Our #OpenWrite Host
Anna J. Small Roseboro, a National Board Certified Teacher has over four decades of experience in public, private schools and colleges, mentoring early career educators, facilitating leadership institutes, in five states. She has served a director of summer programs and chair of her English department, published six textbooks based on these experiences, and was awarded Distinguished Service Awards by the California Association of Teachers of English and the National Council of Teachers of English. Her poetry appears in several issues of FINE LINES: An Anthology of Poetry and Prose (2015-2020); was in her own publication EXPERIENCE POEMS AND PICTURES: Poetry that Paints/Pictures that Speak (2019) and will be featured in CENTERED IN CHRIST, a devotional coming out this Fall. Her new textbook PLANNING WITH PURPOSE: A Handbook for New College Teachers published by Rowman and Littlefield also is due out this Fall.
Inspiration
Use Allusion for Economical Poetry Writing
When writing a poem and using an allusion – reference to literary, historical, current idea; an event –real or imagined; person – real or fictional; or place – real or created, the poet believes that the reader(s) will be familiar with the allusion. The reader will bring that prior knowledge to the reading and experience deeper insight. Using allusions, poets may use fewer words to tell a story.
My friend, Nancy Genevieve’s poem “A Kiss” shows such an illusion to a fairy tale idea that kissing a frog will turn it into a prince. See more of her whimsical and serious work at this NYNOX.COM
A Kiss
Enchanted innocent kissed the frog
and heard only a croak in reply.
Will you child, kiss it again
and give him another try?
Or will you release him
and then begin to cry?
Or worse will you never ever
give another frog a chance?
Process
To the Writers:
- Choose a topic about which you are currently passionate and chose an allusion from literature, current news, movie, song, expression, slang, meme, other cultural source.
- Write quickly. then review what you’ve written.
- As you reread, consider incorporating one or two poetic devices that appeal to senses or make direct or indirect comparisons.
Expand the lessons with invitations to students to share and write about poems from their own home cultures as they relate to religion, region, country of origin.
- In journals, write list of four or five allusions including that students believe are unique to their home culture(s).
- Meet in face-to-face or virtual small groups to compare allusions they have written. Which are the same? Which are different? Invite students to explain allusions that are new to their group.
- Now, invite students to write about an allusion on their own list or one they learned about from their group-mates.
- Finally, ask students to post their poems to the class folder to show ways allusions to similar literature, events, movies, songs, expressions, etc. create different messages in their poems.
Anna’s Poem
My poem based on a West African story of, Anansi the Spider from Ashanti mythology. The story at this link is very much like the traditional Chinese story, The Five Chinese Brothers. Do you know the stories?
A Family Like Anansi’s
Like the sons of Anansi,
We children of my mother
Have passions and skills
Different from one another.
My brother, born first, likes numbers
He’s great with finance and stuff.
We go to him for advice
When legal things get tough.
My sister next me, is Nurse Practicioner, you see
It is she we consult when we’re feeling real bad
And don’t understand what the doctor prescribes.
We go to her with confidence; she understands our vibes.
My baby sister is a floral designer.
She and her husband had their own place.
Over two decades they grew it. Neither was a whiner.
They worked much longer hours just to stay in the the race.
They knew to be successful required much more.
Back then, few Blacks had a business
Even fewer owned their own store.
Now, me, I’m a teacher, a lifelong learner.
I’ve learned to be kind, when I wanted to be sterner.
Something I learned not just yesterday
The skills of my siblings helped along the way.
I learned that, like the sons of Anansi,
All the answers need not come from me.
My siblings and I consult one another
For the truth, we can trust each other.
We’ve learned respect, knowing each is serious
About finance, we don’t fly off delirious;
About medicine, prescriptions and issues of health;
About owning and running a business,
Enduring it all in spite of no wealth.
Our mother taught us to lean on each other
Me, my two sisters, and our older brother.
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.
Let Down Your Hair
By: Emily Yamasaki
Once upon a time ago
It was my favorite part of myself
Thick, black strands
Cascading down my shoulders
The hint of a wave
Volume of it’s own
A round brush
And 10 minutes with a
Hair dryer
Would bring beauty,
Radiance, confidence
But in this 2020 sequel
The tale turns dark
The black is dull
And my unwanted dreadlocks
Are scraping against the nape of my neck
No longer luxurious
Smothered by
a pandemic,
wildfires,
racism,
a violent election,
Motherhood
Emily, Emily
Let down your hair
But be careful
Even the devil himself
climbs
Emily, I loved the allusion to Rapunzel. The last lines left me speechless! I loved it!
the right words
I listened as Emily talked to me about her
mother’s boyfriend, there were guns,
he was selling drugs, living with her mom,
her brother and her
the fear in her voice as she shared with me
how it felt to ride in his truck, her brother and her
there were no words I could write in a web
to protect her from things totally out of her control
haunted by her words on Monday morning
I handed her The Four Agreements
Jamie, you make me feel as scared as Emily. My favorite lines are
“the fear in her voice as she shared with me
how it felt to ride in his truck, her brother and her
there were no words I could write in a web
to protect her from things totally out of her control”.
I can feel Emily’s fear as she rides that truck. I love how you want to protect her so badly.
COVID-19 Alert System:
Current risk measurement
Released
School
Notified
Face covering
Required
Campus visitors
Restricted
Safety protocols
Followed
Uncertainty
sustained
Katrina, I really like the rhythm of this poem as it shares the little sound bites of warning we receive or the lack of notice in a way. The final lines say it all!
Isn’t it fascinating how we have had to embrace that uncertainty as our new normal? I like to think of myself as a fairly flexible person, but some of my coworkers are seriously struggling with not knowing. I think “Uncertainty sustained” is an excellent desciption of our current situation.
This poem is for my husband of 34 years. Be warned, if you ever mention this to Lin Manuel Miranda, I will deny writing this poem. My apologies, good sir.
A Love Story
We were just barely old enough to register to vote
when we met.
He decided he couldn’t throw away his shot
and asked me out the same night his roommate did.
He amazed me.
He astonished me.
Two weeks later I knew he wasn’t messin’
And my heart went BOOM!
Love didn’t discriminate
between the sinners and the saints.
It took and it took,
but we kept loving anyway.
Then the world turned upside down.
In these months of quiet uptown
We have learned to talk less
and smile more.
We have had time to look where we are
and where we started.
We have pursued our happiness.
We look around and know
We are lucky to be alive right now.
We are satisfied.
He thinks I’m the best of wives and best of women.
I will always be satisfied.
Mo,
This poem made me smile. It is a beautiful reminder that, despite these crazy times, love prevails. Congratulation on 34 years!
A Loving Tribute! Thanks for sharing it. Now, send it to Lin Manuel Miranda suggesting lyrics to his next musical.
Love this in so many ways! Talk less. Smile more. Long marriages are so lucky!
Mo,
I think the ability to embrace silence and listen in a relationship might be the greatest test of true love. I’m happy for you both that your hubs took his shot, and think your weaving of Miranda’s inspiring lyrics throughout is simply sublime.
Thanks, Glenda. I’m smiling because your hubby is about a week or two behind mine on household COVID projects. I may be sending you pics of our light fixtures soon! Also, both Steve and his roomie introduced themselves to me as pre-med students that night. Steve is not a doctor. His roomie is the head of oncology at one of Chicago’s most prestigious medical institutions. I still think I got the better deal!
The quiet uptown! This poem made me smile from beginning to end.
Love love love this! You picked some wonderful lines that resonate with me and you played with them to fit your story like “talk less and smile more” as a positive. Lin would love it, too – most of these lyrics are allusion to rap, historical docs. This brought me lots of joy!
Oh, this was fun! I began with a feeling: the “boats against the current” feeling of futility of teaching during COVID. I then enjoyed following my thoughts to another allusion, and another! Thank you, Anna, for your idea and mentor poems!
Allison
Allusion poem
And so I beat on
a boat against the current
pushing this
Covid boulder
up the mountain each day.
Forty days
Forty nights
Forty more
Forty more
Forty more
Forty more.
And still the virus rages on
interminable as Ulysses
inscrutable as Infinite Jest.
Ah, to be a wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie
who backward canna cast his e’e
and forward canna guess an’ fear.
Allison — Yes, it does feel like we are pushing Covid up a mountain. All of your allusions are so perfect. I totally relate to this poem.
Thank you, Allison for this allusion poem. You met the challenge very nicely with your description of the COVID boulder that we are all lugging around. I hope not to many Forty Mores will come.
Well done, Allison. Even though your topic is serious, I can tell you enjoyed writing it. Your poem leaves me with one burning question, though. What did you think of Infinite Jest?!?
OH MY! It was such a piece of WORK! Many parts of it stay with me, but I struggled mightily at times. I think I’m ready to read it again. You?
Allison, I loved all of the allusions here (at least the ones I caught!): the Bible, Sisyphus, Joyce, David Foster Wallace, Burns. And you are braver than I. First, the unicycle and now Infinite Jest!! It keeps taunting me from the bookshelf. (A book of the same ilk that I LOVED was House of Leaves, so I should be able to tackle Jest (and I also love Wallace’s commencement speech “This is Water”). I really have no excuse. lol.
One of my oldest and dearest friends begged me to read it for years. He’s moved across the globe and still persisted. I finally acquiesed and read it. I believe I devasteated him when I told him I hated it. I can count on one hand the number of books I’ve had such a strong dislike for. I just couldn’t find anything redeeming in it. Maybe in 10 year or so I’ll give it another go!
This prompt got me thinking about a conversion I recently had with my daughter regarding her history assignment. My daughter was required to comment on an Open Letter written to Disney from an Algonquin Chief regarding Disney’s portrayal of Pocahontas. The letter is a commentary on all the inaccuracies of the Disney story, and it got me thinking about how so many people never dig deeper and never seek truth.
Her Name was Matoaka
Her tribe called her Matoaka
The White Man named her Pocahontas
and the White Man wove a romanticized tale
a story of rescue & love and
of a cultural bridge between the Englishmen & Natives
A bastardized version of truth
Disney doesn’t reveal her other life
a life with an Algonquin husband and son
The murder of her husband and a young woman’s abduction do not garner a G rating
Our children learn of fictional love between a Indian Princess and an Englishman
of a conversion to Christianity — this was the way
Tame the Native
Bring her,
Them
Bring them all to God!
Cleanse the savage!
Purge the Native of their culture!
A forced assimilation
Truth buried deep
Her name was Matoaka
Tammi, this moved me at a core level. Thank you for using your new learning from your daugher’s assignment to give ME new learning through a beautiful poem.
May I use your poem as a mentor text with my students?
Thank you, Allison. Yes, please feel free to use.
Thank you!
Tammi, your poem is such an important one. You have me reeling a bit here. I’m sitting here wondering what else I don’t know. I think the answer is to keep reading, keep writing, and keep talking. This was a great assignment for your daughter. Thank you for sharing such an insightful poem with us.
Tammi, May I share this poem with my book club Wednesday. We’ve read THE NIGHT WATCHMAN by Louise Erdrich about her family’s role in the challenge to retain their native lands in the Dakotas. The story highlights on the extraordinary life of National Book Award-winning author Louise Erdrich’s grandfather who worked as a night watchman and carried the fight against Native dispossession from rural North Dakota all the way to Washington, D.C., this powerful novel explores themes of love and death with lightness and gravity and unfolds with the elegant prose, sly humor, and depth of feeling of a master craftsman.
We are entitled to REAL STORIES based on FACTS. This poem will be a great way example to add to our discussion about whitewashing history.
Please feel free to share. It was an eye opener for me as well. Once I started digging, I was horrified to learn what really transpired.
This is so powerful—the truth behind the whitewash of history. Wow…
Whew, Anna! You pushed me in new directions today and I sure appreciate it. I’ve always been a fan of Anansi, thanks for reminding me of its beauty. Your poem reflects such deep love and understanding between you and your siblings. I can only assume that those shining 4 apples didn’t fall far from that strong glorious tree!
I’ve been watching Lovecraft Country (scary) and have found myself feeling completely sucked into the horrors of living in a skin color that makes the monsters come out all around us. I have also spent time deciding how to approach the Preamble with my students who are going to wonder if it was a joke. I want them to write a new Preamble so I pushed myself to write this poem in hopes I can use it with my students.
Unconstitutional
©Stacey L. Joy
Crave unity
The perfect kind
A union
Of differences
Celebrated and honored
Respected and preserved
Seek justice
For all human kind
Indivisible
Equitable
No hands up
And we will breathe
Pursue tranquility
With hoodies on
While jogging
When driving
Where standing
While being Black
Demand defense
Against familiar enemies
Within white houses
Behind blue codes
Across every street
Inside cold courtrooms
Destroy poverty
Dismantle systemic racism
Secure all liberties
To live fearless
With radical love
For ourselves and our posterity
Joy, your poem SINGS with hope and honesty. I love the idea of having students look closely at a seminal text and then transform it through their lens of today. You have done that beautifully here. Your poem shakes me up to re-see the preamble. Poetry at its powerful best. Thank you.
Stacey,
Yes, this beautiful and powerful. I especially love your last stanza: “Destroy poverty/Dismantle systemic racism/secure all liberties/To live fearless/With radical love/For ourselves and our posterity”.
Really cool idea to have your students rewrite the preamble!
This is perfect, Stacey! The brevity of your lines reinforces that you are asking for simple things, uncomplicated things that have somehow evolved into complicated things. I feel like no one could argue with what your lines demand. I just love your final line, reminding us that we want to be the change not just for ourselves, but for our posterity. I definitely want to share your assignment with our ELA and social studies teachers! Thank you for always being inspirational!
This right here:
A union
Of differences
Celebrated and honored
Respected and preserved
If only. Someday…
This poem is just so beautifully crafted. The brevity combined with the very specific word choice leaves the poem ringing in my ears after reading it.
Can I read this instead of the Pledge of Allegiance? I love this idea of a rewrite as I face teaching the Constitution, also. You capture the cadence of this speech and add in your important words. Thank you for sharing.
Anna, what a wonderful prompt, and I love your explanation of an allusion.
October 18, 2020
My mother-in-law tested positive today
My family will not leave 2020 unscathed
We thought we were going to lose her
Just last month, but
After compassionate visits she rallied
We all agree, “She is one tough bird!”
Last May she was forced to the home
Most unhappily; grieving
“It isn’t fair!”
Even though her family
Felt it was the for the best
I’m heartbroken thinking of
Her in the dark and lonely night
Struggling to breathe with
No one to hold her hand
To help her fight against the energy
Straining to pull her away
I’d rather imagine her reaching for a loved-one’s hand
To gently guide her flight
With warm embraces and glorious light
The truth is
She’s been ready to go
She’s said her goodbyes
But I don’t want to lose her
And I don’t want her to suffer
If only Shapiro’s question
“Who is innocent?”
Could be answered
on this cold October day
Barb Edler
Oh wow, Barb. Just. Wow.
I am caring for elderly parents and mother-in-law through Covid, so your story touches me where I live. Your word choice, attention to sounds and rhythms, pull me through your hear-aching story gently, smoothly.
I did not know the allusion, but read the poem now and am having more waves of emotion: for the poem itself (wrecking me), and for the layers of meaning and emotion the allusion gives to your poem and experience.
Bravo.
I do love poems that make my eyes burn, as yours did.
Allison, I should have noted the allusions I used. Karl Shapiro’s poem Auto Wreck. It is about an accident…yes, we accidentally make someone else sick, but how careful was the worker who infected the residents. Also, my mother=in=law could not take care of herself. Her husband at 97 is still on the farm but she was falling, etc. So the part about “it isn’t fair” comes from Shirley Jackson’s story “The Lottery”. I almost feel like sending our loved ones to a care facility is its own kind of stoning as they cannot be with family except for outside window visits etc.
Barb, you write about such a difficult time with such grace and beauty. Your emotions come through loud and clear with your vivid imagery. I’m sending you and your family good vibes and prayers. I’m wondering who can possibly come out of all of this unscathed.
your words for your mother-in-law ring genuine, it’s clear where you stand – struggling to breathe with no one to hold her hand to But I don’t want to lose her/And I don’s want her to suffer – what else is there to say? but I hope she does not become another one counted
Thank you for sharing this poem with us. Each line hit my heart like a ton of bricks. I’m speechless. All my love sent to you and your family.
I am crying – this just hit me. The love, compassion, and honor you convey with your words is evident. She is lucky to have you in her life.
Good morning, Barb, and thank you for sharing this heart-ripper poem. I pray that you and your family come through this in tact and well. My 88-year old aunt battled COVID in a rehab center where everyone was literally dying daily. She is home and well. I don’t know how your mother-in-law’s fight will be, but what I know is if it’s her time and she’s ready, she will go in peace, no suffering. Hugs to you from afar and thank you for sharing your heart.
(An allusion to Disney’s Frozen)
I often think about me and my three siblings scattered in three different states,
I think about all the shared memories we have, the laughs, the shared tears, the shared hotel rooms on family roadtrips, and the shared frustrations.
I reach out to my brother, studying at a college in a different time zone,
“FaceTime connecting, connecting, connecting… FaceTime ended.”
Sometimes my brother will send a simple text, “at the library,” “out with my friends.”
Sometimes there is radio silence on the other end.
I haven’t talked to my brother since he left for Indiana in July
and I try not to take it personally.
I try to understand that he is busy, that he is adjusting, that often my sisters’ calls to him go unanswered too.
But sometimes I wish that there wasn’t so much distance, physically and emotionally, from me and my little brother.
Kaitlin, what a beautiful poem to show your love and how you want to connect with your brother. Distance is difficult. Not being able to connect can be so painful.. I was particularly struck by your line: “FaceTime connecting, connecting, connecting… FaceTime ended.” Thanks for sharing!
Frozen is one of my very favorite Disney films. I feel like Disney actually got it right with this film. The love of the sisters was so pure and so powerful what a perfect inspiration for your poem. Reaching out through Face Time is so relatable. It seems now more than ever these family connections are the only thing keeping us all going.
Thank you Anna for the inspiration today. I focused on the allusion and the economical.
Tribute to The Musical Hamilton’s opening song
How does a scholar, grandson, son of a mother who loves
dropped in the middle of an island, living with grandparents,
in the Pacific surrounded by water
grow up to be a hero and a President?
The hundred dollar father without a father got a lot farther
by working a lot harder by being a lot smarter and
met Michelle and she placed him in charge of the USA
And every day while people were looking for a leader
he planned and sought advice.
Put a pencil to his brain and created books, speeches, and policy.
The word got around, people said
“This guy is amazing man, you’ve gotta listen and don’t forget
his name”
What’s your name man?
“Barack Obama”
My name is Barack Hussein Obama”
“And there’s a thousand things I haven’t done
Just you wait, just you wait.
Keep your eyes on me
and my man Joe.”
Oh, I love this! I love the Hamilton song, I love this remake of yours spotlighting President Obama. Joyful to read….just you wait, just you wait! Now you’ve got me singing!
I was rapping right along with you!! And I love the allusion of those two amazing men! (Three?) excellent!!
I could hear the rhythm of Hamilton as I read your poem! I love how easily the poem flows and the allusion to the former presidency of Obama! Thank you for sharing
Seana, you’ve done a wonderful job patterning the syntax, rhythm, and sense of this special song and incorporated the facts about 44!
Your poem illustrates the power of patterning we could invite our students to do to capture details for texts they read and facts from history they read and the life they observe.
Thank you!
Downright inspiring, Seana! You’ve captured the Hamilton syncopation and delivered on my favorite president. Amen! I love the history and the passion! Thank you so much! Susie
Seana,
I love, love, love this! What fabulous tribute to our amazing President Obama and Michelle! Thanks for this poem!
Seana, Thank you for this! I just saw Hamilton (during the quarantine when it premiered on Disney) and I loved it. (And I just read “Becoming” last year, which I also really enjoyed.) So, I thoroughly enjoyed all of the connections that I could make between these!
Humpty,
did you know that that sit on the wall would be your last?
Were you aware of how damn fragile you were?
Did the kings horses and their men really try to put you back together again?
Would you have sat somewhere different if you knew?
Could you have altered your course by simply not falling?
Or did you know that would be your last sit on the wall?
Maybe you were aware of how fragile you were and that’s why you fell.
Naydeen, Your probing question could be targeted to each of us at some point in our lives. Would have done “that” if we had known the results of our actions? WOW! The power of allusions in poetry.
Naydeen, I always found this nursery rhyme quite disturbing. I like how you set your questions in a letter poem to Humpty. The final one is especially compelling! I see this connecting to our own personal questions when we lose someone special. Thanks for sharing.
Naydeen — I love the questions you pose. Although the seem like benign and humorous questions, they are really deep questions we can all ask ourselves about life.
In these contentious times I feel disillusioned and disappointed by our lack of leadership, the lying and corrupt games playing on both sides of the aisle. And my own friends seem to be hiding under a rock. COVID and politics has wreaked havoc on us all. I was sitting quietly and contemplating. I was thinking of goodness and justice and doing the right thing. Who would personify this? I thought of a character from one of my most favorite books.
If Ever One Was Needed
By Nancy White
I’m wishing for someone strong
Like an oak tree in the wind, roots firmly planted,
Able to withstand
The onslaught of injustice.
You’d put on your glasses and smoke your pipe
You’d read and research, pace through the night,
Confidently, silently searching for more
And for the most persuasive words.
No Twitter, no Tweeting. No need to be liked.
You’re up working late. Is your hair turning white?
So what? They won’t get you,
but you don’t mind.
You’re fierce and fighting
For truth to set us free
Opening eyes to the lies
Oh! Now we see!
Oh we need you.
We need a dose of dignity, integrity, too.
Intellect? YES! It’s you, Atticus Finch.
Please, just come and do what you do.
, isn’t it interesting how we can reflect on literature and see “life”. Your poem makes me long for leaders of character willing to step and do what is right and keep up the fight for justice for ALL!
Nancy — Atticus is one of my favorite characters and I love the way you paint him tackling our 21st century problems. He is such an inspirational character, and your poem draws upon his inspiration and gives hope. We are in such a contentious period now and I totally relate to your frustration. We all need Atticus right now.
Anna, I love this prompt, though it’s a very challenging one for me! The Kiss poem is wonderful, so simple and so meaningful. Your poem is a beautiful tribute to your siblings and your mom who taught you to value each other’s gifts. So clever how you used allusion and rhyme!
Cooking
I stand in my kitchen
ready to cook.
First have to reference my
favorite book.
In red and white checks
used since it was given
to me as child
baking mistakes now forgiven.
Used many days
to take a long look
made easy for me
The Betty Crocker Cookbook.
“Dear Abby of Cooking”
says to use exact measures.
She’s here to help
for this summer’s pleasures.
Boxed cake mix as a base
for all kinds of inventions.
Add a bit of lemon or orange
and get “Yummy!” family mentions.
Making it easy, quickly open the box,
Pour mix in a bowl, egg and water.
I begin to stir one hundred times
and wait for the oven to get even hotter.
This lady dressed in white blouse, red sweater,
a hit through years never aging.
Will I stay as young as she
if I keep my menus engaging?
Following her motherly advice,
using her clear-cut recipes to bake,
how many pounds will I gain
from eating her cake?
Susan, this makes me chuckle because I have that book and your descriptions are so humorous and so true! Now, I must dig it out and cook something. Maybe it will include cream of mushroom soup or jello!
Susan, we’re obviously of the same generation. A Betty Crocker cookbook is one of the treasured gifts from a wedding my dorm mates gave me before I married my dear husband. It was my plan to try all the recipes until they looked like the photos of the food in the book. That’s how I gained my first extra weight. Eating the crumbs and broken pastries that didn’t come out just right!
Thanks for the memory!
I have that Betty Crocker cookbook too. It is the Bible of cooking! Love your last stanza: Following her motherly advice/using her clear cut recipes to bake/how many pounds will I gain/from eating her cake.”
Such a fun poem!
Thank you for this inspiration, Anna! I am familiar with both those fabled stories, and enjoyed your clever poem spotlighting your family’s varied strengths – and revealing its own moral of the story,
Your mother’s message of ‘lean on each other’ is one we all need to live out.
Live Light
Today I saw
light and shadow play.
Do they always do this?
I suspect it’s autumn’s gift,
as trees do their leaving.
I wonder if it’s THIS autumn’s gift.
This autumn
of a time with relentless grief and suffering,
coupled with illuminating pause.
Yes, when I opened my bedroom curtains
light and shadow
cascaded through the pane
made a shimmered dash across the ceiling
skittered down the wall like shiny kisses
danced happily at my feet and even
bounced up and sparkled for one brief glorious moment
at my candle,
as if to set its flame.
I made a once upon a time wish.
The autumn luster moves, greets, winks
clearing the way for hope.
Beautiful, Maureen! It is so delightfully visual and hopeful. I too, watch the light and shadow of leaves dancing on my ceiling in early morning. I will look for them skittering down the wall and dancing at the foot of my bed.
Yes, Maureen! So much hope here. I love the “play” that you’ve created between the “light and shadow.” I enjoyed watching the interplay, the dance, of them “cascad[ing]” and “shimmer[ing] … happily … for one brief glorious moment.” Good!
Maureen, thank you for sharing your poem with us! I, too, spend a lot of time contemplating the light this time of year…the softer pallet, the warmer tones, the lingering shadow. Your piece resonated with me–both the literal and the symbolic light–and the last line lingers: “The autumn luster moves, greets, winks/clearing the way for hope.” I, too, hope is coming (and will stay).
Maureen, you’ve captured the images of autumn so well! It’s lovely that you focused on the light when we often think of the impending darkness of autumn.
Maureen — These are such beautiful images of Autumn. I especially loved these lines:
“light and shadow/cascaded through the pane/made a shimmered dash across the ceiling
skittered down the wall like shiny kisses”
Love the hopeful ending!
Maureen,
This poem dances w/ hope and happiness offering a sparkling reminder of the light awaiting after this time of darkness. Do I glimpsed a few images of Peter Pan w/ a “once upon a time wish”? The image evokes innocence and seemingly less complicated histories.
so many beautiful images – as trees do their leaving, coupled with illuminating pause, light and shadow
cascaded through the pane, to – bounced up and sparkled for one brief glorious moment at my candle – magnificent
Goliath
Hidden in the fertile valley of row-by-row camping
The warriors are grilling over charcoal, growing
Weary from the heat and dehydration celebrating
Before the fight has been won
From across the stale tent, I am throwing dimes at him
Like pebbles, and he is hiding his face under a thin sheet
In attempt to ignore the woman pestering him
But he laughs every time I hit his belly button or nose
Some months ago, David hit head on with a driver
His car twisted around him and like Goliath, tried to take his life
Unarmored, a leather sling-shot and some stones
These are not the tools of a champion
“Yo” I hover over him “walk with me so I can go pee”
I do not want to cross these battlefields alone
So he rises up, sending coins flying around the tent
And walks me to the closest line of port-a-potty’s
It occurs to me that most do not even know him by name or
Face, but even now, a glance makes him shrink into himself
You would never know that he broke both of his femurs
About the wheelchair or the crutches or the therapy
The trainings of a inept solider facing the pearly gates
When he chose to fight the Giant, he didn’t think he’d win
Lions and bear cannot prepare you for the beast himself
And Goliath awaits.
The portable road lights are flickering, struggling to survive
The winds that have rolled in. I imagine that when the headlamps
Collided that he could see God’s silhouette in the haze, knowing
That the Angel had called upon him to choose his stones
He says he doesn’t remember a thing about the in-between
That his eyes opened to the brightness of artificial lights
And he knew, even hungry lions and bears could not
Prepare him for the fight ahead of him
His pockets heavy still with stones
He took his slingshot to PT
The weapons of a makeshift warrior bumping
His knees while he learned to walk again
To fight again
Goliath was still waiting, a challenger he could not deny
But he is standing in front of me, at a festival in the middle of Oklahoma
Funnel cake in hand, greasy powdered sugar dripping down his hands
Hidden in the fertile valley of row-by-row camping
The warriors are grilling over charcoal, growing
Weary from the heat and dehydration celebrating
Because the fight has been won.
What a beautiful celebration of overcoming! I love the stanza:
To fight again
Goliath was still waiting, a challenger he could not deny
But he is standing in front of me, at a festival in the middle of Oklahoma
Funnel cake in hand, greasy powdered sugar dripping down his hands
The way you juxtapose the legend with the real man. Wonderful.
You have shared an extraordinary story, one of great courage – I love the allusion to Goliath…we may be minimally prepared for the havoc that is about to go down, but we can fight, yes we can! Fight on! Keep strong! These lines gave me chills, so beautiful and poignant:
Abigail, how well you capture the idea that our attitude determines our altitude and gratitude. Your lines
Collided that he could see God’s silhouette in the haze, knowing
That the Angel had called upon him to choose his stones
reflects a man strong enough to keep on fighting in the strength of the Lord God who obviously has preserved this man’s life for greater service. I’m saying his service to us who read your poem, is to keep fighting; we’re not alone!
Thanks for sharing this man’s story in such carefully crafted lines of poetry.
Abigail — Wow! This is such an inspirational poem. I love the allusion the allusion to Goliath. So appropriate. What a battle he must have had. My daughter broke one of her femurs when she was 5 in a trampoline accident 8 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. The therapy and pain. was intense. The recovery from two femur breaks must have been really rough. I’m so glad David won his fight!
[Note: In Italian, the term squilibrato means deranged.]
squilibrato
His fiddle out of tune,
emits discordant and off-key,
strings not taut and left to rot,
yet his wee fingers strum as if a jamboree;
he struts his hours upon the green,
puttering away in whining tweets
of rancid music, tunes of spleen
as smoke rises o’er crying pleas,
he fiddles on, he fiddles on;
the landscape scorches
numbers rise and loves are lost
till all that’s left: his white-hot torches;
supremacy, at what cost
he fiddles on, he fiddles on.
by Susie Morice©
Susie,
I can’t think of better imagery than depicting that guy as a fiddling, squilibrato Nero. I’m always in awe of allusions that make the point w/ out bing the specific reference. I love this, my like-minded sister.
Nero rides again! Hopefully only for a short while.
This reminds me of the song of The Devil Went Down to Georgia… a tune of hypnotizing evil.
Also – “wee fingers” – HA! Nice burn using the language of Celtic fiddling.
Susie, Truth!! I just keep imagining that I’ll open up the newspaper and see that he’s named Incitatus as a “consul.” (I know this was “really” Caligula and not Nero, but it’s in the same ballpark. lol.) There is so much in here: “wee fingers,” “whining tweets,” “landscape scorches,” “numbers rise,” “white-hot torches; / supremacy.” This is so spot on! Thank you for writing and sharing this!
Susie, this is so well put together! Your line breaks work so well in telling the story. The lines, “till all that’s left: his white-hot torches; / supremacy, at what cost” struck me. The allusion is so clear and defined, and yet it stays true to the character you’re portraying. Amazing job!
Susie, the repeating line is just the ticket here for the nails-on-the-chalkboard discordant screeching of this fiddle – it’s a perfectly-tuned register of truth and I envision every little nuance of this in my movie reel mind. This needs a TikTok. The brilliance of the wee fingers and the fiddling on, fiddling on perfectly illustrates the blind ignorance of this fiddler. The Devil Went Down to Georgia just yesterday.
Absolutely spot on – he fiddles on, he fiddles on. These lines had me laughing through my pain:
Susie, oh my gosh, this poem really strikes a chord for me. The repetition of “he fiddles on, he fiddles on” accurately expresses the emotion of his inability to lead to be compassionate to empathize….ugh! I see the smoke, and I hear the cries, and I am appalled by the catastrophes. I can feel the burn here! Well played, Susie, well played!
Susie — This allusion to Nero is amazing and so spot on! Your images of our “not-so illustrious” leader’s wee fingers made me laugh out loud. It is sad that this is the truth we are facing today. Hopefully, come November, we will see change.
Anna, thank you for your prompt today. I love your poem about the siblings, each with their own gifts and talents and how together you built the family. Thank you for the prompt and the steps for students. I will come back to it, for sure. For now, without too much time today, I was inspired by the news and a comforting Bible story.
Rights attacked
Racists backed
Covid fear
What a year
Good Jesus
He sees us
Swamped boats fill
“Peace, be still”
Calms the storm
Hearts transform
True Jesus
He frees us…
To vote them out
Make it a rout
Denise,
Yes!
I keep thinking about the flip side to “Christian” support for the ??. Love the chant you create in these couplets. This gives me hope. Thank you!
It’s Sunday. We can just say, “Amen!” and bow our heads in prayer for guidance and patience. Those with whom we disagree now will still be our family and colleagues after November. We’ve got to do now what will be necessary to keep working together afterward!
Yes, Anna, thanks for that reminder about working together afterward…Here’s another fitting closing for my poem. Jesus might be telling us:
“Don’t fear the deep
I’m not asleep”
Denise, the rhythm, rhyme, and message of
Your poem today is exactly what we need – peace, be still. We need hearts transformed,
A World healed.
Thank you for the calming words that reassure us.
Thank you for the sweet simplicity and strength of these lines especially:
You cut right to the heart of the Bible passage in six words! Lovely.
Yes, the last two rhyming lines are a rallying cry! May it be so!
Denise, great allusion. Jesus sleeps in the back of the boat. He’s not afraid. I want to sleep there with him for awhile! At least till November 4th. I’m asking for peace in this storm. He knows best and He’s got us covered.
Denise — yes, what a year! Love the rhythm to this poem and the hope!
Searching for Lot’s Wife
Glenda Funk
What do we know of this woman
Who glanced over her shoulder?
Perhaps she chose death, rejected
Obedience to a husband
Who ordered Her to abandon
Her home, Her city, Her country, Her life.
Perhaps with Her turned head, a
Slight look, a nod to Her life,
She gestured & seasoned Her ground;
Perhaps as Nora slammed the front door,
Rejecting her bird-caged life, trapped,
Imprisoned in a man’s dollhouse;
Perhaps as Edna walked into the ocean,
Awakening patterns, sexual and legal,
Inked in patriarchy’s oppression;
Perhaps these three pillars
Own their bodies, echo women’s
Lives whose stories we search from
Over time’s shoulder to find
Our way through this patterned
Matrix of all we don’t know about Lot’s wife.
Allusions: Biblical story of Lot’s wife; “A Doll’s House” by Ibsen; “The Awakening” by Kate Chopin; “The Matrix” movie.
And why do we look back? I love the alternative histories you provide us here. And as always, you are eloquent in that endeavor!.
Oh yeah, Glenda! You bet! I really ate this up…. the many women who have “walked into the ocean” and “glanced over her shoulder” HAD SOMETHING TO SAY. I love the admonition in the tone of this… we so quickly have made up Her mind for Her, when it was her voice all along that needed to ring out. You pose great feminist questions here, and I so appreciate this! You are one really red-hot woman, Glenda! Whoohoo! Your poem is and allusion bonanza! Susie
Wow! Glenda, your poem, so well constructed, reminds us that times change, but people don’t really. So many pieces of literature reflect the role of women you have had to take a “back seat” if only in the story. And…because the stories “ring true” we recognize you could be writing about women today…even one who lives in une grande maison blanche.
Glenda, Great! I love the line “She gestured & seasoned Her ground.” And the connections that you draw from Nora and Edna are wonderful. (Not to even mention the layered connections between Nora’s “twittering lark” in her “bird-caged life” and the rhythm you produce in the line about Edna “walk[ing] into the ocean, / Awakening patterns, sexual and legal, / Inked in patriarchy’s oppression.” Very clever and so well done! (And on a side, side note, it seems, I just keep reading your comments on other poems, and have to stop my self from writing, “I totally agree with Glenda! What she said!” lol.))
Glenda, I sometimes think about all we don’t know, too – the ways salt is mentioned in other Biblical contexts – the salt of the earth and the seasoning preservative. I think of the salt and light retreats- salt of the earth, light of the world. I love considering alternative scenarios about the plight and oppression of women that perhaps could be translated into statements as you have alluded –
I like your multiple allusions and the feminist implications. Bravo!
I absolutely love the image of “over time’s shoulder”…reminds me how important reflection is, and who does the storytelling. I love how you prod us to consider another perspective:
Glenda, wow, the allusions throughout are so powerful! I love how you opened with Lot’s wife as I always found this biblical story so disturbing and horrifying as a child. The end of your poem is especially provocative. Literature is surely an avenue we use to try to find meaning or to gain a better insight, and I admire how well you create this visually in your poem. I am in awe of how cleverly you connect the allusions, and your play on words-brilliant, especially enjoyed “seasoned Her ground;” Outstanding!
You go, Glenda! There is so much to think about in this poem. These first lines, wow! “Who glanced over her shoulder?/Perhaps she chose death, rejected/Obedience to a husband.”
I really love the way you pull these stories together, show the female perspective and shed light on the many ways women have been portrayed negatively. This is so powerful.
Anna, thank you for your prompt today and your personal poem. I also appreciate the steps you’ve added to put this into play in a classroom.
David?
fly
a butterfly
make a change
ripple humanity
odds are against you
size is figurative with wicked
outcomes, fall but sow to convert
viral force of a fly on a silver strand
Ha! Ha! This is fabulous, especially that last line:
Did you see the meme about thinking you’ll never meet a celebrity “and then this happens” w/ a picture of a fly? I’m still on a fly high after that debate. Thanks for the chuckle.
Stefani — Yes! You made me laugh…I love it. The fly…that notorious, marvelous fly! So creative a poem! Susie
This is so clever – I re-read a few times and just loved the allusion of the fly taking down Goliath. Lots of goodness here.
This is great! So fun! I really like the poem’s triangular shape, visually, each line a little longer…I imagine, if the lines were centered, it would almost have a ‘fly-like’ shape!
Stefani, I love the use of your form: the etheree. (It was one of my favorite newly discovered forms from April’s #openwrite prompts.) You masterfully blend the old allusions of butterfly effects with the newer illusions–such a bizarre juxtaposition!
Ada—I had to really think about this one. And when I got it, I laughed out loud!! Your lines are so good —make a change/ripple humanity…and then the ending! Wow!
Stefani, I love the simplicity and beauty of your poem! Love the visual of the butterfly, overcoming adversity. Thank you for sharing!
Stefani, isn’t it interesting that the allusion to the David and Goliath meeting occur in multiple poems today…but tell different stories.
You two poets show how valuable it is for us to leave choices to our students..even when we ask them to write allusions to the same tale, we should welcome the student’s own view.
I admire the way you added a syllable to each line and still made sense! Such a clever poet!
At the breakfast nook
Eliot was pissed.
I had done it again,
had violated his sacred
text, had had the gall,
the nerve to —
“Unbelievable,” he said,
“unable to be believed,”
and then he proceeded
to call me names (I presume
and assume in several
different languages).
Yeah, he was like that.
When he perceived some
slight — given intentionally
or unintentionally — because,
granted, to be fair, there were
times that I did break the bounds
of decorum, did cross a line.
Look, it wasn’t anything too bad.
I short-sheeted his bed once, put
his hand in warm water when
he was sleeping. That one I did
a couple of times, and then,
once, mind you, I did change the
second section of The Waste Land.
I added some random vowels and
misspelled some words (That prank,
however, he liked and kept the changes
although he did give Ezra the
credit for that if you can believe it!).
Look, I’m not saying that there
weren’t times that I didn’t
deserve it — but, this,
this outrage!?
And this is not even to mention
the times when, with just
the slightest provocation,
he’d explode into these long
tirades, reciting these long
passages of HIS OWN WORK.
It was annoying to say the least.
Just once I’d like to enjoy a beautiful
evening nightscape without hearing him quip,
“Yes, it truly is ‘like a patient etherized
upon a table.’”
What does that even mean, Tommy?
And don’t call him that. He hates it.
Prefers the initials because, he says,
“They add more mystery, more
ambiance.” He loves the puzzle of it.
And then yesterday with his “I have
measured out my life with coffee spoons”
bit? Yes, we get it, Tommy, Covid-19
is taking its toll on everyone. Days turn
into nights turn into days turn into nights.
That stops him, occasionally, when he
thinks I’m quoting something. He’ll pause,
head cocked, not unlike some Golden
Retriever, and try to place the specific
turn of phrase.
I usually just drop in a line from some
pop song. He never gets my Taylor
Swift references, like when he banged
his elbow, working on the garage door,
trying to get the lid (as he called it)
to open, and I told him to “Shake
it off, shake it off.”
He didn’t get it.
But this? This is too much.
This is unbearable — seriously unable
to be borne — him sitting across from
me in our little breakfast nook, the
faux Parisian tablecloth (with the words
Fraise and Strawberries spelled out
amongst actual pictures of them) spread
out before us. His left eye twitching,
face convulsing, his hand clutching
(like a pair of ragged claws) the French
Toast Crunch. He is angrily gesticulating
at the back of the box.
I had filled out the Eiffel Tower
Crazy Crossword.
In pen.
(The answer, by the way, was EIFFEL
TOWER. This should have been no big
deal. The (formerly) empty grid was
literally sitting on a picture of the Eiffel
Tower. Even T.S. Eliot could have
figured this one out.)
But, no, he was ranting and raving,
lapsing into multiple languages, really
getting enraged about this.
So, in order, to stop him from saying
something he would truly regret to
me (perish the thought) or more importantly
to stop him from marring the landscape of
“important” literature in general (like
last week when I had to talk him out of changing the
line to “October is the cruellest month” because
I mentioned that Trick or Treating would
probably (and should probably) be canceled this year
because of the pandemic),
I turned on the iPad, flicked to IMDB, selected
an image, reverse pinched to enlarge said
image, and showed him:
James Corden as Bustopher Jones.
And that shut him up.
I was smiling before I even began—you have raised my expectations!! So here is my favorite part (among so many). I love the casual way you work through a topic!
I usually just drop in a line from some
pop song. He never gets my Taylor
Swift references, like when he banged
his elbow, working on the garage door,
trying to get the lid (as he called it)
to open, and I told him to “Shake
it off, shake it off.”
He didn’t get it.
You have a way – a very unique style! Love this part so much:
And then yesterday with his “I have
measured out my life with coffee spoons”
bit? Yes, we get it, Tommy, Covid-19
is taking its toll on everyone. Days turn
into nights turn into days turn into nights.
That stops him, occasionally, when he
thinks I’m quoting something. He’ll pause,
head cocked, not unlike some Golden
Retriever, and try to place the specific
turn of phrase.
Genius
Hey, Scott — Well, you outdid yourself on this one! Eliot is rubbing his balding head and mumbling. HA! I laughed at soooo many lines. The ones that really hammered me were these:
* the James Corden doing Bustofer Jones — I just watched Cats the other night (nothing else on), and that image is hilarious.
*the pranking — short-sheeting the bed and the hand in the water…twice…ahaha — indeed, crossed the line.
*doing the xword… that Eiffel Tower layout…aha… I’m always kicking myself when I’m doing the NYT and the trick eludes me till it slaps me in the face… so funny.
*”…sitting across from
me in our little breakfast nook, the
faux Parisian tablecloth (with the words
Fraise and Strawberries spelled out
amongst actual pictures of them) spread
out before us. His left eye twitching,
face convulsing, his hand clutching
(like a pair of ragged claws) the French
Toast Crunch. He is angrily gesticulating
at the back of the box.”
As your poem flows, the exasperation is palpable…I picture you dropping your head, grabbing your hair, gritting your teeth, and blowing a huge puff of geeeeeeeeez! Just loved all the Prufrockian tidbits. It reminds me of a piece I wrote years ago about my ex. LOL! You never disappoint as a writer and outside-the-box thinker. Thank you! Susie
What a precious friendship! You guys have something special and you relay your time together in the specific details you share that on the first read one would think you don’t get along. But, it’s clear that you’ve worked out a relationship that working for you!
Good for the both of you!
Scott,
Ghosts of Gertrude Stein hovered over this clever poem, so don’t say, “That is not what I meant at all.” Only the T.S.s may articulate this modern vs. postmodern utterance. There really is something about being in the places Eliot, Pound, those from the first lost generation walked to understand our own purposelessness and lack of faith. Maybe like Dylan T. S. is our junior philosopher. Would it were so easy to “shake it off,” and by “it” I mean this cruelest year. Forget the month. Eliot should have dreamed bigger. Do you think he sees our wasteland, burned, flooded, blown, and infected throughout the globe? What a peak nature is playing on us. Short sheeting a bed wasn’t so bad after all.
My daughter has been writing poetry since she was six. This prompt brought to mind a poem she wrote at 17. Here it is:
Little Miss Muffet
The next day Miss Muffet
Returned to her tuffet
Reading some interesting mail.
Along came the pest
But she didn’t protest.
And he spun her some beautiful tales.
He spoke of Humpty’s spill,
And of Jacj and Jill.
Jack Horner, a goose, and a hen.
Stories related
Her innocence faded
As years pased, sweet “today” turned to “then”
She stood with a sigh
Waved sadly goodbye
To teh spider and his cheery rhymes
She realized through tears
What everyone fears.
Her youth HAD been the best of times.
Kate Sands
Gayle, this is such a fun play on this nursery rhyme. You also add in a reality that is disheartening at the end. If only our kids could fully understand the power of their youth:) Thank you for sharing today.
Gayle, what a powerful reminder of the beautiful
Years of innocence -Of living at home, being supported by family – and then spreading wings of responsibility and flying off into the world. She writes so beautifully!
Kids do get wistful when they realize they grow up – this was so relatable. Great use of rhymes.
Love this and it’s reference to “Humpty Dumpty” such a sweet poem your daughter wrote.
Gayle, this is going to be one of those poems some family member will pull out and read at a family gathering. You writing about her writing about stories she’d read….generational talent displayed so well here. Thanks for sharing.
Oh my … from the realm of nursery rhymes and fairy tales, a cautionary tale that there are far more “if-onlys” than “happily-ever-afters.” Your poet-daughter was wise at a young age – and powerful.
I have been thinking a lot about my granddaughter who has now turned 13 and has quit all the fun things we used to do. “They are too baby” she says. This poem really resonated with me and I hope that as my granddaughter gets older she will realize what she is missing from her silly grandma. Youth can bring the best to times but so does age when one doesn’t care about appearances.
Choices
I entered the house.
Knocking first, of course—
it’s important to use your mama’s manners.
No one answered. All I wanted
was for someone to tell me what to do with my life.
That’s not too much to ask, is it?
I eased open the door, called out.
Manners, remember?
And no one-I mean NO ONE answered me.
I didn’t ask for much…
So I helped myself. I strode in confidently.
Foolishly, perhaps, I had BIG ideas for the kitchen.
I tried a few recipes. The first was much too bland.
Canned soup; no seasoning at all. Boring.
The second was overly spiced—
how much chili powder can one bowl hold? I backed away,
wishing for a glass of milk.
The third held just enough temptation to keep me interested.
I settled back into the nearest chair’s billowy cushions to eat.
Waaay too comfy! (I think my mom has one just like it.)
I oozed myself out of the poof and moved on.
I didn’t even try the next one. Hard wood; tall legs.
Who wants THAT in their life?
The chair to the left. Was. Just. Perfect.
I took a break, finished my soup and moved on.
Places to be; things to do.
Too early to settle for perfect.
I slept around for a bit.
Huh?
No, no—no details.
But that last bed was amazing, now that I remember it…
pillow topped mattress with a nice firm foundation and a cozy cover.
He ( I mean, it) obviously worked out every day.
It had been a VERY long day.
I dozed off, contented.
And then, I woke up—reality walked in.
Mama’s manners reminded me.
Papa’s warnings prodded me.
Brother’s faith propelled me.
I got out of there—stat.
I think I’ll go build a house.
Gjsands53@gmail.com October 2020
Anna—I HAD the Five Chinese Brothers book! What a throwback! Thank you for the prompt, and the Anansi analysis of your family. “Our mother taught us to lean on each other.” Strong ending; strong poem, strong family.
Gayle, This was fun! (And provocative, too! Lol.) I was, like, did I read into the sleeping “around” line, and then you let your speaker slip (“He (I mean, it) obviously”). This was well done! I enjoyed “getting” the allusion and then seeing you “turn it” by the end, perhaps, commenting on modernity and our “need” of choices: “Places to be; things to do. / Too early to settle for perfect.”
Gayle — Oh my, I found myself in several bits of your poem. Thinking of you as a Goldilocks was kind of fun…trying out recipes, those “choices” that get us into all sorts of spots. This part really rang true to me:
You handled this allusion so smoothly. Walking away from the “too perfect” is indeed a choice that I understand. The wisdom that comes in the final lines…boy, I needed more of that in my choices! LOL! I’m quite taken by the crafting of this poem. Fun! Susie
Gayle, such wit and humor and fabulous description in this Goldilocks experience! From wanting ask “what to do with my life” and making choices of comfort and pleasure that maybe turn out to be not so comfortable when one wakes up and reality walks in… those last lines are zingers, especially, to me, “Brother’s faith propelled me.” Amazing allusion, all the way!
Anna, I love the challenge that this prompt brought to me. I have never written with allusions(so I hope I did it right) before so this task was difficult to conquer, but those are always the best!
The Ugly Duckling
Each sibling grew tall and strong.
Through sports and academics,
they made a strong reputation for our last name.
*10 years later
Along came a surprise duckling,
This one grew to be less coordinated and a little less intelligent in school.
This duckling never cared about her lack of genetic abilities,
As she followed the older siblings footsteps,
She recognized her potential and common sense
that stood out beyond the rest.
*23 years later
This duckling is on her way to becoming the only graduate in the family,
She feels like the only sane one among the flock.
The pressure of having to look over her older sibling consumes her.
Each one having individual struggles too far past common sense.
*Today
Realizations are finally taking over.
A flock shouldn’t have to be persuaded to migrate together,
It should be a natural instinct.
Maybe this ducking isn’t a duckling at all,
She is a swan who just needed to find the right niche-a family.
this is wonderful! And yes, you truly got the allusion! I am so happy for that ugly duckling, become a swan. I hope the duckling allows herself the freedom to fly free!
Jessica, this is lovely and the movement to a swan and considering family boundaries is a great addition to the original. I appreciate your line “individual struggles too far past common sense” because it is challenging to every truly understand what others are going through.
Jessica, I concur with other responders that it was a relief to read that the main character in this narrative has come to terms with being “different” and “beautiful” like a swan who has a right to follow her own path! Good for her.
Jessica – this is such a poignant allusion. Realizations do take time and when they come, they aren’t always what everyone else thinks they should be or should look like … for instance, the portrait of family painted in the mind, and the reality of it … “a flock shouldn’t have to be persuaded to migrate together/It should be a natural instinct.” Oh, I pull for this “swan” to soar in all her glory at last! 🙂
“O, what a tangled web we weave”
Evening walks reveal delicate webs
entwined between limbs and bushes,
nestled in doorways and corners.
These semi-invisible nests cradle pine straw, leaves, prey.
Shifts in light and perspective unveil
intricate patterns and complex masterpieces
spanning feet and structures.
An abundance of gossamer threads and silky nets,
an unwelcome–however beneficial–”salutation”
when opening the front door.
A booby-trap emerged overnight.
What shifts in weather or season
sparks this renaissance in spinning?
With what goddess do you compete
(or did you piss off)?
Who are you humbling or humiliating?
Are you challenging the current gods,
questioning their wisdom?
Are you weaving a warning to check
our pride and perfectionism?
Are you spinning a tale of
abused power and misled mortals?
Are you prognosticating:
is our current state a curse or merely a pity?
Oh, I love this stanza!
“What shifts in weather or season
sparks this renaissance in spinning?
With what goddess do you compete
(or did you piss off)?
Who are you humbling or humiliating?”
I’m a big fan of posing questions in poetry.
Betsy—it began with the overnight booby trap and then moved to my favorite part—“With what goddess do you compete (or did you piss off?)? Fate often makes me wonder about that. The last question is perfect—a curse or a pity?? Hmmm.
Betsy, I like your use of “unveil” and “prognosticating” in your poem. I also got stuck going down a rabbit hole with your allusion. I thought, this is Shakespeare, but work?, and come to find out I was wrong and many people also believe this is from him (not Scott). Thank you for the poem and this new bit of knowledge.
I, too, fell down a rabbit hole of Arachne retellings and the title was a last minute addition…and I , too, was surprised by the source (Scott NOT Shakespeare). Also, I was wondering if someone would catch the Charlotte’s Web allusion; she is my favorite literary spider.
Betsy, how cleverly you used an allusion to write an analogy! Am I right in reading into this an observation of current affairs?
Anna, thank you for unleashing my fairy tale, folk tale passion! I love how you have incorporated a classic story into the fabric of your family. What a gift to them from you. I was stumped for a while on trying to get this writing right….lol. I KNOW better. Seriously. Just write!
A Fairy Tale Begins
Once
There was a noblewoman
Seven ladies in waiting attended her
Six sumptuous rooms accommodated her
Five maids straightened and cleaned
Four dogs snoozed by the fire
Three birds sang in cages
And one sealed box
Rested upon her nightstand
Now,
The noblewoman knew well
That the wise old crone who gave it
Promised severe results upon opening
Morning, night, and day
The openers voice, hearing, smell, and touch
Would cease for five days
On the sixth day, the opener could exchange
One week of life for one lost sense
Presently
Our noblewoman was irritated
Over a pandemic infecting her tenets
The king’s circles of sycophants–
Wizards and gypsies that promised
All kinds of cures for the people
As they languished coughing and gasping
On their pillows unable to work for
Our noblewoman’s needs
Mysteriously
The sealed box offered hope
A cure for our noblewoman’s irritation
To her, it glowed with temptation
To break the seal and unleash the magic within.
She tried to ignore the box –and it glowed brighter
She covered it with six silk scarves
The box shone seven times brighter
And the box began to sing with the sweet
Sound of a crystal goblet rinsed cleaned
Dear
Dear reader
What should our noblewoman do?
She is about to go mad with the siren call
Of the sealed box upon her nightstand
For seven months she’s resisted
What could be the harm?
Of taking a peek?
Of using magic for what magic is for
What
is your advice for our noblewoman? (this is long enough….I’ll stop torturing readers now!)
Oh my! Pandora’s got a dilimna!
I love the count-down you created…but not the dilemma at the end. I like a happy ending! But, the happy one for me is that we share our dilimmas with one another. Thanks, Linda!
Linda, I am in awe of your Pandoralike temptation with the days of Christmaslike
countdown! And of course the best Lady or the Tiger ending that is simply the most enchanting conundrum of all time. Multiple allusions are so captivating and you made this work so beautifully.
Linda – tell the noblewoman NOOOO! Throw it away! Why do any of us take anything from ‘a wise old crone’ who promises penalties? I’m in awe of this poem, start to finish, and these lines stood out to me as starkly beautiful as well as utterly fearsome:
The box shone seven times brighter
And the box began to sing with the sweet
Sound of a crystal goblet rinsed clean
Luring, luring…no guarantees… I was also fascinated by the numbers, as if they are some magical code. And the appearance of COVID. Linking to Pandora: I wonder if there is really is hope in this box … and gosh what else, as evils and diseases already abound… magnificent, Linda.
Anna, thank you for bringing us a chance to nod at what moves us, resonates with us, and gives us all our thoughts today. I’m inspired by the words of our writing friends here this morning. I love your beautiful opening, “Like the sons of Anansi, we children of my mother.” It grounds us and we enter the world of this folktale with you leading us.
Anna – I so love your poem and how I could relate to that feeling of each sibling being unique but having complementary skills. Then I reread it and realized you were rhyming in there- you did it so effortlessly, you made it look easy, and I am deeply impressed.
My husband and I started watching The Social Dilemma on Netflix last night, (which I fell asleep in the middle of, so perhaps I could answer my own question.) I also just read an article last week about boys being radicalized online by things like 4Chan and Reddit and really finding empowerment and identity in these places, and it freaked me out. I was inspired to write two poems, both based on Disney versions of these fairy tales.
Sleeping Beauty on Instagram
Don’t click like
And don’t post that selfie
You’ve retaken 30 times
With the crown filter
And true loves’ kissy face.
Don’t go up those stairs, Sleeping Beauty
The Queen never ages
She is thin and beautiful
and terrible and gaunt
She is trying to hypnotize you,
Control you.
Beware the spinning wheel
You are in thrall to it:
Your eyes glowing green,
You can’t walk away.
It is sharp and it responds
to your touch.
You fall under its bewitchment.
The fairies in the woods
Are your teachers
Loving and real but distracted by everything that doesn’t matter
Should the dress be pink or blue?
Should we have the assembly on Tuesday or Thursday?
They are kind and bright,
but bumbling.
They can’t stand up to such dark magic.
Your parents, the King and Queen
They want to protect you
But they can’t save you.
Your body is called
to cut its own flesh
by a vain cold force
and you will be locked away
in a tower surrounded by thorns.
Asleep,
Unreachable
Perfectly posed with a flower on your chest
Peaceful and beautiful outside
Thrumming with pain
and fighting to live inside.
Awaiting awakening.
Pinocchio on Reddit
Little mischievous Boy.
You’ve fallen away from Geppetto
He can’t reach you now.
You’re basically good
But get carried away
by bad company
You were controlled by the ringleader
Dancing to the strings they pull
Without knowing.
Now you are following the Fox
to Toyland
Where there’s no school or loser teachers
You wear your red hat
Picking pockets
And being a bad boy.
You don’t even see your nose has gotten longer.
You don’t see you’ve become an ass.
How can we help you be real?
Emily,
This is quite clever. Favorite line: “ Now you are following the Fox.” This reminds me of the network’s deceit. Your intro is chilling. I watched “The Social Network” a few weeks ago but I try not to think about 4Chan and never understood the Reddit appeal. Fantastic allusions and poem.
Powerful stuff here, this morning, Emily! Addressing Pinocchio lures us in. We feel both sympathy and horror at what happens to him. Powerful all the way through. So good! I want to keep this one near me for a good long while.
I echo Glenda, “now you are following the fox” is PERFECT and funny and sad and ironic. All of this poem resonates with me. I grew up on these stories. I wonder, do kids know all these stories today? Such a great romp through folk and fairy tales for me. I think I need to watch ‘The Social Network’ thanks for the tip.
Emily, this is the stanza that stands out for me, especially as a Christian on Sunday.
Your parents, the King and Queen
They want to protect you
But they can’t save you.
My Biblical teaching, from a Christian perspective, tells me that we cannot save anyone! As much as we as parents and educators want to do this for our bumbling, stumbling children/students somedays, we can only model for them. Our children/students have to choose for themselves. Wow! What a challenge to have faith and to be more patient.
Emily,
I love your twist on the effects of Instagram and social media.
“You were controlled by the ringleader
Dancing to the strings they pull
Without knowing.”
This section really brought the poem together for me. Beautiful poem, thank you for the share!
Okay— I loved all of it. But here is the best part for me—
Your body is called
to cut its own flesh
by a vain cold force
and you will be locked away
in a tower surrounded by thorns.
You pulled in so many different things here-cutting, a vain cold force, surrounded by thorns.
What imagery!! Whew!
Oh Emily, such rich imagery. And like Anna said in her prompt, you were able to engage in “economical” poetry writing because your poems put many more pictures in our minds than the words you used. Your readers know these tales, and most of us know the Disney versions, as well. You’ve dealt with some serious issues with these allusions. Wonderful poems.
Emily – wow! The inception of your poem is incredible. So many lines are just electric – fairies in woods “distracted by everything that doesn’t matter” and “unable to stand up to such dark magic”, the Queen who “never ages” and is both “thin and beautiful” and “terrible and gaunt,” and most of all, this:
Your body is called
to cut its own flesh
by a vain cold force
and you will be locked away
in a tower surrounded by thorns.
– that’s more than our Brier Rose/Princess Aurora for sure; images of young girls, in despair, trying to seek release came to mind. Haunting – the whole poem is piercing in its movement, like shadows, between what things seem to be and what they are. Again – wow!
Anna, I know these stories and actually have a battered copy of Chinese Brothers, from long ago. It’s amazing what you’ve spun from this and Anansi … such a beautiful tribute to your mother and your siblings, having learned to honor one another’s gifts.
So – I guess I am continuing the magic/literature theme with Harry Potter. I spent much of that series appalled by Snape and then he intervenes when Harry plays with a magic spell he doesn’t understand and almost kills a classmate. Snape sings this beautiful, wordless, healing song … we begin to learn a little about Snape, and possible redemption, at that point. When my students ask which of the magic spells I’d want from those books, I say – healing.
Here goes…
Dark times, struggling
with ineffective Muggling
broken, all around
suffering, profound
broken all around
no wand to be found
for holistic healing
for hearts, revealing
splitting of the soul
longing to be whole
broken, all around
then comes the sound
unexpected song
repairing the wrong
hard to believe it
will we receive it
this unlikely source
rising, without force
from hidden graces
in broken places
in heart of humanity
for a newborn amity
waiting, all along
for the conjuring song
can you hear it, swelling
with no magic spelling
that selfless heartsong
in broken places, strong.
Fran, when you wrote “that selfless heart song in broken places, strong” I felt a little hope that there are Snapes out there, looking out for us. This poem is what we need right now – healing. You also use some clever rhymes that make the poem itself sound spell-like. Beautiful!
Fran, the hope that resonates in “heart of humanity/ for a newborn amity/ waiting, all along/ for the conjuring song is spirit healing. I love the use of conjuring here – mystical and magical. You follow with “can you hear it, swelling/with no magic spelling – Love it!
To make Muggle into muggling is brilliant. The lack of magic is a sad state of affairs. Well done.
“Fran, I’m getting teary! Your poetic devices are wringing my heart! Then, the closing lines of hope…that selfless heartsong/in broken places, strong.” I wanted to add an exclamation point at the end to remind me that the heartsong is strong! But, you’re the poet, so I’ll leave it as you wrote it. Your words are doing the job!
Fran,
I love the rhythm that your poem offers. The last four lines were such a beautiful ending,
“can you hear it, swelling
with no magic spelling
that selfless heartsong
in broken places, strong.”
Thank you for the share!
can you hear it, swelling
with no magic spelling
that selfless heartsong
in broken places, strong.
Oh, please let it be true! A poem of hope. Thank you!
Come November
The rains came
A tumultuous uproar
Falling upon a
Bleached world
Drained of goldenrod
And dandelion
Of summers
And life
As we once knew it
Until we were only
Dust and ghosts
Of our former selves
We held out hope
Like we held out hands
Praying no drops fell
A thousand hopes grown
In a thousand hearts
Brief bloomings
Shoved into corners
Into crevices
Into closets
At the end of long tunnels
It seemed as if the rain
Had fallen for years
In tears and sobs
In avalanches
And hurricanes
Until one day
Come November
The rains stopped.
Ohhhhh. Yes. This poem reminds me of Demeter and Persephone – the weather controlled by who is where. You make this poem about lots of people at once who are isolated, reminding me of how people feel in COVID lockdown, compounded by leadership. “
Gorgeous..
Jennifer,
This is how the best allusions work. They’re subtle and require depth on the part of the reader. As Emily says, I’m reminded of Demeter and Persephone, but you’re poem also makes me think of the biblical a Noah story and the promise awaiting after the rain. Then the short story “There Will Come Soft Rains” popped into my mind. I love the line
They suggest a time for hope. Brilliant poem.
“drained of goldenrod and dandelions and summer” ooooph. Those lines got me. And then came November…what a beautiful way to end. Lovely writing.
Jennifer, I hope your poem is a prophecy! Nuff said!
Jennifer—you weave multiple allusions in here—beautifully. In tears and sobs/in avalanches/And hurricanes. Wow. I do hope you are right in your prediction!
Jennifer, your poem is beautiful. November is hope.
Jennifer, I Hope November is symbolic of the brighter days ahead – and that all of this comes true.
I am hearing Rain Rain Go Away and hearing Covid in its place along with all of 2020 and then also Bradbury- There will Come Soft Raina.
You have a lovely mix of familiar allusions here!
Jennifer,
When I read those last three lines, I had to take a moment to myself to admire them. I went back to read again finding the symbols you chose; specifically, the “bleached world” stuck out to me. This gives me hope! Great piece!
Jennifer: My first thought on reading this is “bellwether” – predicting change via your haunting weather symbolism. The loss of what was golden (the summer, the flowers) strikes me deeply, as does the bleached world – so many, many allusions here. So powerful!
Anna, you started the day just right with three of my favorites braided into one strong strand: Anansi, Five Chinese Brothers, and all things Anna Roseboro! This is a lovely prompt – I enjoy explaining to students why cultural literacy is so important, and allusion is one critical part of that. I share with them the use of the Mockingjay symbol with three fingers held in the air, used in a pre-Covid Shakespeare play I saw and how I could not have understood the gesture in that scene if I hadn’t known both stories. Thank you!
A Very Mary Variation of Allusion
How Well Do You Know Me?
if you are
reading this verse
you should know
that of all
the poetic lines
I love in this world
-and there are plenty-
(including yours),
very near the top
of my list
is the one
that asks what it is
that I plan to do
with my one wild and precious life
-kim johnson through Mary Oliver
Borrowed lines taken from
these poems of Mary Oliver:
“If You are Holding This Book”
“The Summer Day”
Kim – This homage to you and Mary is a beautiful connection. I keep returning to Mary’s line: “what will you do with this one…life” as well. It’s a powerful moment stopper, forcing me to think hard about the power within to reshape life. Your poem in so few words says soooo much. Poetry, especially poems like this, are my church. It makes me smile and feel grateful to count you as a friend! Hugs, Susie
Kim, such a beautiful reminder this morning to embrace this life. Your words lead us through today, through each verse, pulling us along with you until that most important moment at the end. I adore “Of all the poetic lines I love in this world – and there are plenty – (including yours).” There’s amazingness in the simplicity here.
Kim,
Your poem wraps the reader in comfort and community with the words “(including yours)” so that by the time we reach the line from “A Summer’s Day” we see this as a celebration of our writing community. Such a lovely way to greet Sunday morning.
WOW! This is incredibly beautiful and poignant and a wow of a poem. I want to write like this….borrowing lines and offering them to the reader. I need to use this as a mentor text. This poem is a wow.
This is my very favorite Mary Oliver quote!! You spoke to me in this poem, my dear. Glorious!
Kim, this is so good! So succinct and endearing, just so good. Thanks for writing and sharing this!
Kim,
This is so lovely! You are making me a Mary Oliver fan too. I’ve been reading her poetry in all my extra moments today. I love that homage to Mary and to Anna, and as Glenda said, to the writers of this community. This is a sweet gift today.
Kim,
The last four lines of your poem really nailed your allusion home, and I can’t help but be drawn to them. This reminded me today why we work so hard for the things we want — that “what it is / that I plan to do”. I loved this piece!