Our Host
Jordan lives in Suffolk, VA where she teaches at Nansemond-Suffolk Academy, an independent, collegiate preparatory school, where she teaches advanced junior English classes and a creative writing elective. After spending six years in diverse public schools in Houston, TX, she has the privilege to cultivate the love of reading and writing utilizing more creative means. Jordan spends her free time with her husband and two young daughters, while trying to continue to write for herself.
Inspiration
When I taught Pre-AP English II to 10th graders in Houston, TX, we taught a unit on “The Purpose of Poetry.” Students explored various forms of poetry with the intention of praising, mocking, or mourning their subjects. Within my reading for the unit, I stumbled upon Elizabeth Acevedo’s “Rat Ode.”
The inspiration behind the poem was all too familiar to me. A writing professor Acevedo had deemed rats as “not noble enough” for a poem. As we, and our students, learn to claim the label of “writer,” those who come before us, even our teachers, are our inspiration. But what happens when a subject, a genre, a form, is deemed not worthy?
Process
An ode tends to praise or glorify its subject with flowery language and a slightly formal tone. Odes are also a great vehicle for practicing various forms of sensory language. Using Acevedo’s “Rat Ode’ as inspiration, write the following:
- Pick a subject that many would not think worthy of a poem.
- Brainstorm your sensory language. What does the subject look/feel/sound/smell/taste like?
- Choose the sensory language that could be written in praise of this subject.
- Write an ode to your subject incorporating the sensory language. Odes come in all forms, so you are not limited to rhyme scheme, meter, length, etc.
Jordan’s Poem
Ode to a Vulture by Jordan Stamper
Your talons scrape asphalt in front of my car,
Sleek black wings spanned out rival that of eagles’.
Your bladed beak snatches remnants of tendon
And muscle tenderized by tires. Tirelessly,
Your committees clean roads, ditches,
Partake in bloated bodies collapsed in fields.
If only you had more recognition for staving off
Disease or the infestation of maggots and flies.
The crown of red feathers nods to my bumper,
But oh king of this marsh, we bow to you.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
There are soooo many things I could write about. I guess I have strange affinities. I love this prompt!!
Ode to a Garden Spider
your size may be disarming and
frighten people, but not me
though bright yellow and black
you have no thoughts of
poison or harm
you create your perfect web,
zig-zag down the center,
silk strong as steel
and quietly you sit in the sunshine
surrounded by dewy grass
and wait for a meal
Jordan, thank you for such an interesting prompt. Took me a second to think of something unworthy. So many emotions and feelings came to mind, but one stuck out.
An Ode to Grief
I taste you – in the salt streaming down my cheeks.
I hear you – in the crunch of hope’s bones beneath your feet.
I smell you – in the acrid fumes rising from the ashes of my dreams.
I feel you – in the papercuts spread across my skin.
I see you.
But I see you – lighting a candle in a darkened room,
cracks in the walls plastered in gold,
opening a door to let me leave.
But I see you – keeper of memory,
whittle down to pixie size,
to perch on my shoulder, to whisper you truths to me.
I had just too much fun with this prompt.
“Ode to Gas”
Oh sweet release of sour stomach
and burbling belly, unpredictable
arse-slip of mystery — your sulphurous
sour stench befouls our nostrils,
pollutes the room and the dog’s reputation.
You whisper in — a demure ballerina —
dusting the crowd into pirouettes of panic
with your SBDs. Thunderous boomsockers
reverberate from our lifted cheeks, shaking
the sofa and stunning company into silent awe.
Oh unpredictable and wondrous
squeak, poot, phhbbbBrRRAAATGH
You barking wall-spider of delight,
Snow-snake of surprise, I pull my finger
to summon and solute
your almighty toot.
This one sure had me laughing!!! “You barking wall spider of delight”! Solute the toot! Haha.
This was AMAZING. It had me in stitches!
When I was wondering what other ideas people had about what to write about, I never imagines someone would write about farts. I audibly laughed at your poem, and I agree that most people wouldn’t think that farts are appropiate for poems, but I really appreciated it.
This is too funny. I’ll have to read it to my family. I’m glad you included the barking spiders. What was really great was your use of onamonapias! We could all experience the poem with you 🙂
“Ode to the Hoodie”
I never understood your popularity,
teens wearing you, and only you,
at the bus stop on the coldest days.
I never gave you credit
for your soft embrace,
your protectiveness,
your power of warmth.
And your pocket pouch!
I never understood,
never gave you much deserved credit,
until
Cross Country season.
©️Jennifer Kowaczek April 2024
Jordan, thank you for this fun prompt. I thought it would be easy to choose an item, but here it is — 10:20 — and I’m just figuring it out.
Jennifer, love this! Especially these lines:
I’ve seen that! So funny and surprising to me.
And you became hooked on this “soft embrace” Sweet!
I love your reference to “your soft embrace” – the best hoodies do feel like that – just the right amount of snug.
After reading your poem I realized that I hadn’t worn a hoodie instead of a jacket since I was a high schooler, so when I reread your second sentence I laughed. I loved your poem, and I agree that hoodie’s are amazing!
I had a lot of fun with this prompt when I figured out what I wanted to write about. Thanks for the idea and I can’t to see what other people chose.
Ode to a Charger Cord
You who keep us connected
By keeping our electronics charged,
Allowing us to communicate with anyone,
To play games alone or with friends,
and to doom scroll.
I appreciate you even though:
You break too frequently for my liking,
You get caught on doorknobs,
You somehow magically disappear when I need you,
And you cost WAY too much now.
No matter what shape you take,
Whether you are USB, USB-C, Type A, Type B,
Or whatever other forms you can be,
I know that I will always need you around everyday,
During this internet age.
Andrew, that was a good choice! Yes, how many have broken or gotten lost in my lifetime. Crazy! Odes are fun! I love that you are talking to your charger cord here in this verse. Nice poem.
The magical disappearing charging chord – YES!
Ode to the Sanitizing Wipe
They came individually wrapped
With Kentucky Fried Chicken dinners,
Damp, little towelettes, thinner than paper,
Cloying, folded into impossible squares.
And of course, there were the
Baby wipes we used along with
Diapers that last to infinity and beyond
And baby powder, since removed from the market.
Wet ones were great for picnics
And for traveling but not much else.
Now we have to ask what we did
Before “sanitizing” wipes came along.
Before we could remove fingerprints
And crumbs from harried lunches
And stray pencil marks
And rings from coffee cups
And grains of salt
And errant paw prints,
Before we could remove every single germ
From every single surface.
How did we survive without them?
Katrina, this is a great ode to sanitizing wipes. As much as I appreciate them and hand sanitizer, I often wonder if these are the reasons some of us get sick more often.
Katrina, fun! Love:
Yes, what did we do before sanitary wipes for everything!?
Katrina, loved this and the subtle critical tone that crept in at the end.
This is such a great prompt.
Ode to Goodbyes
Oh goodbyes
thank you for giving us
a reason to celebrate
and cry
or hold back tears
while celebrating
the ends of things
one door shuts
another one opens
somewhere
down a long hallway
Without you, goodbyes,
would we think
to stop
to appreciate?
to give each other
gifts and cards
and kind words?
Once I sobbed on the last day of school.
My second graders were very confused.
Once my sixth-graders sobbed on the last day of school
I stood back and watched them say
Goodbye.
I’ve said goodbye to friends
a man I thought I knew
countless children I called
“my class”
And now I say
Goodbye
to
you
Your words remind me of the bittersweet nature of good byes. “Oh goodbyes thank you for giving us a reason to celebrate
and cry.”
Ona, I love the way you give praise to goodbyes. Not that I think goodbyes are unworthy, but I would not have thought to write them a poem. Nice job.
Oh, Ona, so lovely. Yes, how important goodbyes are. We think we wouldn’t want to have them, but really we do need to sometimes say goodbye. Good question, without them…
Ona, you’ve captured the essence of goodbyes so beautifully. As I’m reading this, I’m thinking of the impending goodbye I will say to my Grade 12s, some of whom I’ve taught 3 years in a row now, in June. There will be tears.
Your poem was very heartwarming and saddening. These emotions you felt when saying goodbye to your student show how kind and loving a person you are. I agree that goodbyes are hard, especially with people that you spent time with almost every day and aren’t likely to see again. Loved it!
I try to write my poem before reading others, which is what I did tonight. Now I am reading the posts from co-poets and enjoying them so much! Thank you, Jordan, for delivering such happy Friday-night reading! GREAT prompt! I can’t wait to use it with students.
Ode to Hot Flashes and Other Unwanted Visitors
unwanted and unwelcome
you care not that you’ve not been invited
like a door-to-door salesmen
you show up and without warning
you linger and you persist
as in a never-ending game of hide and seek
only, I’m always it
the upside to your presence?
change is on the horizon,
a season of sort
when related unwanted visitor
no longer makes house calls
eventually and at some point,
you, too will come to an end…period
Like a door-to-door salesman is a perfect simile. The thought of no more laundry coming in is so touching.
Perfect topic!
I love this:
And the end could not have been more fitting!
Did the flash bring on your poem? If so, that’s the one good thing about having it!
🩵
Stacey Joy, the flash absolutely DID bring on this poem.
Your words perfectly capture our journey as women. I love your cleverness in lines like “when related unwanted visitor no longer makes house calls” and the final line.
Donnetta,
so true! Change is on the horizon. That play on words in the last line is perfect.
Donnetta,
What a hoot that last stanza was! Clever, clever. And, boy can I relate to this right now. I wish I couldn’t!
Ode to Laundry
You bide your time, so warm and fusty,
Waiting, baiting me with musky
Smells that waft reminding me
That you are lurking patiently.
I fill my mind with other things
Like golden goblets, angels’ wings–
Yet still you sing your Siren song:
“The laundry only waits so long…”
Oh yes, my love, I can’t deny
Your scent, your shape, you multiply
My deep desires; I might implode
Unless I yield and start a load.
Allison,
Laundry is my nemesis. “Ken on repeat: Where’d all this laundry come from?” You’d think two people wouldn’t generate so much. Okay, your poem is my siren song, and echo of my tidy-house woes. I love: “fusty,” and the rhyme in “implode/load.”
Allison, I smiled to see the other things filling your mind: “Like golden goblets, angels’ wings–” Cute! But, yes, that laundry makes itself known, doesn’t it? Great rhyming!
I can’t think of a more unworthy topic—But this might not really be an ode since it really doesn’t get to the praise. But—it was kind of fun to write anyway. Thanks Jordan for the invitation!
Ode to Bumper to Bumper Traffic
Out on the pathway
unaware
until the snake is stretched
red diamonds winking:
Danger
Slow down
And it’s over
you’re caught
victim of the undulating
creeping slowness
wrapped in spasms
of starts and stops
In the grip of
this unyielding serpent
my mind wanders
I appreciate that I’ve learned to
prepare for the possibility
of traffic’s snare
attend to the body
keep snacks handy and
that water bottle filled
and to care about
infrastructure
and dream of
smooth roads empty of cars
even as I resent the snarl
of construction
But relief cascades
when the muscles loosen
the knots untie
the snake slithers away
Until…
next time
I agree! It was such fun to find “unworthy” topics! I loved the snake/red diamonds/undulating…spasms. All of the snakey imagery filled my glee in this poem!
Hi Kim,
We shared topics today! Do you live in a serpent city like me? L.A. traffic is the worst. I love the comparison to the serpent.
This is brilliant:
I hope you avoid traffic on your time off. I sure try to.
Kim, you have captured that bumper to bumper traffic. Here and in other places in your poem:
Glad that snake eventually moves away!
Jordan, I enjoyed the prompt and Acevedo’s mentor poem so much! Thank you!
Ode to the Towel in the Corner
twisted and folded like lava
hardened into place under the air conditioner
a dusty pattern of sea creatures
trapped in your mildewed whorls.
alas, forgotten after your noble rescue
from condensation drips in the night
and you shall save us again
when we are faced with unimaginable messes,
we’ll sleepily reach for your valiant, rigid form.
thank you dear friend, for being there for us in slightly trying times.
A noble rescue indeed! Your gross towel seems to have saved the day. I love the slightly trying times.
Emily —
Love this images —
“a dusty pattern of sea creatures
trapped in your mildewed whorls.” — and the way you’ve made an ordinary household item into something heroic.
Emily,
Sounds as though you’re having some water issues that may need more than a towel, which gives me an image of a towel throwing in the towel. “twisted and folded like lace” is such a satisfying and unique image.
I too have this towel! What a delight. I especially liked the juxtaposition fo “unimaginable messes” and “sleepily reach for your valiant/rigid form”! Bravo!
I can completely related to the trust towel that is the go-to for all the messes. We had two water heaters go out within months of one another, to the rescue was a set of old beach towels we hardly use anymore.
Oh the towel! “trapped in your mildewed whorls” such a great line!
Jordan,
Thank you for your fun prompt and your poem. Your vivid images
“muscle tenderized by tires” and “bloated bodies collapsed in fields” really captured the scene and the nature of vultures.
Unwanted Visitors
“Oh, you pesky masked bandits
stay out of my trash
find a new home
another trash can to comb.
It’s true
we’ve tried all the tricks,
dousing the perimeter
with vinegar
securing trash cans
with bricks.
Cayenne pepper, ammonia
bright lights at night
trying everything
anything
to drive you
“Out! “
from under our porch.
Ahhh, to no avail
I see no end
to the visitations of
our furry friends.
Wildlife warden says to
relocate these bothersome creature is illegal,
but the alternative is far more lethal.
Oh, pesky masked bandits
We’ve had enough!
Vacate
with haste
before we get rough!
Tammi,
Raccoons are frightening, rabies toting, mean critters, and they make a horrific mess. Enough! Get rough! These are not Disney fur friends.
Just tonight I picked up the binoculars on the kitchen window sill to identify the greyish spot in the field: yes, a raccoon. I loved your poem. I recognized your strong specifics. We too have tried all the tricks! Thank you for giving me a mirror!
Tammi, your poem makes me laugh. I love the ending, “Oh, pesky masked bandits/We’ve had enough!/Vacate/with haste/before we get rough!”
Jordan, Thanks for this unique prompt. It really make me think. The description of those vultures was amazing. I loved the line, “The crown of red feathers nods to my bumper.” Oh, my! Here’s what I came up with in response to the prompt…
Ode to Black Mold
You infiltrated our home
through a tiny hole behind our dishwasher.
Never did we think that our kitchen make-over
would invite you in.
You slithered into our basement
surreptitiously spreading swaths of toxins
behind the paneled wall.
Black mold – a vicious intruder!
Not many enemies attack with your
patience and persistence.
Over several years, you grew across
a large wall. A bold invasion.
In your inimitable, silent way,
you destroyed our basement
and could have stolen our health.
Removal of the paneling
revealed your modernistic artwork.
Stretches of black, climbing up the wall…
a steady stream of moisture creates
your masterpiece.
Be gone, black mold!
Although you’re secret poison is powerful,
we want no part of you.
Oh yikes! This stealthy spreading of black mold is one of my biggest fears. I’m glad you found it & are still healthy!! I’m impressed with how you posed this as an ode – black mold is a worthy opponent, for sure!
Oh my! Your poem is terrifying, Rita. I just finished watching The Last of Us, which is putting all kinds of ideas into my head. I like how you seem to admire the tenacity and viciousness of the black mold, but then banish it by the end of the poem.
Rita,
This — “You slithered into our basement
surreptitiously spreading swaths of toxins
behind the paneled wall” — I worry about the same thing. It is amazing what just a bit of water damage can do. I’m glad you caught it and were able to remediate.
Rita, I love the mix of respect and disgust in this poem! Lines I loved were “your modernistic artwork” and “surreptitiously spreading swaths of toxins”- sneaky mold! Here’s to breathing easy again.
Rita,
This is the stuff of HGTV nightmares. I love modern art, but not the black mold manifestation of it. That’s more cereal killer stuff than MOMA.
Oh no… “you slithered into our basement…” Terrifying…and a wonderful poem. Be gone and stay gone black mold!
What a fun prompt! I want to do another. Thanks!
Ode to a Splinter
You strong little fleck
hiding under my skin
I hardly know you are there.
Such ability to hide
until I discover you
after you have remained hidden
for a day or two when
you need attention
and let me know
your are there
by turning my finger a bright red.
What an attention grabber you can be!
You rise up,
throbbing,
itching
to make me discover
as I press down hard
and release you from your entrapment.
Oh were it that easy for me
to get the attention of my children!
Aw, tiny fleck
youare such a benefit
to make me praise
the wellness of my hands
when you are gone.
Susan–I feel your pain! Splinters are so darned sneaky. My favorite part is the aside–so very true!
“Oh were it that easy for me
to get the attention of my children!”
So very accurate!
I love the attributes of the splinter that you describe…strong, attention grabber, and a benefit. Very clever and oh, so true.
I love your last section – “you are such a benefit / to make me praise / the wellness of my hands / when you are gone.” True, true! This makes me think of Corrie Ten Boom thanking God for the fleas in “The Hiding Place” – there’s often good that can be found from little pests.
Susan,
You’ve described those pesky splinters so well, and you are spot with this:
“Such ability to hide
until I discover you
after you have remained hidden
for a day or two when
you need attention”
I love this last stanza! I resonate with that feeling of relief after pain or sickness. I like “What an attention grabber you can be!” I like the play on positivity there. Love the idea of something small being so impactful.
Hi Jordan,
I enjoyed this prompt and loved your mentor poem. Since I’ve had such a hectic week, I decided I better go ahead and post something that I need to work on more rather than wait and not get a chance later tonight.
I live in Los Angeles and traffic is our issue so I hope my poem helps me see it in a different light.
Ode to the Road
We long for this daily gathering
To enjoy the closeness
in pursuit of a common goal
Starting at the quiet of dawn
Along with warm sips of Java
In traveling mugs with stains
Continuing in mid-day sun
Heading to lunch or the park
Or maybe it’s our hot yoga class
Peeking at 4:30 p.m.
Podcasts and playlists evoking calm
Perfect time to pause and pray
Sunset beckons us and we yawn
Each car quietly hums in battery mode
Our daily gathering stops
At the end of the road.
©Stacey L. Joy, April 12, 2024
Sometimes a drive can be peaceful and refreshing for my mind -thanks for reminding me of that today!
Stacey, your poem is lovely. I was expecting some frustration but your poem is full of quiet serenity. Loved your line perfect time to pause and pray. Wonderful job of crafting this poem to it’s satisfying end.
You highlight some of the benefits of routine traffic, which made me consider the difference between getting unexpectedly stuck in traffic and knowing you will encounter it. I love the line “podcasts and playlists” (probably because that’s usually what I listen to) and “each car quietly hums”. You did a lovely job on this. Thanks for sharing.
Stacey,the first time my husband and I drove through LA, it was around 4:30 and 5:00 p.m. It was intimidating to say the least. You managed to stay calm and wise even through 4:30 rush hour:
“Podcasts and playlists evoking calm
Perfect time to pause and pray”
So serene! I have to learn patience from you.
Stacey,
I love the way your travel is a journey from days beginning to end. The mood is so Zen.
I hear you on the busy week! Still, this poem sings. I like the idea of “the common goal” as a positive take on the people we’re in traffic with, and as an opportunity for a different kind of rest from “sips of Java” to “sunset beckons us.” Nice arc. Here’s to enjoying the road a little more.
Jordan,
Writing to this prompt was super fun, so much fun, in fact, that I wrote two odes, one to quagga muscles, an invasive species, and the one I’m sharing here, which owed its inspiration to Lawrence O’Donnell’s opening commentary on 4-11-24. Those who saw “The Last Word” will recognize the image in my canva as the one Lawrence displayed at the top of his show.
Ode to the Homemade Bronze Goop on DJT’s Face
each day you
valiantly try to
cover the puffy
protrusions on the
face of tiny-hand
man seeking total
immunity for various
violations against
mirrors & cameras
you’re a clownish
concoction
concealing a
cornucopia of
corruption—crime
conspiracy theories
& grifts staged
to deep fake
the sheeple
i envision you
boiling & brewing
poolside at
mar-a-lago—
like shakespeare’s
weird sisters round
a caldron—Bratz
doll plastic surgery
doubles stir the pot
& compete in a
nightly love contest
like goneril and regan
after ALL CAPS
ambien manchild
screams into social
media abyss &
cheats in another
round of golf
i salute you,
slimy grease
paint & your
albino-eyed
pink-eared
companions
revealing lies
sans spoken
syllables
Glenda Funk
4-12-24
Glenda! The alliteration here – par excellence! It reminds me of the wizard in Oz. Q: What IS the bronze goop, actually (one wonders)?? And this word completely captivates me: “sheeple”. I LOVE that.
Glenda, your poem perfectly delivers the toxicity of false leaders who have fellow rats to follow their lead. I also appreciated the word sheeple. Ouch! It’s a perfect description of people who blindly follow. I had to laugh at your weird sisters allusion. Your Canva rendition is really interesting. It’s like the words are attempting to stifle him. Powerful poem!
Glenda–I’m watching CNN as I read this. I can only believe that I thrive on annoyance. Your description of he-who-shall-not-be-named was so apt–
“the puffy
protrusions on the
face of tiny-hand
man”
It makes me feel just a bit better…
Glenda, This ode left me speechless. So clever, so creative and so true. I loved your alliteration in stanza two. Your reference to the weird sisters around the caldron evoked a strong visual picture in my head. Terrific! So much to chew on here. It’s refreshing to know there are others that “see” behind the “Bronze Goop.”
Glenda, brava, my friend! Wow. Alliterative magic right there. And I so loved your purposeful uses of CAPS throughout. He wrecks everything.
Glenda, this is priceless:
“i envision you
boiling & brewing
poolside at
mar-a-lago—
like shakespeare’s
weird sisters round
a caldron—Bratz
doll plastic surgery
doubles stir the pot.”
I can’t unsee this image.
Oh my goodness! You have really given a tribute to this grimy character that is charading as something truthful! Really enjoyed it.
Oh, Glenda!
This is the perfect Ode to the Unworthy!
This stanza literally had me laughing out loud:
“i envision you
boiling & brewing
poolside at
mar-a-lago—
like shakespeare’s
weird sisters round
a caldron—Bratz
doll plastic surgery
doubles stir the pot”
Hahaaahaaaaaaa!!!! I am in tears laughing! I can imagine listening to you recite this! Glenda, thank you for the Friday evening treat!
This is so fantastic!! I love every bit of it, but my favorite lines are
Glenda — I love this, of course! Especially that 2nd stanza with all the hard C sounds…made me think about what a CReep the guy is with all his lying CRapola. I love your loud voice in this indictment. May the scales of justice take him OUT and all his nazi drones. Hugs and love, Susie
Glenda, this was out-of-control awesome. A poetic rant for the ages: hear, hear!
Thanks. Jordan! This spark came at a perfect time for me: TAXES!
Ode to Taxes
Oh, taxes!
You are so taxing,
Making my head ache,
Making me hyperventilate!
Making my blood pressure
RISE, RISE, RISE!
Oh taxes!
Glad you come
Only once a year,
To break my spirit,
To break my concentration,
To break my bank account!
Oh taxes!
I will pay up!
I will add it all together
And I will pay it all out!
There you go, taxes done!
Oh, taxes! I can’t remember a year when it was a simple process for us. I really felt your line about breaking concentration because each year it feels like taxes knock me out of the rhythm I had been building!
I feel like we should all be a Greek chorus, groaning – alas, Joanne!
This certainly captures the angst tax time can bring. For so many years I felt exactly this way. Now, tax time is much simply, but I’ll never forget that anxiety. The repetition in this added to the power of this poem. Great job!
“Making my blood pressure / RISE, RISE, RISE!” This rings true at my house tonight! Sheesh.
Joanne,
I’m right there with you on this:
” You are so taxing,
Making my head ache,
Making me hyperventilate!
Making my blood pressure
RISE, RISE, RISE!”
Taxes really are vexing! They will be consuming our weekend because we keep putting it off.
Yes, it is that time of year! The lines of describing the blood pressure rise are accurate no matter if we pay or get a refund. It’s still taxing.
Joanne, This was both the perfect ode choice an excellent delivery!
I loved your final stanza of complete submission. Oh, my.
Nailed it! And even when I think I’ve organized my receipts and information, I ALWAYS feel like the tax monsters will come get me in my sleep if I forget something.
Joanne. thank you!
Jordan, thank you for hosting today and providing this lovely prompt. There truly is something wonderful about birds who clean up road kill.
Ode to Basement Junk
behind the basement furnace
in dusty boxes and grungy
plastic containers,
forgotten junk’s sad faces long for a hand
to hold them, to spur them along
bight yellow tracks or
a freshly dug dirt road, even better
finally, they rise on a breezy spring day
relieved I’m sure to leave their dismal hiding place
due to my husband’s desire to purge the clutter
he starts selling them cheap
I tearfully say, please don’t give those away
we have a grandson who will want to play
he only hesitates when Google lens reveals
these mighty matchbox cars
are more valuable today
than when our sons had played
Barb Edler
12 April 2024
Barb,
I’ve been thinking a lot about the stuff we hold onto and the purging that eventually becomes necessary, but in reading your poem these matchbox cars become more than antique toys because I–and others–have learned and shared so much with you these past few years. I know those matchbox cars hum with life, the sweet memories of your sons playing and imagining with them. You prepare us for this in images and personification: “junk’s sad faces long for a hand
to hold them, to spur them along”
for example. And I imagine through your words those treasured toys roaring back to life as you watch your grandson play. That will evoke a bittersweet experience, I’m sure.
Barb, this is so fun. I love the personified junk’s sad faces and their dismal hiding place…saved the last minute by Google lens. Feels like this poem wants to become a picture book.
That’s awesome. I wonder about all the things I could have kept that would be worth more now. I never did, but I hope he gave up on getting rid of the Matchbox cars when he saw what they were worth. Your grandson would love them, I’m sure. I’m enchanted with “junk’s sad faces”
Your basement and our garage, Barb! Only we would switch the roles. My husband is the one who won’t let me get rid of anything. ))
I like the personification of junk; it allows me visualize them with their “sad faces” and realize their sentimental value! Nicely done!
Barb, I often wonder if people use Google lens as much as I do. 😂 But this is brilliant!
Hugs!
Those forgotten sad faces…I can see them begging for attention!
Barb — You selected the perfect “unworthy/worthy” topic. This is, indeed, the age-old battle…one man’s treasure, another man’s “junk.” I feel it. I keep trying to purge books, oodles and oodles of books and just find my foot nailed to the floor and me spinning aimlessly. It is no easy task. Matchbook cars and kids…so much nostalgia there. I feel the “ode-ness” in the ode. Hugs, Susie
Jordan, I appreciate the challenge with this one. And then it finally clicked! Most people do not like to wait. But for me…I actually kind of look forward to it, because it means KNITTING TIME!!!! And I am always up for more time to knit.
Ode to Waiting
Because I like any excuse to knit,
I don’t mind when I have to wait and sit.
Yarn and needles are always in my bag,
even if I’m working on just a simple cotton dishrag.
Long lines at the drive through?
Doctor office when feeling like poo?
Soccer practice running long?
Knitters: Waiting is not something gone wrong.
This is great, Amber. I feel like your last line could be on a t-shirt with some knitting needles and a ball of yarn.
Amber,
I have deep admiration for knitters. As one who would rather not wait, I appreciate the way you’ve flipped the script on something that gets lots of complaints. The last line is perfect, and that you phrase in dialogue is even more perfect.
Amber, I totally understand the need to do something when waiting. Ugh. I loved the examples you gave, especially “Doctor office when feeling like poo”. Very fun poem!
Amber, I have enjoyed your knitting videos on the world wide web. You are so talented. This poem is a lovely Ode to waiting, repurposing the time for joy and maybe even hoping the doctor is behind schedule. Ha.
Sarah
Amen, Amber, what a fun ode! Love this, and it makes me realize I should carry my crocheting, although I always have my Kindle. I too never mind waiting because there is always something to read at my fingertips. Nice job on the rhyming couplets.
You make waiting sound peaceful. I reading a book could be done while waiting like knitting can. I hope you find more excuses. Lovely poem.
My poem is kind of long today. I guess I had a few things to say!
Ode to the Boot
By Mo Daley 4/12/24
Oh, controlled ankle motion walking boot,
or CAM walker,
or das boot,
where would I be without you?
When my second metatarsal screamed out in pain,
you heard her call.
You joined our family,
winning me over with your sleek black
nearly up to the knee sexiness.
You go with everything,
and your royal blue pump adds just the right
POP
of color.
And yes, some may say you are looking a little worse for wear,
but I know your dirty edges and sweaty smell
are just a nod to our trials and tribulations
these past six weeks.
I wonder what the next six will bring us.
Hobbling around with your two-and-a-half-pound hard shell
has made me stronger, I know.
You always have my best interest at heart,
even as I shuffle manically across the hardwood floor
with an unnatural cadence,
like Freddy Krueger inching down Elm Street.
And, oh, the love I feel
when you wrap your soft inner lining around my foot and calf!
I know your powerful, pitiless pull on my posterior knee will remind me
to lead with my good foot while going upstairs.
And thank you, boot, for the magical ASMR quality
of ripping FIVE Velcro® loops at 2 AM when I have to go to the bathroom.
Although I do suspect my husband may have misophonia
based on his fight-or-flight response at those times.
You have forced me to slow down,
to limp through this uneven and crooked world,
to shuffle through unsteadily on lopsided ground
to coordinate when coordination is unattainable.
Oh, das boot, where would I be without you?
Probably in a cast.
Mo–I started out smiling and ended up chuckling out loud!
“You joined our family,
winning me over with your sleek black
nearly up to the knee sexiness.
You go with everything,
and your royal blue pump adds just the right
POP
of color.”
and then Freddy Kreuger!
Love this!
Mo, I am feeling this one. I have spent many weeks in a cast, and many weeks in a boot. The boot is definitely the better option as your last line implies. And I like the line that talks about how slowing down. That is ode-worthy!
Mo,
You’re too sexy for your boot, too sexy for your boot. And das boot is so clever. I’m sorry you are encumbered by that loaded footwear at 2AM when you’re singing the bladder blues. Hugs.
Mo, you have painted such a clear picture for us with this poem. I love it! (Also, I wish it came with an illustration of the boot in question!)
I was very long winded today. I need to write another ode to the “Level Up” device on my good foot, which helps to keep me a little more balanced.
Oh, Mo, this is a doozy ode. You’ve been in a boot?! For 6 weeks…oh geez…that’s the pits…but now I see that “das boot” has been taking darn good care of you! I chuckled at the Freddie Krueger line…although this is pretty serious stuff, healing up and getting your gait back in balance. Ooofduh! (to quote my niece who just moved to Minnesota…lol!) And “misophonia,” … I had no idea there was a word for that…darned good word to know. When I read the title of the poem, I thought it was going to be about the trunk of a car…LOL! I totally enjoyed this “long” poem… you are the master of the minimal line structure, but you’re darned dandy with the long tales as well. Hugs to you and hoping the upcoming weeks are easier. Susie
Oh, Mo, I can definitely relate. I love your humorous tone and how you describe your walking boot and your struggles to navigate. Hobbling is not for sissies. You needed to vent and when you reach the end, it helps show that this perhaps is better than a cast. Keep scuffling “manically”:)
LOL. This didn’t seem long at all, Mo! 🙂 There’s a lot to love here, but my favorite moment is the simplicity (and the profound figurative significance) of the line “You have forced me to slow down, / to limp through this uneven and crooked world, / to shuffle through unsteadily on lopsided ground / to coordinate when coordination is unattainable.” I feel the same, depending on the day. Here’s to a speed(ier?) recovery!!
Mo, wow, thanks for getting it off your mind (foot) today to write this ode.
Hilarious here, imagining your accessorizing:
“your royal blue pump adds just the right
POP
of color.”
OH, my goodness. I just realized why the 5 velcro pieces at 2 am. You sleep without it, but have to put it on to use the bathroom during the night. True? Yikes! I’d have to do that several times. (I guess I might have to use a bed pan or stop drinking anything during the day.) Here’s to a fast and shortened (maybe) second six weeks!
Your boot does deserve a praise, Mo! What would you do without it now? This line caught my attention:
“your royal blue pump adds just the right
POP
of color.”
Your boot sounds quite fashionable. Hopefully, it will come off soon though.
Morton’s Toe
A second toe
longer than the big
means roomy toe
boxes in shoes
and holey socks
after just a few wears,
means calluses in
between maybe in-
advertant love
scratches under
sheets and certainly
stubbed toe in sandal
season, definitely a
wondering if Morton’s
means cute or gross—
guess it’s in the eye of
the beholder.
I have this, too! Never realized there was a name for it, but I do know the feeling of frequent “stubbed toe in sandal”…let’s say these toes are cute, lol.
Love this, Sarah! I didn’t know there was a name for that, but I did deal with Morton’s neuroma earlier on life and now that name makes sense!
You always find a way to make all things sound so beautiful!
Me, too! This is a wonderful analysis of toe problems we of the long-toe face. I decided it indicates deep intelligence…
Hi, Sarah — I’m learning all kinds of stuff today here on ethicalela…I’ve never heard the “Morton’s Toe” term, but I’ve seen in on some of my naked-toed friends over the years. I think my first husband had MT. I totally enjoyed how MT plays out in your “holey socks” and “in/advertant love/scratches” and “stubb[ing]”…I’m betting that now I will forever be eyeballing everyone’s naked toes in their sandals this summer! Take care of those little “piggies”…Hugs, Susie
Sarah,
Ugh! This sounds painful. It’s almost as though the toe is part of a conspiracy against socks and shoes and sheets.
Sarah, your word choice is striking in this poem. I can feel the problems and situations a Morton toe creates such as the stubbed toe and calluses. I especially enjoyed the lines: “maybe in-
advertant love
scratches under
sheets”.
I must agree beauty does lie in the eye of the beholder:)
Same! I didn’t know it had a name either. Like Gayle I always saw it as a sign of intelligence and leadership. And, in fact, after a quick one-second google — that’s how we teach our students researching techniques, right? find the first source that agrees with you and ignore everything else, lol — my beliefs were confirmed: “Morton’s foot, long second toe, short first metatarsal, is said to be a sign of nobility and is sometimes referred to as the ‘aristocratic foot type.’” How could a site named Stamford Health be wrong? (I caution actually reading the site, though, my fear is that it is not “pro” Morton’s Toe with a line like this in its second paragraph: “The Morton’s foot is an inherited foot type, a mechanically imbalanced and weakened foot, which causes abnormal ‘pronation’ or a flattening of the arch during weight bearing.” Sounds like some foot shaming if ever I heard it!)
I’ve never heard it described as “Morton’s Toe.” I certainly have that. Stubbed toe in sandal, holey socks, scratching in under the sheets. Thanks for the information and the giggle.
Thank you Jordan! Love the prompt! It reminds me of Komunyakaa’s Ode to the Maggot and Virginia Woolf’s essay The Death of the Moth. Your poem is so good(!) and a worthy companion in the genre of honoring the icky.
Ode to the Faculty Meeting
Looming large on the calendar
cajoling us to our emails,
hoping for a “pivot to virtual”.
Alas, our hopes are dashed
as we are met, instead, with:
MEETING AGENDA
O! All caps!
O! Multiple Bullet Points!
You are a clarion call
to (in)action, disappointment,
resignation, and, finally
acceptance.
And now,
the shuffling multitude—
not a zombie apocolypse—
make their way to the
auditorium for current business,
committee reports,
announcements,pontification,
and “since there are no last questions—
oh wait there’s one hand up…”
Thank you last question asker,
for when else would our emails
get answered,
and our poems
get written.
Dave,
I see you’ve tapped into the dreaded meeting ode genre. LOL! Among the things I don’t miss in retirement is meetings. Pontificate is the perfect word. Your ending is gold. You’ve flipped the script and fond the thing that’s productive about meetings, an opportunity to write. Sadly, my district implemented a “no grading during meetings” policy, as well as a “no writing during meetings” policy that were enforced the last few years of my working life. I don’t know if things have changed. Anywho, love this poem
It’s its own whole GENRE! Lol! Too funny.
And thanks!
Dave,
Why, of why, are all faculty meetings this way? Is there anyone out there who can tell me that their faculty meetings are productive?
Thank goodness they serve a purpose as poem material. 🙂
Loved your poem:
“You are a clarion call
to (in)action, disappointment,
resignation, and, finally
acceptance.”
“since there are no last questions—
oh wait there’s one hand up…”
Oh, this is the image that embodies the whole spirit of these dreaded faculty meetings! What a great subject for today’s prompt! Thank you for writing today!
I laughed aloud at your transition from introductory words of “honoring the icky” to the title of your poem “Ode to the Faculty Meeting.” Oh how I dreaded these! It is nice to look back on them from retirement. I love the image of you writing your poem in the midst of the meeting.
Of all the things I don’t miss as a former teacher, I think meetings are highest on the list. And there is always that ONE PERSON! This poem is wonderful and accurate!
Jordan, It’s interesting how often poetry prompts remind us of special events in our lives. Some are pleasant, some are not. Today, is a good memory. Each year our local library has a poetry slam for middle and high school students in the county. One gift to each in attendance in a little notebook with a pen. My semi-fictional poem is inspired by your prompt and that event.(Readers get to figure out what’s true and what’s made up. :-))
Valuable Freebies
It cost me nothing
But is it unworthy?
The spiral notebook giveaway
So often, if we do not pay
We’re so quick to say
It’s not worthy of praise.
But that little notebook
From our local library
Given away after a poetry slam
Has been just the right receptacle
For me to write poems that jam
The poems I draft, like riding in a raft
Or zooming around the rink
Catching the eyes of guys fore and aft
Really cause me to think
It cost me nothing
But it gives me so much
It’s helping me stay in touch.
With people and places in my past
Now that they’re enshrined, they last
And that notebook now is worthy of praise.
So, when you ask me about something
Something that I now value.
You can bet your bottom dollar
It’s this freebie notebook I’ll raise.
Anna, this is truly a splendid work of verse. I wholeheartedly agree that a notebook, even a free one, is worth its weight in gold to us writers. I love the lines, “So often, if we do not pay/We’re so quick to say/It’s not worthy of praise,” because isn’t this so true? Thank you for writing with me today!
What a perfect little notebook you have! Yes, it lets you get the words down before the moment slips away…I know you “write poems that jam.” I love your description here,
The best things in life are free!
“It’s helping me stay in touch.” A freebie notebook can provide so much – I’ve used those so often over the years. Love your verse here!
Jordan, thanks for the inspiration! I had fun considering which object & to what degree of unworthy I wanted to shoot for here.
Ode to Cabinets
The box that oversees the room
Sleek surfaces meet
to provide a masking space
Tall and sturdy
Stably there, but not there
Cool cabinets maintain their place
How often we overlook this staple structure! Well, that is, until we are lacking cabinet space. These “sleek surfaces” absolutely a deserving of praise. Thank you for writing with me today!
I had never thought about this–but they are the unsung heroes of the home! “Stably there, but not there.” Perfect!
“Stably there, but not there” – isn’t that the truth?! The best cabinets we are often oblivious to, and yet they are the storage we desperately need.
MathSciGuy, The image that strikes me is the one that makes me ashamed,
Sleek surfaces meet
to provide a masking space
My grandmother, with whom I lived for several years, was a neatnik. Even her chest of drawers were kept neat as were the linen closet and cabinets under the sinks! That’s not me! Whenever I knew she was coming to visit, I’d have to open those masked space and straighten them, just in case she went searching for something!
Thanks for the reminder — I guess. 🙂
Jordan, this is an great prompt! I made it do double duty since I’m entering this Poe-try contest:
https://sixdegreesofpoe.com/poeit-like-poe-contest
I loved your ode to the vulture: they really are just so cool and majestic to watch — fly — but when they land — I think they’re kind of terrifying. And I love that marriage of the terrifying and the beautiful. Love your use of language — the imagery, the alliterative sound in this. Beautiful picture.
I went searching for some info on my creature and discovered some unsettling news about how flies eat…which informed the poem below!
We celebrate the flora, fauna, animals that make us wanna cuddle little creatures to our chests and hear them breathe –
Though noble, humble, fat or reedy, eyes that overflow with needy, creatures do exist – a breed that swarm like mist, that humans kiss and sultry refuse wreathe.
Lightly do they land on skin to do an action that’s akin to staggering drunks among us
who’ve imbibed more than they can
For when they find a likely target: “Jackpot!” It’s a supermarket – smells and tastes are well regarded by these friends of man.
Buzzing with euphoric glee, cleaving downdrafts zestily, legs light out to land on limbs
that yield ambrosia free.
Once that contact soft is made, revel they in nature’s glade, mouths agape and fine legs splayed
to do their dirty deed:
Sucking vomit from their stomachs, tensing little insect buttocks, disgorge they all the contents of their last digested prey
Spewing slime upon our skin – dissolution doth begin; fly saliva then doth thin the next intended game!
Once intended meal is melted, doom for dinner is now spelted, fly proboscis is unbelted,
darts in hungry hurry,
makes contact with sticky mess; fly friend sees himself as blest, sucks in hard and does his best to eat the sloppy slurry.
Alas poor fly! You cannot chew and so you must ingest this stew, unmasticated meal-au-jus that fills your hungry tummy.
(But, wait! You ask alarmedly: Is this a fly or FOX TV? Her eyes light up with unmasked glee: How similar. How funny.)
I forgot to include the title:
The Humble Fly
(“This is why they rub their hands the way they do; these mfs know the evils they’re about to commit.” – anonymous online fly hater)
I was going to respond to the poem with a gross kind of appreciation, but your postscript surpassed the poem! Excellent!!
Okay, you have horrified me about eating outside! This line and its rhymes is absolutely amazing – “Once intended meal is melted, doom for dinner is now spelted, fly proboscis is unbelted,” though the image is truly horrifying. That last line! hahaha You have done a remarkable deep dive into the fly – thank you, I think, lol.
Wendy, you’re right: this pairs well with my offering today, lol! I love the internal rhyme and rhythm you’ve crafted — very Poesque (Poe-esque?). “Sucking vomit from their stomachs, tensing little insect buttocks, disgorge they all the contents of their last digested prey / Spewing slime upon our skin – dissolution doth begin.” This is so gross. I love it, lol.
I accidentally posted this on yesterday’s prompt! Oops!
Although you are often hidden
Enclosed in your dark den
When you greet me each morning
I feel at peace, full of yearning
Your warm bitter scent coiling up
Your visions for an overflowing cup
A purpose you are eager to fulfill
A quietness emitting, always so chill
Your work ethic is inspiring
Daily shifts without tiring
Your strength replaces 1000 filters
Saving the planet from unnecessary litter
I hold onto your strong frame
Your center woven nearly, you aim
To grant temporary sanctuary
To ground up beans or tea leaves
Oh, thank you my dear
My reusable coffee filter
Ashley, I like how we had to get to the end of your poem to see what it is exactly. A rhyming ode, such a treat. “Your work ethic is inspiring / daily shifts without tiring” made me smile.
Ashley, I’m so fond of your rhyming in your poem. You inspired me to try a bit of rhyming, which I normally do not do. That is fun.
Also the element of personification that is captured is something worth mentioning. Very creative!
Your rhyming couplets throughout this poem are wonderful. I like the way you create this topic as a puzzle – I was about halfway through before I began to have a glimmer of an idea. (That ‘enclosed in your dark den’ had me out in the forest, thinking of bears…) Well done! Yay to reusable coffee filters!
“Now, what is she writing about”” I thought, Ashley, but the poem kept me reading. At first, I thought, “Hmmm, maybe she’s giving tribute to a person, enclosed in a dark den…but the subsequent images didn’t quite fit. Then, the closing line, and I giggled. Thanks for the trip down memory lane. 🙂
Pharmacist Ode
when 38 planes were grounded
in Gander, Newfoundland
on 9/11
7,000 passengers
from all over the world
were stranded
they watched the towers fall on TV
and they cried
together for 5 days
and many of them were
stuck in pain
without their prescription medication
until the local pharmacy rallied
calling thousands of hometown doctors and pharmacists
to get the passenger’s medications and dosages
meticulously filling over 1,000 prescriptions
for free
when I read this
I cried
because I am one
dependent on pharmacies
and I know the pain
of being without my pills
and they joy of having someone
miraculously give me more
so praise the clean handers
the careful baggers
the accurate counters
the sticker placers
the nomenclature knowers
the pain reducers
the life givers
the pharmacists.
(I recently read a book about 9/11 in Gander, Newfoundland & was touched by many parts, but surprised that this element of the story was the one that made me cry. This was my first attempt to put that feeling into words, I’ll keep thinking on it!)
Oh, Rachel, I’m so glad you did get this into words. What an amazing story. The Day the World Came to Town, right? I just looked it up, something I’ve added to my TBR list. I love the ending where you give all the synonyms for Pharmacists with “the” lending importance to their role.
Yes, that’s the book! I’m realizing from these comments I need to watch the musical now, too! Thank you!!
Your poem brought me back to that day, and even though I remember it so clearly, I did not know this story either. I can picture these pharmacists working hard to help the passengers, and it touched my spirit!
You need to see the Broadway show Come From Away. It’s such an incredible sharing of the story of Gander. It’s so poignant and entertaining.
Your poem brought a seldom-thought-of layer to the forefront. Wonderfully done.
Dying to see this!
Rachel,
Beautiful poem. I’m so glad that you wrote this and reminded us that in the worst moments of inhumanity, there are still acts of compassion and love that shine through as defining parts of those moments. Your last stanza is perfect. All praises due to those selfless and thoughtful heroes of the moment.
Rachel, we saw the musical “Come from Away” in Chicago in 2022. What an incredible story! I love how you brought it around to yourself, but somehow it isn’t about just you. You’ve made us look at how interconnected we all are. So well done!
Rachel – Thank you for sharing this story… your laying it before us today is a fine tribute to the humanity that outweighs even the cruelest of tragedies. Well done! Susie
Wow, Rachel! I would love to use your poem for when I’m directing tours in New York and take students to zero ground. Can I? (email: amharrison at ridgerunners dot net)
Your perspective in this ode is something worth sharing out loud and proud. I especially like how you have created the stanzas of differing lengths. And the parallelism in these lines are powerful: “so praise the clean handers / the careful baggers / the accurate counters / the sticker placers / the nomenclature knowers / the pain reducers / the life givers”.
Of course! You’re welcome to share 🙂
I loved this book! So much good was accomplished on that awful day. I never thought about the pharmacists’ role in this. Wonderful…
That is a remarkable story; thank you for sharing it. Your recitation of all these synonyms/other names for pharmacists is truly inspiring! They do such important work.
Rachel, loved this ode honoring those heroes!
Oh my. This is such a powerful “untold story.” Thank you for rendering it here so beautifully.
Ode to bees
Black and yellow, features bright
Short life span, strong with might.
Graceful to the inevitable end.
The Queen instructing staying tough
Working strong and just enough
Will sadly meet their grim demise
In a few weeks once the sun does rise.
Katherine,
beautiful ode to the bees
“strong with might” yes, and so important!
This is a nice pairing with Susie’s poem about dandelions.
Katherine,
Bees definitely fall under the unloveable definition. I appreciate the rhymes and cadences in your poem. It reminds me of the Ode poems that I’ve always been familiar with and it lends and air of formality that serves to honor those humble bugs.
My sister started keeping bees last year & I have since learned so much I did not know about bees! Those annoying pests are actually SO impressively cool. “The Queen instructing staying tough / Working strong and just enough.” Beautiful rhyming!
Thank you! Beekeeping is actually one of my dreams for the future when my little one is grown enough to be safe 🙂
Jordan — I just ate up your poem…ooo, wrong choice of words. But I did just love that darned buzzard…so creepy…the “tendon ..remnants” and the “tenderized by tires”…ewww! LOVE IT! Love the whole idea of your prompt this morning. Thank you. Susie
RELATIVELY UNWORTHY DOGGONE DANDELION
As a kid,
I thought they were glorious:
flowers designed for children,
bright little tow-headed soldiers,
perfect Fibonocci sequences,
sudden in the spring after a warm rain,
surprising you in places also unworthy —
cracks in the sidewalk,
clustered on the edges of dirt roads,
smack dab in the middle of lush, soft, green lawn —
dandelions were the ideal bouquet
in finger-painted tin cans
lined up on the window sill;
no one fussed
if you picked every single one;
seed feathers like a burst of tiny fuzzy fireworks,
carried with a wish and a blow,
spawned its offspring high and low
across the landscape;
leaves jagged, gnarly,
like a cursing cousin,
a driving root plunged deep,
perhaps in search of China,
ensured that the flower persisted,
reaching up
midst a passel of pert faces,
as though insisting,
“pick me, just me, pick me”;
it’s dripping milky juice,
while protecting the flower
from marauding, hungry cows,
had me spitting,
recoiling at the bitter
ruse beneath the
lemony delight.
Today,
ecologists plea,
“Spare the
dandelion:
like so many seemingly
unworthy scamps,
the dandelion,
moves up
the taxonomic ladder,
no weed,
no unwanted bad seed,
but a champion
of its neighbor,
its rich, old uncle,
the bee.
[Parting thought: Never underestimate the reality that all things are relative.]
by Susie Morice, April 12, 2024©
Susie – so so true: all things are connected, somehow! I love this “championing” of the dandelion in its own bright yellow right, as well as for the bee. As one of the students here at my elementary school said: “Without bees, none of us would be here.” Food for thought… here’s to the pretty & magical fluff weed!
Oh, Susie, what a beautiful ode. We should publish this in all the letters to the editor in towns that drown yards with insect spray. It is so beautifully written. The title made me smile, and the poem made me teary-eyed remembering all the fun we’ve had with this beauty.
Susie, first of all, this is a beautiful poem—“recoiling at the bitter ruse” sounds so good and invokes a really image. I love your choice of a subject; I learned recently that “weeds” are a fairly arbitrary classification (one person’s weed is another person’s flower, I suppose) and that theme rings loudly in your poem.
Susie, this was just gorgeous! I agree wholeheartedly and love dandelions as FLOWERS, not weeds! Can I give a plug here for “No Mow May”? https://beecityusa.org/no-mow-may/
Favorite lines:
“surprising you in places also unworthy —
cracks in the sidewalk,
clustered on the edges of dirt roads,”
“seed feathers like a burst of tiny fuzzy fireworks,
carried with a wish and a blow,”
“leaves jagged, gnarly,
like a cursing cousin,”
but a champion
of its neighbor,
its rich, old uncle,
the bee”
…so many golden lines in here!
Susie,
You are a ray of sunshine. I, too, loved dandelions as a kid, and I can’t help but think about how we value and devalue people the way we do those yellow blooms that turn to fluffy fiber. The hyperbole here is so fun, particularly “a driving root plunged deep,/ perhaps in search of China,” That’s a dandy line (hope you like my wordplay!). That ending reinventing the dandelion makes me smile. Maybe one day we can do that to the weedy parts of humanity.
Susie, I do love a dandelion……these are the happiest little sunshine mirrors in the meadows! And the dandelion seeds to blow in the wind are the most fun of all. I love this part best:
it’s dripping milky juice,
while protecting the flower
from marauding, hungry cows,
had me spitting,
recoiling at the bitter
ruse beneath the
lemony delight.
I can see those marauding cows…..and that adjective is perfect!
Susie–this is great! I love the personification combined with science in these lines!
“like so many seemingly
unworthy scamps,
the dandelion,
moves up
the taxonomic ladder”
(and I loved dandelions when I was a kid–even the name was friendly)
Susie, your poem is delightful, and I had no idea about the ecologist’s plea to spare the dandelion. Isn’t it strange how new knowledge frames a new understanding. I so enjoyed your descriptions of how dandelions could be displayed, and especially the lines, “no one fussed
if you picked every single one;”
Now, I know, the dandelion is a champion! Gorgeous and playful poem! Loved it!
Susie, this is such fun! I love how your vivid details pull me in and remind me so of playing in the yard with these glorious dandelions — wouldn’t we hold them up under our chins for some reason, too, I haven’t thought of that in years, lol — and then you teach us how vital they are, how much of “a champion / of its neighbor, / its rich, old uncle, / the bee” they truly are! Thank you!
We Are a Creative Lot
or
Language Is Weird
I did the leg work so you wouldn’t have to
what I’m saying is that you will spend a
total of over 2 years of your life
checking the plumbing
feeding the fish
stocking the pond with brown trout
doing your duty
counting to 2
putting gravity to good use
or
sending Santa a letter
and there’s nothing wrong with that
the children’s books tell us that
Everyone Poops and
Everybody Poops 410 Pounds a Year
now, I have not checked
that fact specifically
but I do know
that you will use
the lavatory
latrine
loo
restroom
bathroom
water closet
comfort room
men’s room
ladies’ room
can
commode
crapper
to
take the Browns
to the Super Bowl
or to
answer the
call of nature
to
download
some software
or
unburden
your bowels
a quick internet
check (no, that’s
not a euphemism)
will provide an info
dump of adjectives
deployed to support
our time in the chamber
of secrets, the room
of requirement:
compact or elongated
slimline or luxury
remote controlled
and fancy
electronics with a
built-in bidet
with nozzles &
side-panel features
that provide
“about twelve
unique ways to
wash your bum.”
forget about flying
cars, the future
is here
and before you ask
the most expensive
toilet in the world
is 19 million and
not even on Earth
but orbiting this
tiny blue dot
in the International
Space Station
so remember what
Eliot reminds us
This is the way
the world ends
This is the way
the world ends
This is the way
the world ends
Not with a bang
but a flush
(maybe I’ve gotten
that quote wrong…)
_________________________________________________________
Thank you, Jordan, for your prompt and your mentor poem! And thank you for reminding me that vultures form a “committee” and for the vivid details throughout your poem, especially in the lines, “Your committees clean roads, ditches, / Partake in bloated bodies collapsed in fields.” For my offering today, I just have to say…sorry?….it’s a bit sophomoric…but, truth be told, I can’t believe I didn’t write this poem sooner, lol. [Side note, I just have to say, holy s#!t, there is a lot of “stuff” out there about this topic; not being a parent, I guess I didn’t realize that, lol, so, here are my sources. They’re not in true MLA formatting, but … Stanza two , Stanza three and four , Stanza five , Stanza seven , and Stanza nine . ]
Scatologically delicious, Scott. Brilliant.
Thanks for sharing. What a fun poem to finish the week!
Holy crap…. oops, holy cow…. this AGAIN has me laughing out loud and loving how totally nuts you are. My fave might be “take the Browns /to the Super Bowl”…OMG! I’m taking your poem with me to a poetry slam this evening…and while I’ll be reading my own stuff, I’ll be sharing your poem on the side (giving you all acknowledgements, of course), as I have a bunch of friends who will actually want your autograph! LOL! And they’ll be dying laughing as I am right now! Geez, you are good! Hugs, Susie
Another fantastic installment of Scott’s brilliant and quirky view id the world. I love this, especially all the ways of naming the restroom that you enumerate.
Oh, my, goodness, Scott! Thanks for sharing your research. This is an hilarious ode.
LOL! A classic. My favorite phrasings:
“stocking the pond with brown trout”
“take the Browns
to the Super Bowl”
“download
some software”
“our time in the chamber
of secrets, the room
of requirement:”
And, finally, the glorious ending:
“This is the way
the world ends
This is the way
the world ends
This is the way
the world ends
Not with a bang
but a flush”
Loved this. <3
(P.S. I feel like it complements my poem today. Haha!)
Crappy poem.
Mo, you have n me e laughing out loud!!! LOLOLOLOL!
“to
take the Browns
to the Super Bowl”
This is a euphemism that will stay with me… Thank you–I think!
Of all this hilarity, Scott, I have to say I most appreciate the allusions to Harry Potty – er, Potter. Was thinking just now that the room of requirement was never needed more than it was during COVID-19—we’d have never had to worry about toilet paper!
Nobody thinks about their esophagus,
that’s true for all of us.
Even when we ride a bus,
or talk to Ted, Fred and Gus.
But our esophagus,
is our food flush,
helps us cuss,
handles the mush.
Yells in a rush,
Silences others with hush,
Enjoys flavors of Crush,
Does not need a brush.
Loves Coca- cola slush.
Now we all think of our esophagus,
it is strange like a minus plus!!🤣
* Boxer
I really like the oxymoron to finish the poem. Thanks for sharing.
Boxer — witty, thought-provoking, funny, delightfully rhyme-y, and I would NEVER have even thought to write about an esophagus! But it is a funny word. 🙂 Susie
Clayton, you are right. I don’t think on my esophagus, but now I am. A minus plus, or as my mom used to say, “An added subtraction.” You had fun with those rhymes, and we get the benefit. Who knew there were so many rhymes and near rhymes with esophagus. (I’m still thinking about it.)
Boxer–wonderful rhyme, bouncing rhythm, and facts I have never considered!
Love it, Clayton. The tribute to a forgotten body part, and the extended rhyme that don’t “feel” forced. That’s clever writing, indeed!
Jordan,
Thank you for this marvelous prompt today! I love Acevedo and “Rat Ode” but I haven’t thought to use it as the base of inspiration. I will not certainly be using this with my students.
Oh, 3:00 a.m.
Oh, 3:00 a.m.
why do you persist
in showing yourself
every time something
in my body or mind
pulls me awake.
When my elevator
eyelids rise
and my hand takes on
a mind of its own
and grabs for my phone,
you are always there.
Always.
Known as Demon Hour,
you send a jolt of panic
into my soul when I see you.
Come on, how can you
reach into my soul
and awaken me?
Night after night.
You must be guided
by the Dark One.
Nothing made of goodness
could want me to be yanked
awake at that time.
Your silent alarm,
says Chinese medicine,
is a sign that my liver
needs to detox.
I mean, how do you
know that?
I barely drink any alcohol
and I don’t have hepatitis.
But I have to admit
that I would rather
you be the offspring
of an ancient
organ clock than
Satan himself.
Regardless of your roots,
could you just leave me alone?
Not only do you interrupt
my much-needed rest,
you crawl into my psyche
and plant seeds of fear.
Either I’m in dire need
an exorcist or
a serious liver detox.
Just leave me alone
and let the zzzzzzz’s
keep me in dreamland.
~Susan Ahlbrand
12 April 2024
What a relatable poem. I love the idea that it is the liver or the devil, but either way, go away! My favorite lines are:
eyelids rise
and my hand takes on
a mind of its own
and grabs for my phone,
you are always there.
Always.
Excellent poem!
Susan — RESONATES! Geez, I have that same demon! And the same knee jerk (hand jerk, I guess) to reach for the phone…grrrr… It is a plague! I loved tearing through your poem and just kept nodding and mumbling…”yes,, darn it, yes.” May you have peaceful rest tonight! Susie
Oh, Susan, I could have written an ode to 3:00 a.m. too, to be sure. How funny! My rescue during those times is my Kindle. I can get through a book more quickly than my daytime reading.
I like how you did some research to find possible roots. Amen to this:
“You must be guided
by the Dark One.
Nothing made of goodness
could want me to be yanked
awake at that time. “
“But I have to admit
that I would rather
you be the offspring
of an ancient
organ clock than
Satan himself. “
Boy, can I relate to this poem — even last night, the 3 AM demon came a-calling!
And the lines about planting seeds of fear: what is UP with that? Why does every thought seem worse at 3 AM?
Great poem and totally relatable!
I know this Demon Hour! How haunting is it to reach for the phone and see that same time there “always”?! Your poem reminds me of The Twilight Zone. Diabolical or metabolical, 3:00 a.m. has got to lighten up!
Oh, Susan–mine is 2:00 AM. I wonder if that has a different significance… This resonates with me–
“Nothing made of goodness
could want me to be yanked
awake at that time. “
You are so right. (I vote for exorcism…)
I really love this prompt, and I want to play around with it more. Who decides what is poem worth y and what is not? I always love a good contradiction. Here are two short poems.
morning breath
dawn yawns soft as a hush
warm exhales across my collarbone
a weaker woman would recoil
not loaf and feign sleep
as the day’s first blush
glimmers across the motes
she would not snake
her legs around yours
indulgent and not caring
that you need to brush your
teeth
stretch marks
the tips of fingers
skim the shallow stripes
just beneath my now
crooked? belly button
scars no creams can cure
as permanent as motherhood
shameless and sexy
“scars no creams can cure
as permanent as motherhood
shameless and sexy”
preach! They are beautiful.
Oh, stretch marks as “shameless and sexy” are perfect. And the magic in your morning breath poem is beautiful! Yes, preach it, like Angie said. Your poems are empowering.
Kasey,
This reminds me of a passage from Love in the Time of Cholera, my favorite love story, in which there’s a description of two old people in bed rotting from the inside out. Let me tell you this: The smells get worse as we age. Still, you have a brilliant, realistic ode all of us who have awakened next to another adult whom we love know well. Love is icky sometimes. Love smells icky sometimes. Love this poem
Oh, wow, Jordan, that Rat Ode by Acevedo is so amazing, and to hear her introduction and her delivery made it that much more wonderful. Thank you for sharing it. Your vulture has more of my respect with your beautiful poem “If only you had more recognition for staving off / Disease” and that wingspan rivaling the eagles–what a great detail. Thank you for this important prompt.
Ode to the Rock Chipper
You rumble and roar
You don’t give way
to the concrete or asphalt below
your dozen rock-hard wheels
You bounce
You heave
You fight back
against the barriers
barummphing to a grinding
halt at red lights
You boom brave and bellicose
with uncovered load
as you roar down the highway
sand and pebbles glitter the way behind you
reminding us that terra firma is anything but
You are the great bearer
of these tiny bits of Earth
in various sizes–
pinheads and pill
bullets and bb’s
gravelly pebbles
and each spilled bit
does your bidding
bouncing behind in your wake
O, Gravel Truck, you have
earned my husband’s
nickname this time–
chipping our windshield
Denise,
I feel as though I’m driving along the highway w/ you. Those of us who live in the dry desert know the rock chip well. We have one in our windshield right now, and it’s surrounded by a constellation of pinprick friends. Fantastic alliteration in “ boom brave and bellicose.” and “rumble and roar.” Indeed, the rock chip is a persistent pest. I also find the parallel phrasing alluring:
“You bounce
You heave
You fight back”
This is simply a delightful joyride of verse.
Denise, I have a ding in my windshield from one of them. And it is so frightening when it happens. Such a tiny pebble can sound like a building collapsing.
Denise, oh man, I do understand the rumble and roar of gravel trucks. We have plenty that roar down our own road. Your ending has me feeling so badly because those darn “bullets and bb’s” know how to make a mark! Lots of fun words throughout this poem, and I adored the movement and sounds you created.
So very, very sorry that the rock chipper sent cracks down your windshield – but what an ode you wrote! So many strong ‘rock’ words…I love “barummphing to a grinding” and “You boom brave and bellicose.” Until its sad conclusion, I thought this could be a fan favorite as a children’s picture book, illustrating the hard work accomplished by this machine.
“[R]eminding us that terra firma is anything but” is such a great line, Denise!
That rock chipper sounds like a busy thing, Denise! You packed the poem with motion and so much action. I love all alliterations, and these lines sound so distinct:
“You fight back
against the barriers
barummphing to a grinding
halt at red lights
You boom brave and bellicose
with uncovered load.”
I like how carefully you choose every word to create the images that lead me through the poem.
Denise— this is so very good! This is my favorite—
against the barriers
barummphing to a grinding
halt at red lights
You boom brave and bellicose
the alliteration and the onomatopoeia is perfection!
I do love a good old fashioned ode. I love all the senses you included in your model poem, especially the crown of red feathers nodding to your bumper. I live in South Louisiana. I’ve experienced many hurricanes in my lifetime.
Ode to the Hurricane
As the wild winds swirl
together above the Gulf,
you become a massive creation
threatening a nation.
No matter how we prepare–
buy bread, water, flashlights,
charge up Sparky, the generator,
your fierce presence is feared.
They give you gentle names:
Katrina, Ida, Andrew, Camille,
names that will live in history
names that define an era.
After you pass through, an eerie
calm descends upon a community.
We band together to feed each other,
to clean up debris you left behind.
Oh, hurricane, you are the hint of end times.
Behold your survivors who tell your story.
This is so powerful, Margaret! Our family destination for decades, Sanibel Island, got plummeted by Ian, yet another gentle name. It definitely brings out the best in people but the damage is indeed vast and heartbreaking.
I love this stanza:
Margaret, wow. Your word choice and tone are told through the pen of someone who knows. “gentle” “calm” “feed each other” “prepare” There is something gentle about your poem, told from the depth and breadth of a true survivor.
Margaret, I have lived through them, too. We used to fill our washing machines and bathtubs with ice and put the cold groceries there. Yes, those gentle names are quite ironic, aren’t they? Hugo is the one that hit Charleston in 1989, and that one was the one I remember most. I like that you chose a hurricane for your ode.
So true that we grace them with “gentle names” – isn’t that surprising? I am impressed with your ability to find a positive, a bit of hope, about hurricanes –
There is beauty in this.
Thank you for the prompt, Jordan! I liked your order to that ominous creature that still does some good in a way, as in “Tirelessly, / Your committees clean roads, ditches.”
I immediately thought about sugar, my weakness. So here is to it.
An Ode to Sugar
Oh, thee, human’s sweet death,
Thou crawl up unexpectedly, with every breath.
Conquer people’s hearts, in stealth you reside,
In every craving, in every stride.
From childhood dreams to adult desires,
You spark the flame of passionate fires.
In candies wrapped and cakes lavishly laced,
Your kernel finds just the right place.
In lattes swirled and chocolates embraced,
You seduce the senses, leaving no trace.
A fleeting pleasure, a momentary delight,
In your sugary embrace, humans eagerly flight.
But thee is cruel, thee is mischievous,
Yet, oh, so sweet thee, sugar, is.
In moments of darkness and despair,
Thou offer comfort, thou’s always there.
Leilya, what fun. Your tone and style make me think of an era when sugar wasn’t as readily available, yet equally addicting. “seducing the senses” “cruel” and “mischievous” Boy, I can relate to your ode today! One of my downfalls.
Leilya, you are a woman after my own heart! You get me. I think your last stanza is the sweetest.
Leilya, love the flow and rhyme of your poem. You’ve captured so many ways in which sugar can satisfy and “seduce the senses”. I really liked “cakes lavishly laced” because it sounds so decadent. I wish sugar wasn’t so tempting. Delightful poem!
It is so easy for me to succumb to sugary delights – your poem captures their allure so beautifully. How I love your words here,
This sugar-ode is so beautifully written, and so funny, Leilya! That last stanza makes me laugh aloud. A delight of a poem.
Leilya–we sprouted from the same sweet plant, I think–both phrasings and obsession! I admire your rhyme and the fluidity with which you poured out your admiration for the evil sweet’s confort!
Oh, Peeps!
Thou underrated, scoffed-at confectionary
Hailing from humble Bethlehem, a small hamlet in Pennsylvania.
Godiva cannot compare with your virtue, your purity, your constancy.
I await your yellow peepish glory, waxen eyes peering up at me,
the herald of true spring.
I search for you amidst pedestrian comfits,
those sad purveyors of calories pervading emporium shelves.
maudlin brunette rabbits empty within,
foil-ensconced gobs of cocoa and myriad fats,
They are bereft of your charms.
Thou art cinquefoils of pleasure, forever abreast,
Your sole purpose is to spread joy.
Thou art a cornucopia of intemperance.
Comprised of pure sugar,
unceasingly forged en masse
by your Creator, called the Depositor.
600 million are sacrificed every Easter,
thou art an army of pleasure,
each quintet a battalion of nirvana.
Thou art created of virtue, my love,
proffering nary a scintilla of fat and a scant 32 calories
in each glorious fledgling.
I consume you with abandon,
whether soft and fresh when newly hatched
from your diffident bindle of cardboard and cellophane
or with just that slight mote of sugary crunch
achieved only with consummate staleness.
I remain free of remorse or recrimination.
Oh, Peep,
you offer an excess of pleasure and yet,
no penitence is demanded.
Paragon of candy, I worship thee.
GJ Sands
4-12-14
Jordan–your prompt has taken up much more of my morning than it should have! What fun this is. These lines may be my favorite:
“Your bladed beak snatches remnants of tendon
And muscle tenderized by tires.
Something about the tenderized bit is so horrifyingly vivid…
Thank you!
Oh, gosh, Gayle — this is priceless! I mean…the vocabulary…I love the loftiness, downright regal homage to the peep! Truly hysterical marshmellowy wonder of the sugar world. Even old stale ones…ha! The comparison…brunette rabbit..haha…empty within….hahahaha! So witty and fun! Love it. Susie
Gayle, I am in tune with you today singing an ode to sugar. While I am not a marshmallow person, I can understand this kind of addiction. Love the sound of “Thou art a cornucopia of intemperance” Thank you!
OK, Gayle, you are making me fall in love with Peeps again. I haven’t had one in decades, methinks. I love your word choice and style (how you and Leilya both wrote a retro ode.)
I loved learning that “600 million are sacrificed every Easter” and then picture each box in “each quintet a battalion of nirvana.” Masterful!
Oh my, I am laughing so hard. I can feel your joy of consuming these “Paragon of candy”. Loved “army of pleasure”. Very fun poem and the comparison with Godiva was priceless.
Gayle, there is a fervent tone of prayer to your ode that makes me smile so much. Love this line, “Thou art a cornucopia of intemperance.” I remember fondly when the Washington Post would have an annual competition for Peep dioramas – these were always so humorous. You sound like one of those rare souls who enjoys the flavor – “Godiva cannot compare with your virtue, your purity, your constancy.”
This, this is true love! Peepish glory, herald of true spring!! “Thou art created of virtue, my love/ proffering nary a scintilla of fat and a scant 32 calories in each glorious fledgling”… oh my Lord, the whole thing is a wonder, Gayle. Fantastic ode-language – it’s killing me!!
This is a fun way to find the positive. I’m not sure I truly created an ode, but here it is:
An Ode to Late Work
You clutter my inbox
with notifications
and pleas to
GRADE ASAP!
(a please, if I’m
lucky)
I try to
remember
the hope
(and forget the
audacity)
of earning
the grade,
saving the credit,
or at least
appeasing an
angry parent.
You are speaking the language of every educator. I’m sharing this with some teachers. It’s perfect.
Amen! This is so relatable. Good thing is I (almost) don’t have to deal with parents anymore.
Eric, good luck with getting the late work graded as well as doing all the everyday work that filled up your whole calendar already!
Ode to Headaches
silent yet blaring
crumpled across the brow
the lowly headache
arrives with grace of a plow
greeting the day
with a staggering harsh hurt
demanding a pause
to contemplate its curse
sweets and chocolate?
sparse little water to drink?
was it wine or noise?
so much talking? too few winks?
this stab of tension
a confessional of sorts
recite and amend
sundry pleasures and their warts
best behavior going forth
Yucky headaches go away please…
I love how you made this ode a
well done!
Maureen,
You have chosen well. I feel a headache coming on as I deal w/ kids who don’t believe me when I tell them not to talk during an in-class essay. The rhyme in brow/plow, hurt/curse, drink/wink, sorts/warts creates the rhythm of a headache. A few days ago I heard the term “icepick headache.” I get those often and have had them this month a couple of times.
Maureen, how didn’t I think of the headaches? This is what gets me too. What’s the worst part is that they begin to haunt me through the weekend when i hope to relax. I can related to this without a doubt:
“greeting the day
with a staggering harsh hurt
demanding a pause
to contemplate its curse.”
Love the sound of “sundry pleasures”!
Maureen, now that is a lowly topic. This made me smile “grace of a plow” and I love that last stanza “this stab of tension / a confessional of sorts” has some wisdom.
Maureen, you’ve captured the horror of headaches and the potential reasons they might occur. I agree sometimes after suffering with a headache, I go forward with some much improved behavior to protect myself from the “staggering harsh hurt”. Wonderful job of crafting this poem. Your vivid word choices are perfectly placed.
Zit Ode
o, your eruption
glistening in the light
illuminating puss in a
blackhead, whitehead
ring of rosacea
satisfying, disgusting
you visit all, fully inclusive
you are famous, loved, hated
yet a sign, cyst, blister
you help identify
bacteria, puberty
food, ill hygiene
we humanize you
as you grow
celebrate you even
you’ve oozed your
way into pop media
in so many personalities
by so many names
pimple, blemish, acne
boil, bump, welt
o, thee blain of
our face’s existence
——————————–
Jordan, thank you for hosting today and for sharing Acevedo’s spoken word video, her work is always a great way to start the day. I was inspired by my two teens today;)
Stefani,
OMG! This is hilarious and true. You should send it to Dr. Pimple Popper! I always think of Chaucer’s Pardoner when a zit pops (pun intended) into my mind. I love his word for pimples: carbuncle.
Oh my! Your use of italicized words is like a spotlight on all these sensory effects- I was squirming at this. Wonderful!!
Stefani, your imagery is so deliciously disgusting as we can all relate to seeing these unsightly blemishes on our person. Your use of italics really draws attention to those sensory details! Brava!
Happy Friday, Jordan, & thanks for placing Acevedo’s “Rat Ode” back on the radar. For many of us who teach, it’s these odes that keep us alive, finding beauty and hope in the forgotten populations that many prefer to be kept under the rocks. “You committee cleans roads, ditches” (love it). Can’t help but her the consonance with dishes in the back of my head. A great way to spur the weekend.
(As a 25-Year) Ode
bcrandall
She called me roadkill
& flirted with my hippy locks
behind her husband’s back…
the first to name a
need for my exorcism –
(the devil is just there,
with those fingernails
scratching my
back).
I play opossum rather well,
hissing, curling up in a ball…
opining my mouth, drooling.
Those were my fitter days…
11 to 15 mile jaunts
on park roads
where sometimes
they’d shoot porch guns
to warn me,
Stay away.
& I’ll never forget
the mourning they hit her
joeys – the tire tracks…
the flattened funeral procession
stopping traffic, the pavement streaked
with screams for everyone to hear.
A haunting howl
A raspy growl
Those teeth.
All the evidence
we needed
of her
love.
Bryan, I am pulling a variety of emotions from your ode this morning–sadness, humor and I keep re-reading then pull out different elements. Thank you for sharing today.
Opossums visit us about once a year; I am always fascinated by these wanderers. Oh my, your poem’s rendering of the death of those joeys filled me with sadness.
Bryan–this is beautifully disturbing. That last stanza provides an amazing twist to the saga. Thank you–I think. 🙂
Bryan, you encompass so many emotions within these lines. That twist at the end with the auditory imagery makes my heart break for that opossum. The lines “the flattened funeral procession” is haunting.
Awwwwww, now I’m howling too…..animals do feel, and I am feeling for these flattened joeys. What a sad and tormenting time.
Bryan. I was riveted. Honest, scout’s honor, swear on whatever grave.I was a leeeetle worried about where those devil-nails on your back would go… then, then, then…ok. So, one day I was driving down these long and winding country roads when a big ol’ possum went lumbering across the street in front of me. First thought: Ugh, a possum. I stopped to let it cross when I noticed 3-4 knobbled babies riding on its back. What a mixture of emotions…and your poem, well…it’s shattered me. Dang it.
Jordan, thank you for the link to Elizabeth’s ode to rat! It was brilliant! And your mentor poem was brilliant as well with my favorite line
My granddaughter is petrified of snakes – to an extreme, which sometimes gets in the way of her enjoying the great outdoors! I dedicate this ode to her.
Ode to Snake
To my friend
the snake
I adore how you
insist on
keeping my garden
vole free
and as you slither
about the grass
you seamlessly rid
the world of
tick-laden
creatures
I’m jealous of
your ability to shed
your tight skin
several times a year
leaving you
smooth and supple
Soaking up the
solar rays
sustains you on
chilly days
so you can
speedily slink
amidst the grass
using your spiked
tongue to smell
your way to supper
swallowing your meal
whole without a
mother’s scorn to chew
To my friend
the snake
a solitary creature
you reign supreme to me
yet still when I see you
I scream
falling upon your
deaf ears..
maybe I need
to sneak away
to Antarctica!
“I’m jealous of
your ability to shed
your tight skin
several times a year
leaving you
smooth and supple”
yes, this is a fascinating characteristic – we used to find snakeskins on the field of one of the grade schools I went to. Was always shocked to see them!
Christine, you’ve highlighted some lovely snake features and fully enjoyed the lines:
mother’s scorn to chew
Thank you for sharing today.
I hope not to encounter a snake when I am with my granddaughters- I want to invoke their beauty and importance, as you have here…but I fear I will scream.
I, too, am deathly afraid of snakes. Even the good ones. I saw a ribbon snake in my butterfly garden. I left him alone and didn’t scream. Progress! There are so many wonderful senses in your poem.
Christine–
The entire poem is wonderful and visual. But these lines are so original. I had never thought of it that way…
“swallowing your meal
whole without a
mother’s scorn to chew”
Christine, thank you for such vivid imagery for this snake! The whole third stanza really plays with the repetition of “s” which brings in that hiss of the snake. Thank you for writing today!
Hi Jordan, loved the prompt today. Everything is worthy of a poem. I’ve seen Acevedo’s poem pop up before but never listened/read. It’s amazing. The description in yours is excellently gross 😀
An Ode to Dust
Oh, dust, how do you magically reappear seconds after I vacuum and pledge the house up and down? Always making me think I can inhale freely for a while but you recollect so well.
You are not a spotless surface of marble, glass, or cherry wood. You are the extra frosting on top of those otherwise lifeless hard tables, floors, countertops, spectacularly ash.
Layers of you transfer to my soles and grace my freshly pedicured feet with a coat of gray, your signature color.
When the sunlight filters into the room, I see particles of you floating gracefully, and for a few seconds you make me feel lighter than air, then ACHOO!
So divine that we turn into you when we die. So divine that you are both alive and not alive, and who else can say that, dust bunny?
Who would think dust would make a great topic for a poem? Bravo! And thanks for reminding me that we turn to dust when we die.
Angie, your last line is a great way to highlight dust as a divine part or our lives…then to end with the witty bunny bit–haha, good one! Thank you for sharing.
Angie–This line is so wonderful!
“You are the extra frosting on top of those otherwise lifeless hard tables, floors, countertops, spectacularly ash”
I can now view the dust from my many animals and slovenly housekeeping as decoration! Thank you so very much!
Angie, I love the image of “the extra frosting on top.” What a typically delicious substance to compare dust to! Your end is very fitting for the life cycle of dust and it reminds us how dust is the only permanent object really. Thank you for writing today!
Angie, you have me laughing over here – –
So divine that we turn into you when we die. So divine that you are both alive and not alive, and who else can say that, dust bunny?
What a neat way to think of ourselves 200 or so years from now……the fingers I see now, typing, will be………dust bunnies!!! Ha!
Angie, I just cleaned my house today (waiting for some company tomorrow, so did it extra carefully). If I walk around one more time, I will probably ask, just like you do: “Oh, dust, how do you magically reappear seconds after I vacuum and pledge the house up and down?”
I love the ending of your poem:
“So divine that we turn into you when we die. So divine that you are both alive and not alive, and who else can say that, dust bunny?”
Jordan,
Thanks for hosting and providing two such strong mentor texts. I will never see a vulture or a rat in the same way.
Ode to the June Bug
You jump and scare
my friends and me away
pushing our games
of hide and seek
away from the light
You claim the sidewalk
and the whole street
under the street light
in front of our house
soon you’ll overtake the block
You make us shriek
when one of us
fails to avoid stepping on you
and we hear that awful
ccccruuuunch
You startle me awake
slamming against the screen
on my window
You are summer
That makes me feel happy – “you are summer” and we have to take the good with the bad.
We don’t see too many June bugs here where I live but when I do I am always fascinated with their iridescence and spiky scales. You make me wonder what life would be like if they were more prominent
I forgot about these, Sharon. June bugs and Japanese beetles that used to plague summers in upstate NY. Let’s reverse that…accentuate the positive…used to glamorize summers in upstate NY. I remember how they, too, “played hide and seek.” Great line.
I love the auditory quality of the “ccccruuuunch” and that last line can let the reader take the good, the bad, or everything in between. Thank you for writing today!
Ode to An Ice Cube
An ice cube fell, escaped really
From the tray
It slide and slopped on the wood floor
Leaving a trail much like a slug
I was in a mood
That mood when little things
Seem like big things
We’re all cold cubes, formed from different trays
Transparent at our core
Slowly melting and sliding
I had the time that day
So I watched it melt
Until it became a puddle in the sun
Overall, it was a good day
Be nice to ice cubes
Your second stanza is so great. I can definitely understand “in a mood” and love how you moved to a philosophical tone.
what a great ending!
The ice-cube as a metaphor to life has me dripping in thought this morning.
Phew!
I have never thought of them that way, but that is the experience, isn’t it, especially when one is in a mood. Lovely poem!
Rachel–
What a comforting poem. But I most loved this:
“I had the time that day
So I watched it melt
Until it became a puddle in the sun
Overall, it was a good day
Be nice to ice cubes”
I think it lowered my blood pressure…
…leaving a trail much like a slug…..oh, what lovely imagery! I can see the trail!
Jordan, I adore this prompt! Acevedo’s ode to the rat is…radiant. Never imagined having those words in such close proximity…and your vulture steals my heart. This bird DOES deserve so much praise. Buzzards are cleaner than people think, they mate for life, and they grieve when a mate dies…soundlessly, because they don’t have the vocal mechanism that other birds have. -Can you tell I’ve written of them before??
Today I am doing my best to write of this other creature…so help me, I can only be but so flowery. Here goes… and thank you for this fantastically fun inspiration!
Stuff of Legend:
Ode to the Cockroach
You are wondrous,
oh Creature,
from the tip of your two
incredibly long antennae
to the end of your ponderous
red-brown exoskeleton
(all in all, the equivalent
length and breadth
of my cellphone
I daresay)
scuttling with nary a care
throughout our school
—indeed, you and your
colony are the most dedicated
collaborators of us all
ever-present
In the halls, on the walls
sly sleekness
of sudden appearing
so masterful
that no apparition
or magician
is in your league.
You are the stuff of legend,
oh Creature.
Please forgive
my disturbing
your precious darkness
with my unfortunate light
as I open the book cabinet
to find you taking your fill
of book-bindings
(this I can appreciate, as
I devour words in the way
that you devour glue)…
Oh creature
for all your humble station
you are so wondrously made
that the back set of your six
hook-adorned legs
are scientists’ inspiration
for robotic legs
—God knows, you can move
as fast as a miracle
as fast as lightning
(oh the irony)
but not quite as fast as me
when children are screaming
and scattering
when you materialize in their
midst
—no, you cannot outrun me,
oh Cockroach,
even as I skid to a stop
raising one foot high
intent on obliteration
even as one child says
“Wait! It’s NATURE!!”
for it is too late…
my foot smashes down
with a resounding crrrrunch…
Please forgive me,
oh Creature,
for telling the children
“It’s only nature if it’s outside”
even as one child peers at
your smush-edness
to remark:
“Hey, it looks
just like a Moon Pie.”
Alas.
Perhaps I should have said
you are the marshmallow
stuffing of legend.
Fran,
🤣🤣”’Hey, it looks
just like a Moon Pie.’”
That’s hilarious. Cockroach is a good choice. They were everywhere in Arizona. The thing is, they evolve so quickly that they soon develop an immunity to pesticides.
Ohh I was going to do the cockroach but just couldn’t bring myself to write. You do it well. I’m surprised it didn’t take a few whacks to kill 🤣
I feel like I love my “precious darkness.” Great line
Fran, recently presented in Texas and when I tell you we could saddle the cockroaches in that state, I’m not lying. All the adages of “HUGE” in Texas are true. They’d give Godzilla a run for his money.
LOVE.
my disturbing
your precious darkness
with my unfortunate light
as I open the book cabinet
to find you taking your fill
of book-bindings
I love the contrast of precious with darkness. This is a very relatable image, as I’ve had some of these surprise visitors on my bookshelves. What a great poem!
Oh my! I hate cockroaches. You build the tension as you describe their antics and then raise your foot for a crunch. Kudos to you for killing one more. Love the humor in the child’s remark.
Fran–
Having lived in an apartment in back of an old grocery store, in college, I am all too well acquainted with roaches. We reached the point of horrified acceptance. Your poem glorifies them in all their dreadful persistence! I loved the apology as you scrunched…
Please forgive me,
oh Creature,
for telling the children
“It’s only nature if it’s outside”
And then there is the Moon Pie–I laughed out loud!!
Fran, the Moon Pie is quite descriptive! Yes, the guts are a bit marshmallowy, come to think of it. I think that of all the lines I love, these are the ones I love most:
Please forgive
my disturbing
your precious darkness
with my unfortunate light
as I open the book cabinet
to find you taking your fill
of book-bindings
(this I can appreciate, as
I devour words in the way
that you devour glue)…
Yes, I believe you have found the one redeeming part of a cockroach. They do devour books. I see you and the cockroach racing and am so glad to know you are faster! I’m sure the children are, too.
Jordan, thank you for hosting us today with this delightful invitation to think of those who never get praise in the spotlight. I enjoyed hearing Acevedo recite her poem and proclaim, once again, that poets hold their pens. We don’t need permission. Thank you for this! I am a bird lover of all wings – it was a buzzard my own mother sent us at her funeral to assure us she was fine with her burial plot after I’d prayed for a bird with majestic wings to make an appearance. So cheers to all the vultures and others who are under celebrated today!
Ode to a Mosquito
O, Mosquito
whose proboscis
I well know
whose kiss
makes most
skin glow, an
inflamed inferno
oozing volcano
across the globe
in every zone
your overt
poke
ain’t no joke
no matter how
remote
in glacial smoke
or tropical oaks
you and
your droves
of blood-bloated
homies
drone over
innocent
uncloaked
folks
so to you,
my chosen
poker,
I wholly
devote
this
toast of an
ode
now go!
Yes, go away! Lol. This line is great:
“your droves
of blood-bloated
homies
drone over
innocent
uncloaked
folks”
Frankly, good for you. I genuinely hate mosquitos – but that’s only because I end up with 30 bites within a matter of seconds.
Yo, Kim
Love this morning verse to one of the only creatures I can kill with only a limited bit of shame.
makes most
skin glow, an
inflamed inferno
oozing volcano
What great use of sound and imagery! Beautiful lines to such a hated creature!
Love the rhyme twisted throughout. We have mosquitoes almost year round in the south. I don’t react too much to them. Maybe some built up immunity, but my grandchildren are prime bait for the “inflamed inferno”.
Kim — The mosquito was the first thing that came to mind, when I read the prompt…I LOATHE those little buggers. Your poem is JUST RIGHT…and the ending perfect! Fun! Susie
Royal Fortress Meadow, your rhyme is sublime! That poke AIN’T no joke…my youngest was allergic and welted up like Job with his boils. I am itching even as I read. YES, now that they’ve been toasted so marvelously here – let them GO!
Kim, I love how sang this ode to a mosquito today! The rhyming is snappy, and adds so much dynamics. but the ending is the most entertaining:
so to you,
my chosen
poker,
I wholly
devote
this
toast of an
ode
now go!
I am smiling, but these evil creatures get me too; I swell and itch for days.
“now go!” Yes, scat! Oh, Kim, you are truly selling it with these words,
If a mosquito needs a publicist, you are the one. Very clever poem!
Kim, what a wonderful /ō/ Ode to our not-such-a-friend the mosquito. I love all the rhymes and near rhymes. I think you had fun with this one! “droves of blood-bloated homies” Wow! I think the last two words are a good ending!
Oh, Ant, you vex me,
the way you crawl
your way through our
wires and circuits
to climb our wall
Ant, I admire you,
your tenacity,
the way you work
tirelessly for
the colony
Oh, Ant, you annoy me,
for if it was only
you, and not all
of you, it might even
be okay
but day after day,
there you are, Ant,
a little smudge
with legs, moving
endlessly
(Ant season started early this year in our house)
I love “Ant Season” – it certainly is
“Ant, I admire you,
your tenacity,
the way you work
tirelessly for
the colony”
I agree. I love watching ants carry things double their size and move fast too. I think they are cool but not when they bite!
Oh, the unfortunate consistency of ants! Your feelings are definitely made clear by the beginning of each stanza. “Oh, Ant, you vex me” is a wonderfully engaging introduction. Thank you for writing today!
Oh, No! I love the rhythm of “Oh, Ant, you annoy me,” and will likely be singing this all day long…and for all who love rhythm, you might want to check out Kevin’s debut on The Write Time with Rob Rokicki.
“a little smudge…endlessly.” Watching ants is fascinating to me. Did you know if you draw a circle around an ant in chalk, they can’t get out? We discovered this by accident while chalking poems.
oooooh, Jordan, thank you! I’m so glad you came to Virginia. There are some Marsh Kings here for sure! And, thank goodness for the services they provide us humans. I love your ode to a creature that kinda creeps me out.
Your prompt is so good I wrote a poem that ended up being too political and personal to share in this public space. But, I tell ya…I feel great! Thanks for that.
Thank you for writing! I am still glad to hear the prompt moved you. I live on the borders of the Great Dismal Swamp, so had to pay homage to these stately birds I see every day!