Scientific Method with Linda Mitchell
Welcome to Day 25 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.
Linda is a family girl, Middle School Librarian, creative, curious, and loves learning! Find her poems in Rhyme and Rhythm (Archer. 21) Celebrating Ten in Ten Different Ways (wee words for wee ones ‘21)and, Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance (OSU Libraries. 21). She keeps a weekly commitment to Poetry Friday blogging at A Word Edgewise and invites you to learn more about participating in Poetry Friday at: https://www.nowaterriver.com/what-is-poetry-friday/ .
Inspiration
The scientific method has five basic steps, plus one feedback step:
1. Make an observation
2. Ask a question
3. Form a hypothesis, or testable explanation
4. Make a prediction based on the hypothesis
5. Test the prediction
6. Iterate: use the results to make new hypotheses or predictions.
The scientific process reminds me of poetry. For me, poetry is about observing, questioning and predicting–which are vital, although not the total, of the scientific process.
Process
I’ve been experimenting with writing poems in nonbinary voice. This is very different but also fun for me. My poem below reflects that. Have you written a poem in a nonbinary voice or for nonbinary readers?
Re-read the Scientific Process above. Choose one, several or all the parts to play and poem with. Don’t worry about following a specific form because this isn’t a specific form. It’s a stepping off place for connecting. Most of all, have fun with words!
Linda’s Poems
After Third Period Chemistry
Maybe they like me
Do they like me?
If they like me, they will sit with me at lunch
If they sit at my lunch table now, they like me
for sure
You can sit there—if you want
If they like me–like me,
they will sit in the same seat tomorrow.
-Linda Mitchell
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.
I enjoyed the inspiration for this poem, Linda, and your relating a very structured process to the creative one!
100%
I observe
my students are
100% racked
with spring fever.
I wonder whether
they hear a word I say?
I have nonetheless
100% confidence
they take pride
in their work
and won’t
let themselves down.
I have 100% confidence
their showcase
next week
will demonstrate
their fervor,
their desire
to be the best
they can be.
I have 100% confidence
they will melt my heart
with joy,
and sadness
to see them go.
Homework
This homework will take me an eternity to finish
Will I get it done in time?
If I just keep working, I could get it done
If I stay awake all night, I will get it done
I stayed up all night, working on my homework
Breathe of relief exhales me when I click submit just in time
Shopping
Shop til you drop
Isn’t that the motto?
It’ll cost you a fortune
It’ll take up your day
What price do you pay?
To look the best
A good sale brings us in
But your clothes make us stay
Perhaps a new store
Will take us away
Thank you for the prompt Linda! I liked how we were combining science and literature together. Here is my poem I’ve tried to create with our current weather situation.
Michigan WeAtHeR
It looks sunny today,
but I’m still wearing my coat.
Will it snow tomorrow?
You never know in Michigan.
It is almost May,
70º weather should be on its way!
The plants outside are blooming,
There is one sign.
Bring on the rain,
We’re ready for summer!
Margaret, your poem is spot on with Michigan weather. I love how you incorporated some rhyming to your words as well!
Margaret,
Your poem perfectly to describes what it is like to live in Michigan with all the crazy weather!
Hi Linda, thank you for sharing using the scientific method to create poems so creative.
Writing
I ponder my thoughts
Why do people write
Is it to tell a story?
Give instructions?
Analyze a situation?
Solve problems?
I put my pen on paper
I decide what I want to write about
Its real and authentic
My writing can inspire
Evoke change
Develop policies
Writing is apart of life
Writing will be here today, tomorrow and forever
So its best to stop ponder
WRITE WRITE WRITE
Awww, this is fantastic, Dee! Just what I needed to start my day today to – indeed – inspire me to keep writing! There are so many strong “one-liners” in here: “It’s real and authentic” is when I shouted “Truth!” in my head as I read, and knowing TRUTH that writing has the POWER to inspire, change, and ‘rule’ with policy – absolutely! It’s truly what we hold in our hands when we pick up that pen. But my fave line is this one, “I decide what I want to write about” – which seems simple enough, but in that one line is the autonomy, the freedom, the creativity that writers steep themselves in every time they go to write. It also makes me think of countries – places – where writers do not have these kinds of freedoms, are punished, are censored. It is a gift both dangerous and precious. Beautiful contribution here – thank you.
Dee, your wiring inspires me to continue writing and ignite a fire in others to write as well. You are right, writing will be here forever so we better get good at it now!
Dee,
So far I really have enjoyed reading all of your different formats of poetry! I liked this idea about writing as well!
Thank you for the interesting prompt, Linda! I used your poem as my mentor text. It was very helpful! 🙂
Free-Write
I cannot think of anything
If I just write anything, I’ll be typing
If I keep writing, I’ll be drafting
I can stop if I want
And come back tomorrow
My written piece will still be
a draft– in progress
What about me? You will still be
a writer in progress
Carolina – You’ve so aptly captured our writing process. You could make a poster of this poem for your classroom! All writers will tell you that they are “in progress”!! Indeed! Thank you! Susie
Hi Carolina, thanks for sharing. Free writing is an excellent writing strategy that writers use to get their ideas flowing.
Carolina, beautiful piece you have here taking us through your thoughts. I love how you amplified on how everything is still in progress and you can always take a break!
Carolina,
I always thought the scientific method was usually just for science, I did not realize it is in our day to day thought process! You describes how it can be used in writing as well and science!
Linda, I liked your poem this morning but after reading it again this evening, I noticed so many more of your clever moves. I love how your character creates a hypothesis and creates a way to test their hypothesis in a way that teenagers would.
I borrowed from Mary Oliver, of course, to help get me started today.
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
the flavors of a home cooked meal
will fade on your tongue
hot coffee on a slow Sunday morning
eventually cools
morning hands off the baton to afternoon
babies become children become teens become adults
each stage blending into the next
sunny summer day sun
transitions into autumn breezes
preparing earth for dark winter days
if you blink, you may miss the blooming
of the cherry blossoms in the spring
in this sense,
we ought to
savor the
impermanence
Rachelle,
This is so wonderful and what a great line to borrow from Mary Oliver! “savor the /
impermanence” is indeed a tenet of Buddhism and you have beautifully followed the concept through the year. The bits of alliteration provide just enough rhythm to move it gently forward.
I love the imagery and movement in your poem! I love how the ending of your poem is a “life-lesson” too! Thanks for sharing!
Rachelle,
Wonderful poem. I love how you were able to include coffee as you know that is one of my favorite things to write about.
Hi Rachelle, your poem made me reflect on all the things we take for granted. We need to savor the moments and enjoy all of life blessings.
Observation:
Common words loop in my mouth
backtracking into a swallow
as I re-train my English-teacher
larynx and lips and teeth and tongue
to use a singular they.
See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?
No, ma’am. No, sir.
Wait. I can do better:
No, Cap’n.
Boys and girls and ladies and gentlemenAll of us who
love our living, thriving language can
Celebrate Merriam Webster’s
2019 Word of the year:
They.
Allison, thanks for boiling it down for us! Re-training is they key for those still struggling with this concept. I love how you educate without preaching.
Allison, what a beautiful ode to “they”! While I love your message, I feel validated in the struggle as we “re-train” ourselves. This list was especially delightful “larynx and lips and teeth and tongue” because it emphasizes how very intentional you are when you communicate.
Allison,
I so feel this in my teacher heart. It has taken me several years to be able to say “they” without having to think about it first. I know it means so much to so many, so the “re-training” is a necessity, so my long ago grammar lessons will just have to hush.
I can definitely relate to your poem, Allison! Such an important topic to address in a beautiful poem.
Allison – This is so brilliantly constructed and a very important lesson to us all. Way to go, “Cap’n.” Merriam-Webster and I/They appreciate this! Witty, smart! Hugs, Susie
Wrong? or Right?
Advice to ponder:
“Spend as little time
as possible
talking about [or thinking about]
how other people are wrong.”
What if I did this?
Made it my concerted effort
for a day, a week…a year?
What would happen?
What would I do with all of that
freed-up
brain space?
What would my emotional
energy
look like?
What if…
they were right?
Or, at least their own
version of
right?
What if I recognized
that their
right
is different from
my right,
but that doesn’t make it
wrong?
(And does it matter
anyway?)
How would my worldview
change?
Stay tuned…
Julie,
I think about this from time to time, too. It is an especially pernicious thought, I believe, when you are a teacher. I like the repetition of the “What ifs” and the persistent questions that don’t really have an answer. “Stay tuned” indeed. Nice job.
Julie, I feel validated by your questions because I often catch myself following a similar train of thought about people being wrong, haha! I like this stream-of-consciousness cascade of questions format. It fits the prompt and the content!
Hi Julie, I love the repetition of what if… It resonates with me because we all have our on interpretation of what is right/wrong. However, we must do our own personal reflection and we decide to always do what is morally right.
Science Teacher
Each year begins with a hypothesis
based on observations and questions
from the classroom
from the world
from the mind.
Prediction: this year will be better than the last.
From August to May, we collect data:
authentic student engagement,
one-on-one conversations, genuine
exchanges of knowledge, mentor moments.
As data rolls in, we draw conclusions
make adjustments to the experiment in real-time.
Some variables we tweak,
others are added unexpectedly.
By end of May, exhaustion has set in
along with lessons learned and
new frameworks for moving forward.
There may not be a binder
studded with tabs with
the blueprints or recipes
but the paradigm has shifted.
Prediction: next year will be better than the last.
Laura — You have really captured the teaching year! All the data makes my head spin.
Love that last line. It has to be better, right?
Laura,
I find no fault whatsoever in your progression of events. Each summer I experience a renewal of hope that the things that vexed me the previous year will not persist. I so appreciate how you’ve integrated in the teach-speak we’re all inundated with. Let us all hope that “next year will be better than the last.”
So fun to read your poem, Laura! What a valuable lesson is said in your prediction! Thanks for sharing!
Hi Linda,
I wished I had written before work, but my morning got away from me. I love the idea of using the Scientific Method to approach poetry using a nonbinary voice! Incredible! Your poem reminded me of when the mean girls wouldn’t let me sit near them. Ugghhh. Teens are worse than any Terrible Twos!
Playin’ With Fire
I am pissed off
Outraged
Fuming fiery fury
Mother’s madness
A contagious wrath
90-degree heat today
Torrential downpours
Three nights ago
If humans don’t act right
Mother and I will
burn this bitch to the ground
© Stacey L. Joy, 4/25/22
Stacey — That last stanza —“If humans don’t act right/Mother and I will/ burn this bitch to the ground” — truly captures your rage! Don’t mess with a angry mom!
Oh, I love how you built on the idea of Mother! I felt (I know) what a mother’s fury can be…when Mother Nature rises up in the final stanza, I am awed, shamed, and trembling: as we should be. Thank you!
I’ve had those days recently, too, Stacey. Burn that bitch to the ground, indeed.
Ooo, the heat in that voice and throughout the poem is, well, I have to say it, on fire! Super! This poem is downright electric with rage. The extremes we are facing… illogical weather / temperature swings… we are “playing with fire”… I soooo appreciate this poet! Shout it from the rooftops. And even as we watch it unroll and the sparks fly, burn, and smoke, we watch our sorrya$$ zillionaires dabble and buy up the media platforms so they can control the firebomb as we burn ?. Geez, I’m so angry! And so worried. Susie
Linda–I love this focus on science as the basis of a poem. As a born question asker, this is right up my alley–and yesterday’s encounter with a cormorant became perfect poem fodder. Thanks so much for the inspiration.
Cormorant
I see you sitting on the beach
along, on the sand
are you lost? are you ill?
Most days you fly against the horizon
like a jet plane, pointed due north
wings in constant motion
Today you are still
feathers like midnight
eyes like stars
unperturbed by my approach
Is it avian flu?
Bird dementia?
Or just a relaxing day on the beach?
Relief pulsed through my veins
when I saw you later
floating in the surf
looking for a snack
before blasting back into the sky
continuing your coastal journey
Thanks for stopping by
and posing
for a portrait
@kd0602
Kim — Your focus on nature and the cormorant is perfect for this form. Love the questions you ask about its health — “Is it avian flu?/Bird dementia?/Or just a relaxing day on the beach?”
I know these worries, Kim, as I wonder about the actions of the birds. We had a series of crows lying dead for no reason that I know and for a long time afterwards I was asking every siting crow the same questions you ask “Are you lost? Are you ill?” You end your poem so perfectly with the bird blasting back into the sky.
Oh, Kim – I feel the worried voice here. And rightly so, this beautiful bird could well be in jeopardy. Illinois has posted an avian flu outbreak that could be serious. I’m pretty sure it was Illinois. I just read that they are having to destroy scads of chickens and that it will impact birds like this cormorant, our wild migrating birds. The relief in your poem as this beauty took flight let me exhale. Whew. Susie
Kim, this poem shows what a great observer you are! And, I can see you squatting down with your young learners and whispering the questions in their ears, “why do you think the cormorant is so still today?”
These were my thoughts while proctoring a standardized test today.
Why Do They Whine?
These students seems to whine a lot
No matter what is said
They seem to make up their mind
Before the words are read
Why do they whine so much?
I’ve not experienced this before
Can we blame Covid,
Their parents? Maybe more?
The whining must not be new
They have to had done it throughout
I think it may be poor impulse
It certainly isn’t thought out
If I allow them to whine
Does it eventually stop?
Will they tire out?
Or will my head just pop?
It seems that the whine
Isn’t connected at all
To anything I’ve done
At least since this fall
I love your rhymes, Rob. Also, I’m tired of blaming Covid for our students’ problems, aren’t you?
I am! Especially since the students who do it the most have been in person for the last two years. I completely understand that many of our students are behind socially/emotionally as a result of being virtual but these kids don’t have that excuse.
Rob, I love the way you made the observation (whining) and then considered a range of hypotheses causing it! Your rhyming lightened the, keeping the tone easy and fun–despite all the whining! 🙂
Both fun and poignant, Rob. I get a slight Shel Silverstein vibe from this poem – the kind of acknowledgment of this youthful event/phase and both a humorous but serious look at what it could be and how to respond. What grade(s) do you teach? I teach college, so I don’t see so much of this kind of whining – so I’m hoping that they tire out and that your head won’t pop!
I work with upper el students but the fourth graders are the guilty party in this poem.
Thank you for a fun prompt!
Dogs offer
the purest form of love.
Wouldn’t it be great if people could learn
a thing or two from dogs?
When you see someone after any time apart,
greet them with full-bodied enthusiasm.
Run around, bounce, kiss them,
wiggle your butt the whole time–repeat!
When it’s time to eat, get excited!
Food is good!
How amazing is the person giving you food?
Show them your love!
Play hard–commit yourself to living
right now, in the moment,
fully and completely.
Chase after every opportunity for fun
and help everyone feel included.
Snuggle–a lot.
This should include not only showing
complete trust, but you should use
ample eye contact to adequately
convey your affection.
Protect your people by speaking up for them
with complete conviction. Be an ally!
Sleep is a necessity in life–
get as much as you can.
Preferably, sleep with someone you love–
and cuddle some more.
Truly, we’d all be happier and better people
if we were more like our dogs.
So fun, Cara! I’d like to add to your list- get 15 hours of sleep a day!
Cara, this was a delight! I love the idea of people greeting each other with a dog’s full-body animation! “Speaking up for them with complete conviction” will give me a new appreciation for the bark of a dog.
“Preferably, sleep with someone you love.” xoxo
Cara, I kept highlighting lines as I made my way down to mark as my favorite–each image made me appreciate the poem more and more. I love how you emphasize the importance of playing hard and to live “in the moment / fully and completely” but also suggest to get plenty of rest. I can learn more form dogs than I thought! Thank you for this!
Yes, Cara we can learn much from dogs. I enjoyed the imagery of a person shaking their butt in excitement as they greet a friend. Yes, plenty of rest.
Dear Parent
By Mo Daley 4-25-22
Dear Parent,
I see you taught your children a valuable lesson today.
But was it the lesson you intended?
You must have thought they were entitled
to an education you didn’t pay for.
You must have thought the rules didn’t apply
to your family.
You must have thought your deception
was indetectable.
But like a flimsy house of cards,
your lies will tumble down.
And when your children are called out of class
and ordered to pack up their lockers
and return all school materials and devices,
you will have to watch them
stand next to them
and defend your decision to lie
about your address.
This April, the one of your child’s eighth grade year,
your children learned
how painful parental lies can be.
ouch. That’s a rough lesson for a family to have to learn. This happens a lot. But, I like how you keep the poem tight, steely, very teacherly in tone. There are lessons that can be learned.
This just happened today. I feel so bad for the kids!
Wow. It’s always crazy to me that people think they will never get caught. I thought your lines
“you will have to watch them
stand next to them
and defend your decision to lie”
Were especially powerful.
Oh my gosh! I had no idea this was a thing. Gross. So awful for those kids, but is it – what? – on the parents part to do this? I mean, something is wrong with a whole system when a person would lie to get their kids into a certain school. My guess is that they think/know it’s a “better” school – ? So, therein lies the problem as well – that all schools are not equal and that parents believe they have to do this to get their kid into a better or even just ‘decent’ school. I don’t know these things being not a parent nor a K-12 teacher, so this is just ‘wow’ news to me. The worst (best) lines are the treatment of the kid like some criminal. “called out” “ordered” “defend” – all way too harsh an experience for a kid and their memory of education. Sorry anyone has to go through this. Yuck. But a great poem, of course. This is one I wish more people could read to better understand this experience – and do something to fix the system.
Thank you, Linda, for this new approach to poetry. I was teaching today and not feeling much creative energy. I don’t know how all the full-time teachers do it!
Creative Mothers
Artists make the best mothers.
Is it the abundant creativity or the vast ability to problem solve?
Asking from a list of mothers with their children
they all will agree
(well, at least more than half)
that it takes a plethora of ideas to shape the person
while the tots just keep smiling
because they can get their pinkies dirty in the paint.
Oh, I hear you. This year has kicked my behind! I am tired at the end of the day…and it’s not a physical tired. It’s the tired of the feeling of fighting…to get attention from students, to encourage students to follow the few rules we have, to not let my frustration at the language and dress choices and bullying show to students who aren’t any part of that…and to Mo’s point in her poem above…not let the parents who demand too much with too little kindness get me down. I love the idea of the Mom that lets the kids play in the paint just a little.
Susan, coming from a full-time teacher with an almost one-year old, thank you for the mental break and for some savory reflection. The line, “that it takes a plethora of ideas to shape the person,” really resonates with me. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for sharing Susan. I would argue that artists also make the best fathers ;). I loved your last lines and all the implications it makes about the parenting style of creatives.
Oh, so sorry, Rob. I have just read an article about a book coming out in praise of artistic mothers. You are so correct in that the fathers are left out of this discussion. I should rewrite this to say parents rather than only mothers. By the way the book is titled “The Baby on the Fire Escape” and is how creativity and parenthood feed each other. It is written as a biography by Julie Phillps.
Linda, thank you for your prompt. I love your poem and the bright, hopeful voice. I think most of us can relate to that desire to be “liked” and to have someone to share a meal with.
Where is Spring with Her Light Breeze and Blue Skies
Morning’s sky is a canopy of gray
an old woman’s shroud of sadness
sweeping joy away─
Has spring been kidnapped by some dastardly bastard?
Endless murky days keeps straining away
I cannot fathom this mystery─
Perhaps this is purgatory
and purgatory is an undelivered spring
where I am trapped, weaned away,
waiting for an eternal part of me to wake,
or the hands of hell to destroy me─
I pinch myself.
Am I too numb to feel?
No, this is Hell
Barb Edler
25 April 2022
Hey, Barb — Yes, IA is hanging on to the cold demons of winter. That’s for sure. I love that Spring is, of course, “her” and seems to, indeed, been kidnapped. “Dastardly”…LOL! My favorite line is “purgatory is an undelivered spring”…ooo, that’s a dandy line…. and “weaned away”… something that I often wonder if anyone could know as a mother would know…methinks not. Hang in there, though, cuz any minute now and spring will explode in color and BAM, here comes summer. I’m going to send you a pic of my Kwanzan cherry… to make you smile!
Hugs, Susie
Susie, thank you! Beautiful! Our yard has been full of goldfinch, orioles, hummingbirds and indigo buntings. I will try to capture a photo and send you one. I think we will just move right into summer…aggghhhh!
I love the creativity of intertwining seasons and religion! When we are to numb to feel we are in hell. Very thought provoking!
Barb, I was just having the conversation with a good friend who’s in a different part of the country about the annual awe we experience with spring’s arrival and wondering if this is the best year yet? Which is soon followed by, wait, where did it go? Those first two images of the shrouded woman and kidnapping are so spot on. Thanks for sharing!
Oooooh, Barb. I think many people will read this quite literally like for real seasonal change. I read it with all the feels of hot flashes in the changing female. It could be beautiful outside – and yet not for those undergoing the change, where it’s nearly never comfortable. This is fantastic either way, real seasons or female change.
Oh Barb, this is rich. “dastardly bastard” is a fin construction. I just arrived in Minneapolis, and I think my daughter and her hubby would concur with this! They have already commented a couple of times about this spring of “endless murky days”
P. S. I listen to When We Make It by Elisabet Velasquez on my road trip today.
Listened, and I loved it. Thanks for the rec.
Barb,
Ive been asking WTF happened to spring, too. She’s worse than a bad date arriving late this year. Gorgeous, albeit heavy, images throughout, especially spring as an old woman shrouded in gray. Also excellent use of the scientific method.
Linda — This is a very cool prompt and I can see how it can be used in the classroom in multiple subject areas, not just English. I decided to use my WIP and write from the perspective of my MC.
Only mother bird and chicks.
I wonder where’s father bird?
Where is Ruby’s dad?
No whispered whereabouts
Why isn’t he there for them?
To hold them?
To love them?
I want to ask Ruby
I
SO
want
to ask
I consider all the ways to
phrase the delicate question —
“Is your dad overseas in the military?”
“Away on business?”
The time is never right
Will the time ever be right?
and I’m relieved by this
inconvenience of time because
I’m afraid to hear her answer because
I know the answer
Gone!
He’s
Just
Gone!
Like light dying in ether
not missed or mourned
at
all
He no longer exists
Dead to them even if his body lives and breaths
somewhere, elsewhere
Not here
No pictures, no momentos
Nothing
and I am weary of opening wounds
of upsetting Ruby
So I won’t ask these uncomfortable
questions
because Ruby is calm
For now …
Tammi, your poem is rich with emotion. I am particularly moved by the end. “because Ruby is calm For now…” Wow, you know there is a huge wave of actions, emotions, troubles, etc. just waiting to explode. You’ve captured the impossible position of a teacher, not wanting to open a wound or to ask the “uncomfortable questions.” Powerful poem!
What a wonderful choice to asks this universal question of Ruby. Those lines ” not missed or mourned at all” really struck me. So much strength in how we carry on. By the way, I have been noticing that my pair of wild birds have disappeared.
Tammi,
”Like dying light in ether” is a haunting phrase. You capture the point of view of the speaker—tentative and concerned, but afraid to inject herself—so perfectly.
Linda,
This was such an interesting prompt! I hadn’t thought of the connection between poetry and the scientific method, but it makes perfect sense! I loved your poem and the voice that you create within it.
At TSA
Through the scanner
and racing now to put on my belt
as gravity pulls at my pants and
plastic bins logjam behind my
shoes, bag, and laptop—
I notice 2 potential passengers (threats?)
pulled aside for additional security measures,
The backs of hands brush across waistbands
veer to inner thighs, move up towards armpits
and across chests now,
The Two stand with their arms straight out
and legs slightly spread
—somewhere between Vitruvian man and
a Jesus Christ pose—
Sacrifices for our safety?
Teenagers, a young black man,
A transgender white woman,
They are handled respectfully
but they are being handled
And they are on public display
as other passengers glance up from
their own retrieval rituals and reorientation
on the other side of security
The chosen two are visibly uncomfortable
but they make it through and begin
reassembling themselves as well
sense making will happen later
and what bits of themselves they’ve left
at the gate
is still to be determined
Why these two?
is location a factor?
is a pattern detected?
These two are mine,
and there is no room for the luxury of thought experiments,
but they are all of ours,
really—
I don’t have conclusions to draw,
just open questions,
but mainly
where and when
can there be
security
for them?
Dave — This –“where and when/can there be/ security/for them?” is such an important question. Today, my students and I read Kipling’s, “They and We” and your poem reminds me of Kipling’s theme and makes me sad we can’t all just see each other as people as “we”.
Dave, you expertly tour from the anxiousness of the TSA line to the empathy or sympathy we feel when we witness something tinged with injustice. There’s something about your alliteration in stanza four that gave me hope for the situation and the Two. Thanks for sharing this moment!
Ooh, ouch! I feel the embarrassment of these two people. These security techniques caused my husband to quit flying. He was always singled out for the metal bionic parts in his body. Who know why people are selected for the extra scanning but one would wonder how much of this is just harassment of someone that is different.
Linda,
As many have mentioned: I loved this prompt. I, too, had no idea where it would take me, but — as happens with poetry — I was in need of precisely where it went. Your poem brought me back to high school (and I know for a fact that I sat in my science class with the same thoughts).
Finding compassion
I am no longer a teacher.
Do you really believe that?
I was forced to leave
Do you finally believe that?
Due to a concussion.
I never hit my head —
How is that possible?
None of us knew it was there.
So it’s normal to flush a toilet
By turning off a light switch?
Leaving your car before
Turning it off
or putting it in park?
Cutting limes and placing your wedge
In the bathroom —
The upstairs bathroom —
With no memory of leaving the room
And truly wondering if a lime wedge
Wandered off on its own,
If a piece of fruit was evading you?
That one was fun to explain.
“Take disability or resign, but
You will have permanent
Brain damage if you do not rest,
Rehab, and recover.”
“So…I just stop?”
“You have to.”
If it weren’t for the pandemic, I would have fought to stay.
“Here we go: we will start with an easy one.
‘They went to the store.
When they got to the store,
they tied their shoe.’
Can you tell me where they went?”
…………………………No.
I would have pushed through the symptoms.
They weren’t as bad as everyone made them seem.
“I like your glasses! New prescription?”
“Kind of. I see two of everything without them.
They stop the world from splitting.”
My natural instincts would have pushed through.
I would have found my rhythm in the classroom.
“Have you noticed anything she hasn’t reported?”
“Yes — there is a lot of repeating. The current favorites
are ‘Are you hungry?’ and ‘I love you,’
so I’m really fed and really loved.
I guess it could be worse.”
Seventeen months of double-poems and double sunsets,
The double I-love-you’s have stopped,
At least the unintentional ones.
Thirteen months away from teaching —
But perhaps it is simply thirteen months
In a different classroom,
Different students,
Different lessons,
Different needs —
No more rosters, just those
Who cross my path
(or paths, if my glasses are out of reach).
Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.
Rhiannon — Wow! This beautiful and heart wrenching. The way you weave in your inner thoughts and confusion is so powerful. Sending you positive healing vibes.
Rhiannon, I concur with Brian, your poem is absolutely gorgeous. I am so sorry you’ve been treated so unkindly. I can feel your emotions of abandonment of being forced from a job you love. Your voice carries so many emotions throughout this and I applaud your courage to try to find a perspective for the type of classroom you are discovering now. Sending positive healing vibes your way.
This is so visceral and beautiful and profoundly sad and triumphant all at the same time. There’s nothing in this poem I don’t love. Wow.
MAJOR OPERATION
If I sliced open the planet,
a massive cleaving,
not unlike the calving of ice
as glaciers split and slide into the ocean,
leaving newly exposed glimmers
of our history inside the palisades of ice…
if I, like some cosmic surgeon,
laid open Mother Earth,
what would I find
beyond the stone?
Would your ashes to ashes,
your dust to dust,
all my beloveds…
be there like amber in the clay,
reorganizing their DNA
into the pink that bursts
from Kwanzan cherry blossoms
or the vocal cords of the kookaburra
or the dimple that shapes a daughter’s smile?
Would I unearth threads
of matter helixing
into tomorrow’s pearls
or whirling in the warm salty waters
that rush through the blowhole of the humpback?
I bode that the dimensions
between molecules
swirl and curl
in uber-atomic dances
that give rise to new tomorrows
that sluff the chaff of our weaknesses,
the minutiae of our meager knowings,
and affirm
that Mother Earth
has much more in store
than limp human brains
can decode.
by Susie Morice, April 25, 2022©
Susie,
I love how you juxtapose something I “get” like a dimple or a pearl with something so beyond my capacity to grasp like DNA, uber-atomic, and blowholes.
And then, the irony of it all is in the “limp human brains” and how your quite ahem erect brain has managed to craft a poem of it all and, in doing so, decodes Mother Earth’s unimaginable capacities.
Love this so much,
Sarah
WOW… this is wonderful…you had me at IF…so many beautiful lines here, I can’t pick a favorite…just so much more than my limp human brain can decode!
Susie,
I contend this poem proves science is poetry. The questions you pose and the way you hypothesize is a lovely, understated way of talking a little smack to those who think they know based on ideas they clutch their pearls s d cling to. I’m reading this last little bit as an emphatic statement:
“the minutiae of our meager knowings,
…affirm
that Mother Earth
has much more in store
than limp human brains
can decode.”
And to that I say, Amen, sista.
Susie, what a tremendous poem. I am enthralled by the language, the action words, and the images of nature that you connect to show what might happen if you were some cosmic surgeon able to cleave the earth to discover the mysteries of Mother Earth. Your poem is rich with sensory appeal from tomorrow’s pearls to the pink of cherry blossoms to the humpback’s blow hole. Such a glorious bouquet of imagery. My favorite though was “the dimple that shapes a daughter’s smile”. Absolutely precious. I know my poor human brain is feeling limp today, but your poem is an explosion of wonder. Brilliant poem, Susie! I love it!
Susie — There is so much beautiful language in this poem –“leaving newly exposed glimmers, of our history inside the palisades of ice…”, “from Kwanzan cherry blossoms”, “of matter helixing into tomorrow’s pearls”.
But, I just want to say you really nailed this one — “that give rise to new tomorrows/ that sluff the chaff of our weaknesses/the minutiae of our meager knowings” I felt those lines really sum up how little man really knows about the big picture because we are just stuck looking at the pieces but don’t see how we all fit together.
I love all of these deep, stirring wonderings – – and revel in the fact that the human brain can only fathom the very tip top of the iceberg of all the amazing things that we will never know in this life. It’s simply mind-blowing, isn’t it? I always love how you make me think like a Kaleidoscope – – I twist one way and see one thing, then twist another and see something else and so on and on and on and on. Always so brilliant, you are.
This is fanastic! I love the weaving in and out of the energy in our lives and the universe. It is a very spiritual poem and beautiful inside and out. I love your last summing up that reminds me that our human brains are just part of the creation and not able to understand it all.
Thank you for the prompt, Linda. This was a tough one! The riddle in the first line of my poem, posed by Lewis Carroll, lives in my head rent-free. I only found out a couple of years ago that Carroll gave the answer to it as well – which is the second last line of the poem.
Why Indeed
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
Why indeed.
I could count the legs;
Two for the raven
Two for the writing desk (bipedal one, at least)
I could consider the hide;
The raven’s raven plumage
The writing desk’s feathered wood top
I could talk about memory;
The raven remembers every slight,
The writing desk remembers every love note
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
Why indeed.
“Because it can produce a few notes…”
Aah. Indeed.
I love this, Saba! Your poem reminds me of Anne Lamott’s advice, to begin writing ‘bird by bird’ … I love your inquiry, “Why indeed.” I love that it is not a question, but a statement – you will unfold this mystery. And you do! Fabulous!
Saba — You gave me a big smile. You did a bang-up job with the prompt! Way to go! I love thinking about the raven and just think that answer is a giggle. You and ol’ Lewis C did fine! Susie
Saba,
What fun in the meter and rhyme and the subject and the closing. I loved the italics, too, and the quote words at the end. I enjoyed conjuring images side-by-side finding myself thinking of other things/beings like a writing desk, especially places that “remember every love note” — that was tender.
Peace,
Sarah
Saba,
This poem really embraces the scientific method: questions followed by hypothesis tested and discarded until the final conclusion these two are alike because the “produce notes.” Now we must know the common characteristics of these notes.
Saba, what a delightful poem. I love how you break down the comparison between the raven and the desk. I kept thinking of Poe’s poem here and I could almost here that “nevermore” with your last two words: “Aah. Indeed.” Outstanding poem!
I have always wanted to know the answer to this! Thank you for sharing. I love how you worked through this prompt. I especially loved the stanza about the memories.
Once again, this is a GREAT prompt to use when I participate in our school’s annual STEM Girls Day Out and I offer writing sessions. This is brilliant! And such a fun new perspective to take. Thank you, Linda! My inspiration comes from a poster I saw in the hallway promoting this class at our school.
“Learn How to Fly Drones”
What happens as more and more
people fly drones?
Amateur drone captains
crowd the sky.
Humbuzz flashes of zip-flying
drones infiltrate our daily lives
like swarming cicadas
whirring overhead.
Step out into the now open air and look up
seize into memory the clear unadulterated expanse
before it becomes obliterated with robotic life.
Love the parallel to swarming cicadas! Oh my, you may well be right – what happens as more and more people fly drones? Thanks for the ‘heads up’ – hahaha
Denise — This is too darned true! I stepped out on my deck at 5:00 a.m. (still dark) about a year or so ago and there was a light hovering overhead. At first I thought, is that…is that… no! That is not the electric tower (not far from my view)…zzzzzipppp in silence it shot off to the West… it was a drone hovering right over my house… TOTALLY CREEPY! Your poem bodes a very real tomorrow! Actually, today! EEK! Susie
Denise,
How wonderful to have a STEM girls day out and to include writing!
I love this stanza for the complementary images that help me understand a concept beyond my actual capacity:
Humbuzz flashes of zip-flying
drones infiltrate our daily lives
like swarming cicadas
whirring overhead.
Thinking of “humbuzz” of drones then cicadas — yep, that whirring is exciting yet quite troubling!
Peace,
Sarah
Denise, wow, I love the message of your poem and how you’ve captured a serious issue. Your poem is full of chaotic sound, “Humbuzz flashes of zip-flying” Wow! I cannot stand the sound of swarming cicadas and am truly worried about the robotic life ahead. Very provocative poem!
Science Fairs:
the annual sanctioned sorting
of science and nonscience families.
lurking behind the scenes
is not a hypothesis but a white
lie that the Method will save you, the
Method, that five paragraph essay for
folks full of nonscience.
but I digress and have no data,
except
Kira has her three tomato plants displayed in front of a lovely
8-dollar poster board that describes her experiment
in excruciating scientific detail:
controlled conditions,
same seeds, sunlight, water, a comparative growth
and plant health chart. It’s a work of poetic
beauty.
dear daughter you are doomed to study
French and literature and possibly some
soft anthropology,
but I can’t say that now.
I only know what happens to those of us who play rock music to tomato plants.
I know this because you are duplicating my unoriginal
experiment of 30 years ago.
Lauren and her family have the gene,
(possibly even made the gene).
they gave that girl a blue ribbon at the entrance:
in the family kitchen they distilled petroleum fuel from Crisco.
your ribbon:
a life of literature.
but don’t despair, love.
the poetry fair is just weeks away
and there will be lots of other families who
believe in the Poetic Method, too.
the whole damn day will sound like fingernails on the chalkboard.
you’ll hear.
“your ribbon a life a literature” sounds first place to me. A lovely poem!
Kevin, I love your supportive tone for your daughter – this is so fun!
We are not meant to be great at everything, but it is great fun to try new things!
OH MY GOSH…this is absolutely hilarious! I just love the snark in this and the gentle voice of wisdom form one who’s been there….your “rock music…tomato plants” just had me in stitches. The whole construction of the poem is so spot-on… the step-by-step-ness of it is dandy. Amen for the “poetry fair”… and LOVE those excruciating “fingernails…chalkboard.” Fun, fun, fun! Susie
Oh, my! Love that “the poetry fair” is so near and hope that we can share the Poetic Method with the world– even the science folks.
I just published a research study using poetic inquiry and can’t wait to publish and entire research paper in poetry! There is a conference in South Africa next month on this — so amazing!
My favorite part about the poem is in the direct address and the intimacy it creates!
Peace,
Sarah
Kevin, wow, I can hear a lot of conflicting emotions in your poem. Love your end, but probably because I’ve judged a few science fairs. They’re definitely not my favorite so I can relate to the fingernails on the chalkboard. Plus, I think sometimes parents work to be supportive and encouraging, but know that sometimes the end result will mean trying to help heal some defeated feelings. Anyway, I sure enjoyed your poem!
Thanks for the wonderful prompt today, Linda. It’s been a long time since I studied scientific theory. This prompt really gave me time to think today. Thanks !
43 Daydream
Emit was sitting, patiently
I looked at him and he pointed at me.
Both hands clasped at noon,
Every tick a consuming tune.
Controlling my every move,
Regardless, if I disapprove.
Emit, why are you always there?
Bending brown to gray with your stare?
From the sun, you are seven,
Kali is there, but so is heaven.
Since no one knows your birth,
Many predict your death, for what is worth.
Grant me your hands, so I may become a sage,
I wish not, to predict your age.
Emit I respect you with diet, exercise, and meditation,
Bless me with family, love, and salvation.
Emit let my sand grains fall slow,
Sprinkle my line with peaceful flow.
I will watch you daily
Ambitious, again, to see Halley.
Without you I endure panic,
Too short, too long, never enough, frantic.
Kneeling with my hands clasped,
Praying for the future, repenting the past.
As you march over all our graves,
Will I regret Emit; I did not save?
Tasks left undone,
Listen to Kami, or the Son?
Gazing through dirt, I’ll clearly see,
Emit exist for eternity.
Nirvana or the unimaginable,
I shall consume the ticks, amicable.
So….
Do we go back to the beginning?
Emit there you sit patiently, with no ending.
I looked at him and he pointed at me,
Snatched from my daydream at twelve forty-three.
-Boxer
Boxer, I love the rhythm and flow of your poem. The rhyme works so well to create this interesting daydream. I am sure some of what you are writing about has to do with Halley’s comet and cosmic mysteries. Is Emit light, time, or energy? Either way, your poem is brilliant, and the end adds quite a relatable punch.
thank you Emit is time ?
Thanks, Boxer!
Well, now after reading your poem again, I can see all the time allusions! My poor old brain is a bit smooshed today.
Nice play on time. I think my favorite part is the hair bending brown to gray. I like the way you mention those who have gone before and understand more than we do now about the blink of an eye. In the grand scheme of God’s time, we are only one quick blink here. And this is what I finally understand, too, about my dogs and why they act like they haven’t seen me for a week every time I come home. Because their emit is one week to our one day as the lifespan clock ticketh. Our time is the most valuable thing we have.
Thank you
Brilliant! There are so many wonderful word images here – the hands clasped at noon – I NEVER thought of a clock in that way before, and now I won’t be able to unthink it! But it also reminded me of a prayer or meditation mudra, and so much of this also reminded me of prayer practice and gods/mythology. Bending brown to gray – yup, that would be me! And these lines were my favorites:
Gazing through dirt, I’ll clearly see,
Emit exist for eternity.
Nirvana or the unimaginable,
I shall consume the ticks, amicable.
Gazing through dirt – again, reminds me of the bowing to pray, to the earth. And the amicability seems at this point in the poem – inevitable. No choice.
What a great response to this prompt, Boxer!
Thank you
I love this poem, Linda, and you’ve followed the scientific method from observation to iteration perfectly. I, however, seem to have gotten lost somewhere in the middle!
Every day she comes, my solitary sparrow—
pecking the earth, making me happy.
I wonder about sparrow habits,
Could I create an experiment
that might bring her closer
to my window?
The internet shows only
how to rid myself of this invasive pest:
If you find a nest,
DESTROY IT IMMEDIATELY!
To keep sparrows away from the feeder,
SPRINKLE CHEAP CRACKED CORN
far from where the natives feast.
Why shouldn’t my sparrow belong,
I wonder. She’s hungry.
Her sweet song spreads joy.
Why doesn’t she belong?
What makes some birds
worthy of suet and sunflower
and others only cheap cracked corn?
I ask the question,
but there’s no experiment designed for that.
I love my house sparrows, and your question! Aren’t we all worthy of the good stuff???
It’s true, everyone has preconceived biases that shape how they judge the world. At the end of the day, everything is worth whatever society deems it to be worth. Unjust? Yes. Any simple way to fix it? No, but we can always make gradual improvements over time.
Awwww…it’s the most beautiful human experiment called love and appreciation for all of nature’s beauty! And you pass the test! : ) I likewise appreciate all the little creatures. Yes, why are these birds not as worthy as others? Pests, indeed. If they eat mosquitoes, their friends of mine! (Okay, so I do NOT appreciate mosquitoes!) This reminds me of reading about how some plants become cultivated for their beauty whereas others are considered “weeds” and pests in the garden. Turns out, a lot of those “weeds” are actually nutrient-rich edible plants, whereas the ‘beautiful’ blooms that are more prized – only worth what we can see. Not that beauty isn’t valuable to our artistic appreciation, but I now find common weeds and their blooms just as beautiful! Thanks, Ann! This was really fun to contemplate.
Playing With Invisible Fire
“Fire!” Yelled as the crowed theater frenzied.
Panic filled everyone, the exit they envied.
In mass hysteria, salvation was not easily found.
They clawed and elbowed, trampled others to the ground.
The fire department came and sorted everything out,
Investigating every inch, they left little doubt.
The chief found the man who made the initial cry,
He had to know what caused the man to lie.
“Why would you yell fire if there wasn’t really one?”
“If there was no fire, why would everybody run?”
“That’s a normal reaction, anyone would do the same.”
“They’d maul each other despite seeing no flame?
The evidence is everywhere if only you’d look.
My dear chief, you must be mistook.”
“There’s no smoke, no burn marks, nothing to be seen.”
“Perhaps a worker came and cleaned the whole thing.
Unless you prove otherwise, I’ll never concede.
Ask the entire audience, half of them will agree.”
Oh how my exceptions-to-the-First-Amendment-loving-heart appreciates this poem! I love the exchange in dialogue to tell this story, and your use of end-rhyme is divine.
“If there was no fire, why would everybody run?”
“That’s a normal reaction, anyone would do the same.”
“They’d maul each other despite seeing no flame?
These were my favorite lines. They just flowed so beautifully, and the true confusion at responding to the suggestion of something when you see nothing is so powerful.
Jairus, this was awesome. And love how you used rhyme without sacrificing any meaning; on the contrary, it enhanced the tone. Just a great job.
Jairus, your poem sure shows how someone’s lie can create a reaction. I love the key question: “what caused the man to lie.” Excellent job of capturing the frenzy through the rapid rhythm and rhyme of your poem. The final punch is that half the audience will agree. Wow! Powerful and provocative poem.
Linda, thanks for the interesting prompt! I’m usually not really science-minded when it come to poetry, but it was fun to see the two notions joined, and I did manage to come up with a poem, inspired by my two first period students today!
Academic Intervention
Poetry? Impossible.
Snakelike,
the task slithers away
into its hole,
Slippery, scaly.
Eyes wide with fear,
my students
sit
paralyzed.
So
today,
how could we
tame this
terrifying entity?
“Write a paragraph,” I said.
“About what makes you feel
Great
Renewed
Rejuvenated.”
Fingers
attacked keyboards.
Keys clattered.
Talons ticked, typing.
Raw ore
was then mined
for jewels and,
sparkling,
they became
Poetry.
“You made it so easy!”
“Writing poetry
is usually so hard!”
Hypothesis:
Poetry could be pleasure:
Proved.
Yes!! Mining for jewels. Perfection.
Wendy — So inventive! I love the hypothesis “proved.” But that “academic intervention” is a cool way to go at this. I could feel the sense of “impossible” shift as the new elements (“raw ore”) of words click into reality. I really liked the upbeat you-betcha-ness of this poem. Susie
Wendy,
Your use of the snake metaphor throughout this is gold.
Snakelike,
the task slithers away
into its hole,
Slippery, scaly.
Eyes wide with fear,
my students
sit
paralyzed.
So
today,
how could we
tame this
terrifying entity?
How often we have seen this fear in our students. “How could we tame this terrifying entity?” I feel like we can apply this to EVERY fear-inducing aspect of education for our students (and there are many). Bravo.
Barcodology
Why does the library’s bar
code cover the book blurb,
hiding from the reader
the MC’s name: Ca–
is Carrie or Carly?
blurring time & place–
is it Mt. Vernon or Rushmore?
making us thumb phones
searching Goodreads rather
than using hands to gather
more books?
Ha! But, not really. One of the questions we all have but probably have never written a poem about this why? One of my volunteer roles has been working in libraries since high school and then since retirement at our local middle school. When working with books, we usually had to slap the library bar code in the same location on the books, no matter what was under it! Ease for librarians, not readers. Thanks for articulating reader thoughts so poetically.
That’s sort of like how stores would put stickers all over their used games and movies. Most of the time it wasn’t a big deal, but sometimes it would cover the art or title. I appreciate you putting these frustrations into poetry.
Sarah — Such a funny frustration… I totally get it though. I mumble about barcodology (great term) with those blasted stickers on pears…they tear off the skin of the fruit so it doesn’t keep properly…and darn it if I don’t just have to eat it up right away. LOL! Fun poem! Susie
Ha! I can answer this one…inventory! To scan the books for inventory it’s faster if they are in a certain place the the vendors ask us to give them. Then, no matter what, the barcode is in that spot. It is so frustrating!
Oh, you didn’t want an actual answer. LOL. I love this little rant in a poem. It’s a good one.
Aside from DETESTING how my school librarian reigns over the library, this poem is enough to seal the deal on why I refuse to take my students there. You nailed it! I never could understand the placement of the doggone barcodes over book summaries. Why?
Oh, how I love this:
Will this change someday? I sure hope so.
Linda, thank you for hosting today. I believe that this stanza could touch every soul:
Maybe they like me
Do they like me?
If they like me, they will sit with me at lunch
If they sit at my lunch table now, they like me
for sure
Why do we hoomans crave acceptance and belonging? I’m even like that as an adult But then react differently when we finally get it. Your inspiration, Ira Gershwin, made me laugh. We have a cat mascot and she could care less about whether you like her or not, as long as you give her what she wants. But oh, ignore her for a moment. Many times she has propped herself up on my laptop, rear in my face, just so I could refill her water or open the door for her to go out. But if the shoe was on the other paw…
But anyway, back to the prompt. I was inspired by my daughter when I wrote this. She is a person who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders and her heart on her sleeve. By the way, this is a true story that happened this morning. I really wish we could’ve traded places.
Monday Muse
Looking Monday in the eye, cross-eyed,
What the day will bring?
Monday has a reputation of
being Monday.
What will it heave this time?
Ready for it?
“Jogging” through the house,
sliding on the floor.
Using the table belonging
to a great-grandmother gone on
to prop self up,
only for it to cleanly disband;
a perfectly clean cut.
Panic set aside,
pain rising, left side.
An accident, an honest one.
No time to coddle,
must head out the door to school.
State testing is today.
Volleying positive thoughts down I-40,
ricocheting
like rubber erasers
off the tile.
Demanding to let it go!
Refocusing on what lies ahead.
Ibuprofen in hand,
borrowed water.
Are you going to be ok?
Head shakes no.
Still emotionally wrecked,
hoping the rain will wash away
The Mondayingest Monday ever.
I really love all of the -ing words throughout. The frenetic plate-spinning that is a Monday for so many of us. The punctuation also made the Monday here Mondayest : ), like it is a succession of equally important things assaulting your mind. Thank you, and hang in there! : )
Thank you Joel…and thanks for the new vocabulary word! It was purely accidental. Mine was actually a breeze compared to hers. I’m so proud of myself though. I would’ve usually blown up about something like this, but I kept my cool. I hope her day got better.
Jessica, I “ditto” Joel about your nounifying so many words so well. That’s another feature of poetry writing that I particularly appreciate. Poet’s license. While we’re not held to the rules of grammar, knowing our readers read by those rules, gives us some flexibility that must be used wisely if we’re to get our thoughts AND feelings across succinctly.
You do just that … for me, anyway. Thanks.
Well, that means a lot coming from you. Thank you Anna! As much as I enjoy poetry, I need to educate myself on the many varieties and their histories.
Then, by all means, stay connected with us here on OPEN WRITE. This is what we do…together…! Sarah has begun a great “laboratory” where we read, write, and respond to each other’s work in supportive ways that are helping us all become better people, citizens, AND educators.
Love your poem, Jessica.
This is about as scientific as I get : )
lightning, thunder.
The light comes before the rumble.
The longer the gap between them,
the further the storm from you.
The first flash woke me. For once,
my wife slept through it all.
I lay alone with the sound and light,
watching, listening, and counting.
Light, one Mississippi,
two Mississippi, then
a rumbling menace above the roof.
Windows rattled, the dog burrowing between us.
In the next flash, a silhouette, a child
midstride, framed by the illumined window
He climbed through the thunder
into the flannel & heat a safe dry place
between father, mother, and dog.
The sound got as close as the light.
We slept as it rained till morning.
The classic concept of light moving faster than sound. I assume that’s why you split it into two vertical columns, to match how thunder lags behind lightning. Cool concept, thanks for sharing.
Joel,
Your poem is visually stunning. I love the way the white space replicates a flash of lightening. These lines remind me how irrational our fears can be:
“The longer the gap between them,
the further the storm from you.”
And of course we always feel safer curled up w/ a dog.
Joel — What a marvelous poem! I love the play with white space…so lightning-y and perfect. The images of each flash and the family all together in a wad sleeping…well, maybe you want more nights like this! 🙂 Lovely. Susie
I really appreciate the separation of the columns. They each seem to hold moments where they stand as poems of their very own (poetic towers, perhaps). I do appreciate how universal it is to count our Mississippis after the flash. Such a simple unifier caused by such a powerful force of nature.
Joel, this is the perfect description of a storm. And your use of spacing makes it even more realistic, imagining the time passing between events. It reminds me of my daughter, rattling off her useful knowledge about the number of seconds between thunder and lightning when a storm occurs. These lines resonated with me: “Light, one Mississippi,
two Mississippi, then
a rumbling menace above the roof.
Windows rattled, the dog burrowing between us.” I am NOT a fan of thunderstorms in the middle of the night/morning. The rattling of the windows and the vibrations of the house is what makes the hairs stand up on my arm. Such a beautiful orchestra, but I do not want to stay for the encore! Thank you for sharing this!
beautiful white space gives us time to enjoy the storm. I love sleeping to a good storm.
Joel,
I adore this poem for many reasons. One being that as a child (and still now) I hated thunder! I would run to my mom’s bed and get right up under her arm for safety. Your poem brings the sounds, the feelings, and the LOVE!
Your spacing couldn’t be any better or more appropriate.
I held on to this image:
Phenomenal poem!
Cumulonimbus
There’s a shadow in this room
Where did it come from?
Perhaps these painful years
Have diffused into the atmosphere
Joining the carbon and methane
With apocalyptic opaque invisibility
The shadow is only real
Because our eyes are closed
We open our eyes in waves
So we never see the same thing
We blink the world
In and out
Of Existence
What do you see
In the cumulonimbus clouds?
I see a bunny
What do you see?
Love the prompt, Linda, and I love the nonbinary crush in your poem! A very cute representation of young love.
Alex, I love this stanza:
“The shadow is only real
Because our eyes are closed”
as it gets us thinking on so many levels. Great use of content words as well. Thank you for sharing today.
Alex, you & I both got meteorological today : ) I appreciate especially the way that you drive the work by questions here. So often my instinct is to describe fully–I’m gonna try to get like you and just reorient my reader’s lens without telling it what to see.
Great point about seeing between blinks–we don’t see everything. The spots in time are plenty : )
Alex,
This was great! Thought provoking and sensitive — i loved the second stanza, especially (“Perhaps…”). But also the fourth (“We open…”). Heck, I just loved this whole poem. And then the sadness of the end. I haven’t seen bunnies in the clouds in quite a while. 🙁
Alex — I love clouds imagery…you wrote about something near and dear. Joni Mitchell would be so proud! Way to go! Susie
Many things to do when I get home
Sit and do school work or dance with the items that are piling up
I choose to DANCE
The items don’t like to dance
But I have to
I pick up the items one by one
Putting them with their look alike
As I put them with their look alike we begin to dance
Then once they are dropped off, the dancing turns into a soaking
Soaking with stuff that smells good
My house is now filled with an aroma that encourages me to keep DANCING
I hear a rinse and a spin and another spin…uh oh, I thought to myself….its dancing without me
Soon I hear a loud emptying sound
Then a beep…
Now I know it is time to DANCE again but with a different set of items (:
I like how you have this collusion of metaphor and personification throughout your poem. Thank you for dancing here today!
I agree—but didn’t have the words. What Stefani B. said!
Thank you for reading. I had fun writing this poem.
DesC, maybe I need to call my domestic duties “dancing”. That would make me feel better. I would much rather like to dance as well so these lines: “Sit and do school work or dance with the items that are piling up
I choose to DANCE
The items don’t like to dance” resonated with me because I try not to bring my work home. What’s that Laundry? Coming! Lol…
I had fun writing this poem. When did you realize I was talking about laundry?
Hilarious! I never would have considered laundry day my dance day, but I’m going to try that out and see if it changes my attitude! I was just lamenting with my students about how hard it is to get our work done at home because of all the distractions. Love this line, “uh oh, I thought to myself….it’s dancing without me” – that you consider the appliance the dance partner is such fun metaphor. Thanks for the smile today, DesC!
Denise,
Thank you for reading. I had fun writing this poem. And you are very welcome.
They’re a Blessing, They Say
By: Emily Yamasaki
a baby brings joy
and profound change
are we still in love?
if there’s more resentment
more conflict
are we doing right by families
by ourselves
to stay?
just co-parenting might be okay
right?
or are we still in love?
Very powerful through the simplicity of the question, Emily. I like the repetition and the loneliness of the isolated “right?” in the second to last line. Thanks for sharing!
Emily, thank you for sharing this (your experience) here today. We often get so wrapped up in parenting that many other relationships lose priority–you do a lovely job in a few words representing this experience.
Emily, love the title of this poem so much. What a great piece, and loved how you structured it as a series of questions.
Emily, this is profound! Such loaded questions, with difficult responses. I’ve never been in this situation, but I’ve heard people say, “Stay for the child!” Why? If you and your partner are both miserable, what makes you think the baby will be happy? But these lines made me think: “a baby brings joy
and profound change
are we still in love?” A baby definitely brings joy and profound change, such mixed emotions at many times with no happy medium.
oh, sing it sister! I’ve just graduated to the stage of youngest being 18…and guess what? I think I still love my spouse? It got pretty dicey there in the middle of child rearing. We are so different in what we think should be and not be. Do you see all the feels this poem stirred up? I’ll stop now…but I will end with AMEN!
Oooowwweee, Emily! I think the brevity speaks volumes! I hope you always do what is best for you and your baby. Nurturing a baby, loving a mate, and most of all caring for YOU. I don’t want to get preachy, so I’ll just say keep trying but it takes two trying together for it to get better.
Hugs my friend! ?
Dear Linda and Ira Gershwin – Thank you for the inspiration. You got my mind running this Monday morning. This is what I have been researching.
Everything has a Purpose
Everything has a purpose.
What is my purpose here?
If only I work hard enough,
I will find my purpose.
If I follow all the rules,
Write the poem,
Hold the hand,
Paint the picture,
Teach the lesson,
Snap the photo,
Make the dinner,
Fold the laundry,
Read the book,
Listen and listen and listen,
I will find my purpose.
I will be so busy
That I can’t help
But find my purpose.
Consider the data.
What have I learned?
All this busy striving
Did not bring purpose.
Purpose lies deep within,
Something in the distance,
Something curious and resolute –
Between dreaming and waking.
Hold on tight
And let it slip
Through your fingers.
You will find it
Out there one day,
For sure, for certain.
This is absolutely true.
Such a big, reflective question – What is my purpose here? I love the exploratory, playful learning of
“Consider the data” … thank you for that reminder. So much data of my life would reveal what brought purpose to me, here & there, now & then.
Oh, and that resolution–“You will find it”–thank you for that too!
How true is this! All the striving and the busyness is often far removed from purpose. I love the hope in “hold on tight/and let it slip through your fingers” – the idea of letting go to discover relieves all the striving. A good reminder.
Guilty as charged, your honor. Oh, my goodness…the truth in these lines shine. “All this busy striving/Did not bring purpose.”
Word Dancer,
Your poem is a gift and life lesson to all the folx out there stuck on busy-ness! Love the shift in “Consider the data.” That’s it!
And we can’t find our purpose unless we “un-busy” our lives to find the thing in the distance! Gorgeous!
Linda, I think there is a strong overlap of wonder for both scientists and poets; I love this approach!
My 19-month old granddaughter is my focus this Monday morning – I love watching her figure things out.
I see you
I see you
You do it too
You flip the switch on the child gate
You walk right through
You turn the knob on the stove
You cook there, too
You turn on the water
You put on dirty shoes
You put on your clothes
You take big bites and chew
You walk down the stairs
I want to do this, too
There seems to be no end
to all that you can do
Why do you say No No No
when I do what you do?
Which one of us is confused?
I see everything
I see your power
I see you
Is there any wonder why
I shake my head and
say No No NO
when I mean YES! like you?
I should probably clarify – this poem is in her voice, not mine! hahaha I love watching this toddler, and I find myself wondering what she’s thinking about all these adults doing stuff FOR her constantly….
I love this! As a parent of a toddler who has not mastered expressive language yet, I’m often imagining what must go on in that little brain. A lot of it, I believe, must revolve around wanting to do what the big people do. I love your line, “Why do you say No No No when I do what you do? Which one of us is confused?” (I also notice lots of parents who could use this perspective!!!)
Maureen,
I love the fact that I had to read this twice, once I got close to the ending! Then…what a great poem in the toddler’s voice! Very cool use of perspective. And spot-on observances and insights.
Maureen,
Knowing this is Frog’s voice reinforces my first thoughts: Children are the natural embodiment of the scientific method, and we adults should enhance their hypothesis testing, and out of the mouths of babes comes great wisdom. Fun poem.
Maureen – wonderful, lyrical capturing of the way children watch and learn. I can just see it all. I so love this question: “Which one of us is confused?” Clearly not the little speaker!
Ah, Maureen, I like that messing with the little one’s voice. You gotta know that she is speaking truth here! 🙂 Very sweet poem…and truly observant as only a poet can do. Susie
Maureen, little ones understand so much more than we think and what’s happening inside as they grow and acquire language is fascinating. What an insightful poem from your granddaughter’s voice.It reminds me of all the mimicked actions my boys took at that age.
Linda, thank you for your challenge this new day. Good idea to choose part of the scientific method “to play and poem with” Thank you!
I love the tentative nature of the voice in your poem. It sounds like me in middle school.
Oops, I didn’t finish…my favorite line is this one–the hope, wishing and even the silent request…
“If they like me–like me,”
When
the weather
gods bewitch you
with heat and humidity
one day and freezing the next,
how do you always come up on top?
Or will you?
We’ll have to wait and see.
Denise,
Ive had this question on my mind as we live through extreme weather, including blizzards that I fear my have damaged the tulips at the Ashton Gardens tulip festival. You picked the perfect form for your poem. Great photo, too.
…and see if the experiment works out the way we intended… perfect science experiment! Teh form is perfect for the subject–hopefully growing…
Our plants teach us resilience and perseverance, despite all odds! Such a great question -“how do you always come up on top?”
Denise, I used to think the weather gods were swift in Georgia. Then I visited Texas. I couldn’t take enough clothes off for all the heat the first and second days I was there – actually had to buy a tshirt – and didn’t have enough clothes to put on the third and fourth days for the cold. Roller coaster temperatures. Love this!!
Linda, I imagine as a librarian you get to see teachers assigning reading for myriad purposes. Your prompt, today, had me wondering. Are we teaching scientifically? So I used the scientific “method” to guide the lines in this poem today. Thanks for the exercise.
Scientific Teaching?
I see you reading.
Looking for an answer or an excuse
Well, I’ll just watch and see how you do on the assessment
Based on past work, you could be doing either or both:
Seeking answers and finding excuses
Ah, I’ll give you choices on preliminary assignments
And then I’ll see whether you’re finding answers to current problems
Or settling on more excuses not to change behavior.
The wise teacher who checks the assessment. I love the wisdom of giving choices too, helping the student to “find answers to current problems”
We are beginning state testing this week. I have many of these same worries about my students.
Oh, gosh! I just love your approach. This method for writing poetry really worked well for your content area. The “I’ll [this or that]…” really speaks to the scientific method observation stage. That brings about a new level of relating with the author. Thank you for the insight into your world.
all of those
classics
didn’t make
readers white
(although we
could dig into
the hidden
curriculum
of it all)
the mandated
texts didn’t
stop
readers from
loving
who they
want to love
so, why you so
scared?
frightened of
conversations
challenging
discourse
scared to look
in your own
mirror?
take responsibility
let new narratives
____________dis
________man
____tle
our normative
intersections
of those imperfect
generic, genre-d
classics
OH Stefani, I love what you did there! The message is clear and thought provoking. Bravo
?????? Thank you for this.
Stefani, wow. What a powerful questioning of the “imperfect generic, genre-d classics.”
Yes, dismantling wisdom here.
Love the way you put this:
Boom! Loving the methodology this morning, Stefani! ^^^ ALL of this THIS
dis—mant—tle. Please! It is time we look at the reliance on the classics. Your structure and your thoughts are excellent!
Dr. B,
Your poem is igniting some deep thought and your structure is vibrant. To me it is a poem with many meanings and one that can be reflected on for many days to come.
This part was powerful to me. I appreciate the emphasis you give on “dismantle.” It provides an element of action for the reader.
“let new narratives
____________dis
________man
____tle
our normative
intersections”
Stefani, this was beautiful! Your first four lines! Wonderful poem.
Linda, are we allowed to admit “that was fun?” – I didn’t know where the prompt would take me, but I love the layered process that arrives from the scientific method. Thank you for this invitation. I love how your title sets the scene, and then the language falls into place to capture the universal, “Do they like me?” — wonderful.
Why Is It Always Monday?
~b.r.crandall
He’s on the porch again,
black coffee exhaling heat
into the early morning crisp.
Why does he never wear socks?
And what’s with these books at his side?
Handbook of Writing Research,
Teaching for Racial Equity, A Good Fit
For All Kids, Creating Confident Writers.
He’s educating Al Bundy, I bet,
sharing empathy with Cinderella.
Emptying the ocean with a fork.
I imagine he’ll finger-tap
the keyboard piano a few more hours,
before blue skies will summon him.
The dog’s stare will chisel at his guilt
(four miles isn’t a distraction
if he continues thinking about
the work needing to be done).
The socks are in the kitchen
next to the milk-bones & spotted bananas.
The sneakers at the door.
Her leash in the garage.
And there’s that 1 pm ZOOM call.
He’ll be back by then
lying about what
he’s accomplished.
The socks are in the kitchen
next to the milk-bones & spotted bananas.
The sneakers at the door.
Her leash in the garage.
Great stuff, Brian. I love how you set scenes–how your poetry pulls into short stories. And the ending here made me laugh.
Oh, my, like Kevin said, Me too! (“set scenes–how your poetry pulls into short stories”)
Wow, what a description of him–from the so specific details (spotted bananas and book titles) to the huge “emptying the ocean with a fork.” So powerful!
OMG! I absolutely love this! So much gold here:
black coffee exhaling heat
Emptying the ocean with a fork.
The socks are in the kitchen
next to the milk-bones & spotted bananas.
Perfect for a Monday!
I am with you in this scene. So many details that I follow you on this morning thought journey. Will you lie about your accomplishments? I doubt it.
Bryan,
Perfect point of view from your best friend who knows you well and knows the futility of this:
“He’s educating Al Bundy, I bet,
sharing empathy with Cinderella.
Emptying the ocean with a fork.”
I see echos of Whitman’s learned astronomer, and I laughed at “lying about what/he’s accomplished.” Fabulous poem. I might need to write one from my dogs’ perspective.
“He’s educating Al Bundy, I bet,
sharing empathy with Cinderella.
Emptying the ocean with a fork.”
But especially the lying about the accomplishments. Thank you for the laugh this morning!
Wow! I do not know who you are writing about, but I am intrigued and can relate with this person. “He’s educating Al Bundy, I bet, / sharing empathy with Cinderella. / Emptying the ocean with a fork.” and “He’ll be back by then / lying about what / he’s accomplished.” There are hard truths in here. I like that the light shines on that.
So out of order, but it seems to fit perfectly in our own little bubble worlds. The best thing about working from home is to say you worked from home. You can be “present” without being “present.” I laugh at these lines: ” “He’ll be back by then
lying about what
he’s accomplished.” They are so relatable. Such a busy day describing a day that may or may not have been productive. According to whose account though? Thank you for this!
It’s a kind
of alchemy
every time
I place
pen to paper
trying to
change
everyday
words into
something
more
something
insightful
or creative
or profound,
trying to
rearrange
what the
alphabet
gave me
to produce
something
new,
or rather
I’m like
some
prospector
sifting words
through the
pan believing
in earnest
that there’s
gold in them
thar stanzas,
but more
often than
not at the
end of the
day, I’m just
left with
specks
of dirt on
the page,
marring
the clear
expanse
of white.
____________________________
Thank you, Linda, for your poem and prompt today! I love sprinkling science through my poetry!
Kind of in the shape of a writing instrument…I loved this poem about the creative process of writing poetry. Sometimes you get gold and sometimes dirt. Great poem!
Scott — Your words on the page are soooo much more than “specks/of dirt on/the page,/marring…,” and this phrasing is a perfect example, bringing an image right up and out of the white and into my imagination…here wishing I’d written that. Plus, I chuckled to think of you “prospecting” with a tin pan by the river, “sifting” for “gold in them/thar stanzas.” Words that make another person crease a smile and an audible har-har early on a Monday morning when it’s grey as basalt outside…well, that’s quite something. Thank you, as always. Susie
Oh, Scott, I love the science sprinkled throughout your poem today. I love the idea of “trying to
rearrange
what the
alphabet
gave me
to produce
something
new,”
There is “gold in them thar stanzas”!
Scott – you have put much more than dirt on the page. Love this poem and its sparse, straight, direct format. Definitely gold.
I so admire the skinniness of your poems, pulling my eye down the page. And there is gold in them thar stanzas!!
I love the idea of poetry/writing being like alchemy – yes!!
You always do, Scott! Loved this!
Scott, oohwee! I love this analogy with the prospector. (You are often finding AND sharing gold!) That last stanza is so relatable – I can imagine the letters as specks piling upon themselves. I’m seeing those specks at the bottom of my page right now.
“It’s a kind / of alchemy” — I can so identify with this, Scott, how sometimes things arrive out of nowhere and in odd combinations, yet the result is extremely satisfying.
Are They Paying Attention?
If they’re paying attention
All of their screens should be on!
If all of their screens aren’t on
They are doing other things
If they are doing other things
They will not understand what I am saying
If they don’t understand what I am saying
They will not get anything out of the course
If they are not getting anything out of the course
They are disengaged
If they are disengaged
They are feeling detached
If they are feeling detached
They need help
If they need help
I should create a safe space
If I create a safe space
I may be able to help some of them
If I may be able to help some of them
I will feel that all isn’t lost
If I feel all isn’t lost
I will get out of my own way
If I get out of my own way
I will teach more authentically
If I teach more authentically
I will enjoy teaching more
If I enjoy teaching more
I will forget who is not turning on their screens!
This is so on point! Teaching is a series of “if I’s”. And somehow it all comes back to us. The circularity of your choices is wonderful!
Jennifer, this is such a relatable poem. I love how it all comes back to your first line in the end.
Perfect repetition. Right on point. Love the ending!
Wow! This If, then form is great and I love the conclusion “If I teach more authentically…”
I hear the voice of a reflective teacher – and I love the transition stanza,
how you continue to wonder about your students and then begin to make changes/tweaks in your approach…really awesome! “See Think Wonder” through poetry!
Wow! The repetition is addicting to read and it makes me want to sit and write a circular poem too.
This poem is one giant circle. I appreciate that effect. “If I enjoy teaching more / I will forget who is not turning on their screens!”
I hope you enjoy teaching today and every day moving forward.
Linda, another unique and great prompt today! I can feel all the angst in your poem – from that first line all the way through and especially in that “if they like me-they like me” line.
I Got Nothing, What About You?
I got nothing
most mornings.
How do I know?
My mind
(in panic mode)
empties
of thoughts
and the longer nothing is there
(nothing times nothing
equals nothing),
the more nothing I got.
If I had something –
anything –
it would be here
now,
filling this blank space.
Oh, wait,
there’s something.
I can almost see it
hidden behind all the nothingness.
But no,
that’s just
the sun rising
as day goes down to day…
(yeah,
that’s Frost.
I got nothing.)
I grinned all the way through! My favorite portion, though is
“and the longer nothing is there
(nothing times nothing
equals nothing),
the more nothing I got.”
superb!!
Lol! “But no, / that’s just / the sun rising / as day goes down to day… / (yeah, / that’s Frost. / I got nothing.)” So funny! [nodding head in agreement] yep, some days…!
Jennifer — so much more than “nothing” here… but I feel that …and this morning it slaps me… “I got nothing” when I always think there oughta be something, even a morsel, a thread, a bloomin’ piece of lint of an idea of what the heck to write… I got nothing. But you, my friend, even on a “nothing” day bring us the sunshine, the “Frost[ing]” on our poem-cake. 🙂 I am ready for that. Thank you! Susie
A bloomin’ piece of lint! Love!
Love this. Felt this way so often. Love the reference to Frost – Nothing gold can stay!
Absolutely, Pony Boy! (Just couldn’t help The Outsiders reference)
Your idea of nothing is truly something! Loved this –
Linda, I love blending science and poetry. Your questions are wonderful. Thank you.
Antelope Canyon Hypothesis
Before a white man’s
Eureka moment,
Navajo named the iconic
upper canyon
Tsé bighánílíní—
where the water flows through the rock.
Navajo named the more
photographed lower canyon
Hazdistazí—
spiral rock arches.
This sacred place—
symbol of mother earth’s
bounty, marker of time
passing, reminder of the
smallness of humans—
This most famous slot canyon
where people the world over
travel to marvel at its
fissures and spiraling
red&orange rock—
This most photographed
canyon recognizable in
photographs displayed
across the globe—
begs the question:
Why?
Why would a touron bite
their Navajo guide?
Translated: WTF is wrong with people?
—Glenda Funk
April 25, 2022
——
*Touron: The hybrid form of a tourist and a moron. I learned this term from a cousin who worked in Yellowstone years ago. It is or was a Yellowstone thing.
**We toured both Upper and Lower Antelope Canyon Sunday and heard stories of terrible behavior among tourists. We witnessed a guide in the lower canyon take a group of women who refused to keep their masks on out of the canyon. He did allow them to return after confiscating all their phones.
Thank you for the education, this morning. Glenda, I loved everything about this poem, including the moronic tourists – they’re everywhere.
Glenda, this poem is wonderful. I love how you blend information and imagery, and then we get to the final stanza and it’s like “wait, what?!”
And thank you for adding a new word (touron) to my vocabulary!
Glenda — I love your poem and I LOVE the “touron” term (how appropriate…we’ve all seen it, I know)…the backstory is rich and I love it. I love the inclusion of the Navajo words and feeling the importance and sacred spirit of the canyons. You mentioned the “slot canyon” last week in a poem or a response…it is such a unique and visual terrain. I love the rock-y words, “fissures and spiraling” that render that image of the earth slicing itself open for us to peek at those entrails of red and orange. Wonderful voice…you really do give us a strong “wake up and don’t be such a touron”… with your clenched fists. I LOVE that. Love you. Susie
You captured me with the vivid description of the canyons so your last line caught me off guard. Touron will forever be in my traveling vocabulary for those who forget to revere this blessed earth.
What a gorgeous name – such an exquisite way to name a place –
Your why question totally surprised me! I did not expect that! Thank you for the new word, “touron” hahaha. Enjoy your travels, Glenda!
Glenda, you show the grandeur of the canyon and its rich history. I really wasn’t prepared for the ending which is really mind-boggling. I agree “WTF is wrong with people?” How you cherish natural beauty rings through your poem. Thank you for sharing that wonder!
I wonder this more and more the older I get. Indeed, what civilized human bites the hand that feeds him? Where is our humanity? Where is our compassion? Where is our appreciation and our honor of recognizing that none of this belongs to us?
Linda—how to take me back to my high school years!! Ouch! You have captured that insecurity perfectly, in so few words. I really love this prompt—I have so many “experimental” opportunities now that I am retired…
Spring Resolutions
I have time now
No more long days at school
Tired feet
Tired mind
Tired me.
No excuses now.
The house is,
as usual,
still
a mess.
This is bad,
a reflection of
my organizational skills and
my lack-of-womanly-arts and
a host of other negative characteristics which I fully own as truth.
I will do better this year.
Starting today.
A place for everything and—
but what about things that don’t have a place?
The dogs, the cats, the fur from the dogs and cats,
the toys that belong to the dogs and cats?
And what about lap time?
That’s important, too, right?
What about their needs?
For that matter,
what about all our books
and the new gelee plate hobby I just started
and the folded laundry that needs to be put away?
(At least it’s folded. That’s something.)
Right?
And I have a poem to write (right?)—
they say it is beneficial
to maintain your intellectual agility.
Staying mentally sharp is important to the elderly.
I have needs, too.
So I’ll start small.
Baby steps.
The first step is the toughest.
Just do it.
One small step for mankind…
I will
go out
to the kitchen
and close
those cupboard doors.
As soon
as the dog
moves
off my lap.
GJSands 4/25/22
Oh My Gosh, Gayle — This is ME! You have captured with such sharpness of lens exactly what some of my days are…the internal monologue of it is priceless. The trailing of one thing into the next and next is just so apropos of my life so much of the time… it wanders exactly as we wander into our days knowing how important it is to stay sharp and recognizing the glory of just having the dog in “my lap.” (I miss that so much) Anyway, you nailed this little experiment… if you made a resolution this spring, how would it play out… BINGO, here we have it…and I LOVE IT! Thank you! I feel your presence here. 🙂 Susie
Gayle – so good to laugh at ourselves. Loved the humor here.
So I’ll start small.
Baby steps.
The first step is the toughest.
Just do it.
One small step for mankind…
I love the intensity your poem brings for this one mini moment. It reminds me of my post-toddler bed time 8pm moment of sitting on the couch not being able to bring myself to do anything productive.
Gayle, your lack of womanly arts had me laughing ((that might just be my favorite stanza) – as if we should all aspire to have those! I love how this both talks to us and talks through/to you (this is bad, just do it.). I have felt those motivating/unmotivational days. I have lived this. In fact, I yearn for some now! This is delightful!
Linda, I was that child in middle school hoping for a place at the table. I took that idea and related it to my current situation. Thanks for the inspiration.
A Place at the Table
You could make this place beautiful.
Can you place a flower in the vase and call it home?
Flowers, a white cat, a black dog, coffee brewing, what could be missing?
The empty seat at the table is cold, lonely.
I move over, sit in his chair, open the last book he was reading.
Time will fill the space at the table, even in the midst of absence.
There will be beauty again.
“Time will fill the space at the table” these words bring the tears and fill be with a hollow sadness. Beautiful and heart wrenching piece. Sending love
Wow, Margaret. Powerful. “I move over, sit in his chair, open the last book he was reading.” Love this early morning punch of poetry. Boom!
This is a beautiful gift of a poem. Priceless and moving.
Beautifully and profoundly put. Simple truth. Lovely and powerful poem. Thank you, Margaret.
Margaret–I feel your loss, and hope that beauty comes for you soon… A beautiful, loving tribute.
Your poem is so beautiful and powerful. I am in awe with each line. “There will be beauty again”. Amazing.
Margaret, may the beauty of your poetry bring you solace – I hear your grieving, your dear loss. This is so precious –
Sending you love!
oh, my. breathtaking are the words, “Time will fill the space at the table,” What makes a home is love, that’s for sure and clear in this.
Stunningly beautiful and searing, Margaret. The question “can you call it home” after the loved one is gone… and to think of sitting in his chair, picking up the last book he was reading. Such a symbolic act of love, life, and legacy. Yes, there will be beauty again. Meanwhile, the ache… much comfort and peace to you and yours.
What an especially poignant poem for today. I am so sorry for your loss. He is still right there in your heart!
Linda, your repetition of the words like me like me reminded me of the angst of friendships during middle school years. I can feel the pressure to fit in, in hopes they will sit next you you tomorrow.
I took your idea to use the scientific process to loosely pen this poem. The mourning doves that live nearby are eager to raise a family and are apparently having trouble finding a suitable home.
A Suitable Home
The brown porch fan
provides shelter
from rain and sun
Is this the best place
to raise a family?
Sitting atop the blades
building a nest
stick by stick
along comes a breeze
and
round
you
go
Egg crashing to the ground
Another chance
you try again
less fuss
and smaller nest
along comes a breeze
and
round
you
go
Egg crashing to the ground
Coo-cooing at the corner beam
of our log cabin home
The scratching sounds ensue
Tap, tapping on the
wooden ledge
I think you’ve found
a suitable
home
Christine, this reminds me so much of the song we used to sing about the wise man….the wise man built his house upon the rock…..the foolish man built his house upon the sand…..these poor birds have learned through trial and error. We have a bird who has, for years now, built her nest on the garage door light where the chain goes through. We won’t close our door all spring because of her and her eggs. Another bird nests on the front porch and gets annoyed with us for coming out the front door……you’d think she would have checked the neighborhood a little better before building right by the door, with all the other options around here. I’m glad your mourning doves have found a solid place to land and raise their little dove family.
What a wonderful story poem…more sophisticated by far…it reminds me of the Three Little Pigs and the lessons in it. What beautiful sounds you must wake up to in the morning. I love those coos. Your title serves this poem perfectly!
Oh, I do hope they’ve found a suitable home, at last! My heart was plunging with those eggs, Christine.
Christine,
I love the repetition throughout and the tenacity of the bird, but I love the lesson of learning from mistakes most. This reads like an allegory of parenting. Excellent poem.
Linda, it is amazing how much you communicate in your spare lines – and how you make the title do more work! How well (and poignantly) you capture the need for acceptance and the hopefulness surrounding it (‘if they like me-like me”). Makes me recall those old notes asking the question: check one… Thank you for the inspiration today.
Graphic Failure
Dear Student, I see you’ve been referred.
Why have you been referred?
Maybe it’s because your teacher
is afraid.
Not of you, Dear. Not really.
You see, in the scheme of things,
you should be the tip of
a hypothetical pyramid,
with all the systemic structures
supporting you—in other words,
your needs should drive
everything else
your teacher, see,
is the next closest layer
to you
and when this pyramid is
upside down
with the ponderous weight
of systems all at the top,
by the time it reaches
your teacher,
the pressure
is immense
(research tells me this used to be
a form of execution in ancient times,
crushing, i.e., the adding of more
and more stones)
which means that if
this colossal pyramid
is inverted
there you are
the tip at the bottom
the whole system’s
supposed
raison d’etre
bearing it all
like Atlas
no wonder
you have been referred
it is all too much
(I left the area of referral out on purpose: could be behavior, academics…)
I like that the referral is vague. What a commentary on what is. All so true. The pressures of all the programs and structures. I have found myself saying that these days, students are serving the school not the other way around and that’s wrong! Thank you for poeming my feelings. Now, how to flip those heavy pyramids back to the way they are supposed to be.
These words: “with the ponderous weight of systems all at the top,by the time it reachesyour teacher, the pressure is immense” moved me to tears. You’ve captured the worry we feel as educators. Something that is not understood or appreciated by non-educators
Fran, I love the reference to Atlas. I can see him bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, and that image – like this inverted pyramid – brings forth the imagery that so clearly represents how teachers feel – – especially this time of year. Everyone is tired and strained in an upside-down system. My first principal ever was famous for saying, “At the end of the day, you know who should be tired? The kids. Not you. The kids should be tired.” He was one of the most brilliant principals ever – but I don’t think I’ve ever seen kids more tired than teachers at the end of the day. Your final line says it all: it is all too much.
Oh – this hits home! Thank you for this, Fran.
and when this pyramid is
upside down
with the ponderous weight
of systems all at the top,
by the time it reaches
your teacher,
the pressure
is immense
Fran, I was continually faced with that pyramid image when teaching my young learners …what an insightful flip you have given to it, showing its brute force –
You help us to look anew, to really think about these systems and what needs to change. Thank you!
Making Compost
Add oxygen:
easier said
than done
Turn frequently:
pitch-forking,
for fun
Mix in water:
Open up,
let the sky
run
Spread liberally:
a garden,
just begun
— Kevin
Wonderful! And, so earthy for April. I love “Open up/let the sky/run”
Gorgeous rhythm and rhyme, Kevin – especially this: “Open up,/let the sky run.” I’ll be savoring that a long while…never thought about the challenge of the simple statement “add oxygen.”
A garden just begun… the brevity and rhythm of your words brings excitement to a dreaded (to me) chore of composting. I will look at this task with fresh eyes!
pitch-forking, for fun……ha! I love turning some earth and watching it work. Great rhyme scheme and form – – done, fun, run, begun. There is magic in a garden. Earth’s way of giving us precious gifts, if we take the time to sow the seeds and work the space.
Kevin, you’ve tapped my insecurities this morning. I’m good with my promises, but have yet to build my compost. With this poem, the inspiration returns. Great use of brevity, conciseness, and narrative. It works in all ways.
Love thet rhyme and structure; your poem is easier said than done.
Oxygen, compost, water – inevitably a garden rises – like magic!
pitch forking for fun! Love this compost fun…might need to share with my students!
Ah, a wonderful “recipe,” Kevin! I didn’t know you are a fellow gardener.
Linda, thank you for hosting us today with a sensational scientific prompt. I love your nod to friendship, acceptance, and lunchtime fellowship in your poem! I immediately thought of my hummingbird feeder, where the grass moves gently under the birds two feet above the ground as they feed. I’m putting the video at kimhaynesjohnson.com to show my scientific evidence. This is such a fun prompt!
Hummingbird Flutter Turbulence
tickling breeze in the clover
no wind – what could it be?
bird at the feeder?
hummingbird flutter turbulence!
stirring grass two feet beneath ~
awakening the earth
to the wonders of spring!
A beautiful poem to start the day. When I see birds this morning- I will think of your poem- and know they are waking earth up. Awesome ?
I am now in love with “hummingbird flutter turbulence.” I also love the turbulence that comes from my cat shaking his ears. Hummingbirds make such a fluttery sound and it’s perfect in this early morning poem.
Kim – I can see it, the clover stirring in the breeze caused by the speed of those tiny wings; it is a wonder, indeed. Another example of awe to be found in nature just by being still and simply observing, absorbing…how your words and and images fan it through my heart!
I am enthralled with this poem and the thought of hummingbird flutter turbulence! Yes the wonders of spring. I was awakened to joy with your writing this morning!
This poem played like a slow-motion video in my mind. Wonderfully done, Kim.
Wow, Kim, I have a hummingbird feeder now (it had been a long time) so I’m familiar with that “hummingbird flutter turbulence” You have captured it here. I love the ending thinking of the job of alarm clock to the earth for the little hummingbird. Lovely.
Hummingbird flutter turbulence! I love this! I will have to head over to your blog to check out the scientific evidence (but I totally believe you, sight unseen!).