This is the Open Write, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We gather every month for five days and daily in April — no sign-ups, no fees, no commitments. Come and go as you please. All that we ask is that if you write, you respond to others. Mirror to them your readerly experiences — beautiful lines, a phrase that resonate, ideas stirred. Enjoy. (Learn more here.)
Our Host
Donnetta Norris is a 2nd grade teacher in Arlington, TX. She is an active member of Alpha Delta Kappa: International Honorary Organization for Women Educators. She hosts Time To Write workshops with TeachWrite, LLC. She has written as a guest blogger for Teach Better Team, and occasionally updates her personal blogs, TeacherReaderWriter, and Writing Is A Journey. She is a published poet in Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance: An Oral History of COVID-19 in Poems by Dr. Sarah J. Donovan and in 90 Ways of Community by Sarah J Donovan, Mo Daley, Maureen Young Ingram.
Inspiration
The month of February is commonly recognized for two themes…Valentine’s Day and Black History Month. While Valentine’s Day promotes LOVE, Black History Month celebrates and honors the contributions and achievements of black people. For this prompt, I thought it fitting to marry the two themes.
Process
- Search the internet for love poems by black poets OR Search for ANY poems by black poets, OR Choose a poem from your favorite black poet (if you have a favorite).
- Share the poem and author you chose.
- Incorporate LOVE in your poem. (the idea of LOVE, LOVE for the poet/poem, LOVE as the theme, an original LOVE poem).
If you have written to any of my prompts in the past, you may already know that I like to leave the craft specifics up to you, the poet. However, here are a few suggestions for the type of poem you could compose:
- Blackout Poem
- Golden Shovel (My Personal Favorite)
- Ode
- Write Beside the Original Poem
- Compose a Poem Based on Theme, a Connection, a Favorite Line
- Write Your Favorite Style of Poetry
Donnetta’s Poem
As a native of Dayton, OH, I decided to write an original poem beside and inspired by “Invitation to Love” by Paul Laurence Dunbar. I LOVE the idea of inviting and welcoming LOVE into any and all circumstances.
| “Invitation to Love” by Paul Laurence Dunbar | “When Love Comes” by Donnetta Norris |
| Come when the nights are bright with stars Or come when the moon is mellow; Come when the sun his golden bars Drops on the hay-field yellow. Come in the twilight soft and gray, Come in the night or come in the day, Come, O love, whene’er you may, And you are welcome, welcome. You are sweet, O Love, dear Love, You are soft as the nesting dove. Come to my heart and bring it to rest As the bird flies home to its welcome nest. Come when my heart is full of grief Or when my heart is merry; Come with the falling of the leaf Or with the redd’ning cherry. Come when the year’s first blossom blows, Come when the summer gleams and glows, Come with the winter’s drifting snows, And you are welcome, welcome. | The darkest of nights are illuminated when Love comes The sun shines its brilliance when Love comes At the break of day or in the wee hours of the night, All is made right when Love comes. Whenever or wherever… Love, you are welcome to come. Love comes with patience. Love comes with kindness. A sweetness, a softness that puts the mind and spirit at rest. The grieving heart responds when Love comes Gladness intensifies when Love comes In the dead of winter or in summer’s scorching heat, It is well with my soul when Love comes. No matter what… Love, you are welcome to come. |
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. 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. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
Thank you to everyone who showed to read the prompt, attempted to write to the prompt, and/or published a poem.
Please forgive me for not responding throughout the day yesterday.
I got too caught up reading love poems, but no time wasted! I found some really great ones, so thanks for the inspiration!
Thank you, Donnetta, for this prompt. I am always glad to meet you here in this space.
Thank you Donnetta. My mind went way back to my early school days when I borrowed a book of poems from the school library and read a poem by Langston Hughes. I think it was then I fell in love with poetry. I wish I could recall the specific poem but alas, my brain can only recall the author!
I used Langston’s poem Mother to Son to pen a late night verse. (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47559/mother-to-son)
Tell me crystal
It’s torn up all the time
And sometimes dark
So don’t turn back
Cause it’s kinder’ hard
I’se still goin’ climbin’
Well, son, I’lltellyou:Life formeain’t been nocrystalstairIt’s
had tacks in it, And splinters,And boardstorn up,And places with no carpet on the floor—Bare.Butall the timeI’se been a-climbin’ on, And reachin’ landin’s, And turnin’ corners,And sometimes goin’ in the dark Where there ain’t been no light.So
boy,don’tyouturn back.Don’t you set down on the steps‘Causeyou findsit’s kinder hard.Don’t you fall now-For I’se still goin’ honey,I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem. I showed a video of this poem to my students. It was so touching. Here is the link: https://youtu.be/5L-kKxePGqA?si=OMPXegpYO7RKhV0G
Christine, thanks for sharing such a powerful strike out poem. I appreciate the time you took to show us your process. Loved “I’se still goin’ climbin'” That last line really resonates with me! Concise and powerful poem!
Christine, I seldom attempt Blackout poetry. Thank you for sharing yours. The second stanza sounds like encouragement to keep climbing even though it will be hard. Thank you for the motivation in those lines.
I started with “Wonder,” a poem by Wisconsin author Dasha Kelly:
I’m obsessed with blackout poetry. Love what you did here, even down to the side by side format. Thank you for your beautiful poem.
Lynn, I like how you wrote side-by-side the original poem, and how your poem seems to speak directly to the reader = You. Thank you.
“Outer space is
Inconceivably
Intimate.”
I paused at these lines
By Rita Dove, which
I read to sophomores
On a cold February day,
And I reread them,
Still considering
What they mean.
The poem titled “Anti-father”
Resonated, with some students.
(The quietest time in class
Is when I read poetry)
The thing is, love for father
Or mother or sister or brother
Or child or lover or friend,
Real love transcends time
And space.
“(The quietest time in class/
is when I read poetry)”
So, so true. I feel this. Stunning poem to love, to Rita Dove, to student/teacher poetry community.
Oh my…I have been on an adventure tonight! First I revised Gwendolyn Brooks, then Robert Hayden, which led me to Terance Hayes. I don’t know where to stop–or start.
But I think I’ll use Hayes’ poem For Robert Hayden as my mentor text and go from there.
My poem is addressed to my mother (now deep in dementia), about her mother who died before I met her.
Did your mother come home after teaching
with slivered papercuts, red like the ink
on so many papers, papers? Was that bitter
correction always on her sharp tongue? Is this why
you claimed to love her but could only
tell us stories of lost scissors in a hoarder’s house?
She was brilliant, you said, as if this excused
her criticism, razor sharp and dripping.
What could you say of love’s austere and lonely offices?
Oh, Allison, your poem captures the tough position of your mother—and many others—loving an imperfect, even damaging parent. Your last line is haunting:
Ooooh, this hits hard, Allison. I am hearing an urgency to know more, considering that one knows the answers lie in the depths of your mother’s mind. I am also drawn to a comforting care in this question, almost like you’re telling her it’s okay and you understand:
Is this why
Hugs, Allison.
Allison, Oh my, ouch! I can feel the painful emotions throughout your entire poem. The imagery of “slivered papercuts, red like the ink”, truly resonates with me as well as the “criticism, razor sharp and dripping”. Love how you ended your poem with such a haunting question. Your poem is deeply, moving and provocative. I’m so sorry about your mother, too. Hugs!
Thank you for hosting Donnetta. I was almost going to wait until tomorrow to post, but tomorrow never comes right? I love how you demonstrated your thought process. There are so many ideas I have to use once I’m sharing my space with young minds. I love your overall theme of not if, but when love comes. Love covers many things. My favorite line, “A sweetness, a softness that puts the mind and spirit at rest” resonates with me because Love (love how it is proper) is existing in a sense of being. The poem I chose is by Langston Hughes, My People
https://allpoetry.com/poem/8495469-My-People-by-Langston-Hughes
Here is my Golden Shovel taken from the line “Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.”
Night and Day
Life is Beautiful.
Mistakes are life lessons also.
Never let them define who you are,
Dig deep within the
renewed, recovered souls
ready to sing again of
melodies, symphonies, and the soundtracks of my people.
It was hard for me to post today, too, Jessica. I’m glad you made it happen. I just adore your last 3 lines!
Mo, I had no real reason not to, so in honor of me being more consistent and that poetry is therapy, I did! And thank you!
Beautiful poem, Jessica! I tried a golden shovel but just couldn’t make it work. I love the shifts you made with the line you chose.
Thank you Lynn Aprill! I recently wrote one so it’s sticking with me. Although this one was much easier since it’s one line.
These words are so very beautiful and hopeful. And thank you for taking me back to Langston’s words. Both poems equally poignant.
You’re welcome Christine. I need to dive back into poetry. I wish I would’ve been able to study it more in-depth when I was in college. It’s a breath of fresh air!
Oh, what a beautiful line you chose to guide your poem, Jessica! I can hear your voice singing those “melodies, symphonies, and the soundtracks of (your) people.” Thank you!
Thank you Leilya! One day I need to collect all of my poems here and publish them!
Jessica, thank you for showing up. “Life if Beautiful”! My favorite lines…
“Mistakes are life lessons also.
Never let them define who you are,”
You’re welcome Donnetta. Thank you for your prompt today. Sometimes that’s all it takes and then the magic happens!
Lucille Clifton
The original
I need to start doing blackout poems. They are so powerful. Yours is so strategic, powerful, and relevant! “Worry” and “hardened faces”…such meaningful words.
Boom!! Hard-hitter knockout of a blackout poem, Mo! I love the original and especially enjoy your creation. I hope you’re doing well. 🩷
I have tried to post my poem three times today. There is something going on with the email.. I do want to thank Donnetta for the prompt today that starts my weekend out right.
Here goes another try to post my poem:
I’ve Known Democracy
(inspiration from “The Negro Speaks of Rivers” by Langston Hughes)
I’ve known Democracy:
I’ve known Democracy as a young idea flowing in the veins of a young nation proud to be free.
I’ve known Democracy that allowed me to grow, to be who I am and to fill my dreams.
I’ve lived in a democracy that allowed me to be a woman and artist
I raised my family with a man I loved and the freedom to be educated and vote
I lived in a nation where I was proud and people all over the world envied my freedoms.
Now I live in fear.
Now I know Democracy:
Where there is no support marginalized people
Where my friendly cleaning lady hides from a government that wants to deport her
Where my European friend cries tears because my country is acting like fascist Hungry.
Where my daughter fears losing her job and changes her pronouns back to “she.”
Where I feel my job is on a “hit list.”
Now I live in fear.
Thank you, Susan, for crafting and sharing this! You’ve articulated so well such real fears here! (And, of course, you’re right: Democracy ain’t what it used to be. Ugh.)
The world today…
So sad…
Susan, I could connect with your poem on a personal level, especially with your “European friend” who “cries tears.” That line “Now I live in fear” sounds ominous and so real. Thank you!
Susan, I’m glad you didn’t give up! We need to know that folks we know are hurting, so we can pray more specifically. Not that our Creator doesn’t know what is needed. It’s just our knowing may inspire to do something to help alleviate the pain we see around us, or can imagine of folks like those you paint in your poem.
Oh, Susan, so much truth here! “I’ve known democracy” then and now. You have succinctly described what’s happening. It’s so frightening.
Thank you for sharing Susan. I’m sorry you’ve had a difficult time posting, but I’m glad it is published. Your specific wording of “I’ve know. Democracy” to “Now I know Democracy” is very telling. The mirror has two faces….
your repetition of “Now I live in fear” is a mantra of many people today. Let freedom ring, tuh, freedom has rang our necks!
Susan, I thank you for your raw honesty. I cannot believe how quickly we’ve slid into this surreal place, losing our democracy.
Your poem is powerful in its shift.
I am so sorry.
Thank you for persevering in getting these words to us! You’ve echoed my fears that cling to me day and night. Ugh. Democracy my a$&
Susan, every time I am reminded about how far from the ideals of Democracy we are moving, the words of Dr. King ring in my mind, “the arc of the moral universe is long , but it bends toward justice.” I have to believe this is true.
Susan, several poets have written well about the current state of our country. I love, and am saddened by, the juxtaposition between the characteristics of Democracy in the beginning and this “new” (my word, not yours) meaning of Democracy. I, too, now live in fear.
Thank you, Donnetta, for prompting me to read so much poetry this morning as I tried to decide which poet and poem to focus on. Finally, I decided to write about a poem I taught early in my career.
There May Be a Reason Why
Mabel Kwan whose father died
the year I taught her eighth-grade English
my first year of teaching
and whose four younger sisters
were a poem
all starting with the letter M
tracked me down
during those unconnected days
of the pandemic
to let me know
that she’d heard an interview with Nikki Giovanni
and was still grateful
for the copy change poem we’d written
Ego Tripping
she’s a pianist now
married to a high school robotics teacher
an autographed copy
of the red-jacketed Love Poems
sits face out in my bookcase
given to me by my friend and mentor Kay Bouska
after she retired
it was another student from that first year
Adrienne Gratten, a woman I later taught with
who dubbed me mentor
who was the friend who texted
to let me know
that the poet who could “fly…
like a bird in the sky…”
had died
and to let me know that
when we read Ego Tripping
she could finally see herself
The last lines of this are powerful “when we read Ego Tripping she could finally see herself again” It tells of the glorious power of words as healers! (And the power of you, the teacher!)
Whose four younger sisters are a poem is magnificent, Sharon!
Sharon, I concur with Emily, in tanks for reminding us of the power of words. We never know which will be hunters and which will be healers. We just have to ready to show live.
Show love!
Sharon, I paused after your opening lines to find the poem (which I hadn’t read before). Your poem tonight is a tribute, unfolding with waves of life borne upon life as the poem resurfaces. Beautiful.
Thank you, Donnetta, for today’s prompt. You got me diving into two books of poetry I have — Maya Angelou The Complete Poetry and The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni.
After going through both, I settled on a poem by Maya Angelou, On Aging. For my poem, inspired by my role as caring for my mom, I chose the lines “Don’t think I need your chattering/ I’m listening to myself” for a Golden Shovel poem.
My Poem (title needs work)
I’m learning I don’t
need to parent; like I think
that’s my new job. I
really just need
to listen with my heart to your
stories, wishes, love. Chattering
is overrated now; I’m
ready for just listening
while I still have you here. To
love you unconditionally myself.
Well, Jennifer, this is so powerful. That golden line waterfalling down the right margin is stunning with your reflection on parenting shifts with the close two words having layers of meaning in my reading.
Sarah
Jennifer,
I wish every parent had a listening loved one like yourself. This is deeply endearing and I am sure your mom appreciates you.
This is a great reminder to me as a mom too! “listen with my heart to your stories, wishes, love.” Unconditional. Beautiful.
Great poem, Jennifer. I like the last two lines the best. So wise to love while our special one (yourself) is still here. The poem has a bit of humor that I like.
Jennifer— this expression of love and caring—and listening. I wish I had listened more…
“I’m ready for just listening.” This line…how I wish I would’ve listened more to the recipes, the stories, and the prayers of my grandparents who are no longer here. This is lovely Jennifer. It really makes me think of all I have taken for granted. Thank you for sharing.
Oh, Jennifer!! It’s hard to stop parenting those you love. I pray you enjoy every story, wish, love of your mom. Spend all the time you can listening to and loving on her. Thank you for sharing your life and love.
First of all, thank you, Donnetta for this prompt that starts my weekend out wonderfully. I didn’t use LOVE text in this poem but I did manage to honor Langston Hughes who is so popular with many of us.
The Negro Speaks of Rivers
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
_______________________________________________
I’ve Known Democracy
I’ve known Democracy:
I’ve known Democracy as a young idea flowing in the veins of a young nation proud to be free.
I’ve known Democracy that allowed me to grow, to be who I am and to fill my dreams.
I’ve lived in a democracy that allowed me to be a woman and artist
I raised my family with a man I loved and the freedom to be educated and vote.
I lived in a nation where I was proud and people all over the world envied my freedoms.
Now I live in fear.
Now I know shrunken Democracy:
Where there is no support for marginalized people.
Where my friendly cleaning lady hides from a government that wants to deport her.
Where my European friend cries tears because my country is acting like fascist Hungry.
Where my daughter fears losing her job and changes her pronouns back to “she.”
Where I feel my job is on a “hit list.”
Now I live in fear.
Hi Donetta! I love both your poem and Dunbar’s...the line that spoke to me most is Love comes with kindness/A sweetness that puts the mind and spirit at rest. I have many favorite black poets but that line captured what I have wanted to offer Countee Cullen since I first read INCIDENT when I was about nine or ten. I had never before heard or read the ugly word that appears in the second stanza of that poem, but understood, and felt the boy’s pain. I remember asking to my mother about it and reading the poem over and over trying to understand such hate. Quite honestly, I read it so many times that decades later, I can recite it by heart and confess to feeling the same ache I felt as a child. Perhaps this is an opportunity to remind him that I would have smiled back if I were there, and that this incident has remained with me all my life.
I read your poem in a book,
my own heart filled,
head-filled with glee.
and I remembered another child
who kept looking straight at me.
Love and joy spill smiles,
when you are only eight
and when I smiled at that child,
she bounced one back to me.
My memory ends with a happy wave
unlike the incident you shared—
a word, a world so terrible,
loving hearts are unprepared.
For decades, little boy of eight,
I’ve held you in my prayers.
I promised you the widest smile
if only I’d been there.
Years have flown and now you’re gone,
bathed in light and love and joy,
the only noble recompense
for a cheerful, loving boy.
The poem ‘Incident’ was new to me – just read it on The Poetry Foundation; thank you for this reference. I admire how you offer a similar rhyming pattern to Countee Cullen’s poem – a lovely parallel. Your poem is filled with love (I particularly love ‘I’ve held you in my prayers’) and it is as if you are making amends for the gut punch of ‘Incident’. If only the world had more empathy like yours. Your line “loving hearts are unprepared” reminds how hurtful such hate is, always, but how particularly searing when it comes out of the blue, so unexpectedly.
Ann,
I signed in the stanza, “My memory ends with a happy wave,” or maybe it was an exhale, which I then quickly gasped in the “unlike the incident you shared.” That the smile was not conveyed is a felt grief here.
Sarah
Ann, it’s amazing how long this poem stayed with you. What an impact words can have! I love the line, “she bounced one back to me.”
Thanks, Donnetta, for this prompt and great way to start my weekend. I regret that I did not put much LOVE text in my poem but I do give honor (as do many of us, here) for Langston Hughes.
The Negro Speaks of Rivers
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
_______________________________________________
I’ve Known Democracy
by Susan Osborn
I’ve known Democracy:
I’ve known Democracy as a young idea flowing in the veins of a young nation proud to be free.
I’ve known Democracy that allowed me to grow, to be who I am and to fill my dreams.
I’ve lived in a democracy that allowed me to be a woman and artist
I raised my family with a man I loved and the freedom to be educated and vote
I lived in a nation where I was proud and people all over the world envied my freedoms.
Now I live in fear.
Now I know Democracy:
Where there is no support marginalized people
Where my friendly cleaning lady hides from a government that wants to deport her.
Where my European friend cries tears because my country is acting like fascist Hungry.
Where my daughter fears losing her job and changes her pronouns back to “she.”
Where I feel my job is on a “hit list.”
Now I live in fear.
Thank you, Donetta! This is a wonderful prompt combining Black History month with St. Valentine’s. I love Paul Dunbar and his poetry and often introduce it to my students.
in your poem, I am drawn to these lines:
“Love comes with patience.
Love comes with kindness.”
I was lucky to see Nikki Giovanni’s performance and hear her read poetry, so I decided to write along with her today trying to imitate/adopt her style in the poem below. I couldn’t format them side by side, but you will get the idea.
“And I Have You”
by Nikki Giovanni
Rain has drops
Sun has shine
Moon has beams
That make you mine
Rivers have banks
Sands for shores
Hearts have heartbeats
That make me yours
Needles have eyes
Though pins may prick
Elmer has glue
To make things stick
Winter has Spring
Stockings feet
Pepper has mint
To make it sweet
Teachers have lessons
Soup du jour
Lawyers sue bad folks
Doctors cure
All and all
This much is true
You have me
And I have you
Because I Have You
By Leilya Pitre
Clouds have rain
Dreams take flight
Stars kiss the Moon—
And I have you.
Oceans have tides
Waves leave ripples
You have a heart—
My safest home.
Seasons bring change
Yet love stays true—
Through every storm
I still have you.
Time has clocks
Night follows day
Hearts keep rhythm
In all we say.
When winds turn wild
And skies fade black—
You hold me close—
I hold you back.
All and all
Come joy or blue
You’re part of me—
And I’m part of you.
This is a love poem! I adore Nikki Giovanni’s poetry (used one of her poems here today, too), and your words have flowed in her style…I want to try my hand at writing a love jingle like this today. Thank you! I adore
“You have a heart—
My safest home.”
What a sweet message!
Wow Leilya! You really channeled Nikki! I tried to pick my favorite verse, but couldn’t make up my mind! Just lovely! 💕
The quick-paced quatrains offer some whimsy with words so deep that I feel the intertwined love in the “you’re part of me” in the words and rhythm. Lovely, Leilya.
Sarah
Leilya,
What a joyous pair of poems. My favorite lines;
Lovely
Leilya, thank you for the two lovely love poems. I especially enjoyed reading Giovanni’s and then yours. Sweet and since, both of them. This happens, doesn’t it: “I’m part of you.”
Leilya, there is so much to love in this poem! But the line that resonated with me the most, “You have a heart—
My safest home.” Love lives here. Nothing can penetrate the heart when it is filled with love. You did a great job with the technique! Thank you for sharing.
This is so loving! I really miss my love this year. Your poem tells exactly how we both felt. I like how you show the love in the clouds, rain, dreams, ocean,waves, stars and moon.
Donetta,
Thank you for this lovely prompt. I want to spend more time in it. I came at a great time because I’ve been studying with my class the poetry of Angelou, Hughes, Brooks, Kwame Alexander, and Jacqueline Woodson and our current novel study is One Crazy Summer. We are writing poems this week in class, so this is perfect timing.
In your poem, the invitation to come to the love is powerful! Thank you for the introduction to Paul Lawrence Dunbar’s poem.
I look forward to spending more time writing this week but had a little time this morning that I’m grateful for!
Mine today is inspired by Jacqueline Woodson’s Mimosa Tree (in her novel Brown Girl Dreaming)
Eucalyptus
A Eucalyptus tree is a watchtower
over the bedroom window of my youth
green leaves thrust to the sky
gaze beyond the hills to the sea.
When I left for college, my mom
sent a package full of its leaves
prefuming up my dorm room, like love
and memories.
Sometimes, on my daily walks now,
I pass by a row of Eucalyptus
Like a promise of protection
long past my childhood days.
On some days, I stand at their base,
reach into their high branches, pull down
a leaf and smell the tree outside
my bedroom window.
And on those days, so much love
and security fill my heart that
its hard not to believe
in a little bit
of everything.
Emily, thank you for sharing Woodson’s poem and writing yours. I like how the Eucalyptus tree leaves bring you memories of youth, home, mom, and love. These two lines made me pause and think:
“Like a promise of protection
long past my childhood days.”
Your poem is so beautiful. The memory of your mother sending a “package full of its leaves
prefuming up my dorm room” is so precious…so very dear. Yes, I can see where eucalyptus = love now.
What a beautiful poem, Emily. What a beautiful tribute to a mother’s love and the ability for scent to bring us there again. It’s a gift, I think, to bring your childhood window so close again!
Emily,
what a beautiful example of how nature can nurture, connect and protect us.
Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman” changed my life by helping me to see myself in a healthier way.. Valentine’s Day is actually also my birthday, so I’m celebrating Maya, my love for her, and my work-in-progress love for myself.
I spent my childhood ashamed of my
self. My mind, my body, my voice, my
heart, unsure of how to love
the glorious whole of
my image bearing,
phenomenal,
beautiful,
lovely,
self.
Oh, I needed this today. Thank you for that. I love Maya too! I’ve been reading poems by black authors in my class this week and we’ve been reading quite a lot of Angelou! I love the shape of your poem and each carefully placed word.
Oh, Britt, what a beautiful poem and celebration of Maya and you! “the glorious whole of / my image bearing” is gloriously written too!
Britt, your poem speaks to so many of us! I think it will also speak to many teenagers trying to learn how to see their self-worth beyond appearance and societal norms. Wise to the point!
Each of us, and “the glorious whole” of us – what a gift from Maya Angelou’s poetry and your sweet nonet today. Thank you!
Britt, I love your choice of form. Happy birthday! Thank you for sharing yourself with all of us.
Yes, Britt, and happy belated birthday! Your “work-in-progress love” is a testament to what we ALL deal with…loving ourselves in totality.
Love the last 4 lines so much!!
Happy Birthday Britt!! I am so glad you are celebrating love for yourself. You are worthy!! Your Nonet is absolutely is beautiful. You mastered an effortless flow from what you used to think into every true adjective of who you truly are. Brilliant!
I have chosen to write a bit of free verse with inspiration from Gwendolyn Brooks’ “when you have forgotten Sunday: the love story.”
Some unconventional love poetry in honor of the young people that learn love is subjective (the hard way):
i gave,
prioritized,
sacrificed.
i donated
my time and my body
like a tithe,
appraising them far below value.
i waited and waited and
waited,
hoping you could see me &
would choose to appreciate the things
i gave up only to be
let down again.
it appears only one of us considered Sunday sacred.
but neither of us considered me sacred, either.
forgetfulness.
what do you call it when someone
chooses to forget?
ignore.
you ignored. i was
ignorant.
blossomed from the same root,
the latter left with all the
shame.
Reese, wow, there is power and agency in your words. You are honest and brave. I love how writing poetry brings wholeness.
Reese, I hear you in this poem–your voice, your frustration, disappointment, your pain. I like how you put this profound realization into words. Bravo!
Reese,
The lower case “i” offers a moving visual here with the dot punctuating, been creating a parallelism with the other words that try to contain the “i” — it is an aha moment for me to think about this reclaiming of self in your poem to the directed “you” here. And you have me pondering the phrase “blossomed from the same root.” Beautiful.
Sarah
A Poet Is Not a Streaming Service
After Dudley Randall
a poet is not a streaming service,
not a Hulu nor a Netflix not an HBO Max
nor a Britbox a poet is not a streaming service
not a Peacock nor an Amazon Prime
not a Paramount+ nor a Disney+
you can’t just simply queue up a
list of poems that are “New & Hot”
ones that are “Trending”
nor can you type in a secret code
in my Google Drive to locate
Short-ass poems
Dystopian poems
Small-Town Charm poems
Supernatural Soap poems
Swipe Right poems
I mean, sure, I have several
Feel-Good Food & Travel poems
or High School Hijinks poems
or Cerebral yet still Oddball
and Offbeat Comedy poems
but you can’t just find them with
a simple push of a button
(or tap of the keys, as the
case may be)
and I won’t spit out a Crime
Thriller poem or Wine &
Beverage Appreciation poem
just because you want one
a poet is not a streaming service
(although I wish I could lock in
to their rates which do seem to
steadily increase every year)
________________________________________________
Thank you, Donnetta, for your mentor poem – “Love” is, indeed, “welcome to come”! – and for your prompt, which let me revisit the profound and astute work of Dudley Randall. Though my poem isn’t about love, Randall’s is. His poem “A Poet Is Not a Jukebox” is the one I (tangentially) used as a model this afternoon.
Thank you for sharing your poem, Scott. I have never heard of this poem by Randall, but your rendition makes me excited to look it up! I love this idea of poetry as an organism of sorts, one we can’t (and shouldn’t) try to control or mold for our own pleasure. Beautiful words!
Scott, I love how you pointed out all the ways “a poet is not a streaming service.” There is so much more to a true poet than “streamlining” poetry to everyone’s likes or needs. I also appreciate your parenthetical note in the end. Indeed, we need to learn how to “lock in their rates.” Thank you!
Let me say “Short-ass poems” is now my go-to search phrase. Thank you.
Scott, your poem makes my wonder if you’ve found yourself in situations in which someone thouhght they could request a specifically-themed poem on-demand. Your poem conveys such a passionate in responding to what poetry is not. Thank you.
Hi, Donnetta! Thank you for hosting us this first day of February’s Open Write. I appreciate being encouraged to use a Black poet to inspire us today. Your poem is a loving gift of hoppe and possibilities when we welcome love in! Beautiful.
I chose a golden shovel. I didn’t use “love” but love is implied. 🩵
Soil creates things
Art births change
This is the honey
Mahogony L. Browne’s poem This is the Honey from Kwame Alexander’s Anthology of Contemporary Black Poets This is the Honey
We Are the Honey
Back-flat, palms open, resting upon the soil
eyes catch a cloud pattern that creates
angel’s wings and peaceful things
Behold this evening sky, a pallet for nature’s art
my heart’s canvas where yellow births
possibilities and patterns unleash change
Look to the flowers and trees, they’ve got this
They teach us to thrive and it is
up to us to be resilient and learn from struggle. We are the
bees and the honey
© Stacey L. Joy, 2/15/25
Thank you, Stacey Joy, for sharing Browne’s poem and your own. The Golden Shovel is new to me. . . . I was amazed how naturally you made it work for you. I will keep thinking about what it could mean if we were the bees and the honey.
Stacey, thank you for this beautiful poem. “We are the / bees and the honey” shows your thriving and resilience, but also your importance to life.
Stacey, you have mastered the Golden Shovel from choosing the lines to crafting your own. I want to be in this poem and to
“Behold this evening sky, a pallet for nature’s art
my heart’s canvas where yellow births
possibilities and patterns unleash change.”
So beautiful! Thank you 🥰
Stacey, your poem is so vibrant with color, energy and beauty. I love the back-flat image with the evening sky above. You point to nature to teach us to be resilient. Beautiful!
I love the imagery in this poem, Stacey! The back-flat under the evening sky ready to learn from nature that teaches us to be resilient. Of course, being an artist, I responded to the patterns, creates a pallet for art, yellow honey. So many colors. A beautiful poem!
Stacey, the golden shovel is clay in your hands – you shape them so beautifully! I love these lines:
my heart’s canvas where yellow births
possibilities and patterns unleash change
The metaphor is beautiful here – – and oh, what change is needed!
Stacey, your Golden Shovel is beautiful; and yes, love is implied!
Seems like the first time I posted this, it didn’t show up. FIrst of all, THANK YOU, Donnetta, for this prompt today. Seems I didn’t put much love text into the words, though.
The Negro Speaks of Rivers
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
_______________________________________________
I’ve Known Democracy
by Susan Osborn
I’ve known Democracy:
I’ve known Democracy as a young idea flowing in the veins of a young nation proud to be free.
I’ve known Democracy that allowed me to grow, to be who I am and to fill my dreams.
I’ve lived in a democracy that allowed me to be a woman and artist
I raised my family with a man I loved and the freedom to be educated and vote
I lived in a nation where I was proud and people all over the world envied my freedoms.
Now I live in fear.
Now I know Democracy:
Where there is no support marginalized people
Where my friendly cleaning lady hides from a government that wants to deport her
Where my European friend cries tears because my country is acting like fascist Hungry.
Where my daughter fears losing her job and changes her pronouns back to “she.”
Where I feel my job is on a “hit list.”
Now I live in fear.
Donetta, Thanks for inviting us to write about LOVE as we consider those of African American heritage. I honor my grandparents and mention my teaching in this poem.
The Rod of Love
No one here is surprised
When I write in the guise
Of someone guided by a higher force.
So often He’s my primary source.
Today, when invited to write about love
I thought of the Guy up above.
Yes, God, whose love sometimes
Feels like an admonishing rod.
Like a rod, when I nod
But do not obey
What my elders told me to say
Or how they told me to act.
And that’s a revealing fact.
But those experiences help me to be kind
When my students choose not to mind
Maybe they just don’t understand
Love is there to teach them how
To be wiser and kind and not just to bow.
So, take it easy teachers.
You may have an Anna in your class.
She may just be feeling a little sass
She may not respond real fast.
But let’s hang in there. Soon we will see
The results of the power of love.
We’re the ones who show it when the
Rod of God’s love strikes us from above
Aha! Now that we finally understand.
We’ll patiently do what we must do.
That Anna kid really loves you.
(In this case, the Anna, in the closing stanza represents our recalcitrant studentts. But, I love you, too. This is a great group of educators.)
Anna, thank you for reminding us to be patient with those students who “may just be feeling a little sass”! It’s a much needed reminder for me when my senior students’ severe cases of senioritis flare up.
Anna, thank you for reminding me to be patient and to love my students…especially the most challenging.
Lost
Mariah M.L. Bauer
“Golden Shovel” poem based on my memory of a poem entitled “For Your Information” in Ruth Forman’s 1993 book of poetry, WE ARE THE YOUNG MAGICIANS. I lost my copy of the book years ago and it is out of print.
I can’t separate my mother from words and stories– it was what connected us (connects us still)– and there was even poetry
In the blurred and impossibly heavy days just before my mother’s crossing over; there still is.
Recently, in mourning the country I thought I knew, I always
Come back to that last slim book my mother gifted me, its slick cover black, gold, and white, lost long ago and now out of print. I’ve searched for
It, almost obsessively, trying to confirm my memory of that one, spare poem, the
One that has twisted defiantly in the recesses of my moth-eaten memories for 22 years. People
Dismiss poetry as inconsequential and esoteric, say that words don’t matter, that rhetoric of hate and
Division don’t create lasting impact, don’t gut and corrode until we can no longer see ourselves in ourselves, but it
Is
Not true. Just look at us now. I’ll admit I’m glad my mother isn’t here to see what’s become of us. I think about language a lot these days, about the weaponization of difference, always
Pushing us apart, knowing that the best way to control is to stoke a
Festering distrust rather than love. We are all visitors here – on this spinning earth, in this fractured country, during this time
Of
Engineered splintering; and only in remembering who we are, can we – America– resist, and stop this war.
Donnetta, the Dunbar poem is beautiful, and I recognize that Love of which you write so beautifully in your side-by-side version. “Love, you are welcome to come.” Yes, indeed.
I’ve been up for a few hours now and have been reading so many poems. But when I got to Nikki Giovanni’s “The Great Pax Whitie”, I remained there for some time. I used three lines of her poem for a Golden Shovel: “And america was born / Where war became peace / And genocide patriotism.” Love, you are welcome to come.”
It’s Black History Month and
here we are in america
aiming to forget all that was
so our future will be born
ignorant and closer to where
our white ancestors made war,
nurturing the rot that became
our unfolding. No justice, no peace.
Today we rename and
amplify past genocide
and call it patriotism.
Denise–“ignorant and closer to where our white ancestors made war”…indeed.
Your golden shovel hits home!! So many issues for us in just a few lines. The ending is perfect, Denise! Is this what patriotism has become?!
Mic drop!
Hi, Denise! Nikki Giovanni rocks today in a few poems, and mine too. You found lines that are powerful and precise. Your poem clearly reflects our troubling times and societal issues. These last three lines sound like the court’s final sentence–just and somber.
Denise, I love the striking line positioned at the end of the poem – and that second line just puts it all in perspective.
I love how your Golden Shovel so accurately depicts our current situation. The lines that brought me the most sadness…
so our future will be born
ignorant and closer to where
our white ancestors made war
Donnetta,
Thank you for you prompt and your beautiful poem. This line especially rings true —
“All is made right when Love comes.” I hope the tides change and we find more love in our world.
I am pressed for time today so I went with a series of haikus borrowing lines from Nikki Giovanni’s poem “Resignation.” Borrowed words are higlighed in yellow in her poem.
Seen and Loved
Lines borrowed from Nikki Giovanni
Earth turns and wind blows
Sometimes winter flows after love
Charms of gravity
Falling dimensions
Natural order
I love you, I love
Helpless in my love
An echo chamber
into ecstasy
Multitudinous
No two snow flakes are alike
You walk between raindrops
With magic powers
there is nothing but that love
because you saw me
Nikki Giovanii “Resignation”
I love you
because I don’t want it
any other wayI love you
because the Earth turns round the sun
because the North wind blows north
Sometimes
because the Pope is Catholic
and most Rabbis Jewish
because the winters flow into springs
and the air clears after a storm
because only my love for you
despite the charms of gravity
keeps me from falling off this Earth
into another dimension
I love you
because it is the natural order of things
I love you
like the habit I picked up in college
of sleeping through lectures
or saying I’m sorry
when I get stopped for speeding
because I drink a glass of water
in the morning
and chain-smoke cigarettes
all through the day
because I take my coffee Black
and my milk with chocolate
because you keep my feet warm
though my life a mess
I am helpless
in my love for you
It makes me so happy
to hear you call my name
I am amazed you can resist
locking me in an echo chamber
where your voice reverberates
through the four walls
sending me into spasmatic ecstasy
I love you
because it’s been so good
for so long
that if I didn’t love you
I’d have to be born again
and that is not a theological statement
I am pitiful in my love for you
The Dells tell me Love
is so simple
the thought though of you
sends indescribably delicious multitudinous
thrills throughout and through-in my body
I love you
because no two snowflakes are alike
and it is possible
if you stand tippy-toe
to walk between the raindrops
I love you
because I am afraid of the dark
and can’t sleep in the light
because I rub my eyes
when I wake up in the morning
and find you there
because you with all your magic powers were
determined that
I should love you
because there was nothing for you but that
I would love you
I love you
because you made me
want to love you
more than I love my privacy
my freedom my commitments
and responsibilities
I love you ’cause I changed my life
to love you
because you saw me one Friday
afternoon and decided that I would
love you
I love you I love you I love you
My highlights didn’t show up so trying to bold it.
Nikki Giovanii “Resignation”
I love you
because I don’t want it
any other wayI love you
because the Earth turns round the sun
because the North wind blows north
Sometimes
because the Pope is Catholic
and most Rabbis Jewish
because the winters flow into springs
and the air clears after a storm
because only my love for you
despite the charms of gravity
keeps me from falling off this Earth
into another dimension
I love you
because it is the natural order of things
I love you
like the habit I picked up in college
of sleeping through lectures
or saying I’m sorry
when I get stopped for speeding
because I drink a glass of water
in the morning
and chain-smoke cigarettes
all through the day
because I take my coffee Black
and my milk with chocolate
because you keep my feet warm
though my life a mess
I am helpless
in my love for you
It makes me so happy
to hear you call my name
I am amazed you can resist
locking me in an echo chamber
where your voice reverberates
through the four walls
sending me into spasmatic ecstasy
I love you
because it’s been so good
for so long
that if I didn’t love you
I’d have to be born again
and that is not a theological statement
I am pitiful in my love for you
The Dells tell me Love
is so simple
the thought though of you
sends indescribably delicious multitudinous
thrills throughout and through-in my body
I love you
because no two snowflakes are alike
and it is possible
if you stand tippy-toe
to walk between the raindrops
I love you
because I am afraid of the dark
and can’t sleep in the light
because I rub my eyes
when I wake up in the morning
and find you there
because you with all your magic powers were
determined that
I should love you
because there was nothing for you but that
I would love you
I love you
because you made me
want to love you
more than I love my privacy
my freedom my commitments
and responsibilities
I love you ’cause I changed my life
to love you
because you saw me one Friday
afternoon and decided that I would
love you
I love you I love you I love you
Thank you for the invitation to insert love into a poem I love. I decided to write a golden shovel from Langston Hughes’ “Harlem.” I did not know where it would take me, but it turned out to be a brief story of my life because a dream was deferred.
What a joy love is, and it
happens when least expected
to a young woman venturing into
a new chapter with goals, not knowing that a
dream can change and something
deferred could lead to connections too deep to measure.
Heather, I love the lines…
“dream can change and something
deferred could lead to connections to deep to measure.”
I read hope in those lines.
Thank you for poeming with me today.
Heather,
Love this first lines —
“What a joy love is, and it/happens when least expected” — love does have a way of sneaking up in unexpected ways.
Sounds like your new chapter “connections to deep to measure” is leading you down a beautiful path.
I like the truth in this poem with the lines “deferred could lead to connections to deep to measure.” This shows the changes in life and hope in what change brings. I good line to remember.
Heather,
Harlem is one of the best!! You chose the perfect lines for your golden shovel and the message of love warms my heart. Dreams can change…That’s good!!!!
I loved both the Dunbar poem and the one you wrote alongside it! It made me feel loved just reading it and I thank you for this invitation to celebrate black poets AND love in the same space.
I wanted to broaden my knowledge of poets, so I went searching for names I didn’t recognize or hadn’t read before. I was very excited when I found a poem by Evie Shockley called “from The Lost Letters of Frederick Douglass” because I am currently working on an application to a summer program that involves studying Douglass’ life in New Bedford.
So I knew this was serendipitous. I decided on a golden shovel and thinking on love lead me to write this:
—-
“On Text Messages I Never Sent” by Erica J
I wanted to hit send on this declaration to you, but
fear stayed my hand — what
if I am not worthy? other
fears bubble in a pot I set years ago. My choice
to distance my desires did
more harm than good. I
see that now, what impact did it have?
I
fumble for what to say to you, had
all these romantic notions. risked
nothing, because I let fear stop my
words from reaching you. A life
and a side of myself I thought hidden to
everyone, but really it’s master
of a disguise applies only to me. language
fails me now — and I call my
self a writer! It’s love
I am searching for
it constantly (denying it constantly)! Let me risk it (God why can’t I risk it) for her.
Erica, this Golden Shovel is absolutely beautiful!!! So vulnerable!!! I feel the anguish in your words; how fear holds us back. I want to offer encouraging words right now, but instead, I’ll just say…I believe you will find and receive the love you search for my friend.
Erica,
Your poem is so relatable, this line especially –“because I let fear stop my
words from reaching you.” Fear of rejection is very real. It is amazing how words can escape us when we need them most.
Your poem captures longing and regret beautifully.
Erica–your poem pulled me through from the beginning to the end! This line resonated with me: “other fears bubble in a pot I set years ago”. Don’t all of our deepest fears start years ago??
Ohhh, this is powerful! I feel your fear and can relate to it well. I hope one day you hit send at just the right time for just the right person!!
This could easily be my own words:
Excellent, Erica!
Thanks for this prompt Donnetta and starting my day our right. I regret that I got a bit off track and forgot to but the LOVE into my poem.
The Negro Speaks of Rivers
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
_______________________________________________
I’ve Known Democracy
by Susan Osborn
I’ve known Democracy:
I’ve known Democracy as a young idea flowing in the veins of a young nation proud to be free.
I’ve known Democracy that allowed me to grow, to be who I am and to fill my dreams.
I’ve lived in a democracy that allowed me to be a woman and artist.
I raised my family with a man I loved, the freedom to be educated and vote
I lived in a nation where I was proud and people all over the world envied my freedoms.
Now I live in fear.
Now I know Democracy:
Where there is no support for marginalized people
Where my friendly cleaning lady hides from a government that wants to deport her
Where my European friend cries tears because my country is acting like fascist Hungry.
Where my daughter fears losing her job and changes her pronouns back to “she.”
Where I feel my job is on a “hit list.”
Now I live in fear.
Nikki Giovanni, A Good Cry: What We Learn from Tears and Laughter :
BREAD
I was dreaming
I must have been
Asleep
There was a loaf
Of bread
Yeast not sweet
Crusty warm
Inside
I sliced a thick slice
Spreading unsalted butter
From crust to crust
All I needed was Parmesan cheese
To shake
The butter
Dripped
On my fingers
I was so happy
I laughed aloud
Almost waking
Myself
Up
This poem by Nikki Giovanni makes me smile so much, every time I read it. Truth be told, I love a good slice of homemade bread. Her poem, to me, is a reminder to love deeply the ordinary gifts of each day, to dare to put joy first and foremost in your life. This Nikki Giovanni poem is posted in my kitchen next to my toaster, a poetic reminder for me to put love first in everything.
Here’s my poem:
all I need
a quiet hum as I was dreaming
he has turned on the space heater
for me to wake in cozy delight
fresh snow in the crooks of trees
or are these called elbows?
trees with elbows, I laugh aloud
the happy call, dot of red surprising
through the winter trees
the pileated woodpecker flashes by
slender doe in the backyard
our eyes lock in the staring game
whose place is this?
nestling on the sofa
she reads to me
and I hold her small hand in mine
each of these
crusty warm, dripping, with love
I slice a thick slice
Maureen,
First, I love warm buttered bread. Second, I love your poetic connection to Nikki’s poem, “put love first in everything”
Your poem is so gentle and filled with all the thing to love.
Thank you for sharing your love today.
Maureen,
I love this image:
“fresh snow in the crooks of trees
or are these called elbows?
trees with elbows, I laugh aloud”
and the powerful message and reminder to find joy and love in the simple treasures.
I had never seen your mentor poem, which I love (it includes bread, after all!). But your poem is the best kind of winter morning. I felt the love…
Maureen, I am comforted by the warmth of your words and those of Nikki Giovanni on this cold winter day. Thank you.
Donetta, thanks for the prompt. My golden shovel poem is from Langston Hughes’ “Let America Be America Again.”
Deferred, a Dream
Let me be free from rampant hate
America before my heart breaks
Be kinder more generous,
America, before the oligarchs steal our souls
Again, before our resources are grifted
Let me be braver than before
It is not too late to defeat this tyranny
Be the change for peace
The America where anyone was free to
Dream of serenity, purpose, freedom
It feels like it’s too late, I’m
Used, defeated by the news
To rectify this madness, I must
Be a warrior, spear in hand—before each dream explodes
Barb Edler
15 February 2025
Barb, oh how I long for America to be America again. Both you and Langston Hughes capture the seemingly hopelessness of our and his America, respectively. I pray that in the years to come, we will see a shift toward…”kinder more generous, / The America where anyone was free to / Dream of serenity, purpose, freedom”
Barb,
Yes! I agree with every line. Even though it is easy to feel defeated right now we need to
“be braver than before” and “Be the change for peace”.
“It is not too late to defeat this tyranny”. Elections have consequences and I think this will be the wake up call!
Barb–This –“used, defeated by news”–I am so afraid that it is beyond the spears we can raise.
This striking line is a favorite in a favorite poem that inspired another favorite poem written by you! Before the oligarchs steal our souls………..this speaks volumes – – and then the spear in the hand of the warrior, ready to defend the dream and live the life. Powerful.
Thank you, Barb. Sending love.
Thank you for these words that echo my feelings and rage. How sad that times are back to the inequalities of Langston’s times
🙁
Aja Monet is a Caribbean-American poet, performer, and educator from Brooklyn. Her poem is “564 park avenue.” Here is a golden shovel from her first line.
abuelita’s voice was in
hands that pressed resistance in raviolis
were pillows of tradition that fed her daughters
a floured bouquet of wisdom in the kitchen
time to study under the table blind to Papa, a prayer
card imagining education for Dolores and Adele,
she never said a word but her hands
clocked hours of lectures & pages of poetry on love.
What a great striking line! My goodness…how vibrant the image of those hands. I love “pressed resistance in raviolis” Wowsa…as is “floured bouquet of wisdom”. The quiet acts of service love from this grandmother is not difficult for me to imagine.
The physical action within your poem resonates both a powerful woman and a poet. I enjoyed so many of your lines and images, especially “pressed resistance in raviolis” and “floured bouquet of wisdom in the kitchen”. Your final “pages of poetry on love” was strikingly beautiful! Powerful poem!
Sarah, this is such a beautiful Golden Shovel with an amazing striking line. I read the original poem, and you truly captured the love and dedication of abuelita for her family; how her hands work to secure their future.
Sarah,
I love the images of abuelita’s hands and her actions of love, especially these lines “hands that pressed resistance in raviolis” and “pillows of tradition that fed her daughters.” Just beautiful!
I love this line–pillows of tradition that fed her daughters/a floured bouquet of wisdom in the kitchen” Too many young people are missing that wisdom these days, I am afraid–those hours of lectures…so valuable.
LOVE this. I love that “abuelita’s voice was in hands that pressed resistance in raviolis”– what am opening line! Her hands take such a beautiful and active role in this poem– they are the mouthpiece.
the rich imagery of the floured bouquets of wisdom, pillows of tradition, resistance in raviolis – – you have it all so eloquently worded and layered in images!
Donnetta–what a challenging beginning to our writing week! I went down the rabbit hole of Langston Hughes. He was my favorite poet to present to my middle schoolers. I had not read this poem before. And here is my response to his question…
Tired by Langston Hughes
I am so tired of waiting
Aren’t you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?
Let us take a knife
And cut the world in two–
And see what worms are eating
At the rind.
Frightened, by Gayle Sands
We cut the world in two.
In search of the good,
the beautiful,
the kind.
We searched for love.
What fools we were.
We freed the worms,
The worms escaped.
They are everywhere now.
No longer hidden.
Multiplying.
They are proud, bold,
Powerful.
They love only themselves.
They were always there.
But we chose not to know them.
We were complacent in our comfort.
They were there all along,
Eating away the rind.
What are we to do now,
with our broken, bleeding world?
2/15/25
Such a stark commentary on the state of affairs we find ourselves in. I’ve been looking to history for clues of how to be, how to manage the anxiety of so many fires to fight at the same time. I love how your poem seeks wanting to know what to do. I feel it too.
Wow, Gayle, your poem radiates with all the emotions I have been feeling. The imagery of the worms escaping and multiplying is brilliant. Your closing question is compelling? Love the alliteration in broken, bleeding world. Provocative poem!
Gayle, your poem is bold and powerful; and unfortunately an accurate depiction of our world.
My favorite lines…
“What fool we were
We freed the worms
The worms escaped”
I honestly can’t explain why these are my favorite. I guess they just seem to resonate with how I feel about our world right now.
I love the original poem and I love what you have done with it– taking the image of the worms and exploding it. It really captures the sense of endless expansion– the barrage– that we are subjected to at the moment.
Gayle, wow. So powerful to carry Hughes’ metaphor throughout your poem. That idea of the worms escaping and being everywhere now “no longer hidden / Multiplying” is a tragedy of this chapter we are in. Thank you for asking that last question.
Brilliant extension of Hughes’s “Tired,” Gayle! This “new normal” isn’t great; I would not recommend it. (We’re entering, perhaps, the FAFO phase of things now, but it doesn’t help because we’ve already cut the apple and these “[m]ultiplying” worms are everywhere!)
We freed the worms – – at first, I laughed when it struck me as a bit humorous. Then I realized. And I stand in fear with you, wondering what will become of the world as we know it.
Donetta, this is a fabulous prompt! Thank you for the great inspiration and ways to get started. I wish I had written, “It is well with my soul when Love comes.” Beautiful!
I slept in this morning so my kitchen table is busy with a spouse working on taxes and a college kid buttering toast. This led me to Gwendolyn Brooks’ ‘The Bean Eaters.’ So, I wrote a response to her lines. I do love GB.
They never took the leaf out of the big kitchen table.
Though she sits at the end–still able to jump up
to bring beans from the microwave
he sits on the long-side with an open ipad.
Two kids who still live at home
are mostly good pecking away
at college to better chances
of setting off soon
They eat separately and at unusual times.
All remembering
is interrupted by thoughts of futures
here…there…where
will the big kitchen table fit?
Will they still need the leaf in?
Or, should they take it out?
Linda, the images are striking throughout your poem. The end is poignant, and I could relate to that final question. Loved “here…there…where”
“Donetta, this is a fabulous prompt!”
Linda, thank you for the complement. Imposter Syndrome creeps up when I write these prompts. Everyone’s encouragement gives me the confidence to continue showing up.
I can so relate to your poem.
Uncertainty about the future for “she and he” mixed with the hopeful future for “The kids” are the themes that came to mind for me.
I say, “Never take it out!”
Linda–I am transported to your kitchen and the lives that occupy it. Your last stanza is simultaneously hopeful and wistful. The reality of being a mother…
The question of the leaf and the living of life- – these are the blessings that we can count! The todays and the routines that seem regular are tomorrow’s memories. I like the comfort in the relaxed pace.
I opted to use a Golden Shovel
poem! I had never heard of it before and thought it was a great idea. It was a lot harder than I thought – to stay true to the characteristics of the poem and write something that I wanted to focus on. I love winter and decided to write a short poem about winter using the first line of Alice Dunbar Nelson’s poem “At Bay St. Louis” while the original poem was written for a setting along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, since it’s a cold winter in Maryland – I wrote about winter and how beautiful it can be. Thanks for a great prompt!
A Winter’s Day for Alice
On a day when the snow falls silently and soft,
Circling with gentle breezes.
The swollen river runs full with life and the willows blow,
Poppling fields where wildflowers sleep and,
Winter birdsong mix in colors that swiftly,
Drift like echoes that glimmer and show.
Mona Becker
Warning! Golden shovel writing can be an addiction. LOL. I want to be in the scene of your poem. I want to be where spring is sleeping but about to wake up.
Mona, I’m in awe of your golden shovel poem and the word poppling. I looked it up and re-read the poem with its onomatopoeia in that word. It’s like a sound machine to relax, the babbling poppling of the river and the echo sounds and sensory images popping with color – – all of this is here to delight the senses in such unexpected ways. Brilliant!
This is lovely, Mona. A meditation. The echo of sound in “swollen” and then “willow” and “blow” is the wind and birdsong for me.
Sarah
Mona, I totally agree with Linda. Since becoming a poet a few years ago and writing Golden Shovel poem, it has become my favorite. If writing this Golden Shovel was difficult for you, it does not show in this poem. Winter is not my favorite season. Your words, however, captured the gentleness of winter. Great poem.
What a gorgeous poem. I love the soft emotion, the imagery and appeal to sounds and color. Love your title, too.
Mona–poppling fields…a word I will impress my friends with! This poem exudes peace. Something that we all need now (both locally in good old CCPS and in the nation)
I agree with what everyone else wrote and wanted to add that I love that color is added with the “winter birdsong” — lovely.
Donnetta, Thanks for this invitation to combine Black history and Valentine’s Day. My students read a Jackie Woodson poem yesterday from Brown Girl Dreaming.
This morning, I reached out for Jericho Brown. I found his poem “Heart Condition” and stole the last line, “I am here to love you uncomfortable.”
A poem waves from the corner. I
catch a glimpse of who I am
flapping in the waves of here
and now, living to
love, love, love
you,
especially when you reach my uncomfortable.
Wow. “A poem waves from the corner.” is such a great beginning. It pulled me in all the way to that surprise of a word, “uncomfortable.”
Margaret, I was pulled in by Jericho’s trademark form, the Duplex, and spellbound by his work. He teaches at Emory University, an hour north of where I live. I’ve often wanted to go to a reading. I like the way you have made a line from one of his poems uniquely your own, especially that last line – – loving someone even when they get on your last nerve. I think this poem might be how my dogs feel about me sometimes when I have over-annoyed them. You capture the essence of love when it starts taking all we have.
Margaret,
I stopped and lingered at the phrase “catch a glimpse of who I am” — whoa, you had me, your reader, wondering what that would look like for myself. And then so intimate with the “you” — me realizing who this poem is for and feeling grateful to witness this love in the “uncomfortable.” Indeed, that is love, and I think that borrowed word worked so well in your poem. Wow.
Sarah
Margaret, as I read your poem, I could not help but think about a student who challenges my comfort…daily reaching my uncomfortable. Your Golden Shovel reminds me that I am here to “love, love, love” Thank you!
Margaret, I love the focus of your poem’s action. Your final line is terrific. Beautiful and powerful poem!
That is an amazing line to use! I love the imagery of the poem waving and catching a glimpse of yourself in it!
Donnetta, what a LOVEly invitation for this Saturday morning in February to kick off this month’s Open Write. Thank you for hosting us today. Your Dunbar-inspired poem in turn inspires me to mirror a poem by a favorite black poet. I love so many – Jericho Brown, Maya Angelou, Gwendolyn Brooks, Clint Black, and many more – – but of course, Lucille Clifton captures my soul in every poem. I fell in love with blessing the boats (at St. Mary’s) when its final line was chosen for the National Poetry Month theme a couple of years ago. She inspired me to lower case my letters in an e.e. cummings style, and I have been doing that ever since in most poems I write. Here is her mentor poem I took from The Poetry Foundation:
blessing the boatsBY LUCILLE CLIFTON
(at St. Mary’s)
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that
Here is my love poem:
blessing the children and theirs
may the prayers
offered each morning
whispered Heavenward
from the Rav4 road to work
(my prayer chamber)
multiply exponentially
with peace, health, safety,
sobriety, love, joy, provision, and
all good things
may these intercessions
meet you where you are and
keep you in God’s grace
may they stir in your heart
blessing you and yours
with a holy head kiss
divine in all love and
lingering through the years
forever
Amen.
Amen, is right!
Prayers from the Rav4 road. Keep ’em comin’. Your heart is in them.
This is so lovely! Blessing the Boats is such a beautiful poem and I loved how you wrote your poem for the children. The emotion in the poem is clearly evident. I just love this. ❤️
Oh, yes. My prayer chamber is my mini-van. That peaceful time on the way to work is perfect for prayer. This is such a lovely response to Clifton. I love leaving the poem on “lingering…forever”
Kim,
I welcome your prayer this morning and say Amen to you when I haven’t uttered that word in years. Your poem is a wish and deeply needed — the lingering.
Sarah
Amen! Oh Kim!! Your prayer poem brings tears to my eyes. Oh how we want to much for our students and children (youth as a whole). The entire poem is just absolutely beautiful.
My favorite lines…
“may these intercessions
meet you where you are and
keep you in God’s grace
may they stir in your heart
blessing you and yours
with a holy head kiss”
Thank you for blessing me with your prayer today.
Kim, your poem’s prayer is exquisite. Loved “multiply exponentially
with peace, health, safety,
sobriety, love, joy, provision, and
all good things”. I so appreciated the sense of this prayer lasting a lifetime with your closing words “lingering through the years
forever”.
Magnificent!
KIm- this:
multiply exponentially
with peace, health, safety,
sobriety, love, joy, provision, and
all good things
We can only hope (and pray)
Hi Donetta
I got so lost in just one poem (Secret, by Gwendolyn B. Bennett) that I explored the inside world of her poem for a blackout/found poem.
Kevin
Secret:
make a song,
gold-woven
with shadows
My fingers
play my song
of you, gently
a blanket,
blue like
silver
I sing
a song
and in
my heart
I shelter
you, secretly
Visual Poem: https://flic.kr/p/2qLRDgD
Kevin, I love the message, the music, and the model format here. The interplay of syllables and words and expressions blend together beautifully, and the secret sheltering is a comforting way to end!
Hearts to “A blanket, blue like silver.” Lovely nuggets from one poem to another.
This is one of my favorite ways to get into a writing vibe…searching for words that call out to me. This is lovely…I sing/a song/and in/my heart. Way to go, Keven!
I did a slight revision later in the morning
https://write.as/dogtrax/secret
Kevin, I love how the words you chose captures the expression of a secret love from the original poem. I also love the golden-woven elements in the image you chose for your visual poem. Thank you for introducing me to Gwendolyn B. Bennett.
Kevin,
I feel so grateful to read this poem, this intimacy, this love, this secret. The economy of words and the brief lines give me space to linger in the margins. I am holding onto the lat phrase “you, secretly.” Wow.
Sarah
Oh, Kevin. This is beautiful in all the ways. For some reason, my favorite is:
My fingers
play my song
of you, gently
a blanket,
blue like
silver
Sigh…