Welcome to Day 4 of the June Open Write. If you have written with us before, welcome back. If you are joining us for the first time, you are in the kind, capable hands of today’s host, so just read the prompt below and then, when you are ready, write in the comment section below. We do ask that if you write, in the spirit of reciprocity, you respond to three or more writers. To learn more about the Open Write, click here.
Our Host
Angie Braaten has been teaching English Language Arts since 2013. She started her teaching career in Louisiana for five years, then moved overseas and taught in Bangladesh and Kuwait. Her overseas experiences have opened her mind in ways that may have never happened if she had stayed in the states. She has experience teaching grades 6-11 but her favorite would probably be 8th, a grade that will always hold a special place in her own heart, for reasons you will learn in her poem today! She is grateful for this community of writers who have taught her so much and to have monthly opportunities to write, read, and share poetry.
Inspiration
Billy Collins’ “On Turning Ten” reflects on the speaker’s thoughts about turning a certain age. I read this poem for the first time earlier this year and added it to the lineup in my poetry unit. I think it is a great mentor text for students who want to reflect on the age they are, an age they were, or even to think about a future age. And I think it’s a great mentor text for us here as well.
Process
- Think about what age you want to reflect on today.
- It can be the age you currently are, it can be an age you were a long time ago.
- You can add in differences between the age and younger ages, like Collins does.
- Maybe you have a birthday coming up or just experienced one which may inspire the poem.
- Maybe you want to write a poem about an age in the future.
- Or, maybe you want to write from the perspective of someone else and about how you think they feel being that age.
- Make a list of feelings associated with this age and try to add in details about different things experienced during this age.
Form
- For form, it would be cool to connect the form with the age number.
- For example, if you choose 10, you could write an etheree
- If you choose 14, you could write a sonnet.
- If you choose 20, you could write a 20 Questions poem.
- If you choose 50, you could write a blitz!
- Most of the students I taught this year were thirteen and I suggested they try out a trimeric, a cool form to try.
As always, feel free to write a poem about whatever your heart desires today.
Angie’s Poem
On Turning Fourteen (a sonnet dedicated to Hailey Medeiros)
Fourteen: an age of importance for me
thanks to my beacon, my English teacher,
Ms. Medeiros. You led me through the sea
of eighth grade and weren’t just a preacher.
You were the one who inspired me to
become an English teacher myself. I
don’t care to know who I would be if you
weren’t you with a light that shined so bright.
You introduced me to this poem’s form
and taught me how to write well instead of
just giving me an “A”. When I performed
as a bully, you hit me with hard love.
Here’s fourteen lines of appreciation
for your influence and navigation.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. For suggestions on how to comment with care. See this graphic.
A day late, but thanks Angie for the fun prompt.
On Turning Fifty,
Wow, turning fifty came in a flash
Each year that has passed helped to
Mold me
Educate me
Strengthen me
Encouraged me
Build me
Into the woman I am
The forty-nine years that came before
Have had their downs and ups as life is not perfect
Turning fifty was a blessing and will continue to be celebrated all year
DeAnna,
What a wonderful perspective on your life! Nice poem!
Thank you for writing, DeAnna!
“turning fifty came in a flash” yes I think it will come that way for me too which is sad but this is definitely true too: “Turning fifty was a blessing”. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about this milestone!
DeAnna, welcome to Club 5-0! I have five more months in the club and then it’s Club 6-0 for me! I love the power and confidence your 49 years built!
Enjoy this wonderfully freeing decade! 🥳
DeAnna, thanks for sharing this ode to 50. There’s such a sense of gratitude about getting older.
A day late but thinking about turning….
Turning
Turning
One year to the next
Always changing
Another year older.
When I was 10
I was so excited.
Double digits
A brand new me.
I woke up eager
Ran down the stairs
Only to fall halfway down
And sprain my ankle.
Foot bandangd
Up on ice
I ate my cake
They gathered around
And sang to me.
I closed my eyes
Made a wish for
A brand new me!
Joanne,
Glad I am not the only one who post today.
Turning double digits such a big deal, sorry you sprained your ankle on your birthday.
Whoa crazy story, Joanne. I can feel the movement throughout the poem which expresses your pure excitement for your birthday but ended with an unfortunate injury! I’m thinking of this poem and the one you wrote for the next prompt and know you probably still enJOYed the heck out of your birthday anyway! 🥳
Hello Angie, thank you for your prompt today, sorry I’m getting this to you so late. I’m actually posting a second time because I thought of more I wanted to add.
Turning 5!
Many birthdays I have had,
38 to be exact, but 5 I remember,
At a place called Show-biz pizza (now Chuckie Cheese),
A boyhood crush saved my balloon,
My night in shining armor until he moved . . .
Pizza, Cake, Ice cream,
Presents, cards, and bows,
Loud music and games were abundant,
Coins go in, tickets come out,
The ball pit drowns out my shouts . . .
I wore my prettiest dress that day,
So that I might impress my friends,
It was all about me on that day,
I couldn’t believe the day had finally arrived,
My birthday! I felt so alive!
Oh, yay! I’m glad you came back to write more Maegan! Love that you went all the way back to 5 and “Show-biz pizza” – mine was Mr. Gatti’s that just doesn’t exist anymore. I love the positivity in your memories. What a great time in life! Thanks for writing! 🙂
Hello Angie, thank you for your prompt today, sorry I’m getting this to you so late.
Turning 5!
Many birthdays I have had,
38 to be exact, but 5 I remember,
At a place called Show-biz pizza (now Chuckie Cheese),
A boyhood crush saved my balloon,
My night in shining armor until he moved . . .
On Turning 40
The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I’m cresting a hill
maybe Elmhurst Drive
when I was 10.
No turning back
too steep for spindly legs
and inexperienced bicycle balance
but the only way home.
So I’ll pause at the top.
Let me rest here and take stock:
My first decade took a century.
I was in fourth grade for 10 years, I swear.
The next also took its own sweet time.
Didn’t Mr. Brochart’s English Lit lecture last
at least five hours?
And my twenties: College was a lifetime in itself.
But then I graduated
bought a car
met Dan
married him six months later
(which to a 23-year-old feels like years)
had a baby
and a baby
and (almost) a baby
and the decade was over.
When I think of my thirties
I hear the Doppler effect:
years rushing toward me
then past:
…babies BABIES FARMING farming…
Did I even see it?
And now I am at the top
of my life’s halfway hill
looking over my shoulder
before I race down
Elmhurst Drive
no going back
only speeding
faster
faster
forward.
Oh, Allison. I love that you started the same way Collins does. And starting with the hill from your childhood and ending with the metaphorical hill, so good. I like your use of time in this. 4th grade lasting 10 years, 5 hour lectures, 6 months feeling like years LOL!! Then how one day everything just seems to speed up! Crazy. Hearts to your “(almost) baby” 🤗 Thanks for writing this beautiful, reflective poem.
Allison,
I loved the creativity of the Doppler stanza. You know you saw something, but didn’t get a real good look at it, especially as it goes by so fast in retrospect. It could almost be a poem style in and of itself.
I like how you catch your breath to take stock before speeding down the hill. Reminds me of a moment or two the night before before a family vacation.
Angie! THIS LINE:
When I performed
as a bully, you hit me with hard love.
Your use of “performed” adds layers of meaning/questions. Your openness is contageous.
Thanks, Allison! 🙂
Angie, I spent the whole day thinking back to certain years and what was going on then. Thank you for the prompt, and your students are lucky to get so much poetry exposure.
I ended up writing about a bad time. But bad times bring positive changes. And I kinda used the trimeric approach.
Twenty-eight
and we’re not alone no more
we’re pulling new weight
with a heart that’s torn
we’re not alone
when she’s in the bathroom
doing god knows what
not pulling our new weight
as we struggle
to make it all seem alright
and our heart is torn
from stretching it
to it’s limits
next year life begins
MDD–
Your use of this form created a tugging, a re-circling. The lines seem to echo repeated attempts to make sense of loss. “Our heart is torn” was especially powerful to me as I imagined the shared “one heart” of “our” torn by two/in two. Your poem invites me to revisit my own loss(es) that has/have, ultimately, led to growth.
Thank you.
Michael, thank you for allowing us to take part in a difficult time. And thanks for trying out the trimeric form! I love how you switch up the words just a bit each time.
“not pulling our new weight
as we struggle
to make it all seem alright”
I can only imagine what you had to endure, maybe with siblings?, at this time. I’m glad positive changes occurred as a result.
Mike, this poems seems so profound and deep! It makes me wish I knew you at 28, I loved the ending line “Next year life begins,” essentially starting a new year!
Eighth grade!! I worked with seventh and eighth graders last year, and I’m teaching eighth grade next year, which I’m so excited for. Middle school is such a tender time and my favorite age to work with. I chose to write about eleven, the beginning of middle school for many. I really love Sandra Cisneros’s short story “Eleven,” too, which inspired me. Just for fun, I’m also attaching a picture of my at age eleven with a cake themed like The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster.
On turning
Eleven. Silly awkward number can’t be divided,
Standing 1 1 between CapriSuns and illicit sips of beer
Can’t fit my age on my fingers anymore,
Can’t hold up a toe so that method has to go
My mom doesn’t know when I’ll get my period
I’m offered mascara in the bathroom and it feels like
I’m being offered drugs, the way she tilts it toward me, asks,
“you want some?”
I want to go home, or be sixteen
I am scared of being sixteen but I think once I’m there
It will all be fine
You have caught the essence of eleven here! “I want to go home, or be sixteen.” Oh, my goodness…
You absolutely nail that awkward, fun time that is 11!
This is great, Shelby. You’ve really captured 11. That second line is just perfect. The mascara lines are a hoot. Thanks for the pic, too!
I remember the feeling of being offered mascara and it felt like it was something so illicit. Then there was the period. Scared because no one knew when it would come or how. Yes, you captured 11 quite well.
Shelby!! Phantom Tollbooth cake?!? That’s awesome. I’m pretty sure I was the same age when I read that book – 5th grade. From the toes, to the period, to the mascara drug interaction. I laughed and remembered many of the same things. Thanks for sharing!
It has been a long couple of days, so I didn’t have the brain power to do as much marinating on the prompt as I’d like, but it was fun thinking back to my 17-year-old self.
On Turning…Seventeen
On turning seventeen I was sure I knew
what I wanted to do with my life–
but distractions lead me on diverse paths.
It took a while, until I was just past twenty,
to find my way back past the clatter of life
to the noisy career of teaching.
Decisions between and after have been
suspect, challenging, and surprising,
but not once have I regretted my job choice.
Seventeen is a great age, but I wonder how many of us really know what we want to do with our lives then. Sometimes the clatter of life is necessary, don’t you think?
Cara, I’m glad you didn’t stray away from the teaching path for long. It’s excellent to not regret a career choice. My first half a year was rough, but it’s been great ever since!!
Cara, I echo your lack of brain power, this has been a very trying week and it’s only Tuesday! But I loved your description of knowing what you wanted in life but having distractions along the way, I think everyone can relate to that! Thank you for the relatable poem, it really got me thinking.
Cara, I like that you chose seventeen, the age of many of our students. It’s an age full of big life decisions. At the precipice of adulthood, it’s subject to distractions, winding roads, and challenges. Thanks for taking me back.
Cara,
I am so glad you made it to your job choice of teaching. You have helped guide and encourage so many students over the years. You even managed to put up one of mine.
I really enjoyed your line “to find my way back past the clatter of life” as the clatter of life seems to get in many peoples way.
Angie, I LOVED your poem. I probably won’t get to this until tomorrow afternoon: today was rough. But I love this prompt so much that I’ll come back to it-and I can’t wait to read everyone’s poems. 🙂
Thanks, Wendy! I’m loving reading and will come back to comment on yours whenever you do.
Angie, your poem reminds us educators of the lasting impression our words and actions have on our students. As so many have said, more is “caught” than is “taught”. We’re catching the light of the light your teacher shed on you. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks, Anna!
Thanks, Angie, for this memory brought to me by your prompt.
Turning Five
Sitting on the handle bars of my tricycle
a birthday cake
covered with whipped cream
and strawberries
a small hole in it
where I had stuck my finger,
licked the smooth, cool icing
while sitting on the red seat
behind the cake
awaiting to hear
the birthday song
and taste a full piece of deliciousness
as soon as possible
when my baby sister toddled
and stole Mom’s attention
from focusing her camera on me
to snap the black and white photo.
Mom’s concentration was broken.
She glanced at my sister’s
enchantment with a garden snail.
It was then that I knew
my birthday in the future
would never be all mine
but shared with my sister
born on the same day, four years after me.
Susan, thanks for the reminder of the glad and sad reasons to share a special day with someone else in the family. You’ve been in this group for a while and probably have seen poems mentioning today is my birthday and also my parents’ anniversary. Once they divorced, this day was no longer “celebrated” dually.
Glad you and your sister are friends!
Happy Birthday, Anna! Hope you are enjoying your day.
OMG, Susan!! How on earth is that even possible, the chances are so slim! I am amazed. My nephew and his half brother were born on the same day about 10 years apart. We thought that was insane.
I’m sorry your special day got spoiled by the stupid snail. 😟
Susan-I was there. With the cake and the hole in the cake and the waiting for the birthday song and the loss. Amazing…
Susan, such vivid details from the “whipped cream / and strawberries” to your “baby sister toddl[ing]” in to her “enchantment with a garden snail.” Thank you for letting us share this moment of reflection/understanding of yours!
Susan, I’m glad that the prompt made you think of this memory. Your memory is on point, girl!! So much detail here, I can picture everything, like I am there, as Gayle mentioned. Thanks for sharing this unique aspect of your life with us! I’m sure it was difficult to accept at this age but hopefully it became fun to share as you got older!
Hi Angie, I love your prompt for us today. I know your student’s poem will live in your heart for eternity. It’s the unexpected revelations of our impact that all teachers appreciate.
I chose a sonnet for its 14 lines but there’s no connection to my focus. It just worked.
On Today
When I reach birthday milestones
I celebrate in new ways
but is not each day I live
a milestone, a miracle, a marvel?
Why must I wait for 11-11-23
the 60th birthday for me
to shout and sing and scream
I love my life and all that I am?
Why must I wait
for 60 solar returns
to hold hope and receive joy
to travel far and return renewed?
Today I won’t wait to celebrate
fifty-nine years, seven months and eight days of LIFE!
©Stacey L. Joy, 6/20/23
Sorry, Angie, I misunderstood and thought the poem was written TO you but now it’s even more special because it was written BY you. 🍎
I can feel the joy in your poem! It makes me so happy that you’re happy, and I don’t even know you. I like the counting at the end of the poem. I also like how each line ends with a question–it definitely helps build up the energy of the poem, which bursts out at the end with “LIFE!”
Thanks for brightening my day.
I agree with you wholeheartedly. I never get excited about my birthday. I wish I could celebrate each day more. You have motivated me to try!
Wait, I don’t know if you’ve ever referenced your age before. I’m sure you probably have but in the pictures you’ve shared here – you look like you’re in your 40s Stacey! Omggg.
“but is not each day I live
a milestone, a miracle, a marvel?”
Yes!!! Let’s celebrate everyday!! Thanks for writing!
Hello Stacey, what a wonderful tribute to yourself! So often many of us struggle with the aging process and getting older when we don’t feel like it. But your poem made me want to own my age and shout it from rooftops! Thank you for sharing today, it was very inspirational!
A Certain Age
By Mo Daley 6/20/23
The day is approaching, I fear,
when I will become… a woman of a certain age.
You will find me at the hairdresser’s
booking my appointment, a hair sooner than usual for a touchup.
Or maybe in the privacy of my bathroom
slathering up with Retinol and alpha-hydroxy acids (AHA!).
The days of setting high-school hurdling records are long gone.
Nowadays, the only place I run to is the bathroom.
I remember that little slip of a girl
who ate anything and everything, never knowing
that forty-some years later it’d finally catch up with her.
That carefree college kid who fell in love with love
still stops by occasionally to say,
“Hey! It’s me! Don’t forget to share your heart!”
(Apparently, I spoke in exclamation marks back then.)
Oh, and yeah. That love of learning is still around,
so, there’s that.
When I was a young wife and mother
I didn’t have time to catch my breath.
I wish I had the time to savor those precious moments,
like I do now, with the wisdom of my well-lived-life.
The years of trying to help other people’s children
become better humans have nurtured my soul.
Those years have also pushed my patience to its limits
and helped me learn to be the best Mamo ever.
But nothing has prepared me for… a certain age.
I cried when the first age spot popped up on my arm.
I nearly hit another car when I looked down
and saw my mother’s hands on the steering wheel.
When did that happen?
My head is swirling, thinking about who I am now.
There will be no more wind whipping through my hair
as my 110 pound-self sprints down the track.
No more flaming first loves.
No more balancing babies oh hip bones.
No more literature lessons.
But becoming a woman… of a certain age
will allow me to be the boss bitch I was born to be.
Mo,
This speaks directly to me, as I still can’t leave the exclamation points alone. LOL
Yes, Yes, Yes to being the boss bitch that you are!!! I love the entire poem! It speaks to me in every stanza, image, sound, and memory! Now, let me go lotion up my hands that have those patterns similar to my mom’s and grandmother’s. I’m sure there’s a name for it, but I don’t think I want to know. 🤣
Mo, I love your take on the phrase “A Woman of a Certain Age.” I also love the lines “That carefree college kid who fell in love with love / still stops by occasionally to say, / ‘Hey! It’s me! Don’t forget to share your heart!’” I think this prompt pushed a lot of us into thinking about all these past “versions” or ourself. I like how you related this to a love of learning.
I mentioned Sandra Cisneros in my own response so maybe she’s just on my mind, but I also wanted to recommend her poem “At Fifty I Am Startled to Find I Am in My Splendor.” I couldn’t find a good online version to link but I hope you come across it. I may only be 23, but that one did get my mom a little teary.
Mo, your voice is so strong in this poem. I definitely appreciate “the boss bitch [you were] born to be”!! Boom!! I loved reading all the emotions you’ve felt over the years and on looking back. The realizations and the thoughts on things you won’t ever get back. Oh, how I mourn that I will never again look like I did back in the day. Time to look forward! I love the title “A Certain Age” also.
PS – I just got home from overseas and read through our transcript from the oral history project. Good memories!
Rock on, Mo! This was powerful and honest. Celebrate your strong self!
Angie, how propitious in your prompt! It’s my birthday today,but I’m NOT divulging my age! 🙂
Sitting on a rock in the bay
Watching the children play
Listening to birds in the trees
Hearing the buzzing of bees.
What a glorious time playing rhyme
Looking forward to thyme
In my Apache trout dinner tonight
Fresh lake fish will be just right.
Now, seeing sprouts of grass in the rock,
Feeling the heat of the sun as my clock,
Spending my birthday with my Honey,
Enjoying nature, not spending much money.
Sitting on a bench in the shade
Watching the children wade,
Frolicking in the shallows with their dad
Splaying, not splashing, they wave.
Hearing birds chortle for the crawling ants they crave.
Pausing for the pace of our hearts to slow
After pacing through the beach sand.
We’re no longer young, we walk sorta slow!
But, oh, what fond memories we create
With cell phone pictures, we can hardly wait.
Thinking of R and B band
Singing “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay”
What a glorious way to spend my birthday
Enjoying with delight all in my sight.
Traverse City Bay
Anna, love this! Dare you tell us, how old were you when you started playing with rhyme? You are a rockstar with rhyme! I love –
Happy birthday!
Maureen, it is this group that primed the pumps for my rhyme dumps. I didn’t know I could write poetry until my summer in the National Writing Project chapter of the San Diego Writing Project. We were “forced” to write multiple times during that training. I found that in writing with my students, patterning was a challenge.
But, once I joined OPEN WRITE, the rhyming started, and participants like you commend me for it, so…I was ….years old when rhyming came more consistently. (Keep in mind, too, that I’m a Motowner a teenager when R&B was king, and also a regular attendee of Christian church services where I heard and hear much of life expressed in rhyme and rhythm. Notice the song in my poem.?
Your question and my reflection remind me of the role we can play with our students. As Angie wrote in her sample poem, it was a teacher who inspired her. You were among the first in our group to comment regularly when my poems rhyme. Now when I see a prompt, whatever the pattern or style when my poems don’t rhyme automatically, I’m tempted to use online sources I learned about here to find words that rhyme with the words that first came to mind.
I like the way you blend the song in to the poem – sitting on the dock of the bay and its words and tones is so relaxing, and it sets the mood!
First of all, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNA!! I love that you get to spend your special day doing so many wonderful things.
And as soon as I read the opening lines, I thought of the song so I’m glad you are singing it at the end of your sweet birthday poem!
🌺🥳🎂
Happy birthday, Anna! As always your rhyme works wonders.
Anna,
I’m with you. My age is just a number and how old I am is irrelevant. You go! Happiest of birthdays–it sounds like a glorious day.
Happy Birthday Anna!! Thanks for celebrating with us here today and with this lovely poem describing how you’re spending it. Absolutely lovely, simple, good food, nature, family, and not needing to spend a bunch of money. I wish all my birthdays could feel like this poem! So good. Keep enjoying birthday girl 🥳🥳
What a wonderful way to celebrate your birthday, Anna. I like the “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay” reference in the beginning and then at the end. And i can see you and your honey walking slowly through the beach sand. So sweet!
Angie, thank you for this prompt. I certainly want to use this with students! As a milestone birthday approaches in August, I want to reflect more about my emotions toward it. While this is just something I cooked up quickly, this prompt will certainly be on my mind over the next month, and my poem will be revised. PS – I have a great friend who taught at AISD in Dhaka for the past two years!
3 Ways of Looking at 30 Years
(inspired by 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird)
three sets of ten years
three hundred and sixty months
fifteen-hundred weeks
my twenties brought me
travels, degrees, poetry
and love and loss too
a fresh decade of
opportunities and change,
always feeling young
Happy summer of 30! Fun poem – love the three lined stanzas, and I’m wondering why I didn’t break my poem up like this, too. The last stanza is filled with wisdom – for all the ages!!
Rachelle,
This is lovely. I notice no capital letters and think about how this welcomes the reader to linger in each line equally as the three stanzas hold the three decades equally perhaps welcoming the next stanza for what’s to come — “opportunities and change.”
Sarah
Rachelle, I love the positivity of your poem. Love your final line! Here’s to a wonderful decade ahead!
Rachelle, I had a lot more trouble turning 30 than 40. I remember it feeling like a big change, even though it’s just stupid day counting. But then my 30s were the best years (so far), and it was a good change. Thank you for capturing and sharing some of that.
I love the three sets of three–very fitting form for three ways of looking at thirty! I like that you’ve settled on a fresh start as the way to look at thirty.
Rachelle,
You young whipper snapper, you! I love Wallace Steven’s poem and I like your homage!
Rachelle, I love the different ways of writing 30 in the first stanza and the reflection in the second, and the pure positivity in the last. I remember 30 and I wasn’t as positive as you about the future but it was a great birthday and year!! Many changes happened, all good. Thank you for sharing.
Rachelle,
I enjoyed your poem about turning 30. So many wonderful ways to think about it.
Angie,
Thanks for the wonderful prompt and the great guidance. I love your mentor poem . . . it contains so much love for that teacher. What a special woman.
While I would like to write a poem about every age (and I may just do that!), I landed on my next birthday . . .
The Race to 58
It’s been circled in red on the calendar for years:
December 26, 2023 . . . the day I turn 58.
It’s the day I officially outlive my mother.
It’s been a a concern of mine for years.
December 26, 2023 . . . the day I turn 58
I plan to celebrate the achievement big time;
I managed to beat the clock.
It’s the day I officially outlived my mother.
During the deepest part of the parenting years, my fears
of dying young overcrowded my head and heart.
It’s been a concern of mine for years.
Now that I’m almost there, I wonder if I spent more
time worrying about living than living.
~Susan Ahlbrand
20 June 2023
Susan, thank you for sharing this momentous day with us. The imagery (the date that has “been circled in red”), the repetition through the form, the sentiment all resonate with me. Thanks for sharing.
“It’s the day I officially outlive my mother.” – I know this can be very emotional, a very momentous day/time. These lines share such a heavy burden –
Susan, what a milestone year this will be! We will all have to help celebrate you on this special day that means so much. Your last two lines make me wonder whether just living it up is what you will do starting on December 27th once the worry bump in the road is in the rear view mirror. Time to plan a great trip! And order a cake!
Susan,
I have a dear friend who was consumed with turning 45 for the same reason, outliving her mom. You will make it to 58 and 68 and probably 98 now that you can really start living without worry. Thank you for sharing such an intimate emotion.
Susan, I’m loving that the trimeric is working for so many people today. Glad I shared it. I think the repetition works especially great to mirror the worry that you’ve experienced over the years. Thank you for sharing with us. Like others have said, I hope once you make it past the date, you can live more freely! ♥️
Angie, oh my goodness, thank you for sharing your loving tribute to your eighth-grade teacher. I sure hope they had the chance to read it. Thanks, too, for the links and the fun prompt. I could think of a lot of things to write about today, especially since I’m going to be even older on Sunday, God willing, anyway. I tried the trimeric form today which was fun to play with. Thanks again:)
I’mnolonger21andthatreallysucksbecausemymindcan’tacceptthetruth
the thing about getting old is
it’s not always fun or graceful
and you don’t always remember the changes
your body has made
it’s not always fun or graceful
when you spy yourself in a window
and wonder who the hell is staring back at you
and you don’t always remember the changes
your body has made and your brain no longer functions the same
it’s no wonder you don’t recognize yourself
your body has concocted
a new horrific creature who wants a hug
but you’re too scared to embrace it
Barb Edler
20 June 2023
Barb,
Wowza to that title. See those w jammed words reminds me how jammed up my joints are, and talk about a scary sight—those reflections w/ my sagging jowls are downright Halloweenish. These are uncomfortable truths. There’s such tenderness in those last lines, however. I’m both a stranger to myself and intimately familiar w/ all the wrinkles and worn edges.
P.S. Be sure to read Gayle’s poem.
Barb, I’ve certainly had a few of the moments mentioned in stanza two — or even looking at photos people have taken of me recently. I love the casual but accusatory diction of, “and wonder who the hell is staring back to you”!
Barb—yes, yes yes! The title is perfection! And the fact that we forget that we are no longer young— surprises every day! Thank you for the reassurance of sisterhood!
I adore the title – so awesome!! I have no doubt that you are NOT a “new horrific creature” but I well know the feeling of this,
Aging is one weird trip, I think, lol!
Barb, that’s sheer title perfection. Yes. I look at pictures of myself years ago and wonder which kid it was – – (and it’s me). I went to help with a Summer Reading Program craft yesterday, and one of the little girls told me I looked just like her grandma, especially in the hands. She felt my skin. So the mention of the reflection and who is staring back? Yeah, I’m there with you, friend. Scared to embrace that old bag needing a hug. I guess that’s why we need strong circles of women friends in our later years. When we’re too scared to hug ourselves, we can hug a friend.
Wow, Barb. I’m so glad you tried the trimeric. It worked so well. I am in love with the way you decided to write this, kind of like an out of body experience. So many poems are giving me chills today and these lines do it for me:
“a new horrific creature who wants a hug
but you’re too scared to embrace it”
The sense of not recognizing yourself but also the importance of being kind to that new self. Excellently written. Thank you.
Happy Early Birthday!!
Oh my goodness! Your final line sent me into paroxysms! (I had to look that up to make sure I had the right word–and I had!)
My 63-year-old body is caught between 20 and 85–as is my mind!
Wonderful poem, friend.
Thank you for hosting today Angie. You gave me some ideas to hopefully try in my classroom next school year. Such an amazing tribute to your teacher. At 14, she gave you new life it seems! “…my beacon, my English teacher” and “You led me through the sea…” Middle school/junior high is a very difficult grade band to navigate through. I think I blocked it out because I don’t remember much about it.
Wow, I wish I could remember my earlier childhood because I wouldn’t have had to tackle the challenge of writing a Heroic Sonnet! I actually wasn’t going to do it, but I think I needed to get this out. I’ve written about my parents divorcing before and since I never received professional guidance on how to cope with it, I use writing as a way to understand and come to terms with it. Thank you for allowing me another session to write!
On Turning 18
I waited all of my life for such a diss,
Finally legal (almost) and moving out of the house.
New responsibilities, newfound freedom, it’s a sigh of bliss,
Didn’t know a divorce was in the pile and emotions only a fire could douse.
Who would’ve thought a thing such as this?!
Why is this even allowed, removal from one’s spouse?!
How could life plant such a tainted kiss?
Still lingering around the home without such fouse.
But that’s what my nosiness gets,
It was an amicable split with no animosity.
Everything was done, and they divvied up the assets,
Fooled me from court tv, but this was done with such velocity.
Mama eventually quit her chew act and Daddy was spared from cancer regrets,
Both lives were saved, with no ferocity.
Living along on the wings of love, without boundary sets,
Carrying the burdens of the same love, the shoulders form a callosity.
Turning 18 brought me a gift I never asked for.
My parents split up instead of me receiving a gift to a sandy shore.
Jessica, I can imagine this moment was particularly painful. I can feel your desire to embrace your future and then to get whammed with your parents sudden divorce. I think your line “emotions only a fire could douse” speaks volumes. I’m glad you were able to purge your feelings about turning 18 here. Thank you for your brave and honest voice.
You capture so well the pain of divorce from a child’s perspective – I love this line, especially,
“How could life plant such a tainted kiss?”
With age comes wisdom – that divorce makes so much more sense to you now, I bet. I hear the acceptance/acknowledgment of this in the line
“Turning 18 brought me a gift I never asked for.”
Awesome that you wrote a sonnet – bravo!
Jessica, I’m glad you were able to get some needed things out with this prompt. Excellent job with the Heroic Sonnet! Thank you for expressing your thoughts and questions about a difficult time. “Why is this even allowed, removal from one’s spouse?!” Great question and one I ponder many times with most of the members of my family. My parents split when I was 16 or so, and I’m just realizing I’ve never truly written about it, let alone talked about it in a real way. Thanks for sharing with us!
Angie –Thank you for your prompt. Billy Collin’s poetry is perfect for middle school, especially “On Turning Ten”. All the format suggesting were wonderful. I think my student will love this poetry prompt and I can’t wait to use it next fall.
Also enjoyed reading your beautiful tribute to your English teacher. I also had a middle school English teacher who was extremely influential in my life and in my career, so I could totally relate to you poem. Especially love this line —
“You led me through the sea/of eighth grade and weren’t just a preacher” — This is the perfect testiment to the art of being a true mentor without being preachy and didactic.
On Turning Gray
I’m the age of gray
not the trendy and glamorous silver kind of gray
Just wiry gray gray.
I’m the age where my hairdresser
advices going blond or giving up.
Yeah, that kind of gray.
I’m the age where I can walk five miles per day,
eat like a bird and still the scale needle climbs up and up.
Appears that my metabolism has come to a screeching halt.
I’m the age where I’m freezing one moment
and burning up the next,
where I’m a hostage to my hormones feeling
strapped to an endless roller-coaster
that is always plummeting down, down, down.
I’m at the age where I wonder if I can still be sexy at my age.
I’m at the age where I start conversations with when I was your age …
The age where I can recall household items and events
from childhood my children have not seen.
The age of rotary dial phones, eight tracks, roller skating rinks,
a sizzling egg and voice over saying
“This is your brain on drugs…”
But I’m also of the age where I’m content to be me,
Gray hair, hormones, and all
The age where I’m content to just
love and cherish my beautiful family
and wouldn’t change a thing.
Tammi–I am all of those things and then some! Your conversational tone is perfect, and the specific references are universal to those of us at “a certain age”. The last stanza is alsao so true. Love this poem!
Tammi, I love that you added color in your title! And I love even more your contentment with all that comes with “the age of gray”. Thank you for writing!
Tammi, hurray for your celebratory end. I could totally relate to the age of gray and absolutely remember roller skating rinks, and your brain on drugs commercial. I so enjoyed reading your poem, and nodding, and laughing, and enjoying your lovely and positive close!
I’m so there with you – – the drab wiry gray. Mine couldn’t be the beautiful silvery salt and pepper my husband has. I keep toying with the idea of embracing the gray, but I can’t get there. I know that roller coaster of emotions and the hot one minute and cold the next…..sounds like the age of gray is something that touches us all. I love your feeling of being content with all of this and cherishing your family.
I laughed out loud at “I’m at the age where I start conversations with when I was your age.” This poem is wonderful – I relate to almost every single line. I love how your overall contentment with your age simply oozes through the last stanza. “…and wouldn’t change a thing.” – wonderful!
Angie,
I love how interconnected things are. I have been looking forward to getting a chance to do the open write this month, and then your prompt was dropped in my lap today. I have been reflecting on reflecting on getting older, beyond the stereotypical AARP flyer in the mail. Thank you for the opportunity, though there was no way I could push for 59 lines!
THE SUMMER OF 59
The summer I celebrated
the sempervivum flowering,
I learned that the blooming rosette
was destined to wither…
a monocarpic, (fruit once and die).
It would be surrounded by the babies,
the offshoots,
one dying rosette not really
carrying the weight of the plant world.
The summer I celebrated
the sempervivum flowering,
I learned that #18 really only does
twenty percent of the chewing…
the first molar #19 doing the lion’s share,
and that one nonviable crown,
dropped on a tray in my periphery,
that one dying tooth doesn’t really
carry the brunt of left side mastication.
The summer I celebrated
the sempervivum flowering,
expectations died on the vine,
replaced with flowering realizations,
aha moments, right side chewing,
and insights about living
from philosophical folks, mostly gone…
caught in not forgotten photos,
the black and white of their heyday.
Rex, I so enjoyed how the final stanza worked to offer new conclusio s, to bring the flowering full circle to “realizations” and “right side chewing.” I also enjoyed the jargon here that was at first distancing but then with repetition familiar. Repetition has a way of doing that in the hands of a poet.
Sarah
Rex — I love how you juxtaposed the flowering plant and summer with aging. The celebration of summer, followed by the withering of the plants and loss of teeth was a beautiful representation of the cycle of life. Especially loved the last lines: “caught in not forgotten photos,/ the black and white of their heyday.”
Rex–you developed this metaphor so skillfully–moving from horticulture science to the reality of right-side chewing. Wonderful!
Rex, I’m so glad that the prompt worked for you today! I’ve never heard of a sempervivum, so thank you for introducing me to that. No doubt I’ll probably see it referenced all the time now and I’ll be like, wow, and think of you and your poem. I appreciated the – yes I’ll use the word you used in your intro – interconnectedness of flowers, teeth, life. Thanks for being here and writing!
Rex, I’m there facing the same decade as you are facing next. I, too, find myself chewing on one side and rejected my free x-rays at my last dental appointment. I told them I didn’t need any new cavities or fillings, so I’m carrying on. I’d have never done that in my 30s or 40s, but a simple filling took me a long time to get over the last time it happened. I love learning about the sempervivium. I have some of them out front – – and they are thriving!
Rex, I so enjoyed reading your poem, and I could totally relate to the difficulty of having to chew on one side of one’s mouth. Your ending stanza was especially moving. Love the tribute to “philosophical folks, mostly gone…the black and white of their heyday”. I often look at old black and whites of my family, finding comfort in the adventures that I neither experienced nor witnessed because the photo shows the joy they got to share.
We are of a certain age when we recognize so well, “aha moments, right side chewing,” – this aha writing had me chuckling. Thank you for this!
Nine Times Seven
Joy Harjo shares this wisdom:
every seven years brings
an opening, transition
here I am, my ninth threshold
I wonder what change awaits?
love and joy move me forward
with wonder right alongside
holding family, friends close
knowing each day is precious
Maureen, I like the way you root your poem in the wisdom from Joy Harjo. But even more, I like the non-anxious way to anticipate the future. Beautiful.
I didn’t think about the math that would come with this prompt, but I’m loving it, Maureen! I love your focus on your “ninth threshold” and and wondering “what change awaits?” A few simple lines that are positively precious! As Kim, I love your reference to Joy Harjo also ♥️
Love this movement forward “with wonder” and relationality, a forward because and with others because “each day is precious” and all that is an understand especially understood by poets.
Sarah
Maureen,
I love the image of love, joy, wonder holding hands and moving forward into the unknown. Isn’t most of life a question mark? Joy Harjo is certainly a worthy muse and increasingly one of my favorite poets.
Maureen — I love the hopefulness of positivity you express in your poem. Your line
“I wonder what change awaits?/love and joy move me forward” — leading to understanding that change can be good.
Maureen–I was not familiar with this Joy Harjo philosophy, and I know I will think about it from now on–it feels right. My 10th threshold comes up this fall and I share your wonder at its approach. Thank you!
Maureen, your poem and Boxer’s final stanza today echo the preciousness of life, of loving every single new chapter for all of its different qualities. And the older we get, the more we know how precious it is. Just as precious as when we are five or ten or twenty years old – – every day of life is a gift. With new stuff to love!
Maureen, what a lovely poem. Thank you for sharing this bright light of wisdom with us today. Yes, “each day is precious”. Beautiful poem!
So much wisdom here, Maureen! Thank you for sharing Joy Harjo with us today. I love the idea of “love and joy” as a form of energy and locomotion. It absolutely should be what drives us through these ages of ours. Thank you for this reminder. (And I love “wonder” as the co-pilot, too.) So good!
Ahhh, gorgeous choice for today! I love the soft patient waiting and I hope you receive all that your heart desires each and every day!
this October
I’ll be around
twenty-six
hundred
weeks old
so start collecting
your candles now
and somebody
please remember
to bring your portable
fire extinguisher
we’ll need more
than one
_________________________________
Angie, thank you for your prompt and mentor poem today! I’m hoping you’ll share your sonnet with Ms. Medeiros. She would, undoubtedly and (to my mind) unquestionably, enjoy these “lines of appreciation” that you have so well crafted. In terms of form equalling the age in some way (for my offering today), if you times the characters used (including spaces) of my poem (and this post-poem note) by the number of stanzas and then divide that number by my soonish-to-be age and then factor in the quadratic equation by dividing by pie (the pumpkin variety not the number) you’ll get an answer that is … ok, I have no idea…let’s just say I didn’t quite make it on that score.
Lmao! Thanks for the laughs as always, Scott. Love 2600 weeks old instead of the less interesting way to say an age. And imagining all those candles. Yes! 🥳
Scott,
I loved how you had fun with this by breaking it down into weeks, and the inferno threat it brings for the cake. You know that 2600 is the new 2080, right?
Scott — LOL! Thank you for your poem and your post note, especially the part about dividing by pie. Your kind of pie is the best kind! I think the best way to stay young is to not take ourselves too seriously and to find laughter in our lives!
Scott–I will definitely bring your candles if your cake can handle them. Love your poem–love the math!
You are still a young one, Scott! Your poem had me smiling – and doing math calculations. I love the request,
Cakes would be ruined by so many candles – but imagine how fully we would live each day if we were lighting weekly candles of homage!
Scott, I actually wondered my age in days, coming up in a couple of weeks. I’m glad we don’t need that many candles, either. There is something far more impressive about how much life experience we’ve collected in days and weeks rather than years. It sounds like we’ve lived a little….so I’ll collect my candles and bring along a spare extinguisher as we all celebrate our brightest, lightest, most blazing birthdays yet!
Oh, Scott! Such a hoot! My guess is you’ve probably actually figured out your age in weeks and that you are 49??? I love what you did here and I hope you and all your loved ones each have those fire extinguishers ready! 🔥🎂
Demographics
They want you to tell them. Are you…
35-44, 45-54, 55-64?
Each a threshold to the next ten
Pre-forty
Pre-fifty
Pre-sixty.
I viewed each threshold with bemusement,
ruefully rounding up the years
in anticipation of the future me.
And then came 65.
“65 and over” is the
Very. Last. Dot.
No more choices
I am no longer pre-anything…
I am just an “and over”.
I am, very simply, pre-old.
With more years behind me than before me,
I find that the forms have written me off,
I am demographically over the hill,
out of the running.
Defunct.
Tell me—
what does “and over” round up to??
GJ Sands
6/20/23
Gayle, this is just perfect. In it’s message (God, how I feel that). In it’s form (even the longest line (with more years behind me) reads the longest and has more of the poem behind it. In it’s punctuating with the dots separating each Very. Last. Dot. With its ruminating (I feel the need to even change this word which sounds so very old style, old school, just old, old, old). This is a keeper.
Gayle, wow, your demographic thinking is something I ponder each time I fill out a form too. And now the “and over” is coming for me too. Funny!
“With more years behind me than before me,
I find that the forms have written me off,”
“written me off” is an interesting notion that I realize affects older people. I used to not notice until I am approaching being written off myself. 🙂
Gayle, Those darn forms…aging out of the forms. I am getting closer by the day. I’ll be 62 this summer. I never thought I’d ever be this old, but here I am. That question at the end has an answer, you know. Who the hell cares? Be the best you now that you know how. So much wisdom is gained. I want to keep my wisdom and use it wisely.
Gayle, I love this attitude:
“I viewed each threshold with bemusement,
ruefully rounding up the years
in anticipation of the future me.”
and coming back to “what does ‘and over’ round up to??” at the end. An excellent poem of ponderings and I know in all those years, so many, many good things! Thanks for writing!
Gayle,
I loved the last stanza ending with the question…
Tell me—
what does “and over” round up to??
It is a good one to ponder.
My mother still walks 5ks and she is over 80, so she has always done well in her group, the And Overs.
I like how you have the different eras as thresholds…where do the thresholds end, if they do?
Gayle,
I have been dreading turning 65 because that milestone moves me into the “you’ve reached the end” demographically speaking. I completed a NYT survey last night and thought about how seeing my age will make some bean counter sigh since I’m far reminded bed from the prime target audience. I’m nearing the end of my shelf life, I suppose. I read your brilliant poem to my husband, and he howled in recognition. He’s 75, but I swear he has more energy than 95% of me. half his age. I take comfort in that as the clock ticks. Love your poem, my aging friend! 😉
Gayle — Those pesky demographics! Picking a age category gets me thinking of when my husband and I moved into our house in the early 90’s, and we were the youngsters. Everyone else had older children or grown children. We brought our 20 something youth to the neighborhood. Now, we are the old people on the street and the demographics have shifted back to the 25-34 crowd and we are feeling “very simply, pre-old”.
Gayle, what a fantastic perspective! I can totally relate, but I guess to answer your question is …..the dark future?….the most amazing moment yet to come?…who knows, but there is a definite shift to feeling more invisible and less viable from a cultural, demographic viewpoint. You captured that perfectly with “Very.Last.Dot.”
Oh my. These lines are sobering:
I love how you play with this, exploring those darn forms with so many great lines. I think my favorite is
I refuse to let that be! I am in denial. Thank you for this witty poem, Gayle!
Angie, your sonnet is precious and Ms. Medeiros is a hero! I’m so glad she has inspired you and you continue to inspire your 8th graders. Think of all the generations of English teachers past and present inspired by great teachers! I loved “don’t care to know who I would be if you / weren’t you…” I needed a teacher who “hit me with hard love.” I’m glad you found her!
I’ll be 65 this summer too, so I was going to write about that, but, Glenda, since you learned 65 is the new 45. I’ll write about turning 85, an age I’ve rarely considered seeing, as my family has tended to die much younger than that!
When I’m 85
Disrepair
Medicare
Solitaire
Thoroughfare
Wear and tear
Everywhere
Pubic hair
Wash-and-wear
Dental care
Overbear
Unaware
Thoroughfare
Rocking chair
Teddy bear
Denise! All of those rhyming words that land so spot on! I’ve thought a lot about the 80’s too, having watched the decline that happened as each of my grandparents entered that decade (they made it into the 90’s but I’m not so sure about hoping for that or even hoping for the 80’s). My parents are only a handful away and it worries me, though I want them to keep going. Thank you for sharing today as I contemplate that it’s not so bad to be the age I’m about to turn.
Denise, this kind of short 1-2 word rhyming line poem is harder to do than it looks – but you nailed it! There’s a lightness in some of these truths which makes me chuckle. In turn I want to cry over the rocking chair and teddy bear, especially as I wrote of women in the Alzheimer’s unit of the nursing home trying to feed dolls in response to Margaret’s sevenling poem yesterday. Yet…here’s to 85 being the new 65…I say let’s go for it! And do lots of poetry-writing and crosswords to keep our brains sharp along the way!
Oh, my… the rocking chair and teddy bear is where my mother is. We do seem to be living longer these days. None of my grandparents got to the age my parents did. I love how your poem combines specificity with abstract nouns.
Denise! This poem made me laugh and made me wonder and made my heart warm. Made me think of my Grandma, who did make it past 85, maybe not all there but I’m glad we had a good, long run with her. Much love! 🙂
Denise,
I pictured this with a musical background of Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire” going on. I like how you snuck thoroughfare in there twice, as it ties to paths…makes me think of routine.
Denise,
You naughty girl! “Pubic hair”? Does it fall away at 85? I’ve no clue! LOL! I sure do feel the “Wear and tear” of the passing years. Great list, but you know which one I’ll be pondering!
Denise — I absolutely love your poem! They rhythm, rhyme and humor is just stellar. My grandmother is 96 and still going strong! Although I also wrote about some of the negative aspects of aging, I still believe that we are as young as we believe ourselves to be. So, yes, 65 is the next 45! I’m 53 and 33 sounds good to me!
Denise–I started out trying to rhyme my poem and gave up. This is fantastic-its rhythm and rhyme bounce along to pull us through to the inevitable ending! Bravo!
Denise, those rhymes are so perfect and so on point with aging. I’ll tell you – that wash-and-wear is appealing at any age, and I try to read the labels so I know what I’m getting myself into. You bring it full circle from the disrepair to the rocking chair and straight back in time to the ageless teddy bear.
Denise, I love how you were able to rhyme this entire poem with the same end sound. I am still laughing at “Everywhere/Pubic hair”. Please! I’m tearing up with a hard belly laugh. Let’s hope we get to that wonderful age. Imagine in just 20 short years, we could both be there.
How wonderful to set your sights on 85! And more!! These quick rhymes just roll off the tongue…that ‘pubic hair’ in the midst of it all had me laugh out loud!
I love your rhyming list!
Angie,
I love the Billy Collins poem. He captures my thoughts about growing into geezerhood. A sonnet is the perfect turning 14 form. I hope you can share your lovely poem w/ the teacher who taught you to write.
My poem is one I began a few months ago after my last wellness check. I made some tweaks this morning. I’m not 65 yet, but it’s coming in a few months.
65 Is the New 45
my new doctor—
parent to children
2, 5, & 10— said
“don’t you know
65 is the new 45?”
when I observed,
“I’m getting old.”
my aching hips
laughed as my
gray hair blinked
as my cataracted
eyes stared quizzically
into receding memories
spanning 64 past years.
he folded the list
chronicling current
medical maladies
I’d prepared prior
to my wellness check,
slipped it into a folder &
checked my heartbeat.
—Glenda Funk
December 1, 2022
June 20, 2023
Glenda,
I was pondering that turn of X is the new W today, too, and love how you take us right into that scene of pondering as the doctor chronicled and your “hips laughed” and “hair blinked” – ah the stories there that did not make it into that “folder” but are likely beating tales in that strong heart of yours.
Also, your hips may ache because of the Spinderella you just cycled — just saying that you earned that ache. Congratulations!
Peace,
Sarah
Glenda—we are on the same journey, my friend!! My gray hairs blinked in unison with yours just now!!
Glenda, your matter-of-fact retelling of this experience is so well-told. From the young doctor’s comment to “checked my heartbeat”–it’s all perfect. I’m turning 65 this summer, so your poem speaks to me! I love the personifying of your body parts. I think some of mine have a mind of their own now, so that seems legit! Well done. You inspired my poem today. (actually it’s just a list of words. maybe more later! I’m getting back on the road this morning.)
Glenda, I love the slipping of the list into the folder and the checking of the heartbeat! Those last few lines say it all – you’re living and cycling and traveling and grabbing life by the horns more than most who are having your same birthday, my friend. You’re still creating adventures, walking through glacier caverns, climbing mountains, blazing trails, biking roads…..your heart beats with the fiercest passion for life, and I’m glad your zeal is contagious – – I’m wearing a Travelon Crossbody bag ready for the next trip, knowing you would be running circles around me! Wellness check CHECKED!!!
Glenda, my favorite part is the personification in your second stanza. Those are such strong images of your lovely body doing things. Thank you for writing!
Glenda, wow, I love how you completely pulled me into this moment and showed how you were reacting to your doctor’s comments. The ending action is brilliant…”checked my heartbeat”. Hey, I think that heartbeat is even more important than any time before. I can totally relate to the gray hair blinking and the aching hips. OH MY! Thank you for sharing such a delightful look at growing a bit older.
This is so fun, Glenda! I love the view from the doctor’s office, and this wonderful idea of “my aching lips/laughed” – may it always be so! (Well, not the ache – but the laughter.) To all of us “of a certain age” – there are certainly a lot of poets in this group with shared understanding of aging.
Yes, Glenda! You came with humor and reality and I love it!
I hope you can recuperate from your 40 miles of biking and that all your “medical maladies” fade into the sweet abyss.
I adore you!
How ↺ Are You?
The thing about naming with a number is
you never get to be free of measures
in the gaze of others. It’s almost
like living in a compulsory flowchart↓
You never get to be free of measures
because your skin is the ad, your happiness
is a questionnaire. Y/N follow the arrow→
in the gaze of others. It’s almost as if
your age is an output for small talk comparison,
though that’s not why you showed up for tea↰
like living in a compulsory flowchart,
you opt out at turns, maybe try different paths
until you learn to ask for stories instead of numbers
because you know we carry a life more tender in tales↶ yarns↷ & poems ↺
Sarah, I love that you rebelled against choosing a number. Well done with the arrows, by the way! That last line makes me weep, for I needed to read your poem today. “we carry a life more tender” and what better way to carry this tender life than in “tales, yarns & poems” Wow! I need to polish my memory weaving tales.
Those symbols and the measurements in the absence of numbers are brilliant, Sarah! I love the line about asking for stories instead of numbers – – because therein lies the life. Not an age or number, but an experience. The teapot is such a rich image. The idea of sitting down, holding a cup instead of a device, sharing stories instead of consuming posts. Your symbols are so on point. Carrying a life “more tender” is a great way to end, as we collect more stories and need more caring minds and hands embracing us.
Sarah, How did you do the symbols and select the just right ones? I love this added layer to your poem. We are so much more than a number. We have stories. All of us, and here at Ethical ELA, we honor and celebrate that in spades (insert spade symbol).
I found the symbols on a website and pasted them in. I had no idea how to create them with a keyboard.
Yay!! You tried the trimeric, and brilliantly of course! The repetition works well, and yes, the addition of the symbols is great. My favorite line is “until you learn to ask for stories instead of numbers”. Lovely, I didn’t know what this anti clockwise symbol was – had to look it up, but it looks like the refresh button to me and it was interesting to add that at the end. Like doesn’t matter what age I am, “refresh”. Sounds like a motto to me, makes me think of Ariana Grande’s “Thank U, Next” Thanks, Sarah!
Sarah! So much love and to love in this poem. My favorite lines: “your skin is the ad, your happiness/is a questionnaire,” “your age is an output for small talk comparison,” and “until you learn to ask for stories instead of numbers.” And that last line – has me pondering how tales go back, yarns push forward, and poems come full circle. My older people always have the best stories and that’s so much more important than their numbers.
Sarah,
Nice! Right off with the title, I think of how many times I have seen a spinning icon when waiting for an app to load, or winding something up, or thinking about trips around the sun.
We learn to ask for stories instead of numbers…I love this truth. It is the different, the verve of the story over the numerical label.
Funny as teachers we are about data, and not so much nuances. There is so much more than the flowchart definable.
Sarah,
WOW! This poem is brilliant. Yes, we “live in a compulsory flow chart”’and we’re so much better off living and thinking in stories rather than data points. “you know we carry a life more tender in tales .tales↶ yarns↷ & poems ↺” I love the idea and the alliteration. I’m awed by the symbols here and in other parts of the poem. So glad I read this today. Maybe we need a collection of poetry about aging, about these generational demographics Gayle wrote about. Perhaps we need a Nora Ephron muse.
Sarah, what a fantastic way to show what’s really important compared to one’s age. I adore the formatting of your poem and the symbols you incorporated are fantastic! Loved “like living in a compulsory flowchart↓” and your final line is on fire!!!
Well, how did you weave in those symbols? I am awed! This is perhaps my favorite line –
“like living in a compulsory flowchart↓” – so true, living in this data-oriented world. Thank you for treasuring stories, not numbers.
Wow, what a creative approach! I am in love with the various arrows (something I tend to draw when I doodle).
I believe the world would be happier and more present if we embraced this notion:
As I slowly move into the second week of my summer break, I find myself avoiding numbers on so many levels; clocks, my phone, email deadlines, lists, and most of all CALENDAR dates. What if we just lived out our own stories and enjoyed the stories of everyone we meet?
Ahhh, I love this!
Angie, I love that you used this prompt to thank a special teacher. Many of my teachers have passed on not ever knowing what they meant to me. But I was blessed with a phone call from two of my former students. They were on their way to Girl’s State and wanted to call and thank me for setting them up for this opportunity. My heart swelled.
A few days ago I wrote a poem by Rebecca Elson into my journal “Some Thoughts about the Ocean and the Universe.” I used her form of if, then statements.
Some Thoughts about Equations and Love
after Rebecca Elson
If age is an equation,
then thoughts become stars.
If stars are like street lights,
then someday the power will go out–
by lightning strike in a thunderstorm.
If being is a constellation,
then we are all connected
by invisible thread.
If constellations change with rotation,
then we are always spinning unchanged.
But I know love is not something
we can place into an equation.
Love is the equation.
Oh, Margaret. This is lovely. The frame for this poem of If-then works so well to create a pattern of logic that is undeniable, welcoming the reader (me) to ponder possibilities grounded in the concrete. There is a comfort there. Thoughts as stars. Constellations and us. Still, you leave me to puzzle through the equation of love, a call to stay with it, to trust that we can figure it out together. Thank you.
Sarah
Margaret, what a beauty. I stopped with each stanza contemplating it and the universe. Your ideas are large and beautiful. I will now go and read Elson’s poem. “Love is the equation.” Wow!
Love is indubitably the equation. I love how you have woven one idea to the next, and made it math-like and life-like but at the end….defied all logic, which is what love does. Stunning!
Oh, Margaret, so many poems are giving me goosebumps today, in a great way. This is a lovely form of if, then. I love the title and being “connected / by invisible thread” and of course “Love is the equation.” Thank you for sharing Rebecca Elson’s poetry with me also!
Margaret–if you had written nothing other than that last line, it would be enough! Thank you!
Hi, Angie! Thank you for this prompt. I love Billy Collin’s poetry, and “On Turning Ten” is a great mentor text for students and us. I have one of those days when I am not sure if I will be able to write, but will try to find a few minutes, What a beautiful tribute to Ms. Medeiros! She seems to be one of the great teachers who help with “influence and navigation.” I have no doubts you have students who feel the same about you!
Thank you for your kind words, Leilya! Maybe you’ll get a chance to write but no worries if you don’t. I wasn’t able to write the past few days. Saved my energy for comments!! 🙂
Boy, did this take me on a journey, Angie! I love the prompt and the openness of options. Your form variety opens up everything – I can see students loving this prompt for so many reasons. What a gift your words are to the teacher who meant so much to you. That circling (sonnet to sonnet, teacher to teacher) is lovely.
I am in the center
of the patio surrounded by family
party hat upon my head, cake squished between fingers
candle extinguished
(probably not by me)
Everything explodes in the air
red, blue, white
a tossing of confetti across the night sky
paper shells rain down upon the crowd
and smoke drifts across the river
polluting Canada
[I no longer think of my birthday in the same way]
In ancient Liuyang,
bamboo stalks were thrown into the fire
exploding with a bang
they were believed to ward off evil spirits
before being stuffed with “gunpowder”
and made into fire works
manmade works fire
illuminations from one end of the continent to the other
from the very first independence day
[Sure, after celebrating the same day over 50 times
the initial waves of enthusiasm
fade
but that’s not it]
The clowns slumped sideways
barely holding on to the second layer of cake
where it sat in my lap
in the backseat of the car
after the party’s early end
the day marred by
disagreement
some misagreement between adults
[that’s not it either]
Sparklers light up in my hand
burning down
closer
and
closer
a mix of fear and amazement
tangling and tingling
I want to let go
but don’t
I marched
in parades
commemorating the fourth
baton twirling
banner flying
red, white, and blue
striped and starred
[now striped and scarred]
thirteen stripes in thirteen lines:
-politicians: warding off their own evil spirits
-and warding them on
-using, abusing
-pickups: exhaust spewing
-rights eschewing
-proudly displaying
-independencesplaying
-far right: gun-totin’, maga-votin’
-flag wearin’, belly bearin’
-conspiracy believin’
-vaccine deceivin’
-democracy destroyin’
-patriotism decoyin…
[I no longer feel the same way about my birthday]
Jennifer, the wordplay master strikes again! Wow, yes, what a journey. I’ve read this about 5 times already. Among the wordplay that stuck out to me:
“manmade works fire”
“striped and starred
[now striped and scarred]” wow.
“warding them off…and warding them on”
“independencesplaying”
From the description of you and your smash cake to the thirteen lists of grievances that have made you think differently about your birthday that could go on and on, such a powerful poem! Amazing imagery throughout. Thank you for writing!
Oh, Jennifer, yikes! I hadn’t realized all the impossible collection of complexities having a birthday on a holiday like the 4th could bring. You have surely captured it. The historical memories of your birthdays, the bracketed notes that help us enter in the memories with you, and those thirteen stripes on the flag. Wow. I’m looking forward to the day we take back our flag.
Jennifer, I think you’ve just given the melting icing, the slumped clowns, the blur of color and festivity and bangs and pops and fizzles and sizzles (emotions AND fireworks, too) the veil of truth. Behind all of the celebration and commemoration, there is often the opposite of a silver lining in dark clouds. In the sunshine, there lurks the storm. This grabs my heart and holds it, especially not wanting to let go of the sparkler. I took some to my grandchildren’s house, and one burned her hand on it, and it makes me think of this moment when you didn’t want to let go, either. The beauty of something becomes the burn, the scar of time. You are truly a master of blending so much all in a streamlined conscious understanding of complexity.
Jennifer…for all the implications of being born on the 4th of July, you write with incredible freedom. Breathtaking. I could go line by line and talk about how each speaks to me. The horrors (pollution, evil spirits, that sparkler burning lower and lower – HERE, GIVE ME THAT!) intermingled with injustices done by adults to children, to one another.. and I even find a chuckle at the jadedness (that I so understand) about the excitement fading after celebrating the same day over 50 times, lol. My fiftieth birthday was the hardest so far – felt so like a point of no return. I fear to wager where the country is with this on its upcoming birthday at the still relatively young age of 247… it is past time to mature. So much is at stake. So vitally much. Toldja I could go line by line but instead I will stand in awe of your own poetic light display here – pow! – in every amazing line.
Jennifer–I could repeat all the other comments about your explosion of a poem, but it would be just stealing from everyone, because I agree with them. I will say that I especially enjoyed your personal comments–I could almost see you standing there on the side, observing the celebrations, especially this one:
[Sure, after celebrating the same day over 50 times
the initial waves of enthusiasm
fade
but that’s not it]
I feel you, my friend. (My birthday is 9/11–the other end of the celebratory spectrum, sad music on CNN and all…)
Jennifer, oh my, you’ve certainly captured a lot of woeful feelings due to the political climate of today’s world. I imagine it’s not fun to have to have a birthday on a particular holiday. I can feel and see so many images you share here, especially that sparkler burning to its end. Very powerful poem!
Angie, thank you for hosting today. I enjoy how you provide form options related to the topic/age.
on turning tomorrow
flipping through a book of life, new breaths
a page older, a paragraph closer, a statement smarter, a word of suffering
unknown–texts of dancing, laughing, grief-ing, boring
until then, let’s elevate today’s spine
as maybe the page won’t turn
Stefani, I love starting with “on turning tomorrow” and the book of life metaphor throughout. I always love how original lines about common metaphors can turn out to be. You do it well with “elevate today’s spine / as maybe the page won’t turn” – love the truth and positivity!! Thank you for sharing 🙂
Stefani, I savor this book metaphor for life! I particularly love ‘Greif-ing’ – so true, and too often true. And oh I embrace the idea of “a statement smarter” (let it be so). The notion of “elevating today’s spine” seems perfect to me for having the backbone to stand for what’s right and needed, as well as the fortitude to carry on – while we can. Well-done!!
Stefani,
Loving these concentrated poems you offer us this month and the choice/resistance in capitalization and punctuation. Like Angie offered us options in our writing, this choice offers readers options in interpreting, making-meaning. I first read “turning tomorrow” as your birthday is tomorrow, but then read it more inclusively for us all in wishing some agency and choice in whether or not we turn tomorrow. What might that mean to not think about whether “page won’t turn” and “elevate today’s spine”? Yes! What energy might we be putting into tomorrow that we could draw on for today? Love this extended metaphor.
Peace,
Sarah
Stefani, wow, such a beautiful poem with richness and originality, as Angie pointed out so well. I love that you and Sarah both didn’t choose an age. You are making me appreciate this day that I have today!
Stefani, the idea of life being in a book with paragraphs that contain all the emotions and stages and phases is appealing as a writer and as a reader. Each page, each chapter uncovers more and more….life experience!
Angie, I love the creativity of this prompt and the form-buffet you offered us this morning. I savored every word of Collins’ poem – he has written some of my all-time favorite lines. How fitting to write a sonnet in honor of the teacher who made you fall in love with the sonnet – fourteen lines of appreciation for influence and navigation (and inspiration) to a person who also hit you with hard love when needed – these people are godsends, in my book. More than game-changers; life-changers. You remind us of WHY we do what we do!
I am taking you up on the Twenty Questions choice…as my twentieth birthday marks one of the most significant days of my life. Thank you for this compelling invitation!
On Turning Twenty
a twenty questions poem
Why is turning twenty
so like finding myself
on a vacant beach
blinking against
the blinding sun?
If I turn to look behind me
will I cut myself
on the sharp shadow
of my teens? If I walk forward,
will the vast silver sea
consume me? It beckons
now, sparkling in
the light, gently rolling…
but who can know
the hidden undertow
until it’s too late
or when the waters
will boil, rage, and crash?
Why does it feel
that am I straddling
who I was
with who I’m becoming
on this day?
What is it that I want
from life anyway?
I thought I knew…
the stage, right?
Leaving home, family,
making my own way
in New York City?
The acceptance letter
from the American Academy
of Dramatic Arts means
I’ve arrived—doesn’t it?
Why am I only now
thinking of HOW
I’m going to be able
to make it? No money,
no prospects…what WAS
I thinking?
Have I reached the point
where dreams and reality collide?
Remember the lines from
It’s a Wonderful Life?
George Bailey: I know one way you can help me. You don’t happen to have 8,000 bucks on you?
Clarence the Angel (chuckling): Oh, no. No, we don’t use money in Heaven.
George Bailey: Oh yeah, that’s right. I keep forgetting…well, it comes in pretty handy down here, bub.
George ended up doing nothing he planned
but everything he was born to do…
will I?
And what IS that??
Is destiny even a real thing?
Can’t I just enjoy the evening
and my birthday dinner with
the most beautiful man
I’ve ever met?
His big brown eyes are
so earnest…what’s this little box
he’s handing me?
Is this his mother’s ring?
What if…
No.
No more questions.
My answer
is yes.
Fran, this concept of dreams and reality colliding is dark but such an important ponderance. I like how you’ve extended your first stanza with movie dialogue and then revisit your own connection. Thank you for sharing today.
Fran, I am crying in bed. Thank you, thank you, thank you. What meaningful questions, reflection, allusion to a great movie and that end. Just beautiful to end with no more questions, just your answer ♥️♥️♥️
Thank you again, Angie, for the great prompt and choices…kinda like reaching into the closet to try for the exact right thing and fit for the occasion. As a P.S. — it’s been 38 years since we took the plunge; the sea has boiled and raged and crashed at times but we’re still here, two sons and two granddaughters later…the anchor holds <3
I’m not sure I knew 38 years but have loved reading about your family in your poems over the couple years I’ve been participating. That’s so lovely, Fran 🙂
Fran, you are such a remarkable poet. Truly. I am amazed at the beauty and ease of your words, telling stories that I fall into every time. I love that Wonderful Life reference! So perfectly placed. I’m not sure I’ve ever read a Twenty Question poem before (or maybe it’s just that yours is so, so good) and now I want to give it a try. Your questions leading up to an answer is the perfect format. Love. Love. Love.
Fran, wow. I can see why you came back to turning 20. What a sweet engagement story written in questions. It was lovely to be in your thinking with you. I like how your questions kept getting bigger and bigger until you land back at dinner to pay attention to what is going on.
Fran, this moment in time staring into the blinding sun and ending staring into the blinding happiness of a diamond brings us right to the beach and the dinner table and the mailbox and all of your places with you to feel the uncertainty, feel the hidden undertow (I love that one – – it’s always there, never seems to leave), feel the passion to do something we want to do but can’t always make happen, and feel the promise of the future with one we love. This is a nice connection to It’s a Wonderful Life…..yes, yes! It certainly is! The simple places where we are planted are the places where we bloom and grow, live and know.
Fran, I was with you as if we experienced this together when you were 20. I appreciate the depth of your wonderings and your wanderings as any care-free 20 year old would have. It helps me better understand the way my millenials think and act. I think they stayed in the 20 year old mindset at 32 and 35! We shall see.
I love these lines so much!
This poem is one to treasure! Thank you, Fran.
Angie, this is a fun prompt! I love the form. I’m having all kinds of fun in my notebooks. Can’t wait to see what comes from it. It’s so sweet to see you giving love from today to a teacher from your childhood. Those teachers made such a difference! It reminds me of why I teach middle school.
Glad you’re having fun, Linda! I’m already having fun too! 🙂
Angie, I love this prompt of age reflection inspired by Billy Collins, and then taking it a step further to connect the form choice in a meaningful way. I hope you will share your poem with your teacher – that’s such a touching piece, especially the love in response to the bullying – and it made me think of the time I had a bully in my life and took me back to when I was 9 years old. I chose a nonet. Thank you for hosting us today!
Karma Clogs
When I was nine years old, I wore clogs.
Chocolate brown leather ones, stamped
with daisies. With wooden soles.
I kicked the class bully.
Fourth grade girl drama
met its match with
those weapons!
Karma
clogs.
OMG this is perfect, Kim! I love that the form fit so well with your experience you describe. I can totally picture your clogs and you kicking that girl! And calling them “Karma Clogs” with that added touch of alliteration just gives them so much more power! Thanks for sharing 🙂
Oh, Kim…when I was ten, a boy in class kept teasing me and I kicked him with my saddle oxfords. When my mother came to school (back in ye olden days of “room mothers”), he showed her the bruise -! -and my mother let me have it. She was furious. I chuckle at the memory now, rising so clearly in the mist of memory, conjured by your nonet which is utterly fantastic, every single word so perfectly placed and classically Kim with its touch of whimsy. I’ll bet that was the last of THAT girl drama! I can tell you the boy never teased me again (I am pretty sure he has no permanent scars).
Kim, this is so sweet and hilarious. I feel like you should start a brand or maybe a book titled: Karma Clogs. I cannot imagine you using them as weapons though! Thank you for sharing.
Kim,
I so admired my sister’s clogs and have a mind to buy myself a pair today– precisely these “chocolate brown leather ones”. That you remember the daisies is lovely, and then the scene of where these daisies end up is just the sort of story that tells me your fierce friendship and passion for justice has always been in you!
Sarah
Kim the Karma Clogger! What a book that title would make. I’m loving the description of those clogs – so sweet (stamped daisies) and brutal (wooden soles). I imagine that I would have loved wearing them alongside you. And kicking that bully too. You go, girl!
Oh, boy! Good for you. Your description of the clogs is so sweet “Chocolate brown leather…with daisies” They seem so safe and then the separate “with wooden soles” reminded me of those shoes. And then the immediate “I kicked the class bully.” Ouch! You have really nailed this bully and this nonet!
Kim,
Clogs don’t get the kind of respect they deserve as bully stoppers. That is the beauty of it. They REALLY, make the point that it is time for change, and there is a new sheriff in town. The daisies really add a touch of irony.
There is an auditory aspect to this as well, especially in the days ahead, whenever you’d walk down the hall.
Kim, I’ve kept returning to “Karma Clogs” all day today! These “[c]hocolate brown leather ones, stamped / with daisies” used to meet out “[f]ourth grade” justice to “the class bully” brought a smile to my face every time I thought of them (and you, “nine years old” wearing “those weapons!”) Thank you for this image!
Oh my goodness, Kim, what a hoot! I love this! Your last two lines are priceless! I can just see you taking care of the bully! Bravo!
Karma clogs! Lol. This is so fun and so funny! Absolutely love this nonet, Kim!
We all needed a pair of those Karma clogs that I can picture so well. Love this.
Kim, you nailed it! I had that same bully and wished I had thought to kick her with my clogs! Your description of the clogs brought a clear visual to my memories and I want to believe we had the same exact shoes!
Perfect form to get to the knockout ending! I love it!
A Speckle of 48
There’s a magical space in life,
You don’t won’t to be older,
Established you feel bolder.
There’s a tragical trace in strife,
You long for Past years,
Wild and Free your last cheers.
There’s a radical race in rife,
You work to work more,
pay bills and stay sore.
There’s blessical base in wife,
A shoulder to lean on,
Co- writer of your life song.
There’s Messical waste in knife,
cuts should haves
slashes could haves.
There’s blissical taste of slice,
Granted from above,
Filled with love.
There’s optimical place of nice,
Choose to live,
And Try to give.
There’s a nominical mace of mice,
Overlook the envy of rats,
They blind us with cunning hats.
There’s a comical case of sights,
Laugh often,
Laugh to the coffin.
There’s an ironical haze to ice,
When your heart warms others,
Their coldness smothers.
There’s an idealical gaze advice,
He is our life guide,
Invisible by our side.
There’s the nowical Praise of price,
At whatever speck we’re at,
Live, love, laugh, cause we don’t get it back.
My Speck,
Your Speck,
Faster than a chicken’s peck,
Where’d it go?
What the Heck?
Please share this form because I need to know! There are so many things I didn’t catch in the first few stanzas – the rhyme at the end of each first line and the repeated ending of the third word that may involve some fun with grammar! I lingered on stanza 5 for a while with the way this sounds and the meaning:
“cuts should haves
slashes could haves.”
so truthful, so harsh sounding, perfect.
Thanks for sharing!!
Boxer, your use and repetition of “cal” words in each stanza is lovely and adds flow to your words. I particularly your new word “nowical” and will try to use that today in speaking. Thank you for sharing.
Boxer, to begin with, your poem is a delight to read, invoking a sense of Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. Those tercets dance all the way though; pure word-choreography. In all the lively word-twists and rhythmic line-rhymes lies this quiet gem: “Live, love, laugh, cause we don’t get it back.” A speck with speed faster than a chicken’s peck, indeed…priceless.
Boxer, this playful wording of all the -ical’s is just wonderical! I had to go back and re-read just those words. And that last stanza – wow! I have felt all of these at one time or another (many I don’t want again) but that never=ending feeling to life that childhood offers, that’s one I’d go back to.
My goodness, Boxer, so true – – each passing phase is like a one-way road trip. Time, truly, is our most precious resource. Other things can come and go, but time is the one thing we can never deposit, store, bank up. Only spend, never with the knowledge of how much we have left. That last stanza is simply sobering, along with all the little snapshots of icals.
Brilliantly enjoyical! I want a tutorial on this incredibly entertaining form!
I adore this stanza and hope your wife does too!
Mic drop!