Our Host
Shaun has been teaching high school English for 28 years. Originally from Utah, he has lived in Las Vegas for 23 years, but his career has taken him from the isolated Eskimo villages of Alaska to the exotic steppes of post-soviet Kyrgyzstan.
Inspiration
One of my favorite poets is Charles Bukowski. I think it’s because he was one of the first poets I encountered who expressed his feelings directly, unfiltered. To my teenage brain, he represented an attractive irreverence and rebellion, but also sincere vulnerability. Today I want to share with you Bukowski’s “Nobody but You” (excerpt below). It really speaks to my independent nature and is an antidote to my propensity for negative self-talk. Credit for this prompt also goes to Ms. Martin’s Class (Youtube).
“Nobody but You” by Charles Bukowski
nobody can save you but
yourself.
you will be put again and again
into nearly impossible
situations.
they will attempt again and again
through subterfuge, guise and
force
to make you submit, quit and /or die quietly
inside.
…read the rest here: https://wordsfortheyear.com/2014/06/22/nobody-but-you-by-charles-bukowski/
Process
Think about your life. Do you feel like there is something holding you back? Do you feel stuck or helpless in your circumstances? Do you remember a time when you persevered and overcame the challenges thrown at you? Perhaps you can tap into your inner-coach and deliver that life-changing halftime motivational speech!
Write freely about the ways you connect to Bukowski’s words
OR
Write about anything that needs to be set free through your poetry.
Shaun’s Poem
“When Everything Seems Pointless”
There is a place,
between Malaise and the Blues.
You know it.
There’s a creep on the corner selling cheap ennui and stagnation.
Avoid him if you can.
Stuart Smally makes it look easy.
Just look into the mirror and say,
“I’m good enough. I’m smart enough, and doggone it,
people like me!”
Self-doubt picks up a crowbar and smashes the mirror to pieces.
Stay away from her as well.
The alarm clock shocks you into action,
or inaction.
Pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er!
Rally the troops!
Resist the urge to join the dead-in-spirit.
Bukowski was right.
Wager yourself as you struggle!
Damn the odds! Damn the price!
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.
What Would I Be?
I wait for immortality to come knocking on my door. And as I wait, I wonder. What would I do when she comes to embrace me, merge with me?
I would become a sponge, soaking up all the knowledge I could not attain in a single lifetime. I would learn anthropology, art history, European literature, South Asian literature, psychology, Egyptology, nautical archaeology, symbology, thanatology. I would read Shakespeare, Chaucer, Austen, Christie, the Brontes, Shelley, but also every author that is bleeding onto paper as I type this. I would buy houses only to furnish them with the burdens that cannot carry for eternity. I would love with abandon, live with abandon. I would abandon myself to time and space. I would live a day at a time, unbothered by the caprices of tomorrow or yearnings of yesterday.
I wait for immortality to come knocking on my door. The coffee is gets cold. The light slowly fades. And as I wait, I vanish.
I can’t make you remember
Not the town you lived in,
Or the horse and buggy rides in Bermuda,
Nor when I last came to visit
But I can stop worrying it will happen to me
I can’t give you your eyesight back
So you can see my gray hair multiplying
Or the color of the new pants I brought
But I can describe my paintings to you
Can you see colors in your mind?
I can’t stop the progression of your disease
But I can continue to live each day to my fullest,
Stop being paralyzed by fear and burnout
I can do that….
Can’t I?
Shaun, I very much appreciate the prompt, especially at a moment where I’m on the precipice of some potentially rewarding but also scary changes in my life. Bukowski’s ability to cut through the nonsense and make the plain-spoken truth poetic has always resonated with me too. Your mentor poem is an inspiration, as well. I hope I haven’t hewn too closely to your poem with mine; I think I was thinking similar thoughts to yours. “There’s a creep on the corner selling cheap ennui and stagnation” is an outstanding line!
This poem ain’t
gonna write itself.
Nobody is gonna
cut you a check
for work you ain’t
done.
Do something.
Wake up. Be action.
Do. Do. Do.
Safe spaces create
invisible barriers.
The world is
hard, but there
is no putting it off.
To taste the
sweetest blackberry
you may have to bloody
a few fingers in the
bramble.
When you’ve done it
long enough, the berry
emerges without the
blood.
But first you’ve got to
do it. And then do it
again. And
again.
Dave, I love the power of this poem. It made me feel like I was marching to success. So many words, lines, stanzas are my favorites, but I thought of my feet-draggin, sleepy-headed, “do we have to do this assignment?” 8th graders when I read your line “Nobody is gonna cut you a check for work you ain’t done.” But the reward is the sweetest berry minus the blood. Great poem.
Dave — What a mantra of marching forward with will. This could be motivational speech. Anne Lamott agrees with you. We all do, I’m guessing. I LOVEd the image of the “blackberry…blood…” Fits perfectly. Susie
This was so powerful!
To taste the
sweetest blackberry
you may have to bloody
a few fingers in the
bramble.
I can feel the sting!
Hi Shaun,
Sorry that it’s another late day to post and I’m grateful you gave us the freedom to explore our options. Your poem is the kind of poem I’d love to hear spoken! I was holding on to every line! I love the Golden Shovel so that’s what I chose.
I used a few lines from Bukowski’s poem:
think about saving your self.
your spiritual self.
your gut self.
Saving Self
Sometimes, I look around my classroom and think
is there anything more I can do about
how I imagine and plan my future, saving
up for life in retirement. People say your
life begins then. You get to live and be your true self.
Not ticking by the work clock but picking out your
day’s adventures. Embracing your spiritual
purpose or crafting a better version of your old self.
And always honoring what your
dreams are, what your gut
says is best. Remembering to love and pamper your self.
©Stacey L. Joy, April 18, 2024
Stacey, it sounds like you and I are desperately (in a positive way) looking forward to our next chapter. I enjoyed this and my favorite lines are “You get to live and be your true self. And “People say your life begins then.” I enjoyed your thoughts and can feel your truth behind the words.
Stacey, what great Golden Shovel lines. I love the coaching you are giving yourself in your poem “crafting a better version of your old self” is a great thought. Here’s to living by those last two lines now and in the future retirement years.
Stacy, I love the golden shovel form too. I love how you wove the Bukowski lines into your theme of self realization and empowerment. “Not ticking by the work clock” really registers with me these days.
Stacey,
You are such a master w/ the golden shovel form. The title and first two lines hooked me. Reading I thought about the way living is a constant act of saving oneself. There are positives and negatives, the yin and yang, at every stage of life. But I imagine retirement in southern California will be filled w/ sunshine and so many adventures for your golden years in your golden state.
Stacey — This is just the reminder we all need…tend the self …. then the world becomes a playground for your best endeavors. Easy to say, not easy to do. All our years of teaching honed a very fine blade that cuts a path for kids and fellow teachers. It seems harder to recognize how that whole life of tending those around us is a sweetly reciprocal experience…kids taught us to play, to create with giggles and guffaws, to endure. We were always learning…you will continue to learn, the greatest “pamper” you can get. Hugs and love as you continue “crafting.” Susie
Thank you for this prompt, Shaun! I like the positive focus of the reflection. I have been reading ‘A Girl with A Cape: The True Story About the Superhero in All of Us’ by Amy Logan to students this week and your prompt reminded me of the power of positivity illustrated in that book and your poem as well as the poem that inspired you in the first place.
What you give, you receive
I believe, I believe.
But you most choose
and choose wisely.
Because what you choose
you receive.
Short, Concise and True!!
Truth ! thanks Kimberly. You reminded me, my mom used to say that often. Loved it.
Kimberly, I live the repetition of receive, choose and believe. “Because what you choose / you receive” makes me stop and have to think twice.
You Deserve So Much More From Yourself – A Golden Shovel
What you fail to realize is NOBODY
is against you; especially. not me. but I CAN
only do what I can do I don’t have the power to SAVE
you from yourself. A decision has to be made. YOU
are the only one who can make this choice, BUT
choose wisely you must so you don’t end up hurting YOURSELF.
I’m rooting for you! I’m with you AND
for you. I want to see you succeed; however, YOU’RE
holding all the cards. You are WORTH
fighting for; all the extra effort; worth SAVING.
Oh, Donnetta, “You’re holding all the cards.” puts some more responsibility on the listener in your poem. You can’t just sit and wait for things to happen. You deserve good things, but you have something to make it happen. Wow.
Donnetta, great use of the golden shovel form. I love the theme of self love and accountability in your poem and the directness of the message. The turn in the 2nd stanza really completes your message–AND YOU’RE WORTH SAVING!
Donnetta,
I think often about the truth in your poem. We really do save ourselves. I’ve told many students over the years there’s only one person they must spend every day of their life with. Everyone else comes and goes.
Thanks Shaun for this prompt which somehow took me to that place where I was thinking about how often teachers do not make time for themselves–and who else will be looking out for you, but you! So here is where I ended up!
Do it for You
On days that feel like weeks and months
it’s the little things that matter
an early morning walk dodging snails and letting dew drops
give you that magical sparkle
even when it’s hard to get out of bed
a stop by the local coffee shop on the way home
for that expensive coffee (decaf of course)
that transports you to a place that is quiet and calm
and just the right kind of warm, the kind that feels like a hug
go out back and breathe in purple
soft lavender smells that tickles your nose
with memories of summer, of time unstructured
a momentary vacation
Take time
make time
invent time
imagine time
just for you
Do it for you
Kim,
This rings true.
love the lavish delight of this stanza:
Thanks for this vacation and call to action.
Kim, I really loved that first line “On days that feel like weeks, months…” It so resonates with me. There are days that definitely seem interminable and your poem is a welcome reminder to take a break and recharge.
Kim, I came on just as you were posting, thinking your poem’s title. Participating regularly here on VERSELOVE is something I do for myself for multiple reasons. The first is that I learn SOOOOO much about teaching and about teachers that I feel more confident when I’m mentoring those new to the profession.
I also come because the prompts are helping me reflect and develop a level of appreciation for those who “raised me”, as a child, as a teen, as a Christian, as an educator, as a wife and mother. Because of this group, I’ve felt confident about sharing my “stories” as published books. Some are even selling!
So, thanks for your poem, closing six lines! Great advice for those who are busy and those who are just busybodies!
Oh, Kim, this is so pretty. I love the section beginning with “go out back and breathe in purple / soft lavender smells that tickles your nose” Then those four “time” lines are perfect. I keep reading them over and over, considering how each one is true and important.
Shaun,
Thanks for the prompt and your poem. I love your first stanza. Yeah stay away from that creep. The Stuart Smalley reference made me laugh. Your prompt was exactly what I needed this morning.
Charles Bukowski Pep Talk
Teacher Commuting by Bike Variation
Ride away
from the meanness of yesterday
Stop
on the bridge
take a photo
of the PacMan graffiti–
Never Give U(p)
carefully cropping
where someone has tagged over
the persevering p
Send the photo
to your family and friend text chains
add a groaner of a joke
to your ailing mentor
a “Can’t wait to give you a hug on Friday”
to your colleague who’s recovering
from eye surgery
and a “You’ve got this”
to your teammate who’s prepping
for a job interview
inhale the green of spring
Shout out
“Good morning!”
to the walkers and cyclists
some will remain plugged in
offering only a disconnected stare
but others will join in the fun
and shout back
“Good morning!”
Give an “Aren’t they beautiful?”
to the couple bending
to admire
the wild wild flowers
Toss in a “Have a great day!”
and get one back
Stand up on your pedals
like a kid
as you zoom
down the hill
on Bluebonnet
Take the long way to work
and weave side to side
down the curves of
Elmglen
Crank up Westhill
Savor yesterday’s sweet shoutouts
of fourth period
for peers
for you
for your teammate
and their gratitude for your assignment
Slow down
take in
all
of the light
green
new
growth
on a giant
patch
of prickly pear
in front of
a blue house
Live
a poem
of joy
and gratitude
Live
a poem
of joy
and gratitude
beautiful!
That really is a beautiful ending, Sharon. I love how you slowed the poem down and stretched it out at the end.
Thank you for taking me on a bike ride with you, Sharon! I like how relatable and accessible your pem is with picture taking, texts sending, greeting people, shout outs, and lowing down to watch the prickly pear tree. That is a joy ride!
Live a poem… ah yes! And “stand up on your pedals like a kid…” I love this! The energy is palpable!
What Gayle said! I love the different calls to action in this as well!
This late entry was on my heart today.
Dear 5th graders,
You’ll be free soon
from this nurturing school
that you feel treats you like
infants and monitors your
recess, lunch, behavior
and non-nutritional snacks.
You’ll be separated from here
and in 4 short months, be elsewhere.
Some at schools in other cities, most at the local Middle School
and a few in other states.
You’ll have multiple teachers
some you’ll admire and a few
you’ll despise.
Cherish these last weeks with
one another.
Most of you
have been together
since you were a wee 4 years.
A few of you will drop by in a year or two
shocked at how small our
school is.
You may fondly
relive the days of just one teacher.
As you’re preparing for
testing and then departure,
remember your lessons, and
your growth and reflect upon
your true friendships, cherished
teachers, insights learned, discoveries,
and growth you still have to do.
The Education Road is long.
Stay focused, and realize you’re prepared.
And hopefully you’ll reflect
and remember your 5th grade year with
grace, admiration and joy.
Written by Seana Hurd-Wright
Seana,
This is so pure and heartfelt. I hope you read it to your fifth graders. They are fortunate to have such a loving teacher.
thanks, I plan to.
Seana, this is so sweet. I hope you share this with your students. Oftentimes they are so focused on themselves. It would be great to let them know what you think about them.
Yay!!! I think this is at the heart of all of us 5th grade teachers at this time. I love that you mentioned how they’ll think our school is so small. It’s so funny when they say that but it’s true!! It’s a small and special world before we release them to the wild world of middle schools!
Excellent, Seana!
Spring Has Sprung
By Mo Daley 4/18/24
The crocus bloom first, guarding their treasure
Saffron for cooking is their pleasure
Spikes of muscari jut from the earth
Their purple-blue color showing their worth
The star magnolia’s leaves have already browned
Flittering and fluttering to the damp ground
The daffodils are bobbing their heads
As the wind whistles through the flower beds
The tulips show off their vibrant hues
Before curling up for a little snooze
The mallards have returned for their dips in the pond
Of our little yard they seem quite fond
The sturdy toad survived the first lawn mowing
But I’d much prefer into the rocks he were going
The goldfinches grow yellower with each passing day
They will all be lemony by the first of May
Spring has sprung, that is true
And I am so happy to have it with you
Mo, fantastic spring imagery that sings off the page. I adore your use of colors and focus on action as well as your whimsical tone and use of rhyme that helps to make this whole piece flow. I was particularly fond of the toad lines, but your final two are pure delight. Thank you!
Lemony goldfinches…such a vision you have painted!
Mo — this has the lilt of delight…like spring…it bounces couplet to couplet. You danced this poem right into my smile. I enjoyed the rhythmics of the whole thing. And I’m smiling that each of these happened about 2 weeks ago here…climate change has blasted me right through these images into already 4 lawn mowings, and the irises now in full bloom and the hydrangeas are ready to set buds. I think we are about 4 weeks ahead of schedule this spring…so crazy, downright eerie. Tonight …once again sat in the basement while the tornado sirens blared. Luckily, all I had was hard rain, wind, and tiny hail. The area got pummeled though. Touchdowns in several places. Whew, not right here. You soak up that beautiful spring you described today! Hugs, Susie
Yikes! Stay safe down there! This has been a crazy spring.
Thanks, Mo. I woke this morning too a gorgeous, clear, sunny day. Everything is greener than ever. All is well. Susie
Shaun,
I really like these mentor poems and am sure yours resonates w/ this community, especially this time of year. I intended to tackle the subject of my poem yesterday. That didn’t happen.
Closeted Skeletons
bones to be found and sorted into strange, precise skeletons… R.A. Villanueva “God Particles”
bodiless skeletons
hang on rods, stack racks,
fold in fetaled creases
along bloated shelves:
fast-fashion corpses.
closing the closeted casket
door won’t reanimate reality—
this collective consumerism—
stuff stuffed into crevices &
corners—a metaphoric
landfill—hides in my home.
untold origin stories of
stereotyped female &
child labor birthed this
environmental wasteland:
-that pile of denim
-that shorts stack
-that suit sealed in plastic wrap
-that rod of dresses & skirts worn once
-those rows of boots, shoes &
sandals bought in Spain, Greece & Thailand
-scarves looped on a metal loop—
stuff stuffed upon stuff
calls for haute couture
homicide, a mercy killing,
the Swedish death purge—
döstädning—an undoing
only you can euthanize
this monster, your
clothed creature
Glenda Funk
4-18-24
Canva photo: My closet.
Glenda, wow, I am in awe of your poem and the compelling way in which you develop the images throughout your poems. The closeted casket and child labor birthed this environmental wasteland is visceral. I believe this landfill hidden in your home has an underlying tone that feels painful, and perhaps regretful for the skeletons we keep. Why is it sometimes so hard to purge. I appreciated the way you also reveal the clothes you’ve accumulated through your far-off travels and the “haute couture/homicide, a mercy killing” is absolutely chilling. I will have to continue peeling off the layers of your poem. Stunning piece, and I enjoyed viewing your Canva rendition.
Glenda, we have just finished a unit a social justice unit at school and part of that is looking at how clothing is made, where it comes from, and how many t-shirts kids need (with some material on the cost in water and energy for one t-shirt). Your poem powerfully speaks to that, especially with the death imagery of skeletons and caskets, along with the fetaled creases. I’m reminded of Mary Shelley’s monster in “clothed creature.”
Glenda — You fiend you! This was so so so what we do …the closet skeletons (I love your alliterations) of all those ghosts hanging there, once worn and now haunting. I purged and purged and purged, but still I have those “fashion corpses” lingering there untouched for …geez…for how long??? Oh my. And “fetaled creases”… whoa. you have a grand mind, the images almost macabre.
New one for me:
döstädning
This is a dandy poem. And the delivery of it is just BAM!
Glenda, sadly, this is not just your reality. This is a consumerism nature of most societies today. Twenty years ago, I had a good pair of shoes for each season and a pair of nice ones for special occasions, a few daily work outfits and a couple of “holiday” dresses. Now I have a walk-in closet similar to yours “full of bodiless skeletons” and complain that I have nothing to wear. We need to do something about it. Yes, only we can do it shifting our priorities and taming that monster. Thank you for this important reminder!
Glenda, thank you for this. The alliteration and word choice is so effective, as is the skeleton metaphor.
I will be sharing your poem with my daughter tomorrow. We were talking tonight about how she is not buying anything new in 2024 (and likely will continue). The fast fashion is so bad for our environment.
Happy National Poetry Day to all! I’m getting ready to compete at a poetry slam so this is my self pep talk. Thanks, Shaun, for hosting today. I really appreciated your last line: “Damn the odds! Damn the price!”
Just Do It!
stand up straight
speak your truth
articulate
don’t worry that your friends
and family can’t be there
be brave
embrace the light
set the mic on fire
be valiant
show the world your fight
to create a better life
stand up straight
speak your truth
articulate
Barb Edler
17 April 2024
Barb,
Keep preaching this message to yourself and know your cheer team is beside you, if not in person then in spirit. My favorite word is “articulate” because it invokes strength of voice and person. 💪
SET THE MIC ON FIRE!!! That’s our Barb – – lighting up the room with poetry, showing the world how it’s done. Oh, how I wish I could be there. That is just the best feeling in the world, being at a poetry reading. You amaze me.
Barb, yes, set that mic on fire!!! I have no doubts you did great in the poetry slam competition. Your words do exactly what you intend them to do. I like the repetition of the first and last three lines. Great motivational talk! You are a model of “articulate” for me!
Best of luck. I have no doubt that you will set that mic on fire!
You go, Barb! I love this for you. In sharing your self-pep talk from this prompt, one that “shows the world your fight,” your poem allows us to cheer you along too!
Barb,
Kick butt. I like the interwoven affirmations, and I like the book end stanzas. They provide an opportunity for the spoken voice to really hit the emphasis of the repeated message the second time.
Barb — I sure know each of these admonitions. And yahooty to doing all that and “speak[ing] your truth” here. Whether it is a difficult truth, a bittersweet truth, or that swift kick in the pants truth…you’ve told them all in this space, and I look forward to your poems every time. Today, once again. Hugs, Susie
Barb! How fun this is! I can’t wait to hear about your experience. So glad you gave yourself this little pep talk. The repetition of the first three lines at the end is a great way to begin and end. Especially “speak your truth” and this line in the middle jumped out at me: “set the mic on fire” Oh yes! I know you did.
This is powerful! I want every poet to read this!
HANG ON
Set me free
from phantasmic phobias,
heights, drop-offs,
mountain roads,
fly-over bridges,
bad weather flights
a derailed country;
my head knows…
the road’s on solid ground,
the car won’t veer into the canyon,
the shoulder won’t give way,
percentages are on my side,
sane legislators exist,
and then…
there I am on that mountain road,
ascending into the mist,
asphalt cracked,
half the 2-lane has plunged
into oblivion;
there I am on Going-to-the-Sun highway,
creeping at dawn
down the mountain
on the wrong side of the road
paralyzed to move to the outer lane
with the abyss three inches
from my right tire;
there I am on the flight
when the stewardess paled, panicked,
grabbed the closest passenger
as lightning, thunder
rocked the vessel
from “a little turbulence”
into a rollercoaster;
there I am glued to the news
that I-35W collapsed
into the Mississippi
with 111 cars,
13 dead, 145 injured,
gasping that it
could’ve been me;
I could forego the news,
ignore insurrection,
renew my passport,
try acupuncture therapy,
hypnosis,
a stiff belt of bourbon…
or
I could paint,
write poetry,
play guitar and sing,
practice my español,
walk Rayo in the park,
and hang on for dear life.
by Susie Morice, April 18, 2024©
Susie–I am right there with you! Your fear stanzas were vivid and true–the mountain paths-I mean roads–,the turbulent flight (Hint-do not get the weather app on your phone that shows what the sky is doing), the collapsing bridge. All of them are so real, and yet the best we really can do is to walk the dog and make sure they don’t run off…
Susie,
What a beautiful poem. That first stanza works so well from the phantasmic to the grounding of the derailed country, which feels worthy of phobia, too. And then each stanza elaborates on lines of the first. The teacher in me sees this poem as a lovely alternative to the heavy handed essay. The organization here allows for economy of words and greater punch. But the last two stanza really speak to ways of being and what serves our own humanity (and why). Yes, I love a stiff belt bourbon but I’d rather have that with the painting and poetry that assuaging fears and processing insurrections.
Whew, that is some poem, my friend!
Sarah
Holy shit, Susie, I can feel every moment of these fearful moments you share. I can’t even imagine going back on a plane if I’d experience turbulence like a rollercoaster as I’m already a pretty fearful passenger. I did not remember this I-35 collapse, but the horror makes me flinch as it can visualize it so easily while knowing this could be anyone’s awful fate. I love how you assert your powerful spirit at the end of your poem through the actions of painting, singing, etc. and how you end with “and hang on for dear life”. Powerful and relatable poem. You are brave! Hugs, friend!
Susie,
I love everything about your poem, beginning with “Set me free” and following all these adventures, and those that could have been. I know Going to the Sun Road and that white-knuckle driving, which is my style. Of course the answer to coping is art in its many incarnation. Just beautiful.
Susie, the white-knuckle fear is so strong here that I can hear your breath right through the words, When I was young, a barge hit the bridge an island over and many cars fell into the water, folks dead and injured. I was around 9 at the time, and I have never forgotten. I used to panic driving over bridges, and it still crosses my mind when there is a big one to cross. I also, at 16, saw a man jump off a bridge. This has stayed with me and I can still see his white shirt and black pants. He was a restaurant server in Savannah, Georgia, we learned later. I am so here with you in how the despair and deep sorrows and fears can creep in – – and I believe that to this day, it’s why I’m a non-news person. I can’t handle the reality of the world. I think it’s the why of poetry, of music, of birds, of quiet life on a farm, away from as much as I can block out. Your poem is very real for me, and I, too, am holding your hand, holding on for dear life.
Oh boy, Susie! Do I have memories of Going-to-the-Sun highway! I spent the two times we traversed this road on the floor of the car behind the front seat when I was around 11. I was scared to death, but that vacation (we drove there and back from MI) remains one of my favorites – Glacier is stunning. You’ve captured my fears as well – heights, bridges, planes dropping, and certainly a country derailed. I’m so glad for your poetry here and that it helps temper the phobias. You have so many ways of adding beauty to counteract the dark, and your words do that for us too!
Susie-!! Which of us has not imagined such horrors in certain moments? Not to mention the real unimaginable horrors on the news-? Foregoing is an excellent choice…I rejoice in the solace that poetry provides, in addition to painting, song, learning a language, and walking a dog… when I read this through the first time, I thought: This is what we are doing here in our poems all the time. Creating, yes …and hanging on for dear life, thereby.
Shaun–I LOVE this prompt, and Charles Buzowski just moved solidly on to my radar! Thank you! Your poem was so good–I especially loved the phrase “cheap ennui and stagnation” (I hope to use it myself, someday) and the personification you wove throughout.
I spent most of my teaching years working with struggling students, and they often came to me on their bleaker days. There were so many times where there were no magic solutions, or perhaps no real solution at all. So we would just decide on one doable positive thing to do right away, and then we would work on the steps to follow later. Taking the multitude of future choices away seemed to help them. Having been through some challenging times, myself, I have had to remember this advice and follow it. It does seem to work…
How To Save Yourself
“nobody can save you but
yourself.
you will be put again and again
into nearly impossible
situations.”
Charles Bukowski
What do you do to save yourself when those
nearlyimpossiblesituations
erupt on the path in front of you?
When there seems to be no way out or around?
When no one is there to help?
What do you do then?
This is what you do:
You do the right thing for that moment.
It may be a small thing, but it must be right.
And then do another right thing.
And then another and another and another.
And if you do enough of those right things,
you will end up in a place
you never knew was possible.
And then, my dear. You have done it.
You have saved yourself.
And you know now that you can do it again.
And again and again and again.
And you will,
because what other choice do you have?
GJSands
4-18-24
I love everything about your poem, Gayle. Striving to do what’s right must be done again and again and again. Your last line says everything! Powerful poem!
What wonderful advice, Gayle! It’s so simple and so true. More than anything, though, your advice is doable for students and for all of us. I really like this poem.
This is true wisdom here, Gayle! “And then do another right thing. / And then another and another and another. / And if you do enough of those right things, / you will end up in a place / you never knew was possible.” I love this incremental growth! Big changes can happen (yep, after a bunch of little changes happen along the way first!). Thanks for this!
Wow, that is some truth there that some people don’t like to hear. “Do another right thing and another” and do it again and again… Perfect!
Thank you for this prompt and your fun and true poem! I needed the “resist the urge” part. And I guess I needed a little silliness today as you can see from my poem that is me just getting the words down today!
The Writing Game
I won’t walk 500 miles,
But I’ll write 500 words.
That’s not, as they say, for the birds.
First, I’ll check my email
Maybe that agent responded to my query.
No? Oh my, this is getting hairy.
Into the kitchen—I need a cup of tea.
Dang kids forgot the dishes again
I’ll just take a minute then.
I did promise myself I’d get to the gym.
But first to the word.
This is getting absurd.
Ellie clutched the box and listened to the pirates
Overhead
Now what? I think I’ll go back to bed.
I’ll probably figure out the plot
If I do my morning yoga
No! Go find a brand new Ticonderoga.
Ding. Ding.
Dang phone.
Just when I was feeling all alone.
Maybe walking 500 miles would be easier?
Nope! Sit your butt down!
Like Stephen King said, Amateurs wait for inspiration.
Get to the perspiration.
Write crap
Like this poem.
Ho-hum.
Then edit
And turn it to gold
It’s the power you and all writers hold.
The power is real! I love the realistic absurdity of your poem, and the rhyme was perfect. I needed to smile!
Emily, your poem is so funny. I love your honest voice and the way you share exactly what you’re thinking and doing. The use of rhyme adds a whimsical tone to your poem. I had to laugh at Maybe walking 500 miles would be easier? Writing can be difficult perhaps like aging it is not for sissies.
Emily, your poem is so fun to read and so deeply felt. Thank you for sharing today.
Emily,
Funny and relatable!
love the rhymes
So I found out that one of my students was involved in a terrible accident recently and is bedridden indefinitely with a broken leg. I dug out her old pieces from Creative Writing class and am sending them to her with this that I wrote to send to her today. 🙂
Mari,
I heard you’re down and out and (maybe) blue –
So here’s poetic cheer from me to you.
Included are some blasts from Mari’s past
that hopefully will not be Mari’s last
encounter with her writing chops, so fine
(since now, alas, you have nothing but time):
Revisit, then, these moments from our class
that entertained us all (oh, what a blast!).
Here’s hoping that recovery time is quick.
Power of positive thinking is the trick.
Don’t become embittered by your plight.
Don’t lose that plucky Mari Spirit: Fight!
Come back to written word to say your feels
Or binge on Netflix shows and Insta Reels.
Hone your artwork, at which I know you’re apt –
and with your inner self make promised pact:
That life won’t get you down and make you blue
And reach out if there’s something I can do!
I love this rhyming letter poem! I’m sure Mari will also. I especially love the line “encounter with her writing crops, so fine” And the plight and fight line!
This is a wonderful gift for Mari. She is lucky to have such a caring teacher–and including her past work only makes it shine more.
What a lovely poem/letter, Wendy. I’m sure your student will never forget this priceless missive from her creative writing teacher. Very moving and I love how you encourage her through your powerful words!
When I read Bukowski’s poem, I was hit by the line “your singing magical self.” It reminded me of an experience I had sitting in the primary class at my church a few weeks ago, so that’s where I went today!
“Save Your Singing Magical Self”
never stop singing
she told the captivated
roomful of wide eyed children
please, never stop singing
because sometimes, teenagers
and grownups decide that singing
isn’t cool, or that they don’t sound good
enough and so they stop
but please, never stop
because you all sound beautiful
so beautiful, already
and you will always sound beautiful
you can never stop singing
because Jesus loves
when you sing
I like how this poem takes you back to the unfettered life of a child! Really beautiful.
So much truth here. We do stop singing, don’t we? And that is sad…
What a gorgeous and uplifting message you share through your poem, Rachel. Truly powerful and loving way to encourage someone to save their magical singing self.
Rachel,
Such great advice from an adult to the younger ones, never stop doing the thing you love. I love the positivity of the voice. It made me think of Maya Angelou.
Oh, Rachel, I wish someone would have told me this and that I would have believed it. I’ve missed out on a lot by not embracing music and song in my lifetime. Beautiful!
Vettree
There’s a crabapple tree planted in Mr. Crabtree’s yard,
Planted with grace and love, before the soil got hard,
It grew tenderly and was protected by chicken wire,
It grew and grew, until Mr. Crabtree retired.
The tree braved the Vietnamese wind,
Disease, heartaches, and losing friends.
The roots scattered across his field,
Provided fruit for generations
and generations still……….
Crabtree remembers the beauty of the tree,
Slick bark, with leaves shaking free.
Strong and flexible flowering for all to see,
Now it is crackled, fragile and mossy.
Limbs break and the trunk bends,
And it creaks during the slightest wind.
The roots are peaking above the dirt,
The limbs are stiff and constantly hurt.
The Crab tree no longer feels wanted,
For all its glory- it is now taunted.
Fruit rots quick,
When no one cares to pick.
Leaves leave early,
When everyone is in a hurry.
Wood hardens to stone,
When a tree is left alone.
Soon Crab tree begins to tilt,
All his greenery begins to wilt.
All his neighbors feel no quilt,
Fallen, he grants earth a wooden quilt.
Slowly he rots on the earth’s floor,
He will not stand anymore.
His valiant wood decays into the ground,
As a young man comes around.
He holds up a potted tree,
Yells “We can plant it here; the soil is softly.”
Mr. Dogwood moves in,
Watches his tree battle,
Afghan winds………
Ooh, this is so beautiful. The focus on the tree, with such a deeper message lying underneath, works so well. And your rhyming does too. So many beautiful lines: “slick bark with leaves shaking free,” “the limbs are stiff and constantly hurt,” “Fallen, he grants earth a wooden quilt.”
This morning
as I fill the
hummingbird feeder
with sweet nectar,
I am brought back to my
childhood.
I’m changing
the water for K.C.,
the wild beagle
who scares the neighborhood,
makes us feel safe.
K.C. who adores us.
On all fours I bend over
and put my mouth into the water,
taking a long
and green-cool
drink from his mossy bowl.
Somehow, I assure myself
if this bowl is clean
enough for me,
it will do for him.
I coach myself
at this new moment,
again an eight-year-old.
Continue to care
for the creatures,
for they are creators
of wonder
and of colors
and of love.
———————————–
Thank you, Shaun, for introducing us to a new poet, and for this challenge. I love the idea of “Wager yourself as you struggle!” Yes to that! I will come back and revisit it someday. I am traveling, so I was busy getting ready to leave for the airport, this is the poem that came for today.
Denise, I enjoy this essence of self-coaching as a child, almost acting as a form of coping. I love pet memories and how they become some an essence of our lived memory. Thank you for sharing today.
I know this dog, Denise, and I love him,
Nice response to today’s prompt.
What a neat little story to tell in this poem! The image of the speaker bending down to take “a long / and green-cool / drink from his mossy bowl” is surprising and mesmerizing.
Oh, Denise.
I was first struck by the “feeder,” which reminded me of a poem I wrote last weekend with the BB gun. And then I set that a side to swim in your lines. The message to continue is everything and resonates deeply with me and, I imagine, the verslovers here on day 18. Yes, continue. “Continue to care/for the creatures,/for they are creators/of wonder”! Yes, all the creatures in our spheres where we can do good, and love.
Sarah
Happy and safe travels, Denise! Your poem draws me into your childhood, where an eight-year-old you would care for the beagle. i am with Sarah, yes, please, “continue to care / for the creatures.” We need their wonder and color and love. Thank you!
Continue to care
for the creatures,
for they are creators
of wonder
and of colors
and of love.
From one animal lover to another–pure truth here. (And I love your childhood memory!)
Denise,
OMG! I giggled at
“ I bend over
and put my mouth into the water,
taking a long
and green-cool
drink from his mossy bowl.”
Do you have photos? I need to see a picture. This is such a beautiful image of connection to our fur babies. I’m glad this is the poem that arrived for you today.
Denise, you completely pulled me into your poem. I can just see you bending down to drink from this dog bowl. Your last stanza is so lovely. Safe travels!
Denise, first: Hummingbirds! Joy – I have refilled my feeders, and am rewarded throughout the day with many little iridescent visitors. Then this memory of being eight and drinking out of the wild beagle’s mossy bowl…clearly it WAS safe enough. as you are here to tell the story, but, more importantly, is the gesture of love and care for the neighborhood dog, leading up to the lesson of learning to love and care for all creatures, which illuminate our world. So beautiful, and so true.
Shaun, this is wonderful! I’m a fan of Bukowski’s writing. And I definitely need a motivational speech every day. Let’s gooooo!!!!
This is fairly raw and unrefined (pun not intended, but I think subconsciously it worked its way in there intentionally)..
Beans
By Amber Harrison
Your sons will tell you we have nothing,
Don’t listen – we have enough.
You found rice and beans.
What if you hear the day the boys
qualify us as having it all. What will
happen to your rice and beans?
Can you keep them?
Still eat them?
Slow cook them?
You thought we were eating like
kings and a queen – slow-cooked
beans flavored, simmered with fresh onion, garlic, and hot pepper.
First bite: your eyes close, lips turn up,
taste buds praise, shoulders raise.
You can make something from nothing
and nothing can come from something.
Stay big and tough — you have what you need.
Amber, the variance of the first two lines in your last stanza is powerful and thought-provoking. You build up to that moment so well with the prior stanzas. Thank you for sharing today.
Amber, wow! I love this rice and beans love. I love the vagueness of who the sons are. Maybe it doesn’t matter at all. For it’s all the sons and daughters’ story who have parents who make them feel rich even when money is tight. Beautifully told.
Amber, I just had a fantastic lunch and your 4th stanza is making me hungry all over again! Love that you worked with the real and right now to craft this poem.
Amber–this is so very good–in flavor and in sentiment. This stanza carries so much–what we can lose, and what we should never lose:
“What if you hear the day the boys
qualify us as having it all. What will
happen to your rice and beans?”
This needs revisions, but it was all I had in my tank today. This is inspired by one of my students who came to discuss with me his experience last night.
what do you say
when they come to you crippled
hobbled by injustice
humiliated but humbled
do you say -welcome! you have arrived
just in time but still too late
what wisdom can you offer
as they fume and fan the flame
forgetting all their faces and names
george floyd
do you tell them that you hate
how their empathy had to be earned
endured
only grasped as they gasped
fists clasped face down
on the concrete floor
or do you hold your hands high
surrender
to all you dare not say
Wow Kasey, I had to read this multiple times and pulled out new interpretations each time. I am drawn to the power in these lines: hobbled by injustice/humiliated but humbled. Thank you for sharing this today.
Kasey–amazing poem! Raw and true and heartbreaking. Separating that one name out-George Floyd-put such a powerful context to your student’s humiliation. An intense and meaningful poem.
Shaun, Another toughie! Is this “True Confessions Week”? As a Black woman expected to assimilate culturally in elementary school, this was my life for years. My grandparents grew up in the South and knew opportunities would be limited if their grandchildren spoke what later was called Ebonics. So, they insisted we speak in the Mid-Atlantic dialect heard on the radio and then on TV. Below is a map of the regional dialects JUST IN THE USA. Imagine the challenge of our students who move from one region to the other. We’re just talking about English here.
Speak How? Now? Why?
How should I speak to give you a peek
Into who I really am?
When I speak like I’m White
The hoodies say, “That ain’t right.
You Black. Why you talking like that?”
When taught to speak like the radio man,
I decided, “Yes, I can.”
Yes, I will speak like that at school,
But not on the bus; they’ll think I’m a fool.
Code-switching sounds like you’re trying to hide.
But here’s a secret; let me confide.
Language is designed to communicate.
Speaking the right language will open the gate.
But what gate do I want opened?
That’s the challenge in the USA.
The way we speak causes folks to say,
“She ain’t White! Why she talking like that?”
Or “You can’t speak right, so scat!”
When teaching our students in our classroom,
Let’s honor their languages and give them room
To be themselves as they learn what we’re to teach.
Pronunciation and word choice
Just gives us all another voice.
Anna,
This is eye-opening and simply marvelous! We have come a long way in honoring all voices and various dialects, but you capture the evolution and struggle well with your poem.
I love the question, “But what gate do I want opened?”
Thanks for sharing.
Anna, in college we talked a lot about dialect and code-switching. I truly hope we are making progress in these areas. Thank you for sharing your harrowing experience of the unfair contradictions that are placed on communication and code-switching. Each time we are able to dismantle our conditioning and see the beautiful humanity that exists in all languages and dialects, it is my hope, that we embolden each other to live and communicate more authentically.
Anna–wow! You gave us a wealth of thinking-about here! “How should I speak to give you a peek/Into who I really am?”. All voices should be heard…
Anna, your poem is just in time for me. I wish you could be in my Linguistics class today. I showed the exact same map on Tuesday beginning the conversation about the regional dialects. Today my students beautifully presented seven of the English language varieties. We talked about code switching and dialect pride. Your final lines perfectly sum up my conversation with them:
Let’s honor their languages and give them room
To be themselves as they learn what we’re to teach.
Pronunciation and word choice
Just gives us all another voice.
I am going to share your poem with my student next Tuesday if you don’t mind. Thank you!
Leilya, first thank you for teaching about dialects and regional vocabulary. Your students will be so much better prepared to teach diversity than the teachers I had. And, second I’d be honored to have you share my poem with your class. Will you ask them to share theirs with me?
Third, consider the textbooks I’ve written for new teachers. Most have stories about times I’ve encountered issues like this, including one where a friend invited me to be a “guest speaker.” I intentionally began speaking “street talk,” and students shunned me telling her, “I thought you said she was educated!” I scurried out of the room, then returned speaking like a radio news reporter! Then, shared with them the reason they were being taught to speak another dialect. They could always speak what was comfortable to them, but when they wished to be considered for different positions and jobs, they should be able to speak in the way the employers preferred.
They listened attentively for the rest of the presentation!
Thank you for sharing this encounter, Anna! I will check out your textbooks. This is the Linguistics course; there are not just the English Education majors in this class. I usually have a good mix of different majors, but they seem to enjoy the course, especially when we discuss dialects, home languages, and our local Louisiana language varieties.
Shaun, thank you for your prompt. Being the teacher I am, I turned it outward toward my students.
Twenty days of school left,
It comes with a sense of relief.
Finally, we can relax a little.
We’ve got this.
Remember the tortoise and the hare?
Remember what happened there?
The old tortoise, let’s call him Toliver.
Toliver really did not do anything amazing.
He just stayed on course.
He did not slow down.
He just kept going.
Toliver “finished strong.”
You think there’s a lesson there?
Perfectly motivating!
A good reminder for your students & all of us! I love “let’s call him Toliver.”
Yes, Katrina! You wish us to be Tolivers and tolerate whatever is coming, but just keep going! Thanks for the honest depiction of the end of school weeks, and the encouragement to “stay the course” and finish whatever course we’re teaching. (Yes, I’m getting carried away here. But, you get it! :-))
Shaun,
Thanks for the prompt from Bukowski. I was blessed enough to be able to have the time today, and jumped at the chance.
SAINT CHARLES MANDATE
Cut the weathered rope
that tethers you to generic expectations
of others than yourself
with their awakening every day
gray manna mantra,
the drum of hum.
Cut the weathered rope
holding you taut from the currents of the wind,
your destinations, fates, and sirens,
the empty graves and laurels,
waiting your alike arrival,
standing in the light,
standing in the bow.
It is your chrysalis,
your life,
plaque will find your heart,
your teeth,
but in the moving,
never your soul,
burn true as Polaris,
for mariners yet to come,
for the tribute to the quest,
the damning,
the exaltation.
Wow, Rex! There is so much imagery and maybe even I’m gathering a bit of allegory from some of the lines, like the use of “awakening every day / gray manna mantra” and the reference to Polaris. The imagery of the creeping plaque is terrifying, yet also a relief of “never your soul”. Thank you for sharing this here today. I appreciate the sensory element of these words and how they are organized/rearranged/presented.
I’m cutting the rope, Rex. And your poem has given us all permission. It is our chrysalis, after all!
Powerful poem, Rex. I love the way you open this poem with such a strong action and how you stick to this flight to move the soul. Your last two lines: the damning, the exaltation, resonated for me. I can feel that glorious wind on my face, the ability to let everything go to enjoy the moment of this incredible soulful journey.
Overwhelmed but empowered
Depressed but continuing
Stressed but well respected
The thoughts in my mind running wild with what ifs…
What if I didn’t do enough?
What if I messed up…
What if I should be doing something different?
The thoughts hit my brain like a crashing tidal wave.
They come and go like the waves in the night,
The waves that hit a majestic shore
That wipes the slate clean
That brings me hope for a new tomorrow
Katherine,
I like the simile of the waves in the night. It is such a part of the ocean, but really not focused upon. I also like the contrasts in the start. Like you, those kinds of things rob me of my sleep…
Thanks for the inspiration.
for Hank
It wasn’t just the Barfly
that led me to the Post Office
It was the sense of relief I felt
when she needed me
and didn’t want me
all at the same time:
The Most Beautiful Woman in Town.
I knew what she meant:
Bring Me Your Love.
I just needed something more
than a license and a Hot Water Music.
It’s the earworm
Open All Night
that always occupies my timing
or The Pleasures of the Damned
that always needs my tongue.
Today, I’m accepting
the man from the Post Office.
Sunlight, Here I Am.
Keith, I’m drawn to your third stanza. I like the use of titles and the line “always needs my tongue,” almost as if it’s an honor to be needed, but maybe not convenient or desired.
Fantastic last line. That is one thieves like me look for all the time, and I have permission from Kleon.
Senior-Itis
Mr. Itis has the best attendance
in all my senior classes.
He wants to get
his cap and gown
today.
Craves it.
Needs it.
Not so fast, friend.
Those late assignments
you shoved in my email
after midnight
haven’t been opened,
let alone graded.
That black robe
and mortarboard
are the lone
carrot I still have
that you want.
You’ll get what
you want
(probably),
but
you
have
to
work
a
few
more
days.
And if you think I’m being
too mean
too cynical
too much
I can live with that.
Oh did this poem resonate today! I appreciate the end where I feel encouraged to continue to push back against it and live with “being mean.” I also love how you built this poem to drag on and on so as to make us live with that feeling of the end of the year!
Wow,
I am liking the cadence shift with the one word lines, tripping off at the end. I like the personification at the start as well, and the way he has the “best attendance” of the senior classes. Too bad there isn’t a scholarship for that. Maybe the school of hard knocks.
Clever and oh so apt!
Yes, yes, yes! Thank you for articulating this so well! “You’ll get what / you want / (probably).” That “probably” is so important. I keep coming back to it with my seniors, too. Hey, I’m all for you earning credit for ELA 12B, but, but, you haven’t yet, and we still have twenty-six days left, now, hope springs eternal and all that, so you still could, and, believe me there are a lot of people rooting for you, folks who want this for you: I want you to graduate, your parental units want you to graduate, your friends want you to graduate….but do you want to…?
Breaking that one warning into one-word lines gives perfect emphasis to your message. I feel your pain!
The last five years of my career when seniors told me they had senioritis, I told them I had senior-citizenitis. That got some looks. Think about telling those seniors w/ late work they’ll have to hang out w/ you as you grade their work. Make them earn your generosity. Anyway, fun poem.
Thanks for the prompt, Shaun. I wish I had something more positive to share, but I don’t after thinking about how some things from the past have affected the future.
In My Dreams I am Stronger
If this were a dream, it would be that first night you yelled at our mother,
broke a vase,
made me cry,
and the next day I would have used my voice to make you realize that wasn’t okay
and something needed to change.
But I didn’t say a goddam thing.
In my dreams my family is sane compared to some others.
We are all normal.
My husband is happy to be a part of us.
If this were a dream, it would be the night of your first DWI,
or your second,
or your third,
the one where I was with you.
I wouldn’t have kept drinking with you
knowing that you would have to drive later,
or I would have done anything a rational person would do to keep themselves out of that situation.
If this were a dream, it would be the night you were drunk
again.
I don’t just keep letting you drink
because I knew something bad would happen.
You were acting aggressive like always.
I saw you do things you wouldn’t remember in the morning
again.
We were with family, but family can be fuel sometimes,
and you are like this for a reason,
hostile like our father,
although he has learned.
You weren’t there yet.
But you decided to continue drinking
going on a self-hazardous spree.
I would have stopped you.
It wouldn’t have gotten to the point where
you asked my husband a question,
and he didn’t speak to you after that.
He told me he will never speak to you again.
I would have avoided this from happening in whatever way.
So my life wouldn’t become some dumb cliche
of how you drank so much that you blacked out,
so much that I have to separate two parts of my life now.
If these were dreams, I would have been stronger.
Angie, thank you for sharing. There are two lines I connected with and could feel as a part of where I have been “But I didn’t do a goddamn thing” and “I have to separate two parts of my life now”. Writing, especially poetry, has helped me in my journey of hoping, coping, healing, changing and focusing when it comes to those who are in my life with drinking problems.
Angie–The pain in this is palpable. In our dreams, everything can be fixed, made better. Unfortunately, it doesn’t usually happen that way. There are some dreams I have that I know won’t come true. I know how it hurts…
Angie, I applaud your bravery in sharing this powerful poem. Those we love the most really do cause us such pain when they make choices that we know aren’t good for them – – and are harmful to others as well. You share truths that are real – so many are struggling with this same issue, and so readers’ hearts identify and feel heard and seen. And how true – – family can be fuel sometimes. Oh, so true!
Angie…in your poems, you are stronger! And so are we, because of you and your courage. My heart was in my throat as I read. Such vulnerability, such divided loves, such mixed emotions tinged with guilt…I understand this so well, with one of my own family members. I got to a place of realizing I can’t change or save a person from herself and “a self-hazardous spree”… but….there is hope; “like our father…he has learned.” I hope this learning will come. In the meantime your words offer commiseration and community to others…know this.
we are here again
again we are here
the place where you
said we’d not be
but I knew better
than to believe
you
listen, you know what
to do and it will be
easy enough because
we’ve been here before
but don’t make promises
of last time or never
again believe
you
we are living in again
so what have you
learned in the whispers
of doubt in the egoseep
tainting your heartpath
bent away from ways of
you
that reserve serves you
that unpretentious grace heals
that friction warms gumption
that peculiar whisks worlds
we are here again
again we are here
believe this is where
you need to be to
remember poetry
lives in
you
Wow, Sarah, you may not have meant to model self-talk for us, but I find these inner thoughts so encouraging. It can be discouraging to think that “we are living in again,” but at the same time, “we are living in again” reminds us to be strong and remember who we are.
Sarah, that third stanza has grasped me, stopped me, and seems to be speaking also to me. “what have you / learned in the whispers / of doubt” is a line that speaks reassurance, motivation, and calmness as I read this. I like the personification here.
The repetition of “we are here again / again we are here” makes this more enjoyable each time we read it. I see (feel, know) this poem, even if it is both distant and so nearby. It’s wonderful.
I like all the lines and words my friends chose to mention, Sarah, and I add my favorite lessons from your poem today: “reserve serves,” “grace heals,” “friction warms,” and “peculiar whisks world.” Thus embracing these kinds of experiences and emotions is okay.
You are in the right place–“this is where /you need to be,” and I am grateful for this space. Thank you!
“we are living in again”–oof! An entire story in just five words. I read this multiple times, and was taken by the power in it each time…
Sarah, I’ve read it several times and think each time about how this universally speaks to so many situations – – no matter who we are, we are here again in some way – – the repetition is so powerful here, and I want a t-shirt that says Poetry Lives In All of Us
Sarah, your poem weaves a wonderful vibe of perseverance. I love the closing reminder: “remember poetry/lives in/you.” I also thought your lines “so what have you/learned in the whispers/ of doubt in the egoseep/tainting your heartpath” were compelling. Egoseep is such an interesting word combo. Your poetry always pulls me in to think, pause, and reflect. Thank you.
Sarah, this is hauntingly beautiful, a reminder that difficulties recur – the repetition of your words “here we are gain/again we are here” convey this sense so effectively. I esecially savor that “unpretentious grace heals” and that we can find all the needed things for overcoming in the poetry that lives in us. Stunning!
Sarah,
I think this might be one of my favorites from your collection of phenomenal poems! These lines did something inside me;
Health, encouraging, and deeply introspective!
Thank you, Shaun, for hosting today! I like Charles Bukowski’s and your poems. They provided food for my thoughts today. I was also inspired by Ashley’s poem this morning and her strong belief in humanity, in kindness and empathy, so I am writing this poem to honor all the people who saved me. I borrowed a line from Bukowski for my title adding one word to it.
and you are worth saving, too
when the sky gets dark
and you feel alone
turn to me, please,
for an ear to be heard
or for a piece of bread—
I was in your place too
when life seems impossible
or too much to bear
turn to me
and I will carry
your burden with you
as many did for me too.
When hope leaves you
Lean onto a thicker branch
To breath deep and energize
That branch will feed you
It used to be thin too
Leilya,
I have read enough of your work to know that you truly mean these words and you would do and be these things for others. I really appreciate your last stanza, especially the image and wisdom in these lines . . .
Leilya–Passing on what was given to you. Wonderful poem–not pity, but empathy. Beautiful!
Leilya, your title is absolutely striking. I immediately pulled into the emotions you share and the way you encourage through your powerful advice. I thought the branch image was especially clever and insightful. Sometimes times do seem impossible, and your poem is a wonderful reminder to breathe deeply. Powerful poem! Thank you!
Leilya,
As Barb notes, fantastic title. I love the inclusiveness of “too.” Your poem reminds me of some songs w/ the service and empathy theme: “Lennon Me,” “You’ve Got a Friend,” “He’s Not Heaven, He’s My Brother.” It’s always a good time to remind others we are in this together. Touching poem.
Beautiful images of kindness (bread) and strength (branches) here Leilya – what a tender, nurturing poem of encouragement.
Oh, how precious. Sharing the load because another has shared our load is such a great way to live. “turn to me” is a powerful sentiment and brings hope to the listener.
Shaun, set out in one direction and ended up where I did. I love your self-doubt with a crowbar image, personified as someone to keep away. Choosing to ‘wager’ myself, as requested. Thanks for the opportunity to miss my first morning meeting. Joy. I guess this makes you a savior.
Not in My Pants
b.r.crandall
They definitely don’t write poetry
& if they did, they’d be ostracized
or sacrificed to the Praying Mantis
or that other eater – the one with
his extra-long tongue.
I know, because I yawned this morning
with one of them walking up my leg.
We stretched together and considered
our work, the day shift ahead,
but reclined to write a poem, instead.
How uncharacteristically human we are,
two of us busying ourselves with distraction.
Hey, Alexa, play Don’t drink, Don’t Smoke.
by that Adam fellow.
I’d be good a damn good wanderer, though,
leaving all the colonial indoctrination behind.
I’ve never had interest in nomadic bug wars.
or hunting grubs and wasps for others,
or bodying up to protect some egg-laying Queen
(with her Fans Only page).
She’s rather Sodom and Gomorrah, if you ask me.
Keeps busy, that one.
But the earless thing might be cool,
and feeling vibrations with my legs
while tuning the ol’ radar antennae
and listening to the Beach Boys.
(I wonder if Sir-Mix-a-Lot
gets buttery with Hormiga Culonas
when he watches Netflix.
I imagine he does).
No, I would be the zombie ant,
the kind infested with fungus &
destined to leave the hill behind,
only to bite the leaf with my death grip
as I die and say, “good-bye.”
I am glad you missed that morning meeting, Bry, or I would not have read your poem yet 🙂
This is my joy this early afternoon as I am also thinking: Should I read a bit more for class I have in an hour? Should I just get lost here, among all of you?
those crawling things ‘definitely don’t write poetry,” and maybe that’s why are are just so vicious. I have bite marks since two weeks ago.
Your poem took me on a ride visiting Praying Mantis, Alexa, “that Adam fellow,” “egg-laying Queen,” the Beach Boys. Love your humor and your ways with words!
“We stretched together and considered
our work, the day shift ahead,
but reclined to write a poem, instead.”
So glad you and that bug got together this morning. I always enjoy your off-beat approach, and this morning’s poem is just one more check in your plus column! And I am sure that you are more a Praying mantis than a zombie ant. Give yourself more credit!!
Can you please miss more meetings and write more poems instead? I enjoy your style and random sense that at first doesn’t seem to make any but then comes full circle and does, and I find myself saying, Yes! That makes perfect sense! And then I think he’s done it again. He’s written a real winner, funny and sad and true and all the things all in the same stanza.
Bryan, I wandered through your poem hardly lonely as a cloud – I was overjoyed at the sound of Adam Ant & “Goody Two Shoes.” My younger days came flooding back in an instant – bunches of us dancing and laughing. Yikes to the literal (?) ant, though; shame its kind doesn’t write poetry (shall we say ant-hologies) and most of all I have to say I’m astounded by all your ant references, title included!
Notice
Others
Be
Open
Dare to
Yield
Be
Unusually
Tender
Yesterday
Obliges
Understanding
Maureen, I love “Be Unusually Tender”! These are such great maxims!
Maureen, each word is so important and speaks to me in this acrostic. “Be Unusually Tender” is my motto the closer I get to the end of the semester.
Yesterday obliges understanding–words to live by!
Maureen, acrostic poems are not always my favorite form, but you captured today’s prompt so powerfully through your format and thoughtfully chosen words. I really loved be open, dare to yield, and being tender with each other, especially in spaces like this one where we share our poetry, is truly priceless. Thank you!
Well-done, Maureen! I love acrostics. This is wise advice…”nobody but you” can begin making all the difference.
Shaun,
Thank you, thank you, thank you for taking us down the Charles Bukowski rabbit hole. I had not been exposed to his work before, and I read multiple poems today and find his work intriguing. Unfortunately, my poem did not follow his bravado.
Now, your poem is flat incredible. The images you create really help bring your ideas to life. Personifying Malaise and Blues and ennui and stagnation . . . brilliant!
Just Right
when you enter a space–
a room, a bar, a lobby,
a restaurant, a gymnasium–
do you expand or shrink?
does your body fill up
with pride and eagerness
like a balloon being filled with helium
of does it empty like that latex
has been pricked with a pin?
do you take up space or
melt, Wicked Witch-style,
into the floor?
why do we feel
like we are either too much
or not enough?
we feel dreary
and public . . .
being a Somebody.
but who wants to be
a Nobody
in today’s “look at me” world?
I can walk into a classroom
full of teenagers
and feel like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day
parade balloon . . .
full of energy and confidence . . .
ready and hoping to be seen and heard.
But, ask me to walk into a dinner party
or a social club,
and I feel like I chugged
Alice’s Drink Me potion . . .
shrinking, shrinking, shrinking . . .
terrified to engage and wanting to flee.
I wish I was just right . . .
not too much or too little
not too hot or too cold
not too big or too small
not too soft or too hard.
How do we become just right for others
while being just right for ourselves?
~Susan Ahlbrand
18 April 2024
Susan, I can relate to every beautiful line herein. Your early question, “do you expand or shrink?” makes me think of dancing, how we move based on some gut feeling, back and forth…I was “Wonder Woman” in the classroom and a “fly on the wall” in most social situations, thinking of just the right thing to say only AFTER I am home.
That is something to ponder!
Susan,
So much of this speaks to me and, I think, to some of the teacherly ways of being, reasons why teachers stay in the classroom. We feel feel a part of the parade and integral, too. You cultivate a classroom where every student feels seen and needed — or that parade is stalled. This is everything.
And then this stanza
being a Somebody.
but who wants to be
a Nobody
in today’s “look at me” world?
For me, I read this as a wondering of why we cannot feel this community in all the spaces we travel, why not this same sense of belonging, seen-ess? Of course, everyone can learn from the way teachers nurture belonging.
Hugs,
Sarah
Susan, This is a fantastic poem. I loved the line about walking into the classroom. I usually felt exactly this way. I’m pretty outgoing and usually feel at ease with others, but all of us experience that sense of shrinking at one point or another. I will be printing this poem out because I want to reread and remember your words.
Susan, I can absolutely relate to your description of the shapes that various social situations form us into or the shapes we allow ourselves to be formed into. And there are so many components to this. The number of people, their stage in life, their level of education, the size of the room, the time of day.
No wonder we feel “like we are either too much/or not enough”
Susan, you capture the essence of my existence as well.
These lines are profoundly truthful and reflective of our society:
why do we feel
like we are either too much
or not enough?
we feel dreary
and public . . .
being a Somebody.
but who wants to be
a Nobody
in today’s “look at me” world?
This world where one has to prove themselves every day, every time, everywhere is exhausting. Thank you for finding the words to express this daily struggle. You are just right for me. Hugs!
Let me be
the first person
to say
congratulations
and welcome
you
to the team.
We are
delighted,
thrilled even,
to offer you
this position.
We were
very impressed
with your
qualifications
and experience.
You have,
truth be told,
surpassed
our wildest
expectations.
You are
uniquely
qualified;
in fact,
you are
the ideal
candidate
for the role
of YOU.
And frankly,
there’s
no one
better
suited
for
the job,
so
we hope
you’ll
accept
it.
___________________________________________
Shaun, thank you for this prompt and your mentor poems! I’m going to “slot in” Bukowski’s poem into the rotation next week, in fact, because of your prompt! I think it’ll pair nicely with Mary Oliver’s “The Journey” that I discussed earlier this week with my students. (And thank you for articulating the vivid truth of “Self-doubt picks up a crowbar and smashes the mirror to pieces. / Stay away from her as well.”)
Beautifully spoken! I love
and feel there are so many adolescents that need to hear this profound truth.
Scott,
I love this pep talk and welcome message. I read it as entirely heart-felt and then also sarcastic — depending on the job and day of the week, if we are talking about teaching. This could be a series of poems — for each season of the school year.
Peace,
Sarah
Shaun, during the month of April, I share a poem a day with my class. I just have to share your poem, giving you credit, of course. It speaks to me, and I know it will speak to students too.
🙂 I’m glad you enjoyed it, Katrina! I hope they do, too!
Love it, Scott! While it’s perfectly YOU, it also has a tinge of Seuss in the book Oh, the Places You’ll Go! It’s so motivational with that witty culminating line.
Scott, this is a delightful poem. When I read the congratulations part, I anticipated another turn, but you deceived my expectations by accepting “candidate / for the role / of YOU.”
Clever? No doubts. It reminded me of Emerson’s saying: “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” Another saying I recently came across when preparing for class is Oscar Wilde’s “be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” I think I will ad to these two your beautiful expression too: “You are
uniquely
qualified;
in fact,
you are
the ideal
candidate
for the role
of YOU.”
Thank you!
Excellent. YOU are wonderful!
Thank you for the prompt. Bukowski’s poem is both depressing and encouraging, and I try to use both of those emotions in my version.
I want more.
I want to be the self I was when everything marvelous was laid out before me,
Expectations that I would achieve every goal and
be happy
And then I got sucked into loss, worry, fear.
Damn them! Toss them away!
I want more.
The bookend line “I want more” adds such heft of emotion, moving from musing thought to a demand or goal, I think.
Yes, EMVR, a paradox in Bukowski that is more fair to the way of the world, I think. “sucked into loss” and “Damn them” contrast so well to the “marvelous.”
Peace,
Sarah
Hurrah! What an invigorating poem of overcoming! Call those not-marvelous things what they are and yes, toss them – demand more!
Shaun, I love thinking about writing being an inner-coach. I need a lot of coaching lately, words to help me get up and go when I’m feeling overwhelmed. Your two inspiring mentor poems gave me food for thought, especially “Rally the troops! Resist the urge to join the dead-in-spirit” I bought a house on a lake a few years ago, leaving behind the family home we built and filled with loads of memories. I found peace in this home surrounded by nature and promises of life. Waking to a pink sunrise sky today was the perfect way to cheer myself into the day that felt a little heavy.
Peaceful Awakenings
I opened my eyes
this morning
to the pinkest of skies
shining bright on the waters below,
with the colors
holding promises of blessings
of living in a place that
allows for
peace to prevail.
A life changing move here
that gave me
new life
new vision
new way of seeing the world.
A change
that I will never regret,
leaving the old behind and
finding hope and promise
surrounded by the wonders
of the natural world
I am imagining the beautiful colors that signify “peace to prevail.” Such a gorgeous sight, I am sure. Kudos on your
(I’m marveling at how these lines grow bigger, like steps.)
Oh Christine, after reading your poem the other day about losing your love too early, I’m so happy to read this, happy for you. I’m a sucker for hopeful beauty and this poem is it. What a great love if it “gave [you] / new life / new vision / new way of seeing the world.” Absolutely beautiful!
Christine — I really love this poem. The whole idea of leaving things behind and starting with a pink sunrise so full of hope and the “natural world” is inspiring. I hope to read more poems about this place. The strength in the poem is a real lift…”never regret” …YES! Thank you, Susie
Christine, what a gorgeous image to open your eyes to. I love the promise of blessings you r poem focuses on. I am understanding more and more how truly important it is to be “surrounded by the wonders/of the natural world”. Truly lovely poem. Thank you!
Christine, I could easily relate to “living in a place that allows peace to prevail.” What a beautiful line. This is how I felt when our nest emptied and we decided to buy a brand-new townhouse. Twenty years later, I, too, can say “A change I will never regret.” Thanks for sharing this lovely verse.
Thanks – Shaun – for reminding me of Bukowski. I read him in college. I was enamored by his fresh, independent spirit: they will attempt to make you submit, quit and/or die quiety inside. So powerful. I’m writing in a stream on consciousness this morning, thinking about my cousin who died 5 days ago of a drug overdose.
Letter to Joey Before the Fact
Hey, Joey – Don’t
give in to the demons.
Don’t waste your young
life on a meaningless substance
that will hold on and not let go.
Your father was addicted to codeine
to alleviate his pain from hemophilia.
He beat it and became healthy and
started a brand new family –
and you were born – the new promise –
the new life he deserved.
Hey, Joey – You
are loved by so many
You are handsome and smart
and have your two daughters
to think about.
Don’t go where your wife went
two years ago – down
that rabbit hole of addiction
to her death – the end.
It doesn’t have to be
that way for you – the new promise.
My words come too late,
The facts lie bitter
on my tongue,
I cannot even cry,
I sit this week and wonder why
such a young man with promise
was found in his car overdosed
leaving his young daughters
Without his guidance,
Without his love,
Without his promise.
There is so much emotion in this poem, regardless of the fact that the person can’t even cry. Such bitterness and sadness. I almost didn’t want to respond to it because it’s so emotionally charged and I, like so many others, have personal experiences like this.
Joanne, this is so heartbreaking. The earnest pleading of that first stanza – I just crumbled as I read –
A devastating loss.
Joanne — What a heartbreaking loss. Your testament here is so loving and the bitter addictions are so cruel. I really felt this deeply…Hugs to you, Susie
Joanne, this is earth-shaking. I am so, so sorry for your loss of this vibrant young father, cousin, son, friend. Most in this group know that I have two daughters who have struggled with addiction. Every day is another day ~ it’s all one day at a time for a lifetime, and the struggles aren’t getting clean – – they’re staying clean. It is real and it is hell – for those struggling and those who love them. My heart truly goes out to your family at this time, and my deepest sympathies are with the little girls. Hugs and prayers, my friend. I understand how you feel numb.
Joanne – my heart breaks for you and the family. Addiction IS a demon. An evil master that never stops consuming. So many beautiful people have been lost like your cousin – and his wife?? The two daughters left behind – beyond tragic. I am so sorry for the loss of this young man who came into the world with such promise. Your verse haunts –
What a gut-wrenching poem, Joanne. Actually directing your words at Joey gave this so much impact. Unfortunately, too many of us have experienced similar situations. Sounds like this young man had much to live for, but addiction is a thief that takes and never gives. Bless you.
Shaun, thank yo for introducing me to Bukowski’s poem, it is lovely, dark, and inspiring. I love your opening lines, I feel that could be used to encourage students to model in response to other characters, etc. Thank you for hosting today.
Reality
in that pause
when the hard, hot water
cascading over soft skin
meditative burning, clarity in steam
time reminds you to pull away
in that moment
when you are at the red light
drafting the perfect metaphor
to write into your verse
the green takes it away
in that breathe
when your eyelids are closed
welcoming the sun’s burn
tranquil thoughts tether
voices pull you away
in that blink
when all seems okay
thinking more than okay, even good
a one-day-at-a-time, you got this feel
then…
Oh I love the composition of this poem and the imagery. The giving and the taking away and the cliffhanger. Exquisite
You’ve built up this poem with such imagery and yes – that cliffhanger of an ending, making me want to know what’s next. I am breathless reading this
Stefani, oh, isn’t that the truth… So many thoughts tethered and then fly away at a moment’s shift. You have thought of so many metaphors today. A beauty of a thoughtful poem. Love the /t/ and /th/ alliteration in
Shaun, when you wrote about the creep “selling cheap ennui,” I found myself in awe of this image. As your poem continued, the imagery was just as powerful throughout!
If only you can save yourself,
What about the army behind me?
If only you can save yourself,
What about my children beside me?
If only you can save yourself,
What about the CPR he gave me?
If only you can save yourself,
What about the girl in the stall opposite me?
If only you can save yourself,
What about the sage on the stage before me?
If only you can save yourself,
What about the canines surrounding me?
No, I don’t believe based on what I see
Of the world, of my dark and light journey
I know kindness, empathy, and even horrors
In the world shed light, guide, open and close doors
I know it is a myriad of things–a botanical garden
It is symbiotic, growing with companions until we are done.
Very powerful! we are in a world of dark and light!!
thanks you!
Oh, Ashley, how wonderful to know and believe in humanity and kindness! I am right here with you. I have just read the prompt and thought about all the great people who surrounded me with love, empathy, and support when I was so broken! Thank you for your beautiful poem this morning! These lines are clear example that we could never do it by ourselves:
“If only you can save yourself,
What about my children beside me?
If only you can save yourself,
What about the CPR he gave me?”
Ashley – I think the questions work so well in this poem expressing the certainty and then the questioning. The cessation of the questioning also works quite well – signaling the end.
What about the army behind me? a great reminder we are not alone on this journey. I am always grateful for the army that has lifted me out of the depths… Your words remind me to be thankful for that army!
I really like the last few lines of the poem. We do have people to help us through. We are not dark and lonely.
Such wisdom in your lines of questioning, Ashley, and such truth in the observation that even horrors in the world shed light and guide and open or close doors. You and I have gardens growing in our poems today! Your ending image of growing with companions leaves us with so much hope.
Well dang, Shaun. This took a much darker turn than I thought it would when I began (inspired by one of Bukowski’s lines). YOUR poem spoke to me so much more than Bukowski’s. It is masterfully composed. It pulled at me right from the advice to avoid the creep on the corner all the way through to the wagering on yourself. (I’m ok, by the way).
Death Before Death
there are many deaths in life
I’ve watched the day fade
felt the friendship end
heard the door close
smelled the fear as the taunting began
lived in the space between death and life
but have you thought about that last death
the one that took you to the brink
and you stared over the precipice
imagining the fall
or the one before that
when all you wanted
was to lie down
and disappear
until you were nothing but another smudge
on the dirty sidewalk
that crowds walked past
have you imagined the gun to your head
or the pills like candy
as you faded away
envisioned knife slits creating a delta of rivers
along your wrist
I haven’t either
but truth dies more easily than lies
Jennifer,
Perhaps you’re channeling your inner Sylvia Plath today or feeling the weight of this time of year. That opening line reminds me of Shakespeare: “Cowards die many deaths,” yet despite the dark turn today, I also see a positive note in “there are many deaths in life” because we change and leave behind the old person for our new, and hopefully, improved selves. But it does sadden when friendships end, when we feel loss.
Jennifer — This is a very potent poem today. The many moments we experience something/someone coming to an end, a death are brutal and powerful. So many times we see others and sometimes ourselves at “the brink,” and you’ve taken us there in this poem. The capacity to step outside that moment …no easy thing. So much to think about…”truth dies more easily than lies” I can think of just such a truth in my own experiences…Very provocative poem. Hugs, Susie
Jennifer, I am blown away by the intensity of the truth in this poem. The first and last lines are stellar starts and stops, and the smudge on the dirty sidewalk and the fading, even the river deltas – – they make the reader stop and shudder, then you bring the reality that there are truths that are not ever readily admitted. I am still thinking about how truth dies more easily than lies – – and that’s true and profound.
Jennifer, your poem is absolutely gripping. It begins with endings…they happen over and over in life. The imaginings are so real. One walks in the speaker’s shoes and wonders why the pull of annihilation is so alluring in these moments. Escaping pain? Weariness?Boredom? Anxiety? Loss? The twist in the last two lines – wham! So powerful! So masterfully crafted, all of it.
Shaun, thank you so much for hosting us today and for investing in us as writers by offering a compelling prompt, I’ve jotted down a note to myself to check out ore of Charles Bukowski’s work. Thank you for introducing his poetry to us. I like your line about resisting the urge to join the dead in spirit. There seem so many of those that sometimes I can’t tell if it’s just the business side of a person or if they’re really all that dead inside. You make me think! And that mirror smashing. I could hear the shattering, the shards of self doubt all thundering down on the floor.
I found inspiration in these lines of Bukowski’s:
just watch them.
Listen to them.
I also added ending lines from Old Woman of the Roads by Padraic Colum:
out of the wind’s and the rain’s way
The Neighborhood
There they are
building nexts
in the garage
again
three already
we can’t even
put the door
down because
there’s one on top
and on the toolbox
and in the corner
in a box
three wrens
friends?
just watch them.
Listen to them.
building houses
chirping dreams
in this
regular
bird-friendly
neighborhood
out of the wind’s
and the rain’s way
I hear an echo in these lines: “three wrens /
friends?” Haha, I’ll probably be pointing that out for days to come 😀 I love the hope as well in “building houses / chirping dreams”. So nice, Kim!
Phew, Kim. Your poem is a breath (wind?) and rain of fresh air that was much needed after my writing today. Yesterday was a day (a student who made a threat against the building, a group of students – not in my room – who decided to just head outside during a thunderstorm when the teacher told them no, followed by a tornado drill that left us in the hall for an hour – and there was more, but doesn’t that feel like enough?) and you’ve given me three wrens to nest alongside today, a reminder to chirp dreams.
Kim – Oh I needed this hopeful poem today – out of the wind’s and the rain’s way! Thank you!
Kim — I loved thinking about wrens today. I have to spend some time watching the action in my back yard…I’ve had wrens making babies these last few years, and I bet they are out there now getting ready with nest building. A favorite creature! Thank you for reminding me to pay attention. Hugs, Susie
Beautiful poem, Kim. I love this view of birds building their homes and chirping dreams. Your two final lines add an effective close because the rain and wind sure wreak havoc on bird nests. Thank you for sharing this lovely piece with us today.
Oh my, Kim – nests in your garage! Birds build with such rapidity – I’ve watched my finches over and over. These wren friends know a safe place when they find it. Love this idea of them chirping dreams…I feel certain that they do, while hatching those babies.
Shaun, what a beautiful, powerful invitation to dig deep into ourselves and our overcomings. Such sharing is essential: we all experience doubts, fears, grief, despair… ultimately, we’re all here on the planet to help each other through.Poetry is unique in the way it unites the individual with the whole. The images in your verse are so vivid, especially the rallying of the troops and a sense of marching forward,with strength. Bukowski’s poem could not be more inspirational in this regard. This is a prompt (like many) that I wish I had time to hammer out more…but I will let this bit of syllabic poetry go as it is. Thank you for helping us see where we’ve been, reminding us to keep striving forward!
Germination
At fourteen, I cried
every single day
in the wasteland of
my ghost self. I tried
sinking into walls
finding hidden doors
melting through the floors…
No. I could not hide
my fading self from
the eagle eyes of
my home ec teacher
who called my parents
to say She’s depressed.
They did not ask me
why. Their solution:
Snap out of it.
There is no snapping.
There is no knowing
why. There is nothing
solid or green or
growing in this place…
yet there is a seed.
At fourteen, even
in the nothingness
I sensed a stirring.
The faintest whisper:
Aren’t you tired
of being so sad?
Yes. I am. I am.
No one ever knew
that I taped a scrap
of paper to my
cracked bedroom mirror
where I made tally
marks for every day
that I didn’t cry
until green took root,
tender little shoot…
after all these years,
a whole life-garden.
I stand at the edge
of myself, in awe.
Wow, Fran. I am in awe with you. Beautiful poem and I love the clear picture of you helping your own self here, even against the ominous, cracked mirror, you helped yourself:
“No one ever knew
that I taped a scrap
of paper to my
cracked bedroom mirror
where I made tally
marks for every day
that I didn’t cry”
Absolutely lovely.
Fran, I can’t make a tally today for a no-cry, Wow, tears welling. What a poem! But the good thing is they’re not welling of sadness but of gratitude – – what a day that was to be depressed with that being the only solution in those days, to snap out of it. When a tender green shoot becomes a strong, strong woman with tender buds still reaching out, that’s a place to stand, to pray fervent prayers of thanks that a miracle happened in you. You are indeed a miracle, a fortress of strength and tenderness. This goes in the book.
Fran,
Your raw emotions speak so loudly, and your strength emits through every line. My heart ached when I read “Their solution/ Snap out of it” because my mother told me the same thing. Hugs friend. So glad you found the awe in yourself!
Fran, there’s something in the isolation and stress of “every” in the single days along with the image of the wasteland of your ghost self that speaks to depression. I especially appreciate the stirring of hope and life and that faint whisper that shows the struggle to keep living despite whatever darkness tries to stop you. Thank you for leaving us with the tender shoot that grew into a garden. I am in awe of you!
I can see the day on which my personality insisted on being complicated when I was fourteen. I was pretty good at hiding it all. But I still remember the day. I sometimes think we are the same person.
Thank you for this hopeful poem. It’s so hard to be in the thrall of depression and focus only on that. I love the tally marks that count hope rather than list horror.
Wow, Fran, this is gorgeous. The title is perfection for the poem. The germination that needed taking, and the safety with which you were able to navigate helped you take root. I love this so much: “a whole life-garden” And there is that wonderful word: Awe. Yes, indeed. You help us see why that is such an important word to you.
Holy cow, Fran — This is such an important poem. Your description of the marks on the mirror…oh gosh. The line that really hammered me was the “snap out of it” reaction… of course, that is what happens to so many. As if SNAP could do it. Geez, Depression is a powerful force and you’ve captured that in your poem. Getting to the other side takes enormous strength. I’m “in awe” of your strength. Hugs, Susie
Well, that was cathartic! Thanks for a prompt that put pages into my journal. I don’t have anything to share this morning…but boy did I write. Thanks!