Our Host

Anna J. Small Roseboro, a wife, mother, and National Board-Certified Teacher, has over four decades of experience in public, and private schools and colleges in five states. She has served as director of summer programs and chair of her English department, and mentors early career educators and facilitates leadership institutes for those teaching middle school through college students, and as a mentor with the National Board for Professional Teaching Standards.

Her poems, some written during VERSELOVE appear in EXPERIENCE POEMS AND PICTURES: Poetry that Paints/Pictures that Speak (2019). Anna advocates for poetry writing as a tool for assessment and invites teachers to reading and writing about poetry in her latest co-authored publication with Susan Steffel, EMPOWERING LEARNERS: Teaching Different Genres to Diverse Student Bodies (2023), and in an earlier textbook, PLANNING WITH PURPOSE: A Handbook for New College Teachers (2021) co-authored with Claudia A. Marschall. Rowman and Littlefield published both books. Anna now is working with a team of OPEN WRITE members to publish a textbook for using poetry writing as an assessment tool in content areas across the curricula.

Inspiration

The rhyme or axiom, “April showers bring May flowers” originates from a short poem written by Thomas Tusser in 1557. Michelle Yastremsky claims this concept was taken from Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. Chaucer’s version:

Original:
“Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;”

Translation:
“When in April the sweet showers fall
That pierce March’s drought to the root and all
And bathed every vein in liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;”

Process

Think metaphorically, about a teary time or not so nice incident that preceded or evolved into a cheery time in your life, or in that of an historical or fictional character.
Choose a formal or informal poetic structure, one with or without rhyme or rhythm, but in a style that reflects obvious figurative language word choices, chosen for their sound or suggestive power.
In sixteen lines or fewer, describe the time or incident that could be an affirmation that “Yes, April showers do bring May flowers”.
Some writers today may decide to show the opposite. That’s because good times may have come first, so when loss came, the tears came. After May flowers, one may experienced April showers.

Anna’s Poem

May Flowers, Then April Showers?

Spending last days with parent or friend
Watching life slipping away at the end
One wonders which came first
The tears that from our eyes do burst
Or the good times we shared before the bend.

Growing up with my dear friend, “Cookie”
Hearing smooth cats shout out, “Lookie, Lookie”.
Greeny days of jealousy and glorious days of glee.

Then, when she was found shot dead in her yard
It was really hard! I wondered what would happen to me.

Would I rejoice that she was gone
Now that she’d no longer be the one
That guys chose to be their special date?
Would I recall more those times I did hate?
Or would I remember those days of glee
When she sweetly consoled and comforted me?

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.

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Don Wall

It was a heatwave, I was sitting by the sun
And it goes by the same name. . .known to everyone
Or maybe it’s just another thing. . .falling from the sky
And maybe. . .that’s the reason why… i tell you I love you
Just before you …start to cry.

You are so beautiful
I could write a song. . .if i could sing
But I could be wrong, yeah maybe this time
I could be wrong.

Here come’s the rain… again
But it won’t rain for too long
And maybe . . .maybe the rain ….is just another thing–
Falling from the sky

But it’s not the same thing
As falling from the sky. . .like an airplane
Flying fast.. .and flying high. . .
Just like me
Just like you.

You are so beautiful
I could write a song. . .if i could sing
But I could be wrong
Yeah, maybe this time
I could be wrong.

Saba T.

To cross the bridge, you must arrive at it first.
At the end of year six
Of a four year degree,
The campus walls began to close in on me.
At the end of year two
Of failed forays into the gig economy,
Other’s happiness began to grate on me.
But, as I once told a friend,
Who later rolled her eyes and repeated it to me
It is when we feel the most stuck,
The most resistance from our luck,
That even a single push can mean a breakthrough.

weverard1

Anna, I posted really quickly yesterday, but I just read your poem, and it was just beautiful — a touching tribute to your friendship. I loved this part, especially:

“Growing up with my dear friend, “Cookie”
Hearing smooth cats shout out, “Lookie, Lookie”.
Greeny days of jealousy and glorious days of glee.”

I so get this, those mixed feelings we had for friends in our youth!
And I was so sorry to read the next stanza. I’ll bet she would have loved this poem. <3

Emily Cohn

I loved your description of your relationship with your friend in all its complexity. For some
reason, April showers remind me of that overwhelming feeling of being a rookie teacher and just limping over the finish line like of a school year.

Crying in the shower in April

leaning against the wall
water splattering my perfectly still self
staring nowhere, i see all my first year teacher
energy drained
a hot, self-pitying tear rolls down my cheek
wondering how 8 more weeks
(plus how many snow days?!) seem
eternal

then years pass
tricks and skills learned to get a class
of the roughest pubescent beings
to hang on to the end of 8th grade spring.
structure and play to survive til the bell rings
blooming where planted
but still… leaning against that shower wall
tired, but this time no tears will fall!

weverard1

Emily, I really loved this! Boy, do I remember those days, and I almost took my poem in this direction, too. That imagery of you, crying in the shower was so real. And I loved the “flowery” imagery in Stanza 2. Great poem!

Anna J. Roseboro

Emily, your poem, and others written here in Open Write about the challenges and emotions of survival then thriving early years teaching makes me wonder if it time to publish a collection to be shared in COE settings.
Newbies need to know they, too, can make it when they stay the course, thriving in the rain and blooming where planted.

Denise Krebs

What a great idea, Anna! I think a book of poetry for beginning teachers could help them stay the course when they find themselves in the weeds, as Wendy wrote.

Denise Krebs

Emily, you have not forgotten that first year. This first stanza has really captured those tears and that fear of not even making it. I love the power in the second stanza! Yes!

Kim

Hi Anna. Your prompt sat in the back of my mind all day–especially as I was teaching first graders about William Carlos Williams and The Red Wheelbarrow. So as i wrote with my students today, I found myself thinking about rain and flowers. Here’s my 16 word poem:

spring wildflowers pop
yellow

when the sun
shines

after many rainy
days

my heart sings
joyfully

If you want a glimpse at my students’ 16 word poetry, you can find it on my blog:
https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2024/04/23/small-poems-npm24-day-23/



Mo Daley

Kim, your poem is lovely, but I’m sorry- your students’ poems steal the show here. They are remarkable! I want to show them to 8th graders as mentor texts!

Kim Douillard

Hehe! I know that’s so true! I can never resist showing the wonder of first grade poets!

Emily Cohn

Kim, yes! The image of yellow popping out from the rain fits this prompt and makes my heart sing, too!

weverard1

Kim, I loved, loved your kids’ poetry! Please tell them that the donut poem made me hungry and was so beautiful, the baseball glove poem created such a picture in my head, and the “little bits of sky” poem was just awesome! And I loved your imagistic poem!

Anna J. Roseboro

How encouraging, Kim, to know how often you, and others adapt or adopt our prompts, writing WITH. Your students. Thanks for sharing yours and the link to theirs.

Denise Krebs

What a sweet prompt for your first graders! I’m off to read some of their poems now. “spring wildflowers pop / yellow” With yellow on the second line like that it pops even more!

Stacey L. Joy

Hi Anna,
I’m late because Tuesday meetings never seem to end. I enjoyed thinking about your prompt today. I’m glad I chose to focus on how the sadness turned to love as opposed to the other way around. I have not had too many upsets lately and I thank God for that.

I never knew you’d
appear in a stranger’s eyes
or in sunflowers

I never knew you’d 
release your love from heaven
to live in rainbows

When you passed away
you left seeds of forever
for me to watch bloom

©Stacey L. Joy, April 23, 2024

Denise Krebs

Oh, Stacey, this is precious. I wasn’t sure who the “you” was at first, but then the third stanza we know more. I love the “seeds of forever” continuing to bloom in your life.

Leilya Pitre

So beautiful and touching, Stacey! I am so happy that you focus on love. These last two lines are priceless: “you left seeds of forever/ for me to watch bloom.”

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

I concur with Denise and Leilya that your poem emits love for a losses one as you align your writing with the topic of seasons changing and what one can expect in nature and in emotions.
Glad you were able to add to the love that has been oozing from the poems today.

Kim

Oh Stacey–that first line “I never knew you’d appear in a stranger’s eyes or in sunflowers” pulled me in…I was captivated. Sadness turned to love…perfect.

Emily Cohn

Stacey, I love the sense of wonder and almost delight or joy in recognizing messages from a loved one. I really enjoyed “seeds of forever” and “to live in rainbows.” Beautiful.

Kim Johnson

Stacey, this is beautiful and true. So full of hope. You have a lovely way of seeing the world and keeping open eyes, heart, and mind to the blooming. I know who it is without a doubt. Mine comes to me in dreams. And birds. I love that you see yours in the eyes of strangers and sunflowers. Bloom on, they do! They never really leave us.

weverard1

Stacey, loved your series of haiku. Your tone was so peaceful and reflective — the perfect form for expressing these feelings. Your first stanza was especially haunting. Loved this!

Katrina Morrison

Anna, thank you for providing prompt. It helped me put this year in perspective.

Colonoscopy
Summer 2023
“It is not good news.”

The school year begins
With partial colectomy.
Keep an eye on things.

No sign of cancer.
April 2024
It is the very best news.

Denise Krebs

Oh, yes, Katrina, that was a long (almost a year!) of April showers. So glad the news is good now! I love this line; the relief is clear: “It is the very best news.”

Mo Daley

Wow- what a year this has been for you! Your sparse words somehow drive home the seriousness of your topic. I’m so glad you got the very best news!

Stacey L. Joy

Whew! Thankful for the good news!

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Ah, Katrina, the Rainbow after the rain! PTL!!!

Emily Cohn

Katrina, I sense the profound relief and
gratitude in this poem as you walk us through a tough year. Thanks for sharing these May flowers with us!

weverard1

Katrina,
Congratulations!! That IS the very best news. The way you arranged this series of haiku was so gripping. This was beautifully expressed (that single quote, on a line by itself!), and I’m so glad that things turned out okay!

Donnetta D Norris

Anna, I love the idea of the prompt, but it has been a doozy of a day. But, I thought about how blessed I am to know Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. However, with it comes the enemy’s schemes and attacks.

April showers
bring May flowers.
An apple a day
keeps the doctor away.
“In this world
you will have trouble.
But take heart.
I have overcome the world.” ~ Jesus Christ (John 16:33)

Denise Krebs

Donnetta, I love the verse as a warning and a promise in your poem.

Mo Daley

Yes! Exactly what Denise said!

Stacey L. Joy

You ain’t nevah lied! That’s what my sisterfriends and I say almost daily! It seems that we are in enemy territory but thank God, we are victorious and the battle is not ours!

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Donnetta, thanks for adding to the poems that note the similarity in religious faith and the promise of gladness after sadness, May flowers coming after the rains of April, or at least a rainbow. Those who may not have a firm faith in a specific religious practice, still can see the work of Our Creator and have hope of positive change.

weverard1

Donnetta, love this beautiful testament to your faith. Keep heart! It’s almost the end of the school year. 🙂

Ona

Anna – what a great way to stop and think about April Showers bringing May Flowers. I hadn’t thought about The Canterbury Tales for… I don’t know… decades? I may not have really followed the directions here (this may be starting to become a pattern, I’m sorry…) but your prompt really inspired me think back on something I hadn’t thought about for awhile!

Chaucer Says…

I’m searching for a seed
of a story
that shows flowers after showers
like Chaucer says.
Instead, I’m back in eleventh grade
Memorizing The Canterbury Tales
Recording my performance on cassette 
in a closet off the classroom. 

Is this a real memory? It must be.
For decades I’ve randomly 
thought, “Whan that Aprill…” and wondered 
Does everyone else remember the rest but me?

So I get it, Chaucer
with the showers then the flowers
I just don’t think you knew
how long the rain can last.

Denise Krebs

Oh, Ona, I think you did your own sweet twist on the prompt. Wow. Those last two lines really nail this prompt for a lot of people in the world. Sometimes May is a long time coming. Beautiful poem. I loved reading your history with Chaucer.

Stacey L. Joy

This is so good! My coworker recenty asked me if I knew some lines from Canterbury Tales as he recited them. He’s 20 years younger than I am and I laughed because he knew the lines like I know it’s lunch time! Man, how did he remember? I told him I took a course at UCLA and did not remember ANYTHING! End of story. 🤣

The ending of your poem is perfect! Love how you conversed with Chaucer.

Mo Daley

Your last stanza is wonderful, Ona. You’ve managed to marry Chaucer’s world with our modern world. And FYI, my husband, who is a total science guy, sometimes bursts out in “Whan that April with his showres soote The droughte of March hath perced to the roote.”

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Ona, your memory of memorizing lines from literature you read as a class is encouraging those who have had this as a requirement in their courses and for those currently teaching and wondering if it’s worth it.

The answer is “YES”! Memorizing good writing provides a model for future writing.
When I taught ROMEO AND JULIET to ninth graders, we memorized the Prologue by repeating the lines each day before working on the new scenes for the day. By the end of our time exploring this drama, on the final assessment, writing the “Prologue” was EXTRA CREDIT. Most students could do it :-). But, when this same group became seniors, just for fun, I asked at a senior class meeting who could say the prologue. A large enough number of them presented a choral presentation – with gestures.

Ona, if one of your teachers views our site, they will be delighted to know you recall that experience … with pleasure.

Thanks for sharing it.

weverard1

Ona, I loved this and your take on Anna’s prompt! Love how you set the scene so vividly in that classroom. And the twist at the end was poignant. <3

Barb Edler

Anna, thank you for hosting today. I tried to capture the spirit of your prompt. Your poem’s provocative questions have me pondering the things we choose to remember, and Cookie’s shocking death was particularly shocking.

F It!

tomorrow is another day,
as Scarlett would say,
but today I want nothing more
than to pull the shades,
lie low beneath the silent gray,
let the thunder roar, the cold
slice through my heart’s
weathered boards−
tomorrow I’ll rise,
to brave a May day,
search for your lost spirit
in floral bouquets
but today is today, and today
I’m pulling the shades

Barb Edler
23 April 2024

Glenda Funk

Barb,
This is a superb companion poem to your blog today. I love the title, the allusion to that iconic southern belle, and am with you in the desire to pull the shades. Still, your strength and determination will triumph as it does in the image of May flowers, We do, however, have the final vestiges of April ahead of us, and she’ll probably blow cold.

Leilya Pitre

Barb, sometimes pulling the shades is exactly what we need. I am struck by the pain the speaker (you) carries and the strength to “rise” and welcome “a May day” in search of “lost spirit in floral bouquets.” Beautiful word choices creating a powerful imagery!

Katrina Morrison

Barb, your beautiful poem is my yesterday. Some days we just want and need to “lie low beneath the silent gray.”

Denise Krebs

Barb, wow. Some days are like this aren’t they, even in Iowa. (Speaking of which, did you hear about the cicada emergence this year?) Go ahead and pull those shades with the gray, thunder, cold.

These lines are breaking my heart:

search for your lost spirit

in floral bouquets

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Barb, we just had a tornado warning, the sirens were going. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get back on line to respond and comment of the fine poetry written in response to this prompt! PTL, we were spared. But, I definitely, can feel your pain. Glad you were able to share, anyway.

weverard1

Barb, I’m coming to this after reading all of the pieces above — is it the full moon? Seems like everyone is having a day, a week, a year. I loved the onomatopoeia in your poem and the hopeful shift in the middle. Here’s to better days ahead. <3

weverard1

Anna, thanks so much for the thought-provoking prompt! I had to let this idea percolate for a while. But I finally decided to write about moving to northern NY to teach — not my favorite two years of teaching, but they led me to meet my husband, Jim. 🙂

Growing pains:  those early
teaching years in the weeds.
Stuck in barren northern land,
roots taken up when I moved
to this no-man’s-land.
Youth intruded on life:
sticky situations, stuck.
Doubts needling me, 
I dared to branch out,
and found another who had planted roots there.
Cross-pollination of our lives, our dreams
led to budding love
as the seed grew:
Heartwood, hardwood was
cushioned with rings over time,
and unexpected patterns emerged,
fruitful.

What a lovely reflection of the seasons of being a teacher. I am not sure if I ever got out of the weeds, but I do get the “roots taken up,” which is a beautiful phrase of consonants of s, t, p. And I see your unique journey here in the “sticky situations stuck” and the “dare to branch out” (congrats). And that line is the flower of it all in the fruitful life the emerged. Precious.

Sarah

Barb Edler

Wendy, wow, such a beautiful poem. You’ve really captured Anna’s prompt with this one. I love how you show your sense of loss/strangeness in this “barren northern land” but by the time you get to the end the “budding love” growing in “Unexpected patterns” is truly beautiful. I really like that you ended with the word fruitful. Gorgeous poem!

Scott M

Wendy, I love this extended metaphor: “in the weeds,” “barren,” “roots,” “sticky situations,” “needling,” “branch,” “planted roots,”….and now I’m just copying out your poem, lol. So well crafted! (And I love love “Heartwood, hardwood”!)

Leilya Pitre

Wendy, your diction is filled with nature and its growth along with your personal, professional, and familial (“branch out”) growth leading to “unexpected patterns emerged/ fruitful.” Such a gorgeous poem!

Denise Krebs

Wendy, this is great. I love the play on words in “Heartwood, hardwood was
cushioned with rings over time,” And two kinds of rings, too. I’m so glad you met Jim through those two years of teaching “in the weeds” Such a good image for those first years.

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

What a clever poet you are! How well you employed the extended metaphor of nature as it reflects the relationship(s) you experienced. And we’re delighted to see that the May flowers were not just blossoming, but fruit emerged, too.

Thanks for sharing.

Mo Daley

So many poor years
spur on fortitude, desire,
loving memories

M M

Thank you Mo for sharing your poem! It feels all the sweeter for the emotions it carries within its short three lines.

Yes, “spur on fortitude” and the choice to see the “poor years” with “loving memories.” May flowers right there.

Sarah

Barb Edler

I appreciate the dichotomy within your poem, Mo. Poor years does require fortitude.

Susan O

You are so right, Mo. So many years do bring on fortitude. The memories of my husband are in may head constantly saying “if you can’t do it right, then don’t do it!” or “Put your ass into it!”

Denise Krebs

Mo, beautiful. I like how you show the positives of even the poor years. Especially “loving memories” which is delightfully unexpected there. Really nice.

Leilya Pitre

 Hi, Anna! Thank you for hosting today and reminding about Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. I like your poem in the memory of your best childhood friend. I know that you will forever cherish “those days of glee / When she sweetly consoled and comforted me?” Such a tender poem!
While I read the prompt early this morning, when I came home a couple hours ago, I didn’t know what kind of a memory I would turn into a poem today. I went to the back yard to check out our plants, and my husband asked: “Have you seen the first bloom on our magnolia tree?” I knew that was my poem. I wrote it in a form of a sevenling.

Winds of Change

Hit by Ida’s relentless gusts,
A three-legged oak succumbed, its lifeless form
Across the neighbor’s field sprawled.

A timid sapling of Southern magnolia,
Too slight to fill the shoes of her elder brother,
Nestled gently in his stead.

The first bloom brightened this morning—nature restores

Maureen Y Ingram

Nestled gently in his stead.” Oh how I love this image, Leilya. To receive shelter from the felled tree – nature teaches us big lessons. Beautiful sevenling!

Ashley

Leilya,

I love how your poem connects us to nature and paints the image of the oak who is remembered by the sapling. It is a powerful look at how nature continues and moves forward.

Barb Edler

Leilya, gorgeous poem! I love your title and how you open your poem with the damage caused by Ida and how nature has restored itself by the end. I really appreciated the description “A three-legged oak”. We’ve lost some mature trees due to derechos in the past couple of years. It’s been hard to see these huge, gorgeous trees felled by the wind. Your poem resonated for me. Thank you!

Leilya Pitre

Thank you, Barb! We lost a huge oak that was actually the three oaks ingrown together. After we cleaned up the roots, we planted a magnolia in its place hoping it will take on and bring us some joy.

Glenda Funk

Leilya,
Im so glad your magnolia tree is blooming in your yard and in your poem. She has strength. As Shakespeare said in A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

Leilya Pitre

Here is the beauty!

1000004418.jpg
Glenda Funk

Gorgeous! 🥰

Denise Krebs

Ah, so special! And beautiful. I’m glad this sweet thing is filling in for where Ida took out the big oak.

Denise Krebs

I love “timid sapling” and that whole second stanza is just masterfully woven. I’m so glad she bloomed brightly this morning.

Stacey L. Joy

Ahhh, this is a true testament of how nature can show us the beauty after the disaster. Love this so much.

Glenda Funk

Anna,
Thank you for hosting today and for sharing part of Chaucer’s prologue to The Canterbury Tales. This brings back memories of teaching the prologue and several of the tales. That’s quite the shift in your poem’s last verse. I hope it’s the days of being comforted and consoled you remember most. This has been a hard month, so I decided to feature a line of poetry I’ve thought about and shared often this April. Also, my poem is inspired by Victoria Chang’s “Obit.”

April Obit

April is the cruelest month.
—T.S.Eliot The Wasteland

s/he died thirty deaths
each beginning with a rising 
all ending in a falling—
this month promised to
quench our thirsts and 
resurrect dormant dirt
like Lazarus as though
poet words alone can
resuscitate the corpses
scattered in the boneyard 
of lost imaginations or this
phoneme-filled cemetery.
i used to think i’d remember 
the words, but i now know 
grief is a living thing i read. 

Glenda Funk
4-23-24

Canva photo is from NOLA around 2014.

IMG_4025.jpeg
Maureen Y Ingram

That last line, “grief is a living thing i read” – oh my. I am thinking about your eyes, and feeling such sadness. Such a poignant poem, with that quote from T.S. Eliot to kick it off. I have read this several times, and am awed by your word play.

Leilya Pitre

I read and reread your poem several times, Glenda, and I sense desperation in every line. As much as we want to believe in the power of words, they are not enough by themselves. The final line is a reminder to all of us that grief comes and goes randomly, and it may hit when we least expect it. It also made me think about your yesterday’s poem ending with “The Earth is a living thing.” Thank you!

Barb Edler

Magnificent poem, Glenda. Wow, I am in awe of all the striking phrases and images you’ve created through your vivid word choices and allusions. April has been cruel, and that feeling resonates through every line. I am struck by the dormant dirt, the boneyard, and lost imaginations. Your poem radiates grief! I am particularly moved by your opening lines and “each beginning with a rising/all ending in a falling”. I may be interpreting this incorrectly, but to me it feels like there’s hope each rising, but then that hope gets crushed before the end of the day. Thinking there will be a shift, a change, a move towards hope and then to have that slip away again and again is the epitome of cruelty. Your last line is haunting! Kudos, Glenda! Kudos!

Dave Wooley

Glenda, I was trying to highlight my favorite phrase in your poem to copy-paste into my comment and I ended up highlighting the whole poem. Your phrasing and imagery in this is stunning. I think the piece that most blows me away is “quench our thirsts and 
resurrect dormant dirt like Lazarus”. Wow!

Denise Krebs

Glenda, wow. This is a poem that shows the cruelty of this month for you. I’m in awe of the images you can conjure with your word choice, form, photo and more. These images are so strong:

resuscitate the corpses

scattered in the boneyard 

of lost imaginations

and

grief is a living thing I read

Ashley

A warrior cry erupts
From the depths of the soul
like lightning striking desert sand
A blood curdling scream
It feels like acid rain
burning with every drop
a hand reaching out
“cup!”
The toddler is assuaged
terrible tow tantrum over
the storm rolls over

Maureen Y Ingram

Oh my, I lived these! The warrior cry from these wee beings. Love the alliteration of “terrible tow tantrum over” …and the parallel to a storm rolling over. Well done!

Leilya Pitre

Ashley, I didn’t get these with my kids, but saw some of my nephew’s. I am glad these “terrible tow tantrums” get over quickly. I like how built up the tension untill “cup!” and then brought the toddler into the picture. Thank you for sharing!

Denise Krebs

Ashley, so funny! “warrior cry” “blood curdling scream” feeling like “acid rain” “burning” I was so surprised when I got to the toddler. Oh, my goodness! Yes, we’ve seen those tantrums.

Stacey L. Joy

Ashley! What an unexpected turn! Those days were such a struggle. 🤣

I thought it was a dead bunny found
in the shadow of dawn’s lawn that
he was stopping me from seeing, but
what came was the call in the minutes
I slept just before. A police officer
at the door uniformed, hatted knocked
with news, an umbrella darkening the
door from moon’s curve. Why did he
not cry? A stranger dies in a midnight
roundabout. Muted signs lulling closed
eyes as if demanding his time come
there away from here. Instead, I watch
him gather his lunch pale, roll recycling
to the edge of the drive. I almost hear
a spasm of a cry, but it is the hawk
watching us from above. She is an
observant creature, and she is telling
us April showers have begun.

Ashley

Sarah,

Your poem builds up the scene and then slowly releases the tension at the end with the observant hawk. The imagery is powerful, and the emotions are clear.

Maureen Y Ingram

This is heartbreaking. What a stunning thing to discover, “A stranger dies in a midnight/roundabout.” Your enjambment echoes the surprise of the story behind the poem, leaving me holding my breath as I read. That hawk, watching from above! I have a chill down my neck.

Leilya Pitre

Sarah, I remember the bunny on your lawn. What follows next seems like a scene from a nightmare, the one that even in your dream feels unreal, and you just need to wake up. Waking up to such a news in life is just horrible. I keep thinking about “he” in your poem? First, I think about the police officer, but then the speaker watches “him gather his lunch pale,” so it is someone related to the speaker. The final line is so sad within the context of the narration. A beautiful poem, which somewhat connects to Glenda’s final line that “grief is a living thing.”

Glenda Funk

Sarah,
I don’t know how to say how beautiful and touching your poem is, how personal it is, I hear a quiet grief reminiscent of the last lines of “The Man with the Broken Fingers” by Carl Sandburg. I recently read “Grief is for People,” so I find myself thinking about how we grieve and what we grieve for. I think it’s the images of living animals, the rabbit and hawk unaware of human emotions in this moment you describe, that reminds me of life going on, and that deepens the profound sadness.

Barb Edler

Sarah, your poem is incredibly moving. I love your first line and how you share this slice of reality that is both dark and haunting. The way your words capture the sounds, the actions, the police officer’s arrival and news, is all so visceral. I feel like I’m viewing a black and white film full of tension. I absolutely loved “I almost hear/a spasm of a cry”. Your use of enjambment adds a sharpness to each line and intensifies the poem’s emotions. Brilliant and compelling poem! I loved every line!

Denise Krebs

Wow, Sarah, you are good at drawing us into the story of your poems. The characters, the confusion and pain are palpable. I appreciate the hawk at the end, but in light of today’s prompt, the hawk’s message seems ominous.

Stacey L. Joy

Sarah,
Whew! I know this is the kind of memory that lasts forever. Thank you for sharing it with us. I feel so much sadness for everyone who was present, the poor stranger, everyone.

Maureen Ingram

Thank you for this prompt, Anna. Your rhymes surprise with this devastating scene, a friend being fatally shot. Very sad and thought-provoking poem.

It Feels Sisyphean

first comes dream
then comes unite 
now comes love
promise
hurt 
retreat
ponder 
grow apart 
or together
over and over and over again 
showers to flowers to 
swelter withers dormancy possibility 
and here comes the rain again
around and around and around we go
inspiration leads to 
work 
struggle 
worn
rest
hope 
courage
revolution
reap
bask

c
o
m
p
l
a
c
e
n
c
e
 
to
shockingly 
hard 
work 
once 
again

Denise Krebs

Maureen, what a powerful metaphor for marriage. So much truth here…

promise

hurt 

retreat

ponder 

grow apart 

or together

over and over and over again 

It is not easy, April shooters and May flowers over and over and over again. Love is never dull.

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Maureen, your response to reading my poem shows how sensitive you are to being torn between how we really feel and how we think we SHOULD feel
Your poem reflects a similar sense of mood swings, some that take place in moments, others that last months and years.
Thanks for sharing both your response and your writing.

Oh, what a cool use of white space here to draw my eyes down slowly like a drop or drip of rain of complacence. That was some lovely basking indeed.

Sarah

Leilya Pitre

Maureen, I love what you did here. The progression of the married life is projected in the poem’s form and structure. These lines are so relevant to me: “showers to flowers to / swelter withers dormancy possibility /and here comes the rain again.” So true!

Barb Edler

Maureen, wow, I am gasping with the power of your poem and how you’ve formatted your poem to show the way a life and relationship can struggle, separate, and grow stronger. Placing the word complacence as you do, truly shows how damaging that attitude/behavior can be to a relationship. Your words also capture movement which I felt was especially striking in “courage/revolution, reap/ bask”. Your poem is wise, full of truth of relationships and how they can conquer or fail.

Glenda Funk

Maureen,
That title is a zinger, and the way you stretch that list of words down the page elongates the struggle. And then giving us one letter per line for “complacent” forces us to educate each sound and draw each one out as we literally step through that word climbing to the poem’s denouement Work hard. Rest. Work harder. That’s how life feels sometimes. Love the poem and it’s structure

Stacey L. Joy

Wow! I don’t know how you thought of this but it’s a gift! Anyone who is in a long-term relationship knows this all too well. Outstanding! Keep pushing!

Denise Krebs

Anna, thank you for this interesting prompt. It’s big and broad, and I want to think more about it. Today is a travel day for me, and while on the last segment, I finished the book Louder than Hunger by John Schu. I decided to write about the main character Jake. (I highly recommend this book!)

Louder than Hunger

Jake longed to be
Invisible. He heeded
the Voice shouting hate

FOOD’S THE ENEMY
His demons screeched their deceit
But Frieden listened

Step by step, sometimes
Back, finally crossed the bridge
Rejected the troll

Embraced poetry
Musicals, healing, light, hope
Grandma’s strength still here

John speaks up and out
To youth and all: Find your voice
Find your people Peace

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Deb, you demonstrate, here, one of the benefits of this online group. We’re invited to just write! You have noticed how many of us acknowledge what your character, Jake, experiences when he

Embraced poetry
Musicals, healing, light, hope

And also what many of have expressed in poems about our ancestors,

Grandma’s strength still here

Thanks for squeezing in time to share today,

Glenda Funk

Denise,
I picked up an arc of John’s book at NCTE and received a hardcover copy via the publisher as part of the poetry committee I’m on. I can tell from your last three lines you know the book is autobiographical, and I’m glad you’re celebrating it and the power of art to heal at its center. I also like Jarett Lerner’s book A Work in Progress, which also leverages art to heal the central character, but my favorite MG book in this genre is Starfish by Lisa Phipps, which, like the other two, is a verse novel. Final thought: Your poem honors the two-step dance structure in the book with the lines “Step by step, sometimes / Back, finally crossed the bridge / Rejected the troll.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Denise, this book is on my TBB (to be bought) list. Glad to hear that you are recommending it. I find your capitalization choices intriguing, almost as if you can read them as a separate poem. And the bridge crossing and troll rejecting is equally compelling.

Oh, I have been following Schu’s career for some time. I think he was a librarian in Illinois before he became more famous with Donalyn Miller’s work and then writing his own books. So wonderful.

This poem is a lovely way to process or synthesize the plot and character development in a tender way that doesn’t take a way from the beauty of writing for some analytic move. You show this in “Step by step, sometimes” in the alliteration and then toward “Embraced poetry/Musicals.” Sounds like Jack would feel loved in our community here.

Sarah

Barb Edler

Denise, I love that you chose to focus on a character from the book you’re reading. I will try my best to read it. Your title immediately captured my attention, and I thought your bolding the words FOOD’S THE ENEMY was particularly striking. Loved your ending. Yes, find your people and peace. Powerful poem!

Leilya Pitre

Denise, I love using novels to inspire poetry in my classes. This allows to extend analysis of the characters in a creative, engaging, yet thoughtful way. I haven’t read this novel yet, but I am drawn to a character, who “Embraced poetry / Musicals, healing, light, hope.” Further, “Grandma’s strength still here” hints to solid generational ties, values, and resilience. Thank you for sharing the book and the poem!

Dave Wooley

Anna, I appreciate the prompt to think about joy and pain (sunshine and rain?) and the alignment with this new Spring season. Which could only mean one thing, of course–SPORTS!!! As an avid sports fan who roots for some chronically unsuccessful teams, this season brings with it a renewed hope (when said teams are actually competing for something) that this could be the year that we celebrate that ethereal joy of experiencing a championship for our city! I know it’s not that serious, but somehow, it is.

This is the year! (April’s Refrain)

How do you spell misery?
J-E-T-S Jets! Jets! Jets!
How do you spell despair?
M-E-T-S Let’s go Mets!
What’s New Yorkian for ennui?
Rooting for those teams from MSG!

Every April, as the grass greens
and the last coughs of March’s anger
spew a frosty chill, the 4 seasons of
New York fandom converge. A season of hope.
An alignment of expectations that defies logic,
confounds historical precedent, makes grown men
giddy entertaining the improbable–crowds Rachel
Maddow and Joy Reid from the TV, inciting the side-eye
of my impatiently logical partner
(quietly rooting for losses)–
as I sit transfixed following pucks and balls,
hits and misses, tragedies and triumphs,
chasing 1969–the season of 3 New York championships,
the white whale of my fandom.
the 1 in 62,000 chance that this, this year, is the year!

Until the harsh and inevitable reality of May
settles in that NEXT year
is definitely going to be the year…

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Dave, although, ostensibly, you are writing about SPORTS, your poem also echoes the wishes of most school teachers this time of year,

Until the harsh and inevitable reality of May
settles in that NEXT year
is definitely going to be the year…

Here’s to a successful year for our teachers and your teams—whichever sport’s team you decide is yours this year!

Mo Daley

Dave, I love the line, “An alignment of expectations that defies logic.” I’m not much a sports fan, but I am surrounded by them in my daily life. You nailed it in this poem!

Glenda Funk

Dave,
I’m commenting late so don’t know if you’ll see this. I’d love to share it w/ a couple of Mets fans and my brother, a die-hard Cardinals fan, like me. (We were raised right.) You do know a NL team had to replace the Cubs, right? The thing about baseball fans, as you know, they always believe in next year. Great poem.

Susan O

Roommate

And now you’re here.
No more feeling lonely
no more quiet, only
my empty heart now filled 
with tales you’ve sown
over dinner
then a tv show. A winner!
Certainly not quiet or alone.

And now you’re here.
My doubts hang around.
Privacy lost. Will I frown?
Wish there was solitude?
But the worry is gone
when you enter the room. 
Spent is the gloom.
Smashed! Sunk by hugs at dawn.

Glenda Funk

Susan,
Your title intrigues me and adds to the mystery of the “you” in your poem, which the repetition of “And now you’re here” reinforces. There’s a ghostly quality to the poem, and I’m wondering if the speaker is referring to memories being present or a real person. Lots to think about, which is my favorite kind of poem. I like being perplexed.

Susan O

Glenda, The poem refers to both. My departed husband who is with me all the time and my sister (living) who has now moved in with me.

Katrina Morrison

Susan, you leave us readers room to help form the narrative here. We wonder who the “you” is. Regardless, I like the companionable spirit in lines like, “No more feeling lonely” and “But the worry is gone/when you enter the room.”

M M

Yes, April’s been pouring
a hurricane on my candle.
A torrential downpour
endeavors to snuff out any light.

March was an earthquake
shaking my faith.
Closed doors and closed hearts
made April find the candle already flickering.

After fires and floods
new growth in nature occurs.
Ecosystems open
and settlers move in.

So, this disaster is clearing space
for the beautiful blossoms–
of hope, life, and love–
that May will be prepared to enjoy.

Susan O

I like how you go through the months, MM, and share the wisdom of nature’s way to prepare for the renewal. “Disaster is clearing space.”

Mo Daley

MM, your metaphors are terrific- so visual. Your stanzas about new growth remind me of many of the forest preserves near me. They’ve been doing controlled burns lately, making way for new growth.

Stacey L. Joy

MM,
I love the message of rebirth and renewal! These lines are worth saving for those tough times we all encounter:

So, this disaster is clearing space

for the beautiful blossoms–

Beautiful!

Amber

Anna, thank you for this prompt idea. I have had many moments where the showers bring flowers. I will want to tackle this prompt again for different topics. Today I write about being there in the midst of my son’s frustration and his April showers. I definitely think there is something deeper happening than what is on the surface, but we are learning how to work through that. This poem is very, very raw…I’m not sure it’s quite organized or worded to make total sense, yet. But, it was good to get it out.

April Showers Bring May Flowers
By Amber Harrison

There was the punching and the grunting,
trying again and again to get his hoverboard working.
It wouldn’t go straight. 
Splashed through the puddle – 
he thought that was 
part of “all terrain” –
fried the motherboard.

Take a break.
Walk away.

What’s the deal?
Then the tears.
Flooding
into every ditch; caution signs:
            THIS SUCKS
              PROCEED 
                  WITH 
              CAUTION

The showers have ceased.
The pathways are now dry but full of debris.

He is looking hard for those May flowers. 
Maybe they aren’t there. 
Maybe the May flowers are hiding 
to teach it’s okay to not be okay. 

So we stand there together to just be.

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Amber, thanks so much for sharing with us the frustration of these moments. As you say, sometimes getting it said helps us get going again. It is my prayer that you continue to accompany one another as you “stand there together” as the hiding May flowers soon reveal themselves. After all, April showers bring May flowers. 🙂 I am confident that both of you will see this, and during an OPEN WRITE to come, you’ll share that poem. 🙂 Take care.

Fran Haley

Amber, this was an intriguing poem, very compelling to read for the palpable frustration we can all relate to (even without a fried motherboard – I loved that phrase). May flowers hiding as a lesson that it’s okay to not be okay-! In time, we will be, just as the flowers eventually return. The standing together “just to be” speaks of understandings without words, and of priorities… “together”.

Scott M

April 23rd

1564 saw the birth of one 
bouncy baby bard born
to John and Mary
Shakespeare,
baptized on April 26th 
so his date of birth
was assumed to
be April 23rd, which, 
of course, was the actual
confirmed same day
fifty-two years later 
when he did, in fact, shuffle
off this mortal coil to visit 
Death, that undiscovered
country, and all this means, 
of course, is that his last day 
on this goodly frame, the earth, 
was, in deed, without question,
the World’s Worst Birthday ever.

_______________________________________________________________

Anna, thank you for your mentor poem and your prompt today!  I really appreciated the choice of focus: April Showers or May Flowers.  My offering today speaks to both (perhaps) in terms of “yay, birthday” to “boo, death day,” lol.

Glenda Funk

Scott,
Love the alliteration in “bouncy baby bard born” and the allusion, “shuffle off this mortal coil.” Shakespeare was seemingly obsessed with death–the tragedies–and life–the comedies–and I wonder given the plague and short life expectancy how he prepared himself for the inevitable. “All that lives must die.” I think about that line often.

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

How cleverly you slipped in the historical information about why no one is really sure which is Willie’s BD, but they do know is DD, so we have to celebrate ALL month to make sure with get the right day.

Clever of you to include words “shuffle off this mortal coil” into your own poem. We’ve been borrowing from our brother poet, for centuries.

What fun!

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Scott, cheers to this group finding so many showers to flowers poems today. I can’t think of any one better (or worse) than coming to be to dying. I had no idea his birthday wasn’t a for sure. Glad to learn from you too. We both channeled the Bard today.

Margaret Simon

Anna,
What a moving poem about such a tragedy. Thanks for the prompt today. I found myself back with the birds. I downloaded the Merlin app and can’t get enough of identifying bird songs.

Listen to the birds
vibrations of instruments
a wren violin
trumpet crow
cardinal flute
Symphony of dawn
Sincerity of sound
Saying “All is well”

Glenda Funk

Margaret,

“a wren violin” is a lovely, musical line in this bird chorus poem playing in my mind. Perfect for a spring day w/ a little warmth here in the PNW.

Susan O

I have been very move by the birds this year. Yes, the “vibrations of instruments” are so varied. I think we have more birds this year because of all the rain we have had – making more flowers.

Leilya Pitre

What a marvelous collection of instruments in this nature’s symphony, Margaret! Love each one of them.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Margaret, a sure sign of spring for me is when the birds start to sing – it’s something I look forward to. An orchestra is a beautiful way to envision them (wren violin might be my favorite but trumpet suits a crow so well), along with their “all is well” phrasing. I love to think that chickadees are saying “cheeseburger.”

Katrina Morrison

Margaret, I love your “symphony of dawn” and am grateful to hear it here too.

Stacey L. Joy

Margaret,
I love how you have made me enjoy the birds (with my phobia) and their bird songs! All is well. 💖

Susan

I love how you took the current season and an adage about it to inspire us in a related direction. There is soooo much potential to the idea of good to bad and bad to good. I attended the funeral of my best friend’s father yesterday and it brought back the scene of my own dad’s death . . .
I tapped into a Golden Shovel from the psalm I wanted incorporated into his Mass when the priest said, “He left strict instructions for there to be nothing in the Mass referencing the Shepherd.” Still today, I’m left wondering why, but his death ended up being so beautiful, so I focus on that.

Death into Life

The Shepherd as an image for our Lord is a powerful one for
me, leaving me baffled as to why Dad left directions–
O, the only real instructions for his funeral–for there to be no reference to the Shepherd
God only knows why?!  I had to trust 
beyond this hospital bed in this dungy nursing home.
My heart totally believes there is more.  He 
wants to stay; he is scared to leave us.  Fear of what is waiting 
beyond the light keeps his rattled breathing going.
My hands clasp his.  I pray for Mary and the angels to allay his
fears and usher him to Paradise.
From across the room, a light . . . he opens his eyes and reaches for it.
Death is being defeated;  his body collapses and his breath ceases.
Into his Savior’s arms, he runs.  It is beautiful.  Eternal 
life and rest are granted and the perpetual light shines as he turns from Jesus to our mom.

~Susan Ahlbrand
23 April 2024

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

What a lovely tribute, Susan, of the love you have for your Dad, and the Shepherd you sense is caring for your dad now. It is gratifying to experience ways that our faiths, whatever the denomination, sustains us through times like the one you mention in your notes and the one you describe in your poem.
Thanks for sharing, and take comfort in the Shepherd you alluded to in this reflective poem.

Fran Haley

Susan, the line from the hymn is one of great faith, submission, release, and rejoicing – the perfect backdrop for the scene you share here. Your prayers for his fears to be relieved, and then his reaching for the light – profoundly beautiful. Holy. The images impart such peace. Golden indeed!

Katherine Lindsey

Losing your pink

The color gone, and moved away
fading with every gentle sway.
I lost my pink and you gained yours
I wondered who I was before
Lost in the task of maintaining life
exhaustion moved in like a jagged knife
twisting and pulling every single day
more and more I loved watching you play.
Growing up slowly every day,
who cares that my pink faded away
Motherhood is shining through
the missing pink, the shades of blue
you turned me into a colorful soul
with all the colors of the rainbow.

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Katherine, Your poem demonstrates ways that different colors can symbolize both sad and glad days in our lives. So glad to sense that the loss has turned you into a “colorful soul/with all the colors of the rainbow.” After all, many are taught there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. So, seek the gold as you enjoy and reflect on the other colors.

WOWilkinson

The rain is falling
on your bowed head
and I don’t know how
to be an umbrella
or a poncho.

But I can offer
a dry shirt
when the storm
has passed. I can offer
to stand in the rain
with you. I can offer
a silly joke and share
​a smile.

brcrandall

Love the options offered in this. That first stanza is BOOM.

The rain is falling

on your bowed head

and I don’t know how

to be an umbrella

or a poncho.

Explosive in all the good ways.

Scott M

I love this! It so reminds me of Brene Brown’s discussion of empathy, how people try to “silver line” everything, try to “be an umbrella / or a poncho” instead of just “being,” just being there for the person, to “offer / a dry shirt” or just “to stand in the rain / with [them].” I just love this. Thanks for writing and sharing!

Glenda Funk

There is a whole genre of song, I think, offering shelter from the storms of life. Some are secular. Others are faith-based. Your poem acknowledging what we can and can do for others has me thinking about this and wanting to make a list, maybe even write a blog post about them. I’m grateful for the inspiration, and like Bryan said, I love all the options for serving:”offer / a dry shirt…/ offer to stand in the rain…/ offer a silly joke and share a smile.” We do what we can.

Susan O

This is such a token to friendship and love. One gives what they have for comfort and a dry shirt is the best when the storm has passed.

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Willinson, your poem reflects the value of a good friend … being there in the rain, and saving the dry shirt for later. Thanks for the lovely poem and the challenge to be that kind of friend.

M M

I love your poem! It felt healing for me today as I watch a loved one struggle without being able to do anything to help them.
I also really like where you put your line breaks 🙂

Sharon Roy

Anna,

Thank you for hosting and prompting us to reflect on hard and joyous times. I thought of the deaths of students, friends and family members and also of family members recovery. I feel like I need more time to write those poems so I settled into something else that fits your prompt. Still feels a bit rough but I want to get it in before middle school assembly which is about to start.

Class of 2020

A year of cancellations
is it prom if it’s on zoom?
we couldn’t bring our whole school to your graduation
couldn’t give you one last star walk
couldn’t laugh at the disarray of your senior prank
couldn’t hug you when you did or didn’t get into that one hoped-for college

but we gathered, masked, in our school parking lot
we stood six feet apart
so happy to see each other
as you families paraded you
in beribboned and shoe polished pick up trucks
we cheered and cheered for each of you

WOWilkinson

Thanks for sharing. Those were hard, weird times, but I’m glad you could find a few joyful moments.

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Sharon, don’t be surprised if in the years to come, right here on OPENWRITE or during VERSELOVE, one of the students writes about the support their class got from folks like you. It’s sorta goes with WOWilkerson’s poem about BEING THERE!

brcrandall

Thanks, Anna for the reminder that this time of year is to repurpose memories of winter coats and news cycles toward meaning and a better tomorrow.

Watching life slip away at the end

has been on my mind, too. It has more meaning as we get older.

With an Eye on the Blooms
(for Yolie)
b.r.crandall

This is nothing new for America,
this need to embrace the rain in hope for the flowers
as pesticides are poured by patriots, their colonial squalor…
What we do is enough, humanity empowers.

I’m reading Douglass, again – his wisdom showers
This is nothing new for America
building paths from those spaces where a child cowers
leading them forward as readers, thinkers, authors…

(many have seen death and crossed lethal borders
worked with their hands: believers, dreamers, growers)
This is nothing new for America
as hypocrisy’s moral lowers & lowers…

Once again, we face ourselves in the mirrors,
looking past historical haters, those shouters,
to embrace more of the rain in hope for the flowers.
This is nothing new for America

Margaret Simon

The repeated line is so painfully true. I’ve been reading Kristen Hannah’s book The Women that takes place during the Vietnam War. How have we learned anything since then? Nothing new. There is always hope for the flowers.

Amber

Bry, I really enjoy the movement of the repeated line through each stanza…I find the power in that line being present through all of time, just as it is present and moving through all the stanzas.

Glenda Funk

Bryan,
Your repeated line, “This is nothing new for America” reminded me of something Truman said, “There is nothing new in the world except the history you do not know,” so while I love the hope in “this need to embrace the rain in hope for the flowers,” I’m keenly aware of the literal and metaphoric “pesticides…poured by patriots” and “their colonial squalor.” And in the face of all we have not learned, of all we have unlearned, we move on to “where a child cowers / leading them forward as readers, thinkers, authors…” This is the May renewal I see in Anna’s prompt. Of course, I recall Hamlet’s admonition to Gertrude in thinking about the need to “face ourselves in the mirrors.” Only then can we bloom and help the children bloom, too. T really like this poem, Bryan, and continue reading it and thinking about the struggle within each of us to keep our eyes on the blooms.

Kim Johnson

Bryan, I’m hearing a little Hamilton music in here, and it makes me smile, that last stanza especially. The pesticides – – where I take off my hat and step up onto the soapbox. I can’t even start…..I’ll get going and won’t hush and it’s already 6:20 p.m. and I’d need at least 8 hours to talk about the irony and the poison of pesticides, literal and metaphorical. Those believers, dreamers, growers…..oh, what a line, what a line, what a LINE! You deliver a message with a punchy tune. I’m serious…..play Hamilton and read this to the tune – – you just started a new smash Broadway musical. Introduction complete. Now for Act 1, Scene 1:

Fran Haley

It’s a haunting refrain, Bryan…the poem, a wonderful and stark play on the theme, most of all “facing ourselves in the mirrors.” Every so often I reread Douglass, too, and am awed anew by him, every time. An eye on the blooms…the title whsipers hope for better tomorrows, if…if if if…we are willing to see.

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Thanks, BR. It’s this line that gives us hope

to embrace more of the rain in hope for the flowers.

We can deal with today ‘ cause we believe in tomorrow.

Joanne Emery

Oh I love this prompt. My mind is filled with flowers!

April Remembers

The flower does not forget

How to blossom.

One green moment

Small and slow.

The moon remembers

To rise above the mountain.

A long, lone breath

Spinning in the silence.

April unfolds to May,

My hand opens to yours,

Your hand embraces mine.

Together we walk towards

Interminable spring.

Margaret Simon

I love the entrance into this poem, “The flower does not forget how to blossom…” Such a calming, peaceful poem of love.

Amber

Oh my! Joanne, this is such a lovely reminder. I especially like the metaphor found in the first four lines. Life situations are just like that small and slow and green! What a beautiful way to capture that.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Joanne, this entire poem feels like an unfolding of spring. Your use of actions (spinning, embracing, blossoming) is gentle and almost fantastical. And there is hope in those last two lines, hope that we will find spring and that it will remain with us.

Fran Haley

So beautiful, Joanne – every elegant line! This is a prompt meant for you!

Scott M

“April unfolds to May, / My hand opens to yours, / Your hand embraces mine. / Together we walk towards / Interminable spring,” This is lovely, Joanne!

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

This is precioius, Joanne

The flower does not forget

when it got snowed on after it blossomed last year! It still unfolds the next Spring!

Hallelujah!

M M

I love the personification of nature that you use in this poem with the flowers not forgetting and the moon remembering. Thank you for sharing!

Barb Edler

Joanne, I love your poem’s title and the personification throughout this. The close focused movement of your poem is mesmerizing. i was completely captured by the lines:
“One green moment
Small and slow.
The moon remembers
To rise above the mountain.
A long, lone breath
Spinning in the silence.”

Then the action of hands embracing and walking together towards an interminable spring adds a certain thrilling chill to the end. Truly stunning poem full of quiet beauty and emotion.

Kim Johnson

Anna, thank you for this prompt rooted in the blooms of classical literature. You have welcomed us onto the wagon on the way to the Tabard Inn today as we all share our April Showers/May Flowers verses. I love your idea of fun in this prompt that sets thinking in motion. Thank you for investing in us as writers today. I’m so sorry about the loss of your friend Cookie. That line of her death was unexpected and real. I’m thinking the showers are the misfortunes of so many rescue pets who are the flowers of homes with open arms and open hearts. Mine especially. I just wish they could talk… but grateful they can’t.

What Makes them Rescues

their misfortune makes
them rescues ~
the kind 
with serious baggage
where cell phone dings
and the 
smell of heat 
bring flattened-ear,
tucked-tail trembling,
the kind that
gaze into your
eyes, wishing
they could pour out
their story but
certain you
already know

Gayle Sands

Okay, Kim–I’m just going to use your poem, my fellow rescuer!

Christine Baldiga

“wishing they could pour out their story…” and sometimes we’d rather not know! Thank you for these words

Leilya Pitre

Oh, Kim! I see their eyes too, full of hope and seeking love. This lines are making my heart ache: ”wishing
they could pour out
their story but
certain you
already know”
These dogs are so lucky to have you!

brcrandall

Phew, Kim. I’m reading this over and over and over again. It’s tight and I connect. I often rescue, but the rescued rescue me.

wishing

they could pour out

their story but

certain you

already know

This connects to my humanity, my fatherhood, and all the ways The Great Whatever has offered life to me.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Kim, I have loved our rescue dogs as much if not more than all of our other dogs. They come to us with arms and hearts open, ready for all the love we have to share. The description from tucked-tail trembling to eyes ready to pour out their story wrenches at me. It is in that certainty of our already knowing that we can offer the love they need. Beautiful tribute to rescues!

Fran Haley

Kim, the image of these precious creatures responding with such fear is stark and haunting…I can see the earnest dog-eyes, pleading. My son’s dog Henry was a rescue. He is one of the lovingest dogs I have ever seen…he cannot get enough. Exactly what misfortunes befell him at the outset of his life, we do not know. His heart is bigger than his baggage but we still have to reassure him. Showers of suffering to flowers of homes, blooming long…indeed.

Barb Edler

My heart hurts for these poor dogs when you write “tucked-tail trembling”. Wow, your dog-loving heart shines through this compassionate poem. I love how you show your compassion and understanding in those last few lines. Beautiful and compelling poem!

Fran Haley

Anna, I had to memorize and recite the opening lines of Chaucer’s Prologue for an English class when I was a senior in high school…I can still do it. Strange, what sticks with us through life! There’s such a mixture of emotions in your poem…the rawness of grief, the sharp mirror of self-reflection, yet, memories of glee, consolation, comfort. Your particular invitation today comes at a perfect moment for me – I didn’t write yesterday, as I was traveling with my husband to meet his sister and carry flowers to their dad’s grave on the fiftieth anniversary of his death. Their mother and stepfather are buried in the same cemetery, as is my own father. I played with your theme a little – thank you so much for this timely and poignant offering.

April Flowers May Shower

Yesterday
we drove three hours

to meet his sister
to carry flowers

red, white, and blue carnations
symbolizing distinction
for the master sergeant

their Daddy

fifty years to the day
since he passed away

when they were asleep
in their beds

ages twelve and nine

Pink peonies
symbolizing love and honor
for their mother
who onward carried
who saw them married
before she took
another

A sprig of daffodil
symbolizing new beginnings
and joy
for jolly Pa-Pa, whom
the grandchildren
adored 

who loved us all
as if we were
his own

At the last,
a blue hydrangea
for my dad

not for 
sadness or regret, 
Daddy

not anymore

just a vessel
of forgiveness

and blessing

We leave
our flowers

bright colors
waving back at us
like love
long showered 
upon us

Walking away
over the soft
new-green earth
 
his sister wipes
her eyes

while my husband
grips my hand
in a tight squeeze
against the chilly
April breeze

Christine Baldiga

I love how the varied and colored flowers and the hands that held them carried the meaning through this verse. Love this!

Kim Johnson

Fran, I missed you yesterday. This poem shares so much thoughtfulness and meaning of each flower, a match of the messages you send to Heaven of the knowing, the remembrance, the gratitude….and forgiveness. That difficult thing, forgiveness. My sister in law placed Snowballs in peace lilies at their wedding a few weeks back. Will it surprise you to know that in a midday random text, she sent me a photo of a lone wedding hydrangea, just out of the blue? I hope my children, my grandchildren, their children are as thoughtful as you all are when I am gone. How many of those in Heaven can say that their descendants visited them on red letter days with flowers in hand, tears still welling and hands still squeezing the squeeze of need of others? Beautiful, simply beautiful!

brcrandall

These lines trickled down the page, like a raindrop on a window. Reading through them, the delivery, is simply stunning…for each a flower…a life for a life. The honor. I’m most intrigued by,

when they were asleep

in their beds

ages twelve and nine

always seeing lost through the lens of children. The cycles. The buds not quite budding yet.

Margaret Simon

I love how you’ve taken us from sadness to a sense of peace. Everything will be OK.

Amber

Oh, Fran! The imagery here…I can smell it, I can feel it. I didn’t want it to end. What a lovely way to capture this moment of grief that still pulls in the sprinkle of May flowers.

Dave Wooley

Fran, there’s so much to love about this poem–the imagery, the progression through the narrative. I really love how you used short lines and breaks to pace the poem. And that last stanza is beautiful.

Christine Baldiga

Anna, thank you for your inspiration this morning. I love your honesty and vulnerability in your words.
I took your lead and drafted a verse of my May flowers before April showers. No title yet

An ordinary night
Like all others
But this night the light
was extinguished

leaving me in darkness
alone and fearful
a life of sadness
and only memories

memories of summer breeze
autumn trees
winter skis
and springtime flees

times to explore
a trip to the shore
yardside chore
a mystery tour

these are the thoughts
that keep me sane
recollections of times
‘til we are together again

Gayle Sands

Christine–this first stanza–“An ordinary night/Like all others/But this night the light/was extinguished” was such a poignant beginning to a poem full of true and loving memories. Thank you.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Christina, I feel the rhythm of your poem, like the seasons and the movement from ordinary through the past and into the hope of the beyond. I’m especially drawn to the rhyme with breeze and flees as it carries that movement forward. Your writing brings to mind the importance of those around us, the small moments that make up a life.

Kim Johnson

Christine, I hear your gratitude and your despair too, all in one voice. Memories can be the things with feathers, but they can also be the things with sharp points for piercing hearts, out of nowhere, spinning right toward us with no warning. Your poem is uniquely you, but so shared – – we feel seen, heard, understood when we who have lost loved ones read these words. Thank you, friend.

Fran Haley

Christine, the sense of loss in those opening stanzas is real and deep…your rhyming of the memories that sustain you is lovely; it creates an ethereal quality. The longing throughout, culminating in hope, “’til we are together again,” is so beautiful, a testimony to the power of real love, which never dies.

Jennifer Guyor-Jowett

Anna, I love the idea of this prompt, the turning away from sad to happy. It just started raining when I opened Ethical ELA this morning. to last only for an hour or so – a beautiful day is ahead, as our words are meant to find too. You got me thinking about what other phrases might contain months, which led me to Shakespeare’s Macbeth (of course!) who originated the phrase I’ve used as a golden shovel here (I’ve placed the beginning of his quote at the end to better fit our prompt).

April Showers: Come What Come May

Time is a brutal beast
And god of our domain.
The tears may fall as
Hour gives way to hour,
Runs its mighty course
Through disaster, despair.
The flood of early thoughts,
Roughest at the onset, as
Day springs forth from dawn, whispering
Come, follow me
What you once thought to be
May yet give rise to thee

Gayle Sands

Jennifer! Wow! This is beautiful. And the last stanza gives the hope we all need when we are in the midst of coping with those roughest thoughts in the onset of troubles.

Kim Johnson

Jennifer, the quest is so strong here in the dawn’s whisper to follow, to seek what might give rise. I love a quest in a poem – – looking for something, the possibility, the open ended wonder of discovery. It is here, friend, and those first two lines – – – no words were ever truer.

Christine Baldiga

Jennifer, I need to carry these words for a while “what you once thought to be may yet give rise to thee.” Powerful words of dashed expectation yet hope moving forward. Thank you for sharing today!

Susan

Roughest at the onset,

if we could always keep this in mind as we encounter things in life! Beautifully written!

Fran Haley

Stunningly beautiful and gleaming with truth, Jennifer, like a well-polished shield. Time IS a brutal beast, god of our domain, and we suffer loss…yet (how I love this) there’s hope for “what you once thought to be” – one’s heart literally rises, reading that last golden line!

Denise Krebs

Jennifer, you have carried on the Shakespearean tone here. “Runs its mighty course / Through disaster, despair. The flood of early thoughts…” I’m just reading and rereading this beautiful language.

Linda Mitchell

oooooh, Anna. What a prompt. You got me writing this morning. Thank you! I don’t have a proper poem…or even part of one to share. But, I got some words and that is something.

The story of your poem is bittersweet. The joy of a friend, but the jealousy too…and then the loss. There’s a richness of emotion. I love that the name of the friend is Cookie…such a real, fun kid nickname.

Kevin

Deep prompt this morning, Anna! I think I veered away a bit.
Kevin

I dreamed I went
wandering again through
the small park’s sunken
Japanese garden

mending broken flowers

but once a petal falls,
it’s gone, and Spring
still seemed so far away,
as was she

Jennifer Guyor-Jowett

Kevin, you’ve brought us into that dream state with you. My favorite line: mending broken flowers, though the idea of Spring still so far away is running side by side.

Gayle Sands

Kevin–this poem IS a dream–it moves silently through the garden. I can almost see the mist in the paths. My favorite lines– Spring/still seemed so far away,/as was she”. I am glad you veered…

Christine Baldiga

“Once a petal falls, it’s gone” these words carry simplicity and raw emotion. Thank you for sharing these words today Kevin. Your verses amaze and inspire me

brcrandall

Perfect, Kevin. Gorgeous. Fell in love with

the small park’s sunken

Japanese garden

and cascaded down to the end as a broken flower. Stunning. Wonderfully done.