Realities and Possibilities with Jennifer Guyor Jowett
Welcome to Day 1 of the July 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 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.
Jennifer lives in the mitten state where she’s taught Literature and English for over thirty years. Her novel Into the Shadows is a middle grade historical fiction inspired by true life events. Jennifer is a frequent 5 Day Open Write and #verselove participant and host and a member of #booksojourn. https://jenniferguyorjowett.weebly.com/
Inspiration
Martin Espada writes of our realities and our possibilities in Of the Threads that Connect the Stars
These lines spoke to me: My father saw stars. My son sees stars. The earth rolls beneath our feet. We lurch ahead, and one day we have walked far. The contrast between stargazing and earthdwelling, while vast, allows us to become more in our temporary place in between.
Process
Think about your reality.
What do you see today?
Ponder the possibilities before you.
Allow a free verse poem to develop.
Begin with the line I see…
Jennifer’s Poem
The Wording of Branches
I see finches,
the colors of sunflowers
and coneflowers
splashed across their chests and
caps,
settling upon branches.
I write as I listen
the songs of syntax
scrambling and unscrambling,
words whispered in my head.
I hear Broca’s landing
as I read myself
write myself
paint myself upon branches.
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.
I was away on vacation and sorry to miss this inspiration. I was in the mountains enjoying family and attempted to scratch some strong feelings down. I know I will be using this post to get my ideas together into a legible form that captures my soul. Thank you!
Something short I am still playing with –
The pale ,yellow tulips
On your bedside table
Bow their buttery heads
Delicate and fragile
Their blooms fleeting.
I see people conversing
Intentionally listening
Modeling, Presenting, Eagering waiting to contribute
I see people choosing
A new flavor
A new selection
A new scent
I see people seleting
A familiar taste
A familiar smell
A familiar temperature
I see people gathering
Alone
In Groups
In Pairs
Nooo…how did I miss Day 1? Anyway, posting late. Jennifer, I love so much of the language in here:
“the songs of syntax” juxtaposes the clinical with the emotional in a very cool way. 🙂
Those last three lines:
“as I read myself
write myself
paint myself upon branches.”
Love!
This week, I’m attending an NEH Institute at Colgate University on abolition and the Underground Railroad, and it’s blowing my mind. I’m meeting incredible teachers who have humbled me, and my poem for today grew out of that feeling:
“Realities and Possibilities”
I see
Strength and beauty
Rich and full lives
Courage of convictions
Wary budding friendships
And
Open hearted risks
Minds open to change
As we wend our way
Toward
Creating something
Bold
Together.
Together, bold –
Something creating our way.
Wend we, as, changing open minds
Risking open hearts,
And friendships –
Budding, wary –
“Convictions of courage” lives,
Full and rich,
Beautiful and strong,
See
I.
We.
I’m a “late responder,” Wendy, so I appreciate seeing you join in! This is a great reflection on your experience – a way to capture in words rather than photos (or in addition to). This line resonated with me, “Wary budding friendships” as I have been thinking lately how challenging it is to make new friends these days – for so many layered reasons. And that you repeated this and other concepts was not lost on me. I like that circling around and reshaping/reforming ideas/concepts. The communal experience of “Minds open to change” really hits home with the closing lines, with a strong finality in a closing rhyme. Nicely done!
I see
we three
members
of this family
simply
enjoying life
this week.
I wonder –
How and why
it took
nine years
to fully appreciate
these little lives
entrusted to me.
I was too busy
trying to build
or at least
patch together
a life
more acceptable
to society.
I was afraid
of what “they”
would say
and
how “they”
would treat
my babies
when “they”
discovered
we had three
surnames.
Now,
I see
we three
clearly
as
we are
supposed to be-
free
of society.
Kim, what a beautiful poem of courage and discovery. I am drawn to the linear structure, which elongates the pathway to clearly seeing. I appreciate the use of so many short and long words rhyming with see, both in internal and external rhyme, along with the assonance in the fourth stanza, as emphasizes and elongates even more.
Thank you
Awwww. This is bittersweet. I’m sorry for the “lost” years recounted here, but not totally lost, right – just ‘different’ than they could have been. I feel a sense of gratitude and appreciation with the shift to acceptance and maybe even “allowance” – allowing the self to accept and be okay with the situation. I feel a kind of resentment in “trying to build / or at least / patch together / a life” – how many of us can look back and recognize a lot of effort we put into something that never came to be or was dismantled or disappeared – ? It is a source of great frustration. But this concept of saying, Okay, that was then, but what is now and what is future – ? That is a way to respond to it and move forward – forge ahead! I finish this poem feeling strengthened. Fortified.
Smiles
I see a smile today that I’ve never seen before.
Most mornings, your lips mirror my eyelids:
Two gentle curves nestled side by side.
You are the embodiment of Modeh Ani.
This morning, between sips of coffee,
it’s a two-front-teeth-wide-rimmed smile.
Like, you know you’re supposed to beam excitement.
I miss the hand-thrust-into-a-snack-bag cheesy grin.
The unadulterated, untamed slice of toothy gums.
Laura, there’s something in your lines, “your lips mirror my eyelids; two gentle curves nestled side by side” that makes me linger, and ponder, especially when contrasting it with the cheesy grin and toothy gums that follow. And the placement of the two lines separately at the bottom reminds me of lips side by side.
Laura, what a sweet celebration of this big smile. I love “Like, you know you’re supposed to beam excitement.” I also see how fast things change in the missing of “unadulterated, untamed slice of toothy gums.” What a way to put words together for that sweet image. Very lovely poem!
Ditto what Denise said – and not just because we’re both Denise! But you way with words is so unique. The combination feel meaning as I read them that I would not be able to articulate. It’s the kind of poem that simply has to be read/experienced and not explained to be understood. Love that. I also get really clear images in my head as I read this – like I could illustrate several panels to go along with what is transpiring here. Nicely captured, Laura!
Thank you for the intriguing prompt.
the edges of things
I’ve been noticing the edges of things lately
the dry grass just out of sprinkler reach
the light flash out of the corner of my eye
the curling fringe of a flower petal in the sun
but the true edges are the pieces of me
the barriers I put up to protect my heart
the shadows I pretend I don’t notice
the way I obfuscate away from discomfort
it’s all just a puzzle of mismatched clues
games of reasoning and justification no match
for the experience of one used to acting
glittering pieces of a distracted mind
Cara, I’m enjoying this idea of the edges of things. Items on the periphery that don’t get noticed but help to layer in a story. The dry grass at the fringe of the sprinkler is especially interesting. And your connection to the true edges of you strengthens the whole piece!
Cara, there’s something really visceral about the word “edge” here. Your images in the first stanza perfectly illustrate the itchiness and uncomfortability of the more abstract edges you bring up in stanza two. Thank you for sharing.
Wow, Cara, beautiful images of edges here. I can see nature in your first stanza. I see you in the second. I can relate to this poem. “one used to acting” Powerful. And that last line packs a punch.
Cara, this is incredible. Your first stanza starts with such beautiful, concrete, natural imagery. I like how you carefully move your poem toward the abstract in stanzas two and three: “but the true edges are the pieces of me”. Thank you for sparking a journal prompt for me.
Cleaning the House
I see
and sit among
the ruins of the day
eating ice cream because
what else is there to do?
Chea, this made me laugh! We have just spent several days amidst the chaos of doing whole house cleaning and what I wouldn’t give for ice cream right now. The conciseness of your words adds a precision and weight to each one (I can’t decide if I like the ruins of the day or what else is there to do as my favorite line).
Chea
I love the simplicity of your poem. Concise but do full of meaning.
Oh, Chea! I can so relate. “the ruins of the day” tells everything I need to know! I remember those days, and in retirement I still see them. Ice cream is the best antidote, and the greatest procrastination tool. This poem is perfection.
I see light.
Light that guides me through my deepest doubts, straight to my heart to reassure me that I am me.
I see a yellow brightness. Brightness that reminds me that the time is now.
I see dark chocolate. Dark chocolate that I will always bow down to.
I see soft, black strands of hair. So soft, that I always find my calm.
I see you within me. I am you and you are me.
I see that.
I will see that till eternity.
I see the universe.
I see happiness all around.
I see my purpose.
I see that I’m getting closer to knowing my purpose in life.
I see safety.
I see security.
I see me.
Tara, there’s a sense of peace in your poem, a reassurance and acknowledgement of self that creates that calm. The colors (yellow, dark chocolate, and black) soothe. What a beautiful poem!
Thank you Jennifer. Love your response. Thank you for your encouragement too!
Tara, your ending caught me off guard, as I thought it might be an exploration of colors at first, which was really great. I liked how you pushed those images all the way out into the universe, then back into yourself. I found your poem calming and contemplative. Well done!
Thank you Mo. That’s funny that you say that you were “caught off guard.” Because you were in mind when I was trying to write with a curve ball there. Tee hee.
Oh, hello dark chocolate! I love that “I will always bow down to.” Which of course can have multiple meanings, but I’m just going with the good old chocolate bar here, and recalling how many late afternoons that little pick-me-up has helped me through the day! I also adore the reference to the hair and that it can be the place of calm. It reminds me of the hair jewelry that was so popular in the 19th century. Strong concluding lines on the repeated sounds but also the abstractions that are stated with such tangible certainty – purpose, safety, security. Me – boom. That’s the mic drop line! Nice!
Why thank you Denise. Such comforting words you have! Ya nailed it on your perspectives. And yes. Any dark chocolate could’ve been perceived, and I chose dark chocolate for its possible many scrumptious meanings! Yet I think you’re giving ME too much credit. Purpose in life is so hard to gage!! Which is why I thought you’re giving me too much credit. Cuz I don’t know my purpose and am trying to still figure it out. Enjoying on the way but also have the mean red days as Audrey Hepburn said it in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Your words definitely make purpose finding fun!
Jennifer, thank you for this great prompt. I love the image of the colors of the flowers splashed across the chests of the finches. There is so much beauty in reading, writing and painting yourself upon the branches.
I’ve been thinking about seeing all day. Here’s one kind of seeing that happened this week.
The Bobcat
I see a bobcat
moving across the yard,
Tawny and whiskered.
It strolls in front of me.
At first I thought it was my neighbor’s dog.
Then when I realized it was a big cat,
I began fumbling
for the camera button on my phone.
It stops for a second and looks at me,
(A quick pose, maybe?)
I’m still mishandling the camera,
as it gives up and saunters on.
I stumble across the yard,
Finally getting the video going.
I capture 35 seconds of
the Joshua Trees,
the bushes,
the sand,
the sky,
the fence,
and, finally,
still waiting for me,
the bobcat.
Did I really see that bobcat?
I’m so envious- what a cool experience and an Awesome-Awesome poem !!!
Denise! Wow! And he is posing for you. I love the fumbling in the rush to capture this moment – doesn’t it just always happen that way? And your italics to emphasize that you may have captured but not truly seen holds truth as well. What a great moment. I’m glad you saw it for us!
You did, Denise! I’ve been right there with you so many times, fumbling for a camera for a special moment. I’m trying to get to the place where I can enjoy the moment without worrying about the photo.
Denise, this sounds like a rather close encounter! I love the pace at the end — the quick flurry of images leading to the bobcat (who was “still waiting for [you]”). Great picture, too! Thanks for writing and sharing this!
Denise, Thank you for the poem. I really felt as if I was in this moment with you!!
Denise, the desert yields many surprises, some bone-chilling like your feline friend in desert colors. I love the way this bobcat occupies your yard, making himself at home. I’ve been thinking about Joshua trees this week and have missed your voice.
Thanks for the prompt, Jennifer. It was a nice way to end a productive day out in the yard. I feel like the first stanza of your poem could have very well been going on around me today, if only I had listened better.
THREE PURE HOURS
I see my eldest son
when we wear work gloves,
pretense stripped away,
long sleeves, jeans,
and a three/quarters hot Iowa July.
Cutting back
the barberry bushes
beneath the kitchen windows,
Cutting back
the boxwood and the holly
in front of the living room window,
Cutting back
the catalpa branches stealing the light
from a struggling pink spirea.
I see my eldest son
in new unobstructed views from my home,
and reclaimed sunlight
spilling through backyard trees.
Rex, the way your images illuminate your son, gradually as the work is accomplished, is powerful. It pulls at the idea of seeing someone in a new light, which plays so well with the “I see” of the prompt. I imagine this is how you spent your productive day. Good work. And good poem.
Rex, the repetition of your poem feels so much like a day in the yard. So much monotony, yet so much satisfying change as a result. You’ve captured such a lovely day that I look forward to a day in the yard when it’s less than 100 here!
As someone who is spending DAYS cleaning, pruning, clearing out – I can totally related to this kind of being able to see with the removal. I am amazed at our human condition of creating spaces that need to be regularly maintained, how we let them “go” at times to become wild/unruly/a mess – and how good it feels to bring some order back to that. And to be healthy enough to maintain this kind of work is truly a gift and part of the appreciation. I love the sense of seeing the son in a new light – perhaps trimming away the growth allows the father to see the growth in his own son in new ways. Thanks for capturing this so well, Rex.
Ol’ Rusty
A rusty old bolt,
Bruised hands of a rusty ol’ Goat.
Surrounded by rusty ole smoke,
As his rust stained beard takes another toke.
Relaying rusty ole jokes,
While Gurgling rusty ole cokes.
Wipes his eyes with a rusty old cloak,
Multiple times until it’s soaked.
He hummed deep in his rusty old throat,
Giggling with a rusty old croak,
Before telling me what was wrong with my rusty ol’ boat!
”It’ll be $500.00” he said as I jumped with a jolt!!
“Yep, dats what I get for removing a rusty old bolt”
Boxer, part of the fun of this is tracking the movement of rust throughout the lines of your poem. I’m imagining traces of rust and I love the circle from intro to end!
Bah-ha-ha! I love the “rusty ol’ Goat.” Respectful capitalization there. I can just see the old dude down at the marina garage helping out a boater – for a fee of course. I don’t have a boat, but I’ve got an old home, and lord help me if I ever go to remove a rusty old anything – it will become a two-day, multi-hundred dollar repair! Fun rhyming. I could see this illustrated like a children’s poem, but more adulty.
Oh, this prompt hit me perfectly today – realities and possibilities have been on my mind as I travel for the first time in years. Thank you for this wonderful prompt.
Paris
I see elegant limestone apartment buildings that linger along the avenues,
white structures whose windows stretch upwards like invitations
to imagine us living there behind the wrought iron railings.
Only we would have more than a window; we would have a balcony! You love balconies.
I see children running across the green grass of the Jardin de Luxembourg and
I hear our sons’ voices calling, “Maman! Maman! Viens!” and
you have just come home, bringing a baguette from our favorite boulangerie and
you kiss me in the garden, then we wander towards our appartement and
the children are laughing and we will make dinner together.
Only, as we approach the heavy wooden doors that lead to the courtyard, I look up and
I see the red clay chimney pots that dot the gray Mansard roof.
I remember that they are mostly mere relics of the past, no longer useful or real.
Reality lives in a brick house in a different city on a different continent:
no baguette, no balcony, no wrought iron, no Paris stone, but
my love, still the children’s laughter, still the kiss in the garden,
still us.
Amanda, what sticks with me is the echo of the boys’ voices. And the baguette and kiss. This is beautiful imagery and sound! I can hear the sweet voices.
Amanda, this imagined life, so beautiful and Parisian, becomes real with every detail you layer in. So much so, that I can feel myself there too. What you retain, the laughter, the kiss, the love, is everything. Even in coming back to reality of a life lived elsewhere, you have everything that matters. And that is the most beautiful part.
Oh, Amanda. I love the ending, I love whenever the word but is a positive, and opens doors instead of closing them. And the reaffirmation of the things we have that are still. Thank you!
Amanda, I’ve loved following your Paris adventures on IG and FB, so I too see you in Paris, not just in this lovely poem but perhaps one day standing on your Parisian balcony.
Ohhh, I like this concept so much, Jennifer. Thank you!
Summer Cleaning
I see boxes stacked
in the Harry Potter closet
under the stairs
One labeled “Admin Crap”
from my time as chair
Others with years
start and end
The hyphen between
fills those totes
From one school
to the next
to the next
They are not anything
that brings me joy
and yet
I cannot let them go
Not yet
“When I retire,”
I tell my husband
“I am going to torch them.
It’s going to be a bonfire
for the ages.”
Until then
I know they are there
lurking
counting down the days
same as me
A bonfire for the ages! Do it! Do it! Do it! As I get older, I feel so much better about getting rid of all that “crap.” Love the personification!
“I am going to torch them!” Yes! I love the label “Admin crap” (Amen to that) and the lines “The hyphen between/fills those totes” – so evocative!
Denise, it’s just so dang hard to let things go, even the things that don’t bring joy. I feel the need to have my own bonfire and just torch the whole thing, as you anticipate. “Admin Crap” is a hoot. I think you should start the fire there.
I lessened the power of my bonfire a month ago. At this point, I will have a small one. You will find that you will still maintain just a little bit of fuel—just in case—even when you do retire! The hyphen between—what an apt phrase for all those times…
A bonfire for the ages and not even a roasted marshmallow memory. Yes!!!
Denise,
The counting down is such a “teacher” reality. I like how the boxes are looking forward to the end as well. You can’t let them go, but they bring no joy…bingo!
Denise, what a great seeing poem you wrote today. That really speaks of realities and possibilities. Indeed! My favorite lines:
Denise, I really enjoyed the idea of “lurking” boxes. I like how you captured the reality of your relationship with the boxes.
Jennifer, thank you for hosting today. I was so excited about Open Write that I wanted to get an early start. Well….better late than never! I was captivated by your first stanza. I am a very visual person, and seeing “the colors of sunflowers
and coneflowers
splashed across their chests and
caps” made me want to be in the midst. I am not a fan of birds, but this drew me in!” I am sharing part of my adventure today. It was definitely not the “low-key” Saturday I had planned, but it all worked out!
Unexpected Diversion, Rerouted
I see plans made today,
thrown out the window.
Broken glass, salvaged ideas held together,
taped up, propped up.
Still had time to visit a reader’s paradise,
But didn’t get to indulge in any adventurous pages.
Chatted with adults while away from the “attention-grabbers.”
Pleasantries traded for the sounds of “No!, Mommy!, Stop!, Yes!”
Dialogue of anime, African food, Pinnacle Mountain, and wild party days done.
Respite over, remembering promises of gathering books.
Seeing my children, excited by bounded pages
full of choiced words and imaginative illustrations.
Makes it all worthwhile.
Till we meet again, Faulkner County Library.
I’ll read my book when I get home.
I love your title, Jessica–and it reminded me of weekends when similar detours have happened to me! The potential of those detours holds magical possibilities!
Thank you Dixie! Actually, that was the thing I spent the most time on. The rest came almost effortlessly. Now, on to finally reading! Straightaways ahead!
Jessica, the best made plans! Your title sums up the pace of your day. The idea of broken glass, salvaged ideas held together, makes me pause to linger and contemplate, almost as your day must have felt, before moving on. What an adventurous day you had at the library IRL. More adventure awaits in those pages!
Absolutely Jennifer! I just need to quit planning and embrace what the days will bring.
I am traveling today, so I appreciated taking the opportunity to sit, write, and contemplate possibilities.
Gate B43
I see a woman, hair white but frazzled, who stopped in front of Gate B43
She flips back and forth—deciding if she is
coming or going.
Something caused her to pause. (Who knows what? Isn’t that the fun part of observing?) The crowd simply moves around her, the median on the highway.
I see her eyes, weepy and weary, look ahead with hope, but instead she rolls up her frayed blazer and checks her weathered wrist watch. It is 2:47 PM mountain standard time (though who knows if that’s what hers reads). With much contemplation, she rolls her suitcase around—lugging it back in the same direction from which she came.
Wow, powerful!!
I love people watching. Trying to decide what they are thinking, when traveling guessing where they are going and why.
Rachelle, I like to people-watch, especially when all I have is time. The airport is quite the place to observe the many people and doings in its chaotic organization. Your lines, “I see her eyes, weepy and weary, look ahead with hope, but instead she rolls up her frayed blazer and checks her weathered wrist watch” resonated with me because I have been in her shoes. Maybe not at the airport, but definitely me at the grocery store today! Meandering down the aisles and through people, hoping to stop placing things in the already-filled basket. I hope the woman made it to wherever she was going! Thank you for sharing!
I really notice the visual details you use in this poem – the frayed blazer, the weepy, weary eyes. I also like the ending, “lugging it back in the same direction from which she came” is such a powerful metaphor for travel. (I’m traveling right now, too & that occupied my thoughts as I wrote – but thank goodness I am not in the airport!)
Rachelle, you’re playing with a favorite travel activity – observing travelers and creating story. It’s the weepy and weary eyes that strike me, make me wonder if she’s missing meeting someone, or has forgotten her way, if she’s not sure she wants to make the trip or if she’s escaping from something. That detail really tugs on the plot of this moment. So interesting.
the tableau is so vivid—beautifully written!
Rachelle, what a good description you have given of this traveler. The weariness even came out in her attire. I hope she has found who she was looking for. I love that image of the crowd passing her, “the median on the highway” Well done, and have a great trip yourself.
Rachelle,
What a great way to integrate your travels into your poem! People watching and coming up with stories about them are so much fun. I love the line you skirt between poetry and prose–it fits the contemplative tone perfectly.
Papa’s Skyscraper
Did you ever see a skyscraper up close? I wonder,
thinking of Sears, no, Willis Tower, visible on a clear
day from Brandywine 20 miles west on the Eisenhower.
Did you? from your front porch or balcony or cattle
ranch or barn or farm or lake or mountain? Did you
ever glimpse a skyscraper in the eye of your papa?
Mine set me on the roof of his TC3 in intervals of 5
miles from 1s302 to 233S, framing shots of me &
Sears, no Willis, with his Canon, no Nikon, side-by-side.
I see now that the photos centered Sears. Such
appreciation for imagination and design. I wonder
if he ever realized that I, we, were his skyscraper.
And you? What’s your skyscraper?
I am still building mine with your steel frame.
Wow, Sarah, this one made me think! To answer your question, no. I missed that opportunity. My parents went to New York without me! I think college got in the way. So many memories flood my mind of the many missed opportunities, yet I still am able to hold on to the ones I did get to enjoy. So many descriptions. These lines,
“Mine set me on the roof of his TC3 in intervals of 5
miles from 1s302 to 233S, framing shots of me &
Sears, no Willis, with his Canon, no Nikon, side-by-side.
There were choices, opportunities to see, and choices of cameras to capture with. Such deliberate writing conveys your feelings. A picture is definitely worth a thousand words! Thank you for sharing!
Sarah, You move us from place to place as you ask the question (Did you?) which mirrors your movement as your father placed you at various spots along the journey. I love the line, “Did you ever glimpse a skyscraper in the eye of your papa?” especially as you state you were his skyscraper and that you are continuing to build yours. The technicality of the vehicle, the road markers (?), the tower name and its correction, along with the camera and collection (both occurring side by side, a nod to you and the tower) strikes me too.
I want to have that skyscraper—the one you had; the one you are building…
Sarah, what beauty in this image you have painted here. I have read it several times. The memories, the image of Sears, no Willis, tower from so many different vantage points. You had an experience that I imagination most people in the world did not, but you help us to go along on the adventure.
Then when the turn of meaning of skyscraper at the end comes, it is breathtaking. “I wonder / if he ever realized that I, we, were his skyscraper.” Wow! And that last line. Beautiful. The “you” in that last couplet is leaving me thinking. I feel it speaks to me and your Papa.
I see
connections and
intersections,
textuality and
intertextuality,
sectionality and
intersectionality
couched
between passion and
conjecture,
compassion and
possibilities and
probabilities
(both improbable
and otherwise)
which is to say,
“I can see
for miles and miles;
I can see
for miles and miles
and miles,”
The Who
croons
but what this
really means
is that
I can see
the past
and, in fact,
that’s all I see
(the JWST pix
confirm it)
when I look up
I’m looking back
when I stand,
head back,
eyes closed,
feeling the sun
on my face
that warmth
is already
8 minutes old
(500 seconds or
8 minutes 20
seconds
to be more exact)
which is the same
when you look at me
you see my past
(granted it might
only be three
billionths of a
second ago)
but our three
feet apart
is more than
just distance
it’s time, too
so when I say
“I’m sorry”
it may take
a while to
reach you
but know
that it,
eventually,
will.
___________________________________________________
Thank you for your prompt and your mentor poem today, Jennifer! I loved your play of the Ss and Cs throughout your piece: “I see finches, / the colors of sunflowers….the songs of syntax / scrambling and unscrambling.” Every single line has one (or more) of these two letters. Very cool! In terms of your prompt, I mulled about for a bit, jotted notes and whatnot, and then (it turns out) used very little from them as I typed up my poem.
Your last lines are my favorites. Eventually. So much lead- up. So much science and exploration…and the purpose. “I’m sorry”. (And now I’m singing that song!)
Scott, I love your technical and nontechnical use of time!!! I always enjoy reading your poetry. It takes me on a nice long adventure of limited stops. That one period says that you can finally stop (talking or thinking). It’s amazing! Your one line, “it’s time too” resonates with me because distance and time have a relationship, literally! I’ve never been a fan of math, but you made it worth the review! Thank you for sharing!
Scott, I love incorporation of I Can See For Miles here in just the right place, for just the right turn in the poem, and now I shall be hearing it all night (but enjoying!). The measurements here are so intriguing, especially building to that great possibility in the conclusion…the acceptance of the “I’m sorry.” It does take a good while for those words to seep in and settle. I love the poet’s confidence there (as the poet waits). All in all, such a compelling poem!
Scott, I love your play on time and space and using it with seeing, along with how we see (in the past but also for miles and miles). What speaks so powerfully to me are these lines, “so when I say “I’m sorry” it may take a while to reach you.” The passage of time is perhaps a necessary delay to allow for coming to terms and giving space.
Jennifer – your poem’s just breathtaking. First: I have deep attachments to finches and sunflowers so there’s that, but the blending of them here, settling on the branches and in your brain as you listen, in turn to read, write, and paint yourself there – honest, I had to remind myself to breathe. I read the mentor text also and was blown away again. I will return to it. Thank you for this incredible cup of inspirational light today…
Translation
I see the sign
on an office wall
simple black frame
simple black font
on a plain white field
devoid of décor
just words:
Alles ist fertig,
es muss nur noch
gemacht
weden.
I do not read
or speak
this language
but that doesn’t keep
images from
springing to mind:
I see furrows
lush and green against
chocolate loam soil
spread out
like a billowing blanket
to the tree-lined ditches
I see my childhood
materializing like a ghost
in the white summer haze
I see the cadence
of cicadas
and storytellers
around the dinner table
long ago
(yes, I see them;
rhythms
have shape
and color
as tentative as candleflame
as sustaining as river
as permanent as earth).
—I see it all
even if
I don’t always know
what it all means.
Eventually
I’ll translate
what I see
into words
on a page
for the knowing.
Everything is ready,
it just needs
to be done.
Fran, I always feel like I’m traveling along with you to someplace new or some past place, which makes me want to be there with you. The imagery is so vivid. The words so powerful. The starkness of the black and white mimics the understanding/not understanding of the sign along with the contrasting colors of the ghost in the white summer haze of your childhood memories and the color/shape of cadences and storytellers (this idea fascinates me).
Fran, I really enjoyed this! I love your parenthetical — the insistence (and truth) of it — “yes, I see them; / rhythms / have shape / and color / as tentative as candleflame / as sustaining as river / as permanent as earth.” And your details throughout are so crisp and vivid: so good! Thank you for writing this!
Fran, the lines you wrote in German bring to mind two things: One the challenge non-English speaking students feel when they try to navigate their communities and schools here and the fact that I had to confirm the meaning of the sign, myself, but had a computer to do the work for me. Access, access, access. (Oh, that’s three things.)
Knowing what the sign means is encouraging and reminds me of some Scripture we learn– that we have a destiny and just have to live it out. You’re doing with your poetry. Reminding us of all of this. Thanks.
Fran, I love the last lines –
everything is ready
it just needs
to be done
the not knowing
the language but
knowing there is meaning
to be translated is a fun part of the unlocking of meaning.
Hi Jennifer! Thank you for easing us in with your beautiful poem and process today. I’ve been eager to be back with you and our supportive community here.
I found these last lines especially moving and they reminded me of the end of Ntozake Shange’s poem, i live in music:
The other day, I listened to Ada Limón talk about the focus of our poems. She said we write too many poems for our exes, about our broken hearts, giving them and our suffering more attention than our joy. So I decided to steer clear of my suffering and ex for these 5 days of Open Write. ?
Retreat in Silence
I see soft shadows
outlining the strongest trees
in the park
the sentinels that hold space
for nature’s seekers of peace
I step over the slowest snail
leaving its glistening goo behind
to find one blade of grass
for rest or for hiding
from the hovering hungry hawk
I retreat in sweet silence
listening to nature’s voices,
her crackling leaves
and crazy crows calling
while my “joy springs” ebb and flow
© Stacey L. Joy, July 16, 2022
Stacey, first – I am impressed by (and chuckling over) this commitment to steer clear of your ex for these five days! I totally get what Limón is saying, though. We need to claim our joy, and just stand in awe, in some measure, every single day. As to your poem…I savor the slow place of noting the snail and the soft shadows under strong trees; nature’s rhythms call to me more and more as I grow older. There’s such healing – and joy – in nature, as you beautifully remind us!
Stacey, thank you for sharing your focus for this month. I’ve been rereading my poetry from 2022 and early 2021. Those poems certainly reflect all that was happening at the time which I know will serve me well in the future. However, a good deal of those poems focus on the negative. Like you, I am working to focus on the positives this year.
Stacey, I am so glad you decided to capture and share your joy here with us today. (And here’s to the vow of avoiding exes! while focusing attention to more deserved topics) I am reminded of Frost’s poem about birches in the sounds of your writing today. The softness of the first two verses (I adore the grass blade “for rest or for hiding”) leading up to the crackling crazy crows calling – that’s worthy of celebrating joy!
Stacey,
I love thinking about the trees as waiting for me, holding space for me and others who are wise enough to seek its peace:
the sentinels that hold space
for nature’s seekers of peace
I forget to see it and accept its offer (especially when it offers such shelter from the heat life presses upon us).
Thank you,
Sarah
Stacey, after following you on FB the past years as you shared some of the challenges of teaching elementary students just emerging from virtual settings, I am delighted to read your goal to “retreat in sweet silence/ listening to nature’s voices.” You know that when you listen to “Nature” and its Creator, you will find peace. Your poem reminds us to do the same. Thanks.
Stacey, your poem is peaceful and sublime, an invitation to find comfort in nature. I’ve been reading “The Carrying” today so have Ada Limon on my mind. I can’t help but think about Braiding Sweetgrass as a presence in your poem, too.
Hibiscus on the Patio
I see the
frailty of the flower
which burst forth
when I was not looking,
Its fuchsia vibrant,
eternal in my mind,
will not make it to tomorrow.
And a neighboring bud,
an empty womb, brown and dry
and ephemeral
And a firm, green bud
pinched tighter than a clamshell
holds the promise inside.
Katrina…I want to be the third— a pinched green bud…holding the promise inside! Oh, the times of our lives! Beautiful!
Katrina, I see each of these buds and feel a whole cocktail of emotion: wonder, wistfulness, hope…how symbolic are these flowers of the temporary and beautiful nature of life. This little poem pulls on the heartstrings!
Katrina, this time lapse of flowers, caught in a moment, is so powerful – the whole life span contained in a poetic capsule. I cannot decide which part I love most (I’m usually partial to buds just about to burst, but the neighboring empty womb resonates). Love the idea of the “promise inside” too.
Katrina,
The first stanza invited me to think of myself as the flower (feeling quite frail today), and then the second stanza was a lovely reminder to think of possibility in the vibrant color. You offer such perspective here the way you move into “and a” with two more stanzas to show other ways of being. Each something to ponder literally and metaphorically. Love the final line especially, “holds a promise inside.”
Peace,
Sarah
Katrina, the window of time is felt here to see the bloom – while it is here, much like the living of life,
savoring of moments. Powerful.
Katrina, you have captured so many stages–the whole circle of the fuchsia’s life. (I love fuchsias and have a sad story about them. As a child, I harassed the fuchsia buds by popping them before they opened. Our neighbor had to come over and complain.)
I see a roomful of dedicated educators
Giving up three precious days of summer
Cuddled in cardigans and swaddled in sweaters
In a frozen conference room
Within view of the resort’s pool
In swampy Orlando
Hoping to learn how to build
Classroom community
With groups of
COVID broken
COVID damaged
COVID ravaged
Students.
And here we are,
Caffeine fueled,
Sleep deprived,
A little broken ourselves
Enthusiastically embracing
Ideas (grasping as straws?)
Trying, working, being teachers
Who are determined to learn
So our students can
By Mo Daley 7/16/22
*Im at a conference in Florida right now!
Mo! What extraordinary adventures you are having this summer! The string of adjectives following COVID and its placement before the solitary word students packs a punch. And isn’t it just like teachers, tired, broken, and needing caffeine to put themselves in a place to make the world better for students. Have the most inspirational conference (and find some pool time – maybe sneak in a little Mickey? It’s Orlando, after all!).
Mo, I have been in that same frosty conference room fueled by caffeine. Your repetition of “COVID” is a reminder of its impact upon our lives.
Mo. You have captured ( as always) the scene— frozen teachers in cardigans overlooking ( but not enjoying ) the pool as you try to help your students. Wow!
No, this is such a great look at just one way teachers stay in the work of being a teacher during our “time off.”
Enjoy your conference- I hope you get some time for the pool ?
Mo, yep, that’s why I’m signed up for a number of virtual conferences this summer, too. I’ll also be “[e]nthusiastically embracing / Ideas” to try and help my future students. And I laughed at your “grasping” line because, yeah, we’re “enthusiastically embracing” these “ideas,” but, hey, it is summer and we’re freezing in this conference room mere feet away from the resort’s pool while also meaning that, yes, we really do want to find “the answer” that will help our “COVID broken” students next year, as well. So, I see some humor in that line, but also a real earnestness, too. Thank you! (And enjoy the rest of your conference!)
Mo,
Thank you for allowing us to bear witness to this scene at your conference — what is present in body and that which we carry within our bodies (even in the chilly AC). That line “a little broken ourselves” is a lovely understatement that then shifts to the possibilities revealed with determination. Love the parentheses there with a question mark in “Ideas (grasping as straws)?”
Be well there, friend!
Sarah
Mo, enjoy! The alliteration here is beautiful and fun to read:
“Cuddled in cardigans and swaddled in sweaters”
We can see too those educators with the word picture you paint. You have captured so much here–like Jennifer said, the students who are covid broken, damaged and ravaged is so powerful. And, of course, we know the teachers are “a little broken ourselves.” All the best for you to truly get something good out of it to bring back to your students.
Mo, I don’t think we’d ever to say collectively as a profession that are students were broken, damaged, or ravaged. But here we are. I liked the repeat use of COVID to hammer that point home. The pictures of the teachers in the last stanza makes me feel that similarity to the veterans in movies that are shell shocked, but still fighting the good fight…
Hi Mo,
I appreciate your poem for many reasons. One being that it’s been a long time since I’ve attended a conference in person and you described it perfectly. I loved these lines most because we all must remember the effects aren’t going away with the masks! But we will all continue to learn how to build! Love it! Stay safe, Mo.
Jennifer, thank you for getting the July Open Write started with such a fun prompt.
I have participated in the #verselove April writing the last two years but June was the first time I participated in the Open Write — and I missed it as soon as I wrote the last poem of the month. I’m so happy to be back for July.
Futures
I see my niece,
four and full of curiosity.
Spreading joy
with a
smile
laugh
hug.
I see my daughter,
thirteen and full of curiosity.
Searching YouTube,
sending Snapchats.
Early morning runs,
singing show tunes,
drawing in ink.
I see a bright future
for my niece
for my daughter.
Look out world!
©Jennifer Kowaczek July 2022
Jennifer, you’ve captured those two ages perfectly! I love how both are full of curiosity. Look out world, indeed!
Jennifer, what a beautiful moment I had spending time with your poem and the two young people who are full of smiles and optimism and curiosity! There’s something about the “drawing in ink” that feels both permanent and fluid at the same time. And those three verbs hanging at the end of the first stanza bring such joy. I am glad you have come back these past two months to write again. It’s lovely finding your voice here.
I love the contrast between the two girls and the thing that binds them together – “a bright future.”
Jennifer,
Such a lovely progression leading to cousins side-by-side though nearly a decade apart. They each engage with the world or have ways of being that at once contrast and yet suit them. This is a poignant way of showing what is and what is possible. And I especially love how the speaker recognizes this as a wise observer.
Peace,
Sarah
Yes, Jennifer!! I continue to believe that our little ones are here to give us all hope for a better future. I love it! The ending is priceless!
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Jennifer, what a joy to read the hope and “bright future” in your poem. I love that they are both “full of curiosity.” That is a quality for growth and hope, isn’t it?
*Sad, but True
It’s a scam! I’ve been hacked!
Is my reputation whacked?
Will they from their job be sacked?
I’m so glad that I have friends
With willing hands, who are willing to lend,
But smart enough before they send
A gift card to someone they don’t know.
Such heartfelt generosity they show
Their concern for others will certainly glow,
Thanks, dear friends for checking first
Now I hope things will not get worse
“Cause this is the end of this here verse.
*Really. My morning has been spent responding to friends writing to confirm whether or not I sent an email asking for help for a friend who needed cash right away. But, for this scam, the email recipients were asked to send an Amazon gift to the email in the email supposedly sent from me.
I hope you didn’t fall for it. But, if you did, I pray that you will be blessed for doing what you could for someone you thought was in need.
Oh, Anna! What a way to spend a morning. This poem appears to have given you some space to process through what others put into action in the universe and counter it at the same time. I love that you find the good in this situation, seeing the generosity in those who may have succumbed to the scam. I know your poem will serve as a warning.
Oh, Anna! I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’m glad you found a cathartic way to deal with it.
Good heavens, Anna – it’s astonishing, the unscrupulous creativity of scammers and the lengths they go to. What a way to combat the trouble, with light verse! What strikes me in the midst of this unfairness is the blessing – of friends looking out for you, and you, in the midst of unraveling the knots, writing your way through and asking blessing on those with generous hearts who might have been scammed, too. What a world… yet look at the grace still at work in it.
Oh no! My Instagram was hacked several months ago & I’m still trying to clean up the mess. (Fear not – now I only deal with it from time to time. I really wish Meta would figure out a better way to guard against this.) I loved the playful nature of this response to what I know to be a really frustrating situation. The rhyming tercets made me laugh even though I was cringing along with you.
Jennifer ~ I forgot to place the comment first. This is the first time since April that a prompt arrived In my box, and I was so excited to respond that I forgot to tell you that I was happy to be here and how much I enjoyed your poem ~ especially the last line. I love that line!
No worries and thank you! So glad your prompt appeared today.
I See Saturday morning.
I see Saturday morning—
Summer lindens
heavy
with bold, forest green
leaves,
sallow, celery-shaded
grass,
dotted with sweet white
clover and patches
of brown.
In the distance
a milky gray sky—
and —
interrupting
my elevated thoughts
of metaphors and similes
for lindens and grass
and sweet white clover
a man in torn gray
sweatshirt
riding a cherry red mower.
Ann, so happy to have you here! I love all the softness of your poem, the repetitive s’s feel languid and make me want to linger. The floral imagery is beautiful. The cherry red mower against the white clover makes for a red wheelbarrow moment.
Darn that bothersome “man in torn gray sweatshirt riding a cherry red motor” for denying us the beauty of your similes and metaphors. Regardless, I like your Saturday morning scene.
Ann, the poem is so rich with invitation! I feel like I have stepped into a painting complete with the man in his mower! 🙂
Jennifer—thank you for this prompt and your poem. Your imagery was quiet, full of color and overflowing with peace. I spent the day with my five month old granddaughter yesterday. I thought about our world today and the contrast with the joy she brings to us.
Possibilities
I see hope in Maya’s round face
India and America reside in grey eyes
that have seen no evil,
Felt no prejudice,
suffered no harm,
still swathed
in her cocoon of new life.
I see fear in my heart.
What will the world bring
to this daughter of my daughter,
my most precious offering to eternity?
She must emerge from her cocoon
into our world.
Our world awaits her. But
I see a bitter world
awash with futility.
I see a bowed-down world that
I cannot make right
for this child I adore.
I can do but so much
her future surpasses my reach.
I wish I had more faith in our world.
I do not trust the world we have made.
Yet there must be a chance…
I see the future in her bright eyes,
my tiny melting pot.
How can I not believe
in that gleam?
How can I not see hope
when I hold this beautiful child?
GJSands
7/16/22
Gayle, your imagery today is exquisite. The terms for your grandchild (daughter or your daughter, precious offering) and the description of her emerging from a cocoon really resonate with me this morning. Your words and what we have wrought bring tears for this future.
Gayle, the hope we feel in the innocent face of our grandchildren is a joyous outlook for a better world. The legacy we leave for future generations to carry forth is powerful – we do touch the future. Your words here remind us that every action, every interaction, every moment is sacred. Blessings to you!
Oh, Gayle, congratulations on your new granddaughter. What a joy and gift. I love so many of the lines…
And the sadness and fear you have conjured for me in these lines:
And then your powerful ending that there must be a chance, and “How can I not have hope?” You give me hope with this beautiful poem.
Gayle, This is a lovely poem. You have perfectly captured the tension between the bitter world that surrounds us and the perfect being who graced your day yesterday. Thanks for the reminder to believe in that gleam and honor it!
Gayle, I have a new grandson, not yet three weeks old, and your poem captures the specific emotions I feel thinking g about him growing up in this world and how I can best protect him. And i’m this thinking I am inspired to do more, to say more. For now, keep loving on that wee one.
Gayle,
I also find total joy in watching my great niece who’s almost 2 years old. Something extra special comes when our world is sucking all kinds of joy out of us and then along comes a baby. Truly a blessing!
I am holding these lines close to my heart:
I love what you shared today, even the hard parts of our world, but especially your hopeful ending. Don’t lose hope.
Jennifer, thank you for the prompt today. I’ve been hovring on the edges of the Openwrite and this is the first time I’ve picked up the courage to participate. Your line “I hear Broca’s landing” which had me thinking about sounds and silences and how much effort I expend in formulating ideas that I never actually utter. I’m still sitting with the possibilities that line offers. 🙂
I am not sure if I can combine comment/feedback with my own response to the prompt but that’s what I am doing here:
Garden Reveries
I see cucumber vines
gripping tightly
around the yellow-specked leaf
of the tomato
I talk to her
as I unwrap her
suggesting
healthier possibilities
I see another
reaching
seeking
yearning
for more space
more light
I feel her need
I am more
need more
Not to take away
from you
but to be
true to all of me
Rama, welcome to the Open Write writers group. You’re one of us now. No turning back. I’m glad you decided to join us. There is nothing like summertime vegetables, fresh from the vine. I saw a meme on Facebook recently of some movie star who said that it’s impossible to feel stress or worry (or something like that) when eating a fresh-picked tomato, and I believe it. I like these lines best:
I talk to her
as I unwrap her
suggesting
healthier possibilities
It makes me think of the things we cling to – habits, dispositions, attitudes, beliefs – when there are better ways. The unwrapping gives me hope.
Rama—SO glad you are here to enrich us! In that one stanza, you had my heart-
I talk to her (the personification—of COURSE it is a female!)
as I unwrap her
suggesting healthier possibilities. (There is a tiny video here)
Beautiful!
Rama, I’m so glad you dared to utter these beautiful lines here today. Thank you for trusting us and joining the Ethical ELA community by sharing your poem. I love the personification of the cucumber vine.
I love these lines:
With so few words, you have created such emotion and longing. Beautiful.
Thanks for sharing your reveries. It seems the vines in your garden has a message for each of us ~ not to take away from others, but to be true to ourselves. Lovely!
Rama, welcome! I hope you find this space as rewarding as I do. Your gardening imagery speaks volumes. Not only do we see the garden with you, we also see each plant as the individual and their personalities. I love that you spoke to the clinging vine, giving her advice and strengthening the plantonality!
Rama, These are gorgeous images of you bent over the vines, conversing w/ the plants. It’s fitting they are female, thst you attend to their needs and engage them in conversation. Love the title, too.
Rama—Welcome! I’m relatively new to sharing my poems in this space as well.
This group is so great!
Thank you for trusting us with your poetry.
Jennifer, I love the prompt and echo slim’s thoughts. Given this weeks news about new images from space, the prompt is prescient. I’m sure we’ll read some telescope poems today.
Lady night I went to the horse races w/ my husband. I always take reading material because the wait between races is long. Las night I read part of Angela Stockman’s Teacher’s Guide to Multimodal Composition and a poetry collection, Mausoleum of Flowers by Marcus Summerhill. Both are part of my inspiration this morning.
At the Horse Races Reading Poetry
I see quarter horses
gallop through words &
chants of fans whose
trifecta dreams payoff
in written wagers.
I see poetry in ponies
at the horse races as
numbers 1, 2, 3, 4 & so on
glide into the paddock, the
gate pops open, and they’re off!
I see jockeys coax a verse from
their mounts crossing the finish
line the way a Volta changes a
sonnet’s tone to give readers
something unexpected & new.
—Glenda Funk
Oooh, Glenda, you exude and inhale and show us the immersive life of a lover of poetry in reading it at the horse races and seeing it in the ponies and jockeys. I’m loving the image of your reading as the horses are lining up – – right there in the midst of dollar payoffs and high hopes, there is poetry, even in the dust clouds of every horse’s hoofs beating the track to the finish. I love everything about this – – and your recent recommendation to read Ada Limon – – friend, you called the shot on her talent – – I was happy to see an Oliveresque/nature poet as our new Poet Laureate! I’m betting that if you can call the winning horses as well as you call the US Poet Laureates, you held a winning ticket!
Glenda, the final verse is such a lovely bridge between the two worlds! The contrast between ‘coaxing’ a verse and breathless rush of the finish line has struck me this morning.
Glenda—this right here—
“I see quarter horses
gallop through words”
If you wrote nothing else, this phrase would resonate with me for the rest of the day!!
I love your title and what you see combining poetry and horse races. There is so much beauty in your words and images.
“I see jockeys coax a verse from / their mounts…” and “I see quarter horses / gallop through words” are my favorite images today.
By the way, you are always a teacher! I’ve been spending time reading sonnets, trying to identify the Volta, and thinking of you with your high school students doing similarly.
Glenda, I love the poetry in this poem, and the connection you build with the poetry of horse racing works fluidly, naturally, beautifully. All of the “word” words, along with the movement of the horses within them pulls at me. This is a beautifully written piece!
Glenda, you’ve crafted something “unexpected and new” that I absolutely adore. I would never have imagined finding poetry at the horse races. You’re such a gifted poet!
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Jennifer, I love the freedom of freestyle poetry, and this prompt is full of possibilities. I loved yours so much that I took your form as the lead and used some of the key words (ponder, possiblities) to write a mirror poem. I love your theme of nature, the essence of your being on wind, presence of your footprint on branch. How clever to begin with what we see. Thank you for hosting us today, Jennifer!
Of Here and Now
I see life ~
journeys of adventure
and paths ~
unforged frontiers touching horizon
my toes on the starting line
I step out
into all the day holds
pondering
possibilities yet unsung
the music of now
I embrace each moment
as I live,
breathe,
discover
the beauty of here
Kim, I love the phrases “the beauty of here” and “the music of now” because of how much of my time is spent in anticipation or reflection. I found myself actually listening to the music drifting to me as I type these words and thinking of the sound bubbles I create around me.
Kim, this is lovely and full of possibility. Each day is a new adventure, and we are “on the starting line.” Lovely sounds here, too: “pondering possibilities.” Sublime poem.
My toes on the starting line—what a great metaphor for our future. Here’s hoping the race is a fair one! “The beauty of here” is what we must do to live!
Oh, Kim, what a motivation for living life fully, “here and now.” I’m in awe of the emotion that comes out for me as I read. I love the idea, at my age, of having “my toes on the starting line,” at least for this one day and as many more as I am privileged to live. Thank you for this.
Kim, your idea of embracing the day as a step over the starting line, finding the possibilities, and embracing the beauty of each moment by breathing and discovering is both peaceful and hopeful. I feel the adventure you are on. It’s so good to see you in this space, my friend!
Kim, you remind us of the value of moments, that every day is an adventure in itself. I adore “the music of now” – we must listen! – and “possibilities yet unsung”. The dual threads of gratitude and hope sparkle so bright in this word-tapestry of life.
Kim,
As I read your poem, I felt a wave of calm and peace washing over me. The serenity in every stanza brings me total joy.
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