Look Up with Chiara Hemsley
Welcome to Day 3 of the March Open Write. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on, if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poems in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. Click here for more information on the Open Write.
Chiara Hemsley is a graduate student at Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, MI and hopes to become an upper-elementary teacher. She loves to teach science and social studies and is a geography nerd. She loves to travel and has dragged her family all over Europe looking for the world’s perfect castle. She speaks Italian, but, to her dismay, not well enough to pass for a local!
Inspiration
When I lived briefly in China, 20 years ago, I never left home without my phrasebook. It was my lifeline. I looked up words and phrases and questions and responses and (barely) communicated.
The other day, as I was driving, I looked up and saw cotton-candy clouds, pink and pale blue, like pillows in the sky. I breathed deeply and marveled at the beauty in this late-winter sky.
I remember being 8 years old and walking the streets of Italy with my grandmother, her hand gripping mine so tightly. I looked up, took notice of her hair done just so, her dress perfectly pressed, her voice so musical as she described to me where she lived when she was young, and felt safe and loved.
Process
Write a free verse poem from one of these options:
- Go outside and look up! What do you see? What inspires you? How do you feel? What memories are sparked?! I found this poem by Nancy Willard to fit this theme.
- Go inside and look up! What are you surrounded by at home, school, or work?
- Think about a person you look up to. What do you see when you look at that person, either now or in your mind’s eye?
- Recall a time when you had to look up a word or a phrase. What was that moment? What was the word?
Chiara’s Poem
Carla
Is short for Carolina
Did you know?
I didn’t until she died
and the prayer card arrived, long after
in an envelope with many stamps
Carolina
was Nonna to me
I looked up to her
even after I was tall enough
to see eye to eye
and saw, always
poise and perfection
reservedness and religiosity
tenderness and trepidation
don’t fall, don’t run, don’t let go of my hand!
Nonna
sister, mother, daughter, aunt
adored storyteller
who wrote in musical, even script
gentle, kind advice
in letters on translucent paper
that arrived, long after
in envelopes with many stamps
Chiara Hemsley
February 28, 2022
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.
Will you participate in #VerseLove 2022?
April is National Poetry Month. The Ethical ELA community creates a celebration of all that poetry does for our hearts and minds by offering daily writing inspiration and a supportive space to discover what happens when we write poetry all month long.
Brown
I look up and see you–
stretching up on toes
to get closer to you.
Closer to your eyes
that have me
questioning, reeling.
How can eyes create
this deep a feeling
in my bones.
My eyes are brown too.
Do mine cause you
to stumble about?
Are we both love-drunk?
Or is it because I am
looking up?
Sydney, thank you for your poem about those wonderful days in the start of a relationship, where reading thoughts in each other’s eyes is such a common occurrence. You have captured this moment so eloquently.
On the way up
to take in the sky,
my eyes notice
the Great Blue Heron,
a floating apparition
shadowed by cloud
on its way towards water
Kevin
Kevin, we have a Great Blue Heron who frequents our pond. What a noble creature to write about. Thank you for your poem. I love the line: “a floating apparition.”
An elephant? Or a manatee?
So early for a soccer game
The last one of the season
In which my son’s team was consistently trampled
The car ride home, another loss.
The mood was tired
Maybe a little heavy, downtrodden
But my son, the soccer player himself
Suddenly had eyes only for the odd shaped clouds
Viewed from our car window
“Look at that one mom
An elephant? Or a manatee? What do you think?”
We played this game all the way home.
My son reminded me that day that
Sometimes a loss is just a loss
Leading to a reminder of what else there is.
And sometimes you must look up to see it.
Merry, the message of your poem struck close to home; my son is a soccer player and has had seasons like the one you describe. Sometimes, the parents take it worse than the kids. What a lovely reminder from your son to look up and outside the immediate. Thanks for sharing!
In March of 2020, we moved my parents out of their care center and sheltered them on the lower level of our house until I returned to school in the fall. Sometimes I’d glance out my kitchen window and see this:
Translucent spheres rise
on spring’s updraft. My parents
are blowing bubbles.
Allison,
What a sweet image of your parents. Bubbles never lose their magic! I love the phrase “on spring’s updraft.”
Thanks for sharing!
What a treat! Oh, my, I need to get some bubbles. That is so precious.
Love, love this.
With each swing of the
hammer, I have more respect
for carpenters and
painters and builders.
I would much rather stop and
look up at that sky.
It’s so difficult to stop and consider the labor that is endured in the beautiful things we enjoy. Thank you for sharing!
Love this photo. I have so much appreciation for skilled workers. They create poetry w/ their gifts. Fun poem, Denise.
Denise,
It’s a wonder they get anything done at all with skies like those! Thanks for sharing this!
Chiara — I adore the poem you wrote about Nonna. It inspired me to write about someone I admire and look up to as well, however, the words weren’t coming to me today. I will save the delicious prompt for another time. I went with a more… concrete construction for this poem. I simply jotted down everything I “looked up” on the internet today.
Today’s Activities As Told Through My Google Search History:
What is a 1099-INT?
How often do you pay for car registration in Oregon?
Where can I find the account number on checks?
Why are taxes so complicated?
Where can I find waste water COVID-19 data for Oregon?
How do you hang up string lights on pergola?
What should I make for dinner?
How long does it take to hard boil eggs?
What are the best restaurants nearby?
Who makes the best pizza with the fastest delivery time in Albany?
What is the definition of susurrus?
Yes, a bit of humor for sure! What a great idea for a poem. I particularly like the progression from what should I make for dinner, to who makes the best pizza with fastest delivery time!
Rachelle,
So…you did your taxes, did you? Such fun, isn’t it? I love this. I shudder to think what my search history would show, but I love how yours shows a productive day filled with activities both necessary, fun, and curious.
Rachelle,
I see you either did your taxes today or were preparing to do them. So much fun!!! Now I want to know the answer you received for “Why are taxes so hard?” I have asked that before and I haven’t like the answer.
My search today was the cast of a movie we watched last night and Covid-19 County Positivity Rates for Oregon. Yours make a much better poem.
Rachelle,
You and I both have “What is the definition of susurrus?” in our search history! I love what you decided to do with this. I never would’ve imagined how revealing and interesting a search history can be. What did you make for dinner??
?
Rachelle, this was very funny! I love the “Why are taxes so complicated?” question. That took me by surprise, amid the other “Where,” “How,” and “What” questions. (And I rather like the word “susurrus” by I try not to say it too loudly. Lol.)
Fun! Wouldn’t it be interesting for everyone to write this poem? I was just wondering what I’ve searched for today. We really get to see a snippet of your day. I hope dinner was great!
This is so cool; I must try this!! Thanks for the idea!!!
I’m sorry you had your taxes to do 🙁 We, too, ordered pizza tonight! And I learned a new word because I had to look up the susurrus definition haha!
Excellent piece!
Rachelle ,
Love love love this poem! Did you have a good pizza? I need to try this sometime; mine would be a wacky combination of questions. What did we ever do without Google?
Thanks for your kind words and for your response!
Oh, Chiara, how I love your poem. I read it this morning before work and had to wait until this evening to comment and write mine.
I love your Nonna and I’m sure she’s with you, still keeping you “safe and loved.” My favorite lines:
I am embracing them like they were right here in front of me.
Thank you for the inspiration to Look Up! I took a picture the other day and shared on social media how I love when the sky wants attention. I decided to write two haiku poems.
Crossing
Blue sky’s wispy clouds
Souls crossing into Heaven
Loved ones beckoning
Floating on winds’ wings
Dandelion sky dancers
Our wishes on high
© Stacey L. Joy, 3/21/22
Stacey, this is beautiful! And your picture compliments your poems so well. Thanks for Looking Up!
Stacey, what a beautiful sky. I love the line “Floating on winds’ wings”–that picture looks exactly like winds’ wings to me. Beautiful.
Stacey, this is beautiful. I’m looking at the sky in memory of those who have passed on today.
Stacey,
Thank you for sharing this uplifting poem with us. I can just see the loved ones peeking out from behind these wispy, wonderful clouds.
Chiara, I am beside myself at how utterly cool this prompt is! This is one to put into the regular journal prompt rotation. So many possibilities. For today, life directed me to this American Sentence:
Looking up I see as the crow flies cutting across the power lines.
Thank you so much Denise! It was really fun to write the prompt and host today’s Open Write. I am glad you found inspiration today!
Chiara, your Nonna sounds like such a dear. I know you treasure those letters from her; I love your description, “who wrote in musical, even script” – so many memories written within, I am sure.
looking up
looking up, looking down
run the trail pound pound pound
roots rocks leave me facedown
don’t step in squishy brown
look, there, what’s that sound?
makes my head jerk around
every run I have found
my head spins round and round
each look up, thrice look down
quick glimpse when sound confounds
oooh that bird, she astounds
bright feathers, pretty crown
careful as feet hit ground
whoooo moves like owl now?
watching all that surrounds
looking up, I am so wowed
shadows dance, sun abounds
precious light bursts through clouds
I leave home wearing frown
breathe nature so endowed
joy returns, knows no bounds
Maureen, I don’t run, but this is how I feel when I’m out in the woods taking pictures with my camera!
Maureen, my sister and my neighbor have been trying to get me to run with them for years and I tell you, I have never been so close to putting on my running shoes as I am now, having just read your delightful poem! Thank you for inviting us along as you run through the woods.
Maureen, what a fun poem, and from the get-go, I can hear the running. You started it with a bang:
“looking up, looking down
run the trail pound pound pound”
and the poem continued with that pound pound pound throughout. Well done!
I didn’t know there were so many /ou/ words, and look how you worked them all in.
My tía is a runner; I think she’d also love your poem. Gorgeous descriptions! I love, love “whoooo moves like owl now?” Thank you for sharing this creative piece!
Maureen, this is amazing. I love the cadence. Love the onomatopoeia words. It really is such a wonderful celebration of nature and physical movement.
Excellent poem – I enjoyed the beat and rhyme of your lyrics! ” sound confounds!” makes me want to run 🙂
Thanks for this opportunity to write about women I grew up looking up to.
When I was younger,
My Mom had a fascinating group of
sisterfriends and being an only child and very observant,
I watched, eavesdropped, absorbed, and learned.
Sally,
planned tennis, got divorced from a momma’s boy very early on,
raised two kids, was an amazing cook, had a biting tongue and
had a not-so-secret affair with my uncle for 20+ years
Ellie,
raised seven kids with her police officer husband, was an officer herself,
kept her children out of jail and somehow kept them all fed.
She didn’t have time for frills, somehow bought her dream house,
and hosted Mother’s day brunches for twenty years
Lily was wealthy, had a heart of gold and was the queen at church. She took care of everyone’s child and pretended not to notice that her husband used their sailing
vessel as a motel room. There was a confrontation, a separation then a reconciliation.
Rose could cook and made the best southern food on the planet. She left her southern roots, six siblings, an abusive husband and moved to LA with her son and teaching certificate. She taught, cooked, made many friends and made extra money talking “dirty” on the phone at night when her son was asleep.
I learned from these women that we’re human, we love, make mistakes, have strength, fortitude and that we have to use our voice. I also appreciated how they supported each other, laughed, drank, danced, listened to music with racy lyrics, argued, reconciled, and loved. There ae several other remarkable ladies but these stand out and made an everlasting impression in my life.
By Seana H. Wright
March 2022
I absolutely love that you are celebrating your Mom’s “sisterfriends” – how fun it must have been to sit back and observe, listen, devour. I love this line so much – “I also appreciated how they supported each other, laughed, drank, danced, listened to music with racy lyrics, argued, reconciled, and loved.” Beautiful!
Seana,
Thank you for these memories and images of the strong and resilient women in your life. It’s so true that in any true friendship there will be time for laughing, dancing, arguing and reconciling.
Hello Seana! I think you’ve got the start of a novel here! I was glued to this once I started reading each. You captured the essence of these lives so adeptly and it feels complete as a poetic work, but my curiosity has me wanting to read more about these intertwined lives. Your style is smooth and somewhat sing-songy. I’ve heard that term before, but this is the first time I have felt like I just read it – ! There’s something about the flow of your voice that brings me along. This image struck me: “and moved to LA with her son and teaching certificate.” Such fortitude and determination. Thank you for this!
I love the prompt, and so many things came to mind! But the one that jumped from me first was my favorite summer time activity when I can enjoy looking up to the heavens, and just lose myself.
Floating
Floating
Beneath a soft blue sky
Decorated with stretched out balls of cotton
Gazing upward into azure infinity
Cool fingers of sparkling water
Lapping and teasing
All around my languid body
Blazing rays
Of a hot, relentless summer sun
Pounding and pounding
Melting
Every trace of coherency
Inside the busy tunnels
of my random thoughts
Eyes fluttering into oblivion
Welcoming serenity
Time is no more
This
Is
Summer bliss.
This poem is summer bliss! Yes, floating – what a divine sensation, I think! “Eyes fluttering into oblivion” – this is the stuff of memories!
Kathy,
Now I can’t wait for summer, and spring has only just begun! Thank you for bringing me there, if only momentarily, through your vivid poem. I loved the phrase, “Cool fingers of sparkling water.” It brought me instantly back to floating in my childhood pool for so many summers, feeling the water just below.
Melting
Every trace of coherency
Inside the busy tunnels
of my random thoughts
I need to be in that moment! It’s been a long cruel lonely winter – as someone once said… Love the imagery here that captures that summer feeling, not just the sensory feeling of the heat, but how it lazes our brain into that exact serenity that no other season offers; no other experience offers. The only thing missing is the ice cream! Thanks for this sneak peek of what we all seem to be waiting for!
I love that hot/cold combination of sweltering under the sun on top, cool water underneath. You captured this beautifully!
Chiara, what a lovely tribute to your Nonna. The idea of letters coming after her death is especially moving. Love the detail about the many stamps that helps show the distance they have traveled. I have a zoom meeting soon and just squeezed in a few moments to try to capture what I can see from my dining room table.
Quiet Sky before the Rain
ancient bare branches stretch graceful arms
towards the barely-there sun
shyly peaking through the gauzy gray sky
day’s quiet end offers time to reflect
before the rain
Barb Edler
21 March 2022
I love the way the sky looks just before the rain, and you have captured its beauty here, in these five sweet lines. This time of year, before the trees have greened with leaves, it always seems to me that their branches are reaching up – I love how you captured this image, “…stretch graceful arms/towards the barely-there sun.”
Barb, if you just squeezed that out in a few moments, I would love to read more of your poems when you have time to ponder and edit! What a lovely poem filled with color, texture, sound, and emotion. Thank you for sharing.
Barb, This is so meditative and comforting. Beautiful.
I am a sucker for anything tree branches. This past winter (still here, I guess), I have all the more determined that bare branches against the sky are one of my favorite patterns in nature. I have been so fascinated by them, and now, by how others see and relate to them in words and images. And what a lovely lovely moment to have before heading into zoomdoom. Thank you, Barb!
Yesterday got away from me, so I’m writing this morning and found you! <3
I like how your poem honors a pre-rain sky. So often we see a dark sky as dreary at best, threatening at worst. You remind me that the “barely-there sun” is offering a shy invitation to pause. Lovely.
Chiara, So nice to meet you and Nonna. I am writing a verse novel and my main character is “Chiara”. I liked the name, but I recently found out it is Italian. I love imagining you and Nonna walking together in Italy.
The sky had an ominous feeling today. I took a photo from my car.
Ominous Sky
Like rolling hills of snow
or foam capped ocean waves,
clouds billow and bow,
rock and ride along the skyline.
Waving wind warning of storms to come–
look up!
Ooooh, Margaret, I love how you tied in “look up” into your poem. The simile here is stunning. I can feel the threat of this oncoming storm. Gorgeous!
Gorgeous images, Margaret – the breathtaking, ominous beauty of the sea before a storm.
Clouds like “foam capped ocean waves” – I can see this! Yes, an ominous sky!
Margaret, wow! I can tell you I haven’t seen my name much (maybe ever?) in English books, what a treat that will be!
Your poem reminded me of my dad, who lived on a sailboat for 5 years. He was constantly watching the sky, not having access to weather reports and radio while out at sea. I particularly loved the line, “Waving wind warning of storms to come – look up!”
Thank you for your poem and your reflection.
Like Barb, I loved the “look up!” command at the end. Yes, “look up” to heed the warning…but also not to miss the rolling hills, the “billow and bow,” and the (friendly!) waving of the wind! Lovely metaphors!
At The Grocery Store
Always with my head down
mask on my face
and pushing the cart
only stopping
to read labels on cans,
I heard a call
“look up!”
Now with my head up
a new world revealed itself
under rows and rows of flourescent lights.
My eyes opened wide
seeing murals depiciting wheat fields
a paper cut-out of a golfer
larger letters writing “Deli, Meat, Wine and Spirits”
that hung above
and kept company
with a line of balloons –
one of a basketball
another in the shape of a carrot.
Then above the freezers
were rows of plastic chairs,
a bar-b-que and an inflated palm tree.
Cut-outs of four-foot soda cans
lined the walls
beneath a row of mirrored windows
of one way glass
where eyes on the other side
checked my movement.
Then I noticed an ominous camera
watching my every move.
My comfort level changed.
I wondered why
this advertising domain,
a fantasy world of wishes
sold to those that notice
had never been observed by me.
I returned to pushing the cart
glad I had not earlier discovered
what was just above my head.
Susan, I was completely pulled into your narrative. Your detailed description is intriguing. I can understand your shift in mood when you see the “ominous camera”. Love how your poem flows and captures this moment of discovery. I keep wondering about what the carrot was supposed to represent…sounds like a crazy kind of display.
Susan, I know exactly the type of displays you are describing! So loud! “Buy me! You need this! Don’t forget that!” The camera watching was a creepy addition to the story. Can we go anywhere anymore without being watched?
These mask-wearing-moments are something we have all become so normalized to (well, those of us who wear/wore them), that it is funny now to “look up” when we are so used to hunkering into our coverings. We got so used to being distanced and looking away, and the grocery store is such a minefield, I would likewise just bundle up, mask up, tuck in, getinandgetout. Yet, this visual disruption to all of that does hint with a shout that the world keeps on ticking, and the ‘normal’ we once knew is waiting to return. It can be jarring, but also, I found a bit of comfort in this, oddly enough. Nice to know the surveillance state is alive and well, eh?
A poem, really, to myself as I consider the distractions I allow myself to be sucked into. A simple reminder..
Look up
from your phone
from your to-do list
from your chores
from your planner
from your busyness
to notice
his laughter
his dimples
to listen to
his jumbled words
his shrill cries
to look at
his funny faces
his curious eyes
Look up
or you will miss it
Look up
or you will regret it
Look up
because nothing else matters
Britt,
This is so apt in our oversaturated world of tech! I am grateful that the tech flood was just starting when my sons were little. Your poem beautifully points out the ephemeral joys of childhood that you can’t hold onto or even remember if you don’t seize the moments. Wonderful! 🙂
Britt,
asuch a wonderful commentary on parenting.
Oh and how rewarding it is not to miss this face! I have a 7 mos old great niece and such an enjoyable time. One must look up and interact and know that nothing else matters because it is so fun!
His jumbled words, his dimples, no, you don’t want to miss any of it.
Britt, yes, I love how you develop this poem. Your end says it all. Love the stanzas that describe your son’s laughter, etc. Touching poem and a wonderful reminder not to miss what really counts. Absolutely love your poem!
Britt,
I enjoyed this poem so much! You’re reminding me of when my daughters were young and I would remind myself to enjoy their moments. Your words, ” his laughter, his dimples, his shrill cries, his curious eyes…” just took me back. Thank you for the memories and you’re so right, nothing else matters. We need reminders to put our phones down and enjoy life.
Britt, thank you for this reminder! I am embarrassed to say that my kids have taken my phone out of my hands more than a few times in order to get my attention. I definitely regret those moments as well as all the ones I missed!
Britt, please share this with every parent of young children! I love that you started off with all the things that we all focus our attention on TOO MUCH and then shift to the beautiful little one who deserves 100% of your time and attention. I hope more parents begin to do this…
?
Looking Up
Wait a few minutes everyone says–
the weather will change.
And it does.
The clouds will pass
or move in
or rain
or snow
or create fanciful sculptures in the sky.
The sun will shine
with a fiery heat
or a gentle warmth
or as the rain falls
or enough to restore my faith in life.
Living in a place with fickle weather
should be frustrating,
unpredictable,
or just plain annoying,
but it is anything but.
Give me the ever changing weather
of my beloved Oregon
with the green fields,
verdant forests,
spring explosions of daffodils,
and mossy expanses.
I am home.
Cara, I thought you were describing Michigan until you mentioned Oregon! This poem spoke to my soul; the variety and the unpredictability of the weather are comforting. I would love to visit Oregon someday to see these “mossy expanses!”
Cara, this is gorgeous. I have always wanted to visit Oregon – here’s to crossing paths one day!
In Houston, it’s basically….just always hot. Yuck. I think I’d enjoy the ever changing weather.
Love your description of Oregon. “Spring explosions of daffodils” sound lovely.
Gorgeous descriptions, and a solid reminder of life’s difficulties passing / changing as quickly as the Oregon weather. Since moving here, I have definitely just accepted walking while it rains as a fact–I’m always prepared now! Thank you for sharing this!
An ode to Oregon! I love the spring weather in Oregon too! Just today I gathered a lonesome and overlooked “explosion of daffodils,” a phrase which will now come to mind every time I pass them on the dining room table.
Cara,
You totally speak the truth. Just wait the weather will change. I personally love green fields and verdant forests. Thank you for sharing today.
Cara, I adore this:
That is the essence of acceptance and the gift of being present!
Inspired by looking up at art.
After Viewing “The Language of Revolution, Index”
governed
hands raised in
symbolic syntax;
the tyranny of
untaken photographs ;
politically invisible
worker
singing with strangers;
a civil language
barricades
media coverage;
confrontation
brings smoke;
we two side
supply water
watchward in
stylized moves.
—Glenda Funk
Hopefully, you’ll see an image of the art on which I based this found poem.
Thanks Glenda for sharing this powerful found poem. I was able to see the image of the art that inspired it.
“The tyranny of / untaken photographs” really struck me as I read your poem. How much information do we miss due to secrecy or because no one is around to make what happens in forgotten corners of the world known to the rest of us?
So much power in these phrases, Glenda, especially in the way you have arranged them. Confrontation brings smoke, a civil language barricades media coverage – the poet is a sage!!
Glenda, your words create a powerful scene of revolt. I love your word choice, short commanding lines, and message. I thought the “politically invisible/worker” was especially provocative. Awesome poem!
Thank you for sharing the art your found poem was taken from. Good format for that index.
There are some interesting phrases:
“governed
hands”
“the tyranny of
untaken photographs”
And
“confrontation
brings smoke”
Enjoy Europe!
Thank you, Chiara, for the invitation to write with you. What an opportunity to put into words a dream my husband had of my Mom!
Skating Again!
Mom had been a lively teen
Roller skating. Ah, she was the queen!
Outdoors or indoors, you’d see what I mean
On roller skates she was a sight to be seen!
I never really saw her skate
For that story I had to wait.
You see she fell and broke her back
From then on mobility, she did lack.
Most of my life she was barely mobile
Even carrying and birthing her fourth child
Mom remained pretty much bed bound
Physically crippled, it was hard to get around.
But she reigned from the sofa, the chair, or the couch
Never a complainer, she seldom cried,” Ouch!”
Time to go shopping? She’d send me with the list
Pre-credit cards. “Hold the money tight in your fist!”.
She taught us four from her chair, like a throne.
She read a lot and talked to friends on the phone.
She watched, she sewed, report cards she saved.
Butter pecan ice cream and avocados she craved.
She could have given up after she’d fallen down
She could have been grumpy and known for her frown
But somehow her positive stance
Made it seem like she could dance
And that’s what she’s probably doing now
Near those pearly gates … twirling on roller skates.
Anna,
Thanks so much for sharing these memories of your mom. She sounds like she was a wonderful force in your life. I loved your lines in the last stanza:
“She could have given up after she’d fallen down
She could have been grumpy and known for her frown
But somehow her positive stance
Made it seem like she could dance”
Her attitude about life is inspirational.
Anna, what a fun mom you had! I love her description and knowing a little more about your family. I can relate to her because I recently tried rollerskating with my granddaughter. After all, a few years younger and I was a roller queen, too. But this time I fell on my rump. That’s that last of that endeavor! I am grateful that nothing as severe as what happened to your momma has happened to me.
Susan, I didn’t learn WHY she was bedridden for so long until I came home for a roller skating parting bragging about how long I played “Crack the Whip!” She nearly jumped out of the bed, screeching, “How do you think I broke my back!”
We’d been told she stepped on a crack. That’s why I avoid stepping on cracks to this day! .
The ditty was, “Step on a crack, and you’ll break your Mother’s back”. I thought that was true!
Well, Anna, after I’m done wiping away my tears…This is so goshdarn beautiful. Moving from such a joyful emotion to a tragedy, but then to such strength and love and stability. I feel a sense of appreciation being able to get to know her through your words – and as well her children who grew up with a mother whom they knew had been hurt in some way. Everyone’s life experiences really are so different. Thank you for sharing this. It’s a story that will stay with me for a long time.
Thank you Chiara. I love your tribute to your grandmother. I used Nancy Willard’s poem and my morning walk to inspire my entry today.
Spring Arrives by Sky
I opened the window upon rising,
Let in the cold early morning breeze
To wash away the stale night air
Still reeking of remnants of my unsettling dreams.
A raucous chorus wafted in
Whistling, hooting, calling,
Filling the sky with song.
Hundreds, no, thousands, of tundra swans
Crying out to each other,
Resting along the lake’s edge
before their onward journey
North, to their summer home.
And with the swans,
Buffleheads and mergansers,
Canada geese,
And seagulls wheeling and diving
Into icy patches of dark water.
Distant clouds promise snow this evening
But spring has arrived,
Winging its way across northern skies
Announcing itself as it flies.
Your poem was uplifting and hopeful. I could hear the birds singing and honking and see them flying overhead. Hooray, spring is here! I loved your last stanza, particularly the lines, “But spring has arrived,/Winging its way across the northern skies/Announcing itself as it flies.’ Gorgeous!
Thank you for your response!
Ah! How jealous you make with this colorful descriptive poem. I can only imagine as a I read. But, I did find myself wanting to look up and shade my eyes to see if I could see what you saw. Thanks for the moments along with you on your walk.
Katighe,
I love the imagery of nature sweeping in and cleansing your home! How often we all should cleanse those niggling thoughts of the dark night with the bright cool air of morning. Lovely!
uP-nit Out-Git
What do I see?
No glimmer of rationality.
Sparked by the monstrosity
That lies in the mind of tyranny.
The blue sky shields me
From the disillusionment of humanity.
For the land is not ours,
Nor those with imaginary powers-
That initiate pain in their waking hour.
Let’s adorn the lad with a piercing shower.
Who owns that star that twinkles at night?
None of us, right?
Maybe I’ll just claim that red star for my own,
Like you claim land, for your crooked throne.
Innocent spirit amongst the ashes,
Innocent spirits become lashes,
Enforced by the greedy- for common dirt,
With no regard for all that you hurt.
Watch them flee from their homeland,
Shirtless cowboy- a real man!
Will you join your troops like Albert of Belgium?
Or hide behind the words you tell them?
So powerful in the tooth,
But easily forgetful when asked for the truth.
Just leave now and save this place,
Reach in your heart and find grace;
Let families rejoin and embrace.
The world has had enough of your sickled face.
As I stand barefoot in Georgia clay,
looking up in blue skies today,
My spirit prays for those far away
Today, I express what they fear to say.
For is my cloud their star?
Why was I born here and not where they are?
I am blessed by birth,
Or am I blessed by mother earth?
Questioning my dash of life,
As I try to rationalize another’s strife.
Looking up through sky blue,
Stargazer your spirit is me, and my spirit is you.
Though my dirt is red and your is brown,
Naturally, we look up so our hearts can be found!
So, through skies blue or dark,
We are far from each other but not far apart.
Connected as we look above,
Our world needs peace, we should send a dove.
-Boxer
Boxer — Loved, loved, loved this. Great rhythm, loved the couplets, loved the word choice!
How can we not write about this? You do so here so poignantly and poetically. Thank you.
Boxer, your poem brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for taking this prompt and considering how we all, no matter where we live, look up at the same sky: “Stargazer your spirit is me, and my spirit is you.”
Your line, “The world has had enough of your sickled face” was raw and spot-on.
Thank you for your response!
? thank you for a intriguing prompt.
Yes, Boxer, I concur with other writers. Though I could feel your distress at current, unfortunately, repeated evidence of tyranny, your poem also send out glimmers of hope because of the shared experiences of humans with nature. The lines of you closing stanza remind us that nature’s there to remind us that we just share the planet with others, whether we admit it or not.
Thank you
Boxer, this is the part that was in our sermon in church yesterday:
Why was I born here and not where they are?
The pastor had folks who were given a choice about where they were to be born raise their hands. He then said what you said –
The point was that we are, as you said, blessed by birth – – and we should reach out hands to help those who have it rough right now because we could be them. We aren’t better people. We are blessed people to live in a nation of freedom.
I so pray for peace. I so love your poem.
Wow that’s awesome!! Thank you
look,
kids these days
defiantly don’t
need dictionaries;
they have the
newfangled red
squiggles that
correct all of there
mistakes;
eye mean,
for all intensive
porpoises,
they shouldn’t
never make a
spelling
foe paw
again.
________________________________________________
Thank you, Chiara, for your mentor text. I really enjoyed the alliteration throughout but specifically in your second stanza: “poise and perfection / reservedness and religiosity / tenderness and trepidation.” And the repetition of “in envelopes with many stamps” bookends your piece so well! Now, I also enjoyed your prompt, but I have to say, it hit a bit close to home, Chiara, because I’m a terrible speller. Lol. It is the bane of my existence. I remember once creating a handout on sentence structure, which had the sentence “The lightening struck the top of the tree.” Several class periods went by before a student asked, “Is that how you spell lightning?” So then I had to edit the handout with another sentence trying to explain just how the pregnant woman made it up there.
BEST POEM EVER! Wickedly funny.
I LOVE IT!!!!
Hah! Love it!
“For all intensive / porpoises,” I LOVED your poem! Thank you for making me laugh out loud. I loved the word play. It hit so close to home for me, working with 5th graders every day!
Thank you for your reflection, and the funny story about the lightening!
I;’m giggling, but gwan beck to mai pome to sea if I maid the shame kine of missteaks.
LOL
Purely brilliant, Scott! Do I have your permission to hang in my classroom?
Absolutely! 🙂
Awesome! So often kids say, “But I did use spellcheck!” Yeah, but you didn’t READ it, too. Thanks for the giggle!
So funny! Eye mean, really. I also love porpoises!
Scott,
Excellent job!! I loved what you did there. It took me a minute to get it. Its Brilliant, thanks for the chuckle.
Scott!!!! This is my kind of poem! I love what you did here and I had to chuckle at the “intensive porpoises” and “foe paw” omg!! Brilliant!
Fires ravage crisp yellow grasses
Sun dried, wind whipped, and dead from winter
The weather channel sprays FIRE Danger across a screen
Ignites a technology frenzy of beeps and bells as cell phone apps
Dispatch the warning….
Fire sirens, smoke signals, and grannies in cars
Circle the town and country roads
Answering the crackling calls for help or gathering the latest
Landline gossip
Firefighters armored to fight
Wave hoses and SPRAY
The wind blows and flames chase
Leaving a blackened scarred path
Prayers for rain, safety, and help
Teleport upward higher than flames
The weather channel Sprays the message
Rain chances increase through-out the week
Early morning alarm screams my name
Up and dressed, coffee in hand
I tell the pups “ see you tonight”
Turn the knob
step out
Outside I LOOK UP
Clouds hide the light and the heaven speaks
Thunder announces
RAIN!
What a glorious ending! So much gloom and doom, met with an image of unfettered hope (that would, under traditional circumstances be incredibly foreboding). What a great turn.
Great ending. The pacing of the whole piece worked to inspire such a glorious sense of relief at the end!
Hooray! I don’t think I’ve ever wanted rain that much! I loved the ending of your poem. My husband’s family lives our West and this is such a testament to their experience every year, it seems.
I loved your stanzas:
“Prayers for rain, safety, and help
Teleport upward higher than flames
The weather channel Sprays the message
Rain chances increase through-out the week”
The imagery of the message being sprayed is so accurate.
Thanks for sharing!
Robin are you living in Southern California? We have the same worries about fire and wishes for rain during years of drought. I love it when I can look forward to when the weather channel says rain chances and I am enthralled when it really happens.
I live in SW Oklahoma and we have really been dry this year. The fires this past week have been numerous across the plains.
Chiara, this is a beautiful tribute and I love the prompt for today! All I have are distant memories of my grandparents. I wish I would’ve sat closer, lingered closer in the kitchen, and visited more. These lines resonated with me:
“Nonna
sister, mother, daughter, aunt
adored storyteller
who wrote in musical, even script”. Adored storyteller indeed because no one could tell it like them!
I just finished reading Firekeeper’s Daughter by Angeleine Boulley and I can make the strong connection between your poem and this novel. Our elders are our lifeline.The lifeline doesn’t break when they pass to the other side, but rather stretches and reaches through the miry clay and continues to support us. Thank you for sharing! Here’s my poem:
Looking Up and Looking Away
Inside my humble abode, nestled
in my royal purple majestic berry cape
with matching
fuzzy slippers,
Fingers furiously typing away,
Looking at all I need to do today
on Spring Break.
Checking emails, registering for day camps, and inquiring about architecture?
Distractions are welcomed.
I told the Fam we’re picking a room a day this week; divide
and conquer.
Yesterday, my daughter started in the front room,
creating a mini dust-up, swirls of dust bunnies scampering along
for their next place to hide.
Working hard for about 20 minutes,
And then she took a forever break, leaving
the evidence of her part behind.
I felt this!
So.
Much.
Clutter!
Sort and trash piles.
Stock and shelve piles.
Give away pile (which may become another trash pile).
Already overwhelmed by the arduous task, I develop a plan.
I will continue to sit on my Royal Throne
and dictate the duties to my children.
I want to avoid the former and the latter. Sorry, not sorry.
That’s the easy way out and it’s really not fair.
So I will get up (eventually) and dive into my domestic duties.
But honestly,
I’d rather escape in a book.
Your back and forth between the domestic and the imperial is wonderfully charming. Even if we are the one in power, the responsibilities are real! The desire to disappear beckons.
Yes! Thank you John. And here it is Day 2, and I’m still parked on my throne, contemplating!
Jessica, I want to be a queen like you! I can relate to just about everything in your poem. I often wonder how we got so much stuff, and a little morbidly, what will happen to it when we die? Your poem put a smile on my face today.
Thank you Mo! I want it all gone or at least organized before I die. My rush is getting on my nerves though, lol. Why oh why do I have this Hoarder’s mentality?!
Yes, this is the plague of our times — so much clutter. It’s so easy to acquire, such a chore to detach from. Your poem captures this well, along with the desire to spend our days escaping (especially in books!). I chuckled at the image of the “dust bunnies scampering along for their next place to hide.” Very familiar with those bunnies!
Oh yes Katighe! My daughter, when she gets in one of her moods, (like me) loves to clean and kill the wabbits! But only for a moment because it quickly fades away (also like me).
Jessica, I feel like you described my weekend! Divide and conquer, indeed. I loved the lines:
“Working hard for about 20 minutes,
And then she took a forever break, leaving
the evidence of her part behind.“
Why do the kids always take those forever breaks?
It can wait. Happy escaping!
Chiara, I wish I could take forever breaks but someone has to be the responsible person around here, lol!
Oh, thank you, Chiara, for such a broad and inviting prompt. I look forward to looking up, either at the windy and cloudy sky or the porch eaves I need to paint or some figurative looking up! So many options. Thank you for all your examples, the rich buffet you have set before us. I loved Nancy Willard’s poem. I loved the image of snow being gathered up–“the big plows rumble / and bale it like dirty laundry.”
Your poem shows the distance between Nonna and you, as well as the love and respect you had for her. Beautiful. I love the image and repetition of an envelope with many stamps.
Thank you so much, Denise! I loved Nancy Willard’s poem as well–it captured winter so perfectly.
Chiara, I loved your poem. And it immediately called up a memory for me and compelled me to write about looking up and looking down — it’s pretty rough, but I wanted to capture the memory fresh:
Rosebud mouth
Struggles to form letters:
“Achee.”
Favorite uncle.
Loose, lanky, lax:
Perfect combo
To take me to
First horror movie
First fancy dinner
First musical.
First taste of MTV.
Revered, even as I grew wary.
Adolescence opens eyes.
One night, sleepover
At Grandma’s, she
Prayed at the bedside
Her multitude of clocks ticking behind her
As he raged upstairs,
Spirit-ful
And then slept.
I gazed at lavender walls.
Next day dawned cold and strange.
I love the “rough” quality. I have a deep appreciation for raw, and the refinement process can soften the impact at times. The urgency of this communication comes through.
I too, like the raw quality of your poem, Wendy. It took me to a lot of different places and a lot of different feelings. I like the line “Adolescence opens eyes.”
Wendy, this poem brought forth so many feelings–excitement, awe, suspicion, fear, confusion. I was struck by the line, “Revered, even as I grew wary.” Thank you for sharing this intimate memory with us.
Wendy, you’ve done a good job carrying us with you through this memory, and pieced it together well too. This is difficult, thank you for sharing!
This is a great prompt, Chiara. “In envelopes with many stamps” is such a simple, yet profound image. It captures the distance travelled and the closeness between.
I want to confine myself to my current space, even though it feels like the hardest place to draw creative inspiration at the moment (I’m at school).
Projections
A projector hangs
A vessel for lessons
Empty aside from my direction
Today I feel directionless
Can the students tell?
Have I taught them to interpret
The world around them that well?
I hope not
I hope so
Can they see things that clearly
beneath these punishing fluorescent lights?
John,
what a telling poem! Some days are like this – – we know the projector is the conduit, but we are the charge of informational energy and passion. Some days it feels like the only light emitting from the projector is on power autopilot. That directionless feeling is all too common as we are all worn slap out and, like Dorothy and her Oz friends, feel sleepy enough to fall asleep in the flowery fields.
I feel the mastless riggings, too.
John,
Thank your for your poem and your honesty. Oh, how I wish sometimes that the projector would just take over and make something awesome on my behalf!
Your last lines made me look up and notice the fluorescent lights in my room–softened only by lamplight and feeble sunlight. I need to make some changes in here!
Wishing you a great end to the day and a better tomorrow!
John, I just love your poems! There were many times I have felt like this in the classroom. When I changed directions/jobs my direction became a little more focused, but I admit sometimes I wind up back here. But to answer this question: “Can they see things that clearly beneath these punishing fluorescent lights?” Yes because you instilled within them the passion to pursue whatever they desire.
John,
I hope not
I hope so
Ain’t that the truth! We train them and want them to be intuitive and perceptive until we don’t want them to be.
John, we have all felt this. And we are soooo ready for spring break! I love that you found something profound in the mundane, something thought-provoking in the industrial space of an empty classroom. Those two hopes say it all (and what the students becoming the masters is all about!). BTW, I teach with Luke W in Lansing!
That is SO cool! HE just told me about you. He’s very lucky to have you as a mentor. Luke is great.
John, I love how you so aptly create the classroom scene and your own internal thoughts about your students. I can relate to the feelings of “directionless” and especially those “punishing fluorescent lights”. I appreciate how you show that the machine is empty unless you direct it. Your title is perfect! Wonderful poem:)
Wow, John. Thank you. Your “I hope not – I hope so” reminded me of Eliot’s “Teach me to care and not to care.” Your use of “vessel” is echoed in “well.” (I realize this wasn’t likely your intent–but I love finding surprises in poems.) You capture the teacher’s dilemma of wanting to open our students’ eyes, wanting to shield them. Lovely poem.
I really enjoyed this prompt! I came across the word “susurrus” yesterday and had to look it up, having not heard it before. The sound of the word, and the meaning, a whispering or muttering, appealed to me so much! I was looking for a chance to use it.
Chiara, your mentor poem in tribute to your Nonna was very moving! I enjoyed it very much.
Looking up
A night breeze
mingles
among the tops
of hemlock and fir
stirring them
stirring me
Susurrations
just
beyond perception
of
changes coming
this poem made me feel a sort of electricity. “Just beyond perception.” There is a bristling quality to this that tickles me.
Emily,
Oooh! What a great word, and I did realize it made its way into English! “Sussurro” means “whisper” in Italian, and it’s a word I have always loved, because it sounds just like a whisper when you say it.
Your poem was so packed with sensations. Seeing, hearing, feeling, inferring. I loved it. Thank you for sharing!
Emily,
Thank you for sharing your poem and what led you to writing it. I enjoyed being able to feel and hear your poem.
Ooooh, sussurations. I have a new word, thanks to you. Whispers, murmurs, rustles. That stuff of deep sleep that you hear when you’re not entirely cognizant, but it starts making more sens – – the edge of perception – – changes coming. The spring? New buds? Flowers blooming? I hope so!
The sound in this poem was fantastic. 🙂
Ohhhh Emily! I love it when I read and discover new words. I look them up, screenshot them, and will eventually create my own personal dictionary of new words to use. “Susurrations
just
beyond perception
of
changes coming”
I finished Cicely Tyson’s memoir, Just as I Am, and I am reminded of this song by Sam Cooke, “A Change is Gonna Come”. Yes, one day. It’s all about perception! Love it and thank you for sharing!
Emily,
What a delicious work susurrus is! I love how your poem defined the word in tone as well as theme. 🙂
Emily, I’m delighted to add this word to my vocabulary. What a precious word and wonderful sensation. Thanks for attaching this poem to the word to give it a gentle image in my mind.
Chiara,
Your prompt is so well-crafted. You give choice tied together by variations of a verb. Everyone —including our students—can generate ideas from this. I love your poem. It’s a wonderful tribute to your Nonna. The circular use of “in an envelope with many stamps” really works.
I am on Spring Break with our daughter. I wrote this poem while truly looking up and observing what is going on at that moment.
Play?
My favorite part of vacation
is my morning coffee on the porch.
I’m reading, enjoying the rhythmic
sound of the waves and
the warm comfort of the cup.
The perpetual gurgle splash is interrupted
by a pop, pop, pop.
I look up…
Father and son playing catch.
Dad models technique and reminds
with actions mainly, not words.
The ball gets past each of them
occasionally,
leading to a mad sprint to get it
before the waves swallow it.
The manly fun is interrupted
as Mom sees a jellyfish wash ashore.
She calls Lucas over to see it.
Surrounded by ancient waters
and sea life and sand and shells,
the boys continue their game,
shifting to a simulated pitcher on the mound
and catcher behind the plate.
Dad in a squat.
“You have to throw three strikes
before we stop!”
Lucas stands tall
perpendicular
to his target and
flings, flings, flings.
The three strikes weren’t quite enough.
“Hit the outside corner.”
Dad finally rings up
the imaginary batter.
Lucas hurls Dad the glove
and sprints off to Mom
who is farther down the beach
combing for shells
and looking at skeletons of
marine life.
Was the game of catch endearing
to observe
or a little heartbreaking?
Did the Spring Break throwing session
reinforce the value of practice
or interrupt the wonder of a 10-year-old
visiting the beach?
Depends on who packed the gloves
and who said, “Let’s go out
and play catch.”
~Susan Ahlbrand
20 March 2022
Susan,
Thank you for your poem and response! I read your poem and thought: even if it is practice, it’s uninterrupted time with Dad and that has to be precious! My own children crave that as much as I do with them and that is part of what makes vacation so great. I loved the last stanza–it’s all relative!
So much depends on the glove packer. You are so right. I, too, love that coffee on the porch and can’t wait to get to a week when I can enjoy it. 9 more days until spring break, and I’m counting them down……….I hope that you are enjoying yours. There’s something deeply stirring about porch coffee that doesn’t happen with indoor coffee. I also love your repetitions of pop, pop, pop and fling, fling, fling. I want to sleep, sleep, sleep…….when I can find the time :).
Loved the flow of this piece, Susan — it lazily meanders along, mirroring the relaxing, the watching…but then a little tensions sneaks itself in at the end, leaving me unsettled. Very cool.
As the cottage crumbles around me
i lie in bed
and catch a glimpse
of the yellow rumped warbler
and I smile
Mo, I love how this short, beautiful and dark poem ends with a splash of hope. Thank you you for sharing with us today.
Looking to nature as the manmade collapses… stunning. This does not strike me as defeatist, but accepting, understanding.
Mo, this poem was so simple and moving. I love the imagery of lying and bed and looking up at your “crumbling” space and then looking out into the birds’ space and finding joy. You looked both in and out and it works so well in this poem. Thank you for sharing!
Oh, Mo. I have seen your photos and understand the crumbles – it does take energy to fix it up, but just like the warbler’s nest (who starts from scratch every spring), you will build your nest to your liking and smile even bigger then.
Manmade vs. Godmade…..nature wins! Thank you Mo for your thoughts. “And catch a glimpse” is the” but” of our situation.
Mo, there’s something about the phrase “yellow dumped warbler the appeals to me. Perhaps it’s the idea of live beyond what crumbles.
Chiara – I love how you looked up your grandmother’s name and played around with the variations and what you discovered about her over time. I loved the unfolding, and she also sounds like an amazing human. Your prompt reminded me of a 90s song by REM, so I did just that outside.
“Stand in the place where you live” – REM
Look west!
Paint crackles away from the house
Laundry hangs in the window
Anticipating my help.
Look north!
Is that a wasp’s nest?
Are the gutters overflowing?
I let this go again?
Look east!
Sun sears through gauzy clouds over the rising tide
spring birds chatter about
worm prices these days.
Look south!
Bluebird-bright sky masks constellations
living out epic star lives-
Orion doesn’t have a to-do list.
Look up!
Look in!
Emily, I appreciate your connection to REM and the creative repetition in this poem. I especially like the idea of birds chattering about worm prices. Thank you for sharing.
Emily,
Thank you for this poem and for making me smile on a Monday morning. I love the inspiration from the REM song and I think I will go outside and look west, north, east, and south this morning! My favorite part was your stanza:
Look south!
Bluebird-bright sky masks constellations
living out epic star lives-
Orion doesn’t have a to-do list.
The imagery in “epic star lives” is so vivid and Orion having a to-do list was funny to me! Have a wonderfully productive day!
I love how much space you create while standing still. How many directions we are offered at any given moment! How much life there is to take in!
Emily, I love everything about this. The lyrics (I’m hearing it in my head now), and especially this line: I let this go again? Oh, you know readers well…..we let things go again. We have probably been too busy writing, right?
Emily,
Favorites:
The words in your last stanza:
Bluebird-bright sky masks constellations
living out epic star lives-
Orion doesn’t have a to-do list.
and
your exhortation at the end:
Look up!
Look in!
Love the structure of the whole piece!
I love the approach you take! The REM lyric is perfect and I can picture a person’s head rotation around and taking in all four directions.
Emily – so gorgeous and full of energy! I am loving this idea of spring birds chattering over worm prices these days and the acknowledgment that Orion (in his hidden splendor) doesn’t have a to-do list. Looking up and looking in – perfect connection to standing in the place where you live – mindfully.
Chiara, thank you for the images and reflections in your inspiration today. I love the repetition of the envelope image and the meaning it carries.
The dipper of the north-east
after midnight’s stroll
is an empty pot.
Sarah, you make me think of taking walks with my dad with this constellation. I wish I could identify more than the dipper. Such fascination in the pictures of the heavens – I can’t identify them, but I often pull out my phone and use my Star Chart app to show me what is where. It’s mind boggling and fascinating to think about all the stories and pictures in the night sky, and your poem brings all those pictures to mind.
Sarah – your haiku-style poem is a snapshot of time passing and the mystical beauty of the stars. Thanks for sharing this image – it’s cozy and lovely.
Sarah, I envisioned the dipper moving as I read your lovely poem. I loved the line “after midnight’s stroll.”
What joy and comfort to look up and see the constellations that people have seen for so long!
Sarah, this is a lovely image. I’m imaginative ng the big dipper tipped upside down. Gorgeous.
Chiara, thank you for a prompt that stretches us and is flexible to go in so many different directions. I love prompts like these. I am envious of your castle search through Europe. There is a lady in Rome, Georgia who takes groups of writers to castles on writing retreats, and I am toying with the idea……what a place, what beauty! I love your poem. Those stamps. I’m on a crusade to bring back snail mail for the joy of the mailbox surprise. I loved getting mail as a child and try to see that my grandchildren find that same joy.
My mother’s last coherent words to my father were “You take care of these dogs.” I think about those words this morning as I write.
Christening Wild Onions
stepping out
into the cold morning darkness
with the boys
not heeling
pulling like Iditarod dogs
off the porch
racing
toward the grass
to sprinkle the
wild onions
roosters asking
roosters answering
throughout the countryside
the distant sound of tires
on pavement
faint steam rising
from christened onions
I look up
Good morning, Mom!
I’m taking care of these dogs.
I smile at the stars
I love this moment of reflection, Kim. You captured not just the “look” but also the sounds and feelings in this moment that I can see so clearly. You place us in this moment. Your Mom would be proud of the care joy you take in the pups!
Kim, the castle writing tour sounds like it would be amazing! I too am a big fan of snail mail and I think it definitely comes from my childhood and receiving those wonderful letters from my Nonna.
Your poem was simultaneously funny and so heartwarming. I am sure your mom’s spirit is pleased with the care you are giving her rambunctious dogs! Wishing you a wonderful day!
I smell everything in this poem. I have never been so happy thinking of the smell of urine mingling with the smell of onion. I love the natural world posing questions, answering questions.
Kim, this tugs on my DogMom heart. I’m taking care of our dogs we take care of ourselves.
Oh, Kim! The simplest of details fuel this beautiful poem. I love how you took off with your mom’s last words. Wild onions. Hmmmm.
Kim – I love dogs and don’t want to ever be without one. This poem is so very real – the pull of eager dogs, the roosters (I love their rustic crowing), the steam…I can even smell the onions! Then the turn to what the poem is really about – loving, honoring, missing Mom. Still feeling the pull of her guidance and relying on her wisdom – I sense it all. Beautiful-
You have an artistic way of pulling the reader into your story. I hear the country and warmth in your poem.
Hi Kim,
I wanted to be there and hear, see, feel this wonderful adventure of a morning with you and the dogs! I love it. Best parts, the steam rising LOL, and saying good morning to your mom! I love it all.
Chiara, a beautiful tribute to Nonna. I sense her fierce love for you in your lines, and your deep love and gratitude for her in return. Isn’t is funny, the things we learn after someone we love is gone…like a real name. Yours is beautiful, by the way. You also make me remember the musical cadence of my grandmother’s voice and those of her sisters. This is such a magnificent prompt – thank you!
Birdspiration
As I drive to work
psyching myself for the day
I look up, and there
on the power lines
they sit, like kings or angels
the day’s guardians
watching as I pass
—oh, bestow on my spirit
creatures of the air
robins, your good cheer
occasional snow-plumed hawks,
fierce acuity…
it dawns on me, now,
that most of the birds I see
are doves, offering
the one thing needed
for the living of this day:
Look up: Claim the peace.
Fran, in your true love of birds, you capture their very presence and in that last line extend the offer to claim the peace. I’m claiming it today, friend. Your use of “dawned on me” at dawn is fun, and I love how you name species in the poem. I thought of you when I recently added to my menagerie of birdhouses that are in my butterfly garden. I wanted one for the kitchen window on the other side of the house, so I bought one with the high-powered suction cups so that the little tiny birds have a place to go away from all the other birds. They haven’t discovered it yet, but when they do I know it will be thrilling to watch them while we eat. Your poem is a nod to the power that they have as kings and guardians, as offerers of peace that we all need for the living of this day.
Fran, I love how you looked up at these birds! You see the gifts each one symbolizes and what is needed in this moment. I totally agree – we need all the doves we can get! Wishing you a peaceful day. Thanks for this poem!
Fran, my two favorite lines-“psyching myself for the day”–as we can all relate to those days in education; and “claim the peace”–thinking about the peace a birds call or presence can bring. Thank you for sharing with us today.
Fran, thank you for your kind words and your beautiful poem. The different attributes we can hope for inspired by different birds was so meaningful to me. The “fierce acuity” of the hawk, and the “good cheer” of the robin are such great reminders on a Monday! I will try to “claim the peace” today as I interact with my students.
Fran, I’m in awe of this poem and of your skill in creating such beauty. Today I fed a pigeon .It seemed the thing to do. He looked up for food. I looked down to watch him eat.
Love the title. I had birdspiration with Leo yesterday. We discussed the nest that was left in a tree. I love noticing birds and claiming the peace!
a learning journey, looking to my students to learn
with them, from them, for them
can you imagine what i’ve learned from…
my thirteen old student who gave birth, returning to school,
before my own maternal experience
my adult esl learner, who spoke two languages
yet took classes to learn how to read and write for the first time in retirement
my student who trusted me, confided in me
but due to mandates i had to notify cps
my learners, older than me, starting a second career as as an educator,
during a pandemic, during unfavorable teaching times
my marginalized students who fight hard
my learners who i needed to limit my sarcasm with, slow down my speech
my learner who stole my flip phone
my students who have made me cry, laugh, second guess
my vulnerable, confident students
can you imagine all i’ve learned…
i imagine it’s more than words can ever capture
Stefani,
Thank you for this reflection and journey and opportunity to glimpse students across your teaching career. I see their live in relation to yours “before my own” and “yet took classes” and “due to mandates” and “with, slow down.” Such movement in the conjunctions of the life of teacher that you clearly hold dear and know without a doubt in this line “can you imagine all i’ve learned” without a question mark but ellipses. Perfect. Those dots welcome more imagining and witnessing of the students alongside you know. Love this poem. Thank you.
Sarah
Stefani – this pierces my heart – no, wait. It shatters my heart, the living of these stories, these students, your learning journeys with them, from them, for them. Speaks so to the need for honoring one another as human beings before – and above – all else. The overcoming in these lines – I am in awe, as I wipe away tears. Cry, laugh, second guess…the lesson of the vulnerable confident students is that we all need one another so.
Stefani, that last line is spoken with such truth from the heart of an educator. We see the good, the bad, and the ugly in all of life’s situations, and we take those learners and meet them where they are to teach, to guide, to lead, to cheer. You’ve done all of these and you capture so well the experiences that come with teaching – – the experiences that no teaching class ever prepares us for. Our students do teach us so much.
Stefani, thank you for your poem and a glimpse into the life of a seasoned and varied educator. I can’t imagine all the things you have learned, but I do understand that every student brings something to the table and that there is a lesson in each person we encounter. PS, I would love to know what you learned from your learner who stole your flip phone!
Stefani.
my heart aches.
isn’t that what poems should elicit. Some poems.