Burrows and Seeds with Jennifer Guyor Jowett
Welcome to Day 4 of Verselove. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on; if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. All educators – authors, librarians, teachers, teacher educators, coaches, consultants, preservice, retired–are welcome. It’s free. No commitment is needed. Please invite a teacher-friend to join you one or more days because poetry heals. Click here for more information on the Verselove. Click here for the PD tracker if you’d like PD credits.
Jennifer lives in the mitten state where she’s taught Literature and English for over thirty years. Her novel Into the Shadows is a middle grade historical fiction inspired by true life events. Jennifer is a frequent 5 Day Open Write and #verselove participant and host, a contributor to the Writers Who Care blog and the BlinkYA blog, and a member of #booksojourn.
Inspiration
Poetry allows writers to store ideas, details, and feelings, to allow them to nest. Readers peer in and take hold of what speaks to them.
In a recent interview, Irene Latham described the prose-poems in her book D-39, A Robodog’s Journey, saying each “acts as a burrow, offering readers a safe place to experience invented words… The technique of using the last words of one poem to serve as the title of the next poem is a variation on a traditional ‘crown’ of sonnets.”
And so begins the temptation to play with this process, to build upon each other’s pieces, to develop our writing today in an organic way.
Process
Read through the most recently published poems in today’s thread (if you are the first person, you might use wither a poem from yesterday’s posts that spoke to you or the inspiration piece).
Create your own burrow. Find a seed at the end of the piece, something to begin your own writing today. Let it serve as a title or beginning line.
Jennifer’s Poem
First line from Burning the Old Year by Naomi Shihab Nye
The Things
Only the things I didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies.
Move story to paper.
Forgive.
Spend the day whiling away
hours
minutes
seconds
snatching moments for me.
Turn seed to stem
and bean to stalk.
Collage myself
upon canvas.
Take the sparks
and wild the fire.
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. 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.
Respond to 3
Respond to 3 teachers today in the spirit of reciprocity. Writing educator Peter Elbow said, “To improve your writing you don’t need advice about what changes to make; you don’t need theories of what is good and bad writing. You need movies of people’s minds while they read your words” (Writing Without Teachers, 1973, p. 77). Please offer a mirror to our writers by sharing what you noticed, what moved you, and what you learned. Responding to one another is a way of saying “I see you” and “thank you for writing” and “I carry your words.” Here are a few sentence stems that may be helpful for you and your students.
Kasey, you took that line and created such an important poem – I am in awe. All of it is truth, truth, truth. Thank you for this poem!
I thought I had posted this last night, but maybe not? Thank you, Jennifer for guiding us today. The lines “sometimes the old is far better than the new” by Glenda inspired a nostalgic burrowing into the past.
sometimes the old is
far better than the new
the washing machine
that never quit
denim jeans admired
for sturdiness, not holes
typewriters clacking forever
(oops, change the ribbon)
automobiles repaired with
wrenches, not computers
meetings arranged in person
instead of by thumbs flying
store purchases that cost
a dime, not dollars
conversations enjoyed while
looking into another’s eyes
lunch dates in a cozy
spot, not on Zoom
sometimes the old is
far better than the new
Jennifer, this is a wonderful prompt. Thank you.
My inspiration came from the final lines of Lisa Noble’s poem which read, “Take that fear and make it friend/and live”
I immediately was captivated by the idea of “fear” and “living.” There has been so much loss, trauma, grief, and suffering throughout the entirety of the pandemic in endless forms. It has been our reminder that humans are fated to face loss and suffering; rarely do we do it together, but it is a universal experience. After profound loss, there lurks a fear of living again. You get caught questioning yourself- is it too soon to smile again? Too soon to laugh again? Too soon to go an entire minute, and entire hour, an entire day without thinking about “it” — whatever “it” may be. After a profound loss in my life years ago, I struggled with the guilt that came with feeling emotions such as beauty, awe, and wonder in the midst of an ongoing journey for grief. Finding that gentleness and grace to allow ourselves to live again is central to healing, and I was immediately brought to that space upon reading Lisa’s words. Lisa- thank you for that. This could certainly be a longer piece, but at this late hour, it will be a good start.
“The Stars May Shine Again”
Take that fear and make it friend
And live–the stars may shine again.
The moon may dazzle his brilliant light,
Your eyes may hold his gaze at night.
Prayer may return to your heart-
The sunrise, a burning work of art.
Take that fear and make it friend
And live–the stars may shine again.
Rhiannon,
Thank you. Thank you so much for this. The repetition at beginning and end is powerful. And the sunrise often becomes a place/time of prayer for me, so that resonated hugely. I am so glad my lines found you.
I love how you tied your poem together through the repetition of the second and last line. Well done!
Thank you Jennifer for this prompt! It turns out that it’s just what I needed today. I was asked to write a song or spoken word piece for a support rally for Ukraine that is happening at my school tomorrow. I was having difficulty getting started, but the lines, the waiting and the watching, before we act, before we love, before we heal from Tammi Belko’s poem gave me what I needed to open the song. It’s a hip hop song, so it’s written that way…
Sometimes you gotta not give yourself the option,
To sit on the sidelines, waiting, watching
Before we act, while the clock’s tick tocking
before we love, while hate gets locked in
Before we heal, it’s time to take the wheel,
Before thoughts and prayers, before we kneel,
You gotta take a stand, you take the field
Fire makes steel, character’s revealed
Not standing on the sidelines, comfy, cozy
Like Angela Merkel, Nick Sarkozy
Thinking everything is looking nice and rosy,
Staying out the fight, afraid of a nosebleed,
Playing the game slow speed, you know where that road leads
Letting a bully bully while he’s racking up trophies
Thinking while you’re shrinking if I only lay low, he’s
Not coming for me, you’ll never know peace
Sooner or later, he’s coming for your peace,
He does not know cease, He only grows, eats
The silence you sow is the harvest he reaps
Before it’s too late, open your mouth and speak
So if you stand with Ukraine, put ya hands up
Ain’t no sitting out, ya gotta stand up
Imagine that’s your fam–we gotta band up
And put a hand out, to lend a hand up
There is no neutral when you’re facing evil
MLK said it, ya gotta choose ya people
Silence and blindness is still choosing sides
Ya seeing with your own eyes–it ain’t hard to decide
Golden fields under a bright blue sky
A line of Russian tanks as far as the crow flies
Deluded dreams drawn from a mind’s confusion
This is no genius, this is no Rasputin,
Will Smith him with these sanctions–that’s financial ruin
See if he can bear that, see what’s bruin
When the oligarchs mark what the rubles doing
When the world stands firm with Zelensky’s movement
And Ukraine emerges battered and bruised and
Ready to build back Kharkiv and Mariupol
A nation still standing steeped in sovereign pride–
With history looking back on who took sides
So if you stand with Ukraine, put ya hands up
Ain’t no sitting out, ya gotta stand up
Imagine that’s your fam–we gotta band up
And put a hand out, to lend a hand up
Thank you, Jennifer for guiding us today! These lines by Glenda inspired a nostalgic burrowing into the past.
Sometimes the old is
far better than the new
the washing machine
that never quit
denim jeans admired
for sturdiness, not holes
typewriters clacking forever
(oops, change the ribbon)
automobiles repaired with
wrenches, not computers
meetings arranged in person
instead of by thumbs flying
store purchases that cost
a dime, not dollars
conversations enjoyed while
looking into another’s eyes
lunch dates in a cozy
spot, not on Zoom
sometimes the old is
far better than the new
It was hard to get started today. I finally found inspiration from Kevin’s “We poets keep watch for dust, falling, in flight” & Cat Stevens’ “Where Do the Children Play?” via Bryan’s wonderful field of rabbit holes.
Play
By Shaun
Where do the children play, you ask?
They play
In the same place
the poets watch moon dust,
Sparkle and flash in the sun’s rays,
And the singers sigh and sway,
And the conductor steams
Around the mountain’s edge,
Takin’ a ride on a cosmic train.
They play
In between the clouds and the rainbows,
Chasing circles through
The eye of a cyclone.
They play
In between the satin curtain and the window,
Whistling a spell
To warn of approaching grown-ups,
Who will snuff the lamps,
and pull the shade.
They play
until they forget how
To part the seas and summon the beasts
That lurk in the deep.
This is so well crafted, Shaun! I like the inspirations for this poem and imagery settings you created. My favorite lines are:
“They play
In between the clouds and the rainbows,
Chasing circles through
The eye of a cyclone.”
Shaun,
I concur w/ Leilya. Your poem is beautifully crafted and has an ethereal quality. The lost innocence of play at the end tugs at my heart.
Aw, this makes me long for childhood. Yes, it is sad how we forget how to play when becoming adults. Love this poem!
I absolutely love how you ended this beautiful poem! The repetition of the first line is powerful. Beautifully done!
Beautiful and fun prompt allowing us to all connect. I cannot wait to visit this one again later this week!
Thank you, Jennifer! Wonderful, thought provoking prompt. I borrowed a line from Rise Keller’s poem yesterday because it reminded me of a failed relationship and inspired me to write about it. I tweaked it a little, and my finished poem is something like a sea shanty! Lol
Sea Shanty for a Sister
By Nancy White
We were two old doors just blowing in the wind
Connected by a blood-link, you were kin
We endured some craziness, lived to tell
But, one day your icy stare sent me to hell
You said I was toxic, for reasons unknown
Who made you the queen looking down from your throne?
I was cast out when I wasn’t willing
Your hinge rusted shut, mine’s open, love spilling
Separate ways, five minutes away
My once-trusted sister, a stranger today
Separate ways, five minutes away
You’re no good to me now, so just stay away.
What stories of yesterday play in your head?
Make believe monsters you’re wishing were dead,
What stories of yesterday keep you awake?
They’re feeding your fantasies, keeping you fake
We were two old doors just blowing in the wind
I took you to tea, thought you were my friend
Then you cast me out though I wasn’t willing
Your hinge rusted shut, mine’s open, love spilling
Powerful piece! I can truly tell the feelings that provoked this poem and absolutely love how you expressed them through your word choice.
My line is taken from Cara’s last line of her poem. Thank you, Jennifer, for this prompt. It was fun to play with all the possibilities. Your model poem was also special to me because I really enjoy Nye’s poetry–Burning the Old Year is a favorite of mine.
Miscues Make Life Most Beguiling
Unlock the red Subaru–beep beep.
Take off the mask, breath after a long day,
strip the lanyard, plug in the phone,
listen to On Earth We Are Briefly Gorgeous
my current library book on tape.
Unzip the lunchbox and have a carrot snack.
Head to Commercial Street and onward toward home.
Predictable. Monotonous. Stable.
Until it is not.
An unexpected detour takes me down a winding road
I’ve never seen, and I mistakenly turn before Google’s cue.
But, I am charmed by the cherry blossoms on this residential avenue
and the blooming red tulips (oh the tulips!)
and the blues, pinks, and oranges in the sky
and the green, green grass.
The phone redirects my route, but a
bump shuffles the audio to “Walking on Sunshine”,
and I drive farther south and west, toward
the sunset.
Pull into the driveway, smiling wide.
I have experienced something new about my world
that no one can take away from me–
a fresh perspective on the mundane.
beep beep–lock the red Subaru.
Rachelle,
I love where you took the line! Though I wouldn’t trade my five minute commute for your thirty (?) minute one, I do love accidentally getting lost and seeing places I didn’t know about. I also really like the circular nature with the car at both ends. You took us with you on a little journey.
Rachelle – how wonderful is this trip from the mundane to the beautiful, charming miscues! Thanks for sharing this!
Rachelle,
I too enjoy listening to books when I have long a long ride. Typically for me it is to the vet’s office. Wonderful poem about the mundane, thank you for sharing.
Rachelle, I’m glad I returned this morning and found your poem! Yes, our lanyards! (BTW, OEWABG is TBR soon!) I’m glad you’re living life as a poet, noticing the unexpected, paying attention. <3
My poem title comes from Elisa Waingort’s last line of her haiku!
Style: Working on It
Each morn I play the closet game
Of finding robes to wrap this bod
A vibrant pattern fashion aim
is quirky fun, a little odd.
Earrings made from type-writer keys,
My dress is Boden (yes, half price)
the hemline hides my granny knees
And perfume smells of edelweiss.
I slap the Fitbit on my wrist
My lanyard bears my favorite pins:
“Use your Words” and “Coexist”
“Poetic Justice” and “Love Wins.”
I check the mirror o’er the sink
Just who might be this dazzling creature?
I meet her eye and give a wink–
As off I go, the writing teacher.
Allison, this poem made me smile from ear to ear! I have a new addition to my morning routine — the wink over the sink! Also, how cool that I mentioned taking OFF my lanyard in my poem (I didn’t realize my lanyard pin habit came from you!), and your poem mentions putting ON your pin-filled lanyard. I love connecting with you on here 🙂
Allison, I love the process of your poem, the lanyard’s favorite pins, and the image of you giving yourself a wink. So many great details to show your vivacious personality. Marvelous poem!
Oh, Allison — This is such a delight! I’m sorry I’m a couple days late in responding (I’m still in Oregon with my fam), but finding this image of you getting ready for school is wonderful. I’m winking at that beautiful woman! And in a snappy dress at that! Do I own a dress? Oh dear. Hugs, Susie
Typos or not, this poem is perfect.
Jennifer, I love this idea of burrows and seeds. I felt compelled by the line “collage myself upon canvas.” So I used this as my seed to plant and follow.
Collage Myself
Collage myself upon canvas
places in pixels
lighted and enlightening
dots on a map
pinned in my synapses
clipped and pieced
negative space/positive space
aligned
developing images
to
collage myself
upon canvas
I loved that phrase, too, Kim. I love the playfulness of your poem. Your sounds reeled me right in.
Kim, I really like all the images you include in this poem. It really does emphasize the concept of self as a collage. Thank you for sharing!
Kim, I love the use of collage as a verb. And to collage yourself! I see the pixels and shapes and fragments coming together on a digital canvas trying to piece you together. Bits and pieces. So fascinating.
“negative space/positive space” — a way of looking at “collaging myself” I’ve not thought of before!
Kim, thank you for writing and sharing this! I really enjoyed your use of “lighted and enlightening” and all your alliterative “p’s” throughout: “places,” “pixels,” “synapses,” “clipped,” etc.
I picked up a gorgeous book of poetry at an estate sale recently. It’s called These Things Are Ours by Gwen Frostic of Michigan. I borrowed the last lines of one of her poems.
The Promise of Life
By Mo Daley 4-4-22
When I’m feeling pensive
and am struggling to identify my purpose in life,
I wonder what truly matters.
Will teaching pre-reading strategies
make my Top Ten List at the Pearly Gates?
Will my legacy be negotiating contracts?
Telling corny jokes?
Making cheesecakes?
Defending the Oxford Comma?
Perhaps it’ll be something I’ve taken for granted,
not even understanding its importance for so long-
This is the fulfilment of the promise of life…
nothing can be destroyed…
everything is being created…
Wow, Mo. Your poem is giving me a lot of juicy journal prompts to process on my own. The rhetorical questions really resonate with me (especially about the pre-reading strategies, Oxford comma, etc). The last stanza is powerful, and that’s a really clever placement for those lines. Thanks for sharing this piece today.
Kasey, you fully capture the ease women find themselves moving through life with. Your opposing sides that sit against each other make your point so well – especially those last two (extremely and excruciatingly).
I borrowed from Tammi today: her lines “Before we act, before we love, before we heal, and the world just darkness”
Before we act,
we must prepare,
must ensure that all is there,
must check the boxes, cross the t’s
what would happen, should someone see
our fear?
Before we heal
we must, first, bleed
must see our wounds, and name our need
must cry for those we could not mend
take that fear and make it friend
and live.
I know there’s more here – but this is what managed to find its way out today.
Lisa, this is heartfelt! These lines in your second stanza,
“we must, first, bleed
must see our wounds, and name our need”
resonated with me because it’s like I need to feel the pain and see the stain before I can address the problem to fully heal. There is definitely more, but this is a great start! Thank you for sharing.
Lisa, I am really moved by your lines. I like the parallel structure of your two stanzas which I feel emphasizes the points made even more. I will agree with Jessica; the line that stood out to me was this one “must see our wounds, and name our need” for personal reasons. Thank you for writing something I could connect to.
“must see our wounds, and name our need” — this resonates with me, that I need to be aware of the hurt and its cause before I can move to healing.
Lisa, I ended up using your final lines as my seed for my poem. Your words provide hope and healing while acknowledging that pain is part of the human condition. Your phrase “we must” echoes Dylan Thomas: rage, rage against the dying of the light!
Thank you for this.
Thank you so much Rhiannon. I’m glad I gave you some seeds.
A lifted line from Ashley’s poem – stepping into more grace – led me to a haiku.
Stepping into more
grace. Ha! That is hardly my
style. Working on it.
Elisa, I find this to be the most perfect Monday poem!
Elisa, I’m laughing because you’re laughing. Grace is something that becomes and it’s definitely not becoming of me. Let’s work on it together. “Your phrase, “That is hardly my style” is something I can relate to because I don’t like to conform to the norm of others. Thank you for sharing!
Elisa, ha! Love it! It’s a confession and a goal threaded with honesty!
Thank you, Elisa, for your honest “working on it”! I snagged your final line for the title of my poem tonight!
Ah! Short, somewhat cynical and self deprecating. I love the tongue in cheek humor of this. A bit snarky. Like me.
Thanks to Shelley down there for the words “your eyes” at the end of hers. I somehow thought of holding my daughter for the first time. Here’s a haiku to seeing : )
Your eyes were rheumy,
blue for now, wide, unfocused.
The view & you, new
Joel, what a beautiful gift to your daughter, this poem is. I love that last line – the rhyming, the use of the ampersand to link the two, and the placement of the comma. What a perfect topic for a haiku!
Joel, This is a beautiful poem! (I love the “newness” here: of your daughter, of her seeing, and of you seeing her.) Thank you for writing and sharing this!
Joel, this is such a lovely image. I love the triple rhyme in your final line. New and View both hold within them “you.” This is a gem.
I am amazed at where we all go with what we find. That last line and its rhymes (and echo back to blue and rheu-my). Nice!
The sarcasm bites right through to the truth in this poem. I had to read it several times, like Dani, to really let the words and tone come through–and it was worth every re-read. Wow!
I used a line from the poem by Rachel S. ~ can we change its course?
Idle minds
The devil’s playground
Idle hands
Lead to poverty
Strong drink
Causes fights
Love of money
Root of evil
Craving money
Pierced with sorrow
People we love
Live life hard
Loved ones pray
Praying hard
The life they choose
Out of control
Ours and Theirs
Can we change its course?
Only God can.
Donetta, your short lines really do well to drive your points home. They make me feel like you aren’t messing around, and that problems are so easy to see.
Donnetta, The shift from idle minds to idle hands moves thoughts to action. The capitalization on Ours and Theirs brings voice to humanity, as if they are named. I like that it causes me to think more.
Donnetta, there is truth all in this! In your last stanza,
“Can we change its course?
Only God can.”
reminds me that nothing in this world we can do alone. I also want to point out that idleness is very busy keeping us away from what really matters. Thank you for sharing.
Your words are so poignant, Donetta, and amen, “only God can.”
A lifted line from Heather Morris’s poem-
“Leaving all negative thoughts behind”
In a sweep of depressive measure
I focus on less than positive endeavors,
Crying when life’s sadness
Encompasses every muscle in my body,
Tense and clenched from jaw to foot
Finally deciding to escape the misery,
Take time to unravel
Watch the snowflakes saunter southward,
Leaving all negative thoughts behind.
Heidi, your poem reminds me of a passage from Sarah Ban Breathnach’s book, Simple Abundance, when she writes about giving in to the doldrums every now and then, the necessity to just let it be and work its way out. Sometimes you have to hit a bottom of sorts to figure out how to look up…your poem ends that way. I think we can all relate!
Heidi, your opening line – the sweep of depressive measure – has that washing over you effect that negativity brings. I love the sauntering snowflakes. It’s those small moments where we take notice that make the difference.
There aren’t words I could speak that would capture how I’m feeling right now, but thank you for putting this into the ether for us all.
The duality and balance of the pendulum swing made me re-read this three times before I felt I could fully let it rest.
My favorite types of poems are those that are connected to other poems or parts of poems, so thank you for bringing this one to our practice!!! I loved it so much.
I continued using your last line because it was strong and fierce and I knew it fit with the character I am currently writing a novel in verse about.
So, here is my poem:
First line from Jennifer Jowett’s poem “The Things”
Take the sparks and wild the fire
The fire, that lives deep in my heart
My heart, that feels too much
Too much, so that when the fire burns too bright
Bright like the summer sun
I become a sun
But instead of bringing light and life,
Life is scorched for those who are too close
Too close and their their skin blisters
Blisters and peels away
But through all this
I keep shining
Keep burning
As I am blinded myself
Knowing not what I am doing
Until the glow flickers out
And I am left
In the dark
alone.
As a self-destructive person, this captures a human experience in a way that not many people can understand. The motivation, the ignorance in the moment, and the unknown firefight. Blinded ourselves, indeed. Love and light, my friend. Love and firelight.
Alexis, I really liked the movement throughout your poem – the repetition at the beginning of each line from the end of the last, the building upon itself – it reminds me of a fire flaring up and settling down. And the placement of “alone” on its own at the end is just perfect.
I borrowed the last line of Jairus Bradley’s beautiful “Spear of Inevitability.”
To mend that which was made to unravel
is a futile endeavor – preventing a
flower from going to seed or collecting
the flurries of flour that fly out of the bowl
or allowing someone to continue to believe
that they are less than, well, anything.
The beauty of life is in the blooming.
Let the petals fall, the bread rise, the beliefs
to be reimagined with new eyes.
Each new day is a chance to see the
grace and artistry of the glitches and
miscues that make life most beguiling.
Thank you so much for the “grace & artistry of the glitches”! Ever since I discovered wabi-sabi, I’m all about that kind of artistry : )
Cara, this is beautifully done. I appreciate the reminder to let things unravel, to let flowers fall to seed. I need to work on letting the petals fall more. That’s a bit easier with spring on the way. Thank you!
Cara, I read through the prompt and I knew you had posted recently. I’m burrowing into your lines 🙂 Thank you for the delicious sparks.
Thank you Cara for reminding me to enjoy the blooms and the fresh bread. Simple things are sometimes the best.
I’m borrowing a line from Maureen Ingram!
Let me hide one more thing in here.
And as I packed my bag, I thought about our hearts.
How they sounded.
Where we were going.
Who we would become.
I zipped my suitcase shut, and I smiled.
Because no matter where I went, or what I discovered,
My heart had found a home in yours.
I struggled to come up with any of my own words today so I borrowed some from Merry, Ann, and Maureen to build a haiku for today.
With some gentleness,
all retrieved in sacred space,
My mind is in flight.
Laura,
Sometimes the simplest pieces are the most profound. This is lovely and beautiful. I love the visual of “my mind … in flight” with soft edges in a “sacred space.” Thank you for sharing.
Laura, thank you for this sweet haiku! I am feeling this way today as well and appreciate the example of short and profound.
Laura, the borrowing (burrowing) of seeds from others and using them in an original way was our inspiration today. Your poem is graceful – both in giving grace and receiving it. I also love that the sacred space gives flight to your mind.
Laura, this resonates with me as I try to find sacred space, usually too distracted to do so. Some gentleness can go a long way. A couple minutes of quiet, sacred space.
Laura,
You still wrote a beautiful haiku! ?
I am using the last words from Cathy’s poem as my inspiration.
Letting go of my partner
It was not my choice
I never got to say goodbye
You often hinted
But I chose not to listen
Letting go is not easy
I miss our conversations
the laughs, the trips,
I miss your company
Letting go is not easy
Farewell my love
Sleep in eternal peace
With a heavy heart
I am letting go….
Your ending with ellipses allows your reader to wonder if you are really letting go because there is not a definite ending. Just like when we lose someone we love…that loves never ends.
Dee, I agree with Cathy about the power of your piece & the way that you create such hope & suspense for the reader there in the ending. I can only imagine that difficulty of not saying goodbye. I really love the way that you frame the piece with the same words “Letting go”
Dee, such a beautiful poem and I think universally relatable, especially with the second line “it was not my choice”…as with loss, that is usually the case and that’s what makes it so much more heartbreaking.
Dee, your loss speaks through every stanza. I agree with Cathy – the use of ellipses to show that it continues only adds to that loss.
Thank you so much for the prompt! These are among my favorite to do with students, but I sometimes forget how much I love them too.
Cathy ended their cascade poem on “pushed me to let you go”, and I’m going to run with that!
Pushed Me To Let You Go
I stand in front of a cement block classroom
And consider
The lines drawn between them
And the strands of yarn that stretch
From one desk to another.
When I was their age,
I wrapped myself in cotton
To drown out the sound
Of them like snakes
Hissing In my ear.
I teach young people
To create boundaries
And hold the frontline steady
In defense of their heart.
I tell them to look for
Radioactive glows
Reflecting off the water’s edge
Of the mirror-pool they call
Their hearts.
I held on to that thread
And ignored
How you cut
All the others
With scissors like lead.
My lifelines were lost,
sunk to the bottom of
my shipwrecked self-esteem.
I didn’t listen
At seventeen
When they pushed me
To let you go.
But
Damn it,
I’ll be the snake for them
Who hisses premonitions
Like they did for me
And takes the scissors
From the one who pulls you
Away from the shoreline
And towards their deserted island
Lost at sea.
Revision, because I couldn’t help playing with the images a bit more! It still needs revision, but I enjoyed this one.
Pushed Me To Let You Go
I stand in front of a cement block classroom
And consider
The lines drawn between them
And the strands of yarn that stretch
From one desk to another.
When I was their age,
I wrapped myself in cotton
To drown out the sound
Of them like snakes
Hissing warnings
In my ear.
I teach young people
To create boundaries
And hold the frontline steady
In defense of their heart.
I tell them to look for
Radioactive glows
Reflecting off the water’s edge
Of the mirror-pool they call
Their hearts.
I held on to that thread
And ignored
How you cut
All the others
With scissors like lead.
My lifelines were lost,
sunk to the bottom of
my shipwrecked self-esteem.
I didn’t listen
At seventeen
When they pushed me
To let you go.
But
Damn it,
I’ll be the snake for my people
Who hisses premonitions
Like others did for me,
And I’ll take the scissors
From the one who pulls them
Away from the shoreline
And towards a deserted island
Lost at sea.
I’ll pull them,
Tug-of-war,
To let go
And to cut free
From the anchor
Like dead-weight that is
Drinking their being
From their chest
Until the dregs
Remain.
These ships must leave port,
And leave those who push
To let go of the tethers and
That close too many doors.
Dani, there are such powerful images in your words today. The use of scissors, the cutting free of dead weight, and the holding onto threads is especially effective. I’m glad you had fun with this!
Wow! This is a very powerful poem. Your stanza-
I tell them to look for
Radioactive glows
Reflecting off the water’s edge
Of the mirror-pool they call
Their hearts. – stood out for me. “Radioactive glows”-such a creative phrase.
When your mind has been set free
Knowledge flowing like leaves
Dropping, fluttering, swirling
Truth erasing misconceptions
A breath sweeping like wind
Dancing, breezing, rising
Stepping into more grace
A cleansing gentle rain
Falling, dripping, misting
Knowledge all encompassing
The warmth of a new sun
Shining, brightening, glowing
I love thinking of the flowing leaves and gentle rain. Your poem brings me right outside which is so special considering it’s been a long day being cooped up indoors. Thank you for sharing this piece!
“Knowledge flowing like leaves” really hit me today, as I sit beside my window and listen to the thunder and the old oak outside my window rattle her limbs. Such a great image, and immediately made me think of leaflets, and books, or the leaf of pages. I like that coupling so much!
Ashley, your pattern choice of with all the -ing words and the tripling at the end of each stanza creates a softness here. The idea of stepping into more grace is especially appealing.
I feel a sense of forest bathing as I take in your words–fresh and woody, cleansed. Breathe in, breathe out. Thank you for that.
To Be Small
By: Emily Yamasaki
Small
The base of a leaf
Ants
Parchment paper
Spider webs
Cilantro stems
Dad’s coffee
Cardboard
Always stronger than you think
Mighty and small
Emily,
I love this little poem celebrating small things. “Might and small” is powerful.
I can’t seem to edit my post! But wanted to share that I used the last line in Stacey Joy’s poem today. “Smallness” jumped out at me!
strong like your poem- simple yet MIGHTY!
Emily,
I love this! I, too, love the strength in small things–which includes myself! Thank you for this little poem full of little blessings.
Emily, I’m reminded of Yoda’s “size matters not” here. I love the unexpected – cilantro stems – and the delicate – spider webs – as well as Dad’s coffee. It’s a diverse selection of the mighty!
Emily I love the contrast of small and stronger than you think. Ants, dad’s coffee… evocative images.
Emily,
What a great message about the power and strength in seemingly small things. I could taste and spell the cilantro stems and “Dad’s coffee” – learned early not to drink from his cup. Well done!
Emily,
There’s something so “mighty” in the small things! I think I’m craving being small especially next week during my Spring break. I want to be as small as an ant.
?
This was fun. I borrowed the last line from Saba T. “It’s easy to be.” I wanted to do something light today.
It’s easy to be
calm, cool, and collected
after one has reflected
upon the inner workings of the mind,
leaving all negative thoughts behind
on a blank page to hide,
and with no more need to confide
proceed onto the new day
with nothing in the way.
It’s so easy to be
when your mind has been set free.
The rhythm of your poem creates an easy conversational tone, and it flows incredibly well. I borrowed your last line for my own piece.
The tone of your poem made me feel free and easy. Thank you. I needed that today.
Your line “leaving all negative thoughts behind” inspired my poem for today.
Thank you.
Heather, your poem feels relaxed and reflects that “easy to be” title. It’s so hard to battle those negative thoughts – I love that you’ve found the space to free your mind.
I am learning so much about writing as I read through all of your poems. Thank you for teaching me and for the inspiration. I am taking my line from Freddy Cavazas’ poem F.R.I.E.N.D.S. – “ I bid you farewell of friend.” I wrote a Cascade poem that begins with this line.
I bid you farewell old friend.
Your silent, cold distance
pushed me to let you go.
Over 15 years of lives shared
cheers, triumphs, griefs, defeats.
I bid you farewell old friend.
Reliving my actions, choices and words
trying to pinpoint what I did to spur
your silent, cold distance.
I treasured our ties but
your casting away of us
pushed me to let you go.
Cathy, you share how difficult the bidding farewell is. It permeates every stanza – in the silence and cold, the griefs and defeats, and finally in the casting away. That severing is the split between the triumphs and defeats and is very effective landing midpoint, further emphasizing the split.
I have not heard of this form. I am excited to try a cascade poem. It is so difficult to let go of an old friend. Each stanza creates a mystery for me.
Heather- It is one of my favorite forms. I hope you like it when you give it a try.
Cathy,
Thank you for sharing. You made me reconnect to the lost of my husband. Loosing someone close is never easy. Some say with time heals … But does it really.
Thank you for this vulnerability. There are many friends I’ve bid farewell over the years, with so many complex emotions embroiled in my heart. The letting go, and the push and pull of relationships through time, was such a bittersweet feeling to remember. Thank you for that reminder.
Jennifer — Congrats on the book! It sounds intriguing, and I am going to order it tonight.
Thanks for the great prompt. Taking inspiration from the poetry of others is an amazing way to connect everyone.
The news has made me a bit of a pessimist lately, and I’m afraid that came out today.
I took my line “This watching and waiting” from Sherry Spelic. The line reminded me of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot and that thought made me just angry with our stupid world.
This watching and waiting
this Theater of the Absurd
a world waiting, hoping for something
better than futile existence
a world inert
Waiting for something … anything … better
This watching and waiting, what are we waiting for?
The skies to miraculously clear?
The ozone to knit itself back
together? A world coming together?
Oceans to disgorge their mountainous
accumulations of plastic?
People to stop hating, raping, killing?
Just STOP!
A rescue us from ourselves?
This waiting and watching
for wars to cease
for love to spread
the curtain will fall
before we act
before we love
before we heal, and
the world just darkness
Tammi, I hear you. I feel this. I know this. And my fatigue with the waiting is beyond its end. Especially now with the trauma in Ukraine. I have reached my end. I love your use of inert and its position in the poem, falling at the end of the stanza with the break just after (and thank you so much for reading Into the Shadows – I hope you find love and hope within the book).
Tammi, I’m with you here! Godot is my jam. We’re supposed to learn from it not become it! I have no solutions to offer, just a comment that, yeah, you nailed it with this poem today: all the anger and futility and (seeming) hopelessness. Thank you for writing and sharing this!
Tammi, I feel the pain and futile frustration of waiting for something better to happen. The news was incredibly gut wrenching today and your poem captures the current horrifying and inhumanity occurring in Ukraine. Your end delivers a heavy blow. Powerful and important poem! Thank you!
That last stanza is so powerful! I borrowed some of that for my piece. Thank you!
Thanks to Julie E Meiklejohn for my start line today! A great prompt that ONCE AGAIN had me going in a direction I never expected to explore. Thank you!
Now That You Know This Much
To reveal my crime
I would have to be honest
I would have to admit that I lied
oh so many years ago
Can I tell you all here
what it was that I did
and promise you won’t
repeat it?
I lied to my
high school teacher
I made him believe
something that wasn’t real
Kids do this all the time, right?
Or am I the only one?
In any case, I probably never
would have recalled this in my life
Except for that same teacher
met my mother these decades later
and told her he still feels bad
about what he said to me that day
And the memory came crashing back
How I pretended what he said
had hurt me and how I
pretended to cry and be mad
Why? I don’t know.
Because I was young?
Because I had a crush on him?
Because I’m dramatic? (As my husband says)
And so now
I am guilty
And torn between
taking this to my grave
or perhaps
writing him a note
to reveal my crime
coming clean
Which would be
the better story to tell
for both of us?
Oh, boy! Denise! What would be the better story?? I’m leaning toward taking it to the grave, but since you’ve already written it here (and what are the chances it could be discovered?), you might have already decided. In any case, I loved traveling through this with you. And what a truly great beginning!
I love where this line took you, and I wonder where it would take me. I like how you come back to that first line at the end when you ponder whether or not you should confess.
Oh, Denise, every single line of this poem enthralled me, drawing me in, making me wonder – what did you DO?! I am reminded of a stunt I pulled when I was 16 (and never got caught) (no one was hurt, I promise! nothing was stolen, I promise!) and finally admitted to my father when I was 45, and how angry he got at my storytelling/confession – and all I could do was laugh uncomfortably at his reaction. I think I lean toward revealing your crime…at least, to your mother, lol. You must write a part 2 poem for us, letting us know how this plays out….
Denise — This is so intriguing! I love the way this poem unfolds and how you leave the reader wondering what this terrible secret could be.
Your beginning line really pulled me. As a teacher, I was wondering the whole time what the crime would be but the mystery lives on as you make the reader continue to wonder after the words are done.
Holy cow, Denise – This is just raw truth right here. Adolescence is such a mess of time in our lives. I so felt the gush of woe bursting g from your memories… holding guilt… it’s a powerful thing.
Hi Denise,
Your poem placed you in a vulnerable place but it also reminded me that we are human. We often do things that are unbecoming but there is always FORGIVENESS. If after all these years you still feel badly about the lie its okay to come clean.
This poem hits home! Is it better to risk turning someone’s guilt into anger? Is it better to share your truth and hope they understand that you were young and made a mistake? The questions are endless!
Jennifer, thank you so much for your prompt. I am in awe of all the poetry today and am inspired by more than one writer. I borrowed from Susie Morice and Stephenos poems and whoever started the stoop line. It’s funny how found poetry can take you down a rabbit hole, and sometimes you come out a little shell-shocked. That’s me right now. Anyway, I cannot say enough about how wonderful it is to read everyone’s work and to revel in their words and worlds. Thank you!
Shellshocked on the Front Stoop
I dropped your ashes
on the front door stoop today
ashes are heavy, you know
once you were light-
a beautiful breeze,
free as the peace signs
embroidered on your frayed
bell-bottom blue jeans
remember the time you told me
you were born to be wild
a true nature’s child
you’d break all the rules
wherever you roamed, would be your home
War swallowed you away
Spit you back broken
I ached to piece you back together
like grandmother’s broken fine china
I played our favorite tunes
“Whiter Shade of Pale”
“Not Fade Away”
“Let it Be”
Tears nor tunes
could bring you back to me
my compass, my sail
I dropped your ashes on the front stoop today
Barb Edler
4 April 2022
Oh, Barb. Those first three lines! I felt their weight. And the last of the three, the aside – either to us or the person the ashes once was – is so, so powerful. And then there’s more – the swallowing war and the piecing together. I’m in awe of this.
Barb, I felt so much grief in the line “ashes are heavy, you know,” and I am moved by the story you weave here. This stanza is so very, very sad –
Barb — This is beautiful “you were born to be wild/ a true nature’s child” and heart wrenching “War swallowed you away/spit you back broken” and that first stanza — man!
This is an incredible poem.
Barb:
“Ashes are heavy.” That is a line I will think about. Sit with a few days or more. Yes. I had never seen ashes before until I had seen my grandmother’s ashes. And how frank my aunt had been with me regarding their state. I had not known what to expect. That something that held so much life could be labeled as simply as “human ashes.”
Thank you for sharing this moment with us.
Oh, Barb- These lines are a wallop:
This is so touching, so heartbreaking. The damned ashes… I feel them lifting back and in the breeze. Such a weight you carry.
Barb,
This is a touching poem. I love the repetition of the first and last line and think about how one day I, too, will be scattered ash, yet the world has a circularity. Wonderful allusions to songs, but the lines that are most prescient to me are “War swallowed you away /
Spit you back broken.” Yet the world never learns.
You have me in tears, so thank you for this visceral touchstone for grief and love given and found in the moments after. “My compass, my sail”… such a profound line. Those first and final lines wrecked me in the best, and most human, way. Thank you.
“Spit you back broken”- WOW!
I also love how the first and last line repeat with such power
“I dropped your ashes on the front stoop today”
So much to think about…thank you.
This is a beautiful poem. Each stanza is a gem. “My compass, my sail”–beautiful.
Hi Jennifer,
I appreciate another opportunity to use the words of our fellow writers here as part of today’s inspiration. I love the lines you chose from Naomi’s poem, they seemed to be just for you! My favorite lines of yours:
I decided to use Christine’s line My soul is joyful and Glenda’s line swallow my smallness to magnify my awe. Thank you both for such glorious lines!
The form I used is gogyohka (5-line poem).
Hallelujah
My soul is joyful
even when hatred
in the world tries to devour me
I turn inward
and whisper hallelujah anyway.
My soul is joyful
when all is well around me
and music beats in my heart
I turn my face upward
where sunlight swallows my smallness to magnify my awe.
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/4/22
Stacey, wow! Wow! WOW! I love how you used both of these lines, making them your own and honoring what they were. But I especially love the turning inward and whispering hallelujah! I see you in this offering and approach to life. And there’s just as much awe to be found there as in the sunlight. Thank you!
Stacey,
Im honored you chose my line as inspiration. I have only recently begun to understand the beauty and miracle of “black joy.” Reading Crystal Wilkinson has helped me. I’m not that good or willing to embrace joy when I felt wronged. I love the hymn-like tone and prayerful feeling your poem evokes. You are simply an amazing person. ? ?
Stacey, wow, this is incredible. I love the focus of staying joyful “even when hatred/in the world tries to devour me”…ugh…so timely right now. I love the emotions and the sensory appeal to lifting your face “where sunlight swallows…” Fantastic job of weaving other lines into such a magnificent poem. Hallelujah, Stacey, hallelujah! Your poem sings!
I love the two vantage points for joy – inward (whispering hallelujah) and upward (swallowing sunlight) – absolutely gorgeous and inspiring! We can find joy, despite all, and that in itself can be righteous protest.
Stacey — I love the positivity and joy in your words. These lines “even when hatred/in the world tries to devour me/I turn inward” are beautiful and so hopeful!
Love, love, love this – especially the last line: where sunlight swallows my smallness to magnify my awe! FANTASTIC!
This spoke to my heart. The repetition of the line “my soul is joyful” as the beginning of both stanzas lets your message that joy can exist inside while chaos is outside shine through.
Turning inward. Such peace in those three words strung together. I needed to read this poem today. What a wonderful day to jump into verselove! Thank you so much for sharing this – it’s my inspiration!
Your poem explores the way faith creates an inner strength, and your word choice lends a calming yet powerful tone.
Hi Stacey,
I like the stance that you take in your poem…choosing to stay peaceful whether you are offended or contended. If more people takes that stance our world would be a better place.
stacey:
This felt like the best worship feels to me. My soul is joyful and magnifies that joy. thank you. And thank you for quiet hallelujahs. Sometimes, even on Easter morning, they are the best kind.
This is what I came up with as I pondered the line from Jairus’ poem: “The sharp spear of inevitability will skewer all creation.” (Thanks!)
The Inevitability of All Creation
a day at the zoo, every child’s dream
monkeys, penguins, the bird show
elephant feedings—
but what I was drawn to most was
the spinning globe
dark obsidian, continents sketched in white
surrounded by a cold film of water
and spinning, spinning slowly, ceaselessly
our pudgy hands turned raw as we tried
with our might
to bring the enormous ball to a halt
or change it’s course
and sometimes we could
which makes me wonder now
as I read the news
of this world seemingly spinning, spinning
towards ruin
can we change its course, too?
can God?
Oooh, Rachel! I didn’t expect to land where you took us and I’m so very glad you did! What a way to be inspired by a line and to inspire others forward through your words. It also reminds me of the order in which the world was created (origin myth) and what might happen with man left at the end.
Rachel, I love how you focus on a memory of the zoo and pull that into today’s world. The closing questions are heart-breaking. I feel this terrible spinning…Fantastic, powerful poem! Stunning through and through!
I can see that obsidian world spinning and I hope God can change our course. Amazing poem. Thank you!
Rachel –I really love the way this poem begins with a singular moment at the zoo and then expands to a global picture.
Love this stanza –“dark obsidian, continents sketched in white/surrounded by a cold film of water/and spinning, spinning slowly, ceaselessly” it really captures message of inevitability and ruin.
Rachel:
The images here are so powerful. I felt the chill in your pudgy hands as you tried to stop that spinning ball. I’m seeing it in a fountain, if that makes sense. And you took me to echoes of Yeats’ The Second Coming. “things fall apart, the centre cannot hold” was the line from there that this made me think of.
I wanted to pull a line from Ann’s poem “The friends we’ve lost”
F.R.I.E.N.D.S
Author Freddy Cavazos
Our friendship must now come to an end
You have overstayed your welcome
The friends that helped me grow
Are no longer letting myself grow
Disease and infection
Starting at the root climbing to my soul
Preventing me from being me
Clouding my mind with judgment
Not allowing me to simply be me
I bid you farewell old friend
This made me think of a dear friend I once had, who initially “helped me grow” – until it got to a point where she no longer let me grow. It can be hard to let go and choose growth over the comfort of the familiar. I love your plant metaphor in this poem – growth, roots, disease, climbing.
Freddy, your poem reminds me of advice I received as a teens. “You become your friends.” Sometimes we have admit that “friends” can drag us down, so we simply must say farewell. Thanks for sharing that sad glad memory.
Freddy, I love your placement and use of “you have overstayed your welcome” – I’m reminded that friendships sometimes do exactly that, despite our want to keep them with us.
Freddy, I really enjoy the imagery of the disease and infection climbing from its roots to your soul in your poem. “Clouding my mind with judgment”…these poisonous feelings are stark and relatable. Although it is hard to let friends go, sometimes it really is necessary. Well done!
I am struggling with a friendship right now- deciding to let it go or keep pursuing it. Your words spoke to me especially- preventing me from being me.
The last line, “never change,” is taken from Kevin Leander’s Timeless Twins.
Spear of Inevitability
Never change,
We NEED my memory to never change
Because we can’t bear the thought
Of slowly losing everything we cherish.
The friends and family who lie moldering in the Earth,
We lose a little bit of them with each passing day
Until eventually, they are a copy of a copy of a copy
Of who we once knew.
Nothing in this world is perpetual.
The sharp spear of inevitability will skewer all creation.
Don’t drown in the sorrow of what is lost,
Nor obsess over what is to fade away.
Grief and regret is all that awaits
The person who tries to do the impossible,
To mend that which was made to unravel.
Jairus, I love your use of the title in the line “the sharp spear… will skewer all creation.” Your poem reminds me that we really only remember two to three generations of those who come before us losing “a little bit of them with each passing day.” The copy of a copy line is great too!
This line resonated with me – “We lose a little bit of them with each passing day;” I feel this about loved ones I have lost, how so many details have faded, yet there is still more that lives on, I think.
Jairus,
Wow. I love this in its entirety but two parts resonated strongly . . .
A very sad, sobering thought. I connect with how often lately I have made a copy of a copy of a Doc or Slides, so that image works.
The sound and feel and ouch of
is pure genius and needs a movie made from it.
Marius, your lines a copy of a copy of a copy brought to mind the traits of our ancestors we see showing up in the descendants! Each of my siblings caries a different trait, physical or personality of our parents and/ or grandparents.
Sometimes the copies are pleasant reminders. Sometimes, they just aren’t.
Today, reading your poem, I’m learning towards the pleasant copies.
Jairus, your line “they are a copy of a copy of a copy” really echoed for me. I have an old photo album that I sometimes look at to study the faces of family I never got to know, looking for similarities, etc. The line “nor obsess over what is to fade away” is incredibly provocative. I will ponder your poem’s message for some time. “To mend that which was made to unravel”…very cool!
So strong. So piercing. Love these lines the most: “The sharp spear of inevitability will skewer all creation” and ‘To mend that which was made to unravel.” So true.
Jairus — This poem is so powerful and really resonates with me. The other day my daughter told me she couldn’t hear Nana’s voice anymore and I realized that I couldn’t remember her voice anymore either. Your poem reminds me to cherish every memory of those I have lost.
That first stanza is absolutely beautiful. There’s a sense of pressure when you know that the stories and experiences of those you love rely on you to carry the legacy. Stories are changed, details are forgotten, but we still have to try to mend the unraveling.
I love how today’s theme continues with yesterday’s – collaboration and inspiration from each other. Thank you for the prompt, Jennifer. The ending of your poem is a powerful reminder of what creativity is, “Take the sparks and wild the fire.” I wanted to write a poem around these words. I might one of these days. Today I went a different route.
My poem starts with the last line of Jessica Wiley’s poem.
Did I tell you I hate adulting?
Bills need paying.
Grocery needs buying.
Routine needs following.
But in the quiet moments,
Of dust motes floating in warm sunlight,
Of toes wedged in sand, tides ebbing & flowing,
When life feels calm, undemanding,
It’s easy to be – human, present, adult.
When friends bring reminiscence, laughter,
It’s easy to be – human, happy, adult.
When words flow, smooth like silk,
It’s easy to be – human, content, adult.
When I pick up a pen, touch it to paper,
It’s easy to be.
Saba, the idea of just being is so inviting. You move from the chaos and chores and demands to the softness of sand and friends and word flow. This was like a deep breath. And a letting go. I’m right with you on adulting!
“This was like a deep breath. And a letting go.” – I’m living for this description. Thank you, Jennifer!
Wow loved this because it is so true and it is relatable to everyone.
Thank you, Freddy!
Oh, I love the contrast between “Did I tell you I hate adulting?” and your lyrical repetition of the words “It’s easy to be” by the end…as if you have come out on the other side, feeling and seeing how great it is to be an adult.
Tbh I started this poem ready to list down all the cons of adulting but it had a mind of its own.
“Of dust motes floating in warm sunlight” – I love that line, defining what that ‘quiet moment’ looks like and then feels like with “toes wedged” into sand (or metaphorical sand – my comforter!). Indeed that space of being pen on paper is one of my favorite places to be. Nicely captured here, Saba.
Would you believe that I was thinking about the comforter at my sister’s place when I was writing that line?
Thank you, Denise!
I love the repetition of “It’s easy to be” and then how the middle word changes depending on the situation.
Thank you, Heather!
Saba,
Ooo, that truncated last line, that beautiful celebration of writing regardless of age is everything. As I read I thought about how much easier it has been to be an adult than a child for me, even though I love the sayings decrying adulting. Never thought adult would become a verb! Glad it did.
Adulthood definitely has its problems, but it comes with freedom and, in my culture, space to speak your mind (sometimes). Am I enjoying myself? Not as much as I’d like to. Would I go back to being a teenager? No chance!
This poem captures so much of what life is about. Finding those small moments of peace amidst the chaos. The images you paint in this poem are absolutely wonderful.
Thank you for representing that line so well Saba T. I love the repetitive lines beginning with “It’s easy to be…” because it does seem so easy to just “be” all of those things…in writing, but in reality, well…to be continued!
Thank you, Jessica.
We have a saying in Urdu, “kehnay mein kya jata hai” (doesn’t hurt to say it). ?
I’m honored! Heading over to check out your poem now!
I am blessed to finally be in a place where everyone understands the beauty of repitition in writing! I once got called out for it and I had to explain how it adds depth to the words I used it but the person was never convinced.
I loved Chiara Hemsley’s “waking gardens with no limits.”
Here we go:
Waking Gardens
I dream of myself waking inside a garden,
one I must have dug myself in another life.
Waking to metallic soil stuck to my cheek,
to my toes stretching into the first planted row.
I must have watered at twilight–
the green sprouts and yellow buds
open to the emerging sunlight.
Coffee entices me through a window
in a nearby hut…
But, first, I must stand and walk the rows
in this waking garden.
The garden of dreams
with no limits.
Dixie, what a gorgeous planting and unearthing. I can imagine myself in each of these stanzas, awakening. There’s a strong sense of rebirth throughout your lines. I envision first movements/steps and endless possibilities.
For me, the most relatable part is how it is all a dream, since I manage to mess everything up every time I’ve ever tried gardening. I feel bad for my mother, she had to endure all of the creative methods I found to ruin plants.
Reading a poem like this inspires me to rethink my past mistakes and reconsider the hobby of gardening. Or maybe I’ll just dream of gardening more, less hard work that way.
I love the dreamy focus of this poem, and I am enthralled by this line, “I must have watered at twilight” – filling me with wonder.
Dixie, I love the imagery you created for us; I could just see and feel the soil and sprouts all around you. Thank you for this poem!
Dixie, it’s amazing the way that the same lines evoke different memories. Walking in the garden today reminds me of the many funerals I’ve attended when the hymn “In the Garden” has been sung at the request of the deceased.
On the one hand they’ve considered the companionship they’ve experienced in the presence of God’s Spirit and we, in the sanctuary are considering the absence of the
friend or relative whose life we’ve come to celebrate. Same song, different emotions of joy and sorrow. But, I guess it’s a joy to have had those you will miss for positive reasons. 🙂
Dixie, wow, I love how you weaved garden words into this poem. “dug myself” “soil stuck to my cheek” “watered at twilight” “green sprouts and yellow buds” “emerging sunlight”…wow, so many rich sensory details. I am completely mesmerized from the beginning. Then your end is spot on wonderful…”The garden of dreams/with no limits”. Stunning, beautiful poem!
I walk with you into this dream – so vivid – so real. I want to stay.
The classroom, I get,
to a certain extent.
I can tell a metaphor
at fifty paces,
a questionable use of irony
a line of trochaic tetrameter,
the whole nine yards
(can even explain the origin
of that phrase – it involves
machine guns and airplanes,
if you can believe it).
I can make a copy
double sided
and AND scan said copy
sending it to my email
(just don’t ask me to put the
staple in the top left of my
printouts – I have a Masters
in English Literature but
even those directions
are beyond me).
Look, I don’t want to brag
but I’ve been in the classroom
for 27 years now
I can scaffold, align,
individualize, engage,
chunk, differentiate
until the cows come home
(another phrase
oddly enough
involving machine guns
and airplanes
if by that I really mean
methane emissions
and death)
but put me out into
“The Real World” and I’m
pretty much useless.
Watching me adult is like
a real life episode of
some reality tv show
or mockumentary –
Naked and Afraid
meets The Office,
which sounds like
it could be fun
until you have
to fix the leaky faucet
in the kitchen sink
or change the filter
in the furnace
or come to understand
that the word “grout”
isn’t just some
made up word like
Jabberwocky
or Heffalump.
There really is a
thing called “grout.”
And you need to
learn to use it
or do it, I don’t
quite know, to be
honest.
So, yeah, give me
a classroom full
of disengaged,
feral-like seniors
and a copy of
Hamlet
any day
rather than asking
me to fill out
my taxes or
clear out the wasp
nest in the eaves of
the garage.
Adulting is hard,
and there are times
when I truly
hate it.
____________________________________________
Thank you for this prompt today, Jennifer. I love the idea of building on (or reinterpreting) the words of these other fabulous poets. I love your phrasings of “Turn seed to stem / and bean to stalk” and “Take the sparks / and wild the fire.” (“Wild the fire” especially!) Enjoy your day back in the classroom! (My spring break officially started today, sorry, that was unsolicited and, quite frankly, a bit mean, lol.) I pulled my inspiration from Jessica Wiley – Thank you, Jessica – and decided to write about “adulting.”
Scott, no apologies on your spring break – it’s an earned right or rite in our trial by fire. I am definitely looking up the origin of the whole nine yards and til the cows come home. I share deadline with students – which also involves guns/war – and find these word origins endlessly fascinating. I loved following the meandering you took throughout the poem. And I think I need to watch you adult – you need your own show. The segment on grout brought a laugh!
I think your poem likely resonates with a lot of people in education. Adulting is one of those things that is cool at first, but loses its excitement. For as much of a headache the classroom can be sometimes, it also does a lot to keep us sane. Your poem captured the weird duality that we often find in our lives.
You have ‘hit the bull’s eye’ about the torment of adulthood with these lines:
Isn’t this the truth?! I would much rather be squirreled away with students or just pen & paper, than trying to make essential repairs in my home or car!
Scott,
I so enjoy your writing still and your wit. This linear poem tracing all of the things you can do (great list, btw) contrasting with the difficult details of life is clever.
Scott, I could definitely relate to your poem although I finally was able to figure out the stapling part of the copier…lol! Not an easy task. I love how you show that the classroom can be a wonderful escape from the world outside of school. No wasp nests for me, please, and don’t even get me started on taxes! Thanks for sharing your wonderful craft and wit!
Scott: It was just today that I was reminded that my seniors were coming into world in the same year that I entered into the classroom. Now, until I retire, I will have been teaching before all of my students were born. I may need a new mileage marker. And, what you describe in your piece is the call for new allusions and references if I am to stay, “topical” vs. “knowledgeable.” The question might become, to what do we cling tightly and for what might I make more room? Thank you for inviting me to think about this with your piece.
I loved your humor here and your quirky asides. I felt like you really came through as a personality in this work.
Bravo Scott! Now I hate adulting even more after reading about all of that stuff we have to do! These lines,
“I can make a copy
double sided
and AND scan said copy
sending it to my email
(just don’t ask me to put the
staple in the top left of my
printouts – I have a Masters
in English Literature but
even those directions
are beyond me).” I can relate to because before I left my previous school, I still couldn’t get the sizing right-75% 110%, nor the double-sided from the long side or short side. That just makes me sick, lol! So, I will turn off my mind from adulting and chase the happy thoughts in my mind-going to bed soon! Thank you for sharing!
Scott,
I love the way you interject word/phrase origins, but not the whole story, just enough to make it weird – in a GOOD way! I like to think that I am “adulting” in my classroom, but you made me realize, not really. Spring has sprung and the “feral-like seniors” are loath to do anything that resembles “adulting” – fantastic!
Hi All, and happy Monday. I borrowed my inspiration line or “seed” from Glenda Funk (thank you Glenda).
Timeless twins
Sometimes the old is
far better than the new
(damn I love nostalgia)
but sometimes the old and the new are timeless twins,
looking and shrugging at one another across the ages:
package peanuts, standardized tests, artificial maple syrup, brand new parents boarding a plane, white chalk, Doublemint Gum, corporate holiday parties, Port-a-poties, Salisbury Steak, number of signatures required on every form, canned frosting, Vicks VapoRub, egg cartons, malfunctioning copy machines, Lunchables, the local news at five and ten, Freezy Pops, office coffee, Post-It Notes, Pinewood Derby races, gummy bears, mission statements, canned frosting, faculty meetings, everything with BHA and BHT added to preserve freshness, five paragraph essays, getting your throat swabbed, mailbox flags.
You, timeless twins of old and new,
doused in chemical cologne,
I hail you, now,
ambivalent admiration:
you are cool
stay the same
never change.
Kevin, taking the old and new and making them timeless twins and their shrugging at each other, along with the catalog of said twins makes a fascinating genealogy. I’m trying to decide my favorites among them, but that’s a bit like having to pick a favorite child, though throat swabbing and faculty meetings can easily go!
thank you for responding Jennifer and for your kind words. I think my title (or entire poem!) may be misleading (but can’t change it). What I was going for here was a cataloguing of things that never change–are twins of themselves across time, so there’s some profound ambivalence about the old and new versions.
Love the timeless twins . . . what is old is new again; what comes around, goes around. Do Vicks VapoRub or Salisbury steak really ever go out of vogue?
haha . . . some of these things have such visceral memories attached to them, too? So, the smell of Vicks (always the same) would probably take me back well over fifty years and land me in a kid’s bed in Minnesota.
The juxtaposition of “hail you” with “ambivalent admiration” is quite clever, but then following it up with “you are cool” is the greatest line in here! I can just hear that assurance coming across as cooly as it reads. “stay the same / never change” reminds me of that saying, ‘the more things change, the more they stay the same.’ And all those timeless twins – live long enough, and perhaps you can count them as triplets! I think most of them would still be there. Of the list, which one resonates the most with me? OFFICE COFFEE! Hilarious. But also poignant. Thank you, Kevin!
Thank you for your thoughtful and personal feedback Denise! (yes, they are already multiples beyond twins for me . . . ) The ending for me was sort of re-voiced out of old jr. high yearbook signatures . . . that “original” saying that’s sort of repeated across decades.
Kevin, your poem is a wonderful example of using catalog in a poem! Walt Whitman would bow to your skill. I love your direct voice, and the final lines: “you are cool/stay the same/never change! Fantastic poem!
thank you Barb! laughing about WW . . . really appreciate your comments.
Love this line, “but sometimes the old and the new are timeless twins,
looking and shrugging at one another across the ages,” Kevin, followed by the listing, That listing is everything.
The older I get, the more I’m seeing the seamless fusion of old/new…relevant/irrelevant…hope/wisdom.
same, brother. I think i’m more used to that in myself, too. Used to be just theory that I had different voices, and now I know it for real–haha. Pretty soon they’ll talk to one another and then it’s pretty much a wrap.
Oh, I love a good catalog! I love how the items push against each other, how your words bubble with sound, the recurring themes. This was really fun.
My title hails from Maureen Y Ingram’s poem, “I’m only 3 but my mind is IN FLIGHT” which can be traced back to Boxer’s and Kevin’s poems)
Why did you say this is taking a year?
Why did you say this is taking a year?
When actually it’s taking forever
A long long time
It’s taking all my patience
It’s about all I can stand
I can’t stand it in fact
This watching and waiting
Too much for you to bear?
Can you hear yourself, dear?
Why did you say this is taking a year?
Sherri, love it! I’m immediately deposited into all the forevers, the all I can stands. And I love that you follow that line with “I can’t stand it in fact.” So, so good. And so, so real!
This poem was frustrating to read, in a good way. It encapsulated the feeling of waiting for something that never happens. It takes me back to all the lines at the DMV that felt like it took years, or maybe even forever, to get through.
I can immediately imagine SO MANY different circumstances where this frustration would be felt so keenly. I wonder if you might be referencing this very challenging school year, itself – I’m now retired, but my teacher friends assure me that this year has aged them in ways previous ones did not. I love this question, and can hear the stressed tone it might be delivered in:
Too much for you to bear?
Hope just writing this has relieved some of your frustration!! Fun to see where your poem went with that line from mine/Boxer’s/Kevin – our poetry scavenger hunt, hahaha – or is it a ‘relay race’?
Sherri, your poem is so fun and relatable. A perfect piece for children, I think. I am definitely not patient so reading your poem made me laugh. “Can you hear yourself, dear?” Yes, perfect line! Loved it!
I have felt this so many times. My favorite lines – “It’s taking all my patience/It’s about all I can stand/ I can’t stand it in fact.”
Sherri,
When you put IT that way (in a poem), hyperbolic hyperbole seems pretty absurd. Is “this is taking a year” understatement or overstatement when it could be forever?
Jennifer, thank you for your prompt that encourages us to really read and gain inspiration from others. I was struck by Glenda’s lines: “Sometimes the old is / far better than the new” and I went with it!
Sometimes the old is far better than the new
Sometimes the old is
far better than the new
as in thousand-year houses
towering cathedrals
magnificent castles
and ancient forests
with no undergrowth.
But sometimes it isn’t
as in new friendships
that meet you where you are
not where you were
instant connectedness
when you want it
fresh-squeezed orange juice
and waking gardens
with no limits.
Chiara,
I have to give credit where credits is due. The line is from Christine M’s poem, This site does not allow editing, and I’d intended to use italics to identify the part I borrowed from Christine. They said, the rest of your poem channels what I’d been thinking about when I write this morning,
Oops, I am so sorry I missed that! Well thank you Christine M. and thank you Glenda!
Yes, these contrasting benefits of old and new strike a chord with me. I especially like the lines about new friendships “that meet you where you are
not where you were”.
Isn’t that the most gorgeous phrase? And isn’t it a wonderful thing when you find it?
Chiara, your poem connected with me. In this setting I’m using the archaic definition of affections “the act or process of affecting or being affected.” or putting on acts.
Connections of Affections
instant connectedness
when you want it
fresh-squeezed orange juice
and waking gardens
with no limits.
Waking and walking in the garden
“What you say? Oh, pardon
Me, I didn’t mean to bump you
But I was distracted
My thoughts have been protracted
Thinking of times we didn’t have fresh juice
Just TANG in the jar.
It didn’t come up to par.
But that’s what we had and it wasn’t so bad.
It was popular and that’s what’s important
When you don’t have clothes to spruce
You up so you looked
Like you were in the groove.
There was so much to prove
And good grades just didn’t do it.
You had to be able to sock it to it
To be cool when I was in school.”
Anna, love how you captured a favorite slogan from back when Tang was popular…sock it to you! Your direct voice, rhythm and rhyme had me completely pulled into your scene. Tang wasn’t so bad, I agree! Very fun poem indeed!
Anna, I have to agree, Tang wasn’t so bad! Thanks for sharing!
I love the contrasts of old and new and how you celebrate what is good about both. My favorite line that also made me smile was “fresh-squeezed orange juice” because my immediate thought was “yeah, who would want old orange juice!” Thanks for sharing and being clever with your imagery/details.
Chiara, the contrast between the old and the new, and what is beautiful about both, is an honoring of each. I thought I was grounded in the old, those ancient forests and towering cathedrals, but there’s so much to love in the new as well, especially those friendships that meet you were you are vs were – a beautiful thought.
On your front stoop,
I dropped my ashes
where pavement and brimstone meet.
On your front stoop,
I learned the word for progress
while sipping from the edge of glass bottles
On your front stoop,
you sang national anthems from other countries;
places that ours just couldn’t compete with.
On your front stoop,
you said you forgave me for what I told you.
You didn’t forgive me for the way I made you feel, though,
but I didn’t expect you to.
On your front stoop,
We started a war
I love the mystery of things that happen on your front stoop. This can be taken so many ways, Stephenos! The second stanza makes me feel the hurt of progress. The ashes being dropped resonate with war.
Thank you so much! I appreciate that!
Stephenos, welcome! : )
I love how your last stanza brings us back to your first–the “war” perhaps causing the ashes and brimstone. Such resonant, evocative language!
Thank you so much, Julie! Also, thank you for your help in figuring out how to post! I went back and posted on the other days as well (aside from yesterday). This poem was definitely one I had a lot of fun writing.
Stephanos, the use of the repeated prepositional phrase feels like an invitation and is beautifully placed at the entrance to each stanza. The setting (front stoop) as a transitional space also invites. And as hard as some of your words are (those last two stanzas!), they feel like an invitation to know this story.
That is very kind of you, thank you so much! I chose to borrow the stoop line because I appreciate the way a stoop can be an entrance/exit to a home; becoming a liminal space.
Jessica Wiley used the line “Waiting to escape the actuality of life.” which resonated with me as I stare down the final days before my senior English students leave the classroom. It was that or write a poem about adulting and I didn’t feel like doing that.
Senior Year
Waiting to escape
ticking clocks mark the hours
tallying marks clock the days
an end is ever approaching,
ever closer is the final phase.
Winding down,
counting down,
marking down,
deadline and due dates
first times and final lines.
They say they can’t wait to escape,
they know from where they are escaping
but do they know to where their escape will take them?
Erica, you are right–they have no idea what awaits them when they finally “escape!” I guess lots and lots of adulting! But also so many adventures and so much fun; let’s be honest! Thanks for bringing me back to my senior year.
Escape can be understood in more than one way which you capture here so well. Young folks at the top of their game, so to speak, wobble in those final days of high school between the excitement of finishing and the uncertainty of “where their escape will take them”.
I liked this poem because it does remind me of my senior year. The excitement to be done with school and begin college. Eager to grow up and become an adult. Good job!
Erica, The rhythm of your words is beautiful. That second stanza reads like a checklist, mimicking the narrative. I’m reminded of adulting within your last line – they want an escape only to find themselves in an even more inescapable world!
Erica, your poem reminded me of teaching dual credit composition to my seniors. They truly are so anxious to escape and from an adult’s point of view, we can’t help but wonder where their paths will lead them. Great action words that show the emotion….marking down…is the perfect descriptor. Wonderful poem!
Erica: Spot-on. These are the conversations that drive our return for this seven-week blitz toward the end of the year. So many of our seniors in Room 407 are looking well into May and I trying to get them to stop and see April. See each moment. Your poem here is a sort of affirmation. This is my first year to teach all “in-the-room” seniors. It’s a difficult role to be the one inviting them into the rest of their lives without wanting to hold some of them in place. Like a crossing guard at the door, I have to drop my arms eventually. Where, indeed, will “their ecape take them?”
Erica.
“First times and final lines”. I remember living that stretch. My kids – nearly 19 and just 21 – are living it right now. I love what you did with the “d’s” and the “f’s” in those two lines. The repetition really popped for me.
Erica J. Forget Adulting, this is more important! I can relate to these lines, “They say they can’t wait to escape,
they know from where they are escaping
but do they know to where their escape will take them?”
And answer, no. Because I would have never imagined becoming a teacher. I was running from my current situation at that time and was looking for normal again. There were so many possibilities, but I answered this call. And look at me now!
This was amazing!
I took the last line from Alex’s poem and played with some ramblings today. Love that we can plop drafts in here and have it still be “enough.”
Drop it right on your front stoop–
4 pairs of nude shoes because you
can’t muster the courage to shop in
stores for a belt that fits the new high
rise jeans that came into style while you
lived in leggings barefoot arches flopped
in between brunette threads gray wire but
salon visits and human encounters further
deferred hiding from the driver who will
drop it right on your front stoop
Sarah, what a snapshot of pandemic living. It really conveys the tentative nature of decisions and priorities now. This is such a descriptive phrase “in between brunette threads gray wire”
Sarah, poetry plopping needs to become a thing! I love your ramblings and how they reflect this cycle we find ourselves in, one that keeps rounding back to the front stoop drop. It’s hard to know what we will carry forward from this time and how much will go back to the way it was.
Oh, it is more than enough…I adore ramblings, and these particular line breaks, and the story here! Possibly because I understand it too well… and: I am amazed by what was born of this line, Sarah.
Sarah, I love the direct voice in your poem and how you create a sort of frenetic speed as we, the readers, are led to that final dropping at the front stoop. Loved “lived in leggings barefoot arches flopped”…oh yes, I can relate! Thank you!
The 4 pairs of nude shoes! How relatable. I love the way your poem seems so light even though it speaks of such large changes in our lives. Thank you for sharing!
Sarah,
This shopping-delivery stream of consciousness is perfect for channeling today’s fashion-forward women. I want to see the shoes. I love shoes and can only admire heels on others’ feet since I’m old and need comfort more than fashion. There was a shift in fashion the past two years. I feel like I’m reliving my high school years, but I did buy some new jeans with big bell bottoms and a high waist.
This was fun! Thank you Jennifer for hosting and sharing today. I felt ignited with the line, “Collage myself
upon canvas.”
A canvas ready to be splashed with color, glued with memories, and framed with love. It gives me new life, like I am a piece of work…artwork, a masterpiece, a piece of the Master.
I borrowed the line “a routine that diminishes passion” from Emma’s poem.
This Can’t Be Real Life
Waiting to escape the actuality of life.
Looking forward to choosing destiny,
but stuck in
a routine that diminishes passion.
Keeps me from my dreams.
But the quicker I complete these domestic duties, the sooner I can achieve
the ultimate dream:
Finish my book.
Clean the book room (A.K.A. the bathroom), mop the floors, and oh that dreaded chore…laundry.
I despise it as it peeks at me, taunting me to fold and hang the now-wrinkly pieces.
Did I tell you I hate adulting?
Jessica,
I love that line “these domestic duties” toward the ultimate dream. I can’t wait to read your book some day.
Sarah
Sarah, it feels better than saying “chores” lol. And I can’t wait to decide what exactly I’m going to write about! Oof! So many ideas…
Jessica, I remember you from the Sunday book club :). Great to see you in this space as well. Haha, I loved your poem. Yes, I can feel the frustration of needing to get those chores done to get to what we really want to do! Thank you for some humor and a very relatable poem!
Jinan, hi! It’s nice to be sharing another space with you! And thank you. I think my latest poems have been about releasing frustrations, lol! And sometimes, it’s better to laugh about them than to cry. Thank you for reading!
There was a lot in your poem that spoke to me — though the line I borrowed was the one about escaping. I did like how you ended on a question though — much like you though I do not like adulting and didn’t want to elaborate on that in a poem today. It was definitely relatable though as I have similar dreams as well.
Haha, yes Erica J! I’m glad so many can relate. I do not like to “adult” on the weekends, but that seems like the only time I have uninterrupted spans of time. I’d definitely rather be doing something I enjoy.
“Waiting to escape the actuality of life” – how is most of adult life based around this! Thank you for giving me the words to describe what I’m going through.
Your poem was the inspiration for mine today.
Saba T! Can we just go on strike from adulting? Ha, not! And I feel so special that you have taken one of my lines. I can’t wait to read yours! Thank you so much for the kind thoughts!
Jessica, aha! I’ve finally gotten to the source of the adulting so many have been inspired by! And that line is perfectly placed. If only those darned domestic duties didn’t get in the way of what we really want to do (and what we really should be doing!). Finish that book. You’ll be so very glad you did!
Yes, Jennifer, yes!!! Thank you for your words. That book is on my to-do list. I need to bump it to my top 3!
I am using a line from Rita’s “Hope” as a launching point. Thanks, Rita!!!
Of Peace I See Flashes
Of peace
I see flashes
In the parks
And commercial caliber smiles
No one wants war
Sitting in a Subway
Too worn to cook
Too poor for Olive Garden
War is expensive
War can’t be enjoyed
On thrifted couches
In rented living rooms
Of peace
I see flashes
In young minds pondering
Nuclear options
No way do you
Understand what that means
Too old to be so naive
Too beat to think it through
You can buy a planet with oil
You can buy peace for peanuts
A drone will carry it
Drop it right on your front stoop
Alex,
I borrowed your last line for my poem today before reading your poem. I love coming back to discover what it was all about for you. This rumination on war is striking with contrasts of Subway and couches and Nuclear and plant — and then “you can buy peace for peanuts”! The technology of a drone carrying “it” is, to me, the essence of your poem — mechanized object carrying “it” — there’s something in that line that is really haunting me.
Sarah
Alex, there’s so much depth in your poem! I loved the second stanza so much, and then I got to the third and I might love it even more. And that last stanza! Wowza! This is a weighty beauty!
I dig a poem that ends in a place I never would have expected when I started reading, but that makes perfect sense. I “awww”d out loud at the close of this one. A lot of ‘opposites’ on the scales here, weighty, as Jennifer commented, but also ‘weighing’ these kinds of life options. Favorite line is “commercial caliber smiles.” Thanks, Alex!
I am first captured by the title Of Peace I See Flashes and hope it becomes the reality of the peace can be bought for peanuts and dropped on the front stoop of this war. Today I had to go downtown and was surprised to see so many homeless people. Your lines about worn out poor people sitting in a subway hit home to me.
Alex, your poem is absolutely riveting. I love the way you’ve weaved the words of this poem together. “Of peace/I see flashes” “Nuclear options” “Of thrifted couches/In rented living rooms” and the final stanza is jaw-dropping. I think there is such a disconnect in our world today as I listen to all of the war atrocities on the news and then witness just a couple of days ago, a rocket in space for entertainment. Stunning and provocative poem! I feel that “too beat” emotion.
Alex, that last stanza, especially the last two lines, were a gut punch–so impactful. The drone image sticks with me.
Jennifer, what a serendipity that your and Gae and Lori’s prompts are back-to-back. It is building lovely connections in this community during the opening of Verselove. I am taking with me today: “Take the sparks and wild the fire.” Beautiful. Thank you.
I burrowed into Lori Landau’s god poem yesterday and was still thinking about it today. I planted seeds of Kim’s form and Christine B. and Julie’s lines about the lost being found.
What was lost is now found
Or a hope God’s not bound
In amaryllis and holey toast
Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Mother, Daughter, Holy Hen
Women’s image, not just men
Invisible, yet present
I wait for your good Advent
Denise, oh, how I love this today! The recognizing of Mother, Daughter, Women. The reminder of the holey toast and its spiritual connection and placement with the trinity. And that hope for the good Advent. Thank you for reinforcing, for making visible, for finding.
A lovely combination of inspirational lines and an inspiration for us all during this time of Advent. I love the way you included the women.
Denise!
Thank you for your poem today and for drawing connections to the ways the prompts are nurturing community in these early days. It really does invite us to see one another and witness the lines that are shaping our experiences.
The feminist lens here is striking. You made me smile in “Mother, Daughter, Holy Hen” in the way they are capitalized. The “e” sounds also echo here offering the music, the hum of mass.
Sarah
“A hope that God’s not bound”… indeed not! It is hard for our mortal minds to grasp. For me those last lines contain such longing. Amazing tapestry of words you have woven here from various threads, Denise!
A lovely prayer poem, Denise; I love the simplicity and awe of “Invisible, yet present.” Beautiful!
Denise, your poem flows so effortlessly. I loved the line “Holy Hen”…I think I will be borrowing this for a poem I want to write for a Grant Wood forum I am currently engaged. I pray “God’s not bound”. Powerful poem! Thank you!
Denise,
Love the rhyme, the line pairing, and the humor: toast/Ghost. But the celebration of women on this historic day is best: “Women’s image, not just men.”
What a great prompt! I grabbed a stanza from Word Dancer. “Across the sky, it writes its name in the darkness.”
HOPE
Across the sky,
it writes its name
in the darkness.
HOPE
In the stars
I see sparks
of my dreams.
HOPE
In the stars
I see smiles
Of my lost loved ones
HOPE
In the stars
I see bright eyes
Of future generations
HOPE
In the stars
I see flashes
Of peace
HOPE
Rita, I love poems with hope, and this one does not disappoint. I will look at the stars differently tonight, thinking of the smiles of lost loved ones and the bright eyes of the future. So beautiful.
Thank you!
Rita, we just discussed the power of HOPE in class today, in relation to Ukraine and survival and moving forward. I want to emblazon your poem across the sky and upon future generations. The repetition works like a mantra – and a provider of hope.
Thank you.
Rita, for lack of a better word, your poem gives me “Hope”. I enjoy the simplicity of the symbols of hope you provided for us.
Thank you.
[Note: Jennifer — great prompt…and I loved your mentor poem and wanted to grab your final line (brilliant) but it’d already been snatched.]
[Susan Ahlbrand’s poem ended with “and you’ll be left to deal with it” — a terrific seed for a poem. Thank you for the inspiration, Susan!]
And You’ll Be Left to Deal With It
We leave loose ends
of loves,
financial affairs,
the laundry,
our nerves after a dare,
hobby projects,
novel drafts,
quandaries,
and poems
but our promises
and youthful proclamations
made in frayed bell bottoms
with our embroidered peace signs
from lost decades,
we trip over now,
haunt us,
shame us
with what we did not
accomplish
to make this world better
as we face down
smoke and fires,
dry rivers,
the slaughter in Ukraine
fraught with anger,
wrought from greed —
threads left unspooled
and tangled
in our me-me-me desires,
shivering specters of our blind hubris,
our heads in the sands
of an infected world —
left for you
to deal
with it.
by Susie Morice, April 4, 2022©
Wow. This is a powerful poem – the things we now trip over, the shivering specters of our blind hubris – with what we did not accomplish. I love this poem – thank you for sharing it.
Susie, what a powerful and thought-provoking poem. I have gotten to the point in my life (63) that I am starting to try and tie up loose ends and not leave them for my kids to deal with, but that is a monumental task some days.
but our promises
and youthful proclamations
made in frayed bell bottoms
with our embroidered peace signs
from lost decades,
we trip over now,
This stanza makes me a little sad because I too made youthful proclamations in frayed bell bottoms and believed we could make the world a better place. As a teacher I hope I am empowering my students make change happen.
Thank you for a wonderful poem.
Wow, Susie. I’m a little broken up after reading your poem. “fraught with anger, / wrought from greed– / threads left unspooled / and tangled / in our me-me-me desires” really jumps out today. I’m sad about the me-me-me I add to the carnage. Your poem will keep me thinking about it today and into the future, I hope.
Oh, Susie! I feel this, every bit. The unraveling of our world never felt more unhemmable – the cause of the tripping now. Your placement of that image against the frayed bell bottoms is brilliant. The unspooling and tangling is a mess that I’m not sure how we can straighten. What are we leaving behind?
Susie–we “of a certain age” thought things would be different, didn’t we? And yet, look at the world today. (Were we in such a bubble that we didn’t know those who have become the people they are today?) This makes me feel so ashamed.
shivering specters of our blind hubris,
our heads in the sands
of an infected world —
left for you
to deal
with it.
That’s what we have done, isn’t it?
Susie,
The stanza that struck me was
and youthful proclamations
made in frayed bell bottoms
with our embroidered peace signs
from lost decades,
we trip over now,
A family photo of my sister came developed in this instant.
And then the shift — oh, you are so good with the turns in verse– toward “slaughter in Ukraine” call up the peace signs decades past with the “threads left unspooled and tangled”. Clothing is such an apt metaphor throughout.
And then the confession of what we/our/us have left for “you” — a collective “you” to “deal/with it” — all of “it.”
Peace,
Sarah
Susie, your title and line you borrowed carries such weight. I find your poem and this message provocative and heavy. Today reading everyone’s poems shows what a ripple effect can have, and then there’s the “infected world”…how we are all left to deal with its aftermath even if we do not want to. Love how you captured the past desire to make change and feeling the shame of not making a difference. How you weaved the fray bell-bottom line into the “in our me-me-me desires”…Sincerely thought-provoking lines. I would love to have my students read this on Wednesday as a prompt for what is important to persuade others before it’s too late. Another outstanding poem, Susie! Thank you!
Susie,
I’m here for this indictment of humanity and our “hubris,” and “our heads in the sands.” I’m reading The High House, a novel about the effect of climate crisis on the next generation. That list of grievances is a siren song.
Monday, 4th of April, a line from one poem becomes the seed of another. The seed for this poem came from Kim’s and was further inspired by everyone. Here in this space, I’m learning
writing fingers celebrate
what once was grief —
of if not quite grief, cause for pain—
the friends we’ve lost,
the fires burned cold,
the memories that haunt,
or scorch the soul;
the mistakes we’ve made,
or time we’ve squandered,
the cruel word spoken or heard.
all retrieved in this sacred space
and bravely saluted in our circle of grace.
Ann, I like that you’ve framed these painful moments in our lives within our need and desire to write. This is such a good reminder of the restorative power of writing and the beauty in our lives not only despite the pain but because of it too. Thanks for the reminder.
Ann, what a beautiful use of “writing fingers celebrate” – you’ve captured an intent of this space, recognizing the sacred and the circle (such a wondrous shape – flexible, gathering, encompassing, yet open). I appreciate all that you acknowledge here, as well – the losses and memories. Thank you.
Following the thread of this poem was interesting and I like how the title is in such contrast with some of the imagery and specifics mentioned in the poem itself.
You have a great talent and a way with words. “The memories that haunt or scorch the soul”.Was powerful sometimes I wish I could get rid of memories that aren’t always pleasant. Good Job!
Ann, wow, wow, wow! Love your title and all of the ways you’ve captured how this group shares their experiences. “all retrieved in this sacred space”….Amen! Sensational poem! Thank you!
oh wow this really has a meditative quality about it–like an invocation. I love where it lands, too. The ending is so rich as a “seed” for thought here.
Hi, all! I am teaching again today. I will hop into these as soon as I’m able, snatching time. between students!
First stanza borrowed from “The Guesthouse” by Rumi
A Bitterness of Being
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
I did not invite you here, guest
But life is such that I need you
To dine, to sleep and pay what is due
So that I may continue to survive.
This is a mystery of humanness
To resist the daily, weekly, annual
Drudging tasks of life.
To taste the bitterness of the daily grind.
And yet these bitter acts
Are the acts that provide
Shelter, hearth, home
(But why am I the only one here who will clean the toilets?)
I suppose that is why Rumi
Suggests we greet the “guests”
Of task, or more importantly, the thought that sticks to them,
With gentleness.
maybe even joy.
Merry,
Thank you so much for sharing this Rumi poem today. It is fascinating, but even more so, yours is. So deep. I keep reading it over and over and I am struck by its depth. I absolutely LOVE the insertion of humor with
I also love
Merry, I love the image you’ve borrowed from Rumi and the places that you’ve taken it. I’ve been reminding myself of this very message lately as the middle of the second semester brings all of the anticipation of summer. I especially love the parenthetical question for a little laugh! Thanks for sharing.
Merry, what an idea to ponder, the guest house of being human. You bring us to a gentle ending, with a possibility of joy, found in every act. And I love the parenthetical insertion! Ugh with that chore! Thank you for sharing a positive option for the daily grind.
I am thoroughly enjoying these collaborative approaches to writing poetry! Jennifer, it was wonderful to start my day with poetry by Naomi Shihab Nye. In your poem, I hear such a gorgeous connection between “crackle after the blazing dies” and a writer’s own thinking as they ‘finalize’ writing, how there continues to be crackles…as you write here:
I couldn’t resist making the last line of Boxer’s poem the inspiration for mine (and I think Boxer’s words were inspired by Kevin) – I so love the world of preschoolers –
I’m only 3, but my mind is IN FLIGHT!
I’m only 3, but my mind is IN FLIGHT!
I’m just not headed where you thought I might
One more thing before we go to the car
You’ve gotta check out this surprise jar
I made it for you it’s really fun
It’s really the best best best one
Hey did you see this tower I built
Oh I’m going to hide under this quilt
Now you can’t find me – I’m near the chair!
Wait these aren’t the shoes I want to wear
My ball is lost it rolled down low
Can I have a graham cracker before I go
I want to take my doll with me
Aack! What is that? Is that a bee?!!!
Let me hide one more thing in here
Why did you say this is taking a year?
Maureen, I love the way you’ve captured the enthusiasm and whimsy of a 3-year-old. I was eagerly anticipating what they would do next with each new line. I think my favorite lines are “You’ve gotta check out this surprise jar/I made it for you it’s really fun” and “Now you can’t find me–I’m near the chair!” The inability to hold in emotions comes bounding through your words. Thanks for sharing.
Maureen, every line of this is a flight! I work with middle schoolers and there’s so much of them in here as well. Those times of rapid changes bring about the rapid thinking, perhaps. And I love, love that last line.
I love it – because it’s so playful and fun ! I enjoyed the what’s happening next rhythm! ?
Maureen, I had fun reading this and thinking of my own group of youngest learners. You paint a deeply vivid and immediately recognizable portrait of a no-longer toddler and your last line inspired my poem for today. Thank you!
Maureen, this exactly the three-year-old’s mind-in-flight! My favorite line (beside “Why did you say this is taking a year?” – LOL!) is “I’m just not headed where you thought I might.” While these little ones keep us on our toes – running after them – I interpret the line as a child’s mind heading in fantastic directions we cannot even iamgine. I love to hear little ones’ thoughts and observations about the world; they are amazingly perceptive and artistic. Such a fun poem.
Maureen,
This is spectacular. It needs to be a picture book. I love the rhyme. I love the way you captured the 3-year-old voice; of course, we know why. Love it!
Last line from Word Dancer
Illuminating the unknown
I try
I stumble
I walk in a fog
while shaking my head
and wondering
about meaning
of the dreams
inside
rattling around
That unknown message
in the dark
of dreams
when
I can’t find my car
I can’t find my classroom
Lost
Illuminating the unknown
I try
I decipher
I decode these visions
unravel
the tension
that when
unpacked
and sorted
will bring
a direction
and brightness
to my upcoming day
I love the dreams rattling around, and I know what it’s like to feel like I can’t find my car or my classroom..
I often wonder about the meaning of my dreams too. I love the verbs you used – “decipher, decode, unravel,” – to describe the task of trying to make meaning. I hadn’t thought about it like that before. Thanks.
Susan, there’s something about the dreams inside rattling around that resonates – the sound of them, the caging of them, which bring to mind bones rattling, dried up and lost and carries me to Langston Hughes and deferred dreams. And I love the word illuminating – taking something from the darkness and bringing it to light.
Susan,
Your poem spoke to me as I have had some interesting (and stressful) dreams lately, too. I like that in your last lines you have the hope that understanding will bring you direction and brightness to your day!
Thank you, Jennifer, for another chance for us to be inspired by our fellow poets! I went back to yesterday’s trove of treasures and used the last line of cmargocs‘s poem as inspiration. I tweaked it and used it at the end of mine as well, breaking away from the instructions a little.
Pending Empty Nest
Life has revolved around the four
their needs, their wants, their comings and goings.
Each has flown two years apart
leaving behind memories
and Junk.
Mounds of clothes
Closets replete with toys and mementos
Boxes of papers and artwork and notes
Two live on their own
but the Junk remains
the clutter of them
taking up the space they no longer do.
Two more will eventually
vacate home and not take their things
I’m too old to do a yard sale.
And I don’t want to haul things
to St. Vincent’s or Goodwill
that they still value.
Come get your trash and your treasures.
If it’s all still here when we no longer are
you’ll be left to deal with it.
~Susan Ahlbrand
4 July 20222
There is something bitter and sweet about this, and oh so true. I like the tone…so very practical about what gets left behind that they have largely forgotten, but would not like to have thrown away.
Susan, “Leaving behind memories and junk” captures so much….so very very much. And I think I might borrow, “I’m too old to do a yard sale” for a future poem! Love it!
Oh, Susan.–
“Come get your trash and your treasures.
If it’s all still here when we no longer are
you’ll be left to deal with it.”
I am in the process of going through those very closets, sorting, keeping, questioning
.”The clutter of them,
taking up the space they no longer do”
So bittersweet, and so true to my heart. You laid it all out there, my friend.
Susan, I want to laugh with you (two live on their own but the Junk remains), but I hear that underlying frustration. Capitalizing Junk, as if it’s an individual or individuals who’ve taken up residence is brilliant. And so very poignant – the “you’ll be left to deal with it.” Ugh!
I took the last line from Christine.
What was lost is now found
You were late, I was lost
Our first date, the dice tossed
I felt home, much comfort there
Conversing freely, my soul bare
We started walking
More we were talking
My feelings stirring?
The lines between us blurring
To love when you’re older
Is to be a bit bolder
Forget your cartography of hurt
You’ll have to be more alert
To find one’s soulmate
Before it’s not too late
What was lost is now found
The line for me so profound
Oh wow! I love “cartography of hurt”–something we all carry, sometimes indelibly etched on bodies, minds, souls. I could spend a long time just unpacking that perfect phrase. I really love your portrayal here of young love…the stutter-step beginnings and pushing past pain of the past.
Jennifer, the singular line of the title moving into the couplets reflects the pairing of you two so effectively. I also appreciate that you acknowledge how the line impacted you with its profoundness.
Nicely “bookended” as we say. I also was hit by that “cartography of hurt.” That’s a line that could inspire a lot of “list poems.” I enjoyed the transition this line captured, “The lines between us blurring” and, as someone who did not marry until I was “older” (40!), this is a YUP FOR SURE poem for me. Fun but heartfelt and insightful. Thank you, Jennifer!
I also took Fran’s line: Falling from the Stars.
A Galaxy of Words
Falling from the stars,
Grab the last bit of gossamer
From the ink black night.
Hold it tight in your hands
As it leaks through your fingers,
Silver and shimmering.
Across the sky,
It writes its name
In the darkness.
Free-verse and rhyming,
The rhythm and vibrations
Of the whole great universe.
A poem slowly forms
Out in the darkness,
Created by light.
It spreads and radiates,
It turn in upon itself
And the explodes.
Creating a whole new galaxy
Making space in the darkness
Illuminating the unknown.
Created by light…illuminating the unknown. A true galaxy of words is being created here in this space. Such a joy to be a small star twinkling beside you.
Love the imagery here ~ the light and darkness shifting
This poem is beautiful! My favorite line: grab the last bit of gossamer from the black ink of night, WoW. I love, love, love it.
I stand here in awe, witnessing this act of creation…a poem is born. Just stunning, Joanne!
We move with you into that illumination! I love the lines “grab the last bit of gossamer (a gorgeous word) from the ink black night. And the stanza that follows is just as beautiful! What a way to describe a poem forming!
Wow, I love how your opening lines pulled me right into this magical poem. You’ve captured the light of a poem so beautifully. Gorgeous poem and wonderful word play to create striking imagery! “Illuminating the unknown”! Awesome poem! Thank you!
Good morning. I am using a line from Christine’s Poem.
Been lost for months.
A routine that rules my life.
A routine that diminishes passion.
A routine that thirsts my need for adventure.
College.
A time when we are supposed to live our best life.
A time when I am supposed to thrive.
A time when I try my best,
and it’s still not good enough.
College.
Hi Emma – it sounds like life is being particularly unkind to you right now. I hope you can know that there is light around the corner.
Emma, I hope that you will find the purpose and meaning in the difficult work you are doing! I remember the days of feeling overwhelmed with work and school. It will pass!
Emma, we are so close to the end of a semester – you can get through this! I recognize the endless routine of endless days and hope that only good will come from yours.
Wild the Fire
Wild the fire
undisciplined
the smoke
such is the way
of the flame as it devours
the old grasses and foliage
of another season.
It partners
with the wind
to leave
the containment
(holding back smoke
is like trying to suppress
an allergic sneeze)
of my yard and moves downhill
into the next yard where it makes
a neighbor don a mask (again)
while tending to her own garden.
And when I glance at her
through a crack in the fence,
I am embarrassed for for
need to burn on this day
looking forward to another
season of stone crop
and tall grasses.
Well, Paul, you have awakened my fear of fire in a new way. Here in California we can not burn our grasses but I love the picture you give of the flame devouring old grasses and partnering with the wind and moving. It sure does!
Paul, smoke is much the wayward child, avoiding containment. Having witnessed a fire in our country development, I can attest to its need to devour. And as much as I love the smell of the smoke, there’s a respect for it now that didn’t exist before.
Some great images captured here – “don a mask (again)” and that glance through the crack in the fence. Indeed, we mow or burn ditches here each season, and landowners clear and burn a lot of brush and branches and such. Some of the parks have what they call “controlled burn.” I’ve always admired that term. The cyclical nature of it and of humans’ place in working with the land intrigues me in this poem. We are indeed stewards of the land, attempting to help while also keeping our space. Nicely detailed, Paul. Thank you!
Good morning, Jennifer. Feeling a wee bit like Burrow-Ives this morning. I became intrigued by today’s prompt and realized how much ‘clicking’ hyperlinks can lead us down rabbit holes of no return. The beauty of Kleon’s Stealing like an Artist is that lifting lines from others allows us to ‘collage’ ourselves onto canvas (I really, really loved this line). Move story to paper. / Forgive. Perhaps a poem written to distract us.
Click Bait
~brcrandall
Click here for the PD tracker
if you’d like PD credits.
(Good thing, for proof-reading,
changed it from ED edits,
and avoided projectile dysfunctions
early on a Monday morning.)
Click here if you have a thing for daisies,
yellow umbrellas for April showers,
and Cat Stevens on your mind.
Click here for a Madonna lip smacker
and iv you enjoy hubris on your falafel
lipstick on your waffle,
of some baffle for today’s awful.
Click here for documented
Covid-head, that one year
where we lived at home – sometimes in fear –
& worked on ZOOM in our underwear
Click here for weathering heights,
on weather the whether be hot
or weather the whether be cold,
it’s weather or not you’re in the know…
as forecasts are always your gold.
Click here if you are a dad, and got jokes,
but seem to be running out of material.
Click here for rhyme, rhythm and joy
hosted monthly by yours truly, Frog Boy,
because athletes deserve poetry, too.
Click here for a vanishing act,
a fact for looking at stars,
(it must be nice to disappear…
to float into a mist
with a lady on your arm
looking for a kiss).
Click here to end this poem with bliss.
Click Bait! I could definitely enjoy an escape route down a rabbit hole, but I’ll resist because my students are watching.
Ok, I fell for it. If I clicked, would I really be swept away to someplace else? The end of your poem starts my day with bliss.Beautiful.
Bryan,
I’m ODing on clicking but admit too often I take the bait. Years ago I had a Burl Ives cassette tape I’d pop in when ninth graders were being too ninth gradery. The did not love that clicking and eventually learned I wasn’t a fan either. Sometimes Rhyme Zone is my favorite click magnet, As always, clever word play.
Love it, Bryan! In fact, I might just play with this idea a bit and get students to create an interactive hyperlinked poem. I like the idea that it time stamps the poem too – a bit of a day in the life. I can’t get over the waves along with the Covid-head and the hint they give to washing. Though the Madonna thing is more than alarming. Gads!
Bryan,
This was SO cool! What a fantastic way to plant some digital “seeds” – I was having a hard time getting started today, but your poem primed the pump. Great job!
Jennifer, I love this inspiration to burrow and the way it has me looking and longing, Your poem is a perfect reminder to do when inspiration strikes.
As many know, I love to travel and see new places. I just returned from a trip to Europe a few days ago, but I also live three hours from Yellowstone, a park I’ve traveled to often and long to see this spring before the throngs of tourists converge.
Inspiration line from Christine M.
My Yellowstone Soul
Sometimes the old is
just as good as the new
Like the way old Faithful
shoots bursts of water skyward
on schedule to quench onlookers’
longing as they sit gazing heavenward
Like the way the Tetons rise
over the Teton pass their three
tips cresting just past Driggs
before dipping down to Jackson Hole
Like the way two Grand Canyons
painted and carved by the mighty
rivers Colorado and Yellowstone
swallow my smallness to magnify my awe.
Like the way nature’s wonders
in this fragile geothermal valley
of geyser basins bleeding colorful bubbling
hues through earth’s crust remind me
Sometimes the old is
far better than the new.
—Glenda Funk
April 4, 2022
Sometimes the old is
far better than the new.
Glenda, as good as and far better than are great circular thoughts of beginning and ending your writing today! I want to visit Yellowstone! Oh, what a great trip. Travels are filled with writing inspirations, and you bring them to life so well. You inspire me to visit there when the cost of a plane ticket is reasonable again! Thanks for always sharing your travels.
Glenda, throwing quotation marks at the first word of this poem, and the last. I love everything about it.
I so agree with this observation that the old is sometimes far better than the new, Glenda – nature’s wonders speak of permanence that our spirits long for. I love how you draw inspiration from it and paint these majestic image-reminders for us – yes, awe! By definition it is a reminder that we are a part of something greater than ourselves. Such transformative power in it… it is a life-word for me.
Glenda, I loved your poem and I loved visiting Yellowstone–how lucky you are to live so close. I used your last lines for my poem today. Thank you for the inspiration!
To clarify, “sometimes the old is just as good as the new” is what I borrowed from Christine M. I’d edit yo put in italics if that were possible,
“swallow my smallness to magnify my awe” – I live on the coast of the Arabian Gulf, and every time I look at the expanse of blue, I’m amazed at how it needs no embellishment to take my breath away. You took those lines and wove an amazing poem out of them.
Glenda, we are headed to Yellowstone this summer (along with the rest of the whole dang world, hahaha); how awesome it must be to be only three hours from this extraordinary beauty. This line “swallow my smallness to magnify my awe” – I just love this; I feel this whenever I am somewhere filled with nature’s majesty – I am excited to feel this in Yellowstone. Gorgeous poem!
We’re going to Yellowstone this summer too 🙂 I absolutely love this poem, and especially your title. It makes me wonder how I would classify my soul – where is coming home for me? (Writing prompt?!)
Glenda, what a perfect title! I want my Yellowstone soul to return – I’ve only been twice but it was amazing both times. Your words remind me that we are just passers-by, fragile creatures in the presence of history. And at one time, our entire world had the soul of Yellowstone.
Glenda, your poem is stunning. Love how you’ve captured the solid beauty of nature. I am particularly awed by “swallow my smallness to magnify my awe. As we travel through life, creating our own maps, I believe that sometimes the perspective of being old is rich and as colorful as the geysers colorful bubbling, but sadly, I think our wrinkled wear is not appreciated which makes me adore your closing lines. Inspirational poem! Thank you!
Jennifer, what a beautiful poem! Thank you for the prompt and opportunity to play with the last lines of fellow poets. I’ve taken mine from Fran’s last line and a half, “falling from the stars.” I have a running theme with poems about my dad. I think I’ve used “spark dancing in your eyes” in more than one poem about him.
Dad
Falling from the stars
I see flecks of spark
dancing in your eyes
but also confusion and
disappointment
this life was supposed to
offer more
like the adventure of flying
high above the clouds
a view privileged for the few
like you
your view of the world
remains a mystery
not unlike your pilot days
how to explain to those
who cannot see
those flecks of spark
dancing in your eyes
Oooo, Shelly, this line stings my eyes … “this life was supposed to offer more.” How beautiful and evocative, this poem in honor of your father. How I love the flecks of spark dancing in his eyes (I reuse my own lines all the time, just sayin’) and their connection to stars and his having been a pilot..such wondrous wordsmithery!
There is so much here that I keep going back to… but love the thoughts of views privileged to a few, I tear up yet find hope in those words. And I am left with warm thoughts of my dad who had a sparkle in his eyes too! Thank you!
Shelly, your words remind me of a story by Ray Bradbury about Rocketmen and their yearning to return to the stars. And also of the idea that a bit of the stars is in all of us. What a way to honor your father!
This prompt is so rich! It took my mind to a memory I hadn’t thought about for a long time…
I took my title from Christine:
What Was Lost Is Now Found
“Where IS it?” Mom
frantically scurried, yanking
open drawers, peering intently into
corners
I knew, buried in my cave
under the stairs,
what she searched for
and where it was
because I put it there–
my baby brother’s beloved blanket
Because I, in my preteen wisdom,
decided he was too old
for such a babyish thing
So I took care of the problem
and stashed the offending object
between two throw pillows
in the corner of the living room
I watched from my den with glee
that slowly turned to dismay
then fear
As the chaos built around me
the house grew ever louder–
Andy wailing, Mom dithering,
Dad raging
Knowing I was the only one who could
stop this,
I slowly slunk from my hiding spot
to reveal my crime.
Julie, don’t you love how reading something can bring up a memory of a long ago story? This is a treasure. I love the alliteration of
and the description of listening to the others from your hidey spot:
We can all empathize with your slowly slink to reveal your crime. Well told.
Incredibly vivid scenes, full of emotion… oh my, I think I’m glad the poem ends here, because imagining your revelation of the hidden blanket… YIKES!
Julie, this story could have ended so many ways. I was convinced your slinking was going to carry you away from the chaos and thought for a brief second it was about dementia, at first. Your words pulled me right along with you, inside this memory.
My favorite line is “in my preteen wisdom”
I love the story that this tells, and the recess of the hiding spot between the stairs. So much is happening here, and I loved the journey from refuge to confession. I took this metaphorically as well, in that we have safe “places” where only we know the truth. It’s up to us to open up and bring the truth forward, even at the sacrifice of our sanctuary.
Thank you for the great last line, Julie, which I used as my start line! I love how you (or the speaker) thought you were doing “the right thing” here, sitting as we do as youngsters on our tiny thrones of justice. Alas, at least the speaker in this poem had the opportunity to come clean, and though that moment sucks (let’s face it – it just does!), at least it is done and over. I just love the finality of that last line that sets it all to rights. In the right way for all. Thanks again for the inspiration – that I guess got me thinking about my own crimes!
Thank you all for allowing me to be here! You all are a true inspiration for me ?. Kevin I borrowed the last verse from your inspirational poem.
IN FLIGHT
In flight did my mind soar,
flying boats, alien robots, and more!
As I thought of dat big ol’ pile of dirt
my Dad unloaded last night after work
I got army men, hot wheels, and a Tonka crane,
rope, pine cones, and broken train.
Peering out the kitchen’ glass,
sunlight hits da dirt at LAST!!!
Inhaling the last of Captain Crunch,
in my undies, I grab my toys- da whole BUNCH!!!
Running barefoot- pitter-patter
straight to the pile- no shirt- no shoes-no matter
I crash head first into the pile,
Toys all around me -with a muddy smile!
First I’ll make town,
so my hot wheels can ride around.
Then a big ol’ castle
to knock down when Army men wrassle!
Next a tunnel and a motorcycle ramp,
to jump over the alien- robot military camp.
I’ll climb up high and put my boat on top
push it down and watch it flip and flop
I’ll make piles to kick and punch flat
or bust ‘um up with my whiffle ball bat
Then I’ll snatch my sister’s dolls
use my slingshot and watch um fall.
Ill drag over the hose,
To make a river, or a giant face with a big ol’ nose!
I got mud in my teeth and all over my face,
I drew a dirt shield on my chest, just in case.
Im building and making stuff all day,
I hope Momma don’t call me in – ‘cause I wanna play!
Imma fix my train and make it run,
go ‘round da mountain- that’ll b fun!
Gotta make a foxhole to protect the house,
plant pine cones so they will sprout.
Battles, drag races and king of the hill,
alien attacks, car crashes, oh what a thrill.
All day covered in dirt,
Imagining, playing, letting my mind work.
Bare chested in my fruit of loom!
I got the best rifle -a broken broom.
I can’t wait to show Daddy what I made!
I know I’ll line ‘um up for him- like a parade!
Oh, it will sho’ be a sight,
Im only 3, but my mind is IN FLIGHT!
Oh, Boxer…this brought back such memories! I LOVED playing in the dirt and mud and creating worlds with my toys! My favorite line here is “straight to the pile–no shirt-no shoes-no matter.” You’ve really captured the wild, carefree abandon of childhood. Beautiful!
Boxer,
This is a fun celebration of childhood and play. Reading each detail reminded me of my own children digging giant holes in our yard and playing army.
These lines are a picture—
‘Bare chested in my fruit of loom/i got the best rifle-a broken broom.” I can see you—that dirty, grinning, victorious little boy!
Boxer, it’s not easy to flow with rhyming couplets in natural storytelling (and memory) as you do: it’s youthful, cinematic, and original: “Inhaling the last of Captain Crunch,
in my undies, I grab my toys- da whole BUNCH!!!….the mind flight of a 3 year-old. I love it.
Wow, wow, wow! How did you take on the perspective of a 3-year old so perfectly? Please tell me you have a 3-year old at home. I love the innocent freedom of child’s play and boy do I miss it. Children nowadays seem to be glued to devices and can’t even play catch!
My favorite line of all the favorite lines here:
I would’ve loved being this child’s play mate! LOL
All my kids are teenagers now. I just wanted to play today ?
Well that’s great! Even more amazing.
I couldn’t resist using your last line as an inspiration for my poem, Boxer. You have captured the three year old’s imagination and play here so beautifully! I remember this kind of play of my own, with my brothers, all of us down in the dirt digging and creating…and “dat big ol’ pile of dirt” continues to be my favorite world with my granddaughters. Loved this!
Yes! I loved playing in the mountain (or so it seemed) of dirt alongside our driveway and the endless possibilities it offered. What a great use of a child’s flight of mind!
What a beautiful snapshot of young childhood, Boxer. We had Tonka trucks galore when I was a child, and a whole “town,” appropriately named Tonka Town. Thank you for taking me down memory lane!
This prompt calms my nerves this morning because I have other poets here holding my hand. I borrowed from Fran who borrowed from Kevin. Title from Jennifer.
Let’s Wild the Fire
We poets keep watching for dust,
specks of glitter glistening gold
to build a world upon.
Once upon a time these ink dots
were dribbles of paint
wishing to be a work of art.
Working with word puzzles
through our tired minds,
we poets keep watching for dust.
Margaret, that line of Kevin’s has definitely taken root. We are growing in Poet-tree today! That first line of your poem followed by the specks of glitter glistening gold to build a world upon resonates so deeply with me as I think about the need to live to write – how living and watching for the dust fuels the writing worlds upon which we build. I also like how you begin and end in the circular fashion, even as our minds grow tired – – we still watch! Lovely!
The imagery in this poem, outstanding! My favorite part of this poem is the “working with word puzzles through our tired minds.”
You’ve captured the spirit of the craft here, Margaret – looking for the dust, the gold, on which to build worlds…for the worlds of our words wish to be built. It is why the dust comes, is it not. Lovely layering here in your lines.
I love the imagery poets watching for dust, looking for speck of glitter to build a world. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to sprinkle some poet’s dust on our whole, hurting planet. You’ve created an image I won’t forget.
I love the imagery in your first lines, the way you turned dust into specks of gold.
Margaret, dust is a generous, and beautiful, theme threading today. It even remarkably popped up in our English class today as we explored the mote of dust we live upon. I love that yours are built from specks of glitter.
I think it’s an interesting happenstance that I’m borrowing from another Christine this morning, whose poem was at the top of the list…
Old friends appear
to urge me on
Not people, but
Methods
Memories
Motivation
We keep thinking that
we need to reinvent
the wheel
But sometimes the old
is just as good as the new
Catch that pendulum
when it swings back to you
It worked for you once;
chances are, it will again.
Christine, I love your line “catch that pendulum when it swings back to you.” That is a visual image that reminds us that things will come back in time, and I like that you give a nod to the old working as well as the new. I reflect on this as I think of all the inked journals I have filled and how so much of what I do now as a writer is done on a screen. When the laptop loses its charge,…….the journal stands ever ready to bear the weight of the pen.
Christine,
In recent months I’ve thought a lot about so-called innovations in teaching and methodologies eschewed. The pendulum does swing, and I’ve wondered how to capture and honor these “Methods, Memories, Motivations’ for now. There’s no need to reinvent the tried and true.
Chris, how powerful, thinking of methods, memories, and motivation as old friends offering their encouragement to keep writing. I think of the old pump that stood in the yard of my grandmother’s homeplace. In my time it was rusty, neglected, long disused…but Grandma knew that pouring a little water in and working that handle would still bring water. When our own writer-wells seem to run dry – yes, we can prime the pump with what worked for us before.
This was amazing. I loved your view of “the old is just as good as the new” and I completely agree.
Thank you! Your words are inspiring me to write even more! I am struck by the lines “old friends appear to urge me on!”
I’m not sure why that line of yours became more than people to me, Christine…I blame the Muse’s wanderings on a lack of caffeine while I write each morning, ha!
I love the idea of catching the returning pendulum. Ain’t that the truth! And what a great image.
Thank you for this inspiration Jennifer. I have found a line from Kim today and used it as my title today.
Writing fingers celebrate
Been lost for months
And feeling dry
No inspiration
Is nearby
Until I happen
Upon a site
Inspires daily
to my delight
My mind is whirring
With new ideas
Pen to paper
Comes with ease
Old friends appear
To urge me on
My soul is joyful
What was lost is now found
Christi e,
I love the musicality of your poem. It’s so frustrating when inspiration fails and such a delight when a community inspires.
Christine, you’ve fully captured that title and this poem runs with it! I feel much the same (lost, without inspiration, finding it here, finding friends – old and new). This poem is joyful!
Christine, you have captured the essence of VerseLove and the Open Write in these words this morning. This is exactly what this group does – it finds the lost, it inspires, it befriends, it urges, it restores, it sparks joy. Thank you for breathing life into the line, and thank you for being a part of this group and sharing your gift. This site and the writers here are indeed like oxygen for all of us, keeping us going, growing us, stretching us, writing beside us.
I loved that line of Kim’s, too, Christine. Speaks to me of muscle memory – writing is calling, fingers rejoicing at the return. I feel the joy in your delightful rhyming lines and I am celebrating that as well!
Your frustration of writers block manifests into poetic passion! What a wonderful work of words!
The exploration of the internet is sometimes all it takes to find that inspiration. I know I do it all the time. Thank you for sharing your wonderful poem!
Ah, Christine, what a delightful poem! I’m so glad you found this community and your writing fingers are celebrating.
Christine,
I love “my soul is joyful” and used it today for my poem. What you’ve shown in your poem is so important to remember, the dry times and bad times come and go! Celebrating your second stanza, my soul is joyful too!
?
Thank you, Jen, for this brilliant offering today. Your borrowing from Nye will be crackling in my soul for some time to come, pondering the things I didn’t do – how mighty is that word, “forgive” and how powerful its placement, alone on that line. Talk about finding a burrow, a safe place…
Kevin: I borrowed from you today.
Ars Poetica: Dustcatching
We poets keep watching for dust, falling
we would capture it with our cupped hands
feel it on our tongues as it lands
genesis of words breathing life
dust to dust, falling
from the stars
from the stars
dust to dust, falling
genesis of words breathing life
feel it on our tongues as it lands
we would capture it with our cupped hands
we poets keep watching for dust, falling
Fran, the first thing I noticed about your poem this morning is that the symmetry forms the shape of cupped hands – and then I read your poem and the shape became an important visual part of the stardust falling. What a beautiful way to celebrate the catch, using this stardust as the genesis of words breathing life. And that is what poets do! I watched the stars last night as the sun set and afterward, and the beauty of the night air is perfect for catching a starflake on my tongue. I’m going to try it and pray for Heavenly wisdom in what I speak and write, rather like a communion of stardust to honor the gift. Thank you for your beautiful words.
Starflake…I must hold onto that…
^^^ What Kim Said.
Fran,
Love the reversal form here. Your title is perfect. poetry is the art of catching those metaphorical and real particles that float our way.
Fran, this is the line I would have borrowed from Kevin too! I love what you’ve done with it – the cupping of hands and catching on tongues. Genesis of words – brilliant! Your writing is always fantastic and fantastical – I feel fully immersed whenever I spend time reading you.
Fran – This is gorgeous. It’s fascinating how your poem links me at once to Kevin’s as well. Neat prompt. Your play with white space and repetition really works to shape meaning, “breathing life” into the words. Yes! Cool! Susie
A reverso! I love the idea of poems communicating with each other, so your dust breathed life into mine. And it keeps on feeding the fire of our words today. Thanks.
Fran, there is so much here that I love: the visual that Kim writes of, the reversal that Glenda also noticed, and the idea of capturing “words breathing life” on our tongues. “Words breathing life…” this is the line I will carry with me today… as I keep watch for falling dust. Thank you!
Fran, I agree with Kim that the physical shape of this precious poem is like two cupped hands – making it all the more lovely. I love the mirroring, it adds softness and magic; I adore this last line “we poets keep watching for dust, falling” – and we try to find our own unique way to write about it! Beautiful. Thank you for this!
You are amazing! Brilliant poet! I love it all. The form, the flow, the repetition all work perfectly!
????????
Raan, this is remarkable. The biggest thing that struck me was the way the last 3 lines/first 3 lines changed for me. A reverse in direction and something major happened. I am amazed at the kind of word craft you created here. And of course dust to dust took me back to Barb’s heavy ashes in her poem.
Fran, obviously, not Raan. 🙂
“We poets keep watching for dust…” Not everyone can catch a mote of dust and turn, spin, weave it into a thread of words that becomes a tapestry of tale, but you do that so well, Fran!
Jennifer, I love the burrow and seed form! Thank you for hosting us today. I have taken a line from your poem and one from Kevin’s this morning to inspire my writing as I sit just feet from the two rooms at the Grove Park Inn where F. Scott Fitzgerald summered as a place of respite as he wrote The Great Gatsby. I strolled gardens yesterday and was inspired by your line Turn Seed to Stem, and write hoping F’s fingers are ghostly guides of mine this morning with Kevin’s lines Keep watch for dust, falling in flight.
Turn seed to stem
Bees buzz on a whim
Tulips yellow, tulips red
Tulips tucked in loamy beds
Daffodils yellow, orange, white
Grove Park Inn on moonlit night
Drinking mules by stone fireplace
Kicking back, vacation pace
Across the hall from Fitzgerald’s room
Gatsby ghosts in Grand Ballroom
Thoughts when scattered germinate
Writing fingers celebrate
Turn seed to stem, touch his door
Write the morning on F’s floor
Keep watch for dust, falling in flight
And ghosts in hallways, orbs of light
Are his fingers guiding mine?
These sacred moments – – so divine!
Deliciously haunting and delightful, Kim! The rhythmic quality of your verse feels like the tune to an old ballroom dance, conjuring images, perceptions. The final line about sacred moments/so divine doubles up for the bliss of vacation and the possibility of channeling Fitzgerald as you write where he wrote. I know this well – I have a photo of me sitting at the desk in his room at the Grove Park.
Fran, how I love the thought of you sitting at that desk in his room! Oh, I would love to go in there. 441 and 443 are the rooms. I did get a picture of my hand touching both doors, but to BE in that room would be such a treat, such a moment to spark wonder and touch history. I’m sure that is a memory and photo that you treasure!
Kim,
I want to visit the Grove Park Inn w/ you and feel the spirit of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Was Zelda there, too? Love the rhyme and the paired lines as though to suggest Fitzgerald is there beside you, guiding your hand as you pen these inspired words.
Glenda, she was in Asheville, but I’m not sure whether she ever came here to the hotel. I’m reading a lot of the history of what happened here, and it’s rather grim. There’s a link describing a little about his time here – https://news.wgcu.org/2013-09-03/for-f-scott-and-zelda-fitzgerald-a-dark-chapter-in-asheville-n-c
I love all the images in your poem, waking my senses and filling me with joy, all before coffee! I love the image of F guiding your writing in that sacred moment
Kim, what a lovely place you are in – both physically and spiritually! I want to be there with you! Those last two stanzas are beautiful. Your use of Kevin’s dust against the hallway ghosts and the mixing of those two in “are his fingers guiding mine” – gorgeous!
This poem just flows from your experience in that sacred place. Kevin’s dust is traveling wide this morning.
As your poem put me in the space of your experience–your stanza, “Turn seed to stem, touch his door, Write the morning on F’s floor” took me to vacations where I felt alive with the inspiration to write. And that last lines with someone else nearby, guiding and co-creating “these sacred moments”! Just lovely!
Kim,
“Drinking mules by stone fireplace/ Kicking back, vacation pace” helped me to see why the freshness of spring is blooming in all of these lines: “Tulips yellow, tulips red /
Tulips tucked in loamy beds /Daffodils yellow, orange, white / Grove Park Inn on moonlit night” – the colors, the rhythm, and the joy of this moment shine from the screen.
Love it- how divine is those spirits that guide our hand. Such a cool twisted poem with a masterful ending. I visualized you writing this with your hand moving freely. Nice Work!!!
Oooo, oooo, ooo, Kim! This may be one of my favorites from your collection of poetry! This one needed the couplets, don’t ask me why but it feels like it’s what F would’ve wanted. I believe he’s made his presence in your piece.
I totally believe it! Amazing what you did with the lines you borrowed too. I’m in awe!
… feldgangs
of wonder
and wander
— Terry Elliott
Some paths bring us
straight, the narrowing
of sight
Others take us
crooked, through corners
of night
Whether we’re wandering
or wrapping our words
in light
We poets keep watch
for dust, falling,
in flight
— Kevin
Kevin, feldgang is a new word for me and one I want to spend more time in/with. There’s so much to love here – the rhyme which falls so naturally, the pathways that vary depending on circumstance, but especially those last three lines. You are a poet master!
Just gorgeous. And true. The image of “we poets keep watching for dust, falling” is the precious falling dust that became my poem today – thank you, Kevin!
Thank you for the inspiration line this morning, Kevin – I used one of yours in my writing this morning. What a beautiful way of describing poets – – we live a life of intention in seeing the dust falling in flight – things no one else sees, to capture the moments of thought and allow them to germinate from seed to stem to bloom…..
I too love that thought of poets watching for dust falling in flight – always looking – or being aware of – those sparks of light falling in our lap. This poem is filled with light and hope
The placement of rhyming words are those dust specks falling. You have inspired quite a few of us this morning.
That last line! I will be watching for that all day. I appreciate the rabbit chase I took in trying to find out what feldgang means. Google provided no certain answer but many ideas for a found poem (perhaps another day). Terry Elliott’s blog, however, shed some light. Thank you!
Terry explains Feldgang here: https://thecurrent.educatorinnovator.org/the-feldgang-and-the-emergent-future-reflections-on-facilitating-week-one-of-the-clmooc
It’s a field walk … a wander … a noticing … a path into the wild ….
Kevin, what a glorious beauty this is! I found myself, again, captivated by the dust
Yesterday, I used Fran’s lines and had dust in mind and you’ve given this image another level of wonder in thinking how we poets keep watch for it. Gosh, I love it! I am tempted to go with it again today.
Thank you for this morning treat!
I love the idea of paths and where they lead–and of course, Terry’s feldgangs! I feel like a daily feldgang is now a necessary part of life. Now I might have to be watching for dust…