Day 2, Inspiration
After looking at the title for today, you might be thinking Sarah, I have nothing left to give, my friend. And I do not blame you. You have been giving and giving.
So today, I’d like us to take some time to reflect on what exists today because of you. That is right. What exists, what endures, what lives, what thrives because you have given of yourself, your time, your being, your wisdom, your body.
Process
To begin, make a list.
Open your notebook and take inventory:
- places that you have created
- beings you have created, nurtured
- objects, artifacts you have imagined, invented, passed along
- meals you have made, recipes you have shared
- habits of heart, of mind that you have loved into existence
- stories, poems that exist because you listened or asked for them
- experiences you have offered, invited, organized
Then, see if that inventory might be a poem in itself or, perhaps, you are drawn to explore one in a longer poem or several in a series of stanzas.
This may be really hard for you. It was for me — really hard. I kept going to the darkside, finding my ways of giving have not always been benevolent or beneficial to others. I really had to make a mental shift, so I turned to yesterday’s inspiration to find the word grace. To give myself some grace to think about what exists today — that is good– because of me.
For the form, I’d love for you to take a look at Native American poet from Oklahoma Linda Hogan’s “Inside.” Source: Rounding the Human Corners (Coffee House Press, 2008). I like the sense of becoming and the variation of line length. And to learn more about Linda Hogan, watch her interview below.
Sarah’s Poem
How to make a poem become
is different for everyone. The first
word may
ignite imagery
and metaphor or
be erased in backspace
only to return in the
last line alongside a
collective pronoun,
parentheses, or
empty space.
From that word,
the poem becomes
a great Elm
refusing to bend in
an ice storm;
a firefly
lighting up a dance party
for one.
The poem
becomes a swing
moving harm to
healing;
a tea kettle
firing
up the whistle to
warm hardened
hearts.
But how to make a poem become
no one can say. It starts way
before the blank page
when the brain and heart
relay to waiting digits or tongue
that first word to
become
a
poem.
Your Turn
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.
Dear Sarah,
Over the past months, you have guided me again and again on my poetry journey. Tonight your poem invites me to a new level of inquiry of what the poem and I agree to do together. Thank you for your inspiration!
I Made a Nest
I made a nest
unto myself
but also for
my little peeps.
It smells of feathers
bits of twine
it swells with motion
tastes of earth.
I hatched these chicks
who squawked and chirped
then pecked and tore
each other raw.
I tugged the worms
from tight-gripped earth
to stuff into
the ravenous maws.
My urgent cry
My desperate claws
bewarned barbed wire
fox and hound.
I swooped and snatched
from precious beaks
the stories never
mine to claim.
I shoved the fledglings
from the nest;
with raucous cries
they took to flight.
My children’s wings
now carry them
they dip and swoop
their flight’s their own.
I made a nest
I hatched the chicks
I fed them well
I set them free.
Beautiful!
Especially this stanza:
“I swooped and snatched
from precious beaks
the stories never
mine to claim.“
You mail so many things about motherhood.
What a wise mother bird. Self-aware and knowing the destiny of the grown up birds that are carried on their own now:
I love the way you have expressed what you have given here. So beautiful The simple ending stanza summarizes well from the bird’s and, ultimately, a mother’s perspective.
Allison, I love the end of your poem. Beautiful images and language throughout to develop this extended metaphor.
How
To wake
Up shouldn’t
Be a big
Major thing,
Unless you
Are waking
Up during
A pandemic.
At first
There is
The full-on
Wakeup wake up,
Reality hitting
You smack
In the face.
Another
Day of
Sustained
Uncertainty.
Then there
Is the
Slow crawl
From a dream
You had no
Part in designing,
That blocks
Out daylight
Until
Dark
Again.
Finally,
A bear
Emerging
From a
Long winter’s
nap
No drug
Could
Fabricate,
You stumble find
Your shoes
And you put
One foot in front of the other
Again and again
Katrina, your poem really hits home for me. Waking up seems to be more of a process than ever before. I feel that pace of putting one foot in front of the other “again and again”. This pandemic has surely changed our world. Trying to wrap my head around this new reality has been a difficult journey, and I think your poem shares this emotion and idea so well.
The older I have
gotten-
In my short 23
years
of
life,
I have realized
that the
best gift
I have
received is,
the gift of caring.
I am here.
I will always be
here.
I will be here
when the sun shines
and we
go on walks.
I will be here
when the rain falls
with the
tears on your
cheeks.
I will be here
when you get
the news.
I will be here
when you get
the promotion.
I will be here
when the pain
is a
little
too
unbearable
today.
I will be here,
I will not leave,
I will not be shaken,
because your
friendship,
relationship,
being.
Is
Important.
To me.
Jordy, what a blessing to all who happen to be in your life! Your commitment to friendship and love reveal the sincerity and genuineness of your heart. Your poem is a tribute to what everyone deserves in a friend.
Jordy, I think your gift of being there for the ones who matter is so important. I thought the repetition with the word “here” was particularly effective. Showing the various ways you would be present added so much to the message. I loved the line “I will not be shaken!” Such beauty and power here!
The Sercy
My mother–
not a Southern woman
by birth but one
who learned how to eat grits
who plants daylilies and irons cloth napkins
who still can’t make sweet tea or gravy–
taught me the tradition of the sercy:
the unexpected gift,
the “thinking of you” trinket,
the “just because” token,
the simple surprise of kindness.
So, I —
a Georgia girl from birth
(who reluctantly claims the heritage)
who cooks grits and gravy
who plants herbs and rarely irons
who makes hot tea sweetened with local honey–
learned the joy of the sercy:
delighted faces of neighbors, friends, aunts, siblings;
cherished memories of these offerings (both given and received);
flooded with love and appreciation (You remembered! You found it!).
Like a magpie,
I still collect gifts and sercys,
eager to demonstrate my
gratitude,
remembrance,
and affection,
to speak my love language aloud.
Betsy, what a beautiful poem! I love how you add your mother’s background and the Southern traditions in your poem. The ending of your poem is simply wonderful: “to speak my love language aloud”. I can just imagine the joy a friend or loved one has received by your thoughtfulness.
I am so tickled to learn this word tonight! Sercy is what I DO! It’s who I AM! I just didn’t know there was a word for it! I find obligatory gifting (birthdays, Christmas) such a struggle. But I love the serendipitous gift of “thought of you” or “said your name.” THANK you for this beautiful introduction to the word.
Betsy, what a lovely thought–sercy. I never knew this word before. It is such a lovely sentiment, and surely the most memorable gift=giving from a giver and receiver. Thank you!
I loved the Georgia traditions you shared, and your 21st century twist on them:
I have a little bit of Georgia blood from my grandpa who moved west for work on the railroad. But I grew up in California with a few southern rituals left. Your poem brought back some nice memories.
Well, I was excited and hopeful to write and be finished before the evening. Here it is after 6 p.m. and I’m finally saying it’s finished. Parent conferences, lesson planning for the week ahead, and just feeling so doggone tired of all the demands placed on us teachers! Sigh. My poem is pretty much a stream of consciousness without regard for rhythms, patterns, or a clever flow. I love it because it is what my hands decided to do.
Honoring My Hands
I owe my hands
A love poem
These hands
That threw sand
When Mommie said not to
That opened the car door
While traveling 50 mph
Hands that folded
A love letter to E.B.
And placed it in his baseball mitt
The same hands
That wiped shock off my face
When E.B. checked
The wrong box
No he didn’t want to be my boyfriend
These hands smelled smokey
From teenage foolishness
And clasped in prayer
For divine forgiveness
Hands that shook on wedding day
One poised for a small diamond
Then both balled into fists
Of protection
These hands opened
For promises and possibilities
For praise and applause
Opened to catch butterflies
Gripped jumpropes and
Hopscotch laggers made of jagged rocks
These hands held my babies
Before the world could
Held their tiny hands
Across streets and through fears
Held their faces
Dried salty sweat and tears
These hands ache from life
Being forced to work
Without enough pampering
These hands with ragged cuticles
Skin picked nervousness
Cracked palms begging for care
I owe my hands my love
Without them this poem
Would not be
© Stacey L. Joy
Such an ode to hands; love how you include images from childhood through adulthood — where would we be without our hands? I was drawn to the hope and expectancy in these lines,
“These hands held my babies
Before the world could”
I am impressed that this poem just rolled out of your hands to here! Fabulous!
This is terrific, Stacey. What a great idea to write a poem to your hands. I have to admit, it was a little hard for me to move past E.B. He sounds like a jerk! But then again, it seems like things worked out for you. I can surely relate to those tagged cuticles!
Argh! Why did my name auto correct?!?
hahahaha!
Haha! E.B. was my 5th grade crush who didn’t want to “go with me” and oh well. He’s no longer living. That’s really frightening! I wonder what happened. Hope he didn’t die lonely. Thank you for caring, Mo.
Hooray! You did it! My poem was after a day of pondering too. I love your take on this prompt with than to your hands and all that they’ve brought you through and given from you. I understand the tired, the ache…and also the love. What a joyous poem. I wish you a good rest.
Stacey, what an absolutely heart-wrenching poem. The contrasting sensory appeal is particularly effective. From catching butterflies to jagged rocks. I love your honesty and feel your pain of rejection and abuse. I admire the strength and bravery you share in this poem. I’m glad you have these hands to share such a wonderful tribute to your powerful, loving, and courageous hands. I’m still cringing though thinking of you opening the car door while traveling at 50 miles an hour. Wow!
Thanks Barb. I was a naughty little girl and wanted to see what would happen if I opened the car door as my mom was driving. Lol. I got a good spanking.
Before I even read your poem, I want to thank you for this: “I love it because it is what my hands decided to do.” Now I’ll read the poem. <3
Oh, my word. What you have created here speaks to the value of honoring raw delivery. While you call it stream-of-consciousness, your experience as a practicing poet shines through. Line after line is rich with imagery and emotion.
Some of my favorites: the child’s “misbehaving” hands; the young one’s unrequited love. Then the hands holding small ones as you cross the street….
When you turn to your own cuticle-torn hands in the final stanza, I want to grasp your hands and rub them gently with the care they deserve.
Beautiful.
I struggled with this prompt because I’m at a place where I feel resentful of all that I’ve given to my job when I haven’t given enough to myself. Therefore, I shifted my focus to what I want to start giving myself.
Sarah, thank you for all that you do and for creating this safe space to share our thoughts.
Vow
I’ve never given you the support that you need
but I vow to support you now
I’ve never given you the respect that you deserve
but I vow to respect you now
I’ve never given you the time to stop striving and to just be
but I vow to give you time to rest now
I’ve never given you the opportunity to heal
but I vow to give you that opportunity now
I’ve never told you that your presence is a gift
but I vow to tell you now
I’ve never loved you unconditionally
but I vow to love you now
I vow to give you all this and more
but you must promise to receive
I am reminded how we must put ourselves first, we MUST take care of ourselves, if we ever hope to do all that needs doing in the world around us. Yes, promise to receive!!
Yessss, love all over yourself until you can’t stop! This is such an important poem, message, and survival skill.
Oh, Sharon,
This is lovely.
I desperately want to cheer you toward your goal.
Your last line was infused with honesty. We must agree to accept our own self-acceptance.
I’m rooting for you.
Sarah, I love your metaphors!
Sarah, I LOVED this prompt. Oh, my goodness…it was with me all day. I finally just sat down to get something down on my computer. But, there are so many other ideas I’d love to play with. For sure, I didn’t want to use the first-person point of view. Thanks for the great inspiration.
Collage
Our muse will not be rushed
today, or any day–
It strolls along the sidewalk
spotting a button
foil wrapper, a ribbon
pages from a museum map
left behind by the couple practicing Italian.
There is tearing and piecing-–
more and more piecing
then searching for paper
in a particular shade of peacock blue
to backlight a ballerina’s silhouette
and rhyme with ‘pirouette’
before decoupage
holds them still
on a prepared substrate
of old sheet music painted with gesso.
One might be tempted
to claim the finished piece
drying on the midnight workroom table
is a creation of our imagination
our talent, our creativity.
Muse giggles on a pillow
catching a few winks
before the next appointment
with an artist
tomorrow.
Linda, first, this was a call back to my childhood when I tried so many crafts and never really excelled at any. Decoupage was really fun, though! I love that you didn’t use a first person narrator. I really want to try that now. The stroll down the sidewalk creates a mood that I’m there for! Thank you for sharing this.
Linda, I love how well you describe the artists eye searching for bits and pieces of color and texture for a collage. The collage is a gift. I also work in collage and mixed media and paint over old papers like”old sheet music painted with gesso.” Thanks for sharing this and affirming this muse.
A great big box with two shelves and a cupula
A little red schoolhouse full of books for the community children
Built with love by my boys
The airplane, built for my pilot son and his wife
Warmed their first home
And welcomes the children of Fairbury
Then came the Panther, showing school pride
Dedicated to a former superintendent whose widow
Was moved to tears
The beagle in Lee’s Summit might be my favorite
I’ve always loved Napoleon, my niece’s dog, who silently begs with puppy dog eyes
For me to take him with me as I leave their house
The Willow Wildcat graces our K-2 building
Inviting children playing at the park
To choose a book and have a seat
The Churchill Bulldog guards the school’s entrance
Urging kids to take a book before they pass
I imagine his tail wagging with joy each time a book is chosen
Corona gave us time to construct- GASP- a Nebraska themed box
In our friend’s post-war planned community
To welcome the families of Park Forest
The stained-glass panels my old friend made
Adorn the latest cubicle, painted in pastels
Waiting for a home in someone’s front yard
These are the Little Free Libraries we have designed and built
The books go in; the books go out
In this small way, we hope to change the world
Mo, what a fantastic way to make reading a wonderful invitation. The beauty of these libraries is astonishing. There is something very special about coming across a place to put books in and to take one for free. What a wonderful and generous blessing! The end of your poem is particularly powerful because I think books can change the world!
WOW! This is such a great story and poem. I love that you build these. What an amazing way to pass the Covid-time. This poem needs a bigger audience.
At the risk of inviting you to play
two tiny violins for my pity party
I have not one memory
of my parents
getting down on the floor and playing with me
no board games
no bouncing balls
no baby doll tea parties
got nothin’, seriously.
I vowed not to repeat this.
I coupled marriage with friendship.
I sought laughter and joy.
I was determined
to connect, converse, love more openly,
to forgive
to admit mistakes
to do over.
You know well
how I stumble,
daily
come up short
in so many ways.
Is trying my gift?
Your gift to me,
you may not realize,
was the candid photo
of you
holding your newborn
while simultaneously
whirling your two-year old daughter on that spin toy
with a big hearty smile on your face.
This idea of loving family and
being present
I gave this to you.
I am so happy that you cherish this, too.
Maureen,
What I like most about this wonderful poem is the direct address to your own child, now a parent, and the inductive structure leading to these final, brilliant lines:
Like you, I had a mom who never played w/ me. We played board games on rare occasions w/ my father before he lost his sight, and I played dominos and checkers w/ him after he went blind, but his real play was devoted to my brother whom he dreamed would be a professional athlete. Like you, I vowed I’d play w/ my kids and create more play opportunities for them, so ai really relate to the insights you offer here.
I love how you invite us into the world with a little sarcasm and sincerity, and walk us through each generation’s experience of play and connection. I can feel that hope and love through your poem.
Maureen,
I love every word of this poem and appreciate so deeply how your poem speaks to me in a way that could not before the oral history interview — sharing that space with you helps me see you when I read this poem. And when you say “Your gift to me” then later “I gave this to you” illuminates a reciprocity that you are due but also that you nurtured into the being. Love this and it stirs many feelings for me personally.
With gratitude for your gift to us,
Sarah
Oh, Maureen, I’ll gladly go to your pity party if you promise to come to mine. I also don’t have happy childhood memories, so your words made me cry. I’m glad you found a happy ending.
This poem gave my goose bumps as I had just finished a conversation about a friends similar experience with her father before sitting down to engage with this. I appreciate your words, especially, “Is trying my gift?” because it is a gift you treasure giving.
My mom was never told she was loved. Her parents loved her. They just did not put it into words. In turn, she could not say “I love you” enough. We carry on her tradition.
I love this mentor poem and the thought-process you prompted us through here! Thank you, Sarah, and thank you, fellow writers, for your poems – so lovely to read today.
What sticks
Who knows what sticks in the mind of a student
From your time together?
I wonder…
What makes it through the coursing stream of hormones
Brains flooded with roiling hormonal magma
Faces a cratered oil-slick
Mouths tectonics plates in fast-motion
aching with metal bulldozing new teeth into place
Bones lengthening overnight in painful leaps
Their bodies volcanoes of new scents and terrains?
Through these bodies they feel things
as if they were raw nerves wrapped in tissue paper
Hearing a gentle reminder as yelling
Seeing a brow knitted in thought as anger
Feeling each changed plan as a deep stab.
What can you teach
that can make it through to the heart?
I hope it is the humane ideas
“No put-downs”
To be a trusted friend
That time we discussed how slavery molded the Constitution
That science is real and they all can be a helper, a discoverer.
That they climbed the tallest mountain in Maine
With new feelings of pride
You know, the good stuff.
But what if their takeaways are
The time it looked like I wrote “ass” on the board (I promise it was just “mass” with a really big M!)
The time I got carried away explaining gravity
And a marker landed smack in the middle of MJ’s forehead
Or when I said “Hozy Comes” instead of “Cozy Homes”
When I came back from a concussion with a new short temper
The time I tripped and landed hard on my wrist and they all gulped and asked if I was ok
I wonder…
is that ok
to stay?
By being fallible,
human
in front of their changing eyes
laughing at it
and showing up
Maybe that’s enough to stick.
Oh, I giggled at all your exposed humanity – your list of ‘mistakes’ in front of students…then I got chills from
This! This is the most important part of our work as teachers, I think…to show them the world ain’t perfect and we must keep on. Fabulous! Loved this.
Emily,
So much truth in this poem, layers of what you have given, and maybe you willed it to be so, but what sticks with me is this:
Love it, especially for the brilliant use of parentheses!
Sarah
Emily—they will remember the noble warnings, but they will love the humanity you gave to them by being yourself. This is a wonderful tribute to yourself as a teacher and as a person!
Emily — This is a spectacular poem! The IS the life of a teacher trying to navigate the rush of hormones and pheromones and angst and anger and confusion… that world of students who are real beings, learning how to grow in an environment that keeps whirling faster than they can muster. Your lines are so well plotted. My faves:
These are our kids — this is who we all were once. You made yourself vulnerable here in a way that honors that vulnerability rather than feeling sorry for it. I reckon every teacher writing here today knows those moments… the “Hozy Comes” and “ass” or “mass” … (oh, I have a doozy story in that vein … reading Anne Bradstreet’s poem … “…no guest shall sit…” came out “…no guest shall shit…” It really didn’t help that I was so into the poem and being all dramatic… oh lordy! OMG! LOL! I burst out laughing as did the entire American Lit class.) All of your descriptions make you so human and so humane in a world that needs the fallible and the acceptance of fallibility as we use those moments to grow and climb those tallest mountains.
Wonderful, just really inspirational. Hugs, Susie
Sharing/Healing
It’s my own fault
I try to comfort her
It could be any reason
no fault of yours
Part of her body
now missing
the illness eating her
insides and out
It’s the smoking that did it
or maybe the implants that leaked
I sit next to her
hearing her story
I hold her tears with mine
and want to hug her
The healing will come
A given assurance
I share a prayer
and sit by her side
We chuckle at stories of friendship
that began long ago
laughing together
since childhood
I hold her hand
___________________________________________
Again, thank you Sarah for a great prompt on a beautiful giving day!
Oh, this makes me cry. When I think of a long time friend going through this, or languishing in a coma, it’s all we can do. Sit with them, share tears with them, and just be.
Susan—this breaks my heart. Your gift—you—is so great. And could not be improved upon.
Oof, this one got me. I remember sitting with a friend going through cancer, too, and not really knowing what to say. Your friend is so lucky to have you. I like this line:
I try to comfort her
It could be any reason
no fault of yours
It sounded lovely and prayer-like. Hugs.
What a blessing to give friendship and love, like this! “I hold her hand” – such a gift.
Susan,
You give your hand. You witness. I appreciate the observation and the wondering without judgment here of your sibling(?). I love the line “the healing will come”.
Sarah
Thank you all for your gracious comments. No, this is a dear friend of mine going though this change in health. Not a sibling or family member. She could be my sister because we have been best friends living near each other for most of our lives.
Sarah, thank you again for sharing such a beautiful poem about poetry which is truly one of my favorite kinds of poems. After teaching for so many years, I often feel guilty about the time I spent with students rather than my own family; all the long weekends, late night practices, early morning rising to respond to student work, etc. etc. etc. So today I focused on what I thought was the most positive part of teaching and the gift of time all teachers give.
My gift has
Been the years of pushing
Students past their fears
Encouraging a shy sophomore to read dramatically
Delighted by the moment
She blossoms in front of me
My gift has
Been to be the listener
Accepting a student’s
Awkwardness while asking she asks
How I feel and realizing later
Acceptance was all she needed
My gift has
Been years of coaching actors
To witness their
Stage magic; to see them transform
Delivering lines effortlessly
In awe of their maturity
My gift has
Been the years of writing
Beside my students
Responding thoughtfully
While coaxing them to share
To revise; to publish
My gift has
Been time; being present
But the reward has been so much greater
Celebrating victories, witnessing growth; love, happiness
Feeling blessed by a special “Thanks!”
Delivered years later
Barb Edler
November 15, 2020
Barb,
This is so sweet. I love the anaphora “ my gift has been.”
Surely the recipients of your gifts have been very fortunate
Barb, I think the repetition here of “My gift has been” is so important to what follows it each time: pushing, listening, coaching, writing, being. These are the gifts of teaching. They’re what I miss most.
Barb—your gift has been yourself. And what a beautiful gift it is. Those students will remember you forever, whether that say thanks, or not!
Barb, love how you recognize and own your gifts. There’s an assurance here in this poem in this lines that declare each gift. Your students are lucky to have your steadfast gifts and confidence!
I love the way each stanza begins “My gift has” (and the word ‘been’ beginning on the second line); this separating off of those three words – to me – emphasizes that there was a great gift in the doing, that you have loved and treasured being a teacher. Yes, I’m sure you felt, as you wrote,
‘blessed by those special ‘Thanks!”‘ but even without these thanks, you love teaching. Truly, your students have received a great gift from your passion!!
Barb,
This is so wonderful and such a needed poem that I think everyone should read and write (one similarly). I see the word “witnessing,” and I feel like that is the thread throughout the stanzas – that you have witnessed so many moments in the lives of your students — many that no one else has (even parents). It is a privilege to be positioned to do so, but it is also a whole lot of giving to others. Thank YOU!
Sarah
Barb — Reading your poem makes me feel so good about what is happening in classrooms. You are the teacher that we all want to be…. the listener, the witness, the celebrating, coaxing teacher. Your strong teacher love rings here…it is what changes the lives of students to be better people. Wonderful! Being present (Scott wrote about that today too.) for students is no small thing…it is a game changer. Love this poem. Hugs, Susie
Thank you for a wonderful prompt, yet again. It has had to marinate all morning, and reading others’ works has helped that, too.
Charity
As teachers we build&craft&artfully
Construct lessons we want to give
Our students–not just the art of the
Apostrophe
(Are you there, child?
I am here, waiting for you–)
I sat up late last night, carefully
Considering what you needed
To supplement with your
Foray into the world of
Scrooge and Marley and Tiny Tim
And thought deeply about
Charity.
Do we, the people, teach you charity?
Do we study its etymology,
Consider its definitions,
Quiz you on the spellings it takes across
This world where so many know the
Warp and weft and weight
Of its absence?
Do you know tzedakah, the universal
Obligations meant to teach
Understanding civic responsibility?
Do you know zakat, the thankfulness
Of a giver whose gift is received?
What about dana, the unconditional surrender
Of ownership of something loved given freely?
Perhaps altruism, the sacrice for us all?
What do you know of charity,
An act of love so pure it must be
The heart of God working
Through you?
Do we teach you the joy of giving–
How time spent for another is time spent well?
A gift of labor or talent is as
Precious as
Frankincense, gold, or myrrh
When laid at the feet of one in need.
There is blessing in the art of surrender
And sacrifice.
In the face of so much suffering and fear,
Can we love beyond what divides us?
In a time of giving thanks,
Can we teach you to be thankful to give?
If I give you nothing else,
I hope to give you this:
An outstretched hand tied to an open
Heart.
(Are you there, child?
I am waiting.)
Wow, Andrea, what an amazing and beautiful poem. I love the nod to Walt Whitman here. I agree teaching grace, forgiveness, and charity are the most valuable gifts. The final image of your hand outstretched with an open heart is truly moving. Thank you for sharing this incredible poem today!
Wow. An outstretched hand tied to an open Heart.
There’s a vulnerability in the lines, “Are you there, child? I am waiting”
I feel like there’s a really special interplay about you and your power and what you have to give and students ability to receive you, your gifts, and the gifts of the world. I had to look up a few of the terms in here, and I love when I poem makes me curious to learn new ideas. Thank you!
Becoming a giver
the little girl
with bright red curls
she never knew
how much she could give
she lived her life
running from moments
laughing at dumb jokes
drinking too many beers
smoking too many cigarettes
she never knew
how much she could give
then the two lines
confirmed her worst fear
then she gave.
her jeans didn’t fit right
her hair lost its shine
the beer remained unopened
now she sits on the couch
watching her little girl play
her heart swells for
this little girl
with red curls
who will grow up
and be like her one day
Madison, I love the honesty of your poem and the shift between how the red-headed girl once was and how that all changed. The gift of life is amazing. Truly moving and beautiful poem!
Madison – this sounds like a song… it has all the right patterns and images like the red-haired curls, the two lines that changed it all. I just want Dolly Parton to write the tune! (I hope you feel this as a compliment – I think she’s incredible, but I know not everyone’s a country music fan :))
Madison,
I am always struck by how poems can be lyrical snapshots or full narratives — beginning, middle, end with all the plot elements. You have crafted such a moving account, and “this little girl/with red curls” being watched by “her” is such a vivid, moving image of life amid “worst fear.”
Peace,
Sarah
Madison, I feel as if I felt this with you. I enjoy the lines, “ now she sits on the couch watching her little girl play her heart swells for this little girl with red curls..” because it’s as if we rewinded the clock.
My Hands
By Nancy White
My hands are healers
Soothingly they have given
countless hugs,
stroked hair from foreheads,
wiped away tears.
They massage, hold and embrace,
bless, and caress.
They wipe stinky bottoms and runny noses,
and bandage bloody wounds.
My hands have held the hands of the dying and
prayers flowed through them like water.
My hands are healers, that’s just what they do.
My hands are creators
Delicately and sometimes fiercely they strum strings, dance on keys,
Provide the backbone and beat,
music for thousands of ears to join in
Clapping the beat!
The rhythm erupts in my hands
beating drums and crashing cymbals!
Expressing anger, joy, or praising my maker,
my hands say it all.
They sketch and splash paint, celebrate life in
all they make!
They mold the clay and shape the pot.
They give it away.
People enjoy
the whimsical, playful, colorful shapes
that download from my brain to my arms and my hands.
My hands are creators. They do what they do.
My hands are tools.
They dig the dirt, plant gardens of joy,
roses, gardenias, snapdragons, lavender,
blooms that bring smiles.
Then rosemary, mint, sage, and basil,
savoury gifts to the table.
My hands have kneaded, stuffed, frosted, and stirred,
spread peanut butter and jelly a thousand times.
They have typed a million letters,
scribbled comments to encourage and praise,
They have written on white boards, reminding.
They always write lists upon lists,
and take notes
all for the love of learning and growth.
They spread the knowledge,
and nurture every soul
in between loads of laundry
and scraping stuck food from the pots and pans.
Pushing vacuums, scrubbing floors, dusting— forever the chores!
My hands are tools. They work as tools will do!
That’s what my hands can do.
They do it all for you.
Nancy, wow, you have captured the power of your hands so marvelously in this poem. I love the joy you share through the artistic creations to the reality of all the other types of necessary chores your hands also do from healing to cleaning. The final line “They do it all for you.” is such a powerful end!
Your hands do it all, Nancy! I love the list and descriptions of all they do as tools. Then the last line really sums it up in love. “They do it all for you.”
I get a sense of a rich, full life, of mundane moments and joyous moments, and I love the bit at the end about “do it all for you.” Sounds like lots of incredible givers I know. Thanks.
Nancy,
I had to pause and pause with “my hands are creators.” This just hit me like a ton of bricks — what we can do (harm and healing) with our hands. You have crafted the possibility of healing and, almost, a warning to be very intentional about using our hands for good:)
Peace,
Sarah
How beautiful, Nancy! I’ve always loved the symbolism of hands in visual art, and I love how you put words to how incredible your hands are.
“Acrylic Giver”
Do they ever think about me
When they look into the colors
When they smell the faint aroma
Of acrylics and perfume
Like the scents that I was wearing
When I breathed into the canvas
When I toiled over sketches
On the floor of my bedroom
Can they hear the distant notes
Of every cover song I played
As I hunched over the image
Pencil tucked behind my ear
Can they feel the fine tipped brush
As it traverses ‘cross the surface
Lining every inch and detail
‘till the sharp outlines appear
How I hope they know the effort
Know the love that I put into
This piece of me I give away
and send into their care
Even if they don’t, I know
That creating each was worth it
Worth the all-nighters I spent
To birth something bright to share.
I loved everything about this poem. You clearly have passion for every one of your pieces and I relate to that. I have a friend who makes amazing art, and has a really hard time selling it because he cares so much about each piece. You put your heart and soul into things. My favorite lines are the last two “Worth the all-nighters I spent/ To birth something bright to share” the use of the word “birth” really gives us the idea that art is not just ‘art’ to you, but something much more. Thanks for sharing.
Ann, I so love how you share the time it takes to create art. I am especially impressed with the connection to the music shared through the art. Creating is like giving birth as we give it all of our energy, and those pieces matter. Your final line is brilliant!
Ann, I almost wrote about creating a painting. Then I just couldn’t figure out the ending because we don’t know or can’t predict the receiver of the gift. The artist wonders if the viewer will hear and feel the effort of the brush and the brain and the hours. Yet, how true the words “even if they don’t I know that creating each was worth it.”
Oh, Annie,
I just love this image of you giving, bringing into being, birthing art. These lines…
The sound of the “t,” the consonance here is so musical, such movement here.
Peace,
Sarah
Present
I’ve read
and whole-
heartedly
believe
that the greatest
gift
you can give
someone
is the
gift
of presence,
the being in
the here and
now with
him or
her or
zir or
them,
and I would
like to
think
that I pro-
vide
my family
and friends
and students
such a
safe
place.
Scott — This is, indeed, a giant gift… I love the sense of you as a teacher being present as a safe place, a safe and present being. Love that. Susie
Scott,
Ditto. I had a professor who talked about how someone can be physically present but mentally absent. I talked to students about this often. Bravo for saying being present is “a safe place.”
Scott, I agree the gift of being present is truly one of the best gifts a teacher can give. I love how you structured this poem, and the ending is so important…providing a safe space, yes, it’s so essential!
I love the short lines, often only one word – stylistically illustrating ‘presence’ – pay attention to the immediate, what’s at hand, right now. Beautiful.
Yes, yes, yes. I totally agree. I like how you say it simply, for it is a simple concept, but tricky to master. Your short lines make me feel present, too. Nice!
Scott,
Thank you for crafting this is such a way that my eyes moved, down the page with such a quick pace — all the while feeling safe with the inclusive word choice and ease leading me to “place.”
Sarah
Scott,
I agree that the greatest gift a person can give is presence. I think this is something people learn as life experiences pass as well as people in our lives. We want the here and now, with no technology and no interruptions. This is something you have made me ponder throughout today, thank you!
Scott–I enjoyed the word play between “present” and “presence.” And I am struck by the space that your poem creates as it stretches across the page. Thank you for sharing it with us!
Scott, I have a feeling you do!
I can’t believe I missed the first day! I had been waiting all month… which, actually, is perfectly typical and an example for this poem. Thank you again Sarah, for your gift of poetry—the one you give us in your soaring words every month.
My Gift
I give you Permission.
I give you permission to be
Yourself.
Your flawed, mistake-making, stumbling
self, all your many facets gleaming in the light.
Your unwashed, unvarnished, who-you-really-are self,
your awry, amiss, inexact, unfinished self.
Your beautiful growing self.
I am your permission.
I am your bad example—your what-not-to-do—
frequently lost, often confused,
lapsing, laughing, and trying again.
Hoping and trying; occasionally succeeding.
I fly my imperfections for all to see.
My blemished self gives you
permission to be your human, changing self.
Let us love our flawed selves together.
Permission granted.
Gayle Sands
November 2020
Gayle,
Permission granted. Thank you.
I appreciate the “awry, amiss, inexact, unfinished self” you share with us today. Flying your imperfections offers freedom and love. We need this. So much of this.
Hi, Gayle! I loved this so much. I really enjoyed how you went from “I give you permission” to “I am your permission” to finally “permission granted.” It was a beautiful sort of journey of self-acceptance and reading it made me feel warm inside.
Such a beautiful poem! I really think that the world needs more of these deep thoughts! Thank you for sharing!
Gayle — Your words resonated with me in a big way today. Giving permission is just a priceless thing, as we so often won’t do that for ourselves. The honesty of the “bad example” made me laugh. I am the perpetual bad example in the eyes of some…so I was really feeling that “lapsing, laughing, and trying again…” Indeed! Being “your human, changing self” is the essence of it all it seems to me. Thank you for this poem. Susie
Gayle, I love every word of this poem. For a country that preaches individualism, we sure spend much energy trying to change the uniqueness of folks. I love the emphasis you place on permission to be oneself in lines like
And those final two words are perfect.
This is beautiful. Made me smile so – I can truly relate! Loved this line especially, “I fly my imperfections for all to see.” Yes, we are each deeply flawed, right? Thank you!!
Oh, my, Gayle. “Permission granted.” I so need this right now. With my sister in town and my husband echoing her sentiments that I am “not normal” and “weird,” these words really hit me: “awry, amiss, inexact, unfinished self.” I am taking your poem as a personal note to me to be unfinished and weird. I can’t apologize because I can’t change it,
Love this,
Sarah
Sarah, your words are a healing balm, a packaged gift, an idea provoker, and they reflect everything you are. My thanks go to you today, for creating this space, for sharing of yourself, for allowing us all to become. We are more because of you. Thank you for being.
Existence
This
line
expands
to
become
more
Idea-embryos
buried deep
in rich
gray-mattered soil
spring
We played god
birthing beings
into existence
where none
were before
With a hey-diddle-diddle
Potters Clay
and Hampshire Moss
painted
straw and sticks
to brick
I bring this story
from my son
to you today.
“You know how
the sky is
usually
a smile?
Today, it is a
bruised eye.”
Jennifer,
The physical presence of your poem is beautifully linear, which for me emphasizes the “line” that evolves into an “idea-embryo. We really do “play god birthing beings into existence” as creators of ideas. It’s humbling to think about the myriad ways we see the world and honor that in verse.
Woah! Jennifer! These lines:
I feel such a sense of grounding here with the soil imagery, literally and figuratively bringing me into beginnings, growth, possibility.
Sarah
The Giving Spree
It just keeps on giving.
Give me a break!
Hey man, give me some skin!
Come on, spill it, give!
I’m not giving in!
Give me a chance!
My last nerve is about to give out.
Be careful, she’ll give you the stink-eye!
What gives?
It was a dead giveaway!
You’ve got to give a little, take a little, let your poor heart break a little….
Just a little give and take.
Do you even give a rip?
Give and ye shall…
Give peace a chance.
Give it a try, give it a go!
I give, tell me!
Don’t give up!
I’d give anything.
I’ve gotta give up the ghost.
What gives?
Somethin’s gotta give.
Give me one good reason.
Frankly my dear, I don’t give a…
It’s time to give it a rest.
by Susie Morice©
OK, Susie—you put the ear worm in my head—that’s the glory of love!! This is great—every giving trope ever written. Your ending is perfection—it’s time to give it a rest! 🙂
Susie,
You’re a clever girl to give us this cliche-filled homage to “give.” I’ve got to give you credit for some clever pop culture allusions, too. I hope all in this space give your poem a read.
Susie, how fun to read through this. It’s always amazing to see how many different ways we read/use a word. And that last one is the perfect ending!
Susie, oh my gosh, you have got me laughing out loud. I love the “Frankly, my dear” and I absolutely loved the line: “Be careful, she’ll give you the stink-eye!” What a delightful read, so clever, and supremely funny! Thanks for sharing such a fun take on “giving”!
This was really a fun poem! It was wonderful how you bring awareness to a word we use so lightly when we should honor and treasure it a bit more. I love the lists of usages for “give.” A fresh view of giving.
Susie, this was such a fun read! I love how you crafted these (originally) disparate phrases so that they’d “talk” to each other: “What gives? / Somethin’s gotta give. / Give me one good reason. / Frankly my dear, I don’t give a ….”
Susie! This is fantastic. And one of the angles on giving that I sort of hoped emerged today. All the ways we use these words, the context, nuance, even abuse of words like “give.” The trite and the truth. You offer a call and response here, too that I think is marvelous — all the way through:
Give me more!
Sarah
Very clever, Susie! You made me smile.
Meeting Suki
My first day at the school office
was daunting
Everyone is so busy no time to teach me
Don’t even know how to answer their phones
And me In my red suit coat and black slacks looking all professional
Then someone asks me, “are you the new secretary?”
Proudly, I answer, “yes, I am”.
“Well, the copier is broke!”
I’ve fixed a few copiers in my day
I check it out and knew the paper jam was underneath the damn thing
So I shinny under the copier in my $200 red suit coat, looking for the jam
Suddenly this blonde head with a sparkling smiley face is nose-to-nose with me
In a laughing, sunny voice she says to me,
“can I help you with this?” “It’s my first day too”
We both laughed hearty laughs and found the jam
And I knew at that moment that I had met my sister of love
Instantly I could feel our energies meld together
Talking non-stop and laughing
God, it felt good to have a friend that first day
Eleven years later and Suki is still my love and my rock
And I am hers. We are each other’s umbrella,
or bulldozer if the situation warrants
When we are together in a room, we must be touching
It’s an automatic reflex, the energy is phenomenal
All because I had to fix a copy machine.
Judi Opager
November 15, 2020
This is beautiful … a true testament of the love of two women. We are so blessed to have found one another!!
Judi and Suki – This is a lovely narrative of a golden relationship… two newbies in the school … all dressed up and professional and then “shinny under the copier” … LOL! Made me laugh. Funny that these moments become watersheds in our friendships. This is a real feel-good poem! Thank you, Susie
Judi, we all need that “sister of love,” that “umbrella” and “bulldozer” and your story with Suki is just beautiful! I needed this origin story today.
I love this! It’s a priceless gift to have a kindred spirit in your life. I’ve had a few. They make work fun and help you get through. Thanks for helping me remember and be thankful for those who have brought joy to my workplace.
This made me smile in recognition of the beginning of a wonderful friendship, forged in a moment of desperation. Love the red suit crawling under the copier!!
love it!
I as a person
This may sound selfish
That’s not my intent
For I did this myself
I had to reinvent.
I
Am dependent on myself
So it has been
Because no one
Prioritizes me
Like me.
Each year I move
A new place
New mates
Each year I create
A new home.
I
Change with the
Tide that loves
To push me around
Yet endure like
Plastic in the ocean
What exists because of me?
I exist as me
But more than that
My ideals must be known
That every person I meet
Comes more into their own
For that is what I crave
Not to be recognized
For my help
But to be known
Only
As a person who helped.
Darcie — I really like the strong affirmation of self in this poem. I particularly like
and
Strong voice! Way to go! Susie
Oh! “I change with the tide that loves to push me around yet endure like plastic in the ocean” – I love this image, the idea of being battered and changed through water but continuing to exist despite it. It’s deeply visual.
“My ideals must be known
That every person I meet
Comes more into their own”
The true heart of a teacher. Darcie—You have a strong sense of purpose here. You show resilience and individualism in this poem. I love your sense of selfless giving.
Darcie,
Bravo! I totally get this and love it. The placement of “I” standing independently of other verses reinforces the idea we are most dependent on ourselves, but we’re also bridges connecting to one another.
Sarah, the gratitude I have for you, your writing, and this community is unspeakable. If every writer/teacher/writer could have a space like this, I believe the world would be filled with confident souls sharing and caring through poetry.
Your vulnerability and transparency are golden. You encourage us all to be free. I’m getting there! Thank you, Sarah.
Writing about a poem and its origins speaks to me today because after making my lists, I have no idea where to go with all the words on my page. I’ll let them rest a while and come back to awaken some sort of “becoming” or maybe even an “Elm.” You are brilliant and beautiful!
Thank you. I am giving you a virtual hug.
Yes, this is all so true. This lists that came out of this prompt. Wowsa! I look forward to the satisfaction you have of writing the poems that come of them.
Such a beautiful prompt! It is important to recognize our talents and give us a little bit of credit. This prompt helped me express my feelings towards my actions that have helped other people.
This phrase got me thinking about how our actions can touch someone’s heart:
What is a gift?
A gift is not always an object
It can be a word, a phrase, a feeling, or a moment
If I have ever given you support
I hope you know it was my heart speaking
A gift can be given implicitly or explicitly
It can happen in good times or bad times
If I have ever given you advice when you needed it the most
I hope you know it was God speaking through myself
A gift is not always an objective to be reached
It can be unconsciously expressed in actions and emotions
If I have ever said or written something that brought you peace
I hope you know I truly believe in God’s will
Reading everyone’s words is such a gift today! I love this, “If I have ever given you support I hope you know it was my heart speaking.” Such a large amount of love is shown through such a simple gesture. You have written peace for us today.
Thank you, Jennifer! I appreciate your nice words!
I really liked this poem. I’d never thought of gifts being things other than the physical objects, but it is so true. I liked the lines “If I have ever said or written something that brought you peace/ I hope you know I truly believe in God’s will” I think that is just simply wonderful. I’ve written poems for family and friends, never thinking it was much of anything. This makes me think twice. Thank you for sharing.
Your response made me so happy! I’m glad you liked it so much! Thank you!
Sarah, this is a tough prompt. It’s hard to see myself as someone who does little more than take up space these days. Your poem captures the elusive paradox of poetry creation and giving: “it’s different for everyone.” I love the nature imagery: “a great elm, a firefly, a teakettle,” suggesting we live in a poem.
Spaced Out
I fold knees to chin
Arch my back in the
Shape of a C
Rest my head on my arm
Offering space
For you to stretch & yawn in
Quiet repose
Your siblings join
This slumber party,
Their bodies linked with yours
Forming a three- lined Z
Zigging and zagging
From head to foot
Signaling no room in this inn.
Not wanting to disturb
Your slumber—
Hero’s purring sleep dirge
Puck’s allergy-induced wheezing,
Snug’s dreamy little snug grunts—
I take my leave to the guest room &
Tuck myself away for the night.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, you have the best pets ever! I want to spend a day in a world like yours. I’ve always only had one pet but seriously dream of the day when I’ll have a couple of cats and dogs. I LOVE pets. You are such the mom, to leave them in your bed while you find rest elsewhere. Isn’t that what all moms do? Wonderful pictures danced in my heart and mind of you and your fur babies.
My favorite lines are these because I’m envious of the multiple pets:
Beautiful tribute to your babies and your selflessness!
Glenda — This made me laugh… off to the guest room…LOL! I can just see this from the git-go in that “slumber party” and all the “zigging and zagging” in the “inn.” HA! Giving over your bed…. too real! The big monstrously huge Bouvier des Flandres that I have before ol’ Watty Boy used to sleep on my bed… honestly, it was like having an Angus in bed with me. Ha! You brought it all right back to me. Loved this! Susie
I fold knees to chin
Arch my back in the
Shape of a C
Rest my head on my arm
Offering space
For you to stretch & yawn in
Quiet repose
This is the best description of my sleeping position I have ever read!! Glenda—you give us words to visualize your world—thank you!
Glenda, wow, I love the tenderness in this poem. The way you describe your pets nestled together, sleeping. So much beauty here! I adored your line “Snug’s dreamy little snug grunts-“. Truly a celebration of the love you give your beloved pets and the love anyone can gain from their own pets. Beautiful!
This is a gift for all to treasure – whether human or pet:
Again, you have the luckiest pets!
‘Offering space.’ I’m going to hold those two words in my heart for awhile. What more does anyone want?
Oh, Glenda,
I knew this was going to be a tough one for many. It was difficult, really it was, for me. I took the safe way out with the poem subject matter.
Okay, but I have to say that the space you take up in my life, on social media, in your carefully chosen and brave words have had exponential impact. I truly believe that you have shaped many perspectives (in a positive way) with your unrelenting truth during the election and your consistent, brilliant, brave exploration of our world (in travel, kitchen demo, education advocacy, poetry– gosh all your poetry). You give us hope in the way you read our words and lives here, in this space
And now this safety of slumber is so perfect because it shows the way you care so deeply”
Love this trio,
Sarah
Awwwwwwwww, what a lovely cuddle bunch you’ve got. I look forward to reading your poems each month. I like the picture you’ve painted of your sweeties…and how funny that you give them the bed. As I type, my cat is claiming more and more of my lap and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sarah,
The images of a poem being an elm, firefly, swing, and teakettle are going with me today! I really learn so much from you.
The inventory in my notebook was great and what I spent more time on today. It was hard! I loved the warning to keep turning from the dark side and giving myself grace to think of the good that did come about because of me. And to reject the fails that kept popping up. A lot on my list has to do with permission for others to be, and that I am a co-learner with them.
Giving Learning
Yes, yes you can!
I love your work.
I’m such a fan.
Do you know?
I don’t at all.
Let’s give it a go.
Please do.
I am not sure.
Yes to you
and you
and you.
Yes to you/and you/and you. Wow! Your gift of not knowing is so important to the people you know. I’ll take that yes!
Denise,
Your poem expresses what’s most important in teaching: giving encouragement to try and to learn. This “yes you can” is something many students have not heard, but it is everything.
The refreshing honesty and humility of
is a powerful gift for a student to receive from a teacher…you are journeying together. Love this!
Sarah,
Thank you for another wonderful inspiration with endless options. Your mentor poem is certainly packed with depth. I love how you can say so much in so few words. That is my great struggle. I especially love
“The poem
becomes a swing
moving harm to
healing;”
For the Sake of Giving
I am a giver.
By nature.
As a teacher,
friend,
wife,
mom
that’s what I do.
I give.
Sometimes,
I allow martyr
to creep in
and attach
itself to my identity.
When I feel like
I haven’t carved
out enough of me
or like my efforts
are in vain.
But, the bulk of the time,
I am proud to be a giver
and do it freely and willingly.
Sometimes,
I get pounded down
when others don’t
give in return.
My husband’ll say:
“You’re a giver and
you just don’t get it
when others aren’t. You have
the bar set too high.”
And that resets me
and helps me to see
that I am not a giver
in order to be a receiver.
I give for the sake of giving.
I think.
In each role,
giving has some innate
rewards
and some innate
snubs.
Sometimes,
I yearn
for the rewards
and get hurt
by the snubs.
Should a Giver
need acknowledgment,
reassurance,
appreciation?
Or should they give
for the sake of giving–
no strings attached?
I get exhausted,
drained,
and occasionally
resentful.
How do I make sure
the scales always
tip to Giver?
The many Students,
The variety of Besties,
The Four,
The Life Partner . . .
seeing the fruits of giving
to each of them
keeps me in the Giver Camp
satisfied with what
I have given to the world.
I am a Giver.
It’s what I do.
Who I am.
~Susan Ahlbrand
15 November 2020
Susan, that question you pose is one for all of us to think about – making sure the scales are more heavily on the giving side. I like the way your form extends
– the scrolling is like the giving- the more we scroll in this reading, the more we are blessed! Just like your verse. Beautiful!
Susan,
It seems this prompt really got you exploring giving and your relationship with it today. Beautifully done. As a teacher, friend, parent and life partner, I too can relate to some of your thoughts.
My favorite parts are the beginning and end of your poem., perfect bookends for what comes between.
I also like how your husband’s challenge resets you:
Amen! Thanks for your honesty today, Susan.
Your words express the emotions all givers have. I especially love your phrase “sometimes I allow the martyr to creep in.” So accurate. So real. And then you pull yourself out again—as is right. Beautiful!
Isn’t amazing how much we seek balance throughout life and can only begin to find it when we tip too far one way or the other? I am glad you fall on the side of giver….I understand givers.
This prompt worked for me. I love your metaphor of a swing,
“The poem
becomes a swing
moving harm to
healing;”
This week I witnessed the light in a student’s eyes. This was hard won by me, her teacher. So I am proud to present myself with a poem to celebrate her success.
Magic Bean
How a writer is made
some think comes from a magic bean–
it just is
this writer can’t help but write & write,
but I know better.
I know a writer comes from the magic wand
of a teacher who told her
she was.
A teacher finds magic
in the light of a child’s words,
rubs the lantern again & again.
She knows the power of waiting,
of how a seed of an idea
can sprout
if you give it
nourishment
& time.
I love most
the smile of realization
“Wow! I wrote that!”
Pride from my wishing
which, in the end,
is me working magic,
still unknown,
still a mystery.
Margaret,
I love this!!
The importance of an encouraging teacher is celebrated here.
I love the images, especially this one:
“She knows the power of waiting,
of how a seed of an idea
can sprout
if you give it
nourishment
& time.”
Margaret, that image of rubbing the lamp is perfect but when you follow it with again and again, it shows your patience – a lot of effort and encouragement, a s a lot of not giving up!
Margaret,
Lovely images of magic beans vs. the magic wand of the teacher. My favorite lines are at the end when the magic is unknown and mysterious even to the one with the magic wand. That is a beautiful image! Real magic.
This is really beautiful. You’ve captured the magic … the “working magic.” The smile of realization…it’s what we all work for, isn’t it?
Sarah, this space for writing and fellowship is what immediately came to mind as I thought of you and what you give each of us – and your verse today shows the way inspiration happens and emerges in ink! Thank you for this space and for investing in us as writers and as people.
Fix-it-Up and Busybody
they’re
how they are
because of
how they’ve been
abandoned
neglected
abused
rejected
rough starts
left scars
broken leg
broken hearts
they’re
how they are
because of
how they’ve been
one lingering thing
is that they check
their people out
humans: such wrecks!
if one of us
seems sad or hurt
or loud or mad
they’re on alert!
they’re
how they are
because of
how they’ve been
but love heals
and hugs assure
playful nuzzles
gentle muzzles
waggy tails
perky ears
no more jail
no more tears
they’re
how they are
because of
how they’ve been
fix-it-up Fitz
and busybody Boo
swept up from the pits
into arms anew
they’re family now
on this funny farm
where no one tries
to bring them harm
they’re
how they are
because of
how they’ve been
I love how you used a refrain in this poem. “fix-it-up Fitz” and “busybody Boo” are lucky to have you to love them, heal them, protect them. Can you post a photo? I’d love to see them.
Kim,
Bless you for taking in dogs and giving them a loving home.
Your refrain really works, reflecting the then and the now for these lucky dogs.
“they’re
how they are
because of
how they’ve been”
Love this:
What a great gift you have given them, Kim! Lovely refrain too, by an understanding owner who is adding goodness to their past every day.
Kim — The tenderness in your understanding is so strong here. Your words, though you are mentioning the sweet doggies in your family, could so easily be all of us… “they’re/how they are/because of/how they’ve been”… those “rough starts” are shapers. But I love that your love gives them a depth that feels right. The little buddies are part of us and they are on guard for us. That safe relationship… aah, I love that feeling. Susie
I just love this! We, too are an animal family of how they are because of how they’ve beens… swept up from the pits into arms anew—what a warm and hopeful thought. We call ourselves the Sands Home for Wayward Animals)
Kim,
Okay, friend, you know I ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ this and all it embodies about rescue pets. The repetition of
reminds me of humans, too, and the way our past manifests itself in our present. I feel a special connection to my Snug because we both had some struggles in our younger years, so I think Snug “gets me” in ways others don’t. ‘Preciate you and our shared love of rescues.
We’ve been exploring the theme of ‘hope’ in an online affinity network (clmooc) so I saw your invitation as another entry to wander in.
What is
hope
but a rope
for which
to climb
a chance
to take
our time
a moment
in which
we find
something within us
that brings us
together
So simple, yet so profound. The rhythm is lovely and lyrical. This is a terrific poem to read first thing in the morning, Kevin!
I really like how the shape of this poem is very much like a rope…it’s thin but strong and ends with that word, “together.” This poem looks finished and ready to roll.
This poem with it’s short three-lined stanzas has a rhythm that bounces and reflects the hopeful tone. How do I find your clmooc? Seems like I tuned in years ago but lost that connection somehow.
Hi Margaret
We’re here and there but mostly here
https://twitter.com/hashtag/CLMOOC?src=hashtag_click&f=live
The current collective connected project is developing a Calendar of Hope for 2021
Kevin
Kevin,
The economy here, yet the depth contained within . . . wow. And your use of rhyme/assonance with climb, time, find really helps pull the reader through the poem.
Climb, time, find. Words of hope and promise. The simplest things have a powerful impact – poems, ropes, words. Beautiful!
Hope is a favorite theme for me, so this speaks to me today.
There is always hope. Thank you, Kevin.
Hope as a rope to climb. Genius. Love this poem. Thanks, Kevin!
I love the simplicity of this poem, it makes the meaning stand out on its own. I love the rhyme scheme. My favorite lines are- well, all of them! Thanks for sharing.
your words flow so wonderfully from stanza to stanza. What is hope..but a rope for which to climb. We need that rope so much!
Kevin,
So glad to see the rope functioning to uplift and not tie or bind. We need hope. And…loved your song from yesterday!
Sarah