together, and clock, walk and tops. It definitely adds a layer of cadence to the poem that evokes B.I.G.
Great line for the golden shovel! This is definitely hustling, I think – “day of two-steppin’ peer review, of renegading gallery walks”
Sarah, what fun you have added to the lyric you chose. Maybe fun is not the word. All those things we do as teachers–a hustle is a good description. Oh, but the reward of “wait[ing] for their poems to dance.” Beautiful!
Anna,
This is a super cool prompt! I absolutely looked into a plethora of poets that I hadn’t read before. I also came to realize that a lot of poet’s born in March wrote some pretty depressing poems (apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, among others)! So rather than write about gas-masks (Wilfred Owen) or ex-basketball players pining over their prime (Updike), I clicked the dial over to rappers (definitely poet-adjacent, at the very least). Problem solved!
Outside the Box
after Tyler the Creator
I try to not think to hard about the position I’m in,
dividing my time between life and school,
Solomon-like baby-splitting has never been something I
could countenance–solutioning a situation worse than what was?
paradoxes and subterfuges seemed a way to embrace the
fractious facts of not being able to choose between one
or the other. So that got me to thinking…
Perhaps best not to choose between inside or outside.
Perhaps there was an alternative path I hadn’t thought of
to make sense of a life that couldn’t easily stack like boxes.
Who said things had to align just so?
So what if my position could never embody everybody?
What if I didn’t try to make everything fit in, or just fit in?
So here’s the the miss fits who refuse to recognize an us or them,
Who realize it’s okay to not live in a house built of would…
That the boxes carved and assembled for us might say
More about the boxmakers and less about the folks I
Am imploring to let go of the want and need and be okay with the got
Breath deeply of the moment and build peace for tomorrow’s problems.
Dave,
I am swimming in (just outside) of ever line here in your poem.
These!
And I am so frustrated by boxmakers!
Sarah
The image is great with your poem and the quote that inspired it, Dave. Some favorite images:
and
That the boxes carved and assembled for us might say
Such an important message.
Anna,
This is a wonderful prompt. I’m so glad you added the birthday twist; otherwise, I would not have fallen down a Margaret Atwood poetry hole. Turns out, I didn’t realize what an amazing poet she is. I’ve always associated her w/ The Handmaid’s Tale but not so much w/ poetry. I have catching up to do. And your poem and inspiration are so provocative. I know folks get caught up in confirmation bias, but it seems to me we do know the moral and ethical and other-centered choices to make.
for your own [false sense of] protection
“I am the space you desecrate as you pass through.” Margaret Atwood
the setting matters not, I
know: the produce aisle where I am
caressing tomatoes; the
park where children fill space
with circle games & frisbees. you
flash metal on your hip & desecrate
playgrounds (wherever-everywhere). as
you wield your 2AC cudgel, you
nurse a lie: “for my own protection.” you pass
by leaving a boneyard of bullets, brains, &
benevolence through & through .
—Glenda Funk
April 12, 2023
*Poem inspiration: “Backdrop Addresses Cowboy” (1974) by Margaret Atwood (b. November 18, 1939)
Here’s the inspiration poem, which I forgot to attach earlier.
Wow Glenda. This is a powerful poem. Your boneyard of bullets, brains and benevolence is pitch perfect and lends even more gravitas to Atwood’s poem. So very well done!
Glenda — This is a powerhouse of a poem and Atwood gives serious heat to the issue as well. I was taken by the opening…”it matters not…” to hit with the willy-nilly randomness and knee-jerk-ness of violence. Juxtaposing the innocence with the brutality of guns seen as a solution to frikkin’ anything that machismo and ignorance wants to target. I love that you grabbed the quote about protecting oneself… indeed, it is such a lame, stupid response to the “why” of gun toting. You sparked the issue hard inside me… I loathe with a deep passion what wielding weapons has done to this country… the damned NRA and its toxic lies and scare propaganda. OOOOooof… it burns my shorts.
Thanks for this poem! Susie
Glenda, Atwood’s line is the perfect frame for your words. As horrific as the truth is (setting matters not), it has to be called out. And you are shouting that call loudly. The contrast in imagery between circle games and metal flashing and your later images of boneyard of bullets and brains and that godawful benevolence is so strong. If you’re looking for more Atwood to try, we have great discussions about This is a Photograph of Me in 7th grade – all kinds of symbolism with the lake and glass ceilings.
Glenda,
I am struck by this imagery contrast of “caressing tomatoes” and “boneyard of bullets, brains” and how that tells the story of the “space you desecrate”. The “you” nursing the lie. Wow!
(Add this to your anthology– let’s get back at that when you are ready.)
Sarah
Glenda, you chose an impactful line from Atwood’s poem and turned it into a powerful poem. The alliteration with “boneyard of bullets, brains” sounds striking. Thank you for this poem!
Yeesh! This is so powerful! The last couplet is a knockout punch. But so is “the
park where children fill space
with circle games & frisbees.” That sets up the obscenity of carrying a weapon into that space.
Oh, Glenda, I was thinking of your poems today when I wrote mine. You are so passionate and the smacks you give the world are important. Margaret Atwood’s Backdrop poem is really good, as well.
Wow:
Word!
Extraordinary poem – wow. This sick tragedy of gun violence can happen absolutely anywhere – and it is absolutely devastating.
Glenda,
What a brilliant ending.
I chose a striking line for my golden shovel from Rita Dove’s “Ars Poetica”: “What I want is this poem to be small.”
Ars Poetica
What a poem needs
I wouldn’t presume to know, but I
want it to brandish truth.
Is that okay to ask?
This fearful world needs a
poem to smack us alive,
to resuscitate trust, to
be a balm for large (even
small) wounds of our soul.
———————————–
Anna, thank you for the prompt today. I love the bravery of standing up and doing the right thing in your poem:
I’ve been down an hours-long rabbit hole (Ah, the life of a retiree) looking at poets born in my birth month. I could have chosen Neil Armstrong and Barack Obama who each wrote one or two published poems. I almost made up some words to go with Ogdan Nash’s style. It was really fun to read a lot of poems by people born in August.
Denise,
I think it’s fitting that our poems exist in this space side-by-side. I, too, want a poem “to brandish truth.” I think I’ve always preferred such poems. Sometimes I think only poems “can smack us alive.” I love your poem, and like you, I fell down a rabbit hole.
Wow – small and true, so true. Especially love – poem to smack us alive. Yes, it is just like that when reading a poem you connect to – it just smacks you alive. Thank you for this!
Denise — What a beautiful poem! I especially liked the idea of a poem “smack[ing] us alive” — that’s, indeed, what a poem can do. And the verbs that follow are perfect: “resuscitate trust” and “balm.” You shoveled up some trust and balm today! Thank you. Susie
Denise, your poem does speak the truth. I love the inspiration coming from Rita Dove. Your words are sharp and precise. We do need “a poem to smack us alive,” to be that wake up call and begin turning this world for the best. Thank you for your words today!
I was in a similar rabbit hole today, and I agree that retirement made this chase possible. Love your golden shovel selection, and I especially like the idea of writing a poem “to resuscitate trust” – I feel that this leap of faith is so badly missing in our world.
Denise,
Oh, that a poem could “be a balm” for this world!
Denise, I love every single line of this! Poems, I agree with you, should “brandish [some kind of] truth.” And I also adamantly agree with you that poetry can “be a balm for large (even / small) wounds of our soul.” So good!
Denise, the world definitely “needs a poem to smack us alive.” I like the way your words capture the spirit of Rita Dove’s poetry.
Oh, Anna, what a gem of a prompt you have provided us today. I found four great poets (Rudyard Kipling, Ira Gershwin, Joyce Kilmer–had no clue that was a man–and Rainer Maria Rilke–who has drawn me in big time!) that share my December birthday then dug through their work to find lines that drew me in. I ended up with over forty. My mind was spiraling. So . . . I projected them on the panel in my classroom and students came up to highlight the ones that intrigued them the most. I went with the one that had the most. I most definitely intend to revisit what I mined multiple times.
Because you are so skilled at rhyming, I decided to honor your talent and committed myself to rhyme as well.
Golden Line from Rainer Maria Rilke “I love the dark hours of my being”
The Darker Hours
I love the dark hours of my being
When things don’t make much sense
The times when I grapple with ideas
And events that should be past tense.
I love the dark hours of my being
When all others are asleep
Even the man lying next to me
Does not notice that I weep.
I love the dark hours of my being
During the day among my classes
I put on a mask and carry on
Even when they’re being asses.
I love the dark hours of my being
Early in the morning when I slip into the day
I read, I think, I write some poems
Before I can begin to be on my way.
I love the dark hours of my being
I embrace them way too much
Pondering death and decisions and the future
Grandchildren and nursing homes and such.
I love the dark hours of my being
I’ve accepted that it’s part of me.
Maybe the more that I give into it.
The lighter hours I will start to see.
~Susan Ahlbrand
12 April 2023
I forgot to attach an image
Beautiful. Deep. Time to reflect in those dark hours and then being in the darkness, now ready to step into the light. Bright day into dark night – birth into death – the great cycle and we are all a part of. You wrote this so masterfully.
Gee whiz, Susan — This is a very touching poem. I followed you into each of these dark hour scenarios and understood them, perhaps, too well. I was particularly struck by the solemnness of being among others and still finding that darkness that lets you “weep” and grumble behind the mask as students act up and ponder things past that still haunt. Just a very real and honest poem that offers that window into you…much like the photo. For what it’s worth, there are others in those darker shadows with you…perhaps there through the window. Hugs, Susie
Susan, that line you chose is beautiful, and your words and rhyming verse give me a sense of a classic poem. I like that it says, “I love the dark hours…” like you say in the last stanza. You have accepted that they are a part of you.
Classes/asses made me smile, but I’m glad those classes helped you choose what to write about today. I wonder if you will share it with them. 😉
Anna! I love your unique prompt and your poem’s reminder that we must be the light. I immediately thought I’d write about Emily Dickinson who was born not only in the same month as me but also the same day. I already carry so many of Emily’s lines in my head…but then I’d thought I’d explore other December birthdays and spent the morning with Grace Paley. I fell in love with with Grace’s poem “The Poet’s Occasional Alternative” where she bakes a pie that includes the phrase apples and cranberries. Thank you again for a prompt that has opened new ways of thinking. I love it here.
Apples and Cranberries
If I were an artist, I’d paint a picture
of apples and cranberries
growing in a large field—
and in the distance, a wooden swing
hanging from a big, old oak.
Painting the tree and swing
might be difficult which is why
I’d place them in the distance
where onlookers wouldn’t see
imperfect lines and blemished color.
Happily, I’m already very good
at drawing apples,
and cranberries would be fun to paint—
just dots of red on swirls of green—
how hard could that be?
The museum crowd might wonder
about the symbolism
of my apples and cranberries—
do the apples signify knowledge?
the cranberries bitterness?
I’m sorry to confess,
I just like the sound of the words
apples and cranberries,
Of course, adults would know
the swing represents childhood.
Not their childhood—
the painting is not for them,
but for the young one
standing beside them—
the child I’d hope to invite
into my oil-based wish,
for a world
where kids had space to play,
to climb a tree or share a swing
in an open field
of apples and cranberries,
a world where they could forget
all about lockdowns and lost friends.
I can see this painting. I can step right into it. I can smell and taste the apples and cranberries – sweet and tart, full of promise, beyond hope.
I want to visit your painting in the museum. I love that there is no symbolism just the pure joy of the words apples and cranberries!
Ann,
I didn’t expect to find a poem with echoes of my own when I started reading about painting apples and cranberries, but here we are in conversation via these lines:
“ I’d hope to invite
into my oil-based wish,
for a world
where kids had space to play,
to climb a tree or share a swing
in an open field
of apples and cranberries,
a world where they could forget
all about lockdowns and lost friends.”
Your museum description offers an important reminder of our right to art—and innocence represented in the idealized worlds in art. I , too, like the sound of “apples and cranberries” and the world they embody w/ children and swings. Lovely world you e given us.
Please share a highlight from your Verselove experience so far: https://forms.gle/GRPfB8Ez7noMtM6i7 .
Today I borrowed from “A Fairy Song” by William Shakespeare. The line I used is “And I serve the Fairy Queen.”
As I run amongst the heavy dew
Sharp blades bow before me
I lengthen my gait going into battle
“And I serve the Fairy Queen”
Quickly, an ambush in the air
Frenzied, focused, formidable
I drive forward seeking victory
And I serve the Fairy Queen
Proudly poised on my back
My rider gives a kiss kiss
Signaling we can canter off
And I serve the Fairy Queen
Lazily lounging with my comrade
She brushes my fur, massages
My ears, whispers good boy
And I serve the Fairy Queen
What else should I do?
After all, I am Ares the Corgi.
Love the mood you’ve set – sharp blade bow before me, ambush in the air, whispers good boy. Your images are superb!
Thank you! I tried to picture what Ares, my corgi, would be thinking about if the Welsh folklore is true about Corgis and fairies 🙂
Sarah — Aww, I love that you serve that Corgi queen…. but of course! The repeated line really carries us along with a movement and through words like “canter off” and “whispers” and “ambush in the air”…the lightness of this lilts much like the bard might have intended. I love the spirit of this poem, a mood that makes me smile. Thanks! Susie
Thank you for sharing! It was my hope to have the reader feel like they were on the back of a Corgi as it rode into battle.
Oh I love this prompt, Anna! I knew exactly who I’d pick and what poem – Mary Oliver and “A Summer Day.” Thank you for making me stop, think, and write poetry.
Please Tell Me
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver
Why is this world both so beautiful and cruel?
Who made man, animals, and stars in heaven?
Who made that fox?
That one there in the suburban yard,
Running across the spring grass covered in dew.
The one chasing after the baby rabbit,
who is moving quickly back and forth and round in circles,
whose eyes are laser-sharp, tracking her soft prey.
Now she freezes in mid-motion, lowers her head,
Now she snaps her delicate jaw and catches the bunny.
I know exactly what prayer is, and I pray now.
I close my eyes and talk to God,
Right there on the grass covered in dew.
The fox stops, drops her motionless prey.
The bunny is still and soft, then runs fleeing –
Tell me, what would have done if you were her?
Death tracks us down in its own time.
Please – tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Your poem captures the chase so well and builds the anxiety with the way your lines break. The shift you created with the prey’s release, the parallels between the prey and praying for our own lives is powerful.
Joanne, what an image you have painted with your words of this dewy suburban scene with the fox chasing the baby bunny. Good for the bunny. She was not done with her one wild and precious life. Beautiful quote and beautiful inspired poem.
Anna, this is such a fun idea! I found myself down a rabbit hole for awhile, and then finally settled on a fellow April baby, William Wordsworth. I borrowed lines from a couple of his poems: “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” and “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798” (that’s a mouthful of a title!)
Solitary Walk
I wandered lonely as a cloud,
my heart troubled and laid low
by trespasses, circumstances,
pointed fingers, forked tongues.
The closed-minded harm so many,
unaccepted ideas turned into
boomerang missiles, crashing
with mortal force back into
open hands.
Every day, we tentatively open
our doors and try again–
is it insanity? or
something larger?
Deep breath…
again I return to the
misty mountain-winds and
those little, nameless, unremembered
acts of kindness and love–
can I find purpose there?
Open mind, open heart,
open hands–
in them, I carry
the fragile, glowing spirit…
and dance with the daffodils.
Julie,
I have lots of favorite lines in your poem, but I think I especially love the parallel stucture that you use in lines like,
and then later with
juxtaposing the violence and darkness that seem to define our times with openness and love. Really nice poem!
Anna, I love the richness and complexity of your prompt today. Langston Hughes has been a favorite poet for some time, and today I’ve read old favorites and found some new-to-me poems. My “golden shovel” words have been italicized. My image is a screenshot of Hughes poem, “Dying Beast” as published in Oct 1931 issue of Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. Thank you for the helpful links.
At the Nurses Station
in the Memory Care Unit
Sensing loss,
The old men gather—
Noting one more struggle
to remember home
or some important place
to be, if only someone
would show them where
they left their car.
Shelly- you capture the rhythm of the original poem with a new a new direction of loss- that of memory. Such a challenging loss.
Shelly,
Memory loss is such a cruel reality of aging, as your poem articulates in those last lines. “If only…”
Shelly, you’ve managed to capture the idea of dying beast within the gathered men and the losses both felt and realized as age gathers long (there’s always a worry when I do things like not quite remember my car’s location).
I created a Golden Shovel with Rita Dove’s line from “Canary”: “If you can’t be free, be a mystery.” Yesterday as we looked at an assisted living place for my mother, my brother’s wife pulled into a parking spot with a sign that read “For Future Residents” and on top of the sing sat a male red cardinal. It was the anniversary of my father’s stroke that left him speechless and eventually led to his death. It was a rough day in many ways, but also peaceful knowing we were doing the best we could for my mother.
Click the image to view the poem.
Margaret- big hugs- that’s a hard day no matter what. I hope those cardinals keep arriving and bringing you some hope and comfort. Beautiful poem- I love Rita Dove- great choice for inspiration.
Margaret,
Im sorry you and your family are dealing w/ these difficult decisions necessary when a parent ages and health fails. Your poem is lovely, both in words and in the image. Yes, all of nature speaks to us. We’re just not very good listeners. Peace.
Margaret, this is so pure and heartfelt. You are having to make some tough decisions on the heels of grief. Your poem is so appreciated – and yes, yes. Birds, I’m convinced, are a conduit from this life to another world. Fabulous!
The poet David Lehman shares my June birthday month. I actually know David, as he lives in my town, and his lovely wife and I often have coffee. Here’s a spirited discussion I imagine having with him on one of his poems, With Tenure,
David: Tenure is a ladder
Whose rungs slip out
From under the scholar
As he climbs upwards
To empty heaven
Jen: Shouldn’t we give our lovers tenure?
After seven years say,
No matter what you do (and you can do anything)
I’ll always keep you?
Till death do us part…
David: Picasso came not by tenure
Nor Charlie Parker
Jen: Tenure safeguards academic freedom
Necessary for all who teach and
Conduct research in higher ed
David: If Ezra Pound were alive today
(and he is)
He’d be teaching at a small college
In the Pacific Northwest
Jen: Ezra Pound would want tenure
As a safeguard!
David: No man of genius rises by tenure
Nor woman (I see you smile)
Jen: Women and men (of genius)
are protected and it is freeing to
Be able to say things without censure
David: We’ll never agree.
Jen: We’ll never agree.
Jennifer- clever use of conversation and it reads like theater to me, especially the last lines! How fortunate to have a friend in this poet- thanks for sharing this with us!
Good Morning, Anna. I set my alarm early so I could allow myself a few more minutes in my day to poetically play with the a.m. prompt. I loved the challenge: zodiac kin, verse-inspiration, a tribute to the gift of another.
Thank you for being the light this morning and for sharing February with Alice Walker
Purple
~b.r.crandall
Dear God, Dear Sky,
8 more days Dear Trees, I feel the gray, too,
of sunrise/sunset fasting You’re branched like covering all hope,
reflecting, forgiving, lungs, ready to burst blue, & I watch for the
& thinking I have Dear Stars, in stretches of sun’s hue to glow,
self-control I’m ready for green pom-poms, so I’ll know (& remember)
intergalactic warfare cheering on the to fly
Dear Peoples, & the annihilation joy of another
Sorry I’m of our stupidity. breath Dear God,
an introverted We’ve wasted I was 18 when I
extrovert, too much grace Dear Everything, found Alice (her walk
extroverted My bagel has never towards purple).
introvert been better, & I love My mother’s book –
to press my finger a sunflower . on a plate to rescue ready to bloom
abandoned seeds
Well that turned into a spacing nightmare. Definitely didn’t look like this when I hit “Post Comment” Glad I attached a jpeg of what it looks like on my end. Phew.
Thanks for showing both!
These postings reveal another unique feature of this genre…lining and spacing.
Both influence messaging.
Thanks, too, for honoring Alice Walker with your story and your poem.
Bryan: I want to linger here in this epistolary ode to purple, life, and being, which fluctuates every moment in the shifting light and colors of our thoughts. We think we have self-control; do we know our own selves? And oh oh oh – we’ve wasted too much grace. We have. We HAVE…these are all sweeping waves of poignant reflection, and somehow, strangely deepest (to me) in Dear Everything about the bagel never being better and loving to press your finger to rescue the abandoned seeds. Why does this make me want to weep most?? The simple, pure, inherent goodness in it – the idea of rescuing it, maybe. Thank you for this winding walk toward purple; I suspect – I know – I will return to it again and again.
I love your small letters to God because in essence each one is a letter to God, a giving of grace, a way to find hope and meaning in this crazy life. I’m glad you posted the image.
Bryan ~ I’m so glad you included the visual ~ the space to ponder each separate note, so each one could bask in my consciousness without intrusion. I do love the abandoned seeds
and mothers book on the mantel, a sunflower ready to bloom. Exquisite!
Anna, thank you for hosting today and giving us a variety of options. I always appreciate how you add images to support your verse. I appreciate your play on Gorman’s use of light in your last stanza.
Sylvia Plath and I share a b-day and I decided to go very light-hearted with a quote from The Bell Jar. Once you read it, you’ll know why there is no accompanying image;)
Syvia once said
“there is nothing like puking
with somebody to
make you into old friends.”
so, let us reminisce
one NYE I cut in front of ten
pee, cross-legged, drunk women
to get (let’s just call her R)
into a stall
to retch…
spoiler: she made it
R stood up at my wedding
there was that one time in the
x-sized Uber, a napkin of vomit on his lap
or was it just called a taxi then–I digress?
the time the guacamole didn’t
sit well, ripening in the
depths of guts with some tortillas
looked a bit muted at the holiday party
that other time when my
3-year-old sat on my
husband’s lap, “daddy,
I don’t feel go-
oo
oo
bl
ec
ch”
that was hilarious,
I mean so sad, poor baby(ies)
oh, let us not forget that
embarrassing barf
out the window of a
that yellow taxi
over the Brooklyn Bridge
on the way to the airport
oh, remember these my BFF? or
was that just last weekend?
Stefani,
I don’t know whether to be grossed out or laugh!! You’ve certainly *brought up* some memories w/ this series of up-chucks! Was that your head hanging out the taxi? I was in a girls trip in Jackson Hole, Wyoming one time and trying to get to the bathroom. I couldn’t climb over all the bodies and ended up throwing up in a friend’s open suitcase. In my defense, another friend had let smokers into our room, and that’s what made me ill. Then they wouldn’t move so I could get to the bathroom. And who knew Sylvia Plath could inspire such humor!
Stefani, The Bell Jar’ll do that. Make us think of things a little differently from the normal unskewed view. Oh yes, you get real today, friend! Places we’ve been and will never forget. I feel so bad for Sylvia, poor girl. She deserved better. But what an interesting person to share a birthday with – to say the stars aligned close to all of her creative thinking. I like the real side of life like this!!
Stefani, I’m giggling! Not because of the reasons for the puking, but because you’re too tender hearted to post a picture of pukers. I’m going to honor your restraint and not post one either. 🙂
Anna, how I love your lines – and Gorman’s – about being the light; it is one of my favorite metaphors. I think so often about the power we have to help and heal one another, and yet… we become more broken. Hope radiates from your poem, however, and that is so needed. We write to overcome, We must believe in what is possible – and live it. What a fun way to inspire poetry, too, by looking for a line from a poet born in one’s own birth month! I chose a favorite: Robert Browning. Pantoum is the form that came to me first. Thank you so much for being a guiding light today.
“Take away love, and our earth is a tomb!”
—Robert Browning, “Fra Lippo Lippi”
Take away love and our earth is a tomb
Nothing more shall grow
Nothing remains to carve our epitaph
Nothing more to know
Nothing more shall grow
In the garden we were given to nourish
Nothing more to know
All life ceases to flourish
In the garden we were given to grow
We bent on destruction
All life ceases to flourish
In the heart of stone, there is no room
We bent on destruction
Nothing remains to carve our epitaph
In the heart of stone, there is no room
Take away love and our earth is a tomb
(—I have to fix a wrong word.
Y’all forgive.
sigh….)
Take away love and our earth is a tomb
Nothing more shall grow
Nothing remains to carve our epitaph
Nothing more to know
Nothing more shall grow
In the garden we were given to nourish
Nothing more to know
All life ceases to flourish
In the garden we were given to nourish
We bent on destruction
All life ceases to flourish
In the heart of stone, there is no room
We bent on destruction
Nothing remains to carve our epitaph
In the heart of stone, there is no room
Take away love and our earth is a tomb
Fran, that line in a heart of stone there is no room is so true – I think if the harness and coldness and unforgiving-ness of stone. Of these three remain – faith, hope, and love. – and the greatest gives room to grow.
Fran, as you can imagine, the lines I’d highlight are in stanza three. We educators really also are garden called the nourish the minds of our students…whatever their ages!
Thanks for te reminder.
Fran, whenever I’m left pondering a line, I know it’s impactful and “Nothing remains to carve our epitaph” (because of lack of love) is one of those lines. Reading your words in the pantoum form allows those thoughts to echo throughout the poem, while allowing for reconsiderations too. This lands, just after Easter, at a perfect time to think on tombs and love. Powerful!
Fran,
I love “Fra Lippo Lippi” and found it quite a contrast to My Last Duchess so many years ago. Your poem speaks to my obsession w/ loving the earth. Maybe if we humans loved earth more, we wouldn’t be he’ll be t on turning it into a tomb. The pantoum form is an excellent choice for both the inspiration line and the ideas in your poem.
Anna, this was so much fun! Thank you for inspiring us to find our birth poets. I love your nod to Gorman – we must be the light, indeed. And I’m rather convinced that’s the only way to change the world. I found Angela Williams, who wrote the poem Almost Savages – born in northern Michigan – and born on the same day and same year as me. I will look for a link a little later to go in the comments – I’m only finding random blurbs right now but can explore more mid-morning. My Golden Shovel striking line: small fish will scatter away from my steps. Thank you for hosting us today!
Anna Shines the Light
Here’s to you, Anna Small
Roseboro! Words glimmer like tiny fish
in your sunlight as each of us will
put pen to paper, fingers to keys, scatter
in all directions far and away
searching, learning, writing from
the heart of our birth poets- my
same-day-and-year poet and I shared first steps
Kim, your striking lines are alway strikingly well-chosen. Lovely tribute to Anna and the inspiration she has sparked this morning, with her glimmering light. There’s such a sense of connection in your poem, in the imagery of each of us scattering and coming together with our abundant word-harvest, ready to share. Through the ages, a connected family poet-tree.
Kim, What a lovely tribute to Anna and this morning’s prompt. Thank you for highlighting your golden shovel words and giving me another way of understanding the prompt. You’ve created an image for me — the group of us and our “fingers to keys” scattering “in all directions” to day. Thank you!
“the heart of our birth poets” is a lovely line. Thanks for this homage to our words here together resonating, touching, and gathering love in our lines.
Kim,
Whst a lovely gift you’ve given Anna today. I love the simile: “words glimmer like tiny fish,” As one drawn to shiny things, I have an image of both the words and fish in my mind. Like you, I found today’s prompt inspiring,
Kim, what a wonderful gift to Anna, her prompt, and our time here together. This is truly beautiful. The way you connected her name into this (is that when the idea struck?) and us writers scattered are lovely. (Another connection – your poet was born in northern Michigan, where Anna resides!). I wonder when the idea hit to send the poem in this direction. Wouldn’t it be fun for all of us poets to talk about when the idea struck and the poem began to take shape?
Absolutely love the way you wove in “Anna Small Roseboro” with your golden shovel – brilliant! We were all scattering today, in all directions, at her inspirational prompt. Lovely poem, Kim!
Kim, that is neat that your poet was born on the same year and day. Sweet poem honoring Anna today. Yes, that was a neat prompt that got us all researching today:
Beautiful!
Oh, Kim! What a honor to be featured in a poem with words drawn from a poem by Angela Williams. AND, WILLIAMS is one of our “family” names.:-).
Thanks sharing in this way today.
Such a precious tribute to Anna, Kim! You are so skilled in finding the right words at the right time. When I read the line you chose, I wondered where you would take it. I don’t guess 😀
Anna, thank you for this prompt which caused me to discover a new poet (Margaret Walker). These lines struck me from your poem: “Follow the leader is a game to play/when no lives are on the line.” I’m reminded of childhood play (cops and robbers) and what that means today. My first line is borrowed from Margaret Walker’s poem Lineage.
My grandmothers were strong,
surviving world wars and great depressions.
They plucked feathers from backyard chickens,
hopped busses (alone) to cross countries at 18 and 85,
joined wars,
turned soil by hand and scattered seeds, backs bent,
cleared brush and gathered wood for heat,
cast lines and scaled fish to fill bellies,
held children’s hands when fathers (and sons) passed too soon.
They told stories from the old worlds
(listen my children and you shall hear)
of beanstalks to be climbed
and rabbit holes to fall into
and spoke in One if by lands and two if by seas.
When now, from opposite shores are we,
I gather their strength
and make it my own.
Jennifer! Gosh, I love this so much. You capture so beautifully their strength and resilience. I connected so much to the history of your lineage and often think of my ancestors when I need strength. I also really loved the way you describe the nourishment they provided to both bodies and minds. How did they do it all? Thanks so much for writing today.
perfect ending here
When now, from opposite shores are we,
I gather their strength
and make it my own.
Kevin
Jennifer, there is so much I love in this poem. I am especially struck by the lines, “ (alone) to cross countries at 18 and 85″ and “held children’s hands when fathers (and sons) passed too soon.” Your sense of your history and the gifts left to you by your grandmothers leaves me to ponder my own grandparents. Thank you for this beautiful poem.
Jennifer, I love this ode to your grandmothers and connect so much to your deep love to them through your words. I love your ending ” I gather their strength/and make it my own.” Thank you for sharing today and introducing us also to a new poet.
Jennifer, your poem just SINGS. All the threads of those old stories and poems – “They told stories from the old worlds” – by God, we were better for it, too. What a tribute to the strong women in generations past who were about preservation. You bring my own grandmothers to mind; I am forever awed by them. They are gifts – as are yours – as is this poem.
I think of my own grandmother, who was so strong and survived so much. I love the stories they told from the old worlds. Beautiful poem!
Jennifer, just wow! So many rich images here and the sentiment is so strong. You bring the past right to our doorsteps this morning and show us that we don’t, after all, have things as bad as we think we do. That first line was the magic bean for the magical stalk that grew and bloomed here!
Jennifer,
After reading your poem, I’m pausing to consider all the strength and courage women displayed in their daily lives: surviving wars, the great depression, product shortages, as well as the absence of modern conveniences, like central HVAC. They labored in ways I’ve rarely known, so I’m thankful you’ve honored them today w/ your words.
Gosh, Jennifer, what a beautiful tribute poem. I loved the strength of those grandmothers! The images of their hard work: “backs bent” and “cleared brush” and “gathered wood” …and THEN the glory of the famous old lines tucked into the poem! So well crafted! I love those allusions. And you bring it all home by using those threads from the grandmothers to weave your own strength. Wonderful poem! Brava! Hugs, Susie
Jennifer, this is such a lovely and powerful poem! I love the aside: “(listen my children and you shall hear).” It brings together generations in the telling of the “stories from the old worlds.” And, like the others have said, I also especially love the ending truth: “I gather their strength / and make it my own.”
Jennifer, you were inspired with this simple line, which you used to really shine the spotlight on these strong women.
I’m guessing we see at least one of your grandmother’s influence in Into the Shadows. I enjoyed reading it, and I see some echos here.
“They told stories from the old worlds” I like how you used the stories to allude to and write the rest of that section of the poem.
And then circling back and ending it with gathering their strength and making it your own. Wow!
Hey Anna! Always love seeing and reading you here! Thanks for this prompt! It led me to remember that Dolly Parton (my distant cousin) and I share a birth month. I’m counting her as a poet. 🙂
Optimism?
There are times when I wonder
Are we gonna survive this?
So much bullshit, so
Many wrongs, I wonder if we still know how to do right.
Great goodness gracious what a
Glorious mess we’ve made of it all.
Pieces of our humanity fractured and scattered about – shards
Of our hearts and souls, asphalt of our road to ruin. Well,
Good lord – look at all this negativity
In my head, but maybe it’s like Dolly said and
The good things still exist in the
World – just gotta look for ‘em.
Love the way you used Dolly, and kept that spirit of optimism and hope, despite the problems
Kevin
Chea, what I love is how the persona/voice of Dolly is still present in your poem (at least from Dolly’s media presence). How many degrees are you and Dolly separated:)? Thank you for sharing this way today.
Thank you! I see her media presence and interviews as poetry in their own right. 😁 Her great grandfather and my three greats grandfather were brothers. All my family on that side is from TN, so we share a Rural language variety, and I’m so tickled to be her kin. Thanks for reading and commenting!
Love this uplifting poem. I can hear Dolly singing this!
Dolly Parton is definitely a poet. And so are you. I love how you’ve borrowed her words to grapple with this space and time. You wonder about a heartache many of us share. Beautifully done!
Chea, ooof! A misery and mess indeed. This line, “pieces of our humanity fractured and scattered about – shards,” and the enjambment that leaves shards at the end punctuates and emphasizes all of those pieces. And the metaphor with the road to ruin is powerful. And, love your connection to Dolly (both poetically and familial!).
A glorious mess, yes! And what a great question – do we still know how to do it right?
Chea,
You certainly kept true to Dolly’s voice. I love these lines:
Chea, how sweet! “great goodness gracious” “glorious mess” and “Good lord” make me think of Dolly. You are a poet like her today. Nice job adding to the her words. This is so powerful”
oooooh, Anna! This is fun. First, finding poets born on the same day as myself. And, stealing a line. I love how you’ve woven, “we must be the light,” into your pantoum. Repetition works really well with your words and hers.
I ignored the forms but used Robert Browning, who shares the exact date with me.
At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time
When you set your fancies free …
— Robert Browning, Epilogue
At the midnight
(waiting, as always,
for the moon clock
to chime, the falling
star seconds beckon
the eye)
in the silence
(you hold hands,
but not tongues,
in these hours,
when the long day’s
no longer young,
but aged in galaxy
light)
of the sleep-time
(grass dew pillows
beneath your heads,
she said earlier how
she needs roots and
seeds, not feathers,
to hold her mind,
upright, tonight)
When you set your fancies free
(waxing, not waning,
the silver shine always and
forever reminds you
of her, in the now and for
the always, this night when
you watched the quiet
unfold)
Kevin, I like how you’ve split the line to separate your stanzas. The “moon clock” and “you hold hands, but not tongues,” are the most intriguing lines…then ending with the quiet unfolding–lovely. Thank you for sharing today.
Kevin, the line taken, the way you broke it up into segments and responded in your own parentheses – – it’s splendid!
she needs roots and seeds, not feathers
that’s deep, personal, and so real! I love how you took an age-old poem and made it uniquely your own. Gorgeous!
Kevin, dispersing the lines throughout the poem is a wonderful choice. It draws them out, much like the quiet unfolding.
Kevin – The images are so lovely. They remind me of the twilight moments when finally my body relaxes and sleep is almost there….that in-between wake and sleep that is so elusive and “when you set your fancies free.” Phrases I really loved: “aged in galaxy light” and “waxing, not waning” (the emotion that wax/wane evoke is so strikingly difference for me, and you capture that difference) and “watched the quiet unfold.” You make me want to explore the notions of midnight as a poetic focus. Thank you. Susie