Cherita with Mo Daley
Welcome to Day 6 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.
Mo Daley lives in Oak Forest, IL, and works as a middle school reading specialist in Homewood, a south suburb of Chicago. In addition to reading and writing, Mo enjoys spending time with her husband, two rescue dogs, and her very large family, which includes two grandsons who are perfect in every way. When not busy with any of the above, you’d likely find her planning a trip or dreaming of retirement.
Inspiration
DIctionary for a Better World: Poems, Quotes, and Anecdotes from A to Z by Irene Latham, Charles Waters, and Mehrdokht Amini is a beautiful and entertaining resource of poetry for kids and adults. This text introduced me to a new form, the cherita.
Process
The cherita was created in 1997 by UK poet ai li as a tribute to her storytelling grandparents. In Malay, cherita means “story” or “tale.”
The form consists of three stanzas- one line in the first, two in the second, and three in the third. You may link your cheritas if you wish. The poem is simply designed to tell a story.
What story do you have to tell today? A sad story? A funny story? A story of spring? A story of love? A story of loss? A much-loved story? An untold story? Sit in your feelings for a bit, then dive in. We want to hear your story!
Thank you for writing with us today. If this form doesn’t work for you, please write what you’d like. Please take the time to respond to at least three other writers today. Your feedback is greatly appreciated.
Mo’s Poem
March Hope
By Mo Daley
My mother-in-law’s gift of an amaryllis bulb
Brought so much joy to the holidays
Until the crimson petals faded and fell dishearteningly across the hearth
Yet I couldn’t bear to discard the bulb
And was rewarded yesterday, as scarlet petals peeped out from their stalk
Reminding me not to give up hope
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.
Anger
It consumes us
The hurt always stays
It’s never worth it
Why do we let it affect so much?
It helps us grow
But how do we stop it from overtaking
I woke up this morning with a surprise from my family with tickets to a concert.
She said it was a gift from her to me
So much joy that ticket has brought to me
I imagine us driving to detroit and getting dinner before
Getting to our seats, antsy for the concert to start
And dancing all night until the sun goes down
I’m beginning to think that my One Little Word should have been hope.
So much has changed since August; so much out of my control,
that hope is all I have to hold on to in order to not stop caring.
The Bible says, “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). I’d almost settle for serendipity at this point, but I know in my heart, I need the exceedingly, abundantly, all I can ask or think power of God. So I continue to hope.
Your opening line holds so much power… Beautiful piece!
Thank you for sharing. You piece reminds us that sometimes all we can do is hope.
Kasey, what a vivid poem and also that much more powerful because it was not what I was expecting given the title. Really enjoyed the imagery!
Oops, posted this as a response by accident… Here it is again.
Brevity is tough. Thank you for this challenge. The poem is based on a conversation with a student.
It would be easier to just give up.
Instead I ask, “why’d you walk out of class?”
“My bad” he says. “There’s just nothin’ worth learning.”
“Just come back tomorrow; don’t do the work
If you don’t want to. Just be there.”
Lessons don’t have expiration dates. I’m hoping he shows.
David, thank you for this poem. This is so relatable and the line “lessons don’t have expiration dates” is so powerful because it makes me think that when we feel that frustration that a lesson isn’t getting through that day, perhaps, with time it will show up even if we are not witness to it.
I love the relatability you provided in this piece. My favorite line is “Lessons don’t have expiration dates. I’m hoping he shows”. Well done!
David,
I liked how this poem was relatable with all people. It is easy to give up but we have to keep pushing forward step by step!
Hi Kasey Dearman,
Thank you for sharing. Your poem made me think about Science. I can see how children would be excited to read your poem and use it as a mentor text for creating their own fun poem. Your description was very vivid.
Thank you for sharing Mo. Your poem made me reflect on the relationship I had with my mother-in-law.
A Special Bond
You were a stranger to me
When I needed to talk
You gave me a listening ear
You realized the good in me
You told me how much you loved and appreciated me
You will forever be in my heart, My sweet mother-in law sleep in eternal peace.
Dee, this is lovely. I like the clear progression in your poem. You were lucky to have such a great mother-in-law.
Right away, I thought, “We all need someone like this.” Indeed, how sweet it turns out to be mother-in-law, turning that negative stereotype on its head in the final line. Nicely done, Dee.
I love how you reflected on such a special relationship. Absolutely touching and beautifully done!
Thank you for sharing this special relationship. Right when I began reading your first line I was curious to know who this might be about.
Dee, your poem takes us through the beginning and end of a beautiful relationship. She is always with you and you with her.
Dee, I loved reading “A Special Bond”! Such a great message about your mother in law
Thank you for introducing me to this form, Mo. I’m not totally satisfied, but here goes.
Daniel
you are in the backyard charging about unsteadily on your pudgy toddler feet
as I bustle about in the kitchen preparing dinner
I suddenly stop, my mommy-sense telling me it is too hushed outside
rushing through the patio door, sprinting through the gate left ajar
I discover you cruising up the street, waddling as fast as you can
To join your big brother and his big-kid friends
Yikes! If only we could bottle and sell that mommy-sense! Glad yours was working so well!
I sense both terror from the mother, but can’t help but chuckle at the image of the tyke waddling up the street – and to be with his sibling – ! This poem shows so much love in those fleshy folds and each line. Nicely done, Daniel.
I love the imagery in this piece. “Mommy Sense” is such a descriptive phrase that it really brings to light the seriousness of the situation as well as the relief that came after realizing he was safe.
Your poem creates such vivid images. I can truly see the play-by-play of this happening.
Charlene,
I am not a mom but can feel how stressed your mom probably was! Very descriptive poem, love it!
Charlene, you should be proud of this piece! I’m sure every mom, babysitter, or woman has experienced something along the same lines with their mommy-senses, I am glad yours were in full gear!
Thank you for the prompt today. This is a new poetry style for me and I am excited to try my hand. Not sure if this really tells a story, but it is what came to me today.
385 un-cleared attendance emails in my inbox today
Out two day before spring break along with the first day back, causing a backlog
Having to decide which pile of work to focus on first
As I’ve finally cleared ten, two more come in
This feels like doing the dishes
As soon as the sink is empty someone throws in a dirty dish
DeAnna, I really admire how you were able to put this into a poem. Emails, especially work emails and tasks, certainly feel like an insurmountable project. The comparison to dirty dishes is perfect. Thanks for sharing today ❤️
DeAnna,
It’s an assembly line of emails–they never stop coming in. I’m sorry, I know it’s frustrating, but the analogy you made really works.
So relatable! My husband, who is not a teacher, often irritates me by saying things like, “I just got my work emails down to 2.” I’m tempted just to delete all!
DeAnna, I’m sure everyone can relate to your piece. Sometimes it all feels never-ending and you feel so defeated. Think of the glass half full!
It’s a short one, but I really like. Thank you for this prompt! I really like the style!
I am writing a novel in verse about friendship and this is the moment that an enemy becomes a friend.
An enemy who becomes my friend
After saving me from myself
The only one who heard my cries for help
I now see that what I thought could never be
Is now what will always be and what should be
Keeley, Marx, and me.
Sounds like this will be a great plot point in your novel. I really admire how you’ve taken all the prompts this week and worked them into your novel. Can’t wait to read it!
Wow, there really is a longer story here, but your poem is the perfect no one needs all the details story.
Tha k you for sharing today.
Hi Ennis,
I like the way that you are using these great prompts as your inspiration as a writer. It gives me the idea to use the same approach with students. I can see how much creativity can be incorporated into writing when there is a springboard/inspiration to start from.
love love love! “laying tiny eggs that will rupture/slick white worms, worming their way inside” so disgusting, so perfect…
Hi Kasey. Based on your title, I expected something different. Your images are so crazy vivid, I could really visualize them. I’m hoping you won’t give me nightmares tonight!
It’s just so…wild and detailed I love it! It reminds me of the song “hate me” by Blue October!
Phew–another interesting challenge! Thanks for the inspiration Mo!
Joshua Tree
In this land life is hearty: thin and sharp
When water–life’s blood–arrives
natives drink their fill, not sure when the next sip will arrive
Living in this harsh world, extremes equal balance
hot and cold hold hands / wet and dry play tag
beauty is in the eye of the beholder and everywhere if you know where to look
(accompanied by photos over at my blog: thinkingthroughmylens.com)
Extremes equal balance really speaks to me tonight. I like all the contrasts in your poem, Kim.
“beauty is… everywhere if you know where to look” — this struck me, how important it is to observe, and to put expectations aside, that there really is beauty everywhere.
Hi Joshua,
Your poem made me reflect on the realities of our world…we live in a world where we need more love and kindness. It is a place where the marginalize people suffer and they need to fight for equity and social justice. We need to close the gap…we are all God’s children and deserve love, respect and equal opportunities.
Mo, I love the image of the scarlet reward of the newly blooming flower and the wonderful memories it sparked. Thanks for this inspirational poem!
Miracle Watermelon
By Shaun Ingalls
So, I live in the Mojave desert.
Our first home included a defunct yard and nonfunctioning pool.
We never went into the yard. Too many weeds and bugs.
Then, one day, I ventured into the jungle, and I saw it.
Green vines crawling across the pool deck, anchored in a crack between the wall and the pool,
concealing a grapefruit sized orb, fed by dripping condensation from the roof-top air conditioner.
So cool, Shaun. I love that your miracle melon was given life from the air conditioner condensation.
This is a beautiful environmental story of survival. I love the many metaphors this creates, and the visual imagery is so tight. I can SEE this! Thank you, Shaun – whenever I pick out my melon at the grocery, I’m going to be thinking about this “condensation fed” little buddy.
Shaun, I really like how your tale turned into one of survival in harsh climates and like Denise said, will be thinking of it next time I see a melon! I also liked the vivid imagery in the last stanza that makes me think of exploring a jungle in your backyard.
There is absolutely nothing more delicious than watermelon on a hot summer day. The imagery of it being grown from condensation is such an interesting one. Like in the last place you’d expect it to be.
I tried a few different topics today and this was one that stuck with me most.
Black Bones
I stand on the playground, gazing at the houses on the hilltop.
Same houses and hills where I lived back in the 60’s
some are remodeled, others rebuilt after the 1985 fire
I wonder if the new white neighbors hear the stories
about the power of protecting Black wealth,
the stories that live in the black bones of their homes.
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/6/22
Stacey, those black bones are such a striking image. This is a powerful statement about gentrification. Fabulous.
Mo, thanks for taking time to respond even though it’s the late hour posting. I appreciate you and I loved this new form. I’m a fan of short and to the point forms, so it’ll be one I return to a lot more.
Hugs!
Stacey— This is an important history to share. When we all pay attention to these bits of roots, we are better for it. I so love “the black bones of their homes.” You are so good with critical word choices. Thank you, my friend! Susie
OHHHH Stacey, Speak !! I love it and i wonder too as I drive through my old neighborhood circa 1970 sometimes. As usual, your words are powerful and poignant.
Thank you for this.
Stacey,
This poem is so good. It reminds me of Crystal Wilkinson’s poetry. I hope you submit this for publication to a wider audience. The topic is so important. Gentrification by white people has swallowed up so many neighborhoods. It’s a disgrace. Your last line punches straight to social consciousness. Powerful poem.
The imagery of a home being built by black bones is so strong. So many of the places that exist today have historical stories that are so overlooked.
Mo,
I love being challenged with new forms. Thank you.
Liaison
Andrea: the girl next door, our daughter’s bestie, my favorite student.
She’s from Italian lineage, so I hand her The Shoemaker’s Wife by Adriana Trigiani. It traveled with her overseas, a ghostly companion through Italy.
Today, Trigiani’s latest novel came in the mail.
In the acknowledgement pages is a paragraph to Andrea, who is now Adriana’s assistant, living and working in Greenwich Village. All because I said, “You’ll love this book.”
Oh, what a fantastic story! And now I must read me some Trigiani!
Wow, Susan! That small gesture was absolutely life changing for Andrea. What an inspiration you are!
This is so amazingly cool! I have handed so many books to so many students over the years, I can’t help but wonder how many of those really had an impact. We just never know more times than we do, and this is one beautiful reminder of how meaningful such a “slight” gesture can be. Way coo, Susan!
Mardi Gras
Your Rolex flashed, refracting the neon lights on Bourbon Street.
Lonely rich man, why were you so far from home, stumbling drunk?
Your open Norgegian face announced “easy target” in the Big Easy.
The women were bold, grabbing your crotch, kissing your saggy neck, patting
your wide Iowa ass.
“Handsy” you called them after. After you’d rebuffed their offers. After they’d run off.
After you realized your wallet was gone, as was the watch.
I love this, Allison! Such rich description of the scene. I was pulled along to see the outcome, to see if you knew this person.
Ooh! What a story! This man is not painted in a good light, yet I still feel sorry for him. Maybe he’ll learn from this experience.
Allison – Oh my gosh, what a doozie of a tale! Your “saggy neck[ed]” visitor to Bourbon St sure got his clock checked! Terrific description! Susie
Allison, oh my I could see this entire scene! Quite the story and perfect word choice to set the scene and characters!
Ooooweeee, I didn’t expect this one! So good! So real and vivid!! This visual had me giggling:
?
Stella
She picked rice and read the scriptures
Morals and values were instilled
Every action was righteous and worthy of my unconditional love and admiration
I often wondered why she left so soon
Too young to interpret the contents of the large manila envelope that sealed her fate
Savoring the memories until the meeting at the gate
Oh my goodness this is making me think of the Japanese internment camps. Such beautiful, patriotic people that were given notice to leave and had a difficult future at the gate. I am glad you are sharing this poem.
Hi Ruth. I’m so curious to know who you are writing about. She sounds like an amazing person. I want to know more!
Many of you know the joys of conferences, and that is the story I tell tonight. Thank you, Mo, for this new-to-me form. I can’t wait to go back at it once I find some inspiration 😉 I’m sure I left it somewhere!
5:15 PM-– Ugh! The muse should have bitten by now.
I look for inspiration under mounds of unread essays.
Ah! Here’s a clue under the rubber bands in the squeaky drawer!
I have to tell a story and is this not one?
The one about the writing teacher frantically searching for inspiration
as the school bell signals it is time for conferences to begin.
Rachelle,
I am SO with you! These conference days feel endless before they even begin. If you find the inspiration (between the rubber bands and the unsharpened pencils) let me know, I need a slice! 😉 I love your frantic pace–it fits perfectly.
Oh YES, Rachelle! That IS a story! I love how you turned the moment you were in (writing) into a poem, into a story. Loved the squeaky drawer and rubber bands too 🙂
Procrastination, inspiration, frustration- I see it all in your poem. Best of luck with conferences!
Rachelle,
I truly dislike conference days. All they tend to do is remind me how much work I actually do compared to some others.
I enjoyed the frantic pace of your poem. ?
Mo, thanks for introducing a new form to me—this was fun! Ethical ELA, thanks for being a constant place of love and support!
That year the pandemic began.
In April, she asked me to write.
Soon I began to understand.
Now, I monthly visit this site
to write as often as I can.
This place truly is a delight.
So ? cool – let be the flow!!
Love the flow ?
Hello Laura, my friend! I KNOW this story! 🙂 I love how you added rhyme to the form. I’m glad I found you here tonight.
Laura, agreed! Same. I “found” Ethical ELA when the pandemic began and have been returning ever since. Thank you for putting words to this!
Yay, Laura! We are so happy you are here writing with us. If you are like me, you find healing in writing.
It was a rough day to be a teacher. This is a true story about one of my students.
There is a space between being a child and being an adult
That creates a crack for lost souls to fall into
Without a net or even a chance to try again and again
When a child has the trifecta of being trans, mentally ill,
And rejected by their family–where are they supposed to go?
When will it finally be unacceptable to believe some are disposable?
Sending positive vibes your way, Cara. These stories need to be told, though sad, in order for positive change to happen. You’re doing your part. I really like your use of rhetorical question here–it emphasizes the need for change.
I’m glad you had this safe space to pour out today. I’m so sorry for this child. Your last line begs the 1 million dollar question…when WILL it be unacceptable?
Wishing you peace.
Cara, the image you create in the first two stanzas is so tragically fitting for this and so many awful situations our students come from or fall into. Your student is lucky to have you as a supportive adult in their life!
Oh, Cara, your “space between being a child and being an adult” metaphor spoke to me. Yes, there is a dangerous gap there. I know “trifecta” students too. Thank you for your bold, honest gaze at this pain.
“unacceptable to believe some are disposable”
Damn. Thank you. I’m sorry today was rough. <3
Cara, thank you for the vulnerability and the bravery it takes to give space in your writing to the “space between being a child and being an adult.” Your imagery, “creates a crack for lost souls to fall into,” brings to mind the vision of those precious young souls falling, falling, falling.
Wow. So poignant. That crack for lost souls is real. Your third stanza is just heartbreaking.
Oh Cara,
My heart breaks for the student in your poem. No one should be made to feel disposable. I am both glad and sorry I dropped that student off with you today.
Mo,
Thanks for the introduction to this new poetry form! I think my students will love to try it out!
Simba (The neighborhood cat)
Tawny tabby cat sits atop an Amazon box
A gentle lion
only wishes to slink into house warmth
with paper towels and Kleenix
Sorry, my velcro buddy
be content with your outside tent
Daddy has allergies
Tammy, I love this story you’ve shared of Simba. When you say “Velcro buddy” I can *feel* him rubbing against your calves. I imagine he’s maybe even slipped I. The door once or twice with his stickiness.
I love that cat on an Amazon box image. The Velcro buddy is also pretty great.
Just something about those tabbies! Love the idea of the cat slinking in with the paper goods, very pink pantheresque. Too bad about the allergies!
This was a new form of poetry for me. I really enjoyed giving it a try and also having a poem tell as story.
Unexpected Uplifting
Feeling depleted midway through my teaching day
Big sigh as I plunk into my chair
Readying to look at my Inbox
A past student’s name is listed in the From column, I click here first
Eagerly reading an update about her life as she graduates from college
Bucket filled, my heart lightened- ready to go forth and teach!
(I had this young adult in 1st and 2nd grade. She has kept in touch with me at each life transition of school- middle school to high school, high school to college and now her college graduation. This absolutely made my day.)
This is the perfect teacher story. It made me smile, and I can feel the spring it must have brought to your steps.
That’s awesome that she still reaches out to you after all this time! I’m glad she was able to turn your day around and she didn’t even know you needed it. I definitely appreciate how the story unfolds in this poem.
Cathy,
I love this story. It is the perfect representation of what makes our careers so rewarding. Thank you for sharing!
How wonderful that email could change your day. The asks for sharing such a sweet story with us.
Brevity is tough. Thank you for this challenge. The poem is based on a conversation with a student.
It would be easier to give up.
Instead I ask,”why’d you walk out of class?”
””My bad” he says. “There’s just nothin’ worth learning.”
””Just come back tomorrow; don’t do the work
If you don’t want to. Just be there.”
Lessons don’t have expiration dates. I’m hoping he shows.
I love Dictionary for a Better World. This was also a new form for me. I loved it. I am enjoying the variety of forms and inspiration. Thank you!
Today, we started a mock trial for “The Tell-Tale Heart.” The students have worked so hard and were so excited. Unfortunately, one of my kiddos had to back out. I felt so bad.
Stage Fright
The mock trial began today.
Teams so serious and ready to persuade
a jury poised to decide a mental state.
My eyes moved to the defense and froze
upon a scrunched face and shaking shoulders.
In a moment, seized by fright.
Heather,
Love Mock Trial. My students compete every year. So much fun!
My heart goes out to your student. I can certainly relate. I had a performance anxiety attack when I was a kid at a piano recital. It was horrible, but the memory of it reminds me to always try to be sensitive to students who have anxiety.
Poor kid! We can really see how you feel for your student here. Your kids are lucky to have you, Heather.
Thank you for the fun form, Mo! I am learning so much each day, and I’ve been taking note to share ideas with my students!
Runners of the Ranch
The day I walk out on the porch soon turns into days
that my eyes scan the perimeter expecting to see
Those flouting dancers, hop-skip flitting about with tailfeathers on high.
They tango in two, eye to eye, strutting from
wood pile to wellhouse to garden and back again
Until they flee, side by side, only looking back once at me.
“wood pile to wellhouse to garden and back again” –love that line Dani. I love the expansiveness of the image here and the encounter(s) in the middle.
Dani.
Love all the beautiful imagery, especially this line “Those flouting dancers, hop-skip flitting about with tailfeathers on high” ! I feel like I’m on the ranch observing the barnyard fowl with you.
This is a lovely view you have, Dani. Spring brings such wonderful tangos between the birds. I love your description of those flouting dancers. You have made them very human with the last line of looking back once at you.
Beautiful sounds in your poem, Dani. I’m not sure why, but your last line makes me think of lovebirds flitting off on their honeymoon.
Dani, this reads like a description of the returning ducks to the pond I can view from side window! What fun to see who wins, today!
Thank you for introducing me to a new poetry form, Mo!
Due to their short nature I wrote two — but both are related to my recent Spring Break cruise.
At Sea
Bohemian Rhapsody.
Belted out with gusto
in my rainbow pajama pants.
It was not the night planned,
but it was a night enjoyed
as we danced across the midnight waves.
At Port
The small boy’s gift of he woven branches.
A simple rose presented without asking
on a busy road just outside of port.
A dollar slipped as offering
and suddenly I am swarmed by others:
I am the ignorant tourist.
Erica,
I have never been on a cruise but your descriptions transported me there. Sounds like an amazing vacation!
Overachiever! I’m so glad you were inspired by the form. Your Bohemian Rhapsody night sounds amazing. And I think many of us have been in the same “boat” as you swarmed by kids looking for money at tourist destinations.
Erica, your poems reminds me visits to Kenya and Uganda! The young ones in the street recognize those who both respect their craft, nut don’t suspect their craftiness. Still, some of our most insightful experiences.
I love the contrast in these two snapshots.
Ted E. Bear
Valentine care package received at college,
Gund teddy bear in red sweater with hearts,
Arms outstretched ready for first hug
Small and soft in stature,
Ready to hold all secrets close
Then, as now, a most faithful friend.
Heidi I really enjoyed that zoom out from a moment in time to enduring time–the last line is fresh and gives us a new sense of the importance.
Heidi,
Love this stanza:
“Small and soft in stature,/Ready to hold all secrets close/Then, as now, a most faithful” friend.
Reminds of my own faithful stuffed friend.
Another poem with a great topic. Your faithful friend sounds lovely.
Never heard of this form, Mo, and love it! Thank you so much. What a richly rewarding month this has already been – and only six days in. Beautiful mentor poem.
One Cat, Two Cat
so many ways it could go sour
our one cat so affectionate
the shelters so full
slow going at first
but now the two so entwined
times we can’t tell them apart
So sweet! I love the word entwined, and it matches the picture so well.
Denise I find this poem particularly charming as the story unfolds and I especially appreciate the inclusion of the cat pictures.
Denise,
Beautiful cats! You and I were on the same wavelength today as I wrote about our cat (shared neighborhood cat) today too.
Denise, it’s like you are looking into my house, except I have dogs, not cats. Our newest adoptee has fit in nicely. Our two dogs, although different breeds, are similarly colored and snuggle inseparably all the time. Love the poem and the picture.
Thank you so much for this structure. I needed to write this after a very tangled day.
(K)not Enlightened
Left on my desk
Scrambled tangle of plastic lacing
Easter grass green
Unspooled
by someone seeking clarity and calm,
finding only chaos
I love the line “Easter grass green” because I immediately know what shade you are writing about. I also enjoy the verb “unspooled” just because of how it sounds.
There’s a thought here that speaks to me–that moment where you do something for clarity but it ends up in another tangle–so cool you went after that real moment.
Thanks, Kevin. You should see the picture!
Lisa —
This last stanza —
“Unspooled/by someone seeking clarity and calm,/finding only chaos
really rings true. I feel like this is the state of teaching and education in general on many days.
thanks so very much, Tammy – that is so thoroughly how it feels.
As I read through the poems today, I’m really struck by how much our writers are packing into the us succinct format. Your poem is amazing, Lisa. That last stanza is very special. So we’ll done.
*well
This 3rd stanza is so relatable and so artfully expressed. It’s the perfect metaphor for these times.
Finn’s Plea
By: Emily Yamasaki
It’s the third time
He’s on the couch
Resting idly between two cushions
Big yellow eyes plead
But the toddler pet is allowed
So aren’t I?
Emily,
This really made me smile. Just love that last stanza — “Big yellow eyes plead/
But the toddler pet is allowed/So aren’t I?”
Makes me really wonder what do our pets think when they children usurp their place?
The toddler pet- I love it!
Twilight Time
Three teenage cousins rowing a boat on the bay
We listened and felt free in the afterglow of day
The radio played “It’s Twilight Time” to our rocking motion
We leaned back and watched the sun sink into the ocean
while taking turns to cut the oars in a silvery spray
opening views below – an orange garibaldi ballet
Thank you, Mo, for the delightful form of a Cherita. I will add it to my list.
I don’t know if you planned for all the ‘T’ words and alliteration but I like how each stanza seems to carry that as a thread connecting the pieces of the poem together. I also enjoy the imagery and details included — I love being on the water at sunset and I think you captured the way the light plays on the water beautifully in such a short span of words!
What a story. Your beautiful sounds and rhyming are just begging to be read aloud. Terrific!
Grandstudent
I sat down to begin my student teacher observation
Two feet in front of me sat a very familiar round head
Attached to a very large, pleasantly familiar eighth grade boy.,
Definitely a football player. But I knew his grin, his blush, the closely shaved hair.
Even the voice. Finally, I asked his name. I taught his dad 20 years ago!
Sometimes, apples drop straight down and never roll at all.
GJSands
4-6-2022
Great story. Great last line!
This made me grin. I teach in a building where many of my colleagues went to school with the parents of the kids we teach. Apple, tree, is not an uncommon refrain.
I really liked the blush as detail.
This is delightful! Not at all where I expected it to go based off of your first line. I agree with Ann- great last line!
I felt like I was in the seat with you observing this boy. The last line is perfect. It must have felt like deja vu. This form is perfect for this story.
Gayle
Oh I love this! The first time a student proudly announced to the class (thinking he’d niggle at me) that I’d taught his mom, I was able to shoot back that I’d held him as an infant. Shushed him right up! That said, I’ve now lost track of how many “apples” I’ve taught. Some, indeed, do not roll at all away from the tree. Thank you for the smile producing poem!
What a great story, Gayle. Your last line is excellent.
Gayle, this title pulled me in and that last line left me with such a sweet smile. Great story!
Late Rodent Reflection
in a snap I become that old grey man in a bathrobe, cursing on the driveway, raising the garage broom.
in my mind I am Zeus, I am towering and powerful, striking thunderbolt to the asphalt
you will not escape ME, house mice, you will die die die die every scattering one of you
undergrads pass by with their lattes, looking at their phones, glancing sideways,
a yardman across the street blows leaves in swirls of combusted wind and smoke,
Zeus notices his own pasty white knees, sucks a breath, pretends to sweep.
This is phenomenal, partly because I can see this outside your house…and I, too, am curious when this man who lives inside his head, performs outwardly on the streets (in my bathrobe). You definitely are a sister of Vygotsky (oh, Brother). The lines, “undergrads Passy by with their lattes, looking at their phones, glancing sideways / a yardman across the street blows leaves in swirls of combusted wind and smoke” are delicious. Great use of this form! I hope the mouse got away.
thanks a lot brother. no comment on the mice! ha . . . We gotta get VS’s together for another showcase.
Laughing out loud. Zeus in his bathrobe.railing against the mouse-horde with pasty white knees on full display! Outstanging, Kevin!!
Outstanding, although outstanging has real possibilities…
thank you Gayle! I probably have a collection of old man moments I should work up. 😉
This is so funny and so true! I have been doing the same and thinking I am Hera and striking my shovel to the dirt to fight and kill the gophers. Thank goodness I don’t have close neighbors to watch me. Get this! I yell as I set the next trap.
laughing in response. you’ve got the better idea to get away from neighbors.
Kevin, this is perfect in so many ways! Everyone who reads this is sure to picture their crazy bathrobe neighbor. Also, who knew we would have two mice poems today?
Thanks Mo! lol–is the other one yours? I’d like to find it. I haven’t quite figured out how to search the postings (if it’s possible).
When I read, “in my mind I am Zeus,” I imagine Santiago battling the marlin. It doesn’t sound like you came away with so much as a skeleton though.
Thanks for this prompt!!
____________
an unassuming walk to the park on a sunny June day
my attempts to coax my one year old down a slide
were joined by two precocious toddlers
“What’s her name?” they asked
“Sorry about them,” their mom apologized
no need to be sorry, dear friend—your boys (and fate) brought us together
What a great moment, Rachel. I’m so happy you captured the joy of that moment to share with us.
The simplicity of fate through the play of children! Nice work ?
Thank you Mo – for teaching me a new method. I enjoy reading everyone’s work- it’s so inspiring. ?
Release the Six
6 black lions, trapped in a cell of snow.
Stationary, keyed with nowhere to go.
Thoughts plotted on them, a poetic show.
The mind of their master, fails to follow the felines flow.
Frustrated as he unwinds rhymes in a futile fiasco.
He released them today, by the magic of Mo!
This made me laugh! Thank you! I love the rhymes and the playful direction you took with this poem.
I’m so intrigued by the 6 black lions, trapped in a cell of snow, and the fact you found rhyme along the way. ‘keyed with nowhere to go’ – equally curious about keyed.
I want to know more! At first I thought this poem was about zoo animals in Ukraine, but you tricked me! And I think the Magic of Mo just may be my new personal slogan. You rock!
You are correct ?! You enraged 6 lions today and released them peacefully! Thanks for the magic ?!
Black lions= black lines, snow= paper,
1 +2+3= 6 lines in stanzas- keyed = in phone — and so on – never would have manifested without Mo! ?
We stopped to pick juniper berries.
I had five in my hand when you added your six;
Eleven bright berries in all.
The world wants to end itself, and there’s nothing karmic about it.
Poverty gods shoot heroin with Jesus
while we mix juniper syrup and gin.
Love this, Stephenos–the way capture a moment here and back from that moment to the world in its shape and feeling. love the ways “heroin with Jesus” play off of “juniper syrup and gin.” masterful.
I am so thankful for the feedback, thank you so much!
Wow, Stephenos. What a shift in the last stanza. You went from a bucolic scene to war, poverty, and heroin in a flash. I expected gin, but not like this. Very thought provoking.
Thank you so much! Juxtaposing fruit and despair is one of my favorite ways to write
This is beautiful, and devastating. The specificity of a small moment cast against the enormity of a world on fire. Phew.
Thank you for the prompt, Mo. I’d never heard of this form before. I’m learning something new here every day.
I hope your amaryllis continues to bloom and fill your days with hope & beauty.
Here goes my attempt at Cherita:
Liquid Gold
The parcel was waiting for me when I got home
With the excitement of a child, I split open the top.
Out spilled a skirt made of liquid gold!
Fabric so bright and beautiful, fit for royalty.
Trying it on, watching it swish swish about me,
I felt like Cinderella after “Bibbity bobbity boo!”
Oh the joy of finding a package on your doorstep. Beautiful – I can see it all! I love all the sounds in your last stanza: bright and beautiful; watching it swish swish; bibbity bobbity boo.
Your line- ” watching it swish, swish about me” brought a smile to my face. I could just picture that gold skirt moving in that way. I love twirly skirts. Great last line!
I love the pictures your words created for me, and I felt the excitement. Now, I am singing the song in my head. Thank you for this delightful story.
A skirt of liquid gold would be amazing! You’ve perfectly captured the excitement of getting a beautiful garment in the mail. And the Bibbity Babbitt boo was a great touch.
Saba, wow. So sweet. I love the description of the fabric: “Out spilled a skirt made of liquid gold!” “fit for royalty” I would love to see you in the skirt!
Mo, thank you for such a beautiful inspiration! Love your poem. Hope is what we need now.
My Cherita takes me to September afternoon in late 1980s. I wanted to tell a kind story of my childhood.
Who Doesn’t Like Dad’s Grapes?
“Do you like grapes?” my Dad asks a teacher,
Who’s here for a home visit in the first month of school.
I hold my breath terrified that the teacher may think of it as a bribe.
Instead, she picks up a bunch of dark-purple grapes, holds them up
As if testing their shape and color through the sun rays.
Biting into a juicy berry, she smiles, “Sweet!” Dad beams at me. 🙂
What a neat, simple story. I can feel the nostalgia in your words. And I felt like I could taste the dark-purple, juicy grapes as I read. Thanks for sharing!!
Thank you so much! Little memories like this warm my heart.
What a beautiful choice for this poem, Leilya. A perfect memory, and ironic flavor in the last line. I believe you just touched my heart deeply (as did your dad)
You are too kind, Bryan! Miss my Dad so much.
Leila, you have captured this moment perfectly for us. Isn’t it funny what sticks with us throughout the years? Just great.
Thank you, Mo! Your prompt just fished this out of my memory.
Precious story, Leilya. Isn’t that interesting how those stories stick with us over the years? Love this line: “As if testing their shape and color through the sun rays.”
Thanks for the awesome prompt today! My poem is about my soccer journey.
Soccer & devastation.
Today I signed to play soccer at college.
Tomorrow I will tear my ACL and meniscus for the second time.
All the hope and excitement I felt yesterday is gone.
Surgery is done,
Recovery is in progress.
I will make it through.
I could feel the excitement turn to sorrow from the first stanza to the second. I hope your recovery goes quickly and smoothly and that you will be able to play the sport you love again.
Oh, boy, Emma! I’m so sorry to hear this, but I’m happy that you have such a positive outlook. You will get through this!
Ouch, Emma! Hope for a quick recovery. I do have a feeling you’ll get back to soccer again. Best wishes!
I always want ‘Mo’ when Mo posts. I loved this prompt and began sketching at 4 a.m., but had to go teach (don’t ask…Connecticut traffic, 100 9th graders, and 20 undergraduates). I just did more chiseling while eating popcorn for lunch (also don’t ask)(April chaos). Thank you for blooming an amaryllis on a very gray day in the northeast.
It Socks, Sometimes
~brcrandall
Perhaps she flew to Texas like Pink Floyd,
and is nested away in some drawer,
behind oodles of Hanes Underwear.
The madness of April is drizzle
and she left me standing on one foot –
Why not add foxy to the fly?
(not sure if this will come through….but I left the house with one sock of flamingos and another with foxes)
Flamingos? Love this, Bryan. So many chuckles packed into 6 short lines!
The title made me chuckle. What a fun and relatable poem!
The socks pic came through. All I can say is you are a hoot!! Love it!
Bryan, I often leave the house with one black and one blue sock, because my hubby can’t seem to differentiate those colors when he does laundry, so I can relate. I hope your students noticed this. Mine would love it! Great details and images here. Thanks!
Or, maybe she flew to New Orleans. There are gorgeous flamingos in the local zoo 🙂
Thank you, Bryan, yours are always fun.
Brian,
Your socks are in style. I bought a pair of intentionally mismatched socks in France last week and a mismatched pair in Ireland in 2019, so embrace the fox trotting out w/ the flamingos. They’re a perfect pair—somewhere!
Thanks, Mo for the idea and the great mentor poem.
Latte – a Lot or a Little?
I was bemoaning the fact that I had nothing to write about.
Fortunately or unfortunately a little story found me. I was looking forward to a chai latte after lunch on this bleak and rainy day.
I loaded up my Keurig and anticipated the warm beverage. So much so that I fumbled the cup and spilled most of it on the counter and onto the floor. Should I be satisfied with the three mouthfuls I saved or brew another cup?
Thanks for sharing Rita! I too look forward to my lattes, sometimes they make my entire day better:)
Ha! Isn’t it always when we are looking forward to it that something like this happens? I hope you got to enjoy a latte later.
Thank you for this challenging new form, Mo! I kept thinking of the word “cherish” as I read “cherita” …
little yellow daffodil
folding over
worn and tired
a bright and early welcome to spring
now a tender promise
to return
Thank you for this precise moment of beauty & promise. All is coming into flower & leaf, even the smallest of things!
Thanks for sharing Maureen! I too am looking forward to spring. Being from Michigan, we are teased often with waves of warm weather. Hoping this weather sticks!
So sweet. I love the tender promise that really shows fragility and hope.
Your “tender promise to return” reminds me why I love daffodils. That they will come back next year and be just as beautiful in even greater masses is a testament to hope.
What a lovely way to look at the end of the daffodil’s life! “A tender promise / to return” Worn out this spring and ready for a year-long rest. Beautiful description.
I always said I’d leave before bitterness set in.
The year began badly and only got worse.
Active shooter drills, hostile parents, belligerent teens, needy — so needy — children.
You know we’ll be okay, right? my husband said.
You’ve given so much, maybe it’s time to focus on you?
So I left. It was time. And now? I think I have survivor’s guilt.
Oh, my, I know this story well. “I think I have survivor’s guilt.” – yep, I have felt this, too, in my retirement and hearing all the stories from teachers this year. I like the way you open this poem, that opening line gives such a clear focus of emotion.
My favorite part here is the complicated halting third stanza–questions & statements, so many short thoughts in that last line, which contrasts with the 1st & 2nd stanzas’ certainty & lengthier sentences. I really love the rhythm & emotional variety here. Kudos, and congrats on your difficult decision & your encouraging husband : )
Hi! Thanks for sharing your poetry with us. I have been hearing this same story from many teachers. I am hoping things get better, however it isn’t looking too good.
Strong emotions packed so neatly into this small poem. When I began my teaching journey, one of my old teachers said to me, “Teaching is the most thankless job – but we don’t do it for the thanks.” Your poem made me think of that line again.
Katighe, your poem hits a cord with so many of us. Yesterday I texted my husband that I hate my job. I’ve never counted down days until the end of the year before, but I am this year. Today’s poems are a reminder for me to focus on the small things. Please don’t regret your decision to take care of yourself.
Did you crawl into my brain and harvest my thoughts? Difference is, I have yet to pull the plug. I think I fear survivor’s guilt, but I didn’t know that until you told me. ?
This morning they implanted a chip in my lacrimal gland
to teach me work-life balance, to trigger tears that
disappear memories from one to the next. Only my
identity resisted the hack, shorting the volt because
teaching is not one or other but all and part–no line to
weigh or sever. Though the chip does lift my droopy eye lid.
(There is a show I haven’t seen but hear about on NPR “Severance” that got me thinking this morning.)
I do not know this show and it sure sounds creepy…I’m glad that this is fiction, and not really about your life. However, I really like how you name teaching as an impossible fit for this chip – “teaching is not one or other but all and part – no line to /weigh or sever.” I immediately thought about how I still – two years into retirement – muse and worry about my teaching, about particular students.
Sarah, thanks for making all of us whole this afternoon with this poem….my take away is the lacrimal gland….and I love the sci-fi-esque-ness of that first line….and to teach work-life balance. Wow.
Sarah, this is very cool! I haven’t seen “Severance” either, but I’m intrigued after looking it up, but my suspicions are with you, I don’t think it would work for me, either. (And maybe this is a fault..? …lol…but I can’t seem to help myself seeing/reading/watching/experiencing things in my non-teaching “life” and thinking, how can I bring this into the classroom? How can I “use” this? I can’t really seem to turn that part of me off.) Teaching truly can be “not one or other but all and part.” (And I also really enjoyed the “almost afterthought” line at the end: the tech didn’t work, but it does “lift my droopy eye lid” a bit. Lol. The ability to “silverline” situations is strong with this “speaker”!)
What a beginning! If it were only so simple as installing a chip to teach that balance. Wait, what am I saying? NOOOOOO!
A Single Smile
Today began with a sense of fear and exhaustion
I began to brace myself for daily priorities
Upon my arrival to a full classroom everything changed
Greeted by a slight salutation and grin
It took a single smile to dispel my burdens
The student did not know for they made this change in my day
Ella,
Love the shift from fear to grins. This narrative form does welcome characters in our story to be the change in our day. Love that it was a student for you!
Peace,
Sarah
“It took a single smile to dispel my burdens” – this is such a hopeful line, showing the power of kindness and joy. We should never doubt our ability to affect others, the possibility of making others’ days all the better. Very nice!
Ella, this is wonderful. I’m fascinated with the idea of how one small gesture can have such an impact on us. Icily done.
Thanks for the fun prompt, Mo. I spent the morning thinking of stories I could tell in six short lines. This one came to mind.
The cartoons didn’t make it up!
The setting: Chicago, late nineties
Those pre-Google days of microfilm, unwieldy textbooks, and compact stacks
Another late night with Kim studying for brutally thorough bio exams
Closing, time to go home (we’re as ready as we’ll ever be)
Walking through the dark alley, I slip comically but catch myself
Looking down we see an old, slimy banana peel and laugh (and laugh, and laugh)
Chiara,
You certainly built tension from one stanza to the next. Your textual features of italics and parentheses offer such lovely sounds and insights from the margins. Love the ending trailing off with laughter. So fun.
Sarah
I didn’t know what to expect with that title. The poem played like a scene through my mind, you’ve detailed it so clearly.
I love the setup, Chiara. Very dramatic. Today at work a coworker almost slipped in the hall when she turned to talk to me. Another coworker caught her and all of us laughed like fools. What is wrong with us?
Thanks for sharing the Cherita form, Mo. I am enjoying reading these pinpoints in time. Love the hope your poem brought me. Heres mine about a recent experience.
Getting my Red Belt
By Nancy White
I’m the oldest one here, arthritic bones in a circle of supple youths.
I’m testing today for my red belt in Taekwondo,
Feeling proud and a little bit crazy.
I perform with grace, busting boards and yelling,
Charging the “attackers” with powerful-fierce knee strikes, surprising even the master.
Don’t mess with GrammyNinja!
Nancy, I felt like I was there watching you crush it! I like your line” “Feeling proud and a little bit crazy.” How often do we get to do things that are “crazy” or have the courage to try them? Congratulations on the accomplishment and for giving us a glimpse into the life of “GrammyNinja!”
Nancy,
Such a wonderful snapshot of your life (yours, yes?) for this brave and physical performance in life and in the poem. The second stanza sets us up for what is already a success — the preparation for the red belt- but I was holding my breath before the third stanza not knowing the outcome. And– of course– busting boards! Fabulous!
Sarah
I love the title you gave yourself- GrannyNinja! I like how your poem grew with power and confidence through each stanza.
I found myself sneering at those supple youths, but that GrannyNinja had me smiling! Love this!
Nancy, wow! What a great story and poem. I love that you bust boards and yell. Yes, way to go Grammy Ninja!
driver’s seat.
Once we hit the highway, she said, “I think we should get married.”
Two hundred miles from home. No stops planned. No one else in the car. No way for me to avoid what this lovely girl said.
Three hours, two people, one question: How much longer did I need
to know that she was the one? One thing I knew for certain.
She knew how to pick the right moment — and for her, the right guy.
This poem, and loads of others, are at my blog Middle Aged Middle Child : )
Joel, I love that you remembered this momentous moment and shared it with us. She really picked a perfect moment! I like how you incorporated the “one, two, three” into the poem, playing with the form.
Joel,
The numbers within a scene that count and yet defy any measurement. Your anaphora of “no” in the second stanza. These offer incredible contrast to the “right moment” and “the right guy” and “the one.” Love this glimpse into a pivotal scene and appreciate the opportunity to bear witness here and in this poem.
Peace,
Sarah
So interesting, the way you used “Once, Two, and Three” to indicate the stanzas, the line lengths, and important moments in the poem. I can almost feel the silence descending on the two in the car as the miles pass. “and for her, the right guy” says so much and still leaves so much unsaid. Oh my.
Thank you all for your kindness! Amateur writers deserve generous & thoughtful readers like y’all!
You’ve captured the memory so beautifully. The repetition of ‘No’ in the second stanza contrasting with the whole third stanza – what a way to add tension.
HimJoel. Love the enumeration. It flows seamlessly with your story. Who can resist a good love story? Nicely done.
Ah, Joel, I love your interpretation of the question she asked: “the right moment and the right guy” Of course! Wonderful story, and the numbers are quite effective.
This Morning’s Moments
As morning’s light met my street we set off to walk.
Once home I brushed his wild white hair
removing oak pollen before we went inside for his morning treat.
Spring’s cool air called me out to the garden
where I remembered the tomato plants ripe for their cages.
After placing them, all but one plant was caged this morning.
Jamie, I loved seeing you on this morning walk with your dog and in your garden. Your poem brought me there. Those quiet moments with our pets {and our plants) are so special. Thanks for sharing.
Jamie,
I love this gesture and touch of “brushed his wild white hair” and then the contrasting color evoked from “the tomato plants” The final words will stay with me…I want to be the “all but one” — not caged today.
Cheers,
Sarah
Jamie! I just wanted to go with you and your four-legged friend for a walk; it is so nice outside. I liked the first line: “As morning’s light met my street we set off to walk.”
Your poem, like so many others today is so tender. It makes me stop and thing about the small, seemingly unimportant things I may take for granted.
Mo, I’m so happy you kept the amaryllis bulb and were rewarded with new growth. I used your last word in my poem today too. Thank you for introducing us to the cherita today. I love the simplicity of this form and the idea of telling a story. This story happened yesterday when I was with my sweet sister, whom I hadn’t seen in five years. (Spanish speakers, please, is my “hablaba” correct for “spoke”? Thank you!)
My sister came from Arizona to Seattle yesterday.
She can’t stay until the baby shower on Saturday,
so she took us out for dinner. Tears were shed
over the deaths of her husband and eldest son during
Covid. But she laughed y hablaba español with our camerero
and loved us, fully present, full of life and hope.
Oh wow. Such loss. Such strength! And the use of español brings familial warmth. Love this poem, Denise. It drew me in to the treasure of family coming together, even for a brief moment in time.
Denise,
This had to have been a previous, bittersweet moment for you. I’m glad you got to see your sister. Five years is too long. I love the code switching, the implied universality of family love, grief, celebration, all of it, no matter the language,
Such breadth & scope here–miles & miles, languages, early & late in the week, babies & deaths. a poem that is, as it ends, “full of life & hope”! Thank you for this!
Such a treat to have a sister over, Denise! Thank you for sharing. I was saddened by: “Tears were shed// over the deaths of her husband and eldest son during// Covid.”
The ending with love, life, and hope is encouraging.
“and loved us, fully present” – this line says so much. Five years is a long time. You paint a beautiful picture of time spent with family.
Wow. What a touching poem. I sure hope you share this with her. The love comes through.
I thought I already posted this, but I think I forgot to hit post. It’s that kind of day.I wanted to write something as lovely and hopeful as your crimson petals,Mo, but was distracted by this…
Toothbrush in one hand. Toothpaste in the other.
A squiggle. A scream (ashamed to say, but yes, a scream)
A stinkbug tossed and drowned in steamy hot water and lavender soap.
An over reaction, I agree, but who did he think he was,
this lazy, little stinkbug lying feet up on my toothbrush bristles
like a carefree tourist in some fancy uptown spa?
Ann, what a great story and simile to end it with. “like a carefree tourist in some fancy uptown spa” I can see this little feet up. That would have been shocking to find him on one’s toothbrush. Great story! The cherita is a a great form for this little slices of life.
Ann, this made me laugh. I once found a dead grasshopper in the soup on my spoon as I was about to devour it. Ohh these moments are unforgettable! Love your Cherita!
Ann, I think we all have those kinds of days. I thought at least twice that yesterday was Wednesday. Sorta panicked and then laughed. Today, you made me laugh as well. I love your poem! I have been there when bugs creep into my territory. This line “An over reaction, I agree, but who did he think he was…” resonated with me because I’m like, “This thing has the audacity to invade my space!” Then I panic and realize I need to scrub every surface, but not before work so I say a little blessing and brush on. And then I forget about it after arriving home. Oh well… Thank you for sharing today!
hahaha — that last line! Brilliant! (and yes, I totally empathize with the overreaction — that’s me, every time!) I also enjoyed the alliteration in stanza two — squiggle/scream/stinkbug/steamy/soap.
And,
That simile at the end comparing a stink bug to a tourist ix fabulous. I f do puny anyone has made the same comparison ever. I would have screamed, you, btw!
*Ann, sorry for the typo. Ongoing vision problems over here.
Ann, I definitely would have screamed too! Yuck! Those stinkbugs are such a nuisance.
like a carefree tourist in some fancy uptown spa? This line is everything. I can picture it so clearly. 🙂
And we just thought it was halitosis (bad joke). Hey, I’d visit your fancy uptown spa anyway. What a beautiful moment in time captured by humor and writerly talent. Ah, the carefree tourist….at least he smells good now.
“this lazy, little stinkbug lying feet up on my toothbrush bristles
like a carefree tourist in some fancy uptown spa?”
great lines!!—they are arrogant little creatures, aren’t they? (The worst is when they fly by your head at night, just enough to wake you up and then buzz away…)
Ew! You’ve given him quite a glow up in that last line, Ann. Very funny!
The Interview*
“So, I see you play guitar,” says the Interim Superintendent
“Can you teach me?” he asks
“If you teach me, you’ve got the job.”
“I’m kidding. You’ve got the job! Do you know ‘Lovers in a Dangerous Time’?”
“What? You don’t know…Bruce Cockburn???”
“Well then, I guess you don’t have the job.”
*True story
Yikes! What a crazy interview. I guess that’s why he was an interim superintendent. I was hoping you would say that he was joking on that last line too. But was he, or did you really leave this interview without a job? What a story!
If the poem had been longer, I would have revealed that I did indeed get hired. This Superintendent was a real jokester!
Whew! That’s good to hear! He sounds like a jokester!
What?! Cringeworthy story Alex! Oh wow is all I have to say about the experience, but this line, “If you teach me, you’ve got the job.” makes me wanna scoff. How about my credentials? Aren’t they enough. Do I have to do the “dog and pony show” as well? Sad true story, but I hope something greater came your way!
Alex, your cherita made me laugh today! I will be interviewing soon and I hope I won’t have a jokester in the mix. Glad you got the job after all!
Alex,
I’m laughing. I hope you did get that job because that boss sounds like a lot of fun. The dialogue here is perfect for telling a story, and did you learn that song?
Priceless! You reminded me of my first interview. They pretty much told me I had the job during the interview, but then said they needed a wrestling coach and cheerleading coach, so if I could take the cheerleading squad…They didn’t laugh when I (seriously) said I knew more about wrestling than cheerleading. They made me take cheerleading.
[Hi, Mo — Thanks for the prompt…it fits my world today. Susie]
[After over two years since being with my family out West, after the loss of my beloved dog, I girded my loins, vaxxed to the max, and boarded two flights to finally be with my family and the two new labs, one snow white and the other midnight black.]
Dog Therapy
This morning the grand-puppies:
Charlie Barley, half on my chair, half on my lap,
Beatrice Butter, at my feet;
I read poems between sloppy kisses and sleepy warm bodies;
swathed in lab hair, renewed in my resolve after nineteen months
to finally search for a buddy to refuel my heart.
by Susie Morice, April 6, 2022©
Having just recently lost my companion, this poem spoke to me.Reading poems between sloppy kisses — what a wonderful moment —and best of all the line— a buddy to refuel my heart. That is exactly what unconditional love does!
Dog Therapy, indeed. I’m so glad for that last line, Susie. “to refuel my heart” is a great line. I’m so glad you got to be with the granddogs. Their names are just too cute!
Susie! You’re getting a new dog!!! How exciting. And I can think of no luckier puppy than those you kissed and hugged as you read poems this morning. You know my heart melts when the fur babies make an appearance. Please post a pic!!!
I figure by mid summer I’ll have found my sweet doggy buddy. Pics will ensue! ❤️ Susie
Nothing like the simple love and loyalty from a dog. I love the picture of Charlie Barley half on your lap, half on a chair. Dogs will just flop down anywhere, as long as they are close to you! I love how you showed how your hope was renewed in this moment by the dogs’ companionship.
Susie, I’m sorry about the loss of your beloved companion. As a non-pet person, I can’t understand this specific feeling. However, I have been sharing spaces with many animals and so I count it as blessings that they love me with open arms as I try to figure out how to hold them without harming them or me getting scratched. It’s a whole new world for me. I am happy that you are ready “to finally search for a buddy to refuel my heart.” This is my favorite line, but I also loved your grand-puppies names; the rhyming and alliteration make them reach out from the screen as I picture this scene. Thank you for sharing.
This sounds like a perfect day, Susie! I’m glad you are out and about, and I’m glad there are dogs involved. Love how they refuel your heart.
Susie, this is just the best! The grand-pups. Their names (oh, my!). The kisses and warm sleepy bodies. The fact that they’re labs. And most definitely that you are going to get a heart refueling buddy!. I wish you the very best family visit. It sounds so worth the wait!
Sounds heavenly to me, Susie! I find it impossible to be down when a living dog is curled in your lap or as close as it can get… I love how these grand-puppies love you and most of all that you are going to search for a buddy to “refuel your heart”! This tugs on my own heart so much.
Mo, I love how this form asks the writer to pinpoint a moment in time.
Here’s mine:
Gifted? Talented?
I was always left out, the “smart” girl,
when that was the last thing I wanted to be.
So when my roommate at the Summer Enrichment Program (“nerd camp”)
told everyone she could do a double flip–and proceeded to race
down the dorm hallway with her two middle fingers extended,
I knew I had found my tribe.
Julie,
Thank you so much for this. I am part of that community, as well. And I love the amazing description of the double flip. Pure joy! You really captured the shift from outside to belonging beautifully.
Julie, this made me smile. I find myself living through my daughter (which I need to stop!) But I can relate to this line “I was always left out, the “smart” girl,” (even though I consider myself average, but I was the “teacher’s daughter”, which is even worse!) I finally found my tribe in adulthood though. But the visual image of the “two middle fingers extended” made me crack up. <Insert said phrase here”. Thank you for sharing!
Julie, the most important thing in a tiny poem (I think) is a powerful image. You’ve given us that — so great! And the final line, also so great in its truth.
Julie,
How many “smart girls” have felt “left out”? That’s a heartbreaking reality that never seems to change. It breaks my heart. Still, I’m glad you found your people. The image of a girl doing double flips down the form corridor makes me smile and recall my own dorm life antics so long ago.
Julie, That would be the only kind of “double flip” I could do too. Your poem made me chuckle. I was never in the “in” crowd either. It served us well though, I would say.
Such joy in that last stanza, Julie. And those middle fingers are so easy to picture. Thanks for the smile today!
This is WONDERFUL! I love the feeling of freedom and “fuck it” attitude the moment invokes
Graduation Day
Author Freddy Cavazos
Graduation is almost among us
I can already hear it now
My family chanted and screamed my name
The noise echoing through the auditorium
Walking down the stage as I burst into tears
Starring into the ceiling thanking my mother from the heavens above
Very emotional and relatable. The line about your mother at the end is heart-wrenching; a nice reminder that we never really lose the people we love.
Thank you
Freddy, wow! I love this story in the future. What a beautiful vision of this extra-special gift of graduation. Congratulations! Your mother will be so proud, smiling from heaven. Surely.
Thank you
Freddy,
Your poem returns me to my college graduation and my family cheering section. Only it was my father looking down from heaven en. I was the first college graduate in my family. Congratulations to you and those celebrating w/ you.
Thank you first generation college graduate working on my masters.
Such a sweet poem. Your last line is so touching. Congratulations to you!
An Afterthought to the News
Never did I think that I would have reason to say:
“I’m relieved that they recovered her bones”
But, here we are and I’ve said it and I can’t take it back.
They didn’t speak her story.
They didn’t comfort her children.
They were as quiet as the day they went missing.
Wow, this was so beautiful and well written. “They didn’t speak her story” just reminds me of how the media can spin stories to look a certain way. Great job!
Your last stanza is so impactful! The quiet that you mention is palpable.
Oh, William, my God, this is so powerful. The tears of your poem are spilling out to your readers. The “they” lines in the third stanza, wow. At first I pictured they as the news reporters, and then realized they are the bones. And that line: “But, here we are and I’ve said it and I can’t take it back.” Oh, peace and comfort to you and all those who loved her.
William, this poem hits hard, so blunt and true. There can be so much power in these little poems. The repetition of “They didn’t” in the third stanza — so appropriately accusatory. And that final line — a reminder of the missing story behind the story.
William,
This is a heartbreaking commentary on our world. I want to know this woman’s story. I want to comfort her children. I keep thinking about all the “never thought I would have” moments in life.
Wow, William. That second stanza stopped me in my tracks. Then the repetition in the third stanza is perfect. Your poem is haunting.
Thank you, Mo, for the inspiration and your example. Love your reward of “scarlet petals” and the brevity of this new form.
I caught a mouse this morning.
The nasty little beast kept leaving traces on my wash clothes and tea towels.
I imagine he slept in that drawer, the one next to the hidden trash cabinet,
where he feasted on human discards of plastic, cardboard, and coffee grounds.
He must have come in with the others, but could not make his escape. A lone (I pray)
rodent. trapped on the wrong side of steel wool will be released in a field later today.
Nice! Catching a mouse is a great launching point. Such a mundane act, yet exciting in the moment. I also enjoy the rhyme in the last two lines. The fact that the mouse will be returned to nature makes me happy too!
Shelley, I can relate to your story! You have told it well, with the details of the feasting, and his nestling into the drawer. “Trapped on the wrong side of steel wool” is a great line for anyone who has tried to keep rodents out of the tiny holes houses seem to come with. Your humane response to the captured friend is precious!
Shelly,
Having spent time this spring dealing with the aftermath of an infestation in our sugar shack, I need to say you are far more humane than I am. “Feasted on human discards” is the line that really worked for me here. Sometimes, I wonder why we are surprised, when we leave such temptations available. 🙂
Shelly,
You are kinder than I. A mouse in my house has a limited life span. We had lots of visitors such as yours when our house was new. They were field mice seeking refuge. They are “nasty little beasts.”
I admire your kindness, Shelly. Like Glenda, I want no part of that little guy. I loved your story, though.
Thanks, Mo, for reminding us of what we were taught and didn’t always remember to do. Depending on where you grew up, you may have heard this “preached” to you as a reason for troublle.
Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda
Her mom said, “Friends don’t always mean good.
Having friends means doing what you should.”
Sad that she let the sun set on what she would
Have done when she knew she could
Have done more, had she not
Only been looking for the good.
Anna,
Mom is right. I always told students and my children to surround themselves w/ those who brought out the best in them.
Anna, is there anything you can’t rhyme? Seriously, is that just how your mind works? I’m always so envious of your rhyming skills.
Mo, I’m not sure. This is something has come to me doing OpenWrite. It’s opened up a style of writing I’d never paid much attention to before folks like you began commenting on my rhyming. 🙂
My classroom’s ceiling projector’s remote control
will sometimes stop working
with no warning whatsoever
successfully grinding my lesson to a halt
until I remember I can switch the batteries’ placement
buying some time before actually having to replace them
___________________________________________
Thank you, Mo for your prompt and your mentor text this morning! I love the renewing of “hope” that the amaryllis bulb gave you as it sprouted again (especially after you thought it was “dead”). I tried to mirror a similar feeling in my offering today as well as trying to use the Cherita as a vehicle for a classroom life hack, lol.
Scott,
That dang projector. I’ve found myself on a chair doing the battery turn, too. Time to keep some spares in the desk drawer. Your poem expresses a universal teaching experience.
Clever Scott! I love how you saved yourself at the last minute. Your poem is so relatable for so many of us.
ARGH! I have done that SO MANY TIMES! Love it. Indeed, whenever we have those malfunction moments, we – well, at least I do – sweat to buy time until I can get a fix or somehow move on. Students, of course, are probably pleased with a momentary pause (no pun intended) in their day. Nicely captured here, Scott.
Mo – thank you for your inspiration. How many times have we given up on something only to find it blooming before our eyes. Hope is a great word for me to carry throughout my day!
Living on a lake I am afforded so many wonderful experience of the natural world. Today’s Cherita captures one such moment that occurred last week. I am still in awe of this sight!
Team Duck
Oh, I delight once again at the eagle soaring so close to my view.
But wait, the majestic bird has its sights on lunch.
Hovering over the waters, suspended in air, looking hungrily at the feathered meal.
Up and down, back and forth, the duck bobs below to avoid the white-headed beast.
I scream in fear as the drama unfolds, until the exhausted raptor abandons the quest.
In awe of nature unfolding before my eyes, I decide that today I am surely team duck!
You painted such amazing vivid images. I could picture your story. The “Raptor abandons the quest.” was my favorite line.
Thank you Freddy.
Christine,
Youve written a dramatic scene. I love the way nature complicated our sense of allegiance. I’d love to see students write a charita describing a scene in nature or some other conflict. Your poem is a superb mentor text.
I wrote a small moment narrative with this story last week and wanted to try my hand at creating a poem on the same story. This fit the bill. I think it is powerful for students to see how one story can be transformed into many genres. Feel free to use.
I think you have inspired me to do something with the encounter I had with q wild turkey this morning on my bike ride to work.
This is so great. The struggle is real! Is it wrong that I’m a little jealous that I haven’t seen this happen?
I’ve been watching these eagles for a few years and was amazed at this scene. I have only seen them catch fish
Beautiful. (And I am definitely Team Duck!)
Mo, thank you for introducing us (me at least) to this form. It was fun to write.
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Link to the Waterhouse painting:
Even William Shakespeare cannot make us smell a rose.
Waterhouse’s maid will never note its scent.
Chanel tried to distill it from the flowery fields of France.
Oh, to be a fairy, tiny, small enough to fit
Within the rose’s petals –
What sweet heaven.
Katrina:
You had me at Waterhouse. Big fan! But your poem so brought this to life — the olfactory imagery had me smelling imaginary roses. Beautiful job!
Katrina,
Using the charita to write an ekphrastic poem is a brilliant idea. I wish I were teaching so I could use your poem w/ students. Thank you for including the photo. Your rom is gorgeous. I keep rereading it and thinking about its many layers.
Thank you, Glenda. Later today I thought that maybe I should have made the fairy a bee or an ant. I’m still not sure.
Katrina, I loved everything about your poem: the inspiration painting and the image of a tiny fairy surrounded by petals especially. Thank you for sharing.
Your poem reminds me of the reverse of the Robert Burns poem, “To a Louse.” You make wanting be in a rose so inviting! Just delightful.
Thank you for citing the mentor text for today. I was able to pull the book from our shelves here in Room 407 and share Charles and Irene’s cheritas from the book. “Fuel” worked nicely with our exploration of Maggie Smith’s Keep Moving.
Here is a quick cherita based upon the folly of youth and the destruction of personal property.
We chucked the fruit from the road.
aiming for the “no trespassing” signs tacked to trees.
A direct hit split the target
and made a distinct hissing sound
as plywood signage hit the ground.
our criminal hands smelled like apples.
Oh, that last line. “criminal hands smelled like apples” Your poem took my back to my own folly. But seriously, there is something about a “no trespassing” sign that challenges the folly of youth.
Paul, love this! The apple-smelling hands, the rhythmic rhyme of “plywood signage,” all the sound in here (split, distinct, hissing). Wonderful poem!
Paul, I love the folly of youth you portray on this cherita. It brings me back to one such incident when I took a pumpkin from the front porch of a home. I occasionally drive by that home and still regret my actions. I obviously connected with your last line:
Paul, the apple-scented guilt brings the story such amusing mischief. I’m trying to conceal my laughter as I shake my head and wonder if you, too, might have been a preacher’s kid? It sounds like my kind of trouble. My fruit crimes centered on stealing kumquats from a tree that bordered the church…….
Paul;
So much sensory joy going on here. That hissing sound, the “smack” that you don’t mention, but the reader hears, and of course, that telltale smell. I have to admit that having read the racist history of “no trespassing” signs recently, I was cheering for the kids with the apples……
Paul,
You are a rebel rouser. I’ve been thinking a lot about ownership these days and love the social commentary inherent in breaking that sign.
Naughty Paul! Your delightful imagery brings many of us back to our youth, it seems! Fabulous.
Thank you Mo for hosting today. I have never heard of this type of poem, so I am going to happily add it to my arsenal of “Things I Should be Trying Soon, but Will Most Likely Be Much Later.
Your line, “And was rewarded yesterday, as scarlet petals peeped out from their stalk” resonated with me quite deeply. It reminded me of the many times we almost give up and then something or someone gives us new hope. At this moment in my life, I feel like this is me quite a bit. I feel like I’m going over the edge and then here comes a lifeline! Thank you for sharing. Here is mine.
Beginning a Green Thumb
Tending to my garden
Preparing to till the ground for change,
Envisioning the future: radiant from my smile, sodden with my tears, and dusty from failures.
Uprooting weeds of turmoil
To plant seeds of hope
While awaiting new birth.
Jessica, I find your poem and metaphor hopeful. More than that, your verbs, beginning, tending, preparing, uprooting…. speak of agency and remind me that I have work to do.
Thank you, Shelly. And it’s not just you, but I also have work to do! We have been planting lately here at school and my daughter wants to do some at home, so I guess that’s where my mind has been.
I, too, ended in the garden this morning. I love your lines: till the ground for change, envisioning the future, uprooting weeds of turmoil. You anticipate so much more than a flower or a vegetable.
Metaphorically and physically, yes! I have a garden project my daughter wants to start and I have recruited our elders! I hope after this I can reflect on how this will help me in life. Thank you Jamie!
I just adore your second stanza. You take such ownership and invest in the garden here. It’s clear how much it means to you. Well done!
Thank you Mo. I actually do not garden, but I will be starting a project soon outside of school, so I need to get myself motivated! There are definitely a lot of life lessons in the activity. The only way to learn is to dig deep!
Jessica,
”To plant seeds of hope” is my favorite line. It reminds me to do this both in the garden and in the world, for we must hold on to hope. Peace and hope to you.
Thank you Glenda! That was my intention. We have a school garden and I am praying that my seeds sprout! I can then enjoy the fruits of my labor.
I watch my thoughts,
past to future,
future to past,
a loom,
a time machine.
I know this is not profound
perhaps not even storyworthy
nor even noteworthy.
Yet…
you watch my thoughts pencil across the page,
the detritus of this time machine
whose screen of the present washes out onto you,
imbued with me and blue.
Breathe.
These thoughts,
flags spanking,
stationary and foreign as consolation.
I am marking thoughts onto the outside,
you are bringing thoughts into the inside.
Intimate, but not sexual.
More like breathing ideas,
a kiss of life through time
attached by our voices,
singing karaoke
between the “me stuff” and the “you stuff”.
and the “huh stuff”.
We are weaving this song that lives in the present,
ambling and infinite,
the best ramble ever.
This daily act of writing is breathing ideas, kiss of life, intimate. Noteworthy? Maybe not, but doing it with others makes us feel a part of something. Something meaningful.
I really like the thought of someone watching your thoughts pencil across the page. The inside and outside thoughts also jumped out at me today. Your last three lines are almost magical.
Layer upon layer here, I love how this is ‘stacked’ and seems to keep looping back through, pulling a previous thought into the next. “imbued with me and blue” is a strong image for me, and “huh stuff” – ! – I am so going to steal that and start using it in my expressions! Thanks, Terry!
“singing karaoke” — yes! Regardless of our skill or experience, and regardless of how off-key
we areI am, we are in this together, and we can experience joy in the song-making.Thanks Mo for the inspiration!
Pound Cake
April and Jordan, your visit was medicine last night
Thanks for visiting your best friend’s parents
while she’s away teaching in Thailand for a year
Thanks for not laughing when my “much talked about”
pound cake refused to come out of the pan smoothly
and thanks for saying it was scrumptious.
By Seana Hurd Wright
4/6/2022
Seana, I love this–a poem as gratitude. The idea of a pound cake refusing to “come out of the pan smoothly” made me laugh. So much of your experience seems to be captured here. Well done.
I anticipated a poem about pound cake after reading the title. It’s clear that the visit and the guests’ response were more important than the cake. Your words highlighted what we really important.
Such sweetness in this poem, Seana! Your friends sound amazing.
Seana,
This little slice of an evening is gorgeous. A visitor can make a day special. I’m sure the pound cake was excellent. I love that you took this form and wrote a thank you note. I’m inspired to do the same.
Seana:
What gifts. Poem, poundcake, and above all, visit. How thoughtful of your daughter’s friends to come and visit. That is a remarkable thing, worth celebrating in a beautifully evocative piece of writing.
Good morning, Mo! Thank you for today’s prompt and your beautiful reminder in your poem that we must hold onto hope! My one little word this year is faith so I appreciate your poem.
Love this new form for today and I’m excited to write (between recess, lunch, and on the road).
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Thanks, Mo, for the fun form and the uplifting poem which inspired mine. Have a great day!
Rain, to snow, to sleet, to rain.
Mother Nature can’t make up her mind, and I am blue for it.
But, smiling, I spy purple blue crocuses
Beside them, lemon yellow sisters
And in the backyard, daffodil stems push through rocky soil
Reminding me to do the same.
Wendy — The color images against the snow and yucky weather…that works and I’m here on a grey morning loving the yellow sisters! Lovely. Thank you. Susie
Hi Wendy. what a wonderful ending to this observational poem. I think we all need to pay attention to how inspiring nature can be. Thanks for this gem.
Spring is such a turbulent time of year. We’ve had storms once a week and then blue skies and lots of wildflowers. I love how you expressed a lesson from nature using specific flowers.
Wendy,
Beautiful connection of your life to that of budding flowers. That last line in both inspirational and aspirational,
Wendy, we are in the mix weather-wise as well. It just can’t quite get there. I love the colors you splash through this poem – the purple crocuses and lemon yellow sisters. Seeing the daffodils push through is my favorite spring burst. Its reminder to you is good stuff.
Subterranean
Underground the soil is dark and rich.
Full of minerals and nutrients
Sticks and stones; leaves and loam
A gardener’s best friend,
Worms’ clay and sandy canvas.
A work of art, unseen.
Love this uplifting poem with its reminder of imminent spring! <3
Humus. That is the word that springs. love the alliteration and assonance in part two of the cherita. Why do I love it? I think it is the semi-colon. Yep, it is definitely that. And the Latinate title: subterranean, underground, unseen. Like poetry, the garden is a prodigiously complex place. Reminded of the end of Candide: we must cultivate our garden. Might also suggest that we comment in the margins using Hypothes.is. It is free and provides an alternative commenting system. I put a few notes in the margins, annotating your poem a bit.
I wholeheartedly agree with Terry’s assessment of your poem. I had the same reactions. It’s also a perfect poem to read on this rainy midwestern day.
The flowers get all the glory, but I love that you’ve reminded us of the artists beneath! A really lovely poem.
Oh, how beautiful! A landscape as an artist’s canvas! How very creative and colorful.
More words from the garden. I love how the word loam fits our expectation for the word, bones. In the last stanza I love the words sandy canvas – a work of art, unseen. I, too, spend time in the garden imagining a visual future.
I love the idea of the subterranean as art. Excellent alliteration: leaves and loam, sticks and stones. I can’t wait until the weather is warm enough for playing in the dirt.
White fluffy robes embroidered with the insignia Mirbeau spa
Viewing Monet’s garden as we ate croque monsieur, salad lyonnaise
Classical music playing lightly as we entered the resting room with foot pool
I took a pregnant woman’s camel coat
while plastic slip ons made farting noises
Laughing loudly and inappropriately, with my sister-in-law
Jennifer, a friend and I have been planning to go to Mirbeau forever: a good reminder (a sign?) that we need to get on it. Love the imagery here!
Jennifer — A morning giggle for me. I love that. So whimsical. I can hear that laughter…and like that spa, it’s healing. Susie
Hi Jennifer, I love the contrast between your first two stanzas and the third. I was feeling so classy and cultured, then…well, not so much. Your poems bring back memories of my nieces visiting me in France. Not such a cultured visit, but the memories are amazing!
Oh I was so caught up in the warmth and elegance to be caught by surprise with the farting noises! Such fun and memorable I’m sure. I have heard of this place but never peeked at the site. Now I am yearning to make a visit for a special occasion. Thank you for the laugh and the idea!
Jennifer,
As I read I thought, “fancy! I want to go, but I’m a hillbilly.” Then that line “plastic slip ons made farting noises” made me LOL. This form today is perfect for these surprise moments. Love it!
Mo, what a fun prompt. I can just see your amaryllis and absolutely love the sign of hope you share at the end. Gorgeous poem. My poem is a true story, but I need to write another cherita to share the rest of the story one day. Today, I have to travel and work so I’ll be in and out. Thanks for hosting:)
1984 on the Farm
Joker, the three-legged dog, barks, alerting me someone is here
Outside the window I see two bright lights beam
Then lift straight into the air and hover; I scream
Rapt in fear, I’m petrified they’re here to steal my baby
I rush to the rotary phone and cry please come home, Dear
A UFO is at the end of the lane, and I am full of fear!
Barb Edler
6 April 2022
Barb,
Im reading this and playing the Twilight music in the background of my mind. There are still unsolved mysteries: What were the two lights? The dog image reminds me of a Flannery O’Connor short story, and, of course, 1984 evokes George Orwell. Love the tension and the cliffhanger ending.
Thanks for this fun one, Barb: very X-Files! And loved the touches that helped set the scene like the rotary phone. Loved it.
Barb, I love the allusions in your poem. And the tension, oh boy! My favorite detail is the rotary phone.
Barb — This is so surreal…I had the exact same reaction Glenda did… do-do-do-do do-do-do-do…TWILIGHT ZONE and Rod Serling is at the end of the driveway. LOL! But what a crazy thing…a 3-legged dog barking in the night…now there’s a creepy feeling right there! So, now I want the full story! Be safe in those travels today. Hugs, Susie
Barb, your story drew me in and I want the rest of the story. UFO? Really?
Here is the rest of the story…but not poetic: Joker, was a wonderful dog. He only barked when there was someone coming up the lane. I thought it was my husband, but I just saw these two bright lights. What was so frightening was that the lights levitated into the air and hovered there. When I called my husband for help that a UFO was at the end of the lane, everyone laughed. I hung up went to the window and continued to watch. Suddenly the lights just blinked out. A guy who was in several conflicts overseas saw me one day and said he heard about my story. He said, “Next time call me. I believe.” Needless to say I believe in extraterrestrial life, and I haven’t forgiven my husband. My oldest son and I joke about whether he is human or alien as my biggest fear was that they were going to beam him up. I had watched too many Star Trek shows.
Back in the ’70s when I was a kid, the National Enquirer always had stuff about UFOs and alien abductions – this is totally where my brain went! This mystery was never solved-?? Love this poetic throwback – creepy as it is!
Can you really watch “too many” Star Trek shows?! Lol. I’m with you on this Barb! I really enjoyed the suspense you’ve crafted in your poem!
Barb, I’m glad everyone is okay. Joker did great work – – I love that your three-legged farm dog sounded the alarm to the threat so that you could make that call. Your rhyme scheme ABBCAB reminds me a bit of an ABACADABA in a different way. Glad you are still here and not on Mars.
Well, you most definitely can’t stop there! I hope to hear the rest of this one day. I can’t help but imagine a Close Encounters scenario here, though my brain is ticking through all of the more likely possibilities.
I love short poetry forms. They condense our thoughts into nuggets that hold more, like the amaryllis bulb.
My mother’s Alzheimer’s is weighing heavy this morning.
my mother is hiding
behind glaze of eyes
recognizing no one, nothing
seems to change her view
on the elevator up
she’s lost her way.
Margaret,
Im so sorry to learn about your mother. Your poem’s clipped lines parallel the way Alzheimer’s snatches memory, one snippet at a time. The image of an elevator seems apt given the up and down days of life w/ Alzheimer’s. That last line is a gut punch. I know this disease is hard on families, too. I wish you peace and grace as you take this journey w/ your mother.
Oh, Margaret, you’re poem is moving and heart-breaking. Your first line is compelling and immediately drew me into your poem. I love the way you’ve captured this stark moment of your mother unable to comprehend what is happening around her. The pain of not being recognized rings through this although your focus is solely on her. Your last stanza is incredibly powerful! Sending prayers!
Margaret, what a lovely tribute to your mom. The description “glaze of eyes” really hit me. Thanks so much for sharing this.
Margaret, your poem is haunting in its sparseness. I’m sorry your family is going through this. It’s clear that you are handling this difficult time with live and grace. Hugs to you.
And of course I meant to type love!
For me poetry is a way to be empathic. And your attempts here are heroic. Rather sharp take on the idea of the elevator not going all the way to the top. And why is she hiding. All of these are part of your poet’s soul, seeking and seeking a source, an answer, to the pain. I feel it, both the mystery and the horror. All I had from my mother at the end of her life was a gentle squeezing of my hand, she consoling me. So many ways to communicate if we are open to the channels. Thank you for this poetic channel.
Margaret — this heartbreaking image is so vivid, so hard. That “glaze”… against what clearly was a woman that was vibrant and in charge of “her way.” Sending hugs, Susie
Loved that you were able to be vulnerable with us and share this poem. I can relate to my mother not recognizing me while in the hospital dealing with breast cancer. Your poem moved me because it shows how wonderful and loving you are of your mother. To write a poem on this matter can not be easy and yet you did it with such a class. Great job!
Margaret, Alzheimer’s is such a thief. It is so disheartening to hear of your mother’s glazed eyes and that she recognizes no one. I’m so sorry. I have been there, and I just cried and cried at the helplessness and cruelty of it all. Prayers and hugs.
This is why I’m drawn to Verselove–learning new poetic forms! A story in six lines…Your poem about a gift sparked my own Muse this morning, Mo.
Now and then, gift tags resurface
Written in my mother’s graceful loops
My husband’s block print, my children’s scrawl
The gifts long forgotten, or used, or stored
But the tags bear the sentiment, tied with heartstrings
Written in defiance of mortality and inevitable change.
Your topic just blew me away! I have had the exact same experiences, but I have never thought about writing about those gift tags. And your last line is breathtaking!
Christine,
Youve chosen such a unique topic. I’ve never thought about saving or writing about gift tags. Now I’m wondering what I’m missing, how the tags may spark memories. I love the way your poem reminds us people matter and things, not so much, Like, Mo, it’s that last line that resonates most. It’s a lovely testament to the power of memory.
Wow, I love the focus on the handwriting on the gift cards; they are so precious at times. Your last line is incredibly powerful! Beautiful poem!
Your poem packs a punch to the heart – a simple object laden with so much history, history unfurling in a moment when you spy this small apparently inconsequential object.
What a cool topic! Loved your poem, really touched my heart and made me want to dig into my box of memories for inspiration for this month’s poems. Spring Break Project! Thanks! 🙂
Beautiful poem ~ whata gift! I especially love how you wrote about the writing on the gift tags:
Written in my mother’s graceful loops
My husband’s block print, my children’s scrawl
wonderful imagery!
that line: tied with heartstrings – – this tugs at my heart. I found some tags from my mother in law who died last February, and Christmas was her favorite. Yes, I agree – the cards defy mortality and live on in our hearts. Beautiful.
This was such a cool poem! And a great idea for the Cherita. I love the tenderness of your last lines: “But the tags bear the sentiment, tied with heartstrings / Written in defiance of mortality and inevitable change.”
Mo, I love this form. Your story is touching, and I’m regretting throwing away a amaryllis bulb. The incident I recall in my poem is one I haven’t thought about in years, but it is true!
Oops! Lost Bra
After work a quick change before a date.
Between the restroom and the break room I ran.
Arriving in the back,I noticed something missing.
A voice from the front, by the register, echoed,
“Someone lost their bra!”
A man held my 34DD bra high for the Shoney’s crowd to see.
—Glenda Funk
April 6, 2022
*I was in college and waitressing at a Shoney’s Big Boy in Joplin, Missouri after my junior year. I had a date after work and needed a strapless bra for my top. Hence, the need to change.
Your poem and story made me LOL this morning! The funniest part is the person at the register yelling out. I wonder if he/she did it on purpose. And of course, I would love to hear the end of the story. At that stage of my life I probably would have slunk right out the back door!
Glenda, oh my, what an embarrassing moment this must have been for you. I love your playful voice in this and the whole flow of your poem is marvelous. What a wonderful portrait of a unforgettable moment. Very fun! I’m still laughing!
This was amazing!
Laughing out loud and I could picture this happening in a movie!
OMG, Glenda, this is a scream. “Oops!” Well, I guess so! LOL! Those bodacious tatas were on the loose! Oh my! LOLOLOLOL! Terrific full-body cherita you’ve got there, my friend! LOL! Susie
Glenda, this brings to mind all the new black underwear for TSA checkpoints. I would have been MORTIFIED at the Big Boy holding my bra, and I think I might have had a few choice words. Oh, these moments that you share make me laugh and turn red all at the same time. What a fun cherita today!
OMG, Glenda! I can only imagine! And of course, it’s a man who has it. And of course he’s holding it up. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have claimed ownership. Too funny!
In a word: Hysterical! I am howling! Not sure how you felt about it at the time – horror? Humiliation? – your leaving up for the reader’s interpretation is fabulous. Imagine the questions on its being found-!
Glenda, this is so funny! Thank you for recounting it here. Did you go back for it? (One of the [many] things I’ve learned from my wife these 25+ years is that bras can be expensive — and if they’re comfortable and a “good fit,” they’re priceless!)
Oh, my goodness! What a story. Hilarious, Glenda. At least you found it!
Mo, what a delightful way to wake up! Thank you for giving us that bit of March Hope in the peek of scarlet.
Yesterday: a burial
We spoke to the woman who
is your mother, whose words told us
one thing and then another thing a minute later,
the excuses contradicting themselves,
throwing dirt into the hole you found yourself in.
She didn’t make the choice of you, despite the knowing.
Jennifer, this is raw emotion on so many levels – but I love most the irony in the line throwing dirt into the hole you found yourself in. Fran’s poem today has a feeling of table-turning and yours also has the same message in that line. You wrote to the bone in this one. Right to the heart, the essence of a great poem that lives on in the mind of the reader.
Jennifer, your poem reminded me of an incident I heard about at our school yesterday. A parent seemed to work so hard at undermine a teacher and the administration it left me scratching my head and wondering how this will affect her child and what the child would learn from it. Your poem has the exact sample effect on me. It’s the despite the knowing that really makes me think.
Jennifer,
This poem squeezes my heart. What a sad commentary on a mother and son. “She didn’t make the choice of you, despite the knowing.” i’d a real gut punch.
Jennifer, wow, your poem rocks me to the very core. Your last line says it all. Tears!
Jennifer, this is lovely! Heartbreaking. Thanks for sharing this.
Jennifer — This poem is so loaded. The image of “throwing dirt…,” that alone is more than somber…it just hurts. But speaking to the “you” also in that hole…oh geez. The friction of the last 3 lines is so disturbing…”despite the knowing.” You have such a killa phrasing that leaves the reader just exhaling an “ooof.” You are good. I am truly sorry that you even experienced this moment…just sucks all the air out of the room and leaves me with head down. Susie
This reads like the opening of a tragic novel, perhaps a mystery, Jennifer, leaving me wanting more even though I know the story is complete in the telling.
This poem cut deep right into such strong emotions. My favorite part: “whose words told us one thing and then another thing a minute later”-this sets up so much!
Mo – so much power of hope and promise in that amaryllis and these few lines! Spareness of form is sometimes just the thing needed to bring images and meanings into sharp focus. Speaking of which… here’s a thought that’s been bubbling in my mind for awhile; maybe it’s been waiting for me to give it a go in my first cherita (thank you!):
You Know Who You Are
Dear Difficult Person
(who may or may not be my colleague):
Thank you for the rich gift of your scrutiny.
Against the blade of it, I find myself sharpened.
In the blaze of it, I find myself refined.
I owe you. Just don’t think you can steal my joy.
Ooo this is biting! I love the use of parenthesis and using this negative person for improvement.
Fran, what a positive and healthy response to the critic! This poem might ought to go on little business cards that people could buy and leave on the desks and tables of the difficult people in our lives. I love what you’ve done here. You’ve turned the tables and defeated the attempt to steal your joy with thankfulness for the sharpening, refining, and betterment of self. And I love how you used a knife to twist it in a more productive way. Then you draw the line between acceptance and rejection of what will and won’t be taken.
Everything that Kim said-especially the business card! I just love how you’ve taken something that was bothering you and flipped it to make yourself so powerful. Someone better watch out!
Whew
“Against the blade of it, I find myself sharpened”
Powerful use of words
Kevin
Fran,
Sometimes I think that colleagues are at once the best and worst part of teaching for all the reasons you list here– indeed, scrutiny can be a gift and yes, the blade hurts. I love the perspective of “owe” but the final words save joy from the blade. I also read/heard “steal” like “steel,” which is a clever play on words.
I will be looking out for the gifts and blades today.
Peace,
Sarah
Fran,
WOW! This poem is so good and describes a relationship I had w/ a principal. It’s his abuse that prompted me to start blogging as a way to focus on the good things in my teaching life. I love the way you formatted your poem as a letter and the aside in parenthesis. These are perfect craft moves. Love it all.
Fran, OMG! I love how you capture that one person who wants to make your life miserable. Love the blaze, blade, and sharpened words that relate so well to “steal”. I feel you. I know this person! What a way to get out your feelings toward this difficult person. Excellent!
Fran — Ooo, yeah. You definitely topped that unwelcome “scrutiny”… genius poem. In so few words you nailed that “you” to the wall and it feels darned good from this end. Well done! Susie
Fran—wish I had this poem a few years ago. The knife metaphor is perfection. And the”I owe you”—the best revenge!
Fran. That last line is perfection. There are those who push us to be better by pushing our buttons. Whew. I very much appreciated the combination of owing, but not bowing.
Fran.
wow.
I’m sure we all have this person. You capture them expertly.
Fran, whoa! Whoa! Whoa! This is exceptionally crafted. That second stanza is fire, each word so well chosen and placed – so. well. chosen. Words are indeed mightier.
That third stanza! Perfect!
Oh, I hope the person’s goal wasn’t to steal your joy, Fran! (Though I imagine that would be a battle you’d win, time and time again.) I think that is the armor of age and experience–being able to withstand scrutiny and find the bit of truth in it, without letting it chip away at our sense of self.
Thanks for the new form, Mo! Your poem is lovely, imagery filled – I can picture the flowers and feel the emotion.
failure.
This wasn’t a poem
I ever intended to write.
More one about sharing sunsets smiling
and building a life together laughing
a story of love everlasting.
Gracious, Angie, there’s so much story in these lines, from the whopper of that first word “failure” to a shift in what kind of poem you intended to write. That’s THE THING about writing; once you sit down and start, it very often takes on a life and a direction of its own. And so now a thousand questions swirl in my mind about the would-be picture in those ending lines, the would-be poems that may not be written now…this is deep.
Angie, those moments that sweep us off our feet and find us in places we never expected to be seem like failure – – and yet, they are most often new beginnings, with wings. Your poem speaks to the heart of those who have ever been in that moment before the wings were realized. This took courage and heart, and I’m so glad you shared it.
I appreciate the pivot from the opening to the ending
Kevin
Hi Angis. That first line really grabbed me. The second stanza pulled me in with the juxtaposition of writing/not writing. But the third stanza, while holding such beautiful imagery, made me so sad. Wow!
Angie,
The everlasting tale told through time is the one we say “I do” to—until we find ourselves in a different story, the one we call “failure.,” but it need not be. My hope is you’ll get that “More one about sharing sunsets…” just as I have. Your poem is powerful and says so much in so few words, and there will be more story to tell.
Angie, ooooohhhhh, I love how you open with the one word. It makes the rest of it provocative. Love the beautiful image of the last stanza and how you suggest this is no longer possible because of your very first word. Clever crafting! Love it!
Good morning, Mo! This Cherita form is creative, and the story purpose works well for traveling stories. I read the Dictionary for a Better World the summer Penny Kittle chose it for one of her summer book clubs – I absolutely love this book! Your cherita spoke to me – I, too, love an amaryllis at Christmas. I have one in my kitchen and it is growing another stalk but I don’t think this one will have a bloom. Oh, the wonder of an amaryllis bulb! Thank you for hosting us today and investing in us as writers. I’m traveling through North Georgia and Western North Carolina this week, visiting landmarks and places, loving every moment – and some end up being funny for no good reason.
Oomph!
An oomph! at 3,446 feet can’t be good.
At Black Rock Mountain Overlook, I heard her –
She’d fumbled her phone.
But did I stop recording to see that she hadn’t gone over?
Heck, no!
I laughed – and we haven’t stopped since.
EEK! Great images here – I can picture this scenario and I’m laughing too!
That “oomph!” resounding high on the mountaintop sends a bit of a chill through me, Kim! I confess that I am gratefully weak-kneed at the laughter and the fact that you didn’t stop recording. Quite an indelible image :O — and what a first line. Once again, your incredible wit makes for incredible writing.
I love the first line! I’m the one who is always recording and catching people saying things they’d rather I didn’t have on audio, so I can really relate. Your trip sounds magical. And by the way, that amaryllis still keeps blooming!
Kim,
This shows an ornery side to you. I’m laughing, too! The phone is a replaceable thing. The memory is not, The rhetorical question sets us up for the “Heck, no” punch and the opportunity to chuckle. Fun che rita.
Kim, I love how your title and the sound oomph resounds like the laughter at the end. Very fun poem!
This is great! I love everything about it – the oomph! And that entire first line. Your reaction. And the laughter! Have a great time. You’re in beautiful country!
Kim, your cherita made me gasp and then giggle. Amazing how much emotion can be packed into six lines!
He was lost before we knew it
Fearing the worst, we divided up,
crashing through waves of people
and one woman, someone we never found,
found him, brought him safe to the station
and then the lifeguards found us, too
— Kevin (a story of when my son got lost, then found, on a beach in Maine)
Wow crazy story told in brevity – I like the repetition of found, found him, found us. Glad there was a happy ending to that!
Kevin, I was scared. That first line and then using the term waves of people, I feared the worst. I’m so glad your son was found safe. Moments like that, even when they end happily, are sometimes hard to revisit. I’m grateful that the woman knew to get him to the lifeguards to get him to you.
Crashing is perfectly chosen in “Crashing through waves of people.” It places us upon the beach while giving us the feeling of the fear that must have been coming on in waves – that ebb and flow of panic when a child is lost.
Kevin, your first and third lines really pack a punch and create tension. So glad your son was safe!
Kevin,
First, I so appreciate how you are taking care of your dear readers (us) with the note at the end. You know by now we’d all be stirred and worried about you (and want to know more).
I am struck by how important that first line is in this form. The craft of it is masterful (and so heart-wrenching) while gesturing at the possibility of being found — but how? “crashing through waves” — and then the final line of “the lifeguards found us, too” — well, that just adds another layer to the story, which is at once specific and universal. I think about how sometime we can count on a “someone” to save our children and sometimes we need saving or to be found, too.
Good morning to you, Kevin!
Sarah
Kevin,
The tight, limited form here is perfect for creating this list and found moment. It’s so scary when we temporarily “lose” our kids.
Kevin,
I appreciate your poem this morning because I was the child who ALWAYS got lost. The worst was in the Natural History Museum where of course all the dinosaurs were taking me away forever.
I am grateful for your son being found and for me too!
?
Kevin — Oh good grief, what a fright. The brevity of this form fuels the sense of frenzy…the beside-yourself you had to be experiencing. Whew! No parent wants this moment EVER…the lines have me holding my breath and clenching my teeth. What a relief in the end… Susie
Oh, wow, Kevin! We have lived parallel lives related to this story! My son, when four, simply vanished as I was arranging his baby brother, blankets, etc. on a warm California beach. I have never been so terror-stricken in my life. After raising the alarm, I found him a few minutes later hanging out with some other kids.
Oh, Kevin. This mom is a mess just reading this. “Someone we never found” is the line that jumps out. Just the perfect stranger, who found your joy,and returned it, expecting nothing in return. This is stunning.
crashing through waves of people… Love the echo of the beach in that line!