Our #OpenWrite Host
Susan Ahlbrand had been teaching 8th grade English/language arts for 32 years in the small southern Indiana town of Jasper. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, writing, listening to music, and spending time with her husband and four kids.
Inspiration
A look at contemporary America. This poetry challenge comes from Nancie Atwell’s book Naming of the World: A Year of Poems and Lessons. The book is broken down into units, and this particular challenge comes from the unit called “The Larger World.”
Our students are often focused on self and at times it’s important for them to look out to the larger world. Poetry can help them do that . . . both reading it and writing it.
Poetry can be a source of insight into big ideas such as justice, mercy, truth, patriotism, freedom, equality. Poetry can help us look outside ourselves to the larger world and perhaps lead us to even take action.
Process
Today’s challenge is to look outside ourselves to the larger world. Craft a poem about it. The larger world is many different things to people, and in many cases, it’s America.
One mentor text in the resource is from an 8th grade student. Her use of irony, allusion, and metaphor are impressive. And her diction and rhythm… wow! Here it is:
We the People
~Alexis Kellner Becker
the so-called MTVgeneration
is locked in a box
by the constant barrage of should and ought
by the undertow of popularity
of conformity of density and intensity
by the need to choose whether
to expose the Achilles heel that is your reality
or to wear boots
by the blur of the line between want and need
by the ease of staring at what they say you should be
what you don’t want to be
by the mass generalization
the labels that society embroider into your sweaters
by the box you have fit into
the box that becomes your reality
which is a tragedy, really
he says as he flips on the TV.
Another mentor text about looking is Wallace Stevens’ poem “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.” It can also be used as a model for writing a list poem about America or our larger world. Stevens loads the poem with literary and cultural and scholarly references from Western civilization. (This inspiration also comes from Nancie Atwell’s book Naming the World: A Year of Poems and Lessons).
Take a look at this video of a conversation about the first stanza about “looking.” What does it mean to look at looking?
Try to mimic Stevens’ form and tone. It certainly doesn’t have to be 13 ways of looking at your topic. Just choose a topic and get to whatever numbers feels right to you — maybe today it is just one (or two).
Susan’s Poem
Ten Ways of Looking at Social Media
IIt’s a casual time-eater
calming and connecting
yet
joy-robbing and conflict-causing
IIWhat starts as a few moments
of idle scrolling and catching up
becomes way too many minutes
sometimes hours
of staring into others’ worlds.
IIII wanted to stay in touch
with family, with classmates, with hometown friends.
I didn’t necessarily want to
see what Aunt Pauline’s neighbor’s cousin’s sister
ate for breakfast.
or how she feels about Amy Coney Barrett’s Supreme Court nomination.
IVI get inspired to be a better mom,
wife, teacher, friend, Catholic, human.
But I also
get to feeling insufficient
and aggravated by others
that would never aggravate me in person.
I start feeling FOMO.
VIdeas for my classroom are everywhere;
I never leave work at work.
Recipes and charcuterie boards stare at me
Making my meals and snacks
look like Swanson and Lunchables.
VINow, we have to worry
about manipulation . . .
businesses planting themselves
in our feeds.
It’s not just holiday sweaters
or diet plans or Xeljanz being touted.
It’s ideas.
Scary to think who may
be the farmer
sowing those seeds.
VIIThe hate and vitriol and divisiveness
tweeted and posted and commented
blows my mind.
Where is the civility, the respect,
the decorum, the decency?
What we say when hiding behind a screen.
VIIIWe read less, interact less, exercise less,
sleep less.
But it’s more than that though.
We think less.
Ideas are being planted
without our even being realizing it..
And the impact on our kids
(whether you have kids or not,
it’s OUR kids)
well, it’s flat frightening.
IXWe know life before.
Before we were seized
by the death grip of tell all, see all, know all.
The constant connection
the creepy algorithms
the urgent need for likes.
But do we even remember it?
Our kids don’t even know another way.
XAm angsty teenager in my class said it best:
“I’ve been raised by the Internet.”
Hmmmm.
Do we like the parenting job she’s doing?
~Susan Ahlbrand
14 October 2020
Your Turn
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.
An Oral History: COVID-19 Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance
Did you write poetry during the first days of COVID-19 school closings? Would you like to be interview for our oral history project? Click here to learn more.
There’s no longer time
for 13 ways of
looking at anything
anymore, so let
that blackbird fly
free and kick the
stone back to soil,
and maybe put
this poem down
and get out there
to work the world
into a place where
we can spend our days
looking at it all over again
in 13 ways, or more
Kevin,
I like the call to leave and go make the world a better place.
This is based on the student and movement prompt. For various reasons, I nicknamed the student Fish. What can I say? I fell asleep thinking, “I should post that poem”
9 ways of looking at Fish
1.
Fish arrived in the middle of 7th grade
A scrawny live wire of grief
Sent to live with step-grandpa
And sort-of-cousin
(Who are each their own poem)
Shaved head turning side to side
Seeking.
2.
A whirlwind of Fish
What got him to stop in his tracks?
A cheesy youtube educational rap about moon phases.
Eyes glued to the screen
He bounces shamelessly, earnestly
Crooning “Those are the phases… of the mooooon”
Fish demanded this song on repeat
like a toddler to a long-suffering mom.
3.
“I’m not doing this,
This is dumb.
You know I can’t read
Off white paper.
All I care about is basketball.
You do it.”
Flicked white paper skitters across desks
Drifting away.
4.
“Will you take a picture of me
So it looks like I’m crawling
out of this rock?”
Fish fluffs his hair
“Ok, I’m ready”
5.
He is fiery rage
Alone, center of black stage.
Screaming, fists clenched, neck a twist of sinews, erupting
“No one understands
What I’ve been through!”
He’s right.
6.
Delighting in the sound
Of the Egyptian god Anubis.
Anuuuuuuubis.
Anuubis.
Little grin
Green eyes sparkle.
7.
“But how does the food
get
in
me?”
Petulantly demanding knowledge
About bones, muscles, cells, strength, bodies.
8.
Every day of summer
From my room, I hear the live twang of basketball on court
Fish is laser focused
No friends, dogs, girls to distract
Dribbling between legs
Behind.
In front.
Again.
Again.
Again.
9.
With each repeated
perfect layup
He hangs in the air like a hawk.
I always log on “the morning after,” to see what I might have missed…this is a treasure! I am so glad you posted this poem! It is beautiful. I am in love with Fish. You have captured so much of his soul, his essence – I feel as if I have spent rich time with him. He is so lucky to have you as his teacher! I love that you notice the small, precious details of his thinking:
Emily, I think this is a truly amazing poem. You should submit it to the call for poems about sports. You really bring fish to life here and the end is brilliant! Thanks for sharing!
One,
the father who has lost so many people and is losing himself as well.
Two,
the daughter who can’t seem to love herself because her mother doesn’t.
Three,
the uncle who left too soon and left so many words unsaid.
Four,
the father who left his children time and time again.
Five,
the son who is following in his father’s foot steps.
Six,
the sister who is growing a human inside herself.
Seven,
the mother who is raising more kids because she loves too much.
Eight,
the brother who can’t seem to find his place here and is always searching.
Nine,
the cousin who is away and may never return home.
Ten,
the family who used to be so whole now broken.
Naydeen, what a heart-wrenching poem. The numbering and vague references to the family members make it all the more sad. Beautifully straightforward.
This poem is softly, sadly introducing us to so many perspectives on a family…how each contributes to the whole or brokenness…I feel as if there is so much more to learn about each. Beautiful though sad – thank you!
An American and a Catholic.
Two aspects to my identity that I can never rid myself of, even though sometimes I’ve tried.
In so many ways I am so proud to be both.
Identities I unknowingly took on mere days after I was born, with a birth certificate and a baptism.
There are so many times where I’m proud to be an American- staring at Fireworks on the fourth of July, belting out the national anthem, reading a New Story of an especially brave or talented American changing the world for the better.
Likewise, there are so many times where I am proud to be a Catholic- hearing a familiar hymn in a time of stress, praying a Hail Mary, witnessing a first communion of a beaming second grader.
But there are times where I hear of something the Catholic Church has done or the US has done and I shake my head and wonder why? Why? How? How can something I love so much, something thats apart of me, do something that I disapprove of? Bring so much hurt when I know there is so much good in America and in the Catholic Church?
The only way I can navigate these two parts of my identity is to redefine what it means for me to be an American and a Catholic- to accept and cherish these identities- but still recognize that I have a voice. That I am allowed to stand up for own morals and values and thoughts even when it contradicts to an extent to being an American or a Catholic. I am still an American, if I disagree with aspects of the US government. I am still a Catholic if I disagree with what the church has done.
An American and a Catholic. On my own terms.
Yes, you are still an American and Catholic if you disagree with aspects of what they do. That’s what makes them both organic. They need oxygen, sustenance, and growth in order to survive! You have shared your values and how to navigate these identities beautifully here, Kaitlin.
Kaitlin,
You put words to feelings I hadn’t acknowledged. Being both American and Catholic, I, too, cherish those core parts of my identity. But, there are times aspects weigh me down. Your words capture that so well.
I love when I read a poem that I wish I had written. That’s quite a compliment.
leaning forward
too few moments of human contact right now,
it feels like we are leaning forward
I sit at my table teaching,
finally a student’s voice emerges from
the flat screen, and I lean forward
not to miss a word
as I stand in front of the plexiglass screen,
I lean forward to share my name:
last then first, membership counts
behind the bakery I stop to greet Olivia,
“I’m here for cupcakes for a friend,
who had chemo today – isn’t a cupcake
a perfect treat?” we both lean forward
to capture the moment before we move on
at the end of the day, I’m at Danielle’s
dropping off dinner with cupcakes,
we lean against the counter talking,
been so long since we last shared the same
space, from across the room Randy
joins our conversation, we lean
together holding our moment before we part
I love the sweet sentiment of cherishing (even socially distant) moments with loved ones and strangers alike!
Thank you, Jamie, for your love and hope-filled poem today. It is so intimate with the first names of people we don’t know, but are invited in to enjoy the interactions. I can so relate to leaning in to the person who is talking on Zoom. I loved this:
Susan! This was such a delicious invitation. I decided to focus on a sound (the rustle of a cornfield). My poem is shit, but it was so much fun to use Wallace’s poem as a mentor text to explore what I thought about corn/rustle/life!
Thirteen Ways of Listening to a Cornfield
I
Across 40 acres of field corn
The important thing
Was the rustle.
II
My mind is in its autumn,
Dry and rustling
Weighted with grain.
III
The rustle is the magnet
Pulling the sun to the horizon.
IV
I am not
Alone.
The rustle
Is with me.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The rustle from the wind
Or from my body
Moving between
The rows.
VI
Snow powdered the stalks
Teasing winter.
The rustle was dampened,
Muted like whale songs.
The mood
Traced on the wind
A heart’s longing.
VII
O thin people of Gray,
Why don’t you listen?
Do you not hear the rustle
Telling you of continuity?
Of something larger than yourself?
VIII
I know yields and CSR ratings
And break-even prices, land values.
But I know, too,
That the rustle is involved
In all I know.
IX
When the rustle faded
To the scratching of the needle
Against vinyl at the end of an LP,
I lost something.
X
At the rustle of the corn,
Shaking with autumn fever,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
She rode across Iowa
In a Malibu
Although she’d never see California.
She thought it was
Radio static;
It was the rustle of the corn.
XII
My heart is beating.
It must be the rustle of the corn.
XIII
It’s been autumn since March.
We are rustling
Rustling
Rustling.
Ok, Allison, I disagree that your poem is shit. I have read your poem twice and put it side-by-side with Wallace’s, which I read briefly for the first time yesterday. So, now you, even more than Wallace, were my poetry teacher today. I love how you used each stanza as a mentor. What a great way to read and write a poem.
I DID look to Wallace for my guidance. This model-method is powerfully fun! Thank you for helping me realize this!
It’s a beautiful poem, Allison, despite what your inner critic says – don’t let it drown out that rustling which speaks so of home and belonging. Not knowing which is more important to you, the wind in the stalks or your body moving through the rows -so poignant. The snow on the stalks -“Muted like whale songs” – that near-mournful sound, calling…so evocative. A loneliness in it. That trade with the scratch of vinyl – “I lost something” – amplifies the ache. Such vivid imagery. Full of autumn, longing, quiet mourning, but also brimming with life and steady turnings of seasons- continuity, as you say. The important thing is the rustling, oh yes; the cornfield knows.
Oh my, Fran. You heard me. Thank you.
Allison,
This poem is so NOT shit. “It’s been autumn since March” is simply a wow line!
13 Ways of Looking at a Black Cat Crossing Your Path in the Time of COVID-19 While on the Way to School to Teach Online Near Halloween of Election Year 2020
I.
Unexpected poetry in motion from the russet woods, feline fluidity rippling low along the golden ditch bank, ebony mercury flowing across the gray asphalt, a thing of beauty, a joy forever or at least until…
II.
Still alive. I didn’t hit it.
III.
Spawn of inexplicable, maniacal laughter (nowhere near the Joaquin Phoenix level)
IV.
The omen of—misfortune? As in—Google crashing?—no Wi-Fi?—more lost instruction?—a forgotten mask? —one more directive on what to do or not to do with data, disinfectant, distance?
V.
Will I even make it to school today?
VI.
Will students (on the screen)?
VII.
Spirit of the season, shape-shifter running to and fro on the Earth, demon on the loose, witch’s familiar, unholy harbinger …
VIII.
This election. Heaven help us.
IX.
Misrepresentation and slaughter of God’s creatures.
X.
Curiosity. Where are you running to, little cat? Where from? Do people other than scientists know you that your fur holds secrets to disease resistance?
XI.
Portal of memory… I had a little black cat, once. She had no tail and no one else wanted her. I brought her home, named her after a magic cat in a book who was exceedingly wise. Couldn’t take her with me when I married and moved into an apartment so I gave her to my dad. He bought turkey and tore it into small bites and fed her on the countertop. She wasn’t magical. Just full of ever-purring love.
XII.
The great portender, seeming to be what you are not… all I know is you are poetry in motion, a spirit-lifter, ebony mercury flowing… how glad I am our paths crossed. Fear not. We bring one another no harm.
XIV.
I skipped #13. Too unlucky.
I absolutely love this!! It truly was poetry in motion, that black cat crossing your path! Love that you skipped #13!! I think my favorite was
That’s the way my mind works, too – no, I don’t believe in superstitions, and yet….
Fran, this is very funny! I’m a fan of long titles! And I loved the fact that you had a “XIV” just to tell us that you skipped “#13.” Lol.
Fran, this is so perfect for the season. You highlighted so many reasons to be unlucky right now. The poor black cat has gotten a bad rap and is really full of every purring love! I really enjoyed this and have read it a few times to savor.
Oh MY! This was exquisite!
I especially loved:
VIII.
This election. Heaven help us.
IX.
Misrepresentation and slaughter of God’s creatures.
And then the heart of your poem: Stanza IX. Thank you for the smallest details that took me into the heart of your memory.
I love how you separate the stanza’s into 13 sections- adds to the spooky mood of your poem! “Election coming up, heaven help us!”- Certainly made me laugh!
Posting late this evening! I spent the day watching my two year old granddaughter…her influence in my poem is obvious. Thank you for this big challenge for the Day Five poem! I have really enjoyed these few days together!
13 ways of looking at cameras
I
Since the day you were born
we have shared one daily photo
in a private app
for family and friends only
where we ooh and aah
separately
II
I was her mentor teacher and saw
him throw the chair and flip the table
pencils, books flying
posters on wall being torn
traumatized, angry, raging six year old
I saw this new teacher, so composed
calmly usher classmates to the hall
carefully deescalating while
buzzing for help from the main desk
I heard them say
“Let us check the security tape first,
To see if this is a true emergency”
III
When your father was a baby
we took photos
mailed away the film and
received photos a couple weeks later.
Always seemed strange to me
someone else saw first
only one or two was worth keeping
IV
In Soviet Russia
it was customary to
alter photos and change history
by deleting people’s images
from official government photos
if they fell out of favor with the Soviet state
V
When I was a child,
taking a photo was a rare event
we got dressed up and
visited the photographer
VI
If feels as if our neighborhoods
have invisible eyes and ears
cameras at traffic lights and street corners,
home security cameras at every doorway
watching our every move
VII
I like to watch you
on your monitor
as you fall to sleep.
Would you like this
if you knew?
VIII
Republicans have created
several deepfake videos
selective splicing
spreading lies
sowing confusion
it is simple technology now
IX
We have so many photos of you
our phone memory bursts
we buy more iCloud space
we don’t know what is on it
or even really
how to access
everything that is stored there
X
Poppa’s family was Pentecostal
thought photos were of the devil
immodest sinful self-absorption
false idols
none were displayed
XI
By the time you were 15 months,
you would turn and smile for a photo,
by 18 months you knew how to scroll
through all the photos of you
by 2 years you know to turn your back
when you see us get the phone out
XII
There are horrible stories
of immigrants being raped
out of view of the camera
in ICE detentions
XIII
What if there had been no camera for George Floyd’s death?
How many George Floyds do we not know about?
We should live
always
like someone is watching.
I feel as if I’ve read a whole novel in a few moments. But that is exactly what cameras do – capture the moments and tell the stories. This is amazingly powerful.
Maureen,
That final question is provocative. Your poem reminds me of Susan Sontag’s writing in “On Photography.” She talks about the common place and ubiquitous nature of photography as desensitizing in its effect, yet as you note, what it there has been not photography, no recording of George Floyd’s death. When we were in China last year we saw cameras everywhere. We’re not there yet but are close. I do appreciate these many ways of thinking about cameras.
Let us venerate the bones
The bones of the massacred
The massacred and forgotten
Forgotten for so long
So long they have been waiting
Waiting to be unearthed
Unearthed, freed, allowed to speak
Speak the truth buried for so long
Beautifully poignant – “venerate the bones” – yes, their stories have been waiting to be unearthed. Love the last powerful line – “Speak the truth buried for so long.”
Beautiful anaphora. I can’t help thinking of “blood crying out from the ground.”
(apologies to the gentlemen)
The Exam
among two women
the only space to move
in the room is
on the table
backrest reclines
fingertips tap
swirl, lift, push–
a mass tilts in palm
so a woman calls
for a second touch
of course, there is a
second bluff to pat
another mass to nudge
so two women discuss
until after
stirrups extend
making space to sit
one woman curves toward
one woman guides with words
one woman counts the ceiling
tiles, then click before
fingertips find space
within
and it is over
until after
there is always after
Whew! I have no words for this—just a tension that built up and didn’t let me go. Your last phrase—there is always after—leaves the tension hanging around us. As always, you take us with you on your journey.
If not for the nebulous “until after/there is always after”, leaving me waiting and worrying, I almost want to chuckle at how true to life the scene is of the cramped room:
Why is it ALWAYS like this?
Good old ceiling tiles. And light fixtures with the occasional dead bug. Alas. Gratitude when it is over … those last two lines haunt me, though.
Sarah,
Oh my, you capture THE exam in such ethereal, knowing language. No need for names here. We’re all “one woman,” separate but united in our staring at the ceiling, tapping our fingers, looking anywhere but there. I appreciate Kate so much the beautiful ways you honor these secret ceremonies we all know intimately. Hugs.
the shared moment, vastly different perspectives, interesting while familiar communication, “counts the ceiling tiles” is so familiar, few words are perfect for the moment we hope passes swiftly
Summer in Quarantine
Everyone’s jobs came to a halt
along with the paychecks.
Wake up with coffee
“What should today’s projects be?”
Probably something we don’t have money for
I guess the backyard needs work
to the house that we don’t even own
First, we must get out morning walk out of the way
After all, it’s the only outing we experience anymore.
Fighting boredom by absorbing the presence of each other
Reminding ourselves to stay positive during this time
Missing our family members
who we should have visited when we had the chance
Spending too long deciding on the perfect dinner
seemed to be the only thing we could look forward to
Cooking more than just servings for two
Ending up eating more than just servings for two.
A few glasses of wine while competitively playing board games
Crashing out around nine because we got too competitive
Waking up in the morning and starting all over again.
This is an artifact to keep for our post-pandemic time, to remember! This made me chuckle: “Fighting boredom by absorbing the presence of each other” – every. single. day. Ha!
1
The thief-
not in the night-
stealing eggs when irritated
2
A passerine
precariously perched
on a maple
3
A morning call
to order, or at least
to the feeder, to refill
4
A winter visitor
showing off his
pewter and royal blue plumage
5
How helpful is his alarm
when the Cooper’s Hawk swops in—
“Jay! Jay! Jay!” saves countless lives
6
He watches through the window curiously,
wondering how long to wait
for his daily supply of peanuts
Mo, the focus you develop here is incredible. As a bird watcher, I was especially drawn to the blue jays presence and was delighted by your line: “Jay! Jay! Jay!”. I love the end with the focus on the squirrel, The color and imagery throughout makes this poem a total delight to read!
Mo,
I like how observant this poem is. Also I love the alliteration in the second stanza! I want to go bird watching now!
Susan, thank you for today’s prompt! Oh so true! My favorite lines:
I didn’t necessarily want to
see what Aunt Pauline’s neighbor’s cousin’s sister
ate for breakfast.
I’m always appalled at ugly food on paper plates, or food that looks good only in person but as a photo it’s brown blobs. Love your poem. I opted not to think about the world or too far out beyond myself today because I feel that’s all I’ve been doing at the expense of loving myself.
15 Ways to Love Me
© Stacey L. Joy
Share honest thoughts
Reveal your emotions
Question my motives
Answer my actions
Tend to my silence
Cover me in laughter
Write a love letter
Mail it to me
Sing off key and smile
Slow dance without music
Fluff my pillow
Turn my sheets down
Paint me in passion
Kiss me three times
Say goodnight, always
Repeat 1-15 often or as needed
(This poem can be ways someone else shows love for the writer, but it is also showing the writer’s self-love.)
Stacey,
You sure put a great flair to this challenge. What a guide to loving the magnificent Stacey Joy this is!
I love “tend to my silence.”
Stacey—good advise for anyone! And I especially appreciate that you don’t depend on another person for it. I need to cover myself in laughter more often, I think…
Stacey, what a lovely poem! Self love is so important and so often difficult to do. Sage advice here!
Your wonderful poetic advice makes me smile. And now I kind of want to write myself a letter…
Oh, Stacey,
I love every bit of this and think we should all write one. It should maybe be a prerequisite in some relationships, and it makes me think/wonder if I can articulate it — how to love me. Have I figured it out or do I make my love guess because I do not know yet.
Oh, this is something, my friend,
Sarah
Stacey, I love 15 Ways to Love Me! It’s is a great idea! Some of my favorite lines are “Cover me in laughter/Write a love letter/Mail it to me/Sing off key and smile.” I can relate to your poem because belting out a favorite song is something I do that always makes me feel better. Thank you for reminding me how important it is to love ourselves and to remember to find time to do things that make us happy, that lift us up! I think we all need to write a poem like this to ourselves. You have brought me happiness-thank you!
Thanks Sarah, Anna, and Susan for your wonderful mentor- ship and prompts that have been stretching my mind all week. I can’t wait till next month. Stay safe and healthy, everyone. I love this group!
Some Random Musings on Technology in the Time of COVID
By Nancy White
Thanks to technology I can type this poem
in the palm of my hand.
No white-out needed,
No sheets of paper crumpled up and strewn on the floor,
No carbon paper for triplicate forms.
Thanks to technology
I see my family’s faces on a screen.
No, it’s not the same as being in person
but wow, what a wonder—
to see them at home, how I love their laughter.
No missing out
No feeling all alone.
Thanks to technology
I’m watching my favorite show
On a big giant screen
With some popcorn in a bowl that I popped in a bag
No waiting.
No fuss.
No time for feeling sad.
Thanks to technology.
I’m comfy and cozy.
Maybe too much so. Growing fat and lazy!
No need for going out
No need to make much effort.
No, not even grocery store trips
I’m staying home and growing more dependent
On technology.
Nancy,
Thank you for shining a light on the positives of technology since many of us seem to be so mired in the many negatives of having our lives dictated by screens. It was a nice change of perspective.
Nancy, wow, you sure connected the joy and perhaps the negative impact of technology for me in this poem…as I finally and thankfully can connect and respond today, I feel like this shut down has drawn me more and more to shopping online, being a bit too lazy, etc. I only wish I had fiber optics and could connect more easily and not have to pay such high prices for internet. The repetition of “No waiting/No fuss/No time for feeling sad” is so thought provoking. Is technology muting our personalities? I am glad we can connect with people visually…remember when that was a dream? Although, I feel that disconnect of really wanting to be with our loved ones more intimately. Your poem makes me think of “The Veldt” by Ray Bradbury, a wonderful short story that shares the deadly consequences of raising children on the “no waiting” concept. Thanks for sharing!
Nancy, what a positive poem when so many of us have mixed feelings about technology. I put together a Zoom with most of my siblings the other night and shuddered to realize I was the most tech savvy in the group. That made me LOL! Thanks for reminding us of the good parts of technology.
Nancy, I’m with Susan on this! I enjoyed seeing “this perspective,” too. Although I did sense a bit of ominousness — is that a word? — at the end. We (and by that I mean “me,” lol) get frustrated when it takes a while for a page to “load,” forgetting that, wait a minute, this is pretty amazing that you can do x, y, and z because of technology. You want to “access” the world’s wealth of knowledge — done. You want to keep up-to-date with friends and family members across the globe — done. Yeah, yeah, but why did Zoom kick me out of the meeting? Stupid computer! [So, thank you for reminding me (and by that I mean “us.”)]
Susan, thanks for your time today. I love Nancie Atwell’s work. I never read the book you noted, but I’ll be sure to check it out!
Soundbites
I: Trapped
From inside this canvas
I see a world of sound bites
Stories full of fury, confusion, and lies
II: Covid
T-RUMP: People are tired of hearing Fauci and all these idiots
Fauci: Nothing personal, strictly business
But?: Iowa reports record high Covid-19 deaths
III: More Carnage
KWWL: Body of missing woman found dead
KGAN: Woman found dead along 1-380
Quad Cities News: Davenport woman died after beating, husband sentenced
IV: Iowa
Note: October is Domestic Violence Month
State Auditor: Reynolds’ misuse of CARES Act funds could cost taxpayers $21M
Weather: Snow Squall warning
V: In Keokuk
Three Arrested on Weapons, Meth Charges
Keokuk man arrested in connection with burglary
Lee County Narcotics Task Force arrests Keokuk man
VI: Signage
In 20 years our world will be run by people homeschooled by day drinkers.
Addiction is a family disease. One person may use, but the whole family suffers.
One kind word can change someone’s entire day.
VII: Madness Prevails
Inside this canvas
Witnessing a whirlwind of grief, I beg,
Please help me escape Edvard Munch’s The Scream
Barb Edler
October 21, 2020
Barb — You really have evoked Munch’s …Scream. I can see it, hear it, and I want to slap my hands over my ears and shield my eyes. I also love how you use “soundbites” rather than “soundbytes”… because this mess has TEETH… Big ol’ gnarly TEETH…so maybe we need to add some fangs to The Scream! LOL! Seriously, you have rendered handily the state of chaos that is our buckshot news, fired at us in a non-stop automatic hail of woe. When we get to the vaccine, when we get past Jan. 20, we have to write again by going back to these pieces in October, as they are swollen with the heartbreak, “the fury, confusion, and lies.” And I’m hoping beyond all that we will be able to tell full-bodied stories of the other side of all this. If only…
And I must say that I laughed out loud at the “Signage” of
Oh my gosh…grim but pretty funny. I know, I’m a sick puppy.
Great poem, my friend! Thank you, Susie
Wow, Barb,
First, I love, love the circle you created with the “inside this canvas” and the perspective taking you offer us here from this art, this iconic art. I so felt like Munch’s subject today – desperately wanting to scream. I am not sure why I just didn’t. I needed this poem and appreciate the raw — the beg.
Sarah
Barb, your poem is powerful! Your first line “from inside this canvas” hooked me and made me feel like I actually had a canvas bag wrapped around me all these months of Covid-19. Your repetition of “inside this canvas” in your last stanza made me feel like I’m never getting out of this canvas bag. “Witnessing a whirlwind of grief” is a perfect use of alliteration to describe what we’ve been through and it also made me feel like a tornado, or a hurricane has been inside this canvas bag with me. Your use of the line “one kind word can change a person’s entire day” after mentioning alcoholism reminds me that even though we’ve all been through “carnage” we can help save each other the same way as we did before Covid-19, by giving one small positive word or smile. Thank you for sharing.
I’m a little off topic, so please forgive me. After I read the prompt, I was thinking about numbers, and I saw a random post on Facebook that read: If someone was doing a spell to summon you, what three ingredients/objects would they need to summon you? That was the inspiration for my little poem.
3 Ways to Summon Me
Open your heart
Show me something real
Speak your truth
Tell me how you feel
Dance your passions
Live with zeal
Sharon, I thought your poem was a fun way to use the prompt. The use of end rhyme made the piece even more spell-like. Thanks for sharing it with us! (And I am going to steal this prompt for my students…it would be a great creative writing piece for next week.)
Sharon, one of the things i love most about this space is how we always feel free to go where our hearts and minds feel pulled. I love where you went and I think it would be a fabulous prompt for students.
Susan: thank you for the prompts and model poems. All #openwrite hosts and contributors: many thanks for your courage and support and inspirations. Thank you for the space to stretch and write and reflect. xo
My larger, outside world has been the literal outside…the hot summer and a second shift teaching job has limited my interactions with the world outside my classroom and bedroom. For the past week, I’ve had the cool weather and free evenings to re-explore my neighborhood and yard. Today’s prompt provided me a place to share my observations and interactions.
10 Ways of Looking at a Southwest Georgia Fall
I
Little variance in tree shade or leaf color
Just pine straw and oak leaves
Layers and layers of oak leaves
On the porch and in the driveway
II
A blush of crimson from a lone maple
In the neighbor’s yard
The poison oak wraps around the dogwood tree
A blend of orange and ocre
III
Spiny Orb-weaver spider
Crouches in the center
Of a masterful web
IV
A Five-lined Skink
Springs from a bag of potting soil
Gardening vessels and tools crash to the ground
Expletives ring in the air
The skink skampers away
V
Peach melba sunset
Puffs of white and purple clouds
Field of fresh cotton crop
Puffs of white under green leaves
VI
Crispy rosemary and basil gone to seed
The last of my summer plants
Tossed like dross on a pile
Of dead petunias and dried gardenias
VII
Grey squirrels (Sciurus carolinensis)
More brown than grey
Frantically collect and bury and hord acorns
Boldy taunt cars and neighborhood dogs
VIII
Johnny-jump-ups and mums
In red pots
Remembering my grandmother
Thinking of my mama
IX
The ginkgo tree on Main Street
Splash of chartreuse fading to gold
Perhaps the rain will refrain from
Washing away the display
X
Whiff of tea olive blossoms
Citrusy and floral
A reminder to stop and breathe
Betsy, There’s some great stuff here! I can picture very clearly each “scene” because of your very vivid details — “A blush of crimson from a lone maple,” “peach melba sunset,” a “Whiff of tea olive blossoms.” And I love the sound of the line, “Perhaps the rain will refrain from / Washing away the display.” Thanks for this!
What gorgeous images you’ve painted for us today, Betsy! So vivid. My favorite line is “Expletives ring in the air.”
Betsy, wow, what a beautiful poem…it’s like you’ve created a visual display through a moving camera. I loved the focus on color, and could relate to the way you described the squirrels…they are devils along the road I live on. The ending is so powerful and divine…yes just “stop and breathe”! Thanks for sharing a window into your world! Beautiful!
Betsy, I love the surprise in the stanza about the skink! Your phrase, peach melba sunsets, will stay with me a long time. Your details are vivid and inviting.
Betsy – this whole poem was a reminder to stop and breathe and enjoy the change of seasons and the memories and images it brings. Gorgeous!
10 beautiful images captured vividly and briefly, colors: orange and ochre, scents: citrusy and floral, specificity of the flora: tea olive, ginkgo, johnny-jump-ups – celebrating life’s simple joys
Yahoo! Five challenging and learning experiences this week. Thanks.
Our World Heritage
Looking down from a window of a small propeller plane
I am suspended
and awed at at the inscribed images
I see below.
Orbit-like eyes quizzically look out
over a desert plain.
A newly discovered feline
one of many animals and plants
etched into the ground.
Ancient marks
the Nazca Lines
geoglyphs
thousands of lines
wide and narrow
carving three hundred figures
into the hillside
on fragile grounds
a stray footprint could mar.
Reminders of an ancient people
built thousands of years ago.
Their purpose a mystery
an echo of constellations
travel markers for extraterrestrial visitors.
In a thousand years to come
what will be reminders of our culture?
What will be left to quiz curious eyes
that look out over a ruined planet
piles of cement
barren land
and wonder what secrets are held by eroded Mount Rushmore
or remnants of the Statue of Liberty?
inspiration from “2,000-Year Old Etching of Feline Found at Nazca Lines Site in Peru,” by Tiffany May, The San Diego Union-Tribune, Tuesday, October 20, 2020
Susan, wow, I wasn’t quite ready for the end of your poem. It’s very frightening to think of what might soon be left behind. of our world, especially when so much science seems to be ignored. I’ve had one very serious ET encounter so your line: “travel markers for extraterrestrial visitors.” really connected for me. I am definitely going to check out the article that inspired this very thought provoking poem! Thanks for sharing!
I love how you took this piece and twisted at the end what it was about. Will those items become as beautiful and mysterious as those lines? Good to remember that we are not the whole world.
Thanks again, Susan (and Anna and Sarah, too) for this “batch” of prompts this month. I’ve enjoyed (both writing and reading) them!
(re)Looking
I have a confession.
I don’t really like Wallace Stevens.
I know, right? I’m a monster.
I can appreciate his place
in capital “L” literature; I just don’t
know if I understand it — his poetry,
not his place (but, I guess, I don’t under
stand that either).
I’ve tried, believe me,
I’ve taken classes on modern poetry,
I’ve read half a biography on the dude,
listened to lectures and podcasts
raving about his “Anecdote of the
Jar” (which seems like he just didn’t
pick up after himself. It seems, to all
accounts, that Wallace is just a litter
bug. He left a jar in Tennessee
and wrote a poem about it. Cool.) or
his “The Emperor of Ice-Cream” (which, yes,
I guess is about a prostitute or something,
sure, but it has nothing to do with Rocky Road
or Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey) and
this leads me to his blackbird poem,
the one about “looking.”
(I’d much rather, to be honest, spend my time
listening to “Blackbird” by The Beatles —
which I currently am, by the way, — and
“Blackbird fly into the light of a dark black
night” is so much better than “I was of three
minds, / Like a tree / In which there are
three blackbirds.” What?! LOL. Seems
like lazy writing, Wallace.)
(I mean, I know, I know,
he’s Mr. Wallace Stevens,
preeminent American poet, heralded in countless
hallowed halls, winner of the Pulitzer Prize
in 1955, and, I, on the other hand,
once had a poem in the local college’s lit mag, so
we’re on equal footing, is what I’m trying to say.)
And my thoughts are as valued (and valuable?)
as his, if reader-response literary criticism is
to be believed, but this is not what I’m
thinking about at the moment.
What I’m thinking about at the moment
is why am I in an office hour Zoom call
all by myself.
I’ve got the Zoom window open, and I’m
looking at myself, looking at myself, contemplating
the choices that I made to get here.
Don’t get excited,
they’re nothing heady
nor profound.
I was just wondering about “looking.” And about
Wallace Stevens. When I felt a tickle in
my nose — my left nostril to be exact — so I
tilted my head backward and flared those
suckers for all they’re worth
when I realized
that I didn’t hit pause
on the recording.
So now, there’s film of me checking
my nose on camera and I wonder, not
for the first time mind you,
if Edgar Allan Poe had to worry about nose
hairs or Paul McCartney, or, heaven forbid,
even Mr. Wallace Stevens himself.
They all have noses, right? And presumably
they all have hairs in their, respective, noses.
So did, say, Sylvia Plath, ever, mid thought, mid
sentence even, hold her pen aloft (line of verse
momentarily forgotten) crane her head backward,
eyes gently closed as if to ward off a sneeze,
only to vigorously rub her nose trying to dislodge
a foreign body?
Had Emily Dickinson ever wondered aloud,
“I heard a Fly buzz — WHAT IS IN MY NOSE?!”
I can almost picture Wallace digging his
meaty fingers into each nostril — forefinger
and thumb vying for purchase — to forcefully
tug on his columella, all the while, thinking,
Can I write a poem about a wayward nose
hair?
These are the things I think about when I’m
sitting in a Zoom ‘room” by myself, staring at
myself, staring at myself
until, of course, I realize I am an hour early
for the meeting.
Scott,
This is purely classic. Love the detail and the humor!
I absolutely love bringing in of them various poets and humanizing them.
Okay, Scott. You win. Again.
Hilarious! Priceless! Thanks for being brave enough to post a poem about nose hairs. I once wrote a poem about chin hairs. It didn’t make it much farther than the journal page I wrote it on, but some things, like looking at your nose on a Zoom call are universal topics. I think Wallace himself would laugh at this poem.
Scott, I have enjoyed reading your poems this week–especially as you engage with and react to the “masters” of “capital “L” literature.” This was my favorite stanza:
Thank you for the humor and irreverence and earnestness.
(I mean, I know, I know,
he’s Mr. Wallace Stevens,
preeminent American poet, heralded in countless
hallowed halls, winner of the Pulitzer Prize
in 1955, and, I, on the other hand,
once had a poem in the local college’s lit mag, so
we’re on equal footing, is what I’m trying to say.)
I definitely laughed aloud here. And I hear you! There’s totally a time and place for serious, but one way to get me to connect is humor, and I connected here – the nose hairs, the wondering what everyone thinks is so great about “the greats”, the self-deprecation. Yes, please!
You’ve outdone Wallace. In, like, so many ways…
This was an absolute rip-roaring joy to read!
Scott – I’ve come to love the roll of your poetry, the free fall of it. Your rant on “Mr. Wallace Stevens himself.” Was just a giggle. You remind me of my own rants on what I’ve called “oh my soul poetry” when I was still back in the middle school classroom …ha! By midnight on Sunday nights I’d want to hang myself. LOL! Okay, back to your hilarious poem.. the quest “into each nostril — forefinger/ and thumb vying for purchase” … holy cow! I was dyin’! Your detail and the image of being caught on Zoom, oh man! Just a stitch!!! Now, that’s a bit of “looking” I hadn’t bargained for. But it’s so real, so human! I’m so glad you write so honestly and with such a fresh hilarity of spirit! Now, a collection of Scott M poetry would be a smash hit! Who wouldn’t want to count on that particular way of looking at the world? Intelligent, hilarious, fresh, and honest. Start putting these together in a collection and finding a publisher on Submittable! Thank you again for the fun! There’s a touch of David Sedaris in your humor… and I’ve loved his crazy novels. Susie
This is a fun prompt! I was inspired by your poem, Susan, about social media to search #virtualteaching on Twitter. This is really a found poem.
13 Ways of Looking at Virtual Teaching
1. Update the bitmoji
to include grey hair
& wrinkles.
2. Got my morning workout
while practicing counting
with first graders.
3. “Teachers Can Do Virtually Anything”
on a t-shirt.
4. An interactive inquiry
work in progress–
as everything– learning
unfolds.
5. Losing track of days…
6. You still do
what you do
best.
7. What is your virtual wild animal?
8. It’s okay
to feel
whatever
you need
to feel.
9. I’m sitting on my couch
eating chips and dip
waiting for someone,
anyone to click on.
10. Lists are essential.
11. Power went out,
but my students were waiting
patiently for me.
12. We all need a mute button once in a while.
13. Every season is one of becoming,
not always blooming.
Margaret,
Thank you for preserving our virtual teaching experience forever. I am going to put “We all need a mute button once in awhile” on a sign in my room!!
I love this, Margaret! I want that T-shirt!!! Also, I think I’m going to miss the mute button post-pandemic.
That last line, becoming, not always blooming. Very profound.
Margaret, yes!! This is a tribute to all that we educators are juggling, reading, thinking, doing. I appreciated the last item most of all because I just don’t see myself “blooming” in any sense of the word.
I’m amazed at how much you’ve captured in the 13 ways! Bravo! And may I join you for chips and dip please? ?
I think I’m going to print 13 and tape it on my wall. You blend such humor and such truth here.
Margaret, Thank you for this, for having the mental wherewithal to compile this list! I’m still stuck on #5 — this has been the longest week ever (and it’s only Wednesday). And for ending on “Every season is one of becoming / not always blooming.” Such a good line! (Oh, and you realize that you have to share your “chin hair” poem now, right? I’m pretty sure it’s in the “by laws” or “charter” or something. Check with Sarah, but, I think I read that somewhere: if you mention you once wrote a poem involving chin hairs, you have to share said poem. Lol)
[Susan — Thank you for the last couple prompts that pushed me. I especially enjoyed monkeying with the ways of looking this morning. You can’t beat that Steven’s poem, for sure. The podcast was especially fun to watch…good teaching in action.]
EIGHT LOOKS AT LIPS
I
Rimming the orifice of a face,
shaping sounds with puckers,
lips measure the ebb and flow of air,
squeeze for pitch —
the lips of a balloon
pulled too tight squeak high screams
in a piercing register.
II
Lips that use spittle and slack
let forth throaty tones in Os and OOs,
the cow moos for her calf to suckle,
oh, udder relief.
III
Lips that fear and quiver
play havoc with the teeth they protect,
enamel grabbing
to steady and calm the shiver.
IV
Pointed peaks of a painted lip
made smooth and shiny
marks the bullseye of a face:
here, I’m here,
lips in the crosshairs.
V
Lips that want another,
press and yield
indexing soft notes,
reading the moment,
sending signals in a scattershot
of heat.
VI
Lips with secrets
knit tight in fleshy
bouquets of knowledge, measuring
imperceptible whispers,
as they hold the breath
of wicked truths.
VII
But what of lips that lie,
the taut purse of defiance that curls,
subtly twitches side to side,
in synch with diverting eyes
blind, numb to truth, in cahoots with spleen,
forcing utterances out of whack with conscience?
They never act only once; instead, lips that lie
sport a serial smacking motion
always tainted
by the urge to repeat the deceit.
VIII
Lips losing their line on an aged face
become just more face
till they frame
a smile dressed
in the rime of many winters.
by Susie Morice (aka Hot Lips in St. Louis! 🙂 LOL! ©
Susie, you never fail to bring a smile – I laughed out loud in “udder relief.” And oooh! Stanza VI is so, so good. My favorite lines today
But that ending! Maybe I can’t pick a favorite.
Hot Lips Susie,
Of course I thought about “What lips these lips have kissed” as I read this tragicomic examination of lips. I giggled at
and sighed in anguish reading the stanza about lips that deceive. That Wallace Stevens sure inspires. This poem is lip smacking good. I’m savoring every line.
oh, udder relief.. I say no more!, this was awesome!
Susie…such fun! And so interesting to examine the lips from all these angles and perspectives. I think stanza IV was my favorite….I had to read it aloud to get my own lips around the alliterative “p”s and “s”s (it reminded me of drama class warm-ups where we would “pop our ps”). I love the lingering image of the “lips in the crosshairs.”
Hot Lips strikes again! She always seals the deal with a passion for words and truths with humor, wit, and sizzle – like this, for example:
V
Lips that want another,
press and yield
indexing soft notes,
reading the moment,
sending signals in a scattershot
of heat.
Sending signals in a scattershot of heat – love the image, love the “s” sounds like So many secrets!
You write ‘em wow-fully, Susie!
Susie, you are so very funny! I love the various aspects of lips conveyed throughout your poem…from sexy hot to secretive to the liars….brilliant! I love your aka Hot Lips. aside, too…..I do have a lot of visualizations from that note alone! I was especially drawn to the imagery of the lying lips: “the taut purse of defiance that curls,/subtly twitches side to side,/in synch with diverting eyes”….sheer beauty. I know these lying lips well. Your subject is so delightful and fun, and an important facial feature. Now, that I am almost completely deaf, I have to watch lips so much more closely. Thanks for sharing such a delightful poem; my spirits are lifted, dear friend! Cannot wait to read your work next month!
Oh, Susie! I loved every moment here “lips that want” and “lips with secrets” leading me to “but what of lips that lie,” and I think I was particularly drawn to all the lips given my PAP test today (blushing). You got me really smiling in the end thinking of your smile, your “Hot Lips” that bring us all so much encouragement and love in the words you speak here. I keep reading and rereading this — love it so much.
ahhh hahahahahaha! Hot Lips! That’s awesome, Susie. Ok, on to the poem at hand…
“Pointed peaks of a painted lip
made smooth and shiny
marks the bullseye of a face:
here, I’m here,
lips in the crosshairs.”
this one just stood out to me – I think it reminded me of a family friend with crazy, memorable lipstick that was a true attention getter. But, the idea of lipstick making one a target, yet calling for attention – lots of thoughts about gender and the shadow of violence here.
Just so much word play – perfect for lips – and beautifully chosen words.
Susie, this was a lot of fun! The moment that keeps me coming back for the re-read: “knit tight in fleshy / bouquets of knowledge, measuring / imperceptible whispers.” And I love the ease and conciseness of the line “always tainted / by the urge to repeat the deceit.” Great!
Susie,
As always, wow, another profound poem. Thank you for spending this precious time with lips! I have not paid much attention to mine lately because as soon as I’m out, my mask covers my lips. ?
This image is FIRE!!!!
I am completely captivated, Hot Lips in St. Louis!
545 ways of listening to america
I
Between the sea and the sea,
The only sound with meaning
Is the wail of a child.
II
I am of several wombs,
Like the field of grasses
In which there are singular blades
III
A child drowned in the salty tears.
She was lost in the waves.
IV
A mother and a child
Are one.
A mother and a child and an america
Are not.
V.
You do not know which you prefer,
The steel caged stares
Or the hands reaching through-over-between blackened bars,
The walls graffitied
Or tunnels just under.
VI
Borders cemented the wide expanses
With cold roots.
The footprints of the immigrants
Crossing, to and here.
The generations
Settled into the footprints
Fossilized in cave dwellings.
VII
To the whitewashed men,
Why do you prefer silenced children?
Do you not hear the voices
Crying beneath your feet
Or buried below you?
VIII
I hear their hymns
Their muffled, imprisoned chants;
But I also hear the beating
Cadence of each voice
I cannot un-hear.
IX
When the wails reached midnight,
They settled into the canton,
Each decibel in every star.
X
At the sound of children
Lying in the sharp boxes,
Even the ears of heaven
Would squeeze shut tightly.
XI
He rode over america
In a black hearse.
Four years, for years,
He mistook
The graves of their leavings
For adulation.
XII
The sea is churning.
The wails must be sounding.
XIII
It was dark yet dawn.
It was raining
And it was going to rain.
A child sat
In the america-cage.
XIV…
Holy mackerel, Jennifer — This is stunning in its careful “looking” at what our leaders refuse to see. As soon as I saw the number 545, I gulped, as I had just been reading again the horrors of our caged children. Yes, these are our children. I don’t give a damn how they got here. They need their mothers, their fathers, the compassion of our country that is shamefully washing down the drain. Your poem points to the loss of the American soul:
Your images are hauntingly on target and powerful. This one just chokes me up:
And “mistak[ing] their graves for adulation” just drives a stake through the heart of the callous people who have called this just. “I cannot unhear.” This is a poem for a wider audience, Jennifer. It rings of the grim truth of the sins of the last four years. Thank you for pulling off the scab and revealing what we cannot every un-see. Susie
What an incredibly powerful piece of writing! A beautifully written statement of children in cages and what is happening in our country today. Hit me right in the gut.
Jennifer,
545 indeed. Let that number be seared on our hearts that we will know and never forget our national shame. That man has no humanity, and as your brilliant poem illustrates, we are not done counting the collateral damage. What have we done? What have we become? God have mercy on us. 545 makes of mockery of “God bless America.” We deserve no blessings given our nation’s cruelty. I don’t know which part of your poem I love more, but when I arrived at the following, I felt a stab of pain:
It’s like asking which hell a child prefers. Heartbreaking, brilliant, necessary: That’s your poem today.
Jennifer,
This needs to be circulated. It’s such a powerful look at a crisis that people need to be aware of and to realize it is children we are talking about. Children.
Your words are powerful and descriptive and loaded with power.
While the entire poem is simply incredible, these lines struck me hard:
“At the sound of children
Lying in the sharp boxes,
Even the ears of heaven
Would squeeze shut tightly.”
Bravo!!
Jennifer—from the title on, you owned me. “A child sat in the america cage.” Horrific. Thank you.
Jennifer, right before I read your poem I had an alert from the New York Times with the headline “The parents of 545 migrant children separated at the border still haven’t been found.” I can’t even fathom this. Your poem accentuates the appalling tragedy of this. “A mother and a child
Are one.
A mother and a child and an america
Are not.”
Oh, this is POWERFUL, Jennifer. I don’t even know what to say. The trauma these children have already endured and will continue to endure is unimaginable.
The whole verse and each number is riveting, but what is most haunting and real is the “what comes next” feeling about number fourteen. The scariest part is that we all know it’s something. Well done, friend!
Oh, Jennifer, you shared earlier in the day that you looked forward to playing with Susan’s poetry form today. Your playing turned into something fierce and powerful and true and a story to be told and retold 545 different ways. You have started it brilliantly. Can this be published in an op-ed section of a newspaper? Your playing has turned into tears.
TEN
1. What can I do for you when no hope remains?
2. Do I wish you quick mercy or more time to talk?
3. What can I send to you, my friend,
to see you to this end?
4. How will you carry on when he is gone?
Too young. Your son.
5. Where will you find strength, when you have given it all to him?
6. Who will you be when this is done?
I have no answers. This is all I have:
7. I will weave a basket to catch your tears.
8. I will hold you up when life does not.
9. I will love him with you.
10. I will be here.
Oh, Gayle, the sorrow here at the loss of the child is palpable. This line
is so beautifully crafted, the image both nurturing and hopeful in a circumstance of loss. Your heart for your friend and her suffering is large. I am so glad you are there for your friend.
Oh, Gayle, this is so tender and so completely heartbreaking. There is so much love in these ten. The beauty of the final four lines is just so incredible. “…weave a basket to catch your tears.” You have given us an amazing look inside a truly rare relationship…there “when life does not” play fair. So personal and so touching. I love that you found the words and shared this today. Thank you so much. Susie
Gayle,
My heart hurts for your friend. She is lucky to have you there to
That’s such a lovely image. Sending you both love and peace through your shared grief.
Sometimes all we can give is presence and that is enough.
Like others have already mentioned, that line “I will weave a basket to catch your tears” stands out. It’s like creating the physical container that represents the space you are holding for this person’s grief. So touching.
Gayle, those heartbreaking moments are the worst possible pain. While your friend is so totally immersed in grief, how blessed she is beyond measure to have you there to share in her loss and her burden. You are a true friend who will go the distance and feel the pain. That is love.
Rich blessings, and the way you counted to ten and ended with your presence is touching!
Gayle, what a beautiful, moving, and tender poem. Lines 7-10 just blew me away! Tears!
Gayle, very powerful! Those are such difficult and complicated (and heartbreaking) questions. I love your “answer”: “I will be here.” Thank you for sharing this.
Oh Gayle, this is so powerful, grief from the perspective of a loving and present friend. I love the spacing break in the middle of the poem, a pause and then what you do have is offered. My favorite too is the woven basket to catch the grieving parent’s tears. It reminds me of one of my favorite Bible verses:
Psalm 56:8
Gayle,
I love the emotion in this poem. Losing a child comes with unimaginable pain. I loved line number seven, beautifully done!
Looking at the News
Seeing the world on the news today
Often makes us want to cry.
“What did that reporter just say?”
God, I wonder why?
Why do the senators refuse to vote?
Why do the young reps get up and cuss?
Why can’t I stop? Why notice and note?
Just turn off the TV and stop this fuss!
Seeing the world on the news today
Makes me wonder, “Is there a way
That I can be a light and sway
Someone in my circle to do more than pray?
Praying is good. Now, let’s get up off our knees
We know it’s not others that we must please.
We each are held accountable to One on high.
When we look at the news and want to cry.
Let’s wipe our tears, get up and get out, and give love a try.
“Let’s wipe our tears, get up and get out, and give love a try.” That’s all that’s left, isn’t it? Beautiful poem, and the last line says it all.
Anna, from your opening plea, I can sense all the shock from yet another news report, the questioning behind more bad news. Your words carry us through and offer us not only hope but also the urge to continue on in the end. Give love a try, indeed!
Anna,
I appreciate your perspective here. I’m a news junkie and am still shocked daily by what I see. Still, I can’t look away and don’t understand those who do. As messy as the world is, I do see glimmers of hope, especially from young people working to change racist names and mascots in schools, accepting science over conspiracy theories, etc. I hope November brings a better class of politician to Washington.
A beautifully written overview of what is happening. I especially love the stanza,
Seeing the world on the news today
Makes me wonder, “Is there a way
That I can be a light and sway
Someone in my circle to do more than pray?
I’ve asked myself these same questions. I love the use of rhyme – it really helps make an impact!
Anna, this poem is so relatable. I love your lines in the third stanza. Such a great poem over everything going on today that I am sure everyone feels. Thank you for this share.
The Jigsaw Puzzle
The jigsaw puzzle of religions
with a hundred different pieces
fitting together to form a whole
that is the picture of God
each piece being given
a unique nugget of truth
for which they will fight and die for
Each piece different
from all the others
yet they somehow interlock
Each believes in their
own omnipotence and power
to redeem the world
Each piece carries its own
rites and rituals that make it
up to God’s ear and eye
Each piece comforts their
believers with the shells
they have created to surround themselves
Each piece is assured
of the sanctity of their religion
and their road that takes them to God
Each piece believes they are
the ONLY road to God
and all others are false
And yet when each piece is
interlocked to form a whole
we see a much clearer picture
of what God is and
the nuggets of truth He dispersed
throughout the world
The wise one will look at the whole
and absorb each individual nugget
of truth that is given out
and see the wisdom of all
the different roads that lead to God
Judi–wow. you have just put it all together–if only we could get that message out to the world!
“each piece being given
a unique nugget of truth
for which they will fight and die for’. That’s it! Now if we could just get past the fighting and dying part…
Judi, oh how I love this image. The metaphor of a jigsaw puzzle is simply perfect. I think it could be used for so many different concepts.
It leads up to such a beautiful idea.
Judi, if only we could see the similarities we have and stop paying attention to the differences! Your poem is a reminder of that. The imagery of the puzzle pieces works so well with each piece making up a part of the whole to show how we fit together.
Judi,
The emphasis you place on “each” drives home the singularity of disparate religions. Years ago an aunt told me she tries to find the value in each religion. I suspect she doesn’t do that so much these days. I live among many members of the LDS church. It’s a religion that organizes its church buildings based on geography with all members attending the same “church.” This is one way members distinguish themselves from nonmembers in a neighborhood. The consequence is a strict separation. When I read “Life of Pi” I really started looking for common ground more. Some of the local leadership has worked to be more accepting of nonmembers such as myself. However, they are in the minority, and having retired a year ago I really am staring to notice the divisions creep back in more. All this is to say I’m not as optimistic as you are in your poem. I don’t see most religions doing much to honor those whose thinking differs from their own. BTW: I was raised Southern Baptist and earned my undergrad from a Southern Baptist U. However, I no longer attend church regularly and haven’t since around 1995.
Whenever I am approached by anyone who is touting a religion I tell them, “If you can answer one question, I will listen to what you have to say.”, the question I ask them is, “What is the ONE, single correct way to get to Los Angeles?, What is the ONE SINGLE correct means or road to get to Los Angeles?” They can never answer that question. That is how I see things – there is no ONE SINGLE correct way to get to God.
Judi, I’m standing in applause here:
Each piece believes they are
the ONLY road to God
and all others are false
Your use of the jigsaw puzzle to create a sense of true unity against the backdrop of individual piece discord is symbolic and gives hope for the pieces that can’t seem to want to connect.
Judi, the truths in your poem highlights one of the major issues today. Because we each are governed by our faith, what we believe to be true about the Superior Being or Force, determines how we relate to His/Her/Their creations. Unfortunately, we tend to look at what is different about each other’s faith rather than what they have in common. Most major faith’s have two overlapping teachings that the Christian faith often calls the Golden Rule – treat others with the same love and compassion with which we’d like to be treated. Oh if we could act on the plea of your closing stanza!
Thanks for laying this out so vividly for us. Another challenge in the challenges in this monthly challenge!
Susan, thank you for your poem, I resonate with your points about social media. I also appreciate all of your examples and support tools. Thank you!
Count on US
one lady, gifted to represent our honor, your honor we are guilty
two major parties, partying between divisive civil discourse, or war?
three elements of an imperfect government; powerhouse like a deflated balloon
four centuries, oppressive control, intergenerational trauma unhealed
five plus zero, stars to unite us together, lines to separate the waves
six-teen hundred addresses and represents anti-race, taunts our adolescent country
seven-teen seventy-six, common sense one thought, independence one thought,
days, years, numbers don’t correlate, don’t count on US
I admire the way you have used the numbers to start each line and count the ways we are in political discord. Oh can we ever get back to one thought and unity?
“numbers don’t correlate, don’t count on US” I wonder if you meant both the lower case and upper case “US”. WE certainly aren’t worth counting on right now, are we? LOve the structure the numbering gave this poem.
Stefani,
This is a very clever approach to looking. Bravo for the subtext about how few decide for so many. I’ve nearly lost all respect for the SCOTUS under the fellow at 1600. That last line cuts deeply beyond our borders. Well done.
What a clever device you have used to sum up our political discord. I love the use of the numbers to segment your thoughts — such truth you have painted.
Stefani, what a brilliant count! These are the lines I love the most:
six-teen hundred addresses and represents anti-race, taunts our adolescent country
seven-teen seventy-six, common sense one thought, independence one thought,
days, years, numbers don’t correlate, don’t count on US
Your words beg wonder about what the founding fathers would say about today were they here. I think even we would have underestimated their reactions – you make us think about those moments here. Brilliant!
Ditto! Stefani, talking about cleverly extending a metaphor! Wow. Using numbers throughout narrowed our focus and broadened our view. Thanks for showing us both!
Stefani, what a way to look at us, the US. You were on fire with your numbers today. I love the commentary along with the objective numbers “we are guilty” “one thought” and that clincher: “Don’t count on US” Just wow!
Susan, thank you for this prompt. I have many ideas I’d like to explore, and I’m always enamored w/ variations on “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” one of my favorite poems. Today, however, I returned to a poem I began writing in March during the early days of the pandemic. Today’s prompt is a perfect opportunity to reimagine what I began all those months ago.
World View
Glenda Funk
When this moment passes
When the apocalypse recedes
When we peek through the curtains
Onto this stasis, our frozen world still
Spinning as clocks stop ticking,
The world no longer accessible
Beyond geopolitical imaginary lines;
Opening our doors
Leaving our homes
Escaping our homeland
Will we walk past strangers
Hugging our self-isolation to
Our bosoms like Sandberg’s little mouse love?
Protecting our self-interests from
Strangers, perceived danger,
phantoms we
See shadowing our privilege,
Will we cross to the other side
Avoiding something, someone
We do not know?
Will we talk to strangers or
Will we have become too intimate with
Our aloneness, our constant companion,
To befriend a neighbor?
Separated from the world I am
Able only to look out,
Capable only of a gaze, a
Glance into space,
Unable to see this blue marble
Apart from onscreen images and
Flat horizons in near distances
My vision limited by political failure—
That of a human with no vision
Leading a people to death
One cold covid case at a time—
This flat plane blocks my sight.
A prism curves, caresses and
Bends while like a Mime I
Press my bosom onto the
Glass unable to reach what I see
Wishing for places I long to go.
Pressed to the same pane, you
Pretend to touch my face, our
Fingers flatten against life.
Clamped flanges face my visage,
Attempting to touch, to force a bending of
Hard, flat surfaces in this
Isolation. We see ourselves as
Pixelated people, facsimiles on a screen
Fading to a dark scene.
One inch remains until with a click
We tune out and curl into
Our lost generation,
Imprisoned in our national pride,
Our certitude in our exceptionalism
Choking our breath until we cannot breathe.
Oh, Glenda…I always looked forward to your poetry. You are skilled with words and insightful about the world.
What is on the other side of this pandemic? How will we be changed, individually and collectively? You so such a wonderful job of writing about that.
So much beautiful language but I especially love this part:
“Hugging our self-isolation to
Our bosoms like Sandberg’s little mouse love?”
Glenda, what great imagery, I see you pressed against your window reaching for another, reaching for an answer of what is on the other side. I also appreciate that you started this poem in March and then revisited it–thank you for sharing your process and your beautiful words.
Breathtaking imagery! This captures exactly how I feel, especially your lines:
This flat plane blocks my sight.
A prism curves, caresses and
Bends while like a Mime I
Press my bosom onto the
Glass unable to reach what I see
Wishing for places I long to go.
Glenda — I’m glad you returned to this poem. This is a very real examination of what hangs over us and inside us. The sense of being trapped is so vivid. The hands on the glass pane…the desire to touch and not be afraid…not move to the other side of the street (a powerful image)…the pixilated images on a Zoom screen… all those have us inside barriers. Locked in with a maniac in charge is a grim feeling, counting body by body the collateral damage of a blind fool. And the self-interest that drives decisions rather than the compassion and common good…. on man! “Imprisoned in our national pride” just makes me sick at where the country has derailed. It is, indeed, hard to breathe. This is a powerful poem, Glenda, one that speaks volumes and truth. Thank you for retrieving this from earlier this horrible year! Susie
Glenda, what a master of flow from the mind to
the page you are. Your words always stick with me and invite me back time and again to read what you have expressed so fluidly. This part right here was the showstopper for me today:
My vision limited by political failure—
That of a human with no vision
Leading a people to death
One cold covid case at a time—
Your sentiments are shared and felt deeply.
Glenda, your expansive images help us focus on the idea of being inside, wanting, but fearing to go outside, so we
Pressed to the same pane, you
Pretend to touch my face, our
Fingers flatten against life.
Clamped flanges face my visage,
Attempting to touch, to force a bending of
Hard, flat surfaces in this
Isolation. We see ourselves as
Pixelated people, facsimiles on a screen
That last line, “Pixelated people, facsimiles on a screen” is particularly powerful, possibly because of the alliterative use of the “p” which we have to force through our lips to say!
Well done, my friend, well written and provocative!
Another incredible poem, Glenda! You must thank this pandemic for this time in poetic wilderness, yes? Time to think and write? These words especially spoke to me,
I fear that we have not been able to think, to think big, to reflect…our leadership has left us in such dire circumstances and we have nothing but knee-jerk, reactive, simple thoughts.
I do feel strangely connected to my neighbors, though. I am ‘seeing from afar’ so many more people than I ever used to – as I walk these neighborhood streets, day in, day out.
OK, Glenda, this should be published somewhere. I hope you will read it for the oral history interview too. Those last three lines summarize our state of affairs with such veracity and poignancy. I just keep reading them. This is our problem. Thank you for revisiting your March draft.
Susan, thank you for both of the prompts the last two days. Yesterday’s was a challenge that at first seemed futile but allowed for many creative results from writers. Today’s is freeing and I look forward to playing with it. The layers of inspiration (video, Stevens’ poem, and yours) help us to look deeply. Your thoughts on social media resonate with me, especially that last stanza – way to leave us thinking! This year has shown us the dichotomy of the medium. Thank you!
Susan, thank you for your great poetry prompts this week! Anna and Sarah, too! They were all so different and engaging. I really enjoyed this week of writing with you all.
Today, though, I decided to ignore the part of the prompt about looking at the larger world. My poem is focused on me. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
You are right, Susan, about Alexis’s mentor poem. I love the rhythm. This was my favorite line, one that really got me thining about her whole topic:
You have done a great job looking at social media and the many facets and ways of looking at it. I loved the sixth way, and that I had to re-read it to think two or three times about the farmer planting those seeds in our feeds. You have given us great food for thought today. Thank you!
Susan, your prompts this week have been fabulous – as have Sarah’s and Anna’s. Thanks to the three of you for investing in us as writers and stretching us in new ways. Your verse is amazing – the Roman numeral sections of thought and consideration. That last one packs a punch – raised by the internet. So many ways of seeing things!
I used Mary Oliver borrowed lines as my first and last lines today –
The first from “I Looked Up,” and the last from “Wild, Wild.”
Heartwarmed
I looked up and there it was –
left on a re-purposed junk mail envelope on the kitchen counter by my coffee cup
a love note scribbled in his handwriting with his always-handy shirt pocket pen
from when he left to go to work
and sitting on top:
a cattywampus-shaped York Peppermint Pattie
in its silver wrapper
the size of a half-dollar
I could already taste the sensation –
the dark chocolate and mint swirling together
the perfect pair of flavors
his note read:
because I love you
I saved this just for you
much love
hope you have a wonderful Wednesday
(And an exclamation with a heart as the point)
I took a quick snapshot and texted him to say thanks
that was so sweet of you
I love you, too
be safe
but then received a minor confession:
sorry –
I carried it in my shirt pocket and
it melted a little bit
I felt my heart stir
as I gazed
at the imperfect York,
seeing it much differently now
than I had before
and after a tearful moment
I replied:
all the better
it’s literally heart warmed
from you to me
he quipped back:
that’s true
better than my back pocket, I guess
this is what love is
-kim johnson, sandwiched by Mary Oliver
Kim,
My heart is melting. This is such a sweet poem, and I love your framing it w/ Mary Oliver’s lines. The touch of humor in “better than my back pocket” is so intimate. Just a lovely poem.
Oh, Kim. I love this. I scanned it. Then, I dug in and savored it. Then, I caught the title. Clever.
This poem is heartwarming. And, it sure captures considerate love.
I was worried where is was going. I inferred a note of someone who had passed. So glad it was a glimpse at something much much better.
Kim, You had me at cattywampus:) I love the little twist of your line “literally heart warmed”–this is so true and a powerful wrap up of this poem. Thank you for sharing today.
Thanks for the morning giggle I got. It melted my heart and started my day feeing warm.
Your poem and the stanzas about the note and texts reminded me of WCW’s “This is Just to Say”…a modernized version of the note on the fridge. Like Williams’s poem, we catch a glimpse of your morning and your relationship. I loved picturing the “always-handy shirt pocket pen” and the “cattywampus-shaped York Peppermint Pattie” and the “(And an exclamation with a heart as the point)”. A heart-warming poem…thank you for sharing!
This is what love is. So true. The little things that two can share, imperfections and all. I love the humor and warmth and intimacy of this poem. I think of little things my husband does and feel ashamed that I sometimes take them for granted..
Kim–I smiled and smiled and smiled. Heart warmed right here, my friend!!
Well, Kim, you lucky dawg! This is so sweet…not just the chocolate…but sweeeeet! The details of the pocket, the pen, the start of your day and the ubiquitous mug (you write about that mug a bunch…or at least it feels really familiar…very Mary O of you). Those little details make the HUGE idea of a marriage steeped in love (like a great cuppa) seem so delicately easy, like a perfectly embroidered pillowcase. Wonderful. Does your sweetie have an older brother? LOL! Hugs, Susie
Kim, This is really good! Just sweet and clear and tender. So good!
Oh, Kim! Your poem is an instant favorite of mine. I’ve read it so many times. The set ups are perfect from the title to the cattywampus-shaped mint to your tearful moment. The dialogue is so sweet and telling. “This is what love is” Thank you for sharing this moment with us.
Ten Ways of Looking at Time
I
When it began
My childhood prayer
growing up in a
“Thief in the Night” church:
Jesus, please don’t return
until I grow up and
get to have my own family.
II
When it’s focused
Softball practice in the park,
softball games every Saturday
and one evening a week,
playing catch in the street until even
the streetlights didn’t make it
safe enough to continue.
Ironing, (yes ironing!) my
Bobby Sox Softball uniform,
getting it ready for tomorrow.
Begging someone to play catch again.
III
When it’s squandered
We never found the time
to sit together regularly and
talk about faith and life
and the Bible
like we always planned to.
What happened?
Now those high school years are gone.
IV
When it’s lingering
That falling asleep time being held in your arms
after we make love is the best sleep of all.
V
When it’s not enough
Saying goodbye to my Mom in 2010,
a brother in 2012, a sister
and sister-in-law in 2018. No
more “see you laters.”
VI
When it’s unsettled
Covid-19 in 2020, 2021? 2022?
What does the future hold?
VII
When it ends
Will I be ready?
Denise,
Do you remember the Jim Croce song “Time in a Bottle”? The line “There never seems to be enough time / to do the things we want to do” resonates w/ the ticking clock of your poem. It’s interesting to see you as a young girl concerned about not having enough time and as a woman who has lived many years experiencing time the same way. Then those focused moments in between emphasize how important it is to focus our attention on each moment in time. I love the intimacy you bring to the poem in
Denise,
I love the focus of your poem. I especially appreciate the anaphora at the start of each stanza and the bold really helps it to work even more.
The way you word each of the different ways of looking at time is especially powerful. Especially “when it’s squandered.”
Denise, I too appreciate your use of anaphora. I was particularly drawn to your last three stanzas, the missed “see you laters” and the unknown. Thank you for focusing on your journey and using this format to write today.
Denise–this made me tear up:
“When it’s lingering
That falling asleep time being held in your arms
after we make love is the best sleep of all.”
What a beautiful set of words… and then the ending. Will any of us be ready?
Denise, this is pure beauty and so relatable as we shift through our days and into our nights and consider those phases of time and how we feel in those moments. The lingering, the not enough, and the unsettled when’s were the 3 that resonated most strongly with me. Today, the unsettledness of Covid is again at play, disrupting school for another segment of our students. Oh, when will it end?
What a bold statement you have made with beautiful words and imagery! I love how you capture each segment so adroitly. You paint an accurate picture with your words —- so talented!