Welcome to Day 4 of the January Open Write. If you have written with us before, welcome back. If you are joining us for the first time, you are in the kind, capable hands of today’s host, so just read the prompt below and then, when you are ready, write in the comment section below. We do ask that if you write, in the spirit of reciprocity, you respond to three or more writers. To learn more about the Open Write, click here.
Our Host
Glenda retired from full-time teaching in 2019 after a 38 year career and is now substitute teaching in her district where she’s learning common core math from second graders and how to measure waves in sixth grade science with middle schoolers. In addition to being a dog and cat mom, Glenda is a doting grandmother to baby Ezra, who, like those precocious second graders, is fascinated with her silver hair. Glenda recently moved and renamed her blog Swirl & Swing. You can find her at www.glendafunk.wordpress.com
Inspiration
On his deathbed my father gave me two pieces of advice I’ve shared often: 1. Never put up with any crap from men; 2. Never be financially dependent on a man. I was 16 at the time. Through the years this advice has connected me to my father. I’ve shared his words often and have tried to live by them.
My father’s advice helps explain my recent obsession and connections with three poetry collections by three women from whom I’ve drawn inspiration for my own writing.
Girls That Never Die: Poems by Safia Elhillo explores the violence and shame women often experience. Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head by Warsan Shire examines what it’s like to be a displaced woman who has experienced trauma. What Kind of Woman: poems by Kate Bae takes a look at life as a woman and its myriad complications and joys.
From “The House” by Warsan Shire
i
Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust,
bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy.
Sometimes the men – they come with keys,
and sometimes, the men – they come with hammers.
From “Profanity” by Safia Elhilo
The week before my wedding, my friend’s dad said:
just don’t get fat, like other wives do
And so I brined him in a deep salt bath, added thyme
and celery. Devoured him whole, in one big bite,
so he could see just how hungry a woman can be
Write: Find inspiration from one of the featured poets and compose a poem about or in honor of a woman or women in general. Choose any form you’d like, or stick with free verse.
Glenda’s Poems
“Fearfully & Wonderfully Made”
For I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Psalm 149:14
then why must i
cleave to a man
submit myself to his will
obey his dictates
be his helpmeet
take his name
if i am made in
the image of god
if i am already
fearfully and
wonderfully made?
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Glenda, thank you for your prompts. I loved thinking about the women in my life over the last few days after reading your prompt. I wrote about a dear friend who rose above…
Her husband in prison
No tuition fees
Visas expired
No money for living
But for years
while they
survived,
she always said
Praise God,
God is great,
Thanks God,
Alhamdulillah.
Glenda, I love this prompt and I really love your poem. I’m so intrigued by the term “helpmeet” and the biblical allusions, especially in this moment when religion seems to be weaponized as a tool of misogyny (I’ve been hearing a lot of “Adam’s rib references lately”). I felt compelled to write about my mom, who matriarched my family through the loss of my dad on 9/11, but i ended up writing about my wife who survived unthinkable domestic abuse. If I may plug a book, my friend Damaris Hill writes poetry on the subject of women in history who faced the unfathomable and survived in her book “A Bound Woman is a Dangerous Thing”. This prompt reminds me of her work.
Ode to the mother of my stepson and a genuine badass Ph.D.
Fielding questions from a kettle of conferencing vultures
you sit in the catbird’s seat.
Zen-like calm pervades your countenance,
a hint of a Mona Lisa smile emergent.
–And I think back to a story you told me…
I reject the trope and the baggage it carries;
You are no super hero, thwarting
the slings and arrows,
coolly commanding the day.
…And yet, when that man wrapped
his python hands around your neck
as you held his child close to your chest,
you clung to your baby boy, biding your time.
And when his asthma attacked
you took is inhaler and threw it
into the bouganvillea
leaving him to struggle for breath
amidst the blossoms and thorns,
emerging bloodied and breathless
sprawled on the lawn–
Next time, you thought,
I’ll smash that inhaler under my heel
and throw it into the crown of thorns
and then, we’ll see about mercy…
Dave,
First, thank you for the book recommendation. I remember reading about that collection and putting it on my TBR list. I just ordered it. Your poem is amazing both in its immediacy of the conference moment and in the memory that prepared your wife for the vultures who clearly did not understand all she’d survived already. I like thinking about diction as intentional, so I notice the obvious allusions to Shakespeare (slings and arrows), the biblical “crown of thorns,” but it’s “Fielding” I’m curious about. I’m reaching into a memory from the late 1970s when I read Henry Fielding’s “Joseph Andrews,” or am I reading too much into this one word? Of course the “I’ll smash the inhaler” reminds me of Lady Macbeth. This image of blood and flowers juxtaposed together is exquisite. ‘Preciate you and this fab poem.
Glenda,
I’m so glad you ordered the book! It’s full of great poems and fascinating histories. I’d love to take credit for the “Fielding” reference, but I just got lucky, I guess. I had “Fielding questions” as an opening which kinda led me to the birds–I was thinking crows–but then when I saw that a group of predatory birds is a “kettle” (who knew? how cool!) the crows turned to vultures. Thanks for the careful reading and feedback. Now I’m off to find “Joseph Andrews”!
What a story this was, Dave, and I loved how you used the Biblical imagery to instead infuse her persona with power in this piece. What a strong woman.
Glenda, thank you for this prompt. I recognized the advice from your poem last night! The question you pose in your poem today is powerful, especially with the religious motif intertwined. I was brainstorming strong women I know in my life, and it made me feel so empowered thinking about their stories. I wrote this one about my fiance’s mother. This is only the beginning of her incredible story.
She started by wandering through the
Iowa cornfields, with tiny bare feet,
alongside the mighty Floyd River.
She tasted sweet rebellion by
sneaking a radio under her bed covers,
listening to forbidden music and news.
She learned. She observed. She felt.
She was devastated by MLK Jr’s
assassination. The Vietnam War
enraged her. She protested in the only
way an Iowa girl in 1972 could. She
stuck a dandelion in her hair,
and flashed a peace sign
as she crossed the graduation stage.
Her father commanded her to vote a certain way.
Her counselor told her women could only be teachers or nurses.
Her town told her to be a farmer’s wife.
Her heart told her no.
So she flashed another peace sign,
drove west and west and west
until the highway ended
and she wandered, barefoot,
alongside the mighty Pacific Ocean
What a sweet tribute to your future MIL. I sure hope you share this with her. I just live the last stanza.
Rachelle, these images are so clear; the sense of your fiance’s mother finding her way and her own strength is cpativating. Makes me want to know more of her story. Beautiful tribute!
Rachelle,
What a beautiful tribute to your nearly MIL! I pictured flowers flying behind her as she drove–gotta love rebel flower children. 😉
Rachelle,
This is a lovely tribute to a woman who chose to go her own way. I love the image of peace and flowers and protest. As a child of the 70s myself, I heard those same messages in my midwestern town, and I drove myself off to college alone. So this poem speaks to my heart in so many ways. We women can light out for the territory too!
My Goddesses
By Mo Daley 1/24/23
I’m lucky, I guess,
That I don’t have to look to poems, books, movies, or new stories
For examples of strong women
I have a sister
Who has spent more than 500 days in the hospital
The last few years, but won’t let anything keep her down
I had a mother
Who lost the love of her life at the age of 50
But managed to make holding her family together look effortless
I had a grandmother
Who had to choke down her anxiety and grief
When all 3 of her sons enlisted in wartime
I had a grandmother
Who crossed the Atlantic at 14 hoping for a better life
Only to discover a new cousin who needed to be raised by her
I had a grandmother
Who fell in love with and married a man who never told her
That he had three motherless children with his late wife
These women are my inspiration
My goddesses
My family
Mo – this tribute to the incredible women in your life is so moving. I think of how many lives have been influenced by their strength in addition to yours – now ours, through you. Thank you for sharing their courageous lives – for they speak courage to us all.
I love the structure of this poem, Mo! It made me wish I had thought of this! You come from a strong line of women. Thank you for sharing.
Mo,
You are lucky to have such strong women role models in your life, just as those w/out them are lucky to find them in stories and poems. I’m so sorry your sister is dealing w m/ such awful health issues. I know you’ve had your own challenges w/ severe illness. Thank you for introducing us to the amazing women in your life.
My dear students
are reading “Things Fall Apart”
Today, following Chapter 8,
(when Okonkwo begins to see
his world
dis
olv
e)
we juxtaposed
1950s 2020s
Hairstyles!
they cried–
then
Hookup culture
Segregation
Birth control
Technology
Recreational drugs
Racism
Love = Love
Sexism
Title IX
Parenting styles
Me Too
BLM
Religious engagement
Attitudes toward
Mental illness
LGBTQ+
Then:
Change=shifts in power
Who has benefited?
Who has lost power?
We listen to the drum.
The world dissolving…shifts in power…”we listen to the drum”…these lines and the questioning are haunting and searing, Allison. And should be…your spare lines are so mighty; they pierce.
Wow. All of this. Especially the end. “We listen to the drum.” I love how this poem is a lesson in itself (the questions pose the lesson, not the answer). You’re a fantastic teacher, and I miss teaching with you!
I love how you’ve tied in what you are doing in class to listening to the drum. I really would love to be a fly on the wall in your classroom. It sounds like a great conversation.
Allison,
Youve taken me back to my own teaching of Things Fall Apart, which was interesting given most of my students took off on LDS missions after graduation. I don’t know that the world will ever fully recover from colonialism. Anyway, your use of “juxtaposed” interests me most. I notice you didn’t say “compared” or “contrasted.” Thst has me thinking. Like the others, I’d love to have heard the discussion your students had.
Allison, this is so good! (I’m definitely going to print out your poem and add it to my TFA folder!) This conversation (and study of the text) sounds amazing!
Glenda, Psalm 139 is my favorite of all the Psalms. When asked recently what my favorite Bible verses are, I cited two from this very same chapter: If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me (9-10). You have inspired me to reflect on why those particular verses speak to me so, looking through the lens of a strong woman. Thank you for this compelling invitation.
Mountain Mama
She stood in the doorway
facing the somber men
baby in her arms
toddler clinging to her skirts
bracing herself
for the worst
coal car
broke loose
ran down the track
crushed him against the wall
of the mine
it was quick
Childhood sweethearts
they were
now their children
would have no memory
of him
at all
her green eyes
faded
to iron-gray
that day
in postwar
Appalachia
a young widow
with babies
hadn’t any choice
but to go
back home to Mommie
and sheltering sisters
and every Sunday, church
Several years later
when the Army man
asked her out,
she said
Not without
my children
and so he took
them all
for better,
for worse…
like history
her story repeats itself:
two children now grown
two more at home
when she answered the phone
he fell in the office
unconscious
in the ambulance
on his way
to the hospital
heart attack
it was quick
Their twelve-year-old boy
stood by her side in the ER
weeping over the body of his father
who will take care of us now?
She caressed his head
and looked at him
with steel-gray eyes:
God will
and I will.
And they did.
The boy told me so
when he took me to meet her
long ago.
*******
In loving memory
of my mother-in-law
1926-2017
Wow, Fran. I can picture her so clearly. This is a wonderful tribute to a very strong woman.
Wow Fran, this is an amazing story of perseverance and strength. The shifting narrative and the highs and lows in the story feel like a novel in the space of a poem.
Fran,
I want to wrap my arms around the mother in your poem and all her sisters who live life in sacrifice to their children. They are the strongest women. The endure and survive. Your poem is perfect. It truly is a thing of beauty and inspiration, and the voice in it is tender and geographically appropriate. I hope you know what I mean. Honestly, I am so touched by this beautiful lyric. Thank you.
Glenda, I love your poem’s bold question. Thank you, also, for sharing such great mentor texts!
Glenda, your prompt set my mind ablaze early this morning. I had no idea where I’d go with it but after my annual mammogram, I prayed for all my loved ones, my Sheroes, who fought cancer. Anyone who fights cancer is a badass in my book (male or female). I wrote 3 Zappai poems and since I don’t usually use foul language, I wrote as foul as I could because cancer is foul! 🤣
#beatcancer
Strength can kick cancer’s
whole ass, but you better know
chemo comes to win
Cancer is a bitch
latching on to healthy cells
to destroy your life
Hashtag fuck cancer
mom, cousin, dad, and who’s next
hashtag mammogram
© Stacey L. Joy, January 24, 2023
Stacey, you are correct! Any woman fighting breast cancer is tough! Your middle stanza says it so well. I lost my best friend to breast cancer a little over a year ago.
Stacey,
You used the language appropriate to the subject of your poem. We should not be gentle w/ cancer, only w/ those cancer invades. I take a liberal view of language, which I see as cultural symbols. My favorite professor said *f*ck* is just another way to show anger. And I love your poem! Hope that mammogram comes back clear.
I am a product of a mother who NEVER used profanity in my presence. I heard her say shit once and it was while she was in hospice so I knew she wasn’t in her right mind. My father cursed like a sailor and I aimed to curse more than he ever could. I did my share up until around 10 years ago when I decided there were better words to choose and profanity is only necessary when no other words work. LOL. I am still a work in progress. Thanks for your hopes for a clear mammogram. I have the same hope and nothing worrying me that it would be an issue.
😘
Stacey, cancer IS foul. Truth. So are the treatments…a doctor once told me a time would come when we would consider chemo and radiation “barbaric”. I’ve lost many friends to this savage illness – one very recently – all of whom fought hard. Love your use of “sheroes” here and the power, the zing, of the Zappai form. It hits home, friend <3
Premenopausal
Diagnosed with breast cancer
My life came to life
Stacey, Thank you for such a heartfelt response to cancer. I feel it on a personal level.
Stacey – I can feel both your incredible strength and your keen awareness of the ruthless evil that cancer is. I’m due for my mammogram now too and know the might that it has had in my sister’s and grandmother’s battles … dammit. Carry my strength with you and know my swords are drawn for you. May all be safe and clear for you. Love you. Susie
Glenda, once again thank you for an amazing prompt! Also, thank you for sharing those books. I will be adding those to my overflowing bookshelf and long list of “To Reads”. And, can I just say that I love everything about your poem? You made me think and wonder why that question hasn’t been asked…at least in print. I wonder what would my pastor say, lol! The one piece of punctuation and the lack of capitalization put emphasis on the actual content. I love it! My poem today is in honor of a children’s book I can let go of, Amazing Grace.
Amazing Girl, Lady, Woman of Grace
Creative Genius, Strategic Planner, Epic Visionary.
Why can’t any of these be what defines her?
Instead of:
Non-male, Non-color, Non-important.
Taken from “Amazing Grace”
“You can’t be Peter, that’s a boy’s name.”
“You can’t be Peter Pan, he isn’t Black.”
Mama to the rescue to nurse the wounds of wicked words.
Nana healed with her words of wisdom.
Grace, amazing!
Undeterred by irrelevant rhetoric,
Nonsense turned to sensical law.
There’s a Grace in all of us.
But who shows her any when she isn’t shown unmerited favor?
Jessica,
I haven’t read “Amazing Grace,” but your poem makes me think of all the falsehoods prevalent in books and what we must do about that. That final question is everything. It’s profound.
I imagine your pastor will tell you that bible verse I referenced is about a man and not a woman. I took poetic license because I’m aware folks read the bible through modern Western cultural interpretations.
Thank you Glenda. And, “Amazing Grace” is a really good book. And I was really just thinking aloud. I’m just curious as to what he would say. But yes, I don’t discredit or ignore your poetic license. This is really good!
OOOOOOwwweeeee, Jessica, this poem begs to be spoken and spoken and spoken!
The love and tenderness of Mama and Nana! Oh, how I miss my mom and my Nana!
Aahhhmazing!
Thank you Stacey Joy! I still have my Mama, both of my grandmothers are gone. I just wish I would’ve taken more notes around my mama because this thing called parenthood is not for the faint of heart! Daughters!!!!!
Men are dumb.
Ok, ok, I know
this is complicated,
problematic at best;
I shouldn’t deal in
generalities, sweeping
or otherwise, shouldn’t
condemn half the
population in one go,
but if the Thom Browne
calf leather and longwing
brogue made of pebble-grain
leather (with a tartan print) fits….
(I like how I’m anticipating
some kind of pushback
here, as if you’re not just
nodding your head, going,
yep, this checks out.)
Now, I don’t want
you to think
that I think
that I’m somehow
excluded
from this.
This is not a “amirite,
ladies? Men, yeesh”
declaration.
I am fully cognizant
that I am part of the
problem. I have more
“offences at my beck”
yadda, yadda, yadda.
You get the idea.
No? Let me explain.
I don’t (really) know how
to use the shirt foldy thing,
you know, the plastic
contraption to help fold
laundered shirts.
I have (also) forgotten to
put some things on the grocery
list or have mistakenly put
an item (or two or three)
on the list that didn’t belong
because I (again) mistakenly
missed seeing said item(s) in
the cupboard.
I have been bent over,
staring into the pantry
when Heather will
reach over my shoulder
and grab the item that
was resting on the
shelf literally right
in front of me.
To recap: there are many,
many things that I do not
know or am unaware of.
I’m not even sure if I should
have used the word “ladies” in
The stanza above or if
I should have said poetesseseses.
I (also) have a hard time
(sometimes) deciding when
to use parentheses (sometimes),
and I mean, look at this
right here, this poem,
a chance to honor women,
and I’ve made it all about me.
See? Not great.
I get that.
And I recently listened to
comedian Marcia Belsky
riff on Sally Ride’s
space flight
when the NASA
scientists, the male
NASA rocket scientists,
asked her, in all
earnestness,
how many
tampons she would
need for her
week-long trip
in space.
They asked
if 100 would
be enough.
I’ve watched the
YouTube clips
of men attaching
the electrodes
that simulate
period cramps,
shocked that
the women
they interact
with everyday
experience
this
for
several
days
every
month.
Look, I know
It might be a
case of what
you don’t know
you don’t know,
so, I get it,
but, man,
I just don’t
know what
to say about
the clips of
women getting
harassed and
catcalled as they
walk down the
streets of New York
other than,
yeah,
I’m sorry,
men are dumb
(sometimes).
I love you for so many reasons, Scott. Even if you are somewhat hampered in certain areas of you life…
Scott,
Like Gayle, I just adore you and your poems. Thank you for owning your deficiencies and doing it in such a wonderfully entertaining manner. I truly appreciate the giggle after a long day of grading and teaching.
This was a wonderful ramble of a poem – and yet, as you always do, you embedded this poem with such wisdom through laughter…you begin with the thesis men are dumb and manage to share about forgotten groceries and NASA ignorance and electrode tests of periods and so much more, leaving me chuckling and aware that we
and, without a doubt, you are an exception to your own thesis statement!!
And Scott drops the Mic….Well done! You just had an entire conversation with yourself, about yourself and those other dumb men who won’t hear what you’re saying because they will admit that this doesn’t describe them.
Scottttttttttt!!! I am in tears laughing. I think your poem could’ve worked perfectly with yesterday’s prompt (all about us, reflecting, digging into ourselves) but of course, it’s all the better to make us women feel better with the first line:
Or all the other lines throughout that validate (speaking for myself) my irritation with dumb men. However, YOU ARE NOT DUMB. LOL you’re a man who is hilarious and talented!
The pantry! I’m still laughing!
Scott,
You write like a girl. 😉 You have words and you use them, and let’s face it, you often write the longest poems, and they’re often stream of consciousness. All this is to say, you get us better than most men and share some similarities, too. My husband golds clothes better than I do, and he. an find things in the pantry better than I. See, it’s all about erasing the stereotypes, which you and Ken are doing a pretty good job accomplishing. Carry on, ally.
Scott: I love it all. Truly. My favorite part is the staring into the pantry when Heather reaches and pulls the item right off the shelf in front of you. My colleagues and I commiserate about this thing EVERY. DAY. re: our menfolk. I feel like there’s a real and honest sense of apology behind these confessions and superfluous use of parentheses. For this I thank you.
Bro,
On so many levels, this is my life. I can’t express how many times I’ve been peering into the pantry, not found what I was looking for, to have my wife grab said item in .05 seconds and tell me that i “don’t know how to look properly.” So, yeah, we can be dumb. I LOL’ed several times through this.
Scott — Line after line of this piece is gold. As a “poetess” among the many reading here tonight, I can say your poem and you are quenching a thirst I’ve had on this topic. You are a gem, and not just “sometimes.” Abrazos, Susie
Susie, holy smokes your poem is brilliant! You could be a stand up comedian with this kind of material. Love your voice and the comments about the parentheses. Still laughing! Thanks for being a ray of sunshine on a gray snowy morning:)
Glenda, thanks for sharing these three poetry collections, which are new to me; I look forward to checking these out. Also, I love how you and Barb are alternating the inspirations this week – and what a fabulous set of inspirations you have offered. I enjoyed an insightful article by Maureen Dowd in the NYT earlier this week, and this poem resulted from this read. (Yes, it’s about a strong woman!)
be like Nancy
know your why
know your what
be firm and clear and resolved
embrace the suck
and when it’s time to
turn over the gavel
do so in four-inch stilettos
hot pink to match your suit
while enjoying
chocolate-covered
macadamia nuts
upward and onward
satin and steel
82 years of strength
and counting
Maureen,
💗 💗 💗 your poem and Nancy. She knows her why! What a strong woman. I told Ken today I miss Nancy. You should send this poem to her. I can’t wait to see picture books honoring her. Your poem. old be part of such a book. It’s perfect! 💖💖💖
Maureen, there are very few women who can take the beating of immature men holding dingy titles in dingy suits. “Upward and onward” shall Nancy go as she lives out the rest of her life…wow, 82 years!
I loved the model poems–I’ll definitely have to investigate those further. Thank you for the provocative prompt.
I tried and tried to break the “curse” of divorce,
but I left my husband eleven years ago.
My inner guilt had kept me there
in an unhealthy relationship
believing it could change
because I wanted to break the cycle
of divorced women in my family.
But now, just past a decade later,
it wasn’t a challenge worthy of my time.
Women who leave,
leave for good reasons.
Women who leave,
are stronger because of it.
Women who leave,
have decided enough is enough.
Women who leave,
want to show their children a better way.
So instead of breaking the curse of divorce,
I carried on the tradition
of being strong enough
to move on,
to be true to myself,
to show my sons how to treat women,
to take care of myself,
to become a better me.
That’s a tradition worth celebrating.
Cara,
I wanted to break that cycle, too. I would have missed out on real love had my first marriage not ended. I love that you give yourself grace in your poem, that you acknowledge the good thing you’ve taught your sons by exiting a toxic relationship. 🙌
Cara, thanks for sharing your story and re,I ding us that leaving often is a mark of strength. Equally important is showing your sons to honor women. Some spouse is going to blessed to have such partners.
Oh, Cara, I love how you broke the cycle – and what a flip on the script you inject here…not the curse of divorce but
So powerful! Bravo!! Especially, the role modeling for your sons – yes!!
THE ENDING!! I loved the parallel structure throughout. In the last stanza, it especially created a strong tone because the words fell into a rhythm like a chant or marching affirmations. Thank you for sharing. You always know how to end your poems with a bang!
Yes!!!!! We women who leave are phenomenal women! I left after 29 years of a hot mess of a marriage. No regrets! All is well with my soul and I know it is with yours too!
Carry on the tradition of being strong enough to move on…
Awesomeness, my phenomenal poet friend!
💪🏽 💪🏽
[I let my imagination and wistful hopes get the best of me today. Wander with me. Susie]
YOU ARE…
It was through the grapevine
that I found Jane
hanging in the fecund
camwood – ironwood forests
of the central continent;
Big T, swinging off with his
gorilla pals,
in search of the next taco,
leaving the real work
to Jane.
She was her own woman,
didn’t need to vocalize
any aah-ee-a-ee-aaahhh…,
calling attention to herself;
but be clear,
she was something
to behold,
her arms sinewy from undulating
through the canopy,
legs with a grip
that could squeeze a Gaboon viper
into submission,
and pearly white teeth
that could chisel through vines
and lasso a Black Mamba.
A survivor,
an entrepreneur,
an artist,
she knew how to adapt,
to preserve what mattered in the wild:
keeping poachers at bay,
engaging the locals to open their eyes
to the treasures of sacred ground,
spotting predators,
two-legged or slithering,
rendering them
like so much bacon fat.
A beacon to all
who would seek to hold dear
the gems of the untouched,
engineering the extraction of cures
from precious Mansonia trees,
while protecting their continued growth,
their bark salving the wounds
of those afflicted,
Jane:
a light.
And when comes the night,
she sleeps
with a mind clear,
and body cleansed,
new at sunrise
to carry forward.
Your iPhone is vibrating,
a hidden voice summons,
open the screen,
tap the photo app,
engage the reverse cam,
smile,
bear witness —
you
are
JANE.
by Susie Morice, January 24, 2023©
Susie, I loved this. It carried me along, vine to vine, stanza to stanza, with its beautiful rhythm and stunning imagery. And the last stanza! I reread it three times just to savor it.
Oh, what fun! Wheeeeeee! I was right there with her, wishing my muscles were toned like that. I’m Jane on the inside – – wanting to breeze through the canopy – – with my feet on the ground. Always amazing, Susie!
Susie,
Im channeling my inner Jane Goodall and my inner Susie. What a remarkable poem and tribute to a woman who set up a mirror for us all. When I was a kid my heroes were Marie Currie and Elizabeth Blackwell. I saw my potential in their path. I just love this poem so much and you, too. 🤗
Susie—yes! I would so much rather be your Jane! And the last line, after that wonderful story? Punching up!!
Suzie, I love this version much better. You call my attention to the of intelligences now: “Me Tarzan, you Jane.” And the iconic call. And there is Jane, not with the adjective “Plain”. I love how you wrote JANE-Yes, she is important!
Susie, there are so many lines to love here! But my favorite, “rendering them like bacon fat.” It just made me laugh aloud. She sure needed/needs her own show, with Tarzan as the sidekick! You always bring a smile, and a touch of what we all need to here.
Susieeeee, standing and clapping!! Brilliant as always but this time I had no idea what to expect. Wow. You are Jane! You are shero! You are a powerful human and I love you!
I am holding this closely, it is what I crave:
Hugs and love, my friend!
Glenda, thanks so for this post! I loved your poem. The strong woman I want to celebrate is my oldest who moves away to college this weekend, making this a tough week for the three she is leaving behind, especially her younger sister who is her bestie and who is another strong woman that I celebrate here.
“I think it’s so weird that I have to pack up my life,”
she says, and, yes, it’s weird that I pack
up part of mine, too – if these walls
could talk, what would they say? Each room
breathing her, bathing
her in light and life, in swing.
The now-swing of her hips,
Womanish with the promise of life,
Body in healthy glow, bathed.
Mind with knowledge, beginner’s wisdom, packed,
but so much room
to grow: Here she climbs the walls,
hemmed in by this wall-
eyed small town. Then, when small, she would swing,
toes touching sky, brushing grass, with no room for fear.
She had her whole life
to dream, open herself, and pack
fear and doubt, deep down, a distant fen
of faraway no’s – instead, abathe
in wonder. These walls
do talk. They see rooms packed
with laughter bubbling light – hair mid-air swinging
as she helicoptered on my hands and knees, hanging on for life,
that flying baby, arms thrust straight out , v-room-
ing into her next life, her future, breathless. Another room
speaks: A tree bathed
in colored lights, flush with life
As two pixies dance around it, awaiting magic, wall-
to-wall joy, pink skirts sing, swing and children mad with joy
collapse into bed, with dreams sugarplum-packed.
Now, she packs.
A half-empty room
sighs: a long exhale. Hangers swing
in closets, lonely. Tears bathe
us all, out and in, as we hope against hope: that walls
won’t erupt from ground barren of life –
Or will tears baptize us: new beings, bathed
in fresh light – new rooms –
new chances for life?
Wendy,
You and I are in similar stages of life. My oldest is a junior in college and my youngest a senior in high school. I am on the verge of empty nestdom and though both of mine are boys, I can see/feel corresponding images flood my senses as I read your poem. It’s hard indeed, but this is what we “trained” for, right? What a beautiful tribute you’ve written!
Love this poem. I am riveting by the words “I pack up part of mine, too” – as your daughter packs…this is the wrenching truth of those off-to-college transitions, both parent and child are packing up all their stuff. Such a bittersweet time. Also, in your poem, I love how the stanzas end ‘incompletely,’ with the phrase carried over to the next stanza, especially “v-room- / ing…” (is the poetic term for this enjambment? I am not sure)…anyhow, here, I feel it stylistically echoes the fragmented feeling you are having about your daughter moving on.
Wendy,
The bittersweet tone shines in your reminiscence of the way your daughter permeates place and people and the promise of new beginnings. Beautiful tribute.
So many wonderful phrases here, filled with bittersweet pride. But, coming from a small town and raising my children in one, this resonated—“ hemmed in by this wall-
eyed small town”. I left mine, and my kids moved away from theirs….
Glenda— I loved “Like a Wife”! The prompt, and your poem is incredible. The strength and the clarion call of protest is…wow.
Strong Women
Where do we find our strength?
Behind the door we close against the cold?
In our empty room?
In the letter we write
to finally say goodbye?
In our tears?
In our laughter?
And when our strength
has been used up,
and we have
nothing more to give,
where do we go to replenish?
We find it in the arms
and hearts
and minds
of other strong women,
who have been where we are,
and know what we need.
Strong women refill our souls.
Gayle Sands
1/24/23
Gayle — I couldn’t agree with you more! Without those “other strong women,” I certainly would not be here. Wonderful tribute! Susie
Ooooooh. You’re singing my song with starting with a question. That’s the heart of this prompt for me. Women are not all the same…so what is it that connects us and defines womanhood? Love the way in to the rest of your poem.
Beautiful! Love that final line, “Strong women refill our souls.” YES!
Gayle,
Okay, this brought on the weepy in me. Yes, we draw strength from other women, but that list at the beginning reminds me the things that make us strong are often things others see as weaknesses.
Gayle, truth here. And history has proven that women have always needed to be strong. The movement from question to statement to nourishment is beautiful here. Having that last line stand on its own to reflect the strength of women is just perfect.
Ada
Here she comes!
She quit driving at 93 and
I could see her in the distance
walking with her hiking poles.
Here she comes!
After losing three husbands
now living with her younger boyfriend
who she wouldn’t marry
“because they all die.”
Here she comes!
Bringing small bottles of wine
from inside her walker
to two men waiting
for her on the patio.
Here she comes!
As she crossed the busy road,
her backpack loaded with groceries,
a half gallon of milk
and a small pan.
Here she comes!
The traffic screached to a halt
as the blind woman crossed.
“Mom, you can’t do that!”
“Well, they always stop for me!”
There she goes!
At 104 lying in her bed
while family encircles
and tells the story
of a strong, stubborn and inspirational woman.
I have a strong mother-in-law who still drives at 91. She’s a force, people say. Isn’t it wonderful to celebrate these women in our lives? “There she goes!”
Glenda–love this poem about your grandmother! When my grandfather died (Grandma was probably 70) a number of men came courting. Grandma wasn’t interested–said they “just wanted someone to wash their socks!!” She reminds me of your wonderful grandmother…
Wow, Susan! Ada is a strong woman, and as long as we have such women in our lives, their legacy and inspiration are alive. Thank you for sharing Ada with us!
Susan, this is a fantastic tribute. I hove the use of repetition and I can understand her not wanting to marry when they all die. What a fantastic woman! Thank you for sharing her with us.
Folks will say the same of you, Susan. Here she comes, sharing, sharing, sharing.
Susan,
I want to be Ada. She obviously lived life in her own terms. Love the repetition of “Here she comes.” I didn’t expect the change in the final stanza. Fantastic poem.
Ada sounds incredible! Here she comes! What a powerful refrain. I LOVE “well, they always stop for me!”
Glenda, your prompt is fantastic and I love your variety of mentor texts. I love your closing lines: if i am already
fearfully and
wonderfully made?
Such a powerful question. I wanted to write something that shows a woman’s will to survive, and although this is truly written for an audience of one, I hope you’ll appreciate my poetic attempt to show my mother’s strength.
A Mother’s Will
perched in her hospital bed
next to the picture window
she watches the world outside
dancing squirrels, birds, butterflies
waiting for the mailman to arrive
her children explode through the front door
after being dropped by the bus at four
always fighting about whose turn it is
to feed their mother some smashed bananas,
maybe some soup, an unforgiving angry group
sometimes a friend stops by
she cries and cries happy tears
touched to have a friend be near
how does she survive
the hours of loneliness, paralyzed
years later her middle daughter
whispers in the dark
Oh, Mother, please forgive us
as she cries, and cries, and cries
begging for her mother’s strength to survive
Barb Edler
24 January 2023
Barb, You say this is written for an audience of one, but we can all relate to a strength that has no explanation. Where does this strong will come from? And how can we find it in ourselves?
Barb, I can’t imagine the sadness your mother felt as life passed in front of her yet seemed to ignore her. Yes, she was a strong woman to endure and find the value of a friend.
Barb— this broke my heart. So much silence; so much pain. I can see the children barreling out of the school bus…and the long intervals of loneliness.
This poem made me cry, Barb! So much pain and longing. Peace and hugs!
Barb — Not just strong women, I love the mother-daughter tether. It is precious to me, that bond, and calling upon a mother to share the strength when we are at wit’s end…well, that just powerful stuff. Amen for your mom…and my mom. Abrazos, Susie
Barb, this absolutely choked me up. That last line: loved it. You paint such a vivid, poignant picture and share a valuable lesson here about attention and care. Loved this.
Barb, the real turnabout of gratitude after years of assuming Mom will always be there. We learned. We know now. She won’t.
I hit post before I finished. This brings tears and is so heartfelt – – I have been there in the dark with the tears, crying for her strength and praying for a peaceful passing to end the suffering in the same breath. Oh, this one hits home. Beautiful and so true.
Barb,
This is both a heartbreaking poem and one of strength. This being alone is my biggest fear. It’s not living alone that worries me; it’s being alone. The poem reminds me of Cats in the Cradle. Seems we learn too late. Beautiful, haunting poem.
Glenda, it’s fun sometimes to recall the small things that make big impressions in our lives. Those who’ve been in the group for a while, know that I lived me my grandparents for a significant number of years during my youth. I watched them closely amazed that they remained compatibly married for over sixty years and were “domestic missionaries” for many of them.! How did they do it?
Whatchu You Mean?
She did it her way
And let you do it yours
She drank coffee. He drank tea.
She sat to do it. He stood to pee.
She straightened her hair;
Folks wondered why,
“Because that’s me. You watch and see
As I live my way and rise to the sky.”
She used the Bible as her guide,
But she did not give in to pride.
“If that’s what you believe
Just help yourself.
I’m ‘ and sponsible to God
While I walk this sod.
“I’s drinkin’ my coffee. Help yo self to yo tea.
That’s quite alright with me.”
Somehow this attitude still will work,
As long as loving we don’t shirk.
Marvelous tribute, Anna, to your grandparents. You final lines: “Somehow this attitude still will work,/As long as loving we don’t shirk.” Powerful truth here!
I love this! Such independence to “live my way and rise to the sky.” She certainly had her way as she walked with God. An inspiration to be ourselves with love.
I love this couple! Sixty years. Yowsa! You come from good stock.
Anna,
Your grandmother is a remarkable woman w/ a bit of a salty attitude I love. The direct quotes really give personality and insight into this relationship.
Good morning friends, it has been a while.
Glenda, thank you for your prompt and powerful words.
Barb, sorry to have missed your prompts the last few days.
El Futuro es Feminino
her future- a book my female progeny
checks out from the library
check out the artistas
fist of blood over her vagina (search Amaia Arrazola art)
fists of brawn when typing that word
punch out the generic stereo-tropes
punch holes in your identity card to
proudly claim your intersections (explore Crenshaw)
proudly know your future is
foraging for…
Stefani, I’m so glad you could join us today. I love your artist references, the specific actions of your poem, and striking word choices suche as “blood over her vagina”, “fists of brawn, and “eneric stereo-tropes”. I’m partidularly fascinated by your provocative end. Fantastic poem!
Hello! So glad you are here today. This is no sweet little shy poem…this holds words of power: artistas, fist, blood, brawn, punch, proudly. I love that you are using these strong words today.
Stefani, I appreciate your using Spanish in your poem. You’re demonstrating that those of us who do not yet understand other languages can understand the messaging when we take our time. This is the freedom of communicating we want out students to experience.
Your poem also reflects the challenge of doing research when one not yet know search terms that will get us to info we need.
Hmmm. An idea for you know what. Will you share there?
Stefani,
Love the code switching and the ending that tells us this young woman gets to write her own verse. Brilliant! Did you see Kimberly Crenshaw on The Reid Out this evening? So good! Favorite line: “punch out the generic stereo-tropes.” I’m here for it!
Glenda, thank you for your words today. I was reminded with my own questions of “then why must I…” with your poem because I have had these same wonders.
I am not sure I’m ready to write a poem yet, but I definitely want to inch my way into the commenting and response sections.
I wrote a poem a few years ago during a time of facing trauma of living with an alcoholic…but my poem was missing something. This is when my son, being pre-K age, told me I am big and touch. And THAT was the line I needed, not only to hear, but to finish my poem. He is right. I keep going, I keep getting back up, I keep facing adversity and living through it all because I have been taught to be a woman that is big and tough, who can do hard things.
Also…Glenda, I wanted to thank you for introducing these three authors. I went down a rabbit hole and ended up buying Kate Baer’s book “I hope this finds you well,” which is exactly up my alley. I am hopeful her book and inspiration for being a strong woman will help me to keep writing through what I face in my journey through life as a woman.
Amber,
It seems to me you’ve written poetry in this note. It’s lyrical and honest. Know this is a safe space for all of us here. I didn’t start writing poetry until 2018. I was 58ish at the time, but this community made my writing possible. Write for yourself, and share when you’re ready. Peace and 🤗 to you.
You are “already
fearfully and
wonderfully made,”
Glenda! There is no question or doubts about it. Your fathers advice is valuable, and this is how I raised my girls too. Today, I want to say thank you to my Mom, who was, is,a nd will always be my inspiration:
To Mom
I owe you, Mom,
For every breath,
for chance to live,
and chance to be.
For care,
wisdom,
patience,
strength,
resilience.
For carrying me
through grief
of lost love,
For showing
how to piece together
the broken world.
For teaching
how to hold my head
when burdened shoulders
seem incapable to straighten.
For love, support, and devotion
with no condition.
I owe you, Mom.
Leilya, your poem gives me a motherhood to strive for. I would be honored if I could be a mom that brings these things to my own children. Thank you for putting these words, thoughts, and feelings out here for us to read.
Leilya, thank you for sharing your powerful connection to your mom with us today. I love the thought of piecing together a broken world and how this is something that comes so naturally to some and not so to others.
Leilya, what a beautiful and gorgeous tribute to your mother. I love how you list all of the atributes she gifted with you “with no condition”. Truly triumphant celebration of your mother’s impact on your life.
Leilya,
Every woman should have a mom like yours. I love this tribute and the list of all the ways your mom has influenced your life. You’ve framed these thoughts beautifully w/ “I owe you mom.” I also think the spacing is a perfect visual representing a lifetime of influence.
Thank you, Glenda! I miss her every day, but these past days are the most difficult for some reason. I did a bit of a different formatting, but when clicked to post, all the lines were aligned to the left.
Wow. I hope I can live up to this for my kids. A beautiful tribute.
Glenda, Thanks for this moving prompt. I feel strengthened by this amazing group of writers. “I am fearfully and wonderfully made!” Thanks for that affirmation.
Solstice Birth
No trumpets sounded
when she pushed you out,
all 9 pounds, 5 ounces of a new
strong woman,
pressed into our lives
with puffy cheeks
and a low chortle.
We looked on in awe
at this package of a girl
born into a solstice morning.
We don’t know yet
your purpose, but we know
ours–to love and nurture
a strong woman in a family
of strong women.
We got you, Baby June!
Margaret…awe…this has all the feels for me. You captured those moments of meeting the baby outside of the womb really well. It reminds me of my first moments holding my children in my arms. Baby June is going to do big things!!!! What a treasure.
Hi, Margaret! Baby June will grow up strong and brave because she has you and all the other strong women in her life. Congratulations! Let her grow happy and healthy )))
Margaret, the potential and unknown of your lines “don’t know yet/your purpose” is heartbreaking and hopeful. It makes me think how this perspective changes at every new age of a child (and adult). Thank you for sharing with us today.
Absolutely precious end! Gorgeous poem!
Margaret,
One day when baby June is herself a strong woman, she’ll read this poem and give thanks for the women who gave her strength and made her a strong woman. You must save and protect these words for her.
Margaret, I love this celebration of a strong woman, by a family of strong women, especially one wrapped as a “package of a girl,” reminding me of the gift she is. And I love that your purpose is known, to love and to nurture – what a momentous event honored by glorious beings.
What a lucky girl! So happy that June is here and yours!
What a celebratory poem of new and treasured life, Margaret! I can see Baby June through your vibrant description. I feel the strength and love and rejoicing over her arrival – and I absolutely adore “We got you!” I cheer her on in her heritage of strong women.
I am not these women
but I love trying on
their words.
Locked rooms inside me
don’t come with keys.
Doors dismantle hammers,
but if you knock, I might
let you in.
I pass my tongue across
my teeth searching for
my crown jewel, not a voice
like hers but silence, then
a breath.
See just how hungry a
woman can be? Indeed,
five decades of curbing
pangs to be seen, to be
full, to be enough, to know
all along: I am wonderfully
made by me.
Sarah, I am moved by your poem, how you extended the words and made them your own. “five decades of curbing pangs to be seen.” I see you. I appreciate you. I love you. You are wonderfully made!
This is such a thoughtful channeling of the mentor poems, Sarah! I love how you incorporate the lines, but own every word. My favorite lines are:
“but if you knock, I might
let you in.”
Sarah, I am getting images of an invisibility cloak of words mixed with the angel/devil on one’s shoulder. I appreciate the experience of this– you have now “dressed us” with your own words and presentation. Thank you as always for sharing and bringing us this space.
Sarah, what a beautiful response to lines from these other women. I notice how you reveal a lot about who you are. I appreciate your strength and confidence.
Stunning poem, Sarah. I love how you sequence your lines and end with “I am wonderfully/made by me”. Gorgeous, powerful poem!
Sarah, how beautiful, to use the strong words from strong women by trying them on, to see how they fit. Isn’t that what we do with written word (in seeing ourselves, what we could be, in the words of others)?I love how you brought it back to being wonderfully made – you most definitely are.
Sarah,
Im inspired by the way you’ve reimagined lines from the poets and the raw truth in the way you’ve woven “fearfully and wonderfully made” into a commentary on and for each woman being her authentic, self-made self.
I love the idea that all the keys and locks don’t matter. It’s who you alone let in, who you choose. That’s one strong woman!
Glenda, thank you for hosting us today and getting our minds spinning about the wonder of the women we are and those who shape our worlds! We are the reason that great worlds turn and small cradles rock. Our hands, as they say, rule. Your poem asks a thought provoking question, and I love that you used a Bible verse and that you ask why. I often think of that hilarious table scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding where the women admit their strategy through the years of leading the husband/father to come up with the idea that has always been theirs, knowing that the only ideas he supports are his own. I’ve recently finished On Writing by Stephen King, and though I don’t read much of his fiction, I have a new respect for him. He goes to the one defining moment and gives his wife full credit.
The Crown of the King
what kind of woman
retrieves wadded papers
reclaims the “trash”
reads his manuscript
redirects his steps
….his catapulting masterpiece
…..his claim to fame
Carrie
the kind of woman
who is the reason
he is who he is
the kind of woman
who is the wind
beneath the wings
of an all-time great
(because it does take a woman)
Cheers for Tabitha King!
Kim,
Love this way of responding to a text, Zooming into a moment and pulling from it a poem. I often think of the partners who live with/alongside teachers and how they have a story to tell that is often pushed to the margins. Great to see a writer’s partner centered in this way. The italics also work so nicely as citations (or commentary). Now you have me thinking about text features — wondering how many women are in the parentheticals.
Peace,
Sarah
Kim,
Like you I don’t read much of Stephen King’s fiction, but On Writing is amazing. I have so much respect for his craft and his Twitter game! I love the question / answer format of the poem and the way it challenges men especially to realize they aren’t all that independent. I should read Carrie. I wonder if after all these years I’d see female strength echoed in On Writing. The name Carry suggests a carrying such as the carrying Tabitha King does.
Kim, I love how you show all of these wonderful tributes Tabitha King provided her husband and how you reveal your subject at the very end. Fantastic poem!
Kim, there are so many women behind the scenes of great men. And the work they do to keep it all happening. Your tribute to Stephen’s tribute of Tabitha honors that work. I imagine all of what could be done if we weren’t focused on greatness and instead focused on care (as women provide). Your words today are a beautiful response to this prompt.
Kim, I read On Writing many years ago and still have a copy around here somewhere… I recall the scene where the offer is made and King looks around at the cruddy apartment and cries…cheers for Tabitha, indeed, for believing in him and his work. Isn’t that what all of us need in one way or another…someone to believe in us? To help us see and believe in our own strength and gifts? What a powerful illustration!
Mama said, “Don’t you never rely on a man for
Nothin'”
So I forge
ahead.
Without asking my
partner.
And it all blows up in my
face.
Then I remember Mamaw
sleeping on a cot in the hospital
room next to Papaw
every night.
First I took it for weakness
Then I wondered if it wasn’t the
strongest
thing I’d ever seen.
Now I’m thinking I
don’t
actually know
what strength is.
In my early-morning brain fog, I forgot to say: Thanks, Glenda for this prompt! I think about this often and it was a great way to keep processing. I loved the poems you shared. I’ve read Sofia Elihilo before but the others are new to me and I’m excited to seek out more of their work. My mama gave me similar advice and in some cases its served me well and in others not so much. I loved your poem for so many reasons. Thanks for sharing it with us.
Chea, that last stanza is one to ponder. The conceptual ideas we have of strength are probably so vastly different – – and whether the wind or the sun is stronger, or tenderness or might, or tough love or meekness, or silence or noise, you raise the question: can strength be first one thing and then another? Wonderful wonderings here.
Chea,
So appreciate how the stanzas build toward a question that it at once an answer, and I keep thinking that, of course, two+ things can be true. Strength in weakness. Strength in asking. Strength in questioning. Strength in noticing. Strength in relying.
Love the transitions so/then, first/then, now. There is strength in this progression, for sure, and these glimpses into relationships is moving.
Peace,
Sarah
Chea,
Based on both your comment and the poem, I’d say your mama lived her advice. I’d call sleeping on that cot love and the strength born of love. There can be strength in surrendering when you love someone and want what’s best for them and their desires become yours. I like to think I have that kind of marriage. I think women know when they do. There’s mutuality i. such a relationship. My poem is more a comment on social norms and not reflective of my marriage, which is my second one.
Anyway, I love your poem. It shows strength, too. Ending w/ doubt is a normal reaction as we find our way.
Hey Glenda! Thanks so much for your comment. It continues to help me consider nuances of strength. I think that the surrendering part is the part that got left out of my mom’s advice. But I get why – my dad had just left her to be a single mother of three kids. My Mamaw and Papaw always had a relationship the reflected the traditional gender roles of the time. Papaw was the bread winner and it seemed to me that she relied on him for everything. But when he lost his leg in a farm accident at the age of 71, she stayed in that hospital room through it all. At first I thought it was weakness – that she couldn’t be without him because she didn’t know how. And maybe that was part of it, but seeing someone you love in that much pain and out of their mind from pain meds and infection and staying through it all, it might be the strongest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. All that to say, I struggle to temper my fierce independence sometimes, which can be problematic in a partnership, but I’m still learning and probably always will be. Appreciate this prompt and this conversation so much.
Chea, I love the specific details and the sound of your Mama and how your poem Carrie’s the reader to your provocative ending reflection.
Glenda, a powerful trio of inspirational poets here today to sit alongside your own strength, your own fearfully and wonderfully made writing! Thank you for introducing me to 3 new writers (to me). I’m feeling in awe and stirred and risen simultaneously.
Cages
A celebrity recently posted
that while in labor
her husband asked
if he could go to the
batting cages
since she was going
to be awhile.
Sure,
sure,
I thought.
Just hand over your own
bat
and be on your way.
Whoooo! No, he didn’t!!!! Now there’s a man who wouldn’t know a grand slam homerun if it hit him square in the face. I love the way you told a story in response to this prompt – nope, women are definitely not the weaker sex.
That title, Jennifer!
The italics work so well here to make ambiguous who the speaker is — the poet, the celebrity, the reader. It’s a lovely use of free indirect discourse (a term I just learned and am trying to understand).
Peace,
Sarah
Jennifer,
Talk about being penned in. My god what kind of man does this. I wonder how many men do this. I love Sarah’s comment about “free indirect discourse” and the ambiguity in the poem. That ambiguity suggests we’re talking about more than one kind of cage women endure.
Woah! He didn’t? This poem reminds me of my former son-in-law’s behavior during my daughter’s labor. Looking back the clues were there all along that he was not up to her strong will. Three strikes, you’re out!
Perfecto! Oh Jennifer…what an image… I wanted to whack the guy! “be on your way” indeed, dude! OMGosh! Perfect title! Susie
Good Morning, Dear Glenda. Thank you for your awesome prompts this week. I’m still noodling around a poem for this prompt. But, this is what I have so far. And, I like it as a jumping off place. Bless your writing today!
The strong women I know
Begin with the question
what makes a woman strong?
Strength of a woman
has more to do with will than muscle.
She needs the will to find her way
in the ‘old boys club’
of the world.
Linda, the “old boys’ club” is alive and well in my neck of the woods, and you’re right – – the will to find the way is the ticket. Will is the winning way.
Linda,
Amen! Love the question, “what makes a woman strong?” And here’s to finding our strength.
Yes! It is by will that the strong women I know are strong.
Linda, Yes, “in the ‘old boys club” indeed along with their swinging dssss.Love the opening question and your priceless response.
Oh, Linda, this poem speaks to me! I don’t know if it’s making me question my own strength or the strength of every woman I know. I love this:
All we need it WILL! We got this!
💪🏽 💙