Today’s writing inspiration comes from Susie Morice, writer and editor. She is a consultant with Santa Fe Center for Transformational School Leadership and the Institute for School Partnership at Washington University in St. Louis. Susie is also a Teacher-Consultant with The Gateway Writing Project, a former public school classroom teacher for 30 years, and a poet, who is the winner of Member-at-Large Best Poem, 2014 – Missouri State Poetry Society contest.
Inspiration
A Piece of Artwork. While you might not be able to zip off to the nearest art museum (if you can, do!), zero in on a piece of artwork – a painting, a sculpture, a ceramic piece… here at the St. Louis Art Museum, you might even be moved by a mummy, as we have some doozie Egyptian mummy pieces! You can use an art book or get online and call up a piece that rocks your socks for one reason or another. We’re going to take a shot at in response to visual art.
Process
- As you look hard and long at the piece of art, make a list of colors and what those colors might mean to you.
- Have a conversation with the piece. Talk out loud to it. What does it say back to you?
- Notice how light plays into and onto the piece. Does it generate any of its own light, and if so, where does that come from? Is there a sense of action with the piece?
- Place your piece of art – while we might view it in a museum or in an art book, somehow I just can’t wrap my head around the idea that the artist created this piece to sit in a museum or to end up on a coffee table – Place your piece of art in an apt environment – let it live there.
- Play with the life of the art piece and words that help it speak to us.
- OR imagine the artist creating this piece – let us see the artist toiling over this piece, or bringing it into life.
- Send a jpeg of the art piece to Sarah Donavan so she can upload it with your poem. She will try to get the artwork onto our blog pages.
- Only if you feel like it, play with rhyming. The mentor poem is a terzanelle. Free verse is just dandy as well!
Mentor Poem by Susie
This particular poem is my shot at a terzanelle. A Terzanelle is a particular poetic form involving a rhyming and repetition pattern and stanza arrangement that is tricky. It has 19 lines. Five 3-line stanzas are followed by a sixth stanza which is a quatrain finish. The rhyming/repeating pattern is noted on the right side of the page. Sometimes these puzzling types of wordplay really make for cool collaboration moments in your classroom.
Your Turn
Scroll down to the comment section and write your poem. It need not be long nor follow the prompt. Just write whatever is in your heart or on your mind in any form it takes. Then (or before), respond to at least three other writers using any of the sentence-stems offered below. Check back throughout the day to read the response to your writing (and smile).
Hi Everyone. I took some time with this prompt. I loved it so much I made it my Poetry Friday post for this week. Here is the poem. I also promoted this Daily Writing challenge in my blog post.
Terzanelle for The Starry Night
Dear Emile, remember what Vincent said?
I want to paint stars…or a starry night…
in that mad way that gave us dread?
Remember, it was Montmartre
candles low and spent, sputtered
absinthe ran out that night.
We spoke poor and green-headed,
our dear Vincent drunk but alive
his eyes stars themselves sputtered.
We thought nothing of it
a genius mind behind his brush
who makes paint and canvas come alive.
Night’s stars were then born
by our dear friend’s hand over skies of Arles
no sweeter heaven flowed of brush.
no sweeter madness for the paint
the canvas…of bridges and lovers of Arles
Je brille* the great sky bear* said
our friend’s dying flame, aforesaid.
© Linda Mitchell
Okkkkkk, I admit this was hard and frustrating and I stayed up 30 minutes past my bedtime because I refused to quit. With that said, I need more practice with this tricky poetic form. But please don’t assign it again too soon. LOL I might ditch class.
Thanks so much for stretching me and showing me that I can try new forms to develop a new kind of flow.
My picture is hanging on my bedroom wall. I call it Queen Mother and Child. I got it at an art party about 20 years ago. Sarah may be asleep so if you don’t see it, it’s a mother and child walking barefoot with baskets of harvest on their heads.
Queen Mother and Child
They are one in the same
Queen Mother and child
Chi and Chiamaka, their God-given name
Walking miles in a sun too wild
Backs straight with elegant grace
But years have passed since they’ve smiled
Slow steady yet intentional pace
To reach their village store
Where harvested blessings fill the space
One basket each and nothing more
Greed is drought to planted seeds
Closes abundance from Heaven’s door
Mother knows what her baby needs
But sometimes it hurts like nails
When nothing comes but insects and weeds
She can’t bear the child’s wails
Reminding her of life’s most tragic fails
Somehow she will survive
And her baby girl will laugh and thrive
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/IMG_2897.jpg
Stacey,
That’s a gorgeous picture, and your poem captures the nurturing mother-daughter relationship beautifully. This poem and picture, harmonize in such a lovely way captured in these final lines: “ Somehow she will survive /
And her baby girl will laugh and thrive.”
“Greed is a drought to planted seeds” was a really striking line for me in this poem. I’m currently in Africa and I see people carrying various items on their heads. Everyone walks everywhere. I really appreciate the conversation between the author and reader of the poem. It details a mother’s sacrifice. Beautiful.
My poem today is a tribute to the beautiful island of Cuba and the amazing artist Jose Fuster.
Wherever you are, I always see you
In the billowing clouds and swaying trees
In the reflection of the ocean blue
An enchanted isle and calming sea breeze
Envelop me in a loving embrace
And help me pass each sunny day with ease
I see such joy when I look in the face
Of the people who genuinely love
Living in Cuba, this magical place
Te veo, amigo, just like a dove
Who flies from a small cage, soaring above.
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Image-1.jpg
Mo — What a tribute to Foster. I looked him up online and enjoyed looking at his artwork and then reading your poem. It makes me smile and feel the joy that you note in the third stanza. “Enchanting” is a fitting term. I’ve never been to Cuba and wonder if you’ve been there and if you’ve known of Jose Fuster for a long time. I love that we learn new stuff every day that we write together. Thank you! Susie
I so love learning the new things in this group, too. I went to Cuba almost three years ago- right after Fidel died. There is so much to say about the island. I had one opinion when I went there and a totally different one when I left. I didn’t know anything about Fuster, but his studio and home were so incredible to see. He has also done a great deal for the neighborhood by engaging teens in community service art projects. I wish we could do more like that here!
Wow, Mo, that’s so cool. Getting to Cuba is a big deal. What a great experience, and I am all the more pleased that you shared it through your poem!
Mo,
The code switching is wonderful and adds a feeling of multiculturalism to your tribute. I feel like I’m in the Caribbean reading your poem. Love the nature imagery: “billowing clouds,” “swaying trees,” and others.
Mo, your last line, with the bird flying from the cage was a lovely and uplifting image to close on. The whole poem has a lilting, buoyant feel: billowing, swaying, breeze, pass…with ease, then soaring above. Such a fluid, rippling feel, and the rhyme repetition as to this sensation!
Susie,
I began today by reading your poem and now end it the same way. Each time I read it, I find something new, but it’s the since of desperation and loneliness the personified buffalo head evokes that has me thinking about the way the world weighs me down, about the way humans devour those weighed down, about the political feeding frenzy we must endure. The poem will stay w/ me a long time.
Les Nymphéas de Claude Monet (or, Water Lilies by Claude Monet)
In Paris at a quarter to 2
I walked into an oblong room
which exceeded my mind’s expectations.
Before I’d seen only representations
that can’t compete with the original
Strolling along the room’s perimeter I inspected the paintings along the wall
four curved panels with green and blue
and flowers of a pinkish hue
I thought to myself, now this is real:
I came and saw and thought to feel.
After a few minutes I turned to leave
but something wonderful stopped me
Curious, I crossed the room once more
and passed through a previously-ignored door.
To my wonder and delight
lay four more panels of water and light.
Colors more rich and rough, it seemed
This was more than I could have dreamed.
From the center I stood and turned, taking in each leaf and fern
And then examined step by step, the water’s ripples and petal’s turn.
A willow’s branch I think I saw
swinging slightly in the light of dawn
or perhaps dusk better fit the scene
and cast soft light on the lily pad’s green.
The water reflecting a heliotrope sky,
all captured by my rapturous eye.
Entranced, I stayed many minutes more,
and wondered if I’d thought before
how simple beauty can be defined
by an artist’s hand and mind.
You can do a virtual walkthrough on the l’Orangerie website here https://www.musee-orangerie.fr/fr/article/visite-virtuelle-des-nympheas
Eliza — Doggone, Monet needed to get a chance to read your tribute! This is so delightful. Your sense of discovery as you move around the colors and the light in the lilies panels is captivating. I LOVED staring long at Monet’s works…pulled into the color with a sense of wonder at how he could put his brush to the huge canvas and create something so dizzyingly magnificent. It is so so so large, and when he was close to the canvas, how did you imagine all that so perfectly? Your poem captures that sense of “rapture.” You embedded a rhythm and rhyme that do justice to the mood of the poem. I particularly like the gut sensation when you first saw the piece: “…and thought to feel.” I remember having that same sensation…thinking to feel. Lovely poem. Thank you! Susie
Eliza,
You are so right in saying “nothing can compete with the original” when it comes to seeing artistic masterpieces in person. Your poem is a primer in how to view art, as well as how to attend to myriad possibilities when visiting a museum. Just as Monet’s Impressionism suggests and reveal based on how we view them and from what distance, your poem also has that impressionistic quality. It’s quite lovely.
My Thinker
He sits with heavy brow
Here at the gates of hell
The thinker cannot know
For whom the tolling knell
Proclaims with steady beat
The darkness of this hell.
And yet the massive feet
with toes curled round the stone
Against my mem’ry beat
I knew him as my own
This man of mighty scale
His eyes as cold as stone.
Each sinew told a tale
Of anguish all his own
That thinking cannot scale
The shoulders curl with bone
His pain is now my own
And weighs upon my brow
He thinks, therefore I know.
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/thinker2.jpg
Allison— there is a weight to this poem—a solidity that gives it importance. Love it!
Allison — Right off I like that you owned The Thinker… “My Thinker.” Your poem took me to that Rodin garden in Paris, one of my very favorite places in the world. I sat there thinking with the Penseur and remember the same sensations I had as I read your poem. The “mighty scale” was surprising to me and the coldness of the stone. I loved your “each sinew told a tale/of anguish all his own/that thinking cannot scale.” He really did seem anguished and this “shoulders curl with bone.” Your poem brings a dimension that makes this a wonderful companion to the sculpture… “his pain is now my own/and weighs upon my brow.” That connection speaks to the power of these two art forms, sculpture and poetry…..ahhh, I love it. The terzanelle repetitions and rhymes really work nicely here. Cool! Thanks for sharing your creativity. Susie
Allison, I love how I suddenly felt very heavy! I wasn’t sure if it was the poem, the statue, or my tummy! (LOL)
You capture emotions from something hard, unmovable, and make it fluid and real like it could melt. I don’t know how to do that! Thank you for sharing a really cool way to bring a statue to life.
Allison,
Given that Rodin created many versions of The Thinker, I love that you titled your poem “My Thinker.” I also like the cadence, the heartbeat of your poem, which I find fitting to the throbbing accompanying thinking. I’ve read the poem several times and am captivated by its paradoxical tone, captured in the culminating stanza:
“His pain is now my own
And weighs upon my brow
He thinks, therefore I know.“
Susie—your mentor poem was a hard act to follow! The strength in the poem was palpable. Your words created a small movie for me. Thank you-for the example, and the challenge you presented with the form and topic. This one took some serious thinking!
Years ago, my husband and I bought this carved griffin at an auction. We plopped it at the bottom of our staircase, and he (she?) has remained there since. The griffin is much the worse for wear—three children, multiple cats, and an exposed perch have been rough on the creature. Hence, the lament below. I took some liberties with the pattern and added an extra stanza. (I just wasn’t finished yet!)
Griffin, Grounded
I sit at the bottom of the stair
Glaring at the limited world
I have been relegated to, aware
That my status, once preferred,
Has been reduced to mere ornament
In a house of cats and dogs and children. Absurd.
Once I was mythical, a creature transcendent
The lion and eagle united
Wisdom, power and judgment. Resplendent.
I fell from grace, apparently disinvited
From my perch of arrogance
Sold at auction, my hope unrequited
My left wing, once held in reverence
Was broken by the resident
Boy-child, his clumsy turn
Left me useless, a legend spurned.
At the bottom of the stairs
A creature once royal, now repaired.
Badly.
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/IMG_0052.jpg
Gayle — I’m chucking at your initial comment that “I just wasn’t finished yet.” Putting your own words and intent first is definitely dandy! Good for you! Your poem taking on the griffin’s voice is good stuff and he/she has something to say about his years on hold. That “left wing… broken” and “grounded” contrasted to the “resplendent” griffin is pretty much the way of things in our lives — we keep moving on and we leave in our wake lots of “griffins.” Thanks for tacking this form… you’ve enhanced it! Susie
Gayle,
This is so much fun and reminds me of the truism, “one person’s trash is another person’s treasure.” Using the griffin’s voice lends an air of sarcasm to the tone, and I love that. You really conquered the rhyme challenge, too. A pleasure to read.
Awww Gayle, I feel like Griffin needs a hug. I completely got sucked in to the heart of Griffin. I’ve always been a little spooked by them, but this one needs love. Great job bringing me into your Griffin’s heart.
The second stanza where it says, “That my status, once preferred, / Has been reduced to mere ornament / In a house of cats and dogs and children. Absurd.” I like how you punctuate the thought with the word “absurd” and I also appreciate how you are telling the life of this well-worn griffin through its eyes. In my head, I pictured years lapsing by with the griffin being a silent observer of the multitudes of life. Thank you for sharing!
This prompt (the terzanelle) challenged me bigly! My poem is based on a photo I took of my husband while visiting the Ancient Agora in June. I like to pose my husband, Ken. My brother is my photography muse. The statue is outside the museum. The title is the response from a museum guard. My poem is a form of restitution for not showing proper deference to the headless statue.
“That Could Have Been a God”
[Ancient Agora, Athens, Greece June 2018]
Draped in marbled antiquity,
Only my fragmented torso remains.
Judge me not–then–for my iniquity.
Overshadowed by others’ ignobleness,
My identity remains history’s mystery.
Anthropologists offer their hypothesis.
On this site of democracy’s liberty,
Near the Acropolis’s north slope,
I stand and guard Athena’s signory.
Among austere ruins vast in scope,
Site of Athenian citizenry’s communal heart
Where Philosophical ideas once offered hope.
Now celebrated sites filled with art
Draw people from lands away,
But this body a head did depart.
In the Ancient Agora I now stay.
“I could have been a god,” I say,
“A treasure of lost antiquity.
“Enjoy my beauty without worry of iniquity.”
–Glenda Funk
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/IMG-7525-e1573602673292.jpg
Oh, Glenda, you had so much fun with this! How cool! You rocked it! i thought a terzanelle would nearly kill me, but you have proven this is a doable form…and so much brain energy and wordplay! I’m loving this. Then, there’s the hysterical picture of Ken and the torso! LOL! And I’ve learned about the incredible Athens offering! Wowza! I particularly gravitated to “citizenry’s communal heart/Where philosophical ideas once offered hope.” Thinking about the antiquity and the way that worlds do survive is a very hopeful notion. I’m enjoying “the beauty” of this whole poem! Fun and full! Well done, my friend! Thanks, Susie
That’s a very unique piece of art – and while you say this was a big challenge for you, you make it seem so simple and easy. I knew my day wouldn’t let me attempt a format this challenging, but you have me wanting to go back and do this again when my day has more open time frames. Fun and clever!
Glenda has rhymes for days! Wow!
Okay, so I gave this nearly an hour working with the lines, rhyme, and meter of the terzanelle. It is my first and hopefully not my last. I think I get how it works now, and think it has potential, but for now, let it be enough. Much gratitude for any sense you can make of my drive in the country today. I was observing a student-teacher at a small school that meets just 4 days a week to give students a day to work on their farms.
“Piano lessons”–sign scribbled on the side of the road.
Asphalt unlevel, carrion remains scattered between lines,
as I wonder who is sitting on the bench with music to bestow.
The wind whistles through our cracked shield like a vine
winding its way into the car, chilling the wheel and dash.
Asphalt unlevel, carrion remains scattered between lines
as fallen leaves drift with blackbirds, tattered blankets of ash
looking for a place to rest among the acres of grain
winding its way into the car, chilling the wheel and dash
with empty searching and silent wishes for what remains
of the moon and what the sun may bring to the day
looking for a place to rest among the acres of grain
to watch the cars go by, staying safely away.
In the shadows of the barns long-forgotten, we wish
of the moon and what the sun may bring to the day
“Piano lessons”– sign scribbled on the side of the road
in the shadows of the barns long-forgotten
as I wonder who is sitting on the bench with music to bestow.
Sarah,
I love the way your poem turns an orderly sign and a typical Oklahoma town into a work of art. There’s a dreamlike quality to the poem, too, in phrases such as “I wonder.” You make the form work fluidly, and your poem is comforting.
The mood of this piece is so calm and relaxing, like a rural countryside in the fall, where no one is rushed to do anything and the beauty is there from the landscape to the sounds of piano keys. I want to be in that realm.
I feel like I was in the car with you. Your use of repetition makes the poem feel soothing to me.
Oh, Sarah, you took this to a whole new level, and it really works. The unique repetitions (maybe that’s an oxymoron) move our focus into a deeper look at this place on an Oklahoma road. The tone is downright unsettling, as what might seem melancholy or even a bit bleak becomes rich with a sensation of lives being played out between highway lines in the road and wind and “fallen leaves drift[ing].” The “empty searching and silent wishes for what remains/of the moon/and what the sun may bring to the day” are potent lines in that they chill us just like that wind that makes its way “like a vine.” We say roads wander off into nowhere, yet there are real lives in that nowhere…lives that might take piano lessons or give piano lessons. I like that disruption of image. I love “shadows of the barns long-forgotten.” The rhyming gives it an added sense of the rhythm in a car rambling down an OK road. This is a really neat poem. Way to go, Sarah! Thanks for working with this one! Susie
Sarah, thank you. There is a sense of peace in the picture you paint for us here. (And that pattern was a bear to work with! I enjoyed the challenge!)
Sarah, after spending my own hour knotted in the terzanelle rhyme scheme, I am especially wowed by how you remembered to bring imagery and detail to this lovely poem. The wind whistling through the cracked shield like a vine was maybe my favorite line…but also that “Piano Lessons” sign, and who’s sitting on the bench. Lovely. Thank you.
WHAT IS IT?
“For your birthday,” he said one year
When we lived out on the coast.
“I hope you will like it. It’s really quite special, my dear.”
My husband was not one who chose to buy art.
So why this piece? What is it saying the most?
Something he found on sale or something speaking his heart.
In fact, what is it? I could hardly tell.
By when I look much closer,
My heart begins to swell.
It’s a man and a woman. Ah, they seem to entwine.
Is that message being sent me real or is it just a poser?
Is it saying, “I am yours and you, my dear, are mine”?
See the heart in the middle? Ah, that’s what’s it all about.
We are one together; and together we are one.
Apart at the bottom, meeting in the middle! So I shout.
“Ah, now it’s clear. I see it. And, yes, I like it, dear.
I see we’ll stay together! no matter! Whatever!
Though apart for a moment; for life, we’ll stay right here!”
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/20191112_161028-e1573597368995.jpg
Anna,
This is such a lovely tribute to your husband. My favorite line is “ We are one together; and together we are one.” ❤️
I got that idea from a FB post with different poetic devices, including the CHIASMUS. That was a new term for me, so I thought I try it this week. I’ve seen the terzanelle before, but this is the first time I’ve tried it. This group is really streeeeetttttccccchhhhiiiiigggg me!
Others interested in seeing that post, see this link. https://tinyurl.com/sw3bwpj Great fun!
Anna, your words capture the fluidity of this piece perfectly! It’s simply stunning – as is your poem! What a thoughtful and exquisite gift!
Anna, I love how you slowly seem to understand and appreciate this piece of art. I’m sitting here giggling and trying to imagine what kind of art my husband would buy for me. Also, I agree 100% with the stretchiness of this form!
Anna, I think this is absolutely adorable. I am in agreement with you that this challenge today was a real stretch. Hence my poem isn’t up yet because I keep deleting lines and starting new ones. Anyway, I feel like this could be any couple where one buys the other a gift that is special, but not necessarily right away. Haha! I love how you said Ah now it’s clear. I see it… LOVE IT.
[Vincent van Gogh, Seascape near Les-Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer (1888)]
“Seabreeze and Sanity”
Pale yellow and turquoise green,
White foam cresting on the wave
Washing over and over in the sunlight’s gleam
Clouds sprinkled across the sky
Light refracting on the water
glimmering, glowering on the eye
Soft winds brushing strands of her hair
No hurry to leave
Or be anywhere
Rather, a speckle of salty drops
splatter her face
as the water meets edge audibly slops
Sea touches the horizon and
there are no limits
She traces the line with her hand
She basks in the feeling of sand between toes
She tilts her head towards the sun, as if she already knows
Peace is found looking at the sunlit sails
light, calm, water, and warmth never fails
Kindra, I totally feel like I’m looking at a Van Gogh painting in the first three stanzas of your poem, then you seem to move me gently into the real world. I love everything about this poem!
Kinda — This is totally soothing. It makes me think that using a piece of art is a perfect way to find or create calm in the face of a a world that offers little in the way of serenity. So, the “sanity” in the title is absolutely what I experience as I read your words. Words like “pale yellow” and “foam” and “soft winds brushing .. .her hair” and “sunlit sails” really work to carry that tone. My favorite image is “sea touches the horizon/no limits/she traces the line with her hand.” This idea of touching the line connects the environment with the “she.” And the form works! Whoohoo! Thanks for sharing this poem! Susie
I know this picture—in fact was considering using it for my poem. Your words paint the scene beautifully…
Kindra, I love how the first two stanzas could be describing the painting, but then you move the viewer onto the shore, the wind in her hair, the sea spray on her face. Looking at the painting, I am now experiencing the full sensory experience of standing at the sea. Beautiful.
[kristina by dennis smith]
i’ve gone to learn from her
for the last five years
she stands tall
a green blue casting of a woman
her name is kristina
her hair flies behind her
her eyes set on what’s in front of her
she stands tall
she ponders what will be
she thinks of what life will be
on the other side of the sea
she stands tall
and she teaches me
that i’ll be okay
growing away from home
Kekai, I’ll admit, at first I thought there was an error in the first line where the poet had written, “i’ve gone” instead of “I’m gone” (which is an Ebonics way to say “I am going to”. But, as I read on, however, I realized you were writing about actually spending time near this sculpture, experiencing it speaking to you.
I also like the closing line that appears to be a play on words “going away from home”.
You’ve exhibited well the skill of poets to capture and arrange carefully selected words that can be read in different ways and make sense any way the poem is read.
Thanks for introducing me to this artwork and for sharing your experience with it.
Beautiful words to capture the essence of growth – you have to go to grow – and the movement across the sea tells us she has is far to go!
Kekai — This is a beautiful sculpture, and you’ve given her even more life than her cast image. Your terzanelle does her proud! The majestic posture of the sculpture comes through so boldly in “she stands tall” repeated. I love “her hair flies behind her” and it gives her some interesting sense of power. I really like thinking of you going to her “to learn from her,” as it connects you the strength of Kristina. Quite lovely! Thanks! Susie
(I usually write unstructured, free-form poems, so this time I challenged myself and picked a form I’ve never used before! This one I found on the internet called Cywydd Llosgyrnog which has 6 lines, an AABCCB rhyme structure, and an 887887 syllabic structure. A challenge, but I am happy with how it turned out. Let me know what you think!)
Inspired by the painting Crystal Light by Erin Hanson
Over swaying grasses, sunrise.
Branches hold frames of auburn sky.
Dark and light mingling, a dance
between shadows and glassy hues.
Night shatters; day sparkles anew.
A new beginning; a chance.
Emily, your use of vivid verbs brings this piece alive!
Of course, the closing line, too, leaves us with hope.
Lovely poem!
Emily, this format seems fun to try. I particularly love the line, “Branches hold frames of autumn sky'”- very picturesque!
Emily — COOL! I love that you’ve offered a new poetic form. I’ve never tried this and truly admire how effectively you created this piece. I LOVE the oil painting! The vibrancy of color is compelling. What seems particularly cool is that you bring even more to the piece, noticing the “dark and light mingling, a dance/between shadows and glassy hues.” It is both a hopeful poem and painting. Neat! Very effectively done! You are a champ for taking this prompt to such a gratifying outcome! Thanks, Susie
Love the words, and admire the skill with which you mastered the form. I usually write in free verse, too. I’ll have to play with this one. Love “branches hold frames of auburn sky”.
Manatees
In muted tones of warm shallows
with streams of light filtering through
the branches of underwater playgrounds,
Mom leads her calves
through a watery wonderland
teeming with life.
Playful, gentle creatures,
sea cows know
the health of their water
by the diversity of its life.
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/img_49193123846035773371665.jpg
Kim – Oh, I LOVE manatees! The grace of such a gigantic figure fits with the “muted tones.” This is a touch of environmental beauty that I love — the “playground” and “filtering light” and a “mom…and her calves” gives us a warmth and hope. A lovely way to start my morning! Thank you! Susie
Kim, your poem reminds us there is a ecosystem below water where sea creatures frolic and play.
These lines say it so well
with streams of light filtering through
the branches of underwater playgrounds,
Kim,
Your poem makes me feel warm and cozy S I recall swimming w/ manatees. The alliteration in “watery wonderland” replicates the watery playground of manatees. This is a lovely poem.
Wow! I just finished listening to a book that included a vampire character…your details are so similar to some of those passages (A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness–I highly rec!). The sweet spot, the tearing of veins…blood drained. It’s all a part of nature. But, yikes!
And, I just returned from my first trip to France. I overstuffed myself and my camera with art pieces. This prompt is just the thing to get me to take a look at a piece of art in a new way. I love writing from art. It’s so fun. Thank you!
Susie, your poem is so vivid! You have entered this buffalo’s spirit and made it seem effortless. I’m looking forward to pushing myself with this poem.