Welcome to day 5 of the November open write for educators! A very special thank you to Margaret and Linda for supporting us these past few days, and a thank you, in advance, to today’s host: Maureen. Writers, we are so glad you are here. Read the inspiration, process, and mentor poem below, and then scroll to the bottom to compose your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets. There will not be any new posts this December, but I encourage you all to revisit past prompts to write, and we will see you in January 2022 with Stacey, Kim, and Susie as our hosts.
Inspiration
One of my favorite books of poetry is the Native Nations poetry anthology When the Light of the World Was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through.
Every time I read from it, I am enamored by another poem. Today, I want to share a poem by Moses Jumper Jr., Seminole. Here is a snapshot from my book:
I love this poem. I imagine the poet Moses Jumper Jr. standing alongside swampy woods in his native Florida, watching and observing, and simultaneously centering himself. It is a poem of reverence. This poem is straightforward – there is no explicit rhyming structure, no special poetry format; a simple “the” repeats at the beginning of each line in this list poem. Yet, it bursts with insight about life in all its fullness and dimensions. Through his gorgeous observations of animals, we see the most tender elements of nature: the small, the fragile, the young, the soft.
Process
In honor of this time of harvest and gratitude, let’s take our poetic inspiration outside and observe a quiet moment in the fresh air. Look up at the sky. Notice. If you are unable to be outside, perhaps you can stop in the midst of your doing and simply stare out a window, or reflect on an earlier memory in nature.
Jot down notes about –
What is surprising?
Where is the beauty, delight, awe?
Think with your senses, one by one…what do you notice?
Pay particular attention to the non-human movement around you.
Slow down. Linger. Wonder.
Write a list poem of your noticings. Strive to include three or more observations, celebrating each with bounteous adjectives and imagery. Just for the delight of it, begin each line with the same simple word – a small, poetic drumbeat.
Write as inspiration and time permit.
Maureen’s Poem
now autumn
now the purple leaves of the ash tree flutter fall float to the ground
now bright orange dots of orioles bustle about on some mysterious search
now the sun glistens drizzles kisses the dogwood berries of autumn
now hydrangea blossoms offer one last burnt sienna wink
now the wind blows through grassy plumes, waving a joyous farewell
each of these, so precious
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.
Our Host
Maureen Young Ingram lives and writes in Silver Spring, Maryland. Now retired, she taught preschool and mentored adults in their work with young children. Maureen loves spending time with her two granddaughters, hiking, and gardening. She blogs regularly at maureenyoungingram.blogspot.com and enjoys writing poetry about children, family, and nature. Maureen is immensely grateful for the Ethical ELA writing community.
I too wish to thank our hosts Maureen, Linda, and Margaret for an inspiring week of poetry. I’m truly grateful for you all, for Sarah, and for our generous community of teacher-poets. This has been a busy five days for me w/ NCTE presentations and Thanksgiving preparations, but poetry is the balm that soothes my soul during busy and difficult times. Wishing you all a restful, peaceful Thanksgiving.
I would like to follow Allison and express my gratitude. This week of prompts have been fun and refreshing, especially after a very hard few weeks prior to this week off for Thanksgiving. I appreciate you Margaret, Linda, and Maureen! I also want to express my gratitude for this community of educators who are such talented writers! You fire me up to improve, to push myself when I’m tired, and to think outside of my box. Sarah, as always, you are a gift to all who have the pleasure of working with you, knowing you, writing with you, and most of all learning from you!
Wishing everyone a safe holiday tomorrow and restful days ahead!
??
Maureen, Linda, and Margaret,
Thank you for your inviting prompts this month. Your mentor texts and model poems helped me make that leap (again) from “I should write…” to “I WANT to write!”
I find that these five days of poetry writing each month are a form of meditation, contemplation, and reflection.
Sarah, this community feeds me. Thank you.
Colors of Iowa cornfield in November
Cardboard
caramel
chamois
manilla twine
pie crust
turkey gravy
hickory bark
baby’s wispy hair.
Suntan
suede
serenity
brown eyes
hidden doe
baked apple
sepia thoughts
autumn scent of time.
Allison,
Beautiful lust. No matter the season, an Iowa cornfield is a gorgeous sight/site.
I envy your view where you are/were today! Sounds like you have had a sweet variety of sensory experiences.
I love:
☀️
Oh my goodness how I love that! This would be a great mentor poem for students to sit in or recall some place and make those kinds of color and color/object connections. Cardboard is brilliant! I don’t think I have EVER considered something the color of cardboard, and yet – duh! It’s such a ubiquitous color! Thank you for the inspiration, Allison.
As an Iowa girl, raised on a farm designed to sustain a family of 6 via crops, hogs, and cattle, I can see the vision you mention. It’s interesting for me to imagine what someone with a different background connects to the words you use. Thought inspiring. Thank you.
Allison, what beauty lies in an Iowa cornfield! I have never been to Iowa, but your poem entices me there – how absolutely gorgeous! I am struck by the alliteration of the first three words/lines of each stanza – such a soft entry into such beautiful images. I love, love, love “baby’s wispy hair.”
Thank you for all the prompts this November. Wishing all a Happy Thanksgiving.
Urban Outdoors
Hear my feet on the gravel trail
Feel the dust kicking up
Hear the swoosh of a car going by
Feel the tickle of hair on my cheek
Wonder at the lack of animal life and insects
Hear a mocking bird calling
Smell the aroma of someone baking
Hear the crunch of leaves under my feet
Smell the pine scent at the Christmas tree lot
Wonder at all the traffic lined up on the street
Hear a duck squawking on the pond
Feel the sun on my back
Hear a horse clomping by
Feel the excitement of the holiday approaching
Wonder at the shortness of the day
Hear a jet overhead
See a snail trail left from earlier
Hear a crow scolding me
See light shimmering on the pond
Wonder at the early Christmas wreaths on a house
Susan, your poem makes sense to me! I was right there with you from the first stanza!
Are you kidding me?! This is lovely! Again, I find so many wonderful mentor poems on these pages. It’s like I get done reading and run right to my notebook to try these out. I would also love to use this approach with students – especially when we practice sensory detail in writing. Getting past “seeing” is challenging for so many of them. The wonder lines are my favorites, how each stanza builds to those and how they turn a bit darker than the rest of the tone. Things that make you go hmmmm.
Ironically, in my comment to Alison B.’s poem (above), I mentioned my shared background and wondered how a different background changes things up. As a rural Iowa girl, the idea of “urban outdoors” is more foreign to me. But still very relatable with your choice of words. Thanks for the experience of hearing, feeling, and smelling.
You have beautifully captured how nature surrounds us, even in urban environments – the air, the sky, the birds. I love the array of sensory elements you observed – sights, sounds, smells, even the crunch of leaves. Fabulous! There is so much to experience even in just a few minutes outside.
A Morning Stroll
I stepping outside for a morning walk
curled leaves greet me with a crackle,
then flutter and flirt in a romantic tango
across my lawn, down the sidewalk,
dancing around my legs as I stroll.
I pass the slender Huron Blush grasses
in front of the library swaying in gusting winds,
frosted tips wagging hello as I pass.
The balding trees dotting tree lawns sigh as their leaves fall.
The squirrel screeches and barks,
warning the neighborhood tabby cat to stay far away.
A spotted, knobby-kneed fawn has wandered from her den.
The children point as she zigzags across the road unaware
of the looming danger of a suburban street.
I hope she will find her way back to the forest, safely.
Tammi, I am with you on this stroll! Absolutely beautiful poem! I have such a sense of autumn, and all the changes nature provides at this time of year. I am fascinated by your description of the squirrel and the tabby cat – I have heard squirrel screeches and often wondered about why!
Thanks,Tammi, for taking us the stroll with you. The sensory imagery enlivened the walk so much for me. Your use of personification made me smile. All in all, fun to be along with you!
Isn’t wonderful to live near a library? I have ALWAYS lived within walking distance of one, as as we are getting ready to move once more, it is on my MUST list. I love the image of the leaves in a tango – and then “dancing around my feet” as if the walker is accompanied by a kind of natural joy. I once had a teacher who admonished students for writing nature personifications. He never should have been a teacher. This is beauty. This is poetry. (I also always worry about those urban deer and say a prayer they find their way.)
I can’t help but smile as I read your beautiful description of leaves – remembering that I was scolding myself for not racking when I walked across my lawn this morning. Too bad I missed the beauty; I will look at that scene differently now.
I love the mention of a library in your scene. I’ve got a soft spot in my heart for libraries.
Gray’s Place
Scampering round the pine,
scurrying up the poison vine.
Hiding acorns under dirt,
chewing on the mushroom skirt.
Gray reflecting sunlight,
bushy tail shimmering flight.
Barking alarms in the hollow,
cheeks full, not to swallow.
All day busy, in November,
To survive a nearing winter.
Gray’s work a blessing,
Snuggled comfortably in a cedar
Nesting.
Boxer,
This is such a perfect portrayal of a squirrel in late fall. I love the constant movement in your poem–it works wonderfully.
Love the rhyme and rhythm of this poem and the way you have captured the nature of squirrels. I can picture this scene unfolding in my backyard.
I am enchanted by your poem, how it shares the perspective of a squirrel using a soft rhyming structure. How empathic to consider the work a squirrel must consider as winter approaches! These lines in particular makes me smile:
I captured one image this morning to focus my writing. Then I realized how noisy it was and instead of fretting about it, I decided to embrace my noisy morning and all of its glory.
Noisy City in November
Its hum and taps from the old Fridgidaire
Where eggs await cracking for tomorrow’s cakes
Its neighbor tinkering in his junky garage
Where old albums and tackle boxes live with memories
Its helicopter hovering amongst late dawn fog
Where people sit on porches to smoke and stare
Its airplanes roaring into the blue abyss
Where passengers clutch passports and sweaty palms
Its whirs and toots of cars in the distance
Where the streets divide the sacred cemetery from the stadium
Its carefree chuckles of children having fun
Where video games and YouTube never seem to end
Its sunbeams bringing light for the day’s new beginnings
Where succulents savor sweet morning silence.
© Stacey L. Joy, 11/24/21
Stacey,
Exactly! Sometimes you have to lean into the cacophony to find the peace, and that is exactly what your poem does. Lovely!
Stacey, this poem describes my urban scene of contrasts quite well. I took a walk today and heard “the whirs and toots of cars in the distance” as I strolled under the trees. Love your ending in the sunbeams and morning silence.
Stacey — I love the picture you have painted. I feel like I’m there with you taking a tour of your city. Your last stanza leaves me feeling like this is a wonderful place to live: “Its sunbeams bringing light for the day’s new beginnings/Where succulents savor sweet morning silence.”
City sounds are often our natural world, yes? I am mesmerized by how you lost yourself in the sounds all about, providing so many great sensory details. Refrigerators, helicopters, cars, and children – there is so much to absorb! I love the “drumbeat” of ‘Its’ at the beginning of each line, anchoring us to the city. Through your poem, I feel as if I have traveled your way. These lines are particularly delightful to me:
Its whirs and toots of cars in the distance
Where the streets divide the sacred cemetery from the stadium
Beautiful poem!
The imagery is wonderful and the lesson zooms through … attitude leads to gratitude. As you walks, the loud and harsh sounds lead to sibilant sounds that are sweet. What a poet!
Wow, Stacey. The first line I highlighted was “eggs await cracking for tomorrow’s cakes.” Then each stanza presented another sharp highlight-worthy image. Despite living in quiet rural Iowa, I love the joyous cacophony of cities. You delivered! Thank you!
On this eve of the day of thanks, thank you for the wonderful prompts this week. 🙂
Fog seemed to be everywhere this morning.
It was in my mind as I woke up
and in my dog’s eyes as sleepily snuggled.
It was in the trees and grasses as we walked
and insulated the sounds around us.
Fog is sometimes a blessing,
softening the edges,
blurring the sharp realities
that aren’t comfortable or easy.
But today, walking through a world
soaked by overnight rain and
fog closing the horizon,
it narrows the focus to now,
right where I want to be.
An interesting twist portraying how nature can keep us focused, by creating a foggy environment.
Cara — love these last lines:
“it narrows the focus to now,
right where I want to be.”
What a powerful reminder of the importance of being present.
I admire where you took this!! The fog this morning was dense, and trying to write about it was hard for me. I really liked the various connections you made. Thanks for this poem today!
Gorgeous reflection on the power of fog! I love how you honed in on this natural phenomenon with so many wonderful observations. I particularly like –
I love fog! As long as I don’t have to drive in it. This is a wonderful tribute to the comforts and mystery of fog.
I do like the contrast of fog blurring the edges vs fog helping you to focus on what is important! So nicely written!
Cara,
Your poem is lovely. You pulled me into the fog with your dog’s sleepy eyes…
then lured me on. You invited me to appreciate the buffering effects of fog in new ways. This is why I read (need) poetry. Thank you.
Well, Maureen, your prompt has lightened my load! This week’s been quite a trip. Observing nature has forced me to think of something else. Here’s what I thought today.
The Ducks and Me
Watching the ducks on the pond out back,
I wonder what keeps them on track.
How do they teach the new to the crew
Where it is safe to fly. What makes them want to try?
Watching the ducks on the pond out back,
I wonder how they know where to sit.
How do they know to settle in place, filling each open space.
Will the new ducklings know where they fit?
Watching the ducks on the pond out back,
I wonder what the old tell the young to pick up the slack.
How they communicate in such a way
That the young know who to follow on opening day?
Watching the ducks on the pond out back,
I wonder if they ask the same about me.
When they see me on my deck with laptop on my knee.
Will they fly round, and swoop down to see?
Anna —
I love your questions. Especially this one: “I wonder what the old tell the young to pick up the slack.” I often wonder if animals have these types of relationships with their young as well. Nature is so amazing.
Anna, what a joy it must be to closely observe ducks like this! I love how you imagine them with many human wonders – wanting to sneak a peek at your laptop, seating assignments, fitting in, teaching their young. I particularly love –
How much we can learn from these delightful creatures! Thank you for this!
First, thank you for this sentiment, “your prompt has lightened my load! This week’s been quite a trip” Ditto! Which is why I loved waking up to this poem today. I smiled immediately at the first Watching the ducks… line, and then, with each repetition, my smile grew bigger and bigger. I needed just this kind of playful joy this morning. The rhyme scheme only adds to the delight. I have never really considered this about ducks, but now, when I see those little ducklings down at the river, I will recall these words. Lovely!
Maureen, thank you for not only the model poem but your example. When I went outside to observe, I thought about how things have changed since the start of fall.
Among the dense fog
scarlet crocosmia blooms
a season too late
Rachelle,
I love and appreciate the specific name of the flower. I did a little searching and realize we, too, have a crocosmia bloom, and I feel like we are side by side in this virtual space. And then that last line “a season too late” make me wonder if the speaker is not referring to the crocosmia. And that has me thinking about how maybe being late for one season may be that the season was too early, that the bloom may be just right. I am now talking about myself. Alas, the power of a poem. Thank you.
Sarah
Rachelle,
What a lovely haiku to end our November Open Write! The fog was impressive this morning and made its way into my poem, as well. I love the visual of the crocosmia blossom peeking out of the fog.
Rachelle — You have said so much in so few words. This poem sums up what life has been like so well. This is just perfect. Love it!
I was hoping some poets would share haiku, so ripe for nature! Your sweet words sent me researching “scarlet crocosmia” – I have seen this pretty flower, but knew not its name. I am in awe that in 17 syllables you remind us of the surprise, unending effects of climate change. Pretty to see this flower, yet….
Thank you for this!
Ooh – I love the multiple ways one could think about “a season too late,” whether it be just the crocosmia or something more. Nicely done!
Oh, Rachelle! You taught me a word! You gifted me an image. “Too late” touched my appreciative, aging soul.
I love connecting to you in this space each month.
Write on, friend.
The Goldfinch
By Mo Daley 11/24/21
When the goldfinch returns to my yard in November,
with its drab, olive-winter plumage,
why don’t I rejoice
like I do in spring
when I first spy those lemony wings?
Today, as I think about gratitude
and watch him flit around the yard,
I wonder what the finch wants to teach me.
To everything there is a season?
Beauty is only wing deep?
Don’t be fooled by peacockery?
I finally decide he just wants
me
to
be
me
Thank you for writing this today, Mo. As I was brainstorming for my poem, I was also spending time writing about the lessons nature might be trying to teach me–and I like the conclusion you came to. I love the way you revealed it with one word per line.
Mo, this is such a delightful poem. Love the humor and questions, and the way you construct your end is perfect. Awesome life message!
Mo! Thank you for this contemplation and for the possibility and agency in the speaker to seek meaning that serves them. The poem belongs to the reader just as the interpretation belongs to the poet. That line “beauty is only wing deep” has me thinking about my flabby arms and “peacockery” about my ego — and so I like this ending of the spreading of a wing into “me” — thank you for allowing me to be alongside you and the goldfinch. Hugs and gratitude.
Sarah
What a beauty of a poem and lesson! I wonder if I’ll ever learn from a bird. ?Not likely other than that I believe they want me to be afraid. ?
Your poem is like a love note to the goldfinch.
?
Mo, this is the heart of nature watching, I think:
I love how you have shared so much wisdom and insight from this one sweet observation of the goldfinch!! Those four singular, tiny word lines at poem’s end sound – to my ear – like a dance beat, yes, yes, yes – free to be you/me!! Thank you for this wonderful poem!
I love the lesson you finally landed on. Thank you for helping me enjoy your goldfinches also!
Mo, I love the message here! And I totally agree with you (and the Goldfinch), we just need to be ourselves! (And I love the play on words with the line “Beauty is only wing deep?”) Thanks!
I remember walking around my neighborhood (this was several years ago)
and being completely and utterly frustrated that I couldn’t describe a tree.
Fall leaves dropped to earth, crunched underfoot, as I was looking up at a
(now threadbare) canopy of limbs, just above, when I had to skitter to the side of
the road onto the hard packed shoulder, the place where grass meets
gravel and pavement (there was no “curb” to speak of) to avoid a FedEx
truck that barreled by, the hidden arrow in the logo on the side of the
white flash a mere foot from my face. I tripped, finding some hole or
divot in the margins of the road, and I tumbled (I’d like to think gracefully)
to the hard ground as the truck sped by, this kind of truck that would become
a mainstay many years from now in the peak of the pandemic (they would,
thankfully, have learned to slow down through these neighborhood streets,
though, after several calls to corporate.) Prone, head next to some dirt caked
garden gnome the neighbor thought, for whatever reason, was a suitable
lawn ornament, I looked up at those barren branches (“bare ruin’d choirs,
where late the sweet birds sang”) and had an epiphany: I could not with any
real accuracy describe this tree, and I’m not talking about photorealism here,
I’d be happy with a few brush strokes of impressionism.
There’s a tree. It has leaves. Or it doesn’t. It has limbs (are they poking at
the sky? See, I fall back on clichés or things that I’ve read before).
Ada Limón once wrote about taking her trash cans to the curb and the sound
of thunder that this evoked — and I shrieked Yes! (as the book, The Carrying,
tumbled off my lap) that was exactly the sound. We’ve sat on the couch watching
TV (me and Heather, not me and Ada) and we’ve heard the rumbling
of this “suburban thunder” on Sunday night and thought aloud — which is just
to say we “said” — is that rain? Oh, nope, just the neighbors putting out their trash.
So, I guess, what I’m saying — which is just to say “writing” — is that I’m not
Robert Frost. I can’t describe birches or that (overly?) famous yellow wood
with its diverging paths. I’m not Elizabeth Bishop. I have not the skill or
imagination to describe that spectacular warrior fish, with its sparkly dangles,
the fish hook trophies, trailing behind it as it was caught and released, swimming
away to freedom once more.
But maybe I can describe the mood, the feeling, the humanness (?) of something.
It’s like that moment in Hamlet (we just discussed this in class yesterday) when
Mom says why do you seem so upset — at the death of his father — and Hamlet
is trying (and apparently failing) to articulate how he really and truly feels. He
doesn’t seem upset, he is upset. It is not just any tree of grief, taking root deep
within him, it is this particular tree he’s trying to describe.
Sometimes — (oftentimes?) — words fail us.
So, there you go.
The whole thing up top didn’t happen. I didn’t nearly get run over by a delivery
van. I didn’t sprawl (nearly twisting my ankle, by the way) to the earth. No
garden gnome. No grass, strangely still wet from dew although it was nearing
noon, tickling the side of my face as I stared up at that tree, thinking those lines
of Shakespeare’s sonnet number 73.
But all of those things could have happened, and all of those things are things
that you could believe could have happened, so, though, I can’t describe a
specific, exact tree, the tree that I’m actually looking at (or not as the case
may be), but I can describe something close — close enough for government work,
my grandfather would say — and you can see it, really see it, really feel it, like
the sun bright and warm over my whole face, as I close my eyes, the deep red
of the lids welcoming, I take in the world, glad to have worn my fall coat as the wind
picks up and joins the cold, and I can imagine the tree above me, and finally, in the end,
you can say, yes, yes, I believe that, I can see that, too
Lol, thanks for indulging me, folks; in retrospect, I guess, I could have just written:
A
single
solitary
leaf
fell
to earth
and
upon
it
I
stepped
or
didn’t.
Who’s
really
to say?
Scott, I adore your witty humorous perspective so much! This is awesome! Yes, yes, yes to this:
But maybe I can describe the mood, the feeling, the humanness (?) of something.
This is the joy of nature! Trees are both ubiquitous (easily understood, imagined) and unique (if I allow myself to pause and notice) – and from this comes the beauty, this reminder how ordinary I am. If you were on the ground looking up (we will never really know, will we? hahaha!), I wonder, can there be a better view?
Thank you for the many chuckles!
I love the voice and how I believe and don’t believe the narrator all in one. And what that reveals about memory, the art of writing, and what it means to be human. Thanks for writing about this today.
Scott,
I loved how you sort of made me/us the tree witness you contemplate its being in this monologue or prose poem. I loved this imagery of retrospect that re-placed you alongside that tree from the time with the FedEx and the series of images and intertextual connections that helped you work through the quest to describe toward the permission to imagine and ultimate see. And the seeing is has such temporality here, but also spatiality as you are reaching across this third virtual space to make me look at the tree outside my window now to “see that.”
Sarah
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Thank you, Maureen, for the lovely prompt. It was a nice challenge. It’s difficult to find a quiet place in nature here, and on another busy day, I just thought I would look forward to where I’m moving next month with this rough draft.
Your poem is lovely, as is Jumper’s. Thank you for the inspiration. Your “flutter fall float” and “glistens drizzles kisses” are just so beautiful. Your poem makes me want to come back and really take the time to think with all my senses, and to “Slow down. Linger. Wonder.” But for now…
Soon Jackrabbit will bound on legs of spring, cooling ears alight
Soon Quail parents, adorned with topknots, will herd their little ones to safety
Soon Rattlesnake will own the back porch whenever he passes
Soon cunning Coyote will create a trap for bounding Roadrunner
Soon Ants will scurry up and over, in and out, busily taking crumbs home
Soon Hummingbird will flitter around our feeder, showing off her feathers
Later, if we don’t act all will be quiet in the Mojave Desert
This is a lovely poem, Denise! It is special that you are imagining this new nature which will surround you, when you move to California. And such a provocative final line, a call to caring for our planet – you have beautifully shared some of the lives and voices that will be lost forever if we don’t deal with climate change. Happy Thanksgiving!
Denise,
I love the repetition of “soon” and knowing you’ll soon experience all these delights of nature. Reading your poem I thought about how I’d love to visit Joshua Tree soon. I think I’ll start planning!
Yes, soon! And do come and stay. We would love to show you around.
Denise, thank you for writing this poem today. I love repetition of “soon” which gives me a feeling of yearning. Your final line is the perfect call to action.
Denise,
So you are finally off to California next month? Wow, you and your husband must be having all kinds of feels leaving Bahrain.
I love how you are turning toward and naming the beings in California that you can still see and visit. The capitalization is such a powerful note of inclusion and naming into this temporal and physical space of the future for you. I appreciate the movement of cooling, adorning, passing, creating, taking, and showing that brings such life and love to their rich, diverse community. But that ending is such a warning, and I so fear the quiet. Thank you for this contemplation!
Sarah
Sarah, thank you. Yes, it is all bittersweet as we say our goodbyes and head into such a very different “soon.”
Hi Denise, Today while I was walking and trying to compose my poem, I was surprised at the dryness and lack of bird sounds or toads croaking along the river near my house. I thought the same thoughts as you state in “later, if e don’t act all will be quiet” as i can sense it is already getting quieter. Sadly.
Thank you Maureen for your nature prompt, your mentor poem, and the Native Nations anthology! This is definitely one I will “add to the list” to get a copy for my classroom. (And I love the immediacy of that “small, poetic drumbeat,” that “now” in your “now autumn” poem. So good!)
Thank you so much, Scott!
Good morning and thank you for this glorious prompt, Maureen! Your prompt reads like a poem itself, wow, I was tempted to write it as my poem and see if you’d notice. ? ?
Moses Jumper, Jr.’s poem is the kind that make me buy the book. So much to see, feel, and appreciate. Your poem takes me straight to my walks where I spend time capturing images that I know I’ll never want to forget. I see it as if I’m there with you. This is especially lovely:
I’m excited to take a slow pace today to find my inspiration outside. “See you” later today!
??
Thank you, Stacey! This is a treasure of a book. I look forward to reading your poem later!
Thank you, Maureen, for your prompt! I enjoyed learning about Moses Jumper Jr, and this anthology. I went outside this morning for my observations with feelings of thankfulness and joy and found that the mood of the morning was rather more subdued. No less beautiful though! I found myself focusing primarily on sound.
Stillness of fog
shot through with
boldness of Chickadee.
Intermittent ploops and plops
off boney branches
onto matted leaves.
A crow calls distantly.
Emily, I love the sound you created in this poem that contrasts so interesting with the “Stillness of fog.” The rhythm of your poem creates its own sound, and your end is striking. It makes me pause and hear the crow calling, too.
That sounds like an interesting morning. I can hear it. In the “stillness of fog” that shot of the bold Chickadee is so powerful. I also love “boney branches”
What a precious few moments you experienced and shared with us! I feel as if I am experiencing this bit of nature with you. I am captivated by the idea of “boney branches” – this season of farewell, as deciduous trees shed their leaves, it is not unlike the our own aging and passing, how we lack excess flesh in the end. Meditative thoughts unleashed! Thank you for this.
Emily–I can picture this so clearly. The fog also inspired me this morning. It’s still so dense where I am. This made me feel inspired not only to pay attention to sound but also to try to add tonal imagery to my future poems. Thanks for the nudge.
Emily,
I love the music in your poem, the life you bring with sound of “ploops and plops” with the Chickadee at the center but not alone with the crow in the distance. I am alongside from a distance, too — listening. Thank you for bringing me into this moment.
Sarah
Emily,
I love the focus on sounds. The “boldness of Chickadee” resonated with me as I have them outside my window vying for the suet with nuthatches and a big flicker. The sounds of fall in Oregon are indeed accompanied by many “ploops and plops.”
Maureen, wow, what a gorgeous poem. I love the repetition of now and the striking imagery you share. Love the bright beautiful colors of purple, orange, and green. Thanks, too, for providing such a wonderful prompt and book of poetry I will be sure to check out. Happy Thanksgiving!
In the evergreen grove
where the shadows are cool
the needles are deep
a perfect cushion beneath my feet—
I look above to a light blue sky with
feathery clouds like angel wings
protected inside this sacred cathedral
my spirits lift—finding sweet serenity.
Barb Edler
24 November 2021
Wow, Barb, you put me right there with you in “this sacred cathedral.” The beginning really sets us up, as we are on an adventure. And I can feel that cushion of needles underfoot. Well done.
Thank you for your kind words, Barb! Your nature poem is a treasure; I am particularly drawn to the image of
How can one’s spirits not be lifted with a moment like this? Happy Thanksgiving!
Oh, Barb! The cushion is so welcome and offers perspective as to what, in numbers, can be a comfort. Your imagery and alliteration offers a song for us to join this “serenity”! Thank you for offering this to your readers (us) today!
Sarah
Good Morning, Poets! Maureen, I love this prompt. I ventured out this early this morning to the grocery store and took this prompt with me.
This morning
Frost and snowflakes
glazed my windshield
As I turned the key
that turned the motor
my gloved hand
moved toward the defrost switch
and I paused
to enjoy the early sun
playing with
the crystals
reminding me
to look up.
Linda, wow, I love the narrative voice here…the action of looking up through beautiful icy crystals. Provocative and moving.
It’s nice you had time to sit a minute and enjoy “the early sun playing with the crystals.” Lovely, Linda!
Linda, you truly had a meditative moment here, with the way you paused – and then witnessed
Beautiful poem – I feel as if I got to see the frost and snowflakes with you!
Oh, “reminding me/to look up” is such a lovely moment — nudging me to do the same. We are visiting Chicago this weekend, and I am hoping for some snowflakes to look up to.
Peace,
Sarah
Linda, this is wonderful! I love the repetition of “turned” and the phrasing of “I turned the key / that turned the motor” as well as the fun of “the early sun / playing with / the crystals.” Thanks for this!
Maureen, thank you for this prompt. No matter how many, nature poems are always delightful for me.
In the Morning Air
Crisp 28 this morning
Winter whispers her approach
And the dawn’s weak rays
Sparkle on frost-covered lawns
A hint of ice
Where forgotten sprinklers
Watered dying shrubs
Shells litter the shore
Crunch beneath my Nikes
I jog to catch
The Golden bounding joyously
Into cold crashing surf
An icy blue sky emerges
In the early morning light
And a tender bite on my cheek
Reminds me
Of the chill even here
Miles south of my northern home
In the morning air.
Kathleen, so many sensory details – the crunching of shells, dawn’s weak rays, cold crashing surf, the tender bite of chill – I feel I am there, in that bracing morning air. Exhilarating!
Kathleen, your poem is a joyous celebration of a chilled shore line. The sensory appeal to touch is especially striking. You immediately pulled me into your poem with the winter whispering. Truly gorgeous poem full of color and action. Thanks for sharing this moment.
Kathleen, your poem opens with such a raw cold experience of “Crisp 28” degrees and then leads us through a gorgeous exploration of the surrounding nature. I found myself trying to envision where you might be … someplace southern and unexpectedly cold? I adore the image of your dog enjoying the water despite the temps –
Thank you for this!
Kathleen, I really enjoyed all of your vivid details here from the “crisp…morning[‘s] / [w]inter whispers” to the “tender bite on [your] cheek.” Thank you for writing and sharing this examination of your “jog….[i]n the morning air.”
Lovely. Lovely. Maureen’s start word “now” triggered my start word.
Grandpa’s Farm
then we bundled up our youthful frames
in plaid wool coats and
thick soled rubber boots
then we clomped through lumpy clumps
of black tilled soil and chopped corn stalks
left littered after harvest
then we ventured into the wood
and told secrets to the trees
whispering back their rattling leaves
then we scouted out a deer carcass
sun bleached bones rising
above decaying fur
then we clasped our hands and
said a prayer the rook of crows
hunched over watching
then we heard cows lowing
settling in the sun behind us
we traced our way
back home
So many captivating images. The one that strikes me deepest is hands clasped in prayer over the decaying deer, as the crows watch. So many layers of feeling and being, layered there. And oh, the sense of home! Are we not always trying to find our way. Such a poignant poem, Denise.
Should be “crook of crows” – urgh. Play on rook and crows and the crook of the tree above. Anyway… : )
Denise, I could picture everything happening in your poem! Loved ‘told secrets to the trees/whispering back their rattling leaves”. What a wonderful journey full of crystal clear images. I can just hear those cows.
Denise, I love the drumbeat of “then” for each stanza, making me hear an almost breathless voice, happily retelling the day’s adventure on the farm…all leading “back home.” Just gorgeous! I am particularly fascinated by “the rook of crows/hunched over watching” as you prayed – one in spirit with you.
Maureen, thank you for your glorious poem and this prompt. I will need that book. Your own verbs make your verse sing, with the kiss, the wink, the waving of farewell. I write of nature a lot, which was one of my life’s great discoveries: I didn’t know how much nature spoke to me until I began writing regularly.
Happy Thanksgiving to one and all – I am deeply grateful for this gathering-place.
One Golden Moment
Late afternoon sun,
slanted amberlight
gilding trees ahead.
Crimson, orange, bronze
bleeding together.
Russet leaves tumbling
across gray asphalt,
gathering in piles,
cushioning the earth.
Among the shadows
white-tailed deer stand still
as marble statues
in the crackling-soft,
leaf-strewn silences
of whispering trees,
fragility shed
for perseverance.
Autumn’s alchemy
paints the very air
like a sacred breath.
Fran, our towns with names the very same and our similar settings ring notes of familiarity and deep connection as we read each other’s words. I’m always amazed at how I see so many of the same things but then you come along with words that eloquently present the scenes as snapshots that touch my heart – like this:
“Autumn’s alchemy
paints the very air
like a sacred breath.”
(just last night after dinner, my sister in law and I stood outside watching our breath carry away on the cold night air and talked about it like those vintage candy cigarettes we used to “smoke”)
and
“Among the shadows
white-tailed deer stand still
as marble statues”
(at any given time of day, there are herds of deer just feet from our windows …and they freeze just like marble statues when they see me watching …they stomp that front leg at me, though, …their warning stomp for me to get about my business)
we share so many mirrors, but it’s a funny thing – a gift – that I see more beauty in my own world after reading your words
Oh Kim – now you have me wanting to write poems of mirrored souls <3
Such beautiful imagery. Such vivid colors. Your closing — “Autumn’s alchemy / paints the very air / like a sacred breath” is perfection. Loveky poem.
Fran, wow, your poem is mesmerizing. I love the color, the coolness, and the end is just absolutely jaw-dropping! The action words create movement and a sense of touch. Loved “bleeding together,” “crackling-soft” “leaf-strewn silences” and ‘fragility shed”. Stunning and magical, too!
Fran,
These words are so beautiful:
The word “alchemy” is perfect for contemplating nature. Have a happy, restful Thanksgiving.
Fran, this is a beautiful poem that you have shared with us! I feel as if I am standing still next to you, observing so many natural treasures, and taking a deep, cleansing breath. I found these lines particularly lovely:
Yes, without a doubt, nature is speaking to you! Happy Thanksgiving!
Fran,
Love, love, love this poem!
You delivered a gift to me with your words and the beauty of what it revealed to me.
Maureen, thank you for the nature inspiration this morning. I am going to devour the book you shared – love, love, love the Simplicity poem and yours about autumn. I’ve had a poem going as I drive the roads of my county home from work, so you inspired me to finish it and add the repetitive beginning word. Thanks for hosting us today and stretching us as writers!
Come On Home Down Country Roads
Go past the historic red brick courthouse on the city square where men fight against development and complain there’s no internet
Go left at the Hallmark Christmas tree,
fragrant balsam standing tall,
winking love to all, a gift each year from a tree farmer in our rural Georgia country farmland
Go on through the hometown sidewalks bustling with fresh holly-filled evergreen wreaths on every door – the Mortons, the Sawyers, the Demarcos, and all the other names in the church directories for miles on end, people smiling and waving from restored front porches
Go straight down to the dirt road, and turn the window down a crack to hear the crunch of gravel under the pickup truck tires, as every outside farm dog comes running to the road’s edge to take a good hard look and size up the situation with a warning greeting
Go past the cinnamon-roll haybales standing on their sides, scattered across the rolling hill pastures like manna fallen from heaven, acres and acres outlined in rustic wood-rail fences
Go past the old tobacco barn now home to tractors and balers and machinery that makes it all easier for the great great grandsons of the first generation farmers
Go right at the fishing ponds where the cat-tails sway and the frogs trill songs of praise for the day and the steam rises like slow-motion ballet dancers on cold mornings
Go real slow at the roadside stand, the honor system produce market where the farmer leaves a money bucket for the good folks of Pike County to pay for their collards and pumpkins – and tip your hat, if you’re wearin’ one and see somebody
Go on up to the holy cows, the ones who run together in a big herd toward the cross on the hill every evening at five o’clock sharp when they’re called home
Go past the old dilapidated cannery, where the women of this town in war-time all worked to preserve the food grown here to feed a hungry nation
Go over the railroad tracks – the ones that brought all the folks before us out to line the streets as President Franklin D. Roosevelt in his casket rode through the small towns from his home over in Warm Springs all the way back to D.C.
Go on down past the fire tower and Gregg’s peach orchard, past the old cemetery with its moss-covered headstones, over the creek and through the piney woods up the long, winding driveway to the Johnson Funny Farm and
Come on in, greet the dogs in their full-body wags….and relax! Sit down and have a glass of sweet tea with a mint sprig in a mason jar with me!
I am there with you, dear Kim, all the way, right along with those tobacco barns and cinnamon-roll haybales (fantastic description – I wouldn’t have thought of it!). In every line, the inherent repetition of love, love, love and home, home, home. I feel completely at home in your verse. And I love it.
Kim, I absolutely love your poem. I felt like I literally took a trip. I loved all your very specific details of people, places, action, and history. I had to laugh at the reference to the holy cows. What a perfectly named group of cows. Your poem reminds me of the book I Am One of You Forever by Fred Chappell. Gorgeous poem. Thanks for taking me on this journey!
Kim,
I love this invitation to visit and the repetition of “go.” I envision you giving these directions to many visitors over the years and contemplate all who have traveled these roads. I really want to know more about “holy cows,” and I’ll take that tea, sans sugar, and pat the fur babies.
Kim, the poetic drumbeat of “Go” makes me feel as if I am traveling right to you, that you are welcoming me. Beautiful! I particularly like how your observations reflect not just the very present but local history – way back with President Roosevelt, women in war-time, great grandsons and current residents…this adds this broader view of nature over time. I am smitten with this image, how the dogs ‘speak up’ to the passersby:
Love it! Thank you!
My inspiration is from a visit to Bohemia-Switzerland National Park in the Czech Republic and Germany, October 2019.
Around Each Bend
Around each bend
nature gifts a new surprise:
rolling forests bedecked in autumn hues: orange red golden accessories;
honeycombed sandstone cliffs stretching
to form Prebisch Gate natural bridge;
a fairytale boat on the Kamenice River
snaking through winding gorges;
bright orange mushrooms peeking
through the vine-covered forest floor; ?
panoramic views of Basted Bridge 305
meters high crossing the Elbe River.
Around each bend a fairytale awaits in
Bohemia-Switzerland National Park.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, you make me want to travel to this fairyland that I can see and sense in your lines! I especially love your opening: “Around each bend/nature gifts a new surprise.” So true – if we open ourselves to see and receive. Just beautiful.
Glenda, your travels always out a sparkle in my eye and take my longing gaze straight upstairs where my suitcase rests behind the attic door….oh, those bedecked forests in autumn hues and the orange mushrooms and the fairytale boat. We need a writers’ group writing journey, and you’re just the person to know where we should go and write, write, write. One big tour of minds, hearts, and pens.
Glenda, you make the travel-lust rise inside me to see this beautiful place. Loved “honeycombed sandstone cliffs” and “bright orange mushrooms”. Definitely sounds like a magical place!
Glenda, you have captured so many magical aspects of this “fairytale” location…I am particularly drawn to
How gorgeous this must have been! Thank you for sharing this poetic reflection – I am certain you treasured your visit to Bohemia-Switzerland National Park. I have never been – but would truly love to go! Happy Thanksgiving!!
Not a single one
of these barren trees
shivers quite the same –
each one moves to its own
geometry of change
and alteration –
imperceptible anchors
immune to observations
and pondering –
I touch their rough skin
and sing the song where
winter begins
Kevin
Kevin – You’ve chosen words of keen specificity that really delivered the images that tugged at me, that wake up the senses: “shiver” (brings me the new shake of winter) and “geometry of change” (this particular mathematical choice opens the systematic preciseness) and “alteration” (carries unique intent) and “anchors” (reminds me of the constant movement) and “skin” (a vulnerable membrane). You have that eye and poetic mojo that translate into that deep song … that is a poem to launch my thanks for giving. Have a great holiday. ¡Gracias, mi amigo! Estoy estudiando español. ? Susie
Kevin,
This is gorgeous. Favorite line: “Each one moves to its own / geometry of change.” Every line is perfect.
“Geometry of change” – wow, Kevin. That’s profound. As is singing the song where winter begins. I could reread this poem every day and never tire of it. Utterly gorgeous.
Kevin, “I sing the song where winter begins” is my favorite line in your poem – one of my favorite scenes in a movie is when all the Who’s in Whoville join hands and start singing – and that’s what I feel in our group today as I read your final line – this community of voice, lifting in song over a mountain of a world of Grinch, standing here appreciating the beauty of a world we hope to change! Well done, my fellow early riser!
Kevin, wow, I love the image of each tree moving in its own special way, the sense of touching the trees rough skin, but your end is incredible. Brilliant poem! Loved it!
Kevin, I have been awed by the movement of trees, how distinctly each one shifts and sways. Your poem captures this extraordinary beauty. I am riveted by the idea of “imperceptible anchors.” This conclusion is such a testament to the gifts we receive when we commune with nature:
Gorgeous!
Hi Kevin,
You are reminding me that it’s so beautiful to be unique, be ourselves, and love every imperfection.
Thank you! ?