Ghazal with Wendy Everard
Welcome to Day 5 of the March Open Write. You did it! A very special thanks to John, Andrew, Chiara, and Wendy for taking such good care of our hearts, minds, and poems this month. For April, we will be writing a poem a day for thirty (30) days. We hope you join us for as many days as you can/wish.
Wendy Everard is a high school English teacher and writer living in central New York. Her role as mother and teacher has given her plenty to write about since she started writing personal narrative and poetry, lifelong hobbies kicked into overdrive when she joined a summer institute with the Seven Valleys branch of the National Writing Project a few years ago and began mentoring student teachers. She teaches in Cazenovia, New York.
Inspiration
A fellow National Writing Project alum suggested the ghazal to me as a fun and thought-provoking form to play with. The ghazal (pronounced “guzzle”) was originally an Arabic verse form dealing with “love, longing, melancholy, and metaphysical questions,” with the poets Rumi and Hafiz excelling at the form. The ghazal consists of couplets with each couplet ending on the same word or phrase which is preceded by the couplet’s rhyming word. See, for example, poet Patricia Smith’s “Hip-Hop Ghazal.”
Process
The ghazal is composed of:
- a minimum of five couplets—and typically no more than fifteen—that are structurally, thematically, and emotionally autonomous.
- In a traditional ghazal, each line of the poem should be of the same length.
- The first couplet introduces a scheme, made up of a rhyme followed by a refrain.
- Subsequent couplets pick up the same scheme in the second line only, repeating the refrain and rhyming the second line with the rhyme in the first stanza (in the poem below, see the rhymes “end,” “bend.” “trend,” etc.
- The final couplet usually includes the poet’s signature, referring to the author in the first or third person, and “frequently including the poet’s own name or a derivation of its meaning.” (https://poets.org/glossary/ghazal). Feel free to shorten or alter the form of your ghazal; below are two models, one from me, and some looser play with the form one from one of my students, senior Faham Murad.
Wendy’s Poem
Ghazal
The silence appalls me now,
Signaling, finally, the end of his life.
Given the choice, I would have had noise,
Rounding, with him, this very last bend in his life.
It happened so suddenly, breathtaking utterly, watching the monitor
Tracing the very last trend in his life.
Time seemed to slow, but speed up as well,
The space seemed to swell, and God seemed to send for his life.
His hands fluttered – pale birds! — yet I uttered no words
Unsure what he heard, as he groped for one final friend in this life.
Faham’s Poem
It’s the deepness of his eyes
That kept me captive for so long
It’s the sensation of your presence
That makes every moment so long
Today the wine also stopped pouring
That healed me for so long
Walking on the shores of life
I waited for you so long
Surrounded by sorrows and pains
I called for help so long
Every known has become unknown
Heart has been abandoned for so long
After the end of your company
I cried for you for so long
He is surprised by your presence, Faham
Where were you for so long?
–Faham Murad, Grade 12
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.
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April is National Poetry Month. The Ethical ELA community creates a celebration of all that poetry does for our hearts and minds by offering daily writing inspiration and a supportive space to discover what happens when we write poetry all month long.
You
I never thought you would bring me so much.
Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect from you.
I came to you with unknown bricks on shoulders.
One by one, each became null and void due to you.
At night we lie side by side in a bed small for two.
And we share secrets and dreams: you to I, I to you.
You taught me what it means to let go and be free.
If I need to move around the sun and moon, I will for you.
I came to the table with no experience to give.
Stars behind my eyes were freely created by you.
My love, how I wish to share my life forever.
I fall more and more in love everyday with you.
I thought of your prompt all day, Wendy. So many ideas tossing around in my head, but one thing is always on my mind. My daughter’s soon-to-be-born baby. Thank you, Wendy, and Faham. I don’t think the ghazal is very easy!! This is a draft. I’ll try to polish it and see where it goes.
Grandma
Generations linger and then go
The years with you flew, Grandma
My mom was young, just 43
When my sister was due. Grandma?
Yes, she was a grandma many times
Over. 25 years later, still a new Grandma
Now her grandchildren are grown
My sister siblings too: grandmas
It’s Denise’s turn soon to join the club
Precious baby, I love you, Grandma
Aww, Denise… how sweet this familial tone. The repetitions… how perfect for the topic! Made me smile for you! Susie
Denise, this is a precious gift for your new baby and for your family of grandmas and grand-darlings to cherish! I’m excited for you. My sister is a grandma now and we are in HEAVEN!
Praying for your healthy new grandbaby to come with all of its grand blessings!
?
Denise, this is so sweet – a poetic treasure to welcome the new baby! I hear the joy in your new role – congratulations, Grandma!
Oh, this was fun! I love pushing my thoughts against rhythm and rhyme constraints. When I read the word “longing” in Wendy’s definition of Ghazal, I thought back on nursing my babies, which I think Barb Edler might relate to. Breastfeeding was central to my identity as a young mother. I know my experience is not shared by all, but for me, nursing was the steady axel when my mothering wheel of uncertainty and doubt wobbled all over the place.
Motherhood Ghazal
I dream I’m holding baby to the breast–
The wee one gives a gurgling coo: the breast!
A meeting of the body, soul, and need
Each feed, blesséd reunion through the breast.
As crying ceases, absolution comes;
A place to forgive and renew: the breast.
So much of motherhood was just a guess–
Yet when I put my baby to the breast
The doubt receded as we shared our want
And understood the calm, the true, the breast.
Allison, this rings dear on so many levels that you’ve shared over these past few years now. The role of motherhood of womanhood is surely a tangle, and you make so clear (doubts recede) “the calm, the true, the breast.” This intimate poem really touches me. What a writer you are! What a woman! What a mother! Hugs, Susie (oh, and I loved “absolution”)
I love this, Allison! These words offer such strength and empowerment about women, I think:
As crying ceases, absolution comes;
A place to forgive and renew: the breast.
Allison, your sweet ode to breast feeding helped me think of my grandma poem above. I loved this intimate relationship with my babies too. This line really aims it up beautifully…
Thank you Wendy for this prompt! It was tough for me, but your powerful example made it easier for me to break down the components.
late Iowa summer; no clouds in the sky–
the orb above penetrates and glows, on fire
neighbor’s marlboro sits between sweaty lips
carelessly tossed on dirt–whoosh–here goes the fire
earth is engulfed, all ablaze
corn from the field sows the fire
smoke covers the horizon, day becomes night
there is nothing but flames which arose from fire
“Rachelle! There you are!” I hear relief in Mom’s voice
I keep swinging higher–reaching toes toward the fire
Rachelle,
What a powerful story in ten lines! The imagery of the clear sky, the sweaty lips, and the raging fire are so vivid. You are a poetic story teller extraordinaire.
Rachelle,
First: I adore connecting to you through poetry in this space.
Second: WOW! What an experience!
Third: Brilliant adherence to the form!
Fourth (favorite word-combo!): “neighbor’s marlboro sits between sweaty lips”
Sending Iowa love,
Allison
Holy smokes (pun intended), Rachelle! What a story this ghazal carries! The contrast from that idyllic Iowa sky to the inferno… incredibly powerful! But the final couplet hammers how in the center of that calamity you were! I can hear that mama voice. Oh my gosh! Terrific poem! Susie
Today
Stress and uncertainties bring dismay
I long to live in a glade like a tree today.
Ticking time and checking boxes
None of which seem to agree today.
Half-eaten lunch and robo calls
Oh, someone, just leave me be today.
Sticky fingers and masks under noses
CDC and LAUSD chose to agree today.
Time to sit down and soak up a prompt
Writing a ghazal pleases me today.
© Stacey L. Joy, 3/23/22
Stacey, you made it! I’m so glad! This was perfect: you really nailed the rhyme and refrain. My favorite stanza — the 4th one! Gave me a chuckle (and a cringe — this is all so stressful). I hope that your week improves — thank you for sharing, this was great!
Stacy,
You perfectly capture the push and pull and multitudes of distractions that happen each day. Yes, writing a poem is the perfect solution!
Truth. Teaching should be an X-Game.
Stacey, I love how your poem in this teacher-poet space honors both the teacher (bless her) and the poet (praise her). I immediately connected to your message (“Oh, someone, just leave me be today”). I am always so happy to hear your voice.
Allison
Oh, Stacey! This is just the right ghazal TODAY! The smoothness of language yields a melodic lilt that I was looking for TODAY and didn’t feel like I could write TODAY. You, girlie, you’ve got it. The beat of each line… dang you’re good! And that’s just the structure! The darned day was rough…demanding at a pace (time ticking away) that felt almost cruelly exhausting. I’m amazed you could sit down and write any kind of poem much less this brilliant ghazal! Blows me away! Love you and every word here! Susie
Stacey, the stress of this day is palpable. So glad you chose to write about it in poetry. It reminds me of an earlier poem this week…(Motrin, prayer, or poetry help) Yes, indeed. Peace to you for a good rest of your week.
Cool form, new to me. slightly altered
myopic dreams vague visions of destiny
plodding the path of mediocrity
leading nowhere driving force-less aimless
meandering the means of mediocrity
no desire no purpose no wonder
wandering the ways of mediocrity
abundances abound mistakes are made
fleeing the footprint of mediocrity
excess excess excess excess excess
craving the corridors of mediocrity
continue change direction or turn back to
loiter the lanes of mediocrity
Steve, love it. Great job, and love how narrative this felt, even while each stanza could stand on its own as a complete poem — and appreciated the alliterative quality of your ideas. Very creative and cool, thanks!
Steve,
I hear urgency in your poem, and it stirs my (always simmering) pot of concern for my own children. You made me pause and feel. That’s exactly what a poem should do. Thank you.
Steve – The movement here is really compelling. Starting with a sense of “plodding” and almost ennui, the pace takes on a sense of “flurry” and even mistakes become wonderful as we feel the “fleeing footprint of mediocrity “ (great line). Fascinating to realize all the excesses that carry you forth to be able to shift. And in perfect ghazal form you deliver that marvelous final couplet. Dang! That’s terrific! Wowza! Thank you. Susie
What a challenge this was, thank you! Sure makes me feel clumsy with language!
Daughter and I
The jonquils blooming at my gate
Already have faded, are nearly gone.
So she and I pot pansies for the front
On shady steps displayed, before they are gone.
And anemones to bloom in the sun
On back steps she places, elated, before they are gone.
Sweet peas, along the fence we plant
Delicate petals amid vines plaited, before they are gone.
And I, how do I hold this flower, my heart,
Growing, blooming, exquisitely created, until she is gone?
Emily,
I really like the flower theme that parallels your daughter’s growth. They really do grow up way too fast, don’t they? The progress of your refrain is especially good.
Well done, Emily! This first line in the last stanza, which tied everything together, stands out to me: “And I, how do I hold this flower, my heart,”. Thanks for sharing this powerful piece.
Oh, this was lovely and brought tears to my eyes, as my own daughters are at that age. That last stanza, with its beautiful question! You did some beautiful work with the form here, preserving the refrain and the rhyme just beautifully. And the lovely imagery — just great. Thank you for sharing!
You pulled me in to this poem because I have been out in the garden these past two days I have the same thoughts to enjoy the flowers before they are gone. Then you ending! What a great correlation to the flower. So delicate is your heart!
Wendy, thank you for today’s inspiration from you and your scholar. I am having one of those weeks that is a week of Mondays. I will post later this evening.
I remember when my friend passed away and her partner watched her reach one hand toward the corner of the room. The nurse told her that’s what many do when they’re transitioning because they see their loved ones ushering them into eternity. This confirms it if I’m understanding this correctly.
Truly beautiful and moving!
Thanks, Stacey, and I truly hope that your week gets better! Past the hump day: two left! <3
Thanks to Sarah, John, Andrew, Chiara, and Wendy for these fabulous five days of poetry writing!!
Wendy, this last prompt was a tough one for me on this full Wednesday, oh my. Your poem was honest and raw, I think, about the experience of being at a loved one’s bedside as they depart this life we know. The line, “Tracing the very last trend in his life” gave me teary memories.
Here is my attempt at a ghazal –
about time
days that are filled with talking all the time
leave me craving to write, locking up time
quiet solitude often empties my thoughts
so I slip outside, go walking through time
what does the sparrow think of its full days
perched near the birthing nest, stalking her time?
what does a flower feel of her short life
bloom and wither, is it balking at time?
how smug I am that trees will leaf again
my presumption is a mocking of time
Maureen, this was lovely!! You nailed the form, and I just loved the creative rhymes you found and the juxtaposition of imagery (I’m thinking of the 3rd and 4th stanzas). I can very much relate to these feelings of full days and little time.
Maureen, I think this is lovely! I feel like I’ve just taken a walk with you full of pondering.
Maureen – each couplet gives me a rich pause. The power of writing that can lock up time… oh yes. “Solitude empties my thoughts”… great phrasing. I loved that you slipped inside the perspective of the sparrow, the flower and the trees. I like the depth of that idea. Lovely. You are ghazal-good! Susie
Each time I read your poem I found more lines of continuity throughout. Amazing how nature evokes self-reflection.
Very cool!
Wow, you went deep with this. You’re making me contemplate big ideas today, making me more appreciative of my time. Thank you.
The struggle is real.
You are losing hope, but look up.
You’re fighting the good fight.
You get knocked down, gotta look up.
You are weary and weak.
You can barely stand, so look up.
You are not alone.
Just keep holding on and look up.
Where does your help come from?
The Lord – Oh please, look up!
This is like a prayer, I think – full of faith, conviction – yes, yes, look up. Beautiful!
Donnetta, thank you! I love that you combined this form with a theme from the week, ad I love the spirituality and hope present here!
This is encouraging! Thanks for writing and sharing this poem!
Donnetta, I needed this today! Thank you for offering this prayer, this hope, this reminder that my help comes from The Lord! I wish I could sing, I would sing that song now!
?
This was a tough one! It came out a little darker than I intended, but I tried to follow the form.
Needing Time
Every few months, a break is given to schools
To reset the exhaustion that sets in with time.
A few three day weekends are spaced out
Early on, giving a slight reset just in time.
When Thanksgiving rolls around, the twitching
has reached a fever pit, let some sleep offset time.
Despite the short interval between, Winter break
is the most coveted break, finally a net gain of time.
With more teasing three day weekends to taunt,
finally spring break arrives to reset the lack of time.
The last few months of school are a desert that I
can scarce survive, the steady threat of too little time.
Cara — you brought back that “steady threat” that I don’t think I’ll ever shake no matter how retired I am from the classroom. I felt every one of these couplets…right to the teacher bones. Such a perfect ghazal for all of us! Thank you. Susie
This is spot on about teaching – and, I suspect, all the more true during the wild ride of these past two years (I am retired, so can’t claim to know!). I really liked this line “With more teasing three day weekends to taunt” – I remember that feeling before spring break.
Cara, I loved the structure of your ghazal! I can feel this acutely; you really captured how the year feels — and that last stanza! So true. Thank you!
Ack, Cara, these are my thoughts and feelings too, as spring break slips away! I think you did a great job working with the form!
Cara, this is all too true. I am finding that my “break” during spring has been filled with catching up with people, catching up on chores, and other things; however, I haven’t much prioritized some quiet introvert time yet. I know I must recharge before the “desert” that is to come. Really well done!
Yes, Cara! I am guilty of focusing too much on how fast time goes or when the next break is and it all makes the rat race worse. I loved the last couplet because I am feeling the desert right now. We get Cesar Chavez’s birthday off on Monday so this upcoming 3-day weekend needs to pull me closer to the end of the desert!
Hang in there!! 50 more days until summer for me. LOL
Changing Sea
This century, we fight nature to survive
now we must protect it to exist
will it continue?
The sea, a global garbage can
now threatened by our form of life
will it continue?
Our platic scraps and oozing oils,
dolphins strangled and wrapped in nets
will it continue?
Bits of plastic tangled around fins
and pollutants floating amidst
Will it continue?
Human disregard, discards and trash
No threat to the sea but to our life
Will it continue?
From the sea, life first arose and depends
a sea now changed in an ominous way
Will it continue?
Susan — You ask the definitive question that puts all the answers in our hands…and it scares the daylights out of me. The repeated line really drives home the urgency that we DO SOMETHING to save our own nest! Powerful words these! I hope you continue to ask “will it continue” in every way you can…pushing all of us to pay attention and act! Thank you. Susie
That question is so haunting and true, “Will it continue?”
Susan, your poem speaks to a deep concern I have of our dear planet. “Global garbage can” is a keen description. The horror of our personal disregard is striking and “ominous”! Excellent poem, provocative, and gripping!
Susan, thanks for this. I love the haunting refrain and the contrast in your first stanza! Your poem calls to mind Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael, which I read with my classes. Thanks again for it–loved it!
Wendy, I love the ghazal and tried this “maker” to see what I could make with its help: http://dev.gplord.com/ghazal/
Forlorn
Closing eyes, the mind can swim in time.
Floods of phrases, faces brim of time–
overflowing oughts, shoulds, whatifs.
Resting lanes forever slim in time.
Each moment a chance to propel
but depth evades, gestures skim in time.
The day last lingers in eyes slit
enough to see future’s trim in time.
Tears anoint fractured panes to curve
beams: drifting over the rim in time.
Sarah — Yes, the strong sense of lament rings in the images of time as the “shoulds, whatifs” slice away the time… the “depth evades, gestures skim in time” feels so much like the woe of a teacher. The couplet form of the ghazal accentuates the sense of pulling back and forth (“the day last” to the “future”). The image that is so rich and that I was most drawn to is that of the final couplet…seeing the tears bend over the “fractured panes”…”drifting over the rim in time”… the liquid nature of how we feel time slipping. I like that! I love each of the repetitions and their variations. Thank you! Susie
Thank you Sarah for the link to a ghazal maker. I tried it on my poem above and came out with something more to the form. Haven’t reposted it.
I love the swim/brim/slim/trim/rim rhymes so much!! I hear pain and almost a grieving in this couplet:
Each moment a chance to propel
but depth evades, gestures skim in time.
I am going to check out that ghazal maker – I was really stretched by this prompt.
Sarah, your poem is mesmerizing. Your ending couplet lines are perfectly crafted and carry the connecting theme effortlessly.. I surely can relate to the “oughts, shoulds, whatifs” The trajectory of your poem, the swimming movement, and the tears all create a “forlorn” mood that is both haunting and graceful. Deeply moving and powerful poem! I’m in awe!
Sarah, this was so cool! Your poem is like gossamer, with each stanza changing the shape of the whole. And you nailed the form — thanks for sharing the ghazal maker website! Thanks for your lovely poem!
GHAZALING
I thought I saw you rise, apparition in greying mist,
the brain fog of remembering, replaying what I missed.
It’s a fancy to suppose I might tell you, swaying your resolve,
and hope you’d hear me whisper, relating what I missed.
Grant just one more time at bat, one more flailing swing
against the wrecking ball of reality, detailing all I’d missed.
Take one more swig of promises, convictions
to be a better me, a quenching we, belying all I’ve missed.
I’d be Susie, sure enough, with ends fraying in a twist,
of errors and botching chances, no denying what I missed.
by Susie Morice, March 23, 2022©
“I’d be Susie, sure enough,”
Love this, Susie!
The apostrophe here, addressing the apparition with such playful intimacy in “you’d hear me whisper” and “a quenching we.” The pronouns here are lovely.
The ghazal is the perfect form for “what I missed” or “what I’d missed” is the perfect form for a ghazal.
Sarah
Stunningly beautiful lines, Susie…a rising apparition in the grey mist and the fog connection are like the opening scene of a movie, totally creating a haunting mood… “to be a better me, a quenching we…” that is a telltale phrase! Lost chances and longing, and so much power, in your lines!
Oooh, I love this! This line especially, “hope you’d hear me whisper, relating what I missed.” That’s exactly where I was today, as I sat down to create my response to this prompt. I love how you wove your name into the last couplet. Wonderful poem!
Susie, that swig of promises and convictions is an elixir I know too well, so I stand swigging with you, my friend, sharing the glass of conviction. You are not alone. I love these lines
Take one more swig of promises, convictions
to be a better me, a quenching we, belying all I’ve missed.
Susie, your words are haunting and flow effortlessly pulling me into your emotional journey of the “missed” moments. The opening is so compelling. I love the apparition in grey mist and then connecting it to brain fog. I cannot recall so many moments. The physical appeal in stanza three resonates and ties in well to your last stanza, you with “ends fraying in a twist”..I can so relate to this imagery. Your poetry as always is deeply moving and masterful! Kudos, friend, and hugs, Barb.
Susie, this was excellent. Thank you for sharing it! Love the metaphor that you sustain throughout it, while still ensuring that each stanza could stand on its own, its own poignant piece. <3
Standing and clapping over here!! Not only did you master the form but you’ve shown us again what a badass you are!
But I totally adore the opening…so serene and captivating:
??????????
Love it, Susie!
Criminy. This is brilliant. I do love how a constrained form guides an idea. Susie (yes! that final line!) you are masterful.
So much to love here, but this word combo thunked my heart:
“a better me, a quenching we”
So much to love here. Write on!
Hi Susie, I’m not sure if you’ll see this or not, but I wanted to thank you for the comment on my poem yesterday. My “thank you” hasn’t posted yet, so I thought I’d leave one here…..and while I’m here, let me speak to your “Ghazaling.” Lol. It’s brilliant (per usual)! I love the embracing of identity by the end, even — and, perhaps, especially because of — the flaws that you know that you have: “I’d be Susie, sure enough, with ends fraying in a twist, / of errors and botching chances, no denying what I missed.” So good! And so important!
Wendy, I had surgery yesterday and am not up to writing but couldn’t let your poem go by without responding. Your poem is beautifully written. The words settle together naturally, with an ease that the challenging format of the ghazal doesn’t always enable. I love the rhymes and where they sit within the second lines of the couplets. Please let Faham know how wonderful his writing is too.
Jennifer — Take care, my friend…lean back and heal up. Sending hugs of healing. Love, Susie
Jennifer, feel better soon and know we are all thinking of you.
Jennifer, thank you so much! That means a lot to me, as it was about my dad’s passing in 2020 and the difficult time at his bedside; despite the subject, it’s one of my favorites. I’m sorry to hear about your surgery, and I hope that you’re on the mend and that you recover quickly. And I will pass along your compliments to Faham — thank you!
Sending healing prayers and warm thoughts your way!!
?
Wendy, your poem is heartbreaking. The final line shares that longing for connection we poor humans need. I read your poem early this morning and began writing later today and after revisiting this page, I realized your poem inspired the ghazal I’ve attempted to write.
Lost Along the Way
Searching for clues to understand the strife;
decoding messages that reveal life.
Worrying over words, spoken truths; lies—
how love impacts; echoes an end to life.
Aching to forgive, right the wrongs, connect,
keening for time travel–take this poor life!
Bombs dropped; gunshots fired—madness prevails
blind, wounded, addicted—Mom, it’s no life!
Can you hear God’s cries—feel the tsunami’s
tears cleansing the debris of a lost life?
Unable to comprehend life’s secrets,
I’ve lost the way to navigate my life.
Barb Edler
23 March 2022
Barb — The heartache here is so real and cuts so deep that I just want to bring you healing, send you the balm, the map that would help. “Navigate”… the essential tool, the oar and rudder, the compass. Your energy to write, though, is part of the internal tools you still have inside…they don’t really bring answers in an answerless equation, but they do provide a path for healing. Scars fade some but rarely go away…they just become reminders. Poems are reminders…our mentor today provided a reminder, letting us all share in the hurt and the loss…and that is okay. I particularly felt the “tsunami’s/tears cleansing the debris of a lost life” … That you feel so deeply is a gift to us through your words. Sending you love, my friend. Susie
Barb, I am struck by the journey that continues to wind without the agency of the life it leads. Such a longing for direction but maybe more for a state of being, a sense of belonging, understanding. So much here. These lines linger for me:
Aching to forgive, right the wrongs, connect,
keening for time travel–take this poor life!
And I worry about the speaker wanting it to end but maybe this is a call for a life anew, renewed, some path to navigate possibilities. (I am not sure if the speaker is you — sending hugs.)
Sarah
Barb: Such loss in every line, from start to last a desire to understand the pain and the mysteries of life. Grief is numbing in itself…then, against the backdrop of prevailing madness…the big mystery being why must humans do this to one another? And oh – that desire to time travel; which of us has not wished it? (Keening is such spectacular word, amplified even more in use here). “Can you hear God’s cries…” that strikes so deep. Yet every line speaks of life, life, life. Navigating it, another matter indeed. Thank you for these searing questions and truths…in it we are reminded how much, how very much, we need one another.
Barb, your poem speaks along so many lines to the way we feel when we’ve lost the way to navigate life. From war to relationships gone awry to poor decisions to loss to so many more tsunamis. This sense is universal and applies in so many situations. I like what you’ve done with this ghazal.
Barb, thank you for your kind words about my poem. It was, indeed, about my dad, I love your piece! I can see a similar theme that connects them — that striving to connect to a loved one and the misunderstandings and missed opportunities that go with it. But I love how the ending opens up the subject and connects the personal to imagery that calls to mind the global. What a beautiful poem.
This, too, is a heartbreaking poem and is touches my heart and I think of how many times during the day I call to God because I can’t comprehend what is in store for the world and my life.
Parent/Teacher Conferences
The eyes, smiling, over the edge of the mask:
“He thoroughly enjoys your class.”
The eyes, frowning, over the edge of the mask:
“He hates your class.”
The eyes, questioning, over the edge of the mask:
“Are you the math teacher for this class?”
The eyes, defiant, over the edge of the mask:
“He’s never received such a low score in a class.”
The eyes, glaring, over the edge of the mask:
“Why are you failing my son in your class?”
The eyes, suspicious, over the edge of the mask:
“Are you sure you’re not the math teacher of this class?”
The eyes, entitled, over the edge of the mask:
“You’ve failed to provide editing rights for your plans in this class.”
The eyes, imploring, over the edge of the mask:
“How can I help my son pass your class?”
The eyes, pleading, over the edge of the mask:
“Can you please talk to him about his math class?”
The eyes, absent, over the edge of the mask:
The parents, seemingly, had something better to do.
___________________________________
Wendy, I tried to keep the “spirit” of the Ghazal in this piece. I took various liberties throughout, though. Since I have parent/teacher conferences tomorrow, I started by trying to think of five “types” of parents I’m likely to see, and then it veered off from there. If nothing else, it’s a bit of wishful thinking because I am still double masking on our “no longer mask mandated” campus, so maybe if I imagine all of my parents “masking up” (and write a poem about it) then it’ll come to pass. I’m really putting the power of poetry to the test here! Lol.
Scott, oh the dreaded P/T conferences! Not only do we have the stress of the parents you mentioned, but then there’s the mask policy, which I won’t go into. And I am still masked like you. Thankfully, I’m in a much smaller environment, but anyway….The “eyes” have it. They tell it all. I see the frequency of “you” and “yours” as if their own child doesn’t take ownership or invest in the class. We can only do so much as teachers/educators. I love your use of actions for the eyes: suspicious, pleading, glaring, defiant. I would add “rolling” to mine because I would definitely be OVER it by then. Best wishes on your conferences tomorrow, sending positive teacher vibes!
Thank you, Jessica!
You’re welcome!
Scott, I could easily relate to your poem. I hope your parent/teacher conferences go well, but you’ve captured the variety of responses well and I had to laugh at “Are you sure you’re not the math teacher of this class?”
Thanks, Barb!
Scott, we just finished parent/teacher conferences on Monday and this poem says it all!
Oh, Scott — I can see every single set of these eyes. I can hear the “pleading” and the “imploring” and the “entitled” and the “suspicious” and the “glaring”…. each of these, but none hits so hard as the “eyes, absent”…that kid has whole other wheelbarrow of woe. And I love that you are wishing for the masked parents. Be safe, Scott, your kids need you and we absolutely need you here! Double up…triple if you have to! May the force be with you tomorrow! Air hugs, Susie
Susie, thank you! ?
Scott,
So much of this poem resonated with me that as I read it I felt confronted by parent after parent after parent after parent. I have not engaged in parent conferences since the pandemic began, so I can’t even imagine the extra stress translated across masks and — gosh– the lack of practice parents have with engaging with teachers in person after two years.
I hope the double-mask keeps you safe and also miraculously filters all comments to only allow productive talk through.
Sarah
Lol. Thank you, Sarah!
Scott: I think it’s spectacular! And fascinating, classifying parents. And true. Absent eyes…I thought of this first as a parent being present but having the mind elsewhere.
Scott, I loved this. The vividness of each “type” of parent resonated with me, and I loved the jolt of the last stanza’s departure from the rest. Thank you for this!
Scott, you’ve captured all of the parents in every classroom!! I’m happy that you are still masked (me too). LAUSD recently lifted the mask mandate indoors and everyone’s still masked but I imagine if we had to host conferences in person, it would have been verrrrrry interesting. We had conferences prior to the mask mandate being lifted. But anyway, sorry, I digressed. I love what you did and I believe your power of poetry will prove true and they’ll all be masked and ready.
Thanks, Stacey! Fingers crossed!
Scott, I always see the humor in how you look at life. Thank you! I was lucky as a teacher that we did not have P/T conferences unless there was an unusual case. We did have to write a page for the parent about each student. Love your last stanza about parents having something better to do.
Thank you Wendy for sharing your and your student Famah’s ghazals. They were a glimpse into the eyes of another. I know everyone has their own struggles, joys, and concerns, and how we express them is our prerogative. I borrowed time and space from your lines because you wrote them so well:
“Time seemed to slow, but speed up as well,
The space seemed to swell, and God seemed to send for his life.”
Time does seem to slow and speed up at the same time. Just like this Spring Break, lol. Wow, this was a challenge for me, but part of it was that I was not in a peaceful place. Gotta love the kids in your space on Spring Break. I’ll have to try this again when I’m more confident. I think I pulled it off though! Here’s mine:
Ghazal Not Forgotten!
Will I ever scratch those itches?
Don’t let life waste away.
Take life by the horns don’t let it slip by.
Relish in the delayed haste, live in the now, not away.
Don’t dwell on “shoulda, coulda, wouldas” to pout about,
A delectable foretaste to engage, but not marry this away.
Time and space are key ingredients,
Whip, grind, saute, and stir only to misplace far away.
The necessities bear in mind are full Jessica, but empty on the plate,
Wasted not for they are written down, not to displace away.
Jessica, I love the title of your poem and how you open it. I also enjoyed the active cooking verbs you used to tie all the sentiments together at the end. A wasted life is indeed a crime, one I feel I commit too often.
Thank you Barb, I was hungry while writing this, lol! But I feel the same way about this heinous crime of wasting life!. That’s why in my adulthood I’m taking every opportunity possible! I say yes now and then figure it out later. That may seem crazy, but then I realize that God wouldn’t have given it to me if He didn’t already have it planned for me! Thank you!
Jessica, loved the title! And I loved the words and imagery that were suggestive of how life can (and should) be like a recipe, a meal to enjoy. Thank you for the reminder. 🙂
Thank you so much Wendy! I have an idea I may need to run with. Thank you for the spark!
Catty Cat
She sits and stares from a window seal lair
fluffy calico puff – MEOW HISS SCRATCH
Lurking and sneaking furniture hair leaving
casting side eye stares – MEOW HISS SCRATCH
Food demander and pink tongue sander
poised like a princess – MEOW HISS SCRATCH
Litter scatters and paw floor patters
black tail switches – MEOW HISS SCRATCH
Blanket Stealer and cuddle dealer
soft purr liar- MEOW HISS SCRATCH
Robyn, love this tribute to your feline! We have two, and every line rang true — especially “furniture hair leaving”, “food demander,” and “litter scatters.” Those rascals. Thank you!
It is funny how such self absorbed creatures demand food, watch us clean their poo and then make us fight for their attention bring us such joy.
Robyn, I think I can truly appreciate this poem now that I have a relationship with a cat. Our school cat/mascot was a rescue that my Director’s daughter found. They went on a cruise for Spring Break and before leaving, jokingly asked if I would pet sit. I laughed and she did too! I have grown fond of our dear Rosemary, but not enough to take her home, lo! She is definitely a “food demander” and “blanket stealer”. Such a teenager as well with her moody moods! Thank you for sharing!
Robyn, wow, what a fun poem. Loved the repetition of “MEOW HISS SCRATCH! Wonderful action words throughout this, and I love the closing cuddly feel. Wonderful!
Wendy, your poem conjures your moment beautifully. It’s a very tender reflection on life and honoring it in all ways.
I again turned to music for this morning’s poem. I listened to the wordless Green Arrow by Yo La Tengo, and it reminded me of being a teenager and night walks with the one you love who you’re not sure loves you back.
Green Arrow
inspired by Yo la Tengo
Warm night walk, sixteen & side by side,
Talk flows and then silence, with hints of possibilities…
Insects pulse, adding tension like violins
All time together feels open with hand-holding possibilities…
“Man, I can’t wait to get out of here.”
“Same.” Heart hammers wildly. Possibilities!
Bend of a heart, swooping young love
Green arrow pierces my guts with all joyful & painful possibilities.
Emily, this was so lovely and opened up warm memories for me! That third stanza — just loved it and the richness of the memories it evoked in the middle of my busy day — what a treat! Thank you. 🙂
Emily, I always say that I “don’t do outdoors”, but the way this poem is set up and some of my greatest memories are with my husband and children, I should “do” more often. Sometimes I wish I could do my teenage years over, but then when I actually realized how all of my highs and lows made me into the person I am today, I have no regrets! “Insects pulse, adding tension like violins” and “Green arrow pierces my guts with all joyful & painful possibilities” the suspense in these lines makes the event even more anticipated!
Thank you for sharing!
Emily, I love how you created the roller coaster emotions of young love in your poem. I could feel that heart hammering, and absolutely loved your description of “insects pulse”. The “green arrow” piercing at the end, sure showed the drop of the “painful possibilities.” Well done!
Aah, the nostalgia of those possibilities rings loudly here. The bugs and the “tension like violins”…LOVE that. So much “young love”… oh yeah! The whole poem makes me smile. Hugs, Susie
Emily, your lines are so clean, true, and beautiful. It so makes one recall young love and its uncertainties, the whole pulse of it all… speaking of which: “Insects pulse, adding tension like violins” – LOVE THAT. Just perfect for the feeling, the drama… magnificent, all of it.
Emily, those feelings that emerge when feelings are on the rise…..and there are so many possibilities, and things can go well or not so well towards joy or pain…..those are those feelings of young love when the world is at our feet. You capture this feeling beautifully in this ghazal.
Wendy, I love this form, and I love your example! Such a beautiful way to play with language!
Here’s mine…it kind of captures the way my life feels to me at this point, in my “second act.”
A life expanding, heart and mind growing
Always pushing for more room.
Small child sleeping, kicking and reaching
Not enough bed space; need more room.
Huge house looming, open space beckoning
yet we all crowd in close–no more room.
Cluttered mind seeking, solace is fleeting
Not enough yoga–no more room
New chances tugging, yet fear is warring
The open road calls–give me more room!
Julie – I really appreciate this meditation on taking up more room, and the various spaces you need that room. The repetition of open and closed brings to mind doors of rooms. I hope you go for the open road! Thanks for this offering today.
Julie, I loved this! I’m also on the cusp of my “second act” and could relate acutely to your feelings and your imagery (the yoga one especially! XD). Love the flow and chronology of this. Thank you!
Julie, I love how you show the different ways in which your family needs more room and build that to your own need to find more room. I also loved “solace is fleeting”…such a perfect combination to show how difficult it can be to find peace. Powerful end and outstanding poem!
Julie, I am chuckling at “not enough yoga”and so understand fleeting solace and a cluttered mind due to “no more room.” You capture the longing for space so well. What a great ghazal!
Wendy and Faham: Your ghazals are gorgeous, The lines flow so beautifully into each other… so, this is a struggle for me! Here’s where I am with my first-ever attempt at ghazal:
We are yoked together in a chosen journey
Yet we get in one another’s way
Passions burn like inspirational fire in the grate
Tongues burn cold in another way
A heart weighted with iron and ire
Can be a heart of gold in another way
Narratives are sometimes carboard boxes
Packaging people to be sold in another way
Your words cannot cage me, for I’m a bird set free
Your truth is yours; I hold it another way
Fran, your first attempt is a masterpiece. You’re a natural. I love that middle couplet – a heart weighted….gold in another way. And, as always, your feathered wing makes an appearance and steals the show. The idea of words caging us is a real thing. I think of bullies, of people who seek to define us, of those whose lack of words cages us in so many different ways. I’ll be reflecting on this today – – there are seeds here for sprouting other ideas.
Kim, the meaning of my name is “free one,” so… what better than a bird? ❤️
“Your words cannot cage me, for I’m a bird set free
Your truth is yours; I hold it another way” – Whew! Fran, this is just awesome! I enjoyed how you used “another way” to show your shifting perspective. There’s so many gems in here. I especially love the narratives couplet – just a brilliant metaphor. Thanks for sharing this today!
Fran, your words were so lovely and thought-provoking. The third stanza was my favorite — love the play on “iron” and “ire” and the empathy displayed in the second line. I love how you were able to mine multiple meanings and connotations from the “phrase “another way” as the poem grew — beautiful job! Thank you!
Fran, I love the line “Tongues burn cold in another way”…yes, I am completely agree with how you stated this. People use words to silence and wound others too often. I am applauding you for stating “Your words cannot cage me”. Love it!
Fran — You played those repeating words really well. I like, especially, how the couplet form really lends itself to the tug of “yoked…chosen journey” with the difficulty that comes with any “your words” versus “me”… the yin/yang of relationship. The ending line does just the ghazal-ie thing of turning the moment to “hold it another way.” Ah, I really like that. I like the freedom of that bird…letting go of anyone else’s truth to claim your own. Power words those! You are indeed a ghazal-er! Susie
Wendy, what a moment to capture so eloquently. Those last moments are some of the most sacred to ever behold. Yes, the silence when someone is gone is appalling for sure. So many days I wish I could hear the wisdom of my mother’s voice in real time once again. I hear it in my heart every day. Thank you for investing in us as writers and hosting us today. Each April, we celebrate National Poetry Month in different ways with either the national theme or our own. This year, we wanted something uplifting, so we picked the theme Bloom!
We will be painting the windows of our town square in Zebulon, Georgia with lines of poetry for April – when people come to read around the square, and our garden club will decorate with big pots of blooms they create. I can’t wait for the show of color. That’s what helped me decide on my topic for the ghazal today!
Bloom!
Rocky soil or boggy mire
Summer heat or winter frost, Bloom!
Sprout, reach, bud, grow, vine, creep
Petal, leaf, stretch, tilt, open, Bloom!
Purples, crimsons, yellows, ochres, pinks
Fuschias, oranges, peaches, blues, Bloom!
Wave, bend, sway, nod, shake, wiggle
Swirl, whirl, twirl, swing, jiggle, Bloom!
Lighten, brighten, cheer, uplift, grace
Encourage, embellish, beautify, Bloom!
Freshen, fragrance, scent, balm
Bouquet, perfume, blossom, Bloom!
Kim, what a wonderful idea to honor National Poetry Month! Now you’ve got me thinking about what we could do here, in my little upstate, NY town…
I loved the vividness and sense of movement and growth in your poem! Skillfully captured, and joyous!
Hi, my friend! So fun! The flow and pop and bop of the words paint a perfect sprring poem! Clever structure too!
I’m ready to wiggle and jiggle right into spring break, TWO WEEKS AWAY!!
Fabulous poem, Kim!
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Kim – what a treat for the senses! I feel like I’m in your town square and I am totally uplifted by the colors, scents, and motion! Your plant verbs are rocking my world – I love that you zoomed in on what the blooms are doing, because it gives this subtle joyful movement your full attention. I want to do a flower jig! Thanks for sharing this celebration of blooms today.
So much freshness and energy, Kim! Beautification on a literal and spiritual level – very needed at present. I am also deeply moved by your intro, the desire to hear your mother’s voice and wisdom again although you hear it in your heart every day. I so understand this – she remains close, and always will. Love never dies -it blooms forever!
KIm,ahh, your poem is a beautiful bouquet, lovely and fragrant. Your word choice throughout is striking and Bloom is such a vibrant, powerful verb to share the beauty of flowers growing. Gorgeous poem!
Kim — Yesterday, just before the rains began, I was feeling your ghazal to my bones as I walked around the yard…I was thinking “bloom!” Doggone it, “Bloom!” The yellow is here hinting on the forsythia, the pink on the weeping cherry, each bud a tiny fist of pink that just won’t open yet. Such a wonderful SPRING poem! Ghazal-bam! Hugs, Susie
In my head, the music sings
such a gift, this music brings
Truth sits among the silence of these restless days:
I wish I could compose like the brilliant John Cage
who knew in silence there surfaces a sound
of listeners tinkering, thinking, shuffling around
but when I pause, listening to wind rain birds,
something of wonder in the distance, I heard
the start of the beginning of the notes of a song;
Forgive me, my friends, I won’t be gone long
— Kevin
Kevin, this is really lovely — haunting and evocative. Love your choice of words and the beautiful auditory imagery; thank you for this musical and pleasing start to our day of poetry. 🙂
Oh, Kevin – I wanted to find your music this morning and here it is. It makes me think about the act of pausing … the seeming silence that’s actually filled with the cogs of thinking and imagining… the ways we digest and create all at the same time. “In silence there surfaces a sound,” indeed. The “wind rain birds”… beautiful!
you’ve given me a glorious beginning to this day, and I thank you for that. Susie
Kevin, the inspiration of the heart and the rush to write while it’s fresh is real – and I love that your something of wonder in the “distance” can be measured in time or space. Your love of music always comes through so clearly in your writing.
Kevin,
I love this poem and it gave me a peaceful pause this morning. The softness of this line and no punctuation are perfect:
I hope you composed a lovely song afterwards!
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Kevin, absolutely beautiful poem. The sounds of your words and the images they create are both lyrical! Thank you for sharing such beauty!