Welcome to Day 1 of the February 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
Stacey L. Joy is a National Board Certified Teacher, Google Certified Educator, L.A. County and LAUSD Teacher of the Year with over 37 years of elementary classroom teaching experience. She currently teaches 5th grade at Baldwin Hills Gifted Magnet and Pilot School. Teaching her Joyteam Stars the power of their history, self-advocacy, justice, and joy are the core of her practice. Stacey is a poet at heart with one self-published book and several poems published in various anthologies. Follow Stacey on Twitter @joyteamstars or on Instagram @joyteam.
Inspiration
February is Black History Month but we teach Black History year-round. History can be told from a textbook, picture book, a movie, oral storytelling, and many other avenues. Folktales have a unique way of celebrating cultural diversity; fables teach life lessons to children; and fairytales become beloved memories children retell.
Virginia Hamilton taught about African enslavement in The People Could Fly. If you’ve not read this folktale before or want a refresher, you can access it here along with some lesson ideas for the classroom.
Process
Read a few short folktales, fables, or fairytales, myths, or legends to inspire your poem. Your poem might be a response to, a retelling of, or a new version of the original piece. If you’d like to read a few of Aesop’s Fables or listen/watch a read-aloud, see the links below:
-Anansi and The Pot of Beans Read Aloud
I chose free verse for my poem. You are welcome to try free verse or any form that gives you the structure you prefer.
Stacey’s Poem
My People, Who Fly
They say the people could fly.
Long ago in Africa
Blackbirds up in the sky.
Some would shed their wings
Ship too tight for life
Upward to heaven, their cries sing
Many sick and died across the sea
Enslavers with whips and chains
How would they survive such cruelty
An old man, Toby was his name
Tended to Sarah and her baby
Overseer whipped them both the same
Sarah and baby beaten to the ground
Prayed to God, pleaded for help
Toby’s magic chant, a soothing sound
Tight to her chest, her baby held on
Bloody feet rising into air
Flying blackbirds on to freedom
© Stacey L. Joy, 2/24/22
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.
Hello again! I wanted to share a couple more haiku as I became inspired by everyone here and the tales of Anansi the Spider. Thank you!
Trickstering business
silly spider you may say
Piercing deception
La Luna exudes
The deep secrets from within
Whispering the woes
I was very inspired by Stacey’s poem, My People, Who Fly and wanted to share one of my favorite forms, haiku.
Enveloping us
Into chambers of despair
Floating spirits glide
Hi Joanna! I’m so happy you joined us. Haiku is a favorite of mine too. You’ve captured the entire essence of the folktale into three powerful lines!
I love the image this evokes! Have fun writing, Joanna!
Stacey, thank you for inviting me to join your creative circle of Writers. I just love the imagery in “Flying blackbirds on to freedom” and gives me a spiritual hope that our soul is eternal and unbound by the hardships we endure in this journey. It is reflected so powerfully in all the birds flying on the background artwork. A celebration of resilience, release, freedom and love!
Yay! Happy to see you here!
The Road to Misfortune©️
Inspired by Aesop’s Fable The Ass and His Driver
I’m not sure you understand
the depths to which we love you;
wanting only the very best for you.
You try choosing your own path;
going your own way;
believing you have it all figured out.
We try to pull you back;
to save you from yourself,
but your stubbornness is unyielding.
You will not listen to our loving advice.
So, we pray and hope, that before it’s too late,
you realize for yourself…
You may be on the road to misfortune.
(A heartfelt/heartbreaking plea to my 16 year old son.)
Donnetta Norris
Awwww, Donnetta! Your son will figure it out. I’ll never forget when my son was on the path of NOWHERE and a friend reminded me I had trained him up in the way that he should go, and when he’s OLD, he will not depart from it. The key is “old” and we have to stay faithful for that day. Thank you for sharing your poem.
🙏🏽
Donetta, so many parents can relate to your poem, I’m sure. With such a wonderful role model for a mom, I’m sure he’ll figure it out!
I just started reading this year’s Newbery Award winner, Freewater by Amina Luqman-Dawson. Her descriptions of her fictional maroon communtty Freewater are beautiful and educational. This book will stay with me for a while.
Freewater
By Mo Daley 2/29/23
I didn’t know there were people who could fly
Well, not fly exactly, but glide
Glide through the swamps on vines
Vines that gave them freedom
Freedom to traverse acres and acres
Acres of the Great Dismal Swamp
A swamp vibrant with maroon communities
Communities who persisted through struggles
Struggles with weather, animals, and hunger
Hunger for freedom, righteousness, and peace
Peace in their own world of resistance
Mo, I literally just opened an email that mentioned Freewater & I was so intrigued. Thank you for this beautiful poem that beckons me to
read the book.
💙
*Stacy, your poem is so powerful and moving. It had been awhile since the last time I read a folktale. Thanks for the inspiration.
A Pinch of Salt
Inspired by “The Man Who Never Lied” – African Folktale
Did you hear the scuttlebutt?
The whispers? The canards?
My stylist’s neighbor’s cousin’s girlfriend
Told me that the wise old man was murdered!
Can you believe it?
He didn’t see it coming! Didn’t have a chance!
Apparently, while eating his dinner,
A succulent roasted chicken, his wife’s specialty,
He said, now don’t quote me,
He said, “Perhaps it needs a pinch more salt.”
Those were his last words.
Oh, my, this is hilarious. Well done. I love “My stylist’s neighbor’s cousin’s girlfriend / Told me…” and that punchline at the end. Wonderful!
Shaun, I’m glad I came back to read what I missed yesterday. I love this! I can almost imagine the conversation in a barbershop or on a front porch!
Then the ending! Powerful choice for you, not so good for him!😝
So funny, Shaun! I love your word choics.
Stacy, I loved your poem! This is a great prompt—I like the idea of going back to a fable or folktale, myth or legend for inspiration. The thing that kinda stuck with me today was the legend of Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil at the crossroads in exchange for his mastery of the guitar. So I stuck with that idea and write a blues poem from his perspective addressing the myth.
The Robert Johnson Blues
You know I heard what they said about me,
Cuz I said it first myself,
Heard everything you saying about me,
I said it first myself,
But when I thought about who’s better at bad talkin’
I couldn’t think of nobody else.
They say there’s demons in my music,
thats the only way I can play,
Demons in my music,
and they helped me find my way,
Truth is—this music,
keeps all those demons an arms length away.
They say I traded my soul at the crossroads, said I signed on that dotted line,
Gave away my soul at the crossroads, signed in blood on that dotted line,
now a blues man has seen some devils,
but they ain’t no friends of mine.
Now you can find me in the boneyard,
midnight to the early morn,
working these strings in the boneyard,
midnight til the early morn,
It’s those hours and folks from the boneyard, that you hearing in depth of these songs.
This begs to be read in a bar somewhere with a heavy bass beat runnung beneath it! Wow!
Precisely! I can already hear this one singing in my mind as I read it and see that low-light, smoky bar scene. I like how this addresses the ‘gossipy’ talk head-on with “I said it first myself.” That would be a great prompt line for owning your own ‘gossip talk’ and then turning it around. These lines made me laugh, “now a blues man has seen some devils, /
but they ain’t no friends of mine.” And the closing – that’s the kind of imagery that sticks, making me think now when I hear the blues that I will be hearing the song of bones. Lovely interpretation here, Dave.
Wow, Dave, I didn’t remember this legend of Robert Johnson selling his soul. You have piqued my interest in the story with your blues song. I love the repetition of boneyard in the last stanza.
Dave!!!! I love blues poetry and you nailed it! Thank you for reminding me to use this form with my students and it pairs so well with lessons analyzing song lyrics.
If you’re a singer, you need to record this and share it!
🎹 🎤
This poem is so timely with many musicians coming forth to share how they have grappled with mastery and their souls, particularly Bob Dylan. My question is whether they contemplated that they could still achieve this same genius in uncovering their own truth. Only to discover, perhaps too late, it was all an illusion to begin with.
Thank you, Stacey, for such a wonderful inspiration today. I loved every line in your poem, but this line: “Upward to heaven, their cries sing” made me cry.
Fairytales and fables were my favorite kind of reading when i was a child. In fact, my librarian at one point had forbidden me to check out fairytales unless I take one more “educational” book 🙂
Anyway, one of my favorite fables is The Wolf and the Lamb, so I tried to retell it extending the moral to the idea of unity:
Let’s Join and Face the Gray
Remember the fable of the Wolf
And poor Baby Lamb?
The one, in which the evil Wolf
Blames Lamb
For grazing in the field,
For dirty water in the stream,
For “rude” ancestors,
and what not.
The Baby Lamb has no chance
To find justification.
The Gray is simply hungry,
And Lamb’s an easy prey.
The times have changed,
Yet history repeats itself:
The wolves are still around.
The weak will find themselves at fault
When strong one holds the ground.
And Aesop’s lesson stays with us:
“The tyrant needs no excuse.”
Unless one day we tip the scale:
We join and face the Gray.
Leilya, thank you for sharing this poem! I think I’m falling in love with folktales and fairytales all over again! Or perhaps I’ve just missed spending time learning lessons from the animals’ points of view. I love how your voice is conversational. The ending is POWERFUL! Great lesson! Let’s make it happen:
I was driving through eastern Ohio earlier today so the immediacy of the “dirty water in the stream” is particularly striking. That and the duality/ambiguity of “the gray” really makes a powerful statement.
There is so much here – as in the original – to be explored with these archetypes and interpretations. These lines struck me: “The wolves are still around. / The weak will find themselves at fault / When strong one holds the ground.” It makes me think of the kinds of disasters we see over and over – the NOLA levee breaks, the Flint water crisis, the Ohio train derailment – all in the name of those in power making more money while the ‘little people’ suffer. There just has to be a reckoning, doesn’t there?
Oh, yes, Leilya, let’s “join and face the Gray.”
I’m not sure if I did this right, but when I pulled up “The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing” the tale was very different from what I remembered as a child.
The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing
One perspective tells that the story
of the wolf in sheep’s clothing
is of an evil entering the territory
of innocents in order to wing
through the barriers and pass
as one of the good and worthy folk.
In this tale, the wolf blends en masse
and wreaks havoc in a wooly cloak.
But another telling of this deceptive tale
gives another entirely different spin.
The wolf sneaks in and just as he prevails,
he is slaughtered, mistaken as sheep’s kin.
Perhaps this is a lesson necessary to hear
in this age of bent truths and divided minds.
Disguising our true selves, not being sincere
will only lead to more ruin for humankind.
Be who you are, not what others expect,
diverse opinions must be heard and spoken
aloud–for those who only see one aspect
will end up being the most heartbroken.
Great poem, Cara! I love the conversational tone. It works so well with this warning on ‘not being sincere’.
You did it right, Cara! I love both perspectives you presented in your poem. The concluding stanza is the most powerful:
“Be who you are, not what others expect,
diverse opinions must be heard and spoken
aloud–for those who only see one aspect
will end up being the most heartbroken.”
Cara—this is wonderful. I had never heard the grimmer ending for the wolf… your last stanza is advice we all should pay attention to!
Wow, Cara, you nailed it! I don’t know what is “right” but this poem is RIGHT ON POINT! You’re teaching a valuable life lesson here:
I immediately thought about how affirming this is for our LGBTQ+ community.
Thank you!
Cara, this turned out great despite your busy evening! This line stood out to me most: “Disguising our true selves, not being sincere / will only lead to more ruin for humankind.”
Stacey, thank you for sharing your poem with us today. The imagery has stuck with me all day.
The Crow and the Pitcher
On a hot and sunny day
I, the crow, was water-craved.
Until I spied some at last
at the bottom of a tall glass!
I realized the problem and let out a screech:
My little beak could not reach!
Yet, I tried and tried and almost quit
until I summoned all my wit.
I plopped pebbles in with a splash
back and forth I dashed and dashed.
Then I watched the little rocks sink
until the water rose for me to drink.
Rachelle— the rhyme scene suits the topic perfectly! I wonder if I would be that intelligent? I doubt it!
Rachelle, Your rhyme scheme is spot on, and I love this through the crow’s eyes. Thank you for using this fable and for writing (and sharing) this poem!
Rachelle,
I loved this story as a child! It was one that didn’t have horribly dark overtones, so it stuck with me. I love how you took the perspective of the crow–such smart creatures! Nice poem that made me reminisce. 🙂
Thank you, Rachelle! I enjoyed reading it and smiled all the time remembering the original fable. The alteration/consonance works so well in this line: ” I plopped pebbles in with splash.”
Rachelle, this is so much fun! I responded earlier about falling in love with fables again and your poem about the crow and pitcher is a treat! I agree with the others here that your rhymes work well. I’m glad you chose this story. The helplessness of some children today to solve small problems makes me wonder if they’d have been as clever as the crow! LOL!
🌸
Great rhyme, Rachelle, and a cute fun story. Thanks. I can see that crow using his brain to get water while dashing back and forth for pebbles.
I love the crow as a problem solver in this and the way that the stanzas progress.
The rhyming element really conveys the urgency of the situation, such a cool poem!
Stacey, this prompt is perfect for me as we travel. ❤️ your poem, too. What a perfect way to learn a story.
We visited the Emerald Buddha Saturday. He’s the most iconic Buddha in Thailand. His way (temple) is part of the Grand Palace.
Emerald [Yoda] Buddha
Atop a perch
Phra Kaew Morakat,
Emerald [Yoda]
Buddha, rests.
Indra & Vishnu
gifted grey-green
jasper for carving
tiny Buddha
whose powers
bless India, Pakistan,
Berma, Cambodia,
Angor Wat, and
Thailand. Thai
people hid little
Buddha behind a
stucco wall in
Chang Rai until
lightening cracked
Emerald Buddha
open. Now [Yoda]
Buddha sits
high on a pedestal
in Wat Phra Kaew
built by King Rama I.
—Glenda Funk
2-19-23
Glenda, I love the short staccato lines here with such powerful feeling, sort of like pauses on your journey taking in the vast sights of other places with so much to see and notice. The heightened senses – that’s what I love most about travel, and I’m so glad you are sharing your poetry and your photographs so that we can travel vicariously along with you.
Glenda, I love how you’ve shared the story of Emerald Buddha and tiny Buddha. What a tale! I can connect all of this with the gorgeous photos you’ve shared. Wishing you more wonderful adventures and safe travels!
Stacey Joy thank you for sharing these stories and poems! I was reminded of how much we deny the rich history of humanity when stories like this are not as commonly shared as other fairy tales. So instead of looking for one I knew, I took the time to look through ones I was not familiar with.
I had not read the fable of “The Astrologer” and yet this message has been creeping into my life a lot lately. So I turned it into a kind of golden shovel poem.
What Use Is It? by Erica Johnson
What steps do I take to succeed?
Use what I have learned, yet still I flounder:
is it one foot and then another?
It is a single step.
To worry about the next before taking the first or
read page ten and not page one
the same applies — you must begin!
Stars shine without having to think
when you breathe it is the same
you only have to inhale and follow with an exhale.
Can’t all problems be solved so simply?
See the light, take the breath, and step forward,
what’s there to do but step forward?
Right foot, left foot, right foot, left —
here is the path you make
on your own, because it does not exist until you begin —
earth at your feet and stars guiding above.
Beautiful. Just beautiful. I first read the vertical poem, then the lines. So much good advice here, so skillfully crafted.
Erica, I am not familiar with this tale – but, wow, I love how you’ve shared it with me! The golden shovel line is incredible – and your poetry lines are incredible, too. I love “Stars shine without having to think/when you breathe it is the same” – such a divine message.
Lovely poem Erica! I can completely relate. I am not familiar with this fable either. I love that you went beyond your comfort zone!
Bravo Erica. I was unfamiliar with this fable, but I love the message. Great job on your Golden Shovel. I can relate to looking toward the future when I need to focus on the present. This is my favorite line: “To worry about the next before taking the first”. It’s advice to myself, so thank you for sharing!
Brilliant Golden Shovel!!! I marvel at the flow and depth while still using the starting words for your golden shovel. That’s masterful! I don’t recall The Astrologer so thanks for sharing the link. I set daily intentions to stay on my path and to show myself grace when I go astray. Your poem is a gentle nudge to stay focused on the FIRST step and the FIRST page.
Abundant gratitude for your poem.
Erica, I love your question — “what’s there to do but step forward” — and the truth of “here is the path you make / on your own, because it does not exist until you begin.” Thank you for this!
Ditto! Erica. I concur with the message and the poetic style chose. Gleaning from the work of others just made your shine more brightly please share this on other platforms. It teaches and encourages at the same time.
Erica,
I love that used a golden shovel for this! You made it so smooth and seamless–I would never have realized if you hadn’t bolded the quote. Wonderfully done!
Just like Gayle, I simply love your poem. the Golden Shovel works so well, and your steps are guiding straight to success.
This an AWESOME Golden Shovel, one of my favorite poetry forms, by the way. “It is a single step.” and …”because it does not exist until you begin – ” Love these two simple but powerful lines.
Stacey, your poetry is breathtaking, with its imagery of beautiful blackbirds flying high and away… my eyes were filled with tears by the final stanza, with its emotional combination of sweet baby, bloody feet, and final rest of “flying blackbirds on to freedom.” Thank you for this.
Jerry Pinkney’s picture book The Lion and the Mouse is perhaps my most favorite folktale to share with young children (I’m a retired preschool teacher)…my poem is basically an ode to his glorious work.
The Lion and the Mouse
Jerry Pinkney’s vivid watercolors
a wordless wonder of a picture book
where children are entrusted to
tell the story
how
the fierce and powerful lion
tosses the puny little mouse
with disdain and condescension
not worth time or attention or bite
the fierce and powerful lion
sets them free
sets them free
sets them free
and then the surprising twist
the lion solitary and strong
is suddenly ensnared
caught in a trap
no way out no escape no how
except the small and caring mouse
sets them free
sets them free
sets them free
children tell the story
loud and proud
imagining and believing
in a world where
the formidable and powerful
set them free
set them free
set them free
listen to the children
take a walk on the wild side
throw down a little kindness
we always have power
to do for others
and in so doing
set us free
set us free
set us free
The repetition. Set them free. Set them free. Set them free. Please. Beautiful.
Wow, Maureen, what an awesome retelling of The Lion and the Mouse! I love all the examples of freedom and this stanza is a cry for humanity to take action:
Thank you for this powerful poem! I am ready for freedom!
I love this Maureen! These lines: “listen to the children
take a walk on the wild side
throw down a little kindness” gives me restored hope in humanity always comes from young children, innocent, sincere, and loving. Your repetition of “set us free” is a mantra for our world. Thank you for sharing.
Maureen,
I love the repetition and the retelling followed by the impressions of the children. This really follows the fairy-tale motif.
Maureen, what a truth here: “where children are entrusted to
tell the story” — One of my favorite things about wordless books, to be sure.
Your refrain is perfect, and the change in the ending was a sweet surprise.
Hello Stacey Joy, thank you for hosting today. I thought I was familiar with the text for today, but after reading it I guess I never read it. I honestly thought I had to book so now I’m compelled to return to school on Tuesday and go hunting for it. Such a great correlation to your poem today.
The stanza,
“Sarah and baby beaten to the ground
Prayed to God, pleaded for help
Toby’s magic chant, a soothing sound” is a stark contrast from beginning to end. Hearing the sounds of whips and screams to hearing the soothing sound of Toby’s chant, a cry to God for help. I read the fable Belling the Cat and here are thoughts in a poem.
Belling the Cat is Easier Said than Done
An unusual relationship, predator-prey,
totally built on life and death to our dismay.
One can’t survive without the other.
But now gone a father or mother.
Humans hunt and actions glorified,
Displayed, the prize is pride.
In the wild, the hunted, an afterthought
But the Circle of Life, an nonlinear plot
It’s eat or be eaten, with no gray area.
When the predator arrives, it’s mass hysteria.
Belling the Cat, an interesting fable,
such an easy idea presented on the table.
But a wise old mouse begged the question,
who’s sacrificing their life, at the leader’s discretion?
The cat’s claws, a murderous accessory,
She wrote as an innocent intercessory.
Young Mouse: “All we have to do…”
Other Mice: “Who is we? to you?
Does the ideology of
“Whoever smelt it dealt it” apply above?
Whoever wills it fulfills it.
All in favor, squeak to commit.
An excellent moral: don’t volunteer the thought
if you’re aren’t willing to be a part of the plot.
Jessica,
I found myself reading these lines aloud with a little bounce and a giggle leading into the last line — then, I thought, huh, this is deep “willing to be part of the plot.”
Peace,
Sarah
Yes Sarah! What’s the saying? It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurts. We always offer solutions, but not likely wanting to be the sacrifice.
Jessica—I came so close to using the same story!
Does the ideology of
“Whoever smelt it dealt it” apply above?
Whoever wills it fulfills it.
All in favor, squeak to commit.“
I giggled out loud here!!
Thank you Gayle! I had initially just write out a free verse of something. But that was too easy, so I went back and came up with this beauty!
Love your rhymes throughout this poem; I hadn’t heard of this tale, and now I must look into it. This line is fabulous – “Whoever wills it fulfills it.” I think of dreams and imagination…all we must do is follow through with these!
Maureen, I remember this poem from school, maybe elementary? Or maybe a cartoon? I don’t know, but it gives us a sounding reminder. Just what you said: we must follow through with our dreams! Thank you for your thoughts!
Gosh, Jessica, this is wisdom for all! I want to give the last two lines to my principal! LOL!
I am intrigued by this fable and will read it for myself. Your poem sounds like it was meant for a picture book! Great rhyme choices, Jessica.
🐱
Thank you Stacey Joy, it really is! And you can pen my name if you’d like. And you just gave me an idea…😃
This is a great example of really considering multiple perspectives to a tale, Jessica. I also found much of this both humorous, but also “hmmm…” I have to admit, those final lines resonated with me, “An excellent moral: don’t volunteer the thought / if you’re aren’t willing to be a part of the plot.” because lately, I’ve taken the path of “just shut up” at work meetings because I no longer want to get tangled up in any more responsibilities. It’s challenging when I think I have contributions to make, but as I am learning, it’s time to step back and let others step up. It’s also funny that I thought of Lord Farquaad from Shrek, “Some of you will die, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” Yikes!
Thank you so much for your insight Denise. I can feel your reservations because sometimes we are Colin told to be the scapegoat. And now I need to go back and find that line in Shrek.
finding your way out
of this poem
or situation
or whatever
you find yourself
in
can be tough
just follow
the thread
the through line
avoid false steps
or passageways
hidden cul-de-sacs
that promise
freedom at
every turn
and please
do not just turn
left at every
opportunity
that is a myth
now there will be
loose stones
along the path
inclines
and
descents
jagged edges
and
n
a
r
r
o
w
moments
things to be
avoided
that you
can
not
simply
avoid
and that’s
ok
there will
be birds
too
and flowers
(oh the
flowers)
some will
be beautiful
and some
will have
thorns
and some
(most really)
will have
both
and there will
be bugs
along the way
and bones
(so many bones)
but that’s ok
too
you are not alone
others have
traveled this
path
(if you listen
closely you
can still hear the
faint footfalls)
and yes
the going will
be treacherous
at times
seemingly
insurmountable
at others
but those are
just words
and not to
be trusted
you will find
a path
(your path)
out
by putting one
foot
in front
of the other
trusting yourself
and the
knowledge
that although
the minotaur
is oftentimes
the self
so is
the
maze
__________________________________________
Stacey, thank you for your mentor poem and your prompt today! Your poem is so heartbreaking, powerful, and insightful. (I started thinking of labyrinths and threads after reading the title of your prompt and couldn’t shake these initial thoughts so I just followed them!)
Scott, as usual you are a geniius and a blessing. Your words reach out to me about life struggles and the myths we tell ourselves. The words “you are not alone
others have traveled this path (if you listen closely you can still hear the faint footfalls)” really give me comfort today.
Sorry to misspell genius!
Scott, wow, I’m still holding on to every word! Your poem speaks to me in a way that feels like my mother is sitting by my side, coaching and guiding me along this thorny path. There’s abundant wisdom in the metaphors and I’m planning to come back to it over and over.
Thank you, Scott. I really needed this today.
🌹
Scott,
I enjoyed this poem so much and the parenthetical were especially sweet because while the entire poem felt like a consultation with a wise person, the parenthetical made me feel like I was getting extra, personal advice — “your path” and “listen closely” and “oh the flowers.”
Love thinking about the flowers…and the stones… and the maze.. oh, so much here.
Peace,
Sarah
I found myself going slower and slower as I progressed. This is beautiful. And the wisdom in the end…
Scott, I love your opening words “finding your way out/ of this poem” and how you meander through innumerable folktale plots, winding us to the important message of trusting ourselves. I love this stanza, how I immediately thought of several tales:
There are so many bones in these tales!
Scott, I enjoyed the pace of your poem. You expertly evoked the sensation of traveling a path and I was along for the journey!
Scott, I admire your work. You always have captivating moments, action put in words put in heart. I love your lack of punctuation because it causes me to not pause or stop as each word is more important than the last. But this is my favorite:
“you are not alone
others have
traveled this
path
(if you listen
closely you
can still hear the
faint footfalls)”
I’m listening closely.
Scott, what a humorous start that I read with curiosity. Then I got into the journey, and as others said, enjoyed slowing down as we walked the narrow path, enjoyed the flowers, and dreaded the bones. Then the end made me stop and think, as your good poems often do. Thank you for this!
This poem is such a cool journey, Scott. I love how you play with the form, but I really love the metaphors—the flowers, and the bugs and the bones. Really cool inspirational and thoughtful poem.
You grab us and hold us, then show us the bigger picture. I love the e.e.cummings move with the narrow broken into letters on a thin path. Very creative!
It is good to be back here with you all. I forgot to come last month/was busy traveling, sadly. I missed you, but I did go back and enjoyed the prompts later. Those poems about gun violence impacted me so, and the shootings just keep coming. I responded to each of your poems there.
Stacey, thank you so much for this prompt and for extending the depth and breadth of traditional literature. Oh, your poem is so powerful “bloody feet rising into the air” — Oh, my goodness. I can’t.
I clicked on an Aesop’s fable today, which has always been a favorite.
All dressed up
And no one knows
The foolishness inside.
Interim wisdom shows
But once mouth opens
And words tumble out
The ass is revealed
Stupidity, now no doubt
Inspiration from: The Ass in the Lion’s Skin and a proverb:
Even fools are thought wise when they keep silent;
with their mouths shut, they seem intelligent.
Proverbs 17:28
Denise, my friend, so happy you’re here! Oh, I chuckled because I find myself remembering the numerous times I’ve wanted to tell a certain person (ass) to shut up! Thank you! I needed this! There is abundant power in learning to master the tongue and silence!
🤐
So good to see you, Denise. I was following your comments this past week, appreciating your attending to so many of the writers here, making a point to witness their lives in this way.
And, I am now reading your poem and loving this truth about “fools are thought wise when they keep silent,” and how I have been quiet in some places of my life as late for just this reason rather than speaking up and being ready to learn from others if I am wrong or misguided. It takes courage to speak, even more to be open to revising thought.
Thank you,
Sarah
Denise— I love this. Short, sweet and spot on!
But once mouth opens …The ass is revealed, oh how that stanza made me laugh with understanding! Yes, I know someone (many) like this.
Denise,
Your poem makes me smile! Love the cadence and those lines about foolish speech removing doubt.
Thank you for this wonderful prompt today. I really needed it!
The Old Man and the Fish
taken from Hemmingway’s Old Man and the Sea in a “loose” Pantoum form
There was an old man
who loved to be on the sea
the feel of the boat, wind in his hair
and a fishing pole in his hand.
Who loved to be on the sea
longing for his biggest catch
with a fishing pole in his hand
and drinking a beer.
Longing for the biggest catch
one hand on the pole, he hooked a marlin
while dranking a beer.
If only he could bring the fish home.
One hand on the pole, he hooked a marlin.
An immense struggle began.
If only he could bring the fish home!
But age and luck were against him.
An immense struggle began.
The feel of the boat, wind in his hair
but age and luck were against him.
There was an old man.
Who loved to be on the sea.
The fish was strong and combative.
The feel of the boat, wind in his hair
the old man grew weaker.
Longing for the biggest catch,
sustainance and vitality.
A fishing pole in his hand
they struggled for days.
One hand on the pole, he hooked a marlin.
The old man grew weaker.
If only he could bring the fish home
but he knew the fish would win.
The fish was strong and combative.
They struggled for days
the old man grew weaker.
If only he could bring the fish home!
Honored to be chosen for the struggle.
If only he could bring the fish home!
But the old man grew weaker
and fell deeply asleep.
Susan, nice. The repetition in the near pantoum is very effective. I like the message in “honored to be chosen for the struggle”
Susan, I love a good pantoum and yours nailed it. I like that you took freedom to “loosen” the form and used it so well. Each stanza gently took me through the journey and the struggle as “the old man grew weaker” and weaker until the end. Brilliant!
This is so well done! I love the way your words pulled us through the story…
Susan, I love this pantoum – it makes me want to use this form to tell other tales…the repetition /slight refining of lines really makes an impact. I am struck by the stanza that ends like this –
The starkness of that final line, the blunt ‘can’t be missed’ recognition of one’s aging: There was an old man. Love it!!
Susan, I very much enjoyed reading your poem! I love how you built tension all the way to the end!
Thanks, Stacey, for inviting us to write in honor of Black History Month. My poem is based on an experience in Mombasa, Kenya. I felt I was home, yet glad I was returning home to family in the USA. (Modeled after Frost’s “Acquainted with That Night”)
Acquainted with That Song
I have been one acquainted with that song.I’ve sung the song in tune and out of tune.
I have held that high note oh so long.
I have sung the song – clear like a loon.
I have kept within the music’s beat,
Swooped down low, yet staying right in tune.
I’ve sung that song and let my voice just soar
While deep within my soul the words brought tears
That slipped right down my cheeks; my heart just tore.
That song, reminding me of trials sore
Experienced by people who did so long
For freedom, justice, rights, and so much more.
The freedoms they had waited for too long.
I have been one acquainted with that song.
Anna, this is just beautiful. It is remarkable that birds are connecting so frequently within our poems today, as a sign of freedom, of uplifting, of song and voice, and your loon brings that music to us. I’m also struck by the line “I have been one acquainted with that song” and how it connects the feeling of home between Kenya and the US, as well as the trials faced.
This is very beautiful, Anna, and so appropriate.
Anna, my heart is filled! I can imagine a choir singing these beautiful words. The repetition works perfectly. Thank you for this freedom song.
💙
Wow, what an experience. I love what you have captured here, and being “acquainted with that song.” I’ve enjoyed hearing snippets of your trip (trips?) over the past months. “The freedoms they had waited for too long.” You are a spokesperson and advocate, and I’m sure you are forever acquainted with that song you learned there.
Anna— amazing. I can hear your voice so strong and clear…and the lst line. Oof.
The Tuffet
So there I was, perched on this hummock–
or was it a hillock (I can never remember),
bigger than a molehill,
smaller than a heap,
minding my own blessed business,
not bothering anybody.
All I wanted to do was eat my snack–
a little yogurt, some curd-curls–
(I really need to get to the grocer down the lane
and upgrade my refreshment repertoire–
a banquet, this is not.)
As I was munching along,
planning my afternoon visit
to Grandma in the forest,
(Hope that cute woodsman is there today…),
I brushed the crumbs off my new red cape, and–
Can you believe it?– this HUGE spider crawls out!
Now, I am no chicken little
Really, I don’t go around yelling
about falling skies
unless something is REALLY wrong–
but this spider was BIG!!!
Epically big! Immensely big!
Big red eyes–the better to see me with, I guess–
and seriously major arachnid-worthy legs–
The gams on this attercop
could support one of those crawly-houses
Baba-Yaga sells.
What was I supposed to do?
I levitated off that tuffet,
jog-trotted out of there,
and scuttled home to my shoe.
I forgot my tasket-basket
with the letter to my love in it,
and climbed up the beanstalk
to the highest shoe-lace in the house..
(That love was sort of a no-hoper, anyway.
He kept kissing all those girls, making them cry.
Definitely not a keeper, that one.
But it was a really nice yellow basket)
Granny, with her big-eyes and big-ears
(what happens to those body parts when people get old, anyway?),
didn’t believe me, but it’s true.
Check it out.
I would never cry wolf.
Gayle Sands
02-18-23
Gayle, your humor always rings through (and rings true). The side comments from Little Red as she traverses the entirety of fairytales are a hoot (what does happen to those body parts?!). Such a fun way to nod to childhood. And that last line is perfection.
Oh, Gayle, I am in love and filled with childhood joy!
So many lines and words to highlight! “tuffet, jog-trotted, tasket basket…” Fun!!!!
Still smiling at the eyes and ears of the elderly!!! 🤣
OH, Gayle, you had fun with this one, I see! It’s like a dream of fairy tales and nursery rhymes meshed together. And this line sent me to my dictionary:
“The gams on this attercop”
Well, I had never heard of these synonyms before! Brava.
Gotta love Word Hippo!
This is a masterpiece, Gayle! The narrator’s persona and wit absolutely shine through this rollicking nursery rhyme adventure. Were you laughing as you wrote?? It had to be so much fun to write – it’s a pure delight to read!
Gayle, this was such fun! So clever! I loved all of the allusions throughout! (And it sounds like Little Red really did dodge a bullet with that Georgie Porgie guy.)
Dear Stacey – your poem pierces my heart to the core. For all the horror of the images, it is so beautifully, powerfully rendered. The great longing for freedom and the injustices of the world – what humanity does to itself – are so clear in every simple, spare line. It is magnificent.
Thank you for the inspiration today. I kind of went out on a different limb here…
Water Rabbit
In the forest deep
upon a cushion of emerald moss
Water Rabbit sleeps
and dreams
of the Child.
In his dream
he cannot tell the Child
how much
he loves him
for to the Child,
the Rabbit isn’t real
and there is no language
for conjuring a bridge
across the chasm
of unbelief.
Water Rabbit twitches,
remembering
the nursery
the toys
the Wise Horse
who spoke of love
and longsuffering.
It was Fate that placed
the Rabbit in the arms
of the Child that night
when a favorite toy
was lost.
It was only for a season
that the Child embraced him
and carried Rabbit
everywhere he went…
Water Rabbit’s whiskers tremble
with dream-reliving.
He sighs.
Other rabbits nearby
cock their heads
and perk their long ears
for in a moment,
Water Rabbit begins
to whimper
and weep
and wail
in his sleep
—the dream
is all too real:
the Child’s fever,
the separation,
the command that
Rabbit and all the others
be burned.
It isn’t fire
or fear
that brings Rabbit’s tears
but the thought
of never being
with the Child again.
—Wake up! Wake up!
The colony surrounds
Water Rabbit,
placing their small front feet
on his shimmery fur
shaking, shaking him
into reality.
Water Rabbit gazes at them
through his tears
from his emerald-moss bed
and asks…Is it time?
The colony nods in unison
as Water Rabbit rises
and wipes away his tears
leaving tracks
on his satiny face.
The colony parts
for Water Rabbit
to make his way through…
he hops and hops with
boundless energy until
he reaches the clearing
where the Child
bigger now
(for he’s bigger every Spring)
sits on the blanket
with a picnic feast
made ready.
Into the Child’s arms
leaps the Rabbit.
There are no words
for there is no language
that can capture
love so great
and eternal
and real
as real as the tear
of a toy Rabbit
about to be burned
for the sake of the Child.
For it was that teardrop
the inevitable price
of love
and sacrifice
that brought life,
transformation,
salvation.
That is how
Water Rabbit
came to be.
*******
-with apologies to Margery Williams.
2023 is the Chinese Year of the Rabbit.
More specifically, the year of the Water Rabbit.
This was just beautiful! The lovely flow of it, the size and shape of your stanzas, the recurrent image of the Water Rabbit (literally brought tears to my eyes), and these, my fave stanzas:
“and there is no language
for conjuring a bridge
across the chasm
of unbelief.”
“There are no words
for there is no language
that can capture
love so great
and eternal
and real”
Just terrific, Fran!
I may never stop weeping this morning!!
and there is no language
for conjuring a bridge
across the chasm
of unbelief.
Fran–you have woven a beautiful tapestry for us. Thank you.
Fran, I am rent. The Water Rabbit completely me in the way all animal characters are real to a child (and those with a child’s heart). The connection between tear and water is powerful. And on the eve of Lent and sacrifice, the symbolism is even more striking. You have a way of crafting story through imagery and arc that is just beautiful.
Fran! OMG, I am captivated here by Water Rabbit. You’ve crafted a brilliant story and I can imagine it as a picture book.
This resonated with me:
And then I wanted to sob:
Thank you! This is a keeper!
Fran, I was spellbound throughout with every word! Oh, the love and sacrifice. This is heartbreaking and hopeful all at once. You wrote an amazing piece today, and it will stay with me.
Thank you, Stacy, so much for this prompt! I teach mythology, and I am definitely going to take this to my class. Yours is heartwrenching – that final stanza indeed hurts my heart, but also offers a sense of release. Tough to take in, but necessary. For many reasons, I was reminded of the story of Philomela, most especially with the tragedy that took place this week at my alma mater MSU – thoughts and prayers.
Philomela’s Children
Those who remain
are meant to speak
for those who cannot
who no longer can
Silenced but not severed
with each woven breath
our pervasive presence
permeates earth and sky
Inhale the warp
exhale the weft
our tapestries decry
for those with hearts to hear
Denise, I love Greek mythology, but don’t remember ever reading this story: Wow. Your poem does it beautiful justice and serves as a beautiful, hauntingly sad and sensitive tribute to the recent tragedy and the souls lost and affected at MSU — so sorry to hear that it is your alma mater. I loved your imagery and your alliteration which made this ring. Beautiful.
Those who remain
are meant to speak
for those who cannot
who no longer can
We have altogether too many people to speak for these days…
Denise, your imagery and rhythms here are exquisite: “inhale the warp, exhale the weft ” of tapestry-stories for others to hear, on behalf of those who can’t. Your poem is truly a song of lament and loss – and a call to action. So, so powerful.
Hi, Denise! Thank you for gifting us with this reminder of Philomela’s Children. I recently read a poem a friend wrote as she watches her mom’s memory slip away from dementia, and this resonated with me, as I imagine she frequently needs to speak for her mom:
I love the gentleness of each stanza.
Denise, your use of the extended metaphor of weaving drew me back up to the top of your poem. I’d been drawn by the opening idea of speaking for those who can’t, then the idea of being silenced but not severed reminds me of loved one who have died, but remain in our hearts.
Then, personifying the tapestry! Oh my! What a clever poet to evoke such meaning about Philomela’s children and us, too.
I appreciate the symmetry in each stanza and the beauty of the message written here. My favorite line has to be “Silenced but not severed/with each woven breath.”
Stacey, thank you for your powerful poem and amazing inspiration today. I appreciate your links and sharing your joy and brilliance today. I found this stanza mesmerizing:
An old man, Toby was his name
Tended to Sarah and her baby
Overseer whipped them both the same
After writing several lines, I’m choosing to respond through a double haiku.
Free-dom
Let me fly, Toby
fast and high on angel wings
freed from chains and lies
Let me fly, Toby
into loving freedom land;
kiss my baby’s hand
Barb Edler
18 February 2023
wow. No other words…
Barb, the sparseness of language in a haiku juxtaposed with such complex imagery makes this pairing powerful. I see a connection between the lines in each (second with second and third with third), especially in being freed from chains and the kiss of the hand.
Tears! Barb, so much power packed into your double haiku! Thank you for offering this loving tribute to “Free-dom” today!
🫶🏽
Barb,
These haiku are gorgeous and prayerful. The simple form works perfectly here. “Let me fly.” Reminds me of Song of Solomon and Milkman.
Oh, Barb, thank you for this dear response. I love “kiss my baby’s hand” so much.
Stacey, I love your prompt and see many ways I can use it in my classroom. My 4th graders are reading mythology and my younger ones black history. I am currently in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. There is so much cultural folk history around this celebration. (A ton of waste, too, But I’m surrendering to my disgust to be with my family)
Out in the country when Fat Tuesday’s a’comin’
Chickens and roosters set out for a’runnin’
Disguised and daring folks follow a’drummin’
to catch their meat for da gumbo a’boilin’
For a video that teaches about the Courir de Mardi Gras with a fun chicken art project, go here: https://youtu.be/_xakU6DZ7Ik
Margaret, cultural dialect is powerful here, bringing us straight to Bourbon Street with you to hear the drums and tubas, trombones and saxophones, smelling the delicious scents of gumbo seasonings and beignets wafting through the crowds from the Cafe du Monde….oh, for a cup of chicory. But it wouldn’t be nearly as delicious as this poem. Love it! Enjoy time with your family.
Grateful for this glimpse into Nee Orleans culture. The rhythm of that world exists in your words. Have fun with your family!
Margaret–thank you for not making me cry! This reads like a song meant to be sung loud!
Lucky you to be in NOLA today. The celebration must be awesome.
I love the chicken flavor of you poem. “to catch their meat for da gumbo a’boilin”
Margaret, what fun! Knowing what it’s like to come off a fast, this poem takes on even deeper meaning. I can imagine the joy of the chickens and roosters who know that for 40 days they’ll be free! Yet, worried that all too soon, they’ll be targets for tables again!
Margaret, I’m envious and long to visit New Orleans again. I love your poem and my mouth is watering for
Nothing is better than gumbo! Have fun, my friend!
Stacey, this prompt led me to many stories today (what a way to explore BHM!). The symbolism of the black birds, beautiful, stark, finding freedom, and the circling you bring from beginning to end with the utter sadness and love throughout is just beautiful. Thank you for opening our five days with such richness. I spent time with A Story, A Story, one of the spider stories.
before there were stories
to hear on earth
a golden box
held the words of the world
and all in it
belonged to the god of the sky
until a web weaver
met his challenge
climbed high
to make a trade
for how can one own all?
once opened
the stories belonged to the children
this is how things happen
and come to be
for stories cannot be contained
Jennifer, the magical feeling of a web weaver spinning stories, spilling the words and the feelings of the power of story throughout the world. What a scene! What a moment, what a flurry of validation for all of us that our stories matter!
Jennifer, I loved how the lack of punctuation made this piece so imagistic for me and affected the voice, somehow, making it seem, to me, wise and authoritative. I also loved how the idea of literacy resonated in here with “The People Could Fly” and its message about the power of words. Loved this!
“this is how things happen
and come to be
for stories cannot be contained”
Jennifer–your words are so carefully crafted. they carry weight that I cannot explain…
Hi Jennifer,
As always, you craft poems that create vivid images for me. I love this:
I can imagine every story held securely in that golden box. But, oh, so lovely to visualize stories belonging to the children. That’s where they should rest forever!
🥰
Jennifer, I love this story-origin story! ‘the stories belonged to the children’ – yes!
I love every gorgeous line of this poem, Jennifer. How fitting that the web weaver should be involved in the release of stories – for they are spun from words and living. Stories DO belong to the children; this is where it all begins… how I love this, all of it <3
Wow! Thank you Stacey for your heart and words.
I seemed to have taken a left turn down to nursery rhymes…
Rock a Bye, My Baby.
Rock a bye, my baby,
When I sing you a lullaby
whose words have lost meaning
I tell you
I know nothing at all
of where the wind comes from.
Rock a bye, my baby.
When I place you
on this tree top,
I tell you
I know nothing at all
of the strength of its boughs.
Rock a bye, my baby.
When the cradle rocks
and you wail,
I tell you
I know nothing at all
of the rain, the lightning, the thunder.
Rock a bye, my baby.
I tell you
I know nothing at all.
Except, my cradle won’t fall.
The world gets lost in the eyes of a baby – those days of knowing nothing at all are precious memories! You bring back the moments of rocking chairs and tiny toes.
Brittany,
Oh, this was jut lovely! Loved the refrain and the truth of those last lines in each stanza. This took me back to reading to my kids and, yes, repeating those stories and rhymes so much that they lost meaning…but it made me think of the surety that I would protect them through anything that ran through our lives, even when I didn’t have all the answers. Great poem! 🙂
Brittany, the perspective you share in this poem is provocative. The underlying dark tones of having a child in a tree and having the speaker repeat “I know nothing at all” is especially powerful. Your ending adds the perfect punch and adds a sense of relief that the baby will be okay. Fantastic poem!
Brittany, I see the reassurance here (along with the worry of the unknown) that new parents feel. I hear the love in your words. I feel the connection to past and tradition and the reimagining of what can be. Beautiful poem!
Okay–you guys–I need to stop with the tears. Except, my cradle won’t fall.”Isn’t that what being a parent is about?
Brittany, this is beautiful, soothing, and as gentle as a mother’s cradling. I’m in awe at how you used repetition here and how it fits so well with the repetition of rocking a baby. I am in love with this poem. I am sure it would also be a sweet song!
🤗
Does anybody else feel like it’s Christmas when this week rolls around each month? 🙂
Thank you, Stacey, for the great prompt. I loved the opportunity to reread “The People Could Fly.” I think I read it last when I was very young, and reading it from an adult perspective made me appreciate the nuances of it. My favorite part: when someone yells that they heard the old man say the magic words, with “words” in italics: the power of words, right?
I loved your poetic interpretation of this beautiful folktale. That last stanza! I’m rereading The Invention of Wings right now and loved being reminded of the connections. <3
Here is my contribution for today, inspired by my dive into Polish folklore and fairytales. I never even got around to reading any because I was arrested by a painting of one that I found, which inspired this poem, a villanelle.
Muted songbird, heart immune to joy,
Prisoner to her self-imposéd grief –
Seeks she a savior, finding just herself.
Hanging in the balance: joyful life.
Mind bows, cowed, to spirit-stealing thief:
Muted songbird, heart immune to joy.
Mind is torn asunder midst the strife
Demons from her young years peep beneath:
Seeks she a savior, finding just herself.
Danger in her homeland now is rife
No harbor waits, no happy, sweet relief:
Muted songbird, heart immune to joy.
Each word proved one more twist: familiar knife
She views her now with stunned, sad disbelief –
Seeks she a savior, finding just herself.
Duties wait, though: mentor, mother, wife
Escape is now, as leaf subsides to leaf:
Muted songbird, heart immune to joy –
Seeks she a savior, finding just herself.
Attached is the picture that inspired the poem. 🙂
Bravo, Wendy, this is pure gold – all of our roles and the seeking of a savior to rescue us away when we find ourselves alone. I love how one picture inspired such powerful verse this morning. I also love how you brought in the captive bird knowing no joy and used it as a repeating line. You wove words wonderfully! And yes, yes – I, too, feel the Christmas spirit when Open Write rolls around. I catch falling snowflakes and realize that they are indeed lifesavers.
Wendy, wow, your villanelle is rich in sound and stunning imagery. I love the repetition of “finding just herself” and was particularly taken by the following lines:
Mind bows, cowed, to spirit-stealing thief:
Muted songbird, heart immune to joy.
Very compelling poem!
This is one of those mornings! Your poem marches through, and the refrain is the crux of it–“seeks she a savior, finding just herself.” WE must always be our savior…
Wendy – I am in awe of your poem – a villanelle so artistically rendered. So many lines reach right out to grab the heart – not to mention its pairing with the artwork. Heartrending to think of a songbird that cannot sing, a heart that is immune to joy, someone seeking – needing – a a savior, and finding only self. The mourning is very real, and very deep.Yes – I look forward to these Open Writes and the amazing gifts they bring – like this!
Wonderful! Wendy, you have inspired me to dig in more with the villanelle. I don’t think it’s a form I have written. The repetition is perfect! It gives me the feeling of consistently reminding myself to look within when I’m struggling. This poem is a gift I needed today. Thank you.
Stacey, what joy you always bring in your inspiring poetry prompts! Your free verse is a perfect way to begin this month’s Open Write. The blackbirds are such beautiful symbols of the flight to freedom in the story, and on this weekend of the Great Backyard Bird Count when so many are counting birds, I’ll reflect back on this story and your poem and be reminded that freedom as people and as a nation is a blessing that took blood, sweat, and tears – and lives – for us to know today. Thank you for reminding of this powerful story. I chose an etheree to write about one of my favorites, also with a theme of freedom – The Legend of the Teddy Bear by Frank Murphy.
They Called Him Teddy
When Roosevelt let a wild bear go free,
The Washington Post ran a cartoon.
Rose and Morris Michtom took note.
In their candy store, she sewed~
Commemorating choice~
Celebrating strength~
Their idea: our
Nation’s first
Teddy
Bear
The diligence and ingenuity of immigrants (Russian and Jewish in this case) should be a continual reminder of the strength in our diversity. Our history is woven with it. I love this story and how your words let me imagine Rose sewing in the small candy shop to bring into existence a treasured toy. Commemorating strength and choice indeed!
Morning, Kim! I loved your etheree — thank you so much for reminding me that I could write in this form this week! Great topic — and nice choice for Presidents’ Day. :).
Loved the two lines in the middle:
“Commemorating choice —
Celebrating strength –”
…they made me think about TR’s “choice” in a way I hadn’t before — and the line resonated in other ways, too. Thanks for this! 🙂
Kim, your poem is the perfect telling of this event. Loved your line “Commemorating choice”. I love the image of Rose sewing in her candy store. Loved your title!
Kim, my friend, so much to love here! I fell right in with the title! You inspired me years ago to develop my writing with Golden Shovels, and today you’ve inspired me to push myself more with etherees.
Love this! I hope our nation will be able to embrace, practice, and celebrate choice and strength.
Abundant thanks, Kim!
🧸
A perfectly-executed etheree, Kim! It flows without a single hitch. I marvel at the link to President’s Day and the saving of that bear. Commemorating strength, freedom, choosing good and noble things over needless destruction and loss of life… it’s a message we surely need to hear and take to heart.
Oh, my goodness. Stacey, I’ve had such a rich time in my journal. Thank you. It’s been a while since I read that story, ‘The People Could Fly.’ So long that my memory is of a child hearing “a” story…not an adult that could hear the truths told. I love answering the ‘questions at the end’ of texts/workbooks. I hated it as a kid. But, now as an adult with layers of experience…they are such wonderful writing prompts to me! The first question set me off in a beautiful direction. I made a list of items from my culture of origin. I’m pasting a snippet of it. These will turn into poems!
-one of skirts and dresses with ankle socks, new shoes for a
new school year
-an orange at the bottom of a Christmas stocking
-one of fidelity and judgment on others for a lack of it
-one of the oldest men, the patriarch at the head of the table
and the oldest woman at the seat nearest the kitchen
Thank you, Stacey! You are JOY!
My mother-Santa always put an orange at the bottom of our stocking. I hated oranges and to this day will only eat them straight from a tree. Hmm, a poem maybe?
Linda, I’m seeing juxtapositions: bottoms and tops; old and young; fidelity and the lack of…
Linda, your list is a poem in itself. A list of memories is a powerful thing. I agree with Margaret – the oranges and nuts lined up on the fireplace mantel and the Lifesaver Storybook – – all bring back the spirit of Christmas as a child in the early 1970s. Memories, those vaults of preserved moments, are places of peace and comfort……most of them, anyway.
Linda, good morning/afternoon! Thank you for offering this list that is all things loving memories. It is a list poem that definitely can go more directions if you so choose. I love the memories of Christmas but you nailed it with:
I am warm and fuzzy right now. Thank you, Linda!
❤️
Stacey. I am still in tears! That last stanza—
Tight to her chest, her baby held on
Bloody feet rising into air
Flying blackbirds on to freedom
the story, the ending…my heart. Now let me glue it back together so I can write.