Rolling the Dice with Stefani Boutelier
Welcome to Day 23 of Verselove. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on; if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. Click here for more information on the Verselove. Share a highlight from your experiences thus far here.
Stefani Boutelier, Ph.D., is an Associate Professor of Education at Aquinas College in Michigan. She teaches courses for pre-service and inservice teachers in instructional design, literacy, ed tech, and research methods. Her K-12 teaching was in California prior to moving into teacher preparation. @stefboutelier
Inspiration
I love the possibilities of digital tools as supplements to support content creation both online and on paper. Oftentimes, having both options (i.e., digital and hands-on) lends a hand to more inclusion, hybrid learning, or possible last minute curricular changes (has anyone experienced this in the last two years?). I have a set of Metaphor Dice (teachers can grab a free set from #metaphoricalangel here) that I like to share and implement with my students–both inservice and preservice teachers. There is also a digital dice roll. The idea of metaphors can extend beyond poetry to help support multiliteracies, engage students in ownership, and make connections across content (think about the mathematical possibilities).
Process
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Using Metaphor Dice in person or the digital version provides a plethora of combinations. The metaphors are built upon a triad of concepts, adjectives, and objects. It is suggested to take the rolled metaphor and follow up with “which is to say,” to further expand on the figurative meaning in a poetic text.
For your metaphoric inspiration today, feel free to use:
- One of the images of the dice above
- The online metaphor dice roll
- A combination from this list: concept-adjective-object
- Or roll your own metaphor dice set if you have them available
Note. Metaphor Dice is hosting a contest and curating an anthology for teachers and students. These submissions are due by 4/30/22 if you and your students are interested.
Stefani’s Poem
I used the online version of metaphor dice for my poem:
my heart is a well worn candle
which is to say
this bleeding alter
a flame throbbing hope
Pound, beat, flicker
a wick transplanting feelings of
past fireworks, darkness
fluttering light
igniting a spark of experience
pound, beat, flicker
to escort my body’s hearth
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. 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.
Also, in the spirit of reciprocity, please respond to at least three other poets today.
This was a fun prompt. The metaphor dice gave me “home / midnight / dance.” Here goes.
be home from the dance by midnight
which is to say
only dance with nice boys
drink only water, the
punch might be spiked
the world is scarier after dark
nice girls go home early
dancing is only safe
in the shelter of
an overheated gym
I say
dance like no one is watching
have mace at the ready
look all boys in the eye,
seek their truth
the world is scary
at any time of day
I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
My dice roll: Past Vacant Blessing
We are the past,
We are the vacant voids of thoughts that do not stop
We are the worry for each day of the future
We are the mistakes we’ve made
We are defined by those mishaps
We are also defined by how we reconcile
We are those small blessings in each day that keep us going
Macy, I appreciate how your poem progresses from the voids/deficits to optimism.
The future is a reluctant mirror.
Which is to say
Reluctant we are
For the unknown
Is coming
But what awaits is a mirror
A mirror we see us
But can we see through?
The future is on the other side
What is coming we no not
Reluctant we can be
For the unknown is scary
The future is coming
But we shall wait and see
Hello Professor Boutelier! Sorry for the late post! I loved doing this in class, and I’m looking forward to bringing this strategy to my future classrooms! I feel it can be altered to be appropriate for any level. My online dice roll was:
Poetry, Burning, Dance
Burning in the night
Sparks glistened in the sky
Words dancing in the wind
Lyrics that rhyme
And speak gently to us
Let it burn
Glowing in our eyes
Sway to the beat
In the long, dark night
Margaret, I love your choice of descriptive words. It brings such beauty to your words.
Maragaret,
I loved this metaphor! I read your words and thought something similar to what you wrote about! You did a great job making it come to life!
Love Pray Begin
To love again is to begin to pray again
To pray again is to begin to love again
To begin again is to pray and love again
I love the circular nature of your lines Even if we’re beginning again, we’re still on a continuous journey. Thank you for sharing–your words give me lots to think about.
You’re welcome. These words mean so much to me while on this journey called life.
I enjoyed how you kept it short but so meaningful at the same time. All of your words go so well together.
I liked how you made this poem come full circle!
Hi Stefani, thanks for sharing. I have never tried this approach as a springboard for writing but I plan to introduce my colleagues to it.
I AM UNSPOKEN MEADOW
I exist but very invincible
Quiet even when I have reason to SPEAK OUT
Always pondering about the injustice
What if I shift my mindset
Put all the fears behind me
Expect and prepare for the ripple effects
Will it change the status core
Will it make me venerable to victimization
Will it break barriers
Will it bring real CHANGE
Thank you everyone for rolling the dice with me yesterday. I read through all of them and love some of the overlap of themes that came with similar words that were rolled. Happy Poetry Month and enjoy your Sunday!
like some here, I know of the metaphor dice but have never tried it on my own. Actually not with students either. I can’t wait too!
cursed promises
she says she loves him
she says she will not do the things
that hurt him
anymore.
she promises and promises
these promises come from her heart
but her heart is an impossible promise.
it makes impossible promises –
no more attitude
no more mood changes –
I promise
I don’t mean it
I’m sorry
I love you
I mean it
but time always passes
and her heart becomes a midnight curse
enough time goes by
and she does the same old things
her promises, her love
just a curse
that chains her
and keeps her
and promises her
an
impossible
love
Angie, I like how your italics create a sense of hesitancy and pause in your poem. Thank you for sharing.
her heart is a cursed promise
which is to say she loves him
she will not do the things
that hurt him
anymore.
she promises and promises.
these promises come from her heart
but her heart is an impossible promise.
it makes impossible promises –
no more attitude
no more mood changes –
I promise
I don’t mean it
I’m sorry
I love you
I mean it
but time always passes
and her heart becomes a midnight curse
enough time goes by
and she does the same old things
her promises, her love
just a curse
that chains her
and keeps her
and promises her
an
impossible
love
her heart is a cursed promise
which is to say
she loves him
she will not do the things
that hurt him
anymore.
she promises and promises.
these promises come from her heart
but her heart is an impossible promise.
it makes impossible promises –
no more attitude
no more mood changes –
I promise
I don’t mean it
I’m sorry
I love you
I mean it
but time always passes
and her heart becomes a midnight curse
enough time goes by
and she does the same old things
her promises, her love
just a curse
that chains her
and keeps her
and promises her
an
impossible
love
Hey Stefani,
I love this prompt! I met Taylor Mali, the brilliant spoken word poet and inventor of the “metaphor dice”–as far as I know–a couple of year’s ago at the Westport Literary Festival where he was selling sets of dice.
I didn’t have my set with me so I went through the process and came out with this poem.
My dice roll was:
the past
handed down
drum
And the poem goes like this:
The Past is a handed down drum
…which is to say,
the rhythms by which you live your life
are borrowed
and the souls
of elders
inform your every move
in the cadences
that they whisper,
These truths have been outlawed
by authorities scared of
the histories held in the steady
beating of the drums–
I say, “Listen!”
They speak of practices that
Reveal;
empower;
enlighten–
blaze a path forward
through forbidden wisdom,
and the steady march forward of a
constant
Well, no pun intended, but as a drummer, this one for sure resonated with me! What a lucky roll of the dice, Dave! Our heartbeats, the drumbeat of our ancestors “are borrowed / and the souls / of elders / inform your every move” is a mystical truth we don’t trust enough in our youth, but come to better understand in our aging. “These truths have been outlawed” called to mind the work of photographer Edward Curtis and how he was able to capture some of that history. And the word “cadence” was in my mind yesterday, thinking, “You just don’t hear that word used very often” – and here it is! It’s a fantastic word, powerful, driving, and yet there is something inviting about it as well. A great poem from a great roll!
Thanks! I have to admit that I cheated a bit after a particularly bad roll! I play drums as well, so I knew I had gotten lucky on this roll!
Dave, this is wonderful. Love not only the lovely sentiments but the cadences of your poem. Beautiful!
Hi Dave, I love the last verse of your poem. Good advice for the young ones who believe in their minds that they know it all.
Dave,
I like how you started off your poem, very unique and caught my attention!
Stefani, thank you for this prompt! I loved the online version of the dice which makes this prompt even more accessible. I wish I had prioritized more time today to write, but this is one I’d love to come back to. Your poem made it look so easy–the repetition of pound, beat, flicker was especially well done.
My soul is a small-town curveball.
That is to say
they never saw it coming.
I am the girl who starred in the plays
danced in perfect synchrony
cheered for the state-qualifying football team
aced every exam
sang in the church choir
greeted neighbors and strangers.
But she knew she never
belonged
on this team.
It’s the bottom
of the ninth
and the scoreboard
tracks the pros and cons
of the staying home team
and the going away team.
The next batter is up
and she throws them a
curveball.
Rachelle,
I am grateful that you were not destined to stay in that small town, for you are a great teacher and friend here on the left coast. I really love the consistent metaphor throughout the poem and how beautifully you illustrate exactly what a curveball you are. You may not have taken a huge amount of time to write it, but you hit a homerun!
Love it, Rachelle! The metaphors in the prompt poems are so incredible, and to see it played through (pun intended!) this whole work is a great arc and return. There is a flexibility in this poem as well, in terms of meaning and interpretation. It could be just about any kind of decision someone is facing – to change or not to change; to keep a status quo or to shuffle things up. Who among us hasn’t also thrown that curveball at some time in their life? What was a curveball you threw? would actually be a good prompt. Especially for spring and baseball season! There is a tinge of sadness in this poem, for all the fun it has. This stanza is disconcerting, “But she knew she never / belonged / on this team.” There’s a ‘shut out’ feeling (ugh, no pun intended, but it works!) in that kernel that makes me wonder what it could mean. The person’s identity? Coming to terms with revealing their true selves to others – ? That’s what opens up the poem to a lot of interpretations. Thanks for the fun read!
Rachelle, I absolutely love your metaphor…and your poem.
Oh what an awesome metaphor for your life and I love getting to know details through this dice poem – I particularly love “staying home team” and “going away team”
Hi Rachelle, thanks for sharing. Your poem speaks about how skillful you are and versatile in all areas. Its great when individuals can reflect on themselves and identify both strengths and weaknesses.
My heart is a small-town blessing,
which is to say
the place where everybody
knows your name
your parents
your secrets
your childhood transgressions
the street you grew up on
My heart holds them all,
with reverent grace
because all of these
pieces and parts,
some worth celebrating,
others needing to stay
hidden
are what make you
you.
Julie– I like that our poems contrast! As I was writing my poem, I was remembering all the great parts of living in the small town which your poem highlights–although everybody knew everything (name, parents, secrets)… there was also a sense of comfort in that. The caveat at the end is really important to note too. Thank you for your words!
Agreed: it was neat to read the two back-to-back!
Yes, totally small town & curve ball. I love the slight secrecy in “others needing to stay hidden” and the last two lines especially!
Oh, heck yeah, Julie! How is it those “childhood transgressions” – even before the age of social media anything – seem to be indelible in the memory of neighborhood folk?! There is something about ‘being from’ somewhere that indeed does stay with us our whole lives. I would not want to return to my hometown – there is much worth celebrating there, but also parts that can stay hidden forever. But not so much that as it’s just not the same town anymore. Some towns really do stay the same, while others change drastically – becoming much more populated, or the reverse. Bottom line, though, is when I say my hometown to people, it indeed remains a deep part of my identity. Odd. I hadn’t really thought of it so much that way, so thanks for the reflective moment. I’m sure that will become a poem of it’s own!
Hi Julie, thanks for sharing. Your poem made me reflect on the parts of my life that I would like to remind a secret. Hummm I wonder how things would change if those secrets were revealed….
Julie, I really enjoyed how you added every aspect of what a small town resembles.
I love this poem idea so much!
Like a song bird
The memory is impossible to ignore.
The sun rays broken by the blinds
Stretch across the floor
I fix my eyes on the diagonal rays
Tears welling up
Focus. Focus. Focus.
His voice sounds far away
Yet he is closer than ever
Holding my hand
Hiding his tears
As he says he must leave
“Only across town”
And I’ll visit every other weekend
Visit.
Not live.
A visitor at my dad’s
This is the moment our distance grew.
Divorce.
A word so impossible
Improbable
Incomprehensible.
But not the worst.
The worst was him giving up.
He gave up on sharing me
He gave up on working with mom
He moved away
And that was it.
All I have left is an impossible memory
That sneaks back into my mind
And follows me like a song bird in the trees.
Oops. Forgot to say what my dice had rolled: impossible, memory, song bird
Alexis, there is layers to the emotion this poem shares. From the broken blinds to the distant voice (so close), the giving up. The return of the song bird following you is an aching yet beautiful use of the image.
Oh my gosh, Alexis. My heart just hurt when I hit the end line. This is an entire life’s story encapsulated in these lines, and the complexity of that shattered relationship. Who knew “visit” could become such a pivotal word in a child’s life, but that is the power of language. One word. For life. Wow. How you came back around to the song bird in the closing line is brilliant. I have forgotten that as I was wrapped up in the storyline and the relationship, so when it came back around to that, I literally caught my breath. Wowzers. Thank you!
Home is a midnight candle
illuminating the way
as you feel through the dark
it will flicker at times
as the flame fights to survive
but take another step, trusting
the light will not die.
This is a beautiful poem about home! I love the imagery of the candle and the contrasts you have.
Beautiful. Absolutely, that’s the first word that comes to mind. It is somewhat melancholy – in the way darkness can be – somber. But at the same time, kind of loving warmth, the light, illuminating, feeling through that darkness. Sight and touch. Reminds me of the countless times I would drive home for a weekend from college, first having to work until midnight at the bar, then driving home to arrive around 3am. But the metaphor here is even greater than any physical trip – it’s the light in the soul of the place we call home. That’s forever. Thank you for such a lovely poem! Brought back those memories to me.
Stefani, thank you for reminding me that I have these dice and have yet to use them. The virtual roller was perfect and it have such an easy application in the classroom. I went with the first roll I got.
Fleeting
Time is a desperate animal
clawing its way up a tree
away from its predator.
It teases and gives the impression
that it will be caught
just to sprint away even faster.
Pausing and resting and seemingly
coming to a standstill
it misleads others to be lulled into safety.
Then, before you know it,
fear amps it up again and off it goes
scrambling away furiously.
~Susan Ahlbrand
23 April 2022
I love this image, and your title: “Fleeting.” It does feel like time is always running away!! I think next time I have an approaching deadline, I’ll imagine it as this desperate animal clawing up a tree… and try to not be one “lulled into safety!”
Susan, I usually think of “time” as being the aggressor, the thing that can’t be beaten, so I really appreciate seeing it as “a desperate animal / clawing its way up a tree.” Although it will always “sprint away” from us, we can hope to capture it (on occasion). This is very cool! Thanks for this!
Time is fleeting and I love how you captures this.
What an awesome metaphor to roll! I love it. And I love how you described the way home moves and how the animal moves throughout.
Thanks Stefani! It was fun rolling the virtual dice. I rolled poetry, well worn, brand new toy and combined those words with my experience of walking at the lagoon this afternoon. Here’s my result.
Sniff In
Sniff in beach funk
salty fishy
tickling nose and imagination
feet moving over well worn paths
buzzing bees pollinating images
a flash of yellow
stomping above a blossoming of white
birdsong on a post
and balanced on overhead wires
playing with words each day
a brand new toy
nature and poetry
holding hands
@kd0602
This is so neat! I love “buzzing bees pollinating images,” and “nature and poetry / holding hands.” The two really were meant for each other!! Your lagoon sounds delightful.
Your word choices are so great! I enjoyed the mood and tone of this poem.
“a brand new toy / nature and poetry / holding hands” — a wonderful image of how you combine photography with words, Kim.
Poetry is an angry blessing
Which is to say
it punches like a fist
then opens like a grave.
It slaps raw
handprints across the
face of truth.
It rages, sears
its brand in the tight space
between my eyes.
It boils and roils
an uncontained fury,
blistering even the teeth.
It backhands the pickle jar
and the milk jug
off the kitchen table in one
swift motion.
And that is poetry’s
angry blessing.
Allison, this is amazing. You took this metaphor and ran with it. The second to the last stanza is jarring. I love it.
Allison, you have caught that poetic anger in your word choice here. So much power. “rages” “sears” “boils and roils” “fury” “blistering” And I so love “backhands the pickle jar and the milk jug…in one swift motion” I can see these images, even though some are abstract. “That is poetry’s angry blessing.” Thank you
“It backhands the pickle jar
and the milk jug
off the kitchen table in one
swift motion.”
Amazing, Allison. Amazing.
Wow! I love the powerful energy, the uncontained fury in the choice of words.
Allison, incredible poem! The anger radiates. I can see the pickle jar and milk jug flying off the table. Adored the line “blistering even the teeth”. Sensational poem full of striking images, powerful words and emotions!
OOooweeee, Allison! I would love to know how this poem came to be. I am pulled in to it immediately!
Love this:
I am working on being more open and honest so this hits me, in the face! Thank you! I needed this!
Powerful Silent Thunderstorm
There’s a sweetness in the air
A change is near
Fuschia fills the sky
Before being covered in gray
Petrichor rolls in
As the droplets begin
Neck hairs rise up
Their posture corrected
Steam rises up
From the skillet-al street
A rush of cold from above
A blast of heat from below
Finally anticipation is broken
The flash of light comes
Rob,
This makes me feel like I should curl up under a blanket and watch the sky! You beautifully paint a picture of the sky during the lead up to a thunder storm–petrichor and all. Thank you for sharing.
What a great roll of the dice for today. This evening I told my husband this day has had seven days of weather.
“Petrichor” is a favorite word of mine–so perfect here! And yes, it is a sweetness in the air.
The neck hair correcting its posture is so fine.
Rob, I love a good thunderstorm, and this brings me right back to a good Iowa thunderstorm. This stanza is sooo clever:
“neck hairs rise up their posture corrected” I can feel the electricity in the air as the thunderstorm rolls in.
Stefani, thank you for introducing me to Metaphor Dice – what a great writing tool! Your poem is wonderful! Love the line:
Here goes mine:
Our future could be a well-worn thunderstorm
which is to say
As we dump all our hopes and dreams
Into the bubbling cauldron of
Our tomorrows
To keep today’s sorrows
At bay a while longer
We cannot predict
The shape our future will take.
Will it sweep us away
In blinding rage
The eye of the storm right upon us?
Or will the Sun find its way through
Ravenous raven-colored thunder clouds
Blushing like yesterday’s bride?
Will we weather the storm
As it thunders about us?
Or will the thunder seep into our hearts
And become the palette with which we paint
the autumn of our discontent?
Ooh! What a ponderous poem! Your sounds are perfect here, Saba. I love “Blushing like yesterday’s bride.”
“As we dump all our hopes and dreams
Into the bubbling cauldron of
Our tomorrows To keep today’s sorrows
At bay a while longer”
WOW! I feel the bubbling…love the tomorrow/sorrow sounds, and your truth is spot on. Your attention to words (ravenous raven) and allusions (autumn of our discontent) are oh so satisfying.
Saba, you have written a poem-ful of beauty here. Like:
Stefani, Thank you for hosting today. I appreciate the link to rolling the metaphor dice. I tried a few times but they all seemed sad. Struggling a bit today so I just kept this simple. My words were death petty curveball.
death is a petty
curveball
slicing unexpectedly
across Homeplate
no grand slam glory
only defeat
Barb Edler
23 April 2022
Barb, I love how concise and profound this is! “[D]eath” can definitely strike “unexpectedly” leaving “no grand slam glory / only defeat.” Thanks for writing and sharing this!
Barb,
Spectacular metaphor.comparing death to a curve ball.As a baseball fan, I love baseball metaphors. Perfect poem.
Barb, good poem. Concise is true, as Scott said. It seems a perfect poem to have come with the roll of this dice.
Hello, friend. Sending you love. Death is such a petty curveball. The unexpected slice, the defeat. I have used weak excuses for not coming to the page each day this month, but your determination tonight reminds me to do better. Thank you for being here.
Barb–I kept getting sad ones, as well. So I just kept rolling until one wasn’t 🙂 This, however is succinct and powerful. Only defeat…
I can feel the deflation in these 15 perfect words. Powerfully succinct.
The mind is a well
worn promise,
which is to say
our minds carry the
planned-to but couldn’t the
was-gonna but forgot the
next-time but not the
meant-to but didn’t.
Threads of intention fray
loosely woven dreams,
squandering precious
possibilities of a promise
kept, but maybe the mind
is simply yielding to the
heart.
{Okay, so I am not sure if this makes sense, but I feel like it might.}
Sarah, I think the words in your opening stanza sound very familiar, especially lately, like “was-gonna but forgot the”. I really like the “Threads of intention fray/loosely woven dreams”. How much our hearts rule our actions is a question I have often pondered, or how to follow through with a well-meaning intention based on reason rather than impulse or passion. Hope you haven’t been disappointed by a promise that wasn’t kept recently.
Sarah, it makes perfect sense – especially when you tie it up with the last line. Wonderfully done.
Sarah,
This totally makes sense! I love the first stanza so much! The concept of so many good intentions that just don’t come to fruition for, as you say in the second stanza, “maybe the mind / is simply yielding to the / heart.” Your poem really spoke to my overwhelmed introvert mind.
First, let me say thank you for the enjambment that allowed me to read “The mind is a well” and then
“worn promise,” doubling my experience from the get-go.
Your poem spoke oodles of sense to me. I am queen of loosely woven dreams, but also a firm believer in making the best decisions we can in the moment we are in with the information we have–which is a yielding to the heart.
<3<3
Sarah, I think the metaphor is perfectly true. You carry the metaphor throughout. “Threads of intention fray
loosely woven dreams,”
I also love the surprising and thought-provoking ending. Maybe, indeed!
“planned-to but couldn’t the
was-gonna but forgot the
next-time but not the
meant-to but didn’t.”
This could have come from my wanna-be mind! and the close–it is reality (or at least a good excuse)–the “mind… yielding to the heart”…
Sarah,
I love this because I believe our wouldacouldashouda is always the mind, whereas our hearts contain our dreams that we have to set free (without overthinking).
Love it!
Tomorrow is my older son’s 20th birthday, so I couldn’t help rolling my dice until I found a way to write a poem about him. I used the Decima/Espinela form.
Love + Impossible + Blessing
Decima
There was a time that I thought I’d
never be blessed with such a fine
son–impossible to define
and filling me with such strong pride
that my love for you I can’t hide.
For now twenty years you have shown
that your big heart has only grown
and your unspoken strength in kind
to everyone in life you find
is an exemplar yet unknown.
Cara,
So lovely to think of your son today. Makes me think about the children raised by all you poets in Verselove. Wow. Love the phrase “unspoken strength” and the “yet unknown” — imagining all of that resting in the margins of this pome!
Sarah
What a lovely way to celebrate your son’s birthday!
Your poem to your son is a gift:
to him
to us.
My parents both wrote poetry–to each other and to us, their children. It is such a gift.
Cara, happy birthday to your big son! What a lovely gift. I’m going to look up the form you used. It’s very interesting and fun to read. That last stanza speaks of your hope for this son you have raised to be a strong and good man. Beautiful!
Cara,
Hard to believe you wonderful son will be twenty tomorrow. You have truly done an amazing job honoring him with your poem today.
I love the form–I’ll have to steal that sometime! The rhyme and the reason make it such a sweet poem to read. I hope you share this with him sometime 🙂
Stefani, wow, your poem is filled with beauty. So many beautiful images of candles and fire–the alter, the hearth. “darkness / fluttering light” is my favorite. “pound, beat, flicker” is a great refrain. Here’s my attempt. I would like to spend more time with it.
The past is a glorified gauntlet,
Where one side of the torture
is a ready stream or if-onlys and wishes
beyond the hope of tomorrow
But on the other side is
a source of joy and pride in
a life well-lived, strength
sustaining me into the future
Which is to say, it is punishment
only if I walk the gauntlet
and let one side of the past
beat me up
with its
glorified
regrets
Denise,
A “glorified gauntlet” is really something, and you have taken this from “torture” to “hope” and “joy”. And that last few lines are resonating with me deeply” beat me up/with its/glorified/regrets!
Such a powerful reflection of the past.
Sarah
Denise, sage words indeed! I like the double-edged sword imagery here! The strength to live “a life well-lived” I found especially striking! Powerful poem!
Denise, “glorified regrets” reminds me of the phrase “never fall in love with a problem.” For if we romanticize our regrets, if we are so enamored of a problem, how then shall we move forward? How often do we “walk the gauntlet” of self-punishment because we feel we should, believing we deserve it, instead of realizing that we might deserve to forgive ourselves? There are so many truths in your poem!
Stefani — Thank you for this prompt. I can’t wait to try this out with my students next week.
Love the way your metaphors evoke the image of a sputtering candle.
My dice: Beauty Unruly Meadow
Beauty is an Unruly Meadow
which is to say
bursting from rocky soil,
sprawling, unfettered across plains
whispering winds
talking to hearts
which is to say
white lace, undulating over hills
ensnaring one’s breath
expelling wild bouquets
aster & bee balm
which is to say
cracks in parched earth
sprout lone cactus, prickles
and bruised sky before a storm
the storm
uncaged & undefined is
beauty
Tammi,
This image made me smile and curious:
cracks in parched earth
sprout lone cactus, prickles
I love thinking of this as “beauty.”
Sarah
Tammi, wow, this poem is rich with imagery and a wild, determined emotion. The “uncaged & undefined is/beauty”…..what an incredible end. I want to be in this meadow. Gorgeous poem!
Tammi,
The focus on nature is perfect. Your verbs in “bursting, sprawling, whispering, talking” reinforce the ending, the ever active changes of nature. This line is gorgeous: “white lace, undulating over hills.” I saw this today, both in flowers and minerals,
BTW, Props to you for taking the time to comment on (I think) every (close to it at least) poem yesterday. I wanted you to know someone noticed. Thank you.
What a unique prompt! I rolled the dice many times, and it was hard to focus just on one roll. So I’ve put many rolls in my poem. I rolled with it…
For those of us with affective illnesses
The mind is a desperate songbird
Chirping a discordant tune
Lacking harmony in the nest of our psyche
We try to push through with our bright feathers of normalcy
Singing that we’re: happy, fine, okay, all-right, very well, not bad, good
When we’re not
No one wants to hear us warble that:
The mind is a reluctant mirror
Love is a burning trophy
The truth is a well-worn zoo
At times, we roll the dice to see what we come up with
It’s hard on those caregivers whose:
Love is handed down like a brand new toy
20.9 million Americans
Canaries in coal mines
Caged birds singing:
The future is an angry promise
Wow, Jennifer, so many powerful metaphors that you have strung together here. The image of the “desperate songbird” carried throughout your poem and into the “canaries in the coal mines” metaphor at the end is scary and sad. So much truth here: “Singing that we’re: happy, fine, okay, all-right, very well, not bad, good / When we’re not” And a beautiful song to sing for awareness about those 20.9 million Americans with affective illnesses.
This is amazing, J nicer! I wish I had thought to do something like this. You make it seem so effortless. That last stanza is terrific.
I have had metaphor dice shoved in a drawer. It was a gift that I never used. Today spurred me on to use them. I enjoyed this prompt and using the dice. Thank you. I plan to use them and not stuff them away any longer.
My rolled metaphor words: My body, Broken, Mirror
My body is a broken mirror,
by which I mean,
it does not reflect the youthful
energy of my soul.
The world sees a middle-aged woman-
moving slower,
hobbling,
getting gray,
eyes crinkles,
laugh wrinkles,
pounds adding on.
The inside view
is vibrant and energetic
like my 20 year old self-
My “I can conquer the world” attitude.
The inside view
is still beautiful-
loving, caring, compassionate-
“How can I make this world a better place?”
This inside view
is still dreaming,
always grasping to learn more,
expanding my understanding-
“What is something new I want to try?”
My body is a broken mirror
which is to say
aging is seen
instead of vibrancy reflected.
So appreciated every line and relating to it, as well. Loved all your “inside view[s]”. Thanks for sharing!
Cathy,
Oh, boy! I totally feel this — “hobbling,/getting gray,/eyes crinkles,/laugh wrinkles,
pounds adding on.”
I sometime look in the mirror and ask myself how can I be 50 something when I was just 28 yesterday? How can my children be adults?
Hopefully, even in middle age we can still make the world a better place.
Your first lines describe the broken mirror so well with “it does not reflect the youthful energy of my soul.” I like that your poem then gives examples of what the world sees and what it does not see in the inside view. I hope as we age our “mirror” can reflect more vibrancy. Hard to do.
Cathy, I’m glad you pulled out the metaphor dice for this beauty. A great roll of the dice, and a powerful poem so many can relate to. I like the repetition of the first line in the last stanza, and the “which is to say.” The details throughout are all ones I can relate to, and I know people in their 80s who would say the same–the vibrancy of our inner young self is masked sometimes with that broken mirror of aging.
I am a broken Candle
Which is to say
That with patience,
care,
And the right touch,
I can still
Be lighted on FIRE again.
I can’t wait,
Until
I can be my old luminous, soft-and-bright, CandleSelf again.
If only I had stayed…
A.
Alpha, love your metaphor and your thought-provoking last line that had me rereading for clues to its meaning.
Thank you Wendy, I have so many words in me that I cannot say that sometimes I feel subtitles will start appearing out of nowhere of the many times I had to just be quiet. This is one of them moments… some people oughta come with a warning label indeed.
Alpha — Wow! I love this poem. That last line “I can be my old luminous, soft-and-bright, CandleSelf again.If only I had stayed…” is really powerful. I hope you find that fire again.
Me too Tammi, me too… Im agraid that if I wor to find it I will burn everything that is now existing in its place. So, I left.
*afraid & *were, sorry, walking and texting is not my fortè
Alpha, what a twist at the end, with a bit of mystery.
Denise, sometimes we must adjust to ‘all the truth that we can accept/endure/know/withstand/acknowledge/ understand/hear/feel/see/talk and write.
Thank you for commenting, happy writing!
The Past Is a Broken Mirror
By Mo Daley 4-23-22
I look and am relieved
that objects in mirror are further than they appear.
I do not need to see my mirror image
like Mirabel,
who needs answers.
Like Ms. Plath’s,
my mirror is truthful,
not cruel.
But my past is a broken mirror,
best swept up and put in the bin.
Mo,
Same. Love your metaphor and can very much relate. Love the allusions to Mirabel and to Plath here. Thanks for this.
Oooooh yes! Love this! My past is a dumpster filled broken mirrors and I slammed the door shut on it for good!
Great comparison to rear view mirrors but switching it to “further than they appear.”
?
Mo,
This –“But my past is a broken mirror,/best swept up and put in the bin” —
I agree sometimes it is better to put the past behind us and move on. Dwelling on pain just brings more pain.
Mo, I love your allusion to Plath’s mirror poem, a poem I have always found particularly disturbing. I appreciate your action at the end and showing how the mirror is “truthful/not cruel.” Excellent poem!
Thanks for this, Stefani! I loved your metaphor dice poem. I loved the intriguing last line, especially. I couldn’t resist paying some homage to the Bard today, on his birthday, with a sonnet.
Dreamers
Unconscious mind and memory seem to crave
That which remains both buried and alive
And through a web of silk does memory brave,
Retrieve those bold desires and, thus, revive.
Awaken sleepers in their beds of iron
To, hazy, recollect fine filigree
‘Til once their minds to earthy matters turn
And secret passions sink to slumbery sea.
Then shake their heads, these sleepers, memory-hued –
Descend these fragments back into their rest.
And dreamers wake, reality renewed
Passions safely vaulted in their breasts.
Yet, drops of dreams remain to color day –
Love, honor, duty by our minds betrayed.
Oh, and my “metaphor dice roll” was “Some part of me craves…everyday…blessing.” (I actually used the concept-adjective-object list.). I don’t know why my brain took it here; maybe that should have been the title of the poem!
Yay!, Wendy, thank you for paying homage to the Bard today for his birth/death day! (I snuck in an allusion in my offering, too, for the same reason.) I love — specifically — your lines “That which remains both buried and alive / And through a web of silk does memory brave, / Retrieve those bold desires and, thus, revive” along with “Yet, drops of dreams remain to color day — / Love, honor, duty by our minds betrayed.” I find crafting sonnets so difficult, so thank you for sharing one that is so well done!
Wendy,
Wow! This gorgeous sonnet is the perfect tribute and inspiration for writing in “Yet, drops of dreams remain to color day –”
I love reading sonnets but have no skill writing them. I was tutoring a student once who had to write one for his English class, and I thought for sure his parents would fire me.
This was a great prompt Stefani. I ordered my own dice and can’t wait to try them out. Thank you for the link and the contest. The repeating lines of “pound, beat, flicker” really create the tone of the poem, the perfect match to a candle. The wick longs to stay lit until the last bit of wax has been used. Sometimes candles last a while, just as the emotions of the heart. Thank you for sharing!
Here’s mine:
The Perfect Storm
Home is a divided thunderstorm,
which is to say
the weather within
is a perfect combination
where the ingredients form
the perfect storm.
No meteorologist can predict
the rising cumulus cloud of giggles,
the updraft of annoyance
maturing to precipitation.
Sprinkles of tattle-telling
erupting to downdraft cats and dogs.
Gusty winds bring bursts of anger,
full-on tumultuous afterthoughts.
Rain, hail, and tornadoes
equate to
tears, toys, and chasing.
Updraft, downdraft finally leads to
dissipating arguments.
The gust leaves its remnants of residue
which now has to be cleaned up.
The meteorologist couldn’t predict this:
the littles are in charge
of cleaning their own mess.
And they do.
Calming tones and gentle hands,
listening to the voice of the one
who birthed them.
Peaceful nights at last.
Great line- “rising cumulus cloud of giggles”!
Thank you Cathy. That’s the calm before the storm, lol! False pretenses…
This is spot-on truth, Jessica! Love how you’ve carried the metaphor throughout so deftly. And love the peace of the last line. And love this beautiful, colorful part:
“No meteorologist can predict
the rising cumulus cloud of giggles,
the updraft of annoyance
maturing to precipitation.
Sprinkles of tattle-telling
erupting to downdraft cats and dogs.”
Thank you Wendy. This was my second roll, first official. I almost rolled again when I decided to just suck it up and do my research, lol! No regrets!
Wow, Jessica, it’s as if the poem was waiting for you to roll the dice to get this beauty into the world!
Total love! I don’t miss the tornadoes my children brought when they were young, but I do miss the “cumulus clouds of giggles.”
?❤️
I guess so Stacey, thank you. Lucky me! Fortunately, there was no thunderstorm today, just an easy gentle breeze sprinkled with sunshine. I love those!
Jessica — Boy do I remember those tumultuous days of having little ones. You really capture what it is like raising children in these lines “No meteorologist can predict/the rising cumulus cloud of giggles,/the updraft of annoyance/maturing to precipitation.”
Thank you Tammi! I call my two #myheadachesandmy❤️❤️beats because…yeah, lol! I’ll miss them when they move out on about 10 years.
Oh Jessica, I love your family/children/home connection here. So many great lines…oh how updrafts of annoyance flow through many weather patterns in my home. Thank you for sharing with us today.
Thank you Stefani! What can I say? They inspire me in many ways. I will one day appreciate all of the many emotions they put me through! ?
Metaphor Dice Roll
Love
Silent
Super-Hero
Love is a silent superhero
Which is to say
It saves us from ourselves
In those unanticipated moments of darkness-
That unexpected phone call,
a text message of support,
Most recently daffodils placed at my doorstep
Which radiated blooms of love.
How does love know just when we need it most?
A silent display of affection
More powerful than Superman himself.
I love your last two lines- “a silent display of affection, more powerful than Superman himself”. I also have been visualizing love as a super hero animation in my head delivering you those daffodils.
Love this idea, Heidi, and how you made this work with your language:
“It saves us from ourselves”
and
“How does love know just when we need it most?”
Heidi — I love this line –“How does love know just when we need it most?” and the hopeful tone of this poem. Love truly is a silent super-hero.
I very much enjoyed this poem & thinking about how love “saves us from ourselves.” Flowers on the doorstep have been a superhero to me!! Thank you for sharing.
Hi Stefani,
I appreciate your prompt, poem and inspiration! I remember doing this (last year?) and loved it but I completely forgot about using it with my class. I’ve added the online dice to my bookmarks. The roll I chose is shown in the image. I love “pound, beat, flicker” as it symbolized both our hearts and candles.
Curse Silent Love
which is to say…
Love perishes
Silent in fear
Cursed by cruelty
Judged by man
Love should live
Loud and proud
Breathing life
To dreams
Love should live
Like the seasons
Constant change
For growth
Love should live
Bold and boisterous
Building humanity
Indestructible
© Stacey L. Joy, 4/23/22
How true, Stacey. If love would live “loud and proud” much healing and accomplishment could be done in this world.
Stacey, I love your take on love. These lines:
“Love should live
Like the seasons
Constant change
For growth”
resonate with me because love is one of those confusing emotions. It can lie dormant, fully erupt without warning, and yet be the one thing that links us to life. This was an excellent representation, thank you for sharing!
Stacey, I love how you show what love should be. Your end is triumphant. “Building humanity/Indestructible”. Yes, I want to embrace that emotion. Fantastic poem!
Staci,
“Love should live” is such an beautiful sentiment. If only all would follow these three simple words. Gorgeous poem.
Stacey, ugh! Long day. And sand in my eyes. I’m so sorry.
No worries!! You know I’ve lived this life of being Stacey and have to read (Staci, Stacie, Stacy and sometimes TRACEY) even when it’s spelled on the page. I learned to let it go. It only bugs me when it happens repeatedly. Hugs!!
How You Doing?
(This afternoon,
my mind
is an unruly zoo
and the animals
are having
none of it.
They have
a laundry list
of quite justifiable
complaints; their
grievances are,
in fact, legion,
ranging from
hostile architecture
to lack of space
to forced breeding
to being denied
Personhood
[despite having
language,
feelings,
culture].
They are
being driven
mad for
your entertainment:
cage dementia
and Zoochosis
are real, a veritable
mind full of
scorpions
for everyone,
and this
is not even
mentioning
the muster
of storks,
in the back,
enraged by
the persistent
image that
they can’t
seem to shake;
they simply
are not a
delivery
service and
they want
you to know
it’s generally not
safe nor a smart
idea to leave
newborn babies
in their care.
They’re birds,
ffs. [Their words
not mine, but
they do have
point.]
In general,
the animals
are quite sick
and tired of
Man’s
compulsion
and arrogance,
his need and
desire
to control
and dominate
the natural
world and
all the creatures
therein.)
Fine,
I guess,
a little
tired,
though,
how
are
you?
_____________________________________________
Thank you, Stefani for this prompt and your poem. I loved the deft interplay between the images that you crafted. The very cool “Pound, beat, flicker” of it all. And thank you for giving me the chance to roll Taylor Mali’s Metaphor Dice again: I got “The mind / unruly / zoo.”
Typecasting much?? Scott—you should be tired. The muster of storks alone would do me in. I was exhausted by the last stanza, right along with you.
Scott, your stanza about the storks! Made me laugh out loud. And I appreciated your Macbeth allusion on the Bard’s b’day. Great poem, and I sympathize with your very poetic rant.
Scott, thank you for pulling and playing with the three words you rolled. I want this imagery to be put into a picture for display. Thank you for sharing today.
Scott, the progress of your poem is always a delightful ride. Love how you opened and ended your poem with a conversational poem. The zoo at my house is calling me…demanding my attention at this very moment. Anyway, I feel the zoo imagery! Thank you!
A perfect prompt for today. Thanks, Stefani, for reminding me of these dice.
Truth
The truth is a midnight curveball
that hits me with a downward spin
of clarity
that leaves me wide awake for
a couple of hours.
The truth of an event from the day before
that wasn’t quite evident until
some rest caused the ball to drop
and disrupted my sleep
with a blaring revelation.
A couple of hours
spent with eyes open
and brain spinning
as if I had swung out
for an answer and totally
missed it earlier.
A couple of hours
each midnight
trying to
straighten out
the swerving of events
that occurred
the day before
and now swing
at my brainstem
until I give up
and go back to sleep.
You take the metaphor so perfectly into the mind at night—the false swings, the ball dropping in with a realization. Bravo!
Susan, great baseball references. This stanza resonated with me the most: A couple of hours
each midnight
trying to
straighten out
the swerving of events
that occurred
the day before
and now swing
at my brainstem
until I give up
and go back to sleep.
As much as I crave sleep, I rarely get enough. And don’t let me think about something I’ll replay it over and over in my brain, the many “what ifs and if I’s” and just like this stanza, I give up. Thank you for such a great representation of this!
Susan,
Truth. And what a perfect metaphor for this, a regular occurrence to be sure. The first stanza arrested me instantly:
“The truth is a midnight curveball
that hits me with a downward spin
of clarity
that leaves me wide awake for
a couple of hours.”
Thanks for the affirmation today!
Susan, you bring life to this sleep disruption so well with your extended metaphor. Thank you for sharing and I hope you sleep well tonight.
Our Past Reminds Us to Live
The past is a vacant kiss
Regrets that stick to our hearts
Hugs that were wished to be given
While the future may be uncertain
and the past may look far away
we have the present
A present where we can do something
no rewinds or fast-forwards
where it is us and the play button
The vacancy of the past teaches
us that we need to be present
present to live, present to kiss
I love this poem. especially the third stanza “where it is us and the play button.” A lovely reminder that we need to be present.
Carolina, the use of vacancy in your poem is heart-breaking and effective. Thank you for writing with us today.
Caroline, wow, what an amazing poem. Love your last line: “present to live, present to kiss” Such a fantastic message! Thank you!
Carolina, I really enjoyed your poem. It made me think of Tim Rice’s lyrics of “The Past is Another Land” from the musical “Aida.” I love that you were able to capture the sadness that can come from looking back. I think it can be very therapeutic to think back on times that made us sad and things we may regret. I love that you ended with the reminder not to dwell on these things but to learn from them.
Stefani,
Oh how I love this prompt. And I mean love…love, love, love. I am such a sucker for metaphors, and during my eleven years in the classroom, my students and I so often used dice, pulling scraps of paper from a cup, pointing at a random word on a page, and the like to provide us quick roots for our writing. The process and final product were always adored, and my affection for such approaches remains today.
Your very first lines captivated me, the idea of your heart as “this bleeding alter/a flame throbbing hope/Pound, beat, flicker.” What an incredible image…raw, exposed, and filled with hope in the vulnerability of it all.
Thanks for this and for my new discovery of the metaphor dice, which will be quickly added to my collection.
My past is a gentle thunderstorm
Which is to say
The worst came and went,
(again and again)
Lightning strikes splitting
Birch in fiery plumes
Wind ripping away
Rooftops, exposing
Interiors once safely
Sheltered, rain pummeling
Away prayers before they
Can leave my lips.
These wicked windows
Returning again and again,
Just as the casualties begin to rebuild.
But there was also sunshine
Glistening against the
Feathered wings of hope
Sherbet clouds dancing
Against lavender skies,
Reflected on placid ponds
Constellations traced with
Fingertips daring to touch
The galaxies
The cacophony of crickets
Singing in time with the gentle
Rustle of blackberries on branches.
It all evens out in the end, I suppose.
In transient totality,
It is the sound of gentle
Rain, pitter patters
Against the ground
Stirring and whirring
Ashes amongst debris
Sweeping streets clean
Soil drinking deeply
So flowers may grow again,
Stretching their arms upwards
Towards the sun, instinctively
Trusting the promise of light.
Gorgeous, Rhiannon. This poem is you. You are this poem. Phew!
Rhiannon, I like your short stanzas, they play into the beat of experiencing a thunderstorm. Your stanza starting sherbert clouds is so vivid. Thank you for sharing today.
Stefani, I love this fresh way to use a tried and true game to get us thinking. Another version of the rolling the dice is have triads roll and settle on a metaphor by consensus, then each of the three write a poem. The time coming to consensus creates interesting conversations. And, as we, the educator, circulate and listen in, we surely learn a lot. You know I”m into formative assessment. This is another approach to doing just that. Okay, Here’s my “roll of the dice” poem for today. The first line is the metaphor that came up randomly.
Hatred is a door.
That can work both ways
Hatred can let in hurt
Causing pain to the heart
Hatred is a door.
That goes both ways
Hatred can let out hurt
Causing pain. Let’s just not start
Let’s shut that door and bolt it
Create another way to revolt
We’ve all been hurt and it makes us feel
Like turning around and doing the same
It sends us spinning and wanting to squeal.
Hatred is a door
That doesn’t have to be used
Like the Bard has said, you know the score,
Anything can be used and abused
So, let’s not use that door anymore.
I LOVE this! My favorite line is “Let’s shut that door and bolt it
Create another way to revolt”
Yes indeed, let’s do that!
Well said.
Oh, Anna, I love this idea of inviting hurt in and/or out. It brings perspective to our experiences of figurative and literal door opening. Thank you for sharing today.
Great poem with the prompt “Hatred in a door.” Love the rhyming that is used throughout.
Anna, I was so moved by your poem. I love the reminder that hatred causes damage both within and outwardly. I think so often people don’t realize the rot their own hatred creates within their soul. Thank you for sharing.
Stefani, thank you for sharing the metaphor dice with us—I can’t wait to share this with students! My roll was Poetry is a burning bullseye.
Poetry is
To translate emotions
that are universal
defy language
dodge precision
To contain and collect
memories that
contort wiggle amplify
with each retrieval
To land the blazing arrow
precisely where the rings
collapse into the
bullseye
.
Laura, you rolled the best words and wrote a profound poem!
The ending, BULLSEYE! ?
Laura, I am loving how you and a few others are forming a type of meta-poem about the process of writing that fits into the metaphors. Thank you for sharing today.
Laura, your second stanza is one we can use with our students when they ask the why of poetry. Thanks.
The alliteration will make it more memorable for them:
To contain and collect
memories that
contort wiggle amplify
with each retrieval
I loved your roll, what an amazing metaphor. I also love what you did with it. I was at an exhibit of photographs last night and it had quite the same effect on me. Poetry, like art, can always hit the “bullseye” if you are open to it. It can be whatever your soul is in need of at that moment.
This is my second time encountering these dice this week and I had no idea how to get my hands on some. Thank you for sharing your resources — it’s really fun to play with metaphors I never would have discovered on my own and see what falls out. Today, despite rolling some of my own, I kept coming back to one pictured above “memory is a silent drum.”
Life’s Tempo by Erica J.
Memory is a silent drum,
a drowsy distant din
the rhythm to life’s melody
which is to say that our
harmonies diverge, the drumming
fades. Yet, memory
pulses an ancient song reminding
of a beat we carried
from mother down to child, pulsing
the unnoticed tempo.
Constant crashing sounds rolling on
memories flood in and
out like a eroding tides
until all we are left
is the sound
calling
home.
Wow. The ending made me sigh! I love all the scenes that these poem brings to my mind.
Erica, your use of gerunds at the ends of your lines keeps a flow/tempo to your poem that is very welcoming. Thank you for sharing today.
Bend in the River
knowing I am
like Horseshoe Bend—
an “incised meander”—
a bend in the river—
my face peltedpoundedparadoxical
power-
ful
power-
less
against time’s
tectonic-uplifts&
Navajo sandstone
metaphors
caressingcarvingdisgarding
“muck-marbles”
cascading
downward
while
once-bright-sun
descends
behind a
sinking horizon—
I meandermarvelmigrate
to earth’s mirror
&
gaze before…
—snappingaselfie
—Glenda Funk
April 23, 2022
I used the online dice because I’m traveling. My words:
power
bright
mirror
I feel as if I am on the river, too – the way you have lines without any spaces, the way you have lines of varied lengths, and, wow, the alliteration – this is awesome:
You have embedded this poem with the awe one feels in such a gorgeous natural setting…are you at Horseshoe Bend? Enjoy!!
^^^^everything above^^^^ – All of this. Finger snapping from my front porch, Glenda.
Gorgeous, Glenda! All of your images and comparisons draw me in to appreciate not only the beauty of YOU but majesty of …
Brilliant!
Glenda, I love the line breaks with power and the merging of your alliterative lines. Please share your selfie with us:) Thank you for writing while traveling.
Glenda, wow, I love the progress of your poem, the imagery, and the way you pulled the words together to describe. Adored: I meandermarvelmigrate
to earth’s mirror
&
gaze before…
—snappingaselfie
Safe travels!
We all get to experience that bend in the river with you. I can feel the differences in the current throughout your poem.
oooooh. fun word play! I like your words made from squishing several together. Very river like!
I love to collect metaphors but have such a difficult time writing intentionally with them, so I appreciate this challenge today, Stefani!
Hope lies deep within the midnight meadow
which is to say
sodden cool clumps of earth
strands of stray weedgrass
where soon soy will be planted
farmers will till
turn up rock and root
flocks of gulls following
their floatery white bodies
against the black loam
seeds fertility toil
but for now we rest
under the light
of a banana moon
Cheshire cat smile
All Knowing
All Seeing
each of us holding
our own seed of hope
we know everything ends
This is why we plant beginnings
farmers will till
turn up rock and root
under the light
of a banana moon
This is why we plant beginnings
So quiet. So hopeful. Thank you.
I love that starting line, but also the line that ends the poem as well. There is so much hope and potential promised in your poem and that made me feel good when I read it.
Denise, I am glad you were up for the challenge today. I like your use floatery and fertility to bring out the elements of the meadow metaphor.
Denise, so much beauty here in this gentle poem. I love
And
And
Now that is a poem of hope (one of my favorite topics)
Stefani, metaphor dice are the perfect challenge this Saturday morning. Your poem is gorgeously replete with warm candle metaphors, offering us light for the day – I particularly like the idea of “my body’s hearth.”
It was a little eerie what the on-line metaphor dice offered to me – ha!
Home handed down thunderstorm
which is to say
these metaphor dice possess
a ouija board’s bewitching insight
channeling the raucous uneven wild weather
that is our home these days
our home
how the sun did shine
so many clear sky breezy years of
paint sew measure small fixes do-it-ourselves
so loved and labored long
our home
little did we know
the inherited demise
the inherent structural issues
to inhabit
our home
now
bursting apart
deluged
flooded
with problems
and we count the seconds
the wide swelling gulf between
lightning suggestions of contractors
and the clap of their thunderous hammering
so essential to repair
“these metaphor dice possess
a ouija board’s bewitching insight”
so you went delving, as well!!
“the clap of their thunderous hammering
so essential to repair”
Beautiful close, here…
Okay, Maureen. I love this! Woot Woot!
Maureen, I like how you brought the process of the dice into your verse today. Thank you for writing today.
Maureen,
My heart hurts got you knowing the utter chaos you’re in for when
“the clap of their thunderous hammering
so essential to repair
begins. Perfect title. Spectacular poem.
Thank you Stefani. I never tried the digital metaphor dice. I think I’m addicted to it now! Such a great idea to stir the imagination! This is such a great way to be more spontaneous. Truly – thank you!
My Heart is an Unspoken Thunderstorm
My heart
beats quietly
in my chest,
a caged bird
soft and red,
chirping
contentedly.
My heart
races wildly
through the night
in dreams
in search
of something,
I can’t quite grasp.
My heart
pounds with fury
heavy in my chest
shaking my
foundation,
a thunderstorm
with lightning,
unleashing
rage within.
My heart
taps softly
at my center,
a simple song
familiar and true,
unspoken.
Your stanzas build like a storm and then settle back so softly…I am reminded of dreams and nightmares, how the heart feels these, moves with these.
Whew! I love the repetition and how you take us through the different ways your heart beats using metaphors. I can definitely relate to this beautiful words.
I am so glad you calmed me down with the last stanza—the building and dismantling of tension was wonderful!
I like how you’ve repeated the first line in your stanzas. These metaphors bring out the energy of thunderstorms. Thank you for sharing today.
You’ve molded the prompt so beautifully! Love it.
What beautiful repetition AND story arc in this. Hooray for metaphor dice!
Beautiful rendering of your heart-story in metaphor, Joanne. I can feel the crescendo of fury, the racing anxiety, the secure and content bird (soft and red – one of my favorite images here) and the quiet rejoicing in song. Lovely all the way!
Stefani, I have these dice! Left them in my office, though, so did the online gambling this morning. Thank you for sharing their digital presence, too (the candle flickered my way, as well). I love
My words rolled out as ‘I am’ / handed-down / candle, so I thought about saying the serenity prayer yesterday to keep me losing control in a faculty meeting. This morning, a poem.
I Am Handed-Down a Candle
How To Stay Calm at a Friday Faculty Meeting
~b.r.crandall
God, you’re such a whimsical soul. Some days you
grant me the ability to give thanks. Not today….
me with ear-steam, heart-wrath, and mind-fury, cursing
the @#%# for the inconsistency. All I want is
serenity, calm, and a reason to believe there’s good…
to see hope, and to have patience to
accept the whack-a-doodle-ness of
the way their bureaucracy goes…operates…is.
things like zip-code apartheid, privilege, and the lies
I get told in the name of their power and privilege
cannot be forgiven (but somehow they are) —
change rarely discomforts their structures,
the castle and brick, the diamonds and banks, & the churches giving them
courage to be burdened, this whiteness that likes
to stand atop mountains with weapons, moats, and laws never
changes, because why would they want this?
The narrative written to glorify their hunt…
things to ponder (eyes of the needle…the camel).
I see it clearly now, the disease it’s always been, and I
can attest to the privilege, because I’ve tasted it…
and have become part of it, this hypocrisy in higher education,
the exploitation (something wicked this way comes).
Wisdom & integrity rarely walk
to the same drumbeat of morals, ethics, & justice. They
know more than the rest of us, because, well, they do…
the ones atop mountains looking down on us. The
difference? The rest of us keep looking up, and we see.
I love how you used the golden shovel form for this poem, sharing the serenity prayer with us while simultaneously giving a big ‘shovel’ to all the “ @#%# ” you experienced at that meeting yesterday! This line stood out for me –
” change rarely discomforts their structures,”
this is something that I am increasingly, painfully aware of – how just the ‘window dressing’ changes with so-called reforms and yet the old system stays very much strong and in place. I know you will continue to shake things up!
I love the reminder “I Am Handed-Down a Candle” for the serenity prayer – I’ll be using this lots!!
Whew! You said it all–so many things brought a YES in my heart. But this made me stand up (metaphorically, of course–it’s Saturday morning) and cheer…
“I get told in the name of their power and privilege
cannot be forgiven (but somehow they are) —
change rarely discomforts their structures”
Wow, Bryan, you’ve pulled so much into this poem while still using the original prompt–impressive. Your use of “zip-code apartheid” sparks so many emotions and I appreciate your use of “wicked” as a possible play on words and reconnecting to your original phrase. Thank you!
Wonderful! Love the structure, the message, the everything about this poem.
Oh, wow, Bryan. Speak it! Thank you for writing this powerful poem after your meeting with “the whack-a-doodle-ness of / the way their bureaucracy goes” so much power wrapped around that prayer. You are working on the courage to change the things you can.
Bryan, Holy shit this is good. Brilliant. The golden shovel is a perfect form. Love this line:
”things like zip-code apartheid, privilege, and the lies
I get told in the name of their power and privilege
having taught years at the so-called rich-kid school—until it wasn’t. That bit about churches is worthy of an ovation. Abortion g your way of approving and snapping all my fingers and toes, if that were possible. Love every word.
Good morning Stefani ~ I had never heard of metaphor dice but am excited to discover it. Thank you! and thanks for sharing the pound, beat, flicker throbbing hope. Beautiful.
Memory
unruly
wasteland
which is to say
I have moved on
but not forgotten
the grotesque
grimace,
the overturned
picture frames,
the livid voice
hissing
from the phone
machine.
memory is an unruly
wasteland,
but today is a garden,
flowers bloom. birds sing.
Ann, I am hearing this wasteland, and there’s music to the words dropped upon the page….from livid voice to the garden. The grotesque grimace is lingering, and I know that phone machine….memory is an unruly wasteland, indeed. Love this.
Oh, yes – moved on but not forgotten, this I know well – so great that you let it go nonetheless and settle in
Ann I love how you transform the wasteland into a garden at the end. I also appreciate the vivid details in the first stanza that make the wasteland an unpleasant place.
Ann, the imagery and feelings you create in your few lines tells such a story–“grotesque grimace” is my favorite. Thank you for creating with us today.
Ann, I can feel the tension in the first stanza. But the second is like a calming exhale.
So glad to see the resilience that allows for moving on to a garden, flowers blooming and birds singing.
Ann – whoa! These few lines pack a wallop. The metaphor of memory as an unruly wasteland works so well – I am seeing it littered with all kinds of broken, unusable, “grotesque” things. Most of all I rejoice in that garden, soaking up the peace of flowers and birds. I rest in it.
Stefani-I was acquainted with metaphor dice, but had never tried to write with them. This was really challenging, and. Fun. I have to admit that I rabbit-holed into the rolls for a time until I could find one that worked for me—so many almosts—but the wandering was enjoyable! I loved the rhythm that your refrain offered—pound, beat, flicker—providing a drumbeat for your words. And that last line—wow. Thank you.
Insight is a Starved Fairytale
Insight
is a starved
fairytale.
We can
live on
fantasy
for a time,
but a
reckoning
will come.
Eventually,
the princess
withers away
for lack of
information
and the prince
loses his map
and is lost
on his way
to the castle
and starves
under a
beautiful tree
and the story
Ends
there.
When we
wake up and
realize our truth,
POOF!
Our fairytale
Is no more.
GJSands 4-23-22
Our fairytale is no more – yes the moral of the story is we can’t live in a fairytale our entire life. Love this response to your dice roll
Gayle – I absolutely love this! The imagery is so beautiful. I also love how you formatted the poem – Ends there – with its own stanza. Very powerful and poignant. Thank you!
Absolutely – “we can live on fantasy for a time,” only for a time; it will fall apart. I like how you created this poem with one and two word lines primarily, as if echoing the ‘thinness,’ the weakness of living on fantasy. Great metaphor!
Ha, Gayle, I love your wit here. The use of “reckoning” in connection to fairytales and fantasy is fascinating. Thank you for playing along today.
This line stood out to me -“we can live on fantasy for a time, but a reckoning will come”.
Gayle, interesting poem today and the skinny format helps, especially the
Ends
there
and
POOF!
Walking up and realizing our truth = insight. Well done. It makes me think of Kim’s poem.
How wonderful. We CAN live on fantasy for a time….but then…I love the entire story in this poem.
Gayle – LOVE the image of the princess withering away due to lack of information and the price losing his map! All is not quite so magical in the real realm…what a storyteller you are!
Stefani, your poem moved me with your thoughts of the wick transplanting feelings of past fireworks and darkness, wow!
I’ve never used these metaphor dice prior to today and decided to go with my very first roll! I’m sure I’ll be taking a chance on the dice again. Thank you
My Soul is an Unspoken Meadow
My soul is an unspoken meadow
full of possibilities
seeds lie in wait
for the perfect moment
to germinate
waiting
hoping for the
just right conditions
to burst free
and bloom
into
New
Life
Christine, this idea of seeds lying in wait to burst and bloom fully captures those possibilities, planting us right into the season of spring. It offers us the chance to find wordseeds and seedwords moving forward, and I just love that.
Christine this is beautiful. I love that your unspoken meadow is full of possibilities. Putting “waiting” in its own stanza is very powerful. Thank you!
Christine, I am glad you went with the first roll. I like how you’ve used “lie in wait” and “burst free” to move your poem along. Thank you for sharing today.
I love the image of the seeds waiting, and that it is an unspoken meadow. In the quietness new life emerges.Beautful.
Such a lovely and hopeful metaphor, Christine – I can see the “unspoken meadow” bathed in soft sunlight, glimmering with the possibilities!
Stefani, my students love to play with metaphor dice as much as I do (teacher success all around!). I love how you extend your metaphor, bringing it through hope and feelings and grounding it in your body’s hearth. Beautiful imagery.
in april
home is a broken songbird
that once spoke truth
chirpings and chitterings
sung like spring warblers
setting up nests
having found each other
partners picked from haystacks –
in the weight of their building
In the time consumed to ambitions
in the raising and rebuilding
the arrearing and replacing
the song stopped
suddenly
one day
just like that
There is so much power in your words. I can’t get beyond the lines “time consumed by ambitions” and “the song stopped just like that”
I’m filled with emotion
What powerful imagery! In the weight of their building…in the raising and rebuilding…so much captured in these short phrases, A beautiful poem.
Jennifer – this is so powerful. It is haunting and you can feel the heaviness, especially in the lines:
in the weight of their building
In the time consumed to ambitions
in the raising and rebuilding
the arrearing and replacing
the the song and poem stop – just like that.
So strong – the momentum of life and then nothing.
Hit home this morning for me. Thank you.
Jennifer, it looks like you and Kevin rolled similar words. I love how there can be overlap with these words and bring out such different images and connections. I like how you’ve added in alliteration and snuck in “arrearing” in those lines as well. Thank you for writing today.
Oh, Jennifer,
The image of “partners picked from haystacks” has me thinking of all the random by chance meetings of couples. It’s such a great image.
The abrupt and lyrical ending that begins “in the weight of their building” is so powerful and heartbreaking.
Partners picked from haystacks…I love that. Gorgeous imagery.
Oh, Jennifer, does this ever pack a punch. All the working, striving, choosing, building – and a song stopping “just like that.” It is so real – the breaking of the beautiful songbird. Home no longer speaking truth. This aches.
Hooray! It’s weekend and my guilty pleasure is writing time here at Verse Love. I have been enjoying prompts…but not able to get back here on work days to truly participate. I’ve missed you all!
I love the digital metaphor dice. How fun! My words were: Poetry, burning, meadow.
Today’s poem
is a burning meadow
Lines and stanzas in flames
everywhere
911 has been dialed
onlookers gasp
creatures burrow and flee—some
not fast enough
to escape.
I stand outside a fence
stamping out sparks
the soles of my shoes
melting as I try to save
what meter I can
before all turns to ash
Linda, your poem resonates with me as so many in my area have lately been doing controlled burns to make the fields ready for growing and to control tbe underbrush. I love the common ideas here – the ash is the symbol of readiness for new things, new life from the old.
a Phoenix rising.
Oohwee, Linda! This is a beauty! I am bowing down to you now, even as I type (and reread). This whole poem is fire. I’m left gasping and do not want to escape as the words flame and spark across the page. I’ll happily turn to ash within this verse.
Linda, this poem is on fire. Yes that burn reveals greater goodness and new life. Love this!
Linda—the image of the creatures burrowing and fleeing as you stamp out sparks is so vivid. You have worked wonders with this metaphor—I felt its urgency from the second stanza until watching the soles of your shoes melt. Genius!
Linda – Isn’t it great to play? I can see and hear you playing throughout your poem. What a romp? Love – stamping out sparks – soles of my shoes melting – try to save what meter I can – before all turns to ash. Just terrific! Thank you!
Linda, I had so much fun reading your poem that I read it several times. I love the feeling of “hurry” in the last lines of your poem
melting as I try to save
what meter I can
before all turns to ash
Linda, I like how this is a meta-poem. You are giving honor to the poem and the process itself. Thank you for sharing today.
This poet is on fire! Linda, it’s so good to have you here today! This is like so many of my poems these days:
A poem-flagration! I am mourning the creatures who couldn’t escape the burning meadow-poem fast enough although I realize they are not furred and feathered but metaphorical beings. Still… and oh this image of you stamping on sparks until the soles of your shoes melt-! I can almost smell the burning rubber. I must say there’s absolutely been some poem salvage and salvation here – you rocked it!
Stefani, I love Metaphor Dice. I’ve written a few poems with them; they take a poet to such fascinating and unexpected places. Your poem – the metaphor of your heart as a well-worn candle – is so lovely, with the repetition of pound, beat, flicker – so beautifully combines the imagery of a candle with the beating of a heart. There’s a vulnerability and also hope.
Here’s where my roll landed me today – thank you for today’s invitation!
Bias Is a Capricious Gauntlet
seel (as defined by Dictionary.com):
1. Falconry. to sew shut (the eyes of a falcon) during parts of its training.
2. Archaic.
a. to close (the eyes).
b. to blind.
Bias is a capricious gauntlet
a gloved hand
infinitely unwieldy
but nevertheless employed
in stitching closed the eyes
in beckoning talons
begging the question
of rapture in the raptor
of rupture in the captor
over eviscerating prey
which is to say
once worn with intent
to destroy
the gauntlet of bias
may turn, of its own accord,
to reach instead
for one’s own throat
beware the taking up
and the throwing down
Fran, you’re right – the dice takes us to unexpected places! What a compelling thought this morning, the rapture in the raptor and the rupture in the captor, the taking up and throwing down of this gauntlet in the reaching for a throat.
you opened my eyes to the terror of sewn- shut eyes. And I can draw those parallels to real life and see this so clearly in people. Wow!!!
Fran, what you have done here, with a challenging metaphor roll, is exquisite. I’ve learned a new word (which, I cannot unsee – what strange and horrific actions people have chosen throughout time). The reaching for one’s own throat – followed by your last two lines – are the unstitching, the letting the blind see. That you crafted this already today! Wow!
Fran-wow!—these two lines are magical—“begging the question/of rapture in the raptor/of rupture in the captor”. And the ending—fair warning to all that bias turns against the bearer. Good advice indeed—“beware the taking up/ and the throwing down”. the world could use this advice these days.
Wow. What a masterpiece of metaphor. From the gloved hand of the falconer to a lesson for today…exquisite.
Oh Fran, you took that dice roll by the throat! Love the word choice here: rapture/raptor; rupture/captor – eviscerating. That says it all: Bias is eviscerating. And the 2-line warning and the end – perfect. Thank you!
Wow, Fran, your word choice is dark and beautiful. I like how you used “which is to say” further down in your poem. Thank you for opening our eyes today.
Wow, Fran, you did some words study this morning. Bias–you gave captured a truth in these words that speaks so much truth:
“the gauntlet of bias
may turn, of its own accord,
to reach instead
for one’s own throat”
(I wrote about a gauntlet today, but I used the second definition. It was interesting to read your and see how you used the glove, unwieldy but used for such purpose. Yikes!)
Oh, my goodness Fran, this is so edgy and wonderful. Your images are spot on and kinda make me wince…rapture in the raptor. GREAT phrase! Amazing!
Stefani, thank you for hosting us today! I love metaphor dice! NCTE was where I purchased my regular set and added the erudite set later. I find the app every bit as fun if not more so! I like how you rolled three specific words but changed them
to synonyms or other ways of saying the word. That would also add an extra challenge and could make a regular set an erudite set by rule. I used my metaphor dice app to roll bad data, delusional, touchdown.
False Start Replay
Bad data
is a
delusional
touchdown
that will flat
have you
optimistically
living
full-fledged lies.
Like when you
balance your checkbook
It’s a beautiful day
when you add that
extra few million
on top of
your regular
paycheck.
You come home
to a majestic
new mansion
with
mid-century modern
furnishings
and shiny faucet fixtures
roll up to your
four-car garage
in your spiffy new Porsche
and park
by the money tree.
You celebrate
your sudden success
as your private chef
serves you lobster
and a drink
with a little umbrella in it.
And you wonder……
you just wonder…..
how did I score this castle??
Bad data.
A delusional touchdown.
The hand roll
ruling:
“False start
on the offense.
Huge penalty.”
The refs revoke the play.
nice use of your set of words/phrases … and the first stanza says it all
Kevin
Wow! Amazing poem. So much to say from three small words. Then again, I might have something to say about bad data too. We seem to be swimming in it these days. Your ending is superb. Those refs…the only thing saving us now.
Kim – just stunning, where this concept of “bad data” led you. Makes me think of castles in the air…those opening lines about “bad data being a delusional touchdown” also took my mind to the education world where data is driving so much, with this one simple question: is this data good?? These lines: “false start on the offense/huge penalty” – oh my gosh, it can’t be more accurate, in light of decisions made on bad data.
Kim, I love the direction you took, and built, with your metaphor roll. How much of everything is a delusional touchdown, I wonder (we seem to build our own realities). The refs’ call, which interrupts abruptly (thank God) is perfectly placed – a hail mary of an ending. Where are those refs?
Excellent!!!! I can’t decide which bit is my favorite, but you had me at “Like when you
balance your checkbook”. Then you went down an unexpected road that I loved to live in. The delusional touchdown, false start, huge penalty. I am going to read this again and again today!
Kim, this is so creative and the connection to data with the dice roll is lovely. Also, the reuse of “delusional touchdown” adds an extra layer to this metaphor. Thank for sharing with us today.
Your bad data about the delusional touchdown mansion is masterful. Very funny, Kim, with a powerful message about bad data. Oh, yes, for the refs to revoke a lot of plays!
I love how Taylor Mali uses these dice with teachers, too. I have a free set from him but decided to try the online dice roll: Broken — Song Bird — The Future.
Kevin
Broken songbird –
our future still sings
your song:
With mending on melody
With the heroics
of harmony
We, too, fly
Songbird of the sky,
though trapped by time,
we will still sing
your song
Kevin, the beautiful songbird being joined in chorus by us is a lovely image and sound to start the day! It’s funny – I wake up to a symphony of songbirds in the pine top stadium forest that is my yard every day. But not today – we are camping on a lake where there are ducks and it’s the first time our youngest rescue dog is along, so he is learning the ropes. For our wee hour walk, he heard them asking and answering each other across the water with their honks. He got behind a tree, cowered down, and turned his head each time, listening, like he was watching a game of tennis in the dark. He wasn’t singing their song like those songbirds but he was sure curious about their “harmony.” Thanks for getting us started today with a beautiful melody.
Great story! I appreciate the connections of a few words to your walk with the dog, listening.
Kevin
mending on melody. I simply must share this line with my music therapist friend. It’s perfect.
I love all of the hope in this, Kevin. And in birdsong. In it is gratitude for the moment, the day, despite all the brokenness… and oh, to think of our future singing!
Kevin, we both rolled a broken songbird today. I love that yours takes flight in hope, in the singing we take on for others.
Kevin I like that your song still has hope despite being “broken” and I especially like the solo line “We, too, fly.” Beautiful.
Kevin,
Another gorgeous poem filled with the sweetness of sound! I felt my body and soul warm at
“We, too, fly
Songbird of the sky,
though trapped by time,
we will still sing
your song”
Hope, tomorrow, change! ??
Kevin, the juxtaposition of broken and future in your roll could have gone so many directions. I love your use of “heroics of harmony.” Thank you for writing today.
Kevin, your closing stanza brought to mind Maya Angelou’s writing and the poem by Paul Lawrence Dunbar, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”. We sing because we have a song. It may be a song of vibrant praise, it may be one of the dreadful blues, it may be a ballad like the Bard often sang! Thanks for a succinct way of saying this!
Kevin, I appreciate how you consistently find ways to weave music into your writing!