Day 1, February’s Open Write with Allison Berryhill
Allison Berryhill teaches English and journalism in Atlantic, Iowa. She is a publications-coordinator for the Iowa Council of Teachers of English. Her sonnets have been awarded first place in the Iowa Poetry Association’s Lyrical Iowa competition in 2019 and 2020. Her 2020 sonnet was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Follow her on Twitter @allisonberryhil for photos of #IowaSky and schoolblazing.blogspot.com for essays, where she has been chronicling over 300 days of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Invitation from Allison
Good morning! I am a teacher/writer/poet in Iowa who has been participating in the ELA writing challenge for the past 20 months. That means I have, in this space, composed 100 pain-free poems that did not exist two years ago. This community has put thousands of poems into the world!
This week I have enlisted three other Iowa teachers to join me in providing prompts and encouragement. David Duer, Rex Muston, and Rachelle Lipp are three of my valued poet-teacher friends and I’m excited to share their voices and with you.
Rachelle Lipp 
David Duer 
Rex Muston
Inspiration
SONNETS: Don’t run away! I’m not asking you to write a sonnet today. I’m just asking you to think about them for a minute.
Some people say they don’t like writing in structured formats and feel constrained by imposed limits of rhythm, syllables and/or rhyme.
I, however, love sonnets. The dictated rhythm, meter, rhyme, and progression require me to take an idea and refine it until it fits the form. In the process, I explore the subtleties of my first lumpy thought. Here is one I wrote to my Creative Writing students a couple of years ago:
“Workshopping Poems with My Students”
I come with hope my fragile words may find
A soft and fecund bed on which to land
Where seeds of thought, strewn from my halting mind,
Will sprout and grow if readers understand.
I meet their eyes, as doubtful as my own.
Our poems held in quaking hands, you see
We love these tender shoots, yet fear they’re sown
On stony soil; stunted progeny.
But bravely we reveal our precious words
So small and green, our tender little ones.
Response, like rain; we know that we are heard,
And honest sharing brings the light of sun.
As nurtured, nurturing we take and give.
Poems take root; our garden comes alive.
Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson’s sonnet about violets, and the renewing force of nature, serves as another model, beautiful in thought and word.
Process: One Piece of a Sonnet
The 15-20 minutes we ask Open Writers to invest in their poems for this space is not long enough for crafting a full sonnet. But it’s long enough to explore AN ASPECT of a sonnet–and spark your interest in trying the form at your own pace.
Today, choose one of the following sonnet elements to incorporate into your poem.
- Sonnets are traditionally 14 lines long. Write a 14-line poem.
- Sonnets use Iambic rhythm (da-DAH, da-DAH; aWAY reTURN). Try writing a poem with the down-UP down-UP heartbeat rhythm of your syllables. This gem by John Updike is written in unrhymed iambic pentameter.)
- Shakespearean sonnets use three quatrains with ABAB, CDCD, EFEF rhyme. Write a quatrain poem today: four lines with an ABAB rhyme scheme.
- Sonnets end in a couplet (two rhyming lines). Write a poem in couplets.
- The iambic pentameter rhythm of sonnets means that each line has 10 syllables. Write a poem with 10 syllables in each line.
- Sonnets are often love poems. Write a poem to someone/something you love: your dog, Target, the wind.
- Sonnets contain a turn in thought (the volta) between the second and third quatrain. Write a poem that introduces an idea, takes it deeper, then TURNS to look at the idea from another side.
Allison’s Poem
Your Turn to Write & Respond
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. See the image for commenting with care. 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.
Bad Days
When my mind is not quite alright
And good times are just out of sight
I play the music loud
Sing along, strong and proud
And when my favorite song begins to play,
I dance the fears away
A (Distant) Wish for My (Forever) Valentine
How am I to show love without baking?
Spoons off limits, not for the taking
How do I show love without even a kiss?
Faces on the screen take away exposed risk
Find a love card to mail down the hall?
Affirming words, to include them all
Conversations and movies across the room?
Vitamins and juice please take away gloom
To hold your hand close enough to pine
Intertwined breath whispers please be mine
Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you.
(on Day 14 of quarantine)
2.14.2021
Thanks Allison for the suggestions. I”m tackling LOVE for this one.
Pages, words, conversations, learning,
Reading is taking a peek behind the proverbial curtain,
Its being a witness to
beauty, ugliness, horror, and love, to name a few.
Consuming books became my first love outside of my family
when I was a child.
Finding out how others lived, loved, engaged, and fought opened my eyes
to a world larger than Los Angeles.
My first series was The Little House books and I so wanted to be Laura’s best friend.
The Hardy Boys mysteries made me want to become a sleuth
The Judy Blume books made me want to become an author
while also showing me a myriad of families and problems.
My fascination with books has evolved to audio books mostly now.
Book stores feed my addiction because
the feel of the cover and pages
is simply divine.
It’s about 9:00pm in Oregon, and this poem is just the nudge I needed to get my nose in a book. Growing up in the mid west, I wanted to *be* Laura Ingalls so bad! Thank you for this reflection, Seana. I’m now reminiscing about the books that got me hooked on reading.
I finished this poem feeling in love! We share so many memories – a country and worlds apart! This line struck me, as recently I have been speaking on the role of poet as witness: “Its being a witness to /
beauty, ugliness, horror, and love, to name a few.” This is a role of both writer and reader – and both of those at times enmeshed. And, yes – why DO books feel so good?!
Beautiful poem sharing your love of books. I miss browsing bookstores so much! It helped curb my desire to buy every book because I would hold them all and realize I had no time to read 5 at a time. However, with online bookstores, I have definitely not felt restrained with purchasing more than I have time to read.
These lines spoke to my heart, triggering memories of childhood books:
Wonderful to read this today, a day late. ?
Sean’s, this makes me want to grab a beautiful hardcover book. I have a new one that feels so velvety. I sometimes crave just the feel of a book in my hands, turning the pages, feeling the paper and being able to flip around. Thanks for the reminder. I loved your list of books you grew up with. One never forgets those!
To Places Yet Unseen
By Nancy White
The green splayed out in all its subtle shades
The sparkle of a white capped Baltic wave
They beckon me to come and get away
Go see the Northern Lights in full display
The blues and pinks and aqua draw me in
I need, I long to spread my wings again
To tulip fields and forest woods so still
To meadowlands and bogs and slushy hills
To beaches and the waves that lap the shore
To cold and dreary fog upon the moor
I fill my mind with shimmer, light and sheen
And dream of all the places yet unseen.
What an awesome prompt to write about, Nancy! I loved the couplets and quick pace of the poem. Images of far-off lands flashed before my eyes and makes me dream of a COVID-Free world. Thank you for this trip!
Nancy – Your couplets have a wonderfully lyrical sense of bounce…great rhythm and image choices. The whole poem spoke to me… those images of places I miss and truly want to see. Lovely! Thank you, Susie
All of the specific place names are compelling in this poem: tulip fields, bogs, moor. The regionalism in those words is subtle, yet fills the readers imagination with specific romantic visions. I feel the sense of pent-upness we are all experiencing about this time as a result of the pandemic, but this poem goes beyond that. It can be any kind of enclosure that is holding one in or holding one back from taking those steps to explore and view the world. Yet, there is a hopefulness in the sense that, even if the speaker cannot go in person, the mind is still the place of freedom and adventure. And that belongs to each of us!
Hi Nancy,
This poem speaks to my heart and soul. My longing to travel again and be in my favorite places is tugging at me. I loved this couplet:
I hope you get to travel again soon! Gorgeous poem.
Of times I choose to love you this one’s worst
a chill has come to bring this bitter shift
so much has gone from wonder to a curse
and piles of white that started with a sift.
I need to find my hat, and right hand glove
frosted crystals etched further up the sill,
caught distraught in the season that I love
I know the drifts and glitter look to kill.
Neither of my dachshunds will venture out,
and every morning brings a “new snow” sigh,
the clearer path to school a longer route;
my skin has gone from old to birch bark dry.
My love for winter’s beauty I will bet
will further dump this damning cold regret.
This is a perfect picture of the brutal weather we’ve had for more than a week. I don’t blame the dogs for not wanting to go out. I don’t either!
Rex, I feel this! “[M]y skin has gone from old to birch bark dry,” too. With washing my hands so much and this cold weather, the skin on my hands has had enough!
Rex — What an honest portrait of the winter and its snowy frigidity. Made me say, “Brrrr.” Your images and phrasing are so spot-on. My favorite is
my skin has gone from old to birch bark dry.
But I loved so many… the frosted crystals etched further up the sill… perfect! Looking for the glove (I do this same thing multiple times a day when I push myself to go out with the dog I’m currently “sitting” (I love having a critter to get me through this snow). The “white that started with a sift.” Really lovely images and so just right! Thank you. Susie
“gone from wonder to a curse” sums up how I have “aged away” from any enjoyment I might have felt about winter! It’s odd, though, that there is something almost loving in the form of the sonnet. A gentleness about it that softens even the harshness of the images herein. My favorite line is needing to find that “right hand glove.” Ugh! for all the times just that one mit was missing!
I had so much fun with this one! Thanks for the nudge, Allison 🙂
Closeted Memories
Too-full dresser drawers cry for attention
time to toss out t-shirts causing the closet rod tension.
XC fundraiser from ’93; Large Group Speech State Champs;
tank tops from Thailand and ’06 summer camp.
In my hand I hold a tattered shirt, tied and dyed
Red, white, and blue for 2012’s 4th of July.
Something, though, went wrong I think
for all the party blouses turned out pink!
Regardless, 20 Lipps gathered donning the mistake
and paraded around Enemy Swim Lake.
Grand Marshal Grandpa lead the pack, blaring the National Anthem;
his descendants followed sporting the season’s latest fashion.
Instead of deciding which memories to keep and which to throw,
I guess I will go and buy another bureau!
Rachelle, I love the playful tone in this! It immediately made me think of clothes I have stuffed in the back reaches of my closet because their sentimental value prevents me from both wearing them and discarding them. Thank you for the reminiscing.
You get it! In the prose version of this I wrote for Creative Writing, I had a line about practicality vs sentimental value and for me that line is THIN!
Oh, this is wonderful! I love how you crafted the idea of throwing away old t-shirts into a peek into the past…and then, at the volta, you hone in on your family’s special memory with your Grandpa. This is a GEM!
I am remembering now that you covered my classroom while I was out after he died–my first year of teaching, too. And what a year that was: Dabbing, water bottle flipping, fidget spinners, and Harambe! I do truly love and value this memory (obviously), and you truly understand its significance to me! Thanks for the opportunity!
Rachelle, I absolutely love how you have welcomed us into your memories, allowed us to bear witness to history in the “tattered” and the “pink” and Grand Marshal Grandpa. But that last line has just the punch, the loving answer to the closet rod tension!
Haha! The ending came to me as I was writing the third stanza. I am glad you liked it and I appreciate your comment, Sarah!
Rachelle, this is simply playful and perfect. Thank you for taking us with you on your walk down memory lane. I love the ending too and agree, you should just buy another bureau. I’m amazed at your beautiful rhymes.
Thank you!, Seana! I really appreciate this feedback!! I’m about to scroll up and read your post for today 🙂
This is very fun! Love the lines and laugh at this thing that has happened to me…”In my hand I hold a tattered shirt, tied and dyed
Red, white, and blue for 2012’s 4th of July.
Something, though, went wrong I think
for all the party blouses turned out pink!”
My mom was so disappointed at first when she realized what had happened (she had planned the activity). But, we all embraced it! They are now our “4th of July” t-shirts, though they don’t look very patriotic to anyone else, haha!
As someone who is irrationally attached to t-shirts, I loved how you brought up each memory- and I could feel how precious these moments and memories are, especially in COVID times. Thanks for this poem!
Thank you to Rachelle for inviting me to play poetry with you.
Ice Storm
The fireplace I never use is blazing
A chair pulled close to feel the radiance
Of heat that I so eagerly seek
Waking this morning, I took no heed of
The silence of lost electricity
No humming appliances, or static
From lights, just an unfamiliar stillness
Not unlike the peace of a forest with snow
Somehow, despite generations long past
Who thrived without our new distractions
Reading, writing, drawing, and sharing time
With nary a yearning for an escape
Minds mired in our time struggle to find calm
That doesn’t come from a brightly lit screen
Cara! I love the imagery here and what this makes me think about. Although my house didn’t lose electricity in the ice storm, this makes me want to turn on the fireplace and keep the technology in the other room. This evening I guess my new plans are to curl up and read my neglected book–try to “find calm / that doesn’t come from a brightly lit screen” 🙂 Thank you for sharing! You’re brave!
Cara,
A friend of Rachelle’s is a friend of mine :-).
This part of your poem really grabbed me: “an unfamiliar stillness
Not unlike the peace of a forest with snow.”
I recognized that feeling of waking up in a house that’s lost electricity – so STILL.
I love what you did with these 14 lines, giving beauty and appreciation to an experience that some might only see as an irritating inconvenience. (I hope you get power back while you’re still feeling calm!)
Thank you! My power, blessedly, came back on about half an hour ago—much sooner than promised by the power company. I do appreciate being reminded by Mother Nature that there are less technological ways of keeping occupied. 😉
Cara — I love the truth in this poem… the contrast between the lives of screens and noises against the silence. It is so unsettling and yet the memory of the past is the comfort of knowing that others have managed to find the little gift of quiet. But amen for getting your electricity back! HA! Thank you for this poem. Susie
arm curled into yours we lean into Wind
boots crunch seashells, clouds shroud Sunset’s grin
huddled birds turn from Sea refusing flight
bodies puffing into beach balls, such a sight
though Arctic’s air threatens coastal ways
we always find warmth in our flock’s embrace
Sarah, I loved walking along the beach with you, feeling the wind, eyeing the puffy beach-ball birds! The couplet form fits your message well: two of you, arm in arm. (LOVED that opening image!) I also took pleasure in the way you used capitalization, as if to personify elements of Wind, Sunset, Sea and Arctic.
What lovely images! Well done!
That first line is stunning for both the solid imagery of the arm curled in tightly but also the motion of leaning into the Wind. The capitalizations on nature is a subtle rhetorical device but speaks volumes as to the relationship between humyn/nature. By the close – the flock’s embrace – it’s almost like there is no separating the people from the birds, humyn from nature. They – we – are one. I LOVE the shell crunching under boots – that is a sound I know well and took me back to better days of walking the beach. Here in Michigan, we get a bazillion of those tiny little zebra mussels – crunch, crunch, crunch!
Allison — I love the movement and feeling of motion evoked in “A Love Poem to Ping Pong.”
Thanks for the sonnet challenge. Truth be told, I almost ran but decided to give it a shot. Think I may have missed.
Sweet Poetry
She ponders, will she uncover the beat,
the rhythm and rhyme of sweet poetry
in her words, will music be discovered?
Will the pulse of her poem vibrating,
burst with rock opera intensity,
live on lips, like lyrics written on souls
pumping unhindered with burning tempo?
She ponders, will she uncover the beat?
Tammi —
I really like what you have going on here! I am glad you didn’t run! If you had, I wouldn’t have read this beautiful line “live on lips like lyrics written on souls”. I like the continuity throughout your piece too. Thank you for giving it a shot!
Tammi, I am literally GRINNING as I read your poem! I’m so glad you didn’t run away! You stayed true to the 10-syllable challenge while using such delicious rhythm-related words: pulse, vibrating, pumping, beat…and tying your exploration to music: rock opera, lyrics, burning tempo.
I love “the pulse of her poem vibrating…”
#Winner
Tammi, I love how you describe writing a poem almost like a treasure hunt. For some reason, I thought of a sculptor pulling an image out of a block. Beautiful.
Thanks, Allison, for the delightful ping pong poem and the playful prompt.
I went with the rhyme scheme of a Petrarchan sonnet.
Remote Learning
When my students are not in the room
It’s harder to sense they are unwell
I’m thinking things are going swell
Next thing, the chat’s filled with gloom
Suddenly, the seniors are crying over zoom
Wondering how they’ll endure Capstone hell
No prom, no graduation, nary a celebratory yell
Yet a group project, alone in their bedroom?
My colleagues rally to send supportive videos
The physics teacher pens a ukulele song
Wild dancing from the teacher of art
A toddler lisping, I love you senio’s
Our whole community to which they belong
Affirming they are in our heart
Sharon,
I am always struck by the intersection of form and content or how the sonnet’s rhythm and rhyme here offers a contrast to the grief in “crying over zoom” and “Capstone hell” alongside the sweetness in the gestures of “wild dancing” and “ukulele song.” I am sorry for the hurt and so in awe of the teachers nurturing belonging the only ways they know how.
Peace,
Sarah
Sharon, as a teacher of senior English and doing so totally remotely, I feel this poem on another level! The first two stanzas echo what I’ve been seeing as well. The last stanza mirrors what our school has tried to do to support our ’21 crew. Thank you for sharing this piece I can really relate to
Sharon, I am stunned by what you did with this prompt. Your poem is so genuine in its capture of schools’ attempt to hold our students together in this pandemic. Your opening stanza captured a truth about teaching that has been magnified with Zoom learning: we often don’t recognize what’s going on beneath the surface until…it erupts.
Thank you for your deft application of the Petrarchan rhyme scheme!
I almost don’t know who I am today- writing a mushy love poem! I may be going stir-crazy.
The yard, carpeted with freshly fallen snow
And the frigid Midwestern temperature
Make me reflect on how our love did grow
And wonder what makes it spectacular
In our youth, passion was omnipresent
Separation caused such anxiety
Our love was true, our acts adolescent
Hardly the models of propriety!
We aged, we grew, and still we were matched
A quiet, dare I say mature love now
We are aging so, yet have barely scratched
The surface of this deeper love, somehow
The snow falls still, granting us precious time
To reflect upon our love, so sublime
Love the mushy! I especially connect with “we aged, we grew, and still we were matched” and “yet have barely scratched/The surface of this deeper love.” This is so beautiful and reminds me so much of my parents love for each other.
Oh, Mo! I love that you wrote a love poem today. When I read this line — “And wonder what makes it spectacular” — I just thought the power of naming something “spectacular.” Gosh! I mean, WOW! I so appreciate your reflection today, and filling this space with something “so sublime.”
We aged, we grew, and still we were matched. What more can we ask of life, my friend? Love your love poem!
Oh, MO!
This is a wonderful sonnet! I especially love it because my Valentine (dozing in the chair across the room) and I “are aging, yet have barely scratched the surface”–
Your closing couplet warms my heart. THANK you for writing a “mirror” poem for me tonight!
FOR THE LOVE OF DISQUIET
Quiet stares cold with catatonic eyes,
yielding a space to launch ideas in swirls,
sounds caught in midair betwixt mind and sighs
morphing air into words that steal the pearls
of silence, and I’m left with my own chords
and hums knit note-to-note in jagged tones
that do naught to salve cuts of worry swords
that shred Quiet and slice to scratch my bones;
in sharp reproof, I hush to stave the noise
yet find it bland — insipid calm lacks worth —
I prattle on without a pip of poise;
it seems I much prefer the peal of mirth.
Though Quiet pushes hard to make a case,
it’s Disquiet’s loud song that wins the race.
by Susie Morice©
Susie, For the love of disquiet! I love this title and how you set the opening tone with “catatonic eyes”! The sheer physicality of your poem provides a sense of disquiet. I was especially moved by
An aching type of conflict is wrapped tightly here to ponder. As I sit now, I listen harder, recognizing all that is not silent. Sound does win! I am in awe of your word mastery!
Wow, Susie. There are so many beautiful images to unpack here. “…morphing into words that steal the pearls
of silence” and “hums knit note-to-note in jagged tones” are so vivid.
The love the juxtaposition between the disquiet and quiet.
Oh, Susie! The enjambment here pulls me along in this tug between Quiet and Disquiet. The sound throughout with “chords/and hums” and “hush” and “song” make me pull for voice, for a scream to wake the catatonic. I hope you sing a song tonight!
Peace,
Sarah
Susie, my friend! Wow, another poem that leaves me marveling in your craft. Such a clever choice for a topic. I loved the final couplet:
The power of disquiet. Something to remember!
Thank you, dear! ?
What Stacey Joy said!
What a joy to read a tribute (a love poem?) to DISQUIET! I’m impressed with your dexterity with the sonnet form and deeply moved by your message: disquiet wins. Thank you for engaging with this prompt on such a meaningful level! XO
Allison — Thank you for the encouragement. I love writing with you. And I loved the artistry of the ping-pong — so inventive and just a dandy poem that had me bouncing right along with that little ball. I love how you make each poem seem so easy…so well sewn that we can’t even see the seams. You’re an ace, my friend! Hugs, Susie (stay warm!)
Allison, I absolutely adore the way your poem resembles the movement of a ping pong ball! So fun! Love especially these lines – “lighting February/nights/slams and/spins”.
It is the day before Valentine’s Day and I figured I should not avoid writing a sonnet for my husband – though this was very challenging. Here goes!
To Tony
You leaned out the window into cool night
Sweaty giddy tired from so much dance
I still see you pausing, precious that sight
Whisper wonder, do you dare take a chance?
Both of us stuck, weighing past hurts and pain
We took the risk lovers always invite
Something in the night air, a soft refrain
To be tender, open, to hold on tight
One night filled with laughter, music, and play
Birthday party, for a friend of a friend
Providence works in mysterious ways
This is our tale told again and again
Love heals, love hopes, love laughs, love holds us still
Day in, day out, love is, love always will
Maureen,
This is gorgeous and so full of love. You make writing a sonnet look easy. I love this line about love:
Maureen, ahhh….such a beautiful sonnet! love your ending couplet
How we connect with others is often mysterious, and I love how you share that idea.
Ooh, that delicious moment of will we or won’t we is captured here with a very happy ending. You and Tony are lucky!
Maureen,
Great job fully embracing the form.
I can feel the tension and weight of these lines:
Thanks for sharing!
So beautiful. I especially love these lines:
We took the risk lovers always invite
Something in the night air, a soft refrain
To be tender, open, to hold on tight
Maureen,
Challenging? Reads smooth as butter! Did you read this to Tony? I wonder if he would blush or tear or giggle. It is kind of fun to imagine the partners of the writers in this space, no? What must they think of all of us writing poetry every month. Love it.
And this line, well I am swimming in the “L’s” and the joy as the words roll off my tongue!
Peace,
Sarah
I get to be a bit like a broken record, as others have noticed it already, but I love the last couple lines the most. It could be a refrain to a longer poem, or a countermelody of sorts. It is a cadence within the cadence.
Maureen, I felt tears pricking behind my eyes as I moved through your sonnet. It is beautiful. I love the opening image, the sensory detail, loving alliteration…all of it. Happiest of Valentine’s Day to Tony+Maureen=<3
Allison – thanks for the invitation and e.e. Cummings-like Ping-Pong ode – so fun and a creative use of space!
Body Love
Crunch, hold, lift, burn, plank
Breathe in, breathe out, hold
It feels supported to be strong at your core
Rivers of stress stream out each pore
To carry my groceries (and my
neighbor’s groceries) is my goal
Instead of a masochistic exorcism
For a cinnamon roll.
That wrung-out feeling of each muscle
The brain energized from the hustle, but
Can you still look at the soft belly curve
And make sure it gets the love it deserves?
For what child ever embraced their mother
And wished she was hard as stone?
Emily,
I love how vivid you describe the process of exercise and the “stress stream out each pore” – and the best rhetorical question at the end as a loophole to the whole idea. Well done!
Emily, loved this! I definitely needed to read this –
I am motivated to go workout!! I love that you keep it in perspective, too:
“Can you still look at the soft belly curve
And make sure it gets the love it deserves?” and then you conclude with that fabulous final question!! Awesome!
Emily, wow, I absolutely love the end of your poem! Yes!
The physical energy and connection are striking throughout your poem!
Emily — I love the way you brought this to the ending couplet… “what child ever…” that reality of child and mama… yes! We love that sweet soft mama. The energy of the first lines… pumping away and trying to stay in shape… I’m almost groaning…ha! Very delightful! Good to “see” you here on this cold Feb. day! Susie
Emily,
Love the imagery of your first stanza:
I was caught off-guard by the powerful turn of your closing couplet:
Beautiful!
The last stanza—so very powerful. So very true. That soft belly curve was earned, and is so valuable. Love this!
I agree!
Emily — I love this poem and the strength it exudes! It is so important for us to remember to love and be kind to ourselves. Mothers especially give so much to others. So glad you are devoting time to yourself. You totally nailed the last stanza. So much truth!
Emily!!! Yessss!!! Standing and clapping! I don’t want to be hard as stone but I know it would be better than mushy gushy LOL. I love it. Oh how I miss the cinnamon roll days. I gave them up when I eased up on sugary treats. Your poem balances a woman’s body struggles beautifully.
Thank you!! ?
“Instead of a masochistic exorcism
For a cinnamon roll.”
Wow, this open up so many directions for my thought to go, especially as it taps my sense of smell. Thanks, Emily.
Oh, Emily! Body Love! I was instantly drawn in by your title, then cheered by the many sonnet elements you blended as you celebrated your body. I loved how your aim (carrying groceries) is utilitarian, yet the act of building strength is so much more: stress relief, feeling supported, brain energized…
Then, the wonderful love of the soft belly, welcoming the child’s hug.
<3 <3 <3 LOVED it all!
Emily, I love your poem about exercise and balance. with love and appreciation for your body in all aspects. Your sweet matter-of-fact telling of the details puts me there with you in each part of your exercising and appreciating what it can and can’t do. The last couplet is a treasure. 🙂
A Walk Turned Around
A walk today with neighborhood views
that cheer my heart while taking a stroll.
Friends sharing gossip, tidbits and news.
“Libraries now open!” It uplifts my soul.
The path is smooth, trees lining the way.
We tell reports of current events.
The birds are tweeting, having their say.
All are adding their precious two cents.
We walk two miles and then I stop still.
A sudden turn. “No more!” say my feet.
My knees are creaking, legs feeling ill.
Time to go home admitting defeat.
I love the images of community and nature – and I hope you held on to both of these, despite ending your walk before you had planned. Love imagining the birds contributing to the conversations –
Susan, I really enjoy how you share such beauty and a sense of feeling alive. There is a definite feeling of a sense of normalcy coming back, but then the reality of our bodies not being quite there to cherish the moment resonates. The personification of your feet protesting works so effectively! I can relate!
Susan,
It is amazing how invigorating and uplifting a walk can be, especially with “Friends sharing gossip, tidbits and news.” Your poem made me smile. Thank you!
Susan, I commend your control of rhythm and rhyme while exploring the joy (and, ultimately, the pain!) of walking with a friend. I envy the joy and camaraderie of your walk!
Sonnetball
Serving a jump
smash of words
down the court
of the page,
applying spin
and torque to each
syllable until
the match point
of the heroic
couplet at the end
should be a sport.
And it was.
Poetry used to be an
Olympic event until
1948 and that got
me thinking about
sonnets — Italian,
Elizabethan —
and tetherball,
that game from our
old school yard,
the one with a tennis
ball, a rope, and a pole.
Ingenious.
Although not technically
a sport (Wikipedia tells me),
it did provide hours of
entertainment (and only
a few jammed fingers and
one busted nose), but,
ultimately, was banned
from the playground.
Later incarnations involved
a volleyball (which still
jammed fingers) and it
crossed my mind — my
elementary-aged mind at
the time — that later kids
would only see this as
Tetherball, would think that
this — this volleyball
on a stick — was the real
and actual tetherball.
Now, when I teach sonnets,
my students think Shakespeare
invented them. They
want to give him all the
credit,
and I ask them, what about
Milton and Spenser?
Could we have the Dark
Lady sonnets without
Petrarch and Laura?
They don’t care; they just
want to hit the ball back
and forth, want to play
in the rhythm, explore
the bounce and heft
of it, swinging and hitting
and missing
and there’s something to
that, I think.
I mean, it’s like this poem,
obviously not a sonnet
in form or meter
but at its heart (in its heart
of hearts) I think it’s closer
to one, than, say, tetherball
is to tennis.
Perfect metaphor there! At its heart, this is a sonnet, even if it isn’t one! That’s what I love about poetry—it is always SOMETHING!
This is so fun! I found something very moving about these lines,
,
thinking about writing, reminding myself – it is good to just TRY to write, yes? even if I miss?
Thank you for this playful sonnet fun!
Scott, i adore the energy of this poem; I can imagine your students working away to make their own words and rhythm clear. The metaphor is delightful as a cherished childhood memory from the playground. I can feel that “swinging and hitting, and missing!”
Hey, Scott — Tetherball and sonnets… I could’ve made a lot of guesses, and I would never have picked these two! HA! I really liked the idea of kids thinking that
Yes. That would be our students, whacking the words and rhythms back and forth…jammed fingers and all.
I liked this poem….the idea of the sport of sonnets. I also like that I was the queen of tetherball when I was in elementary school…so those images really fit for me. Stay warm! Susie
Scott,
This is brilliant! Love the extended metaphor and the humor and movement of this poem. I’ve never tried to teach my students how to write a sonnet (I can barely write one myself), but I can just imagine the difficulty. Such a fun poem!
Scott, I am DYING! This is a gem. I hesitate to call out specific lines because it is the WHOLE that works so well here. But this hit me in the reals:
I have no time for poetry
I have no time for poetry
as snow falls and blankets concrete
walkways blocking safe passage to
destinations beyond this place,
and two dogs clamor to run free
on the school playground, bouncing through
falling flakes, chasing an orange ball
I kick, keeping time to barking
iambs until a pause to check
a masked Snow-person prompts one to
raise an arthritic leg and soil
some child’s art installation
before exploring familiar
borderlands stitched with nature’s verse.
—Glenda Funk
I love the visual this weaves. Having never really lived or seen a snow storm I find your description excellent. I can feel you trapped inside because of the cold and impatiently looking out at the frozen events outside.
Glenda, this part:
“falling flakes, chasing an orange ball
I kick, keeping time to barking
iambs until a pause to check
a masked Snow-person prompts one to
raise an arthritic leg and soil
some child’s art installation”
is the joy that goes with seeing Puck chasing that abandoned orange ball in the snow. I love that your moment of joy shared with Puck inspired this poem today. It reminds me so much of The Storm (Bear) by Mary Oliver seeing your sweet boy running through the snow today. Beautiful heart happiness and love flutters at this scene!
Oh, yes, you do have time for poetry! Love these couplets! I am laughing alongside the antics of your two dogs…love thinking about “barking iambs” – fabulous!
Glenda — It was fun from the start to see the couplets and the “I don’t have time for …” this today. Snow and brutal cold here today. The whole scene of you in the snow with the dogs… it was just fun to think of you up there in the image. Hugs, Susie
Glenda, what a delightful poem. The imagery and actions throughout were clear and I felt completely pulled into the scene. I especially enjoyed the final line: “borderlands stitched with nature’s verse” and of course the dog lifting its leg!
Glenda, my friend, I hate to see what happens when you think you DO have time for poetry! This is fantastic. I went on the journey with you and your doggies! Fun, fun, fun! Your words and images moved me through the cold and I see it all! Thank you for sharing your poem you didn’t have time for today. I needed it!
?
Glenda,
I love the images of your dogs playing in the snow, and literally laughed out loud to “a masked Snow-person prompts one to/ raise an arthritic leg and soil/some child’s art installation.”
Glenda,
Thank you for embracing the 14-line challenge despite “no time for poetry”!
You took me on your walk, delighted me with your pups’ iambic barking, and made me laugh as they marked the snow person!
Then after that jaunt, you pulled your poem into a beautiful, poetic ending:
While I appreciate all the form options, I felt up to the full sonnet challenge today. There are times when form feels comforting, maybe like one of those weighted blankets. It just helps me focus my distracted mind on one point. For a moment, anyway! Thank you!
What Will Memory Bring?
They say of all past memory, we hold
Most tightly to the thoughts of what we like
Forgetting to remember pains of old
Those uglies tucked away, some troglodyte
A friend stops by, all smiles, beer and cheer
She’s had her shots, the sky is shining blue
She laughs unmasked, both strange to see and hear
The start to end all we have suffered through
Yet somewhere deep inside me tension knots
The trial plays on low throughout the day
It will take more than just two vaccine shots
To loosen memory’s hold of that display
Will we remember all that we’ve been through?
Or will our memories start life anew?
Denise,
Your sonnet really feels inspired. The subject is perfect, and I agree we’ll need much more than shots to erase the memory of all we’ve seen. Love those final two questions. They make me think. Well done.
I love how you capture this moment of tentative hope, of turning tides with the friend with beer, cheer, and smiles with the ambient noise of the trial. What a unique overlap to put together. There’s some wisdom in those last two lines.
It’s all there—all of it—the hope, the happiness, the tension we will never, ever lose entirely. This has been such an amazing year, and you have encapsulated it in 14 lines. Wow.
What a wonderful inspiration for a sonnet, what will memory bring? You beautifully capture all the rollercoaster of powerful emotions this time has wrought. “Yet somewhere deep inside me tension knots”
Oh man, Denise — I SOOOOO feel this! The telltale backdrop of the trial…that was me all day as well… just seared into history and into my broken heart. The vax… I so want this but I sooo know it isn’t going to make the rest of the world peachy. Wonderful poem! Thank you. Susie
Denise,
2020 was an emotionally rollercoaster. Your lines, “yet somewhere deep inside me tension knots” and “It will take more than just two vaccine shots/To loosen memory’s hold of that display” really say it all.
Denise, Thank you so much for going all-in on this prompt today. While I want to (of course!) praise your sonnet form, I want even more to thank you for your message. That you used a SONNET to explore the transition time between lock-down and vaccination shows how powerful poetry’s condensation of thought/sound can be in so few words. Beautiful. Important. Thank you.
Thank you, Allison, for challenging us to take on the sonnet form.!
‘Twas twenty years ago I had a son.
He was a very pretty little boy.
I cannot say that it was always fun.
But teary times were overcome with joy.
He walked and talked soon twice the speed of me.
No block was left unstacked; He read at four.
Tales of Meow City from his mind flowed free
The dogs were always villains to the core.
He wasn’t strong in math or even science.
He loved to sing, so he sang in the choir.
He learned to drive and show some self-reliance.
From parenthood I thought I could retire.
Now off to college, he is free indeed
But I’m still mom, whom he will always need.
Katrina,
I have two sons and can relate to these mom feelings. Once a baby boy, always a baby boy.
Katrina, the son and mother connection is tenderly developed here. I adore your poem and the ending couplet is a thing of sheer beauty! Such joy!
Katrina — This is a sweet poem to be sure to give to your son down the road at some point… he’ll treasure it. Susie
Katrina,
I’m also a mom of a son. Mine just graduated from college and is now living a state away. Your lines, “But I’m still mom, whom he will always need” really resonates with me.
Katrina! Congratulations! You MASTERED the form! I enjoyed this so much. Your poem is filled with love and pride. #yes!
I totally can resonate with this poem. My baby girl is 22 and finishing college this year. She still needs mom, but is definitely becoming her own woman. Thank you for touching my heart with this poem.
14 Lines of Words
I am a lover of words
Being erudite has been my milieu
Curiosity alone is my driving force
Not from a snobs point of view
I love a big word that can be defined
Into smaller and smaller and bits
I admit to being a true logophile
Bordering on logomaniac fits
I become obsessive with needing to know
A new word that comes to my attention
Its etymology, usage, and pronunciation
I need to use it in my next sentence
Yes, I am a true logophile, I admit
Are there any self-help groups out there
Judi, what fun! Every writer’s soul in this space is fist-pumping cheers for a fellow logophile’s cry for “help” with this addiction! Your poem is clever and crafty – – “not from a snob’s point of view” is understood – – we just need our high-brow words. I don’t know of any self-help groups out there, but to feed the need – – I can say I am an avid subscriber of Word Genius’s Word of the Day that comes each morning and inspires me to keep my vocabulary toolbox sharpened and refined…..ready for the next challenge! Today’s word: Gallinaceous, which appeals to my Funny Farm setting in the rural Southeast. Try it out. What can’t be cured can be curated.
This brings a smile to my lips, Judi. I have a very close friend who is a lover of words and daily discovers new ones to use when she talks to me. I admire that. Wish I could remember those words when time comes to use them.
I love this and feel like maybe I should join the support group when you find it. ?
What’s not to love about a logophile’s poem of words!
??????
YES!
Oh, Judi, this was a word-lover’s ROMP! Thank you for playing with the sonnet form and delivering such a logophile treat! Preach!
Judi, this was fun! Thank you for this. (If you enjoy podcasts, check out “A Way with Words.” I think it would be right up your alley. Oh, you might also enjoy @susie_dent on Twitter, too!)
I love words, but this poem contains words above my intellect. Now, I have to go do some homework. LOL Thank you so much for introducing me to new words.
Thank you for giving us so much choice today, Allison! And I love your poem to ping pong – so creative, especially the formatting. This started off as just a love poem, then I wanted 10 syllables in each line, then I wanted rhyme. So that’s what transpired. I am also going to share these many options with my students as well. Thanks for the inspiration! 🙂
Something I’ve loved for a long time is you
Picking travel locations based on hue:
Chefchaouen, Jodhpur, or Santorini,
The way I see you, the way you see me.
A painting of a woman’s head bursting
with your creative productivity.
The mascara that gives a little pop,
Disorganised folder on my desktop.
The glow of the useless mosquito bat
Both of my beloved present backpacks.
Bioluminescent hints at night,
When we look outside, you’re not only sky.
But sounds we can’t hear and the feel of air
How one day I want to die my hair.
An amount of comfort in every shade
Of an old poem I wrote in eighth grade.
Some say you’re the color of the ocean
But when I hold you, you’re just clear potion.
God’s eyes, not in an overbearing way
More like the look of protection each day.
The world would be kinda dark without you
Dark without my favourite color, blue.
Ohhh I love this sonnet to Blue, which is also my favorite color. Favorite line:
Yes, blue is a comfort in any shade. I love how your poem was mysterious until the very end.
Beautiful, beautiful blue, Angie! There at the end all the lines of uncertainty came clear – why you picked a travel destination, how you want to dye your hair, all these clues – – answered in a color. I love the mysterious feel of wondering about the subject of the sonnet/ode. Masterful!
But sounds we can’t hear and the feel of air
How one day I want to die my hair.
An amount of comfort in every shade
Of an old poem I wrote in eighth grade.
I love this stanza – it is so full of life and color – really really beautifully written poem
Sooooo clever and marvelous!!! I was kind of jealous at the first stanza, especially with:
“The way I see you, the way you see me.” That’s some sweet love there! Then I exhaled when I realized it was blue! So cute, Angie.
The word choices couldn’t be any better.
Brilliant!?
Angie, I am humbled and uplifted by your response to today’s prompt. You’ve crafted a beautiful love poem using so many sonnet characteristics to bring the reader (Me! Me!) closer to your message.
The final couplet is golden.
Hi Allison! Thank you for another challenging prompt with wonderful options too! I love the ping pong poem. It brought back so many fun memories of playing in the garage as a child/teen/adult. The ending was definitely a rush through my body!! Fun times!
I decided to write a 14-line poem of couplets so I guess that’s a double hitter. LOL. I don’t know if it has a name but it worked. The founder and former pastor of my church passed away yesterday, and my heart aches needed to come out in the poem. I feel so much better now that I’ve written. Thank you, Allison.
Welcome Home
My former pastor passed away
COVID19 stole his body yesterday
Destroyed his kidneys, lungs, and heart
Family devastated and kept apart
He was a great leader and tenacious teacher
A loving father, husband and courageous preacher
Many lessons in prayer taught and learned
Faith and peace I ultimately earned
He prayed for my mother when she was ill
Her body overcome with the spirit’s fill
She fought hard for years and remained brave
Believing God for her soul to save
I saw her reaching out to take his hand
Come Brother Fred, you’re on freedom’s land.
©Stacey L. Joy, 2/13/21
Wow, a lot of sorrow today. Sorry to hear this, Stacey. This line is so very powerful: “I saw her reaching out to take his hand”. I mean it’s simply beautiful. Thank you for turning your heartache into a living poem here.
Awww, Stacey. I saw your post and breathed a quick prayer for him – – I was so hoping he would recover. Covid is such a thief of joy. I’m so sorry for you and all who loved him. Your poem is a sweet tribute to his life and shepherding. Those last two lines have such lovely imagery – – reaching out to take the hand that once held hers. Tears and hugs for you, my friend.
Ohh Stacey Joy, I’m so sorry. What a lovely man. Indeed, he is now home. Beautiful tribute. ?
Stacey,
I’m so sorry for your loss. I can hear the angels saying, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” Your poem begins w/ sorrow, but it’s the hope in those final lines I love most.
What a loss for you and your church. Thank you for sharing this glimpse of the care and inspiration he gave to you.
Stacey—another reason to cry. But the last two lines are so filled with joy and hope. You’re on freedom’s land. Thank
God.
Oh, Stacey — This is so tender and so sad. I am so sorry that you have another loss of someone so dear. A beautiful tribute though, Stacey… share this with his family. The connection to your mom is particularly poignant… the “reaching out to take his hand”… oh gosh… dear image. Hugs, Susie
Oh, Stacey! I am so sorry for your loss and the unrelenting toll covid is taking in our communities. I am honored to have met Brother Fred in your verse for you have allowed us to bear witness to his life and his impact on you and your mother. He now lives in all our hearts and minds — this tenacious teacher, Brother Fred!
Oh, Stacey, this is beautiful. I am glad the sonnet form elements gave you a path into this expression. Your final couplet moved me powerfully. Wow.
Stacey, I am so sorry for your loss. The sonnet form worked well for your expression of grief and hope in the resurrection. The image of your mother taking his hand into freedom’s land is profound.
Stacey, I used to watch him preach on TV. He was a great man of God. So sorry for your loss. Praying for his family.
Love Is
Love has filled the air
In every store it can be found
But chocolate can’t compare
When heartfelt acts abound
Love is acts of kindness
Expressed in different ways
True love is acts of mindfulness
Showing more than what one says
Love his heart and mind and soul
Meant to reach to others
Love can make a person whole
As it connects us to another
Love is not a simple word.
It is really more a complex verb.
Donetta, this is my favorite verse
Love is acts of kindness
Expressed in different ways
True love is acts of mindfulness
Showing more than what one says
And I love the acrostic of LETS! It drives action to Let’s show love! Well done!
Hi Donnetta,
This is a gorgeous poem and so needed!
Captivating closing lines! Love it.
A beautiful piece! I read it 3 times and it is so badly needed. I love the closing! Bravo YOU!
Allison, you are always so great at pushing us to try new forms and ways of writing – even with variations of those forms as first steps! I love your ping pong poem – it felt just like a match, and the words played into the increased pace and fever of the play! I tried my hand at a sonnet based on a friend’s Facebook post about the 12022021 palindrome ambigram that can be read as a military date or a traditional date and all be seen correctly as a date, and I tried to get the pulse of Iambic Pentameter heartbeats in there but there my be some arrhythmia….
12202021: Sonnet for a Palindromic- Ambigramic Non-Illusion
back, forward, upside-down and inside- out
this palindrome and ambigram inspire
reminders to us all to think about
perceptions not embedded in quagmire
the way we tell a truth is often slant
Miss Dickinson’s prophetic verses ring
conundrums help us CAN when we all CAN’T
just lift one voice in unity and sing
enigmas’ mirrors make us stop and think
perspectives shift and bend like rubber bands
the hills we’ll die on flash with every blink
when will we open eyes, heal hearts, join hands?
there’s more than just one way that can be right
try different angles for increased insight!
So much creativity!!!! Love it, especially the long title haha. I really love your last couplet as well. Yes, people need to open their minds! 🙂
Absolutely brilliant:
the way we tell a truth is often slant
Miss Dickinson’s prophetic verses ring
conundrums help us CAN when we all CAN’T
just lift one voice in unity and sing
The way we tell a truth is often slant. And that is where we are, isn’t it.
Kim — You are da bomb! This is so crafty…witty. Creative looks at a string of palindromic numbers … gosh… you’re a wizard! My fave lines are
and
Wisdom there, my friend! Thank you! Susie
Kim,
You have a gift here of insight, hope, and faith. I loved this:
The ending lines are the message the world today needs to hear and learn. I love it.
Allison—thank you for this challenge! And your ping-pong poem was such a wonderful example of non-tradition! The ending took my head right down your rabbit hole.
Ikea
Where to go, when you have nowhere to be?
The hours were mine, and I just could not see
How to deflect the knowledge that our fate would be directed
Once the growth in his lung had been thoroughly dissected.
Where could I wander ( lonelier than that cloud)?
What could I do in the time I was allowed?
Accompanying him inside was not permitted.
In the age of Covid, support is omitted.
And then, inspiration emerged–the panacea.
For mindless wand’ring, I could drive to Ikea.
What better place to bury my anxiety
than a world of umlauts and knickknack variety?
I meandered my way through the blue-yellow maze
Finding what I needed as I strolled in my daze.
A suspension–for a while–of the need for certainty
Till the phone rang,
and there it was– reality.
Gayle Sands 2/13/21
Yesterday was a rough day, and IKEA saved me. Thus, my ode. (Jim is home, there is no malignancy in the lymph nodes, and now we wait… good news/maybe good news…
Gayle – a heart-punch. I totally resonated with the desire to distract from a troubling situation with wandering through a “blue-yellow maze” and “umlauts and knickknacks” – taking yourself out of your current world. I liked your nod to wandering lonely as a cloud. I’m sorry the twist was “reality”… wishing you and your family healing.
On a side note – the movie The Extraordinary Journey of Fakir Who Got Trapped in an Ikea Wardrobe is also a good distraction, and Ikea plays an important role.
Gayle, I’m sorry you and JIm are going through this, but grateful for the good news, praying more to come. I love how you chose Ikea for this poem because it’s the perfect place to wander and get lost in other thoughts besides those that haunt you.
“Where to go when you have nowhere to be” says it all. You captured so many emotions from beginning to end. Your rhymes seem to have been meant only for you and this poem.
Bravo, my friend. Sending prayers up for you and Jim.
?
Oh I’m so sorry to hear this. Gayle 🙁 Hope everything will be okay. I hate this dumb COVID life, how incredibly tough. I love this line: “A suspension–for a while–of the need for certainty” I can definitely relate. And, if you’re in the mood for a humorous but also deep novel that mentions IKEA, I suggest Anxious People. My, IKEA is so popular. I’ve never even been to one before.
Read the book—and loved it!!
Gayle, I am happy to hear the news that Jim is home and that hope abounds! Your writing rings so true. Those moments of trying to do things we have always done to carry on in the midst of emotional chaos – the wandering through the maze of Ikea (I think of it as a fish swimming in a circle the way the spiral floor chunnels us through the store). …the fog in our heads as we try to make sense of something so impossible for us to grasp. I’m glad your reality was the good kind, the welcome kind. Still, those Ikea moments are haunting, and I’m sorry your heart was hurting.
Gayle, thank you for writing and sharing this! I’m sorry you and Jim are going through this. (But I’m happy to hear about his malignancy free lymph nodes!) IKEA is the perfect place to distract and get lost in for a while (figuratively and quite literally — it really is a maze in there, a maze with delicious Swedish meatballs at the end!).
Holy cow, Gayle — This is a real pop in the kisser… you so perfectly juxtaposed the frightening state of mind and time to learn of a “lung dissected” (so apt your word choices) up against that brash yellow and blue Ikea menagerie of crapola. Just wandering in there seems so perfect for the randomness of learning that “reality” of illness. Damn! I feel, really feel for you. The practical up against the untouchably brutal reality… AND in the damned untouchable time of Covid… Geez. I’m hurting for you…truly, I am. This is raw. And the strength in your voice in this poem pushes up against the cruel news and terrible circumstance. You let the images speak for your emotional state…that’s not easy to do. You nailed this. Thank you and hugs to you. This month I’ve been holding the scary hurt of learning that my eldest and most precious sister has breast cancer, and I need a dose of Ikea. Susie
I am not a hope and prayers kind of gal, but..hopes for your IKEA moment, whatever your version is. I hope it gives you solace.
Gayle,
Thank you for sharing this powerful poem.
Such a hard truth:
This is one of the hardest things about the pandemic–not being able to be with the one’s we love when they are in need.
Sending healing thoughts and hopes for more good news.
Take care.
You were the first love she had ever known,
Your friendship held her closely by your side.
But then love bloomed and all those seeds you’d sown
Caused joy to open all she held inside.
And how was she to know you’d be her first?
A lover, confidant, apartment-mate!
The way you held her slakened all her thirst—
She knew you were a gift brought close by fate.
But your small secrets played her in the end,
You talked to others, everyone but her,
Then told her love had changed to “just a friend”
And walked out silently without a stir.
For six years you have loved my daughter well,
But now I would prefer you burn in hell.
Karen—wow. A mother’s rage—i have been there. “But your small secrets played her in the end” is the way the greatest harm can be done. The last stanza says it all. Your daughter is lucky to have you as her defender!
Mama Bear! Love this poem – both the appreciation for the good times, and the volta that carried some heat. Every daughter could use someone wholly on their side like this – thanks for sharing this.
Karen, Karen, Karen, let’s meet for lunch! My treat. Oh, the fast friends we will become. The stories we can tell…..I love that last line, “burn in hell,” because it captures all the emotion of the love you feel for your daughter and the way you want to protect her. I like that you are so painfully honest – – you’re a good person and want nothing but the best for others, but when somebody steps on your baby’s heart – – they’ve crossed the line! It’s time to throw down.
I have been there with you . . . . . HURRAH for your poem!!!
I love Allison’s poem about ping pong! Mu head was bobbing back and forth as I read it and I could hear the “You,yo, y” as the ball quit moving. Love it! Now to write mine.
Ha Ha! As I wrote it, I didn’t know who would get it, but yes! That was my intent, to watch the words, then letters, stagger off. <3
Stuck with the 14 lines, but being a fan of Shakespeare I also divided them into the standard 3 quatrains (minus the rhyme scheme) and a volta at line 9. Oh! And it’s about love — because why not?
—
The Ace’s Valentine Sonnet
I always hated that English has one word for love.
How do I capture the differences?
A love that varies in scope, scale, and even texture:
From the tiny, hard seed tucked away to the hearty, warm bowl of soup.
I always hated that Valentine’s was for couples.
What happened to passing cards through card board slits?
My love expressed on chalky hearts and candied puns.
From your best friend or from your mom, spilled out and sorted later.
But this is what it means to be Ace on Valentine’s Day.
A quest to reclaim a holiday for all expressions of love —
A love not limited by sexual attraction and romantic entanglements,
From red and white to purple and black.
I am not your normal Valentine, but I am still valid.
I will not deny my asexuality any longer.
I love love love the line “From the tiny, hard seed tucked away to the hearty, warm bowl of soup.” – just beautiful metaphors for love and how it is varied. Just gorgeous! Your examples in the following stanzas are true, too. Even the love of a classmate in the Valentine Box made me think about that moment in a new way.
Erica,
This is my favorite part:
My love expressed on chalky hearts and candied puns.
From your best friend or from your mom, spilled out and sorted later.
Yes, Valentine’s Day is far too exclusive in its intent. We need more ways to express our love for our world and all of the people in it!
There’s so much to love and hold in your poem. I definitely agree that we need more words for love (a word I find myself overusing especially when commenting on poems).
My favorite lines:
Because yes, why does it have to be all the other mess when it could so beautifully be chalky hearts! Perfect!
But the finale is the ultimate declaration of self love! Bravo, Erica!
“I am not your normal Valentine, but I am still valid.
I will not deny my asexuality any longer.”
?Stacey
Erica, thank you for helping rethink love and Valentine’s Day and including everyone. Love is an action, and should not be limited to a day. But, since we have this day, how can I (WE) include all in our expressions of love. Erica, I love you!!!
Allison, I so enjoyed the structure of your poem. Ahhh, the memories it brought back to me when I was actually quite skilled at playing ping pong. Thanks for today’s prompts, links, and challenge!
Allison, I tried. I really did. My love affair with February is not for the faint of heart!
February Haze
February days of gray kiss my lined face
Like an ardent lover’s seductive touch
I quiver beneath its skillful embrace
Stealing my breath; I bend and clutch
Reeling dizzily like ash in a blaze
Unfettered I spin, too weak at the knees
To break free from its somber smoky gaze
I shiver, trapped in its chilling deep freeze
Endless heather skies of gray are frozen
As the glazed river shivers silently
Paying no heed to the love I’ve chosen
Who’s stolen my heart so violently
No one hears my cries nor sees my sheer tears
Reduced by February’s steely seer
Barb Edler
February 13, 2021
You had me at “February days of gray!” I love the beauty you’ve found even in the “chilling deep freeze” of the month. Such a contrast to the pinks and reds we tend to wrap the month in. Your words are beautifully written and soar as a sonnet!
These lines—“ Endless heather skies of gray are frozen
As the glazed river shivers silently”
This is SO very February! Great poem!
Barb,
I don’t know where to begin because I wanted to copy/paste the whole poem! I love it. I appreciate your poem for its gorgeous images that reflect what I seldom get to see or experience. This captivated me:
Gorgeous pictures you’ve created in my mind! Thank you!
Oh my, Barb– the grays of this are so vivid…heavy in spots and opaque in the tone of a love that pronounced itself on the “lined face” and through “stealing my breath” and “smoky gaze.” This is a really sensual poem. There a heat, in these words: seductive touch, ash in a blaze, smoky, endless. This intimate imagery reaches across that heat to the “stolen,” the “sheer tears,” “shiver, trapped,” and finally the “steely seer.” Wonderful word choices. Some pretty hot stuff, Barb! Really a neat poem. Thank you. Susie
Barb, I like the days of gray being able to muster a kiss. It is a fresh perspective as personification goes!
OK, I would love to learn more about writing in iambic rhythm (Prompt #2). I can’t seem to figure it out, but I can hear when I do manage to find some. I gave it an attempt, and it is going to do double duty. We have the sweetest support teacher, who this year took it on herself to be the initiator of birthday celebrations in our department. We pitch in, but she buys flowers and chocolates and makes a beautiful card, invites everyone to a mini socially-distanced party in her room. Now it’s her birthday, so I signed up to help celebrate her birthday. We are back online, so it will be mostly virtual, but I get to deliver some treats to her tomorrow. I wrote a poem trying to find some rhythm. I’ll write it in her card tomorrow. I bolded the only lines where I think I succeeded!
Elizabeth the Integral
Without you, we would be
Less than the whole
Your colleagues and kids
Respect and adore you
Reliable, gentle,
Relentlessly helpful
Consistent, responsive
Instinctively attentive
Keen
Adept
Perceptive
Delightful
Industrial
Compassionate
You’re loyal and sunny
To know you is to love you
And today is your day!
So we say,
“Thank you, God, for Elizabeth!”
The title here alone — Elizabeth the Integral — is cause for celebration.
Kevin
Denise, what a perfect reason to write a sonnet inspired poem! I’m sure your support teacher will love this. Hearing that iambic pentameter is part of the challenge – followed by creating it. (You have that sound in the second line too!).
Lucky you—lucky her. What a beautiful gift to give her!
Denise! I would love to see a series of poems celebrating support staff ?
Aw! This is inspiring, for sure. I love that you’ve taken a moment to pay tribute to a true giver, and give HER some accolades. I like the bolded section, “reliable, gentle, relentlessly helpful” – it captures her essence and has a steady rhythm that sounds like her.
Denise, this is so YOU – celebrating someone directly from your heart – heartbeats of love ink flowing straight outta your pen! Elizabeth is a lucky lady to have you as a friend!
“without you we would be less than the whole” – what a lovely tribute, she is so needed and loved!
Fourteen Lines in Fifteen Minutes (Speed Sonnet)
Some would argue that it should not be done.
Blasphemy! One cannot make art race clocks!
The lines should flow, a brisk walk, not a run.
In your haste, you could trip into harsh rocks.
Yet I power through and fly to the sun.
Yes, I can feel the wax begin to melt.
Five minutes to go! Keep on writing, Son!
Honor the Muse to whom many have knelt.
Rounding the final turn, the volta shouts!
“You can do it! It’s well within your reach!”
Another cries, “Don’t listen to those louts!”
“Just a few more lines, ten syllables each.”
Alas, this was a twenty-minute task.
I’d do it again, if one were to ask.
Oh wow, Shaun. What fun. I love your daring flying close to the sun, no worries about melting wings. This was a clever idea and I’m sure so rewarding. Ten syllables, rhythm and rhyme. I’m so impressed! Wonderful!
Ha. I’m out of breath, reading it …
So glad you managed such a challenge in those 15 (20) short minutes. Your nod to Icarus is perfect. My favorite lines are the final couplet.
Shaun—as usual, you teeter on the edge of the rules and beat us all out. The last quatrain is so wonderful!! I was breathing hard as we turned that last corner.
This is awesome! I was carried away on the sprint, and I relate to having to set a timer to keep myself motivated. Kudos to setting something down, and having lots of Greek mythology references at your fingertips – I was totally engaged in your race against the clock and glad you made it to the end.
Shaun, you make this seem effortless with your precision and heartfelt honesty! I love the reference to the mythology, too! Such wordsmithing is a strong talent of yours.
Allison, thank you for such a variety of options and inspiration this morning! I love the movement in your poem, right down to that final bounce, bounce, bo-u-n-c-e. It took me right back to playing ping-pong and the not so slight competitions we’ve had. I totally just had fun with this today (response to prompts #2 and #4 and inspiration from Frost, Kilmer, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, and Shakespeare).
Sonnet Inspiration: A Poem in Couplets
Whose words these are, I think I know
They write themselves in row by row.
I know that they will never be
A poem as mighty as a tree.
But A told B and B told C
Just hold on tight and follow me.
If writing be the love of words
Write on, this morn, my need is cured.
Jennifer, I love all the varied inspiration for your couplet poem today. My favorite line is the last one. It reminded me of how much I look forward to this five-day middle of the month joy. You have shown your love of words this morning, and we get to enjoy your gift.
Jennifer, this hand holding of words – a told B and B told c …just follow….is such a personifying trait Of teaching, learning, and this writing community. We take challenging forms and hold hands and jump together. Beautiful, and I love the classic line interwoven!
Wow, I love that you have taken inspiration from Frost. The first two lines are simply lovely. I really like the rhythm and meaning of the third couplet as well 🙂
Jennifer, wow, such a wonderful and playful poem. I love the couplet:
Your poem moves so easily from the beginning to the end. The sense of satisfaction resonates!
Jennifer — I LOVE the word smithing in this delightful set of couplets. You are so skilled! Whoo! Thank you. Susie
Allison,
Like a true educator, your break down something intimidating into manageable chunks to warmly welcome the writer in. Love this idea! I plan to use it with my students.
I love your poem to your students! It’s a gem. My favorite lines are the couplet, which perfectly end the sonnet:
As nurtured, nurturing we take and give.
Poems take root; our garden comes alive.
As much as I wanted to close this tab, you caught me. Your sonnet to your students is brilliant. Sonnets scare the hell out of me, to be honest. But after reading Alice’s poem (I have done some recent study of her and am fascinated by her story), I was inspired for the first stanza of a possible sonnet. Thanks!
Can I combine a thought or two today
to hang a poem on with precious light?
Her sonnet says so much to make me pray
for unction on my words which are my right.
Poems hanging in precious light? Wowza. Love that.
Kevin
Margaret, your opening two lines have me captivated. Such a universal question with every writing task! Great lines to ponder with students.
Can I combine a thought or two today
to hang a poem on with precious light?
Wow—brevity is the soul of beauty today!
Hang a poem–love this!
You had me before Unction, but using that word just makes me want to hit the golden buzzer award! Unction.
Unction.
I’m smiling!
Good Morning Allison and Friends! I have such a busy day…first activity beginning in 15 minutes (driving to a college visit with my youngest). But, I wanted to say I love, love, love the idea of taking an aspect of a sonnet. This really takes away the intimidation factor. I’ll be thinking of this on my drive. Thank you! Have fun writing and reading today, everyone!
Oh, Allison, I love your bouncing ping pong ball poem. From resting weightlessly in your hand, to the fast and furious volley, to the detail about the joy it brings you in playing at home during the winter, and finally to the tiny bounces and stop at the end–I felt it all. It is a lovely love poem to ping pong.
The title of your prompt drew me in. When I saw Sarah’s email, I did exactly what you anticipated. Sonnet! Impossible, I thought. Oh, but then in the same breath I saw, “Don’t run away” and I trusted you because I know you are a great teacher. The scaffolding you have given is even better than I anticipated when you told me not to run away. There are so many delicious options. I look forward to exploring one or more of these aspects today.
Ah .. so much for rules …
Songlet
Feel free, she told me,
to remember me,
as tree,
to see me rooted in dirt,
the unsettled place where
love clings to hurt
So I sung her song –
I still sing her song –
so I would never forget,
for why make a sonnet,
queries the poet of rules,
when lines break beautiful,
into songlet?
Why make a sonnet? Line breaks into songlet. I love how you embraced this idea and flew with it on the page.
🙂
Kevin, I am struck by the rhythm of your poem, the imagery and emotion. I adored the lines
I feel this unsettled place so well! Thanks for sharing such a brilliant response!
Kevin,
The lines “I still sing her song -/ so I would never forget” reminds me so much of Sonnet 18. I love the lyrical sounds – I hear this playful “wee!” in the first stanza. Great writing!
Feel free, she told me,
to remember me,
as tree,
to see me rooted in dirt,
the unsettled place where
love clings to hurt
I just love this new look at a tree as metaphor for “clinging to dirt” in a relationship. Just gorgeous, these lines sounded musical to me.
Kevin, leave it to you to take the rules for one form and throw them out for the innovative new form of a Songlet! I love this:
for why make a sonnet,
queries the poet of rules,
when lines break beautiful,
into songlet?
Kevin — This is really quite brilliant in its lyrical poem-song-ness. Because I, too, write music, this really resonated with me. This piece just sings. Witty word choices and and finally a “songlet”! Love that! Thank you. Susie