Welcome to the October Open Write. To learn more about the Open Write, click here. To download free resources for your classroom, click here. To craft a poem today, follow along below and write when you are ready in the comment section.
Our Host
Wendy Everard teaches in Central New York. She is mother to two college-age daughters, and she and her husband, Jim, are newly Empty Nesters. She currently teaches AP Language; Creative Writing; Music, Poetry, and Social Change; and Multicultural Literature to Grades 10-12. In her spare time, she loves to read, walk, write, draw, listen to music, create curriculum, and garden.
The Inspiration
The Bop is a poetic form developed by poet Afaa Michael Weaver at a Cave Canem summer retreat.
“Cave Canem is a nonprofit organization, committed to cultivating the artistic and professional growth of Black poets. Founded by artists for artists, Cave Canem fosters community across the diaspora to enrich the field by facilitating a nurturing space in which to learn, experiment, create, and present. Cave Canem develops audiences for Black voices that have worked and are working in the craft of poetry.” See more on them here and here!
The Process
Here are the basic rules for The Bop:
- 3 stanzas
- Each stanza is followed by a refrain
- First stanza is 6 lines long and presents a problem
- Second stanza is 8 lines long and explores or expands the problem
- Third stanza is 6 lines long and either presents a solution or documents the failed attempt to resolve the problem
As always, feel free to follow this prompt as loosely or faithfully as you wish. Or write a poem of your own choosing today, disregarding the prompt entirely!
Wendy’s Poem
A Sure Thing
Chipping away at the bedrock of
our relationship, we bet the house:
It crumbles. The dealer takes all,
and we are left flipping chips , double-
headed coins that, with a thumbflick,
are a sure bet that we’ll fold.
Let the chips fall where they may,
Years have seen us build, watched us
pitch bridges to each other, over
each other. Walk past each other,
knowing what the cards would hold
If we were brave enough to face them –
but, folding into ourselves, we recognize
the bad beat: The odds have been
against us from almost the start.
Let the chips fall where they may.
You always held the edge and
bluffed your way through it all,
watching our house of cards
falter while I prayed that you would
change, upped the ante on my feelings.
Can I cut my losses?
Let the chips fall where they may.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human, and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. For suggestions on how to comment with care. Click here for some sentence stems.
Wendy I love this form and I really loved your poem. The overarching metaphor frames the story so well. Beautiful and haunting.
New Kid
Ain’t nothin’ more out on a limb
than walkin’ into that classroom
for the first time, pass in hand,
middle of the school year, mid-class,
straight outta guidance–lost, tryna act cool,
taking that last seat where don’t nobody wanna sit
You gotta fake it til you make it
Lunchroom buzzin’, smellin’ like tater tots cooked in gym socks,
more seat politics; pull up my hoodie and grab a solo seat
at the table next to the table I woulda been at
before this damn move. Somebody got jokes
but I let it slide, nod and smile,
in my head, he’s on the ground, I smile wider now
and they don’t know what to do–unknowable is a strategy too
Sometimes you gotta fake it til you make it
On time now and I grab a seat, my seat, settle in.
Still haven’t said 2 word, but I see the teacher, deep in wait time,
lookin’ kinda desperate, so I raise a hand and that girl that
looked away before was lookin’ again and this time kinda smiled;
same time, a kid I never seen walks in, pass in hand, teacher asks
if I can show him to the cafeteria–the kid looks at me, I know that look.
Sometimes you gotta fake it til you make it.
Wow, Dave…this captures the scenes so well! It feels so real. I especially love this image…
Dave, I love the language of your poem and how you’ve so adeptly have captured the voice of the “New Kid”. The cafeteria scene to the coming into a classroom of strangers was sharp and I could feel this young person’s emotions so well. I would love to hear you read this poem aloud as the language bee bops right along. I was glad the ending showed a solution, and your refrain was contemporary and played perfectly between the stanzas and at the end. Magnificent poem!
Dave, what a heartwarming poem of getting along and making it. Is it your keen observation that helped you write it? Or is it something you experienced? Either way, the empathy is powerful.
Wendy, thank you for the prompt today. The metaphor of betting and letting the chips fall as they may is powerful. Thank you for sharing your story with us.
Listening to The Message
by Ta-Nehisi Coates this morning
Chapter 4 brings up today’s news
Two-tiers of people in Israel
Palestinians are stateless
Non-citizens in their own country
Never again, Humanity.
When it comes to understanding,
(This poem is surely ultracrepidarian)
I’m not Jewish, I’m not Palestinian,
I’m not Black. But a white woman
knowing that Jim Crow regimes
no matter where, are wrong.
Millennia of hatred has led to a complex
problem, but why elevate it over justice
Never again, Humanity
Buried and burned
Tens of thousands have died
ruthlessly—men, women, and children.
The survivors will surely
grow up to hate their oppressors.
When will justice come?
Never again, Humanity
Denise, ultracrepidarian, perhaps, but “never again” does call us to do the job of witness. Thank you for putting this in words. The horror and the tragedy is truly despairing.
Wow, Denise, your poem is riveting and keenly shows the injustice too many people suffer from. I appreciate your description of the speaker in your second stanza, and the whole last stanza is jaw dropping powerful. Opening with the line “Buried and burned” is visceral and terrifying. Your refrain is absolute perfection. I sure hope justice does come. Thank you for sharing this highly crafted and powerful poem!
Wendy, thank you for your prompt today. I am so impressed with the gambling metaphor and the way you effortlessly use terms that connect to it. I especially enjoyed “bluffed your way through it all,”. There’s a lot of hurt in just that line alone. Today, I wrote a version of this poem based on a different prompt and worked it to fit this form. I struggled with the refrain. Anyway, it was fun to give it a go. Thanks again! Barb
Beeloved
Last night Mother visited.
Her hair like a verdant flowering vine
flowed across the floor, buzzing with bees
that weaved between its gold-brown curls,
reminding me of when she wrapper her hair with TP,
hoping to protect its beehive swirl.
I’ve been waiting forever to be with you.
But these were real bees!
Ready to sting her like MS did.
Paralyzing her right side, muting her voice,
cutting her life in its prime.
Unable to care for me or my siblings−
we cared for her. Feeding her mashed bananas,
listening to recorded books, watching birds fly free
unlike our bed bound lives.
I’ve been waiting forever to be with you.
Last night Mother visited.
Her newly wild hair, buzzing free
from its beehive swirl. She
touched my face,
kissed my tears.
wrapped her honey-sweet hair around me.
I’ve been waiting forever to be with you.
Barb Edler
21 October 2024
Oh, Barb, this is so beautiful. I am sitting here weeping. So full of emotion and gorgeous images.
Ohhhh my goodness, what a treasure you’ve shared with us, Barb! I am visualizing it like a movie. There’s so much to behold in imagining the shift from Mother’s vine of hair in the opening to it being wild at the end. But the refrain is what does it for me and the repetition of Last night Mother visited.
Bee-autiful and brilliant, Barb!
Barb, you crafted a touching poem. That last stanza is heartbreaking. I am, like Susan, crying here rereading the lines:
“She
touched my face,
kissed my tears.
wrapped her honey-sweet hair around me.
I’ve been waiting forever to be with you.”
The refrain work so well with each stanza. Thank you!
Barb, I love these dreams when our mothers visit. This is absolutely stunning the way you have described it, and the refrain hugs my heart tight. I can see the TP covered beehive hairdo, and I love the way you drew such rich imagery of this dream.
Barb, this is so, so sweet. Just touched my heart.
So much here to love. So much love in this poem…
Barb,
I am so moved by your poem. I love how you show both the dream:
and the reality behind (or before) the dream
Your last stanza and refrain are pure love:
Thank you for sharing this brilliant and beautiful poem.
Barb, this really is a gorgeous poem. Your 2nd stanza is crushing and there’s such beauty and sorrow, and a kind of triumph in your 3rd stanza. Thank you for sharing this.
Barb, this is so visual, sweet and sad. I can understand you wanting to be with a mother you loved. I think I would have enjoyed meeting her with her honey sweet hair and beehive swirl. Love the bees too!
oh, Barb, I read your powerful poem last night, but I just realized I hadn’t told you. The images of your mother here are so strong. I love the change between the second and third stanzas. So beautiful and hopeful. I wonder if you’ve ever considered putting all your poems about your mom into a collection.
Writer’s Block Boop
By Mo Daley 10/21/24
What to do when the pen and ink
Refuse to connect?
It’s impossible to string a coherent thought together
While the blank page stares back at me ominously
And I doubt
EVERY SINGLE WORD
Writer’s Block is real!
It’s non-medical, to be sure
But it petrifies me nonetheless
Traumatizing my temporal lobe
Cramping my cerebral cortex
Amplifying my anxiety
Stopping my script
Self-doubt seeps in
I’m focused on my failure
Writer’s Block is real!
Maybe I should meditate
Eliminate environmental distractions
Jot notes in my journal
Scrawl and scribble in my sketchbook
Frantically free write
Just write
Writer’s Block is real!
Mo, I can relate to every line here and I love the way you structure your poem. The opening question sets the stage, and your second stanza is perfect. I feel that sense of paralysis from self-doubt and anxiety. Loved the line “Frantically free write”….sometimes writing does feel frantic especially when you feel like you’ve got to have something written. Fantastic poem bee bop poem with a perfect refrain!
Mo, your poem resonates with me and many others. Just this morning, we had Talia Lakshmi Kolluri to visit our campus for our Common Read event, and she said she doubted every word and feared failure, too, while writing her collection of stories. Do whatever works for you whether it is meditation, scribbling, scrolling, free writing, or walking. I always enjoy reading the final product.
Mo, I could totally relate to these sentiments. Love the alliteration throughout this, which belied your Writer’s Block, lol! Great poem!
Love the protests, perfectly alliterized (is that a word???)
Hi, Wendy! Thank you for hosting today. I haven’t written a bop poem yet, so it’ll be the first. Thank you for the links to learn more about Cave Canem. When I first read your poem this morning, I thought how life-altering some of human choices were. But this decision making is what makes us human. I hope your friend and her husband found the solution to their problem. Love the repeating line “Let the chips fall where they may,” as it works with your message well.
My poem today came to me unexpectedly, but as soon as the thought crossed my mind, it just spilled onto the page. I haven’t quite expected this outcome.
The Mask of Hypocrisy
Hypocrisy looms like shadows,
Words promised in daylight,
Shattered by actions in the dark.
What’s said and what’s done, divided,
Conveniently broken for favor—
The truth abandoned for comfort.
Walking the talk would help.
Open minds proclaimed as wide as skies,
Yet when the first cloud appears, they close tight.
Voices they claim to honor are silenced,
Fingers point, judgments cast—
Only their “right” position allowed.
Behind the curtain of words,
Actions shift like puppets on strings.
Where did that promised openness go?
Walking the talk would help.
Agreement isn’t the end goal,
But honesty and decency are.
Let our promises match our deeds,
And our words not echo hollow.
Belief can’t wear a mask—
It has to breathe freely.
Walking the talk would help.
Leilya, “Hypocrisy looms like shadows”…wow! This line alone speaks directly to my concerns about our current state of politics. I see the fingers pointing and the “right” position emphasis is commanding. Too many people hide behind masks and act like they are for us when they are anything but. I relish honesty that is delivered decently and admire the people who walk the walk so your refrain “Walking the talk would help” spoke volumes for me. Powerful poem! Thank you!
Oh, how I love your poem Leilya! It’s both raw and soft and bold and necessary. Perfect metaphors and advice throughout, but I really held on here:
My ex was such a chronic liar that I have PTSD when dealing with hypocrites or dishonest people. It’s so much easier to breathe freely with belief!
What a great poem, Leilya! The message is fo fantastic and it’s so pertinent in so many settings. I especially love these lines:
Whew, Leilya, I am reading this with so many situations in mind. You had me right here –
What’s said and what’s done, divided,
Conveniently broken for favor—
The truth abandoned for comfort.
Walking the talk would help.
I truly like that honesty and decency, not agreement, are the end goal. That puts this all in perspective. The refrain is a clear winner.
Leilya, timely poem, indeed. These were lovely, thoughtful sentiments!
You’ve nailed this, Leilya! Oh my – “fingers point, judgments cast… where did that promised openness go?” I am amazed by the intolerance of those who preach tolerance the loudest. Oh yes, walking the talk would definitely help. We don’t have to agree, but we can be decent to each other, absolutely. Even courteous. I love this: “Belief can’t wear a mask—It has to breathe freely.” So powerful a poem!
If only…so many truths here. “Belief can’t wear a mask” wow
Writings Wonderings
I never thought I would see the day
when every response would have a short-form word
We miss u
I hope u feel betr
I can’t wait 2 see you
the teacher in me loves their good intentions, and wonders…
Is this our forever normal?
When will students be free to write
without a teacher’s marks and lines
on sweet notes of appreciation
or emails describing why their homework is late
what if each draft is never ready to publish
or what if we publish messy drafts
would students reach their writing potential
or would they write more or maybe less, I wonder…
Is this our forever normal?
What if we celebrated content more
and learned to respond in their language
would they laugh at our attempts
and tell us what we did wrong
or maybe we would agree
IYKYK
©Stacey L. Joy, 10/21/24
Hi, Stacey! I hear you and your question: “Is this our forever normal?” As much as I don’t want to accept it, I think it is. I am almost sure they’d love to correct us every time there is an occasion, but I am okay with it. Your poem reminds me of the novel we will be discussing tomorrow in my methods class, The Last Book in the Universe by. R. Philbrick. It’s a dystopian novel where the skill of writing is almost completely out of use, and only two people can still read and write. I am for celebrating content, words, thoughts, and all kinds of written, verbal. and nonverbal expressions. Thank you for your poem!
Oh, Stacey, SMH! I am laughing out loud right now. It’s amazing how language shifts and you’ve captured a real conundrum in your second stanza about publishing messy drafts, etc. Honestly, I always hoped students would care enough about their writing that they wanted to make it be the best it could be. That’s not easily accomplished. Thoughtful emails and notes that speak from the heart, I do treasure. Now, I have to search for the meaning of IYKYK. Love your poem and humor!
Okay, I looked it up. I know now:)
Yay! Thank goodness Google keeps us cool, right? 😂
HAHAHAH that IYKYK made me laugh at the end, this forever-abbreviated lingo of our times. I am so with you here – we sabotage so much as we strive for perfection in the quest for writing that is subpar to potential. Yes, I think we need to celebrate and embrace more writing that is outside the forever normal.
Stacey, I just loved this rumination on the kids and their language! Such thought-provoking questions, and I agree so much — I often wonder about the standards that we hold them to.
Lol – perfect ending, Stacey! I am one who still spells out every word in a text. Sure, it takes me five times longer, but I can’t help it. Yet I agree about meeting students where they are, i.e., learning to respond in their language. We could cut a deal: I’ll learn yours if you learn mine. Now we might get somewhere! As for forever normal… maybe not.. but I wonder: What’s after this?? Back to runes??
Perfect closing line!!!
Stacey,
Love the way your poem focus on striving to understand students, ever-changing societal norms and the best way for us teachers to reach our students in a meaningful way and encourage writing. Lots to think about.
Your last stanza shows such respect for both your students and for teaching the craft of writing.
Love the playfulness of your last line!
It’s Who You Are, Now
In your forties, it sets in—
The realization that this is who you are going to be,
at least for a while. Career path in place (for good or evil)
The house, the car, the bills. The aging parents.
Children growing, or a life without them.
The reality of your existence.
this is who you are now.
If you’re lucky, it looks a little bit like your dreams.
You have attained some of the bright shiny things
you hoped for, and maybe some of those have not tarnished yet.
But maybe some of them have lost their luster.
Or maybe you lost them along the way,
or they were the wrong things to wish for, anyway. No matter,
this is who you are now.
Your life is filled with shoulds.
Your still-coulds seem harder to imagine,
your would-have-dones have become regrets.
Soldier on, my forties friend.
Your future self will look back on these years
and be proud of you. Carry on, because
this is who you are, now.
GJSands
10/21/24
Gayle, I can whole-heartedly relate to your poem. I was particularly moved by your direct voice and the way you describe the life we meet as we age. “this is who you are, now” spoke volumes. I do think someone is lucky if the life they have at a later stage is the life they’ve dreamed of. Your positivity at the end is solid gold! Thank you!
Yes, Gayle! I hope I loved on my 40-year-old self as much as I should have. My goodness, why don’t the elders sit us all down AT 40 and say it’s all good now, live it up. In ten years, you’ll think you’re still okay, but in 20 you will pray to be okay. I love your poem.
I think I have some regrets about things I should have done sooner but it is what it is. 😏 And now my “still-could” are laughable!
Such wisdom in this poem, Gayle! The structure aligns perfectly with the content. I especially appreciate these lines:
Gayle, just loved this! Such thoughtful musings on life when you hit that age — so true. Love all of those hypenated phrases in the last stanza that added a lightness to these kind-of-heavy thoughts.
Gayle, however you look at it this is who you are now. I like the message of your poem, and the final stanza is especially appealing to me. My 40s were rough; I just came to the country and had to start my life and career from the very beginning. It’s now when I feel more or less content. Thank you for your wisdom today!
Gayle, wonderful poem. I enjoyed imagining my forty-something self at the beginning of your poem and then I became the older person giving advice and cheering on the younger generation in the last stanza. Very effective.
Macaque Mockeries
In buildings, filled with blocks,
By schedules, controlled by the clocks,
Suppression of creativity, amongst macaques.
Mundane and standardized agendas,interlock,
Taming ambitions of young flocks,
While my imagination – is being mocked.
Teach by the system, you won’t miss um’.
No windows with gloomy walls,
Innovative posters are appalled.
Single -filed ducklings line the hall,
Controlled with a pass to the stall,
Only the fortunate withdraw,
Veteran worksheets of a lost cause.
As long as – the scores align for all,
And Mother Goose- does not call.
Teach by the system, you won’t miss um’.
Free the souls with writing and art,
Give them paint and let them start,
To revolutionize education from the heart.
Embracing their own interest to be smart.
Learning from their mistakes,as they fall apart,
Sharpening their skills into clever darts.
Teach with wisdom, you won’t miss the system.
Boxer, I’m all in with these sentiments. Love your last stanza and your exhortation to revolutionize, freeing minds and souls with writing and art! Beautiful poem!
Yes!!!
These lines really spoke to me: Single -filed ducklings line the hall,
Controlled with a pass to the stall. The images are striking.
We have bonk
and sock, bash
and smack, hit
and belt and bang.
We have welt
and wallop and whack.
How many words
are there for “bop”?
We have punch
and thwack, swat
and strike, wham
and slug and pop.
We have whop
and beat, bust
and pound, poke
and spank and blow.
How many words
are there for “bop”?
The Urban Dictionary,
however, explains that
“Bop is __________”
That’s it.
I’m done with
the internet today.
Are we sure that’s what
we mean when we say “bop”?
__________________________________________________
Wendy, I loved your play with the gambling extended metaphor, such apt images – “folding,” “bluff[ing],” “house of cards” – for the serious turmoil beneath. For my offering today, I was just planning on riffing on the sounds of these synonyms, until I researched more and found myself upon the Urban Dictionary’s doorstep and I was, like, wait what? and the poem’s ending was born. (Does every word need to be sexualized and/or derogatory toward women? Yeesh, this is why we can’t have nice things, smh.)
Haha! Now I have to look up the Urban Dictionary definition, of course…although I can guess! Love the wordplay in this, Scott, and the grin that it gave me t the end of a long, long day — especially your last line (“I’m done with/the internet today.”) XD
Yep. My students taught me that one a couple of years ago. Kids ruin everything, LOL. I guess it’s good they like to play around with language. Your poem reminded me of an incident a coworker had a while ago. He told a kid to stop being a tool. The child’s mom marched up to school with an Urban Dictionary definition no adult would have thought of. My friend got a disciplinary note in his file.
Anyway, all this is to say I like your take on the prompt. So many O and A sounds!
Scott,
Your poem is so fun to read. Love all the onomatopoeia.
And then the last stanza brings a record-scratch moment and the inversion of the poem’s structure and necessitates a change in the refrain.
The internet does have a way of spoiling our fun sometimes, doesn’t it?
I have 24 plantains in my living room
It was a gift
And the generosity staggers me.
So does the speed of the ripening plantains
I can’t eat there alone
I’ve already used them in two meals
There’s more than I can handle
I make a bread with them
I put them in my oatmeal
I fry them
I offer them to neighbors
I smile as I eat my slightly burnt fried plantains
I see if I can make chips as my neighbor has done before
She’s excited but then she looks
And with a wry smile tells me they’re too ripe already
There’s more than I can handle
I try to hang up the plantains but
It’s an entire branch and it’s too heavy
So they’re just sitting on my couch
And I look at them
They’re becoming too ripe already
And I have 24
There’s more than I can handle
Author’s note: I’m going to try to do a walking tour and share my bounty with neighbors outside of my immediate area. There’s no reason to let these go to waste.
I can identify with you wanting to share your harvest, It happens so often to many of us. Good luck on your walking tour. Your poem made me smile.
Argh! This poem rings true for me. We were recently gifted a Fruit of the Month subscription. The pressure to not waste any is so real. I wonder if you’ve seen that Everybody Loves Raymond episode where Marie was given Fruit of the Month. It’s pretty funny!
This made me smile. I can never tell when a plantain is just right…
Helen, 24 sounds like more than one can handle. If it were tomatoes, or any other veggies, you could make some preserves. With plantains, I’d be walking from door to door too. Your poem made me smile. Thank you!
Loved this! More than I love plantains — and I do love them! (If I lived closer, I’d take some off of your hands.). Love all of the imagery and sensory detail in here!
So glad the plantains inspired you write the poem, to share your bounty, and to encourage us to do the same! Bless you!
What a wonderful problem to have! I do hope you get some takers on the 24. Your poem is such fun and gives us a sweet glimpse into your world.
Procrastination and I
The second half of classes come
A semester soon complete
All the tasks that I pushed off
Those deadlines I will meet
So much to do all at once
I think I’d rather sleep
I’ll do it tomorrow
Procrastination is my friend
At least for now I think
We always wait until the end
And never will we sink
11:59 is when we send
The assignment fully done
And after that is when I pend
Do I stick with her or run
I’ll do it tomorrow
I really need a planner
To watch my every move
Keep me ahead of the game
And keep me in the groove
Only when my work is done
Should it ever let me snooze
-Cece
Cece, I know well the challenges of procrastination, and the juggle of time to get things done before the eleventh hour. You raise such wonderings about my time management and how I could do better. I’m in the procrastination plaza myself.
This really made me smile, Cara. I love your rhymes, which for me add a bit of levity to such a relatable topic.
I meant Cece!
Cece, Lol, there’s a lot of real truth here! “And miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.” And by “miles” Frost could have meant assignments and essays and whatnot! And I love the reticence of “[a]t least for now I think.” Procrastination can turn on us in the blink of an eye! Thank you for crafting and sharing this!
Cece, I loooved this! Great rhyme scheme that made this flow so well. I laughed at this line in Stanza 2:
“11:59 is when we send
The assignment fully done
And after that is when I pend”
So relatable!
Wendy!!! Ooooweeee! My mom brought us up on card games and you’ve nailed it with the metaphors here. You crafted a poem about a relationship that feels very familiar to me. I cut my losses and left. If this is your relationship, I hope you decide to do whatever is best for YOU, not your mate.
I am eager to write since I’m still off work due to this darn cold. I will be back with my contribution to your inspiring invitation. Thanks for sharing the links too! I had never heard of Cave Canem.
Thank you, Wendy!🤗
Stacey, my prompt was actually inspired by a writing session with a friend who told me about her crushing discovery of her partner’s gambling addiction and the partner’s resulting entry into Gambler’s Anonymous. We were writing together that day, and her story really stuck with me. I can’t wait to read your poem later, and I hope you feel better soon!
Wendy,
Love this prompt! I have three different refrains/ideas that I’m working on, but I figured it’s time to just post something.
I think your poem, which includes such masterful extended metaphor, inspired me to focus on my marriage. Thus, I decided to finish that particular one. One of my others is about the current political climate and the other is pondering retirement. I’ve talked too much about both of these over the past week.
I feel so invested in your couple. I yearn to know more.
Mute in the Big Moments
My husband is a talker.
No matter the setting, he’s a yapper.
Typically about sports and teaching
Telling stories in a very animated way
But in the big moments when things get tough
He doesn’t enter the fray or share his thoughts
He goes mute in the big moments
At times when the marriage has gotten rocky
Or parenting has gotten tough
He buttons those lips and retreats into Mr. Non-Confrontational
Our daughter comes out and it becomes the elephant in the room
Conversations swirl yet he sits in the recliner and stares at his phone
Occasionally diverting the topic away from anything of depth
Any time I want to analyze something or talk about deeper things
He calls himself a simpleton and exits the convo
He goes mute in the big moments
My 40-year class reunion last month brought angst
He didn’t put my desires first
And even though he has always mixed well with my group
and their husbands, he withdrew
Sitting in the car waiting for me to leave
Still weeks later not a word has been said about it
He goes mute in the big moments
~Susan Ahlbrand
21 October 2024
Ohhh boy, what a gut punch of an ending. I feel it in my core. I hope he decides to talk about it before it festers inside, but most of all, I hope you are okay. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Hugs, Susan.
Oh, Susan, I know the social anxiety that spouses often feel at reunions where sometimes there is a feeling of disconnect or the past sweeping back into the present in a way that can bring feelings hard to put into words. I’m so sorry he withdraws, even as he knows that these are big moments for you. Your poem reaches in and tugs at my emotions for each of you. Marriage and parenthood are the two most challenging relationships on the face of the planet. So much love and so much passion makes it tough at times. Your word ANGST describes it best – – and I understand.
Isn’t it funny (?) how these larger-than-life personalities can go mute in the big moments? What a refrain! I wonder what he fears in the depths, to avoid them so… yet I also know it’s hard to not have input/a shoulder to help carry when the load gets heaviest. Strength to you. Keep writing your big moments, small moments…on the page we can spill it all and be the farthest thing from mute. There’s power in it.
I’m so glad you shared and wrote about what’s been in your mind, Susan. I know it’s not easy when a spouse is hard to understand, but you’ve made it clear that you love and appreciate him all the time. Social anxiety is so real and often so hard to understand. Hugs to you.
Ooof. I finally stopped inviting my antisocial husband to such events— and had a lot more fun. He was happier and so was I. Doesn’t make it right, but…
Susan, I have to say that I’m married to a similar guy! Agreed with Stacey — a gut punch, indeed! Your details were so real — I just loved this poem.
Oh, Susan, I can feel the frustration within this scene. Going mute in the big moments is not acceptable and neither is the behavior demonstrated at the reunion. I have experienced plenty of disappointment with my spouse’s behavior so I can empathize with the difficulty these moments develop and linger in the heart and mind. You share this so beautifully through your word choice and I love how it all flows. Powerful poem!
Athlete
Waking up and going to class
Eating a snack and heading on my way
On the course, I pray to play ok
Hitting one shot after another
Feeling defeated after the round
Doing it over again the next day
Am I enough
Not hitting my ball far enough
Playing from the trees
Hitting my ball in the wrong direction
Ending up in the sand
Finally making it on the green
Putting to get a bogey
Brushing the last hole off as I walk to the next one
Teeing off again
Am I enough
Finishing the last hole
Adding up my score
Realizing I did not qualify
Congratulating everyone
Walking to my car with my head down
Feeling defeated
Am I enough
Hi Mara! I loved your interpretation of the prompt! Your poem is quite moving. Being an athlete at this time of the semester must be very challenging as I am drowning in enough schoolwork without having practices or competitions to worry about, but you are doing so amazing!
Mara, this poem really highlights the stress athletes experience. I like the way you “played through.” I even see the stress in my grandson, who is just 6! Thanks for your poem.
Mara, I loved this! Authentic and brave words to share — I loved the refrain, and I loved the fact that you left the question mark off — affected the tone in an interesting way. Thanks for sharing — what a great poem!
Mara, you have captured the hard week and the agony of defeat in your poem. I like how your refrain gave some foreshadowing at the beginning. The world of the athlete, isn’t it?
Our International border stinks
Really!
Contaminated sewage spills
out over the damns
and buildings made to clean the water
but are filled with sludge.
Will the smell go away?
Brown water flows across the border
onto our beautiful beach now closed.
Negotiations with Mexico come
without a solution
Happy greetings of rotten eggs
given to tourists who
wonder what damage is
being done to their bodies.
Will the smell go away?
The Feds come with hazmat suits
and try to measure water and air
That’s a first step.
Yes, the say, there are contaminates
and someone with rubber soles
says his shoes melted quite quickly.
Will the smell go away?
Thanks for this prompt, Wendy. The news really got me going today. Good to be here today since I have missed a couple days.
Yikes! This sounds like a horrible situation, Susan. You certainly have described it vividly for us. I sure hope it can get resolved soon.
Susan, your tone and imagery here — the passionate punctuation really helped convey your frustration about this. Thanks so much for sharing with us today!
Oh Susan, sad to write such truth about our border, especially when we know how those who live nearby on both sides are affected.
The facts and the reasons both stink! Praying that poems like your will wake up those can do something to resolve this issue, too.
Yikes, Susan, this sounds impossible to live with. Your refrain carries a very weighty question, and visualizing someone’s shoes melting is alarming. We have so many environmental problems that are hidden, but this wrong surely does stink! Pun intended. Powerful poem!
Hi Wendy,
Here is my interpretation of the prompt:
This is Life
So much to do,
So little time.
I see the to-do list,
It’s a mile high.
It’s crushing me
And I feel trapped.
I guess this is life, now.
School is in full swing,
And sports now, too.
Between work and friends,
Family, the house, and practices, too
It feels that I’m stretched
between a million different things.
I love them all, but am I just surviving,
not thriving, in the many things to do?
I guess this is life, now.
So I try to make checklists,
And try to cut back.
I ration my time,
and give myself grace.
Things start to look up,
I feel the calm, even in the busy-ness, now.
This is life, now.
Leah- I liked this poem. It shows what the life of a college athlete is. As well as how much is on our plates and how much we have going on that people may not realize.
Leah, great poem! I love how the emphasis in the last line of your refrain changed the tone of the poem for me. It made me go back and reread the poem to spy the light that emerges there (in Stanza 2, I thought) penetrating the despair that the “crush” of the year can bring. It made me wonder if you’re a relatively new teacher or someone with some years behind you? Either way, great poem! (And if you are newish, it does get a little better!). 🙂
Wait! Just saw Mara’s comment! Never mind! XD
Oh Leah, you have found the answer in your last stanza. “I give myself grace” is it!
Leah, you capture so succinctly and clearly what I feel sometimes. Though my sports players are grown and gone with families of their own now, the sheer exhaustion and feeling that the world is moving far too fast to do anything but survive is real. I love what you have captured here.
Wendy, Your prompt topic, “Bop “Tll You Drop” reminds many of us about the dances of the first half of the twentieth century. But, it also reminds me of the slang phrase that suggests moving around a lot, yes, on the dance floor, but also regarding life decisions. So, being so close to the Sunday and the Bible on my mind, I pulled a line from the Book of Ruth and wrote this poem about my experiences “bopping around” the USA. Some here know that my husband and I have lived in five states! See the map.
Whither Thou Goest
Packing up and leaving home
Wondering if taking the chance
To leave college and have no friends around
Would this decision really be sound?
To abandon family, to take up and roam
To the “Show me” state so far from home.
Whither thou goest, I will go.
Employers there recognized our knowledge.
We both got jobs right out of college
In the middle of the Vietnam War.
You’d already served in the Air Force,
So, you already knew the score.
But who knew it would be the air, not home
Filthy chemicals, not racial tension
That would compel us further to roam.
Whither thou goest, I will go.
So, back up North we moved
To work in a cleaner industry.
We did not know, but we soon learned
This town helped history to turn.
It was one of the stops on the Underground Railroad
It was just one of five stops for us, too.
Whither thou goest, I have gone.
Hi Anna,
I love how you interpreted the prompt and tied in references from the book of Ruth into your own life.
Anna! I didn’t know this about you, and I loved learning it. I loved the choice of Bible verse for your refrain — it echoed so hauntingly and fit so perfectly. I’m so curious about which town you lived (or live?) in that was an Undergrounds Railroad stop. Our town of Cazenovia, NY hosted what was — and still is, I think — billed as the largest Fugitive Slave Law Convention in the country in 1850, pushing back against the impending law — this area of CNY was a hotbed of Abolitionist activity, and it’s one of my favorite subjects.
Wendy, we lived for over a decade in Fairport, NY. It was there that I learned that people really want to learn. Our school district and local library permitted the few African American families who lived there to plan and present Black History Month activities and events at the school, the library, and the local shopping mall.
I believe their “history” opened their hearts to our 14 families in the town of Perinton, NY, right on Lake Ontario.
Teams
Players dribble on the court
the orange ball bounces as they run
it seems challenging to get it into the hoop
Other teams try to hit that
small white ball with a heavy wooden bat
hoping the ball soars over all their heads
One team will triumph, one will be defeated
Its called the Fast Break
players run and dribble across the
court all while maintaining the ball, if they can
Players swing and hit the ball
they drop it and run
praying they make it there
before others catch, then look, then throw,
trying to beat the runner
One team will triumph, one will be defeated
Towards the end, points have been stacked
some players envision the podium
the Championship ring
the parade through the city
the screaming fans
Yet they know its just one victory at a time
One team will triumph, one will be defeated.
Hi Seana,
I love your interpretation of the prompt. As an athlete, I appreciate your references and theme of victory within athletic competitions. It seems there is a deeper meaning beyond athletics; can you expand on that?
Seana, loved, loved this! Your verbs propelled your poem forward like those players on the court. Love the balance of the phrases in your refrain. Beautiful poem.
Seana,
I liked how you included more than one sport in your poem. I also enjoyed the descriptions that you used to explain each sport, it allowed for more visualization as I was reading the poem.
Wendy, what a thought-provoking challenge. Your poem looks into the deep construction of a relationship with the surprising and unique metaphor of a house. What do we have left when everything crumbles? Sometimes the chips must fall to rebuild something stronger.
I have an appointment this morning with a retina specialist. It’s heavy on my mind, so that’s where I went.
Appointment with a Retina Specialist
I take for granted that
I can see, but
a shard of tainted glass
glistens in my left eye
troubled by bright light:
vitreous or retina blip?
Morning sky: Moon and Jupiter shine.
“Deterioration of macula is common
as we get older,” says U of M Kellogg Eye Center.
I google it, let A.I. diagnose me.
Worry heightens.
Headache worsens.
Blip of glass stabs.
What am I to know
of my eye’s degeneration?
Morning sky: Moon and Jupiter shine.
The doctor will see you now.
Heart jumps.
Fake smile.
I put my vision
in the expert hands
of the retina specialist.
Morning sky: Moon and Jupiter shine.
Dear Margaret,
I hope that your visit goes well this morning — I’m pulling for you. I loved the terse sentences in here — they did a masterful job of communicating your anxiety. And I loved the refrain. Good luck today.
Oh, Margaret, I pray it all goes well for you today. I am also dealing with some vision stuff and what boils my blood is when they say, “You’ll get used to it unless it gets worse.” What the heck happened to fixing what’s wrong? Anyway, please try not to go down the self-diagnosis rabbit hole because that always has me believing I’ll be dead by Tuesday. 😒
Thank you for sharing this poem and your experience with us. I am always mindful of our shares that relate to aging or other issues that we all may one day face. You are helping someone who needs to read this, whether it’s now or years from now.
Hugs, my friend.
Margaret, I am right there with you in the office, especially in the Google and AI diagnosis – – always the first layer of the worry. Your refrain is captivating. The shining and the morning are so quiet, peaceful, lovely.
I have been outside crazy early on recent mornings (can’t sleep) watching the glorious Moon and Jupiter shine. That’s how I happened to see the comet. It felt supernatural. Now… this eye situation… you’re in the expert hands of the retina specialist AND the One who holds tomorrow. Right alongside my husband with his heart that presently needs more patching. Your poem shines as beautifully as those celestial bodies – from the shard of tainted glass to the worry to the meeting of the doctor. You pull us with you. Prayers for good reports and outcomes, friend.
Margaret— I hope the visit is a comforting one. These things are so frightening.your tension (well deserved) found its home in your words. Fingers crossed for you!
Wendy,
Thanks for hosting, introducing me to a new form, and sharing your stellar poem. Your extended metaphor has me so invested in this couple.
I’ve taught for thirty years
waaaaaay longer than my teammate’s been alive
we’ve maxed out our 401ks and 403bs
and hit our retirement savings target last year
it seemed such a crisp deadline when we began
now I waffle, worried about a loss of purpose and community
Is it time?
I love the thrill of planning a new lesson
the sense of working toward a purpose
sharing the funny and sweet things my seventh graders say and do
eating lunch with my colleagues
always having someone down the hall when I need to talk
but the collective stress of teaching does press
calling parents still fills me with dread
meetings and tasks proliferate, often without cause
is it time?
I could read and read and read
I could look and listen for birds
I could travel with friends
unconstrained by school vacations
I could eat lunch even if it isn’t 12:19
I could volunteer with a writing or cycling group, docent at the art museum
I could cook, play more board games, and watch movies with my husband
I could find a new rhythm
is it time?
Sharon, this poem finds me right. There, With, You. I have two years left after this one and ask myself these questions every day. You really captured the uncertainty of retirement with your detail. I just loved this and kind of want to hang it on my wall for the next two years. (I actually might.). 🙂
I’ve made the decision to retire at the end of this year. And I have every single one of these thoughts. I know I will miss teaching. I will have to find a way to do it anyway. That’s my DNA, but the day to day is wearing me out. Now that I’ve made the decision, a weight has been lifted. I hope the same for you.
Yay, Margaret!! I am happy you have decided to retire at the end of the year. I am sure you will find all the ways to enjoy it!
Hi Sharon,
Your poem presents a unique juxtaposition of loving where you are at, but wondering if you should move on and “find a new rhythm”. I love the specific examples in the poem, giving it such a personalized feel and meaning.
Hi Sharon,
It’s year 39 for me and I hoped to follow my mom’s footsteps and retire at the end of year 40. Not sure if that’ll happen because our retirement adviser says wait until year 42 for 100% of my salary. Ummm, what about having 100% of my sanity! We shall see.
I am eager to see what you decide and how much fun you will have (when it’s time) in retirement. I love the idea of eating lunch at times other than our assigned time. I believe when it’s time, you will make sure to have a blast.
Sharon, thank you for articulating this! And I love all of the possibilities in your last stanza, especially the “read and read and read”! Wouldn’t that be great? 🙂
Is it time? In a word – YES! I know that uncertainty surrounds the decision but I hope you will ease into retirement and thoroughly enjoy, Sharon. I am thinking of it more each day, myself. Your list of freedoms holds great allure!
I remember those questions. There is something so amazing about loving what you do, even if it isn’t perfect. That feeling of community. I went back to work 3 months after I retired, supervising student teachers for a local college part time. It fills the gap and gives me freedom. Good luck with your choices!
Sharon, your poem clearly shows the difficulty of making that really important decision about retirement. I especially understand the “loss of purpose and community”. Teaching is such an investment, but it is getting more and more stressful which illustrate so perfectly in this poem. I had to laugh about the emotions you share about calling parents as I always felt that way, too. Eating lunch when you want is surely a luxury. Good luck with your future decisions. Thans for sharing.
Wendy. I can’t even begin to think about writing myself— you have set such a high standard. Wow. Just wow. I FELT your words! There are times in our lives when change is finally a possibility. Those times are world opening and frightening. Your poem says it all. Now I have to go think about my poem over coffee and dogs…
Can’t wait to see your poem, Gayle!
(in)Convenien(ed)
It’s closing time. Finally.
I see the older car coming in hot
nearly missing the concrete curb
maintaining a man-made separation between
the would-be customer and the weary clerk.
There’s only one more barrier, a little more flexible, between us.
The sign I am turning only offers two possibilities.
As I take another look but not wanting to engage
the closing sign now affords a limited view
of a woman’s face, a woman who is holding a baby
who appears to be very new to the world,
someone who has no idea what a twelve-hour shift is.
And it is this faceless composition, framed in the grate
of a steel door that makes the simple sign I’m turning
feel a bit more thick in my mop-water bloated hands.
The sign I am turning only offers two possibilities.
And I know. I know what it means to need or I wouldn’t be here
clerking in a time-forgotten convenience store across town, over the tracks.
And if that big box store just off the exit ramp kept its 24-hour promise,
she wouldn’t be here looking for the one thing I know we don’t shelve.
And I wish that I worked in some other capacity than making sure
the shelves are stocked and the doors are locked at the end of the day:
The sign I am turning only offers two possibilities.
Paul, stunning poem! I was riveted until the end and just loved this narrative and the sensitive nature of your speaker’s observations. Masterful work.
I love the way you’ve woven this story and the use of sign in different ways. Brilliantly written.
Paul, you showcase how all the convenience we find in a store is often at the inconvenience of others, through the title, but also in the weariness of the clerk ending a 12 hour shift with mop-watered hands. The refrain is beautiful in its simplicity of choices and the consequences of those choices. Your poem becomes more nuanced with each reading.
Paul, I’m glad to see you here today! The two possibility sign with that as your refrain makes me think so much of the choices we have in so many realms – a yes or a no, a true or a false, a this or a that. Somehow, I’m looking at those possibilities in the greater scheme of things and I’m reminded that for some, the one thing not stocked makes all the difference – – shedding greater light on the two-option choice, making it seem so much better.
Paul— this is an entire story in three stanzas! Your empathy and honesty and the binary choice. I want to know— what did you decide?
Wendy, what a start to our Mondays! You’ve sent me into the world of Afaa Michael Weaver and then riffing through to Langston Hughes before always, always, returning to Wendy Everard’s A Sure Thing (assurances be assured). What a marvel you’ve written us today. All of life is a gamble, but especially when we risk our hearts to another.
Montage of a World Gone Deaf
Hello, world!
What you got?
Ukraine, the Middle East
in a tough spot
shootings, chaos
it’s a lot
We need love
Torrential rains
flooding,
hurricanes
climate change
AR-15
blood stains
consumerism normed
populace misinformed
We need love
Extreme weather
moving fast
-Ism after -ism
not a thing of the past
Have we heard
their cries at last?
We need love
Jennifer, wow! Such beautiful words of the refrain ~ a softening of love as an answer amid the hard truths of the stanzas. Love conquers, love wins. we certainly do need more love in a world of fading smiles and laughter, filled more now than ever with cries and screams.
Oh, Jennifer, your poem beings me/us to the most important subject -saving world and humanity with love. “We need love,” so much of it indeed! You crafted your poem skillfully: your diction and rhymes create a sound flow that progresses from one stanza to another connected by a refrain. Thank you!
*brings – sorry for a typo.
Jennifer, I loved how this felt like rap. The rhyme, the imagery, the message — gold!
Jennifer, your poem is the cry we need and all feel. Such a simple message that is so hard to find, “We need love”.
Thanks for your submission. Your poem speaks to a struggle and fear that I think everyone can relate to in our world today. I love the flow of the lines in the second stanza, “consumerism normed
populace misinformed”
Jennifer,
This poem is a great representation of everything that is going on in the world around us. It represented all of the hardship that is happening right now and how it could be “solved” if we cared for one another more.
Hi Jennifer! I loved reading your interpretation of the prompt! You bring to light lots of problems that we have been ignoring in our world. This poem is so moving. We really do need love.
Jennifer, your spare lines hit home over and over – pow. I live in a state devastated by Helene – the search for bodies in western NC continues, three weeks later. Then “shootings, chaos” and so much blood… we do need love. A lot of love. Sometimes it seems we humans have almost forgotten how to give and receive it. Why is it that just now I picture the unconditional love in a dog’s eyes? Begs the question of the “higher” species…
We need love— and so much more than that! What a scary time this is…
Wendy, the metaphor and imagery work so incredibly well here to tell a a story. Life is a gamble, is not not? As are relationships…so much here about risk and loss. I was just reading earlier about things we cannot control – so very much – but, we can control our responses. We can begin again, putting pieces back together or sweeping them away t start anew. Oh, this line sings: “upped the ante on my feelings” – dare we risk them?? You have me contemplating so much! Also – thanks for the intriguing new form. I will play with it more – this is where I’ve left it for now:
Life Is Passing By
Facing another surgery, another hitch,
to repair my husband’s damaged heart-glitch
short of breath, exhausted, hardly hardy
he won’t go ‘til after our granddaughter’s party
she IS his heart, you see
baby girl turning three
Life is passing by
Yesterday we celebrated harvest fest
at our son’s church, doubly blessed
by the service and fellowship sweet
and upon our leaving, the running feet
of our two granddaughters, across the lawn
to say good-bye before we’re gone
maybe no one noticed this but me:
we were standing in the graveyard— irony
Life is passing by
Yet again I cope with life on pause
redirecting my energy, because
no one can know what tomorrow will bring
only certainty that birds still sing, still sing
and come evening, a settling of doves
upon my birdbath. Oh, my loves, my loves—
Life is passing by
Fran, I love that irony at the end of the second stanza – the places of our presence, the thumbprint of time and our stamp here on the hearts of the family we love. The harvest fest is so rich with symbolism in the autumn of life as we begin, like leaves, to feel the crisp air and the turning of time around the bends in the road ahead. Everything about this is beautiful, and I love your refrain. I love the image of your granddaughters running to say goodbye as you are leaving. And I hold you close as you pause for another surgery and care for your husband as he recovers.
Fran, I could feel this (she IS his heart), know this (we were standing in a graveyard – irony), regret this (life is passing by) and hope this (birds still sing). This is a beauty of a poem. As always, you take the most complex of things and share them with us in the simplest of ways to bring understanding and beauty from the chaos of life.
Fran, this brought tears to my eyes. The picture you paint in that second stanza! And I loved that you used rhymed couplets — they felt so natural in this piece. I hope for the best, that everything goes well with his surgery! ❤️
Fran, my heart goes out to you as you face another surgery. Life is so fragile and it’s moments like the ones you capture that keep us going. “bird still sing, still sing” is a lovely echo.
Hi Fran,
Sending prayers for healing to your hubby and prayers for peace for you while you navigate uncertain terrains with him.
The final lines calm all of my angst:
🙏🏽
Fran,
This is so laced with both sadness and appreciation . . . the constant balancing act of our lives. The rhyme works so well.
Praying for you and your husband and he enters another scary surgery.
Thank all you sweet people for your prayers – know that your words give me strength <3
Fran— I know that feeling of life on pause, waiting for…whatever is coming. “Oh, my love, my loves”. I’m in tears…
This is beautiful, Fran! I am amazed at how well-crafted, how tender and poignant it is, all while maintaining your subtle end rhyme (which is masked by your enjambed lines). Wonderful! I hope your husband’s surgery goes well. You’re both in my thoughts!
Wendy, the bop form is a great way to begin a Monday back to work after all the adventures of fall break. Thank you for hosting us today and investing in us as writers. Your poem is deeply heartfelt – your line of repetition works so well and is haunting and decisive all at once. I like that you end with the question on that last stanza. The metaphor of the risk and gamble of love and win or loss strongly felt and understood. I’m about to lose the willpower to resist a Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cake Donut. Who thought making these would be a good idea, anyway? I’m already a Christmas Tree Cake junkie.
Little Debbie Donut Bop
{the problem:}
in a word:
willpower!
why?
Who made these
Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cake Donuts?
{expand the problem:}
oh, that’s easy to expand:
just open the bag.
eat.
weight increases.
waist and hips expand.
arms expand.
thighs expand.
{the failed attempt to resolve the problem:}
taste bud EXPLOSION!!
the sugar-grit of green glittery garland
white snow-pearl smoothness
red-ribbony-wrapped tinseling
savoring the sensations of Christmas in October
Kim, I absolutely loved this, lol! Your imagery in the last stanza made me craaaaave one of those evil little cakes (good thing we don’t have any in the house). 😆 And I loved your very meta labeling of the stanzas. Great start to our writing today!
Kim, oh! how I want to laugh at this – the direct explanation of the format bringing us to the expansion of the problem in hips, waist, thighs – but it’s just too dang much of the truth! And you’ve set it on our plate, so to speak, as I’m now craving a Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cake that I didn’t know I wanted, in fact, didn’t even know existed. If I keep reading your poem over and over, will it be enough to say I’ve savored the cake?
This is priceless, Kim! Just yesterday I saw a shelf full of Little Debbies in the local supermarket, and it’s only October 20. I love how you used the poem structure directions weaved into the poem and especially the “expand” part.
What a creative interpretation of the prompt! I share in the struggle of the poem… those Little Debbie cakes are irresistible! I love the use of italics, capitalized words, and punctuation. It give excitement and a unique rhythm to the poem.
Kim! I loved your interpretation! This was so fun to read! And so relatable!
OMGGG, Kim! You are making my tummy muscles ache from laughter! I must admit, I had never heard of this treat so I Googled it. Very interesting! 😂 Your poem does wonders for the Bop form! Love that you reworked it and made it yours. Now, go enjoy those sweet little treats and expand your joy! 🥰
Kim, your humorous tone is much adored! I can completely relate to such as the weight increase and the hip expand and the thighs and arms, oh my! The colorful description in your final stanza is truly sweet! Love this poem and your wonderful voice!
So unexpected, hilarious, and TRUE, Kim! My youngest (the newlywed) loved Little Debbie cakes so much that the band teacher made a special award of a box to him at graduation, ha. The Christmas tree cakes are so good – I can only imagine how addictive the donuts must be. Your lively lines have me cackling over here – I say sometimes we gotta expand (fun play on the prompt) our life’s joy once in a while. Let us eat donuts! The description in your last stanza is absolutely scrumptious! I am thinking of a grocery run…:)
It’s Peeps for me!!! I still have a random box or two from Easter. It is scary that they never go stale…