Welcome to Day 1 of the September Open Write. If you have written with us before, welcome back. If you are joining us for the first time, you are in the kind, capable hands of today’s host, so just read the prompt below and then, when you are ready, write in the comment section below. We do ask that if you write, in the spirit of reciprocity, you respond to three or more writers. To learn more about the Open Write, click here.
Denise Krebs is a retired elementary educator, trying to learn Spanish and help Spanish-speaking English learners at the same time. In her spare time, she stays busy updating her home in the Mojave Desert, reading, writing, riding her fat tire bike electric bike on the sandy roads around her home and hills all over the area. She also watches sunrises and sunsets in the desert, and, the best job of all, being a new grammy to a sweet baby boy who lives too far away.
Inspiration
It’s Saturday, a sublime day to celebrate for all you busy educators! (Put the chores away for a while and let’s write a poem.)
It’s Saturday, but did you know it is also National Play-Doh Day? And a happy National Cinnamon Raisin Toast Day to you, too! Play-Doh and raisin toast–those are two things I loved as a child. How about you?
Ode to Marbles
By Max Mendelsohn
I love the sound of marbles
scattered on the worn wooden floor,
like children running away in a game of hide-and-seek.
I love the sight of white marbles,
blue marbles,
green marbles, black,
new marbles, old marbles…
Read more here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51147/ode-to-marbles
Today, let’s celebrate something you loved as a child.
Process
- Brainstorm a list of items, foods, places, etc., that you loved from your childhood.
- Choose one and write an ode to that love.
- Or, instead of an ode, use a simple form that children are often taught–acrostic, cinquain, haiku, diamante or free verse–to write about your item or place.
- Or, if you read the title and thought of a person who was your childhood love, you might want to write about them.
- Or, as always, write anything you want to/need to write today.
Denise’s Poem
You were there for me in first grade.
You kept running on and on,
even with all your facial blemishes and bumps.
Your pale pink hands went round and round,
And I learned to carefully wind you up
at the end of the day. Not too much.
I admired you, even though I had no idea how to tell time.
I begged older siblings to help me
buckle the pink strap on my wrist before school.
And later, when I was too old for you,
My mom bought me a replacement band–
A black patent-leather mod hippie watch band.
I rocked that band until you finally stopped.
Now, you sit in my keepsake drawer–
Fifty years later.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to 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.
Denise,
I absolutely LOVE this prompt. Who doesn’t enjoy reminiscing about their childhood?! And you gave us options, making it a very versatile prompt. Your peom sure takes me back.
I had an incredibly busy day yesterday, so I’m late to the party here, but I definitely wanted to write to your prompt. I think I will revisit it a few times with different topics.
The Grooviest Girl
Oh, Baby Go Bye Bye,
you make my heart so happy.
Your pert little face, chubby little cheeks, and sparkly eyes
capped by your shiny blonde hair
worn up in pigtails tied back with pink bows
fill my heart with joy.
Your stubbly yellow dress covered your bean bag body
and your plastic arms and legs
were sturdy and easy to grip as the five-year-old me
lugged you everywhere.
Your fun little pink Bumpety Buggy with yellow wheels
carries your baby self wherever it wants to go.
The funky stickers and butterfly starter
that adorn the car are awesome
but not nearly so as the eyeball headlights
and smile bumper.
Jerking this way and that,
the car took you wherever you wanted to go
hitting footstool legs and TV tables and Dad’s foot on occasion.
You made life happy.
You made life fun
I wish I still had you
but I do in my heart.
~Susan Ahlbrand
17 September 2022
I forgot to include the image.
What fun! I never knew there was a Baby Go Bye Bye. You described her perfectly with the voice of the child who loved her so. Like…
I can see why that would be such a winsome toy. It really went! Oh, my!
These were to of my favorite lines, too. I like the rhythm it creates and the imagery of fun owning one.
I’m super late, but thank you for the opportunity to dig up the memories.
Our Barbies had quite the busy life.
We posed them in diorama like scenes
in the windows of our living room–
Barbie cooking in her kitchen,
Skipper lounging on a towel,
Ken fighting a teddy bear.
Our grandmother, a skilled seamstress,
made unique handmade wardrobes
for the dolls–dressed in custom outfits
made from the fabric remnants from
her own clothes–a little frumpy, but cool.
I wish I still had those Barbies.
Sorry for the double post. My bad.
🙂 No worries!
Oh, my, so many fun details here. “Ken fighting a teddy bear” made me laugh aloud! And the frumpy clothes from grandma’s remnants would have been cool because they were unique. That is cool. It reminded me once when my sister was visiting, she crocheted a halter top for my daughter’s Barbie, just like that, while we sat around the table visiting. I was sooooo impressed, as was my daughter.
I’m super late on this, but it’s done. Thank you for helping me dig up the memories.
Our Barbies had quite the busy life.
We posed them in diorama like scenes
in the windows of our living room–
Barbie cooking in her kitchen,
Skipper lounging on a towel,
Ken fighting a teddy bear.
Our grandmother, a skilled seamstress,
made unique handmade wardrobes
for the dolls–dressed in custom outfits
made from the fabric remnants from
her own clothes–a little frumpy, but cool.
I wish I still had those Barbies.
Cara, this is fantastic and is stirring up memories of my own dolls / Barbies. My grandma would make dresses for us and for our dolls so we could match. Each of us three sisters had a bit different pattern too. I haven’t thought about that in years, so thank you for your carefully crafted poem!
An Opaque Kind of Love
By Mo Daley 9/18/22
My shortest love affair
occurred the summer I turned ten.
Grandmother Dorsey, recently turned eighty,
had finally bestowed upon me
her sardonyx ring,
a symbol of our shared August birthdays
before peridot became all the rage.
I had longed for that simple gemstone,
thinking it more valuable than diamonds—
possibly a way into her taciturn Irish heart—
so, upon receipt of the ring,
I ran down the street to my best friend Linda’s house
to show off my treasure.
Linda reacted as a best friend should, with happiness for me,
but I knew she couldn’t understand the depth of my new-found love
for the tiny gold-banded trinket.
We commenced being ten-
flip flopping, handstanding, cartwheeling, somersaulting,
giggling, squealing, chortling, and carousing
until the neighborhood moms yelled,
“Tommy!” “Jerry!” “Arlene!”
And it was time to go home,
where I realized while doing the dinner dishes,
that the ring was not on my finger
Oh, Mo! I love the set up! Your “shortest love affair”. During the reading, I was spellbound, and had forgotten that line until the anti-climactic but climactic end. This is a perfect model of storytelling in poetry.
Uh oh! I realized I didn’t copy and paste the entire poem!
An Opaque Kind of Love
By Mo Daley 9/18/22
My shortest love affair
occurred the summer I turned ten.
Grandmother Dorsey, recently turned eighty,
had finally bestowed upon me
her sardonyx ring,
a symbol of our shared August birthdays
before peridot became all the rage.
I had longed for that simple gemstone,
thinking it more valuable than diamonds—
possibly a way into her taciturn Irish heart—
so, upon receipt of the ring,
I ran down the street to my best friend Linda’s house
to show off my treasure.
Linda reacted as a best friend should, with happiness for me,
but I knew she couldn’t understand the depth of my new-found love
for the tiny gold-banded trinket.
We commenced being ten-
flip flopping, handstanding, cartwheeling, somersaulting,
giggling, squealing, chortling, and carousing
until the neighborhood moms yelled,
“Tommy!” “Jerry!” “Arlene!”
And it was time to go home,
where I realized while doing the dinner dishes,
that the ring was not on my finger
and that I had dishonored my grandmother
by having too much fun
on that airless August evening.
Mo, thanks for the last three lines. Wow! “dishonored my grandmother” makes me a little sad. I wonder if she found out right away, or if you were quiet about the loss for a time? “airless August evening” seems to have two meanings here.
Denise, thanks for the fun prompt. I had fun going down memory lane. Love your poem and photo—I had a very similar watch band. Here are three short childhood glimpses of happiness.
Three Haiku
(Three Childhood Happy Memories)
I.
Worn thin dingy bear
I took Pinky everywhere
As I sucked my thumb.
II.
Plastic Wonder Horse
I rode the heck out of you!
So hard they all laughed!
III.
My first bike! Surprise!
Training wheels off at age 5!
I showed off at school.
I smiled at each of these, Nancy! Connecting with my own memories, but also envisioning that tiny thumb-sucking you! This is a great example of those “memory-soaked words” that can transport us through time and space in an instant: Piny, Plastic Wonder Horse, training wheels – even the phrasing about showing off. My teddy was the original Sears Winnie-the-Pooh, now safely tucked up on a shelf.
Oh, Nancy, your haiku are rich with detail. I loved each one. “worn thin dingy bear” brought so many similar loves to mind–my brother’s teddy bear, my daughter’s “strawberry towelie” and more. “I rode the heck out of you!” made me laugh. Very fun happy memories. Thanks for sharing.
What wonderful memories, Nancy. I’m glad you showed off your accomplishment!
Ooo! This trio of memories in haiku is fabulous! I was thinking of trying a haiku, too, and I like your approach with more than one.
Sanrio Salute
sanrio
store fronts
pink plastic shopping baskets
how many treasures
can my five dollars afford?
little pens or sparkly stamps
keychains or coin bags
stuffies or compact mirrors
loading the basket
skipping the aisles
too giddy to notice
my big sister
unloading my loot
to five dollars worth
This is hilarious, Emily. I am honestly laughing as I write this. I went along for the ride and excitement of dropping all those goodies in the basket and then could totally envision the “big sis” sensibly following behind with the reality of mathing. This POEM is the true treasure here. Thanks for the early morning joy!
“Sanrio Salute” is a great title. I forgot all about that store. What a sweet memory! I can picture you “skipping the aisles / too giddy to notice” Wonderful!
So fun, Emily! I can picture just about eery little girl doing what you describe here. Those bargain stores are wonderful and tortuous for kids!
I can relate to this because of the feeling of discovery when I was younger being in a sort of trinket shop with a limited amount I could spend. This was usually a treat I could have when we traveled in summer break.
Denise, this is an awesome prompt! I know I will use it with my students. I decided to go with my “first love” idea that hit me when I read the title of the prompt, but I thank you for broadening the possibilities. Bravo! And I ADORE your ode to your childhood watch! <3
Privilege
Anthony (not his real name)
was not my childhood love
(that was Jeff,
who did not requite my longing)
Anthony
in first grade
crammed an ostentatious 16-oz bottle of Elmer’s
into his desk (the rest
of us used thick-brushed (delicious) paste)
Along with blue and cream cashmere dickies
he’d torn from his sweaty neck
under duress of alphabet time
added to the overstuffed catalog of
workbooks crayons (biggest 120)
Kleenex Magic Markers
erasers the color of the soft inside of your lip
scissors sharp as envy
fat never-to-be sharpened pencils
more than enough
and more
that prevented his desktop
from closing
Anthony–what a mess–
was a moneyed mess
son of the town’s second
generation businessman
destined to be its third
his Jackie Kennedy mother–
bowling pin calves crossed at the ankles–
leaned forward
teacup poised
bu font (two words?)
on the cover of Parade Magazine
Anthony
my not-quite childhood love
repeated first grade
and is now (the website says)
the third-generation
CEO of the
family
business
Ack. This was both funny but tough to read, Allison. I guess that’s what makes a good poem, right? Pulling our feelings in different directions – maybe weaving them to that end. Expected end, since you’d hinted at it, but why does it still feel disappointing? That’s elitism. So much lovely imagery here, but it was the bowling pin legs that stayed with me strongest. Such unique metaphors. BTW have you read City Boy by Herman Wouk? I didn’t know it existed, and have never read Wouk because I wasn’t interested in his ‘war’ content – but City Boy is so totally sweet and harrowing and hilarious. This timeframe and description reminded me of the main character.
Allison, your poem is so rich with images.I could see the overstuffed desk, the paste (and its taste), and the 120 box of crayons which easily equates wealth in a 1st grade classroom. The mother’s legs and actions are striking. Love how you pull us to the end of this poem. Brains are not always required to have a monied position. I believe you’ve captured “an American veneer” in your poem. Powerful poem!
Wow, what a poem, Allison. As Denise and Barb mention, those similes and metaphors are AMAZING!
“erasers the color of the soft inside of your lip
scissors sharp as envy”
Such a statement about privilege and money. I’m floored.
I love the images that made me smile out loud, if that’s a thing. I also loved the compactness of your poem, you say a lot without saying it. And your ending is perfect, although I’m not surprised by it. What a statement you make in this poem!
Denise, I love this prompt, thank you!
”Ode to Roller Skates”
You gave me freedom
to go so fast;
power to fly!
Parties under disco lights
full of music;
girls only skate, backwards skate.
Hours of fun!
Sunday, March 13, 1983 —
right in my backyard —
spinning tricks, broken leg.
I gave you up, for TWENTY YEARS.
Working a school skating party,
two pre-teens nervous to give it a go.
I nervously lace up, get out on the floor,
slowly make my way around the rink.
All at once,
the feeling of flying
comes rushing back.
I’m so sorry I gave you up
all those years ago.
I’m back
ready to FLY!
© Jennifer Kowaczek September 2022
Jennifer, nice narrative poem about your chapters of skating and not-skating. The repetition of FLY at the beginning’s “power to fly”, the “feeling of flying” coming back in the middle, and then the ending “ready to FLY!” The good news–it seems to me you must have had 20 years of skating again since you came back!
I love the nervous pre-teens and then you “nervously” lace up. What courage–after a broken leg. That could not have been easy. Nice details brought back memories: “girls only skate, backwards skate.”
Jennifer,
I am smiling as I see you find skating again! I love the image of the nervous girls at the school skating party. We are compelled to bravery by our students, aren’t we? Enjoy!
OMGosh did this just throw me back to the roller rink days! I heard roller skating (classic style) is making a comeback. Is that true?! Girls Only! Backward Skate! I can just hear the announcer making the calls. And you were one of “lucky ones” who made the broken-bone-badge-of-honor. Why did we kids think that was so cool when someone else was in a cast? I really do hope you strap on those skates again! Fun poem!
Denise, thank you for hosting today and for your lovely prompt. I adore your poem and appreciate that special watch band with its “pale pink hands.”
Ode to Childhood Friends
I love the sound of laughter
bouncing across the pavement,
like mother’s crazy cool car horn bellowing arruuu
gaaaahhhhh.
I love the sight of friends playing
flag football,
Dano and Deb,
Brent, Brad, Brian, Curt, Ann,
forever romping,
with sunny smiles
racing round and round.
I love the feel of friendship
soft, true,
cherished sweetly in my heart,
like grandma’s patched quilts
warming up my dark world.
Barb Edler
17 September 2022
Hi Barb, I really enjoyed your poem. I wish I would’ve made more friends during my childhood. I regret that now as the people I went to elementary school with remain friends to this day. I would have loved for friends “…forever romping with sunny smiles racing round and round.” But I do want to point out the sound of your mother’s car horn. I heard it as I read it. Thank you for sharing.
Oh, Barb, what a sweet topic. I like that idea. I’m sitting here thinking of Madeline and Tana and Joni and so many more. It makes me want to write an ode to my neighborhood pals. We would have been playing softball in the streets.
I love the nostalgic similes–the old car horn and your “grandma’s patched quilts / warming up my dark world.” Wow. That says a lot.
Delightful…such a cast of characters. This reminds me of the Peanuts gang cartoon…everyone is there.
Barb,
I love finding your poems in this space. I think we are about the same age: we share images: 4-square! The contrast you land on in the final line is powerful, giving even sharper shine to the childhood light. <3
So beautiful. I often think about how it isn’t so common (at least not to me now) to have my child find neighborhood friends like we used to. I wonder what this will look like for these little humans.
Beautiful memories, Barb. I love how you name your friends. Those early friends we never forget. Yes, their friendship was warm, soft, and true. I love your last two lines and I can also hear your mom’s horn! Sweet.
I’m out of practice! And I wasn’t going to participate this time, but after taking a month hiatus and reading today’s prompt Denise, you brought me back. I love the image of your watch next to the figurine. She reminds me of a figure in a jewelry box, and this line about your watch
“And I learned to carefully wind you up
at the end of the day” makes a perfect connection! Thank you for the nostalgia’! Here’s my poem:
Middle school aged Weekends
Friday nights
were for ”TGIF” on ABC.
Popcorn, pop, and plop! Right in front of the tube:
a surreal moment.
Jamming out to Uncle Jessie and the Rippers,
with Daddy Danny and his dust buster cleaning,
while shaking his head to Uncle Joey, aka “Ranger Joe” and Mr. Woodchuck with their corny jokes.
“Did I do that?”
Steve’s catchphrase and Carl’s moment to explode,
Laura’s millionth time of telling a nerd no,
cracking up at Waldo’s shenanigans.
“One Saturday Mornings” were for “Pepper Ann, Pepper Ann much too cool for 7th grade”,
bowls of Rice Krispies with sugar added,
and a time-delay for chores.
Recess was wild with Spinelli, TJ, Gus, Mikey, Gretchen, Vince and oh Mrs. Finster.
Imagining if this is real life?
Wish I was a kid again!
Jessica, I’m glad you decided to write today – your poem took me baaaaack. Love love love. I adored these shows, especially Full House and Rugrats!! How nostalgic 🙂
Thank you Britt, I had so many shows I loved that I couldn’t narrow them down. I still haven’t seen the Pepper Ann reboot and I don’t think I want to. I didn’t watch Fuller House and after the Rugrats got older, I lost interest. Just bring back the shows “as is”. Thank you for your words!
Jessica, such fun memories of being in middle school and living for the weekend and watching favorite shows. I can totally relate to this. I loved the lines,
imagining him getting drawn into the show, even while cleaning. I enjoyed this so much!
Thank you Maureen! Yes, I don’t remember much of school but I definitely remember the tv shows. RIP Bob Saget.
Jessica, I’m so glad you came! I bet you didn’t watch any cartoons today. Sometimes it would be nice to be a kid again. My favorite stanza is the Saturday Morning / Pepper Ann one. I love the detail of eating Rice Krispies with sugar added, and getting to delay chores. Wonderful memories!
Oh, but you ARE a kid with this poem. How wonderful that you came back to writing with all these great show titles. I love the feeling of fun and familiar in this.
Thank you Denise. “Now, you sit in my keepsake drawer–
Fifty years later.”
Your picture of the Cinderella statue reminded me of a figurine I still have on my bureau – thus inspiring me to write about mine!
Not Quite an Ode to a Silly Possession
I’m not sure
how I came
to want you
quite possibly
a connection to
my love of the
TV show
The Flying Nun
but none-the-less
I asked for you
as a gift for
My First Communion
An extravagant ask
to my parents
of little means
You graced my bureau then,
as now,
a reminder of
silly wishes
childhood giggles
and my need to
hold on to things
that collect dust!
Christine, Isn’t it amazing how parents, even those of little means, choose to get us something special that lasts for long? That special item now is imbued with their love, even under the dust of aging memories. Thanks for sharing.
I think I can visualize this statue; I may have had the same one – funny how your poetry jogged my memory. I’m impressed that you kept it, a reminder of a more innocent time and your parents’ love.
Christine, I can definitely relate to enjoying The Flying Nun and holding on to things that collect dust! I feel such tenderness as I read this poem. Love the “silly wishes/childhood giggles”. Sweet poem!
I remember The Flying Nun!! I so remember my sense of wonder at that show. I think your figurine is the perfect whimsical reminder of childhood…and sacrificial love. Your lines about your parents so pull on my heartstrings – your whole poem is testimony to faith and family.
I love it Christine! The continuing sentence. It’s almost as if you are using your last breaths to seek out what last bit of heart and passion you have for your “Silly Possession”. I collect things and those things collect dust as well, but I just can’t get rid of them. So I get gross out by the amount of dust settling on them as I close my eyes and remember events from my childhood. Thank you for sharing.
Christine, I really enjoyed your poem and smiled broadly at your last lines: “my need to / hold on to things / that collect dust!” If one doesn’t keep an eye on it, the collection of tchotchkes and knicknackes does tend to grow!
Christine, I wonder if the fact that it was something you asked for–“an extravagant ask” is a great phrase–and your parents listened is one reason you kept all these years. I like that you held on to it. “You graced my bureau then, / as now,” so sweet!
Oh, but those special things…they mean so much. A wonderful memory.
Christine,
I appreciate your form: a statue in itself. My heart feels your parents’ hearts as they (we) long to give our children moments of joy to honor their precious place in our lives. Lovely.
Ode to my Cornrows
After Kwame Alexander
The season don’t matter nor the time
because the smell stay the same
but sitting on the floor in shorts
the floor cool against my thighs
fingers flyin deftly through
precious locks that could
only rest on satin when finished
otherwise they’d escape the rows
raising heaven ward on that
royalty ish
Every little girl, with a lil mo’
melanin knows the smell
of the blue magic pressed into
or twisted into freshly washed
hair
the pressure of beauty even then
but so much freer
to just be
not confined to corporate AmeriKKKa
no longer allowed to make music by being
We underestimate kids
their passionate
their hate
their anger
their needs and
wants
allowin’ them to park close
to death
cause sleepin it’s cousin and
night family too
I love the words
this imparts such treasure and awe at this weekly ritual.
Corrine, wow, your poem is powerful. I love how you start with your hair being worked on and then move to the need; desire to be free. Your last stanza is especially riveting. The “allowin’ them to park close/to death” is haunting. We lose too many youth too soon. I appreciate the spelling of AmeriKKKa in your poem, too. Provocative poem that carries a significant punch.
Corinne, your poem takes my breath. It is mighty. I don’t know the smell of blue magic pressed into my hair although this week I helped a little girl extricate an elastic hair tie that got terribly twisted in her Fulani braids when she tried to pull them back…yet I could imagine the smell as I walked this brief walk in your shoes. I’m so struck by the lines “the pressure of beauty even then” and “no longer allowed to make music by being” – and “AmeriKKKa” is harrowing. I’m in awe of your voice and images – thank you.
Wow, Corinne, this is so powerful. I love your passion and voice coming through every line. I also like how you tie your memory of cornrow magic into the present. When you write “We underestimate kids…” you really get fierce. And I love how you compare sleep as death’s cousin at the end.
Reminiscing on
my childhood’s
neighborhood
and thinking that
the path from
boyhood
to adulthood
was, in all likelihood,
not as straightforward
as hindsight would
have me believe,
I need to remember
it’s easy to be
hoodwinked to
think otherwise
if I forget Linda
Pastan’s wise
words, “We grow
in such haphazard
ways.”
__________________________________
Denise, thank you for taking care of us today and for getting us started this month! I enjoyed your prompt and your mentor poem – and I love that you still have your watch with its “black patent-leather mod hippie watch band.” What a wonderful “keepsake”!
Scott, the closing Pastan quotation says so much after reading your poem about the zig-zags of growing up. Isn’t interesting, too, that on those zigs and zags we learn so much to help us navigate the haphazard road of adulthood, too. Thanks for sharing.
It is interesting how hindsight makes things seem so straightforward – because I did this, this next thing happened. Love that quote – “We grow in such haphazard ways.”
Scott, your line “it’s easy to be/hoodwinked to/ think otherwise” resonates for me. The final quote speaks truth. I know the pain of naivety; the need to remember. Powerful poem!
Love the succinct and thoughtful insight here. This is a little gem.
Scott, there is so much richness here. You sure were a-thinking on a Saturday. I am sitting here contemplating the message. I love the word “hoodwinked” paired with Pastan’s “haphazard.”
P.S. Thank you for introducing me to Linda Pastan. I was just out reading some of her poems.
Denise, I have to tell you that I got teary reading your words, this poem with layers of time woven through. What a keepsake, that watch – and the memories! Your lovely lines, reverberating with love and gratitude, plus this reminiscence of being a child begging for help telling time – it all really takes me back. I am swimming in nostalgia.
I had to write about Play-Doh in honor of the day – thank you!
Play-Doh
It smelled so good
so clean
it tasted so terrible
saltier than seawater
it only came in four colors
back in the day:
blue
white
yellow
red
which wasn’t really red
but more of a hot pink
that made a lovely shade
of orange when I mixed it
with yellow
to make a bird’s beak
to go on my bright bluebird
with the little yellow nest
full of tiny white eggs
all of which I placed
on the air vent to dry
in the effort to keep them
and love them
forever
I can still smell those fresh cans opening for the first time! Your poem brought it all back! Thanks for the memories
I love all the sensory details – the noticing of the colors, the smell, the taste, and your words describing yellow bird’s beak, bright bluebird, etc., almost offers the sense of touch -I imagine feeling the playdough in my hands. Lovely!
Fran, play-doh is so relatable, and I love how you move to the final two lines: “and love them/forever”…absolutely sweet and nostalgic, too. I can just see your beautiful play-doh creation sitting on an air vent. Gorgeous poem!
Fran, the sensory detail in your first few lines took me right back! So effective!
Oh, happy National Play-Doh Day, Fran. I love the smell and taste details! And the set up with colors to start building the bird. I love the detailed description of making the bird just so, along with the nest and eggs, and we all know that it was just “the effort to keep them and love them forever.” I was always disappointed when Play-Doh didn’t dry nicely. I wonder if you made this set more than once? Your poem is so touching!
Yes, the air vent to dry! Love the smell of play-doh even to this day.
Ahhhh the smell of Play-Doh! I can see the colors, Fran. And your little bluebird creation. So sweet, so creative. A treasure! Thanks for bringing back happy Play Doh memories for me!
Hi Denise,
This is such a fun way to start our Open Write week! Thank you for taking me back with your watch photo. I instantly remembered how fancy I thought I was when I switched out my watchbands. LOL so funny!! You were smart to keep yours and I’m sure you would get some envious eyes if you wore it today!
I loved playing Yahtzee with my mom and sister when I was little. Then I shared the tradition with my own son and daughter. But it’s been a long time since we’ve played and now I really want to play again.
Yay for Yahtzee!
Roll five dice
Five-in-a-row
Three-of-a-kind
Full house!
Roll four dice
Two-pair
Four-of-a-kind
Small straight!
Roll two dice
Large straight
Take a chance
Yahtzee!!
© Stacey L. Joy, September 17, 2022
Your poem is begging me to get the dice and score cards out! Oh how I loved playing Yahtzee.
Ooh! I had forgotten about Yahtzee. That’s an adult favorite for me. Love it!!
Your short lines, with the numbers/combinations, offer a sense of the roll of the dice – making me want to play Yahtzee, too!
Stacey, I love the pace of your poem. As a Yahtzee fan, I can hear those dice rolling and love how you ended with “Take a chance/Yahtzee!!” So much fun in this poem! Thanks for the smile!
I ADORED Yahtzee as a child, Stacey! I can’t even estimate the hours spent playing with my mother, sister, aunt, uncle, friends… so much fun. When I taught summer camp, the kids (5th grade) had never heard of it. Bought some score cards and dice and they absolutely loved it – they became cutthroats, lol! I taught my six-year-old granddaughter to play. Love the excitement here in your clean, simple stanzas. Oh, you really must take it up again…I can see you organizing a Yahtzee club and tournament!
Stacey, I love Yahtzee. Your poem is so cute. I like the repetition at the beginning of each stanza. Like Christine, I’m going to dig in my game cupboard and pull out the dice and score cards. I have family coming soon. I’m definitely the kind of mom/mother-in-law/now-grandma that gets people around the table for games. (Fortunately, I have two sons-in-law who love games too. How fun is that?)
Stacey, I love your poem. Yahtzee was one of my favorites too.
Ahh Stacy Joy. I would play Yahtzee for hours with my sister and later with friends and my own kids. It is totally addicting and I think I need to play it soon—it’s calling to me! Thanks for the great poem and memories! Oh the thrill of rolling a Yahtzee!
Stacey,
You poem brings the sound of dice rolling across my mom’s old card table to mind. I can picture my own children getting excited when that Yahtzee appears.
Thank you for sharing
Ode To Childhood Loves
I had a few childhood loves,
And I’m writing about them all.
Telling a bit about each one;
As much as I recall.
“Baby Alive” was my favorite doll.
Playing with her was extremely neat.
She was battery-operated,
And would drink and pee and eat.
My “inchworm” was a fun toy.
“Bouncy-riding” an addiction.
Never getting very far
Due to so much carpet friction.
The swing set in the yard
Sent me soaring toward the sky.
Sometimes it would tip forward.
Moments in which I thought I’d die.
My original list of loves
contain more favorites I will name.
Jacks and Trouble and Sorry
were all my favorite games.
Donnetta, that “swing set in the yard”, I’m sure gave you so much joy. Your stanzas introducing different “childhood loves” and their impact, allowed you to share so much about your childhood, thank you.
Donnetta,
Thank you for the sound in this poem. I love the rhythm and the way the words feel as I whisper them at my desk:
I had a few childhood loves,
And I’m writing about them all.
Telling a bit about each one;
As much as I recall.
The quatrain rhyme brings in a playfulness that works so well with the topic, yet I feel a melancholy with memory and the names of games “Trouble” and “Sorry.” Why did they name these games for kids! We always have meltdowns here when we play Sorry, but I love that you named the games for us.
Peace,
Sarah
Wonderful rhyming pattern here. I love how you weave in so many fun childhood toys and games. I remember loving the swing set, too, and that wild sensation when
Donnetta,
I loved the rhyme in this and the playful bounce of it. Loved that swingset imagery: I could totally feel it!
Donnetta, sweet list of favorite childhood loves. I remember the Baby Alive commercials, but I was too old by then. Drat!
You captured the my fear of swing sets with this line: “Sometimes it would tip forward.”
Fun poem with effective rhyming!
Denise, thanks for the fun prompt! This really took me back and had me thinking about some loves I hadn’t thought about in a while:
Invaluable,
invisible,
formidable at times:
these little
Road Trip Treasures
quelled my boredom
on a dime.
Tricky though
they seemed to be
for young, imperfect minds,
the perfect antidote
they served for
long, desultory times.
Backseat riding,
body writhing,
stuck in place and time –
those little,
orange books were
entertainment so sublime.
Drugstore racks all held
them –
and any five and dime –
I couldn’t get enough,
a road trip staple,
My Lifeline.
They’ve seemed to disappear now,
my addiction
once a time:
Those little “Yes & Know” books
To which my love inclined.
Wendy, wow. Nice! Thanks for sharing the photo. These Yes and Know books are vaguely familiar, but they must have been from a different era because my children and I both missed out on them. I loved the way you captured those boring car rides when a book like this would be perfect:
Well done!
Wendy, yes! Thank you for reminding me of these. These were, indeed, “a road trip staple” for our family of five when I was growing up. We would always stock up on Mr. Mystery invisible ink books when traveling. (I also really enjoyed your rhymes throughout your piece — especially the “Backseat riding / body writhing” with its additional alliterative goodness with its Bs and Rs.)
I enjoy the playful rhyming of the lines, and I remember the boredom of long car rides as a kid. I especially enjoyed,
Thank you, Denise! So many lovely possibilities here – and I appreciate taking a joyful affirming approach today. Your watch would be totally bada** fashion today! Really got me thinking of all the watches I’ve had, and I almost went in that direction! Alas, my mind went to trees.
I’m bored!
Go outside and play.
Outside we needn’t go beyond our yard
to enter into a million make-believe worlds
but my favorite place was alone
atop the giant white pine
towering above our three-story Victorian
The bottom branches were easily traversed
their thick boughs steady and firm
but higher and higher
thinner and thinner
the branches grew
Not even a hundred pounds
I still stepped lightly
from one bending rung to the next
until finally sensing I would push my luck
to rise any higher
In that moment of stillness
overlooking the rooftops
my body swayed gently
with the movement of the tree
though there was no wind
It was the motion of the planet
I told myself
rocking and rolling through its orbit
the deeply rooted giant white
along for the ride same as me
OH, Denise! I was nervous reading your poem. I was a tree climber, but I stayed at the “easily traversed
their thick boughs steady and firm” stage. Wow, you have captured that climbing up so high, like being one with the planet and the “giant white”! So beautiful! I have an image of you so high up in that tree–a tiny smidge of a girl in a giant tree, and it takes my breath away.
Denise, as soon as I read these two lines I wanted to sit with you!
What a beautiful and serene image:
Such a fun experience!
Denise, I just loved this! Loved the climactic building, the beautiful imagery that you used in the building, the motion of this poem. Really lovely!!
Denise, I just love your last stanza! “It was the motion of the planet….along for the ride same as me.” I love the kinship there! And the image of you high “atop the giant white pine / towering above [your] three-story Victorian.” What a sight! (And I can imagine what a view, too!)
Thanks Denise, the memory of my childhood games have been on my mind recently. Your prompt is very timely and gave me a chance to share it.
Just Like Her
The colors stew in the pot
That tiny red plastic spoon
Stirred until… they seemed to cook
on the miniature, metal, handmade, toy coal pot.
On which the matching, red, plastic pot stood.
We stirred and stirred
Really doing our best to be like her
Mama’s cooking was the best,
We loved the role plays,
we were in control so,
we cooked what we wanted.
Lined up our dolls,
talked to their fluttering eyes.
They always seemed to be listening
joining in our game,
ready to savor,
the delicious dinner,
of cut leaves and flowers.
We enjoyed the outdoors,
the games,
brought all to life.
It grew us up,
no doubt, copied from Mama.
Now we were her
and played the part so well.
Juliette,
I love the way you set this poem up with the image of cooking which I assumed was in the kitchen and then you reveal that you are outside creating “the delicious dinner,/ of cut leaves and flowers” for your dolls.
Great image!
Juliette, I loved going back with you to the cooking outside on the little handmade toy coal pot, with your red pot and tiny spoon. I’m sure the dolls loved the offering, and this is a perfect description of dolls. (I can see them!)
“Lined up our dolls,
talked to their fluttering eyes.
They always seemed to be listening
joining in our game,”
I like the beginning and ending about your Mama’s influence.
Juliette,
This brings back memories of my little metal kitchen set, as well as dirt pies in the front yard (LOL). Your poem is a beautiful Ode to Mama.
Juliette, loved this and the way it came full circle in the end from imitating your mom to being her in her end. Beautiful poem. 🙂
Not quite an ode — but when I started making a list I realized how much of my childhood is related to the letter ‘C.’ So this is what happened:
C is for…
C is for cookie, that’s good enough —
for some! But, not me.
For me, childhood is:
cartoons and cereal,
charades and card games,
cardboard to make houses and cars,
cabbage patch dolls and Crayola crayons.
Coloring,
caring,
crafting,
cheating,
constructing and
being clever enough to
create — a childhood of pure imagination.
But, I will admit, cookies are good too.
Erica — I love all your C words! Especially cookies!
Oh, Erica, how clever and charming! I love how you started brainstorming a list and discovered all the C’s. Yes, indeed. (Who would have thought? I discovered a couple years ago, the bulk of my favorite spices also start with the letter c.)
The beginning and end with the cookie (and shoutout to Cookie Monster) perfectly bookends your “C is for…” poem. Love it!
Erica,
Our childhoods were very similar…full of Cs and other letters I’m sure. I loved eating a big bowl of cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons. Such great memories your poem brings.
Erica, this poem is very creative and shares a “childhood of pure imagination,” for us to enjoy.
Erica,
Wow, you picked a perfect letter and perfect words to write about childhood memories! I love it!
Clever!! ?
When I started reading I heard a Cookie Monster singing 🙂 Your poem exudes lightness and childhood memories so well. There’s a need to skip as I read it.
Erica, your poem is so much fun. Thank you for your words.
Love this! So clever! Would be a fun mentor text to use!
Denise,
I really love this prompt and your poem! This brought back memories of when I got my first watch and how wearing that watch made me feel so much older. Love the line “I admired you, even though I had no idea how to tell time.”
Canvas
Tamara Belko © September 2022
I loved the thick red frame
The flat slate gray screen
The aluminum powder that glided across the screen
with the twirl of white knobs
The picture that I could change.
I loved the portable nature of this square toy.
It didn’t take up too much space in the car,
at a restaurant,
at a family gathering.
With my hands deftly maneuvering the stylus knobs,
I was an architect, designing cities
an artist drawing landscapes of butterflies and flowers.
For those moments in time I was in my own
Little
Big
World
Creating.
In truth,
I wasn’t an artist.
My drawing were far from masterpieces,
but it didn’t matter
mistakes could be erased.
And I could start again.
Oh, Tammi, it didn’t take long to figure our exactly what you were talking about! Such rich details. I could see the aluminum powder and feel the knobs turning. Yes, I can relate to the “far from masterpieces” and the erasing magic to start again. Lovely poem!
Tammi, those EtchaSketch days were so fun – and so frustrating when I couldn’t do the dial-at-the-same-time to make a curve go just right. You bring it all back. The red frame and gray screen and knobs. I think I’ve never been more in awe than in the movie Elf when I beheld the art on the EtchaSketch screen. And you continue the essence of childhood there at the end – – mistakes could be erased….I could start again. We need more of that in our adult lives as I think about it. The EtchASketch Perspective.
Tammi, this is a toy I also loved to play with. I like the way you shared that you could make it turn you into. “ an architect, designing cities / an artist drawing landscapes of butterflies and flowers.” You went on to disperse the idea, interesting:
‘In truth,
I wasn’t an artist.
My drawing were far from masterpieces,
but it didn’t matter
mistakes could be erased.’
This is wonderful! Your description of stylus knobs took me right to great memories. Beautiful ode.
Denise, for the first several lines, I imagined you were writing about an older sister or friend, and it was such a delightful surprise to realize the subject was your first real watch. Well, I’m imagining it was your first watch – your poem sparkles with the special pride a young child has with such a gift – “I begged older siblings to help me” – oh, this is tender; I am right there along with you, in your excitement.
remnants
I love how we’d find you
lying forgotten behind the shed
wedged by an old door
perhaps a broken window pane
stuff Dad was taking to the dump
I love how we missed you
searched for you
desired you only
when the rain poured down like a soaking hose
rushing the gutters
I love that we rode you barefoot
undaunted by splinters
reckless riding
haphazard falling
soaked t-shirts and shorts
I love how much we laughed
the simple joy of you
remnants of plywood
It’s funny how the simplest things can bring the most joy. For you it was plywood, for me it was the cardboard boxes my grandma would bring home from the grocery stores. I loved trying to guess at the object being celebrated in your poem up until the end! My favorite line was: “undaunted by splinters / reckless riding”
Wow, Maureen, what fun you have described here so well, and to someone who never did this! “reckless riding / haphazard falling” to be sure! My, oh, my! Don’t you wonder sometimes how we survived? Such beauty in all the “I love” beginnings of each stanza. Yes, to “the simple joy of you” — I hope we are still allowing that to happen for our children today.
Well…maybe not plywood remnant riding through the mud–but you know what I mean…found toys are the best! (As long as you can get a little away from helicopter parents and grandparents.)
Maureen, those splinters – – they resonate with me. The reckless ways we played, unconcerned about risks, willing to take them anyway for the thrill of play. Undaunted. Thrillseekers we were back in our days. And now here we are, words as toys and as power. Writers. Continuing the fun.
Maureen, you are brilliant! I’m in awe at how you focused on plywood and gave it the depth of love and appreciation that it deserves.
I feel and see this so clearly!
Fun times!!
This poem captures the imagination of childhood, “undaunted by splinters.” You effectively used the “I love” lines of Max Mendelsohn.
Ha! I was trying to figure out what the toy was before the end…but you got me. What a great toy–those bits of plywood. The best toys allow for lots of imagination! No wonder you are a creative. A wonderful ode.
Denise, it’s fun to write and read poems about our past. We reflect on times we’ve had and learn how common they were, whether good or bad. I wonder how many here played this game using designs like those in the image below. Here’s my Ode to Hopscotch!
Double Dare!
Hopscotch, hop scratch was the game to play
Roman soldiers played it back in the day
And so did we. What else can I say?
Whether triangles or squares
You welcomed us all there.
No expensive ball and bat.
No costly roller skates.
We didn’t even have to wear a hat.
Just stand in line and wait.
We’d draw your lines, then avoid them.
Roll the ball, then catch it.
Toss the stone, then skip it.
Oops! We’d slip, fall and wham!
You’d better not hear us say d…!
Yes, as hopscotch on city sidewalks
You kept us out of trouble.
Unless a squabble started
Over who’d really won the double.
After a game and a cool drink of water
We’d redraw your lines for another starter
Using chalk or a cracked piece of charcoal.
Winning the games was ever our goal.
Double or nothing. Who really cared?
Fun and challenge with whoever dared.
I loved the rhyming and bounce of this poem — reminded me of the game you were writing about. I didn’t realize it was traceable to Roman times!
Anna,
I love the rhythm and rhyme in your poem. I also played a lot of hopscotch, especially during recess at school.
Loved this stanza. It made me laugh:
“Roll the ball, then catch it.
Toss the stone, then skip it.
Oops! We’d slip, fall and wham!
You’d better not hear us say d…!” — A great image!
This poem took me back to my childhood neighborhood!
No expensive ball and bat.
No costly roller skates.
We didn’t even have to wear a hat.
Just stand in line and wait.
Such a fun and accurate way to describe this game.
Being visual, I love your diagrams at the end. I had forgotten about how much fun we had with this game and its variations. Your rhyming and rhythm make your poems always enjoyable. Thanks for the memories. I wish my knees would let me try hopscotch one more time!
Anna, what fun! Your rhymes are always so fun to read–and I like what Erica said about the bounce–the rhymes are perfect for hopping through each line!
The subtly of your audience to precious–“you welcomed us all there” and “redraw your lines” I like how you did that. I loved the pause for a cool drink. I can picture that too. I would have been drinking out of the garden hose.
I LOVED hopscotch. My dad spray painted a hopscotch outline on our driveway. Then we just had to get our parents to move the car! We always worked on finding the perfect marker made of a small piece of properly-weighted chain.
Anna, your rhyme schemes always amaze me and keep me rereading. I do love that your ode is to hopscotch – – we loved it, getting to the end and hopping the turnaround on one foot to repeat the sequence, avoiding the rocks. So many parallels to our adult lives now, the obstacle course of living some days. I can hear the laughter, the squeals of delight…..the hopscotch masters living their best life!
I know I was a child once
that I had to have played with
toys, a toy, some toy, any toy but–
nothing.
I can’t remember the
sensation in texture, color, shape though
a scene from the toy aisle stirs
maybe a whisper of want from a commercial.
I know I was a child once
that I had to have played with
toys, a toy, some toy, any toy but–
nothing.
I suspect I was in my mind then
maybe holding a toy, some toy, any toy but–
ruminating in a life’s purpose
always somewhere other than
present.
A child toying with her mind.
I love how the repetition here leads us to your final line, “A child toying with her mind.” You’ve always been deep in thought.
Sarah, there is such insight here! I love that you can’t remember a specific toy, and your lines
take me into your mind, add the tension of thought as you work to remember … and then your fabulous final line –
Oh, I love this!
Sarah —
Your poem really evokes this feeling of longing. It feels much deeper than just longing for a toy. “I know I was a child once” — this longing for childhood and carefree innocence is powerful and then your ending “ruminating in a life’s purpose/always somewhere other than present” extends that sentiment in the sense that maybe you never had the chance to be a child.
Beautiful poem.
Oh, Sarah, wow! What a beautiful poem to show the depth of your thinking and “ruminating in a life’s purpose” as a child.
“toys, a toy, some toy, any toy but– / nothing”
The repetition of that first stanza and the ending line work so well together.
Sarah, that last line drives it home – the perspectives we all have of childhood, how different and how same. The universal appeal of toys is there, but not all of the memories of them. I think that the whisper of want from a commercial is what may be the common thread – that and the Sears Wishbook Catalog. I wanted everything I saw back then, I think, but got very little of it – for which I’m grateful at this point in my life. I remember most the smell of toys when we opened the boxes on Christmas. A lot like new car smell – – it wears off, but oh, that newness at the beginning of it all keeps us wanting more.
Sarah, I am completely mesmerized by your poem. As I read it, I feel conflicting emotions and am especially moved by your line “ruminating in a life’s purpose”. The format and words both work a mighty power. I will need to sit with this and ponder more. Fantastic poem!
Sarah, whew, I don’t know whether little you needs a warm hug and big fuzzy toy! You’ve given me so much to think about and yearn to know.
I believe this is a trait many of us creatives share…always some place other than here in our minds.
The repetition in this poem is powerful. I feel sad, imagining myself as a kid that has a tough time remembering toys. But, there are kids like that all around us.
Sarah,
This poem fills me with a combination of sadness and awe. We remember the textures and looks of important things we played with, yet we don’t realize that most of our play was inside our minds.
Denise, I remember my watch! I haven’t thought about it in years. Oh, my goodness. I love this prompt. You hit a home run in my journal today. My poem is simple — but one I plan to return to. Thank you!
I love the memory
of holding the little people
in my hand,
walking them into the castle
up a movable staircase
or dropping them into the dungeon
or the camper with the fishing boat
that fit like a roof on top.
No matter what,
I assigned roles first. The blue lady
with yellow hair was Mom,
Taller green bald person was Dad.
Everyone else were kids—even
the dog and cow from the farm set
we didn’t have anymore.
I’d open the toy house on its hinges
to double wide to a life of
without a care for homework
or paychecks, grass to mow
or bills to pay.
Just Mother calling kids to meals
of cookies and birthday cakes
Presents every day.
Linda,
What a sweet poem about the little people. I can picture that bald Dad in his green cylinder suit. Also, the little black and white dog. So fun! (I loved these little people too, though I was older and didn’t get to have my own, but played with my nephews’ and nieces’.)
I love the “double wide” “house on its hinges” — it brings the image right to mind. And the thoughts of life “without a care for homework / or paychecks, grass to mow…” is so sweet juxtaposed with the great gifts of this childhood Mother. “cookies and birthday cakes” and “Presents every day.” Wonderful!
Linda,
Thank you for sharing this memory, which stirred one of my own (that I could not muster without your poem). The image of your hands walking the little people up the stairs creates such a sense of agency — the child moving symbols of adults as she wishes, creating scenes, designating roles. I had never thought about how powerful play can be.
Peace,
Sarah
I love this poem. It’s such a personal memory that is universal. My play was with Barbies “without a care…just Mother calling kids to meals.” That important pretend play.
I am particularly smitten with the words
Written like a teacher, I think – this child’s play leads directly to our future work…
Loved this.
Linda– I had all those Fischer Price Toys, too. Wow! Your images in your poem bring back some many memories of playing hours upon hours with those Little People. The Castle was my favorite! I can totally see this: “walking them into the castle/up a movable staircase”.
Oh, how I loved the Fisher Price Little People! The barn was wonderful, so was the school …and the house. You take us on a walk down memory lane this morning, Linda – – so many fun memories. Funny you assigned roles first and each person had certain colors. Isn’t it fun to think back on the imaginations and play of our younger years? My grandson was visiting once with full sound effects of a fighter pilot air show that only he could see, and I said to my husband, “he sees an entire world we’re too old to see.” Oh, to have that world again. Beautiful poetry, these Little People and their land of no mortgage or bills or deadlines.
Denise, what a great prompt! The marble poem is such a great mentor text and your memories of your watch are so relatable to me. I looked for my old diary and got lost in reading it. Gosh, I wish I had kept it up. It’s a history as well as a diary. I’ve also changed my thinking about those early years of writing.
“One Year Diary”
Golden pages
wrapped in a keyless lock,
you locked away all my dreams
and screams for truth and understanding.
I was standing at the threshold of who I am.
You honored the me I was
with timeless sanctity.
Notes and poems tucked in
like folds of a blanket, nestling
moments I wanted to keep (and forget.)
Cursive swirls and exaggerated tittles,
my fourteen year old soul remains
buried here.
Margaret, those pages of your diary like folds of a blanket nestling moments –
what a simile! I’m so glad you worked through the moments of writing struggle you mentioned earlier to give birth to this poem. You labored through it, friend, and look at this fabulous ode in a sweet blanket all its own. It
speaks to all of us who left teenage souls buried on pages along the way!
Oh, Margaret, I love that you had took time to read in this treasure this morning, and that you have changed your thinking about those writings. (I would love to hear more about that, but I think your poem gives evidence.)
These lines…wow!
“you locked away all my dreams
and screams for truth and understanding”
“You honored the me I was
with timeless sanctity.”
So many gorgeous thoughts, I could go on and repeat your whole poem!
Oh, Margaret. This is gorgeous in the “screams for truth” and “standing at the threshold”. How lovely and important to revisit her with perspective and love, “honored the me I was.” I am moved by this line. Thank you.
Sarah
I can see and feel that very same diary, oh my! I love the love and reverence of these lines,
Memories of your earliest days of savoring words! Loved this.
Margaret —
You really have captured the angst of youth in your poem. I can identify with those feelings.
Thought I didn’t keep a diary, I did tuck away “notes and poems” and short stories.– I can see 14 year old self in my old writing as well.
I love your last stanza:
“Cursive swirls and exaggerated tittles,
my fourteen year old soul remains
buried here.”
Margaret, not only did you share what your diary held,”dreams and screams for truth and understanding” but also your handwriting style,”cursive swirls’. It made me hope that many teenagers were able to capture their stories (especially of) a couple of years ago.
Oh, Margaret! I love this ode to your diary. The memories that came to me from your poem make me wish I had kept every jounal and diary I ever owned.
Powerful lines!
I am reading Janet Wong’s book, Here We Go, and came across a mentor poem by Margaret Simon. Is it you or someone fortunate enough to be a poet with your name?
?
What a beautiful ode to diaries. My favorite line is “Notes and poems tucked in
like folds of a blanket, nestling
moments I wanted to keep (and forget.)”
Denise, I’ve been counting the days to this Open Write, and you ushered in a fabulous prompt for some cooler-weather writing! Your watchband picture takes me back to the days of leather bracelets and 1970s fashion (my favorite)! I was thinking that as I clean out and let go of things that I no longer use, this would be a great way to release things – with a picture and a poem to give new wings to those sentimental things that can be hard to let go. I’m going to try it! For today, though, nothing tops Koogle for me. Koogle was king! I chose a Nonet.
Ode to Koogle
chocolate, banana, strawberry
Koogle: flavored peanut butter
Nutella’s family tree
oh, how I miss you so-
your sandwiches rocked
after-school snacks…
(I hid you
in my
room…)
Cleaning out can be so hard to do. I’m not familiar with Koogle. Sounds yummy. I’m struggling to write today, so I think turning to a form may help.
hahahahaha! Mine guilty childhood pleasure was Nestle’s Quick….spoonfuls of it straight from the can. Oh, I used to get in trouble for that. What a fun ode to something yummy. “Nutella’s family tree” is a great phrase!
Kim, I love the idea of a photo and poem to “give new wings to those sentimental things” and then let them go.
Like Margaret, Koogle is new to me, but you captured it with your “Nutella’s family tree.”
(I hid you in my room…) made me laugh aloud!
I’m adding a Google search image. It looks like fun in a jar!
Kim,
I eat about a small jar of peanut butter a week, putting spoonfuls on granola bars each morning. I occasionally swap out the PB for Nutella and have NEVER heard of Koogle. This fascinates me. This “hid you /in my/room” is a lovely twist at the end. Makes me want to hear more. I also hid food! The food we hide. Sounds like the title of a book!
Kim — Your poem makes me hungry and wanting to run out and buy some Nutella! Yum!
Kim! I can’t believe it! Someone else, aside from my siblings, remembers Koogle! I love it. I would have hid it in my room if I could have. You brought a smile to my face with your poem. Thank you.
I haven’t experienced Koogle, Kim, but it sounds intriguing! Your nonet works like a delicious dream. I do remember after-school snacks, however, and being absolutely famished.1970s fashion… gotta tell you that tambourines have been in my head lately and I have even caught myself singing Partridge Family songs :O :O :O – !! Wild, remembering the words after all this long time!
Kim, how interesting! I’ve never heard of this! I am one who only like peanut butter (no jelly) sandwiches so I probably wouldn’t have been a fan of the flavors. Love your Nonet and the image of youu hiiding with snacks in your room. Too cute!
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Kim, I learn something new each month we gather here to write. This month … Koogle. Love the idea of not having to add jelly to get the salt and sweet combos I too connect with childhood. Is Koogle still sold? Maybe I’ll check it! Thanks.