(Song) Structures Speak: How’d You Get Here? with Chris Goering
Welcome to Day 7 of Verselove. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on; if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. Click here for more information on the Verselove.
Chris Goering lives in Fayetteville, AR, and works at the University of Arkansas where he prepares future English teachers and teachers of English teachers. Part of his scholarly and personal interests revolve around the uses of music in teaching English and specifically, songwriting in schools. He and Emily have two children, Katie (8) and Zach (6), and a dog Nelly. Chris’ songwriting appears on three albums, most recently Turkey Red.
Inspiration
I started writing Turkey Red about the Turkey Red Hard Winter Wheat that my ancestors, Volynian Mennonites, brought from Russia when they immigrated to middle America. A town in Kansas, Moundridge, was originally named after my third great-grandfather, Christian D. Goering, when it was founded in 1876. So, I’m named after the man they named the town after, a lyric that appears in the chorus of Turkey Red. Moundridge also boasts an intersection of my two names which writing about in a song proved difficult and spawned several conversations about grammar and usage with my co-writer and fellow language geek, Aaron Traffas. I was thinking about the various immigration stories out there at the time I wrote this and how almost everyone in the US has such a story. While comparing my family’s white skin experience to immigration struggles of today would be foolhardy, the people persecuting immigrants today might be well-served to think more deeply and critically about their own stories. Maybe the world could be a little kinder to those forced out of unspeakable situations?
Process
You can do this with about any song that you like or even a song you don’t like, but I’ll offer verses of Turkey Red as inspiration. The big picture of using a song’s structure to write new lyrics is to identify the structure (syllables, meter, rhyme scheme), copy it with new lyrics, and use that in an effort to create a new song. In fact, Turkey Red copied the approach of starting each line in the verse with “I’m ________.”
I’m the Turkey Red Winter Wheat (8)
That waves green in wintertime. (7)
I’m the intersection of two streets (9)
That bears my names on each sign (7)
I’m the boat that carried the grain (8)
When the Czar’s forced out the refugees (9)
I’m the home they made on the great plains, (9)
Where they could pray and farm in peace (8)
-Chris Goering and Aaron Traffas, © 2019
It may help to play the song a few times to get a feel for how the lyrics fit. I’ll be making .00002 cents per play of royalties so don’t hold back :-). The rhyme scheme is straightforward in that the end of every other line rhymes in an ABAB pattern. Syllables are valuable real estate in songwriting and I’ve noted the number of syllables of each line as a pattern to follow. In a perfect world, the syllables of each line would match exactly so consider that a challenge for your own lyrics.
Your Turn
So, how did you get here or how did your family get to where you are currently? How does that make you who you are? Feel free to use a different song or try different approaches instead of the I’m __ technique. If you don’t know your immigration or origin story, create one or borrow someone else’s. Next, use the structure to write new lyrics. Looking forward to seeing your lyrics but if you could find a way to sing and record them, even better!
Thank you for writing with us today. If this form doesn’t work for you, please write what you’d like. Please take the time to respond to at least three other writers today. Your feedback is greatly appreciated.
I loved this… I liked the repetition of affirmations in the I am format, and the melody went well together. I liked how it tied to activism against oppression while acknowledging the hope in things familiar such as a street being named after your family. I can relate to this. Thanks!
Thank you for sharing Chris,
I enjoy listening to love songs…especially those that illuminates conquering defeats.
I’m the wind that carried the load
When the situation got tough and it was easier to give up
I’m the light that cleared the pathway
Persistent, and always looking ahead
I’m the wind that carried the load
I’m like the water from the moon
Nourishing and bring peace…
Love this prompt! I’m borrowing the cadence, some of the rhyme patterns in the first couple of lines, and the theme from Jay Z’s “Where I’m From” which is one of my favorite songs that he wrote. His pen game is top notch, so I did my best to capture growing up across the Verrazano Bridge from where he’s from.
I’m from where the shadows hung, Verrazano blocks the sun,
Bridges, what bridges? The block is your only run–
Where the barber shop is the number spot, so when you sittin’,
Don’t dare get a hair cut, cuz they cut ya scalp to ribbons,
Where the OTB is right next to the five and dime,
Where Uncle Gus would take me as long as I held the line.
Keep the horses between me and you, kid, it ain’t exactly lyin’
and learning to hold your tongue could definitely keep you alive,
So I took my lil’ toy and candy and developed my state of mind,
Where the ferry was down the block, it was a quarter to ride
But if ya showed you bus pass they’d always let you slide
Just to remind you nothing’s free, ya passed by Lady Liberty
Where the hid the shackles under her gown down by her feet,
Then put her on a pedestal to make sure you didn’t see–
I’m from where Cropsey was snatching kids but it never made the news
I’m from the crooked letter I NY and I’d never trade those shoes.
Love it, Dave! Glad you appreciated the prompt and can’t wait to play Jay Z’s song while reading your lyrics. A nod to Billy Joel with the “state of mind”?
Chris, thank you for this challenging prompt. I’m going to come back to it, and try some other songs. Today was full, and I am here late with a little take on your Turkey Red song. I’m not sure where all these thoughts came from, they aren’t all my origin story, so this is just a draft. I will come back to it. Thanks for your work here today!
I’m the supple stick in the mud
That bends and bobs but doesn’t break.
I’m the thorn between two buds
Attempting to keep them awake
I’m the shovel that carried the sand
To plant bright hope rather than hate
I’m the peace promise made by hand
which was hard to keep and came too late
Awww…I said out loud as I finished this. So many hopeful images in here, but that last one – sadness. I hope there are a few more stanzas in you, Denise! “the thorn between two buds / attempting to keep them awake” – I have NO idea what that might reference in your life, but I love that metaphor, that thorn, normally seen as a negative, is here attempting what sounds like something needed, and the buds, normally seen as the beauties, here are “in need” and perhaps not so strong. Two lines and what a story to tell!
Denise, your images resonate with me this week as I try to wrangle ninth graders while spring is arriving in all of it’s glory (warmer weather! all of the sports games! musicals! etc.!) I think it’s clever how you’ve taken idioms that typically suggest negativity but have reframed them as something else. Thanks for sharing!
Denise, this is beautiful. I admire the rhyming, and so many allusions to fuller, deeper stories that I want to hear now…you as “thorn between two buds,” you as “shovel carrying sand,” you as a “peace promise.” Tell me more! Write the stories behind these lines!
Hi Denise,
Thank you for sharing. Your lyrics speaks to me because I see myself as a supporter. One who always try to encourage others and being firm, humble and strong.
Denise, I love what you’ve started here. This line is brilliant: “I am the thorn between two buds”! I also love “I’m the shovel that carried the sand–” Reminds me of Marge Percy’s wonderful poem “To Be of Use.”
Kasey,
Litote is one of my favorite lit devices. Sometimes it just works best to define what we’re not. I also found this prompt very challenging.
Chris, thank you for the challenging prompt today. I’ve never written song lyrics before, but this reminded me of a “song” that I used to sing while rocking my son to sleep.
Mr. Leo Pants
By Shaun
He’s Mr. Leo Pants.
His garden’s full of ants, ants, ants.
Someday he’ll make a trip to France.
He’s Mr. Leo pants.
He’s Mr. Leo Pants.
He’ll see the world when he gets the chance.
He always likes to dance, dance, dance.
He’s Mr. Leo Pants.
He’s Mr. Leo Pants.
His garden’s full of plants, plants, plants.
When he’s grumpy, he rants, rants, rants.
He’s Mr. Leo Pants.
(Repeat until child is unconscious or back pain is unbearable)
Oh, what a sweet song for Mr. Leo. I’m sure that was a hit. I’m glad you took time to write it down, Shaun. What a treasure.
That’s hilarious, Shaun! These kinds of songs do stick with us through adulthood, don’t they? And I wonder about the lines – how old your son is now? – has he traveled? will he? My sister had two mantras for her kids: Smoking is stupid. College is essential. Her kids never smoked (and sometimes scolded adults for doing so), and they are each now finishing advanced college degrees. So, how much of what we tell our kids becomes their lives?
Girl on Fire
By: Emily Yamasaki
Hips sway
Slight smile on her lips
Head high
Hair swishes from side to side
Watch her as she’s lighting up the night
The just-right pace
The confidence radiates
You can’t help but stand up
Just a bit taller
You can see the flame that’s in her eyes
Emily,
For me this poem channels Maya Angelous “Phenomenal Woman.” Both poems fit you. Keep standing tall!
Wow, Emily, you have captured a rhythm here that is making me sing. “the just-right pace” is nice. I’ve seen dancers like that, and it surely is not me! Haha
Hi Emily,
Your song speaks about self confidents. I can see how this song would lift someone’s spirit on any given day.
Chris! This prompt was so much fun! I loved listening to your song ($.002 worth!) and then writing lyrics while recalling old family stories. I’m such a mishmash of heritage, but I chose to go with the past century of the Berryhill line.
I’m Berryhill name from Ohio
who moved on west and then settled here.
They spawned 10 kids, but what d’ya know?
Kept clawin’ through Depression years.
The little farm was nearly lost
‘Til Grandma wrote a pleading note–
Then banker swallowed half the cost
(Well, that’s the story that she wrote…)
In fewer than 100 years
10 Berryhills struggled upstream:
Degrees, arrests, asylums, tears–
We call it the American Dream.
CHORUS:
We call it the American Dream:
The drowning fight against the tide
The English teacher’s favorite theme
They lived, they tried, they lost, they died.
Allison! This is very powerful: “Degrees, arrests, asylums, tears – / We call it the American Dream” and “They lived, they tried, they lost, they died” is so striking (and so very sad in its truth). Your poem reminded me of Simon and Garfunkel’s “American Tune,” which, yes, guilty as charged, I always bring up when reading Death of a Salesman in class. Thank you for writing and sharing this!
Oh! I don’t know the S&G song, but I will go find it now! THANK you!
What a great story of the American Dream! I love the part where the baker swallowed half the cost.
Allison–thanks for the note and for the work here. Loved it! Especially this line stood out to me: Degrees, arrests, asylums, tears–
We call it the American Dream.
Allison, I love the juxtaposition of your second and third stanzas: the first is such a detailed personal account followed up by a wide-reaching inventory. Both say so much about your family. Thanks for sharing.
I struggled with the song, but am saving this for a time where I can devote more time because I love the idea of using songs.
I did go with the theme of where you are from and where are you going. This is a poem that I wrote based on characters from the novel in verse I’m writing. This one is a character who moves away, but then returns.
At 11, I was torn from this land of Bonnie and Clyde
Tornadoes and Route 66
Flung across the country
To start fresh.
We all needed to start fresh.
Mom and dad were fighting a lot
And me always crying.
So we took off to California
Hoping to find help and peace.
Miraculously, we did find it.
We are one of the lucky ones
Who reach out for help
And receive it
And heal.
Mom and dad never fight now
The way they look at each other makes me gag
But at the same time smile
And I am not crying (as much)
I feel like a weight was lifted
And I am happy.
So now here we are
Back to the home of Langston Hughes
To begin again.
Alexis, I love the way your story begins with Bonnie and Clyde and ends with Langston Hughes. This seems to mirror your own journey of growth and discovery from point A to B. Thanks for sharing!
Alexis thanks for sharing. Your words resonates with so many families. Especially those that are living in marginalized communities. There is often a lot of abuse and sometimes there is better hope when the family migrates to the US.
Thanks for the challenge, Chris! Lyrics borrowed from and inspired by Townes Van Zandt’s “I’ll be here in the morning.”
A man from up North moved down to meet a woman
From Georgia in Tennessee
They got hitched and traveled ‘round a bit
Before sett’ling in a city.
There is nothin’ that’s as real
As a love that’s in their mind
They raised two
Girls who traveled for awhile
They raised two
Girls whose roots don’t stretch too far.
Laura, what a wonderful story. Your last line made me smile at the thought of girls who don’t want to go too far.
Laura,
I do believe you’ve written one of the all-time great lines with
“There is nothin’ that’s as real
As a love that’s in their mind”
Well done!
Glenda, I can’t take credit for those two lines! I borrowed them from the songwriter–they’re just too perfect and they seemed to fit right it.
Laura–I’m a big TVZ fan so this was especially nice–“there’s nothin’ that’s as real as a love that’s in their mind”
Thanks for the invitation today, Chris. It’s parent-teacher conferences over here, so this was done quickly and what came to me today!
I am the bite marks on a cross
necklace with the initials AB
the mars are from my grandma teething,
AB is my great grandmother, before marriage
and before “Americanizing” Amelia to Emily
while passing through Ellis.
I am the ancient songs Grandpa sings
in a preserved German dialect for migrant
farmers in Odessa (only when he’s had a stein of ale).
These are the only pieces of the language
passed down to me.
Rachelle,
You have so much more material to work with than I did for this. You’ve got some really lovely assonance in both stanzas. Nice job!
Hi Chris. I’m going to have to come back to this challenge. All I have in me right now is a clerihew.
The custodian yelled, “Hey there, Mrs. Daley!
You made the Wall of Shame, like Mrs. Bailey!”
It was done by a youth full of anger and spite,
But at least the boy in the bathroom spelled it right!
Mo, I love you. Let me count the ways:
1) You invited me to look up “clerihew.”
2) You wrote a delightful clerihew! (Now I know!)
3) You came to the page tonight, nearly empty, and offered still what you could (which was delightful).
Bravo!
Lol. I’m sorry this happened, Mo, but I’m glad you can find the humor in it! (And you’re right, grammar is not always the most important concern of young “graffiti artists.”)
Mo,
One person’s shame is another person’s fame—and poetry inspiration. Your custodian sounds like a gem, and you’ve made me wonder how often I’ve been maligned on the bathroom wall! Correct spelling is always something to praise. Thanks for a fun poem this evening.
Mo, this is so fun and cute! I know the feeling of the end of the day drain but you’re proof that even in the drain, magic happens!
Love clerihews and will have to try them again. It’s been too long.
Some of my first poetry appeared on a bathroom stall in the third floor boys bathroom at Medicine Lodge Intermediate School. I accidentally signed it with someone else’s nickname and he took the fall.
I could not manage the song this evening, but I stuck with the family story theme.
Names
I remember hearing the story about how my grandfather
changed the family last name,
Italian-American heritage that wouldn’t do well for business,
Not that I ever understood what that would have to do
with the hotel industry
The name went from 4 syllables to 1,
Easier to retain somehow?
I hear how older actors changed their name for the same reason
Aren’t they proud of where they come from?
Is an acting job more important than that?
My last name changed, too
Though I don’t know what it would have been,
Adopted at 6 weeks old
I was proud to have any name at all,
Happy to have a family
At some point years down the road
Accidentally I learn what my last name was,
Who I might have been
I did not ask for this
Nor did I want it
Identity is wrapped up in a name,
Is it not?
One may ask,
“What’s in a name?”
Absolutely everything.
Wow,Heidi. I love how you explored the theme in your own way, much like you have figured out your own way with your name and your family names. “Who I might have been” is such a powerful line.
Oh my. Your poem moved me in powerful ways. My 9th graders are reading R&J right now, so we are examining “What’s in a name?” May I share your poem with them?
Yes you may. I’d be honored. Thank you so much.
Oh wow, this was tough. I don’t think I did a really good job but I gave it my best shot.
I wrote mine to the tune of the chorus + a few extra lines from Hozier’s “From Eden“.
Oh what bliss!
To the mountains, a wooded cabin for you and me.
Or a pile of books and us in a lean-to by the sea.
Honey, I have been daydreaming for years now.
My dreams have sprouted wings and taken off.
I’ve spent ages waiting on your shore,
While you dawdle but who’s keeping score?
By the deity, did you say you don’t think you did well? This is beautiful! I re-read it three times, and then read it again, just to savor it. Thank you for this gift, truly. It was a treat after a long day.
Dani, thank you for the kind words! I really appreciate them. I read your comment on the day and it perked up the whole day for me. But I couldn’t get back to reply any sooner.
Saba,
I love that song. It’s so moody, the perfect beach at sunset song. I might need to sit by the fire bowl tonight and listen to Hozier and drink wine and dream as I look at the stars. Your poem is also wonderful. The second line is my favorite. I’ve longed to live by the sea and walk the beach every night at sunset. Gorgeous imagery you’ve given us.
Sarah,
Finding your post tonight was a surge of pleasure! I listened to “From Eden” first and then fell into your words. I feel tension here:
“My dreams have sprouted wings and taken off.
I’ve spent ages waiting on your shore,
While you dawdle”
and then feel a wave of forgiveness in “But who’s keeping score?”
Lovely.
Saba,
The image of the “lean-to by the sea” and the dreams sprouting wings – very beautiful.
The speaker’s frustration is palpable.
This one was definitely a doozy for me! (Remember, I’m the one who is not a music person–day 3’s poem.) So Chris–I’m giving it a go, but sticking to my travelogue theme this week.
After a day spent in 100 degree temperatures learning about and photographing power generating windmills, I just had to figure out how to say something with a song structure. Since music is definitely a challenge for me, I asked my husband what song he might think of related to our exploration today. And he offered up the old classic, They Call the Wind Mariah from the movie Paint Your Wagon.
I listened and hummed…and tried my own (amateur-ish) attempt at song writing. This will definitely not be up for any Grammys, but I hope you get a bit of a glimpse of what a windmill farm is all about.
I listened and hummed…and tried my own (amateur-ish) attempt at song writing. This will definitely not be up for any Grammys, but I hope you get a bit of a glimpse of what a windmill farm is all about.
Turn the Wind to Power
Way out here the land is spare
spaces openly devoured
Nature gifts the wind, the sun, the land
emptiness once stretch for hours
Against cerulean cloudless skies
these faceless giants tower
Farmed energy these crops of wind
give city folks their power
Chorus:
Spin it, oh spin it
tall mills of wind, they spin it
They twist and turn and spin again
and turn the wind to power
I adore this! I was recently driving through West Texas, through cotton fields and wind farms, and this took me right back. Thank you for the memory. My favorite line is “spaces openly devoured”. So much symbolism there that could be explored.
This is so fun – I’m not so sure you can claim not being a music person! I can feel the beat. My favorite line is “against cerulean cloudless skies”.
I have no musical ability whatsoever and in the throes of parent conferences, this is what came out.
I’ve never really paid much attention
to the heritage of my ancestors.
We were talking about this in
class just the other day.
One student said they were distantly
related to Prince Harry–and we had a
few actual Von Trapps attend our school.
We had a good giggle about it all.
Where you came from is one thing,
but where are you going?
What are you doing with this life?
Those are the questions I look to.
I want to be remembered for the lives
I touched, the memories I made,
the differences I attempted to make and
those I succeeded in achieving.
Don’t judge me on who came before,
look at me, see my worth, feel my love
for life and living–sing it out loud!
May every soul be seen for who they
truly are, and not what they might have
been or who came before them.
I think so many of us as teachers can relate! The lives touched, the memories made. I hold those close to my chest, and I see you do too. Great twist on the prompt.
What a positive twist! I like what you did with this.
I love the flip on who you are!
Feather On The Wind
The glances around the den
stick like sap against my throat
because no one talks about the branch
that broke straight off that old black oak.
I’ve never broached the unspoken truth,
Not even as we put two, three, four
In jagged rows that don’t belong to us
Beneath the broken red-brown earth.
They built a ladder up the side of her, but
You can’t climb that tree like them,
Yours so twisted, lightning-struck, and
Destroyed, before it even put down roots.
In past lives given down like bric-a-brac
Through generations never met,
Just shrouded faces and clenched hands,
I feel those ghosts that grip my neck. .
She knew the word Oklahoma
But wouldn’t say much more.
I remember wa-le-lu on her tongue
And it makes me swallow mine instead.
I can feel the wanderlust in my marrow
And the anger in my blood
And a drifting listlessness to go ahead
Like a feather on the wind.
Dani, family secrets? I’m intrigued. I can so relate to your poem. So much mystery.
What is My Medicine?
The Full Crow Moon,
sunny cool days,
alpenglow,
the balm,
to let me know
that I can right my ship,
sing the psalm,
be whole;
low tones of the oboe,
the slide of a Landreth riff,
the grin and grit of a Prine line,
music the elixir,
a healing gift,
breathing in the notes,
exhaling another draft;
busy fingers
on keyboard keys,
on steel strings,
dose by dose,
note by note,
recalibrate my thoughts;
wield a wand of words,
spill across the page,
refuel the parched white sands
shifting desert to loam;
shalom,
shalom.
by Susie Morice, April 7, 2022©
These are healing tunes for me as well –
Love the idea of music ‘refuel[ing] the parched white sands’…beautiful testament to the power of music!
This is a meditation! All of your poem is a song and a prayer. Are you singing it for us? Please!
Susie, absolutely beautiful! I love the musical allusions and the way you show the healing gift of music! Magical and inspiring song! Love it!
Susie,
Best line: “wield a wand of words,” Beautiful homage to the power of writing. I also love the mixing of poetry and music in the second verse.
Hi Chris, thank you for a real push and challenge today. I read the prompt before work and thought “Uh oh” but of course, that’s not always bad. I just knew I’d have to dig a bit. I first tried to work with some lyrics that related to me (Brown Skin Girl and Bigger) but I couldn’t find my flow. So, I went with what I felt more deeply. Here is my rewrite of two stanzas from This Land is My Land.
Paying respect and honor to the Gabrielino and Tongva Peoples on whose land I live, breathe and work.
This Land
This land is their land, this land is stolen land
From the sunny west coast to the stormy east coast
From the snowcapped mountains to the blazing deserts
This land was not for you and me
As I read stories about our history
I sense inside me deep pain and trauma
The greed of others who took over
This land was not for you and me
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/7/22
(If I were to sing this, the internet would break forever! I don’t have music as a gift! ?)
Stacey, I think it would break anyway because of the bold-face truth! I love your descriptions of the east and west and the mountains and deserts. Some can easily describe America’s beauty, but few talk about her flaws and deep scars masked with politics. My favorite line is, “This land was not for you and me.” I actually did hum this in my head because I remember in elementary/middle school we had to sing it. Feels much different now! Thank you for sharing!
Stacey — You’ve got some truth here, my friend! Indeed. I’d say you found your flow…and by that I mean that unmistakable Stacey VOICE. Yes! I love it. Susie
There is tremendous truth and power in “This land was not for you and me” – it hurts how spot on these words on. I really like this rewrite, Stacey, and believe Pete Seeger would sing along with you.
Stacey,
NAIlED IT! What a brilliant idea. I’m gonna memorize the words, and I might rewrite some of those other Yankee Doodle tunes. Brilliant!
Stacey, I could hear this tune immediately. You show the devastation of greed of the past and the excrutiating pain and devisiveness it continues to perpetuate. Powerful piece!
Oh, Chris, I love this prompt and your song.
One Foot Planted in the Past
I’m standing at the cusp of then and now
Wondering how I got here so fast.
Years of parenting stretching behind
So many things are now in the past.
I’m standing at the cusp of then and now
Four kids raised and out on their own.
Seems like yesterday they were toddlin’ around
And couldn’t ever be left alone.
I’m standing at the cusp of then and now
Too late to change the way things went
The days rushed by and so did the nights
I can barely recall how they were spent.
I’m standing at the cusp of then and now
Hoping we raised good humans to do good works
There is no rewind button to do it over
The last thing I wanted to raise was jerks.
I’m standing at the cusp of then and now
Looking back way more than looking ahead
I yearn for the littles and all of the crazy
But I’m facing a bunch of solitude instead.
At this junction between then and now,
I need to get excited about the next stage
Me time and us time and lots of trips
And all the fun that comes with old age.
~Susan Ahlbrand
6 April 2022
Susan, I’m going to copy this one into my notebook – it is so true for me, as well. (We must be peers!) I love the repetition of “I’m standing at the cusp of then and now” and sometimes shudder at this transition I believe I am in at this very moment, so much past, not nearly as much future…I agree, “Wondering how I got here so fast.” Thank you for this!
Chris, I love your music and your prompt. I wanted to write something nice, but I can’t sing, and I’m full of malice because I want spring. Hence this ridiculously bad response. Happy Thursday!
Bad Mood Bitch
I’m bad luck knocking on your front door
dusty gravel roads; sharp curves ahead
dark alley shadows with grizzly chores
I’m sinful hearts; bullets full of lead
don’t wander near my backdoor
you’ll feel the chill; lose a head
all vile things you abhor
ready to frost your warm bed
I’m the bad mood bitch
and I have a switch
Barb Edler
7 April 2022
Barb, your poem/song reminds me of the Allstate Mahem guy…welcome Bad Mood Bitch! Springtime here in Arkansas is not so springy. Winter is definitely hanging out a little longer.This line, “dusty gravel roads; sharp curves ahead” resonated with me because I have definitely had those encounters. Matter of fact, on Tuesday, I was driving a 15 passenger van of students and turned into a driveway, only to be met by a diesel truck pulling a super long trailer. Instead of me waiting, I pulled in because I thought he was going to let me by. NOT! I pulled off the road and got stuck in the mud. My students and I had a quick mini-lesson on how NOT to panic in unexpected situations. We passed! Also, this line, “ready to frost your warm bed” has me icy because I always have to roll around my entire bed to get it warm enough for me to feel comfortable. I end up sleeping in a fetal position because my feet are never warm enough and the end of the bed hasn’t been introduced to heat! Thank you for sharing!
Ouch! Barb, you are fired up here! I do “feel the chill, lose a head” (well, I hope not…LOL!) I really feel that mood. Now, my friend, let’s hope “this too shall pass.” But keep up these fiery poems! Hugs, Susie
Oh my goodness, you have intimidated me!! Yikes! There is a lot to fear in:
I think there is a short story – if not a novel – to be written alongside this poem, I think!!
Barb,
I like this feisty retort. The weather has been driving me crazy and making me angry, but today was nice. Tomorrow will be, too, but it’s back to freezing our assets off next week. Favorite line: “ready to frost your warm bed.”
Thank you, Chris, for this awesome prompt and mentor text. I am going to borrow from a book written in verse called, Home is not a Country by Safia Elhillo. I recognize the syllables don’t quite match or are really that musical, but I hope the imagery and slight rhyming compensates! I have been enjoying the more musically-inclined folks’ renditions as well.
I’m the Mediterranean Sea
That carries trade ships for centuries
I’m cedars standing tall, imposing
above land renamed, remade, rebuilt
I’m the mountains on which olive trees grow
Planted by hand, one by one, my grandpa
Created a home for them and for me
Home is not a country but whenever I
Smell rich cedars, taste tart olives, and see the glittering sea,
I am reminded of another home where I can be me.
Yes, Jinan, the imagery speaks. I love the feeling of memory from a home that was left but is now created anew with the same items: rich cedars, tart olives and the glittering sea.
This is lovely Jinan! I definitely need to go back and refresh my memory. These three lines, “Home is not a country but whenever I
Smell rich cedars, taste tart olives, and see the glittering sea,
I am reminded of another home where I can be me. “
resonated with me because no matter where I go, where I am, home is who I be. Incorrect grammar, I know, but it is fact! The many memories of “home” create a safe space and place for us to dwell within. The imagery paints a picture of memories: scents, sights, and sounds! Thank you for sharing!
This is a lovely song of home – the rich cedars, the tart olives, the glittering sea – what beautiful images!
I appreciate the large natural symbols/imagery of home – the Mediterranean Sea, the cedars, the olive trees – I can only imagine how much peace we’d have in this world if more folks internalized the natural world as “home.” I really like the words “Home is not a country”
Chris, your music began my day today, and for that I am grateful. Your poem was an equally beautiful way to begin. I love the lines about grain being carried when Czar’s forced refugees out – such strength there. I started my piece this morning (hence the first line) and haven’t moved much further this afternoon (an appointment is interrupting me again). The challenge of equal syllables in each line slowed my progress. But I love a good challenge!
Morning writers all are we
embarking on a wordwind spree
a kind of verbal travel guide
from places scattered far and wide
Jennifer, this is so beautiful and perfect. Wonderful tune! Love the “wordwind spree”. Thank you!
Jennifer,
This is one of those wish I’d thought of that moments. Love it. Every. Word.
Beautifully written. I think this is perfectly embodied in the moment. We are all on a journey here, and you’ve captured that well. Thank you.
How I love “wordwind spree” – yes, indeed!!
Jennifer: I. love. it. I know exactly what you mean about the challenge of equal syllables – but once the ‘feel’ of it is there, it is hard to abandon (nay! Press on!). A heard a poet say once that part of finding your poet-voice is sometimes in the syllables; certain counts work for certain folks. As soon as she said I knew that was true. Looking forward to more of this poem (if it decides to come into being).
“wordwind spree” indeed! Motto of my life right now.
Thanks, Chris, for this prompt. It was quite a challenge for me. Always learning. I took “I Can’t Stop Loving You” version by Ray Charles and came up with this.
Procrastination
Today is the day
to live with dreams – get everything done by design
I’ve tried to get it right
I’m late every time
I try planning ahead – it doesn’t work out fine
Gonna get clouds out of my head
I’m full of dreams while staying in bed
Places to go and places to be
But moments go by and the dreams just flee
I’ve tried to get it right
Today is the day
to live with dreams to get everything done by design
I’ve tried to get it right
I’m late every time
I try planning ahead – it doesn’t work out fine
time for action
Out of the clouds
no reaction
Get on my feet
try to move fast
accomplish at last
Daring to go
don’t move slow
Today is the day
They say I’m late every time
I live with dreams – get everything done by design
I’ve tried to get it right
accomplish at last
to live with dreams to get everything done just fine
things done just fine
Susan, your song has such a lovely rhythm. I liked the focus on what was holding you back and ending with “things done just fine”. I can relate to that outside push to get up and go, and the desire to stay in bed, dreaming.
This hits a little too close to home! “I’m full of dreams while staying in bed.” Great rhythm- the poem seems to speed up as it goes. “Don’t move slow.”
Hello Chris, it’s great to see a fellow Arkansan. I dwell in the central part, but I know all about those Hogs. I’ll have to listen to your song. I loved how you shared your rich history in your inspiration. You definitely had some thought-provoking expressions. I couldn’t just pick a few line, so I have to love them all. But these lines,
“I’m the intersection of two streets
That bears my names on each sign”
scream identity, which so many of us long for. I do love how you used the colors in your descriptions. What great symbolism of your family’s past and how your namesake carried it all so well. Woo Pig Sooie…sorry, I just had to!
This was tough, especially trying to follow the structure of the original song. I just started reading the book All that She Carried, and I was present in the moment of history. This song by John Michael Montgomery, Sold (The Grundy County Auction Incident), came to mind and here we are. I am not the biggest fan of country music, but this song has always stuck with me. Here’s the link if you want to watch the video: John Michael Montgomery – Sold (The Grundy County Auction Incident) (Official Music Video)
Well, what was a favorite catchy country ode,
Now sounds backward, love at an auction.
Not thinking too clearly at such a young mode,
I didn’t know my story, history of my kind.
While reading
All That She Carried…in their eyes folk misused?
Not! Chattel, carried burdens, broken skin bruised?!
Called everything but a child of God, so help me!
To tell the story of ancestors forgotten,
Faded memories, future heirlooms lost because of cotton!
I ain’t goin’, not with you Massa!
Blasphemed words never spoken aloud,
To avoid torture, thoughts silently avowed.
Kinship marked by blood, Klanship shed blood tears,
This is a herstory, the present, mine.
Jessica, I love the power, strength, and assuredness of this. And now I’ve added All That She Carried to my reading list; thanks for that. ❤️
Thank you Wendy. I am glad that I have returned to my joy, reading! I actually stumbled upon this book because I was looking for something else. I’ve been trying to get through it quickly (it’s quite lengthy), but you know…life! I have to work and tend to my family. It’s also quite difficult because of the history and I have to check myself sometimes. And you’re welcome!
This book is in my queue; your poetry has moved it to the front of the line – I know it will be powerful. I am struck by “Called everything but a child of God, so help me!” – this makes me ache so; it seems such a simple fix – if we could just see this in one another, why would we hurt one another so? I must read “herstory.” Thank you!
Thank you Maureen! I’ve only just begun it, and it’s quite a read, but I have implanted myself in those scenes. And that line is so powerfully painful! There’s always a simple fix, but some choose not to relinquish the power. And let me know when you get to it!
Jessica, I definitely appreciate the background you shared and I will check out the book. Your first line drew me immediately into your powerful poem. I can hear the injustice ring throughout this piece. The hard syllables of your words and dialect carry the beat and add a visceral punch. Outstanding poem!
Thank you Barb, for your kind words. I find myself pushing myself out of my comfort zone. Our stories, their stories, everyone’s stories must be told. Either by them or by us and I’m glad I stumbled upon this book because it reminds me that we still have work to do!
Heritage
I’m the golden brown priceless book
set on the mantle, pages worn
I’m the handcart marked with cracking wood
rolling along a trail forlorn
I’m a harsh winter storm
whistling through cracks in the walls
I’m wasteland transformed
to a place we belong
Rachel, that golden brown book with worn pages is priceless. I also like the image of the handcart with cracking wood- not perfect, yet still valued. Nicely done.
I’m not sure about this one…I had a different poem written, but then I read my student Alex’s chapter for his senior memory book. I borrowed liberally from him (with his permission)…I just was floored at what he had to say. The song I used was Dan Fogelberg’s “The Leader of the Band,” although I pretty much just used it for syllable count.
Lead Me Home
(with thanks to Alex)
The writing prompt? “Where did you grow up?”
His response? “18 different
places in 17 years.” He’s lived
in tents and vans, depending
on what trouble his parents were in–
always shielding his brother.
But, should we feel sorry for him?
No, for he’s never been without a home.
“My home is at the lake, watching the
fish jump when it rains; my home
is the clear night sky in the summer;
my home is the canyons where
I can roam, my home is the moon–
it always follows, like
the big brother I always wanted.”
We’re all on our way, seeking home.
What a message in this one! I love the last line about all on our way, seeking home. What a great attitude Alex has! He is a free, true gypsy.
Julie, love this. And thanks to Alex for the inspiration.
Julie,
This is such a powerful and honest piece. The images of the lake in the rain and the “clear night sky” with the moon being his home. The juxtaposition of “what trouble his parents were in” with the positivity of “he’s never been without a home” is powerful.
The song I used was “Slide” by Calvin Harris. For no particular reason, I felt a medieval goblin theme would work best.
Goblins > Humans
All our goblins can’t return ’til the seas part
They’ll all bear the mark, ready to fight for their monarch
Humans won’t last, our spears will pierce all of their hearts
“Fist of the Mist,” our coat of arms
Leaving mankind in total dark
Goblin revenge songs will be sung
Proving that we’re not that dumb
Meager defenses stretched too thin
Kingdom of man has reached its end
Ooh boy, this poem is doomsday unless we humans prove we are not so dumb. Yes, the goblins are in and around us. Powerful warning line “Humans wont last, our spears will pierce all of their hearts.”
I hear a work of scary work of fiction (I hope it’s fiction, hahaha) at play here – and it’s not too far a reach to imagine “Leaving mankind in total dark.”
Thank you Chris, for your prompt and song lyrics today! I could definitely see this working in the classroom. I’ll just need to spend a bit more time crafting my own mentor text. I sometimes am at a loss for the “where have you come from” / “who are you” prompts, and today was no exception. Lol. And then trying to set it to music…!? (TBH, though, I don’t mind what “happened” as a result of your prompt – so thank you for that!)
_____________________________________________________
I don’t know
is the simple
answer.
I could parrot
back
what others
have said:
I am who am
(or was that)
I yam what I yam
(or maybe)
I’m nobody
Who are you
(a classic
deflection that)
if you want
call me
Ishmael
or Inigo
Montoya
if you’d like
just don’t
call me late
for dinner
(a joke so
tired I almost
fell asleep while
writing it)
I guess I’ll
just content
myself with
Oscar Wilde’s
(alleged) words:
“Be yourself;
everyone else
is already
taken.”
I enjoyed your piece because I too have a habit of constantly quoting things. Anytime someone says, “Tell me,” I have to finish it with, “where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him.” I never thought I would relate to a parrot, yet when I think about it, it all makes sense.
I admire these two and three word lines, how this just flows like an amiable conversation – and seeks to move on from the past. I have a soft spot for “I yam what I yam” – childhood memories!
Chris, I appreciate your playful, song-singing prompt today. With two young grandchildren here at the house, I decided to simply submit to your syllable count and listen to your music at a calmer time – I have no idea if this works, but you definitely got me thinking about my roots –
New England Irish
I’m potato famine Irish
pot likker of folks of faith
stewed by strident zealous Catholics
and wild free Protestants
I’m the cold winds of Plymouth Mass
hard work tough jobs food on table
headstrong holding on pulled up bootstraps
until whiskey’s poured and tears flow
This is an impressive poem about a topic that blows my mind, especially the part about zealous Catholics and wild free Protestants. Thanks for sharing.
Oh, Maureen (of the beautiful Irish name): I’m from the South; I know ‘pot likker’ and some lore about my deeper Irish roots, too. We are the “wild free Protestants” yet my grandfather, born in 1906 in coastal Carolina, was given the middle name of St. Patrick. I am not kidding. He didn’t know why because I asked (mostly he just sighed: “I got no ideer.”). Love how you framed this with “I’m the…” so much vivid imagery in your lines. I can see tables, hear banter, and even taste the salt of the sea on the wind.
Maureen,
Im thinking about the juxtaposition of Protestant and Catholic and imagining the kerfuffle that must have caused at one time. “Pot linker” is such precise diction. It really gives a sense of origin. That second stanza echoes WASP work ethic born and bred into the east coast. I feel as though I know you even better after reading your poem. A true gift.
Maureen- I really liked the sense of strength and tough conviction. And I loved the final line. I could hear this as a song… roared with enthusiasm and pride… perfect. Susie
This song is for those of you who have some sense of dark humor. My inspiration for this country ballad is the crematorium scandal of 2002: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tri-State_Crematory_scandal. Sing it to yourself, to your favorite country tune. And I sincerely hope it’s not catchy in any way.
All that Remains of the Day
(for Ray Brent Marsh)
Lord, I’m lookin’ for somebody,
Lord, I’m lookin’ for someone,
It’s dusk, the sun is softly dying,
At the cold cold crematorium.
All that remains of the day,
All that remains of the day!
Lord, I’m lookin’ for some body,
In all these remains of the day.
For years and years we had the fire,
The coals, they smoldered good and hot
But when, a rat chewed up the wire,
The whole damn system went to pot.
All that remains of the day,
All that remains of the day!
Lord, I’m lookin’ for some body,
In all these remains of the day.
Today’s a bit too cold for taggin’
My legs are weary to the bone,
But Hell, this ain’t no time for laggin’
In this back forty we call home.
All that remains of the day,
All that remains of the day!
Lord, I’m lookin’ for some body,
In all these remains of the day.
We are performing this. I don’t play any instruments, but used to be able to roll up my tongue and pretend it was a kazoo. “My legs are weary to the bone” / “All that remains today.” Kevin, I appreciate doing research into this phenomenon and my inner-Harold approves. LOVE IT.
Kevin, that…is one weird story. Love your wordplay. 🙂
Kevin, this is such a great song! Love the repetition of “All that remains” along with “lookin’ for some body.” Thanks for sharing the link. Had to laugh at loud to “But when, a rat chewed up the wire,/The whole damn system went to pot.” Thanks for sharing the link and for your very witty, fun poem!
Using the chorus to Courtney Barnett’s “Pedestrian at Best” as a framework:
Tell me I’m a capitalist and I’ll spend all my allowance
Call me an aging realist, I’ll laugh when they reform us
Give me tix to Hades, and I’ll burn up my Mercedes, ladies
You think you’re so smart, doing laps in the Euphrates
I really like the first line because it is relatable. I wish I could have grown up in the Cold War, because then I could justify huge shopping frenzies by claiming that I was fighting Communism.
Alex, I really enjoy the rhymes you crafted in the last two lines: “Mercedes,” ladies,” and “Euphrates.” Thanks for this!
Thank you for this inspiring prompt. I did not write a song but instead picked up on the theme of where I’m from, imagining my immigrant mother as the girl she was so long ago.
She must have been so scared.
She must have swallowed hard on homesickness,
even as she fought waves of seasickness,
standing there at the railing
gazing out at an endlessly swelling grey sea,
a girl raised on softly-rolling hills
now bound for a concrete island called New York.
She must have wept as she stood there,
Salty tears dropping in to the ocean’s waves.
Were her tears carried eastward
toward the the shores of her birth,
to land in the only home she knew?
Only 17, all alone,
how could she dream of
what a new world would offer?
More hope than the old?
There wasn’t much there.
It must have taken courage
to embark on that journey,
and a desperate resolve.
She must have been so scared.
Beautiful tribute! Love the vivid imagery in here. “She must have swallowed hard on homesickness” was such a cool line.
Thanks Chris, for this prompt, your great song, and the chance to appreciate my grandparents and the gifts they gave me.
Pictures hang upon a wall,
She was tiny, he was tall.
The words they spoke were strange to me
And yet, I knew the melody—
From barren fields to cobbled squares,
empty pockets, hostile stares.
City noise and city fumes,
four boys, two girls in three small rooms,
The words they spoke were strange to me
And yet, I knew the melody,
four boys two girls, though none remain,
and yet I hear the distant strains—
from far across the sea they call—
from far across the sea they call—
faith and hope and love they call—
Ann, this is lovely! You’re truly a songstress. Lovely refrain, and love the anaphora combined with the longing and nostalgic dashes at the end of each line in the last stanza. Beautiful job!
I love your refrain (is that what you call the last three lines?)!….empty pockets / hostile stares…When will record this for us?
I’m the Mistral Oklahoma Wind
that turns Wednesday morn’ recycling bins.
I’m the rasp in your A-frame rafters
that carry my name in gusty laughter.
I’m the grass seed blown to sow side roads
why Stillwater lawns of red dirt grow.
I’m the true Windy City eponym
where currents stir earth’s stories: life’s hymn.
Thanks, Chris for mentor song and wheat inspiration. I thought I’d reflect on my new home and the wind of 23mph!
Also, I am really hoping to see some videos of these songs being sung by our verselove musicians…ahem, Susie and Kevin!
Sarah, your poem brought to mind that midwestern wind — it laughs in my rafters, too, though sometimes it screeches! So much movement in your lines, really capturing the subject.
Sarah, I love the gentle quality of blown grass seed sewing side roads. It makes me want to meander down country dirt roads. I’m feeling that need to connect with nature now that the weather is turning and your poem is calling me. Mistral is such a beautiful word choice too, especially against the Windy City moniker.
Sarah, loved this! So imagistic and sensory. Beautiful job!
Sarah— I think OK is growing on you! Red dirt and all. More importantly, you are surely growing in OK… they need you! ? Susie
Honestly, I did struggle to understand this as I have never written a song. The song I decided to remix was Elton John’s “Bennie and the Jets” Copy Right Date was 2/4/1974. I #I don’t own any writes to this song.
Song name: Freddy and the Eddies
He’s got cowboy boots a fitted suit,
You know I saw it in his insta pics, Oh
F-F-F-Freddy and the Eddies
Hey partner, let’s cut it up
The strobe lights hitting just the right spot
We’ll murder the dance floor tonight you’ll see
So stay around
You’re goonna hear Tejano music, bouncing around
Say, Betty and Teddy, have you seen him yet
Uh but they’re so zooned out, F-F-F-Freddy and the Eddies
Oh but they’re funky and they’re cool
Oh Freddy he’s stuck on you
Yay, Freddy!
You wrote a song today. I love love the direct address in “Hey partner” and “Say, Betty and Teddy”– with the fun invitations to join in. You cracked me up with the “insta pics.”
Sarah
Thank you for your words of encouragement I need it 🙂
Freddy,
I instantly feel the Elton John groove in your “lyrics.” I remember this song from my teen years and trying to comprehend the lyrics. It’s one of those songs, you know. This verse is a fab update to the original “I saw it in a magazine”:
“He’s got cowboy boots a fitted suit,
You know I saw it in his insta pics, Oh
F-F-F-Freddy and the Eddies”
You nailed todays prompt. I might need to channel some EJ on Apple Music today.
Thank you for your kind words 🙂
Freddy, loved this. I could hear the original in my head, and I loved the imagery and your choice of words: really fun!
Thank you 🙂
Thank you Chris for this inspiring song. I am filled with peace imaging the turkey red wheat waving green on the plains.
Long ago I heard my dad tell the story of his great grandfather and his brother coming to this country, and the two being separated in the crowds straight off the boat. I could never find proof of the truth of this story, but thought it made for a great poem/song.
Forever Apart
I’m told they sailed from distant shore
From England, my dad did say
Two brothers searching for so much more
And landed in New York Bay
Excited to be on dry land
In hopes of great opportunity
Two boys drift amid the crowds at hand
Forever apart they would be
This IS a great premise for a song/poem. I can just imagine what that must have been like to get separated. I hate getting separated at big events – and that’s nothing compared to coming from a distant land to a strange new place. How terrifying, and yet, how brave. “Two brothers search for so much more” is a great line. Family mythologies are worth preserving, Christine, “true” or not, they are great stories to tell.
Christine,
Love this song of journey. I want to know more about the “Two brothers” and the story of their coming to and drifting in crowds. That last line is an unexpected turn “forever apart”.
Sarah
I’m from the stars left from history
Before the world began
And when the crust of the earth first formed
My embryo took shape
For years, I clawed – trying to climb my way out
Of molten, magma slag.
No breathe, no sight; I found my soul pieces
In the heartbeat of the sea
And in the waves, I can hear the new songs
Of those I will become
When this machine can no longer go on
To move, to dance, to love
The lines of my poem follow the lines of “Cosmic Love” by Florence + the Machine
Stephenos,
The meter pattern is really cool here. There is a rhythm and dissonance from one line to the next that is like a call-response in a way –long and shorter. The line “Of molten, magma slag” is gorgeous.
Sarah
Stephenos, this was beautiful! Loved the lines “I found my soul pieces/In the heartbeat of the sea.”
Hi Stephenos!
Your song is reminiscent of those sang on many a pensive day in adolescence–the most meaningful time of our lives. I love the last stanza, which takes us from clawing through magma to hearing our songs in the waves. Our teenagers need to know they can make it to the waves!
Chris, I have always wanted to try my hand at writing a country song, though I’ve never met a musical genre I didn’t like. The wordplay and narrative in country music: I just love it. Here’s my first attempt at a country song that tries to capture a piece of me — it was so fun to write it! Thanks for the opportunity! XD
Raised on Kansas prairie light
Art-filled longings filled her nights
Fled to Paris, wasn’t right
Family could have had a fright
But they don’t seem to mind
No, they don’t seem to mind
Raised with strife in place of peace
Her name is West, but she heads due East
Mama died – at rest, at least –
Becomes adopted Dovey niece
But she don’t seem to mind
She don’t seem to mind
Marries well, she’ll raise two sons
Midwest boys, and my dad was one
Full of fire, fight, and fun
Wild child, that boy does run
Yeah, he don’t seem to mind
No, he don’t seem to mind
They say I’ve Ione’s knack for art
Grandma’s chin and my daddy’s heart
Some of those old comments smart
But I’m the sum of all those parts
And I don’t seem to mind
No, I don’t seem to mind.
This is terrific — you may have stumbled upon a new career! Can you sing with a twang?
Haha! I had Reba McEntire’s voice in my head the whole time! XD
Well, Chris….that was challenging, but I loved the prompt and your music is beautiful (who knew your talents ran as deep as they do?). “I’m the boat that carried the grain / when the Czars forced out the refugees” – love this. INSPIRED. Song. Memory. Story. In 2016, a song entered Mt. Pleasant and became our summer’s theme: Riptide by Vance Joy. So this is what I aimed for….to capture that summer with the song that played repeatedly through our house (tough).
Rip-Pride: Summer ‘16
~b.r.crandall
They were young for beaches and this Frog.
I was proud of mentoring
and guiding explorations…
Ah, all these kids just living dreams
It’s forever history….so it seams.
Hmm, hm hmmm, hm. Hmm hm hmmm hm
And they all grow up….
Dolphin, swims with us by the ocean,
diving ahead of our moon light.
I want this joy once again.
We are love always singing that good song
And I think our hearts reappear.
Cuz we’re gonna sing the world as we do…
These memories,
all of us love how we must be,
These kids decide to summer well
and live life with me on the pond.
These captains making fun of this ol’ Frog,
and she’s just laughing,
warrior girl that she is.
Hmm, hm hmmm, hm. Hmm hm hmmm hm
And they all grow up…
Dolphin, swim’s a blue ocean,
diving ahead of ou r moon light.
She wants more Burger King…..
Eagle love, when we’re singing our good song
And I know my heart has reappeared
Cuz we’re gonna sing the lives that we do…
We just wanna, we just wanna go,
for another, for another day…
We just have to, we just have to grow,
We must love it, We must love it –
there’s no other way.
I swear we’re destined for this scene
Lossine’s love of Michelle Pfeiffer
as he sips caffeine,
oh, Dolphin, swimming by that blue ocean,
diving ahead of the moon light.
We want to live life once again.
Abu’s glue when we’re singing a good song
And I think our hearts have reappeared
Cuz we’re gonna sing
words as we do…
Oh, Dolphin, swimming in your blue ocean,
diving ahead of this moon light.
We want to live life once again
We are love
when we’re singing this ol’ song
And I know our hearts will reappear, Cuz
we’re gonna sing s as we do…
Oh, Dolphin, swimming by the blue ocean,
diving ahead of the moonlight.
We want to live life once again
We are love, when we’re singing our true song
And I think hearts will reappear, Cuz
we’re gonna live life how we do…
And I know hearts will reappear, cuz
we always love as we do…
We learn so much about our friends in the summer, and that’s what so many great summer vibe songs are about. There’s so much richness in the humanity and lives presented with your beautiful words. Thank you!
Swiss with Russian Dressing
I’m Swiss on my mother’s side
Went farming in Rances at nineteen
I speak French with a drawl full of pride
The Suchet mountain creates such a scene
I’m Russian on the side of my dad
They fled the country for Ellis Island
Bringing with them nothing, very sad
So now I can call America, my land
Jennifer,
These are wonderful details about your family origins and how you’ve been able to connect to them.
I love the line “I speak French” it’s powerful how important it is to never lose one’s culture or identity.
Thanks, Chris, for sharing your songs!
I wrote this poem to the melody of “The Morning Has Broken” by Cat Stevens.
The Forest Has Woken
The forest has woken, like a moth rising
Lifting its wings on morning’s sweet light.
Grace in the greenness, grace in the wising
Grace in the day’s smile, like wind in a kite.
Fresh the storm bursting, flashed down from Heaven
Like a great fist on the surface of Earth.
Dark clouds of thunder, eerily beckon
Damning my doubting, shouting my worth.
Mine is the starlight, mine is the evening
Emerging from one light, into the day.
Grace from the full moon, grace in the leaving
Coming and going, I walk this way.
The forest has woken, like a moth rising
Lifting its wings on morning’s sweet light.
Grace in the greenness, grace in the wising
Grace in the day’s smile, like wind in a kite.
–Dixie K. Keyes
Dixie.
Dang.
I’m without words.
Well, not really: This was amazing! Just, wow.
Thank you, Wendy. You are ever-kind!
Oh Dixie, I love this version. I am filled with spring hope at the fresh new words to this familiar tune. I love the lines of “Grace in the greenness” Side note – as a teenager I dreamed of being a back-up singer for Cat – so that may have drawn me to this song too! hehe
Yay for backup singer plans from long ago!
Wow, Dixie ,this is lovely! Really just beautiful! I can’t even pick out a favorite line because they are all beautiful!
So many lovely images here — Mine is the starlight, mine is the evening … grace in the leaving. And the idea of the forest waking like a moth rising, beautiful! I’ll also have Cat Steven’s voice in my head all day now — not a bad thing!
LOVE
Thanks, B!
Dixie, it was so much fun to play the video on low and read your words to the music! You captured this – the essence, the rhythm, so well. And your message is just as beautiful!
I’m happy you enjoyed the experience. 🙂
Just gorgeous – full of power and awe. I was singing as I read (for I love Morning Has Broken and was just listening to it earlier this week).
Thanks for today’s inspiration, Chris. This is a fabulous idea for classroom use. I see it working for students and characters in novels. My dog’s origin stories are much more interesting than my own. I love music, but I’ll do y’all the favor of not singing. You’re welcome. Puck is a white terrier mix. Snug is also white. They each “wrote” a verse,
Where Puck’s & Snug’s Stories Begin
I’m the white pup in the paper
At the pound Mom saw one day.
I’m a baller, runner, escaper.
I’m like Puck in that great play.
I’m a Shnoodle not a poodle.
Grooming, pruning showed my “I am.”
I’d been abandoned, treated brutal.
Now I’m a Joiner in this clan.
—Glenda Funk
April 7, 2022
Love the dog origin stories, and can imagine a puckish dog…
Aww, such a cute song/poem. I think how amazing to adopt a dog from the pound. Now, look at him enjoying his new life with such a warm and loving guardian. Great job!
Glenda, ahhhh, I love your poem and the happy end you share! Very fun word play with “I’m a Shnoodle not a poodle” Such a sweet song, and I can hear the love for your pups through and through in this. Precious!
Schnoodles rule! I love that the joiner had a family to join so that he is loved and no longer treated brutal. There is something so calming and loving about our dogs – they have much to teach us, including song writing. I, too, have an escaper. My Fitz feels the call of the wild whenever the great outdoors is seen…..I think he could sit strumming banjo with your two and they could have a campfire singalong, these 3 boys.
I love dogs, your dogs’ names, and their personalities coming through here in “their” words. My oldest adopted a dog from a rescue (Henry) and he’s the best dog we ever had. He cannot get or give enough love. Please give many good scratches to these good creatures from me, Glenda!
A ‘Joiner’ and an ‘escaper’ make for a busy household, I have no doubt! I loved that you shared your dogs’ origin stories – and I am in awe of your rhymes!
Glenda — A totally cool song. Love dem doggy lines! The rhythm is dandy. Love “baller, runner escaper”… that frisky fella. Snug and Puck are lucky buddies… and so are you! A great “clan”! Susie
What a sweet decision to let Puck and Snug sing for this prompt. Snug being abandoned and treated brutal and then becoming a joiner of your family is heartwarming. Very nice idea and execution.
Love this prompt! Thanks for the inspiration, Chris!
Canopy of Love
I’m the child of two loving parents (8)
That gave me a wonderful life. (7)
I’m the product of patience and dedication (9)
That came from love at first sight. (7)
I’m the child of loving parents (8)
Who have given their lives to their kids. (9)
They are my home until I have kids, (9)
I’m so grateful for their canopy of love.(8)
I loved this so much it was relatable and touching.
What a lovely history, being the product of patience, dedication, and love at first sight. Your stanzas feel like a canopy of love themselves!
Chris, thank you for hosting us today and investing in us as writers. I love that a songwriter is inspiring us to write songs of our origins today! The song is beautiful, and I love that shift of chords after the line I’m named after the man they named the town after. I know that we do have some musicians in our group (Susie Morice, for example), who will be able to write their songs and their music as well and probably play and sing theirs by sunset. For my poem today, I consulted my 23 and Me Report to see again where in the world I came from. Since I was born in Georgia, I changed the lyrics of Georgia on my Mind and kept the tune to reflect my DNA Report.
23 and Me Explains The Pull I Feel Toward Europe
London, DublinThe whole strand through (the whole strand through)23 and MeKeeps Europe on my mind (Europe on my mind)
I sing now Ireland, GrandmaYour red hair explained (image of you)Comes as clear to meAs Celtic knots of strength
Family roots extend to meTree leaf traits wave tenderlyIn cradled branch of oak I seeMy heart beats back to you
Oh Scandinavia! Germany, France, too….Footprints I feel (footprints I feel)Now I understand, tooWhy travel stays on my mind (travel stays on my mind)
Family roots extend to meTree leaf traits wave tenderlyIn cradled branch of oak I seeMy heart beats back to you
Woah, Spain and Portugal, Heartbeats I feel (heartbeats I feel)Now I understand, tooWhy travel’s on my mind (travel’s on my mind)
23 and MeKeeps Europe on my mind (Europe on my mind)
(My Report: British and Irish – 77.8%, French and German – 13.8%, Scandinavian – 2.7%, Spanish and Portuguese, 1.6%, plus other trace ancestry)
Well, that didn’t quite format correctly, but I’ll have it at kimhaynesjohnson.com on my blog today, too. 🙂
Kim,
I toddled over to your site to get a better sense of your song. I love the use of refrains, which I hear as echoes of the past. The color images make me want to see photos. Have you traveled to Ireland? I can’t remember. You must go. It’s a country w/ a string pull on me, too, but I don’t know if that has anything to do w/ ancestry. I know very little about that. As always, you have just the right bible verse to accompany your posts. I’m thinking about that last line in Gatsby for you: “Do we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
I got the sense of song and how ingenious, blending your ancestry reports, love of travel and the song of your birthplace. You are a wonder, Kim – I am in awe of your craftsmanship!
Hoi-yo. I am no songwriter, I think I’ve learned today! But I totally get the prompt, Chris, and enjoyed learning about the difficulty of songwriting – indeed. I actually love John Prine songs because of the unexpected ways he moves words around the rhythms. And that’s as musicy as I can even talk about it. So today, I at least managed the rhymes and syllables. Hope that’s good’nuf!
What I’m
I’m still coming to know who I am
learning what this world has made of me
I’m opening doors that had been slammed
to our foremothers’ matriarchy
I’m the hand that holds the protest sign
that same wooden stake driven through time
I’m the fight for right that won’t resign
Ready to tackle each mountain climb
I was born by chance into this life
but every action I created
was by my choice and by my design
and nothing that can be deleted
Love your rhymes, especially in the second stanza. Powerful poem!
Denise, I love this song, it’s self-affirmation, and imagery. I especially liked the protest sign line and “Ready to tackle each mountain climb! Your end is sublime! Let me hear you roar!
What a strong song you have composed! I like this line so much – “I’m the fight for right that won’t resign.” Yay, you!!
It’s been raining and somehow rain makes me rhyming. I created this rain song from the cadence of familiar children rhymes.
There are Puddles in My Shoes
There is rain upon the rooftops,
Lightning strikes out from the blue,
I hear thunder all around me,
There are puddles in my shoes!
Pitter-patter on the sidewalk,
Slish-slosh and splashing too!
It feels like I am floating,
There are puddles in my shoes!
My hair is wet, my jeans are drenched,
I am soggy through and through,
Dripping-dropping off my elbows,
There are puddles in my shoes!
The water’s rising rapidly,
My skin is soaked; it’s true.
Someone get me an umbrella,
There are puddles in my shoes!
Word D – You’ve created a delightful and playful image in your lyrics this morning. I smile through each stanza, loving the rhythm and I’m drenched in the fun of rain. Rain gets to my bones. Love your piece! Susie
Word Dancer – I am dancing in the rain with this song. Such a playful verse with the repetition of puddles in your shoes. No one like wet feet yet in this song you make it all seem so enjoyable. I hope you share this song with a group of kindergarteners!
Puddles in my shoes! I love it ~ wonderful images and great rhythm! Puts the fun back in grown-up!
This has a whimsical and celebratory feel, despite the storm and (yuck!) puddles in one’s shoes. I literally had puddles in mine today, trying to get in my car after work and having to wade through standing water. Your verse, however, lightens my spirit (now that I am dry!).
Chris… it just so happens that my youngest boy, who shares your name, is a musician. I tell people that before he was born, he would get very still when the piano was played in church; he would become active again when it stopped. I was sure he was listening to the music. At five he said he wanted to be a choir director when he grew up… he now has a degree in worship ministry.
Here’s a scene from long ago, about his first favorite song… and thank you for this inspirational challenge today.
Amazing Grace, Age Three
My boy hummed the song before he knew
What it meant to weep for grace
What could he know of a shattered soul
In spite of his solemn face?
At the whiteboard he stood, making marks
Counting every beat he heard:
“Adders deedle-dee, adders, adders…”
-For at three, grace needs no words
Three is full of grace – Fran. Love this. I can just picture his solemn face! Thank you.
Fran – Something very powerful lies at the feet of music and poetry… a huge creative force. I really love learning about your son and how music is centered in him. It gives us pause to acknowledge the power of that. At times when the world seems to be shredding at the seams, there is this, your son and music and an ear and poetics … and just like that we know a lot of good is there tapping our toes. Thank you for sharing this today. Susie
Thank you, Susie – and I neglected to say that he can play piano by ear; it’s mighty. In the local vernacular, he can “tear up a piano.”
There’s something in here about the “humming before we know the words. . .” Really. There’s something to that. What is that humming and where is it coming from? Where do we ever pick up and internalize that humming? And are we joining in a communal humming when we use our breath. . .even within the closed spaces of our tightened lips. . .
Isn’t it amazing what kids are capable of at such a young age!? Thanks for sharing, Fran!
Fran,
Thank you for the backstory to your poem. I learned how to read singing hymns in church and didn’t really know what many of those songs meant when I was a child. There’s a reason Amazing Grace means so much to so many, and your poem captures one w/ such beauty and, of course, grace.
Fran, I always feel transported when I read your poems. Today, you’ve taken me back to the small boy (your boy) and what was innately inside of him that continued to be nurtured. I love that you call him “my boy” and that he is humming before he knew – there’s something about musical language that provides us with an understanding of mood and meaning, even without words.
Fran, such sweet observations of bents even before birth. I’m always fascinated with the interests we have from young ages. Truly, we are people called to certain professions and hobbies and talents and loves.
What a gorgeous memory of your sweetie in utero, becoming so still when the piano was played. Beautiful! Three years old and humming “Amazing Grace” – I have no doubt there were sweet shivers down your neck, flutters in your heart.
I’m a descendent of Ireland
a potato famine great grandson
She’s the rising ship on the ocean
a nobody to everyone
I’m of the roots she planted here
a future generation, bloomed
She’s more than memory to us now
and never too far from view
Kevin
What a great visual as I sit the Georgia pines, waiting for day to break. Thank you for sharing.
Beautiful, Kevin. More than a memory – indeed. Soul and heart felt.
Roots. . .bloom. . .too. . .more than internal rhyme, there is something to be found like a cento within the piece. Nicely-rendered. I am so glad that you are here in this poetry community. It’s like having a familiar friend in the space.
Kevin, your poem is very moving. “She is more than memory to us now”. This really had me connected to my familial loss. Thank you for sharing!
I share the potato famine connection, Kevin; I want to hear more about “and never too far from view.”
Thank you for the invitation and the challenge this morning from southern Indiana!
Here’s the man with a pen in hand (8)
ideas to come; see where they land. (7)
There’d be nothing left to do but age (9)
if not for the morning page. (7)
Another day, another line. (8)
His trembling hand is marking time. (9)
His fingers counting the years gone by (9)
There’s too many words that rhyme with Bye. (8)
Good morning, Paul! Your words resonate.I’ve landed on the line “There’d be nothing left to do but age” and know that I will carry it with me today, much like a good song lyric that keeps replaying.
“His trembling hand is marking time”
This lingers with me, Paul
Kevin
Paul – I’m replaying these lines, which is the way with lyrics for me. I love that musicality. The line that hits a chord especially is “nothing left to do but age”… that has an undercurrent that really works for me. Thanks… I’ll be pondering that ear worm today. Susie
I feel myself aging into this poem, Paul. That last line is both funny but brings chokes me up a bit. That’s reality, innit? Funny because I first read “morning page” thinking about reading the newspaper – such an old fashion thing to do anymore! – but also, writing that morning page. Like the dual interpretation of that.
Good morning, Paul! “There’s too many words that rhyme with Bye”. I can see this line in a song right now. Well done, and thanks for sharing with us.
Another day, another line can be seen as living life with variety and spark! Living is the best alternative!
I love this homage to writing poetry, especially: