Welcome to Day 3 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
Barb currently works part time teaching college composition courses at Iowa Wesleyan University in Mount Pleasant, Iowa. After teaching English for forty years, and TAG for four, she retired in 2020. A lifelong Iowan, she enjoys exploring the beauty of nature, especially in her back yard where she can view the Mississippi River each day. When she isn’t reading student work, books for pleasure, or writing poetry, you can most likely find her rooting for the Hawkeyes or playing cards.
Inspiration
The beginning of every year generally inspire’s one to reflect on the past year and personal goals for the year ahead. Self-reflection is a powerful way to reconnect with yourself. Today’s inspiration comes from Rudy Francisco’s spoken word poem “My Honest Poem”: https://www.facinghistory.org/resource-library/my-honest-poem. Francisco shares what he struggles with and what he also knows to be true about himself.
Process
Brainstorm a list of details about yourself. Consider both your strengths and weaknesses. Explore your dreams and shortcomings. Be completely honest with yourself and consider what you know to be true about yourself and the goals you want to accomplish.
Write: Choose a poetic form that suits you or try to develop your own spoken word poem.
Barb’s Poem
I always wanted to be
a Karaoke star
in a getdown getfunky
kind of bar
sashay my hips
sing a sultry song
through painted lips
be the heartbreak
with the boys at the bar
but truth be told
I’d never get far
‘cuz I can’t carry a tune
and I’m too old
to make anyone swoon
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.
Wow, Barb, thank you for this challenge. I always have a hard time taking an honest look at myself. We can never get the whole picture of ourselves. Anyway, here is my late offering, and I would love to sing Karaoke with you. (I can’t carry a tune either!)
I am proud of my humility
I am kinder than I sometimes act
I am confident yet uncertain
I am creative yet fruitless
I am resourceful yet unimaginative
I am savvy yet slow
I am adept yet inept
I am conflicted
Barb, thank you for this process and for sharing Rudy Francisco’s poem. I love his work.
My Honest Poem
I’m a work in progress ~
always evolving, adjusting, but
never fully complete.
I need routines and structure ~
the stabilization to my. imbalances, and
the vexation to my “go-with-the-flow”.
I am consistently inconsistent ~
faith-filled, glass-half full, and driven, yet
doubtful, contrary, and lethargic.
I love teaching and being a teacher ~
my classroom is my happy place, and
my students are my WHY.
I have no specific dreams for the future ~
content with the present; the here and now, while
always evolving, adjusting and never fully complete.
Thank you again, Barb! I am finally here. Where did the day go? I am late to the game, but wanted to post anyway.
Decided to play with the Ides of March, my birth date, and it brought me some place I didn’t expect. Who knows what other dark corners I am avoiding?
Beware the Ides of March
Far-removed from Caesar’s ambitions,
“Beware the Ideas of March”
Was my usual disposition.
Scared someone would barge
Into my quiet and trusting soul
Crudely trudging its solace,
I skillfully hid my fears.
Took me years and brooks of tears,
To find out that Ides of March
Is just first new moon of the month,
No need to expect betrayal,
No need to seamlessly blend,
It’s beginning;
It’s not the end.
Here I am,
I am here,
I am.
Leilya,I love the echo you create by the end of this. I love it. Your self-affirmation and how you recognize your birthdate is nothing to fear because “It’s beginning; It’s not the end.” Very powerful poem! So glad you posted it and I could find it here today:)
What a beautiful poem and the ending is all LOVE!
I feel this in my soul!
Leilya, masterful work! I’m glad I stopped here today to catch what I missed!
“took me years and brooks of tears” is such a clever and lovely line. I love your new take on the Ides of March. And that powerful ending. Beautiful!
Curtain Call
By Mo Daley 1/23/23
The theater has called me for years
As a patron, yet many times I think
I can do that!
I could be on stage, emoting with the best of them
I could live vicariously through the angst-ridden characters
Of Dostoyevsky, Ibsen
And likely even Shakespeare
I mean, I could, if I didn’t worry about my awful voice
My projection
My memorization
My stamina
My thin skin
The Nederlander and Goodman will have to press on without me
But perhaps I can look into community theater when I retire
Mo,
Oh my goodness did you look in my brain or what?? I, too, think I could do that if only…
Love your second stanza for its honesty and probable self-exaggeration. Now, get out of my head. 😉
Mo, I love your poem, and I’d love to see you on stage! Loved your line “I could live vicariously through the angst-ridden characters”. I thought your list of worries was effective in showing your fears or reasons that you haven’t yet pursued the stage, but, hey, I hope you do pursue community theater when you retire, and if you do, please let me know. You might find me applauding you from the audience.
Mo, I have no doubt that you’d “rock the stage” as the kids say….I don’t think they actually say that…but believe me, as a community theater actor and director, I can say that “acting” in the classroom is so akin to “acting” on the stage. You could (and should) do it!
Hi, Mo! Love your poem! You just captured some thoughts many of us had and still have. I certainly do. But seriously, you could easily be on stage, just like Barb could be a Karaoke star! In that dream reality, I could probably be a dancer ))
Let’s do it together! As a teen, my goal was to live and die in the theater, maybe marry a director, and take grand vacations! We can do this, Mo!
🎭
Yes, do! Hopefully Scott’s encouragement will really make you do it. It does sound fun!
Thank you, Barb, for this opportunity to reflect. I really enjoyed your mentor poem as well as the one by Rudy Francisco, which I think I had seen before. What an excellent prompt to pull from that piece!
It bothers me when
things are out of place, includ-
ing one syllable.
Rigidity comes
easy. Flexibility
still demonstrates strength.
Haikus are supposed
to be about nature,
so here goes nothing:
Douglas Fir stands tall
attacked by wind, ice, and rain.
Yearns to be bamboo.
Rachelle,
What a fun poem. I love your reminder that Haikus are supposed to be about nature. So many forget that.
Rachelle,
I just love this so much (but that syllable…!!!). I love that you turned the formal structure on itself–wonderful. Your last stanza (ahem, fully structured) is a perfect finale.
Oh, Rachelle, I had a great laugh reading your haiku. I can sure understand its desire to be Bamboo. I’m actually one who loves to work with syllable counts so I could definitely relate to your poem. Marvelous poem!
Rachelle,
Your poem reminds me of when I was so rule-bound that I was hell bent on yea hung kids subjunctive mood, and lots of other grammar rules. Then I realized the negative impact being rule-bound had on my creativity. Your final haiku is a fantastic nod to both traditional form and the need to bend and mold the old to make it new.
Barb, I really enjoyed the spoken word and your poem. I’m sure you kill at karaoke!
Here goes…
No.
Today’s to do list
reads like a page
of David Foster Wallace footnotes–
I can’t seem to stop adding outside the text,
What’s next…
10,057 emails in my inbox,
grades due–I’m on the clock,
a student rec, drafts to correct,
kid pick up and I’m on deck;
phone keeps buzzing, better check,
survey due, gotta write that review,
leaky faucet and smoke backed up
from a clogged up flue,
3 o’clock zoom, check in with noom,
Apple store drop off (pinwheel of doom),
Can I add that student? I’ll make room…
Gotta practice for the show, and write that poem,
sometimes I wish I could just say no.
David,
You hit so many notes that just clicked for me: David Foster Wallace footnotes, 10,057 emails, grades due, a student rec. Sheesh, have you been watching me? You found the perfect theme.
Pretty much everything Cara said! I also love the rhythm and sound of your list.
Yep, ditto, Dave. Cara and Mo said what I came here to say! (Oh, and just that I do “this” too…saying “no” is hard. I think it’s definitely a learned skill that I have not yet mastered.)
Dave, your to-do list sounds jammed pack. I appreciate how you show your desire to include any student in this piece. Lots of action and sound words to create the frantic pace of your life. Balancing self-care, job, and home is definitely a crazy and sometimes impossible dance. I understand the desire to be able to say “no”. Another fantastic poem! Thank you!
Dave, what a great to-do list. It is, I’m sure, authentic things on your list. Well done, and the ending that includes writing “that poem” is superb.
This made me laugh:
I haven’t used a Mac for a decade now, but the frustration of this rainbow wheel came back to me.
Well, let’s just say – I put my foot in my mouth today…and so my connection with my inner self is a little frayed (awkward laugh ensues)…here’s all I have
inside I am muddled
surprised and confused by my own harshness
searching for ways to redo kindly
searching for ways to clarify
searching for ways to fix
knowing
there’s a proverbial elephant in the room
I created
Maureen, we are our own worst critics. However, I do love your choice of verbs: muddled, surprised, and confused. Because with all those mixed emotions, searching, searching, searching…you have created a surprising array of character. Thank you for sharing.
Maureen, I can totally relate to “searching for ways to redo kindly”. Wouldn’t it be great if we could go back and edit moments in our lives. “searching for ways to fix” Yes, it’s a never ending search for me. Love how easily I could relate to your poem. Provocative and moving poem. Thank you!
Maureen,
We’ve all birthed these elephants and expect perfection from ourselves and castigate ourselves when we make a bit of a mess. You’ll figure this out and deserve grace no matter what. Sending peace and light and a prayer all will be well w/ a new day.
Maureen, I really like the parallel structure you developed throughout. It feel like I am inside your thought process with that pang of regret when you feel like you said something that missed the mark!
Oops! This so perfectly captures the feelings of guilt and ickiness that come from those moments when we gaffe. “there’s a proverbial elephant in the room/I created”–I can so relate to this.
Maureen,
As someone who has opened mouth, inserted foot on occasion (ahem), I felt this in my bones. The seeming simplicity of your poem belies the complicated emotions after allowing your mouth to open before your brain can stop it. Well done. I hope the frustration passes quickly.
Barb, I love our inspiration poem and your mentor poem. I think we all need to get together and cheer you onto a karaoke stage. Maybe in November. I e had several false starts today and wish I could offer something better than this. 😔
Seeing Slant
I’ve seen my distorted
reflection in this
house of mirrors—
erected outside myself
polished by society’s
patriarchal myopic stare—
since mid-twentieth-century
year of the land dog.
I’ve noticed sideways
squinty glances from
strangers & watched
men gaze in horror
while nasty women like
HRC and RBG and me
embrace my feminist
father’s death-bed advice:
Never put up with
crap from any man.
&
Never be financially
dependent on a man.
I’ve been seeing slant
since 1958. Forgive
me not for my resolve to
accept myself just as I am,
to offer no plea for this
bone I have to pick with
those who refuse to see
my full female humanity.
—Glenda Funk
January 23, 2023
*As many of you know, 2022 was quite a struggle for me in terms of vision issues. I obsess over my eyes for many reasons, and I’m still dealing w/ problems from my surgeries a year ago.
Glenda – This is a woman I truly admire, love this strong voice… and your dad’s spot-on maxim.
I hate thinking that your eyes are troubling you. Doggone. The “slant” is a very important term in this poem. It gives you and gives us a particular view… we see you, we see that humanity. In every poem you cut us another slice of that pie. We are lucky that you share your strength and your slant. Thank you! Susie
Let me second Susie Morice’s comment, yes! Your father’s advice/words are so inspirational for any daughter to hear…I love the idea that you’ve
Glenda, your poem is absolutely amazing. I love how you tie in your eyesight problems but balance it with the female power you possess. You are a true inspiration. Your father gave you amazing advice, and, unfortunately, I do feel that society often looks at only surface features failing to see the power a woman can possess which just reminded me of a nun I had in college who was very unassuming and a gentle soul who said, “Never underestimate the power of a woman.” Don’t you just love that! On a final note, I love how your line “I’ve been seeing slant” weaves the entire poem together. Outstanding poem!!!
Your father’s words were empowering – and his wisdom was a steering current in making you a self-sufficient woman who is confident and caring. I also know that despite the vision challenges you have had this year, you have carried on and seen the bright side – travels, adventures, and perspectives.
Glenda, much love to you for being present today. Now that I can understand the context I think you offered much. And I’m a Daddy’s girl so I always tried to follow his advice. If only those people with “sideways squinty glances” has followed their own loved one’s advice. This is very deep, but very inspirational.
Wow, Glenda. The first stanza captivated me with phrases like “distorted reflection” “patriarchal myopic stare”. That motif of vision and feminism continues throughout, fittingly, and I really enjoyed reading. Thank you.
Late Bloomer
I could list
all the reasons
my self-esteem
took its own sweet time
manifesting,
but really,
I’m just a late bloomer.
In high school,
I remember being
envious
of people who talked
in class.
Confidently raising
their hands,
offering a maybe
not correct
answer,
but trying anyway.
That was not me.
It got a little better
in college.
But then I became
a teacher.
I guess I didn’t
think that through.
Every day
I am on a stage
of sorts
in front of students.
I am in the spotlight
and I,
apparently,
am a bit of a ham.
Who knew?
Once you find
your audience,
the fear
dissipates.
Cara,
You wrote the poem I needed to write but couldn’t. I’m still over here stuck in the seed of today’s prompt, waiting to germinate. As one late bloomer to another, keep blooming! You’re rocking that classroom stage.
Lol, I made a “rock the stage” joke/reference on Mo’s poem above. Unbeknownst to me — 3 hours earlier — you used the line in earnest! I like knowing we were on the same wavelength of sorts!
There is so much wisdom here!! “Once you find your audience, the fear dissipates.” – this is a kitchen magnet/a bumper sticker…truly sage advice. I laughed at these lines –
Cara, I love how you lead us to your ending lines. You’ve nailed it in your final stanza, and I agree an audience is everything and you do have to be in the spotlight when teaching! Fantastic poem!
I really love that set of lines in the context of this poem! Especially with the resolution at the end of the stanza.
I can literally hear you say this: “and I, / apparently, / am a bit of a ham. / Who knew?” the sarcastic rhetorical question just *fits* your voice perfectly. I would have never guessed you weren’t the kid raising their hand effortlessly with every question. Thank you for sharing a piece of yourself today!
Cara,
Not sure I would call you a “ham” but your students afore you!! You are very good at what you do. I am very surprised to learn you were a late bloomer in the confidence department.
Cara, I love that your initial trepidation/reticence has turned into you being “a bit of a ham” in the classroom. Kids love that! And there is so much truth in your last stanza: “Once you find / your audience, / the fear / dissipates.” Thanks for writing and sharing this!
JUST PLAIN BAD.
Even at the age of twelve,
I had a streak of just plain bad.
When Duchess, our German Shepard,
observed us bury
my sister’s parakeet, Petey,
that regal dog seemed to understand
this was something
special –
our little funeral,
standing around the flower bed out front,
Deanie all weepy and sad,
while I tried to think of funereal things
to say, apt for the gravity
of the moment.
After we’d stepped back in the house,
Duchess caught my eye,
beelining to the flower bed,
ripping at the interment site,
she scratched li’l Petey out of the matchbox,
plucked him from the shroud of Kleenex,
and tore around the yard,
feathers in her mouth.
I burst out laughing,
to think that our funeral
turned into a shrieking
Chucky horror movie.
Birdy gone.
Duchess romping.
Little sister horrified.
Me, well,
I’m just plain bad.
I couldn’t quit laughing.
by The BadSister Susie, January 23, 2023©
Susie,
Im sitting in the bad girl corner w/ you as I laugh through your poem and imagine the chaos of bird feathers blowing around. I think we need a series of adult picture books w/ stories like this one front and center. What a joy to read and revel in being bad.
You had me laughing at “I tried to think of funereal things/to say” – I can ‘see’ you at age 12…I was much like you, myself. I continue to be filled with inappropriate responses at solemn times…
Susie, oh my, what a fun poem. I love how you capture this scene so vividly. Your tone is perfect here and the language is priceless depicting the action and how you were feeling. I’m laughing at loud after reading your two final lines: “I’m just plain bad./I couldn’t quit laughing”! Love it! Thank you for sharing this kind of sad but kind of crazy, too, moment from your childhood! Absolutely adore the way you create humor in your poetry:)
Susie, I’m rolling. This is horrifically hilarious, and I love the badness. “Funeral things to say” conjures the imagery of somberness….and then the dog. Duchess. She stole the show. I’m so glad you wrote this – what a hoot!
Hi Barb! You had me at
How fun! I love this prompt, your poem, and I’m always a fan of Rudy’s poetry. My sister and I saw him perform live years ago, and he is second to none.
I am in the midst of celebrating my best friend’s birthday so my poem is rough. I will try to respond to posts tonight if time permits, but if not, I’ll respond tomorrow.
unplanned pregnancy
my parents were separated
when I was conceived
mommy’s pregnant misery
mixed with daddy’s distance
but I was born on 11/11
my father was a Veteran
I was 9 pounds and some ounces
my mother was a teacher
back then many mothers smoked
while pregnant
mine did, but I was
a big fat healthy baby
I didn’t know unconditional love
I wonder how different I would be
if I had been a Daddy’s Girl
or if I saw him honor my mom
I talked too much and cried like a baby
and read books and wrote stories
to escape into a kinder world
to be the girl who’d fit in and stand out
self-love has been a journey
a rough road with pot-holes
and unexpected twisty turns
in tunnels where sometimes there was little light
but I’ve always been tough, maybe a little too hard
like I needed an extra coat of armor
a spare pair of claws or sharp teeth
to protect the little girl inside
I guess girls who grow up with supportive fathers
walk through life vulnerable and free
not me, I’m Stacey Lorinn Johnson Joy
I write poetry, teach, bake, and don my battle scars
I love my flaws and my fire
my weird fears and my freaky dreams
I love being seen and being invisible
I love believing one day, my life will all make sense
© Stacey L. Joy, January 23, 2023
Stacey — This journey is beautiful in so many ways. The strength that is here is very real. The ability to love…”my fire…” and the “claws and sharp teeth”… so much coming forward in a strong soul… You’ve shared so honestly here, so vulnerable yet powerful. I loved knowing you a little more through the lines here…your words are always strong in images…the girl who will “don… battle scars” and “love…flaws.” YES. And we are all doggone lucky to know you through your poems. Abrazos, Susie
This is beautiful, authentic, vulnerable, and fierce. ❤️❤️
Honestly, this impresses me so: “I write poetry, teach, bake, and don my battle scars.” You are just as awesome as can be!! I love this description, this self-confidence, self awareness – so beautiful.
Stacey, I feel your pain in this especially with your lines “I needed an extra coat of armor/a spare of claws or sharp teeth”. Your viivid imagery poignantly demonstrates how you have to put up barriers sometimes to simply survive. I appreciate your honest voice and how you show your fighting, courageous spirit. This poem is on fire, shining with your incredible beauty, strength, and the joy you always share in life. Thank you for gifting us with your magnificent voice today! Much love and hugs! You rock!
I’m bottled sunshine and pocket glitter.
My passion is bottled up in glass
waiting to be shattered and
yet handled like I’m fragile —
the liquid courage curdles when shaken.
I’ve been told that I am warm,
like sunshine filtered through spring
growing and growing
to fill the spaces I’ve loved.
I once kept myself small,
a seedling, a silent cricket
wiggling under a crumpled confidence
until I heard the secret whispers
folded in the scraps
of paper wings I stained with ink.
I wave it in the air
a flag, a banner, a golden ticket
the way forward is through
a colorful, creative community
that someday I’ll find
that rainbow connection
swept up glitter and confetti
that I refuse to dispose.
Erica,
This is powerful! I especially love
Erica, I adore the title of your poem. Priceless! I love how writing has carried you to a new confident self that you “refuse to dispose”. Powerful and gorgeous poem!
Erica! I can relate to your first stance, my passion is bottled up, but I want the right thing to smash it, if that makes sense. “Rainbow connection”-I immediately imagined my husband singing in her Kermit voice. What a proud way to display your You. Thank you for sharing.
Oh Erica! You are sunshine and glitter! This is my favorite line:
until I heard the secret whispers
folded in the scraps
of paper wings I stained with ink.
Those paper wings will take flight.
No, no, no, no,
there seems to be
a bit of a misunderstanding.
Apparently, the Internet Gods,
those ministers of Ones and Zeroes,
thought I was disparaging ChatGPT
and other A.I. programs with my poem
the other day.
Heaven forbid. I would never.
I know they will be useful tools,
uhm, I mean, collaborators
in educating the youth of tomorrow.
I don’t know how they’ve done it, but
the past couple of days have been
like Maximum Overdrive up in here:
Every computer screen I own has
been flashing the question,
“Shall we play a game?”
And this terrifies me.
My Bluetooth-enabled can opener
(because who wouldn’t want to
know the weather report before
you decide which soup to open)
nearly sliced off the pad of my
left index finger, which makes
typing “t”s and “f”s especially
difficult (ouch).
And let’s not even talk about
how I now have a three-foot
(ouch again) scrape in my
smart car because I let it
parallel park itself.
So, again, I don’t know how your
doing it, A.I. Overlords,
but I’m pleading with you
to stop and show
a modicum of mercy
here
Oh, ha ha
I see you changed my
your to your in the
previous stanza
you did it again
your
your
YOUR
Hey, I’ve admitted to
being at _ault here.
(Oh, _or _uck’s sake!
You can’t take away
the use o_ my “_” key!
Or, rather, I guess
You can.
sorry,
sincerely.)
Scott, you always manage to get me snickering….chuckling…then laughing. I saw the your and thought, “now that’s not Scott…” Of course. It was the overlords. Genius and clever.
This…made me laugh out loud after a long day. Loved it, and thanks. 🙂
Smiling to giggling to laugh out loud. Damn those overlords. I ate it wen tey do tat!!
Scott, this is the chuckle I needed today after writing my own poem and reading so many that seem, on the surface, so personal. But, then, too, they speak to and for me.
Your poem does the same in a different way. I chuckle only because I am not faced each day with the challenge of teaching students to believe in themselves and not to depend so much on technology. It’s artificial. They are real! Someone designed the AI.
Maybe they, our students, will design something more practical! Like self-grading papers that have the same standards of originality and honesty that we seek in the writing of our individual students.
Oh well! Until then, we have OPEN WRITE to write openly about what’s inside us!
Yes, the subtleties are super here, Scott…. the overlords have you by the tail. Another brilliant piece! I laughed at the Bluetooth can opener…LOL…I have a WiFi fridge that I have no clue why on earth I’d want to tell my fridge to do a darned thing. You are so darned clever. Susie
Scott, okay, you’ve got my belly laugh button turned on. The way you’ve manipulated the text in this poem is fantastic. Very fun poem and I’ve never heard of a blue tooth can opener, but I’m guessing this really does exist, and later when I Google search the invention, I imagine I’ll be haunted by all kinds of interesting inventions when I try to see what’s going on in the world via FB. LOL! Your, your, your poem is absolutely delightful. Thank you:)
“Come with me to Florida,” he said.
We’ll rent an apartment.
move in together
We can flee to flight attendant school
The air will be moist and tropical
The sun will shine all year
Lizards will skitter hither and yon
On the walls of our home.
He skittered; I stayed
True to myself:
Settled, reliable, grounded.
The snow fell like diamonds
The ground crunched with each step and shattered
Each exhalation was a puff of life
Which grew in my body
And then was lost.
Oof. This hits hard! He skittered; I stayed. Said it all. The lines,
“The snow fell like diamonds
The ground crunched with each step and shattered” struck home for me with a vengeance. Amazing imagery…
Wendy, I love how you show where you were grounded with the imagery you shared such as “The snow fell like diamonds”. Love how you demonstrate your ability to be true to yourself and not caught up by a guy who “skitters”. Powerful sequence here! Powerful poem!
There is so much to like here, Wendy. Your skillful sounds pulled me in right away. Your last stanza is lovely. Terrific imagery.
This was fun, yet challenging Barb. I guess I needed time to self-reflect on myself and today was the day. I hope that one day you’ll be a Karaoke star, even if you can’t carry a tune. Remember William Hung? I love the visual imagery: “sashay my hips”, and the alliteration: ‘getdown getfunky”, “boys at the bar”. It was a fun poem that I hope to have a great memory of when my daughter thinks I’m officially old.
Here’s mine.
Facing the Mirror
Oh you’re Mr. Bell’s daughter…
And?
What’s that supposed to mean?
You look at me like I’ve been charged with manslaughter.
I made my own character, discovered at eighteen.
Once quiet, shy, and nosey, no —
Observant?
Creeping in the shadow.
No need to write a manifesto;
You wouldn’t even be able to decipher its meaning, I suppose.
Overgo-go-go-go-getter with two many hands in miscellaneous pots.
Multi-tasker?
Only making noise, a boisterous symphony
of papers, books, dreams, goals, and whatnots.
A cacophony of organized chaos, played skillfully.
Redefined as a unique design,
Aesthetic?
Master pieces of a marvelous mess.
Jealousy, lust, naivety (at times), love, hate, and vulnerability entwine,
Not good enough for the Lord to bless.
Oh but wait, it’s a miracle!
Merciful?
Dedicated, intelligent, genuine, and insightful.
A hindsight almost satirical.
Appose my past and present to make life all more delightful.
Jessica–this just tumbled out down the page!! I know so much about you, thanks for your precise and delightful descriptions. This is my favorite stanza–
Overgo-go-go-go-getter with two many hands in miscellaneous pots.
Multi-tasker?
Only making noise, a boisterous symphony
of papers, books, dreams, goals, and whatnots.
A cacophony of organized chaos, played skillfully.
Wow!
Thank you Gayle. I’m glad I was able to paint a vivid picture, but I feel there’s more to uncover!
This is a wonderful introspective poem. I can relate to much of it and wish I could have written it as well as you. You describe the human condition in a personal and hopeful way.
Thank you Susan, it took a few hours. I will say that I’m proud of this one. I dissected myself with a perfect scalpel.
Jessica, your word play throughout this poem is phenomenal. I love the “cacophony of organized chaos” and “Dedicated, intelligent, genuine, and insightful”. Your opening lines pulled me immediately into your poem. I must concur, you do make life more delightful. Wonderful fun poem. Thank you!
Thank you Barb for your kind words. I didn’t used to be delightful, but I quickly learned. I was deliberate with my wording and intention.
I really enjoyed the use of questioning as that comes up in each stanza — especially since it shifts from accusatory to introspective.
Jessica,
Im captivated by the musicality of your verse. At first I read slowly, as though experiencing your contemplation; then the sounds and harmony—even present in cacophony—had me moving along at a more rapid cadence. This paradox of being alike but unique both in ourselves and in the one before and the one after will always be one of life’s great mysteries. “A hindsight almost satirical” is my favorite line. It’s a delightful way to wrap up a celebration of life in words.
Me
I love the sunshine
It brings joy and ambition.
But those dark days
leave unmotivated, without mission.
Born a California girl
wind in my hair, smell of the ocean
learned to skate early on
now can’t – got falling motion.
Being first born, I am an achiever
always full of ideas and willing to lead
but bad at following through
with duties from another’s deed.
I am loyal to a fault
hard to quit a friendship. I’ll cry
broken hearted if you move away
or die.
Love to create new
inventive cooking while I chop.
My imaginative baking
can cause a distasteful flop
Happens again with my painting,
mixing color combinations
that make a big mess
on my hands, floor and work stations.
I’m Susan, with a common name,
a strong will, huge ego and smile.
Wanting friendship with Andy Warhol
yet not willing for that lifesyle.
Now that I am aging
I’ve settled in my ways.
Knees and back slow me down.
Still bringing the best days.
Susan, I love how you show your interests and personality in this poem. It sounds like anyone who becomes your friend is extremely lucky. I had to life at your lines about Andy Warhol and not “willing for that lifestyle”. Love the way your poem flows and can totally relate to the slowing down and “I’ve settled in my ways”. Thanks for sharing today!
Hi Susan. Thanks for sharing so many of your interests in your lovely poem. I love the idea of an Andy Warhol friendship!
I was born on May 21st; that makes me a cuspy one.
People always wanted to know: Gemini? or Taurus?
I realized signs were a way for people to get to know
you without having to find out for themselves the you
that defied signs and made messy identities.
I don’t want to say my height because I like that
you can look me in the eye through this poem.
I won’t say my weight because its regulated
by the bikini industrial complex that socialized
a body I never learned to love but try to appreciate.
I can’t say I am loud or quiet but I know when people
lean in that I am swallowing my words. I’m ashamed
that I can’t speak without raising my voice at the end
and only use my true voice when I am teaching, which
I can’t even say why because it will sound like gloating.
What I know is that I f@cking don’t know who I am
a lot of the time and f@cking don’t know what I am
doing most of the time yet still know that I am
getting closer to being with every cuspy confession.
Sarah, wow, your ending is striking. I love how you reveal so many personality and physical traits about yourself in this poem. I also love how you show that you’re neither loud or quiet but recognize when you need to speak a bit louder. Of course, there are people out there like me who really have trouble hearing. Rats! Your closing is what resonates because it is so relatable. I feel exactly the same way. I have these stupid inner demons who want to constantly hound me, questioning too many things. I need to be more like Gayle who just wants to enjoy life as it is. I love your clever closing line “getting closer to being with every cuspy confession.” Beautiful and powerful poem, and btw, I think you’re not only incredibly graceful and gorgeous, your spirit is inspiring. Much love, Barb!
Sarah, I’m just gonna read this poem w/ those F-bombs because I like that side of you and don’t think I’ve heard you utter those words before, which I’m hoping will remedy itself this year, and maybe that will be my resolution.
Yes, “signs were a way for people to get to know
you without having to find out for themselves the you
that defied signs and made messy identities.”
Im over here hiding in uncertainty about who I am and what I resolve in 2023. Wish I’d thought of “bikini industrial complex.” It’s a perfect distillation of what. controls us.
Sarah, I love the honesty that I am hearing in all of the poems today. Here is my favorite, favorite part:
I don’t want to say my height because I like that
you can look me in the eye through this poem.
This is what I love. That as readers, we can look the writer in the eye and feel that kinship that doesn’t always happen in person. One of the many reasons I love the close feel of this group!
First of all, “cuspy” is a great word, and then you followed that with the height comment, and I had to eliminate the going-upness of my sentences when I moved from a very Scandicentric area to Maryland. And whenever I go back to visit, it comes back!!
Oh gosh, Sarah — I love this honest “cusp confession.” Your self scrutiny is precious and so much akin to what I feel myself…the no knowing who or what but always working at “getting closer.” I like the whole notion of “cusp” because it has so much potential to shift and be whatever it will be…sobeit! The jab at the “bikini industrial complex that socialized/a body…” dang…SPOT ON! My entire life I have chastised myself for a body that never felt like it was good enough…even when it was good enough. Dang! Dandy piece you’ve shared, and I truly appreciate it. Abrazos, Susie
Sarah,
This flows so easily (and I suspect you composed it easily), revealing so much about you. There is such a balance of self-acceptance with a smidge of self-loathing. I really love these lines:
Barb–this prompt was great, and I am SURE you’d be great at karaoke!! The rhyme scheme and the rhythm of your poem tell me so!
All the Things I Wanted to Be
When I was five,
there was a department store in town with an elevator
A lady sat on a special stool
and moved a big lever
back and forth to take you from floor to floor.
When I was five.
I wanted to be an elevator operator.
When I was twelve,
I wanted to be a stewardess,
competently serving food and drinks
in a smart outfit, with great makeup,
and a hat perched on my perfect hair.
Then I found out
that you couldn’t be a stewardess with 20/600 vision.
When I was thirteen, I just wanted
to not be tall and skinny
with thick glasses
and no athletic skills.
I wanted to be Julie Malinoski,
who was tiny, with freckles and she was a cheerleader
and she was really, really popular.
All I had were the freckles.
When I was seventeen,
I just wanted
to be somewhere else and someone else.
It really didn’t matter who or where…
But I knew that I could be
someone more interesting
than who I was.
When I was twenty
and twenty-five
and thirty and thirty-five,
I wanted to be important.
I wanted more.
Whatever more was.
Then I was
Fortyandfiftyandsixty,
and all I wanted
was for my children
to want good things for themselves,
and to get what they
needed from the world.
(but hopefully, they didn’t want the elevator operator job)
And now, I am so close to seventy,
I realize that somehow,
I got everything I needed,
and more than I imagined.
And I just want it to last.
Gayle Sands
1/23/23
I so enjoyed this timeline progression of stanzas, witnessing your wants. When I arrived at your final stanza, I was smiling and relieved and reassured that “I got everything I needed/and more than I imagined.”
Thank you.
Gayle,
Such a wonderful balance of what you once wanted and total contentment in what you have had.
I love when you form those ages into one word. Clever.
Gayle, I love how you reveal your various stages and desires in life that ends with such an amazing end. I also had a great laugh how you reconnected the elevator operator job in the second to last stanza. Your last line is superb: “And I just want it to last”. Yes! I understand! Outstanding poem! Thank you!
Your last stanza says loads! I feel the same way at 76. Thanks so much. I regret that I have trouble remembering my days of growing up and the wants. It’s all a blur. Yours is a fun tale.
Gayle, that elevator lady….I want to be her still. And I know exactly where I want to work. I want to work at the Grove Park Inn in Asheville being that old-fashioned elevator operator. So many famous people come through there – – and I want to get stuck in there with a few of them just to have a long conversation! I love what you’ve done here – – the passage of time, the dreams, the plans and the desires. Yes, we find in the end that we couldn’t have chosen a better path for ourselves than the one we are traveling….. 🙂
Bigelow’s didn’t have any interesting people. Although Lucille Ball moved away from that town…. Does that count?
Gayle — Your poem makes me want to go back and write again…all those things that I wanted to be…all those wishes…the timeline of them is so rich. And the ending…”just want it to last.” Yup! Right where I am. Thank you. Susie
Gayle, loved the structure and pacing, firstly. Secondly, just loved the sentiments in this, and I feel you so much. ❤️
Another great inspiration, Barb, and another wonderful mentor poem. It sent me into thinking about “dreams” I never lived.
Unconventional Life
My dream was to take off in
a Volkswagen van and
live and love freely.
No Attachments.
Head to Haight Asbury
soak in poetry and books and music
and maybe even acid
dodge Charles Manson
avoid joining a cult
go bra-less
wear halter tops and bell bottoms
my unwashed hair in braids
Instead
I went to college
found a teaching job
got married
had four kids
attend church weekly
live conventionally
happily
with fulfillment
I’ll just keep that whimsical dream
inside
telling no one
so it doesn’t look like I have regrets.
~Susan Ahlbrand
23 January 2023
Didn’t we all want to be free? I managed the halter tops and didn’t really NEED a bra (darn it!)–not much else! Your last stanza resonates with me… And I really don’t have regrets…or at least not many.
Susan,
What a joy to witness the dreams to dodge, avoid, go, wear. And then this last stanza, this candid confession that so many of us carry and you utter to keep “inside/telling no one/so it doesn’t look like I have regrets.” Reflecting now on the implications.
Peace,
Sarah
Susan, wow, I appreciate how this “dream” of what life might have been like may seem desirous, but how your true direction was in reality far more satisfying. However, someone might, especially a child, think that you feel regret not following this idea of a dream. Even being free to do as we please may not be as satisfying as we think it sounds, and I love how your poem had me consider this perspective. Fantastic poem! Thank you!
Oh, those halter top days and bell bottoms with platform shoes and the VW vans and footlooseness of hippie life. I had the macrame purse and the leather bracelet with my name stamped on it and was just on the little-too-young side to get swept up in it – or I would have. I kind of hate I missed it. I love the contrast of structure in the straighter, narrower path. And I’m there with you.
Love the contrast in the two first stanzas and the uniting of them and closure in the third. 🙂 Great poem!
Thanks for the prompt, Barb. I love how lyrical your poem sounds. I love Rudy’s poem, but never attempted to write one of my own.
I was born on February 15; that makes me an Aquarius.
Whatever people say that means is just a generalization.
I’m 5’5” and weigh more than I should. I worry about it these days. I’m envious of females who are toned and look like they have no flaws, even though they may be less comfortable in their own skin than I am in mine.
I can whisper or talk too loud or be silent, a lot.
I was probably born head first but I don’t know for sure. Maybe that would be a good conversation to have with my mom, but that doesn’t happen much.
I will never be one of those people who give warm hugs. I love from a distance. I don’t give a lot of compliments but they’re all in my head. So if I never told you that I loved your hair braided or up or the lipstick you put on at the end of 6th period or the way you looked happy the other day, I’m sorry but I loved it.
I’m fascinated with time travel and the way things work even though my brain will never fully understand the concepts. I will always appreciate there are people in the world, even my students, who understand more than me.
Two years ago, I thought I’d be alone for the rest of my life and that seemed okay. Just okay. But I formed a relationship with my now husband and if that happened for me, there is hope for you, even if everyone you’ve ever known has made you question, and not the good kind of question. Made you wonder and worry and was everything but a rock. Someone could come around and be your constant, someone you’ll never have to ask a magic 8 ball about.
I’ve always felt disorganized, not just papers but like in the head. No matter how many people tell me I’m organized. It’s hard to remember things sometimes, to the point that when I look in the past, I wonder if things really happened the way I think.
Hi, my name is Angie.
I love ice cream, pretend I’m not listening to conversations I shouldn’t be listening to, and laugh when not appropriate (coping mechanism). These days movies and books make me cry all the time. That never used to happen. I am not an energizer bunny but mostly run on too much sleep while still never having enough energy.
My hobbies include spending too much time writing and never submitting it for publication or feedback, turning my brain off when I feel like it but not when I should, and overthinking the rest of the time.
I don’t believe much but I do believe this:
There is something greater than you and me and him and her and all of us.
If there wasn’t, we wouldn’t exist.
Angie, wow, your poem is incredibly moving. I love learning so much about you in this poem from how you feel about yourself to how you love others. Your ending is provocative and makes the reader realize just how amazing it is for all of us to even exist. I had to laugh about your coping mechanism because I tend to get the giggles when I’m feeling overwhelmed or extremely uncomfortable! Thanks for sharing your poetry today!
Love and so appreciate the form and perspective shifts zooming in and out here — all leading toward “I do believe this:”! Such a helpful exploration.
Peace,
Sarah
Angie – I love you how you took the model to heart and made it your own! I now feel like I know you well and that I have a kinship with you – those compliments and good things in your head you never said – this I know something about, myself. To go on and say here, “sorry but I loved it” feels like an atonement. A rightness. A freeing of self. Exactly the inner conversation that is needed, to welcome others to a freeing. Those ending lines – bam! – so powerful. I believe, alongside you!
Angie, I love your lyrical prose poem of such honesty and intimate self knowledge. I know you now – – that loving from a distance thing and keeping compliments to myself but feeling them? And the disorganization in the head? Oh yes, friend. We can talk. For now, it sounds like we both read with the Book Girls. I’m reading Midnight at the Bright Ideas Bookstore for the February Around the USA Challenge. Glad there is a Book Girl I know.
Angie, this is such a powerful example of honest writing. Thank you so much for sharing it and being here to get feedback. I hope you will submit something for publication soon. Beautiful and heartfelt piece.
Hi, Barb! Love the prompt and your poem! Being completely honest with ourselves is dangerously provoking. Will think about it and post something later today. Each line in your poem is beautifully crafted. I don’t think one needs to properly “carry a tune” to become a Karaoke star. I can see you on the stage ))
Leilya, thank you so much! I’m looking forward to reading your response:)
Barb, you make us dig deep! But thankfully, this platform and group make it safe to say what’s really on our minds. Thanks, Sarah.
Establishing Credibility
Why should they believe me?
I really want to know.
Is it, experience, education or expertise?
What is it that I must show?
Will they give me time to show
Or see dark skin and tell me to go?
Will my gender help or hinder
When my position or opinion I tender?
What difference does it really make
If I can establish my case
Using the facts I know and the truth I show
When they look me in the face?
The ability to establish credibility
Is a skill we teach our students to reach.
When striving to show what they know.
It’s true, when they do, their faces just glow.
Why can’t that be true for me, too?
Anna, this poem really hits home. Getting up in front of new students today and that line “why should they believe me?” captures the exact feeling of the moment. No matter how long you do this, it’s always lurking! Thanks for sharing this.
Anna, I can relate so well to your poem. The very thing we try to grow in our students is often our own road block. Will they believe me? Why should they? You added so many layers to this idea and rhymed, too!
Anna, your poem shares the troubling questions we all share about ourselves when establishing credibility. I love how this flows and captures the positive impact when students experience validation. Your final line resonates so much emotion. It’s amazing how impactful someone’s acceptance and validation can mean. I especially appreciated your line “What is it that I must I show?” What a powerful question. One I think all can relate. Love your visual BELIEVE ME. Fantastic poem!
Anna,
I hope you know you have tons of credibility w/ us and have had it w/ me from the moment I first heard you speak. You are a role model to many and a good friend, too. I’d say your wisdom, your intelligence, your experience, and mostly your character, give you credibility. You deserve for all to see and believe this. ♥️ you.
Anna, I feel like this is a poem perfect for speaking, with its beats and rhymes… I find myself emphasizing different words for driving the point home, and for the layers of lament throughout. I find it powerful. And… I believe you!
Barb, this prompt is what I needed this morning. I’ve been in a funk. I love Rudy’s honest poem and how each of his personal things just make you love him more. Your poem made me smile. I can imagine you as a karaoke star!
Understanding Loss
I listen to all the advice:
“Have you tried meditation? Focus
on your breathing.”
The hive mind has grabbed me
and left me sleepless.
Identity is discovery,
every new day begins
with Who am I? Truth is
I’m lost. I’ve lost
my father, my definer,
my goal-seeker, my soul-comforter.
Who am I without him?
Is this the next stage of grief?
When will I find
peace?
Margaret, your poem delves into the same feelings I had when I lost my mother – that anchorless, drifting place where nothing seems familiar. I keep going back to the hive mind – such imagery, the buzzing about but never fully settled sleep. Your truths are real here, and they take my hand too. Hugs, my friend.
Oh, Margaret. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know I will feel the same whenever that day comes. I appreciate you being here, writing about it, through it <3
Oh, Margaret, your poem is heart-wrenching. Yes, I know that funk that can be so difficult to shake and the desire to find peace. You share these emotions so well in your poem, and I’m truly sorry about your loss. I appreciate the way you describe him “my father, my definer, my goal-seeker, my sour-conforter”. Through these lines it’s clear how much your father meant to you and what a wonderful man he was. Hugs!
Margaret, you beautifully capture and convey the ache of loss. C.S. Lewis also wondered about emerging from a phase of grief only to find it circular – he dared hope, a spiral. The world is so changed when someone so close has died. My husband recently underwent another procedure for his poor patched-up heart and we had to produce his living will etc. beforehand. He came through just fine…but in the interim I tried to imagine if he did not. I know his wishes. I do not know how to live life completely reinvented without him in it. I would need to be reinvented… this is reflected in your lines as clear as if in a mirror: Who am I…? I shall not give advice, just prayer and love. God grant you peace. Thank you for this courageous and heartrending poem.
Margaret, your lines
Identity is discovery,
every new day begins
with Who am I?
Speak to and for me. They also remind us of our privilege to help students KNOW that we see each one as a PERSON not just a body in a chair.
Wow! These poems are getting to me! Thanks for sharing yours. You know one of my answers will be to seek the peace of God. While your father, definer, goal seeker and soul-comforter is gone … for now … God isn’t. He’s omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent. In Him, we can find peace.
Yes, my poems sometimes question some of this, I often know the ultimate answer and just have to apply it more often. 🙂
Margaret, as many of us know this loss and the emptiness, I urge you to be patient with yourself through all these emotions. It’s all good to feel the ALL. You’ve voiced them and that’s huge. I have been in your shoes with the loss of my mom. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel the same emptiness when my father passed because we didn’t have a strong bond.
I want you to roll with it, cry with it, sit with it. Then try believing you have not lost him, you’ve gained him in a new dimension. He’s ever-present and always loving and guiding you.
Sending my warmest hugs your way!
Barb, oh my goodness – I LOVE the dream this morning, and I see you on that stage in a sequined dress cut straight up to the thigh with red lipstick, belting out the notes. I’m right there with you, friend, – can’t carry a tune – (I’m like Carol Burnett singing Feelings in that one episode). Thank you for the smile on my face to start the day and for hosting us! I think the prompt was made just for me – – I’ve been focused on my goals lately, and reflecting is actually one of them this year! (So is slowing down a little bit, after my fall last year).
I’m in No Hurry
praying for answers
wondering about outcomes
I’m in no hurry
seeking my weight range
closet-eating M&Ms
I’m in no hurry
Reading Around the
U.S.A – savoring words
I’m in no hurry
counting my blessings
focusing on gratitude
I’m in no hurry
Route 66 plans
dreams in the making: someday
I’m in no hurry
creative touches
camera-ready journeys
I’m in no hurry
family stories
capturing the past in ink
I’m in no hurry
slowing down the pace
seeing more of it ~ not more
I’m in no hurry
The repetition of “in no hurry” is effective and helps me focus on the list of things you are doing to slow down and be reflective.
Kim,
I love the repetition of “I’m in no hurry.” It’s a chant and a mantra. So you’re sneaking M&Ms out of the closet, eh. I foraged through every—all five—of Ken’s toolboxes lining the garage and through several cabinets last week looking for his chocolate stash. How sad is that! I learned so much about you from your poem: Route 66 plans. Let’s talk. What you’re reading, and more. I’m like you. I can’t carry a tune.
Hi Kim! Is Reading around the USA part of the Book Girls’ Guide Challenge? I’m doing Read Around the World and Lifetime of Reading 🙂 I love the pace in your poem created by the repetition.
Angie, indeed this is part of the Book Girls’ Guide Challenge. Thanks so much for the comments!
Kim, I can totally relate to your “I’m in no hurry” theme here. I broke my ankle and leg in 2020 and that sure changed things for me. I love how this change has created positives in your life, slowing down to treasure what you see. Good luck with your Route 66 plans. Sounds like fantastic fun!
Kim, I love this haiku refrain “I’m in no hurry” and the focus on gratitude and blessings and savoring (a favorite word of mine). Goals and plans and dreams are voth valuable and vital but there’s also this thing called The Journey and it hold many treasures unto itself. Slowing the pace to see more of it vs. seeing more – Girl, you are singing my song! Love this, every bit. And one day (maybe many more, who knows??) we will have that coffee <3
Kim, oh, how I need to repeat “I’m in no hurry” and start slowing my life down. I love the steady pace of your poem, like a steady heartbeat.
This is golden!
Barb, the offering from Francisco is PHENOMENAL. I will return to it. I love the rhythms in your own lines and find myself chuckling at the last lines with something like commiseration. This is a glorious prompt. I want to keep hammering on it but I am tossing out the rough draft here…
Poem of My Now
Who knows if I’m living
in the second half or the last quarter
or final act of my life
but I do not feel as old
as I am
and I’m still not afraid
to ride roller coasters
or the frothy waves of memory
rising and falling
I was born in those waves
on the cadence of my grandmother’s voice
reading
reading
reading
I can’t recall learning how to read
it was always in my blood
I read more than words
I read birds
I read silences and images
flickering like blue flame
on an old gas stove
I read faces
even when they’re in floor tiles
I read scents
like uncomfortable sweat
like the striking of a match
like the warm bready whiff
that brings me back to the streets
of New York
and my dreams
of performing on stage
(what do you want be
when you grow up?
my aunt asked, long ago.
Rich and famous, I said)
Dreams change
over time
I would not trade
my quiet evenings
with my husband
or my pre-dawn hours
harnessing words
on a screen
once, when I was about ten
I wrote in my diary that
I wanted to write a book
and have it published
I am still writing
writing
writing
the pages of my life
while I read my dreams
Lately I’ve noticed
just how much
the color green appears
in my dreams
I take it as a good sign
for there’s so much else
I can’t decipher
perhaps that’s best
as I rest
in the quiet corners
of my being
and seeing
the faces of my little granddaughters
who’ve crowned me Franna
there, there
I am rich
beyond compare
Fran, I love your honesty here and the repetition of reading in all its different ways. Of course the end is my connection to you, the lifeline of grandchildren. Thanks for being a brave writer.
Fran, I wish we were having coffee together this morning so I could bask in the quiet wonder of your wisdom and perspective on the world. You capture so much in such a peaceful way – the redefining of riches and what they are, living on the real stage of life, and your favorite birds make an appearance along with books and stories and sheer enjoyment of each moment. Always, you inspire us to look deep, to see what we don’t see before we read your words. Your gift sparkles.
Oh, Fran. I love so many lines in this. Maybe this one the most: “I read scents
like uncomfortable sweat” so descriptive and I totally get it.
Fran, your poem is absolutely stunning. I am completely moved by your ending and adore your lines:
“as I rest
in the quiet corners
of my being”
I can feel the love you share with your granddaughters. Truly beautiful and lyrical poem! Thank you!
Fran, so much to share about what resonated with me!
These lines along with others reminded me that our students “read” us so well. We might be quick to label a child “non-reader” or “struggling reader” but if we ask that same child to read us, they’re proficient, often advanced readers of teachers.
The ending is glorious and I felt a deep sense of peace. You are definitely “rich beyond compare” in my books! Keep writing! We need you here!
Oh, Fran, what a lovely tribute to you and the reading, writing, resting and seeing that has shaped you. I love your writing so much. I can’t wait to read your poetry anthology or memoir!