Today’s inspiration comes from Glenda Funk. Glenda is an NBCT with an MA in English literature. She taught English and speech 38 years and worked as an adjunct instructor for Idaho State University and the College of Southern Idaho before retiring in August 2019. As part of the NEA Better Lesson Master Teacher Project, Glenda developed a full-year curriculum for teaching seniors, which is free on the Better Lesson website. Glenda blogs at https://evolvingenglishteacher.blogspot.com/?m=1
Inspiration
Bop: The Bop poem form functions as a poetic argument, much like the persuasive speech we teach in speech and the argumentative essay we teach in English classes. The Bop has a distinct structure, but the refrain, I think, is the glue holding the Bop together.
Here’s the form of this three stanza poetic form:
- Stanza 1 has six lines and articulates the problem.
- Stanza 2 has eight lines that explore or expand the problem.
- Stanza 3 also has six lines and offers a resolution to the problem.
The bop also utilizes a refrain, a line repeated between stanzas and that serves as the last line of the poem. The subject of a Bop poem, given its inherent argument, should be debatable or controversial.
I wrote my Bop after a professional development faculty meeting in which our resource officer introduced the new lock-down protocol. My poem consists almost entirely of fragmented notes I took during the training, and these notes are the direct instruction of our trainer. Thus, the Bop offered me a way to process this new world order of active shooter drills that is the lived reality of all teachers and students.
Process
Scour the headlines for the subject of your Bop. If you’d like to take a less serious approach to the form, consider writing a Bop about a family dynamic, such as whose turn it is to take out the trash or mow the lawn! It might be fun to write a Bop from the point of view of a pet. I know my Schnauzer Snug has some thoughts for our cat, Hero!
Find a refrain and build the stanza around it. It’s okay to choose a refrain from something you read. I’ve been thinking about some possible refrains related to teaching and inspired by professional publications:
You got this.
We can do better.
Teach with love and logic.
Write beside them
Be a book whisperer.
Read in the wild.
Be an anti-racist.
Finally, here’s a template I created for students. Feel free to use and share with your students if you try the Bop with them.
Bop Template
Stanza 1
Line 1: ____________
Line 2: ____________
Line 3: ____________
Line 4: ____________
Line 5: ____________
Line 6: ____________
Refrain: ____________
Stanza 2
Line 1: ____________
Line 2: ____________
Line 3: ____________
Line 4: ____________
Line 5: ____________
Line 6: ____________
Line 7: ____________
Line 8: ____________
Refrain: ____________
Stanza 3
Line 1: ____________
Line 2: ____________
Line 3: ____________
Line 4: ____________
Line 5: ____________
Line 6: ____________
Remember, the Bop follows a problem-solution format, so if you want to compose a shorter Bop, omit the second stanza. We have no hard and fast rules here–except to enjoy writing and sharing poetry!
Mentor poem by Glenda
“Active Shooter PD”
In the event of an active shooter
A gunman inside the school
We must be proactive
The gunman’s coming
Hesitation can cost time
We have to defend ourselves
Run, Hide, Fight!
You deserve to survive
Know what to do, have a plan
Proactively find a hiding place
Gunfire has distinct sounds
Not dropping: thud
Not thunder: rumble
Repetitive: Dakka, dakka, dakka, dakka
The way mass shootings in America repeat
Take actions critical to survival
Run, Hide, Fight!
You deserve to survive
Gather the bucket of kitty litter
Turn the lights out, pretend no one’s in the room
Avoid the attacker
Deny the attacker
Defend yourself
Be aware of surroundings
Run, Hide, Fight!
You deserve to survive.
©Glenda Funk
Post your writing any time today. If the prompt does not work for you today, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Below are some suggestions for commenting with care. Oh, and a note about edits: The comment feature of this blog (and many blogs) does not permit edits. Since we are writing in short bursts, we all are understanding (and even welcome) the typos that remind us we are human.
This was hard for me. I had several refrains in mind. I had all kinds of thoughts and ideas and then work happened. Today was rough, clearly it’s time for winter break. All that to say, I wrote. I didn’t revise and think too much because I am on my 3rd glass of wine LOL! I don’t want to make something beautiful become homework. So here it is. No rhymes, no rhythm, but it is a Bop poem!
Who’s Story
When I was a child eager to consume books and knowledge
My teachers had no literature
Written by or about people of color
Only Dick and Jane and blondes and blues
No one who looked like me
Not even a short story or some Langston Hughes poetry
#disrupttextsofwhitesupremacy
ONE bi-racial professor at UCLA
Introduced me to the history and herstory of our people
The origins and rules of our home language
Stories and rhythms of our ancestors from Ghana to amerika
But my mother argued, “We are black and we speak proper English.”
She, a college graduate, didn’t know or own our story
Who was I if she didn’t know who she was?
I searched books looking for windows and mirrors
#disrupttextsofwhitesupremacy
Maya, Sonia, Toni, and Nikki lit the ancestral fire
Shattered glasses of white gazes
Negro, Colored, Afro-American mislabeled Kings and Queens
I taught my son and daughter, mother and sister about our royalty
Taught my students the magnificence of our melanin
To speak, walk, and embody the power of our people
To disrupt texts designed to diffuse and devour our greatness
Stacey — WONDERFUL! I know you had a rough day, but this is every bit as terrific a piece as I could want to read right now. I totally embrace the recurring line… and like the hashtag of it. Every word of this strong voice matters in the literature we share with kids. I’m in the middle of my second reading of Toni’s Song of Solomon right now, and to think that when I went to college that we basically only had access to old white men literature meant that I missed out on so much rich understanding about all the very different people I’ve come to know in my life. I love that you’ve shared your learning with your family and students… the beauty of your own culture and history and the sharing of that with others… good stuff. So, even though, this was a tough day and you’ve kicked back with beverage (teehee), you still have a whole lot going on inside that poetic mind of yours! Thanks for cranking it out! Susie
Stacey,
This bop is a magnificent work of art. Like Susie, my education was devoid of literature by people of color, w/ a few exceptions in junior high. In my undergrad I only studied two women writers. The rest were white men. I have had much to say about this, and there’s so much work to do. The line that really smacked me is this: “ Who was I if she didn’t know who she was?” This reminds me of “The Dangers of a Single Story.” I’m sure you know it. Love the alliteration in “ magnificence of our melanin,” but it isn’t just your children and students who need the gift of diverse and own voices. All students and children need these stories, the ones from Morrison, Adiche, Baldwin, Coates, Edugyan, and so many others. Stacey, you are gorgeous. I hope one day we can sit and sip wine together. For now I’m grateful to know you and your art here.
Oh Stacey, You are such a poet. My heart speeds up when I read your words. “Magnificence of our melanin,” “shattered classes of white gazes,” “who was I if she didn’t know who she was?” – so many phrases do “that poem thing” to me: a mind/heart flutter or tremble.
The magnificence of our melanin – what an extraordinarily beautiful line. I love every bit of this poem. Your voice comes through strong and powerfully. My son just finished a Women in Lit class in college. He read The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison, and we just had a discussion about Dick and Jane because of the novel. It’s good when the universe pulls moments together.
Glenda — Your mentor poem was just a gut punch of reality. I honestly don’t know how teachers can get through these drills without sobbing. Your poem was the first thing I read when I woke up this morning, and I had it spinning in my head all day as I navigated back home after being snowbound out of town the last three days. The poem was like a cadence that had the godawful “dakka dakka dakka dakka” as the background staccato haunting me. Whoof. Thanks for some terrific writing! Susie
I think the drills are harder on elementary teachers and students. At times I did find myself shaking during the drills when we could hear the drug dogs in the hall and huddled in the corner of my classroom piled on the couch and chairs. At other times, the kids joked. Ultimately, the drills became the new normal.
[I had to cheat a little bit on the line numbers, but oh well…]
ADMONITIONS
My head says, “Good citizens track all the news – yes, you must”;
my heart cringes, “This news wrecks your BP, plus, who can you trust?”
My head says, “It’s time you got to the Y”;
my heart winks, “Let’s bake chocolate-dipped coconut macaroons or a pie.”
My head says, “Don’t drive in winter, frigid snow’s everywhere”;
my heart giggles, “Yeah, but there’s oh so much fun to be had out there!”
My head says, “Take your time, wait on that, take a backseat”;
my heart jumps in with both happy feet.
My head talks too much.
Internal arguing brings stress and rancor,
paralyzes creativity, throbs like a canker,
devours my energy and saddens my eyes;
the volleying is exhausting, perhaps not so wise;
even when evidence weighs in with good sense,
when logic sounds good, yet I’m on the fence,
I hem and I haw and claw for decisions
and end up with a bucket of empty admonitions.
My head talks too much.
Embrace meditation and mindful tai-chi;
finger the ivories with Pachelbel’s Canon D.
pick up the Martin and play some John Prine;
compose, let lyrics and chords intertwine;
take cookies to the kids who work at the Y;
and, Susie, just relax and let yourself fly.
My head talks too much.
©Susie Morice
Oh this is a delight! I commend you for rhyming this so (seemingly) effortlessly! I respect your head, but I LOVE your heart! Fly, Susie, fly! <3
Susie,
This is delightful. I’m happy to see a return of John Prine. My head also says, “ “Good citizens track all the news – yes, you must.’” But I’ve had to give myself permission to take a break from the d as ily catastrophes. I love the repetition of “my head” and “my heart” in the first stanza. I also really like the change in format w/ the second stanza. It’s the third stanza in which you argue art is the anecdote is my favorite, and we need that anecdote more than ever these days.
I need
a soft word
a warm touch
a willing laugh
a generous spirit
Not everyone needs this, but
I do.
He needs
the basics
pliers, work gloves
no surprises
attention to detail
things in their place
He asks me not
to forget to gas the car, but
I do.
We wonder at
our binary opposition
two ends of the balancing pole
increasing each moment of inertia
as we inch across the tightrope
together since we said
I do.
Allison,
I feel as though you’ve described my relationship w/ my husband. On paper it doesn’t make sense, but, and “we wonder at our binary opposition.” My “he” needs to be constantly moving, doing things, fixing things, making things. I need silent contemplation, a quite corner for reading and writing. I used to feel guilty about this.
If a relationship can be poetry, I’m sure yours is. Thank you.
Thank you, Glenda. I seem to write about my husband a lot, trying to make sense of our solid, imperfect union of 35 years. On paper it doesn’t make sense 🙂
Allison – This is so gracefully orchestrated. I’m moved by the poetry of it and by the candid honesty of this beautiful piece. I so completely understand these two poles. Let’s say I’ve been around that horn. The lines: “our binary opposition/two ends of the balancing pole/increasing each moment of inertia/ as we inch across the tightrope…” Those lines just capture perfectly the state of “wonder” that you come to in a relationship. I love the “I do” that ties you two together and also sets you apart — that is real artistry here. Wow. You are such a fine poet! Love this. Thank you for sharing such an intimate poem. Susie
Allison. This is beautiful. It captures–so simply–your differences and the bond. The varying meanings if “I do” were elegant and sweet. You have a good marriage, I bet…
Glenda, how sad that such a poem even has to be written. Sadder, still, is the fact that we know it is timely. Thanks for reminding us we have many reasons to pray for the safety of our friends and their students in places that used to be “safe”.
The Good Old Days
Creativity was valuable.
Unmeasured, we grew love for words in the way we thought best,
nurturing whatever seed or nugget we saw, when we saw it.
The Stanford-Binet provided parental bragging rights for high-flying bluebirds;
Parents of buzzards and robins and finches didn’t brag.
Kids were kids and school was school and it was good…
It was good.
It was GOOD.
Now, every child is a number, one to five (buzzards to bluebirds)
(Even though we must teach every child every day to the fullest)
Claims, support, conclusion. Analysis, examination, evaluation.
Creativity? A danger—the graders mightn’t catch the subtleties, and it takes too long.
Focus on the “bubble children”—the others probably won’t make a difference in our scores.
Only fours and fives make the cut, anyway. Push those bubblers over the barrier, and you are a hero.
The others? The poets and cooks, athletes and mechanics? The rest of our future?
What shall we do for them?
It WAS good.
It was good, wasn’t it?
Here is what we do. We move creativity underground.
Tuck it into the corner of the essay; stow it the center of the text. Build a secret hideout for fun.
We teach what we love within the new rules and teach who we love every day.
We give the appearance of line-toe-ing as we mine the nuggets of joy where we find them,
In the robins, the finches, and the buzzards—and in the bluebirds.
Illicitly peddling joy in words. Just don’t tell.
(Everyone will want some.)
It can still be good.
It can still be good, can’t it?
Gayle!
Amen, my friend. I love this anthem. The parentheses are so powerful in this piece as you frame the problem while offering commentary. The bird references seem to function both literally and figuratively here. Of course, we sort and rank and name and label the human beings with whom we are entrusted into these species of birds but the bubbles and birds do fly, do rise in spite or despite of all the attempts schools make to hold back and contain. Our students are subversive, they resist. The nuggets of joy cannot be contained!
Thank you for this poem,
Sarah
Gayle,
Thank you for celebrating the subversive teachers who “move creativity underground.” My favorite lines: “Tuck it into the corner of the essay; stow it the center of the text. Build a secret hideout for fun.” I love the imagery here. And as a teacher an assistant described as doing what I want and saying what I think in her endorsement of my hiring in 1989, I’m right there dodging this dehumanizing system.
Gayle, you nailed it everywhere, especially pushing the bubblers over the barrier and going from bluebirds to buzzards. Yes. It was good. It WAS good way back when. This is so fitting for chasing all the rainbows we chase……
You nailed the pathetic gaming of the system (push those bubblers over the barrier). And I love “illicitly peddling joy in words”! I do this! Thank you for this ultimately hopeful poem.
Gayle — Oh gosh, YES! Thank heavens for your unholy underground teacherly wisdom! Right on, Sista! Your poem really got me going. I loathe that there are so many restrictive attitudes that negate who children are and who teachers are… sucking the life and creativity out of the classroom. Rise up! Resist! Keep on mining those “nuggets of joy”! I LOVE your voice, your message, your poem. Thanks, Susie
Are you serious? My niece’s pipes have burst?
I have to host the holiday- that’s the worst!
I thought I’d have time to relax by the fire,
Now I’ll be cleaning the house right down to the wire.
Just one day I’d like to relax
And not always have to push myself to the max.
Merry Christmas!
So I guess I’ll make dinner for thirty-eight
And hope that my sister with the hors d’oeuvres won’t be late.
The bathrooms will be scrubbed clean as a whistle
No time to meet Steve under the toe of mistle.
I hope all the gifts will be purchased and wrapped.
I guarantee any stored energy I have will be sapped.
Really you guys, did you remember? I’m the only one with a job!
Yet I’m still entertaining the families of SteveBrianChrisTomTimBillArandBob.
Merry Christmas!
But when the twenty-fourth rolls around,
The love and laughter will abound.
My brothers, my sisters, my nephews and nieces
Each help out, and my tension releases.
Why, oh why did I ever object?
The night is lovely and my family perfect.
Merry Christmas!
Ahhh! The end result makes all the tumult before so worth it. I had to laugh at the first time reading the refrain. I feel that the overwhelming craziness just begs for someone to throw in a Merry Christmas.
Mo,
I love how the bop welcomes the problem and elaboration without judgment and then allows the poet to “resolve” the problem however they imagine a resolution to be. This one takes a tone-shift from “ugh” to “ah,” and we are with you all the way. I just love the end rhyme with “wrapped” and “sapped” because the prep and presents seem to take its toll leading into the day while the day and being in the moment really don’t need all that anyway. “The night is lovely and my family perfect.”
Enjoy…
Sarah
Mo, so glad this poetry challenge suggests a resolution! I was getting exhausted reading the first to stanzas and wondering how you had the energy to write “Merry Christmas”. (I was thinking she probably means Marey Christmas (the Work Horse, Marey).)
Whew!! So glad you’ve had the opportunity to visualize the good that can come out of such a hustle.
Merry Christmas to you and the family!
Mo, I feel the hustle and bustle of the season in your Bop. Love the irony of “Merry Christmas” after the first two stanzas, but oh that third stanza filled with love and family melts my heart. That’s the true spirit of “Merry Christmas.” We see it in the closeness of family members: “ SteveBrianChrisTomTimBillArandBob.” ❤️
HAHAHA! I’m dying here – the toe of mistle. The only one with a job. The way this whole holiday is coming together in your home…..I know it will be I’m fun for you, but do try to find some time for Steve under that toe! And remember – guests appreciate a non-spotless house so they don’t feel guilty about their own…….
Toe of mistle! This was the word treat of the night! LOL!
And I just read your comment as, “worst treat of the night!” ???
Hahahaha! A writer friend once told me how “word treats” (puns, metaphors, playfulness with words) in essays keep readers happy, even through important (but not exciting) sentences. “Toe of Mistle” did that for me! ? ?
Mo – You are so much fun in this poem. I was chuckling, although feeling your pain, in the first two stanzas. I had fun reading it aloud with the rhyming and meter. I’m guessing the love that you pour out in the last stanza would allow this gem to be read by the fire on Christmas Eve. They’d surely get a big chuckle out of your poem. I loved the wordplay on the “under the toe of mistle.” Hang in there, girl. You rocked this one! Hugs, Susie
Help!!!
I got my degree and now I’m free
The teach those young adolescents., you’ll see.
I know my contents and know you’ll agree
I will just be myself and they will love me.
Who’s that over there not paying attention?
I’m gonna have to give all three detention!
Mentoring is a must.
Gotta get help with all this fuss.
I called my professor from college
I could always depend on her knowledge
Oh, she was sympathetic, but really quite busy.
Her new students and grading were making her dizzy.
Who else understands and has time to help?
I thought I was grown; now I’m acting like a whelp.
Mentoring is a must.
Gonna get help with all this fuss.
I went online and found newbies like me
But there were also veterans online I could see.
They read our cries and affirmed our concern.
They know it is respect for which we yearn.
They share great ideas and give us pats on the back.
Thank God! I’ve found my new running pack.
Mentoring is a must.
I’m getting help with all this fuss.
Everyday I read the poems on this forum and smile so broadly. Today I had a mentoring meeting for our new teachers. I wish I had seen this sooner! I love how you’ve changed the last line of your refrain to reflect your journey.
Mo, This is my mission to inspire more recent grads to seek out a mentor. While it would be great to be able to consult the profs one knows, few have the time to respond right away. Many of us who are now retired have this kind of time and we’d be honored to share what we know and to direct our new colleagues to others who know more than we do about what’s happening in today’s classrooms.
Oh, Anna! I just love the line “I thought I was grown; now I’m acting like a whelp.” A new word for me that I plan on using… a lot. The tone is no too negative while indicating growth as just part of life. Mentoring — in so many forms– is, indeed, a must. I feel like I am still being mentored by you and the poets in this community.
Sarah
I love this! It’s been a long time since those anxious years, and I did have some wonderful mentors (as well as one I was better off ignoring). Love the positive tone, and the refrain is perfect!
Anna,
I share your mission to support young teachers. Yes, “mentoring is a must,” and like Sarah, I find mentors here, too. It does sadden me to see the lines “ I called my professor from college
I could always depend on her knowledge
Oh, she was sympathetic, but really quite busy.”
I’ve tried to remain accessible to past students and those who student taught w/ me, but the students in the moment and life get in the way.
Your new running pack – that is the line that I think I love most plus the refrain. The imagery of strength and support in numbers goes along with the mentorship. I like this writing community for its mentors. The challenges and pushes and nudges and encouragement – this is another great running pack for us! I feel like I want a team tshirt for this group I love it so much.
I think we need to get those t-shirts, but I want the soft material and v-neck. ?
Glenda, I appreciate how your refrain sounds like a chant/mantra that one might repeat to remain calm amidst the chaos of this type of situation. The line about the sun of the gun followed by the repetitive mass shootings is especially powerful. I’ve never heard of gathering kitty litter so am curious as to the purpose of them (soak up blood?). I like that this piece is comprised of the jotted notes you took. It would make for an interesting assignment for students to synthesize information given to them too.
The kitty litter is in the five-gallon buckets and is used to absorb human waste in the event of an extended lockdown. Each teacher has a bucket w/ supplies (litter, first aide supplies, granola bars, etc.) inside.
OK, this makes it even more chilling. The fact that we have to plan for such things…
We have a bucket but no kitty litter. All the rest is there.
Stolen
I watched them do the work,
their diligence as equal as their intelligence.
And then they handed it all away
with a slight of hand, a blush, a denial.
I wonder how this can still happen. Today. Now.
Girls’ work becoming boys’
throughout history.
I own who I am.
I need to. I must.
Dishonesty in business thwarted Elizabeth Magie’s Monopoly.
Rosalind Franklin found and lost the double helix.
Margaret Keane, threatened, intimidated, abused into silence
until she stood in her own name.
Lise Meitner’s name evaporated into atomic air.
Ada Lovelace had her contributions mathematically reduced,
the equal a sign of Inequality,
a cutting of the female name and a suturing of the male (Trotula, OBGYN).
I own who I am.
I need to. I must.
We: give rise to movements
We: find our power together.
We: stand on our own
Our voices grow loud.
Grow strong.
Grow beings.
I own who I am.
I need to. I must.
Jennifer,
First, I learn so much from you and am so grateful you’re putting these women into the world and elevating them in verse. Your second stanza naming specific examples, offering tangible evidence, moving beyond generalities is itself a master class in argument. The repetition of “We” followed by the colon naming what we should do is superb. I love the way you’ve structure this and have long believed that the best arguments incorporate the rhetorical techniques of argument in them. Thank you for this wonderful bop.
I agree with everything Glenda said. I also love the colons at the end for creating a united voice! This is a great poem to celebrate Women’s History Month, too!
Clearly I have a few names to look up, which seems to be the point of your poem. Thank you for teaching me about these women. Your last stanza really resonates with me. Powerful stuff.
Jennifer,
I so love learning through verse, and you frame it so powerfully to remind us of power, resistance, action. I so appreciate how you begin with observations from present day (your classroom) and then contextualize it historically in the second stanza. This form really lends itself to narrative movement. Informational. Argument. Narrative. Verse. Love it.
Sarah
Another wonderful lesson in women’s history! I would like to share your poems with some of my co-teachers, if you don’t mind. The blend of history and poetry is so effective!
You are welcome to share! Thank you for asking. This topic weighed heavily on my mind after hearing that some strong, independent, fierce girls (who spoke passionately about girl strength with me last year) allowed boys to copy their work. It got me thinking about all the women in history who didn’t allow it and why girls give their power away.
Jennifer – How terrific a learning poem this is. You teach us with poetic ease (though crafting this was surely not easy…but you make it look that way). I love this melding of lost pieces of important history with the grace of poetry. Not easy! Way to go! I love the strong voice that pounds through this one and definitely in the mantra. Just thinking about those accomplishments “evaporated into atomic air” — wonderful wordplay. Thanks for this super interesting piece. Susie
Misalignment
the incorrect arrangement
or position
of something or someone
in relation
to something or someone
else
shift happens
evidence
lives in
the invisible realm
where actions
do not
align with desires
where priorities
compete with values
shift happens
members and churches
parents and children
husbands and wives
brothers and sisters
friends and colleagues:
respect boundaries
shift happens
-Kim Johnson
Kim,
Your Bop is so clever! Love the refrain, “Shift happens”! Yes it does. I’m sure you know how much I like seeing the church references. Love that you took the bop to culture. So good. You stretch my imagination.
Fun, funny, and true. What more could we ask for? Well done.
You’re playing with us, Kim. You know what we are “hearing in our heads” when we read what you wrote! Clever, clever, clever. Even more so because both are true!
Kim,
I so love the movement within and through this poem. Align, shift, arrange, position. And then you position humanity side-by-side in each line to show the separate and collective in one stanza. I feel the boundaries and space for movement at once. Clever.
Sarah
Shift happens. Oh, doesn’t it! The line, “where actions do not align with desires” says so much. We all have “shift” in our lives…
the invisible realm
where actions
do not
align with desires
where priorities
compete with values
Thank you for this entire poem, but especially for these lines. So often the shift is subtle
until it’s not.
The action is ALMOST aligned
until it’s not.
Kim — I love the whole idea of “misalignment” and the many “shifts” that result. This is very clever wording, especially “shift happens”… made me chuckle as well as take heed. I read this several times as it brings a lot of layers together… aligning and misaligning are very rich. I especially liked “…where actions/ do not/align with desires/where priorities/compete with values…” It’s pretty remarkable how just so few words can carry so much weight. Nicely done! Thank you! Susie
Common Courtesies
This day and age
Individualism is all the rage
Me, me, me, is the creed
So put yourself first: succumb to greed
Think only of yourself
Put others’ needs up on the shelf
Common courtesy can’t be dead,
But it is getting too thin to spread.
The other day, at a public event,
Parking was at a premium, no secret where it went.
Six cars had blocked in and out of the lot
Six drivers hogging the spots they got.
And any red light at an intersection
Gives pause and time for reflection
As you wait for the person whose time is worth more
So they fly through your green with their foot to the floor.
Common courtesy can’t be dead,
But it is getting too thin to spread.
What can be done to stop this plague?
Ideas are elusive and sort of vague.
But one person can make a huge change.
For slights and impositions, do not exchange.
Instead, smile and allow the rudeness,
Then feel good about your own lack of crudeness.
Common courtesy can’t be dead,
But it is getting too thin to spread.
Debra, This is a timely bop. I keep thinking about the greed issue. Seems many folk look only at the paycheck in the moment as criterion for their decisions. Love the rhetorical question you use to begin the third stanza and the emphasis on each individual doing our part to be courteous. “ Instead, smile and allow the rudeness, / Then feel good about your own lack of crudeness.”
Debra I feel this one! I am so tired of the “me, me, me” ranting from those in power as well as those who need to be over-powered! It’s just ridiculous. When I was out shopping, all I heard were horns honking and people arguing in the parking lots. It made me wonder what is the purpose of it all? “What can be done to stop this plague?” Please, let us find the answer. Love your Bop!
Oh, how needed AND you write it with a rhyme scheme. That’s incredible – just love the “person whose time is with more”
And flying through your green with their foot to the floor. So real.
Debra,
My partner is convinced that common courtesy could change the world, but, well, it is not so common. I love how this form allows you to both observe and make a commentary in each stanza while offering a clear moral and gentle reminder to all of us how the smile makes a difference.
Sarah
When the body,
no longer able to cool itself,
stops sweating —
weak and nauseous,
approaching 108 degrees,
organs failing —
emergency crews
cover the body in ice,
cool blood with machines.
155 in Phoenix died
heat-related deaths on the rise
More than 100 days above 100 degrees,
deaths on trails, streets, cars, homes —
a tragic staple of summer.
But more of these days means —
with miles of asphalt in lots and roads,
with expanding sprawls of low buildings,
with growing numbers of cars and a.c.’s–
the city of Phoenix need no longer rise.
155 in Phoenix died
heat-related deaths on the rise
Just as other place-based protocols exist,
Phoenix must cope with temp spikes and waves,
a silent storm —
text alerts amplify its threats;
buckets of water bottles hydrate homeless;
tree initiative shades 25 percent,
And, hey, UV-protected umbrellas for all!
155 in Phoenix died
heat-related deaths on the rise
from an NPR news report
Sarah,
Phenomenal bop! The rhythm is really good. The refrain emphasizes the problem. Sometimes I think it’s easy to cruise past stats and fail to understand their impact, but the repetition forces us to notice them. The “with” clauses in the second stanza creates a cause/effect structure, and w/out even mentioning climate change, the subtext is there. Love this!
Sarah, that sounds like a scary experience. It gets hot in Oklahoma, but I don’t think we have any numbers even close to that. I love the details you use – such as how texts don’t help, but instead “amplify its threats.” I’m curious about whether the bottled water and tree initiative are helping.
Sarah, what a powerful refrain – remembering the exact number of deaths due to heat . Your verse is packed with both information and emotion – and still full of alliteration, repetition, and all the devices that you make dance. If only the death toll was pure hyperbole and not the sheer truth.
There are many impactful lines here. I like your play on the Phoenix no longer needing to rise, as horrific as the reality of the city is. You gripped us right from the beginning and the repetition of the refrain makes us pay attention. Your last thought (and, hey) amplifies the light hearted treatment to the seriousness of climate change – just through in an umbrella; we’ve got you covered!
Oh wow, Sarah — This is a slam-dunk of a poem. The repetitions just nail this…never letting us off the hook of how important this horror is. Having lived in Tucson at one point when I was in my twenties, I have been very attentive to Arizona’s ghastly heat rising. My eldest sister lived in Tucson for almost all her adult life. I like how you let the data, the facts, just deliver the package here. No need to offer commentary, you’ve orchestrated the poem to slam down the facts and wake up the reader. Very moving. I just LOVED this piece. Thank you for reminding me to use the news in poems. That is a particularly powerful poetic process. Susie
omg, Glenda….that is a powerful poem. So many lines just hit me in the gut after going through this training also. I have more to say–and will later. I’m kinda reeling from the impact of reading.
Linda, I know what you mean. That training is when we found out we’d get the emergency buckets. The resource officer who trained ya was a former student of mine, so that took the training to a new level of shock for me. It was surreal.
Your poem gave me chills. .The matter-of-fact quality about a horrific situation. And “you deserve to survive”–don’t we all? Too close to home, and so beautifully expressed.
Glenda, your poem got my attention! That refrain is simply chilling – and quite the reminder of where we are in the world today. Did we ever think as grade schoolers we would be having drills for mass shooters? The onomatopoeia gunshot sounds are piercing. Wow.