Welcome to Day 2 of the August Open Write. If you have written with us before, welcome back. If you are joining us for the first time, you are in the kind, capable hands of today’s host, so just read prompt below and then, when you are ready, write in the comment section below. We do ask that if you write that, in the spirit of reciprocity, you respond to three or more writers. To learn more about the Open Write, click here.
Our Host
Linda lives in northern Virginia as a middle school librarian. She serves as a past-president of her local chapter of the American Association of School Librarians. She loves teaching tutorial and enrichment lessons across the content with the kidlit resources of the library. She also enjoys sharing creative lesson ideas at regional, state and national school librarian conferences. As a school librarian, she is honored to work with a diverse teacher and student populations in the 10th most diverse school district in the United states. Linda believes that teaching is all about creating healthy relationships. She spends her free time with her family and friends, writing buddies and her two rambunctious cats named Ankles and Secret.
Inspiration
I have written many poems with clunker lines…how about you?
All of us have written something at sometime that just doesn’t work…the sound of the words in the piece don’t sing. They clunk!I’ve enjoyed what I call a regular Clunker Exchange on my Poetry Friday blog. https://awordedgewiselindamitchell.blogspot.com/2024/05/poetry-friday-is-here-clunker-exchange.html
Process
Take any one of the bullteted lines below as a writing prompt in exchange for a clunker of your own. You don’t have to work hard to find a line from a poem you’ve revised or meant to revise but never got around to. Another poet will take your clunker and turn it into something new.
Can you change words, tense punctuation? YES!
Can you write about something else entirely YES!
Can you simply tuck this idea away and maybe get to it someday? YES!
Can you write what’s on your heart? YES!
It’s especially lovely to remember to give credit to the collaborative masterpiece later when you publish it. Please try to do that.
Linda’s Poem
Michelle Kogan gave me this clunker to work with: “reason to hope, and time to consider.”
I wrote a haiku and a triolet (do not feel like you need to write more than one! I’m just showing you I got some good writing mileage out of her clunker).
a haiku
sing con vibrato
each green bud and leaf of spring
keeping time with hope
A Triolet
Stories of hope,
time to remember
ways we cope
stories of hope,
Courage-word lifeboats
or a fire’s ember
stories of hope,
time to remember.
Your Turn Clunkers Choices
- again the notion that with
- How to write a peace poem
- into another world
- only sure of light pushing her brush
- She is gone and she is there
- You listening,/my face deep in shadowed spaces
- In the sunroom, our old lady faces
- weave our own cloth. I go
- pattern belong to each other
- under an electric wire salad slaw
- paints like it’s an epiphany
- My only flaw and freedom
- Just a little puff of spray for interaction
- It’s an engineer’s puzzle niche
- What is Autumn to the bee?
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Political poems are by definition clunkers. They feel heavy and weigh in awkward. Here is one of mine that started its life as bit of prose that I knew had to end up being a poem:
Clunker #1
We have lost,
more birds,
to suicide on our front porch window glass
this year
than ever before.
Civilizational arc or fuse?
This is what it became:
Revised Clunky
The arc of civilization–
does it begin or end
with the broken neck
of a brown thrasher
dashed on a porch window?
Is it’s death an accident
or suicide?
Or is it a lit fuse?
Still clunky, but it’s my clunky. The point is that all poems are clunkers because language is a kludge at best and a big lie at worst.
I love seeing these together – the first one more of that personal narrative, putting more of the speaker and their life into the reader’s view, while the second one is much more focused on the concept of the arc. A good example of how you can move something from the foreground to the background, and the impact that has on the overall meaning. I’m all for believing in language, at least here!
Linda,
Thanks for hosting. I’m curious: What’s the source of the *clunkers* you listed. I’m scratching my head a bit thinking about how to evaluate whether or not a line is a *clunker.
Tilting
each day
our tilting
earth leans
into day
and night
moving us
to learn
ways to
tilt into
another world
the way
our planet
sways tips
and leans
on her
axis into
a slant
of light
into a
moonlit night
Glenda Funk
*The line I worked with: into another world
Glenda, I am reading your poem early in the morning, and it seems to be such a beautiful transition to my today’s prompt about “tilting” into a new day. I love the word “tilt” in this poem that signals a more natural, smooth (not abrupt) change “into another world.” The final three kines with rhyming “slant, light, night” sound mysteriously attractive. Love your poem!
Glenda, I love the tilting feel – the leaning into the work world, the home life, the social world, the nature world, and so many other tilts and leans that we have to do to make it all possible. Oh, and the travel world. How could I forget that? I see this axis tilting and while it can make my head spin with all that I know we do, I guess that’s a part of what keeps me getting up and going. Happy Monday!
I also wondered about what makes a clunker, but I suppose its in the ear of the creator. I really loved some of those clunker lines, but I also now am having some fun looking at lines in poems and thinking, “Clunker!” Sometimes, it just seems to ‘not fit’ – of just pulling it out to stand alone, it makes a pretty funny clunk. Just a whole new way of looking at language. Loved this clunker-revision, Glenda. I felt ‘tipsy’ just reading it, and the structure even feels a bit ‘tippy’ – like you built a jenga poem that could come tumbling down if just one of those words is moved. Nicely done!
Oh, this is so lovely. I read I while tilting my head back and forth with line. I’ve tried to teach children the tilting and spinning of earth and the magic created each day and season. I think this would a wonderful literature paired reading for a science lesson.
In the Sunroom Our Old Lady Faces
By Mo Daley 8/18/24
We sit together in the sunroom,
Our old lady faces hiding the youth and fierceness
We thought we’d wear forever.
We revisit the days when we held basketball and track records,
The GPA awards, the parties in the woods, the boys,
The boys,
The boys,
The boys.
Did I mention the boys?
And now our well-worn faces see the beauty that hasn’t faded,
The understanding of lives well lived,
And the love we have for each other.
We get each other.
We know each other.
We are old women with old lady faces
Sitting in the sunroom
Living our lives.
Mo,
Love the reminiscent nature of your verse. My favorite line is our well worn faces see the beauty that hasn’t faded..what a fabulous way to describe life long friendship, relationships with sisters, parents, etc.
The movement of the lines from what used to be to what is currently says so much!
Mo,
I love that your first stanza captured all the woes my girlfriends and I share as we reminisce and laugh til our bellies ache. Then you masterfully capture the acceptance in your second stanza. Let’s live our lives, Mo, old lady faces and all that we have!
❤️
Mo, I’ve loved reading several “old lady faces” poems today. I think they would make a lovely chapbook. Your poem is such a tribute to you and your dear friends. I love the boys section, and the tender love you show for these fellow travelers.
Mo,
Indeed, we “get each other.” I’m reading this delightful poem w/ old lady attitude and thinking about how it harmonizes w/ mine from yesterday. Well done!
Mo, the old lady beauty seeps inward from the skin to the heart, We are blessed indeed to have a shared understanding of lives well lived and some scars and wrinkles to prove it. Love this!
Linda,
Thanks for the interesting writing ideas. The title of today’s Open Write made me think about those four-wheeled clunkers we all know and love.
It finally happened. After owning several used cars in my half-century of life on this planet, I was suckered into buying a true lemon. Today’s prompt inspired the following:
“The Lemon”
It was time for the teenager to drive her own car.
Nothing fancy.
She had a preference:
VW Bug. Convertible.
Red Flag #1:
There is a blue one built in 2004.
Cool. Where is it?
The very last dealership as you leave the city…
Red Flag #2:
There is some visible rust inside. Was it submerged in a lake?
Red Flag #3:
The exterior paint looks new, but not professionally done.
I have a feeling it’s been underwater…
After the test drive:
Runs okay. No warning lights or weird noises.
The price is right.
One week letter:
Is there a warning light that ISN’T illuminated?!?!
A new gas tank? How is that even possible?
Broken window motors? New A/C pump?
New window washing fluid lines? What happened to those?
New seatbelts? That’s a first! Seatbelts can break, apparently…
For Sale: 2004 VW Bug. Blue convertible.
It’s such a fun little car!
Oh, boy! Your poem brought back some memories, Shaun. I paid $200 dollars for The Momobile, a 1972 Pontiac Station Wagon. The windshield wipers broke and I couldn’t afford new ones. I tied strings on them and had my pssengers help me pull them, until I had to take my mom somewhere. She almost had a nervous breakdown, but she bought me the wipers.
I love your ending questions. I never knew seatbelts could break either!
Oh, no! I’m sorry you got a legit clunker on your hands, Shaun! Thanks for crafting this, though, and sharing with us. (I hope the next car has zero red flags!)
What a great approach – a hindsight poem with a list of red flags. This could be funny or serious, or, as here – perhaps a mix of both. Though getting a bad car is – well – bad. Who hasn’t had a bad one at some point? Or can relate to how long we keep a car despite all its ‘unique characteristics.’ Like the warning light that we’ve learned to ignore… Truly hope the next experience is better!
Linda, thank you so much for introducing this prompt and asking us to upcycle (borrowing this verb from Jennifer) lines from other poems. Many people pointed out to the line they loved from your poem: “Courage-word lifeboats.” It caught my attention too.
I have been on the road the second day, so went with two haiku stanzas borrowing one of your lines: “How to write a peace poem.”
I often wonder
How to write a peace poem
When wars wreck the world
Then I remember
My dear grandchildren sweet smiles–
Worth writing each word.
What a beautiful ending line, Leilya. NOw you’ve got me thinking about things that are worth writing for.
Leilya, this is a salve to my soul!
Oh, Leilya, I love this poem today after my granddaughter poem. What a priceless treasure. “when wars go the world” is a gut punch. And the ending that reminds us of the title, and is something we can do even during war–Write each word.
Leilya,
Your poems are lovely. I like to think of poetry as inherently peaceful. Just by writing we choose an alternative, I think.
In the sunroom,our old lady faces
Today, tomorrow, Tuesday,
And every other day as if it’s
Her best day ever.
She’s combed her soft, silver hair,
Smooths her flowered blouse,
Straightens her string of pearls
As she sips tea and watches birds.
In the sunroom our old lady faces
The rising sun of this day as she has many others,
With stoic hope that today
Her grands will visit
Her daughter will call
Her friends will come play Bridge.
In the sunroom
Our old lady faces her last days
Bravely sipping tea and watching birds.
Her best day ever.
Such a beautiful poem, Jeania! I like what you did with a clunker line, and it works so well here. I love the “old lady” lives each day “as if it’s / Her best day ever.” The line “With stoic hope that today” reminds me of my mom when she was waiting for us and also of myself missing my children and grandchildren. Thank you!
I used the same line, Jeania, but I love how different our poems are. I get a sense of time passing in your poem, along with a sense of sadness. Your last stanza is so touching.
Jeania,
I love the repetition of the borrowed line and love thinking about the old lady days as the best ones ever.
Pants, like an epiphany,
disgorged from
the washer
knotted and coiled
around the t-shirt
from threadless,
the one with
Edgar Allan Poe
standing like the
iconic image of
Brandon Lee
from the Crow,
arms outstretched,
long leather duster
flowing behind,
raven atop his head,
the image turned
completely
pink
and I realize
I didn’t remove
the new, bright
red hoodie
before
starting
the load
_______________________________________
Linda, thank you for this prompt – this permission to relinquish one of our “clunkers” – and for your mentor poems: “Courage-word lifeboats” is such a cool phrase! The “clunker” that I chose (and misread, initially, lol) for my offering was “paints like it’s an epiphany,” and the clunker that I’ll exchange for that is the passage “the cold nozzle / jumping in my hand / before pouring its contents / down the throat of the tank.”
Gulp. Yes, the laundry has a way of triggering epiphanies in my house, too! Love that you used this line without writing it in the body of the poem –so perfectly.
Scott, hi there! I like how the line you used with a clever twist from “paints” to “pants” is weaved into your poem. It made me smile right away. I was also attracted to your neat description of the E.A. Poe t-shirt trying to visualize it. “The red hoodie” is another story ))
Thank you Linda for hosting today. I love how no lines go to waste. This is a neat idea.
I resonated with your haiku and from it this line I will take to heart: “keeping time with hope”. Time flies. You can’t take it back. It’s important in music. It gets lost in recollection and reflection. It took awhile to find a clunker because I no longer write on paper. But luckily I looked through the Notes on my phone and found an unfinished poem…which will remain unfinished. Here’s my clunker: Four letters equate to an abstract meaning. I stuck to the topic of love. And below is my poem, a haiku. Thanks for sharing.
Absentminded
Summer plays off key.
My only flaw and freedom
is loving me wrong.
Jessica, your haiku speaks to many of us. If only we could learn how to love ourselves a bit better, a bit “righter,” and a little more often.
Thank you so much Leila. The older I get, the wiser things come back to me.
Jessica,
Powerful! In just 3 lines of a haiku you are sharing a lesson we all must learn, stop loving ourselves wrong!
Yes, yes, yes!! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽
Linda, this is true creativity! A favorite theme of mine is redemption – I can’t help looking at this clunker exchange as a means of redeeming poems and poets 🙂 The haiku speaks a truth about the glories of spring and the hope they stir in the human spirit; “stories of hope” is the perfect repeating line in the triolet. Oh, the power of story – it moves the soul like nothing else. Except poetry, perhaps…
So… I went out on a little limb here. Struggling with writing of late. I recently watched the BBC series North and South and was so captivated by it that I got the novel and read it. Not going into a lot of analysis on why — it’s just that your “clunkers” of “weave our own cloth/I go” and “pattern belong to each other” connected themselves with this story. Thank you for this and I’m sure there’s plenty of additional clunkers here for the taking, y’all feel free…
We Weave Our Own Cloth
In the manufacture of cloth, warp and weft are the two basic components in weaving to transform thread and yarn into textile fabrics. The vertical warp yarns are held stationary in tension on a loom (frame) while the horizontal weft…is drawn through (inserted over and under) the warp thread. – “Warp and weft” definition, Wikipedia
*******
A two-voice poem inspired by cotton-mill owner John Thornton and his thwarted love, Margaret Hale, in Elizabeth Gaskell’s North and South, set in the fictional English town of Milton, 1850s.
HIM (sotto voce):
Your image of me
is warped, I fear.
I’ve thought of little
but you ever since
you came here.
HER (sotto voce):
Your image of me
is warped, I fear.
My reputation now at stake…
what else is left?
Alone, bereft…
oh, that you knew the truth!
BOTH (facing each other):
How can I rise
in your eyes?
HIM (sotto voce):
I’ve lost all.
Nothing to show
for a lifetime of work.
I must go.
HER (sotto voce):
I’ve lost much
except resolve.
I’ve found a way.
I must go…
to him.
BOTH (facing other, clasping hands):
For all the tension
the warp and the weft
WE are what we have left.
HIM (to her):
No more unravelling!
From this moment forward…
HER (to him):
…we shall weave our own cloth
in the delicious pattern
of belonging to each other.
[She lifts his hand and kisses it]
[The End]
[But really just The Beginning]
This is a drama for the stage. So romantic! Beautifully woven.
Fran, Fran, yes! The theater in you is coming through loud and clear in this, and I can even hear it as a musical – this Les Mis version of North and South, of stage and verse and song and dance. The delicious pattern of belonging and weaving together is symbolic of so many facets of belonging – of the knotting of hands and hearts in marriage, of roots that weave into the soil to bring food, of families, of place, of together. The world has a beautiful new poem and now I’m curious about North and South.
Beautiful to read this, imagining a screenplay. The sweet drama! Brava!
Fran, I love this! It reads so beautifully and I now I must watch North and South to learn the backstory. What a superb job you did with this, especially the “we must weave our own cloth…” part. Just beautiful.
Thanks, Linda, for hosting and inspiring us.
I’ll offer this clunker from from my first attempt today: facing sickness and health with courage.
Not Meant to Be
I reached with optimism
for a supposed clunker
of another poet’s line
which gleamed with poetic promise:
their pattens belong to each other
I played with forms
discovered a triolet
is also a jacket
made by Patagonia
shifted
to an unfinishable
Tanka
slashed
to a minimalist
three lines
and found the disappointing
too on the nose
whiffed whiff
of a Hallmark card
Sharon, I’m not sure why, but the line that struck me is
their pattens belong to each other
Isn’t odd how even what is a clunker can belong! It’s a though I hope we keep in mind as the school year opens. No matter how odd and angly, we’ll look for ways to make the pattern belong.
Thanks for the reminder in this lovely poem. Gonna send it to Hallmark for their consideration?
Keeping on keeping on – and discovering a new meaning of triolet in the process, and the progressive writing and forms and shifting and slashing – all of this, and a beautiful poem emerged right here!
This is wonderful! First of all, it flows perfectly. But I love the aside about the jacket, and the “whiffed whiff of a Hallmark card”. A perfect meld of realism and poetry!
Such an interesting prompt. Thanks for hosting and sharing your own poems, Linda. The phrase, Courage-word lifeboats was an amazing description, I’ll long remember.
Vulnerability
I can still see you listening–
My face deep in shadowed spaces,
My heart pounding as I poured out its contents,
My spirit hoping for acceptance of my vulnerability.
I can still see you listening–
I can still hear your loving response.
I can still feel myself enfolded in the embrace
of your unconditional love.
Rita, these safe places of trust and acceptance that overcome the fear in the shadows are the kinds of love I enjoy most – there is nothing quite like that vulnerable feel where things could go either way, then they go better than we ever could have dreamed. Love the ending!
Rita, I love your words on vulnerability. “I can still see you listening”. So often we say we hear people, but are we listening? Nonverbal communication is just as powerful as verbal. Both tell a story and in this case, body language is what is needed for validation of love. Thank you for sharing.
Rita, I loved seeing the “unconditional love” between the speaker and the “you” in your poem, and “enfolded in the embrace” is a great phrase! Thanks for writing and sharing today!
Rita,
The image of seeing someone listening is gorgeous and full of kindness in a world where listening is not something g most do well. I love how you offer evidence of that listening and how that makes the speaker feel.
Linda, I have never thought about this before! I love the community work of this exchange, and how another person’s eyes might see the phrase as possibility.
“leaves curled begging for a drink”
clunker bunker
is it pronounced like ‘neesh’ or ‘nitch’
sprawl the pieces, now, which is which?
at Nana-Poppa’s feel the itch
lost in thought, a child bewitched
it’s an engineer’s puzzle niche
this found time, if feels bequeathed
feel imagination unleashed
is it pronounced like ‘nitch’ or ‘neesh’?
Right, Maureen? I have never thought about this either. Clunker!
You chose a great clunker to recover in your poem, and wow, you sure did.
That first line had me smiling in the utter truth of it and the sound of “itch” or “eesh” repeated throughout adds such whimsy and honesty, too.
Peace,
Sarah
Maureen, the idea of writing a poem about personified leaves takes courage! And, you made it work! As the school year begins, your poem reminds me of questions our students will be having about new to them vocabulary words. Maybe they’ll be like cupped leaves curled, begging for a drink, longing to understand. May we be able to pour that drink into their cups, which are not really empty? Do we just need to add some flavor to make what is in the cup palatable?
Take care,
Anna
Anna, your words are so sweet! I am realizing how ‘clunky’ I was with my poetry offering today. Let me clarify… I thought we were supposed to leave a clunker line from our own poetry, so I offered “leaves curled begging for a drink” to the universe; it has nothing to do with the clunker poem itself.
The clunker poem uses a line from Linda’s list – the line “it’s an engineer’s puzzle niche;” and FWIW, the poem was inspired by watching my granddaughter build a puzzle. Lol, I made a mess of a submission today! I always appreciate your kind words, Anna.
“She is gone and she is there”
My poet
silver thread catches light
as her ring finger
rests on C
reaches for W
I watch this
sign of life her
there in every
stroke yet
I call her name
she’s gone
black coffee still
now chill in Yeti
she’s gone
I mourn her
absence in
Party chatter
I grieve a cushion
once warmed by
her hips
when I wake
from my nap
she has returned
to me
she is there
until she is
gone
again
Sarah–This phrase “black coffee still/now chill in Yeti” grounds us in the analogy. Methinks your poet is present most of the time for you though!
I love the possibility that you are writing about your very self – this, “I watch this/ sign of life” feels like the words of a meditation guru, being in touch with where you are at this very moment – and recognizing the need for a nap.
Ha, yes. That is possible. I was trying to write from the POV of my husband:)
Sarah, these lines called to me also. You have so beautifully, lyrically conveyed the sense of loss. I drink every line like a tonic.
Sarah, this is giving me a snapshot into your space and it is a delight to witness. I love the pauses, short lines, and spot-on descriptions that help me see you as writer/poet/teacher.
And these lines are pure love:
This may be one of my favorite Sarah poems! 💕
Once I read your comment to Maureen, your whole poem “opened up” for me, Sarah!! I enjoyed reading it at first as a poem to your “inner poet,” knowing that my own inner poet could (and would) come and go at will, but now, reading it from your husband’s POV makes it work in a totally different way! And I love that. (On a side note, lol, I stumbled a bit on lines two and three, thinking, you use your ring finger to type the letter C and not your middle finger?)
Thanks, Linda, for freeing us to write about clunkers! While my poem may be clunky, it speaks my truth today.
Flawed Freedom
My only flaw and freedom is fright.
I’m often inclined to take flight.
When I should be staying to share the light.
This week, reading The Light We Carry,
Reminded me of the reason we marry.
We need their help and sometimes they give it,
Sometimes our partners help us live it.
So when my flaw creeps up,
I have the freedom to stay or go,
My flaw makes me think of the law,
That says, “We the people”
I may not be up on a steeple,
But wherever I go, dear Lord,
Help me to show the light of love
You freely give us from above.
Anna, such truth in these lines! I LOVE that first stanza and the fright, flight, light imagery, and your closing stanza is truly an acknowledgement that none of us walk the path alone!
Oh, Anna, that first line is the paradox of social justice that you capture so succinctly: “My only flaw and freedom is fright.” And the rhythm of the quatrains and rhyme makes the fright feel less so, the “light of love” in your final quatrain entirely felt.
Thank you,
Sarah
This idea of fright being both flaw & freedom – wow, what a cool twist of that ‘clunker,’ Anne. There is such love and support here –
It’s easy to identify with this profound poem, Anna. Fear can lead us to poor choices. I love how you remind us of how our spouses can rise to the occasion, easing our fears and supporting us through a problem. Beautiful.
So prayerful, Anna – we would all do well to adhere to those last lines.
This is beautiful Anna! And the image you have so graciously shared is an added benefit to the experience of your work. Deciding whether to stay or go when our calling creates a predicament. Your first line intrigues me. “My only flaw and freedom is fright”…how something that liberates us can also hold us captive. Thank you for sharing!
Hi Linda! Thanks for this interesting prompt. I struggled a bit with some iterations of things until I remembered that “perfect the enemy of good.”
I used the prompt “How to write a peace poem” that you included in your original post. I tried to incorporate the thought into my poem along with personal experience. Every year I take a journey to the Holy Well at Saint Margaret of Antioch, and every year the walk is cleansing for my mind and spirit!
The Holy Well
Its a three mile walk
From the streets of Jericho in Oxford
To the Holy Well at the Saint Margaret of Antioch Church.
Through the fields at Port Meadow
Along the Thames, my hand brushes
The tall grasses along the path.
No one else is on the path
I am greeted only by the sentinel trees
And the ghosts of pilgrims before me.
Walking the same path tread by thousands of others
To pray at the well
A poem of peace.
Mona–I am so glad you joined us! I felt my breath slowing as I waled with you through this peaceful poem. Lovely–and thank you!
Mona,
Thank you for taking us on a walk with you in this poem.
I want to be there when I read “No one else is on the path” and imagine the literal and figurative of this path. The various paths we take when we go for a walk — how our body moves and our mind moves with and elsewhere in the time we are talking that walk. And I think of the other walks or paths we take every day — career, familial, health, etc. Lots of layers for me in that one line. No clunker there.
Sarah
Love this,
Mona,
The imagery and overall feel of this verse is serene in way that only a pilgrimage like what you describe can bring. The lines greeted by the sentinel trees and ghosts of pilgrbefore me are so beautiful and the last lines, to pray a poem of peace is both haunting and comforting at the same time. Just wonderful.
Mona,
thank you for bringing us on your annual pilgrimage.
These lines bring me completely there:
I like the paradox of
and
it’s interesting to think about how much of our lives fit into that paradox.
Hi Linda, thank you for this fun prompt and for giving us fun clunkers to choose from to guide our poems. I love this strategy and will keep it to use again. I love both of your poems. Michelle’s clunker flowed into such beautiful poems.
I chose “she is gone and she is there” for a Golden Shovel that has the words at the start and at the end of each line. I even had time today to create a graphic.
She Lives in Every Breath
She inhales gratitude because she
is present. Exhales what is
gone, releasing sadness, gone
and memories fill her and
she dances again, laughs again, she
is whole. What once was… is
there tucked away, quietly breathing there.
©Stacey L. Joy, 8-18-24
Stacey, I read this in two ways–as your mom as the “she” and then as if you are the “she.” I like it both ways. The double golden shovel (amazing that you could use the same word at the beginning and end of the poem so beautifully, by the way!) brings peace and hope–both future and present.
Ooooh, Stacey, a double Golden Shovel! I love the Canvas, I love the form, I love the words and the message. Whenever I think of the Golden Shovel form, I think of you and your shining star mastery of this form. High five, friend! I love that we can find our mothers in the quiet corners, laughing, always there just not touchable.
Oh, Stacey–this is beautiful! I found myself reflexively breathing with your words. And you used each word twice, without me even noticing it until I reread it! Impressive flow, my friend!
Stacey,
I wrote before reading today, and we chose the same phrase to work with today. I love seeing how our imagined this not-really-a-clunker line into your graphic poem golden shovel style. I am struck by the many choices poets make in the topic, form, text, image, line breaks, rhyme, rhythm, bolding. The art of a poet is so present here today. This double shovel takes skill, too. I love thinking about “what once was” and how it is not nor can it be entirely gone, how it lives in her because it has shaped her, it breathes, yes — and lives on in new ways. Love this.
Sarah
Wow! Beginning and ending each line with the same word/these parallel golden shovels – so incredible, Stacey. I am smitten with “and memories fill her and” – the double ‘and’ offers such a sense of ‘overflowing,’ I think.
Stacey,
thanks for sharing this beautiful poem. I’m so impressed with how you wedded the doubleness of your form—beginning and ending every line as a golden shovel—with the doubleness of the original line—gone and there.
While your poem is about absence and loss, it is filled with presence and love—absolutely beautiful.
Magical, Stacey! A double golden shovel is exceedingly hard to do… you ROCKED this. I am savoring the sense of release and these truly golden lines:
she
is whole. What once was… is
there tucked away, quietly breathing there.
Stacey,
This is a cathartic poem, an invitation to breath in and out and heal. Love the Canva. It’s similar to the one I created for my poem but didn’t share here.
Linda, thank you for hosting today. Your clunkers were fun to pick through and play with this morning. I like how you showed how to get the most out of your line from Michelle. That was some good writing mileage you got there, and on my favorite topic: Hope.
Here’s a clunker line I’m donating today: “what will we choose?” I chose from your clunker list: “You listening, my face deep in shadowed spaces”. It reminded me of a moment I had yesterday with my brand new granddaughter.
Phoebe
Just like that, another being
has entered this world. It’s
you who have come to radiate
your light. You and I evolve
As we share this moment–
You listening, my face deep
in shadowed spaces,
reminded for a wistful blink
in this bright breath
that grandparents don’t
last a lifetime.
Hi Denise,
That opening line reflects the suddenness of a birth and all the changes that come with a newborn. Are you writing about a new baby in your family? Congrats if so!
Beautiful poem!
Denise, congratulations on your new granddaughter! I know that she is perfect and that you are positively beaming with pride and love and all the warm feels, seeing the future in her tiny hands and feet. I, too, think about the brevity of grandparents. But oh, the power of memory and influence. The good Lord blesses us with a concentrated dose of that on their lives. It’s the sweetest thing in the world.
Denise–that last phrase–“that grandparents don’t last a lifetime” hit me! I just spent the weekend with my granddaughter, and this really resonated. I will not be there for her forever…
So tender, Denise, so special. Congratulations on the new little! This is beautiful “you who have come to radiate/your light.”
Oh, Denise, congratulations on your new grandchild. Eleven times, I’ve “evolved as we share this moment” and each time was amazing. Your ending tugged at my heartstrings. Time marches on, but that realization makes me appreciate and record special moments with the Grands. Enjoy every minute and thanks for sharing.
Congratulations, Denise!
I love the sense of wonder your first two lines convey:
And the reminder that love changes us:
Beautiful!
What a treasure to share the moment with this new being. I love the line “reminded for a wistful blink….that grandparents don’t last a lifetime.” I wish!
This is lovely Denise and congratulations! Frame this and let this be a sentimental reminder for you and your new granddaughter. Your entire poem resonated with me. I love the phrases “wistful blink” and “bright breath”…such hopeful words and moments. Both sets of my grandparents are deceased and I wish I would’ve stayed in the kitchen, asked questions, and took lessons. Thank you for sharing.
Denise, what a joy to have a new granddaughter! Congratulations! The clunker line works so well here letting us/ me into your intimate acquaintance with this new human being, who you already love so much. So tender and sweet.
Denise,
Tjis is a full circle poem, beginning w/ birth and ending w/ a reminder life is temporal so we must make the most of each moment. Lovely poem. I can see you doting over Phoebe.
Hi Linda,
Thanks for today’s prompt. I teach at an APS MS in NOVA – Dorothy Hamm Middle School and gearing up for another school year. Where are you in NOVA?
For today, I used into another world from the list:
Into the VIllage Sweet bakery
as if stepping into another world
notebook and calendar opened.
Between warm, sweet bites,
I plan out the week ahead.
Into the Arlington Central Library
as if stepping into another world
I stroll to the reserved shelves
a stack awaiting, just for me.
Into the Bluemont Rose Garden Park
as if stepping into another world
I lower my tired body to the bench,
breath in the fragrance,
forgetting duty and To Do Lists.
I open to page one
escaping into another world.
Sally, I love the repetition of your borrowed line, especially at the end when you step into a book, “forgetting duty and To Do Lists”. I felt I walked each step with you throughout your poem. Lovely.
Sally, I want to be there. I want to be there having bakery sweets, planning in the Happy Planner and reading borrowed books – that stack must be a delightful bite, just as the pastry. And the reading in the garden – – OH, nothing is more perfect than the simple pleasures of a pastry, a library, a book. Oh, and a friend who is there in spirit wishing she was able to read the day away with you.
Sally–you reflect this preparation for the school year so perfectly. All the pieces that must come together, and that moment for yourself before entering the bustle.
Wow, Sally, you really captured that whole sense of a busy day topped off by time to relax with a good book. Is there anything better? My favorite line was, “between warm sweet bites, I plan out the week ahead.” This poem brought me back to those busy Sundays during the school year. Spot on!
Sally,
You’ve captured the Platonic ideal if a beginning of the school year Sunday.
Thank you for these three field trips
Absolutely lovely!
Sally,
You pulled me right in:
And the final lines of your poem are PERFECTION! Such a great choice “into another world” but what you did with it is even more fascinating.
Linda,
I am excited to work with this prompt, as I wanted to address my daughter leaving for college, and your clunker became a refrain of sorts. Thanks for inspiring me today!
MOVING TOWARDS AWAY
She has heard a call from Purpose.
Since the mortarboard end of May,
it is reflected in her face,
her looking a bit higher than the horizon,
her catching an imperceptible call
my older ears can’t hear,
her looking expectantly at the leaving
doorways of home.
She is gone
and she is there.
So many journeys,
adventures in her growing
she could look back from her bravery
and I’d be there with her,
with her on the bridge
tacking the passages,
the measures in her life song.
And now I cast the mooring lines,
my alma mater,
her alma pater.
She is gone
and she is there.
Wow, Rex, this is a beautiful honoring of your daughter’s matriculation. “Moving Towards Away” is a powerful title, full of meaning for the future. The metaphors are perfect. Some of my favorites:
Such a powerful way to describe the younger generation!
Beautiful use of that clunker line of Linda’s.
Rex–a beautiful metaphor, and the bittersweet “she is gone and she is there”. I remember that feeling as I dropped my daughters off at college. Those mooring lines….
Oh, Rex, my heart melts thinking about how a father feels as his daughter moves away to college. You and I chose the same clunker line and although our poems are vastly different, there is a sweet familiarity in our loved one being gone but still there.
Lovely! I wish her all the best!
Drifting
My mind is always
drifting
into another world
why can’t I stay focused
on what I must do?
Daily
my body
completes
mundane
events
while my thoughts
drift
into another world
of rescue.
Again, another fascinating prompt. Thanks, Linda. However, every line you sent is beautiful. Can’t imagine them as “clunkers.”
Susan, I loved reading how you used the same line as I did.
We even seem to have a similar theme.
I like your use of the word mundane and your ending word, rescue.
We both seem to hold onto other worlds, daily.
Susan, rescue sounds like a perfect ending to your drifting mind. It makes me feel strength and resolve even in the midst of being unfocused.
Susan, amen to the drifting – in title and in message. I am there with you, friend. I feel seen and heard in your words today.
Susan, thank you for this poem! It’s those drifting thoughts that allow the speaker to “see” that other world “of rescue.” Great use of a clunker line.
Linda – I love your generous gifts of clunkers! Here’s one to add: “a pool of silent sand and twigs” (one of my “kill this one” lines this week). And here is my poem with a recycled line:
when it’s our turn
the day will come when we need help
when soiled clothes, bereft of dignity, will lay silent, accused
we will hobble naked behind an uncertain walker to the shower bench
turn to averted eyes, slow-step, gingerly set
bare buttocks upon molded plastic
lips resigned to an unremembered protest
we will raise one arm, then the other to receive unchosen clothes
someone’s mannequin
a foreign hairbrush will leave the hidden curl untamed
all I ask is dress me in pearls
we will sit in the sunroom
our old lady faces bathed in grace
This poem beautifully describes the old lady and what she faces. True, it is what we will all face. Your words show me that you have seen this in person with sympathy of aging. Love the line of the hidden curl. I have seen that!
Patricia,
You have chosen just the right words to describe the old lady.
I especially like sioled, hobble, uncertain walker, gingerly, molded plastic, unchosen clothes, mannequin, untamed. I love the last stanza, asking to be dressed in pearls! And a perfect last phrase – in grace. I’m caring for my 89 year old mother and you capture an old lady so well here.
Oh, my gosh, Patricia. What a beautiful use of Linda’s line. I was struck through the first two stanzas–the indignity and sadness of growing old. Then that last stanza brings back the dignity, plus some. It brings tears to my eyes, especially the addition of “bathed in grace” Bravo, Patricia!
This is real. It’s raw future and reality and past and present bound all together as first one generation pulls from it, then the next, then the next. Your words that shape those moments and bring the scene to life, the averted eyes and nakedness of both body and truth are events we must reckon with with each passing day……oh, the stages of life.
Patricia–I have watched my grandmother and my mother move through your poem, and I know that I, too, will be that old woman. Your last stanza is a prayer for dignity. The “unchosen clothes/the lips resigned to an unremembered protest”. You have seen it, too…
Your poem doesn’t hide the indignity of aging. I do love the last stanza. Yes to pearls and bathed in grace.
Patricia, As I read this heart-wrenching poem, I was back in the nursing home with my mother. Like the old lady you described, she had to endure the indignities you mentioned. Even my proud, beautiful mother eventually succumbed. The last stanza was amazing. Again, like this woman, my mother was happiest when she was “dressed in pearls” (or any jewelry, and graciously sunning herself. This is a masterpiece that vividly reveals the truth of aging.
Patricia,
This poem is uncomfortably real. The we-ness really hammers the universality of growing old. I like the contrast of the humility of getting prepped for a literal bathing, and the bathing in grace at the end.
Wow, wow, wow! Patricia, this poem is a gift to all of us who are aging and approaching the unexpected changes that come with it.
My favorite line is this one because I will dread being dressed in unchosen clothes someday.
Breathing gratitude for the final lines of your poem. Gorgeous!
Linda,
This is a marvelous prompt! I love creating poetry based on other pieces. Those lines are not clunkers at all . . . from where did you pull them? Quite a few great options. Both your haiku and triolet make great use out of a “clunker.” I am never very good at being concise or form poems, so I am glad you gave us those options. I forced myself to do a triolet and stick with it!
mother daughter.
she is gone and she is there
i wish i understood
i’d rather have her anywhere
she is gone and she is there
it seems so dang unfair
i wish i could, i wish she would
she is gone and she is there
maybe we will if i only could
Susan, the triolet is a perfect form for your remembrance. The repetition adds the beautiful echo of “gone and there”.
Susan, your triolet has a ring to it with a rhythm and rhyme that make it flow beautifully. Your title says so much about the gone and there and understanding, and I feel so part of this mother daughter dance that you bring to life with words.
Susan, I feel the push and pull of transitions – off to college, moving out of the house, getting married, becoming a teenager, starting kindergarten… All of these pop up for me in what you’ve done so remarkably with the line “she is gone and she is there.” Even the form and its repetitions allow us to see the coming and going. I live the words, “I’d rather have her anywhere.”
Susan–“maybe we will”–the push and pull of the relationship is so clear here. “I’d rather have her anywhere” resonates for me. Beautiful and real…
You did it well. I struggle with this form, too, and I wish I knew why. Maybe too much rhyme. I love how you play with the words understood, would and could.
Susan
I was never really familiar with the triolet. Thanks for introducing me to a new(er) form. It works well with the subject matter, as parent/child seems like we have the repeats in thoughts and actions with our children. There is a nice double meaning to the title, as I caught myself thinking of the daughter, now as mother.
Linda, this is upcycling at its best – considering throwaways in a new way so that they become useful feels like the approach our humanity needs. I took the line, “In the sunroom, our old lady faces.” (and I love your line, “courage-word lifeboats”)
Coming to Life
In the sunroom
our old lady faces come to light,
turning,
tracking the drifting hours,
the minutes marked
in soft wrinkles,
the lines tracing years,
highlighting each spot
along the journey
our old lady faces
come to light in the sunroom
I love this:
“tracking the drifting hours,
the minutes marked
in soft wrinkles,”
I’m getting to know and get comfortable with wrinkles…there are things about aging that are good. What a lovely poem. I’m in that sunroom with you.
Jennifer, I love everything about this poem. The repetition of a circular ending and all the joyful living of lines and spots and wrinkles in between reminds me of the dash and what we do with it – – the dash between birth and death dates on the headstone, the dash of living that we all feel and do and have the long-lived faces to show for it. Those little lip hairs and wayward eyebrow weeds that pop up are part of the garden, too……I simply love the journey you have proclaimed for all of us in the sunroom. I’ll stay and have a cup of tea.
Jennifer, I was drawn to this line, too! My favorite line “along the journey” — that journey of aging!
I was drawn to this line, too. I love the circular feel of this and how you come back to “our old lady faces” and light’s role in revealing and marking the journey of aging!
You certainly uncycled this into beauty!
Jennifer, such a sweet beginning and ending with Linda’s upcycled line. I am there with the others sitting in the sunroom. Glorious.
“the minutes marked
in soft wrinkles,
the lines tracing years”
Your words are so loving, so comforting. The sunroom, where our old lady faces come to light–we will be there some day…
“soft wrinkles” I have a few and I want to love them better than I do. Your poem helps.
Hi Jennifer,
You have given me a warm fuzzy for growing into my old lady face! I adore this poem.
😍
Jennifer, I love the lines you “upcycle” and lift up with your poem, and this image of “tracking the drifting hours, / the minutes marked / insoft wrinkles” feels so relatable.
Linda, thank you for hosting us today with clunker lines. I know I can master a clunker for sure. Thank you for hosting us and investing in us as writers. I offer any line anyone wants to use as a clunker and I used into another world from your list. Cheers to Sunday!
Sunday Morning Scrambled
all hell breaks loose
here on this peaceful
Sunday morning as I
sip coffee, write
a clunker exchange ~
sudden frantic barking
of my three vicious
Schnoodles bounces
and echoes through
the house as they
slo-mo scramble
from window to window
no-traction toenails
on the rugless wood
floors, looking like
Saturday morning
Flintstone cartoon
pets running for all
they’re worth but
going nowhere fast
I look out and see
mama D-E-E-R
(no need to spell it
now – besides, our one
speller alerts the
other two anyway)
streaking into the woods
her two spotteds
stumbling along behind
her, pausing at the edge
to look back at this
house of horrors
where hell hath unleashed
its fury on this holy morning
then they disappear
into another world
with dangers all its own
far from here (here~
where I want to exchange
all the clunked-up lines
for world peace
on the Funny Farm)
Kim, you always bring to life the everyday moments in a remarkable way, causing me to witness alongside you. The Flintstonian scrambles of going nowhere fast and the Mama pausing to contemplate the “house of horrors” are highlights. And all of this sits within the “clunker exchange” and the “clunked-up lines” bookending your captured moment. I wish I could write as you do, my friend!
LOL! That’s so fun and gave me a big smile. Those Flinstones feet…I’ll always love that about dogs. Great response to the prompt.
The alliteration is so good! And the imagery is spot on.
Kim, I love this frozen-in-motion capture of disruption: “streaking into the woods/her two spotteds” — I am there at your window watching chaos unfold.
What a fun read! You capture a chaotic, quick moment by slowing it down and adding each detail. Your descriptions and comparisons make it like I am seeing an action movie. Favorites: no-traction toenails and Flintstone cartoon.
Kim,
These lines capture the movement of dogs expertly:
Haha, Kim! Oh, my goodness. You have written a video poem. I can picture the boys slip sliding across the wooden floor. And one can spell D-E-E-R! Oh, my goodness. It seems you took a stab at another of Linda’s lines: “How to write a peace poem” I love this!
Kim–you allow us to enter your world–again! This passage made me chuckle–so familiar–no-traction toenails/on the rugless wood /floors, looking like/Saturday morning /Flintstone cartoon /pets running for all/they’re worth but /going nowhere fast” I can hear it, see it, and I laugh with you. And the one that can spell?? Priceless!
Kim, this poem has your voice (and your dogs’) all over it. I can visually see the deer through the window and hear the loud barking. My new puppy has decided to be a barker. Ugh! The problem is he barks at us while we eat dinner. We’ve taken to putting him in his kennel and closing the door so we can eat in peace. Any training ideas welcome.
Oh gosh, Kim, you bring your hilarious tale to life in so few well-chosen lines. Amazing. This made me laugh out loud. I could see it all in my mind because of the clever way you crafted this story. Loved the ending, too!
Oh, Kim – I see the Flintstone scramble so clearly! I love this vision of the doe and her two fawns – most every year we have a doe and her “two spotteds” in the thicket across the street, but not this summer. We have a family of wild turkeys instead – parents vigilantly watching their babies. Cute as can be, in its wild-turkey way…I almost chose “into another world” because I feel I could write on that every single day. Sometimes I crave going into another world. How you worked it into this story-poem is a wonder. The title – perfect.
Kim,
I love the spelling so the pups don’t figure it out. I like the contrasting worlds in your last stanza with the real world danger vs. the Funny Farm need for peace…I don’t know if it is possible to write a poem with Schnoodles in it where it isn’t anything but warm or adorbs.
Linda–first of all, I don’t see those lines as clunkers! (Well, maybe one of them 🙂 ). I found myself admiring many of them and found it hard to choose which one to pull out of the list. The phrase “courage-word lifeboats” is one that I wish I’d written. The theme of hope that runs through both of your poems is so needed today.
Growing up. I was lucky enough to spend afternoons with my great-grandmother and her sister, Rose. They had a loom room in which they wove cloth and rag rugs. (I still have some of those rag rugs in my home–they last forever) I spent hours there–the power I felt as I shot the shuttle back and forth across the warp was glorious. I was MAKING something! When I began writing this poem, I wanted to be sure that the phrases I used were correct. I found this website as a source of “comfortable” definitions. It really is its own language.
https://www.thulatula.com/blogs/community/a-whimsical-glossary-of-weaving-words-and-terms-for-the-beginner
We Each Weave Our Own Cloth
When they are young, we believe
(and maybe it is true, for a while)
that we weave our children’s world.
We begin with a sturdy loom,
set a warp to stand the test of time.
We choose strong fiber and interlace the weft,
thread by thread, pick by pick.
We create a cloth of strength, hope, and joy.
Our shuttle wends its way from side to side and back,
again and again–
drafting our idea of who they might be–
.
For a while.
Then, one day, the shuttle is no longer ours to hold.
It is theirs, now.
We can only step back
and watch their tapestry unfold.
We each weave our own cloth, in the end.
GJSands
08/18/24
Gayle, I could hear the sound of the loom (both in the loom room and in your poem). It moved with the shuttle, and I envisioned your lines doing the same, back and forth, back and forth, as I was reading. You have a way of adding depth to your poems, of bringing thoughts not often thought aloud forward so that we are thinking them along with you. I think I gleaned that (once again) in the parenthetical aside in line 2. This is a beautiful poem.
This is beautiful. What a legacy you inherited. I can imagine the safety and security of the loom room and how you can hearken back to it. Lovely. Oh, that day the shuttle is not ours to hold. My youngest is home for a week between summer internship and new senior-year fall semester. I’m so happy for how he’s taking the shuttle and weaving now. So much joy! Love this poem for that.
The shift in feeling when you say ‘the shuttle is no longer ours to hold’ is so powerful. First person also invites the reader in beautifully.
Oh. My. Word. Gayle, this analogy and feel of the years of raising children and a weaving loom is just so on point. The shuttle not being ours to hold anymore is the toughest part, tougher than all the years of sleepless nights and ball games and dance recitals and parent teacher conferences. When the shuttle is passed, we can only hope and pray. This is pure truth and a joy to read today.
Gayle,
This is absolutely marvelous! The extended metaphor works so well, and the emotional subtones are there as you link parenting to the special act of weaving that is quite personal to you.
I think you need to do something tangible to create something from this poem and something from the loom.
Hi Gayle! I love the imagery of handing over the shuttle to the following generations. It makes me think of a family tree as you move along the branches to the trunk and imagining everyone weaving their own story yet all entwined together.
Gayle,
I love how you used the weaving words to build your strong poem about raising children and our legacy. The cloth is there (strength, hope, and joy) for them when they need it.
I love the analogy of weaving and the finely crafted way you crafted your message. There’s beauty, truth and good advice woven into this lovely piece. Thanks for sharing!
Gayle,
I have always loved the weaving metaphor and life. The rhythm, building, mantra of sounds, purposeful and creative. I think you capture that in your efforts. I love the “for a while” as a repeat that comes with our realization of how life really plays out.
Linda, I love your clunker challenge. Thanks for sharing so many workable lines with us. Triolet form works well with this idea, the repetition and rhythm gives strength to the clunker line.
I got a concerning call this morning just as I was waking up. The line “She is gone and she is there” worked well with this incident.
Call from the Rose Garden Memory Care Home
Vibrating phone
at six a.m.
sent to voicemail (an unknown number)–
Mom has fallen, but she’s fine.
Fine.
Fine.
She is gone
and she is there.
Far from me
pacing further and further away.
I’m here.
She’s there.
Can she feel the tug of love?
Margaret,
That’s a terrible phone call to get. You’ve really captured that disquieting feeling of being apart from a loved one, especially a parent, when they are most vulnerable. Fine but not fine.
Your poem brings out the point that some of these clunkers aren’t really clunkers, too. “She’s gone and she’s there” is the line that anchors your poem and it reminds me so much of Yusef Komunyakaa’s great poem Facing It about a Vietnam vet facing the losses he’s suffered—being here and being there. And your last line is so powerful.
Margaret, I feel the self-assurance and all the sorrow of Fine. Fine. The lines She is gone and she is there swipe pieces of my heart, and it goes out to you and your mother. My heart goes out to you in big ways full of quiet presence today. Your poem cuts to the bone with emotion.
Margaret, your “clunker” sits as the fulcrum for what comes before and what lies ahead, both in the placement within your poem but also in the “tug” of the situation. I feel this most in the “pacing further and further away” as pacing indicates a coming and going, a leaving and a return. You’ve written beautifully about something so heart-wrenching and difficult. Hugs.
My goodness…the pacing mental and physical. I feel the wearing of it that is the tug. I want her to feel it so much!
Your opening line is such a strong hook. Immediately, as the reader, I start to read faster, wanting to know what happened. Your use of the “clunker line” says so much of your mom. So glad she is fine. I do believe she feels your love, even across the miles.
Margaret–This poem is no longer my life, but it was for many years. That phrase–pacing further and further away”–it is that slow goodbye that is so very hard. Your poem encapsulates that feeling.
Margaret,
Your clunker got me in the feels with a modest number of words. There is a real dichotomy in the caring aspect here, centering on the word fine…A sense of loss that precedes actual loss. It really captures the struggle of a child acting the role of caretaker.
Trade up from the bottom
I don’t like sleeping up,
I like falling awake.
clappin’ feet,
and an elbow shake.
workin less pays off,
slide my bills under tablecloths,
middle toe,
pointed with Hell’s sauce.
Take the 40, it don’t matter,
religious, political, vulture-chatter,
found a spoon,
slicing promising pitter-patter!
And we can switch,
our oxes in da ditch,
’catch my curves?
From a beautiful witch-Pitch?
ugly is beautiful, right is wrong,
too much, too long,
no salutes,
sit down, for our song?
Ain’t no silver in my hay,
Just bear chested highways,
49 years,
same old say, just by a reversed way.
So, I quit in the middle,
Tired of your freedom riddles,
cavair- manure,
Screeched on plastic fiddles.
We trading our fade,
You drink da femonade,
I’ll have the wine,
and throw a dirt road parade.
Stay strong, eat what I want,
tellin’ you da dues and don’ts!
you work 60,
and I’ll taunt!
Bye, ya backbone is gone,
Spin a dime on a backwoods song,
Eat canned Vienna,
Soooo long!!
oooh, Boxer, the unexpected language in this is delicious! You make me think in all kinds of paradoxical ways with those pairings. And, I feel the beat of this.
“Ain’t no silver in my hay”
Love this phrasing, and the voice in the entire poem.
Kevin
Boxer–I hear this song!! This stanza: “workin less pays off,/slide my bills under tablecloths,/middle toe,/pointed with Hell’s sauce.” is superb. I love all the plays on words you made–read it three times to catch most of them!
Boxer, so many awesome lines in this one. Caviar manure may be my favorite, but I’m seeing the dirt road parade and think our county should seriously consider this for Christmas on a blustery dusty day. This is gold!
an act of trust
fills me with rust
as i grind to a halt and
consider every way i’m more than my own
despite my best
i’m not alone,
just like you
as you listen
and don’t shudder away, shrouded
unashamed
it won’t go back
new and unformed
will it stay?
or will i find
myself in the dark once more.
oooof. That feeling of rust — I know it. And, you describe it so well. The big question is can I avoid it or prevent it from the “again time.” is a good one.
“an act of trust
fills me with rust”
What a start! To be filled with rust is quite a bit of imagery.
Kevin
I love this line: “consider every way i’m more than my own”. It has both worry and hope in it. Beautiful…
Helena, the consideration in your poem, from the initial act, grinding you to a halt, to the question of “will it stay” carries us along with you. I often feel mired in the decision making. Trepidatious over the possibilities, There’s power in the line, “It won’t go back” that speaks to me too. You’ve captured that here.
This brings to light the ambivalence and uncertainty of those days we are making decisions and are willing to take risks to get to the place we want to be. You captured it – – the risk to be back in the dark but looking for all the light!
heienamjok,
I find those first two lines provocative and want to know more about how trust results in rust. I think I need to make a list of words related to rust. I’m intrigued by the word this evening. Your poem reminds me of stasis that can set into relationships and the idea of not being alone but still unmovable. Lots to think about.
Linda, I went with a Triolet, too.
Kevin
Paint an epiphany
but leave ample room for wonder
in night sky, infinity,
paint an epiphany
on a creative canvas
that sings with the thunder
Paint an epiphany
but leave ample room for wonder
This poem rings with wideness, not scared of specifics, but just as committed to looking out at that larger scope. The repetition is grounding, and to me, almost a ritualistic reminder to capture those moments and let them go just as soon.
I love this response because I agree with it and it’s so well written. The repetition in a triolet is partly why I love that form so much. It’s repetition in a surprising way.
The repetition of the lines, at different times, gives the poem form a bit of anchor points to dance with.
Kevin–
Paint an epiphany
but leave ample room for wonder
You could have stopped with those two lines, and it would have been complete…
In such a small space I feel like there are five starts to poems that could grow! (But it’s also perfect together, too.) Talk about using every word to make an impact!
Kevin, the epiphany, the wonder, and the thunder and the canvas to capture all infinity bring such glorious images of the imagination and the hope we feel about life.
She is gone and she is there,
vanished when I ask her
how she ever knew that
we were meant to meet
along the river, lights dancing
across the water, crickets calling
that life is short and love is long.
She is gone and she is there,
haunting when I throw away
those things of hers that remind me
of an autumn day, pumpkin soup and
baked apples, a kitchen spiced with
longing and flour like snow
strewn across the counters.
She is gone and she is there,
better in sepia photos and memories
where there is no sound of our fights,
no scratch of our nails, no exhaustion
from the battle to stay entwined when
sometimes sweet souvenirs are all
that’s meant to be left behind.
What a beautiful tribute to the she in this poem. I can feel the missing…but that last stanza doesn’t release me from the reality of a human relationship. This poem feels like healing.
baked apples, a kitchen spiced with
longing and flour like snow
strewn across the counters.
These lines strike me with that melancholy of changing seasons, comforting in its consistency, yet striking in loss. “flour like snow” hits me with creation and desolation, an apt metaphor that juxtaposes those things together.
“sepia photos and memories” could be the start of another whole poem, even though yours is beautifully rendered by memory already.
Kevin
Sarah–a bittersweet poem, filled with love and sorrow.
“sometimes sweet souvenirs are all
that’s meant to be left behind.”
wow.
Those last lines come to acceptance of the heartache – the pain and trying to make something work when perhaps, just perhaps the sweet souvenirs are meant to be the experience and what is kept. This is gorgeous writing. No clunkers here.