Collaboration Inspiration with Gae Polisner and Lori Landau
Welcome to Day 3 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.
Gae is the author of soon-to-be-seven novels including the forthcoming CONSIDER THE OCTOPUS, an environmental farce, and the multi-award winning THE MEMORY OF THINGS used in schools around the country. A family law attorney/mediator by trade, but a writer by calling, Gae lives on Long Island with her husband, two sons, and a suspiciously-fictional-looking small dog she swore she’d never own. She is an avid swimmer and, when not writing, can be found in the open waters of the Long Island Sound. You may follow her on twitter and Instagram @gaepol, on facebook at gaepolisnerauthor, and find her books wherever books are sold.
Lori Landau is an interdisciplinary, decolonizing artist whose poetic work draws on her long-time meditation and compassion practices, and a deep love for nature. Her art and writing explore themes of relationship and human rights, and fuel the writing workshops she runs which invite participants to access their own unique interdependent connection to inner and outer landscapes. She has been published in numerous magazines and blogs and is currently working on a book of poems that honor grief as a sacred process of self-realization. She holds an MFA in Interdisciplinary Arts from Goddard College, with a concentration in Decolonial Arts Praxis. You may reach Lori at lori.landau@goddard.edu
Inspiration
Right after the 2016 election, my creativity deflated. Dried up. Disappeared. I thought, hey, it’s okay, it’ll come back when things calm down. Then came a pandemic. As always, if we wait for the perfect time, it rarely comes. Yet, there I was, feeling, for the first time in a decade, creatively stuck.
Early on, I asked a friend if she might want to collaborate on a novel. I wasn’t managing to write on my own, but what if we could inspire one another, and hold one another to producing actual words… and *gasp* even meet a daily deadline? Between 2016 – 2021, she and I co-wrote three manuscripts together, proving to me what a rich source of inspiration collaboration can be! Somewhere in that time period, on a ride home from my friend Lori Landau’s house – I hadn’t seen her in a long time, and we had had a surprisingly connective and restorative time together – I wrote a poem and texted it to her. It moved her deeply. “Write one back to me,” I said, a natural reaction, honestly, as we had written poetry together in our late teens into our twenties. “Lift a line or theme from mine to inspire yours. . . ” That evening I got one back from her, and dove immediately back into another. From there, we started a poetry “trade” that continues to this day. I lift inspiration from a line, theme, or feeling from her poem, and she, in turn, sources a line, idea or emotion from mine, and so on. We have collectively written over one hundred pages of poetry this way.
Process
We started a Google Doc sporting the clever title of Gae Lori Poetry Trade. There are weeks when we write nonstop, and weeks when we’re waiting on the other. The text, “You’ve been poemed” popping up on one of our phones, is always a happy one. When you read the two poems below, one after the other, you will quickly spot the point of inspiration.
One thing I’d like to add: the point is not for these poems to be perfect. Often they remain unedited raw shares, simply serving to inspire each of us to WRITE.
So, perhaps today we can be in a group poetry trade, using lines or themes from the poems right here in the comments as jumping off points… lifting a few words, a theme, or a single line.
Someone will have to be first, of course, so please lift from the below poems shared from our 2022 trade.
Enjoy!
Gae’s Poem
Renovation (by Gae)
They are gutting
our bathroom,
hauling out the tub
Where I bathed you both
for years,
watched with eagle eyes so you
might not
slip under,
made white foam mohawks
in your hair,
moved orange toy dinosaur across ledge
growling,
“rawr, rawr, rawr,”
soaked my sleeves to my
elbows.
They are gutting our bathroom,
trashing the sink where
I taught you to brush and floss,
running waxed string through
your teeth
like
time,
ripping up the floor
to put new Italian tile down,
white squares with black swirls that
I only just noticed
look like
fallopian tubes.
They are gutting our bathroom,
hauling out the pieces
through your open
bedroom window
for ease,
tearing down walls,
yanking toilets,
closing up the leaky skylight,
the whole house trembling with
destruction.
There goes the tub,
the toilet,
the sink
(You were already gone).
Gae Polisner 1/12/22
Lori’s Poem
There goes
there gone
there
as in not here
as if there could be
anywhere else
than not here.
I am still trying to find you.
Those last lost days
you ruined eternity for me
declaring
“gone is gone.”
though you’d promised–
to make your presence known
-in the sway of chandeliers
-blooming chrysanthemum
-cardinal flying
to appear like
Jesus in a slice of bread
once I thought you were
Omnipotent
forgetting all gods
are invisible
Can you see me here
praying to the Amaryllis,
the sunrise,
Holey crater
In my morning toast?
Lori Landau 1/12/22
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. . Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming.
Respond to 3
Respond to 3 teachers today. Writing educator Peter Elbow said, “To improve your writing you don’t need advice about what changes to make; you don’t need theories of what is good and bad writing. You need movies of people’s minds while they read your words” (Writing Without Teachers, 1973, p. 77). Please offer a mirror to our writers by sharing what you noticed, what moved you, and what you learned. Responding to one another is a way of saying “I see you” and “thank you for writing” and “I carry your words.” Responses create a much needed space of reciprocity in a teacher’s life. Here are a few sentence stems that may be helpful for you and your students.
Thank you for allowing me a space to express myself. I enjoyed the graphics expressed in words. Thank you guys
I never thought you’d leave
but you did
however you left
you still did
I stop to think of all the times we’ve played
all the stories we told
all the joy we brought to each other
I think about your angry look
I think about your beautiful smile
Then I think about you
I never thought you’d leave
But you did
However you left
You still did
I think about how you loved me
I think about all the ways you praised me
I think about the sweet thoughts you expressed about me
I think about all you did for me
I never thought you’d leave
So I really stop to think about it
You did not truly leave me
You were stolen from me
What they didn’t know
If that your promise was true
Your body is gone, but your spirit never left me.
Past, Present, & Future Memories
Author Freddy Cavazos
Memories can be pleasant
Memories can also be unpleasant
Memories make me smile
Memories make me frown
Memories are of the past
Memories are present to this day
Memories can be hidden
Memories can also resurface
But those memories helped create a beautiful me!
Freddy, we really are a totality of experiences and memories.
Freddy there isn’t one word of this poem that doesn’t hit home with me. I need to remember that even those bad memories help to make me who I am today!
Thank you for sharing.
So many amazing poems in the comments, so much inspiration. I couldn’t pick a line from just one. My poem is a composite of my favorite lines by Kevin Leander, Nancy White, Dave Wooley, Lari Landau, Julie E Meiklejohn, Erica J, and Heather Morris. Thank you for these words!
Crumbling
I am still trying to find you
There you went, there you are, but where?
I ask the sun, I ask the stars,
I shout out my questions to the void
But they are reduced to
Unfulfilled miracles – stashed away in unanswered prayers.
Because I now know
All gods are invisible, insipid.
I roam the lands,
Untamed, Untethered,
Chasing ideas to fill the empty spaces.
I slice and plant razor-thin pieces of myself
In places I hope you will tread.
I wonder who you are becoming without me
Because I am crumbling without you.
Saba,
This is powerful. A brilliant nod to so many in this community. I hope they see it. “I slice and plant razor-thin pieces of myself
In places I hope you will tread” eviscerates to the core.
Saba, wow, this is so haunting. Like Glenda said, that line “I slice and plant razor-thin pieces of myself…” is such a powerful combination of yours and Julie’s line. The end is a punch.
Thank you Gae and Lori, what a powerful prompt. I love the lifting of lines and themes from others. You two gave us such a beautiful example today.
My lines came from Stacy’s poem today: “the way forgiveness arrives with the promise of hope” because I can never resist a poem about hope.
the doves were active today, the
way they flitted leaving their twin seeds unattended.
forgiveness lives in the hearts of parents and
arrives each spring because eggs
with cracks too early won’t hatch, but
the fissures of a future bright with
promise mean the fledglings are coming, a dream
of new life, a dream of
hope
Denise,
Love the golden shovel approach. Seeing birds tend their eggs, awaiting the “birth,” is a lovely sign of hope.
I echo Glenda here – I love that you used the golden shovel form! I love the intersection of promise and dream in this line – “promise mean the fledglings are coming, a dream” and I am reminded (as we wait for babies, especially!) about how much we plan/set goals/promise and how much is gift/unexpected/dream. Lovely!
I love how you used the inspiration line within your poem. I am definitely not a poet so I appreciate your opening my eyes to a new way of collaborating. Read this out loud and especially loved saying “the fissures of a future.”
Lifted from Rachelle’s poem: Deep in thought, I wonder if I must stay, too (thank you for the golden shovel idea, too!)
Deep down I wonder about my place
in this world, a
thought I push away by being charming.
I adapt, say what you want to hear and
wonder if you’d actually care,
if you’d be curious.
I am scorned for asking questions, but you
must know that I want you to
stay curious about me
too.
Oh, Britt, what a powerful poem you came up with inspired by Rachelle’s line. I can relate to some of your thoughts there. “Cute at all costs” is how I have heard it described. I tried. I love the repetition of curious. Curiosity is a very powerful attribute of someone who really cares for us, isn’t it?
This is such a powerful poem and so relatable. “I am scorned for asking questions” – I love this line.
Britt,
You’ve spoken a universal concern in this poem: the question about our “place in the world,” why we are here. I asked this often as a child and had a sense of the answer as a teacher, but retirement has raised that question again because retirement often feels like treading water without making a contribution to the world. Great poem.
I love this so much! I was able to connect with everything you had to say. Thank you for sharing. I especially loved the line “A thought I push away by being charming.”
I enjoyed this poem it makes me think about how in society we are forced to conform. We have to speak and say the right things in order just to fit in. Preventing us from being our true authentic selves. Good job!
Thank you foe the prompt today. I needed my poetry time to take my mind off my puppy worries.
I took the line these students show up at school from Cara’s poem and ripped of the golden shovel idea from Rachelle.
These days are not always easy on our
Students who are struggling with grief or mental health issues, but they
Show-up for others
At support sessions held during the
School day
DeAnna,
I’m honored. This has been so much harder of a year than others for the weights kids are carrying. Nicely said.
DeAnna, what a gift that you notice those students, struggling, but showing up. It’s good that the support sessions are available. And they are showing up. Beautiful.
I needed to hear this! I have been pretty defeated lately by the students I work with but am always shocked that some of them, no matter what they have going on in their own lives, still show up for their peers.
Thanks for sharing!
This was so good I can relate because my students have endured so much in their lifetime. I think to myself I had it good growing up. But realizing how many battles this new generation is faced with is upsetting. Good job!
What a powerful message in your poem: even when we’re hurting we can be there for others. Kudos to your students. They are helping to make our world a better place.
Sweet piece, DeAnna. It’s important for us adults to notice the things students are doing to support each other. Thanks for sharing 🙂
This reads like a sonnet, Kasey! My favorite line is “solar storm aura”. Your friend sounds amazing!
Such a great idea to take to my students! I borrowed the themes from both Gae’s and Allison Berryhill’s poems; they both spoke to being of an age that brings change and loss.
It’s only stuff
my head knows that
my head knows that
these memories are just mine
these memories are just mine
no one else will care when I’m gone
no one else will care when I’m gone
instead, they’ll be annoyed
instead, they’ll be annoyed,
because it’s only stuff
and they’ll be left to deal with it.
Wow, I love the repetition. Made me think of all my craft supplies, knowing my children don’t want to have to deal with it when I’m gone.
This cuts to the core of what we value. “It’s only stuff.” I don’t want my children to be encumbered by my crap when I’m gone, so I’m hoping to deal w/ most before they have to.
Oh, yes! I think it’s hard for me to let go of “stuff” because the “stuff” is a tangible memory. But “these memories are just mine; no one else will care when I’m gone.” (I read that at first as “no one else will CARRY THEM when I’m gone”–which is also true.) Thank you for reflecting on the age of “change and loss” with me. <3
This poem was fluid and well put together. Great job!
I am writing a novel in verse and love these prompts that are helping me propel it forward!
I took a line from my critique partner, Jennifer Jowett : Somewhere between then and now,
you became someone I couldn’t find.
here we go! (This is ROUGH)
scrolling through my photos
full of your face and mine
squeezed cheek to cheek
pouty lips
cheesy smiles
sassy smirks
somewhere between then and now,
you became someone I couldn’t find.
I search my phone and there you are
everywhere
but I search my room, my space
and you are
nowhere.
somewhere between then and now
I let you slip away
let me jealousy push you away
let you walk away.
somewhere between then and now
you will be someone I find.
Your raw emotion resonates with me. I love the hope in the closing lines, “somewhere between then and now you will be someone I find.” I am sure you will.
So emotional. The repetition of “somewhere between then and now” makes the poem flow and adds so much weight to the emotions.
Alexis, I can hear the voice of the character so distinctly. The “everywhere” on the phone sits right in that world. The use of “somewhere between then and now” throughout each stanza works to effectively build the narrative and I love the “let you slip away” addition!
Wow! So powerful. Sometimes we don’t realize when something or someone is slipping away. Thank you for sharing.
I love creative collaborations, so thanks Gae and Lori!
Borrowed from Shaun Ingall’s poem.
my dresser looks like a brown ox,
taking up way more space
than it appeared to at the shops.
drawers half-open, covered with props.
sitting on the edge of the bed,
rummaging, looking for socks.
we should be grilling chops,
you wearing my old t-shirt,
me in shorts and flip-flops.
pain descends, my head drops,
wondering how to face a new day,
and my dresser that looks like a brown ox.
Charlene I have been there. Draws open and overflowing while I dig for a pair of socks. Thank you for sharing today.
There Goes
Marie Kondo taught me
to thank the pizzelle press
for the joy it once
brought to my life
then set it in the Goodwill pile
next to puzzles and Legos
and burgundy placemats, never used,
a well-intentioned wedding gift.
But she didn’t teach me
how to hold the hallow
sensation under my sternum
as it pulsed with loss
not of objects
but of great swaths of life
entire years waves crashing
tides ebbing.
Oof, Allison this is a gut-punch! I love how this starts, with the specificity of the pizzelle press and Marie Kondo reference. I love the end – entire years waves crashing, tides ebbing. I feel that crash, the physical feeling “pulsing with loss” – so beautiful. Thanks for sharing this very relatable and beautifully framed moment.
Allison, your poem hit deep for me. It’s not really the stuff we mourn, it’s the lost opportunities. Your poem, plus Gae’s inspired my own above.
Allison— at first the title seemed light, the press seemed casual, but it shifts so smoothly to such a critical sense of loss. This…
hits so hard. And “years”… “swaths of life”… I feel the loss as a sort of pulsing ache (waves crashing) and understand you are carrying a hurt deeply. Sending you hugs, my friend. Your poem really touches me. Susie
You’ve captured the feeling of loss so beautifully. I love the start but the end “waves crashing, tides ebbing” has burrowed into my brain.
Allison,
Its not the stuff, it’s the memories, the symbolism attached to the stuff that makes it so hard to thank and discard, isn’t it? I feel these lines:
“But she didn’t teach me
how to hold the hallow
sensation under my sternum
as it pulsed with loss”
Powerful poem that aches w/ loss.
Wow! At first, this poem felt lighthearted and then…! Wham! Very powerful.
Thank you for the prompt! Definitely easier to maintain productivity with creative endeavors when you have someone to collaborate with.
sunday’s cats and babes
it’s so late
i don’t even feel
like capitalizing anything
you lie there
like you won’t even wake up
four more times tonight
and the cats never sleep
they just spread litter across the floors
begging for phantom food
Alex, have you been peeking in my window? I am sitting here so late and my fingers won’t type, knowing i will wake up many times tonight and hate walking on my carpet that has small granules of kitty litter on the floor. Thanks for this humorous summary.
Faith is how I navigate this space and time. (Inspired by Cathy Hutter)
Change is on the horizon for an undetermined amount of time.
Though, we’ve been down this road before, somehow this time feels different.
Back then, there was so much expectancy and hope for better.
And, for 4-1/2 years, we had better.
Round Two, I was brought to my knees and I realized I had no choice but to look up.
Today, as we wait for a date and begin to make arrangements,
Prayers to God and hope in His life-changing power are all I have.
“No matter the outcome only Jesus can calm that which I cannot control.” ~ Clay Scroggins
In this space and time of adjustments, Jesus will have to be my navigator.
Wow Donnetta. This is beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
Donnetta, faith is how to navigate. You have touched on so many details of a story, but I have questions, and I offer up a prayer on your behalf. Yes, he will be your navigator. Peace.
Kasey — so many beautiful images here. My favorites lines: “I will write moon”/ but/ you are the sun” and “a golden starburst just outside the pupil”.
Alliteration has always been one of my favorite poetic devices and so I was delighted to see all of these ‘s’ words at play in your poem to capture the sun. I think my favorites are “sunrise eyes” and “skin a sunset” just because I don’t think I’ve come across those phrases quite like that before!
Gae & Lori — I absolutely love, love, love this prompt and can’t wait to use it with my students. I borrowed my word (feral) from Laura who borrowed it from Stacey. My spring break ends today and I am hoping our students are a little less feral than they were on the days leading up to Spring break.
The Children are Feral
The children are feral in the days before Spring break
Classroom chatter builds in the days before
Behaviors intensify, multiply twofold, threefold
No, amount of PBIS points can quell the escalation
of cafeteria chaos, hallway expletives, bathroom graffiti
ugly eighth grade girl fights
Girl fights
Chunks of hair twisted, twisted in an angry fist
my co-teacher bruised and sore from stepping in between
in between, she almost made it home for the day
stopped the car in the parking lot, bolted out into the rain,
her son, wide-eyed, faced pressed to the window
he wanted to help his mom, “stay there!” she ordered
and she stepped, stepped in between, into action, to stop
stop the wailing fists of feral children fighting in cold spring rain
The children are feral in the days before Spring break
Wow, Tammy, what you did here with your words and repetition really captured the feral days and activities before spring break. Wow, “stepped, stepped in between, into action, to stop / stop the wailing fists of feral children fighting in cold spring rain” Oh, my, come spring break!
As they say, better late than never. Thanks for sharing this idea of collaborative writing today! I didn’t have to go far into the poetry in the comments to find something I wanted to borrow for my own writing (thanks Laura).
Children at Play
We have been untamed,
untethered from civilization
the trees, the fields, the sky
all stretch out beyond
our street-lit boundaries.
That is the beauty of the unknown,
the wilds of suburbia
the creek, the park, the lot
open up to our imagination
and guide us away from home.
Thank you for a creative and inspirational prompt. I borrowed (and slightly reordered) a line from Julie E. Meiklejohn.
So many kids in all kinds of pain
with parents who don’t care
or adults who are struggling, too,
families torn apart by drugs
and anger and financial woes.
And yet, these students show up
at school–a respite from the trouble
and a search for ways to rebuild
their confidence,
their strength,
their hope for the future.
Some of these wayward youths
spot my empathy from just a pace,
and then I’m in it–
listening,
building up,
encouraging,
trying to get them to see what is in them.
And each time, with each new
thing I learn that I wish no one
should have to live through,
off is sliced a razor-thin piece of
myself to give away in an effort
to restore them to hope and the
promise of a better tomorrow.
Cara, your poem reminds me that a student in your creative writing class brought up in conversation (your son was present too) that all types of students will walk into your room and call you “Mom”. We all thought it was cool that you offer that sense of love and stability to those who need it ❤️
Oh Cara, you are a source of love and support for students. You are have such strong mothering skills, the students can feel it.
Cara, beautiful empathetic poem about your students. Your care for them is obvious.
I love:
“spot my empathy from just a pace,
and then I’m in it–”
and your ending warms my heart: “in an effort to restore them to hope and the promise of a better tomorrow.” That’s mu prayer.
This has been the most wonderful and heartening day of soul-nourishing poems. I have read each one, and you have all moved me. Today has reminded me over and over again how the echo of one person’s heart (and poetic line) is received and then ripples out in such subtle yet powerful ways. Thank you for the honor of including me in this community. May writing and poetry be both foundation and refuge for you in these difficult days. The humanity that poetry affirms will translate to our children and helps co-create a more kind world. You can find more of my writing (and art) on Lorilandauart.com, though my website is in the process of being updated to reflect my latest work, including glimpses of an in-process book of poems. I can be reached at Jesart@aol.com or Lori.landau@goddard.edu. In shared humanity, Lori
“I will write moon” but you are the sun. this opens the door to so much wonder. the eyes as starbursts sinking below horizons-such strong imagery and such an evocative way to explain fear. I hope to see the response poem too!
What an honor it has been to be here with you all today!!! thank you for letting me in to glimpse at your words and poetry. It’s been connecting and restorative! If you’d like to read more of my poems, they can be found here: https://gaepol.medium.com/ and my books, of course are out there wherever books are sold. Wishing you all so much love, peace and inspiration.
gae
If I missed your poem, I’m sorry! I tried to make sure I read each one, but I’m sure a few slipped by.
Gae,
You and Lori have been amazing hosts today. You have spoiled us and honored us with your generosity in providing this amazing prompt and in spending so much of your day responding to poems and comments, too. I hope you’ll come back both to host and to write to the prompts of others. I’m gonna watch for that new book and hope you sell some other books today. ‘Preciate you so much.
Glenda
Thank you both for joining us in the space and for taking the time to read our results.
I’m borrowing from Stacey (a feral house) and Stacey Joy! From both, I was inspired to inspect the ever-changing physical character of my home.
“On parenting a newly walking human”
Cleanliness means safe,
Not necessarily free
Of stuff–free to roam.
The house is feral now.
Yet the epitome of
Domesticity.
We have been untamed.
What we once thought we thought we
Knew–is all anew.
“the house is feral now” “we have been untamed.” yes. this poem of becoming parents. it so resonates.
The house is feral now is a great line! Perfectly describes the habitat of a newly walking human.
Laura,
I keep coming back to “feral” and “untamed” and thinking about parenting and the wild child who stormed into my life years ago and who is about to learn “what we once thought we thought we / Knew-is all anew,” and this mamma can’t wait to watch that lesson unfurl! Great wordplay, btw.
I love the line “We have been untamed” that I have come to borrow it for my own poem in the spirit of collaboration! Thanks for sharing — I loved many of the words you used in this poem.
Laura — I love this personification of the house being feral. I remember those days well when my children were toddlers. It was like a cyclone hit the house. Your word got me thinking about my students before Spring break. “Feral” was literally the word we used to describe them during the last week.
I love your last 2 lines What we thought we/Knew – is all anew which may be more a constant than a novelty.
What a wonderful prompt! I used lines from Kevin’s poem to write a poem for my 4-year-old grandson.
For Nathan
By Mo Daley 4-3-22
Your mischievous eyes sparkle when I enter the room,
But they radiate pure love when you spy your dad.
You love TV and video games
And struggle to understand that I don’t.
Like me, you breathe books.
Since you’ve been able to talk,
Your memory has astounded me-
I love how you can remember the names of birds we talked about
Last spring, reminding me,
“The sparrows aren’t good sharers.”
I secretly smile when you decide to take a time out at daycare
Rather than clean up.
I envy you the ability to take a rest when you are tired.
The happiest days of my life have been learning who you are.
I am still trying to find you,
But not too much of you at once.
This is just so perfectly lovely. Adore the intimacy of the line about secretly smiling…
I love this, Mo! I have a 3 1/2 year old granddaughter, and can relate to your feelings about the astounding memory. What a memory he has, that you captured here: ““The sparrows aren’t good sharers.” Such an excellent thing to teach about through nature, you clever grandmother! I love the line that inspired your beautiful poem – now I must go find Kevin’s poem…today is a collaborative poem scavenger hunt, hahaha
Mo — What a beautiful tribute to your grandson and what beautiful memories you are making together. I love your last lines:
“I am still trying to find you,
But not too much of you at once.”
Thanks, Tammi. I lifted those lines from Kevin’s poem!
This is such a cool idea! I’ve had very little writing time this weekend, so I’m dashing this off quickly. I grabbed a line from the first poem I saw, which was Stacey G’s. I took the line “I am lonely and free.”
In my 20s, how I longed to be
NOT lonely and NOT free
I wished for something–just one–
to be settled, figured out, tied down
I chased ideas to fill those empty spaces
Sliced off a razor-thin piece of myself to give away
every time I chose wrong
Knowing I would never be able to
get those pieces back
Trying to plug holes by making more holes.
Now, years later, those holes are filled to overflowing
Now, sometimes, I wish I could be, just for a moment,
lonely and free.
Wonderful how it came around to the opposite, and this line… “Sliced off a razor-thin piece of myself to give away
every time I chose wrong”
Ouch. Love.
Julie,
This is such a visceral poem–I love it. I am MUCH older than my 20s, but I am still searching for that balance between being lonely and free. Thank you for sharing.
Julie — You really have captured youth and the fear of loneliness. I really can relate to your last lines “Now, sometimes, I wish I could be, just for a moment,/lonely and free”. Sometimes there is such peace in solitude.
[I borrowed Boxer’s screen door slamming and Allison’s poem from last night that touched on closing doors…thank you, you two fine poets you!]
SO MANY DOORS
High energy:
whirling glass and pneumatics of airport doors,
invite the ebb and flow of possibilities, promise,
coming, going, living it up, living forward.
Coming of age:
the reverb of attitude in adolescent angst
slams the screen door expelling hormones
pulsing straight through in plain view.
Locked out:
the heavy door sucked hard into the vacuum-locked heart
of she who stands coldly on the other side,
stoic in the mud of judgment, demanding to be right.
Lost keys:
living it down, the mistakes that haunt
behind unchosen doors, doors left ajar
as the perfumed air seeps away, gone.
Re-keying:
gentle hush of the door exhales the day
after the last verse of easy G-major lullaby,
when sleep comes with welcomed sighs.
by Susie Morice, April 3, 2022©
I love all your takes on doors, Susie. Your first two stanzas really grabbed me. I could actually feel those angsty teenaged hormones in the slamming door! And that vacuum-locked heart- wow! You never disappoint!
Such an interesting construct to think of these different kinds of door and describe via poetry. I love the door exhaling.
Susie, such a fascinating frame for a poem, all these doors! Every one of your lines just pops with energy – this one really struck me: “Stoic in the mud of judgment, demanding to be right.” – so powerful!
Susie,
I, too, love all the door references and thinking about all the significance we assign to doors. I think my favorite is the door of possibility, but it’s that “she who stands on the other side…demanding to be right” that’s most provocative and has me thinking. I had a bit of a door mishap in Amsterdam. I walked smack dab into a solid glass door w/ no markings. Not my finest moment.
Susie — I love the doors too! So reflective of life. There really are so many doors to walk through and close. “Coming of Age” door really captured adolescence well!
Susie, I am reminded of the coming and going, the passing through, of so many doors in our lives in your words here. I want that high energy door and the possibilities it brings. I felt the coming of age door expelling hormones. But your re-keying door and the soothing hushes and sighs is where I hope to be – the languidness speaks to me. Your words are beautiful, as always!
Susie – this poem has such haunting and evocative images. Thanks for sharing today. Hugs, Emily.
Thanks so much for the collaborative inspiration Gae and Lori. I realized as I started gathering words in my head and then putting them on paper that I’m not exactly sure exactly what prompted my thinking or writing direction–but I do know that it came as a result of reading this post and the postings of others this morning. Thank you for that.
I’m Not a Music Person
I’m not a music person says the one
who keeps the radio set on talk
Until…
the first strains of Fur Elise transport her back to childhood
and the roommate–the stocky second (or third) hand upright
where her hands learned to make music
Until…
rifs from Take the A Train and other classic jazz
set her toes to tapping and fingers snapping
and she remembers listening to them move from noise to music
and that unexpected Christmas morning duet,
a gift from the heart
Until…she bursts into song (off key of course)
when The Sound of Music comes on TV
and her sons are dumbfounded that she knows
all the words
Until…
grandbabies come and she croons to them
the lullabies from her childhood and their fathers’ childhoods
tunes traced through neuronal pathways
I’m not a music person
until the music comes on
until the music plays
I might be a music person
I really like this idea, Kim. I find myself saying things like, “I’m not a cook” or “I’m not a numbers person” all the time, and yet… Well, you clearly know how that goes! Your images really made me smile. Thanks !
Ah, I love where this one arrives. Yes!
Kim — I love the journey your poem took me on and felt like I was there with you hearing the music. The ending revelation was perfect “I might be a music person”. I think you definitely are a music person!
Thank you for this, Gae and Lori. What an incredible prompt. While reading through the poems, I loved permission to put other words in my pocket. I was inspired by Gae’s poem; especially the imagery of the tub “where I bathed you both for years.” The “renovation” of our lives when they leave, the fallopian tube echo on the tiles…so stunning and relatable. I culled more echoes from Stacey Joy’s “Your Presence” from her line “present everywhere”; found something beautiful to take in Sherri’s “There Gone”; and borrowed Margaret’s phrase “inadequate space.” Thanks to all for inspiration and flame.
Inadequate Space
by Stacey G.
Inadequate Space
So much sp
a
ce
these days, like
I’m living in a staged house
Chairs flank a dusted
table, couches go without
the indented scoop of sitting
people my people
There’s too much silverware
in the drawer, not enough s p
a ce in the cabinet for all
the glasses that I used to complain
about not going in the dishwasher
(an appliance I no longer run daily).
Their bedrooms upstairs
are emptied of that weekend
smell the air carried–both
musty and sweet from bodies
cocooned in bedspreads until noon
I don’t know how to modulate this shift,
the bananas brown and sap from
buying too many and I miss the errands
I never thought I enjoyed running
Tonight, the cats and
the dog splay out on the bed,
my arms and legs a maze of
lanes to make room for shank,
tail, and paw while the rest
of the house goes feral with
s pa c e
I can’t sleep
I walk downstairs
into the kitchen, fling off my
clothes, stand on the island
and beat my chest
I am lonely and free
Stacey, what a beautiful tribute to yourself! As someone who is only recently beginning the motherhood journey, I sometimes dread the day that my little one will leave the house knowing full well that I cannot wait for that day for myriad reasons. These lines made me tingle:
“while the rest
of the house goes feral with
s pa c e”
I love the image of a house going wild!
I love that sense of space–physically through the movement of the letters–and the emptiness and fullness, the lack of “my people.” I can feel it in my heart.
Wow, love so much about this… word choices and orders like “the bananas brown and sap” to the “make room for shank, tail and paw while the rest of the house goes feral.” to the last three unexpected lines.
“feral” “and beat my best” “I am lonely and free” and the taking up of space with s p a c e
Stacey — Wow! I totally feel this poem as I am getting closer to being an empty nester too (only one left). I find the quiet and lack of running every where to be the oddest.
This stanza especially stuck with me:
“I don’t know how to modulate this shift,
the bananas brown and sap from
buying too many and I miss the errands
I never thought I enjoyed running”
Not too much
I kept the poems in the envelope marked DAD
for two full weeks,
pressed flat in a paperback before
one day I could peel them apart.
That tiny print on those
quarter-pages
Would they feel like the
shape of your shoulders?
Couldn’t read them yet
but checked up on them,
making sure they would stay,
carefully closing the paperback,
maintaining me.
I am still trying to find you,
but not too much of you at once.
I am still standing in the doorway of your
empty bedroom,
but only till words
bubble up.
Kevin, this was really lovely. I lost my dad two years ago, and the feelings that this pulled from me were still raw. This was lovely and cathartic, thanks. <3
Thanks so much Wendy. I’m happy the feelings connected with you here.
“I’m still trying to find you,/but not too much of you at once.” Oh, Kevin. I’m in awe of these lines and how you exacted them. (I even wrote them down in my writer’s notebook so that I could return to them.) I lost my dad this past January and am slow to open old letters and even timid to broach writing about him. Your poem felt like a needed voice, a friend I needed with the just-right words. Thank you for sharing this. It’s beautiful and tender.
Thanks for your kind comments Stacey and I’m glad you can run with that line to make something! I think in a kind of loss we sometimes feel this push/pull into it, right? Also I realized from your comments and Wendy’s that my poem may have had some confusion in it–I’m actually the “Dad” in this case and am missing/separated from my son. (Although on another level, loss is loss . . . )
Yes, those words resonated with me as well… and the thought of “checking up on them.” Beautiful.
Oh my, this is a lovely poem about grief/loss…I carried about letters from my dear godmother, much like this. “I am still trying to find you, but not too much at once.” So precious, insightful – this is grief.
That 2nd stanza really hits. Such a great image.
Kevin — I lost my mother nearly three years ago, and I still get that feeling you describe when I walk into her room. A truly beautiful poem!
I really relate to your last stanza:
“I am still trying to find you,
but not too much of you at once.
I am still standing in the doorway of your
empty bedroom,
but only till words
bubble up.”
Thank you Tammi. I’m so sorry about losing your mom. I lost mine just over two years ago as well. It’s so hard to lose a parent.
Great prompt today! Thank you for the inspiration and call to collaboration. I lifted the line “All gods are invisible to the ones who need them most” from Gayle’s poem, inspired by Lori’s poem.
Still searching
I’ve looked everywhere.
Perhaps you’ve (they’ve?) fallen between the pew cushions–
Loose change that didn’t make it into the offering basket
Unfulfilled miracles underfunded and stashed away in unanswered prayers.
I’ve been on the hunt for years, emptying bottles in search for the holiness
Of spirits,
Pills placed perhaps like breadcrumbs marking a path
To a disoriented destination and still no one’s here but me.
In the companionship of another? Can I find what I’m looking for
In the hide and seek smiles and peek-a-boo moments that we spend together?
Is there something more or is this it?
Crows feet rest near my searching eyes and yet nothing maps meaning
In my migratory patterns.
Where if not here?
And where to look next?
Exhausted, I seek refuge. I seek rest.
Unsettled, I stir, I stagger on.
Still searching, uncertain.
All gods are invisible
To the ones who need them most.
Dave there’s a lot going on in this poem and I love the double meanings and directions of certain words and turns of phase here (holiness of spirits, crows feet and maps). I love the pew cushions metaphor, and the way you lead through the poem to a final thought/theme.
Dave, loved this. The questions, the pacing of it. And those last lines.
Love this… and here, and in so many others, I really love seeing how the “borrowed” lines transform in each new work. Here, they pack SUCH a punch.
I have borrowed a line from Heather Morris, along with the subject matter, for my poem today.
Becoming
I wonder who you are becoming without me.
I once knew all about you.
We were always together,
and I watched as you grew,
marveling at your courage, your intensity,
even as I feared what the world might do
to it.
You shared your secrets
and I shared my stories.
Now, you share your secrets with another
as you make plans for a life together.
I’m glad you’ve found someone
to face the world with.
My stories go unread.
For now.
I wonder who you are becoming without me.
I am spellbound by this sentence you chose – and I must find Heather Morris’ poem, now! I think it would be a great poetry prompt for all of us…it speaks to loss of someone dear, could be a child growing up, a lover who moved on; such grief is universal, I think. Your line “My stories go unread.” is so sad – and then followed with hope – “For now.” I love your use of periods/complete sentences for each; they speak to conviction. Really enjoyed this!
“My stories go unread.” Such a powerful and sad line, yet I sense hope in this poem.
I love how many iterations on this theme there are, each it’s own lovely version of a universal loss… the borrowed lines feel all yours here. Good work.
I borrowed a line from Dee’s poem, “Its your journey”. It spoke louder than I thought. Thank you Dee!
Get a Life
Life can throw
many things at you.
You better duck, dodge,
juke to roll with the punches.
Life is a boxing match.
Jab, jab, uppercut, right hook!
TKO!
Regaining consciousness, seeing Tweeties,
Like Slyvester… “Sufferin’ succotash!”
Life is an exercise, where you move at your own pace.
Its your journey to move;
Walk, crawl, sprint, jog, gallop, or zigzag.
No matter how you “life”,
Live it how you see fit.
I love the energy in this…lots of movement! It’s been a while since I’ve thought of Tweety! Thanks. I love Sylvester & Tweety.
Thank you Linda! My children sometimes watch them on television and I thought of Tweety after the boxing reference.
I can see the cartoon stars… the POWs and word bubbles. A punch of a poem! In the ring with life, without complaint here, which is refreshing!
Thank you so much Gae for such a great perspective! Yes, in a world where there is so much to complain about, the Optimist chooses the alternative.
Jessica,
I love this! The physicality of the poem is such an apt metaphor for dealing with life. Great job!
Thank you so much Cara! I didn’t think of it as in-depth as you did. It makes it much more powerful.
I really like this idea, and think my students would enjoy that interactive piece as well – who doesn’t love writing notes back and forth? I took my line “your work here is done” from Heidi but took it in a very different direction. Mine is more like the “Should I stay or should I go” from here that I always think about at the end of the year.
Your work here is done
Your work here is done
Let someone else
pick it up for a while
Before you crack like clay.
Your work here is done
Perhaps playtime is finally here?
Get your pants sandy as you build a sandcastle
and decorate the top with magenta beach rose petals!
Your work here is done
Perhaps you’ve worn out your welcome here –
Tried and tested the limits of what this place allows.
Does it still fit? Is it the adventure you wanted?
Your work here is done
It is. Don’t overdo it.
Don’t nurse that work to death
Don’t fluff that pillow till it suffocates.
Your work here is done
How do we know when it’s over?
Does the idea crystallize at once, like a flash frost?
Or does it drip drip drip until you realize you’re underwater…
Lovely. Yes. Good to express the need to know when one’s work here is done and I really adore the repetition. And the line “Before you crack like clay.”
Glad one of my lines gave you inspiration.
I love how you highlighted each word in the different stanzas. “Before you crack like clay” is a great visual…I’ve felt that way this year. I also love the last 2 lines: Does the idea crystallize at once, like a flash frost? Or does it drip drip drip until you realize you’re underwater. This made me think.
I love how you played with this idea of work being done, Emily, and then ended with a question of how we know. I love the line “don’t fluff that pillow till is suffocates.” That’s a wonderful image. There is something so novel about your work here in that the theme of “overworking” something is fresh and clever.
Love this inspiration.
There You Go
There you go.
All grown up.
Or so you think.
Until that moment
when you realize
you’re not
all grown up
and you call us
because you’re homesick
because everything is different,
unfamiliar,
new, scary
far away from us.
There you go.
Starting your life
with a job,
a new apartment,
new experiences,
new friends.
All of them, not us.
There you go
with your soul mate
after searching
and finding
no flaws with this one.
At least none that matter.
Starting another chapter
of your life.
Without us.
There you go.
A brand new mom
doing it better than I ever did.
Because I fumbled along
trying to do my best
and never being sure.
But you, with clear goals and a steady pace
are rocking it!
But not with us.
There you go.
Hi, Elisa! Nice to see so many familiar people here! I really related to this so so much and felt the gut punch of those last two lines.
Thank you, Gae. I am so looking forward to writing poetry this month in this space.
Love how the refrain takes us through life!
Elisa – I’m so glad you’re here, too! Looking forward to reading more of your writing this month. The experience here is not yet fully mine, but I think my mom would relate to the later bits immensely. I’m still solidly in the first stanza, and it is hard enough. You made me cry, thinking of what lies ahead, and that if we’ve done it right, this is how it should be. “Until that moment when you realize you’re not all grown up…” Right now, those are the phone calls that leave me both gutted and needed.
Hi Lisa! Nice to see you in this space, too. I still have one child at home who will be making his move in the next year or so and I’ll go through this for a third time. As my mom would say, “Así es la vida.”
Ugh. This theme of kids who are grown or mostly grown and these forms of separation that can be brutal really hits home for me. Thank you. You really bring out this idea of youthful “clarity” and direction that gets so much more complicated with age and yet it’s so incredibly difficult to communicate across that divide.
Yes, it is really difficult to communicate at that point in time with our children, but things change when they start having their own kids. Or so, she tells me. LOL!
The pride is so evident; the loss you feel is so real. The repetition of There you go, with the quietly sad acknowledgement of her absence is what every parent feels. I felt every bit of your pride, and of your loss. “There you go.”
And, no matter how much time passes, the feeling is still the same.
Elisa!! First I miss seeing you. Next, this poem is so full of joys and heartbreak at the same time. We should be happy to see our babies make their way in the world, but it stings when its not with us. Elisa, you are not alone.
Thank you, Donnetta! Miss you, too.
Elisa, I love the mix of pride–but not with us :'(
Your poem expressed the tension between love and loss as our children make their own lives. Lovely.
Thank you, Allison. I really loved this challenge today.
THOSE LAST LOST DAYS
(inspired by a line in Lori’s poem)
I got the call one hour into a school day in late September
“You need to come now,” her oldest brother said
Even when you know such a call may come
The anxiety is unimaginable
Phone calls, frantic packing, flight booked
Teary-eyed and praying I’d make it from MA to GA in time
My only wish to be able to say I love you
When she could hear me
By 6pm I was at her bedside.
Weakened and ravaged by cancer,
Every word a struggle,
She was able to say it back
So many gifts we are given in grief,
Her brother and I spending the night with her,
Her final hours awake,
Slipping into a coma just after midnight
Those last lost days
Watching her children say goodbye
Wondering how she held on for 48 more hours
As her husband sat vigil
It is a difficult thing to pray for God to take our loved ones,
To end their suffering as we know we are adding to our own,
but it is the most unselfish prayer
Rest in peace dear friend
Your work here is done.
So beautiful, Heidi.
Heidi – this is such a beautiful picture of your heart-breaking moment. You capture the rush and urgency, along with the vigils. I was right there with you, saying goodbye. I particularly like “So many gifts we are given in grief” – the repeated g sound is pleasing, and it was a surprising moment of gratitude in here. Thanks for sharing this today!
Beautiful, painful. We’re right there with you. Lovely tribute to a friend.
Heidi, this is such a touching poem. I rarely write about the loss of a loved one because it’s difficult to bring up past memories. But this is just so descriptive and real. “Your work here is done” reminds me so much of the biblical verse when Jesus left this Earth. “It is finished.” As much as we want ourselves and others to live forever, someone has to watch over us to make sure we are doing “it”, whatever “it” is, correctly. Our heavenly cheerleaders. Thank you for sharing.
Heidi–I am in tears. The gifts we are given in grief…
I love your collaboration story and wish I had someone to do that with to keep me writing poetry. Thank you for sharing and inspiring us to borrow from each other. There were so many powerful lines to use, but I went with one from Bob Karel’s joyous poem, “You’ve gone from an idea to a reality, ” but I switched idea and reality and wrote a double nonet. I am missing my daughter today.
Aching
You’ve gone from a reality to
an idea. I wonder who
you are becoming without
me. Strangers surround you.
I imagine you
in an unknown
space, floating
in my
mind.
I
long to
hear your voice,
touch your hair, see
you lying in bed.
I even miss dirty
clothes and shoes strewn across the
floor, for my heart aches when I can’t
wrap my arms around you in a hug.
Heather, love this. Makes me anticipate (sadly) when my daughter will leave for college!
Thanks so much for naming this, Heather. Both my boys are away these days, but the younger one is very far away, and I feel this so very much. I do miss dirty clothes and shoes strewn across the floor.
Heather- I so understand these feelings. My daughter had some issues that week and it was hard with her so far away. I love how you inverted the 2nd Nonet and built from 1 to 9.
I love what you did, switching that line around changing EVERYTHING completely. And yes, reality to idea. Thank goodness for Facetime.
Heather, I will borrow a line from your poem as you inspired my contribution for today. These thoughts are never far from my mind, and the aching is a constant reminder of what is lost when our children leave the home we built for them.
Heather, I am absolutely wowed by your use of the double nonet here – I think this form really builds the emotion, whittling down to one syllable and then building up again. I can totally relate to missing this, when my boys were away at college:
Today’s prompt is like a scavenger hunt – I just read katighe’s poem, which drew inspiration from yours, and now I must go read Bob Karel’s poem! This is so fun!
I love the power of that “I” that becomes the turning line of your nonet! This is a gorgeous poem and truly captures your longing and heart ache for your daughter. Thank you for sharing it.
This line in bold from Gae’s poem got me thinking of the expressive idioms we use. Thanks for the prompt today.
Elbows and Ankles
After a rain
the dirt beneath was muddy.
A gopher had pushed up a wet mound.
Soaked my socks to the ankles.
Now, I’m ankle deep in in trying to catch that gopher.
After a rain
I cut a few wet oranges off
a tree with dripping leaves.
Soaked my sleeves to the elbows.
Now I’m elbow deep in pruning that tree.
After a rain
I should stay inside
because I have work up to my elbows.
But I’ve been getting my ankles wet
writing a poem each day.
Asking if my elbows and ankles
are some kind of measuring tape
To assess my busy life.
Can’t wonder now
I need to push my sweater to the elbows
and get to work
Are elbows and ankles
are some kind of measuring tape
to assess my busy life?
Can’t wonder now.
I need to push my sweater to the elbows
and get to work.
Oops! For some reason the last stanza copied twice and it should not be twice. Oh well! Wish I could edit after I have posted.
Susan, I agree with Wendy — the repeated lines work well and seemed intentional!
Susan…I actually liked the repetition and thought it was intentional, for emphasis!
Love how you played with the “elbows and ankles” in this poem!
Haha, I had the same thought. That the repetition works! Maybe the ether knows best. 🙂 Lovely poem, Susan. Love the work you did here… ankles to elbows.
Susan–love this! The movement through the poem, the metaphors strewn about. thank you!( I need to push my sweater to the elbows now, and get dinner started!)
I took this line from the first poem I read in the comments. Thank you Lisa Noble for this line that inspired me: “How would I navigate this space and time”
How would I navigate this space and time?
With a hope in my heart,
a confidence in an invisible presence,
a belief that extends beyond proof,
a truth that my soul utters and follows,
a pull in the direction of my dreams,
an inner understanding that exceeds words,
a trust with all of my being,
a certainty that even when questioned refuses to diminish,
a pureness of mind, heart and soul.
Faith is how I navigate this space and time.
So well put, Cathy. The line that speaks to me the most is “A certainty that even when questioned refuses to diminish.” What a blessing that is about faith!
Cathy – there’s a lot of wisdom that comes out as you answer this question. I love “an inner understanding that exceeds words.” You capture what faith means in this. Thanks for sharing this today.
How thoughtful and beautiful. I love how this ends with faith. This poem is a keeper.
This seems like a mantra/ chant in the best way. Lovely!
Cathy, thank you for sharing today. I am a very spiritual person and I always look to biblical verses to encourage me.This line, “Faith is how I navigate this space and time.” literally sums up what some of us go through and believe. The abstract nouns: “hope, confidence, belief, truth, trust…” these give up concrete proof that we have to keep living!
This is what happens when I don’t check before posting…I meant to say these give us concrete proof that we have to keep living.
Thanks so much, Cathy, for answering my question. I really appreciate the qualities you’ve drawn out the help you work through the world, and the way you’ve found some great rhythm, particularly between truth and trust.
Thank you so much for today’s prompt. I am going to attempt this with my Grade 7’s sometime this month, I think. Thanks also to people who have done this with my before, including the #DS106 crew. Gae, those bathtub lines were so very evocative for me. My younger son (almost 19) was reminiscing last night about a trip to emerg after a Playmobil harpoon somehow ended up farther into his ear than it should have during bathtime with his brother (now 21).
I borrowed from Kevin Hodgson:
“And if this orchestra vanished….”
It is April
And joysong surrounds me on my walks
Cardinals are Star Wars-blasting their “pew-pew-pew”
from the highest vantage point they can find,
all the better to show off that flashy red.
Unlike the redwings with those shoulder flashes,
laying low but still trilling their “brrr”
from waking up marshes
Huge sounds from tiny creatures
as that sweet repetitive triplet of chickadee song
grabs the lead vocal
cutting through the rhythm section
of jackhammer woodpecker and brawling blue jays
All underlined, on the best days of this season,
by the low rumble of a vintage Camaro
making the long trip home
to relax into the sounds of a low-burning fire and a boiling pan
and the constant background pitch of sap running into barrels
How would I navigate this space and time
if this orchestra vanished?
With your writing, I could hear the various bird songs in my head and the orchestra that nature is conducting. Love ending with a question.
Lisa, the birds were singing full blast today on my early walk. As a Star Wars fan, I will never not here cardinals pew-pewing now! We hear the chickadees calling cheeseburger in their triplet of notes. I’m grateful for your orchestra today – a sure sign of spring – and the memory of our sap boiling into syrup too.
Jennifer, I was astounded at the chorus this morning. And I just sent the poste with this poem in it to the friend who taught me about the “pew-pew” (I literally asked her what sounded like a blaster). And the blog post has a picture for you of where my husband is right now (not as much snow right now, but still a bit) https://nobleknits2.wordpress.com/2022/04/03/verselove-2022/
Love your bird orchestra! And laughed at the Playmobil harpoon, funny only in retrospect… the stories that linger.
my husband shared a story in return last night, of getting part of a Pez dispenser stuck up his nose….
Thanks for this! Here’s my poem.
On Saying Too Little, Too Late
Love was something rarely spoken aloud
for fear its meaning would be diluted, diffused, its power softened
the way I wished your might would dim and diminish, like the pull of gravity
for those men in balloons suits who we watched first bounding and bouncing on
the surface of the moon
I thought they were almost free, the way I wanted to be
On our surface, we looked like those astronauts, slipping free of the atmosphere and heading for the unknown, with some of the same risks upon reentry
Would we still be normal? (No.) Would people look at us like we were heroes? Or monsters? (Yes.)
When we returned to where we started, the journey had changed us all
Your hinge rusted shut, while mine broke open, love spilling onto everyone I could see or think of, yes, even you who had weighed me down for so long
I could tell you where to go, love, but you’ve already gone
“Balloons” is supposed to be “balloony” (but I don’t know how to edit what I posted). (No thanks to autocorrect.)
Rise!!
Ah, lovely, lovely. “while mine broke open, love spilling onto everyone…”
I love that with all my heart.
Rise, wow. This was just beautiful. Loved the evocative imagery and language that doesn’t work to pin down ideas but, instead, lets them float free. Thanks for this.
“I could tell you where to go, love, but you’ve already gone (without punctuation to close the sentence)-which carries me into the loss beyond the line. and the use of parenthesis. there is an idea woven through this poem of a sense of right & wrong, normal/abnormal and other absolutes-that is broken in the most delightful ways by words that admit to all the inbetweeness that is at the true heart of life…..words like “almost” free, parenthetical answers to self-posed questions “even” you…….
Oh wow, this poem has such gorgeous images — “love spilling onto everyone,” “your might would dim and diminish, like the pull of gravity,” “your hinge rusted shut.” There’s so much here, I’m not sure I fully get it, but I love its richness.
This prompt is like a dream come true! Every month, I comment about certain lines that strike me, and I even do copy some of those in my journal and work from them, so this is amazing to have this ‘formalized’! And what a great prompt to use with students, to really show our appreciation of one another’s creativity and skill. My thanks to Maureen Y Ingram for her line “seeped into my bones.”
In my youth
sunshine & sand & lapping waves
seeped into my bones
Mother’s love & Grandmother’s hugs
rich Polish food & Catholic sermons
seeped into my bones
Every new school year
friendships & reading & writing & music
seep in & seep in & seep in
To college and beyond where my bones grew
thick on literature & love & broken dreams
Days I cried my bones could hold no more
Now doctor says I need more calcium
to help strengthen my bones
as I cross life’s midway line
I just look at her and smile
every day past & every day to come
seeped into my bones
I have never felt stronger.
I so connected with your 2nd stanza. I grew up on Polish foods and traditions and attend a Polish Catholic church (masses were said in Polsh). I have pulled out my Polish recipes that we use to celebrate Easter. I agree that all of this has seeped into my bones for sure.
Planning on making paska next week here (Ukrainian)
Denise:
Thank you for the beauty here, and the deep understanding that our bones are not only strengthened by calcium, but by all that we have been through. I, too, have crossed that midway line, and I take your line of “every day past, and every day to come” deeply to heart.
So much of what you wrote resonated with me. I know that the land on which I spent my summers is etched into my bones, just as trees carry the truth of where they grow.
“thick on literature and love and broken dreams”. We can only hope to be enriched by such things.
Oh, Denise, how this hit me. The way you carry the bones image throughout is genius.
I love the direction this poem took! So assured and powerful! Yes, we can write those joyous strong poems too! (she reminds herself…) Especially love, “where my bones grew thick on literature & love & broken dreams”
Denise, I love what you have done with the line “seeped into my bones” – and it was particularly effective to hear it repeated. What a meditation on bones, how much they hold, how they carry us through life. You have Your use of “&” lends this idea of bounty, of multitudes – of so many beautiful and meaningful aspects of your life. I really like the pain that this line conveys,
“Days I cried my bones could hold no more”
Denise I just turned 60 this year, which seemed like a pretty big bridge to cross, and your poem feels like such an encouragement about how life and experience are these strengthening forces, adding substance and life us. I love the ways you blend the idea of the body with experience in life as something made over time–the bodies of our lives.
Denise, I love the bone conceit, how you seem to hold it up to the light, turn it this way and that, showing us the facets. “my bones grew
thick on literature” was such a meaty line! Beautiful poem!
We’re currently having the opposite experience of Gae, creating a space for adopted children to come into our home.
Anticipation
You’ve gone from an idea to a reality
You now have a name
You now have a face
I imagined you in my arms
I imagined you in your room
I imagined you asleep and awake
We put up your bed
We built your dresser
We perfectly positioned your toys and your books
You will be here soon
I count down the days, hours, and minutes
We can’t wait for our new reality
Rob, I have chills!! I’m celebrating and rejoicing alongside your family, how exciting. ?
This is so exciting. I love your first line and how you come back to it in your last. I could take your first line and switch the words around “You’ve gone from a reality to an idea” as my daughter is in her first year of college half the country away.
I LOVE this! I was adopted at 6 weeks and imagine my parents felt the same…..Beautiful…Your child is so lucky!
Rob, what a wonderful time you’re embarking upon! Enjoy the baths. If you spot an orange plastic dinosaur, please grab it for me and make it rawr!!!
Lovely words. Lovely heart. Lovely poem!
This is wonderful! Congratulations on your growing family! The way that “I imagined” is repeated three times made me think of fairy tales and wishes coming true – what a beautiful dream to come true!
“You will be here soon” – I hear the love and joy and anticipation in this simple line. Congratulations, again!
Ann’s was the first poem I read today, and I made a golden shovel out of the line: “the roots are too deep.” Thank you for the inspiration, Ann, and thank you for the prompt Lori and Gae!
Family Tree
The South Dakotan highways look like exposed
roots stretching across sacred lands, tiny towns, farms, and pastures. The roads
are where I spend summer. Dad’s memories pop up like roadside attractions. Grandma,
too, points out her childhood homestead on the horizon beyond Webster.
Deep in thought, I wonder if I must stay, too.
Rachelle,
This form reminds me of our acrostic yesterday, and I never thought that form as a sister to the golden shovel– cool,
These lines of roots resonated with me from Ann and now you — this thread among our three is lovely, and your dad is in yours like mine. “Dad’s memories pop up like roadside attractions”!
And that last line of wondering is lovely.
Sarah
I love the form of this golden shovel and the description and the feeling it stirred in me to read the last line.
This is cool, Rachelle! I loved your idea for using the words to make an acrostic-like structure. Great imagery, and very poignant! <3
I love the idea of remixing the original theme into a golden shovel. The highways as exposed roots is a great metaphor.
When I was younger, I didn’t appreciate form poems — felt they were too contained. In an unsafe chaotic world these days, I adore them. Thank you for introducing me to this particular kind! I need to go read more about “golden shovels.”
Your’s is just lovely.
Rachelle–this line–“Dad’s memories pop up like roadside attractions.” is just wonderful!
Rachelle,
I love the idea of using the line as a golden shovel–what a great way to twist the prompt. I like, too, how the long lines of your poem echo the long Dakota highways. Nicely done.
Rachelle,
I love the twist of turning the line into a golden shovel. This line spoke to me, as it happens to me as well. “Dad’s memories pop up like roadside attraction.”
Borrowed from Ann today, her first line, my first line. Thank you, Ann.
When he was gone
for more than a year,
his scripted j tickled my
pointer’s turn into every vowel
a chair that knew my seat
well rocked with a squeak like his
the kettle whistled for Lipton tea
confusing old Mr. Coffee
a hangnail bled before
clipped by our canine cuspid
and Johnny Cash sang to
me at the stoplight.
Sarah–I also borrowed from Ann, so it is quite interesting to see how different our poems ended up. Thank you for sharing this piece today. I feel a sense of longing from the images you present. This stanza especially stuck with me: “a chair that knew my seat / well rocked with a squeak like his”
Sarah – thanks for this – each couplet shares a different sensory image for me. You get the sounds, the taste & smell of tea, the “tickle.”It’s powerful how those small moments become magnified after loss. I like the sound of “clipped by our canine cuspid”. Thanks for this offering today!
That first line is SO compelling isn’t it? Because it zooms us into not only this moment but something astronomical that happened right before… adore this and, especially those last two lines!
Thanks again for having me, Sarah. What a phenomenal special space you have built here.
I used a line from Ashley’s precious poem for my collaborative poem – and, I was surprised how it took me somewhere much darker than her uplifting creation. The line that jumped out at me was “with every little move.”
Dear Mom
with every little move
how you
tightened your shoulders
soured your lips
vacated your stare
turned your head away
in response to me
your discontent
seeped into my bones
leaving me
to relentlessly
wonder
of every single person I love
is she is he are they
disappointed in me
tired of me
annoyed by me
done with me
Thank you for sharing Maureen, parental relationships can be so complex. I loved the imagery you used and your willingness to be honest and vulnerable.
Maureen, my jaw is on the floor. What a powerful poem. It made me think about how one person’s demeanor/actions (especially when it’s someone you care about) can push itself into healthy relationships too. Thank you for this piece today.
Maureen, I admire your honesty and vulnerability. I love how you’ve crafted your poem. Like Rob said, parental relationships are so complex indeed. I’d like to bookmark your poem as a mentor text for myself to write about my own parent relationships one day. Thank you ?
Awww. I feel so sad at this, but the line “seeped into my bones” struck me, and I have used that as my prompt line for today! So thank you for that! I am fascinated with bones, and believe they are the true storytellers of our human forms, when all else is dust, bones remain to tell the tale. I hate the discontent part, but we take the good with the bad. And vice versa.
Maureen, every single line in your poem is powerful. I can’t pick one, but I can say they hold so much that I feel every word. Our bodies speak volumes.
Maureen:
On behalf of all of us who have lived with this, thank you. For me, this was both of my grandmothers, and yes, dear heavens, yes, to the relentless wondering. “is she is he are they” was the line (and it flows beautifully) that really got me. And I hear it in my head in the voice of the heartbroken children we were and still are.
Maureen. Wow. The most massive impacts often come from things that seem small at the time. The parent connect—or lack thereof—forms us so much.
Oh wow, Maureen. This does pack a punch. Really powerful and painful. And, of course, the answer is NO. Thank you for sharing this.
Wow. How many people carry this burden, but are unable to express it?
“your discontent
seeped into my bones
leaving me
to relentlessly
wonder”
I have carried those thoughts, as well. Thank you.
Maureen,
This is so sad, but it is also one of your best poems. It’s so tightly constructed. I feel the grip of this poem. Having learned about your mom these past years, I know there’s a deeper meaning here. Still, what we know on a cognitive level doesn’t help the emotional response. Some of the lines could be descriptions of my mom: “tightened your shoulders,” “soured your lips,” “vacated your stare,” “turned your head away.” I think I wrote a poem once about my mom referring to me w/ third person pronouns.
Thanks for sharing Lori and Gae,
Life Journey
Sometimes our experiences bring us joy
But often times it impose pain and sadness.
We grief, mourn, sob as we grapple with death.
Knowing its inevitable, its still hurts and is still a mystery
Yet one that we will all have to face.
Live life to the fullest
Its your journey
Make each day count
and hold on to memories….
Especially those that brings us joy.
Dee,
Such wisdom in these lines and a sense of urgency, too for the listeners of this poem and maybe for the speaker. So so much in this that we need today…the joy, indeed and the ability to be present enough to notice while holding “on to memories…” That ellipses there is telling us something beyond words. Love punctuation in poems.
Peace,
Sarah
This is especially poignant given what we have been through, Dee. The idea that it ‘still hurts and is still a mystery’ is the human predicament. We have the capacity to understand, and yet, still don’t fully undrstand. I will take that last line to heart, as days dwindle around me, seeking as much joyful life as I can. Thank you!
I want to thank you for talking about grief. It is a topic avoided by our society and one where we need voices to share experiences walking through it. I have had walked my own grief journey and you are so right on when you say hold on to the memories and make each day count.
Dee, I borrowed one of your lines, “Its your journey” for my inspiration today. I appreciate this because it seems like the older I get, the more I have to think about things I don’t want to think about. It’s very important to “Make each day count” because our clock is winding down and we never know when it will stop. Life is definitely a roller coaster ride, with many loops, tricks, and turns. But at the end of it, I don’t want to regret anything I didn’t get a chance to do because of the many emotions I’ll have to experience. Thank you for sharing!
Yes, yes, yes. Why isn’t this easier to do?
Gae and Lori – this is so awesome, amazingly delightful! I am going to challenge myself to write ‘to’/’with’ the very next person whose poem I find…I love this idea of collaboration, building off one another – and I am awed by the two very different worlds I visited through your two poems today. Thank you!
Thank you for joining in. I’m so moved by your — and all — the poems. There is palpable connection and understanding in this “room.”
My inspiration is Word Dancer‘s poem –
Make My Presence Known which begins with
The clouds make their presence known.
Swirling white and gray,
Ever-moving, shape-shifting,
Becoming new, changed.
Make My Presence Known
Love makes its its presence known
it creeps up on you through the
floorboards into your blood
Danger makes its presence known
“keep your antenna up” my parents always
taught me and that advice has served me well
Adversity makes its Presence known
and we should consistently work on handling
it with grace, humor, at times, and wisdom
Fear, Doubt and Worry make their presence known
when you become a parent or teacher
so you’re constantly reaching for your
faith, higher power and mentors (hopefully)
Serenity makes its presence known
so we run to her with arms wide open
praying we can bask in the joy of it always.
By Seana Hurd Wright
4/3/2022
Seana,
I love the word “Serenity” for the musicality and peace it brings when I say it aloud. Thank you for the way its “presence known” as I “run to her” today!
Peace,
Sarah
I am impressed with how each of the stanzas starts with what seems a negative word(s) and then turns it around. It lends itself well then to the final stanza, almost as if to say, if you can do this, then serenity is the reward, that final step. I could physically feel myself exhaling as I read that, as though I had reached that point of peace. Lovely journey, Seana. Thank you!
I really like this image:
“Serenity makes its presence known
so we run to her with arms wide open
praying we can bask in the joy of it always.”
Serenity now! As George Costanza’s father would say in “Seinfeld” – but seriously, I feel like we all could run toward serenity in this wild world these days. Thanks for sharing these!
I love the form of this, and feel like it’s a format you could explore with so many students. What, in their lives, makes its presence known, and is that presence wanted or unwanted?
Thank you for sharing this!
Yes, Seana! I am in total love with your final stanza, personifying serenity…
I long for the serenity of Spring break in 5 days!
?
Oh, this was a fun challenge!
Thanks to Gae and Lori! (Gae, I would feel remiss if I didn’t mention taking a fantastic workshop with you at NYSEC a few years ago and getting an advance copy of The Memory of Things! I loved it, loan it out to kids, and still use your lesson on historical research writing in classes!)
Everyone wrote such beautiful pieces that it was hard to choose “a” line, so I chose a bunch! Kudos to you all for today’s inspiration!
Writers
An elevator contact high.
‘Cuz all Gods are invisible (my heart!) –
She moves her head a bit to hide
These solid, steady drops of art:
Collaboration – really? Why?
We feed the gaslit memory hearth –
A day unfolds, air fresh and bright –
We guard our scars in pickle jars.
And, heavy, civil, call them light.
Can I think only of my heart?
And halt embraces, country-like,
And, icy, warm my art?
Yesterday, I wore a sweater
Today, I yearn for warmer weather.
Wendy,
I love seeing the connection with you and Gae in your note. And this poem is so lovely in its triplets toward the couplet. The trio signals for me the inspiration among poets.
I love this stanza:
Can I think only of my heart?
And halt embraces, country-like,
And, icy, warm my art?
So unexpected to see “warm my art”, which has me thinking about the poem as the art and how the thoughts inspire, shape, and yes “warm” what we make.
Love it,
Sarah
Wendy,
Your poem stopped me in my tracks. You grabbed such powerful images, and in the combination, made them into something even more powerful. The stanza with the pickle jars. Whew – we do that, right? We want to take something heavy and try not to burden others? Your ability to play joyously with that language here blew me away. Thank you.
Wendy, so nice to know that! And OH HOW I LOVE YOUR POEM. I’m impressed by not only the form but how many wonderful lines you incorporated. What a lovely little gem of a wonder! And those last two lines really make me smile. I yearn too!!!
Have to run some errands… will be back later to check on more amazing shares. I’m truly humbled by you all.
FYI, if you’d like to read more of my poetry — much, but not all, of it lifted from our poetry exchanges — you may find it/me here on Medium. https://medium.com/@gaepol
Gae, thanks so much for sharing and for all this inspiration!
Thank you Gae ~ for the gutting, and Lori for the gone is gone.
On the side of my house
I planted a Rose of Sharon.
It was just stick
but I stuck it in the hole
and it grew.
It grew and grew and grew
beautiful.
~
When he was gone for more than a year
and I knew he was not coming back,
I decided to dig the fire bush out.
He loved the fire bush, but not me.
It took me one whole, long, summer day.
My shoulder ached and my neck pulled.
I had to get down on my hands and knees.
I had to clear the dirt from the roots.
There was dirt in my nose,
dirt in my nails,
dirt in the hair of my arms
and the crook of my elbow.
My neighbor came by to watch.
You will never get it out, he said.
The roots are too deep.
You will never get it out.
He just stood there
in his grey t-shirt that was once white,
and old work pants
that were once dress pants.
His hands were in his back pocket.
He shook his head at the growing
pile of dirt, and walked away.
I didn’t care. I kept digging.
Digging. Digging.
I made the hole bigger.
Got under the roots.
I dug deeper.
Deeper. Deeper.
The sun started to go down.
I kept digging.
I never saw a root so big.
But not bigger than me
or my longing to dig it out.
Ann,
Holy wow have you ever pulled me/us into this scene. Such powerful imagery and emotion. Your description of the neighbor stick with me the most, but the FEELING of the poem haunts me.
Ann — Wow! Every part of this poem tells a story, presents nuance, or creates a fresh image. This is the line that truly captured me: “He loved the fire bush, but not me.” The ending “or my longing to dig it out” was powerful too. Thank you!
Ann,
The layers of meaning in roots is striking and haunting. I can’t help but reflect on the roots so deep in me that I long to dig out. Your poem is masterful in the narrative and images of then and now — clean and dirty – new and worn — above and below.
This line, I will carry with me all day:
or my longing to dig it out.
Thank you,
Sarah
(Also, I borrowed your first line for my poem today.)
Agree. Agree.
Agree.
Ann, this was so beautifully melancholy. What a scene you set! (It called to mind Robert Frost, for me.). Thank you for sharing it.
Ann:
The fierceness and determination here is so profound. “But not bigger than me (and the beautiful beat you’ve waited) or my longing to dig it out”. Thank you so much for sharing your strength in this piece. I can actually see you – and did I want to tell the neighbour to mind his own business. Yes, yes, I did.
Ann, this is fantastic. Everything from the conceit (if that’s even the right word) of the root ball from start to finish, to the clothing that start at one thing to become another, to these lines for me which, among a whole wonderful work are standout: “He loved the fire bush, but not me.” Gorgeous.
The close was amazing!
“I never saw a root so big.
But not bigger than me
or my longing to dig it out”
Such strength. . And victory.
Such great imagery, Ann, and enormous depth of emotion! “But not bigger than me” reflects such strength.
Hello, Gae and Lori! This process speaks to me. I love the idea of having a partner for poeming together! Your poems both resonated with me as I’m in the process of major household gutting and I chuckled at the Holey Crater in the toast. Thank you for inspiring us today.
I borrowed two lines from Fran’s poem (in bold) and wrote three Zappai poems or maybe they’d be Haiku since they’re somewhat related to nature.
Your Presence
Dust flakes falling through
shafts of morning’s sunlight
Remind me of you
Tiny specks of life
Swipe of my finger on glass
Present everywhere
A million pieces
Of you, floating in the wind
Just before fading
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/3/22
Stacey,
Your poetry is so yours. I can recognize what is yours before reading your name, so this was interesting today to see other’s words within yours and how your poem-ing in artistic collaboration.
I love these lines:
Tiny specks of life
Swipe of my finger on glass
This presents of life in the material and reflect in the class is a gorgeous image of the corporeal and ethereal ways of being that linger in our homes. Wow.
Peace,
Sarah
Stacey, your poem is ethereal. “Shafts of morning’s sunlight,” ‘Tiny specks of life,” “fading,” “specks” all call to notice and celebrate each tiny moment. You’ve turned construction into an artful canvas. Hugs.
Your lines take me to so many places. “A million pieces of you, floating in the wind” spoke to me as I am missing my daughter. I feel her in the air everywhere, but she is not here.
Stacey, such beautiful words here: “A million pieces of you, floating in the wind, just before fading.” I’m reminded that the tiny specks of others live in our memories, resurrect in shafts of light, in the air we breath, every part of our existence. Brava! And now I’m searching the new to me form Zappai.
Writing Haiku is such a powerful way of distilling what you want to say down to its essence. I often find that haiku snaps me into present moment very quickly-as evidenced by how you used the imagery of shafts of sunlight, swiping dust on glass and residual atoms of someone who is now gone….
Love this one, Stacey….a million pieces/of you, floating in the wind. Stunning poem.
Such beautiful and mournful images.
Just lovely. I see and feel it all.
Stacey! So good to read your words 😀
As someone whose house could use a good gutting right about now, or purging anyway, I appreciate how loving your words are towards the remnants of what was. These aspects o a home that some may see as signs of neglect can be looked at instead of signs of life. Your second stanza sticks with me.
Oh, Stacey…so, so gorgeous. The rhythms of the Zappai/haiku are just magical with this vision of the dust motes in the shaft of morning sun. You have so captured the sense of remembering and someone’s fleeting presence amid the deep stillnesses of life. This is what those shafts of life offer us <3
Wonderful prompt and brilliant, touching poems, Gae and Lori. Here’s my attempt at stealing from you.
There, There
By Nancy White
“There, there,” Grandma said,
Wiping my tears
And holding me close
Whenever my scraped knees
Needed bandages and Bactine,
Which seemed to be quite often.
“There, there, now. You’re all right,”
Mom softly whispered
As I woke her up and crawled into her bed
After a nightmare of getting chased
By the Boogieman, or some ferocious monster.
She softly, soothingly caressed my worried head
Until I fell back asleep.
“There, there,” Dad held me and patted my back,
My heart, crushed by that heartless boy.
The one I was going to marry.
“There are plenty more fish in the sea”, Dad said.
“You’ll find someone better, just wait. You’ll see.”
And now I sit and wonder where
The comfort is in “There, there.”
Half a century later my son has died—
I know he’s there.
But, where is there? It’s there, there.
And sometimes doubt comes in and
Ruins eternity for me.
I can’t comprehend a there that is not here.
There you went, there you are, but where?
And sometimes I get the strong feeling that
Here and there live side by side,
The veil so thin and yet so wide.
“There, there,” I try to tell myself.
“One day you’ll be together again,
Just wait, you’ll see…
There, there.”
Nancy, I don’t have adequate words to share about the beauty and pain of this poem. And what you have shared by “There, there.”
Hi Nancy, the line “the veil so think and yet so wide” will stay with me for a long time. You write so eloquently of the paradox of loss and love. Thank you.
Nancy,
The musicality of this poem is gorgeous with the repetition, offering nostalgia in the narrative– the storying. And then you zoom out to offer such perspective and wisdom in
I can’t comprehend a there that is not here.
There you went, there you are, but where?
And sometimes I get the strong feeling that
Here and there live side by side,
The veil so thin and yet so wide.
The rhyme in these make the ideas so accessible to me– not scary but brilliant and making total sense. It is comforting. Yes. This is so true. But the truth is that it is very complex and defies comprehension. I love how you end with dialogue– quotes to signal us back to the story. I feel like you are comforting you and us in “There, there.”
Thank you,
Sarah
Nancy, dear Sis, this poem is a real winner today! So beautiful on the take of “there there.” I love the feeling of “here and there live side by side” as I know you and I have both felt it.
this poem broke my heart so thoroughly. your use of “there, there.” please know that this poem does the emotional work of showing (rather than telling) the deepest most wrenching loss.
I tugged on Anna J. Small’s poem and this came out–
(and you were already gone)
I knocked on your heart’s door
I unearthed a photo of you
Five years old, acrobatics
in the blue plastic swimming pool.
The chaos of the world
fogged you in–
I fumbled and knocked on the wrong door.
(and you were already gone).
Oh, geez, Dixie. Two in a row that have clobbered my heart.
that plastic blue swimming pool. The fog of chaos. The damned wrong door. I’m sending you light and love — thank you for sharing this bit of exquisiteness.
Dixie, loved the way that the refrain framed the poem. This so reminds me of my (teenaged) girls…and how my mother sees me…
Elegant, insightful. Beautiful!
Dixie!
The image here is so vivid “blue plastic swimming pool” in such contrast to the abstract of “chaos in the world.” I want the pool to hold it all.
The parentheses here are such an important part, too. I think, when we look at grammar and punctuation in poetry, that we can see the way the shape of these markers does so much work alongside words. The meaning those marks carry is the fog.
Peace,
Sarah
IKEA Closet* **
By Shaun Ingalls
*Poem inspired by the poem of another
**Poem inspired by Scott’s nod to IKEA
Yesterday, my wife shared her idea for a project.
I knew something was up,
when I saw her holding the tape measure last week.
Apparently, my dresser is not working for her anymore.
I need a new system to hang my shirts,
So I can see them, and so she can’t.
My dresser looks like a brown ox,
Trying to consume a pile of t-shirts, but failing.
Here’s the plan,
We will order the PAX from IKEA.
They ship you the pieces, and you build it yourself.
What will we do with the dresser?
I’ll sell it.
So, today we will visit IKEA and see the PAX in person.
I’m looking forward to the meatballs.
Shaun, YES! I can relate to a number of your lines: “my wife shared her idea for a project” to “Apparently, my dresser is not working for her anymore” to “So, today we will visit IKEA and see the PAX in person. / I’m looking forward to the meatballs.” Very funny! Good luck and be careful during your pilgrimage today; be mindful of the labyrinthian paths and beware of the signage that points you back the way you came. (Bring bottled water and trail mix in case you get lost.) The path to the Holy Grail…er, IKEA meatballs…is fraught with danger and impulse items.
I love this, Shaun. Especially “my dresser looks like a brown ox.” That made me smile. That and the thought of meatballs after enduring a trip to IKEA. This is life, isn’t it?
Scott,
Love the lightness in this.
I’ve never eaten IKEA meatballs.
Love your brown ox dresser consuming your t-shirts.
My closet, 3/4 full of my clothes trying to muscle out my husband’s lonely assortment of earth-toned shirts, nods to the secret knowledge of Lines 5-6.
Wonderful poem.
Sorry, Shaun! I meant Shaun! XD
Shaun,
This poem makes me smile. Sometimes one partner tends to sculpt the other. But at least you’re going to get the meatballs out of it. ?
Shaun, I’m sharing this with my husband, the conduit for carrying out all my brilliant ideas. This weekend he’s hanging new top-down / bottom-up Roman shades in our bedroom and master bath, and let me tell you, this is no easy task. He’s had to make brackets because I ordered inside mounted shades, and the windows are huge with arched windows up top and no mechanism for hanging the shades. As he struggled yesterday figuring out how to mount the shades, I asked what the directions said; he told me he hadn’t read them. I think he still hasn’t. He’s like that, but one shade is up, and the other goes up today. “My wife shared her idea for a project” and “Here’s the plan,” these are my favorite inspirations. The last line is so funny! My husband would say “cookies” instead of “meatballs.”
the line “they ship you the pieces, and you build it yourself” says so much to me about the quirky ways we each divide our own world into ways that make chaos digestable, and the ways we contort ourselves to live with one another’s idiocyncracies. I appreciate the grace of focusing on the meatballs while bowing to your wife’s need for order-to not see what you will be able to.
With thanks to Gae & Lori (their lines), Boxer (lines today) and Scott M (his lines from two days ago)…all joy. The kid was was moved from Apt. 1 to Apt 2 yesterday.
Next Up, Sixty
b.r. crandall
Apt. 6-T,
10 years 60,
Scott M
(M. Scott)
Fitzgerald writes,
“Like Sexy,
but you know,
with poetry”
The kid is moved.
I moved the kid.
The kid is moving.
The kid moves me.
tree apples don’t fall
fall apple on trees
not far at all
apples
fall from trees
Charged-up with changes,
mid-twenties changeling,
chimichurri, chimichunga,
no, ma’am, pronounced Chitunga…
(he’s bringing 6-T back,
them other boys don’t know
how to act)
seventeen holes spackled in 6th-floor sexiness
sandpapered sassiness, star-spangled happiness
Seventeen holes in the wall
deflated, depleted, a chewed up ball
Nowhere to run and nobody to call!
a Boxer boxes boxes,
& boxes are moving,y’all
Bedford Ford Bed
Northill North Hill
hilly north, forth build
billy forth, birth bill.
and don we now our gae apparel
blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah
brushing and flossing,
and waxing string
through fallopian tubes
and teeth –
so that’s where
my Irish Spring soap
went.
Down 12, Up six,
Up 12, Down six,
Tarhills
Duke puke
moving day
rebuke
final four
6-T door
U-haul, the ball,
invisible gods,
standing tall,
elevator contact high
new apartment
muscle fry
book boxes,
boxed books,
box of books,
new nook,
hello, Henry…
have you met Harvey?
Harvey, sir…
this is Henry.
chicken panini with pesto
and toasted mozzarella,
panini mozarella,
I’m not chicken,
I’m toast.
Apt. 6-T,
in 10 years I’ll 60
and I’ll still be sexy,
You Know,
but with Poetry.
(I’m bringing 6-T back,
them other boys don’t know
how to act)
and yes, I think I’ve just been poemed.
LOL, Bryan! So Good. I’m standing up and clapping – no, not just smacking my palms together in a rhythmic fashion, but applauding full out – at my computer screen (weird because I’m the only one in the room – and now my wife is calling – Are you clapping in there? ). This was a fun ride, so rhythmic and deft; your linguistic gymnastics are unparalleled and on point!
This is pure stream of consciousness wonderfulness and feels so like my busy brain most of the time. Pure genius the things you borrowed and slung together with ease.
Bryan,
The comings and goings of aging and growing confuse, confound, and commingle in delightful ways in your poem. “Bringing sexy (sixty) back but with poetry.” For sure. The onomatopoeic word play is fun, too. I sense the colonoscopy blues confounded by the moving, moving (you choose which one!) inspired, too. Bringing the smiles to this past sixty, what happened to sexy? face.
Scott,
This was so fun to read: the layers, the linguistic play…just awesome. 🙂
D’oh! I meant Bryan — sorry, Bryan! XD
Oh the rhyme, the rhythm, the fun- this poem is a joy!
I respond to this sonorous play of words here with delight. The skipping of thoughts across the page, ripples outward in widening circles, like the hop skip jump pattern of skipping rocks across the water. such a free way to write.
Lori, as I read it, I kept thinking of you telling my husband (about singing, was it?) just to play! Just play!
Love this. Definitely feels like a scat or a rap. I want — and would need — to read it 20 times to even begin to be fully grounded. I LOVE that!
Brilliant Bryan! Bravo Bryan! You have entertained me tonight and I’m so glad I didn’t miss this! You will definitely
????????????
The rhythm of this piece was impeccable, Bryan! What a delight!
I felt drawn to the word “peeking” in Word Dancer’s poem.
Peeking little blue eyes
She moves her head to hide
Side rails playing peek-a-boo
With every little mvoe
Peeking over at me
Longing and wishing to be free
Squealing, kicking, as I hover
Arms outreached above her
Peeking around a room
A blessing from my womb
Watching, learning, exploring,
Embracing a new morning
Peeking at her big brothers
Who will stand by one another
A trio of joy in my heart
The most beautiful pieces of art
Oh, this was lovely! Your last lines:
“A trio of joy in my heart/
The most beautiful pieces of art.”
So true. So lovely! Thanks, Ashley!
This lovely poem feels like a spring afternoon… I could see the watercolor painting to go with it! Wonderful!
As Mom to three once-little ones (and now grandmother to two), I really related to this poem! I can almost SEE this sweet child; the line, “She moves her head to hide/Side rails playing peek-a-boo” is something my youngest granddaughter now playfully does. You’ve captured children’s development beautifully here. I used your line “With every little move” as inspiration for my collaborative poem today – though, I surprised myself by ending up in a rather dark place, reflecting on my own mother. Thank you for your poem!
Thank you! My youngest is four months old, and she watches me through her crib every morning.
“The most beautiful pieces of art” indeed! I felt transported back in time to the indescribable delight of young children, their transparency and the way they face each new day with joy and curiosity.
They hide in corners
Slide through cracks
Squeeze under doors
Lurk in dark shadows
Disguise themselves as floor lamps
What are you, uh,
what are you doing?
What?
Copying those lines
No, it’s okay
You don’t think gayle
would mind?
Nope. This is encouraged,
Demanded, really.
Plagiarism?
Yeah, sure, but not in the
strictest sense
Taking someone else’s
words or ideas is the
very definition of
plagiarism
Yeah, but not if you pay
homage to it, tribute, if
you will
And that’s what you’re
doing? paying tribute
to gayle’s rather cool
poem “All Gods are
Invisible”
Yes
This poem about hope
Yes
About finding strength
where you need it
when you need it
…yes?
How?
I was going to talk about IKEA
Furniture
…
About how you see it everywhere
in movies, in tv shows
…
How it’s ubiquitous
You got that from her
lamp line, didn’t you?
…yes…and also the tone in
her second stanza, reminded
me of that novel Horrorstör
the comedy horror story that is
literally set in an IKEA
Is it?
Well, it’s set in ORSK, which
is a thinly disguised IKEA store
I see we’re having
trouble with the
word literally again
…
And you were probably
going to make a joke
about the various
names of the
furniture, too, huh?
…yes…
Shameful, low-hanging,
and, perhaps, a bit offensive
Hey
Yes?
It’s only the third, we have to
do this all month, this is
a marathon not a sprint
Uh-huh
And we’re in this together
Who? Me and you?
You are me
What?
You are literally me, I’m
saying these lines out loud
to myself right now
30 days is a long
time
Tell me about it.
30 days is a long
time
______________________________
Thank you, Lori and Gae! This was a lot of fun. And thank you, Gayle. Sorry for the co-opting! I can only use Oscar Wilde’s true words as a defense: “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” 🙂
Haha! I was a bit confused at first. And then honored. And then loved what you did with it! So glad you’re here, Scott. Borrow from me anytime!
Lol. Thank you. And believe you me, I was confused, too, when the spaces I used to demarcate the lines of dialogue mysteriously vanished after pressing the “post” button!
Scott,
There are never enough IKEA jokes. The constant back-and-forth of your self-talk is the perfect representation of this marathon we are running. Thanks for the water stop.
Scott,
…well, now I HAVE to read Horrorstor.
Also, if you’ve never seen IKEA Heights, go to youtube right now!
Loved your poem so much. Yeah, 30 days IS a long time: both an obligation and a treat, like chocolates.
OMG…wait, did I just use omg…yes, yes I did…and there’s no taking it back…although I could just hit the backspace key…no, no…it stays to describe the joy I felt after watching the first episode of IKEA Heights! I had never heard of it before, Wendy, so thank you! I was like, hey, I know that dude, isn’t that Randall Park…wait, is this filmed in an IKEA…genius! So funny!
OMG–the random employees and customers in the background: hysterical. And I think it’s hilarious that it sounds like you actually know the store…?!?! lol!!!
Having never been to an IKEA, I now feel as if I’m missing out, or maybe not… maybe I’ll just watch IKEA Heights for a fix.
And Scott, your poem is a hoot!
No plagiarism here! That was so much fun. reminded me of dialogue from a play of the theatre of the absurd! And i laughed out loud at the last lines. So long. And so short! Depending.
Present
4 weeks left with just you
and me, at your disposal
for every activity
4 weeks left with both my hands
free to hold yours, help you
up stairs, up to the table
4 weeks left with an open lap
yours to sit on, for story time
songs before naps
4 weeks left with two eagle eyes
trained on you—guarding
celebrating, absorbing
4 weeks left with just you
and me, until my attention—my heart
becomes forever
divided
Oh my! Your last stanza hit me hard because that was me with my children, and now they are both in college. When they are home, I make sure to be present in the purest way because so many of their years I was “divided.”
Ah, yep. And yet, somehow it isn’t divided. It doubles. 🙂
Love your poem and congrats!!!!!!
Before I continue reading posts, I wanted to share this comment I shared with Sarah on Facebook for those who won’t see it. I will also reply with Lori’s comment to me.
I need to share this with, you, Sarah… As you know, I get asked to do a lot of “favors” in my writer life and sometimes those favors — because I care (too much? Is there such a thing?) — often take a good chunk of my time to pull together and put out there in a way that I feel is worthy of those who entrust me, and are, therefore, overwhelming …
A few months ago, you asked if I would host a day of #VerseLove and, in the moment, it felt like a chore (partly because I so often feel unqualified in the poetry department, as you’ve seen before, and partly because it’s so close to my own book release and I have much on my plate… )
At any rate, I agreed, mostly because I admire you more than you will likely ever know, and I think the work you are doing in this world matters a lot, and partly because somewhere in my soul a tiny engrained spark probably inherently knew the following:
I am so very moved to be part of what is taking place over there on your #VerseLove blog today. . . impressed, touched, MOVED. And so very honored to be a small part of it. It is exactly the medicine my heart and mind need this morning. It feels a pure refuge of poetry, love, and art.
Thank you.
Thank you for including me.
And this was Lori’s comment to that post:
“Lori Landau
I have to echo that when Gae asked me if I would like to be a part of this I wasn’t sure if I was up to it for various reasons having to do in no small part with processing SO much global grief, however I believe STRONGLY in poetry as medicine, and in sharing inspiration-especially with teachers who are not seen, heard or appreciated by so many these days. You are all incredible, and I see you and am grateful. Thank YOU, too, Gae Polisner for always including me and co-creating with me, and for being the beautiful soul you are.”
Art matters. Poetry matters. A dear educators and teachers, you matter so very much.
Lori’s poem caught me up.
Make Your Presence Known
The clouds make their presence known.
Swirling white and gray,
Ever-moving, shape-shifting,
Becoming new, changed.
The rain makes its presence known.
Solid, steady drops –
Gray, silver, glistening,
Soaking the earth, nourishing.
The sun make its presence known.
Shy at first, hesitating –
Peeking behind great columns of clouds,
Finding her voice and last and shining.
The birds make their presence known
Taking cover under the thickets
Until the rain slowly ceases,
Then soaring with a song, into the air.
Your poem incorporates so many sense that even as I sit in the comfort of my home, I can feel the sun on my face and smell the gain. What a lovely companion to my coffee this morning. Thank you for the beautiful imagery.
Word Dancer, this is so very lovely. I’m realizing there are many poems here that really incorporate both sounds: ticks and drops, and really beautiful imagery of the world around us… “great columns of clouds” “soaking the earth”
soaring… into air” and I’m thinking how important it might be for teachers to have their students write poems that are simply observational of the beauty of the earth. In such trying times, the earth’s beauty is a place to truly seek quiet, small refuge.
Anyway, thank you for this beautiful poem.
I am feeling nature and the healing force of birds, sunshine, rain, clouds in this poem that reminds me we are all a part of the elements that surround us, and the elements that make up nature are also within that. there is great comfort in letting go and just listening to the sounds around us.
Word Dancer,
I embraced your poem and used it as my inspiration today! See above if your have time. The images you painted ( clouds, rain, sun, birds) just resonated with me visually and just inspired me so much. Thank you.
I love this celebration of nature and often think about how Mother Earth will have the lasting presence. Yesterday I videoed a Robin in our clump birch and felt the presence of nature making the world more beautiful.
Word Dancer: Thank you for this, for the shape-shifting inspiration from clouds and the soaring of song. I’m sort of invisible at this time in my life, quiet and withdrawn. Your poem spoke to me, eased a little inspiration forward that it’s okay to find ways to make my presence known and to look to nature (and poetry) for the guts to do so. Also, I’m using your poem as some inspiration to write my own–I’m officially an empty nester and there’s all sorts of artifacts around the house making the absence of my children’s presence known.
Gae and Lori,
What a gem of an experience this is this morning. I could sit here all day and read and create and read and comment and read and create. I yearn for a friend that I can “poem” with. I will find one!
I borrowed my line from Fran:
Just Before Fading
We hold on to memories
and they hold on to us
Sometimes buried deep
Sometimes at the surface
refusing to relinquish their
death grip.
We remember the things
we don’t want to
And forget the things
we desperately want to
forever cherish.
The grey matter files away
and catalogues
events
places
names
so we can access any time.
Until we can’t.
We lose the memories
or they lose us.
1952 is remembered
but breakfast isn’t.
We may not even know
we don’t remember
what we may not know
we want to remember.
We may not know
we forget
events
places
names.
But we hold onto
feelings
looking with love
at faces
just before fading
away.
~Susan Ahlbrand
3 April 2022
Oh, Susan……. this poem. It is resonating SO very deeply this morning. Yes, yes, yes. YES to it all. Please find me to let me know you’ve found that poeming trade friend!!!!!
Mmmm how true is that: “We remember the things / we don’t want to / And forget the things / we desperately want / to forever cherish.” One of the great struggles of life. I wish it wasn’t true!! Your poem perfectly captures the feeling of things slipping away…
Susan, may I offer that there is so much to explore in writing about memory-from the perspective of memory! I am intrigued by your line about memory losing us. I also want to suggest that until you find that friend, you can “befriend” lines from poems that are already published-let an inspiring line sink in and marinate and then “respond.”
Susan, this is so good! And true! I love the lines: “We may not even know / we don’t remember / what we may not know / we want to remember.” I am plagued with a bad memory, so I felt your words rather acutely this morning….so, uh, thank you…? Lol.
“We hold onto memories and they hold onto us.”
What a beautiful way of thinking about life. I loved reading this piece. It’s a reminder that memories are a gift—something that can be given and taken away. I think we forget that all too often.
I love how you captured the feeling of things fading away. I think of my mom and mother-in-law who both died with dementia. I love the last hope-filled stanza:
But we hold onto
feelings
looking with love
at faces
just before fading
away.
Susan, this poem really resonated! I read a poem and memories long buried bubble to the surface with every nuance of now…I used to think the file cabinet in my mind must have toppled long ago, it’s contents scattered. Thank you for reminding me that the “grey matter” will do it’s work without me!
Hi Susan,
I was stuck on the word memories. We all have them good ones, bad ones, hurtful ones and all too often we tend to somehow cling to the ones that cause great pain. Thanks for sharing.
Susan, this was so true and lovely. Love your use of juxtaposition and irony. Thank you for this!
Susan, in all these magnificent lines about memory, ones that catch most at my heart: “We lose the memories/or they lose us. 1952 is remembered, but breakfast isn’t.” It so reminds me of my grandmother, when dementia set in… and I write now to preserve memories while I can. This is just so hauntingly beautiful and true – thank you!
Gae and Lori, your prompt and poems really touched my heart and I I read others who’ve posted, I got my start and this is what has come out.
Collaboration, why?
I can do it myself.
But can I really
Do the touchy-feely
Their poems inspire in me.?
Collaboration, why?
Inspiration is the reason
I’ve been able to make it through the season
The season when
(You were already gone).
That season when
During those last lost days,
We tried to make you stay.
Collaboration is inspiration
To write it out when I want to shout
When I’m in that situation
And behind me
you are standing,
When for real you’ve made that landing
On that distant shore.
No, without collaboration
I’d never make it.
Not skinnin’ and grinnin’
And tryin’ to fake it.
I’ll need friends with me to the end.
I give thanks for each that You send.
To help through tough waters each helps me wend
My way back to safety and light
To talk about it all in the poetry we write.
“Collaboration is inspiration” stood out to me because it is such a true and powerful statement. When people work together and are open to hearing others, the most beautiful outcomes can come to life. Your questions at the beginning of each stanza gave a cadence to the poem.
Anna, and yet again one of you has made me cry (in fairness, I am an easy target this morning… LOL). Seriously, this is WONDERFUL. I love the mix of rhyme and not, so at first I didn’t even realize it was… then it feels like wonderful spoken word… in fact, I feel you should do this somewhere as spoken word. It is so true that those of us who are conditioned to go it alone, need others way more than we know.
I adore all of it, and especially this felt a gut punch:
The season when
(You were already gone).
That season when
During those last lost days,
We tried to make you stay.
WOW.
so touched by the thought that we all seem to think that we can or should “make it alone.” how about the idea that we are all-like that poetic image posted-interconnected and need one another?
Anna, another beautiful and loving poem. I agree, we can’t do it without collaboration, especially the hard and painful stuff we face.
God sends just who we need at just the right times!
?
Wow!!!!!! I am completely blown away and inspired by how you are all taking your poems in such diverse and beautiful directions! Your poems thus far exemplify how the very personal details are universal-a core component for writing the heart. I am in turn, inspired all over again by these moving and well-crafted poems!
Me too, Lori. Me too.
Today’s prompt offered real inspiration. I was very intrigued by Lori’s opening stanza, “there gone” in particular. Thanks, Lori and Gae for setting the just right tone for exploration.
There gone
They’re gone,
you’re here.
If you could be anyone else,
I’d hear you;
If not here, then gone,
but mine.
So lovely. The word gone really does conjure so very much emotion. There gone has been a theme in my books as well, especially MEMORY OF THINGS which takes place on 9/11 – a day when so many were just there, then gone.
I so love this moment in your poem: “If not here, then gone.”
Good work this morning.
I love how simple (yet so complex) your poem is, & how you played with words – hear/here, there/they’re. I think I’ll be thinking about this all day.
such a beautiful example of how no one “owns” a particular word. in this case, the word “gone” is so personal, yet so evocative and relatable. I’m interested in more about the line “if you could be anyone else I’d hear you.” it makes me wonder about the “if” and why the writer cannot hear the subject for who they are!
Sherri, so few words with such profound meaning. “They’re gone” to they are gone to “there gone.” The shifts have me pondering. Same for “you’re here” and “hear you.” So much changes with one word, one letter.
Sherri: I keep coming back to read this poem. The lines, “If you could be anyone else,/I’d hear you;” really resonates. For some reason my reading of these poems today has me seeing myself in them. In yours, I’m connecting the dots between my own people, the handful in my life who are “gone” in different iterations. And then, there’s the person who’s still here with me who I tend to not hear because I’m sort of folded into the loss right now. I’m grateful to see this feeling in words. Sometimes a poem helps one to become seen. Thank you for this gift. 😉
Really Here
I glide the minty string between teeth
and behind me
you are standing,
drying off your hair as
you step out of the shower.
A memory of
flesh and muscle
and cedar soap.
Dripping on the bathroom floor
in a bathroom we never shared
Irritating and inconsiderate.
But you aren’t
really here.
I pour the hot water
slowly over the cinnamon
scented grinds and listen
to the drip drip in
the quiet dark of the morning.
You are on the living room rug
trying to build the tallest tower
but the dog keeps knocking it over
with her tail.
You squeal with
laughter, breaking the silence.
But you aren’t
really here.
I stand at the closet
searching for which top might
go best with these pants,
might cover the belly
that’s gotten a bit softer.
There you are
standing behind me.
Your strong arms wrap around me
and pull me
back and in.
I close my eyes
and feel your warmth.
But you aren’t
really here.
Oh, Kate, I’m primed this morning (this week, this month, this year, these five years…) anyway, but this made me weep. It’s magnificent and painful. I love the juxtaposition of the pain with the lovely tactile things that might — might — sustain us: “flesh and muscle and cedar soap…” “cinnamon scented grinds.” I love you dearly. And love this poem. Even as it breaks me.
I love you dearly, Gae ♥︎. Thank you for sharing this today. I think I needed it!
This poem is evocative through the mystery that flows throughout. I find myself guessing at who “you” might be and arriving at different conclusions for each stanza. The mystery aspect makes me linger a little longer at each scene, like a detective tracking clues.
What a wonderful sensory poem – minty, cedar, cinnamon. I can feel your poem and smell it but I’m no really there. Thank you.
Thank you ♥︎
memory is so very visceral in this heartbreaking poem. heartbreaking in the very best way.
That’s so kind, Lori, thank you. I thoroughly enjoyed this today. It was truly cathartic. Thank you for sharing your poem with Gae ♥︎
Kate, thank you for writing and sharing this! I really love the symmetry that you’ve crafted here: the “I glide,” “I pour,” “I stand” at the start of each stanza to the “But you aren’t / really here” revelations at the end. (Not to mention that the first and second stanzas have 13 lines and the third has 14.) Your sensory details are wonderful, too, from the “flesh and muscle / and cedar soap” to the “belly / that’s gotten a bit softer” to the “strong arms wrap[ped] around [you].” Very vivid!
Thanks Scott! I definitely didn’t count the lines, but on my revisions got worried because now the count of each stanza was off! Will keep playing with the revisions because I like the idea of symmetry (though I wasn’t initially shooting for it!). More, different ghosts, or ideas of what could have been float through my home as I go through the motions of my day to day and they all are equally there. So in that way, there’s symmetry! Thanks for your kind comments ♥︎
Kate, my heart breaks with each longing of “you” and I sure hope you are comforted if this is still fresh grief/loss/pain.
?
Thank you, Stacey ♥︎
A memory of/flesh and muscle/and cedar soap. Such a beautiful line. I felt every line. Just beautiful.
Thank you ♥︎
Kate,
Your sensory images are so powerful, but the mystery of who is not really there is so intriguing that I just want to sit down with you and have a conversation with you.
Aw, thanks. It’s so funny when I wrote it, it was so obvious who each stanza was about! First stanza, ex husband, second stanza, unborn child I’ll never know, third stanza, the hope of someone I haven’t yet met. In my revisions after posting, I added a line to the third stanza that might make that more clear (feel your warmth but don’t yet know your scent). I also added a line to the second stanza about imagining her hair color, which is something I find myself imagining a lot.
I got so much out of writing today. Thanks for commenting. It felt good to hear positive feedback!
Kate, this is a heartbreaking, ghostly lamentation filled with what was and what is lost. I’m so sorry for the grief you must feel to have written something so beautiful and haunting. Peace to you.
So funny, I changed the title of the poem to Ghosts because that’s what it feels like to me! Thank you for your comment. Peace to you as well.
You were the perfect mom
Hair bobbed
Pastel peach lipstick
Pumps from Bergdorf
You gave your children
Branded toast
With messages
“Good morning” “Hello Sunshine”
Your eggs were in the shape of
Butterflies
Sunny-side up
You learned magic
So you could entertain us at
Birthday parties
My mom tried to emulate you
Your style, your branding…
As a result, I got a
Holey crater in my morning toast
Jennifer—I laughed out loud! What I thought was a lovely ode to your mother (doesn’t every child have someone else’s mother to compare us to?) and then hit the last line. Such comedic timing!! Way to start my morning!
Yes, Gayle! I agree!!
Jennifer, there’s so much to love here – the branded toast (such a term!) and butterfly eggs and the barbie perfection your mom tried to emulate. But it’s that last line that caused me to snort – what a twist! And so much fun.
SUCH a term! I meant to comment on that too!
Love this! Started to resent the Bergdorf Mom and was wondering where you were going with this. The last line – priceless.
100%
Ah, Jennifer, the laugh we all needed this morning, even though there is so much more than just humor behind that last line. I love this photograph of a poem. I can picture that perfect mom, the children, the toast… Thank you!
I laughed so hard when I got to the end of this piece. It reminds me so much of my mom growing up. She would try incredibly hard to go all out and, as a result, we were always getting really bizarre recipes for dinner or holes in our morning toast. Thanks for the laugh!
Love this! From the start I was thinking so tenderly of my own mom, how she made every day special, flowers on a sick tray, heart-shaped pancakes…the twist at the end made me laugh out loud!
Jennifer, you surprised me with the turn in which you revealed the perfect mom was not yours. I was wondering what it’s like to have the perfect mom or be the perfect mom and feeling a bit jealous, then the last line saved me and I laughed. Fun poem.
Oh, Jennifer, every mom is nodding in agreement to this poem! Regardless of the “brand” we try to emulate, it goes askew at some point. A reminder to be our own, singular brand!
Gae and Lori, your finding of each other in the “poem popping” to bring about creativity from the trauma of 2016 and beyond is beautiful. (I might have to borrow the “you’ve been poemed” texting to create with a friend.) Gae, your fallopian tube findings in the tile made me laugh. I’m forever seeing things in wood grain and tile patterns, both alarming and fascinating. Lori, I felt the weight of those last lost days ruining eternity for you. Phew! Such weight. Thank you both for inspiring us today.
Line Lifting
Somewhere between then and now,
you became someone I couldn’t find.
Our story rewrote itself,
every line a gaslit memory
lifted from time,
feeding the hearth fire,
sparks becoming flames,
a conflagration
which blazed through
in lightening luminosity, scorching
the very foundation until
the whole house,
trembling with destruction,
sank to charring coals.
I meant to tell you but –
(You were already gone).
*lines lifted from Gae Polisner
Loving ‘you became someone I couldn’t find / Our story rewrote itself’ this morning as I use coffee to pry open my eyes. ‘sparks became flame…I meant to tell you but – (You were already gone). Good morning, Jennifer.
brcrandall, I love so much that you highlighted the pieces I didn’t. I agree!!!! I love all of this one SO MUCH.
“Our story rewrote itself.” So much in so few words. The beginning of another poem. The imagery here is so powerful—“scorching the very foundation”. Wow.
I started to highlight moments I love to paste them here but I ended highlighting it all. If I had to… “every line a gaslit memory
lifted from time,
feeding the hearth fire,
sparks becoming flames,
a conflagration
which blazed through
in lightening luminosity, scorching
the very foundation until
the whole house,
trembling with destruction,
sank to charring coals.” But, I mean, that’s almost all of it.
What a stunner! Thanks for sharing it here.
I’m impressed and amazed and humbled by all of you!
Thank you, Gae! I’m humbled by your response. (I’m hosting tomorrow and I think we strangely, remarkably, coincidentally had a similar prompt inspiration – it’s been so long that I might be remembering that wrong!).
Jennifer, this poem sizzles and burns with truth. That first line reminds me of a line in Julius Caesar: Between the acting and the doing passage, that in between time that often perplexes until time passes and we can see clearly. The rewritten story, the gaslit memory, these I feel deeply and have experienced. I often think about the choices to burn it all down in personal, social, cultural, environmental, political, in all the ways possible. Fantastic poem once again.
Holy bananas, Jennifer! This!
what you managed to do here, in not a lot of space, is a masterclass in extended metaphor.
I was at a workshop this week where the opening question was “how’s your fire?” We are working on creating student-led leadership groups for Indigenous students, so that’s where the question originated. I may have to share your poem with that group next week. I found the idea that the entire fire from spark to coal is the end of the relationship particularly powerful.
Thanks so much, Lisa. You are welcome to share!
Jennifer — This is such a lost echo of losing someone…You took lines that I thought were powerful this morning when I first read Gae and Lori’s poems, but here they are even more of a sense of loss as I read this about ten hours later. “Charring coals”… I feel those burns and see the light slip away..already gone. The tone of lament is so strong here for me. “Someone i couldn’t find” pulled me right in. Wow. Susie
I can’t even pick my favorite line because they are all amazing! I’ll choose “lightning luminosity”. You are so talented.
Lori and Gae—when I first read the prompt, I was confused—maybe because it was so early. Then I re-read your poems—both amazing—and couldn’t pick just one line. And then the magic happened. Thank you for pushing me into a place I wasn’t sure I belonged this morning.
All Gods Are Invisible
All gods are
Invisible
To the ones who need them
Most.
They hide in corners
Slide through cracks
Squeeze under doors
Lurk in dark shadows
Disguise themselves as floor lamps.
Should we see them,
We would be disappointed.
They look so ordinary
So unimpressive.
That is their secret.
They are everywhere,
Waiting for us to
call upon them.
Call out, then.
Ask for their help.
Your gods—
whoever they may be
Await your invitation.
GJSands 4-3-22
I love how the gods disguise themselves as floor lamps,and your call to the reader to call out for their gods. This moved me.
Gayle, hello to the beauty of invisible gods to those who most need them. Those movements – hide, slide, lurk, disguise – are sneaky verbs, luring us in. I look forward to finding gods today!
I thought about using that line for my inspiration too – I’m so impressed with what you came up with. Beautiful. It reminded me of one of my favorite poems – “The Angels” by Tracy K. Smith.
Tracy— thank you. Saved The Angels for future re-read!
that you made this line a title and called upon your own “gods” to help pen this poem……love
Oh this. Oh this. This is gorgeous. So glad you found your way into it finally (and sorry for confusion…) Especially that line about floor lamps. Extraordinary in the ordinary. Indeed.
Gayle, I’ve been contemplating the beauty and truths in your lovely poem this morning. The idea of invisible gods makes me think about the ways we refuse to see what is right in front of us. “Waiting for us to / call upon them.” This seems both prayerful and appropriate on a Sunday morning. Lovely.
I adore the idea of gods looking ordinary and “They are everywhere,” – this is a hopeful, uplifting poem, Gayle!
I love this idea of collaboration and poems in conversation with each other. I took a line from Stacy “Yesterday I wore only a sweater.”
Yesterday I wore only a sweater
Cream-colored comfort
in the morning chill.
I left it on a folding chair
in the children’s author’s tent
where we joyfully greeted
a couple from Ohio
who loved children
and storybooks
and the craft of illustration.
A book festival can be an inadequate space,
sitting for hours
no sales in sight
pondering imposter syndrome.
Yet on this April day
I dropped my sweater,
tossed my discomfort to sunshine
and a circle of writers
who feed my soul
and warm my shoulders–
no sweater needed.
Margaret, I love how the sweater line inspired you to share such a wonderful experience. “who feed my soul” yes, that is indeed warming. Gorgeous poem!
I appreciate the contrast you draw between the “book festival can be an inadequate space” and “sunshine/ and a circle of writers/ who feed my soul/ and warm my shoulders -” which is also a way of illustrating the tension between the two possibilities. “”no sales in sight” speaks to the reality of being on tour, yet still able to receive the warmth of those who appreciate your work: “no sweater needed.”
Margaret, first, so good to “see” you. Second, you know how deeply I can relate to this!!! Love the specifics of this, the imagery that makes me feel as if I am right there — not just the couple, but the couple from Ohio. And so love the line, “tossed my discomfort to sunshine…” I can feel that. Yes. YES!
Margaret: There’s so much here that resonated. I’ve been in the tent. I’ve sat for hours. The wording, “pondering imposter syndrome” is not only an amalgamation of wonderful sound, but a relatable state of being (sometimes in the classroom…sometimes circle of writers…so many tents!). I loved the movement of the poem–there’s a true evolution and arc!–and how in that last stanza the sweater comes off and you embrace your rightful space within the circle. Beautiful ending note with warmth and community. Love this. Am borrowing “inadequate space” and running with it for my own poem.
Margaret, what a great experience you have shared in a beautiful poem. I like how you worded this: “pondering imposter syndrome” — not suffering from or guilty of, just pondering. I also love the way you worded the circle of writers “who feed my soul / and warm my shoulders.” Just gorgeous!
Wow, I am so impressed with everything I’ve already read so early this morning. Stacy, your poem inspired me–especially the line “I Can Only Think of My Heart”. Gae and Lori thank you so much for this exciting prompt. I had to steal the bathtub image, too, as we also had one removed. Happy Sunday to all.
The Raging River’s Siren Call
I can only think of my heart
I’m selfish that way
feeling an icy draft slip through the bathroom window
where a tub used to be
I can only think of my heart
watching dining room lights flicker;
the silent room whisper
I didn’t do this…I didn’t do this
I can only think of my heart
hearing the empty porch swing
sway like a mad woman who longs
for the warm embrace of green
I can only think of my heart
I’m selfish that way
watching white caps on the river rage
feeling the urge to slip beneath its gray cold waves
Barb Edler
3 April 2022
Barb,
That ending is a gut punch, and an image of Virginia Wolf popped into my mind. The heart demands thinking of and that’s not selfish. It’s human nature and necessary.
Hi, Glenda!! And yes.
Barb, Beautiful! I especially love the line about the empty porch swing and the mad woman. Wow. -Kate
me too! me tooooo!!!
I strongly felt poem – grabs and does not let go – I loved this line the most: sway like a mad woman who longs for the warm embrace of green. Thank you.
Right?!? So many of us! That line! That line!
And all of it!
I’m so pulled in by the line “I’m selfish that way” because it evokes the exact opposite. I feel such a yearning for connection in this poem, and while I know the urge to slep beneath cold waves of rage (another interesting contrast-cold/rage) I wish you calm waters and heart.
Barb, I really love this — I’m feeling truly overwhelmed in the best way by the beauty and powerfulness of all of these poems!
I love the repetition (conjuring some ee cummings for me in the best way!), I love the juxtaposition of the first two lines as if thinking of our hearts is selfish — which brings up so many emotions… so evocative!! Just adore the whole thing! Bravo!!!
I can hear the deafening whisper of the silent room. That stanza…wow.
The repeated line is a strong “heart” beat in this poem. So many lonely words, empty, slip beneath, silent room…
OH, Barb… this is haunting. We live through our hearts…thank heavens you DO think of healing that heart. As damned painful as it is. I see that empty porch swing…I can hear that woman longing…I feel huge pain in this poem. The grey cold waves…they are real and I feel that, feel that. And let me say, friend, the Mississippi wants you to watch and wave to her eagles even, but she won’t want you slipping in. Neither will I. Love you. Hear you. Susie
Absolutely haunting, Barb – and captivating, the loss of the tub and the silent room whispering “I didn’t do this…” – almost paranormal – I long for more of the story!
Barb, it is important to think of your heart. There is a lot of ice in your poem. This is haunting: “the silent room whisper
I didn’t do this…I didn’t do this”
Thanks, Gae and Lori. Gae, I know we think alike when it comes to politics, so this poem is for you in that spirit.
Lines from Kevin: persistent white noise; orchestra vanished
Line from Gae: they are gutting
insurrection symphony
with persistent
white noise
of fascism &
cultish allegiance
to orangey &
CRT boogeymen &
anti-trans objectifying &
and a cacophony of
stolen election lies
they are gutting
our country
our democracy
our right to vote
our academic freedom
our civil liberties
they are gutting
our country like
a dead fish on
the butcher’s
slab
and if the freedom
orchestra vanished
ceased to play
yankees doodle dandy
stops the music of
this land is our land
halts the cadence of
truth marching on
if the conductor
puts down the baton
democracy cannot
play
on
—Glenda Funk
April 3, 2022
Glenda, the way you’ve characterized the cruel politics at play as white noise is such a good reminder that while it may feel ever-present and deafening, it can also be turned off, replaced with, or drowned out by the sounds of music. Thank you for reminding me of this this morning. Thank you for sharing.
Glenda, wow, your poem is like the front line drummer, pounding out the urge to keep our democracy in tact. I couldn’t agree with you more. Love the powerful repetition and catalogue of all the things that are in jeopardy. “cultish allegiance” is so frightening, and I can see that gutted fish on the butcher’s block. Magnificent poem!
Good morning, Glenda. Great to see the activism actively active within acting lines. This is to say, I love the listing of what most of us see…’gutting…like a dead fish on the butcher’s slab’ – I believe you nailed it for me with that line. You’ve brought your funk and soul once again.
The last stanza packs a powerful punch and lets us know how dire this situation is. You could read it at a rally!
Thank you, Glenda, for beating out these truths in staccato rhythm, but especially for this: “if the conductor
puts down the baton
democracy cannot
play
on”
Whew, yes.
The way you transformed ‘gutting’ in this poem – brilliant. The truths in your poem are frighteningly, wonderfully told.
AGREE! it really is fun to see how “stolen” lines transform into something completely different, isn’t it?!
symphony. cacophony. orchestra. gutting. cadence. strong words to support a strong poem.
Glenda, Glenda, Glenda!! Standing and clapping and shouting AMEN! You nailed it and chose the perfect lines to make this powerful poem! Punch the stupid government officials right in the GUT!
????????
Ah, Glenda, this is wonderful (in its brutalness…). Indeed to all you write so poetically. A fan of the brief punch of form and this:
they are gutting
our country like
a dead fish on
the butcher’s
slab
Yes. Yes they are. Let’s hope poetry, art, action, and kindness will somehow save us all.
Glenda, the orangey cult leader was in Michigan yesterday, making me feel tainted by proximity. And wow! Your cacophony of white noise sounds loud and pounding, like a drill sergeant marching the followers onward, without end. We are a dead fish, gutted. Such powerful stuff here today.
Oh, Glenda, you are on fire today. Yours is a prophet’s voice, and I am here for it. I love this so much. The songs woven in the ending is magical, and the last lines make me sad and determined. Thanks too, to Kevin and Gae, for their contributions.
Wow, Glenda, you have incorporated these collaborative words into an inspiring poem; I am riveted by your metaphor of music stopping…our freedom orchestra, the band, the conductor stopping…especially the painful possibility that this “gutting [of] our country”
“halts the cadence of
truth marching on “
Powerful!
Another day and another wonderful prompt. Thank you!
On an Early Spring Day at the Beginning of April
Yesterday I wore only a sweater
The sunlight warm
Just enough
A hint that Spring is really here
The promise of sunshine
And green
Today
Beyond the window
Snow blankets the ground
Just enough
A reminder that winter clings tight
Cold
and Gray
I can only think of my heart:
The way forgiveness arrives with
The promise of hope and
The way some mornings
Bitterness returns unexpectedly
so very very cold
Stacy, this line speaks the hope of spring:
The promise of sunshine
And green
Oh, those thoughts of warmth – just enough – are so thrilling to the soul after winter. It makes me think of the line from “The Rose” by Bette Midler .…..just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snow, lies the seed that with the sun’s love in the spring becomes the rose…
Gosh. Yes.
“The way forgiveness arrives with
the promise of hope …”
Kevin
Stacy, wow, your poem is chilling. I love how you show the shift of spring, one day warm and inviting and the next day we’re blanketed in snow. How nature can mirror our feelings is haunting and you’ve captured that so well with your final stanza. I need forgiveness and hope and to remove the bitterness in my life as it is “so very very cold”…Wonderful end! Powerful poem! Your poem inspired mine. Thank you!
Stacy,
Theres so much truth in your poem. I get weather whiplash this time of year: sunny shorts weather followed by wrapping my wool scarf around my neck the next, “Winter clings tight” indeed.
Wow, Stacy. That last stanza is so powerful. I felt it in my heart, familiar. Thank you for sharing. -Kate
This spring I seem to be more attentive to that force of nature fighting off spring. We expect cold temps again this week. Thanks for the line about the sweater. It helped me write today.
Stacy,
Ooooweeee what a doozie! I love the final stanza because it was so unexpected, just like the return of bitterness! Gosh, so much to take in. Brilliant beginning with the sweater and warm sunlight. Love what you did here!
❤️
This so beautifully reflects the push and pull of it all. I am so in love with that opening line, so it’s fun, as I arrive here after others have “lifted it” to see why. I see why. I didn’t know if it would be the first or middle line, or even part of a line. It’s such a directly evocative way INTO a poem… it immediately places us. Just love it. And the “I can only think of my heart.” I would want to lift both of those! As others have. 🙂 Wonderful!
Stacy, loved this. And experiencing the same weather — and feelings! — here. What a beautiful, apt metaphor.
Stacy, so much beauty and truth in these lines, which flow like music…that analogy of forgiveness (one of my favorite topics) arriving like a spring morning but then bitterness returning unexpectedly…it’s fantastic. I absolutely love it.
Stacy, I love your capturing of the moody spring days, confused between cold and warmth. Those last two lines really illustrate just how fed up one can be when winter hangs on too long. I chose your lines: The way forgiveness arrives with / The promise of hope to write my own poem today. Thank you!
Rickety racket,
Porch swing-cactus!
Couch floating on a mattress.
Seventeen holes in the wall
Deflated, chewed up ball
Nowhere to run and nobody to call!
Tin tocking on da’ shed’s door,
Kin rocking out on da’ Garage floor,
Neighborhood flocking to party more.
Busted windows and broke down cars,
Guarded by Elvis tattoos and aunts with scars,
Only bank jingles in pickle jars.
Mayonnaise sandwich -on a plastic plate,
Box fan sitting on a milk crate.
Sharing red kool aid, on hand- me – down skates!
Everybody barefoot tough,
Gotta be, to survive this stuff.
Great Grandma gotta’ a can snuff!
College ain’t better dan da’ cotton mill,
62 hours a week- dat pays da bills.
Boy! It ain’t dem books – it’s skills!
Seventeen, as I look around,
Sunburnt kinfolk in my hometown,
Stay or college bound?
Screen door slams- out the back,
Gotta roll with $43 and and a ‘tater sack!
All da way to Athens before I unpack .
Boxer. OH. MY. STARS. I grew up here. I grew up with mayonnaise sandwiches and tater sacks and jingles in pickle jars. And scars (uncles). Mayo sandwiches were the favorite of my mother.
Busted windows and broke down cars,
Guarded by Elvis tattoos and aunts with scars,
Only bank jingles in pickle jars.
You capture PLACE and SITUATION superbly here. I see the place, I hear the rocking chairs and the people, I see the snuff can and sharing the Kool Aid on the Hand me Down skates. I’m there. I hear the slam of the screen door, and I’m thankful. You are a master of capturing the essence of place, and I’m in awe of your sheer way with words.
Oh, Boxer, how I love this! Reminds me of a Chris Rashka book. So visceral with sound, imagery and vibration. A musical piece. Love!!
“Box fan sitting on a milk crate”
Something about that visual … capturing a moment
Kevin
Imagery is stunning in this poem–Sharing red kool aid, on hand- me – down skates!–Amazing!
But the way the poem sounds and the playfulness of the language is what I love best in this one!
Bóxer – Rich! Rich! Rich! These images laced with the rhythms of each tercet make me move through your poem almost like dancing. I’m pulled by the screen door slamming and also by Allison’s poem late last night (which I only just read this morning when I awoke) wherein she had that closing door— both of you have my head percolating a pot o’ poem words. I’m not sure what I’ll write today, but you two have inspired me with both of your marvelous poems. I’m tickled to think about Gae and Lori’s “poeming” prompt.
YAY to feeling tickled! We all need that more!!!
Boxer,
This is brilliant. I love the dialect, love the rhythm, love the rhyme, love the way you honor place and hard-working people. I want to hear this performed.
Loving all the language play in your poem this morning, Boxer. ‘couch floating on a mattress / seventeen holes in the wall / deflated, chewed up a ball’
Mayonnaise sandwich -on a plastic plate,
Box fan sitting on a milk crate.
Sharing red kool aid, on hand- me – down skates!
There’s description, but also beginning commentary here coming alive. Keep on commenting in your poems.
Geeeesh, this is incredible, so entertaining. I think if you ever perform it there should be a fun musical selection to accompany it. It engaged and captured all of my senses. My favorite lines:
Phenomenal poem!
????????
Boxer,
Loved this piece so much: the imagery and the musicality of it were just gorgeous!
Wow, Boxer. You have captured a culture. The rhyming is brilliant.
Thank you for your Sunday inspiration. I borrowed a line from Fran’s poem: “beyond the window” and wrote as the sun rose beyond the window.
Beyond the window
Darkness fades away
As skies brighten
And light eases in
Beyond the window
Morning speaks
Geese squawk annoyingly
Doves peacefully coo
Beyond the window
A new day unfolds
Fresh air arises
Hope returns to me
Christine, the line that you chose from Fran and made your repetitive line to begin each stanza to show the dawning of a new day – the light easing in, the peaceful coo of doves, the hope returning. What is it about three stanzas of poetry that brings so much more than the entire chapter of a book…..or an entire book? This is lovely and fills me with the excitement of a new day. Fresh air! I’m seeing some gardens today, and I will breathe deeply and think of your poem as I inhale the sweet fragrance of……hope.
Thank you Kim.. wrote while still in bed and the senses just waking to that new day. Enjoy that garden. I’m sure you’ll find inspiration blooming there!
Lovely! I need – and know – that sense of hope as daylight rises.
Living on a lake helps keep each new day a blessing. I too needed hope today!
Ah, I am a water person. A lake sure sounds like a blessing.
Christine,
I want to stand and look through your window so I see the geese and watch sunny hope arise. Sometimes I get a pink sunrise over the mountains in my window. I’m watching extra close today.
Gorgeous poem, Christine. I love the personification, the awakening images, and the power of your last line: “Hope returns to me”. Beutiful!
Hi Christine,
Thanks for sharing ….I like the line a new day. It represents new beginnings for me and reminds me that there is hope for a new start.
Christine, I love the line you chose, and this beautiful glimpse into your morning. Lovely. “Hope returns to me” has to be my favorite. I love hope in poems!
Christine, this is such a beautiful vision of hope coming on the wings of the morning. I love you repeated the line at the beginning of each stanza. “Light easing in” – indeed!
I love seeing Gae Polisner here! And, what a fantastic inspiration idea to share poem inspirations back and forth to keep each other writing. I have to thank Gae for pairing me up with a writing partner from Teachers Write years ago. I needed a writing partner who could sharpen my poetry and voila! Gae put me and another poet together.
These are a few lines from a larger draft. It took some super fun google research too. You’ve been poemed!
We are merchants after all
even if we do not own
A thirteen-floor building
with elevators and a cafeteria.
Our merchandise comes
from Sibley’s
biggest Department Store
between New York and Chicago
Big enough to impress Mother
who impresses her sister-in-law.
Linda, when I read Department Store, I think of Harrod’s in London, Macy’s in New York – those places of jawdropping enchantment, displays, merchandise that leaves my mouth agape, probably like that of Sibley’s that you describe here. There is something magical about the newness of a thing displayed so creatively to make us think we cannot live another day without buying one to call our own. You paint such a picture of the impressions things make – things to impress – things to impress people with impeccable taste. I’m also laughing this morning as I travel the mountains of North Georgia and Western North Carolina with my sister-in-law. Listen, friend, come closer and let me whisper in your ear: between the two of us we are sharing a hairbrush and a hairdryer – we have also forgotten all of our hair clips but somehow managed to remember that we would need two plastic wine glasses and wine. We need some Sibley’s in our life today!
Oh Linda, I adore this!! And hadn’t remembered that story!!
so good to see you and your writing!!!
Linda – I love the notion of our being merchants! And the ingenious connection between our desire to “impress” and our own penchant for mercantilism. Such a dandy realization. Cool! Susie
so much within “we are merchants too.” it’s such a subtle comment on how “we” are living right now.
The image that first came to mind from your poem, Linda, was the TV series Mr Selfridge. Your last two lines, “Big enough to impress Mother who impresses her sister-in-law” made me smile. Isn’t it true that one form of shopping is simply to impress others!
Gae and Lori: What gorgeous collaboration, these two poems! The craft and artistry of each makes me catch my breath. Thank you both for the inspiration for this compelling way of composing.
Thank you, Kim Johnson, for going first; I have taken your line “Creaking of floor, house settling.”
Time Ticks On
Creaking of floor
house settling
sighing at the close
of another day
shaft of sunlight
on the oak floor
glimmers brightest
just before fading
away
Beyond the window
pine shadows lengthen
across green green grass
I think about walking there
in the cool of the day
pretending
the shadows
are portals
where I might fall through
to find you
“shaft of sunlight
on the oak floor
glimmers brightest
just before fading”
Ah …. these are beautiful lines
Kevin
Lori: I also realize I’ve borrowed “to find you” – I think the point of inspiration between you and Gae, “gone,” has fused to my own Muse this morning.
Fused. Yay.
Fran, those last three words are the clinchers – they are beautiful and hopeful and imaginative, full of wonder and question. Living on a pine tree farm, I have seen shadows lengthen but never in all my years have I thought of shadows as portals I might fall through to find someone. It makes me think of time travel if I fell through – a time warp shadow. I like thinking of this, being able to sit and talk with Mom again. Thank you for the beautiful moment of evening light and shadow. You have a way of making us think.
Quick note, Kim – I intentionally borrowed a line from Genesis 3:8, one of my favorites, and only now am I realizing, post-poem, how it is also connected to “gone.”
Wow.
Fran, thank you for poeming me and Bibling me, too – – I enjoy reading the verses that relate to our writings. I looked it up: And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the garden. This is beautiful, this scene in the garden in the cool of the day. The Lord always speaks – I’m heading to Gibbs Gardens this morning in the cool of the morning (cooler than we’d hoped) and will think of this verse as I stroll the tulips and daffodils there enjoying the beauty of Spring Break. I’m so glad you shared that verse, and I see why it is one of your favorites.
Yes betond the window I found my inspiration this morning. Thank you.
and I am also loving the thought of the possibilities of falling through the portals of the shadow. So intriguing
Fran, I love the short lines and the strong verb choice you’ve used here. I borrowed your “beyond the window” line. Thank you.
Oh, I love this. And what Kevin said!!
Fran,
The house is a character offering an invitation is thus gorgeous, haunting verse. The image of sunlight shafts and portals where we find those we love invites us to explore this place. So beautiful.
Ooo, Fran— gorgeous sensory images here. This is brilliant:
The house personified in that “sighing” is perfect.
A very cool poem! Love it! Susie
Fran, I also love the image of the sun on the oak floor, but I am completely moved by the shadow portal….falling through “to find you”…LOVE IT! Another rich poem full of image and emotion. Thank you!
Fran, again another masterpiece! I see it, feel it and long for it to be what I have in front of me:
I love it all. I have always been mesmerized by shafts of sunlight and where they land.
This poem is a gift, thank you!
?
Fran, that last line is heart-breaking. I love the repetition in “green green grass” Beautiful poem.
Fran–“the shadows/are portals/where I might fall through/to find you”. My favorite lines, and I could see a fantasy novel opening with them…
Listening in to the
Hummmmm of refrigerator;
a sort of forever music
of the famished,
the persistent white noise
of a coolant engine singing,
and if this orchestra vanished,
the feast would begin:
midnight making’s
of a defrosted sandwich
— collaboration/line lifting from Kim’s poem
It is “a sort of forever music” with its own creative variations from time to time…
Kevin, those feasts of sandwiches are the midnight snacks of champions! I love your line forever music of the famished – and the rhyme with and if this orchestra vanished. You have such gifts for the lyrical and the musical – as always, a creative Kevin symphony!
I love the comparisons of the white noise to an orchestra. And of course a midnight feast in a defrosted sandwich!
Ahhh, this is great!
“music of the famished…” what a great turn of words! And that last defrosted sandwich. YES!
Kevin, you’ve honored every fridge represented in this community. And you’ve given me my inspiration. The musicality of your poem is fantastic. But don’t refrigerators usually quit when the family is away on vacay? ?
Kevin, to find music in the refrigerator is genius. Love the “midnight making’s” and “sort of forever music/of the famished”. The focus on the everyday things that create music and your clear sharp images are impressive!
Love ‘midnights making’s of a defrosted sandwich.’
wonderful personification type images in this poem. If you don’t know the poetry of Matthew Rohrer, particularly his enchantingly entitled book, “Hummock in the Malookas,” I urge you to find a copy for additional inspiration.
Thx
Kevin,
You chose a perfect line to craft your poem. I love this:
Imagining all of these sounds as the orchestra in our kitchens…
Yes! Now I’m hungry! ?
You never really get to have a completely quiet house when you think about the fact that the refrigerator is always running. “Forever music” is really the best way to describe this concept. This poem was fantastic!
Thanks, Kevin! I “borrowed” from you. The music you created here got me playing into the music that is around me these days, and thinking about how lost I would be without it. You really drew attention for me to how much we don’t hear the background around us, and yet, what would happen if it wasn’t there.
Kevin, I love this description of the hummmmm of the refrigerator:
“a sort of forever music
of the famished”
Yes, it’s music to my ears, and I am always thankful for the cold food and drinks that come from our fridge.
I appreciate how you often connect scenes to music!
Gae and Lori, what a beautiful form born out of friendship! Thank you for inspiring us! We have indeed been opened today! I’m taking a line and running with it!
morningsounds
my stomach
growling
“rawr, rawr, rawr,”
splatter of water in the shower
Tingle jingle of dog tags
Tick tick tick of paw feet
Lick lick lick of grooming
Hummmmm of refrigerator
Drummmmmm of rain on the roof
Whirrrrr of hair dryer
Slide glide of pocket door
Creaking of floor, house settling
Throughing of Keurig brewing
Plop plop of Kcup drops
Whish-splish of toothbrush scrub
I meant to say – we have indeed been POEMED today….autocorrect
Wonderful and rich sounds in these lines…I especially love the tingle-jingle of dog tags and rain drumming on the roof. Wonderful response to the prompt!
I love that opened became opened!!! Perfection, don’t you think?!? ???
LOL, wth?! I love that POEMED became OPENED. I guess for me, too!!!
Yes, I agree, poemed and opened are sweetly suited. We’ve been both-ed.
Kim, you have me chuckling at the line you borrowed to build your poem…I had to take one of yours for mine, which has ended up being about evening. Oh – and seems I have lifted the word “tick” as well, in a different way. I so hear all your morningsounds, the background theme of life.
The sounds are coming alive for me as you capture the day unfolding with great description. That rawr of the stomach is sounding in me right now!
I love that the external sound effect of my ? became an internal stomach grumbling… love that “throughing” of the keurig… this is all morning-wonderful!!
Kim,
This is a fun poem that sounds much like our house. Add in a C-Pap and take out the rain! Love all the onomatopoeic sounds.
Kim, I love the way you create a page of music through the everyday sounds from the house settling to the “Tingle jingle of dog tags.” Beautiful and so much fun!
Kim and Kevin — Both of you created such real sounds… I loved reading your poems that run like sister-boards (to use a carpentry term) under the deck floor of your two poems. So perfect! I particularly loved Kevin’s “persistent white noise” and Kim”s “Keurig brewing.” What a fun prompt. Susie
Good Sunday morning! Great way to begin, Kim! I can see how your poem would be a perfect mentor text/model poem for teaching onomatopoeia in poetry! My students would love it!
My favorite lines because it’s about time for my morning brew:
Love it! ?
Hi Kim,
I liked the way you played with the words as they bought life to your poem…..I can tell you love giving your dog baths.
I love all the sounds of your morning, especially the “throughing of brewing.”
I immediately thought “onomatopoeia lesson!” when I read this fun, descriptive poem of yours, Kim. I especially like “whish-splish”!