Welcome. 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: Sarah Donovan
Sarah lives in Stillwater, Oklahoma and has been teaching since 2000. She is also the author of the young adult novel in verse Alone Together and editor of two anthologies of poetry: Rhyme & Rhythm: Poems for Student Athletes, and Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance: An Oral History of COVID-19 in Poems.
Inspiration: Lucille Clifton
Lucille Clifton was working on series of poems to give voice to a person who has leukemia. She wanted to talk about not only the killing effects of the disease, but also the killing effect of the cure.
In Poetry in Person, Clifton talks about her drafting and revision of this poem.
Draft
In the first draft, the last line, Clifton has “mother mary where is your living son” all in one line. In another draft, this line is split “oh mother mary/where is your living child?”
In the first draft, Clifton has “my days are pain” to “my hair is pain”
Clifton offered insight into these revisions: “It seemed to me that that made it more intense [days to hair is pain], and I wanted to center on Joanne’s own suffering, her feelings…One of the things with these poems is that I did not wish them to be neat. Because leukemia is not neat. It seems to me that form follows subject. And I was concerned about being too neat with the lines.
Revised
Process
I offer you a few options today (and of course reject them all to write whatever you wish).
- Give voice to a person who is going through something now, which can be a disease but could also be someone experiencing a new beginning or exploring some new dimension of being (think toddler or teen; new job or retirement).
- Explore not only the thing (from learning to walk to cancer) but the coaching, treatment, joys and sorrows along the way.
- The “going through” is likely “not neat,” so play with line breaks and extra spaces so that “form follows subject.”
Sarah’s Poem
french horn
my hand is tremble seconds before
I carry German silver
my embouchure blows this horn
a note soars surely into the desert
your eyes drift to my hands today
without my instrument they upset
quiver like cymbals beneath our
conversations shaking your sympathies
stop. hand me my horn. and listen
Note: A family member was diagnosed with Parkinson’s last year. He is a musician and lives in Arizona. He told me that the quivers intensify with stress but seem to disappear when he plays is instrument.
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.
I decided to try a poem for two voices showing 2 new beginnings: mother and daughter
If words are on the same line or in the middle they are read at the same time, while other lines are read independently. When I taught children to do this we used bookmarks so they could see their lines clearly.
Freedom Locked In
After 35 years After 92 years
A menu of possibilities
By the hour
What’s today?
It doesn’t matter
I can’t remember
Learning to cook
Two choices at each meal
It’s all beyond me
Limitless Limited
Ever – changing Never-changing
Except for this:
I love you
Unbelievable
By Mo Daley 2/19/24
A college degree with a focus on health
means that when you experience
fatigue-numbness-tingling in the foot-difficulty walking-vision impairment
you go to the doctor
to get your
Multiple sclerosis
diagnosis
so that you can refuse treatment
especially vaccines, but that’s unrelated,
OR IS IT?
So that you can do a parasitic cleanse to make you feel better
and live longer for your children
with your advanced degree in health and
maybe conspiracy theories
*I don’t know what to say except this is a real person I know
Mo,
I know this person, too. We all do. Novels my mind. My first thought: At least leeches are a viable medical treatment. I’m just over here w/ my palm coveting my face. Cheering your poem, too.
I love your response, Glenda! Spot on! Susie
Yes and yes and amen. Your poem is spot-on, Mo.
Mo, yup real person we all know. It about drives me nuts! Well done… especially “OR US IT?” Hugs, Susie
oy. I adore “OR IS IT?”
made me laugh and cringe!
counting
3 doctors joined me on my 65th birthday
1 tiny tumor that wasn’t benign was removed on that
2nd day in June, I was told it would be
4 weeks which isn’t so long though
5 days a week is a lot
5 inches was the widest wall I’d ever seen
4 minutes inside the room each day
3 angles – the light beam moved as I lay on the table
2 people walk in each day for a 15 minute visit
1 summer without swimming
Jamie, I like your approach today. Somehow your use of numbers really made me see what you went through. I sure how things are better for you now!
Wow, Jaime — The dose of reality via the specific numbers us appropriately jarring. I love your strength in this straightforward account. Really feel for you. Am grateful for your honest voice. Susie
Jamie, this reminds me of the math we all do to walk ourselves through something hard, like it’s just 5 more minutes, etc. glad you made it through and shared with us.
I found out today that my dear friend, Cosala, who was sent home on hospice Friday, passed away. My poem will be forever on my heart because at the time I wrote it, I didn’t know he had passed.
😢
Oh, Stacey, I am so so sorry. My heart is with you and Cosala. Love, Susie
Stacey, I’m so sorry for your loss. Sending you peace and hugs.
Stacey,
My deepest condolences to you and all who knew and loved Cosala. Peace to your heart as you grieve. 💔
So sorry for your loss. Sending peace.
INJUSTO
I watched her fall apart,
un poco a la vez;
hearing, maybe the easy part;
her sight, maybe that’s the easy part;
mobility, maybe.
No.
Una mente brilliante,
thirsting yet
yielding to ennui;
none of it easy…
it’s not
a sliding scale of parts
that fail,
leave us wobbling, fumbling, determining
to get through the day
because surely
mañana será
better.
No.
Mañana, a mythology.
What is
is
ahora mismo
and right now
damned.
The scale,
like the pendulum,
has broken and we cannot
measure the sap in the tree
and know there is enough
to curb the thief leaving
a life dehydrated,
crusty,
parched,
spent.
Injusto.
by Susie Morice, February 19, 2024©
Susie,
I am at first struck by the translanguaging and wondering about the place of the we and the her. I wonder about the Spanish as a vocalizing to or with and the English as an echo– or maybe reverse. The pattern, yes, the echo, maybe. This is lovely for me to puzzle through in the line breaks. The tree imagery is of a life dehydrated moves into the final four lines ins such a way that the earth and elements take it too soon. The Injusto of it all leaves me thirsty, maybe licking my own lips to feel my life.
And, I am sorry for this lost. Grief. Anger.
Wow,
Sarah
Susie, the opening lines of your poem reminds me of how we can witness detrimental changes in ourselves and others. The way we try to navigate difficult moments and attempt to stop the thief who robs our balance and our senses. I love the imagery of the scale and tree and feel such profound loss as I read your poem. Adore your line “we cannot measure the sap in the tree”. Thanks for sharing your incredible poem with us today. Hugs, friend!
Susie,
The strength and truth in “Injusto” compels so many thoughts. The indignity of our bodies breaking and betraying us. “a life dehydrated” parches my tongue, and I feel every word in this poem in my aching soul. Hugs and sighs.
Susie, I particularly connected with the tree image at the end, the sap lost brings to
mind the brittleness.
fighting off NyQuil sleep, so will keep quick!
Sarah, I’ve been thinking so much about the power of music lately. I love the visual of quivering like symbols. Bring out the horn!
Mine didn’t turn out at all like planned, but I’ve been writing a lot of narrative poems to help me with the grief of my younger brother who died several months ago of brain cancer. I’m grateful for nudges to write poetry which I pretty much only do in this forum!
Thank you for your prompt.
Last Year at this Time
Last year at this time
We sat on the back stoop.
Your grapevines entangled above us
My hand warm by your freshly-baked croissant.
We discussed literature
And remembered curling beneath selves of books
Silent.
“Cancer’s back.”
You twisted a dead vine between your fingers.
But you were feeling fine
Despite the growth in your brain.
“Must be all the online classes.”
Your sarcastic sense of humor.
I wanted to twist time.
I wanted last year to last
Not be the last.
Of all the brains,
It seems like yours could have figured out a way for time to change directions.
If not reverse,
let THIS one stay
So I can say
Last year at this time.
Emily, your poem is incredibly moving! The imagery and voice is striking and relatable! I love how you reconnect your end with the opening. I’m so deeply sorry for your loss. Your poem helps illustrate how we can try to heal through sharing personal memories and pain by writing poetry. Hugs!
Reading your poem it feels like waiting. I love your lines: I wanted to twist time./I wanted last year to last/Not be the last. and your ending: let THIS one stay/So I can say/Last year at this time. Such a sweet sentiment, your heartfelt words about your brother. I’m sorry his did not change directions.
Emily,
My condolences to you on the loss of your brother. Damn cancer. In time I envision a collection of your brother’s life in poetry. Twisting time is a glorious image. Your brother’s personality, his humor, shines in your words.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Emily. I love the quietness of your poem. I could picture this conversation so clearly, as if it were my brother and me. Your imagery is beautiful, but really, it’s the emotion that does it for me. Peace.
Sarah – Your loss is so poignant and complicated, as if the twisting vine were indeed a lifeline tangling and cutting off a breath. So perfect an image, you’ve shared a beautiful poem that gives a hint of your brother and his wit but also a reminder of time’s insistence. I am so sorry you lost someone so dear. I appreciate that you shared your poem. Susie
Sarah,
Lucille Clifton’s poem and process sent me off to find her celebration of hips, a topic that occupies my mind 24/7 because of chronic pain—undiagnosed, of course. And your poem’s tender treatment of Parkinson’s speaks to my heart. Ken has an essential tremor many assume is Parkinson’s.
her hips
her hips never
danced the meringue or rumba
they never
locked—popped—broke to hip-hop
her hips
twerked not
no twisted hips bumped to disco
beats, nor
flash-danced cheek to cheek
her hips—
baptized baptist
self-sidelined & two stepped sans sin—
now her hips
lie immobile like bystanders at the bar
who missed the chance at
life’s
hippest
dance
—Glenda Funk
This poem really moves! It is amazing how you made a poem about dancing, dance! Yet, it’s sad! “Lie immobile!” I love the line “self sidelined & two stepped sans sin”. The alliteration is awesome and helps the poem move.
Aw, Glenda — Those hips…darn! I want those Baptist hips to be hip-hoppin’! I love the rhythm in this…the words are indeed dancing…very masterful, that! The sense of “missed the chance” is so strong that I find myself rooting for “her hips.” I love the wordplay and line breaks! Hugs, Susie
Glenda, your poem is incredibly rhythmic. I love how your lines describing the lack of moving hips lead to your end. Setting off each of those final 3 words add such power and emphasizes how our physical limitations can hinder our abilities to experience something great. Truly powerful poem!
Glenda,
Oh, yes! I love this “her hips for what they were not “twerked not” and “no twisted hip bumped” and for al that they are/were in the “two-stepped san sin” and the missed chance at “life’s/hippest/dance.” The line breaks really do show the form of movement toward the single word lines stationary. I read some of this as acceptance and some of this as grief and some of this as anger. Hips are complex when they are constrained in my reading of this (and of my own struggles with my hips).
Thank you for this poem,
Sarah
Partials
Feeling elation about
rejoining the Gospel choir
after a pandemic absence,
he practiced, pronounced,
imitated and watched Christian
rappers on youtube.
On Sunday AM, he was 5 year old
again, expecting a new bike.
During his journey to the sanctuary
he practiced in the car and
noticed he’d forgotten his “holigrip”
yet was feeling confident
hopeful and anticipating
synchronicity as he rejoined
his choir
After the first few stanzas
with his choir, he went to
the podium ready for his solo.
With the live stream going,
the top part of the dentures
slipped and dropped to his
tongue like James Brown
doing the splits
He abruptly stopped
singing and rapping,
kept his mouth shut
and waited for the music
to finish
vowing to himself to always buy the name
brand expensive
denture adhesive.
By Seana Hurd Wright
2/19/2024
Hahaha! This is funny. “slipped and dropped to his tongue like James Brown doing the splits!” I love that!
Oh, Seana.
Thank you for this poem today. The final stanza has me seeing teeth in the series of lines closing toward the end with the “mouth shut” and “waiting for the music.” That vow at the end offers just a touch of humor but gosh what a scene to witness on live stream, embarrassing indeed.
Sarah
I love this! It has such a surprise ending and I can visualize the story.
Thanks.
This is great, Seana. Things don’t always go according to plan, I guess! Your poem put a smile on my face, as it made me remember my husband’s grandfather, who had a pocket sewn into his crew neck sweatshirts so he could put his dentures in there when he was tired of wearing them. What a guy!
Seana, your poem is so tender in revealing this scene. You did a wonderful job of foreshadowing that things might go awry. The ending is so relatable but shows that he will still continue singing in the future. Memorable poem!
First Travel
The engine’s running
door open
ready
dots on a map
all planned
packed
yet I linger
no help around
godforsaken desert
barren
worn, tired tires
decrepit auto
gasoline?
and I dawdle
filled with worry
first travel
alone
Thank you for hosting, Sarah. I really look forward to these days every month.
I love to travel and you capture the anticipation of it here. You can do it!! Have fun!
Susan — The sense of virgin traveler is really strong here…the nervous anticipation with a “decrepit” car and set in the desert…omg! Yikes! Great moody poem. Thanks! Susie
Thank you for hosting today Sarah. Your poem struck me as wonder. The stanza
“your eyes drift to my hands today
without my instrument they upset
quiver like cymbals beneath our
conversations shaking your sympathies” reminds me of how we long to keep our passions/dreams/desires alive when our bodies reject them. This gives me joy in knowing that your family member can still have a tune in his heart and routine in his movements when he plays his horn. Thank you so much for sharing.
Writing in another space, the topic was empathy. So I borrowed a few lines from my previous poem and added new insight to develop this one. So I feel it’s fitting. This is about one of my church members, who before then, was a teacher at my son’s preschool and worked under my husband. I’m so glad we crossed paths again. She has been my earthly hope in my world of chaos right now.
Friends with Grief
Back-to-back,
a life of deaths.
Not one
loss
but four.
Tragic.
Sickness.
Old age,
no age is exempt.
But
still
strong in heart and spirit.
God-fearing woman
Keeps it real
Sees the
good
in all
things
and people.
Roni G
is her nickname
I call her
Sis. Gail.
Jessica, dealing with multiple deaths is extremely traumatic. Your skinny poem highlights the various ways we can lose a loved one. Trying to keep things “real” takes strength. I like how you acknowledge your subject at the end of your poem. Beautiful and powerful poem!
Thank you Barb!
Jessica, it sounds like things are tough right now. I’m sorry you have experienced so much lately. I’m glad you have such a wonderful person in your life to work through things with. Seeing the good in all things and people is a true gift.
Thank you Mo. If I didn’t know what endurance and suffering was before, I definitely know now! I’m learning to ground myself and she reminds me to find the good in all things. I know things will get better soon, so until then, I will find joy in all things.
Sarah, I really appreciate thinking about Lucille Clifton’s poetry and advice. Formatting poetry can always be challenging. Your poem is incredible. Thanks for sharing the footnote. I wrote a couple poems today, but one I could not post due to its sensitive nature. This one is about breaking free from an abusive relationship. I hope my formatting remains true once I post, but if not, the fourth and eighth lines should be indented. Thanks again for your marvelous prompt today.
Ensnared
shattered glass
bloodied feet
splintered fingers
still, she rises
fusing remnants
birthing rainbows
forging forward
unafraid of light
Barb Edler
19 February 2024
These images really capture that breaking free of an abusive relationship.
I am so very intrigued by the idea of
Barb,
I enjoyed your poem and it made me think of a friend. I can now fully imagine how she must have felt when she ran out of her home one night, then called me for a ride. Your words vividly paint a horrific picture of sadness and trauma. Yet your ending lets me see the Phoenix in her.
Thank you.
So much power in so little words. Wow. “birthing rainbows” I love that image.
Holy Moses, Barb — Yes, the breaking away from that bad relationship is powerful here. The images of glass breaking made me cringe from the git-go! The strength in the end…”she rises” is a relief against those “splintered fingers.” Uff! Well done, my friend! Susie
Barb,
I am praying your poem into the world for all victims of domestic violence. I love the cadence of the poem, the emphatic tone your words construct. “Forging forward” is excellent alliteration and a mantra. Let there be light.
Sarah, thank you for this! It is always a joy to read Lucille Clifton’s poetry. I appreciate the empathy exercise of today’s prompt, trying to put ourselves into another’s experience. Your poem is beautifully aware of the strain of Parkinson’s (my father died of this), and I am particularly moved by these two lines, imagining the stress one feels with this debilitating disease –
Here’s my poem, my imagining of my (deceased) mother’s perspective, living with dementia:
dementia
i don’t know you
why are you sitting so close?
my skin crawls
invisible insects wriggle up my neck
i need you to move away away
away
from me
i am trapped here, with strangers
talking gibberish
how dare
you claim
you grey-haired fool
you are my daughter
she is
a little girl
Oh, Maureen, the perspective here is heartbreaking. I was completely pulled into your poem through the opening question. “invisible insects wriggle up my neck” is visceral. I can truly feel the sense of uncomfortableness. The closing stanza show so much about the disease. Hugs! Thanks for sharing such a heartbreaking and powerful poem.
Maureen, I love how you create this. I can’t imagine the feeling of this disease, but you captured your mother’s perspective so well. Your last stanza made me laugh a little, but in a way that even though your mother may not remember you presently, she still has the image of a precious little girl in her mind. Thank you for sharing this moment with us.
This a very descriptive and moving poem, Maureen. At first I thought there was some creepy guy trying to make a pass at you but then your last stanza strongly surprised me.
Such tragedy–and truth–in this short, beautifully crafted poem.
Was it therapeutic to imagine things from your mother’s point of view as she battled dementia. My father did as well, and I have never thought to write from his perspective. He’s been gone 14 years. Just last night I re-watched the episode of The West Wing when CJ goes home to Dayton and is faced hard-core with her father’s descent into dementia. My mind is on that dreadful disease more than usual today and now your poem sharpens my feelings.
The part where the speaker refers to the
is both comedic and tragic.
You know they think these things in their demented state.
Maureen — I think you’ve done an amazing job of walking in those shoes so clearly that I can’t help but think this is exactly what your mom is thinking. Dementia is a cruel beast and you’ve captured that so clearly. I’m touched by this poem. Truly. Susie
Your words hang close for me. My mother joined me in Texas for her last five years. Some of the words you share, my mother spoke. I smiled worked hard not to respond, just be there. i am trapped here, with strangers/talking gibberish, how dare/you claim/. . . /you are my daughter. I drove home some evenings wonder if I should laugh or cry. Thank you for sharing.
Smiley face Totems
No one cares,
it’s there,
slithering,
withering,
calling,
recalling.
No one will reveal,
the anger…
the pain…
the danger…
the insane…
Deafening shrills we conceal.
locked in a fragmented skull
soft gray,
intrusive,
let us pray,
It’s elusive,
but here today,
returning abusive,
never goes away,
Shaded… but obtrusive.
tics, tics,
come again,
sick, sick,
done in.
help the hidden,
suppress ego’s,
converse the forbidden,
free to let go’s.
for all the wild graces,
will,
forgive,
deal,
live.
Totems of smiling faces.
lost,
inside,
cost,
out- hide.
Never knew,
it’s in me,
is it in you?
we can never see?
Unveil Our mask,
Love,
Talk,
Ask?
-Boxer
Boxer,
The form really follows subject here. I am struck by the way the whitespace guides my eyes, tells them what to do to witness the slithering, withering, calling. The commas at the end of the lines in the next stanza work graphically, too. This hook, this fragmenting visually. Moving on many levels.
Sarah
I am moved by the pause of every comma, slowing my read, drawing me into sad pain.
Boxer, the staccato beat of your poem adds an emotional depth. I feel the ingenuine response in the “smiling faces” and how much we hide. Your final question “Ask?” reverberates. It reminds me of how important it is to listen in order to truly understand what someone might be suffering from. Powerful poem!
Boxer, your poem reminds me of the family totem poles we experienced during a Writing Project Retreat on Sitka Island in Southern Alaska. Two weeks with Tlingit natives gave me insight into much I’d only read about before. Your lines
“Totems of smiling faces”
may or may not refer to this particular group of people, but the lines did revive fond memories of that summer and then troubling thoughts of the masks our students may be wearing. You know a la Paul Lawrence Dunbar and Maya Angelou.
I do not know them – but love to meet them 😀
Sarah,
The last line — stop. hand me my horn. and listen– was so powerful.
My mother suffered from MS for years before she passed. While she wasn’t a musician,listening to music brought joy and comfort.
Thank you for your prompt today. I spent some time thinking about mental health (anxiety and depression) and trying to walk in my husband’s shoes.
The sarcophagus
the mind
confines
Stress
palpitates the heart
Perseveration
immobilizes action
Perfectionism
grinds and movement stalls
Anxiety
flays the soul
A vivisection
Exposed to the world
sinew, nerves
Emotions
red, raw, throbbing
Life hurts,
this existence
Or
Nothing at all
Red pill?
Blue pill?
Alive or numb to the world?
Which one today?
Tammi,
This poem has such a pacing to it with the line breaks and phrases. I am feeling it in my bones and sinew, nerves, the throbbing. Yes, the poem throbs.
Sarah
Your verb choices in the first part are so gripping, so vivid: flay, grind, confine – and then the poem flips to the medication with such ‘dull’ clarity – whoa! This lays bare the real struggle of the mentally ill, the challenge of medicines. Well done!
Tammi, oh my heart aches reading your poem. I am completely moved by your line “Life hurts” and the “Red pill?/Blue pill? lines add a tremendous punch. I know so many people who suffer and need to rely on medicine to help them cope. They often abandon their meds because of the way they are numbed which then leads to more chaos for themselves. I was sorry to hear your mother had MS. My mother did too. Hugs!
Continued clouded headspace; I’m able to cobble together something short. Thank you for holding my words tenderly here, poets. I’m thinking about my mom today who retired two weeks ago..
Mami
Retirement begins
with end of her daddy’s life,
unexpectedly.
Oh, Britt, I missed your elfchen titled “To My Tito”, so I just went back and read it. Thank you for trusting us to hold your words in this space. May you mom and all the people who love your grandfather find peace in this unexpected loss. I’m sorry you all didn’t get more time to say goodbye.
Britt,
So much power in this poem!. You sum up life so succinctly as each new beginning is usually an ending of something else. Sorry for your loss.
Sending comfort, Britt.
Oh, Britt, I am so so sad to read this. What a confluence of events, a time of freedom/celebration now dovetailing with such raw grief. My condolences!
Thank you for this prompt today. I batted around a few topics but the conversation with my daughter last night kept repeating in my head. Her college graduation is nearing and that brings big life changes. Most often joy, pride and celebration are associated with this big life moment so I decided to give voice to the other emotions that ride along side. Many of which came across in our chatting last night.
College graduation only 2 months away,
you would think euphoria fills her days
Excited- oh yes!
Proud- oh yes!
Academic life, as she known it since 5, is ending.
Dear friends are
s
c
a
t
t
e
r
i
n
g
for future jobs that are pending.
Anxious- oh
yes!
Sad- oh
yes!
So many unknowns whirlpool through her mind
“where will I live”, “will I find a job”, “will my relationship last”- the answers she waits to find
Uncertain
oh
yes!
Apprehensive
oh
yes!
Dear daughter may that self-confidence and “Me do” attitude you had since
toddlerhood,
R
I
S
E
again as you launch into adulthood
Determination- oh yes!
Succes-
oh
yes!
(fingers-crossed)
I love, love this!! So much fun alongside the unknown and the hesitation. I am obsessed with the formatting of “scattering” and “rise.” I felt so much of my own excitement and eagerness when I was making this same transition as I was reading your poem. Good luck to her!
Cathy, what a nice format you have used to show these many emotions all rolled up into this liminal space she finds herself in. I like the many lines of:
So many things she’s going through. Here’s to determination and success! OH YES!
Cathy,
I can totally relate. I was in your shoes not too long ago. My kids (son & daughter) are out of college three and one year ago now and still figuring things out. The questions now are should I go to graduate school? Should I purchase a home, new car,etc. Adulting. Sometimes they just need a sounding board. Good luck and congratulations to you and your daughter!
Cathy, this poem is so innovative/creative. Extremely engaging and the content, yes so true for graduating students. The emotional vocabulary you chose are so effective; “excited, proud, anxious, sad, uncertain, apprehensive, determination, success”. Like a roller coaster they move undulating. This is so effective. I also like the vertical words “scattering and rise.” I’m glad I got to read this. Waiting to hear the success stories in the form of poetry.
The words “scattering” and “RISE” are so perfect here as vertical/single letter lines – love this creative spacing. College graduation is so full of these emotions, pulling us every which way. Congrats to her!!
Cathy, I love your repetition of “oh yes!” It’s reassuring and comforting knowing that these things will happen, but what doesn’t with change and new adventures? I love the spacing of the words “scattering” and “RISE” with emphasis in all CAPS. Yes, “Dear Daughter, RISE” above it all. Make your mark in the world. This is something to capture in her senior memory book!
This poem is captivating! The topic is something most of us faced and now face with our kids, so it is so relatable!
The formatting is pure genius! The way you put scattering and rise really work. And I love the way you follow key words with
sometimes
when we talk
about spoons
we are not
talking about
utensils or
cutlery
but about
the cavalry
that kills
instead of
saves
about the
immune system
originally designed
to help instead of
hurt
so sometimes
when we talk
about the weather
it’s not really about
storm clouds or
sun shine
it’s about pressure
systems and joint
pain about mobility
and range of motion
you see, sometimes
using the placard is
not about how you feel
going into the store
but about how you’ll
feel after forty minutes
under uncovered
fluorescence
(while layering and
wearing sunblock)
so some time
when I see the color
purple I don’t think
of royalty or Walker
but of awareness
when I hear the word
butterfly I don’t think
of monarchs but of
rashes across the
bridge of the nose
and cheeks
so some
time
what some
people
don’t seem
to understand
is that invisible
illnesses are
invisible
until
of course
they
aren’t
___________________________________________
Thank you, Sarah, for your mentor poem, for this prompt, for this space, for so so much. For my offering today, I – even though only a spouse of someone afflicted – could, without a shadow of a doubt, unequivocally, add an additional two words to my poem today: lupus sucks.
Scott, thanks for pointing out that often illness is not seen but suffered with just as much difficulty and pain.
Scott,
This is so true. Most of us have no idea the pain others suffer each day and how difficult it might be just to leave the house. I’m so sorry your wife has this illness.
Oh, wow, Scott, thank you for reminding us about “invisible / illnesses.” Who are we to judge? This is poignant and powerful. And yes, lupus sucks! Your poem teaches us much about lupus–the spoon theory and how the weather effects her symptoms. Your creativity knows no bounds.
I have a dear friend with immune issues and you have described her daily experience so well; this especially –
Hi, Scott — This disjointed realities are so effective here…what we think and what is…what we think we hear… Dang, you are really good at conveying the horror of when is on the surface and what is the reality of a thieving specter…like lupus. I have a close friend with this mean illness, and it is indeed “injusto” and “invisible until…” not. Hugs to you and yours, Susie
Hi Sarah! Thank you for being our host and source of inspiration today. Thank you for this space of love and care, where we nurture our creative genius. Thank youuuu!
I have a prayer paper on my refrigerator because of the constant need to pray for people who are batlling cancer. I lost my mom and dad to cancer over 10 years ago and now it seems like it’s a haunting presence in the lives of so many loved ones. If anyone here is fighting cancer, let me know if you want me to add your name to my prayer paper.
We Fight
Say their names
Shout to the heavens
HEAL THEM, JESUS
Cancer spreadiing
Mom Solomon
Cancer
Karen, you got this
Cancer caught early
Monique
Cancer and chemo
Lorraine
Cancer
Cosala, hospice
Cancer in remission
K.C.
Cancer
Betty, keep fighting
Cancer, last chemo
Kevin
Cancer
Michelle, sending love
Cancer
Cancer
Cancer
Can’t win
Because
We fight
©Stacey L. Joy, 2/19/24
Such a powerful poem! My mom would have loved to read this!!! Thank you for sharing
Stacey, I love that your poem shows the power of the fight. “Say their names!” Yes. And “Shout to the heavens / HEAL THEM, JESUS” Amen! “Cancer / Can’t win” Yes, please!
Stacey,
I recently went to a memorial for a 25 year old who battled cancer her entire life and finally succumbed. Sometimes life seems hopeless and unfair. Your poem brings inspiration and hope in your lines: Cancer/Can’t win/Because/We fight.
Oh, Stacey.
The form follows subject intensely here. The repetition of “Cancer is relentless as it keeps coming back and back. The word with the double c’s within — I never noticed that before this poem, you showing us with all the names, the naming.
Hugs,
Sarah
Tears! I love how you bear witness to your friends and loved ones all fighting cancer. Your end is a positive affirmation that healing can occur, and that cancer can be beat. Thanks for sharing your incredible craft today, Stacey! I’m deeply moved.
Stacey Joy, I respect how you share these names, each one on their own road of this C journey. Yes Lord, heal them! “Cancer Can’t win Because We fight” I would like to add my Sister-Friend Remona. She is fighting her cancer holistically and keeping the faith!
Jessica, thank you. I’ll add Remona to my prayer paper. 🩵
I want to shout my own names here too! This is powerful.
oh my, Stacey, to see such a list of names with cancer. It brings to point about how prevalent it is. Yes, we must fight and fight to find a cure
Stacey — It’s hard for me to “speak” here… this damned disease. Thank you for “fight”[ing]! Love, Susie
As I wrote this, I realized that I could create the line breaks to create stanzas to match the decades of our lives. I’ll probably play with this some more!
Life was an adventure
Our boys were young
We built a strong family
And our days were packed
With school and ballgames and work
We laughed with friends
Watched our sons grow
Had parents who aged
Suffered losses that broke our Hearts
For 35 years
No doctors
You were too busy, too strong
Insurance too high
Doctors cost too much
Then the stroke, COVID pneumonia, biopsy, bone scan
Metastisized
Now, four doctors, On a regular schedule
You stay busy, work to be strong
No time for “If only,” or “What if?”
Now we’re busy living each day as it comes
Wow, this is beautifully formatted by decades. Thank you for sharing your intimate reality. 🤎
Melinda, I agree the decades are very effective. I hope you do play with it some more. I like how the stanzas get longer, added one line to each decade. Responsibilities and worries added as each passes.
Melinda,
Your last stanza and especially that last line, Wow! Powerful and heart wrenching. Keeping your family in my thoughts and prayers.
Sarah, thank you so much for your love and care for us today. The examples of poems by Lucille Clifton and yours about your family member are such rich mentors. Thank you. I love the strength and hope found in the last line here: “stop. hand me my horn. and listen” I like the double meaning of “stop”–stop the quivering, he may say to his body, and stop your noticing and sympathizing, he may say to the visitors. He seems to understand the quivering won’t stop forever, but he will take full advantage, while he can, so “listen” to the music.
You have given us much to consider. As I was contemplating a subject, I stopped to read the email by PÁDRAIG Ó TUAMA, “Dynamo, Dynamite, Dynamic.” Your musical poem and a memory of a church choir I was once a part of gave me my subject.
Dunamis Choir
Did you ever think
twice about
desiring
to live
a long life?
You led us
(non-singers)
in Gregorian chant–
the power of musical
chicken scratches
dancing off the staffs
and deep into our
four-part praise
you didn’t get longevity
but your legacy lived on
in music
when you left to sing
with the angels
We’re a mess over here with the loss of my grandfather, and I’ve found your poem incredibly comforting, Denise.
Thank you, thank you.
Denise, the sounds here with chants and chicken scratch and praise of non-singers makes me feel right at home. I can’t carry a tune. Four-part praise had me chuckling. Someday, someday we will indeed have the angelic voices…..until then, …..may chicken scratches dance off the staffs……Love this!
Denise — this is so beautiful. I can picture the church, hear the Gregorian chant and relate to the power of music.
Oh, Denise. I feel my father coming through this one with Gregorian chant. Yes, it flooded my home on Sunday mornings. And I feel the form following the subject of movement in these short lines, songs, the music, and that last line “with the angels.” I can see it in the chicken scratches and hear it in the four-part praise. The four-parts with one gone, singing in another choir.
Sarah
Denise, your opening question is compelling and provocative. I love how you show the subject didn’t get to live long but that they have a legacy that continues. Beautiful testament for a beautiful life.
Sarah – I have always enjoyed Lucille Clifton’s poetry. I’ve share her poems with many a young student. I did not realize she had Leukemia and suffered so much pain. It is surprising what people carry inside them secretly, unknown to others. This made me think of something very personal to me that I rarely share with others.
Hereditary Circle
Microscopic, infinitesimal,
somewhere inside me
a gene bleeds quietly,
the same gene Grandma Josie carried.
She had four children, two sons –
the younger one, Bart, was the bleeder.
My sister and I grew up knowing
we would carry that secret bleeding gene.
We knew if we had sons,
they could be Hemophiliacs,
fifty–fifty, a roll of the dice,
a genetic gamble.
I had long decided
to stand outside this circle,
I was responsible –
I guarded and protected.
That little bleeding gene
inside me all these years,
still sleeping soundly,
inside me forever.
Hi, Joanne. In the note from Clifton, she said she wrote the poem for someone who had Leukemia. I don’t think it was autobiographical.
But if imagining the autobiography helped you surface this poem, then I am grateful for you sharing this “genetic” thread from your life and family. The “Grandma Josie” offered such a specific naming and the considering of “to stand outside this circle” is a symbolic way of considering the agency we have to understand or reframe for ourselves meaning “still sleeping soundly” and yet “inside me forever.” These are strong phrases that I will carry with me today.
Sarah
Wow, Joanne, thank you for sharing what you have carried. It was quite heavy over the time you “decided to stand outside this circle”. I think it must have been a difficult decision, and even living with the choice. “genetic gamble” “guarded and protected” “bleeding gene…still sleeping soundly”. You have conveyed so much with your powerful word choices.
Joanne, such love and protection comes not as a little bleeding gene but as a tidal wave of decision born of love and intention, a gift of peace and a struggle of wonder all at once. I’m glad the circle is unbroken, and that the gene sleeps soundly still.
Joanne, the fear of inheriting a particular disease is deeply troubling. So many “microscopic” things can wreak so much havoc. Powerful poem!
Sarah, Poem prompts like yours and the sample you posted today, remind us of the gallantry of those who’ve come before and those we witness today. I’ve written here about my mother before, but today seems like a good day to remind me and share with others about this gallant Black woman. With the title of today’s challenge, I started to title my poem, Broke, But not Broken, but went with
Fallen, But Still Tall
She cracked her back
In a fall at the skating rink
Then, at the hospital, the doc exclaimed,
“You went skating while carrying a child?”
That was new news and sent her nearly wild.
How could she stand tall
And carry a baby while small?
She couldn’t, but she did.
Mom lay on her back for nearly twenty years,
She not only birthed that baby,
But helped guide the raising of the other three.
Our mother’s back was cracked,
But not her spirit
Family and friends and prayer
Helped her eventually reign from her chair
She never again stood tall.
For years, she lay low, but not groaning
Feeling sorry for herself or lay moaning
Instead, she urged her four kids to keep going!
Our mother saw to it that we all
Grew up, got a degree. Each got a good job.
The fall took her down, but our futures it did not rob
After our mom had that fall.
Anna,
Thank you for this narrative poem honoring your mother. I don’t think I knew this or had witnessed this scene in all the years we have written together, exchanging poems. (Or perhaps I missed it and am not grateful for this moment.)
The heart of this poem for me is this line “Helped her eventually reign from her chair” for all the ways it shows strength and family and support. Reign. Wow.
Peace,
Sarah
Anna, I don’t remember hearing this about your dear mother. Thank you for sharing what she went through, and the strength with which she handled it. She was strong and built a strong family through it all. I think the title you chose is so very appropriate. “…Still Tall”, even sitting in her chair. Her “back was cracked, / But not her spirit” is such a testimony.
Anna,
Your poem shares how we do not stop or give up, regardless of the circumstance. This line,”The fall took her down but our futures it did not rob,” shares the achievement regardless.
Sarah, your prompt made m think about a fresh start coming up. It challenged me, worked on my first draft.
New City
Heart beats
To new sounds,
Not an explorer
But a beginner
This challenge
Needed
Will be mustered
With all thy might
To be exposed to
New celebrations, chants
Spices, dances
A new face on the block
In the vast expanse
Determined
To learn and ‘be learned’.
Juliette,
Thank you for sharing this fresh start, the seed or thread of what’s next in this poem.
The line that intrigues me and leaves me wanting a series of poems along your journey is this “New celebrations, chants/Spices, dances.” The phrasing is lovely.
Sarah
Juliette, wow! I am excited for you to go to this “New City.” You will be going through some things, and this poem does sound like a fresh and exciting start. I so love the end “Determined / To learn and ‘be learned'” Beautiful.
Your last line ” to learn and ‘be learned'” really stood out to me. Isn’t that so true when we move somewhere new- we have to learn so much but we also desire to connect with new people who will truly get to know us and all that we are. I hope your move contains many positives for you.
Sarah, thank you for sharing this challenge. I love the confidence in the last line of your poem, “stop, hand me my horn, and listen”
Perfect Pitch
I knew
better
before I
threw the
dog’s mislaid
toy across the
room underhanded
in the direction of
a box under the
mantle topped
by heirloom
pottery
Oh no. I love how you set up the action with the very first line “I knew / better,” but stop before describing the accidental destruction. Your short lines pull us along quickly and allow us to live in the moment when we’ve just done something that we know better than to have done and can see the bad result coming.
Katrina,
I am struck by the line breaks here, Katrina. The shape of your poem, the form following the subject in the ynderhanded move that toppled the heirloom pottery. No need to describe it or name it. We knew in the whitespace. Clever.
Sarah
Ahh! Katrina, you have captured what happened here with so few words, and saving the “topped / by heirloom / pottery” for the end just made it all the better with “I knew better…” Your pitch was and your poem is just perfect.
I love how you leave the last words, the ones that brought a smile to my lips followed by a gasp as the final word. Your word path – “knew better – mislaid – heirloom pottery” I enjoyed your story.
Thanks for the prompt, Sarah. Pushed me to write about a recent conversation with my mom.
And thanks for sharing your poem. Love the contrast between the pride of “a note soars surely into the desert” and “without my instrument they upset.” You capture both the narrator’s difficulty in dealing with Parkinson directly and also his difficulty in dealing with how it affects how others in his life see him.
Here’s my poem…
Good morning!
well you know
I hadn’t told anyone else yet
i dont want them to worry for nothing
especially your Aunt Iris
you know how she gets
so when Phil and Wanda and Betty were all over at the same time last night
I told them I’ll be seeing a radiologist
I said
you know your silly mom
trying to make them laugh
I said
something to add to my resume
are you thinking of getting a job?
my brother asked
I didn’t say,
up in heaven
Sharon,
Thank you for offering this conversation in poem form today, to trust us in witnessing this scene. Indeed the line breaks are the form that follows subject here with no need for italics or quotations. The breaks tell us who is speaking and allow us breaths in between.
Sarah
Sharon, the conversation is so powerful here. I feel like we get an intimate seat in the family with “Phil and Wanda and Betty…” mentioned. Thank you for sharing this, and it’s still recent. Prayers for positive outcomes.
Thank you, Denise. I appreciate that
Sharon, your poetry is courageous and brings us straight into your inner circle. I, too, pray for positive outcomes.
Thank you, Kim.
Sarah,
Leave it to a college professor to take our space to another level . . . it’s so helpful to look at how form influences shape and vice versa.
Clifton’s examples and the subtle changes really help one understand the effect of line breaks and word swaps.
Your poem captures the dreadful effects of Parkinson’s so well.
I took a snippet of the poem I wrote to show some of the formatting choices. The image is attached.
Thanks, Susan.
Some have been able to figure out how to get the form to work in these text boxes and others have figured out the screen shot and image upload. I am so grateful to everyone for the extra steps to share poetry today.
The white space is stunning here, and I tried to image the content before clicking on the image to read.
Wow. Fulcrum set off into the middle and then the $$$. This really does show how form follows subject in the splitting and divided. The gradual and progressive process toward the end tells it all, shows it all in those final four lines.
And, beyond or with the craft, I feel the grief here unfolding.
Sarah
Susan, wow. Thank you for sharing. You have so eloquently expressed how relationships can change. The house, as a point of hospitality, as the fulcrum of the dividing (becoming subtraction) is so powerfully described. The line breaks in these are so powerful, with the pauses after each line…
Susan, this hits home. I’ve been there, sorting it all out. This takes courage to go deep, and I’m in pure awe of the raw truth in these lines.
I wrote this 45 years ago – wow – I’ve asked people to decipher it and get the most unusual responses. It seems appropriate here.
A Master’s Touch
Nay, I say, keep the dogs at bay!
‘Tis not the howling of the wind
but rather the concert held within!
The piano whose voice it is that’s sent
is not to be faulted for the silence that’s rent
But rather the artist’s talent and poise
is what, instead, has created the noise.
‘Tis not the ship which throws you about,
but the waves beneath the bow to fault.
If the artist strokes the piano not,
and the ships flight upon the sea is stopped,
they are but instruments run aground
unable to give pleasure, movement or sound.
But with the right touch of a master’s hand
a piano can fly like a whole ragtime band!
Loved this! I reread it more than once to absorb all of the nuances. In the context of today’s post, it seems to me to contain elements of God, DNA, man, and nature vs. nurture. Was I close? XD
You are close! let’s just say it’s about man/woman and nature LOLOL
Judi, this poem does such a creative job of inspiring us to try. Often our students have talents that just need to be tapped. And being a part of this group provides ways to learn ways to teach and touch and maybe activate the mastery our students may still doubt that they have. Thanks for posting an old poem that still speaks loud and clear!
Sarah , you do such a fine homage to your family member facing that wicked demon. The sound of his horn rolling over the Arizona desert is visceral… it makes real the movement of loss that comes when he lays down the horn. You choked me up… reminded me of my fingers failing me and what is ahead for my guitar, my piano, and my painting. This is a brilliant prompt and one I will ponder as this day passes. One poem is a powerful gift. Thank you. Hugs, Susie
Thank you Sarah and Lucille for a challenging prompt! I wrote my poem in, what I call, a Septem-Undecim style (stanzas 2 up to seven lines, then back down to two)
Written in the Septem-Undecim style
Genetics
I am confused.
My dog didn’t die.
I am confused.
My life is okay,
my finances are in shape.
I am confused.
The clouds are
overhead,
ominous, threatening, foreboding.
I am confused.
The darkness envelops me and
there is no doorknob
with which to exit,
it is smothering my soul.
I am confused.
My friends have seen
the change in me
receding into my hermitage
with no cell phone
with no hope.
I am confused.
The ‘whys’ are endless
and without an echo
I am bereft sitting in
my morass of grey fog
I am confused.
My fingerless hand reaching out
in the darkness
to find answers that don’t exist
I am confused.
My brain’s chemicals are
out of whack.
I am confused.
The blue pill made all the difference.
Judi, thank you for the vulnerability you demonstrate here. The imagery of these lines is powerful, “The darkness envelops me and/there is no doorknob/with which to exit.” Thank you for putting into words what to me was not darkness but a wave I could not hold back. Thank you for sharing the little blue pill of a poem.
humor
a sixth sense to cope
short-term but visceral, often healing
yet as a receiver, tickled pain
distraught, savage jokery
figuring out wit versus offense takes
a comedy of errors
genetics, plus
One liners timed just
write
“wit versus offense” —there’s so much story packed in those three words! Love it.
Stefani your poem packs a punch! I loved the line “figuring out wit versus offense takes” – I completely understood this, coming from a long line of witty people. Thank you for your gift.
Oh, Stefani.
“Distraught, savage jokery” that is a line to hold onto.
Sarah
Stefani,
thanks for sharing this. I like how your poem captures both the benefits: “ a sixth sense to cope…often healing” and the downsides: “offense.” I liked the triumph of the ending: “One liners timed just
write.” Your spacing playfully mimics the requisite sense of timing to land the joke without (too much) offense and adds to the fun.
Oh, how I love your last line – those one liners timed just write are magical. I couldn’t agree more with wit versus offense and the figuring out of intent…..such truth.
Yes, Stefani! FACTS, as the kids say these days. And it’s so not easy some (most?) of the time, lol. And I love your write/right at the end!
Oh, Sarah — your poem was just beautiful! Your deft use of figurative language blew me away:
“your eyes drift to my hands today
without my instrument they upset
quiver like cymbals beneath our
conversations shaking your sympathies”
My poem for today comes on the heels of yet another 1 AM “wake-up call” from my wide-awake brain…the cause follows:
“Liminality”
Doctor, doctor–please believe me
Having symptoms, please relieve me–
Joints are swelling, mind forgetful–
Overwhelmed and feeling fretful.
Need relief, need understanding–
Balance off, with trouble landing–
Agitated, scratchy moods–
Mid-life crisis trouble brews.
Achy breasts occur in cycles–
Pain at work is always stifled–
What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger–
A motto that could not feel wronger.
Pain at morning, pain at night–
Feeling more inclined to fight–
Early bedtimes, so exhausted–
Sweaty flashes leave me frosted.
At the window, pits exposed–
Soaking through my layers of clothes–
Up at night, to pee again–
Wondering will this ever end–
What’s the reason? What’s the cause?
Doc shrugs, “Hey. It’s menopause.”
Wendy, the rhyme somehow provides a jovial juxtaposition with pain. Thank you for sharing this experience in this and good luck sleeping tonight.
Stefani,
You put words to what I was feeling from the poem . . . the jovial juxtaposition with pain. That’s perfect..
Oh, I wish I didn’t laugh…but I did on the last word. It’s true. All of it!
Wendy,
This scene resonates. The “Pain at morning, pain at night” and the dashes you use throughout signal abrupt shifts that may just give it the name meno PAUSE. The pauses are not very long though, are they?
Sarah
Wendi, you’ve somehow taken an aggravating experience and made it lighter, both through humor and rhyme and through the title (liminality), which is such a beautiful word for transitioning spaces, one that makes me want to sit inside of it – maybe our narrative needs flipping and we need to look at the beauty of the experience (though, that’s a hard request).
Excellent! Totally hits the target with humor and rhyme! Very impressive!
Oh, Wendy! This needs to be shared widely so others can feel comfort in knowing they are not alone. You capture so many of the achy, ouchy, miserable aspects of menopausal life. A nd then the shrugging doctor belittling it.
Every bit of this is just so good, but I especially love the clever purposeful breaking of English “rules” in these lines:
Thanks, Susan! I have to qualify this poem by saying that my doc has been really great through this period in my life (although to some extent, he has given me a variation of that last line sometimes). 🙂
Wendy, your humor and rhyme scheme makes it safe to say, “Welcome to the club. Our open arms greet you warmly. Here, let me pour you a glass of ice water.” You’ve covered it all here, friend. The sweats, the wakefulness…..the whole body pains, especially the menopausal hip bursitis. Such truth here in your lines today. I laugh and cry along with you.
Haha! Thanks, Kim, for the warm welcome! 😆❤️
Wendy, this is brilliant! I’m sitting here with a checklist and thinking of my wife, going yep, yep, uh-huh, yep, this checks out! And I love your reaction to the Nietzsche platitude: it’s obvious that that guy has never suffered through menopause.
oooh. That was fun. Thanks for the prompt and the Lucille Clifton craft words. Your poem had me at German silver…I was thinking of my flute. Music therapy is so mysterious and yet so amazingly real. I love how that is my first thought at the end of your poem, Sarah.
Sticking with the arts…
Focus
an inside voice
commands
me, my brush the canvas
all in hesitation
before my next stroke.
This next color
new newer than the rest.
cannot deny notice
to such high skylark song
outside this window.
Linda, I reread this a few times to let all of the beautiful imagery sink in. I love the sense of synesthesia that it gives.
Linda, I’d love to see some of your artwork, share if you are willing! Your line, ” cannot deny notice” pulls out the need for observing all corners of life. Thank you for sharing.
Linda, this new color that can’t deny notice to skylark song is a lovely way to see the music, hear the birdsong, feel the warmth of sky and breeze of wind. This makes me think of paint colors – skylark song, inside voice, window, canvas. I love each of those words and see them in the brush colors.
Sarah, the form that follows subject is something I need to work on, and this is timely. It’s interesting – today would have been Mom’s 81st birthday, so I’ve been thinking about form to fit this day, but I don’t normally think of subject and then form. Your prompt and her birthday have me thinking about why I don’t do this more often, as I usually choose my favorite form and then find a subject. Nice twist, and your poem also spoke to my heart – – my mother struggled with Parkinson’s just as your family member. Blessings, Sarah, and thank you for investing in us as writers today. I broke the Ghazal form, relaxing rules and breaking lines all through the process.
Shaping Future Tense
when nothing else
made any sense
when family strangers
made you tense
your lap unfolded
picture books
that tore down
every guarded fence
great grandson’s
heart and mind you shaped
each page
a moment so immense
your fingers curled
his eyes unfurled
his focus on you
so intense
when nothing else
made any sense
picture books
wrote future tense
Oh, Kim, this was so lovely! It brought tears to my eyes. I love the the last stanza, especially and how you used “tense,” echoing your earlier use. The imagery was so crisp and your feelings so raw: Happy posthumous birthday to your mom, and I hope that you’re doing okay today. <3
Kim, I enjoy the generational connection here and thinking/feeling of how pictures provide so much comfort. Thank you for sharing.
This poem took me right back to a very specific time and place. Different…but all so familiar. Thank you.
Kim, isn’t it interesting what stepping just outside of the lines of form creates! Your words unfold like a picture book and I read, just as rapt as the child upon your mom, along with the rhythm and rhyme that felt so like a book. That last stanza is perfection!
Perfect! Wow – Kim, this is such a strong message delivered by picture books. I love the term “future tense.” to describe what must indeed go on.
My dear daddy’s heavenly birthday was this past Friday, so I can relate to the complex emotions of today.
This form works so well with the thread of rhyme. I am so touched by how the reaching back to picture books helped her deal with the confusion of the situation. The past, the present helping to shape the future.
As always, your work is beautiful!
Oh, Kim, I love so much your broken Ghazal form.
This is so powerful that her great grandson got to spend this time with her.
I will always carry special memories from my childhood when my mother read to me and when I practiced reading to my mother. Your poem brought back those powerful memories. Picture books are truly gifts as is your poem today. Thank you!
Sarah, this is such a heartfelt prompt, to place yourself into the weak arms of someone else is vulnerable. Your poem makes me feel the tremors.
My poem is found in my texts from a friend whose grandson has been in the NICU since his birth 3 weeks ago. She sends text updates. I can’t imagine how hard their struggle is.
Text Updates
Born of a daughter
a son
6lb. 15 oz.
breathing too fast
fluid needs to clear
Doctors say immature
weak
Oxygen pumped
into his tiny lungs
Doses of diuretic
Fever out of nowhere
Thoughts of improvement
health home
Keep prayers coming.
Magaret, these line breaks catch me right in the first two lines
born of a daughter
a son
And the title tells the feel, the updates as texts do,
the coming together of hope and prayer
the feeling of being in the woods looking for the way out. My prayers are with your friend as her heart beats for her daughter and grandson in this time of struggle.
Margaret,
Sending prayers! It was inspired to craft this poem out of text messages. Hope that everything goes well for your friend and their grandson. <3
Oh…this is true and happening now. I’m so sorry. What a fight. Keep fighting little guy! My prayers are with you. I agree that the way this poem opens is like a legend…”Born of a daughter/a son.” Wonderful.
Margaret, there’s something about the form (line breaks) and the found choice (text updates, which are also a break in sentencing) and the struggle for life (breathing too fast and fever) that combines to feel ever so heartbreaking. Sending prayers and extra hugs to all.
Wow, Margaret, WOW! I can feel the fear and uncertainty in your words – it just grips you, “Fever out of nowhere” brilliant.
Margaret, the form of your poem is so fitting to the theme. With urgency I read breathlessly until I got to “health home…” Prayers, yes, prayers.
My prayers are coming, Margaret. This is so heartbreaking – so young, so vulnerable. You have crafted that ominous, helpless feeling perfectly. Time for prayers.
Margaret,
This poem and its structure really capture the angst of dealing with this fragile life and how it ripples out to others who love and support those affected.
I pray that you will at some point be able to gift this poem to the child or your friend as evidence of what that baby overcame.
Thanks, Sarah. This prompt brought me back to something that happened recently but I won’t give any more details, out of privacy concerns.
Kevin
Something
in the brain broke
in the middle
of a line –
one second,
we knew it;
the next,
we did not –
their words
bent suddenly
into a long breath
of gibberish –
like speaking
in tongues –
And something
like that, Lord?
Something like
that, in someone
so young?
Kevin, my father died from a stroke two years ago. I was not there when the words failed, but he never spoke again. Your final stanza, though, gets me “someone so young?”
Oh, my goodness…that question at the end that has to be repeated because of the angst. That’s what gets me.
Kevin, this brings back the day the news reporter had this happen on live television in front of thousands of viewers. What scary moments, what fears and uncertainties. I’m thinking of the ones experiencing this, whoever they are, that they get some answers and that everything turns out on a positive note. That you end on a question mark is powerful here.
Kevin,
The juxtaposition of the idea of joyful religious fervor with despair was so powerful and effective here.
Kevin, the form of this poem, sitting next to the person, is especially impactful. And the placement of the ? at the end, gives me pause to consider if they were so young or old enough yet still young enough. Powerful poem.
Such beauty, confusion, and sadness inside your lines. “Their words bent suddenly into a long breath of gibberish -” hit me in the gut.
Kevin, like Kim (in the comments here), my mind went to the young news reporter who experienced a crisis while reporting on live TV. In fact, it happens more often than we know, I am sure. As evidenced in your use of “something and someone,” it could happen to anyone.
Kevin – your poem is so clear – describes a stroke so accurately. I was with my father when he suffered a stroke. He recovered and is still living at soon-to-be 98. But what a devastating thing to happen and to happen to someone who is so young.
Ahhhh, man, this hits hard. My ex-brother in law is suffering the side effects of two strokes and then just lost his wife to cancer. I’m feeling this in my soul because I had no idea about his strokes until he left me a voicemail that I’ll never ever forget the sound of.
So succinct and so powerful, Kevin! Thank you for crafting this!
Kevin — Uff…this is so stunning…that break…it just breaks my heart to think of “someone/so young” … The short line breaks are perfect here. I’m glad you shared this today…our lives are so fragile sometimes I forget how fragile. Thank you. Susie
Sarah, I am struck by the sound (and lack of) which carries throughout your words, even creating the word symphonies where sympathies lies. There is as much said in the words as in the spaces between them, reflecting the conversation. Thank you for offering a thought-provoking prompt today.
morning salvo
my soul is rain
leaking droplets across
this paper
my words skim surfaces
my thoughts drop anchors
plunging bottomless depths
unable to find purchase
These are powerful lines, Jennifer, and the first one is a doozy.
Kevin
“my soul is rain” is such a loving line.
“my soul is rain” is such a beautiful first line. Wow.
Jennifer, your soul being rain is a metaphor that can truly be felt at times, the droplets leaving the bigger part and pooling out in fragments. Wow. Such rich feeling that can be felt and known.
Jennifer,
Your words found purchase! Love the connotation of “salvo” here and the conflict it heralds in your poem. Here’s to healing.
Your metaphor is perfect – soul is rain. And – my thoughts drop anchors. Yes, you describe this situation so well. Good choice of title too – morning salvo.
My goodness!! Jennifer, this poem is EVERYTHING!
my soul is rain…….
That could be the title of a book of your poetry. Love, love, love!
Jennifer — You always pull out such perfect words… a “salvo”…yes. The whole act of getting ourselves down on paper is so complicated…”unable to find purchase”…yes, that I know way too well. Hugs, Susie