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 of topic, form, or title. In Instructions on Not Giving Up, Limon illustrates the glory of spring through an unfurling leaf as a tree takes on new greening after a harsh winter.
Process
Use Limon’s poem as a theme or topic, form, or title (or combination of these) to inspire your own Instructions poem.
Kim’s Poem
I’m reflecting on a moment I spent beside a lake watching dragonflies dart around chasing each other as my inspiration for today’s poem, borrowing a couple of starter lines from our U.S. Poet Laureate to drive my thinking about form. The greening of Limon’s tree leaves and new growth reminded me of the color changing moltings that dragonflies undergo throughout their lives as they continuously evolve.
Instructions on Becoming – By a Dragonfly
More than our enchantment of
children who would tie a
string around our tails
and fly us around like tethered balloons
It’s our upside-down flight
More than our beauty for
those who study us and wear our image
on metal amulets as symbols of hope
It’s our mid-air shifts
More than our presence-promising prophecy
of dinner-rich fishing holes
It’s our multiple color-changing moltings
that keep our gossamer wings shimmering
our sunlit bodies glimmering
as we keep on becoming
dragonflies
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.
instructions on How to Retire
Think about how your identity will change
after 35 years being a 4th grade teacher,
Contemplate the book you will write,
The job at a local bookstore you’d like,
The substitute teaching you may do
See yourself traveling at times other than school vacation,
Learn how to cook and eat healthy,
Play pickleball at least 3 times a week.
Two months after retirement watch your mother
get diagnosed with dementia, be declared legally blind,
Find a memory care facility where she will live,
Take over maintaining her home because she
thinks she’ll go back there,
Know that she’s safe though your heart is breaking,
A series of continuous losses
Rethink your instructions on how to retire,
Reflect on your losses and give yourself the gift of gratitude,
Remember the gift of a new year coming.
Oh, Heidi, your poem tells the story of life unfolding, “how way leads on to way.” I’m right there with you–thinking of retirement, caring for aging mothers. I appreciated your last line focusing on the gifts still at hand. Thank you.
Heidi,
I didn’t expect the turn of events and my heart broke. I loved this line because in about 2 years I hope to do exactly that in retirement:
Even through the losses, I love that you can embrace gratitude. That is one way to see the hope and goodness in every moment.
🩵
Instructions on Building a New School Library After a Fire
More than anything, know it won’t be quick.
Start a wishlist, but don’t spend too many summer days on this.
Create your “Best of the Best” list.
Send as soon as you get the OK from the literacy director — week three into school.
Now wait.
While you wait, work on order two — send to literacy director when you hit 1,000 titles. Repeat until you reach 8,000 items.
Start working on list three — all Spanish.
Attend a meeting — end of September —
all about furniture.
Tell the team what’s wrong with the plan.
Hope they listen.
Learn list three needs to be the final list.
Ask for at least a fourth list.
Books arrive at district warehouse.
Wait three weeks for them to reach the school.
Unbox and check records.
Shelve.
Organize the public library bookmobile visit.
Another shipment of books arrive — see above.
Visit classrooms.
work on lists three and four.
Another furniture meeting — this one on zoom; they listened!
Add more books to shelves.
Invite classes to browse.
Open library for lunch visits — we have temporary furniture.
Send in third order.
Another furniture meeting — confirm colors.
Work on fourth list; shipment three in processing.
Email — to finalize colors. Really!?
It’s November —Annual budgets are ready.
Order before February.
Scream for a minute.
Maybe you’ll have a library by February.
Wait! Who’s working on the makerspace and office supply lists?
Cry for a minute.
On June 7th, one week after school was out, I got a phone call telling me the library suffered a small fire. We lost everything, mostly due to smoke damage. The process for replacing everything has been excruciatingly slow but ill looking on the bright side — everything will be new.
But, it will be February before we have new furniture and who knows when all the books will arrive. I do have someone helping with the makerspace items but I’m not in control of that so I’m waiting.
Kim, thank you for the prompt today. This gave me an opportunity to sit with my feelings about this situation which I didn’t realize I needed.
I noticed how the title set the scene and concern. The waiting threads through each light. Scream & Cry only for a minute, while waiting expands. Thnk you for sharing your feelings.
Jennifer, I love this! (the writing and cataloging of events that you crafted — not the fact that it happened and you have to deal with all of this). We were given a stipend (what, a year and a half ago?) for our classroom libraries and after various meetings and emails we’re starting, starting, to see a light at the end of the tunnel (not sure, yet, if it’s a way out or another train, though). This is all to say, I can’t really imagine the stress and energy that it would take to outfit an entire library! Thank you for doing this!
Instructions on Turning 64
More than the loosening skin beneath the chin
or thickening waist offset by thinning brows
above my squinting eyes–below the hair
now silvery blonde (or yes just call it gray),
it is the frisson zizzing in my bones
each time I see friend or foe break through
the algeaed surface of my distant past
and mirror my surprise, dismay that we
are yes indeed so old. And yet we still
shake off the moment and instead say HELL-
O, nodding wrinkled smiles to assuage
the filmy smear of years we have swum through
to reach this loosened place of sixty-four.
The purposeful separation of HELL-O works so well in this poem and surprised me as a reader. Thank you for sharing.
Allison, I love the phrase “break through / the algeaed surface of my distant past” and the fact that you included both “friend [and] foe” in the “mirror[ing]” of “surprise [and] dismay.” I just like the fact that for the briefest of moments, even your enemies — let go of the enmity — in the realization (and incredulity) of, damn, we’re really sixty-four, what happened?!
Allison! We had the same thoughts for our poems yesterday! I love that you chose to open with the skin under the chin and I chose my wrinkled hands!
My favorite line:
Thank you, gorgeous friend!
Hello, Kim and fellow teacher poets! I was down under–literally and figuratively–helping my sons in NZ through some difficulties last month and missed the open write.
Kim, your mentor text is inspiring. I love how the title “Instructions on Not Giving Up” informs the sustained metaphor. YOUR poem was an Oliveresque lesson on paying attention to dragonflies! “More than our presence-promising prophecy
of dinner-rich fishing holes” took me directly to the shore. <3
Off to write…something?…now!
Instructions on Teaching A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM
Before you get all tangled up in the rhythm, rhyme, or lack of them
In the lilting lines of the upper crust or the malapropisms of the mechanicals,
Rest and enjoy the beauty the Bard gave us
In abundance.
Smell the wild thyme on the wind.
Let the lark welcome you to morning.
Enjoy the pink of the sweet musk roses.
Eye the cowslips with their wide leaves.
Then when it grows dark, look up
At bright Venus
And admire the “yon fiery O’s and eyes of light.”
May you be magicked by
The distilled nectar of “Love in idleness.”
I am magicked by your poem, Katrina! It’s wonderfully ethereal (befitting MND) and lyrical, a true tribute to the Bard. I am rereading the middle three stanzas over and over with a sated sigh for the beauty of the language. Thank you for this jewel!
Katrina, I have not (yet) taught MSND, but your poem spurs me to work it in!
Katrina, I love this! What a cool line: “Rest and enjoy the beauty the Bard gave us / In abundance.” What a wonderful invitation to just enjoy what Shakespeare has given us. And speaking of gifts, what about your fourth stanza? Beautiful! “Then when it grows dark, look up / At bright Venus / And admire the “yon fiery O’s and eyes of light.” Thank you for crafting (and sharing) this!
Thank you, Kim. I love the prompt.
Thank you Kim for hosting today. I love the alliteration: “presence-promising prophecy” and your use of gerunds in your last stanza ending your powerful phrases:
“multiple color-changing moltings”
“gossamer wings shimmering”
“sunlit bodies glimmering”
“keep on becoming”
Such vivid language throughout! Thank you for sharing!
I struggled a little with a topic and then it came to me. I’ve been working on this for awhile-saying no. And now I think I’ve finally mastered it.
Instructions on Saying No After Always Saying Yes
Look the person in the eyes:
Wait.
Patiently,
as they awkwardly construct their sentence,
while avoiding your gaze.
Listen to what they have to say:
Don’t prematurely give your answer away;
While they continue to talk
a mile a minute,
count how many breaths
they have taken.
Linger on each syllable
so as not to be rude:
Be considerate,
even though they’ve assumed
you’re on board with something they don’t
want to do.
Let them think
you’re contemplating their
proposition:
Nods and Mmhmms think they’ve got you
in their trap
but honestly
you’re just trying to make them feel
more confident before
striking them down.
And when they finally finish:
Let them have it.
No.
They didn’t expect that.
So as the shock sets in, their eyes bulge out, and they’re picking up their jaws,
walk away.
Simple, yet satisfying.
Jessica, I needed this today. You truly build this and give us the tools for the wait, right down to counting their breaths and making the keen observations. Then the two little phonemes, blended into a final answer that means business. I love this.
Thank you so much Kim!
Jessica, I am going to save your poem as an “urgent”document that needs attention for at least next two weeks. I just had a conversation about learning how to say “no” today.
I like how you approach the mastery of this skill: let them finish asking, and then “Let them have it ”
Thank you for sharing!
You’re quite welcome Leilya. Let peace return!
Jessica, this poem gives PERFECT instruction on the power of wait time! A test of patience, surely, but also one about empowerment. It’s fun to read, yet there’s an important message of self-advocacy in it. I should say you’ve mastered the art of No!
And I will be practicing it daily! Thank you Fran!
Jessica—bravo! For the accomplishment and for the poem that shares it. “Let hem have it”. Yes!!
Thank you Gayle.
Hi Kim! I am in love with this prompt, your poem and Ada’s as well. I was always fascinated with dragonflies as a child because they’d hover over our swimming pool all summer. I wish I had known I could have flown them like tethered balloons🤣!!
I decided to write about my new-found so-called freedom as a 60 year old.
Thank you, friend and have fun at NCTE!
Instructions on Being Sixty and Becoming Unbothered
It’s the wrinking of the skin by my thumbs
and random aches of forgotten muscles
from the unexpected physical challenge of cleaning the shower
and how sitting for too long causes “ummphs” when I stand
that don’t sing “60 is Freedom” to me.
When the Trader Joe’s cashier
calls me Ma’am and my students’ parents are my children’s age,
I feel somewhat bothered.
But what about those who never blew out sixty candles
and were shackled or shunned from sickness?
It’s the gratitude and joy of life’s ups and downs
that holds me.
Celebrating the “Big 6-0”
with greeting cards shouting victory, vino, and vivaciousness,
wearing whatever I want for comfort
and not being bothered by
“Which shoe is cuter?”
I’ll take it. I’ll take it all!
©Stacey L. Joy, 11/18/23
Stacey, I love the way you used that final line and bought all the shoes – – symbols for all the great things life has to offer! Your gratitude for those 60 candles – the getting there – the embracing of life with all its uuumphs on getting up – it’s real. Indeed, there are the ummphs, but they are blessings that mark our way. I’m loving everything you did here. (I wasn’t at NCTE this year, but I’m hoping to go to Boston next year).
Oh my! I thought for sure you were at NCTE (seemed like in my head I was the only one missing out)! Well, thanks for being here with us and for today’s incredible inspiration.
Stacey, I love how you embrace your age with everything that is included in it–the whole package. It is 6:0 in your favor, and you are leading the score regardless of the shoes you wear! Greetings and best wishes ❤️🤗
Stacey, thank you for describing so perfectly our shared age and for reminding me how lucky we are.
Stacey, first of all: No way are you 60! I do not believe it! Ok, ok… let me just confess I’m not far behind. :O And let me say you are managing this milestone gloriously. Happy belated birthday! Love, love how you worked this form. I am cackling in familiar commiseration with the sitting too long and “uumphs” on rising. Also love the reflection that having this many years is a gift, a blessing. It is given to you so that you can keep blessing others, like you do with every word you write. So characteristically, you impart joy with your words: yes, I’ll take it all, too, right alongside you! Thank you for always shining your
Stacey-light so bright – it does not dim, and I am grateful every time I stand in the circle of it.
My heart is full, Fran. 💜
Old Instructions
Like the frost
that cover the grass
on an early November morning,
Old age settles in slowly.
It blankets my body
with stiffness,
aching numbness,
all-knowing loneliness.
It tightens and cracks,
cold to the touch,
frozen of emotion,
not even fear can break through.
Old age is suddenly there,
Just there on the green growing,
Just there in that space,
That was once young.
It makes itself comfortable
It’s at home on the hips,
the knees, and clings to fingers,
and will never let go.
Old age settles into
all-knowing loneliness,
tightens and cracks,
Just there, once young.
Joanne, I feel it all right here. The settling in of the arthritis, the stiff joints,THE HIPS, the slowing down a bit and (finally) admitting that we are indeed feeling the changes of life. And I’m celebrating with you, too – – because through it all, we’re rocking the years, my friend. I’m so glad we connect here in this space.
Oh, I so appreciate how “it” burrows in and through the body in so many ways, each metaphor offering another insight to how age becomes and then is. Blanket. Frost. Moss. There in new ways that young never was and can’t be.
Joanne, it IS sudden, although really it’s gradual. One day this action was easy; the next day (and the day after) it was not. I find myself taking the stairs slower, not because I have to, but because I don’t want to fall. Growing older makes you mindful about so many more things. I love how you personify old age, how it makes itself comfortable in our bones and joints… that last stanza, so very poignant.You nailed it, my friend.
“Just there, once young.” Wow
This reminds me of Nothing Gold Can Stay. I really love the rhythm and relatability of this one!
How to Pour From Empty
The cup is worn
Chips along the rim
Hairline fractures
Forever stains
Once upon a time
It was full
Warm
Satisfying
A surplus of good
Energy
But it was depleted
Further and further
Down from the fill line
No refills
Give over Take
Because the baby
Because the baby
Because the baby
Somehow we continue to pour
Every bit of ourselves
Making something
Or everything
From nothing
We may even smile
As we show
A mothers magic trick
Emily, thank you for your courageous truth about the fatigue and self-sacrifices of parenthood. Those repetition lines are so powerful and capture the feeling of the constant pull and responsibility of having a little one. Beautiful days we wouldn’t trade for anything, but at the same time so wearing to the point of sheer exhaustion. I’m raising a cup to you today, friend!
Emily, this is beautiful. I felt this in my soul because this is how I feel! These lines ring so true: “Making something
Or everything
From nothing”
As I’ve always heard: “Ain’t no ‘hood like motherhood”. We are magical creatures. Thank you for sharing.
Emily,
I am brought back to the poems you wrote when you had your child maybe this was right before Covid. Am I remembering this right? You held your child up to Zoom to let us meet your baby. Is this the cup of motherhood with hairline fractures? Am I reading this right? I am reading the stains of various levels of full and yet the magic is that it may appear empty or nothing, and yet a mother is everything. I will read again and again.
Great memory! Yes, that was my son. My daughter was born last month. 🥰
Congratulations! I could feel something new in this poem. There she is.
Ah, Emily. Because the baby, because the baby… I remember it well. My oldest son is living it now, that depletion “because the baby.” I just want him to understand how fast it goes. Babies grow like magic tricks. But oh, you capture the pouring out of self so well.
I like the set of lines “making something/ or everything/ from nothing.” You capture the why and wonder at the mysterious how. I love this.
Thank you for this prompt. I don’t write poetry much except for when I read these prompts, so I am grateful for the challenge of writing poems with you. I love reading all of your poems. They inspire me! I loved the poem by Limón and hadn’t read it before. My poem is inspired and formed from hers.
I just got back from a trip to Austria and Germany with a friend that I planned on a whim the week after my brother died. (He died on August 30 of this year.) I happened to have a week off of work, so with the weekends and one sub, I squeezed in a trip. The friend I originally booked it with backed out a week before, and miraculously another friend whom I hadn’t seen for a couple years was able to come, so this very rough poem is dedicated to her! (Otherwise I wouldn’t have gone!)
More than the checkmark off my bucket list,
Or twirling at twilight with Maria to the Sound of Music,
More than grass frozen over beneath pink-cottoned clouds,
And the castle looming above painted churches of old Germany,
More than the leaves lit in Autumn light,
Yellows and golds and red.
It’s the laughter with my friend that really gets me,
After months of watching death and sickness,
Sadness, pushing down,
A friend shows up on a week’s notice and flies halfway across the world
To dance and laugh, sing and eat
As if leaves will always stay gold
As if they might never drop to their death,
And the swans over Lake Halstatt will never stop their flight.
Emily, first let me extend my sincere sympathy on the loss of your brother. That’s a heavy hit, and one I’m sure that you will grieve for a long time. I’m so sorry. Your poem carries such gorgeous imagery – – I can see the opening scene of the movie – the twirling on the hillside with the pink clouds. Your poem seems to resonate so strongly with the message Live While You Can! from an experienced voice who knows more about why we must. I hear the return of laughter, I see dancing and merriment because the reminder at the end is that just like the leaves, we all are here to live, and it won’t last forever. What a beautiful message to give us today – there is no better gift!
Emily…life should be “More than” and you captured it beautifully! As much of a “schedule stickler” I am, I would love to be spontaneous for a change. What an awesome experience for you and your friend. I’m sure many memories were made! Thank you for sharing.
Emily, it’s a beautiful poem; you worked so wonderfully within the model to show us the gold of autumn, tinged, as autumn always is, by loss. Knowing you lost your brother sears my heart; strength to you. And the heart of that friend who came to travel is gold of the most priceless kind!
I love, love these gorgeous ending lines:
As if leaves will always stay gold
As if they might never drop to their death,
And the swans over Lake Halstatt will never stop their flight.
After devastating circumstances, we can experience a really deep joy, and you captured this so well here. Thanks for sharing this experience with us today.
Kim, I really enjoyed all parts of this prompt and the mentor texts! I’ll have to check out Ada Limon more! Your poem reminds me of the colorful dragonflies that zoom around for that short window in August, teaching us with their powerful insect presence. Thank you!
Instructions for feeding your baby breakfast
More than encrusted oatmeal and
blueberry embedded deep in pajama fibers
it’s one new brain controlling one fat hand learning to nourish himself
More than the sugar on the label
or the label lazy for using a microwave this morning
It’s the happy babble labeling me mamamamamaMA!
More than the endless paper towel swipes and
Or inexplicable locations of food projectiles,
it’s the galaxy of neurons connecting
sweetness
satisfaction
independence
play
love
home.
Emily, the structure of this poem from “more than” to “it’s” works so well here. The specifics of “pajama fibers” alongside the fiber of being, the nourishing himself. I just love each of these scenes at your breakfast table. Thank you.
Sarah
Emily, those precious days of watching the daily discoveries of new things by babies are so entertaining! Soak them up and enjoy every second. I love that you chose the form for the poem, because it works so beautifully here to preserve this simple moment and all the complexities of what is happening in it!
Emily, this is a beautiful moment of feeding your baby breakfast. I do miss the time off with a precious bundle of joy. It seemed like all I had was time and I was able to enjoy the memories being made: messes and all. My favorite lines are your ending stanza but this phrase captures it all: “the galaxy of neurons connecting…” love, play, and learning all wrapped up in one. Thank you for sharing.
Emily, I love how you used the form to capture the challenge of feeding breakfast to a baby, and how you catapult it to the “galaxy of neurons connecting’ – whoa! But it’s true; for all the mundane challenge of the feeding, the baby is learning. It’s really quite profound … you remind us of what an honor it is to witness a child’s growth and to play a crucial part.
I don’t engage with poetry as much as I should.
Hope
In the beginning
the being moving forward
drowned the ancient land
Cast bodies of past people
thoughts and emotions
frozen forever
within the great flood of time.
Persistent bodies
survivors of a damned fate
sail defiantly
in search of remaining land
to birth a new context
from tribulation
ancient history transforms
into our legends
all for the sake of our hope
toward a good future
Andrew— the phrase “persistent bodies…sail defiantly”is such a powerful image for me. Ancient history brought forward…wonderful?
Andrew, maybe because the line carries two words I was drawn to ‘sail defiantly.’ This image implies the literal wind and the figurative winds the push against our endeavors. If only there were such a things as smooth sailing. No, over and over again humanity must sail defiantly.
Thanks for this contemplation today.
Sarah
Andrew, your words in stanza 3 speak strongly of the power to redefine after surviving a damned fate. Certainly the hope and good future await!
Andrew, I love a good Hope poem! So many mournful and thought-provoking images here, like “drowned the ancient land” and “cast bodies of past people” and then the hopeful “transforms” and those last two lines–beautiful!
Andrew, I am thinking of sacrifices made for a future that the sacrificers don’t live to see… they’re frozen in history. The ones that come after…do they (we?) sail on a sea of hope borne of those long-ago dreams? So much to contemplate! And you should certainly keep writing poetry.
Late Yellow
under all of this-remains me,
bright yellow amongst dead green,
brown crackles dance to Northern cold,
forgotten – yellow -shines my soul,
push to survive one more frost,
Forever this day, all is lost.
but my petals -yellow -show my will,
crackles crack from evening chill,
Mother tree tall and without,
my yellow radiates a dead crow’s shout.
Barren you stand alone,
they fell, they are gone.
crackling and smothering me,
let me grow for all to see.
cold with rot,
crowding my sacred spot.
I shall wither upon this night,
at least the grass bird will remember my sight.
The last of the yellow on dead leaf ground,
Northern front whistles a reapers sound.
Grass bird peer at me in the evening ray,
Remember me, as I wither away.
Maybe I’ll make it one more day,
there just so much more I want to …..
Clayton,
Sometimes I read a poem and stop to linger on a line and sometimes I read for the whole. I found myself doing both with your poem. I was feeling a closing connection with the yellow leaf narrator in the anticipation of the farewell and the grief. I was reminded of “Do Not Go Gentle” but this connection with nature (Mother) offered such a grounding place that I have come to recognize as your poet home.. this “sacred spot” and this “dead leaf ground.”
Peace,
Sarah
I love the repetition of the color yellow in varied lines of your poem. Its many sweet appearances lends such weight to its presence in the natural world – yellow lives. And, then that final ellipsis…
Clayton, I see the Phoenix rising from the ashes. Yes, so much more to do. Your ending is haunting, and so I see the swirl of dead leaves – a blanket of snow. A winter’s nap. And then, in the spring…..
Clayton— that final fade-out. Wow.
Thanks for including a picture- I loved lots of lines like another Tree and the repetition of yellow. So much yellow still in November, you captured the beauty right before decay. So lovely.
Clayton, you’re a master of rhyme. I’m in awe of it. Such a voice of longing here – so poignant.
Instructions on coming back to yourself
Take a walk
Go to therapy
Meditate
Call a friend
Call mom
Eat healthfully
but treat yourself
Be patient
but do the work
Seek inspiration
Avoid social media
Run, pilates
Lift weights–We’re doing strength now
Think about your purpose
Make a gratitude list
Sit in your feelings
Build community
Excavate aloneness versus loneliness
Skincare routine
Diffuse an oil
Everything shower–Hot showers release dopamine?
Cold plunge–Also somehow releases dopamine?
Sunlight in your eyes before ten am
Except it’s Ohio so it’s overcast
but don’t stress about things you can’t control
Generally, try Huberman protocols
Make a list, a brain dump
Find time for silence
I came back
(I was always here)
By listening
just to me.
AB,
I felt a turn in the middle here, where I lingered in the literal phrase of pilates class to the figurative “doing strength now” that I encountered in the lines that followed. Strength in the “cold plunge” and the” before ten am” and the “things you can’t control” and the “find time for silence”. Love everything in this poem, even the “overcast” in which I am “doing strength now.”
Peace,
Sarah
So many healing ideas here. I especially like the ‘everything shower.’
AB, I love the way you used a list poem to give some practical ways to engage in Restorative self care. The oxygen mask is a need!
I’m really loving reading others comments because I think it has given me insight into how the poem is read in ways I hadn’t previously thought!
My idea was really that none of these things or seeking all this conflicting outside strategies helped. It was really trusting and listening to myself that proved useful. I wish I could edit because I might now add the word “Instead” before the “I came back” line 🙂
Oh, AB, wow. I love the coming back to yourself in this poem. Some of the items make me smile, “call mom” and “avoid social media” Some lines make me ponder in their depth “Excavate aloneness versus loneliness” and “Find time for silence” Those last four lines make me happy too.
I was nodding as I read, line by line, amused by the questioning of contradictory means of releasing dopamine and no sunlight in overcast Ohio. Most of all I love coming back / I was always here and listening “just to me.” There’s incredible power and strength in it – and in pushing all the other stuff far enough away to do it.
I love the way all of the effort of the preceding lines leads up to the realization revealed in the last four lines, “I came back/(I was always here)/By listening/just to me.”
AB,
Earlier today I had seen the use of parenthesis in a poem and really thought it goes with an inner voice, a reflection of the speaker’s truth that can’t be taken from them. You showed that in your poem. I also loved excavate aloneness versus loneliness as it is something we have to discover…
I believe Kuncklehead is no one’s identity and that we all are going
Somewhere
hopefully a good some where
if we find good guides
for navigating our (necessary and inevitable) knuckle-headed moments
we are all going
Somewhere
and every somewhere offers some thing
to learn and become good guides to ourselves and other, invites us to create and inhabit a great
Somewhere
Where we believe Knucklehead is no one’s identity
I love this, Olivia. I feel like my intervention students would love to hear this message at the beginning of the school year. So many of them started the year resigned because they’ve been called or treated as if they were knuckleheads for so many years. Your credits great!
Olivia, I love the idea of Somewhere as a place to be. Especially in its descriptive space of creativity and guides. You have transformed the concept of Knucklehead!
Oh, Olivia. I am reading this as a response to Tom, and feel the echo of my feelings in that moment in your poem here. “Is no one’s identity”– I love how the last line then call us to “somewhere” to recognize and witness and name this truth. That “somewhere” is a reminder to be the “good guide.”
Peace,
Sarah
Olivia, so important! Yes, “Knucklehead is no one’s identity”
We can all relate to “our (necessary and inevitable) knuckle-headed moments”, but they don’t define us. Thank you for speaking to that. And I love the “Somewhere” lines here.
“and every somewhere offers some thing” – I love this.
I’m hanging on this line:
everyone offers something
indeed!
Olivia—“Knucklehead is no one’s identity”. Your message is so important, and the way you played with Somewhere throughout the poem made me reread and appreciate it! Love this!
“Every somewhere offers some thing” – as does every someone. A valuable offering. Which is why none are Knucklehead. I sense a turning of some tables in this poem of overcoming and advocacy!
From time to time
From time to time we need
disruption
causing
creative
discomfort
disruption
jolting
jarring
enLIVENing
disruption
we need, from time to time
I loved this. The disruption repetition really made me stop and restart my thoughts. It disrupted the patterns in a good way!
Dave, I’m so grateful to be able to see your words after hearing them. The caps on LIVEN as it disrupts the middle is necessary and adds another layer to the jarring and jolting.
Oh, Dave. This call for disruption and framing of it as needed and welcomed — yes. Jolting and jarring can be this “enLIVENing” that we need to persist and sustain. And then this creative/discomfort is fantastic.
Peace,
Sarah
Hi Dave. Disruption is a theme I’ve heard lot about the last couple of days at NCTE. Great word choice throughout. And the capital letters really bring your message home.
The repetition of disruption is fabulous.
Dave, the skinny form speaks volumes. I am hearing the disruption and sensing it. It brings needed change, despite its initial discomfort.
Dave,
I found the consistent use of disruption effective. It reminds me to recognize and appreciate the moments I don’t find myself disrupted.
Disruption is an important attribute of good teaching these days, Dave. Thank you for the challenge. Like Jennifer says, I like the disruption in the word enLIVENing. Nice alliteration.
Dave, your poem flows perfectly in all its appeal to disrupt (the system, the status quo, the…you name it). Because we do need it, from time to time. For myriad reasons, but mainly to get out of our comfort zones (which are actually, sometimes, ruts).
How very clever your poem is. It gave me pause. I love the disrupted last line!
We are interconnected with each other and nature
energy
universe
humanity
kindness
energy
love
generosity
intelligence
energy
nature connects us to each other
Janet, the idea of nature feels powerful here, in all its energy. Especially as we are in a very not natural space. Your poem calls me to find nature. To connect with it.
Janet, the repetition of “energy” is so strong here, like the energy you write of. I also love the interspersed words–humanity, kindness, love, generosity…So very lovely. Thanks for writing here and sharing in our session.
Janet,
The echo of “energy” call me back and back again to the force that has such potential to harm or heal. The weaving of “kindness” and “love” alongside show the agency humanity has to draw on nature to connect us to each other. I am reading nature as human nature and physical nature; these work nicely together in this poem.
Peace,
Sarah
I am energized by this.
Janet, I need to plug into this skinny and get a charge. I’ve had no energy – exactly – all day. I love your word choices here.
Janet, these two things – our interconnectedness with nature and each other – are behind almost everything I write. Love this!
I am expected to be filled to the brim to
Serve
others
always
first
Serve
authenticity
with
love
Serve
But I can’t pour from an empty cup
Pam, I feel this. In every drop of my being. I appreciate that contrast between filled and empty and all those words in between that do that emptying.
Pam, I loved hearing you read this poem, and now there are other things I love about seeing it written. For instance, the capitalized “Serve”. There is so much truth here. The “I am expected” says so very much.
Nailed it! Pam, you are speaking to so many of us right now. It’s good to be seen.
Oh, wow – the juxtaposition in meaning of the first and last lines. Bravo.
Pam, the need for rest in this sense of compassion fatigue is real here in your skinny.
Pam,
I love how it all hinges on the last line, in a tragic turn toward reality. It reminds me of the analogy of bucket fillers and bucket dippers…I also like the starting and ending with I statements as balance goes.
Pam, this is SO. TRUE. We must be filled, and refilled, to fill others’ cups. I hear a weariness and longing in this plain truth you’ve captured so concisely.
The first line to the last line is brilliant. We cannot pour from empty cups.
Dreaming
Dreams evolve into beliefs
action
create
write
revise
Action
Agent
Editor
Reader
ActIon
Dreams evolve into action
Danielle, the concept of evolving when paired with dreams is an idea that needs to be shouted as our reminder. The string of actions before the nouns (editor, reader) shows us that evolution.
Thank you, Jennifer.
Danielle, I didn’t expect this I’m based on your first line, but I love where you went with it. I also like how you showed the change with your last line.
Thank you, Mo.
Danielle,
Dreaming. Yes. The title with the “ing” and then the noun of “dreams” in the first and last line have me thinking about the becoming of dreams that need, required “action” and “agent”. The “editor” was a surprise for me in this poem, and I am so grateful to this invitation to edit dreams in their becoming.
Peace,
Sarah
Thank you, Sarah.
Love that the initial words are lowercase, and then transition to uppercase – the dreams grow stronger, into action.
Thank you, Maureen.
A lovely skinny today! Dreams become real.
Thank you, Kim.
Danielle, What a visually pleasing poem you have created here. I love the similar length of each line, and the fact that you tied “Dreaming” into action right from the beginning. Here’s to making our dreams happen through action. I needed this poem today.
Thank you, Denise.
Danielle, your skinny poem, for me, encapsulates the whole writing process. The idea, the dream, comes; we are compelled to act on it!
Thank you, Fran.
I believe in the dream of safe spaces
trust
rolled
elongated
welcomed
trust
unfettered
breath
homegrown
trust
is the safe space I believe in…
Jeanne, I want to sit with the word elongated, especially in relation to safe spaces. And homegrown, which feels so natural. And necessary. And organic.
Jeanne, you are a poet! Your word choice is spectacular. I’m especially drawn to elongated, unfettered, and homegrown. Love it!
Trust, yes. And those first and last lines are so very powerful. “I believe in the dream of safe spaces” Yes, to safe spaces. I like how you chose words that made me think about trust and your poem–elongated, unfettered, and homegrown. Nice.
Jeanne, oh, how I want to believe in this too! Living in the country, I feel safe here. A midnight outing in Atlanta last night for a play, NOT so much. I feel so burdened for those who feel every day the fear I felt last night.
Jeanne… I hear it. Trust, trust, trust. Wide and free – able to breathe – this is what a safe space allows, for sure.
And – I note the “dream” of a safe space to believing in it in the end…
How to become a poet
We are all weird here.
Weirdness
without
judgement.
Embrace
weirdness.
Become
one
with
weirdness.
Here we are all weird.
Angela, isn’t it great that we can be! Weird. In all its weirdness. Such a lovely word to celebrate. And such a lovely person to celebrate too!
Angela, your poem is another great one to share with students at the beginning of the year. The fact that you embrace weirdness would probably be comforting to students, don’t you think?
And vices so nice to see you again! 😀
Angela, yes, indeed. And I love the power when we give permission for being weird. I laughed when I read
Yes! Hear, hear!
Permission to be who we are, to feel a sense of kinship with other writers, is what we need! Thank you for the nod to our own drum marching!
Angela,
Your poem is welcoming and reminds me that writing in general is an exchange of thought and emotions that connect each other to our humanity!
Ditto that, Angela! I love this weird poet space. I love the sound of all those “w”‘s in your poem. Best of all, I love reading and writing without judgement. Thank you!
I’m in, Angela! It’s all about acceptance.Embrace the weirdness…it’s a relief, a release, and the springboard to true creativity. What a fun, welcoming, celebratory poem!
My teaching is filled with
laughter
in
my heart.
Laughter
invades
the class.
Laughter
and teaching fulfill me.
Amanda, I love this idea of laughter in your heart. It embraces what we are and should be, as teachers. It’s such a beautiful, joyous image!
Amanda, I know we only met briefly, but this poem is so clearly you. Your students are lucky to have you as a teacher. Keep laughing!
Amanda, your word “laughter” makes me want to be a student in your class, and I love how the laughter “invades.” What a great combination “Laughter and teaching”. Fulfilling, indeed!
Laughing and learning – the best way to spend our days!
What a celebratory poem, Amanda! Teaching and learning should be fun!
Can I help you
patiently
waiting
for
answers
patiently
holding
possiblities
close
patiently
helping you with questions
Sarah, wow! So many possibilities come to mind, and my thinking goes straight to Planes, Trains, and Automobiles for the season of travel. That is where I need most of my patience, it seems. I like the universal fit of not knowing for sure.
Sarah,
I love the emphasis on patience! Patience can help others feel more confident.
Sarah, I so love the lines “holding / possibilities / close” Beautiful! You model doing this in so many areas of life!
Sarah, most of all I love “patiently holding possibilities close.” We need to see the possibilities in others, in ourselves. And I think, too, of someone waiting to hear medical test results, grappling with those “possibilities,” and waiting for answers. The refrain of “patiently” strikes so deep.
I loved this inspiration, Kim! Just what this Saturday needed. “It’s our mid-air shifts/
More than our presence-promising prophecy” – we have much to learn from the dragonfly. I relied heavily on Ada Limon’s poem for mine today –
Keep on
More than
the bright show of yellow orange purple
in the autumn tree lines,
the spectacular burst of red maple shouting
look look look at singular me,
more than countless starlings
at once deftly foraging the ground
then instantaneously taking to the sky
in one wild choreographed swoop,
it’s the wondrous wind that really gets to me.
When mother nature’s umber blanket envelops
all, a lonely brown leaf hangs from
the november oak, forlorn pumpkins rest
at the edge of doorsteps,
there’s that sifting breeze, nudging, leading.
A patient teacher boldly insisting
on my attention, determined that
I keep moving forward,
despite
done, over, failure
all around. The wind encourages,
I am stronger than I think.
Yes, yes, I am.
Maureen, I love the heavy lean! It works well, and has the same strong feel in your own poem. Those forlorn pumpkins really pack a wallop. I keep coming back to that image, then the look at me leaves going on, thinking how quickly the star of each season’s show changes. Thank you for the stunning imagery!
Maureen, I’m so taken tonight with the lines “the spectacular burst of red maple shouting /
look look look at singular me,” It features what I consider a Maureenism “look look look” I love that tree, and your writing those lines today reminded me of my favorite autumn site, which I haven’t seen in person for a while.
Maureen, for any leaning on Limon, you certainly come through with your own poetic observation and strength. I love how the wind encourages this, how it’s a patient teacher, an inspiration. As are you, with this uplifting poem of persevering!
Maureen,
I love the imagery! I especially identify with “I keep moving forward, despite…” – and don’t we do that so often? But I found hope in the line about the encouraging wind. Never thought about it that way, but I feel that! Move along, little one. Even if only an inch! Thank you for sharing!
Instructions on FOMO @NCTE23
Ngl, TFW you want to be somewhere
knowing YOLO, choices are made
FTW–staying home
OTOH, FOMO inspiration
exhaustion, community-building #NCTE23
LMK, HMU on socials
short poems, cuz TL;DR
TTYL OG OW
——————————
Kim, thank you for hosting today. Your line and imagery “fly us around like tethered balloons” is haunting and beautiful.
Stefani,
Your poem made me smile!
That’s definitely all the feelings about attending and not attending conferences. Thank you for sharing.
Stefani, I missed seeing you all this year. I love the way you used the acronyms for all the thinking on the experience! Here’s to Boston!
Stefani – you have me thinking of runes! Hope you’re loving your time at NCTE.
I like the back and forth here, Stefani. Sweet. I had already learned some of the abbreviations, but I had to look up a few. I especially like “short poems, cuz TL;DR” We missed you!
Hello Kim,
Thanks for the beautiful inspiration today. I love the movement of the dragonflies in your poem. Limon’s praise of the spring resulted in my appreciation of autumn in the desert.
Cheers!
Autumn in the Desert
Autumn in the desert hits different, as the kids say.
Crisp morning air fills my lungs. Car windows are opaque with morning dew.
A thick black, hoodie is sufficient armor against the bracing chill.
As sunlight penetrates the yellowing leaves of the neighbor’s mulberry tree,
I shed the layers. A t-shirt is the more comfortable option.
Even the dog is ready to retreat to the comfort of his climate-controlled couch.
What’s that sound? Did the heater just kick on or the AC?
Should we open some windows or shield ourselves from the oppressive desert sun?
As dusk sends bolts of orange and red streaks across the sky,
The somniferous effects of premature darkness take over.
Swathed in flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks,
I sip on a steaming cup of hot oolong,
And brace for the evening cold snap,
While gently stroking Lucky’s cotton-white fur.
Shaun, My kids at school would say:
#mood
Loved this.
Shaun, when the weather changes to autumn, I start getting all the hygge feels, and your poem brings those to the forefront. The flannel, the tea, the dog, the premature darkness, the cold snap, the coziness of all the things. I agree with Wendy. #mood. It’s a Danish-Desert kind of comfort concept, and I like it.
Sean, thank you for sharing today. It is amazing how quickly the temperature can shift once the sun sets in the desert, but the beauty of those sunsets are worth it!
Shaun, the desert autumn is not so different from central North Carolina now, at least regarding temperature. We have the heat and/or the AC kicking in at different points in the day (really, it should be staying cooler). I love the image of the desert sky; I imagine its vibrance and it makes me want to stand on the sand and watch the colors play. I feel gratitude emanating from your words; I can almost hear Lucky sigh.
Kim,
I want to thank you for this challenge. I don’t know if I am doing it justice, or if I figured it out, or if it is the third cup of coffee, but I had fun trying it. I think I may have to return to it later on, as debris has so much potential. Har har!
INSTRUCTIONS ON BECOMING DEBRIS
More than your one time original purpose,
melted away with the oxidation of aging,
the newfound brittleness, blanching and quiet hiding
along the foundation of the detached garage,
or beneath the brown catalpa leaves,
moist hugging the dead remnants of the peonies.
More than a forgotten usefulness,
it has become an ache in the knees,
something washed into a culvert, or gathered
haphazardly from a junk drawer,
or hugging the dust bunnies with the stray socks
pulled from beneath the bed in a flurry of focus.
More than something less, a bastardized reason
someone buys new wood screws, or wanders
the Christmas light section of Walmart, or pulls the old
plastic garbage can with one wheel from behind the shed,
like a late inning relief pitcher in a game long lost,
the stands mostly emptied out, but still a chance to perform.
Rex,
Loved:
“moist hugging the dead remnants of the peonies.” So vivid.
Loved this hint at mortality:
“it has become an ache in the knees,”
Love the juxtaposition here:
“More than something less,”
And this was great!
“like a late inning relief pitcher in a game long lost,
the stands mostly emptied out, but still a chance to perform. “
Memorable lines and images in this. I really enjoyed it and read it more than once to catch the nuances of the lines.
Rex, I pulled a stray sock from under the bed this morning (Ollie likes to steal them and chew holes in the toes) – and I so relate to this debris and the remnants of repurposing. The wandering of the light section in Walmart brings the chills of too people-y places AND gives every reason to merrily untangle the “debris” lights without one complaint, considering the alternative of shopping in the throngs of holiday revelers. The analogy of the one-wheeled garbage can and relief pitcher as a last-ditch effort really hits a grand slam here! The coffee may have helped, but YOU rocked the writing, friend!
Rex, I appreciate the words of hope at the end. You create many beautiful images in your lines here. Thank you for sharing today.
Love all of this poem, Rex – but especially: oxidation of aging – brittleness, blanching and quiet hiding – dead remnants of the peonies – in a flurry of focus – in a game long lost – stands mostly emptied out – still a chance to perform. Wonderful imagery and alliteration. Thank you!
Rex – a fascinating premise, becoming debris, as I continue to make myself purge things around my house because I think they might be useful (“still have a chance to perform”). Your poem has a story-feel to it. The ache in the knees, yes… it’s somehow linked to an ache in the heart. “More than something less” – why does this strike so deep? How you pull the reader in!
The prompt took me in a slightly different direction.
Autumn’s fading light
Reminds me of boyhood evenings
In the backyard of my parent’s house
Watching the weaving rays of muted sunshine
Dapple the grass with creeping tendrils of semi-shadow.
The sight, along with the chilled crepuscular air,
Sent little quivers along the back of my neck,
Bringing tiny hairs to attention and leaving
Me to wonder if a goose had really walked
Across my grave.
Anthony, I love, love this compact, vivid image. This was really gold.
Anthony, welcome! Thank you for writing with us today. The imagery is rich and vivid, and you work your -ing words wonderfully here: fading, weaving, creeping, bringing, leaving. The fading light, evening, muted sunshine, shadow, chilled, quivers, and grave cast the perfect mood for the approach of all the seasonal charms.
Anthony, your line “watching the weaving rays of muted sunshine,” has me wanting to create, paint, and look for this. Thank you for sharing today.
Hi Anthony,
I don’t know if you’ve written with us here before but welcome! I love these lines:
I am captivated by the ending! So much to ponder and reflect upon. Thank you!
Anthony, certain slants of light make me time-travel, too – I love the chilly, delicious forlornness here, in the semi-shadows and quivering awareness of tiny hairs. Magnificent atmosphere!
Instructions for Writing a Poem
Stare at the blinking cursor
will it to move
to type
to produce
anything
something
no, anything at this point
think about using the “magic”
“Help me write” button
that follows you down
the page
Don’t, it’s dumb
you’ll end up writing
a poem about a
porcupine eating
the soft flesh of
a pumpkin
Open a new tab and
google porcupine
eating pumpkins
and watch several videos
of the adorable
Teddy Bear
talking and
eating
pumpkins
Close the YouTube tab
What are you doing?
you’re supposed to
be writing a poem
Refill your coffee cup
Change your clothes
maybe it’s the clothes
that are the problem
the jammies aren’t
comfortable enough
wait, have you ever
referred to your sleep
pants as “jammies”
you’re not sure what
you think about that
Put on a hat
you don’t normally
wear hats inside
not that you’re morally
opposed to it or anything
you just don’t
usually do it
Do it now
Put on a hat
there must be
a reason they
call it a
Thinking Cap
Google the
origins of the
words
“Thinking Cap”
half-heartedly
scroll through
the links
Consider the
facts that 1)
this term
replaced the
phrase
“Considering Cap”
(apparently)
and 2)
you’re cap
might be
broken
‘cause it’s
not working
and it’s a bit
warm in here
anyways
Take off the hat
maybe you can find
some other videos
of cute animals
eating stuff
wait, isn’t there
a video clip of
an angry koala
that made you laugh
and laugh
Resist the urge to
open a new tab
Open a new tab
google angry
koala video
Scroll down until
you find one
before hitting play
Stop and realize
that yes, indeed,
you did
actually
write
a poem
not a particularly
good one
but a poem
nonetheless
(Now, go back
to watching
those
animal
videos)
_______________________________________________
KIm, thank you for your excellent mentor poem and this fun prompt! I just love the sounds and vivid images you’ve crafted in the last section of your poem: “It’s our multiple color-changing moltings / that keep our gossamer wings shimmering / our sunlit bodies glimmering / as we keep on becoming / dragonflies.” Beautiful!
The superlative ADHD poem!!👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻🤣
Scott, I’m sitting at a coffee shop
with a friend
and we are
saying
we’re writing
but we’ve been talking
for
an
hour
and I totally
get this poem.
🙂
Scott, I go down that same rabbit hole (is there a Youtube on rabbit holes? I’m going to check – wait, I’m thinking of a play I want to see called Into the Burrow about Peter Rabbit, but still isn’t that the same?…..)….its rambling focus, its pathways and tunnels and how it became a poem for instructions on how to write a poem.
Hello Scott,
I love the stream-of-consciousness movement from idea to idea. I could see the porcupine eating pumpkins, but I’ve never seen the video. I could imagine the angry koala, but have not seen that one either. Now I have to fight the urge to investigate those videos because I have WAY TOO MUCH TO DO TODAY! Thanks for that!
Scott: How is it that you know my own writing process so well?!?!? When I’m composing – ahem, supposed to be composing – I chase so many rabbits through so many rabbit holes…meaning tabs and more tabs because one thing invariably leads to six or eight more (’cause rabbits, they reproduce so fast…) Accordingly, I love every single line of this poem, every single word, all the self-questioning, the resistance and the failure to resist opening one more tab…How. Did. You. Know??
Scott, I loved how your poem pulled me into tab after tab. The short lines echoed the mind jumping from thought to thought, and I scrolled eagerly to see where your stream of consciousness took you (us).
Good morning! Thanks for a great prompt, which I’ll be thinking about all. As Denise mentioned, we are writing Skinnies today at NCTE. Here is mine. Family has been on my mind a lot lately.
This I Believe
by Mo Daley
My family is my glue
Sticking
Living
Standing
Joining
Sticking
Being
Loving
Dying
Sticking
The glue is my family
Mo, I read this several times and love the skinny form. I love the way the words pair if you fold it like a sheet in the middle on the word sticking and see how joining and being hold hands, loving and standing, living and dying. It all works from the inside out. All of these are surrounded in the fold by sticking. The first and last lines are rearranged for maximum effect: while words can shift, meaning sticks. Family sticks.
I loved this! It reminds me of my family and all that we’ve been through in the last few years. It reminds me that family isn’t always blood.
Mo, you nailed this skinny! It is a celebration, every word. The glue, the repetition of “sticking” implying true dedication and commitment. That, I celebrate!
Mo, I love “sticking” as the sticking point of your poem, even in the dying. You have nailed it.
I am making a habit of running my poetry past my AI thinking partners. Here is a link where I asked Claude 2 and Chat GPT to explicate the poem below. Look if you are curious. I find them helpful. (https://impedagogy.com/wp/blog/2023/11/18/how-to-live-in-the-face-of-darkness/)
How to Live in the Face of Darkness
Be a lighthouse
planted on a promontory
with no living friends,
no neighbors,
uncaring
but making sense,
sharing what you have found,
redrawing maps,
working out loud,
living out loud,
surprised by the company
of your own mind,
a liminal brim
like the cello bow
at the moment rosin
explodes across the string,
crossing over sound’s threshold…
notes,
the scritch of feedback
from pen on paper,
the sheep’s teeth at the moment
it bites into fresh fescue.
My own pain as well
lighting the way,
reflecting from my desperate mirror
rippling out in peaks and troughs
in a tsunami that’s featherlight
but that still can drown,
amplifying and dampening,
fading,
despair despairing
in the face of light.
Terry, welcome! I checked out your blog and see how your AI thinking partners gave you feedback on your poem. AI is a remarkable tool. As a human soul reading your words, this resonates most with me:
My own pain as well
lighting the way,
reflecting from my desperate mirror
rippling out in peaks and troughs
Pain lighting the way is a real thing.
Yes, you are right to reserve poetry for the real things. Sharing pain is as real as it gets. One point that maybe doesn’t get across is the idea of the liminal, the boundary, the threshold. These are not abstractions just as you say. Limon’s poem is full of the liminal. It is a theme I use for analyzing poetry all the time. So many new tools. As Archimedes wrote: Give me a place to stand, and a lever long enough, and I will move the world. Liminality makes me feel that way.
I first read that as “pain lightning” — which could be a fulcrum of some other poem I suspect
Terry, this was just gorgeous! Loved the torrent of movement in this piece. Loved the alliterative quality of it, the “liminal brim,” the “scritch of feedback”…and I had to google “fescue” — what a great word. Thanks for this today.
Borrowed some of your lines … as we do …
https://lumen5.com/user/dogtrax/at-the-moment-rosin-nz4ta/
Kevin
This is beautiful, Kevin!
Terry, I want to linger on every line, for every one is hauntingly beautiful. It would take me a long while here to respond to the powerful word choices, the images, the flow, which is somehow like the movement of the light from high on the hill circling round and round. Continuous, rhythmic…reliable. I will cling to the last – “despair despairing in the face of light” – this, to me, is hope, and since the poem’s instruction is to be a lighthouse in the face of darkness, then hope lies, has always lain, within. It is a marvel of a poem.
And yours is a marvel of encoouragement (I misspelled that word, but I think it is newly minted–en”coo”ragement). Thanks for the thought-filled ‘coos’.
What beautiful poetic thinking and writing here, Terry. So many lovely images, like the one Kevin captured in his video, and this: “a tsunami that’s featherlight but that still can drown.” Your poem causes me to stop and think throughout.
Jennifer–the imagery in your poem brought those fireflies right into my family room! (and I never know about tying strings to them!) My daughters gifted me this year with a “write your history” book. The most recent question they asked me to respond to was “What do you and your husband have in common?” I haven’t responded yet, but my answer will be “very little!” Yet we have a good, strong, quirky marriage. I wanted to do something nature-oriented, but this poem asked to be written. Thank you for Anna Limon poem and your inspiration…
Evolution of a Long Marriage
More than saying I do and seeing each other and the smiling people in the room,
it is waking up every morning beside someone and sometimes wondering if the decision you made that smiling day was a good one and forging ahead anyway (because what else should you do?)
More than waking up every morning and hoping that it really is worth doing,
it is rearranging who you have been to absorb the person sleeping beside you who is so very different from you and realizing that he has changed for you, too.
More than changing who you were to make two brand-new people
(who may or may not be better than the old ones) you move ahead with that other new
bed-person and discover things you never knew about him or about yourself.
More than moving ahead with what you have discovered,
it is moving forward together through adversity and joy and knowing
that saying I do in that room with those smiling people
was exactly the right thing to do.
GJSands
11/18/23
Gayle, how beautiful this is! You give us all permission to admit that from time to time we’ve wondered: was it the right decision? Because human nature always casts doubts. Yet you show in each stanza the true give and take of marriage – of making sacrifices, moving forward in the journey together with the reassurance and the blessing of the universe that you are with your soul mate, and there’ll be a lot more days of knowing than of wondering.
Gayle, loved this! I totally get it. Love the flow of the lines…and I loved the phrase “bed-person”! Great poem. <3
Gayle,
I loved the use of parenthesis, as I felt that it captures the essence of thoughts we have that aren’t part of the partnership of the union. They reflect the secrets we have as an individual, that may or may not keep us centered. I liked the nature of your poem as a reassurance to your relationship. It is so easy in today’s world to actively discourage the things we should be rejoicing in.
Marriage is a band and a bond and so much more. Like the river Heraclitus remarked upon, we are not the same person coming out of the river sleep today as we were yesterday. Loves me a metaphysical poem.
You move ahead with that other person…” love how that echoes the Pablo Neruda line, “we makr the path by walking it”.
Thanks.
Gayle, I love this loving tribute to your marriage and your evolution as a couple. I wish mine had been the right thing to do, but all that was right about it was that it gave me my best gifts in my son and daughter.
I adore this stanza:
That stanza speaks to the importance of moving forward in discovery without expectation! And “bed-person” is perfect!
Congratulations on making the right decision!
Absolutely love this, Gayle! Been thinking a lot lately about moving forward together through adversity and joy – grateful for my partner and poetry!
Gayle, I enjoyed your intro almost as much as your poem – you made me think of the balance that a lasting marriage needs.It’s okay that we don’t have everything in common; we learn from one another, we evolve together, absorb one another – all those truths you capture. I celebrate your many years together, as I do for mine and my husband’s. I can say with confidence that there were times when commitment alone won the day, while love was – shall we say, recuperating. 🙂
Gayle, bravo! I could write a similar one about my husband and I. I may have to use your poem as a mentor. I love love love: “that smiling day” and that saying I do “was exactly the right thing to do” So many things to love here…one more “moving forward together”
Good Morning, Kim!
Thanks for your prompt today and for introducing me to Ada Limon’s terrific poem. I just loved the beautiful imagery of your dragonfly poem — your images were so sharp, so clear, and I loved the alliteration and the pacing and shape of it. Just beautiful!
Here is my meditation for today.
Instructions on Learning
Opening the door,
I let them in:
Sleepy-eyed,
Shiny, freshly showered,
They melt into seats,
Morning breath mingles
With mummified overnight air
Until
One spark ignites
The flame that fans
The rest.
Rest cedes to rousal
Brains awake, fire catches,
Eyes sparkle.
They take possession,
Are possessed
By a fervor
Magic happens
Perceptible
Quickening of pulses
Hands shoot up,
Grasp air
Til teacher-led
turn-taking
Cedes
To their own
Newfound power.
Voices newly
Discovered,
They slink from the
Cover of themselves
To be revealed,
To be seen.
Wendy, what a beautiful choice of topic – – learning. Your feeling of the body awakening, the senses coming to life, and the parallels that these have to learning is like a flower blooming with new color and fragrance. I like the way the words rest and cedes play together in this poem. The back to back uses of rest at the point of the shift is especially powerful!
Wendy,
Thank you for the positivity of the classroom that is clicking on all cylinders as far as the kids go. You really captured it on a number of levels. I really liked the lines Morning breath mingles With mummified overnight air. The kids are bringing life to the space we call a classroom.
For some reason,
these children
remind me
of fresh
fiddlehead ferns
with bright dewy eyes.
OOOoooohhhh!!! Wendy, this may be the best poem about the magic of teaching and learning EVER!! I am challenging myself this year to move away from so much teacher-talk and teacher-leading to student-centered learning. Your poem brings that to the forefront.
I am in love with this because the power is in THEM, not us:
Wendy – I could see and sense it all, even the (ack!) morning breath and mummified air (I do love that!). THIS is what we want to see each day – the kids coming alive, learning without hardly realizing they’re learning, letting their guard down in this wonderfully charged atmosphere. I can see this on the walls in many a classroom. Maybe even on the border of a classroom mirror…
Fran, love that idea! ❤️😊
Wendy, this is a poem of hope for learning. “They slink from the / Cover of themselves” So free to learn. I love that.
Kim, Thank you so much for beginning November Open Write with such a beautiful inspiration. Your poem, full of vivid imagery reminded me about dozens of fairy-like dragonflies around our pool in summer. You made such an interesting observation in these lines:
”More than our beauty for
those who study us and wear our image
on metal amulets as symbols of hope”
Thank you for making me wake up to a prompt and think about poetry first thing in the morning!
On Becoming an Art of Writing
More than the letters
Randomly plotted on a line,
More than the words formed
Out of these letters—
Short, long, simple, or intricate—
It’s the way they belong together
Telling stories, colliding destinies,
Foreseeing trouble, or witnessing a triumph
That really gets me.
When words spilled on a page,
Make me pause, reread, smile,
Hold my breath, cry, or think for hours
Long after the final page is turned,
Plotting the letters and forming words
Becomes an art of
W r i t i n g.
Leilya, I just love these lines: Telling stories, colliding destinies, foreseeing trouble, or witnessing a triumph. I felt the formation of your words, chosen to collide and lead as we followed along, celebrating the spilling, and reread and reread. The exact example of our life imitating your art!
“It’s the way they belong together”
yes, indeed
Leilya, the way you place the word writing at the end reminds and shows us that it is not only a skill, but an ART with intentionally chosen and placed words that weave a story (oh, I love colliding destinies and how you used it here – – it’s magical!). This one should be framed and kept in a place where others can celebrate the art – – the sketches and masterpieces of writing.
Leilya, these lines of yours really get me:
Telling stories, colliding destinies,
Foreseeing trouble, or witnessing a triumph..
-because our stories knit us together like few things can, and how wondrous it is that our destinies collide, for who among us doesn’t have trouble lurking or a triumph that should be acknowledged? The universality of the human experience and the art of writing are both tied by belonging… there’s power in that, oh yes.
Yes, to “an art of Writing” Thank you, Leilya. This could be a measure of great writing–the text that makes me “Hold my breath, cry, or think for hours” Perfect!
Kim, this is a wonderful prompt! It’s beautiful how Limon’s poem prompted you in this way. I’ve just spent some really lovely time free writing and want to share a few words from that. It seems that poetry just jumps in when it needs to. The rest of the free write is long lines of prose…journal prose…so messy. But, these lines wanted a stanza. Thank you for this prompt.
More than the ebb
of tides returning to sea
more than the flow
of rivers too
is my great grief
missing you
missing you
missing you
Linda, these lines make the perfect stanza in showing the overwhelmingness of grief as it ebbs and flows in rhythms of tides and the unendingness of rivers. The last three repetitions emphasize the waves of grief and its coming and going.
As Jennifer noted, the repetition-al tides of the last three lines … powerful in many ways
Kevin
Linda, the simplicity of this kind of breaks my heart, and is really touching. Loved the refrain at the end. <3
Linda, the repetition at the end is grief – it goes on repeat every day and is endless. The depth, the pull, the flow, the current of grief is endless, and you capture its impact in 8 lines of sheer truth. Your stream of consciousness writing was right – these lines wanted a stanza, and I’m so glad you gave them one!
Linda—this reached deep into my heart.
Hello Linda,
This is a very interesting poem. Especially the last three lines, “missing you” almost recreated the sounds of the waves as they moved back and forth. Very cool!
Linda, I loved this. I really responded to the repetition of “missing you”. This poem feels like a river of grief. Constant and flowing, but moving forward.
Linda, I am as captivated by the poem “more than the ebb of tides…” as the introduction…
I feel so much grief this time of year as I lost two of my favorite loved ones in November and December years ago. Thank you for sharing your heartfelt poem.
💙
Oh! I felt this one. I just lost my brother a couple of months ago. This is short and powerful. Thank you for sharing.
Linda – the longing is real, stark, universal, and all captured so simply. It seems like a song or a chant we knew as kids. It is perfect. Those last lines, rippling ever out to sea…
Linda, tears. It makes me think of my people I’m still missing. What a touching poem that jumped into this space today.
Kim, what an intriguing prompt today. I love the “It’s our…” lines and all the hyphenated answers that make me fall in love with dragonflies–(upside-down flight, mid-air shifts, and multiple color-changing moltings) I like all the choice in the invitations you give to use Ida Limon’s poem. (I added her book to my Christmas wish list.) My poem is about the healing I have experienced writing here in this Ethical ELA place! I felt more alone before I started writing poems with you all. (We’re writing skinny poems at our NCTE workshop today, too.) Thank you, Kim!
Instructions on Healing with Witnesses
Not on a journey. I’m alone.
healing
needed
fears
wounds
healing
occurring
witnesses
together
healing
I’m on a journey; not alone.
Denise, I love the rewording here, of those first and last lines, that emphasize our togetherness, here, in this place, as we journey with one another, along with the emphasis of aloneness, by itself/oneself, and how that is not a journey. I’m reminded of the stagnancy within alone and the healing within together.
Denise, a skinny poem looks misleadingly simple. Yours is just profound, with that slight word change from the beginning to the ending lines…it feels like a journey, and it feels like healing. As one of my college professors might say: Masterful! Writing does open a path to healing; writing together, even more so. My husband is currently recovering from spinal surgery and has been keeping a journal of these days as a record for our granddaughters.
Good morning in Columbus, Denise! I love your Instructions on Healing with Witness. The title itself is full of hope. Every word in your poem is what I called in my poem “an art of writing.” The message is so important for all who struggle at some point in their lives: it is much more easier to be “on a journey,” when you are “not alone.”
Thank you for sharing!
Denise, thanks for this. I loved the progression! I had to reread the title after reading the poem, and it gained a new layer of meaning when I did. I feel the same about you all and about our writing time together. 🙂
Denise, you capture so clearly that the spirit of healing is found in the willingness to do the hard work of the soul, body, and mind in the context of togetherness. The vulnerability gives rise to the courage to step out of the darkness and take a hand, and another hand, and another hand and join together in a band of healing. I feel that in your poem, this journey where having others who come alongside us and bless us with understanding and presence.
Kim, such exquisite imagery; just breathtaking. I can see the glimmering iridescence of the dragonflies, I feel the pull of their symbolic overcomings in their becoming. Almost makes me want to be a dragonfly! The beautiful internal rhymes and alliteration add pulse to your poem – movement not unlike the pulsating wings of these enchanting creatures. So very inspiring – as is Limon, which you well know – and it’s such a treat to be crafting this venture together this week!
I adore every line of “Instructions on Not Giving Up” – a phrase that really seizes my heartstrings is “Whatever winter did to us.” I tweaked it a bit and landed here…
Making a Way
Tell me there isn’t connective tissue
in the reappearance of little vines
just days after the undergrowth was cleared
from the backyard pines
and the tender green shoots
sprouting from the broken places
of the old oak, felled by a storm
and the heart of the patient
surviving myocardial infarction
because collateral veins had already
grown their own bypasses
around blocked arteries…
and I will tell you
that the grass, when cut,
immediately begins to heal itself
-that sweet fragrance doesn’t come
from the damage, you know,
but from the secretion
of inner salve
for whatever living does to us,
in every shattering, slicing, suffocation
we didn’t choose
on the most molecular level
we are wired
to repair.
Fran, wow. Such gratitude and joy, with doses of heartbreak, to make it all the more true. “for whatever living does to us” Amen. This is gorgeous.
Oh, Fran! All of the entwining of vines and shoots, of veins and salves sings! Your words land as Frost’s do, with strength sitting in nature and imagery both complex and simple, with the hope that threads itself through every verse and stanza, providing the path and guide we follow. Beautiful!
“That sweet fragrance…” what a gorgeous and subtle turn toward your resolution. Stunning. I would love to be a fly on the wall as you and Kim work together. It’s got to be magic!
Oh, Fran! so much wisdom in your poem. I read and reread, and I am just in awe. The final lines are prophetic:
“for whatever living does to us,
in every shattering, slicing, suffocation
we didn’t choose
on the most molecular level
we are wired
to repair.”
Just beautiful! Thank you!
“on the most molecular level
we are wired
to repair.”
Oh my. I love these last lines. I could see them on a sign on a wall in a room for those wondering how to move forward from whatever it is that holds them back.
Kevin
Fran,
Loved this! The structure was fire. Loved the way that the second last stanza tied together the first three, and the punch of that last stanza. This was just artfully put together; bravo!
BAM! A mic drop here on this one today, Fran. I love how you take the word winter and change it to living. I feel seen and heard here today when I read your poem – – and I feel the universality of the pain I didn’t choose. No matter the reader, no matter what living has done that wasn’t chosen, there is recognition here – and acceptance. As if that were not enough, there is healing: we are wired to repair. I see your trademark Fran thumbprint that always leads back to your roots – – today, the smell of cut grass that is a strong memory of yours.
Fran—my goodness! So much here—the interweaving, the awe of nature, and especially this:
“that sweet fragrance doesn’t come
from the damage, you know,
but from the secretion
of inner salve”
it is the essence-that inner salve…
Fran, Fran, Fran! This is a poem to save forever! In The Crossover by Kwame Alexander, he introduces readers to vocabulary in such a clever way and myocardial infarction was amongst the many he included. Your poem would have been a beautiful companion to share with my students. I love all of it!! Every. Single. Line.
Grateful to believe that “we are wired to repair” as I recently learned of a yet another close friend with breast cancer. I’m trusting that she is wired to repair.
Thanks, Fran. 💜
Wow. So powerful. for whatever living does to us… I love this.
Oh my goodness, Fran! Such a powerful poem, so well crafted. The last two stanzas hit me in the heart and made me tear up.
for whatever living does to us,
in every shattering, slicing, suffocation
we didn’t choose
on the most molecular level
we are wired
to repair.
Thank you!
Kim, the imagery in your poem is beautiful – the dragonflies as tethered balloons, shimmering gossamer wings – all of it uplifts, provides magic. And there’s something about that string of -ings in those last lines that make each line lift as if tethered like dragonfly balloons!
Clews on Becoming
more than the ball of thread
handed to Theseus by Ariadne
to use as a guide out of the Labyrinth,
more than the figurative, that which
points the way beyond the way
of mazes,
more than the Middle English clewe borrowing -ue
from Old French.
When the untangling of
letter-knots and spelling-snares leave the
pages word-tidied and bow-wrapped,
the meaning divulges, guiding and directing
and leading us
along a path of clues to discover
how a word becomes another.
These lines seemed to anchor your poem for me, Jennifer — I read them out loud, just to hear the flow together. Perfect.
Kevin
When the untangling of
letter-knots and spelling-snares leave the
pages word-tidied and bow-wrapped,
the meaning divulges …
Jennifer, I love so much those same lines Kevin mentioned. Those hyphenated words are magical and lyrical: letter-knots and spelling-snares and word-tidied and bow-wrapped
“Clews on Becoming” is a great title. I’m sitting here also thinking of you speaking French. Thanks for the language lesson.
Jennifer, what a gorgeous illustration of etymology! The whole poem feels like a quest. The language – letter-knots, spelling-snares – add to the mystical feel. As I read and reread, savoring every word, I am reminded again of little children beginning to acquire language. It’s all so incredibly awe-inspiring… and, as much as we know about it, still so mysterious.
LOVE! This week I did some etymology work with middle schoolers and we were looking for the oldest word of the bunch. Thanks for putting the icing on the cake for me!
Jennifer, I am with Kevin! Reading your words flowing together is a pure joy:
“When the untangling of
letter-knots and spelling-snares leave the
pages word-tidied and bow-wrapped,
the meaning divulges, guiding and directing
and leading us
along a path of clues to discover
how a word becomes another.”
I think in my poem I thought about the similar power of words but wasn’t even close in delivering the way you did. Thank you for sharing with us this morning! I hope to see you today ))
Jennifer, I loved how the structure of your syntax echoed the ball of thread, the mazes you alluded to as we wind our way down your words and ideas. Loved how these lines:
“When the untangling of
letter-knots and spelling-snares leave the
pages word-tidied and bow-wrapped,”
echoed these lines:
“more than the ball of thread
handed to Theseus by Ariadne
to use as a guide out of the Labyrinth,”
The imagery was terrific. Loved this!
Jennifer, there has never been such a time as right now for this poem to be written. As the nation focuses so strongly on the way that reading is taught, you step in with a paintbrush and palette and show us the intricate beauty of the weaving of meaning. That ball of thread as an image and symbol of discovery, of unlocking the way out of the maze, is something given to us by a master poet – – who happens to be YOU!
Jennifer— I have always been fascinated with the way words become. You untangled the process in words that called for multiple readings!! (Word-tidied and bow-wrapped!)
Ada Limon. Sigh. What beautiful words she writes. Thanks for the inspiration this morning.
Kevin
More than sound
abounding in the worms
of our ears
We’re hearing something
else entirely when the song
comes on
Listening to a memory
of time, sung in rhythm
and rhyme
Sometime, it takes
a single note to shake
yourself free
Kevin, it’s the poetry here, the assonance of sound abounding, the alliteration of rhythm and rhyme, within the poem that offers those single notes and freedom.
Thank you, Jennifer, for reading and noticing and commenting.
🙂
Kevin
Kevin – how I love every lyrical line. The idea of listening to memory and sometimes it takes a single note to set yourself free – utterly powerful, and so concisely, beautifully true.
Thank you, Fran.
Truth, Kevin! Songs are so much more than the “worms of our ears”
“We’re hearing something / else entirely” “a memory of time”
Reading your poem makes me think of some of those precious pieces of music that soul-heal me.
soul-healing – yes!
True, true, and true!
🙂
Love the idea of shaking ourselves free with a single notes. Facts.
Thanks, Wendy
Oh my goodness, Kevin. Your words ring so true. I got to that second stanza on the first read and my mind flashed back to a couple of weekends ago when my husband and I went to see a tribute band of his favorite group of all time – The Atlanta Rhythm Section – and yes, yes. He was hearing something entirely different, stepping back in time to the halls of his high school, the years peeling layers of wrinkles and gray hair back so I could see the younger groove step forth in the tapping of the foot, the nodding of the head. The younger HIM emerged, those notes freeing the years. They say the song remembers when, and your poem is the essence of it all. Oh, how it does.
Younger grooves — always worth a visit
🙂
And the Atlanta Rhythm Section rocked! (even if it was a tribute band, I bet it was still a ton of fun)
Kevin
A Translation
Earworms
utter and mute
time signatures
one beat,
silence
silenced.
Thanks, Terry, for stopping by and taking a moment to read, in silence.
Terry,
The title then first line set me up for a rereading and a dissonance to settle. I also notice the repetition of t’s as beats leading to the silence. Cool.
Sarah
This poem was a translation of Kevin’s, returning the favor of his attn that he gave me with the Lumen5 digital object d’art. I would love to see us all attend each other’s work like I am seeing here.
Kevin—that single note. Or this entire lovely ode to music!
Hi Gayle
Thank you
Kevin
Yes – Sometime, it takes a single note to shake yourself free. Thank you for reminding all of us.