Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. 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.
Host
Barbara Edler taught English Language Arts, Speech & Drama, and TAG students for forty-two and a half years. Although she misses the classroom, she keeps busy as The Keokuk Art Center’s Executive Director where she enjoys planning artistic endeavors and hosting artist receptions. She loves to write poetry, flash fiction and more. You can find some of her poetry published in editions of Lyrical Iowa and Grant Wood Country Chronicle, and the book Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance: An Oral History of COVID-19 in Poems which was published due to the efforts of Dr. Sarah J. Donovan and Caroline Lopez. She’s a firm believer in karma and follows her Great-Aunt Adeline’s advice: “When you’re at the end of your rope, tie a knot, and hang on.”
Inspiration
I felt very fortunate to meet Matt Mason, Nebraska Poet Laureate, at the Poetry Palooza event held in Des Moines last April. I attended a writing workshop he led and listened to him speak during a poetry panel presentation. We even had a conversation in a hotel elevator.:) One thing he shared that resonated with me was the idea that we can help spread our love of poetry by writing reviews of poetry books and by sending poets thoughtful notes to show them a little love or appreciation for the poetry they write. Honestly, it was really difficult for me to choose one of Matt Mason’s poems because there are so many I wanted to share. He even had two very fun poems published on the Rattle poetry website in August. I highly encourage you to check out his button poetry reading of “A Thing that Happened.” This poem is published in his book I Have a Poem the Size of the Moon. Any parent or teacher, I believe, will find his poem extremely relatable.
When I discovered Matt Mason’s poem “The Story of Ferdinand the Bull” was available online, I chose it. Not just because it was easily accessible, but because this poem shares Mason’s memory of hearing his father read this book to him every night until he could recite it word for word even though he hadn’t learned to read yet.
Reading aloud and sharing favorite texts is more important than ever since politicians are successfully censoring books. Rather than going into a deep rant about censorship, I invite you to write a poem today about your own love for a particular book or a reading journey/memory. Together, let’s celebrate our love of words and books, and the stories they tell.
Process
- Think about one of your favorite books, childhood stories, or poems and share a memory or something specific about it. Why or how did the story move you?
- Recall a particular teaching moment sharing a favorite story and how the students responded.
- The only rule today is to write from your heart.
- Feel free to write with a particular poetry form in mind or choose to write a free verse poem.
- Feel free to ignore this prompt and write about anything your heart desires.
Barb’s Poem
Reading Aloud “The Scarlet Ibis”
I remember Doodle
whose older brother carried him everywhere
in a handcrafted cart
cause Doodle couldn’t walk;
their journey to Old Woman Swamp.
Doodle, amazed by its beauty,
cried, Brother, so pretty.
I remember my shock when his brother
forced Doodle to touch his own baby casket,
his twisted shame impelling him to
teach Doodle to walk,
an amazing miracle
for a little boy born
with a too-big head.
I remember “The Scarlet Ibis”
dying beneath the bleeding tree
the sudden storm—Doodle falling behind
crying Don’t leave me, Brother;
then lying dead.
I remember reading this scene aloud to my class
tears building my heart breaking
James Hursts’ words showing
the gut-wrenching pain of loss; the cost of pride.
I remember being unable to keep reading,
I called on you
and you bravely finished the story
as I tried to suppress my tears
and the class listened
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.
I’m late but I looked at this prompt and about three different ideas came to my mind. This is an aunt and niece interaction. Thanks for the inspiration, Barb!
‘10 Minutes till Bedtime’!!
Not my childhood story but yours.
Even though I don’t live near you,
I feel like I’ve read it to you thousands of times
Nine minutes till bedtime!
Eight minutes till bedtime!
Seven minutes till bedtime!
Six minutes till bedtime!
Now I say this phrase any time there is a minute countdown like this.
Five minutes left til the appointment?
Five minutes til bedtime!
No one ever gets it
But you would.
Four minutes
Three minutes
Two minutes
One minute
I wish this was the amount of time til I’d see you!
Angie, I like how you show the connection with your friend within this poem. The understanding and pleasure found through a book radiates in your poem! I love the way you formatted your poem. Thank you for sharing!
Barb,
“The Scarlet Ibis”! I teared up when I read your poem; that story just slays me!
I took mine in a sillier direction; thanks for the fun prompt!
“Pick a book!” the prompt directed,
leaving my poor heart dejected
as memories now resurrected
clambered in my addled pate.
For how to pick just one consumed me
Memories of my girls subsumed me
Scenes from childhood perfumed
the room as yet the hour grew late.
Memories of Suess’s Lorax
Books of bugs (wings, tails, and thorax)
Too much choice, a bookish morass
Fed my agitated state.
Goodnight Moon with vivid pictures
Child’s Book of Verse and Scriptures
Bunnicula, a common fixture
All, my kids did captivate.
A Good Day’s Fishing bought by father
Jan Brett’s romping bears and otters
Soon replaced by Harry Potter
Love of reading celebrate
Saxton Freymann (“How You Feeling?”)
Pics of veggies so a-peel-ing
Artsy food that sent brains reeling
Entertain and educate.
Alas! Despond of picking one
Finish poem and now be done
Relinquish lines of rhyming fun
Lest rhyming start to irritate
And bid goodnight to sleepy poets
To let some other writers show what
Tricks they’ve got (this late? You know it!)
And, thus, my blather obviate.
I get this! And so many of your quandaries were the books I would have chosen! Thanks for the happy ending to an evening!
Wendy, your list of book choices reveals how difficult it would be to choose. Your playfulness radiates throughout your poem, and I love how your banter directly addresses the ELA audience. I know I’m getting sleepy, but now I’m wanting to pick up a children’s book like Bunnicula just for fun! Thank you!
I love the musicality and whimsy in this. The book choices are so familiar too!
When Ms. White read aloud
Goldilocks’ crash to the ground
there was no sweeter song than
the tiny pieces of that wooden chair
“s-m-i-t-h-e-r-e-e-n-s”
I twirled and sang
this newfound word,
this new just right word
Just right words are so wonderful, aren’t they! What a great moment!
Britt, I can feel and hear your joy of falling in love with a new world. Your choice of words shows this delight so well from “sweeter song” to “I twirled and sang” and the formatting of “smithereens” adds layers to this beautiful moment.
Ishy and the Whale
“Dad, can we read the book
about me?”
Sure, Ish, you little restless soul.
I imagine Melville peering into
his crystal ball and looking into
the future and seeing you–
his muse–and thinking,
now that looks like a boy that
needs to go to sea!
Or maybe, by naming you Ishmael
we set you on this path of inquisitive
independence.
What Queequegs and Ahab’s will inhabit
your future adventures and will you
be sufficiently skilled with a sextant to
navigate the squalls and tumult and doldrums
that will inevitably threaten your safe passage?
And what dangers lurk below the surface,
gliding just out of sight, the hint of a white shadow
that seems to be a trick of light, a present haunting?
I hope, Ishmael,
that you find an agreeable cannibal that you can befriend,
to help you navigate a world of drunken Christians.
To make sure that you get to tell the tale.
Dave, I really enjoyed the sounds in your poem tonight. Your word choice is terrific. I love the extended metaphor, too.
Dave, I have always adored the story line of Moby Dick. I love how you show your personal connections with this book. Did your father read it to you? Your closing lines had me laughing aloud “naviagate a world of drunken Christians”….what a hoot! Thank you!
Barb, I wish I could remember what brought me to the book, but we’ve been reading it to our little guy, Ishy, since he was a newborn. So he definitely connects!
Vague Memories
By Mo Daley 9/18/23
My dad was a busy man.
After all, he had nine kids and a wife to support.
He worked as a pipe coverer, not a pipe fitter,
breathing in the toxic asbestos that may or may not
have contributed to his early death.
I don’t know if he was a reader,
because I wasn’t lucky enough to know him like that.
My vague memories of him include him coming home each night,
shedding his coveralls and throwing them in the washer,
having dinner with all of us, then watching a bit of tv.
But from 1950-1972 he used a portion of his precious paycheck
to buy four Reader’s Digest Condensed Books a year.
I never saw him read the books, but those leather-bound tomes
must have been important to him, as there were so many
that some had to migrate from the front room to the boys’ bedroom.
I’ll never forget looking at the richness of the gold writing on the spines,
wondering if I would ever be able to read one all by myself.
Now when I’m in antique or thrift store,
I have to resist the urge to buy every volume I see
In an effort to imagine my dad, kicking up his heels
and enjoying a good read before hitting the hay.
What a sweetly specific memory. I love this, particularly your evolved urge in antique and thrift stores. Thank you for sharing!
Mo, hmmmm, you really strike a powerful chord through your poem. I can feel the loss of your dad, and how much you would like to see him enjoying a great read. It’s easy for me to visualize these books as we used to have them at our house, too. I can easily imagine you looking at one of these books at the antique store, remembering your father. I love to go through antique stores but resist a lot of purchases. I’m constantly searching for a kind of cup I drank from as a child because of the memories it holds, and at the same time, I resist buying things because it evokes a memory, but I have no need for the item. I’m sorry your dad had to work a toxic job. Thank you for sharing your powerful poem with us today. Hugs!
My dad was a truck driver. Much the same as yours, I did not know him well, as he was on the road so much of the time. Your poem is a bittersweet memory. Did you ever get to own those leather books he saved?
This is a beautiful remembrance of your dad. The detail of the volumes of Reader’s Digest—the leather bound edition—really drives the point of your dad’s commitment to reading. I love the last lines speculating about him enjoying those stories!
Oh man! Your poem tugged at my heart. What a memory!
Here’s mine, about a favorite book my mom always read to me and that I read to my daughter.
Love You Forever-then and now
Then
worn pages
creased cover
faded lines
a much-read
much-loved
favorite.
Love You Forever
A story from grief by Rober Munsch.
My mom’s favorite to read to us
we all learned to recite
before we could read.
But I didn’t know my true feelings-
how much I truly loved that book-
until I held that same worn cover
with the same worn pages
the same creased corner
and read to my daughter
over
and
over
until we both could recite
before she could read.
A story is more than the pages
more than the words.
It’s the memories.
And the most magical part
is how a story can mean so much one day
and completely something new the next.
What a terrific last stanza, Alexis. You’ve summed up all your images perfectly.
Alexis, wow, I love how you connect your previous experience with Love You Forever with your reading to your own daughter. I agree that a story is more than pages, “It’s the memories.” Lovely truth! Thank you!
“recite/before we could read” I love how your poem circles back and connects. I’d actually never heard of the book until I was pregnant the first time. I received 4 copies as baby shower gifts all at different times. I see why it is so loved!
Charlotte and Fern
When Fern ran to her dad and wrestled with him
trying to pull the ax out of his hands,
I knew I loved that girl.
My second grade year was somewhat
tumultuous
for a few different reasons
but a major oasis was
hearing my teacher read to us
daily after lunch
Between my vivid imagination
and the drawings that seemed to
come alive to me, Charlotte
seemed like my best friend
and confidante.
At that time, the concept of an insect saving a
pig and Fern talking to the animals
was as normal to me as walking down the street.
I felt like I was in that barn, listening to the
conversations, and trying to save Wilbur’s
life along with Charlotte.
One day, in the Winter, I was sick with a nasty cold,
and remember begging
my mother to let me go to school because I didn’t want to
miss a chapter. I missed it, unfortunately.
I was heartbroken at the ending but understood that
Wilbur’s life was saved and Charlotte would live on
through her children.
That book opened the world to me and I was introduced
to the concept of books saving your llfe.
I was labeled a Bookworm as a child and was never
offended with that term.
By Seana Hurd Wright
Oh, Seana, I can deeply relate to everything you say and how you say it. Charlotte (along with Laura Ingalls and The Boxcar Children) set me on a course too.
I love these lines…
pig and Fern talking to the animals
was as normal to me as walking down the street.
Seana,
That first stanza is really well crafted. I have been really paying attention to openings and closing this month, and you do it so masterfully.
When Fern ran to her dad and wrestled with him
trying to pull the ax out of his hands,
I knew I loved that girl.
I keep reading it over and over.
Sarah
Oh yes! I love the words you chose and man…I totally get all of how you felt. And it was the book that made you a bookworm!!! I love that.
Seana, your straightforward voice in this poem is so compelling. I could definitely relate as my own teacher read Charlotte’s Web and I clearly remember that book to this day and how it deeply moved me. Now, I feel like finding my copy of it and rereading it. I love that you highlight the point that Charlotte would live on through her children. Powerful poem! Thank you!
Oh my dear friends, how I have missed being here with you. And, what FOMO I have had. I’m not sure what happened, but I didn’t get an email on Saturday (I normally have Open Write in my calendar for the five days, but I didn’t). Then, when I got Sunday’s we were deep in the throes of Parents Weekend at our son’s college. I WILL go back and look at the past day’s prompts and poems. I just can’t NOT.
Barb . . . what a gem of a prompt you have crafted for us. That “A Thing That Happened” by Matt Mason . . . just wow. And your poem makes me want to sit down right now and read (or re-read?? I can’t imagine based on your poem that I wouldn’t remember having read it) “The Scarlet Ibis.” You definitely capture the haunting aspects of it and the turning it over to someone else to finish . . . been there, done that.
I had so many books I wanted to write about, but I knew I didn’t have time this evening to obsess over my choice, so I just went with the formidable Judy Blume.
Forever
Judy Blume made a living
scandalizing the world
in the 70s.
Yet, in her “inappropriate”
books that roost
atop most challenged
and banned book lists,
the “pornography” and
“highly sensitive” matter
simply present real issues
and real situations
to real teenagers.
As a fourteen-year-old,
I handled and passed around
my sister’s copy of Forever
so much that its cover was bent
and torn with key passages dog-eared
for quick and easy reference.
Of course, the pages featuring
Ralph just had to be read and re-read.
The fireplace, the rug, and Ralph.
Yes, Ralph was a penis.
And, I didn’t know about penises
so I was curious.
Lord knows my Baby Boomer
uptight, frigid mother wasn’t going to
talk penises with me.
So Judy Blume did.
And did she ever.
She was honest.
And the scenes were real.
And exciting.
And they helped a generation
of teenage girls learn
about penises.
And sex.
And how it doesn’t have to be forced
or dreadful
or embarrassing
or naughty
or completely taboo and never spoken of.
Michael and Katherine had a fun relationship.
It was playful
built on friendship.
Sure, there was attraction,
but they talked ON THE PHONE
each night.
No texting
No sexting
No sending nudes.
There was a frank openness
to their interaction
that book banners find offensive
that I happen to find refreshing.
Sure,
when I was 14, Forever felt like a sex guide
equivalent to sneaking an issue of
Cosmo from the young mom
I babysat for.
But its honesty provided a realistic look
at sex that helped me navigate the teen years
more successfully than
General Hospital or Dynasty or Porky’s did.
I didn’t have premarital sex
because I read Forever when I was 14.
But I did set my bar high
for premarital sex
because I read Forever when I was 14.
A fireplace
a rug
and Ralph . . .
what more could a girl want?
~Susan Ahlbrand
18 September 2023
Okay, there is so much power in what you wrote here! The lines that really struck me are:
I didn’t have premarital sex
because I read Forever when I was 14.
But I did set my bar high
for premarital sex
because I read Forever when I was 14.
People forget why there are books with these topics…and the power they can have. Loved this poem so much.
Susan,
Thanks for returning to us. I am not sure what the issue was with the automatic emails on Saturday — ugh. My heart was breaking with this issue.
Still, you are here with Blume no less. The And and or and no and but. These three words repeated over and over are everything. Judy Blume was all of this to a generation who now gets to meet her in her movie bioepic, is it Rachel Adams who plays the Forever character? I can’t recall..
You made me smile so much with this poem, Susan. Loved every word.
Sarah
Susan, you’ve managed to capture a whole generation’s feelings about Judy Blume in your poem. She is such an important author. I’m so glad you chose to write about her work.
This is such a perfect and common-sense-ical defense of what literature can mean to young folks as they are figuring themselves out. I want to read this aloud at all of these crazy school board meetings that advocate banning books.
Susan, bravo! Your poem illustrates every reason why books must be available to teens. Sometimes a book helps to make things clearer. We can find connections and a better understanding of our own life. I sure did not have open discussions about sex when I was a kid, and it sure would have been helpful to have had something more direct than the menstrual chart. “a frank openness” is refreshing. Thank you for reminding me of Judy Blume and how she influenced you. I truly love that closing stanza.
This is perfection:
I didn’t have premarital sex
because I read Forever when I was 14.
But I did set my bar high
for premarital sex
because I read Forever when I was 14.
masterful phrasing, and so much truth!!!
Susan,YES YES!! Forever was my book and also first taste of sex on a page. I too shared it with ony a few friends and we all whispered and snickered, wondered, and imagined. Your words perfecty sum up the teen agnst most of us curious virgins felt. Thank you so much for reminding me of how much I enjoyed my JB books.
Always
Closeted in my room
lying on the bed
laughing so hard
our eyes would water.
We were like the two butterflies
sitting on a mushroom
claiming their space.
Not moving out of habit
because this is where we alway sat
every day and every time,
always
Like the butterflies in the story
that fly in a circle
six times,
always
and take the same nap,
have the same dream,
always
The routine was repetitive
so was ours
we would giggle and look at each other
saying
“Always”
Laughing at the fly
that kept sweeping the dirt
because it was dirty
and the mosquito
that guarded the puddle
tellling the old grasshopper
to use the tiny boat
to cross the puddle.
We would giggle and look at each other
saying
“Always”
Our friendship remains
now reading the story
to grandchildren.
We giggle and look at each other
saying
“Always.”
from the book Grasshopper on the Road
by Arnold Lobel, published in New York by Harper and Rowe, 1978
An ode to a book that begged to be read again and again, so many times you knew all the words. Nice echo of the word “always.”
Oh, Susan,
I love this closing stanza with the “our” friendship and the grandchildren and the giggle that moves the our to “look at each other.” This scene is lovely.
Sarah
Susan, I adore your description of the two of you as butterflies. I can hear the joy, the giggles, and sheer fun. Your closing is such a delight since it reveals that this relationship is still present and that you can still find joy while carrying on a wonderful tradition. Beautiful poem!
Barbara–You sent me down so many rabbit holes with your story and your prompt. Ferdinand was one of my favorites growing up. And so many times, my students had to take over the read-aloud for me because I could not. It became a game for them to listen to when my throat began tightening up–they knew the tears would happen soon. And then there were the ones I shared over and over with my own children… Thank you for the memories…
The Love of Words
My grandmother didn’t read me stories.
She MADE them.
We would nestle together
in her many-blanketed twin bed
and she would ask,
“What shall we think about tonight?”
She would build an entire tale
around my thoughts–
around me.
I was always part of the story.
When she finished,
she would say,
“Now you tell me one”.
And I would.
Every time.
I would tell her my story
And she would tell me it was wonderful.
I don’t remember the words
of any of the stories she told,
or of those I told in return.
They were tales told in passing,
just for us.
But I remember
the love of a grandmother
who gave me her love of words.
A love instilled in me
so many years ago
in that twin bed,
snuggled side by side
deep in the blankets.
“I’ll tell you a story
and then you tell me one.”
GJSands
9/18/23
This is a wonderful memory and blessing from your Grandmother. A way to connect to a child’s imagination. I have done the same with my grand-daughter and we will always remember that creative fun and love.
Memories of such a love is something I hope I am giving to my own grandchildren.
Gayle,
There’s so much to love in the idea of a grandmother who MADE stories and who loved you enough to make you the featured character in those stories. I can only imagine how valued that made you feel. I didn’t have a grandmother who read or shared stories in that way. Truly a memory to treasure and a model to imitate.
Oh, Gayle…how very blessed you are to have had a love of words cultivated in you like that.
Oh, Gayle, wow! I love this tender, loving poem that shares your very special grandmother with us. I can only imagine the profound joy you must have experienced being the center of her stories. Plus, getting you to create your own stories. I need to borrow this technique if I have the chance. Truly gorgeous poem. I love that you ended with the dialogue between you and your grandmother. Precious!
Oh, Gayle, what an absolutely lovely story. I want a grandmother like her! I love that the stories you told each other were “just for us.”
Hi Barb!
I am at work on lunch and had to get this posted before life starts lifing!!! 🤣🤣 I’ll come back this evening to read and comment.
Always and Forever, My Baby
Born a few weeks early
Weighing in at 8 pounds 12 ounces
Too robust to navigate
A birthing canal exit
One look at his peachy cheeks
Dimples begging for my kisses
I fell in love
I knew I would love him forever
A few days after birth
He was the biggest baby
In the NICU
Being carefully watched
For any complications
From a serious intestinal disease
Whether he was sick or not
I knew he would always be my baby
Five surgeries before his first birthday
But he proved to be a fighter
Nothing would stop him
Nothing would stop me
We were in this together
I rocked him in my favorite chair
Reading our favorite book
Reciting my favorite lines
“I’ll love you forever
I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living
My baby you’ll be.”
©Stacey L. Joy, 9-18-23
(Robert Munsch, I Love You Forever)
I have weeped through that Robert Munsch book many times, and knew right away what you were quoting! Love the single word difference in these two lines,
Reading this poem, I feel the strength you both summoned … just beautiful.
Stacey, oh, I love your poem. I’m so sorry you had to endure such a scary time, but I’m not surprised your son was a fighter with his mother being a fighter herself. Your poem warms my heart. Thank you for sharing, and I’m so glad you are enjoying the Scholastic bag! Wishing you a fun-filled year.
Stacey, such precious time in the rocking chair, reading a beloved modern classic. I’m so glad he is okay, and so glad you two are in it together! I hope you’ll share this with him.
Okay, Stacey–way to make me tear up! What a story of strength, and love, and the strength of story. Wow.
That is not a book I can read aloud without tearing up. What a rough beginning your son had! He must be strong and resilient.
Stacey, a perfect book to reflect on for this activity.
These lines hit hard:
I love your last lines “I’ll love you forever….my baby you’ll be” How true from most mothers. How soothing it is for a baby to be rocked nd rad to at the same time.
Barb, thank you for today’s prompt! I am awed by the image of you
and can think of no better way to demonstrate the power of reading than to share such honest feelings.
the little free library at the playground
her dollies cascade
down the slide – so fast!
and she races to follow
she squeals round and round
the merry-go-round
then climbs into the jeep*
and turns the squeaky steering wheel
in pursuit of imaginary ice cream
stop! you wait here!
she darts away like a squirrel
unlatches the hook
sorts through the possibilities
so proud to do it herself
look, two new books!
now, sit on the bench and read!
and so
the morning flows
back and forth
run and read
climb and read
slide and read
*nana and poppa squish in, too
Maureen,
Hoe lucky are you to have this bossy toddler making reading demands: “now, sit on the bench and read!”
I love the playfulness in your poem and the craft of it. It’s like being on a teeter-totter:
“back and forth
run and read
climb and read
slide and read”
So good.
*How
Maureen, your poem is so full of happy movements. I love that your granddaughter slides and reads at the same time. Your poem shows the joy of reading and being able to take advantage of a free library. Love your final line, too:) Thanks for sharing!
Oh, what a blissful way to spend a day – – playing, working off energy, then relaxing. Such a blessing to have a nana and poppa to squish in and read.
I see a children’s book here! I feel the joy and the bustle and the love…Please write it!
What a fun place for a Little Free Library. I love that last stanza with the repetition of read.
Maureen, what sweet memories you are building for this this precious girl! “unlatches the hook / sorts through the possibilities” She will remember for life! I think every town needs a free little library at a playground.
My father made up Witch Scale stories for us, and he began each one with this (my poem for the day):
Once upon a time
in the land of the witches
there lived a witch
and her name was
W I T C H
S
C
A
L
E
!
She was the best of all the witches
because she was the worst of all the witches
and in Witchland
the worst is the best
and the best is the worst.
So she was the BEST
because she was the WORST
Oh, I tell you she was bad.
Oh, what a wonderful start to storytelling! I am totally captivated. What a precious memory to have. Great poem!
Allison, I can so hear the voice in your poem. I love how you were able to keep the formatting here. I struggle with that myself. I also enjoyed how you emphasized BEST and WORST at the end. Your poem reminds me of these stories we used to make up about “Bloody Bones”. The final line is pure delight. Lovely and very fun poem! Thanks for sharing such a wonderful memory and poem today! I could see where kids might really take off with this as a story starter:)
Allison, I hope the tradition carries on for generations to come. Now I’m spellbound, and I want to hear a Witch Scale story. I love this beginning to all of them.
What a delight–the story you tell and the poem you wrote about it. The energy and the joy are so present here. I especially love the last line–I can hear it!
What a gift.…a storytelling father!
Allison,
First, I am impressed with the white space here. I can never get this spacing to work for me, and I am so glad you did, because this poem speaks in the presence and absence of letters, in the caps and lower cases. I also love all the w’s. This is fun to read aloud.
Peace,
Sarah
Barb,
I remember crying the first time I read The Scarlet Ibis. Your poem captures those tender moments. You are a model of caring and empathy. I’d love to be among those students listening to you read. I love the repetition of “I remember” and all the reminders of the story’s imagery and plot. I chose to write a haiku sonnet today to recount a childhood memory.
Whale Tale
Once upon past nights
my father read us Jonah’s
biblical whale tale.
Tossed into word-seas,
a darkened room set the scene
for chiseling sins’ price.
Lurking beneath my
Loch Ness dreams, a biblical
plesiosaur feasts.
Time and disease plunged
dad’s sightless orbs into depths
of words we can’t see.
Scottish legend keeps Nessie alive.
Cultures* depend on whale tales to survive.
—Glenda Funk
18 September 2023
When I was a kid, before my father lost his sight, my brother insisted on hearing the story of Jonah and the whale every night. The story, like so many others, filled me w/ fear. Thus, it’s significant in my quest for perfectionism, itself an unattainable myth.
“Cultures depend on whale tales to survive” – bravo, Glenda! What a fascinating coupling, to hear this story nightly from your father, and for him to suffer as this –
It is understandable that you carry this myth with you always. Powerful poem.
Glenda, I can understand the fear. I’ve often wondered about all the Ninevahs out there – the places or people or things avoided that bring consequence. As I stood in Florence, Italy looking at all the Pinocchios and thinking of the consequence for disobedience, I noted the parallels between the stories.
Glenda, wow, I love how your poem creates so much sound and wonder. I especially love the internal rhyme of “whale tale” and all the s sounds which create a sea-faring and suspenseful tone. Your final line has me pondering about why humanity is intrigued by stories of the deep sea, mysteries, and “whale tales”. I definitely think the Jonah and the whale tale is deeply scary. It was one I pondered often. Thank you for sharing your poetic wizardry today! I do love the haiku sonnet form, too!
Glenda–
“Tossed into word-seas,
a darkened room set the scene
for chiseling sins’ price.”
What an image you created for us here! I hope there was a fire burning in the room–that’s the way I picture it, lit by flames, not by electricity. And to lose his sight…What a strong and powerful memory…
Colleen mailed from Arizona to Florida
Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast
for me to read at the not-so-super 8
where I worked in the early days
we got to know ALS intimately.
We left our jobs in lumber and
social work to share a double-wide
trailer in a not-so-retired 55 plus
North Fort Myers community,
making wheel-chair laps in the cul de sac,
getting our asses handed to us in shuffle board,
tracking down slacker pot-luckers.
I bathed her.
He lifted her.
I worked at the motel for insurance, so
he could be her soaps companion.
Behind the desk, Hemingway told me
stories of a café on the Place St. Michel
of people of the Seine, a false spring.
I met Ezra and Scott in scenes
and drank excellent wine across Paris.
I was not lucky enough to have lived
in Paris as a young woman, like Hemingway,
but it stays with me, the Paris prose,
the hotel, the trailer, the wine.
For reading can be a movable feast in life’s new paths,
especially the ones toward death.
Sarah,
Your poem is a feast I’m devouring for its details about the buffet of your life and all the story kernels stored w/in these lines. I’m giggling at “getting our asses handed to us in shuffle board,” and imaging you in the “not so super eight.” What a poem. Love it. And do tell more about those Florida days.
This is glorious, Sarah. “the hotel, the trailer, the wine.” Hemingway transported you ‘away’ and yet deeper ‘within,’ too, I think.
Sarah, your poem is rich with so many clever lines and sounds. I am immediately pulled in with your opening lines, and I love how you show your working and living experiences and then where Hemingway’s Moveable Feast took you. Your word choice and language throughout this is fantastic. I especially loved “the not-so-super *” and “tracking down slacker pot-luckers”…which I’m really pondering. Like…”Hey, weren’t you supposed to bring the barbeque wieners tonight!” Your last two lines encompass the power of reading literature, and I love how you weaved Hemingway’s title here. However, your final words leave me pondering. Thanks so much for sharing such a fantastic poem with us today!
Sarah–you have given us so much of yourself in this poem. A whole story is told in these words–
“… in the early days
we got to know ALS intimately.”
“I bathed her
he lifted her”
I am glad for your wheelchair races and ass-kicking at shuffleboard. And for your escape to Paris and all it gave you…
The gift of a book that sustained you through such pain and death, trauma but for a feast you could read and be somewhere else.
Oh, Sarah, the layers of this poem. Yes, it’s about the book. And you do masterful job of showing how we experience things through books that we might never experience in life. But it’s the way the book is the backdrop to your life of caretaking, leaving all other things behind to lovingly provide care. This poem moves me greatly.
Wow, this poem gives Hemingway a heavenly ovation! Imagine him right now reading these lines. Eternal joy!
I think my
Book Club
hates me
let me
explain
every year
for the
last
nine
years
I’ve asked
them to
read
various
Ergodic
Texts
from
House
of Leaves
to The Raw
Shark Texts
to S. to
Maxwell’s
Demon
to XX
and every
year they
come to
our
gatherings
cursing
and
fussing
about
these
Wonderful
Opportunities
that
challenge
their
notion
of what it
means to
read
what it
means to
make
meaning
what it
means to
connect
in this
fractured
and disjointed
world of
ours
and I
love it
______________________________________
Thank you Barb for your prompt, your mentor poem, and for introducing me to Matt Mason! (And I’m right there with you, I’ve been “there,” too – “being unable to keep reading” because some given text has caused the “tears [to build and the] heart [to break].” That’s happened to me while listening to some performance poets, too – Andrea Gibson, I’m looking at you here – I’ll be wiping my eyes, turning off the projector, wondering, who has been cutting onions in here?! I’m not crying, you’re crying!)
Scott, thank you! I will have to look for Andrea Gibson online although I think I have read some of her work, but I’m not entirely sure. I completely enjoyed the way you developed your poem with such a fun opening and the grappling with what something means, etc. especially following “in this/fractured/and disjointed/world of/ours”…wow, ain’t it the truth. Your final two lines separated effectively show your glee! And I love it!
Scott,
Thats quite a list of esoteric reading. I had more fun playing w/ and looking at S than actually reading it. You could give your book club reason not to hate you.
Pshaw, Glenda! I will readily apologize – and have – for any of my suggestions that get voted on and read that end up being “just ok” – but every one of those titles that made the poem IMHO “make the cut”! Are some better than others? Sure. (I absolutely agree with you that S. was a bit “clunky” in parts, the “gimmick” of the text not quite “paying off” as much as I would have wanted, perhaps.) But what Mark Z. Danielewski does in House of Leaves regarding language and structure and meaning is a thing of unmitigated and unequivocal beauty and wonder. So, occasionally, I ask my folks to read one metafictive text (out of eight) a year. I would argue, and have at times, that that’s not too much to ask. 🙂
Scott, It’s always a treat to find your poems here. I love how you use the process of finding meaning in shattered, complex texts as a mirror for making sense of this broken world. Lovely.
🙂 Thank you, Allison! (I just can’t help it; I keep finding myself drawn to these layered, metafictive texts. Favorite book of all time — The Things They Carried. One of my top 10 movies — Stranger Than Fiction. One of my favorite plays — Waiting for Godot. I could keep listing weird, cool, complex texts, but I’ll stop. lol.)
No way can your book club hate you…you bring so much creative freedom into what you do, with every poem you write as evidence! Who says inspiration isn’t a path of hard work??
ikr? I think I’m quite delightful. At times. Lol. (My self-deprecating nature almost stopped me from making this joke. Almost.) Thank you for your kind words, Fran!
I feel like such an illiterate!–I know NONE of those books. Somehow, my struggling readers in middle school never allowed me that sort of challenge. I especially love the glee you expound for their suffering!!
Lol, no this is a faculty and staff book club that I started about nine years ago. We nominate selections and then vote on them for the upcoming year. We have an eclectic group of folks, quite a few disciplines represented. We’ve read some good stuff over the years….including some of the ones I’ve suggested, too. (I’ve only had a few brave students over the years try House of Leaves after I book talked it. I’ll keep trying. 🙂 Hope springs eternal!)
thanks for the memories- mom used to sing this to me!
Momma’s song
Nobody loves me,
everybody hates me,
guess I’ll go eat worms,
big, fat, juicy ones,
slim, long , slimy ones,
oh how they squiggle and squirm!
bite their heads off,
suck their juice up,
throw their skins away,
Nobody knows how you can live off
three worms a day!
Shave and a haircut,
3 Worms 🪱
I lovvvvveee dem wormsssss!!
Oh, I never knew this song until I heard my mother-in-law sing it. Your poem brought so many memories back. I love how you ended your poem, and the worm emoji is a fantastic addition along with your final fun line! Delightful poem! Thank you!
Itsy bitsy fuzzy wuzzy worms…..I’m hearing the tune!
It was my Mama’s song, too…sung with gusto and pure glee in her eyes.
I made my middle school ELA students learn and sing this song every year! they groaned and fussed, but they always knew the words! (I didn’t include the shave and a haircut bit–I wish I had…)
Oh, Barb, what a great prompt. I love the many challenges and inspirations you gave us here. From Mason’s “A Thing That Happened” (so moving), Ferdinand (such a great lesson he points out) and your sweet memory of needing someone else to finish reading “The Scarlet Ibis” to your class. (I blubbered my way through Where the Red Fern Grows with third graders.) And the challenge to write reviews and let poets know how their works have touched them. That’s the second time I’ve heard you say that; now I need to take it to heart. Thanks! Today I have a found poem from something I wrote a few years ago about another of my sisters. It’s one of my favorite reading memories.
I was six years old
waiting for the mail
Maybe this will be my lucky day!
Sometimes it was, and the
mailman would pull out that
cardboard covered package
that made my heart swell.
Two beginning readers,
this time maybe it was
Hop on Pop and
Are You My Mother?
I couldn’t make out a word,
but I enjoyed the pictures.
I probably knew the letters,
and maybe I had memorized
some words from Dick and Jane
at school (Look, see, come…)
However, these books at home
were magical.
I don’t remember my mama
ever reading books with me, though.
She was busy with seven kids.
Cooking, cleaning, ironing,
knocking new doorway holes
in the wall and remodeling
with a perfectly crafted doorjamb,
as needed. That kind of stuff.
I read books with my sister, though.
When she came home from working
at the telephone company
and/or on Saturdays (I’m not really sure),
she would sit with me and my new books.
She would paint my fingernails and read.
She somehow made the symbols
not so scary,
not so impossibly gibberish.
She taught me how to read.
I often wonder how and why
my mom ever agreed to buy
those books for me.
How could she have afforded them?
Just for me.
They even came with
my name on the box.
I have always treasured the memory.
These books are still favorites.
Every time I see a copy, I smile and remember.
Sixty years ago, and the flood of love and support
come back.
Thank you, Mama.
Thank you, Chris.
Denise, what a beautiful poem. It would be nice to know how you mother decided to buy you these books. I’m almost wondering if Chris actually made it happen for you. I love how you show the time she spent teaching you to read and how this memory brings back a “flood of love and support”. Your end is perfectly delivered! Thank you for sharing such a marvelous story of giving through your poem. Beautiful and moving!
Denise, you have returned me to the excitement of getting mail and the surprises inside. I’m almost remembering books arriving this way but wonder if it’s just because I want to have that memory since yours is so incredible and I felt as if I were right alongside you. What a delightful experience. What magic! These little bits that make us who we are just amaze me. Wonderful poem!
What a precious memory, Denise! So beautiful that you received this special gift in the midst of seven children. I love the image of your sister reading to you and painting your nails at the same time! My granddaughters (in Washington, DC) have the gift of monthly picture books in the mail through a wonderful organization started by Dolly Parton (Imagination Library) – they are always excited to receive their new books. I hope they hold this memory close for 60 years plus!
Oh, Denise. What a beautiful tribute to a mom who couldn’t afford books, but did, and the sister who shared her time and words with you. I feel all warm right now…
Something special about getting something in the mail, even more when it was to you as an individual. I love how two forms of nurturing are represented by your sister and mother, one in the form of gift, one in the form of time.
Denise,
I am so touched by these lines:
Olivia was depressed.
“I think I’m having an identity crisis . . .”
Our cartoon pig squeals from the page
As I perch on the corner of your bed, you
Covered by a flowered quilt, grandmother-made.
Each night, Olivia’s fairy-princess-dilemma is
Center-stage before bedtime.
Each night, you contemplate quietly.
I wonder where your thoughts go.
Speech is not your strong suit,
(Not mine either), but I wonder.
On the cusp of six, you are enamored
With taffeta skirts of various pinks,
Sparkling tiaras and barrettes, sequined-shoes.
Do you envision yourself the princess
Like so many of Olivia’s porcine friends?
Or as Olivia goes through her choices, do you
Contemplate your future as well?
An engineer?
A doctor?
A dancer?
You come alive on the last page,
A splitting grin showing gaps between
Baby and adult teeth, a giggle escaping
As you recite, “I want to be queen!”
Eyeing Olivia’s large crown and crimson robes.
The sparkle in your bluebell eyes not quite
Understanding one day, you will be.
Oh Jordan, how lovely. I love the references to Olivia, and I’m glad I know her, as the details pop and I can see her on the pages:
“bluebell eyes”
Sorry, I didn’t finish that before I accidentally sent it. I can see her on the page through your words I wanted to say:
“On the cusp of six, you are enamored
With taffeta skirts of various pinks,
Sparkling tiaras and barrettes, sequined-shoes.”
And (is it your daughter?) the subject of your poem, with her “splitting grin” showing the gaps of teeth and her “bluebell eyes” I can see too! Such a sweet little queen!
Jordan, your exquisite poem is so moving. I can hear the love for your daughter throughout this poem, and I could easily visualize you reading aloud to your daughter. Her love for bright and shiny things is relatable. I like how you question what she might be thinking as you read aloud to her about Olivia. Love the color and language throughout. Gorgeous, tender poem!
Love these books, and I am so glad your daughter is opting for the queen spot! You bring back so many moments of my reading to my girls. Lovely.
Barb, thank you for this prompt and for introducing me to the Scarlet Ibis…I’ll add it to my reading list.
Picture books for adults
I read aloud, out loud, slow, intoned
a picture book
to my adult learners
learning about literacy
as an adult, when was the last
time someone
held a book?
showed you pictures?
pointed to the words that
exited their storytelling mouths?
our ears and eyes were no
longer isolated
in text
but communal in a narrative
Taylor’s the house the crack built
rhyme, repetition, reality
a story of shock in the form of a picture
book, who is this for?
what age can you read it to?
don’t worry your ears, eyes, and
souls at that just now
just take in the story [breathe]
absorb, witness the words read to you
relish in the emotions you feel
Wow, Stefani, what a powerful book to get the discussion going of who picture books are for. I hope your students all become committed to finding books for their students of all ages. Great provocative poem today.
Stefani, your poem’s questions are so compelling. I especially liked “when was the last/time someone/held a book?/showed you pictures?” I think for some adults it is very difficult for them to just breathe and take in a story. I love that part of your poem, and your final line “relish in the emotions you feel” is truly why reading books, poems, etc. is so important because it helps us be a witness to someone’s life, troubles, joy, experiences. Yes, let’s “relish”! Powerful poem! Thank you!
Stefani, I really appreciate the entirety of this – the invitation to relish a book read aloud, the setting aside of worry and opening of words and emotions, all while considering who a book is for. I’m reminded of It’s a Book by Lane Smith and the uproar that caused.
Stefani,
I like the perspective of it being a communal focus, how they breathe it in. I think we forget that the wonder isn’t just something the young can feel.
Yes, Stefani!! I am with you! I read aloud daily with my 5th graders and this year I even opted to use a rug for them to sit on while I read. I love it and so do they. Hopefully, they won’t get too much taller or we will not all fit on the carpet.
I think these lines express the exact reason to keep reading aloud to ALL learners:
Barb,
There is another story in this poem, of teachers being so moved by other’s words, they need students to finish the reading. Keep up with the verve! I reflected back on one of my favorite Jack London stories.
A TEACHER RETURNS TO HENDERSON CREEK
Missing a simpler time from fiction
I mourn the frozen chechaquo for his hubris,
knowing I could have saved him,
if not for my torrid disdain for cold.
Stuck between the pages
he is forgotten in his freezing,
yet I am near, warming in reading of him,
my brother born of anonymity.
I see him again this year
now online, and sleeping off to death
for a new generation of freshmen,
some even sleep in solidarity.
In my imagination he takes solace
in our February reading,
and the offered dregs of the coffee pot,
still hot in the thermos on the bookshelf.
Rex, I appreciate the phrases “sleeping off to death” and “stuck between pages”–they bring forth a new reality. Thank you for sharing today.
Rex, I love your title and how you share what was happening in this powerful story. You are such a nature lover that I can see your affinity for it, and I too, have always enjoyed this story. Since I’ve known you for so long, I was immediately pulled into your classroom and could easily identify the coffee pot and hot thermos. I so appreciate how you juxtapose the character “sleeping off to death” with the sleepy freshmen students. Powerful poem! Thank you!
Rex, there were so many lines that I enjoyed sitting with (some even sleep in solidarity had me snorting aloud). I appreciate the companionship of your words with the story and character and the contrast between cold and warm, especially in those first two stanzas.
Barb! I felt this poem. I lived this poem. For me, it was Where the Red Ferns Grow, early 90’s, 8th graders. And even the toughest boy in the room, who volunteered to take over, couldn’t read without crying. Thank you for this prompt today!
In their childhood room
there was a rocking chair
and two little boys
with their mother there
whispering hush
A told B and B told C
I’ll meet you at the top
of the coconut tree
I read these words
to O and E
over and again and endlessly
And as for eggs and ham with Sam
I do not like them Sam-I-Am
I cannot read them here or there
I cannot read them anywhere
I cannot read them and do not care
I cannot, cannot, anywhere
I’d gladly don my wolf suit
and make mischief
of one kind
or another
(can I read this entire page
without taking a breath?)
Send me to bed without supper!
(leave off each beginning letter?)
Let the vines hang down!
(change a word without anyone
noticing?)
Sail away in a tumbling ocean!
(don an Italian accent?)
Tame them with my magic tricks!
Anything,
anything
to avoid the boredom
of reading the same words
again and again.
Let the rumpus start!
Jennifer, the idea of avoiding the same boring words brings so many emotions forward as a reader, as a teacher, etc. I love though how this ends with a playful spin. Thank you for sharing today.
Oh Jennifer, so many delightful allusions! I love the emotion you create here, and it is good to remember these thoughts as a reader and teacher. I have read it three times and kept getting a different message! “I cannot read them and do not care” reminded me of reading to my nephews when I was young–I would skip as many pages as I could without being caught!
Jennifer, your poem is so fun, and I love the message you share with how some stories are so well known that you must change the words to get through it. I adore Where the Wild Things Are. I think I could say each word right now from the heart. Cheers to your end, “let the rumpus start!” Indeed! Very fun poem!
Jennifer, I cried for two weeks after reading Where the Red Fern Grows. Not sure I can talk about it even now, decades later. What a rollicking tour of works, words, and styles here – joy all the way!
A very clever and humorous poem, indeed! I love the references to all the children’s books and I remember how the magic tricks, (anything to avoid boredom) were the best. Thanks Jennifer.
Barb, what a poem! I was practically crying just thinking about that heartwrenching short story. Few stories reach in like that one – – and what a memory you shared! I once made it through Faithful Elephants reading it to my high school class, but I have never been able to read Love You Forever without tears. This brings a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes as I think about the power of books to make us feel. What an amazing prompt you bring today!
By The Light of the Moon
back in the 70s, the
World Book Encyclopedia
and Childcraft salesmen came
door to door
selling sets
ecru-colored hardbacks
gold-embossed lettering
the only one that
mattered to me
had a pink-banded
spine ~ Volume 1
Poems and Rhymes
that I read so much
I’m surprised I didn’t
read the ink clean off
the pages
I had a closet-and-flashlight
fixation with Volume 1
I’d crawl in and read for hours
staring at the illustrations,
memorizing the words
Overheard on a Salt Marsh
(my favorite of all time)
but Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee
and The Purple Cow
and The Raggedy Man
and every.other.page
were my best friends
so much that today,
I have a framed copy
of Harold Monro’s
masterpiece
by my bed, draped
with green glass beads
to remind me
I am a
goddess of
reading
steeped
by the light
of
the
moon
Oh, Kim, I just got a head rush! I absolutely love your poem’s end. Now, I need to find this book. It sounds fantastic. Stories and books can be our best friends, and I love how you capture that idea in your poem. I do not know the story “Faithful Elephants” so I will look for it, and I can get through I”ll Love You Forever either. Hugs!
Kim,
You are “a goddess of reading” and a goddess of poetry. I also thought about writing about encyclopedias. We had several different sets, and like you, I spent hours w/ them. I think for me this poem illustrates so beautifully the power of growing readers through choice. I wish more children knew the joy you’ve shared here. 🤗
My dear green-glass goddess of reading by the light of the moon (so so YOU)… the traveling salesmen brought ‘Through Golden Windows’ anthologies to our house and the one I nearly read the “ink clean off” was Mostly Magic. It was full of fairy tales and strange Grimm stuff and a story about a little half-chick… hard to say how many hundred bowls of cereal I downed while rereading this treasury. Books were my best friends, too – I think I MUST get my own copy of your Vol 1 Poems and Rhymes.They enchanted you and in turn you write poetry that enchants!!
Oh, my goddess friend, you’ve done it again!! This might be one of my favorite endings of all time!
When my mom bought the huge collection of encylopedias, I had the idea that if I read them all I would be smarter than my smart bestie. LOL, it didn’t work!
Loved this journey back in time with you!
Barb, This scene happened to me when I was reading aloud The Crossover. I didn’t want to read the part where the dad dies (spoiler alert) because one of my 4th graders had just lost her mother. I told her about the scene before we read and asked her if it was OK if I read it. Well I broke down in tears and she saved me. She stood up and said, “I’ll read it.” Our students surprise us with resilience.
“Where is Father Going With that Ax”*
I know Charlotte dies every time.
Each year we fall in love with her,
cheer on Wilbur,
anticipate each word in the web,
Yet the moment still guts me.
My throat closes up.
I breathe deep. Grab a tissue
and force the words out.
I’ve come to understand vulnerability
is connection, is real strength.
Wilbur and Charlotte are our friends,
and friends grieve when friends die.
Oh, yes, Margaret! I love the use of the line as a title. You remind us that favorites that we reread and reread and reread simply never get old. I have a favorite line from the book, too. When Fern and Avery are swinging in the barn, White writes, “Children always hold onto things tighter than their parents think they will.” Such prophetic truths! I grieve Charlotte and still love Wilbur. I often wonder if Wilbur was the inspiration for Sy Montgomery to take on her pig Christopher and write about him in The Good, Good Pig.
Margaret, thank you so much for sharing your story of The Crossover. Children certainly are resilient and full of surprises. I adore your poem. I will never forget my second-grade teacher reading Charlotte’s Web to us. I could completely relate to your line “Yet the moment still guts me”. Love, love, love your final line: “and friends grieve when friends die.” Fantastic poem! Thank you!
Margaret – Charlotte’s Web remains one of my all-time early favorites. My fourth grade teacher read it aloud to us and I remember the utter disbelief, the tears welling and pouring when Charlotte died. We learned to love that spider! She gave the best of herself to save her friend..oh, my eyes sting even now. You’re so right about that first line – talk about posing a question and hooking the reader! The whole story hangs on it. Your intro is as inspiring as your poem, that brave girl who lost her dad standing in to read when you could not. Children are wondrous in this way.
You capture so well what so many of us experience on the re-reading of a piece of literature…raw emotion even though we know the outcome.
love these lines:
Barb – This is my very favorite short story…has been since my first year of teaching decades ago. And your poem was the precise image of both of us reading it to our students. I had tears welled up in my eyes, my voice cracked, and I called on “you “ to “bravely finish.” This is a precious teacher poem. And a reminder of the power of a story and a poem to bring you to your knees. I’ve missed writing with you lately. My heart is still with all you dear, strong poets. I’m working on painting and illustrating my poetry these days, but I’m still out here reading and loving your writing.
Susie, it’s great to see you! I’d love for you to share a painting and illustration. You are such a talented musician, writer, artist…..we want to see, friend!
Heartily agree!
Susie, it’s so wonderful to hear from you today. I’ve missed you so much. I’m glad to read that you are still with us, and I imagine the art you are creating is fantastic. I think I remember you sharing a floral piece with an earlier poem if I’m remembering correctly. I would be thrilled to see some of your paintings accompanying your poems!
I miss you, Susie!! 💜 Can’t wait to see your creations in paint and illustrations. So much talent!
Barb, this searing poem about the power of books and story is magnificent – the universal themes of love, loss, and (hopefully, hopefully) empathy should knit our hearts together as a species. Books are more than mirrors and windows; they are teachers. I loved to read as a child. I read all kinds of things.There’s so much more to say and so little time this morning; just thank you for this vibrant poem and invitation!
The Magic
I semi-crawled along
the school’s library floor
scouring book spines
when there it was
a slender volume
with that curious
compelling title
I pulled it out
held it in my hands
felt no telltale prickling
of magic
not then
not yet
for that is how
the wardrobe worked
(first time I ever knew
wardrobe to be a
piece of furniture
instead of a collection
of outfits)
for the magic only comes
with action
and need
I began to read
and found myself
in another world
—two worlds, really
first walking in the shoes
of other children
my same age
in another time
sent away from home
and family
to survive a war
they had more adventures
than they bargained for
on the other side
of the wardrobe door
I devoured every word
longing for more…
The teacher told us
we could be creative
with our book reports
so my friend dressed as
the Witch:
long white dress
tall crown
beautiful
but giggling
instead of wicked
I dug my great-aunt’s
discarded fur stole
out of my bedroom closet
(what kind of fur, I don’t know;
please let it not have been
a Beaver)
it was a perfect fit
around my head and chin
as the mane
with a little loose piece
that I trimmed
and fastened
to a towel-covered stick
as the tip of the tail
for the first time
in all my timid ten years
I was a Lion
my classmates clapped
they asked a hundred questions
a few about the book
but mostly about how
I came by that fur
the answer is, of course,
the first lesson
in magic:
it only comes
with action
and need
just open the book,
Children.
Read.
Fran, it seems we have more in common yet – – the nearness to floor, finding spines and volumes that mattered so much to us (I swear I wrote my poem before reading yours – I was reading as a child in the closet with a flashlight)….I love that you shared Narnia today and your collaboration with your friend on the book report. You as Aslan! I can just imagine how perfect a moment this was! The humble, selfless character of C.S. Lewis, the Christ figure in the story, so self-sacrificing and always knowing the right thing. Aslan lives on in you. Beautiful!
I will be teaching The Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe this year. I love teaching it, reading it again and again already knowing that things turn out all right. Action and need is spot on for magic in a book. We have to care about the characters and want what they want. Reading is magical.
Fran, your poem is absolutely delightful. I can just imagine your classmates peppering you with questions, and I bet the teacher was quite impressed. I love how you were able to pull me completely into the scene from the crawling on the floor to the presentation. Love the rhyme element at the end and the line “just open the book”. Beautiful!
I love this, Fran! I vividly and fondly remember reading The Chronicles of Narnia novels! I so enjoyed your narrative of you and your friend’s “creative” book report and the impact it had on your classmates! Your ending is perfect, too: “the first lesson / in magic: / it only comes / with action / and need / just open the book, / Children. / Read.” So good!
Fran, powerful images come from this delightful memory you’ve shared.
Love that you got to be the lion! But I am even more in love with the message that books bring the magic!
Hop On Pop
and its nonsensical
Seuss-ian verse
and rhyme
was the first time
I ever read a book
on my own,
and in our home,
reading books
became a cherished time,
the quiet often descending
after dinner,
but for the turning
of the page
— Kevin
I love this family tradition of quiet. How did you resist reading Hop on Pop aloud? So many great words that beg for speaking out. My kids were able to recite it without even reading.
Kevin, it sounds like reading was dessert in your childhood home. What a blessing! When I think of your writing and now know the role reading played in your home, it draws the picture for me of your love of writing and your ability to use words so beautifully. Thanks for sharing this glimpse into your readerhood.
Kevin, your poem is so compelling. I love the movement throughout the poem and how that “Hop on Pop” contrasts with the “quiet often descending/after dinner”. Your ending words add such a punch at the end.
I adored Seuss in my early years…am convinced it’s why I love rhyme. Such poignant imagery in your poem.
Kevin,
But for the turning of a page, and the sound that came with it, and leaning on your elbows while uncovering an adventure, where the words would make the rhyme, and not the other way around. .
Kevin,
I had forgotten all about Hop on Pop! Love that the image “hopped and popped” right back to me. I think my favorite was Are You My Mother?
Fun memories, Kevin.
Oh, wow. Barb. First, what a resume! I’d so love to hang out with you as you prepare for an artist reception–getting everything right and ready. Your poem is exquisite. You capture the feeling of reading it beautifully. That’s such a successful class and moment…you beginning and a student ending. Even if this poem is imagined (probably not–probably true) it has much to teach the rest of us. Thank you so very much. I’m off to scribble to this prompt. It’s very thought-provoking…love that!
Thank you for your kind words, Linda. Yes, the poem is completely true except I think I left the room for a moment. Looking forward to reading your poem.