Day 1, Inspiration
Much obliged. Appreciation. Gratitude. Acknowledgement. Recognition. Blessing. Grace. Praise.
In my little corner of the world, I have been filling up my days and nights with incessant to-do lists, projects, and non-stop scrolling to keep myself from feeling what I know is there waiting for me — something like grief, or it could be fear, maybe its apathy, or it could even just be: me.
So as I began to think about this month’s 5-day writing experience, I wondered if I was moving toward it as a space to heal or from something else I am avoiding. Frankly, I have not had the capacity to make sense of all the global and personal changes in my life. And all this is complicated by the fact that, as an educator, I am feeling really out of sorts and, again frankly, like a failure.
To heal, to avoid — it doesn’t matter how or why we are using this space (among the many reason you have found your way here this month). There is no judgment here. What matters, it seems to me, is that I am here. That you are here. Let’s just find our synonym for thanks that we are here.
Thank you for showing up.
Process
I invite you to reflect the words of thanks to name the space you want to be in with your writing today.
- Has a person changed your life for the better? If so, recognize who and why?
- Describe a friendship that has been a blessing. When, how, why?
- Can you find a moment when someone made a difference. Describe the situation, bring us into the interaction. Was it a “much obliged” or “appreciation”?
- What about you/ your being has kept you going these months? Can you recognize that in you?
- Do you need to give yourself grace? What would you say or do for yourself to offer grace?
- If you would like some distance from the “I,” maybe you can name some thanks you witnessed in the world, in your home, between strangers, even between pets. Show us that blessing, grace, acknowledgement in your verse today.
For the form, I’d love for you to take a look at Joseph Bruchac’s poem, “Prints.” Source: Sing: Poetry form the Indigenous Americas (University of Arizona Press, 2011). I used his form to help me recognize, even reclaim a bit of myself that became visible when my sister visited from Chicago this week. She, her visit — gifted this poem.
And, I’d like to introduce you to Joseph Bruchac and First Book’s Youtube channel for their anti-bias, anti-racist work. (And, another poem by Bruchac.)
Sarah’s Poem
“recognition”
seeing your wavy hair
with gray strands kissing
the part, a line laying
bare our path back
is like looking
into the mirror
I’ve shrouded in
distance, distraction
that holds
our childhood–
distortions uncurve
in the iris of your eyes
disfigures unbend
in the teared cheeks
I see
with a sister’s eye
the was in my am
the was in your is
and the healing
that remains
for us
Your Turn
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Paper
White, smooth
Accepting, forgiving, inspiring
Thick, tactile, warm, alive
Moving, feeling, pulsating
Invisible, life-affirming
Breathing
I apologize for being late to the poetry party this month. I tried writing this poem two or three times…trying to find a space to give thanks, show gratitude…trying to force my thoughts and ideas into a form that just wouldn’t take. So, I returned to the mentor text and Sara’s gracious offering, and I let the form guide me. Many thanks to this space and those of you who write and share each month!
seeing Insta videos
and Facebook posts
of nieces
states away
delighting in first steps
dancing with shadows
discovering their voices
and the world
is like catching
a glimpse
of faded baby pictures
in dusty photo albums
crinkled eyes
smushy noses
pouting lips
and
solo baby teeth
mirrored in their clenched fists
echoed in their giggles
a memory of a brother
a recognition of myself
a glimmer of a child I don’t have
Remembering what I already know
For 15 years, every morning, I merged
Seamlessly onto the 405 freeway going 70 miles an hour
Without a thought
Now, today, after being in quarantine for
10 months
With only my computer and my kids
Not going out unless I have a purpose
And when I do, it all seems just slightly strange
My car has dust all over it
Little things I used to do automatically
I now have to remember to do
Look behind me
Back out slowly, pause, look, back out
I know the way because I’ve done it a thousand times
And yet everything looks slightly strange
I’m mindful of the 4 way stop
Anxious because I must make a left turn onto
Pacific Coast Highway
Something I’ve done every day of my life
But now I’m anxious
I use the slow lane . . . . . Never did before
Oh God, here comes the entrance ramp
My heart is beating out of my chest
I have to do this . . . . I have to get on the 405
I accelerate and wish others would slow down just a bit
I look to my left and find my entrance – wheeeew
After a bit I settle into the ride
But where is my exit . . . . I forget . . . . Is it Crenshaw?
Of course it is, I remind myself.
I anxiously await an opening to move over
So I can make my exit . . . . .
I did it! I did it! I made my exit!!!
I feel so empowered now.
Shit. I forgot my mask.
Judi, your poem captures this moment so clearly…I held my breath with you as you merged onto the 405. I think we have all experienced these “phantom limb” moments as we emerge from our covid cocoons, I know that I have. I especially liked the humor and juxtaposition of the last line. Thank you for sharing your poem with us!
To Uncle
Your words of wisdom
Shadows my path
Echoing reminders
Not to stray
With each passing year
My appreciation grows stronger
For a vision you held
When I was much younger
How
Young and free
Naive me
Could not phantom such a dream
But your words
Spoken with authority
Willed
a better future for me
Tio I am grateful
For your faith in me
Even when doubt shadowed my hope
Your positivity remained
Melissa, how lucky you are to have such a wonderful Tío in your life! It’s so important that we have those in our lives who can foster a dream for the future. What a tribute!
Melissa, I love your word choice and the flow of the poem. I think it speaks to the growing, and no longer naive, you that wrote this poem looking back at how Tio helped you. Love it. Especially, “naive me” love that little phrase.
Melissa, the stanza that stood out to me was
I think it’s the “ee” assonance makes the lines roll of the tongue and seem to capture the innocence (and blessed ignorance) of the moment.
Thank you for sharing your poem!
In Praise of Amblyopia
I see my left eye
in the mirror
wandering towards the window.
I concentrate on the right
applying thin mascara,
a nod
to a lone vanity that has
survived the pandemic.
Dr. Becket says
my brain has learned to
ignore the
messages telegraphed
from my renegade orb.
Look! it cries:
misty fog hovers above the corn
as dawn melts into morning.
Look!
the old coonhound
wanders into view.
Look!
a burnt orange leaf
is dancing alone.
The stubborn mind
strains to ignore
the cheerful yelps
of my lazy
ambling
misbehaving
beloved
eye.
This is beautiful, Allison. Your word choice is somehow whimsical, yet serious. How’d you do that? “Wandering towards the window,” “renegade orb,” and “lazy ambling misbehaving” are my favorites.
Allison, what a heart of gratefulness this poem shows. My absolute favorite is the end, “beloved eye.” Oh, so rich. I am looking anew at amblyopia today. Your eye is not lazy, but ambling. It’s misbehaving and a renegade, but it is seeing such beauty in the misty dawn. Your words are beloved today too.
What an adventure! While standing at the mirror, there are so many distractions and a “stubborn mind” to deal with, all in midst of a simple task. My ADHD understands, because the distractions are “cheerful yelps” but still beloved. I loved your “Look!” stanzas. They were concise and powerful.
Things I Haven’t Done While Sheltering in Place:
• Organized all the old photos
• Shopped for frivolous items
• Exercised every day
• Discipline students for hallway behavior
• Taught my students in the classroom
• Socialize with anyone outside of my quarantine bubble
• Maintain low blood pressure while watching the news
• Travel
• Read the entire works of Shakespeare
• Felt like I am doing anything well
Things I Have Done While Sheltering in Place:
• Displayed more family photos
• Donated forty-some boxes of crap I don’t need
• Purchased pants a size up
• Gazed out the window to observe bird behavior
• Learned how to Zoom
• Focused on those who mean the world to me
• Got motivated to become an election judge
• Dream daily about trips to take
• Read every damn day
• Learned that sometimes it’s ok to admit I am struggling
What now?
It’ll eventually be ok.
I’ll muddle through.
Life will get back to normal.
Or not.
I can look back
And know
I’ve done the best I can.
And that’s good enough for me.
Oh, Mo! Thank you for this wonderfully personal list. This is a beautiful heartfelt example of what I tell my students is the power of the specific to reveal the universal. You inspire me to want to write my own poem of COVID bullets. Thank you.
Mo, I love how you start with the list of what you haven’t done. Then you beat it back with a list of all you have done during sheltering in place.
“Organized all the old photos” juxtaposed with “displayed more family photos” – You can’t do everything, but you have done so much. Your format makes the second list more impressive somehow.
Another example:
That! Great relief from the high blood pressure that the news gives.
I like Allison’s idea of making a similar poem about this chapter. Thanks!
watching weeds grow
two little girls grew up
as different as they are alike
fair hair and skin
soft freckles against cheeks and arms
one moves about in a classroom
rattling around in black scrubs
among widely spaced students
staring at screens
the other moves from one home
to another, restless, alert
dreams fill her head as she walks
among friends and strangers
and just today one bakes cakes
spread out across Mom’s buffet
while the other flies back to Mexico
resident stamped inside her passport
Jamie, this is terrific. I love the dichotomy you’ve set up here. You’ve clearly shown how two such similar people can also be so very different. Such a sweet and sad poem.
I am so intrigued by your title. I also love the imagery of both walking around among people they know and don’t. There’s also a space that you can feel. Maybe that’s where the weeds are. You set a great mood with your words: it’s melancholy yet peaceful in the connection seen between the two little girls. I love “rattling around in black scrubs”. same, haha.
The Muse Had Wrinkles
By Nancy White
“Would love to hear what you’ve got today,” he said.
I gingerly stepped up on the platform to the most beautiful walnut Kawai baby grand,
hesitant, and heart pounding to play this new song for him.
He sat mesmerized and in wonder exclaimed, “My!”
as I ended with a bashful grin.
His face was kind and crinkly and he raised a finger
like Yoda instructing young Master Luke.
Silence. “Play it again!” he said softly.
My fingers flew over the keys in newfound confidence.
He gave me that gift.
And each week I brought him a new song.
Nancy, I love how you share this precious teacher. How motivated he made you feel. What a beautiful tribute! The last line shows so much!
Oh, Nancy, I’m in tears reading this. How those teachers still inspire today. I wonder what he would think if he knew about his Yoda-like influence over your playing.
in the age of overwhelm
during my journey through trauma
a discovery of witches
helped me find the gifts of imperfection
they told me the truth about magic
big magic
soft magic
they reminded me of a time when god was a woman
they showed me that the miracle in the mundane
can be heard in the eternal echoes
of water, wind, earth & fire
I am a succulent wild woman
a witch
a child of the moon
I can build an altar in the world
and manifest my every desire through the art of dreaming
I am no longer running on empty
peace is every step forward that I take
(in gratitude to the books that saved me)
I know and love many of these books, also. I love how you wove them together to make a little story, and I love the affirmations at the end, succulent, wild woman!
Thank you, Emily, for noticing what I did! : )
oooooooooooh…..you had me at witches and magic and child of the moon. What a great take on this prompt. You carry the tone and imagery all the way through. Write another! I think this is the beginning of a longer story. Please?
You are too kind, Linda! Thank you! : )
Emily Cohn’s comment makes me wonder which of your lines are allusions to books?
I loved your poem. These lines stirred me:
“gifts of imperfection”
“big magic, soft magic”
“he miracle in the mundane
can be heard in the eternal echoes…”
and of course “succulent woman”!
I’m cheering you on!
Hi Allison! Every line contains a book title. : )
Four days In fall
With fanfare,
Your memory
waves and smiles
To those of us
On the sidelines
Of the Veteran’s
Day Parade.
With pain
And joy
We mark
The day you
Left behind
All pain
And joy.
With thanks
We will eat
In your honor,
Though you will
Not be here
To organize
us.
With a
Song in
Our hearts
We will sing
“Happy Birthday”
To you.
Four days,
A lifetime
Of memories.
“ With fanfare,
Your memory
waves and smiles”
Such a touching personification. This poem moved me to think of my dad, WWII veteran. We will always honor, always celebrate and remember. Bless you for this!
Katrina, your poem carries such sorrow and honor. I am especially moved by the way you build on the emotions through the structure of your poem. The last stanza carries such power; ends so solemnly. Beautiful!
Oh, my, Katrina, what a month of anniversaries about this dear person. We learn so much this dear one. I like how you will eat in their honor but they won’t be there “to organize” you. That is a sweet image. My brother, who was the host of family Thanksgiving dinners for all of us, also died in November in 2012.
P.S. Be sure to read Barb’s poem today with a similar theme.
What Keeps Me Going
Seeing piles
of work
unfinished and unmoving
feels like lessons
not teaching
but weighing down –
standards
and grading
lose their purpose
until a student
with a hunger for
words and love
walks in the room –
I will keep
going and doing
holding tight
to passion –
to them.
Kori, Isn’t that just how it goes? Lol. I feel tired, drained, discouraged some days, not sure if what I did “landed,” and then a student will remark how he or she enjoyed something or other or looked up more about a poet because of a conversation we had, and then I’m like, “I’m back!” Thanks for sharing this!
Kori, I agree the grind of standards, etc. can remove the joy from teaching. I can totally related to being motivated by the students who show a desire and hunger who love to play with words and share their passion. The last stanza is so powerful.
I love how your poem shifts from the weight of piles/grading
to the joy of teaching/learning.
Sarah, thank you for this poetic inspiration! I love the way these two lines of your poem sound when I read them aloud:
Such a beautiful way to acknowledge sisterhood…we carry so much of our past into who we are now.
Always a joy to find the five day OpenWrite in my inbox!! Again, thank you!
I too loved those lines! My dearest person in the world is my sister who WAS IN MY AM as I WAS IN HER IS. Thank you, Sarah, and Maureen for lifting up this passage!
She is…
She sees me
When I’m blinded
Never-ending work
She hears me
When I whine
Unwilling to relent
She encourages me
When I cry
I can’t do it
She searches inside
To hold hope
She’ll give back
Because we reciprocate
Light and laughter
Love and longing
Because we acknowledge
Hardships of seclusion
Dangers with inclusion
Because without her
I can’t imagine
Surviving this year
She is my sisters
She is my best friends
She is me
She is everyone I love
© Stacey L. Joy
Stacey, this is such a beautiful gift of a tribute! Love the closing stanza,
Stacey, what a beautiful tribute to the power of sisterhood and the strength of friendship! Your last lines of the discovery of the she is touching!
What a beautiful poem of thanks….ending on that very special word, love. We all need this person in our life. I hope you can give this poem as a gift. What a treasure.
SO much to love here!
I especially love how you bring rhythm and rhyme into the climax of your poem
Because we acknowledge
Hardships of seclusion
Dangers with inclusion.
I also appreciate how you blend singular and plural to such a powerful effect in your final stanza!
Please include me in the women of your words!
feather, small and gray
lying in our walking path
once seen cannot be unseen
get out!, you demand
so, the stroller’s belt I undo
together
we bend over
looking closely
only to have the wind
lift it
into the air
sending it forward
beckoning
you and I in pursuit
laughing
following a feather
Maureen, I’m feeling the joy in watching you and “Frog” chase a feather and can’t help but think of Emily Dickinson while reading your poem. The idea of “the wind lift[ing] it in the air” and “sending it forward” is filled w/ such hopeful movement.
There is such beauty here – it reminds me so much of the feather falling off the church steeple in Savannah in the movie Forrest Gump! I love the movement and the reactions.
Golden Wings (to my sister)
Water overflowing pink skies
our trampoline skid marks
popsicle adventures
bunny rabbits have their own phone numbers
tattoo our hands together
fathers don’t always understand
brothers carry heavy hearts
You are an anchor weighing down the ship that
forgets what Christmas is supposed to mean.
Flower on jeans placed behind the ear
Red dirt caked to the bottom of your faded bumper
Mardi gras beads from the rear-view mirror
no one adores you
more than me
Those last two lines, with the big space in between are breathtaking:
It is such a beautiful surprise of an ending – those three precious words “more than me” change the whole meaning of the poem – your sister clearly delights you! Sweet tribute!
Madison, this is love, all love! I enjoyed the visuals that your words so creatively gave me. I know the love you have with your sister, I have that too. Wish every sibling could have it too.
My favorite lines:
Hits home for me because my sister and I had to take charge of Christmas about 10 years ago and it’s so special.
Thank you for this beautiful poem!
Texts from High School Friends
Out of exhausted silence,
a buzz!
– Hah! –
I cackle at a mossy old joke
Popping up like a happy duck
After a long dive.
On a random (shitty) Sunday
Buried treasures dusted off!
Ancient photos of us (as we sometimes were)
Float in
…
Matching tank tops on a staircase
…
Velvety dresses in a row and sugary first sips
…
Dirty t-shirts in a tent
Who was that cute boy in there?
…
Pointing at a blurry something, doubled over laughing, squinting
…
Bunny ears behind each girl’s head
Grinning in a pile on Katie’s mom’s clean carpet
(So well-cared for, us girls.
Surely we dropped cheese-dusted snacks all over that vacuumed carpet
And bristled at the boundaries
That kept us good and safe.
There’s some overdue gratitude…)
I consider each fresh, unmade face
We were (angsty and self-conscious and)
beautiful then.
And we are (dog-tired and stressed and)
beautiful now
like the lattice on an old snowshoe —
Memory messages like
Lines and knots
Keeping each other aloft
on unpredictable terrain.
Texting has become such an important source of connection during this pandemic! Love the snatches of texts that you included here – they become a poem unto themselves!
How wonderful. Nothing like an old BFF who sticks with you through it all.
“ Keeping each other aloft
on unpredictable terrain.”
What would we do without those few who are our lifelines?
I love your specific memories – Matching tank tops on a staircase – Velvety dresses in a row and sugary first sips – Dirty t-shirts in a tent – I recently got a photo of a friend in her parents house in high school sitting on a couch we later had in our shared homes – indelible moments
Sister Therapy
By: Emily Yamasaki
When you need
Reminding
Of who you are
Where you came from
And where you are now
Count on a sister
To tell you how it is
Unbothered and unapologetically
That you are
A Tsai.
Don’t matter if you changed your name.
Tsai blood
through and through
Yup! I feel this in my bones. Sisters are amazing mirrors, no matter the name change. You’ve captured that bond as you tell us how it is between you in an “unbothered and unapologetic” way. I appreciate how the form matches the message in this poem.
Boom!!!! ???
My Forever Friend
Seeing the faded Polaroid
of you and me, grins plastered
on our sun-burnt faces one lazy
summer long ago
is reminder of forever friendship
one that would withstand ugly
drunk words slurred through
a nasty roommate break up
turning sticky album pages
unearthed from a dusty attic
to unveil images …
the black hats we once wore
at college parties and
binges lasting til
morning donuts –we were unstoppable —
reminds me
our friendship is
proverbial gold
holding fast
over the decades
your loyalty steadfast
always, even
when I failed you
Now, connecting through text,
through the Covid ether,
we are a friendship forged in trust,
my forever friend, thank you.
maybe we should appreciate the ease a text allows us to connect with far flung friends and the fact that these times where fewer demands eat our time – allowing you to connect with a friend who is proverbial gold, loyal(ty) and steadfast, friendship forged in trust – memorable through the years
Tammi, what a beautiful tribute to your forever friend. The specific details vividly share the special moments you’ve shared, although some may be painful. I was particularly intrigued by your description of the current state of our world : “Covid ether”. Brilliant! A trusted friend is truly a blessing.
Grace
It takes up my being,
it’s easy to gift away to others.
it consumes my thoughts,
wanting them to feel
welcomed in my corner.
People around me are
given it freely. As it
comes with a charge for myself.
Why is it so hard to give grace
to the one person I’m
supposed to love the most?
Jordy– Your words ring so true. Granting grace to ourselves is the hardest and your question at the end “Why is it so hard to give grace to the one person I’m supposed to love the most?” — packs a punch!
My heart is singing to this poem. I had considered writing my poem to this theme, but wasn’t sure how to capture the essence. Thank you for sharing this!
Jordy,
Your words here are powerful. I love the last line’s power, but I also love that you chose the word “charge” to explain how you give yourself grace. It works so well as an opposite to the word “freely” and it brings about a perspective I wouldn’t have come up with. I think it accentuates your careful word choice in selecting the word “freely” also, because if you had used something like openly or unrestricted, the phrase wouldn’t hold the same impact. It all speaks back very well to the value of grace in our hearts. Love it!
Thoughts on a Writing Prompt Eliciting Thanks
Was going to give this one a pass
today, was going to grade some
more formal outlines for my comp
class, was going to return
to the world of education where
I know the rules — must be complete
sentences, if you have an “a” you
must have a “b” — but I found my
hand reaching for my journal, found
the purple pen — uncapped — already
writing quick bursts on the page
staving off the “real world,” reminding
me of the pink Calamine lotion I
had to spread on the splotchy skin
blistered by the poison sumac or ivy
that grew unbidden in the backyard,
reminding me of the time in the
grocery store a few days earlier,
when I hiked up my shorts, madly
scratching at the edges, trying to
get my brother to “look at this,
what is this?” and he telling me
to put my pants down,
no one wants to see your inner
thigh, which, of course, reminds
me of Anis Mojgani’s words this past
week about how no one wants
to read the random scribblings
in your journal, the thoughts you
thought were brilliant at 4 AM.
He wasn’t talking to just me,
(although I felt particularly seen
at that moment), he was talking
to the over a thousand people
on the Zoom call, and
it is here that I want to give thanks,
lay down the laurel wreath and
burnt offerings for the Gods
of Poetry (were this a classic Greek
poems, now would be the invocation)
because without this rough patch
right now, this bending and ultimate
breaking of our known world, I
wouldn’t have been able to see
and hear Anis Mojgani, Sarah Kay,
Clint Smith, Hanif Abdurraqib, Charles
Simic, Ada Limón among others.
So, to put it another way, to couch
it in terms that my educationally motivated
mind can comprehend. I’m thankful —
even during this grossly encroaching
madly burning world of ours — of
the numerous, and free, PD
opportunities that I have been
afforded.
Scott — Your journey here took me on this ride through your poem that lingers in so many places… the journal, your poison blistered hand to the marvelous gurus that you salute. I’m so glad you didn’t pass on today’s prompt! That wicked purple pen of yours delivered amidst “this grossly encroaching/madly burning world of ours…” and I’m so glad. It is quite fun to think that I’m sitting here with Ada Limón’s volume, The Carrying, having just adored her “The Real Reason” (the one about why her mother didn’t want her to get a tattoo), kickass poem! I share your thanks for the gift of the PD — that you brought it forth here in this poem — and am so tickled that you were lucky enough to hear/see her! Whoohoo! You dawg! Susie
LOL. Thank you, Susie, not just for your kind words — most especially for those, however — but also because you sent me searching for an Ada Limon (please imagine the diacritical mark above the “o” because I can’t figure out how to add that in this text box) poem that I hadn’t read, which led me to a reading that she gave last year — with SEVERAL of her poems that I hadn’t read!! And in her own voice, too!! I just listened to “Wonder Woman.” So good!
Scott – I love the vivid images in this piece and joy that comes with the distraction of writing inspired by –of all things — PD.
Needs
She cleans out her pantry.
Canned mushrooms, tuna, canned fruit, cereal
no longer needed.
His grocery is overstocked.
Into his truck he loads crackers, carrots, rice
no longer needed.
They wake up early
don warm clothes, set up tables.
Sitting outside in freezing cold
organizing lists of those who need.
They enter a line growing immense.
People of all ages and color
eager yet cheerful behind masks
waiting in a common need.
He distributes the food.
Canned goods, fresh vegetables,
potatoes, oatmeal, maybe a canned ham.
Things needed.
They gather their gifts.
Now smiles behind masks
knowing they won’t be hungry for long.
Needs taken care of.
_____________________________________
Thanks Sarah for starting off this November write! I am always looking forward to it.
I also thankful for the many volunteers that have helped with food distribution during this pandemic.
Susan,
I love this writing space for the perspective it offers us, for the windows into experiences, ideas, values, humanity that we need one another to witness. Such a powerful tribute to the She and His!
Sarah
Susan — Thank you for reminding me that there are selfless, kind people in our world. It is so easy to become overwhelmed with all the negativity surrounding us and this poem is a beautiful reminder that the world if filled with good people who take care of others.
So lovely… I wondered how someone might capture gratitude between people outside of ourselves and you just nailed it. I love the specificity of the foods mentioned, I love the joy despite the gaping need. Thank you.
I really love your concrete images here, I feel so in these moments because of them. “Now smiles behind masks” is a wonderful line I think we all relate to. Thank you for sharing, I loved this poem.
Susan,
You moved me with your line that says, “waiting in a common need,” and it brought me to recognize the common humanity we all have in this world, and especially within this pandemic. I love that the two individuals donating their resources are able to also meet their own needs through their act of service. It made me think that what we all definitely need is each other. Very special poem.
Susan, Thanks for giving us a glimpse of the goodness and kindness we don’t always get to see. I love, “ People of all ages and color
eager yet cheerful behind masks
waiting in a common need.”
They are cheerful in their common need. They know they will eat. So moving.
Oh, how wonderful. I’ve been making donations—but I never get to see the distribution. I love this.
I get anxious when my friends text me and await a reply. I’m not sure why, but this poem is for my friend that texts me no matter what.
Text Grace
You text again
but I can’t seem
to respond
Not because its you
But because its me
You bless me with
your friendship and love
Please grace me with
your forgiveness
I’ll text you back
once my mind
Doesn’t outweigh
My heart
Darcie,
That phrase “you bless me” is so moving. We want a response, don’t we. In a response, a text, a look, a nod, a comment — is an important acknowledgement of our being. I will do better with “I’ll text you back.”
Sarah
Something so simple can be so loaded. “Once my mind doesn’t outweigh my heart” says so much about peace of mind, and how much we need our friends to bear some of the weight.
Darcie, this is a feeling, a thought that so I have experienced and feel so closely. I love the line, “I’ll text you back once my mind doesn’t outweigh my heart.” Once the overthinking and anxiousness exits, I’ll listen to my heart to respond. Thank you for sharing!
Darcie — True friendship really is a blessing! I really connect with your last stanza: “I’ll text you back/ once my mind /doesn’t outweigh/ my heart”. I have felt that way many times.
The final lines
Wow, wow, wow. How this feeling seems so familiar to me. Thank you for sharing!
Darcie,
Thank you! Sometimes we all need to take a step back from the compulsion to respond. I applaud you for being able to wait. I get mad at myself for feeling like an unanswered text for more than 5 minutes is an indication of my negligence. I’m grateful for your poem. I will try to stop responding to texts that interrupt anything I’m doing.
These lines should be the mantra of all of us during times like these.
Sarah, thank you, my friend, for this space that I always look so forward to meeting with each of these teacher-poets every month. Your poem is so powerful. You are so good at writing from your heart on the complexities and unanswered questions of life. One of my favorite definitions of complicated is “folded together.” You are an honest poet, and I like learning about your folded-together family relationships through your beautiful poems. My favorite lines are:
I have been working on being more grateful in November. So much to be thankful for. But today, I am thankful that my phone is no longer clogged with baked beans.
thanks
seeing my phone
slip from my hands into
the hearty
tomato saucy
goodness of
Amy’s Organic
Vegetarian
Baked Beans
in the microwavable
bowl
Was like watching
a phone
tumble over the railing
on the upper floor
at the mall but
Instead of smashing
on the tile
below, it
slipped
sidled
slunk
slithered
stole
shrinkingly
into the sauce
so smoothly
so stealthily
My first reaction
was to pull it up from
its shallow bath
It only took a half-inch dip
My phone barely waded in
Hardly got its feet wet
I don’t know beans about
how to save a phone
in a cooking calamity
So
It will be fine
I told myself
I took a quick lick
across the bottom
where the speaker
and charge port sit
because the slits were
looking crimson
and congested
I gave the whole phone
a once-over with the dish cloth
I sucked on the end to
extract more tomato sauce
Just to be sure
Then I promptly forgot about it
The phone worked fine all day
But on seeing the
15% battery warning.
I went to plug it in
Nothing
No power
No lightning bolt
I checked the plug for
electricity
I wiggled the cords
Beans!
Oh yeah, the beans
As my husband and I sat
through the rest of the Zoom
meeting, I thought about telling
him. (Our mic was muted.)
No, I better wait.
When we finished, I nonchalantly said,
I dropped my phone into the beans at lunch.
He said, You need a new phone anyway.
What? I said. No I don’t. THIS is my phone.
I just need it to charge.
He plugged it in and
I switched the cord
to a different outlet.
It worked.
It’s up to 83% now,
so I think the beans are history.
“slipped
sidled
slunk
slithered
stole
shrinkingly
into the sauce
so smoothly
so stealthily”
I read those lines/words three times out loud, just to hear them in the air.
Kevin
Oh, Denise!
I just love an epic narrative in verse and that there is joy and laughter here (after the trauma)! The word choice that Kevin already noted is what adds whimsy and perspective. Thank you so much for the beans story.
Sarah
Oh, Denise, what a calamity. I laughed (sorry, not sorry), and ached for you and your phone. Is there anything we do w/out these intrusive devices? I have mine in the kitchen all the time. I love all the /s/ sounds (see Kevin’s list) and noticed one missing, the one I would have used! Ha! You can guess. And the licking and sucking of the phone. OMG! How multi-faceted those lines are in their saving sensual imagery. Glad the phone is working now, but do consider investing in a new one before you can’t retrieve anything from the old one!
Denise,
This is a perfect story I see happening in the day of Thanksgiving madness! I love the whimsical outcome of the one word lines in an alliteration affect that has already been noted in the comments. Thank you for sharing!
Denise — I love this narrative poem. It made me smile, and I was so relieved that your phone worked. Not having to replace your phone is definitely something to be thankful for!
What a unique way to express an experience so many of us have had. I love it!
I was hoping throughout the whole poem that the beans were salvaged as well as your phone.
This is perfection!!
Bravo, Denise!
I loved all the “s” sound alliterations – really gets to the ‘slime’ of a phone in soup – ugh! Why did this make me giggle? Honestly, I am horrified for you! We need our phones! Hope it is 100%. Thank you for this – simple and important gratitude.
Beans! Ha ha ha ha! Oh, that is such a great story and in verse. Thank goodness for those husbands who are just sensible and plug the thing in. I love this.
Denise, this was fun to read! I really liked the word play of “My phone barely waded in / Hardly got its feet wet / I don’t know beans about / how to save a phone / in a cooking calamity.” Those lines pair nicely with the image of the speaker trying to “extract more tomato sauce” by putting the edge of the phone in her mouth. Too funny!
Sarah, I love your description of your sister in your first stanza. And your last stanza reminds me of e.e. cummings 🙂
This poem is for a new love 🙂
Seeing you whisk the egg with
salt, pepper and a splash of milk
and pour it into the tiny pan
bubbling with butter
is like waking up
in my childhood home
where there is a family
Something I thought I would never know
again.
My dad is at the stove
I am waiting for an egg sandwich.
A familiarity so comforting
Like the large t-shirt of yours I wear
that must have been transported here
from 1994
No mickey mouse
But it feels the same.
This is not a one-way street
I’ve waited for someone
who would appreciate
what I have to offer
and you are deserving.
You are home.
Angie, this is a beautiful poem. It reminds me of sensual movie scenes, and I love that you’ve found “a new love.” I know that feeling, too.
Angie — There are so many beautiful images in this one from the “bubbling butter” to the “familiarity so comforting like a large t-shirt” and you’ve capture that feeling of new love so perfectly because it is so true when you find that perfect love you do have that sense of familiarity.
Mm mm MM! Yes to new love, yes to a familiar feeling in something new. The imagery of that familiar old t-shirt and the considering of how this moments connects to feelings of home is just very well-done.
Angie,
I love the way you placed your memories and your present love side by side with this poem. The stanza that discussed the large t-shirt took me back to my own childhood, waking up on Christmas morning in a giant t-shirt and filled with wonder. There was such vivid imagery with the mention of Mickey Mouse and the specific year all wrapped up into an item of clothing. It reminds me that home is never truly about the place – it’s the people that make home what it is. Great job!
Some if you have seen photos of my dogs on FB, Twitter, and IG. This poem honors Snug. He came to us abused and near death ten years ago. He’s a strange little dog, and I often wonder what secrets he holds deep in his memory.
Fur Baby
He follows me to the bathroom
Like a toddler afraid of
Losing sight of mom.
The schnauzer—a frown chiseled on
His face—lies at the shower’s base. He
Stands guard, motionless, silent:
My constant companion
In quiet contemplation
Until a disturbance in his universe
Elicits his barbaric yawp, and
Like me he roars a protestation at
The injustice of it all and walks away.
—Glenda Funk
I don’t currently have a pet, but when I see pictures of my friends’ rescued pets on social media, the pets’ gratitude glows through the screen. I feel that with your poem too. You made Snug’s gratitude visible with your words.
Glenda, I love this as much as the companionship of dogs. They are such dear and loyal friends. Your description of the frown chiseled face gives him such personality.
I love these wonderful images of Snug. “In quiet contemplation” then when disturbed his “barbaric yawp”, The last lines just make him come alive to me. So cute!
But, I’m trying to picture the “Like me” in those last lines.
Glenda, this made me chuckle. I have a cat that follows me to the “bathroom like a toddler…” She can’t lose sight of me and jumps on the tub to hope I will turn on the faucet and let her have a drink. If I don’t, I get a whine and she does the same thing…walks away because of the injustice of it all. Hee!
Glenda,
Thank you for this time with “Fur Baby.” I love how you reveal the depth of our companionship in the line “like me he roars a protestation at/the injustice of it all” — oh, yes! I love that about you, and I now love your pup for the activist “barbaric yawp.”
Sarah
Glenda, I love your ode to your fur baby! We’ve had a week with our bulldog who also stands guard for me in the shower, and is also easily perturbed and incensed. I think your opening image of him as a toddler is so accurate and loving; while they may sound and look mighty at times, inside they are just small, fearful creatures.
I have a schnoodle, part schnauzer, part poodle, who is a dedicated companion. I hear his “barbaric yawp” whenever a raccoon comes to eat the outdoor cat food. It’s piercing. Yes, the injustice of it all. I love this poem.
Glenda — You made me miss my ol’ Watty Boy. Snug is such a personality in this piece… the vigilant at your feet, the “frown chiseled,” the “yawp” that sounds so startling… just really hit the mark with that final “walks away.” Watty almost never ever had a bark, but his constant presence sure came through and connected me all the more to your poem. Love dim doggies. Miss the beast. Thank you for a touching moment. Susie
Fur babies! I love the image I got of your fur baby following you around and being the quiet (sometimes) companion for you. What a beautiful poem to him!
Glenda — You’ve really captured the personality of your “fur baby” in this poem. His silent companionship juxtaposed with the “barbaric yawp” reminds me of moody teen. Love it!
I am smitten by the opening image, him following you into the bathroom,
What a precious soul! I am wondering what he’s thinking, too.
Glenda, such a true picture of the devotion our fur babies bring. I love the image of your baby standing guard and silent while you shower. That’s priceless.
But this is what I am carrying with me, a reminder of the best way to deal with stupid stuff right now:
Brilliant!
Awwwww, snug. What a lovely reflection of thanks for your strange little dog. My cat is a strange little cat…a rescue that is scared to death of everything. I also wonder what he remembers that makes him this way. But, he’s my buddy. Your description of this pet is….a snug hug. Love it.
Such a beautiful prompt and space to share our words. Thank you.
Your gentle words
scribbled across the page
in a matter of moments
will stay with me for a lifetime.
When I said what I said
When I did what I did
I did not know how much it would mean to you
When you said what you said
When you did what you did
You did not know how much it would mean to me
May we always remember that our words and our actions matter
May we always remember to remind each other just how much
This has such a beautiful, honest simplicity, Stacy, like a prayer or a blessing.
I like your repetition use here. It’s very powerful, emphasizing the importance of words. Very nice.
Stacy, your poem is a good reminder of what we mean to each other. Your beautiful “gentle words” today touched me.
Stacy,
I’m trying to remember where I read that being vague is sometimes preferable to being specific. Your poem made me think of that. You have said much here w/out the details. Favorite lines that get to this idea:
Stacy,
This is a great reminder to take note of simple moments with others. I love the lines “When I said what I said, and did what I did… You said what you said, and I did what I did.”
I loved the repeating lines “When I said what I said” vs “When you said what you said.” These lines really capture that we don’t always grasp the full weight of our actions and words when they happen, but we always notice later. Thank you for sharing.
Sarah, thank you for this prompt today. I am going to ponder for awhile before I write. Your poem touched the familial nerve in me that makes me feel connected to my sisters and our quirky likenesses. I love the imagery of the gray hair along her part, “line laying bare our path back.”
Happy to be here and I’m thankful for all of you!
Oh, Sarah! I can’t wait to get my quiet time to write today! This prompt fits perfectly with my mood this week.
Your poem speaks so beautifully to the realities of growing older with sisters. My favorite stanza:
My sister is the big sis and she NEVER judges. I however can learn some grace from my most gracious sister.
Adore your poem, you, and your sis!
I Thought to Find Miracles
An entire world
can be found
in a grain of sand.
Beach cusps
ebb,
leaving mountains
patterned in soft ridges,
separating fleeting castles
from future collapse.
Ancient lake beds
of the Sahara awaken
to feed the Amazon,
winds tying desert
to jungle,
the poor feed the rich
even in particles of dust.
Time travels
in starbirths,
from Lagoon Nebulas
cusping
and star nursuries
awakening,
Pillars of Creation
built and collapsing,
the Hourglass
in its final
death throes
dropping time
in grains of sand.
*Thankful for the many miracles presenting themselves daily in my life.
Wow, this is lovely. Such vivid imagery of these many miracles. My favorite: “The poor feed the rich, even in particles of dust” TRUE and lovely.
Oh, Jennifer, I am traveling, traveling here. This poem is stunning and takes me on a gorgeous journey of miracles that I needed you, dear poet, to reveal to me. And the way you use “grains of sands,” circling back to the end is so artful. Love this!
Sarah
The words ebb, awaken, travel remind me what we think is old is new. Gazing on a familiar landscape or walking a well-trodden path, for example, we’re not seeing what those who came before us see. Not really. Time and experience change the view, and the experience. I really appreciate the way your poem reminds me how vast and unique the world is. It’s lovely.
Jennifer — Your mind was swirling and on a glorious excursion here. Wow! I would never have thought about “grains of sand” in this way…so beautifully structured. The patterns are so sensory-rich in tying each phase together. I particularly loved “build and collapsing,/the Hourglass…” maybe because of the sense of change and movement…those seem hopeful. Marvelous! Thank you, Susie
What a prompt – and what a mentor text. We’ve just finished our first quadmester & this week was rough. I was in our Spec Ed room this week – in our school it serves as a place for students who need help or support or quiet. We had tears and panic attacks and students generally in need of love at school. One moment, one teacher, stood out so clearly that I have been longing to write about him. This prompt gave me permission and form to do so.
Teacher
Seeing him
arms spread
in the doorway
is like looking
at the embodiment
of grace –
belief
and understanding
she can’t
imagine
as she sits
and sobs
He sees
with a teacher’s eye
the potential
she fears
she has
lost
Amanda, thank you for bringing attention to the love teacher’s have for their students, for the knowledge they bring to assessing exactly what a student needs. That last stanza strikes me deeply – finding the potential inside kids who fear it’s not there – you stated it so beautifully!
He sees with a teacher’s eye…that eye is not always strong, especially when a child is in most need of compassion. I love your honor of this teacher. I hope you will gift him this poem.
I love this. I wish I could say it more articulately, but I just love everything about it.
This made me cry! We all need someone to remind us of our potential when we forget.
Wow, sooo so lovely and meaningful. Thank you for sharing this event in your poem. I love the rhyme of sobs and lost. The last stanza is SO powerful – what a teacher, and what a teacher you are to see this.
It captures the emotional anxiety of the space, but with a sense of love, too. What more can we ask for in a poem?
Kevin
Amanda, I hope you share this poem w/ your colleague. The image of outstretched arms evokes acceptance and salvation, both of which teachers offer students in myriad ways. ‘Preciate you and all the teachers doing the righteous work of teaching and learning this year.
“Time”
God knows if I had the time
I’d never let your hand leave mine…
I just can’t seem to make the time.
I’m sorry, babe, it’s due at nine
And so’s the essay
And the project
And the dishes glare at me
As if to say how dare you leave
Us stacked and growing
Gross and molding
Now my bank account is showing
How much work is left for me
But then I look over at you
A garbage bag upon your back
You look like Santa Clause for sure
A younger, cuter Santa though
Who’s helping to pick up the slack
Who walks back in with Pizza Hut
And plenty of parmesan packs
And now we’ll watch one episode
One episode, and then its back
To working…
but this time I know
This time I know that when it’s time
You’ll interrupt this hell of mine
To bring me heaven once again
And I won’t let your hand leave mine.
Ann, I love what you’ve captured here: the love between you two, the reality that disrupts our ability to love as fully as we might want, the love he shows by “interrupting this hell… to bring heaven.” Bookending the piece with the hands is just perfect!
“God knows if I had the time
I’d never let your hand leave mine…”
I wish I could write an opening like that … it’s wonderful.
Kevin
Oh, Ann! You are speaking truth here. I have always struggle to balance my teaching work with my role as a life partner. My husband always tells me that he is second to my students, to my work. But he holds a mirror to me that pushes me to organize, prioritize, set boundaries. To sustain, we need to know that there is always a hand waiting to hold ours. The partners of teachers are pretty amazing people! And you are, too. You got this.
Anna,
Those first lines encompass a strong love. The image of Santa is lovely. Those of us w/ someone helping pick up the slack and bringing us a little heaven in the midst of hell are lucky. I don’t know how anyone survives w/out that. You’ve penned a wonderful poem filled w/ love and gratitude.
The Unintended Gift
Thanks perhaps implies
a transaction
between giver and receiver,
a gift of a sort.
Sure, I’m slap happy
for the shiver of snow days;
giddy at rainbows;
I’m all whipped cream
and dead-ripe strawberries
at puppies that grow
and never cease to bestow
affection and a reason to rise.
Who isn’t stoked
with thanks for the love
of family and friends and grins?
Yet quickly, this examination
upends poster-worthy memes
of thanks, words parsed
on Hallmark thank-you cards for friends,
beyond the cream that makes life
sugared or dreamy.
Maybe it’s the unintended gifts,
the seemingly unwanted
white elephants of my life
that test my mettle for thanks:
the lessons that cut,
the moments that disrupted,
the people that confounded,
the thorns that festered between my toes.
Maybe in each of these,
I was offered the gift of repose,
handed a mirror with a different lens
to pause, rethink my list of flaws;
a chisel to sluff the old shape
and chip and stipple
to the bone the stone
to be a better me.
by Susie Morice©
Susie, once again I am in total awe of your craft. The details throughout this poem radiate strong sensory responses. The combination of unique images are incredible. I adored, “I’m all whipped cream/
and dead-ripe strawberries” and “slap happy”. I feel the pain. Even the title adds a sense of discomfort, and when you describe the painful change at the end, I shiver. “Lessons that cut” indeed….I love how you share that even in our painful experiences, we are changed, perhaps for the better, but it’s definitely not an easy process. I feel those thorns between the toes, and once again I am completely moved by your poetry. Your words are an incredible gift I am thankful for.
Susie! Damn, girl. My emotional reaction to this was to smile because I always call my most challenging students my best teachers (apologies to my ACTUAL incredible teacher :)) because they made me be a better teacher, even if it cost me some crying in the shower moments. These lines kind of reminded me of the sugary patina of the holiday season, and the kind of reality hangover we get in January when we we’re looking in the mirror after all that sugar and cream:
Susie, those unintended gifts are powerful, indeed! All of those rough words: chisel, sluff, chip, stipple! We need to get to the bone to find the structure there. Your words cause me to take notice. You drop a hint of sarcasm in the dollop of whipped cream and strawberries – thank you for that!
Oh, Susie! I am struck right now by my reading experience of this. I began with “thanks” in the prompt to invite many ways of thinking about it — the holiday but also the implications and transactions. And then, the mirror here, that mirror people hold up to us that we may want to look at or not, that we may agree with or reject. I felt that in my poem, and I see that in yet another way with yours. Your poem, your being is always a mirror for me, helping me be better. I wouldn’t want you to “chip and stipple” too much, my friend.
Sarah
Susie, You’ve captured an idea I think about often: how to give thanks for the seemingly unpleasant “blessings” of life, those moments that force me to do better. I love the contrasts you create here, from the obvious things for which we give thanks to the “white elephants…people that confounded,” etc. I’ve been trying to focus more on this way of giving thanks. Favorite section, however, is
As always, thanks for seeing the world at a slant.
Thank you, Susie, for always delivering poetry that makes me think, makes me sit in awe, and also sometimes makes me question if you are ready to teach some online courses for teachers like me! I love you and this poem.
How clever and beautiful. But the transition in your poem into those “white elephants of my life
that test my mettle for thanks…” helps us all remember to be grateful for it ALL!!
ooooh. This ended differently than I expected. And, in a good way. I like the turn at “I was offered the gift of repose,” and how you take it to “a better me.”
This was not the prompt I wanted, but it was the prompt I needed. I lost my dog last month, and she came into my life and helped me through some serious trauma, so I wanted to take this moment to thank her for the best 12 years.
When I let you go
I said
Thank you
Over and over
They were
The only words
I could find.
But I didn’t know
Didn’t realize
How much
you did
For me.
You saved me,
The girl
That swore
She would
never
need
saving.
I miss you
Every moment
All I can still say:
Thank you.
Katie, wow, what an emotionally power packed, poem. I was especially moved by the idea that you sword you would never need saving. Your end feels like an echo full of grief and longing. Thanks for sharing this beautiful poem!
Oh, Kate — I too lost my ol’ buddy last month, and your poem has me here just bawling. But the sparse words and the thank you drill this right to my heart. Thank you and thank your sweetie of 12 years and thank my ol’ boy too. Susie
What a wonderful tribute. The repetition of “thank you”, the way you say “over and over” and the separation of the words never/need/saving – all of these combine to heighten the emotion you are expressing. As I finished, I felt a pang for my own lost companions, though their deaths are further back in time. Thank you.
So sorry for your loss. Such a special bond we have with our pets, and so terribly hard to let go. Pets truly do save us in so many ways. Thank you for the beautiful words you wrote.
Kate, what a heartbreaking loss! I’m so sorry about your dog. Thank you – perfect words to say as we let them go, and upon every memory.
Kate, I’m always here for the fur babies, and I certainly know the feeling of salvation that comes from having a dog in my life. My condolences on the loss of your pup.
Kate, this is powerful! Thank you for sharing it. My wife and I “let go” of our fur baby a little over a year ago, and your first stanza brought that back — our tears, the wagging tail, the trying to please us, to be a good dog right up until the end…so, uh, thank you…I guess? Lol. It was rough and, at times, still is. But I think poems, like this, can heal us, too, can help us remember “the good” when we need it. So, again, thanks!
I have a sister, too, Sarah, so I relate to your poem. We’ve grown closer as adults and as mothers. But I’m afraid she will always be my younger sister, and that makes her feel forever judged by me, no matter how hard I try not to be that. “The was is my am…” says so much.
I have new baby on the brain as my oldest daughter (and all of us) await the arrival of a baby girl.
Expectant
When I place
my fingers
on the swell
of her womb,
like combing waves in an ocean
softly lapping
to shore,
her skin
gently moves
as our time
ebbs & flows
mother to daughter
to daughter
together
in our own sea.
Oh Margaret! Another baby! and a girl this time – you must be over the moon. The water imagery in this poem really strikes me – the swell, the ebb and flow, the movement of the baby in the womb. I imagine this as a gift for this granddaughter to be. What love.
Like combing waves in an ocean is a perfect simile – the imagery of floating in warmth, getting closer and closer to land!
The water themes that always ripple in your poems, ripple here, too, Margaret. Lovely.
Kevin
I am loving how this form becomes what the poet needs. That turn to the simile in the second stanza is gorgeous – “combing waves”. I see it and so appreciate how it mirrors the ebb and flow of the mother and daughter — that movement is so vivid, visceral.
Sarah
Margaret,
I’ve never been a big baby person. I’ve always preferred teens to infants, but during this pandemic I am finding so much comfort in the babies my friends share on IG and FB, and even in the babies I see on Twitter. I love the image of you touching your daughter’s belly and the connection in
Looking forward to seeing those new baby pics soon.
I love the imagery of the ocean created in this poem. The ocean is forever changing, but always constant, a lot like our relationships with others. Beautiful poem, thank you for sharing.
lovely gestures – When I place my fingers on the swell of her womb – her skin gently moves – ebbs and flows – in our own sea – such simple words create such a powerful image to illustrate the relationship
Sarah, thanks for sharing this lovely prompt today. I so enjoyed the video; especially the clutter of the bookcase, an image that makes me feel connected. I loved the ending of your poem as the process of healing is not an easy road, and I felt your final lines transcended that emotion and reality. I have felt so at odds and conflicted this month so I appreciate coming to this group to read to share to cry to rejoice to give thanks. Your leadership and time is appreciated, Sarah!
Warm Hugs; Big Heart
November is full of anniversaries
Death dates
Birth Dates
Agony and bittersweet memories
It’s easy to curl into the pain
Cocoon myself; take shelter
Then a photo shared
Shows the two of us
With your arm around me
Loving laughter radiates
A precious moment
Treasured more than gold
My spirits lift–remembering
Love; the inseverable connection
And on this dark November day
I vow to be the best of you
Warm hugs; Big heart
Barb Edler
November 14, 2020
Barb — The tenderness of this poem is so strong. We share some of the same… November here is gloomy, raining Missouri, I too have scads of markers on this month. But the power of the photograph to bring you to someone you loved so much is very dear… “inseverable connection” stands strong. You do, indeed, have a “Big heart.” Thank you for the connections that you brought to me this morning. Susie
There is something about November, isn’t there? I was talking with my AP Lit class the other day about a poem called the “Myth of Music” that beautifully conveys both the warmth and the complex sadness that comes with memories and how they can both be comforting. Your poem reminds me of that poem. I love it.
Oh, Barb! That imagery of “cocoon myself” is really staying with me. I want to just go back, into a cocoon hugging me and letting me rest! That last line is helpful, too. I will take that warm hug!
Barb,
what a sweet and beautiful tribute to your love. Peace to you during these sad and conflicted November days.
Today you chose “Warm hugs; Big heart” So lovely.
May you find more hope and healing today and every day in November and beyond.
Barb, It’s easy for us to get caught up in the expectations of November, this month that feels so arbitrary in its traditions. I think about the “Agony and bittersweet memories” of the holidays this time each year and know your poem will offer a gentle reminder we need to embrace one another with “warm hugs” and a “big heart” this holiday season. Sending you love and peace.
Hi, Dr. Donovan! Thank you for such a beautiful prompt! It definitely spoke to me! We need time to be grateful and acknowledge our blessings. I woke up this morning feeling so many emotions and this poem helped me put my thoughts together.
You Are Enough
Listening to people
with so many compliments about a young woman
a young woman who inspires others
who is this young woman?
Looking at her
she seems confident
look at her accomplishments
It is true
All these people are right
I know who this young woman is now
Wondering what happens inside this young woman’s mind
Does she even realize it?
Why is she feeling so much fear?
I need to tell her she is enough!
Admiring every single virtue
Does she even know her strengths?
Why is she only focusing on her weaknesses?
She needs to know her worth!
Standing in front of her
the mirror whispers
that young woman is you
You are enough
Thank you, Sarah for inspiring me to write today. My writing isn’t fancy and I’m always in awe of the wonderful writers in this group. Here is what was on my heart today – thankful for making it through another week.
Saturdays for the Soul
Pulled in every direction
The world spinning around
Endless to do lists
Every one a project vying for attention.
Not enough hours
Checking the boxes
Finishing one thing only to start another.
But you have arrived, my friend-
Coming for a visit once a week
Nourishing my soul
Giving me the gift of time
Just to “be.”
Re-boot, Re-energize, Re-start
Filling my cup back up
So I can once again give back
To those I love.
Carolina — I really love the strength in this poem. Seeing that “you are enough” is no small feat…we are too often our own worst enemy in never thinking we are enough. Dang! We ARE enough…you really nailed this! “I know who this woman is now.” YES! Thank you!
Thank you so much, Susie! I totally agree with you! It’s ironic how we can be our worst enemies. I’m glad you liked my poem!
Carolina
This is beautiful.
Powerful and telling. Why, indeed, do all the young women feel so much fear? But you said it: You are enough!
Thank you, Denise! I appreciate your response to my poem.
Oh, my friend! Love this poem and deeply appreciate you putting into verse what has been weighing on me (and I suspect many others). “You are enough.” Yes! Love the personification of the mirror — whispers — but let me shout for you — Carolina, you are wonderful!
Sarah
I am very glad to know my poem brought some comfort! I hope it can also speak to many others (as you mentioned). Thank you so much! I really appreciate your kind words!
Carolina,
Your poem reminds me of so many young women such as yourself who don’t see themselves as enough despite their many accomplishments. Keep reminding yourself “you are enough.” Your generation is doing so much good and will continue doing so. I love the way you’ve used questions in your poem to challenge your own perceptions of yourself.
Thank you so much, Glenda! I really try to remind myself I am enough and it has helped me find peace. I really hope my poem can encourage young women to think the same.
Thank you for giving us this prompt. It is one that lets me sit back when the world keeps pulling me incessantly forward. It has been a really hard last few weeks, and this let me pause and think about all the little things that people have done to make a terrible situation bearable.
For My Students (and Coworkers)
I remained silent,
but
You knew what was
happening–
how could you not
when they wouldn’t
stop talking
about the situation
about the school
about me
and the choices
I had made
when asked to teach you
the beauty of God’s palate
when he encased mankind
in skin.
I gave empowerment
and love
and grace
in a book–
there were so many to pick from–
and one person
demanded I take it back.
It wasn’t right!
I was immoral
I was an indoctrinator
I wasn’t safe
for children.
I stopped remembering how
to breathe
My heart stopped remembering
its beat
My hands shook when I stood in front
of you
I had no idea what you had been told
to think.
I didn’t let you see my tears,
but I wondered
if you could see the traces
of the millions I had shed.
Instead,
You wrote your thanks,
your love,
and your support.
You had your families
call
their thanks,
their praise,
and their belief
in me.
You read the book
anyway,
Asked to continue it
anyway,
Came to school
anyway.
You hugged me,
checked in on me,
and shouted my praises from
other classrooms.
You took joy in helping,
in giving,
and in caring
for me when
I felt so alone
and pointless.
When I had been robbed of
my power,
my reputation,
my joy
of teaching you.
You were doing everything you could
to keep me with you
when I felt like running away.
I am sorry it has taken me so long
to come back to you.
I am sorry I learned how to hate you
in those awful, awful
moments.
I had to remember how to breathe.
I had to remember how to find joy in what I do.
I had to remember that one person can’t–and shouldn’t–ruin everything.
Thank you for waiting
so patiently
for me to remember how to love you again.
Thank you for loving me too.
Good morning, Andrea! What a heroic thing to do! These times are so difficult and I am heartened that you took a stand to educate about injustices and skin color. We each have a path to follow you in this direction even though it might mean rejection. Each of us my gently try to help people understand that we are all God’s children under our skin. Bravo!
“I had to remember that one person can’t- and shouldn’t- ruin everything.” Such a powerful reminder for us all to be brave and stay true to ourselves. Self-doubt is the enemy but you have many who love you for your bravery. Powerful words: “When I had been robbed of my power, my reputation, my joy of teaching you.” Thank you for your message of fighting for what you know is right for you and your students!
Andrea,
I was struck by the experience of reading your poem, how you helped me to move my heart with my mind with the short lines and quick pacing toward the “thank you” and that those last lines “remember how to love you again.” Yes!
Sarah
Wow, Andrea, this is a brave and vulnerable poem. It is so beautiful, and my heart soared at these lines and following:
That “instead” was a beautiful transition! Powerful and healing. This is such a rich and lovely thankfulness poem for today.
Andrea, this is a gorgeous, heartbreaking, maddening, cathartic poem. The strongest word throughout is “anyway.” Yes, despite all the pain teachers feel from parents, administrators, co-workers, students, evil patrons in the community, and Lord knows who else, when we put beautiful books in the hands of students and someone tries to snatch that beauty away, we survive and keep on offering words. I’ve experienced this. Last February a former colleague and friend was put through hell in her district for teaching “The Round House” in a dual credit lit class w/ university approval. It’s all nonsense. You are not alone. We see you. We hear you. We stand w/ you.
Sarah, my sisters have become my lifeline. I did not know this when we were growing up. But now, they are everything. I’m so thankful for them. I feel that in your poem. The love and the need for healing. There’s so much to say that can’t be said. But, your poem does. I hope you shared it with your sister.
Thanksgiving Break
Driving past fields
empty and stretched–
canvas for winter.
is a calculation
of credit hours
I’ve earned to bring
you home
to be ours
for a spell
like when you
were six
making handprint turkeys
and construction paper leaves
printed with thanks
for your kitty
and dog
house with a pink bedroom
to match your
princess blanket
Linda, this has the feel of a college student coming home for Thanksgiving after a semester of hard work! Those memories of when this child was little just add that heartbeat to the poem and give it life!
“canvas for winter” is such a great line.
Kevin
Linda, I love the specific details you share here. To have an adult child home for just “a spell” is so precious, and you share that emotion so well in this poem. “The turkey made from fingerprints; the pink bedroom; the princess blanket”…priceless!
Ah, enjoy the “spell” you have your daughter home.
This poem structure work so well — I love the setting shifting to the metaphor in the second stanza and then the shift back to “when you/were six/making handprint turkeys.” Gosh, the sound of that line alone with the assonance of “i” throughout. Gorgeous on so many levels.
Sarah
Linda, I love all the images of childhood making in this poem: “handprint turkeys / and construction paper leaves.” These are lovely traditions and memories, but my favorite part is the way you flip the credit hour image to be something a mom earns. That’s clever. I also love that barren image of a field that you fill w/ memories. Lovely poem.
I miss those days of making handprint turkeys and construction paper leaves, the princess blanket. My one and only granddaughter has now become a teenager. As I prepare for her holiday visit I feel sad that she is no longer a six year old to be silly with. Well, not too sad because those teenage years bring lots of fun too! Now we will be making earrings and painting.
Sarah, thank you for hosting us today! It’s a wonderful feeing to count our blessings. Your verse conveys that deep connection that I am told only sisters ever know. How beautifully hopeful that tear is, rolling down her cheek in the healing! I love the work of the soul that is happening here. I used your sensory feels and borrowed my last line from Mary O’s “It Was Early” to count a few of my own blessings today!
Blessed
I can see it:
the one who said, “No more inside dogs!” with your lap full of Fitz and Boo Radley, sharing snacks and watching NCIS like weekend bachelors
I can taste it:
the perfect morning coffee you brew and bring me every day, fixed just the way I like it
I can hear it:
you – watching every YouTube video you can find about new camper set up and then summarizing them for me so we get things right
I can smell it:
the campfire smoke – built especially for me because you know I love sitting out by an open fire
wrapped in a blanket looking at the stars with you
I can feel it:
the way your hand always finds mine, intermingling our fingers as you stride up beside me and whisper, “Quick! Act like you like me!” and look around suspiciously whenever we’re walking through any parking lot
Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed!
This is an amazing poem—with the senses right up front, center stage. All things to be thankful for. Oh, that open fire and blanket and stars. I want to be there with my sweetie. I would frame this and hang it in the camper.
Kim, wow, what a wonderful loving poem. The part where your hand is taken in a parking lot is so priceless! I think your title is spot-on! Your poem made me smile; it is truly revealing and so precious!
Kim — This is quite beautiful. The love in this is palpable. Dang, I miss that kind of relationship. Your strategy of taking us through the senses provides a perfect structure for the poem. I really like that. You made me laugh at the dogs in his lap. The smoke at the campfire… dang, I LOVE that, as this is one of my very favorite things to do — with guitar and a few tunes to boot. The touching of hands, though, is that one that made me miss this gift so poignantly. The touch of hands is a huge big deal for me…partly because I no longer have that…. what a sacred gift. Love this. Love it. Susie
Kim, I loved how you incorporated the different senses into your poem. It really helped to conjure those things for me, especially the smell of campfire smoke! And the quotes you included made it that much more personal and real.
The structure of your poem invites us in with its imagery.
Oh, Kim, I just love how you engage our hearts visually with the pattern if I can. And that colon says so much too — wait for it, here it comes. And then you deliver with the senses and gestures “intermingling our fingers”. I love this.
Sarah
Kim,
Your poem is a wonderful mentor text. I hope some of the practicing teachers will incorporate it into a lesson this month and include Sarah’s and MO’s poem to show how inspired we become through sharing poems. That image of your dogs reminded me of something Ken said after our new internet provider installed our connections: “When you fill out the survey, tell them not to step in dog shit and drag it into the house. That’s why I was cleaning carpet this morning.” Ken makes my coffee, too, but he does not drink coffee. As I write this note from my office, he’s downstairs painting. Aren’t we lucky to see, taste, hear, smell, and feel the love from these partners who make it possible to “stand wherever I am to be blessed!”!
Kim, there’s not much I can say that hasn’t already been said: the form of the poem, the imagery moving through the senses, the concrete specific details that help capture such a overgeneralized and overwritten subject matter. I love the honesty and the sweetness of this poem most of all. Such a blessing…thanks for sharing!
Sarah,
I love this space so much. Thank you for creating it and continuing to offer and nourish it.
Your poem is lovely. Oh, what we see in those we are tied to genetically. I have a tough relationship with my sister and parts of your poem hit me hard. I especially love
“the was in my am
the was in your is
and the healing
that remains
for us.”
Here is my quick attempt this morning. It flowed out easily as I often wonder why I get up so early, especially on days that I have the time to sleep in.
early morning rising
early morning rising
after a late night
awakening before it’s time
so I can seek solitude
and me
sleep crusty and heavy
in my eyes
hair a knotted mess
teeth unbrushed
any grooming would
likely wake others
and the whole reason
I am up is to be
up without them
I sit on the couch
under blanket
phone and book
vying for attention
coffee cup nestled
between my breasts
against my sternum
like a namaste
the furnace clicks
the wood floors moan
the ceiling fan below whirs
my thoughts spin
but they spin where
I want them to spin
not where others want
or expect them to
early morning rising
it’s my time
to seek
to create
to be
early morning rising
is just for me
~Susan Ahlbrand
14 November 2020
I wish I had thought of this poem. How can it be that those people we love most in the world we wish to sleep in so we can have alone time? I have gotten up early for years just for time to write and think and be alone. My favorite time is when the Christmas tree is up and I can sit under it all by myself. The details you include…the click of the furnace, ceiling fan, coffee against your chest….all fit beautifully.
Susan, I think we are soul sisters! As I read this, I’m sitting on the couch under a blanket with a cup of coffee on the arm of the couch. I love this part the most:
my thoughts spin
but they spin where
I want them to spin
not where others want
or expect them to
Yes! I love that you carve out time just for you!
Susan, I so love your poem’s ending. It is so important to have some “me” time and you share this moment in time so well. The images are sharp, the sounds, the smell, the feel of the coffee, etc. I was truly pulled into the moment and could completely relate. Isn’t that the wonderful power of poetry? Enjoy your day!
Susan — My favorite part of every single day for my entire life. You so brought this to me vividly today. I particularly liked the “wood floors moan” — excellent sensory detail that speaks volumes about the overall tone of the poem. Lovely! Thank you, Susie
I am an early riser, too. I love that quiet time before dawn, before the rush of fulfilling expectations of others. You capture this special time beautifully.
Susan,
My favorite image is
and as I read I thought about all the early mornings awakening before the kids, the husband, the animals and honoring the quiet with a good book and quiet. You’ve created a lovely image of life beginning each day here in your poem.
The shelves have become
barren of those silly cards,
those throw-away phrases
that always tried so hard
to make us laugh, in aisles
of the grocery store and
boutique shops and kiosks
in the mall, manufactured thanks
spit out by cold machines,
while I’m still one of those few
who settles down in the quiet,
pen in hand, to carve out poems
from the bones of memory,
a crinkled paper-cut of words
tucked into the folds
of your jacket pocket
carve out poems from bones of memory….just beautiful….and that they are for someone’s jacket pocket. Sigh. That’s really nice.
Kevin, there is nothing better than a handwritten note or card, and you sure captured the idea that the thoughts of life and the words are much more heartfelt on crinkled paper in obscure places than at the card display!
Kevin, your poem is so thought-provoking. It reminds me of a haiku I recently read where a man steps on his wife’s comb who has passed. The imagery and specific details and contrasting sensory appeal is especially strong. I was especially moved by the lines: “who settles down in the quiet,/pen in hand, to carve out poems/from the bones of memory,”….gorgeous! Kudos!
“A crinkled paper-cut of words” Love that line.
Kevin, As so often happens when I read your poetry, the turn of the poem, the pivot point, stops me in my tracks. “a crinkled paper-cut of words tucked into the folds of your jacket pocket.” This evoked memories of my dad’s suits (He wore one everyday.) and the mystery of having so many pockets in which to tuck this or that. Thank you.
Kevin, like you I struggle w/ the Hallmark sentimentality, and so the image that resonates most w/ me is
Maybe this year we’ll all learn how to offer thanks that create that final image:
I was more interested in the second half of my poem here as the day moved along … so, I took them and wrangled them into lyrics for a demo song … if you are interested …
https://www.soundtrap.com/playlink/2d760cad-cd45-4d35-b19d-f7c8f762a6ab/
Kevin
I enjoyed listening to that, Kevin! Thanks for sharing it!
Kevin, I’m sitting here enjoying this and other Soundtrap songs on this page. How fun! One of my favorites “When You Fall From Grace.” Thanks for sharing the link, and for sharing your music with the world. Beautiful.