All are welcome to participate in the 5-day Open Write — from one day to all days, depending on your schedule. There are no set rules for the length of a poem, and you are free to modify or reject the prompts as you wish, allowing you to write whatever is on your mind or in your heart. We firmly believe that the best writing instructors are actual writers, and this platform offers a supportive environment for you to nurture your writing journey. Just scroll down to share your poem in the comment section. For more information about the Open Writes click here.
Our Host
Kim Johnson, Ed.D., lives on a farm in Williamson, Georgia, where she serves as District Literacy Specialist for Pike County Schools. She enjoys writing, reading, traveling, camping, sipping coffee from souvenir mugs, and spending time with her husband and three rescue schnoodles with literary names – Boo Radley (TKAM), Fitz (F. Scott Fitzgerald), and Ollie (Mary Oliver). You can follow her blog, Common Threads: Patchwork Prose and Verse, at www.kimhaynesjohnson.com.
Inspiration
As part of Sarah Donovan’s Healing Kind book club, Fran Haley and I will be facilitating a discussion of The Hurting Kind by Ada Limon in April to celebrate National Poetry Month. Preparing for these conversations led us to choose several of Limon’s poems this week as inspirations for topic, form, or title. In Give Me This, Limon watches a groundhog steal her tomatoes and envies the freedom of this creature in the delights of rebellion.
Process
Use Limon’s poem as a theme or topic, form, or title (or combination of these) to inspire your own Give Me This poem.
Kim’s Poem
I’m using a moment I would love to re-live, a moment I did not want to pull away from, as my inspiration for today’s poem, and I’m choosing the Nonet form, in which each numbered line from 1-9, or from 9-1 has that many syllables on each. I’m writing a nonet and a reverse nonet to form a concrete (shape) poem resembling a prairie dog’s hideout.
Give Me Prairie Dogs
I didn’t want to leave our hotel~
prairie dogs were entertaining
me to no end, their antics
suspicious, unaware
of my watching them
skittering…. then
standing still….
seeking
ground
How
could a
famous row
of graffiti’ed
buried Cadillacs
come close to competing
with Amarillo sunrise
prairie dogs in sheer merriment
of their Tru Hotel fenced-in playground?
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.
Night Sky
Maine
Night sky
Speckled stars
Pointillism
Wide open canvas
Definition of peace
As if God painted the scene
Especially for you and I
Still remembered all these years later
Class in Session, 2023
It never gets old: This crackling exchange
(Across a screen, yes, but still and all – )
Words catch fire, and some smolder still.
Faces burn, we struggle to
throw ideas across a divide:
Generational.
Racial. Spatial
Cultural.
Our words
ring
with
truth or
hesitate –
Scholars, unsure
share a common space
Try to tie uncommon
Experience together
With silken webs and heavy ropes,
Spinning our truths out into the void
Of online space to ensnare each other.
So many beautiful images, Wendy. I love the idea of words catching fire and smoldering. And the silken webs and heavy ropes that tie ideas and experiences together are terrific.
Wendy,
I love the dueling imagery of the 2 stanzas—burning and building or bridging. The 2nd stanza’s metaphor of the spiderweb reminds me of King writing about the interterconnectedness of communities in his letter from a Birmingham jail.
Love the many kinds of “bindings” in this poem. All the strings, ropes, webs that keep our ideas together.
Thank you Kim for hosting today. Those prairie dogs with the suspicious antics, “skittering…. then
standing still….
seeking”. I can only imagine how much fun they are having! I’m slightly jealous. Thinking is rather difficult this week as I put away my “Teacher” hat. Not having to work is great, but having to tackle all the things I put off while working, that’s tough. So at this moment, I am taking a break in this moment to ask for a break.
Give Me This
A break.
Is that too much to ask?
A moment
to enjoy my Fudge Graham cookies.
An hour or two,
or four to read a few novels.
Silence, sweet
silence without a hint
of bickering.
Not having to spend money
on ANYTHING!
Rest and sleep are two different things.
Neither of which I have a recollection
of in the last 12 years.
It’s not too much to ask.
Give me a break.
Jessica,
I remember those days when my son and daughter were young. It seems like all your wants will never come but trust me, they will! Hang in there!
I love this:
I remember taking a drive by myself just to have silence. LOL. You got this!
Stacey Joy, thank you! I can only hope.
Rest and sleep are two different things! I hope there are Fudge Grahams to the rescue. My indulgence was chocolate covered pretzels – pretty much always had them in my classroom, hidden, hoping for that sweet silence. Yes – you deserve a break!
Thank you Maureen! I’m hoping to get both this week. And yes, Fudge Grahams are on deck. The dangers of shopping while hungry and stressed.
Jessica, you have captured the overwhelmed-ness of the teacher life with young children at home. You have some smile-worthy lines–“to enjoy my Fudge Graham cookies” and “Rest and sleep…neither of which I have a recollection…” It’s a serious topic. I wish teachers could have a REAL break, but I also appreciate how you have kept your sense of humor.
Thank you Denise, my sense of humor is about the only thing I have left. 🙃
I remember those days. Just five minutes of peace seemed impossible. Good luck! (It will get better!!)
People keep telling me that. Thank you Gayle!
Oh, sister, you are singing my song…that difference between rest and sleep is real. Pass me a cookie!
Wedding Day
By Mo Daley 11/20/23
The day we wed was insane. I broke
a nail, saw you before church, and
was yelled at by mom. The priest
rambled peculiarly and,
oh, my purse stolen
from the church, left
us starting
lives in
debt.
But
what if
we would have
vowed our love sans
the four-tiered cake, five-
piece band, and three hundred
of our closest friends? Would love
still have given us this dazzling
journey of life and felicity?
This is a love poem, Mo! Very sweet! Love the way these four words look as a line to themselves – ‘vowed our love sans’ …
Oh, Mo! I love how it flows like a love story and not like a nonet! You nailed it and you nailed a happy “dazzling” marriage!
Mo, what a wonderful poem! First I thought it would be about your son’s recent wedding. Instead, we get to read this wonderful memory-laden retelling of your own sweet wedding day. I love the details in the first and second stanzas, and that last question is just beautifully worded. I hope you let your husband read it.
What a cool way to record a day…all the numbers at the end are fun and funny and so real.
Kim — I love your images of the skittering prairie dogs. Thank you for your prompt. We celebrated my son’s 25th birthday yesterday and were reminiscing about how my son was terrified to go upstairs by himself at night.
Moments We Laugh at Now
The DARK.
It frightened you
even though
light
was just a flip of a switch.
Convinced monsters
lurked
in the shadows of our home,
You
refused
to traverse up the stairs
alone.
Evenings
morphed into
hair raising adventures
commencing with
You
donning a blanket cape &
clutching
a cardboard sword.
“You
are our brave knight,” we assured.
And then
for
good measure
we sent you up with
your little sister
who
was
NOT
afraid of
anything!
Tammi, what a light-hearted, fun post. Happy 25th to your Brave Knight! I just loved reading this: “Evenings / morphed into / hair raising adventures…” The blanket cape and cardboard sword help us see what a fun family you must have had! Love the ending too.
How cute is this!!! I can see it all so clearly and I bet your son can too! Hurray for the little sister with super powers! I love this!
Tammi, it’s so sweet of you to write about one of those precious childhood memories that the family will never forget. I can just picture your brave little son and his cardboard sword!
Tammi,
I can close my eyes and see your chivalrous son facing his fears with his cardboard sword. This poem makes me smile so much!
Thank you so much, Kim, for this promising prompt. You just never know where it might lead.
How
Could I
Imagine
You would grow up
Faster than bamboo
Sprouting, surprising us.
Was it not just yesterday,
Not much bigger than a pocket
And so gently, you slept on my chest?
Oh, Katrina, your poem hits so close to home. With both of my girls grown and gone on their own, I ask this question all the time, and I can imagine (for once) how you may feel.They seem to grow “Faster than bamboo.” Thank you so much for sharing today.
Katrina—every mother’s musing! This is perfect- “bigger than a pocket”—I love this phrase! A quiet, loving poem…
Katrina, what poetry! Oh, my goodness. These images: “grow up / faster than bamboo” and “not much bigger than a pocket” and that last line brought me right back 35 years ago to that very precious memory.
Katrina, the beauty of these precious fleeting moments is captured here – a pocket, growing faster than bamboo, sprouting. This is lovely – reminds us to savor those moments of tiny ones.
Katrina,
I can relate to this poem. My oldest just turned 25, and it seems like just yesterday that he slept on my chest. Time flies by so fast.
Katrina,
This lovely poem is a reminder that they grow up so fast. I feel myself saying “It seems like only yesterday” many times. But these lines ring so true:
“You would grow up
Faster than bamboo
Sprouting, surprising us.”
I will one day feel this way about my children, but currently, they are stressing me to the max with their shenanigans! Thank you for sharing.
Katrina, loved, loved this!
Kim, thanks for this prompt that very much aligns with where my head it at today. I’ve been thinking about all the things that the NCTE conference gave me over the past 4 days. Feeling tired and inspired!
On the day after the conference
my tank is on empty
yet, perhaps fuller than ever,
ideas and adrenaline are a
combustible mix.
Volatile, at the edge of control,
like the best teaching.
Let’s do this thing I
saw yesterday,
wrestling wifi and
beating back fatigue
and not enough caffeine
and a couple Old Fashioned
tumblers too many
chasing me down
on the morning after.
–And I get it to work,
and it does–
A bright brilliance
that illuminates the morning,
a beacon beckoning us forward
toward possible tomorrows.
Hi, Dave! I am glad to have met you at Sarah’s session, even if it were for a short second. I am sure your inner tank is ” fuller than ever” with ideas and possibilities. Keep on moving “forward / toward possible tomorrows.” Thank you for writing and sharing after such an intense week!
Dave, the recharging of batteries and the draining of them all at once at NCTE is exhilarating and exhausting, but that is the best feeling in the world.
I love your final lines – they’re what NCTE shows us, and your words capture it perfectly.
A bright brilliance
that illuminates the morning,
a beacon beckoning us forward
toward possible tomorrows.
Oh, how I missed all the NCTE fever this year. Hopefully, I will see you in Boston next year.
Yes! Looking forward to Boston (and a shorter drive!) next year!
Dave,
The contrast between the exhaustion and inspiration is relatable. All the ideas that come at you at such event can be overwhelming. Happy to hear that you were able to get those ideas to come together to “illuminate the morning.”
Oh, how exciting. I love to take “ideas and adrenaline” and have a part in making them combust. Love those two hope-filled closing lines too. It was such a delight to meet you in person, Dave.
Dave, this was great. Loved that last stanza, especially with the dashes all of the those bright “b”s. So glad that you found the conference stimulating! Wish I’d been able to attend.
Dave, I love your metaphor at the end: “A bright brilliance / that illuminates the morning, / a beacon beckoning us forward / toward possible tomorrows.” As a fellow teacher in arms, here’s to it continuing to work — despite fatigue and wifi issues and everything else — and to continue fighting the good fight!
I’m hoping nonet/reverse nonet is shaped like a diamond….
Gem Of A Moment
if
I lean
my head o-
ver this way more
I see her bedroom
through the dining window
into hers, this Nancy Drew
moment. Wait, what is the crime here?
She’s not napping! She’s not in her bed!
She is playing with the new dream glow
color lamp splurge Poppa bought her
changing her room from blue to
pink rose to orange to
purple, a disco
party at her
fingertips
naptime
joy
Well, the centered lines didn’t format – diamond is rough, lol.
Oh, I can imagine the diamond. Thanks for letting us know it was to be centered. I love the mystery in the first stanza, and then the quick and, oh, so, fun resolution! I want “a disco party at my fingertips” That indeed would be “naptime joy” for a little one.
Maureen— what a wonderful moment!! The Nancy Drew moment…the tipping and the o-ver. I believe my head tipped on that line.
Maureen, what a moment you captured here! From Nancy Drew to a disco dream glow! This shape is beautiful, and I can also see it the way you describe it as a diamond. This looks like the wings of a butterfly, which change color too, so I love it both ways. I love this feeling of discovery – the science of changing colors. A party at her fingertips sounds like so much fun!
Maureen,
I love this image you have captured of your granddaughter not napping. I can totally visualize the disco light party. I’m sure catching her in the action was a joyful moment!
Thank you Maureen for this precious laugh. Naps are boring…to kids, but oh how I long for them! I love the life of these lines with so many inviting scenes:
“a disco
party at her
fingertips
naptime
joy”
As a young mother, I remember putting my daughter down for a nap only to come back and check on her, having done a 180-degree turn, us seeing each other’s eyes and her big drooling grin. Thank you for sharing.
Maureen, love the imagery in this! Reminds me of my own kids and the light they used to have that was similar. Loved the “Nancy Drew moment.” XD
Maureen, this truly is a “Gem Of A Moment”! I loved the reference to Nancy Drew, the “lean[ing] / my head o- / ver, the “party at her / fingertips” and the pure delight that she, undoubtedly, felt “playing with the new dream glow / color lamp.” Thank you for this!
On the airplane, Moon followed me home
last night. She wore a hefty grin–
face half full of bright white teeth,
gleaming, she smiled at me
as I peered out through
the darkness. Watched
her dance with
the plane’s
wing,
As
I watch
her playful
moves, She reminds
me: we need the dance.
While the Sun brightens far
away, we are left here with
Moon. She transforms–new-, crescent-, half-,
full-faced and dances with obstacles.
————————————————
Kim, thank you again, my friend, for your sweet challenges. I am loving reading Ada Limon this week with you and Fran. The “Amarillo sunrise / prairie dogs” sound like a great show. I also love how Limon talked about the prairie dog eating her green tomatoes and “how she is doing what she can to survive.” So rich.
Oh, Denise, what a beauty! I have just boarded a plane heading home. Your poem personifying Moon is so warm and inviting. I will be looking forward to see your “companion” as I get to my next flight to watch “her dance with / the plane’s / wing.” It was great to see you!
I adore the image of the moon dancing with the plane’s wing…and I’m singing Van Morrison’s Moon Dance. Yes, we need the night, we need the transformation of the moon. Beautiful, Denise!
Denise, how right you are. “We need the dance.” Of course, the moon is feminine. I like that too.
Such a gorgeous, enchanting double nonet, Denise. How do you make such magic look so easy?? The flow from line to line is pure wonder! As is the personification. I can see this in a picture book with glorious illustrations…
Denise, the dance with the plane’s wing and the moon is delightful. I love this personification, and the dance right through the obstacles – – something teachers do for sure! I sure missed seeing everyone at NCTE in person, but I have thoroughly enjoyed all the pictures of everyone. I’m glad you’re home safe and sound!
Denise,
I love everything about this poem, shape, the personification the vision of the moon on the wings and the content and peaceful tone. Just beautiful.
We do, indeed, need the dance. And that moon following your plane? I KNOW it was following my car home. The obstacles she dances with…
imlove this!
Denise, this lively and vivid personification was gold. It reminded me of a half-remembered childhood poem about the moon that now eludes me, read as it was was so long ago. Just loved the imagery in this.
Kim–I would take skittering prairie dogs over dead Cadillacs any day! What a moment you gave us here! I forgot what a Nonet really was, wrote my poem, re-read your prompt, and realized that a Nonet counts syllables, not words. I really should read more carefully the first time! So, it’s not a Nonet, it’s a not-a-Nonet. But I counted up to nine and then back, so that must mean something…
Fran–you gave me a path to walk today. Thank you…
Give Me This
He can’t ever hear the beep of the refrigerator
when he leaves it open—again–because his
hearing aids make his ears itch and
I wish he would wear them
so he could hear me
talking and I wouldn’t
have to
SHOUT.
But
when I
start to complain
I remember that he
almost wasn’t here to not
hear the beep of the open
refrigerator and who really cares if he
can’t hear the beep because of his itchy
ears and I close the door and I think…
Give me more of this.
Please.
GJ Sands
11/20/23
Oh, Gayle, I remember when you almost lost him. And then this sweet, sweet love poem. What a beautiful message, and those ending lines–so much truth for someone who knows when loss was knocking. Yes, to being thankful for each day we are afforded. “Give me more of this. / Please.”
Gayle, I like the new form you created!
Gayle, first – I love the not-a-Nonet, a form you have created that is new and spectacular and works beautifully. But more important, you help us realize the importance of perspective in all things. The small things we take for granted or that test our nerves are blessings when we look at the bigger picture. I sure needed this reminder today. Thank you!
This is so precious, Gayle. I love it so much. Love that it is a ‘not-a-nonet’ – and love that I feel your frustration (been there! done that!) followed by the reflective, insightful musing of the second stanza…and the clench of these lines,
Oh, what a sad thought! Yes, “Give me more of this.”
Unconditional love! What more would anyone want? Lovely!
Gayle, your self-talk, your processing is so perfectly suited to this form of poetry.
Gayle… this strikes the deepest chord with me… “he almost wasn’t here…” I so understand. I’ve lived it. Am living it. Your poem comes from the perspective of patience and priority, a taking in stride out of abiding gratitude that one’s husband (for all those trying trifles) is still here. Yes,,, give me more of this, too, please. We walk the same path, friend.
Gayle,
The not- a-nonet works perfectly in your poem. Your message of love and acceptance is beautiful reminder that we should all be grateful for our time with our loved ones.
Gayle, I totally feel you with this poem. I almost wrote something similar, something that captured appreciation, but couldn’t phrase it the right way. This did the trick! Beautiful job.
I’m not saying
I’m a pinball
wizard
but I’m
gonna go
full tilt crazy
on this vending
machine
if it doesn’t–
Ok, look,
I smoothed the
crinkled bills
on the side of
the machine
after they were
rejected three
times; I made
sure they were
facing the right
way, corners un
dogeared,
(and all this is,
of course,
after I accidentally
pressed the
wrong buttons
getting something
I.Did.Not.Want)
so, I know that this
isn’t a “Give me
liberty or give
me death” moment,
I realize that, I do,
but is it too
much to ask for
the effin’ bag of
Chili Cheese
flavored Fritos
that I already
paid for
(twice over)?
apparently it is
apparently that
is too much to
ask for
now could someone
please call
maintenance?
my arm is stuck
in this damn
thing (and if you
do, just know
there’ll be
a brick of
Rice Krispies
Treats in it
for you and
maybe some
stale Fig
Newtons
that I can
almost reach
on the bottom row,
which will,
undoubtedly,
taste like
raspberries
and sadness).
_____________________________________
Kim, thank you for another engaging prompt! I’m with you, too: I’d much rather watch the “prairie dogs in sheer merriment” rather than visiting some Cadillac graveyard! And I love all the Ss in your nonet – “suspicious,” “skittering,” standing still,” and “seeking” – that become hard Cs in the reverse nonet – “could,” “Cadillacs,” “come close to competing.” The hard consonants of the reverse nonet speak to the speaker’s reluctance to go whereas the fluid Ss of the nonet could mimic the “skittering” and “seeking” of the “prairie dogs.” Or, maybe, I just like the sounds of your poem when spoken out loud! 🙂
Scott, I’m standing there, right there, watching this whole thing unfold. None of your friends who come along are going to call maintenance, you realize, without taking lots of pictures first, even for Rice Krispy treats, even for Hershey bars or anything else in that machine. First, everyone will have to quit laughing long enough to hold the phone camera still. No one will even notice the sadness of the stale raspberry fig bars when we pass them around and dial for help, trying to figure out who can in all seriousness report this emergency. How DO you manage to keep us laughing and seeing the humor in even these tense moments?
Thank you for showing us that the cost of the lost item is well worth the humor.
And Elton John is on loop repeat in my head, too……
Thanks for the kind comments on my poem – I hadn’t even realized all that you noticed.
This is definitely a “Give me this!” poem, Scott! I hope your arm wasn’t really caught in that darn vending machine – but I can relate to both your craving and your frustration. I love the repetition of “apparently” –
echoing your twice-over payment and escalating tension. Thanks for this fun poem!
Part of me hopes this is creative writing, and part of me thinks maybe you deserved it for real!! I’m laughing as I picture your predicament!
Scott, this poem warrants illustration. I love the ending, which “taste[s] like
raspberries and sadness.”
Scott – it’s all just SO REAL, I see you stuck there, and how many of us have not fallen victim to the evil Vending Machine? Isn’t it a universal theme-??? At work there’s a sticky note on the vending machine in the lounge where staff records all the money it ate without giving up a snack. A thing I learned long ago in my theatrical days is that comedy is the hardest, the timing has to be impeccable. Here – in the form of a poem, no less – you deliver comedy, seemingly effortlessly, with every line, thought, reaction perfectly crafted. I so didn’t expect the end about Fig Newtons probably tasting like raspberries and sadness but you made me remember Jonathan Winters (cue Fig Newton commercial jingle: “Here’s the tricky part…”). Love how “give me this” is about just tryna get that danged snack.
Oh, those vending machines! We’ve all been there at one time or another frustrated at our loss. Thoroughly enjoyed the humor throughout this poem but I was also really struck by your last lines as I felt the futility in the effort to retrieve the vending machine treats, and once those treats are retrieved, they are, inevitably, a disappointment.
“stale Fig
Newtons
that I can
almost reach
on the bottom row,
which will,
undoubtedly,
taste like
raspberries
and sadness).”
Scott,
Thank you for this laugh and very vivid scene. These lines resonated with me because I remember:
“…I smoothed the
crinkled bills
on the side of
the machine
after they were
rejected three
times”
It looks like the vending machine won, but you put up a great fight. The story was worth it all! Thank you for sharing.
“Raspberries and sadness” – haha!
Give Me This
Lips. Between exhale and whistling
make gentle waves with tender breath.
No, liquid onyx ripples.
Yes, I can cool coffee,
Yet a sip still burns.
Again. Blow. Sip.
Lips kiss steal
without
hurt.
Sarah, the gentle waves with tender breath strike such an aromatic image of roasted bean and steam rising. With the word kiss, it becomes a sultry experience, this cooling of the coffee. Your nonet seems to dive slowly into the full experience of the rich brew to start the day and embrace or arm against whatever the day brings. Lovely!
Sarah, I am going to remember this poem now every morning as I make my coffee and take the first sip. “Between exhale and whistling / make gentle waves with tender breath,” sounds not just beautiful, but enticing and cozy. I love consonance in “Lips kiss still;” it adds to the musicality of the flow. Thank you
Sarah,
The imagery in this poem is amazing! “Liquid onyx ripples” pulled me into the page, and I love the homophone “steal” that anchors the last 3 lines. Really playful and layered at the same time.
Sarah, love this rumination on lips! Kind of sexy, kind of tender, totally vivid!
Another fantastic prompt and mentor poem! Thank you, Kim. I took your nudging and went with nonet for form today. I wrote one then tried the reversal with R-words. Not sure if I’d see these as separate poems or as one.
November Nonets
November is giving me chill vibes
Time to gather and enjoy life
Coffee or mid-day breakfast
Family chats and movies
Cheese, wine and laughter
Playing “Heads Up”
Eating cake
Cookies
Rest
Rest
Recline
Read and write
Rekindle peace
Relish every meal
Recuperate from work
Release the need for control
Relax and savor this time off
Restore, repeat, restore, repeat, ahhhhh
©Stacey L. Joy, 11/20/23
Stacey,
Love this centering of rest on both sides of the nonet, the anchor. And then, when Iook at this again, I see wings, like the poem is a butterfly. The repeated Rs are flutters that ask us to hold onto the “re” of rest and other calls of and for “again” or “backward” in this prefix. Lost of reflecting here for me. Thank you.
Sarah
Stacey, those Rs are rolling in the rejuvenation of self, starting with peace and moments to savor. There is something incredibly hygge about all of this – the comfort, the fun, the living of life. Your poem makes me think of an amazing movie I watched to kick off the season – it’s called This is Christmas, on Amazon Prime. Takes place with folks on a train (the journey). “You never know what someone’s story is. Maybe we’d be better people if we tried to find out…..A stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet. There’s more that unites than divides us.” When I read your poem first and then again, I thought of the way I’d reclined, leaned back, savoring a feel-good movie. Reclining, resting, relishing, relaxing, restoring. You have just the right prescription for recharging batteries, my friend, right here in your poem!
All those gorgeous alliterative Rs, Stacey! November calls for everyone of them! I love rekindle peace and the alternating restore, repeat the best – we must, we must. That “ahhhh” at the end, a most luxuriant sigh! Your double nonet makes a perfect blanket for wrapping around oneself 🙂
Stacey, those “r”s in the second stanza were everything and gave me the feeling of a revving engine, which totally underscored your meaning, as you recharged. Loved the sound in this. As the kids would say: “A ‘w’ poem.” 😉
In Accordance with Nature
As the chirping fainted
Swallowed alive
Eyes on me
On my dumbfounded face
I looked down at the beast
But the beast had no guilt
And walked away so casually
I had to remember
creatures are bound by nature
and I bound by conscience
bound nonetheless
Andrew,
The word “beast” has me imagining a literal beast and one that may be an overstatement or understatement. I was bracing for a revelation, but noticed that the speaker did not reveal the “beast,” leaving it to the reader to imagine their own. Any beast that I/we deem to have “no guilt” and to be “bound by nature.” Still, I wonder of “nature” as in the forests or nature as in “nature” of their work/code of conduct (beast-like humans). And then I am wondering about these “creatures” in contrast to the speaker “bound by conscience.” This makes me grateful for the speaker but also knowing that not all humans are “bound nonetheless,” and that makes me afraid of these beasts.
Sarah
Andrew, I am fascinated and drawn in, so curious about the beast. Your words bring me to how very much I love to see hawks and owls out here on the farm, and while I watch them in awe, I rarely consider the horrific way that lens changes when they pounce on a cute little innocent rabbit happily munching its lunch, this Peter Rabbit fixation that I have for personifying all animals like a happy little family – which nature is NOT. Bound by nature, indeed. The food chain, the circle of life. Do I mourn the victim or celebrate the victor’s score of a great meal? That’s always the casual walk-away question for me. You make me think here.
Andrew, I love this enigmatic piece. I’ve read it several times to absorb it. Love how the lack of punctuation makes the lines bleed into each other and give meaning to each other. Love the play of the word “bound.” Great piece.
Andrew, you’ll have to tell us more about the beast )) We are curious. When I began reading, I thought, maybe, a bird was eating a worm, by the end the beast walked away, so, maybe a dog or a cat ate the chirping bird. Will we ever know? You are right though, “creatures are bound by nature,” and I am glad we are “bound by conscience.”
give me a moment to breathe in, mood
process feedback, articulate
question, synthesize a prompt
react rhetorically
not physically, yet
an opinion
my heart-felt
action
words
Hi, Stefani. I read your poem after I wrote my — we both wrote about breath and breathing. I love the flow of the long lines of breathing in toward the last gulp of air of “words.” The word “felt” in italics drew my eye and mind to that line to linger. I read “felt” as “action”– and I wonder and think, yes, that the felt is enough of an action sometimes. It is action.
Peace,
Sarah
Stefani, sometimes I use the expression, “I need to wrap my brain around it” when I first hear an idea or a prompt, and all of these things you describe are part of the processing – the reactions, synthesizing, questioning. The heart and the head are both working in tandem here, and I love that you can express how you take on an idea and decide what to do with it.
Stefani – I feel the need for the requested “moment” and all the reasons why it’s needed, so perfectly captured here in a reverse nonet!
Hi Stef,
I went into my own teacher-reaction space with your poem. My principal gives more than necessary feedback and lately I’ve learned NOT to question it before processing it. I know that’s not what your poem is about but I needed it. Breathe and process. Thank you!
I find nonets harder than they look and this one looks like a prairie dog hideout! I love how you place us right into the setting and how among the installed art, you find delight in the prairie dogs. Thanks for this prompt. I went with a golden shovel of “Why am I not allowed delight?”
While I was at NCTE, my husband sent me a sunset photo from home. There is a love language in that gesture.
So many sunset photos, I wonder why
attraction to orange, pink, purple sky is what I am
with you. Loving this mirror–I
with you, noticing. We are not
the same, yet we’re always allowed
a sunset delight.
Margaret,
I meant to comment on this other other day — your photo. It is adorable, beautiful. I want one like that. And, I agree that the nonet is harder than it looks. I love that your husband sent you a sunset photo and this as his love language.
You blend the nonet and golden shovel so well here that your poem shows relationality to Kim and Ada and your husband all in the form.
Sarah
The little me is from Canva. I couldn’t resist. She has white blush in the shape of hearts on her cheeks. Thanks. I wish we had had more time together at NCTE.
Margaret, the artist in you loves nature’s palette, its brush strokes, its canvas. You begin with so many photos, and then we see you noticing in the middle, and just like people not being the same, the pictures are all as unique too – – these delightful images keep on bringing joy! So sweet of your husband to see it and think of you and send it your way across the miles, pulling you back home and close to him in those moments. What you’ve done with the golden shovel is a work of art here!
Tears.
Margaret, nonets ARE harder than they look, and I think golden shovels are, too! I am thinking of your poem yesterday and how you were longing for home – now, your husband sends you a sunset from home. An incredibly loving gesture. I marvel at the attraction orange, pink, and purple sky as “what I am with you.” The glory of sunset mirrors your love.
Margaret, I am also drawn to the sunset and dusky sky delights! I love that chose “why am I not allowed delight.” Perfect for your Golden Shovel’s topic!
I want to see the photo! 🌅
This is such a sweet poem, Margaret! Your husband sends you a picture, and you sing him an ode in a poem–love this! I especially live the ending: “We are not / the same, yet we’re always allowed a sunset delight.” Two thoughts cross my mind here: first, regardless of age, you enjoy sunsets and find them delightful, and the second, watching sunset is free, but it is so enjoyable. Thank you for this masterful poem! 🌄
Kim, no one matches form and content as wonderfully as you! The nonet is the perfect vehicle for bringing us prairie dogs – yes, give me these, too! They’re so cute, so captivating. My husband saw them all the time as a kid living in Texas and I have longed to see a real one.
Today I combine Limon’s “Give me this” concept with the closing line from “Instructions on Not Giving Up” which you shared with us on Saturday.
Again, I celebrate this chance to craft together!
Give Me Now
It is autumn. I cannot say with certainty
that’s it my favorite season. There’s
a certain slant of light coming through
the pines in the afternoon when I sit
by my husband in the white rockers
on the new back deck, the old one
having been torn down before
it killed someone. The shifting light
plays over my husband’s face, for the moment
not contorted in pain, well into the third week
of recovering from spinal surgery. He’s apologized
for the last eight years that I’ve played caretaker
after he lost his left eye, after he survived
two heart attacks, cardiac arrest, and two surgeries.
He apologies for my missing so much work.
I sip my coffee, feeling the afternoon chill rise
and sink ever so gradually into my bones
while our next-door neighbor stokes his little
brush fire. It will burn, low and red, into the evening.
I inhale deeply, the fragrance of woodsmoke
evoking something pure and nameless in my being
here on the cusp of the holidays.
I tell my husband this is my work.
He holds out his hand. It is warm
when I take it in mine. I cannot say with certainty
that autumn is my favorite season, but the flickering light
wanes so golden, so golden. Just give me now.
I’ll take it, I’ll take it all.
Fran,
Yes, I am crying because I relate to your husband. Mine has been my caretaking hero through my father’s death, my mother’s Alzheimer’s, and my own health challenge, and he would say the same to me. “This is my work.” His work, my work, everyone’s work is to love, love, love. Presence with the now of the flickering light, the scent of a wood fire, all the imagery you so eloquently write, presence is what we learn and know and accept as a gift.
Lest we forget, repetition is the main dish in a simple meal. Thanks especially for the echoes in the last few lines.
Fran, this is so good! I have goosebumps, and I’m desperately blinking my eyes so my third hour students — who are reading silently — don’t think there is something amiss (some one must just be cutting onions in the classroom next door or maybe the pollen count is high today — I don’t even know what that means…) This is such a tender moment, “I tell my husband this is my work. / He holds out his hand. It is warm / when I take it in mine.” I love this so much. And the turn of phrase of “I cannot say with certainty / that autumn is my favorite season, but the flickering light / wanes so golden, so golden. Just give me now. / I’ll take it, I’ll take it all” has such a wonderful Edna St. Vincent Millay “Love is Not All” vibe to me when her speaker says, yeah, maybe love is not food or drink and maybe I’d “trade the memory of this night for food. / It well may be. [but] I do not think I would.”
Fran, thank you for this vulnerable blessing. You remind us what “human-ing” and loving mean–thank you.
Fran, where to begin to express all that is sacred and loving and spiritual and deeply satisfying in your words is a mystery, because there is no one place to start – – this is a poem that takes the ingredients of love and bakes them all together into a rich moment of presence and togetherness that is far more than just the words that describe it. Every fruit of the spirit, every vow taken, every promise kept – your poem is all this and so much more. I think of your sons and granddaughters and all that they have learned about what it means to love and care for someone the way you and your husband do for each other. This is a love story right here – more than a beautifully wrapped box with a perfect bow. It’s love in its pure form without all the frippery, smiling and feeling the deepest sense of belonging that can be felt. Beautiful!
Cue the tears. I relate to this so perfectly–so many apologies from my husband as I am the luckier of the two of us in the health department. So many things that he used to do and that I must do now. So many times I know that it hurts him to watch me be the stronger of us, so many times that I try to reassure him that he taught me how. So many times that I am just so glad that he is here with me, still. And that we can never really count on tomorrow.
Just give me now. Thank you, my friend for this poem-gift you gave us.
Oh, Fran, your heart is so big and beautiful–it comes through your gift of poetry that you give us. Thank you so much for this. The repetition of “so golden” and “I’ll take it” makes me stop and consider the deep truths. Ahh, the power of words.
Do read Gayle’s poem today, as this is a perfect pairing with hers.
My goodness does this make me feel some kinda way. Wow. I really love that you used Ada’s ending from yesterday’s poem. It works perfectly with yours.
There is a longing and yet a powerful feeling of presence here. I’m in awe. Your husband has shown up and shown out by surviving so many ailments. Thank God for you! I know he must adore every moment with you.
All love. ❤️
Fran, your poem reads as if every word sifted through your huge, warm heart. It made me think how often people don’t treasure these precious moments together, but you know through pain of your husband and yours how crucial your connection is, how both of you need that warm touch of hands and this quiet time on a porch. Beautiful! Thank you.
Love nonets! Thanks for this prompt, Kim.
Rising
Hope
Rising
Graceful form
Wings open and close
Butterfly flitting
From flower to flower
Drinking in the morning dew
Sipping nectar from each bloom
Off she goes into the blue again.
Off she goes into the blue again.
Sipping nectar from each bloom
Drinking in the morning dew
From flower to flower
Butterfly flitting
Wings open and close
Graceful form
Rising
Hope
Ah, yes! The reverso is another challenging form that you have elegantly used to give me a moment of grace and peace imagining the butterfly.
Joanne, you genius! I see a reverso, a nonet, AND a concrete poem here all in one as I look at these wings of the butterfly that you have shaped so creatively in your words. Just wow! The imagery is rich, the word choices are beautiful, and the feeling is pure joy.
Oh, Joanne, a beautifully symmetrical poem of butterfly love. Those beginning and ending lines are resonating with me today–“Hope / Rising” and “Rising / Hope.” So lovely.
Hi, Kim! Thank you for another prompt inspired by Ada Limon’s poetry. I love how you captured the moment and agree: how could anything compare or compete with nature? I loved your question in the second stanza. The “Amarillo sunrise / prairie dogs” sound so attractive.
I am in Columbus, OH, and today is all about the books, so I’d not too much time to think, but here it goes:
Give Me More Books
The sun wasn’t up yet on my way to
The ALAN Wonderland this morning,
Excited to get my chest
Of majestic treasures—
Warm, comforting,
Or tear-jerking
I will take
My books
Now
P.S.: I will respond to the poems later today from the airport.
Leilya, I’m sorry our paths did not cross this year in Ohio. I did run into Richard and Doris outside in the rain. That was a fun, yet brief reunion. Enjoy ALAN and all the book love.
Hi, Margaret! It was such a whirlwind of events, so no wonder we didn’t meet. I thought about you yesterday, as I saw someone from a distance resembling you. Got closer and realized I was mistaken. Hopefully, next time…in Boston 🙂
Leilya,
Typically one seeks treasure for the good feelings it can bring, but I like how your treasure, books, can reward a “warm, comforting” experience or a “tear-jerking” experience.
Leilya, share what books you got at ALAN as well! Enjoy and thank you for squeezing in a few lines before ALAN.
Leilya, I saw your photo with those stacks of books this morning, and I smiled. A room full of tables, people, books stacked in front of everyone, and a feeling of peace – the stories, the laughter, the sharing and connecting. Majestic treasures, indeed. That’s what books are, this wonderland of warmth. I love this!
Thank you, Kim! Yes, indeed! And I was there with Glenda 🙂
Enjoy, Leilya! I love how you call the books “majestic treasures” Your love for YA lit is pouring out of your little nonet. I hope all the books you receive bring warmth, comfort and/or tears!
Here is what ChatGPT wrote by way of summary and explication of the poem below:
What It Take More or Less
I am alone.
You be alone
with the trees.
Be fluid in your walking.
Be free in the trees.
Be visceral.
So many futures,
So little time.
Dismiss the edge stuff in the mind.
There are no edge cases,
no thresholds,
no margins.
Separate from them.
Loose them.
Lose them.
Let the abscission layer
go “tick”
and let the leaf lonely-fall.
Be the tail of the kite.
Be the rudder atop the rudder.
Be thee ye: the leaf,
the ship’s wake,
the smoke, and the dust devil.
These lines speak to the infinite possibilities of our students – and ourselves:
So many futures
so little time
The power to choose a path and forge it is a gift – not everyone in all countries has these freedoms of choice. Thank you for leading us to realize this blessing!
Terry,
I find comfort in your poem in being reminded how valid it is to let go of self-made restrictions caused by an unmade future and live for what I have in front of me in the present.
Terry, I appreciate your addition of OpenAI to this. There is so much to learn and discuss about this technology. And your poem inspired me to think, who is the “tail of the kite”–humans or technology?
Terry, thank you for so carefully crafted poem. I read: “So many futures, / So little time,” as a reminder of how short can life be. I would very much want to “Be the tail of the kite.” Oh, the things I could see from up there!
Dismiss the edge stuff in the mind
Gaw. Yes, please.
Kevin
Terry—“and let the leaf lonely-fall.” What imagery…
Kim, what a delight to be led by you this morning. Thanks for this prompt from Limon’s poem. Love it! Sometimes, I just enjoy rhyming.
Give me this scarlet
this orange
and gold, too.
I want your colors
for keeps
the whole year through.
Give me pumpkin spice
and a haybale chair
frost on my window
All Hallow scares
Fall, you little fiesta
before winter freezes.
I want to hold
onto you longer
and longer still.
my favorite season.
Linda, you capture fall so beautifully here in these images – the haybale chair and colors, and appeal to our senses of taste and smell in the pumpkin spice! The frost on the window sets just the right mood for the cool blasts of air outdoors. There is so much to love here!
Ah, Linda, you captured the beauty and the sounds and the scents of autumn. It is my favorite season and even more so this year. “You little fiesta!”
Linda,
Your description of fall paints a beautiful picture within my mind. I love the desire to keep fall with you like a person who is only present for some time before they have to go.
Linda, such a beautiful tribute to the fall! I kove your poem full of colors and can see that “haybale chair.” I would take it all too, maybe, except for the pumpkin spice. Your “I want to hold/ onto you longer/ and longer still”reminds me of the moments I want to hold onto too without letting go. Thank you!
Linda, what a delightful ode to fall. I love how Limon inspired you with “Give me this…” and it took you to this sweet rhyming poem with so many autumnal delights like “pumpkin spice / and a haybale chair” And I love how you called Fall “you little fiesta” Your love comes through.
Linda— what wonderful word choice!
Fall, you little fiesta
before winter freezes.
Perfect
She is a funny creature and earnest,
and she is doing what she can to survive
— Ada Limon, from Give Me This
We all worry about the fisher
living in the drain down the street,
its nightly patrols and missing cats,
something wild taking root in our
neighborhood
The dog and I caught a glimpse
early one evening, the fisher slinking
near the edge of the street,
too early to eat
but it carried itself confident,
as if it owned the place,
as if we were intruders
in its domain,
The dog had hackles,
and I had wonder,
but it looked at us
as if calculating a meal
before stealing away,
gone into the fading day
I did some slight revisions after posting here — audio version: https://sodaphonic.com/audio/hjnMEczqL4zAwPVE0CuK
What a treat to hear your poem read by you! You bring such distinction between hackles and wonder through your voice – I heard it clearly, the shift from chills to curiosity. Thank you for reading this!
Hi Kim
Thanks for listening.
Kevin
“something wild taking root in our neighborhood”
“as if we were intruders”
“calculating a meal”
all so dangerous!
Kevin, I had no idea what a fisher was until about a month ago, when I came across a reference to one and had to look it up. It looks absolutely fierce and menacing. These lines
something wild taking root in our
neighborhood
give me pause and for a moment I caught a glimpse of that iconic red balloon rising up from the street grille. Oooh, I’m loving the chills but mourning the cats.
Sad for the cats … but we also have coyotes in our neighborhood, so it’s a wild space in suburbia for all the creatures out here.
Keivn
We forget sometimes when we talk about “re-wilding” that it is the wild flora and fauna at work and that the work has teeth. Minks, martens and fisher cats are the middle hierarchy of predation. They have a say in the re-wilding, don’t they.
“I had wonder” Love this picture of what is nature and perspective, wonder to view it with a new lens.
This gave me chills (for your pets) and wonder (for the poem picture you painted).