Welcome to Verselove, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We are gathering every day in April to write– no sign-ups, no fees, no commitments. Come and go as you please. All that we ask is that if you write, you respond to others to mirror to them your readerly experiences — beautiful lines, phrases that resonate, ideas stirred. Enjoy. (Learn more here.)
Our Host: Dave Wooley
Dave lives in State College, Pennsylvania, and he’s not exactly sure how he got there! But, since he’s there, he’s working with pre-service teachers at Penn State University as they prepare to be high school and middle school teachers. He does some rapping, writing, and he’s recently gotten back on skis after a 20 year (or so) hiatus so that he can chase his 11-year-old down mountains. He lives with his wife and their youngest son and looks forward to when the other siblings are able to come home from college and get the band back together!
Inspiration
I really like experiencing new places and slipping into the role of a traveller–being able to take a step back and observe and learn and enjoy outside of the everyday commitments and entanglements of life. Travel has it’s merits and drawbacks (I’m learning so much while I’m in this wonderful place inconveniencing everyone as I move about with the grace of a newborn giraffe!), and I invite you to explore those moments with me today.
In thinking about this prompt, I started to listen to some of my favorite travel and “place-based” songs. One of my favorite songs about a place as told from a visitor’s perspective is Rush’s The Camera Eye with it’s vivid descriptions of New York and London. Lupe Fiasco’s song Paris, Tokyo captures the joy of travelling and being in different places. Moving to poetry, Nikki Giovanni’s A Journey focuses on the concept of the traveller. As a counterpoint, The Case Against Travel is a good place to look if you are thinking about why being a tourist is kinda icky. These are some of the ideas that were bouncing around as I thought about “getting out and seeing the world!”
Process
For the poem today, I’m inviting you to write from the perspective of a traveller. You can choose to focus on the place, or focus on the experience of travelling, or maybe just the idea of being a traveller. For my poem, I am going back into my photos to help jog some specific memories and asking myself some specific questions–what about this particular place compels me to write? What are the things that I remember most from that moment? Why does this matter to me? In the spirit of brevity, try to keep your poems on the shorter side, but you can choose to write in any form that you’d like. And, of course, you are free to write about whatever you’d like to, the journey is yours to take whatever path suits you best.
Dave’s Poem
Touch the Sky
Holding his hand up, palm to us, the guide explains,
“The Isle of Skye is a wee bit like your hand,
And today we’re going up the finger next to the pinkie.”
Later, atop the Quiraing mountain–where the fingernail would be,
wind whips snow and rain and sleet, stinging our smiling faces.
Invigorated and awed, my son slips his palm in mine
and leads me up the path towards the sun in the sky,
As far as we could reach without falling off.
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. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
Yr1 – College
It’s move in day!
Excited, nervous, scared
My heart races
A roommate…2…no 3
New friends?
Goodbye…
Happy for independence
Sad to leave the nest
The nest is sad too
First day of a new adventure
A new “home”
A new “nest”
Until next year…
Here’s to first’s
Sorry this is so late, but I really liked this prompt so I decided to do it anyways although late!
For my sister…
Travel is bittersweet
Pulling you to the next new thing
The adventure that awaits at every turn.
Things not experienced,
Excitement and wonder that the soul cannot help but long for.
For who could ever know
All that the world beholds?
But do not forget to look back
For though you travel far
A place waits for you
With a missing piece
Of my heart.
Amelia,
This is a beautiful letter from the heart. I feel this way when my sister boarded a plane to return to her home from a visit. I love the simplicity that encapsulates so many emotions.
I absolutely love the last section of your poem “A place waits for you-with a missing piece-of my heart.” And this resonates with me a lot right now in my life so thank you for sharing.
Oh, I love this prompt, Dave. I’m late a day. But here’s my poem:
Ascent
This morning, if I hadn’t decided
To hike around Lake Minnewaska,
If I didn’t choose the yellow trail
Up the mountain, past Gertrude’s Nose,
If I didn’t stop along the ridge
To watch the hawks circle above the pines,
If I hadn’t bent to tie my boot on the rocky path,
I would not have seen that single moth
With wings folded upright, carefully clasped
Almost the color of birch bark or sunlit limestone
She would not have startled me
With her out-spread, periwinkle wings –
I would not have witnessed
Her ascent into the April air.
Joanne, what a glorious poem for slowing down, being grateful for every step of the journey, and witnessing miracles and noticing them. I love this poem so much. I’m glad I came back to witness it.
Joanne,
You took me into your hike, and the imagery captured this beautiful moment so well.
Dave, your prompt about travel is actual lived experience at the moment. And as often does when travel is involved, the day got away from me. Here is my small offering…a piece that may (or may not) develop during the course of the month.
Roadtrip
Pack the car
snacks galore
(which we never touch)
Are we traveling
or moving in to stay?
Kim Douillard
4/4/25
PS. That New Yorker article was crazy thought provoking! (But made it much harder to write about traveling!)
As is usual for me–there is a photo on my blog: https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2025/04/04/roadtrip-npm25-day-4/
You don’t touch your car snacks?!? How is that even possible? I love the final question– perhaps traveling becomes the way the world works . . .?
Kim, this is fun! I feel like that sometimes when I pack too much. It used to happen more, so I hope I’m learning. But I have to say, like Sheila, how can you never touch your snacks? That’s my favorite part of road trips.
Great prompt – I can’t wait to revisit it on a night where I have more time … Here’s a start
My van has taken us across the country,
west and also south.
It’s climbed the million dollar highway, driven through the Mojave dessert and of course, back to our house.
It helped me take my daughter away to school.
In the fall it will carry my son to college too.
With all it’s done for me, all the places we have gone…
You’d think I’d clean it more.
I was definitely feeling the time crunch tonight! Love that last line! There is something special about that car that carries kids off to college…
Great symbolism of the van. It’s role and importance in your travels. I like the way you personified it.
“With all it’s done for me, all the places we have gone”
I love that final line! I’m now thinking there needs to be a children’s book about a van and all its adventures.
Haha, I love this. I remember reading on your blog about that trip west with your kids, and now to be reminded in your poem was fun, along with all the other good memories of your van. I was all into this beauty, and then the last line made me laugh.
I love this poem! I like how you focused on your van and how it has been your way of taking you through life essentially!
Hi Dave, your poem reminds me how a journey can be both physical and spiritual. I particularly like the image of your son’s hand slipping into yours as you ascend towards the sky. So here is my humble contribution:
In the city of temples
Where age-old Sanskrit incantations rise
With the pungent smoke of camphor,
The jingles of bells,
The drumming of entranced worshippers,
I have come to quell my longings.
Above, pink-faced monkeys saunter on tangles of wires.
Below, cows and dogs forage endlessly,
Impervious to the ear-splitting honking
Of taxis, buses and tuk-tuks.
I join a procession of saffron-robed pilgrims,
Who barefoot circumambulate the temples
Tired, I sip masala-tea from a paper cup
Next to me a man feeds sugar cane into a machine
And collects in a bucket thick syrupy sweetness.
Suddenly my journey feels both like the end
And a new beginning.
Krish, your imagery is on point. I especially love the “saffron-robed pilgrims”. Perfectly described. Thanks for writing!
Ooh, I feel like I’m right there with you! I love the details– especially the sugar cane squeezer machine.
Kris, this is gorgeous. I love so much that you don’t tell where you are. Yet, with all the perfect details, it’s like an invitation to explore the beauty and geography of place. I also like the spiritual themes of your poem–the temple, worshippers, pilgrims in the first two stanzas, as well as those last two lines in the third. Such a beautiful poem.
Dave, this is fun to think about the trips I could have written about. Everyone goes on some kind of trip, metaphorically or even close to home, if not exotic places. I want to come back and think about this some more. Your poem is gorgeous. I loved finding the Isle of Skye on the map and imagine you and your son there. That last line is simply beautiful. Today I’ve been out all day hiking and sightseeing in Joshua Tree National Park with some dear out-of-town friends.
often I stay here
delighted with my vacation
spot homestead
Denise,
This time of year your part of the country is a perfect staycation spot.
I love that your home is also a gorgeous vacation spot for so many. People who have never been to California always ask me about how much I must enjoy all the tourist spots…Disneyland (yuck), Hollywood (ewww), Universal Studios (nope), but maybe they should consider visiting Joshua Tree!
I visited Joshua Tree once when I was a kid – such a unique park! I love your haiku & the idea of vacationing at home.
Denise, you’ve captured the love for your home perfectly in your poem. Delighted is just the right word to express your feelings and homestead adds the perfect sense of the life lasting home you’ve created.
Love this Denise. I was thinking today about how often I am taken for a tourist in my own town (that camera around my neck marks me every time!). There is something special about living in a place where others vacation. You captured it perfectly in 10 words!
Denise,
A haiku after a hike in a national park seems almost mandatory! I love that you are able to spend tome with your visiting friends in such a beautiful place.
My mind went to a trip I took to Bryce Canyon in the winter a few years ago. I think back on the trip with mixed emotions: it was miserably cold, but stunningly beautiful. Seemed poetic.
Queen’s Garden
Ice hung from eaves like stalactites –
we rented snowshoes and hiked along the rim,
wind cutting our cheeks, drowning our voices until
Fwooooomp the canyon walls swallowed the gale –
we wandered between the hoodoos,
robed in snowy white, bathed in sun
mother crafted this moment for us.
Ooh! This sounds like an amazing trip! I’ve always wanted to go to Bruce Canyon. I love your use of onomatopoeia, too!
Rachel, thank you for sharing the image along with your poem that gave me all the feels. I can’t say I am one for the extreme cold, but it is always as you said, “stunningly beautiful.”
Rachel, you have captured so much beauty in these few lines. Thank you for the photo too. It sounds amazing. Too bad you had to be cold. “robed in snowy white, bathed in sun” is gorgeous. The gift of mother earth is a treasure. I love the word “crafted” in that last line.
Rachel, your description of the icy world is so immersive it sends chills down my spine. Thank you for sharing.
Rachel,
You really really capture the biting cold in this, but I think my favorite line is “we wandered between the hoodoos” because of the double meaning implied as they swallowed the wind, keeping you protected.
Here
This trip, this experience
From Africa to Asia
Across the seas
A flight of many hours
From one culture to another
Fufu to Bun bo nam bo
Similar ingredients
Different tastes
Kaba and slit – blouse and long skirt
distinct look from there
elegant Ao Dias worn here
Sway like flower petals
Different landscapes
furnish our sights
walks up the mountain in Yen Tu
Soothing boat rides in Tam Coc
Lakes, Pagodas and Museums
All tasted here
Language so different
Gestures to the rescue!
Thanks Dave for your prompt. The imagery in your poem is great- I had to re-read it. Here’s mine sharing my travels from Ghana (West Africa) to Vietnam.
Juliette, the details within your poem are specific to place and culture, and I love how you capture the differences. This must have been a fantastic trip but can relate to needing gestures to communicate. Lovely travel poem!
Juliette,
I really appreciate the work that “taste” does in this poem as a metaphor for living and experiencing the different ingredients that make cultures and places unique.
Your last line is great, too!
It’s fun to read poems that seem familiar, but one learns something anyway. Your poems able similar foods and spices once again remind how what’s different can be familiar. And… you mentioned gestures. They’re another story! When you have a chance, read MONKEY BRIDGE by Lan Cao. She talks about ways gestures in one culture, the USA, proved to insults in hers,Vietnamese. It’s a good read. I taught it after students had studied about the Vietnamese Wars in history.
Your poem’s use of imagery really brings me to the landscape as it changes from one place to the next. It ignites a sense of wanderlust!
Wow, Juliette, so many differences. The words you chose with all the cultural differences– linguistic, food, and clothing and more. It really helps show the vast variety. That last line makes me smile. “Gestures to the rescue!” Yes, indeed. They would be important.
Hi Dave,
Happy Friday and thank you for today’s prompt. As a big fan of Nikki Giovanni, I jumped at the chance to use her poem as my inspiration. Thanks for allowing us to keep it short. Today was lonnnnnnng and my poem needed brevity. I wrote a Golden Shovel using the last line of Giovanni’s poem: It’s a journey and I want to go.
EnJOYin’ My Journey
Sometimes joy travels through me like it’s
in my bones, coded in my DN-A
sending the woes of the world on a journey
Joy gives me life without fear and
awakens sleeping dreams. I
can dance or rest or be how I want
No box to fit in to
Just joy and adventure, and I want to go.
© Stacey L. Joy, 4/4/25
I’ll be sure to comment on some of the evening posts.
Stacey, I’m sorry your day was long, but your poem is so full of fun and Joy. I love the “woes of the world on a journey”. When you use the word Joy in your poem, I often think you’re referring to your partner, and I could be wrong, but I think your Joy does let you dance and doesn’t push you into a box to fit into, but, of course, experiencing joy can feel the same so it could go either way. An adventure is surely ahead for you, and I feel that need to fly, too!
Stacey, hi! When I saw “EnJOYing” in the title, I though you could do the same with “JO(Y)urney.” You found a perfect line from Nikki Giovanni for the Golden Shovel. The first two lines amused me right away:
“Sometimes joy travels through me like it’s
in my bones, coded in my DN-A” Joy is your last name and your soul.
Stacey — You surely put the JOY in the journey tonight. Such an upbeat, can-do girl you are. I like the Golden Shovel that carries us right along. Good way to end a looooong day. Yes! Hugs, Susie
Stacey,
I love how this is centered in joy and that you used Nikki G’s poem as a starting point for yours. Her poem and her poetry are such an endless gift! That last line, “Just joy and adventure, and I want to go.” says it all!
Your poem is such a joy to read. I’m not sure why, but I read the “It’s a journey and I want to go” in an eager tone that’s like “I’m ready for a vacation NOW please”
Stacey, what a sweet image and golden shovel. I love that you thought of travels of the joy type! “I can dance or rest or be how I want” is a great way to celebrate life!
Last year I was introduced to the Golden Shovel by a colleague who shares a passion for poetry. I like how your poem is a celebration of freedom.
I really like how you focused on the feeling of being a traveler. The hidden message at the end of each line was a great addition to your poem! Thank you for sharing
Thanks for the inspiration today, Dave! I loved the tactile imagery in your poem — you really put me there. And just loved the image of you and your son.
I’m doing my first overseas vacation this year after school ends and, since I’m going to Greece, I wrote my poem in dactylic hexameter, cuz when in Greece…
Crystal blue, Hellas’s gem
Only imagined til now:
Closing my eyes I see
White contrails dot the sky –
Leading to…here I fail,
Knowing not what awaits
Cross the seas, different land
First time there, jaunt abroad –
Heart apound, palpitates
Nervousness, giddiness –
Only one question left:
If by then, dems are banned,
No return to my home…
If I choose, can I stay?
Wendy, I love the way you build the imagined beauty of Greece by sharing what you would see. The closing question is provocative. I often wonder how hard it might be to travel somewhere and then never leave. A strong desire I’ve recently experienced. Fun poem!
Wendy, this image is captivating: “White contrails dot the sky.” Please, don’t think of anymore banning–I can’t handle the current situation well at all. Safe travels! We are going to Paris and Barcelona after the semester ends.
Leilya, a friend and I were joking around about it — and she said, “We shouldn’t even joke — it might actually happen!” It spawned the idea for my poem.
Have fun in Paris and Barcelona — what fun!
Wendy,
So now that I’ve googled dac-tyl-ic hex-a-meter, I can confidently say, what a great poem!!! Seriously though, you had me at hexameter (especially when I realized, oh, triplets!). Besides the cadence, which is infectious, I love the immediacy of all of these lines.
And, our family, too, is really reticent to travel for fear of being locked out of the country. We barely made it back from Scotland, but that’s a different poem (and a green card ago). “If I choose, can I stay?” is the line of the day!
Wendy, I love this! Your dactylic hexameter is spot on! (And I especially love the line “Heart apound, palpitates.) I hope you have a great and safe trip!
Beautiful! You effectively paint a picture in mind of what you experienced. Beautifully done!
Dave, thanks for your prompt and links. I enjoyed the focus of your poem, the hand holding and especially the lines “ leads me up the path towards the sun in the sky,
As far as we could reach without falling off.” Fantastic! My nonet is about my first real adventure trip!
Ski Tripping
Rocky Mountain high—flat on my back
after two shots of Yukon Jack—
brilliant me, completely green,
skiing a blue-black trail,
savoring silver
stars, spiced whiskey,
sweet freedom’s
heaven
scent
Barb Edler
4 April 2025
Barb, I’m chuckling over the Yukon Jack. It is the rhyme scheme that makes me think: a,a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h …..and even though I know most nonets don’t rhyme, the fact that yours does in the first two lines makes it feel like you had a little personal setback getting going on the adventure with the Yukon Jack. Like a do-over of line A only in real life not the poem. I love a fun adventure, and yours sounds like it had that feel.
Barb,
! That gives me images of Sonny Bono skiing into a tree. A nonet is perfect here as a form to take us swishing down the mountain until we reach the end of the trail. All the /s/ sounds replicate the sound of skis swishing down the trail. Fun but scary poem.
Oh my! You tried a. blue-black trail first!
Barb, lol! This was great and “loaded” with imagery. Made me actually laugh out loud.
Barb, I laughed at the title first and then kept smiling through the poem. You created an enjoyable flow with the nonet, and the form “shows” skiing downhill. The alliteration in these lines to me speeds up the movement:
“savoring silver
stars, spiced whiskey,
sweet freedom’s.”
Amazing poem!
Holy Moses, girl! You are a wild thang…I think I love you…LOL! I haven’t skied in quite a while, so I admire that you’ve journeyed back to such a great trip. I think I like the “completely green” the best. Sometimes I think we were our best when we were so green. Hugs, Susie
Barb,
Hell yeah! I can see that we have the same definition of a “really good idea”! Besides the laugh out loud factor of drunk skiing down a steep incline, I love the imagery and the “s” sounds and the double entendre in the last line. Super fun and so well crafted!
What a great topic and form for your poem, Barb. “Ski Tripping” is great. First, I thought you had an accident that had you flat on your back and drinking for the pain. Then I realized you were still up and skiing and savoring the fun. I love the colors in you being “green”, the blue-black trail, and the silver stars. “Heaven scent” is clever.
Wow, Barb! What a daredevil you were. I’m really proud of you. My parents were both lovers of snow and water skiing, but my sister and I never got into either. Your poem makes me want to at least go watch someone like you take on a challenge AFTER whiskey!
I like all the different descriptions in your poem. The contrast of silver stars and spiced whiskey make for a dynamic poem!
Dave! DAVE!!! I love this photo of you. I also love the line, “my son slips his palm in mine
and leads me up the path,” which I can picture and see in numerous ways. I’ve been stirring around responses to this prompt all day, and came home with the idea to write. Miss you, sir. Because I’m not down the street having a Friday dinner with you and the family, I was able to play a lil’ with my ideas (a little longer than I like to write, but…)
Vandrelyst
b.r.crandall
I used to stand on the backs of turtles
awaiting to be launched from rockets
that reach this or that star.
Those were the days
before bones began cracking
and anxiety was delivered
in bottles of shampoo.
I suppose I’m still that haiku,
one of a 1,000 written near
Mt. Fuji in Nippon notes
where I was taught that ‘fish nose’
was Sakana Hana & wandered the markets,
and soaked in Kyogen theatrics
as the jolly green giant
amongst Tokyo subways,
still wearing a t-shirt died
with indigo blue.
Gundoku
Isesaki Daini Junior High School
Kyoai Gakuen Senior High.
I was never good
wandering in Geta
across tatami matts.
I always felt like a
German clog-dancer
Once, in Conwy, North Wales,
I found my ancestors in a bathroom.
They made urinals and it made
flushing that much more entertaining…
similar to when when I manically pissed
with the Manneken Pis
in Brussels (where we ate tater tots,
but very few sprouts).
Drinking will do that, we learned,
driving in Princess Diana
before trading her in for Fergi.
Stick shift doesn’t work well
on the oppositeside of the road.
There’s no way I could ever wake Olgier, either.
That’s why he’s still sleeping like the guardian I tried to be
(I was blonde at the time, wigging out, & they called me Ronny…
the viking who led Nordic hedonists in their metamorphosis to become
seagulls that flew over Danish fjords only to lord over magpies
as the roosters screamed kykkeliky kykkeliky kykkeliky kykkeliky
(the same sounds my students made when they saw the hedonists
walking nude on forest paths in Christiana).
I’m can still see Evaristi’s blended fish
and Pipilott Rist’s breast milk
squirted on bald men —
films that were much shorter
than those of Lars von Trier.
When I was 19 years old,
I walked Regents Park
in search for a hand to hold,
the same I avoided in Doolin
near the Giant’s Causeway
several year’s later
before being mooned on
Butt Lane near Glenariff Forest Park.
Trudy loved this gossip
as she smoked her cigarettes
and servied me beans & toast.
That was Edinburgh, just a few weeks
before rowing across Lake Windemere
in a wooden canoe,
which leads me to the moment
I became a sea horse in Tintangel,
and met Diana, Princess of the Sea.
It makes me wonder
how I’ll find my way to Ohio, someday,
to see Dave, Kris, & the boys once again.
Fantastic adventures. I appreciate the imagery throughout this, the sense of sharing an epic tale, and bringing it back down to a relatable connection between family or friends. My favorite part was the second to last stanza with Trudy and the speaker becoming a sea horse in Tintangel.
Wow, this was epic! Your lilting style carried me right along with it, and I loved how you teased us with some of the details. Beautiful piece!
BR — I thoroughly enjoyed trekking along with you this evening. So many rich specifics, it felt like dropping in from the sky and riding along for a moment. You have the wanderlust for sure.. I love the title written in …is that Norwegian? I like it. Getting mooned on Butt Lane…priceless…LOL! And rowing across Windemere…oooo! I’d have loved that. Need journeys! Susie
Bryan,
If the goal of your Homerically short poem was to make me google “Pipilott Rist Breast Milk”, you’ve succeeded! You are well travelled (Rist wasn’t my only search), and strangely, tater tots seems to be the culinary love language that unites the globe, as you’ve suggested. There’s so many experiences and so many hints at longer, even more epic stories in this poem–what a ride! And just for clarity, if you end up looking for us in Ohio, you overshot by a state!
And you are 100% correct. I am channeling our epic road trip to Columbus
Grandma Grady, Cushendun, 1890
By Mo Daley 4/4/25
I can see her clearly,
Small, scrappy Mary Agnes
Ambling along the Antrim Way
Fine red hair blowing in her face
As the winds whip up from the North Channel
She stares across the Channel
At the Mull of Kintyre, wondering
If life in Scotland or any other country
Would be any better
Than the rugged, natural, and devastating beauty
Of her town at the mouth
Of the River Dun and Glendun
And I marvel at the courage of the
Thirteen-year-old
Who held her younger sister’s hand
As they boarded the S.S. Anchoria
Hoping that a life in the States
Would feed their souls and stomachs
Mo, I love the familial connection in your poem. How the reader sees Grandma Grady with her fine red hair, small and scrappy. Plus, you provide the beauty of Scotland showing why it would be difficult to leave. Your narrative skills build toward a powerful end. Absolutely love that last line: “Would feed their souls and stomachs”. Fantastic poem!
Mo, wow! You captured Mary Agnes’ rock solid bravery here in the lines. I love the scrappy description and the red hair just symbolizes the fire in her soul.
You paint a beautiful vision, Mo. I like the fine red hair blowing as she stares and dreams of America. I also had a grandma that came over from Denmark to Ellis Island. What courage it would take!
Mo, this was just lovely. What a story!
Mo, what a story Mary Agnes! Are you writing a family ancestral book? This poem belongs in it! So many of the first generation Americans held the same hope “that a life in the States /
Would feed their souls and stomachs.”
Beautifully crafted journey of your grandmother!
Mo,
I deeply appreciate when people have family stories that would reflect the histories of our population so much more accurately than the textbooks. This is a lesson and a poem. Thank you for sharing your family’s journey to America.
Mo,
This is a beautiful and a heartbreaking narrative that you weave. I can feel the loss and the hope in this and the bravery of these sisters facing the unknown. The specifity of place gives it ground.
Thank you for the invitation to revisit a place in my mind. About 5 years ago, I spent some time in Amsterdam and visited the annex where the Frank family hid. I am going back there this summer and want to return, so this is where I went to with this prompt. I also decided to write a nonet and reverse nonet to give me some structure. It is very rough, so I will come back to this at some point..
The Annex
I
mounted
steep wooden
stairs behind the
bookcase, traveling
back in time, joining ghosts
hiding because of their faith
when the alternative was death.
Walking within those hallowed walls was
transformative. Breathing in the same
air, I could almost hear her voice
talking to Kitty. I walked
through that small space in less
than an hour, aware
that she spent more
than two years
until
caught.
Heather, your poem is brilliant and a powerful reminder of how difficult it was for Jews during the Holocaust. Your poem is full of sensational sensory appeal. I really love the “hallowed walls” and “I could almost hear her voice”. I know you say this is rough, but to me you’ve crafted a marvelous poem. Great title too!
Heather — You were, indeed, on “hallowed” ground there with Anne. You’ve paid such reverent homage to the grim story of this young girl. A journey everyone should carry in their hearts…may we never return to such horrible times. Alas. Susie
Heather, what an experience. Loved the nonet and reverse nonet form! Thanks for sharing the experience with us — you did a great job of making it palpable.
Heather, this would be a fun assignment to invite students to do after reading or studying about a specific place. What would it be like to be there? And giving them a short form poem that doesn’t have to have rhyme or rhythm is likely to attract even the most reluctant writer who may not yet be comfortable writing in English! Thanks for showing how it could be done even if all the “rules” aren’t reflected. Heck, you just took poetic license!
Heather, this really is a brilliant poem! Using the structure of the nonet and the flipped nonet evokes the stairs that she climbed and that she ultimately descended. “Hallowed walls” is a perfect descriptor.
Dave,
Thank you for this invitation to travel and for your moving tribute to the Isle of Skye in magical Scotland.
Travel Brochure
Viking Cruise line invites me to sail
the world’s great waterways & explore
castles on a fabulous river voyage.
Technicolor photos in the glossy
Overseas Adventure Travel catalogue beckon me to book Asia at discounted fares.
Explore the world & discover iconic
bucket list adventures announces
the Vacations by Rail email I open.
Delta Airlines says I’ll earn points &
get more from my medallion status if
I book my trip through Delta Vacations.
I Go-Ahead & gaze at each off-er—
People out-populate penguins on Arctic ice floes.
Glenda Funk
4-4-25
P.S. I have a really big trip coming up soon and am excited and nervous. Part of our trip is to Normandy, and I worry about how Europeans will respond to Americans. We’ve rented a car for the France part of our journey.
Glenda, I have actually been on 2 OAT trips with my mother-in-law, Greece and Africa. They were both fabulous. We used Go Ahead tours once as well. I think for a trip to France? My mailbox invites me on tours regularly. When is your Normandy trip?
That last line… but do they pay tariffs?
Your wanderlust is so evident here – I am imagining you on a cozy couch, flipping through catalogues, dreaming. How exciting that you have a big trip to Europe! I have to believe they will be very kind – not blaming foreign visitors for our administration. Hope I am right.
Glenda, it’s same here: travel brochures are no joke. We, too, have a big trip upcoming in May–Paris, Barcelona, Marcelle, and back to Paris. I am super excited and a little worried. I like what you did with “off-er” at the end.
Glenda, you always raise my spirit for travel with your sense of adventure and confidence. I’m excited once again that you will be traveling because I know you’ll share trips and take me vicariously.
Glenda, I love the way you pulled me into this piece through a relatable occurrence: receiving a Viking Cruise Line flyer. The glossy photos are hard to resist especially when it seems as though there is a bargain involved. I especially enjoyed your last stanza and how you played with your words in this section: “I Go-Ahead & gaze at each off-er-: is phenomenal. The very last line makes me pause and consider the impact travel has in far off places. Good luck with your trip. I can understand your nervousness.
Glenda, loved this! Your word choice just pops and makes this sound so exciting. P.S. — They have maple leaf hats for sale online if you want to go that route. XD
Glenda — If ever there were a fine representation of the country, you, my friend, would be it. You will help us present the true face of the good people of this country. Pass along the message that we aren’t all monsters despite the horrors that have smeared us globally. Years ago during the GWB administration I was walking in Yorkshire among the wee hamlets on a misty Sunday, and a lovely gentleman chatted with me on the path. He wanted to know (mind you, his first question) if I carried a gun…he actually thought all Americans were packing heat! Geez, do I look like a gun-totin’ mama? OMG. Anyway, we laughed and I assured him we weren’t all aggressive, blustering, gun-toting bullies. Maybe you can initiate an adoption program, wherein nice, sane people you meet over there will let us come and be adopted. I want to be some place where I feel safe…it isn’t here anymore. Hugs to you, my friend! Susie
Glenda, my parents regularly travel with Viking and have loved every trip. The Normandy one is a favorite. Every thing I’ve read from those outside the US shows that they aren’t holding citizens responsible for what the government is doing. I hope you have the best time. We drove through some of Normandy recently too. An amazing countryside.
So many opportunities! So little time. When you get all these brochures are you busy daydreaming about which one will be next? Enjoy your trip to France; how exciting.
Glenda, you capture the conundrum of the reluctant traveler perfectly in this poem. That last line is wild!
I found that the folks on Scotland approached our American-ness with a bit of bewilderment, like, “what exactly is going on over there and what were you thinking?” So we had some moments of commiseration in conversations. Everyone, though, was warm and inviting and approached politics with caution. I’d imagine your experience will be similar. But maybe avoid wearing a red baseball cap.
I like that you included multiple different companies that you may plan a trip through. Through each you captured the positivity of them and now I really want to go on a cruise lol. Thanks for sharing Glenda and I hope you have a great trip!
RIDIN’ HIGH
I never travel alone.
I have my playlists,
strategic conversationalists,
they speak to me,
their voices
rev in tongues;
Clapton Prine
Raitt BB
Musgrave Zac
Cale and Willie
Simon Hooker
Emmylou Miles
Cash Aretha
Eagles Lyle
Allison Haitt
Lambert Dolly
Kool The-Boss
Jerry-Jeff Hank
Keb Jalan
and on and on and on
I listen,
I sing,
we harmonize
all the way,
through every zone,
when rubber hits the road,
old roads
two lane,
four lane,
asphalt, concrete, stone;
north and west,
up and over
high plains,
river valleys,
open road,
far-off cities,
pueblos on the plains;
when I’m scared,
when I’m righteous,
fighting demons,
on the nightshift,
in high gear rockin’,
when I’m lonely,
way too tired,
when the billboards,
people,
landmarks
disappear,
there’s only
me,
the road,
the playlists riding here;
and finally I can breathe;
they know me well
We,
the family,
the one I get to choose,
the one that’s always there,
the one that lifts me high,
swaying in the air;
they don’t judge,
don’t argue,
never disappoint,
the journey IS the music
that gets me everywhere.
by Susie Morice, April 4, 2025©
Strategic conversationalists!!!! Love that! And I love music to match the mood of the drive. The list format felt like it could be a playlist you queued up for this poem! Thanks for sharing this!
Susie,
I want to sit shotgun and listen to you rock out on the road. We’d have a grand time w/ this catalogue of artists. Your poem speaks to the great American road trip. Do you like searching for the kitschy roadside attractions, like the giant ball of string and carhenge? I need to write another poem about those places. Always a treat reading your poems.
Your poem has a beat that is catchy, as the tunes are. I love how you took this prompt in the direction of music you listen to on the road. I imagine it turned up loud with the wind blowing through your hair. Ha!
Susie, so beautiful to journey in harmony. I can hear the music and think how real it is to listen to the tunes on the drive. When we went down Route 66, I had a playlist for all the songs of the places, and it made it so cool. It was in the travel book, so I didn’t have to download a thing – – just sat back and hummed just like you!
Susie, oh my, I do love this poem. I can see you traveling through the night, the billboards flashing by, and you rocking behind the wheel. I love your use of cataloging in this poem, but that last stanza is pure brilliance. “the journey IS the music” what a line! Gorgeous poem! I ride with you any where!
Susie, your playlist is impressive. No wonder these “strategic conversationalists,” speak to you. Your poem is as fast as a ride you are taking with turns, two, three, four lanes on any kind of road surface. Love these lines:
“We,
the family,
the one I get to choose,
the one that’s always there.”
Susie, I relate to these sentiments 100%. Loved those last two lines!
Susie, having traveling companions that you get to choose always makes for a better trip! And ones that sing well– well, all the better. I can only imagine how fun this trip would be. Thanks for taking us along with you today!
Susie–
I absolutely love this! The list structure and the names, especially, evoked Sam Jackson’s roll call scene in Do the Right Thing. I’ve been on the road a LOT lately and a trusty playlist is a necessary friend!
Thanks Dave. “Oh the Places You’ll Go! is right. Your prompt made me remember this one.
1970
Over 80 miles an hour
we hit the road in a Porche 911
San Diego to Hermiston Oregon
1200 miles
in one day
We can do it!
Gotta try this car out
put the pedal to the metal
take the back roads
no highway patrol
non-stop
We rode
trees on one side
a lake on the other
never stopped for the view
just all a blur
as he put the pedal to the metal
Could we have stopped
a quick stretch now and then
at the side of the road?
No coffee stands or fast food
I don’t remember
as he put the pedal to the metal
A skilled maniac driving
pushing the roadster
me gritting my teeth
waiting for the thrill
that came
seventeen hours later
after he stopped
putting the pedal to the metal
And I crawled out of the seat
put my feet on stable ground
and yelled
“Hooray!”
Susan — I was flyin’ down those roads with you, teeth gritted…an exhilarating poem. It moved as fast as that fancy Porche. There was a 9ll? How funny is that! Hooray indeed! LOL! Loved it. Susie
A long, wild ride! You took us along with you. I was gritting my teeth.
I love the repetition of “putting the pedal to the metal.” It reminds me of my drives to Wisconsin with my husband to see my daughter.
Fun, nostalgic poem! It has so much energy & youth about it – as I’m sure you did on this roadtrip! I can imagine your hair blowing in the wind.
Susan,
17 hours! I’d yell hooray too! I love how you race through the fog of memory here and “skilled maniac” is a great descriptor.
When I visited the desert for the first time, I couldn’t help but wonder if people visiting my home deciduous forest for the first time had the same reaction I did to all the cacti. But maybe the grass/cacti isn’t always greener…
but where is the grass?
have they seen it before?
have they felt it underneath bare feet?
nope, not here.
but where are the oak trees?
have they smelled crunchy leaves?
have they heard wind rustle through branches?
nope, not here.
but where are the puddles?
have they jumped with wet boots?
have they tasted fresh drops of rain?
nope, not here.
go back to the Northeast.
–
but where is the sand?
have they kicked up dust on hiking boots?
have they seen all the colors of rock and mountain?
nope, not here.
but where are the saguaros?
have they touched a prickly spike, just to try?
have they tasted the sugary fruits?
nope, not here.
but where is the blue sky?
have they sunbured by 10am?
have they seen all the shades of the sun?
nope, not here.
go back to the Southwest.
C.O. — I love how you’ve split this in half and seen the beauty of the desert as well as the lushness of the oak-filled terrain. The innocence of first-time witnessing these stark differences is really quite something. You’ve captured that sense of mouth hanging open in surprise. It reminded me of the first time I saw the Grand Canyon….I just couldn’t get over that you had to drive through lush pine forests to get there and then BAM the crater, a gigantic maw wide open in front of me. Took my breath away. For some reason, I thought the canyon was a hole in the desert. LOL! Youth! Innocence! Virgin eyes! Wonderful poem here. Totally enjoyed the journey. Susie
Neat thought process here! I love the 2 contrasting halfs. It reminds me of my trips to the East Coast when I was a kid (I’m from the desert), and how I was shocked by the amount of trees! I thought the 5 or 6 trees in my backyard was a lot – but the dense sea of them along the roadsides out East blew my mind.
I love all the colors in your second section – “all the colors of rock and mountain,” “the blue sky,” “all the shades of the sun” – that’s my home!
Oh, I’m glad I could connect to a desert resident! My mind can’t comprehend the cactus. You have beautiful colors, but nothing beats the fall colors of our leaves!!! Thanks for reading!!!
C.O.,
The imagery and scene setting in your poem is great! I’m from the Northeast and I long to visit the deserts and mountains of the southwest. You paint a compelling picture. The parallel structure really works as well!
What a fun prompt for today! I felt inspired to think about the place between here and there.
Airport Theory
I stumbled upon “Airport Theory”
A strange trend, leading to a query
How does one get from here to there
With 15 minutes from door to air?
Looking back at my flight log
With kids, without, clocks in digital and analog
I do not regret the supposed extra hour forty-five
Or how I tended to my boredom to kill time
If I were to test it out, I would surely miss
The decadent coffee splurge, people watching bliss
The Bloody Mary test-tasting during evening flights
Oh, I’d miss so many delights!
Ashley — You made me giggle. I’ve had many of these exact feelings when getting to the airport, wanting that “decadent” stuff. Airport time is like its own zipcode. Fun! Susie
Yes, Ashley! Jill out and take in those airport delights! I love this.
I had to look up some videos of Airport Theory – ha! I’m sure it’s possible, but so not worth the stress in my opinion! And YES – the experience of an airport is part of the journey, part of the fun. I love your phrase “tended to my boredom,” and can definitely relate to the “people watching bliss.”
Ashley,
So now I know that when I missed my flight out of Memphis, I was just practicing airport theory, lol.
I’m with you, I’ll keep the extra hour and 45 minutes and a bit more of my sanity. And enjoy an extra bloody mary or 2 in the process! I love the end of your poem!
Thank you, Dave! Like you I love travelling—seeing, observing, witnessing, and learning. Your poem creates such a powerful bond between you and your son as he “slips his palm” into yours, and you climb “towards the sun in the sky.” Beautifully said! Yesterday, Kim Jonson’s words got stuck to me: “to spend time how I care / to day trip anywhere…” Today I begin my poem with this idea. Some of the places I mention in the poem, we already visited; the others are still on our bucket list.
Dreaming of Places
Take me on a day trip—
anywhere, anytime soon.
No need for reason, only rhythm
of the road beneath my feet.
A mountain hike in Colorado,
where air is thin and dreams are bold,
or a lazy river walk in New Orleans,
jazz spilling from open windows and doors.
Let me witness Niagara’s crashing fall,
stand hushed before Yosemite’s towering grace,
trace the veins of nation’s history
in the marble bones of Washington, D.C.
Bring me to the jade waters of Jamaica
cool my restless thoughts,
as I stroll barefoot on beaches
that remember no names.
Show me the Eiffel Tower in moonlight,
Sagrada Familia rising like a prayer in stone,
the pyramids older than memory,
and perhaps the Great Wall in the night mist.
I want to feel the pulse of the world,
to collect moments like postcards
tucked in the corners of my soul.
For one day in the future,
when the coldest winter comes,
I will unwrap each memory—
warm as sunlit sand,
promising as the open road.
Leilya,
This poem speaks to my wanderlust. The only place in your poem I have not been is Egypt, and that will change very soon. These lines really speak to me:
“I want to feel the pulse of the world,
to collect moments like postcards
tucked in the corners of my soul.”
Leilya — I love the dreaminess of this list. And the comfort in the end “unwrap[ping] each memory.” Cozy feeling. Susie
“I will unwrap each memory.” What a treasure of travel memories. I love “anywhere, anytime soon.” Let me pack my bags and join you!
This is beautiful. I loved all of the places you mentioned, and I felt like I was on a ride. The ending though really spoke to me. Though I think I will have to actually write those postcards so I can read the memories because I think they will fade.
Leilya, you’ve captured so many fantastic places to visit which creates a pure sense of joy for traveling. I haven’t been to all of these places, but you show a reason to go. I adored your lines: “I want to feel the pulse of the world,
to collect moments like postcards
tucked in the corners of my soul.”
I’m exactly at the place right now. Wanting to have plenty of memories to hold onto before immobility prevents adventures. The open road is definitely alluring!
Leilya,
I want to echo what Susie said–the dreaminess of this list draws me into a trance thinking about all of the wonderful places that you describe. I love how you ope your stanzas with the repeated urgings to bring me, take me, show me. This is great. And unwrapping memories is perfectly captured in your last stanza.
Thank you, Dave. I think Isle of Skye may well be the most beautiful place on earth. Your poem captures this awe.
Fresh off a long car trip, I thought of the highway itself…
i am a highway (play on “I am a town,” by Mary Chaplin Carpenter – written as a pantoum)
i am the bent guardrail hurt long ago
i am leaves skittering
i am silica chips radiating sun
i am blue signs for rest stop
i am leaves skittering side to side
i am miles of bare trees
i am the blue signs for rest stop too far ahead
i am the fast sleek car
i am miles of bare trees tall and thin
i am a two-lane concrete bridge
i am the fast sleek car darting out and in
i am David Byrne singing
i am a two-lane concrete bridge passing overhead
i am silica chips
i am David Byrne singing road to nowhere
i am the bent guardrail
Maureen, the pantoum form works very well in your poem. the repetitions seem inevitable, just the landmarks (rest signs, bare trees, concrete bridge) you mention along the highway. It can be used as a highway meditation on a long ride home or away from it. Nod to David Byrne’s “Road to Nowhere” adds more meaning, going beyond the literal one. The “fast sleek car” seems to bring energy and motion to your poem. Thank you for taking me along on your road trip.
Maureen,
This is wonderful. I love the bent guardrail framing. I took photos of rusty guardrails when we drove the overseas highway to Key West. Excellent personification of the highway and what it sets in our sight as we drive. Sign me Road Trip Aficionado!
Maureen — So effective these repetitions…the highway lines just seem to rip under my wheels…love that effect you’ve created! And the music in the air…dang…we were in that car on that highway together for a bit today! Fun! Susie
Maureen, I love the metaphors throughout your poem from the opening guardrail to the fast sleek cars. I felt like I was taking a trip as I read this, and I could imagine the blur of blue, the leaves, the miles of bare trees. You’ve captured a new car tune for travel trips today!
Maureen, I love your details here — “leaves skittering,” “silica chips radiating sun,” and “fast sleek car darting out and in.” And I also love your Talking Heads reference. So good!
Maureen, I love the pantoum form here as repeated images whiz by like signposts on the road. And they are all so vivid!
Dave, I absolutely love your poem…something about a child slipping their palm in ours just breaks me…what a beautiful moment. your last three lines are beautiful!..
This is a memory from more than two decades ago when we went to Kazakstan to take our son home.
April 4 ~
The plane landed in a desert, (so I thought)
but it was really a steppe, (so I learned).
Miles and miles of dry, dusty land
dotted with grass and shrubs.
Inside the airport, crowds bustled by—
everyone just passing through
as if this were a movie set and we were the extras
providing viewers with verisimilitude
as we watched the hello hugs
and goodbye tears of strangers,
as we told ourselves she would come.
Finally a man appeared, waving wildly.
He pointed to himself and then to us,
steering an imaginary wheel and nodding us outside,
helping us load our luggage in his dry, dusty car.
We drove all the way to the hotel
passing my mini translation book
back to forth from front to back,
and back to front, saying our Hail Mary’s
as we rounded the curves clutching door handles,
as we raced through the dunes and into the city.
Hello, privet, thank you, spasiba
a thousand times thank you
to the daring driver,
the trusting couple
and at last the translator (who arrived the next day).
What an incredible scene you set here; I can feel the overwhelm and the excitement from the very opening, as you learn ‘steppe’ vs ‘desert;’ then the anticipation & hope of “as we told ourselves she would come,” and the intense work of trying to communicate in a foreign language,
“passing my mini translation book
back to forth from front to back,
and back to front, saying our Hail Mary’s “
I have no doubt the details of this trip are seared in your mind.
Ann, what a story you share with us in this space! Your poem reminded me of the busy airports in the post-soviet countries. I haven’t been in Kazakstan, but was born in a neighboring republic – Uzbekistan, and then my parents moved us to our ethnic motherland in Crimea, Ukraine. These words–“privet, poka, spasibo”–are still always used in my American family and in conversations with my children. The taxi rides are brutal, and the drivers are unhinged, so I very well understand your “saying our Hail Mary’s / as we rounded the curves clutching door handles, / as we raced through the dunes and into the city. “ Thank you for bringing up all these memories!
Ann — Oh my gosh! This is priceless. What a leap of faith and a gigantic pivotal moment for you. The kicker at the end with the translator…LOL! Literally laughed out loud. What a wild experience for you. You had me holding the door handles as well! Whoof! Susie
What a lovely memory. I love the gesturing as it shows how people don’t have to share a language to be able to communicate.
Ann,
As I’ve been reading through the poems, this is the first one, I think, that addresses the vulnerability of being a traveler in a land that you don’t know equipped only with a meager translation book in a taxi that could be going anywhere! There’s a beauty to the fact that it all works out and that our trust in one another is founded. But that is still a scary precipice!
Forgive me if this poem makes little sense to you. If it does makes sense, *fist bump* to my fellow geocacher.
No good trip can be planned
without first considering
the geocaches to be found.
Any ordinary destination can be made
A great one
if the variety is right.
An oldie or two (maybe even an oldest)
Larges are fun, gadgets better
Definitely high favorite points
Some quickies too
Ooh, here’s a nice D/T
With some luck, a challenge filler
An unexpected art virtual
and some natural wonders.
Now watch me while I turn this three hour drive
into nine.
LOL. I am not a geocacher…but I know someone who is/was and had a club at school to include students. It reminds me of the people passionate about pokemon. I like the lingo in this poem. It’s specific and gives a distinct vibe. I feel like getting outside! But, no thank you to a nine mile drive.
I can only imagine how this pursuit extends a car ride! What a fun activity; I have a friend who is a geocacher, the whole family is into it.
I used to love geocaching, but life got busy. You make me want to resurrect the fun! I never had an FTF to my credit, so maybe that’s enough reason to start back.
Cherri, I am not a geocacher either, but thank you for educating ))). I had to look it up to understand some things. My understanding is that you may find joy in exploring the turns and twists, some side roads more than taking the shortest route, so good luck and enjoy “An unexpected art virtual / and some natural wonders” as you turn your “three hour drive / into nine.”
Cheri, I’m fascinated by geocaching, although I don’t know a great deal about it. You make me want to explore. I am chuckling about turning a three hour drive into nine…seeking treasure, how exciting!
Cheri,
I’m not a geocacher, but I am, and my son, even moreso, a graffiti enthusiast. So I know of the virtues of turning a short excursion into a long one so that we can look at the backs of sings, the scratches on a garbage container, or taking a walk through a dark, sketchy alley to see what’s on the walls.
There is nearly no slumber as deep as being a passenger in a car.
Maybe, just maybe, listening to Dave Grohl sing “Marigold” from a fuzzy FM dial with the horizontal mini blind light streams cast onto the wall and the summer breeze gently swaying into your ears
or the waves of your favorite body of water lapping into your right cheek, left ear pressed deep into your forearm
or the sleep that comes after your wisdom teeth are ripped from your jaw,
but that is drug induced, not naturally occurring
so let’s get back into the car
——————————————————————————————————————
You used to strap your firstborn daughter into her carseat in desperation, the only movement that would allow her to give in to those red, drooping infant eyes, heavy as the world
years before? years later?-
you strapped yourself in. You mentally zipped up your coat, tied your shoelaces tight, let the engine hum and rubber wheels on asphalt tuck you in and sing you lullabyes
Every timeyou woke up, you were somewhere else, time never sleeping, place always changing
you told yourself I’m open to the possibilities, maybe this is it.
Maybe this time I’m home.
The layout/structure of your poem reminds me of highways themselves, somehow. I love the line, “Every timeyou woke up, you were somewhere else, time never sleeping, place always changing” – the words flow and hum like car tires on a long trip.
Thank you so much for your thoughts
Luke — This is a fascinating poem…the idea is precious! And I LOVED the detour through the dental zone…LOL! How touching to step into the kiddo’s car sleep…DEEP. Way to go! Susie
thank you so much!
Oooh this is super fascinating, I’ve read through it a few times now. Thanks for sharing. I can relate to the deep car sleep – although it definitely seemed to come easier when I was a kid! I love that line about strapping in your baby to get her to sleep – so raw and real. And the last line – “Maybe this time I’m home.” (Home literally or figuratively?? Nice.)
Luke,
I’ll confess, I’m a horrible passenger because every time I drift off (and who can resist–I think you’re on to something about the body’s memory of childhood carseats) when I wake up I am terrified. I like your version so much better!
Ah! So much angst about trips, especially family trips. My husband and I live far from our three children who, in turn, don’t live in the same places. Therefore, planned family trips are so important to us. This summer, for various reasons, we won’t be going on an extended trip, though I hope we can see each other in spurts throughout the summer.
So, here’s my poem!
Family Tradition
FaceTime,
more than once,
and some polls on WhatsApp
About our next trip.
Maybe Europe again or Venezuela.
I hear it’s cheap right now, he says.
Last place I’d want to go, texts someone.
You don’t know what you’re missing, he insists.
Taking my chances, they respond.
Really?
About how much is this trip going to cost? asks the most spendthrift among us.
Don’t know, but we can help with expenses.
It’s not a problem, but
Thank you.
I think we need to decide, soon.
Of course. It’s almost summer!
Not a moment to spare!
I feel as if I am right there in the midst of the conversation. I adore all the different perspectives, the back and forth. Fun poem!
You are describing my life right now! Our dream family trip to Ireland last year never happened. Now this year’s trip has gone from 8 to 4, if I can get the others to do their paperwork! Anyway, your poem made me smile and nod the whole time I was reading it. I hope it works out for you!
Haha yes, been there too! I’m probably the spendthrift one in my family (for better or worse!) One time, my husband made a powerpoint presentation to go through all the options and help us decide. I love how you used the text conversation in your poem – gave us an intimate little window into your family.
Elisa,
I love this conversation! we just moved away from family and our oldest son is another satellite, so we’ve been kicking around the idea of a shared family vacation.
It is almost summer!
Love this prompt! Thanks, Dave!
Embodied Journey
My legs are rivers
And there are mountains in my chest.
Cornfields graze my palms
and there are deserts in my breath.
There are forests in my feet
And there are skies in my eyes.
Flowers grow with each heart beat
and beaches whisper from my thighs.
My body is a map of everywhere I’ve been.
Every nook and cranny
Every step and every basin
Every tent and cheap hotel room I’ve ever
been
in.
New roads are yet to be written
New paths yet to be drawn.
The road is always beautiful,
Even if it’s
long.
Oh, Chea. You had me at that first line “my legs are rivers.” Such a lovely ode to place and the ways we shape and are shaped by where and how we move in the world.
Sarah
Wow Chea this is great ~ my body is a map…a true ode to travel and discovery and carrying with us each moment. I feel like it should be set to music!
Chea, this is beautiful. It reads like a song, and I so relate to this deep love for all things nature. I am awed by your rhyming. “My body is a map of everywhere I’ve been” – that is so awesome.
Chea, it is a wonderful description of your travel findings now rested in your body. I have never thought of my travel that way and now I will.
Chea,
This is beautiful! The imagery, the rhythms and the subtle rhymes and near rhymes, and the musicality of your word choices. So good!
Yes, I especially like your first two stanzas
I went several directions with this, including considering an “untravel” poem inspired by a book celebrating the “great indoors.” I finally landed on travel from the perspective of my car-obsessed dog.
Why do you always spell out C-A-R?
Tuesday afternoon.
You’ve been on Zoom for two hours, and I’m bored.
Why don’t we ever do anything fun?
Wait . . . you’re logging off the computer. Closing the laptop. Standing up.
Do we finally get to play?
Are you . . . are you . . . PICKING UP YOUR CAR KEYS?!?
Oh my goodness! The world is amazing! I will spin and jump and lead you to the door.
The car is around the corner, Mom.
I will stand perpendicular to you so that you trip over me if you don’t turn towards the garage.
It’s here, Mom.
Mom, GO FASTER!!
Maybe if I jump you will get us to the car.
Mommmmm
MOVE!
Woo, we made it! I am on my comfy dog hammock, curled up.
Open the window, please.
I need to stick my head out.
Oh, Sheila.
Visually, the poem is so compelling, with the text featuring caps and exclamation points. I see the one in the line, Mom, GO FASTER!! as little paws reaching up ecstatically.
Hahahaha! I love this. Your dog is so smart and they’re a great excuse to get out! LOL!
Sheila, this is so much fun!!! “Are you…are you…PICKING UP YOUR CAR KEYS?!?” is the best!!!
Minutes after I wrote this poem, said dog woke up from a nap refusing to put weight on his left front paw. He somehow injured his shoulder (said the vet later in the afternoon). But even hobbling on three legs, once he realized we were headed for the car, he jumped and spun and pulled me to the car.
Thank you for a great prompt. Your hand imagery brought the poem to life and gave me a great visual.
Traveling
Recent travel has been far and wide
Trav’ling abroad or staying stateside
From Argentina to Ireland
Some were impromptu, and some were planned
From Connecticut to NYC
To Alcatraz, Rhode Island, DC.
So many amazing trips I took
All by opening up a good book
Oh, Rita, what a lovely turn in the final stanza. This really made me have that aha moment of discovering and an “of course,” which had me running to get a book.
Sarah
Ah! The ending was unexpected and just beautiful! I’ve taken trips like that recently, too. So many amazing places we can find in the pages of a book.
Rita,
When I saw the prompt I immediately thought of Emily Dickinson’s “there is no frigate like a book / to take us lands away.” Now you are here honoring that poem with your amazing verse. I honestly was surprised when I reached the last line, and now I want to know what books you read so I can journey w/ you. I just love this poem.
Rita,
I’m with Sarah–you completely surprised me in that last stanza. Then I had to reread and reconsider the rest of the poem. That was great!
Travelling by Mouse
Every time I’m in a meeting,
I think I should be
a mouse: cut the wi-fi,
unplug the cords, rip out
pages in legal pads and crawl
under my desk like a rodent
looking for a hole in a wall.
I’d burrow in the carpet corner
nibbling my way under base
boards. I’d be able to fold
flesh and fur, sneaking into
seam fissures to the fields.
Then, I think of you, on the
other side of the screen,
the digital space connecting
our eyes, a knowing glance
filtered– we’re boxed in
for now, but I want to be
freed like you. Going now:
my hand floats, mouse
clicking “leave room.”
Sarah—I love this! It took me a second to connect the mice :). I feel the scurry, the tension. “Folding flesh and fur”—my favorite phrase!
Sarah,
I zoomed w/ my mentor from the MTP earlier this week, and even though I love the real face to face, I am grateful to have technology do its part to connect us. I really like thinking about this little mouse scurrying around. The turn caught me by surprise. Clever double meaning of mouse rodent vs. mouse tech. Nice touch with “Leave Room,” which always feels a bit awkward to me.
Can I just steal this and frame it above my desk??? I saw me in this, and I laughed and knew – – no, I’m not the only one who wants to crawl off.
I think I should be
a mouse: cut the wi-fi,
unplug the cords, rip out
pages in legal pads and crawl
under my desk like a rodent
Sarah, I hear you and can relate. I’d rather three face-to-face meetings than one via Zoom or Google Meet. My favorite part of the poem, and the real action:
“Going now:
my hand floats, mouse
clicking “leave room.”
These lines paint such a vivid image of the mouse:
“I’d burrow in the carpet corner
nibbling my way under base
boards. I’d be able to fold
flesh and fur, sneaking into
seam fissures to the fields.”
Priceless!
Oh WOWZA, Sarah — This is soooo good. The mouse, the transformation, slipping “into/seam fissures..” OOOOooo! And then on the other side of the screen…this is a GREAT journey…. “boxed in” so clever. I was with ya on the “clicking ‘leave room’.” Oh my gosh, YES! This is just a journey in itself and so skillfully, artfully concocted! Dandy poem! Hugs, Susie PS you have my permission to “click” anytime you see fit to put. your “eyes” on “the other side.”
Sarah, I can relate to this desire to escape a meeting, and I appreciate the actions you would like to take. I love the final action and the play between a rodent and a computer mouse. I think you really captured the sense of being suffocated with boredom withe the lines: Then, I think of you, on the
other side of the screen,
the digital space connecting
our eyes, a knowing glance
filtered– we’re boxed in
Incredible poem! I’m wondering if you wrote it today during a meeting.
Yes. Yes, I did. Shhh.
Sarah, Boom! This is a wonderful poem. I know that mouse. I desire that mouse. And you captured this mouse…the personification of you onto the mouse made this a wonderful evening read.
Sarah,
This poem is so real. And, of course you wrote it in a meeting!
Dave, what a great prompt this is. And the hand imagery, of your son reaching for your hand as you travel the hand. It’s both sweeping and intimate: a magic trick, if I’ve ever seen one.
I knew which travel I wanted to write about – when I stayed in Sandusky, Ohio as my son was in the hospital there, and how otherworldly it felt being out one morning on a kayak. Not gonna lie: this poem WRESTLED me.
Drifting
A crystal morning
on Lake Erie:
I float,
an island unto myself
among islands,
pondering, amid
turtles and eagles and dragonflies,
how this time,
these moments: they are
breath and sustenance,
and I have
left the world behind, save
the kayak time limit
my son’s hospital visiting hours
phone calls,
phone calls,
and the phone calls:
the moorings
and trappings
of life
I consider
how we are all
archipelago:
islands cultivated
or bridged
or isolated
how the
difference
between being
untethered
and unmoored
is how we feel
about the hand
at the end of our rope.
“how the
difference
between being
untethered
and unmoored
is how we feel
about the hand
at the end of our rope.”
This poem is a journey, but the ending, the destination, is beyond profundity. I keep returning back to it, again and again. Thank you for this soulfelt poem.
Lainie, Oh, I am lingering in the “un” in untethered and unmoored. All the un’s of our lives done by and through these ropes and ropers in our lives. So powerful.
Sarah
Love the images of the poet as “an island unto myself” “all archipelago” and with a “hand at the end of our rope.” Whew
This is beautiful ~ and the ending echoes what I felt when I read Dave’s poem…you are right being untethered and unmoored truly does depend on the hand we hold at the end of our rope. A lovely poem.
I was with you floating adrift with no moorings or trappings then your wisdom brought out my awareness of the hand at the end of my rope.
Hee! We must live in this balance.
Lainie, the feeling of being adrift – – of being untethered, afloat and unmoored. On the one hand it is relaxing, and on the other it feels a bit unnerving. I love your metaphor of the archipelago.
Lanie, I am glad you were able to wrestle this poem out of yourself today. It’s full of longing to embrace the beauty of time by yourself in nature and the way we are pulled by the demands in our life. The metaphor of being an archipelago is brilliant, and your final stanza is incredible. “untethered” “unmoored” and” the hand at the end of our rope” shows the need to be free and our need to hang on. Brilliant piece!
Lainie,
There’s a lot here. The stanza that keeps pulling me back is the “phone calls” one–your repetition of the phrase and the tethering that those phone calls represent. The kayak and the island metaphors are brilliant too, as we find ourselves alone and isolated at the most difficult moments sometimes. This is a really gripping poem. Thank you for sharing this!
Maybe I just
need some
kinda Rick
Steves show
about this
or maybe
a well-thumbed
Rand McNally
atlas that covers
the ins and outs
of the around
100 trillion
bacterial cells
in the gut
microbiome:
I mean, I get it,
“not all who
wander
are lost”
and all that,
but I’m at a loss
and wondering
why I can eat
a Wendy’s
Thin Mints
Frosty one day
with zero problems
or altercations,
a hassle-free
endeavor,
you understand,
but the next, well,
it’s totally a
bum trip.
Literally.
______________________________________________
Dave, thank you for your mentor poem and your prompt and for giving me a chance to travel inward today!
HA! Scott, this is indeed a question for the ages. I loved your wordplay with being “at a loss” framed against the “not all who wander” sentiment. And the “bum trip,” as well.
Can you see me smiling from here?
Oh, Scott. You brought me much needed smiles today and a yearning for that thin mint frosty. The speaker’s voice here is so clever and familiar and a comfort to be to find your poetry to offer me something that is at once expected and unexpected.
Sarah
Ooooohohoho… Scott — How do you do it…make me crack up! Every single time, I am just in stitches. Not that I think those disruptions are funny really, but your telling is a riot. Susie
Scott, Good to read you again…and I love the way you wandered/wondered through microbiomes to Wendy’s Frosty shakes. And the Rand McNally road atlas. I still have mine with all the locations I’ve been highlighted in yellow. Great poem, as usual.
Soooo, I think all I can say is, Safe Travels?
shhhh…
hush.
there are secrets that I know
secrets that you are supposed know too
it is much different than you supposed
a soul is not a traveller tethered to a body
the body a chosen chariot,
in mid-assent- maddening!
charging, charging,
until no electricity is left.
some say starseed—
does that help you understand
purpose?
collapse, crack open
into the fertile forest beds
into freezing tundras
into this planet
bleed
rot
root
resuscitate
to properly travel here
be both
bound and
unbound.
shhh.
hush hush now.
wisdom whispers
time is just gossip
there is not destination
just seeds in the wind
“time is just gossip” – you’ve set this line up brilliantly with the way seeds travel on the wind. And how you distill the cycle of life so well: “bleed / rot / root / resuscitate…” I only wish I had that clarity.
Kacey,
Thank you for the beautiufl text features in the italics and line breaks to guide my eyes and experiences of your words:
I lingered in these lines quite a bit, needing to let them settle in for me. Thank you.
Sarah
Kacey-
I, to, am drawn to the “bleed/rot/root/resuscitate” stanza. So succinct and so well rendered. I love the repeated quietings too, of these whispered wisdoms.
Engaged on Route 66
Road tripping on Route Sixty-Six
History through eight different states.
Service Station in Odell sticks,
Road tripping on Route Sixty-Six
Wedding planning with Odell pics?
John, Lenore say “yes you can!” Fate!
Road tripping on Route Sixty-Six
History through eight different states
©️Jennifer Kowaczek April 2025
Thank you, Dave, for this fun prompt.
I traveled back in time to 2007 when my husband and I set off on a Route 66 road trip, Chicago to LA. He proposed on that trip and we decided a Rt 66 wedding was in order. Now we are part of that great road’s history.
Wow, cool memory! A lovely triolet about your experience. I love the dialogue.
.
What a great poem, and I’m grateful that you included the picture.
You gave me memories of hearing my mom and dad talk about their engagement. They were driving along and my dad just proposed in a “so ya wanna” out of the blue.
I also loved your play with rhyme and rhythm across the lines.
Jennifer — You gave me such a tickle. I live about a baseball throw away from Rt 66 where it passes through St. Louis! I drive on it every single day. If you do the trip again, go to Ted Drewes on Chippewa (Rt 66)…you won’t be disappointed…an anniversary drive is in your future! Susie
Hi Susie! We’ve been to Ted Drewes a few times, but not on that inaugural trip. We are planning to take the drive again Summer of 2027 — twenty year after that first trip. Hopefully with our daughter, but that’s the year she graduates high school.
Love this poem about making history on Route 66.
Thay’s awesome, Jennifer, thank you for sharing the picture! I’ve always wanted to do the Route Sixty-Six trip. You put that idea right back in my head!
Hi Dave,
Wow, traveling memories. Too many options. The first prompt from Verselove 2022 was to write an acrostic and I wrote one about Oman which I think of often and which I’m pretty proud of. I looked back at that and decided to write one about hiking Table Mountain in Capetown a year ago. And that was the last time I hiked.
The Last Hike
“The easiest route”
this was our
Agreement. (I like to hike, he doesn’t.)
Backpack with banana, orange, apple, protein bar, jacket and water in tow
Looked at the trails and Ubered from our Airbnb to the spot.
Eight o’clock start and we weren’t back down til four. Pretty soon into the trail,
Mixtures of landscapes graced our eyes. Panoramic views of cityscapes, mountaintops, cliffs slipping into the coast.
Ocean blues met sky blues: cornflowers, azures, ceruleans, babies.
Up, up, up. At first the incline was gradual (were we on the right track?) but all of a sudden the trail turned into cliffs with chains and footholds we had to climb. I cried at one point.
Now, I have no idea why. I’m like the least emotional person ever. Grip-less shoes came off, shorts ripped. We ran out of food, of water, of energy, of calories, and of hope when we realized it was too windy for the cable car to operate once we got to the top.
“This is not an easy way down” read the sign when we got there.
And that wind was no joke. We clicked some pics, pretended to be happy and prayed it wouldn’t knock us down, although that might have been an easier way to descend.
Is it a memory I’ll never forget? Yes. Would I do it again?
No.
This is the way we went up. (No sign at the start)
I love this acrostic! I especially love that you didn’t limit yourself to one line/sentence per letter. Thank you for sharing this adventure with us.
Thank you for taking us up and down table mountain. So clear why the title is right!
Ha to that final word – although I can’t blame you, after that brutal climb brought you, “the least emotional person ever,” to tears. And, I adore acrostics! You captured the adventure perfectly with this form. I felt like I was watching a survival show – except for real. That sign…I’m amazed you’re here (most thankfully!) to tell the tale! I literally shivered at this point.
Angie,
This is great! And I’ve been there where the only out is not an easy way out, and there’s no going back. Daunting, but it is an accomplishment! You bring us there with you!
Great prompt, Dave. Thank you for sharing it.
Chicago gave my thoughts a pause,
As warm and friendly folks
Reached out to thank and greet my son
And share with him their hopes.
These weren’t the slick and shifty types
The stereotypes had said;
These were kind, and patriots–
Supporting good, well-bred.
His navy uniform made street
Musicians change their tunes
From classic jazz to tunes of love
To faith instead of blues.
As we traveled through that place
‘Tween man-made canyon walls,
Chicago’s heart touched each of us;
The memory still calls.
Never been to Chicago. Hopefully will go someday. You make it sound very nice in ways I’ve never thought of!
The rhythm of this is just perfect and the theme so well-timed. Excellent rhymes and excellent evolution. How can we know anything until it is experienced? Thank you for sharing.
As a chicagoan-ish, I confess this poem makes me smile. I love this city, and the people in it. I’m glad you and your son got the reception you deserved.
These lines: “Musicians change their tunes / From classic jazz to tunes of love / To faith instead of blues” brought me such vivid mental imagery of walking down the streets of Chicago, and the way the buskers interact with the crowd. Gorgeous!
Chicago changed my perspective on big cities forever. Now, I ignore the stereotypes and take the pulse of each city for myself. Most interesting is seeing how each city, like each small town, has its own rhythm, pace, energy, and personality. Unfortunately, suburbs have less uniqueness with so many franchises making them seem too much alike.
Kelley,
I love this! This is a wonderful tribute to a great American city. I’m a visitor in that city whenever I’ve been there and it is a welcoming place with a real sense of itself.
Dave,
Thank you for this prompt on travel. I have been writing a lot of travel essays lately and I love the idea of taking them all and turning them into poetry. I loved hearing about the Isle of Skye. I’m taking my son there this summer and we will have to climb out to fingernail!
Beneath the Cliffs of Céüse
I stand at the Route Des Aubins
High on the mountain pass
Look back to the villages of my
Grandmothers and Grandfathers
Where lies the hat of Napoleon.
Blood runs the river between villages
Where the boys of Ancelle
Were called to the front lines
By Napoleon himself
All died, they say.
Every
One.
Somehow one must have survived
Or escaped
Because my blood runs there too.
I turn my head, look down the twisty road
To sprawling green hills below
Spires stretch up to me
Beckoning
Feet flee to churches
Where my ancestors went to pray
When life was hard
Like it is.
Below me, the city of Gap
Where my cousins live,
Who despite our language differences,
Are my favorite.
They say, Raise your eyes
To the cliffs of Céüse
To all the ones
Who have gone before
Hear them speaking to you.
Find out who you are.
What a powerful and enticing poem with the blood and the ancestors speaking. I especially love the last stanza!
What a great tribute to ancestry and to history. My favorite lines are “Where my ancestors went to pray
When life was hard
Like it is.”
It is easy to forget that all generations have had to struggle, to cope, to continue on and on. This sentiment spoke deeply to me; thank you for sharing.
Emily,
This poem is gorgeous and ethereal. It reminds me of “I’m Flanders Fields.”.” Your words capture how I feel when I travel. History comes alive when we stand in places such as Céüse. The ending is stunning:
“To all the ones
Who have gone before
Hear them speaking to you.
Find out who you are.”
We’re headed to Normandy in a few weeks, and I get emotional thinking about the trip and all who sacrificed their lives on those beaches.
Emily,
The stanza that really gets me is,
“Somehow one must have survived
Or escaped
Because my blood runs there too.”
There is so much history and fate embedded in those lines!
First off, this is SUCH a cool prompt, Dave! Thank you for hosting today!
Flying
In the mountains of Costa Rica
the harness hugged me tight
“Ready?”
a nod
whoosh
belly flops
screams slip
smile widens
Flying.
look down
breathe
absorb
this moment
how lucky
I can do more
than I thought
I felt like I was on a ride at the amusement park. THis was great fun to read. I love your onomatopoetic word–whoosh and your great verb choices.
Ah, lovely Costa Rica and exhilarating experiences. Somewhere I’d love to visit again! Love your short lines that match with the movement of the experience you describe!
This sounds like a fantastic experience. I would love to visit Costa Rica one day and witness the beauty firsthand.
I wish I could do such a thing. Your ending give me hope as I should realize “I can do more than I thought.”
Larin, flying sounds so attractive in your poem! This feels so good:
” whoosh
belly flops
screams slip
smile widens”
We were parasailing once, and it felt similar. Thank you for allowing me to remember this experience.
Larin,
I love the imagery in this–the whoosh–and the felling of expanding boundaries that you evoke.
Angdelmon Gate
Iron gate rusty and frail,
Outside I wait patiently to tell,
My story of a heavenly hell,
Infused with Psychodynamic spells.
Iron gate creaks to let me in,
Is my journey over or is it about to begin?
My hands clasps with righteous sin,
Brahmin’s circle never ends.
As the Grizzly claws my thoughts,
As the Lion paws my faults,
My everything is my naught,
All I have lost…… is all that I have sought.
There is no iron in heaven,
Though the gate is barred with seven,
Upon this cloud, I am threatened,
As one, but two, mirrored as eleven.
There is no rust in hell,
My journey was traveled, unwell,
My story was untold, to tell,
My hellos were only farewells.
This gate a memory of de ja vu,
Where I’ve been, what I’ve been through,
Though I am not me, for I am a memory of you,
Remember me, before you pass through.
The Grizzly resides below,
Beside the Lion, under the Crow,
Far from belief, far from the know,
For the Reaper seams our sew.
I visited this gate many times,
Fraying the conscience of my rhymes,
Dynamically, psychotic I find,
My trips here are only in my mind.
Eleven is one, in spiraled reality,
Still, the rust grants me clarity,
Across the bars I cannot see,
The end of my mortality.
Upon this hellish heaven, I wait,
Mirrored, paused at the gate,
Is it a journey, or is it just fate?
Is it De ja vu, or a just place I create?
-Boxer
This is powerful. I’ve read it over five times now and like most great poetry, still don’t understand it. (Ha.Ha.) Your words invite great thought and reflection. I think the line I linger on is, “Though I am not me, for I am a memory of you, remember me, before you pass through.” If you’re a musician, you should put some of this to music. I really love it.
Holy cow, Boxer — This is a masterfully crafted poem. Intriguing “Angdelman” …what is that? I was moving right along with you though, despite the uncertainties for me. At times this seems so ominous (end of my mortality, the grizzly…lion) and then there’s “rust” that yields clarity. This was a trip indeed! Beautiful word play and architecture. The “De ja vu” is a mysterious mind tripper for me…ignited so many times by weird little mind jolts. A poem that demands just going along for the ride. Fascinating. Susie
Boxer,
I can’t help but think of this as lyrics and I wanna play drums on this song! I’m working through meaning but I love the juxtaposition of dark and light, angel and demon, and the intermingling of opposing forces. And the journey!
Dave, thank you for hosting today and bringing these songs to our ears.
sometimes you have to be that traveler
trevi
stereotypical tourist sans pomp & arrogance
eiffel
if you have the privilege to wander…
ayers
to a town of beauty, history, lore
machu
then you have to visit the typical spots, explore
lady liberty
even if overwhelmed with expansive globetrotters
taj
see what the hype is or was about
yosemite
what drew early vacationists there
david
decide for yourself if these are wonders are worth it
I love that you create a new line for a new place. I have so many great travel memories and so many places to write about and this is a great way to put one line to one place. I once read somewhere that each place can be whittled down to just one word and I often think of that when I travel. But I do have to say that I you might consider giving Yosemite another try off season. (I live near it and go when there aren’t too many people and it can be magical.) I completely related to your line regarding the Eiffel Tower and Trevi, “sometimes you have to be that traveler” Yep.
Stefani, the form of your poem is so intriguing as you insert famous sites between lines. It took me a second to get it, but then I realized, and I enjoyed thinking about how these sites are spread throughout the world and are revered for different reasons. I especially like the line “then you have to visit the typical spots, explore” because seeing those spots is a privilege but a traveller should also explore and see what else they find along the way. Lovely poem!
This poem hops around the world so effortlessly. I’ve been to all but three of them, and I could see the places in my mind. There is an irony in this poem too… underlying the whole thing with people going on vacation to see the sights but not really experiencing the places and people in a more than superficial way. You use words like privilege to to wander to show the better way. Nicely done.
I was thinking about writing about multiple places but couldn’t decide. This is very creative! And I love the subject because sometimes I want to do the things but hate the idea of swarms of tourists. Oh well, yes to the last line! Will go to Taj in a few days.
I love how the famous landmarks and locations pop up between the lines — that was a clever touch and made me think about how I tend to stumble upon these monuments which are difficult to see in large crowds.
I love how a simple word or two in italics provides immediate recognition of a place. Nice contrast to the phrasing.
Stefani,
You’ve named some of my favorite destinations. I still need to see the Taj Mahal. I really like the way you name place in one-word lines.
What clever formatting…to isolate the sites on a line by themselves and to italicize.
Stefani, I love the way the well-traveled markers of place are interspersed with a consciousness of trotters who make their way around the globe. I’m always the guy looking for the sites that nobody wants to see. This was a wonderful variation of the travel poem and the italics does what they should…such a good model for teachers and students.
Stefani,
I love what you do with the marking of places in your one word italics lines. Your longer lines are questioning, but the answer seems to be that we need to get out there and experience these wonders for ourselves.
Dave I really enjoyed your poem — especially with the parallel of the hands both reaching for the sky and each other.
I decided to create an acrostic poem today.
To Be a Traveler! by Erica J
To go as far as I can
roads rolling out before me
air whipping and nudging me forward
venture forth, it seems to say
every destination awaits only me.
let’s go! I cry and open my bank account:
empty of funds and grounding me.
rest assured — I will find a way to go!
Erica, acrostic poems often seem easy but challenge our word placement. I appreciate you acknowledging the bank/empty conundrum of travel…always finding a way. Thank you for sharing.
I completely agree with you about always finding a way! Somehow, despite my usual lack of money, I travel a lot. (Which is likely the reason for my usual lack of money. Haha.) My dad taught me young to use money for experiences instead of things. I also love your line, “roads rolling out before me” Makes me want to road trip which I am doing soon with my family this year- driving route 66!
Erica, I relate to the “bank account / empty of funds”! Oh, if only I had all the time off and funds to go and be a professional traveler…
I can also see and feel the lines “roads rolling out before me / air whipping and nudging me forward”. These lines remind me of some of my travels where the air just seemed to push me along, to keep exploring. Thank you for sharing!
I can relate to the empty bank account! There always seems to be something needed before spending money on travel. I hope you find a way to travel to your dream destinations. Great use of the acrostic format!
Erica,
“I cry and open my bank account” is very real!!!
Oh, Scotland…how I long to return! Thank you so much for this evocative piece this morning, Dave, as well as the invitation to delve into crazy travel memories. Here’s one about a picture I took that I probably shouldn’t have, traveling on an overnight ferry from Italy to Greece with a group of teenagers.
Dark Angels
Bright blue Italian sky overhead–
we pretended to be Jack and Rose on the bow
of the docked ferry
While waiting for departure.
Off in the distance we heard
a loud unmistakable rumbling–
motorcycles, many of them,
advancing in a menacing black horde
toward the vessel.
As they got closer, we noticed
the familiar emblems on their jackets–
Hell’s Angels, the Italian version.
Big, beefy, and scowling,
joining us for an overnight
sail to Greece.
Later, in the bar, we waited for our drinks.
standing behind three muscled angels–
ever-impulsive, I acted on the thought:
“Who would ever believe this? Must
Have photographic proof!”
I pulled out my phone and snapped
a quick picture, hoping to stay
unnoticed. Unfortunately, the
soft “click” of my phone’s
camera echoed through the tiny bar.
Heads whipped around–
my own beefy husband truly
thought he’d met his end,
while I dithered around:
“I don’t know what that noise was!”
Soon, they decided we were harmless–
we quickly grabbed our drinks and ran,
laughing, toward the top deck.
Julie, what a lovely memory and narrative poem. These stories, the unexpected yet often most memorable, is a top reason for anyone to travel. Thank you for sharing the picture as well!
I love a poem that tells a story like this. It makes me want to sit and write all day about my travels. I read once that every story is really about five seconds of an experience. Maybe yours here is about that snap of a camera. Fun! “my own beefy husband truly though he’d met his end” made me laugh.
Julie, this poem made me curious, then scared, then made me laugh! Traveling can give such interesting stories…thank you for sharing this one here!
Julie, first of all, great pic! But what’s even better is the narrative that you weave of this moment. I’m sure everyone who read the poem had a moment that wasn’t exactly this but was close enough to bring that memory back into focus. This is a great vignette that you bring to life!
Dave,
Thank you for a prompt that inspired me to write. I had the opportunity to take a class to London and got to tour The Globe Theatre. Your prompt brought back fond memories.
The Stage
Sitting on a hard wooden bench, packed
Hip to hip, wedged between my husband
and Salli (with an i), a theater teacher from Michigan,
we, collectively, lean forward,
breath caught, listening…
the bench, hard, weathered oak, aged and smoothed
both by the hands of the carpenters and by the bodies
who tour this space, who watch these plays, who hold their breath
listening for that line, for the words.
The promised rain so typical of the London Spring, waits; it, too,
pauses. The blue-gray sky, the clouds, the light that dapples
the stage and the forest of Arden, waits, watches,
looks down through the circular opening of the thatched roof to
the stage that juts into the press of modern groundlings,
brightly clothed, standing close. Teens from the earlier tour
who pushed and shoved and joked and now
wait, all movement paused, heads tilted back and up.
…the actor, steps into our silence, captured by this
“Wooden O” and pauses, posing in his multicolored garments.
Looking at us, he says into the quiet, “All the world’s a stage,
and all the men and women merely players…”
We breathe out as one.
Lost in the words, lost in the scenes, lost in the story
tightly packed on those hard wooden benches
playing our part.
Melanie–I am jealous of this experience! Your words bring it to life so that I can see it!
I loved this stanza–
“the stage that juts into the press of modern groundlings,
brightly clothed, standing close. Teens from the earlier tour
who pushed and shoved and joked and now
wait, all movement paused, heads tilted back and up.”
Modern groundlings… wow.
Melanie, I was feeling the collective action come out in your last stanza–the breathing and the repetition of “lost”! Thank you for sharing today.
Melanie,
Thank you for this closing stanza to invite breath!
Sarah
Melanie, I love everything about this, especially the way the words play to all the world’s a stage and “playing our part.”
It’s nice to get lost in story, and the movement and positioning of people and tilting heads brings the feeling of watching and observing not just the actors on stage, but the part each is playing as an audience.
tightly packed on those hard wooden benches
Melanie, I love the way the last stanza delivers…especially that last line.
We breathe out as one.
Lost in the words, lost in the scenes, lost in the story
tightly packed on those hard wooden benches
Melanie, the build-up, the anticipation, the feel of the venue–you bring us all along with you as we breathe out and fall into those words. What an amazing experience! I’m jealous–my students (and I) only get to do a virtual tour of The Globe. Some day!
Melanie,
So powerful! You put us in that place, on the wooden bench, scrunched in, experiencing literary history. So good!
Dave, your prompt opened my mind to special places I had the privilege of traveling abroad. They were a loooonnnngggg way away, so my poem is a little long, today. Yes, that’s me in the photo taken during a Rotary International Teachers’ Exchange Trip.
Unraveling Traveling
The old and the new
What a view in Europe or in Africa
Maybe these will stir you, too.
Scanning Paris from the summit of the Eiffel Tower
Or straddling the Equator in Uganda
Wondering why you don’t slip off the edge of the globe!
The old and the new in the Louvre in Paris
Or standing with 20th Century teens at Stonehenge
Touring Stratford-upon-Avon, where kids clown around.
Later, sitting to view scenes from plays by the Bard.
Traveling with a tour guide is not so hard.
Watching woodcarvers fashion drums from tree trunks
Or standing with cell phones beneath sprawling Balboa trees
Honestly folks, you may fall to your knees
Holding your nose. Something smells like skunks
Then, stand and snap photos of crinkly elephant trunks
Wow, what we see and experience traveling!
I’ll stop now. You see, I’ve started unraveling!
Maybe this is what happens to you, too.
Flipping through photos you have on view.
Anna, you’ve captured exactly what it is to travel. I love, love, love the blending of old and new (with the Louvre, the teens in historic, centuries old places, on phones during drum crafting). It certainly does feel as if it’s a slip off the edge. I can feel the adventure awaiting!
Anna–a wonderful tour through your photo album, and a little (a lot) of envy on my part!
Anna,
I love the direct address in the final stanza of “you see” to bring the reader proximate to the speaker.
Sarah
Anna — There is a keen joy in your journey here today. I loved thinking of you in all these amazing places, especially in Uganda (great pic) straddling the equator. Ooo! Super! So many wonderful ways to be a part of the world. Susie
Anna, the juxtapositions in your poem–especially between the ancient and the new–are so well rendered! And your photo mirrors that perfectly. On the line between here and there. I’d love to visit all of the places you reference.
Dave, Scotland was our big, most recent adventure. My heart and soul yearn for the highlands. I almost wrote about the bottleneck near catastrophe we witnessed along the Quiraing route (you know, that place which zig-zags and RVs and busses try to pass one another). I envy you and your more recent travels there. Thanks for allowing us to travel from our homes today!
wanderlust
when the earth warms
with a hint of rain
when the sun peeks
earlier than the day before
and lingers longer
I have the urge to wander
and when I am away
I think
there is nothing more needed
than this place
this adventure
and I wish to work solely
to travel
to tread my feet along
new paths
unexplored
but when I return home
I think
there is nowhere more needed
than this place
and I wish to stay grounded
to this earth
to nest inside familiar places
to plant my molecules and
sew my soul to home
and yet
today
there’s a hint of rain
in the air
and the smell of journeying
I love the repetition of “I think.” My favorite lines–the ones I reread multiple times–started with “I think/there is nothing more needed” and ended with “and I wish to stay grounded”. I loved the flow and rhythm of those words and the ideas they captured. It felt so familiar and I loved the beauty of how you phrased it. Thank you.
Jennifer–perfection! The full circle you draw as the love of the journey “to tread my feet/along/new paths/unexplored “moves to the love of home “to nest inside familiar places/
to plant my molecules and/sew my soul to home” and then the hint of rain in the air…
Truth throughout!
Jennifer, I love this so much. You capture my own joy for the adventure of travel… and how I feel when I return. The best part of going away is coming home. I appreciate the simplicity of the structure… that by then end you’ve taken us back to your beginning. I feel like I travelled along.
Jennifer,
You touch on the paradox of travel: the desire to go and to return. We need both, don’t we? I share your desires so eloquently expressed in these lines:
“I wish to work solely
to travel
to tread my feet along
new paths”
Ken and I have been talking about travel to Scotland again since we were on a tour last time and only saw part of the Isle of Skye. We’ll rent a car next time.
Jennifer — You absolutely captured what happens to me when I travel. I love being out there and soaking up the sensory explosion of a place new to me…breathe it in and hold that inside your lungs. But then…there’s home. No comparison. However, I never am able to quit grabbing that “hint of rain” and off I go. Wonderful poem. Resonates for perfectly. Perfect final 5 lines. Hugs, Susie
Jennifer…you describe the wanderlust pull so well that I smell the hint of rain and feel restless. Yet… these are the lines I absolutely adore:
I think
there is nowhere more needed
than this place
and I wish to stay grounded
to this earth
to nest inside familiar places
to plant my molecules and
sew my soul to home
-it is like you sing the song of my own heart. I don’t know if it’s because I’m growing older or what (or maybe that I have a secret desire to be a hermit?) but I am happiest just being at home. Love, love this poem.
Yes! Like the waves, crashing onto shore and pulling back – – the ever ebbing and flowing of the tides, this travel fever. There is a word for it. Resfeber. I am with you – – the urge to go, the need to return. Sometimes it even happens to me on a local level. I have the urge to get out and go to the Ace Hardware and look at the plants. Then, ten minutes into the excursion, I’m ready to be back home. What in the world??? Do you have that, too?
Jennifer,
So many cycles of longing and experience and comfort are explored in your poem. I definitely feel the tension of longing for home while also reveling in the newness of a different place. The imagery of the rain and the longer days are doing good work in your poem.
and I know that road! We were off season, so the botlenecks weren’t a hazard, but I could imagine!!!
Dave— thank you for taking me to the Isle of Skye with you and your son. I can feel that cold wind…. I mostly travel to visit relatives, so my travel is generally people-centric. But thinking of travel reminded me of my Aunt Rose. She lived into her nineties and I often went to visit my great-grandmother and her in their little house. When Grandma Keopka died at 100, I helped clear out the house. What I found made me cry…
Aunt Rosa
She was the dutiful daughter
Youngest girl-child of German immigrant farmers.
She never married. cared for her parents until they passed,
then moved in with brother Johh to “help him out”,
then my great-grandmother, Emma Keopka.
I barely knew my great-great Aunt Rose.
She was quiet, a shadow of her vibrant sister.
A small round woman saying little, smiling and rocking.
smiling, rocking…
She was a seamstress, a weaver, a sister, a housekeeper…
the plain spinster sister, relegated to rocking quietly.
A part of our family, but never at the center.
She owned a Model A when women did not.
She recorded her family’s life on the farm with her early box camera.
It is hard to find a photo of her.
She sewed “large men’s wool suits”, according to receipts I found.
She made wonderfully heavy quilts from the scraps.
What were her dreams?
She moved from house to house as each emptied.
She never traveled more than 50 miles from where she was born.
She smiled and rocked and listened to our conversations.
When we cleaned out the old house,
I found a box in the attic, marked, simply, “Rosa”
It was filled with travel brochures,
Destinations never seen.
Trips not taken, except in her heart.
Faded folds of possibilities,
A sad cardboard box of hopes and wishes.
You never traveled more than fifty miles from your home.
What else did you dream of, Aunt Rose?
Gayle Sands
4/4/25
Gayle, your words always make me feel connected to you, there’s a truth and an understanding of people that you express so easily (or at least it seems so). I wonder how many have dreams folded into boxes, hidden inside souls. What a strong person your Aunt Rosa must have been. Beautiful poem!
What an amazing description of Rosa/Aunt Rose. I thought the repetition of “smiled and rocked” was so powerful. I felt very connected to her and to you as I read this poem. The last two stanzas were a powerful punch after the description of how deeply she cared for those around her. What a tribute.
Gayle, what a beautifully eloquent poem to honor your Aunt Rosa. Your narrative about her here paints such a brief yet thoughtful picture of her. Makes me intrigued to know more of her. I hope she found joy in being with her family, but your line “What else did you dream of, Aunt Rose?” makes me wonder about the complexities of her dreams and her day-to-day life. Thank you for sharing this thought-provoking poem about her!
Love the images of her smiling, rocking, listening, and dreaming. Also the stark image of her moving “from house to house as each emptied.” Thank you for bring her alive for us.
Gayle — This is absolutely beautiful and intriguing. I love the “faded folds of possibilities” and yet so melancholy. The pic is really wonderful. So many women live/lived theses lives of quiet imaginations…the things that women could not do, but in their minds they did so much more than we know. Heck that Model A says it all…this gal had some incredible trips, even if in faded folds. What a wonderful woman. You are lucky to be connected to such a woman. Just think, she’s a genuine piece of you! Hugs, Susie
What a great photo and tribute to Aunt Rosa – of a generation that might not have believed that they had interesting lives. But they did. I am reminded of a story about my great-grandmother who took a bus trip from rural eastern NC to VA to visit her son (my grandfather) and his family, in the 1940s. He’s gone to work in the city and she’d never been out of the state before. I find your question so compelling, after finding Aunt Rosa’s travel brochures – what else did she dream??
Gayle, this is the line for me, “Faded folds of possibilities,” especially after highlighting so much AMAZING from one individual, only to see what was sacrificed to do for so man others. Love this writing.
Oof, this poem is powerful! Gayle, there is so much to think about in the dreams unrealized that your poem illuminates. And there is so much in your poem that is familiar. It makes me think about my grandmother, and her immigrant family, her 8 siblings, and the hardships they shared and the distinct paths that they followed, as well as the secrets they kept. Your Aunt Rosa sounds like a remarkable woman; this is a fitting remembrance!
Travels When I Sleep
As I am drifting off to sleep
I begin my journey through time
And there I see a lady weep
In prayer waiting for signs
She weeps for her girl, her baby
And the future that will be her fate
She weeps for abused hauteur
She weeps for the sword soon to sate
I approach her with words of sorrow
I tell her my traveling tale
I cannot change her morrow
Against her future she cannot rale
But I can offer her heart some solace
I can help put her mind at ease
Her daughter will drink from a chalice
All her hopes and dreams appeased
Her child will be called The Virgin Queen
And will rule o’er all the land
No man will be able to stay her mean
She’ll take England to heights so grand
Her mother won’t be forgotten
Showered with pride she shall be
The love of her child begotten
Will change England’s history
This is great, Judi. I love sleep traveling, too. Your form fits your subject so well, and I’m a little jealous of your mad rhyming skills here!
Judi, I love your title and this dive into history to show a life and the difference it will make. You’ve captured a time when duty and swords were commonplace, and how you show that even in history, a mother will weep and hope for their children. Loved your lines “But I can offer her heart some solace
I can help put her mind at ease”
Gorgeous dream narrative poem!
Hi Judi,
I love the narrative of the poem and elevated style. Your poem leans into the history of the English monarchy and, indeed, it is the fodder of dreams! The tension of fate and the fight for autonomy is palpable in your poem.
Dave, I simply adored your poem and appreciate the topic today. I retrieved a memory and its my inspiration today.
The First Soar
Living near LAX, planes were always in my orbit
the sounds of the engines often lulled me to sleep
imagining where they originated helped me learn
about states and countries.
At age 4, I flew with little know Church teenagers to
St. Louis to meet my cousins and uncles (Dad’s family)
The loudness of the mechanisms fascinated me
lift-off and the roar of the engines thrilled me
I released the anxiety and took flight wearing my
wing pin and watching the cotton candy
from the window.
Yet, after an hour or so, worry began to set in.
I noticed we were above the clouds
and appeared to be climbing higher.
My Sunday School lessons kicked in and
I feared yet anticipated seeing God sitting on his
throne with cherubs flying around playing harps.
I worried that we were about to see someone
who is supposed to remain hidden until the ultimate end.
A flight attendant graciously stopped, crouched down
soothed my fears and gave me a mini science lesson
about aviation and layers of clouds.
Then she supplied some candy
and I was satisfied and relieved.
Seana,
Whew! That must have been terrifying for a 4 year old. You capture that mindset we have when we’re young and trying to make sense of things, as we encounter something new. You describe the mixed emotions of fear and wonder as a 4 year old going back to the biblical imagery of Sunday School. The real angel was that flight attendant!
Seana, you so captured the way a child’s mind works –
I worried that we were about to see someone
who is supposed to remain hidden until the ultimate end.
At that age, the imagined is real, as is the fear.Thank heaven for the attendant, who took the time time to teach. Not to mention the candy! She knew exactly what to do.
Dave,
Thanks for bringing back such great memories. Love how all the hand images culminate in
Excited to see where everyone goes today!
Safe travels everyone!
Our Crew
We drank hot orange on the top of the mountain
We took the local train instead of the express
We listened to Mack tell us about the Drake Kendrick feud
The turtles, iguanas and sea lions swam with us
Sharon,
This is a great snapshot of a poem. I love the repeated structure of the first three lines and then the wonder of swimming with the wild creatures in the last line, their journeys intersecting with yours.
drinking, riding the train, listening, and swimming. All of this with rich imagery in a mere four lines – – I love that you took the local train instead of the express – – a better glimpse of the place.
Just four lines and I feel like I was there i this exotic place – oh, to swim with the turtles, iguanas, and sea lions!
Sharon, I love the contrasts you’ve set up here: “the local train instead of the express” and the social media nowness of “the Drake Kendrick feud” in contrast to the natural world of “turtles, iguanas and sea lions [swiming] with [you].” Thank you for crafting and sharing this!
Dave, what a compelling invitation. Your poem is alive with sensory detail, so much so that I am there, listening to the guide, seeing the comparison of the scenery to the hand, and feeling the sting of wind and sleet. Then the hand of your son leading you onward to the sun…layer of magnificence, to the last awesome line. These iamges will stay in my head.
I went with the first thing that came to mind – not exactly short in length, although the lines are. Thank you for this today- we will all be seeing and experiencing many things we never have before!
East Coast Train Ride
We board
and after
an interminable wait
the train pulls away
from the station
at the next stop
a large woman climbs in
with three small kids
and a giant yellow bag
of BoJangles chicken in tow
we will smell the bones
for the next sixteen hours
at sunset
a woman in hijab
leaves her seat
to spread her mat
by the door
here she prostrates
palms, knees, toes,
forehead and nose
to the floor
in prayer
the night, the night—
so slow
so long
hours and hours lost
in layovers
somewhere in
the haze
of not sleeping
and not being awake
a person might appreciate
a reprieve from the backsides
of towns along the tracks
dismal places
neglected, graffitied
trashed
cast off like bones
was there ever anything
living or beautiful or welcoming
there
but when the darkness
lessens to gray
and then to silver
there in the eastern windows
as far as the eye can see
a seashore stretches,
glimmering in
the first pinkening light
—Where are we?
mumbles my husband
Providence, I think
and with that whisper
stiff and weary to my bones
I know
the whole thing
is worth it
Fran,
love how you give us all the details so we are traveling, weary and then joyous, along with you. I like the repetition and variety of poems and the echoes of prayer and Providence. Definitely
Thanks for bringing is along.
The woman praying on the train will stick with me.
Fran, the structure of your poem–long, lean lines–mimic the tracks of the train and the length of the journey. I’m reminded of the time I boarded a train in Toronto, heading to Montreal, and a family brought a picnic lunch, complete with buttered corn on the cob, wrapped in foil, fried chicken, the works. I was amazed at the ease with which they ate these messy foods, throughout the journey. And yet, as you remind us, the inconvenience, the foreign-ness, the discomfort, is always worth it.
Fran,
This is a beautiful slice of life poem. The detailed vignettes put me on the train, I can practically smell the chicken bones, and the commentary about the backsides of towns passed (and I can’t help but think of the need for relief from the backsides that we sit on for long trips!) speak of forgotten and neglected places. There’s so much in the world that isn’t visible to most of us as we rush through our lives. Thanks for this poem!
I love the sensory images you create on this long journey, particularly the Bojangles chicken for 16 hours. You’ve done a great job of capturing the heavy feeling of traveling for so many hours.
I love your line breaks and stanza divisions! I feel like I am on the train with you!
Oooh, stations and people and the recurring motif of bones! Love that last line – – travel is worth it, seeing the world and bearing witness to the ways we live. Prayers. Providence. Love these repeating words.
Fran,
Im fascinated by your descriptions. I think I’ve only been on an AmTrack journey once. One of the best times I’ve had was on a train in Europe in 2017. Then in 2019 we traveled gia train in eastern Europe two weeks, and I loved it. Of course, those uncomfortable treks to a place, whether by train, car, ferry, or plane are worth it. I echo these lines in my mind:
“and with that whisper
stiff and weary to my bones
I know
the whole thing
is worth it”
Fran, I’m smelling the bones in Connecticut. Bojangles. Can’t make it up.
Fran, I love how you show the journey was well worth it. I could feel that in between state of trying to sleep but not really sleeping when one is traveling and uncomfortable. I especially enjoyed the specific details, smelling the chicken bones and then how you tied that into the dismal places. Your final lines are uplifting.
I have a trip to Scotland planned for late August. I want to pack your poem with me. It’s filled with such longing and hope and love. Hand in your son’s hand is such a wonderful image to pair with the tour guide’s words.
I woke really early this morning, not able to go back to sleep, my mind took me on a tour of the places I’ve been in the last few years.
Make it Happy
In the early morning
when the sun has yet to rise,
my mind wanders to where
my body wishes to be–
I kick off the blankets
pinning me in, kick out
to break free
to jump onto a zip line
over the rainforest of Costa Rica,
to sip the cool mountain air
of the North Pacific,
to rock on a boat, untethered,
drinking in the spray of Niagara Falls.
Where ever you go,
Make it happy.*
*The words on the pen I used to write this poem.
I love the image of you jumping onto a zipline! Those words from your pen and from your pen…perfect.
And so the poet finds inspiration everywhere – even in words on a pen! I, too, travel in my mind – I could feel the exhilaration of every place you mention. And I savor your reminder to savor these experiences.
Margaret,
You need to sell t-shirts with the phrase “Wherever you go, Make it happy.” I love that! All of the imagery of freedom–soaring on ziplines and the air and mist of cool waters–are a call to live fully.
I think I want a t-shirt now……Wherever you go, make it happy!…..what a great philosophy and mindset – – to choose to take action to make it happy. Can I go in your suitcase to Scotland???
Such a great prompt, Bryan! And I am so intrigued by your mentor poem that I’m getting read to go down a rabbit hole to find out more.
We visited wonderful places in Georgia over Spring Break. Poetry becomes a travelogue.
The Hostess with the Mostess
The Old Town Trolley
with its bold green and yellow
open-air look,
does the work for us …
rumbling down the streets
and cobblestones
fighting the trafffic
and walkers
and one-ways
while its driver
shares history and stories.
The 22 squares
so wisely planned by James Oglethorpe
are the most intriguing and beautiful
part of the town (though its population
clearly makes it city,
it surely has the quaint, familiarity
of a town).
Green space with stately live oaks
draped with Spanish moss
intended to blend classes
rather than
segregate.
Its coastal placement
made it vulnerable and vital
during the struggle for
independence and
the bloodbath for
states rights.
Ghosts remain
everywhere.
Places of worship
representing many
denominations roost
ubiquitously with
Congregation Mickve Israel
and Cathedral Basilica of St. John the Baptist
towering mightily.
The many museums
and the prevalent
influence of art,
including SCAD buildings
scattered throughout
offer a feast for
the culture-loving.
Foodies flock for
a culinary scene
worthy of its own
Food Network series.
Savannah…
a feast for the eyes,
a banquet for the heart.
I want to move there.
~Susan Ahlbrand
4 April 2025
Susan, I see we both were thinking of Savannah today! All of my children were born there, and one still lives 15 minutes away, so we go back to the area often. I am there at every turn with you – – the squares, the restaurants, the riverfront. Did you visit Flannery O’Connor’s childhood home? If not, add it to your return trip list. And call me when you come down – – I’ll meet you there and show you my favorite shoe store right behind City Market and we’ll get pralines and rose petal ice cream! This is lovely, just lovely. And you know the Azaleas are in full bloom right now…..
I was kicking myself in the shower for not putting anything about the azaleas. Great minds. I will say, though, that the azaleas on Saint Simons were more amazing. I would love to have you as a tour guide on a future trip!!
Susan – we can tour there too – -that’s where I grew up, and Dad has talked of nothing but the beauty of the azaleas this week. Come hither! I’ll show you around, friend! We’ll kayak Gould’s Inlet, too.
Hi Susan,
Okay, that settles it, between your poem and Kim’s poem, I HAVE to visit Savannah. Rumbling trolleys and oaks draped in Spanish moss–you’e painted a detailed and idyllic vision of the city.
I love the idea of poetry as travelogue–at the Furious Flower conference in the Fall, Glenis Redmond talked about (and read from) the collection that she wrote based on visiting state parks with her grandchild. A wonderful way to document her journey!
Oh, Dave…Glenis is one of my faves and the person who got me started writing poetry during her two separate PD stints in our corporation.
Susan,
If I were to live in Georgia, which I’m not, I’d choose Savannah, too. Reading your poem returned me to a road trip w/ my sister a few years ago. I love all the specific details about the city you included.
Ah, Savannah! I can feel your love for it all the way through. My sister-in-law loves it so much she named her chocolate Lab Savannah. Love your ending lines so much.
Dave, thank you for hosting us today and inspiring us to go places! When I came to the word wee, my sound bite in my ear immediately flipped to Hagrid’s voice as the tour guide and then I was all set, right there with you! I was recently in Savannah visiting my grandchildren, and this memory came to mind: eating my favorite ice cream made from rose petals at Leopold’s. Wish I were there now.
Sisterhood of the Southern Sweet Tooth
there we were, so sassy
Magnolia Mae and I
eating rose petal ice cream
at Leopold’s in Savannah, Georgia
Magnolia Mae and I~
grandmother and granddaughter
at Leopold’s in Savannah, Georgia
of the Sisterhood of the Southern Sweet Tooth
grandmother and granddaughter
sharing a spoon and a knowing smile
of the Sisterhood of the Southern Sweet Tooth
Georgia girls with flowery style
sharing a spoon and a knowing smile
eating rose petal ice cream
Georgia girls with flowery style
there we were, together
Kim,
this is sweet in more ways than one.
will stick with me.
Kim,
I love the refrains in your poem tying this sweet narrative together. I can practically taste the rose petal ice cream! Luckily, good ice cream is one of the perks of central Pennsylvania, but I think I may need to put Leopold’s on my liist of places to visit!
Oh, this poem touched me! The refrain–Magnolia Mae and I–lovely! As a fellow Georgia girl, I fell into the very Southern rhythm of the narrative, the flow of the language and I was swept back into the sounds of my childhood. I love the repetition of lines and phrases–such a part of southern storytelling–that create such a beautiful snapshot. Just beautiful. Thank you.
Frame this!
Kim,
Fabulous title. Savannah is a lovely city, idyllic in its southern charm. Wonderful repetition in your poem reinforces your ice cream desires. I read your comment to Susan. She did your city proud w/ her poem, I think.
Oh, Kim — Precious! I loved the repetitions. The images of you two, “the Sisterhood of the Sweet Tooth”…great! Magnotia Mae — what a name! Just so …so… southern! I loved the sense that these two share a priceless moment and what better than something concocted out of rose petals! LOL! Love it! Susie
Wait – what? Rose. Petal. Ice. Cream??!?? Is Leopold’s still there? Because now it is NECESSARY that I try this! This is a lively and rich pantoum that flows flawlessly, like Southern conversation. Count me in as an honorary member of the Sisterhood of the Southern Sweet Tooth! By the way… you know my Scout’s middle name is Magnolia, right? Sisterhood, indeed! Oh how I treasure this poem.
I’m loving “Georgia girls with flowery style.”
Love this pantoum, Kim. The sweetness of sharing ice cream and the shared joy is striking. I’ve never heard of “rose petal ice cream” but that flowery style shines through this poem. Pure joy shared! Love the title, too! Gorgeous and fun!
Kim, ah! This is a pantoum (thank you Barb–I couldn’t remember which poem held this pattern). The repeated lines land so naturally and create a rhythm that strengthens the memories you share (I always feel like I’m forcing the lines when I follow this pattern). I am captivated by the ice cream and imagine it to be served in pastel bowls (L’Auduree style).
Thank you Dave. So much great imagery here but the one line that pulled my heartstrings is your son taking your hand and leading you up the path toward the sun. I could feel the warmth of that moment that will carry you further than that day.
Having just returned from a trip with just my adult kids (no grandkids this time) this was an easy task. My draft…
In a foreign land
We found ourselves
With new sights
Fresh ways of understanding
Delightful and novel dishes
And memories galore
Yet what I’ll recall is
the gift of
the laughter
the joy
the smiles
and this precious time
together
The moments. The memories. Togetherness, the full presence that we don’t get anywhere else until we go traveling with those we love. Your poem brings the heart and soul of family. I can hear the laughter.
Yes, Christine, those gifts of time spent together are the real jewels. That second stanza is what it’s all about!
“Fresh ways of understanding” That’s the best part of travel after making memories with the people you go with. Very nicely done.
Hello 5 am writers! Thank you, Dave for your inspiration and poem. The title, “Touch the Sky” perfectly leads into the place of the Isle of Skye and the fingers for sense of touch. Really well done.
On Saturday, I went to an art center for the launch of a new novel in verse, One Step Forward, by Marcie Flinchum Atkins. My review is here: https://awordedgewiselindamitchell.blogspot.com/
In one of the studios I came across this installation by Ying Zhu that completely captivated me. The title is ‘BAA to Eye’ and it sent me on a journey.
Upon Seeing BAA to EYE
By Ying Zhu
and lo, a cloud burst
of all letters of all words
tumbled from above
unspoken and broken
unhinged from syntax, context
a torrent of babbel
the people, struck dumb
with wonder and fright looked to
birds for rescue
Thanks, Dave.
Kevin
On paper, at least,
a travel itinerary’s
flawlessly built
on possibilities:
a leap in
imagination
of side alleyways,
riverside wanderings,
museum galleries,
shops and eateries,
and a language
to wrestle your tongue
into submission
Those are the most interesting places…side alleyways and riverside wanderings. I’m in!
I love thinking about the itinerary that’s filled with possibilities and a leap of imagination. This is my vision of travel!
You’re speaking my language here, this travel itinerary and all the plans. You speak of the dilemma I have – – I want to see it all AND I want it to be relaxing. Hence the exhaustion….
Hi Kevin,
Thank you for kicking things off this morning. I love the idea of itineraries “built on possibilities”–that really captures the wonder of planning a trip. And your last metaphor of wrestling your tongue into submission is perfect!
Kevin,
I am swimming in the phrase “riverside wanderings” !
Sarah
Kevin — “a language/to wrestle your tongue/into submission” — dang… terrific imagery. Susie
I love that “On paper, at least…” And I kinda love that the perfect itinerary often also gets “wrestled …into submission.”