Welcome to Day 1 of the July Open Write. If you have written with us before, welcome back. If you are joining us for the first time, you are in the kind, capable hands of today’s host, so just read prompt below and then, when you are ready, write in the comment section below. We do ask that if you write that, in the spirit of reciprocity, you respond to three or more writers. To learn more about the Open Write, click here.
Our Host
Denise taught elementary grades, junior high, and college undergrads for 28 years before retiring. She has two married daughters, a grandbaby and one more on the way. She lives with her husband and some wild desert animals in Yucca Valley, California. Denise is coauthor of The Genius Hour Guidebook. She has some published poems in several anthologies, and she blogs regularly at Dare to Care.
Inspiration
Last month, in honor of my sister Judi who died in April, I wrote a poem each day about my siblings. On several of those days, I used some form of the septercet. For this prompt, I went out to do some exploring to learn the history of the septercet. Sept is a Latin combining form meaning seven, tercet is a three-line stanza. So, each of the three lines in a septercet has seven syllables. Read more from and about Jane Yolen, inventor of the septercet. In addition, Mo Daley shared a blackjack poem prompt a few years ago, which is the same 3 x 7 format, where each stanza equals lucky 21.
Process
Let’s try something with the septercet today. You can write just one three-line stanza. Or multiple stanzas, as many as you need. Rhyming is optional. My poem is one of my May sibling poems, where I tried a sort of septercet “sonnet.”
The subject matter is wide open, but here are a few suggestions from our mentors:
- Mo Daley, in shout out to the 21 of blackjack, wrote about a risk she and her husband took. As Mo suggested, you can write about a time when you took a risk and it paid off. Or if it didn’t pay off, did you wish you had played it safe?
- Jane Yolen shared a prompt “write a poem in which reading and/or writing is featured in the form of a septercet.” She has written an example too, with rhyme. Scroll down at the link.
- In my example, I used nature as the frame for my poem about my siblings. You might also choose to use nature to frame another subject.
- Of course, as always, write anything you want or need to. You will honor us by sharing it here today.
Denise’s Poem
Pink sky dawn, chirping begins
Reptiles warm, newly alive
emerge from their winter cold
Hope in this new day will stay
fragile family bowknot–
ties up love like rose-tinged clouds
Queue up the next crescendo
dulcet and devout playing
on this blooming day in May
Life is a bouquet of kin
to fragrance and keep the soul
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
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Denise,
I am so, so sorry to hear about your sister. My deepest condolences to you and to your family.. <3
I loved the beautiful sensory detail in your poem, the alliteration, the perfect and fitting words to express your feelings so eloquently! This just hit my heart.
Here is my offering — a little late, sorry! I tried a septercet, though, and loved it!
Floating
Precious time stolen to float.
Water laps at sides of boat.
House before me, pen takes note:
Sketching wavy, hazy lines
Drawing after all this time
Lazy, finally, time to shine
Pencil meets a musty page
Cautious strokes by guesswork caged
Time has made lines hard to gauge
Am I skilled in this at all?
Would my rend’ing eyes appall?
Focus keeps my doubts in thrall
Does art need to please a crowd?
Self-approbation is allowed…
Of effort I can still be proud
That after almost thirty years
I cast aside my senseless fears
To find myself on water, here
Embracing, once again, my art
No better time than now to start
And welcome joy with all my heart.
*”rendr’ing”
Wendy, this is amazing to start again “after almost thirty years” Yes! And yes “self-approbation is allowed…” It looks like you did have fun with the septercet, and I love the rhyming, which you make look so easy, but I know it’s not.
The Two You Paradox – Septercet
I just read something shocking.
The writer describes two selves:
One devoid of memories,
The other of flesh and bone.
The true self is blank – no past!
How can that be? Blasphemy!
I am what I remember.
Without memories, I’m done.
A shell, staring at the wall
Can’t write a poem about life.
Can’t reminisce about love.
Can’t remember being whole.
The speaker’s voice is palpable here with the questions and direct address to the reader. That final line had be gasping.
Shaun, loved this, and I’m so curious as to what you were reading. 🙂 I loved the anaphora at the end and your last line that circles back to the beginning, but extends that idea to one more thought-provoking than the original idea.
Shaun, what a great poetry response to this shocking reading. Your title is perfect. “How can that be? Blasphemy!” I agree. “I am what I remember” yes. Those last three lines are very powerful, especially the last.
Away at camp with small group,
learning more about our God.
Ready to welcome her home.
©️Jennifer Kowaczek
Thank you, Denise, got this prompt and reminding me of this form. I’m late to this month’s Open Write so I kept this one to one stanza. I’ll revisit this poem later today.
Oh, Jennifer, I love this. How exciting for you to be with a small group learning about God. I was just at church with a small group who have not been afraid to unlearn a lot of baggage and rebuild our faith. I so love the line “Ready to welcome her home.”
I am hosting 8 friends at my cottage this weekend. It’s been busy so far!
Friends gather, fueling the
Memories with food, wine, and
Bourbon, binding us always
Mo, I’m so glad you stayed up soooo late and drafted this sweet septercet. How fun to be hosting special friends at the cottage. I love the verbs fueling and binding you chose. They are gentle, yet strong.
Mo, you speak universal truths 🙂 Everything is better with friends and bourbon.
Mo, I loved those bubbly “b”s at the end of this and the alliteration throughout that made this gathering seem so animated. Lovely job using sound to convey meaning!
Such a beautiful poem and final lines, Denise; a tribute to family. You got me thinking about mine (I’m spending my week caring for my elderly parents; my sibs and I take turns).
dad
protruding cheek bones outline
a skull draped with sallow skin
dark circles form beneath eyes
shirt hangs on sharp shoulder bones
flaccid arms, stick-skinny legs
92-year old cartoon
feather-light, disappearing
before my eyes, with a smile,
with his soup and root beer float
©draft, PJF
Oh, Patricia, this poem is rich in imagery, helping me to see him so clearly. “disappearing / before my eyes” is so poignant. Then the “soup and root beer float” to finish made me smile. Peace and blessings to you and your siblings in your sweet and loving service.
Patricia, you painted a vivid image of your dad in his fragile age. I know how hard it is to watch our parent fade. Hugs! Thank you for sharing.
Patricia, I just loved the imagery in this. What a picture you build! It totally reminded me of my own dad.
Denise, Thank you for this invitation! I love writing in a (not too tight) form! It helps me consider/reconsider what I’m trying to express.
I just finished reading Tim Alberta’s excellent book “The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory: American Evangelicals in an Age of Extremism.” It gave me so much to think about, including my own Christian upbringing. So yeah, this is my poem:
Mom said Santa symbolized
all who give at Christmastime.
Fooling children rubbed her wrong.
Yet each Sunday, we worshiped
as a family devout,
praying to a Santa-God.
I look back: I am wriggling
in the pew, straining against
the tug of reason; trying
to believe, squeezing my brain
through a needle eye too small,
feeling guilty for the doubt
that simultaneously
weighed me down and set me free:
empirical evidence.
Allison, your poem is rich with emotions. I can relate to the straining, wriggling in a pew, the doubt one can experience about Christian teachings, the weight these feelings carry. The “Santa-God” shows the strange hypocrisy often present during the Christmas season. I like how you show that you are set free by empirical evidence. Provocative and powerful poem. I need to read Alberta’s book.
Allison, I’ve been wanting to read Alberta’s book. Fascinating what is happening in the church these days–all days, in many ways. That is a good connection you make in the first and second stanzas. I guess my own children had the same experience. I love the honesty as you look back “squeezing my brain / through a needle eye too small”
Allison, I love this poem, probably because it resonates with me faith-wise. Especially…
“feeling guilty for the doubt
that simultaneously
weighed me down and set me free:
You did amazing work with line breaks, too!
Allison, this was great. As someone who grew up Catholic, I can sooo relate to these sentiments and to that doubting, squirming little girl in the pew. That second stanza and the “Santa-god”! And the sense of contradiction and tension that permeates this. This is a beautiful, true snapshot.
Thank you for hosting today Denise, it was truly heartfelt. I resonated with your second stanza
fragile family bowknot–
as you let nature speak with inspiration from you. Your last stanza is a reminder of who life is and brings to us. Not the material things, but the adoring people. Thank you for sharing.
My septercet is a story of a new adventure I’m embarking on.
Hello God, it’s Me, Jessica
God will qualify the called,
I hesitantly answered.
Taking a blind leap of faith.
A risk worthy of failing,
going through the processes,
each round became more awkward.
Finale, 1st interview
in a closing library.
Vacuum going, distracting.
Bustling bodies, kidnapped mind,
my brain absent without leave.
Second interview stifling,
60 ticks in Black Beauty.
A sigh of relief, fresh air
A new feel overwhelming.
Now I wait, impatiently.
But the email comes on time.
Unexpectedly surprised.
Big congrats are in order.
A new chapter God’s writing.
Me as a teaching fellow.
Congratulations. What a timely, perfectly crafted poem. I enjoyed the chronological order in which you shared the good news. Like you, I’m also starting, “a new chapter of God’s writing.”
Thank you Juliette and congratulations! Walking by faith, not by sight. I wish you well.
Congratulations, Jessica! I loved the way you built the suspense –“Second interview stifling,/60 ticks in Black Beauty”.and uncertainty of waiting “Now I wait, impatiently.
But the email comes on time” — in your poem. So happy that your risk paid off!
Thank you Tammy, I built it because I felt it. And thank you, some risks are worth taking.
Jessica! Congratulations, my dear! The interviewing sounded challenging and competitive, and that is confirmed by most of the poem being about these processes and waiting for the results. Wow. I love how God’s help is interwoven throughout your poem and title.
Thank you Denise, it was very much competitive so I have much to celebrate! I’m not a talker (so I say), but as a teacher I’ve learned to think on my feet and modify and adjust.
Jessica, thanks so much for reminding us of the value of trusting God, or whatever name we give to the Great spirit, Our Creator. And congratulations on your new position. Others reading your poem appreciate how well you chronologically capture the emotions of the wait. Wishing you well and praying for your success. Some are still waiting.:-)
Hi Anna, thank you so much for your kind words. And I hope to be the hope that others see in their wait.
Oh, Jessica! I love the literary allusion in your title! You captured the hope/agony of “putting yourself out there” (job, relationship, goal)–and especially that experience of brain AWOL!
Thank you Allison. It felt good to write this, especially since this hasn’t been officially publicly released!
Jessica, first of all congratulations on your fellowship! I love how you show the uncomfortableness of the interviews due to the environment. Your title is just so perfect! Good luck with your new adventure!
Thank you Barb, I’m reading for the ride!
Thank you for hosting and your poem, Denise! I liked your second stanza the most and then got stuck on your final stanza’s first line: “Life is a bouquet of kin,” which I took as the first line of my poem. Since I am visiting my daughter’s family and grandkids, and my flight home yesterday was cancelled because of the cybersecurity, I have another two and a half days to enjoy my loved ones in Ohio. The family theme is very relevant at the moment; the poem needs more work, but I hope the main idea is there:
Family Life Cycle
Life is a bouquet of kin—
This journey parents begin
Letting kids fail, rise, and win
Siblings learn how to tread
Rough waters, keeping up the head,
Connecting links into a thread
This cycle makes full circle round
When they have kids of their own
Guiding them the way they’ve known
They see themselves in children grown
Strong ties appear to be shown.
Leilya, I just love your generational poem. The community you’ve built, the togetherness and love shines through the lines. This line resonates with me, “Letting kids fail, rise and win”. The whole stanza about siblings is another that is perfect. We as (parents and siblings) are living your poem. Thank you
Leilya, I’m so glad you could get away and write with us today. You made a sonnet! I love it–especially that first stanza. Lots of rhyming fun in your poem too. It’s so fascinating to see ourselves in our children and their children. That truly does make strong ties. I like the mention of the difficulties children go through, “tread rough waters” and how parents sometimes have to let “kids fail, rise, and win” Enjoy your extra days!
Leilya,
Love the rhythm and rhyme of this piece. Parenthood is definitely a journey of ups and downs and as you write “Letting kids fail, rise, and win.” It is sometimes hard to live through but in the end a necessary part of growth. Life really is a circle.
Leilya, I’m glad you have more time to spend with your daughter’s family! I love the rhythm, rhyme, and the “full circle” theme that you’ve crafted throughout!
Wow, Leilya. I love how effective your rhyme scheme works in this poem. Your first line is absolute perfection. Strong family ties are the best. Your second stanza reveals how growing up is not always easy but how important a sibling can be during those difficult times. Beautiful poem!
Rings very sweet for me, too, Leilya…I’m in the “when they have kids of their own” phase — and beginning to see glimpses of those strong ties. 🙂
Thank you, Denise, for hosting today. I love how your poem captures the morning movement and inspires hope. Our backyard is a bird haven so that’s what I tried to capture today.
above the scarlet bird bath
grape jelly joyfully sways
sweet treat for beautiful beaks
Barb Edler
20 July 2024
Hi, Barb — A lovely sense of sway and color and peace! Happy Saturday! Hugs, Susie
Barb, your poem is beautiful sounding like the bird haven you get to listen to in your yard. “grape…sways” and “sweet treat…beaks” sing out to me today. I love the “joyfully sway[ing]” grape jelly too.
Oh, Barb! Those orioles love that jelly, and we don’t get that many here. Love the way your colors play – – reds, purples, and all the colors of the birds that will come. Scenery success!
Barb, you are a master of alliterations–each line consists one: “bird bath,” “jelly joyfully,” and beautiful beaks.” I love how these sound effects add to the poem’s musicality. Beautiful!
I like how the comments pull me more deeply into the poem. Thanks you, Leilya.
Barb, I enjoy with unexpected appearance of “grape jelly” 🍇.
We should all remember the power of grape jelly. <3
Hi Barb,
Such a simple, yet meaningful poem. Nature is a great way to be encouraged. The peace, the simplicity, and the unexpected animal interactions. I love your second line “grape jelly joyfully sways” and it’s not just because I love food, but the alliteration and visualization of a sweet treat for some deserving birds. Thank you for sharing.
Barb, this line hooked me, “sweet treat for beautiful beaks” perfect word craft.
Barb,
I can see the birds swaying through your vivid words. Sounds like a lovely sanctuary.
Friend! My husband and I stayed in Keokuk Thursday night on our way to St. Louis to pick up a truck. I told him all about you (and Rex Muston!) as we passed through your historic town!
I love how in 21 syllables you bring me sight (scarlet), smell (grape jelly), sound (birds), and taste (grape jelly). I would also argue that the birdbath itself evokes tactile imagery (touch). BRAVO! All of the senses!
I wish you had let me know you were here. I could have shown you the highlights of Keokuk. Thanks for the lovely note!
Barb, you’ve painted a picture of delight with that grape jelly joyfully swaying! A short but SWEET poem. 🙂
Denise, thank you for this new form! It feels great to be back together for poetry writing.
gift of night
you were there, we were laughing
turning winding mystery
shelves piled high with precious
my dream held like gossamer
surrounding disappearing
waking wanting to go back
Maureen, your poem is ethereal! I love the way you’ve layered the language in this poem and the image of the dream holding like gossamer. Provocative poem!
Maureen — Like gossamer ties things together, I feel the tug in the last lines… the nostalgia of wan tinting what was. Lovely! Susie
Oh, all those -ing words make this fun to read, Maureen. That third line ending with the adjective “precious” is surprising and effective. “wanting to go back” brings questions to mind. I love reading this with the mystery that surfaces, which is part of the “gift of night” Nice.
Maureen, the title attracted my attention right away, and I wanted to know what those gifts were. The poem’s tone seems to be nostalgic showing the speaker’s longing about the past. Thank you for your beautiful words today!
Thank you Maureen for this poem. Your line “shelves piled high with precious” kept me in anticipation, but then I realized that that was it, but it was enough. This is a gift that keeps on giving. You never know what to expect. Thank you for sharing.
Maureen,
I was instantly grabbed by your title: “gift of night”. The idea of a gift coming at night lends an air of mystery and longing. You pull that thread of longing and mystery through seamlessly and beautifully. The movement of this piece is wonderful, too. Love this poem!
Denise, thanks for the introduction to a new form of poetry. I enjoyed your poem with its take on nature, family and life. Sorry to hear about your loss. I decided to write a stanza about plants, the ones that give me respite at my sister’s garden.
Plants That Give
Plants gathered, teamed together
Set bunches springing up shoots
In the warmth of this haven
Beauty of the plants we see
Sprouting all around the lawn
Set in rows along the paths
Bringing forth and birthing the
flowers that sprinkle colors
Around the dark, green foliage
I enjoyed reading this 2 ways. The first as plants and the second as poets, thinking of this space as a haven. Lovely.
Sarah and Juliette, thank you for that. I like reading the poem as poets in this haven space. Beautiful.
This captures the joy and beauty of plants! I love the last stanza especially,
Juliette, I love your title and the image of lush plants birthing. I can see the contrast of bright blooms against the dark green foliage. Lovely!
Juliette, so many lovely thoughts here. “warmth of this haven” Your sister’s garden sounds amazing. “Bringing forth and birthing the / flowers” “sprinkle colors” and “dark green foliage” are a few of my favorite images. Beautiful. I love the title. The plants working together, springing up to birth and give flowers. Lovely thought. I am also taking those images to read the poem as “Poets That Give”, as Sarah mentioned.
Juliette, what a gentle, nurturing poem! I agree with Sarah and Denise’s comments that it can be read two ways. I love both, the plants and the community of poets perspective. “the first stanza sets up the warm, inviting tone. Thank you!
Juliette,
The beauty and birth of nature. I will always admit that I’m not an outdoors person nor do I have a green thumb, but I am secretly jealous of those who make bountiful bouquets and salads of greens and pastels. “Plants gathered, teamed together” is a line that resonated with me because they have a job to do as well, provide the gift of life. I’m thankful for photosynthesis and respiration. Thank you for sharing.
Juliette, I concur with the comments coming in about the dual value of your poem. I particularly appreciate the extended metaphor of plans representing community .
Thanks for the prompt, Denise. It is good to be back in a creative community! I tried to have more fun with this, and I got to use my finders to count, so it had a math aspect as well.
I love routine, and it’s
true, I value loyalty,
and always he brings that home.
I spoke with him in my yard
as I mulched beneath the tree,
he has a willow as well.
I think he’s a veteran
with a subtle cologne scent
and aviator glasses.
No matter what the weather
he comes to me without fail,
for he has the High Street route.
I feel as if I am being introduced to this gentleman, standing in your yard. Love the descriptors here,
Very fun poem, Rex. I like the way you open and close this poem. Your descriptive details are especially fun such as “subtle cologne scent” and “aviator glasses.” It’s good to know we can count on something being loyal.
He’s the mailman!
Rex, glad to be back here too! The conversation with this veteran in your poem is precious. I love the introductory stanza about routine and loyalty. I can hear you talking about your willows.
Rex, thank you for making me play a “guess” game. I am intrigued about a visitor your describe who is delivering something consistently. I thought about a mailman, but it could be a UPS Ground or Fedex delivery person as well. I love willow trees, so you both are already my friends.
Hello, Rex! I tend to write late in the day; I’m glad I used the search function to see if you had posted!
As I mentioned in my comment to Barb Edler’s poem, I spent late Thursday night in Keokuk this week–and thought about my two favorite Keokuk poets! You have a historic treasure of a town.
Now, let’s talk about your poem:
The mailcarrier! I love the subtle cologne, the “no matter the weather”!
Your poem is a tribute to the subtle human connections that make life=precious.
Denise — I am so sorry for your loss. I love the hope and beauty you convey in your second stanza:“Hope in this new day will stay/fragile family bowknot–/ties up love like rose-tinged clouds.”
As I Repose
As I repose under shade
the cicadas buzz above,
steady drone swelling in the sun.
As I repose under shade
the musical cyclone bursts,
then stillness fills the spaces.
As I repose under shade
a caesura aptly placed,
next breath fills with chirping birds.
As I repose under shade
boughs of the maple tree sway,
and nature’s orchestra plays.
Tammi, I so enjoyed the repetition in your poem. It feels like you’re in a hammock, listening to the nature surrounding you. A truly beautiful orchestra indeed!
The repetition of “As I repose under shade” offers soft movement. Love “a caesura aptly placed,” followed by a visual space – beautiful!
Tammi, what a peaceful concert I got to attend here with you (maybe on a chaise lounge or in a hammock). I love the musical theme and the beauty of “nature’s orchestra play[ing]” What a great way to spend a Saturday.
Tammi, the repeating line creates a pause for me as a reader as well; I want to stop and repose preparing for what will follow next. I just love the sound of the word “caesura,” so my favorite stanza is this one:
“As I repose under shade
a caesura aptly placed,
next breath fills with chirping birds.”
Thank you for your words today!
Tammi,
I love the first lines. So much of summer is tied to our sensory inputs from directly above us. It is a such a great launching pad for the two following lines in the stanzas.
road runner sighting
During my morning walk, on
a familiar trail I
catch an unfamiliar
sight – a road runner! As we
exchange glances, I pause
and watch you cross before me.
I wait another moment
before I continue. Oh,
terrestrial bird, adieu!
Delightful! Your effective use of punctuation really helped me read the poem as intended. Such a perfect final line!
Jamie, I love the focus on your poem and how you capture this moment of seeing a road runner. Very fun last line!
Jamie, I love that the road runner is the audience in your poem. Glancing at each other, the you and I, and your bidding it adieu at the end is all very effective.
Such a fun story of your morning! And like Kim mentions, I appreciated the punctuation too.
Jaime – I like how the beginning has the bird at a distance and 3rd person, but quickly moves in for that direct address …”you cross before me.” Roadrunners are fast and your poem captures that… whoosh and he’s gone. Neat sense of movement. Thanks for reminding me about these characters.. I lived briefly in Tucson years ago, and roadrunners were always on my path. Susie
Oh, Jamie. I first read trail as tail thinking about the iconic tail of the road runner that was once on my windowsill when I first moved to OK. They do have a unique stare down that you captured so great with the “exchange glances, In
pause”. Wow.
Jamie,
I like how you convey the surprise and joy of your encounter. I also like how your poem moves from the quick “catch” and “exchange of glances” to the slow “pause,” “wait, “adieu.”
Glad you had such a lovely bird encounter on your morning walk.
This verse is a brief thank you
to Jane Yolen and her words:
You helped make her world better.
____________________________________________________
Denise, thank you for your prompt and mentor poem today! I love your use of poetry as healing and honoring your siblings. This guided me for my offering today. My wife, Heather, is such a voracious reader, and we have many of her favorite authors from her youth – Ray Bradbury, Tanith Lee, Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Clive Barker, etc. – adorning our bookcases’ shelves. Jane Yolen, with her Briar Rose, Tam Lin, and fractured fairy tales, are among them, so I thought it fitting to use Yolen’s own form to give her thanks. (And, again, thank you for sharing this with us today!)
Scott, how fun. What a sweet poem for Jane Yolen. I love the intimacy created by using her for Heather. Jane Yolen has made my life better over my career, when I taught children’s literature to children and to undergrads. She came up a lot. Thanks for sharing.
Scott, I love Jane Yolen and taught a few of her stories when teaching middle schoolers. Even with my college preservice teachers, I use her story Birthday Box for an inference making exercise and writing. Thank you!
It’s so good to be back!
I am sorry for your loss, Denise. This line, “Life is a bouquet of kin” is so lovely. You are lucky to have that bouquet, with that fragile family bowknot.
I was sitting at the auction with my husband this morning, and glanced down at my hands. Hence, this poem:
“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
Lewis Carroll
Getting Old
It’s not so bad, getting old.
I am statistically
boring. Surveys slot me at
“and over”. I was born in
the mid-nineteen hundreds,
you see. Those years add up.
I don’t mind growing older.
As long as I don’t need to
act mature. Wise men say that
you’re only as young as you feel.
If age is just a number,
my attitude says I’m good.
But then there’s my hands. Somehow,
my grandmother’s hands are now
mine. They give my years away.
My hands—how did this happen?!
Freckles have ripened to age spots.
Dark veins snake through my wrinkles.
My grandmother is winning.
Any pretense of youth is lost.
My hands have lived a good life.
My hands are tattletales.They
corroborate the surveys.
These hands call out “And over”
There are worse things than grandma
hands. My hands tell good stories.
“And over” could be worse.
Gayle Sands 7/20/24
Gayle,
I love the way you embrace aging in your poem and how you see your grandmother in yourself. This line —“My hands tell good stories.” — reminds me of history we witness in the rings of a tree. We carry the lives of our ancestors with us. Beautiful poem!
Gayle, I had so many giggles reading this poem. Oh, my grandmother’s hands are now mine too, so I can relate to the spots and the veins (how can they be so big, I wonder). Yes, considering the alternative to “and over”, I’ll take it too. Lovely and fun poem! Thank you!
Gayle, what a beautiful reminder that age can have a beauty of its own. Oh, how I understand the despair of seeing one more age spot, but I agree “”And over” could be worse”. Thank you!
Gayle,
That’s when I felt old, looking at my hands and seeing the same age spots as my father. I think it is an interesting shift in your poem to go toward the hands, and I think it works. The hands we are dealt… The end wraps it up nicely, with a level of positive reassurance, and the “and over” could have its own reference to mortality. We are on the right side of the grass.
Thanks Denise for this prompt. When you mentioned risk, I thought of the risk I took to invite someone into my house. This also is a poem about a sibling. Sisters are to be treasured.
New Housemate
I tried it out and it works!
Alone in an empty house
she was missing the ocean.
Fill my room, can you live here?
Yes! she said. I was unsure.
Could a sister live so close?
Three months now, she’s in the back.
Inside the front rooms I live.
Noise I hear. She is awake!
She never appears ’til dusk
to join me for evening news.
Gives me a smile and a hug.
Privacy and love remain.
She is content, so am I.
Susan–I understand the risk– I have joked with friends that we will be housemates one day. Glad to hear that it works!
Susan,
I love the narrative quality of your poem. The emptiness filled “Alone in an empty house/she was missing the ocean” and reconnection “Privacy and love remain.
She is content, so am I.” with a loved one is beautiful.
Oh, Susan, I knew your sister was living with you now, and this was so fun to read how that is working out. That is very good news. “Privacy and love remain” sounds just right. I’m lucky like this too, because I get to live next door to a sister.
I love this…the poetry captures real life all in this beautiful form.
Susan,
i remember your earlier poem about your sister moving in. So happy to hear how well it is working out.
I like how you convey both the tentative process of deciding to live together and the harmonious results.
Your last three lines give such a sense of love and calm.
Susan, I loved this portrait of contentment!
Denise, hugs and love to you on the passing of your sister. What a wonderful way to honor her and all of your siblings – through poetry. I love the beauty of your poem, the family bowknot and love in rose-tinged clouds, and those last two lines are perfection. I am finding the days slipping by…
Mid-Summer
one reaches a point – too soon
when summer peaks, a mid-point
and the days escape our grasp
“The days escape our grasp” so true and I gasp!
Oh gosh, yes. These few words are measured and steeped in HUGE meaning. That leverage point, fulcrum of having and not having… damn… fine poem! Ace poem! Hugs, Susie
Jennifer–you have encapsulated this moment–the point where the end becomes too close–summer peaks, and the days escape…
Oh yes! I feel this! “Days escape our grasp” Summer always goes so fast. All those things on my summer to do list still need to be done!
Jennifer, thank you for your kind words. Oh, yes, I remember those peak days of summer and then the downhill goes much faster, doesn’t it? Memories of “days escape our grasp” Here’s to a very relaxing and wonderful last half of summer!
Sigh. sob….I know. Oh, I know. The truth of this is so sharp.
I have one more two-week session of summer school before my summer truly starts, and I still feel “the days escap[ing my] grasp”! Before we know it, start of the year PDs will be right around the corner!
Such a bittersweet message. It is too soon to contemplate summer’s escape – love the personification.
Hello Denise. This is a new form for me and it fits where I was this morning. Confined physically but active mentally. Thanks for the challenge.
Aching but Writing
Aching shins, signs of aging,
Awakened me this morning.
Outside the sun shines brightly
But hurting hips hold tightly.
Today won’t be so active.
Thoughts in this poem are captive.
Signs of aging are right here.
Poems from friends bring me much cheer.
Sunshine and poems! Ah, how dear!
(Friends, I’m okay. I banged my shin and slept badly. I’m doing better now. :-))
Hey there, Anna … you and I are on a similar wave length this morning. Hang tough! Susie
Anna, glad to hear that you are feeling better. I can certainly relate to the aches and pains of morning awakening. You are good to recognize that your body needs this rest today. Sunshine and poetry are lovely ways of bringing cheer! Love this poem today!
Hi Anna, What is it about this aging?! I am also having those days of aching all over. I can relate well. I have to laugh at how I have been attacked by my vaccuum cleaner that fell on my foot and the car door that took a scrape on my leg. Maybe I’m not moving fast enough any more.
Anna–right there with you! Aging seems to be a theme today.
Anna,
This is so true —
“Poems from friends bring me much cheer.
Sunshine and poems! Ah, how dear!”
I’m glad you are okay. Hope you sleep better tonight. 🙂
Anna, I’m thinking of you today. So glad you can relax physically and still participate in the Open Write. Fun rhymes here, and that last stanza is such a lovely ending to this poem of pain and aging. Yes, indeed, “how dear!”
You won! You did not let those aches/pains keep you from writing. Way to go, Anna!
AH- ICK-Shunned
Moccasins tempt his arm veins,
Again, he visits, not tame.
the poison, is his shame.
Slither around his clear thoughts,
steal for the snake, not his fault.
Lovely, bags of poison are bought.
Beyond the rocky bottoms,
Scales constrict, squeeze, and got him.
White Fangs puncture and rot him.
His high, he cannot deny,
Sobriety, a far cry,
Moccasins live, yet he dies.
Your poem shows strong reaction and pain. Oh my goodness! Did you get bit by a snake? Here we are very aware of the poison, the slither, the scales and constriction. The snake got to my sister, recently. Hope all is well.
Boxer–this gave me the shivers!
Oh, Boxer, wow, the pain of addiction and the poison in the bag is palpable here. I’m so curious about the connections you make between the snakes and the addict. Fascinating poem and artfully crafted with the rhyming and the syllable counts. Wow.
Denise, what a beautiful tribute to family ties . I love the image of the fragile family bowknot and rose-tinged clouds. And your last lines are perfect! I read this and hoped to write something as lovely, but it didn’t turn out that way…
Dialog with Rachel Carson
Man is apart of nature and his war against nature
is inevitably a war against himself.
I read your book, vowed to change
send out word that might seem strange
from one afraid of spiders.
A truce it was with him that hides
‘neath the book, (or inside) or
on a sill, eight legs tucked in
waiting to lunge for the win—
ach! a scream, a broken vow—
one less spider haunts me now.
Yet I weep. His demise is
my own promise flushed away.
I’ll try again tomorrow.
Ann – This is a marvelous poem. The contradiction is so honest no, too, weep for nature and it’s beauty, while I stomp to smithereens a wolf spider in the garage. Egads! The rhythm of the septercer works so well to bring a lightness to the musicality in the poem. Lovely!!! Susie
I, too, weep… darned autocorrect.
Oh, Ann! How I feel this. I have trouble disposing of anything – insects, grass dug up for more flower beds, dying plants. I see the life inside and I have the urge to preserve it. Spiders in the house are a bit of a challenge, however. I love that the first stanza and the last stanza speak to one another in your poem and nod to the Rachel’s life work.
Ann, what a fun poem. I love the dialog with Rachel Carson her quote that inspires your poem. Is that the truth? I can think of a few things that I do that makes me want to have that dialog with her (and my husband). So thanks for the inspiration to have that conversation today. I also love the rhyming you did throughout. It makes it fun too. One of my favorites today is: “ach! a scream, a broken vow–/one less spider haunts me now.” Really great meter and rhyme there that makes me happy.
Ann–I love this! I completely understand–I can do spiders, but bats unhinge me. Rachel Carson is just that much nobler than I am. This stanza is the best-the break in the line is perfect.
“waiting to lunge for the win—
ach! a scream, a broken vow—
one less spider haunts me now.”
Ann,
I like the use of dashes to show the surprise, and quick action that leads to the regret. I also like the shift in the last stanza where you commit to tomorrow, like there is any doubt. It is ironic that one last spider haunts you, but you cried for the death of the promise.
I have learned from this exercise that it is hard to swing in 7 syllables.
Jazz Articulation: Lesson 1
To play trumpet like Louie
You have to know the lyrics
Deet tah doo-be-dee doo wee
You click the words with your tongue
You shape each word with your breath
Deet tah doo-be-dee doo wee
Your song will sound like singing
Like Ella scatting with you
“Can’t take that away from me”
Jeff, what fun to recall the talent of these two musicians through the rhythm of your writing. Your words SHOW them to me and make me smile, greenly.
Jeff, I can see that would be difficult, but that didn’t mean a thing to you! You squeezed it in and brought the swing. Lovely poem that honor such a classic song and duo and empowers new musicians. Beautiful.
I love the rhythm and sounds evoked by Fitzgerald’s music! It may be hard to swing in 7 syllables, but you did it!
[Denise, thank you for reminding us about the septercet. I appreciate how this form lends itself so well to a less wordy poem (which plagues me always…LOL!]
BAD NEWS
2020 the big C,
Covid slashed, stole all control,
upside down and inside out,
sounds of silence dark with doubt,
isolating, endless days,
a haze of hurling brickbats;
losses, numbers, constant stats,
families’ rifts, ugly words,
posted death tolls, fabric torn;
nerves and tempers frayed and worn
chasms split the world apart
if only hearts could be resewn;
oh, if only I had known
only two years down the road
the next big C loomed dark, cold,
yet a diff’rent faceless wraith,
insidious intruder
set to upend, tilt my hold
on balanced ground, even keel,
wicking away my resolve
to rage against the dying...
by Susie Morice, July 20, 2024©
Susie, wow, you put that syllable constraint to rest making this look effortless. So many powerful images that we can all remember and relate to: “stole all control” “sounds of silence dark with doubt,” “nerves and tempers frayed and worn” Wow. And that last line conjures the mood of Dylan Thomas.
Susie, what a powerful poem. I am sending you hugs and love as the next big C has me imagining the worst. I hope you are ok. Please do not go gentle…
Thanks, Jenn. Yeah, it’s not what I expected… but I think I‘ll get through it just fine… it’s a “fixable” … writing and music and painting keep me feeling some sense of control. Every day is another holy cow! Ha! Love, Susie
Ah, the next big C loomed dark, cold. How did I not recognize this at first? “Fixable” is great to hear. Hugs to you, Susie.
Thanks so much, Denise! It felt good to write about this today. 🥰
Susie ~ it amazes me how you packed so many details of the covid years into this poem and then, in fewer words captured the heaviness of the next “big C”…”Wicking away” perfectly expresses the way bad news tilts our hold…so much to think about here..take care of yourself 💕
Thank you, Ann. 🥰
Susie–what a powerful, honest poem. I’m glad to hear it’s fixable. But so hard that the fixing is needed. That diff’rent faceless wraith… Keep that keel even, my friend.
Thank you, Gayle! 🥰. Susie
Susie, wow, what a mesmerizing and powerful poem. I feel the “fabric torn” and the “tempers frayed and worn”. Your last stanza is brilliant… “wicking away my resolve’ has such a devastating impact that leads perfectly into “rage against the dying…” I hope you are well. Hugs, friend! Barb
Every day is another good shot at the world. 🥰. Thank you. Susie
What a way to control those Cs…keeping them to your syllable count in your stanzas. You are the boss lady. I know you will take care of business…this poem tells me so!
¡Gracias! 🥰
Susie, I am glad to know that the C is fixable. It is unsettling to know you are in challenging times – but I know your strength, and whatever is wicking away at your resolve has met its match in you. I enjoy seeing the paintings you share and I know your extreme creativity is part of the healing. You rock the short form, even though you say it plagues you – – you wield the magic wand!
Thank you, Kim. 🥰
Oh, no, Susie! I’m glad this is “fixable”! And I’m hoping for a speedy recovery for you so you can return to “balanced ground”!
Thank you, Scott. I’m hoping it all goes well. I feel fine, but just knowing there’s something creepy inside me is jarringly scary. But I’m tough and I’m a very happy human being, so that’s big stuff in my favor. 💪🏼😊 Again, hugs and thanks. Susie
Denise, thank you for introducing me to this form. I love a short structured verse. And your mentor text spoke to me of family especially with that last line life is a bouquet of kin to fragrance and keep the soul.
I started early writing a verse but just couldn’t make anything work so I went on with a few chores and then the tragedy hit, or fell, thus prompting my verse.
A Tragic Septercet
Cleaning bathrooms, dusting shelves
my towel bumps against him
that treasured porcelain man
Smashing to the floor he fell
one million pieces! oh no!
mom’s plant figurine now gone
And while I was sweeping up
his tiny face smiled at me
his brokeness captured my heart
I rescued that small fragment
piece of history restored
pencil topper forever more
Oh, the first few lines brought me right back to the weekend cleaning days monitored by my mother. I love the narrative here and the “his brokeness captured my heart” is a lovely line leading into the final stanza of rescue.
Sarah
Ah, Christine, yes, a tragic septercet, to be sure. I’m sorry you lost this special treasure, but your poem is truly inspired this morning. I enjoyed every stanza. The easy personification of this “porcelain man” is fun. That he belonged to your mom is an important line. “his tiny face smiled at me” made me sad but hopeful. I knew right there you would save him. So glad he remains his you in wabi-sabi form.
Woah, a simple chore and everything changes. Such a visual poem. I am right beside you.
Christine–I was there with you. I heard it. I felt it. Glad to hear you were able to salvage a part of that memory.
I love your story. An insignificant act creating a more significant moment. Maybe the face can rest in the soil of another pot? The syllables somehow increase the tension in the story.
When I still from my last breath
Let the God of Small Things come
and carry me quietly
Lain under whispering pines
Softness of the moss pillows
my tired and worn body
Look for me in the robin
the rabbit, the tiny field mouse,
the insect on the window
The raindrops on your upturned
face as it turns to the sky
mixing with your falling tears
Mona,
This poem has lovely rhythm and such a narrative quality that bring me from the the bed “pillows” to the gaze of “the robbin” and into the sky. The final line leaves me with melancholy or maybe release.
Sarah
Thank you so much! This was my first post to this group (it was recommended by a friend).
Mona, Mona, Mona, this is gorgeous. I’m feeling the love of life in your poem, and the hope that comes even in death. “Let the God of Small Things come / and carry me quietly” I can’t believe you wrote this striking poem with syllable constraints because it just seems to flow so naturally and beautifully, as if you are saying a prayer.
Yes Mona, it sounds like a beautiful prayer…”look for me in the robin…” Wow! Love this
Mona, this is just so lovely— you’ve captured all the beauty and comfort of small things. I love the image of a the tired, worn body resting beneath the whispering pines and softness of moss pillows…it would seem so sad except for the creatures above and the kindness of the raindrops…this poem is really exquisite. Beautiful.
Quite beautiful, Mona. I love the cool image of laying under the whispering pines in the soft moss. I could use that now.
Mona–You made it!! Glad to see you here with us. This poem is beautiful. The rhythm, the quiet message, the imagery, the hope, the sorrow. Wow.
Rainy Morning
Still branches canopy frames
Rain weighs spouts burbling bass song
Sky rests above clouds for Sun
I’m resting in this poem of Rain, Sky and Sun, and how you are there to witness these three interacting. I’m fascinating with the middle line, and imagining the song that comes through the spouts. Lovely.
Sarah — I really love the idea of the sky resting above the clouds…resting…yes, resting. ¡Excelente! A rainy morning in OK…well, that’s probably a good thing, right? I’m sending you a little bit of cool sunshine from STL…it is a gorgeous cool morning here…cool in July…yahooty!
The echo of the “spouts burbling bass song” is a sound I am familiar with. I love the unique view of Sky resting.
Sarah–what a sight and sound picture you have given us. I feel like I’m sitting next to you…
I’m a sucker for a canopy frame…gorgeous.
Thank you, Denise, for hosting, prompting, and sharing. What an act of love to write a month of daily poems about your siblings.
Your third stanza gives me such a sense of acceptance and gratitude.
I’m visiting some friends out in the country this weekend so I wrote about that.
Glad to be back with you, poets. Hope everyone is doing well.
Wimberley
sitting in the old porch swing
gazing past oaks and cedar
resting eyes on the ridge line
Sharon, these three lines slowed my breating. Lovely.
Sharon, it’s great to see your poet self here today too. You model how every day, even while visiting friends, a poem is right on the end of our pencil when we take in our view, as you have. Yes, like Kim said, your poem stills me and helps me to see what you are seeing from that “old porch swing” “oaks and cedar” sound so majestic.
My grandparents had an old porch swing and this poem immediately took me to their porch on the farm gazing into the distance. Thank you! ❤️
Such a vivid image of the view from the porch. The “resting eyes” create a sense of calm and peace.
Denise, you came through for me! On Monday I am leading a hobby night for kids at my church (formerly YOUR church!) focused on writing, and I was struggling with what to share with them in one hour. But the septercet is the perfect thing!
And I found the perfect topic for my own septercet. A week ago I was buzzing around my kitchen and jammed my foot into the pantry door frame, separating my pinky toe from its siblings. Given the obvious break on the xray, I can no longer run the half marathon I registered for in Minneapolis next week. Thus I present–
The Toe
Written by Kim Van Es for kids at ARC
Though often beyond our care
You never forget it’s there
When you have a broken toe
The doctor says to wrap it
This tiny broken digit
When you have a broken toe
The littlest things are daunting
Like putting on a stocking
When you have a broken toe.
Afraid of restubbation
You walk with pause and caution
When you have a broken toe
All races—canceled and gone
You can’t run a marathon
When you have a broken toe
As you limp and hop along
You can sing a soulful song
When you have a broken toe.
I love the repetition in this verse! I’ve never had a broken toe but that repetition drives the pain home!
First, the poem…Brava, Kim! That is amazing! The rhyming magic, the perfect repetition, the story (so sad). “restubbation” what a great word you created. And I so love “The littlest things are daunting / like putting on a stocking” Such a great poem.
My sympathies that you don’t get to do the half in Minneapolis. 🙁 This made me cringe, but smile, “separating my pinky toe from its siblings.”
How fun that you will be leading this hobby group with kids at ARC! It will be so fun to be there in as you all think of topics and write poetry together. That’s a perfect hobby in my opinion! Please give my love and hugs to anyone there who wants them. 😉
Now, I want to hear someone sing this smiley sad ballad.
I love this with its echo and rhyme. So much truth and pain, but it also makes me laugh. Good luck with your presentation. I hope everyone produces a poem they are proud of.
It’s always nice when a poem can come from an injury. Sorry about the half marathon. I too love the repetition of the final line. It creates significance of the small injury (and small toe).
On this trip north together,
we’ve planned each overnight stop
only to yield to world whims:
Covid, software update glitch
push us off our chosen path
present us (gift us) choices:
A general store, a chance
to laugh at nothing special
to linger in the unplanned.
So much said in so few words. This form worked perfectly for the situation you describe. Love how this poem brings out our choices for how we perceive and process life circumstances. Thank you, Katrien.
Thank you!
Katrien,
love the gentle reminder that when difficulties
we can chose to see that they
Your last stanza made me smile and think of small, silly moments with family.
Thank you for sharing and safe travels.
Thank you!
Katrien, what a glorious attitude. Your choice seems like the healthy one, as opposed to what? Maybe anger and demanding the gods treat you differently? (Which some people try with sad results) My favorite lines are “present us (gift us) choices” (The parentheses are a perfect addition there.) And “to linger in the unplanned” I hope if you are still on “this” trip it gives you life-affirming and memorable experiences.
Thank you! I’ve had iffy internet on this trip (another whim of the gods), and so I have not been able to write on the other days of this week. But I loved jumping in with this form. Thanks for introducing me to it.
Katrien — I really love the idea of “linger[ing] in the unplanned.” That is a rich slice living more often than not, me thinks. Lovely. Susie
Thank you!
You’ve made lemonade from lemons and a sweet poem where we can “linger in the unplanned”, delight in “laugh at nothing special.” Our poems today similarly try to change the perceived bad to good.
Thank you!
Katrien, I find such truth in being pushed “off our chosen path” when adverse circumstances “gift us choices.” It is part of the beauty of life – what we make of it. So much said, powerfully, in so few words!
Thank you!
What a wonderful, thoughtful poem project for your siblings. Your model poem is full of beautiful imagery–pink sky dawn, rose-tinged clouds, and bouquet of kin.
I’ve been going out in the rain daily to walk my new puppy. I am watching a new fig tree bear fruit. It’s an exciting part of summer, figs.
Do you see rain and complain?
Everything wet in your path–
Grass and mud slide to the street.
I watch this single fig-fruit
turn from green to peachy-red
making rain into sweet juice.
You can decide the mood here.
Rain or shine, weed or flower
Fig tree loves enough of both.
So many rich poems today! Margaret, I love this tiny fig becoming a lesson on how to choose our mood. Lovely! And your careful attention on your walks is a joy to see in the photo and your poem. That last line is my favorite because even though the fig tree has no choice in the matter, she keeps working. I am making this my mantra today, “Fig tree loves enough of both.” (rain or shine)
Margaret, you see the beauty in nature in such imaginative ways – I’m watching figs on a tree here, too, and now with this morning’s rain I see them all sticking out their straws to drink of the rain to ripen and swell and bulge with delicious pulp for preserves perfect for slathering on toast with coffee, to be part of what we can taste in February when we want to taste summer again. This rich imagery you bring is sweeter than fruit itself! Bring us a puppy poem sometime this week!
I have fig trees, and this is the first summer they are bearing fruit! I love the idea of “making rain into sweet juice” and “the fig tree loves enough of both”—it seems to say two things at one: that both sun and rain are good, but also that we need not just both, but enough of both, hinting at the delicacy there is in the balance of living.
Walks in the rain are so youthful to me. You’ve brought out the joy and wonder of these moments into this short verse
I so love the images of place you share here and on social media. You are a great photographer, and your poem, of course, is a snapshot and artistic in your rendering of a moment in verse. The rhythm is punchy with the choices you offer the reader in sense making — rain or shine, weed or flower. Yes, it is in our perception.
Sarah
I love your (what seems to be an) ode to the single fig. I spent the spring observing the peaches in our backyard. Just short of a miracle for a tree to produce fruit. Your words create a conversation with reader or fruit.
Wonderful! A celebration of the rain and a way to take charge of one’s mood. Bravo!
Denise, I recall the sudden loss of your sister Judi in April and the similar heartbreaking losses of your other siblings. The way you honor your family, while acknowledging life’s brevity on this Earth, touches me deeply. I find such hope and gratitude in the pink dawn, the birds singing a new day into being, the reptiles “warm and newly alive” – it’s all a praise from the soul, full of hope and gratitude. As well as the “fragile family bowknot” tied like rose-tinged clouds… i.e., love linking the temporal to the eternal. This stirred my thoughts in a like manner. I’ve been wanting to write about the poinsettia my son gave me; now seems the time. Thank you for this incredibly beautiful offering and new form.
The Greening
On Christmas, my firstborn son
brought me a white poinsettia
from the altar at his church
I set it by the window
in the kitchen, facing east
expecting it would die soon
but it lives on, lush and green
from the abundance of light
and my increased watering
For reblooming, it must go
in the dark, thirsty and dry
but I can’t, I can’t do it
It’s the only poinsettia
I haven’t managed to kill
and my boy gave it to me
Let it stay pure emerald
drinking all the light it can
In its summer of content
growing a little bigger
every day, like my spirit
while my own leaves start their fall
Fran, the mother in me is right there with you, and this is beautiful. We are on the same wavelength again, as this very week I got out my resurrection plant (Jericho flower) that must dry up and then be re-watered. It was a gift from my daughter and sits on may kitchen counter in my mother’s milk glass. I am right there with you in not wanting to let it dry up, wanting it to last forever, this gift of greening with all its need for tender care.
Drinking all the light it can……
while my own leaves start their fall….
the generational cycles are so strong here, your powerful reminder that in plants and in people, our time in drinking the light is of the essence of life and the living.
Fran, my, oh, my. Whatever your topic, you can weave such heart and meaning into it. This is gorgeous. Your poem makes me happy for this “summer of content” of your poinsettia. “and my boy gave it to me” made me smile. The connection between growing, thriving, “drinking all the light” to your spirit growing is beautiful. I can see why you thought of this after your thoughtful comment to me above and “linking the temporal to the eternal.” And as Kim mentions, the generational cycle and the essence of life is on full display in your poem. Beautiful.
As the mom of sons, I feel the line “my boy gave it to me” to my core. I feel that powerful tug to hold on.
Fran, I love the title…it points me to the continuing growth…there’s love and hope in that. This is a gentle poem of love…and through a poinsettia (white…perfectly there against a backdrop of life’s colors). My favorite part is the acknowledgment in the final line that your “own leaves start their fall”; something I feel more every day, alas. Beautiful septercet. Thank you for a lovely opening poem for my read this morning, Susie
my boy/let it stay pure emerald/drinking all the light it can.
My goodness those words say so much more than just the physical word. What a wonderful topic for this form. Your love for your son and his gifts shine.
Hi Denise!
(My first super early post because of the 3-hour time difference in St. Lucia!)
Friend, thank you for sharing your process/purpose along with such a personal experience with us. I love this form, always one for a syllable-count form.
Your opening line is melodic. It inspired me
to compose my first Septercet while on vacation in St. Lucia. I’m here for a much-needed break and I’m mesmerized by the beautiful night sounds that walls couldn’t block out and apps can’t replicate.
Sweet Sleep
Crickets, toads and geckos sing
Night choir in St. Lucia
No need for bot-like sleep apps
©Stacey L. Joy, 7/20/2024
How succinct and perfect, Stacey! Who needs a sleep app with those glorious, living nightsounds? I can hear them and they bring me peace even in daylight. Enjoy your vacation in beautiful St. Lucia!
Stacey, I’m so glad I get to read your poetry first thing without our time zones tangling things up. How fun to be in St. Lucia without the need for the sound machines – – you are in the full air of nature there to lull you to deep sleep and relaxation. Have a wonderful time! I love the way your words play on the night choir and the comfort it brings.
Stacey, what a gift. This “night choir” speaks of a healthy creation–the way it should be. I’m celebrating with you this morning that you get to be there in St. Lucia, resting and relaxing! And sleeping sweet dreams with this magical singing.
Hi, Stacey — St. Lucia…you lucky dawg! This is a septercet that truly fits moment…”no need for bot…” Aaah, poetry is marvelous, isn’t it?! Soak up that “sweet sleep”! Hugs, Susie
Stacey,
The contrast between the
and
made me smile.
Glad you’re enjoying the real thing!
I join you in loving a good syllable count. My goodness, what a gorgeous place to rest and recharge…Don’t you wish you could bottle that sound and bring it home? Have you tried recording it? I agree, no sleep app needed when out with Mother nature. chef’s kiss!
Good Morning, Denise! I remember you writing about this form and how you were using it for gratitude and honoring your siblings. How loving. The lines about hope as a fragile family bowknot are lovely. They resonate with me this morning.
I kept it simple–but riffed on the idea of siblings as I love my siblings more each day that passes.
I’m grateful for my sisters who
know me from all the way back
to our roots – even the dirt
Linda, even the dirt….such a perfect ending in keeping with the origins and the secrets, too. This shows the love and the history of you and your sisters.
Oh, the wonderful truth in this, Linda! The roots and the dirt – bam. You nailed it so beautifully.
Linda, what a great poem. I can so relate. Siblings “who / know me from all the way back” What a gift that is. And that last line is a perfect description of family ties and angst.
Linda…yes, “even the dirt”…great ending as it flips the poem just perfectly. Roots n dirt…good stuff! Susie
Linda! Oh, how much I adored the dirt! If only my big sis would’ve played with me more when it was time to make mud pies and mud pizza!
💜
Denise, I love the Septercet form! It works so beautifully with the bowknot of family kin, the tying of togetherness in your verse. Thank you for hosting us today. I was watching Emilie Lygren’s Zoom on her poetry themes and thinking a lot about obsessions this week, so somehow I landed on the childhood poem that swept me up into the arms of poetry forever.
Harold Monro held me charmed
Overheard on a Salt Marsh
Gold-leaf’d Childcraft Volume 1
Over and over again
In my closet (with flashlight)
I read those words on repeat
Utterly spellbound, transfixed
Give them me. No. Give them me.
Grew up wearing green glass beads.
The nymph to the goblin: No!
He’ll lie in the mud and howl
for beads on her silver ring
She stole them out of the moon.
He’ll howl in a deep lagoon
(like so many creeps out there).
In the best illustration
the goblin’s fingers spark truth:
it’s sexual harassment.
this primer poem for girls
who could read between the lines.
Give them me. No. Give them me.
better than a fair daughter
better than the voices of winds
better than stars or water
Harold Monro held me charmed
Give them me. No. Give them me.
I am a Goddess of No.
Kim, I so love what you’ve done here, telling us about this poem that you read over and over with your flashlight in the closet. What an image! And going deeper into what you learned as a child. That last line! “I am a Goddess of No.” So empowering, and because you are a goddess of no–not the goddess of no–all girls and women are invited into this story also. (You have modeled a great prompt and model for a lesson on synthesizing a book, poem or passage with a fixed format. Beautiful.)
Here is a photo of the poem “Overheard on a Salt Marsh” that “swept [Kim] up into the arms of poetry forever” https://kimhaynesjohnson.com/2024/07/20/day-1-of-july-open-write/
Kim — You wizard you! You’ve introduced me, I’m loathe to say, to a poem I had never even heard of (always so much more to learn). So, I immersed myself in a bunch of his poems and, like you, found myself “in my closet [well, at my desk and a bit] …spellbound”… thank you for opening another creative door this morning. I loved thinking of you gobbling up his poetry even as a kid and still bringing it to us in this septercet. “Give them me.” Indeed. Hugs, Susie
Kim, one of the things I love best about writing is the turning of an idea or experience ’round and ’round to find new depths of meaning…it’s like plumbing an infinite pool. I remember your salt marsh nymph and goblin so well, not to mention those enchanting green glass beads, so precious and priceless, indeed. They lend themselves to so much metaphor – you, the Goddess of No, are also the nymph of your poetic marsh, every syllable a green glass bead of your own making, and I am ever-grateful you “give them me.” I am always captivated by the image of little you hunkered down in the closet with a flashlight, eyes rapt on the page…somehow I find the childhood me right there beside you, across time and space. Incredible poem – as always!
Kim, you continue to teach and inspire me! Denise, thank you for sharing the link that pulled Kim in. There is something deeply intriguing in both your poem and Monro’s. I imagine I would have also been reading and re-reading just like you.
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Kim, what an incredible journey your poem has taken me. I love the details you share of the stories you read. I have such strong memories of several stories from when I was young, and you brought those back to me as I was reading. Love, love, love your second to last stanza. Gorgeous poem!
Denise,
Thank you for hosting today. I appreciate how you’ve told you story of why and who you are writing for/about. You middle stanza with the knot imagery is beautiful.
moods modified from mondays
mundane motion-ful work weeks
moving to meaningful week
ends, there is no manual
meaning, march to a magical
beat, make joy, make chaos, live
Stefani, I’m here thinking about those “motion-ful work weeks” that you have captured so well in your poem. The breaking of week / ends between the first and second stanzas is masterful and very effective. It makes me think of how fast weekends go, just coming at the end of busy weeks and then gone. Also, the alliteration is so fun! It ends with great advice for taking the week into our own hands! “make chaos” made me smile.
Stefani, the alliteration of m hums along through the work week to bring the melody of meaning in our work, and it’s pleasing to the ear and to the heart to remind us that in all our work, we should live, too.
All those m-words that move me. And I love the enjambment of weekends which leads to magic joy and chaos.
Stefani, this is an alliterative slice of life!
Denise,
Thank you for the new form (to me) to write with and be inspired by. It sounds like you found some measure of solace in writing your daily poems, and it is a gift that you share some of those with us here.
My poem is inspired by a performance I went to last night with percussionist Tony Vacca, who played his way across an entire wall of cymbals of all shapes and sizes, and sounds.
As the wall of cymbals ring,
each soft mallet brings the sound
of waves, crashing in our ears
Kevin
Kevin, as usual your poem is filled with music. I love the sound and placement of ring/brings, and that word crashing is perfect in the last line, creating the waves for me this morning. The concert sounds magical.
oooooh. a wall of cymbals. That must sound amazing! Waves crashing is a sound that can scare me if it’s really loud — but cymbals make that scared feeling turn toward pretty.
Kevin, I always hear the music in your poems. I like how you used the form with its musical/metered form to bring us a measure of line that is so much like musical note.
I love percussion. My nephew is a drummer. Through your poem, I can hear the sound of ocean waves created by soft mallets. It must’ve been a fabulous performance.
Kevin — dandy sensory “crash” this morning. It’s fun to find you here bright and early and full of music love. Thank you. Susie
Kevin,
your poem sparks a sense of wonder—an entire wall of cymbals!
Thanks for giving us this experience of
I can hear the cymbals and mallets in your poem as if they are in the room with me. I love percussion and I love the way your poem captures it such a few short wonderful lines.